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.

Tears On My Keyboard

My Mother passed away Tuesday, October 4, 2011.

Today is her viewing. And I have to admit the last month it's been hard for me to write because the emotions having been flowing faster than my brain and fingers can move. Collecting my thoughts haven't been this hard since my battle with cancer began 4 yours ago.

I could write volumes about my Mom. She truly was one of a kind in many ways, if that makes sense. But in the next few days, hours and greetings from family, friends and the many people who were touched by my Mom's life, I'm choosing to save it for her eulogy tomorrow. I will tell everyone who will hear the amazing things my Mother, Mary Grace, did for countless numbers of people who came in and out of her life.

She died too young--70--not because the number 70 is now the new 60. Because she was young at heart. Always looking to laugh, dance or sing. Always thinking she was a lot younger than her chronological age. And now she'll get to sing with Elvis, dance to Marvin and be with her Joseph Bear and Ruby Marie. If you don't know who those people are/were, you didn't know Mary Grace.

And that's a loss for all of us.

Short But Hopeful

Today I wish for a safe transport of my Mother from Las Vegas to Southern California. Too emotional to write anything else.

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.