Nine Years Extended Warranty.

August 7, 2007 was the day I was told I had cancer. I can still see myself sitting alone in my car, shocked and angry and crying. Tears of anger, despair and uncertainty streamed down my face as I sat in the parking lot of the Pathologist's office.

As I reflected on that day nine years ago, I talked to Wife about what I was feeling at that moment. My biggest fear was how to tell her and my kids I had cancer. I was more worried about what they would do, how they would act and how they would feel. The reason: control. I cannot control the emotions and reactions of others. But I wanted to, to tell them I'm going to live and beat the shit outta cancer no matter how bad it was or where it was in my body.

This is not a "I told you so" post. While there is great joy in the satisfaction that I lived through that first cancer, I have had to face "cancer" a few times after that day. Skin cancer is the next cancer I'm battling. In 2008, I had two surgeries to remove huge chunks of cancer. I just recently had another chunk frozen off of may face and a biopsy on my finger to see if it was cancer. Thank God it is not.

This is a post of hope, happiness, fear and anger. Hopefully that I can have another nine years of life. Happy that I get to personally experience so much love and joy in my family. Fearful that the cancer will come back again in another form. And angry that we keep losing loved ones to this nasty, fucking disease.

My cancerversary is also close to my Father's sobriety birthday. He has been sober for 40 years. One day at a time. Living on an extended warranty.

I'd like to continue to do the same.

Thanks For Giving.

In two days, we will gather around the dinner table as we do every year at this time.

It will be a time for family, football, friends and full stomachs. (Some may say it's full of something else but I'll let you go there). And I'm sure we'll all say "Happy Thanksgiving" at some point and even say it 10-15 times.

Now I'm thankful for a lot of things but won't bore you with those. I'm sure we have some of the same things to be thankful for––right? And it is Thanksgiving, after all.

But I'm going to take a different approach this year. And I'm starting today. I am going to begin every day with a great big THANKS. To myself. To celebrate the fact that I am alive and begin each day by giving thanks. To realize that there is more to life than work, work and more work.

I have lost myself a bit the last few years after cancer. While cancer changed my life completely, I still face the same issues of pushing too hard, being too focused on work and not enjoying life as I should. So I'm going to be a little more selfish from here on––selfish with my time for me. It doesn't mean that I'm going to become a selfish bastard. It means I'm going to take the time to live and enjoy life.

Thanks.

Is My Body Breaking Down?

It's been awhile since I've posted. The reason? I've been searching for some answers and inspiration, quite honestly.

I had surgery June 25. It was for a hernia and I'm still recovering from the ordeal. I took for granted all the little things I could not do once I went under the knife and came home for recovery––it hurts to sneeze, cough, laugh, burp, fart, spit (brushing my teeth and rinsing) and talk loudly. It took me 4 days to finally be able to lift my leg high enough so I could put my pants on.

Since I could not do much but sit & think for the last three weeks, I've had a lot of time to think things over and do some personal inventory. It got me thinking about the side effects from the cancer and more specifically, the radiation, chemo and the anesthesia from the surgeries. Since my diagnosis August 7, 2007, I have had a few things happen to my body beyond the initial recovery from the treatments––my gall bladder had to be removed, my blood pressure has been up and down which it never was before and now a hernia that required surgery.

Doctors tell me they are not "related". Oh really? So you pump my body with enough shit to literally kill me––and it almost did––and you think that NONE OF IT IS RELATED. Yes, I am older. Yes, I have not been a saint in my actions and choices in all my years. But I was an athlete at one time and I have always thought that way––keeping my body in shape and watching my weight.

Now I can't prove that any of this IS related because I'm not a Scientist or Doctor. And I don't have the time or money to find out. I'm too busy living one day at a time and enjoying the moment. I have my annual physical in August––that's how I "discovered" I possibly had cancer––so I'll ask the question I always like to ask because I can hear Bugs Bunny ask it so clearly.

What's up, Doc?

Leasons Learned At Five

As my Daughter was telling me about another person with cancer that she knew, my mind started to think about my own mortality and battle. And how I wanted to help.

I've always been one to share. My Mom used to tell me even when I was a "big boy" as I am now, how I would always make sure whatever I had, I share it with my Sister. Or a neighbor. Or somone who didn't have as much as we did. (And we didn't have a lot). As a so-called adult, I've continued to share my stories and events of my life. Some would say too much and too often :)

Then I thought about this little blog I started 5 years ago. It was actually 6 years ago this month when I started to realize something was not right with me––I was always tired, always cranky and felt like I was in the worse physical shape of my life. I started banging on the keyboards for myself, to get my exact thoughts on everything I was going through mentally & physically in a place so I could review. Or someone else should I not make it. It was important to me and hopefully to my family and close friends that they had a little understanding of what people with cancer experience––without ever having to go through the disease themselves. What I found was that I actually learned more about myself than anything else. I wouldn't say everything was a great find––but it was and is honest, pure and true.

I learned that I was much stronger mentally than I originally thought. That I had an extremely high tolerance for pain––which is good and bad. I learned that my family was more afraid of me dying than I was. That I had fallen into a bad attitude that pervaded my entire life––and was mainly driven by the fact I was miserable at my job. I learned that I needed help. And accepting help was not a sign of weakness but a sign of loving and caring. I learned who my real friends were. And disappointed in those who used my illness against me. But the most important lesson I learned out of all the shit I went through, takes the smallest amount of effort.

Listen.

Back In The Scan

My annual "cancer Doctor tour" is about 2/3 of the way complete. It should have been over by now but I've been thrown a curve ball or two in the process.

During my annual physical, my Doc ordered a CT Scan and x-ray to see why I've been coughing more than usual the last two months. I had a little virus and cough in early May. It hasn't gone away completely, so the Doc ordered the tests. So now I'll get two scans this go around––the next one is the CT Scan with contrast which always messes with my head & body––because I need more radiation, right?

As I was being shoved into a tube for the scan, I did my usual meditation to relax and ignore the tube. Everything was cool until I got fully into the machine and it started up. The noise from the machine sounded just like it did when I went through 7 weeks of radiation. Being the human that I am, it broke my concentration and I felt my heart skip. Too similar. Too real. So unexpected.

Now it lasted all of 3-4 minutes. Radiation was about 20-30 minutes, depending on where I was in the stage of treatment. So I used that to keep me from rising up out of the slab and running out of the building. That would have been quite funny since I was half-naked and quite unnecessary. And I will have the "full monty" scan very soon.

Not looking forward to that one.

Looking Back In Order To Move Forward

I'm a big believer in milestones. Those moments that happen by design or just because you were in the right place at the right time––or wrong place at the wrong time, wrong place at the right time and right time at the wrong place. They count.

I was diagnosed last week benign fasciculation syndrome. While it sounds bad, it's actually better than I thought it would be––BFS is a "diagnosis of exclusion", which scares the hell outta anyone. Why? Because when the nasty letters start to appear on screen––ALS, MS, MD––it can increase the levels of BFS. What is really is, is STRESS. Anxiety. Fatigue. So because of a compromised autoimmune system due to cancer and those lovely treatments, stress becomes the silent attacker. And stress is where we are currently in the "preventative" arena of keeping cancer away in our bodies.

Thank you very fucking much, stress. You have done it again. Or should I say, I have done it to myself again. My life is always an adventure or misadventure away, so you would think I could handle anything. But my human side is showing. The last 6 months have been extra tough, watching my Mother die a slow and painful death, dealing with her fractured estate and having each of my children go through one painful experience after another. But hey, it could be worse, right? I've been to hell and back.

Time to let it go.

Are You Listening?

I found this article that I not only have to share but inspired me to get back on the blog.

The line that got me the most––"that's not a good way to die, before you've told the end of your story." I read that and instantly began thinking of my Mother's passing this past October. You could probably tell I haven't posted much since then. Her passing has jolted me more than I expected. I didn't get to talk to her much, as my Mother was always on the go and was somewhat of a nomad her last year+ in her life. But when we did talk my Mom would tell me stories about her friends, her work or some situation she got herself into that she couldn't figure out how to mitigate.

It wasn't unusual for me to say, "hi, Mom. How are you?" and get my next chance to say something to her about 20-30 minutes later. And this happened my whole life. When I was younger I would wait up for her when she went out. Being a young, single Mother I fully understood and accepted her need to have fun with people her own age. We were only 17 years apart in age so as I grew older my listening became more important as our ages seems to come closer together. While it always seemed "cool" to have such a young Mom it was also tough as I became more "grown-up" faster and that meant I didn't always want to listen.

Now for those of you who know me and can't fathom me just sitting there and listening, it's true. I like to think that I'm a good listener. I believe that part of that is listening to my body, which was telling me 4 1/2 years ago that I had cancer. I also believe in my heart my Mom's trip in the Fall of 2010 to my house was her way of wanting me to listen again, even closer this time. I spent as much time as I could with her, happy she was with us yet concerned that she didn't look or act very well during her stay. And the next time I saw her was in the hospital after her massive stroke. It was hard to listen to her because I think she was trying to finish her story, tell me all about it.

I'm still here, ready to listen as always.

Milestones

A little over 4 years ago, I finished my last cancer treatment. It was a Friday––I called it the "cancer combo" as chemo & radiation were both on Fridays for 7 weeks––and I was done.

I was talking to a friend at work about my "milestone", as this person is also a cancer survivor. I was starting to wonder about my recovery & remission and what does it all really mean. Total remission is supposed to be 5 years from your treatments. But then what? Do I go and checked? When? How? After calming myself down I realized I have just as many questions now as I did when I heard the "c" word. While the now yearly check-ups/tests/blood work are filled with wait & worry for me and my family, they are also very comforting in knowing I'm going to find out what's going on inside my body. It sucks to get it done but does it suck more not knowing?

I keep thinking back to my friend and fellow cancer survivor Matt, who helped me more than he'll ever know. He told me you'll "just live" one day, after your 5 years have come and gone. I know it will always be in the back of my mind. Because I DON'T want to forget. Sounds ridiculous––that's for you, Teresa––but I feel by remembering what cancer did to me, I will know if/when it comes back again. cancer also made me a better person in some weird ways. And I want to hold on to the "better Greg." So totally forgetting is really not healthy. I know, I can be a sick bastard. But I also know that milestones are there for me to give thanks and praise to those who were and have been with me through the good and bad. Because it never really goes away.

You just hit another milestone.

Trick Or Treat

This being Halloween and all, I thought it was appropriate to post about blood. My blood, to be exact.

After flying back and forth to the West Coast and points in between over the Summer––what Summer?––I was having some cramping in my leg. Of course, the first thing that comes to mind is "blood clot." (Ricardo, I was thinking of you when it happened). Then it gets real weird and my whole left leg starts vibrating, as if an electric current is running through my veins not the cartoonish "electric shock" but I'm sure I could run a 10 watt light bulb from the bottom of my foot.

Then again, it has been 4 years since my last chemo treatment––well almost, Nov 3 is the exact date––and maybe new side effects were taking place. The chemo I was given had just been cleared through clinical trials so what historical evidence did they have? Was a real shock to the nervous system a side effect? Was I just healing? WTF? So I reluctantly called my Doctor. (I was reluctant because I can never see him quickly as he's busy as hell and because I just came off of 7 days away from work for my Mom's funeral and service). I got lucky and saw him at the end of the week. "It could be blood, your veins or maybe even something wrong with your back." Great, the trifecta. Needles in my arm for drawing blood. Poking around and getting MORE radiation from an MRI. And, some ultrasound of the Doppler (where am I going, to a meteorologist?) and Venous Doppler/Lower Extremity.

Now I'm thinking I'm so DONE with giving blood. Messes my ass up like you wouldn't believe. And you would think after all the needles and pumping and draining cancer patients and survivors go through, I'd be OK with it all. Wrong. The trick for me is to not look and prepare for the 10 day rash that always comes from the needle.

The treat will be in the results. I hope.

No Time To Celebrate

I got the good news on Wednesday, June 29, that the cancer has not come back.

This was completely tempered by the fact that 2 days earlier, my Mom had a heart attack, stroke and a blood clot near her kidney and was in ICU clear across the country from me. So there I was, struggling with the decision of when to hop on the next plane while I was waiting to hear what my fate was going to be with cancer. You can imagine the thoughts and feelings that were racing through my head––worry, anxiety, sadness, guilt, happy, concern, confusion, conflict––that were ringing in my brain at various levels.  I was like, "c'mon, really? Someone or some thing thinks I can handle all this crap, all at once?

I got on a plane Friday morning, not knowing what to expect once I was able to see my Mom. The reports from my Cousin and Sister were not encouraging. And unfortunately, this was looking like a life altering incident. I didn't know if I was going to able to handle it. I remember the last time I rushed back home to the West Coast to see my Grandmother. She was barley hanging on when I got there. I got to tell her I love her, hold her hand and kiss her on the cheek and forehead. I also told her that if she needed to go, it was OK. You held on until I got to see you. And I'll never forget her face––she had a peaceful look even though she was catatonic. She passed away a couple of hours later.

We take for granted that life is fragile. Precious. And it will end. For myself, having stared death right in the eye and telling it to "go screw yourself, I'm not ready" was an experience I hope I never have to go through again. But if I had to, I know I can and will fight to win at all costs. And that's the scariest part of watching my Mom in her current situation. I'm not sure if she's willing or able to fight––her brain is damaged from the stroke and her anxiety disorder has kicked in to high gear. I wish I could do something for her to make her better.

Until then, celebrations are on hold.

Wednesday

Around 2 o'clock it hit me. It was only Wednesday.

And that's the problem. I have strayed from enjoying every day as if it's my last day. After cancer that's what's changed about me. Well, OK, when I was 11-12 years I was crazy as if it's my last day. And 13-14. I make sure I take those things we take for granted. My Wife has nurtured a beautiful and plentiful garden. Lots of beauty to see. So when I'm pissing and moaning about it only being Wednesday, that's got to change.

Two Wednesdays from today, I'll be at Dr. Lee's for the ENT phase of my annual tests and Doctor visits. I'll ask her to tell me what is "normal range growth" or something like that. Which is a way to say that a lymph ndoe has grown since last year but is with normal range. There's those two words who independently are good things. Together they scare the shit out of me. But that was my first reaction when I was told the news. I'm in the OK-let's-get-the-final-Jeopardy answer as soon as I can. I'll be doing that soon.

On a Wednesday.

Not Great, Not Scary

My posts have been MIA for a few weeks due to the annual tests for cancer, so sorry if you thought I was dead.

I've posted before about the eerie silence of a cancer blogger/patient. Ii freaks people out, at least those who follow me. I've often wondered if anyone would update my blog with my death. Yeah, I know, this post is getting off to a morbid start but some things need to be said and I've never been shy in addressing those subjects that make people uncomfortable.

I found out 3 days ago that while my cancer (sounds like it's a pet when I say "my cancer") is not back, one of my lymph nodes has increased in size since last year's CT scan. I was told "it's in the normal range". The normal range of what? That's what I'll ask my ENT, who is the last stop on The cancer Check-Up Tour. She'll tell it to me straight and what I need to do. Probably nothing, but maybe I'll need to get a needle biopsy to ease my mind. Yep, I'm having a hard time with this bit of news even thought the Docs have said it's OK. The bitch of the whole thing is worrying only makes everything worse––some call worry "stress", which is a feeder to cancer.

I'm not going to lie, this is a shot to the gut. I had a feeling that something had changed––I get those feelings whether I want to or not. So I'm going to go hug my Wife and spend some time with my family.

That always makes me feel better.

That Time Thing Again

My Daughter came over this morning because she had a dream I died. (This just in––I didn't).

Kaity was so upset that she had to see me. It happened in the morning––her dream, not my death––and it was so vivid and fresh in her mind she wanted to hug and kiss me and tell me how much she loved me. Kaity is my only Daughter. And for those of you who are Daddy's Little Girl or have a little girl, you know that special bond between a Dad and Daughter. Well, it's that way with Kaity & me. She was going to quit college and stay home and take care of me along with her Mother when I had cancer and was going through hell, I mean the treatments.

I've been fortunate to spend a lot of time with Kaity, whether it be through sports or school or school sports. We also talk about her job and how much we both live what we do for a living. I think they call it passion. She has an over-abundance of it, just like her Dad. We both get caught up in the thought and action of making a difference. And lose track of time. I've been doing that again. Working myself to death. Can't seem to bring myself to say "no". Want to create the next best thing, whatever that may be. It used to be I dreaded having to go to work after my cancer battle, having to survive a hostile work environment that featured way too many immature and selfish people.

Now, I have my creative soul back. I have an environment that is focused on positive energy, working hard and playing hard. I have people to work with that I respect and respect me back. Of course, there will always be bumps in the road. And life has a way of slapping you in the face or giving you a wet willie to help you put things in perspective. Our time is so precious, I know that I get caught up in the things that are really not that important. I forget that I still have dreams I have to chase.

While I'm still alive.

Family

I've been away from the keyboard for a few days while my family came to visit. My Mom and my Cousin spent three days with us last week. It was the first time my Mom has seen me since recovering from cancer. It was the first time I'd seen my Cousin in about 7 years.

It was a great visit. It was also a reminder how important family is to all of us. We all have some sort of family unit, which takes on many shapes and forms. And that type of diversity is a GOOD thing, no matter what your beliefs, traditions and practices may be. I say this because we have lived in the DC area for 16 years, away from all of our extended family and have come to rely on each other for so much support. My family is the most important thing in my life.

I've always desired to have a close knit family, one that enjoys each other's company––most of the time, 'cause 100% of bliss, happiness and getting along is TOTALLY out of the question––and above all else, understands that love is the eternal bond no matter what the circumstances. My family means everything to me, and as a cancer survivor, that love is what pulled me through to recovery. The love from those far away. And the love that was and is, close by.

This is somewhat of an interesting post for me, as a member of our family passed away suddenly as we all we're just feeling so good about spending time together. So it is with a heavy heart I write this somewhat somber post, dedicated to La Familia. I treasure the time I have with my family. It can be taken away in an instant and an excruciating family time/moment can seem like a lifetime. But I do believe in one major factor that is at the center of any family, no matter what your definition is of "family".

Love fuels the family. Family is love.

Am I?

(Breaking away from my usual post today. Because I can).

Am I stronger because of cancer?
Am I smarter because of cancer?
Am I nicer?
Am I a bigger pain in the ass?
Am I a better Husband?
Dad?
Son?
Brother?
Friend?
Co-worker?
Am I more aware of my faults?
My strengths?
My good & bad habits?
Am I a better listener?
Am I a better writer?
Am I the person I thought I would be?
Am I ever gonna grow up?
Am I oblivious?
Am I obvious?
Am I the same as I ever was?
Am I still young?
Am I old enough to know better but young and dumb enough to try it anyway?
Am I fooling myself?
Others?
Am I the kind of person you want in your corner?
Am I the kind of person my higher power expects me to be?
I do know what I am.
I am blessed to live today.
I am.

Table Dancing

Now before you go thinking I was either a participant or witness, let me tell you I've never seen/been either. That I can remember.

This has to do with the tables at Charles Town Races & Slots in beautiful West Virginia. My Wife, Teresa, and 2 long lost friends, Rosie & Marty, headed to try our hands at gambling over the Labor Day weekend. Regardless of the outcome, I thought, a drive through some of the most beautiful country in the USA on a gorgeous day was just the thing to do. We packed up the cooler with some adult beverages and headed off to God's Country. And tried to bring some luck with us.

I had never been to any gambling establishment on the East Coast. Las Vegas has always been my favorite place to go--and when you live in LA, the trips get more frequent and addictive. But LV is a place where you can do a lot more than gamble--people watch, catch a lounge act or two, stuff your face for a reasonable price and people watch--and you feel the action even if you're not the one creating the vibe. Charles Town is NOT like that--no lounge acts, one casino, an OTB--and is a very different mix of people. So I still got to people watch. And watch them look/stare at me with my long hair and my group that looked a little out of place.

It used to be that if I was losing at the Black Jack tables, I would keep "paying the casino's rent" and chase good money after bad. Nothing where I'd lose the mortgage payment but thanks God I had Teresa with me to keep me in check--most of the time. This time, I was on my own as I circled the tables like a vulture looking for it's next meal. $50 tables. $25 tables. WTF? Where are the $5 and $10 tables? This is high stakes stuff. And I'm not going to play poker. No way, not in this small town with some locals who just wait for "tourists" like me to drain my pockets. So I looked for the best table. And finally, I found a $15 one. So I set my cash limit. And 15 minutes later, I was out of chips. Bad players, an extremely lucky dealer and the smell of smoke did me in.

I've posted before about "first" after cancer. This was my first time really gambling. And this was the first time I could remember not having a strong urge to keep doing it. Normally, I would keep hopping from table to table to find the right one. This time, I didn't. I didn't get the rush. Didn't get the urge to win it all back. I just hung out watching others. Waited for Teresa and Rosie & Marty--who were winners so at least SOMEONE walked away with more than they came with--and took it all in. I'll dance another day. Happily.

Maybe on a beer pong table.

Who's The Old Dude?

That would be me.

I started a new job this week and I'm sure I'm at least 10 years older than EVERYONE. Which is waaaay cool. And very inspiring. My outward appearance has been beaten down by cancer, too many 50-70 hour work weeks and Mother Nature taking it's course. But it's not what's on the outside that counts. Inside, I feel reborn. Re-energized. Ready.

I was the youngest at a small advertising agency in Los Angeles in 1981––Chiat/Day––working in the mailroom with no idea of what I wanted to do "when I grew up." It was at Chiat/Day that I met my Wife, Teresa, and began a journey that has given me so much. At the time I was 22 years old. And I had thought that any years I lived after 21 were bonus years. Why? I lived in a tough area of LA. Was only 6 years old when one of my friends died. Had friends shot and killed. Played sports with cops circling the baseball field and steel bars on the windows of the basketball gym. Played one-on-one with gang bangers so I could get home safe from the playground.

Chris, from my former job, told me that the people at my new job would adore me. Respect me for the knowledge I had that I take for granted. Admire me for my accomplishments. Accept me because of the person I am. (Thanks, Chris. You're the best). Who's the old dude? I am.

And blessed to be there.

Things We Should Say All The Time

Sorry for not posting after 100. My life has been changing at a rapid pace.

I left my job of four years last Thursday. It felt like a long good-bye. One that came with mixed emotions but a totally clear head as I walked out the door. And a big smile on my face. I'm off to a new adventure. And I haven't been this jazzed about a job in a long time. But enough of that crap. What I really did was do what I set out to do when I started out this blog––ya followin' that, because I'm writing it and I'm not so sure myself––watching how my decision, my life, my cancer effects others.

The announcement of my departure was sent by my boss. I actually just read it again––3 paragraphs, 1 about me and the other 2 about a new leader and how great my replacement will be––and it summed up the last two weeks at my previous employer. (Now Ricardo, don't think this is a dis to you. I think you're going to be great. I know it. It just struck me as another thing to write about). Which leads me to––finally––the point of this post.

When I had cancer, it seemed that it divided people I knew into three categories––those who accepted me as I had always been, those who didn't know what to say and stumbled through conversations and those who avoided me as much as possible. (Check out an earlier post I did, I Don't Know What To Say). For those who wished me well and were so happy for me, they will be with me forever. For those who stumbled through their "congratulations" and really only wanted to know "the gossip", the jury is still out if we stay in touch. For those who avoided me as much as possible, I hope you find your inner peace and truth.

The only sad part of leaving was hearing the good things I never knew people though about me. Why? Because we need to share our thoughts, feelings and positive experiences every day. We need to tell those we love them, we love them. Even if they do know it. We need to say "thank you" and "please and act like adults instead of spoiled, insecure and ignorant arrogant humans. So I leave that part of my life behind and tell you what I myself don't say enough.

Thank you. I love you. I'm a better person to have you in my life.

100

I made it.

When I started this blog in July 2008, I had a modest goal that I never told anyone. (Yeah, imagine me not telling anyone anything. Go ahead. Now stop smiling that "no way" smile). I wanted to get to 100 posts. Why? It would mean I would at the very least live another 100 days. Beat cancer's ass day after day after day after day.

July 20 is quite another number. The first walk on the moon, 41 years ago. Bill Singer pitching a no-hitter for the Dodgers in 1970. A game where I bought tickets for me and my Dad to go see––but he couldn't make it so I didn't go. (Still haven't seen a no-hitter live in the 1,000 games I've been to). Which brings me to another July 20 special number––my Dad's 71st birthday.

But another reason for celebration of my 100th post is that I am changing jobs. Gave my 2 weeks notice last Friday. Going to build something from scratch. It's going to be challenging. It's going to be fun. It's going to be strange going to a place where I don't know anyone except for the people I met. And it's going to be the first job I got after cancer. If only you could see the tears of joy and pride on my face. Maybe I'll take a picture and use on my next post.

If I make it.

The Scary Thing About cancer Blogs

Being able to write about my experiences with cancer is a blessing. (No, it really is. Read on.).

Why? While all of us have to face our mortality one way or another, cancer has this dastardly way of ruining your day––because it's such a deadly disease today could be the day cancer wins over your life. No life, no posts. There are many who stop blogging because they have stopped breathing. And sometimes, they just loose interest. Run out of things to write. Move on to other endeavors. The weird thing is, how do you know?

One of the first connections with the cancer blog community––and it's a big one, people––I made was with Dennis and his blog, Being Cancer, which has been a source of inspiration and information that has really helped me. (If you peek to the right of this post and scroll down just a bit, you'll also see Being Cancer listed as one of the blogs I follow.).

Dennis "found me" and this blog and sent me an email. He wanted to feature one of my posts on his blog. Cool. Happy to do it. Share the love, pain, stories and inner-most thoughts of a cancer survivor. Hell yeah. This made me feel connected to so many people, even if I never get to "meet" them in this viral world or face-to-face. (Does that happen anymore?). But now I'm worried about Dennis. He hasn't posted in a few weeks. Dennis was diagnosed with T-PLL, a rare aggressive form of chronic lymphocytic leukemia (CLL), in 2001. Had a bone marrow transplant in 2004. And tons of other treatments and cancer-related issues since. (Visit the link above for more info.).

Now I could send Dennis an email. I could. But what if he doesn't answer? What if he can't answer? What if he never answers?

That's the scary part.