They also serve who stand and wait... Or, in this case, watch.

Beware!  This post is a little longer than some...  But I feel the need to write down my feelings on it and the people that join us on our journey.

Is it really that hard to watch family member or friend with cancer? You better believe it is! It's a very hard, stressful, emotional time for everyone involved.  Not to mention being scary as hell. These times have been the scariest times of my life. 

What makes it so hard from the standpoint of family and friends? Think about it… When a person has cancer, everyone has the patient first and foremost on their minds. While we watch, most of us try to do anything we can to help make things easier for the patient. Just being there, listening to them, giving a million hugs and kisses, doing and getting things to help whoever it might be.

I have taken to calling the friends and family and caregivers that go along with us on our journey "Watchers." Why watchers?  Because that's about all we can do from that side of the diagnosis. Watch...

When a cancer diagnosis happens to a loved one or a friend, all you can do is be there for that person and help them in any way you can. All you can do is give of yourself and your time. Most of the rest of it is and doing what I have started calling the four W’s... Watching, waiting, worrying and wondering.

When you see and talk to others who might not be there as often as you are, what is the first thing you hear?

“How is so-and-so doing?”

They are concerned about the patient which is totally normal. One of the questions I have is, how often do the watchers get asked, “How are YOU doing?”

Don’t get me wrong, I know it happens, but not nearly often enough in my opinion. Yes, you almost always hear, “If you need anything, just let us know,” but rarely are the watchers asked how they truly are and what they might need. Those who watch are cancer warriors too, just in a slightly different division. They give of themselves in SO many ways; they take time off work and out of their lives, they use their own money and resources to get things the patient may want or need, they sometimes ignore their own medical issues or skip taking their medications or going for medical exams or treatments… They do about anything they can just to try to make sure they are there and available in case the cancer patient needs anything.

The patients themselves are busy being… well… the patient.  Doing their best fighting the hardest fight of their life, trying to get better. The medical staff gets to do things that can actually be seen. They are coming up with ideas and doing things for the patient. I know that may seem small to some but think about it from the perspective of a watcher. As watchers we have to hope what we’re doing is enough. Much of what we do doesn’t always have an immediate outcome that we can see or feel or realize. Yes, a “thank you” or a kiss and hug for something done is a response we can be seen and felt, and those are some of the best feelings you can have, but then it’s right back into the fight with the cancer beast and it seems quickly forgotten a lot of the time. Seems being the operative word.

As a person who has watched a lot, I have asked this question of myself so many times, “Is what I am doing even making a difference?”  Speaking from the position of a person with cancer, I can tell you that you are absolutely INDISPENSIBLE. What watchers do and what they bring to the situation are absolutely imperative. There is no way I can make a big enough deal out of this. The patient will cling to you and your love and your strength. With cancer, you can imagine yourself as being lost in a raging ocean. You’re trying to live and survive in the ocean by swimming or treading water or whatever else you can do to keep from going under. You are looking for absolutely anything to help keep yourself “afloat.” I can guarantee you the support and love and caring of a watcher, even your just physically being there, is like throwing them a life vest. When we feel like we can’t go on or might be giving in to depression or other deep, dark emotions, we will use YOUR power and strength and love to help keep our head above water. This is a 100% true fact. I’ve lived it.

Sometimes (in my case, most times) these strong and loving people don’t get told what they were doing and what they were sacrificing makes a difference. At least not up front… while it’s happening. A lot of the time the watchers will catch the brunt of the emotions and fear from the patient and it comes out in the form of being snapped at or yelled at or accused of things. The patient can seem mean or hurtful or even hateful. That’s not fair to the watchers, but it happens often. A watcher needs a very thick skin, a harder head than the patient, and they have to be partially deaf... You have to be willing to take all that lashing out and emotion and just let it all go in one ear and out the other. You’re the lightning rod sending the bolts harmlessly to the ground when they strike. Sometimes it is hard… beyond hard. It can end up hurting so much that at some point you have to take a step back and regroup. It takes a lot of work and energy to watch. It’s tiring on so many levels. It is mentally and emotionally draining to the point of sometimes seeing the watcher go home and break down. Personally, I HAD to have those breakdowns at home… away from the patient. Breaking down in front of them was completely taboo for me. I felt it gave the wrong impression. I want to put up a strong, positive front. Something the patient can cling to, so breaking down in front of them was not something I would ever consider doing. Again, this is just how I handled it. Your thinking may be totally different. There is no set of rules and regulations on this. It is all learn as you go. On the other hand, if there was good news, breaking down in front of the patient was more than allowed. You’re showing the relief of the good news and sharing the moment with them.

One thing I have discovered over the years is watchers are VERY strong.  A lot stronger than they might give themselves credit for.  99% of you keep coming keep coming back day after day, with the only saving thought being the hope you might be helping in some small way. Believe me when I say you are helping… More than that... You’re a necessity. It may not might feel like it at the time, but you are most definitely wanted and needed. More than you will ever know. Always. I’m sure somewhere down the line you will likely be told as much, but it never hurts to hear it from other sources too. It gooses you a little and gives you a bit more energy to go back for the next round.

Every person handles things in their own way, and those ways are custom-made for each person so it is most comfortable for them. That’s part of being human. The problem is cancer is not comfortable. Mentally, emotionally or physically. When you watch and support the patient in any way you can is when the four W’s I talked about earlier show up… Watching, waiting, wondering and worrying.  Most of the W’s are mental and emotional stress and can drain a person of energy very quickly.  Those kinds of stress can tire you out just as much, if not more than, physical stress. Many times, it takes longer to get mental and emotional strength back than it does to get physical strength and vitality back. Plus, if you let mental and emotional stress get too intense or last for too long, it can and will affect you physically. I have tried to come up with a comparison or an analogy for what it feels like from the mental and emotional standpoint. I can’t find one. I don’t think there is one. Everything I come up with doesn’t sound right or ends up being physical. I was going to liken it to sitting on a cactus… naked. Talk about some major pain, and in some of our most tender spots… but how can you mentally or emotionally sit on a cactus? So, you see my dilemma. It causes a lot of uncomfortableness (is that even a word? If not, I’m still using it. Get used to it!). We all handle the uncomfortableness in different ways. Looking back now and seeing things with my added age and experience, and the knowledge gained from both of those, I think the way I handled it from the watcher side was maybe 50-50, good to bad. I can look back now and say that. I ran and hid and refused to look thinking if I don’t see it or hear it, then it’s not real.  In some cases, things went incredibly south. I can feel bad about it all I want, but I can’t go back and change those things now. Hindsight is 20/20. There are no mulligans. That is who I was and how I handled it at the time, plus I have tried to correct the situations as best I could after the fact.

The bottom line is this... Those of us that watch are Cancer Warriors too. Always. We become Watcher Warriors. We are an integral part of the recovery process and we are absolutely needed. We might not know or see what we are doing is helpful at the time, but I guarantee you it is... and always will be. I stand and applaud anyone who takes the journey with those of us with cancer. I can never say enough about you and what you do.

To those that went through my journeys with me...  I will NEVER be able to truly repay you or make you understand what you meant to me then, and what you continue to mean to me today.  I love you all...  Starting with my wife Lea Ann, my family (including my friends) and everyone else who helped me. I will never ever forget... I hope that my fellow cancer patients will have the same feelings. Honestly, I am sure you all do... and I hope that the watcher warriors know it now too.

Thanks for reading along, my friends!

Five Years Ago - The Start of a Blog...

Hello everyone!

Thank you once again for reading this blog. With any luck at all, it has helped you our in some way when it comes to the journey with the beast... I can always hope.

The reason for this post is another anniversary.  Five years ago this week I decided to start the blog. It was a year post operation for me and in that year my view had changed and evolved quite a lot from what it was when I was going through it all. It was originally going to be just a personal journal... My thoughts and feelings and trying to work through all the changes and issues that come with cancer. The "new normal" as I am sure a lot of you may have heard over your journey. That's a very correct definition too.  It is a new normal. The old ways don't work as well any more, if they work at all. So you have to learn new tricks and behaviors. Not impossible by any stretch, but also not as easy as it may sound, at least in some cases.

As the journal went on, I shared it with a few people and they commented on the writing style and the fact that my journey might be able to help some people, both patients and their "watchers," better understand the journey. They said it felt like we were sitting at a table, having a drink and just chatting as friends do. That's when I decided to go public and turn the journal into a blog for anyone to see and read. Would anyone understand it? Maybe, especially if they are on the journey. Would anyone care to read it? Again, maybe. Depends on where they are in their journey and if they are open to other's ideas about it. Plus, who knew it was even there unless it is by a post on Facebook or word of mouth. Would it be able to help anyone if they did read it? Who knows. I still hope so.

Why do I have that hope? Mainly because of what happened on my journey. If you read the blog, you see that after my surgery I was a snapping turtle with my mouth tightly closed. No way was I going to talk about it or open up about the entire issue. No way at all. It had been cut out of me. It was gone. No need to talk about it any more. Move along. What I have found by talking with others is that type of thinking seems to be pretty common. If I don't talk about it or look at it or think about it, it didn't happen. The denial phase of the grief cycle. I talk about that whole thing in an earlier post too, so I won't rehash it here. The internal struggle I had about the whole communication thing stemmed from my parents, but not in a bad way.  Let me explain. My parents were married at the end of the Baby Boomer time frame, the early 1960's. They had certain ideas about marriage and ideals from the public and in the eyes of family and friends and the church, etc., about what it means to be married. Part of that is communication. They actually went to weekends and seminars about couples communication and keeping those lines open. They didn't have any marital issues that I knew of, but they always wanted to make sure they had open communication lines to each other. I saw that and how it worked. Then, when dad and mom were diagnosed with cancer, I saw them start support groups for that too. This was before the Internet, so they had meetings at our house or other member's houses every week. I was not included in them. Not because they shut me out, but because I was in my late teens and early 20's. Thats the general age where a human seems to think no one understands them or their problems. Especially their parents. At that age we just decide that WE know best. I was VERY much like that. Looking back now, I can see what I was able to get out of those meetings, even though I didn't go to them. Communication lines are like the pressure relief valve on a steam cooker. Keep the valve closed and after a while a seal will fail and the lid will pop off or the cooker could even explode. Without that valve, that release, we could blow up too. Talking and getting those feelings out is a release. You are not handling them alone anymore. You have others that know and can help and understand. You can get ideas for coping with issues, feelings, physical stuff...  everything. Opening the valve can be tricky. You can get burned, it can be loud, there are usually tears, but after that initial shock at the start of opening it, the pressure lessens. It really does help. So even though I wasn't involved in the meetings and groups, I saw what they did. What the meetings and the people in them meant to others and the kinship and friendships that were created because of them. I had hoped, and still do, that the blog would be an electronic version of that type of idea. All thanks to my forward thinking parents and their want and desire to communicate. Thank you Mom and Dad.  Just another reason I love and miss you both.

So, on this fifth anniversary of the starting of this blog, and over 42,000 page hits later, I can say that maybe, just maybe, I was able to help a person here or there. No matter how little of a help it may have been. The whole idea behind this was to show people that they don't have to go through this alone. The thoughts and feelings they are having, both as a patient and as a family member or friend, have happened to others. Maybe what I felt and how I handled those feelings would or will help someone in a similar situation. That was the entire idea. The underlying meaning of this whole thing is, "You are not alone," or, "You don't have to be alone." Some choose to be for their own reasons, and I respect that. Everyone copes in their own way. This helped me through some of the issues I was having with it, and still have some of to this day. The New Normal is a tough thing to get a handle on sometimes. But it is manageable. At least I think so.

After all that, you might ask why I quit making blog entries after a while. Mainly because I was into the New Normal at that point. I had a handle on it and it was just regular life again. Sure there are days that are better than others, and others that you wish you could forget, but generally it would have been writing about day-to-day life. I was afraid you would get bored with that, so I just stopped and let the blog stand on its own. It seems to be doing OK. When I remind people online about it, the usage spikes for a few days then back to pretty quiet. Like I said before, I am not in this to reach a million hits or for notoriety or fame... I just want to be able to help. To talk across that virtual table and let you, the readers, feel like someone knows and understands what you are going through. In a very personal and intimate way. No one know what it is like to go through this unless they have actually done it. They can read about it all they want, but until it happens to them, it is just words on a page or on a screen. My largest hope is that someday no one will understand the feelings here. Why would I wish that you ask? Because it would mean the NO ONE has gone through the cancer journey, so they have no way to understand it. I truly believe that time will come. Some day. Maybe not in my lifetime, but maybe in those of my children or grandkids. You know...  The ones I got extra time with and got to see and be with because I did go through the journey and was lucky enough to come out the other side. Not once, but three times now. That is not me trying to crow, that is me being proud of myself. That is hard for me too, but that is a whole other area of my brain that I haven't put in to a blog yet... Yikes.

Lastly, thank you for reading. I hope this makes some sense and that you weren't too bored with it. It's a big deal to me, and I wanted to share the feelings with you all too. Mostly because it was you that I wanted to reach. So thank you once again. I truly do appreciate your time. In the words of one of my favorite characters of all time...

May you all live long and prosper.

My "Fight" Music... Even if it is late...

Hello everyone!  It has been a while, hasn’t it? Coming from me, you can take that as a good thing. It means that cancer is in the back seat and my life is mine and not being ruled over by the beast. :)

I wanted to talk a little bit about music. It is a big part of my life. I’m not that musical when it comes to playing an instrument, but I can play the hell out of a radio or a CD player or an MP3 player. Truth be told, at one time, I could have been called a half-way decent singer. In fact, a cousin and myself were tapped to sing at one of our family member’s wedding back in the day.  These days not so much, what with the throat surgery to remove my thyroid and the esophageal cancer surgery, it has affected my voice some. This post isn’t about me and the music I can or could do. This is about music that I listened to when I was sick and recovering from the esophageal cancer. I hear so many people talking about their fight songs or their “beat cancer” songs. Songs that spoke to them, and speak to the world for them. Songs about fighting the beast and songs about winning. Honestly, I am a little surprised I didn’t come up with one of those on my own, but for whatever reason that didn’t happen. At least not at the time when I was in recovery and chemo and radiation and all. It came quite a bit after the fact. Why? Who knows… Maybe I had not really “heard” the lyrics yet. Maybe I had not thought about a song to fight from. Maybe, maybe, maybe… But the fact is that I almost always have music around me. For me, it's soothing most times.

What brought this to the front of my brain was I was watching one of the reality talent shows on TV… I don’t remember which one. Anyway, one of the contestants had a song they sang that meant a lot to them during their fight with cancer, which they happen to beat by the way, and it made me start thinking about it. The song I have unofficially adopted as my fight song is by one of my favorite bands of all time. They may not be my all-time favorite band, but they are most definitely top two or three. The band’s name is Foreigner. I’m sure most of you have heard of them from the 70’s and 80’s and beyond. They are what I would consider an arena rock band. Second generation classic rock, worthy of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, with a great sound, and one of the most recognized voices in rock and roll, Lou Gramm. They had hits like; “Feels Like the First Time”, “Double Vision”, “Hot Blooded”, “Urgent”,  “Jukebox Hero” and “I Want to Know What Love Is”, among many others. 

My song is off the band’s 4^th album, aptly entitled “4” that they released while I was still in high school in 1981. I consider it their best release. To me, every song on that album is excellent. The one song that stuck out in my mind as a fight song was called “I’m Gonna Win,” but it stuck out for more than the obvious reason that is in the title. Of course we all want to win the fight against cancer. That’s a given. But to me, the words spoke to me on a level that usually does not happen. Usually, I tend to listen to the music and not so much the words. I read somewhere that is a “common male trait” but how real that idea is, I have no idea. In this case, the words hit my brain in a way that I actually remembered them. Agreeably, not all the lyrics fit, but most of them do. They made a lot of sense to me. Even several years after the fact. I've actually been thinking of reaching out to the band and band members at the time to let them know that their music meant something special to me.

Here are the lyrics:

[Verse 1]
Another dark night, in the city
And my prospects looking thin
The survival, of the fittest
Is the law, in the world that I live in
I was not born, to be a fighter
But now's the time I have to learn
To keep my head, above the water
Got to play with fire, but not get burned

[Pre-Chorus]
I got to stand up, I got to face it
Don't want to lose it
I want to taste it while it's hot
Don't want to waste it, I need it so bad

[Chorus]
I'm gonna win
I'm gonna win
You see it's a matter of pride
Deep down inside
I'm gonna win
I'm gonna win

[Verse 2]
I got no time, to sit and wonder
I got myself, to reckon with
Yeah and life won't drag me under
Even if it takes, all I have to give
I'll give it all

[Pre-Chorus]

[Chorus] [x3]
[Verse 3]
Ooh, I'll pay the price
Gonna win
No more Mr. Nice
Gonna win
Hey, just watch me roll the dice
I'm gonna win, win, win
I'm gonna win, win, gonna win
I'm gonna win
I know I'm gonna win

You can find the song on the Foreigner 4 album or you can even listen to it on many of the streaming music sites or find it on YouTube. I encourage you to give it a listen. See if it makes sense to you. If it doesn’t, that’s OK. It just means you might have a song elsewhere, or you fight in a different way. No one says you have to understand or even like this song. It just hit home for me. When I hear it come on whatever I am listening to, I turn it up and sing along. It makes me feel like I have on a suit of armor that nothing can penetrate. I don’t know how else to explain it.

I’m sure that some of you reading this have a fight song, or a mantra, or quotes, or whatever else you can think of that gives you strength when you need it. That is that this song is to me. Music is an important part of my life. I tie many memories to the music of the time. And any time I hear certain songs I am transported back to whatever memory it is tied to and I re-live it. Some would ask why in the hell I would EVER want to relive fighting cancer. That answer is very simple. I won.  BUT… Even if you have a song that reminds you of a time when someone you loved was fighting the beast but they ended up losing that fight, in my mind they still won. They fought as bravely and as hard as they could up until the very end. And, in my way of thinking, that song should now remind you of them and their strength and courage. Like the lyrics above say, they gave it all.

If you or a person you love and are going through this with don’t have a song or some other mantra to fall back on to be able to draw strength from, I suggest you give it a shot. See what strikes your fancy and run with it. There are no rules. It doesn’t need to make sense. If it means something to YOU, that is what matters most. No one else needs to understand it because it’s not their journey, it’s yours. So be proud of whatever you might pick. Whether it me music, or poetry, or a particular book, or… fill in the blank. You’ll be surprised at just how powerful it can be once you make that connection and how strong it can make you. And how full you will feel.  I truly believe that, and I hope you do to.

Stay well, my friends. Much love to you and yours, and most of all…

Live Long and Prosper…

My 5th Re-Birthday... A Milestone Reached!

Hello everyone!  It has been a while since my last posting, but honestly there has not been a lot to report. At least when it comes to the esophageal cancer. It is true that in October of 2016 I had a thyroidectomy due to thyroid cancer that took my entire thyroid gland, and in October of 2017 I had cryo-ablation of clear cell renal carcinoma. Basic meaning, I had cancerous cells on my kidney frozen to kill them. In fact, the follow-up scans for that cancer were just done this week and I get results in early February.

Having said that, why am I posting then if there is little else to report?  Because today is a special day. Five years is generally the milestone you want to be able to achieve after a diagnosis like this. For a long time that was the mark that told you that when you reached it you were "cured" of cancer. At this moment five years ago today (11:45am on January 25th, 2013), I was in surgery for esophageal cancer. They removed a majority of my esophagus, the upper portion of my stomach and 31 lymph nodes. About 13 hours in surgery, incisions on the chest and on the back, 16 days in ICU, 3 more days in a "regular" hospital room, 6 weeks of post-operative radiation every day (well Monday through Friday, weekends off), 6 weeks of post-operative weekly chemo therapy, physical therapy, 3 months of home recuperation... Numerous doctor visits and follow-ups. The list goes on and on. But here is the bottom line... Five years ago I was reborn, so to speak. Given a new chance. Today is my 5th re-birthday! I would sing at this point, but I enjoy having windows and dogs that can hear more than I enjoy singing. 😊  Does that mean I am cured? Maybe. Wait? What? Why just maybe? Basically because no one knows for sure. Is the esophageal cancer gone from my body right now? Absolutely! Will it come back? No one knows... So "maybe" is the perfect answer here. It’s one I am happy to report too! Let me try to explain a little more...

Back in 2013, the survival rate for the type and stage of cancer I had was, at most, 8% after five years. That was stage 3 with lymph nodes involved, but nothing more. That is what they call "regional" cancer, meaning it has spread into lymph nodes or other nearby tissues in the body, but the affected area was basically still in only one place and near the tumor. That's also one of the reasons I didn't need chemo and radiation before surgery. Now, only five years later, that same type and stage now has around a 23% survival rate. For people who have caught it earlier (Stage 1 or 2) that shows no spread to any other areas, the rate goes up to around 43%. They call that "localized" cancer. And finally, if it is diagnosed as "distant" it means the cancer has spread to other organs and/or lymph nodes that are away from the main tumor site (stage 4). That survival rate is around 5%. Yes, that is a low percentage, but it is very close to the survival rate I had just five years ago and I'm still here! This is beatable. Trust me.

Now... a few other things to keep in mind. Survival rates are, plain and simple, just rough estimates. Period. They are based on the outcomes of many people who had esophageal cancer before us, but they can’t predict what will happen with any specific person. Knowing the type and the stage of a person’s cancer is important in estimating their outlook, but everyone and every diagnosis is different. A lot other things are important and factor into that too. Things like the treatment the patient gets, how the cancer responds to that treatment, how the patient responds to that treatment, not to mention a person’s health in general. There are SO many variables we could never list them all. When your take all these things into account, still no one knows for sure.

Now, having said all that, does that mean I don't believe I am cured? Hell no! At this moment in time I am NED and cured! For those that don't know what NED is, it stands for "No Evidence of Disease." A younger gentleman I know, who was diagnosed and operated on a while back, and his wife recently had their first child. A boy they named Ned in celebration of his having no evidence of the disease. That was the coolest reason for a name I had ever heard! That's being positive! I do my best to keep a positive attitude. After the way I started all this, as you may know from previous blog entries, I wasn't always so positive. I want and need to stay positive now! Positivity and humor are huge weapons against this, at least in my mind. I have no cancer. I have a life, and one that I take a lot less for granted now. I am "me" again, but an enhanced version... Brian version 2.0. I see more, notice more, enjoy more, listen more, cry more, feel more, love deeper, hold on to hugs longer, say I love you more often and to more people. Some would say I have turned soft or something like that. I'm sorry they feel that way. They have no idea how this feels, this "second chance." I've gotten a second chance at living and it has opened my eyes and mind and heart wider than they were before. It is absolutely amazing what you can see and hear and feel and just experience if you allow yourself to. The problem is that people are just "too busy" or too into what is bad around them to see anything positive or to live most of the time. John Lennon said it the best way I have heard in his song "Beautiful Boy." The first time I heard it was when I was watching a movie called "Mr. Holland's Opus." Lennon's line in the song was, "Life is what happens to you while you are busy making other plans." There was another good line that speaks volumes too, this one from "Ferris Bueller's Day Off." That line says, "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it." The sad thing is that it took a life-threatening situation for me to see that. I was like so many other people, too busy and into my own life to actually live it. One more movie line here, an introverted, nerdy-type character is talking about just living through the night based on the weirdness and antics that had happened up to that point in his night. His friend, who has been experiencing the same night and antics, tells him, "You're not alive unless you're living." That comes from a movie called "I Love You, Beth Cooper." As you can see I am a little bit of a movie guy, but a lot of times I get things out of them, and in these three cases, the lines struck home very deeply for me. They all say, basically, stop. Look around. Enjoy all you have. Be ALIVE, don't just live. Take time to enjoy the sound of children playing on a playground, or watching a bird flying in a clear blue sky, or just marveling at a night sky with the moon and all the stars and planets, or the sound of a loved one as they are deeply breathing while asleep (maybe not full on snoring, but you get the idea 😊)... or the beauty of a baby smiling at you as they see things for the first time ever. Listening to people. I mean REALLY listening. Not just to the words but to the feelings beneath them. Offering advice when asked, otherwise just offering an ear and a shoulder to lean or cry on. Hugging longer, kissing more often, saying I love you more... All these things I have learned in the last five years.

I would love to say that I came to this realization within my own little skull full of gray matter, but that would not be true. Well, not completely anyway. It took a few other things too. First, it took a life-threatening disease. Second, it took my love, my wife, to talk me off the ledge a few times more than I care to admit. That woman is the living embodiment of wedding vows... for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. She literally saved my life and I will love her until the end of ever, then forever after that. And third, it took our family and friends to help me to see that I was wanted and needed and important in all their lives. To see that we were all stronger with me around. It took all these things to get my brain to look at life and living from this new perspective. I just had to be smart enough to see and accept that new vision... and I have. There is nothing like it. I kind of liken it to getting part of your childhood back. You start seeing some things with wonder again, like we did when we were kids. Not questioning so much as just experiencing and enjoying and sharing. In my new view, that is the definition of living.

The thing is, this is a never-ending change for me. In fact, it should be that for anyone. How so? Well, whenever you discover and experience something new, your view changes a bit. That should make you take action. Maybe make you re-adjust your thinking and feelings. Part of living is learning things and acting on that knowledge, but now I realize that we can get so wrapped up in the actions that we forget to live in the moment. To feel it, experience it. When we don't do that part, we miss out on a lot of living. Plus, doing those things might drive our actions in other directions too. Just "watching" the new situation or whatever it is, is like watching a mouse in a maze. That's all fine and good and you can get a lot of information out of doing that, but I'd now rather BE the mouse. Experience the moment. Get my own perspective on it instead of just standing back and watching it. Admittedly, this is something I am still working on. I am really REALLY good at standing back and watching. Feeling and experiencing things more is taking a risk. With risk comes the possibility of getting hurt or learning something you really might not have wanted to know, but without that risk... you'll never know. At least not for sure and definitely not from your own experiences. Some might use the old adage, "You can't lose if you don't play." When I hear that, I come back with, "You might not lose if you don't play, but then again, you will never win either." So that brings us to the definition of winning. What is it exactly? I'm not going to even attempt to tell you. Mostly because each of us has our own definition of how we win or how we lose. The definitions are as individual as fingerprints. What I might see as winning you might look at like one of those RCA Victor dogs in the old picture ads with the tilted head and ears up looking at the old record player seemingly thinking, "What the hell is that?"

So as I come to the end of this "longer than I thought it would be" post, I wonder if I am making sense. After a couple of re-reads and tweaks, I believe I am. Hopefully you feel the same. What I hope and wish for you is that you are living as I talked about above. That you can start to “be the mouse.” Feel and experience and share for yourself. Don’t take someone else’s word for it, or their definition of the feelings. Only you can feel your feelings. Don’t let someone else feel them then tell you about them and dictate how they make you feel. Live more, smile more, feel more, love more, and experience all you can!

As always, live long and prosper, my friends. Love to you all!

Tiptoeing Through Some Feelings

Hello everyone. I appreciate your taking the time to check back in here to take a look at the blog once again. Even though my postings have become quite sparse, I still think of the blog quite often. Just most times there is not really enough to say to really get a decent post together, so I let it slide and suddenly its six months or a year later… I apologize for that. However, there is a reason for it. Allow me to explain. If you have been following along with the blog, you’ll note that I stopped pretty much after the blood clot incident was taken care of and physical therapy had re-started. The reason for that stoppage was simple, at least to me. After that point it was just physical therapy at home until they deemed it no longer needed and starting back to work. In my mind, that is getting back to “normal life.” It is true that I was out of work for only three months (a rather short time from what I have been finding out). It’s also true that this type of surgery requires at least a year to allow a person to “start feeling like themselves again.” My post-op gastro doctor mentioned that in regard to major surgery and it held very true, at least for me. I was concerned that writing about getting back to normal was, or would be, a little boring for everyone, so I refrained from putting those things out here on the blog… at least a large majority of them. Another reason was a bit of survivor’s guilt.  I’ll expand on that a little further on in this post.

As a lot of you may know, I am a member of several support groups for esophageal and thyroid cancer over on Facebook, as well as following several on Twitter. The posts on the Facebook groups from me are mainly comments to other posts, or a simple like to this or that post. The frequency or number of posts kind of ebbs and flows. Lately my posts have been pretty light as my new job plus three hours commute round-trip daily drains me quite a bit. That causes me to not get online nearly as much. As I get more used the new situation and hours, and the training ramp up evens out, that power drain will lessen I expect. In any event, reading through those posts from day to day is really a rollercoaster ride. People at all points of their own personal journey with the beast. People with new diagnoses, those who are the caretakers and friends of the patients, people in the midst of chemo and radiation, or just before or after surgery… and those that are reporting post-op scan findings along with how much time had passed. I’ve seen up to about 20 years post-op that are still free and clear. Those are the heartening posts. The ones that take you to the top of that rollercoaster. Then there are the posts that report a loved one’s last days, their passing, or the person’s leaving the community because they feel there is no need for them to be there anymore or it is too painful for them to still be there or whatever. Those are the low points of that same rollercoaster ride. They are also the posts that make me worry about posting more about surviving. I worry about making those that have not been as fortunate feel badly or add to their feelings of despair. Is it right for me to post about my still being alive while so many others are fighting and dying of the same beast’s damaging blows? I fight with that thought a lot, especially when I hit the milestones post-op. I am not one that wants to hurt people or remind them that their loved ones have been lost, or may be losing their fight. However (isn’t there always one of those?), I also feel a need to let people know that this is not a fight that people will always lose. The beast CAN be beaten. I am proof of that, at least as pertains to Stage III Esophageal Cancer, and more recently Stage I Papillary Thyroid Cancer. So I hope you can see the tug-of-war that is constantly going on in my mind. Is that the definition of Survivor’s Guilt? Am I over-analyzing? Is it something I really need to worry about? I don’t believe that it means I am too feeling or too sensitive to other’s feelings. It’s simpler than that. To me, I would sometimes rather keep quiet and just feel good about reaching milestones than to remind others that maybe their loved ones were not so lucky. Thoughts like these sometimes keep me from posting or posting more or longer entries, whether it be here or on those support groups. I hope that make sense to you. I also hope that explains why sometimes there are large gaps between my posts in all of these places.

To help bring this entry to a close, I wanted to make one final point... Well actually it is more like a request. If there is a specific area you would like to see me expand on further, or a specific time or feeling or procedure you would like to see more on, please let me know. Whether it be here in the comments or via a private email or message over on Facebook or Twitter or whatever. I’m really not too hard to find. I’d be happy to pass on any information or memories or even knowledge that might be of help or of interest to you. One of the favorite things I heard (and used) when I was a technical trainer back in the day was this,

“The only stupid question is the one you don’t ask.”

Those are very true words. So ask. Not just me, but anyone. The doctors, the nurses, the hospital staff, the American Cancer Society, support groups, whoever and where ever. If the question is to me and I don’t know the answer, I won't hesitate to say so. I’m not too proud to admit when I don’t know something. What that will do is spur me to go looking for answers, or at least find a path that the person that asked the question might be able to follow. I am sure that the person asking will have already done, or is in the midst of, their own research, but any way I can help is what I strive for. In fact, that is the whole idea behind this blog. Does that mean there will be answers coming to every question pointed at me? Likely not. No one has all the answers, but I will do my best to find at least something... Bottom line is it's the thought, or in this case the effort, that counts. Another good saying, and another I believe in.

Keep on keeping on, everyone. We will meet here again, I am sure. Lastly, I truly mean it when I say…

Live long and prosper.

Four Years and Counting...

Four years ago… January 25, 2013. I was in the first major surgery of my life. Fighting a foe that no one wants to have to fight, but sadly many do end up battling. It is a nasty, ugly, unfeeling, uncaring foe that is relentless and hateful. One that doesn’t think twice about taking a life. The beast known as Cancer. At that time, my particular version of this beast was of the rarer variety (but growing), Esophageal Cancer.

What did that mean for myself and my family and friends?  Let’s make a list (be aware, some of these may seem a bit small or maybe even petty to some, but they were and are things I thought about)...

• 12+ hours in surgery
• 19 days in the hospital – 16 of which were in ICU
• One day from hell 3 days after surgery
• 3 months off work
• Six weeks of daily post-operative radiation treatments
• Weekly chemotherapy sessions every Monday for six weeks, also post-op
• Massive loss of strength, stamina and physical stature
• At its maximum effect... a weight loss of 215 pounds
• Blood clots throughout the neck and right shoulder, including the Jugular vein, caused by the chemo port likely being placed too deeply into the chest
• Too much prescribed blood thinners used when the clots were found that caused the blood work to go insane and almost caused another hospitalization and plasma transfusion
• Numerous visits to a Coumadin Clinic (before work) to help manage the blood thinners and blood work after the clots were taken care of with the blood thinners
• Having to pull around those little carts that hold the green oxygen tanks outside of home
• Weeks of physical therapy (which I was horrible at following through with)
• Weeks of breathing therapy (which I was even worse at following through with)
• Making a lifestyle change when it comes to what eaten, how much, and how often (this change is still ongoing, even after four years)
• Being unable to drive
• Doctor’s appointments after doctor’s appointments after doctor’s appointments… And so on and so on and so on… ad infinitum
• Depression
• Self-doubt
• Being totally insensitive to others and their feelings
• Survivor’s guilt (this is still an issue and sometimes makes me hesitate when writing)

And the list could go on, but you get an idea. As you can see, that entire list was made up of things that are negatives. How about a list of positives?

• I was quite obese when this started… Upwards of 400 pounds. My weight is much better and healthier now
• High blood pressure is gone
• No more Sleep Apnea
• Blood work is well within the normal range for the most part
• I got more time with my family and friends
• I got to meet and hold and play with all my grandchildren
• Had been only six years into my marriage, got more time with my loving and beautiful wife
• Started noticing things I had previously taken for granted… the beauty of a tree, a sunrise or sunset, the sound of a grade school playground at recess, the smiles and laughter of my loved ones, how a baby smells after a bath, gaining an entirely new perspective of what it means when friends and family gather for any reason, how a kiss feels, being unafraid to shed a tear or two…
• I got to see how strong my family and friends are and how much their support means and how much I depended on it (even if I didn’t admit it at the time)
• Realized how strong *I* am
• Discovered my superpower – Kicking Cancer’s ass

In short, I survived. Against the odds based on the staging of my cancer (stage 3) and the medically listed survival rates and all. God has something in mind for me. What it is, I have no idea. I’ll find out as time goes on.  They say that he will never place an obstacle in our path that we cannot overcome. This helps to show just how strong you really are and can be. You’ll never know just how strong you are until being strong is your only choice. Does being strong mean you will always win? No…  but yes. If you are strong to the end and don’t give up… If you go down but go down swinging, that is a win in my book. That is true for your entire life, not just in the face of sickness or disease. Fight with all you have for as long as you can and you are a winner to me.

I am aware that most of those last few sentences sound like a motivational poster or bumper stickers or something, but they are true to me. Some of the major things I’ve learned over the last four years.

Lastly…  Love to you all.  Live long and prosper.

Papillary Thyroid Cancer... And the Aftermath

Hello everyone. It has been a while. Last time we talked I had just been diagnosed with Papillary Thyroid Cancer. A lot has happened since then.

On October 7th of this year, I had my entire thyroid removed. This procedure seemed so different than the esophageal cancer one from the very beginning. First off, the initial time for the procedure was in the middle of the afternoon. That seemed very odd to me. They explained it this way, "We do the younger ones first when it comes to surgery here. This is because they don't understand the reason why they cannot eat or drink on the day of surgery and some don't handle it well. Also, this way they don't have to sit and wait and worry. Youngsters are not as equipped as adults when it comes to dealing with all of it." I fully appreciate and agree with that. Added to the fact this was done in a smaller town hospital with limited space and availability, it makes sense to me. In some ways I think that kids not being "as equipped to handle that kind of stress," is a blessing in disguise for them. If it is not known or not fully understood about the issues and complications that could arise, then there is not a lot of basis for worry or stress, other than the actions and reactions of the adults around them, In my opinion, they are rather lucky in that regard. Their main worry is not being around their parents or family and friends for a while, or I would ASSUME that is the case. They know they are sick and they also know that the doctors will help them to get better. They may not know all the little details of what might happen. Usually anyway. And being a parent, I would think long and hard about telling the youngster about all those details. As a parent, I want to protect them. Do I think they would understand the situation? Maybe, depending on their age and mental level. Would it help them to know about all the little things that might go wrong and what might happen to them? Again, only my opinion here, I don't think that part would be needed. At least not at that point, but again that is based on the age of the child and their level of poise and knowledge and maturity. A lot of that type of detail is scary for an adult let alone a child. Telling it to a child is pretty much cruel in my book. Do you lie to them? No. Absolutely not. If they ask questions, explain it to them as best you can and try not to scare them. In these cases I look at it as it is not a lie to keep the truth to yourself. Tell them later... After. That way you can tell them how strong and how brave they are. They can make the connection that they beat whatever they had and came through it. That way, if something like that ever happens again, the mindset they go into it with might be in a stronger place from which to fight and beat whatever it is they have. If you have been reading this entire blog you know how I feel about mental stance during and after. To me, it is very important. Also, I'm talking "worst case" types of issues here. I realize that no surgery is easy or free of possible bad outcomes, but I am also sure you get where I am coming from. If it is a tonsillectomy, or ear tubes, or something more "common," then the stress and worry tend to be a lot less because there are fewer possible issues and those issues are less common. The kids with the more emergent issues are the ones I am talking about here... But I completely have left the path I started on here.  Kids are just that important to me. Felt the need to talk about kids and their illnesses and how I would handle it, so I did. The bottom line is that I agree with taking them first. Get them in, get them out, and get them back with family to start their healing and recovery process. I'm down with that. And not back to where I was heading to begin with...

So a mid-afternoon start time for the surgery. Usually the procedure takes three to four hours. They make an incision at the base of your neck and work from there. Below is are two pictures of mine.

Taken the day after surgery, also the day I left the hospital.

 Taken after about 3 weeks of healing, the day the steri-strips were removed.

The surgeon needs to be careful of several things. These include taking great care in working around the vocal nerves and also moving and maintaining four smaller glands called the parathyroids. The Thyroid is just under the adam's apple, so it is very near the vocal chords. If they mess up the vocal nerves, the voice is messed with. That's pretty much self-explanatory. The parathyroid glands and what they do? I had no idea. Here is what I learned. They are usually four of them. They are about the size of a grain of rice and are physically connected to the thyroid gland. They control calcium levels in your body. In a tyroidectomy they have to remove those small glands from the thyroid without harming them so they can continue to do their job controlling the calcium in your body. If they get messed up it can affect your heart, nervous system, kidneys and bones if uncorrected. They can definitely correct having to remove them or whatever that with supplements and pills or whatnot, but they would rather you keep your original equipment, You'll also notice no stitches or staples on the incision. In my surgery they used internal stitches that dissolve and get absorbed by the body, and steri-strips to help keep the site closed and covered on the outside.

The surgery went without any incidents, however they did find an odd growth behind the thyroid. The surgeon took it out and sent it to be tested immediately. He got the results before the operation was complete. It was listed as "parathyroid tissue." The doctor didn't buy that. He said that if it were parathyroid, the calcium in my blood tests would have been much higher. He thinks it was a goiter, Bottom line is that it was benign, no cancer, and it was removed too. He actually said that had it been parathyroid, he "could have put it back in."  I had to chuckle at that. It wasn't parathyroid and my calcium is pretty much normal. The morning after surgery it was a bit low... 8.0, Normal is 8.5-10.2, so they were thinking about not letting me go home.  I got some higher calcium food and took a couple of calcium tablets, and it was 8.4 later that day and we all felt better about that.

Another oddity, pretty much immediately after I got out of recovery and into a room, I was given supper! They gave me meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, jello and juice. And with no swallowing issues I might add. That part amazed me. Lea Ann too. We both figured I would be on liquids or soft foods for a while after. To be honest, nothing in that meal was overly hard, but it sure tasted good! Good tasting food at a hospital is an oddity in and of itself, let alone eating that soon after getting out of recovery.

More oddities... Had surgery on October 7, got discharged on October 8. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am. And after maybe 3 days of slight soreness, I was pretty much back to normal. Yes, I had to limit lifting and straining to allow the incision to heal well and not rupture. Compared to the esophageal cancer surgery, this was an absolute cake walk, at least as pertains to things physically. Don't get me wrong, it is still cancer and that is not anything to joke about or make light of, but this seemed almost easy. Admittedly, I am not done yet. I still have to go through the radioactive iodine capsules and all that entails (which I will write about further in another blog entry later), and I will have several follow ups with radiation oncology and also the endocrinologist.

Lastly, the pathology on the thyroid went as follows:

• 1.5cm (0.6") nodule, right lobe of thyroid, tested positive for papillary thyroid cancer
• 0.8cm (0.3") nodule, right lobe of thyroid, tested positive for papillary thyroid cancer
• 0.4cm (0.15") nodule, right lobe of thyroid, tested as a benign goiter
• Left lobe of thyroid - clear
• Extra tissue behind the thyroid removed, tested as benign parathyroid tissue, but the doctor disputes that

So the cancer was staged at Stage 1, no metastasis, no lymph nodes involved (S1N0M0). We were also ensured that this was not a metastasis from the esophageal cancer from 2012/2013. So we caught it early again. I cannot stress enough how much it means to catch these things early. Listen to your body, and follow the schedule of doctor visits and tests so that you can catch anything as quickly as possible. Early detection and correction is the key! 

Thank you all for staying with me through all this. I appreciate your reading and your comments! I can only hope that they writing is helping someone somewhere to understand how someone may be thinking... at least as pertains to cancer.

Follow-Up Scans and a New Glow

Hello everyone. My apologies for being gone for quite some time again. I know I say that a lot these days, but honestly things are getting back to "normal" and life was happening which was taking me away from the blog. That added to the fact that I had actually come to the end of the major part of my main journey with the esophageal cancer and was running out of things that I felt the need to write down. The rest was just continuing physical therapy and doctor's follow-ups. As of this entry I am coming up on 4 years clean of the esophageal cancer. A very good thing!

Earlier this year I went in for my yearly follow-up PET scan. Everything looked good in the esophageal area, the stomach and liver looked good, colon was good, but there was a glow seen in the area of the thyroid. A slight glow. Not too bright which usually means not a lot of activity, but it was new and it was glowing. My gastro doctor said that the radiation could cause nodules and the glow on the scan, but it needed to be looked into due to my history with cancer as well as my family's history. He said to get an ultrasound of the thyroid and also see an endocrinologist. The ultrasound was done first. Three nodules were found on the right lobe of the thyroid. One was 4mm, one was about 8mm, the third was a little over 10mm. For reference, one inch is a little more than 25mm, so these were all under half an inch. We took that information and went to the endocrinologist. Based on the looks and the findings, the doctor decided to have another ultrasound to measure the nodules to see if they had grown at all since the last ultrasound, and also to do an ultrasound guided needle biopsy of each.

A needle biopsy of the thyroid is officially the oddest feeling I have had in my life. They use lidocaine to deaden the skin, then use a thin needle to take the biopsies they need. The odd feeling is when the needle enters the thyroid. It doesn't hurt, but it is a pressure. Then they have to literally bounce the needle to get cells they need into the needle and you can feel that vibration in your throat. It is a very odd feeling. They use a syringe to pull the cells up into the needle and take it out. They then give the sample to a lab person that is in the room with you. They immediately use a microscope to check to see if they have gotten enough cells for the testing. If not, they go in again with another needle. They biopsied all three of my nodules. No issues there. Not sore or anything. I was told that the nodules had not noticeably grown and that the endocrinologist would have the results in a few days.

We met with the doctor six days after the biopsies. I have a new diagnosis - Papillary Thyroid Carcinoma. Cancer was found in two of the three nodules (the third is a small benign goiter).

This is still new to me and I am in the middle of gathering information on it and trying to wrap my head and emotions around it. What I know so far is this: This is the most common form of thyroid cancer. It usually hits a little younger, the average age being 30-50, and it hits more women than men by a ratio of about 3:1. So I am once again not average. Older than the average patient and on the low end of the gender ratio. 10-year survivability of this is 80-90%. It is not overly aggressive and not usually prone to spread. Generally this kind of cancer is not treated by chemo and/or radiation unless it has spread to the surrounding lymph nodes or other tissues. So far that looks like that has not happened. I will be getting a Total Tyroidectomy sometime at the end of September or early October. Afterward I will likely have to take radiated iodine in a capsule form once or perhaps twice to cleanup after the surgery. Also, I will have to take thyroid medication from then on for the rest of my life.

It is still too early for me to have a real feel for this or to put my emotions down in this form. I am doing a few things differently this time around though. I am trying to get all the information I can, I am asking people who have had this and had the operation I am having what I can expect through this whole thing. This has been going on over the last two or three days. Emotionally, it was still a shock, but not the gut punch I had with the esophageal cancer. Not sure why exactly, but I expect it helps to know that this is not really aggressive, not a lot of metastasis, generally no chemo or radiation, and even the surgery happens one day and usually the patient is out the next day and back to "normal" type stuff within a week or two. It is still cancer, and it is still scary. I'm still coming to grips with it. As I do I hope to write more here and perhaps help anyone else who might have this, like I tried to do with the esophageal journey.

If you are so inclined, please keep myself and my family in your thoughts and prayers. If you have gone through this or were a family member or care-giver for someone who did, please let me know. I'd love to talk with you about it.

Also, thank you all again for following along here. Your attention and comments are always welcome and appreciated.  :)

Three Years Post-Surgery: Now vs. Then

Hello everyone!

It's been quite a while since we connected. Basically an entire year, give or take a few days. My apologies for that. I was chugging right along with this and suddenly life reasserted itself and I let things slide, at least as pertains to our communication. I'm going to try to get back into the swing of things here so our connections are not so few and far between. I appreciate your staying with me after all this time. Thank you!

In any event, as the title states, I passed my three year anniversary of surgery on January 25, 2016. At last check I am still clean and clear, thank God. Seems like an eternity ago when all this started... Which is odd for me. Usually major things in my life feel like they were a long time ago but also within the last five minutes, but not this time. Not this memory. This one almost seems like a dream. If it weren't for the physical evidence, the scars and whatnot, I might actually start believing it really was a dream. With no background in psychoanalysis and knowing no one that is a therapist, I can only make logical stabs at why this might be. The first and most obvious one, cancer is scary. Even after three years I still do not want to think about it. Maybe somewhere deep in my psyche I think that if I think about it too much it will come back. I know its quite possible that it might come back, but that is a medical thing and has nothing to do with thinking about it too much, but I also am a strong believer in mind over matter. I believe that your mental stance is a big part of recovery as well as protecting you from future "attacks from our not-so-friendly neighborhood disease." From any disease or problem for that matter. How did I come to this conclusion? It took a while. I had to take time to heal and get some distance for perspective. Granted, its only perspective from my particular journey and each journey is different, but as I have said in the past, there are common threads. I'm hoping this is one of them.

Mentally I think I am still attempting to cope with the whole issue. Is cope really the right word here? Hmmm. Understand? Process? Come to terms with? Get a handle on? Yeah, I think cope is the best fit. Some days I totally forget about it for while. Those are the best times. When things get done without the mental "stop and evaluate the situation to make sure you can do it" thing.  I hate that but do it almost all the time. Here's the thing, I am one of those types that will try something a couple or three times.  If I am not as good or better at it as anyone else in the vicinity, I look at it as a failure on my part and I rarely do it again. Been that way as long as I can remember. Why? Who knows. My parents were not the driving force behind it. They always encouraged me to keep trying and get better. Somewhere in my little head, the idea hatched that if I am not as good as or better than anyone else around me that does it, I am not going to do it anymore. I actually get embarrassed if I'm not that good. One of the many personality quirks that hang around here. That trait almost stopped me from writing this blog, but the information and message I wanted to give was too important to just let it go. But I digress...  Getting back to the stop and evaluate statement from before, I find myself doing that at almost every decision. Physical work like mowing the lawn, shoveling snow, cleaning out the rain gutters, rearranging furniture... I don't have the strength or stamina I used to have. So whenever I have something physical that I want to do my brain pauses and an internal conversation starts between different parts of my twisted little mind. It might go something like this...

Brain sees the task,
"I need to clear the snow from the driveway and walks."

Old pre-cancer thinking responds (with a little help from the ego),
"Let's do it!"

Post-cancer thinking responds,
"Um...  that's pretty heavy work, even with a snow blower. Should we think about getting someone else to do it?"

"Heavy schmevy! We've done this a thousand times before. Just go out and do it!"

"But we're not as strong as we used to be. What if we get started and can't finish it?"

"Just DO it!  Geez!"

"Ok fine...  but you know what will happen if we can't finish it, right?"

"JUST GO DO IT!"

That is a little snip of a typical inner monologue for me when it comes to anything physical. Bottom line is that to this day I second guess myself on almost everything, especially since the surgery.  It majorly sucks. I'm learning to deal with it... sorta, kinda.

Some parts of being this way with things of a physical nature are much harder to deal with than others.  What happens is I will start doing whatever it may be, then immediately start looking for things that I'm doing wrong or not as good as I used to. Putting pressure on myself to correct it. I'm sure you can imagine it doesn't take long to get to the point where the pressure is just too much to seem to do anything right, so I just stop. Sad, I know, but it is the truth. The lesson here is this; you can only be you. You can only do what your body allows, so allow it to do to the fullest potential that it can and be happy with that. NO Pressure is needed. As a 52 year old man its silly for me to compare myself to anything I was doing when I was say in my early to mid 20's. Very few people I know could stand up to that kind of comparison against themselves.  If you are one that can, more power to you (and I want lessons!).  If you are like me, and likely most other people, a completely healthy person in their early 50's wouldn't stand a chance compared to their younger selves, let alone after a major illness and surgery and all that the cancer entails with chemo and radiation and the like. Now see? I can say that, and I fully believe it and I think everyone should think that way...  everyone except me. I can't think that way. I must have been absent the day they taught that in "how to use your brain" class... but I am still trying.

That kind of thing leads directly into the emotional side of things. Emotionally, I try very hard to put up a crack-free, seam-free, happy-go-lucky front at all times. I use humor and laughter and joking around as a crutch and as a deflector. Most times I am that way...  well maybe not crack- or seam-free, but smooth enough. Much better than I used to be to be sure.  Back in the beginning, if you read previous entries in this blog, you'll see how much of a wreck I was. I was a total ass in pretty much every manner, at least for a while. I was wearing chain mail under armor, behind a shield, behind mask after mask, behind several walls I had built up to try to protect myself. Thing is, all it did was isolate me and make me feel worse. People can only beat their heads against those walls for so long before they have to stop and tend to their bleeding head before they try again, if they don't leave all together. I was lucky and have people around me that are even harder-headed than I am. We all have people like that. Our support systems, our lifeguards, our guardian angels, our family and friends. I plead with you to not let it get that bad for you. Don't be like I was. Don't get totally closed off and closed minded. Open up. Talk. Yell. Laugh. Cry. Ride out the feelings like a surfer on a wave. If you stand still in an onslaught like that with wave after wave after wave, you are bound to crumble and implode. NOTHING can withstand that kind of pounding. Regardless of how strong you think you may be or how strong the walls you thought you built. They will crumble and fall. Trust me, I know. I was literally seconds from that on quite a few more occasions than I care to admit. To this day, three years plus later, I still will be sitting down doing whatever and suddenly a wave of sadness will smack me in the back of the head and I will start to cry. It doesn't last. I won't let it. I can't let it. I have to be better. I have to be strong. So I fight it back and press it down and internalize it very quickly. But it happens. Pretty much every day. A lot of times more than once a day. Is it better than is used to be? Yes. Will it ever stop? I have no idea. Wish I could be more positive there.

Feelings and emotions seem to be deeper and stronger than they have ever been. Maybe because after a life changing illness you tend to see things differently and take less for granted. That sounds so very much like a "canned" response, but it really is true. You look at things differently. Enjoy things more. See the beauty in things and less of the negative. Love deeper. You get more emotional. I was never a crier (again with the crying?) at movies... at least not until after the surgery and recuperation. Now I do. I still do my best to hide it. Why? Not really sure.  Maybe it is the male upbringing about boys don't cry. I'm sure those closest to me, like Lea Ann and our kids, can see it. They just have the decency not to throw it in my face. Hopefully your people are like that as well.

The moral of this whole entry is just this... Even after three years of recuperation and healing, there are still many things that this cancer and all it did to change my life that need to be tended to. There are mental things, physical things, emotional things, psychological things, all kinds of things... that I am still discovering and learning to deal with on an everyday basis. The same will likely be true for you. Your path will differ from mine. No doubt. No two paths are the same in these cases. Not even for the same person if they have to travel that same way more than once. But there are enough similarities that I hope I can get you to see and look at and understand so that you don't feel so alone. So that you don't feel like no one understands. So you don't think you are the only one in the world feeling the specific feelings you are having or had. I know. I understand. I went through it, both as a family member and caregiver, then as a cancer patient that is trying very hard to become a cancer warrior. I want everyone who is reading this, patient, caregiver, friend, family member, nurse, doctor... anyone, to become a warrior too. There can never be enough warriors. Whether you win the battle or might be losing it, being a warrior means you fight the best fight you can for as long as you can. It also means that you are allowed to lean on the other warriors around you. No army of warriors can stand as individuals for long. Not all of us can be Rambo or want to be. I'd rather be surrounded by my fellow warriors and be able to fight by their side. Win with them. Lose with them. Laugh with them. Cry with them. Lean on them. Rely on them. Hug them. Help them when they fall and accept all that that back in return.

So I am asking you... Please be a warrior with us. What do you say?

January 25... Two Years After

Hello everyone.  I hope you all are doing well and feeling good as you read along here. This entry will be a departure from my usual "memory" type. Why, you ask?  The title of this post pretty much gives it away.  Two years ago today I had surgery to remove a good portion of my esophagus and the upper portion of my stomach due to cancer that was at the junction between the two.  In fact, as I write this entry I would still be in surgery were we back in 2013.

Beware...  This entry may jump around a bit.  I am just doing what I call a "brain dump" here... I hope not too much so that it might make at least some sense.

That surgery in late January of 2013 was my first time in a hospital overnight, ever. My first surgery, save for a few out patient procedures throughout life to that point. It took somewhere around 12 hours... Two large incisions... One down the middle of the chest from mid-chest to below the belly button... The other on on the right side and back from under my right arm, curving around the lower edge of the right shoulder blade to near the spine... Internal reconfiguration galore... Esophagus about 1/4 the length it used to be... The upper part of the stomach removed and the remainder of it stretched up into the chest and reattached to what was left of the esophagus... The stomach went from a pouch-looking organ into more of a tube looking one... No more muscle at the top of the stomach that keeps everything in, or out for that matter... Changes to diet, appetite, mental stance, self-image, home life, work, medical... Everything.  Mental, physical and emotional.

To say this time has been an upheaval of our lives would be a major understatement. You'll notice I said "our lives." Those of you reading this because you are currently going through a similar journey, or have been through it already understand why I say it that way.  It affects EVERYONE. The person that has the cancer, the caregivers that person has around them... family, friends, acquaintances, co-workers... pets... Everyone. Cancer is a life-changer, and sadly in some cases a life-taker. In my personal case, at least so far, it has been a major life changer. It has also been a life-taker for me but on the caregiver/family side. I have lost both grandmothers, a grandfather, my father, my mother-in-law...  all to cancer in one form or another. My mother has had it four times. My father-in-law is in remission. Others too, like Lea Ann's grandmother that they affectionately called "Donut Grandma" because they would go to her house after church on Sundays and she always had doughnuts for them. We lost Lea Ann's mother just 7 weeks after diagnosis to a particularly aggressive type of cancer. My father was diagnosed in early 1983. We lost him almost exactly 3 years later, after some experimental and new things were tried and that was able to extend his life for a short time. My paternal grandfather had several issues to go along with cancer that spread rapidly and took him. What I am trying to say is cancer is never minor. I don't care what kind it is. It changes everything... Some may want to debate that, but I'm not going to. At least not at the moment. Just putting my opinion into words here.

It seems like it was only yesterday when I started having issues with swallowing and eating, but it also seems like a million years ago. Being who I have always been, I just basically ignored the problem... Looked at it as an annoyance, nothing more. My thinking was that it was just a little system issue and it would go away given time. I'm here to tell everyone, what I did was a very bad idea. When your body tells you something is wrong by making it uncomfortable or hurting you have to learn to LISTEN to it. If it had not been for Lea Ann and her seeing how I had changed what I was eating, or many times the lack of what I was eating, I might not be here today writing this blog. I hated going to the doctor. Always have all the way back to my days as a baby. Mom tells me that when I was a baby I knew the doctor's office parking lot as as soon as I saw it I started crying and would not stop until we left. I have no issue taking anyone else to the doctor, In fact, I press people to go and I take them... but god forbid if I had to go. It was like pulling fingernails off with needle-nose pliers. To this day I still get that ball of worry in the pit of my stomach when I go. Part of my brain says if I don't hear what is wrong, it's not real. However the larger part of me knows better than that. And it is still learning. As they say in many areas and groups, the first step to getting better is to admit there is a problem. This goes for cancer too. Of course, no one wants to hear they have cancer, but if you find it early you have a much better chance of kicking it's butt. So I urge you, I BEG you... If you feel wrong or you are hurting, listen to your body and go get it checked out. There is no one else that can ultimately tell you how you feel other than yourself and your own body. Just listen...

After my surgery and chemo and radiation were complete, my gastro doctor told me something that I always remembered and it really rang true. After a major surgery like this, It will take at least a year for a person to start "feeling like themselves again." That rang very true for me. It was maybe a little more than a year before I was through all the therapies and all before I started feeling like myself again. Until that time there is just too much going on. Your mind is just too overwhelmed and your body is still healing for much of that time. You just have to ride it out.  It is do-able. It is possible. There are times and situations where it is not doable completely, but I hope that, if you are in that situation, that you go down swinging. You and yours are a lot more tough and powerful than you give yourselves credit for. I truly believe that for everyone involved... the cancer patients and their families and friends and caregivers too. It takes a lot. Mentally and physically. It is the toughest fight you will ever have to fight. Period. If you win, you show yourself and everyone else just how tough and resilient you are. And if you happen to be losing, you can still prove your toughness and show you are not going to give up. Miracles happen every day. Who knows what can happen? Bottom line is, you'll never know until you try. I can say that now. Back in the middle of all this I came very close to giving up. Very close. In fact I actually said words to that effect to my wife... I said something like, "What difference does it make if I do any of this stuff? I am going to die anyway!" That is how I felt at the time, but looking back now I am actually rather ashamed of myself for saying that. I never looked at myself as a quitter, but that moment made me think. Luckily my support system and family would not let me do that. Lea Ann and the rest of our family knew me well enough to know I didn't mean it. Depression makes you say and do things like that. It is common to be depressed and to be scared. It means you are human. Just always remember that you are never alone. Even if you have no family or anything, those at the hospital can help, or support groups, or even on-line communities. There are MANY people that can help you, if anything else just to listen and to maybe understand a little bit of what you are going through. I say again, no one needs to go through this alone... and no one ever should.

I cannot say enough about our caregivers and our families and friends and the other "watchers." They are the source of so much strength for anyone going through this. For the cancer patient, but also for each other. Cancer is scary at ANY level. Everyone involved will go through many levels of emotion and anger and resentment and depression. Everyone involved can and will need some support. We as patients are the center of attention. People from all over trying to help and get us through. The rest that are having to stand by and wait and help and support tend to not get a lot of attention. I mean think about it... When a person has cancer, how many times are the caregivers and families asked how they are and if they need anything? I know it happens some, but not nearly enough in my opinion. That support system of love and prayers and support and anything else we need isn't a 9:00am to 5:00pm, Monday through Friday only thing.  It is a 24/7/365 thing. That is mentally, physically and emotionally draining. They are just as scared and worried and anything else you can think of as we patients are. I know that without my wife and our kids and our family and friends, both with us there in Arizona and those that were with us in spirit, we would not have made it. Our family and friends were the source of all of my strength when I was ready to give up because I was so scared or so tired or so depressed. They would not let me quit. And I am forever in their debt. I was not an easy person to be around for quite a while and NO one gave up on me. That is what counts. Our support network is there for just that... to support us. Don't ignore it... don't feel guilty about it... don't just let it sit there... USE it. These people love you. They will help you in any way they can... Trust in that, use that, feel that. Think about it this way... If you were the support and not the patient, would you want to help and do all you could? Would you hope the person "in the fire" would take all you have and use it to fight? I would. I cannot praise those people enough. I've said it once, and I'll say it a thousand times more... the caregivers and families and that whole support network are just as much cancer warriors as anyone. 100%.

Number one on that list for me would be my wife, Lea Ann.  My angel baby, emphasis on the word angel.  She saved my life. She was my anchor, my rock, my everything through this. She was the leader of the whole support system, top to bottom. I speak directly to her right now... Baby, you were there in the sickness, just like the vows say... and you saved me. You were there at all times, without fail and without question. I don't think I can ever repay you for that, but I also know that you would say that you don't expect payback. That is what loving someone is all about. I understand that and I hope I will always make you feel the love I have for you. Whenever you need me I will be there. Forever, plus as many more forevers as you need or want... then at least 10 more. I love you! 

To our kids and grand kids and parents and family and friends... all I can say is that I love each and every one of you. Thank you for being there for us... at all times. In person or on the phone or electronically or spiritually... It all matters. It all counts. It is all needed, and most of all it is the most pure sign of love and respect. I can only hope that you all can feel the love and respect reflected back to you from me and from Lea Ann.

Two years after the fact. I've never stopped fighting. Have there been peaks and valleys, you damn betcha... This is not a fight you stop after a while. It is a fight to live. I have been one of the lucky ones. So far I can say that I have kicked cancer's ass. I've done it but definitely not alone. I have needed and used every last bit of love and friendship and support I have gotten throughout the whole ordeal.  And I vow I will continue to fight as long as I can. I feel it shows respect for you all and your support and love and to prove I am worth all the time and effort you have all put in.

Once a cancer warrior,
ALWAYS a cancer warrior...

Love, prayers, good vibes and light to each and every one of you... For now and for always.  Thank you for reading this rant of a post.  I hope it made some sense.  I appreciate your attention and, as always, hope that it helps.  if it helps even one person, I have done what I set out to do...

See you all next post.