Unlike Mt Chemo or the Surgery Forest, the Stepping Stones of Nuke doen't seem to be prompting me to write much.  I think there are many reasons for this, not least that it would be VERY boring if I wrote every day about my five minutes of nuking, and also that on the whole there's not a whole lot to say.

One of the things that always amuses me about small sample sizes is how quickly you move through different proportions... when on Tuesday (step 6, dose 5) I hit the one fifth of the way through mark, I was quite pleased.  But then Wednesday (step 7, dose 6) was almost a quarter and tomorrow (step 9, dose 8) is as close to a third as makes no real odds.  To be a third of the way across this river seems a lot further than a fifth, but is only three days.  Well it amuses me.

Side effects?  Well, yes, Robyn for sure, not scarlet but has been getting steadily more erythema since dose 1, no great surprise given the doses involved. I can see a change in skin texture and also some tiny blisters starting to appear.  For the first few days I experienced a bit of acid reflux, but that has now settled down again.  I tend to find that as I finish being zapped I feel slightly queasy, again no great surprise given the doses involved, a bit like mild motion sickness, and have a slightly odd taste in my mouth.  It passes in a couple of hours; drinking plenty of water (great tip from Perpetua) and the odd ginger biscuit works wonders.  Carbonated water seems to work especially well, I'm not sure why.  So far I haven't noticed any loss of energy - though I have ensured I get plenty of exercise which is meant to help overcome it, but I am yawning more than usual!!

As for scar/skin case it's a case of serving two masters, with my lovely artiste of a plastic surgeon insisting I keep my scars glooped with moisturiser and covered with tape whilst the nukers insist on only 'simple' soap and aqueous cream at a push.  So, a new regimen of pleasing the nukers then returning home to jollop on the aqueous gloop and add tapes which are removed and the whole area 'simplified' before the next nuking.  It seems just about possible to please both masters, but a bit of a bind.

The nuking centre waiting room seems a less anxious place than the chemo one, I think because people are there day in, day out, and get to know each other, at least on 'nodding' terms, and that for most people this is just the last little bit before 'freedom'.  The staff are good fun and you can have a joke with them, which helps create a lighter atmosphere.  It probably helps that this is one aspect where I have probably forgotten more of the physics than some of the technicians ever knew.

Anyway, the water is clear (a lovely blue cerenkov glow maybe ;-) ), the steps seem stable and I am walking steadily and purposefully to the far bank.

The Sanhedrin, the Council, the 'them' of the story.  All fine and dandy, allowing us to vilify that which is 'other' but many of us are, or have been members of a Council at some point in our lives - The PCC, The Kirk Session, The Diaconate, The Eldership, The Church Council, The Property Team, The Mission Strategy Group, The [insert name]...? Ever notice they all take the definite article and many capitalise it; interesting.  Anyway, today's character is a fictional, unnamed member of the Council.  Again no exegetical basis and no real idea of how the Council worked.

To be part of it - the Council - wow!  Me?  I had long wondered what went on in those meetings, had revered the men with their long beards and measured tones.  Now I was part of it.  It was exciting and nerve-wracking.  A privilege for sure, a responsibility undoubtedly, but an opportunity.  I was, relatively speaking, young.  And I noticed how when I spoke people would smile knowingly and shake their heads in a slightly dismissive way that said, 'we were once young too; you'll learn.'  There was so much the Council could influence, could make better, more vibrant, more Godly... but meetings seemed dry and turgid as often as not.  The biggest concern seemed to be keeping the peace with Rome, every now and then some upstart looked like causing trouble and he would be quietly - or not so quietly - dealt with.

They are good people on the Council, men who have helped me to settle in, to learn how things work.  They are not all the same, opinions vary and a few speak out against the status quo.  I have found two good friends here - in a Council of 70 (71) it takes time to get to know people.  Nic[odemus] is a worrier, often doesn't sleep at nights, so he tells me.  He worries and wonders about getting right, turns over ideas in his mind.  He's been known to go out under cover of darkness to talk with northern rabbis about philosophical ideas.  He's a good man, a thinking man, and a friend to me.  And Joe [Joseph of Arimathea]: never says much, just seems to listen intently and weigh up what is said.  A kindly man with deep, gentle eyes and a soft voice.  A friend who looks out for me, a mentor if you like, someone who stands with me as I learn the ropes of this responsible, confusing, powerful role.

Discussion recently has centred on one of the northern rabbis, one who is gathering an enormous following, and who is attracting too much attention with his talk of a Kingdom.  What should be done?  Various reports were brought by members who'd been out to see what he was up to - healing on Shabbat, declaring sins forgiven, consorting with women, meeting Roman centurions, touching lepers... the list was endless.  Discussion flew back and forth; a decision must be made.  It came to a vote - to exterminate him or not, 'better one man die than a nation perish'.  So how should I vote?  Nic was clear in his mind - no way was he voting for this.  Joe quietly joined the 'no' vote. 

What should I do?  I had waited a long time to be part of this council, I wanted to make a difference, yet I wanted to be accepted.  I trusted the judgement of my new found friends but there were more and more people voting 'yes'...

I wonder how it is for us?  How much does acceptance and/or recognition outweigh our desire for justice or truth?  How easily are we 'processed' by organisations, simply becoming one more proponent of the status quo?  How readily do we suppress contradictory opinions or seek to shape others in our image: 'this is the way we do things around here'?

If we are honest, truly honest, would we follow Nic and Joe through the 'no' lobby, or would we, like sheep, trail through the 'yes' door, condemning Jesus to death?

News this morning announces the death of Elisabeth Sladen, better known to my generation as Sarah Jane Smith, probably the finest assistant Dr Who ever had; certainly the one who travelled with him during my younger childhood when Jon Pertwee steered the TARDIS and K9 was the epitome of robotic companions - 'affirmative, master'.

I knew she had to be in her sixties, but somehow Sarah Jane was timeless - a fitting attritube for a time lord's companion - so it was a shock to hear she had died, and to know that cancer had claimed another victim.

Yesterday's BUS Ministry Matters included in its prayer list several ministers and/or their spouses and immediate families affected by cancer, commenting on the high number.  That's the way of statistics and randomness of course: you wait ages for one then three come at once.  Given there are around 200 ministers, mostly with spouses, it shouldn't be a surprise to discover that there are currently eight 'pulpits' so affected, to say nothing of the dozens of unnamed and unknown 'pew people'.

So, goodbye Sarah Jane, and God bless with tenacity and hope all who live daily with the reality of knowing what cancer really means.

My readers include royalists and republicans and everything in between, people who will avidly watch events on 29th April and those who will be seeking secluded islands to hide.  Whatever your view about the whole thing as public spectacle, these two are great fun:

The Other Guys, St Andrews a capella group here

Look out for the 'Rockin' Rowan' in the T-mobile advert here

HT various bloggers

Two stories come to mind today... from Luke's gospel the story of the elderly widow who put 'all she had' into the Temple treasury and from John's the anointing of Jesus by Mary at Bethany. What about the average woman though, the housewife and mother, the homemaker?

For the purposes of my reflection only, since it's impossible so to do by exegesis, my protagonist is at both events.

So, that was it, I had bought all the special food needed for the festival.  it was a busy time, as well as my own husband and three children, there would his parents and mine, my widowed sister and her two, his unmarried brother, a couple of cousins, oh yes, and my maiden aunt.  A house full!  It has been no small feat saving up for the extras that would have to be bought, carefully balancing my budget, setting aside a few shekels when I could for the extras, whilst paying the Roman taxes and the Temple taxes.  I was proud of my achievements - we owed nothing, we had borrowed nothing, we had paid our dues and had a little left over to make the festival a celebration.

I went to the Temple to make my financial offering, having carefully calculated what could be afforded once everything essential had been paid.  I met an elderly neighbour on her way, too, and we chatted.  I looked away as she slipped her two tiny coins into the treasury. I didn't want her to be embarrassed; and, to be honest, I didn't want to be embarrassed by her either.  Quietly I dropped in my own offering - exactly what I could afford, well after setting aside a few coins for emergencies of course.

That evening we had been invited out to a meal in Bethany where the rabbi Jesus was being honoured.  Carefully I chose which scarf to wear, which trinkets to adorn my wrists.  A tiny dab of perfume, a gift from a time when money was more plentiful.  We set off, hungry for conversation, eager to taste the food!  It was a great evening, wonderful food, flowing wine, lively conversation... and then...  Mary, it was Mary, sister of Martha and Lazarus, breaking open a jar of perfumed oil and pouring the whole lot over Jesus' feet.  What a waste, I thought, just a few drops were all that was needed to tend to his dusty, travelled feet.  'What a waste' a man's voice spoke aloud, 'it could have been sold and the money given to the poor.'  A murmur of agreement spread until Jesus spoke.

In one day then, two women had behaved recklessly and been commended for it.  My elderly neighbour had given her last mite to the Temple, making herself dependent on the generosity of others (note to self: invite her for the festival dinner).  And Mary, had simply poured out a whole bottle of perfume in a rash act of devotion.  I don't understand it, I've always been sensible, never spent more than I had, never borrowed.  I don't understand it, I've always given what was expected of me at the Temple; I've always paid my taxes on time.  I don't understand how foolishness earns approval and wisdom is overlooked.

I wonder how we are like Ms Average, thrifty without being mean, cautious and correct, busy making sure our obligations are met, concerned with balancing the books and not being a burden to anyone.  How do we react to elderly widows who give every penny to charity and then depend on us for help?  How do we feel about rash acts of devotion?  What might we have to learn from the widow and from Mary? 

Dare we imagine ourselves in either scene?  And dare we be honest about our reactions to what we see?