How Would I Live If My Life Was a Reality Show

I'm sitting here at my desk with a lap top glaringly accusing me of work not yet complete.  A thought creeps into my brain as I stare mindlessly at photons excited.  

I've not had good news today from my Onc but that news isn't the driver behind this question. I wonder if that news has made me wonder though.

The question?  I wonder how each of us would live, or had lived,  if we knew someone would make a documentary of our life.

Talk to you later

Salmon Ashes and Inspiration

Recently I was fortunate enough to spend a week at the family cabin located way up in the North Central Cascades of Washington State.

Clear crisp mornings seemed to make the fall spectrum glow.  The first time I slept in this cabin was the night of my sixteenth birthday.  The place and time has formed me, nurtured me, matured me, and basically made me.

It is always an amazing place and it didn’t fail to surprise me this trip.  I met some salmon, every October they visit and one day up at the end of the road right on the border of the wilderness area I met a man who was there to bury his mom.  Like I may not have mentioned odd things happen up here.

Both cases, salmon and burial guy, demonstrated a conviction and determination that made me wonder and created a Déjà vu that I couldn’t place at first.

Take the spawning salmon I watched building their nests.  They were born out front of the cabin and swam downriver to the ocean avoiding damns and predators.  They, the salmon, mucked about in the ocean for a while, got horny and decided to swim back home.

On their four river, one lake, 532 river mile trip they avoided nets, hooks [mostly mine] turbines of about seven dams then taking two left turns and a right made it in front of a cabin in the middle of nowhere to build their nests, screw and die.  Amazing!  That determination.  That conviction.  Déjà vu.

Some days later in the long shadows of fall I drove up to the end of the road where trail-heads lead to some of the most remote land in Washington.  Standing on a Forest Service walking bridge I looked up river to a waterfall and downstream to another.  There I met a man.

He walked limping with a stick and as he came down the hill to the middle of the bridge where I stood he said “I talk a lot.”  He went on to explain that he talks a lot because for a year and a half he was stroke ridden and could not communicate.  Wow, here was a man walking and talking in remote Washington that couldn’t do either for a year and a half.

Without questioning he explained to me that his mom died a week ago and she wanted to be buried up there [don’t freak he had ashes, I hope].  His unwavering determination and conviction was another déjà vu.

On the way back down to the cabin I kept wondering about the déjà vu thing.  Finally it dawned on me.  My déjà vu was what I’ve seen in the Chemo Room, determination and conviction.  

No matter how ill the renter of the Chemo Chair of the day, if you look, if you have the balls to look, deep into the renters eyes you will see under the pain, illness, and misery conviction and determination.

I’ve started looking the world in the eye because I learned those few days in the mountains, coupled with some days renting a Chemo Chair, that determination and conviction add up to inspiration. 

Though on some days it seems I have none of either.  If I look deep into my eyes while looking at myself in a mirror I see determination and conviction and I know what that equation sums to…inspiration.

Talk to you later and good thoughts to those on the East Coast.

Parenthood and The Caregiver

I have a ton of thoughts I want to share, but lately it seems the days have been filtered much the same as a water painter would do in a  wash of grey.  Okay.  Just an excuse for being unmotivated. 

Last night we "spun" up an episode of a T.V. show we watch when our life allows.  Can anyone say On Demand.

The show is about a multi-generational-dysfunctional family.  I think, it is more like a show about any of our families or families that we know.  High energy doesn't mean dysfunctional in my book.  

By the time the show was over there wasn't a dry eye in the house.  I can't stand inane TV but this time the writers got it right.

Let me set it up as quick as I can.  Picture a whirlwind of poopy diapers, elderly drivers, adoption, aspergers, candy machines, misplaced love, unrequited sixteen year old love, trying to manage angst into energy, grandpa's hidden heart condition, man too young for woman, man too old for same woman etc.  In the center of this maelstrom of life is a woman and husband that just found out she has breast cancer.

Why am I writing about this?  Well, it is one episode on T.V. that the producers, writers and actors got right.  Remember.  Somehow they, the writers, captured the "where do I go now" feeling after you first  hear the heart sinking word....Cancer.


God love the caregiver, whether your care giver is the love of your life, a family caregiver, or the insurance idea of care giver I hope they all love you and want the best for you.  

The one's of us with the disease need to remember, just like it is for ourselves, it is the same for those that love us...battling the Effing Evil Empire is a new thing and everyone is scared and it is a team effort.

So back to the episode.The show wife, faced her husband in tears [I was sobbing at this point] and said:

"[character] you have to promise me you can't always tell me everything is going to be all right.  You have to let me be scared [her word] when I need to. Because some days I'm going to be scared and some days I'm not going to feel like things are going to be all right."

On the days you are "scared" remember that your care giver is sleepless the night before wondering if they've done everything they can for you comfort...and they are "scared". 

This disease really really sucks.
 

Talk to you later



 

Zoladex, Shep and Want To

Sorry for the interruption my Zoladex inquiring readers.  Club 815 was one of the most amazing things to happen to anyone.  It was especially amazing to those fighting the evil empire and their care givers who fight alongside. 

First let me say I’m not a Doctor, don’t play one on T.V. and certainly don’t fake one on this blog.  Any side effects or anything I say can be and very well might be completely bogus.  All I have to go by is what I've read and what happens to me while fighting the Evil Empire here to fore known, thanks to a very close friend as the “Effing Evil Empire”.  Short hand from here on out will be E³

I don’t know if any of you guys ever had a male dog.  If you did, you’d remember that dog being lithe, fast, maybe a great pointer and just a little nuts [yes I did that on purpose sorry] jumping into frozen December ponds and retrieving birds you could have dropped thirty feet closer. Recall the stink eye you'd get while your dog came into the blind?  If that isn’t a testosterone booster T.V. commercial I don’t know what is.

Later though, you get married, become successful and at every dinner party old Shep is humping a leg.  When Shep is doing his thing to the leg of your wife’s boss, well, enough becomes enough and you are told to take Shep to the Vet. 

Remember what happened to Shep after that visit to the Vet?  He grew a great big belly that made you think he might have pups any minute.  He’d lie around and occasionally lick his….never mind.  He became a little forgetful, not always in the moment.  The neighbors hot poodle would come prancing by and all Shep could do is roll over a sigh.  Remember that?

Well guys you are not Shep.  Testosterone is Miracle Grow for prostate cancer.   If you are unfortunate enough to end up fighting the Prostate version of E³ you will find yourself in some Shep like situations due to the Zoladex [or any other hormone treatment] hopefully none involving your wife’s boss’s leg. 

The fact is your body will change tremendously.  Hot flashes that drench your linen to the point you begin to understand what every woman lives with sooner or later.  Hot flashes in a meeting when soon all in attendance think your sweat soaked face means you have Ebola and want to run screaming. Muscle mass.  Patience....and so on.

I’ve lost most of my body hair.  I’ve grown in some disturbingly womanly places and shrank in other of the manly.  Emotionally if you cried when watching “Old ‘Yeller” you won’t cry any harder.  For me, the lack of testosterone makes me more aggressive i some situations though I’ll cry as I always have when watching “Where The Red Fern Grows.”  There is no chance, none at all, that I will be singing in the Vienna Boys Choir.  I still can't miraculously knit, crochet or quilt.

It is, and will be different for every guy; this subtraction of testosterone, but think of your partner.  Your partner isn’t suffering from the “I don’t want to.”  Your partner is suffering from the ”I very much want to.”  Believe it or not many men are fortunate enough to rise to the occasion when persuaded.  Others, with a little imagination, may have to come up with more inventive ways assuaging their partners “want to.” 

There are certainly other side effects, some life threatening, but I think the Shep Effect probably weighs heaviest on the minds of both patient and care giver.  E³, especially the prostate kind, introduces a huge dose of humility in us men.  Rephrase, any invasion of E³ introduces humility in anyone’s life man, woman or Shep.

Shep.  Shep.  Down boy down!

Talk to you later.

If anyone wants more info they can email me with questions.

Club 815 Powered By E.D.P.A.

Dawn broke that sunny September Equinox morning with professional anticipation.  The long shadows of the empty starting line stretched east to west with equal anticipation.  The day was on hand when teams of warriors would face hours of unknown in a chase for personal best and support for their charity.

As the shadows fled east and the breeze kicked up from the west one could hear the clicking of armor being donned.  The skirch of Velcro, swish of nylon and Lycra all for that protection from a sudden fall on the battle field that is the Gran Fondo Hood River!

Amongst the hoard preparing for the assault were a particularly special group made up of seven men and a woman.  These men and woman from the four corners of the United States and made up the intrepid team known as Club 815 powered by E.D.P.A.

As the morning wore on warriors donned numbers, helmets and inexplicable to the novice [me] sundries prior to approaching the start line.  I’d like to write something like, as the mighty steeds awaited in the cold morning air breathing silver streams of angst as they….well they were just bikes and while I think there was one bike on the team that needed resuscitation none of the bikes exhaled.  

 Various charity announcements were made.  National Anthem was sung and then… the hoards of hundreds were off.

The course wended its way through the cleavage of two of the largest volcanoes in the Pacific Northwest Cascades.  There were major climbs one of which at mile 62 of the 80 was a 6% grade over seven miles.  On this day that climb was done in the face of a gorge wind pushing back around 45 mph. 

During the ride members of the team accomplished what they set out to do.  One member I know proved something very important to his self.  Hell, one member even crashed and fortunately wasn’t severely injured and said it was worth it.  When the riders came down the back side of the aforementioned hill the wind was so hard in their face they had to pedal just to make way.

Big deal you say.  You say “every bike ride has those stories.”  Yes they do.  What is so so special, that I’m not even sure Club 815 powered by E.D.P.A. knows it, is that they were the vanguard of a, to me, amazing movement. 

You see, they were the catalyst to bring hundreds of people together to support someone in need.  Selflessly Club 815 rode the course knowing they had asked for and received selfless contributions for Club 815’s primary cause.

For those of you who supported their cause, Club 815 didn’t let you down. Over 80 miles they rode they rode with pain, stamina and conviction [and a lot of humor].  We saw it with our own eyes from the relative comfort of our pickup truck.

815’s conviction and the unbelievable support from those who didn’t physical ride with them but were there none the less was, in our eyes, one of the most humbling experiences in our lives.

We know how humbling, because we know who you and Club 815 are lending support to.  It is my wife and I.   We can’t possibly thank any of you, no matter how you rode with Club 815, enough but we sure wish we could.  Thank you. 

Let Me See...Zoladex or Lupron? #Zoladex #Lupron

Two things dawned on me today, well three, I haven’t written for a long time and what I have written hasn’t been very helpful to the man facing prostate cancer armed with only “What the hell do I do now?” 

 I’m thinking I have a couple of those type of readers and today I can’t give you the answer of what to do but I can tell you one of the things you may face.. .. Hormone therapy.

Ever put Miracle Grow on your lawn?  You apply, walk in and get a glass of ice water, walk back to the front porch and say “Where the hell is my machete?”  You can’t even see your mailbox [male get it?] for the jungle your lawn has become.

Well Miracle Grow, that’s what prostate cancer cells think of testosterone.  Testosterone is the fertilizer; the anabolic kick your ass NFL steroid of rampant and aggressive prostate cancer.  Testosterone is the rocket fuel that sends Titan rocket payloads into prostate orbit.

So, what’s the proscribed treatment to stop testosterone production in a man?  Well there’s the physical.  Take him to a vet for an orchiectomy [look it up] just like you would your puppy.  Actually one would probably, as a human, have better results with a doctor.  However I suppose you favorite Vet has more experience.  

Or you can have your body fooled that you are testosterone laden on a Samson like level  thus convincing your body….to stop making that stuff by applying  a drug called Zoladex or Lupron.

I’ve had both.  Upon diagnosis the urologist had this pretty little lass jab me with a needle and said I was good for three months [Lupron].  Three months later a prettier [yup with my libido at that time they were still winsome lasses] nurse at my oncologist walks in to insert, INSERT, the Zolodex under the skin into the fat that is my belly.   

What the hell I say?  How about Lupron?  Nope the hospital doesn’t have a deal with that particular pharma company so it’s Zoladex for me. A rice size piece of Zoladex is inserted under your skin with a railroad spike.

Go ahead zoom in.

Then they hope you don't bleed out.

Trust me.  If they ask prior to the spike if you would like Lidacaine say yes and no the process just isn't that bad.  Think of your biopsy...I thought so.

Tomorrow [I promise I'll write] the effects of hormonal treatment.

Talk to you later.