Cotton What?

I haven’t given an update on my health in quite a while.  On July 20^th, I returned to work full time.  It was an amazing feeling to be sitting at my desk again, actually doing something.  The number of people who stopped by and welcomed me back was overwhelming.  Several people told me not to overdo it, but the constant flow of people coming by kept me from getting too caught up in my work.

On July 28^th, we headed back to the clinic for some x-rays, a CT scan (with contrast, oh joy), and blood work.  Then began the longest week I’ve experience in some time.  I wasn’t going to see my oncologist until August 4^th—a whole week away. 

My wife tells me she was never worried about the results.  Perhaps her faith is stronger than mine, because I spent quite a bit of time praying over these tests.  Yes, I was trusting in the Lord for His healing, but I was also remembering the fight we just came through. 

On August 4^th, I went to the oncologist’s office alone.  Laura opted to stay home with the children so we wouldn’t have to try to arrange a babysitter.  I got to my appointment a bit early.  I talked with the very sweet lady at the registration desk who asked how I was doing in a very unobtrusive way to keep in line with all the privacy laws.  The ladies who work this particular registration desk are very sweet and very compassionate when dealing with the whole insurance, co-pay, billing issues. 

I sat in the waiting room, thinking of all the possible outcomes of this appointment.  Would there be more cancer?  Would I need additional chemo?  Would those two treatments I missed due to my low counts be coming back to haunt me?  Finally, I was called back to the exam room.

The nurse took my blood pressure (normal), my oxygenation rate (very good), and my temperature (normal) and said the doctor would be in shortly.  So I did what I have become pretty good at doing:  I waited. 

The doctor came in the room with a quick knock on the door.  She smiled in greeting.  The first thing I noticed was that she kept smiling.  She said “Mr. Otto, your blood work came back normal.  The number that was way high, a 9?  Today it is less than 0.01.  The scans looked good.  Right now, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”  She started examining me to look for any possible effects of the chemo like she has just said “it’s sunny outside, isn’t that nice?”  The joy in my soul was bubbling up inside of me. 

In November, I’ll go back for another set of blood tests and scans to ensure that nothing has popped up.  I’m trusting that the results will be the same—nothing to worry about. 

There is one thing that I haven’t shared with anyone besides my wife.  Right after we finished chemo, I had a regular eye exam.  I, of course, gave my health history to the doctor.  She gave me a very complete eye exam.  And then she dilated my eyes.  After waiting for about 30 minutes, I was called back for the rest of the exam.  If you are familiar with an eye exam, you probably remember the great white light that they take great pleasure in shining directly in your eyes.   She didn’t say much, just kind of grunted in surprise.   You can imagine, at this point in my life, I don’t like it much when doctors are surprised. 

She found something on my retina to the immediate right of my optic nerve in my right eye.  The doctor began to talk to me about it.   She didn’t know what it was and given my recent health history, she wanted to send me to a retina specialist.  The words "unknown," and "spot" where not words I wanted to hear.  I was referred to a doctor in Nashville, TN that happens to see patients in Bowling Green, KY.   A few days later, I’m going through the process of a basic eye exam, pictures of my eyes, and oh yes, the dilation drops—extra strength this time.  My eyes stayed dilated for 4 or 5 hours. 

I was diagnosed with what is called a White Cotton Spot.  It’s a white spot on the retina that looks like a cotton ball.  It is usually caused by a tiny blood vessel in the eye that stops working.  Typically, this is caused by untreated high blood pressure or untreated diabetes.  In my case, most likely it was caused by the chemo.  The vessel probably stopped working when my blood counts dropped so very low.  The retina doctor said that it did not mean the cancer had spread or anything like that.  His exact words were “we’re not going to get excited just yet, but I do want to see you back in a month.” 

So here we are a month later.  We just got back from the retina specialist.  My eyes are seriously dilated; my wife says I look like an alien.  Everything is blurry.  It’s like the whole world has been italicized.  The bad news is that the White Cotton Spot is still there.  The good news is that it is shrinking.  My doctor says that this means the blood vessel has started working again and the tissue has started recovering.  This is excellent news.  He wants to see me in a year unless I have any trouble. 

All in all, life is returning to normal.  I’m back to running and lifting weights at the gym.  I’ve started preaching again.  Just this last weekend, I mowed my yard.  The boys are about ready to start school again.  The wife and I are planning a late anniversary trip.  And you know what?  I can’t complain about anything.  Life is good. 

Let's Talk About Chemo

I’m almost done with my first round of chemo, so I thought it might be a good time to share some of the things that I have learned in the last few weeks that might help those about to go through chemo and those with loved ones going through it.

I will share with you the statement that every member of my care team has said at one time or another.  To be honest, I have learned to hate this statement and every time someone says it, I find myself making the same face that my sons make when I repeatedly lecture them on something.  You know the face, the slight grimace that says “here we go again.”   Chemo is different for everyone.  Everyone responds differently—some people will take chemo and it will never bother them.  Some people take chemo and it is like a train wreck.  Most of us land somewhere in between. 

 

Let’s talk a second about my care team.  It is made up of my primary care physician, my oncologist, the chemo nurses, my urologist, my endocrinologist, and a nurse practitioner.  At this point, my primary is copied on all my lab results, appointments with the rest of the team, basically, just kept in the loop so he can be aware of my health conditions going forward.  I cannot stress this enough:  find a primary care physician that you trust and that you are comfortable with.   The urologist was the doctor who confirmed my primary’s diagnosis and performed the surgery.   I was referred to the oncologist by my urologist as they have an extensive working relationship.  The oncologist is treating my cancer itself.  The endocrinologist was also a referral by my urologist to monitor and treat any hormonal issues (and there were some, we won’t talk about the mood swings or temperature issues—some things are best left unsaid.) Who pointed me to the urologist?  My primary care physician did.  Good doctors know other good doctors.  That’s important when you are trying to do something like fight a health related issue.   The chemo nurses are angels in scrubs.  They are the ones who actually administer the chemotherapy.  They put up with a lot and are constantly moving throughout the treatment room.  There could be anywhere between 5 and 15 patients at one time.  The nurse practitioner treats the side effects of the chemo and helps navigate the chemo patient through the rounds of chemo while maintaining their overall health. 

A round of chemo; sounds very simple right?  Nope.  I was shocked to learn what the phrase really meant.  Was it a one and done type of thing?  Was it a series?  What is a round?  I didn’t learn this until I talked with my oncologist.  For me, wait, can we say it together?  Chemo is different for everyone, a round is a three week cycle.  I have two rounds, so 6 weeks of chemo.  A round can be much longer than this depending on the flavor of cancer you may have.  I met a lady in the treatment room who has been having chemo every two weeks for two years.  I cannot imagine.

I have a PICC line.  It was probably the one thing I was dreading the most to start with, but it has really evolved into nothing more than a minor nuisance.  The actual procedure was very simple, all I did was lay there. It’s in my right arm.  I’ve got two tails hanging out of my arm that IVs can be connected to.  It’s a bit of a bother when I try to sleep because, well, I’ve got two tails hanging out of my arm.  It is bandaged and padded with gauze so it’s not that bad.  My lovely wife has to flush my lines out every 24 hours unless I’m getting treatment and then the chemo nurses do it.  I’d do it myself, but it takes two hands and I’m not that flexible.  All I've got to do is keep it clean and dry and not lift more than a gallon of milk with my right arm.  

You may be asking yourself, what is chemo like?  It’s sitting in a recliner with a couple of lines running from the IV pole to your arm.  The treatment itself (and remember our saying) really isn’t a big deal.  The nurses start us with a bag of fluids and then a bag of premeds.  The premeds help prepare your body to accept the chemo more easily.  After all of this and a flush between each bag, the chemo starts.  This could take anywhere from 30 minutes to 5 hours depending on the type of chemo you are getting.  One of my chemo drugs (I'm on three, the treatment is called BEP, you can Google it if you like) can impact the kidneys. so the fluids, which adds time to the treatment day.  One patient in the treatment room told me that they had one treatment last 12 hours.  Oh, my word.   For me, the chemo fun really begins as the last bag empties and we are sent home. 

My side effects have varied.  Let me take a moment to remind you that chemotherapy drugs target those cells that reproduce themselves rapidly.  As I understand it, scientists haven’t figure out a way to target only those cells that are cancerous.  So instead of using a sniper’s precision to target the cancer, we use the shotgun approach.  There are several types of fast reproducing cells in our body:  red blood cells, white blood cells, platelets, skin, hair, and probably some I’m forgetting.  So chemo attacks all of these cells, basically killing them off, and thus the side effects.

I’ve really had two basic side effects--extreme weakness/fatigue and nausea.  I’ve never experienced being tired like this before.  Let me put this in context.  I’ve run half marathons—13.1 miles, and not been this tired.  I can feel perfectly fine, get up and walk across the house, and need a nap.  This is in part because my blood cells are being attacked.  Sure, they are being replaced but that takes time.  And I’ve learned that the effects of chemo are accumulative.    I tried to go back to work earlier this week, because my doctor said “If you feel able, you can work.”  At 7:00 Wednesday morning, I felt good.  I’d slept okay; nausea was under control, so I went to work.  I sat at my desk at 7:30, by 8:30, I was tired.  My 9:30 I was fatigued.  By 10:30 I was packing it in.  By 11:00, I was at home in bed.  Side bar:  I had three coworkers, friends, really, tell me the same thing Wednesday morning “You look terrible, are you okay?”  What they were really saying is “you don’t need to be here, go home.” 

Fatigue can be sudden and stay a long while.  My sleep patterns are all jumbled up.  Pre-cancer, I’d be in bed by 10:00 PM, asleep by 10:15 (seriously, ask my wife) and up and at it by 4:40 AM ready to face the day.  Now, I barely make it to 9:00 PM, sleep for a couple of hours, wake up, use the restroom, walk around the house, and go back to bed.  Repeat this cycle a couple of times until just about 4:00 AM and I am wide awake.  Add a couple of naps during the day and you have my new sleep cycle.  Most of my naptimes, I can’t sleep well, so it’s more of an organized rest period than a nap per se. 

Nausea is a beast all of its own.  Some days, I have a great appetite and can eat whatever I want.  Some days, the idea of a certain food makes me want to hurl.  On Tuesday of this week it was coffee.  I tried a cup of coffee and the results were quick and gross.  Today, I'm enjoying my third cup as I write this.  Sometimes the nausea is such that I can’t get out of bed without being dizzy and wanting to hug a toilet.  When it is at its worse, the only thing that I can stomach is a peanut butter milkshake.  My nurse practitioner is most concerned with my nutrition so we are working to control the nausea.  I’ve got to eat to regain strength, I need strength to handle the chemo, and to help my body rebuild.  Thankfully, there are some great meds to handle nausea and they seem to be working for me. 

Other side effects include hot flashes, chills, aches, chemo induced acne (I’ve got more pimples than a 15 year old kid), ringing in the ears, hair loss and many others.  I’ve noticed more hairs falling out than normal so I got a buzz cut yesterday.  The side effects come and go and we are dealing with them as they arise.  My care team is doing a great job making this as easy as it can be considering it is chemo.

I want to take a few moments to talk about those side effects of chemo that aren’t caused by the drugs themselves; we’ll call them social side effects. 

• ·         People don’t know what to say.  I’ve seen it a thousand times.  They want to ask how I’m doing, but they don’t know how to ask.  May I suggest “How’s it going?”  My least favorite so far has been “Well, you’re not bald yet.”  To be perfectly honest with you, you don’t really want to know how I’m doing.  You are trying to show you care.  The “how’s it going” approach allows you to do this while allowing me to decide what I want to share with you.  To be truthful, you may not be able to handle how I’m doing.  If I answer “I’m okay,” that really means “I’m okay considering I’m on chemo.”
• ·         People avoid me.  I’m a cancer patient, not a china doll.  I don’t know how many phone calls my wife has gotten from folks checking on me because they didn't want to bother me.  We appreciate the concern, we really do.  Let me say this:  I’m not going to break.  You don’t have to avoid me.  If I’m feeling poorly, I’ll tell you.  If I want to be left alone, I’ll tell you.  Sometimes, I just need to sit and talk to someone about normal things--the weather, sports, anything.  
• ·         People are shocked by my candor.  I’ve learned that if I am going to deal with cancer, chemo and the rest, I’ve got to keep it real.  I have to be honest with myself which may cause me to be overly honest with you.  So please don’t be shocked or offended by my honesty.  Just roll with it. 

So, how am I doing?  I’m okay.  Oh, I just made myself laugh out loud.  I’m okay for somebody going through chemo.  Fatigue and sleeplessness are my two big issues right now.  I’ve got one treatment left in this round and I’ll be halfway done.  My nausea is under control for the most part (some mild flare ups, mostly around smells).  Yeah, I’m okay.  Not up to any races or much activity at all, but I’m okay. As always, if you have any questions, please let me know.  I’ve had several folks leave comments about these blog posts, so I hope they are helping folks learn more about cancer and cancer patients.   I have several goals for this trip I'm on.  One of which is to help people learn about cancer and its treatment.  

      Till next time.  

~      ~Tom 

An Update. . .

I am almost 5 weeks post-surgery to remove, as my oncologist puts it, the “offending organ.”  It has been quite the ride physically, emotionally, and mentally to be certain.  I have gained some new insights into my body in particular and to the human body in general.  The complexity of the human body and all of its interacting systems amaze me.  If you don't believe me, just try going through having a system get thrown out of whack.

I usually get asked a couple of questions.  The first is what stage is your cancer?  We are all pretty familiar with the stages of cancer, typically 1-4.  Testicular cancer (TC) is a bit different.  This particular variety of cancer is staged by not only by if it has spread, but by pathology.  TC is staged with a number and a letter.  I was staged at 1B.  I was staged as a “1” because the cancer had not spread; and “B” because my tumor was mixed between the nonseminoma and seminoma types of TC.  Remember in my previous post, I mentioned that TC comes in four varieties.  These four are classified into two groups—seminoma and nonseminoma.  Because of the non-seminoma portion of my tumor which is the more aggressive type of TC, my treatment will be just as aggressive.

    

Another question that I am asked a lot is how did I get TC?  Many times, this question comes along with an answer.  I’ve heard that it is because of the Sweet & Low I use in my coffee.  Hmmm.  That’s a thought, but according to the American Cancer Society there is no direct correlation between saccharin and cancer.  I’ve been told that it must be all the running I’ve done in the last several years—you know, all that bouncing and jarring and stuff.  Nope.  There’s no direct line between exercise and TC either (there goes that excuse).   

So what caused my TC?  The truth of the matter is, I may never know.  My doctor said that most scientist agree that for some types of cancer, no one knows what causes it to start, and TC is one of those.   I do know that there are some ideas—perhaps it’s hard coded in my genetic material.  We just don't know.  And I have decided that I'm not going to waste time and energy trying to figure out the answer to a question that at this point doesn't really matter to me anyway, I'll leave that to the scientists.    

Physically, I’m almost completely recovered from the surgery.  My strength is returning, I’ve been able to walk quite a bit and that has helped.  I've been back in the office for two weeks and that’s been great.  This is the great irony of medical troubles.  My family and I have been given two weeks of relative normalcy before we start the next round of treatment and I start to feel poorly again.

   

Chemotherapy, or more often just Chemo; there’s nothing friendly about that word.  In most of our minds, it is quite ominous.  We hear of someone we know having to have chemo and we immediately get this pensive look on our faces as if we can relate somehow.  Your attitude towards it changes a great deal once you have signed up for chemo. 

I’ve had many people ask me, why chemo?  Why do you want to put yourself through that, didn’t they get all the cancer with the surgery?  My response has generally been this exact phrase:  “Better chemo than cancer.”  No one wants chemo.  No one volunteers willingly to undergo the chemotherapy process, but it is a necessary evil.  I could take my chances—this cancer has a 1 in 3 chance of recurring in the first year without treatment.  Someone mentioned to me that means there is a 2 in 3 chance of it not recurring.  That’s true, but I’m not comfortable playing those odds.  Look at it this way.  I have three sons.  Would I willing to risk one of those boys?  Absolutely not!  As I was having this conversation with my doctor, she told me that with treatment, I would have a 99% chance for total recovery—those numbers I like much better.

What is this chemo treatment going to look like?  There’s a lot I don’t know.  I do know that I will have a PICC line inserted first thing Monday morning, and to be honest with you, that’s kind of freaking me out more than anything else so far.    Many people have told me that it is nothing to worry about, that it’s a standard practice.  I know that.  The idea of carrying a tube around in my body going from my arm to my chest—“somewhere near the heart”—is not comforting.  But hey, that’s just me.  If you’re into that sort of thing, I can recommend some people to hook you up. 

Chemo is the next big hurdle in this adventure I’m on.  I’m not looking forward to it; I’m looking forward to it being over with.  I was talking to my lovely wife and made this statement:  “I’m okay with the next 6 weeks being rough, because I’ve got a good 40 years or more left to live.” I may lose my hair-but that’s been an uphill battle anyway, I may be sick for a while, and I may lose some weight.  But at the end of this treatment, my odds of a full recovery are much better.  When I look at my family and consider the alternative, giving 6 weeks of my life is well worth what I’ll be getting—a lifetime of love, joy, and memories with my family.  

I’ll try my best to keep everyone updated on my progress through the next 6 weeks.  Truly my biggest concern is the burden I will be placing on my family.  Please lift up my wife Laura, my three sons-Ethan, Alex, and Seth, and the rest of my family in your prayers as we go through this together.

As always, if you have any questions about diagnosis or treatment of TC, please let me know. 

Not Just for Women, You Know

April 20^th is a day that will stick in my mind forever.   I sat in my family physician’s exam room looking into his eyes as he said these words “Well, it’s not good.”  In my heart of hearts, I was expecting the news that he was about to give me. 

About three months before, I’d noticed something different.  My wife’s dear mother passed away from cancer and since then, I had been harassing her on a monthly basis about self-exams.  At one point, she must have gotten frustrated with my regularly scheduled public service announcements and she turned the tables on me by asking “Have you been doing self-exams?  They’re not just for women, you know.”  I decided she was right.  If it was good for the goose, it was good for the gander.  So I started doing self exams. 

And then came the day I found something different.  A lump, a nodule-however you want to describe it, on my testicle.  So I looked it  up on WebMD or some such site and looked for the next step—keep an eye on it.  So I did. 

I kept up the regular self-exams, you know, keeping an eye on it.  Then the other symptoms started showing up—tenderness, swelling, and pain.  After what I can only describe as pain that was downright scary, I called and schedule an appointment with my family physician.  This all occurred on a Friday morning.  I didn't say anything to Laura because I didn't want her to freak out all weekend. 

That lasted until Sunday afternoon when she asked me what had been bothering me all weekend.  We sat down and I told her that I was seeing the doctor Monday morning because I had found something.  My dear wife thanked me for being responsible for my health. 

Monday morning (April 20^th) found me in my morning devotions, looking for something from the Word to help me in my day.  I found some scripture that gave me peace in my heart.  I was feeling better so I thought about cancelling my appointment.  A gentle nudging in my soul told me to keep my appointment.  I left for work with peace in my heart. 

Fast forward to a little bit after 11:00 that morning and the doctor is staring in my eyes saying “I’m sorry, but I’m very sure it’s cancer.”  I found myself comforting the doctor telling him it would be okay.  I had peace.  That afternoon, I went back to his office for an ultrasound.  The ultrasound technician was very professional, but as he did the ultrasound, I got a glimpse of what I have come to call "the look."

I went back to work, picked up my laptop and some stuff that I needed to work on, and told my boss that I wasn't sure what the next few days would bring.  He gave me some sage advice “Take care of you, do what you need to do to get in a good place health wise.” 

After that, I had to go home and tell my wife.  And my kids!  What would we tell them?  My wife became a tower of strength.  She took the news like I was telling her the car was broken down.  If I remember correctly, her statement was “Well, we’ll just have to get it taken care of.”  I cried in her arms for a few minutes.  She has been my rock the last two weeks.    We waited until we saw the urologist again to say anything to the boys, but she handled that like a champ as well.

The next morning, a visit to the urologist, and a bunch of tests confirmed that it was indeed cancer, at least as sure as we could be without pathology.  The doctor was very sure that it was cancer, so we decided together on surgery.  

My doctor, my wife, and I made this decision together after much prayer.  I wasn't forced into a decision; I was given the information and made an informed choice. 

On Friday, April 24^th, I had an inguinal orchiectomy.  My right testicle was removed and sent off for pathology.  That day is pretty much a fog, but I do remember specific things.  My pastor praying with me before surgery.  Me telling a good friend to check himself in some colorful language (sorry Daniel), me telling my nephews to check themselves, me telling my anesthetist that she needed to tell her husband to check himself.  

And then I remember waking up in Phase 1 recovery looking at a nurse who was telling me it was okay.  Then my doctor appeared and said the surgery went well.  The next thing I remember is careening through the hospital hallways at a high rate of speed driven by someone trying out for NASCAR as I was taken to Phase 2 recovery.  (I’m sure we weren't going that fast, but it sure seemed like it though.) 

The next two days were spent in bed with gradual improvement.  Today, I’m a week out of surgery.  My recovery is going ok.  I still have pain and periods of weakness.    Thanks to a lot of good friends, my great family, my church and many others, I've had a tremendous support structure to rely on, and that has been wonderful.   

The next steps are somewhat unsure.  I have a follow up appointment on Monday, May 4 with my urologist.  At that time we will get the pathology reports and the next steps of treatment if necessary.   You may not know, but testicular cancer comes in four varieties and each variety has a different course of treatment.  After that, I’ll have to see an endocrinologist and perhaps an oncologist, depending on the type of cancer. 

So, yeah, April 20^th will stick in my mind for years to come.  It will be the day that my doctor gave me what could be considered the worst news of my life, but it is also the day that my doctor gave me what could be considered the best news of my life.  Right after he told me it was cancer, the doc said this:  “Your wife probably saved your life.  Go home, give her a hug and tell her that.” 

Self-exams save lives.  Regular monthly exams can alert you to changes that you need to be aware of.  I’ve decided a few things in this fight against cancer.  First, I’m not a cancer victim.  I’m going to own this cancer.  I’m going to win this fight against cancer, and I am not a victim, I’m a victor. 

Second, I'm going to be an advocate for self-exams.  Own your health.  Be responsible.  Don’t let cancer make you a victim; don’t let cancer take your life. 

If you would like more information about testicular cancer please visit one of these websites:

http://www.testicularcancerawarenessfoundation.org/

Or

http://www.cancer.org/cancer/testicularcancer/

For information on self-exams go here:

http://www.sacksoflove.org/

If you have any questions, feel free to reach out to me.  If you ready for an honest conversation about testicular cancer, reach out via Facebook, Twitter, or through this blog.  Self-exams, they’re not just for women, you know. 

Change? We don't need no stinkin' Changes

Albert Einstein is remembered for many things.  His work in theoretical science led to many wonderful breakthroughs in the applied sciences.  Albert Einstein is also remembered for his common sense approach to life and that approach resulted in many memorable quotes.

One in particular, is applicable today.  Einstein said “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”    

How many times do we find ourselves doing the same thing over and over again and wondering why nothing seems to be working the way we expect and want it to?

We take comfort in our rituals, patterns, and habits.  We get used to doing the same things the same way.  Think about this:  what did you have for supper last night?  What did you have for supper a week ago?  I imagine, if your home is like my home, you can pretty much tell what day it is by what’s for supper.  

Let’s talk about change.   No one likes to change, but if what you are doing isn’t working, something has got to change.  If the results you are getting aren’t the results you want then something has to change.  The word change scares some people.  Whether or not they want to admit it, change is scary so they resist change.  Their reasons (or excuses, as the case may be), sound good.  “We don’t want to rush in to things,” or “making sudden changes can cause problems,” in reality this is a passive aggressive way to resist change because the idea of changing scares people. 

Change can be scary.  Change for the sake of change is not necessarily a good thing.  Change for the sake of improvement is a good thing.  When I talk to people about making changes, I usually hear something along the lines of “well, this is the way I’ve always done it and it’s worked so far.”  But is it really working?  A former manager of mine said this “do not mistake effort for results.”   Just because we are doing something that may have worked in the past does not guarantee continued results.   

What are you doing in your life?  Are you getting the results you want?  Maybe you are looking for a particular improvement in your life—your marriage, your job, your lifestyle, whatever it may be, but you aren't seeing the results you want.  Perhaps you should consider making a change in your approach.  

I’m reminded of a person I was talking to one day.  I was standing on their front porch talking to them and they made the statement that they wanted to stop smoking cigarettes, in fact, they said, that they had been trying for a month to stop smoking.  As they said this, they pulled a cigarette out and began to smoke.  I made this statement “Talking about change is not change.  Making changes is change.” 

Perhaps we should stop talking about making changes and make real changes in our lives.  

What's all this talk about a dress?

I have been seeing all these posts talking about a dress and what color it is.  Some of these posts have been very critical of the dress.  Some of them have been very opinionated about this dress.    I am starting to be concerned about the amount of attention that is being shown to this dress.  Let me ask you this question:  have you considered the dress’s feelings? 

How dare we label this dress as a color?  Does it really matter what color it is?  If it is blue or brown or purple or whatever…does it really matter?  Why do we have to define the dress as a color?  Who are we to objectify this dress as merely a color?  Why is it that the first thing we see about this dress is is its color?  No one comments on the material that makes up the dress or upon the touch of the Designer’s hands on this dress.  It’s all about the color.  For shame!

Furthermore, has anyone asked this “dress” if it self-identifies as a dress?  Perhaps the “dress” self-identifies as a pants suit, or a leisure suit, or a tuxedo, or perhaps a pair of blue jeans—I am so sorry, jeans.  Why do we feel like it is okay to typify this “dress” as a dress because it just happens to look like a dress?  We should feel terrible about the mental and emotional pain we have subjected this “dress” to because it just happens to look like a dress.

Isn't it time to stop the bullying?  This poor “dress” does not deserve to be the talk of social media, the nightly news, or anyone for that matter.  Can’t we just let the “dress” be?  Can’t we all just get along and leave our opinions to ourselves?  Oh, we are entitled to an opinion, but wouldn’t it be best for the “dress” if we just left those opinions to ourselves?  Hmm?  I think so. 

I have a solution.  If we must know what color the dress is, and even if it was meant to be a dress, we should ask the Designer.  The Designer of the dress will give us the final answer.  Surely the Designer would be willing to step up and answer the question.  Maybe we should just ask the Designer all the important questions we have.  Wouldn’t that be much simpler than having all these arguments about a dress?  

Yes, that was intended to be sarcastic and satirical.  But the question stands.  If you have basic questions about yourself, why don't you have a good long talk with our Designer and Creator?  He will give you the answers you are looking for.  But Tom, you say, I don't believe that we were created by God.  Just as that dress had a designer and a seamstress, you and I have a Creator.  And He is waiting to talk with you and me.  Can I encourage you to start a meaningful conversation with Him today?   He will listen and provide the answers you are searching for.