What's So Super About The Superbowl Or Ultimate About The UFC?

As the Superbowl draws near, I started to think more about sports.  I have never really been that into sports.  The only sports I would watch were sumo wrestling (which is very rarely on television here in the the U.S.) and I have switched from watching boxing to Ultimate Fighting Championship/Mixed Martial Arts fighting.  Recently I have found myself not even being that interested in watching UFC.  What does this have to do with cancer?  I will explain.
When I worked in the music business, it was not enough to just be able to write good songs and play an instrument well.  Whenever we submitted an artist to our superiors, the first question we were asked was "What's their story?".  That is why you may know that Jewel was homeless and lived out of her car while she was a struggling musician, or that Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil at the Crossroads, or that Justin Bieber was found on YouTube, or that every boy band ever created is a complete fabrication and they all suck.  The point is, there has been a long history in the entertainment business of selling story along with the product.  If someone overcomes something, or has an interesting back story, for some reason we are more likely to buy their products.
Unfortunately, in the entertainment business today someone can NOT be famous unless they have tragic beginnings, no matter how non-tragic those beginnings actually are.  In the past, when I wanted to watch two consenting men or women beat on each other for large amounts of money, I could watch the fights on Strikeforce MMA and they would show the fighters walk out, beat on each other, talk to a commentator about beating on each other, thank God for allowing them to beat on one another, and then the next fighters would come out.  Now the UFC is pretty much the only one left in the fight game, and their style is much different.  You can't just watch a fight, you have to learn about the struggles in their life before you can watch them beat someone.  Because everyone has to have a story, whether one actually exists or not, some stories are as tragic as "Although the Damien 'the Orphan Slayer' Diablo has been on a roll lately, in the beginning life was not so easy.  While all of his friends were riding around on Razor Scooters, all he had were his older brother's hand-me-down Rollerblades.  At night while other kids were on their Playstations, he was stuck playing those games you buy at Dollar General, that run on a 9-volt battery and plug into the back of the television, and only play nine games, most of them just color versions of Pong..."  In other words, many times the "tragic stories" are still better than the life you lived growing up.  So now, a fight that may last all of 45 seconds, has a 20 minute featurette preceding it.  The result of hearing the "tragic stories" on how the fighter wanted a new Camaro for their sixteenth birthday, but only got a used Trans Am,  just make me resent both fighters and I root for them both to lose.
The stories make me think about what really matters.  I have said on here before that my cancer fight was easy compared to what many have to go through.  The fact of the matter is, if you are the one going through the cancer battle, then the fight is huge to you.  I had some rough patches in my chemo, but if needed, I would not hesitate to go through it again.  When I see the "Titantic Struggle" referring to a fight that at most last fifteen minutes, I think how I would have preferred to have gone through a fifteen minute pommelling than weeks of chemo side effects.
As fighters and football players are praised as great warriors or heroes on the field, I ask myself what they have accomplished.  My fight was easy.  Although I was very worried about the cancer spreading and I still worry about the cancer recurring, I was never that worried about my cancer killing me (since we caught it soon enough).  But some others in my support group were in much worse shape.  One has had stage 3 prostate cancer longer than most NFL players' careers.  There was a guy who had to have a hole cut in his skull so they could install a bag that would deliver his chemo directly to the tumor in his brain, all while trying to reassure his two young sons that everything would be fine.  I saw the fear in one breast cancer survivor's eyes as her two biggest supporters in the group succumbed to the very same disease.  There was the guy who's rare skin cancer camped out in his lungs and at best the doctors could only slow down the growth of the tumors.  Those people are fighters.  Those people have "stories".
All sports, even the ones in which the object is to completely obliterate the person standing in front of you, have someone standing next to the competitors to make sure no one gets hurt too badly.  Cancer patients don't have that.  They don't have someone with a rule book to make sure no long term injury occurs.  Unlike televised sports, in the cancer game, there is a real possibility that the player may die.
I am not saying that sports are stupid or don't need to exist, just that they need to be put into perspective.  Tell me the guy had to eat generic Ramen noodles in college.  Tell me that the guy had a deadbeat dad.  Praise the guy for being able to catch a ball well, or being able to take a kick to the face and still be able to punch the other guy.  But don't talk about a "fight to the death" and "struggling to stay alive", in fact us testicular cancer survivors don't even like the phrase "dead ball".  I wish the sportscasters would realize that it is just a game which outcome really doesn't mean a damn thing in the big scheme of things.  We have many people in this world that really are in the "fight of their lives" and that is who I am rooting for.

Goodbye Ann Maree...

One of the first rules of joining the Wellness Community is that you are not supposed to mention what happened in the group outside the group.  And I don't plan on breaking that rule today, just bending it a little.  I am bending that rule, because Ann frequently talked about her experiences in her own blog and Ann's attitude helped me through my own cancer fight.

When you first join the Wellness Community, you go to an information meeting that tells you what to expect and what it's all about.  There was only one other couple at our meeting and that was Ann and Al Maree.  To look at the two of them, you couldn't guess which one was sick.  Through some introductions, we learned Ann was the one in the battle with cancer.  I am sure they told us more that night, but to be honest I didn't know what was going on in my own life at that time, much less those around me.

When I walked into my first regular group meeting, there sat Ann Maree.  We went around the room introducing ourselves, our cancers, and our treatments.  I heard this vibrant, energetic, and non-cancer looking person state that she has been battling Stage IV Breast Cancer for years.  WHAT?!?!  She didn't even look like she had a cold!  This may sound odd, but that made me feel really good.  No not that she had cancer, but that one can fight such a hard fight and not only survive, but live well while surviving.  Suddenly I no longer felt like cancer was this dark tunnel I was struggling to walk through hoping to some day see the light at the end.  Ann helped show me that cancer may be part of one's identity, but it doesn't have to be one's only identity.

Ann was fond of saying, "I have cancer, but cancer doesn't have me."   She lived that motto to the end.  It was her attitude that helped me to push myself when I felt I wasn't ready to be a normal person yet.  Most of that pushing resulted in me hurting myself, but that is beside the point.  Ann participated in more LiveStrong events than I probably ever will.  Ann actually got out and rode her bike as many times as I look over at my dusty bike and think that I should probably get my fat butt on it.

Although I knew Ann was very sick (even though she never seemed to show it) and I knew she was getting sicker, I never thought this day would come.  I hate to admit it, but I had slacked on reading her blog daily because once again, she seemed to be beating the odds and getting better.  But then Saturday I got the news that she had passed through the network of current and former Wellness Community members.  I was expecting an e-mail at anytime for Ann quoting Mark Twain "The report of my death was an exaggeration."  All hope was lost when I saw that her husband Al was the one reporting Ann's passing.

I thank God that I met Ann (and Al).  When I was thinking all cancer patients were gray, bald, anorexic-looking, hunched over, zombie-like things (and that I was about to become one), Ann showed me that people with a much harder fight than I can look...well...normal.  And when I thought cancer would ruin my life, Ann showed me cancer only has as much control over you life as you let it.  Hearing Ann's struggles and seeing her fight with such dignity and poise, I knew that with a little Faith I could make it through my much smaller battle.

This week there will be a "Celebration of Life" for Ann, which I am certain Ann gave Al detailed instructions on how it should be carried out.  I believe in God and I believe in Heaven, and I certainly believe that no matter how nice life is on Earth, afterlife in Heaven is better, but still it is hard to see someone taken too soon go away.  I don't like funerals, because often they don't focus on the gift of getting to know and experience the person in life, they seem to focus on missing them after they have passed on.  Ann and Al obviously feel the same way and want to have that celebration of life, not a mourning of death.  That being said, I haven't decided yet if I am going this week or not.  I would love to go to the event and share what an inspiration both Al and Ann have been for me the past year, but I know ultimately there will be tears and sorrow as well.  Conversely, when I last saw Ann (although she was getting sicker) she looked as vibrant and was defiant as ever and I kinda want to seal that as my last memory of her.  Regardless of whether I go or not, I am sincerely thankful to God that I got to meet both Ann and Al, and I am a very sad that I will not see Ann again.  My heart goes out to Al as he continues Ann's Journey without her.

There's More To Recovery Than Just Recovery...

Today I spent the morning with a good friend who is recovering from her own serious health condition.  We got into a conversation about how hard it is to recover from a serious illness, not necessarily physically but mentally as well.  There are so many aspects to recovery that get overlooked because caregivers are focused on, well recovery, but just physical.  The medical profession seems to think if they fixed your ailment, you're done.

One thing I noticed since my cancer diagnosis, is before I found out I had cancer, I did routine checks for testicular cancer.  I had a doctor in 1998 tell me it would be a good idea to check and I did the checks often, sometimes twice or more a day depending on how many other people were in the pool at the time, but every since I found the cancer, I hardly check.  The ironic thing is, I have about half as much to check after the cancer, so you would think it would be easier to check now.  However, I could probably count the times I have checked since then on one hand...not that hand the other one, the non-checking hand.  I don't know why, but I have developed an aversion to checking myself since I had actually found something.  Luckily, since I still manage to see one professional or another approximately every forty three minutes, I am getting checked enough right now by other people, so I don't need to worry about it, my family doctor, my urologist, my oncologist, my friend's overly curious dog, that TSA guy behind me in line at Arby's the other day, well at least I think it was a TSA uniform, or it could have been a bus driver's uniform, who ever it was he was very gentle and paid for my Arby-Q.  I brought this issue up at my cancer support group to see if any other of the self examiners had the same mental block after diagnosis, but unfortunately the breast cancer survivors weren't there that day.  There were a few prostate cancer survivors, but they didn't look flexible enough to perform self exams.

When down physically for so long, it takes a while to get back in the swing of things.  The doctors pretty much force you to be a couch potato through weight restrictions and other warnings of dyer consequences if you overexert.  After weeks, or even months, of continuously watching daytime TV, it's hard to get back into a routine of getting up, moving around, and even concentrating on anything that doesn't involve paternity testing, especially during Oprah's last season!  And even when you do start to move about and get braver and braver, there can be certain obstacles in your daily life that look insurmountable.  As part of my mowing routine, I have to dangle a push mower down a very steep embankment about five feet, pull it back up, and try to keep my toes out of the way the whole time I am struggling with it.  This is something that leaves me physically drained and crippled on a good day, I will admit, I am scared to death to do it when I still haven't been released to do that sort of thing from the doctor that performed my surgery.

Then there is just the mental recovery.  Believe it or not, you feel like your brain gets flabby from not being used while you were recovering.  I tried to keep my brain sharp by first reading Yahoo articles on-line, then working my way up to on-line versions of magazines, then newspapers, and even tried to read a few books on-line.  It was months into my recovery before I realized I had just been looking at porn the whole time, which I would stop, but I am not quite done with this article.  The point being, when you brain isn't working as hard as it had in the past, it takes a while to be able to stare at a computer screen for hours on end again (especially if there is no porn on that computer screen).

One last part of mental recovery I will mention, kinda relates to one of the first things I mentioned, and that is the fear that you are not quite well yet, or that it will come back.  There is a reason that until recently, oncologists would never use the word "cured" they would just say "remission".  I don't know that I will ever get over the fear that the cancer isn't quite gone, or that it's hiding somewhere else, or that it's just not big enough to show up on tests yet, or that it's lying dormant, or, or, or, or....with so much of cancer being an unknown, how do we as patients feel secure in our "cured" diagnoses?  And am I sure our families/caregivers/support networks have the same fears, whether they will verbalize them or not.

I guess in many ways, recovering  from a serious illness is like a "recovering alcoholic".  Sure, Bill W. never plans on having another drink, but he knows that threat is always lurking in the background.  In much the same way, I don't ever plan on having cancer again, but I know there is a possibility, however slight, that it  could be hiding somewhere.  Maybe I should do some more internet "reading" and a self-exam just to make sure there's no cancer left.

"If I Leave You It Doesn't Mean I Love You Any Less"

For the second day in a row I am starting off with a Warren Zevon quote.  While Warren was dying of mesothelioma he wrote a song to his wife with the line "if I leave you it doesn't mean I love you any less".  It was a touching line when I first heard it and a much more powerful line after my cancer diagnosis.  I think the first reaction when you are diagnosed, is to wonder if you are going to survive.  The second reaction is if you don't survive, what will that do to your family?  What a brilliantly simple way of expressing how we feel.  If cancer takes us, it doesn't mean that we want to go.

I "graduated" from the Wellness Community this week.  I won't say I am 100% over all of this stuff, heck for one thing I haven't officially been released from the urologist yet, but cancer is no longer the prevailing thought in my mind anymore.  Granted there are other things going on in my life right now that are taking my focus off that crap, which is a good thing.  I don't know if I would feel this far removed from cancer otherwise, but the point is I do and that's all that matters.  It's hard to believe my cancerversary is coming up in just a few months!

The Wellness Community and more importantly the people in my support group have been very...well supportive.  I was hoping there would be a big crowd there so I could say "bye", but there was only the facilitator and one other guy, who happened to be my favorite guy and the one that helped me the most.  This particular guy (without giving any identifying information, which is a no-no for a support group) has lived with cancer for literally decades.  Not a survivor, LIVED WITH CANCER as in still has cancer!  There is another in my group that has lived with cancer for about a decade as well.  Do you know how comforting that is to someone who just got diagnosed?   Even if you aren't cured, here is living proof that you can live with cancer and look like a normal non-cancer-having person!  And the thing I was most impressed with these two individuals was they were the most upbeat of the group.  They weren't cursing their maker or bitter at the world.  They were positive.  With just my favorite guy in my final meeting, I was able to spend a lot of time telling him just how important he has been to my emotional recovery.  I wish there were a couple of others there that I wanted to thank, but that's what e-mail is for.

Now to complain about my group for just one second.  One thing I did get off my chest was there was an incredibly negative individual that almost caused me to quit the group.  This person was CURED but didn't want to believe it and spent the whole meeting going on about how if you had cancer once it stays in you forever and it can pop up anytime, even if the doctor says you are in remission or even cured.  That is not something I wanted to be around just out of my surgery and facing chemotherapy.  Luckily, the lady from the No Boobs About It blog warned me that there is one of those people in every group, to just try to ignore them.  I am glad she told me that.  The only other complaint I have with my group (and people in general) sometimes when life looks the darkest, people give up on you.  Most cancer patients have ups and downs in their care, and some people in the group would start referring to people in the past tense that were struggling in their fight.  The whole time Monty Python and the Holy Grail was running through my head "I'm not dead yet..."  All of the people referred to in the past tense have gotten better!  Thank God (literally) that they had better outlooks on their own lives than some of their supporters.

But all in all, I loved the Wellness Community and the support everyone gave me.  I didn't really want to leave, but I didn't feel it was right for me to be there anymore, since I feel less and less like a cancer patient and more like a cancer survivor.  I wanted to thank everyone for what they did with a gift, however I couldn't just give gifts because I am still unemployed and don't have a lot of money flowing in right now.  I would have liked to cook something and bring it in (and let's just pretend for a moment that my cooking is tolerable) but when you are on chemo, you can be super sensitive to tastes and smells (I still won't touch pasta and shun salt, two things I enjoyed before chemo) so food is not even allowed inside the room we meet in.  So that left me with my favorite thing, music.

Not only have I worked extensively in music running record stores, as a club DJ, and even with a record company being required to hang out with rock stars for three years, but I have always used music to alter my mood and relate to others.  Back in the day, years before I even met my wife (if she is reading this) I would make mix tapes and CD's to open doors to hot girls that would inevitably ask for more CDs and less of me.  More recently, I boil my music collection to moods.  I have several CDs I put together just to keep me awake on roadtrips.  I have CDs I made to listen to just when I want to sing loud in the car with no one around.  I have a CD I made to listen to when you are in a pissed off mood (which I largely gathered from my wife's music collection, I don't know what that means, I'm just saying...).  And I have made CDs just to put me in a good mood.  So that is what I did, I made CDs for my group, happy CDs.  You know, songs that are just impossible to be sad while listening to, stuff like LFO's Summer Girls, Spice Girls' Wannabe, and Hanson's MmmBop...OK, I am lying, I like most people over the age of two and with most of their faculties hate those songs.  That was just a list of my sister's CD collection.  (The funny thing here, is I have to approve all comments before they are posted, so there is no way for her to refute this on my page.  But I am sure there will be retribution on hers.)  But I did put together a list of twenty songs from 1952 to the mid 1990s that just make you feel good.  I don't know if they will appreciate them or not, but even if they don't, at least I gave them a new shiny coaster.

So Thursday, Warren's lyrics held a different meaning to me.  I didn't want to leave the friendships, but it was time for me to leave the group.  And although I can't specifically identify people or illnesses, I will vaguely take a moment to say some "thank yous".  Thank you Bill for showing me how one person can face cancer and act like...well someone that doesn't have cancer.  Thank you Susan for having that magic folder where much like a Magic 8 Ball, you ask a question, you reach your hand in, and pull out a print out with the answer.  Thank you Ann for showing just how hard one human can fight, and still retain grace and dignity the whole time.  Thank you Cary for taking a bad situation and turning it around for something good.  And most of all thank you Ned, no doubt your family sacrificed a great deal for the benefit of so many others, and I will never be able to express my gratitude sufficiently.  And there are many others at the group that helped me, and I don't mean to play favorites here...but I am (did).  And it's not like anyone actually reads these anyway, so there is not really anyone to offend with an omission.  Even though I didn't place that Warren Zevon song (Keep Me In Your Heart For A While) on the CD I made, because although very poignant and beautiful it's also incredibly depressing, I graduate from and depart the Wellness Community with those words in my heart and mind, "If I leave you it doesn't mean I love you any less".

Hmmmm....Livestrong Does More Than Make Bracelets

As we wait for my "junk" to wake up after chemo (or what's left of it after surgery), our doctor has mentioned all the possibilities we have for getting pregnant.  Many of those possibilities cost a lot of money.

Before my cancer support group the other day, another woman and myself were both sporting our Livestrong bracelets, and talking about upcoming Livestrong events before the meeting started.  This lead into a conversation about Lance Armstrong and the Tour de France.   After the meeting started, when it was my turn to discuss things with the group, I asked if anyone knew of any foundations that would help pay for fertility treatments for testicular cancer patients.  Then someone asked me something so obvious, I felt absolutely stupid for not thinking of it myself.  She said, "Have you called Livestrong?"  I hadn't.  I hadn't thought to call the foundation started by a guy who had testicular cancer and had fertility problems and successfully fathered children since his treatment.  Why would I think to call that guy?!?!  Did I mention I felt stupid?

So, first thing the next day I called Livestrong and talked to a really nice young lady who sounded like she was about twelve years old.  I am hoping she was twelve years old, because she gave me names of several places that offer help for people in my situation, and all those names were wrong, and if she were twelve I could say "she got the names wrong, but she's only twelve, what do you expect?"  HOWEVER, they were just barely wrong, so I was able to type them into Livestrong's website and get the correct names for the foundations I was looking for.  Now back to the twelve year old, I am pretty sure she wasn't twelve (unless Texas doesn't have child labor laws), but nevertheless, do you realize how awkward it is talking about testicular cancer and fertility issues to someone on the phone that sounds like a twelve year old girl?  I expected Chris Hansen to get on the phone about halfway through the conversation and ask me what I was doing.

So, after figuring out the correct foundations, I started researching them.  Some of them had requirements that I qualified for and others I didn't qualify for.  One in particular I think was all talk.  They would pay for everything provided you filled out your application after getting diagnosed and prior to any treatment and you had to wait until you heard back from them before you proceeded, but then they would pay for everything!  Of course they will pay for everything, because they know there is absolutely no chance anyone will do that.  Your mind is going a million miles an hour once you have been diagnosed, the last thing you are thinking of is looking up foundations and filling out applications.  Here is a timeline, I got preliminarily diagnosed on a Tuesday, confirmed that Friday, was told to immediately go make a "deposit" at the "bank" followed by another on that Monday, and have my surgery Thursday.  That left literally a two hour window between my official diagnosis (which you need for the application) and the deposit to fill out the application, send it off, and wait for a reply.  Yeah, I am sure they give out tons of cash.  (That is sarcasm by the way.)  But I am also sure that company is telling everyone about this great program they have.

One of the more promising leads is a hospital. that I am all too familiar with, will do in vitro for free (if it comes to that) for testicular cancer patients in my situation (poor).  They have very little requirements, like you have to make less that $75,000, which I just barely squeaked under that requirement by about $70,000.  I love this hospital and would be happy to work with them, although admittedly, most of the time I am there I am on my back and unconscious.  But from what I remember about my visits there, they are good.

A question that frequently comes up when I mention in vitro is "Does that mean you guys will be like the Octomom?"  In our doctor's conversations about in vitro, not once has she mentioned the word "litter".  I don't think I need a bunch of kids at once, because not being a sports person I am not trying to make a "team".  Although being a fan of music, a power trio might be nice.  We are still hopeful though that the other tricks our doctor is having us do will work, including my junk working right again at some point.

So as we approach another set of fertility appointments, I am getting anxious to hear what the next step will be.  Do you remember the old flea circuses on cartoons and stuff?  I feel like my swimmers are having to do a sperm circus, because they are constantly washing them and counting them and freezing them and thawing them and who knows what else.  All I know, is the toughest thing I have had to do so far is look at dirty magazines.  Wait until we have a kid and I tell them all the hardships I went through to create them.  I am sure they will want to hear it.

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.

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.

After Cancer You Can't "Don't Worry About It"

Today I arrived early for my cancer support group.  Shortly after two others came in and we were talking a bit before the rest of the group arrived.  One person had missed that previous week and was asking about my results.  I told her I received the results of all my tests and that the lumps in my kidneys were just cysts.

This brought on a conversation amongst the three of us, all sharing the common bond of cancer.  When the lumps (or doctor's speak "masses") first showed up on my CT scan, I was told "It's probably nothing to worry about" and "Don't worry about it".  All three of us in the room had heard that message at one point or another in our treatment, and all three of us found it impossible "not to worry about it".  After you are told you have the Big C, any unknown is something to worry about.

Here are suggestions of things I can "not worry about".  A mechanic saying the tires will need replacing by next winter but in the mean time don't worry about it.  Not getting home in time to see a favorite TV show, it is now available on-demand so don't worry about it.  You forgot to send a obscene e-mail forward to your friend, you can always send it later, don't worry about it.  The restaurant you choose doesn't serve Pepsi, don't worry about it....well, that one actually is a pretty big deal.

My point is, doctors that haven't been through a cancer scare in their own life, don't know how hard it is not to worry about something when there is even the tiniest hint of a chance that it may be related to cancer.  A friend that has helped me a lot through my journey is living eight years cancer free.  For the past eight years they have flown through every exam without a problem...until this last one.  They had a questionable result and were told not to worry about it.  They told me that they did worry about it a lot.  Luckily it turned out to be nothing to worry about, for real.  But my friend's point to me was, the "not worry about it" syndrome never goes away, no matter how many good results you get in the mean time.  It's a perfectly normal reaction.

Later in group, completely unrelated to our pre-group conversation, the topic came up where two people mentioned how their "don't worry about it" diagnosis went on for years and later turned out to be cancer.  Now I am not saying that one shouldn't listen to their doctor's advice when told not to worry about it, but those of us who have lived through cancer and those of us who know someone who should have worried about it, we can't not worry about it.  Luckily, more often that not it really is nothing to worry about.

The ironic thing is as I was preparing to write tonight, I noticed a raised bump on my eye.  As most of us do in this modern age, I did a little internet research on what it could be.  Most of the things on the internet say "don't worry about it" but see a doctor immediately.  I bet you can guess what I am going to do as soon as the doctor's office opens.

Oncologists Do Care About Swimmers Sometimes

As I have mentioned earlier, the thing that has been bothering me lately is my questionable swimmers.  At one point I was told they were normal at another point I was told they were abnormal.  Giving someone hope then recalling that hope is worse than not giving the hope in the first place.  At least that is how I feel about it.

Last week I had a heart to heart with my oncologist and told him how much it was bothering me and that I didn't feel like waiting around until May to check the swimmers again as my urologist/surgeon had suggested.  My oncologist was in a hurry and didn't really seem to be very interested in the conversation, but he said he agreed with me, made some suggestions and sent me on my way.  I assumed that was the end of it.

Then this week my oncologist called while I was gone.  The first reason I like my oncologist is that he didn't wait until I was home and leave some cryptic message, he talked to my wife and gave her information he knew I wanted to know.  I am sure he broke fifteen or twenty "rules" about divulging medical information, but as the patient, I appreciate it.  My wife has been to just about every oncologist appointment with me, and oncologists' calls are usually pretty important.  One doesn't generally want to wait until the "next business day" to start playing phone tag.

The information he gave was my lab results saying that my "tumor markers" came back good.  I have no idea what the heck "tumor markers" are, but if he is happy about them I am too.  Whoopee tumor markers!  What really impressed me though is that the subject I thought he was blowing off, he actually cared about and thought about after the appointment.  He said he consulted some colleagues and they agreed that May seemed like a long time to wait to see if my swimmers could go in the deep end when they should be back to the pre-chemo ways much sooner than that.

What is really cool, is that my oncologist came up with a way to not offend my urologist, by simply not telling him I was doing any of this.  He suggested we go to a "fertility specialist" that will have me tested right away. I mention this to my cancer support group, where there has been another individual in a similar position.  Somehow during the conversation I mention that wives are not allowed in the room during the "testing" to which they replied that they got to "test" as a couple.  I feel cheated!  I mean the first few times were fine being alone.  After all I had a lot of reading material to look through, but now that I have seen all of those sticky pages, I wouldn't mind going through the test without having to touch something that cracked when you turned the pages.

All of this has put me in a much better mood than I have been during the scanxiety.  I have a plan again, and hopefully will gain some good news or at least have a good game plan mapped out.  If nothing else, I get to watch some "documentaries" again.

NAKED CHURCH! Now That I Have Your Attention, Read About What It Is...

Recently I was invited by my parents' pastor to be part of his internet radio show, the Naked Church's Naked Talk.  Before you get your hopes up, it is strictly a voice interview, not webcam and the name is definitely misleading (something I embarrassingly found out after the fact).

Throughout my ordeal I have tried to look at the positive side of things, because frankly, I don't have a choice.  Sitting around stewing about things doesn't help anyone, so why not be positive?  And I think I have a lot to be positive about.  I found my cancer early, and even though I ignored it for a month, it still didn't spread.  I was Stage I and had the "best kind of cancer".  I had doctor's that moved swiftly and quickly treated me before things had a chance to get any worse.  I only lost approximately half of the balls I started with, and just found out what is left still works (in theory, still trying to make it work in practice by having a mini-me running around).  Even the one hiccup with the bad oncologist resulted in me finding a great oncologist that helped to unite all of my doctors into a team.  I only had to do one round of chemo and I made it through that fairly unscathed.  All in all, I think I am pretty lucky.

We have all heard that there are no atheists in a foxhole, and I wish I could say the same for cancer patients.  many of us do depend a lot on faith in God and man (now Bowie's Modern Love in running through my head).  On one hand, you have to have total faith in your oncologist, because your life literally is in his/her hands.  So in that sense, you are putting your faith in man to cure you.  Many of us also spend a lot of time on the horn to God asking that he guide that man to help us through what we are going through, as well as help us as we fight to survive the cure (which can sometimes be a harder fight that the sickness, but at least you have a fighting chance of surviving the cure).

The people I don't understand are the ones that curse God for their cancer.  As I said in my unfortunately clothed radio interview on the unfortunately clothed Naked Church, for those that say "Why me?", you can also say "Why not me?"  In this world, we can't all walk around with everyone having the perfect life.  Some of us are going to lose jobs, some of us are going to get cancer, and some of us are going to be given American made Paul Reed Smith guitars with twenty-four frets and double cutaways for Christmas.  I had all three of those things happen to me last year, and I think I made it through OK.

For the atheists, they don't have anyone to curse, and they also have no one to put their faith in other than man.  Personally, if I were an atheist with cancer, I think I would hedge my bets and find some faith quickly.  After all, if there isn't a God, you won't be any worse off than you were already, right?  It's the people that curse God for giving them cancer that really confuse me.  If you think God gave you cancer and you are cursing Him, what sense does that make?  If you believe He is the type to do something like give you a disease, won't cursing Him just make things worse?

One of the ladies in my group said a friend of hers said, "NOTHING is a surprise to God."  And I don't think that phrase needs to be expanded on or thought about in depth, just repeated when you think life has taken a dump on you.  Nothing is a surprise to God.  I don't know if it was a plan, a punishment, a blessing, a break from working, a rest, a teachable moment, a way of that extra scrotal weight I have been carrying around all these years, or what.  I just know that I experienced it.  I made it through with God's and man's help.  And now I will hopefully use these life experiences to be a better person and help others.  And if you are the type that doesn't believe in God or curses God, what do you have to lose by becoming a better person from all this?

Don't get me wrong, there are periods of frustration, or confusion, or exhaustion, or apprehension.  But there are also periods of relief, elation, joy, and a whole different outlook on life.  So far I think my faith has served me well, and I don't plan on giving that up anytime soon, which is a good thing because I already have the tattoo (wish I could say the same thing about the wedding ring tattoo, guess I am stuck with her now).  I don't mind talking about my ordeal and I don't mind talking about how my faith got me through it and continues to get me through things.  The only time I think I have really asked "Why me?" is when I found out, that the Naked Church is false advertising, but I still managed to enjoy that too.  I guess I will have to find somewhere else to show off my new, slimmer sack.

When Are You "Done" With Cancer?

Today I went to my cancer support group.  For the past two weeks the subject has come up on when it is time to "graduate" from the group.  The moderator has said, he doesn't foresee ever kicking anyone out, but it has brought about a bigger question within the group.  When are you done with cancer?

For all intents and purposes, I want to be "done" with all of this cancer crap.  I have completed my surgery and finished my chemotherapy.  My oncologist and urologist can throw out statistic after statistic about how low my chances of a recurrence are.  And they can site those numbers all day long, but it is difficult to really believe them when they want to test you every three months.  I have my first post-chemo scan next week, and I didn't think it would bother me at all, because according to all the people that I give co-pays to I have almost no chance of this cancer ever coming back.  But as I get closer to the date, I find myself dwelling more and more on it.  I can't imagine what life will be like the week between the scan and getting the results.  This is where the comfort of the group came in for me.  I learned about "scanxiety".  At first I laughed it off as a funny term, but as I get closer to that date, I know exactly what she is talking about.

As far as cancer is concerned, I've had it easy.  Many people have much tougher battles, and obviously not everyone makes it through the battle.  And then there is the other side.  There are people in my group that have been living with cancer eight, ten, and twelve years or more!  The thing I found odd today, is that they don't consider themselves "survivors", because they are Stage IV and will always have cancer.  These people are a lot more active and look a lot healthier than me!  I was floored by their comments.  They were given a terminal diagnosis a decade ago, and not only do they continue to kick cancer's butt on a daily basis, but they look good doing it!  Heck, I look like crap most of the time and I am considered a survivor!  That is probably because I do nothing but sitting around looking for jobs on the internet covered in chocolaty crumbs of whatever that was that I called lunch.

Cancer journeys are so personal in our treatment as well.  One of the ten year survivors has never had a chemo treatment.  Today we had someone starting their chemo and asking about the dryness that is associated with it.  And I (the rookie) was able to give some advice when others couldn't.  I think that is the give and take of the group as well.  Not only is there a point where the group is relative to you at your point in your journey, but also relative to helping others in their journeys as well.  In my opinion, which counts for absolutely nothing, when you no longer are taking anything away for group, nor contributing anything to the group, it's time to leave.  In other words, if you are done with everything, and when everyone else is talking about their trials and tribulations and all you can add is how you shared a heroine needle with your STD infected prostitute while nude sunbathing without sunscreen at the equator, that is not only hurting the group, because these are all things you are not supposed to do while being treated for cancer, and you are just rubbing it in.

So, I am torn.  On hand, I hope to be free and clear of all of this someday both physically and mentally and never need the group for support again.  On the other hand, these are people that I have grown to care about, share with, and in many cases look up to and I don't want to miss out on the weekly talks we have (unless it was the talk about sex and cancer that I apparently missed while I was out, I can miss out on that one).  But all joking aside, none of us pay anything to go there.  Most of us drive a considerable distance to get there.  It is obvious to me that each and every one of us is getting something out of it, or we wouldn't go.  Yeah, I do hope I feel like I have "graduated" one day, and maybe I will join the "survivors" group, but I hope the rest of the group is able to come with me.

Tom's 2010 Comeback Tour

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Was Too Tired From Acting Normal To Blog

If you haven't guessed by the delay in posting, being a real person kicked my butt!  The whole day was a lot more work than I had planned, but I enjoyed most of it.

First, I forgot how much time it takes to actually get going in the morning.  I had my time all planned out, including stopping for a not so nutritious breakfast at the arches, time to eat it, and getting to my volunteer meeting early to chat.  My schedule went just as planned until I walked out the door...and back in...and back out...back in...back out, I was like Lindsay Lohan and jail.  It had been so long since I had actually planned on being out and about all day, I kept remembering all the things I would need to make it through the day.  I finally got on the road a little later than I hoped, so I figured I would just eat in the car.  I also forgot about school buses.  By the time I had stopped for them stopping at EVERY SINGLE KID'S HOUSE, time for breakfast was gone too.  And if we are so paranoid that kids can't walk to a bus stop anymore, if two kids' houses are side by side, can't they at least stand in the corners of both of their yards so the bus can stop and pick them both up at the same time?  Anyway, I finally make it to my meeting, with minutes to spare.  So much for my plans so far today.

First I explain my silly, pathetic excuse for a mustache.  After that, the meeting went fine, except I was expecting to take a few notes, and instead I was given two three ring binders.  I am not really complaining, because that meant I didn't need to take near as good of notes.  My next plan was to grab a bite to eat, when I was asked if I could do some volunteer work for a few hours.  Since the volunteer work is also training for the job I hope to get, I jumped at the chance.  I mean, I have eaten breakfast every other day this week, one day won't hurt.  The volunteer work was fun.  Part of what I went over was "new" Americans with Disabilities Act information, information that was out of date about ten years ago, but we had to print out these sixty two pages of "new" stuff.  I think if people with these "disabilities" saw what was written about their needs, the would sue the Americans with Disabilities Act for prejudice and defamation under the Americans with Disabilities Act.  I worked on a few other projects and soon it was time to meet my friend for lunch.

I get to Cracker Barrel (our usual spot), explain my pathetic and nearly invisible excuse for a mustache, and as usual we both order breakfast for lunch, which comes in handy because I am using this lunch as breakfast...and lunch.  I should be getting used to this, but I am still a little taken aback as my seventy nine year old friend is telling me about the latest cool apps for our Androids.  We spend lunch trading apps and solving the worlds problems.  The big difference between us being that he actually was an elected official at one time that could solve some of the world's problems, and I just sit around and complain about them.  Don't get me wrong, I don't just sit around all day complaining about the world's problems, I sit around all day and complain about a lot of other things too.  You know like, why isn't my favorite show on, how come my ice cream is so hard, how come the people that are employed by the unemployment office never seem to work, why does my butt have to hurt from sitting around all day, stuff like that.  Our check comes and we do the typical wrestling over who gets to pay.  One of these days I am just going to pay the waitress in advance and really get the jump on him.  It's getting close to my next appointment so my friend and I part ways vowing to finish saving the world next week.

I drive towards my cancer support group and I get stuck behind another school bus!  This one has literally about thirty cars backed up behind it, which I thought was against the law when I took driver's ed, and won't pull over for two minutes to let them all pass while he stops at every   single   house!!!  Luckily I have been stuck behind this bus before so I allowed myself a little extra time to get behind him and cuss.  I get to group with a few minutes to spare, and I am a little bummed.  First of all I am bummed walking around with this pathetic excuse for a mustache that I am tired of making excuses for and two of my favorites from group are missing this week.  However, there are still enough of us cancer patients to have as good a time as a room full of cancer patients can have.  And then the one my heart really goes out for walks in.  He always looks tired, and I imagine from his treatment he is exhausted.  My heart breaks for him because he has two young children and a very poor prognosis...that is until this week!  Let me clarify, he still has the two young children, but now he has a different prognosis.  His doctors finally found something that is not only working but working extremely well...especially for something that they didn't know if they would be able to treat at all to begin with.  I must not be the only one that really feels for him, because there were instant smiles and cheers around the room, and that is not an easy thing to do with a room full of cancer patients.  We eventually get to the subject that we have gotten on several times and that is how much we all hate CAT scans.  We talk about it a lot.  And we relive every single thing we hate about them.  We also talk about how someone was told that the ones in the city aren't even very good so we are all pretty much going through CAT scan hell for nothing.  All this talk is very interesting considering the next day I have an appointment to hear when my next CAT scan will be.  We also complain about something you wouldn't think the cancer patients would complain about.  We have complained several meetings about "Breast Cancer Awareness Month" and for several reasons I won't get into the conversations, mainly because they are supposed to be confidential, but one person in the group said the most profound thing about it that really summed up the conversation and how everyone in the room (including the breast cancer patients) felt.  They said, "Breast Cancer Awareness Month has turned into Christmas.  Everyone is wearing pink and buying pink, but it has been so commercialized that people don't know the reason the are doing all the pink things anymore."  Wow!  They so succinctly put into words what so many in that room frustrations were with the month.

I leave the meeting and left to do a little shopping that I had been meaning to do, but hadn't been able to.  One of the places I had to stop was a former employer.  I was hoping I didn't see any of my former coworkers, because I didn't want to explain that I had been laid off from the job I left them for, and that I had gotten cancer, and that I knew I had a stupid, pathetic excuse for a mustache but it was for a good cause.  Luckily the only person I knew there was too busy talking to notice there was a customer, so I was able to get in and out without any problems.  I finished up my shopping by stopping at one of my pre-chemo favorite restaurants for some take-out.  It doesn't really sound good to me, but I am really hungry, and out of habit, this is the place I love to go when I am really hungry.  I walk in and the smell hits my chemo nostrils and overwhelms me.  I am not sure why I came in here, I am really not wanting this at all.  Still, I order my usual and head home.  By this point, I am not only hungry, but completely wiped out from my day pretending to be normal, and dying of thirst.  Obviously, I have not recovered from chemo as much as I thought I had.  I get home, still not looking forward to my former favorite meal, but yet I still devour it and it doesn't taste bad...doesn't taste as good as it does when I am not on chemo, but it doesn't taste bad either.

What did I learn?  I learned that I am still recovering.  I also learned that I can kind of pass for a normal person.  I learned that it is possible to get too tired to blog.  And finally I learned that I am tired of making excuses for my pathetic mustache and wish it would come in quicker, but as hair falls out every time I touch my head, I don't have high hopes on that one...but more about that in tomorrow's entry.

Scared To Be Normal

Tomorrow I will have to act like a real person.  I say act, because I don't see the oncologist until Friday and the urologist a week from Monday, so they will have to be the ones to officially call me a person again.  But tomorrow, I go through a lot of the motions a person goes through.  For the first time since I was initially diagnosed with cancer (8/31/10, you never forget the date you were diagnosed) I will be out on my own, all day.  I have thus far only been out for short periods of time or with a chaperon.  You know someone to drive when I feel tired (which has been most of the past three weeks), someone to tell me that is too heavy and I shouldn't try to lift it, someone to say they told me so when I am holding myself in pain after lifting it, and someone generally to provide physical and moral support.  That also means I won't have my wife around tomorrow to persuade that McDonald's sausage biscuits and hashbrowns are full of protein and that the oncologist suggest that we get some on the way to the blood test.  She also won't be there later in the morning when I claim that the oncologist said I was in dire need of Dunkin' Donuts to keep my strength up.

On one hand I am actually excited about tomorrow.  I get to meet with a volunteer group I strongly believe in.  I will hopefully hear something on one of the jobs I applied for.  I get to meet a friend for lunch.  And I get to go to my cancer group.  The problem is, each of those things are spaced just far enough apart in time and distance, that it won't make any sense for me to come home in between.  So, I will leave the house at 8:30am and won't get home until about 7pm.  That's almost like having a job...except that I won't be getting paid, I will actually be enjoying what I am doing, and if anyone starts yelling at me or treating me like crap, I can get up and walk away with no repercussions.

The downside is, I should probably try to stay awake for the whole day.  That is a giant step in my life right now.  It probably wouldn't look good napping during lunch or while talking about volunteer leadership.  However, the good thing about cancer group, is if I take a nap there, every other person in the room will understand.  I know this because it frequently happens during group...coincidently it's usually when I am talking.  But that truly is my biggest fear tomorrow, and I am honestly afraid, that I just won't have the stamina to make it through the whole day.  As much as my cabin fear has been bothering me, I don't know that I am ready to be out of the nest out on my own.  After all, I got winded eating a piece of cake today.

But that is not my only apprehension about tomorrow.  My Mo' looks absolutely pathetic.  It didn't take much for me to remember why I never got the urge to grow one before.  Again, at group I am not too worried about it, because everyone will know why I am growing it and some may be doing it themselves.  It is everyone else I may encounter throughout the day.  I wish I had a t-shirt that says "Yes, I know I have a ridiculous, pathetic mustache.  It is for a good cause.  Ask me about Movember".  But I don't.  So, as I go to the restaurant tomorrow to meet my friend, it is very likely that the fifteen year old cleaning the tables will have a thicker, better looking mustache than me, and I am afraid that she will make fun of me for it when she picks my head up off of the plate to take it away.  I guess on one hand, I could blame the fact that I have half the testosterone that I did pre-surgery.  However, if I do that, I may have to explain why, which will be good for the Movember movement to talk about testicular cancer, but I don't know that I should walk around tomorrow telling everyone I see about my balls...er, ball.

So that's where I am at.  I have to get up at a normal hour.  I have to stay awake all day.  I have to walk around with less hair on my lip than an old lady.  And I have to keep it together, because after all, this means I am almost back to normal, and that is kind of an emotional thing to deal with as well.  There is part of me that is dying to get back to normal, and a certain part that is scared and not sure if I am ready yet.  Oh and if Murphy's Law exists, I did some research and people on my chemo, tend to lose their hair between the third and fourth week, which pretty much starts tomorrow.  So, if I am going to lose it, I am sure it will fall out during my volunteer meeting or lunch, either of which are going to make a very awkward scene.  Hopefully I will have enough strength at the end of the day tomorrow to tell how things went.

Talking About Cancer Can Be Fun?

Chemo is still messing with me.  Yesterday I felt great.  I actually got out in the real world (briefly) without supervision and wasn't too tired.  Today I have been tired all day and yet when I lay down it's hard to sleep.

Yesterday was group meeting.  If you don't remember my group post, I will give you the real quick down and dirty.  Basically there are two groups, one for cancer patients/survivors and one for loved ones/caretakers.  There is no set agenda or leader.  There is a therapist in the meeting that starts it, but he stresses he is not there as a therapist (even though they only let therapists do that part of the meeting).  I feel especially lucky because our therapist is also a cancer survivor, so everyone in the room is going through or has been through the same thing.

I was kind of torn when they said that cancer fighters and their loved ones don't attend the same meeting.  After all, this has been a long tough journey that we have both been on, neither of us by choice.  Throughout this its seems we have been side by side, it just doesn't seem right talking about the journey, without the person that has been riding shotgun the whole time.  They explain it is so the cancer patient can freely talk about any abuse (such as not receiving an American made Paul Reed Smith guitar with twenty four frets and double cutaways) and the caretakers can freely talk about what a joy it has been to be around me and to cater to my every need (almost, there is still the issue of the PRS guitar).  My wife seems to enjoy it.  I think she likes making the other caretakers jealous about what a wonderful patient she has.

Yesterday though, we had a real small group.  I have enjoyed the groups before, but yesterday was different. It seems in the big group, you always steer the conversation back to cancer.  Sometimes it can be a little depressing.  But yesterday, with a group of five to seven of us (some came late, some left early) it was more like a normal conversation, with cancer as the common thread we all had.  Yes, a lot of what we talked about was cancer, but we talked about everything else in the world.  And we laughed.  We laughed at our pain.  We laughed at our joys.  We just seemed to all enjoy a conversation where everyone in the room had the common experiences.  One thing about cancer is you may all have the "C" word, but there is the surgery group, the radiation group, the chemotherapy group, the "just watch it" group, and those of us that have had the combinations of treatments.  Yesterday, we had all been through chemo (I was the newbie) and we just had a grand ole time complaining about treatment.  And everyone got a kick out of me, the chemo one-shot-wonder, going to receive treatment with books.  It is hard to concentrate in the chemo room, especially as a first timer, so no one really read books and I was the only one in the room without some sort of electronic device sitting in front of me.  As soon as I mentioned I didn't bring an MP3 player or a computer/DVD player, everyone in the room laughed at me.  Being the only one at chemo not tethered to some form of electronic entertainment I felt like the only kid on the playground that while everyone else had brand names, I had clothes my mom made.  At least I assume that is what that felt like, being a Navy brat on the playground in the 70s and 80s, pretty much anything went at the schools that catered to military kids.

I think yesterday was the first day I didn't look at the clock to see when it was over.  OK, that is a slight lie.  I am still drinking of ton of fluids from the chemo, so I did look to see if I could hold it until group was over or if I had to get rid of the fluids before then.  But our conversations went everywhere.  I am not allowed to talk about the conversations.  I would make the joke "What happens in group..." but that joke is so overdone at the point, I will just say that it is proper etiquette that we are free to speak in there knowing that the person we are talking about will never hear that we said we are being abused because I still don't have the PRS guitar.  Plus if all the non-cancers knew all the cancer secrets, everyone would want cancer.  Did you know if you show your tumor at Sizzler, your meal is half off?  You are also asked to leave immediately (especially if you are like me and have testicular cancer) so it is best to do it towards the end of the meal.  Unfortunately we don't have any Sizzler's here so I can't use that benefit.  There are many more cancer secrets, but I have already said too much.

But the one thing that our conversation really reminded me about yesterday, is that we all hate cancer treatment.  There are certain tests we all take that we all dread.  There are parts of our treatment that we all dread.  And every single one of us hates the waits.  I had a conversation one day with a gastro-intestinal pre-med student who said that they take turns doing procedures on each other (endoscopes, barium X-rays, etc.) so that they not only know how to do the procedure, but that they know what the patients are experiencing as well.  I think that spoiled me.  More than likely, your oncologist is not going to know exactly what it is like to be in your shoes.  They can tell you what they have heard or read  about chemo, or radiation, or even the surgeries, but they probably don't know.  And that is where getting together with others and talking about your experiences, and knowing you aren't the only one, really helps.

So now I am left with a myriad of emotions.  Part of me kind of wishes the groups are always that small, because I really enjoyed yesterday.  On the other hand, although some of my favorite people from group were there, there was at least one missing.  I used to think I may not go anymore after I am given the all clear.  One of my favorites (that was missing yesterday) has been coming for years after he was given the all clear.  And after yesterday, I think I understand why.  So, I will wait for next Thursday, where I can commiserate with other cancer patients that don't have American made PRS guitars, and find out where else we can get dining discounts.

Me and My Boat Hate Cancer

Today was like the past few.  I woke up having to pee, having to drink, and just as tired as when I went to bed. I am doing a little better today though.  I only had to take one nap.  Although the cabin fever is driving me crazy, I can't seem to find the energy to do much anyway.  The best solution I can come up with is that someone tie me up like a marionette and move my arms and legs for me.  If that happens, there are all kinds of places to go and things I would like to do.

But there was one thing I had to do.  Supposedly the temperature is going to flirt with the freezing mark tomorrow.  I have been putting off winterizing one of the boats and still didn't want to do it today, but I have put to much work into it to have it ruined now.  This boat isn't huge by most standards, but on its trailer, it comes up to my chest.  This is a little bit of a problem for a guy that is still recovering from having his abdomen sliced open.  On one hand it seems like my surgery was a lifetime ago (and I guess in a sense it was), but I still feel the tug on that side when I make certain movements, and I actually won't get the all clear for my surgery for another two weeks.  I gather my tools and antifreeze and very carefully manage to climb into my boat, trying to only put the strain on the unsliced portion of my body, while keeping my sliced up part straight and slowly angling it up and over the side of the boat.  I finally manage to get in, with just a slight pull on my incision, I slide the boat cover off to give me plenty of room to work, and I get ready to settle down next to the engine when I see...all of my tools still sitting on the table.  I now have to get back out of the boat, which is actually more difficult, and I use the fat-kid-getting-out-of-the-swimming-pool approach.  I get on my stomach, spin to swing my legs over, I have to stop and think which leg has to go first, because at one point all of my weight will be put on one leg, and if I put it on the wrong leg, I will end up putting all of my weight on my butt on the concrete.  I shimmy down in a move that would have made James Brown proud (and I think at one point during the maneuver I actually did end up jumping back and kissing myself...at least I hope that was myself).  I gather everything and place it on the back of the boat and start to board again looking like a drunk gymnast on the uneven bars.  The good news is, the actual winterizing went surprisingly easy.  I closed the boat back up, put my tools away, and start to get a little down.

See, this boat has been a three year project.  I was one mechanical piece away from having it on the water.  Life being what it is, all summer I struggled to find time to finish the last little bit.  When I was laid off, my immediate thought was to finish it up while on severance and waiting for a job and this project would be finally be done.  Then I got cancer.  It is times like these that make you really hate the disease.  I have said before I feel like cancer took two months of my summer, and it took this too.  The part that really bothers me is work inside the boat has to be done at certain temperatures.  If it is too cold, you can crack the fiberglass just by getting into it while it's on the trailer.  As I am shutting my shop back up, I got mad, I got depressed, I got sweaty, and I got tired again.  Now I am even more mad.  I can't even get mad without getting winded!

After a two or three hour nap, my parents call.  During the conversation, they mention they are looking for another vehicle.  I get mad at cancer again.  I had planned on getting one of my spare vehicles rebuilt for them after the boat.  The reality of the situation is, that if I had finished the boat, I probably would have spent too much time on it the rest of the summer to finish that vehicle for them, but that isn't the point.  The point is because of cancer I will never know.  For the past two months, cancer has controlled what I can do, where I can go, what I can eat and drink, when I sleep, when I stay awake, just about every aspect of my life and I am getting really (curse word) tired of it!!!  Even when I get furious about it and want to do something, all I can summon the energy to do is nap.

Tomorrow, I go to my cancer group.  It can be a depressing setting sometimes, but I still walk out of there feeling better.  It really is what it advertises to be, just a place where you and your cancer colleagues can talk about how you are feeling and how to deal with it.  My only apprehension about going tomorrow, is I have some errands I would like to run as well.  I am afraid to do my errands, because at the rate I have been going I will be exhausted by group.  Again, cancer is acting like a helicopter parent.  You aren't going to the music store and the bike shop before group are you?  You may get tired.  And you better take a jacket, it is supposed to be a little chilly tomorrow and you know how you get when you are fighting cancer... 

The only bright spot of today is that I am still tired, because I did limit myself to one nap.  I have been fretting over getting the boat winterized, so at least that is one thing I don't have to worry about now.  So maybe, with a little less on my mind and still being tired, I will go to sleep before 3am.  And tomorrow I will get to talk to the people at the cancer clubhouse.  If I can run two or three errands on the way, it will be a good day.

First Group and I Can't Find Mr. Negative

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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