Electronic Mail (as opposed to the snail kind)

I'd like to share a correspondence. It's actually much more open and frank than the stuff I've posted in this blog so far. And because I hadn't considered posting such personal information before, I think it's more authentic-- nearly dying hasn't necessarily cured me of not wanting to reveal some aspects of my life.

I will, however, edit certain parts of the email and omit identifying names other than my own, to respect some level of privacy, and since I also didn't ask for his/her permission to post this-- though I don't think s/he'd mind. Maybe?

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Jani:

I have been wanting to write you since I saw your FB post about your blog and absence from the [Hume-Fogg H.S.] reunion. First, I want to extend my ... something to you. I don't know what, but my heart goes out to you; not as an expression of pity but of empathy.

I lost my husband, truly my soulmate, last year to prostate cancer. He was diagnosed with stage IV. He endured surgery, radiation, and chemo, all in the first year to reap the rewards of 8 completely blissful years. We were married 13 years.

I say that to let you know that I understand what you're going through, at least as intimately as one can without being personally diagnosed. Also, I wanted to tell you that many of the treatments my husband underwent weren't available when he was diagnosed. In fact, we became friends with the urologist who diagnosed him and gave him 5-10 years. It was years later that he told us he didn't expect to know us for a year. 

I was actually prompted to write after reading your first blog post and "Days You Wonder Why." Of course I had no idea of your situation, but I'm glad you're sharing it. I don't think you realize the impact your story has on folks in a variety of situations. 

For example, I was actually happy to read what can only be described as a rather pessimistic sentence: "I'm not actually starting over. If anything, I might be re-starting from behind." I was happy to read it because it meant someone else feels like I do. I don't have cancer, but I became a primary caregiver to my mother who passed on. I quit my job to become a primary caregiver to my father. He passed in [...]; my husband passed 6 months later. 

For the first time in life, I realized I was completely alone. If I was able, I could start over, completely from scratch. Not many people get that "opportunity" (a word I hate to use in that context). Nevertheless, I also realized I'm [... now] single, still grieving, and I haven't worked in years. Um, can someone give me a hand? Maybe some direction? What the hell am I supposed to do now?

[From a previous blog post:] "I wonder why I'm going through this miserable existence, half awake and conscious to 'where the hell am I?' Real to surreal and back again. It's a bad trip. How do I keep track of priorities when it's hard to tell what they are?"

I imagine that paragraph has a totally different meaning for you than it does me, but every word of it hits home for me, so again, thanks.

I'm going to stop rambling. I just wanted to reach out and share my story and tell you to keep doing what you're doing. It makes a difference.

Feel free to reach out anytime...

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Dear B,

Your words brought tears to my eyes. I feel and know that pain, the enduring pain of loss and, then, pointlessly questioning a God who must be indifferent. Goes beyond "Life sucks!" But childish fits don't help.

What you took the time to write me was important enough for me to sit at my desk and write you back on my computer. Smartphone keyboards make me feel like those writers who never learned to type properly. Better to keep up with the thoughts that form in my head, by typing the way I was taught. Still pretty darn fast on a keyboard... Btw, you didn't ramble; rambling is when you digress so much (e.g. Trump), you go off on that tangent of, say, typing, and you talk about how you miss old typewriters and the tak, tak, ding sound they make. See? Now, that's rambling ;-) Believe you me, I know how to ramble.

Well, I've always been a smart-ass. A coping technique, a form of avoidance, but sometimes the best way to address the harsh realities of life. Because what are you gonna do? Beat up every kid who picks on you? Get back at everybody who's ever slighted you? Just does more harm to you in the long run.

Being a smart-ass (still) helps me see the humor in life and lets me laugh at myself, which is very comforting. That this insignificant grain of sand would dare stick his chin out and mock the Creator. If I can do that, ain't nobody got a chance of touching me or hurting me.

Hope you found peace along the way. Hope you realized you were never really alone. Even when you felt so all alone (I've been there and so have many others I know), you were not truly alone. You could've reached out to friends you didn't even know you had, whose hearts are filled with love and kindness and understanding.

My battle with cancer made me more dependent than I cared to admit or acknowledge. But the good thing was that my stubborn pride was squashed by my feeling so vulnerable. No place for pride amidst relentless and agonizing personal suffering. I can see that you discovered, yes, very intimately that you don't have to have cancer to know what it feels like. You live the battle, too. In the same way, you don't need to be the cared for, the patient, to know what he or she is going through. A loving caregiver feels the loved one's pain and confusion and suffering, and even the drifting off into death. A piece of you really does die as well. 

B, you and I are kindred spirits in many ways. I can tell you that cancer isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to me. The worst is the loss of my little boy Noah who I held in my arms as he left me, as his body became lifeless in my embrace, and I couldn't let go. I wouldn't. I pleaded for him to come back. It took me a while to accept that that's also a part of life: "to love what death can touch." (It was his time. Born with multiple disabilities, Noah required round-the-clock attention and a private duty nurse during the day. I was his caretaker on weekends and evenings. Quit working full-time to care for him full-time. Sure, the grief doesn't ever go away completely. But it consoles me to know that he's no longer in pain.) Then, as if the flood-gates had opened wide, one of my dear and closest friends died in a car accident only months afterwards; my wife and I separated for over a year (we're now back together); and I was diagnosed with cancer-- not to mention the succession of friends whose fathers died all in one month. 2015 ('16 to half of '17) sucked! Never been to so many goddamn funerals in so short a time. And yet, life goes on...

I'm glad my words are relatable to you and others. Yup, I don't realize the impact they have on people. But it's nice to share and, if some folks find comfort or connection in my stories, I feel very flattered and honored.

Mrs. C suggested I publish some of it. My reaction? I was aghast! Frankly, I don't like all the bitching I do in the blog. Let me rephrase that. It's not about liking or disliking the bitching since it's rather a good form of therapy. I can't imagine not cursing and venting out loud in my writing, serious or not. I guess I can't really find a place for it in my overall body of work. I know, sounds kinda snobbish of me. Guilty as charged. Sometimes, I feel that being an academic actually gets in the way of good writing. Yeah, I have to learn to get out of my own damn way, and just let the words flow. D was good at getting us to do that. Sure do miss those old HFA days, the good parts anyway. (See? More rambling. I make it an art ;-)

Hey, I don't have your number. If you ever want to talk, feel free to reach out: 00-0. Text me or leave a voicemail. Like most folks these days, I don't usually answer if I don't recognize the number. (I absolutely abhor unsolicited sales calls.)

Please know that you're surrounded by people who can relate, who love you for the strong person you are.

Kindest Regards, Best of Wishes (my two best sign-off's),

Jani

Recovery

Lots of back-and-forth thinking this past month. That's about how long it's been since my last chemo treatment. I keep wondering what's ahead now. That's what causes anxiety, I suppose. It also makes for a certain level of healthy excitement. Not knowing what the future brings can be exhilarating, if not fearful.

I tend to embrace the unknown. Makes it easier to accept mortality and the pains and suffering of so long a life-- "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune," as Hamlet would have it. Joys are much more fleeting. Taking comfort in enduring pain is more lasting. Yes, comfort in pain. You grow intimate with it more so than with happiness and joy.

The starkness and indifference life has to offer is a strange realization. You deal with it with no sense of bitterness or anger. You just deal with it. How do we justify getting angry over what we can't control? Life throws all kinds of obstacles in the way of personal progress. Again, you just deal with it.

Fighting, surviving, trial and tribulation, suffering, pain, agony, despair, disorientation, fatigue, strife, blood, sweat, tears-- all sound so aggressive and almost meaningless. After a while you can only laugh at the worst that life puts before you, and finally have to ignore or side-step all the muck. Maybe recovery is something like that-- knowing how to get passed and leave behind so much that's bad, and move on.

Sure, there are always reminders. Physical pain is hard to ignore. It takes a whole lot of courage, a whole lot of knowing how to muster that courage, to move forward. Fearless, I'm not. Likewise, fearful, I'm not. I just go with the flow, tumble and stumble around the rocks, and make a way for myself. No small amount of courage.

Delirium

So, I ask myself, "What's wrong with feeling delirious?" I answer, "It's not always bad." I've gained great insight into the workings of my mind and the minds of others via delirium / hallucination / cognitive dissonance-- or, should I say, resonance? It's short of madness, I know. The lines blur, and you sure do get close to losing it.

Fighting delirium, however, is a lost cause. Embracing it, on the other hand, turns out to be rather interesting. Now, I'm not talking about drug-induced delirium. That's artificial and too often dangerous. Although this very minute, I know I'm encountering the artificial kind brought on by the side-effects of all the meds for chemo. If I wanted artifice, I'd go on an acid trip, though shrooms or peyote would be preferable.

But, no, in all seriousness, I'm touting the fascinating aspects of naturally occurring delirium, the kind you get from neurochemicals you produce yourself. An "easy" way to get there can involve fasting, not sleeping for a couple days, meditating / praying for a few hours non-stop, and spiritual and/or physical cleansing, like from a Native American sweat lodge. Combining these helps you get to your objective even faster. Along the way, you may even find your spirit animal or God talking to you in your very own vision quest.

Of course, the condition often means your system has gone a bit haywire-- the adrenaline rush, dopamine receptors firing, endorphins circulating. What's not to like? As long as you don't get all paranoid and run into a flight-or-fight situation, you don't suffer. You dream in a waking state. You experience synesthesia: Seeing and tasting music, hearing the tone of colors and lines-- pretty freaky cool.

The downside, and there's always a downside to peaking like that, is the inevitable CRASH. Well, so what? If you can afford the luxury of sleeping like the dead for a couple of days, even that's not all that bad.

Yet, do I dare speak of Coleridgian tripping? Hell, no! To be exact, Coleridge was on opium. Very addictive, mind-numbing, and depleting.

You're a wise pragmatist when you know how to control yourself, and recognize that you can't go around tripping every day. You'll never get anything done. And without any doubt, being naturally high on life, after all, is the best kind of high.

Personal Perspective on Cancer Treatments (My Very Own)

There's no way to be entirely objective here. How can I not be biased? But while I have better control of my mental faculties for another few days, I thought I'd record for myself and posterity what my cancer treatments and their overall effects have been like.

Today I start my "last" chemotherapy treatment, Round #5, four days straight after a week's postponement due to yet another low white-blood count. I quietly dread it. I have no choice but to accept what's to come. And that's an attack on my person. What does that entail? Let's see...

A few days in, nothing really. Then, a delayed punch in the gut that you're not prepared for. (I suppose I'm better prepared, but that makes it even more frightening and distasteful.) Your body doesn't even recognize the impact of the hit and run until you feel the after-effects. You hardly have time for a knee-jerk reaction. When it hits, you feel the chronic pain, nausea, fatigue, confusion, among other things, that come on the following week. Then, you try to recover from that crap over the next several weeks. And you wonder where the time went.

But it's not too difficult to endure chemo, depending on your threshold for pain and discomfort, at least not the kind I've been getting for type IIIB lymphoma and adenocarcinoma of the upper GI. My hair doesn't fall out in clumps, though it falls out gradually like pine needles on a dying tree, and leaves the top of my head thinning. (Glad I'm not too concerned with vanity.) The pain is mostly from headaches and body aches, constipation, and vomiting. As much as I hate hypodermic needles, they're nothing in comparison. I'd have to say the extreme fatigue is the hardest to bear, and I wouldn't wish it on anybody else to experience what that feels like. You don't want to know directly, no matter how curious.

Chemo, with all its nasty side-effects, is still tolerable compared to radiation therapy. Let's just say, if the good doctor told me I'd have to do that again, I think I'd rather die. Yep, that's how bad radiation is. And next to treatment for esophageal cancer, treatment for my kind is supposed to be the most difficult to endure physically. But in terms of how it actually feels, it's no exaggeration that, towards the end of radiation, I felt half dead, very nearly dead.

Now, how can I explain how that feels? Wasting away. Exhausted every morning, every minute of every day. Almost no energy to raise a limb, and certainly no motivation to even lift a finger, quite literally. Moreover, not having a clue as to what's going on around me. It'a an invasion of body, mind, and soul. Feeling beaten down, bleeding out. No hyperbole here. I think it would be more humane to quickly put the poor animal out of its misery than to prolong the agony. Yep, that bad.

And yet, hope has a knack for returning once the lights come back on. Hard to believe, however, when you're in that moment of great despair. Nothing else matters, not even survival and self-preservation. You only want release. Welcome to the world of a cancer patient. You don't want to stay very long, if at all. It's like saying, "Welcome to hell. You won't enjoy your stay. Get out if you can." The only consolation is that you know it must be temporary and somewhat brief. And when you make it through this experience, you'll have a better handle on the other things that we call devastating-- because I know there are even more difficult and painful situations in life. Then there's Option B. To put a funny but pragmatic twist on the unavoidable, I'd like to paraphrase Louise C.K.: "When life gets overwhelming, don't worry. Remember, you're going to die. Or better yet, you can always kill yourself. Either way you're going to die." Yes, I know, dark but true.

Pet Peeves

Since I'm in a bitchy mood, I thought why the hell not talk about my pet peeves. As I was thinking, a landslide of things that bother me came rushing into my head.

I didn't realize just how much and how many things really irritate me. For starters:

• not finishing or following through on a plan
• changing plans mid-way
• wasting time
• leaving crap for others to pick up after
• not putting tools and other sundries back where they belong (so you can friggin find them again!)
• having to listen to the same old garbage recycled in a different package (what passes for news)
• lies / deceptions that insult my intelligence
• the incorrect use of a word, whether written or spoken (both of which make the offender sound like an idiot)
• inconsiderate assholes who are just plain mean for no good reason
• lack of a good argument or even an acceptable one (e.g. faith-based crap)
• unreasonable positions (ibid)
• being nice to satisfy one's own guilty conscience, or lack of sincerity
• putting too high a value on material possessions (biblical: may they burn, rust, or have moths eat away at them)
• attitude, i.e. lack of consideration or empathy, particularly in the face of personal crisis
• lack of sensitivity to others' hardships

Short list. I could go on and on. And yes, of course, I'm not above any of this stuff. I'm as guilty as everybody else. But airing this sure is satisfying. Okay, I feel better. :-)

Days You Wonder Why

Been a long time. Good reason why.

Before I even started writing today's blog for July 5, 2017, I was distracted twice. And that was at 6 a.m. First by my to-do list (yes, I keep one, an e-reminder, that tells me what I need to do) and second by my emails-- organizing that mess is a real chore.

So, when I tried to get back to the premise of my blog entry, I totally forgot. I could only remember the title I had in mind, "Days You Wonder Why." Now I'm picking up the crumbs of thought I left behind.

Pretty sure I was in self-pity mode because I was snapping out of the haze and realizing just how much I've lost. But then I was also thinking how good it was to be alive. Yep, confusing and contrasting dualities. That's me. I had this notion that I was given a second chance and I could start over from scratch. What a wonderful gift! But really? Then I started coming to my senses: Who has the great luxury and blessing to really start over? How many people would want to? Besides, I'm not actually starting over. If anything, I might be re-starting from behind.

So, my mind's bouncing all over the place. No wonder I haven't been writing lately. I haven't been able to because I can't keep any sense of continuity...

Back to self-pity mode. I don't want to pity myself. It's just there. The title I was thinking about goes there: I wonder why I'm going through this miserable existence, half awake and conscious to "where the hell am I?" Real to surreal and back again. It's a bad trip. How do I keep track of priorities when it's hard to tell what they are?

And so, the essential question is: Why is this happening to me? Kind of pointless, really, to ask such a question that you know there are no answers to.

What you become well acquainted with is human suffering. Your own. Truth is, you know it's worse elsewhere in the world. I can't even imagine people surviving stage III lymphatic cancer in sub-Saharan Africa or in Bangladesh or somewhere where proper medical care is almost nonexistent, like parts of Appalachia USA.

I should be going on, then, about how very lucky I am. But what creeps in, instead, is how awful I feel. And it's so difficult to think about others and to want to be generous, when you feel so awful, when pain is everyday and relentless. Oh, sure, you could take something for it: opioids (which I've been prescribed aplenty), THC in it's various forms, over-the-counter pain relief, etc. But all of them have some kind of side effect that impairs some ability of mine that I'd like to keep intact as much as I can. Basically, no stupor is a good stupor if you don't want to be in a stupor.

Funny, though, how even one drink makes me buzzed now for a good couple hours. (Yes, I'm smart enough to know that, if I want to drink, I should only drink between treatments-- which is still not recommended. But, hey, sometimes you just gotta say, "I don't give a flying fuck.") Definitely saving on my old alcohol tab, though. Don't have one anymore.

Been looking into CBD oil. Maybe something there worth trying. Opioids are a last resort. Not so much because they're addictive. In my case, I have bad reactions to every type I've tried. Thank goodness! The only way I can take one without getting sick and delirious is if I take anti-nausea meds first. And even then, there's no guarantee. And of course, I can't do anything for half the day. Talk about wasting your time.

So, my white blood count is low again (600 parts per? when it's supposed to be around 1200), which means my immunities are low and I'm susceptible to catching... you name it. But my chief concern is that it creates one more delay in my chemo treatment. The week of July 4th was to be my "last" treatment, Round #5. Afterwards, testing to see where I stand and a long awaited break. Bad news would be that the cancer was somehow resistant to chemo and radiation. Not likely. Good news would be that the cancer is contained and appears to be making a retreat. Now, I have to wait yet again. I don't know if I can fully explain just how frustrating that is. Name your curse words and multiply the impact exponentially. That doesn't even begin.

Overall, however, I'd have to say I've been pretty patient. Going on month eight now, knowing very well, if not fully, that my life will never be the same again. I don't want to whine, but this illness and all the treatments for it are sure taking a lot out of me. Short of killing me, it's testing my ability to tolerate a whole bunch of unpleasantness. I don't even like being around me. I'm realizing just how much of a pain I can be. My outside veneer may be all nice and seemingly unfettered and unbothered, but inside I'm as irreverent, nasty, and mean as ever. Probably overreacting.

Hell, I don't even know how to conclude. Let's just say, I'm in mid-stream...

Internal Struggles

Original draft: 4/14/17. Just before I took a turn for god-awful...

I've been wrestling with my thoughts lately, what's important and what's not. Moreover, those thoughts are all caste in a kind of shadow from light to dark and back.

It must be the constant daily grind of regular cancer treatments that's getting to me, wearing me down. A head-on fight is not nearly as bad as a long seige, so Sun Tzu would say. Yes, it's not the known frontal assaults and the obvious obstacles that unnerve me and make me dispirited. No, those I can take on, with fervor and vigor sometimes. I may not be willing but I try not to shirk.

It's the battle of attrition that I'm not so good at tackling-- the slow, methodical grinding away, the relentless seeping in of doubt, light blows that over time become almost crushing. So, I ask, What's the more formidable opponent: Godzilla or ants?

And here, I believed that I was a determined foe who could take on just about anything. That must have been youth or hubris thinking in all it's glorified ignorance. Truth is, my greatest opponent has been and still is whatever outlasts me and my level of fortitude. Of course, fortitude is intangible and, therefore, hard to measure.

What I'm up against is a battle of a long duration that I can't afford to lose... All right, that sounds too serious. I mean, despite the scary-sounding diagnosis of stage IIIB lymphoma, my particular prognosis-- based on age, physical condition, and, otherwise, general health --is excellent. There's no reason I shouldn't come out of this with a full recovery and remission.

The situation itself on the surface, then, isn't something to fear or make a person lose hope. So, why is my personal outlook overcast from time to time? Like now?... Just tired, I guess-- tired of the everyday, the having to suspend many of life's worthwhile pursuits, knowing that some things have to wait. It gets frustrating. The problem is, it's impossible to put a positive spin on everything all the time. The reality and/or perception I'm grappling with? It's that the whole indefinite aspect of getting through this experience is arduous and oppressive. It's a fight within a fight, and this one is of mood. It's a wicked fight, however, which might sound benign, but isn't, so it shouldn't be taken lightly.

The unpleasantness of illness takes many forms. The kind a person gets over in a week or two-- like the flu, pneumonia, or a bad cold --takes on a different aspect altogther from one that goes longer-- say, a month or two --and requires some rehabilitation. Then, there's this nasty aberration that takes up an indefinite time period and looks determined to hold on, to apply pressure, and fight like the worst kind of pest imaginable.

April 2017 Progress Update

Update, 4/12/2017: In sum, first round of chemo done (3/10). Second round started, 4/10. Into second week of radiation.

Second round of chemo was delayed a week due to low white blood count. Received some kind of booster shot on Saturday. Seemed to help push the count up in order for me to start back on chemo.

Upon second week of radiation with re-start of chemo, body experienced waves of nausea, dizziness, and headaches-- bad enough to wake me in the middle of the night for vomiting episode. So, trying now to head off side effects with anti-nausea meds. Seems to help some. Last night was better.

Getting in exercise when I can-- just around the block with Uno, my good and faithful mutt who's old and out of shape. She gets even more exhausted than I do, which makes me somewhat more confident that I'm not all that sick after all.

I've noticed, however, for the first time that the treatments are now clearly affecting my appetite and wreaking some havoc on my entire gastrointestinal well-being. And the constant fatigue has had a toll on my overall mood. To say the least it's making me rather grumpy. Feelings of inadequacy start to creep in. Worries about letting things slide and not wanting to do things. Loss of generosity? Too much preoccupation with self? At the same time, being too conscientious about feeling like a burden to my family, my "caretakers." I definitely don't want to feel that way, much less actually be some kind of burden. The stress they're going through on account of me is very real. I sense it. So, I tell them not to fuss but they don't always listen. And yet I do count on them for so much.

All the difficult life experiences require balance, right? But we're all perfectly flawed. What lessons to take from living through this particular experience, though, I have yet to fully grasp. If I think too long on it, I get overwhelmed. This is sure to be a long process, and time appears to be a weird reflection, not linear or moving along as it should. Perception gets mighty skewed.

Broken Goods

Not sure why we keep all the broken stuff in storage. Maybe we think we'll get around to fixing them one of these days. But they sit there taking up space, asking to be fixed or recycled or put out of their misery, of being non-functioning. What could be worse than having no purpose, being useless? We ask ourselves, Do inanimate objects have a soul? Like plants have feelings? Do they all have to be alive to be a part of something real? We're all of us made mostly out of the same material anyway-- just in different measure. What exactly is the "spark of life"? And what is the meaning of dead? Does dead take away or change a name? The same way we say, "John's body"? What we mean is that it's no longer John. We say machines aren't alive or dead. Makes a soul wonder. Makes a soul question. And no answer is acceptable or right. So, we move along collecting objects that serve no purpose. That's what we do. And we attach sentiment and nostalgia to some of them as part of memory, to hold some value.

Kick in the Ass

My boy Noah had his first sleep study done at Mt. Washington Children's Hospital back in the summer of 2009. His medical appointments had become fairly routine by this point. That is to say, 3-4 times a month was nothing unusual.

Of course, this required my wife and me to make certain changes to our schedules. I no longer worked full time and she had put in time off whenever necessary. That night was my turn to keep vigil by Noah's bedside. Fortunately, he didn't seem to have much trouble getting to sleep. Me, I couldn't sleep at all. But thank God for small blessings: Noah slept and woke like clockwork, nothing interrupting his circadian rhythm.

So, while I struggled to make sense out of this existential situation, I couldn't help feeling sorry for my poor boy or for myself, for that matter. I hated the feeling. That's why I began to scribble something in the dark, something positive and motivational. Then, it seemed the writing just took over, and what I came away with was this:

"aphorisms from Noah's bedside"

have a purpose. have a clear vision. take your own advice. dream BIG!! start small but don't think small. believe in yourself. don't get discouraged. but when you do, pick yourself back up, and quickly. learn to have more faith in the world. take pride in your accomplishments and successes. maintain focus. don't try to do too many things at once. tackle them one at a time. try not to deviate.

stay inspired. work hard. but don't be so hard on yourself. always know what's really important in your life. be kind. show gratitude. don't think everybody's out to get you. be honest. bounce back. ALWAYS know you can. fear and weakness are temporary and fleeting. maintain strength of character. show up; be present. don't cower. embrace challenges. believe there's an answer to every problem because, if you look hard enough, chances are you'll find the answer. solutions are often in the unlikeliest places. keep your mind and eyes open. enjoy surprises. take heart. don't turn away from help. and don't turn help away. make your time matter. mean what you say. realize you're not perfect. ain't nobody. but don't let that stop you from reaching for perfection. limitations are what you make them. persevere. improvise. be patient--it's not a race to a finish line. so you stumble and fall. be gentle with yourself. get over it. move on. don't ever give up easily or without trying. but determine wisely when it's best to quit. quitting isn't the worst that can happen. don't get downhearted. there are and will be plenty of other opportunities. believe that. enjoy the moment. be creative. you are your own measuring bar. keep the bar high. stretch as far as you can, then stretch a little farther. anything worth doing is worth a good attempt. you can't succeed unless you try-- cliche holds true.

heroes still exist as do heroic acts-- it doesn't matter the scale. share your misery as well as your good fortune. but don't brag. and don't fool yourself-- reality can be, and sometimes is, ugly. you can't always have it your way. but you can still be content. look for the good in things and you'll find it hiding somewhere. keep your eyes on the road ahead, from moment to moment, but remember the "now" is where you operate.

resist creature comforts. but don't torture yourself. be pleased with pleasure. grow up; don't grow old. the former is a sign of maturity and wisdom; the latter is one step away from death. be persistent but don't mistake it for being stubborn. equate it with strength of mind. acknowledge there's a higher power than yourself, and it's always at work-- in ways you can't possibly imagine. look past the superficial. seek the genuine. and never, ever forget: you determine you. be determined.

Contented, Discontented

How do we strike a balance in life? It's an age-old question, one of great want and necessity.

Buddha, Aristotle, Jesus, Proust, Thoreau, all the great philosophers, holy men, poets, and writers have grappled with this idea of happiness and contentment.

So much, however, in what we learn and experience becomes all too self-serving. The best answers appear to come in the form of contradiction (for lack of a better word): that in being compassionate and serving others, one finds and receives compassion and contentment.

Seems very simple a notion. But as with so many concepts one considers simple, the applications sure are very difficult. We're up against ourselves. More often than not, we create the barriers and restrictions that hold us back much more so than have to face outside barriers created for us. And when those walls and chains become a nuisance, it's even harder to practice good and healthy behavior.

In our daily lives we have tasks to complete, problems to trouble-shoot, people to contend with. When do we have the time and willingness to be compassionate? I tend to think that the answer is, all the time, if not the willingness-- even given all those matters of the moment that try to sap away at our positive energy and karma.

Vices

Vices

It’s good to have some vices. Sounds like a contradictory statement, I know. But as human beings, we seek happiness. And isn’t one of our inalienable rights as Americans the right to pursue happiness?

Of course, getting carried away with evil deeds and/or getting addicted to something malevolent is not prudent or wise.

What I think I’m trying to get at here is more about what makes us tick. Questions about values come up frequently when we say things like, “You can’t trust a person who doesn’t drink,” or “Who wants to go to heaven if you have to give up [fill in whatever vice you consider fun]?”

A cogent discussion about such matters is nearly impossible. Why we act on things that our “better angels” would advise us against is, well, part of the human condition.

After giving up so much, both good and bad, I find that I miss both the good and the bad equally. I realize, however, more forcefully the consequences of the latter. That is to say, “bad” is easily recognizable by the pain and suffering it causes. And simply put, “good” perpetuates more of what’s good. (But I’m sure bad does the same.)

Is there even a right answer? Perhaps if we break things down, organize, and compartmentalize them, we can get a better picture and a better handle on what good and bad, right and wrong, and pure and profane truly mean. But after doing all that, we might not get any closer to the answer. All the shades of grey get in the way.

Life’s complicated. That’s universally understood and accepted. But such a statement is not an answer. Religion tries and fails, not that it isn’t persuasive. And what of personal beliefs? The problem is that they come from outside influences as much as, if not more than, internal constructs.

Okay, not sure where I was going with this. I’m at a neurotic impasse. I'd have to say the right answer is to find it for yourself. Let all else be damned! Enjoy the moment and all things with as much moderation as you can possibly muster. Otherwise, learn to know better next time by allowing yourself that next time. And above all, own up to your mistakes.

Legacy

As good parents, we want to leave something of lasting value behind for our children. I used to keep a regular running journal during my most insecure, yet thoughtful, periods in my youth. I wrote about my frustrations, mainly. But every now and then, something of wisdom would come to the surface to help guide me. More than likely, those kernels of wisdom came from all the stuff I had read and digested over the years. I've always been such an avid reader of miscellany but things of real substance, too.

Lately, among the many thoughts that have been rummaging and ruminating in my head are those that seem to matter most regarding the meaning of life-- or at least of my life and those I care about.

In particular, I feel the need to leave behind something of real substance to guide my daughter Hannah: lessons that I've learned along the way. Obviously, maybe for my sake, I really have to tell her about what I know on an empirical level. Of course, what she reads into it is completely up to her.

There's an order to achieving just about any level of success. First of all, you've got to have a dream, but it can't be unrealistic. That, of course, you have to determine very carefully. Next, you have to pursue that dream by making it an obtainable goal. And finally, perhaps most importantly, you have to be passionate in order to make that dream a reality. At the same time you can't be unbridled in that passion that it blinds you to everything else. That's when tempering your passion comes into play.

Now, about passion, I want to make it absolutely clear that following your passion is often risky and sometimes dumb. Don't get me wrong. Passion is vital to whatever it is you plan to do for a living. It's how you direct it that matters. You have to be careful not to make it purely self-serving / non-inclusive. In general, however, I think this notion of "following" your passion is the worst kind of advice anyone can give or take.

For one thing, suppose you're not any good at what you're passionate about. You'd be wasting time pursuing it. (Sorry, folks, practice doesn't make perfect.) But suppose you are good, nay great, at doing the acting, singing, or dancing gig. You're actually incredibly talented, beautiful, smart, articulate, etc., etc. Well, you've just picked a field full of intense competition, high stakes, and low yield. It's gonna be a tough road for you. But say you're sensible and you've situated yourself in a field that's very promising with high salary and great benefits. Will your passion be sustained or turn lukewarm? In my short time on this earth, I learned that it really doesn't matter what you do as long as you give of yourself willingly, preferably to a morally upright cause (or doing just plain 'honest' work). Because in being kind and generous, your return on investment-- though it may be intangible and may not bring much wealth, if any --it's always worth it.

In this world, in this existence, many things worthwhile require discipline, patience, and perseverance. Because our youthful selves don't like to hear that, we often rebel against "the system," to our great detriment. The truth is, most of the time we have to operate within existing parameters. Breaking out of that box, so to speak, requires wisdom of thought and action.

One of the many lessons I've shared with Hannah is the one about rules. I planted this notion that "rules are meant to be broken." Admittedly, I went about it the wrong way. I should've given her some context here rather than oversimplifying a difficult concept. It was Thoreau's fault, his essay on civil disobedience.

The proper advice, for good guidance, is to consider whether or not a certain rule should be broken in the first place. Most rules are, after all, established for good reasons. The context for breaking rules is what matters. That's when wisdom comes in. Without it we make poor decisions.

I think Hannah is learning this process through her own empirical study of the world. As yet it's fairly limited. But as her world expands, she'll come to better understand what she can do. Once you get a handle on constructs, you find it easier to break out of them and make your own rules and boundaries. That's when you really learn how to fly. And that's when we can truly be free to go where we want to go and be what we want to be.

Let's insert a little wisdom from Richard Bach's Jonathan Livingston Seagull: “We can lift ourselves out of ignorance, we can find ourselves as creatures of excellence and intelligence and skill. We can be free! We can learn to fly!”

Granted that books are great for forming and developing ideas about oneself, other people, and the surrounding world. But there's no better teacher than experience.

Hope

"Hope springs eternal." Or so I hear. Heck, I know it.

It's a new month, and day to day, I've been doing my best to stay positive. A person can only do so much, however. Other stuff you have to leave in other people's hands.

The mountain bike in the above photo is one that I ordered as an upgrade. I got it online on my smartphone while I was lying in a hospital bed. It was not an impulsive purchase. In fact, I had been doing some research and asked my good friend Jim for feedback.

Jim is my oldest, "bestest" friend since childhood. He's someone who would never knowingly steer me wrong. Jim does, however, have a biting wit that balances all good things about him. (I chuckle internally here.)

When I was back at home, recovering, Jim even came up from Knoxville-- despite his busy schedule at work --to visit me here in Maryland, and he helped assemble my new bike. It's a kind of exercise in simple pleasures.

I think that hope has something to do with finding simple pleasures and planning for what may or may not materialize. My hope is to ride that hard-tail, full-suspension MTB on some crazy-assed single-track trails near home, and make it back alive in one piece. Now, tell me if that ain't all about hope!

Staying on Course

I thought I'd take some time off from writing about random thoughts. Writing itself is actually pretty hard work. As a writer of sorts, I usually take great pains to make sure the work is fairly well done. I can't ask any lesser of myself. So, if I take it seriously, then I'd better make it worthwhile.

Of course, lately, as any cancer patient or anyone who's going through a life-altering event is apt to do, I've been avoiding the real issues of my condition. But I guess it's best to stay on course here.

It's best to record what's happening and what's going to happen. The plans are in the works.

The major surgeries are now in the past, though recent. The recovery is going well for the most part. But I'm far from back to what normal used to be. And now, just as I'm improving, the next stage in the treatment process presents itself. On Monday, March 6th, I start a daily series of chemotherapy for one week, with a three-week break thereafter. I'm sure there's a good reason for the break.

Then, at the beginning of April, I alternate from chemo to radiation for another week. The following week I take another break. It's this second week in April that has me most concerned. Supposedly, if I don't succumb to too many of the god-awful side effects, the one thing that's sure to happen is shear exhaustion.

From personal history, as I recall, I don't handle physical exhaustion all that well. It impacts my mood in ways I don't care to elaborate. Basically, it depresses the hell out of me. It makes me less willing to do the things I have to do, much less want to do. There's simply no way to put a positive spin on being bereft of energy.

Talk about feeling vulnerable. I hate it! But I don't have much choice in the matter. I can only hope for the continued support and patience of loved ones.

Image

To be fair, we're all a bit self-absorbed. We often can't see beyond our own finger tips. Even this blog, in many ways, is as much an act of self promotion or to validate my existence (in a very small way) as it is a way to chronicle my daily progress.

The truth is-- and let's be totally honest --I worry about tomorrow because that's what we do. As a member of the human species, I can't help but consider what may be to come. Sure, I say I want to live in the moment like some people are apparently capable of doing. Now that's an enviable quality. But I'm flawed.

As much as I detest the whole idea of presenting a false image or appearance, I'm guilty of the same. I want to project something more than what meets the eye, something that appears better.

I may not be too preoccupied with things but, nonetheless, I appreciate quality. I don't randomly blow my money on cheap, worthless knock-offs. If I can help it, I will indeed spend money on quality.

One day I stopped in my tracks and took inventory of myself, what I was wearing, and I felt surprisingly good and ashamed at the same time-- the latter because of my misgivings which were founded on values I had wanted to uphold.

Frankly, my appearance was still rather unassuming. It was just what I happened to notice about the choices I had made. The items came from various sources, to be sure. Most were certainly not bought retail or even by me. That is to say they were gifts. But all the same most of the items were of top-shelf quality.

So, the inventory: Ralph Lauren button-down Polo shirt, Levi's 501 jeans, Tommy Hilfiger classic briefs, Goldtoe dress socks, North Face fleece vest, Ralph Lauren tweed sportcoat, Dr. Martens Oxford dress shoes, my gold and platinum wedding band, finish off with Ray-Ban's Daddy-O sunglasses (now made in Italy). The cheapest, most practical item on me was my Timex Ironman watch, not that I didn't have a wristwatch that was a hundred times more expensive. Just wasn't wearing my Tag Heuer Swiss Army.

Yes, we're all image conscious and guilty of trying to project to others this idea of personal identity. The soul, on the other hand, doesn't wear anything.

Change

Everything changes. The sooner we come to accept that, the better off we are. The woods behind my house were a haven and home to many a creature. Even for me it was a place of solace and refuge. I would often go there to escape from the stresses of suburbia, work life, and home pressures.

The woods are now gone. Developers tore through there with no mercy. New townhouses are all over those many acres of land. Talk about life being stripped away. The flora and fauna in the area have all but been eliminated. In some ways it's plain heartbreaking, even to think about. Such is change. Such is "progress." We don't always want it. We look upon it with suspicion. And we can only compare the change with what we remember was possibly more wholesome.

The song goes, "They tore paradise and put up a parking lot." Well, the Nobel laureate also sang, "The times, they are a changin'." We can't drive the change. We usually have to get out of the way. So, we should make ourselves good for the ride. Get strapped in, and take in the changes-- good and bad.

Tough Call

Looking back on some of the really difficult decisions I've had to make in my life, I can think of two very recent ones that shake my core.

Futility often plays a part in making up your mind for you. In some ways those most painful of all decisions are easily made.

As medical staff took turns trying to keep my son from dying when he had already"shuffled off this mortal coil," the attending doctor took me and my wife aside and told me a hard truth that I wasn't even remotely prepared to hear. He said I needed to make a decision, perhaps the most difficult right / wrong decision I could ever make. Strange when I heard him say that, I knew. Yes, I told him to stop attempting to resuscitate Noah. It had become utterly futile. We had to face reality and let him go in peace. The tears streamed down our faces almost without our knowing. It was like some kind of reflex of emotion. I was numb. I couldn't make sense out of anything. So, this was death? Very quiet, sterile. No bombs, no hysterics, no noise whatsoever. I just sat there, stood there, hardly able to move. And I let my Noah go. Life in him was spent. And I don't even remember crying. I looked to heaven for answers to questions I didn't know how to ask.

Now, death is a strange and foreboding presence in our day to day. It's there. We just turn a blind eye until it stares us down. A few weeks ago I had to make another tough call. Our 13-year-old beagle Todes had grown utterly senile. I suppose I'd been putting off the inevitable. Instead of making the call months ago, I had put it off at the expense of his quality of life, which had significantly diminished over the last year or so. All the signs were there: the howling for no reason, the incontinence, staring at the wall for long periods, eating pebbles and getting sick, perhaps mistaking dirt and rocks for food. (I even learned later that he had early stages of cataracts.) But denial is a powerful thing. Even his inability to maintain any kind of genuine social interaction didn't seem to bother me much. Besides, Todes appeared to be physically fit. Yet, we all should know that appearances don't mean a whole lot.

And while I was trying to recover from major surgery, I had family members try to take care of old Todes. When I got home from the hospital, I knew, however, that I had to take action. His howling was stressing me out. Even a neighbor came over to ask if our dog was okay. Despite everything, I called up (even emailed) a few places to see what our options were. The news I got was varied. None of the options struck me as ideal in any way. Most of the so-called gentle methods might have cleared our conscience of guilt, maybe. But again they only prolonged the inevitable. Quality of life would still be greatly diminished. No, the most humane method at our disposal was euthanasia at the County animal control center. It was time. Of course, my daughter Hannah was totally distraught. Todes was her first real pet. To put him down was utter anathema for her. But it was my decision after weighing every possibility. It was the best right / wrong decision. Right for Todes. Wrong for us to hear it. But the best, most humane option. We brought his body back to bury. Actually, my brave young Hannah did most of the work! Burial detail. Remarkable young lady. I sure can't think of most American teenagers who are capable of doing what she did on that cold and windy day. And on that day when the weather nearly knocked me over, Hannah dug a grave for our dearly departed dog Todes. All I could do was oversee the work, making sure the pit was deep enough and helping to cover him up adequately.

I'm torn about what we consider to be "mercy" killing. The greater philosophy doesn't hold much light here. We can debate it all we like. But the plain fact is, we have to decide on the spot sometimes. We don't always have the luxury to debate life and death as if it were an academic exercise. Sure, we can be heroic and commit selfless acts that can get us killed, like a soldier who throws his body on a grenade to shield and save his brothers in arms. In some ways that's easy. We really don't know what the hell we're doing. It's just an automatic, impulsive act-- something in the moment that our gut tells us is necessary and right.

The hard truth (about life and death) is making a choice for someone else that doesn't involve your safety or your life. Sure, what you decide may very well impact you in ways you can't imagine at the time. It's like the end of Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men, when George shoots Lennie in the back of the head, and Slim comes up to George and says, "You hadda, George. I swear you hadda." There's a painful acknowledgment there. There's a choice that must be made in an instant, without much thought. Very often the gut informs us.

Upcoming procedure and treatments

Workin' on it...

I can't deny the fact that I'm afraid of what's to come. Uncertainty is scary.

In two days, I go under again: Scalpel, incision, big-gauge needle into my shoulder to connect to vein in neck: port insert for the chemo infusion. Not looking forward to that.

So, among the unpleasantries of modern medicine is the anticipation of more pain, discomfort, and exhaustion. The chemo will knock me on my ass. Then, the radiation in another month...

Going through something like this firsthand is in many ways surreal. This sort of thing happens to other people, right? Kinda' funny, really. At times I feel like I'm on the outside looking in, very much out of body. The pain reminds me that that's not the case. I'm very much a part of what's going on.

Oh, well... Gotta roll with the punches, however they may come.

Control

It seems the older we get, the more we try to assert control over our world. For the longest time, I made that mistake, as so many of us do. Sure, there are many things that are easily controlled. Nothing wrong with organizing, categorizing, and putting things where you believe they should go.

The operative word here is "things." Where control gets tricky is when you deal with those animate objects and other people that have minds of their own. That's when control becomes a losing proposition at best and an impractical, energy-draining pursuit to boot.

We try and sometimes succeed in training our pets to follow our commands-- again, a type of control. But when we attempt to apply training, rules, and restrictions on our children and our loved ones (partners, elder parents, even friends), we discover-- and often encounter --limitations almost instantly.

It's hubris to think we really have control over others. We're not monarchs or dictators who reign over a serfdom of subjects who are incapable of thinking for themselves. We're not living in the Middle Ages when most people couldn't read and write, and think critically.

Now, when we insist on asserting control on those who have a will, then we're merely fooling ourselves, expending energy on a useless pursuit.

Ironically, as an educator, I frequently made the mistake of trying to control my little piece of academia-- i.e., the classroom of students. Silly to think I really could. I should've taken my old 4th-grade self as an example. When Mrs. Hodges told us to sit still and keep quiet, I had the audacity to rise up and speak my mind... and get caught. Well, back in Pembroke, Kentucky, at the rather unassuming elementary school I attended, that was grounds for capital punishment: "Grab your ankles and bend over!" And the paddle was crafted from a hard wood, like hickory or oak, and holes were drilled in strategically, making it easy for the air to pass through as the paddling administrator (usually the vice-principal) launched the tool three times onto your buttocks. You were "brave" not to utter a peep and still manage to sit back down in your seat.

And what did this accomplish? Very little to nothing. Nonetheless, people have this innate and foolish desire to want to control their world. Men, of course, are the worst. But women are certainly not immune. Truth is, we fool ourselves into thinking we have any kind of control. Just how much do we have control over? Really, not very much. Interestingly enough, however, it's by relinquishing control that a person experiences peace and freedom and a certain level of joy.

So, after many years (too many to count), I found that the "right" way to help people see things "my" way is to be sincere. When you're being kindly persuasive and convincing, very few people are going to argue with you. Those who do are just stupid, or so you can think that. But add to your argument, compassion and caring, and people you love will listen and make up their own minds. They'll act of their own volition regarding what they want to do for you, for themselves, and for the world around them. And you'll be helping them make good decisions for themselves, to better themselves. Isn't that what you wanted to accomplish in the first place?

Friendship

Of late I've been thinking about the definition of friendship. As my close friends have come to visit me here in recent weeks, they serve a purpose I hadn't really comprehended before. Our ties have little to do with petty favors and conveniences. No, we seem to have a bond that goes beyond anything we normally put into words.

But here I'll try: mutual respect, common history, genuine caring, a love that simply needs no forethought; we never deliberately attempt to cause undue discomfort for each other-- wouldn't think of it. Sure, we jest and press one another, a form of dressing down. But I'm certain that that also has to do with a kind of strange love. True friends make it clear that preening one's feathers is an unattractive, self-serving activity that won't go "unpunished." It deserves to be exposed and censured.

We don't intentionally brag about our accomplishments, not that we're any less proud of them. It just isn't necessary. And in the company of good friends, what's the point? Hell, they already know your strengths and weaknesses.

And in fact, when you're weak-- and they know it, they make it a point to lift you up. I love my friends and they love me. Simple. It's a blessing from above.

As a wordsmith, I think I better understand the origin of the French word "merci." It's the quality that Portia (in 'Merchant of Venice') was referring to: "The quality of mercy is not strained. / It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven / Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed; / It blesseth him that gives and him that takes." Mercy is the gift of gratitude. And friendship is a gift that never ceases to give.

Insomniac's Thoughts

[J Calvin] [3:49 AM] [Fri, Feb 17, 2017] sleep escapes me, very elusive. 2-3 hrs at a time, if that. reminds me of how hard it was for me back in HS and college. by far, however, eating right poses the greatest challenge. lost some 35 lbs since last August. i can tell the toll that that's having on my body and mind.

[J Calvin] [3:54 AM] i can't expect my elderly parents to help out all that much. and my teen daughter, though concerned and supportive, is too impatient and self-absorbed to adequately care for me. doesn't help at all that they've all been sick with cold, flu, and the many other travails of mortals.

[J Calvin] [3:59 AM] quite frankly, i really feel like i have to carry most of the burden of care myself... my family seem to do what they can, but it's wanting. my friends come visit me sporadically. time with them lifts my spirits, and i genuinely feel the love. at least when they're with me, their attention and focus is on me. not so bad being at the center for a little time. but i'm sure it's taxing on them, nonetheless. but hey, they can always go back to their own version of reality. personally, mine sucks! and i'm not about embracing the suck every day. hard enough tackling it in the moment.

[J Calvin] [4:08 AM] i was thinking about some of the things we should ALL experience if only once in our lives. before this illness came upon me, i thought getting sued was definitely something we should all experience. now i can safely add 1. get arrested, 2. be incapacitated, 3. suffer from thirst and hunger, 4. recover from major surgery, and 5. be dependent on others for just about everything. all these force a person to appreciate what s/he has and not take so much for granted. very humbling.

God?

Gonna work on spiritual aspects of healing, of course. Anyone who knows me knows I have a spiritual bent.

God, though? My relationship with a higher power is my own, and I prefer not to talk about it in this forum. Not to discount God in anyway. I'll personally talk with you about what I think, and whether or not you agree or disagree, well, that's up to you as well. Find your own god(s), Holy Father, Lord, spirit animal or guide or angel or what have you. It's for you to determine, not for anyone else.

Thanks for respecting my peace re: my relationship with the Almighty.

That said, I do very much appreciate all your positive thoughts, concerns, and prayers.

Introduction to My LC Blog

I have Stage IIIB Lymphatic Cancer, which I fully intend to beat. Trying to stay positive isn't that hard, actually. What's hard is maintaining the strength to stay positive. Physical limitations are very real. And the mind draws from the body. Lots of interconnected forces.

I've been communicating with many of you individually. Just want to say I appreciate your love and prayers.

Let me chronicle the basics for those of you who don't know:

12/9/16-1/12/17: ruptured ulcer, severe bleed repaired; biopsy positive for adinocarcinoma; removed malignant stomach tumor w/ gastrectomy.

1/21-2/6: post-op bleed, pneumonia, hospital readmit; 2nd op to repair bleed; discharged 2/6.

2/10: new cancer diagnosis; spread to lymph nodes. Treatment plan: chemo and radiation from March to end of June.

PROGNOSIS: Very good! Anticipate remission in about a year.