One of my friends asked me today, what they could do to help me. What they could do to make the process of my upcoming procedures and treatment easier. I have spent the evening thinking about it and come to the conclusion, that at this point I really don't know.
This friend also mentioned that my blog may help THEM figure out how to approach others who are dealing with cancer (no matter what the type). I hope so. It is one of my goals.
During my past cancer experience, I did some research into how people deal with their cancer experience. Actually, I wrote an academic paper, complete with video interviews of two women dealing with cancer (one breast, one liver). The outcome of the research led me to this conclusion.
There are two types of cancer patients; those that want to share their experience with others around them and those that don't. The range between the two varies based on the individual.
Looking back over the paper (I had to dig it out - found and reviewed the video) and discovered this. Despite what the patient THINKS or wants to ADMIT, the experience of battling cancer is NOT a singular experience. By necessity it involves many people outside of the patient - whether we LIKE it or WANT it, these people are THERE. What makes a difference is the degree to which we LET them SHARE the experience. Some, as is human nature, will want to be involved more than others. At this point I don't really know what my needs will be this time around, but rather than try to live the experience in an isolated state I have decided to open my arms/heart/spirit to those who want to help in what ever way they want to.
In order to get perspective on just how MUCH support is out there for me (and by extension) other cancer patients I will create a list that should illustrate these connections... (I will add and update the list as time passes!)
1) IMMEDIATE FAMILY - Cheryl, Cameron, Malcolm and our pets (yes they TOO can help!) Ginger, Hershey, Gypsy and even Gipper.
2) EXTENDED FAMILY - Mom, Sarah, Randy, Sydney, Logan, Ryan, Paul, Karmen, Addison, Morgan, Jim, Carol, John, Kristen, Tina Brian, Jeff, Trevor, Mason, Amy, Dan, Kennedy
3) LIFE LONG FRIENDS - Dave, Krista, Tim, Cyndi, Shawn
4) MY NEIGHBORHOOD 'FAMILY' - Craig, Lisa, Addsion, Emerson, Liz, Tom K., Katy, Steve, Tommy & Luke
5) MY ARTISTIC FAMILY - Ken, Randy, Casey, Josh, Ev, Kristen, K.C., Danni, Madhi, Ashley, Krista, Savy, Vicki, Cathy, Tom, Tami, Zach, Lauri V.
6) MY WORK FAMILY - Kevin, Kim K., Bill, Mitch, Jeff, Garrick, Roy, Matt, Suzanne, Brad
7) MY MEDICAL TEAM - Dr. Gallagher, Dr. Skeel, Dr. Deitz, Dr. Remzi, Marilynn, (the following I don't have names for now, but will try to add) Testing Technicians, Lab Techs, Diagnosticians, Surgical Nurses, Anesthesiologists, Recovery Nurses, Ostomy Nurses, Home Visit Nurses.
Without specific names of medical personnel, my growing Support Web is pushing 80 people! I had never looked at it this way before. Now, by extension, these people will all talk, in one way or another to OTHER people, and much like a 'social-network' it comes to me that it is nearly IMPOSSIBLE to get through this alone, almost silly even to try.
Given this new revelation I get an even better perspective on the results of my research, in which I looked at the cancer patient as a 'student' (I have to RELEARN everything about procedures - new and familiar) and as a 'teacher' I am tasked with the 'responsibility' - at least to me - to be an 'educator'. I need to be able to answer questions about MY experience for the people mentioned above, and others I will meet along the way - that is part of the goal of this blog, to EDUCATE about the EXPERIENCE.
No matter what the outcome of my experience (obviously I plan on a curative experience and long life to be lived) what I go through will HOPEFULLY bring some personal awareness of the importance of health, screening, and all that goes along with staying healthy as long as possible - at least to the people of my growing Support Web.
So, with surgery approaching, I have been trying to focus on the things I CAN control at this point. Once I get through the surgery I will better be able to assess what I will need... It will not be easy for me, as I have mentioned before, to ask. So some people may have to take the lead
For now what I am really trying to do is NOT worry about the things that are not in my control. Once I get to Cleveland and roll into the O.R. I simply trust that the Doctors all know what they are doing and I will wake up without a colon, with a stupid ileostomy bag, and be on the road to recovery.
Once I get home, I will do my best to let people know how they can help! I also want to say that I fully recognize just how important you all are to my ability to survive and win this battle once again....
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Cancer Survivors...Of Superheroes, Super Villains & Identities
With less than a week to go before my surgery, I wanted to explore the world of symptoms, and how they become interwoven in every aspect of my life. To do this I had to decide on an appropriate analogy from which to examine what has become an integral part of my daily life for the past several months.
NOTE: Some parts of this story may get a bit 'icky' as I explore my symptoms and how I deal with them.
When I talk to people about my condition, or about other people they know who have survived the 'cancer experience' what comes to mind - or at least what comes FROM the minds of 'others' - the ones who know the survivor, is that we are some kind of 'heroes' for having survived. That is a lot of pressure to deal with.
Of all the things I felt the first time around, considering myself a 'hero' was simply not on the list. Did I consider myself a fighter? Yes. Did I consider myself damn lucky? Yes. Did my experience make me appreciate the people around me? Yes. But SUPERHERO? That is just too much.
Fast forward 20 years, and now things are a bit different. Now I see my position as a 'cancer-fighting-superhero' from a more external perspective. I now have not only a wife (as I did then too) but I have two kids, one entering the most confusing part of his life -adolescence- who DOES see me as Dad-The-Superhero, the other is embarking on 'adulthood' who needs me to be there in different ways. My wife still needs me, as we grow together, watch out kids grow and look forward to what we HOPE will be many, many golden-years.
And, beyond my 'blood-family' I am still very connected to the many, many students I worked with in my previous job, who in some ways at least I have become a surrogate Dad, Mentor, Friend, Uncle, confidant... And I see that the efforts I make to fight this thing may (I hope) help them in someway, maybe not now, but in the future.
Finally, during the final two years of my tenure I got to know one of the iconic teachers at our school, who lost her battle with brain-cancer, very well. She and I discussed many times the affect that our fight to hold onto life in the best way possible was more important to the people around us than our own singular existence. "The needs of the many, outweigh the needs of the one." - a quote that she and I both loved from Star Trek, a show we both enjoyed.
Considering all of this, I was watching (again) the movie 'Kill Bill Vol. 2'. Before his demise, Bill delivers a speech where he discuses the nature of the Superhero, and how, Superman (not my favorite, but the story is still great here) is the only one who was born a superhero. In my case I was born with the genetic predisposition to develop cancer. In effect there was nothing either one of us could do about our situation. Superman arrived on Earth as an outsider, different from regular humans. Cancer patients, like wise are different from 'regular humans'. Like a Superhero (sadly, without superpowers) my experience is 'life-changing'.
Let's look at Bill's speech:
Bill: An essential characteristic of the superhero mythology is, there's the superhero, and there's the alter ego. Batman is actually Bruce Wayne, Spider-Man is actually Peter Parker. When he wakes up in the morning, he's Peter Parker. He has to put on a costume to become Spider-Man...
For the 'regular' superheros they get to DECIDE to do what they do. They get to DECIDE when and where they 'become' the superhero. In effect, they get to stack the proverbial deck in their favor. They can ignore a call for help, ignore a plea for assistance. And in some way they are 'enhanced' through gizmos, gadgets, or happy accidents that make them 'super'. While they struggle at times to come to grips with their new identities - masked alter-egos. In the end theirs is a CHOICE. They can 'hang-up-the-cape' when ever they want.
Bill:...And it is in that characteristic that Superman stands alone. Superman did not become Superman, Superman was born Superman. When Superman wakes up in the morning, he's Superman...
Again, I want to repeat, I am not arrogant enough to consider myself 'super' or a 'superhero' but roll with me in the analogy. We are all born with a set of genes that we inherit from our parents. This is simple biological fact. We cannot change the package we start with. That package, like it or not determines how our physical bodies will develop, respond and react to anything that it encounters. Science has come along way in mapping out these packages for us - giving us markers, warning signs, predictors and chances of what might be. So, in this case YES I am LIKE Superman. My package is unique, I cannot change it, but with help (medical and other) I can DEAL with it. So much as in the first appearance of a Superhero, the birth of 'Captain Cancer' showed up one day with a streak of red in the toilet.
Bill:...His alter ego is Clark Kent...His outfit with the big red "S", that's the blanket he was wrapped in as a baby when the Kents found him. Those are his clothes. What Kent wears, the glasses, the business suit, that's the costume. That's the costume Superman wears to blend in with us...
Is my 'alter-ego' Scott Lightfoot - Security Technician by day - Captain Cancer at all other times? In these past few months I have tried at first to ignore the symptoms (the calling to become once again, Captain Cancer), eventually I consulted my 'oracles-of-science' who basically revealed to me that I have no CHOICE but to once again, fulfill my destiny of Captain Cancer.
So, in order to begin fighting this new battle I have to wear - under my clothes - hidden from the world, my special, uh, protective undergarments, so that 'evidence' of my symptoms shall not be unnecessarily 'revealed' to the public. Simply, the first part of my costume I don every day now is a pair of frickin' depends... "Protective undergarments for 'active-adults'" - you gotta love advertising...
So I stand there, in my steamy bathroom, showered, cleanly shaven, hair neatly coiffed (no Clark Kent swirl for me -- spiked hair baby!) Putting on my best tough man face, I reach ever so deftly for the package of depends... I free one from the package with all the deftness of 'Bruce Lee' --- Hooo WAH! Stretch them out, try to jump into them with as much cool as possible... of course that leads me to catching my foot on the elastic and falling sidways into the bathroom wall... I try to recover my cool, but all I can do is stand there, one leg in one leg out and looking in the mirror, laugh at myself.
The second effort goes better... now I am standing there, trying to flex/pose superhero fashion and realize I look more like some kind of emaciated sumo-wrestler than ANY kind of Superhero... I avoid reaching into the cabinet to fish out a red lipstick from my wife's cosmetic bag to draw a big red 'C' on my chest. Instead, I return to my room, my bathrobe 'concealing' my Superhero costume, I then dress in the rest of my 'public' costume long-underwear to battle the cold, pressed blue uniform pants. neatly buttoned and tucked company shirt, crisp company hat, pen and pen-light in my pocket, company ID (reading Scott Lightfoot - Technician, my alter-ego) and off to work I go.... Ah, but the adventure is not over...
Bill:...Clark Kent is how Superman views us. And what are the characteristics of Clark Kent? He's weak, he's unsure of himself... he's a coward. Clark Kent is Superman's critique on the whole human race.
Every Superhero has an arch enemy. For Captain Cancer his enemy is a multi-faced villain who can appear in many forms. With Captain Cancer now deftly tucked away, together we have to face the growing strength of 'Symptom Man'. My daily battle against Symptom Man begins shortly after the alarm rings in the morning... He attacks before Captain Cancer is properly garbed (see above!). I, Scott Lightfoot - Technician, must come flying out of the bed, race through the dark - being careful not to disturb either my sleeping wife or the stupid ass cat who sleeps on my chest - if I am fortunate I reach the toilet - keeping Symptom Man from, uh, making my morning messy. Successful in this initial battle, I shower (attempt!) to dress in the costume of Captain Cancer, and make my way to work. Dressed, tucked and ready to face the day of Scott Lightfoot - Technician.
The battle between Captain Cancer and Symptom Man continues. Every time I change position - get into my van, get out of my van, pull a heavy ladder out of my van, climb into a lift - Symptom Man attacks.... Captain Cancer battles with extra, uh, 'clinching', slower, more thoughtful movement - running is OUT for certain. My 'special-under-garments' provide protection from the moments when Symptom Man wins the occasional fight - leaving 'evidence' of a successful attack - like a bloodied lip in a fist fight. Captain Cancer and Symptom Man repeat this parrying throughout the day. All the while as Scott Lightfoot - Technician I do my best to hide the battle that is going on inside my battle - and sometimes in my pants...
I have never in my life worked so hard to 'schedule' things like bathroom visits or the need to 'pass-gas', another neat trick used by Symptom Man - because sometimes - unpredictably it is not gas that gets passed, at that point I have to make quick excuse to hustle (not run) to the nearest bathroom. Imagine how difficult THIS is when I am 30' up in a lift, in the blowing snow, and beside taking about a full excruciating minute to get to ground level, I have to then 'tuck-walk' a good 500 yards through the mud to the nearest restroom. Oh... the adventure does not end there...
Once I get to my 'Fortress of Solitude' I THEN have to disrobe... five layers of protective clothing, zippers, buttons, belts, snaps and the like before I can FINALLY sit down and have some modicum of relief from Symptom Man's attack...
On a good day I can get by with hopefully 'unnoticed' trips to the restroom... morning breaks (thanks union people for those), lunch (we usually get an hour), afternoon breaks, final clean up at the end of the day before going home. On a bad day, I find that I am running of excuses for restroom breaks.
This battle requires support. One technique that Cancer Man and I use is our 'web-of-support'. Out of necessity, I have informed a cadre of people who, by knowing what I am going through, can not only better understand my sudden 'needs' or the necessity to change plans, but can provide the support when needed. So far, I have been very lucky that Cancer Man has many allies in my battle.
The good news is that next week Symptom Man will be mostly defeated. Attacked, removed, tossed in a bucket by Cancer Man's Science Team... At that point there will be new battles for Cancer Man to fight... He must recover from the ordeals of the operation in order to battle with 'The Cancer That Remains' with the help of Cancer Man's side-kick 'Chemo-Man'....
The Adventure Continues.....
NOTE: Some parts of this story may get a bit 'icky' as I explore my symptoms and how I deal with them.
When I talk to people about my condition, or about other people they know who have survived the 'cancer experience' what comes to mind - or at least what comes FROM the minds of 'others' - the ones who know the survivor, is that we are some kind of 'heroes' for having survived. That is a lot of pressure to deal with.
Of all the things I felt the first time around, considering myself a 'hero' was simply not on the list. Did I consider myself a fighter? Yes. Did I consider myself damn lucky? Yes. Did my experience make me appreciate the people around me? Yes. But SUPERHERO? That is just too much.
Fast forward 20 years, and now things are a bit different. Now I see my position as a 'cancer-fighting-superhero' from a more external perspective. I now have not only a wife (as I did then too) but I have two kids, one entering the most confusing part of his life -adolescence- who DOES see me as Dad-The-Superhero, the other is embarking on 'adulthood' who needs me to be there in different ways. My wife still needs me, as we grow together, watch out kids grow and look forward to what we HOPE will be many, many golden-years.
And, beyond my 'blood-family' I am still very connected to the many, many students I worked with in my previous job, who in some ways at least I have become a surrogate Dad, Mentor, Friend, Uncle, confidant... And I see that the efforts I make to fight this thing may (I hope) help them in someway, maybe not now, but in the future.
Finally, during the final two years of my tenure I got to know one of the iconic teachers at our school, who lost her battle with brain-cancer, very well. She and I discussed many times the affect that our fight to hold onto life in the best way possible was more important to the people around us than our own singular existence. "The needs of the many, outweigh the needs of the one." - a quote that she and I both loved from Star Trek, a show we both enjoyed.
Considering all of this, I was watching (again) the movie 'Kill Bill Vol. 2'. Before his demise, Bill delivers a speech where he discuses the nature of the Superhero, and how, Superman (not my favorite, but the story is still great here) is the only one who was born a superhero. In my case I was born with the genetic predisposition to develop cancer. In effect there was nothing either one of us could do about our situation. Superman arrived on Earth as an outsider, different from regular humans. Cancer patients, like wise are different from 'regular humans'. Like a Superhero (sadly, without superpowers) my experience is 'life-changing'.
Let's look at Bill's speech:
Bill: An essential characteristic of the superhero mythology is, there's the superhero, and there's the alter ego. Batman is actually Bruce Wayne, Spider-Man is actually Peter Parker. When he wakes up in the morning, he's Peter Parker. He has to put on a costume to become Spider-Man...
For the 'regular' superheros they get to DECIDE to do what they do. They get to DECIDE when and where they 'become' the superhero. In effect, they get to stack the proverbial deck in their favor. They can ignore a call for help, ignore a plea for assistance. And in some way they are 'enhanced' through gizmos, gadgets, or happy accidents that make them 'super'. While they struggle at times to come to grips with their new identities - masked alter-egos. In the end theirs is a CHOICE. They can 'hang-up-the-cape' when ever they want.
Bill:...And it is in that characteristic that Superman stands alone. Superman did not become Superman, Superman was born Superman. When Superman wakes up in the morning, he's Superman...
Again, I want to repeat, I am not arrogant enough to consider myself 'super' or a 'superhero' but roll with me in the analogy. We are all born with a set of genes that we inherit from our parents. This is simple biological fact. We cannot change the package we start with. That package, like it or not determines how our physical bodies will develop, respond and react to anything that it encounters. Science has come along way in mapping out these packages for us - giving us markers, warning signs, predictors and chances of what might be. So, in this case YES I am LIKE Superman. My package is unique, I cannot change it, but with help (medical and other) I can DEAL with it. So much as in the first appearance of a Superhero, the birth of 'Captain Cancer' showed up one day with a streak of red in the toilet.
Bill:...His alter ego is Clark Kent...His outfit with the big red "S", that's the blanket he was wrapped in as a baby when the Kents found him. Those are his clothes. What Kent wears, the glasses, the business suit, that's the costume. That's the costume Superman wears to blend in with us...
Is my 'alter-ego' Scott Lightfoot - Security Technician by day - Captain Cancer at all other times? In these past few months I have tried at first to ignore the symptoms (the calling to become once again, Captain Cancer), eventually I consulted my 'oracles-of-science' who basically revealed to me that I have no CHOICE but to once again, fulfill my destiny of Captain Cancer.
So, in order to begin fighting this new battle I have to wear - under my clothes - hidden from the world, my special, uh, protective undergarments, so that 'evidence' of my symptoms shall not be unnecessarily 'revealed' to the public. Simply, the first part of my costume I don every day now is a pair of frickin' depends... "Protective undergarments for 'active-adults'" - you gotta love advertising...
So I stand there, in my steamy bathroom, showered, cleanly shaven, hair neatly coiffed (no Clark Kent swirl for me -- spiked hair baby!) Putting on my best tough man face, I reach ever so deftly for the package of depends... I free one from the package with all the deftness of 'Bruce Lee' --- Hooo WAH! Stretch them out, try to jump into them with as much cool as possible... of course that leads me to catching my foot on the elastic and falling sidways into the bathroom wall... I try to recover my cool, but all I can do is stand there, one leg in one leg out and looking in the mirror, laugh at myself.
The second effort goes better... now I am standing there, trying to flex/pose superhero fashion and realize I look more like some kind of emaciated sumo-wrestler than ANY kind of Superhero... I avoid reaching into the cabinet to fish out a red lipstick from my wife's cosmetic bag to draw a big red 'C' on my chest. Instead, I return to my room, my bathrobe 'concealing' my Superhero costume, I then dress in the rest of my 'public' costume long-underwear to battle the cold, pressed blue uniform pants. neatly buttoned and tucked company shirt, crisp company hat, pen and pen-light in my pocket, company ID (reading Scott Lightfoot - Technician, my alter-ego) and off to work I go.... Ah, but the adventure is not over...
Bill:...Clark Kent is how Superman views us. And what are the characteristics of Clark Kent? He's weak, he's unsure of himself... he's a coward. Clark Kent is Superman's critique on the whole human race.
Every Superhero has an arch enemy. For Captain Cancer his enemy is a multi-faced villain who can appear in many forms. With Captain Cancer now deftly tucked away, together we have to face the growing strength of 'Symptom Man'. My daily battle against Symptom Man begins shortly after the alarm rings in the morning... He attacks before Captain Cancer is properly garbed (see above!). I, Scott Lightfoot - Technician, must come flying out of the bed, race through the dark - being careful not to disturb either my sleeping wife or the stupid ass cat who sleeps on my chest - if I am fortunate I reach the toilet - keeping Symptom Man from, uh, making my morning messy. Successful in this initial battle, I shower (attempt!) to dress in the costume of Captain Cancer, and make my way to work. Dressed, tucked and ready to face the day of Scott Lightfoot - Technician.
The battle between Captain Cancer and Symptom Man continues. Every time I change position - get into my van, get out of my van, pull a heavy ladder out of my van, climb into a lift - Symptom Man attacks.... Captain Cancer battles with extra, uh, 'clinching', slower, more thoughtful movement - running is OUT for certain. My 'special-under-garments' provide protection from the moments when Symptom Man wins the occasional fight - leaving 'evidence' of a successful attack - like a bloodied lip in a fist fight. Captain Cancer and Symptom Man repeat this parrying throughout the day. All the while as Scott Lightfoot - Technician I do my best to hide the battle that is going on inside my battle - and sometimes in my pants...
I have never in my life worked so hard to 'schedule' things like bathroom visits or the need to 'pass-gas', another neat trick used by Symptom Man - because sometimes - unpredictably it is not gas that gets passed, at that point I have to make quick excuse to hustle (not run) to the nearest bathroom. Imagine how difficult THIS is when I am 30' up in a lift, in the blowing snow, and beside taking about a full excruciating minute to get to ground level, I have to then 'tuck-walk' a good 500 yards through the mud to the nearest restroom. Oh... the adventure does not end there...
Once I get to my 'Fortress of Solitude' I THEN have to disrobe... five layers of protective clothing, zippers, buttons, belts, snaps and the like before I can FINALLY sit down and have some modicum of relief from Symptom Man's attack...
On a good day I can get by with hopefully 'unnoticed' trips to the restroom... morning breaks (thanks union people for those), lunch (we usually get an hour), afternoon breaks, final clean up at the end of the day before going home. On a bad day, I find that I am running of excuses for restroom breaks.
This battle requires support. One technique that Cancer Man and I use is our 'web-of-support'. Out of necessity, I have informed a cadre of people who, by knowing what I am going through, can not only better understand my sudden 'needs' or the necessity to change plans, but can provide the support when needed. So far, I have been very lucky that Cancer Man has many allies in my battle.
The good news is that next week Symptom Man will be mostly defeated. Attacked, removed, tossed in a bucket by Cancer Man's Science Team... At that point there will be new battles for Cancer Man to fight... He must recover from the ordeals of the operation in order to battle with 'The Cancer That Remains' with the help of Cancer Man's side-kick 'Chemo-Man'....
The Adventure Continues.....
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
You are ALL my CUFFLINKS...
As I approach the first step in my battle with Cancer, it is easy to get wrapped up in the personal, after all, this is happening to ME. It is not happening to YOU, or YOU, or YOU. On many levels this is the truest statement that can be made about the experience. It is deeply personal. The effects; physical and emotional, in the end are mine to deal with. That being said, I want to explore what happens 'outside' the very personal bubble of the 'Cancer Experience'. When I take some time to look outside the ME, I see an ever expanding web of interconnections between MY cancer and the many people who participate in the experience - many I know, many I don't, many I simply can't thank enough. In order to succeed in my goal of winning this fight, I need them all, I GET them all - despite what I seem to want. Which is to just get it over with, quickly and with as little pain and suffering as possible. I WANT TO DROP THIS SUCKER IN THE FIRST ROUND...
While I have never been a 'boxer', I am a sucker for boxer movies. I can't help but waste away an occasional Sunday afternoon watching 3 or 4 'Rocky' movies when they make a run on television. Sorry, it is a cinematic weakness - one I cannot avoid!
I could write volumes on the various meanings in these movies - but in my current battle with cancer I want to look at those who make the fight possible. After all, NO ONE steps into the ring alone. To get to the big payday (in this case a cure!) there are several things a fighter needs:
THE DRIVE: In my case the drive is built upon the fact that at the ripe-young age of 48, I have no intention of giving up without a fight. I have too much left to see, to do and to experience to just say, "Ah, the hell with it, why bother?" So, I stand ready to fight, but how to get there...
I stand in the bathroom sometimes, looking at myself in the mirror and tell myself, "Dude, are you sure you can do this again?" I see evidence of weight loss - admittedly it looks good - bud damn, I don't want the 'Cancer-Diet'! Can't someone just give me some pill endorsed by Arnold Schwartzeneger, or Suzanne Sommers, or Chuck Norris or SOMETHING!!! I give myself the 'Jeeze is this guy an idiot look?' which, is kind of comical as I stand there in a steamy bathroom in just my skivvies! Trying to put on my best shadow boxer routine... I suddenly look around to be sure that the bathroom door is closed, and no one is watching.
"Come on man, OF COURSE you can do this! No, it ain't going to be easy - it wasn't last time either." So, the desire is there. What's next....
NEED FOR MAD SKILLS: To borrow from the movie 'Balboa', Rocky's new trainer is trying to decide how best to approach his 'return to the ring', how best to prepare him for the battle ahead.
Duke (Rocky's Trainer): You know all there is to know about fighting, so there's no sense us going down that same old road again. To beat this guy, you need speed - you don't have it. And your knees can't take the pounding, so hard running is out. And you got arthritis in your neck, and you've got calcium deposits on most of your joints, so sparring is out.
O.K. so, I know I am no Rocky Balboa, but I FEEL THIS.... To the core. The first time I fought cancer I was a spry 29 years young...pretty much in my 'prime'. I had no grey hair, had not developed diabetes, high cholesterol, high blood pressure, let alone CANCER. So when it hit then, it was scary, but the prognosis was good. I spent about a year fighting it off, and held my 'victory-belt' for nearly 20 years...
Now, nearly 20 years later, I am 48, greying around the edges, trying to figure out how to get one more fight out of this body. As Rocky said in BALBOA.... ‘I still got sump’n left,’ he says, ‘In duh basement…’ My basement ain't empty either....
So, Duke, Rocky's trainer, looks him over as they stand in the dim light of the gym he continues with the plan for Rocky's training....
Duke (Rocky's Trainer): So, what we'll be calling on is good ol’ fashion blunt force trauma. Horsepower. Heavy-duty, cast-iron, piledriving punches that will have to hurt so much they'll rattle his ancestors. Every time you hit him with a shot, it's gotta feel like he tried kissing the express train. Yeah! Let's start building some hurtin' bombs.
For me, the first set of punches in this new fight start with surgery in Cleveland next week. That brings me to the next group of important people in the fight...
THE TRAINERS: In my battle against cancer this time, my 'corner' will be filled with people. My primary 'trainers' are the team of physicians that will diagnose, evaluate, operate, treat and follow me during the fight. The come up with a training plan that I, as the fighter, must follow so that each punch I throw during this fight lands solidly and works toward taking down this most epic of foes. The next group of people that help me out are all the people I barely get to know during this process - I have vowed to keep a notebook along the way this time, so I can thank them. They include, nurses, physician assistants, interns, residents, lab-techs, and other medical personnel who depend on making me better for their livelihood! But as any good fighter knows, you can't get ANYWHERE without the next group I want to examine...
THE HOME TEAM: I cannot put it any simpler than to say, no matter how introverted, cranky, upset, solemn, strangely happy, wacko, bizarre I get during this process, it is all of YOU that really make the biggest difference. As much as this is a 'personal' battle, I realize that more than ever I will have need to depend on the support an encouragement of family and friends more than ever before. Accepting help has always been hard for me. Even harder than asking for it. I know that at this point in my life I have people who depend on me to get better - to help their lives be better - if that doesn't sound too conceited. I have a wife and kids that need me to be there for them - as more than just an economic provider - but as Husband and Dad.
I have other family members who I derive strength from and who I owe great debts of gratitude for being such wonderful people to have in my life, that to give any less than my best effort to fight this battle, would be beyond disrespectful.
Next, I have such a great group of friends that calling them 'friends' seems almost silly. They have also become family in spirit if not in blood. These people know me, know my good and bad points, know when I am and sad, know when I'm full of bull shit - and aren't afraid to tell me so. Without ALL of these people in my corner, I would not have the strength to try to fight.
Hopefully, I learned a lesson from watching the Rocky movies a bazillion times... I do not want to forget my 'Home Team'.
When I go to Cleveland next week to begin this newest battle I will be taking YOU all, in the words of 'Micky' Rocky's first trainer with me...
MICKEY: Slip the jab will ya, Slip the jab, That's right, That's it, Hey I didn't hear no bell...That's it mentalize, See that bum in front of you, You see yourself doing right and you'll do right... Come here Rock, My god your ready ain't you, That Apollo won't know what hit him, Your gonna roll over him like a bulldozer an Italian bulldozer,
You know kid I know how you feel about this fight that's comin up... And I'll tell you something if you wasn't here I prolly wouldn't be alive today, The fact that your here and doing as well as your doing gives me what do you call it motivation, Huh to stay alive, Cause I think that people die sometimes when they don't want to live no more, And nature is smarter than people think, Little by little we lose our friends, we lose everything, we keep losing and losing until we say, "Aw what the hell am I living around here for? I got no reason to go on", But we do kid, Boy I got a reason to go on, And I'm gonna stay alive, And I will watch you make good...
Wait a minute, Wait a minute now, Wait a minute, Look at this, See that, This here is the favorite thing I have on this earth and Rocky Marciano gave me that, You know what it was, His cufflink, And now I'm giving it to you, And it's gonna be like an angel on your shoulder, If you ever get hurt and you feel like your going down. This little angel is gonna whisper in your ear he's gonna say Get up you son of a bitch, Cause Micky loves you, Ok go after him kid, Go after him...
You ALL are my Mickey, and my CUFFLINK!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7VbVGSXcOsQ
While I have never been a 'boxer', I am a sucker for boxer movies. I can't help but waste away an occasional Sunday afternoon watching 3 or 4 'Rocky' movies when they make a run on television. Sorry, it is a cinematic weakness - one I cannot avoid!
I could write volumes on the various meanings in these movies - but in my current battle with cancer I want to look at those who make the fight possible. After all, NO ONE steps into the ring alone. To get to the big payday (in this case a cure!) there are several things a fighter needs:
THE DRIVE: In my case the drive is built upon the fact that at the ripe-young age of 48, I have no intention of giving up without a fight. I have too much left to see, to do and to experience to just say, "Ah, the hell with it, why bother?" So, I stand ready to fight, but how to get there...
I stand in the bathroom sometimes, looking at myself in the mirror and tell myself, "Dude, are you sure you can do this again?" I see evidence of weight loss - admittedly it looks good - bud damn, I don't want the 'Cancer-Diet'! Can't someone just give me some pill endorsed by Arnold Schwartzeneger, or Suzanne Sommers, or Chuck Norris or SOMETHING!!! I give myself the 'Jeeze is this guy an idiot look?' which, is kind of comical as I stand there in a steamy bathroom in just my skivvies! Trying to put on my best shadow boxer routine... I suddenly look around to be sure that the bathroom door is closed, and no one is watching.
"Come on man, OF COURSE you can do this! No, it ain't going to be easy - it wasn't last time either." So, the desire is there. What's next....
NEED FOR MAD SKILLS: To borrow from the movie 'Balboa', Rocky's new trainer is trying to decide how best to approach his 'return to the ring', how best to prepare him for the battle ahead.
Duke (Rocky's Trainer): You know all there is to know about fighting, so there's no sense us going down that same old road again. To beat this guy, you need speed - you don't have it. And your knees can't take the pounding, so hard running is out. And you got arthritis in your neck, and you've got calcium deposits on most of your joints, so sparring is out.
O.K. so, I know I am no Rocky Balboa, but I FEEL THIS.... To the core. The first time I fought cancer I was a spry 29 years young...pretty much in my 'prime'. I had no grey hair, had not developed diabetes, high cholesterol, high blood pressure, let alone CANCER. So when it hit then, it was scary, but the prognosis was good. I spent about a year fighting it off, and held my 'victory-belt' for nearly 20 years...
Now, nearly 20 years later, I am 48, greying around the edges, trying to figure out how to get one more fight out of this body. As Rocky said in BALBOA.... ‘I still got sump’n left,’ he says, ‘In duh basement…’ My basement ain't empty either....
So, Duke, Rocky's trainer, looks him over as they stand in the dim light of the gym he continues with the plan for Rocky's training....
Duke (Rocky's Trainer): So, what we'll be calling on is good ol’ fashion blunt force trauma. Horsepower. Heavy-duty, cast-iron, piledriving punches that will have to hurt so much they'll rattle his ancestors. Every time you hit him with a shot, it's gotta feel like he tried kissing the express train. Yeah! Let's start building some hurtin' bombs.
For me, the first set of punches in this new fight start with surgery in Cleveland next week. That brings me to the next group of important people in the fight...
THE TRAINERS: In my battle against cancer this time, my 'corner' will be filled with people. My primary 'trainers' are the team of physicians that will diagnose, evaluate, operate, treat and follow me during the fight. The come up with a training plan that I, as the fighter, must follow so that each punch I throw during this fight lands solidly and works toward taking down this most epic of foes. The next group of people that help me out are all the people I barely get to know during this process - I have vowed to keep a notebook along the way this time, so I can thank them. They include, nurses, physician assistants, interns, residents, lab-techs, and other medical personnel who depend on making me better for their livelihood! But as any good fighter knows, you can't get ANYWHERE without the next group I want to examine...
THE HOME TEAM: I cannot put it any simpler than to say, no matter how introverted, cranky, upset, solemn, strangely happy, wacko, bizarre I get during this process, it is all of YOU that really make the biggest difference. As much as this is a 'personal' battle, I realize that more than ever I will have need to depend on the support an encouragement of family and friends more than ever before. Accepting help has always been hard for me. Even harder than asking for it. I know that at this point in my life I have people who depend on me to get better - to help their lives be better - if that doesn't sound too conceited. I have a wife and kids that need me to be there for them - as more than just an economic provider - but as Husband and Dad.
I have other family members who I derive strength from and who I owe great debts of gratitude for being such wonderful people to have in my life, that to give any less than my best effort to fight this battle, would be beyond disrespectful.
Next, I have such a great group of friends that calling them 'friends' seems almost silly. They have also become family in spirit if not in blood. These people know me, know my good and bad points, know when I am and sad, know when I'm full of bull shit - and aren't afraid to tell me so. Without ALL of these people in my corner, I would not have the strength to try to fight.
Hopefully, I learned a lesson from watching the Rocky movies a bazillion times... I do not want to forget my 'Home Team'.
When I go to Cleveland next week to begin this newest battle I will be taking YOU all, in the words of 'Micky' Rocky's first trainer with me...
MICKEY: Slip the jab will ya, Slip the jab, That's right, That's it, Hey I didn't hear no bell...That's it mentalize, See that bum in front of you, You see yourself doing right and you'll do right... Come here Rock, My god your ready ain't you, That Apollo won't know what hit him, Your gonna roll over him like a bulldozer an Italian bulldozer,
You know kid I know how you feel about this fight that's comin up... And I'll tell you something if you wasn't here I prolly wouldn't be alive today, The fact that your here and doing as well as your doing gives me what do you call it motivation, Huh to stay alive, Cause I think that people die sometimes when they don't want to live no more, And nature is smarter than people think, Little by little we lose our friends, we lose everything, we keep losing and losing until we say, "Aw what the hell am I living around here for? I got no reason to go on", But we do kid, Boy I got a reason to go on, And I'm gonna stay alive, And I will watch you make good...
Wait a minute, Wait a minute now, Wait a minute, Look at this, See that, This here is the favorite thing I have on this earth and Rocky Marciano gave me that, You know what it was, His cufflink, And now I'm giving it to you, And it's gonna be like an angel on your shoulder, If you ever get hurt and you feel like your going down. This little angel is gonna whisper in your ear he's gonna say Get up you son of a bitch, Cause Micky loves you, Ok go after him kid, Go after him...
You ALL are my Mickey, and my CUFFLINK!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7VbVGSXcOsQ
Saturday, February 19, 2011
A Spectre From The Past Returns
NOTE: As much as blogging this past year about my journey through the world of unemployment helped me deal with that experience, I am now faced with another 'psychological-writing-prompt' that, by following the same process, will help me deal with my current state.
Again, let me state, that my blogging is more about me being able to deal with things than a plea for concern, sympathy or pity. I see this challenge (a second one as you will see) as just that. Another hurdle placed along the road for me to ponder, deal with and overcome. I am certain that, in another year or so, I will have come through this experience alive and well - albeit with a few more physical scars from this experience than I had from dealing with being unemployed.
But, first a little back ground. Nearly 20 years ago I developed some symptoms that took me to the doctor where it was discovered I had a cancerous colon polyp. At the time, it was very scary, though in the big picture of cancer, my condition was very treatable. In short, after some minor surgery, 8 weeks of radiation and a years worth of chemotherapy, I had beaten the disease. Life goes on.
That first time with cancer led to many unique experiences, of course -- some humorous, some scary, and, believe it or not some wonderful. The two things I cherish most from that first experience are the support love and care I received from family and friends who helped me along the way, and second, the conception and birth of our first son, Cameron. My course of treatment, according to the doctors then, would leave me with about a 25% chance of being able to father children. At this point in our lives, my wife and I had been married about 3 years and were considering children anyhow so we sort of said, 'What the heck...' and BING! We made a baby.
So, with the cancer beaten - as we always hope, for good - I built my life for the last 20 years. The ensuing time saw many changes in my life. Job changes came and went. The birth of a son, becoming a father, balancing work, graduate school and married life. Good and bad economic times. The marriages of my brother and sister, the birth of nieces and nephews. The passing of loved ones. The conception of our second son, Malcolm, the purchase of our home, the growth of life-long friendships -- all the typical things that life brings our was as I moved from the post-college / early professional years, to the career / family growth phase of my life.
With everything seemingly clicking along smoothly, I was hit by the economic nightmare of losing my job last year, but again, with the support of good friends and family, I made it through that darkness. During this time I had the pleasure of seeing my oldest son graduate high school and go off to college, my youngest child barreling headlong into puberty and my wife and I celebrating 20+ years of marriage.
Then as is often the case, like a slow-motion car wreck, the symptoms of cancer reappeared in the fall, just before the holidays. Having just transitioned unemployment to an awful job, then to a new, better one, I was doing my best to ignore the obvious and get by to the holidays, during which time I would be able to schedule a round of doctors visits to figure out what was going on thinking, surely, that it could be nothing serious. Boy was I wrong.
A part of me just knew that my cancer had returned, it just seems that is the kind of luck I get. Hell, I don't smoke. I don't drink that much. I pay attention to my diet for the most part. I don't work in an Asbestos coated plant. But yet I am the one that gets fucking cancer --- opps, did I swear? I might do that in these blogs. Sometimes it is emotionally necessary, sorry. Not just ONCE but I get the damn thing TWICE! If I believed in karma, or a higher being, I would question what I had done wrong to deserve this? What am I being punished for, or challenged to over come? I just don't get it. But no, it is not karma, or fate, or anything like that. It is simply genetics, pure human genetics. Some of us get 'saddled' with bad hair, or a misshapen toes, or diabetes (I have that too!) and some us get cancer...
NOTE: The next part will contain some potentially 'icky' descriptions, you have been warned!
So, unlike the first time when I had to wait for a week or so for the biopsy results. I insisted on being not only AWAKE during the exams, but insisting on seeing the results before I left the office. The first test, a 'reglar' colonoscopy, showed that one section of my colon my colon was not smooth-like expected but was full of ridge-like areas that were bleeding - not good. So, this doctor scheduled me for another 'procedure' to get a different look at things. O.K. so enough with the serious stuff for a moment. I need to bring some humor into this process -- it is a coping mechanism, I know -- but I also feel that with humor comes comfort and will hopefully encourage others who read this to get checked themselves and not to fear the process.
OF MEDICAL TESTS & COLLEGE DAYS
In many was my college days are only a wee bit more removed than my first experience fighting cancer, and with time, comes perspective and I can now link them both to the present to help people get a better understanding of what it is like going through the process of finding out you have a serious illness.
The Call - almost like a first date, in college, I have to make a call for an appointment to see a doctor for your condition. For me this part of the process was the easiest - since I had already established a 'little black book' list of doctors. For first timers, it is scary, like a blind date! Who do you call? Do you just grab a phone? Do you ask your friends who have had cancer --- you have them, I bet, or at least family members - ask around. I pick up the phone and dial and of course you get put on hold... "Hello, this is Dr. C's office, can you hold?" and like a pizza joint, before I can say; "NO, DAMNIT! I'm sick. I need to see the doctor now!" you hear the click and then the, 'blee, blaah, ba, blee blaah' bad elevator/jazz music and the wait begins -- get used to WAITING.
Waiting will defines my state of mind from now on. Just like when I was dating... "Will she call me back or not?", "Will she shoot me down or give me a chance?" Waiting. Waiting. Staring at the clock, I clutch my cell in my hand all the time, absent mindedly spinning it, palms sweaty, nervous... Finally I am granted a 'date' with my doctor, my partner in this confusing battle. I will spend more time with my doctors during the next couple years than with my actual spouse, so we had BOTH better get used to it.
The First Date - Like a date, I prepare for my visit with my doctor, much the same way I would for a date -after all I haven't seen this doctor in nearly 20 years. I shower, get dressed -- trying to decide which clothes to wear based on what I THINK will happen on my 'date'. 'Do I dress for the office?' ' Do I dress for comfort, in my snazziest track suit?' I choose the track suit, because I KNOW that this date will be, uh, more intimate than I want it to be, so comfort is important. I arrive 'fashionably early'. There are forms to be filled out, papers to be signed, and waiting, waiting waiting. Kind of like waiting in the foryer of your dates' house, talking awkwardly to the 'parents', anxious to get the date started. The date goes well, I am comfortable with the doctor, he seems calm and self-assured, confident that he can figure out what is wrong and fix it (after all it is not HIM that is sick!). At the end of the visit, he schedules the second date, the one when I will REALLY examined - turned inside out to find out what faults I have.....
The Preparation for the Second Date - I leave the first date with my doctor with a hand full of prescriptions to 'prepare' me for my next date... I have learned to treat these preps as a 'drinking-game'. For my second date my insides need to be as clean - or cleaner - than my outsides. So, commence with the drinking game. To say this is a 'fun' game would be both wrong and a bit perverse... But, treating it as such makes it more bearable.
The game comes in three distinct parts; The Drinking, The Running and The Shivering.
First, however, I must dress for the game. No fancy clothes here, get comfy. Now I position myself between my kitchen, my comfortable chair and my nearest bathroom -- I warn people to stay the hell out of my way. Next, I have to to prepare the drink - kind of like mixing up a batch of 'Hairy Buffalo' but without the everclear, fruit, or punch mix.
I mix up the gallon of solution (which I can flavor with cherry, orange, lemon or pineapple - YAY!) I chose pineapple this time! Stick it in the fridge so it is nice and cold. The rules of the game say drink an 8 oz glass of this stuff every 10 minutes until it is gone - sounds simple AND fun, right!
It seems like it should be fun. I put on music and was dancing around the kitchen, trying to make the best of what is to come. Then, about 6 or so doses or so into the process I stop dancing. The Running Begins. I get that 'rumbly in the tumbly' feeling.
Now I really get to move, back and forth between the kitchen, for more drink, to the bathroom for more, uh, relief. Drink. Run. Repeat. This goes on for an hour or so and about the time I'm 3/4ths through the happy juice, I realize I am shivering.
Why am I shivering? Well I have been drinking icy cold fluids that have been rushing through my system for the past two hours - I grab a blanket - but one that I can run with remember. Eventually the jug is empty, but I am not quite. I make several attempts to lay down and sleep, but my colon has other ideas. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, it finally lets me sleep... Unlike many college drinking adventures that might have ended up with sex, or at least drunken singing and dancing. Instead I wake up the next morning, with a headache, and starving... No eating or drinking util after the test, of course.
The Second Date: - I hop in the car, empty stomach, head aching due to no coffee, and I make my way to the hospital for the actual second date. Again, I get there early and wait. I sign papers and wait. I get moved to a prep room and wait. The prep room is awful, not the physical room, but the CONVERSATION between the nurses and doctors... who are all chattering about what they will have for lunch or what they just ate, and then the ultimate stab to my headache I hear them actually ARGUING over whose turn it is to go down and get Starbucks in the cafeteria! I wanted to scream, "Hell, I'll wheel this bed down there myself and get some, if I can have a cup too!" Instead I got them to give me a shot of fentenyl to take the edge off before the procedure... Ahh, the drugs begin....
Soon enough I am relaxed from the drugs, getting groggy and remember being wheeled into the exam room. I am cold, they cover me with wonderfully warm blankies and hit me with another dose of drugs....man is this worth it. I am cocooned under warm blankets, woozy from meds, all comfy. Then I notice the 30 foot anaconda sized camera (it's not REALLY that big, but remember, I am on verrrry good drugs at this point!) they are prepping to insert into WHERE? Oh, man, they had better dose me again... I ask, and they comply.... man this is too easy. More drugs, ah, the floating feeling is countered by, uh, pressure down below.
Now, remember my colon is empty...like a deflated baloon. So what do they have to do to get good pictures? You got it they, uh, mm, 'inflate me' as they move the camera. It is hard to describe the delicate balance created by the good feeling from the drugs and the feeling that there is a clown blowing up and twisting my insides into some kind of circus baloon animal... The last things I remember are watching my colon pass by on the monitor and the lovely anesthesia nurse sliding another needle of something into my IV.
The Third Date - A couple days pass after my procedure. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Then I get a call. No, not A call, THE call. "Hello, Mr. Lightfoot. The Doctor would like for you to come in and discuss the results of the test you had done last week." I set the appointment and wait for the date.
Remember, during all this time, I have been working my job. Trying to balance things so I don't miss too much work (read money) for doctors appointments, since I have not been here long enough to have banked any paid time off, every doctors visit means some missed work...and some explanation to be given to my boss. I will say that this time around, unlike the first time I dealt with cancer, my employer is not only very understanding of my situation, but immediately assured me that my job was secure, no matter how much time I had to miss as I deal with this - in this economy that is a HUGE worry off my shoulders.
Back in the waiting room, I try to figure out what is to come. I vaguely remember through my drug induced stupor that the doctor performing the procedure was using words like; tumor, T2, N1, lymph nodes, mass, total circumference of the colon.. All things I new were not good. I also know that at this date things would be laid out for me. One step closer to the battle plan for defeating the ugly Spectre that has reared its head.
Waiting, waiting, waiting. I fall asleep in the sunlight of the waiting room. "Mr. Lightfoot. Mr. Lightfoot. Wake up!" I jerk back to conciousness, dropping my pile of papers on the waiting room floor. "Sorry," I mutter as I gather them again. I follow the nurse to the consult room. Blood pressure, temperature, medial history, blah, blah, blah... Don't they HAVE all this stuff in a computer somewhere? "The doctor will be in soon." Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. I bide my time by trying to guess how old each issue of magazine is that are stacked in the rack on the wall. I read the anatomy charts -- the pretty ones with all the diseases of the digestive track illustrated on one poor sap on the chart... Man it would suck to be that dude. Finally, the Doctor walks in, with a pair of eager, neatly shaven residents on his coat tails. My oncologist is more gray in the beard, more wrinkly and thin haired than he was 20 years ago, but still possesses that same smile that tells me things are rough, but they will be better. He sits down, sips his coffee. Looks at me and says, "So, as I am sure you have guessed. Your cancer is back. Unfortunately, this time we have to be more aggressive in our approach, but I am certain we will beat this again."
The Plan of Attack - While not a blow by blow account of the past few weeks you get the drift. The evaluation of my condition led to a second opinion at the Cleveland Clinic - where my Mom has been successfully treated for the same conditions - and the plan as I outline here. For a host of reasons, from genetic testing to past cancer at a young age (I was 29 at the time), my whole colon must be removed. The surgeons will give me a temporary ileostomy and rework my innards to connect my small intestines to my sphincter -- leaving me with at least somewhat normal 'function'. It will mean two surgeries, weeks off work, months getting used to using a bag, and then after all the surgical procedures are complete, sometime in the fall, I will start chemo. SO, there you have it, friends. My new adventure begins. I will try to post when I can. Hopefully through my experience others can learn that despite the curves that life throws us, we live in amazing times that allow us to cling onto our lives as long as possible. I don't intend on going anywhere, anytime soon. I have lots to do...
Again, let me state, that my blogging is more about me being able to deal with things than a plea for concern, sympathy or pity. I see this challenge (a second one as you will see) as just that. Another hurdle placed along the road for me to ponder, deal with and overcome. I am certain that, in another year or so, I will have come through this experience alive and well - albeit with a few more physical scars from this experience than I had from dealing with being unemployed.
But, first a little back ground. Nearly 20 years ago I developed some symptoms that took me to the doctor where it was discovered I had a cancerous colon polyp. At the time, it was very scary, though in the big picture of cancer, my condition was very treatable. In short, after some minor surgery, 8 weeks of radiation and a years worth of chemotherapy, I had beaten the disease. Life goes on.
That first time with cancer led to many unique experiences, of course -- some humorous, some scary, and, believe it or not some wonderful. The two things I cherish most from that first experience are the support love and care I received from family and friends who helped me along the way, and second, the conception and birth of our first son, Cameron. My course of treatment, according to the doctors then, would leave me with about a 25% chance of being able to father children. At this point in our lives, my wife and I had been married about 3 years and were considering children anyhow so we sort of said, 'What the heck...' and BING! We made a baby.
So, with the cancer beaten - as we always hope, for good - I built my life for the last 20 years. The ensuing time saw many changes in my life. Job changes came and went. The birth of a son, becoming a father, balancing work, graduate school and married life. Good and bad economic times. The marriages of my brother and sister, the birth of nieces and nephews. The passing of loved ones. The conception of our second son, Malcolm, the purchase of our home, the growth of life-long friendships -- all the typical things that life brings our was as I moved from the post-college / early professional years, to the career / family growth phase of my life.
With everything seemingly clicking along smoothly, I was hit by the economic nightmare of losing my job last year, but again, with the support of good friends and family, I made it through that darkness. During this time I had the pleasure of seeing my oldest son graduate high school and go off to college, my youngest child barreling headlong into puberty and my wife and I celebrating 20+ years of marriage.
Then as is often the case, like a slow-motion car wreck, the symptoms of cancer reappeared in the fall, just before the holidays. Having just transitioned unemployment to an awful job, then to a new, better one, I was doing my best to ignore the obvious and get by to the holidays, during which time I would be able to schedule a round of doctors visits to figure out what was going on thinking, surely, that it could be nothing serious. Boy was I wrong.
A part of me just knew that my cancer had returned, it just seems that is the kind of luck I get. Hell, I don't smoke. I don't drink that much. I pay attention to my diet for the most part. I don't work in an Asbestos coated plant. But yet I am the one that gets fucking cancer --- opps, did I swear? I might do that in these blogs. Sometimes it is emotionally necessary, sorry. Not just ONCE but I get the damn thing TWICE! If I believed in karma, or a higher being, I would question what I had done wrong to deserve this? What am I being punished for, or challenged to over come? I just don't get it. But no, it is not karma, or fate, or anything like that. It is simply genetics, pure human genetics. Some of us get 'saddled' with bad hair, or a misshapen toes, or diabetes (I have that too!) and some us get cancer...
NOTE: The next part will contain some potentially 'icky' descriptions, you have been warned!
So, unlike the first time when I had to wait for a week or so for the biopsy results. I insisted on being not only AWAKE during the exams, but insisting on seeing the results before I left the office. The first test, a 'reglar' colonoscopy, showed that one section of my colon my colon was not smooth-like expected but was full of ridge-like areas that were bleeding - not good. So, this doctor scheduled me for another 'procedure' to get a different look at things. O.K. so enough with the serious stuff for a moment. I need to bring some humor into this process -- it is a coping mechanism, I know -- but I also feel that with humor comes comfort and will hopefully encourage others who read this to get checked themselves and not to fear the process.
OF MEDICAL TESTS & COLLEGE DAYS
In many was my college days are only a wee bit more removed than my first experience fighting cancer, and with time, comes perspective and I can now link them both to the present to help people get a better understanding of what it is like going through the process of finding out you have a serious illness.
The Call - almost like a first date, in college, I have to make a call for an appointment to see a doctor for your condition. For me this part of the process was the easiest - since I had already established a 'little black book' list of doctors. For first timers, it is scary, like a blind date! Who do you call? Do you just grab a phone? Do you ask your friends who have had cancer --- you have them, I bet, or at least family members - ask around. I pick up the phone and dial and of course you get put on hold... "Hello, this is Dr. C's office, can you hold?" and like a pizza joint, before I can say; "NO, DAMNIT! I'm sick. I need to see the doctor now!" you hear the click and then the, 'blee, blaah, ba, blee blaah' bad elevator/jazz music and the wait begins -- get used to WAITING.
Waiting will defines my state of mind from now on. Just like when I was dating... "Will she call me back or not?", "Will she shoot me down or give me a chance?" Waiting. Waiting. Staring at the clock, I clutch my cell in my hand all the time, absent mindedly spinning it, palms sweaty, nervous... Finally I am granted a 'date' with my doctor, my partner in this confusing battle. I will spend more time with my doctors during the next couple years than with my actual spouse, so we had BOTH better get used to it.
The First Date - Like a date, I prepare for my visit with my doctor, much the same way I would for a date -after all I haven't seen this doctor in nearly 20 years. I shower, get dressed -- trying to decide which clothes to wear based on what I THINK will happen on my 'date'. 'Do I dress for the office?' ' Do I dress for comfort, in my snazziest track suit?' I choose the track suit, because I KNOW that this date will be, uh, more intimate than I want it to be, so comfort is important. I arrive 'fashionably early'. There are forms to be filled out, papers to be signed, and waiting, waiting waiting. Kind of like waiting in the foryer of your dates' house, talking awkwardly to the 'parents', anxious to get the date started. The date goes well, I am comfortable with the doctor, he seems calm and self-assured, confident that he can figure out what is wrong and fix it (after all it is not HIM that is sick!). At the end of the visit, he schedules the second date, the one when I will REALLY examined - turned inside out to find out what faults I have.....
The Preparation for the Second Date - I leave the first date with my doctor with a hand full of prescriptions to 'prepare' me for my next date... I have learned to treat these preps as a 'drinking-game'. For my second date my insides need to be as clean - or cleaner - than my outsides. So, commence with the drinking game. To say this is a 'fun' game would be both wrong and a bit perverse... But, treating it as such makes it more bearable.
The game comes in three distinct parts; The Drinking, The Running and The Shivering.
First, however, I must dress for the game. No fancy clothes here, get comfy. Now I position myself between my kitchen, my comfortable chair and my nearest bathroom -- I warn people to stay the hell out of my way. Next, I have to to prepare the drink - kind of like mixing up a batch of 'Hairy Buffalo' but without the everclear, fruit, or punch mix.
I mix up the gallon of solution (which I can flavor with cherry, orange, lemon or pineapple - YAY!) I chose pineapple this time! Stick it in the fridge so it is nice and cold. The rules of the game say drink an 8 oz glass of this stuff every 10 minutes until it is gone - sounds simple AND fun, right!
It seems like it should be fun. I put on music and was dancing around the kitchen, trying to make the best of what is to come. Then, about 6 or so doses or so into the process I stop dancing. The Running Begins. I get that 'rumbly in the tumbly' feeling.
Now I really get to move, back and forth between the kitchen, for more drink, to the bathroom for more, uh, relief. Drink. Run. Repeat. This goes on for an hour or so and about the time I'm 3/4ths through the happy juice, I realize I am shivering.
Why am I shivering? Well I have been drinking icy cold fluids that have been rushing through my system for the past two hours - I grab a blanket - but one that I can run with remember. Eventually the jug is empty, but I am not quite. I make several attempts to lay down and sleep, but my colon has other ideas. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, it finally lets me sleep... Unlike many college drinking adventures that might have ended up with sex, or at least drunken singing and dancing. Instead I wake up the next morning, with a headache, and starving... No eating or drinking util after the test, of course.
The Second Date: - I hop in the car, empty stomach, head aching due to no coffee, and I make my way to the hospital for the actual second date. Again, I get there early and wait. I sign papers and wait. I get moved to a prep room and wait. The prep room is awful, not the physical room, but the CONVERSATION between the nurses and doctors... who are all chattering about what they will have for lunch or what they just ate, and then the ultimate stab to my headache I hear them actually ARGUING over whose turn it is to go down and get Starbucks in the cafeteria! I wanted to scream, "Hell, I'll wheel this bed down there myself and get some, if I can have a cup too!" Instead I got them to give me a shot of fentenyl to take the edge off before the procedure... Ahh, the drugs begin....
Soon enough I am relaxed from the drugs, getting groggy and remember being wheeled into the exam room. I am cold, they cover me with wonderfully warm blankies and hit me with another dose of drugs....man is this worth it. I am cocooned under warm blankets, woozy from meds, all comfy. Then I notice the 30 foot anaconda sized camera (it's not REALLY that big, but remember, I am on verrrry good drugs at this point!) they are prepping to insert into WHERE? Oh, man, they had better dose me again... I ask, and they comply.... man this is too easy. More drugs, ah, the floating feeling is countered by, uh, pressure down below.
Now, remember my colon is empty...like a deflated baloon. So what do they have to do to get good pictures? You got it they, uh, mm, 'inflate me' as they move the camera. It is hard to describe the delicate balance created by the good feeling from the drugs and the feeling that there is a clown blowing up and twisting my insides into some kind of circus baloon animal... The last things I remember are watching my colon pass by on the monitor and the lovely anesthesia nurse sliding another needle of something into my IV.
The Third Date - A couple days pass after my procedure. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Then I get a call. No, not A call, THE call. "Hello, Mr. Lightfoot. The Doctor would like for you to come in and discuss the results of the test you had done last week." I set the appointment and wait for the date.
Remember, during all this time, I have been working my job. Trying to balance things so I don't miss too much work (read money) for doctors appointments, since I have not been here long enough to have banked any paid time off, every doctors visit means some missed work...and some explanation to be given to my boss. I will say that this time around, unlike the first time I dealt with cancer, my employer is not only very understanding of my situation, but immediately assured me that my job was secure, no matter how much time I had to miss as I deal with this - in this economy that is a HUGE worry off my shoulders.
Back in the waiting room, I try to figure out what is to come. I vaguely remember through my drug induced stupor that the doctor performing the procedure was using words like; tumor, T2, N1, lymph nodes, mass, total circumference of the colon.. All things I new were not good. I also know that at this date things would be laid out for me. One step closer to the battle plan for defeating the ugly Spectre that has reared its head.
Waiting, waiting, waiting. I fall asleep in the sunlight of the waiting room. "Mr. Lightfoot. Mr. Lightfoot. Wake up!" I jerk back to conciousness, dropping my pile of papers on the waiting room floor. "Sorry," I mutter as I gather them again. I follow the nurse to the consult room. Blood pressure, temperature, medial history, blah, blah, blah... Don't they HAVE all this stuff in a computer somewhere? "The doctor will be in soon." Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. I bide my time by trying to guess how old each issue of magazine is that are stacked in the rack on the wall. I read the anatomy charts -- the pretty ones with all the diseases of the digestive track illustrated on one poor sap on the chart... Man it would suck to be that dude. Finally, the Doctor walks in, with a pair of eager, neatly shaven residents on his coat tails. My oncologist is more gray in the beard, more wrinkly and thin haired than he was 20 years ago, but still possesses that same smile that tells me things are rough, but they will be better. He sits down, sips his coffee. Looks at me and says, "So, as I am sure you have guessed. Your cancer is back. Unfortunately, this time we have to be more aggressive in our approach, but I am certain we will beat this again."
The Plan of Attack - While not a blow by blow account of the past few weeks you get the drift. The evaluation of my condition led to a second opinion at the Cleveland Clinic - where my Mom has been successfully treated for the same conditions - and the plan as I outline here. For a host of reasons, from genetic testing to past cancer at a young age (I was 29 at the time), my whole colon must be removed. The surgeons will give me a temporary ileostomy and rework my innards to connect my small intestines to my sphincter -- leaving me with at least somewhat normal 'function'. It will mean two surgeries, weeks off work, months getting used to using a bag, and then after all the surgical procedures are complete, sometime in the fall, I will start chemo. SO, there you have it, friends. My new adventure begins. I will try to post when I can. Hopefully through my experience others can learn that despite the curves that life throws us, we live in amazing times that allow us to cling onto our lives as long as possible. I don't intend on going anywhere, anytime soon. I have lots to do...
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