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.
Monday, May 16, 2011
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.
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