Post Cancer...

No updates in a while, so my one reader has noticed!  Here's the situation:

As of late October, I'm done with chemo.  It's now been about four weeks since the last chemo infusion, and I'm getting my strength back.  The side-effects of chemo are fading - the neuropathy in my hands is pretty much gone, thank God, because with the onset of winter weather, my hands would be in agony from touching cold car doors & steering wheels, etc.

I've been able to enjoy ice cream on a couple of occasions - the first time it was still a little painful, but today the pain was pretty much absent.

My taste buds are still messed up - and the "chemo mouth" feeling isn't completely gone.  I still get fatigued pretty easily, and my hair is till falling out, although not nearly as much.  I've got a semi-successful comb-over going on, never had to shave.

The remnants of Cancer Beard are still here.  Haven't shaved off the van dyke yet.  I'm not sure if my brain is fully functional - I definitely don't have the attention span that I had before (which wasn't too good to begin with).  I can't concentrate as well, and some previously simple tasks (such as writing relational databases) are now taking me longer - there are a couple of logic problems with the DB's that I haven't been able to solve, which is frustrating.

Had my first post-surgery airline flight, which was a hurdle I had to clear.  So now I know that I can travel, with some limitations.

As I'm sure I've mentioned before, the cancer is gone, and has been gone since June when they cut it out of me.  The 16 weeks of chemo were preventative, because colon cancer likes to leap to the liver and lungs, and either one of those is much more serious.  Odds of survival of colon cancer are pretty good.  But if it re-occurs, then I'm most likely toast.  

In taking stock of where I am right now, there are a couple of major concerns.  The first is that, after I've had a little post-chemo debauchery, I need to get on a better diet and exercise plan.  This means less processed foods and more fruit & vegetables.  More jogging and less sitting around.  In other words, discipline.  Something I'm not good at.

The second concern is with my psychological and spiritual condition.  I've had bouts of mild depression, and certainly don't have any jubilation about being done with the whole process.  I'm definitely bitter about some of the aftereffects of the surgery, and have been seeing the glass as half-empty more than I have been celebrating being alive.  I'm just not a better person for having been through this.  In fact, I may be a worse person.  Certainly I'm not as much fun to be around.  In company with other people, I have been zoning out - staring into space.  I always loved to dominate a conversation with my stupid stories and jokes.  More often now I find it difficult to come up with something to say.  A benefit to the world, but a change in me.

I'm struggling to maintain interest in things.  I've completely stopped reading, have stopped work on my wooden sailboat model & Jackson's aircraft carrier.  I don't play guitar anymore (or rarely).  I've pretty much stopped doing any household repairs or yard work (got a gutter hanging off of the house & I don't care, lawn-tractor is 1/2 dead & I don't care, yard hasn't been mowed & I don't care, gutters are full of leaves, porch furniture hasn't been put up, Halloween decorations are still out, seals around the doors are leaking cold air into the house... and I don't care.  Finally got around to getting my sails out of the Lightning and draining the water that had accumulated in the bilge.  Even this little thing was a chore.

Anyway, don't know if these are permanent changes, or this is just a combination of the end of the cancer journey with the onset of winter.  It also might be that I'm just in a negative mood right now and this is all nonsense.  But I definitely need some motivation, new direction, or something.  I wish I could go on a monastic retreat, but that wouldn't be fair to Elizabeth, who would be stuck with the kids while I was gone.  Nor would it be fair to my coworkers, who after all have been carrying the load while I've been out of the office.

That being said, there are some new things happening.  For whatever reason (lack of anybody else willing to do it?) I was nominated & elected as chairman of the board of advisors for the Fairview Technology Center, which should be a lot of fun.  I've also been recruited to the board of directors of the Concord Sailing Center (again, perhaps no other candidates?).  My job has changed somewhat at work, but there's an opportunity to move into a more technical role.  

But November is always a bad month for me.  It reminds me of mortality - both of my grandmothers died in November, as did Jessica.  It always takes me some time after late November to get myself back in a positive mood.  I have a feeling that this year it's going to be particularly difficult to capture "the Christmas Spirit."

Mostly I'm just tired.  Physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  Despite the tremendous blessings that I have, in terms of how relatively easy the cancer treatments were, how much support I had through the process, and the fact that I'm free of cancer less than a year after the diagnosis, I have a hard time appreciating this.  I think to myself "I need something good to happen," when, in fact, something incredibly good has happened.  Mentally, I know this.  Emotionally, I don't.  I'm like Wang Chi in Big Trouble in Little China: "my mind & my spirit are going north & south."

What!  A Big Trouble in Little China quote!  I'm back, baby!  I'm back!

No News is Good News

Other than pissing people off on facebook, I'm not up to anything.  Just layin' around here in Round 7 feeling tired but not terrible.

Musings

Loyalty and ethics are two different things, but I think many of us view them as interchangeable or indistinguishable.   It's my view that we are a "loyalty" culture.  But this is particularly dangerous.  Ethics (should) refer to an external standard against which right & wrong are judged to determine the proper course of action or attitude - situational ethics being that standard applied to real-world instances.  Ethics isn't easy - bioethics alone is very challenging, regardless of the simplicity of the ethical system applied.

Loyalty is personal or institutional - much easier to abide by.  And most profitable for the institution or person who inspires loyalty.  Because in a ethical dilemma, loyalty, while has no specific bearing on the objective standards of ethics, demands action in compliance to the interests of the person or individual affected.  Thus it is in the (perceived) interest of the institution or person to inculcate loyalty as shield against ethical behavior that runs counter to those interests.

If you take a moment and look at your life, I think you'll find yourself in a web of loyalty - to friends, institutions, culture, political party, etc.  Put yourself in this situation.  You are part of a group of friends who are engaging in a behavior that you find wrong.  You confront your friends and advise them to stop, but they refuse to do so:

• Extract yourself from the situation but let your friends continue
• Continue along with your friends in doing wrong (primacy of loyalty)
• Intervene and put a stop to your friends' wrongdoing (primacy of ethics)

Now, the fact that most people's ultimate loyalty is to themselves is to place them in the hierarchy of loyalty.  The fact that there can be conflicting loyalties is further differentiation from ethics.  There cannot be conflicting ethics (unless you are a relativist, in which you misuse the word ethics for what should either be called loyalty or conditioning).

-------- SOMEWHAT DIFFERENT TOPIC

The idea of "a moral compass" is an interesting one.  I used to think that this was the most inept metaphor ever invented - because the context in which I heard it was from someone implying moral relativism.  Dude.  Go look at how a compass works.  It is a slave to an external field.

If everyone had "their own moral compass" - that would just mean that everyone was aligned to the same external standards of right and wrong.  Quite the opposite of what this particular gentleman was alleging.

But there is another sense, in which the idea of having a moral compass just means that you don't have to rely on "someone else with a compass" to tell you what is right and wrong.   And this is just saying that you have a conscience - in the Catholic understanding of a conscience.

So let's do that.  Conscience - con (with) science (knowledge).  In the Catholic sense, this implies "God's voice in us" - the idea that we have a built in sense of right & wrong, but that conscience can be formed or deadened - it is not an innate and unchanging faculty.  In a more general usage, people think of conscience as "what I feel is right or wrong."  The idea of the primacy of conscience is that the external standards of right and wrong are secondary to what we feel is right or wrong; that we feel good or bad about our actions based on whether not those action are good and bad.  So if we feel good about something, then there's nothing wrong with it.

But of course, most thinking people recognize the immediate problems with primacy of conscience - in that you might feel bad about something the first time you do it, but after a while, that "naughty naughty" voice just goes away.  This dovetails with the concept of "habitual sin" - the gravity of the sin being greatest initially, but as one becomes inured to the behavior, the gravity of subsequent acts is lessened - because each act is less consciously chosen.  Another problem is that we encounter lack of a conscience in the insane.

So we see that the conscience can be formed or deadened, and that a "personal conscience" which guides one's actions without reference to external standards of right & wrong is meaningless.  Which gets us back to the issue of those external standards.

Now whether you believe in natural law as the basis of ethics, in either the classical liberal sense or the scholastic (Catholic) sense, or if you believe in sola scriptura for your ethics (bon chance, amigo!), or if you believe in cultural relativism, utilitarianism, or some other ethical system, you are admitting to an external standard of right & wrong.

A properly formed conscience is one in which that interior voice is speaking "with knowledge" of right and wrong.

So back to the compass.  If you rely on your own moral compass, and it disagrees with some external standard of right & wrong, what do you do?  If you assert that you always follow your moral compass, regardless of what that external standard says, then you're saying that the external standard is wrong.  For everybody.  Because, again, a compass only aligns to an external field.  To have two people with moral compasses that are each valid but different is a violation of the principle of noncontradiction.  So, what you're saying if you rely on your own moral compass, to the exclusion of a specific external standard, is to say that you disagree with that external standard.

• And that's fine.  The members of ISIS have their own moral compasses that are aligned with Islamic Jihad, which contains an ethical standard that places obedience to Allah, as defined through his final prophet Mohammed as the ultimate and final arbiter of right and wrong.  Mohammed said "he who defames the prophet must die."  Quod erat demonstrandum.

• Or - since current atrocities seem to matter less than the atrocities committed by Christians a few hundred years ago:

• The moral compasses of the Spanish Inquisitors said that the soul was immortal and the body corruptible, and that it was better to save the soul at the cost of the body - so if torture could effect the salvation of the soul, it was preferable to the comfy chair and fluffy pillows that left the body content and the soul damned.

The true, the good, & the beautiful.
Or in other words "Not Miley Cyrus"

Unlike you and me, philosophers and theologians spend a lot of time thinking about ethics.  Modern philosophers have thought themselves into a corner of meaninglessness, but the pronouncements of philosophers across the ages are of tremendous value in determining ethics.  Has anything really changed in terms of the true, the good, and the beautiful since Aristotle?  Has Immanuel Kant been obsoleted by a new discovery?  Certainly there is no "scientific consensus" on ethics to the extent that there is in mathematics (at least to my level of mathematical understanding), but that doesn't mean that a universal standard of ethics is any less achievable.

Further, although the basis of the theologians' study is in revelation, which to our modern sensibilities means "arbitrary," and is thus the fundamental complaint of our compass wielding gentleman, to equate theology with revelation is to misunderstand theology.  Christian theology (and Judaic, based on my brief exposure) seeks to reconcile revelation with publicly accessible knowledge to form a single, consistent, rational and faithful system that contains ethics.

Those with no exposure to theological ethics either think of Christian ethics as "the 10 commandments" or "the golden rule."  Their perception is that when it gets down to an ethical dilemma, the theologian says "Well.... God says do this.  End of argument."

But this is hardly the case.  Theologians pursue integrated and rational ethics with at least as much rigor as what is left of the philosophical community.

Which means, for our compass-wielder, that when he says his compass is pointing in a different direction than his navigator (the "expert" in ethics, whether philosophical or theological), then he is claiming the superiority of his own ethical system to that defined by his navigator.

People do this all the time, and experts aren't infallible (except when speaking ex cathedra on dogmatic issues of faith or morals).  But this is a lot like a visit to the doctors' office, when the doctor tells you that you have bone cancer and you keep insisting it's a broken arm.  The benefit of the doubt probably should go TO THE PERSON WHO KNOWS WHAT THE FUCK THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT. 

So how we "feel" about an ethical dilemma, while a generally trustworthy guide with a properly formed conscience, should not trump additional concerns from the external reference sources of authority.  You've got your own moral compass?  Fine.  And I've got mine.  But the magnetic pole isn't changing for either of us. (1)

-------

(1) actually the magnetic pole of the earth does change and apparently does completely flip around once very few hundred thousand years.  We're overdue for the magnetic pole to suddenly flop from north to south.  But it's not going to change because some dickhead in Canada thinks that Santa Clause should live in Antarctica. 


--- COMPLETELY DIFFERENT TOPIC

I have many intelligent liberal friends.  But a few things I don't understand about them.

Your pull-string is showing -
Oh, you've just been reading HuffPo.
Sorry for the mixup, Sandra Fluke

• How does their hive mind work?  Why are they able to express the same opinions with the same language instantaneously.  I used to think that they communicated by NPR & Jon Stewart, but now I think it's pheromones.
• Why are my liberal friends suddenly turning into pull-string dolls, where any given stimuli results only in the mantra of "Citizens United!  Koch Brothers!  Fox News!".  These are (mostly) people with active minds.  How did they become little marching robots whose primary issues seem to be keeping other people (or non-union organizations) out of the political process and silencing the press?  When did they turn from liberals into fascists?
• Why are the people who are fundamentally incapable of DOING science (mostly), such tremendous fans of what they think science is?  This is a real change.  Back in the 80's, liberals hated science - they thought of it as big chemical companies and evil corporations.  Now they champion science so much that they think that any opinion that disagrees with theirs is "unscientific."  How did they go from "bleeding hearts & artists" to fawning sycophants of anyone with a lab coat?

Shocking News

Well, the final report from the pathologist came in, and I was finally given a complete diagnosis.  Apparently, I had what is known as "TICC", which is "Taco-Induced Colon Cancer."  It's a rare diagnosis, defined as "Colon Cancer that has as its source the excessive overall consumption of tacos, in combination with a high speed of individual taco consumption."

I am gratified to finally know the reason why I got cancer.  Unfortunately, despite my current taco drought, I suspect that I will return to my ways, and thus face the prospect of "SOTICC" or "Secondary Occurrence (of) Taco-Induced Colon Cancer".

Howzitgoin

Well, I have a reader!  I got an email from one of my friends pointing out that I hadn't posted in a while, so here we go with an update.

Round 4 of chemo has been easier than Round 1, 2, or 3.  To recap:

Round 1:  Shock & awe.  I was unprepared for the psychological impact of the pump, and the much more aggressive nature of the infused chemo vs the pills.  I had a strange impact on my vision (which wasn't repeated), along with nausea, exhaustion, etc.

Round 2: The unbearable itch made its appearance, but was mitigated by Benedryl.  Nausea & exhaustion were there, but I was more able to handle the psychology.  Unfortunately the hair loss began.

Round 3:  Benedryl & Doxy-something (steroid) kept the itch at bay, but triggered Restless Leg Syndrome, which led to sleep deprivation.  Hair loss accelerated.  Exhaustion was there - partially due to chemo & partially due to not sleeping more than 4 hours a night (on average - there were some sleepless nights & some 5-6 hours).

Round 4:  Benedryl in the infusion triggered immediate restless leg, but a nurse tipped me off to taking hydrocodone (lortabs).  Getting home from chemo infusion I took a hydro and it immediately tamed the restless leg & I was able to nap.  Since then, I've found that a combination of Xanax & Hydrocodone will allow me to sleep through the night.  So very minor itching, a lot of sleep, etc.  Plus, I got a substantial haircut (and said goodbye to Cancer Beard) and so the hair loss was not as obvious - it has continued, and now there is visible baldness if my hair isn't combed just right, but at least I'm not clogging the shower drain.  The worst part of Round 4 is mouth sores - which in my case are unfortunately located right along the side of my tongue.  It wasn't too bad the first week, but entering the second week after infusion, it's terribly irritating because I can't speak, chew, or swallow without rubbing that sore against my teeth.  I have a bottle of numbing swishy-stuff that I can pour into my mouth, which numbs the sore and makes it bearable, but with the result that my tongue is numbed (like going to the dentist).

There's something wrong with my truck - it's making a mysterious nonperiodic knocking noise when it gets hot (after 15-20 minutes of driving), while going over 30mph, and has nothing to do with acceleration, braking, turning, climbing, etc.  Took it to a shop today and they couldn't figure it out. Hope it's not catastrophic.

Triumph is running great - many a spin around the neighborhood.  Maybe take it to Oak Ridge this week on a big drive.  I need to get it aligned, as it pulls hard to the left.

Elizabeth has a new exciting job, but I don't feel good enough to celebrate properly.

Kids are driving me crazy, except Baby Rose, who is charming and wonderful.

Trying to make ends meet, but I've drained the HSA, so medical bills are now having to come out of my paycheck.  I know, poor me, but it'll be a while before Elizabeth's new income catches up with the medical bills and the cost of daycare for the girls.  Plus we're back on the Dave Ramsey system, which means there's never money for anything.  Good thing I bought all those Triumph parts before we started Dave Ramsey!  Can't wait for the new top & rear bulkhead to show up.

In sleepless hours I'm building a plastic model of the USS Enterprise with Jackson (OK - it's mostly me reliving childhood memories) and continuing to plug away at my wooden sailboat model of the Lightning.

Lost & then found my favorite rosary.  That was a nice surprise.   Thanks St. Anthony!

One of my favorite grade school teachers, Mrs. Banick, passed away last week.  Farewell Mrs. Banick. You always said I was one of your three favorite students - which means I was your third favorite student.  Not too shabby, but I know Joe Riehl was #1.

Many deep thoughts about Obamacare, Iraqi Christians, Racism & Fergustan, and libertarianism vs. the Catholic Church.  But I'll spare you all right now.

Got a huge NSF grant with University of Tennessee, which was the culmination of a ton of hard work by myself, some of my Nano colleagues, and two professors at UT.  I have a tremendous sense of pride that this finally paid off.  Now we've got to deliver.  Very exciting that I have something to do that doesn't involve recalculating budgets and planning cash flow.  Well, it involves that as well, but at least it's project management, which I thoroughly enjoy.  I'll suffer through the accounting.

Received an award for Export Achievement from Senator Corker.  Very proud of that as well - I spent 2013 focusing on sales & marketing and shepherding a lot of export orders through our system.  A lot of credit goes to other people for recent accomplishments, but I'll take my share, thank you.  A spent a lot of time in 2012/2013 building a network with the local infrastructure of city/state/federal resources, private organizations, etc.  Odd for a libertarian to say, but I recognize the value of a lot of the work that is done by these various agencies.  Of course, saying it's hypocritical for a libertarian to use public agencies is like saying it's hypocritical for an environmentalist to breathe polluted air.

Anyway, life is pretty good.  Chemo's not that bad.  Evelyn Rose's birthday party was a great reminder of how lucky I am to have my family close.

Thinking of what I'm going to do once I'm done with chemo.  After a little pause to collect myself, that is.  Thinking of going back to grad school for my Masters in Material Science.  Thinking about the permanent Deaconate.  Can't do both, probably shouldn't do either.

Live long & prosper!  No... wait... Spock was a utilitarian.  Screw Spock.  So instead:

Da pacem Domine in diebus nostris, Quia non est alius Qui pugnat pro nobis nisi tu Deus noster.

Stick that in your Google and translate it, sucka!

The Cancer Files

It's been some time since I updated my faithful readers  on the status of the cancer paperwork.  If you'll remember, the cancer file started out like this.  It has clearly mushroomed.

The other interesting thing is the status of the Cancer Bills.  So far, total bills are $113,794.09.  Of this amount, the insurance company has actually paid $45,988.44.  Of the total $113,794.09, 56% was "contract adjusted" or disallowed.   Wow.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

So I thought I was going to get out of this cancer thing with no hair loss (on top... The radiation had a certain depiilatory effect on my nether regions... TMI).  Yesterday I suddenly had a sink full of hair after taking a shower.  And then today there was much more.  I wasn't concerned about losing my hair until it started happening.  After a hard shock, I'm reconciled to it- I've got a lot of hair to lose, so maybe it won't be too bad.  In any case, I now have tremendous sympathy for kids and women, for whom hair loss has to be much more devastating.

Other than exhaustion, most other symptoms are mild. Benedryl takes care of the itching, no real nausea, and Zofran takes care of the little of that.  I haven't been sleeping well, but that's not new.  The hardest part is just being wiped out and knowing that the cumulative effects will just get worse.  Psychologically, this is as hard as anything before it.  I think it's knowing that the cancer is gone, but I feel like I'm fighting chemo and not fighting cancer.  I'm dreading the next round.  Ugh.  Six more cycles.

I've mentioned before how I identified with the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary.  I equated the Agony in the Garden with the diagnosis, the Scourging at the Pillar with radiation, the Crowning with Thorns with the surgery, and I thought the Carrying of the Cross was going to be the remainder of my life living with the consequences of the surgery.  Now I look at chemo as the Via Dolerosa.  In Mel Gibson's Passion, it's almost unbearable to watch Christ's repeated falls, and the tremendous distance He has to cross before reaching Calvary.  The Chemo road feels like that - stretching on forever.  I'm 1/4 done with treatments, and there's no Calvary waiting at the end.  But poor me!  Lord you are my hope and my salvation.  Help me embrace my cross.

The Unbearable Itchiness of Being, Redux

So, I finally got to sleep around 6:30am, just as Elizabeth was getting up with the girls.  I was able to sleep until 9:00, when I woke up to find the house empty - Elizabeth had gone out to get McDonalds' biscuits (yum!).  I was awakened by The Itch, which had now moved into the various regions that had been sliced & diced in surgery.  Needless to say, those aren't areas that I want to scratch. 

Reading through the chemo drug information I now find that itching, rash, etc., are possible side effects of one of the chemo cocktail drugs.  Great.  But maybe it can be treated.  Elizabeth called the oncologist's office to find out what to do about this.  In the meantime, grin & bear it, and offer up sufferings for a special intention.

Which brings me to another point, which is the soteriological aspect of human suffering.  I think I have mentioned before that union with Christ's suffering was my desire as I went through this cancer thing.  But even in the worst of the radiation side effects, I can't say that I felt closer to God.  I think I'm understanding why.  While God may have given me the strength to make it through the course of treatment, and certainly buoyed me up through the surgery, I was still self-focussed.  I was trying to join with Christ without any understanding of why Christ suffered!

The key, I think now, is not to embrace those sufferings for my own sake, but to do as Christ did and embrace those sufferings for others.  The realization for this came from the homily at my friend Jeff Emitt's funeral mass.  I'm going to try to follow in Jeff's footsteps with regard to whatever sufferings remain in this round of chemo - not for the purpose of growing in my relationship with Christ - but for the a priori purpose that these sufferings might be redemptive for an other.

How this works is a mystery, but it is the core of the Christian message.  O felix culpa!

And that's all well & good, but I wish this itching would stop...

The Unbearable Itchiness of Being

The title probably speaks for itself, but man... am I itchy.  And can't sleep.  I was actually asleep for about 30 minutes tonight, but I was awakened by a roving itch that struck me in my feet (not unusual for me) but now in my thighs, armpits, head, groin.  Man this is annoying.  I don't know if this is a chemo thing or not, since I've been having trouble sleeping anyway.  Aargh!

Chemo Surprise!

Today's chemo brought two new symptoms which I didn't have in Round 1.  The first was encountered when I sipped from a Red Bull in the truck on the way home from chemo.  All of a sudden, an intense, tingling pain shot through my jaw bone on both sides of my mouth.  I've since discovered that this pain arrives when I chew something, or drink something sweet after a long pause since the last food or drink (water doesn't bother me).  This is an interesting phenomenon, but not as worrisome as the next.

Secondly, I discovered that if I rub my eyes, my vision when I open my eyes is suddenly restricted to a small circle, kind of like looking through a telescope backwards, which is surrounded by a radial tiger-stripe pattern that fills the rest of my field of view.  It went away after three or four seconds, but it scared the hell out of me and now I'm afraid to rub my eyes.

Other than that, the tingling fingers is the most annoying thing, next to the presence of the chemo pump, which I don't like one bit.  But my attitude is much better on this round of chemo.  The first round took me by surprise and I was deeply depressed and miserable when I left Thompson Cancer Survival Center.  This time around I had fun joking with the nurses and studying Latin, and was in a much better mood (which persists to some extent).  No real nausea yet - just some queasiness.

Realization

So I'm sitting here in round 2 of chemo.  Blood work looked good today (WBC and homogoblins), Oncologist is concerned about my weight loss (I'm not).

I've got the chemo cocktail pumping into me via a "port", which is some sort of device, about the size of a grape, that was surgically implanted near my left collarbone.  The port is connected to a vein so that they can just stick the needle in the port and not have to do a regular IV.

Anyway, I just realized that if they had installed the port on my right side, they would have had to call it a "starboard" instead of a "port."

Ha ha!  You can stop laughing now, by the way.

Farewell

Yesterday morning my friend Jeff Emitt died of cancer after a long, long struggle.  I think Jeff was originally diagnosed in 2004 or 2005 - I know it was before my first wife Jessica died because she & Jeff spoke on the phone after his diagnosis.

Jeff and I shared many things in common - we are both Catholics, members of Knights of Columbus Council 645, sailing enthusiasts (Jeff was a better sailor), guitarists (Jeff was a much better guitarist), and both widowed.

I met Jeff in the late 1990's at the Knights of Columbus council hall on Magnolia.  Back in those days, after the Monday night council meeting, some of the Knights would retire to the bar downstairs and hang out or shoot pool.  Greg McGinnis, Stu Metz, Jerry Barkley, Thomas Thornton, Two-Bears Hebert, and I were usually to be found there.  I believe Jeff was the witness to some of the awful games of pool when Two-Bears put the mojo on me and forced me to scratch.  That Indian/Coon-Ass mojo is a hell of a thing!

Jeff (on the left) in the SJS kitchen

While I knew Jeff generally, it was not until the St. Joseph School Mardi Gras dinner in 2002 or 2003 that we really hit it off.  Jeff & I were on the dishwashing crew.  Some of the Montgomery family had smoked entire sides of prime rib for the Mardi Gras, and they had seriously overestimated the attendance.  So, after the paying patrons had been served, Jeff & I descended upon the heaps of prime rib.

Now, Jeff was 6' something and rail thin, whereas I am 5'7" and at the time was already tending to "stocky".  The two of us advancing on the pile of prime rib must have been a hilarious sight.  I can't remember which one of us won the prime rib eating challenge, so it probably wasn't me.  And this was back in the days when I could knock off a 48 ounce prime rib with room to spare.  I don't know where Jeff put all that food.

Jeff waving from the bow of Jim Cortese's boat, K of C summer picnic 2005

I would see Jeff on and off at K of C functions over the years - I hung out with him at his house in south Knoxville on at least one occasion (and was amazed at his wall of amplifiers!).  He began his fight with cancer roughly around the time that Jessica died.  I saw him infrequently, but followed with admiration his determination to enter the seminary when he had emerged victorious from his battle with the disease. At the time I was considering a monastic life once Elena was old enough to be on her own.  I figured I would tough out ten years on my own and then retreat from the world.  Jeff went further - choosing to engage with the world as a priest.  He would have made a great priest.

I kept up with Jeff at holidays and on Facebook.  We were always going to go sailing at some point in the future.  Not too long ago I realized that Jeff was back in Knoxville and that cancer had returned.

Then I was diagnosed with cancer.  Making a pretense that I was coming up to Lake Tansi to play guitar, I visited Jeff in February of this year and let him know that we had one more thing in common.  We spent the morning talking, and then went to his choir practice and met briefly with Fr. Dowling.  Jeff excused himself for a moment and when I went looking for him I caught him exhorting Fr. Dowling to pray for me and my family.  Later that afternoon I packed up to return to Knoxville, promising Jeff that I would come back soon and help him organize his bills.

I never made that return trip.  As always, there are excuses.  Jeff I and spoke by phone a number of times, so I followed along with his decline as he followed my treatments.  In our last conversation, I told him that I would come up to Lake Tansi to see him once I was off of the Lortabs.  Jeff asked "did they tell you that you couldn't drive when you were taking hydrocodone?  That's bullshit."

I am comforted knowing that Jeff ended his days with the support of his children and the church, and that he has taken his place in his "heavenly home."  Farewell, my friend.

Diagnosis +173, Post-op 33, Chemo Day 1

Aaargh!  Friggin' pain in the ass won't stop.  Down to one or two hydrocodone per day, gobbling Advil by the handful - rarely get any serious relief.   Still hurts to sit down (well - it's uncomfortable to sit down), but tired of standing up, kneeling or lying down.

Had the first day of chemo and wrote this letter:

---------
Dear chemo,

I apologize for saying that it was going to be a piece of cake to do you for the next four months.  I see now that you are not to be taken lightly, and that I'm not going to "make you my bitch," as I may have flippantly suggested.

Best regards,

John
---------

This friggin' port they installed in my shoulder is driving me crazy.  There's no getting away from this eerie lump under my collarbone, and now there is a needle & IV installed into it, along with a long IV cord attached to a pump the size of an Apple Newton that dangles in a man-bag from my shoulder.  The IV cord is perpetually getting in my way and the damn pump keeps wanting to slide off of my shoulder.

I feel weird.  Not necessarily nauseated but definitely weird.  They warned me that I was going to have heightened sensitivity to cold in my finger tips and toes, etc.  They may have also mentioned that I would want to avoid cold beverages.  I, of course, said "fuck-it!" and asked Elizabeth to bring me a bowl of ice cream when I got home.

The pain in my tongue that blossomed out when the ice cream hit my mouth would have to be felt to be believed.  Of course, being stubborn, I had to eat the entire spoonful, and I felt that ice cream all the way down.  This is a damn same because when I have been waking up in the middle of the night (thanks to ass-pain), I have idled away a good 10 minutes by enjoying individual ice-cream servings while quietly pacing the house.  Oh well - gonna have to find some other source of calcium and comfort.

The worst part is psychological.  I have felt like I've been getting my life back a little bit - braving car trips, a little bit of time in the office, going to mass and going out in public.  This feels like a step back.  I have this friggin' pump to drag around now, and now I can't enjoy any cold beverages or ice cream.  Every two weeks I've got to go sit in a chair for 1/2 day while they pump in various noxious chemicals.

Do you get the idea that I'm feeling sorry for myself?  Well, you're right.

Unstitched

So today I had the stitches removed from my posterior.  And while not as painful as certain aspects of the radiation treatment, it was no fun.  Poor Elizabeth offered to hold my hand and consequently had her hands crushed while the stitches were cut & pulled out.  I broke out in a cold sweat and after the procedure, the surgeon informed the nurse that I was "vageling" which means that my heart rate was dropping & I was going to pass out.  Great.  So now I'm a big fat wuss.  In any case, the stitches are out so I don't see the surgeon again until December or so.  It also means its time to get off the pain meds and start trying to come back from this thing physically.  Big fun on the way!

Diagnosis +147, Post-op Day 7.

I'll blog again someday but I'm really torn (no pun intended) about how much to share with what's going on.  I'm in good health, although a mystery fever hits me in the evening.  A lot of pain, but not unbearable.  My mood is all over the place.  I feel sorry for myself.  More later.

God & Man in Punta Cana

For any reader of this blog who is not also connected on Facebook, I should point out that I've just spent the week with Elizabeth in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic, in a non-stop debauch set in a tropical paradise, at an all-inclusive resort, in an adults-only, limited access, exclusive beach club setting in which premium liquor flowed like water and steak & lobster were the order of the day.

That was a good morning...

The motivation for this hedonism was the concept of "the last hurrah."  I'm afraid that in the aftermath of the surgery, my desire to prance about half-naked on tropical beaches will be greatly diminished.  Further, after the lenten road of radiation & chemo, it was easy to believe that I "deserved" such a treat.

Well, in the manner of a true progressive, I descended upon the Dominican Republic to enjoy its fruits while condescendingly decrying its poverty and the horrific contrast of wealth between the resort-goers and the natives.  A security guard at our resort, who stands all night on the beach making sure that the resort is not tainted by unwelcome guests, makes about $100 per month.  Unlike the bartenders and waiters, and even the chambermaids, nobody is tipping the security guards to supplement their income.  So I could smugly pat myself on the back for befriending one of the guards, talking cigars with him, and then later handing him a La Flor Dominicana wrapped in a $20.  The next day when he saw me, he treated me like a messiah.  Profitable for him and heartwarming for me.

Of course, there is some debate among the resort-goers about whether the $100/month story is perpetuated by the security guards in order to obtain more sympathy tips, but from a quick bit of research, it's certainly reasonable to believe that it's true.

In any case, Elizabeth and I dispensed $1 bills like we were money trees in the gusts of autumn, all of Punta Cana basked in the munificence of the Summer King and his Queen.

But that's not what I came here to tell you about.

Nor did I come here to speak of The Canadians and The Floating Turd-Leaf, which I will relate at some point in the future.

No, what I am thinking of tonight, in my official nightly insomnia, is the experience we had attending mass.  Now, when we made plans to go to the DR, I thought that we would be leaving the resort on Sunday to find a local parish church, which I figured would be easy in a country that is 70% Catholic.  However, upon inquiring of our "concierge" David, we learned that there were two masses every Sunday at the resort, in English.  Well, as much interest as I had in the local church, it's hard to choose a mass in a foreign language, so Elizabeth & I were left to discuss whether to attend at 9:30 or 11:30, and how this might affect our other plans for our last day at the resort (basically how it would affect our sleeping, eating, swimming, and drinking).

If swimming means floating in a pool with a cigar, then I'm Michael Phelps

As it got closer to Sunday, we inquired again about mass, and were told that the location varied - sometimes it was in the Tropical Lounge, sometimes in the Main Lobby - we had to call to find out.  Then there was a question about whether there really were two masses, or just an 11:30.  Then they told us that mass was from 11:00am to 1:00pm.

From the state of confusion related to the mass, I was already getting a feeling that this was not a priority for the resort, and, as it turns out, it really isn't.  The resort we stayed at claims 1100 suites.  Assuming a double occupancy at 80%, that's 1760 guests at the resort on a given Sunday.  Assuming, as most of the guests were American, that 25% of them were Catholic.  And using the 2013 statistic that 25% of Catholics attend mass weekly, that meant that we should have had about 110 people at mass.

Elizabeth & I arrived at the Tropical Lounge at 9:30, only to wander around as we were directed by one staff member after another to a location at which there was no mass (nor even two or more gathered in His Name).  Eventually we were told 11:00am to 1:00pm in the Main Lobby.  So, after a quick breakfast (just under the wire for the 1 hour fast before 11:00am), we arrived at the Main Lobby and found the official mass room around 10:50.

This is not where we attended mass

We were greeted by another couple from Virginia who were quite relieved to see us.   Now that we had growing confidence we were going to attend mass after all, we settled in.  More folks drifted into the room.  About 11:15, the priest arrived, toting an amplifier and a mobile mass-kit.  As he walked through the room greeting his congregation, he realized that the majority of the people in the room were Brazilian.  But as he did not speak Portugese, the mass would be prayed in Spanish & English.  This was later accommodated by one of the Brazilian ladies reading the 1st Reading in Portugese from an iPad.

Before mass began, the priest asked what time the resort had told us.  There were varying answers.  He chuckled and said "it is 11:30.  It has always been 11:30."

Missals of a sort were distributed in English/Spanish.  The first thing of note was that the English translation of the mass predated the most recent Vox Clara reform of the ICEL.  OK - no problem.  I understand it's only been a couple of years, and they would have to re-print the missals.  But I thought that it was ironic that Pope Benedict, who promulgated the reform of the American English translation, was still listed in the missal - the priest stumbled over this before correcting it to "Francis our Pope."

How jarring it is to have the old translation in front of you!

Equally jarring is attending mass in some other people's vernacular.  I've attended mass in France, Spain, Italy, and now the D.R. (my many earlier travels were in the days when I was eagerly claiming travelers exemption every chance I got.  How I regret now not having been to mass in the old Catholic stronghold of Linköping Sweden, where Bishop Brask held out for so long, or experiencing mass in Japan, China, Singapore, Taiwan, or Korea?  Or trying to find a mass in post-Soviet east-Germany.  What experiences those would have been!).

Anyway, it is undeniable that the universality of the mass suffered immensely in the wake of Vatican II.  My previous posts on the synchronic vs. diachronic nature of the mass spoke to my sorrow that the 1700-1900 years of the latin mass were no longer reflected in the communion of saints across time, but here was an example of how the communion of the faithful in-time was lessened by the vernacular.

But regardless, it was wonderful that we were able to hear the gospel in English.  There were two salient points.  The priest focused on the Gospel reading of the road to Emmaus and likened it to our journey through the Word of God and ultimately to the Eucharist, which is where we finally recognize Christ.  The disciples had already welcomed Jesus, without knowing who He was, when they invited Him to stay with them at the end of the day.  But it was not until the breaking of the bread and the blessing that they knew Him.  The priest, in praising Evangelicals for their devotion to the Word of God ("did not our hearts burn within us?") pointed out that the Evangelicals stop too soon, and never invite Christ in for the breaking of the bread.  That it is in Catholicism in which we finally know Christ - in the essential Eucharist.  Of course, he was much more eloquent, even in his foreign English, than I am in repeating his words.  I was struck by this view of the Emmaus passage, but particularly struck by the degree of concern for the Evangelicals, who view the D.R. as mission territory.  The Catholic Church's war of resistance to Evangelical (and Mormon) invasion in Latin America is obviously very real to this priest - it is a message that we never get in Tennessee, which is mission territory for Catholics (and we're doing pretty well, thank you).  Anyway, it was an interesting dynamic and eye opening.

But, my greatest takeaway was in the scope of the Sunday Mass Experience.  Here I was at a resort with close to 2000 guests.  In a tropical paradise.  In the midst of the splendor of the resort, with its marble collonades, arcades, galleries and rotunda, a corner of one convention room is set aside, and here, attended by 30 of those 1760 guests, or roughly 2% of the population of the resort, Jesus Christ Himself becomes truly present and we can enter into communion with Him.   Outside of the little room, families frolic and stroll, shop for gifts and are shuttled around in little golf carts.  Drinks are poured and breakfast buffets are crowded with people jostling for the front of the omelette line.  Honeymooning couples walk hand-in-hand, their flip-flops smacking the marble, while packs of tropically-clad senior citizens embark for the shopping mall.  Obese and oily Russian millionaires drag their thin young paramours from place to place, and an army of white-clad Dominican youth move purposefully from chore to chore, catering to this mob of Western Wealth.  And back in that little convention center room, a cancer-ridden middle-age man and his beautiful wife thank God for the grace that brought them to mass in Punta Cana.

Another Recycled Poem

Ode To The Pastoral Cityscape (2007)

the diesel fumes confront me from the riotous city's splendor

of traffic lights reflected off the shattered pools of water

on concrete covered earth that conceals all soft or tender

each street a tomb of meadows, monument to ancient slaughter

the horns a-blare and distant sirens echo from the walls

that rise around me like the fists of man's complete dominion

their imperfections hidden by the night ere morning falls

and men arise to share their lot with rat and roach and pigeon

Diagnosis +100: Good Friday

Well, my posts to this blog site have gotten less frequent, which is good.  I'm feeling much, much better.  I'm off the Lortabs almost completely (took one today, none yesterday).  I still have some numbness in my fingertips and have that "desiccated" feeling in my feet and hands (which is fargin' annoying).  Lately I've been running a light fever in the evenings - yesterday it spiked up over 100° and was followed by muscle aches, chills, and soaking-the-pillow.  So it was off to the doctor yesterday where the diagnosis was "there's nothing wrong with you but maybe you have a mild ear infection."

So it's onto antibiotics (horse pills!) and a mysterious nasal spray.  I'm half convinced that they gave me a placebo & a bottle full of salt water to spray up my sniffer.

Yesterday was Holy Thursday, which meant the penance service at Immaculate Conception and later in the evening, Holy Thursday mass.  The penance service was brief, and was the last shot for confession before Easter, so Elizabeth & I and the two youngest girls showed up at IC.  What a remarkable thing the sacrament of confession is.  I can't imagine life without it.  On the other hand, my priest-confessor is probably tired of hearing the same old sins from me.  I suppose I ought to mix it up a bit - forebear on some of my idiomatic sins and add a couple of new ones to the mix.  Just kidding of course.

One of the sins that I don't mind publicly confessing is profanity.  I've developed an atrocious potty-mouth over the last few years, and it's worth now than ever.  While I doubt the gravity of non-blasphemous cursing, it still was disheartening that within four hours of reconciliation, I called another driver on the road a "c*&$@*%^ing f%&#ot" because they slowed me down and prevented me from getting through a busy intersection.  Of course this is emblematic of another of my frequent sins; the desire for control.  People need to be considerate when they drive, and in particular, they need to be considerate of me.  Darn it all to heck.

I have to issue a public apology for the behavior of my kids at Holy Thursday mass yesterday night.  I believe it was literally the worst behavior from Isabelle and Evelyn that I've seen at mass - and that's saying something.  On top of it, Jackson decided that it was appropriate for him to sleep through mass, so he stretched out on the pew (and later, under a pew).  Now, he was clearly tired.  But on the other hand, his first communion is next weekend, so this is the time to be making an effort.

Eventually, the lot of us ended up in IC's cry room, which only minimally damped the noise coming from the little girls (Elena was altar serving, so she at least was not part of the problem).  At one point I had to take Evelyn downstairs to get her to calm down, so I listened to the consecration and fraction rite from the parish hall.  Then when mass was over and the assembly processed with the Blessed Sacrament to reposition in the parish hall, I let Elizabeth and Jackson process and participate in adoration while I stayed with the girls in the cry room.  This sounds like a sacrifice, but Elizabeth has let me participate the last few years while she stuck it out with the kids - so it was about time that she got a turn.  It was wonderful to sing Pange Lingua although I prefer singing it in Latin (of course).

After Elizabeth and Jackson came out to the care, I had a chance to visit the reposition and pray before the Blessed Sacrament.  It was particularly moving (I've mentioned my sudden tendency toward tears) - I am feeling a strong spiritual connection to Christ's sufferings, although that is particularly selfish since what is affecting me is probably my own sense of mortality.

I was disturbed, though, by the noisy conversation of the RCIA candidates and their sponsors, right outside the open door to the parish hall.  As I cut short my prayers and left, I mentioned to a couple of the sponsors that it was noisy inside thanks to their conversations, and I immediately felt like an asshole. I'm going to have to apologize tomorrow - both of the guys I spoke to are wonderful members of our parish and obviously put a lot into RCIA and many other ministries.  But they moved the crowd away from the door and in front of the church building, so hopefully the other people praying before the reposed Eucharist were not as distracted as I was.  Still, I regret having said anything.

But this is a major pet-peeve for me.  When Elizabeth went through RCIA in 2009, after Holy Thursday's mass, the Blessed Sacrament was exposed in a monstrance at Holy Trinity Church.  The same thing happened - the entire RCIA class sat in the pews right by the monstrance and loudly conversed while a number of people, clearly in sight, attempted to pray.  I think I butted in then as well and pointed out that people were trying to pray and could they please move.

I know I'm overly sensitive, but come on!  Doesn't anyone appreciate that the church building, and in particular the church building when the Blessed Sacrament is exposed, are holy places and that a sense of the sacred is conducive to prayer, not to mention respectful of the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist?  The huge roar of conversation that goes up in IC as soon as the mass is over is extremely unfortunate.  I try to make a practice of not participating in conversation until I'm at least in the vestibule, but then that leaves you ignoring people who try to start conversations, or speaking in a subdued whisper and cutting conversation short.

And as long as I'm being an uptight Pharisee, what's up with people raising their hands up in imitation of the priest at the end of the Our Father?  Instead of this practice (which is a clear violation of the GIRM - proper congregant posture is folded hands and bowed heads), this practice appears to be increasing at IC.  In my humble opinion, this is another casualty of abandoning ad orientem.

Anyway, on that note - pouring my gripes onto the page and exposing myself as a nitpicking self-righteous prig, I'll wrap it up.  Elizabeth and I watched "The Passion" when we got home from mass - all the kids went to sleep.  That's a tough movie to watch, but an essential part of Holy Week now.

Today marks the beginning of the Divine Mercy Novena, which I've gotten an early start on since it's 4:14am on Good Friday.

I hope you (and I'm speaking to my one reader, Elizabeth) have a wonderful Easter.  Pax tecum!

As Promised - the final pictures of Cancer Beard

Last photo before the ritualistic shaving.

Me and Aussie Steve hanging out in Watonga Oklahoma

Diagnosis +82

A couple of things on this slightly overcast but still spring-like Sunday...

Well, apparently there was a whole pack of Sasquatches visiting the house last night.  This morning was a trial.  I was literally writhing at mass today, serves me right for cutting my dose of Lortab in half.  The good news is that the pain is much more tolerable - it's pretty much a dull, constant pain, rather than the horrific shooting pain that accompanied me for the last weeks of radiation and the two weeks afterward.  Each day is a little better, I suppose - although yesterday morning wasn't any fun.

Last evening I was feeling pretty good.  My good friend Jeff came over with my godson Brian and they mowed the back yard.  Brian independently decided that he's going to mow my yard for the rest of the summer.  Wow! What do you do in the face of such generosity?  Jeff and his family have always been great friends.  Back when Elena was a toddler, Jeff's wife Julie babysat her every day (and pretty much potty trained her too!).  I haven't been nearly the friend to Jeff that he has been to me.  There's going to have to be some serious payback later on.  I should give Jeff a ski boat!

Anyway, I was feeling pretty good yesterday until the fever hit.  For no reason at all, I ran a 100° fever and had the muscle aches and chills that I associate with flu.  I popped a couple of Lortabs and felt better after an hour or so, and when I woke up this morning it was without a fever.  What's up with that?  Probably a rectal abscess.

The other weird thing - last Friday Elizabeth & I left the kids in the care of Elena and went to the Friday Fish Fry and Stations of the Cross.  Now, I've been trying pretty hard to focus on my faith this lent, but as I've said before, it's with mixed success.  Despite the opportunity of suffering, I haven't had any great epiphany.  But Stations was beautiful.  Maybe it was being there without any kids to distract me, but I was greatly affected by the Stations - I was able to pay closer attention and intend the prayers.  Further, right from the beginning of Stations I was overwhelmed with emotion.  I'm not a weeping kind of guy, but I was on the verge of tears throughout the Stations.  Perhaps it's the proximity of my own death - while I think that's a factor, I don't think that's all.  I've always found Mary's suffering as she watched her son die to be the most affecting part of the passion.  For some reason, this past Friday the faces of my own children came to mind as we sung the Stabat Mater, and I was overcome with God's sacrifice of his Son in a way that I hadn't been before.

I wish I could say that this carried over on Saturday and I awakened as a Saint, but sadly, Saturday morning my discomfort got the best of me and I yelled at my children and moped around the house feeling sorry for myself.

But as the day wore on, I recaptured some part of the awakened spirituality.  Last night Elizabeth & I watched the wonderful biopic Pope John Paul II.  And there it was again - overcome with emotion - tears were literally pouring down my face right from the beginning of the movie.  As much as I love(d) Pope Benedict, I had forgotten what a tremendous saint John Paul II, what an incredible life he led.

As I mentioned earlier, this morning's mass was somewhat washed out by the severe discomfort I was feeling.  And having kids hanging off of me was no help.  And I've been preoccupied by political and philosophical thoughts related to the gay marriage blitzkrieg and its implications for the future of western civilization and civil liberties.

So what to do when you're leaving mass distracted and in pain?  Why, go to Taco Bell of course!  Three delicious XXL tacos later (you're not fooling me, Taco Bell - you've just brought back the Taco Belgrande - and about time too!) and I was ready for a nap.

Only you can't take a nap with Isabelle in the house.  She cuddled up with me in the "prayer blanket" that the ladies of St. Mary's Oak Ridge made for me.  And then she started rolling until she had the whole blanket and slowly pushed me off the couch.  Thanks a lot Isabelle!  Only now do I realize that this is a nice metaphor for my own behavior toward my heavenly Father.  Pretty much wrapped up in myself until I take all of God's blessings and then push God's will off of the couch.

Finally, today marks the end of Cancer Beard.  I've decided to shave off the sides and go with a Van Dyke style for a while.  Maybe it won't look so stupid.  The final pictures of Cancer Beard will be published shortly.  Good bye, but not good riddance.  In the words of some famous Australians, if your dad doesn't have a beard you've got too moms.

Diagnosis +hell I don't know

Bigfoot, Sasquatch, Yeti... Whatever you call him.  He's real.  How do I know?  Because I'm pretty sure that he's been sodomizing me.

Diagnosis +68, Post-treatment Day 3

Although apparently there is some dispute about the veracity of the claim, it is said that the Eskimos have 50 different words for snow.  This is, in theory, because of the Eskimo's intimate familiarity with snow.

In keeping with this motif, I introduce to you, a number of new terms for ass pain:

Fire Ants
Pine Cone
The Worm
Bludgeon
Blade of Fire
Roadrash

Thank God there aren't 50 different terms.  However, note that these terms can be (and often are) combined.  Thus, you might encounter "The Pine Cone Worm" (one of my least favorites), or more commonly "Fire Ants & Bludgeon."

Enjoy the mental images!

Diagnosis +67, Post-Treatment Day 2

Been awhile since I've blogged.  I haven't had too much to say - the days have been a pretty continuous stream of the same sort of thing - basically dreading each visit to the Chamber of Horrors.  I've finished the full course of pre-op chemo and radiation therapy.  So today should be the worst day in terms of pain.  Usually, after a weekend off from radiation, I start to feel better on Tuesday before the new radiation makes things worse again.  But now that I'm done, I'm hoping that I see improvement on Tuesday and that things get better.  Hopefully within a week I'll be able to go to work again, but frankly, right now I'd just like to be able to visit the bathroom without screaming.

I thought I was pretty good at handling pain, but that's because I'd never felt real physical pain.  I'd like to meet a woman who has experienced labor and the same cancer treatments that I have, so that she could compare the two.  Because I've got to imagine that labor feels a lot like what I've been experiencing.  Except that labor lasts a lot longer, but is over more quickly (that actually makes sense, although it doesn't seem to).

I've made a concerted effort to regard the pain as union with Christ's sufferings - I can't say I have had any spiritual awakenings.  I tried very hard to view each visit to the Chamber as a soteriological opportunity rather than something to be afraid of.  But I can't do that.  I dread each recurrence and will put off each attack as long as I can.

I'm a hell of whiner!   Poor Elizabeth has to put up with my moaning and whimpering, as well as the constant stream of whining that comes from our children.  The woman needs a break!!!

Well, in more important news, the University of Dayton is in the Sweet 16.  Woohoo!  Go Flyers!  It's great to see them burning couches again in Ohio.  I have mixed memories of the 1990 NCAA run when I was at UD.  Mostly I remember the aftermath of the ghetto riots.  I bet I can blame my cancer on inhaling the fumes of burning tires.  Or were the burning tires at St. Patrick's day?  I can't remember.

Now my faithful readers reader, I promise to get to work on Part V through VIII of "There's a Mass Up My Ass."  I know that you're desperately waiting for the conclusion to my epic poem.  It's on the way, I promise...

Diagnosis +56, Treatment Day 21

Today was "Cowboy Day" at radiation therapy.  Elizabeth talked me out of the yellow bandana, but the cowboy hat, boots & jeans made their appearance.  The Radiation Therapists were treated to Sasperilla Soda, Pork Rinds, and the infamous "Roy Rogers" joke - in abbreviated form.

Yesterday was excellent.  For whatever reason, I felt really good yesterday, up until about 8 or 9pm.  I ended up being awake most of the night.  I was still up at 5am when Evelyn woke up, so at least I spared Elizabeth having to get up with the baby.  I went to sleep around 6:30 this morning and slept until about 10am.

Today was not so much fun.   Yesterday's reprieve was washed away today in The Chamber of Horrors.  Some side effects of the radiation are not as bad, but others continue to get worse.  I've got eight more days of radiation, and I've been promised that the two weeks afterward are going to be pretty uncomfortable.  

I ventured out with Elizabeth to the grocery store today.  I made it about 30 minutes in before I was completely drained - no energy at all, feet aching.  That stayed with me most of the evening.  Since they've upped the chemo dose, the queasy/sick feeling has increased as well.

But of course, here it is almost midnight and I'm wide awake.  Going to watch some more Office episodes until I fall asleep.

Anyway, time to man-up and pull it together.  I've got a board meeting tomorrow AM, so it'll be a real test of endurance to drive out to Oak Ridge and hopefully sit upright for 2-3 hours.

Recycled Poem

Here's a poem I published on another blog a long time ago (2006).  Seems appropriate, and it also allows me to recycle old creative work...

Early Fall, On A Winding Road

While driving on a winding road
I saw a wondrous tree
That may have seemed a joy to you
But seemed not so to me

Where one might see its scarlet flush
In a tower of autumn pride
I beheld its tumorous form
And the threat of life denied

And though its strength might show itself
To some less jaded eyes
For me its copper glory
Its cancerous heart belies

Diagnosis +52

Today I thought I would share with you an image of what it's like to utilize the restroom, or as I call it, the "Chamber of Horrors."

This put me immediately in mind of Pink Floyd, which involves another appropriate image:

And of course, this couples to my realization that my recent life story is just an echo of South Park's Terrance & Philip:

Diagnosis +50, Treatment Day 17

Well... this sucks.  Only had about 3 good hours today.

Yesterday I had an 8:30 meeting for work.  It was also Isabelle's day at preschool.  So I buckled her into the car seat and headed out for Oak Ridge.  I made it about 3/4 of the way there before I started to get uncomfortable, and by the time I dropped Isabelle off at school I felt awful.

Went to my meeting & informed them that I was going to be out of commission for a few weeks - they thought it was better to slow down our working group formation until I was able to devote full energy to it, which I suppose was inevitable but it's another disappointment.

By the time I got to the office around 9:15 I was out of gas.  I signed a few forms, transferred some money around, and then had to get out of the office and back home where I can lie down.

The rest of the day yesterday (except for the trip to radiation) was spent lying around or sitting in a bath.  The psychological impact of suddenly being rendered useless is leaving me rather morose.

On a positive note, the radiation therapists appreciated both yesterday's "Red Shirt Pirate Joke" and today's joke about the teacher who asks her class to go home and ask their parents for a story with a moral.   They also appreciated the Krispy Kreme donuts.

On an even more positive note, Elizabeth made some awesome lamb chops for dinner with some sort of crazy balsamic reduction.  Mmmmm mmmmm!  Elena watched Isabelle & Evelyn while Elizabeth and Jackson went to Cub Scouts, so to that extent life goes on.

I'm hoping I can make it to work tomorrow.  I think if I get up around 6am, I should be able to get "settled" enough to be in reasonably good condition for the drive to Oak Ridge.  I've GOT to put some time in at the office, and Isabelle needs to go to preschool.  Not sure how many hours I'll be able to work, but I can make a go of it and I refused to be reduced completely to a sad lump of cancerous flesh.

Sad Lump of Cancerous Flesh would be an awesome name for a rock band.

Oh yeah, on Tuesday I was proscribed TWO NEW OINTMENTS!  Now, between the ointments for my hands & feet (to prevent one of the nastier side effects of chemo) there are various ointments for the external tissue that is being irradiated.  So this prompts the question: is there really a difference between a balm, an ointment, a salve, and a cream?  And what about a cobbler and a pie?

Jackson wrote a great song the other day (while I was trying to explain to the kids how to play Dungeons & Dragons):

What's a geek, what's a nerd?
What's a geek, what's a nerd?
What's a geek, what's a nerd?
They're the same thing
(repeats)

That boy is talented!

Uh oh... there's that rumbling in my guts that tells me it's going to be agony time in about 2 minutes.  Oh well... signing off...

Diagnosis +47, Treatment Day 14

Most of what I could potentially write about recently is unpleasant and embarrassing, so I haven't written about it.  Chemo hasn't been bad.  But the radiation therapy is causing the tissue around the tumor to be swollen and sore, and the consequences of that have been both painful and have made life logistically more difficult.  A repercussion of this has been that I've had a harder time sleeping or have been waking up in the middle of the night, which has meant sleeping later in the morning, which has resulted in more complications (getting to work, getting Isabelle to preschool, etc.).

This past weekend was particularly bad.  Fortunately, Saturday night was a brief respite, which allowed me to go to the Mardi Gras celebration with Elizabeth.  This is the 6th anniversary of when I tricked her into going on a date with me.  While I wasn't drinking (and thus wasn't great company), and I was nervous about what I was eating (given the discussion above), it was wonderful to see Elizabeth get a chance to unwind.  She had a great time getting all fancied-up, dancing & hanging out with friends and not talking about cancer at all.

Sunday I made the momentous decision to go to Taco Bell for lunch.  Call it hubris or bravado, tempting fate, or laughing in the face of overwhelming odds.  Or call it a mistake.  In any case, Sunday evening could have been a lot better.  I think I got to sleep around 5:30 am, just when Elizabeth's alarm started going off.  When I woke up later in the day, the kids were home from school (due to ice), Elizabeth's mom was there watching them so that she could go into work, and I was, of course,  going to be late for work.

Which wasn't going to happen anyway.  I spent a good portion of Monday soaking in a warm bath.  Some of the softer and more sensitive parts of your body (ahem) just can't stand up to this level of punishment.  Monday's radiation therapy was somewhat dull since I was in some serious discomfort and thus was not my usual jovial self.  I've got to get my mojo back.

It's 1:45am on Tuesday morning.  Plenty of news events to distract me, a good book I'm trying to finish, lots of episodes of The Office to keep me company.  A warm house, cold bottled water, lots of Orbit sweet-mint gum, close proximity to a bathroom and bathtub.  Kids & wife sleeping peacefully upstairs.  What more could a man ask for?

Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself.  Let the day's own trouble be sufficient for the day.

Diagnosis +45

Tired.  Hands covered with smelly lotion.  Achy feet.  Weight gain.  Lack of concentration.  Moody.

I must be pregnant.

10 Life Lessons From a Cancer Patient

10 Lessons From a Cancer Patient

1.     If you’re not living, you’re dying

2.     Dance like nobody is watching… but only when nobody is watching

3.     Someone is always watching

4.     It’s me

5.     Check your closet

6.     It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.  But if two dogs have the same size fight in them, then you’re back to the size of the dog.

7.     Don’t pet the sweaty stuff

8.     If you’re going through hell, you must be north of the mason-dixon

9.     Life is not measured by the number of breaths you take, but your respiratory rate is.

10. Brevity