Four years & counting

An anniversary for me today. I am a cancer survivor. Four years ago an oncologist looked me in the eye and gave me some unhappy news. This woman that had walked into the examination room where I waited for her weeks earlier and introduced herself to me as the Queen of Lumps informed me that I have non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. Not only this, but there are two different types, B and T, and it was discovered that I have both. The icing on my particular cake was that the disease had metastasized, a fancy word that pretty much means "spread". Two different bone marrow samples had both tested positive, meaning that I was at stage four of the disease. This doctor explained to me that by the time this cancer has made a home within your bones, chances are that it has spread throughout your lymphatic system, and may also be present in major organs, as well.

How completely odd that the world does not come grinding to a halt when these words are delivered. I like to envision myself as a strong person, but being told you have cancer knocks the toughness right out of you. The sense of shock should be enough to sweep your feet right off from underneath you, yet I somehow remained standing. The news itself is breathtaking, but my lungs kept on working, in and out, in and out. My reaction at the time was that a forty five year old male should not have to be thinking of writing a will. I had expected that if I ever faced death at a young age, it would be more as a result of my lifestyle, rather than my health...possibly because some knot head ran a light and nailed me on my motorcycle.

What the diagnosis meant to me was that at this stage of the game my choices were pretty limited. Surgery as a solution was out, as by the time enough had been hacked off to eliminate the cancer there would not be a lot left. Radiation was also out, as the amount required as a cure would cook me like a hotdog in a microwave, while making sure that my last few days on earth were as miserable as possible. Consequently, I walked out of the cancer center that day staring down the barrel of chemotherapy. At that time I was facing fifteen sessions, one per day, five straight days of treatment followed by a breather for the rest of that month, to give my body a chance to deal with the poisons being introducedinto it. This eventually became a total of thirty sessions stretched out over six months, and my treatment began being called "intensive." 

Really, if ever there was a "right" time to become a cancer patient, the twenty first century is that time. Advances in dealing with the disease are made almost on a minute-by-minute basis, and I believe that I am alive today specifically because knowledge of cancer as well as of treatment continue to move forward at a rapid pace. Some day soon cancer may be ranked along with polio as something you are more likely to see in a history book, but that day will only matter for those of us around to see it arrive.

Memorable dates...

The day after a date most Americans have no trouble remembering, right up there with the assassination of JFK (11-22), Pearl Harbor day (12-07), D-Day (06-06), or the Fourth of July. While I certainly have no memory of any date pertaining to World War II, I can recall Kennedy's assassination, though these memories are from the perspective of a boy in grade school. I can remember walking home from school that day and wondering why a girl walking with a group of girls behind me was crying. Aside from that, my main recollection of that time is that there were no cartoons to be found on television at all that weekend. In fact, it seemed to me that every time I turned on the TV I got yet another look at the cassion carrying the remains of our President through the streets of Washington D.C. Terribly dull stuff for a six year old boy with no real concept of what it is like to witness history.

As for September eleventh, I very well may have been one of the last people in the United States to even know that it happened. I was working third shift at the time, and after getting home from work I put in a load of clothes to be washed and made myself a snack. After I finished my washing I climbed into bed, and I did this at nine that morning, almost exactly as events were unfolding. After an eight hour shift in a factory I usually wanted only silence, as I did that day. With no television or radio going I was totally unaware of what was happening. I awakened at about four that afternoon, had a quick shower, tossed on some clothes, and headed for school, as I had a class that day. I noticed an undercurrent  of tension and anxiety as I walked across the campus, but still knew nothing until I ran into a coworker and stopped to ask what was going on. He looked at me as if I was nuts and asked "You mean you really don't know?"

Monday Labor Day Weekend

The boys and I took a Monday afternoon bike ride through Riverfront Park as far as Michigan Avenue, where we visited Oldsmobile Park to watch the Lugnuts win their last regular season game against Peoria. The victory was come from behind and quite a thriller. The day was gorgeous and almost too warm, and it turned out to be a great way to spend that last day of summer vacation. We started by sitting out on the lawn and after a couple of innings wound up moving into the bleachers, where there was some shade. A lady sitting in the next row up spotted me using my camera on the boys and offered to take a shot of all three of us, so now I have a very nice photo of father & sons at the ball park. You never quite seem to realize how often you are not in the picture when you are the guy behind the camera.

A weekend ride with David

I took a ride tonight through Riverfront Park all the way out as far as Frandor. I used to do this all the time when Jarek was young enough to fit on a kiddy seat on my bicycle. Of course, we made those trips at three in the afternoon, rather than three in the morning. I enjoy riding through the park in the morning hours because often it feels as if I have the entire park to myself. Years ago, I would take Jarek out to Kircher Park in East Lansing to watch the ball games. Taking a cruise through on a sunny afternoon is very pleasant, and I believe to reach East Lansing is at least a five mile ride. What a great idea, the day some genius thought of building a park along the banks of the river as it runs through Lansing. On the way home tonight I spotted four deer in Potter Park; what looked to be a buck, a doe, and a couple of fawns. The minute I tried to move up along side them they used the Grand River as an escape route, and made a big splash when they hit. Very pleasant spending some early morning hours where the loudest noise you encounter is wild animals leaping into a river.

A weekend with the boys...

Another weekend gone by, spent with two young lads and a slew of their young friends, most notably Brianna, who seems to have a really nice case of the hots for Barry. And, by golly, Barry reciprocates, too. As a matter of fact, it still blows me away that he painted her nails for her; I would not believe that I saw an eight year old boy doing that if I had not gotten a photograph. And Brianna actually ran over to the local QD to buy candy & bring it back to share with the boys. I was rather amazed when she returned with candy cigarettes, I did not realize those were even still being made. Talk about a politically incorrect candy. Actually, I would rather the boys did not have the things, but; their friend spent her own money and I did not have the heart to say 'no'.

And later on we all went for a bike ride over to the School for the Blind, where Jarek demonstrated his manliness after losing a couple of fair-sized patches of skin when he wiped out on his bicycle. I kidded him about suddenly deciding he was no longer interested in playing and wanting to go back home, but he got himself back with a minimum of fuss, and then sat with his mouth closed in the bathroom while I disinfected his injuries and taped on some gauze pads. He had one scrape he did not even notice until we arrived at the house. I was quite impressed.

A matter of priorities...

What a day. Two exams, one I passed with all flags flying, one that was such a crash & burn I felt like a passenger on the Hindenburg. All a matter of priority, I guess, although I would have been delighted to pass both examinations. However, the exam I failed had to do only with studies, and my great difficulties mastering algebra. I understand one side of our mind works with numbers and one side develops language and words, and I have long suspected which half of my brain is dominant. Unhappily, I have had difficulty working with numbers all of my life, and things only seem to be getting worse. Be that as it may. I read once that the number of times you are knocked down are not as important as the number of times that you get back up, and I like the philosophy.

As for the other exam, my oncologist seemed happy with me today, and if she is happy, I am happy. As a cancer survivor, I see this doctor on a regular basis to insure that the thirty sessions of chemotherapy that I underwent three years ago are still having the desired effect. Having been diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma at stage four, I have been told that a total cure is very unlikely. However, with proper care and treatment I can live longer, perhaps much longer.

A day in David's world...

Ahhhh, summertime! Cheap tomatoes and children's laughter, plus being able to walk around covered by nothing more than a pair of swim trunks, and those primarily to satisfy the cops and keep from being mobbed by female neighbors.

Another summer day gone by, not only a productive day but quite an exciting day as well. I spent a portion of the productive part of the day turning my compost pile. Unlike many people I know, I do not just heap stuff in my back yard and then expect it to just lay there and rot. I realize that having a compost pile of your own means accepting some responsibilities, and among these is making sure that you turn that rotting mass occasionally. You can hardly expect leaves and garbage to compost properly with out a bit of effort on your part, and I do not want my compost pile to ever feel as if it is being neglected. So, early this afternoon I grabbed my rake and a hoe from the garage and did my duty as a composting citizen. I mean as a citizen that does composting, and not one that is composting. Anyway, my heap is now nicely turned, and if smell is any indication of compost quality I may very well have the mother of all compost heaps right here on Roosevelt Ave. Standing on the other side of the yard this afternoon downwind from that sucker was enough to make your eyes water. If I sound proud, it is probably just your imagination.

As to the exciting part, I did a bit of experimentation today which resulted in an educational experience for David. Early in the day I discovered that several wasps had somehow found their way onto my back porch and made themselves at home. I did not waste my breath trying to explain to them how I feel about nasty little insects invading my home, as I doubt they would have bothered listening anyway. What I did do was to open my back door and invite them to leave. This was less than successful, as the few already inside stayed inside, and one more came on in while I was holding the door for him. After closing the door, I decided to haul out the heavy artillery, and reached under my sink for a can of flying insect spray. Unfortunately, I found I had used all of the spray on my last confrontation with mean little insects, and neglected to purchase more. Searching for another solution to my problem, I noticed an aerosol can of Wizard Sunsplash air freshener, and suddenly was seized with an idea. Of course I realize that the stuff is not intended to kill wasps, but I had never heard of anyone else actually using air freshener to convince flying insects to fly elsewhere. For all I knew, the people that manufacture Raid and other such products have been living in fear of the day someone tried using this stuff for something besides making their house smell good, and discovered that it worked.

So, I armed myself with my can of air freshener, said a brief prayer to the gods for a successful hunt, and headed for my back porch to do battle. Happily, all of my unwanted guests had settled down on a warm area of the storm door and were doing a little sun bathing. I crept up just as quietly as I could, took aim with a steady hand, and fired. The results were immediate, and altogether disappointing. Within seconds I had a squadron of thoroughly pissed-off wasps flying in formation around my porch, searching for a target. However, they smelled great! I realized that discretion is the better part of valor, and beat a hasty retreat back into my kitchen, slamming closed the door between the kitchen and porch. I decided there was a reason why the stuff in the can was called air freshener and not wasp killer, and returned it underneath the sink. I then rewarded my efforts with a glass of sun tea, keeping a close eye through the window on the kitchen door to assure myself that the little SOB's had not figured out how to gain entrance into the house. After I had finished my tea and the situation had calmed down a bit, I armed myself with a more traditional weapon, probably in use long before spray cans of bug killer had been invented. I rolled up a newspaper, and spent the next half hour flattening my great smelling wasps. A good deal riskier than spray, perhaps, but much more effective. Live and learn. Perhaps next time I will try some non-stick cooking spray.