cancer Barbie

I've been stuck. Since my Mother passed away, my mind has been taking twists and turns of which I've never seen. Finding my voice and inspiration has been lacking.

So this made me take to the keys––cancer Barbie. Now you can read an article here http://huff.to/AbYzax that tells the story of Mattel saying "they don't take suggestions from customers" for products. It's hidden in there, if not, then I'm an idiot. But my point is this: Really?

Since this story hit, Mattel has been doing some re-thinking on this subject, as the Social Media world had taken on this challenge. (Use this link for the Facebook page http://on.fb.me/zQsiX0). And I've been stewing on it. Why? As a cancer survivor, a cancer patient, a parent for crying out loud I can see no harm in creating a doll that looks like a child who has lost their hair to their treatments. People want to see people JUST LIKE THEM. It's a fact. I also experienced this firsthand: a child who was going through radiation treatment the same time I was.

I remember sitting in the waiting room, getting myself ready for another radiation treatment. It was early on, so I hadn't hit the "radiation wall"; that's when your body has fully absorbed the radiation (and I was in chemotherapy at the same time) and it starts to kick your ass. And I kept seeing this little boy, being wheeled in with his parents and thinking "how can I help this kid?" I smiled at him and his parents. Asked him and his parents how was his day. Tell him it's my turn" and give him a thumbs up. I didn't do this out in the open––in fact, I'm not even sure my Wife, Teresa knows––because he was "embarrassed to have lost his hair. And you know how kids can be" was the longest response/conversation I had with his parents.

I also grow my hair to 10+ inches so I can donate it to Locks of Love http://locksoflove.org. And while that's a long term commitment, it still doesn't seem like it's enough. So I'm spreading the word to "help" Mattel make the right decision. It's just a doll, right?

Wrong.

Are You Listening?

I found this article that I not only have to share but inspired me to get back on the blog.

The line that got me the most––"that's not a good way to die, before you've told the end of your story." I read that and instantly began thinking of my Mother's passing this past October. You could probably tell I haven't posted much since then. Her passing has jolted me more than I expected. I didn't get to talk to her much, as my Mother was always on the go and was somewhat of a nomad her last year+ in her life. But when we did talk my Mom would tell me stories about her friends, her work or some situation she got herself into that she couldn't figure out how to mitigate.

It wasn't unusual for me to say, "hi, Mom. How are you?" and get my next chance to say something to her about 20-30 minutes later. And this happened my whole life. When I was younger I would wait up for her when she went out. Being a young, single Mother I fully understood and accepted her need to have fun with people her own age. We were only 17 years apart in age so as I grew older my listening became more important as our ages seems to come closer together. While it always seemed "cool" to have such a young Mom it was also tough as I became more "grown-up" faster and that meant I didn't always want to listen.

Now for those of you who know me and can't fathom me just sitting there and listening, it's true. I like to think that I'm a good listener. I believe that part of that is listening to my body, which was telling me 4 1/2 years ago that I had cancer. I also believe in my heart my Mom's trip in the Fall of 2010 to my house was her way of wanting me to listen again, even closer this time. I spent as much time as I could with her, happy she was with us yet concerned that she didn't look or act very well during her stay. And the next time I saw her was in the hospital after her massive stroke. It was hard to listen to her because I think she was trying to finish her story, tell me all about it.

I'm still here, ready to listen as always.

Forgetting What I Forgot

I was talking to a co-worker this morning about my memory, or lack thereof, since I was treated for head & neck cancer.

If you've been reading my blog since July of 2008––thank you if you have, and you can always go back and read ALL of my posts––you've seen me write about "chemo brain" and how real it really is. As I'm getting older chronologically––because those that know me know I'm Peter Pan in disguise––I've been wondering where the intersection of radiation and chemo damage and old age will be. And am I at that dreaded 4 corner intersection without a clue as to where I go? I also think of the multiple concussions I've had in my life––at least 3, that I can remember––numerous blows to the head in football, elbows in basketball and a few baseballs off the noggin' in the box or on the base paths in baseball. Oh, and then there's the stitches I took in the head when I was 4 years-old and the year of Judo-Jujitsu that knocked me around a bit.

As far back as I remember, I wanted to make my living with my brain. First it was a lawyer––until I found out I had to go to school forever––then a poet (it was the 60's), a sportswriter (good thing I didn't go down that path now) and eventually a writer of some sorts which is what I am today. The long, extended point is, my brain is my livelihood. I make dozens of business decisions a day, create multiple ideas for my clients and our company and try to stay even with this whole web-thing that is really catching on (insert sarcasm here).

I also get to thinking if I'm ever going to stop thinking about my survival from cancer. And what/how much I will remember of the entire diagnosis, treatment and recovery. Teresa will tell you she just wants to forget all of it, especially the scary parts she saw me go through. I want to remember and then again I don't. I'd like to able to forget what I want to forget and remember what I want to remember.

If only I could remember to do that every day.

Milestones

A little over 4 years ago, I finished my last cancer treatment. It was a Friday––I called it the "cancer combo" as chemo & radiation were both on Fridays for 7 weeks––and I was done.

I was talking to a friend at work about my "milestone", as this person is also a cancer survivor. I was starting to wonder about my recovery & remission and what does it all really mean. Total remission is supposed to be 5 years from your treatments. But then what? Do I go and checked? When? How? After calming myself down I realized I have just as many questions now as I did when I heard the "c" word. While the now yearly check-ups/tests/blood work are filled with wait & worry for me and my family, they are also very comforting in knowing I'm going to find out what's going on inside my body. It sucks to get it done but does it suck more not knowing?

I keep thinking back to my friend and fellow cancer survivor Matt, who helped me more than he'll ever know. He told me you'll "just live" one day, after your 5 years have come and gone. I know it will always be in the back of my mind. Because I DON'T want to forget. Sounds ridiculous––that's for you, Teresa––but I feel by remembering what cancer did to me, I will know if/when it comes back again. cancer also made me a better person in some weird ways. And I want to hold on to the "better Greg." So totally forgetting is really not healthy. I know, I can be a sick bastard. But I also know that milestones are there for me to give thanks and praise to those who were and have been with me through the good and bad. Because it never really goes away.

You just hit another milestone.

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.