The Magic of Life and Family

Sorry today's post doesn't have cool words like Cancer, Effexor, Lupron, Zolodex and all that Cancer shit I write about ad nauseam.   Nope, today the Effing Evil Empire takes a back seat to a copy of someone else's blog.  The person that wrote the blog below obviously gets the magic of life and the season.  Grab a Kleenex. You will need it.  Oh, by the way, perhaps I needed more Kleenex than most...it's my daughters post.

Family - The Gift That Keeps on Giving

This is the season of gift giving.  I have been spending a lot of time trying to figure out what I'm going to get people for Christmas.  I'm really weird about gifts.  I feel like they need to mean something and not just be another item.  They either need to be useful or have some sort of sentimental value.  That requirement combined with my indecisiveness makes gift giving rather hard.

I started a new book last night of short stories about gifts that mothers give their daughters.  I'll admit, as much as I don't want any more kids, it always makes me a little bit sad that I won't ever have a daughter to be my best friend the way that my mom is my best friend.  That's neither here nor there, the point is, I started thinking about the gifts that I have received from family that aren't tangible things or are items that hold more sentimental value than anything else.

One actual thing that comes to mind specifically is my Grandma Kay's pie plates.  I'm not sure why they are so important to me but they are.  Almost more important than the actual pie plate is the fact that her name is scrawled on the bottom in her almost illegible, left handed handwriting.  I know that someday the permanent marker will wear off and her name won't be there anymore but I know that I'll always be able to see her name written on the bottom of those two white pie plates, even when it's gone.

My Grandpa Ernie's gift is always his hug.  He gives the best hugs I have ever been given.  My dad takes after him in that way but he still hasn't perfected the art of a Grandpa Ernie hug.  Grandpa's hugs go on forever and they are tight and solid and you just don't ever want to let go.  Those hugs are more important than any birthday check or wrapped gift at Christmas.  I love walking in to may parents house when I know that my grandparents are visiting to get that first hug from Grandpa.  It doesn't hurt anything that in addition to giving the best hugs ever Grandpa is hilarious.

Morgan, my brother, and I don't always get along great.  We get along a whole lot better the older we get. At some point, probably within the last year, we have developed a sense of camaraderie that we never had before.  I think that the most important gift that he gives me is the knowledge that I have backup in the face of the rest of the family, heck in the face of anyone.  We understand each other when no one else understands us.  We have the ability to gang up on people in such a way that makes them want to cover their ears, close their eyes and rock back and forth.  We typically only use our skills for good.  But we always know that we could go the evil route if we wanted to.

My parents have obviously given me the most important gifts of all.  Their unwavering support. Their unconditional love. The knowledge that it's okay to be weird and that different isn't bad.  They made sure that I knew growing up, and still know, that I can do anything I put my mind to. Dad gave me his love for numbers and his logical way of approaching situations, as long as emotion isn't involved.  Mom gave me her OCD and her sense of loyalty.

Obviously they have both given me so much more than that but I think the most important thing that I got from both of them is Magic.  It sounds weird but there has never been a time in my life where I didn't believe in magic.  Maybe not the cast a spell, dance under the moon naked and make something happen magic but other kinds.  The sense of magic on Christmas morning when the stockings are filled.  The magic of a quiet summer morning.  The fact that every time I see a crow watching me I think that it's helping dad make sure I'm okay.  The magic of love.

Love is magic and my parents is more magic then most.  They never gave up.  Obviously through 33 years there is going to be all kinds of ups and downs, trials and tribulations.  Probably more so the past four years than the prior 29.  But there they are; arguing, bickering, ignoring each other, supporting each other, taking care of each other and loving each other. Maybe that's why neither of my marriages worked.  They didn't have the magic that my parents taught me to expect.

So, even though we don't get to choose our families, I feel as though based on the gifts mine have given me, I got pretty lucky. 

Effexor: Does the Cure Become The Curse

I need to take a break from my "Cannabis For Us Oldsters" posts due to a fairly recent brush with "I think I need to go to the emergency room" scare.  Well it scared me at least.  Please remember everyone is built different and reacts differently to each and every prescribed drug.  Thus the manly voice with machine gun verbosity at the end of every T.V. drug commercial extolling why you wouldn't take the advertised drug.

I've been fortunate to have, except for one, the greatest doctors and medical care since I was diagnosed. The one exception?  A crotchety urologist who thought humor was during my biopsy saying "really my thumbs aren't getting larger."  Yuck fucking Yuck.  Jimmy Fallon look out.  By the time he was done explaining my malady I was pretty sure I would be dead before I even made it across the parking lot to my car.  Eighteen months Doc?  Guess what.

Prescription wise, I have dutifully, taken anything my doctors have told me to take.  For some inexplicable reason I seem to frequently fall into the "in only 1% of cases such and such including such and such has been reported." of adverse effects.

Recently, after a visit to my Onc where I complained about mild depression, she suggested Effexor.  A drug prescribed to depressed breast cancer patients that has the added advantage of controlling the insane hot flashes that come with hormone therapy.

Please note.  I am not a doctor.  All I can tell you is what happened to me and make a point.

Of course that sounded great to me and I walked out of the office prescription in hand.  I even emailed a very close friend whom unfortunately is also a Cancer buddy asking if she had ever taken Effexor.  Her reply was that the drug had helped her quite a bit.

I'm not going to bore you with what happened when I took the drug [only two doses].  Fortunately before I slit my wrists or headed to the emergency room my caregiver went to the internet and found comments left by others who had taken the drug without happy results.  This saved money because once I learned that others had hallucinated their brain falling onto the living room carpet or similar I adopted my old 1970's attitude of just riding a bad trip out.  What else are you going to do?

My point.  I didn't do due diligence.  I didn't read, as I, or my caregiver had in the past, what the side effects could, or in this case would be.  Just because your Doc writes the scrip please remember if you are statistically probable as terminal your Docs are probably writing a scrip that are probably pretty damn powerful.  

Doctors are very smart people.  So are you.  Ask, advocate and take action.  Read the side effects.  Feel free to wonder if the benefits out weigh the risks.  

Sometimes the cure can become the curse.  

Talk to you later.

Cannabis, Cancer and Confusion Oh My 1

Once again this post is directed toward those of us just south of AARP and those northward.

In my progressive tree hugging state we have dispensaries that, for a "donation" will provide you with medical marijuana [Cannabis].   I'm not making that up it's true.  

Send our state $200.00 and eventually, well three to four months actually, you will receive two cards that allow you to legally purchase medical marijuana.  One for you and one for your caregiver.  Since our state thinks I.D. cards should be printed on the thinnest of Vellum plan on getting your card laminated so it will survive the first rainstorm.  

If you can't wait four months for a card, and I know you can't otherwise you wouldn't have applied for one, there is a trick.  Actually, sorry to say,  there are apparently tricks a' many when it comes to Medical Cannabis in this state. 

Here's the first trick. Mail your forms in via registered mail. You can download the forms from this state's website, which unlike this same state's insurance site actually works. Armed with the delivery receipt and a copy of the form you mailed, most dispensaries will allow you to use those for I.D. until the state gets around to sending your cards or denying you.  

This state starts your "year" [you have to renew annually] on the date the card was issued not when you applied.  So actually, and why the state is content to loose this easy money is a mystery, you have the four months of waiting and using your application then another 12 months once you get your cards for a total of sixteen months.  Confused yet?  We were.

Simple math tells me that instead of taxing Medical Marijuana collect what is due.  In this state there are over 58,000 registered along with over 29,000 care givers.  If the state gives up four months per applicant that is over a seven million dollars a year. They said there would be no math so you might want to check mine.

Sorry got off on a soap box there. 

Now armed with papers [poor pun intended, sorry Cheech] you are ready to head to the dispensary of your choice.

My following installment will be what to expect when you get to the dispensary.  Medical Cannabis marketing is still stuck in the sixties so if you are of an age it all might be a little daunting... ie; a strain that helps appetite is named "Durban Poison."  There's nothing poison about it and it helps.

Talk to you next time.

Once again this post is directed toward those of us just south of AARP and those northward.

Cancer, Looking Back With Regret

We are all born knowing ultimately we will move on from this life.  Conveniently we tuck that thought into our "it's a long way until tomorrow" drawer of denial.  Then we attack our futures armored in hope hoping we can mold the world into our own reality.

From our very get go we move into I can't wait mode.  I can't wait until I'm thirteen.  I can't wait until I can drive, get laid and graduate.  I can't wait until I'm twenty one.  I can't wait for that corner office.  I can't wait until I retire.  I can't wait.  I can't wait.

Suddenly, one day, we wake up from a nap only to discover we've ridden life to what we hope was the best of our ability. Looking less intently to the shortening days to come we look back over our memories with increasing frequency.  My diagnosis naturally started to make me wonder about past mistakes, opportunities missed, and regrets.  Let's not forget life decisions foolishly wasted and more regret.

Regret!  Geez there's a bucket of guilt.  I believe there are few regrets in a persons life time.  A regret isn't a "wish I wouldn't have."  Regret changes your life 180 degrees.  Flips life flip flop. Regret isn't "I wish I had of done that."  Or.  "I should have bet on blue."  Regret is shouldered when one makes a completely life altering decision and wishes otherwise.

Using the above thought or what some of you will call rationalization do you really, as you look backward, have as many regrets as you think?  I thought not.  Sure you should have said your sorry that time and you feel bad that you didn't.   You feel bad because on the Blackjack table you were hundreds ahead but when the sun looked West for the first time since you sat down you found yourself a thousand down.  Yep, you feel bad.  Wished you knew when to call it quits.  Should have, would have, could have.

Don't let the "should haves" in your life be regrets.  They are just "should haves" that nudged you one way or the other on your life's path.  Examine the "should haves" and if one or two of them weren't totally life altering I bet you come up with damn few regrets.  I should have had a V8 is not a regret!

I myself thought I had a ton of regrets. I have a whole bunch of "should haves" but only one regret.  

Talk to you later.

Applaud For That Last Chemo Treatment

This afternoon, I along with my wife went to my oncologist.  It was time for the monthly "I'm starting to wonder why I go to these" check ups.  

Really, at this point a visit now is do you need a refill for prescriptions since the U.S. Government insists I drive across town to pick up a hard copy of the prescription because they are a controlled substance [yes there is mail but who can plan that far ahead?]. I'm amazed to no end how our elderly can navigate this morass of governmental bullshit. None the less rules are rules and this afternoon found us sitting in the lobby of my Onc.

My wife, after running all the way back downstairs to grab some paperwork I forgot, ran into the restroom.  It had been a long drive.  About this time a woman quickly walks in to the lobby and heads for the restroom.  I explain she's been beat to the restroom.  She, with a gracious smile, said I'm sure I can wait.

As I sit in the lobby I hear the receptionist ask waiting bathroom lady "So and So are you ready for your last treatment?"

Wow last treatment!  No matter what Effing Evil Empire [cancer for those whom have forgotten] room I find myself in if I hear someone is having their last treatment I applaud, and smile.  After having my share of that "poison" [that's what it is folks]  I know better than to say "You should celebrate tonight."  It may be the last treatment but as many of you know it will be at least a day or two before he or she is ready to celebrate to hardily.  Like I said, it's poison and it doesn't wear off in minutes.

But all the same it got me to thinking as I sat waiting for Patty [the Nurse] to call my name.  I know of and I know a ton of people who have stared the Effing Evil Empire in the eye, said screw you and beat the Empire.  Makes me think two things. 

The first.  Evil yes.  Empire no.  Empires generally don't get beat on the battle field.

The second.  I sincerely enjoyed talking to the woman who today has finished being poisoned. More importantly.  I think we should all applaud those that have had there last Chemo.

I'm applauding now.

Talk to you later

A Heartfelt Thanks

Sorry I’ve been remiss.  Hit a slick spot in the road but I think I’ve a bit of traction now. 

It’s August 2013.  A milestone if I may, marking four years and a few weeks ago that I was diagnosed with the E³. 

I used to say that was the day my life turned upside down.  My life?  How selfish.  It has taken a while but I’ve come to realize that more than my life was affected.  Many others were affected also.

So my heartfelt thanks to my family and friends, prayers, prayers from people I don’t even know, work, my bosses, strangers and special thanks and love to the one that has the worst of this journey my caregiver.

Not too sure where I would be without you all.

Talk to you later

Cancer and Grist Mills

I didn't realize that being terminally ill would mean being grindingly bone crushingly despondent seemingly all the time.  It feels as if, I would imagine, being ground slowly by a grist mill until all that is left is a ...

Stage IV Prostate Cancer, Hemp Oil, and Over Fifty

My plan for this post  subject would be about the past and regrets.  Instead I'm briefly going to write about my new cure in hand.  I am not grasping at final straws.  I'm also fairly intelligent.  For you older than I, I write this for you because Hemp really isn't the devil weed personified.

Admittedly, the oil is hard to procure even in my state.  However there are groups of people who want to take care of we who suffer from the Effing Evil Empire [cancer of any kind].  Today was the first successful acquirement of medicine.

This afternoon we drove over to a neatly trimmed home, though legal, I won't describe.  A very nice person met us at the door and purposely checked our papers.  Nope, not those kind of papers, legal papers.  After a nice conversation my wife and I walked off with an envelope of medicine.  In this case there was no co-pay.

Inside the envelope are two containers, well syringes to be exact.  Quit freaking out.  This medicine is taken orally and the syringe allows you to measure precisely the dosage.  The "pill bottle" looks like this:

Don't freak out...those two containers hold the beginning of my cure.  They just look scary because I can't focus my phone camera.  Sorry.

I know I can't OD from this medicine but I hate being high so I, internally, listened to the dosage guide.  That said....I took less than you see in this picture, much less:

Take charge of your longevity.

Talk to you later

Cancer and Marijuana [ Yes Devil Weed]

A caveat, I’m not a doctor.  I’m a man who statistically is too young to be fighting the Effing Evil Empire [read back] that graduated high school sometime in the Seventies.  Hmm I’m not sure but I think that’s right.

Those are my credentials, oh yeah, those and my cancer.  Take special attention to when I graduated.  The time was the cusp of just about anything goes and mullets.  Anything goes in a drug way, oddly there wasn’t anything known as the 60’s “free sex”.  Perhaps there was and I was just unaware.

Though my above credentials are impeccable, I wasn’t a big ganja smoker back on the cusp. My vices turned to other compounds that were relatively benign compared to what’s available on today’s market.   All of those credentials, well I think they are credentials, allow me to think I can blog about cancer and the herb that inspired Reefer Madness.

I’m writing this for maybe the folk that think the herb will make you, with just one whiff, make you run out with your walker and go ice fishing even though you live downtown in The Bronx, France.  Uhmm I’m not sure that’s right.  Oh well I never was good at geography.

A couple weeks ago I was staying over at my best friends.  I ended up spending an additional day and like an idiot I hadn’t packed meds enough to cover the possibility of an extra day.  When later, in the evening of that extra day I was offered some pot, though not a smoker, I said “sure”.  The thought, supported by a vague remembering I had recently read that hemp was good for nausea, severe pain, and appetite.

Suddenly, because I was thinking about 1977 at the time I took the toke of the ages, I couldn’t feel my face.  Holey crap suddenly I couldn’t feel my hands.  More suddenly I smiled an ear splitting, cheek freezing smile, smile, smile.  This stuff wasn't the weed patch that I grew up with.  This is serious medicine. 

Here’s the facts.  You cancer folk younger than I recognize the benefits of the herb.  You guys older than I.  Please listen.  This drug, that’s what it is and it against the Federal law, soothes a whole bunch of the negatives of cancer.  It is well worth the effort and the risk.

Don't be an old codger...also it makes you regular!

Hope to see you on the remake of “Reefer Madness”

Talk to you later