Often, I will be around my mother, or father, and they will have a doctors visit, or stand and have a crick, and exclaim, with a wry smile, “Boy, it sucks to get old.” And I have smiled, and thought, “sure, for you….. “. But now I am thinking, no, no, it does NOT suck to get old. I am consumed with fantasies about it….. Picturing myself in a AARP commercial…. Dutifully eating fiber…. Gracefully going grey…. Being one of those “active seniors” that all the Florida resorts try to attract… Having my home health aide still with me….. Keeping up with my adult daughter through whatever social media she allows me to be privy to…. Hold old is that??? 55? Is that old? Is the question relative? Is that old for me…. When at 43 I have stage 4 cancer? Or, do I still judge from the norm…. When my grams is 93 and a pistol….. My family seems to all get old…. Into their 80’s at least….. I think, not me…. I’m not making 90….. And I can get my head around that, I’m pretty sure I can, at least…. But, how long? Do I keep contributing to my deferred comp…. Or should I just put all that into a college fund…. I just don’t know… And I am somewhat paralyzed with the uncertainty. I need to exercise, and lose weight, and eat better, and make these basic changes…. However, don’t these basic changes signify a commitment of some sort to knowing that those changes are meaningful…. Because someone told me that, “my numbers are good…. All the numbers are in my favor.” What numbers? I asked….. Any numbers beyond the basic 5 years? No… No…. But all the five year studies say I have an 80% chance of surviving…. Which is great, I will certainly take it… But, am I greedy to want a solid 20? Maybe 30? Greedy…. Maybe…. I think my “carrying on”…. In a way that requires changes and “positive living”…. Requires me to almost take a religious leap of faith…. Not religious in believing in god…. No….. Not that…. But a religious fervor of faith in “surviving.” Do I believe? Can I get an amen?! Can I get a gospel choir and a hallelujah! Because I can not seem to stop drinking or eating crap or filling my coffee with aspartame and steadily exceeding my wardrobe without some fucking cancer survivor god coming on down here and giving me my twenty. I fucking deserve it. But, maybe that’s the point… What the fuck do I really deserve, why shouldn’t I take my good numbers and run with it…. Run…. Why shouldn’t I run….. Run…… Why can’t I just run….. When has running ever failed me…. Why don’t I just run….. God, I wish I could run again…. I want to run again…. I want to run again and have my daughter see my run…. Survivorship god…. I pray to you, if I eat better, and exercise, not be a drunk, and believe…. Will you let me run again? Can we have this simple agreement? Ok, survivorship god…. Here’s my deal…. I will pray footsteps and cardio exercise, I will say Hail Marys of kale and quinoa, and I will kneel at night in yogaistic devotion….. For the promised land of running. And I will run as long. As. I. Can.
Shot in My Dupa.
Well. My Lupron dagger came in the mail yesterday. As my wife is a nurse, this seemed like an easy task. I have my very own home health aide! I am instructed to plunge this Lupron dagger into my asscheek and insert said contents. These contents are little chemical estrogen assassins. My estrogen factory is to be immediately turned off. Helloooooo, Menopause. I have been reading up on the “menopause heat factory.” I have been advised, curiously while those advising me are chuckling to themselves, to insert my head into freezers and refrigerators, to buy fans for the bedroom at night, to favor subzero winters which allow me to instantly lower the temperature of the bedroom to minus 10. I imagine these “hot flashes” will be like energy surges! I will harness this new energy to do good and probably become much more productive!!!!!
My home health aide did nothing to lessen my fear of needles by declaring, upon holding the dagger up in the air, that “gosh, I forgot to watch my YouTube video on how to inject an intramuscular needle.” HAHAHAHAHAHA, I said, joining in on the shared humor….. Hey… wait a minute…. WHAT ARE YOU WATCHING ON YOUR IPAD????? WHY IS THAT ALLEGED NURSE WEARING SUNGLASSES INDOORS??? WHY ARE YOU TAKING ADVICE FROM THIS STRANGER ON YOUTUBE???? DIDN’T THEY TEACH YOU HOW TO DO THIS IN NURSING SCHOOL?????? “Shut your piehole,” was my home health aide’s response, “I just like to be thorough….. now, pull down your pants, my shows coming on in a minute and I don’t want to miss the beginning.” I compliantly laid on my stomache, pulled down my pj’s to expose my right asscheek (TURN OFF THAT BRIGHT WHITE ORBISH LIGHT!!! The neighbor yelled) …. “Ok, take a deep breath and …. exhale…. ” As I exhaled, said estrogen assassins were plunged into my asscheek to begin their ovarian assault. Go forth brave soldiers!!!! “There”, said my home health aide, “you big baby, you didn’t even feel a thing.”
Which is true. And candidly, I was worried that my ass was so big that the needle would not be able to be inserted deep enough to actually get to muscle…. my home health aide had helpfully offered that she could leap off a chair like a pro-wrestler, onto my ass, compressing it and plunging the needle in at the same time. I find it is comforting to know that those in charge of your care are willing to take it to the next level in their preparedness.
My home health aide’s pro-wrestling name shall be: “The AssAssassinator!”
The Return of Sam……
One year ago, our cat Sam disappeared from our house. Our indoor only cat was nowhere to be found. I highly suspect our other cat, Pippin, used his 22lb body and pushed Sam out the window when the housekeeper was there. My wife tends to not accept this lack of mens rea on behalf of Sam. Rather, she believes that the cat “made a choice” to leave the feline luxury of a 4 story home for the rustic charm of a northeast winter. I am not convinced that a cat has the mental capacity to make any choice. They have the brain the size of large walnut. A shelled walnut. Our daughter wrote poignant essays in kindergarten about her lost pet, and we moved on. Recently, we added a 4 month old kitten to the household. We had one confirmed sighting of Sam in his rustic splendor…. and then never saw him again. Until 2 weeks ago, when my wife saw a cat on the local cat-rescue site that had an odd resemblance to our Sam. Now, one year almost to the day later, Sam has returned to the fold. Wife seems to think that as Sam “made a choice” to live elsewhere, he should not be so readily allowed back. Especially since, with 3 cats and a dog, we are not being scouted for next seasons “animal hoarders.” I make a point to discuss the potential consequences of “running away” to the neighbors with our six year old.
I wonder if Sam’s return is a sign. Cancer makes me see signs everywhere. Didn’t I start to have sternal pain just when Sam disappeared. Do I not now have pain relief with Sam back in the house? Perhaps Sam was my cancer talisman, and his disappearance allowed its’ return. What does that say about Pippin? He does look at me with a malice at times….. I have often thought he is trying to trip me when I go down the stairs…. does my beloved 22lb lovemuffin actually seek my demise?? I make mental notes to watch Pippin more closely…. he is an entirely black cat, and does seem to more actively cross my path than is necessary.
We have too much disposable income, because we have purchased “cat pherenome” diffusers for around the house…. The cats are supposed to be calmed by this, and stop fighting, but all I notice is the chocolate lab taking a highly affectionate attitude towards Pippin. I also, oddly enough, find myself leaping up to catch moths and have a strong desire to nap in the window sill when the sun hits it.
Last week I went to a funeral for a 9 year old boy. I work with his mother. He tragically died from appendicitis. He was asymptomatic. He had gone home from school complaining of an upset stomach and nausea. Two other 9 year olds had also gone home from his school with stomach bug type of symptoms. Mom tries to get son to bed, tries to get him asleep. The boy becomes unresponsive, and dies a short time later in the hospital. I find myself coming back to these facts at the oddest times of the day. I can only uncomfortably think of the anguish the mother and father are experiencing. How does one not blame themselves, as a parent, for failing this child? As a parent is the crucial part…. because as an observer, I can objectively dissect the facts as I know them…. I can reason and move onto something else. I can safely say I would have done nothing different that those parents…. safely say. I can scour the web and find many similar stories and realize that even in 2012, this is not as uncommon as you might first think…. that appendicitis can be maddeningly impossible to diagnose. But as a parent I would or could not absent myself from that horrible blame…. that somehow I should have known what was occurring within the flesh of my flesh….. how does one find their way back from that? There is a way, I know there must be. I know we, in this country, will not accept “randomness” in the death of a child. We do not have random deaths of children and will not accept such a thing. So what do we do when a child dies from something that there is no answer to? The priest at the funeral told us to “go to the light.” To seek the light of God…. The light of God is comforting the child, and will comfort us… That the child is bathed, now, in the light, and is with our heavenly father, and we should be comforted. I find no comfort in the priests words…. I find more solace in the randomness of nature…. That boy is not comforted by the light, That boy had a goddamn soccer game this weekend. That boy will have reminder “notices” for the dentists and well-visits coming for the next year, each little postcard another reminder that “the light” is bullshit, where a 9 year old is concerned. Rather someone in church tell us that the boy had a good mom, and a good father right here…. that maybe he is in heaven, but he is not comforted to be there…. maybe he might tell his good mom and his good father here on earth that he’ll be ok, because they were such good parents, that he’ll see them someday, but to know that he is ok, that he was not in pain, that he knows that his mom and his dad, right here, did everything they could, and he doesn’t want to see his mom and his dad cry anymore… that he knows that his mom and his dad did not fail him…. maybe for me, that would have been better…. but i can safely say that from the congregation…. safely.
Sundown
Ok…. So…. when I wake up in the morning… which is currently at the crack ass of Dawn… so, I have a large area of waking… get it??? anyway… when I wake up these days, all ready to go to radiation… I am filled with the hope and optimism of a new day…. I could fairly whistle, had I ever developed that annoying skill, and shout to still darkened skies, “Hello Morning!!!! I am going to be the BEST DARN SHOOTENIST STAGE 4 CANCER GIRL OUT THERE!!!!! And I am pretty sure that little birds chorus their agreement back to me, and the sun itself decides to pop up a few minutes early just to see what all the excitement is about…… and then…. well, the rest of the day occurs…. let me see if I can detail it….. okey dokey….
6:30am… (chorus of angelic babies and purring of kittens)… GOOD MORNING WORLD!!!! How awesome is it to be with you!!!! You good looking life, you… come over here and let me give those little sun rays and little pinch on the cheek!
8:30am… Ah, how satisfying to be one more radiation treatment closer to being done, and able to begin the next treatment routine… How awesome is it that all these wonderful medical folks and medicines are here to help me!!! Gosh darnit, I’ll probably live FOREVER with all the new things they are coming up with…. sigh…. I promise to enjoy each and every moment today!
10:00 am… Yawn. Is it wrong to take a wee nap at 10:00am? Maybe I’ll just go on WebMD and find other exotic diseases and disorders I could have…. oh, you, sillyhead, stop with your negative thinking, you just need some coffee!!!! WHAT AN AWESOME WORLD it is that there are WaWa’s that have fresh coffee for us everyday!! Gosh, people are so nice sometimes, look at that nice young man hold the door open for me! (did he just call me m’am?)
1:00 pm Hmm. maybe I’ll stop and buy some beer on the way home. I wonder what instant menopause will be like…….. Ooooh….. shiny happy news about something!!
3:30pm…. Yeppers, I think I’ll start reviewing all the various side effects from the various medications I may be on…. HEY!!! Dumbass!!! Who cares??? Side Effects/SideSchecks…. who cares about side effects!! What, am I trying to walk down a runway or play professional hockey at this point?? Side Effects are no big deal… yeah!!!! no big deal!!! Ow. What was that??? What just hurt???? Was that a rib???? Can I make it happen again??? Maybe I should scour the web for indications of what rib pain are… probably more cancer….. maybe I’ll get TWO sixpacks on the way home!
5:00pm… hmmmm… what EXACTLY does “uncurable but treatable mean”…. Spend 90 minutes up in my head parsing these words and meanings over and over…. Briefly remember my pledge at 600 am to get through treatment and start running again and run the Broad Street with my FUUK CANCER shirt on…. Feel too fat to not stop and get beer…. spend another 60 minutes up in my head wondering how long my particular body will take on the first treatment regimen….
9:00pm .. have now had 5 or 6 beers…. wondering if SpongeBob is the Bugs Bunny of our time…. Patrick the Daffy Duck…. think I need to stop drinking, eat better, lose weight, start to run again…. tomorrow.
Awesome Parts
The awesome parts of life so often intersect with family. Here, I am blessed. I have an amazing wife and a wonderful daughter. It is not awesome that they too will accompany me on this journey. Perhaps, I think, the effects are more insidious on them. My wife is a former cancer nurse, and is not pleased, at all, to be expanding her knowledge base of metastatic cancers. Our daughter is clever. Six years old, but clever enough to know that I am not telling her the truth by telling her, “the doctor said I will get better quicker if my daughter takes over cleaning up the dog poop.” She graciously accepted the “and lots of hugs” part. I have been jonesing to go out and buy a BMW. Before we knew the results of all the tests, and our minds wandered to all the dark potentials, I had declared that I really wanted to own a BMW before I died. Michelle advised me, as a perfect pragmatist, that I could only get a BMW if my brain scan was dirty, and THEN, I could only lease it. This is why I adore her.
Drop in Unemployment…..
Now, I’m not one to brag…. but, I think the correlation here is pretty obvious. On September 18, 2012…. I am made certain that I have Stage 4 cancer. I thus begin the “OctCancerFest” drinking of my favorite beverage, Double Bag, a Vermont microbrew. Drinking Double Bag in such copious quantities that vast populations of the Vermont Countryside are newly employed. On October 5, 2012, “unexpectedly” and “out of the blue” the nation’s unemployment levels drop to 7.8 %. Coincidence? I think NOT!. I think it is quite clear that should President Obama win another term in office, trumpeting his successes in the employment, we can all look upon OctCancerFest as the reason. I, for one, continue to do my part in supporting the President. Join me! Buy more Vermont beer and re-elect Obama!
I feel like I’ve been here before….
Well, here I am again. Wasn’t I just here not too long ago?? Yes, Yes, now I am remembering…. 2004. I was roaming these rooms back in 2004. Diagnosed with breast cancer on June 15, 2004, lumpectomy on June 29, 2004… chemo and radiation followed. Tamoxifen for five years thereafter. What the hell am I doing back here? I am positive that I asked for a “one way” flight away from breast cancer, not a “round trip.” Can I chalk this up to a clerical error? Get a refund? I’ll even pay the rebooking fee to get sent back to Cancerfree, U.S.A. Well, I guess not…. it seems that breast cancer has returned to me, most likely it never left. Mets to the bone, primarily the sternum. A couple to the spine, ribs. Thankfully, no organs. Not in my brain… I must say I was pleasantly reassured that there was evidence of the actual brain on the scan. However, overall, this is an epic “sucks.” I now have September 18, 2012 as my new, “new normal” date. They say that if a cancer is to metasticize, the bone is the “safest” place to go. Kinda like saying, if you are going to get thrown into the sun, the “safest” place to get tossed is to the sides…. because that hot boiling lava center will getcha right away! The mere simmering lava at the edges is muuuuuuuuch safer!
I have started radiation to the sternum. My poor sternum. I knew ye well. Back when you were solid and strong and allowed me a good belch without complaint. Now you whine and protest the slightest exhalation, pinch me when I bend and bring tears to my eyes should I sneeze. I have grown to hate you, wee sternum. Not even your decimated current state earns my sympathy. I care not that you are hollowed out like a termite eaten oak. I shun you til such a time as you have regenerated and grown. I am told that radiation will take care of the mass around my sternum, and I am told that the bone will grow back. I certainly hope so! Then I will take my sternum to pepper and pollen filled restaurants and I will take my sternum back out dancing and I will take my sternum to the airport to go on vacation…. carrying my own bags!
cancerrant 