What Do I Know?

I just reconnected with a family friend who I love dearly. (That's for another post, Annie).

She had sent me some information about cancer--very helpful and most of it I'm already doing and then some--that got me thinking about what happened to me about a year ago. I had been writing this blog for myself, mainly, and also for anyone who cared to know about me and my thoughts. I never thought about it "getting picked up" by others in the blogosphere. Until I received an email from CR Magazine and how they wanted to talk to me about my blog. Really? Me? CR Magazine is published by the American Association for Cancer Research (AACR), the world's oldest and largest professional organization devoted to cancer research. (Note the word "devoted". Nice). And they wanted permission to interview me and publish one of my blog posts.

The writer in me was flattered. The cancer patient in me was humbled. The voice inside my head said, "yeah, baby". They asked me which was my favorite post. I told them the "last one I get to write." (Yeah, there was about 5 seconds of silence on the other end. Just a little gallows humor. Keeps me smiling and not taking myself too seriously). She said "you don't have a favorite?" It's like trying to pick your favorite kid--if you have more than one--you just can't do that. (Not because they might find out they're Daddy's fave). Because each post I write is energized by a moment in the day, a look on someones face or a milestone in my life. And many other special reasons.

A year later, I'm not sure if I feel better because I know more about cancer or because I can't FEEL any cancer in my body--I posted about this before--or because people like NCI, AACR and StandUp2Cancer are doing something about the millions who have to deal with cancer every day of their life. What do I know?

I know there's more good in this life than we know.

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.

You're Gonna Do What?

The whole interaction between Doctor and cancer patient is a sitcom waiting to happen. (And thanks to The Big C we can start laughing a little about it).

While it didn't seem that funny at the time, I can now look back and laugh at the insertion of my feeding tube three years ago, almost to the day. I had to go through a ton of prep for my treatments--2 oral surgeries, a series of scans, consultations--and the most intrusive of them all, a feeding tube shoved into my stomach. Think of something that looks like that cable wire that connects your TV to your box or dish. Except it was blue. With a foot long clear extension from the machine to the 18 inches of blue line that went straight into my skin, through the stomach lining so I could live. I had to have that fucker in there before I could receive any chemo or radiation. And I've posted before about how NO ONE knew how it worked--except for the Doc who stuck that bastard in--after 3 shots right in my gut and 6 weeks later of shooting liquid food into my tube with a syringe. Yeah, it was a party.

I had Doctors, Nurses, the company that was administering and distributing the cans of food and Google trying to help me out to get that thing pumping into my body for 12 hours a day. No one could figure it out. I finally went back to the hospital again and found the dude who put that baby in--ya think he would of told someone? Ten long months that sucker was in. Actually, I had to have it replaced because of 2 painful at the time but funny now "incidents". My dog, Tedi, got caught in the line and started to freak out and run. SON-OF-A-BITCH did that hurt. I had to practically tackle him to make him stay put. The other time, a client got up from his chair in a meeting, slipped a little and his chair rolled over my line and he got tangled up in it. Yeah, a client. He freaked and started to run out the door––hey man, stop! He then got pissed at me. "Can't you control that thing? Why are you sitting so close?" Dude, you're the idiot that couldn't gracefully get out of your chair and wigged out.

Now, three years later, I laugh my ass off when I think of the look on his face. He never treated me well after that, which I thought was strange because I thought he was a good guy. Wrong. Oh well. (I should have opened the line and squirted some of the liquid in his seat just to see him really lose his shit). I laughed about that today. And I also remembered when the Radiation Oncologist told me they were going to have to put the tube in. I remember my 2 reactions: "you're going to do what?" and then almost blurting out loud, "no fucking way".

Thank God for my sense of humor.

Awareness

Sorry if the title is a little misleading. (I'm in the rant mood today).

I have little tolerance for those who think they are the only person in the world. We've seen this type of behavior in large proportions before--the 70's were called the Me Decade--and we then fell into a deep recession at the beginning of the 80's. Now I'm all about taking care of my wants and needs and living in today's world is much more exciting and full of possibilities than ever before. But c'mon people, watch what the hell you are doing and try to focus on the shit around you.

Why are my panties in such a bunch? I went to a sandwich place at off-peak hours to grab a much needed bite. There were 2 people working behind the counter, a customer sitting at a window seat, a customer standing and waiting for their sandwich and Mr. Oblivion in line in front of me. Now this dude was about my age, about my size and dressed like I was today--shirt and tie, nice slacks and Sunday shoes. (We used to call them church shoes). He proceeds to ask the robot-like employee behind the counter EVERY question about the sandwich he's ordering. Which would be fine by me IF HE JUST READ THE BIG SIGNS IN FRONT OF HIM AND TO HIS RIGHT & LEFT. (In fact, this guy looked like Bill O'Reilly, poor bastard). But this is not what got me juiced up. Mr. Oblivion backed up and bent over to look at the chips--and almost knocked me down if not for putting my hand out and backing up myself. Which would've meant putting my hand on his ass.

I said, "behind you". No response. He then did it AGAIN, this time moving back even MORE. So now I was fighting to keep his big-flat-fat-ass from getting in my face. (Think of a QB under center kind of view). Ten years ago and probably before cancer, I would have kicked him right in his brown-eye. (Hey, I already had said, "right behind you"). But I didn't. I realized where I was at--in a public place, late afternoon and dead-ass tired from three short sleeping nights. So I counted to 10--yeah, that really works--and let it go. Until this post. Thank you, interweb.

Maybe cancer has taught me to be more aware. Maybe it was growing up in LA, gangs bordering 3 sides of my neighborhood. Maybe it was my Mom & Dad teaching me to not be so self-involved and selfish. (Although I've been accused of being self-involved from some former co-workers. Anonymously, of course). Or maybe my age has something to do with this observation. But I do know for sure one thing.

I know I bumped into Mr. Oblivion for a reason.

Living To See Life

Every day I wake up is a blessing.

I was telling my friend, Kristen, that every day I walk out my front door I look up to the sky and smile. Even if it's raining, like today. Kristen is going through a tough time right now, as a close family member is battling cancer. (My prayers for you, Kristen). I related a saying my Father has spoken to me on more than one occasion--yesterday is a cancelled check, tomorrow is a promissory note and today is money in the bank--that is so very true. Because we ALL get caught up in wanting Friday to get here faster so we can start the weekend. Putting off calling a loved one who lives not-so-close to us. Take for granted how lucky we are, no matter what our financial situation or status in our jobs and life may be.

Last night, I was fortunate enough to welcome Kaleb, Grandson #4, make his grand entrance into our world. He was surrounded by love, near and far. He filled the room with hope, happiness and the miracle of birth. He looks my Adam, his Dad. (My Wife and Father both said as much). As I was looking at him--OK, fixated on him--I couldn't help but think about my own mortality. Here I was, in a hospital, with Jen hooked up via IV's and with no less than 8 other people in the room. Trying to not have flashbacks and trying to focus on the new life in front me.

I just embraced the scene. Thought of never forgetting this moment so one day I could tell Kaleb about him being born through my eyes. Watched Teresa melt. Hugged and kissed my Son. Because we sometimes forget that we come into this life with no fear--of death, disease, the unknown--and no concept of NOT enjoying the moment. Kaleb, welcome my Grandson. Kristen, enjoy the moments and time you have with those you love, who are here NOW. Life is a beautiful thing to see.

I feel fortunate to be living in the moment.

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.