Weekly reflections on spirituality and health
Reflection for the week of February 16
A longer reflection this week. This is from a past newsletter from Jubilee Partners, which is a community in south Georgia that does refugee resettlement. Jubilee is a “sibling” program to Habitat for Humanity, both having had their origins in the Koinonia community, which has been doing education and economic development for rural African-American and white people together since the early 1940s. This is an excerpt of a story about a refugee family from Burma in which the father, Htun Hla, was dealing with nasopharyngeal cancer.
“Every three weeks, Htun Hla and Jennifer drove to Atlanta, about two hours away, for chemotherapy treatments. Htun Hla would be weighed, have blood drawn, and see the oncologist. Then he would move to the treatment room lined with rows of reclining chairs, stacks of magazines, and a TV mounted on the wall. Htun Hla would sit for the next five hours as chemicals slowly dripped into his veins killing the cancerous cells that had made his neck swell almost shoulder to shoulder. It would be the next day when exhaustion set in, often rendering Htun Hla immobile.
After a few chemotherapy sessions, Htun Hla was ready for radiation. The radiation would eventually burn the inside of his throat so badly that it would be too painful to eat, too raw to even swallow saliva, so a feeding tube was surgically inserted into his stomach. Jennifer sought out the special liquid food and either purchased it or got donations from various places. Daily radiation treatments took place in Athens, a half hour away, for the next six weeks.
On one of the trips that Htun Hla and Jennifer took for chemotherapy treatments, Eh Kaw accompanied them. Eh Kaw, from the same country as Htun Hla, has been living at Jubilee helping us with translations. Jennifer describes a conversation from that trip:
"I asked Htun Hla what it was like when he arrived in Atlanta and was given the cancer diagnosis. He answered, '/ thought I would die from no encouragement. No one visited. We were alone in our apartment.''
Jennifer continues, "That is such a powerful statement. Htun Hla did not think he would die from cancer or lack of medicine or treatment. He did not think he would die from lack of time. He did not think he would die from lack of money or insurance. He thought he would die because there were not any people around helping him out. He thought he would die because he did not have a community of supporters. He thought he would die because no one gave him hope."
For the past eight months, we at Jubilee have learned that it takes a community to help someone overcome cancer. We all know what his refugee agency recognized right away: no one entity can do it all. Hope sprang from many different places, often outside of our community. Hope came from medical professionals who were competent, caring, and patient with translations. Hope came from Athens FedEx employees who used their Christmas bonuses to buy three cases of Htun Hla's special food. Hope came from a Sunday school class in Illinois who paid for many medicines not covered by insurance. Hope came from our own volunteers who after work-time, played cards, sang songs or just hung out with the family. Hope came from the other refugees at Jubilee who cooked food, cared for children, and kept the family in good spirits.”
I’m on the road again next week. I’ll see you next on March 2.
Best regards,
Fred
I have been distributing short, nonsectarian email reflections on spirituality, health and wellness since 2004. They come out (almost all) Mondays. If you would like to receive these, please send your name and email to me at [email protected]
You are also welcome to download a file with the complete collection of reflections that I have sent since 2004. I may not update this weekly, but it will be close. After this many years, there are many duplicates (great wisdom needs to be repeated and show up every so often!) but there are many hundreds of unique entries. Click on the link below, and enjoy!
Fred
A longer reflection this week. This is from a past newsletter from Jubilee Partners, which is a community in south Georgia that does refugee resettlement. Jubilee is a “sibling” program to Habitat for Humanity, both having had their origins in the Koinonia community, which has been doing education and economic development for rural African-American and white people together since the early 1940s. This is an excerpt of a story about a refugee family from Burma in which the father, Htun Hla, was dealing with nasopharyngeal cancer.
“Every three weeks, Htun Hla and Jennifer drove to Atlanta, about two hours away, for chemotherapy treatments. Htun Hla would be weighed, have blood drawn, and see the oncologist. Then he would move to the treatment room lined with rows of reclining chairs, stacks of magazines, and a TV mounted on the wall. Htun Hla would sit for the next five hours as chemicals slowly dripped into his veins killing the cancerous cells that had made his neck swell almost shoulder to shoulder. It would be the next day when exhaustion set in, often rendering Htun Hla immobile.
After a few chemotherapy sessions, Htun Hla was ready for radiation. The radiation would eventually burn the inside of his throat so badly that it would be too painful to eat, too raw to even swallow saliva, so a feeding tube was surgically inserted into his stomach. Jennifer sought out the special liquid food and either purchased it or got donations from various places. Daily radiation treatments took place in Athens, a half hour away, for the next six weeks.
On one of the trips that Htun Hla and Jennifer took for chemotherapy treatments, Eh Kaw accompanied them. Eh Kaw, from the same country as Htun Hla, has been living at Jubilee helping us with translations. Jennifer describes a conversation from that trip:
"I asked Htun Hla what it was like when he arrived in Atlanta and was given the cancer diagnosis. He answered, '/ thought I would die from no encouragement. No one visited. We were alone in our apartment.''
Jennifer continues, "That is such a powerful statement. Htun Hla did not think he would die from cancer or lack of medicine or treatment. He did not think he would die from lack of time. He did not think he would die from lack of money or insurance. He thought he would die because there were not any people around helping him out. He thought he would die because he did not have a community of supporters. He thought he would die because no one gave him hope."
For the past eight months, we at Jubilee have learned that it takes a community to help someone overcome cancer. We all know what his refugee agency recognized right away: no one entity can do it all. Hope sprang from many different places, often outside of our community. Hope came from medical professionals who were competent, caring, and patient with translations. Hope came from Athens FedEx employees who used their Christmas bonuses to buy three cases of Htun Hla's special food. Hope came from a Sunday school class in Illinois who paid for many medicines not covered by insurance. Hope came from our own volunteers who after work-time, played cards, sang songs or just hung out with the family. Hope came from the other refugees at Jubilee who cooked food, cared for children, and kept the family in good spirits.”
I’m on the road again next week. I’ll see you next on March 2.
Best regards,
Fred
I have been distributing short, nonsectarian email reflections on spirituality, health and wellness since 2004. They come out (almost all) Mondays. If you would like to receive these, please send your name and email to me at [email protected]
You are also welcome to download a file with the complete collection of reflections that I have sent since 2004. I may not update this weekly, but it will be close. After this many years, there are many duplicates (great wisdom needs to be repeated and show up every so often!) but there are many hundreds of unique entries. Click on the link below, and enjoy!
Fred
| freds_reflections_collection.doc |