I am finishing up my latest round of scans. In the past three weeks, it seems I have been tested every other day. I haven't actually been tested every other day, but medical providers have still found a way to bill me every other day. So far I have finished a chest X-ray, a CATscan, CBC, tumor marker blood test, and in a matter of hours a upper endoscopy (with jumbo biopsies, YIPPEE!), oh yeah and peeing into the random cup every once in a while too. I just hope I was supposed to pee in that one cup, because the nurse gave me a funny look, and I don't remember specimen cups saying "Moe's Southwest Grill" on the side...
The X-rays were as expected. I raise my hands above my head while the nurse shoves me against the wall like she's on COPS and I am an unruly suspect (one time I accidentally yelled out "Don't tase me bro" during the test). The blood and urine tests were pretty routine as well. I get asked for a body fluid, and I deposit it into whatever receptacle they hold in front of me. The only problem was a slight miscalculation on driving time/fluid intake, which required me to make the receptionist wait for my insurance co-pay until after I gave them a sample.
The one thing I wasn't expecting was a CATscan. When I decided to do chemo over testing (mainly dozens of CATscans) I knew I would still have to get the occasional CATscan, I just wasn't expecting it to be so soon after my last oncologist appointment. As soon as he ordered it, I had flashbacks of the taste of the contrast dye and the associated CATstipation. Not wanting to roll around on the floor in impacted and backed up pain again, I had taken two liter bottles of water with me to do some mega-hydrating on the drive back from the hospital. Luckily, I didn't start drinking them yet, because when I arrived I was told I would not be drinking the slightly flavored chalky substance. They had a new water based contrast, but I had to drink a liter of it in an hour. Still skeptical, I apprehensively took a taste. It tasted like Terre Haute water, which for those of you that haven't been to/smelled Terre Haute, IN, it kinda taste like...well...have you ever put a cooler away and forgotten to drain it? Well, it kinda tastes like that smells. Not good, but not bad either, and definitely better than the nasty, chalky, constipatitiony, bottomless cup of sludge that I had to drink before.
Within a few days, I got all of my results back, X-ray's and scans were clean. Urine and blood tests were normal, and tumor marker's still dropping. So now I am preparing for my endoscopy tomorrow. My preparation involves mainly not eating after midnight and not sleeping. I have literally had more scopes than I can count, all I know is that I am in double digits, and I have developed a routine. I stay up late the night before, I go into the hospital barely awake, I get some Demerol shoved in my vein, and I wake up with my wife giving me dirty looks because I apparently won't wake up and I ask the same questions over and over again.
See, in my long history of scopes, there are two things I don't like about them. One time I woke up when they snapped the plastic guide between my teeth, and the feeling/sound was not a pleasant experience. Now they say you don't remember anything from the scope, but obviously if I just told you about that, I did remember it, because they don't put that thing in your mouth before you go in there and it is out before you wake up, so the only way I would know about it is to wake up during the procedure, and remember it (and I also remember hearing the doctor say, "He's waking up, give him so more."). The other thing, is for some reason the oxygen tube that they stick in your nose, makes me feel like I am drowning. OK, OK, I will wait for you to quit laughing at me. Are you done? So, I don't know why I have that feeling, but I do. If I am totally out, it's no big deal. If I am kinda out, I wake up, thrashing saying I can't breathe (which just by saying "I can't breathe" it proves I can breathe, but anyway), and before I know it I am sedated again and I wake up with straps on my arms. For the comfort and safety of myself and the nurses attending to me, I have found that we are all much happier, if I am completely out of it during the scope.
As far as tests go, an endoscopy really isn't that bad. The bad thing is, they keep you from eating for so long before, and for my condition they take out large biopsies in my throat to send to a pathologist, which leaves me waking up starving, but yet it hurts to swallow. It's like some cruel joke the doctor's and nurses play on me, maybe in some sort of retaliation for thrashing around during the procedure acting like I'm drowning. At any rate, I am ready to get this test over with and anxious to hear my results. With this test behind me I am through with doctors (for me) until November. Hopefully, the nurses will loosen my straps tomorrow and I can come home and tell you how everything went.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Goodbye Ann Maree...
One of the first rules of joining the Wellness Community is that you are not supposed to mention what happened in the group outside the group. And I don't plan on breaking that rule today, just bending it a little. I am bending that rule, because Ann frequently talked about her experiences in her own blog and Ann's attitude helped me through my own cancer fight.
When you first join the Wellness Community, you go to an information meeting that tells you what to expect and what it's all about. There was only one other couple at our meeting and that was Ann and Al Maree. To look at the two of them, you couldn't guess which one was sick. Through some introductions, we learned Ann was the one in the battle with cancer. I am sure they told us more that night, but to be honest I didn't know what was going on in my own life at that time, much less those around me.
When I walked into my first regular group meeting, there sat Ann Maree. We went around the room introducing ourselves, our cancers, and our treatments. I heard this vibrant, energetic, and non-cancer looking person state that she has been battling Stage IV Breast Cancer for years. WHAT?!?! She didn't even look like she had a cold! This may sound odd, but that made me feel really good. No not that she had cancer, but that one can fight such a hard fight and not only survive, but live well while surviving. Suddenly I no longer felt like cancer was this dark tunnel I was struggling to walk through hoping to some day see the light at the end. Ann helped show me that cancer may be part of one's identity, but it doesn't have to be one's only identity.
Ann was fond of saying, "I have cancer, but cancer doesn't have me." She lived that motto to the end. It was her attitude that helped me to push myself when I felt I wasn't ready to be a normal person yet. Most of that pushing resulted in me hurting myself, but that is beside the point. Ann participated in more LiveStrong events than I probably ever will. Ann actually got out and rode her bike as many times as I look over at my dusty bike and think that I should probably get my fat butt on it.
Although I knew Ann was very sick (even though she never seemed to show it) and I knew she was getting sicker, I never thought this day would come. I hate to admit it, but I had slacked on reading her blog daily because once again, she seemed to be beating the odds and getting better. But then Saturday I got the news that she had passed through the network of current and former Wellness Community members. I was expecting an e-mail at anytime for Ann quoting Mark Twain "The report of my death was an exaggeration." All hope was lost when I saw that her husband Al was the one reporting Ann's passing.
I thank God that I met Ann (and Al). When I was thinking all cancer patients were gray, bald, anorexic-looking, hunched over, zombie-like things (and that I was about to become one), Ann showed me that people with a much harder fight than I can look...well...normal. And when I thought cancer would ruin my life, Ann showed me cancer only has as much control over you life as you let it. Hearing Ann's struggles and seeing her fight with such dignity and poise, I knew that with a little Faith I could make it through my much smaller battle.
This week there will be a "Celebration of Life" for Ann, which I am certain Ann gave Al detailed instructions on how it should be carried out. I believe in God and I believe in Heaven, and I certainly believe that no matter how nice life is on Earth, afterlife in Heaven is better, but still it is hard to see someone taken too soon go away. I don't like funerals, because often they don't focus on the gift of getting to know and experience the person in life, they seem to focus on missing them after they have passed on. Ann and Al obviously feel the same way and want to have that celebration of life, not a mourning of death. That being said, I haven't decided yet if I am going this week or not. I would love to go to the event and share what an inspiration both Al and Ann have been for me the past year, but I know ultimately there will be tears and sorrow as well. Conversely, when I last saw Ann (although she was getting sicker) she looked as vibrant and was defiant as ever and I kinda want to seal that as my last memory of her. Regardless of whether I go or not, I am sincerely thankful to God that I got to meet both Ann and Al, and I am a very sad that I will not see Ann again. My heart goes out to Al as he continues Ann's Journey without her.
When you first join the Wellness Community, you go to an information meeting that tells you what to expect and what it's all about. There was only one other couple at our meeting and that was Ann and Al Maree. To look at the two of them, you couldn't guess which one was sick. Through some introductions, we learned Ann was the one in the battle with cancer. I am sure they told us more that night, but to be honest I didn't know what was going on in my own life at that time, much less those around me.
When I walked into my first regular group meeting, there sat Ann Maree. We went around the room introducing ourselves, our cancers, and our treatments. I heard this vibrant, energetic, and non-cancer looking person state that she has been battling Stage IV Breast Cancer for years. WHAT?!?! She didn't even look like she had a cold! This may sound odd, but that made me feel really good. No not that she had cancer, but that one can fight such a hard fight and not only survive, but live well while surviving. Suddenly I no longer felt like cancer was this dark tunnel I was struggling to walk through hoping to some day see the light at the end. Ann helped show me that cancer may be part of one's identity, but it doesn't have to be one's only identity.
Ann was fond of saying, "I have cancer, but cancer doesn't have me." She lived that motto to the end. It was her attitude that helped me to push myself when I felt I wasn't ready to be a normal person yet. Most of that pushing resulted in me hurting myself, but that is beside the point. Ann participated in more LiveStrong events than I probably ever will. Ann actually got out and rode her bike as many times as I look over at my dusty bike and think that I should probably get my fat butt on it.
Although I knew Ann was very sick (even though she never seemed to show it) and I knew she was getting sicker, I never thought this day would come. I hate to admit it, but I had slacked on reading her blog daily because once again, she seemed to be beating the odds and getting better. But then Saturday I got the news that she had passed through the network of current and former Wellness Community members. I was expecting an e-mail at anytime for Ann quoting Mark Twain "The report of my death was an exaggeration." All hope was lost when I saw that her husband Al was the one reporting Ann's passing.
I thank God that I met Ann (and Al). When I was thinking all cancer patients were gray, bald, anorexic-looking, hunched over, zombie-like things (and that I was about to become one), Ann showed me that people with a much harder fight than I can look...well...normal. And when I thought cancer would ruin my life, Ann showed me cancer only has as much control over you life as you let it. Hearing Ann's struggles and seeing her fight with such dignity and poise, I knew that with a little Faith I could make it through my much smaller battle.
This week there will be a "Celebration of Life" for Ann, which I am certain Ann gave Al detailed instructions on how it should be carried out. I believe in God and I believe in Heaven, and I certainly believe that no matter how nice life is on Earth, afterlife in Heaven is better, but still it is hard to see someone taken too soon go away. I don't like funerals, because often they don't focus on the gift of getting to know and experience the person in life, they seem to focus on missing them after they have passed on. Ann and Al obviously feel the same way and want to have that celebration of life, not a mourning of death. That being said, I haven't decided yet if I am going this week or not. I would love to go to the event and share what an inspiration both Al and Ann have been for me the past year, but I know ultimately there will be tears and sorrow as well. Conversely, when I last saw Ann (although she was getting sicker) she looked as vibrant and was defiant as ever and I kinda want to seal that as my last memory of her. Regardless of whether I go or not, I am sincerely thankful to God that I got to meet both Ann and Al, and I am a very sad that I will not see Ann again. My heart goes out to Al as he continues Ann's Journey without her.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Cancer Made Me Fat And Apparently Fat People Sweat A Lot
OK, so I guess cancer didn't directly make me fat, but it certainly helped me pack on some pounds. Between the inactivity following my surgery, the inactivity following chemotherapy, and the fact that my chemo taste change didn't effect my love for all stuff fattening, I have gained weight.
I realized this has become a problem when my wife punched me in the middle of the night, ripped the blankets off my previously slumbering body and said, "You're sweating on the clean sheets." We do have other sheets, and I could even wash them every single day, but she thought all of these things through and decided assaulting a sleeping cancer patient was the best course of action.
While hurting myself mowing the lawn the other day, I noticed I seemed to be sweating more than I had in the past. I first attributed that to my high metabolism and my well toned body, then I realized I didn't have either one. And it seems just about anything can cause me to break a sweat anymore, cleaning around the house, working around outside, walking the dogs on a hot sunny day, walking the dogs on a cold rainy day, walking up the stairs to get a Little Debbie, eating a Little Debbie, thinking about eating Little Debbies, typing "Little Debbie", and apparently sleeping.
There seem to be another side effect to my recent weight gain as well, my hypoglycemia seems to be getting worse. This is a condition where my sugar will drop and I have to...well find something with sugar. They make glucose tablets designed to get the sugar back into your system quickly, and you would think something made to shoot up your sugar would be made at least remotely sweet tasting, but it really taste like compressed baby powder, except drier. This hasn't been a problem until I started getting more and more active lately. Apparently your sugar doesn't drop when you sit around all day ingesting sugar. Seeing some of the weird things people get disability payments for these days, I wonder if I can get the government to pay me to sit around all day ingesting sugary goodness...and maybe even pay for my sugary goodness as well.
But therein lies the irony in my whole situation. I want to get more fit and be more active, which causes me to hurt myself, which causes me to be less active. So, to make up for that, I try to eat healthier and avoid sugary stuff, which causes my sugar to nosedive, which forces me to eat more sugary stuff. You see my dilemma. I can't complain too much though, if the worst lingering effect of beating cancer is having to sit around on my rump eating Little Debbies and sweating. But if I didn't complain about something, I wouldn't have anything to write about today. So, here I am feeling a little better, but recovering a little slower. Luckily I don't have any pressing projects anytime soon that will require me to exert myself too much and we have a large stash of crappy food to keep my sugar levels up. I guess life ain't too bad after all.
I realized this has become a problem when my wife punched me in the middle of the night, ripped the blankets off my previously slumbering body and said, "You're sweating on the clean sheets." We do have other sheets, and I could even wash them every single day, but she thought all of these things through and decided assaulting a sleeping cancer patient was the best course of action.
While hurting myself mowing the lawn the other day, I noticed I seemed to be sweating more than I had in the past. I first attributed that to my high metabolism and my well toned body, then I realized I didn't have either one. And it seems just about anything can cause me to break a sweat anymore, cleaning around the house, working around outside, walking the dogs on a hot sunny day, walking the dogs on a cold rainy day, walking up the stairs to get a Little Debbie, eating a Little Debbie, thinking about eating Little Debbies, typing "Little Debbie", and apparently sleeping.
There seem to be another side effect to my recent weight gain as well, my hypoglycemia seems to be getting worse. This is a condition where my sugar will drop and I have to...well find something with sugar. They make glucose tablets designed to get the sugar back into your system quickly, and you would think something made to shoot up your sugar would be made at least remotely sweet tasting, but it really taste like compressed baby powder, except drier. This hasn't been a problem until I started getting more and more active lately. Apparently your sugar doesn't drop when you sit around all day ingesting sugar. Seeing some of the weird things people get disability payments for these days, I wonder if I can get the government to pay me to sit around all day ingesting sugary goodness...and maybe even pay for my sugary goodness as well.
But therein lies the irony in my whole situation. I want to get more fit and be more active, which causes me to hurt myself, which causes me to be less active. So, to make up for that, I try to eat healthier and avoid sugary stuff, which causes my sugar to nosedive, which forces me to eat more sugary stuff. You see my dilemma. I can't complain too much though, if the worst lingering effect of beating cancer is having to sit around on my rump eating Little Debbies and sweating. But if I didn't complain about something, I wouldn't have anything to write about today. So, here I am feeling a little better, but recovering a little slower. Luckily I don't have any pressing projects anytime soon that will require me to exert myself too much and we have a large stash of crappy food to keep my sugar levels up. I guess life ain't too bad after all.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
I Did, I Did, I Did Hurt Myself...
I sat around yesterday, glad that the rain that threatened off and on was around, it gave me a great excuse to avoid re-ripping my incision/mowing the ditch. Everything was going well until late afternoon, when I saw the sun poke out and illuminate the ditch in all its glorious overgrownedness. In a moment of extreme enthusiasm and lack of clarity, I decide to rush out, grab the push mower, and hurt myself.
The push mower has not been started since before my surgery, sometime in August. Of all the possible scenarios I ran in my mind on how to hurt myself, the one I forgot about was trying to start a push mower. I pulled the cord...and pulled the cord...and pulled the cord...pulled the cord...pulled the cord...pulled my incision...pulled the cord, with each pull I came a little closer to ripping my incision and the mower got no closer to starting. Even though I only have one testicle, I have enough testosterone to realize, if something doesn't work, you can always pour gas in it. Which is exactly what I did, and the mower started right up...in my workshop. But at least I knew that the mower starts. I loaded it up with the lawn tractor, and headed down to the ditch. I brought along my "whacking stick" which I use for chopping limbs (of trees...so far), hacking up rogue snakes (FYI, all snakes are rogue), and using for leverage/stability as I drop the mower off the side of the cliff we call a ditch. I don't know how to describe exactly what this tool is. It's about five feet long, and has a sharp hooked blade, which may have been an old way to harvest corn, or chase teenagers through fields while wearing a white William Shatner mask, or to run after Dr. Frankenstein's monster. Today it was also used as a cane.
I went to the top of the hill over looked the ditch and pulled the cord...pulled the cord...pulled the cord...pulled a muscle...pulled the cord. Luckily, I brought down a gas can with me so I used the whacking stick as a screwdriver to take off the breather and poured some more gas into the beast. The next pull, she roared to life. I was dreading pushing the mower over the edge, because that meant I had to pull it back up again. I slowly lowered it down, leaning heavily on the whacking stick, the mower started sputtering due to the extreme angle, and I started sputtering due to being fat and lazy for several months. Each pass, I struggled with lowering it down and pulling it up, while jamming the whacking stick in to the ground and using it to help pull the mower back up again. This was working fine, but I forgot one thing about living in the country, people (as in everyone that drives by) wave at you, and it's just not neighborly to not wave back. So in the midst of this delicate balancing act of using one hand to lower the mower down and the other hand death gripping the whacking stick, I have to pause to wave at every car that came by (because they waved at me) and apparently I-70 was shut down and rerouted on our road.
Eventually, I finished the hardest physical part, next I had to mow near the road. When mowing near the road, you not only have to look down for snakes to whack, but you have to be aware of traffic coming from the left and the right, and since we live at a "T" in the road, you also have to look out for traffic coming directly at your back. I know what you are thing, if I am mowing the ditch, why am I worried about traffic on the road? Well, several reasons, farm machinery is wider that your average car, so you have to be wary of it hanging over the side of the road, or cars avoiding oversized farm machinery and hanging over the side of the road, plus I frequently have to back into the road to mow this part, and I also have to mow around all the tire tracks IN OUR DITCH so obviously someone has managed to drive exactly where I am mowing before!
I have several theories as to why people drive in our ditch. Some just misjudge the curve and come around there way too fast. And this particular intersection is a one and a half way stop. There is one regular stop sign, and one "Stop Except When Turning Right" sign (which in every other state is just a "Yield") and the third way you don't have to stop no matter which way you're turning. This leads to confusion and thereby most people treat is as a What-Stop-Sign? intersection, leading to a lot of squealing and swerving around oncoming traffic. There also tend to be a lot of drunks that like to run into the ditch and sometimes for fun, ram the electricity pole. And finally I think a lot of people are just so busy looking for people to wave to that they don't pay attention to where they are going and run off the road.
So here I am, looking down for snakes to whack, looking left, looking right, looking behind me, looking up (because I don't want to be surprised by SEAL Team VI), pushing the mower with one arm, pulling on my whacking stick with the other arm, and waving at anything that moves. I was about three quarters done when I started to feel that familiar "tug" down below. No not my bowels, that was earlier, I am talking about my incision tugging to warn me that it doesn't like what I am doing and it threating to let loose. So, after getting this obvious warning sign, I did what all men would do and decided the best thing to do would be to stop, leave the rest and go in and take it easy. I did, I really did decide that would be the best thing, but I still kept mowing until I finished. It was about this time that my wife and mother-in-law came back from the cemetery, or store, or family Catholic event, or where ever they were and I saw them stop in the driveway way away from where I was mowing and wait to talk to me. Now it was pretty obvious that I was doing something, and it was also pretty obvious that whatever they had been doing previously, they were now sitting in an air conditioned car. Since they were waiting for me to stop what I was doing, walk from the edge of the yard to the driveway (which I estimate is a walk of approximately ten miles, or at least that's what it feels like when you have been mowing, waving, and keeping your insides from spilling out), I once again used my superior Man Reasoning Abilities and decide to ignore them and keep mowing. I finally finished the mowing and much like how a marathon winner will collapse as he/she crosses the finish line with tears of joy running down their face, I fell back on to the lawn tractor and let out a very manly man-whimper.
As soon as I stopped, I could tell that my incision wasn't doing well, and I had planned to just sit on the couch the rest of the night and hold my crotch, something that seemed to make even more sense now that I pulled my incision. Then my wife came down and asked if I would go with her to Wal-mart. For some reason I said "yes". I think I said "yes" because she said we were only going for two things, and I forgot in Wal-mart Speak, two things is actually forty-seven things that we will grab them by alternately criss-crossing the full length of the store approximately eighty-three times. I don't know how the math works out on that, I just know that's what happens.
So, for the rest of last night and all of today, I have been limping around holding my side, like that is actually helping at all, but since that is the only thing I can think to do, I keep doing it. The good news is that I didn't push myself to the "pop" just the tug. So I hope this will all be better soon. And if nothing else, I can use this for leverage next time someone wants me to mow the lawn.
The push mower has not been started since before my surgery, sometime in August. Of all the possible scenarios I ran in my mind on how to hurt myself, the one I forgot about was trying to start a push mower. I pulled the cord...and pulled the cord...and pulled the cord...pulled the cord...pulled the cord...pulled my incision...pulled the cord, with each pull I came a little closer to ripping my incision and the mower got no closer to starting. Even though I only have one testicle, I have enough testosterone to realize, if something doesn't work, you can always pour gas in it. Which is exactly what I did, and the mower started right up...in my workshop. But at least I knew that the mower starts. I loaded it up with the lawn tractor, and headed down to the ditch. I brought along my "whacking stick" which I use for chopping limbs (of trees...so far), hacking up rogue snakes (FYI, all snakes are rogue), and using for leverage/stability as I drop the mower off the side of the cliff we call a ditch. I don't know how to describe exactly what this tool is. It's about five feet long, and has a sharp hooked blade, which may have been an old way to harvest corn, or chase teenagers through fields while wearing a white William Shatner mask, or to run after Dr. Frankenstein's monster. Today it was also used as a cane.
I went to the top of the hill over looked the ditch and pulled the cord...pulled the cord...pulled the cord...pulled a muscle...pulled the cord. Luckily, I brought down a gas can with me so I used the whacking stick as a screwdriver to take off the breather and poured some more gas into the beast. The next pull, she roared to life. I was dreading pushing the mower over the edge, because that meant I had to pull it back up again. I slowly lowered it down, leaning heavily on the whacking stick, the mower started sputtering due to the extreme angle, and I started sputtering due to being fat and lazy for several months. Each pass, I struggled with lowering it down and pulling it up, while jamming the whacking stick in to the ground and using it to help pull the mower back up again. This was working fine, but I forgot one thing about living in the country, people (as in everyone that drives by) wave at you, and it's just not neighborly to not wave back. So in the midst of this delicate balancing act of using one hand to lower the mower down and the other hand death gripping the whacking stick, I have to pause to wave at every car that came by (because they waved at me) and apparently I-70 was shut down and rerouted on our road.
Eventually, I finished the hardest physical part, next I had to mow near the road. When mowing near the road, you not only have to look down for snakes to whack, but you have to be aware of traffic coming from the left and the right, and since we live at a "T" in the road, you also have to look out for traffic coming directly at your back. I know what you are thing, if I am mowing the ditch, why am I worried about traffic on the road? Well, several reasons, farm machinery is wider that your average car, so you have to be wary of it hanging over the side of the road, or cars avoiding oversized farm machinery and hanging over the side of the road, plus I frequently have to back into the road to mow this part, and I also have to mow around all the tire tracks IN OUR DITCH so obviously someone has managed to drive exactly where I am mowing before!
I have several theories as to why people drive in our ditch. Some just misjudge the curve and come around there way too fast. And this particular intersection is a one and a half way stop. There is one regular stop sign, and one "Stop Except When Turning Right" sign (which in every other state is just a "Yield") and the third way you don't have to stop no matter which way you're turning. This leads to confusion and thereby most people treat is as a What-Stop-Sign? intersection, leading to a lot of squealing and swerving around oncoming traffic. There also tend to be a lot of drunks that like to run into the ditch and sometimes for fun, ram the electricity pole. And finally I think a lot of people are just so busy looking for people to wave to that they don't pay attention to where they are going and run off the road.
So here I am, looking down for snakes to whack, looking left, looking right, looking behind me, looking up (because I don't want to be surprised by SEAL Team VI), pushing the mower with one arm, pulling on my whacking stick with the other arm, and waving at anything that moves. I was about three quarters done when I started to feel that familiar "tug" down below. No not my bowels, that was earlier, I am talking about my incision tugging to warn me that it doesn't like what I am doing and it threating to let loose. So, after getting this obvious warning sign, I did what all men would do and decided the best thing to do would be to stop, leave the rest and go in and take it easy. I did, I really did decide that would be the best thing, but I still kept mowing until I finished. It was about this time that my wife and mother-in-law came back from the cemetery, or store, or family Catholic event, or where ever they were and I saw them stop in the driveway way away from where I was mowing and wait to talk to me. Now it was pretty obvious that I was doing something, and it was also pretty obvious that whatever they had been doing previously, they were now sitting in an air conditioned car. Since they were waiting for me to stop what I was doing, walk from the edge of the yard to the driveway (which I estimate is a walk of approximately ten miles, or at least that's what it feels like when you have been mowing, waving, and keeping your insides from spilling out), I once again used my superior Man Reasoning Abilities and decide to ignore them and keep mowing. I finally finished the mowing and much like how a marathon winner will collapse as he/she crosses the finish line with tears of joy running down their face, I fell back on to the lawn tractor and let out a very manly man-whimper.
As soon as I stopped, I could tell that my incision wasn't doing well, and I had planned to just sit on the couch the rest of the night and hold my crotch, something that seemed to make even more sense now that I pulled my incision. Then my wife came down and asked if I would go with her to Wal-mart. For some reason I said "yes". I think I said "yes" because she said we were only going for two things, and I forgot in Wal-mart Speak, two things is actually forty-seven things that we will grab them by alternately criss-crossing the full length of the store approximately eighty-three times. I don't know how the math works out on that, I just know that's what happens.
So, for the rest of last night and all of today, I have been limping around holding my side, like that is actually helping at all, but since that is the only thing I can think to do, I keep doing it. The good news is that I didn't push myself to the "pop" just the tug. So I hope this will all be better soon. And if nothing else, I can use this for leverage next time someone wants me to mow the lawn.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Summer's Here, Time To Hurt Yourself!
The past couple of days, I have had every intention of hurting myself. No not in one of those cries for help sort of ways, but just in pushing my self more and more to get back to normal. I still haven't tackled the dangling a push mower down the ditch yet. I am really afraid that may undo all the healing I have been doing, so when I do finally get around to attempting it, I will do it as gingerly as one can dangle a push mower down a ditch without simultaneously chopping off body parts. Just the fact that the engine starts to cut out because the mower is at such an extreme angle that it can't get gas, shows that maybe this isn't a recommended use of this particular mower.
However, that wasn't a problem yesterday. I had intended to do it, but secretly hoped something would come up to keep me from having to do it, and luckily plenty of things did. I spent some of the early part of the day helping my good friend with the project we are tackling. After that I waited for a HVAC company that claims "1 hour service" to call me back....that's been about 36 hours ago, and I am still waiting for a call back on the message I left. The reason, our thermostat decided that when the air conditioner kicks on, the house will cool down like it is supposed to, but the temperature reading will go UP! And that keeps the air conditioner on. You notice this when you look at the thermostat and it reads 87, while the other thermometer in the house reads 72 (and that is the real disparity in numbers we had when we first noticed the problem). A little research on the company turned up information that all electronic thermostats from this particular company do this. I won't mention their name because I don't want to embarrass Honeywell. I finally called in to our HVAC company through a different line (not a repair line) and asked them if they could fix this. They said yes they would replace it...in five days. I asked if they carried any other brands than the one they installed and they didn't. Frustrated I decided to runaway from the problem and went out to mow some of the muddy areas of the yard with the riding mower.
Now our mower is an commercial grade mower that we had to buy because someone keeps running into stuff bending the deck on regular mowers. I won't say who that someone is, but it's not me and it's probably my wife. Because of this, the mower weighs 1400 lbs. (about 650Kg) and because of its massive weight it gets stuck if there is any amount of moisture on the ground. While attempting to mow the parts of the yard that were too wet before, I hit a puddle or moss or gnat pee, whatever it was, the mower became hopelessly stuck. Now for reasons that I won't go into right now, I am the only one currently able to run this mower, so there was no one to drive the mower while I attempted to pull it out. So I did one any red blooded American male would do that has a Jeep and at least one ball (which I barely qualify for), I hooked up the Jeep and dropped it in four wheel drive low and jerked the crap out of it. You may have seen in the news where the day was .25 seconds shorter yesterday, that's because the massive torque of my Jeep pulling out this mower actually stopped the Earth's rotation for a brief moment. After these shenanigans were done, it was pretty much too late to attempt the ditch mowing/incision ripping yesterday.
So today I got up and went to a hardware store to find a thermostat that didn't have "Honeywell" stamped on it. I found one and then had to pick up a bag of concrete for another project we are doing. I found the correct type of concrete (for the record, there are approximately 75 different types of concrete and no matter what your project, there will be exactly 1 (one) bag that kinda fits what you are needing to do, and it will be on a very high shelf). I look straight at the bag...literally, because someone at Home Depot decided that this particular type of concrete needed to be about five feet in the air, and it dawned on me as I read "80 lbs." on the side of the bag that: A) I haven't lifted 80 lbs. since my surgery, I am officially supposed to be closer to 30lbs., and B) I can't bring the Jeep in to help me with this one. I briefly thought about asking for help, but two things occurred to me: 1) Guys are not supposed to ask for any sort of help whatsoever in a hardware store unless it is a veiled attempt to prove they know more than the person they are talking to, and 2) I have about as much chance of finding and employee at Home Depot to help me as I do of finding the Loch Ness Monster, Elvis, Jimmy Hoffa, and a regular cast member from Alf. Now Andrea Elson did walk by while I was contemplating the next move, but without Elvis, Jimmy, and Nessie she wouldn't have been much help. So I did what any self respecting guy would do, I picked up the bag anyway, rather than get help, and waited for the "pop" down below. I firmly grabbed the bag and just as gracefully has a Olympic weight lifter clean and jerks 1000 lbs., I put the concrete in the cart...OK, it was less like an Olympic weight lifter and more like a out of shape fat guy struggling to lift more weight than he lifted in eight months (outside of Golden Corral) all the while trying not drag the bag (which they for some reason make out of paper just slightly thicker than tissue paper) over anything that might snag it, causing it to burst open cartoonishly burying my feet in 80 lbs. of concrete, while at the same time trying to keep me from bursting open cartoonishly burying my feet in a large pile of my intestines. Unfortunately for the person watching me on the security camera I was able to load the concrete without any comic mishaps (yes, they actually have a sign in the concrete section pointing to the security camera, maybe that is a sign you are way understaffed if someone can grab an 80 lbs. bag of concrete and no one notices nor is able to catch someone fleeing with 80 lbs. of concrete).
Eventually, I made it home and the first thing I had to do, with the air conditioner running like an out of control Trane, was replace the thermostat. The thermostat contains slightly more wires than the Space Shuttle, except with fewer directions. After approximately 47 hours of cursing, reading, taking a Spanish course, reading the other manual, taking a Hindi course, calling tech support, and some Eeny Meeny Miney Mo, I was able to hook up the thermostat with a minimum amount of smoke and sparks. As I was wrapping up, a large storm hit, effectively ending my mowing/stomach shredding/toe slicing plans for the day.
I don't know if the events keeping me from mowing the ditch are a bit of Divine Intervention or just me being lazy and slow, but I will welcome the postponements no matter what the reasons. I just don't know what I am going to break to get out of it tomorrow...
However, that wasn't a problem yesterday. I had intended to do it, but secretly hoped something would come up to keep me from having to do it, and luckily plenty of things did. I spent some of the early part of the day helping my good friend with the project we are tackling. After that I waited for a HVAC company that claims "1 hour service" to call me back....that's been about 36 hours ago, and I am still waiting for a call back on the message I left. The reason, our thermostat decided that when the air conditioner kicks on, the house will cool down like it is supposed to, but the temperature reading will go UP! And that keeps the air conditioner on. You notice this when you look at the thermostat and it reads 87, while the other thermometer in the house reads 72 (and that is the real disparity in numbers we had when we first noticed the problem). A little research on the company turned up information that all electronic thermostats from this particular company do this. I won't mention their name because I don't want to embarrass Honeywell. I finally called in to our HVAC company through a different line (not a repair line) and asked them if they could fix this. They said yes they would replace it...in five days. I asked if they carried any other brands than the one they installed and they didn't. Frustrated I decided to runaway from the problem and went out to mow some of the muddy areas of the yard with the riding mower.
Now our mower is an commercial grade mower that we had to buy because someone keeps running into stuff bending the deck on regular mowers. I won't say who that someone is, but it's not me and it's probably my wife. Because of this, the mower weighs 1400 lbs. (about 650Kg) and because of its massive weight it gets stuck if there is any amount of moisture on the ground. While attempting to mow the parts of the yard that were too wet before, I hit a puddle or moss or gnat pee, whatever it was, the mower became hopelessly stuck. Now for reasons that I won't go into right now, I am the only one currently able to run this mower, so there was no one to drive the mower while I attempted to pull it out. So I did one any red blooded American male would do that has a Jeep and at least one ball (which I barely qualify for), I hooked up the Jeep and dropped it in four wheel drive low and jerked the crap out of it. You may have seen in the news where the day was .25 seconds shorter yesterday, that's because the massive torque of my Jeep pulling out this mower actually stopped the Earth's rotation for a brief moment. After these shenanigans were done, it was pretty much too late to attempt the ditch mowing/incision ripping yesterday.
So today I got up and went to a hardware store to find a thermostat that didn't have "Honeywell" stamped on it. I found one and then had to pick up a bag of concrete for another project we are doing. I found the correct type of concrete (for the record, there are approximately 75 different types of concrete and no matter what your project, there will be exactly 1 (one) bag that kinda fits what you are needing to do, and it will be on a very high shelf). I look straight at the bag...literally, because someone at Home Depot decided that this particular type of concrete needed to be about five feet in the air, and it dawned on me as I read "80 lbs." on the side of the bag that: A) I haven't lifted 80 lbs. since my surgery, I am officially supposed to be closer to 30lbs., and B) I can't bring the Jeep in to help me with this one. I briefly thought about asking for help, but two things occurred to me: 1) Guys are not supposed to ask for any sort of help whatsoever in a hardware store unless it is a veiled attempt to prove they know more than the person they are talking to, and 2) I have about as much chance of finding and employee at Home Depot to help me as I do of finding the Loch Ness Monster, Elvis, Jimmy Hoffa, and a regular cast member from Alf. Now Andrea Elson did walk by while I was contemplating the next move, but without Elvis, Jimmy, and Nessie she wouldn't have been much help. So I did what any self respecting guy would do, I picked up the bag anyway, rather than get help, and waited for the "pop" down below. I firmly grabbed the bag and just as gracefully has a Olympic weight lifter clean and jerks 1000 lbs., I put the concrete in the cart...OK, it was less like an Olympic weight lifter and more like a out of shape fat guy struggling to lift more weight than he lifted in eight months (outside of Golden Corral) all the while trying not drag the bag (which they for some reason make out of paper just slightly thicker than tissue paper) over anything that might snag it, causing it to burst open cartoonishly burying my feet in 80 lbs. of concrete, while at the same time trying to keep me from bursting open cartoonishly burying my feet in a large pile of my intestines. Unfortunately for the person watching me on the security camera I was able to load the concrete without any comic mishaps (yes, they actually have a sign in the concrete section pointing to the security camera, maybe that is a sign you are way understaffed if someone can grab an 80 lbs. bag of concrete and no one notices nor is able to catch someone fleeing with 80 lbs. of concrete).
Eventually, I made it home and the first thing I had to do, with the air conditioner running like an out of control Trane, was replace the thermostat. The thermostat contains slightly more wires than the Space Shuttle, except with fewer directions. After approximately 47 hours of cursing, reading, taking a Spanish course, reading the other manual, taking a Hindi course, calling tech support, and some Eeny Meeny Miney Mo, I was able to hook up the thermostat with a minimum amount of smoke and sparks. As I was wrapping up, a large storm hit, effectively ending my mowing/stomach shredding/toe slicing plans for the day.
I don't know if the events keeping me from mowing the ditch are a bit of Divine Intervention or just me being lazy and slow, but I will welcome the postponements no matter what the reasons. I just don't know what I am going to break to get out of it tomorrow...
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
There's More To Recovery Than Just Recovery...
Today I spent the morning with a good friend who is recovering from her own serious health condition. We got into a conversation about how hard it is to recover from a serious illness, not necessarily physically but mentally as well. There are so many aspects to recovery that get overlooked because caregivers are focused on, well recovery, but just physical. The medical profession seems to think if they fixed your ailment, you're done.
One thing I noticed since my cancer diagnosis, is before I found out I had cancer, I did routine checks for testicular cancer. I had a doctor in 1998 tell me it would be a good idea to check and I did the checks often, sometimes twice or more a day depending on how many other people were in the pool at the time, but every since I found the cancer, I hardly check. The ironic thing is, I have about half as much to check after the cancer, so you would think it would be easier to check now. However, I could probably count the times I have checked since then on one hand...not that hand the other one, the non-checking hand. I don't know why, but I have developed an aversion to checking myself since I had actually found something. Luckily, since I still manage to see one professional or another approximately every forty three minutes, I am getting checked enough right now by other people, so I don't need to worry about it, my family doctor, my urologist, my oncologist, my friend's overly curious dog, that TSA guy behind me in line at Arby's the other day, well at least I think it was a TSA uniform, or it could have been a bus driver's uniform, who ever it was he was very gentle and paid for my Arby-Q. I brought this issue up at my cancer support group to see if any other of the self examiners had the same mental block after diagnosis, but unfortunately the breast cancer survivors weren't there that day. There were a few prostate cancer survivors, but they didn't look flexible enough to perform self exams.
When down physically for so long, it takes a while to get back in the swing of things. The doctors pretty much force you to be a couch potato through weight restrictions and other warnings of dyer consequences if you overexert. After weeks, or even months, of continuously watching daytime TV, it's hard to get back into a routine of getting up, moving around, and even concentrating on anything that doesn't involve paternity testing, especially during Oprah's last season! And even when you do start to move about and get braver and braver, there can be certain obstacles in your daily life that look insurmountable. As part of my mowing routine, I have to dangle a push mower down a very steep embankment about five feet, pull it back up, and try to keep my toes out of the way the whole time I am struggling with it. This is something that leaves me physically drained and crippled on a good day, I will admit, I am scared to death to do it when I still haven't been released to do that sort of thing from the doctor that performed my surgery.
Then there is just the mental recovery. Believe it or not, you feel like your brain gets flabby from not being used while you were recovering. I tried to keep my brain sharp by first reading Yahoo articles on-line, then working my way up to on-line versions of magazines, then newspapers, and even tried to read a few books on-line. It was months into my recovery before I realized I had just been looking at porn the whole time, which I would stop, but I am not quite done with this article. The point being, when you brain isn't working as hard as it had in the past, it takes a while to be able to stare at a computer screen for hours on end again (especially if there is no porn on that computer screen).
One last part of mental recovery I will mention, kinda relates to one of the first things I mentioned, and that is the fear that you are not quite well yet, or that it will come back. There is a reason that until recently, oncologists would never use the word "cured" they would just say "remission". I don't know that I will ever get over the fear that the cancer isn't quite gone, or that it's hiding somewhere else, or that it's just not big enough to show up on tests yet, or that it's lying dormant, or, or, or, or....with so much of cancer being an unknown, how do we as patients feel secure in our "cured" diagnoses? And am I sure our families/caregivers/support networks have the same fears, whether they will verbalize them or not.
I guess in many ways, recovering from a serious illness is like a "recovering alcoholic". Sure, Bill W. never plans on having another drink, but he knows that threat is always lurking in the background. In much the same way, I don't ever plan on having cancer again, but I know there is a possibility, however slight, that it could be hiding somewhere. Maybe I should do some more internet "reading" and a self-exam just to make sure there's no cancer left.
One thing I noticed since my cancer diagnosis, is before I found out I had cancer, I did routine checks for testicular cancer. I had a doctor in 1998 tell me it would be a good idea to check and I did the checks often, sometimes twice or more a day depending on how many other people were in the pool at the time, but every since I found the cancer, I hardly check. The ironic thing is, I have about half as much to check after the cancer, so you would think it would be easier to check now. However, I could probably count the times I have checked since then on one hand...not that hand the other one, the non-checking hand. I don't know why, but I have developed an aversion to checking myself since I had actually found something. Luckily, since I still manage to see one professional or another approximately every forty three minutes, I am getting checked enough right now by other people, so I don't need to worry about it, my family doctor, my urologist, my oncologist, my friend's overly curious dog, that TSA guy behind me in line at Arby's the other day, well at least I think it was a TSA uniform, or it could have been a bus driver's uniform, who ever it was he was very gentle and paid for my Arby-Q. I brought this issue up at my cancer support group to see if any other of the self examiners had the same mental block after diagnosis, but unfortunately the breast cancer survivors weren't there that day. There were a few prostate cancer survivors, but they didn't look flexible enough to perform self exams.
When down physically for so long, it takes a while to get back in the swing of things. The doctors pretty much force you to be a couch potato through weight restrictions and other warnings of dyer consequences if you overexert. After weeks, or even months, of continuously watching daytime TV, it's hard to get back into a routine of getting up, moving around, and even concentrating on anything that doesn't involve paternity testing, especially during Oprah's last season! And even when you do start to move about and get braver and braver, there can be certain obstacles in your daily life that look insurmountable. As part of my mowing routine, I have to dangle a push mower down a very steep embankment about five feet, pull it back up, and try to keep my toes out of the way the whole time I am struggling with it. This is something that leaves me physically drained and crippled on a good day, I will admit, I am scared to death to do it when I still haven't been released to do that sort of thing from the doctor that performed my surgery.
Then there is just the mental recovery. Believe it or not, you feel like your brain gets flabby from not being used while you were recovering. I tried to keep my brain sharp by first reading Yahoo articles on-line, then working my way up to on-line versions of magazines, then newspapers, and even tried to read a few books on-line. It was months into my recovery before I realized I had just been looking at porn the whole time, which I would stop, but I am not quite done with this article. The point being, when you brain isn't working as hard as it had in the past, it takes a while to be able to stare at a computer screen for hours on end again (especially if there is no porn on that computer screen).
One last part of mental recovery I will mention, kinda relates to one of the first things I mentioned, and that is the fear that you are not quite well yet, or that it will come back. There is a reason that until recently, oncologists would never use the word "cured" they would just say "remission". I don't know that I will ever get over the fear that the cancer isn't quite gone, or that it's hiding somewhere else, or that it's just not big enough to show up on tests yet, or that it's lying dormant, or, or, or, or....with so much of cancer being an unknown, how do we as patients feel secure in our "cured" diagnoses? And am I sure our families/caregivers/support networks have the same fears, whether they will verbalize them or not.
I guess in many ways, recovering from a serious illness is like a "recovering alcoholic". Sure, Bill W. never plans on having another drink, but he knows that threat is always lurking in the background. In much the same way, I don't ever plan on having cancer again, but I know there is a possibility, however slight, that it could be hiding somewhere. Maybe I should do some more internet "reading" and a self-exam just to make sure there's no cancer left.
Monday, May 9, 2011
"If I Leave You It Doesn't Mean I Love You Any Less"
For the second day in a row I am starting off with a Warren Zevon quote. While Warren was dying of mesothelioma he wrote a song to his wife with the line "if I leave you it doesn't mean I love you any less". It was a touching line when I first heard it and a much more powerful line after my cancer diagnosis. I think the first reaction when you are diagnosed, is to wonder if you are going to survive. The second reaction is if you don't survive, what will that do to your family? What a brilliantly simple way of expressing how we feel. If cancer takes us, it doesn't mean that we want to go.
I "graduated" from the Wellness Community this week. I won't say I am 100% over all of this stuff, heck for one thing I haven't officially been released from the urologist yet, but cancer is no longer the prevailing thought in my mind anymore. Granted there are other things going on in my life right now that are taking my focus off that crap, which is a good thing. I don't know if I would feel this far removed from cancer otherwise, but the point is I do and that's all that matters. It's hard to believe my cancerversary is coming up in just a few months!
The Wellness Community and more importantly the people in my support group have been very...well supportive. I was hoping there would be a big crowd there so I could say "bye", but there was only the facilitator and one other guy, who happened to be my favorite guy and the one that helped me the most. This particular guy (without giving any identifying information, which is a no-no for a support group) has lived with cancer for literally decades. Not a survivor, LIVED WITH CANCER as in still has cancer! There is another in my group that has lived with cancer for about a decade as well. Do you know how comforting that is to someone who just got diagnosed? Even if you aren't cured, here is living proof that you can live with cancer and look like a normal non-cancer-having person! And the thing I was most impressed with these two individuals was they were the most upbeat of the group. They weren't cursing their maker or bitter at the world. They were positive. With just my favorite guy in my final meeting, I was able to spend a lot of time telling him just how important he has been to my emotional recovery. I wish there were a couple of others there that I wanted to thank, but that's what e-mail is for.
Now to complain about my group for just one second. One thing I did get off my chest was there was an incredibly negative individual that almost caused me to quit the group. This person was CURED but didn't want to believe it and spent the whole meeting going on about how if you had cancer once it stays in you forever and it can pop up anytime, even if the doctor says you are in remission or even cured. That is not something I wanted to be around just out of my surgery and facing chemotherapy. Luckily, the lady from the No Boobs About It blog warned me that there is one of those people in every group, to just try to ignore them. I am glad she told me that. The only other complaint I have with my group (and people in general) sometimes when life looks the darkest, people give up on you. Most cancer patients have ups and downs in their care, and some people in the group would start referring to people in the past tense that were struggling in their fight. The whole time Monty Python and the Holy Grail was running through my head "I'm not dead yet..." All of the people referred to in the past tense have gotten better! Thank God (literally) that they had better outlooks on their own lives than some of their supporters.
But all in all, I loved the Wellness Community and the support everyone gave me. I didn't really want to leave, but I didn't feel it was right for me to be there anymore, since I feel less and less like a cancer patient and more like a cancer survivor. I wanted to thank everyone for what they did with a gift, however I couldn't just give gifts because I am still unemployed and don't have a lot of money flowing in right now. I would have liked to cook something and bring it in (and let's just pretend for a moment that my cooking is tolerable) but when you are on chemo, you can be super sensitive to tastes and smells (I still won't touch pasta and shun salt, two things I enjoyed before chemo) so food is not even allowed inside the room we meet in. So that left me with my favorite thing, music.
Not only have I worked extensively in music running record stores, as a club DJ, and even with a record company being required to hang out with rock stars for three years, but I have always used music to alter my mood and relate to others. Back in the day, years before I even met my wife (if she is reading this) I would make mix tapes and CD's to open doors to hot girls that would inevitably ask for more CDs and less of me. More recently, I boil my music collection to moods. I have several CDs I put together just to keep me awake on roadtrips. I have CDs I made to listen to just when I want to sing loud in the car with no one around. I have a CD I made to listen to when you are in a pissed off mood (which I largely gathered from my wife's music collection, I don't know what that means, I'm just saying...). And I have made CDs just to put me in a good mood. So that is what I did, I made CDs for my group, happy CDs. You know, songs that are just impossible to be sad while listening to, stuff like LFO's Summer Girls, Spice Girls' Wannabe, and Hanson's MmmBop...OK, I am lying, I like most people over the age of two and with most of their faculties hate those songs. That was just a list of my sister's CD collection. (The funny thing here, is I have to approve all comments before they are posted, so there is no way for her to refute this on my page. But I am sure there will be retribution on hers.) But I did put together a list of twenty songs from 1952 to the mid 1990s that just make you feel good. I don't know if they will appreciate them or not, but even if they don't, at least I gave them a new shiny coaster.
So Thursday, Warren's lyrics held a different meaning to me. I didn't want to leave the friendships, but it was time for me to leave the group. And although I can't specifically identify people or illnesses, I will vaguely take a moment to say some "thank yous". Thank you Bill for showing me how one person can face cancer and act like...well someone that doesn't have cancer. Thank you Susan for having that magic folder where much like a Magic 8 Ball, you ask a question, you reach your hand in, and pull out a print out with the answer. Thank you Ann for showing just how hard one human can fight, and still retain grace and dignity the whole time. Thank you Cary for taking a bad situation and turning it around for something good. And most of all thank you Ned, no doubt your family sacrificed a great deal for the benefit of so many others, and I will never be able to express my gratitude sufficiently. And there are many others at the group that helped me, and I don't mean to play favorites here...but I am (did). And it's not like anyone actually reads these anyway, so there is not really anyone to offend with an omission. Even though I didn't place that Warren Zevon song (Keep Me In Your Heart For A While) on the CD I made, because although very poignant and beautiful it's also incredibly depressing, I graduate from and depart the Wellness Community with those words in my heart and mind, "If I leave you it doesn't mean I love you any less".
I "graduated" from the Wellness Community this week. I won't say I am 100% over all of this stuff, heck for one thing I haven't officially been released from the urologist yet, but cancer is no longer the prevailing thought in my mind anymore. Granted there are other things going on in my life right now that are taking my focus off that crap, which is a good thing. I don't know if I would feel this far removed from cancer otherwise, but the point is I do and that's all that matters. It's hard to believe my cancerversary is coming up in just a few months!
The Wellness Community and more importantly the people in my support group have been very...well supportive. I was hoping there would be a big crowd there so I could say "bye", but there was only the facilitator and one other guy, who happened to be my favorite guy and the one that helped me the most. This particular guy (without giving any identifying information, which is a no-no for a support group) has lived with cancer for literally decades. Not a survivor, LIVED WITH CANCER as in still has cancer! There is another in my group that has lived with cancer for about a decade as well. Do you know how comforting that is to someone who just got diagnosed? Even if you aren't cured, here is living proof that you can live with cancer and look like a normal non-cancer-having person! And the thing I was most impressed with these two individuals was they were the most upbeat of the group. They weren't cursing their maker or bitter at the world. They were positive. With just my favorite guy in my final meeting, I was able to spend a lot of time telling him just how important he has been to my emotional recovery. I wish there were a couple of others there that I wanted to thank, but that's what e-mail is for.
Now to complain about my group for just one second. One thing I did get off my chest was there was an incredibly negative individual that almost caused me to quit the group. This person was CURED but didn't want to believe it and spent the whole meeting going on about how if you had cancer once it stays in you forever and it can pop up anytime, even if the doctor says you are in remission or even cured. That is not something I wanted to be around just out of my surgery and facing chemotherapy. Luckily, the lady from the No Boobs About It blog warned me that there is one of those people in every group, to just try to ignore them. I am glad she told me that. The only other complaint I have with my group (and people in general) sometimes when life looks the darkest, people give up on you. Most cancer patients have ups and downs in their care, and some people in the group would start referring to people in the past tense that were struggling in their fight. The whole time Monty Python and the Holy Grail was running through my head "I'm not dead yet..." All of the people referred to in the past tense have gotten better! Thank God (literally) that they had better outlooks on their own lives than some of their supporters.
But all in all, I loved the Wellness Community and the support everyone gave me. I didn't really want to leave, but I didn't feel it was right for me to be there anymore, since I feel less and less like a cancer patient and more like a cancer survivor. I wanted to thank everyone for what they did with a gift, however I couldn't just give gifts because I am still unemployed and don't have a lot of money flowing in right now. I would have liked to cook something and bring it in (and let's just pretend for a moment that my cooking is tolerable) but when you are on chemo, you can be super sensitive to tastes and smells (I still won't touch pasta and shun salt, two things I enjoyed before chemo) so food is not even allowed inside the room we meet in. So that left me with my favorite thing, music.
Not only have I worked extensively in music running record stores, as a club DJ, and even with a record company being required to hang out with rock stars for three years, but I have always used music to alter my mood and relate to others. Back in the day, years before I even met my wife (if she is reading this) I would make mix tapes and CD's to open doors to hot girls that would inevitably ask for more CDs and less of me. More recently, I boil my music collection to moods. I have several CDs I put together just to keep me awake on roadtrips. I have CDs I made to listen to just when I want to sing loud in the car with no one around. I have a CD I made to listen to when you are in a pissed off mood (which I largely gathered from my wife's music collection, I don't know what that means, I'm just saying...). And I have made CDs just to put me in a good mood. So that is what I did, I made CDs for my group, happy CDs. You know, songs that are just impossible to be sad while listening to, stuff like LFO's Summer Girls, Spice Girls' Wannabe, and Hanson's MmmBop...OK, I am lying, I like most people over the age of two and with most of their faculties hate those songs. That was just a list of my sister's CD collection. (The funny thing here, is I have to approve all comments before they are posted, so there is no way for her to refute this on my page. But I am sure there will be retribution on hers.) But I did put together a list of twenty songs from 1952 to the mid 1990s that just make you feel good. I don't know if they will appreciate them or not, but even if they don't, at least I gave them a new shiny coaster.
So Thursday, Warren's lyrics held a different meaning to me. I didn't want to leave the friendships, but it was time for me to leave the group. And although I can't specifically identify people or illnesses, I will vaguely take a moment to say some "thank yous". Thank you Bill for showing me how one person can face cancer and act like...well someone that doesn't have cancer. Thank you Susan for having that magic folder where much like a Magic 8 Ball, you ask a question, you reach your hand in, and pull out a print out with the answer. Thank you Ann for showing just how hard one human can fight, and still retain grace and dignity the whole time. Thank you Cary for taking a bad situation and turning it around for something good. And most of all thank you Ned, no doubt your family sacrificed a great deal for the benefit of so many others, and I will never be able to express my gratitude sufficiently. And there are many others at the group that helped me, and I don't mean to play favorites here...but I am (did). And it's not like anyone actually reads these anyway, so there is not really anyone to offend with an omission. Even though I didn't place that Warren Zevon song (Keep Me In Your Heart For A While) on the CD I made, because although very poignant and beautiful it's also incredibly depressing, I graduate from and depart the Wellness Community with those words in my heart and mind, "If I leave you it doesn't mean I love you any less".
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Enjoy Every Sandwich
I haven't spent much time on the computer lately because I was spending too much time on the computer. No, I wasn't actually doing anything on the computer, I was just watching it sit and lock up and restart. I can't complain too much, the computer I was using was from 2003. However, this week while helping a friend with a project, and sitting at the computer for literally an hour while it processed the request I was asking of it, I said enough was enough. After begging and pleading with my wife, I now have a brand new computer that actually turns on when you turn it on, and does what you ask it to do. I bought it yesterday and upon cleaning out the old computer and setting up my new one, I decided to check the speed of the thing by watching some video content that I have missed over the years. Not porn, because I make sure not to miss that, just everything from a Simpson's episode I missed last month to Warren Zevon's last appearance on David Letterman a few years back.
At my support group meeting two weeks ago, we discussed how all of us in the group, after having the inarguably life changing cancer diagnosis, all have adopted a more living-in-the-moment attitude. We were not talking about living your life like an anarchist, we were talking about living without regrets. When people say they live their life without regrets, they tend to mean that they stand by the decisions they made in their life, be them good or bad, because even bad decisions can be learning experiences. However, the living without regrets that we were referring to, is all of the times in our lives we have passed on an opportunity or not followed a dream for trivial reasons. They can be life decisions or just fun times we passed up with friends. Whether it be regretting not going to that concert with your buddy, or not having the opportunity to say "bye" to someone before it was too late, or not marrying Christie Turlington, there are several decisions in all of our lives we wish we could change or get that opportunity back.
Still unemployed, I have recently reevaluated my life and my career path. My latest career path started when I was volunteering while helping out my hometown during the floods along the Mississippi River. I loved working side by side with people to sandbag in an effort to save their house, business, church, or just the town in general. I later managed to get into the disaster business and found that in the disaster business, you don't really get to help those individuals anymore. I got more and more immersed in my job, working longer and weirder hours, seeing the people I wanted to help less and less. I got to teach disaster preparedness to people, which I loved, but my job was asking me to take a more supervisory role on that as well and have volunteers do that. When you work a job you love and you work long hours, the years go by, the job changes, and before you know it, the job you once loved, is no longer the same job, and you just love it out of habit. It dawned on me recently, that is what happened to me.
After the things that have happened in my life lately, I have analyzed what I enjoy. When you are faced with life altering events, you realize a job can be something you love doing and are willing to sacrifice for, something you hate doing, but it pays so much it gives you the opportunity to spend that money on your family enriching your life that way, for a lucky few like musicians and porn stars it could be a job that you both love and pays a lot, or it can be a job you hate, doesn't pay that well, and isn't rewarding. After talking with my wife, we both agreed that in this stage of our lives, I should look for either a job I really, really enjoy, a job that I maybe don't enjoy and doesn't pay much but allows me a lot of time with my family, or a job that pays ridiculous money that when I do get sometime off I can afford to jet off to Walt Disney World or buy expensive guitars (she says spend the money on the family, but that's not how I processed it in my mind). Just like we talked in my group, live in the moment, make sure your job is worth it to you, either monetarily or sense of accomplishment.
But we weren't just talking about jobs in my group. We were talking about everything in life, meeting that friend for lunch, dropping an e-mail to a sick friend, taking that trip, learning that skill you have always wanted, whatever. I wish I could live a week in Cinderella's Castle at Walt Disney World, get right out of bed walk straight to the Jungle Cruise and shoot an elephant in my PJs (how he got in my pajamas I'll never know...ya gotta love Groucho!). That is a trip that would probably bankrupt me and put a huge financial strain on my family for many years to come. That is not the type of thing we were talking about. However, for years my wife and I have dreamed of taking a trip out west, just driving and seeing the sights this country has to offer. That trip, I have no doubt we will take in the coming years when we are physically and financially able to go. For years, I have begged my parents to come to Florida with us. We went as a family one time and had a great experience. That was sixteen years ago. My wife and I are able to visit Florida frequently on a fairly cheap budget. I have invited my parents many times and offered many ways to help facilitate their travel down there. Time after time we are turned down and have basically heard from them that they will never travel that far again. It is something that really saddens me, especially since my cancer diagnosis. We don't know when God may call any of us back home. We don't know how much time we have with each other. Instead of just showing my parents photos and telling them what a great time we have in Florida, we would like to take them, show them, experience it with them (until they get tired and grumpy like old people tend to do, then we will lock them in a bathroom or something). I think what saddens me is not so much the repeated declines of our previous offers, but how they say they don't ever think they will make a trip like that again. I was taken to Disney Parks the first time by my family and I was kind of hoping that one day they would be there to experience it with their grandchild. Who knows, maybe they will be more adventurous by the time that opportunity rolls around, or at least senile enough that we can tell them we are taking them to Big Lots or something and Big Lots has a new one thousand mile long parking lot.
When Warren Zevon made his final appearance on David Letterman, he was well aware that he was dying from Mesothelioma. He knew it was the last time he would be on there. He knew that the breath that he drew to sing songs many people loved was being stolen more and more by the cancer filling his lungs. Warren had a great attitude and repeated many times through his dying days "Enjoy every sandwich." It may sound stupid and simple, but for anyone that has looked at a doctor waiting to hear a success rate or a chance of survivability we know exactly what he means. Do what you enjoy. Don't waste your time on things you don't enjoy. If you do have to do things you don't enjoy, make sure it's worth it in the end. Learn to love the gifts you are given in your life, the big ones and the little ones. Enjoy every sandwich. With that said, I am sore from typing and hungry for a sandwich, so it's time to get off of here.
At my support group meeting two weeks ago, we discussed how all of us in the group, after having the inarguably life changing cancer diagnosis, all have adopted a more living-in-the-moment attitude. We were not talking about living your life like an anarchist, we were talking about living without regrets. When people say they live their life without regrets, they tend to mean that they stand by the decisions they made in their life, be them good or bad, because even bad decisions can be learning experiences. However, the living without regrets that we were referring to, is all of the times in our lives we have passed on an opportunity or not followed a dream for trivial reasons. They can be life decisions or just fun times we passed up with friends. Whether it be regretting not going to that concert with your buddy, or not having the opportunity to say "bye" to someone before it was too late, or not marrying Christie Turlington, there are several decisions in all of our lives we wish we could change or get that opportunity back.
Still unemployed, I have recently reevaluated my life and my career path. My latest career path started when I was volunteering while helping out my hometown during the floods along the Mississippi River. I loved working side by side with people to sandbag in an effort to save their house, business, church, or just the town in general. I later managed to get into the disaster business and found that in the disaster business, you don't really get to help those individuals anymore. I got more and more immersed in my job, working longer and weirder hours, seeing the people I wanted to help less and less. I got to teach disaster preparedness to people, which I loved, but my job was asking me to take a more supervisory role on that as well and have volunteers do that. When you work a job you love and you work long hours, the years go by, the job changes, and before you know it, the job you once loved, is no longer the same job, and you just love it out of habit. It dawned on me recently, that is what happened to me.
After the things that have happened in my life lately, I have analyzed what I enjoy. When you are faced with life altering events, you realize a job can be something you love doing and are willing to sacrifice for, something you hate doing, but it pays so much it gives you the opportunity to spend that money on your family enriching your life that way, for a lucky few like musicians and porn stars it could be a job that you both love and pays a lot, or it can be a job you hate, doesn't pay that well, and isn't rewarding. After talking with my wife, we both agreed that in this stage of our lives, I should look for either a job I really, really enjoy, a job that I maybe don't enjoy and doesn't pay much but allows me a lot of time with my family, or a job that pays ridiculous money that when I do get sometime off I can afford to jet off to Walt Disney World or buy expensive guitars (she says spend the money on the family, but that's not how I processed it in my mind). Just like we talked in my group, live in the moment, make sure your job is worth it to you, either monetarily or sense of accomplishment.
But we weren't just talking about jobs in my group. We were talking about everything in life, meeting that friend for lunch, dropping an e-mail to a sick friend, taking that trip, learning that skill you have always wanted, whatever. I wish I could live a week in Cinderella's Castle at Walt Disney World, get right out of bed walk straight to the Jungle Cruise and shoot an elephant in my PJs (how he got in my pajamas I'll never know...ya gotta love Groucho!). That is a trip that would probably bankrupt me and put a huge financial strain on my family for many years to come. That is not the type of thing we were talking about. However, for years my wife and I have dreamed of taking a trip out west, just driving and seeing the sights this country has to offer. That trip, I have no doubt we will take in the coming years when we are physically and financially able to go. For years, I have begged my parents to come to Florida with us. We went as a family one time and had a great experience. That was sixteen years ago. My wife and I are able to visit Florida frequently on a fairly cheap budget. I have invited my parents many times and offered many ways to help facilitate their travel down there. Time after time we are turned down and have basically heard from them that they will never travel that far again. It is something that really saddens me, especially since my cancer diagnosis. We don't know when God may call any of us back home. We don't know how much time we have with each other. Instead of just showing my parents photos and telling them what a great time we have in Florida, we would like to take them, show them, experience it with them (until they get tired and grumpy like old people tend to do, then we will lock them in a bathroom or something). I think what saddens me is not so much the repeated declines of our previous offers, but how they say they don't ever think they will make a trip like that again. I was taken to Disney Parks the first time by my family and I was kind of hoping that one day they would be there to experience it with their grandchild. Who knows, maybe they will be more adventurous by the time that opportunity rolls around, or at least senile enough that we can tell them we are taking them to Big Lots or something and Big Lots has a new one thousand mile long parking lot.
When Warren Zevon made his final appearance on David Letterman, he was well aware that he was dying from Mesothelioma. He knew it was the last time he would be on there. He knew that the breath that he drew to sing songs many people loved was being stolen more and more by the cancer filling his lungs. Warren had a great attitude and repeated many times through his dying days "Enjoy every sandwich." It may sound stupid and simple, but for anyone that has looked at a doctor waiting to hear a success rate or a chance of survivability we know exactly what he means. Do what you enjoy. Don't waste your time on things you don't enjoy. If you do have to do things you don't enjoy, make sure it's worth it in the end. Learn to love the gifts you are given in your life, the big ones and the little ones. Enjoy every sandwich. With that said, I am sore from typing and hungry for a sandwich, so it's time to get off of here.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
If Coughing Were A Sport, I Would Be An Olympian!
So a couple weeks back I wrote about having a cold. Well, the sniffling stopped, the sneezing stopped, and the coughing...well it never went away. In my typical, stubborn, I-don't-want-to-go-to-the-doctor sort of way, I decided the best thing to do was to ignore it and keep coughing. That changed the night my wife asked why I was breathing so fast. I said I wasn't breathing fast, especially since I was just sitting there, not exerting myself with heavy exercise like bending over to tie my shoes, reaching for more cookies, or grabbing the remote to change the channel. When she pointed out that I indeed was breathing fast, I started getting worried. One possible cause could be pneumonia or any other number of pfunny gnamed illknesses.
So, first thing the next day I called the doctor and scheduled an appointment for later that day. The two things I can always count on with my obsessive-compulsive doctor is that no matter what I am there for I have to be humiliated with the scale, and that he will be at the very latest on time. And that is exactly what happened, after finding out I was fat (again) I was taken back to see the doctor...early! While the nurse was pointing out that I was fat and taking my blood pressure, she scared me by telling me how rampant pneumonia has been this year. My doctor came in and had me take several deep breaths, much more than usual, which seemed like a pretty sadistic thing to do to someone that was having trouble breathing. Finally, he told me to take a deep breath, and breathe it out as fast as I could, which resulted in my coughing very hard, getting light headed, and almost falling off the exam table. That caused him to giggle a little and tell me that people usually get lightheaded if they come in in my state and do that, which made me wonder why, if most people get lightheaded and almost fall off the table, why didn't he put himself in some sort of position to catch me? Anyway, he narrowed it down to walking pneumonia or viral bronchitis, and told me to go to the hospital right away to get an X-ray.
Because of my medical past, I have been pummeled by radiation so much to the point that my oncologist wants to limit the amount of exposure I have from now on. For those that don't know, radiation builds in your body over time. It starts from the day you were born and keeps adding up until the day you die. I told my doctor that my oncologist (and his good friend) had ordered a chest X-ray as part of my six month post-chemo check-up for the next week and asked if there was anyway I could just get one set of X-rays that would take care of what both my doctor and my oncologist wanted to see (plus then I would only have to pay one co-pay). He thought that was a great idea and wrote the prescription. My doctor sent me on my way, but not without first giving me two free inhalers. He is one of those doctors that feels if drug companies are constantly going to keep coming around and bugging him, he is going to take all the samples he can, and try his best to keep from actually ever writing a prescription for anything, just give away free samples. I don't think that is what the drug reps had in mind, but I certainly appreciate it.
I rush to the hospital just in time to spend the next half an hour filling out paperwork and answering questions between coughs. I finally got in to have my X-rays done and my doctor called the next morning to say I just had bronchitis (which isn't that much easier to spell) and that it looks like I am still cancer free. I still have another week before I hear that officially from my oncologist, but the surprise X-ray and results have definitely cut down on my scanxiety this time around.
So, going on week four since all this started, I am still coughing and according to my doctor, can expect to still be coughing for another two weeks. I am thrilled. In the meantime, I will steer clear of salty foods, keep making people around me scared that I am contagious, and keep my wife and basenjis awake by hacking all through the night. Let's just call it payback for all the kicking that they supposedly do "in their sleep".
I will close by telling the story about the Evil Casket. The Evil Casket started chasing this poor girl one day. No matter where she went the Evil Casket came bouncing after her. The faster she ran, the faster the Evil Casket bounced. She ran into her house and locked the door, the Evil Casket knocked the door down. She ran upstairs, and the Evil Casket bounded right up the stairs behind her. She ran into the bathroom and locked the door, and the Evil Casket broke that door down too. Cornered and desperate, the poor girl reached for something, anything to use as a weapon against the Casket. She opened the medicine cabinet, grabbed the Dimetapp, threw at her pursuer, and....the coffin stopped!
So, first thing the next day I called the doctor and scheduled an appointment for later that day. The two things I can always count on with my obsessive-compulsive doctor is that no matter what I am there for I have to be humiliated with the scale, and that he will be at the very latest on time. And that is exactly what happened, after finding out I was fat (again) I was taken back to see the doctor...early! While the nurse was pointing out that I was fat and taking my blood pressure, she scared me by telling me how rampant pneumonia has been this year. My doctor came in and had me take several deep breaths, much more than usual, which seemed like a pretty sadistic thing to do to someone that was having trouble breathing. Finally, he told me to take a deep breath, and breathe it out as fast as I could, which resulted in my coughing very hard, getting light headed, and almost falling off the exam table. That caused him to giggle a little and tell me that people usually get lightheaded if they come in in my state and do that, which made me wonder why, if most people get lightheaded and almost fall off the table, why didn't he put himself in some sort of position to catch me? Anyway, he narrowed it down to walking pneumonia or viral bronchitis, and told me to go to the hospital right away to get an X-ray.
Because of my medical past, I have been pummeled by radiation so much to the point that my oncologist wants to limit the amount of exposure I have from now on. For those that don't know, radiation builds in your body over time. It starts from the day you were born and keeps adding up until the day you die. I told my doctor that my oncologist (and his good friend) had ordered a chest X-ray as part of my six month post-chemo check-up for the next week and asked if there was anyway I could just get one set of X-rays that would take care of what both my doctor and my oncologist wanted to see (plus then I would only have to pay one co-pay). He thought that was a great idea and wrote the prescription. My doctor sent me on my way, but not without first giving me two free inhalers. He is one of those doctors that feels if drug companies are constantly going to keep coming around and bugging him, he is going to take all the samples he can, and try his best to keep from actually ever writing a prescription for anything, just give away free samples. I don't think that is what the drug reps had in mind, but I certainly appreciate it.
I rush to the hospital just in time to spend the next half an hour filling out paperwork and answering questions between coughs. I finally got in to have my X-rays done and my doctor called the next morning to say I just had bronchitis (which isn't that much easier to spell) and that it looks like I am still cancer free. I still have another week before I hear that officially from my oncologist, but the surprise X-ray and results have definitely cut down on my scanxiety this time around.
So, going on week four since all this started, I am still coughing and according to my doctor, can expect to still be coughing for another two weeks. I am thrilled. In the meantime, I will steer clear of salty foods, keep making people around me scared that I am contagious, and keep my wife and basenjis awake by hacking all through the night. Let's just call it payback for all the kicking that they supposedly do "in their sleep".
I will close by telling the story about the Evil Casket. The Evil Casket started chasing this poor girl one day. No matter where she went the Evil Casket came bouncing after her. The faster she ran, the faster the Evil Casket bounced. She ran into her house and locked the door, the Evil Casket knocked the door down. She ran upstairs, and the Evil Casket bounded right up the stairs behind her. She ran into the bathroom and locked the door, and the Evil Casket broke that door down too. Cornered and desperate, the poor girl reached for something, anything to use as a weapon against the Casket. She opened the medicine cabinet, grabbed the Dimetapp, threw at her pursuer, and....the coffin stopped!
Monday, April 18, 2011
Taking A Houseplant, Worms, And My Wife On A Roadtrip
One of the things I have done for my wife in the past is take her on surprise trips. In fact, my proposal to her was a surprise trip to Niagara Falls, where for the balance of the trip, rather than enjoy the beauty of the natural wonder, she stared at her recently acquired ring, studying to see if I remembered all the specifics she told me to make sure it had. Since then I have surprised her with other trips like a trip to Holiday World (which has FREE Pepsi products!!!) and the Mothman Festival in Point Pleasant, West Virginia. OK, so the quality of the surprise trips has definitely been declining. Anyway, a very good friend had offered me her lakeside cabin for the weekend. I call it a cabin, but it is more the size of an Army barracks, except the cabin can sleep more people.
Two months ago I started planning this trip as a cool, cheap thing an unemployed cancer patient can do for his wife's birthday. It required me to make all sorts of plans, cover stories, basenji babysitters, and secret acquisitions of everything from the keys to the place and groceries to worms (for fishing). This kept me a lot busier than I had thought it would. Everyday last week it seemed I was running around gathering stuff between the hours that my wife left for work and before she came home. I had to run around, buy food and supplies, and get back into my regular lounging-around-the-house clothes by the time she got home so she wouldn't realize I was running around all day buying worms.
My plan went fairly well and she even bought my cover story, that we were going to see my grandma in the nursing home. That story was actually too believable. While I was mowing the lawn the night before our departure, my wife baked a fancy cake and bought a houseplant all for my dear grandma that we weren't actually going to see. So, being the resourceful person that I am, since this trip was a surprise birthday trip, I grabbed some candles and decided she just baked her own birthday cake. Now in the past, I have tricked family members into wrapping their own presents, this is the first time I had someone bake their own cake.
The good news is, my wife was happily surprised and not mad that she baked a fancy cake...for herself, and a cute houseplant got to go on a road trip. The place we stayed was huge! At first it was overwhelming and even deciding what bedroom to sleep in resulted in an hour long dilemma. The irony was, that with this gigantic lake house at our disposal, we basically only really hung out in two rooms. Even though the fishing was non-productive this weekend, I was able to sneak her favorite camera into the car, so what she didn't catch in fish, she made up for in pictures.
As for me, the topography surrounding a house built on a slope next to a lake and some in progress repairs on the front porch, compounded by the amount of stuff we had to haul in and out, really stressed my incision. In my usual stubbornness, I didn't bother to take any precautions as I was rappelling down to the cabin from the car with loads of luggage and groceries...and worms. After climbing up and down the hill, loading and unloading the car, and fishing, and just walking to the lake, luckily, I feel great. So, even though this was a trip for my wife, it ended up being a boost for my own morale as well. One more sign that this cancer stuff is getting further and further behind me.
So, I don't have to sneak around buying worms anymore, and I don't have to worry about all the people that were in on my wife's surprise trip slipping up and spilling the beans. I did a bunch of stuff I shouldn't have physically this weekend, and I am none the worse for it. Although with the storms, it wasn't the best trip, but it was still pretty good!
Two months ago I started planning this trip as a cool, cheap thing an unemployed cancer patient can do for his wife's birthday. It required me to make all sorts of plans, cover stories, basenji babysitters, and secret acquisitions of everything from the keys to the place and groceries to worms (for fishing). This kept me a lot busier than I had thought it would. Everyday last week it seemed I was running around gathering stuff between the hours that my wife left for work and before she came home. I had to run around, buy food and supplies, and get back into my regular lounging-around-the-house clothes by the time she got home so she wouldn't realize I was running around all day buying worms.
My plan went fairly well and she even bought my cover story, that we were going to see my grandma in the nursing home. That story was actually too believable. While I was mowing the lawn the night before our departure, my wife baked a fancy cake and bought a houseplant all for my dear grandma that we weren't actually going to see. So, being the resourceful person that I am, since this trip was a surprise birthday trip, I grabbed some candles and decided she just baked her own birthday cake. Now in the past, I have tricked family members into wrapping their own presents, this is the first time I had someone bake their own cake.
The good news is, my wife was happily surprised and not mad that she baked a fancy cake...for herself, and a cute houseplant got to go on a road trip. The place we stayed was huge! At first it was overwhelming and even deciding what bedroom to sleep in resulted in an hour long dilemma. The irony was, that with this gigantic lake house at our disposal, we basically only really hung out in two rooms. Even though the fishing was non-productive this weekend, I was able to sneak her favorite camera into the car, so what she didn't catch in fish, she made up for in pictures.
As for me, the topography surrounding a house built on a slope next to a lake and some in progress repairs on the front porch, compounded by the amount of stuff we had to haul in and out, really stressed my incision. In my usual stubbornness, I didn't bother to take any precautions as I was rappelling down to the cabin from the car with loads of luggage and groceries...and worms. After climbing up and down the hill, loading and unloading the car, and fishing, and just walking to the lake, luckily, I feel great. So, even though this was a trip for my wife, it ended up being a boost for my own morale as well. One more sign that this cancer stuff is getting further and further behind me.
So, I don't have to sneak around buying worms anymore, and I don't have to worry about all the people that were in on my wife's surprise trip slipping up and spilling the beans. I did a bunch of stuff I shouldn't have physically this weekend, and I am none the worse for it. Although with the storms, it wasn't the best trip, but it was still pretty good!
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Ah, The Good Old Days When I Could Take Dimetapp...
After a week (or weak) of coughing, snorting, hacking, sniffling, wheezing, whining, blowing, gasping, and honking I think I have almost beaten this cold. According to my wife I was just complaining and it wasn't that bad, until she caught it four days later. I maintain, that if she would have taken better care of me, she wouldn't have gotten it. However, since she just left me to flounder, I remained sick and infectious and she caught it from me.
I think the worst part of this cold or any cold, is when you start coughing without end. Although a few blogs ago I was saying I finally felt like I was over my incision pain, I was coughing so bad a few days ago, I was afraid I was going to rip it back open again. Luckily I didn't.
When the coughing started, I reached for my tried and tested Dimetapp Children's. Not being able to take anything with any alcohol, this is my usual goto remedy for coughing and itchy throats. However, I haven't taken any since I had chemo. Tired from wiping, coughing, and spitting all day, I took the maximum dose of Dimetapp and laid down to enjoy a sound night of slumber. Five hours later, I was still waiting for slumber, or at least for the monkeys in my head to quit typing. OK, there were not any actual monkeys typing, but my mind was racing so much, it felt like there were approximately one thousand and two monkeys typing on old fashioned manual typewriters with worn out ribbons. I don't know why it had to be worn out ribbons. Maybe they weren't monkeys, they were gibbons and that is where I got the "ribbons" from. Anyway, I couldn't concentrate on sleeping if that makes sense.
Ever since chemotherapy, anything with diphenhydramine (like Benadryl) instead of making me tired, makes me wide awake and has my mind racing. I guess it's a good thing I've never done meth. My mind would be racing and I would never get anything done from the diphenhydramine. Meth addicts get a lot done right? And diphenhydramine is one of the things they make meth with right? Yup, it is, I just looked it up. Now I am probably on some government list for looking it up.
Well, with the Dimetapp a failure, I was even sicker from not getting any sleep. So, I slept all day and completely screwed up my sleep pattern, which helps in healing too. Eventually, through the use of Lifesavers and Luden's I was able to make it through the sandpaper-against-the-back-of-the-throat days to now where I feel almost normal....for me.
The caveat is that now I have a coughing wife keeping me awake and a coughing basenji. I know you are probably wondering why my dog is coughing, and frankly we are too. My mother-in-law's theory is that she caught the cold from us. Now while I don't think she caught our cold, I do think this basenji is hacking because of it. Lately, she has had a smorgasbord of Kleenex's lying around. Now before you say "Ooh, boogie eating dog!" I am not talking about used Kleenex's. It's just that we have had boxes of Kleenex's within arm's reach of every flat/cushioned surface in the house, and that to Daisy the basenji is a lot like having a beer tap with mouth's reach of an alcoholic. Because a Kleenex box works much like a beer tap, more just keeps magically appearing.
So, I don't think Daisy is coughing from a cold, I think she is coughing from eating several cases of Kleenex the past few days. And although Kleenex may be a welcome relief on a runny nose, I can imagine it would tickle the back of your throat if you ate one, or a box. At any rate, our vet didn't seem too worried, and just in case she gave us medicine to fix every possible thing it could be. Which made me jealous. I think next time I have a cough I will just go to the vet. She's cheaper than our doctor too.
Anyway, with the weather warming up, I am hoping to be well enough to get out and enjoy it. Hopefully my wife will feel better soon too (because unlike toughing it out like I did, she whines a lot). Plus I am getting wore out from waiting on her hand and foot.
I think the worst part of this cold or any cold, is when you start coughing without end. Although a few blogs ago I was saying I finally felt like I was over my incision pain, I was coughing so bad a few days ago, I was afraid I was going to rip it back open again. Luckily I didn't.
When the coughing started, I reached for my tried and tested Dimetapp Children's. Not being able to take anything with any alcohol, this is my usual goto remedy for coughing and itchy throats. However, I haven't taken any since I had chemo. Tired from wiping, coughing, and spitting all day, I took the maximum dose of Dimetapp and laid down to enjoy a sound night of slumber. Five hours later, I was still waiting for slumber, or at least for the monkeys in my head to quit typing. OK, there were not any actual monkeys typing, but my mind was racing so much, it felt like there were approximately one thousand and two monkeys typing on old fashioned manual typewriters with worn out ribbons. I don't know why it had to be worn out ribbons. Maybe they weren't monkeys, they were gibbons and that is where I got the "ribbons" from. Anyway, I couldn't concentrate on sleeping if that makes sense.
Ever since chemotherapy, anything with diphenhydramine (like Benadryl) instead of making me tired, makes me wide awake and has my mind racing. I guess it's a good thing I've never done meth. My mind would be racing and I would never get anything done from the diphenhydramine. Meth addicts get a lot done right? And diphenhydramine is one of the things they make meth with right? Yup, it is, I just looked it up. Now I am probably on some government list for looking it up.
Well, with the Dimetapp a failure, I was even sicker from not getting any sleep. So, I slept all day and completely screwed up my sleep pattern, which helps in healing too. Eventually, through the use of Lifesavers and Luden's I was able to make it through the sandpaper-against-the-back-of-the-throat days to now where I feel almost normal....for me.
The caveat is that now I have a coughing wife keeping me awake and a coughing basenji. I know you are probably wondering why my dog is coughing, and frankly we are too. My mother-in-law's theory is that she caught the cold from us. Now while I don't think she caught our cold, I do think this basenji is hacking because of it. Lately, she has had a smorgasbord of Kleenex's lying around. Now before you say "Ooh, boogie eating dog!" I am not talking about used Kleenex's. It's just that we have had boxes of Kleenex's within arm's reach of every flat/cushioned surface in the house, and that to Daisy the basenji is a lot like having a beer tap with mouth's reach of an alcoholic. Because a Kleenex box works much like a beer tap, more just keeps magically appearing.
So, I don't think Daisy is coughing from a cold, I think she is coughing from eating several cases of Kleenex the past few days. And although Kleenex may be a welcome relief on a runny nose, I can imagine it would tickle the back of your throat if you ate one, or a box. At any rate, our vet didn't seem too worried, and just in case she gave us medicine to fix every possible thing it could be. Which made me jealous. I think next time I have a cough I will just go to the vet. She's cheaper than our doctor too.
Anyway, with the weather warming up, I am hoping to be well enough to get out and enjoy it. Hopefully my wife will feel better soon too (because unlike toughing it out like I did, she whines a lot). Plus I am getting wore out from waiting on her hand and foot.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Stop Babying Me...In A Few Days!
Lately my post-cancer frustration has been people babying me. I know by the occasional tickle along my waist that I am still not 100% healed, but I feel better than I have since the surgery. I have been using my abdominal brace less and less and been exerting myself more and more.
The lack of a brace wasn't necessarily intentional. I tends to get in the way, especially if you are doing any bending or sitting. Which since my major source of activity lately has been climbing in my boat, sitting down in front of the hydraulics while cussing, crying, and praying that they work, the brace had to go. There is another odd side effect with the brace. The brace, which looks a lot like a back brace, completely takes any pain away from my abdomen, but ironically kills my back. Another reason I have been wearing it less and less.
Two incidents have triggered these feelings about feeling babied. Our neighbor was over the other day who still primarily heats with wood. I said I was about to cut down some trees and if he wanted the firewood I would leave the logs for him, otherwise I would hack it all up and haul it away to burn, something we have done many times in the past. He said he would help when he was able. I said I wasn't asking for the help, I just wanted to know if he wanted the wood. He again said he would and he could help. This back and forth went on several times, and I think he finally caught on that all I was asking is if he wanted the wood, I hope.
The second incident, a very good friend of mine who has been super supportive since all this happened, went to the hardware store with me. I needed to pick up a fifty pound (ninety kilogram) jug of sand for some sandblasting I need to do. When the employee brought it out, he snatched it up before I could grab it. I said he didn't need to do that, but he refused to let me carry it. Now me being me, I was tempted to say I needed another one and see if he would carry that one too, and if he did, I would have kept going. But I didn't. This friend has made it a point to check in on me regularly and I can't fault him for that.
So, with that being said, the past few days I have been whining while laying around the house all day wanting to be babied. While driving to meet another friend last week for lunch, I heard an all too familiar sound from the backseat. My Jeep has a known problem where the power windows just decide one day that they give up. The sound I heard was the wind whistling through the window that was sliding down with each bump (of which there are quite a few from the endless assault of salt trucks). When I turned in my Jeep for warranty, they informed me that since it was the second time this has happened to me, the warranty required them to replace all four. Great news! Except that I hadn't planned on sitting around the waiting room quite that long. So, at some point during my four hour stay there, someone decided they would like to share the plague with me (or a nasty cold, one or the other).
The past few days have involved me single-handedly raising Kleenex's stock sales by over 50% (stock prices not verified) and walking around trying to remember when I swallowed a small melon whole, because it was obviously caught in my throat. It has been a while since I have had just a plain old cold, and I don't remember them making me this miserable before. Maybe I was always this puny. All I know, is I guess this will prepare me for whenever we do have a child, since I hear those little germ factories bring you a new malady every week.
So, I hope to be healthy again in the next day or so. I am not feeling too bad right now. I hope to fix those damn hydraulics on my boat soon. And hopefully people will see I am getting stronger after my surgery as well, and go back to treating me like crap. Well, maybe not completely like crap, just not like a baby...unless I have a cold.
The lack of a brace wasn't necessarily intentional. I tends to get in the way, especially if you are doing any bending or sitting. Which since my major source of activity lately has been climbing in my boat, sitting down in front of the hydraulics while cussing, crying, and praying that they work, the brace had to go. There is another odd side effect with the brace. The brace, which looks a lot like a back brace, completely takes any pain away from my abdomen, but ironically kills my back. Another reason I have been wearing it less and less.
Two incidents have triggered these feelings about feeling babied. Our neighbor was over the other day who still primarily heats with wood. I said I was about to cut down some trees and if he wanted the firewood I would leave the logs for him, otherwise I would hack it all up and haul it away to burn, something we have done many times in the past. He said he would help when he was able. I said I wasn't asking for the help, I just wanted to know if he wanted the wood. He again said he would and he could help. This back and forth went on several times, and I think he finally caught on that all I was asking is if he wanted the wood, I hope.
The second incident, a very good friend of mine who has been super supportive since all this happened, went to the hardware store with me. I needed to pick up a fifty pound (ninety kilogram) jug of sand for some sandblasting I need to do. When the employee brought it out, he snatched it up before I could grab it. I said he didn't need to do that, but he refused to let me carry it. Now me being me, I was tempted to say I needed another one and see if he would carry that one too, and if he did, I would have kept going. But I didn't. This friend has made it a point to check in on me regularly and I can't fault him for that.
So, with that being said, the past few days I have been whining while laying around the house all day wanting to be babied. While driving to meet another friend last week for lunch, I heard an all too familiar sound from the backseat. My Jeep has a known problem where the power windows just decide one day that they give up. The sound I heard was the wind whistling through the window that was sliding down with each bump (of which there are quite a few from the endless assault of salt trucks). When I turned in my Jeep for warranty, they informed me that since it was the second time this has happened to me, the warranty required them to replace all four. Great news! Except that I hadn't planned on sitting around the waiting room quite that long. So, at some point during my four hour stay there, someone decided they would like to share the plague with me (or a nasty cold, one or the other).
The past few days have involved me single-handedly raising Kleenex's stock sales by over 50% (stock prices not verified) and walking around trying to remember when I swallowed a small melon whole, because it was obviously caught in my throat. It has been a while since I have had just a plain old cold, and I don't remember them making me this miserable before. Maybe I was always this puny. All I know, is I guess this will prepare me for whenever we do have a child, since I hear those little germ factories bring you a new malady every week.
So, I hope to be healthy again in the next day or so. I am not feeling too bad right now. I hope to fix those damn hydraulics on my boat soon. And hopefully people will see I am getting stronger after my surgery as well, and go back to treating me like crap. Well, maybe not completely like crap, just not like a baby...unless I have a cold.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Hmmmm....Livestrong Does More Than Make Bracelets
As we wait for my "junk" to wake up after chemo (or what's left of it after surgery), our doctor has mentioned all the possibilities we have for getting pregnant. Many of those possibilities cost a lot of money.
Before my cancer support group the other day, another woman and myself were both sporting our Livestrong bracelets, and talking about upcoming Livestrong events before the meeting started. This lead into a conversation about Lance Armstrong and the Tour de France. After the meeting started, when it was my turn to discuss things with the group, I asked if anyone knew of any foundations that would help pay for fertility treatments for testicular cancer patients. Then someone asked me something so obvious, I felt absolutely stupid for not thinking of it myself. She said, "Have you called Livestrong?" I hadn't. I hadn't thought to call the foundation started by a guy who had testicular cancer and had fertility problems and successfully fathered children since his treatment. Why would I think to call that guy?!?! Did I mention I felt stupid?
So, first thing the next day I called Livestrong and talked to a really nice young lady who sounded like she was about twelve years old. I am hoping she was twelve years old, because she gave me names of several places that offer help for people in my situation, and all those names were wrong, and if she were twelve I could say "she got the names wrong, but she's only twelve, what do you expect?" HOWEVER, they were just barely wrong, so I was able to type them into Livestrong's website and get the correct names for the foundations I was looking for. Now back to the twelve year old, I am pretty sure she wasn't twelve (unless Texas doesn't have child labor laws), but nevertheless, do you realize how awkward it is talking about testicular cancer and fertility issues to someone on the phone that sounds like a twelve year old girl? I expected Chris Hansen to get on the phone about halfway through the conversation and ask me what I was doing.
So, after figuring out the correct foundations, I started researching them. Some of them had requirements that I qualified for and others I didn't qualify for. One in particular I think was all talk. They would pay for everything provided you filled out your application after getting diagnosed and prior to any treatment and you had to wait until you heard back from them before you proceeded, but then they would pay for everything! Of course they will pay for everything, because they know there is absolutely no chance anyone will do that. Your mind is going a million miles an hour once you have been diagnosed, the last thing you are thinking of is looking up foundations and filling out applications. Here is a timeline, I got preliminarily diagnosed on a Tuesday, confirmed that Friday, was told to immediately go make a "deposit" at the "bank" followed by another on that Monday, and have my surgery Thursday. That left literally a two hour window between my official diagnosis (which you need for the application) and the deposit to fill out the application, send it off, and wait for a reply. Yeah, I am sure they give out tons of cash. (That is sarcasm by the way.) But I am also sure that company is telling everyone about this great program they have.
One of the more promising leads is a hospital. that I am all too familiar with, will do in vitro for free (if it comes to that) for testicular cancer patients in my situation (poor). They have very little requirements, like you have to make less that $75,000, which I just barely squeaked under that requirement by about $70,000. I love this hospital and would be happy to work with them, although admittedly, most of the time I am there I am on my back and unconscious. But from what I remember about my visits there, they are good.
A question that frequently comes up when I mention in vitro is "Does that mean you guys will be like the Octomom?" In our doctor's conversations about in vitro, not once has she mentioned the word "litter". I don't think I need a bunch of kids at once, because not being a sports person I am not trying to make a "team". Although being a fan of music, a power trio might be nice. We are still hopeful though that the other tricks our doctor is having us do will work, including my junk working right again at some point.
So as we approach another set of fertility appointments, I am getting anxious to hear what the next step will be. Do you remember the old flea circuses on cartoons and stuff? I feel like my swimmers are having to do a sperm circus, because they are constantly washing them and counting them and freezing them and thawing them and who knows what else. All I know, is the toughest thing I have had to do so far is look at dirty magazines. Wait until we have a kid and I tell them all the hardships I went through to create them. I am sure they will want to hear it.
Before my cancer support group the other day, another woman and myself were both sporting our Livestrong bracelets, and talking about upcoming Livestrong events before the meeting started. This lead into a conversation about Lance Armstrong and the Tour de France. After the meeting started, when it was my turn to discuss things with the group, I asked if anyone knew of any foundations that would help pay for fertility treatments for testicular cancer patients. Then someone asked me something so obvious, I felt absolutely stupid for not thinking of it myself. She said, "Have you called Livestrong?" I hadn't. I hadn't thought to call the foundation started by a guy who had testicular cancer and had fertility problems and successfully fathered children since his treatment. Why would I think to call that guy?!?! Did I mention I felt stupid?
So, first thing the next day I called Livestrong and talked to a really nice young lady who sounded like she was about twelve years old. I am hoping she was twelve years old, because she gave me names of several places that offer help for people in my situation, and all those names were wrong, and if she were twelve I could say "she got the names wrong, but she's only twelve, what do you expect?" HOWEVER, they were just barely wrong, so I was able to type them into Livestrong's website and get the correct names for the foundations I was looking for. Now back to the twelve year old, I am pretty sure she wasn't twelve (unless Texas doesn't have child labor laws), but nevertheless, do you realize how awkward it is talking about testicular cancer and fertility issues to someone on the phone that sounds like a twelve year old girl? I expected Chris Hansen to get on the phone about halfway through the conversation and ask me what I was doing.
So, after figuring out the correct foundations, I started researching them. Some of them had requirements that I qualified for and others I didn't qualify for. One in particular I think was all talk. They would pay for everything provided you filled out your application after getting diagnosed and prior to any treatment and you had to wait until you heard back from them before you proceeded, but then they would pay for everything! Of course they will pay for everything, because they know there is absolutely no chance anyone will do that. Your mind is going a million miles an hour once you have been diagnosed, the last thing you are thinking of is looking up foundations and filling out applications. Here is a timeline, I got preliminarily diagnosed on a Tuesday, confirmed that Friday, was told to immediately go make a "deposit" at the "bank" followed by another on that Monday, and have my surgery Thursday. That left literally a two hour window between my official diagnosis (which you need for the application) and the deposit to fill out the application, send it off, and wait for a reply. Yeah, I am sure they give out tons of cash. (That is sarcasm by the way.) But I am also sure that company is telling everyone about this great program they have.
One of the more promising leads is a hospital. that I am all too familiar with, will do in vitro for free (if it comes to that) for testicular cancer patients in my situation (poor). They have very little requirements, like you have to make less that $75,000, which I just barely squeaked under that requirement by about $70,000. I love this hospital and would be happy to work with them, although admittedly, most of the time I am there I am on my back and unconscious. But from what I remember about my visits there, they are good.
A question that frequently comes up when I mention in vitro is "Does that mean you guys will be like the Octomom?" In our doctor's conversations about in vitro, not once has she mentioned the word "litter". I don't think I need a bunch of kids at once, because not being a sports person I am not trying to make a "team". Although being a fan of music, a power trio might be nice. We are still hopeful though that the other tricks our doctor is having us do will work, including my junk working right again at some point.
So as we approach another set of fertility appointments, I am getting anxious to hear what the next step will be. Do you remember the old flea circuses on cartoons and stuff? I feel like my swimmers are having to do a sperm circus, because they are constantly washing them and counting them and freezing them and thawing them and who knows what else. All I know, is the toughest thing I have had to do so far is look at dirty magazines. Wait until we have a kid and I tell them all the hardships I went through to create them. I am sure they will want to hear it.
Monday, March 21, 2011
What Kind Of Dog Is That On Your Shoulder?
Last time I mentioned the trip to Florida and how I felt like I was getting back to my old self. This time I will talk about some of the things we did that made me feel that way.
After dropping off the two stowaway basenjis, we arrived in Bradenton with our two basenjis. After the last trip's debacle and associated Toyota repairs, I was determined to spend more time this trip out from underneath a car. I decided for lunch I was in the mood for Five Guys, which is odd because I hate Five Guys, I mean I hate more than five guys, but I am specifically talking about Five Guys Burgers. So, in honor of that rare moment we decided to stop at Five Guys and grab some burgers for lunch, only to find that Five Guys had a power failure and said that according to health department regulations, they could only sell soft drinks (to be fair, I think only One Guy had a power failure and the other Four Guys had to go along with it). I had been jonesing for a good Vienna Beef hot dog, and not being able to find one, we saw a guy grilling all sorts of tube steaks at a nearby gas station. We grabbed hot dogs and sausages for my wife and I and the owner also gave us a big sausage for the basenjis, something we were weary of feeding to the pork-urping-prone older basenji. We drove to a nearby beach and all four of us ate our lunch, and I am happy to report that no pork was urped up. I had been in town less than an hour and already made it to the beach. This trip was already going a lot better than the last one!
We drove to our friend's house and let ourselves in. Tired and dirty from driving all night, we both immediately collapsed then washed up before our friends came home. Once our friends arrived we immediately played the Where-We-Gonna-Eat-Game. Michael, whom I will talk about because I am sure he will never find enough time to actually read this, has a little bit of an attention problem. The odd part is, he seems to be excellent at his profession, which requires a lot of attention. I think he uses up his attention quota during the day and cannot focus on anything once he gets home. Anyway, discussions on where to eat with Michael usually involve him naming fifteen different restaurants that all sound very good, then you hop in the car and go to a entirely different place he didn't even mention. However, I am not complaining, because his choices are usually very good! We arrived at the Cortez Kitchen to find it completely packed, the first time we have ever seen that. Apparently some TV show had done a story on many of our favorite hidden haunts and now everyone is flocking there. So, we hopped back in the car and headed to a great barbecue place, named Leroy Selmon's or something like that. It's named after some sports guy who played football...or squash...or something, I don't know I don't keep up with sports. Anyway the food was very good, all except the stuff that was so hot it took me five minutes to catch my breath again. But most people aren't as wimpy with spicy food as I am. I was thankful that our friend's house had three bathrooms, because if that stuff was as spicy coming out as it was going in, there was a good chance I would be destroying at least two of them. Luckily for my friend's landlord and my buttockal region, it wasn't.
The next day we decided to take the basenjis for a walk at our favorite beach-side park, then head to the Starfish, a very dog friendly dockside restaurant. Apparently the same TV show that talked about Cortez Kitchen, also talked about the Starfish, because it was packed. Luckily, we got there late and there was a storm rolling in, so it cleared out right as we got there. The basenjis got plenty of attention and we both said "they are an African, barkless, hound..." far more times than we would like to count. Again, we made it back to the house before our friends got off work and played the Where-We-Gonna-Eat-Game again. Once again, Michael got us drooling for all sorts of different foods and restaurants, and once again we wound up at a restaurant that he didn't even mention. However, the reason he picked this restaurant was they had VIENNA BEEF HOT DOGS! The place was called Joey D's and was some great food. While reading the menu, there is a touching story about Joey D and how he wasn't expected to live past thirteen, but lived much longer than that, started this restaurant. What a nice story to read on the back of the menu. Oh, but then he died and his brothers run the place. Well, they could have laid that story out a little better on the back of the menu, but still was an inspirational story for someone trying to sweep all the cancer cobwebs out of his head. There was one small problem there...a computer. I bet you are asking yourself, "What does a computer have to do with food?", and we asked that same question! The waitress told us she would have to wait to put in our appetizers because the computer was froze up. Our thoughts were, unless the cook is a robot, can't you just walk back there and TALK to the cook? Write a note? Put the cheesesticks in the fryer yourself? Show us where you keep them and we will throw them in! Anyway, the computer finally did work...briefly, and we were able to enjoy lots of great food. Then sit there a while. And a little bit more. Tired of sitting. Oh, the computer broke again, and they didn't know how to do the check. They wouldn't be able to split the check either, because that would be stressing her waitress brain too far. Apparently she is an excellent server but terrible at math. Luckily at the last minute, the computer worked and we were able to pay and go back home.
Friday, I got up early and made my way to the flea market. I needed a case for a pair of my sunglasses, now that I have to carry them with me constantly because of my eyeball eye ball. While there I picked up a set of Mexican Train dominoes. I had never heard of this game until my seventy-nine year old friend introduced me to it, all I know is I seem to see it everywhere now, but my wife and I seem to be the only non-AARP members playing it. On the way back to the house I decided to stop at the pawn shop I have had luck at before and the owner recognized me. He's a nice guy, but with each subsequent conversation, I hear more and more stories about our "evil government". In part his manifesto this time, he mentioned that he voted for Obama, which I found odd for someone that not only doesn't want a bigger government, but wants no government at all. I guess, you can be OK with no government at all when your store primarily consists of guns and gold (neither of which I was interested in, by the way). Later for lunch, my wife and I decided to sneak out sans dogs, and eat at a beach restaurant. After driving by a few more places that were apparently also on TV, we finally found one of our hidden restaurants that was still hidden. The food was decent, and it allowed us to take a quick walk on the beach afterwards, as well as let me leave my sister the traditional voice mail of waves crashing on the beach for five minutes and nothing else. We stopped by the Chop Shop, an old fashioned butcher, and grabbed an assortment of steaks for the night. Micheal couldn't change his mind that night since we already had the food bought.
Saturday we dubbed as a "Dog Day Afternoon" and started out in the morning with the four humanoids and the Curly Tailed Mafia (two basenjis and a shiba inu) heading to get gigantic Amish donuts at the Farmer's Market, the only problem is the Amish didn't show. I guess they couldn't get their Mustang started. Maybe it was a Bronco. Whatever the reason, we loaded everyone back up and headed to Bradenton Potato Raised Donuts. Just Michael and I went in and had to perform the marital test Just-Pick-Something-Out-For-Me. This is a very stressful game, especially when you have been married ten years and have never paid any attention to what kind of donuts your wife likes, or what her eye color is, or what her middle name is, or birthday, or any of that other trivial crap. With the total being less that ten dollars, I thought it was silly to split the bill, and I paid for Michael and my order, something I would feel guilty about later on. By the way, I did guess correctly on the donuts.
We then went to the dog beach, where I tested my new metal detector and found a whole twenty six cents! Since my sister gave it to me as a present that was twenty six cents of pure profit! Minus the three dollars for batteries. We finished off the day by stopping at Sarasota's dog friendly Old Salty Dog, where my wife and I played the odd game of thinking we knew someone that might be working there and arguing over whether the people working there were ugly enough to be said person. As we walked into the restaurant, Benny the Basenji was tired of being cooperative, so in an effort to get to our table quicker, I picked up Ben upside down as he did his Spider Pig impression, a position he actually loves being in and will just relax with all four feet stuck straight in the air, looking around perfectly content until you put him down. Apparently, relaxed, upside down Spider Basenjis are not a common sight at the Old Salty Dog (at least not the Sarasota location), because some giggles were heard as I walked between the tables. Being very hungry, and our first time there, my wife and I ordered a LOT of food. This is another thing I would regret. It was good and we didn't get sick, what I regret, is that this was a meal Michael decided to pick up the tab on. To the tune of $93 for the four humans and three dogs (who only had complimentary water and dog biscuits). We certainly wouldn't have ordered that much had we known he was paying for everything. I hope it wasn't a reaction to me picking up the tab on the donuts, because I did that for the exact OPPOSITE reason, because the bill was so small, I didn't think it made sense to split it. At any rate, we are very thankful for Michael's gift, it really wasn't necessary, especially since we had a free room for almost a week.
Overall it was a great trip, and aside from a couple hiccups hauling the two rescue basenjis, I don't think I would have changed any of it. We enjoyed spending time with our friends, Michael and the other one who's name I won't mention in case she doesn't want to be associated with Michael's eccentricities. And like I mentioned last time, I felt like I am finally getting back to my precancer days. And if you are ever in any of the restaurants I mentioned, tell them I sent you. Tell them I am the guy with one testicle. They will have no idea who I am, and they won't give you a discount or anything, but at least they will look at you funny and wonder how you know specifics about my nether region.
After dropping off the two stowaway basenjis, we arrived in Bradenton with our two basenjis. After the last trip's debacle and associated Toyota repairs, I was determined to spend more time this trip out from underneath a car. I decided for lunch I was in the mood for Five Guys, which is odd because I hate Five Guys, I mean I hate more than five guys, but I am specifically talking about Five Guys Burgers. So, in honor of that rare moment we decided to stop at Five Guys and grab some burgers for lunch, only to find that Five Guys had a power failure and said that according to health department regulations, they could only sell soft drinks (to be fair, I think only One Guy had a power failure and the other Four Guys had to go along with it). I had been jonesing for a good Vienna Beef hot dog, and not being able to find one, we saw a guy grilling all sorts of tube steaks at a nearby gas station. We grabbed hot dogs and sausages for my wife and I and the owner also gave us a big sausage for the basenjis, something we were weary of feeding to the pork-urping-prone older basenji. We drove to a nearby beach and all four of us ate our lunch, and I am happy to report that no pork was urped up. I had been in town less than an hour and already made it to the beach. This trip was already going a lot better than the last one!
We drove to our friend's house and let ourselves in. Tired and dirty from driving all night, we both immediately collapsed then washed up before our friends came home. Once our friends arrived we immediately played the Where-We-Gonna-Eat-Game. Michael, whom I will talk about because I am sure he will never find enough time to actually read this, has a little bit of an attention problem. The odd part is, he seems to be excellent at his profession, which requires a lot of attention. I think he uses up his attention quota during the day and cannot focus on anything once he gets home. Anyway, discussions on where to eat with Michael usually involve him naming fifteen different restaurants that all sound very good, then you hop in the car and go to a entirely different place he didn't even mention. However, I am not complaining, because his choices are usually very good! We arrived at the Cortez Kitchen to find it completely packed, the first time we have ever seen that. Apparently some TV show had done a story on many of our favorite hidden haunts and now everyone is flocking there. So, we hopped back in the car and headed to a great barbecue place, named Leroy Selmon's or something like that. It's named after some sports guy who played football...or squash...or something, I don't know I don't keep up with sports. Anyway the food was very good, all except the stuff that was so hot it took me five minutes to catch my breath again. But most people aren't as wimpy with spicy food as I am. I was thankful that our friend's house had three bathrooms, because if that stuff was as spicy coming out as it was going in, there was a good chance I would be destroying at least two of them. Luckily for my friend's landlord and my buttockal region, it wasn't.
The next day we decided to take the basenjis for a walk at our favorite beach-side park, then head to the Starfish, a very dog friendly dockside restaurant. Apparently the same TV show that talked about Cortez Kitchen, also talked about the Starfish, because it was packed. Luckily, we got there late and there was a storm rolling in, so it cleared out right as we got there. The basenjis got plenty of attention and we both said "they are an African, barkless, hound..." far more times than we would like to count. Again, we made it back to the house before our friends got off work and played the Where-We-Gonna-Eat-Game again. Once again, Michael got us drooling for all sorts of different foods and restaurants, and once again we wound up at a restaurant that he didn't even mention. However, the reason he picked this restaurant was they had VIENNA BEEF HOT DOGS! The place was called Joey D's and was some great food. While reading the menu, there is a touching story about Joey D and how he wasn't expected to live past thirteen, but lived much longer than that, started this restaurant. What a nice story to read on the back of the menu. Oh, but then he died and his brothers run the place. Well, they could have laid that story out a little better on the back of the menu, but still was an inspirational story for someone trying to sweep all the cancer cobwebs out of his head. There was one small problem there...a computer. I bet you are asking yourself, "What does a computer have to do with food?", and we asked that same question! The waitress told us she would have to wait to put in our appetizers because the computer was froze up. Our thoughts were, unless the cook is a robot, can't you just walk back there and TALK to the cook? Write a note? Put the cheesesticks in the fryer yourself? Show us where you keep them and we will throw them in! Anyway, the computer finally did work...briefly, and we were able to enjoy lots of great food. Then sit there a while. And a little bit more. Tired of sitting. Oh, the computer broke again, and they didn't know how to do the check. They wouldn't be able to split the check either, because that would be stressing her waitress brain too far. Apparently she is an excellent server but terrible at math. Luckily at the last minute, the computer worked and we were able to pay and go back home.
Friday, I got up early and made my way to the flea market. I needed a case for a pair of my sunglasses, now that I have to carry them with me constantly because of my eyeball eye ball. While there I picked up a set of Mexican Train dominoes. I had never heard of this game until my seventy-nine year old friend introduced me to it, all I know is I seem to see it everywhere now, but my wife and I seem to be the only non-AARP members playing it. On the way back to the house I decided to stop at the pawn shop I have had luck at before and the owner recognized me. He's a nice guy, but with each subsequent conversation, I hear more and more stories about our "evil government". In part his manifesto this time, he mentioned that he voted for Obama, which I found odd for someone that not only doesn't want a bigger government, but wants no government at all. I guess, you can be OK with no government at all when your store primarily consists of guns and gold (neither of which I was interested in, by the way). Later for lunch, my wife and I decided to sneak out sans dogs, and eat at a beach restaurant. After driving by a few more places that were apparently also on TV, we finally found one of our hidden restaurants that was still hidden. The food was decent, and it allowed us to take a quick walk on the beach afterwards, as well as let me leave my sister the traditional voice mail of waves crashing on the beach for five minutes and nothing else. We stopped by the Chop Shop, an old fashioned butcher, and grabbed an assortment of steaks for the night. Micheal couldn't change his mind that night since we already had the food bought.
Saturday we dubbed as a "Dog Day Afternoon" and started out in the morning with the four humanoids and the Curly Tailed Mafia (two basenjis and a shiba inu) heading to get gigantic Amish donuts at the Farmer's Market, the only problem is the Amish didn't show. I guess they couldn't get their Mustang started. Maybe it was a Bronco. Whatever the reason, we loaded everyone back up and headed to Bradenton Potato Raised Donuts. Just Michael and I went in and had to perform the marital test Just-Pick-Something-Out-For-Me. This is a very stressful game, especially when you have been married ten years and have never paid any attention to what kind of donuts your wife likes, or what her eye color is, or what her middle name is, or birthday, or any of that other trivial crap. With the total being less that ten dollars, I thought it was silly to split the bill, and I paid for Michael and my order, something I would feel guilty about later on. By the way, I did guess correctly on the donuts.
We then went to the dog beach, where I tested my new metal detector and found a whole twenty six cents! Since my sister gave it to me as a present that was twenty six cents of pure profit! Minus the three dollars for batteries. We finished off the day by stopping at Sarasota's dog friendly Old Salty Dog, where my wife and I played the odd game of thinking we knew someone that might be working there and arguing over whether the people working there were ugly enough to be said person. As we walked into the restaurant, Benny the Basenji was tired of being cooperative, so in an effort to get to our table quicker, I picked up Ben upside down as he did his Spider Pig impression, a position he actually loves being in and will just relax with all four feet stuck straight in the air, looking around perfectly content until you put him down. Apparently, relaxed, upside down Spider Basenjis are not a common sight at the Old Salty Dog (at least not the Sarasota location), because some giggles were heard as I walked between the tables. Being very hungry, and our first time there, my wife and I ordered a LOT of food. This is another thing I would regret. It was good and we didn't get sick, what I regret, is that this was a meal Michael decided to pick up the tab on. To the tune of $93 for the four humans and three dogs (who only had complimentary water and dog biscuits). We certainly wouldn't have ordered that much had we known he was paying for everything. I hope it wasn't a reaction to me picking up the tab on the donuts, because I did that for the exact OPPOSITE reason, because the bill was so small, I didn't think it made sense to split it. At any rate, we are very thankful for Michael's gift, it really wasn't necessary, especially since we had a free room for almost a week.
Overall it was a great trip, and aside from a couple hiccups hauling the two rescue basenjis, I don't think I would have changed any of it. We enjoyed spending time with our friends, Michael and the other one who's name I won't mention in case she doesn't want to be associated with Michael's eccentricities. And like I mentioned last time, I felt like I am finally getting back to my precancer days. And if you are ever in any of the restaurants I mentioned, tell them I sent you. Tell them I am the guy with one testicle. They will have no idea who I am, and they won't give you a discount or anything, but at least they will look at you funny and wonder how you know specifics about my nether region.
Friday, March 18, 2011
The Sarasota Redemption
I have been busy lately...and lazy lately, too. We had to make an emergency trip to Florida, which as far as emergency trips go, Florida is not a bad place to emerge. My wife volunteers for a basenji rescue organization, which means I volunteer by proxy. Two basenjis didn't work out at their "forever home" and needed to go back to the foster in Florida.
When we were first made aware of the situation, we decided we would stay a few extra days and sneak in some rest and relaxation. With only a week to make plans, we called up our friends down there who always say to come down anytime, who told us we couldn't come down then, they had guests already. I thought that was rude, I mean, they have known their mom their whole life and have only known us a few years. Who needs more time to catch up? Regardless, we thought about option two, a friend of mine who loans me his vacation home down there who, without asking me, decided to stay in it himself. So, this left us without a place to stay. I frantically searched the internet all the next day trying to find some options without much luck, at least not in the price range of an unemployed cancer patient. At the end of the day, we were discussing our options when we get the call that we will not be leaving the next week, we need to leave the next day.
The good news, we can stay with our friends, of whom I will now take back the comments I made in the previous paragraph. The bad news, we literally had less than twelve hours to put everything into place. Phone calls were made and we were able to put our plan into motion. The next morning, I met another volunteer and received two very timid and scared basenjis. I brought them home to the house, where they cowered in the corner of their crate. Our oldest basenji immediately walked up and peed on their crate. Not exactly the welcome I was hoping he would give them. Since we had a night of driving ahead of us, I decided to let them look out the sliding glass door from their crate for a little bit while I grabbed a nap.
After waking, I put the crate in the bedroom, so they would feel a little more secure and opened the door expecting them to fly out of their confines. After half an hour, and still no flying, I gave up. I could get the one to eat out of my hand, but not come out of the cage. I continued preparation until my wife returned from work. After another agonizingly long time she was able to coax them out so we could take them to pee before our trip. The female decided to pee in the middle of the hallway, no sense waiting until you get outside. After a very scary trip outside (I am still not sure what was so scary out there, but they were definitely scared of something) we load up the two rescue basenjis and our two basenjis and start our fifteen hour trek. The trip down was fairly uneventful, delivering the two rescues back to their familiar foster where they immediately got back into their old routine. We then made the hour trip down to our friends.
After our last trip to the area, I was a little afraid it would end up the same, me curled up in a ball in pain after hurting myself again. Luckily that didn't happen. The trip went great. We took the Curly Tail Mafia out for some fun (our two basenjis and our friend's shiba inu), we ate at some great places, we had lots of fun with our friends, and snuck out and had some fun on our own too.
In my cancer support group yesterday, I said that week was the first week since all this started that I didn't feel like a cancer patient. I enjoyed myself and feel like this is starting to be behind me. I say that as I stare down and impending scan. I told the group I may "graduate" to the survivors group, but I am going to wait and see how bad my scanxiety is this next time. Maybe Florida was the answer, and if my wife really loved me and cared about my well-being, she would let me move down there. She could come too if she wants.
When we were first made aware of the situation, we decided we would stay a few extra days and sneak in some rest and relaxation. With only a week to make plans, we called up our friends down there who always say to come down anytime, who told us we couldn't come down then, they had guests already. I thought that was rude, I mean, they have known their mom their whole life and have only known us a few years. Who needs more time to catch up? Regardless, we thought about option two, a friend of mine who loans me his vacation home down there who, without asking me, decided to stay in it himself. So, this left us without a place to stay. I frantically searched the internet all the next day trying to find some options without much luck, at least not in the price range of an unemployed cancer patient. At the end of the day, we were discussing our options when we get the call that we will not be leaving the next week, we need to leave the next day.
The good news, we can stay with our friends, of whom I will now take back the comments I made in the previous paragraph. The bad news, we literally had less than twelve hours to put everything into place. Phone calls were made and we were able to put our plan into motion. The next morning, I met another volunteer and received two very timid and scared basenjis. I brought them home to the house, where they cowered in the corner of their crate. Our oldest basenji immediately walked up and peed on their crate. Not exactly the welcome I was hoping he would give them. Since we had a night of driving ahead of us, I decided to let them look out the sliding glass door from their crate for a little bit while I grabbed a nap.
After waking, I put the crate in the bedroom, so they would feel a little more secure and opened the door expecting them to fly out of their confines. After half an hour, and still no flying, I gave up. I could get the one to eat out of my hand, but not come out of the cage. I continued preparation until my wife returned from work. After another agonizingly long time she was able to coax them out so we could take them to pee before our trip. The female decided to pee in the middle of the hallway, no sense waiting until you get outside. After a very scary trip outside (I am still not sure what was so scary out there, but they were definitely scared of something) we load up the two rescue basenjis and our two basenjis and start our fifteen hour trek. The trip down was fairly uneventful, delivering the two rescues back to their familiar foster where they immediately got back into their old routine. We then made the hour trip down to our friends.
After our last trip to the area, I was a little afraid it would end up the same, me curled up in a ball in pain after hurting myself again. Luckily that didn't happen. The trip went great. We took the Curly Tail Mafia out for some fun (our two basenjis and our friend's shiba inu), we ate at some great places, we had lots of fun with our friends, and snuck out and had some fun on our own too.
In my cancer support group yesterday, I said that week was the first week since all this started that I didn't feel like a cancer patient. I enjoyed myself and feel like this is starting to be behind me. I say that as I stare down and impending scan. I told the group I may "graduate" to the survivors group, but I am going to wait and see how bad my scanxiety is this next time. Maybe Florida was the answer, and if my wife really loved me and cared about my well-being, she would let me move down there. She could come too if she wants.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Is There A Jaco Or A Gretsch In My Future?
As a survivor of testicular cancer, there is a reality I must consider. My junk isn't shooting out the same quality and quantity that it has in the past. Before you leave this page, I will start off by saying this entry does not focus on my junk or its production value. But it is for this reason that my oncologist suggested we see a fertility specialist. He made that comment for two reasons. One, I already mentioned and two, he said that we "need some good news in our lives".
So, we have spent the past two weeks at many doctors' appointments, all of them resulting in the good doctor getting to know my wife in very intimate ways. Each violation is followed by me comparing each examination or test to one of my gastro-intestinal procedures and proclaiming that my tests are much worse (something I will continue to maintain as long as I am male...or at least half male). The ironic part of all of this, is my wife experiences all these doctors' appointments just to be told, that I am probably the issue here. That was kind of a no brainer that the guy with one nut and fresh off chemo wasn't shooting the best quality. But, we have a great doctor and she is confident that we will get pregnant no matter what the cost. We on the other hand are confident that we will get pregnant for under five figures, after that...well, we don't know. I have already asked the billing person at the doctor's office to give us the bills so we can show our little bundle of joy why they are not getting a new car when they turn sixteen and why they will be going to a state university...provided that state university is not a Big Ten university in this state.
The latest foray into the world of fertility involved various medications and injections all experienced by someone that is not me. Something again that I find ironic since I am the problem. It even involved me giving my wife a shot, which for some sadistic reason that I cannot explain, I enjoyed way too much. I will give my wife credit though. If this latest bag of medical tricks worked, that would put our due date right around...Jaco Pastorius' birthday. When my wife pointed that out to me, I reminded her that whatever day our child was born would be Jaco's birthday, because that will be our first born's name. For our kid's sake, I hope it won't be a girl, because Jaco will be an awkward name for a girl.
The doctor explained that the stuff we are doing right now should work, but should the chemo not release its hold on my remaining junk, we would have to switch to a much more expensive option. That led to a conversation in the car. The last resort option the doctor mentioned is a very expensive option, very very expensive. My wife asked what we planned to do if it came down to that as our last option. I said I planned to buy a Brian Setzer Gretsch and order a custom made Paul Reed Smith.
Once, when asked why we didn't have kids yet, my wife made the comment that we were too busy buying ourselves toys to buy toys for a kid. And she was basically correct. I have already accepted that fact that whenever we do get pregnant, my toy buying days for myself will be over for at least twenty years or so. If it comes down to shelling out a possible five figures for the down payment on a kid...then the twenty years worth of raising them...I may just stick to buying myself toys. I now understand why when going to carshows with my buddy, who has three grown children, he points to cars and says "that was my first born" and "that was my second born". I guess he didn't go the same route we did, but what I don't understand is why he points out much more than three cars...good Lord do they really cost that much?
The first time I saw a Setzer Gretsch it was like I was looking through one of those fuzzy filter thingys the movies use. When I saw the price tag, things got even fuzzier. So it has always been a dream instrument of mine. And I received my dream Paul Reed Smith from my family for Christmas this year. A guitar I am absolutely in love with (it's hard to imagine loving anything that much, even a kid). Guitars can have different tones with different shapes, different thicknesses, different electronics, etc. The PRS I was given is a model that is unique to the rest of the PRS line. Eventually I would like to own another nice PRS, but the features I love about my PRS, are not available on any other model, which means I would have to have one special made if I do decide to get another one. And since Paul Reed Smith guitars are ridiculously expensive to begin with, I can only imagine the cost of a custom made one, but yet somehow I think it is still less than the cost of our last ditch procedure should we come to that decision.
However, I don't think it will come down to that decision. Hopefully what we have done already will work, and even if we didn't, we still try that for a year or so, and by then hopefully I will be over the toxic shock from the chemotherapy. I place it all in God's hands. If He wants me to have a kid, I guess He will give us a child. If He wants me to have two guitars, well...I guess the issue I haven't addressed is that if we don't have the big money for the last ditch procedure, then we probably don't have money for expensive guitars either. Maybe I could just win the lottery, then I could afford both...but still not a private school for the kid.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Childhood Cancer
Today I did something I hope I never do again in my lifetime. I went to a visitation for a child lost in a tragic accident. One of the parents is a longtime friend of mine, and we went to show our support for the family. I say that, but at the same time I don't feel like I was much support at all. I was dreading every part of it (other than being there for the family). I guess it was something I would rather not think about, that children can pass. I couldn't even bring myself to look at the casket. I can tell you exactly how many times I did look over there, three. The first time from a distance, and that was almost more than I could handle, and I was done looking at that point. I felt my breathing change and my pulse racing. The rest of the way up to my friend I watched the video monitors, looked at the flowers anywhere but that child lying there, but when I got close, I thought it was obvious I was trying to avoid looking, so I glanced twice more. The last time I came close to losing it. I hugged my friend and whispered a couple of things that may or may not be heard, but to be honest I didn't know what to say. I was speechless. Nothing I could say would make that situation any better. I was so out of it, I forgot to introduce my wife. On the drive home, for the first hour, I think I only spoke about ten words to my wife.
What does any of this have to do with childhood cancer? The events the past week, this child's death, people I know getting horrible diagnoses/prognoses, everything, has really been weighing on me. Today was the result of an accident. As long as kids are allowed to be kids, there will be accidents, most minor, but unfortunately some will end very tragically. Unless kids are never allowed to do anything and put in a bubble all day, they will find ways to get hurt. As I drove home in silence, I just thought about childhood cancer and I wondered, how many parents are going through this exact same scenario every single day because of cancer? Four, just in the U.S. (According to the National Cancer Institute). That is four kids dying everyday of cancer, just in this country! This isn't an accident or some random thing. We know that four families will have to experience what my friend experienced today, and four more will tomorrow, and four more the day after that. 160,000 kids worldwide will get cancer this year, 10,400 in this country alone. I find this appalling!
I went from leaving the funeral home today, feeling like I wasn't able to help a good friend, to getting mad thinking that there are many other people out there that are going to lose a child to cancer and we know it going to happen to the tune of four a day!!! I don't know what I am going to do about it. I don't know what I can do about it. I just know it is absolutely shocking that we know four children died today of cancer, and four more will die tomorrow, and so on, and we continue to allow it to go on.
Those of us (adults) that are/were living with cancer, we have ways of coping. We get upset. We get mad at the disease. We get depressed. We may go into our shell. We may be short with our families and loved ones. We go through the myriad of emotions as we learn our diagnosis, our prognosis, go through tests, go through treatment, get sick from chemo, go through more tests, live in fear of recurrence, etc. all because we know that this is not "normal" life. To a kid going through a cancer battle, they don't know any better. As far as they know, that is how life is supposed to be, and I think that is what saddens me most of all.
What am I going to do now? Well, since an accident is just that, an accident, I know I cannot go around the world predicting how the next child is going to get seriously hurt and be there to prevent it. However, I do know that worldwide 438 kids are going to be diagnosed with cancer tomorrow. I don't know what I am going to do about it, but I know I am going to start looking to see what there is that I can do about it. I stood in front of a good friend today, on the verge of tears, as I fell speechless and helpless, and there was nothing I could do, I can't even begin to fathom what a parent goes through. I don't want to stand in front of someone else, see their child lying there and say "I knew four children were going to die of cancer today, but I didn't bother doing anything about it." Although I don't know what I can do about it...yet, I can guarantee I am going to start looking to see how I can help support childhood cancer causes.
What does any of this have to do with childhood cancer? The events the past week, this child's death, people I know getting horrible diagnoses/prognoses, everything, has really been weighing on me. Today was the result of an accident. As long as kids are allowed to be kids, there will be accidents, most minor, but unfortunately some will end very tragically. Unless kids are never allowed to do anything and put in a bubble all day, they will find ways to get hurt. As I drove home in silence, I just thought about childhood cancer and I wondered, how many parents are going through this exact same scenario every single day because of cancer? Four, just in the U.S. (According to the National Cancer Institute). That is four kids dying everyday of cancer, just in this country! This isn't an accident or some random thing. We know that four families will have to experience what my friend experienced today, and four more will tomorrow, and four more the day after that. 160,000 kids worldwide will get cancer this year, 10,400 in this country alone. I find this appalling!
I went from leaving the funeral home today, feeling like I wasn't able to help a good friend, to getting mad thinking that there are many other people out there that are going to lose a child to cancer and we know it going to happen to the tune of four a day!!! I don't know what I am going to do about it. I don't know what I can do about it. I just know it is absolutely shocking that we know four children died today of cancer, and four more will die tomorrow, and so on, and we continue to allow it to go on.
Those of us (adults) that are/were living with cancer, we have ways of coping. We get upset. We get mad at the disease. We get depressed. We may go into our shell. We may be short with our families and loved ones. We go through the myriad of emotions as we learn our diagnosis, our prognosis, go through tests, go through treatment, get sick from chemo, go through more tests, live in fear of recurrence, etc. all because we know that this is not "normal" life. To a kid going through a cancer battle, they don't know any better. As far as they know, that is how life is supposed to be, and I think that is what saddens me most of all.
What am I going to do now? Well, since an accident is just that, an accident, I know I cannot go around the world predicting how the next child is going to get seriously hurt and be there to prevent it. However, I do know that worldwide 438 kids are going to be diagnosed with cancer tomorrow. I don't know what I am going to do about it, but I know I am going to start looking to see what there is that I can do about it. I stood in front of a good friend today, on the verge of tears, as I fell speechless and helpless, and there was nothing I could do, I can't even begin to fathom what a parent goes through. I don't want to stand in front of someone else, see their child lying there and say "I knew four children were going to die of cancer today, but I didn't bother doing anything about it." Although I don't know what I can do about it...yet, I can guarantee I am going to start looking to see how I can help support childhood cancer causes.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Cannot Express It
Lately I have been having trouble, mental trouble (which has resulted in me missing in action from here). I have not had the best of luck lately, but at the same time, I kinda have.
Losing my job in August was at first devastating. It was a job I loved to do and, when I lost it, I hated not being a part of it anymore. As I decompressed in the days following my lay-off, it dawned on me (with a little help of my wife saying I wasn't as big of a jerk anymore) that I didn't love my job like I used to because I was no longer working that job. There were two bosses I absolutely loved. One passed away and the other retired. When they were gone, so was the vision behind my job. I kept trying to follow that vision and keep the mission going, while most of the people above me didn't understand the vision and wanted my position to go in a different direction. The constant internal tug of war of wanting to do what I was hired for and having to do others things was wearing me down. Being away from that helped me see it clearly that I wasn't as happy in the job as I had been at one point.
When I was diagnosed with cancer a couple of weeks later, the lack of a job (but the benefit of a severance package that may or may not have existed) made it possible to recover without having to ask off work or worry about getting things done in my absence. And as I have said on here before, if I hadn't been laid off, I probably wouldn't have gone to the doctor when I did (because of time) and wouldn't have been diagnosed until my cancer had progressed much further. Yes, I would rather be employed in a job I love and have two healthy nuts, but life can't go well for everyone all the time and I don't mind taking my turn at having some bad luck.
And I can see other positives as well. I was struggling to get my boat I am restoring on the water. I had hit a point where I just couldn't figure this one part out. Having cancer stopped all work on the boat and winter postponed it even more. The past few months I have been poring over three different engine manuals until the warm spell this week. With months of reading manuals fresh in my head, I finally figured out what my problem was in about an hour and will have it fixed soon. So, as with many of the negative things I have gone through lately, I have managed to find a positive thing that has come out of it as well.
I have been struggling with the concept of God's Will or Divine Intervention. After all, does God really get involved in little things like whether the hydraulics on my boat work or even bigger things like my cancer? I mean, surely there are bigger issues in the world that He is watching. Either way I thank God for the good things in my life and I also thank Him that the bad things aren't worse. I can comprehend my own life, but it's others I have really been struggling with. I have met many people in my support group that I have gotten to know, appreciate, and care for. Some of them seem to get shit on by life again and again, and I don't understand why. You hear their absolutely bleak diagnoses and you wonder, why? Now I say that with this caveat, doctors aren't necessarily the best with their "You have X amount of time left..." predictions. I personally refer to these people as the "Living Dead" because they have been walking around in some cases dozens of years after the doctor told them they would succumb to the disease. But it's more than just the cancer, other people dear to me have had things happen to them that put me at a loss to understand why things like this would ever happen in a world with a loving God.
Now don't for a second think that my faith in God is wavering, just my understanding. In my own life, I can point to how every negative thing that has ever happened to me has either made my life better in the long run or made me a better person. And the cliché is true "Sometimes bad things happen to good people" (and by the way, I just purposely misspelled "cliché" so I could use spell check because I don't know how to make that stupid little accent). My problem isn't so much why do bad things happen to good people, but why don't bad things happen to bad people? Or why don't they happen to bad people more often?
One theory I have come up with, from personal experience with bad people, is that sometimes bad things to bad people but they are such assholes that they don't even see it as a bad thing. "My sister-in-law got burned up in a house fire when lightning struck her as she fell off a ladder while crashing through her skylight, and I got $1000 bucks in the will. Kick ass!" OK, I do know of someone who had an experience like that happen (although not as dramatic), but their reaction was exactly what I said (if not worse). I also think that some of these bad people tend to brag about how great their life is, while trying to convince themselves that their life is as great as they say. People that are truly happy don't tend to go around bragging about the stuff in their life. If people that seem truly happy tend to tell you about the stuff they have, it is usually because they are offering to share it with you, such as my good friend who frequently loans me his Florida vacation home for free.
This stuff has been bothering me a lot starting at my cancer support group meeting two weeks ago, and it seems people that I care deeply about have been having horrible things happen to them since. I told my wife today, I don't know how much more I want to go to the group meetings, because seeing people I care about hurt so much is affecting me negatively. If I could understand the "why" it would be so much easier. I have had some shit happen in my life, but overall, I think I have come out of life OK. I would like to have a fun well paying job. I would like to know what it feels like to go out and have a drink with friends. I would like to leave the house and not panic because I left my glucose tabs or stomach medicine in my other jacket. On the other hand, I am glad I have a family that loves and support me. I am glad that the tough spots in my life have shown me who sticks by me in the long run (and I am glad that so many have). I am glad I have two basenjis that are crazy. I guess it boils down to this, maybe I would be better off married to Christy Turlington, or Mila Kunis, or Keira Knightley, or all three and a few others to be named later. Maybe I would be better off if my last name was Disney. Maybe I would be better off with a normal body that wasn't battered from arthritis, worn down from cancer treatment, twisted from GI problems, and with a weird eyeball on my eyeball. But the question I ask myself, would I give up everything in my life and roll the dice again? Maybe not get the same life, nor same friends, nor same family, etc. I don't think I would take my chances like that.
I don't know if God has a "plan" for us. I don't know how much of a role He plays in controlling our day to day life. What I thought I had figured out I don't know anymore. I don't know what I know or believe or how to express what I do think. I don't know why bad things happen to good people, nor why good things sometimes happen to bad people. All I know, is I think I am blessed, regardless of the things I wish were different in my life. And I will continue to pray for the ones that I care about that their lives get better soon.
Losing my job in August was at first devastating. It was a job I loved to do and, when I lost it, I hated not being a part of it anymore. As I decompressed in the days following my lay-off, it dawned on me (with a little help of my wife saying I wasn't as big of a jerk anymore) that I didn't love my job like I used to because I was no longer working that job. There were two bosses I absolutely loved. One passed away and the other retired. When they were gone, so was the vision behind my job. I kept trying to follow that vision and keep the mission going, while most of the people above me didn't understand the vision and wanted my position to go in a different direction. The constant internal tug of war of wanting to do what I was hired for and having to do others things was wearing me down. Being away from that helped me see it clearly that I wasn't as happy in the job as I had been at one point.
When I was diagnosed with cancer a couple of weeks later, the lack of a job (but the benefit of a severance package that may or may not have existed) made it possible to recover without having to ask off work or worry about getting things done in my absence. And as I have said on here before, if I hadn't been laid off, I probably wouldn't have gone to the doctor when I did (because of time) and wouldn't have been diagnosed until my cancer had progressed much further. Yes, I would rather be employed in a job I love and have two healthy nuts, but life can't go well for everyone all the time and I don't mind taking my turn at having some bad luck.
And I can see other positives as well. I was struggling to get my boat I am restoring on the water. I had hit a point where I just couldn't figure this one part out. Having cancer stopped all work on the boat and winter postponed it even more. The past few months I have been poring over three different engine manuals until the warm spell this week. With months of reading manuals fresh in my head, I finally figured out what my problem was in about an hour and will have it fixed soon. So, as with many of the negative things I have gone through lately, I have managed to find a positive thing that has come out of it as well.
I have been struggling with the concept of God's Will or Divine Intervention. After all, does God really get involved in little things like whether the hydraulics on my boat work or even bigger things like my cancer? I mean, surely there are bigger issues in the world that He is watching. Either way I thank God for the good things in my life and I also thank Him that the bad things aren't worse. I can comprehend my own life, but it's others I have really been struggling with. I have met many people in my support group that I have gotten to know, appreciate, and care for. Some of them seem to get shit on by life again and again, and I don't understand why. You hear their absolutely bleak diagnoses and you wonder, why? Now I say that with this caveat, doctors aren't necessarily the best with their "You have X amount of time left..." predictions. I personally refer to these people as the "Living Dead" because they have been walking around in some cases dozens of years after the doctor told them they would succumb to the disease. But it's more than just the cancer, other people dear to me have had things happen to them that put me at a loss to understand why things like this would ever happen in a world with a loving God.
Now don't for a second think that my faith in God is wavering, just my understanding. In my own life, I can point to how every negative thing that has ever happened to me has either made my life better in the long run or made me a better person. And the cliché is true "Sometimes bad things happen to good people" (and by the way, I just purposely misspelled "cliché" so I could use spell check because I don't know how to make that stupid little accent). My problem isn't so much why do bad things happen to good people, but why don't bad things happen to bad people? Or why don't they happen to bad people more often?
One theory I have come up with, from personal experience with bad people, is that sometimes bad things to bad people but they are such assholes that they don't even see it as a bad thing. "My sister-in-law got burned up in a house fire when lightning struck her as she fell off a ladder while crashing through her skylight, and I got $1000 bucks in the will. Kick ass!" OK, I do know of someone who had an experience like that happen (although not as dramatic), but their reaction was exactly what I said (if not worse). I also think that some of these bad people tend to brag about how great their life is, while trying to convince themselves that their life is as great as they say. People that are truly happy don't tend to go around bragging about the stuff in their life. If people that seem truly happy tend to tell you about the stuff they have, it is usually because they are offering to share it with you, such as my good friend who frequently loans me his Florida vacation home for free.
This stuff has been bothering me a lot starting at my cancer support group meeting two weeks ago, and it seems people that I care deeply about have been having horrible things happen to them since. I told my wife today, I don't know how much more I want to go to the group meetings, because seeing people I care about hurt so much is affecting me negatively. If I could understand the "why" it would be so much easier. I have had some shit happen in my life, but overall, I think I have come out of life OK. I would like to have a fun well paying job. I would like to know what it feels like to go out and have a drink with friends. I would like to leave the house and not panic because I left my glucose tabs or stomach medicine in my other jacket. On the other hand, I am glad I have a family that loves and support me. I am glad that the tough spots in my life have shown me who sticks by me in the long run (and I am glad that so many have). I am glad I have two basenjis that are crazy. I guess it boils down to this, maybe I would be better off married to Christy Turlington, or Mila Kunis, or Keira Knightley, or all three and a few others to be named later. Maybe I would be better off if my last name was Disney. Maybe I would be better off with a normal body that wasn't battered from arthritis, worn down from cancer treatment, twisted from GI problems, and with a weird eyeball on my eyeball. But the question I ask myself, would I give up everything in my life and roll the dice again? Maybe not get the same life, nor same friends, nor same family, etc. I don't think I would take my chances like that.
I don't know if God has a "plan" for us. I don't know how much of a role He plays in controlling our day to day life. What I thought I had figured out I don't know anymore. I don't know what I know or believe or how to express what I do think. I don't know why bad things happen to good people, nor why good things sometimes happen to bad people. All I know, is I think I am blessed, regardless of the things I wish were different in my life. And I will continue to pray for the ones that I care about that their lives get better soon.
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