Cancer Done, Let The Testing Begin!

After having the tumor removed and making through chemotherapy, it is all over but the testing, lots and lots of testing.  Today was hopefully the last of one of the weirder set of tests I had to endure.  Today I had to see if, well, um, I still have swimmers.

They make a big deal out of telling you that you may be sterile after chemo.  But then they tell you dozens of stories of people who have fathered children after having this particular chemo (people like Lance Armstrong).  And I have heard lots of anecdotal evidence from people as well that have fathered children after chemo.  Today's test will tell me if I can be one of those people.  I am more than a little anxious about the results.  It is not a big deal either way, we have some frozen guys, I am just a little concerned (without any scientific basis) about freezer burn smelling babies.  Normally, I would be doing tons of internet research on the subject, like if you are sterile at first does it sometimes come back later on, and stuff like that.  This time, I just want to hear my results, which are two days away...a long two days away.  If I find out they are not swimming, then I will do research to see if they end up swimming later on.  But right now, I am just hoping to hear good news.

While checking in, some insurance info had changed since I made my "deposit" at the "bank" before surgery.  The nurse was asking me about my treatment and everything else, and I got a lot of "I'm sorry"s and "Oh, that's too bad"s and every time I explained why I didn't necessarily see them as a bad thing.  I think things happen for a reason, and as cancer goes, or even life, I am doing better than a lot of other people.  I can't complain.  The nurse said, "You sure have a way of putting a positive spin on everything."  Really?  What am I supposed to do?  I have said this before and I truly believe it, cancer is the one disease where attitude seems to really affect the prognosis.  My prognosis never was that I was going to die or anything, but my treatment could have gone smoother too.  But what good does it do to fret about it?  For someone in the medical field to be surprised that I am happy to be a unemployed cancer patient/survivor just shows that she doesn't comprehend how much better that is than being a victim of cancer.  I don't know why, but for some reason the whole exchange with her kind of bothered me.  About the only thing that was going to get my mind off of it was to look at a bunch of porn.  As luck would have it, she took me to a room to do just that!

This being my third visit, I felt like an old pro.  The bad thing is, it is the same "educational magazines" and "documentaries" as the other two times.  And someone really needs to learn some etiquette on magazine care and maintenance.  I don't remember the centerfolds being wadded up and shoved in the magazines last time I was in there, so I am assuming it was one guy who was in a real hurry with all of the centerfolds.  And who rips pages out of a magazine at the sperm bank?!?!  I mean, we all know what people are doing with those magazines.  They pretty much have that same purpose in the real world, but in this environment, that activity is their sole purpose.  I don't even like touching them to turn the pages (well, the pages you can turn) much less rip out a page and take it home with me?  And how do you get it home?  Are you going to walk through a hospital annex proudly waving your latest art acquisition?  Are you going to fold it up to hide it?  Won't the creases ruin it much like they ruined all the centerfolds?  And while I am on the subject of this type of material, I have never really been a connoisseur of the films.  Don't get me wrong, I have stumbled across the occasional one on Showtime or HBO late at night, but they are not near as in depth as these documentaries were.  And while the documentaries were running it dawned on me that the "hardcore" documentaries are really just horrible.  I am sure some people must appreciate them, but the one that was on the TV when I got in there today, didn't look like much fun for any of the parties involved, and there were an awful lot of parties involved.

At any rate, I was able to complete the test and after scrubbing all of the dirtiness off of me, walked out of the lab.  As you leave the hospital grounds, you have the weird sense of guilt that you are certain that everyone knows what you just finished doing and they are looking down on you.  I guess as far as tests go, it could have been worse.  I will take this over a colonoscopy or CATscan any day (although I think I did see those in one of the videos there).  I think other tests would be more tolerable if they provided dirty magazines.  I think I will take a few to my chest X-ray in a couple of weeks.  Maybe I should start slow and just bring a Paul Reed Smith Guitars catalog with me instead.

What Can Happy Meal Toys Buy For You...

So there are many reasons I haven't been able to keep up with this as much as in the past, but finally those are behind me so I should be back up to my daily installments.  First there was the trip to Florida and to see my parents that kept me from being able to write.  Next I received the latest seasonal plague going around.  I don't know if it was the flu or what, all I know is that night I went through all of the toilet paper in the house and then half of the Kleenex.  Finally, I had spent a lot of time on the internet selling stuff on ebay to people desperate to buy their family member some crappy item from their past that they really wanted and luckily the person buying it didn't realize it was just a crappy item and paid me too much to sell it to them.  Why was I selling stuff?  Well, it's something I do every year at this time, it's mainly just to clean out the house from stuff I never use.  However this time, I was saving up to buy an American made Paul Reed Smith with twenty four frets and double cutaways.  It wasn't going to be a new one, or a nice one, just whatever one I could afford.

Two days ago, we all sat around the Christmas tree in Missouri and I finished opening my presents earlier than everyone else.  I didn't think too much of it, except that I didn't get the tools my father said he spent a lot of money on.  Then he came around the corner with an American made Paul Reed Smith with double cutaways and twenty four frets.  I was hoping it was for me, because if someone else had asked for it too and they got one and I didn't I would be really ticked!  It was for me though!  It was a much nicer and newer one than I could afford, in fact it was a model that wasn't even on my radar because of how nice it was.  I knew I wouldn't be able to afford this model selling twenty year old broken laptops and McDonald's Happy Meal toys on the internet.

Me and the new Paul Reed Smith have been spending a lot of time together since we got home.  So much that I may have to cut today's entry short because my fingers are sore.  My family chipped in to buy me this not only as a Christmas present, but as a symbol that all of this cancer stuff is over.  And in some ways, I do feel like I am over all of it.  But, I still haven't healed from surgery completely (well I really just keep re-injuring it) and I have years of tests.  Part of going through chemo was having the peace of mind that I more than likely won't have anything to worry about, but cancer is a very scary word, and one you have had it, it is never completely out of your mind.  However, I do know when I hold that Paul Reed Smith I am not thinking about cancer at all!  I am thinking about how my family made a very big gesture and bought me a very nice present and how important it is to live your life and love your family and...OK, I will admit it, I am really just thinking, "Man this thing feels and sounds good!!!"

The ironic thing about all of this is that my father and I have had long conversations about which model I wanted and what I was looking for.  I kept mentioning one model over and over again, not because it was my dream model, just because it was the only model I would be able to afford.  I had described in depth the qualities of the model I had told myself was the only one within my reach.  This was not the model they had already bought me.  They had purchased a much nicer model with much nicer features.  So, the weeks leading up to Christmas they are worried that I am not going to like the really nice guitar they bought me, because it isn't the cheapest American made PRS that I had planned on buying with my own money.  It has taken much convincing that I am not disappointed in the least.  The more I play it, the more I am glad they found this one for me and I didn't spend so much money for a lesser quality model.

Now, part of the deal with the gift was that I am supposed to shut up about wanting an American made Paul Reed Smith with twenty four frets and double cutaways.  I have been trying to think of something else I can cancer-boy-look my way into getting, but I think I have already cashed in that card.  And although it may not quite have the effect they were wanting of being an official end to all of this cancer stuff (since I still have years of testing), it certainly has a way of making me forget cancer, and the trials of the past few months, and my spouse, and food, and...you get the idea.  Well, I should probably get off of here, I have been ignoring my new guitar for about 45 minutes now and she is probably wondering where I am.

Limping Through EPCOT

So towards the end of our Florida journey, we head over to EPCOT for my 40th birthday.  Yes you read that correctly, I know I don't look a day over 25.  We had to transport two basenjis and a shiba inu to Disney's kennels for the day and we decided the best plan is to open up the third row seating on the Highlander where the girls can sit and we'll lay day the second row for a play/rest area for the three pups.  The plan worked really well.  The best part of the plan was that with the guys in the very front (someone has to drive) and the girls in the very back, we could turn up the radio and pretend we couldn't hear them.  I think they caught on to us pretty quickly though and just decided to go to sleep.

Once we arrived at EPCOT, I get out my hiking stick and put everything in my pockets so I didn't have to have anything checked by security, which wasn't such a great plan when everyone else I was with had a bag.  Then my wife realized she forgot something in the car, and since I was the only one without a bag, they decided to send the cripple to hike back while they went through bag screening.  I hobbled back to meet them just in time and we enter the park.

For those who have never been to Disney, or haven't been in a while, they have a new "What are you celebrating?" campaign, where you can say you are celebrating anything and they will write it on buttons and give them to you for free.  While everyone else used the restrooms, I went to get us buttons.  I told them I was celebrating my first cancer free birthday.  The "Cast Member's" eyes lit up (remember, Disney doesn't have employees, they have "Cast Members") and he said he had something special for me.  After several minutes of searching through his little kiosk, turns out the "special" thing was writing "cancer free" on a button.  Now I am dying to know what I missed out on.  Of course I didn't know I was missing out on anything until he started searching forever for it.  While he was writing on buttons for our group, the gentleman behind me, who apparently randomly lines up anytime he sees a queue, asks why we were waiting in line (a question normally asked before you wait long enough to be the next person up).  I tell him, and he immediately tells one of his children to lie and say it's their birthday.  You could tell them you are celebrating the first Friday in December and they would write it down.  You just paid $80 to get in the place, what is a ten cent button to them?  The Cast Member looks at my stick, and can tell I am already limping.  He asks if I would like anything, and as much as I would love to tool around in a scooter the rest of the day or have people push me around in a wheelchair, I stick by my vow to walk the whole day.  To illustrate my point from yesterday about how ridiculous people get there with lying about needing a wheelchair just to cut in line, I saw someone on their rented scooters in those "shape-ups" shoes that give you a workout while you walk.  Either she wasted money on buying workout shoes that would never see pavement, or she is the worst liar ever (aside from everyone in the Senate, the House, and every other nationally elected official, and state elected official, and local elected official, and school board member, and treasurer for my junior class, and the people that sell the Shake Weight).

We started riding the rides at EPCOT, which are for the most part pretty tame.  However, that didn't keep one member of our group from being scared to death on every one.  It's not like a Disney ride ever killed anyone...well, at least not a ride at EPCOT....well, at least none of the rides we were riding at EPCOT.  And then I got to do something so geeky and lame, but I had been wanting to do it forever.  I took the Behind the Seeds tour!  Yes, for an hour I wobbled through a giant version of my Aerogardens while I listened to a Cast Member/Botanist talk about plants growing.  I admit I am a nerd, and that is why I didn't force anyone to go with me.  I found it really interesting, but I am sure no one else will, so I will keep my mouth shut (or my fingers still in this case).  Also on the tour was a couple who were both neurologists from Massachusetts.  They saw my pin and before the tour we had a great time talking about my recovery and the medical system in general.  They were definitely doctors, because as we walked along the tour, I tended to lag behind so I could wobble with my stick at my own pace, looking like some pre-polio vaccine Disney character.  They were constantly watching me and looking out for me, and at one point asked if I was OK.  When I said I was, they said they are used to patients like me and they could tell I was in pain even though I said I wasn't, and to just say something if I wanted their help.  I laughed out loud, because they were right!

The tour ended and I met back with the others.  The whole day, I was awash with emotions.  On one hand I was extremely happy, because I was at the happiest place on Earth.  Well, I guess they mean the Magic Kingdom is the happiest place on Earth, but I was still pretty happy being next door to the happiest place on Earth, which is still pretty happy, unless the place next door happens to be SeaWorld, and then you are trying to figure out why you paid $300 a person for a smelly old whale.  Anyway, I was happy, and was also on the verge of tears because when all of this started on August 31st, I didn't know what this day would end up being for me.  I was depressed too.  I didn't want cancer to still have as much a grip on me as it did.  I mean, I was cancer free, but I was still trying to shake the pain and the effects of the treatment.  And most of all, I was in excruciating pain.  So, my loving wife, after 10 years of being around each other, sees the look on my face.  She sees the whirlwind of emotions, the happiness, the depression, the joy of being alive, and intense pain all written on my face and asks, "Why are you pissed off?"  The one emotion I don't have and that is the one she reads on my face!  We ended the day, and I managed to keep the pain of my incision steady all day, which was surprising.  Of course my arm felt like rubber from supporting my weight with my stick all day, but it did the trick.

The next day we ran a few last errands, buying oranges and coconut elephant windchimes, and on that last day, the two of us finally went to the beach.  This trip was nothing like I had planned.  The car broke down, my triumphant return from cancer ended in re-injury, only made it to the beach twice, and we had to change Disney parks.  But still, just like the old fisherman's phrase goes, a bad day in Florida is still better than a good winter day in Ohio.  I did enjoy myself.  I knew when I first got diagnosed this whole cancer ordeal was going to leave some emotional scars.  I just didn't realize how deep they were and how little things can trigger a flood of feelings.  I also didn't realize how much this constant pushing to be done with all of this cancer crap was just making it last longer.  I hope I am finally starting to be done with all of this, but I think I will throw my stick in the back of my Jeep just in case...

Letters to Santa: A Christmas Bonus Blog!

As I was packing up some stuff I sold on ebay and wadding up newspapers for padding, I ran across the page of "Letters to Santa" from third graders.  Some of them had me laughing, and I thought I would share.

Dear Santa,
I would like to borrow Dasher this year....
Your Friend, 
Gavin


Um, we live in rural Ohio.  If I were Santa, I would wear hunter orange and be leery of anyone wanting to "borrow" a reindeer.  I am afraid that might be like a drunk "renting beer".

Dear Santa,
I would like a laptop please and a bolt action rifle 300, and a nerf shotgun and a mini motorcycle and a real four wheeler.  And the new nerf gun.  Can you please wake me up when you come please?
Your buddy,
Isaac


If I were you Santa, I wouldn't wake him up.  Especially after you have armed him and given him an all-terrain vehicle.  And this Christmas list is exactly why I suggest you don't loan a reindeer to Gavin, especially if he lives next to Isaac.

Dear Santa,
Can I have some meat for Cisy?  Can I have some bones for Rundy?  Can I have a toy mouse with a bell for my cat?  Can I have a 3ft. long bone for Cisy?  Can I have a 3in. pizza bone?  One more thing can I have a chew toy pencil of Roundy?
Love, 
Emily


Oh please dear God please let all those things Emily listed be for pets.

Dear Santa,
I want a trampolene.  I want a pet goldfish, and a dog...
Your friend,
Dylan


A trampoline, a goldfish, and a dog...not a good combination.  I don't see this ending well.

Dear Santa,
I would like...a new toy robot that when you push the heart a little part comes open. and there is an egg inside with her baby in it.....
Your friend,
Rosie


Damn! I have no idea what you are talking about, but I WANT ONE TOO!!!

Dear Santa,
Can you please bring me...and one more thing lots of sun chips. cheesy king.  You are the best.  If I get all of this stuff for Christmas...
Your friend, 
Emma


Sun Chips?!?!  Set your sights a little higher, Emma!  Did you see that bitchin' heart-pushing-egg-laying-baby-robot thing Rosie wants?  THAT is what you ask for.  Besides, does Santa look like a guy that knows what Sun Chips are?

Dear Santa,
...you go down the chimney.  I will never see you in person.  I don't like that.  Can I see you 1 time when you were giving out candy on the streets for donations....I'd love a ring and a phone and passing the 3rd grade also.  For Christmas I please want an ipod and $100...
Your friend,
Grace


If I were you Santa, I would give her whatever she wants.  I am not aware of any mafia-types in this area, but she sure talks like she is "connected".  How many kids do you know that ask Santa to fix third grade and then pay "tribute" money?

Dear Santa,
...Please help the needy and homeless before you come to me.  Can I have a new skateboard, water-gun and gun, and Ipod?  That's not all.  I want a golf cart, and a art set with paper and clay....oh and can you change my hair to blue and red.
Your friend,
Alyssa


Well, she did ask him to help the needy first.  Although that poor homeless kid that wakes up with blue and red hair is going to be pissed!

Dear Santa,
I would like an Xbox 360 for Christmas.  I don't want much.  If you can give me that I'll be very happy and maybe even a laptop and ten games for the xbox 360.  That would be all.  Thank you!
Your friend,
William


William, we started out good, but you started getting a little greedy towards the end...

Dear Santa,
...I have been a good girl.  Please can I have the toys?  Can you please stop at my house?
Your friend,
Abby


Hmmm, either Abby hasn't been quite the good girl she says she has or her family is Jewish.

Dear Santa,
I would like to have a full size blue racing four wheeler for Christmas...
Your friend,
Hunter


He's in third grade, Santa.  He can't ride a full size four wheeler.  Just drop that thing at my house.

Dear Santa,
I would like a horse please...Santa Claus, please give to all the kids all over the world so all the kids are happy so they don't cry, like the song you better not cry Santa Claus is coming to town.  I would like a barn for the horse...
Your friend,
Elicia


Apparently Elicia's parents tried to edit her letter by giving her the old we-don't-have-anywhere-to-put-a-horse speech.  But Elicia already thought about that.  Well played, Elicia!  Well played!

Dear Santa, 
I want an i pod for Christmas.  I also want an ipod and a laptop.  I want a girl teen.  I want a cotton candy machine....I also want a cupcake maker.  I also want a phone that had minutes, games, and internet...
Your friend,
Autumn


Hey Santa, this is Tom.  Ditto on Autumn's list for me, too.

Dear Santa,
For Christmas this year, I want makeup.
Your friend,
Becca


Not a good sign for a third grader.  At least her name's not Candy, Bambi, or Cinnamon.

Dear Santa,
For Christmas this year I want makeup and a necklace.
Your friend,
Desiree


I still think you are too young for this, but at least you are getting the jewelry up front.


Dear Santa, 
I've been good this year.  I would like a wrestling man for Christmas.  Thank you for the toys!
Your friend,
De'Vonta


De'Vonta, have you been hanging around Becca and Desiree?

Dear Santa,
Would you please get me a babby doll and a ring?
Your friend,
Madison


See De'Vonta, Desiree, and Becca?  That's how it's supposed to work.  Get the ring, then the baby, and you won't have to worry about make-up or wrestling men.


Dear Santa,
I want a sling shot for Christmas.  I will need balls to go with it.
Your friend,
Natey


Natey, I know where you're coming from, brother.

Dear Santa,
For Christmas this year I want a BB gun a pellet gun.
Your friend,
M.R.


Good thinking "M.R."!   When asking for weapons and you know it's getting printed in the newspaper, it's best not to give your real name.

Dear Santa,
I want you to be my present for Christmas so I can have lots of presents.
Your friend,
Makenna


Brilliant move Makenna!  If you OWN the toy czar, then you own all of his toys too.  Makenna, you evil genius!

Dear Santa,
I want a phone.  I will cry if you won't get me one.
Your friend,
Grace


Apparently Grace and my wife think alike...

Dear Santa,
How are you?  I have been good this year.  I would like a DS and a ball.  Thank you.
Your friend,
Ethan


I like Ethan's style.  A short concise letter.  He asks for one thing high tech expensive thing and one cheap old fashioned thing.  Way to mix it up, Ethan!

Dear Santa,
I've been good this year.  I would like my two front teeth for Christmas.  Thank you!
Love, 
Evan


Apparently Evan knows this is just a school assignment and want's the easy A.

Dear Santa, 
Would you please get me a princess crown?
Your friend,
Aubree


Stay away from this one fellas.  I know you're only in third grade, but trust me on this.  You boys will thank me when you hit high school.

Dear Santa,
How are you?  I have been good this year.  I would like a guitar and a monster truck.  Thank you!
Your friend,
Cody


Who wants to bet Cody is already rockin' a third grade mullet?

Dear Santa, 
...I would like a guitar and a gun and playdoh.  Thank you.
Your friend,
Peyton


Maybe he makes targets out of the playdoh?  I wonder if his last name is Nugent?

Dear Santa,
Thank you for the funny glasses that you gave me last year.  This year I would like a playstation 3.
Love,
Ian


In other words, enough with the gag gifts, Santa.  Start making with the big boy toys!

Dear Santa,
...I would like a necklace.  I will be asleep when you come.  Do you have snow?  Do you love me?  
Love, 
Brooklyn 


Asks for jewelry, then asks if he loves her.  I think I used to date this girl...

Apparently a lot has changed since I wrote my last "Santa" letter.  Santa if you are listening, I would like to remain cancer free, a kick ass job where I don't have to actually do anything but get paid a lot, and an American made Paul Reed Smith with 24 frets and double cutaways.
Thanks Santa,
One Nut Tommy

Still Hurting But Still Going...

The day after tearing my incision point for the umpteenth time in Florida, I could barely move.  We decided to hook up with our friends and head over to the Drive-In Church.  This was originally a drive-in movie theater that they converted to a church and broadcast over your radio.  We saw it on TV and it looked cool, plus you can take your dogs to church with you!  We pulled into the lot and they had taken down the screen and put up a regular church, nothing like we saw on TV.  We drove around the lot until we saw a small section labeled for the "drive-in" congregation and it told us what station to tune to.  We could barely hear it in our Highlander, it was coming in, but hard to hear over the static.  Our friends heard it fine in their Jeep and they were farther away.  So, we moved to the closest spot, they moved in again next to us.  We still had trouble hearing, but our friends heard it just fine, confirming my theory that God loves Jeeps and doesn't pay attention to Toyotas.  I will be releasing a research paper on that subject in a few months.  After straining to hear God through the Jeep next to us, we realized we were the only ones a part of the drive-in part of the congregation and decided to leave.  My wife wanted to take the basenjis to see the person that had originally rescued them, and I wanted to do anything but talk about nothing but basenjis for the next four hours, so the men went back to town while the women headed up for some "pup chat".

After I got home, I realized we still hadn't gone grocery shopping and I was carless, so I ate pizza for the third day in a row.  I decided to slide into the pool and do a little rehab on my recent injury.  The pool hadn't had time to heat up yet and this is when I realized, whether you have two nuts or one, you still scream like a little girl when your nether region hits cold pool water.  I was able to walk around a bit without pain.  Luckily, from my sedentary lifestyle from months of cancer recovery, I was much more buoyant than I usually am, taking more weight off of my hips/incision as I exercised.

After my wife returned with the car, she asked if I would like to do the grocery shopping since I have been cooped up so much with working on the car and being injured.  At this point I had been in Florida for 96 hours and still not made it to the beach, so I decided to just drive by the beach on the way to get groceries.  I start to go across the causeway over to the island beaches when a fire truck flew by, then another, then another, and a host of cops and as I got close to finally seeing the ocean...they all blocked off the road.  Just my luck this trip!  I make it inside Wal-Mart and grab a cart, half for groceries and half to lean on as I walk.  The place is empty and I am able to walk slowly without hurting too much and not worry about impeding any crazed bargain hunters.  Towards the end, I can tell if I do much more I will be hurting myself worse, so I head back to the house.

The next few days are spent walking with my hiking stick (I refuse to call it a cane!) around the local nature park with the dogs.  I could feel it slowly getting better, but I knew I was walking that thin line (pun not intended) of getting stronger and making things worse.  By Wednesday morning, I decided to head out to the local flea market (with a real farmer's market) and look around.  The place seems a lot bigger when you are having trouble walking.  The hiking stick my wife got me has a removable disc that you use for soft terrain like sand, which I left on for the time being, that makes it look more like a ski pole.  While wobbling and dragging myself through the place one of the booth owners decided he would be funny and asked if I was going skiing.  Hurting, depressed, and tired, I just said, "No, it's cancer."
The guy's face went blank and he said, "Sorry, sir."
I know it wasn't the nicest thing to do, but I wasn't in the mood for jokes at this point.  Then I hear the same guy say another comment in the same smart tone to the gentleman behind me.  I can't make out what the booth owner asked him, I just heard the other guy say, "No, my wife just passed away."
"Sorry, sir."
I am hoping the booth owner quit trying to joke with his patrons, because I don't want to hear what the next guy would say.

By Thursday I have built up a little stamina on my injury and my wife really wanted me to hit Disney in some form.  Now before you say, "Aw, that's sweet."  It's because she said I would complain until I was 50 if I didn't get to go for my 40th birthday.  She may be right.  She also made the point that since we were fixing to make the eighteen hour drive back home, I might as well tear the heck out of my incision doing something I love, because I would be just sitting around the next few days anyway.  We ran through our options.  First I was NOT going to be one of those jerks in the wheelchairs.  I am not talking about people who need wheelchairs or scooters, I am talking about the people that have never been in a wheelchair in their life until they get to Walt Disney World, but as soon as they get there, their ingrown toenail becomes unbearable and they need a wheelchair so they can get on all of the rides quicker.  After being around my father-in-law that frequently used a wheelchair, I know how much people who really are in wheelchairs prefer their wheelchair.  His was set up, adjusted, and padded just for him.  So, when I see someone in a wheelchair that was rented from Disney for the day, I immediately give them the old stink eye and try to fart as they and their party of 17 other people they brought with them, cut past me in line.  I didn't want to be one of "those people" or get farted on by people like me. 

Our other decision was, as much as I love the Magic Kingdom, I knew I couldn't handle the hills there (as small as they are).  I wouldn't be able to get in and out of a lot of the rides.  And there are a lot of rides I simply wouldn't be able to do because they would jostle me around too much.  After thinking about all four parks, their rides and their terrain, we settle on EPCOT.  It may be the most walking, but it is fairly flat, the rides are easy to get in and out of, there are only a couple I won't be able to handle, and there is a special tour I would like to do there.  We run it by our friends and they decide they would like to join us, and we make plans to tear my body up the next day!

Head-Sized Donuts and Abdominal Pain

So, while in Florida, after we fixed the car, I was ready to get on with my post-cancer life.  We started our Saturday by grabbing the dogs, meeting our friends and heading to the "Farmers' Market".  I think there were five farmers and the rest were just people on the street selling crap and fried food (two of my favorite things).  Maybe I misunderstood the idea and it was just that their last name was "Farmer".  At any rate, the Farmers' Market had Amish selling donuts as big as your head (kind of a Pennsylvania Dutch version of La Bamba's).  One donut was enough to fill you up very quickly, so our one friend bought six of them.  I don't know what he plans on doing with all of them either, maybe float down the Manatee River on a couple (they are that big).  We were all having a good day.  The dogs were having a good day.  Daisy the rescue basenji was still jumping at everything, but she seemed to be having a good time too.  

Later on in the day, before the sun went down, we all decided to take a walk to the dog park.  I was a little sore from the day before rolling around under the Toyota trying to figure out how on God's green Earth that little part is worth $500.  But what's a little pain here or there?  We're enjoying the Florida sun!  We all take off together and the non-abused dogs and their handlers take off at their normal speed- drag.  Me and Daisy sniffed and cowered along behind as I tried to coax her to keep up.  

Then I felt it.  My familiar and unwelcome foe.  I think the best way I can describe what it feels like at this point is to take a Ziploc bag and slowly unzip it.  Imagine feeling that sensation along your waistline.  I find myself not pushing Daisy to keep up.  Then I find myself trying to get her to slow down.  Everyone seems to be having so much fun, I don't want to say anything and ruin it.  But, my wife looks at me and she can tell.  Every step feels like I am going to tear myself wide open again.  The doctor said I should be about healed.  BUT he also said there is no way to speed the healing of the area I keep tearing.  And there is no way to stitch that area.  In other words, I have to keep walking like an 80 year old one-legged man on an icy sidewalk until it heals completely.  The dog park is within sight, but seems like it moves farther and farther away with each step.  The last few steps seem like they take forever, but I can see a picnic table inside the fence like my little oasis in the desert and I push myself to get there to sit down.  

One of our friends very graciously decides to run home quickly and bring a car back for my lame butt (well, technically the other side, but you know what I mean).  Me and scaredy dog, jump in and ride back to the house and wait for the girls and the other dogs.  The horrible thing about rehurting my incision is there isn't a darn thing you can do about it.  Every step you feel it pull a little more and a little more, each movement compounding the damage from the last, but what are you supposed to do?  It's so frustrating.  The only thing to do is to do nothing.  My wife keeps urging me to take painkillers, because she can tell how much it is bothering me, but the last thing I want to do at this point is mask the pain.  If I am tearing it more, I want to know so I can stop doing it!

After everyone arrives back at our friends', I grab our two dogs and take the now working Toyota back to the house we are staying at.  I also beg my wife to stop by a sporting goods store and get me one of those hiking stick thingys, so I may be able to walk upright sometime in the future.  That night, my wife, the two basenjis, and I are all dead tired.  We make our way to the bedroom and collapse.  They all immediately fall asleep, I am dead tired, in excruciating pain, and wide awake.  It could be from the sound of two chainsaws and a lawnmower running in the bedroom (how can two little dogs and my wife snore that loud!?!?), but it's not.  It my frustration with this cancer crap.

Months ago, when I was asked if I would like to go down and use this house, I set a goal in my mind that this would be twelve days that I would be free of cancer's grip.  The first two days I was dealing with a broken car, and now I feel like I am back in the same state of crippled health I was before chemo.  We are supposed to visit Walt Disney World later on in the week, and I know there is no possible way I can wander around in this state.  I walk out on to the screened in porch about 2:30 am.  It's about 65', the stars are out, you can smell the salt in the sea breeze, and I sit on the edge of the pool.  I sit there thinking about everything. I sit there thinking that every time I feel I am done with all of this, something happens that takes me back into recovery.  I think how my plan was to have beaten all of this weeks ago.  I think how none of my plans have really gone the way they were supposed to since my diagnosis and I am tired of not being in control.  I think...I think I'm crying, so now I think I am a big baby crying on the edge of the pool in the middle of the night.  I know I shouldn't be, but this cancer business has had a stranglehold on me since August 31st, telling me what I was going to be able to do, and when, and how, and if, and I am tired of being in its grip.  I thought I was stronger than cancer when all of this started, and although I have beaten the cancer, I am still fighting the  treatments.  Surgery, tests, chemo, injuries from surgery, something is constantly reminding me that cancer may not be in my body, but is still firmly in control and I am getting too weary to fight.

I finally get cold sitting outside in my shorts in 60' degree weather (what I wouldn't give to be sitting in that weather right now!) and go back in.  I sit on the couch for a bit and finally get tired enough to sleep.  In a few hours we need to get up to go to the drive-in church we saw on TV.  I could use a little divine intervention about now, so I am looking forward to it.  

Thanksgiving Fiasco, the Day After...

If you didn't read my last post, the last time we checked in with our hero (me) he was stranded in Florida with a leaky transmission cooler on Thanksgiving.  Let's see where he ended up...

The most I could do that Thanksgiving day, was surf on my phone for some prices of transmission coolers, call family and have them search on-line for transmission coolers, and chat with a Toyota dealer that was surprisingly working on Thanksgiving...if you want to buy a car, but not if you are looking for a transmission cooler.  The nice lady did take my information and say that someone would call me first thing the next day.  It's been four weeks, I will let you know when they call.  We found plenty of decently priced upgrades on-line for our Toyota, which would have been easy to install had we been at my house where I had the tools to do the modifications for the mounting.  What I was able determine on-line is that no one makes a stock replacement for that part, except Toyota.

We decide that this is supposed to be my triumphant return to a non-cancer influenced life, and if we can get the car fixed for under $500, we will let the dealership do it, otherwise I will handle it.  First thing Friday, I made sure my phone was on, because the dealer I chatted with was open, but I hadn't received a call yet.  So, I called them.  They politely told me they didn't have the part, and that was pretty much the end of that.  I called the next closest Toyota dealer, who was a lot more helpful.  They searched the whole state to find one for me and came up with one an hour away.  What a relief!  Oh, and by the way, it was almost $500 for the part alone.  Guess I better find the tools....

So I came up with a plan, my wife and our friend that lives down there would run and get the part while I tore the Highlander apart waiting for the replacement transmission cooler.  They would return soon, and I would slap in the part, we would breathe a sigh of relief, and everything would be right in the world and I could resume my non-cancer influenced celebration.

My wife also came up with a plan, that I didn't know about.  Her and our friend would go pick up the part, stopping at every Black Friday sale between Sarasota and Pinellas Park on the way, and stopping at any they missed on the way back.

I worked on my plan...

They bought shoes.  I waited around, getting hungry.  They bought more shoes.  I was hoping they would bring lunch home with the part any minute now.  They called and said they just made it to the dealership.  I secretly ordered pizza.  They ate...well, I don't really care where they ate, I was starving, my pizza was good, I don't care if I get in trouble for ordering too much, that's what you do when you are hungry and you haven't been able to get groceries because your car broke down as soon as you got there and even if you wanted to drive somewhere close to get something you can't because the whole front end of the car is off and so you are stuck!!!!  (Whew!  Yes, I know that is a run-on sentence, but it expresses how I was feeling.)  The ladies did find their way back and called to ask if I wanted lunch.  I said, "No, let's just get this done."  We quickly slap the part on and all of the snap-on body panels that I busted my remaining ball trying to take off without breaking were...well, a snap to put back on.  The whole thing went together surprisingly quick and the car was good as new!  Just as we are both admiring my work, and I am thinking I will get away with the "pizza incident" so long as she never looks in the fridge, the neighbor that loaned me some tools comes over to make sure we're OK, and asks how the pizza was.  DAMMIT!!  My cover was blown.  And then she went in and stole two pieces of my remaining pizza...and breadsticks!!!

So, slight setback, but now we were OK to resume my normal life...or so I thought....

I'M BACK AND STILL MANAGING TO HURT MYSELF!!!

I took a little sabbatical to take a trip down south.  A good friend has a nice home in Florida that he routinely let's me borrow, and he said it would be a good place to recuperate from all that has happened the past few months, a good place to get my mind on other things.  He said a lot more too, but I quit listening after "Do you wanna go to Florida?".  OK, that's not true, this friend has truly been a rock over the past few months, and our weekly harassing of Cracker Barrel waitresses followed by wrestling over the check (figuratively, not literally, I am still not healed enough for that) is something I look forward to every week.

So, the day after my last blog, I had a million things to do, like remember to pack the computer so I could blog while I was gone (and we see how well that worked).  I had to finish my packing while my wife was at work, gather everything up, and being my overthinking, contingency plan making self, I had to prepare for every eventuality that may befall the house and my mother-in-law (mainly the house) in our absence.  From fire to flood to volcano I thought of everything....but snow, heck we were going to be in Florida, what did I care?  Luckily, she was able to find where I stashed the snow shovels.  So anyway, while I was preparing for our trip, I was getting out the fishing poles, bikes, bike rack, etc. which required me to open up my shop.  I have been staying out of my shop, mainly because I have managed to hurt myself about every time that I have been in there since my surgery, and I am really not cleared yet to resume hurting myself again (not hurting my incision but my normal hurting myself where I come down bruised or bleeding or missing a limb and can't remember exactly when or what happened).  As soon as my mother-in-law saw the doors to my shop opened, she assumed this meant I was well enough to be in there, and therefore brought out the Chicago-phonebook-sized list that she had been waiting to give me.  Besides putting me way behind schedule, somewhere around the "T"s of the honey-do list, I felt my incision starting to...well, the best way to explain it is it's like opening a Ziploc bag, except Ziploc bags don't normally result in excruciating pain.  As I started to feel the unzipping, I tried to take it as easy as I could and still get through the rest of the alphabet on the to do list.  After all, the next day would be seventeen hours of driving, hopefully that would help me to heal.

Our plan was to go to bed really early and start out really early on Wednesday before Thanksgiving, neither of those things happened.  We did eventually get on the road and our great adventure began.  Walking the dogs on the road was a lot more interesting when one basenji wants to be both Lewis and Clark with a little bit of Sir Edmund Hillary at every pitstop and the other dog is afraid of everything from semis with their engine brakes, to cars with squeaky wheels, to wind blowing through the grass, to bee flatulence (although to be fair, I am afraid of that too, nothing reeks like a stale honey fart).  The result is one dog is dislocating my shoulder while the other one is scared shitless, literally, as in too scared to go, which is a problem when the main point of walking the dogs is to for that very act to occur.

This trip was originally supposed to be my 40th Birthday Spectacular, a week long celebration of Tom at Walt Disney World.  When I was laid off, those plans were in jeopardy.  When I got cancer, those plans were questionable.  When we got the hospital and chemo bills, those plans went out the window.  And that is why I am so thankful to my friend for offering up the house.  We certainly weren't planning on affording a Florida trip right now.  But ever since he made the offer, I decided this would be my triumphant return!  I am as cancer free as a cancer patient gets, because it's hard to really feel cancer free when the oncologists keep asking you to come back every three months to see if you have any cancer.  I had planned to run a 5K, ride on a group ride, go to the beach everyday, swim in the pool everyday, feel better, lose weight, and definitely enjoy one day at the Magic Kingdom.  So, that is when I found myself in the dark of night, driving through southern Georgia with my wife and the basenjis asleep in the back seat, when I started to tear up.  For all intents and purposes it was over.  Yeah, I still have years of tests, and don't know if I have any "swimmers" after chemo (that test is this week, I hope they have new magazines or videos), but the hard part is done, and I won the fight, I won the battle, and I am on the way to winning the war.  This was the first time I had let myself even entertain the thought that I was done with this cancer stuff, and the emotions were overwhelming me.  I felt like I was finally able to let go of some all of the uncertainty and stress of the past few months, while I was all alone in the dark with my thoughts...and those deer.  That's when I snapped back to reality, that although a lot of stress in my life is gone, I am still traveling down the road at night at 75 miles per hour.

The trip all in all wasn't too bad, we even made it through Atlanta fine.  Atlanta to Macon is a different story, about extra hour long story to be exact, but we made it to the Florida home just fine, albeit about eight hours from our original target time.  We hastily unpacked the car and I walked the dogs and started settling in while my wife got groceries.  We had a quick 2am supper and collapsed into bed, ready to meet some friends that live down there now the next day for Thanksgiving.

My wife picked up the last of the items we need for Thanksgiving dinner that morning and headed out to the garage to drive over to our friends' house to help them with cooking the turkey.  She comes back in saying there was a small puddle under the car.  I had just done an oil change before our trip, perhaps I hadn't tightened something all the way.  I walked into the garage and froze.  The puddle was not under anything I worked on during the oil change.  And the puddle was not the color of anything I worked on.  It was blood red.  I was thinking, "Please let it be a dead animal, please let it be a dead animal, please let it be a dead animal...", yeah, I know that is not a nice thought to think, but even pulling a half-dead gator out from under the car would be cheaper and easier than what that problem really was...transmission fluid.

I have been in this position before.  I travel with enough tools to get myself through most minor emergency repairs.  Of course nothing transmission related is minor, but unlike losing a fuel pump on Key West, this time I had a garage, access to a lot more tools, eleven days to solve my problem, and friends willing to cart us around (heck they loaned us their Jeep!).  I tracked it down to a transmission cooler, and started reading up on what I would have to do to replace it.  The problem, it's Thanksgiving, I will have to wait 24 very long hours before I will find out how much this part is going to cost me and how far away that part is.  And I think I will make you wait 24 hours as well, as I will pick up the story from here tomorrow.

We Really Need To Find A Cure For Testicular Cancer By November

I have been participating in Movember for three weeks now.  For those that aren't familiar with Movember, the short version is that you grow a horrible, conversation starting mustache by being clean shaven on November 1st.  When someone asks you about your horrible, conversation starting "Mo" you take the opportunity to talk about men's unmentionables...specifically cancers affecting their unmentionables.  Through Movember.com you can also support men growing a Mo with a donation and the money goes to organizations that deal with the aforementioned unmentionable cancers, such as Lance Armstrong's Livestrong Foundation.  All in all it is a good cause, but I hate my Mo!

I really don't see how cops, firefighters, old ladies, and perverts do it.  I have never tried growing a mustache before, and I don't think I ever will again...until next Movember.  For God's sake, we have eleven months to find a cure to prostate and testicular cancer, someone please find a cure so I don't have to grow a Mo again next year...and I don't lose my lone remaining nut, that's pretty important to me too, I guess.

My Mo, although still thin and scrawny, is now becoming long and uneven.  It looks like a cross between a thirteen year old's and Wilford Brimley's.  It is to the point where a few ambitious whiskers are starting to touch my actual lip, making it feel like a bug is constantly trying to sneak into my mouth, making it impossible to distinguish between the actual bugs sneaking into my mouth.  Plus it is getting just thick enough to be absorbent, but not uniformly so.  I take a drink of something...OK Pepsi, and there are random wet patches across my upper lip.  Eat something sugary and/or sticky (which is pretty much my whole diet) and now you have all sorts of dynamic forces acting upon your Mo.

These aren't the only drawbacks, my wife won't even kiss me anymore, saying my Mo pokes her, but the dogs haven't complained one bit (but they are basenjis, so they don't make much noise at all).  In my wife's defense, she stopped kissing me a long time ago, I mean we have been married for nine long, long, long, long, long, long, long years, but this is a new excuse for her. 

The thing is just out there collecting dirt.  I feel like a humpback whale, partly because I am going through life filtering out plankton through my Mo, but also because I move slow, feel like one of the largest mammals on Earth, and ever since my surgery I walk all hunched over.  There is a reason mustaches are nicknamed "crumb catchers", because they are just out there scooping up everything they come in contact with, like lip Velcro.  Food, beverages, dust, spider eggs, toothpaste from aggressive brushing, wayward boogers, paper clips (long story), everything gets caught in it!

For nine more days I will tough it out.  I will never take for granted the ability to sit on the toilet half asleep and run the electric razor randomly over my face, I just have to be awake enough to avoid eyebrows.  At least my Mo is serving it's purpose, it has me complaining about it, and when people ask why I don't just shave it off, I can explain the purpose behind it.  So, support the Mo Bros!  The world will be a better place if there is no reason to grow Mo's next Movember.

Tommy's Big Day Out, Where He Saw A Real Live (Gassy) Baby

Yesterday I had lunch with two more friends.  The one brought her children, including her baby that was born just before I started chemo, so I haven't seen the baby since.  Let the record show that I was brave enough to hold the baby the day she was born.  I was asked if I wanted to hold the baby yesterday, and I declined.  I returned the baby unbroken last time, and didn't feel like pushing my luck.

I am learning a lot about babies with all of my friends that are popping them out left and right.  The only thing I haven't been learning is how to create them as easy as everyone else seems to be able to.  One thing that I supposedly learned is that babies can be gassy.  This is one of those things I didn't need to know.  I am a little suspicious about this one.  I don't think baby farts can make that much noise, especially when it is muffled by a diaper, tights, dress, blanky, another blanky, another blanky, all in a travel seat.  I am more inclined to believe that it was produced by the friend sitting across from me who didn't have near the sound deadening material that the baby did.  If it truly was the baby, I would hate to hear what it would sound like if the baby was going commando.

And from what I can tell, babies are very fragile, which is the main reason I am afraid to hold them, plus the whole atomic fart thing that I learned yesterday.  I had already been hoping that when we do get pregnant we have multiples anyway.  This is for several reasons, my wife says she is only going to be pregnant once so if I want more than one kid, I better make sure there are twins or triplets.  Another reason, with my former and recent illnesses I realize how quickly I can become dependent on others, and the more kids I can have waiting on me the better.  I also figure with mulitples, I have better chances of one of them being a millionaire and taking care of me, or at the very least if I really screw up one of them really bad (through poor parenting, feeding them the same crap I eat, accidental dropping, stuff like that) I will have at least one more to fall back on.  And the lastly, I would like multiples because I am the guy so I won't have to deal with the extra tenants in my body for nine months, so what do I care?  When you come right down to it, us guys are carrying millions of potential little ones all the time and you don't hear us complaining...except sometimes on our birthdays.

There may be a high chance that we will have multiples.  For one, I read on-line (which is always true) that sweet potatoes increase the likelihood of having twins (or more) so I have been urging my wife to eat them every chance she gets.  Plus I keep a stack of them by the bed and shove them into her mouth when she snores, so she is getting a heck of a lot of them that way too.  The more likely reason for multiples is that we don't know if my swimmers have survived the chemo yet.  I don't take that test for about a month (and I haven't even started studying yet).  If my little guys are just as tired as I am from the chemo, chances are we will have to make a withdrawal from the "bank".  And we all know that when you use your bank deposits, the chances of multiples increase.  I say we all know that because the results of that are the corner stone for TLC's programming.  I don't want more than five though, because my wife's car can only hold seven people and she swears up and down she will never upgrade to a "mom-mobile".  I guess we could have six, I mean I don't have to go with her when she takes six kids out at once, do I?  That would free up a seat.

As you can see, the visit with my friends yesterday got me thinking about all of these good ideas, and kept me up most of the night.  Seeing the little baby made me want one even more, not enough to steal hers though...at least not after I found out how gassy she was.  I am thankful we didn't have one during this cancer stuff, I don't know that I would have been able to deal with that on top of everything else.  Plus in my weakened state, the basenjis may have plotted to overthrow the house and coerced the baby into an alliance with them and voted us out of the house (the vote would have been three against two, assuming my wife would vote with me, sometimes I think she is plotting with the basenjis).  I guess in addition to studying for my "swimmer's" test I should also read up on all these weird things that come with conceiving and having a baby(s) and also try kissing up to the dogs so they'll be on my side.

Tom's 2010 Comeback Tour

I am still fatigued, but I am continuing on my Comeback Tour.  And much like Elvis' Comeback Special, I feel overweight, I sweat and grunt with just a little bit of exertion, none of my clothes seem to fit the same as they did (especially my sequin jumpsuits), and some days I feel like I am going to die on the toilet.

Yesterday I met with an older friend who I enjoy talking to a whole lot despite the forty year age difference.  It then dawns on me, that when I finally do have a child, there will be a forty year age difference.  I wonder if my child will see me as a source of wisdom and great stories as I view my friend, or will I still be just an embarrassing parent?  My money is on the embarrassing parent, at least that is what I am aiming for.

Today I met with another good friend I haven't seen in a while.  The first thing she said was that my mustache looked good.  That is a good friend, to tell a bold-faced lie to you just to make you feel good.  Liz, I know my Mo looks ridiculous, you can admit it.  It was good talking to her.  Of course the cancer stuff came up, I mean it has been a big event that I have been dealing with, and she hasn't seen me since it all started.  But we also got to talk about a lot of non-cancer stuff, which was good.  She showed me lots of pictures of her recent trip to China, in which I learned I am not going to China unless I am allowed to bring my own toilet.  I have seen photos of friends' visits to China before, but her visit was away from the traditional tourist areas and I found them fascinating, and I am not just saying that because she sometimes reads my blogs, I am saying that because they were a lot better than most people's usual boring vacation pics (like the ones I show people that frequently involve a large cartoon rodent).

After that great visit, it was time for my cancer support group.  One of my favorites showed up today!  I was getting a little worried, because neither my wife nor I have seen her or her husband in our respective groups, but it turned out that it was just a coincidence that we kept missing alternating groups, and they are doing OK, despite being cancer patients.  The non-therapying therapist that I like is doing the snowbird thing and we were introduced to our winter non-therapying therapist, who tends to therapize a little more that I thought they were supposed to.  But to be fair, I really like our snowbird guy, so I guess I need to give this new guy a chance.  One of the subjects we discussed today was paying for long-term care of loved ones.  I suggested that if insurance refused to pay for long-term care of your loved one, you could always abuse them, then the state would step in and take care of them for you (which should scare the crap out of my parents that I even came up with that thought, I hear an American made Paul Reed Smith with double cutaways and twenty four frets makes children forget a lot of things and really want to treat their parents well in their twilight years...I'm just saying...).  Everyone seemed to be amused and laughed at my comment, knowing that I only half meant it, including the person that brought up the subject that seemed to laugh a little too hard, I don't know if they were so frustrated with insurance that they were actually considering my plan or not.  However, new non-therapying therapist didn't seem to be near as amused.  Heck, we are cancer patients, we can joke.  Does he want us to just sit around and talk about how much our lives suck right now?  Because I do that in my blogs and to my wife and to the basenjis, I don't need to do that in group too.  After all, that's why my wife goes to her group to complain about my complaining.  The two basenjis don't have a group, except each other, and since they are barkless dogs they don't say much.

And speaking about how life can suck, one of the best things about group is getting the experience of the group and hearing about new technologies, treatments, and treatment center reviews.  This chemo fatigue is really bothering me.  I feel like such a lazy bum because I can't lift much and I get so exhausted, even from eating pancakes and changing channels.  So I mention it to the group (and I can say this about group in specifics because it was about me) and all of the other people that have been on or are currently on chemo said I am perfectly normal...well as normal as an unemployed, one nutted, cancer patient that suggests elder abuse to pay for medical bills, can be.  They said shaking the chemo fatigue does take a while, a lot longer than all of the other chemo symptoms.  One suggested taking a regular midday nap until I get my strength back (I liked to hear that), while another said with chemo fatigue naps may have little effect (which I didn't like hearing as much, so I took a nap).  As usual, group was very helpful.  We laughed, we cried, we group hugged-which I still don't like group hugging, but I don't mind tolerating if it helps someone else.

I need to rest up for tomorrow as my tour continues.  After hanging out with a seventy nine year old yesterday, I am hanging out with two twenty year olds tomorrow.  I need two of them, just to give them a fighting chance.  Although I am closer in age to the twenty year olds, the seventy nine year old is still easier to figure out what he is talking about.  I enjoy the twenty year olds' company regardless and I am sure we will have a great time talking about what a wonderful person I am.  Plus, compared to the boys the twenty year olds hang around, my Mo will look normal.

Yesterday, After The Urologist

After the doctor's appointment yesterday, I decided to get out in the real world for a change.  Although I have done that the previous week, this time involved multiple errands, with multiple stops.

I started off by heading to my firefighter buddy's house.  I almost teared up a little bit.  He had seen my Mo for Movember when we went to lunch last week and had decided to grow one in support.  Since his Mo is about a week behind, it looks about as pathetic as mine.  One thing many of us newly mustachioed men are finding, is that the women in our life, although they fully support the Movember movement, are not really a fan of the Mo.  Either that, or they are just using that as an excuse not to touch us.  But the real reason I was at my buddy's house was to take his 1947 GMC pick up for a drive.  This project has been in the making longer than I have been alive, but it's almost done, except for the missing floor, but I still found somewhere to rest my feet.  Of course, the engine is highly modified and the mufflers are...well they just aren't there.  Did I mention it is 8:30 am and he lives in a quiet subdivision?  Well, we changed all that.  We finally get the thing going (many hot rod engines don't like to start in cold weather) and hit the streets very loudly.  Since we can't go very fast on residential streets, he stays in first and second gear and gets to the 20 mile an hour speed limit as fast and as loud as possible (OK, we may have creeped over 20 a few times, but the school buses were already off the streets meaning the rugrats were absent from the streets as well).  We sped from cul-de-sac to cul-de-sac laughing as neighbors run to the window to see what all of the racket is about just in time to see us speed away again.  We were doing great until there was a backfire that caused an air cleaner to fly about ten feet in the air, much to our amusement, and much to the confusion of the other car at the stop sign and the lady out for a quiet walk.  Still laughing, I rush out of the truck, being careful not to fall through the floor, and pick it up.  We head back to base and back down the hill that is his driveway.  As we do this, the cab fills completely with exhaust smoke.  My friend is concerned about all of the smoke.  I point out several factors for that.  First, we lost an air cleaner which means we were sucking in too much air causing the engine to run lean, and thereby smoke more.  Also, we were backing into the smoke.  And lastly, he had a window down to see as he backed up and there still was no floor in the car, which tends to let in a lot of exhaust when you are backing up for some reason.  We both laugh and he is put at ease...or at least he is sleepy from the carbon monoxide poisoning.  We hide the truck back in the garage to make the neighbors wonder who was responsible for all of the noise pollution...and regular pollution.  After a little chat about all the other wonderful projects we are going to complete, I head out to run more errands.

I hit Home Depot and find that out that if you go on a weekday, you might actually be able to find someone to help you.  I also found out that you don't get the "A" team on a weekday.  Surprisingly, for the first time in my life, I walk out of Home Depot without spending a penny.  This is partly because they couldn't help me, plus I am an unemployed cancer patient, and I am saving every penny for the Paul Reed Smith fund where money is raised to buy American made Paul Reed Smiths with double cutaways and twenty four frets for unemployed testicular cancer patients.  So far I have raised, well not much at all really, but at least I am on the way to raising the money, and sometime in 2023 I hope to have enough cash to finally get one!

I then head to a pool supply store, because Home Depot said that is the best place to get stuff to clean your fireplace bricks.  I don't understand either, but I didn't have anything else to do, so that's where I went.  The nice gentleman inside, who obviously doesn't have a whole lot to do running a pool supply store in Ohio in the middle of November, said yes they do carry stuff that will clean fireplace brick (who knew?) at their location about thirty miles away.  Not really wanting to travel that far, because I am not really wanting to clean the fireplace brick, I went to meet my carless wife for lunch.

My wife had to run some errands for her work Thanksgiving dinner.  She warned me that I wouldn't enjoy it, and she is right.  Watching someone else shop for groceries for another someone else is really boring.  So boring, I forgot to buy the things I was going to get while we were out.  We grab Subway, which according to their commercials is just like working out, and I drop her back off and don't work out.

Next I head to see another friend and her baby.  That was the plan, but no baby, no crying, no nothing.  I am very suspect that she still has this baby, I may have just seen a rental baby in the past.  This makes me suspicious about her pregnancy as well.  I should have tattooed the baby last time I saw it, just to make sure she is showing me the same one each time.  I don't know how baby rentals work, and if they give you the exact baby every time you get one, or if they just have a gaggle of similar looking babies.  Next time I will buy a tattoo gun and take it with me.  We have a great conversation with plenty of gossip (and why do I have more gossip than her when I don't even work with her anymore) and then she kicks me out to "work".  I have seen her "work" and that term is used very loosely.  OK, she gets her stuff done, so I guess it's technically work, but she enjoys it too much to get paid.  She should divert that money to my PRS fund.

I decide to go for the hat trick and see some other people that I used to work with.  I was only temporary help for this group of people for about three months last year, but they send me cards about once a week and are constantly calling or e-mailing to check on me.  Don't get me wrong, I don't necessarily need all that, but it does make you feel good to be remembered.  I just wish my previous employer would do the same, except instead of sending me a card they could send me cash, and instead of calling and e-mailing, they could send me cash.  I basically kept them from working for half an hour (I seem to be good at that today) and by then it was time for them to shut down and me to go pick up my wife from work.  I tried not to pick her up, but they warned me that eventually she would find her way home and she would be ticked when she did make it.

I wasn't really that tired while doing any of my running around.  I felt like I was really making progress, until I sat on the couch once we got home and immediately fell asleep.  And today, I feel like I ran a marathon yesterday, or at least what I perceive that it must feel like the day after one runs a marathon sans the bloody stumps for feet.  Tomorrow is another errand day.  Hopefully it will go just as smoothly and hopefully I will fare better the day after.  Until then I will just avoid that nap inducing couch.

Juggled And Poked At The Urologist's Office

Today was another big day in my recovery.  I had the last post surgery follow-up appointment with my surgeon/urologist.  I had some good news, and some not so good news that I am taking as good news.

The urologist was very nice and took a lot of time to answer our questions today.  Of course he had to check his handy work.  To be honest, my goodies have been fondled so much over the past few months I just kind of block it out at this point.  I don't remember what he did or what he said.  I guess I just go to my happy place in my mind.  Some people go to their happy place by remembering their favorite Christmas as a child, or by thinking about being on a warm sunny beach, I just imagine that my goodies are being cupped by a man in a white coat...I guess don't have a very good imagination for my happy place.  He asks how I am doing (after I pull my pants back up) and I answer honestly that I feel like a disgusting, lazy, slob.  I say I am still trying to fight this chemo fatigue, and if I lift anything over a certain weight or twist a certain way I still feel that "tickle" in my incision.  He says something surprising, that I probably will feel that tickle for another month and not to push it.  He basically said to stay away from weights for a while.  I didn't ask about the Shake Weight, because to ask about it would be admitting that I have one, but it seems to be my only option for the time being.  He did clear me to do whatever cardio I want.  That is the good news.  The bad news is that now I am expected to do cardio.

The doctor answered all of our assorted questions, including the ones we had for other doctors but asked him anyway.  He then told me to check my swimmers in a month to see if chemo killed them or not.  They gave me the option of going to the place I went to make my "deposit" or another place (both hospitals, not just in some alley).  I wanted to opt for the other place, because I have already seen all of the getting-in-the-mood literature at the first place and was hoping to see something new.  My wife didn't like my idea and wouldn't let me do that.  Lastly they needed to draw blood from me.  This is usually quite an adventure because my veins like to squirm and roll around when the needle comes at them.  I have been spoiled by the phlebotomists at the oncologist's office because all they do is draw blood all day and they are very good at it.  At the urologist it was people that are normal nurses that happen to be asked to stick people now and then.  First of all, I swear they must use different needle suppliers, because at the oncologist the needle slips in so smooth you think you are still being wiped off with the alcohol pad.  At the urologist, each and every needle feels like it is rusty, bent, and broken off and I watched them take it out of a new package three different times!  The first nurse jabbed the needle in and moved it around like she was churning butter or trying to shift a Mack truck.  When she started drawing blood from places other than through the needle she gave up and passed me off to another nurse.  This nurse was much nicer and talked very calmly, politely, and apologetically as she jabbed the needle into me again and again and churned butter and shifted a Mack truck (they must have gone to the same school).  I was just about to ask if we could do this another time, seeing as how my veins have about as much holes in them now as a clarinet, when she finally got some blood to get into the vial.  I am assuming it was my blood, but as vigorously as she was sticking and moving she may have actually gone through me and poked herself.

Finally we scheduled my next appointment for sometime in January.  I say sometime, because as I was trying to focus on my calendar to pick a day, the nurse kept spitting out possibilities and my wife kept talking about my other appointments as well.  Between trying to focus on three different stimuli (my calendar, the nurse, and my wife) all I could do was just say yes on the first day I heard that wasn't already highlighted in my calendar. The nurse asked if I wanted it written down, which I most certainly did, because I have no idea what anyone said.  My wife decided to keep talking about how I should have made it the same day as one of my other doctor's appointments, which is what I was trying to look up when everyone was asking me so many questions that I couldn't look it up.  For all I know it may be the same day or even time as another appointment, I still am not sure what the heck went on at the counter, I just went to my "happy place" again (that doctor has such soft hands).

All in all it was a good day.  I didn't really want to be told I was still on limited duty, but on the other hand I know I am not just being a fat, lazy, slob.  I am being a fat, lazy, slob that is not supposed to lift too much.  Tomorrow I will start to work on some cardio and maybe step up my Shake Weighting.  I should probably get some rest now, that twelve minutes of exercise tomorrow will really take a toll on me.

Back Home Again From Indiana

I am back at home, and more importantly, back at my own computer.  While there I borrowed my parents' laptop which has the convenient feature of having the cursor randomly jump on the page if your palm happens to brush the touchpad while typing.  Sure it was annoying, but at least it made proofreading interesting.

Yesterday, I definitely felt the effects from my big day on the town Friday.  I don't know how much longer I can blame this on the chemo and when I have to just admit I am a big lazy wimp.  For right now, I will still blame chemo.  But at least I felt good enough to pretty much stay awake all day and watch the crazy dogs.  All six were in rare form, ranging in size from, I don't know, like nine pounds to about two fifty.  Just a rough guess on those numbers.  My wife and I ran into a hippo costume for dogs, and thought it would be a wonderful gift for my sister, who when she is not working to save the lives of your pets, has a hobby of finding new and innovative ways to torture her own pets, such as dressing them in hippo costumes.  I will have to say, her dog looked nothing like a hippo, unless hippos are about a foot high and run around at high speeds doing figure eights and back flips.  Something I did learn from the experience is apparently all dogs have the innate urge to chase hippopotami, all dogs except African bloodline basenjis, which is quite ironic.  I guess since she was the only dog in the room who's bloodline would have actually seen a hippo, it was nothing novel to her.

And speaking of that little African bloodline basenji, Daisy was a completely different dog this weekend.  She was letting people walk up and pet her.  She was very affectionate.  She was exploring the house.  Then we crossed back over state lines and she turned back into her old abused and neglected self.  Well, she is a little better, but certainly not the dog she was at my parents' or even in the car.  But it does give us hope that a normal dog is in there somewhere, er...as normal as a basenji can get.  We may have to move out of state or build a house that looks like the inside of a car, but at least we have options.  

Back home, I am wore out.  Tomorrow we have to get up at around five and head to a urologist appointment.  I am excited and apprehensive both about this one.  I am anxious to hear what he thinks I can do physically and how my recovery is coming along.  However, he still can request the dreaded CAT scan, and I have no idea if he will or not.  If I were a betting man, more that just two bucks on lottery tickets once a week, I would bet I will just have a few ultrasounds on the boys, I mean, boy.  Ultrasounds require significantly less effort on my part than a CAT scan.  You just lay back, flop out your junk, they run some magic wand over the goodies, and tell you to pull your pants back up.  That's something I can handle, even in my post chemo, lazy, wimpy state.  

So tomorrow I will have the final piece of information in my cancer treatment.  I certainly won't be done by any stretch of the imagination.  Cancer treatment involves years of watching, testing, and of course waiting long after what most people consider the "treatment" part is done.  But at least tomorrow, I will know the plan.  This is the last doctor I have to get my medical test road map from and for that I am excited.  Hopefully it will be a plan that doesn't involve sliding into a big metal tube and pooping sensations.

Going Out On The Town, No Matter How Annoying That Town Has Become

Today was the day that we hit all of my favorite haunts from college...well the second time I went to college.  We went all of the places I used to go to except for the half that have went out of business. 

We started the day off at a pawn shop.  Now pawn shops in this college town are different than other pawn shops.  You have the advantage of having a bunch of over privileged kids, who have their parents (or their parents' credit cards) buy them the latest toy that they desperately need.   Then the weekend comes, and not wanting to ask their parents for beer money, they take their new stuff to the pawn shop and go straight to the local watering hole.  This is a good thing for bargain hunters and a bad thing for parents.  There is a trick in dealing with pawn shops, and the most important is, you have to know about the products you are thinking about buying.  Pawn shops are just like any other business or politician, they will try to get as much money out of you as possible if you aren't paying attention. 

The first one we went to is not one of my favorites, but you never know where you will find treasure, and I have gotten a deal or two there in the past.  Today was certainly not one of those days.  They had their usual assortment of crap and rip offs all marked up about ten percent more than you can pay anywhere else, including new.  We leave that store quickly and head to the next pawn shop.  It had better prices, but worse crap.  We hit one more pawn shop today, which had decent prices but sub par crap, even for crap.

We also decided to hit the music stores.  As predicted, I walk into my favorite, and hear my name yelled out.  Even though they have plenty of good prices and lots of good stuff, luckily, I didn't need any of it.  I say luckily, because I am still a broke, unemployed, cancer patient so it would have sucked to find something unbelievable and not been able to buy it, especially if it was an American made Paul Reed Smith with twenty four frets and double cutaways. 

I did see something unbelievable, but not necessarily in a good way.  A quick lesson for people not up on the latest 1980's music gear.  The Roland TR-808 Rhythm Composer, is a vintage drum machine that is pretty much useless today, but is still collected by some people who remember that the "808 kick drum makes the girlies get dumb".  However, nobody really cares about the sister models such my TR707 (if you are, I will give you a great deal on one) or the one I saw today the TR727...at my favorite music store...WAY overpriced.  The reason no one wants these drum machines is that they are old and outdated, hard to program, and most of all the 707 and 727 never made the girlies wanna get dumb they just made them airsick (the two people out there that are fans of Roland, Boeing, and early 90's rap are laughing their butts off right now...if they were reading this, which they are not, because they don't have access to the internet in their group home).  The ironic thing about these drum machines is to use them correctly, you have to be able to read music, which to make a totally prejudice statement, I will ask how many people wanting to use a drum machine have any idea how to read music?  So, as the owner of the music store came over and I saw the TR727, I immediately started laughing.  He instantly set me straight in a way to say that wasn't his choice to purchase that item, nor would he have purchased that item, and yes he knows it is overpriced, but they paid way too much for it and are trying to recoup their money.  I told him that the only person that is interested in old vintage 80's electronic crap like that is me, and unfortunately, I have one!  He couldn't get mad at me because he knew I was right.  I then offered to sell him my TR707 and he respectfully declined.  We then left there and headed to the next music store.

This music store promised lots of equipment and arms...yes weaponry.  We get there and it seemed to fall a little short on both.  We look around the store at the sparse amount of music instruments and I am not sure if this is a music store or if we caught a high school garage band between sets.  At least with my teenager mustache I would fit right in.  We didn't look long for two reasons, he didn't have much of a selection, and if we actually bought anything, it would leave a gaping hole in his inventory display.

Finally, we decided to go grab some food to take home.  The food my wife wanted was in the heart of campus.  I decide to go the easy way...by the stadiums...not realizing the home basketball opener is tonight.  After four hours of cursing at alumni that actually still keep up with the university, we make it past the stadiums and onto campus where the students are taught everything but what a crosswalk is and how a stoplight works.  There were students all over the road, but I wasn't able to run over a single one of them, not even a fat sorostitute that is just there to make her "sisters" look better.  It dawns on me that we are driving around in a glorified "mom-mobile" with out of state plates and two older guys (one with a cheesy pervert mustache), people must have thought we were a same-sex couple coming to school to pick up our daughter.  I tried to pick up a few random daughters, and that didn't work either...not even the fat sorostitute.  We get to the restaurant and I talk my dad into ordering his own stromboli, neglecting to point out that is it basically just a twelve inch pizza folded in half.  The funny thing is, my wife pulled the same trick on my mother when they called us with their order.  We got our food, picked a way off campus that was nowhere near the stadiums and got out safely.

All in all it was a good day.  Going to some of my old haunts showed me that although chemo is still messing with my taste buds, the appetite is back with a vengeance and then some.  And it also showed me that chemo still refuses to give me my energy back, although I feel I am getting stronger everyday.  To celebrate, the family will gather tomorrow to eat even more than we ate today and then sit around and do nothing but argue over which of the six dogs to blame our farts on.  I can't wait!

Dogs Just Sniff You To See What You Taste Like...

Today I did absolutely nothing.  Well I did take a nap and walk the dogs, but outside of that nothing.  Still not completely able to shake free of this chemo stuff, I am trying to develop a rhythm and a routine (no not gymnastics).  By the way, I was told that some may not realize that when I "walk the dogs around the yard" that the yard is five acres, so it is a little more than just standing on the porch holding the leash at arms length while they do their business.

This weekend though, I am hoping things will change.  I will pretty much be forced to do stuff and get into a decent sleep routine.  We will be traveling to my parents' with the dogs for an early Thanksgiving celebration.  To honor my still being alive, they are carving a turkey to look like a malignant testicle...OK, I am making that up.  But I do feel that this Thanksgiving will have a little more thanks than usual, even if it is only coming from me. There will be plenty to do during the day, like sleep while the girls shop, but that is not why I think I will get into a routine.  There will be five people and six dogs.  I try to make it a habit to never be outnumbered by dogs, especially when they can count.  And most dogs can count.  If you don't believe me, get two dogs together and give them treats, but give one of them one more treat than the other.  You will quickly see that I am correct about dogs and arithmetic.  So, there certainly will not be any sleeping during daylight hours, that is when the dogs will all be together and they can plot.  I do not think I can stop them or outrun them in the state I am, but I am getting well enough to knock down my sister when the dogs come after us, and that should be enough diversion for me to get away...and possibly my wife, she is on her own though.  At night time, we all retire to our separate bedrooms, where we will be at parity with our puppies.  Again, my sister will be the sacrificial lamb, but she is the one that let herself get outnumbered so I have no pity on her.

One of the activities my father and I have planned is a trip to some of my old stomping grounds, including one of my favorite stores.  Keep in mind, I have maybe gone into this store once a year for the past ten years, yet the employees still greet me much the same way they greet Norm when he walks into Cheers.  Don't ask how much money you have to spend to be remembered after ten years...seriously, please don't ask.  The only depressing part is usually I have money to haggle and deal with, even on stuff I don't want, and this time I won't.  Between being unemployed and the financial hit we took from cancer surgery and treatment, there isn't a whole lot of "fun money" to be had.  (It turns out that the great insurance that I had through my employer, kind of sucks.)  I thought about selling my body to raise some cash, but I was having trouble giving it away before the surgery, and now after the surgery I am considered "B-stock" or "irregular" and will have an even harder time.  Plus my wife says, she is not willing to pay me for that and even if she did, it is still "our" money anyway.  That just doesn't seem fair.  Because, this place just may have an American made Paul Reed Smith with twenty-four frets and double cutaways.  I wonder if they would be interested in trading one for an irregular body?  Nah, I don't think Phil nor Eric would be interested.

So, between avoiding the canine uprising, looking broke and pitiful at stores (but not so much that they kick you out), and eating turkey, I should get my sleep pattern back.  And getting out will help me to be less sedentary than I have been around here.  However, if my family really wanted me to be active and cared about my health, they would get me that PRS...