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.

...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

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!?

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."

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!

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.

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.