Hello to all my blog readers…I mean, hello to both my blog readers…I mean, hi Faith.  The fact that I haven’t blogged for several months isn’t really such a transgression.  I have been in such a winter’s rut that I can summarize my life in a few brief words;  my health is progressing nicely, I haven’t done squat on the house remodeling, I go to work and struggle with the same personalities, I come home and crash, and I am still enjoying my grandson immensely.  That’s about it.

We are heading towards the finish line on a major effort at work which was to implement a new enterprise system to handle operations, accounting, and financials.  It has been a huge endeavor for our small company, but when the dust settles I think we will conclude that the cost and sweat was worth it.  Today, Friday, I am allowing myself to feel like things are going well.  That inner peace is being allowed to stick its head out of the cage and sniff around a little.  I always have it on a short leash and, anymore, it is inherently cautious; maybe paranoid.  There are snakes in grass, alligators in the weeds, and hammers ready to fall but, for a little while I’m going to think things are in control and going well.  If this lasts until 5:00, I can have a good weekend and mow the grass for the first time (yech).

I will write briefly.  I have taken an anti-nausea that brings on the sleepies fairly quickly.  The thought running through my mind concerns the idea that i think we can lull ourselves into a sense of equity; of fairness.  We can fairly indulge in life and take our fair share of the bounties; at the same time we expect to be dealt a bit of challenges to overcome; glitches in our effortless enjoyment of life.  Each culture probably has a different sense of what is fair in this negative part of life.  Any more than our fair share and we start using phrases like, “why am I being shit on?”  Certainly people who were devastated by Katrina and then only weeks later clobbered by Rita would be justified in wondering which god was getting his jollies by pissing on their picnic.

In the last few years our family has dealt with illness and deaths, some tragic, some just sad.  But, at no time have I felt that I was being hit with more than my fair share of life’s negative side.  Really.  It never crossed my mind, “why me”.  I look around at those who deal with such horrible conditions and wonder, “why not me”.

This week, my sense of fairness may have been shaken.  We learned that my 84 year old mother has breast cancer.  So far it sounds like timing, size, location, etc. would indicate that it is the better of a bad situation.  She lives in a condo in my little town, but there is already talk of having her going to stay with a brother who lives near Philly.  She should be able to find an excellent oncologist and my sister-in-law can get her to and from appointments.  It’s all doable.  But that is about the best I can say about it.  Yes, there are many poor souls who have it much worse with little hope of ever seeing improvement in their lives but, this is my mother and I’m having a hard time wondering who decided they had  to piss on our parade.

Reserving a space for a blog that is slightly interesting read…

I met with Dr. Pohlman at the Cleveland Clinic last week and we started
laying out the schedule for the Stem Cell transplant. We won’t start
with stimulation chemo until second week in Sept. so he suggested that
I get one more chop+R treatment. I went into my wonderful home
oncologist this last Tuesday to get the treatment and she said that we
would have to do a Bone Marrow Biopsy soon in order to keep on the
Clinic’s schedule. I said, “how soon?”. She said, “how about today?”. I
said, “Well, it’s a good thing today is Tuesday because, that’s clean
underwear day!”.

Dateline: August 2, 2005
We’re at the front lines in this latest war to beat back the tyrannical forces of cancer. The men and women up here are staging a relentless battle. The battlefield is often deceivingly quiet but, behind the clean, sterile façade rages an epic struggle. The allied forces comprised of doctors, nurses, technicians, and Bob have beaten back the hideous menace to half its strength, clearing the way for the Allied invasion. What is sure to be a historical confrontation holds promise of once and for all beating the evil one back into long term remission. Sources close to the command center predict that the invasion forces will be ready by mid September. The operation code name, Stem Cell Transplant, will be an all-out commitment of Allied resources. Morale is strong and the troops are eager to get on with it. When asked what he thinks about the chances for victory, one G.I. replied, “We’re not gonna give up until we lick those Bastards (excuse my French)!

So, there you have it. The battle wages on with the insidious enemy. The destruction of war lay all around, yet, with victory in sight, the Allies will surge forward with limitless determination.

Reporting live from the front,
E.R. Murrow

The Charmer

Grandson had the full attention of aunts and cousins this past weekend.  He captured the whole crew of women (and even a couple of the men) with one simple word, “bye”.  Obviously, the simple context of the word would not accomplish much.  In fact, it could be counter-productive.  Rather, it was his pronunciation and simple directness that brought on the “aahhwwwwws”.  In the tone that only one of 15 months can muster his “bye” would come as a soft “biah”.  Visions of drooping, moss ladened willow trees, parasols, and ladies in hoop skirts strooling with their children flooded everybody’s thoughts.  A few people speculated that we may have imported him from Georgia.  Another reason this simple word was so effective was that he didn’t reserve this emmittance for the occasion when he or someone else were actually parting company.  If he decided to look for grandma in the kitchen, he would turn to those in the dining room with a soft, “biah”.  This would be promptly followed by half a dozen, “bye, sweety”s.  No one tired of hearing this as he went about his busy schedule of trotting around, looking for cousin’s pet ferret under the couch or discovering the next off-limits nick nack.  The Paul Newman-blues (coined by Aunt Jeannie) may have been a factor too.

As the group was breaking up, everyone made a point of seeking out Grandson and getting their last, “biah”.  I watched him grin, wave his little chubby hand, and eat it all up.  I realized that he will have the support that he needs as he takes on the challenges ahead…even if he should loose some of that innocent charm.

You would think that someone dealing with something as dramatic as cancer and chemotherapy would have something to blog about…………..

It sucks!

In the words of my philosophical hero, Forest Gump, “that’s all I have to say about that” (he’s right about the box of chocolates, too).

Something upbeat….hmmmm.  A guy is coming to drywall our renovated bathroom this evening.  Nice guy to work us in around his real work and even work on a Friday evening.  This will put an end to having to make a daily trek across town to mom’s house to take a shower.  The house remodeling project has been a positive thing lately.  It is a lot of work and could be a source of stress but, the way it has actually worked out is that the excitement of finally getting the house to “finished” state has overridden the hassles.  It is a focal point where each minor step that gets accomplished is a source of renewed excitement because we can see the end coming.

I will pass on some advice that is almost cliché coming for someone with a life-threatening disease.  Find joy in all the little things.  I don’t think many of us can actually accomplish this; I couldn’t.  But, now I have days when I don’t have the energy or strength to do anything.  So, when I have a good day, even the simplest of things stand out.  We have a horse.  Tending to the horse is one of those daily routine chores that, at best, has digressed to the status of pain-in-the-arse.  The other day, however, I had a spurt of energy and announced that I was going to resume the duties and ended up spending half an hour in the shed; feeding, watering, grooming, and mucking out the stall.  I thoroughly enjoyed just the aspect of my body being able go through the motions.

Over the last eight years I have been through this revelation several times and have to admit that the times between “relapses” in the disease my sensitivity to the tangible, real joys of life has slowly receded to levels of previous numbness.  So, I’m not preaching from higher ground, but I have been to the mountain top and rolled back down a few times.  I am offering the experience of having the fresh, clean air at the mountain peak forced into my lungs and can vouch for the fact that it is worth the climb.  Maybe some of you can find this source of energy and contentment through a level of personal control that I have yet to muster.

Uncle John died yesterday.  He was 92.  “Old age” would probably be an adequate cause-of-death.  Uncle John was a tall (especially for our family) handsome man with an engaging smile, a civil engineer by profession.  He was one of those people who you liked immediately when he looked your way and his faced turned into a warm welcome.  I spent most of my time with him when I was young; seems that there were more family gatherings then.  We made a few trips to their house which was 2-3 hours away.  My recollection of their home relies heavily on my adolescent memories; foggy at best.  But, I want to describe their home here because, in my view, Uncle John’s home and family was his defining element.  Like my dad, Uncle John and the rest of the brood (six brothers and two sisters), held the family as the center of their lives.  The home was the family’s base.  They had a beautiful 40s-50s style white house.  The yard was a reflection of farm upbringing.  Beautiful trees and hedges gave a warmth to the yard that is still tangible to me.  The yard was trimmed and neat but, not overly manicured.  The back yard was flat and inviting; plenty of room for badminton and croquet.  Then there was Uncle John’s fruit trees and grape arbor.  I always suspected a bit of competition between the “brothers” when it came to their fruit trees, gardens, and grapes.  I’ll go out on a limb and say that Uncle John may have been the winner.  As a child, we spent all of our time outside; only going into the house to loop through the kitchen, load up a plate, and race outside for the best spot under the tree.  I may have used the bathroom, but I don’t recall much of the interior of the house (too many convenient places outside).

The Garage

I have to admit to myself that even my vague memories of the garage may not resemble the actual building anymore, but it is one of those images that always come to mind when I think about Uncle John and his home place.  It was a long white structure; wood not metal or vinyl.  The character that is lost in the new building structures is hard to describe.  There was a temperamental door as I remember; one that required the right knack and a little muscle to get open.  The car would fit in and for the most part the yard tools were neat and orderly.  The “old car” sat in the rear.  It was a family treasure; a keeper, an heir loom; something that could not be discarded.  At least part of the floor was dirt.  The oil that soaked in the ground, the wood, and the slight musty smell all combined to give the odor of something old and special.  A sanctuary where you kept your tools, sharpened the hedge trimmers, and displayed the treasured car.  The canoe that navigated the lakes on the yearly northern fishing trips hung from the rafters.

Like I said, the accuracy of my memories is undoubtedly wanting, but that is ok with me. When I think of Uncle John, I will always see that half chuckling smile, the home, his family, and the garage; and I will feel good inside.  

Sunshine!  Someone should figure out how to bottle it and perscribe it as a antedote to the blues.  There are not too many ways to put a positive spin on a stay in the hospital.  But one can see that there are things that can make a bad situation better.  Sunshine is a definite plus.  I was fortunate to have a room with a large window.  The sky has been blue with whispy clouds.  My childhood hours in the sand box were brought back to me as I watched a really cool, enormous machine tear down an old parking garage.  Nothing picks up one’s spirits quicker than the sun glinting off of the baby green spring leaves.  Speaking of the therapeutic powers of sunshine, my roomy just asked me to pull back the curtain so that he can enjoy some rays.  See ya later

Just when I start feeling cocky and let my psychy dream up this image of my body being exceptionally robust and able to beat the statistics, the beast reaches out of the shadows and smacks me on the head, “Wake up stupid, it’s time for a another wraslin’ match!”

I just got off of the phone with my onc’s nurse (an exceptionally kind and capable woman) She gave me the bottom line from the scans; the tumor around the pancreas has taken off and is up to about 12cm x 7cm. She is faxing the reports to me. I like to read them over and over, looking for screwups like, “Hey, that not my name at the top of the sheet!”. Since that approach never has worked, we went ahead and scheduled some R-juice (Rituxan) for in the morning.