Here I am, in the wee hours of the morning in the Queen City and it's been awhile since I've posted. I am still surprised at the amount of traffic this website gets, even though I'm past the "heartbreak stage" of treatment (with the heightened level of interest from friends, family, and others) and am fumbling through life in Remission. I'm encouraged to still get emails or blog comments from strangers who appreciate my story. I can only hope that my heartfelt ramblings over the past several years will give comfort to someone who is going through treatment or watching someone close to them go through the process.
All is going well for us, here in Cincinnati as my remission continues and my health seems to be holding up. Elaina is beautiful and fun, as she passes her 19th month of life, and Amanda continues to be the awesome life partner she always has been. The Doctors said the first two years after my treatment ended would be the diciest, and now that those two years are up the anxiety you get from each minor ache and pain (and the associated "O sh*t, is it back?) slowly begins to fade. But you fellow cancer patients know the fear never really goes away, does it?
This entry is a shameless plug for your cash - lots of it - to raise money for a great cause. I won't go into too much detail, as all the nitty gritty can be found on the website link here. You really should donate. Seriously. I'm calling on all of your ethical, spiritual, religious, or mother-supplied guilt to get out the credit card and donate. After all, it's only cash isn't it? We're doing a 109 mile bike ride in Arizona in a couple of weeks in honor of a young lady who, seemingly, was telling cancer to suck it the same time as I, but in the end the cancer bastard took her.
This past weekend was our scheduled long training ride of 80+ miles, and I wasn't able to go with my teammates on Saturday and went by myself on Sunday afternoon. Milford, Ohio to Spring Valley, Ohio and back on the Little Miami Bike Trail. 88 miles on a crisp, Sunny Sunday afternoon. Just shy of 5 hours of saddle time lets you think about the big picture. I did a lot of thinking about life, how blessed I am, and how many other people in my life have fought, lost, and/or won against cancer. I decided I wasn't going to ride just in honor of Jenna Laumer, but also the many others who have directly (or indirectly) fought the same battle as I....
I ride in memory of my grandfather whom I never knew, Steve Baker, who from what I understand wasn't exactly the "Ward Cleaver" everyone expected of a 1950's father, but made amends later in his life before he lost his battle with melanoma.
I ride in memory of my grandmother, Fran Willis, who lost her 10 year battle with various types of Breast Cancer over a decade ago. Is there such a thing as a Western version of a Steel Magnolia? She was it.
I ride in honor of my cousin, Mike Baker. Mikey was 19 when he got the same cancer I had, and if you think my situation was dire - he was, literally, up sh*t creek without a paddle. Guess what? This tough son-of-a-bitch fought back and beat it. Watching him live his life post-cancer, and our subsequent talks, is an inspiration for me.
I ride in honor of my mom, Linda Baker, who has fought off CLL/SLL for many years through willpower, prayer, and a third-world country feeding quantity of carrot juice. She's orange, seriously. She never let on to me the anguish that a parent must feel when watching a child go through cancer. Cheers Mom, I love you.
I ride in honor of Daria, a Canadian woman with cancer who reached out to me via the blogosphere when CCSI went online. I followed her struggle electronically, and was saddened that she lost her battle earlier this year. Her blog is here
I ride in honor of Rachel, a young mother with cancer from the Buckeye State who, like Daria, reached out to my blog. She is in the fight of her life as we speak. I cannot imagine the anguish she is going through with the thought of leaving children behind. She could use your kind words. Her story is here.
I ride in honor (or memory, I don't know the results) of the young mother who would show up for chemo treatments with her infant daughter, and sit in her treatment room alone.
I ride in honor of all the medical staff who showed me kindness and caring - in Vail, Denver, and Boston. For all you people who bitch and moan about doctors getting a lot of cash, shut the hell up. They are worth every penny. I especially want to give props to Dr. Hinshaw, Julie, Lucy, Emily, and all the other folks at Rocky Mountain Cancer Center in Denver. You are my angels.
I ride in honor of all of you who sent me a card, email, facebook post, phone call, funny gift to lift my spirits. It was all amazing.
I ride for all who went to your church, synagogue, mosque, temple, meeting house, stake, parish, ward, or cathedral to light a candle, spin a disk, or say a prayer. You all know I'm a member of the United Methodist Church and don't necessarily subscribe to all of those actions, but the kindness and care that it meant for you to dedicate your religious observance to me touched my heart.
One final plug - give money, lots of it. Team Jenna and the bike ride is a damn good cause. On Saturday the 19th - be thinking of us as we spin through 100+ miles of desert with a few thousand of our cyclist friends. One small step towards eradication of this horrific family of disease.
It started last week with a tasty mochaccino barium shake, and a whole hell of a lot of radiation as I slid back and forth in the various 7-figure imagery machines.
And it was capped off by a big smile this afternoon from Dr. Chua, my oncologist in Cincy (who is a cool lady).
All good. Cancer still sucking it.
For those of you who follow my blog and are struggling - solidarity to you. I'm taking advantage of my "second half" in your honor. I won't let you down. This I promise.
Off to Denver next month for a visit to my bone doc, my original oncologist, and the cool chemo nurses at Rocky Mountain Cancer Center on East 18th. I suspect there will be a visit to Lodo and a bit of hiking, also.
Daughter is beautiful and fun. Wife is awesome, as always.
May 20th is this Bill Baker's 'diagnosis day' - a day that all cancer patients face. For many, this is the beginning of a death sentence, the point at which they begin a long battle towards their ending. For the rest of us it is the beginning of a changed life - a 'born again' experience (to paraphrase the teachings I learned in the holy roller churches I grew up in) that changes your entire being, your outlook, your relationships with others, and your views of the world around you.
There are thousands of cancer variations - most of which have no relation to each other than sharing a general category of similar "bat shit crazy" cellular activity. But the one common thread between all cancer is the reaction in your soul once those words of "you have cancer" pass through your eardrums.
As many of you have read from this blog - I passed out when Dr. Philippon said it. After I woke up to an offer of a beer from my doctor (yes, he did offer me a brew - that good French Canadian!) I put on a brave face the rest of the day. I held it together until my friend Steve called and I saw his number and just couldn't pick it up. He left me a touching voicemail later that night after hearing the news - cancer had affected his family in significant ways and he shared encouraging words for the beginning of this new journey. It was over - I completely lost it in that hotel room in Vail. You see people who go through emotional triumphs of joy or experience the ultimate despair and how they leave their emotions "on the table" after that cry. I've been there and it was what I consider to be the darkest moment of my life.
If you've been diagnosed with cancer you know exactly what I mean. Prior to your return towards Cure, Diagnosis Day is a reminder of your mortality and vulnerability. No matter how "fit" you are, how good you treated your body, how few petrochemicals you bathed in, or how few trips to processed fast food joints you took - sometimes you just get a good swift kick in the nuts. It lets you know that you are not in control. Those of us in the faith-based end of things look at this as a way of God telling you that you're just borrowing some time on this Earth - and that's the truth. Those who are more in the atheist/agnostic end of things just say "serendipity" (or whatever the phrase is) and chalk it up to the DNA lottery.
Maybe it's the first, or the second - it doesn't matter to me, but what I do know is that it changes you forever. Those who don't want to hear about 'when I was sick' stories I'm sure get a bit annoyed - but frankly, I don't care. My good friend and fellow survivor Eric told me once "Baker - it's a battle medal that no one can understand except another survivor." He's 100% correct.
It's been 2 years since that day in Vail. 2009 sucked, royally. Cancer diagnosis, treatment, challenging business environment, and a pregnancy in process during all of it put the emotional full court press on me and my family. I feel blessed that my faith, family, and friends are the reasons we came through it. Oh yeah, I would be remiss if I didn't credit the $400,000 in treatment costs that the Rocky Mountain Health Plan absorbed.
Also, Doctor Hinshaw and her PA Julie get BIG props. Also the chemo nurses of Lucy, Emily, Rose, Karen, and the rest of the gals at the Rocky Mountain Cancer Center should get big props. If you're sick, and in Denver - go see them. East 18th avenue is the place to be.
2010 and 2011 have been, by all accounts, kick *ss years for me.
Most importantly, I'm still here. That statement alone is worth a lot of points in the 'win' column. Yes, I am keeping score, because 14 months ago I was fresh out of the battle of a lifetime and wasn't sure how the future looked. Statistically speaking, my oncologist said I had a 50/50 chance that this may come back within 5 years, with the first two years being especially tricky. Now that I've got the first two down, I am feeling a bit more at ease with each passing sunrise.
But that's the thing, as all of you who have had (or do have) cancer know - you're never fully at ease, ever. And it will never change no matter how long you live - you're always looking over your shoulder and asking yourself the question "is that ache cancer?", or "does this sniffle mean it's back?" It's the price of cancer success.
My greatest moment so far has been the birth of our daughter, Elaina. She's beautiful, pretty happy, and (thankfully) looking more like her Mom every day. Thanks to the miracles of modern medicine, we're able to be parents. It's awesome, and I look forward to every day coming home from work seeing her drool-laden smile and hearing "da da" or some other baby babble. This past January we went back out to Colorado for some skiing and for a checkup with my Denver docs. Last summer I caught some grief from the medical staff at the cancer center when I didn't bring Elaina and Amanda with me - so this time I brought my girls. It was great to see their reactions, especially since so much of their professional careers are spent with persons who are dying. They have even said that seeing the gift of life for me and knowing that my daughter has a father was a real joy for them. Give your local oncology doctor or nurse a hug - 1/3 of you will need them in your lifetime.
Here are some photos (L-R) of Julie, Dr. Hinshaw, and Lucy - three women who were instrumental in why I'm still here.
2 years down, hopefully 61 more to go (until I hit 100). How will I celebrate my Diagnosis Day? A lot of introspection, probably a loss of focus at work for a bit, and most importantly time with family.
Sounds good enough for me. I'm just glad to be here.
I know it's been a while, as I've got a lot to say. But for now, look at this video and think seriously about supporting this cause. Not for me, but for you, your family, your friends, and your children.
CCSI will be back in the next couple of weeks - the summer has been awesome and I am truly blessed. More to come.
So here I am, within 5 days of the one year anniversary of my diagnosis, writing in the wee hours of the morning in the study. I know I said a post or two back that I'd be more frequent than every 2 months - guess what, it's almost been two months. If you want a regular delivery of news - get a newspaper.
It's been a lovely spring here in Cincinnati, compared to the long cold, rainy one back in our former home of Denver - it's as if we got out just in time and the big guy has decided to give our baby girl a wonderful first spring on Earth. The leaves are fully extended, the flowers are pushing through various blooming cycles, and we're getting our first hints of the hot, sticky Ohio River Valley summer which will peek it's head around the curtain of the seasons soon enough.
Many of you know I went back to Denver late in April for my 6 month checkups with Drs Ioana Hinshaw (medical oncologist), Daniel Chin (radiation oncologist), and Ross Wilkins (ortho oncologist) - all of which happened within 72 hours of each other. It snuck up on me, this first 3 month update after we left, and I was a bit blindsided by the importance of the visit. This was my first pet scan post-treatment, and would serve as a true benchmark of my remission, and whether or not the cancer had decided to start to sneak back in.
It was a distant reality, and I hadn't thought much about it until I was in an office meeting the morning of the day I flew to Denver, and then I freaked out. Fortunately, it was an internal meltdown, and I think I pulled upon my Native American DNA (thanks to my Great-Great Grandmother Victorine, who was an Algonquin Indian from Quebec - that isn't her on the right) and kept a pretty even 'stoic' face during the day. Sorry to perpetuate the stereotype of Native Americans as stoic, but if any of you have spent time on a reservation you know there tends to be a cultural tendency towards this label. Oh well, PC Police - sue me. Anyway, back to the meltdown.
There are many folks out there who have been diagnosed with cancers that require some surgery, or a non-invasive treatment, or low-level drug treatment. It's a tremendous emotional roller coaster for those folks to get the diagnosis and be treated, but those of us who have gone through the whole chemo thing have been to an even higher level of intensity. It's kind of like the first group went through Somalia, and the full-out chemo/radiation patients went through WWII and Korea in one fell swoop. I don't mean to discount the first group's emotions, fears, difficulties, or concerns - I have friends and family who have fought and won against cancer this way.
But let me tell you, when you're in the middle of chemotherapy and radiation treatment for Cancer, you are living in such a state of emotional and physical limbo that all you can do is make it to the next morning. I've talked in the past about the positive emotional and personal experiences resulting from my treatments (besides living) - it was an enriching time. But the thought of having to go through that Hell again came welling up in my mind all at once on that Monday. I couldn't think straight, and frankly was absolutely terrified of what would happen when I was tested later that week. Hands were shaky, focus was lacking, and the fear of having to fly back to my wife and new little girl with bad news was about as much as I could handle.
Needless to say, when my flight left Dayton on Monday afternoon I required a bit of liquid calm to take the edge off. $5 per glass of wine ($10 total) is a small price to pay for a bit of serenity.
Give it a try sometime - I highly recommend it. For those of you who don't drink because of religious reasons, don't forget that Jesus made water into wine for a reason.
So Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday were a whirlwind of tests, scans, and visits. In the end it is all looking pretty good. My blood was clean as a whistle - all cell counts and other markers were normal. My PetScan came back pretty good, but they did notice some cell growth activity in the chest (near something called the Thymus) that will require some monitoring. When I go back in 3 months (July) they are gonna run the PetScan again to check on this chest thing and see if it needs to be studied further. This little chest thing, while my doctor was dismissing as minor and not an issue because of positive blood work, started to get in my head once I returned to Cincy.
I'm OK with it now, although I can't deny that every once in a while I'll get a little worried and get some anxiety to tackle, but there's always something to deal with, isn't there? What I have to remind myself of is the lessons I learned during my illness about life and the fleeting nature of our time on Earth. We all think we're gonna live forever, but that isn't going to happen. It's even tougher to think about these things right after my baby girl has been born, but it's reality.
Lately, at the prompting of a friend, I've been putting together our daughter's family tree and been looking back through centuries (yes, CENTURIES) of Baker/Willis/Fritz/Becker family history and have been amazed at the varying lengths of time my ancestors and relatives have had on earth. While most of us think that 70/80/90 is a 'typical' lifespan, a little research in the past will open your eyes. In my research I discovered that a whole bunch of my great (to the 50th ish) power grandfathers died in the Battle of Mortimer's cross in a battle for the English throne in 1461 - many young men (30's) and older ones were offed - including Owen Tudor (yes, of the architectural style) who was my great (to the 40th ish) grandfather and got executed at the ripe old age of 61(ish).
Don't get me wrong, I'm still intending to get to 2072 with my margarita, cigar, and wife by my side - but this research has given me some perspective that not all of us get that much time. The key is, how do you use it - because with or without you, the beat will go on.
What's the point of the story? I get another 3 months to the next milestone. That's the whole point.
I've got to beat my drum of life, and make it count.
Yes, I'm still alive and am continuing to kick cancer in the nuts. In fact, those of you who interact with me in person will, from time to time, be given the pleasure of seeing my new t-shirt which states this fact once the weather here in chilly, grey Cincinnati gets a bit warmer.
Yes, I said Cincinnati. Amanda and I have returned to the motherland on a permanent basis.
I last posted in the midst of the Festivus Season, right before Christmas. It's been a little crazy since then in the house of Baker, as you can guess.
You all know the roller-coaster ride Amanda, myself, and our families have been on the past year with my cancer diagnosis and her pregnancy - it's actually been a wonderful time, especially since I beat the cancer and she's nearing the birth of our first child. Being in Denver is one of the biggest reasons we've had this result, with the world class doctors and all of your support, thoughts, prayers, and encouragement. But the "reality of life" we've been experiencing these past 8 months has led us to return to the "Land of the Beautiful River" (Ohio, for you naive folks) and what we've realized is our beloved Cincinnati.
Yes, I said it, "beloved Cincinnati". Go ahead and laugh, we'll address this response in a later blog entry. Consider this sentence a 'teaser'.
We came to Colorado after Amanda agreed to let me live my life-long dream of moving to the mountains. What a wonderful wife I have who moved 1200 miles from her nearest family member so her husband could do his "Colorado Thing." She's a trooper, and none of you single guys can have her - back off, or I will fight you.
And what a wonderful experience it has been! - I got to do the "Colorado Thing" for almost 3 1/2 years. Since 2006 we've been able to see some of the most amazing places - from the dwellings at Mesa Verde to the top of Union Peak at Copper Mountain Resort - all I can say is "wow". My grandfather, Bill Willis, always told me "Willy, you need to live out West" and he was right. I'm pleased to say that our time in the Mile High City has quenched that internal thirst I've always had to be out here, and has given me an appreciation for what we left in Cincinnati. As we looked at the economic realities of Denver (cost of living, strength of the Architectural job market, etc) and matched them up with our close personal and professional connections in Cincy - there was no question. Life was calling us back home, to the "Queen City of the West"
I return to the midwest eternally grateful for the time in Colorado, and all of the personal and professional connections we've made, many of which will be lifelong relationships. After all, if I hadn't been referred to the care of Dr. Marc Philippon at Steadman-Hawkins Clinic at Vail Valley Med Center, I'd be gone. Flat out - without his expertise and ability to 'connect the dots' of my condition I would be dead, or dying, from cancer right now. Instead, I kick the 'c word' in the nuts and you get to read my random thoughts.
The Mile High City is, frankly, a glorious place to live and work. If any of you get the chance - give it a whirl, you won't regret it.
What I liked most above all things in Denver is the openness of the people. Colorado has (I think) almost doubled in population over the past couple of decades (check Wiki), as a result most people you meet are from somewhere else. This creates a real openness and friendliness amongst everyone that makes it easy to tie right into social and professional networks. It's a characteristic that many older, established (and Eastern) communities should adopt. As a result, when we went through the hellish ordeals of the past year, the support we received from all of our relationships in Denver was amazing - and we are eternally thankful to every one of you in Denver who helped us cope with the illness and Amanda's pregnancy.
So what's your point, Bill - you ask? I have been writing for a while in this installment of the blog without much point. What I really wanted to do was take a moment to thank our Denver friends & family who truly blessed us with your support during our time there, including......
EVERYONE AT OUR FORMER FIRM, BURKETTDESIGN: -Amy & Rick Burkett, the owners. Words cannot express my appreciation to the two of them for their support, inquiries to my health, encouragement to Amanda, and Amy's insistence that I go to the hospital in Vail to help figure out what was wrong. If I had never worked for them, I might not have gotten the right treatment when I needed it. Even though there have been tremendous challenges to the Denver design industry as a result of the recession, and the resulting downsizings at the firm, the two of them repeatedly assured Amanda and I that the firm would be there for us. If any of you are reading this in Denver and are looking to hire an Architect or Interior Designer for a project - hire BurkettDesign. These are good people.
-Carole "Gram Gram", our office manager, psychologist, and dear friend. Carole, a fellow cancer survivor, was absolutely wonderful in her assistance in navigating insurances, checking in to see how I was feeling, offering support for Amanda, and helping me to talk through the diagnosis and treatment. All this despite being the most rabid Broncos fan I met in Denver - go figure?
-Bob Eyster, our IT manager. Bob, as soon as I was diagnosed with cancer and told the office, donated plasma at the Rocky Mountain Cancer Center for my use in the event that I had a need during chemo. Bob's smiling jokes and constant asking me how I felt were amazing. My last day at Burkett he gave me a Cuban cigar. I haven't smoked it yet, feeling that I need to wait for after my daughter is born to puff away.
-Joni Kappos, Receptionist/Librarian. Joni, a wonderful cook (hire her if you need a caterer in Denver) cooked some meals for us when we returned from Boston with the bad news. She repeatedly asked about our health and offered to help if we needed her. Thanks Joni.
-Jay McFarland, the "Fighting Scot of Marietta". Jay, unfortunately, is no longer at the firm. Jay's daily check-ins and witty Southwest Ohio smart-assed humor kept my spirits up. If any of you are looking to hire staff for a design firm - look him up. If I had to pick 5 people in my career to work with, he's in my core group.
-Joy Spatz, former Principal, and my favorite hippie at the firm. Joy left the firm to start her own gig, and I missed having her around after she left. Joy was one of my rocks in the firm, checking in on my condition and having the insight to tell me when to go home. She even invited the two of us up to her Mountain cabin in the early stages of treatment as a nice getaway from reality. When I had the 'sleepy eye' in my days after treatments she kept tabs on me and helped me to stop my workaholic ways and just 'GO HOME!' She's doing quite well on her own and is a wonderful person. I'm glad she's being blessed with success in this tough economy. Good things come to those who put good "karma" out there.
-Holly Houseworth, Missouri's favorite daughter. Holly and I sat next to each other in the 'back 40' at the office. She has been incredibly encouraging to both of us, has a wicked sense of humor, and has moved on to bigger and better things. She was a great pillar of strength in showing, by example, how to approach tough times in life and keeping moving forward. Like McFarland, she's worthy of joining your team anytime. She also has a kick-ass dog - Lucky.
-To everyone else at Burkett: Peter, Bart, Ryan, Cathy, Linda, Michelle, Gillian, Michele, Devon, Rick A, Cathy, Renee, Ted, Dewey, San, Meghan, Ben, Magee, Jessica, Mascitelli, Schulzie, and anyone else I forgot - thanks again.
AND NOW SOME GOOD FRIENDS & FAMILY IN DENVER....... To our friend Amy Malcom, an orthopedic social worker at CU Med Center - THANK YOU. Amy attended the same Methodist congregation as us in Cincinnati, and we actually got to know her quite well once we all moved to Denver. Amy came to visit the moment after we returned from Boston with the bad news and helped inform us about the various treatment options, benefit programs, and other financial options we could pursue in the even our insurance wasn't sufficient to cover the treatments. She also brought food, checked in, sent cards, wrote letters of encouragement - a priceless woman. Oh yeah - guys, she's single. Sorry Amy, I had to throw that out there.
To our old family friends, Tom & Jill Grubb, who live in Boulder- THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. I've known Jill & Tom since I was something like 8 years old, and they are good friends of my parents. They would send me notes of encouragement before and after my chemo rounds, with quotes and other inspiration. My favorite note they sent was a quote from Winston Churchill...."When you're going through Hell, keep going." Many a night I thought over this statement as I felt like I wanted to give up. It helped bring me out of the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
To our good friends Josh & Jana Vogel in Denver - their kind words and Jana's willingness to let Josh take me on repeated "man dates' between my chemo rounds helped to lift my spirits. Even though I was a bald-headed, puffy cheeked, slovenly cancer patient they pretended I looked normal and made me feel like my old self. I'll miss them and the kids now that we're back East, but will be forever grateful for the time we were able to spend together in Denver.
To the clergy at Trinity Methodist Church in Downtown Denver - Rev's Mike Dent, Miriam Slejko, and Linda Marshall. As I've mentioned before, this congregation reached out to us with open arms once they learned of my diagnosis. The notes, words of encouragement, and other support they gave us was priceless. If any of you in Denver are looking for a non-judgemental progressive Christian congregation with a focus on others - give Trinity a shot. It's what a church should be.
To my parents, Ken & Linda Baker. I cannot imagine the emotions they went through when the reality set in that they might lose a son to cancer. Most importantly, they never showed the fear to the two of us, serving as awesome pillars of strength for the both of us, with the kind words, support around the home, and willingness to take the burden of managing most of my treatment visits and doctor's appointments off of Amanda's shoulders. Thank you Mom & Dad, I love you, and look forward to seeing you become wonderful grandparents.
So that's it, this chapter in our lives is now through. There's no better way to close the curtain on the Mile High City/Colorado Chapter of the Baker journey than a little schmaltzy youtube video to the tunes of John Denver.....I didn't make this video, but it seemed to be the best option available on the youtube search. Enjoy:
Don't worry, I won't wait 2 months for the next posting. Keep your eyes out.
It's here - the anticipation amongst all of your family and offspring has reached a maddening crescendo - it's time for Festivus!
Those of you who are fans of the show Seinfeld (meaning any witty human between the ages of 26 & 46) can remember the 'joke' of a holiday that was celebrated by the Costanza Family, and now has taken off in popular culture to actually become a recognized secular celebration in some states.
In Wisconsin & Washington, there are Festivus Poles displayed in the Governor's mansion (the former) and State House (the latter). A company in Wisconsin manufactures the poles (The Wagner Companies, Milwaukee), and there is even a FESTIVUS FILM FESTIVAL up here in Denver (Google it - I swear it's real).
Yeah, I know you're saying "Seriously Bill, this is a joke!" But is it? It's a holiday where a bunch of people get together around a vertical item (tree, pole, menorah, etc) follow traditions, get honest with each other (airing of grievances or drink too much), say a prayer that it all won't be too stressful, eat a big meal, and annoy each other.
For my Jewish friends and extended family - sounds like Hanukkah, doesn't it?
For my fellow Christian friends and family (of various teams) - sounds like Christmas, doesn't it?
For my athiest/agnostic friends and family - sounds like any holiday based social gathering, doesn't it?
The only thing missing from the official account of Festivus from the show (there may be a real equivalent, as I'm not an official celebrator of this cool holiday) is the doing good and giving to others which permeates the Hannukah/Christmas/Misc Holiday Season. That is truly one of the best parts.
So why talk about Festivus in this version of the blog? First, it's in the wee hours of the morning on December 23rd - which all Seinfeld fans know is Festivus. Second, I'm really tired of the over-the-top PC sensitivity that everyone gets their shorts into a wad over around the Hanukkah/Christmas season in order not to offend anyone.
Frankly people, I've got more important things to do than worry about which holiday you celebrate - whether Hanukkah, Christmas, Festivus, Kwanzaa, or whatever. OK, I have to admit that Kwanzaa is still a bit of a stretch for me, but I'm a white guy who kicked cancer in the nuts with French Canadian/Irish blood who doesn't really have a right to tell one ethnic community"no" when all people regardless of race and creed get drunk on my day - St. Patty's Day. We all know it is a made up drinking celebration based upon a dead white saint who drove snakes off of a green little pile of rocks a millenium ago.
So go ahead, and do the Kwanzaa thing. No judgement on my end.
When we were at the Taos Pueblo a couple of weeks back we were talking with one of the shopkeepers/residents of the Pueblo about their unique traditions this time of year. For their religion (which is their Native faith interspersed with Catholicism) they do a really cool thing through the month of December - they 'rest and respect the Mother Earth'. She explained that they don't listen to radio, watch tv, or talk to each other much (yes, there is a stereotype about Native peoples based upon the actress in Northern Exposure that may have some truth to it). She explained that it gives them time to appreciate the goodness of their lives and all they have been given. Their season culminates with the 'Deer Dance' on January 6th. She couldn't tell me the meaning, as their native religious ceremonies are secret, but frankly, it sounded really wonderful.
When Amanda and I got married, we both came from reasonably devout backgrounds - she was raised a Presbyterian. I was raised the son of a Catholic and Evangelical. After we got married, we as a couple made a conscious decision to attend religious services and joined the Methodist denomination. Being from rural Ohio, I had been exposed to the "Average American Religion" (United Methodist Church) most of my life and it was a nice blend of our spiritual heritage. After all, with high profile members such as Hillary Clinton, Dubya, Rush Limbaugh, and Stephen King. how could the Methodist Team not be one worth exploring?
One of the favorite Methodist traditional services of mine (not much different from many of you other traditional Christian Teams) is attending Christmas Eve Services - of the candle light/carol based variety. It's a highly reverential service, much like the practice of the Taos Natives, which is quiet and respects the importance of the spiritual aspects of the Christmas Celebration. Frankly, being in a beautiful old cathedral lit by candles on a cold winter's night is a magical moment. This year, it will be especially magical, as we'll be at Trinity Methodist in Downtown Denver (a seriously beautiful building - check it out when you can) listening to their wonderful choir to candlelight. Of all the songs sung at past services, my favorite Carol is "Once in Royal David's City" We first heard this in a Christmas Eve service at our congregation in Cincinnati, Hyde Park Community Methodist, sung by the pre-puberty son of some friends of ours, the Viators. Absolutely beautiful.
Over the years since I've made it a point to, on each Christmas Eve, tune into the BBC's broadcast of the "Festival of Lessons and Carols" from King's College Chapel in Cambridge, England. They do a beautiful rendition of the song, in a wonderful architectural space that is a unique interpretation of a Christian Church - I like to call it the "Festivus Table" of religious space. When you look at the video, notice the beautiful, light & spiritually inspired structure. Then take a look at the layout of the chapel where the people face each other as a community, with little focus (if any) on the 'front' altar of the space. This is a room where people could (when the service is over) effectively air some grievances - possibly even participate in the feats of strength.
But seriously, start the video and turn up the volume. It's magic. One of the items on my 'bucket list' would be to attend this service at King's in person. Since I've beat cancer, I've got about 63 years to go until birthday 100 - we'll fit it in there somehow.
"Tears and smiles like us He knew; And He feeleth for our sadness, And He shareth in our gladness."
Celebrate this Season and appreciate what you've been given. You're living in this moment and have seen another sunrise. That's all you get.
Merry Christmas!
-Bill
CANCER UPDATE: Radiation oncologist, Dr. Chin, said it 'looks good'. I follow up with him mid-spring. On my first 3 month check up with my regular Oncologist, Dr. Hinshaw, I may end up getting another PetScan to do a baseline 'all clear' after radiation - more to come next month.
CANCER SOUNDTRACK: "Once in Royal David's City" As mentioned above, by any whoop-*ss choir.
There is an old scripture I remember from my days in Sunday School which can be summarized by the statement "a prophet is unloved in his hometown".
Before I go any further, for the record, I wish to state that I am not intending to in any way designate myself as a "prophet" or be compared to the big JC (or "haysoose" as we say up here in Denver). I'm just using this to make a point. It's my blog, so I can do what I want.
OK, back on subject. My hometown (from age 3 through college)was the small community of Sparta, Ohio - population somewhere between 150-200 people. It's in Morrow County, about 35 miles north of Columbus. Yep, it's that small. Sparta's biggest claim to fame is a former Major League baseball pitcher, Tim Belcher, who had a great career including a World Series run with the Dodgers in the late 80's. He's a good man, by the way, who is living in the community and raising his family there. The other claims to fame of Sparta are the annual Methodist Strawberry Festival, Highland High School (550 kids - consolidated from surrounding towns) and the legendary Lundy Stillwell (Rest in peace) who owned & ran the General Store for years. A funny story - Lundy actually used to let me pick up beer and cigars for my dad when I was a kid and take it home on my bike. Dad had called in the order and Lundy only gave me as much as was approved.
Sparta was a great place to grow up. We lived in an old farmhouse on the edge of town, across from the local High School. No major drug problems there - a little weed and some whippets were about all the hard-living one could do, aside from the occasional beer party. In a nutshell the kids do one (or several) of the following: Drink Beer, Play Sports, or Fool Around.
Pretty Norman Rockwell-ish, huh?
I had a great experience there, and was able to make many friends and have kept in touch with quite a few of them over the years, despite my time in Muncie, Raleigh, Cincinnati, and here in Denver. Several of you know that through a strange set of professional circumstances I have been given the priviledge of leading the design efforts on the new High School to replace the one from which I graduated. My firm in Denver partnered with my old firm in Cincy to be the Architects on the project. It's been the best of both worlds - I've been able to continue working with my good friends from Cincy, while living in Denver, and getting to spend a lot of time over the past 2 years back in my home community. My wife has also worked on the project, and has really enjoyed getting to know many of the people who I've known for all my life.
In 2008 & early 2009 I had been back in the community every 2-3 weeks, and was able to get together many times with old friends Kate, Chris, Megan, Dave, Shannon, Craig, etc - many of which I really hadn't communicated with for close to a decade. You know you've got special people in your life when you can sit down and it's as if the years didn't pass at all - we've had a great time reconnecting and talking about our (gulp) 20th reunion coming up in 2010.
So, getting back to it - my cancer diagnosis happened about 2 weeks after our major work on the project had been completed here in Denver - perfect timing for the project, as my illness didn't affect any professional obligations, but it did cut me off from doing any real work on the job and traveling back to work and visit. However, the outpouring of cards, messages, and support from everyone back in little ole' Sparta was amazing. My good friend Craig (If its free take it!) even came out and spent a week with us during my treatments to help out. Heck, even my junior high study hall monitor got word of my illness and sent me a card. Thanks Mrs Fulton - you're cool, I apologize for the hell I put you through in the mid 80's.
So, Bill you say - that's great. You had cancer and got a lot of cards - why write about Sparta, Ohio in your blog? Because I recently got a surprise box in the mail from Ohio.
You know what happened? About 15 of my high school classmates from Sparta who still live in the Columbus area got together this fall and had "Billapalooza" - a gathering of support for little old me. They put a care package together with a donation, a bunch of video greetings, and most importantly - a TON of hats. Everything from a sombrero to a 'short bus' helmet was in there. Many of these friends I haven't seen in close to 10 years - a truly touching moment that made both Amanda and I smile really big.
Jesus may have been wrong on this one- you can be loved in your hometown. I sure as heck have felt that way. I don't mean to discredit him, as he is the Boss of my Methodist Team. But I think I've got him on this one. By the way, the first picture at the top is my modeling of one of the hats they sent me - a "Colorado Buffalo" with some Rocky Mountain scenery in the back.
Here's to you Sparta, home of the Highland Fighting Scots. These 1400 miles between Denver and Morrow County don't seem too far at all.
CANCER UPDATE - the first follow up with my radiation oncologist is this Friday. Nothing fancy, they get to look at the still bald portion of my 'inner hip'. Golden Rays of Sunshine and body hair on your 'inner hip' (code word for crotch) don't mesh well together, and the hair loses every time. Just call me "half lawn".
CANCER SOUNDTRACK - "Hard Sun" by Eddie Vedder from the Soundtrack of "Into the Wild". Sorry hard-core music fan friends, I know you may not like this one. But I like Pearl Jam - and so does our good friend Anne. This is for you Mrs. East. The movie is good, and about a guy who follows his dream out West - I can relate. Only my story doesn't end with me starving in an abandoned school bus- I'd like to think that my version has turned out to be pretty positive, don't you?
Remember the 'Magic Eye' episode of Seinfeld? Take a look at this image below and focus on the middle - do you see it?
If you can't see it (I can't see magic eye images - so I won't judge you) I've interpreted for you:
One more reason to enjoy Thanksgiving 2009: Baby Baker coming this Spring to St Joseph's Hospital in Denver.....The best thing about beating cancer will be welcoming her into the world.
Carpe diem. -Bill
p.s. 'Cancer Beating Soundtrack Song #2'
"Follow You, Follow Me" by Genesis. I saw these guys on their 'farewell' tour in '92 in Indianapolis with Kootch & Bogle - best concert I've been to, hands down. Enjoy this video from the 2007 "Hey we need more cash" tour. Go see them when they return - great musicianship & showmanship. Worth the tix prices.
As I enter my last week of radiation treatments it's as if I'm nearing the light at the end of this particular tunnel of my life - a very dark, confusing, treacherous, yet simultaneously glorious time. The past 12 months started with a lot of pain, a fun time working on some professionally rewarding projects back in Ohio, and a boatload of travel. I had no idea about this "Mr Toad's Wild Ride" when I entered the hospital in Vail thinking that my ortho hip procedure would result in a quick rehab and a pain-free hip.
Oh my, Life can take unexpected, unplanned turns that challenge you to the core of your being. But it will simultaneously teach you something about yourself, your relationships, and your world.
I've got what I wished for -a pain-free(relatively speaking) hip. But my path to this point was entirely different than planned. Let's just say that the light at the end of the tunnel got pushed back "a few months". You know what? This may sound crazy to all of you who haven't had an illness similar to cancer, but the lessons life-threatening diseases teach you are awesome. As my High School track coach and science teacher Mr. Harrell used to say: A DUBYA EE ESS OH EM EE - AWESOME! AWESOME! AWESOME! Those of you who hail from Sparta have a leg up on everyone else reading the blog, because you can hear him say it, can't you?
This year has taught me the importance of looking through the 'noise' of life and looking at your true inner being. Trust me, it doesn't matter how successful you are, how important you are, how many friends you have, what degree you have, or what kind of car you drive - when you are faced with the possibility that you will die you are instantly pulled into a 'second level' consciousness where all the stuff of daily life doesn't mean anything.
You look at your family, your friends, and your faith (if you have it) - that's it. In fact, I'll bet most folks who face this will gain an understanding of faith. You've heard the old saying 'there are no athiests in foxholes?" Well guess what, there aren't any at the receiving end of a chemotherapy drug line, either.
All the trappings of the 'stuff' go away, and you realize that we are all running to the 'next thing' to avoid thinking about the 'bigger picture'. Don't get me wrong, aspiring for success in life, careers, finances, and in your recreational activities is awesome - but I can really see how many people are unfulfilled and trying to give a meaning to their life based on stuff, substances, and power. I've been given the gift of an 'early sneak peak' of the one thing we can't run from - death. Facing the possibility of the 'd' word and being given the chance to return to a 'second half' (reference my earlier Hoosiers posting) is life changing.
I now believe that the secret of life is stamping your ticket, hopping onto Mr. Toad's little car, and following the tracks through the ups, downs, twists, and turns. While you're on the ride, you're supposed to savor the gift of every minute you have, cherish the people who cross your path, be honest in your relationships, and be true to your faith.
When I think about the past year, from last Thanksgiving in Breckenridge with Amanda and my folks, to this upcoming Thanksgiving here in Denver with both of our parents, I think about the hundreds of amazing people in my life - both old relationships and new - who've been instrumental in helping me stay focused on the task of defeating Lymphoma. Some of these awesome people include:
Dr Philippon - the world renowned hip surgeon who discovered my tumor and delivered the cancer news with compassion & care.
Terri - Dr. P's assistant who helped us get additional tests in Vail and arrange all of the appointments at Massachusetts General
Rev's Dent, Slejko, and Marshall - The clergy at Trinity Methodist in Denver who went out of their way to show both of us kindness and support during my treatments.
My new blogger friends - This blog has connected me to people all over the world who have been touched by this disease. They have inspired and humbled me, as I realize many of them are not as fortunate as I, and are at a more advanced stage of the disease - you all have been amazing.
My old friends - phone calls and messages from Craig, Josh, Urb, Dave, Ben, Jeff, Tim, Nathan, Nicky, Kootch, Mike, Keith, Cindy, Barb, Bob, Kathy, Nancy, Tag & Jan, and hundreds of others have been overwhelming - all of you have made me appreciate our experiences together, and gave me the will to fight this off
Family - can't say enough - Amanda, my parents, Siblings, Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, In-laws, words can't express it, so I won't even try.
I've mentioned to many of you that a second version of my 'cancer soundtrack' is coming out to celebrate my apparent recovery. Instead of rolling it out all at once, I'm going to sprinkle the next volume of CCSI tunes over the next several posts - the first song on Volume II is a good 'syllabus' of what I've learned over the past year - how I've given out love in the past, and that "measure of my life" came back 10-fold in loving support from all of you during my treatment and recovery. The song is "Seasons of Love" from the 90's broadway musical "Rent."
I know that many of you reading this blog may have trouble getting past the subject matter of the show - there's all sorts of drug abuse, bohemian artists, alternative lifestyles, various people hooking up - it's pretty much a Jerry Springer artistic free for all - but the core message resonates with the lessons I've been able to learn over the past year. Check out some of the lyrics from this song, and then listen to the whole tune on the video below - it's impressive.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand Six hundred minutes How do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights In cups of coffee In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife
In five hundred twenty-five thousand Six hundred minutes How do you measure a year in the life?
How about love? How about love? How about love? Measure in love.
So take a look in the mirror and ask yourself - "if my doctor told me tomorrow that there was a 50/50 chance I might die - what would I change?"
And then go do it- NOW. You never know what the next year will bring.
Carpe Diem.
-Bill
p.s. Don't worry, I'm not getting all "new age hippy introspective" on all of you - I'm still the same old politically incorrect person you've always known, with a bit of a 'new dose of reality' thrown in.
It's been a few weeks since I posted for all of you, and a lot has been going on as I've entered my new "thermonuclear phase" of treatments for my Lymphoma - daily treatments at the Radiation Oncology department.
The week after my last post was a monumental phase in my treatment - the removal of my "power port" injection apparatus/site - a.k.a. 'THE THIRD NIPPLE". Nothing like a little outpatient surgical action courtesy of your friends at Presbyterian/St Luke's Medical Center in sunny Denver, Colorado. I'll take the name of this hospital as a good omen, since I married a Presbyterian and am the son of a Catholic - even though I'm now on Team Methodist, the folks at P/SL are 'my peeps'. It was a great step of progress - the removal of the port from my right chest. No longer will a third nipple be portruding from my right chest - the little three tipped (yes three) bump in my skin is now replaced with a Vietnamesque incision scar where they removed it. In the future, when the incision site heals, I've worked off my "chemo fat", am at the pool -I can tell people I got this 1" long scar "looking for Osama". After all, isn't the terrain of Afghanistan & Pakistan a lot like Colorado?
Back on subject - the port removal went well - I had forgotten how cool the nursing staff was in this area of the hospital. It was nothing but jokes all around. When I had the port put in, I was under some serious painkillers and minor anesthesia drugs, so the most I can remember from last time is laughing like crazy while they strapped me down and put it in there ( the port installation - get your minds out of the gutter!). Since I was only under a local this time, I could truly appreciate the humor of the nursing team. I wish I remembered their names - they all get a big 'thanks' for making another medical procedure in this journey reasonably pleasant. The worst part of the whole thing was when I heard a crunching sound - the doctor explained that my body had formed scar tissue around the port, and he was cutting through this 'shield' to be able to remove the device.
Lovely.
In other news, I've made it through 13 radiation treatments at the Cancer Center - so far no adverse visible effects - that is, if you don't count the daily blast of radioactivity 1000 times more powerful than a common X-ray. No sunburn, no chafing, and my 'boys' haven't fallen off due to their proximity to the beam. It's actually been pretty pleasant - the two techs who run the machine (Kierstan and Vivian) are pretty cool. It's pretty much a laugh fest in there all the time - we've been discussing the benefits of the show "Family Guy" and got a good chuckle out of my recently mailed gift from our good friend Craig in Columbus - the full banana body suit. Yes, folks - when you're beating cancer it's ALWAYS "Peanut Butter Jelly Time."
I am now the proud owner of a full-body banana costume. I'll wait to post pics until I can get the Slanket AND rasta hat on at the same time.
So what's the moral of this post? There is none. Do me a favor, savor every day - you never know when the doctor is going to look at you with sad eyes and serve you up one of life's big sh*t sandwiches.
Carpe diem.
-Bill
P.S. Who dey! Who dey! Who dey say gonna beat dem Bengals? NOOOOOO-BODY! Let's go boys- beat Baltimore.
I got the results of my post-chemo PetScan, and it was all smiles from my oncologist, Dr. Ioana Hinshaw. Based on the report, all evidence of increased metabolic activity and malignancy is gone from my body. In a nutshell, I'm as clean as the Bald guy peddling household products from P&G, and with much less muscle tone, actually resemble him. I've earned the right to wear the yellow wrist band, but probably won't (too cliche, although Lance Armstrong's organization rocks).
I start my 3-month checkup cycle with Dr. H and go back to see her in mid-January. Thankfully, the little metal port under my chest gets removed next week - so no more wierd itchy third nipple that shows through my shirts. Don't get me wrong, having an artificial third nipple isn't all that bad, but the removal of this device is another signal to cancer that I kicked its' ass. If only it was a status symbol - then I'd keep it.
All isn't done with my treatments, as I started radiation on Thursday. Why do this, you ask? It's a precautionary measure to eliminate any microscopic cell clusters in my pelvic bones that may still be active. In a nutshell, they're nuking the sh*t out of the area to get the little purple invader out of there.
The way it works is that every day during the work week (3:15 pm ) I get to go to the cancer center at Pres/St Lukes and sit under a large star trek looking machine with my pants off (sorry about the imagery), my package pulled aside(via towel) by the friendly (and funny) technicians, and get a dose of radiation for 5-6 seconds 1000 times more powerful than an X-ray on the tumor site in my hip. The area of the 'beam' is about as big as your hand - they are bathing the acetabulum (hip joint) and part of the pubic bone (don't laugh) where the tumor used to be with 'golden rays of sunshine' (a.k.a. radiation). I'll have a total of 25 treatments. It's amazing how precise and accurate they are -there are some cool Star Trek lasers off the wall that line up with the tattoos on my hips, and then they 'click click click' for about 5 seconds and- voila! - back to the office!
I'm being told that at treatment 15 or so I'll get to have a little sunburn on the site. That's OK, as long as the little sumbitches are nuked right out of there. Nothing that a little aloe and talcum powder can't cure. My Radiation Oncologist, Dr. Daniel Chin, tells me that I've got a 10% chance that I might get another tumor in 15-20 years at the treatment site - I'll take that risk. After all, I only had a bit over 50% chance I was going to beat this, so 10% is nothing. The hope is that as I get re-activated with my cycling I'll be able to sense if something goes wrong early enough in the future to catch it.
The machine they put me under looks like this picture above - but the room isn't all tricked out this way with the man-cave wood paneling and beautiful sky ceiling. They did take out a couple of the 2x4 ceiling panels at the Cancer Center, and replaced them with some sky pics with fighter jets flying by. I'm not sure about the military theme - maybe its a subliminal way to tell your body thay they are nuking the sh*t out of you, just like these jets could launch a small radioactive device and wipe out some middle eastern village.
But I really have no control, so I'll just take every extra day I can take and live it to the max - risk of cancer recurrence be damned. I've got too much life to live to worry about this.
You've seen it in the movie theater previews, and you've read about it through the freakazoid paranoid psychotics on the internet - December of 2012 is when the Mayans say the world is going to end - Doomsday, Baby
REALLY?
This has a strange similarity to Hale-Bopp(remember the Nike shoes?), Y2K, Obama's election, Dubya's election, Oral Roberts' "Jesus will take me home" fundraising campaign....- you get the drift. It seems that the Human species is always figuring out ways to freak itself out over the 'imminent end' of the planet, despite the fact that we've either been here for 1) a couple million years+/- (evolutionist camp) 2) 7,000 years+/- (creationist camp)
Either way, it seems a bit silly that we're freaking out about something that's a couple of years away, when we could be living our lives to the fullest, now - doesn't it? Don't get me wrong, I know it's important to get all lathered up over the future, our country, world, etc - but people, let me tell you something important - now, listen....ready?
It doesn't matter.
I had a great conversation the other night with my good friend Eric who just successfully kicked cancer's ass - for the second time. We were talking about this subject, and how everyone gets wrapped up in the minutia of life & politics. He summed it up in one sentence "Bill, none of this shit really matters." I've thought about what he said - and he's right.
The beautiful thing about having a life-threatening illness is the perspective that it brings. As I've sat in countless bland doctor's offices, been laying half-naked in a hospital gowns inside large machines making strange noises I've been able to mull over the details of life, the people and relationships in my life, and for the first time really 'observe' what is going on around my world - both in the present and recollections of the past.
I know that I've occasionally taken the sarcastic approach in this blog and called people 'douchebags' and ranted a bit, but you know what I've discovered through all of this? I've discovered that many people are focused too much on power, position, money, and being 'important'. I think about folks I encounter in my life now and in the past and it's like the fog has been lifted to where I can truly see their priorities. I am saddened by how many folks seem to be aimlessly trekking through life, wasting away their time in the pursuit of stuff - and not in the pursue of integrity & soul. Whether that 'stuff' is a fancy car, lots of money, the right house, the right 'school', or the right 'look' - it's all immaterial when a doctor looks at you and says "I'm sorry, but you have cancer."
I'm not going to hint remotely at anyone in particular - that isn't fair, and I have no right to judge. But let me tell you, when you have to think about the possibility of a premature death due to illness it really "clears your mental sinuses" and lets you know what's important. This illness has been a beautiful thing - I know, you're saying "Bill, you're beating it, and that's why you can take this positive approach.". You may be right, and I might not be saying these kind of things if I was dying. But it's not my time to go yet, so I have to assume that the pain, suffering, confusion, anguish, and hardships of the past 5 months are intended to push me down a particular path in the 'second half' of my life (see my Hoosiers entry in the blog.) So, I've established that too many people are pursuing stuff rather than integrity & soul. So what does this have to do with the end of the world according to the Mayan Calendar? First of all, have we really established December 2012 as the end of the world, just because an extinct Central American culture, as my friend Craig puts it, "ran out of paper for their calendar?" For all we know, carving all those pictures in stone gave all the calendar writers carpal tunnel and they finally said 'screw it - that's far enough ahead." Or who knows, maybe the head calendar writing guy got sacrified because he lost one of those wierd life-or-death Mayan ball court games they talk about on the Discovery Channel:
While it looks like this doomsday scenario is going to make a mean movie, I really think everyone should just calm down and smell the roses. Do you know the best thing you can do to alleviate your fear of the future? Life your damn life, and make a difference in the lives of others. Making a difference doesn't mean running around telling everyone through your facebook or linkedin account that you worked for charity, or raised money, or went to a 'charity benefit' with your picture on the social pages - don't get me wrong, these aren't bad, but go and do something that isn't public. Volunteer at a Rescue Mission, use your professional 'capital' to help a friend find a new job 'behind the scenes', spend some in-depth time with someone who isn't going to give you a big fat contract or advance you in business - just enjoy their humanity and learn from their life experience.
Enjoy your time, and don't worry about the future or if you're gonna die in a big-assed comet explosion in 2012. For the few months before my diagnosis and chemo, I experienced the pain of a cancerous tumor eating away at my pelvis - I'd much rather die in an instantaneous explosion than have to die a slow painful death from this disease. Those of you who've seen someone die of cancer or suffer through this disease understand what I'm talking about.
I'll take the Mayan solution in a heartbeat, if it means I have a couple of more awesome years enjoying life, drinking some wine, climbing a mountain or two, and enjoying the company of family & friends. There is a saying attributed to John Wesley, an 18th century priest in the Church of England who founded the Methodist Church, which I think summarizes what constitutes a good use of our time on earth:
"Do all the good you can,
By all the means you can,
In all the ways you can,
In all the places you can,
At all the times you can,
To all the people you can,
As long as ever you can.”
So get off your ass, and go make a difference. And please, make sure you're not being a douchebag while you're at it.
Carpe diem. -Bill
p.s. My cancer diagnosis and treatment cost has now exceeded $188,000. Booyah!
Remember this classic story of a man who gets a second chance in his life, and the resulting 'second half' of his life story is possibly one of the greatest tales in all of modern sport?
That's right, Gene Hackman starring in "Hoosiers", which is considered one of the greatest sports cinema flicks of all time. And to top it all off, it's based on the true story of the "Milan Miracle" - the 1954 Indiana State High School basketball championship where tiny Milan defeated Muncie Central in one of the greatest basketball games ever played. As a small town Ohio boy who grew up in a similar community (which had a couple of runs at the Ohio Championship and finally won - Go Scots!), I could relate to the emotions and passions that this movie so eloquently portrays. Even though this movie is now 23 years old - I get goosebumps every time I watch it.
Now, granted the movie takes some liberties with the original story (the coach in real life really didn't have a questionable past like Gene Hackman's character), but still the parallels to my recent experience trend together. You see, when I returned from Boston, just a day or two after learning my cancer was not only in my hip but up in my chest and possibly in my skull, it was a pretty down time - the lowest of my life. Yes, I kept an optimistic persona about me to friends, co-workers, and family, but I knew deep inside that I was forever changed, and there was a possibility my odds weren't going to be so good. I even spent some time crying - a lot. Looking at the possibility of my end was frightening, and angering - because I love life, and for it to end before I was ready to end it on my terms gave me the feeling that I was in the midst of a true "David vs. Goliath" Story.
Most of you know I married into an Evansville, Indiana family with some history of basketball - between my Father-in-law as a former HS player and HS coach, with his brothers playing at the HS level, as well as a brother-in-law who was a heck of a 3 point shooter when in HS, coupled with their universal love of Bobby Knight and all things IU - you get the picture. On top of that, during my attendance at the "Harvard of the Midwest" a.k.a. "Testicle Tech" (that's Ball State to the rest of you) my alma mater had some good teams which whipped me into a full appreciation of Indiana basketball fever. Also, as I mentioned above, my small town in Ohio was the Buckeye version of this hysteria - so basketball references and allegories run strong in these veins. So how does this tie this back to my cancer experience (this is a cancer blog, right?) In basketball terms, when I returned from Boston with my uncertain future I got pulled into the locker room at "halftime" of my life (37 years) and got kicked in the unmentionables by cancer - hard. So hard that there was a 43% (ish) possibility that my chemotherapy wouldn't work and I'd be looking at not making the second half starting team.
So, there I am, first week in June, traveling to Lutheran Hospital in Denver to get a PetScan to see the extent of my cancer and just how bad it was. All the tests in Boston were not 100 percent confirmed, as this was the one final step in the diagnosis journey which would let my team of oncologists in Denver know what to do next, and what the options were. I knew this was the big test, and was scared beyond your wildest dreams.
I go in, and get injected with some radioactive dye which will pulse through my systems and show exactly what areas were affected and cancerous. After the injection, they have me go to a small room and wait for an hour while the dye pulses through my body. The room is dark, soundproof, has a large comfy leather recliner with a warm blanket, and a big flat screen TV with a remote. There were some movies there, and you know the first one I laid my eyes on? You guessed it - Hoosiers. There I am, in the biggest fight of my life, and the story of one of the greatest underdog stories is there to see. So I plugged it in, fast forwarded to the last hour (I've seen it at least 20 times already) and cried my eyes out at the end when they won.
Fast forward 3 1/2 months.....As I now enter a 3 week recovery from chemo, and prepare for my next PetScan on October 12th pre-radiation, I feel like it's all been a dream - an emotional, inspiring, harrowing, uplifting, and glorious dream.
So here I am, ready to go out on the floor for the second half of my treatment regimen at the hand of a little bit of radiation (daily for many weeks). I'm gonna defeat this Goliath, kick the b*tch in the nuts, and get on with the second half of life for my friends, my family, and my beloved Amanda.
Gene summed it up best at the end of this clip......
"Douchebag, or simply douche, is considered to be a pejorative term in North America, the United Kingdom and some other English speaking countries. In some English speaking countries the term is not well known. The slang usage of the term dates back to the 1960s. The term implies a variety of negative qualities, specifically arrogance and engaging in obnoxious and/or irritating actions without malicious intent. It is generally used for males only."
Don't you just love the internet? Where else could you get a definition for the do*chebag insult composed in such a manner that you could read it aloud in a High School english class? For my fellow Fighting Scot alums, just imagine this being read aloud in Mrs. Rhoads' class.
Through a series of events and emails, I've decided to take a markedly different approach to this version of the CCSI blog, focusing on the increasing number of annoying humans who are using valuable oxygen on this planet, and really aren't giving much benefit in return. As you recall from a few blog entries back, I feel that I've earned the perspective of life and the right to 'call it like I see it' and quit sugar coating exactly how I feel. So, in the spirit of my fellow moronic annoying humans, I'm calling out some of our fellow homosapiens on their true identities as do*chebags - so here they are:
Dude at Sam's #3 Diner who knocked out my crutch:
This week I had a business 'power breakfast' at downtown Denver's favorite diner, and was waiting for the other folks in the empty waiting area when this older guy (I'd say mid to late 50's) walks in after me, obviously looking for someone else. He was wearing a very expensive looking suit, and had a large bundle of legal files in his hand. Oh, and he had a 'fading-fast' combover to top the combo. So I'm standing there to the side by the cash register, leaning on my one crutch, and you know what this guy does? He freaking runs right into my crutch, knocks it aside, and just keeps walking. OK, you say, no big deal, right? I'm pretty tolerant and all, but this idiot just keeps walking through and doesn't even apologize, since whatever he's doing is much more important than the common courtesy his momma taught him as a kid. You know what I said? "Asshole", and with some volume as well. The counter lady with the big white fro got a good chuckle out of it. My only consolation is that I'm 100% sure that even as a pasty bald man I'm better looking than this idiot, who actually looked alot like this random internet photo you see to the right. DO*CHEBAG FACTOR: MODERATE. 80%
Governor Mark Sanford, South Carolina:
As a moderate/centrist leaning Republican (I'm one of the three left in the party) I've been pretty all-around disappointed with my party, and how they've taken some of the more moderate members (a.k.a. John McCain) and torqued them into southern-pleasing righties with no common sense as of late. So, you can only imagine my disgust when "Mr. family values" Sanford decides to go off and hike his own version of a Mountain Trail....in Argentina. Seriously dude, what the !$#% is wrong with you? He has an intelligent, good looking wife, kids who aren't stupid, and a great job running one of the most bass-akwards states in the US, and he decides to take a mistress - IN SOUTH AMERICA? Come on man, you could have at least followed in the footsteps of your buddy up in New York and stayed closer to home. There are people who (illegally) provide those services for a nominal fee, Guv. DO*CHEBAG FACTOR: VERY HIGH. 95% (maybe his wife is mean, who knows? I'll give him 5% extra wiggle room on the d-bag scale)
Michael Jordan, Basketball HOF inductee
We all know MJ was probably the greatest basketball player of all time. I know it, you know it, God knows it, heck - I'll bet space aliens even know it. So it wasn't much of a surprise to any human when MJ was inducted into the Basketball HOF in Springfield Massachusetts (my Dad's hometown, by the way) this month. Other members of the class included David Robinson, Jerry Sloan, and Vivian Stringer - all of whom are class acts in their own right. So, when the king of basketball walks to the podium how do you think he accepts his honor? By making fun of others, and taking pot-shots at other players some 10-20 years after the 'incidents' occured on the basketball floor. Then, to top it all, he jokingly threatens everyone that he's going to play b/ball again at age 50? Really Mike? I'd LOVE to see your flabbly middle-aged *ss on the court for some one-on-one with LeBron James. Heck, I'd even put money that the King would wipe your smart-mouthed arrogant HUGE melon-headed self all the way back to the Tar Heel State. How disappointing, to have confirmed in front of the world that you're nothing but a bitter has-been. David Robinson and the others were ALL CLASS and deserved their honor. You're going to go down as a whiner. DO*CHEBAG FACTOR: MODERATE. 89%
Kanye West, self proclaimed King of Music and Judger of All
To think, I was getting ready to buy some of his music, and "Mr Cool" decides to embarrass a beloved teeny-bopper idol on national television. Believe me, I've heard both Taylor Swift's music and Beyonce's music and don't disagree that Beyonce probably has more talent and innovation in her right thumb than Ms. Swift does in her whole body - but seriously dude, who made you the music judge of the universe? The man has hundreds of millions, probably has all the immoral pleasures of Caligula at his beck and call, is considered one of the top music talents of a generation, and he has to go and get all 'critic righteous' on us? So, Beyonce didn't get an award - I'll bet she didn't really care - so Kanye, go find something to rap about and drop it, will you? DO*CHEBAG RATING: VERY HIGH. 97% Way to silence the moron, Jay Leno.
Nancy Pelosi, Speaker of the House.
I tried as much as possible to limit this list to men only, but every action, word, and deed of this elected official who is third-in-line to the Presidency might as well be as annoying as running fingers down a chalk board. All of my PC friends may be offended that I put Rep. Pelosi on this list, but seriously folks, this woman is JUST AS BAD as Rush Limbaugh and will single handedly be responsible for the loss of one (or two) houses of Congress by the Democrats in the next election. Just about every Independent, Moderate, or Republican I know who voted for President Obama is annoyed by or detests her efforts, and her unwaivering commitment to partisanship. Seriously Ms. Pelosi, turn it down a notch - you need to turn down the San Francisco and turn up the Midwest. Let's just hope that the President can calm her down and let her know that she DOESN'T run the country before she makes the last 1/2 of his term nothing more than pure gridlock. Take a lesson from the late Sen. Kennedy, Speaker Pelosi and learn to reach across the aisle, regardless of how stupid it may seem over there. DO*CHEBAG RATING: MODERATELY HIGH. 91%
Rep. Joe Wilson, South Carolina
OK, this was easy, but come on man - you don't yell at the president and call him a "liar". EVERYONE in that joint session of Congress was a liar. You may not like his politics, many of you know I didn't vote for the President (I confess that I voted for the ORIGINAL John McCain, not the re-doctored version they tweaked for the campaign), but I still think Mr Obama is a family guy and a good man. Heck, compared to Mr. Sanford up above Obama's a freaking saint. So Mr. Wilson, I hope to heck you get your sorry *ss voted out of Congress to prove a point that CIVILITY IN PUBLIC DISCOURSE IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN PARTISAN RANCOR. It's about damn time that people on BOTH sides of the aisle quit yelling at each other that their ideas are '100% correct' and everyone else is wrong. If you're 100 percent sure that your ideas are perfect, than how come you're not in charge? If you think you're perfect, then guess what - you're probably not. After all, if I was perfect, my face would be in stained glass, on buildings, and in books all over the world. "Bakerism" as the 5th major world religion has a nice ring, doesn't it? So Rep Wilson, get a life and shut your pie hole - maybe you and Pelosi could take a long trip to a foreign country and NOT come back. DO*CHEBAG RATING: HIGH. 96%
So, I hope you weren't offended, O readers of the blog. But if you were - tough. Get over yourself, and go buy a snow cone. None of us or our ideas are really that important in the grand scheme of things. The snow cone will be good for you, I swear.
Oh, and by the way - watch out behind you, the do*chebags are everywhere....
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