What's Going On?

My Mother is still hanging in there but still in the hospital. It really doesn't look good for a recovery.

But sometimes forces greater than us have a way of bringing a smile to a situation that has an inevitable and sorrow-filled ending. That's why you see Marvin Gaye's picture above. My Mother loved to party––but she was NOT a drinker, she just liked to have a good time. That good time was focused on dancing to the music. She loved music, especially Elvis and Motown. And she could dance her ass off all night. I know from firsthand experience. She would take my Sister and I to our very close friends of the family––we do call them family––Joe and Annie's place in the mid to late '60's and early '70's. Can't find a babysitter? We would go and hang out with their kids and the adults until we would get bored or go to sleep. And my Mom was usually the life of the party, dancing, laughing and just having a clean good time.

The other significance of Marvin Gaye is his album, "What's Going On?", was the first album I can remember seeing and listening to––we had tons of 45's, which had an A and B side and were much cheaper than an LP, a long playing record. So we listened to Marvin Gaye ALL the time because we could hear more than one song. I also learned to listen to the words and not just the music because of Mr. Gaye's storytelling ability. I could feel his despair, pain, agony and joy in his voice and his words. Without knowing it at the time, he (along with Edwin Jackson, songwriter/singer of "War") hooked me in the power and purpose of the written and spoken word. So when I looked at this poster, hanging on the side of Hitsville, USA, the old Motown records "studio", his eyes touched my soul. I saw the despair, pain and the essence of his soul in this photo. And while it made me smile at first because it brought good times with my Mom to mind, I also felt something extremely deeper.

The pain my Mom must be going through now. Love you, Mom.

Keeping Perspective

It's been a tumultuous month.

My Mom suffered a stroke and heart attack. Blood pressure––top number––was over 240. She's lucky to still be alive. But she's still not out of the woods, as she's spent the last 4-5 weeks in and out of critical condition and back and forth from hospital to rehab to back to ICU. Thank God she is fighting to stay alive. Next week is a quadruple bypass for her. Always a risk but there's no alternative as she has only 30% capacity of blood flow through her heart.

I'm writing this very personal post about someone other than myself because it's brought up the inevitable part of life––what if Mom doesn't make it? As my family, close friends––thanks, Ben & Tim––and others have discussed the possibilities, I've noticed something very different about me from the rest of the family. While I'm very sad and know my Mom is in the fight of her life, I've also come to grips with mortality. I talked to my Dad about this the other day––he is also a cancer survivor––and he totally understood. I can only equate this to something I know millions of cancer survivors have gone through and perhaps have a better understanding because of their own face-to-face meeting with death.

I believe when you've stared death in the face––and I'm not talking about thrill seekers who looks for the rush––you find out a lot about yourself. I've written before that there were a few times I didn't think I was going to make it through the night, so I would stay awake to see the sun come through my window. I used to think, "I lived. Now to live another day." It may seem somewhat of a morbid thought. But the power of positive thinking is truly powerful and extremely helpful in the fight against cancer. Even if you don't make it, you die knowing you fought to live to the bitter end.

I love my Mom and selfishly want her to be around for another 70 years. But I also know that death is the most unfortunate part of life and inevitable. That doesn't make it any easier when a loved one, dear friend or anyone else who has been a part of my life passes away.

Right now, it's helping me keep my perspective right where it should be.

cancer Tips

Yes, an odd headline for a post. But in celebration of three years being alive to blog––I started this blog July 19, 2008––words cannot express my joy in being able to share.

1. Smile. A lot. It doesn't hurt at all. Unless you have a tube in your mouth at the time (which has happened to me).

2. Share. Love. Happiness. Stories. The last bite of a delicious desert.

3. Walk with ease. Enjoy the fact you can walk and don't take it for granted.

4. Scream. It clears your lungs and also reminds you why you shouldn't do it very often. Unless you're screaming with pleasure.

5. Tell someone you love them. Tell more than one person a day you love them. You know who those people are.

6. Be kind. It's an amazing feeling that you can't buy.

7. Pass along knowledge. You'll be amazed at what you get in return.

8. Ask someone how they are doing and really mean it. If you don't, don't do it. But you'll be much poorer if you don't.

9. Give someone a hug. Or if you don't have anyone to hug, hug your pet. No pets? Hug a pillow. Surely you have a pillow somewhere in your life.

10. Put down your electronic device when someone is talking to you. You might learn something or start a new relationship that's been missing from your life.

11. Say please. And thank you.

12. Open the door for someone. Literally and/or figuratively.

13. Don't wait for tomorrow. Tomorrow never really comes. All we have is today.

14. Thank your higher power for being alive.

15. Remember that everyone has their own shit to deal with. It just comes in many different forms.

16. Read. Words are timeless.

17. End your day with love, a smile, a hug and one happy thought. That's a full day in itself.

Love to all of you who take the time to read my ramblings.

Thank you.

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.

The Post Before The Exam

I always try to be careful of what I write during my check-ups, post cancer.

No really, I do. I know some of you follow my blog to "check-up" on me and I greatly appreciate that. It's one of the reasons I filter my news of my day-to-day battle with keeping cancer away from my physical being. And a big reason why my posts slow down during the testing period.

Tomorrow is the last leg of my Doctor visits. Or so I hope. My CT scan showed an increase in size in one of my lymph nodes. And I want to know why/what does it mean/what's next for me and my family. I believe our greatest fears are dealing with the unknown. (No shit, Greg). I'm all about resolution. Let's get to it, now. All I got is right now. So this waiting between exams/check-ups/tests is more excruciating than knowing if it the cancer has come back or not. (Looks like I'm getting close to the writer's record for using backslashes in one post). I want to live today to the fullest. And know what today will look like after tomorrow. OK, now I'm confused. Now you know what goes through my mind while I'm waiting for resolution.

It's been almost four years to the day––8/7/07––when I first heard my name associated with cancer. I'm going to the same Doctor who immediately sent me to a Pathologist that fateful day. So that's giving me a little concern. But I also know if the news isn't what I want to hear I'll be ready to kick it's ass again.

So I can keep posting.

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.