Back From The Dead

It's been a while since my last post, I know. (I hope you're still following).

The main reason was work––I work at Ogilvy and fortunately we've been extra busy––and the other big reason was the preparation for our annual Halloween Party, called "The Freaky Fest." Why the name? About 27 years ago, my friend Bubba––no, not the shrimp king or BC––said, "you need a name for that shindig." (As I said, it was about 27 years ago and shindig was a leftover from the '60's and '70's). And so after a few rounds of throwing names out, we came up with The Freaky Fest. (Yes, we were ahead of our time. As the word "freak" is frequently used in today's language. Right?).

Two years ago, in 2007, we didn't get freaky. I was at the end of my cancer treatments and I was trying to stay alive instead of dressing up for the dead. I remember my kids telling me we could have a "small little party" so we could still celebrate Halloween. As strange as it may seem, Halloween is the biggest family celebration we have. Our children have been at every one––except one or two where one of my 4 kids were away at school or like this year, sick––and now my two Grandkids are right there with the rest of us. My Wife, Teresa, is a master at the event. She's the greatest, as she plans and works her ass off to put the party together. And I know she only does it for me, because I love the party so much.

In 2008, I was just out of the hospital two-and-a-half weeks before our party. This time, I had complications from my gall bladder surgery and spent 5 days in the hospital. I had lost so much weight, that I looked like death warmed over. Perfect for Halloween! I dressed up as a pimp. I had one drink all night. I danced as much as I could––that's another FF tradition, we dance all night––until I didn't have anymore strength. It was a good, but shorter than usual party.

This year, was a challenge. It was on Halloween, which meant we were not going to see our friends with kids. It was supposed to rain. I was swamped with work. And not to mention the flu––H1N1 and other petrie dish varieties of the flu––was kicking a lot of people's ass. So, I thought maybe 50 people would show up and we'd have a blast. Wrong! There were well over 100 people in costumes––amazingly, no Michael Jackson costumes––and we finally stopped the music at 3AM. And that's with the extra hour we gained from the time fall back. Yes, we killed it and everyone had a great time.

Good to be back alive.

The Sunny Side

It was a cold and rainy weekend. (No, this is not the first line line of a romance or mystery novel).

I used to look at these kind of days as unproductive, dreary and a waste of a day. But not anymore. Not after battling cancer and coming out on the sunny side, the side that is full life and not darkened by death. Every day is a good day. It is up to me to make it the best day ever.

Now some of you might say, "oh yeah, Mr. Sunshine! Well let me tell you about my crappy life!" I understand. Been there myself. I'm a cynic at heart. It's hard when you don't have a job, the bills are piling up and then it rains all weekend and all you have is the TV or the confines of your house. It's easy to wallow in self pity, look for someone to "make it all better" for you or bitch and complain about how tough you have it. Let me tell you something, we all have stuff to deal with that makes life challenging. And who is to say my problems are worse than your problems?

cancer has a way of bringing out the best of you when you live through it. I'm sure there are cancer survivors who would disagree with me––I've posted this before––but cancer turned the viewfinder around on me. The emotional side effects from cancer have actually made me stronger. Made me appreciate the smile on Teresa's face. The laughter of my children. The hugs from my Grandkids. Make me stop and hear the wind blowing through the trees and watch the leaves come cascading down to the ground. I choose to thank a higher power every day I wake up. Because it's a new day of opportunity. A new day to give thanks to those who have helped me through the cancer course that was trying to kill me. So even though the weekend was somewhat of a washout, I had a great weekend.

I'm alive.

Friends

I had dinner the other night with one of, if not my best friend, Fred.

Fred and I have been through a lot together. We met over 20 years ago at work, working in the ad business and working our asses off as we were trying to move up the so called ranks. It was an instant friendship, as we both came from similar backgrounds but grew up 3,000 miles apart. He started in the business sweeping floors, cleaning the stat camera and running errands for the owner. I started in the mailroom stocking the Coke machines, sorting mail, moving furniture and running film back and forth from Downtown LA to Hollywood. We both wanted to be in the creative department, making ads and commercials and working with our brains instead of digging ditches or some other form of manual labor. And the odds were against us for many reasons.

As we sat across each other, I began to tell him some things I never told him. And for that matter, never told anyone except for Teresa. I told him the struggles I had as I was going through my treatment. Why? We were talking about the old days, trying to remember some names and faces from 20+ years. Facebook has helped our memories, as John had posted some shots from our JWT days. As we usually do, the conversation covered a lot of ground until I told him that the chemo and radiation had done some damage to my memory. He laughed and said, "oh man, that can't happen. I've always relied on you to put the names and faces together. You never forgot any of that stuff. I do, and I didn't have chemo!"

For some reason I told him that the gaps were being closed, but that some may never be filled. I told him about the times I stayed up all night, sitting in the bathroom vomiting and crapping at the same time. I told him of the times I summoned the ever-powerful will of my mind, convincing myself to hang on until the morning so I could be alive another day. If only I could see daylight, I knew I would live another day. And with another day, there was hope of many more to come.

The look on Fred's face was one of amazement, shock and empathy all at once. All he could say was, "Man." He didn't have to say anything. I knew when I was going through the treatments, he was there for me. He didn't bother me all the time or tell me he knew how I felt or how he knew someone else who had cancer and what they went through. He was just there whenever I needed him. I felt his support, prayers and friendship. He, like a lot of my friends––Ted, Jeffrey, Larry, Tom, Francis, Ben, Richard, Craig, Mick, Lance––called when they felt it, talked to me when I needed it and visited when I was beating the hell out of the cancer. And there were so many more people and friends, waaaaaay to many to list, who were there for me.

Thank God, for my friends. I never would have made it without them.

Workaholic

I'm worried about you. 

When I woke up yesterday morning, my Wife grabbed my arm in bed and told me this. I knew what she was talking about. But I asked her anyway what she meant. You've been working too much. I have. Four days off––including weekends––in the month of September. Last time I worked like this, I got cancer. It could've been there the whole time or maybe it was just coincidental but this stretch of working 15 hour days––leave my house before 7 am, get home between 9 and 10 pm––brings back painful and scary memories.

Stress, a compromised immune system and not eating when you're supposed to eat are cancer ignitors. They fuel the cancer cells we all have in our body and they attack. In tumors. In your body. In my head & neck. That's why Teresa is worried. That's why she reminded me about working too hard. She said what I've been thinking about all along––I can't be working like this. It's not good for my health. But that's hard for people to understand, especially those at work. I look like I'm healthier. I act like I've put the cancer behind me. I know the threat of cancer coming back is always there.

Funny thing is, I used getting back to work as a motivator to beat the cancer. During treatments, I would imagine myself on the positive side of cancer, being cancer free and back to work creating. It's what I love to do. It's what I do best, like it or not. It's what can make me relapse. Look, I don't wake up every day and say, "boy, can't wait to put in another 14-15 hours today." But I do wake up every day knowing that today is ALL I HAVE. I just have to work on making every day more than just work.

Yep, can't get away from the word "work."

Stick It To Me

This is my anniversary of the start of chemo. And was the continuation of a fear I've had forever.

Not the fear you might be thinking about––cancer is a big fear, undoubtedly––but I have a huge fear of needles. Hate 'em. Would rather be chased with a meat clever held by Usain Bolt. In fact, sometimes I thought the nurses who couldn't "find a good vein" would break out another instrument of pain in trying to find the perfect spot to inject the poison they were putting into my body to kill the disease that was REALLY trying to kill me. During my treatments––radiation, chemo, oral surgery, exploratory surgery, follow-ups, check-ups––I've been stuck with needle more times than I'd like to remember. Most of them were successful. And there were quite a few times I was poked 3 times in each arm just to "find a good vein". (Go to Being Cancer, and read the post about Evan Handler's book).

This Friday, I have signed up to get a flu shot at work. (Don't worry, a hospital and real Doctors and Nurses will be administering the shots). And the first thing I thought about is "getting stuck with a needle". Really. I've had a tube in my stomach for 10 months, had 35 radiation treatments, had three tubes shove down my throat all the way to my liver, emergency gall bladder surgery, three skin cancer surgeries and four teeth yanked out of my head WITH PLIERS and I'm worried about a stick in the arm––hey, I'd rather get the shot in my ass, but I'm pretty sure these will be done out in the open and baring my ass at work might not be "PC"––because did I mention I hate needles?

So I'm going to try to be a big boy on Friday. Not look at the needle being stuck in my arm. Not look at the nurse or doctor. Not yell out "son of a bitch"––which I've done before. I'm going to take the attitude of, "c'mon, bring it!"

I think.

Swayze

I remember when I heard the news of Patrick Swayze being diagnosed with cancer.

Why would the news of an actor who I never met, place an indelible mark in my memory? Because when you have cancer, there is a connection that almost automatically happens. And from what I had read about Mr. Swayze, he was a good human being. A good Husband. And that was good enough for me. He married his wife in his early 20's, just like me. And his Wife, was totally dedicated to caring for him--just like my Wife, Teresa. He was diagnosed in March of 2008. That was during the time I was recovering––still am, to be honest––and I watched him whenever he came on television or would show up in the press. He was an inspiration.

This was in the press release on his passing: "Swayze was married since 1975 to Niemi, a fellow dancer who took lessons with his mother; they met when he was 19 and she was 15. A licensed pilot, Niemi would fly her husband from Los Angeles to Northern California for treatment at Stanford University Medical Center, People magazine reported in a cover story." Now you may think that of course, your spouse always stays at your side during the cancer battle. Well, you would be wrong. The "interweb" is full of stats and stories of how people just can't deal with having a loved one suffer through cancer. The reasons, are endless.

cancer touches EVERYONE. It's a nasty, frightening, confusing, depressing, unforgiving disease. If you let it, it will destroy everything in your life and try to suck the life out of those around you. The Swayzes didn't succumb to that. Mr. Swayze fought hard, lived hard and kept his optimism right in your face. He forced us to watch him battle, watch him do what he loved most––entertain. I will always admire him for that. And his Wife, Niemi, has to be one of the strongest people on the planet. Just like my Teresa.

Here's to you, Patrick Swayze. I know you had the time of your life.

Trusting Your Gut

We all have an inner voice. Now before you think I still have an imaginary friend at the advanced age of 51, let me explain myself.

I "discovered" I had cancer in the shower. No, it wasn't a previously undetected lump that I discovered. I had a small "bump" on the right side of my jaw, just below my ear which I thought was caused from being sick with a very bad cold. I've posted about this before, but my "inner voice" kept asking me a question: why do I feel like I have cancer? That's some pretty heavy duty shit. And to some, I'm sure, pretty hard to believe. But it's the God's honest truth. If it wasn't, I wouldn't be at the keyboard right now. I'd be six feet under or spread over the outfield of Dodger Stadium as my ashes became a fixture at Chavez Ravine.

But this isn't about that day in the shower that saved my life. This is about having to present myself and my group at work in front of the new Big Boss. And this was a big moment for myself and the group who works with me––and I wanted to crush it and hit it out of the park. (Sorry, I have baseball play-off fever and it's on my mind). We've been doing some really great work lately. And I wanted everyone to know it.

So I agonized. Wrote down stuff. Wrote down stuff others wanted me to say. Got on the defensive. Went on the offensive. Talked to myself––my inner voice was NOT paying much attention at the time––and even juiced up on more caffeine. I wasn't nervous. I was anxious. I love the stage. I love being able to share work that others have created. It's a positive blast to the ego, and we can all use that every now and then, right? Then about 15 minutes before we were on, one of my co-workers walks in and says, "we only have 2 minutes? What do we say that they already don't know?"

After he walked away, my inner voice finally spoke up––about time, rat bastard––and gave me the same advice Denny Kuhr gave me 20 years ago.  Go with what you know. Speak from the heart and the head will follow. Forget trying to script it or spin it or spew out somebody else's words from my mouth. I know this stuff. I live this stuff. I love doing what I'm doing. I don't know exactly where my "inner voice" lives inside my body. My head? My neck? My feet? No.

Right where it should've been all along. Right in my gut.