When sympathizers go to far

As you've already discovered, something happens to people when you get sick. Those around you who either love you or want to get to know you now that you're a "C"-lebrity also develop their own unique disease and it develops way back in the lower regions of the brain. I call it oversympathitus.
You recognize the disease right away. These are the people that have something special just for you every time they see you. It usually comes in the form of an encouraging book, a mind setting phrase you need to repeat to yourself daily to fight of your disease, or (my favorite) a cancer fighting recipe book filled with high amounts of antioxidants and horrible taste.
I'll never forget then woman who lovingly showed up at our house with a homemade yogurt that she guaranteed would kill the disease. I placed it next to a mound of well intentioned books I'd received and a stack of "Gospills" my grandma had sent me (more on that another time).
Don't get me wrong, I was and am still grateful for all of those who prayed for and supported me through my battle as I know you are as well but at some point don't you just want people to stop trying so hard and remember that under all those iv's and hospital gowns you're sporting these days, there is the same person they once knew, back when you had hair.
But before you get too annoyed by these well-meaning over achievers in the sympathetic arts, remember that it's not their fault. They care about you and don't know exactly what to do to help. Sure you and I know the best thing they can do is just to treat you like a normal person who happens to turn green after each doctors appointment but that isn't as easy as it seems. So help them out. Here's what I did.
My personality, which you already know if you follow me on twitter or read much of this blog, is what you might call, sarcastic or, I prefer, fun. So I used it to my advantage. Whenever I just needed to feel normal and remind people that they could be normal around me I would remind them in a bold way of who I was underneath the cancer.
One time I had about 15 friends show up at my house after I had been released from the hospital for what I think was the third time. They had been there for about an hour but it was quiet and boring. No one knew what to say and when they tried to speak it was very awkward. In their defense, I was bald, kinda green looking, and had a just spent time in the hospital from a random bug bite. I came up with a plan to breathe ice.
At that moment the phone rang and before anyone could move to get it I shot out of my seat. "I'll get it!" I said, and I headed towards the kitchen. I took three steps, let my eyes roll back in my head, allowed my body to go limp and collapsed to the floor. The crowed swarmed as someone yelled for my parents and someone else shouted, "Is he gone!?"
I quickly jumped to my feet and said, "Nope, I'm right here, but you'd miss me if I was!" Some laughed while others were a little mad but from that moment on we stopped focusing my sickness and talked about normal things.
I'm not telling you to do this and I'm not suggesting that freaking people out is the answer to every situation (it did work a lot for me though). But I am saying I get it. You love the support but sometimes you feel like you're doing the supporting rather than what it is meant for. But Cheer up and remember this: they may be awkward but they are there. They may not know what to say but at least they want to speak to you. I've known many survivors of our battle who didn't have the people there for them like you or I do and trust me, it's a lot worse than sympathizers who try to hard. So again I say cheer up cause you are not alone.

And if you feel alone let me know cause wether I know you or not, I care. I wouldn't be blabbering on if I didn't

This too, shall pass

We just switched insurance companies and I'm currently waiting to meet my new doctor. This process will involve answering a long series of questions regarding my exciting medical history and current medications. It will then lead to be referred to a new Oncologist who will, undoubtedly, ask the same questions and order more tests.
As I sit here in the office, I find myself reliving the first appointment which then led to the the following year of pills, pokes, and prodding. My stomach gets all knotted up and I zone out in deep recollective thought.
Then out of the blue my youngest son, now 4 years old says, "Dad! Can you start my game over.". Apparently he'd asked me couple times but I was so lost in thought I didn't hear him. The moment I heard his voice I was reminded of my experience with cancer again. This time, however, I remembered that as tough as it was, it is now nothin more than a memory. Everyday I live is another reminder that cancer can be beaten. Every laugh from my kids tells me that doctors can be wrong. Everytime I get a haircut I know that I got my life back and you will too.
So today be encouraged by this: cancer sucks, treatments can suck more but it won't last forever. You can win.
So cheer up! This too shall pass.

You finally made it to an elite list

Do you have any idea how many celebrities have cancer?! Now I know you've always wanted to be on an "A" list but cheer up, you've made it to the "C" list with some of the most famous people around. The next thing you know you'll be walking the red carpet!
Check out the list here.

http://www.kantrowitz.com/cancerpoints/celebrities.html

#5 - No More Dead Ends!

This morning when I was getting ready for work I noticed something that took me back to the good ole days of Cancer Battles.  What I a saw was not pleasant but it brought very pleasing memories. As I got out of the shower and started my usual routine of taking my thyroid pill (a lifelong reminder of my experience), brushing my teeth, deodorizing my body and all the rest I grabbed my hair gel and begin to put the style into my day.  Inside tip for the ladies who are reading: When you see a guy who looks like he never does his hair and looks all messy and cool the truth is it probably took a good half and hour to perfect the mess.
The medicine cabinet was not quite closed from my pill popping and it did what medicine cabinets do.  Slowly and with an ever so soft creeking sound it begin to open wider and wider.  As it opened the mirror on the cabinet began to reflect the back side of my head which then let me see what people behind me must have seeing for months...A BALD SPOT!  It's finally hit me.  I'm losing the element more precious than gold or silver.  I'm losing my hair for the second time in my life and not on my terms!  At first I was so discouraged but then my mind flashed to the hallways of my high school.  That's when the smile began to form.
Our school had a no headgear policy which simply meant that you could not wear hats. This head covering prohibition did not, however, apply to those of us who were losing our hair due to the toxins flowing through our body.  The principal had made an exception for me which I used to my advantage.  As my hair began to fall out of my head, rather than shaving it, I held on for as long as I could and began wearing hats to school to cover up the patches of baldness.  Apparently one of the campus supervisors that students affectionately referred to as NARCS didn't get the memo on my special headgear privileges.
Before I continue you need to understand that the campus supervisor position was usually occupied by a jr. college student who was a former high school football star and missed being the big man on campus.  They tended to have much to prove and would attempt to demonstrate their power by choosing random rules and enforcing punishment on any student that happened to cross their path.  Unfortunately for this narc, I was the student of choice that particular day.

"Take that off." was the first thing I heard him say.  I didn't realize he was talking to me. "I said take it off.  You know headgear is not allowed here."  When I heard that sentence I knew it was directed at me and my Stussy brand hat.  Normally I would have simply introduced myself and explained my situation but his attitude was so rude that I took it upon myself to teach him the importance of manners.
"That rule doesn't apply to me." I responded a little smugly provoking the obvious attitude escalation and assertion of power that followed.
"You think you're above the rules huh," he replied, "you won't think so in study hall. (study hall was detention but during lunch hour) Now take off your hat and give it to me."
And there it was.  His fatal flaw.  Looking back I feel a bit sorry for the young man who had no idea what was coming but he wanted the hat so it was my job to give it to him.

I reached up with my right hand and remove my cap as if to comply with the great and powerful supervisor's wishes.  As he placed his hand palm up for me to place my hat I pulled the switch-a-roo and with one swoop of my left hand I reached into my scalp grabbed for a chunk of hair which came out as if it were just laying there on top of my head but not attached, took my fist full of hair and sprinkled it lightly into his open palm. "That's my hat pass," I said, "I have cancer."
His eyes opened wide as his mind tried to grasp what he had just experienced.  Without looking up he motioned for my friends and me to move on.  Over the next two years I spent in high school we never had another interaction.  Each and everytime he would see me his walkie-talkie would magically start calling to him and he would be off to stop campus crime somewhere other than my path.

For me this was the first in a long line of funny incidents involving hair and home infusion devices which I'll share later.  My thought on the subject is that we work so hard to keep this insignificant stuff attached to us.  Make up has to look right (ladies), hair needs to be just messed up enough (guys), and everything on the outside needs to fit into this perfect idea we have what it means to be normal.  Here's what should matter.  The fact that you're alive to experience hair loss is more important than the fact that you're losing hair off your head and all the other places (bet you non-cancer fighters never thought about the other places before did you).
You'll get new hair.  In fact you can get new hair now.  Any color or style you want can be ordered possibly paid for by your insurance.  Enjoy the headgear pass.  Find something funny to do when people notice your noggin.  You have something to smile about cause you're living.

So cheer up you've got cancer.  Certain rules don't apply to you today!

#6 - Hospital Happy Hour

This post is in honor of Debbie.  You probably don't know my Debbie but I'll never forget here.  Debbie was one of the first nurses I met in my chemoventure.  She was also the love of my life for those five days I stayed on her floor. I'll never forget the day we met...
After a minor biopsy, that I'll share about at a different time, which allowed pathologists to diagnose the Hodgkins disease, the doctors spent six weeks running me through various diagnostic tests.  Each one was meant to give them an idea of how far the cancer had progressed and each one has a funny story attached so I won't spend much time here today.  The basic idea was that the more tests that came out clear the better.  My romance with Debbie began after the final test, a staging laparotomy which turned into a splenectomy.  This test landed me in the hospital for five days of young love.  At least this is how I remember it.
The moment Nurse Debbie walked into my room I knew I had discovered the purpose for my diagnosis.  Fate had brought us together. Sure I was sixteen and she was probably in her early thirties but like I told so many people that week, age was not a problem for the two of us.  The other slight complication was the fact that Debbie was married but I was quick to encourage her and others in the room that day, including my very conservative grandparents, that her marriage was simply an obstacle that we would have to overcome.
What in the world am I talking about? You see that's the problem, I didn't know what I was saying either.  Every time I opened my mouth whatever happened to be on my mind at that very moment came out.  Whether it was hitting on a nurse, confessing to inappropriate behavior with my ex-girlfriends, or inquiring as to why the cast of Ringling Bros. Barnun & Bailey's Circus was in my room.  I was blessed with the power of Demerol.
Demerol is a type of morphine and it's used to treat severe pain.  The drug, however, does nothing to help with foot in mouth syndrome.  In fact, it promotes that problem.  I said a lot of things (so I've been told) that no one understood or cared to know about.  And here's the key to today's lesson cheer: I enjoyed every minute of it.
Before I say anything more let stop to inform you that I have been a pastor for the last thirteen years of my life.  I am in no way an advocate for drug use or abuse.  I have never used illegal drugs nor do I condone it.
All that being said, if you're gonna go through this poking and prodding of every part of your body you might as well get something in return.  There will be plenty of things that cause you discomfort and pain over this period of time so enjoy the happy stuff that makes the pain go away.  When I think back to that five days in the hospital I don't think about the fact that I hurt so bad it took me thirty minutes to walk down the hallway or the ten foot tube they stuck down my nose into my stomach.  I don't cringe at the thought of the catheter they inserted into you know where so I won't say it.  I think of Debbie and the times we had together.  The truth is I don't remember anything about how she looked but because of what my anesthesiologist called the hospital happy hour cocktails, I remember that we (or at least I) were in love and that's all that matters to me.

So Cheer Up You've Got Cancer now give that nurse your vein and enjoy the ride.

#5 - California Drivers

Early on in the diagnosis stage I was forced to go in for the dreaded bone marrow test.  You know the test (and if you don't then you're lucky).  It's the test where a needle the length of your arm with the diameter of a turkey baster gets shoved down into the back side of your hip, chips off a piece of your bone, and sucks out some marrow.  Ever since this experience I wince when I watch the food network and someone talks about the succulent taste of a calf's marrow.  Poor little cow.  I do still love a good hamburger though.  But I digress...

My family (made up of mom, dad, sister, and myself) were all headed to the doctor's office together.  For a reason that I don't remember, we drove in two separate cars and I rode with my big sister.  She's three years older than me and for most of our lives I looked up to her and wanted to be around her and her friends whenever I could.  Not just because they were "older ladies" but because I thought my sister was the coolest.  She, however, saw me for what I probably was, an annoying little brother.  It wasn't until just before my fight with cancer began that we had started to become close and, as you conquerors of cancer will begin to learn, now that I faced the possibility of walking into the light a little sooner than we had all hoped, she had become my biggest cheerleader which she was qualified for as she was the cheer captain at her high school back in the day.

There was a lot of traffic that day as we drove from our house to Scripps pavilion, our hospital.  My sister and I were talking and enjoying our drive together as much as anyone could knowing what was about to happen to precious bones in the next fifteen minutes.  As we got closer to our exit from the main road into the parking lot of Scripps the traffic got a little heavier.  My sister, sensing her need to get over two lanes to our exit, grabbed the steering wheel with both hands, tightened her grip, leaned forward squinted her eyes as she began to figure out how she would weave through traffic and get us to our destination.  We had gone from relaxing drive to a mission based objective in less than 30 seconds.

We were about one block from our exit when she saw what should have been an opening to our final lane.  Like any good California driver, my sister put on her blinker and checked her mirrors and blind spot.  Just as she was about to make her move the man in our desired lane that we would now in be front of decided he didn't want us there.  He, like the other drivers in California, sped up just enough to keep us from getting  in and stayed just slow enough that he wouldn't pass us or let us see his face.  And then it happened.  Our block came and we were not in left hand turn lane when it did.  We arrived at the traffic light one lane shy of completing our mission all because some guy didn't want to lose the unspoken race to different locations.  But it was more than that to my sister.  This man had not just kept us from passing.  For her he represented opposition to my life.  He was trying to keep her brother from living (I wish I could say I were adding dramatics here) and she was going to let him know it!

Unfortunately for him, the traffic light was red and our cars were stopped on the line side by side.  My older sis prepared for battle as she rolled down her window.  She was so pumped that she didn't wait for it to open as she began to lay into the rude motorist.  She also didn't recognize that his windows were not open.
 "Do you realize we needed to turn here!?", she yelled. "My brother is dying and you're keeping him from getting the treatment he needs!  It's because of people like you that this world is so jacked up!!  Now were going to be late and it's all your fault.  Look at him don't you see how sick my brother is!?"

I don't think the man ever heard a word but he got the message.  His response was a simple one finger gesture as the light turned green and he drove off.  We didn't miss our appointment.  As a matter of fact we just pulled into the second entrance that was less than 1/2 a block after the first.  But something significant happened that day.

My sister, who couldn't physically fight what was happening inside my body, was doing whatever she could to fight for my life.  For her the battle was found by driving me to the hospital for a bone marrow test I didn't want to have.  For others it was shaving their heads in my honor.  And still for others it was allowing me to attend school just for the social aspect so that I could feel normal.  Today you should cheer up knowing that you are not alone.  People all over this world have got your back.  No they don't feel what you're feeling and no they can't truthfully say they understand but they do want you to win.
That's why they walk marathons, wear ribbons, golf, pray, and even write blogs about cancer.   It's their way of being a part of the battle with you.

Today you can cheer up because you're not alone in your fight.  People you don't even know are fighting with you. So if someone cuts you off on the way to your next doctors appointment, write down their license number and let me know.  I'll call my big sister and she'll do her part too.

#4 - Who Needs Liposuction? I Got Adriamycin!

Let's start from the beginning.  I'll never forget 3rd grade during recess while playing tether ball.  I was in the middle of a smoking game and probably winning when suddenly no one seemed to be keeping score.  Kids on every side of the circle were laughing and pointing.  Where were they pointing?  Everyone of their dirty little fingers was pointed straight at me.  Why were they pointing?  It wasn't because of my tether ball skills.  While I was focused on winning my game, the zipper on my shorts was fighting a losing battle against the power of gravity.
The "open barn door" is a common occurrence on any playground so you wouldn't think this would be a life shattering moment for me.  It probably wouldn't have been except that it was chronic issue in my young life.  In order to understand where we're headed today you must first understand that I was kind of a chubby kid.  Okay I'm kind of a chubby adult too and I'm good with that...now.  My zipper was positionally challenged because my shorts were too small.  My shorts were too small because my stomach was too big.  My mom had been teaching me hold in my stomach but I hadn't quite mastered this intro to belly hiding technique.
So what does any of this have to do with cheering up?  Weight is on everyone's mind all the time.  We see what we're supposed to look like on TV, in magazines, and on the dummies that display the outfitses we want buy in the stores we shop at (The same outfits are on the manikin's too).  If it's true that the average person is overweight in our country today than it means that the average cancer fighter is or was overweight as well.  So here's today's good news for you hard core chemo-heads out there.
Sure you'll have nausea at times and even the smell of food may send you running head first to the porcelain throne.  Of course there are going to be times that just getting out of bed will make your stomach feel like you just got off a roller coaster but there is a bright side.  You, like I, will not have to worry about the curse of the fallen zipper.  You don't need to stress over "sucking it in" to get those jeans on.  Truth is you're biggest problem will be tightening down that belt another notch cuz those jeans you bought a year ago promising yourself that you would fit into that size again some day are now just a little too big.

Some of you may be thinking to yourself, how can he talk like this.  Let me remind you that when life hands you lemons you make lemonade.  Since lemonade will make most caner fighters throw up I say when life injects you with chemo that makes you really sick go shopping and find an outfit you always thought wouldn't fit your body type!
The point is this.  Find the bright side in every dark thing you're going through and Cheer Up you may getting nauseous lot more lately but you won't have to spend $22 a week plus food to Jenny Craig to shed those extra LBS!