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.

Dr. Feelgood

I'm in the middle of check-ups, so naturally my thoughts turn to mortality. (Or maybe it's just natural to me).

I've graduated to once a year, as 8/7/07 gets smaller in my virtual rear view mirror. Once a year I get checked up to see if I'm winning or losing the battle with cancer. And yes, it is a battle. Why? Anything worth having is worth fighting for. In my case, my battle is making the side effects seem "normal" and staying ahead or at least keeping even with the work I do for a living. It's realizing that "normal" is not normal and my normal is just fine with me. It sure beats the alternative. But now that I've diverted your attention and haven't really written about "doctors", it's time to tell you why my Docs make me feel better.

My GP, Dr. Plescia, started this off by giving me a full physical, with the usual blood, urine and uh, ahem, a probe or two. Hey, cancer can strike anywhere. Dr. Plescia is that rare Doctor who actually knows something about you beyond the chart. He and I are the same age, which helps when he says, "guys our age have to do these things and get these things checked out. I go through it with my Doctor." Yeah, that's right. Doctors have Doctors. At least the good ones do, as they stay away from total self-diagnosis. Dr. Plescia is the one who recommended Dr. Lee, my ENT. Dr. Lee––who is a no-nonsense, straight shooter, just how I like them–– recommended Dr. Felice.

Dr. Felice, my Oncologist, is the kind of person you'd have a beer or two with. He's a big Mets fan and sports fan in general. And he ends every visit with a magic trick––yes, the best trick would be to make cancer disappear but not even Chris Angel can do that––that puts a smile on your face as you leave his office. Card tricks are his forte but he does this thing with a bottle cap and a bottle that blows you away. I go see him this week to get the usual poking, prodding and draining so I know if the cancer is back anywhere. And while I don't know if that's the case until I get my results, I do know one thing.

I'll walk out of there with a smile on my face courtesy of my Doctor.

Why I'm Not Celebrating Death

If you're a cancer survivor, you'll understand why I'm not celebrating the death of Osama Bin Laden.

In no way shape or form do I feel pity or sorrow for him. I was in New York on 9/11/01, watching the destruction and reactions across the city up close and personal. I'll tell the whole story in another post. If I never get to post the story, so be it. But what I saw that day was almost 6 years to the day BEFORE I was diagnosed with head & neck cancer in 2007. Shaking hands with death changes your perspective.

Every now and then I catch myself taking life for granted. I have a wonderful and loving family. I'm fortunate to live where the seasons change and see all it's beauty. I have a job that is a job I've been looking for ever since I left Chiat/Day in 1986. I live in a great neighborhood. But sometimes, I get caught up in too many things that in the grand scheme of things, are really unimportant and a waste of time. Life itself is precious in every way, every second of the day. Death, while inevitable, is a marker for those who come after us. Our lives are then reduced to stories––some true, some embellished and some absolutely too ridiculous to believe––passed on from generation to generation and more recently, over the Internet.

What I am celebrating is hoping that we ask ourselves how/why one person can influence others to kill another human being, especially those people who believe "it is God's will" to take another person's life. Now I know I'm treading on dangerous territory for many reasons. That is not my intent. I can't get you to believe the way I do nor should I try––you are your own person. And so am I. But as I said earlier in this post, I'm a cancer survivor. If you've ever heard the words, "I wish I had better news but you have (fill in ANY cancer here). Best of luck to you", the first thought/question is 99.9% of the time, "am I going to die?"

When you can answer that question with living proof, then maybe you'll understand why I'm not celebrating death.