The Best Gift I Have Received Throws Up On Me...

When you are about to have your first child there are tons of tidbits of wisdom that people will tell you.  I gladly listened to everything people told me making mental notes along the way.  Having just made it six months with my new best friend, I feel I am becoming quite accustomed to this new life.  Some of the things people told us were about the negative aspects of having a child.  I think the big factor in this for us, is how badly we had wanted a child, how long we had been trying, and finally after the cancer/miscarriage/fertility treatments how much we went through before we were successful.

One thing we heard over and over again was how exhausted we would be.  Now, I will admit we aren't as well rested as we were six months ago.  I can't remember the last time we were able to just sleep in as long as we liked.  But I certainly wouldn't call it "exhausted".  One thing we have going for us, is our child has been an overnight sleeper since we brought him home from the hospital.  I think the shortest he ever slept overnight was maybe four hours when he was first brought home.  The other reason I don't think I am tired is I enjoy the time I get to spend with him.  Think of something you really enjoyed, like for me going to Walt Disney World, for you it might be reading my blog...if it is something you really had fun doing, you get whatever sleep you can and do it again first chance you get.

The other very cliched comment is that you will never know how much love you will have for the baby.  Waiting until forty-one to have my first child, trust me a lot of anticipation and love had built up.  I love my little guy a lot, and that love started the day my wife walked out of the bathroom with a pee-soaked stick.  What has surprised me is just how much I like being around him.  Even from the beginning when all he was doing was laying there and messing diapers, I cherished every second with him.  Now I will say this.  He seems like a very happy baby and everyone tells us he is a happy baby.  That certainly helps.  Even when changing a diaper he looks up and smiles and either grabs my arm or if I am careless enough he will grab the clean diaper and play keep away with me, which is apparently very funny when you are six months old.

But then again everything seems to be funny to our six month old.  A hand full of someone else's hair is freakin' hilarious!  Rubbing bare feet on daddy's head or whiskers is also a great source of amusement.  The phrase "peas and apples"  is the greatest joke ever told, ranking right up there with "The Aristocrats".  I have no idea why "peas and apples" induces uncontrollable laughter, but I think it's pretty obvious that he has his daddy's sophisticated sense of humor.

The other side is, I am probably one of those obsessive and over-protective parents.  When you have gone through your own health scare you realize just how precious and fragile life is.  Someone told us the other day that kids aren't that fragile at all, all three of theirs rolled off the bed at one point as babies.  That led to a conversation after we left that person about how after the first roll off (or at the very least the second roll off) wouldn't you take precautions to prevent future roll offs?  This person claimed there was no harm done...but there's one we think the jury is still out on.

I may have given my son his first real electric guitar this week as well (which means I did give him his first electric guitar).  Now I know what you are thinking, "He's six months old, he can't play an electric guitar" and you are exactly right, that is why his is half the size of a normal one.  And since it is difficult for him to strum and hold down the strings, I even brought out a thing that automatically moves the strings for him, so he can just focus on the fretboard for now.  See, doesn't sound near as crazy now, does it?

What I am getting at, is this is the greatest gift I have ever been given.  We waited a long time for him and went through a lot to get him.  Even when during a diaper change he accidentally peed in his face, which literally scared the crap out of him, all I could do was clean him up and laugh.  Being spit up on twice a day, doesn't bother me, I just add the clothes to the huge pile of other garments he finds creative ways to soil.  In other words, even the bad times are some of the best times of my life, so you can imagine how great the good times are.  And hopefully by next week we will be playing our guitars together...

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.

Limping Through EPCOT

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still Hurting But Still Going...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Head-Sized Donuts and Abdominal Pain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom's 2010 Comeback Tour

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Have a Sleeping Problem...And a Possible Solution!

My wife wants to drug me, and I may let her.  She has been complaining about my cancer insomnia since all of this began.  At first I didn't think it was a big deal.  Sure I would only get four hours of sleep, but I was operating just fine on four hours.  But back then, how much sleep did I need when I was unemployed, wasn't allowed to lift over ten pounds, and pretty much ordered to sit around all day by the doctor.  Now as far as my surgery goes, I am supposed to slowly be trying to regain my strength.  And I need plenty of rest to recover from chemo as well.  One of my cancer supporters told me that I probably wouldn't have any trouble sleeping once the chemo kicked it.  In one way she was right.  If I am anywhere but in bed, I can fall asleep at the drop of the hat, which can be a problem in the bathroom.  Yesterday for instance, I was constantly falling asleep on the couch.  However, around 9PM, the sleepiness left, and stayed gone!  At around 4am, I finally forced myself to go to bed, even though I wasn't tired, and laid there for at least another half an hour wide awake.  At 9:30am, I woke up wide awake again and even though I laid in bed, I couldn't fall back asleep.  There was a basenji that was glad of that fact, because if I am awake in bed, then I can rub her ears.  Finally, after an hour of laying in bed wide awake, and carpal tunnel from all the basenji petting, I get up.  And I stayed wide awake for two hours, then fell asleep on the couch again.

My wife keeps bringing up the idea of sleeping pills when we are around the oncologist, the nurse, pharmacist, vet, sandwich artist, or anyone else that will listen.  I have been against them, because I keep having visions of Elvis.  No, I don't think that I am going to overdose on prescription pills and die on the toilet, I am afraid I will get fat, wear hideous jumpsuits, make cheesy movies, and turn into a glorified Vegas lounge singer.  The oncologist's nurse jumped on my wife's side (of course she would, it's women conspiring against me) and suggested a few things up to and including over the counter sleep aids, before I hit the prescription stuff.  I don't know what to do.  I just know I am feeling really tired and I wish I could get one really good night's sleep.

I have big plans for my birthday.  I plan to run/jog a five kilometer fun run, even though the only running I have done since my surgery was into the hospital a week ago, and if it weren't for the adrenaline, I wouldn't have been able to do that.  I would like to do a thirty mile bike ride, even though the thought of hopping on a bicycle seat after my surgery makes my sole remaining testicle want to hide.  And the most physically demanding thing, I plan on going to Walt Disney World on my birthday.  And I am NOT going to be one of those jerks who gets a doctor's note to rent a wheelchair once they get there just to cut in line on all of the rides.  It's pretty obvious what is going on when you see them leap out of that wheelchair everytime the ice cream cart rolls by.  My contention is that if you really need a wheelchair, you will bring the one you always use.  But anyway, the point is, I plan on walking around Disney on my own power.

So between needing to up my physical activity and not being able to look at the inside of this house anymore, my wife and I did a little Christmas shopping today.  After about fifteen minutes, I was exhausted.  Part of that was because after fifteen minutes, I had looked at all of the stuff I wanted to see, then I just had to follow my wife around for the rest of the time pouting.  Anyone that has been shopping with my wife knows exactly what I am talking about.  I wouldn't have minded so much if she was shopping for an American made Paul Reed Smith with twenty four frets and double cutaways, but I found a used one at the first place we went and pointed out that it was a bargain at $1600.  She acted like she didn't care at all!  To me, we were done shopping with that find, but we left the store (without the guitar) and bought stuff for other people!  I made my best but-I-am-a-cancer-patient face, but it had no effect on her.  Probably because that look is permanently on my face ever since the chemo kicked in.  I think she has grown an immunity to it.

We went to Cracker Barrel after that and then to the grocery store, and I will admit, I am dead tired.  But for some reason, I am not sleepy tired.  I wish I could explain it better because if I could, maybe I could find something that would help me.  So, if I can't sleep tonight, I may break down and get one of the over the counter sleep aids.  Until then, I will just search the internet until I find an article saying that playing American PRS guitars helps you sleep well, and practice making an even more pitiful cancer patient face.

The Cancer Toll

Right on cue, I wake up this morning seeing a six as the first number on the clock, and having a full bladder and a dry mouth.  At least for the past few days my chemo has been consistent.  But today, I know there is no chance of laying there and falling back asleep, and that is because of yesterday...

Few people know this, but my faith is defined by two incidences in my life.  The first was when I was a dumb little kid in California, and doing what dumb little kids do, at some point I had fallen and scraped my knee.  Not thinking anything of it, until my father noticed days later that it had become infected.  He cleaned a needle and tried to poke a hole to get my healed over wound to start draining, but was unsuccessful.  I still didn't care, until he mentioned what the next step would be.  He said if it didn't drain, it could get worse, and we may have to go to the doctor who would use a "knife" to get it to drain.  Now as an adult, I know he meant a small scalpel.  However, as a dumb little eight year old, I assumed he meant a machete or hunting/survival knife of any of the other large knives that a military brat is accustomed to seeing while growing up on military bases.  It scared me to death the thought of this doctor coming at me, white coat covered in blood, wildly swinging and stabbing at my knee until he hits the right spot and it starts to drain.  I mean, the needle hurt bad enough, how bad would the knife hurt?  This was the first day I really prayed.  I had said grace and bedtime prayers before, but they were basically little poems I recited because that's what you are supposed to do.  This time, I made up the prayer, asking God to please not let that knife wielding, maniacal doctor chase me around (OK, at eight, I didn't use the words "knife wielding, maniacal", but you know what I mean).  A day or two later, I run into my parents' bedroom as I had done thousands of times before without major injury, but this time I ran smack into the nightstand, the corner hitting me RIGHT where the infected spot was on my knee.   Man did it hurt.  And the next day...the infection was gone.  It was that day at eight years old that I learned, God may not always do things the way you want Him to, but if you ask and believe, He will do what's best.  As a little kid I wanted it to magically go away.  What happened is my dad went with a needle as deep as he could, but it didn't work...until I banged it hard against the nightstand, opening the wound deep and connecting the hole dad made to the infection causing it to drain.  That was a pretty powerful thing for an eight year old to grasp.  From that day forward my faith that God always does what's best was always in my mind.

And I still feel that way.  Through all of the things I have been through, I honestly have never said "Why me?". I am one of those people that believes we are never given more than we can handle.  I have only lost a job twice in my life.  The first time I did, I went from losing a job running record stores to running around with rock stars a few years later.  So for every trial and tribulation in my life, it always seemed to lead to something better, and usually a learning experience.  Many people's dream job would be running around with rock stars.  My reality was that I was constantly driving to this state or that state, and although 80% of the rock stars were great to work with, the 20% could really make you dread your job, however I won't mention the names of the 20% because I don't want you to think less of Jewel, Tori Amos, or Big Wreck (which I know you probably never heard of, and it may have something to do with my bosses' boss asking why I refused to work anymore Big Wreck shows.  Sorry, I didn't mean to get you kicked off the label, but he said I wasn't the first one to call you guys A-holes).  For every low point in my life, it seems with a little patience and a little faith, I eventually get to a very high point in my life.  So, where am I going with all of this?

One of the hardest things for a cancer patient is not what you go through, it's what you put your family through.  My journey through the medical system started in 1989 with my gastro-intestinal stuff, and I can handle whatever is thrown at me.  As I said, I have never asked God, "Why me?".  But with the stresses, worries, and everything else that comes along with major health issues, last night I laid in bed and asked God, "Why her?".  I am used to it.  I can handle it.  Throw one thing after another at me, I know that something greater is around the corner.  And after the news yesterday, I am still fine.  I know there will be other chances.  But seeing the way my wife has been emotionally and physically beat down the past couple months is more than I can bear.  I have seen cancer patients that were doing great, suddenly just change their attitude and pass away in an incredibly short period of time.  And I always wondered, what caused them to give up when they were doing so good?  Yesterday, I understood.  As a cancer patient, like it or not, you are causing a lot of pain and heartache to those that love and care for you.  And for the most part, the last thing those people want is for that loved one to be out of their life.  But as a cancer patient, you only have so much fight in you.  You fight the disease, you fight the surgery, you fight the treatment, and you are still left to fight to pretend that nothing is bothering you and that you are fine and strong and can put on a brave face for the ones helping you on that journey.  

Yesterday's news had nothing to do with cancer.  But it did have everything to do with the bright spot in this otherwise very dark past few months.  I am tired of that hospital.  I am tired of being in that hospital.  I am tired of seeing employees of that hospital, walking around, hating their jobs, and letting patients and loved ones see that attitude.  I didn't want to spend four more hours there, especially just to receive that news.  And most of all, I am tired of the toll that this emotional two months has taken on my wife and others that I love.  Yesterday, I understood why cancer patients give up.  I understood why they go so fast.  I understood it all.  It's not that they have given up on life, or treatment, or faith, or anything, sometimes it is simply that they just want the pain to be over.  Not necessarily their pain, but the pain that ripples throughout their support network.  And in most cases, that is the last solution the support network wants, but yesterday I understood.  If there was anything I could do yesterday, to make this emotional hurting stop, I would have.  What's killing me is there is nothing I can do.  I am positive.  I know we will both get through this.  I know there will be a bright spot down the road.  But I can't stop her pain.

That is why I found myself laying in bed, next to my wife as she cries herself to sleep asking God, "Why her?".  I try to imagine, what bright spot is going to make up for the past two months of heartache.  And the way I figured it out, this is what must be in store for us, we must be finding a winning lottery ticket while at Walt Disney World, when we bump in to Johnny Depp (that would be for her) who tells us he has a surplus of American made Paul Reed Smith guitars with double cutaway and twenty four frets, he would like us to have one, and nine months later we have triplets (the triplets would be for me, and should be really small magical triplets, that are an easy pregnancy, but are magically very healthy).  The triplets would have to come nine months later, because we would want to ride everything at Disney World without having to worry about all those signs that list all the medical conditions that preclude you from riding (from pregnancy to hangnails, are the rides really that unsafe or is the added fright from all the medical warnings part of the ambiance?).  And those triplets better not look like Captain Jack, if you know what I mean.

So here I am.  Up early blogging so no one in the house sees the tears in my eyes, trying to digest why yesterday happened.  Go ahead and plug me with a few more tubes, hoses, wires, monitors, and stitches, but can we leave her out of this?  I don't know what to expect next.  I just know there has to be something bigger and better planned, and hopefully it is soon.

Insomnia Has A Name, And Thy Name Is Daisy

For one of the first times since all of this cancer stuff happened, I think I had a decent night's sleep last night.  I still woke up at 6:30 am and couldn't fall back asleep, but I don't remember waking up in the middle of the night and that is a big improvement.

Of course, I know part of my insomnia is caused by worrying that I have cancer.  Who would've thought that?  But I think I am narrowing down a physical cause as well.  For those unfamiliar with basenjis, they love sleeping on the bed, and they love to be touching people while they sleep.  This is where my problem seems to lie, on the bed.  I have been referring to our newest basenji (the abused/neglected rescue one) as the "Immovable Object" because once she curls up, it's hard to get that lump of a dog to go anywhere else.  What I am finding out is the Immovable Object does tend to drift at times.  As she gets more accustomed to us, she seems to drift from the foot of the bed, to the head, I think because we have a ritual of a good ear scratching before we get up every morning.  (I scratch her ears, not the other way around.  And not us scratching our own ears, we could do that anytime.)  My hypothesis is that she works her way up during the night anticipating the massage that will come later.  No matter what the cause, she is moving.  So now, when I go to bed I feel like an early California settler.  I have to stake my claim to my property to try to prevent my four legged claim jumper from stealing my mining rights to that section of mattress.  If I should happen to get up in the middle of the night, or roll over and give her an inch or two of space, I can consider that part of the bed gone for eternity.  You have better luck cutting to the front of the line for the Jungle Cruise at Walt Disney World than you do of gaining any ground on Daisy the basenji!  And anyone that has stood in that line for the Jungle Cruise and the M.C. Escher way the queue wanders around, knows exactly what I am talking about.  It dawned on me last night that this may be what is going on when I rolled over and found that I had to perform a contortionist's move from Cirque Du Soleil:  La Chienne Stupide to pull my legs out and around what now seems to be a concrete lawn statue of a sleeping dog.  Not an easy feat when you are barely a month recovered from having your midsection hacked up by the Testicle Fairy (if you leave teeth under your pillow, where was I supposed to leave that?).  So although I have seemed to keep my chemo meds in check enough to get to sleep, I have no remedy for immovable but drifting concrete basenjis.

One thing that has seemed to be working is avoiding naps during the day and maybe even a little workout as well.  I am trying to perform this dance on chemo where I wear myself out enough to sleep solidly for a few hours, but not letting myself get run down, which is pretty much a feeling you have all the time on chemo.  As I mentioned yesterday, I played Wii for a little while.  Not Wii like kids play, Wii like old people play.  You know, bowling, badminton, ski jump, anything that involves standing in one place, slightly moving, and still calling it "exercise".  Whatever you want to call it, it left me winded after a while.  Today I hopped on our elliptical machine.  A machine I ridiculed when I was younger and thinner.  I would say that only a fat lazy person would use an elliptical machine over a treadmill or stepmill, and as a fat lazy person that was sweating profusely on an elliptical machine today, I realize I was right.  I had high hopes.  In better times, I hop on there hit one of the half hour programs, pump up the resistance, and burn a thousand calories.  Today, I hopped on there, hit the three hundred calorie program, started hurting after fifty calories, crying after seventy five, and called it quits at one hundred.  Baby steps.  Well, funny loopy shaped baby steps.  

Whether from wimpy workouts, nausea induced dieting, or just being one heavy nut lighter, the scale did say I lost twelve pounds today!  However, that scale usually doesn't talk to the doctor's scale and tell it how much I have lost, because they have vastly different numbers at times.  Maybe at the doctor's office I should strip naked and get on the scale right after I pee since that is what has been working at home.  That might frighten other people in the waiting room though.  Especially if they aren't aware that I am there for testicular cancer, because they may just see the fresh scar and that one of the boys has gone A.W.O.L. and run out of the office to find a different, non-testicle removing doctor.  At any rate, between the weight change, sleep, exercise, and everything else, I seem to be holding my own against chemo.  It has me a little worried about what I may face as my blood cells continue to drop, but right now I am just focusing on getting better and so far that seems to be working.

First Group and I Can't Find Mr. Negative

When first approached about the idea of going to a cancer group, I didn't know what to think.  I mentioned it to one of my virtual buddies, who will remain nameless for the purposes of this blog just in case she doesn't want to admit to this next comment, and she said that they can really help, with one caveat.  She told me a lot of times in the group, there is one person who is the downer of the group.  The one that couldn't be cheered up by a clown, riding a unicorn, passing out balloon animals, candy, and money.  She said, don't let that person get to me.  There is always one in every group.  There always will be.  If I just focus on the positivity in the rest of the group I will get by fine and enjoy it.

When we finally went to our meeting about the group, I mentioned this to the therapist that doesn't therapize because groups aren't about therapying from a therapist, he did exactly what would expect a therapist to do, even though he wasn't there to therapize.  He looked at me very serious and started to say that is not necessarily true.  He started to say that.  About halfway, through saying that, I start to see him crack a grin.  Then a chuckle towards the end of the sentence.  He tells me that yes, those people are out there, but she is right, you can just ignore them and focus on the positive people.

I show up at group not really knowing what to expect.  In my mind, someone will be wheeled in on a hospital bed, and people will be in very stages of decomposition, because I will admit it, I have been influenced by the media's portrayal of cancer patients as well.  The anti-therapist walks in and directs me back to the room.  Sure I am going to see a room full of sick people I instead see, well, two people that don't look like anything is wrong with them.  They look "normal".  And the doorway to the room doesn't even look big enough for a bed to wheel through.  More and more people filter in, and every single one looks just like someone I would see on the street.  I am a little more at ease.  Maybe this won't be so bad.  Since I am the new guy, we go around the room and tell our stories.

Cancer can bring out the optimist and the pessimist inside of you.  In many ways, I am very optimistic about my treatment and recovery.  I KNOW I will beat this.  I KNOW I will feel good again.  I KNOW this won't affect my life in the long run.  But the pessimist side comes in when the doctor says that there is an 80% chance this will never come back.  You automatically start thinking about the 20% that says it may come back.  Beating cancer is a necessary journey that I am ready to take on, once.  I don't particularly want to take it on several times.  So although your attitude can be positive, your mind seems to pick up quicker on the negative things.

I look around the room at all of the healthy people.  Ready to hear how they all beat cancer and won!  Now I don't know exactly what was said, because your mind starts playing tricks on you, but it seemed everyone in there had multiple cancer stories.  That's the pessimist part.  Every time you hear the words "and then it came back" you immediately start paying even more attention.  No!  That's not how it's supposed to work.  You get cancer.  You beat cancer.  You move on.  Isn't cancer like the chicken pox?  You get it once in your life and you never get it again?  And I got lucky, it happened to me early, I still have a nut to spare, now I can go on without having to worry about every getting cancer again.  At least, that's the way I want it to work.  And all of these cancers seem much more serious than mine, and these people seem to have so much more at stake.  After all, the doc did say I have the "best kind of cancer".  Everyone of these people are probably looking at me jealous of my cancer.  Heck, the doctor almost made it sound like people on the street without cancer would be envious of me strutting around with my "best kind of cancer".

Around the room, one by one, they all tell stories of the people that depend on them, especially children.  These people all had such harder journeys than mine and so much more riding on them surviving.  All I have is a mean wife and two basenjis.  And let's face it, the abused rescue basenji will be too busy hiding to realize I'm gone, and the other one won't notice as long as my mean wife's new husband let's him lay on the deck and feeds him scraps.

At this point let me just say, I don't really think my wife is mean.  OK, she is mean in the fact that she won't let me spend money I don't have on things I don't need but really want like an American made PRS guitar with double cutaway and 24 frets.  But, she is so afraid that people will really think that she is mean.  Now that assumption depends on several factors.  The first being that someone actually reads my blog.  The second that someone that reads my blog actually believes that I really think she is mean.  The third that someone reads my blog and actually believes that I think she is mean AND agrees with me that not bringing me Pepsi with seven ice cubes in the glass, buying me a Paul Reed Smith guitar, and taking me to Walt Disney World constitutes abuse.  Now if there is anyone that believes me, please help me to convince her that I do need that guitar to help me recover at Walt Disney World with an ice cold Pepsi.  The main reason I put in here that she is mean, is simply so I can tell if she read my blog or not.  If I walk up from downstairs (where she forces me to stay in the basement with warm Pepsi and no American made PRS guitar) and she is giving me the skunk eye, I know she read my daily installment.

After we go around the room with our introductions, the depression of how I may have to face this battle again someday, just as many of the people in this room have, slowly changes to hope.  Just about everyone in this room has had more than one battle with cancer.  They still look normal.  They still have families.  They still live their lives.  Even the ones currently in battles look normal, heck they look great!  They don't look like "cancer patients" at all.  And they are all older than me!  That means I can live at least as long as these people!  I think the negative guy must have missed this group meeting, because I can't readily identify him.  But I will still be on the lookout for him!  Oh crap, does that mean it's me?  The rest of the meeting is just a conversation.  The anti-therapist doesn't say much, just listens.  Wow, he wasn't lying.  He really isn't doing much therapying.  What surprises me most is how many questions these people are asking me.  I hear these stories of all of their long and emotional battles, many fought multiple times, and they want to hear my story?  One round of chemo, that's all I'm facing, one round!  Who cares?  They are the ones with the stories.  And what's more surprising is that they all seem sincere in their interest in my story.  I do feel better.

I am actually looking a little forward to the next meeting. Who knows, maybe the negative person will show up this time.  But now that I am no longer the new kid, we will see if it was all just an act.  They may turn on the Stage-I-Best-Kind-of-Cancer boy and make me do some weird initiation ritual.  Maybe they are like a frat and have a goat tied out back that I have to do a prostate cancer check on.  All I know is I will go as long as I need to.  Before the first meeting, I thought that would just be until I am done with chemo.  Now, I don't know how long I will go.  The group made me think that the hard part of the journey may be the treatment, but it doesn't mean the journey is over.  I may go as long as I am on this trip, however long that is.

The Dying-Cancer-Boy-Look

Cancer changes you.  I feel my cancer is a relatively small thing on the cancer barometer.  There are many more people going through much tougher battles.  And it may sound like a cliche, but no matter what cancer you have, it really does affect your awareness of mortality and how quickly your situation can change.

Anyone that knows me knows I love sunshine, July and August heat, and everything else that goes along with summer (except maybe mosquito bites and sweatiness in areas you don't want to sweat in, but I have less to sweat there now).  So, I have been a little down the past few days.  Tomorrow will be one month since all this began.  The part that is really bothering me is that is a month, the last month of summer, that I have spent in doctor's offices, in magnetic testing tube thingys, in an operating room, dropping my pants out of habit anytime someone in a white coat and a name tag walks by (which makes for an awkward moment at Wal-Mart's vision center), and sitting around watching TV (with and without ice on my crotch).  It really drove that fact home with the cold snap we have gotten here the past few days.  Today, I switched the heat pump from AC to heat.  I keep saying I am not going to let cancer affect me or change my plans, but it has robbed me.  It has robbed me of a month of summer.  Before I am able to get outside again and do yard work or work on my endless projects in my shop, the summer is gone.  I am actually very perturbed about it.  I wish I knew where cancer's ass was so I could kick it.  Unfortunately, since I had a 2cm tumor, cancer's ass was probably right next to the rest of my testicle, so besides not being limber enough to kick it, I am not inclined to kick myself in that area just to teach cancer a lesson.

One of our rites of Autumn here is visiting the neighboring county's fair.  It is a glorious marathon of trying to eat one of everything that the "carnies" thought to fry and charge six dollars for.  Since all this started, my stomach issues have been completely unpredictable.  We were there for a very short time when my stomach decided it wanted to go home.  Usually that doesn't happen until at least after the corndog and the deep fried Oreo's.  We didn't even make over to those stands yet before the gastric uprising commenced!  So, it hits me again.  It's that (insert string of profanities here) cancer that is affecting my life again!  And the part that really sucks, is you don't know what to do about it.  You want to lash out, but who do you lash out at?  You quickly go from being thrown into a rage, to being thrown into a depression.  I see on message boards, that for some reason us seriously ill people love reading (including me), about dealing with family members that are angry.  And it's easy to see how that happens.  Who is healthier, the ones that blow up on everything and everybody, or the ones like me that turtle up and cry a little to themselves when no one is watching?  I don't know the answer.  But I do know that by not blowing up on my wife, I can still give the dying-cancer-boy-look with my eyes and sometimes get her to bring me a glass of ice for my Pepsi (although she is quickly becoming immune to that look).  I don't know if the ragers get that luxury.  It's hard to get someone to bring you Pepsi ice, when no one comes around anymore.

And as for the dying-cancer-boy-look, yeah most of it is just for fun and profit, but there is a lot more seriousness behind it than I would like to admit.  My family has only taken one true family vacation.  That was to Walt Disney World fifteen years ago.  Don't get me wrong, we traveled a lot, mainly moving or to see family.  And if there was something along the way that was interesting, we were allowed to look out the window as we went by eating our fast food in the car to save time.  And it's not that there is anything wrong with that, I would just like to have another family vacation.  After fifteen years, we have forgotten most of the reasons we hate traveling with each other, so it's about time for a little reminder.  "You never know if we will get another chance." I would say as I try to urge our clan to agree to a trip, alluding to the potpourri of medical maladies floating around our gene pool. And I'll be perfectly honest and say, I didn't think that I was the odds on favorite to be the first winner of the debility lottery (and if anyone in my family is reading this let me just say, I wasn't thinking about you, I was thinking of a totally different person in the family).  But it was me and I think that is why it is affecting me this way.  I thought I was in the healthier half.

Now to be fair, I have been playing the cancer card pretty thick, with almost no success.  It hasn't worked for a trip to Walt Disney World, money for a Paul Reed Smith, a ride to any car show, a nicer TIG welder, a new tool cabinet (I wasn't even asking for the tools, just a place to put ones I already have), a friend to name their baby "Thomasina", a trip to Cassano's, or much of anything else I have tried pity-eyes on...yet.  And when I do get my wife to get me those ice cubes for my Pepsi, you can tell she threw them in the glass with extreme prejudice.  And for anyone wondering, yes she does read these occasionally, and I do have to say "no one really thinks you are that mean sweetie, they know I am joking", but I'm not, she really is that mean to me.  

However, there is a bit of truth to my pity eyes.  I will tell you it has run through my mind at least a thousand times about all the "what ifs".  All of the "what ifs" end with me having a lot more aggressive treatment or death.  What if I hadn't noticed it?  What if I continued to be embarrassed, ashamed, unsure, and scared to call my doctor?  What if I hadn't had a great doctor that sent me immediately to a urologist?  What if I had not argued with that nurse practitioner that he wasn't feeling in the right place and I walked out without seeing the urologist?  What if I didn't have a such a great urologist?  How far would it have spread before I couldn't ignore it anymore?  I thank God that things didn't turn out like that, but you can't help but wonder about what if they did?  And you wonder about the future "What ifs".  And you come to the realization that you don't know what fate has planned out for you.  I have spent the last two and a half weeks sitting on my couch thinking about all of the projects I wish I would have worked on in my shop on days I came home "tired", now that I am sitting home temporarily crippled and unable to do those things.  Even though I know my cancer isn't going to kill me, it has sent a very big reminder that there is a finite amount of time in this life.  I don't want to wait for the "good time" to take that trip.  I don't want to wait to show somebody I love something.  I don't want to wait to "work on that later".    It's funny how my recent hours and hours in waiting rooms reminded me just how much life is wasted waiting.  I'm not talking about racking up the credit cards type of stuff, I am talking about if this person were to be out of my life tomorrow, would I regret not doing this with them, or saying that to them, or even just writing that note?  And there is a large amount of introspection that comes with cancer as well.  You think about all the things you need to do in your life, and all the time you have spent wasted on things that didn't need done.

So, I will keep trying to dying-cancer-boy-look at least through chemo.  I think after that, I can't play that card anymore.  I try holding where I was sliced and diced and saying "OW, my cancer...", but so far I haven't had much success there either.  I can't really grab where the cancer really was or I would look like a very bad Michael Jackson impersonator, or a 90s rapper.  But you never know, maybe the pity eyes will work one of these times and I will be playing my new PRS guitar and TIG welding up a storm on my way from the car show to Disney World.  If not, hopefully I can at least get a few more glasses of ice for my Pepsi from my wife...unless she reads this.  But, honey, sweetheart if you are reading this, I really could use that ice.  Remember it's exactly seven cubes, no more no less.  Ow, my cancer.