What's in a year?

Spring is here.

As I plow through the miles on my run, my lungs are infused with that yellow gunk known as pollen. With the apocalyptic rain we have been having, everything is green. Flowers paint the ends of driveways and the neatly landscaped lawns are dotted with hues of purple, yellow, red and white.

The temperature is fluctuating and I feel like this is as close as I'll ever get to understanding what menopausal women go through. I miss my snow demons as my lungs fill with hot, sticky air. I wonder what the weather is in San Francisco.

I glance at my stopwatch for some reason. It's never good news as I round my half mile markers. Just shave off thirty more seconds. Is that too much to ask?

Funny, when I am in the gym, punishing myself (Okay, you got me - I'm Catholic), thoughts of the disease never seem to filter into my mind. Call it the pounding music - I guess it's hard to get all philosophical over Linkin Park's Bleed It Out. Call it the fact just being stone cold comatose at 5 am.

Running is somehow different. All five senses flare at once. Memories fight each other in a cacophony of color and hazed over thoughts. Worry digs in to battle the eventual endorphin high.

This time of year one is surrounded by beauty, change, growth and reminders that life is good.

Then you get a letter. It is from your chief guy in the big ugly building Time for testing. It is time to be sure you are clean.

Another damn hill. Why can't I make it look as effortless as those people I pass in my car? Their legs all springy and you just know they are passing mile marker ten somewhere. My god, sweat, will you? And put your freaking' shirt on - no one wants to see ripped abs. Geeze.

I feel good. I am good. I am strong now. Yet, I will gulp down a liquid with the consistency of wet concrete, and the odd sickeningly sweet, baby aspirin and KO pectate that coats your tongue for days, all for the one scan that will verify that I am clean.

Can I be sure? Never. Survivors have the widest and farthest rear view mirrors. Every ache is analyzed. Every lump is prodded. Be sure to eat your veggies and wear sunblock before you turn on your lights in the bathroom. No one outside of the circle understands but I am thankful they don't sometimes. Just sometimes.

Mix in work, writing, a nuclear seven year old and you have a hodgepodge of emotions roiling like Narragansett during hurricane season only not nearly as picturesque.

The hill is over and the neighbors beagle is yelping his head off. He's been zapped by the invisible torture fence so he's not going anywhere and I am pretty sure Stephen King didn't have a beagle in mind when he wrote Cujo. Truth be told, I am so tired he could latch onto my leg for all I care. I'd just bite him back.

I'm still waiting for the endorphins to kick in. You'd think I'd be addicted by now but more than likely I'd run into a telephone pole or get hit be a Beamer if I was an endo addict. Nope. All I have is that sucking sound coming from my mouth in an impossible attempt to breathe normally.

I look down. A good rule in running is that you shouldn't see your feet. If you do, you are striding too far. Not an issue with me. I was passed by a Santa once during a Jingle 5K. Not fair and not funny.

Can I be sure? Never. I know I am clean. It cracks me up to just say it. I often sound like a prisoner out on parole only I get shaken down by people in lab coats.

Questions. Questions. I am clean. I just have to prove it soon. Again.

Bare Foot Bare Soul

We don’t want nothin’ from you

So you’d might as well take it back – Pint Shot Riot

I have recently switched over to ‘barefoot running’. It’s not truly running barefoot. You wear a special shoe what, basically, has a zero drop heel or something called ‘flats’. It shifts your body into what it was designed to do.

After a couple of years of ITB, knee and foot issues, I had to try it. It’s an odd feeling. Sort of like you are running in your slippers. For years my quadriceps took a beating and I didn’t know why. Now my calves are aching and for once, I think that is correct.

Still, with my new running, old memories remain. I have a nasty habit of projecting improbably or truly dour futures as I puff down the pavement. My shrink stated once that it was an attempt to control the future, which, of course, we can’t.

I agree with him. I can’t control the future, but I constantly try to deal with something that has never happened.

It extends to all parts of my family. I see loved ones pass on and I think of how I will react. I think this is something stemming from discovering your mortality too early in life. Being a child who ascertains that they can die isn’t a normal circumstance. It's a crime against all children that is played out all too often.

Gone are the immortal teen years. Gone is bulletproof quality of your twenties. You tend to look behind ever bush and under every rock. You literally wait for the signal. I have been through more funerals in my mind than I care to count. I even have the music selected for the ceremonies and what I would wear.

I went with more hills today. Damn hills. I hate them. I keep resetting my body to be in the proper running form. Fatigue makes that harder. Head up. Arms at forty-five degrees then forty-five degrees more and pulled slightly behind you.

Everything comes and goes no matter where you hide


I won't let you take everything that I deserve

Timing is the melody behind every word 


So get in where you fit in 


Time to put in on the line – Pop Evil

I always wait for those endorphins to give me that runner’s high I read about. I know they work. Maybe that is what keeps me from total depression. Like prayers to fend off some unholy monster, I start my Thankful List. I go over it constantly until my music fills my head. I even play a little air bass or guitar. Anything as a distraction. The clouds stretch for miles as they rest in a pillow of blue background. It really is a beautiful place to live, this little planet.

I am on a downhill now. I crack myself up as a G35 coupe races up past me. I am flying downhill and I give it an extra kick in case the person in the car is watching. Yes I do this a lot. Image is everything. In my head it needs to be.

I am strong. I am healthy. I will continue to be so.

I round the bend. Another hill. Damn hill.

I’ll give you all……and have none

Just to have you hear by me – Billy Idol

No pain in the knees. None in my feet. My calves protest but no big deal. I am thirsty and dehydrated. That was stupid. A sidebar showing of my impatience. If you want to do this, you do it right.

The tendrils recede back into my mind. The funerals are put to sleep for now. It is going to be sunny today. Deep breathing commences.

I’ll have another chance to run tomorrow.

That's a future I can control.

Beautiful Day

Step back, gonna come at you fast

I'm drivin' out of control, I'm gettin' ready to crash

My heart rate takes a while to get to where a normal man should be for running any distance. I’ve said it before – I am hot wired and governed.

It happens almost instantaneously. Memories and what I call thought-flashes collide. They don’t unfold. They barrage. Demons can invade a sunny day after all.

This weekend I was part of a Korean reunion in Massachusetts. My son played with his friends and the thoughts smacked me upside the head. If I wasn’t a Survivor, he wouldn’t have come to me. The most important part of my universe and I would have never met him.

Eleven mic’d soldiers on a one-way trip

Cuz we’re hardcore

Mechanized

Infantry

A cardinal zips in front of me - My first sign of spring and my favorite bird. I can feel the blisters on my toes pulsing now. They never heal so why bother anymore. I think there are cars flying by but I am too lost in the music and the tide of brain waves.

What if?

Something about breathing hard and fatigue always bring on dark thoughts.

I go over my list of five things to be thankful for. I go over them again. I pick five more and I go over them twice too.

The iliotibial band is now complaining. Lousy running shoes but I am working on that. Even worse running form but I’m working on that too.

For now, I know where I am distance-wise from the finish line and I want to stop.

Lately, it seems everyone is dealing with the illness. You can’t outrun the news. You just nod and take it one step at time. Hour to hour. You deal with what you know and not speculation.

Step by step. It really is a beautiful day but all I hear is music and my hard breathing.

I am angry with my body for not being better. It just means I’ll have to work harder. In my haze, I can barely make out my poor time on my stopwatch. I quickly remind myself that having any time at all is a blessing.

What if?

What about the people that are just starting their journey? You wish you could hand out a map that states, YOU ARE HERE. Then show them the exits.

So give me reason

To prove me wrong

To wash this memory clean

I’m done. I stop for a brief look at my watch and against everything my body was telling me, I start running again. I crossed the finish line but it wasn’t enough. I went a little farther and stopped in front of my house. I clicked my watch one final time. Lousy but it gives me something to work on.

All of the What Ifs fade. I should cool down. I should stretch. I don’t feel like it.

I disconnect from headphones. I keep taking deep breaths.

It is a beautiful day after all…

Cancer Hates Oxygen: Kids in the Hall

Cancer Hates Oxygen: Kids in the Hall: "Today was a long walk down a short hall. Today, I visited the long-term survivor’s clinic called The Tomorrow Fund. Don’t ask ..."

Kids in the Hall

Today was a long walk down a short hall. Today, I visited the long-term survivor’s clinic called The Tomorrow Fund. Don’t ask me what the ‘fund’ part stands for in clinical terms.

There I was standing in the new clinic. I propped myself against a wooden railing and waited my turn at the front desk. I expected a long process. What I wasn’t expecting was the sudden rush of memories.

Gone were the soft yellows and taped tigers that dotted the walls surrounding me. Pictures of sea turtles, and birds, along with supple chairs set to a soft green hue all vanished. The hardwood flooring evaporated and moldy, gray patterned Formica took its place. Carefully laid dropped ceilings twisted into asbestos covered rusted piping and the yielding warm glow of nested CFLs transformed into laser-bright incandescence tubes.

Off-blue vinyl with fake wooden legs took up more room than needed. The Playstation mirage faded into a stack of aged Highlights with all of the workbook sections answered. Worst of all, the sweet smell of cut flowers was supplanted by the acrid perfume of sinus burning alcohol that often announced the arrival of pain.

I was back in the original clinic. Back where the nightmares began. Dank and cold even in the summer. Dusty and rank with sickness in the winter.

One thing didn’t change at all however. The children were the same.

Three, five, seven years of age. All struggling to sustain their childhood energy, taken for granted by millions of non-afflicted children. One little girl played with a Justin Bieber doll that kept snagging on the IV that protruded from her tiny arm. In a fit of dark comedy, the doll’s hair was thicker and fuller than her Raggedy Ann tresses that fought to regain what once was a full head of hair. Her father watched on but I could tell he was elsewhere. Hell, I wanted to be elsewhere. He woke from his stupor only when the little girl demanded it.

A mother, followed by a doting father and a grandmother who made herself up no matter what the destination, carried another bald boy in. His large blew eyes and simple blond strands took in the whole room and rested on me – the oddity in a room of oddities. I harkened back to my parents and wondered if they had the same countenance as those sitting beside me. It’s the look of worry. The look of sleepless nights. The look of hating everything about their situation. The endless search for hope. I don’t remember what my parent’s state of mind was back in those early years but I suspect it was the same visage of desperation.

I was back in the present. The warm hues surrounded me once again. There was no smell of alcohol permeating the air. The children still hustled about with shouts of Iron Man beating the tar out of Spiderman.

A nurse came in and picked me out of the crowd. I got up and waded through the marbles and paper. All eyes were on me fore I didn’t have a toddler in tow. My son was heavy on my mind. He is perfectly healthy and strong. The exhausted faces trailed after me as I left the room. Even the boy playing with the hospital DS Nintendo stopped for a moment to look up. No hair overhung from under his ball cap and his eyes were naked of their brows.

The nurse practitioner took me into a private room and begged forgiveness at being late. She sorted through the mess of paperwork and I took in the photo collage on the wall of children who have passed through this place. I didn’t want to think it but I did. How many of them were still alive?

Here it is - My new routine. More questions. More historical answers. The message being Long Term. The NP judiciously jotted down everything from my supplements, to long-term meds and workout routines to finally “what’s next”.

Still, as I coursed through my banter with my new NP mentor, my mind remained with the kids in the hall. I wanted to stab a flag in the Earth for them all simply stated – I am still here.

Cancer Hates Oxygen: Forever is my time....

Cancer Hates Oxygen: Forever is my time....: "This is an excerpt from my second bout with what I call 'nuclear fallout'. Some have asked what was it like during the diagnosis period. The..."

Forever is my time....

This is an excerpt from my second bout with what I call 'nuclear fallout'. Some have asked what was it like during the diagnosis period. There was no editing. There was no grammar check. This was 'as is'. This is an attempt to encapsulate those very moments when mortality is in full question. *Note - this site that this excerpt was extracted polices harsh language. I am that way so any *** you see, I'll give you license to ad-lib. Here is the beginning... Day 1 Posted May 5, 2009 10:26am For those of you who know me, I've been under medical inspection for over a month or so. Well, today marks the first day of my journey. It's a journey I didn't think I would ever have to do again. As a 6-year-old, I suffered from Hodgkin's Disease. Thirty-six years later a new battle has unfolded. On May 5th, 2009, the preliminary results have been turned in and I have been diagnosed with a sarcoma (cancer) of which my liver is the second place of origin. That is, the liver is not where it has originated from. Where? Good question. Evidence points to gastric or colon cancer as the origin. More tests will prove this out. They, doctors that is, haven't ruled out my previous treatments as a child as the culprit either. Time will tell. I hope I have the patience and mental edge to get through this. This will be my forum of communication to the world. I am a better writer than orator. I wanted to set a few rules before I continue. In no particular order: 1. I am not out to make other people feel good. This is harsh, I know. I should qualify this. You may cry. You may feel bad for me. You may have pity on me. I am not going to go into a stage act to make it better or easier for you. I am pissed. I am beyond angry. The Universe, God, Satan, Mother Earth, whatever, didn't think my family had enough to go through with Pam being a survivor herself. I have a 5 year old I want to see graduate high school, ask for my car, and think of me as a superhero. **** the higher(?) being who wants to rob me of that. So if I appear recluse, angry, sad, or whatever adjective you need to describe my moment, I offer no apologies save this thought - I need you. I need you to understand that I am in a war. It's a personal one and sometimes citizens get hurt. None of the fallout is intentional. 2. I do need you. I am strong. I am sharp. I feel very good actually. I'm probably one of the few cancer patients who can run a 5k, bench 200lbs, get a shut out in hockey (I'm a goalie) and write a **** good story. But I still need you. I need you to make me laugh and see that tears in the rain are just that - invisible. I have enough resolve to go it alone but I don't prefer that. I am asking you, actually begging you, to stick with me. I have wonderful friends, both old and new, and my family is battle tested. The only deal I ask is that you be real with me because I am sure as hell going to give you all of me when I can. Life is too short not to do that. 3. Be normal. Normal is a question of knowing what the moment requires. If I am at work, I expect that we will all go about our duties. If anything I want to be a creature of duty because it is comforting to be in routine. I expect to judge and be judged in my work. I am also an author and I want to be viewed like one. The only way to do that is to write and be heard as an author - not a writer who has cancer. I'm a writer. I'm an author. I won't accept second descriptions. 4. No pity. Don't want it. Don't need it. 5. Prayers, Universal discussions, incantations, good thoughts...do what you need to do. I accept all and travelers cheques as well. I am sure there are more rants coming from me but I am tired. Here's is my promise to my family, friends, enemies and people who walk by me at the mall. - I have many more Christmases (someone help me with a spell check will ya)and Halloweens left in me. Don't you dare count me out. - I'd pit my will against anyone's - any time, any day, any where. I've been told forever that I can't do this or that. I won't be told anymore. - I love you. I might not say it all of the time but I do. More than that, I appreciate you. Always. Never forget it or I'll be forced to remind you. - I look **** good in a t-shirt :) - I had to put that out there, come on, it's funny. This site is simple enough. Sign up if you need to. Share the link with who you feel can benefit. If not, I will talk to you or see you very soon.