"Daniel" mother called, "Daniel, fetch me some flour from the pantry."
"Yes mother" Daniel replied.
Daniel grabbed a kitchen chair and dragged it behind him into the pantry. He placed the chair against the shelf and climbed onto the seat, steadying himself with one hand on the back. He craned his neck, looking for the precise location of the flour. He spotted it, there, just beyond the box of rice. Daniel stood on his toes, bracing himself with one hand on the shelf just below the flour. He stretched the other arm and reached forward. As Daniel's child finger grazed the front of the package of flour, he got cancer and died.
Relax. I'm ok. Like a bad 70's song, this story got stuck in my head for the last few days and I needed to sing a few bars to shake it loose. The muses, like the cosmos, have a sick sense of humor.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Friday, December 15, 2006
Buckle up. This one is bumpy.
The other day a friend and I were discussing how I'm doing. He said to me that he felt I was hiding something, that the situation was worse than I was letting on. I thought about that for a while. Am I hiding my true feelings from everyone? I don't think so. I'm very honest about the whole cancer situation, with everyone. But, at most times, I don't look or seem like someone greatly concerned for his health. I comprehend the enormity of my situation every minute of every day, but I choose to not let it affect my life. I choose to be happy and enjoy everything. I choose not to become emotional and break down in front of anyone. If I need to crawl into a fetal position and loose my mind, I'll do it on my own time, thank you very much. If I need to vent, I'll do it here.
And so here it is...
I had a ct scan on Monday to re-stage my tumors. I met with the surgeons at Sloan-Kettering yesterday. I won't be having surgery any time soon. There are a lot of details that led to this decision but I will spare you. Suffice it to say that chemo is my best option right now and so I start again next week.
That's the nuts and bolts of it. The facts. The basic plot of the day. Hidden in the shadows is a tale of almost unbearable anxiety. Yesterday was not a good day. I have a complete understanding of my situation, my cancer. I comprehend all the details, complexities and variables involved. At most times it is a bit surreal; I view it from the outside looking in. Yesterday's discussion with the surgeon forced me to face it all with a blinding reality. These doctors were open and frank and held nothing back. Yesterday was not a good day.
Again, I'll spare you the tedious details of the conversation and just give you what I'm left with. My cancer is not going away anytime soon. The main tumor is growing, quickly. In the last month and a half it has doubled in size. The affected lymph nodes have also grown. With my remaining treatment options there is just as much chance that I will be cured as I will not make it to see my next birthday. Yesterday was not a good day.
My sister sat there, angry, as she will get when confronted with a discussion which involves harm to someone she loves. Angry at the air, at the specter, not necessarily at the doctors, though they did take the brunt. I came close to falling to the ground, regressing to infancy, but could not as it would have brought my sister's anger to tears, and I will not be responsible for that.
This is now my friends. I'm angry, concerned, confused, and absolutely terrified. I'll go out tonight, have a good time with some friends, and then go home and try to sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat, and then chemo. That will be then.
And so here it is...
I had a ct scan on Monday to re-stage my tumors. I met with the surgeons at Sloan-Kettering yesterday. I won't be having surgery any time soon. There are a lot of details that led to this decision but I will spare you. Suffice it to say that chemo is my best option right now and so I start again next week.
That's the nuts and bolts of it. The facts. The basic plot of the day. Hidden in the shadows is a tale of almost unbearable anxiety. Yesterday was not a good day. I have a complete understanding of my situation, my cancer. I comprehend all the details, complexities and variables involved. At most times it is a bit surreal; I view it from the outside looking in. Yesterday's discussion with the surgeon forced me to face it all with a blinding reality. These doctors were open and frank and held nothing back. Yesterday was not a good day.
Again, I'll spare you the tedious details of the conversation and just give you what I'm left with. My cancer is not going away anytime soon. The main tumor is growing, quickly. In the last month and a half it has doubled in size. The affected lymph nodes have also grown. With my remaining treatment options there is just as much chance that I will be cured as I will not make it to see my next birthday. Yesterday was not a good day.
My sister sat there, angry, as she will get when confronted with a discussion which involves harm to someone she loves. Angry at the air, at the specter, not necessarily at the doctors, though they did take the brunt. I came close to falling to the ground, regressing to infancy, but could not as it would have brought my sister's anger to tears, and I will not be responsible for that.
This is now my friends. I'm angry, concerned, confused, and absolutely terrified. I'll go out tonight, have a good time with some friends, and then go home and try to sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat, and then chemo. That will be then.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
The duck goes quack. The cow goes moo.
Something isn't right. I can't put my finger on it, but I just don't feel right. I'm not physically ill, well, except for the cancer. I'm not depressed. I'm having a lot of trouble sleeping. I cannot escape my own synapses. The air is wrong. Warped. The hours don't make sense, and the minutes aren't talking.
I've entered a strange new phase of my carcinomic marathon. My current treatment only takes a few hours a week, and doesn't make me sick, so I'm back to working full weeks. Not only am I back at my desk, I've got new responsibilities, and have been thrown in, feet first, to the deep end of a huge project that has me working even on my days off. I've worked these types of projects before, I actually like it, but this is the first time I've had to work this hard, work all these extra hours, attend all these meetings, interact with all these people, and still remember that I have cancer. Most of my day is too busy for me to think about it, but the reality is that it is still there, the tumor is still there, the disease is still there. Most of the people I'm working with don't know about it. They are aware that I have an odd schedule, and that once a week I work from home, but I don't think they know why. I'm fighting dichotomies now. I'm well enough to work, and I'm good at it, but there are times when my body reminds me that I'm not well. I don't want the people I'm working with to expect any less of me because I'm sick, but I have to work even harder to compensate. I don't want to use cancer as an excuse, but at times it is a reason.
Over the last couple of months I've had to think a lot about the cancer that's left in my body. I've had to weigh the options of treatments. I won't know if this current drug is working on the tumor for a few weeks, but I suspect it isn't. I've decided I want this damn interloper out of me. I'm going to meet with a surgeon at Sloan-Kettering on December 14th. I expect that I will be going into surgery in January, most likely in NYC.
The Holidays are upon us. I won't even begin to try and explain what a tornado this is spinning in my imagination.
To all my friends, I wish you well. I hope to see some of you soon.
Billy
I've entered a strange new phase of my carcinomic marathon. My current treatment only takes a few hours a week, and doesn't make me sick, so I'm back to working full weeks. Not only am I back at my desk, I've got new responsibilities, and have been thrown in, feet first, to the deep end of a huge project that has me working even on my days off. I've worked these types of projects before, I actually like it, but this is the first time I've had to work this hard, work all these extra hours, attend all these meetings, interact with all these people, and still remember that I have cancer. Most of my day is too busy for me to think about it, but the reality is that it is still there, the tumor is still there, the disease is still there. Most of the people I'm working with don't know about it. They are aware that I have an odd schedule, and that once a week I work from home, but I don't think they know why. I'm fighting dichotomies now. I'm well enough to work, and I'm good at it, but there are times when my body reminds me that I'm not well. I don't want the people I'm working with to expect any less of me because I'm sick, but I have to work even harder to compensate. I don't want to use cancer as an excuse, but at times it is a reason.
Over the last couple of months I've had to think a lot about the cancer that's left in my body. I've had to weigh the options of treatments. I won't know if this current drug is working on the tumor for a few weeks, but I suspect it isn't. I've decided I want this damn interloper out of me. I'm going to meet with a surgeon at Sloan-Kettering on December 14th. I expect that I will be going into surgery in January, most likely in NYC.
The Holidays are upon us. I won't even begin to try and explain what a tornado this is spinning in my imagination.
To all my friends, I wish you well. I hope to see some of you soon.
Billy
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Now with even more blog..ish...ness...ity
The cancer battle continues. The rash crawling all over my body is getting a little better, certainly more tolerable. I haven't been sick since my last round of chemo. So things are looking up for now. I'll be able to enjoy the holidays at least.
In the last couple of years I've gone through a lot of new experiences. Being the cerebral person that I am, I have had a lot of fun examining everything from all possible sides. One of the more interesting scenarios I've run into is the reaction some people have when I tell them I have cancer. For those of you who aren't sure what to say;
What you should not say to someone who has just told you he has cancer:
"That's too bad. My father (mother, sister, mailman, dog, etc.) had cancer. He's (she's, it's) dead now." - Oh really? Is this supposed to be comforting? To this I usually reply "My uncle was walking around one day saying stupid shit. He's dead now."
"I'm sorry." - You can't possibly be apologizing to me! You didn't give me cancer. Or did you? If you're telling me you feel sorry for me, cut it out! I don't feel sorry for me. If you must, do it on your own time, I've got better things to do.
"Wow, you look pretty good for a guy with cancer." - Oh, but for a completely healthy person I look like total crap?
"You know, what you should do is..." - I appreciate your concern and good advice, I really do. But I'm the one that's been fighting cancer for two years now. Believe me, unless you have a secret cure for cancer that nobody knows about, if there is something I should, could, or would do, the suggestion has already crossed my path.
"God will get you through it." - No! My oncologist will get me through it. My surgeon will get me through it. I will get me through it. God is too busy laughing at the evangelicals. Besides, if I believe God will cure me, doesn't that mean I have to believe He's the one that gave it to me?
"That's horrible! I had a bad flu once." - ummmmmm......NO!
Things you should say to someone who has just told you he has cancer:
"Ooo, that sucks. Have a beer." - Yes, it does. And I like beer.
"I'll pray for you." - This is different from "God will get you through it." While I may be a heathen, if you have faith and it makes you feel better, go for it.
"Would you like free pie?" - I have cancer people, I'm not inhuman. Of course I'd like pie!
"How did you get it?" or "How bad is it?" - These are legitimate questions. And really, if there is anything I enjoy more than the sound of my own voice, it's the sound of my own voice telling a good story.
"So a priest, a rabbi, and a poodle walk into a bar..." - I enjoy a good joke. And this is a good time to make me laugh.
"That huge scar on your belly really turns me on. Take me now you sexy, sexy man." - You can say this to me if you are Heather, or Naomi, or Jodi, or Tracy, or Graz, or Ivy, or Meg or any other of my beautiful female friends. If you say it to me Dave, again, I'm gonna have to slap you.
In the last couple of years I've gone through a lot of new experiences. Being the cerebral person that I am, I have had a lot of fun examining everything from all possible sides. One of the more interesting scenarios I've run into is the reaction some people have when I tell them I have cancer. For those of you who aren't sure what to say;
What you should not say to someone who has just told you he has cancer:
"That's too bad. My father (mother, sister, mailman, dog, etc.) had cancer. He's (she's, it's) dead now." - Oh really? Is this supposed to be comforting? To this I usually reply "My uncle was walking around one day saying stupid shit. He's dead now."
"I'm sorry." - You can't possibly be apologizing to me! You didn't give me cancer. Or did you? If you're telling me you feel sorry for me, cut it out! I don't feel sorry for me. If you must, do it on your own time, I've got better things to do.
"Wow, you look pretty good for a guy with cancer." - Oh, but for a completely healthy person I look like total crap?
"You know, what you should do is..." - I appreciate your concern and good advice, I really do. But I'm the one that's been fighting cancer for two years now. Believe me, unless you have a secret cure for cancer that nobody knows about, if there is something I should, could, or would do, the suggestion has already crossed my path.
"God will get you through it." - No! My oncologist will get me through it. My surgeon will get me through it. I will get me through it. God is too busy laughing at the evangelicals. Besides, if I believe God will cure me, doesn't that mean I have to believe He's the one that gave it to me?
"That's horrible! I had a bad flu once." - ummmmmm......NO!
Things you should say to someone who has just told you he has cancer:
"Ooo, that sucks. Have a beer." - Yes, it does. And I like beer.
"I'll pray for you." - This is different from "God will get you through it." While I may be a heathen, if you have faith and it makes you feel better, go for it.
"Would you like free pie?" - I have cancer people, I'm not inhuman. Of course I'd like pie!
"How did you get it?" or "How bad is it?" - These are legitimate questions. And really, if there is anything I enjoy more than the sound of my own voice, it's the sound of my own voice telling a good story.
"So a priest, a rabbi, and a poodle walk into a bar..." - I enjoy a good joke. And this is a good time to make me laugh.
"That huge scar on your belly really turns me on. Take me now you sexy, sexy man." - You can say this to me if you are Heather, or Naomi, or Jodi, or Tracy, or Graz, or Ivy, or Meg or any other of my beautiful female friends. If you say it to me Dave, again, I'm gonna have to slap you.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Jell-o shots and the Democratic Party
For the most part, I have faith that this cancer can be beaten. I believe in my surgeon. I believe in my oncologist. I believe in the drugs I'm taking. Hell, I better, because they suck (more on that later). As with most issues of faith, I met a small crisis, I doubted those beliefs.
Last week I went to visit a doctor at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Hospital in New York. Sloan is widely known as one of the best cancer research hospitals in the world. Against my better judgment and usual pragmatic understanding, I had high hopes. I allowed myself, for the briefest of moments, to believe that if there were a Wizard, Sloan was Oz. The offices were pleasant, not clinical at all. The doctors seemed genuine and intelligent. The overall outcome, however, was less than stellar. The doctors I spoke to told me they agreed with my current course and thought I should follow it through. They also mentioned that I might have some other options, but for now we should "stay the course". And there it was... the absolute overwhelming presence of nothing. Nothing new. "Hey! You have cancer! And we're going to give you lots of nasty drugs, which may or may not help in the very least. Good Luck."
It's my own fault. I know better than to think that there is a silver bullet here. I understand the disease process as well as the steps taken to defeat it. I've been through this with my mother, I've been through it with her sister, and I've been through it myself. I know it's going to be a long road, and there are no easy answers. But, I dared to dream, which made the resounding thud of hitting back to earth even harder. Cancer is NOT an easy thing to beat. It takes physical and mental strength and resolve. It takes a family and friends. It takes years. I know all this. And just in case I had forgotten it, the fates sent me prophets in white coats to remind me.
The current drug I'm taking is called Erbitux. Compared to the gut wrenching, soul crushing chemo I've taken in the past, this isn't a horrible drug. I was warned that it would give me a rash. A fellow cancer fighter, whose sister Tracey loves him very very very much, had an experience with this drug last year. His rash became so bad that he could not even leave the house. How will it affect me? Well....let me tell you! It started out with some dry skin on my forehead and cheeks. It flaked, but didn't seem bad. Then it began to burn. not unbearable, irritating like a sun burn. Still, not bad. On Monday I got my second dose in as many weeks. This morning, when I woke up, my skin was cracked and caked with dried blood. My skin is hard and burning even more. Not the handsomest man to begin with, now I look like a leper with acne. Sure, sure...I have stuff to help with it. I have some cream to put on it, and the doc gave me some pills that might help, so really, what's so bad? A little burning and hideous features never hurt anyone. Right Mr. Merrick?
I have some decisions to make in the next couple of months regarding my treatment. For the first time in two years, I'm not sure I can do it. I'm not sure I can make the decisions. I'm not sure I can live through the decisions. The fight keeps getting harder and the results, less noticeable. How the hell did my mother do this for 7 years?
I might disappear for a while. I might not call or answer the phone. I might not blog anything. I might just crawl into my head, sit down to a nice dinner with my demons and discuss things with them. I'm sure they'll understand the need for civility. Maybe I'll put some Coltrane on in the back, they love jazz.
Of course, I might just smash a hole in my wall and continue to blabber on this blog. Choices...
Last week I went to visit a doctor at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Hospital in New York. Sloan is widely known as one of the best cancer research hospitals in the world. Against my better judgment and usual pragmatic understanding, I had high hopes. I allowed myself, for the briefest of moments, to believe that if there were a Wizard, Sloan was Oz. The offices were pleasant, not clinical at all. The doctors seemed genuine and intelligent. The overall outcome, however, was less than stellar. The doctors I spoke to told me they agreed with my current course and thought I should follow it through. They also mentioned that I might have some other options, but for now we should "stay the course". And there it was... the absolute overwhelming presence of nothing. Nothing new. "Hey! You have cancer! And we're going to give you lots of nasty drugs, which may or may not help in the very least. Good Luck."
It's my own fault. I know better than to think that there is a silver bullet here. I understand the disease process as well as the steps taken to defeat it. I've been through this with my mother, I've been through it with her sister, and I've been through it myself. I know it's going to be a long road, and there are no easy answers. But, I dared to dream, which made the resounding thud of hitting back to earth even harder. Cancer is NOT an easy thing to beat. It takes physical and mental strength and resolve. It takes a family and friends. It takes years. I know all this. And just in case I had forgotten it, the fates sent me prophets in white coats to remind me.
The current drug I'm taking is called Erbitux. Compared to the gut wrenching, soul crushing chemo I've taken in the past, this isn't a horrible drug. I was warned that it would give me a rash. A fellow cancer fighter, whose sister Tracey loves him very very very much, had an experience with this drug last year. His rash became so bad that he could not even leave the house. How will it affect me? Well....let me tell you! It started out with some dry skin on my forehead and cheeks. It flaked, but didn't seem bad. Then it began to burn. not unbearable, irritating like a sun burn. Still, not bad. On Monday I got my second dose in as many weeks. This morning, when I woke up, my skin was cracked and caked with dried blood. My skin is hard and burning even more. Not the handsomest man to begin with, now I look like a leper with acne. Sure, sure...I have stuff to help with it. I have some cream to put on it, and the doc gave me some pills that might help, so really, what's so bad? A little burning and hideous features never hurt anyone. Right Mr. Merrick?
I have some decisions to make in the next couple of months regarding my treatment. For the first time in two years, I'm not sure I can do it. I'm not sure I can make the decisions. I'm not sure I can live through the decisions. The fight keeps getting harder and the results, less noticeable. How the hell did my mother do this for 7 years?
I might disappear for a while. I might not call or answer the phone. I might not blog anything. I might just crawl into my head, sit down to a nice dinner with my demons and discuss things with them. I'm sure they'll understand the need for civility. Maybe I'll put some Coltrane on in the back, they love jazz.
Of course, I might just smash a hole in my wall and continue to blabber on this blog. Choices...
Thursday, November 02, 2006
I'm just the guy; who does the thing.
I was laying in bed last night, my mind wandering through every possible maze the universe has to offer when I found myself in a conversation with someone, explaining to them that I have cancer. Cancer. The word, though a major player in my vocabulary for several years, hit me harder than ever. I have cancer. You ever seen what this shit does to kids? (well, people, but the reference would have gotten lost if I didn't use "kids") Here I am, going onto my third year with this, and the width and breadth of the disease is just hitting me now?
I can see how this could happen. I've been so busy paying attention to my treatment, to my surgical recoveries, to getting through it, that I haven't actually looked at "it". Sure, it may seem as if I've had my head wrapped around it for quite some time, but looks like I've just been faking it. I can talk a good game.
I think, sometime in the next couple of weeks I'm going to find myself at my keyboard, late one night, spewing out another deep existential look at this whole mess, it's been a while. But for now I'll just give you an update on the facts of the case.
If you've been keeping up, you know that my tumor grew a little since July. My oncologist has started me on a new drug called erbitux. This drug is not a chemo therapy, it's what is called a "targeted" therapy. The drug is specifically targeting the tumor, and should not make me sick like chemo. It will, however, give me a fairly bad rash after a few weeks. As if I wasn't ugly enough.
I also spoke to my surgeon. He said that surgery might be a good option at this point. It would be major, and put me out for about a month, but it's on the list of options.
Tomorrow I am going to see a doctor at Sloan-Kettering. For those of you not familiar with this facility, it is one of the top cancer research institutes in the country. My oncologist suggested it, and he said that I'm a prime candidate for clinical trials. We'll see what they have to say.
In the mean time, I'm battling my demons left and right. I'm having trouble sleeping. I'm cranky, and tired and mad and just...well....just......arrrrggggggg
In the mean time I'm enjoying every moment I can! Personally I believe in the curing properties of beer.
love you all
I can see how this could happen. I've been so busy paying attention to my treatment, to my surgical recoveries, to getting through it, that I haven't actually looked at "it". Sure, it may seem as if I've had my head wrapped around it for quite some time, but looks like I've just been faking it. I can talk a good game.
I think, sometime in the next couple of weeks I'm going to find myself at my keyboard, late one night, spewing out another deep existential look at this whole mess, it's been a while. But for now I'll just give you an update on the facts of the case.
If you've been keeping up, you know that my tumor grew a little since July. My oncologist has started me on a new drug called erbitux. This drug is not a chemo therapy, it's what is called a "targeted" therapy. The drug is specifically targeting the tumor, and should not make me sick like chemo. It will, however, give me a fairly bad rash after a few weeks. As if I wasn't ugly enough.
I also spoke to my surgeon. He said that surgery might be a good option at this point. It would be major, and put me out for about a month, but it's on the list of options.
Tomorrow I am going to see a doctor at Sloan-Kettering. For those of you not familiar with this facility, it is one of the top cancer research institutes in the country. My oncologist suggested it, and he said that I'm a prime candidate for clinical trials. We'll see what they have to say.
In the mean time, I'm battling my demons left and right. I'm having trouble sleeping. I'm cranky, and tired and mad and just...well....just......arrrrggggggg
In the mean time I'm enjoying every moment I can! Personally I believe in the curing properties of beer.
love you all
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
A man is placed upon the steps, a baby cries
And here it is. I got the results from my PET scan yesterday. The tumor, that smarmy little 2cm x 3cm bugger that has taken up residence in my abdominal cavity decided to have a little feast and it put on some weight. It's now 3cm x 4cm. Yup, it got bigger.
There are plans. Good plans. Plans to do stuff. Stuff that should help. Of course, I've been living by plans for the last two years and I still have cancer. Sure, you wouldn't know it by looking at me; I've gained back weight, I'm getting around ok, I don't look sick. But, sure enough, I'm still a cancer patient.
I'll fill y'all in on the plans later. For now, I need to be the cancer guy that I don't like to be; the cancer guy I don't show you. The simpering, angry, scared guy. I figure I'll need at least the week before I get back to the screwed up normalcy that I've been living.
Love you all!
There are plans. Good plans. Plans to do stuff. Stuff that should help. Of course, I've been living by plans for the last two years and I still have cancer. Sure, you wouldn't know it by looking at me; I've gained back weight, I'm getting around ok, I don't look sick. But, sure enough, I'm still a cancer patient.
I'll fill y'all in on the plans later. For now, I need to be the cancer guy that I don't like to be; the cancer guy I don't show you. The simpering, angry, scared guy. I figure I'll need at least the week before I get back to the screwed up normalcy that I've been living.
Love you all!
Friday, October 13, 2006
Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain
Welcome to a mid-non-chemo-having-not-in-the-hospital-nothing-really-wrong-physically-week edition of my blog.
Today was the closest I've felt to "normal" in quite a long time. Surely I've had good weeks, even great weeks such as my recent vacation down at the Outer Banks, but today was almost back to the pre-cancer Billy. I was having trouble sleeping this week as I await the results of my recent PET scan, so last night I doubled up on the meds and took some ambien along with the normal dose of Tylenol PM, and I slept like the proverbial log. Since I got a good night's sleep, I was able to wake up early and get to work at a normal time. I also took the train to work. This is not the way it's been for the last couple of years. Usually I sleep a little later and drive into the office. But, back to my normal commute, I felt a little bit more like myself. I spent a full day in the office, another rarity these days, and then joined some friends after work for a birthday celebration. Back to my old self....sort of.
I noticed something tonight, something different about me. I've written before about the solitary nature of having cancer; about how it's a very personal situation. For the most part, this part of it has been fine with me, I'm a rather solitary person. I loved living by myself, and now that I have a roommate I often enjoy the idea that Vinny is never home, it's like living by myself. But there has been a change that in retrospect, started when I first got sick. I'm not so happy being alone anymore. All day I looked forward to being out with people, and when I was, I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to be alone. Taking a strong honest look at the situation, it seems that now, when I'm healthy enough to be active, I have an almost compulsion to be around other people. It's strange, this is not me, it's a little scary. I'm not afraid of being alone, at least I never was, and I am not overwhelmingly sad when I am alone, but still...there is something going on. I didn't want to leave my friends tonight. I even called and texted a few other friends. I felt something, I don't know what it was, but it was heavy, as I walked to the train station alone. I listened to some melancholy songs on the way home. And when I got off the train I called Dave because I knew that he would still be up. I called just to hear his voice. I called just so that I wasn't alone walking from the train station to my apartment. The phone call didn't last all that long, and I know that if Dave is reading this he's going to tell me "why didn't you just say that you wanted to talk? I would have stayed on the line with you." but Dave, don't worry. I'm just venting here.
I'm a strong person, and as you can tell from the things I've written before, I depend a lot on myself. It's not that I don't depend on other people, it's more that I don't feel like it's anyone else's responsibility to take care of me. My parents raised me well, and I am a man, so I should be able to take care of myself. I can remember the first time I was in the hospital. I was there for three months. It was great that during the day I had people around, lots of visitors. But, at the end of the day, when the sun was no longer streaming through my window, and the floor was quiet, I was alone, all alone. It was just me and the trauma that put me there. Those nights hurt. I've never told anyone this. I would get pretty freaked out looking around the empty, dark room, knowing that I had to get out, and I was really the only one that was going to make that happen.
In case I didn't mention this before, I'm a little drunk. I offer that as some excuse for the disjointed and probably incomprehensible thoughts I've presented here. I think what I'm trying to say is that there is a new part of me, a part that I'm not all that crazy about, that feels a need to be around people, and I'm having a lot of trouble dealing with it. It's not easy to say to someone "hey, can you come hang out with me? not do anything mind you, just be there, be a presence." I can't figure out why this should surface now, why cancer has brought this on me, but I'll figure it out.
Today was the closest I've felt to "normal" in quite a long time. Surely I've had good weeks, even great weeks such as my recent vacation down at the Outer Banks, but today was almost back to the pre-cancer Billy. I was having trouble sleeping this week as I await the results of my recent PET scan, so last night I doubled up on the meds and took some ambien along with the normal dose of Tylenol PM, and I slept like the proverbial log. Since I got a good night's sleep, I was able to wake up early and get to work at a normal time. I also took the train to work. This is not the way it's been for the last couple of years. Usually I sleep a little later and drive into the office. But, back to my normal commute, I felt a little bit more like myself. I spent a full day in the office, another rarity these days, and then joined some friends after work for a birthday celebration. Back to my old self....sort of.
I noticed something tonight, something different about me. I've written before about the solitary nature of having cancer; about how it's a very personal situation. For the most part, this part of it has been fine with me, I'm a rather solitary person. I loved living by myself, and now that I have a roommate I often enjoy the idea that Vinny is never home, it's like living by myself. But there has been a change that in retrospect, started when I first got sick. I'm not so happy being alone anymore. All day I looked forward to being out with people, and when I was, I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to be alone. Taking a strong honest look at the situation, it seems that now, when I'm healthy enough to be active, I have an almost compulsion to be around other people. It's strange, this is not me, it's a little scary. I'm not afraid of being alone, at least I never was, and I am not overwhelmingly sad when I am alone, but still...there is something going on. I didn't want to leave my friends tonight. I even called and texted a few other friends. I felt something, I don't know what it was, but it was heavy, as I walked to the train station alone. I listened to some melancholy songs on the way home. And when I got off the train I called Dave because I knew that he would still be up. I called just to hear his voice. I called just so that I wasn't alone walking from the train station to my apartment. The phone call didn't last all that long, and I know that if Dave is reading this he's going to tell me "why didn't you just say that you wanted to talk? I would have stayed on the line with you." but Dave, don't worry. I'm just venting here.
I'm a strong person, and as you can tell from the things I've written before, I depend a lot on myself. It's not that I don't depend on other people, it's more that I don't feel like it's anyone else's responsibility to take care of me. My parents raised me well, and I am a man, so I should be able to take care of myself. I can remember the first time I was in the hospital. I was there for three months. It was great that during the day I had people around, lots of visitors. But, at the end of the day, when the sun was no longer streaming through my window, and the floor was quiet, I was alone, all alone. It was just me and the trauma that put me there. Those nights hurt. I've never told anyone this. I would get pretty freaked out looking around the empty, dark room, knowing that I had to get out, and I was really the only one that was going to make that happen.
In case I didn't mention this before, I'm a little drunk. I offer that as some excuse for the disjointed and probably incomprehensible thoughts I've presented here. I think what I'm trying to say is that there is a new part of me, a part that I'm not all that crazy about, that feels a need to be around people, and I'm having a lot of trouble dealing with it. It's not easy to say to someone "hey, can you come hang out with me? not do anything mind you, just be there, be a presence." I can't figure out why this should surface now, why cancer has brought this on me, but I'll figure it out.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Just when you thought the salami was right
OK, let's talk cancer. I had chemo last week. I think my body is getting used to it. This isn't to say that the whole week was roses and strawberry jam, no chemo still sucks harder than a Dyson, but I didn't throw up, or really even feel like I was going to. Oh lordy, the things that are "good" in my life... I'm going to have a PET scan sometime in the next two weeks, and will get the results on the 16th. A PET scan involves injecting radioactive sugar into my blood stream and then using a large tube-like machine to take full color photos of my innards. If there are any cancer cells left, they will munch down on the sugar and it will "light up" on the scan.
I've written before about the scans. I've written before about the immense anxiety I go through while I'm waiting for the results. But it bears repeating. This is going to be a tough couple of weeks.
Again, for some unknown reason, the enormity of this whole thing hit me like a wet fish last week. CANCER!! If you're not careful, something like that can kill ya! I was gazing up at a beautiful blue sky when I had a very vivid recollection of the day I first found out I had cancer. I was surprised by a birthday party in Amsterdam. I was surprised that I made the all-star team in pee-wee football. I was surprised when I got my first set of SAT scores back. I was surprised when Allegra Smith asked me out. I was surprised when my cousin told me she was having a baby. NOTHING is quite like the surprise of finding out you have cancer. Trust me on that one. That was two years ago now. Two years. Two years pretty much lost to this whole fight. I've had my share of good times in the last two years, but mostly it's been about the cancer. Can you imagine loosing two years of your life? For a total of 6 months of those two years I was in a hospital bed or rehab facility. When I wasn't, I spent two or three weeks a month sick from the chemo. I'm 37 right now, but I don't remember what it was like to be 35 and 36. Those two years were simply exercises in tolerance, strength, coping, and quite possibly futility. I'm not feeling too positive about the scan. I don't think that the cancer has spread, or that I'm any worse off, but I simply can't believe that I'm rid of it. Don't get upset, I'm not. I'm not being fatalistic. Cancer is now part of my life, as is the cane I use to walk with. These are just the realities of my life, and I've accepted them.
I feel like I've droned on and on with this blog about the whole "carpe diem" thing, and about how fighting is worth the effort, and about how much I love all you guys and how much your support means to me, so for now I'll let that go. The next couple of weeks are going to include a lot of sleepless nights, maybe some drinking, certainly some football. You know, life as it is.
I've written before about the scans. I've written before about the immense anxiety I go through while I'm waiting for the results. But it bears repeating. This is going to be a tough couple of weeks.
Again, for some unknown reason, the enormity of this whole thing hit me like a wet fish last week. CANCER!! If you're not careful, something like that can kill ya! I was gazing up at a beautiful blue sky when I had a very vivid recollection of the day I first found out I had cancer. I was surprised by a birthday party in Amsterdam. I was surprised that I made the all-star team in pee-wee football. I was surprised when I got my first set of SAT scores back. I was surprised when Allegra Smith asked me out. I was surprised when my cousin told me she was having a baby. NOTHING is quite like the surprise of finding out you have cancer. Trust me on that one. That was two years ago now. Two years. Two years pretty much lost to this whole fight. I've had my share of good times in the last two years, but mostly it's been about the cancer. Can you imagine loosing two years of your life? For a total of 6 months of those two years I was in a hospital bed or rehab facility. When I wasn't, I spent two or three weeks a month sick from the chemo. I'm 37 right now, but I don't remember what it was like to be 35 and 36. Those two years were simply exercises in tolerance, strength, coping, and quite possibly futility. I'm not feeling too positive about the scan. I don't think that the cancer has spread, or that I'm any worse off, but I simply can't believe that I'm rid of it. Don't get upset, I'm not. I'm not being fatalistic. Cancer is now part of my life, as is the cane I use to walk with. These are just the realities of my life, and I've accepted them.
I feel like I've droned on and on with this blog about the whole "carpe diem" thing, and about how fighting is worth the effort, and about how much I love all you guys and how much your support means to me, so for now I'll let that go. The next couple of weeks are going to include a lot of sleepless nights, maybe some drinking, certainly some football. You know, life as it is.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
The yin and yang of things
Today is "Fulcrum Day". The center point of balance between two opposite sides of my life. Last week was wonderful!! This week will be horrible!!
I just got back from a week on vacation where there was, in no particular order; waves, beer, driving on the beach, Brits, beer, b-b-q, beer, a hot tub, throwing objects, ethnic insults, beer, belly laughs, beer, mosquitoes, stuffed shells, a doting mother, lots of pretty little college students, an ugly accident right in front of us, a waffle house, french toast, beer, nudity, Miller's Crossing, Danes, crossword puzzles, great friends, and beer.
This week is chemo.
There are a lot of things floating around my head right now. Some of them might even be brilliant insights into the working of the world, but I'm not in the sharing mood. I will say this however; I would do week after week of chemo in return for just one day of last week. It was that much fun. Family and Friends and good times are THE reasons to live.
Blah Blah Blah
I just got back from a week on vacation where there was, in no particular order; waves, beer, driving on the beach, Brits, beer, b-b-q, beer, a hot tub, throwing objects, ethnic insults, beer, belly laughs, beer, mosquitoes, stuffed shells, a doting mother, lots of pretty little college students, an ugly accident right in front of us, a waffle house, french toast, beer, nudity, Miller's Crossing, Danes, crossword puzzles, great friends, and beer.
This week is chemo.
There are a lot of things floating around my head right now. Some of them might even be brilliant insights into the working of the world, but I'm not in the sharing mood. I will say this however; I would do week after week of chemo in return for just one day of last week. It was that much fun. Family and Friends and good times are THE reasons to live.
Blah Blah Blah
Monday, September 04, 2006
would you be mine? could you be mine?
While this post may seem to bounce from point to point, be assured, in my chemo addled mind there is cohesion.
The plan, as of now, is I will have one more chemo treatment, after I return from vacation at the end of the month, and then scans. Those scans, those nerve wrecking, nausea inducing, anxiety ridden scans. I'm not feeling too positive about the scan. We've covered that ground before.
I'm a friggin emotional wreck right now. Sometimes I think my surgeon removed my testicles when he took half of my lower intestines. But, as it is, I'm bigger than most of you, except for Chris, so if you give me grief for crying like a little girl, I'll kick ya butt.
Thanks to all of you for your notes, I love hearing from you. I would like to say though, that in my last post I was not complaining about meeting women. Relationships are not on the menu right now (we'll get back to that in a second). I was actually perplexed by women, which is par for the course. And did anyone read the second post from that day? All of you wrote me about the first piece, telling me to man up and stride unto the breach, but nobody commented on my moment of perfection. People, people! I write these things for you, not just because I like the sound of my own fingers on the keyboard.
One subject I have not touched upon while sharing with you my dance with the disease, is relationships. I've talked about my family, and my friends, and interaction with other cancer patients, but I have, until this point, steered clear of any discussion involving a significant other, a girlfriend. Currently I am single. While I certainly have more pressing issues on my mind, somewhere in the back of the grey matter I am trying to deal with the concept of being sick and maintaining a relationship. For that brief while when I was in remission (that word just snakes out of the corner of my mouth with bitterness) I dated a lovely young lady, but it did not work out. At this time, and it's anyone's guess as to how long "this time" is going to last, I need to be selfish. I need to focus my energy on me, on winning, on recovering. It would be unfair to any woman for me to enter into a relationship without being able to offer her the attention, affection, and time required of a relationship. At the very least, I'm, at times, a useless lump who can do no more than sink into the couch and stare mindlessly at the tv. When I do have more energy, I still tend to nest. During the chemo, there are brief times when I'm physically able or willing to be an active and involved person. Certainly, love and affection can see past these mere inconveniences, but they are just some of the issues. My mind and soul need to assign themselves to myself, to the millions of ideas running through my mind, to the torrent of synapses in my brain. Sure, this is basically me in a nutshell to begin with, but the added 2 x 4 of this beat down drive with a tumor at the wheel makes me even more me. What woman deserves that?? I often wonder what this whole experience would be like if I was involved with someone when I first got sick. I'm not so sure I would be able to handle it. Actually, I KNOW I can't, that's the whole point here isn't it? Moving forward, I have many issues to deal with as well. The cancer isn't going away. I'm not ever going to be rid of it, I'll live with it, until I won't. There will be more chemos, maybe more surgeries. How's that for baggage? How do you bring that into a relationship? Damned if I know. Surely life and death are a part of any relationship, but with me it's going to be a more tangible aspect. I've never really thought about having a family, I always believed that if it happened that would be wonderful, but if not I was still a happy man. Now, I need to face that there is a very real chance that I will never have children. The chemo has, more than likely, left me with dead swimmers. And, if some of them happen to survive my poisoned cure, I have to grapple with the idea that I will pass this disease onto my children. I wouldn't wish this experience on anyone, and I am not about to thrust it upon my own offspring. I still believe that I don't need to have children or a family to make me happy, but they will be a blessing if they come. However, I'm a little pissed off that my choices are limited. It's a control thing.
The plan, as of now, is I will have one more chemo treatment, after I return from vacation at the end of the month, and then scans. Those scans, those nerve wrecking, nausea inducing, anxiety ridden scans. I'm not feeling too positive about the scan. We've covered that ground before.
I'm a friggin emotional wreck right now. Sometimes I think my surgeon removed my testicles when he took half of my lower intestines. But, as it is, I'm bigger than most of you, except for Chris, so if you give me grief for crying like a little girl, I'll kick ya butt.
Thanks to all of you for your notes, I love hearing from you. I would like to say though, that in my last post I was not complaining about meeting women. Relationships are not on the menu right now (we'll get back to that in a second). I was actually perplexed by women, which is par for the course. And did anyone read the second post from that day? All of you wrote me about the first piece, telling me to man up and stride unto the breach, but nobody commented on my moment of perfection. People, people! I write these things for you, not just because I like the sound of my own fingers on the keyboard.
One subject I have not touched upon while sharing with you my dance with the disease, is relationships. I've talked about my family, and my friends, and interaction with other cancer patients, but I have, until this point, steered clear of any discussion involving a significant other, a girlfriend. Currently I am single. While I certainly have more pressing issues on my mind, somewhere in the back of the grey matter I am trying to deal with the concept of being sick and maintaining a relationship. For that brief while when I was in remission (that word just snakes out of the corner of my mouth with bitterness) I dated a lovely young lady, but it did not work out. At this time, and it's anyone's guess as to how long "this time" is going to last, I need to be selfish. I need to focus my energy on me, on winning, on recovering. It would be unfair to any woman for me to enter into a relationship without being able to offer her the attention, affection, and time required of a relationship. At the very least, I'm, at times, a useless lump who can do no more than sink into the couch and stare mindlessly at the tv. When I do have more energy, I still tend to nest. During the chemo, there are brief times when I'm physically able or willing to be an active and involved person. Certainly, love and affection can see past these mere inconveniences, but they are just some of the issues. My mind and soul need to assign themselves to myself, to the millions of ideas running through my mind, to the torrent of synapses in my brain. Sure, this is basically me in a nutshell to begin with, but the added 2 x 4 of this beat down drive with a tumor at the wheel makes me even more me. What woman deserves that?? I often wonder what this whole experience would be like if I was involved with someone when I first got sick. I'm not so sure I would be able to handle it. Actually, I KNOW I can't, that's the whole point here isn't it? Moving forward, I have many issues to deal with as well. The cancer isn't going away. I'm not ever going to be rid of it, I'll live with it, until I won't. There will be more chemos, maybe more surgeries. How's that for baggage? How do you bring that into a relationship? Damned if I know. Surely life and death are a part of any relationship, but with me it's going to be a more tangible aspect. I've never really thought about having a family, I always believed that if it happened that would be wonderful, but if not I was still a happy man. Now, I need to face that there is a very real chance that I will never have children. The chemo has, more than likely, left me with dead swimmers. And, if some of them happen to survive my poisoned cure, I have to grapple with the idea that I will pass this disease onto my children. I wouldn't wish this experience on anyone, and I am not about to thrust it upon my own offspring. I still believe that I don't need to have children or a family to make me happy, but they will be a blessing if they come. However, I'm a little pissed off that my choices are limited. It's a control thing.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Two. Two. Two posts in one day!
While I've had wonderful relationships in the past, I am not what one would refer to as a "ladies man". I'm absolutely horrible at meeting women. I have no self confidence when it comes to my appearance, and as we all know regardless of one's character or charisma, it is the eye that generates initial attraction. One evening I was out with Dave, who has what we refer to as "game". There were a few ladies at a table near by who had gained our interest. Dave and I had a few beers, occasionally looking over at the young women, but did not make any moves. While I had stepped away to visit the restroom, Dave had begun a conversation with the girls, and when I returned, they were all sitting at our table. Of course Dave was charming and funny, and the girls seemed to be having a good time. After the initial small talk had worked it's way around the table, one of the girls said to me "We were checking you guys out all night. We wanted to come over and talk to you both, but we were afraid of you." Afraid of me?? That seems to be the consensus. I offer all this as a prelude so that you understand what comes next is honest and free of ego.
Friday evening I was out with a couple of friends of mine at a bar in Jersey City. We had found our way to this particular pub so that we could watch Evander Hollyfield make his best effort at a comeback. There was a rather attractive looking woman who caught my eye. From time to time I glanced over and it looked to me as if she was actually checking me out. Of course, having no confidence, I figured she was just interested in whatever was behind me. After a while my companions began to notice her as well. They both felt that she was indeed looking at me, and with some interest. After a while, it was fairly obvious. But I have no game, and so the evening ended without any sort of connection being made. Tonight, as I sat by myself, enjoying a meal and some football, I again noticed that I caught the eye of a woman at the bar. Again, we never even as much as said hello. I understand my own shortcomings, but to my female friends I pose this question; What the hell??? We are living in the 21st century now. Is it still unacceptable for a woman to make a move? I have a couple of female friends who during discussions of courting, sound as if they are living in the 1950's (you know who you are KP and CG). The feel it is totally incumbent upon the man to make any sort of move. They refuse to be the first to flirt, or to approach a stranger and introduce themselves. And these are incredibly beautiful, smart, and otherwise strong women. In every other part of their lives they take control, but when it comes to meeting men, they remain subservient. Sure, I should work on my game. I should grab the bull by the horns. I should get off my ass and make a move. But, I'm still perplexed by this dichotomy of the female character. Anyone have an explanation? Heather? Jody? Helen? Kaycee? Anyone????
Friday evening I was out with a couple of friends of mine at a bar in Jersey City. We had found our way to this particular pub so that we could watch Evander Hollyfield make his best effort at a comeback. There was a rather attractive looking woman who caught my eye. From time to time I glanced over and it looked to me as if she was actually checking me out. Of course, having no confidence, I figured she was just interested in whatever was behind me. After a while my companions began to notice her as well. They both felt that she was indeed looking at me, and with some interest. After a while, it was fairly obvious. But I have no game, and so the evening ended without any sort of connection being made. Tonight, as I sat by myself, enjoying a meal and some football, I again noticed that I caught the eye of a woman at the bar. Again, we never even as much as said hello. I understand my own shortcomings, but to my female friends I pose this question; What the hell??? We are living in the 21st century now. Is it still unacceptable for a woman to make a move? I have a couple of female friends who during discussions of courting, sound as if they are living in the 1950's (you know who you are KP and CG). The feel it is totally incumbent upon the man to make any sort of move. They refuse to be the first to flirt, or to approach a stranger and introduce themselves. And these are incredibly beautiful, smart, and otherwise strong women. In every other part of their lives they take control, but when it comes to meeting men, they remain subservient. Sure, I should work on my game. I should grab the bull by the horns. I should get off my ass and make a move. But, I'm still perplexed by this dichotomy of the female character. Anyone have an explanation? Heather? Jody? Helen? Kaycee? Anyone????
The boat goes up, the boat goes down.
No cancer news today. Things haven't changed much. Cancer sucks...blah blah blah. I really REALLY don't want to go back to chemo next week. Blah Blah Blah.
Bayonne is a bit of an enigma. It is in the most densely populated county in the country, but because of it's geographical isolation it tries hard to separate itself from the hordes up north. Bayonne makes an effort to stay a small town community in a metropolis that is often considered the 6th borough of Manhattan. While there are two McDonald's, a Burger King and a Wendy's, Bayonne has long resisted the allure of chains. We got our first Dunkin Donuts last year, along with the first ever movie theater. A week ago, Bayonne entered the realm of "Strip Mall New Jersey" with it's very own Houlihan's. A landmark day in Bayonne history.
Sure, my life may seem the stuff of legends, but in reality it is often boring and banal. Today was just a day, like all others. I had nothing planned and nothing special materialized. I was bumming around my apartment, bored and hungry, and decided to head on over to the newest restaurant in town. So, I picked up a Sunday New York Times and drove on over to Houlihan's. So far, based on the facts at hand, nobody would ever derive that I would encounter the most perfect confluence of events that could befall me. I certainly didn't see it coming. I grabbed a seat at the bar, ordered up a Blue Moon and took a look at the menu. No surprises there, after all, it is Houlihan's. The bartender took my order and in short enough time my steak had arrived. I asked if they could put the Jets game on the tv closest to my range of vision and they obliged. The bar was full, the restaurant was hopping, but still, at this point, there was no indication that in a few minutes I would be dead center of an unimaginable set of circumstances. I had breezed through a few sections of the Times and was working my way through the Book Review. A few bites of meat washed down with a fine ale, turn the page, take a look at the score. Seemingly innocuous, correct? I began to read a review of a biography when I sat back and took stock at what had opened before me. The review was about a book entitled The Knight Who Became King Arthur's Chronicler by Christina Hardyment. The book was about Sir Thomas Mallory, who apparently was a bit of a thug, but also produced one of the most wonderful pieces of poetry with his work Morte d' Arthur. (I have a lot of thoughts on this particular issue, but I'll save it for another time) And there it was; the most beautiful combination of my life's interests. Steak, Beer, Footbal, and Mid-Millennium British Epic Poetry! The only way it could have been better is if, somehow, I was having sex at the same moment. There's something to strive for I suppose.
Bayonne is a bit of an enigma. It is in the most densely populated county in the country, but because of it's geographical isolation it tries hard to separate itself from the hordes up north. Bayonne makes an effort to stay a small town community in a metropolis that is often considered the 6th borough of Manhattan. While there are two McDonald's, a Burger King and a Wendy's, Bayonne has long resisted the allure of chains. We got our first Dunkin Donuts last year, along with the first ever movie theater. A week ago, Bayonne entered the realm of "Strip Mall New Jersey" with it's very own Houlihan's. A landmark day in Bayonne history.
Sure, my life may seem the stuff of legends, but in reality it is often boring and banal. Today was just a day, like all others. I had nothing planned and nothing special materialized. I was bumming around my apartment, bored and hungry, and decided to head on over to the newest restaurant in town. So, I picked up a Sunday New York Times and drove on over to Houlihan's. So far, based on the facts at hand, nobody would ever derive that I would encounter the most perfect confluence of events that could befall me. I certainly didn't see it coming. I grabbed a seat at the bar, ordered up a Blue Moon and took a look at the menu. No surprises there, after all, it is Houlihan's. The bartender took my order and in short enough time my steak had arrived. I asked if they could put the Jets game on the tv closest to my range of vision and they obliged. The bar was full, the restaurant was hopping, but still, at this point, there was no indication that in a few minutes I would be dead center of an unimaginable set of circumstances. I had breezed through a few sections of the Times and was working my way through the Book Review. A few bites of meat washed down with a fine ale, turn the page, take a look at the score. Seemingly innocuous, correct? I began to read a review of a biography when I sat back and took stock at what had opened before me. The review was about a book entitled The Knight Who Became King Arthur's Chronicler by Christina Hardyment. The book was about Sir Thomas Mallory, who apparently was a bit of a thug, but also produced one of the most wonderful pieces of poetry with his work Morte d' Arthur. (I have a lot of thoughts on this particular issue, but I'll save it for another time) And there it was; the most beautiful combination of my life's interests. Steak, Beer, Footbal, and Mid-Millennium British Epic Poetry! The only way it could have been better is if, somehow, I was having sex at the same moment. There's something to strive for I suppose.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Red Rover Left XL 7 on three. On three.
My cancer story has not changed much in the last few weeks. I am still going to chemo, and it still is a very unpleasant experience. I think I have three more treatments and then we will do another scan to see how well the drugs are working. There is the possibility of more surgery, but I'm really not interested in going that route. When I was first diagnosed, I believed that surgery was the best course of action. But now, after having gone through two major surgeries, and a few minor ones, I'm not in such a hurry to go through that again. In the mean time, it's just business as usual. I appreciate all of you who check up on me and drop me notes. It really is a big boost to my psyche to hear from you all.
and now for some random thoughts;
"Overwhelming sense of impending doom"
When I first started in the EMS field, EMT school taught me all the basic skills needed to be a good EMT, but my buddy Mike taught me the street skills required to make me a great EMT. One of the first things Mike shared with me , something they don't mention at all in school, is that sometimes people just die. You can do everything that you have been trained to do, but for some people, when it is their time to go, it is simply their time to go. Some people are well aware of it as well. Some patients, when you first encounter them, will look at you and say "I'm going to die". As an EMT, you know that this is going to be a rough call. A patient may experience some pain or discomfort, probably cardiac in nature, but it is the "overwhelming sense of impending doom" that brings them to this conclusion. When a patient is calm and composed and says to you "I'm going to die" without emotion or distress, they are usually right.
In paramedic school they told us about the "overwhelming sense of impending doom". While the term sounds straight forward and obvious, the true sense of it is not. You can parse the words and understand the meaning of the term, but you cannot empathize with the sensation. People try to describe it, but often they simply say "I know what it is, but I can't tell you what what it is. I'm going to die". I know now what they are talking about.
Last week I was out with a friend, taking advantage of life while I can. We were sitting at a bar when a strong feeling seized me, an overwhelming sense of impending doom. I stood there, quiet and still, viewing the scene around me as if filmed through a distorted lens. Time stopped. My brain was overloaded with images and thoughts. I believe I even felt my cancer. The music dulled. I could feel my the whites of my eyes turning grey, tears pushing at the ducts. I was not afraid, or upset, but I could sense my mortality, my place in the world, my beeingness. Eventually it subsided, and thankfully I didn't break out bawling hysterically. I composed myself and went on with the evening. Of course, I didn't think I was going to die, at least not at that moment. It was quite the experience though, and I'm still trying to figure it out.
and now for some random thoughts;
"Overwhelming sense of impending doom"
When I first started in the EMS field, EMT school taught me all the basic skills needed to be a good EMT, but my buddy Mike taught me the street skills required to make me a great EMT. One of the first things Mike shared with me , something they don't mention at all in school, is that sometimes people just die. You can do everything that you have been trained to do, but for some people, when it is their time to go, it is simply their time to go. Some people are well aware of it as well. Some patients, when you first encounter them, will look at you and say "I'm going to die". As an EMT, you know that this is going to be a rough call. A patient may experience some pain or discomfort, probably cardiac in nature, but it is the "overwhelming sense of impending doom" that brings them to this conclusion. When a patient is calm and composed and says to you "I'm going to die" without emotion or distress, they are usually right.
In paramedic school they told us about the "overwhelming sense of impending doom". While the term sounds straight forward and obvious, the true sense of it is not. You can parse the words and understand the meaning of the term, but you cannot empathize with the sensation. People try to describe it, but often they simply say "I know what it is, but I can't tell you what what it is. I'm going to die". I know now what they are talking about.
Last week I was out with a friend, taking advantage of life while I can. We were sitting at a bar when a strong feeling seized me, an overwhelming sense of impending doom. I stood there, quiet and still, viewing the scene around me as if filmed through a distorted lens. Time stopped. My brain was overloaded with images and thoughts. I believe I even felt my cancer. The music dulled. I could feel my the whites of my eyes turning grey, tears pushing at the ducts. I was not afraid, or upset, but I could sense my mortality, my place in the world, my beeingness. Eventually it subsided, and thankfully I didn't break out bawling hysterically. I composed myself and went on with the evening. Of course, I didn't think I was going to die, at least not at that moment. It was quite the experience though, and I'm still trying to figure it out.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Insert non-sequitur here
I've always had a strong fondness for ceremony and tradition. From the ceremonies of the Boy Scouts, to the rituals of Kappa Alpha, to the observances of the Knights of Columbus, I've been involved in many services that have meaning to me. There is a communal beauty in these events that tie together humanity across eons. While I hold the ideology of individuality and personal beliefs as sacred, I also find importance in the commonality of all people; that which makes us human.
One of the hardest parts of dealing with my cancer is that it has taken from me what is most important; me. It has changed me. I struggle every day to maintain my own identity in the face of the overwhelming changes over which I have no control. I now have scars where there were none. I walk with a permanent limp. I will always be at risk. In a very real way, parts of me are missing. My surgeon has spent over twentyfour hours inside my body; we're very close. All of these changes are difficult, but I can overcome them in time. Frustration ensues however when in the midst of trying to regain myself, chemo continually throws walls in my path. Three steps forward, two steps back. Not only does chemo remind me on a regular basis that my life is not my own right now, it smacks me hard with additional challenges. I've described, in glowing detail, the debilitating effects of the drugs, but my descriptions don't truly do it justice. Chemo dips into an already depleted soul and steals what Billyness it can.
In an effort to regain any amount of myself that is possible, I turn to ceremony. When I'm finally able to eat again, I take up a small affectation; I drink from a rocks glass. A rocks glass is a small, squat glass used for "on the rocks" drinks or mixed drinks like an Old Fashioned. I usually start by drinking a lot of water or Gatorade. My taste buds are generally skewed at this point, and cold liquids actually feel strange in my mouth, but water rehydrates me, and eventually helps to clear the uneasy tastes from my palate. As my body recovers more, I like to drink club soda. The carbonation also seems to help realign my taste buds. The night before I'm ready to head back to my own home, I fill my rocks glass with a cold, refreshing beer.
While the liquids help get my body back in gear, there is something about that glass that helps Billy feel like Billy. The heft of the base, the fit of my hand around it, the look of the fluid swirling around the glass all ties me into some regularity of life. At Bethany the crew used to have cocktail parties; ceremonial throw backs to the days when Hemingway and Faulkner would whip them out for the tape measure. We still have them now, saucy little jaunts in Troy's basement. Dave, a master of tradition and ceremony can often be found swirling the brown stuff around clean cubes loaded into a rocks glass. One of my favorite soliloquies from The West Wing tells of the allure of the sound of an ice cube ritually dropped from the perfect height into the glass. The Roman Senate had it's steps, but American society has always grown, developed, and changed on the stools of our taverns. From working in bars in my twenties, to frequenting watering holes in my thirties, the long oak of a pub had always been my choice location for gathering with friends. When the fog of chemo starts to clear, and the drugs just start to loose their edge, I break out those glasses from my father's cupboard and push myself back to myself. One of the strangest parts of this whole scenario for me is that I don't usually drink hard liquor or mixed drinks that would be associated with a rocks glass; I prefer beer, usually from a bottle. It's simply another quirk that has popped up since I got sick. It's a small habit, a bit of silly ceremony, a seemingly insignificant mannerism, but at this point, every little bit helps.
While I have your attention, allow me to share with you one of the many ridiculous items of society that infuriate me. Today you don't need to actually do something to be famous. The masses of mouth breathers have thrust fame upon a certain young blond whose only achievement of note seems to be that she is genetically linked to people who actually used ambition and self determination to create a hotel empire. Now it seems to take even less!! In this month's edition of Playboy is a girl who looks like the aforementioned anomaly. Allow me to repeat that with clarity; she is famous for LOOKING LIKE someone who is famous for no reason at all.
One of the hardest parts of dealing with my cancer is that it has taken from me what is most important; me. It has changed me. I struggle every day to maintain my own identity in the face of the overwhelming changes over which I have no control. I now have scars where there were none. I walk with a permanent limp. I will always be at risk. In a very real way, parts of me are missing. My surgeon has spent over twentyfour hours inside my body; we're very close. All of these changes are difficult, but I can overcome them in time. Frustration ensues however when in the midst of trying to regain myself, chemo continually throws walls in my path. Three steps forward, two steps back. Not only does chemo remind me on a regular basis that my life is not my own right now, it smacks me hard with additional challenges. I've described, in glowing detail, the debilitating effects of the drugs, but my descriptions don't truly do it justice. Chemo dips into an already depleted soul and steals what Billyness it can.
In an effort to regain any amount of myself that is possible, I turn to ceremony. When I'm finally able to eat again, I take up a small affectation; I drink from a rocks glass. A rocks glass is a small, squat glass used for "on the rocks" drinks or mixed drinks like an Old Fashioned. I usually start by drinking a lot of water or Gatorade. My taste buds are generally skewed at this point, and cold liquids actually feel strange in my mouth, but water rehydrates me, and eventually helps to clear the uneasy tastes from my palate. As my body recovers more, I like to drink club soda. The carbonation also seems to help realign my taste buds. The night before I'm ready to head back to my own home, I fill my rocks glass with a cold, refreshing beer.
While the liquids help get my body back in gear, there is something about that glass that helps Billy feel like Billy. The heft of the base, the fit of my hand around it, the look of the fluid swirling around the glass all ties me into some regularity of life. At Bethany the crew used to have cocktail parties; ceremonial throw backs to the days when Hemingway and Faulkner would whip them out for the tape measure. We still have them now, saucy little jaunts in Troy's basement. Dave, a master of tradition and ceremony can often be found swirling the brown stuff around clean cubes loaded into a rocks glass. One of my favorite soliloquies from The West Wing tells of the allure of the sound of an ice cube ritually dropped from the perfect height into the glass. The Roman Senate had it's steps, but American society has always grown, developed, and changed on the stools of our taverns. From working in bars in my twenties, to frequenting watering holes in my thirties, the long oak of a pub had always been my choice location for gathering with friends. When the fog of chemo starts to clear, and the drugs just start to loose their edge, I break out those glasses from my father's cupboard and push myself back to myself. One of the strangest parts of this whole scenario for me is that I don't usually drink hard liquor or mixed drinks that would be associated with a rocks glass; I prefer beer, usually from a bottle. It's simply another quirk that has popped up since I got sick. It's a small habit, a bit of silly ceremony, a seemingly insignificant mannerism, but at this point, every little bit helps.
While I have your attention, allow me to share with you one of the many ridiculous items of society that infuriate me. Today you don't need to actually do something to be famous. The masses of mouth breathers have thrust fame upon a certain young blond whose only achievement of note seems to be that she is genetically linked to people who actually used ambition and self determination to create a hotel empire. Now it seems to take even less!! In this month's edition of Playboy is a girl who looks like the aforementioned anomaly. Allow me to repeat that with clarity; she is famous for LOOKING LIKE someone who is famous for no reason at all.
Monday, July 24, 2006
This one just rambles on without cohesion.
When I started this blog I really did intend to write often and on a regular schedule. As with most other things in my life though, I've had to switch my plans around quite a bit as new and different circumstances arise. There are two main reasons why I write here; first is to keep my friends that I don't actually speak to all that often, informed of my situation, the second reason is that it is a catharsis, a way for me to confront my own personal issues. Seeing my feelings written out in my own words often helps me to cope with them.
The last couple of weeks have been, to say the least, difficult. You may remember that the last bit of news from my oncologist was not very promising. My last dose of chemo hit me pretty hard, but I do have to admit that I think I recovered from it fairly well. It seems that my body may be getting used to some of the side effects, and is able to correct itself a little quicker. It's been 7 months of chemo now, so I say it's about time!
Life is to be lived. Surely it may seem cliche to say, but every day is new and offers new opportunity. I have always believed that I should grab as much from world as I am able. When I'm in a positive mood I feel like the cancer has just slowed me down only a bit, taken but a week out of my life every now and then. It can't stop me. But...then...there are the days. The days I take a deep breath and realize the reality of the situation. The reality of what cancer can do to a body. The reality of what the chemo does to me. The reality of my own mortality. I've had my days of tears tempered with the company of good friends. I've had the moments of dread eased with times of play. I've had the depression of my illness balanced with the manic sessions of hilarity. In the last couple of weeks I've had sleepless nights, moments of exhaustion, physical manifestations of fear, severe pain in my leg, headaches, and numerous gi issues. I've also had a great time with Chris as we went to see Clerks II, a couple of nights out at a local tavern with Paul and Adam and Joe and Mike and Michael-Ann, a quite night in with Kathy, and some good days at work. For a guy with tumors floating around his body, I've been very busy boy.
I'm not quite sure what I want you to know by telling you all of this. Honestly and simply, I'm sick, and I'm scared, and I'm worried, but I'm trying my best to live a life worthy of the fight I give to live that life.
When I die, I don't want a funeral. I'm not very religious, so the ceremony of a Catholic mass is not important to me. I don't want to be buried, I want to be cremated. I don't want my ashes put in a mausoleum, I want the spread, everywhere. What I do want is a party, a huge party, with all my family and friends, good food and lots of beer. I like beer. You may all take a brief moment to cry for my loss, but not too long. I want you all to sit around, feasting and drinking and telling stories. This is how I want to live my life, and so this is how you can best show respect to me when that life is done. I'm not saying that I am going to die any time soon, though that is a real possibility. I'm just telling you all this because I want it down in writing, I want it well known. This way, when the time comes, there is no question about my wishes.
As always I would like to thank those of you who check this blog from time to time, and especially those who drop me a note. As I struggle, all of you give me strength to fight. Lance, I love you like a brother.
The last couple of weeks have been, to say the least, difficult. You may remember that the last bit of news from my oncologist was not very promising. My last dose of chemo hit me pretty hard, but I do have to admit that I think I recovered from it fairly well. It seems that my body may be getting used to some of the side effects, and is able to correct itself a little quicker. It's been 7 months of chemo now, so I say it's about time!
Life is to be lived. Surely it may seem cliche to say, but every day is new and offers new opportunity. I have always believed that I should grab as much from world as I am able. When I'm in a positive mood I feel like the cancer has just slowed me down only a bit, taken but a week out of my life every now and then. It can't stop me. But...then...there are the days. The days I take a deep breath and realize the reality of the situation. The reality of what cancer can do to a body. The reality of what the chemo does to me. The reality of my own mortality. I've had my days of tears tempered with the company of good friends. I've had the moments of dread eased with times of play. I've had the depression of my illness balanced with the manic sessions of hilarity. In the last couple of weeks I've had sleepless nights, moments of exhaustion, physical manifestations of fear, severe pain in my leg, headaches, and numerous gi issues. I've also had a great time with Chris as we went to see Clerks II, a couple of nights out at a local tavern with Paul and Adam and Joe and Mike and Michael-Ann, a quite night in with Kathy, and some good days at work. For a guy with tumors floating around his body, I've been very busy boy.
I'm not quite sure what I want you to know by telling you all of this. Honestly and simply, I'm sick, and I'm scared, and I'm worried, but I'm trying my best to live a life worthy of the fight I give to live that life.
When I die, I don't want a funeral. I'm not very religious, so the ceremony of a Catholic mass is not important to me. I don't want to be buried, I want to be cremated. I don't want my ashes put in a mausoleum, I want the spread, everywhere. What I do want is a party, a huge party, with all my family and friends, good food and lots of beer. I like beer. You may all take a brief moment to cry for my loss, but not too long. I want you all to sit around, feasting and drinking and telling stories. This is how I want to live my life, and so this is how you can best show respect to me when that life is done. I'm not saying that I am going to die any time soon, though that is a real possibility. I'm just telling you all this because I want it down in writing, I want it well known. This way, when the time comes, there is no question about my wishes.
As always I would like to thank those of you who check this blog from time to time, and especially those who drop me a note. As I struggle, all of you give me strength to fight. Lance, I love you like a brother.
Monday, July 10, 2006
...and then he said "No way! Penguins just aren't my thing."
Today will be brief. You'll see why.
Vacation was wonderful. It was gray, and rained most days, but being with my family was a lot of fun. I'll try and post more about this later.
I had some good experiences last week as well. I'll try and get to those later.
And now onto the whole reason I started this thing; the cancer. I got the results of my latest cat/pet scan today before my chemo injections. The good news is that the cancer is still there. Hmm...that's not so good actually. Ok, the good news is that I'm going to continue chemo for another two or three months. Wow, that's not so good either. How about this; the good news is that they are going to be more aggressive and raise the dose on the chemo. Yeah, ok, looks like there is no good news.
I'm sure there is some good news in all of this somewhere. Sugary, sappy, happy-hug-the-world-touchy-feely-at-least-you're-alive good news. And I suppose the fact that nothing grew or spread, and that the doctor feels that the chemo is actually working, is good news. But for today, as I sit here beginning to feel the onset of the chemo side effects, I'm going to be sad and upset and downtrodden and bleak. I don't think I'll be allowed to be for much longer, so I'll just enjoy my misery.
carpe diem, and all that jazz
Vacation was wonderful. It was gray, and rained most days, but being with my family was a lot of fun. I'll try and post more about this later.
I had some good experiences last week as well. I'll try and get to those later.
And now onto the whole reason I started this thing; the cancer. I got the results of my latest cat/pet scan today before my chemo injections. The good news is that the cancer is still there. Hmm...that's not so good actually. Ok, the good news is that I'm going to continue chemo for another two or three months. Wow, that's not so good either. How about this; the good news is that they are going to be more aggressive and raise the dose on the chemo. Yeah, ok, looks like there is no good news.
I'm sure there is some good news in all of this somewhere. Sugary, sappy, happy-hug-the-world-touchy-feely-at-least-you're-alive good news. And I suppose the fact that nothing grew or spread, and that the doctor feels that the chemo is actually working, is good news. But for today, as I sit here beginning to feel the onset of the chemo side effects, I'm going to be sad and upset and downtrodden and bleak. I don't think I'll be allowed to be for much longer, so I'll just enjoy my misery.
carpe diem, and all that jazz
Friday, June 23, 2006
Here we sit like birds in the wilderness
ok...cancer stuff first. I'm feeling pretty good, both physically and mentally. My pet scan is on the 3rd, and then the results and next round of chemo on the 10th. Keep your fingers crossed!
I'm leaving tomorrow morning for a week in North Carolina. I'm really looking forward to this vacation. For the next 7 days I do not have cancer! No doctors, no chemo, no sickness, no cancer! Probably no new posts either, so I'll see ya in a week!
I'm leaving tomorrow morning for a week in North Carolina. I'm really looking forward to this vacation. For the next 7 days I do not have cancer! No doctors, no chemo, no sickness, no cancer! Probably no new posts either, so I'll see ya in a week!
Monday, June 19, 2006
One of my favorite stories is Kurt Vonnegut's "Billy The Poet"
First off, the cancer. It sucks. Chemo sucks. I have a scan on the 3rd of July, and even if it comes back clean, I still have at least two more treatments to go. The doctor has also decided that I’m a tough guy, so I can handle a little more on the dosage. Of course, I’m no crybaby, so I told him it’s ok. A couple of times last week I was hit with the whole “fatal disease” thing, and started thinking about how bad this could be. I haven’t slept in a while.
As some of you may know, I have a dog named Kirby, who been with my father since I was in Europe, right before I got sick. Kirby is a pit bull. She is 80 pounds of muscle, and a little fat, that believes she’s a 10 pound lap dog. She is an affectionate oaf. While I’m lying on the couch, with barely enough energy to keep my eyes open, Kirby will waddle over and flop her haunches on the floor next to me, just to say “I’m here”. If she senses that I am a little stronger, and willing to share her affection, she will nudge her nose under my arm with the gentleness of a mother with her babe. She will slide herself under until there contact between myself and the top of her head. She demands no more. She doesn’t urge me to pet her, or rub her belly, or play with her, she simply asks for a single point of contact, a simple touch.
The sense of human touch, and all the strength and comfort it can convey, has fallen victim to a society that increasingly overvalues the importance of personal space. While not strictly the domain of the Sicilians, touch is a very important part of our interpersonal relationships. In my family, amongst every member regardless of gender or age or interval of time between meetings, a hug and a kiss on the cheek is an autonomic response to a greeting, a well cooked meal, a touchdown by a favorite team, or a passionate discussion regarding how kids have it easier these days. When sitting on the bench after striking out, my father’s hands upon my shoulders gave me encouragement. When my cousins teased me, a hefty arm around my chest from my Uncle Tony gave me strength. When some ailment had knocked me out, my mother’s hands rubbed across my back eased my ills. At those times when I am lucky enough to have someone special in my life, the simple caress of a woman’s hand over mine, or the soft drop of her lips upon my cheek can be filled with the intensity of a thunderstorm and the gentleness of a summer breeze. At the top of my head is a spot about the size of a dime, a sweet small spot, that when lightly touched, as a fingernail slowly drawn across it, will place me in such a state of relaxation and contentedness that I feel safe and sound from any harm the world may have planned for me.
As I lay on the bed, curled under blankets, distraught by the cold and nausea and the pain of my treatment, the enormity of my father’s love, felt through the easy touch of his hand on my arm, urges me forward. As my mind is clouded and my will sapped, I can regain so much hope when my sister sits at my side, and I place my head in her lap. And when I am well, in those few days I am allowed to be myself, a warm hug with friends reminds me of why I fight. An entire universe is created in a single point of contact.
As some of you may know, I have a dog named Kirby, who been with my father since I was in Europe, right before I got sick. Kirby is a pit bull. She is 80 pounds of muscle, and a little fat, that believes she’s a 10 pound lap dog. She is an affectionate oaf. While I’m lying on the couch, with barely enough energy to keep my eyes open, Kirby will waddle over and flop her haunches on the floor next to me, just to say “I’m here”. If she senses that I am a little stronger, and willing to share her affection, she will nudge her nose under my arm with the gentleness of a mother with her babe. She will slide herself under until there contact between myself and the top of her head. She demands no more. She doesn’t urge me to pet her, or rub her belly, or play with her, she simply asks for a single point of contact, a simple touch.
The sense of human touch, and all the strength and comfort it can convey, has fallen victim to a society that increasingly overvalues the importance of personal space. While not strictly the domain of the Sicilians, touch is a very important part of our interpersonal relationships. In my family, amongst every member regardless of gender or age or interval of time between meetings, a hug and a kiss on the cheek is an autonomic response to a greeting, a well cooked meal, a touchdown by a favorite team, or a passionate discussion regarding how kids have it easier these days. When sitting on the bench after striking out, my father’s hands upon my shoulders gave me encouragement. When my cousins teased me, a hefty arm around my chest from my Uncle Tony gave me strength. When some ailment had knocked me out, my mother’s hands rubbed across my back eased my ills. At those times when I am lucky enough to have someone special in my life, the simple caress of a woman’s hand over mine, or the soft drop of her lips upon my cheek can be filled with the intensity of a thunderstorm and the gentleness of a summer breeze. At the top of my head is a spot about the size of a dime, a sweet small spot, that when lightly touched, as a fingernail slowly drawn across it, will place me in such a state of relaxation and contentedness that I feel safe and sound from any harm the world may have planned for me.
As I lay on the bed, curled under blankets, distraught by the cold and nausea and the pain of my treatment, the enormity of my father’s love, felt through the easy touch of his hand on my arm, urges me forward. As my mind is clouded and my will sapped, I can regain so much hope when my sister sits at my side, and I place my head in her lap. And when I am well, in those few days I am allowed to be myself, a warm hug with friends reminds me of why I fight. An entire universe is created in a single point of contact.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Don't come around here no more
I had chemo today. Did all the usual stuff; met with the doctor, talked about future treatments, got my poison, came home. I'm not feeling too bad physically, but I know that'll all change tomorrow.
Today I'm going to be terse, and devoid of any creative prose. Of all the emotions I've touched on in this blog, anger has had the least coverage. It's not really that I haven't shared with you my anger, but I've actually not been that angry. I think being angry is useless and detrimental. I try to let it go, to not hold a grudge, to not let things get to me. But dammit, I'm pissed off!!
My doctor told me today that there will be at least two more chemo treatments, even if my scan on July 3rd is clean. I know that I wrote that I expected this outcome, but COME ON!! I'm not mad at him, or my dad, though the two of them bore the brunt when I yelled something ridiculous and incoherent at them in the office. I'm not mad at god, or GOD, for giving me the disease. I'm not mad at the nurses who smile sweetly while injecting the poison in my veins, nor am I mad at this screwed up website that somehow lost the original version of this post that took me two hours to write just now, but I'm friggin pissed at something, that's for damn sure.
This whole thing is just really getting on my nerves. Why the hell did this happen to me?? I've done some screwed up things in my life, I'll be the first to admit it, but certainly nothing to deserve this. When is it going to end?? All the friggin surgery, two rounds of chemo, and the outlook doesn't offer a break, EVER! This is how my life is going to be from now until the day those little bastard cancer cells decide to take over everything. Sure, maybe it won't kill me. Maybe they'll just take out the rest of my colon and replace it with a handy bag I can wear on my hip to carry my shit around. That will be great, the chicks love that. Or maybe they'll find some other organ to invade, and I can spend the rest of my life hooked up to a machine. That should make camping much more fun.
On top of all the wonderful physical hurdles I'm going to endure the next few days, I'm going to have to try very hard not to go off on my dad. He doesn't make me angry, but he's the one that's here. Of course it's not fair, but he loves me enough to understand that I'm not angry at him, just angry, and frustrated, and overwhelmed, and beat down, and scared, angry. Did I mention I'm angry?
I want to pound out so much more on this keyboard, but my mind is just not firing right now. There is this Kubrick-world haze around me and I'm not sure what I'm thinking.
A small disclaimer; I understand, and very much appreciate all the love and consideration you my friends have shown me. I know that some of you read my posts and want to just reach out and care for me right away, and that's fantastic. But don't worry about me. Don't think I'm laying around on my dad's couch thinking about going outside and killing some squirrels. Don't think for even a second that I'm going to let this beat me down. I'll be fine, I will. But for today I need to be pissed off.
Today I'm going to be terse, and devoid of any creative prose. Of all the emotions I've touched on in this blog, anger has had the least coverage. It's not really that I haven't shared with you my anger, but I've actually not been that angry. I think being angry is useless and detrimental. I try to let it go, to not hold a grudge, to not let things get to me. But dammit, I'm pissed off!!
My doctor told me today that there will be at least two more chemo treatments, even if my scan on July 3rd is clean. I know that I wrote that I expected this outcome, but COME ON!! I'm not mad at him, or my dad, though the two of them bore the brunt when I yelled something ridiculous and incoherent at them in the office. I'm not mad at god, or GOD, for giving me the disease. I'm not mad at the nurses who smile sweetly while injecting the poison in my veins, nor am I mad at this screwed up website that somehow lost the original version of this post that took me two hours to write just now, but I'm friggin pissed at something, that's for damn sure.
This whole thing is just really getting on my nerves. Why the hell did this happen to me?? I've done some screwed up things in my life, I'll be the first to admit it, but certainly nothing to deserve this. When is it going to end?? All the friggin surgery, two rounds of chemo, and the outlook doesn't offer a break, EVER! This is how my life is going to be from now until the day those little bastard cancer cells decide to take over everything. Sure, maybe it won't kill me. Maybe they'll just take out the rest of my colon and replace it with a handy bag I can wear on my hip to carry my shit around. That will be great, the chicks love that. Or maybe they'll find some other organ to invade, and I can spend the rest of my life hooked up to a machine. That should make camping much more fun.
On top of all the wonderful physical hurdles I'm going to endure the next few days, I'm going to have to try very hard not to go off on my dad. He doesn't make me angry, but he's the one that's here. Of course it's not fair, but he loves me enough to understand that I'm not angry at him, just angry, and frustrated, and overwhelmed, and beat down, and scared, angry. Did I mention I'm angry?
I want to pound out so much more on this keyboard, but my mind is just not firing right now. There is this Kubrick-world haze around me and I'm not sure what I'm thinking.
A small disclaimer; I understand, and very much appreciate all the love and consideration you my friends have shown me. I know that some of you read my posts and want to just reach out and care for me right away, and that's fantastic. But don't worry about me. Don't think I'm laying around on my dad's couch thinking about going outside and killing some squirrels. Don't think for even a second that I'm going to let this beat me down. I'll be fine, I will. But for today I need to be pissed off.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Dating tip #20: Never tell her she looks like her mom
Let me start with a brief update. I'm doing pretty well today, that is, I'm having a good DAY. My life is lived in 24 hour chunks right now, each day being different than the preceding. I had chemo last Tuesday, and the week went as expected; tired, nauseous, achy, blah blah blah. The plan, for now, is to slug down another dose of that poison next week, Monday the 12th, then rest up for a little vacation with the family. On the 25th I'll be packing up the Jeep, dropping the top, and heading down to Southern Shores North Carolina, to spend a week at the beach. I'll be driving down with my dad, and spending the week with my family, yup, my family, the Lamazza side, the endangered species. That should lead to some very interesting blogs. Stay tuned. When I return, some time during the first week of July, I'll be heading in for a PET scan. The scan should give us a good idea of how the chemo has worked. If all goes well, and I mean very well, the scan will show that there is no cancer left, and I will be done with chemo. Of course, this is not the outcome I expect. I'm pretty sure I'll have a couple more rounds in July, but I suppose anything is possible.
A couple of weeks ago I met with a new cardiologist. I had to present him with the saga that has been my life for the last couple of years. Among other medical queries, he asked if I was seeing a shrink. When I told him no, he asked if I wanted to. Again I said no.
This is not the first time someone has suggested therapy. My family and friends and other doctors have made similar inquiries in the past. The suggestions have not been born of any specific concern for my behavior. I have not shown signs of nor been significantly depressed. As I explained to the doctor, of course I have moments of being upset, and the occasional sleepless night (ok, sleepless weeks) but it's not been anything I couldn't handle. My mind, just as my body and this disease, is mine to deal with. I have a very strong sense of personal responsibility. I used to think I got this from my father, but the more I deal with him in his "retirement" years, the more I'm convinced it was my mother that instilled this particular belief in me. (love ya dad!)You get a cold; you take medicine and rest. You fall down and sprain your wrist; you get up and deal with the pain. You make a mistake; you fix it. You want to go out and have fun with your friends; you get a job and earn your way. You are accountable for your life! It is the saddest failure of humanity to shirk this responsibility, and this failure is the greatest detriment to society as a whole. Sadly, today, we are living in a world where personal responsibility is not cultivated or held in any esteem. Any dolt can instigate litigation for events they themselves have brought on. People are not held accountable for their actions because some horrible experience befell them when they were a child. It is acceptable, and even encouraged, to find external causes for internal problems. Even our government, when faced with incontrovertible facts that show they have made grievous mistakes, will not accept responsibility and instead use fear tactics and political doublespeak to quell the raging masses. But I digress.
My family has always been big on talking. Ok, we're Sicilian, so we've always been big on talking LOUDLY. My mother and I talked about almost everything. The night after my uncle Tony died, I was about 13, I had a very long conversation with mom. We talked about the myriad of emotions washing over my family at the time. We were sad, we were angry, we were mournful, we were confused. She said that it was ok to have all these emotions and that the best way to deal with them was to talk to those we love, but that it was of the utmost importance that we did actually deal with them. When my grandmother died, my mother's mother, I talked to my dad about it. This was the first time I remembered seeing my father truly upset about the loss of a loved one. When my aunt JoAnne died, my mother's sister, I talked to her husband and daughter. We even went to a grief counseling meeting. While I've always been very close to Charly, and have shared a lot with her, this was definitely a first for me and my uncle Bill. When my mother died (as I've written previously, the Lamazzas are a dying breed) I talked to my sister, my father, and my very close friends Chris and Pete and Sean and... When I was working EMS, there were many instances when the job took a hit on my psyche. Sometimes, after a particularly bad MCI, different agencies would offer counseling, particularly after 9/11. My comrades and I often gathered for group therapy at the Park Tavern Psychological Retreat and Mental Hospital and worked through our issues with the aid of medicinal ales,occasionall nudity, and rhytmlesss dancing upon tables. After that happy-go-lucky gastroenterologist came bounding into my hospital room and smilingly pronounced "so! you have cancer!" I got right on the phone and called Dave (for those who need reminding, he had cancer when he was a youngin as well). Since then, I've been talking to anyone who would listen, and thankfully there have been many of you. This is how I have taken responsibility for my mental well being. I post this blog, I get drunk and make my British friends cry, I whine breathlessly to friends on the phone, I throw around my opinion about how people should live with cancer on a few message boards, and I lay my head on my sisters lap and whine that I can't do this any more. This is my therapy. I do not mean to imply that therapy is not a valid and beneficial exercise. I know that for many people it is a very powerful way to help maintain their lives. I am simply saying that I have my method, for my life, to manage my pain. There may come a time when I think it is all too overwhelming, and perhaps I should see a shrink, but I'm sure I'll talk to someone about it first.
A couple of weeks ago I met with a new cardiologist. I had to present him with the saga that has been my life for the last couple of years. Among other medical queries, he asked if I was seeing a shrink. When I told him no, he asked if I wanted to. Again I said no.
This is not the first time someone has suggested therapy. My family and friends and other doctors have made similar inquiries in the past. The suggestions have not been born of any specific concern for my behavior. I have not shown signs of nor been significantly depressed. As I explained to the doctor, of course I have moments of being upset, and the occasional sleepless night (ok, sleepless weeks) but it's not been anything I couldn't handle. My mind, just as my body and this disease, is mine to deal with. I have a very strong sense of personal responsibility. I used to think I got this from my father, but the more I deal with him in his "retirement" years, the more I'm convinced it was my mother that instilled this particular belief in me. (love ya dad!)You get a cold; you take medicine and rest. You fall down and sprain your wrist; you get up and deal with the pain. You make a mistake; you fix it. You want to go out and have fun with your friends; you get a job and earn your way. You are accountable for your life! It is the saddest failure of humanity to shirk this responsibility, and this failure is the greatest detriment to society as a whole. Sadly, today, we are living in a world where personal responsibility is not cultivated or held in any esteem. Any dolt can instigate litigation for events they themselves have brought on. People are not held accountable for their actions because some horrible experience befell them when they were a child. It is acceptable, and even encouraged, to find external causes for internal problems. Even our government, when faced with incontrovertible facts that show they have made grievous mistakes, will not accept responsibility and instead use fear tactics and political doublespeak to quell the raging masses. But I digress.
My family has always been big on talking. Ok, we're Sicilian, so we've always been big on talking LOUDLY. My mother and I talked about almost everything. The night after my uncle Tony died, I was about 13, I had a very long conversation with mom. We talked about the myriad of emotions washing over my family at the time. We were sad, we were angry, we were mournful, we were confused. She said that it was ok to have all these emotions and that the best way to deal with them was to talk to those we love, but that it was of the utmost importance that we did actually deal with them. When my grandmother died, my mother's mother, I talked to my dad about it. This was the first time I remembered seeing my father truly upset about the loss of a loved one. When my aunt JoAnne died, my mother's sister, I talked to her husband and daughter. We even went to a grief counseling meeting. While I've always been very close to Charly, and have shared a lot with her, this was definitely a first for me and my uncle Bill. When my mother died (as I've written previously, the Lamazzas are a dying breed) I talked to my sister, my father, and my very close friends Chris and Pete and Sean and... When I was working EMS, there were many instances when the job took a hit on my psyche. Sometimes, after a particularly bad MCI, different agencies would offer counseling, particularly after 9/11. My comrades and I often gathered for group therapy at the Park Tavern Psychological Retreat and Mental Hospital and worked through our issues with the aid of medicinal ales,occasionall nudity, and rhytmlesss dancing upon tables. After that happy-go-lucky gastroenterologist came bounding into my hospital room and smilingly pronounced "so! you have cancer!" I got right on the phone and called Dave (for those who need reminding, he had cancer when he was a youngin as well). Since then, I've been talking to anyone who would listen, and thankfully there have been many of you. This is how I have taken responsibility for my mental well being. I post this blog, I get drunk and make my British friends cry, I whine breathlessly to friends on the phone, I throw around my opinion about how people should live with cancer on a few message boards, and I lay my head on my sisters lap and whine that I can't do this any more. This is my therapy. I do not mean to imply that therapy is not a valid and beneficial exercise. I know that for many people it is a very powerful way to help maintain their lives. I am simply saying that I have my method, for my life, to manage my pain. There may come a time when I think it is all too overwhelming, and perhaps I should see a shrink, but I'm sure I'll talk to someone about it first.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
I'm too tired
Today's post is going to be a compilation of excerpts from other pieces I've written. The first is from an email I sent to my friend Jen in Texas.
When I was growing up I spent quite a few summers at a camp in Pennsylvania called Rock Hill. At the center of the camp was a peaceful and placid body of water known as Lake Ruskin. The lake sat in a valley, the bottom of a bowl comprised of coniferous trees, local vegetation and indigenous fauna. One of my favorite pastimes was to climb the waterfront watch tower, while the lake was vacant, and simply watch the tree lined shores hug the water. When the conditions were right; early morning hours, ambient and water temperatures at precise competing degrees, and the barometer hanging at a specific point, a wonderful fog would be created. The thin veil would begin at the top of the tree line and then slowly creep over the edge of the bowl and slide down towards the lake from every direction. With the sun beginning to rise over the horizon, the fog would dissipate the light and offer up shadows dancing among the forest, heading toward the water. Gradually, even purposefully, the fog would skulk from the shores and eventually meet itself so that it totally cloaked the lake. The sun would climb higher, and with every inch of its ascension, it would burn a little more fog from its play upon the lake, until, as quickly as it appeared, it evaporated into the air to nap again until the next time.
I had my chemo treatment today. While this is a wonderful memory from my youth, it is also an accurate description of how the poison meant to kill my cancer is affecting me. I donÂ’t feel horrible right now, but with every hour that goes by today, I can see the sickness coming. My mind is beginning to muddle. Even as I write this, I struggle with spelling and grammar. I still have an appetite, but I know that will disappear and I wonÂ’t eat for a few days. I donÂ’t feel tired right now, but I know that when I lay myself down tonight, my body wonÂ’t rise again for at least 16 hours. I donÂ’t have a lot of pain, but I know tomorrow when I eventually wake up I will have a lot of trouble walking.
The next section is from a posting I wrote for The Colon Club. A young woman was just diagnosed and she was looking for support and asked "Why do you fight?" This was my response.
Two years ago, at 35, I was dx with stage IV colon cancer. IÂ’ve been through the ringer since then, as have many of the people offering you support here at the Colon Club. Currently I am going through my second round of chemo. In those two years I have found many reasons to quit; the nausea, the stomach problems, the pain of surgery, the emotional darkness and sadness. Here is why I do it:
In the last two years;
One day I laughed my ass off as I watched my three year old godson smack himself in the head with a tetherball for 10 minutes.
One day I had the strength to take the top down on my Jeep and drive in the sun.
One day I hung out with old friends and got so drunk I fell on my ass.
One day I flirted with and kissed passionately a wonderful woman.
One day my sister got married.
One day my father actually brought the things I asked him for to my hospital room.
One day I lost a bundle in Atlantic City.
One day I played hide and seek with my friend's two year old daughter.
I fight for one day.
When I was growing up I spent quite a few summers at a camp in Pennsylvania called Rock Hill. At the center of the camp was a peaceful and placid body of water known as Lake Ruskin. The lake sat in a valley, the bottom of a bowl comprised of coniferous trees, local vegetation and indigenous fauna. One of my favorite pastimes was to climb the waterfront watch tower, while the lake was vacant, and simply watch the tree lined shores hug the water. When the conditions were right; early morning hours, ambient and water temperatures at precise competing degrees, and the barometer hanging at a specific point, a wonderful fog would be created. The thin veil would begin at the top of the tree line and then slowly creep over the edge of the bowl and slide down towards the lake from every direction. With the sun beginning to rise over the horizon, the fog would dissipate the light and offer up shadows dancing among the forest, heading toward the water. Gradually, even purposefully, the fog would skulk from the shores and eventually meet itself so that it totally cloaked the lake. The sun would climb higher, and with every inch of its ascension, it would burn a little more fog from its play upon the lake, until, as quickly as it appeared, it evaporated into the air to nap again until the next time.
I had my chemo treatment today. While this is a wonderful memory from my youth, it is also an accurate description of how the poison meant to kill my cancer is affecting me. I donÂ’t feel horrible right now, but with every hour that goes by today, I can see the sickness coming. My mind is beginning to muddle. Even as I write this, I struggle with spelling and grammar. I still have an appetite, but I know that will disappear and I wonÂ’t eat for a few days. I donÂ’t feel tired right now, but I know that when I lay myself down tonight, my body wonÂ’t rise again for at least 16 hours. I donÂ’t have a lot of pain, but I know tomorrow when I eventually wake up I will have a lot of trouble walking.
The next section is from a posting I wrote for The Colon Club. A young woman was just diagnosed and she was looking for support and asked "Why do you fight?" This was my response.
Two years ago, at 35, I was dx with stage IV colon cancer. IÂ’ve been through the ringer since then, as have many of the people offering you support here at the Colon Club. Currently I am going through my second round of chemo. In those two years I have found many reasons to quit; the nausea, the stomach problems, the pain of surgery, the emotional darkness and sadness. Here is why I do it:
In the last two years;
One day I laughed my ass off as I watched my three year old godson smack himself in the head with a tetherball for 10 minutes.
One day I had the strength to take the top down on my Jeep and drive in the sun.
One day I hung out with old friends and got so drunk I fell on my ass.
One day I flirted with and kissed passionately a wonderful woman.
One day my sister got married.
One day my father actually brought the things I asked him for to my hospital room.
One day I lost a bundle in Atlantic City.
One day I played hide and seek with my friend's two year old daughter.
I fight for one day.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
He coughed up socks! 3 pairs of socks!!
First off, let me say that 'Batman Begins' is a fantastic movie!
Now, onto today's notes.
I've been ridiculously happy lately. On the train home from work on Monday, I couldn't help but smile, simply because the sky was a brilliant blue. Last weekend I hung out with Dougie and Naomi, and had a ball, even when I began a drunken rant about life, perspective, cancer and death. Silly boy.
I'm beginning to think I'm manic/depressive. (for those of you who take everything I say to heart, and worry about me too much, I don't really think I'm manic/depressive) My recent delirium and happiness at every little thing is a far cry from two weeks ago when I thought the world was closing in on me, and that I should just get ready for the kegger at my coffin. I know that I've written before about finding happiness in the every day, that life is in the details, but this past week was a little different. I didn't have to look for the happiness in the minutiae, it was the minutiae that made me happy. Genuinely happy!! Smile on my face, song in my heart, spring in my step happy! Not bad for a guy with a potentially fatal disease, huh?
Next week is chemo again. And the next couple may be a bit harsh, as I'm not getting the extra week in between treatments, you know, the third week, this week, the week that I'm really happy. So......stay tuned for a couple of weeks of lousy writing and depressing thoughts. I'm gearing up for it now. I'm packing all my black clothes for my dad's house. I can't wait to be depressed again! (again, for those of you that worry too much, that is sarcasm)
While I'm in a good mood, allow me a moment to thank you all again for your support. Greg, thanks for writing. Lance, I'm absolutely amazed with the regularity with which you follow this blog. Chris, well.....Sunday bro, let's go! Helen, you are beautiful, in every way, and I miss you and can't wait to get back to Amsterdam to see ya. Heather, oh dear dear heather, if only San Francisco and Bayonne were not so far apart. You're the bee's knees!
Of course, to those of you who check it out, but I'm not aware of, thank you all for your concern. I consider myself quite blessed to have such friends.
Now, onto today's notes.
I've been ridiculously happy lately. On the train home from work on Monday, I couldn't help but smile, simply because the sky was a brilliant blue. Last weekend I hung out with Dougie and Naomi, and had a ball, even when I began a drunken rant about life, perspective, cancer and death. Silly boy.
I'm beginning to think I'm manic/depressive. (for those of you who take everything I say to heart, and worry about me too much, I don't really think I'm manic/depressive) My recent delirium and happiness at every little thing is a far cry from two weeks ago when I thought the world was closing in on me, and that I should just get ready for the kegger at my coffin. I know that I've written before about finding happiness in the every day, that life is in the details, but this past week was a little different. I didn't have to look for the happiness in the minutiae, it was the minutiae that made me happy. Genuinely happy!! Smile on my face, song in my heart, spring in my step happy! Not bad for a guy with a potentially fatal disease, huh?
Next week is chemo again. And the next couple may be a bit harsh, as I'm not getting the extra week in between treatments, you know, the third week, this week, the week that I'm really happy. So......stay tuned for a couple of weeks of lousy writing and depressing thoughts. I'm gearing up for it now. I'm packing all my black clothes for my dad's house. I can't wait to be depressed again! (again, for those of you that worry too much, that is sarcasm)
While I'm in a good mood, allow me a moment to thank you all again for your support. Greg, thanks for writing. Lance, I'm absolutely amazed with the regularity with which you follow this blog. Chris, well.....Sunday bro, let's go! Helen, you are beautiful, in every way, and I miss you and can't wait to get back to Amsterdam to see ya. Heather, oh dear dear heather, if only San Francisco and Bayonne were not so far apart. You're the bee's knees!
Of course, to those of you who check it out, but I'm not aware of, thank you all for your concern. I consider myself quite blessed to have such friends.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Don't drink the milk. It's spearled.
ca·thar·sis (ku-thär-sĭs)
Psychology.
A technique used to relieve tension and anxiety by bringing repressed feelings and fears to consciousness.
The therapeutic result of this process; abreaction.
And then, there it is. A little bad news may hover grey clouds around me for a few days, but they tend to dissipate. The last couple of years have been the total cliche "emotional rollercoaster". Not long after I typed my previous "my life sucks and it's black all black nothing but black" post I checked the message boards at the Colon Club. There was a posting there from a young woman who was recently diagnosed. She was frightened and worn out by the overwhelming circumstances under which she now finds herself. She asked our little support group, what was it that made us fight? I thought about it for a while, and penned a gloriously poetic response, sure to tug at the heart strings and inspire even the most downtrodden. (why yes, I do have a rather high opinion of myself)
It took a little time, but I'm back to my fighting self. I've regained my sunny outlook on life and what is important to me. Damned be this disease and the horse it rode in on. Even if I do die soon, at least I've already dressed up like little school girl and danced in the rain through the streets of Barcelona. Everyone should.
Psychology.
A technique used to relieve tension and anxiety by bringing repressed feelings and fears to consciousness.
The therapeutic result of this process; abreaction.
And then, there it is. A little bad news may hover grey clouds around me for a few days, but they tend to dissipate. The last couple of years have been the total cliche "emotional rollercoaster". Not long after I typed my previous "my life sucks and it's black all black nothing but black" post I checked the message boards at the Colon Club. There was a posting there from a young woman who was recently diagnosed. She was frightened and worn out by the overwhelming circumstances under which she now finds herself. She asked our little support group, what was it that made us fight? I thought about it for a while, and penned a gloriously poetic response, sure to tug at the heart strings and inspire even the most downtrodden. (why yes, I do have a rather high opinion of myself)
It took a little time, but I'm back to my fighting self. I've regained my sunny outlook on life and what is important to me. Damned be this disease and the horse it rode in on. Even if I do die soon, at least I've already dressed up like little school girl and danced in the rain through the streets of Barcelona. Everyone should.
Monday, May 15, 2006
Fourteen clowns can't be wrong.
Not too long ago I had a conversation with a friend during which I mentioned the idea of moving to Europe, Amsterdam specifically. She asked me if I was serious, as if perhaps I was just speaking in the abstract. When I told her that I was serious, she was surprised. "What about your family? Your friends?" she asked. In turn, I was surprised. I thought that she knew me well enough to expect that I would be serious about such an idea.
I've always loved to travel and visit new places. I went to college in West Virginia, twice, have been across the country a few times, and have spent some time in Europe. While, up until this point, I have always returned to my little corner of New Jersey, I would not hesitate to take up residence some place else. I love my family dearly, and am very close to my friends, but it is this deep bond to all of them that allows me to venture to new places. My family and my friends will always be there for me, and I for them. And they all understand my nature. I have felt this way my whole life.
Perhaps it is the reassurance in the fact that I can always come home that has enabled me to feel I am not for ever tethered to New Jersey. I've always felt the possibility exists. I don't worry about how I will make my way, or where I will go, I am confident in myself and know that I can always make my life work. I've never seriously seen any impediment. Until now. Of course, that impediment, is my cancer.
During my last visit with my oncologist, it was suggested that I might not ever be free of this disease. It seems that I may never be rid of it, and may only keep it at bay, contained in small amounts, ever lurking, waiting to screw up my life. For ever. All of a sudden I have a leash. I have to worry about a job, so that I can afford my treatment. I have to be close to my doctors. I will need people to take care of me. If you know anything about me, you know that it is an incredibly difficult thing for me to need people to take care of me.
I had a mildly cohesive thought for this post. I have a million thoughts racing through my mind. I am angry at absolutely nothing, and worried that I am going to be taken over with sadness. I have no direction for my words right now, but I needed to write them out.
I've always loved to travel and visit new places. I went to college in West Virginia, twice, have been across the country a few times, and have spent some time in Europe. While, up until this point, I have always returned to my little corner of New Jersey, I would not hesitate to take up residence some place else. I love my family dearly, and am very close to my friends, but it is this deep bond to all of them that allows me to venture to new places. My family and my friends will always be there for me, and I for them. And they all understand my nature. I have felt this way my whole life.
Perhaps it is the reassurance in the fact that I can always come home that has enabled me to feel I am not for ever tethered to New Jersey. I've always felt the possibility exists. I don't worry about how I will make my way, or where I will go, I am confident in myself and know that I can always make my life work. I've never seriously seen any impediment. Until now. Of course, that impediment, is my cancer.
During my last visit with my oncologist, it was suggested that I might not ever be free of this disease. It seems that I may never be rid of it, and may only keep it at bay, contained in small amounts, ever lurking, waiting to screw up my life. For ever. All of a sudden I have a leash. I have to worry about a job, so that I can afford my treatment. I have to be close to my doctors. I will need people to take care of me. If you know anything about me, you know that it is an incredibly difficult thing for me to need people to take care of me.
I had a mildly cohesive thought for this post. I have a million thoughts racing through my mind. I am angry at absolutely nothing, and worried that I am going to be taken over with sadness. I have no direction for my words right now, but I needed to write them out.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Ups and downs, it's just the way.
So, it's been a while since I posted. Let's see what I've got to say.
Last week was fantastic. I hung out with some old friends, made some new ones, went to a birthday party, Atlantic City, and a Christening. I flirted, got drunk, fell down, got sunburned, lost a few bucks, and did a lot of driving. This is life. But, on Sunday, even though I had all of these wonderful experiences, that black cloud settled over me, for Monday was back to chemo.
I met with my oncologist and told him about the issues I had after my last treatment. He again told me that he doesn't want to so negatively impact my quality of life and decided to lower the dose again. There were some other discussions about my cancer in general, which I'm not quite happy with, but I'm going to mull it over a bit before I talk about it. I'm not doing too bad right now, the lower dose seems to have helped.
There is a lot running through my head right now, including the chemo, so I'm not quite sure how I feel. I just wanted to get something down on this post and tell you all that I love you and to thank you for all your support. Hopefully by the end of this week I'll be a little bit more clear.
Last week was fantastic. I hung out with some old friends, made some new ones, went to a birthday party, Atlantic City, and a Christening. I flirted, got drunk, fell down, got sunburned, lost a few bucks, and did a lot of driving. This is life. But, on Sunday, even though I had all of these wonderful experiences, that black cloud settled over me, for Monday was back to chemo.
I met with my oncologist and told him about the issues I had after my last treatment. He again told me that he doesn't want to so negatively impact my quality of life and decided to lower the dose again. There were some other discussions about my cancer in general, which I'm not quite happy with, but I'm going to mull it over a bit before I talk about it. I'm not doing too bad right now, the lower dose seems to have helped.
There is a lot running through my head right now, including the chemo, so I'm not quite sure how I feel. I just wanted to get something down on this post and tell you all that I love you and to thank you for all your support. Hopefully by the end of this week I'll be a little bit more clear.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
I never said I knew what I was talking about.
First a little cancer news. I still have cancer. Feel bad for me yet? Don't you dare!!!
I'm in my third week of the cycle and I'm just getting over some of the symptoms. I had a couple of days with a new and scary symptom, debilitating pain in my legs. The pain is subsiding, and you can bet I will be having a little chat with my oncologist about that. For now, I'm going to say that all the symptoms lasted a little longer because they increased the dose of chemo. As we are heading towards what I hope is the last few treatments, my doctor wants me to take as much of the drug as I can withstand. To be honest, while not being able to drink anything cold for two weeks, and having to deal with the neuropathy in my extremities and the pains in my legs is a less than pleasant experience, I'm not going to ask him to lower the dose. I can handle it. I may bitch and moan about it, but there is no way I'm going to let this beat me.
And now for today's life lesson from Billy.
For as long as I can remember my father always told me "be a friend to everyone you meet". He and my mother have always shown me the importance of having friends, and in return, being a good friend. As I go through my cliche "get a possibly fatal disease, spend time in deep introspection, cause now you know how precious life is" stage, I have taken some stock in my life. As I've said before, I'm rather pleased with the paths I've chosen up until this point. The overwhelming support I receive from my family and friends is a strong indicator of such. Many friends visited me in the hospital, many friends are constantly in touch to see if I need anything, many friends are checking this blog to monitor my progress. And, from time to time, I am lucky enough to get proof positive that I have good friends and that I have been a good friend. My friend Lance, a man I have known for 18 years, who I have admired since the first day I met him, who has battled his own demons with courage and strength, who I only see once a year if I'm lucky but still maintains our relationship, has written an extremely flattering and for me, overwhelmingly touching piece about yours truly. http://oldnumberseven.net/bricolage/2006/04/21/my-pal/
Thanks Lance.
I'm in my third week of the cycle and I'm just getting over some of the symptoms. I had a couple of days with a new and scary symptom, debilitating pain in my legs. The pain is subsiding, and you can bet I will be having a little chat with my oncologist about that. For now, I'm going to say that all the symptoms lasted a little longer because they increased the dose of chemo. As we are heading towards what I hope is the last few treatments, my doctor wants me to take as much of the drug as I can withstand. To be honest, while not being able to drink anything cold for two weeks, and having to deal with the neuropathy in my extremities and the pains in my legs is a less than pleasant experience, I'm not going to ask him to lower the dose. I can handle it. I may bitch and moan about it, but there is no way I'm going to let this beat me.
And now for today's life lesson from Billy.
For as long as I can remember my father always told me "be a friend to everyone you meet". He and my mother have always shown me the importance of having friends, and in return, being a good friend. As I go through my cliche "get a possibly fatal disease, spend time in deep introspection, cause now you know how precious life is" stage, I have taken some stock in my life. As I've said before, I'm rather pleased with the paths I've chosen up until this point. The overwhelming support I receive from my family and friends is a strong indicator of such. Many friends visited me in the hospital, many friends are constantly in touch to see if I need anything, many friends are checking this blog to monitor my progress. And, from time to time, I am lucky enough to get proof positive that I have good friends and that I have been a good friend. My friend Lance, a man I have known for 18 years, who I have admired since the first day I met him, who has battled his own demons with courage and strength, who I only see once a year if I'm lucky but still maintains our relationship, has written an extremely flattering and for me, overwhelmingly touching piece about yours truly. http://oldnumberseven.net/bricolage/2006/04/21/my-pal/
Thanks Lance.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Regarding Mad Max, Thunderdome, et al.
I understand that once the apocalypse comes things will change, values will slide, paradigms will shift. Of course, things will be different. Still, one would think that some basic concepts would stay the same; water will be wet, round objects will roll, pop-tarts will be tasty. Considering all of this, I have a grave concern. What sort of physics bending cataclysmic event will occur that will lead us all to believe that left over high school football pads and soup strainers will provide the necessary protection to ensure our survival? Apparently a colander on one's head is the ultimate in safety and security. Perhaps we should be funneling federal funds into studying the immense powers that lie in placing a sieve on our heads. Perhaps this study can even prevent Armageddon.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
I don't want to fight the tide
Yesterday's visit to the oncologist yielded what should be considered as overall good news. My tumors have shrunk, which means the chemo is working. On the down side, I have to continue chemo for at least another three months, at which time I will go for a pet scan to further determine the efficacy of the chemo. I also received a chemo treatment yesterday, so today I feel like I was hit by a big truck carrying chemo. More postings to come.
Friday, April 07, 2006
I don't want to swim the ocean
Just a short post today. Next Monday, the 10th, I go for my next round of chemo and I get the results of my last cat scan. Needless to say, I'm a bit anxious. It's going to be a long weekend, and yet somehow it will fly by. Go figure.
I've had a good time over the last two weeks. It's difficult for me to accept that next week I'll be sick as all hell. I can't wait for this ride to be over.
The back and forth continues. Next posting should be a rather bleak discussion on mortality. I'm starting to see a pattern.
I've had a good time over the last two weeks. It's difficult for me to accept that next week I'll be sick as all hell. I can't wait for this ride to be over.
The back and forth continues. Next posting should be a rather bleak discussion on mortality. I'm starting to see a pattern.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
50 years from now, who is going to remember the name Frank Heshman?
I've always said that I was a passionate person, and that I am glad I am. I believe that being passionate means that you feel more deeply, and act accordingly. A good friend of mine once asked if I thought that we felt more because we are writers. I told her that I thought we are writers because we feel more. Passion requires and generates both feeling and action. Passionate people ride the proverbial roller coaster, experiencing life on the edges of manic depression. Polar opposites are often needed in order to understand either side of the equation. Without hot, one does not really understand cold. Without dark, one does not really understand light. For passion, without sadness, one does not really understand happiness. Such is my life with cancer.
The last couple of days have been absolutely fantastic! Yesterday I had lunch with two friends, Mike and Mike, that I have known since I was a teenager. We spent a few hours together just eating and talking. I also got to spend time with Briana, Mike's 3 year old daughter. I don't know if it is because I am getting older, or a consequence of my recent life experiences, but I am starting to see a lot more joy in spending time with children. Briana brought a book of Disney stories from her room, plopped herself on the couch next to me and asked me to read to her. It was a book she was well familiar with, at least the pictures. I read a few words of a page and she said "next page" while grabbing a handful of the book and turning. There, in the middle of another story, I began to read to her again. Every now and then she told me stories about the characters in the pictures and then would want to move onto a new page again. We did this for about 10 minutes, and I really don't know who had a better time, her or me. This was a simple day, and it was the simplicity of it that made it exceptional.
My friend Chris' family gets together once a year to hand make smoked kielbasa. Last night Chris mentioned to me that today was sausage day and told me if I would like, to join them. As I laid on the couch this morning, figuring out what to do with my day, I thought back to other sausage days I had attended, and about how much I loved Chris' family, and I decided to go. There were so many things about today that made it wonderful. First of all I spent time with Chris, his wife, and his two little boys Simon and Sebastian. I cannot even begin to explain the love I have for them all. The boys, along with a couple of cousins, spent the day running around the backyard, going from one activity to another without missing a beat. As I sat around the smoker with Chris, a couple of uncles and a couple of cousins, we watched the flurry of activity. We talked about how great it is to be a kid. The little ones found incredible amounts of fun in the simplest acts. One of Chris' cousins has a little daughter. Her name is Melissa and she is about 3 years old. I've known her since she was born, but I don't spend enough time around the family that she remembered who I am. At one point she was sitting on her dad's lap, her bright blue eyes framed with golden blond hair, laughing and giggling at all the grown ups. I caught her glancing over to me every now and then, and with the aid of my baseball cap, we played a small game of hide and seek. With every chuckle she let out, the clouds let in a little more sunshine.
Chris' family, since we met in high school, has always treated me with love and respect, like family. Chris' mom has always treated me like one of her own, and at times, better. His aunts, his uncles, his cousins, have over the years invited me into their homes, to celebrate the holidays, to share their happiness, and to commiserate their sadness. We have all shared births, chirstenings, birthdays, weddings, and deaths. They are a part of my family, and I thiers.
Chris has three cousins around our age, Ron, Lauren and Lisa. Ron is a strong and amazing father. For reasons I won't go into here, he has often showed me how strong the human spirit can be. Lauren and Lisa are two of the most awesome women I know. Funny, smart, strong, and oh yeah, gorgeous.
Not having seen them for a while, many of them asked about my cancer and treatment. Mostly it was the same sort of questions I get on a routine basis: how are you?; how is the treatment?; how much longer do you have to go? But there was one question that sort of surprised me. Chris' brother Colin, a fantastic friend over the years, asked, and I'm paraphrasing here "are you going to live or die?" Colin, if you are reading this, I want thank you so much for asking that question. Too many people are very uncomfortable asking, but it is a huge part of what I'm going through. Even though it took you a little bit to get those words together before you asked, it was an utterly refreshing sign of concern. I was relieved to finally answer that question to someone.
These are the reasons to live, the reasons I struggle through the weeks of agony from the chemo. Friends, family, children, being loved and loving, the simple day, stimulating conversation, playing hide and seek using a baseball cap, and beautiful women. Are ya with me!?
The last couple of days have been absolutely fantastic! Yesterday I had lunch with two friends, Mike and Mike, that I have known since I was a teenager. We spent a few hours together just eating and talking. I also got to spend time with Briana, Mike's 3 year old daughter. I don't know if it is because I am getting older, or a consequence of my recent life experiences, but I am starting to see a lot more joy in spending time with children. Briana brought a book of Disney stories from her room, plopped herself on the couch next to me and asked me to read to her. It was a book she was well familiar with, at least the pictures. I read a few words of a page and she said "next page" while grabbing a handful of the book and turning. There, in the middle of another story, I began to read to her again. Every now and then she told me stories about the characters in the pictures and then would want to move onto a new page again. We did this for about 10 minutes, and I really don't know who had a better time, her or me. This was a simple day, and it was the simplicity of it that made it exceptional.
My friend Chris' family gets together once a year to hand make smoked kielbasa. Last night Chris mentioned to me that today was sausage day and told me if I would like, to join them. As I laid on the couch this morning, figuring out what to do with my day, I thought back to other sausage days I had attended, and about how much I loved Chris' family, and I decided to go. There were so many things about today that made it wonderful. First of all I spent time with Chris, his wife, and his two little boys Simon and Sebastian. I cannot even begin to explain the love I have for them all. The boys, along with a couple of cousins, spent the day running around the backyard, going from one activity to another without missing a beat. As I sat around the smoker with Chris, a couple of uncles and a couple of cousins, we watched the flurry of activity. We talked about how great it is to be a kid. The little ones found incredible amounts of fun in the simplest acts. One of Chris' cousins has a little daughter. Her name is Melissa and she is about 3 years old. I've known her since she was born, but I don't spend enough time around the family that she remembered who I am. At one point she was sitting on her dad's lap, her bright blue eyes framed with golden blond hair, laughing and giggling at all the grown ups. I caught her glancing over to me every now and then, and with the aid of my baseball cap, we played a small game of hide and seek. With every chuckle she let out, the clouds let in a little more sunshine.
Chris' family, since we met in high school, has always treated me with love and respect, like family. Chris' mom has always treated me like one of her own, and at times, better. His aunts, his uncles, his cousins, have over the years invited me into their homes, to celebrate the holidays, to share their happiness, and to commiserate their sadness. We have all shared births, chirstenings, birthdays, weddings, and deaths. They are a part of my family, and I thiers.
Chris has three cousins around our age, Ron, Lauren and Lisa. Ron is a strong and amazing father. For reasons I won't go into here, he has often showed me how strong the human spirit can be. Lauren and Lisa are two of the most awesome women I know. Funny, smart, strong, and oh yeah, gorgeous.
Not having seen them for a while, many of them asked about my cancer and treatment. Mostly it was the same sort of questions I get on a routine basis: how are you?; how is the treatment?; how much longer do you have to go? But there was one question that sort of surprised me. Chris' brother Colin, a fantastic friend over the years, asked, and I'm paraphrasing here "are you going to live or die?" Colin, if you are reading this, I want thank you so much for asking that question. Too many people are very uncomfortable asking, but it is a huge part of what I'm going through. Even though it took you a little bit to get those words together before you asked, it was an utterly refreshing sign of concern. I was relieved to finally answer that question to someone.
These are the reasons to live, the reasons I struggle through the weeks of agony from the chemo. Friends, family, children, being loved and loving, the simple day, stimulating conversation, playing hide and seek using a baseball cap, and beautiful women. Are ya with me!?
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
C'mon! Put the shovel down and step away from the clown.
Benjamin Franklin once said "In this world nothing is certain but death and taxes."
It's a cycle. We are born, we live, and then we die. If we're lucky, somewhere along the way we get to enjoy a good steak and a beer in the company of a good woman.
On March 24th, 1969, in Teaneck New Jersey, my cycle began. Right now I'm paying my taxes. You know which part is left. Next Wednesday I'm going to have a cat scan to determine the efficacy of the chemo treatment and the progress of the cancer. Cat scans have been a regular part of my regimen for the last two years. In September 2004 it was a cat scan that found the first tumor. In early 2005, cat scans found other traces of cancer. Last summer I had a cat scan which, at the time, showed no signs of lingering cancer, it suggested I might be in remission. I spent a few months getting back to my old self. It seemed that all the fighting was worth while, that it had all worked. As a matter of procedure I was scheduled for a cat scan in December. I was a bit anxious about this one. Of course everyone, including myself, stayed positive. We knew that the scan would show that I was still cancer free, but in the back of my mind was the glimmer of the thought that it might show otherwise. Everyone said "don't' worry, it will be fine". The week in between the scan and discussing the results with my doctor, I was a little nervous. Thankfully I was in southern California for work that week, where the sun was warm and bright. I also got to hang out with Dave for the few days right before my doctor's appointment. All of this helped me to relax. I flew home, steeled myself, and went to see my oncologist. BAM, relapse. An interesting and curious side note here; I had a wonderful week right before I found out that I still had cancer which mirrored, in a way, my initial diagnosis. I had spent 3 months traveling around Europe right before they found the first tumor. There is a whole discussion I had with myself regarding the idea that the cosmos, (or God if you prefer) had given me this great opportunity because it was about to kick my ass real good. But that's a story for another post.
It's another double helix cosmic twist that my birthday is Friday, and my next cat scan is the following week. With these two dates converging as the current lunar phase comes to an end, my overactive mind has been keeping me up at night thinking about death, about my death. "Billy! How dare you!! You have to think positive" you say? Let's recap a little here. From the time I was 5, in my immediate family alone, I have lost my grandfather Carmello, my uncle Bobby, my uncle Tony, my aunt Dotty, my grandmother Rose, my aunt Josephine, my aunt JoAnne, my grandmother Anne and my mother. Cancer, the very same disease that is skulking around my body, took 5 of them, and I was there for each one. Throw in the overwhelming events of the last two years, including my past experiences with radiology, and it's easy to see how I'm obsessing over my next cat scan. My family history, along with a 12 year career in EMS, has given me, what I feel is, a healthy attitude about death; it's part of the cycle, it's natural, it's life. Not so much when I'm thinking about my own demise.
For now, I will spare you the exact details of my current anxieties, it is enough that you know that I'm coming apart at the seems, and falling further down the spiral. While the chances are good that the results of my cat scan will be encouraging, there is also a very real likelihood that my cancer has not retreated. There is a very real possibility that the cancer has grown, and there is no stopping it. Do you get that? It is not far fetched, it is solidly based in reality, that I could die from this. I'm spending my nights flipping around on my mattress, alone, counting the dimples in my drop ceiling. Or I'm squirming around on my couch while horribly inane shows flicker across my tv screen. Or I'm sitting in a dark room, smoke curling from my cigarette, pounding out incomprehensible drivel on my computer. Welcome to my world boys and girls.
Benjamin Franklin also said "Beer is living proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy."
It's a cycle. We are born, we live, and then we die. If we're lucky, somewhere along the way we get to enjoy a good steak and a beer in the company of a good woman.
On March 24th, 1969, in Teaneck New Jersey, my cycle began. Right now I'm paying my taxes. You know which part is left. Next Wednesday I'm going to have a cat scan to determine the efficacy of the chemo treatment and the progress of the cancer. Cat scans have been a regular part of my regimen for the last two years. In September 2004 it was a cat scan that found the first tumor. In early 2005, cat scans found other traces of cancer. Last summer I had a cat scan which, at the time, showed no signs of lingering cancer, it suggested I might be in remission. I spent a few months getting back to my old self. It seemed that all the fighting was worth while, that it had all worked. As a matter of procedure I was scheduled for a cat scan in December. I was a bit anxious about this one. Of course everyone, including myself, stayed positive. We knew that the scan would show that I was still cancer free, but in the back of my mind was the glimmer of the thought that it might show otherwise. Everyone said "don't' worry, it will be fine". The week in between the scan and discussing the results with my doctor, I was a little nervous. Thankfully I was in southern California for work that week, where the sun was warm and bright. I also got to hang out with Dave for the few days right before my doctor's appointment. All of this helped me to relax. I flew home, steeled myself, and went to see my oncologist. BAM, relapse. An interesting and curious side note here; I had a wonderful week right before I found out that I still had cancer which mirrored, in a way, my initial diagnosis. I had spent 3 months traveling around Europe right before they found the first tumor. There is a whole discussion I had with myself regarding the idea that the cosmos, (or God if you prefer) had given me this great opportunity because it was about to kick my ass real good. But that's a story for another post.
It's another double helix cosmic twist that my birthday is Friday, and my next cat scan is the following week. With these two dates converging as the current lunar phase comes to an end, my overactive mind has been keeping me up at night thinking about death, about my death. "Billy! How dare you!! You have to think positive" you say? Let's recap a little here. From the time I was 5, in my immediate family alone, I have lost my grandfather Carmello, my uncle Bobby, my uncle Tony, my aunt Dotty, my grandmother Rose, my aunt Josephine, my aunt JoAnne, my grandmother Anne and my mother. Cancer, the very same disease that is skulking around my body, took 5 of them, and I was there for each one. Throw in the overwhelming events of the last two years, including my past experiences with radiology, and it's easy to see how I'm obsessing over my next cat scan. My family history, along with a 12 year career in EMS, has given me, what I feel is, a healthy attitude about death; it's part of the cycle, it's natural, it's life. Not so much when I'm thinking about my own demise.
For now, I will spare you the exact details of my current anxieties, it is enough that you know that I'm coming apart at the seems, and falling further down the spiral. While the chances are good that the results of my cat scan will be encouraging, there is also a very real likelihood that my cancer has not retreated. There is a very real possibility that the cancer has grown, and there is no stopping it. Do you get that? It is not far fetched, it is solidly based in reality, that I could die from this. I'm spending my nights flipping around on my mattress, alone, counting the dimples in my drop ceiling. Or I'm squirming around on my couch while horribly inane shows flicker across my tv screen. Or I'm sitting in a dark room, smoke curling from my cigarette, pounding out incomprehensible drivel on my computer. Welcome to my world boys and girls.
Benjamin Franklin also said "Beer is living proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy."
Live Loudly
Grab the horn and sound loudly
Us warriors of 6th avenue!
you waitresses, you cabbies
you students, you accountants
Stomp your soles loudly
and shout to the sky
Us warriors of 6th avenue!
you computer techs, you firemen
you couriers, you teachers
Breath it loudly
and proclaim your yalp
that today is here!
And stop...
...and look
And stop...
...and look
For a brief moment
see me, see them
in this secret minute
You are in my life
and I in yours!
See us here!
Us warriors of 6th avenue!
Each with pages of past
and unwritten days of future
the millions of stories
will all have as this chapter
the same words
Us warriors of 6th avenue!
you tailors, you brokers,
you nurses, you lawyers
Hang loudly from street lights
on every corner
Dance and see me spin upon this one brick
It is now and here and this bright sun and our loud avenue!
Us warriors of 6th avenue!
you craftsmen, you mechanics
you pilots, you actors
Wrap yourself wholly, bathe and devour
and drip it loudly from your lips!
It is ours
and never again to be the same
Us warriors of 6th avenue!
Us warriors of 6th avenue!
you waitresses, you cabbies
you students, you accountants
Stomp your soles loudly
and shout to the sky
Us warriors of 6th avenue!
you computer techs, you firemen
you couriers, you teachers
Breath it loudly
and proclaim your yalp
that today is here!
And stop...
...and look
And stop...
...and look
For a brief moment
see me, see them
in this secret minute
You are in my life
and I in yours!
See us here!
Us warriors of 6th avenue!
Each with pages of past
and unwritten days of future
the millions of stories
will all have as this chapter
the same words
Us warriors of 6th avenue!
you tailors, you brokers,
you nurses, you lawyers
Hang loudly from street lights
on every corner
Dance and see me spin upon this one brick
It is now and here and this bright sun and our loud avenue!
Us warriors of 6th avenue!
you craftsmen, you mechanics
you pilots, you actors
Wrap yourself wholly, bathe and devour
and drip it loudly from your lips!
It is ours
and never again to be the same
Us warriors of 6th avenue!
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Don't tell anyone
I'm going to let you in on a little secret; I'm sick. This whole thing is kicking my ass, the cancer, the chemo, it all sucks. I'm not having a good week. I don't know how much more of this I can take.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire
You need to stop playing round with all them clowns and the wangstas/ Good girls gotta get down with them gangstas/ Go head girl put some back and some neck up on it/ While I stand up in the background and check up on it
Today was chemo day. I had two ideas for today's post, one sullen and sort of sad, the other bright and upbeat. I feel like I've bitched and moaned a lot about this whole cancer thing, so I've decided to write about the good parts of having cancer.
...
...
...
yeah, OK, there are no good parts of having cancer, but I still want to be positive today, even though cancer and chemo really really suck.
Ohh Boy you looking like you like what you see/ Won't you come over check up on it,/ I'ma let you work up on it/ Ladies let em check up on it,/ watch it while he check up on it/ Dip it,/ pop it,/ twirk it,/ stop it,/ check on me tonight
My t-shirt for today proclaims "My oncologist is better than your oncologist". I got a few smiles from patients in the waiting room, and chuckles from some of the nurses. My oncologist loved it. He really is a great doctor, and we share the same sense of humor. Good news/bad news today; I'm going to have a cat scan next week to check on the progress of the chemo, and I'm getting an extra week off this round, and he kept the dosage low, but we're still looking at two or three months of chemo.
If you got it flaunt it,/ boy I know you want it/ While I turn around you watch me check up on it/ Oohhh you watchin me shake it,/ I see it in ya face /Ya can't take it,/ it's blazin,/ you watch me in amazement/ You can look at it,/ as long as you don't grab it/ If you don't go braggin/, I might let you have it/ You think that I'm teasin/, but I ain't got no reason/ I'm sure that I can please you/, but first I gotta read you
I was in a fairly good mood today. I was talkative, and smiles while getting my chemo. I don't know what is wrong with me! Of course, I had a good time last week. I was able to go out, see some friends and have fun. I had not one, not two, not even just three, but five different flirty moments last week. This never happens to me, women don't hit on me, ask anyone, but last week was the exception. Sunday Chris and I went to a movie and then did something we haven't done since college, we just drove for a few hours. I also got to see his sons, and Simon called me Uncle Billy for the first time! He remembered who I was. Yeah, you can see why I've been in a good mood.
I can tell you wanna taste it,/ but I'm gone make you chase it/ You got to be patient,/ I like my men patient/ More patience,/ you take might get you in more places/ You can't be abrasive,/ have to know to pace it/ If I let you get up on it,/ you gotta make a promise/ That you gone put it on me,/ like no ones put it on me/ Don't bore me,/ just show me,/ all men talk but don't please./ I can be a tease,/ but I really wanna please you
The thing that made me happiest today though was music. I powered up my mp3 player and had the ear plugs in for the whole day. It's amazing how a song can change the way you feel. While I tapped away to an eclectic list of songs ranging from classical to hard core industrial, there was one song that I kept going back to today. Can you guess what it is yet? I think you can. Yup, against all expectations you may have about me, it was Beyonce's "Check On It"
I'm checking on you boo,/ do what chu do/ And while I dance/ I'ma glance/ at this beautiful view/ I'm keep my hands in my pants,/ I need to glue em with glue...
Say what you will about me, but this is a really catchy tune. I first heard it on the bland top 40 station here in NY. Don't ask me why I was even listening. Then I saw the video! Beyonce is right up there with Salma and Scarlett. Part of the reason I like the song is that in invokes a clear memory of her moving like no other human could ever move. Another reason I like this song is the lyrics are fun and playful, they are funny, they actually make me smile.
Ohh Boy you looking like you like what you see/ Won't you come over and check up on it,/ I'ma let you work up on it/ Ladies let em check up on it,/ watch it while he check up on it/ Dip it,/ pop it,/ twirk it,/ stop it,/ check on me tonight
If in the midst of all this crap I can find something to make me smile, be it cheesey or sublime, or popular, or inane, or whatever, I'm more than willing to put aside my intellectual snobbery and have a smile.
I would also like to add that you guys rock!! I love so much that you all take the time to check this blog. My writing is crap today, but you get the idea. To all the new friends I've made through this blog, thanks so much for your kind words. Dave, I know you cry about me when you're alone, I won't tell anyone. Jody, keep running, but sweetie don't kill yourself, pain is pain, from cancer or from depriving your muscles of needed nutrients, it's ok to bitch about it. Jenny, have fun in China, I miss you. Doug and Naomi, I have more wine. Charly, I hope you're feeling well. I miss you, but better we don't hang out too much given our conditions. I love you!!! Lance, we really need to get together soon and do some heavy damage to our livers. Heather....oh Heather....my goddess of meat and all things blue. You make me smile too, and with any luck, you'll get the chance to make me smile in person soon.
Today was chemo day. I had two ideas for today's post, one sullen and sort of sad, the other bright and upbeat. I feel like I've bitched and moaned a lot about this whole cancer thing, so I've decided to write about the good parts of having cancer.
...
...
...
yeah, OK, there are no good parts of having cancer, but I still want to be positive today, even though cancer and chemo really really suck.
Ohh Boy you looking like you like what you see/ Won't you come over check up on it,/ I'ma let you work up on it/ Ladies let em check up on it,/ watch it while he check up on it/ Dip it,/ pop it,/ twirk it,/ stop it,/ check on me tonight
My t-shirt for today proclaims "My oncologist is better than your oncologist". I got a few smiles from patients in the waiting room, and chuckles from some of the nurses. My oncologist loved it. He really is a great doctor, and we share the same sense of humor. Good news/bad news today; I'm going to have a cat scan next week to check on the progress of the chemo, and I'm getting an extra week off this round, and he kept the dosage low, but we're still looking at two or three months of chemo.
If you got it flaunt it,/ boy I know you want it/ While I turn around you watch me check up on it/ Oohhh you watchin me shake it,/ I see it in ya face /Ya can't take it,/ it's blazin,/ you watch me in amazement/ You can look at it,/ as long as you don't grab it/ If you don't go braggin/, I might let you have it/ You think that I'm teasin/, but I ain't got no reason/ I'm sure that I can please you/, but first I gotta read you
I was in a fairly good mood today. I was talkative, and smiles while getting my chemo. I don't know what is wrong with me! Of course, I had a good time last week. I was able to go out, see some friends and have fun. I had not one, not two, not even just three, but five different flirty moments last week. This never happens to me, women don't hit on me, ask anyone, but last week was the exception. Sunday Chris and I went to a movie and then did something we haven't done since college, we just drove for a few hours. I also got to see his sons, and Simon called me Uncle Billy for the first time! He remembered who I was. Yeah, you can see why I've been in a good mood.
I can tell you wanna taste it,/ but I'm gone make you chase it/ You got to be patient,/ I like my men patient/ More patience,/ you take might get you in more places/ You can't be abrasive,/ have to know to pace it/ If I let you get up on it,/ you gotta make a promise/ That you gone put it on me,/ like no ones put it on me/ Don't bore me,/ just show me,/ all men talk but don't please./ I can be a tease,/ but I really wanna please you
The thing that made me happiest today though was music. I powered up my mp3 player and had the ear plugs in for the whole day. It's amazing how a song can change the way you feel. While I tapped away to an eclectic list of songs ranging from classical to hard core industrial, there was one song that I kept going back to today. Can you guess what it is yet? I think you can. Yup, against all expectations you may have about me, it was Beyonce's "Check On It"
I'm checking on you boo,/ do what chu do/ And while I dance/ I'ma glance/ at this beautiful view/ I'm keep my hands in my pants,/ I need to glue em with glue...
Say what you will about me, but this is a really catchy tune. I first heard it on the bland top 40 station here in NY. Don't ask me why I was even listening. Then I saw the video! Beyonce is right up there with Salma and Scarlett. Part of the reason I like the song is that in invokes a clear memory of her moving like no other human could ever move. Another reason I like this song is the lyrics are fun and playful, they are funny, they actually make me smile.
Ohh Boy you looking like you like what you see/ Won't you come over and check up on it,/ I'ma let you work up on it/ Ladies let em check up on it,/ watch it while he check up on it/ Dip it,/ pop it,/ twirk it,/ stop it,/ check on me tonight
If in the midst of all this crap I can find something to make me smile, be it cheesey or sublime, or popular, or inane, or whatever, I'm more than willing to put aside my intellectual snobbery and have a smile.
I would also like to add that you guys rock!! I love so much that you all take the time to check this blog. My writing is crap today, but you get the idea. To all the new friends I've made through this blog, thanks so much for your kind words. Dave, I know you cry about me when you're alone, I won't tell anyone. Jody, keep running, but sweetie don't kill yourself, pain is pain, from cancer or from depriving your muscles of needed nutrients, it's ok to bitch about it. Jenny, have fun in China, I miss you. Doug and Naomi, I have more wine. Charly, I hope you're feeling well. I miss you, but better we don't hang out too much given our conditions. I love you!!! Lance, we really need to get together soon and do some heavy damage to our livers. Heather....oh Heather....my goddess of meat and all things blue. You make me smile too, and with any luck, you'll get the chance to make me smile in person soon.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Gather ye rosebuds
My spirituality has more to do with the natural world around me than with organized religion. There are strong connections between one's physical, emotional, and mental states and the condition of one's surroundings. Shakespeare often used the state of nature to mirror the political and emotional arenas in his plays. It is not always a direct cause and effect relationship. Most of the time it is a circumstantial and tangential arrangement, but none the less interesting and inspiring. In my little part of the world this week the weather has moved increasingly towards the onset of spring. As the days went by, the skies grew clearer, the sun brighter, the temperature warmer. As the world has increased in pleasantness so have I. This week, with every day, I felt stronger and happier. I went to work, I spoke with friends, I enjoyed an evening out at some old haunts. Today, as the day is glorious, I am looking forward to another evening of fun, and time spent tomorrow with my good friend Chris and two of my most favorite little boys in the world.
On Thursday, in a discussion with a friend at work, I realized that I was feeling great, but as always these days, it was a relative assessment. At another time it would have simply been just another day. It wasn't as if I had been given the ability to fly with x-ray vision and fight the injustices of the world. I simply was. But, when see through the tainted lenses of my experience the two weeks prior, Thursday seemed like the best day of my life. It is almost impossible to convey how wonderful it is to drink cold water.
I'm extremely grateful for these few days. I know that on Monday it will all disappear and I will once again be thrown into the abyss. But it is also days like this that help me to see clearer the need to continue to fight my way through the bad times.
I hope you all have as wonderful a weekend as I. Carpe the crap out of the diem!!!
On Thursday, in a discussion with a friend at work, I realized that I was feeling great, but as always these days, it was a relative assessment. At another time it would have simply been just another day. It wasn't as if I had been given the ability to fly with x-ray vision and fight the injustices of the world. I simply was. But, when see through the tainted lenses of my experience the two weeks prior, Thursday seemed like the best day of my life. It is almost impossible to convey how wonderful it is to drink cold water.
I'm extremely grateful for these few days. I know that on Monday it will all disappear and I will once again be thrown into the abyss. But it is also days like this that help me to see clearer the need to continue to fight my way through the bad times.
I hope you all have as wonderful a weekend as I. Carpe the crap out of the diem!!!
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Never mind that Susan, for now we'll just hoof it.
Functional. Today I feel functional. I can more easily describe my physical settings in terms of things I am not rather than things I am. I am not nauseous. I am not having gi issues. I am not too clouded. In another world, on the other side of the wall, my life is different. I am things, there, the things I am not are the exceptions, not the rules.
What are you? How are you? Who are you? Questions we've all had to deal with either from external inquiry or personal introspection. There are certain frames of reference we all use to help us answer them. Our basic beliefs about ourselves are constant, but circumstances will often shape our overall opinion of ourselves. You thought differently of yourself in your 20's than you do in your 30's. Significant life changes occur such as moving or changing jobs. Cancer has irrevocably changed the gestalt from which I see myself. Every time I evaluate myself the answer will always be in terms of the cancer, or at least it is for now.
Even within the realm of my new world there are differences, but they are of course based on the disease. First I was a cancer patient, a young man with an old man's disease. Then I was a fighter, aggressively challenging the physical hurdles of surgery. Then I was a chemo patient, physically depleted but determined. I was a recoverer, a rehaber, a "getting better by the day" kinda guy. For a brief time I even allowed myself to be a survivor, an ex-cancer patient. If the relapse has taught me anything it is that I will forever, in some way shape or form, wear a scarlet C upon my chest, sometimes in defeat, sometimes in victory.
This week I will be allowed a brief glimpse of normalcy. I will go to work, I will see my friends, I will quite possibly enjoy a beer or two. Hopefully my mind will even be clear enough to do some writing. (more on that in a bit) When the week is over I will drag myself in for another treatment and start it all over again. But I'll worry about that next Sunday.
Throughout this ordeal I've had many occasions for self evaluation. As I've stated before, I feel that I have lead the best life possible for me. In the face of death I cannot see any reason to change my path. I carpe my diem, I'm ok. I've found some wonderful things about being Billy. Within the gestalt of my own being there are constants that comfort me in my times of need, provide me with a reason to continue the battle, and give me the strength needed to continue. The most important are my family and friends. I cannot begin to describe with any accuracy the depth of love and caring my family has shown me in this time. They have all, my father and sister, my aunt and uncle, and all my cousins, given selflessly to help me along. My friends have all lavished me with concern and hope as well; all the hospital visits, the gifts, the emails, the phone calls, and even checking in to read this blog. I am truly blessed. My buddy Pete dropped by last night. We hung out and talked and had a couple of beers. Pete came by to make sure I was ok. To make sure that I was ok. I love you guys!
One other constant I've found to be quite an asset is my sense of humor. For my next chemo visit I have a new shirt which proudly proclaims "My oncologist is better than your oncologist!" I hope Dr. Alter likes it. You need a sense of humor to make it through life, nobody gets out alive. So Chris, keep the sarcasm coming. Dave, continue churning out those sporadics. Dougie, get your ass over to this side of the pond.
I would like to add one last thing. I spent some time this week reading some things that I have written. Old stuff, poetry, emails, journals and the like. Without being too egotistical, I think that most of it is pretty good. Not so much any more. I've said it before, this chemo is really messing with my brain. I really hope that it is temporary. I read some stuff and my mind couldn't even comprehend that I wrote it. I thought it was someone else's work. There is no way right now that I could even come close to some of it. Even writing this is a struggle. I'm just trying to convey the frustration I have right now with the only thing I've been truly proud of in my life, my brain.
What are you? How are you? Who are you? Questions we've all had to deal with either from external inquiry or personal introspection. There are certain frames of reference we all use to help us answer them. Our basic beliefs about ourselves are constant, but circumstances will often shape our overall opinion of ourselves. You thought differently of yourself in your 20's than you do in your 30's. Significant life changes occur such as moving or changing jobs. Cancer has irrevocably changed the gestalt from which I see myself. Every time I evaluate myself the answer will always be in terms of the cancer, or at least it is for now.
Even within the realm of my new world there are differences, but they are of course based on the disease. First I was a cancer patient, a young man with an old man's disease. Then I was a fighter, aggressively challenging the physical hurdles of surgery. Then I was a chemo patient, physically depleted but determined. I was a recoverer, a rehaber, a "getting better by the day" kinda guy. For a brief time I even allowed myself to be a survivor, an ex-cancer patient. If the relapse has taught me anything it is that I will forever, in some way shape or form, wear a scarlet C upon my chest, sometimes in defeat, sometimes in victory.
This week I will be allowed a brief glimpse of normalcy. I will go to work, I will see my friends, I will quite possibly enjoy a beer or two. Hopefully my mind will even be clear enough to do some writing. (more on that in a bit) When the week is over I will drag myself in for another treatment and start it all over again. But I'll worry about that next Sunday.
Throughout this ordeal I've had many occasions for self evaluation. As I've stated before, I feel that I have lead the best life possible for me. In the face of death I cannot see any reason to change my path. I carpe my diem, I'm ok. I've found some wonderful things about being Billy. Within the gestalt of my own being there are constants that comfort me in my times of need, provide me with a reason to continue the battle, and give me the strength needed to continue. The most important are my family and friends. I cannot begin to describe with any accuracy the depth of love and caring my family has shown me in this time. They have all, my father and sister, my aunt and uncle, and all my cousins, given selflessly to help me along. My friends have all lavished me with concern and hope as well; all the hospital visits, the gifts, the emails, the phone calls, and even checking in to read this blog. I am truly blessed. My buddy Pete dropped by last night. We hung out and talked and had a couple of beers. Pete came by to make sure I was ok. To make sure that I was ok. I love you guys!
One other constant I've found to be quite an asset is my sense of humor. For my next chemo visit I have a new shirt which proudly proclaims "My oncologist is better than your oncologist!" I hope Dr. Alter likes it. You need a sense of humor to make it through life, nobody gets out alive. So Chris, keep the sarcasm coming. Dave, continue churning out those sporadics. Dougie, get your ass over to this side of the pond.
I would like to add one last thing. I spent some time this week reading some things that I have written. Old stuff, poetry, emails, journals and the like. Without being too egotistical, I think that most of it is pretty good. Not so much any more. I've said it before, this chemo is really messing with my brain. I really hope that it is temporary. I read some stuff and my mind couldn't even comprehend that I wrote it. I thought it was someone else's work. There is no way right now that I could even come close to some of it. Even writing this is a struggle. I'm just trying to convey the frustration I have right now with the only thing I've been truly proud of in my life, my brain.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
There is no way those are real
There is an HBO original series on. The show revolves around a small working class port town, I believe in England. Or Norway. There are three girls in their mid twenties, who are close friends and seem to be the focus of the series. One of the girls is particularly blonde, has a veracious sweet tooth, a penchant for bocce, and every week she questions and tests her sexual identity. There is an 18 year old boy, who is quite fond of red Adidas jogging suits. He is trying to find his way out of this sleepy little hamlet, and is counter balanced by a 50-ish year old rugged man who has just returned to his boyhood home after having spent some time in the Australian navy.
Dave is sitting on the edge of the couch and apparently something has really made him angry. He has worked himself into such a lather he has become a non-functioning heap of steam, facial tics, and the occasional potty word. I'm not quite sure about all the details. I do know that at some point he was holding his cell phone wrapped in a handkerchief, and poking the air near me. He was hissing something about his friend Fisher and a bar called the Royal Inn.
I made all of this up. There is no HBO series, I don't even know if Dave has a friend named Fisher, and, as Dave is 3000 miles away, for all I know he is as happy as a pig in shit.
I have cancer. Have I mentioned that? It sucks.
Dave is sitting on the edge of the couch and apparently something has really made him angry. He has worked himself into such a lather he has become a non-functioning heap of steam, facial tics, and the occasional potty word. I'm not quite sure about all the details. I do know that at some point he was holding his cell phone wrapped in a handkerchief, and poking the air near me. He was hissing something about his friend Fisher and a bar called the Royal Inn.
I made all of this up. There is no HBO series, I don't even know if Dave has a friend named Fisher, and, as Dave is 3000 miles away, for all I know he is as happy as a pig in shit.
I have cancer. Have I mentioned that? It sucks.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Do you know the one about the frog and the scorpion?
Even at lower doses, chemo is still chemo. Euphemisms for vomiting:
hurling
hucking
heaving
chucking
up-chucking
puking
driving the porcelain bus
talking to ralph
ralphing
driving the buick
praying at the porcelain altar
multi-colored yawn
tossing your cookies
loosing your lunch
purging
emptying
doing the Roman
Murph, did I miss any?
hurling
hucking
heaving
chucking
up-chucking
puking
driving the porcelain bus
talking to ralph
ralphing
driving the buick
praying at the porcelain altar
multi-colored yawn
tossing your cookies
loosing your lunch
purging
emptying
doing the Roman
Murph, did I miss any?
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