Spotlight on Cancer - Part 2

Dead Man Talking

By Brian N. Walin

Today we explore a world that is most often off limits. A topic that is taboo, or gently whispered in some homes: What it’s like to die. But when you get veteran cancer patients together from around the world and from all walks of life, nothing is out of bounds when it comes to this topic. For seasoned cancer patients, it’s a reality ever-circling overhead like a vulture.

I think we as cancer patients have so much time to think about dying, that often we become desensitized to it. We tend to see life from a different perspective, and begin to appreciate more. Cancer clarifies the honest realities of life and that we all have an end, often sooner rather than later for some cancer patients. The new convertible BMW and the million-dollar home are no longer life’s goal. You simply want to survive.

As you approach what could be your final days, you want to make sure your loved ones are secure. As I was preparing to write this, Bob Pemberton was planning every detail of his own funeral with his wife Joyce and tearfully reviewed insurance policies with their agent. Bob has volunteered to be a participant in an “End of Life” study at The Moffett Cancer Center so others may learn. In the midst of all this, he generously took the time to answer questions from fellow cancer patients wanting to glean something from his experiences.

At a time like this, there are so many questions. Darkness is knocking as you reevaluate your life. Religion often becomes a deeper part of the equation as you view your own mortality at hand. There is so much to do if you have been a procrastinator. Do you have a will, a trust, or a clear understanding of how your loved ones will be provided for? How will the bills left behind be paid? Are all your insurance options covered? There are plenty of options for insurance if you plan ahead, but few if you wait until it’s too late.

Most of this should have been attended to years ago, long before you ever get sick, allowing peace of mind if and when tragedy strikes. But, there are those that refuse to believe they will ever die or simply refuse to discuss it until life spins out of control.

Bob has been married to Joyce for over 32 years. Their union was blessed with beautifully healthy children. The Pembertons are the epitome of the successful American family.

Bob served our country in the Army as a First Sergeant Sapper, an elite combat engineer, at Fort Bragg. He became a successful real estate agent and worked with a computer team in Chicago on the side. He is a well-educated man with the emotional strength of an ox, and with his Army attitude, nothing was going to bring this man down.

His strength is innate, as a close friend once recalled how tough Bob has always been, “When we were in ninth grade, Bob was a star on the basketball team. One day at practice he missed a shot or a rebound, and punched the wall in frustration. Bob broke something in his hand. He was mad at himself -- but the pain never bothered him.”

His wife Joyce works for the American Cancer Society. They are active with church and own a well-appointed home in a quiet suburb equipped with a pool, a yard full of critters, and a loving dog that lounges around the house. They are the American dream personified.

Life was blissful until the day Bob felt his first lump. Dreams do come to an end. Life would never be the same from that day forward. His war with cancer began, and life took on new meaning. Bob found himself on the front lines of a whole new Army and waged a personal war to survive. First Sergeant Pemberton would battle cancer for the rest of his life. All other life goals would take a back seat to the vicious enemy within.

With his fifth recurrence, he was recently sent home to die after a failed operation that would have removed a tumor, as well as the remainder of his tongue, esophagus, and larynx. The plan was to pull his stomach up to the back of the throat, leaving him permanently speechless.

It seems the tumor had attached itself to his esophagus and grown dangerously against his carotid artery with major veins wrapped around. Any attempt to remove it, could be catastrophic. The severity was discovered 90 minutes into surgery. They stapled him back up and delivered the unimaginable news to Joyce. There was nothing more they could do for Bob. If the tumor continues to grow as predicted, it will cut off the blood supply to Bob’s brain and the curtain will fall.

Bob has said that getting cancer has been the worst and best experience he's ever had. I have said those very words myself. So much more of the world becomes exposed to you. You become more conscious of what’s really important as you watch others shuffle through life thinking they have all the answers. I just smile and say to myself, “They just don’t get it.” And because I was once one of them, I understand why. You need a life-altering equation to discover a life-clarifying answer.

Bob and Joyce - Relay for Life

Bob and Joyce are in this together. Joyce, the ever-loving wife, tries to understand every procedure and chemotherapy Bob encounters, so she can provide him with the best possible care. It’s the minefield side of the equation that leaves most minds boggled. Joyce shows the outward signs of stress with every breath, while trying to keep herself together so she won’t fall apart in front of others, especially Bob.

Joyce plays caregiver while still working for the American Cancer Society. She’s not new to the cancer equation, yet she finds it difficult at times. Joyce says, “As a caregiver, here's the deal....you are in a constant state of helplessness. I can't count the number of times I've said, "Can I do anything?" She maintains her own blog, THE LATEST FROM BRANDON, recounting their struggles with this deadly disease.

Caregiving is not an easy task. I have been on both sides of that coin, and, at times, I too have felt helpless and overwhelmed. After all, you’re responsible for someone else’s life.

Even though loved ones and caregivers are directly involved with treatments and the daily routine, no one will ever understand the philosophical side of life better than a cancer patient. But even when giving clarity, cancer does not reveal all of life's secrets. We still need to learn from others. With this in mind, I asked Bob if he would answer a few questions in his darkest hour. He graciously agreed in the hopes that others may learn.

The following participants have been carefully chosen from around the globe to ask Bob, a miraculously strong man staring death in the eye, some hard-hitting, direct, personal questions. These are people who have successfully mastered the art of living with cancer and have the insight to ask real questions, based on personal experiences. Though Bob is unable to speak at the moment, it did not stop him from communicating. From Bob’s bed, with hospice hovering nearby, he answers questions from others who also have had their lives altered by this voracious disease.

******************************************************

Jeanne Sather, from Seattle, Washington, is a world-traveled, professional writer and jewelry designer who has been living with metastatic breast cancer for 11 years, and has tangled with a deadly melanoma. She has had more radiation and chemotherapy then she cares to recall. At this point she jokes that there must be a pale green glow emanating from her body! Her cancer is considered incurable, but she continues to fight with a vengeance. She also maintains a no-holds-barred blog: The Assertive Cancer Patient

Jeanne would like to ask Bob:

Jeanne: What do you know now, that you wish you’d known when you were first diagnosed? Do you have any regrets?

Bob: As Joyce and I look back over the several things that were revealed to us about what was being visited upon us, we both agree that knowing more would not have been helpful. The information was given out or dispensed in the right portion so that we were not too overwhelmed by the totality of it all. I think at each turn we were hopeful that this was the last episode as opposed to knowing there were five such episodes to come. We were given several courses of action to choose from, radiation, surgery, and if we wanted to go outside the standard medical treatment scenario, we could have selected a holistic approach. Traditionally, this has not been a direction we would take and did not want to take this type of treatment at such a dire moment within our life.

We have continually placed this within the lens of how we view all things and that is one of the Biblical World View. How is our experience consistent within the context of historic characters of faith, and how is our behavior consistent with those of the same characters.

Sharifah Rashida bt. Syed Ahmad, has been teaching English Language, Commerce, and Mathematics for 17 years and resides in Kedah, Malaysia. She lost her tongue to cancer (total glossectomy) in April 2008, being led down the same ugly path as Bob and I. Her country provides government managed health services and Sharifah’s care seems to be remarkably on par with the U.S. While still on a feeding tube, she’s lovingly named “Miss Peggy,” she longs for the day a simple piece of bread with butter will pass her lips without a struggle. She maintains an insightful blog: THE TONGUELESS TALK - Battling Oral Cancer, recounting her fight through the oral cancer jungle.

Sharifah’s questions to Bob are:

Sharifah: I’m curious to know how you handle your emotions when you have run out of options and know your time is almost up? Are you trying alternative treatments or are you willing to?

Bob: As far as our emotions go, we have been at opposite sides of the spectrum at the same time and at different times. We remain faithful to the Biblical World View, meaning that those things (principles) we have held dear to as young people, then as young parents, we will continue to embrace them as we grow old and are threatened by the issue of cancer. At this stage of life we do not question “Why me,” but rather, “Lord, since it’s me, help me to manifest outwardly those attributes that most reflect Your Love, and Grace.”

Joyce and I have not embraced alternative treatments in the past and don’t judge or criticize those who do, but since we’ve no first-hand knowledge of “lemon grass” or other popular topics of the day, we decided to stay with those treatments that have more consistent documentation through the medical community. I have no doubt there are success stories to be heard, but I’m not certain that for my tumor type or cancer type I would want to expend the emotional calories.

Dawn, is a retired nurse practitioner living in Richmond, BC, Canada. She was apprehensive about posing a question to Bob because the subject hits too close to home. Her father died within three months of being diagnosed with a colon cancer that wasn’t caught until after it had metastasized, which was discovered during a routine chest X-ray. Both her aunt and uncle are currently in palliative care. Bob's blog brought her to tears, making it too difficult to ask a man in his position a question. After careful consideration and a little prodding, she finally relented with this question for Bob:

Dawn: Thirty-five years ago I was administering Demerol to a woman whose life signs were fading and with her last breath near, she asked, “Am I dead yet?” I still remember that day. Do patients ever realize how hard it is for health-care professionals to care for terminally ill patients, and not take the thought of them home with us every night?

Bob: Dawn, I must confess that medical personnel are not the first thought I’ve had considered when discussing my diagnosis, but I’m often reminded in conversation whether the nurse or doctor is in need of a good word when having to discuss bad news.

Dr. Wendy Harpham is a doctor of internal medicine and 19-year survivor of multiple recurrences of lymphoma. When ongoing illness forced her to retire from clinical medicine, she turned to writing and speaking to help others. She's written award-winning books for patients and has a regular column --"View From the Other Side of the Stethocope" -- in a professional oncology publication. She also has an active blog, entitled: Dr. Wendy Harpham - On Healthy Survivorship. All her work revolves around the notion of Healthy Survivorship, a term she coined in 1992.

A "Healthy Survivor" is a survivor who (1) gets good care and (2) lives as fully as possible. I am assuming you are getting optimal care, which means your cancer has received the best treatments to control it, your pain is optimally controlled, your nutrition is optimally managed and so on.

Dr. Harpham: Your treatment options have run out, and you know that most people in your situation die from their disease. How are you calming your fear of the unknown, and how are you quieting the grief over losing everything you know and love, so that you can “live as fully as possible” until you die?

Bob: Pointing back to the answer of Q#2, I think it’s necessary to point out that we look to the writings that support our faith of purpose, direction, and motivation. I look first to Psalms 55:22 to help frame the situation for me and allow my limited mind to grasp the infinite. “Cast your burden upon the LORD and He will sustain you; He will never allow the righteous to be shaken.” I have applied this to both sides of the grave and find comfort in it.

In a summarizing way, I would say applying the Biblical Worldview would also indicated a life time of Bible studies and discussions of practical application of these end of life scenarios have helped in “calming fears of the unknown.” We have learned to be absent from the body is to be in the presence of the Lord. There is some consolation in that as well.

Daria Maluta, is a breast cancer survivor from Edmonton, AB, Canada who was first diagnosed in 2000 with a recurrence in 2004. Four years later a lump showed up during her annual mammogram. Further investigation revealed her Stage IV cancer had spread to her bones, liver, and lungs. She has been on constant three-week cycles of Taxotere chemotherapy since August of 2008. Her father had bladder cancer and her father-in-law died of brain and liver cancer. She authors Living with Cancer, a very interesting and detailed blog surrounding her high and lows with this dreaded disease. Daria had a whole list of questions, so we picked her most important:

Daria: Spiritually speaking, how has this disease altered you…from the inside out? Speak to being more mindful…a greater awareness in the present moment.

Bob: The disease itself has allowed me to move from the intellectual knowledge about Christ to a full emotional buy-in to all the teachings he has instructed.

Carl Wilton has been a Presbyterian minister for 19 years at the Point Pleasant Presbyterian Church in Point Pleasant Beach, New Jersey. Diagnosed with non-Hodgkin lymphoma in December, 2005, he went into remission for eight months following chemotherapy, after which his cancer returned in an indolent form, one that's considered incurable, but treatable. He's been on a watch-and-wait protocol ever since. Carl continues to reflect on life, health, and faith on his blog, A Pastor's Cancer Diary.

With all Carl's experience surrounding spiritual life matters, he brings forth this question:

Carl: How has your awareness of God's presence in your life changed as you've come to contemplate the inevitability of your own death?

Bob: His presence in my life is only more evident with each passing moment.

I have so many questions for Bob. After all, this could be the one man who could save my life by my learning from his mistakes, but there is one burning question that haunts me every waking hour: When do I give up? So I had to ask Bob:

Brian: It appears you might have run out of options, are you contemplating giving up the fight?

Bob: I can’t tell the difference between “giving up” or resignation. My comments mentioned above might put proper understanding to it.

******************************************************

While some cancer patients and their families might choose to ignore the pink elephant in the room, these participants groom it, feed it, and ride it into the sunset, by blogging, writing books, and inspiring others with the spiritual aspects of the cancer realm.

We all are going to die, never knowing when. Are you prepared? Will your loved ones be provided for? Have you thought about putting a plan in motion before something happens? What will you do with the time you have left?

Live your life strong, no matter the length, and count your blessings, especially if it’s longer without cancer. But even if you find yourself in our shoes, it’s not over unless you stop fighting. Don’t waste it. Plan ahead for the darkest hours and do something life-changing today.

With Bob leading the way, we’ve managed to examine the beginning, middle, and end of the cancer life cycle. And in the end, that’s all you really have…The End

A final thought:

“I think those that do not encounter cancer are missing out on one of the most enriching times in life. People choose this time in life to share how much they care for you ... do yourself a favor, don't wait for your friends to have cancer to let them know how much you enjoy their company, or care for them. Find a reason to tell your non-cancer friends how much they mean to you. Your life will be enriched by it ... without the whole cancer thing.” –Bob Pemberton

©2009 Brian N. Walin (All rights reserved)

LINKS: PART 1 - PART 3

Spotlight on Cancer - Part 1

Dead Man Talking

By Brian N. Walin

After living with my cancer for many years now, I have met several cancer patients along the way. Most have some other type of cancer. Only a few have the same, rare tongue cancer that I do.

What makes this story so difficult to write is the fact that most tongue cancer patients I have met along my journey are no longer with us. Squamous carcinoma of the oral cavity is responsible. This is an extremely aggressive cancer that leaves the recipient with a 50/50 chance to live five years, after being diagnosed. If it has infiltrated the lymphatic system, it can further worsen those odds by an additional 25%.

In 2007, after being diagnosed myself, I began to aggressively fight back. I underwent several operations to remove the Stage IV venomous growth along my left lateral tongue and the floor of my mouth. Cancerous lymph nodes were excavated from my neck. An uncomfortable tracheotomy allowed me to breath. The corners of my mouth were filleted open to allow access to the project within.

Body parts were rearranged: a skin graph from my thigh covered the hole that was left after removing a skin flap from my forearm that was then used to fashion a new tongue. Dangerous radiation and cancer killing chemotherapy followed…more invasive surgery to my oral cavity and a two and a half year engagement with a life sustaining feeding tube protruding from my belly.

After months of speech therapy, mouth and tongue exercises, food modification, depression, and mounds of mind-numbing medication, I’m exhausted. I’m still alive, winning my battle, and eating some solid foods, but always concerned cancer will strike again and I will repeat this dance anew.

The clock is ticking. Half of my time here is gone, according to statistics, yet I am still cancer-free. In my mind I fear the evil will return. I think that is a fear all healthy survivors have. You live day to day with that cancer cloud looming overhead. I’m free, but am I really?

Every time I lose a fellow tongue cancer patient, it’s a staggering blow that brings me front and center to the harsh realities of this dreaded disease. I personally don’t have an issue with dying. I’ve faced that road before. It’s the suffering, pain, and overall loss of the quality of life that goes along with continual treatment that is an issue for me. Horrifically, “life altering” does not begin to describe the reality of the situation.

Many friends and family members of cancer patients ask themselves, “What do I say at a time like this? How do I react? What can I do?” or even, “Why?” as they watch their loved ones suffer a slow, agonizing defeat.

First, let me go on record to say there is no answer to, “Why?” It is what it is! It isn’t anybody’s fault. It’s not a punishment, nor is it anything you have total control over. For those of you with controlling personalities such as myself, let this one go!

Having been close to death a few times now, I feel I can give advice as to how you should treat a cancer patient. Just treat us as you always have. No matter how bad we look or how weak we are, we want life to be as normal as possible. Save the tears, we don’t need them. Jokes are a good thing, laughter is best. Reminisce about the good times, and hugs are always welcome, if not longed for.

We are no different with or without cancer, even if we have no hair! Be honest with us and yourself. We know our odds aren’t good. Don’t make things worse by throwing a pity party. Now is not the time to hide from the truth. While life hangs in the balance, emotions are raw. Don’t say or do things YOU might regret later AND say all the things you wish to say, before we are gone. We need to hear them now.

We need a caregiver and patient advocate who is strong and caring and understanding of OUR wishes and not those you think we want. If others object to the plan in motion, remind yourself, these are our wishes, not theirs. This could be our finale, our last goodnight, and therefore needs to be our choice how things should be managed.

Personally, I don’t like to be fussed over. I prefer to do as much as possible for myself, even if it appears I’m struggling. I will let you know when I need help. I need that independence to get my strength back. If I let you do too much, it’s like saying, “I give up!” which is never a good thing. I think it’s essential for a cancer patient to remain emotionally strong and independent to survive, if not be down right stubborn.

I’m compelled to write this, because once again a fellow tongue cancer patient’s life hangs in the balance. The harsh realities are rearing their ugly heads. Bob Pemberton, is a friend and fellow tongue cancer patient. I met Bob after I completed my last surgery, while still sporting my feeding tube. We had a long “talk” about life with tongue cancer and the necessity of a feeding tube.

Bob, is someone I look up to after being through so much more than I have at this point. When I now look at Bob, I see what my future might be. He’s like the senior classmen and I the novice freshman student.

I generally maintain this blog to surround readers with my life and my cancer issues…Me, Me, Me! But, today I am inclined to open up the door and let Bob in. Not just Bob, but other readers and fellow cancer patients. I thought I would set the stage and have an open, raw, discussion with a man who is facing a death sentence. Something has compelled me to do this. I can’t tell you why, but I think either selfishly I need it, or I feel that others need to hear it. Especially those who are healthy and think they have something to worry about. Perhaps we’ll even touch on the meaning of life.

For me this is a personal project. I wanted to enroll the help of several people who are also surrounded by cancer in some way, to interview Bob. My goal is to obtain an open and honest dialog about doctors, treatments, and what it is like when you’re not sure if there is a tomorrow. For those of you who get upset because you get caught in a traffic jam, or have lost your home or job in this bad economy…look out, this might just change how you view the rest of your life!

If you had the opportunity to ask a dying man life altering questions, would you, could you? In Part 2 of this blog post you will find six seasoned cancer veterans who volunteered to step up and ask Bob some riveting and emotional questions. Bob has agreed that EVERYTHING is on the table for discussion. This has not been easy for any of us involved. So, stay tuned for the most enlightening story I’ve ever written.

©2009 Brian N. Walin (All rights reserved)

LINKS: PART 2 - PART 3

You BRAT!

I had a request from my massage therapist to write something funny because she needed a laugh. She thinks I'm funny for some reason.

It's not easy for me to write on demand, in fact it's extremely difficult and it's even more difficult to be funny at the same time. So I dredged my memory banks for a story that might put a smile on her face.

This is for you Maryann:

Right On Target!

While going through radiation and chemotherapy, the skin on my neck began to break down. The radiation burns were causing redness, swelling, bleeding, and excruciating pain. I used all kinds of products to help ease the pain, keep the skin moist, and a blue patch with a gel to keep the skin cool. All highly uncomfortable, but useful in someway. My world was nothing more than my Houston apartment, a medical bus, and the hospital during these many months.

Because I was on a feeding tube and all of my supplies arrived by UPS, it was almost unnecessary to leave my apartment. I had a lot of help from a wonderful nurse, and friends who had flown in to stay with me during the roughest times. I was very self conscious of my appearance because my face was so bandaged up, skinny as a rail, and fatigued from being poisoned and micro-waved.

One afternoon, I needed to venture out for some simple things. I was alone and no help was available. With my face and neck covered with bandages like a patch quilt, my weary body boarded the bus and ventured off to the local Target.

While shopping I noticed many people staring, but it wasn't as bad as I assumed it would be. I found people to be kinder, more helpful, but also very curious. I get so tired repeating myself to strangers. Sometimes it can be annoying, but being a curious person myself, I understand that their questions are harmless and more concerned in nature.

Except for one young man being pushed around the store in a shopping cart by his obviously frazzled mother. This boy was maybe four years old and extremely unruly...AKA: a BRAT! I followed behind as the frantic mother pushed the cart while her boy attempted to pull everything off the shelf he could reach. He was loud and obnoxious, demanding, and disruptive. He protested loudly, "I want that! I want that! Give it to me!" as his mother picked the items off the floor and kindly said to him, "You have enough for now. No more for today."

Personally, I would have beat the crap out of the kid at this point. I've NEVER been a big believer in "time-outs." Give him something to remember! Guess that's why I've never had children.

As his poor mother bent over to pick up the plethora of items strewn across the floor, he got a good glimpse of me all bandaged up in my Sunday finest. My expression was of displeasure for this young man as we had an eye to eye showdown.

He was seated in the shopping cart, facing backwards, looking directly at me. He stared me straight in the eye with a sneer and said in his bratty voice, "What happened to you?"

So I told the little boy my story. I knew I had to be gentle and make sure I chose my words carefully, so he would thoroughly understand..."My mother beat the crap out of me because I was acting up in a Target store, and now I have to be bandaged up the rest of my life!"

The expression on his face was sheer horror as he put back what he was holding in his hand neatly back on the shelf, as if in slow motion, without ever losing eye contact with me. At this point his mother wheeled herself around, probably readying herself with a "how dare to talk to my child that way" until she saw my bandaged face. Her expression went from anger to almost pity. Then, with a gentle smile, she silently mouthed the words, "Thank you!"

When she turned back around to face her little terror, her son's hands were clasped calmly in his lap and not a word out of either one of them as they continued down the isle in a slow calming bliss. I probably scarred him for life and his mother has me to thank!

The Good or Bad Quandary

by Brian N. Walin

Who is to say if you’re good or you’re bad? You have to know now, with the life that you’ve had. You want to be good. You know that you should, but sometimes do bad things because that you could. They weren’t the right things, I’m sure you must know, and you could have changed them, despite what you show.

You are in charge of your destiny. You have to be wise and not choose poorly. You have the ability to help those in need. You have to try hard to do a good deed. It’s not all that easy doing things well. It sometimes takes longer, only time it will tell.

We all have our choices, they’re good or they’re bad, and sometimes the wrong ones can make you quite mad. But curbing your anger and channeling it well can help you immensely when going through hell. Learn from your anger and try to be smart. It’s not all that easy. It’s kind of an art.

But as you keep going through life you will see, that if you keep trying it becomes quite easy. Good or bad, it’s really your choice. You will soon learn that you have your own voice. The choices are yours. There’s no one to blame. Don’t make that excuse. It’s really quite lame.

The riches of life come from choices we make, the good and the bad, and paths that we take. So, if you choose paths you know that you should, you can answer yourself, if you’re bad or you’re good.

©2005 Brian N. Walin (All rights reserved)

1/24/05

Peace B

Stupid Signs

School is back in session. Please drive carefully, even if you don't know the exact time!
Beware of the Mountain Dragon. I don't think we had those when I was in school.
And most importantly...Kids...STAY IN SHCOOL SCHOOL!

There's A Mouse In My What?

I thought I would spend some time with mom, to help her recuperate. In the drive sits my father's old car, still in the family since he died. One afternoon mom had to go to see her doctor. I packed her up walker, oxygen tank, and all. While I was putting on her seat belt. I noticed some rust flakes on the floor. I thought, "I better vacuum that up when we get back."

After spending the afternoon driving around from doctor to dinner and then getting lost, we finally arrived back at the house. (I don't know the area as well as I thought!) With her oxygen tank almost depleted, she was ready for bed. It was 5PM!

As tired as I was, I put on my glasses and got out the vacuum to clean up the flakes of rust off the floor of the car. OMG! It wasn't rust! It was mouse crap! That's right, Mickey and Minnie had moved in and crapped EVERYWHERE!

HOLY CRAP!

When I looked at the floor of the backseat, I almost tossed it. I couldn't believe the amount of poop! We drove all afternoon in mouse shit! That's what happens when you still have one cataract and don't wear your reading glasses!

I have no problem driving. If you remember my new lens implant lets me see Mars! I just can't see five feet in front of me. I can't believe I thought it was rust! Never, would I ever think mice would have moved into a car, without paying rent! This clean-up was going to take awhile.

I thought it best to disconnect the car battery, to avoid draining it while I had all the doors open, which left the interior lights on. When I popped the hood, to my surprise, those little buggers had built a nest under the air cleaner!

There was paper, twigs, berries, palm seeds, small rocks (?) pieces of bark, and leaves. I'm surprised we didn't set the engine on fire while we drove to the doctor's! I should have waited until the mice were in residence and then fired up the engine. We could have had "mousemallows" giving a whole new meaning to S'mores! I don't think Girl Scouts offer a badge for that.

Whatcha Doin?

 I couldn't get it all out by hand, the material was everywhere. So, I began to vacuum out the mess from the engine bay. While I was sucking out the nest, a neighbor wandered by.

"Whatcha doin?" he asked.

OK, think fast..."Well, the engine looked a little dusty to me. I'm a clean freak doncha know?" I snapped. He gave me a funny look. I continued, "Don't you vacuum your engine regularly? You'll get better gas mileage. You probably don't even Pledge your valve covers, do you?" He walked away.

After I was done sucking the engine, I put on some rubber gloves and a mask and attacked the interior. A neighborhood boy strolled by walking his dog.

"Whatcha doin?" he asked, poking his nose in the car with his dog sniffing around.

"Just vacuuming up mouse crap. Whatchu doin?" I replied.

"Just pickin up dog crap. Mom said I have to walk the dog! I hate curbing Willie, it's gross!" He quipped with a crinkle of his nose, holding up a plastic bag for me to examine Willie's freshly made...well you know.

"Guess we're both having a crappy day!" I grinned.

What is with everybody in this neighborhood? Can't anybody just say, "Hello" and keep moving? I met two strangers and our conversation centers around shit! Go figure!

As much as I love little critters, I had to get rid of them before they destroyed the car! With the engine and interior cleaned, I set a mouse trap on the floor, complete with peanut butter. I really want to steam clean the interior. I can't stand the thought of what's still on the carpet after vacuuming, but I have to catch the lil rodents first! A week went by and nothing, not a squeak, not an eek, not even a creak! I was so obsessed with catching them, I couldn't sleep!

With mice being nocturnal, most active at night, I went out and checked the trap at 2AM! With flashlight in hand, I peered through the car window, hoping to score me some mouse!

One night, a small white car pulled up, flashed a bright light into my eyes and a stern voice said, "Whatcha doin there?" That must be the standard greeting around here!

It was a security guard. I wasn't about to tell him, I'm hunting mice... at 2AM... in a car! So, I showed him my ID, explained who I was, and that was enough for him.

The next morning, on the floor of the car was a large frog, well... the remnants of one. Only the head was left along with the leg bones, devoid of meat!

The very night I was being interrogated by security, those little buggers threw a party and brought home carry out! They dined on frog legs and peanut butter. Yup, that's right, they ate the peanut butter, but didn't spring the trap! I wonder which wine goes with frog legs and peanut butter anyway? And once again, after a heavy meal, what's next? A good, healthy shit! I never knew mice could crap so much! It's the War of the Turds!

Once again, I vacuumed the interior and the beginnings of another nest in the engine. This time they nibbled some engine air hoses. Cha-Ching! These things can cost you a lot of money if left unchecked! I bought TWO foot long by six inch sticky "rat" traps, set a dollop of peanut butter in the middle of each and once again, baited the snap trap to be safe.

Another week went by. Nightly, I would check the car, flashlight in hand. By now the security guard just smiled and waved as he drove by finding me in robe and slippers, staring into a car window with a flashlight...at 2AM... hunting mice. There was no activity within.

Then one night, I noticed one of the traps was flipped over. No sign of any mice. As I slowly turned the trap over, there in the sticky goop was nothing more than two tiny little hand prints, like the kind you'd find in cement, in Hollywood, in front of Grauman's Chinese Theatre. That was it, not even a turd... as if to say, "F-U, I'm not playin none of yo games!" I swear that mouse gave me the finger in the sticky glue!

More traps, more peanut butter, more waving to security! A few days later... success! There in the goop was one of the fattest mice I had ever seen! It couldn't even fit in the standard mouse trap. I'm sure there is a male somewhere, but I hit the mother lode! It all began to make sense. Only a pregnant woman would crave peanut butter and frog legs!

After vacuuming once more and a thorough steam cleaning. I took the car in for engine repairs. The mechanic said, "This is the cleanest old car I've ever seen!" I wonder why? Doesn't everybody vacuum their engine and steam clean their entire interior? Damn! I forgot to Pledge!

Oh, and if one more person here asks, "Whatcha doin?" I'm going postal!


CARS AND MICE DON'T MIX!

Peace,

B

The Passion of Dance

Recently, So You Think You Can Dance featured two contestants, Melissa Sandvig and Ade Obayomi performing an outstanding tribute to those "living" with breast cancer. This stunning performance was choreographed by Tyce DiOriol, who has worked with Janet Jackson, Paul Abdul, Jennifer Lopez, Ricky Martin, and more. It is obvious from the movement of this piece, that Tyce has some connection with a breast cancer patient. I found it to be a stunning representation of art with purpose and meaning.

The Cancer Chronicles 40

Everything Is A-OK!I Gotta Feeling Tonight's Gonna Be A Good Night!
Sorry for the long delay in posts, but life has been rather hectic. It's a lot of work to keep living!

I had to check on mom as soon as I left the hospital. She was fine, but still retaining water. Two weeks had gone by and I heard nothing from my doctor. So, I sent him an email with "Remember me?" He returned with an "All clear!"

The cancer still has not returned and the pain in my back is nothing more than premature arthritis! I never thought I'd be happy to hear I only have premature arthritis! There is still a problem with low red and white blood cell counts, but that seems to be minor at this point. I guess that's why I feel weak and tired all the time. The bill for my two day excursion: a little over $14,000! It's criminal! Sure insurance will pay most of it, but there's still a 30% co-pay!

Meanwhile, mom was put in the hospital for one week to see if they could remove the excess water from her body with heavy diuretics, in an effort to curtail another congestive heart failure episode. She came out in worse shape than she went in, but most of the water gain was diminished.

I told my mother about my MRI ordeal and how stressful it was. She said, "Oh, they're not that bad!"

Preparing for her Open MRI. Look at that smile!
She also had an MRI of her spine, but they used an "open" MRI machine. When I asked my doctor why I had to be subjected to the coffin, I was told that the sarcophagus like machine gives a more detailed image. Personally, I think that's crap!

The doctor reads mom's scans as she rests comfortably in an Open MRI
Next time, I want an OPEN MRI!
Peace B

The Cancer Chronicles 39

I'm In The Army Now!

As I ascended upon Houston Wednesday, my one goal was to have a fantastic dinner. It would be the only day I’m free to do so. Thursday and Friday are packed with appointments and travel. My very favorite Houston restaurant came to mind: Pappadeaux, with its own New Orleans French Quarter fla-va and hot jazz playing in the background to fill your tender ears. If you haven’t tried it, it is a must. Remember, this recommendation is coming from a man with ½ a tongue!

After arriving at the hotel and getting my bearings I found the nearest Pappadeaux, located at 2525 South Loop West, in Houston, only a short 4 block walk from the hotel. I called a cab! WHAT? You think I’m gonna walk that far?

It was 5 PM local time and the place was packed. I had a 20 minute wait that early in the evening. I’m not sure what their profit margin is, but the place looks like a gold mine to me! I’m a very picky connoisseur of restaurants having spent 20 years in the field. I know good food and good service! The General Manager is Zach, but tell the Night Manager, Brian (we’re everywhere!) that “Brian the tongueless cancer guy sent ya!”

I could already taste what I would savor for dinner. I shall begin with a bowl Lobster Bisque Soup, loaded with large dime size chunks of Lobster. Then bring on a Creole Crab Cake in a capered butter sauce swimming with New Orleans Crawfish. I know I had crab cake for lunch. Ya gotta problem with that? Not me! For dinner, ½ pound of freshly steamed King Crab resting over a bed of pasta. Accompanying the crab was a small candle lit Jacuzzi, filled with melted butter. Time for your bath boys! H-E-A-V-E-N!

With gas lights illuminating the packed house and soft jazz dancing in my ears, the meal was unforgettable. I didn’t finish until after 8 PM, because it takes so much longer for me to eat, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying each tasty "little" morsel. I was so full, I looked pregnant!

I had to get to bed. The morning would come quickly and I had a lot on my plate tomorrow. The kind of stuff you can’t eat! After such a relaxing flight and a jazz filled dining experience, I rolled into bed and mentally prepared for my 10 hour day of tests, scans, needles, and radioactive fillers.

BUZZZZZ and there’s the alarm! Off I go to MDA. Stay positive, stay strong, ah…stay awake! I’m so tired this morning. I catch the shuttle and arrive on time. First stop, blood draw. Last time this was done, they had trouble getting a good vein. The chemo tends to mess with them. Today I’m told I have good veins! Wow! That’s great news! Who ever thought I’d be excited about veins?

NEXT…

After a short wait I’m called for my X-Rays. Wonder if I have good lungs? Strip to your waist, don a hospital scrub and find an X-Ray machine to love. I’m sure many of you have been through this, but it always reminds me of elementary school when you finally get a girlfriend and your friends egg you on to hug and kiss her.

It’s awkward, as I hear the tech say, “Closer, chest flat to the screen…clo-ser. (He pushes me forward a bit, straightens out my hips.) Now reach around the back with your shoulders placed firmly against the machine and grab on to those handles. Place your chin in the space above.” This is getting pretty intimate…dude I didn’t bring any condoms!

APPLAUSE… now everyone reach for a cigarette! OK, I DO NOT condone smoking, but you get the idea.

I don’t have another exam until 4 o’clock. I figured I’d could go early and get the CT scans over with, but no, they would not take me early and suggested I have lunch. Got no problem with that one!!!

When you’re scheduled for CT scans, you’re instructed not to eat 3 hours prior. I’m closer to 4, so I’ll head to the MDA cafeteria. There is a great spread here. They have a Smoke House station with BBQ Chicken and Ribs, a Pizza station, an Asian stir-fry station, a Pasta station, a Home Cooked Meal station with meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and soups, a Grill station for the burger lover, a well stocked salad bar, sold by the pound, and a Chick-fil-A (Huh? What’s that doing here???)

Out of all to choose from, I thought a well dressed salad would be best after making a pig out of myself at Pappadeaux! I grab for the fresh baby spinach, add some romaine, red onions, black olives, carrots, broccoli, a helping of cheddar cheese, garnished with grilled chicken…Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a sesame bun! Just kidding…no bun.

This will be my only meal today. It turned out to be a one and a half pound salad after drenching it with Ken’s Ranch Dressing. The dressing is a little on the thin side, Hidden Valley is thicker and preferable to me. Not that I’m that picky at this stage in my cancer career! Maybe I’ll become a restaurant critic.

A peaceful resting place

After allowing my stomach some time off, I return for my CT scans. I’m mentally prepared. This scan isn’t the rough one. The MRI after the CT is the problem for me. If you read the post about my first MRI, you’d understand.

I fill out the paperwork answering all the standard background questions. The very last one: “Is there anything we could do to make this experience better for you?” LOL… I wrote, “Yes, find someone to take the exam for me!” Well??? They asked@! Besides, that's a dumb question to ask BEFORE your exam.

About 20 minutes before I’m called to have an IV line placed in my arm, my phone rings. It’s mom’s neighbor. “I’m not supposed to tell you, but…your mother’s levels are off and her room is too warm. The nurse thinks it affects her breathing.”

Oh my God! What levels? What’s wrong? Her doctor added another diuretic this week because she was retaining too much water. I was aware of that. What “Levels?” All I got was, “I’m not sure, just her levels are off.” Now what am I suppose to do with that information at this moment?

PEOPLE! If you are ever faced with calling a cancer patient regarding their mother, knowing they are having a battery of tests done that day…DO NOT CALL, unless it’s an absolute emergency and then, second guess yourself! There is NOTHING that can be done thousands of miles away with an IV stuck in my arm, but worry!

ZING!!!! SPLAT!!! SHIT!! STRESS! Up went the blood pressure. Of course I had to call mom. She explained, “Everything is fine, just having another bad day.” I ask, “Is your room too hot? You do know how to use the thermostat, right?” “Yes,” she replies, “I don’t like it too cold; it’s bad for my arthritis.”

This is nothing new for mom; she’s lived with bad days for years. Many elderly do. She has a nurse that comes to the house and a caregiver to bathe and do some housekeeping along with a machine that wakes her up every morning and makes her monitor her blood pressure, oxygen level (O2 sat.), and weight, checking for water retention due to her COPD and CHF (Congestive Heart Failure.) Then the machine asks a series of questions about how she feels and if her doctor has recently changed any of her meds. This information gets transmitted back to a nurse’s station daily and reviewed.

Mom is well monitored and cared for. The water gain might land her in the hospital, if the diuretic fails to accomplish its goal, but it’s not the first time. This is just another day in mom’s long history with her medical issues. To be fair to the neighbor, I love her dearly, and this obviously new to her, but when you’re as sick and old as mom is…well it’s just another day. She’s lived over 80 years and smoked for almost 70. This is her payment and she’s taking it very well, I think.

I called the nurse to be safe. I was told mom is having difficulty with water retention and breathing. Mom has a tendency to skip a few of the doctor ordered 4 a day breathing treatments. Another price paid for being lazy.

Now back to our regularly scheduled program...

I’m seated in a comfy chair as a kind nurse places an IV line into my right arm. Once again I hear, “You’ve got good veins.” Could it be because my blood pressure is up at the moment!?

Bio-weapon "ARMED" and ready, SIR!

I wait to be called in a room with others prepping for their exams, mostly consisting of the lower extremities. Not the cramming you’d do to pass a calc. exam. More like: drink this barium crap that tastes like chalky shit and wait for the 30 minutes, then drink some more! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! I guess it’s more like a college drinking game in the fact that you’re not alone. The main difference is…nobody cares about winning this game. Just get it the hell over with!

Fortunately, my CT exam is of the head and neck and I only have to watch the drinking game. I feel lucky because I get the warm and fuzzy exam that makes you feel like you have happy sunshine running through your veins, just before you get the sensation you're about to wet your pants! (Read about my first MRI in  The Cancer Chronicles 2 and The Cancer Chronicles 3) The radioactive iodine used for contrast gives this feeling when injected. It’s primarily used to enhance and outline blood vessels or highlight soft tissues or organs in the body, so that they can be seen more easily.

A few hours after arriving to the college frat party, I’m off to the next, being the party animal that I am today. I’m still attired in my hospital scrubs with my IV line intact, ready for my next adventure. What a site…MRI’s here I come!

My MRI is scheduled in another building, still part of MD Anderson. This one is for my back and lower lumbar. As always, a wait. I check my mail and blog with a few friends to try to relax. I’m so nervous about this one. It’s like being placed in a coffin for two hours and forced to hear all kinds of loud, obnoxious sounds.

The last time I had an MRI, I was in the process of first being diagnosed and it was a grueling procedure. The only thing that made it bearable was the music from the headphones. Some people opt for a sedative, which if you’re claustrophobic, I suggest. But, if you are alone they won’t administer one. So, I'm SOL. Until the phone call, I was doing well with my stress. Now…not so good.

The enemy's lair - CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET!

I hear my name and rise to the occasion. They check my IV line, make sure I’m stripped of all metallic objects, and whisk me in to meet my new best friend. Keep your friends close and, your enemies closer! I’ll be in my tomb for two hours. This is no picnic. Small problem, where are my headphones?

“Oh, we don’t have headphones, Sir.”

WHAT?? I SAID…WHAT??? ONE MORE TIME…WHAT??? Big problem! Crap! You expect me to be sentenced to lie still for two hours encased in a tube you can’t budge in and be subjected to the obscene noises it belts out without the distraction of music?

The sweat beads off my brow. Not only am I leaking, it’s hot in here or maybe I’m still flush from the radioactive iodine still swimming in my veins from the last E-Ticket ride. Anybody remember what an E-Ticket is? HINT…Think Disney.

I cannot believe a hospital such as MD Anderson, with their reputation, and money (some of it mine!) can’t take a simple measure to help ensure a patient remain stress free. TWO HOURS! SHIT! Remember the question BEFORE the exam: “Is there anything we could do to make this experience better for you?” HA!

I lay flat, my IV again checked, carefully shrouded in a blanket as if being prepared for my funeral and slowly I enter what will be TWO HOURS OF HELL without music! For me, music has always helped me leave a currently bad situation, and place myself on a beach somewhere having a cocktail with Jimmy Buffett in Margaretville. But not today, there will be no cocktail hour.

As I enter the coffin of doom, the room is warm, I’m told not to move. FOR TWO HOURS! Less than an inch from my nose is the sarcophagus from hell. I’m hot, and oh so tired. I fall asleep for the first half. I awake to a friendly voice, “Now, don’t move. I’m going to inject the dye for the second half of your exam. Don’t move, please!”

Move? Did I move? Is it over? Did we just start? OH, we are half way through it, not so bad.

Fifteen minutes into the second hour, I begin to sweat profusely. Still shrouded in my burial blanket and I can’t move. I feel an eyelash or something ticking at my left eye. My left leg flinches uncontrollably. DON’T MOVE BRIAN! I’m fine! I’m fine! Just turn up the music. I’m fine. SHIT, NO MUSIC! Aw crap! More sweat.

The sounds of my enemy become louder. Bumping and grinding, ratta-tat-tat, machine gun fire, jack hammers. Buzzing…I swear I hear the NBC theme tune, Ding-Dong-Ding. AK-47’s, tank fire, rockets, ratta-tat-tat, BANG! Now, a washing machine out of balance? SMACK! Ding-Dong-Ding (NBC calling.) Ratta-tat-tat!

Legions of little green men army men approach in full force. Mortar fire! "INCOMING!" More bumping! More grinding! BANG!

"Shall we return fire, Sir?" My leg flinches.
"Stay still! Do not move!" More sweat, my nose itches! When the hell is this going to be over?

Dead silence. Thank God! With each silent pause, the technician utters the length of the next scan. “Six minutes, Sir.” Rapid machine gun fire! "Fire in the Hole!@ Run for your lives!" Don’t move Brian! OMG!

Silence...Is it over? “Twelve more minutes, Sir” SHIT! Something about the word “more” sends a quiver down my spine under inspection. I don’t think I can last…PLEASE! Release the bio-weapon!



Silence…Is it over? Check for casualties!
“We are all done, Sir.” What’s with the “we” shit? You just pushed buttons. I won the fucking war!



I emerge from my containment, victorious! Overheated and soaking wet, I bolt like a caged animal, staying long enough to allow the IV to be removed.

It’s now 11 PM. I’ve been here for twelve hours and all the hotel shuttles have stopped running hours ago. Don’t these blood suckers at MDA ever sleep? In the lobby, a very nice security guard calls the Campus Police to take me home, as if I was drinking and driving. Which at this point I think my drinking buddies at the CT had a better party than I.

While I wait for the pokey-man, the security guard introduces himself. He is from India and moved to Houston 25 years ago. He hands me his business card for his second job: “Srinvas Koumounduri – Sitarist” He’s only the second person I’ve ever met that plays a sitar professionally.

As the police arrive, Srinvas opens the door of the van with a slight bow, hands pressed together, palms touching, fingers pointed upwards in front of his chest, and with peaceful respect he whispers, “Namaste.” I reply in traditional fashion, “Namaste.” A fitting end, to a rather stressful day.

Namaste, my friends.
B

**The origins of “Namaste” are derived from Hinduism and in Nepal. It has multi-religious and cultural meanings:

1. I bow to you.

2. I respect that divinity within you that is also within me.


3. I honor the place in you in which the entire Universe dwells, I honor the place in you which is of Love, of Integrity, of Wisdom and of Peace.


4. All that is best and highest in me greets/salutes all that is best and highest in you.