#26 Abdominal Alien

The last week has been an absolute crap struggle. Much like back in January except no blood sugar drops, no itching, or splitting fingertips. Although there's been a considerable amount of pain, lethargy, fear, and loss of appetite. I may write some more throughout the week and I may not. It is taking all my energy to not let this monster get the best of me. It is a torturous alien bastard scumfuck.

#25 What We Think About When We Think About Death

I’m not dead yet so I have the luxurious curse of thinking about it way more than I’d like to. Fantasizing things I can and cannot do. Everyday upon arising the thought of still being alive is present, then at 6am my iPhone alarm sounds; crickets chirping and the words You Lucky Bastardo remind me that I most certainly am one lucky bastardo. And no matter how physically or spiritually painful things get this day I am still here. I vowed a while back that I would accept what is as it comes, and that eventually it would subside, and if it didn’t I would find a way to continue on as bravely as possible. My vow is mine alone, but I do have a deep understanding, and compassion for those who decide not to whether the storm because life has become something else that they cannot call living. A time like that may come for me but it is not yet here. I think about what I’ll do, if able.

This past week, one evening much like many before, my wife and I were getting ready to watch a DVD. I went to the TV, bent over to pick up the movie, and Mickey Mantle hit me right in the liver with a spiked baseball bat—it might have been Barry Bonds or Mark McGwire for all I know about baseball. I said “OHHH SHIT” and lifted up my shirt and put my hand over the area and looked at my wife. The both of us silent. We don’t need words anymore when these times come. I went to the cabinet and did three milliliters of jungle juice. Usually the taste of that vile swill is the first thing to move my mind from the pain. Not this time. I had to hold it under my tongue and swirl it around my mouth like some masochistic sommelier, and every thirty or so seconds let a bit trickle down my throat.  Sublingual activation.  I sat on the couch and held my wife because I thought my tumor or liver had ruptured and I would internally bleed out.  After a half an hour the pain had gone down to an eight, so another three mils would do the trick.  Adding to that a half a Xanax to stop my head and in about an hour the pain was a manageable four.

I’ve had something like this happen before only not quite this sudden so I had the chance to preemptively medicate and it never got this painful.  None of my oncologists, doctors, etc...knew exactly what it was, although one of them did mention a rupture in the tumor.  If I was bleeding internally, last time, or this time, I would know it.  My stools would be black but the color is still normal.  At Kaiser (that place will be the death of me yet) they misdiagnosed it as gall stones and were set to do some sort of invasive surgery when I checked out “against doctors orders,” signed their forms, and went home.  One usually tries to reason things like this out which is a total waste of time, suffice it to say it happened because I have cancer and fucked up shit happens...En Fin.

So yeah, the death thing.  It sucks because for the last twenty or so years the number eighty-three has always been in my head for the age I was gonna die; but I don’t know, nobody does, that still might happen.  I’ve always looked forward to getting older.  Even from a very young age, like at seven I couldn’t wait to be a teenager, when I got there I wanted to be twenty-one.  Then it subsided for a while and I was having too much fun...but now, well shit there ain’t nothing I want more.

Even if we both live until we’re eighty-three I’ll never have enough time with my wife.  If she were not in my life I’d have a much easier time with all this.  But I just have to picture her in my mind’s eye, or glance at her while I’m driving her to work and I could sob tears big enough to drown in.  And if I do die sooner rather than later I can’t bare the fact of her being alone, but I won’t have to (probably) because I’ll be the dead one, and she’ll have that internal sadness and that is the most saddest thing I can let in my head.

For myself, I’m curious about the afterlife if for no other reason than to find out if this is it or is there more.  I guess everyone wants to believe in some sort of afterplace-reward, and it’s the same ones who want there to be the afterplace-punishment.  I’m sure that if there is a hell that the ones who will be going there don’t believe in it.  I think if people find comfort or enlightenment in things of that nature then it is good. I never have.  I’m fairly certain, like most things that go on in my head, when I’m thinking about situational outcomes that it always turns out differently than I thought it would.  It doesn’t make sense that heaven and hell would be as complex as life, if so then where did RIP come from?

I have to stop now.

Thanks to Raymond Carver for the ideal title.  If you haven’t read “What We Talk About When We Talk About Love” you should, it’s a magnificent collection of short stories you won’t soon forget.  In fact I think I’ll read it again, if I have time...

#24 An MRI, a CCD, and a PRS

I made up the last two acronyms.  An MRI is magnetic resonance imaging, and it’s such a big-ass magnet that they don’t allow any metal on your person...belts, rings, pacemakers, etc. However, they don't tell you about credit cards in wallets.  I should have known, common sense and all, but I had taken a Xanax because the dye that they shoot you with freaks me out, and besides, the Xanax on top of my usual opiates, and common sense becomes a rare occurrence.  So I suffered CCD—credit card destruction.  For a while I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with ALL my cards because Ha and I have the same cards and hers were working fine, then I remembered, the MRI tech, whether he was in a hurry or that’s his MO, did not have me strip down to skivvies and don the always fashionable Dufy blue VA Hospital gown.  The replacement cards are on the way thanks to my wonderful wife.

That brings us to PRS.  Port removal surgery, and I must say I am quite happy the day finally got here and within ten days I’ll be back to my usual yoga routine.  That thing made me feel like Frankenstein, this silver dollar sized disc barely below the skin three inches down from my neck on the right hand side with a tube that snaked up my neck to an artery.  It did make my blood-tests easier because I’m a real hard hit when it comes to the veins, just like dear old mum.  Before and after the port I usually leave the phlebotomist’s cave all black and blue, and if they haven’t hit it by the third try I request someone else.  So yeah, having the PRS is more pro than con for me. 

With the Kunin Vitafusion on Tuesday in SF, then the MRI Wednesday, and the PRS Thursday, both in SF, and the second appointment with my new acupuncturist on Saturday, you could say I’ve had a busy week.  Thursday and Saturday my wife went with me and that’s always good.  On Tuesday my mom took the bus up to SF with me, Al, my sib, picked us up and drove us to the doc’s place.  Afterwards we went to Miller’s East Coast Delicatessen, which specializes in all that Jewish soul food from our childhood’s.  Knishes, Kishka, Chopped Liver, etc...it was great being with my family and reminiscing.   To us Jews food is so much more than sustenance. 

Nana Beatrice Austin

I remember my dad’s mom, Nana Bea, from whom I inherited my talent and passion for food.  She would always stand behind her husband, Zaide Sam, at the beginning of our family meals and holiday dinners, for a few seconds, just long enough to scan the food and her family smiling and eating and loving every bite.  I’m sure this was her goal in life.  That’s what I call success.

My Aunt Rhoda (my mom’s sister) and Uncle Stanley are in from Boston to spend time with their new grandson, Wyatt.  Ha and I are really excited too because we haven’t seen them in a while.  Rhoda and I talk just about every week, and Stan is a doctor, he's been extremely helpful when any problems come up for me.  They’re an important part of my support team and I’m very grateful for that.

Ha and I are really liking the new acupuncturist. She has me talk about the weeks problems, physical and otherwise, and I can see her charting the meridian course for the day based on what I’m saying.  Then it’s up on the table, tongue check, pulses check, lastly the needles, and all the while she’s doing these things she’s explaining what’s changed since last week and how it all fits together.  It’s like a lesson in Chinese medicine.  Great stuff. 

#23 Baby Wyatt - Wonder of Wonders

Sir Wyatt the Red...head

Good lord the sweet holiness emanating from this baby, you could have pushed me off a pier with a pussycat whisker.  It was a truly unitive experience seeing Sharon cradling Wyatt and sitting in a big easy-chair, looking out at the San Francisco bay, a picture of proud motherhood.  Zachery, Wyatt’s big brother was napping quietly in the other room, but the ease of Sharon’s demeanor, and the confidence with which she handled Wyatt, you automatically knew she had done this before and clearly loved where she was in her life right now.  The father, my cousin Craig, had the same glowing sphere of light and beauty around him; anticipating mother and child’s every need, a smile for miles on his face.  Two boys.  What father wouldn’t be floating on clouds of ambrosia?

Ha and I just stood there staring for a while.  I can’t recall how long it was before Sharon asked us if we wanted to hold him.  I didn’t trust myself because of the amount of opiates in my system but Ha got pretty excited.  The handoff... and I finally remembered to pull out the camera.  Ha and I had decided not to have kids but we really do enjoy them when they become a part of our family.  I love when my sib Al sends me pictures of Amir’s latest escapades and outfits, not to mention his soccer addiction of late.  Ha was thoroughly enjoying Wyatt and talking to him, not baby-talk either, like many people do, but the words she spoke to him were very musical.  I should have brought the video camera.

Our gift to Wyatt was a young Mandaquat tree.  I know—I’ve never heard of it either.  Apparently it’s a crossbreed of, you guessed it, Mandarin Orange and Kumquat.  Great idea, and like a Kumquat you eat the peel as well as the flesh.  Ha and I wracked our brains for a gift idea that was unique.  So we get there, with the tree, and Craig tells us that when Zachery was born Sharon’s mom bought him a lemon tree.  So much for originality.  At least we’re in good company, great minds and all that.  I still think it’s a stellar idea and that it should become a family tradition!  A boom of thunder and crack of lightning illuminate the sky - I Have Spoken.  Besides, I think Ha and I will be buying another tree sooner rather than later.  I mean two boys are wonderful, and will be quite the handful growing up, being so close in age and all, but two boys and a girl just sounds so nice.  Far be it from a cousin or uncle to try and have any influence on any young couple in the family, or for that fact, Al?  A boy and a girl would be nice.  I know my timing is a little off right now, but just saying...

Ok, now that the good news is out of the way we can get back to the gloom and doom of cancer...or not.  Actually it was a decent week, besides this diverticulitis that doesn’t seem to want to let me be, it’s been fairly uneventful.  I did have an appointment with Dr. Clark, who seemed to be thrilled that my numbers are heading in the opposite direction, nice guy actually.  Also I went to a new acupuncturist, not because I was unhappy with Dr. Rossman, but I found (through Suzanne Friedman) someone much closer.  Christy Mahoney, I’ve had one appointment so far and she’s very confident, extremely knowledgeable in, not only acupuncture, but medical qigong as well.  I also really like that she pointed out some Qi meridians that I can work at home.  I dislike having to lose a team member, but my transportation issues being what they are, it’s a decision I had to make.

 To preview next week I’m having an MRI on Wednesday, and my port (that uncomfortable chunk of plastic in my chest) removed Thursday.  So for next week’s blog I should have a couple of stories.  In closing I must mention that Ha and my weekends together are extremely wonderful.  We’re enjoying each other’s company, laughing and hugging more, heck today we even cooked together!  It’s just a real gift to be able to let go of the cancer and focus on what’s in front of us.