Four years ago this week, I first noticed my lump. My wife had went on vacation with her mother and I stayed home alone to take care of work projects and watch the dogs. The past three years, I never really paid any attention to this date. After all, it's the date I just noticed something. It wasn't the date I was diagnosed. It wasn't the date I had my surgery or went through chemo or anything. But that is the weird thing about cancer, it seems you are never really completely free.
This year we had planned to take my two year old to my parents to watch fireworks for the 4th of July. From their house, they can see most of the fireworks. And we thought if we take him there, and he doesn't like the loud noises, or the bright lights, or he just starts being...well, a two year old, we could just take him in the house and not have to deal with traffic or crowds or that one guy that has to describe every firework loudly. After we had made these plans, my job made other plans, and my wife offered to take my son without me. It was a plan that was seemingly perfect, my son could experience the fireworks for the first time and I could keep skittish dogs company in the country.
That is when it hit me last night. I have been passing my scans without any problem, and my scanxiety has dropped to almost nothing. I only have to go to the oncologist twice a year now Even my dermatologist told me that she could tell I was really making a good effort to avoid skin cancer. So I haven't been thinking about cancer much at all. But last night was different. I was back to that place four years ago, just me and the dogs. The weird thing is, I didn't feel a lump, but I did have that feeling, a feeling I can't explain.
Most of us when we are diagnosed, aside from the shock of the "C" word, you get this "icky" feeling that something is growing inside of you that wants to kill you. The surgery can't come quick enough, you just want that stuff out today. That is the feeling I had last night. The feeling that I was all alone again. The feeling that something icky was going on. What made last night even freakier, was without thinking, I picked up that PRS guitar I bought four years ago today to play with while they were gone. It's not one I normally play, but it's what I grabbed last night. The only one that was light enough for me to play after my surgery. The one that got me through cancer. Just as my mind flashbacked to the bad time four years ago, I also subconsciously reached for the one thing that helped me get through it too.
As I approach what I consider my fourth cancerversary, I have been thinking about when I am done. Is it five years? Is it ten? Is it when you quit going to the oncologist...I hope it's not that one, because I think he has been saying "just a few more years" since my second visit. As far as my health is concerned, I think I am done. I have been getting clean scans. I have finally been dropping the weight I gained while I was sick. And for the most part, I feel better than before any of this happened. But I guess it's harder to gauge the feeling that we are done mentally being affected by cancer. Because last night, I sat alone and scared and realized I wasn't as done as I thought I was. Or maybe I am, because I grabbed that PRS, just like I did after my surgery, and played until I didn't have cancer anymore.
Showing posts with label basenji. Show all posts
Showing posts with label basenji. Show all posts
Saturday, July 5, 2014
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
If Coughing Were A Sport, I Would Be An Olympian!
So a couple weeks back I wrote about having a cold. Well, the sniffling stopped, the sneezing stopped, and the coughing...well it never went away. In my typical, stubborn, I-don't-want-to-go-to-the-doctor sort of way, I decided the best thing to do was to ignore it and keep coughing. That changed the night my wife asked why I was breathing so fast. I said I wasn't breathing fast, especially since I was just sitting there, not exerting myself with heavy exercise like bending over to tie my shoes, reaching for more cookies, or grabbing the remote to change the channel. When she pointed out that I indeed was breathing fast, I started getting worried. One possible cause could be pneumonia or any other number of pfunny gnamed illknesses.
So, first thing the next day I called the doctor and scheduled an appointment for later that day. The two things I can always count on with my obsessive-compulsive doctor is that no matter what I am there for I have to be humiliated with the scale, and that he will be at the very latest on time. And that is exactly what happened, after finding out I was fat (again) I was taken back to see the doctor...early! While the nurse was pointing out that I was fat and taking my blood pressure, she scared me by telling me how rampant pneumonia has been this year. My doctor came in and had me take several deep breaths, much more than usual, which seemed like a pretty sadistic thing to do to someone that was having trouble breathing. Finally, he told me to take a deep breath, and breathe it out as fast as I could, which resulted in my coughing very hard, getting light headed, and almost falling off the exam table. That caused him to giggle a little and tell me that people usually get lightheaded if they come in in my state and do that, which made me wonder why, if most people get lightheaded and almost fall off the table, why didn't he put himself in some sort of position to catch me? Anyway, he narrowed it down to walking pneumonia or viral bronchitis, and told me to go to the hospital right away to get an X-ray.
Because of my medical past, I have been pummeled by radiation so much to the point that my oncologist wants to limit the amount of exposure I have from now on. For those that don't know, radiation builds in your body over time. It starts from the day you were born and keeps adding up until the day you die. I told my doctor that my oncologist (and his good friend) had ordered a chest X-ray as part of my six month post-chemo check-up for the next week and asked if there was anyway I could just get one set of X-rays that would take care of what both my doctor and my oncologist wanted to see (plus then I would only have to pay one co-pay). He thought that was a great idea and wrote the prescription. My doctor sent me on my way, but not without first giving me two free inhalers. He is one of those doctors that feels if drug companies are constantly going to keep coming around and bugging him, he is going to take all the samples he can, and try his best to keep from actually ever writing a prescription for anything, just give away free samples. I don't think that is what the drug reps had in mind, but I certainly appreciate it.
I rush to the hospital just in time to spend the next half an hour filling out paperwork and answering questions between coughs. I finally got in to have my X-rays done and my doctor called the next morning to say I just had bronchitis (which isn't that much easier to spell) and that it looks like I am still cancer free. I still have another week before I hear that officially from my oncologist, but the surprise X-ray and results have definitely cut down on my scanxiety this time around.
So, going on week four since all this started, I am still coughing and according to my doctor, can expect to still be coughing for another two weeks. I am thrilled. In the meantime, I will steer clear of salty foods, keep making people around me scared that I am contagious, and keep my wife and basenjis awake by hacking all through the night. Let's just call it payback for all the kicking that they supposedly do "in their sleep".
I will close by telling the story about the Evil Casket. The Evil Casket started chasing this poor girl one day. No matter where she went the Evil Casket came bouncing after her. The faster she ran, the faster the Evil Casket bounced. She ran into her house and locked the door, the Evil Casket knocked the door down. She ran upstairs, and the Evil Casket bounded right up the stairs behind her. She ran into the bathroom and locked the door, and the Evil Casket broke that door down too. Cornered and desperate, the poor girl reached for something, anything to use as a weapon against the Casket. She opened the medicine cabinet, grabbed the Dimetapp, threw at her pursuer, and....the coffin stopped!
So, first thing the next day I called the doctor and scheduled an appointment for later that day. The two things I can always count on with my obsessive-compulsive doctor is that no matter what I am there for I have to be humiliated with the scale, and that he will be at the very latest on time. And that is exactly what happened, after finding out I was fat (again) I was taken back to see the doctor...early! While the nurse was pointing out that I was fat and taking my blood pressure, she scared me by telling me how rampant pneumonia has been this year. My doctor came in and had me take several deep breaths, much more than usual, which seemed like a pretty sadistic thing to do to someone that was having trouble breathing. Finally, he told me to take a deep breath, and breathe it out as fast as I could, which resulted in my coughing very hard, getting light headed, and almost falling off the exam table. That caused him to giggle a little and tell me that people usually get lightheaded if they come in in my state and do that, which made me wonder why, if most people get lightheaded and almost fall off the table, why didn't he put himself in some sort of position to catch me? Anyway, he narrowed it down to walking pneumonia or viral bronchitis, and told me to go to the hospital right away to get an X-ray.
Because of my medical past, I have been pummeled by radiation so much to the point that my oncologist wants to limit the amount of exposure I have from now on. For those that don't know, radiation builds in your body over time. It starts from the day you were born and keeps adding up until the day you die. I told my doctor that my oncologist (and his good friend) had ordered a chest X-ray as part of my six month post-chemo check-up for the next week and asked if there was anyway I could just get one set of X-rays that would take care of what both my doctor and my oncologist wanted to see (plus then I would only have to pay one co-pay). He thought that was a great idea and wrote the prescription. My doctor sent me on my way, but not without first giving me two free inhalers. He is one of those doctors that feels if drug companies are constantly going to keep coming around and bugging him, he is going to take all the samples he can, and try his best to keep from actually ever writing a prescription for anything, just give away free samples. I don't think that is what the drug reps had in mind, but I certainly appreciate it.
I rush to the hospital just in time to spend the next half an hour filling out paperwork and answering questions between coughs. I finally got in to have my X-rays done and my doctor called the next morning to say I just had bronchitis (which isn't that much easier to spell) and that it looks like I am still cancer free. I still have another week before I hear that officially from my oncologist, but the surprise X-ray and results have definitely cut down on my scanxiety this time around.
So, going on week four since all this started, I am still coughing and according to my doctor, can expect to still be coughing for another two weeks. I am thrilled. In the meantime, I will steer clear of salty foods, keep making people around me scared that I am contagious, and keep my wife and basenjis awake by hacking all through the night. Let's just call it payback for all the kicking that they supposedly do "in their sleep".
I will close by telling the story about the Evil Casket. The Evil Casket started chasing this poor girl one day. No matter where she went the Evil Casket came bouncing after her. The faster she ran, the faster the Evil Casket bounced. She ran into her house and locked the door, the Evil Casket knocked the door down. She ran upstairs, and the Evil Casket bounded right up the stairs behind her. She ran into the bathroom and locked the door, and the Evil Casket broke that door down too. Cornered and desperate, the poor girl reached for something, anything to use as a weapon against the Casket. She opened the medicine cabinet, grabbed the Dimetapp, threw at her pursuer, and....the coffin stopped!
Monday, April 18, 2011
Taking A Houseplant, Worms, And My Wife On A Roadtrip
One of the things I have done for my wife in the past is take her on surprise trips. In fact, my proposal to her was a surprise trip to Niagara Falls, where for the balance of the trip, rather than enjoy the beauty of the natural wonder, she stared at her recently acquired ring, studying to see if I remembered all the specifics she told me to make sure it had. Since then I have surprised her with other trips like a trip to Holiday World (which has FREE Pepsi products!!!) and the Mothman Festival in Point Pleasant, West Virginia. OK, so the quality of the surprise trips has definitely been declining. Anyway, a very good friend had offered me her lakeside cabin for the weekend. I call it a cabin, but it is more the size of an Army barracks, except the cabin can sleep more people.
Two months ago I started planning this trip as a cool, cheap thing an unemployed cancer patient can do for his wife's birthday. It required me to make all sorts of plans, cover stories, basenji babysitters, and secret acquisitions of everything from the keys to the place and groceries to worms (for fishing). This kept me a lot busier than I had thought it would. Everyday last week it seemed I was running around gathering stuff between the hours that my wife left for work and before she came home. I had to run around, buy food and supplies, and get back into my regular lounging-around-the-house clothes by the time she got home so she wouldn't realize I was running around all day buying worms.
My plan went fairly well and she even bought my cover story, that we were going to see my grandma in the nursing home. That story was actually too believable. While I was mowing the lawn the night before our departure, my wife baked a fancy cake and bought a houseplant all for my dear grandma that we weren't actually going to see. So, being the resourceful person that I am, since this trip was a surprise birthday trip, I grabbed some candles and decided she just baked her own birthday cake. Now in the past, I have tricked family members into wrapping their own presents, this is the first time I had someone bake their own cake.
The good news is, my wife was happily surprised and not mad that she baked a fancy cake...for herself, and a cute houseplant got to go on a road trip. The place we stayed was huge! At first it was overwhelming and even deciding what bedroom to sleep in resulted in an hour long dilemma. The irony was, that with this gigantic lake house at our disposal, we basically only really hung out in two rooms. Even though the fishing was non-productive this weekend, I was able to sneak her favorite camera into the car, so what she didn't catch in fish, she made up for in pictures.
As for me, the topography surrounding a house built on a slope next to a lake and some in progress repairs on the front porch, compounded by the amount of stuff we had to haul in and out, really stressed my incision. In my usual stubbornness, I didn't bother to take any precautions as I was rappelling down to the cabin from the car with loads of luggage and groceries...and worms. After climbing up and down the hill, loading and unloading the car, and fishing, and just walking to the lake, luckily, I feel great. So, even though this was a trip for my wife, it ended up being a boost for my own morale as well. One more sign that this cancer stuff is getting further and further behind me.
So, I don't have to sneak around buying worms anymore, and I don't have to worry about all the people that were in on my wife's surprise trip slipping up and spilling the beans. I did a bunch of stuff I shouldn't have physically this weekend, and I am none the worse for it. Although with the storms, it wasn't the best trip, but it was still pretty good!
Two months ago I started planning this trip as a cool, cheap thing an unemployed cancer patient can do for his wife's birthday. It required me to make all sorts of plans, cover stories, basenji babysitters, and secret acquisitions of everything from the keys to the place and groceries to worms (for fishing). This kept me a lot busier than I had thought it would. Everyday last week it seemed I was running around gathering stuff between the hours that my wife left for work and before she came home. I had to run around, buy food and supplies, and get back into my regular lounging-around-the-house clothes by the time she got home so she wouldn't realize I was running around all day buying worms.
My plan went fairly well and she even bought my cover story, that we were going to see my grandma in the nursing home. That story was actually too believable. While I was mowing the lawn the night before our departure, my wife baked a fancy cake and bought a houseplant all for my dear grandma that we weren't actually going to see. So, being the resourceful person that I am, since this trip was a surprise birthday trip, I grabbed some candles and decided she just baked her own birthday cake. Now in the past, I have tricked family members into wrapping their own presents, this is the first time I had someone bake their own cake.
The good news is, my wife was happily surprised and not mad that she baked a fancy cake...for herself, and a cute houseplant got to go on a road trip. The place we stayed was huge! At first it was overwhelming and even deciding what bedroom to sleep in resulted in an hour long dilemma. The irony was, that with this gigantic lake house at our disposal, we basically only really hung out in two rooms. Even though the fishing was non-productive this weekend, I was able to sneak her favorite camera into the car, so what she didn't catch in fish, she made up for in pictures.
As for me, the topography surrounding a house built on a slope next to a lake and some in progress repairs on the front porch, compounded by the amount of stuff we had to haul in and out, really stressed my incision. In my usual stubbornness, I didn't bother to take any precautions as I was rappelling down to the cabin from the car with loads of luggage and groceries...and worms. After climbing up and down the hill, loading and unloading the car, and fishing, and just walking to the lake, luckily, I feel great. So, even though this was a trip for my wife, it ended up being a boost for my own morale as well. One more sign that this cancer stuff is getting further and further behind me.
So, I don't have to sneak around buying worms anymore, and I don't have to worry about all the people that were in on my wife's surprise trip slipping up and spilling the beans. I did a bunch of stuff I shouldn't have physically this weekend, and I am none the worse for it. Although with the storms, it wasn't the best trip, but it was still pretty good!
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Ah, The Good Old Days When I Could Take Dimetapp...
After a week (or weak) of coughing, snorting, hacking, sniffling, wheezing, whining, blowing, gasping, and honking I think I have almost beaten this cold. According to my wife I was just complaining and it wasn't that bad, until she caught it four days later. I maintain, that if she would have taken better care of me, she wouldn't have gotten it. However, since she just left me to flounder, I remained sick and infectious and she caught it from me.
I think the worst part of this cold or any cold, is when you start coughing without end. Although a few blogs ago I was saying I finally felt like I was over my incision pain, I was coughing so bad a few days ago, I was afraid I was going to rip it back open again. Luckily I didn't.
When the coughing started, I reached for my tried and tested Dimetapp Children's. Not being able to take anything with any alcohol, this is my usual goto remedy for coughing and itchy throats. However, I haven't taken any since I had chemo. Tired from wiping, coughing, and spitting all day, I took the maximum dose of Dimetapp and laid down to enjoy a sound night of slumber. Five hours later, I was still waiting for slumber, or at least for the monkeys in my head to quit typing. OK, there were not any actual monkeys typing, but my mind was racing so much, it felt like there were approximately one thousand and two monkeys typing on old fashioned manual typewriters with worn out ribbons. I don't know why it had to be worn out ribbons. Maybe they weren't monkeys, they were gibbons and that is where I got the "ribbons" from. Anyway, I couldn't concentrate on sleeping if that makes sense.
Ever since chemotherapy, anything with diphenhydramine (like Benadryl) instead of making me tired, makes me wide awake and has my mind racing. I guess it's a good thing I've never done meth. My mind would be racing and I would never get anything done from the diphenhydramine. Meth addicts get a lot done right? And diphenhydramine is one of the things they make meth with right? Yup, it is, I just looked it up. Now I am probably on some government list for looking it up.
Well, with the Dimetapp a failure, I was even sicker from not getting any sleep. So, I slept all day and completely screwed up my sleep pattern, which helps in healing too. Eventually, through the use of Lifesavers and Luden's I was able to make it through the sandpaper-against-the-back-of-the-throat days to now where I feel almost normal....for me.
The caveat is that now I have a coughing wife keeping me awake and a coughing basenji. I know you are probably wondering why my dog is coughing, and frankly we are too. My mother-in-law's theory is that she caught the cold from us. Now while I don't think she caught our cold, I do think this basenji is hacking because of it. Lately, she has had a smorgasbord of Kleenex's lying around. Now before you say "Ooh, boogie eating dog!" I am not talking about used Kleenex's. It's just that we have had boxes of Kleenex's within arm's reach of every flat/cushioned surface in the house, and that to Daisy the basenji is a lot like having a beer tap with mouth's reach of an alcoholic. Because a Kleenex box works much like a beer tap, more just keeps magically appearing.
So, I don't think Daisy is coughing from a cold, I think she is coughing from eating several cases of Kleenex the past few days. And although Kleenex may be a welcome relief on a runny nose, I can imagine it would tickle the back of your throat if you ate one, or a box. At any rate, our vet didn't seem too worried, and just in case she gave us medicine to fix every possible thing it could be. Which made me jealous. I think next time I have a cough I will just go to the vet. She's cheaper than our doctor too.
Anyway, with the weather warming up, I am hoping to be well enough to get out and enjoy it. Hopefully my wife will feel better soon too (because unlike toughing it out like I did, she whines a lot). Plus I am getting wore out from waiting on her hand and foot.
I think the worst part of this cold or any cold, is when you start coughing without end. Although a few blogs ago I was saying I finally felt like I was over my incision pain, I was coughing so bad a few days ago, I was afraid I was going to rip it back open again. Luckily I didn't.
When the coughing started, I reached for my tried and tested Dimetapp Children's. Not being able to take anything with any alcohol, this is my usual goto remedy for coughing and itchy throats. However, I haven't taken any since I had chemo. Tired from wiping, coughing, and spitting all day, I took the maximum dose of Dimetapp and laid down to enjoy a sound night of slumber. Five hours later, I was still waiting for slumber, or at least for the monkeys in my head to quit typing. OK, there were not any actual monkeys typing, but my mind was racing so much, it felt like there were approximately one thousand and two monkeys typing on old fashioned manual typewriters with worn out ribbons. I don't know why it had to be worn out ribbons. Maybe they weren't monkeys, they were gibbons and that is where I got the "ribbons" from. Anyway, I couldn't concentrate on sleeping if that makes sense.
Ever since chemotherapy, anything with diphenhydramine (like Benadryl) instead of making me tired, makes me wide awake and has my mind racing. I guess it's a good thing I've never done meth. My mind would be racing and I would never get anything done from the diphenhydramine. Meth addicts get a lot done right? And diphenhydramine is one of the things they make meth with right? Yup, it is, I just looked it up. Now I am probably on some government list for looking it up.
Well, with the Dimetapp a failure, I was even sicker from not getting any sleep. So, I slept all day and completely screwed up my sleep pattern, which helps in healing too. Eventually, through the use of Lifesavers and Luden's I was able to make it through the sandpaper-against-the-back-of-the-throat days to now where I feel almost normal....for me.
The caveat is that now I have a coughing wife keeping me awake and a coughing basenji. I know you are probably wondering why my dog is coughing, and frankly we are too. My mother-in-law's theory is that she caught the cold from us. Now while I don't think she caught our cold, I do think this basenji is hacking because of it. Lately, she has had a smorgasbord of Kleenex's lying around. Now before you say "Ooh, boogie eating dog!" I am not talking about used Kleenex's. It's just that we have had boxes of Kleenex's within arm's reach of every flat/cushioned surface in the house, and that to Daisy the basenji is a lot like having a beer tap with mouth's reach of an alcoholic. Because a Kleenex box works much like a beer tap, more just keeps magically appearing.
So, I don't think Daisy is coughing from a cold, I think she is coughing from eating several cases of Kleenex the past few days. And although Kleenex may be a welcome relief on a runny nose, I can imagine it would tickle the back of your throat if you ate one, or a box. At any rate, our vet didn't seem too worried, and just in case she gave us medicine to fix every possible thing it could be. Which made me jealous. I think next time I have a cough I will just go to the vet. She's cheaper than our doctor too.
Anyway, with the weather warming up, I am hoping to be well enough to get out and enjoy it. Hopefully my wife will feel better soon too (because unlike toughing it out like I did, she whines a lot). Plus I am getting wore out from waiting on her hand and foot.
Monday, March 21, 2011
What Kind Of Dog Is That On Your Shoulder?
Last time I mentioned the trip to Florida and how I felt like I was getting back to my old self. This time I will talk about some of the things we did that made me feel that way.
After dropping off the two stowaway basenjis, we arrived in Bradenton with our two basenjis. After the last trip's debacle and associated Toyota repairs, I was determined to spend more time this trip out from underneath a car. I decided for lunch I was in the mood for Five Guys, which is odd because I hate Five Guys, I mean I hate more than five guys, but I am specifically talking about Five Guys Burgers. So, in honor of that rare moment we decided to stop at Five Guys and grab some burgers for lunch, only to find that Five Guys had a power failure and said that according to health department regulations, they could only sell soft drinks (to be fair, I think only One Guy had a power failure and the other Four Guys had to go along with it). I had been jonesing for a good Vienna Beef hot dog, and not being able to find one, we saw a guy grilling all sorts of tube steaks at a nearby gas station. We grabbed hot dogs and sausages for my wife and I and the owner also gave us a big sausage for the basenjis, something we were weary of feeding to the pork-urping-prone older basenji. We drove to a nearby beach and all four of us ate our lunch, and I am happy to report that no pork was urped up. I had been in town less than an hour and already made it to the beach. This trip was already going a lot better than the last one!
We drove to our friend's house and let ourselves in. Tired and dirty from driving all night, we both immediately collapsed then washed up before our friends came home. Once our friends arrived we immediately played the Where-We-Gonna-Eat-Game. Michael, whom I will talk about because I am sure he will never find enough time to actually read this, has a little bit of an attention problem. The odd part is, he seems to be excellent at his profession, which requires a lot of attention. I think he uses up his attention quota during the day and cannot focus on anything once he gets home. Anyway, discussions on where to eat with Michael usually involve him naming fifteen different restaurants that all sound very good, then you hop in the car and go to a entirely different place he didn't even mention. However, I am not complaining, because his choices are usually very good! We arrived at the Cortez Kitchen to find it completely packed, the first time we have ever seen that. Apparently some TV show had done a story on many of our favorite hidden haunts and now everyone is flocking there. So, we hopped back in the car and headed to a great barbecue place, named Leroy Selmon's or something like that. It's named after some sports guy who played football...or squash...or something, I don't know I don't keep up with sports. Anyway the food was very good, all except the stuff that was so hot it took me five minutes to catch my breath again. But most people aren't as wimpy with spicy food as I am. I was thankful that our friend's house had three bathrooms, because if that stuff was as spicy coming out as it was going in, there was a good chance I would be destroying at least two of them. Luckily for my friend's landlord and my buttockal region, it wasn't.
The next day we decided to take the basenjis for a walk at our favorite beach-side park, then head to the Starfish, a very dog friendly dockside restaurant. Apparently the same TV show that talked about Cortez Kitchen, also talked about the Starfish, because it was packed. Luckily, we got there late and there was a storm rolling in, so it cleared out right as we got there. The basenjis got plenty of attention and we both said "they are an African, barkless, hound..." far more times than we would like to count. Again, we made it back to the house before our friends got off work and played the Where-We-Gonna-Eat-Game again. Once again, Michael got us drooling for all sorts of different foods and restaurants, and once again we wound up at a restaurant that he didn't even mention. However, the reason he picked this restaurant was they had VIENNA BEEF HOT DOGS! The place was called Joey D's and was some great food. While reading the menu, there is a touching story about Joey D and how he wasn't expected to live past thirteen, but lived much longer than that, started this restaurant. What a nice story to read on the back of the menu. Oh, but then he died and his brothers run the place. Well, they could have laid that story out a little better on the back of the menu, but still was an inspirational story for someone trying to sweep all the cancer cobwebs out of his head. There was one small problem there...a computer. I bet you are asking yourself, "What does a computer have to do with food?", and we asked that same question! The waitress told us she would have to wait to put in our appetizers because the computer was froze up. Our thoughts were, unless the cook is a robot, can't you just walk back there and TALK to the cook? Write a note? Put the cheesesticks in the fryer yourself? Show us where you keep them and we will throw them in! Anyway, the computer finally did work...briefly, and we were able to enjoy lots of great food. Then sit there a while. And a little bit more. Tired of sitting. Oh, the computer broke again, and they didn't know how to do the check. They wouldn't be able to split the check either, because that would be stressing her waitress brain too far. Apparently she is an excellent server but terrible at math. Luckily at the last minute, the computer worked and we were able to pay and go back home.
Friday, I got up early and made my way to the flea market. I needed a case for a pair of my sunglasses, now that I have to carry them with me constantly because of my eyeball eye ball. While there I picked up a set of Mexican Train dominoes. I had never heard of this game until my seventy-nine year old friend introduced me to it, all I know is I seem to see it everywhere now, but my wife and I seem to be the only non-AARP members playing it. On the way back to the house I decided to stop at the pawn shop I have had luck at before and the owner recognized me. He's a nice guy, but with each subsequent conversation, I hear more and more stories about our "evil government". In part his manifesto this time, he mentioned that he voted for Obama, which I found odd for someone that not only doesn't want a bigger government, but wants no government at all. I guess, you can be OK with no government at all when your store primarily consists of guns and gold (neither of which I was interested in, by the way). Later for lunch, my wife and I decided to sneak out sans dogs, and eat at a beach restaurant. After driving by a few more places that were apparently also on TV, we finally found one of our hidden restaurants that was still hidden. The food was decent, and it allowed us to take a quick walk on the beach afterwards, as well as let me leave my sister the traditional voice mail of waves crashing on the beach for five minutes and nothing else. We stopped by the Chop Shop, an old fashioned butcher, and grabbed an assortment of steaks for the night. Micheal couldn't change his mind that night since we already had the food bought.
Saturday we dubbed as a "Dog Day Afternoon" and started out in the morning with the four humanoids and the Curly Tailed Mafia (two basenjis and a shiba inu) heading to get gigantic Amish donuts at the Farmer's Market, the only problem is the Amish didn't show. I guess they couldn't get their Mustang started. Maybe it was a Bronco. Whatever the reason, we loaded everyone back up and headed to Bradenton Potato Raised Donuts. Just Michael and I went in and had to perform the marital test Just-Pick-Something-Out-For-Me. This is a very stressful game, especially when you have been married ten years and have never paid any attention to what kind of donuts your wife likes, or what her eye color is, or what her middle name is, or birthday, or any of that other trivial crap. With the total being less that ten dollars, I thought it was silly to split the bill, and I paid for Michael and my order, something I would feel guilty about later on. By the way, I did guess correctly on the donuts.
We then went to the dog beach, where I tested my new metal detector and found a whole twenty six cents! Since my sister gave it to me as a present that was twenty six cents of pure profit! Minus the three dollars for batteries. We finished off the day by stopping at Sarasota's dog friendly Old Salty Dog, where my wife and I played the odd game of thinking we knew someone that might be working there and arguing over whether the people working there were ugly enough to be said person. As we walked into the restaurant, Benny the Basenji was tired of being cooperative, so in an effort to get to our table quicker, I picked up Ben upside down as he did his Spider Pig impression, a position he actually loves being in and will just relax with all four feet stuck straight in the air, looking around perfectly content until you put him down. Apparently, relaxed, upside down Spider Basenjis are not a common sight at the Old Salty Dog (at least not the Sarasota location), because some giggles were heard as I walked between the tables. Being very hungry, and our first time there, my wife and I ordered a LOT of food. This is another thing I would regret. It was good and we didn't get sick, what I regret, is that this was a meal Michael decided to pick up the tab on. To the tune of $93 for the four humans and three dogs (who only had complimentary water and dog biscuits). We certainly wouldn't have ordered that much had we known he was paying for everything. I hope it wasn't a reaction to me picking up the tab on the donuts, because I did that for the exact OPPOSITE reason, because the bill was so small, I didn't think it made sense to split it. At any rate, we are very thankful for Michael's gift, it really wasn't necessary, especially since we had a free room for almost a week.
Overall it was a great trip, and aside from a couple hiccups hauling the two rescue basenjis, I don't think I would have changed any of it. We enjoyed spending time with our friends, Michael and the other one who's name I won't mention in case she doesn't want to be associated with Michael's eccentricities. And like I mentioned last time, I felt like I am finally getting back to my precancer days. And if you are ever in any of the restaurants I mentioned, tell them I sent you. Tell them I am the guy with one testicle. They will have no idea who I am, and they won't give you a discount or anything, but at least they will look at you funny and wonder how you know specifics about my nether region.
After dropping off the two stowaway basenjis, we arrived in Bradenton with our two basenjis. After the last trip's debacle and associated Toyota repairs, I was determined to spend more time this trip out from underneath a car. I decided for lunch I was in the mood for Five Guys, which is odd because I hate Five Guys, I mean I hate more than five guys, but I am specifically talking about Five Guys Burgers. So, in honor of that rare moment we decided to stop at Five Guys and grab some burgers for lunch, only to find that Five Guys had a power failure and said that according to health department regulations, they could only sell soft drinks (to be fair, I think only One Guy had a power failure and the other Four Guys had to go along with it). I had been jonesing for a good Vienna Beef hot dog, and not being able to find one, we saw a guy grilling all sorts of tube steaks at a nearby gas station. We grabbed hot dogs and sausages for my wife and I and the owner also gave us a big sausage for the basenjis, something we were weary of feeding to the pork-urping-prone older basenji. We drove to a nearby beach and all four of us ate our lunch, and I am happy to report that no pork was urped up. I had been in town less than an hour and already made it to the beach. This trip was already going a lot better than the last one!
We drove to our friend's house and let ourselves in. Tired and dirty from driving all night, we both immediately collapsed then washed up before our friends came home. Once our friends arrived we immediately played the Where-We-Gonna-Eat-Game. Michael, whom I will talk about because I am sure he will never find enough time to actually read this, has a little bit of an attention problem. The odd part is, he seems to be excellent at his profession, which requires a lot of attention. I think he uses up his attention quota during the day and cannot focus on anything once he gets home. Anyway, discussions on where to eat with Michael usually involve him naming fifteen different restaurants that all sound very good, then you hop in the car and go to a entirely different place he didn't even mention. However, I am not complaining, because his choices are usually very good! We arrived at the Cortez Kitchen to find it completely packed, the first time we have ever seen that. Apparently some TV show had done a story on many of our favorite hidden haunts and now everyone is flocking there. So, we hopped back in the car and headed to a great barbecue place, named Leroy Selmon's or something like that. It's named after some sports guy who played football...or squash...or something, I don't know I don't keep up with sports. Anyway the food was very good, all except the stuff that was so hot it took me five minutes to catch my breath again. But most people aren't as wimpy with spicy food as I am. I was thankful that our friend's house had three bathrooms, because if that stuff was as spicy coming out as it was going in, there was a good chance I would be destroying at least two of them. Luckily for my friend's landlord and my buttockal region, it wasn't.
The next day we decided to take the basenjis for a walk at our favorite beach-side park, then head to the Starfish, a very dog friendly dockside restaurant. Apparently the same TV show that talked about Cortez Kitchen, also talked about the Starfish, because it was packed. Luckily, we got there late and there was a storm rolling in, so it cleared out right as we got there. The basenjis got plenty of attention and we both said "they are an African, barkless, hound..." far more times than we would like to count. Again, we made it back to the house before our friends got off work and played the Where-We-Gonna-Eat-Game again. Once again, Michael got us drooling for all sorts of different foods and restaurants, and once again we wound up at a restaurant that he didn't even mention. However, the reason he picked this restaurant was they had VIENNA BEEF HOT DOGS! The place was called Joey D's and was some great food. While reading the menu, there is a touching story about Joey D and how he wasn't expected to live past thirteen, but lived much longer than that, started this restaurant. What a nice story to read on the back of the menu. Oh, but then he died and his brothers run the place. Well, they could have laid that story out a little better on the back of the menu, but still was an inspirational story for someone trying to sweep all the cancer cobwebs out of his head. There was one small problem there...a computer. I bet you are asking yourself, "What does a computer have to do with food?", and we asked that same question! The waitress told us she would have to wait to put in our appetizers because the computer was froze up. Our thoughts were, unless the cook is a robot, can't you just walk back there and TALK to the cook? Write a note? Put the cheesesticks in the fryer yourself? Show us where you keep them and we will throw them in! Anyway, the computer finally did work...briefly, and we were able to enjoy lots of great food. Then sit there a while. And a little bit more. Tired of sitting. Oh, the computer broke again, and they didn't know how to do the check. They wouldn't be able to split the check either, because that would be stressing her waitress brain too far. Apparently she is an excellent server but terrible at math. Luckily at the last minute, the computer worked and we were able to pay and go back home.
Friday, I got up early and made my way to the flea market. I needed a case for a pair of my sunglasses, now that I have to carry them with me constantly because of my eyeball eye ball. While there I picked up a set of Mexican Train dominoes. I had never heard of this game until my seventy-nine year old friend introduced me to it, all I know is I seem to see it everywhere now, but my wife and I seem to be the only non-AARP members playing it. On the way back to the house I decided to stop at the pawn shop I have had luck at before and the owner recognized me. He's a nice guy, but with each subsequent conversation, I hear more and more stories about our "evil government". In part his manifesto this time, he mentioned that he voted for Obama, which I found odd for someone that not only doesn't want a bigger government, but wants no government at all. I guess, you can be OK with no government at all when your store primarily consists of guns and gold (neither of which I was interested in, by the way). Later for lunch, my wife and I decided to sneak out sans dogs, and eat at a beach restaurant. After driving by a few more places that were apparently also on TV, we finally found one of our hidden restaurants that was still hidden. The food was decent, and it allowed us to take a quick walk on the beach afterwards, as well as let me leave my sister the traditional voice mail of waves crashing on the beach for five minutes and nothing else. We stopped by the Chop Shop, an old fashioned butcher, and grabbed an assortment of steaks for the night. Micheal couldn't change his mind that night since we already had the food bought.
Saturday we dubbed as a "Dog Day Afternoon" and started out in the morning with the four humanoids and the Curly Tailed Mafia (two basenjis and a shiba inu) heading to get gigantic Amish donuts at the Farmer's Market, the only problem is the Amish didn't show. I guess they couldn't get their Mustang started. Maybe it was a Bronco. Whatever the reason, we loaded everyone back up and headed to Bradenton Potato Raised Donuts. Just Michael and I went in and had to perform the marital test Just-Pick-Something-Out-For-Me. This is a very stressful game, especially when you have been married ten years and have never paid any attention to what kind of donuts your wife likes, or what her eye color is, or what her middle name is, or birthday, or any of that other trivial crap. With the total being less that ten dollars, I thought it was silly to split the bill, and I paid for Michael and my order, something I would feel guilty about later on. By the way, I did guess correctly on the donuts.
We then went to the dog beach, where I tested my new metal detector and found a whole twenty six cents! Since my sister gave it to me as a present that was twenty six cents of pure profit! Minus the three dollars for batteries. We finished off the day by stopping at Sarasota's dog friendly Old Salty Dog, where my wife and I played the odd game of thinking we knew someone that might be working there and arguing over whether the people working there were ugly enough to be said person. As we walked into the restaurant, Benny the Basenji was tired of being cooperative, so in an effort to get to our table quicker, I picked up Ben upside down as he did his Spider Pig impression, a position he actually loves being in and will just relax with all four feet stuck straight in the air, looking around perfectly content until you put him down. Apparently, relaxed, upside down Spider Basenjis are not a common sight at the Old Salty Dog (at least not the Sarasota location), because some giggles were heard as I walked between the tables. Being very hungry, and our first time there, my wife and I ordered a LOT of food. This is another thing I would regret. It was good and we didn't get sick, what I regret, is that this was a meal Michael decided to pick up the tab on. To the tune of $93 for the four humans and three dogs (who only had complimentary water and dog biscuits). We certainly wouldn't have ordered that much had we known he was paying for everything. I hope it wasn't a reaction to me picking up the tab on the donuts, because I did that for the exact OPPOSITE reason, because the bill was so small, I didn't think it made sense to split it. At any rate, we are very thankful for Michael's gift, it really wasn't necessary, especially since we had a free room for almost a week.
Overall it was a great trip, and aside from a couple hiccups hauling the two rescue basenjis, I don't think I would have changed any of it. We enjoyed spending time with our friends, Michael and the other one who's name I won't mention in case she doesn't want to be associated with Michael's eccentricities. And like I mentioned last time, I felt like I am finally getting back to my precancer days. And if you are ever in any of the restaurants I mentioned, tell them I sent you. Tell them I am the guy with one testicle. They will have no idea who I am, and they won't give you a discount or anything, but at least they will look at you funny and wonder how you know specifics about my nether region.
Friday, March 18, 2011
The Sarasota Redemption
I have been busy lately...and lazy lately, too. We had to make an emergency trip to Florida, which as far as emergency trips go, Florida is not a bad place to emerge. My wife volunteers for a basenji rescue organization, which means I volunteer by proxy. Two basenjis didn't work out at their "forever home" and needed to go back to the foster in Florida.
When we were first made aware of the situation, we decided we would stay a few extra days and sneak in some rest and relaxation. With only a week to make plans, we called up our friends down there who always say to come down anytime, who told us we couldn't come down then, they had guests already. I thought that was rude, I mean, they have known their mom their whole life and have only known us a few years. Who needs more time to catch up? Regardless, we thought about option two, a friend of mine who loans me his vacation home down there who, without asking me, decided to stay in it himself. So, this left us without a place to stay. I frantically searched the internet all the next day trying to find some options without much luck, at least not in the price range of an unemployed cancer patient. At the end of the day, we were discussing our options when we get the call that we will not be leaving the next week, we need to leave the next day.
The good news, we can stay with our friends, of whom I will now take back the comments I made in the previous paragraph. The bad news, we literally had less than twelve hours to put everything into place. Phone calls were made and we were able to put our plan into motion. The next morning, I met another volunteer and received two very timid and scared basenjis. I brought them home to the house, where they cowered in the corner of their crate. Our oldest basenji immediately walked up and peed on their crate. Not exactly the welcome I was hoping he would give them. Since we had a night of driving ahead of us, I decided to let them look out the sliding glass door from their crate for a little bit while I grabbed a nap.
After waking, I put the crate in the bedroom, so they would feel a little more secure and opened the door expecting them to fly out of their confines. After half an hour, and still no flying, I gave up. I could get the one to eat out of my hand, but not come out of the cage. I continued preparation until my wife returned from work. After another agonizingly long time she was able to coax them out so we could take them to pee before our trip. The female decided to pee in the middle of the hallway, no sense waiting until you get outside. After a very scary trip outside (I am still not sure what was so scary out there, but they were definitely scared of something) we load up the two rescue basenjis and our two basenjis and start our fifteen hour trek. The trip down was fairly uneventful, delivering the two rescues back to their familiar foster where they immediately got back into their old routine. We then made the hour trip down to our friends.
After our last trip to the area, I was a little afraid it would end up the same, me curled up in a ball in pain after hurting myself again. Luckily that didn't happen. The trip went great. We took the Curly Tail Mafia out for some fun (our two basenjis and our friend's shiba inu), we ate at some great places, we had lots of fun with our friends, and snuck out and had some fun on our own too.
In my cancer support group yesterday, I said that week was the first week since all this started that I didn't feel like a cancer patient. I enjoyed myself and feel like this is starting to be behind me. I say that as I stare down and impending scan. I told the group I may "graduate" to the survivors group, but I am going to wait and see how bad my scanxiety is this next time. Maybe Florida was the answer, and if my wife really loved me and cared about my well-being, she would let me move down there. She could come too if she wants.
When we were first made aware of the situation, we decided we would stay a few extra days and sneak in some rest and relaxation. With only a week to make plans, we called up our friends down there who always say to come down anytime, who told us we couldn't come down then, they had guests already. I thought that was rude, I mean, they have known their mom their whole life and have only known us a few years. Who needs more time to catch up? Regardless, we thought about option two, a friend of mine who loans me his vacation home down there who, without asking me, decided to stay in it himself. So, this left us without a place to stay. I frantically searched the internet all the next day trying to find some options without much luck, at least not in the price range of an unemployed cancer patient. At the end of the day, we were discussing our options when we get the call that we will not be leaving the next week, we need to leave the next day.
The good news, we can stay with our friends, of whom I will now take back the comments I made in the previous paragraph. The bad news, we literally had less than twelve hours to put everything into place. Phone calls were made and we were able to put our plan into motion. The next morning, I met another volunteer and received two very timid and scared basenjis. I brought them home to the house, where they cowered in the corner of their crate. Our oldest basenji immediately walked up and peed on their crate. Not exactly the welcome I was hoping he would give them. Since we had a night of driving ahead of us, I decided to let them look out the sliding glass door from their crate for a little bit while I grabbed a nap.
After waking, I put the crate in the bedroom, so they would feel a little more secure and opened the door expecting them to fly out of their confines. After half an hour, and still no flying, I gave up. I could get the one to eat out of my hand, but not come out of the cage. I continued preparation until my wife returned from work. After another agonizingly long time she was able to coax them out so we could take them to pee before our trip. The female decided to pee in the middle of the hallway, no sense waiting until you get outside. After a very scary trip outside (I am still not sure what was so scary out there, but they were definitely scared of something) we load up the two rescue basenjis and our two basenjis and start our fifteen hour trek. The trip down was fairly uneventful, delivering the two rescues back to their familiar foster where they immediately got back into their old routine. We then made the hour trip down to our friends.
After our last trip to the area, I was a little afraid it would end up the same, me curled up in a ball in pain after hurting myself again. Luckily that didn't happen. The trip went great. We took the Curly Tail Mafia out for some fun (our two basenjis and our friend's shiba inu), we ate at some great places, we had lots of fun with our friends, and snuck out and had some fun on our own too.
In my cancer support group yesterday, I said that week was the first week since all this started that I didn't feel like a cancer patient. I enjoyed myself and feel like this is starting to be behind me. I say that as I stare down and impending scan. I told the group I may "graduate" to the survivors group, but I am going to wait and see how bad my scanxiety is this next time. Maybe Florida was the answer, and if my wife really loved me and cared about my well-being, she would let me move down there. She could come too if she wants.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Cannot Express It
Lately I have been having trouble, mental trouble (which has resulted in me missing in action from here). I have not had the best of luck lately, but at the same time, I kinda have.
Losing my job in August was at first devastating. It was a job I loved to do and, when I lost it, I hated not being a part of it anymore. As I decompressed in the days following my lay-off, it dawned on me (with a little help of my wife saying I wasn't as big of a jerk anymore) that I didn't love my job like I used to because I was no longer working that job. There were two bosses I absolutely loved. One passed away and the other retired. When they were gone, so was the vision behind my job. I kept trying to follow that vision and keep the mission going, while most of the people above me didn't understand the vision and wanted my position to go in a different direction. The constant internal tug of war of wanting to do what I was hired for and having to do others things was wearing me down. Being away from that helped me see it clearly that I wasn't as happy in the job as I had been at one point.
When I was diagnosed with cancer a couple of weeks later, the lack of a job (but the benefit of a severance package that may or may not have existed) made it possible to recover without having to ask off work or worry about getting things done in my absence. And as I have said on here before, if I hadn't been laid off, I probably wouldn't have gone to the doctor when I did (because of time) and wouldn't have been diagnosed until my cancer had progressed much further. Yes, I would rather be employed in a job I love and have two healthy nuts, but life can't go well for everyone all the time and I don't mind taking my turn at having some bad luck.
And I can see other positives as well. I was struggling to get my boat I am restoring on the water. I had hit a point where I just couldn't figure this one part out. Having cancer stopped all work on the boat and winter postponed it even more. The past few months I have been poring over three different engine manuals until the warm spell this week. With months of reading manuals fresh in my head, I finally figured out what my problem was in about an hour and will have it fixed soon. So, as with many of the negative things I have gone through lately, I have managed to find a positive thing that has come out of it as well.
I have been struggling with the concept of God's Will or Divine Intervention. After all, does God really get involved in little things like whether the hydraulics on my boat work or even bigger things like my cancer? I mean, surely there are bigger issues in the world that He is watching. Either way I thank God for the good things in my life and I also thank Him that the bad things aren't worse. I can comprehend my own life, but it's others I have really been struggling with. I have met many people in my support group that I have gotten to know, appreciate, and care for. Some of them seem to get shit on by life again and again, and I don't understand why. You hear their absolutely bleak diagnoses and you wonder, why? Now I say that with this caveat, doctors aren't necessarily the best with their "You have X amount of time left..." predictions. I personally refer to these people as the "Living Dead" because they have been walking around in some cases dozens of years after the doctor told them they would succumb to the disease. But it's more than just the cancer, other people dear to me have had things happen to them that put me at a loss to understand why things like this would ever happen in a world with a loving God.
Now don't for a second think that my faith in God is wavering, just my understanding. In my own life, I can point to how every negative thing that has ever happened to me has either made my life better in the long run or made me a better person. And the cliché is true "Sometimes bad things happen to good people" (and by the way, I just purposely misspelled "cliché" so I could use spell check because I don't know how to make that stupid little accent). My problem isn't so much why do bad things happen to good people, but why don't bad things happen to bad people? Or why don't they happen to bad people more often?
One theory I have come up with, from personal experience with bad people, is that sometimes bad things to bad people but they are such assholes that they don't even see it as a bad thing. "My sister-in-law got burned up in a house fire when lightning struck her as she fell off a ladder while crashing through her skylight, and I got $1000 bucks in the will. Kick ass!" OK, I do know of someone who had an experience like that happen (although not as dramatic), but their reaction was exactly what I said (if not worse). I also think that some of these bad people tend to brag about how great their life is, while trying to convince themselves that their life is as great as they say. People that are truly happy don't tend to go around bragging about the stuff in their life. If people that seem truly happy tend to tell you about the stuff they have, it is usually because they are offering to share it with you, such as my good friend who frequently loans me his Florida vacation home for free.
This stuff has been bothering me a lot starting at my cancer support group meeting two weeks ago, and it seems people that I care deeply about have been having horrible things happen to them since. I told my wife today, I don't know how much more I want to go to the group meetings, because seeing people I care about hurt so much is affecting me negatively. If I could understand the "why" it would be so much easier. I have had some shit happen in my life, but overall, I think I have come out of life OK. I would like to have a fun well paying job. I would like to know what it feels like to go out and have a drink with friends. I would like to leave the house and not panic because I left my glucose tabs or stomach medicine in my other jacket. On the other hand, I am glad I have a family that loves and support me. I am glad that the tough spots in my life have shown me who sticks by me in the long run (and I am glad that so many have). I am glad I have two basenjis that are crazy. I guess it boils down to this, maybe I would be better off married to Christy Turlington, or Mila Kunis, or Keira Knightley, or all three and a few others to be named later. Maybe I would be better off if my last name was Disney. Maybe I would be better off with a normal body that wasn't battered from arthritis, worn down from cancer treatment, twisted from GI problems, and with a weird eyeball on my eyeball. But the question I ask myself, would I give up everything in my life and roll the dice again? Maybe not get the same life, nor same friends, nor same family, etc. I don't think I would take my chances like that.
I don't know if God has a "plan" for us. I don't know how much of a role He plays in controlling our day to day life. What I thought I had figured out I don't know anymore. I don't know what I know or believe or how to express what I do think. I don't know why bad things happen to good people, nor why good things sometimes happen to bad people. All I know, is I think I am blessed, regardless of the things I wish were different in my life. And I will continue to pray for the ones that I care about that their lives get better soon.
Losing my job in August was at first devastating. It was a job I loved to do and, when I lost it, I hated not being a part of it anymore. As I decompressed in the days following my lay-off, it dawned on me (with a little help of my wife saying I wasn't as big of a jerk anymore) that I didn't love my job like I used to because I was no longer working that job. There were two bosses I absolutely loved. One passed away and the other retired. When they were gone, so was the vision behind my job. I kept trying to follow that vision and keep the mission going, while most of the people above me didn't understand the vision and wanted my position to go in a different direction. The constant internal tug of war of wanting to do what I was hired for and having to do others things was wearing me down. Being away from that helped me see it clearly that I wasn't as happy in the job as I had been at one point.
When I was diagnosed with cancer a couple of weeks later, the lack of a job (but the benefit of a severance package that may or may not have existed) made it possible to recover without having to ask off work or worry about getting things done in my absence. And as I have said on here before, if I hadn't been laid off, I probably wouldn't have gone to the doctor when I did (because of time) and wouldn't have been diagnosed until my cancer had progressed much further. Yes, I would rather be employed in a job I love and have two healthy nuts, but life can't go well for everyone all the time and I don't mind taking my turn at having some bad luck.
And I can see other positives as well. I was struggling to get my boat I am restoring on the water. I had hit a point where I just couldn't figure this one part out. Having cancer stopped all work on the boat and winter postponed it even more. The past few months I have been poring over three different engine manuals until the warm spell this week. With months of reading manuals fresh in my head, I finally figured out what my problem was in about an hour and will have it fixed soon. So, as with many of the negative things I have gone through lately, I have managed to find a positive thing that has come out of it as well.
I have been struggling with the concept of God's Will or Divine Intervention. After all, does God really get involved in little things like whether the hydraulics on my boat work or even bigger things like my cancer? I mean, surely there are bigger issues in the world that He is watching. Either way I thank God for the good things in my life and I also thank Him that the bad things aren't worse. I can comprehend my own life, but it's others I have really been struggling with. I have met many people in my support group that I have gotten to know, appreciate, and care for. Some of them seem to get shit on by life again and again, and I don't understand why. You hear their absolutely bleak diagnoses and you wonder, why? Now I say that with this caveat, doctors aren't necessarily the best with their "You have X amount of time left..." predictions. I personally refer to these people as the "Living Dead" because they have been walking around in some cases dozens of years after the doctor told them they would succumb to the disease. But it's more than just the cancer, other people dear to me have had things happen to them that put me at a loss to understand why things like this would ever happen in a world with a loving God.
Now don't for a second think that my faith in God is wavering, just my understanding. In my own life, I can point to how every negative thing that has ever happened to me has either made my life better in the long run or made me a better person. And the cliché is true "Sometimes bad things happen to good people" (and by the way, I just purposely misspelled "cliché" so I could use spell check because I don't know how to make that stupid little accent). My problem isn't so much why do bad things happen to good people, but why don't bad things happen to bad people? Or why don't they happen to bad people more often?
One theory I have come up with, from personal experience with bad people, is that sometimes bad things to bad people but they are such assholes that they don't even see it as a bad thing. "My sister-in-law got burned up in a house fire when lightning struck her as she fell off a ladder while crashing through her skylight, and I got $1000 bucks in the will. Kick ass!" OK, I do know of someone who had an experience like that happen (although not as dramatic), but their reaction was exactly what I said (if not worse). I also think that some of these bad people tend to brag about how great their life is, while trying to convince themselves that their life is as great as they say. People that are truly happy don't tend to go around bragging about the stuff in their life. If people that seem truly happy tend to tell you about the stuff they have, it is usually because they are offering to share it with you, such as my good friend who frequently loans me his Florida vacation home for free.
This stuff has been bothering me a lot starting at my cancer support group meeting two weeks ago, and it seems people that I care deeply about have been having horrible things happen to them since. I told my wife today, I don't know how much more I want to go to the group meetings, because seeing people I care about hurt so much is affecting me negatively. If I could understand the "why" it would be so much easier. I have had some shit happen in my life, but overall, I think I have come out of life OK. I would like to have a fun well paying job. I would like to know what it feels like to go out and have a drink with friends. I would like to leave the house and not panic because I left my glucose tabs or stomach medicine in my other jacket. On the other hand, I am glad I have a family that loves and support me. I am glad that the tough spots in my life have shown me who sticks by me in the long run (and I am glad that so many have). I am glad I have two basenjis that are crazy. I guess it boils down to this, maybe I would be better off married to Christy Turlington, or Mila Kunis, or Keira Knightley, or all three and a few others to be named later. Maybe I would be better off if my last name was Disney. Maybe I would be better off with a normal body that wasn't battered from arthritis, worn down from cancer treatment, twisted from GI problems, and with a weird eyeball on my eyeball. But the question I ask myself, would I give up everything in my life and roll the dice again? Maybe not get the same life, nor same friends, nor same family, etc. I don't think I would take my chances like that.
I don't know if God has a "plan" for us. I don't know how much of a role He plays in controlling our day to day life. What I thought I had figured out I don't know anymore. I don't know what I know or believe or how to express what I do think. I don't know why bad things happen to good people, nor why good things sometimes happen to bad people. All I know, is I think I am blessed, regardless of the things I wish were different in my life. And I will continue to pray for the ones that I care about that their lives get better soon.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Soldering On
Between the snow, some pain, and just plain not feeling too active today, I decided to do some soldering today that I have been putting off for a while. I just had to make sure curious basenjis were out of harm's way and didn't try to investigate the scorching soldering iron they same way they investigate everything, by putting their nose on it. So, when my wife took a nap and they jumped in the warm bed with her, I went to work.
First I had to rewire my headphones. I have had to do this many times in the twenty years I have had them since they followed me out of my parents' house. So much so that I bought a very long cord and as the cord wears out (which is almost always right where they cord goes into the headphones) I just snip that section out and wire it back up, just six inches shorter. I do this until the headphone cord is down to about a foot or so, then get a new cord and start all over again. I started this back in my club DJ days where I would have to constantly take the headphones off to hear drunk girls requesting the song I just played and trying to bribe me by going out with me or flashing me (not necessarily in that order). One time a bouncer was taking a break in the DJ booth. A girl asked him to play a particular song, and he responded by asking her to flash him. She did and asked if he would play her song, then he responded that he was just a bouncer but he appreciated the show. The part of that whole situation that bothers me was I was busy queuing up the next song and didn't witness the show myself! But anyway, enough reliving the glory days of coming home at 4:30am dead tired and smelling like an ashtray from the DJ booth being in the club's haze all night. I did get my headphones rewired just fine tonight and they work great again. I swear each time I do it, the parts I am soldering get smaller and smaller. I remember it being a lot easier the last time I did it.
I then had two switches I had to replace on other things. On one I had it all soldered up and ready to go, and when I went to reinstall the part, I found out the hole wasn't big enough for the new part. So, I had to unsolder the new part and put the old one back on. Not a hard job, but I really wasn't planning this exercise in futility tonight. So I moved on to the other project, and when I opened up the back I realized it was the wrong switch. I had bought this switch about four years ago. I vaguely remember opening this up before with the same results. So I put the part in my little parts box, and I am sure another year or so from now, I will open it up again and realize once again I have the wrong part. It's like I am playing a little practical joke on my future self that I don't think is funny now, and probably won't think it's funny in the future either.
With one out of three projects successfully completed, I went to take a shower. And you know how when you are around smoke, sometimes it gets in your hair and when you take a shower the water brings the smell back out? Sometimes that can be a pleasant smell such as from the great steak you grilled earlier that day. Or it can remind you of something good that day, like how you may smell like a cigarette butt, but at least you got to see boobs at work. But tonight it just reminded me how much solder stinks and how I need to replace my tip. Of course, much like the switch I keep trying to install every year or so, I won't remember that the tip needs replacing until I pull out the soldering iron to use it again.
Hopefully I will feel brave enough later this week to head out to my shop and work on my big boy toys again. My brace seems to be helping my incision heal better and I seem to be getting stronger. And then I can come back to the house, take a shower, and smell smoke from welding and grinding.
First I had to rewire my headphones. I have had to do this many times in the twenty years I have had them since they followed me out of my parents' house. So much so that I bought a very long cord and as the cord wears out (which is almost always right where they cord goes into the headphones) I just snip that section out and wire it back up, just six inches shorter. I do this until the headphone cord is down to about a foot or so, then get a new cord and start all over again. I started this back in my club DJ days where I would have to constantly take the headphones off to hear drunk girls requesting the song I just played and trying to bribe me by going out with me or flashing me (not necessarily in that order). One time a bouncer was taking a break in the DJ booth. A girl asked him to play a particular song, and he responded by asking her to flash him. She did and asked if he would play her song, then he responded that he was just a bouncer but he appreciated the show. The part of that whole situation that bothers me was I was busy queuing up the next song and didn't witness the show myself! But anyway, enough reliving the glory days of coming home at 4:30am dead tired and smelling like an ashtray from the DJ booth being in the club's haze all night. I did get my headphones rewired just fine tonight and they work great again. I swear each time I do it, the parts I am soldering get smaller and smaller. I remember it being a lot easier the last time I did it.
I then had two switches I had to replace on other things. On one I had it all soldered up and ready to go, and when I went to reinstall the part, I found out the hole wasn't big enough for the new part. So, I had to unsolder the new part and put the old one back on. Not a hard job, but I really wasn't planning this exercise in futility tonight. So I moved on to the other project, and when I opened up the back I realized it was the wrong switch. I had bought this switch about four years ago. I vaguely remember opening this up before with the same results. So I put the part in my little parts box, and I am sure another year or so from now, I will open it up again and realize once again I have the wrong part. It's like I am playing a little practical joke on my future self that I don't think is funny now, and probably won't think it's funny in the future either.
With one out of three projects successfully completed, I went to take a shower. And you know how when you are around smoke, sometimes it gets in your hair and when you take a shower the water brings the smell back out? Sometimes that can be a pleasant smell such as from the great steak you grilled earlier that day. Or it can remind you of something good that day, like how you may smell like a cigarette butt, but at least you got to see boobs at work. But tonight it just reminded me how much solder stinks and how I need to replace my tip. Of course, much like the switch I keep trying to install every year or so, I won't remember that the tip needs replacing until I pull out the soldering iron to use it again.
Hopefully I will feel brave enough later this week to head out to my shop and work on my big boy toys again. My brace seems to be helping my incision heal better and I seem to be getting stronger. And then I can come back to the house, take a shower, and smell smoke from welding and grinding.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Fears Subsided But Validated
I met a friend for lunch today. She is a fairly good friend and she asked how my appointments went yesterday. I told her about how the nurse mistakenly told me my swimmers were OK and how my wife and I thought it was OK to start trying for baby again and her face went pale. Luckily (?) we are not preggers right now, so I don't have to worry about any damage done from my chemo cooked swimmers. But her reaction today showed me that maybe I wasn't over reacting yesterday. It is one thing if God gives you a special needs child, it is another thing to do something that caused your child to be a special needs child. That is why most of us don't smoke, drink, do drugs, bungi jump, work in nuclear power plants, or watch Jersey Shore while pregnant. I can't imagine the amount of guilt I would have had if we had a child that was born facing challenges their whole life because of something I had done, i.e. chemo side effects (knowingly or unknowingly). So, I am feeling a little better about that issue today.
Other bad news I almost got was that our dear rescue basenji darted out the front door when a delivery driver came to drop off a package. My wife and I were both gone at the time so it had the potential to be a very bad situation. Luckily it was very cold and snowy yesterday so she ran all the way from the front door to the back door to be let back in. She made it back there before my mother-in-law could even put on her coat to go chase after her. I guess it is a good thing that African dogs don't have much fur, otherwise she may have tried to stay out longer.
Daisy the abused and neglected basenji paid me back this morning for her little excursion by eating part of a stuff toy causing the stuff toy to re-emerge while I was trying to sleep...three different times. The mistake I made was telling my wife and mother-in-law about it. To understand why that was a mistake I will run through my first waking moments today. I wake up to the unmistakable noise of a dog puking, and knowing I am too late to do anything about it. I lay my head down in disgust, not wanting to deal with it, then I hear that same sound again, but this time I am awake so I am able to throw a dog blanket under her to keep it off the carpet, and success! I lay back on the bed to revel in my success, when I hear a third mess being created and instantly deposited on the carpet. I drag myself out of bed, walk the dogs in the bitter cold, then come in to clean up the messes. I come out from my cleaning just to get asked to explain everything in detail to my mother-in-law. I finally think I am done talking about dog regurgitation, when my wife calls. I mention Daisy ate another stuff toy, with the usual outcome, and I again get asked about time, coordinates, etc. And now for some reason I am writing about it...
I did briefly try out my "abdominal brace" today while I walked the dogs, and it actually works very well and allows me to walk normally. I don't know if I will use it out in public or not. It would have a rather slimming effect the way it compresses the gut to hold everything in place, except that the adjustable scaffolding in the back, the contraption that allows it to brace, is a huge bulge that sticks out so much it won't even fit under clothes. I guess I will have to find a long jacket. I plan to use the brace tomorrow as I take advantage of the bitter cold and clean out the snake haunts in my shop and hopefully leave them with nowhere to hang out anymore.
So that is my life about now. It's just a rootin' tootin', doggy pukin', snakepit bootin', workshop lootin', Daisy losin' 'n' return to roostin', tummy boostin', no swimmer shootin' kinda week.
Other bad news I almost got was that our dear rescue basenji darted out the front door when a delivery driver came to drop off a package. My wife and I were both gone at the time so it had the potential to be a very bad situation. Luckily it was very cold and snowy yesterday so she ran all the way from the front door to the back door to be let back in. She made it back there before my mother-in-law could even put on her coat to go chase after her. I guess it is a good thing that African dogs don't have much fur, otherwise she may have tried to stay out longer.
Daisy the abused and neglected basenji paid me back this morning for her little excursion by eating part of a stuff toy causing the stuff toy to re-emerge while I was trying to sleep...three different times. The mistake I made was telling my wife and mother-in-law about it. To understand why that was a mistake I will run through my first waking moments today. I wake up to the unmistakable noise of a dog puking, and knowing I am too late to do anything about it. I lay my head down in disgust, not wanting to deal with it, then I hear that same sound again, but this time I am awake so I am able to throw a dog blanket under her to keep it off the carpet, and success! I lay back on the bed to revel in my success, when I hear a third mess being created and instantly deposited on the carpet. I drag myself out of bed, walk the dogs in the bitter cold, then come in to clean up the messes. I come out from my cleaning just to get asked to explain everything in detail to my mother-in-law. I finally think I am done talking about dog regurgitation, when my wife calls. I mention Daisy ate another stuff toy, with the usual outcome, and I again get asked about time, coordinates, etc. And now for some reason I am writing about it...
I did briefly try out my "abdominal brace" today while I walked the dogs, and it actually works very well and allows me to walk normally. I don't know if I will use it out in public or not. It would have a rather slimming effect the way it compresses the gut to hold everything in place, except that the adjustable scaffolding in the back, the contraption that allows it to brace, is a huge bulge that sticks out so much it won't even fit under clothes. I guess I will have to find a long jacket. I plan to use the brace tomorrow as I take advantage of the bitter cold and clean out the snake haunts in my shop and hopefully leave them with nowhere to hang out anymore.
So that is my life about now. It's just a rootin' tootin', doggy pukin', snakepit bootin', workshop lootin', Daisy losin' 'n' return to roostin', tummy boostin', no swimmer shootin' kinda week.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
I Can't Wait For The Urologist...
I can't wait for my urologist (who was also my surgeon) appointment this week. No, not because of the slap and tickle I will inevitably have to experience as soon as I get in his office. I am hoping I will get an answer to why no matter how long it has been since my surgery, my incision just never seems to heal.
Today we took the abused basenji to her class that is supposed to break her out of her shell. On the way back we decided to reward her for her hour of torture by taking her for a walk in the park. I was a little gun shy about the whole thing after hurting myself so bad in Florida. But that has been well over a month, and I haven't hurt myself that bad since. However, we didn't get too far in to our walk before I felt something happening. My wife asked if I was OK, and knowing how much I could potentially be hurting myself, I did the guy thing and said I was fine. I don't think it took her too long to tell I was lying. I think it was walking like an off balance Weeble Wobble that gave me away.
I think the best way to describe what happens is to compare it to taking a Band-Aid off. You know how when a Band-Aid is on, most of the time you aren't even aware it is there. Occasionally, your Band-Aid will catch on something while you are changing clothes or something, just giving you a little reminder that it is there, but not really hurting. When it is time you take off your Band-Aid you start to peel it back and it doesn't hurt too bad, UNTIL you get to the point that you have to just rip it off because it is going to hurt no matter what you do from that point on.
Ever since my surgery, on a good day, my incision feels like wearing a Band-Aid. Occasionally, I have a little tenderness there along my waistline where the incision is, but most of the time, I don't even notice it. When I start doing too much physical activity it is like I am brushing against the Band-Aid. Sometimes, I can feel the incision about to let loose, like today, where while walking, it was like I had pulled the the Band-Aid, but if I took one wrong step, the Band-Aid would be completely ripped off and leave me laying around for another two weeks.
I am tired of living like this. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to when I get to that Band-Aid ripping point. I can Wii up a storm with only a slight irritation, but I start walking on uneven terrain, and the effects are almost immediate. However, when it let loose in Florida I was walking on the pavement, but I had been rolling around under a car for hours earlier. I would have thought it would have pulled apart when I was practicing yoga underneath a Highlander, not when I was just walking minding my own business. I don't like walking around through life like I am in a minefield, and I don't know when I am going to step on the one that will send shockwaves through my body. It is bad enough just avoiding the minefield of poop during dog walks.
So, I am hoping this week's appointment will give me answers. I don't care if he says I have to have another operation, use a walker, wear a girdle, sit around in traction, or drive a Rascal scooter through Key West getting stuck on curbs (that one was just for you, sisters), at this point I will do it. Unfortunately, the first option they always offer is painkillers, which I always refuse, because I don't want to mask what is going on, I want to be healed! Until I get an answer I will just keep tiptoe-limping through life praying that my next step is not onto a landmine that rips off my Band-Aid.
Today we took the abused basenji to her class that is supposed to break her out of her shell. On the way back we decided to reward her for her hour of torture by taking her for a walk in the park. I was a little gun shy about the whole thing after hurting myself so bad in Florida. But that has been well over a month, and I haven't hurt myself that bad since. However, we didn't get too far in to our walk before I felt something happening. My wife asked if I was OK, and knowing how much I could potentially be hurting myself, I did the guy thing and said I was fine. I don't think it took her too long to tell I was lying. I think it was walking like an off balance Weeble Wobble that gave me away.
I think the best way to describe what happens is to compare it to taking a Band-Aid off. You know how when a Band-Aid is on, most of the time you aren't even aware it is there. Occasionally, your Band-Aid will catch on something while you are changing clothes or something, just giving you a little reminder that it is there, but not really hurting. When it is time you take off your Band-Aid you start to peel it back and it doesn't hurt too bad, UNTIL you get to the point that you have to just rip it off because it is going to hurt no matter what you do from that point on.
Ever since my surgery, on a good day, my incision feels like wearing a Band-Aid. Occasionally, I have a little tenderness there along my waistline where the incision is, but most of the time, I don't even notice it. When I start doing too much physical activity it is like I am brushing against the Band-Aid. Sometimes, I can feel the incision about to let loose, like today, where while walking, it was like I had pulled the the Band-Aid, but if I took one wrong step, the Band-Aid would be completely ripped off and leave me laying around for another two weeks.
I am tired of living like this. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to when I get to that Band-Aid ripping point. I can Wii up a storm with only a slight irritation, but I start walking on uneven terrain, and the effects are almost immediate. However, when it let loose in Florida I was walking on the pavement, but I had been rolling around under a car for hours earlier. I would have thought it would have pulled apart when I was practicing yoga underneath a Highlander, not when I was just walking minding my own business. I don't like walking around through life like I am in a minefield, and I don't know when I am going to step on the one that will send shockwaves through my body. It is bad enough just avoiding the minefield of poop during dog walks.
So, I am hoping this week's appointment will give me answers. I don't care if he says I have to have another operation, use a walker, wear a girdle, sit around in traction, or drive a Rascal scooter through Key West getting stuck on curbs (that one was just for you, sisters), at this point I will do it. Unfortunately, the first option they always offer is painkillers, which I always refuse, because I don't want to mask what is going on, I want to be healed! Until I get an answer I will just keep tiptoe-limping through life praying that my next step is not onto a landmine that rips off my Band-Aid.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
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...
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...
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
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!
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!
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
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.
Monday, November 22, 2010
We Really Need To Find A Cure For Testicular Cancer By November
I have been participating in Movember for three weeks now. For those that aren't familiar with Movember, the short version is that you grow a horrible, conversation starting mustache by being clean shaven on November 1st. When someone asks you about your horrible, conversation starting "Mo" you take the opportunity to talk about men's unmentionables...specifically cancers affecting their unmentionables. Through Movember.com you can also support men growing a Mo with a donation and the money goes to organizations that deal with the aforementioned unmentionable cancers, such as Lance Armstrong's Livestrong Foundation. All in all it is a good cause, but I hate my Mo!
I really don't see how cops, firefighters, old ladies, and perverts do it. I have never tried growing a mustache before, and I don't think I ever will again...until next Movember. For God's sake, we have eleven months to find a cure to prostate and testicular cancer, someone please find a cure so I don't have to grow a Mo again next year...and I don't lose my lone remaining nut, that's pretty important to me too, I guess.
My Mo, although still thin and scrawny, is now becoming long and uneven. It looks like a cross between a thirteen year old's and Wilford Brimley's. It is to the point where a few ambitious whiskers are starting to touch my actual lip, making it feel like a bug is constantly trying to sneak into my mouth, making it impossible to distinguish between the actual bugs sneaking into my mouth. Plus it is getting just thick enough to be absorbent, but not uniformly so. I take a drink of something...OK Pepsi, and there are random wet patches across my upper lip. Eat something sugary and/or sticky (which is pretty much my whole diet) and now you have all sorts of dynamic forces acting upon your Mo.
These aren't the only drawbacks, my wife won't even kiss me anymore, saying my Mo pokes her, but the dogs haven't complained one bit (but they are basenjis, so they don't make much noise at all). In my wife's defense, she stopped kissing me a long time ago, I mean we have been married for nine long, long, long, long, long, long, long years, but this is a new excuse for her.
The thing is just out there collecting dirt. I feel like a humpback whale, partly because I am going through life filtering out plankton through my Mo, but also because I move slow, feel like one of the largest mammals on Earth, and ever since my surgery I walk all hunched over. There is a reason mustaches are nicknamed "crumb catchers", because they are just out there scooping up everything they come in contact with, like lip Velcro. Food, beverages, dust, spider eggs, toothpaste from aggressive brushing, wayward boogers, paper clips (long story), everything gets caught in it!
For nine more days I will tough it out. I will never take for granted the ability to sit on the toilet half asleep and run the electric razor randomly over my face, I just have to be awake enough to avoid eyebrows. At least my Mo is serving it's purpose, it has me complaining about it, and when people ask why I don't just shave it off, I can explain the purpose behind it. So, support the Mo Bros! The world will be a better place if there is no reason to grow Mo's next Movember.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Tommy's Big Day Out, Where He Saw A Real Live (Gassy) Baby
Yesterday I had lunch with two more friends. The one brought her children, including her baby that was born just before I started chemo, so I haven't seen the baby since. Let the record show that I was brave enough to hold the baby the day she was born. I was asked if I wanted to hold the baby yesterday, and I declined. I returned the baby unbroken last time, and didn't feel like pushing my luck.
I am learning a lot about babies with all of my friends that are popping them out left and right. The only thing I haven't been learning is how to create them as easy as everyone else seems to be able to. One thing that I supposedly learned is that babies can be gassy. This is one of those things I didn't need to know. I am a little suspicious about this one. I don't think baby farts can make that much noise, especially when it is muffled by a diaper, tights, dress, blanky, another blanky, another blanky, all in a travel seat. I am more inclined to believe that it was produced by the friend sitting across from me who didn't have near the sound deadening material that the baby did. If it truly was the baby, I would hate to hear what it would sound like if the baby was going commando.
And from what I can tell, babies are very fragile, which is the main reason I am afraid to hold them, plus the whole atomic fart thing that I learned yesterday. I had already been hoping that when we do get pregnant we have multiples anyway. This is for several reasons, my wife says she is only going to be pregnant once so if I want more than one kid, I better make sure there are twins or triplets. Another reason, with my former and recent illnesses I realize how quickly I can become dependent on others, and the more kids I can have waiting on me the better. I also figure with mulitples, I have better chances of one of them being a millionaire and taking care of me, or at the very least if I really screw up one of them really bad (through poor parenting, feeding them the same crap I eat, accidental dropping, stuff like that) I will have at least one more to fall back on. And the lastly, I would like multiples because I am the guy so I won't have to deal with the extra tenants in my body for nine months, so what do I care? When you come right down to it, us guys are carrying millions of potential little ones all the time and you don't hear us complaining...except sometimes on our birthdays.
There may be a high chance that we will have multiples. For one, I read on-line (which is always true) that sweet potatoes increase the likelihood of having twins (or more) so I have been urging my wife to eat them every chance she gets. Plus I keep a stack of them by the bed and shove them into her mouth when she snores, so she is getting a heck of a lot of them that way too. The more likely reason for multiples is that we don't know if my swimmers have survived the chemo yet. I don't take that test for about a month (and I haven't even started studying yet). If my little guys are just as tired as I am from the chemo, chances are we will have to make a withdrawal from the "bank". And we all know that when you use your bank deposits, the chances of multiples increase. I say we all know that because the results of that are the corner stone for TLC's programming. I don't want more than five though, because my wife's car can only hold seven people and she swears up and down she will never upgrade to a "mom-mobile". I guess we could have six, I mean I don't have to go with her when she takes six kids out at once, do I? That would free up a seat.
As you can see, the visit with my friends yesterday got me thinking about all of these good ideas, and kept me up most of the night. Seeing the little baby made me want one even more, not enough to steal hers though...at least not after I found out how gassy she was. I am thankful we didn't have one during this cancer stuff, I don't know that I would have been able to deal with that on top of everything else. Plus in my weakened state, the basenjis may have plotted to overthrow the house and coerced the baby into an alliance with them and voted us out of the house (the vote would have been three against two, assuming my wife would vote with me, sometimes I think she is plotting with the basenjis). I guess in addition to studying for my "swimmer's" test I should also read up on all these weird things that come with conceiving and having a baby(s) and also try kissing up to the dogs so they'll be on my side.
I am learning a lot about babies with all of my friends that are popping them out left and right. The only thing I haven't been learning is how to create them as easy as everyone else seems to be able to. One thing that I supposedly learned is that babies can be gassy. This is one of those things I didn't need to know. I am a little suspicious about this one. I don't think baby farts can make that much noise, especially when it is muffled by a diaper, tights, dress, blanky, another blanky, another blanky, all in a travel seat. I am more inclined to believe that it was produced by the friend sitting across from me who didn't have near the sound deadening material that the baby did. If it truly was the baby, I would hate to hear what it would sound like if the baby was going commando.
And from what I can tell, babies are very fragile, which is the main reason I am afraid to hold them, plus the whole atomic fart thing that I learned yesterday. I had already been hoping that when we do get pregnant we have multiples anyway. This is for several reasons, my wife says she is only going to be pregnant once so if I want more than one kid, I better make sure there are twins or triplets. Another reason, with my former and recent illnesses I realize how quickly I can become dependent on others, and the more kids I can have waiting on me the better. I also figure with mulitples, I have better chances of one of them being a millionaire and taking care of me, or at the very least if I really screw up one of them really bad (through poor parenting, feeding them the same crap I eat, accidental dropping, stuff like that) I will have at least one more to fall back on. And the lastly, I would like multiples because I am the guy so I won't have to deal with the extra tenants in my body for nine months, so what do I care? When you come right down to it, us guys are carrying millions of potential little ones all the time and you don't hear us complaining...except sometimes on our birthdays.
There may be a high chance that we will have multiples. For one, I read on-line (which is always true) that sweet potatoes increase the likelihood of having twins (or more) so I have been urging my wife to eat them every chance she gets. Plus I keep a stack of them by the bed and shove them into her mouth when she snores, so she is getting a heck of a lot of them that way too. The more likely reason for multiples is that we don't know if my swimmers have survived the chemo yet. I don't take that test for about a month (and I haven't even started studying yet). If my little guys are just as tired as I am from the chemo, chances are we will have to make a withdrawal from the "bank". And we all know that when you use your bank deposits, the chances of multiples increase. I say we all know that because the results of that are the corner stone for TLC's programming. I don't want more than five though, because my wife's car can only hold seven people and she swears up and down she will never upgrade to a "mom-mobile". I guess we could have six, I mean I don't have to go with her when she takes six kids out at once, do I? That would free up a seat.
As you can see, the visit with my friends yesterday got me thinking about all of these good ideas, and kept me up most of the night. Seeing the little baby made me want one even more, not enough to steal hers though...at least not after I found out how gassy she was. I am thankful we didn't have one during this cancer stuff, I don't know that I would have been able to deal with that on top of everything else. Plus in my weakened state, the basenjis may have plotted to overthrow the house and coerced the baby into an alliance with them and voted us out of the house (the vote would have been three against two, assuming my wife would vote with me, sometimes I think she is plotting with the basenjis). I guess in addition to studying for my "swimmer's" test I should also read up on all these weird things that come with conceiving and having a baby(s) and also try kissing up to the dogs so they'll be on my side.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Tom's 2010 Comeback Tour
I am still fatigued, but I am continuing on my Comeback Tour. And much like Elvis' Comeback Special, I feel overweight, I sweat and grunt with just a little bit of exertion, none of my clothes seem to fit the same as they did (especially my sequin jumpsuits), and some days I feel like I am going to die on the toilet.
Yesterday I met with an older friend who I enjoy talking to a whole lot despite the forty year age difference. It then dawns on me, that when I finally do have a child, there will be a forty year age difference. I wonder if my child will see me as a source of wisdom and great stories as I view my friend, or will I still be just an embarrassing parent? My money is on the embarrassing parent, at least that is what I am aiming for.
Today I met with another good friend I haven't seen in a while. The first thing she said was that my mustache looked good. That is a good friend, to tell a bold-faced lie to you just to make you feel good. Liz, I know my Mo looks ridiculous, you can admit it. It was good talking to her. Of course the cancer stuff came up, I mean it has been a big event that I have been dealing with, and she hasn't seen me since it all started. But we also got to talk about a lot of non-cancer stuff, which was good. She showed me lots of pictures of her recent trip to China, in which I learned I am not going to China unless I am allowed to bring my own toilet. I have seen photos of friends' visits to China before, but her visit was away from the traditional tourist areas and I found them fascinating, and I am not just saying that because she sometimes reads my blogs, I am saying that because they were a lot better than most people's usual boring vacation pics (like the ones I show people that frequently involve a large cartoon rodent).
After that great visit, it was time for my cancer support group. One of my favorites showed up today! I was getting a little worried, because neither my wife nor I have seen her or her husband in our respective groups, but it turned out that it was just a coincidence that we kept missing alternating groups, and they are doing OK, despite being cancer patients. The non-therapying therapist that I like is doing the snowbird thing and we were introduced to our winter non-therapying therapist, who tends to therapize a little more that I thought they were supposed to. But to be fair, I really like our snowbird guy, so I guess I need to give this new guy a chance. One of the subjects we discussed today was paying for long-term care of loved ones. I suggested that if insurance refused to pay for long-term care of your loved one, you could always abuse them, then the state would step in and take care of them for you (which should scare the crap out of my parents that I even came up with that thought, I hear an American made Paul Reed Smith with double cutaways and twenty four frets makes children forget a lot of things and really want to treat their parents well in their twilight years...I'm just saying...). Everyone seemed to be amused and laughed at my comment, knowing that I only half meant it, including the person that brought up the subject that seemed to laugh a little too hard, I don't know if they were so frustrated with insurance that they were actually considering my plan or not. However, new non-therapying therapist didn't seem to be near as amused. Heck, we are cancer patients, we can joke. Does he want us to just sit around and talk about how much our lives suck right now? Because I do that in my blogs and to my wife and to the basenjis, I don't need to do that in group too. After all, that's why my wife goes to her group to complain about my complaining. The two basenjis don't have a group, except each other, and since they are barkless dogs they don't say much.
And speaking about how life can suck, one of the best things about group is getting the experience of the group and hearing about new technologies, treatments, and treatment center reviews. This chemo fatigue is really bothering me. I feel like such a lazy bum because I can't lift much and I get so exhausted, even from eating pancakes and changing channels. So I mention it to the group (and I can say this about group in specifics because it was about me) and all of the other people that have been on or are currently on chemo said I am perfectly normal...well as normal as an unemployed, one nutted, cancer patient that suggests elder abuse to pay for medical bills, can be. They said shaking the chemo fatigue does take a while, a lot longer than all of the other chemo symptoms. One suggested taking a regular midday nap until I get my strength back (I liked to hear that), while another said with chemo fatigue naps may have little effect (which I didn't like hearing as much, so I took a nap). As usual, group was very helpful. We laughed, we cried, we group hugged-which I still don't like group hugging, but I don't mind tolerating if it helps someone else.
I need to rest up for tomorrow as my tour continues. After hanging out with a seventy nine year old yesterday, I am hanging out with two twenty year olds tomorrow. I need two of them, just to give them a fighting chance. Although I am closer in age to the twenty year olds, the seventy nine year old is still easier to figure out what he is talking about. I enjoy the twenty year olds' company regardless and I am sure we will have a great time talking about what a wonderful person I am. Plus, compared to the boys the twenty year olds hang around, my Mo will look normal.
Yesterday 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.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Back Home Again From Indiana
I am back at home, and more importantly, back at my own computer. While there I borrowed my parents' laptop which has the convenient feature of having the cursor randomly jump on the page if your palm happens to brush the touchpad while typing. Sure it was annoying, but at least it made proofreading interesting.
Yesterday, I definitely felt the effects from my big day on the town Friday. I don't know how much longer I can blame this on the chemo and when I have to just admit I am a big lazy wimp. For right now, I will still blame chemo. But at least I felt good enough to pretty much stay awake all day and watch the crazy dogs. All six were in rare form, ranging in size from, I don't know, like nine pounds to about two fifty. Just a rough guess on those numbers. My wife and I ran into a hippo costume for dogs, and thought it would be a wonderful gift for my sister, who when she is not working to save the lives of your pets, has a hobby of finding new and innovative ways to torture her own pets, such as dressing them in hippo costumes. I will have to say, her dog looked nothing like a hippo, unless hippos are about a foot high and run around at high speeds doing figure eights and back flips. Something I did learn from the experience is apparently all dogs have the innate urge to chase hippopotami, all dogs except African bloodline basenjis, which is quite ironic. I guess since she was the only dog in the room who's bloodline would have actually seen a hippo, it was nothing novel to her.
And speaking of that little African bloodline basenji, Daisy was a completely different dog this weekend. She was letting people walk up and pet her. She was very affectionate. She was exploring the house. Then we crossed back over state lines and she turned back into her old abused and neglected self. Well, she is a little better, but certainly not the dog she was at my parents' or even in the car. But it does give us hope that a normal dog is in there somewhere, er...as normal as a basenji can get. We may have to move out of state or build a house that looks like the inside of a car, but at least we have options.
Back home, I am wore out. Tomorrow we have to get up at around five and head to a urologist appointment. I am excited and apprehensive both about this one. I am anxious to hear what he thinks I can do physically and how my recovery is coming along. However, he still can request the dreaded CAT scan, and I have no idea if he will or not. If I were a betting man, more that just two bucks on lottery tickets once a week, I would bet I will just have a few ultrasounds on the boys, I mean, boy. Ultrasounds require significantly less effort on my part than a CAT scan. You just lay back, flop out your junk, they run some magic wand over the goodies, and tell you to pull your pants back up. That's something I can handle, even in my post chemo, lazy, wimpy state.
So tomorrow I will have the final piece of information in my cancer treatment. I certainly won't be done by any stretch of the imagination. Cancer treatment involves years of watching, testing, and of course waiting long after what most people consider the "treatment" part is done. But at least tomorrow, I will know the plan. This is the last doctor I have to get my medical test road map from and for that I am excited. Hopefully it will be a plan that doesn't involve sliding into a big metal tube and pooping sensations.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Healing In Jeep Country
Today I tried to push myself a little further. Still coming out of the chemo funk, I started the day off again by taking the basenjis on a long walk around the yard. Benny wasn't quite chasing as many invisible rabbits as he had yesterday, so he was only bouncing around at the speed of sound rather than the speed of light.
During the last storm, one of our apple trees split in two. Yesterday my mother in law discussed taking it up to the burning pile. Her idea was to cut it up into pieces, pick the pieces up, throw the pieces into the lawn tractor's trailer (which means the pieces would be only slightly larger than a loaf of french bread), take the trailer loads up to the burning pile (which since the trailer has the capacity of a five gallon bucket would be approximately 134.5 trips), pick up the pieces out of the trailer, and throw them all the burning pile. This would involve me running the chainsaw, which I am still afraid of. As I have said before, motions that require me to move in one direction haven't seemed to bother my surgery. Motions that require multiple directions, such as holding back a ricocheting basenji, do tend to put stress on my stitches. Holding a chainsaw up in the air, moving it back and forth, and fighting the kickbacks and dodging the tree as the weight shifts as it twists and turns on the ground, would probably not be the wisest thing for me to do just yet. So, my solution was hook the Jeep to the tree, drag the whole darn thing up to the burning pile where it's out of sight, wait until we get enough rain to actually be able to burn the burning pile (which will be a long time) at which point I will be able to hold the chainsaw, make a few cuts and just lean large pieces against the pile. She wasn't on board with my idea, because she didn't think of it. So as we discuss which is easier, otherwise known as why we should do it her way, she happens to mention that we can't do it today because she has a doctor's appointment. BINGO!
So, while my mother in law is at her doctor's appointment, I hook my tow strap up to the tree. There is one limb buried in the ground from the fall that I will have to do something with before I hook up to it. I carefully put my weight into the tow strap, and after rocking the tree a couple of times the limb snaps and the tree lays flat on the ground, and more importantly, I don't feel any sharp pains in my side or groinal area from pulling on a tree. I then get the Jeep and pull into position. I go to put it into the very powerful Four Wheel Low. Jeep must deem this way too powerful to actually use, because first you have to put your transmission in neutral, then you have to let the Jeep roll very slowly, then grab the transfer case handle and move it down, sideways, diagonally, and down again before you actually engage Four Wheel Low (I am not making that up). I imagine corn mazes are easier to negotiate than shifting in to Four Wheel Low. I then start to back up, when the transfer case pops out of Four Wheel Low. I guess I didn't correctly navigate the maze. I again, shift, push, twist, angle, curse, shove, and pop, and now Four Wheel Low is engaged. I back down the hill to the tree, which I swear was moving, because no matter how many times I backed up, I was always about four inches from hooking up to it. I finally hook up (pray) and start up the hill. The Jeep chugs on like it's not a problem at all.
Now there is a reason Jeep makes it so hard to get into Four Wheel Low. The top speed is around twenty miles an hour in low, which isn't that fast, but you could run over the cast and audience of the View and not even notice, or pull half an apple tree without a problem. I get the tree to the burning pile and unhook. I feel good that I finally did something! I decided I will put all my gear back together later on today when I wash the Jeep. I go back to the house to cook lunch. My mother in law comes home, glad to see the tree is gone and still wonders why we didn't do the multiple cuts, multiple trips, and multiple handling of each chunk of tree that she suggested.
During the last storm, one of our apple trees split in two. Yesterday my mother in law discussed taking it up to the burning pile. Her idea was to cut it up into pieces, pick the pieces up, throw the pieces into the lawn tractor's trailer (which means the pieces would be only slightly larger than a loaf of french bread), take the trailer loads up to the burning pile (which since the trailer has the capacity of a five gallon bucket would be approximately 134.5 trips), pick up the pieces out of the trailer, and throw them all the burning pile. This would involve me running the chainsaw, which I am still afraid of. As I have said before, motions that require me to move in one direction haven't seemed to bother my surgery. Motions that require multiple directions, such as holding back a ricocheting basenji, do tend to put stress on my stitches. Holding a chainsaw up in the air, moving it back and forth, and fighting the kickbacks and dodging the tree as the weight shifts as it twists and turns on the ground, would probably not be the wisest thing for me to do just yet. So, my solution was hook the Jeep to the tree, drag the whole darn thing up to the burning pile where it's out of sight, wait until we get enough rain to actually be able to burn the burning pile (which will be a long time) at which point I will be able to hold the chainsaw, make a few cuts and just lean large pieces against the pile. She wasn't on board with my idea, because she didn't think of it. So as we discuss which is easier, otherwise known as why we should do it her way, she happens to mention that we can't do it today because she has a doctor's appointment. BINGO!
So, while my mother in law is at her doctor's appointment, I hook my tow strap up to the tree. There is one limb buried in the ground from the fall that I will have to do something with before I hook up to it. I carefully put my weight into the tow strap, and after rocking the tree a couple of times the limb snaps and the tree lays flat on the ground, and more importantly, I don't feel any sharp pains in my side or groinal area from pulling on a tree. I then get the Jeep and pull into position. I go to put it into the very powerful Four Wheel Low. Jeep must deem this way too powerful to actually use, because first you have to put your transmission in neutral, then you have to let the Jeep roll very slowly, then grab the transfer case handle and move it down, sideways, diagonally, and down again before you actually engage Four Wheel Low (I am not making that up). I imagine corn mazes are easier to negotiate than shifting in to Four Wheel Low. I then start to back up, when the transfer case pops out of Four Wheel Low. I guess I didn't correctly navigate the maze. I again, shift, push, twist, angle, curse, shove, and pop, and now Four Wheel Low is engaged. I back down the hill to the tree, which I swear was moving, because no matter how many times I backed up, I was always about four inches from hooking up to it. I finally hook up (pray) and start up the hill. The Jeep chugs on like it's not a problem at all.
Now there is a reason Jeep makes it so hard to get into Four Wheel Low. The top speed is around twenty miles an hour in low, which isn't that fast, but you could run over the cast and audience of the View and not even notice, or pull half an apple tree without a problem. I get the tree to the burning pile and unhook. I feel good that I finally did something! I decided I will put all my gear back together later on today when I wash the Jeep. I go back to the house to cook lunch. My mother in law comes home, glad to see the tree is gone and still wonders why we didn't do the multiple cuts, multiple trips, and multiple handling of each chunk of tree that she suggested.
Feeling good that I have done so much already today, I decide to take a break before I wash the car...until it's dark. BUT, I managed to stay awake all day, and that is an improvement. And I did do some physical activity today which is also an improvement. I am getting back to myself slowly but surely. I am sure I will get the car washed tomorrow, provided the U.S. Forest Service doesn't call me asking me to pull some Sequoia's out of the ground.
I Feel Good Enough To Look Like An Idiot
Today I started to slowly move back into my routine. I am starting to put more and more stress on my surgery. I meet with that doctor on Monday, and this may sound weird, but I am afraid he will release me because I don't feel like I am ready for it yet. There are still certain things that I do where I feel a little tug at the site of my surgery. I may feel it when I am twisting my torso and trying to lift something with a little bit of weight to it, or if I am pulling something from left to right, or if my wife asks me to do anything I don't want to do like wash the car or go shopping.
The past two days, I have been both getting back to my old routine and testing the strength of my surgery by walking the dueling basenjis. Daisy the abused one, will stay by my side and not put a bit of stress on me other than wondering how much longer I have to stand out in the cold in my Homer Simpson PJs before she will finally pee (that answer is, until the bus load of kids drives by to laugh at us). Benny, the spoiled basenji however, acts much like Haley's comet in the sense he takes long elliptical orbits around me at a velocity nearing the speed of light. Each pass by me ends with a sharp tug that I didn't notice before my surgery, but now sends a shock wave through my body. I completely understand now how the moon affects the tides. Regardless of how silly I look out there with my Homer pants and orbiting basenji, I do feel like I am slowly gaining strength.
Also today, a friend I haven't seen since chemo stopped by to take me out to lunch. He was on the clock, but that didn't seem to bother him much. I was able to walk at a normal speed, eat food that actually tasted like food, and got to hear plenty of stories that were wholly inappropriate for the lunchtime crowd at a small town Frisch's. Maybe this chemo and surgery thing is finally gone. He drops me back off after lunch, and I was feeling so good, that I fell asleep on the couch for a couple of hours. I guess I am not as recovered as I thought I was, but I am making baby steps.
With my new found sense of freedom, I decided to work in my gardens. Well, they are AeroGardens, but they are probably cheaper to maintain and a lot less work than a real garden. In my attempt to try to eat healthier and expand my food palette to things that are green, I have replanted my garden and commandeered a second. Well, I didn't really commandeer it, we bought if for my mother-in-law to grow tomatoes in the winter and after six months of growing it produced two tomatoes...small...and hard...in the middle of summer when there were plenty of other bigger, not hard tomatoes around. So, she regifted and gave the present back to me. After my hours of toiling in the fields, up on the window sill, I planted lettuce and herbs. Hopefully, I will be fully healed by the time they start producing so I can reap the bushels of fresh produce I will soon have. And if history is any indicator, I should be healed just fine, and it will be summer. I felt a little weird having two AeroGardens at once until I read their catalog this month and saw the article about the lady that has twenty three AeroGardens! I am still not sure if that article was a sales pitch or a cautionary tale. I am just wondering how many powerstrips it takes to supply electricity to twenty three different AeroGardens. I am sure it's up to fire code.
Tomorrow I plan to push myself a little harder. I may get back up in my workshop and see how that goes. I can stand up there and stare at all the projects I wasn't able to complete this summer until I am tired and come back down to the house and cry myself to sleep. Either that or I can just stand outside all day in my Homer PJs and let the dogs do their maypole dance around me. If you hear little kids laughing on the school bus out my way, you will know which one I decided to do.
The past two days, I have been both getting back to my old routine and testing the strength of my surgery by walking the dueling basenjis. Daisy the abused one, will stay by my side and not put a bit of stress on me other than wondering how much longer I have to stand out in the cold in my Homer Simpson PJs before she will finally pee (that answer is, until the bus load of kids drives by to laugh at us). Benny, the spoiled basenji however, acts much like Haley's comet in the sense he takes long elliptical orbits around me at a velocity nearing the speed of light. Each pass by me ends with a sharp tug that I didn't notice before my surgery, but now sends a shock wave through my body. I completely understand now how the moon affects the tides. Regardless of how silly I look out there with my Homer pants and orbiting basenji, I do feel like I am slowly gaining strength.
Also today, a friend I haven't seen since chemo stopped by to take me out to lunch. He was on the clock, but that didn't seem to bother him much. I was able to walk at a normal speed, eat food that actually tasted like food, and got to hear plenty of stories that were wholly inappropriate for the lunchtime crowd at a small town Frisch's. Maybe this chemo and surgery thing is finally gone. He drops me back off after lunch, and I was feeling so good, that I fell asleep on the couch for a couple of hours. I guess I am not as recovered as I thought I was, but I am making baby steps.
With my new found sense of freedom, I decided to work in my gardens. Well, they are AeroGardens, but they are probably cheaper to maintain and a lot less work than a real garden. In my attempt to try to eat healthier and expand my food palette to things that are green, I have replanted my garden and commandeered a second. Well, I didn't really commandeer it, we bought if for my mother-in-law to grow tomatoes in the winter and after six months of growing it produced two tomatoes...small...and hard...in the middle of summer when there were plenty of other bigger, not hard tomatoes around. So, she regifted and gave the present back to me. After my hours of toiling in the fields, up on the window sill, I planted lettuce and herbs. Hopefully, I will be fully healed by the time they start producing so I can reap the bushels of fresh produce I will soon have. And if history is any indicator, I should be healed just fine, and it will be summer. I felt a little weird having two AeroGardens at once until I read their catalog this month and saw the article about the lady that has twenty three AeroGardens! I am still not sure if that article was a sales pitch or a cautionary tale. I am just wondering how many powerstrips it takes to supply electricity to twenty three different AeroGardens. I am sure it's up to fire code.
Tomorrow I plan to push myself a little harder. I may get back up in my workshop and see how that goes. I can stand up there and stare at all the projects I wasn't able to complete this summer until I am tired and come back down to the house and cry myself to sleep. Either that or I can just stand outside all day in my Homer PJs and let the dogs do their maypole dance around me. If you hear little kids laughing on the school bus out my way, you will know which one I decided to do.
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