April Fools

I was working through the day yesterday, in my yard with my Wife and oldest Grandson. It was April Fool's Day and the pranks were running through my head like a kid through a sprinkler on a hot summer day.

Then I had some of the morbidly funny thoughts I have from time-to-time as a result of surviving cancer (twice). I settled on a fantasy world created as I mowed the lawn, cut & pruned some trees and pulled enough weeds to make my arms feel like Popeye after he's downed his spinach. (For those of you born in the last 30 years, you can find more on Popeye here).

I thought, "what if this whole cancer thing was an April Fool's joke?" (Yes, a very bad and cruel joke at that. But like I said, my sense of humor was at an all-time morbid high). What if I was just part of an experiment? I mean, head & neck cancer ("you mean, throat cancer or brain cancer, right?" Wrong)? Caused by the HPV virus? In Men? Yeah, it was quite unusual in 2007, as up until then conversation was centered around cervical cancer and the PAP with HPV test for young females. (My Daughter went through this, so I have some knowledge, thank you very much). What if they looked at me and said, "well, he looks like he can handle this. Let's try to kill him while we keep him alive." We'll put a feeding tube into his stomach––and make him wait for 4 weeks to figure how it works since we've NEVER seen this kind of feeding tube in a patient––cut our part of his tongue, scrape his larynx, remove his tonsils, yank 4 teeth out of his head, give him chemo right out of clinical trials and 7 weeks of radiation (35 total) WHILE we're giving him chemo every Friday for the next 13 weeks and tell him he has to miss work for the next 6 months. Oh, and just when he's finished with all that, we'll give him skin cancer, cut it out of two places (15 and 10 stitches, respectively, and two cold "burns" to remove two other danger spots) and tell him to stay out of the sun as well as out of work.

Yeah, that would've been a helluva April's Fools joke.

I'm not laughing.

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.

The Fall

I fell off a ladder last Sunday and this is was "flashed" in my head in 5 seconds or less.

We had a bad storm the night before––35-40 mph winds with rain––so a few trees around my house took a beating. Especially the one in front of my house, at the end of the porch and hanging over my driveway. A branch was cracked and it would seem only hours or minutes away from falling right on the hood of my Wife's car, affectionately called "Honey" by my her. Which meant I had to cut it down––after I moved the cars out of the driveway.

I got my 4' ladder out––I have 3 ladders of various sizes for such things––and climbed to the safest/highest spot on the ladder. With a reciprocating saw in my hand. I was extra careful so as not to: kill the plants below me, break any garden statues and wear my work boots with the steel toes in case the saw falls out of my hands. I secured the ladder and up I went. Things were falling into place. Little did I know I would be falling as well.

Now for the flashbacks. With the big branch cut and covering the driveway, I started to get down––no, not like that––I got down from the ladder. And that's when my life did a quick review in me head. The ladder sunk into the soft ground and started to lean left. I, however, was heading right. I was still holding the saw. I was starting to fall and tried to gain my balance. Until my right foot slid across the rung and got stuck IN BETWEEN the rungs. There I was, falling backwards, with a saw in my hands and no one home to help if I really got hurt. This started this "video" in my head––I'm falling with a saw in my hands, please God don't let it cut me, shit my foot is stuck, SOB I'm going to hit the porch railing, no I'm going to gore myself on the pruners I just noticed, I think my ankle is going to break, don't fall, don't fall, don't fall, SHIT there's no one home what happens if I hit my head on the porch railing or cut my jugular vein or break my back, FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCKKKKKK.

Fortunately, I just scrapped the crap out of my right arm (had to get a tetanus shot) and tweaked the hell out of my back. I did bounce off the railing of the porch. And my back was in a knot, so much so that I finally went and got some 'killers for the pain that had been constant since Sunday. I also had an interesting though sitting in the Doctor's office yesterdayt: after all the chemo, radiation and surgeries I survived during cancer treatments I could have died falling 4 feet off a ladder.

That would've sucked.

Save The Planet Or Myself?

I had a rather interesting "discussion" with someone at work about my use of a plastic water bottle.

We were talking about "rethink, recycle, reuse" when this person pointed out in a meeting with others that I "could get rid of the water bottle. That's a big part of our problem." To which I replied, "I need these water bottles." Then it got interesting. As we walked out of the meeting together I then told this fellow employee I needed water to survive because of caner. This person proceeded to admonish me, saying I could use a permanent water bottle, made of steel––I can't because of the metal reaction that occurs in my mouth––or I could use a Brita water filter––I do, at home and at work, filling my water bottle that I use for the day over and over and use it until the next morning. I've tried glass water bottles––I have broken two––and plastic bottles as well.

The treatments I had for Head & Neck cancer were extensive––if you've read this before, sorry––and included 4 oral surgeries, replacement fillings in 4 of my teeth, surgery to insert a feeding tube, 35 radiation treatments over 7 weeks and 13 chemo treatments, one a week for 13 weeks. While I'm thankfully still alive––no ghost writing here––the side effects are permanent. Especially the damage to my salivary glands. I produce about 25-30% of the saliva I used to produce. Which means I need water by my side 24/7/365. Not just because of constant dry mouth and throat. But as a result of not producing enough saliva, I now have acid reflux. And sometimes I start choking because I'm too dry and have mucous stuck in my throat––at least that's just one of the things that make me choke or cough at any moment. Swallowing? An adventure in itself.

Now I'm not looking for any sympathy. It just struck me odd that someone would not even listen to my situation. I did say under my breath, "if I didn't have cancer I'd be drinking out of a glass just like you" but when I was asked what I said I just replied "nothing." Because this person either didn't care or understand or is just a douche bag and nothing I said was going to change their mind. This person was determined to save the planet starting with me. I have no problem with that other than it got me thinking.

Today, I'll save myself so I can help save the planet.

In Your Own World

"How come none of you all ask me why I curl me hair?"

About 2 feet away, while I was having lunch with my Daughter Kaity in DC, this is what some dude screamed out to a crowded restaurant. He was glassy-eyed, loud and popped in and out just as fast as he could ask that question.

The restaurant froze for a second. I grabbed my knife––growing up in LA, I guess––and watched every move he was making. Watching his hands. Watching his eyes. Watching my Daughter. It didn't phase Kaity. In fact, she just laughed as he walked out of the door he came in. The wait staff didn't move towards him or say anything to us after he left. I told Kaity, "welcome to DC."

I didn't think about that surreal moment until I started my 26 mile drive home that night. This dude was totally and completely in his own world. He had something on his mind and he was going to share. Probably didn't have anyone to share with, is my guess. Probably didn't have a blog like me. Probably living on the streets. (I did that for 6 months in LA in the '80's).

Escaping to a quiet place––through meditation, in your bedroom, in a middle of a party––is one of the things that helped me deal with cancer. I would "zone out" so I could focus on me. So I would feel the pain from chemo. Feel the radiation burning my skin. Feel myself fighting for my life. Why? Because I didn't want to forget. I wanted to tell anyone who would listen, that cancer is NOT a death sentence. It is not the end of your life. You have today to live. Live it.

Even if it's in your own world.

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.

Can't Do It Alone

Sometimes, we try to do too much.

I was watching a high school girls lacrosse game tonight, trying to watch as a fan but eventually falling into watching as a coach. Why? Because I have been coaching or mentoring coaches since I was 16 years old. I've coached Men's Softball, Women's Softball, Youth Baseball and Basketball, Girls High School Basketball, mentored a Girls High School Volleyball coach and other sports. I also played sports in high school and college and even played a little semi-pro baseball. So, it's tough for me to just sit back and enjoy as a fan. I'm always breaking down plays, looking at the whole playing field and figuring out what I would do to help my team win. Yeah, a little weird.

In watching the game tonight I saw players trying to force plays, play selfishly and play as if they were the only players on the field. They weren't playing for the school or for their their team to win. They were out there to show everyone how good they were. And in doing so, they showed everyone how bad they were, really. Taking the attitude of "I can do this all by myself, I'll show everyone how much of a superstar I really am." I've seen that attitude too many times as a coach and player. I've even done it a time or two myself. We all have, right? 

When I was diagnosed with cancer, I had a brief moment of thinking I can do this alone. I can do the treatments. Drive myself to the Doctors. Sit with a needle in my arm or hand while they pump chemo into my body and be there by myself. I don't want anyone to have to be there with me. I'm the one with cancer and I'm the one who is going to have to beat it. I can do it. I'm tough. Don't need anyone's help. And then it hit me––what a stubborn, pigheaded asshole I am.

You see, I was told by my Dad at 8 years old that I was going to have to be The Man Of The House. I was going to have to watch out for my Mom and my little Sister. I was going to be the only man in the house because he wasn't going to be around. I remember crying. I remember the look in my Dad's eye. I remember how that day changed my life forever. I needed to become responsible. I've felt that way ever since that day. So relying on someone else to be the strong one? C'mon, that was my job, my responsibility, my purpose in life. Hey, my Dad said so.

cancer kicks your ass up and down the street. And then kicks it again just for laughs. It plays with your ego, beats up your resolve and twists your heart and soul in knots in an effort to win. cancer plays to the death. It doesn't play fair. But one thing cancer doesn't count on is all the help you get. From your Doctors. From the radiation. From the chemo. My cancer didn't know that I wasn't going to give up. That I was going to be the toughest bastard ever. That I was bringing all the stops. From every where. From every one. cancer didn't know that I had this amazing family. An amazing family at work. An amazing group of friends, new and life long. cancer counted on me trying to do it alone.

No way was I going to try.