What a difference a day makes (well actually a year...)

I can't believe that a year has gone by since I heard those three little words, "you have cancer". It happened just prior to the holidays last year and here we are again in the thick of things. I can't say I feel like my old self again, actually I feel in many ways better. Gone is the doubt and fear that I carried around with me before. Looking back, I think that I was in the beginning of a mid-life crisis prior to my diagnosis. Nothing like a little cancer scare to get you out of that!

The fear is gone from my partner Ken's eyes as we both look to the future. He even joked a couple of nights ago that the world was supposed to end in one year on December 21st (if you believe in the Mayan Calender myth). He quickly stated that that wasn't going to happen though. He was pretty sure God saved me for a reason and a year didn't seem long enough for that reason to reveal itself. I like his way of looking at things! I wonder about how the people that have bought into this myth will react when they wake up to the world on December 22nd 2012. Will we be brave enough to face the future and make this a better planet? Will it feel, at least for some, like a second chance? I hope so!

I am already living my second chance today. Cleaning, decorating and cooking for the Christmas meal that will be shared with family and friends. Looking forward to the new year. Planning on going back to work and discovering my purpose. When you have faced with feels like death, life become so much more intense and pleasurable. My dog tripped me in the kitchen this morning and I ruined a cheesecake. The funny part was as I was leaning up against the cabinets covered in cake my dog was gleefully cleaning the floor! I couldn't help but laugh. So I have to make another cheesecake, I'll never have another moment like that one.

If there is one thing I have learned this year it is to appreciate the moment. There is very little bad, when we really think about it and if you just change your perspective, you will see that there is an amazing amount of good!

Merry Christmas to all and warm wishes for a wonderful New Years!

everything is great and then...

Almost every cancer survivor knows about this one. You are doing great and then suddenly your not. I'm not speaking just of one's own health, it could be anything. In reality it is just life, but after the scare of the big "C", everything can seem a little fragile.

For me it was numerous things, a family member had a cancer scare, one of my dogs had a cancer scare, the EDD messed up my disability payments and I started getting back to back chest colds. That's a lot for a six week period! The reality is though is that is just life. Somewhere there is always someone going through a cancer scare, even if you don't know them it is happening. Somewhere there is a sick dog, it may not be yours, but they are out there and of course the government is going to mess things up so I don't know why I'm in shock over my disability. And of course, we all get sick from time to time. The events just came in such close proximity of each other it felt overwhelming!

My dog Ginger had had surgery on her leg just 3 weeks prior, I was feeling a little guilty for giving her all the attention so I made a point of spending time with each of my three dogs (and thank God I did). I was rubbing our Pug, Basil's chest when I felt a lump. It felt fatty and pebbly all at the same time, That can't be good, I thought. As it turned out it wasn't, almost at the same time, I was informed that a family member (I am being vague here intentionally, don't ask, I won't say who) had found a lump. I prayed, went to mass and light candles (which is sort of funny as I am not Catholic, but it sure makes me feel better) and spent some serious time on my knees talking to God! Both biopsies were due back the same day. I got the first news from my vet, Basil had a benign tumor but they wanted to remove it at once. Thank you God! She was scheduled for surgery the following day. I waited hours to hear back from family. The call never came, so I finally picked up the phone and was delighted to hear that it was more good news. No surgery involved there. God had indeed answered my prayers. The weird thing though, was that after hearing that Basil's tumor was benign, I began to fret. Would only half of my prayers be answered? Would God randomly pick and choose like that? After it was all over and the fear and shock had worn off, I realized that I was being a dumb ass. God's love is infinite! All things are possible. God doesn't give with one hand and take with the other. Even if the news wouldn't have been so great it wouldn't be because God is not wonderful, kind and loving. It would be because there are health issues in the world. Period.

Also, God didn't screw with the computer system at the EDD because I failed to thank him for giving me disability. Sometimes things don't work the way they are supposed to. And no God was not giving me a six pack of chest colds because he had healed me of cancer (with the help of my surgeon, radiation and chemotherapy). My chest colds as it turned out were a symptom of my immune system being down as a result of radiation and chemotherapy. The answer was starting an antibiotic three days a week. Already things are much better.

Ginger's scar is practically invisible and she is starting to put pressure onto the leg that was operated on. Basil's stomach is healing even though it looks like frankentummy (they found an extra mass that was removed) so she is on the mend. Somewhere in the world is a special family member who is probably even happier than I am at the good news and hopefully within our local government someone is correcting the problem with my pay. My glass is once again full and I have learned an important lesson. Life never stops just because I had cancer. It goes on and on because that is the nature of life. We are so fortunate to be granted life in the first place and have to remember to take the bad with the good and somehow learn to be grateful for both. Every moment can be exquisite when we are grateful for them.

...Poked you.

I've been dealing with my dog Ginger's health a lot recently. Actually she is in great health, but has a congenital problem with her knee which requires surgery. Before surgery she was given a pain patch to minimize the pain for 72 hours post op. Being my dog and therefore prone to being high maintenance, she of course reacted to the fentanyl and her body temperature dropped to a very dangerous 93. She spent the better part of the day at the vets on an drip in the hot room, instead of having her surgery. I spent the better part of the day freaking out, terrified that we would loose her. She finally got to come home that night, but I had to stay up all night taking her temperature and praying. Of course she is tough and made a full recovery, Thank God! Now we just have to get through the actual surgery next week.

The interesting thing about dealing with dogs is that it is completely non verbal. Are they sick, are the ok? A dog can throw up and be just fine seconds later. It is the little cues however that we have to watch for. It made me really start thinking about the small cues we receive in life that we don't pay attention to. The small gestures from our friends, partners and families. If you are on Facebook then you know what a "poke" is. Just a quick click and you can let someone know that they are in your thoughts. I used to hate poking! Mainly because a certain someone, seemed to poke me every half hour. I used to wonder "don't you have anything better to do"? Until, that is, that I realized that they were thinking about me a lot and letting me know. Maybe they were too busy for a phone call or note, but a quick poke let me know that I was cared for. I learned to love it.

There are so many small signs that we take for granted. We, for example, duck in from the rain like we are going to melt, but then once it has stopped marvel at the rainbow! The reality is that the rain is the real blessing in the first place, that we take for granted (unless you are living in Texas!). We take a lot of Gods gifts for granted the sunrise and sunset,a light breeze, the smell of jasmine on the wind. God "pokes" us all of the time and we forget to poke back! Just a simple thank you God for anything that you notice will suffice.

So God, I admit that I was so relieved when Ginger recovered that I forgot to poke you back, so I am doing it now.

It's all around us

Death is all around us. We are reminded daily that the circle of life completes itself in death. We see leaves turning amber and falling from the tree. Occasionally find the baby chick that had fallen from the nest lifeless on the ground. All of the wonders of life and death playing out before us daily yet we don't seem to really pay attention to it unless it comes too close. I confess that I've been living that way for my entire life. I can't say that I fear death. I am comfortable with my beliefs and believe that in some sense of the word we all go on, I don't see death as an end, but that being said, I am in no rush to experience physical death. I'm one of the odd ones that wants to live to be 100 or so. The thought that I might make it was challenged by cancer, but I knew that I would heal. And I did, I continue to be stronger and better daily. At this point I am preparing to return to work.

So why all of the examination of the end of life? In the past two months, I have had three deaths that profoundly shook me. Two of the members of my support group and the death of Steve Jobs. Oddly enough it was the death of Mr Jobs that shook me the most. No, I'm not a crazed Mac user and morning the loss of potential new products from Apple in the future, It was how he handled his cancer. When diagnosed, he opted to take a completely natural path, believing that he would cure himself. This sounded all to familiar to me. It was in my own head for awhile with one difference. When diagnosed, I was ok with the surgery to remove to tumor. I wanted it to be gone. I was not, however, willing to follow it up with chemotherapy and radiation. It took my partner, Ken and my whole family to basically tell me that I was being crazy to finally convince me to do the therapy. I finally made peace with it and went on to use natural healing, herbs, juices and acupuncture to restore my body from the surgery, chemo and radiation.

Had Steve Jobs had family and friends like mine to convince him that he was nuts, he may still be here today. I am grateful to have survived and am saddened by seeing a like minded individual, especially one with such an extraordinary mind, perish. The two members of my group hit hard as well. One gentleman, who had cancer of the esophagus (the most closely related cancer to my own) died not from the cancer itself, but from a blood clot in his brain. The shock of his death knocked me down for awhile. Here was a big healthy man, with a great attitude and love of life just...gone. I had missed a few group sessions and found out when I returned. The group had had time to process it and I remember just sitting there in shock all night. It made no sense. I found myself getting angry on the way home. This is not how it is supposed to happen. He was supposed to be a success, like the rest of the group. We are survivors and winners. We are the heroes of the cancer community. We don't die! But as I found out that night, we do. Just a few weeks later I found myself attending the funeral of another one of my group. I woke up just this morning with the mariachi band playing it's mournful tune that was played when they brought her casket into the sanctuary. The entire service was in Spanish, but as I discovered, grief knows no language. It was clear in the tears and the shock of loss on the faces of the mourners in attendance. After the funeral, I practically ran from the church to my truck. I ended up at Target shopping for nothing. I just wanted to be around people not dealing with death. I didn't want to be dealing with death, but here I am. This isn't the first time. The eighties, were an entire decade of loss for me. Starting with my first partner Tim, and ravaging my community. I still remember living in shock, wondering why I was still here. I made stupid decisions like not paying taxes because I believed that I was next. I had attended over fifty funerals before I decided not to attend another one. It would take the loss of my Grandfather ten years later to get me to attend another one.

That decade also served to deepen my faith in God. If I was supposed to be here it must have a purpose. God must have some plan in store for me. I am supposed to do something with my life. This was the knowing that allowed me to survive cancer. It made no sense that I would survive the loss of practically every friend and associate that I had only to die of a tumor in my tongue some twenty years later. I believe that to this second. And while I can't really see what the plan is, I know there is one. I believe that my life has purpose.
All I can say about it now is wait and see.

What Fear Can Do

In my mid twenties after leaving the Navy, I went to work for a government contractor running physical inventory processes. The work at first was sporadic, but my work ethic paid off with a full time position at the Naval base in San Diego. Working along side sailors (some of who I had known from my ship), I got along easily with everyone except for one young man from my company. He was shy and kept to himself. He brought his bible to work with him daily and could be found studying the scriptures during brakes and lunches As a result he earned the nickname "the preacher".  As for the rest of us we were all piled in the break room watching soap operas (men and women alike) yelling at the screen and making jokes about the crazy story lines.

One day, after work I was walking to my car and realized that the preacher seemed to be following me. I knew something was wrong but kept walking, eventually thinking that I had lost him. As I got into my Karmann Ghia that I was driving at the time, I saw him in my rear view mirror. He walked alongside of my car and tapped on the window. That is where the memory stops for me. The next thing I remembered was waking up in my car in a pool of blood with a raging headache and a rather nasty cut above my left eye, that I would discover the next day had been made by his ring. I drove home and cleaned myself up and shackingly called my boss. I was asked not to press charges and told to meet him at my job site the following morning. When I walked in he was there talking to the Senior Chief in charge and "the preacher". That's when I heard the preacher say, but he is a sinner and I try so hard, but everybody loves him. It makes me sick. He was told to apologise to me and then my boss escorted me to the side. If I promised not to say anything to anyone, I would be transferred to a prime location in Point Loma and get to travel to all of our inventory sites including Yuksuka, Japan.  Travel? sign me up! I wasn't much of a wave maker anyway. Oddly enough, it would be another five years to connect the dots and realize that I had been "Gay Bashed".

The point of telling this story isn't to point out that I was bashed or that I got to travel or that I was timid. The point is that fear can debilitate you completely! I don't know if I passed out even before the punch landed on my forehead or if fear erased the memory. But thanks to fear, I'm missing a few minutes of my life. Pretty amazing. I have come to understand that my response is something that would be consistent with victims of abuse (not the case) or bullying (defiantly the case). What ever the reason, I still find it fascinating that we can black out to avoid handling something too frightening.

Fast forward to December of 2010. Sitting in the doctors office, listening to the fact that I had cancer. I didn't pass out or fade out to some safe place in my mind. I've grown stronger over the years. Strong enough to face an internal danger that is far more frightening than an external one. Yes, I suppose that "the preacher" could have had a gun and shot me, but I would have been dead. The threat and the fear of cancer is one of living in ever increasing pain, of losing you body piece by piece until it finally and mercifully no longer functions Every survivor knows this all to well. Every care taker has taken that same journey with us and they know it all too well. Having lost my first life partner, Tim, to AIDS in 1985, I was no stranger to what cancer could do. Tim, was a beautiful and kind young man, who within a year was physically ravaged, going from a 215 lb gym build man to a 95 lb skeleton that I barely recognized. Yes I knew what cancer can do, and yet I knew something else. I could heal myself. Whether I did it using Western or Eastern medicine, was never the point. The point is that even facing our greatest fear we can heal ourselves. I firmly believe this. I believe that this is exactly the way God made us.

Fear can do much to us. It can freeze us, immobilize us, but we must remain strong in our faith and start to move one muscle at a time until the function returns. Until we can eventually smile and laugh and roll our eyes at how dramatic and ridiculous we can be. Until we can set ourselves and our spirit free.

Impoverished

The word poverty brings up many images for most of us, whether or not we have experienced it. Impoverished still more so. For many people the two words sum up vast regions of Africa or other 3rd world nations but for me those words, especially impoverished, brings up feelings of a period of my childhood that,  try as I may, still come to haunt me in the night. Tonight was one of those nights.

Many things can be said about my mother, she was funny and had a great personality, outgoing, stylish in her own way, vain and proud. My sisters would both probably add cruel and thoughtless to that list, but I have to say that I didn't experience that in the way that they did. Looking back on our lives to the period following my parents divorce it was an impoverished existence. I would not realize that for some years to come, however. Immediately following the divorce we moved from a typical suburban home to a charming home in the mountain town of Paradise California. Had we of stayed there, I think that life would be quite different for my sisters and I but we did not. We moved to Texas so that my mother could be closer to her sister that always seemed to be her emotional anchor. Even with her anchor though my mothers spirit seemed to wither and die. I remember her saying to me once that children did not know if they were poor or not, but I knew that we were. We left a beautiful and comfortable home and moved to a dark country style house with a crazy land lady that lived the back rooms which she had converted into an  apartment.. I still remember the sound of rat traps going off in the attic and finding the evidence in the trash can the following morning. Still for awhile we were happy or let me say I was happy. Even tornadoes couldn't wipe away my optimism as one of my favorite memories of that time is my sisters and I being shoved in a bathtub during a tornado, foolishly believing that the house and everything might blow away but somehow being attached to the plumbing we would be safe. I didn't know enough about the world not to be happy at that point.

We would move yet again, this time to a small drab box of a house next door to my Aunt and her husband. Once again, I knew we were poor. Yet I would go and visit my father who was living in Ft Worth, Texas the time and know that at least a part of my was ok. Somehow, my life seemed to have a safety net. For my mother that was not the case. She dried and withered emotionally in the Texas heat. My sisters and I begged to return to California which finally, loaded into my mom's Chevy we did. Mom never recovered from the divorce. She would go on to re-marry a man that I believe she resented and looked down on, but who kept meals on the table. She would continue sewing and designing cloths that she would wear only in the drab little house. As she escaped farther and farther into dark red color of many bottles of wine, I escaped into books. My oldest sister escaped into the Army and my middle sister, I am still not sure if she found an escape. She still bears the emotional scars of those years. Looking back, I see how my mothers depression came to cloud or vision. What I knew them was simply that our existence was no longer one of beauty.

Impoverished is a word that describes not just the physical financial landscape. It cuts much deeper like a scythe removing the golden wheat from the ground. It removes the scenery and color and movement until there is nothing but dried nubs left in the ground. Impoverished is the word for losing hope which is what happened to my mother. Far to proud to take a handout or help or to admit her actual age (but that is yet another story about her). She created and accepted an impoverished existence and all that goes along with it, especially the lack of joy. Even the Sunday outings to church seemed to be filled with resentment and bitterness. Our trips to get ice cream after church became just fond memories. I can speak for no one but myself, that church became the place that I couldn't wait to leave so that I could get back to my pile of books that I was always reading. It was thanks to those printed words in paperback pages that I never lost the ability to dream or see or know beauty. They were my drug of choice. I was saved from a drab and impoverished existence by them. I was saved from bullying by them. I was saved from opinions of the outside world by them. In order to graduate from the sixth grade, we had to log and do book reports on two thousand pages. My pages numbered in excess of twenty thousand, and I actually won some sort of award for having done so.

It is clear to me that being impoverished is a state of mind. Having traveled much of the world, I have seen many people with no money but much joy. These people are not impoverished, in fact some of them are most likely the richest people in the world. Joy and love create a richness all of there own. Happiness is it's own reward. God is infinite and unlimited and tapping into spirit brings about the sense of being unlimited. I have experienced this first hand many many times. And much like the story about going to the river with an eye dropper and going thirsty, while envying the man who brought a cup, far to many of us cripple ourselves in our lives by our own behaviors. Rejecting joy is a choice. It is harder physically and mentally as well. It is much easier to be happy than it is sad. You don't seem to have to work at happy, where sadness takes constant work to remain in that state of mind, so why do we bother? I wish I had the answer to that but do not.

What I do know is that in spite of what my bank account says about me, I feel rich and privileged. I look around at the beauty that I easily create and see evidence to back this up daily. I am nurtured by family and friends who are rich in spirit. My mind is incapable of sustaining a dull and grey world, and thanks to the lessons of life I know that I will never be or feel impoverished.

Ordinarily Extraordinary

Life is amazing. In ways large and small it reveals truth to us. Just by walking around a different corner one day on your morning walk you can discover something that you never knew existed before. So it is also with writing. For the past few months my posts have been dwindling. So have the extraordinary feelings and emotions that I get from writing daily. I was thinking about it this morning, wondering why I don't feel so bright and polished lately. When was the last time that I felt amazing? As the blocks rolled on beneith my feet the answer slowly reveiled itself to me. The last week that I felt amazing was the last week that I had written daily.

What? Why? Clearly more walking and thinking were needed to figure this phonomon out. Actually nothing came until I came home and pulled out a notebook that Ken gave me for my birthday and started doing what the notebook was intended for, writing down my thoughts. As the paper filled up so did my heart. Not that I think that I'm brillient or special. It is exactly the opposite. I am an ordinary man who when he lets go can see the extraordinary in life. The more I let go, the closer I feel to God and the closer I feel to God the easier it is to express myself, to create to sculpt a life in words. Some of these will be read by only myself and others shared, but all of them extraordinary in the way a leaf or a blade of grass is extraordinary. They are one individual expression of the divine.

I remember this feeling well. Years ago I started painting. No training to start off with, just the belief that maybe I could create something beautiful. I did! I found that the medium came easily and effortlessly to me. I painted for my friends freely giving away what had come thru my hands into being. The more I painted the more creative I became. I found that I could create digital works of art and sculpt. The big dream for me though was always to tell stories. To write. I never did, though until the cancer diagnosis. Perhaps it was the fear that even though I believed at one level I would survive it, there was a dark beliefe just below the level of conscienceness that maybe I was running out of time and better start telling those stories before it was too late. I believe that the truth is that when I am creating I feel closer to God and the only time I feel extaordinary is when I am close to God, so it make sense that I need to create. Maybe because these are my God given talents and to not use them would be to waste my life. I also believe that to truly waste your life is to never feel connected to God, to never experience something truly bigger than yourself or your own life. I spent years in the dark being small and I know that I don't want to revisit that path. So once again I am writing.

Several religions belive that having a disiplined practice is important to stay connected to God, more than ever this makes sense to me. Writing has been my practice this past year, when consistant, I feel amazing, and when not writing, I feel dull and lifeless. I believe that I am not alone in this. I suspect that Athletes, Artists, and anyone living out their highest self feels this. It is when we try to listen to others truths that do not work for us or to swim upstream in a river that was not intended for us to swim that we drown our own spirit.

Lessons learned along the way

About 3 or so weeks ago, I decided that I had had enough of being "stuck" in the house. I wanted to get back in the world. Go back to work. Do all of the things I normally do. I decided to push myself. It made sense. If you push yourself in the gym, you get results. Push yourself at work, you get promoted.... Well, that is apparently if you are ready to be pushed. Against the advice of my doctor and even my own dad, to take it easy, I pushed. I mowed the lawn, weeded, weed whacked, raked and made the outside of my house look like it had been visited by a professional gardener. I ignored being tired and some what out of breath. I even ignored feeling dehydrated. In short, my body pushed back.

The symptom started a few days later with a sore throat and a tight chest, by nightfall, I was feverish and knew I had a chest cold. The cold lingered, making it impossible to do the things I love to do. In fact anything but laying around with the dogs (which they seemed to love) was not possible. Now, three weeks later, I am just getting over the cough. My flem has gone from green to yellow and now clear. I am on the mend, but carry the wisdom that I should have listened.

Where have I heard that before? Oh yeah, here in my blog. In my head and heart. Listening has always been one of my own shortcomings and now, I was the victim of my own selfish ways. I get it. Just because we hear something or understand something doesn't always mean the we have applied it, and clearly I am guilty of not applying this lesson. Ken still complains that I don't listen to him. That should have been a clue. Additionally, I am still having trouble speaking, because I didn't apply the lessons of my speech therapist and practice daily (apparently talking to myself and the dogs just isn't enough). The other thing I am guilty of is not practicing meditation and prayer on a daily basis. I have stated several times and still believe that those two things were paramount in my healing. Wouldn't it stand to reason that not practicing them could be paramount in a relapse? It makes sense to me. So now the plan is to sit aside some time each day. Time to listen. Listen to God. Listen to my heart and mind. Listen to others, especially Ken. Maybe I'll even listen to my doctor and my dad and take things just a little bit easier.

Of course in the mean time, I do plan on asking the universe for more energy, perfect health, but in praying for specifics, I am reminded of the old Quaker saying: "Pray, but then move your feet". Perfect health and energy are possible for everyone of us, but just like practicing other disciplines, they both require practice and, well,  discipline.  Proper Nutrition, staying hydrated, exercise, rest  and LISTENING to our bodies when they are telling us something. OK, so no healing chocolate donuts, no matter how tempted I am. I am after something much sweeter than a quick sugar fix and that is living a sweet life.

Damaged Goods

As with many diseases, cancer can leave you feeling like damaged goods. In my case, I had half of my tongue removed, skin removed from my arm to replace the tongue, skin removed from my leg to replace the skin from my arm, lymph nodes from the right side of my neck removed, a trachea implanted to that I could breath and a feeding tube so that I could eat. Of course as time went by the trachea was removed, but left a divot looking scar on my throat that moves up and down when I swallow, also the feeding tube was removed as I was able to swallow on my own and begin eating. As days turned into weeks and weeks into months the healing continued. My focus is no longer on having cancer or even having had cancer. All of this came at an unfortunate time for me. I was busy working on my sexy by fifty plan. The diet had worked and I had a new found swagger. I was on track, with two years to go to perfect my physical body. The universe, however, had other plans for me and one day I discovered the tumor in my tongue. The only lingering side effect is some difficult in speaking clearly all of the time. Granted I have re-mastered most of the English language, I still have great difficulty with words ending in LLS. Walls, balls, falls....They end us sounding like waas, baas, etc. Certain accents are considered sexy, but speech impediments, not so much. 

For me it all came down to this, what is sexy and is it important? Can I be sexy? Who knows? Do I want to do the work (which could include some plastic surgery)? And who's idea of sexy am I pursuing anyway? The GQ model idea of sexy? The guy next door? Aren't I more that that? I am a survivor. I am tough and capable and loving. Shouldn't I be content with that? I have a loving and amazing partner in my life who seems pretty happy to show up and be with me just as I am. Can I find contentment in that?

All of these ideas were challenged recently, when I met a big girl in a tiny body. I had dropped by the SPCA store to buy shampoo for my dogs and decided to go and give a little love to the residents at the shelter. As I stepped into cottage two, I saw her for the first time. She was just a tiny little thing with huge round black eyes and a little button of a nose showing through her frowzy fur. She stood quietly on her hind legs and front paws on the bars of her cage. She had hope in her eyes, but it was plain to see that she knew most people would pass her by. She wasn't talented like the poodles that she shared a temporary home with. She didn't jump and walk on her hind legs begging for attention. Our eyes met and I lost my heart to her in that second! I went to say hi, but told myself that I was being stupid! I already had two dogs at home and didn't need a third. I took her picture anyway, to show my partner Ken later. With that I left her behind. What I didn't know, is that I had taken a piece of her with me. The feel of her tongue on my fingers, the hope in her eyes. I couldn't stop thinking about her. I showed Ken the photo and he declared that it was my birthday week and if I wanted another dog, he was cool with the idea. (I should mention that we did have at one time three dogs. One of them had passed away from stomach cancer this past year. It left a hole in our hearts but our other two dogs, seemed to be much happier with it being just the two of them). Finally on my birthday, we got up and went to a museum but left early to go and "just say hi" to her.

We took her out for a visitation and the image that I will always hold in my heart is my partner Ken carefully holding her. Ken is a big guy and he held her like she could just break at any second. His eyes were filled with love and concern and she looked at him with the same hope that she looked at me with.  The spell would be broken though, when we were informed that she had "serious medical issues" and needed to speak to her representative. We did and found out that she would have to have surgery. I was originally told by a volunteer that it was hip surgery. A friend of my had gone through that last year and ended up spending thousands of dollars only to end of having her dog put down as it could not handle the pain afterwards. I knew I couldn't handle that not to mention that we are still paying my medical bills and should not be acquiring more debt. It was a good decision I thought. I was using my head an not my heart. I should be proud. On the way home I asked Ken how he was doing and he quickly replied "fine". Matter solved! That was a Saturday and by Monday morning I realized that the matter was far from solved. What if they put her down? That was the way things were going. We had been told that everyone who looked at her passed because of the expense involved. I was in a panic! The SPCA was closed on Monday and Tuesdays and it is basically impossible to get anyone on the phone during those days. I also found out that Ken was not "fine". He was suffering from the remorse of walking away from her, just as I was. He reveled that he didn't talk all of the way home because he didn't want to cry. If you knew Ken, that is a big thing. This is a man that doesn''t cry. We have been together for over twelve years and I have only seen him cry about three times, so knowing that he was about to shed some tears was really saying a lot!

I camped out at the gates of the SPCA on Wednesday morning with a list of questions that Ken and I had gone over. What we wanted was to take her to our vet and get some idea of the expense involved. Of course that wasn't possible I was told but I could adopt her and get a full refund within 30 days. Yeah, that's gonna happen, I thought to myself. Like I could ever bring her back. Then, good news arrived, I spoke with the vet as the SPCA and found out that she had a "luxating patella". Basically it was her knee and not her hip. For some reason it didn't sound as bad and as frightening. The truth was though, it was already too late. When I got to the "pound" that morning there was no way that I wasn't going to adopt her. She was like me, she was damaged goods. The difference was that no-one had walked by me. My life is rich with family and friends and the most amazing man, that I am fortunate enough to spend my life with. There was never a question that when diagnosed with cancer I wouldn't be taken care of, because I was loved. There could be no question that she wouldn't be taken care of either. I filled out the adoption papers and brought my dogs to meet her. They didn't kill her (in fact they sort of ignored her) so it was agreed that this would be a good fit and she could come home with us. She still had to be neutered so we picked her up the following day.

We named her Ginger, and what I can tell you is that she takes my breath away every time I look at her. Maybe it's her small size and maybe it's the way she looks at me. I don't know. What I do know, is that she is not in the least concerned about her knee. She is an amazing dog who is loving, yet stands up for herself. She is a daily reminder that I am not damaged goods. I might not have all the same parts I started off in this world with, but I am me and that is quite enough for her. And like her, I don't see a crippled dog when I look at her (and neither would you, she shows no sighs of her leg bothering her, except occasionally missing a step). Ironically, I no longer see a damaged man when I look in the mirror. I see a strong survivor, a good person and something that brings me even greater joy, I see Gingers Dad!

Prepare for Impact

In life we never really know, just who is going to have an impact on our lives. Who will love us, hate us, hurt us, it's all a waiting game. This subject is on my mind after sharing a wonderful lunch with Laura. To merely call her a friend would be to grossly undersell the relationship. I met Laura through Weight Watchers, when she filled in for my regular meeting leader. I remember liking her style. Later, when I had become a receptionist for Weight Watchers I was able to work with her in a few meetings. Later, still, when I had put some of my weight back on, I started attending her meetings. Yes, she did help me loose some weight, but the impact came later, when I was diagnosed with cancer. Laura was literally one of the first people who showed up for me. A cancer survivor herself, she knew well the journey that I was about to undertake and selflessly gave of herself and experience. She introduced me to others that would become a core part of my journey that I called my survivors group. Laura also introduced me to the Cancer Support Community of South Bay, where I attend my group meetings. Laura was never asked to do these things, she just did them out of love. It was a great lesson for me. There are people out there that will just love you, no strings attached. This, I believe is true for all of us. I am grateful for her friendship and partnership in my journey. I am also keenly aware that my time to give back is here. Just holding onto love does nothing and no one any good, we have to give it back to the world, let it flow, grow and come back to us. That is the impact of true friendship.

I write about it today, because I wonder who along the way, I might have loved, learned from, had I not rejected them. We all do it, turn a blind eye to the homeless person, roll our eyes at the kids in Starbucks, change lanes at the grocery store because we think that the person in front of us is about to use food stamps and take up our precious time. But without others is our time really that precious? What if we asked the crazy kid at the coffee shop what they were drinking and discovered something new? What if we gave a dollar to the homeless occasionally or bought them a meal, or maybe sat with them and listened to their story. Wouldn't that time be well spent? For those of us (and yes, I include myself in this) who watch TV daily, wouldn't our time be more rewarding being out in life instead of watching a falsification of life? What would happen if everyone gave up two hours of television a week and did volunteer work? How would our communities be impacted?

I remember attending several funerals over the years. Some big, some small, but the one I really remember the most is my Grandfathers. The love that poured out of everyone there for him. And why? He himself was loving, and inclusive. Everyone was welcome at his house. I seriously doubt if he ever met anyone he didn't like. At the end of his life, I could see that it was a life well lived. I stood there proud to be his Grandson. His loving nature impacted me in a way that still makes me want to give back today, what more can I say.

After the battle with cancer, I got to reclaim my life, but more importantly, I got to choose the type of life that I want to live. That is a gift that cancer can give you if you are open to receiving it. The gift to finally stop what you are doing and really examine things. What is important and what you want. It gives you the time to prepare for impact. You just have to be willing to look away from the pain to see and feel the good.

The age of acceptance

We are all going to die....eventually. That is what logic tells us. As we age we see many examples of it. Family members and friends die, pets die, plants die and we know so will we....eventually. We accept that fact and file it firmly into the back of our thoughts, trying not to dislodge it. We fight off death by trying to look younger, to feel younger, to dress younger, beat our cancer and other diseases, but it still looms on the horizon that we will all travel to....eventually.

I have a birthday coming up, so as I am apt to do each year I search for the latest and greatest anti aging creams and techniques. I remember to moisturize and mask. I think about asking for Strivectin for my birthday (a sure sign that I am getting older, when I was younger, I would have been happy with a blow job). Today while shopping for something with a stronger retinol base, it occurred to me that I never once thought that my Grandmother or Grandfather needed to look younger. They were perfect just the way they were (even if my Step Mom and maybe even my Dad might disagree with me on that one). They were the closest thing to unconditional love that I have ever experienced. And no they did not always like everything I did, but they always liked and loved me for who I was. I kept thinking about this on the way home after purchasing nothing from the anti aging section, and realized that I have never heard any of my friends say God, my Grandma looks old, she really could use some work. And no one ever says "Good grief, Grandpa, you need to get your self back in the gym". It seems to me that the modern day therapy of parenting our inner child, is a generation off. What we really need is to Grand Parent our inner children. I could use a strong does of unconditional love, and I'd also kill for some of my Grandpa's "Takkas" (he was actually saying taco's, but that was the way he pronounced it. I can not bring myself to call them mere taco's now as it would feel like insulting my Grandfather's culinary genius. Sadly the recipe died with him, much like the unconditional love that I know my whole family experienced from this special man).

Back to my point, isn't about time that we all loved our self unconditionally? What would it feel like to love more than to judge especially ourselves? I don't really know right now, but this year for my birthday, this is the gift I want. Just to love. Myself and everyone that I come in contact with. I want to love the wrinkles that I have earned over the years from smiling. I want to love the frown lines that I have earned from thinking. In short, I want to embrace and love the wisdom that I have acquired in my time here on the planet.  And then, of course, I want some more time, and what the heck, I'll take some Strivectin too!

How Did This Happen?

We pray, we watch our diets, we do as we're instructed by our doctors, all in order to regain our precious health. As it returns, however, it is not uncommon for those of us recovering from any disease, to reclaim our human-ness. We forget to pray, or meditate one day and then the next. The piles of green vegetables that we have been eating go bad in our refrigerators, while we snack instead on taquitos and sweets. I walked the dogs, that should be enough exercise pops into our heads. In short we grab for the lives we once lived. I'm human and fallible. We need to remember, though, that we are human and fragile. I know first hand how easy it is to loose the connection to God, to forget daily prayers and the connection with the divine. I lived that way for years. I also, in spite of a base diet that is very healthy managed to snack on junk food. I never met a taco, I didn't love, or a beignet for that matter!

So here I have been these last several months focusing on my return to health. An amazing partner at my side, reading and studying all he can about cancer and diet so that we can live without my having a repeat episode. His badgering me with "really? Is that cancer killing ice cream?" And me just wanting to live. My taste buds have come back and ironically my sense of smell is even more sensitive than prior to the cancer and with that comes and even improved sense of taste. I stopped juicing, on a daily basis, and started visiting my local taco shop more often. In fact I started eating out a lot and stopped cooking at home. My salt intake soared. In the mornings I would wake up and my face and tongue would be swollen and  restricted. I stopped practicing my vocal exercises on a daily basis. (ok, I was never good about doing them daily, but I somehow stopped all together).

Suddenly, I was watching my body change. How could I be 150 and look fat? Then it was 155 still looking fat. Had I lost that much muscle? Prior to my cancer, I had trimmed down from 170 something to 155 and was looking good. I gained some weight prior to surgery because I was warned that I would loose approximately 15 lbs while undergoing radiation. When all was said and done, I finished my radiation at 140 lbs. Since that day I have slowly watched pound by pound my weight creep up and up. Motivated by an annual trip, I realized that I had to do something. I had to get back on my healthy eating plan. I had to accept that I was human and pretty much the same human that I was prior to cancer. I had to go within and find the strength and motivation. Like so many of us who have had to battle their weight, there is also an underlying factor. We need to do it in order to regain our maximum health. For those of us battling and surviving cancer there is also a much greater need to do it, we have to prevent the cancer from returning. You would think this last reason alone would be enough to keep all of us survivors on the straight and narrow, but it's not.

So what happens? Do we just give up? No! We start to live! Life is amazing. It feels good. Indulging feels good. We forget how good the perfect weight feels on our bones. Just like forgetting to say our prayers. Yet we find that remembering to say our prayers, to stay connected directs us to wanting to stay healthy. It just feels better. I started my healthy eating plan and in just a few days, I had the energy I had prior to cancer. I have been a white tornado around the house. Just a few minutes of meditation and some good food, can surprise you. I suddenly have enough time in the day to do what I need to do and want to do and what Ken wants me to do. Will I hit my goal weight and revert to my bad habits? I'd like to think not, but the reality is that is an option. Just as loosing our connection with God is an option. It just isn't the best option and one that we can control. So I have to set up reminders, have stricter guidelines of how much weigh gain is acceptable (the number is not 20 lbs!). Most of all, I need to remember how wonderful it feels to live fully. No food or diversion can ever take the place of that. I just have to remember. I just have to listen to the people in my life who remind me of that. Say, wasn't it not listening that got me here in the first place?

That's the Stuff!

That's the stuff is a slang term which lately seems to have been replaced by "that's the s*#t". I never cared much for this vulgarization of pleasant things. It can be used to refer to a great meal (eew!), a beer, great sex, or what ever seems to float your boat at the time. I am not apt to use the term, however, I recently had my own experience, where it seems appropriate (literally!)

Last week I got a stomach bug. Nothing big, just the run of the mill bug that most of us have experienced from time to time. It came with the cramping, aching and fever and of course diarrhea that such bugs carry. I was completely immersed in being sick for a few days, when it hit me, I hadn't once thought of cancer in that time. Odd that illness can take your mind off of well....illness, but it can. It actually became a welcome relief. No, I can't say that I was actually enjoying getting up every 45 minutes or so to run to the bathroom, but it was a break from my past nine months where everything out of the ordinary must in some way be related to cancer. And for the most part it is because almost everything is. I still suffer from exhaustion, a common side effect of chemo and radiation. The swelling and inflammation which is a side effect related to having my lymph nodes removed and radiated. Lack of appetite, etc. Almost everyday brings with it some cancer related gift.

In survival and recovery it is important to move beyond the illness. Our thoughts must be aligned with health and wellness in order to bring about the desired result. So this little bug brought with it a gift. I got to be a normal person for a week! No cancer, just frequent trips to the restroom. What a great trade off. Yes my butt hurt, but nothing like surgery. I was whiney and week and wanted to be waited on, but never once thought of my partner Ken as my caretaker. He was once again just my partner having to put up with me acting like a baby (yes, I am a typical guy when I get sick. I want my mommy, a nurse and maybe a hand full of old movies thrown in). There was no education I had to involve myself in. I already knew how to handle this. Plenty of rest, fluids and little food. Of course Ken kept telling me that I brought this on myself by not washing my vegetables properly, but I just tuned him out and was content with my illness. By the time the thing had run it's course a week had flown by. A week of no cancer. Just being a typical guy! Now if that isn't the shit, I don't know what is!

What a World

One of the best parts of visiting my Dad is the drive both to and from the airport. It's one of the rare times I get him all to my self. In spite of the fact that he isn't usually much of a talker there is rarely silence on our drives. We discuss politics, our family and one of my favorites, my dads stories of growing up in New Mexico. This weeks trip was no different. As we drove past a horse farm and I made the observation that on of the horses was on its side and wondered out loud if it was dead, dad assured me that for some reason in Texas this was common. He wasn't sure if it was the breed of the horse or what, but it was a common sighting even in winter. This of course brought up the conversation of the horses he had as a child on the farm. He mentioned that some of their horses were used as a team to pull a wagon. I listened but wondered in my head if my dad as a child ever imaged that he would be driving his own son to the airport to fly several hundred miles back home? As a child did he know that his world was about to make a major change? His world has probably made the most changes of any generation in recent memory. Once the industrial revolution hit, there was no stopping the change. His family farm would soon be sold so that they could move into town. His parents would open a restaurant, eventually close that and move to California. He lived through the great depression and served in the Korean War.

That's a lot of change especially when I compare my world to his and yet I see history repeating. We are currently in a depression yet noting like the one that grabbed and shook my fathers generation. Our revolution was technological. I have read about people protesting the power poles being strung across the nation the way people have protested nuclear energy. Amazing is all of this is the vast majority of people have not lost their faith. Most believe in God. And yes we struggle with it diagnose it, subject it to science and yet come out of all of that believing in God. I watched a show on the cosmos and listened as one of the most brilliant minds of our time, Stephen Hawking, proclaim that because there was no time prior to the big bang, there could be no God. My first thought wasn't wow, I guess that there is no God, it was that Stephen Hawking does not understand the nature of God. The other amazing thing is that I doubt if Mr. Hawking's findings  would change anyone's mind who believes in God. For those who have been  touched and changed that is the one thing we most likely won't give up.

I am not speaking of religion, but in our own personal spirituality. As a gay man, I have pushed back against much of organized religion in my life. They had rejected me so I would reject them. In spite of that in just about every place in the world I have visited my first stops were to Cathedrals and Temples. I can tell you I have a great love of architecture, but this was always something more. I find peace in the house of God. I commune with the Divine in the house of God. I find it shocking that so many people visit a church and manage to find hate. To reject their fellow humans. Yet this behavior has been going on for centuries. The belief that one religion is superior to another. That one country is superior to another. That piece of the earth is holier than another.  While I was in Texas, my Dad's Presybeterian minister spoke about the miracle of the loaves and the fishes. He used the metaphysical explanation that it was not a miracle where Jesus actually turned the meal for five into a meal for five thousand, it was a story about sharing. Because of a willingness to give what little he and the disciples had, it started a ground swell of sharing among the crowd. I was brought to tears thinking what a world: A christian and be a metaphysician! To take it farther we do live in an amazing world at an amazing time. A world where people who have done bad things can also do amazing good. A world where there is so much going on, that it should be a crime for anyone to become bored. A beautiful world, where people care about each other and the environment. A world where I can walk into a machine and fly several hundred miles and get to spend four hours in another machine driving down paved roads listening to stories told by the man responsible for my existence! What a World indeed!

The Search

It seems to me that we are all searching for something. Some of us have figured out what that something is while others of us have not. I have lived the vast majority of my life feeling like I was on the outside looking in. An observer if you will, and a willing one at that. While for some outsiders, there is a sense of longing to get to the inside, I have been content to hold my position, nose pressed to the window and wait. The problem is that I never knew what I was waiting for. Some people think that this may be a sad way to live, but it has served me well. During my career as an apparel buyer, it was because of my being an outsider, that I could so clearly see what people wanted next and stay ahead of the trends. In my career as a manager it has enabled me to read people quickly, and make good hiring choices.

Since being diagnosed, I have realized that my life is not about my career, however. I no longer receive my identity, by what I do, and rather by who I am. This shift has been subtle and yet a quick one. One of the gifts of the shift is an amazing increase in self confidence. Being my job, I was never good enough, never "ahead" enough. Being me, I am strong and can take on anything that life throws at me. I can also relax more now. Before, if I had a day off, I couldn't really enjoy it because I knew something somewhere was about to go wrong. I'd call work just to check in. I look back and see a man who didn't trust himself and therefore could not trust the world. Today, I trust that God has it all handled, so I don't have to. That in itself is a relaxing thought.

Yesterday I returned home from seeing my Dad in Texas for the second time in a month. This time I was able to stay longer which was a good thing. It feels like I have a lot of years to make up for. Just sitting around and talking, I became painfully aware of what I've missed over the years. I look back and think how many times I couldn't go back to see him because I was "blocked" during the holidays or had a set up that prevented me spending early spring with him. On and on... I listened to my Dad and Doris talking about holidays past, visits and vacations that I was not a part of. I realized with a bit of shock that I did not have cherished memories of the times I spent at work while they were gathered at the Thanksgiving table. What was it that I was searching for back then. I clearly didn't want to "fit in". I didn't want to be a family. Now I realize that I am part of a family, we all are. Sure we can choose to reject it, but that doesn't make it go away. Those people are all still there, building memories. Going home to see my Dad, it surprises me just how easy it is to be part of a family. You just have to show up. Being willing to share makes the experience even richer. Listening makes it even more so.

We search and search only to find sometimes, that we are enough, just being who we are. Home is not a destination, it is a place in our hearts. Granted sometimes that place in our hearts has a destination attached to it. For some it has a time line attached to it. Yet it seems, once again by observation, that for the truly free there are no strings attached.

Cancer: A Love Story

That's an odd title, none the less it is the title of my story. Through this journey I have learned to love myself, but that is not what I am writing about today. Today, the love that I am talking about is my love for my partner, Ken. Prior to my diagnosis I used to question our relationship...a lot! Could we make it? Would we make it? We argue and bicker so often. I make him crazy, then he makes me crazy. If it's not the finances, it's the way I put the dishes into the dishwasher. In thinking about it now, it sounds a awful lot like marriage. During my ordeal with cancer, those things revealed themselves to be petty. In fact I came to understand my doubts about our relationship were completely unfounded. Ken in short has been a rock.

While I was dealing with the physical aspects of the disease he was busy arming himself with education to ensure us both a long life. He has studied nutrition, psychology and God only knows what else about cancer to make sure that I am here and so is he. Early on, prior to my surgery, there was a day that I came to trust in us. I had always trusted God and myself. I knew that I would beat cancer, but this was the day that I knew I wouldn't have to do it alone. I've written about it before, so I apologise if I am repeating myself. I was at UCLA Medical Center oncology division of the dental center. I was told that I needed to have four teeth removed to protect me in the future. Being rather vain, that is the last thing I wanted. I even remember writing on Facebook that I pity the fool that wants to pull my teeth. At listing to the reasoning Ken pleaded with me to listen to the dentist and have the procedure done. At first I was shocked and felt betrayed. How could he act like this when he knew how important it was to me to keep my teeth? I listened as he broke it all down into bitchy cliff notes. "If you don't", he said, "and your teeth become infected, they can't pull them because you won't have sufficient blood supply in your jaw. Then infection sets in and the only thing left to do will be remove it and replace it using a bone from your leg! Is that what you want"? It felt like I was 5 and being yelled at. I caved. I gave in to logic. I got mad and blurted out "Fine, pull them". I was told that I may have to come back. I informed the dentist that if he wanted the teeth, he would need to do it now, I wouldn't be coming back! And that is what happened. I walked into the lobby, my jaw still numb from the procedure, holding bloody gauze in my mouth to see Ken slumped in the corner of the lobby with his head down. When I approached him, he raised his head and I saw the tears for the first time since I had been diagnosed. "Thank you for doing all of this to stay with me" The words were simple and quite. But they were powerful!
I understood in an instant that he had believed in us all along. He yelled about the way I put dishes into the dishwasher because he wanted us to have clean dishes. He wanted there to be an us and some of my beliefs in self healing were terrifying to him in terms of our future. Maybe I could heal myself, but he wanted to make sure I was healed what ever it took! For us. Because he saw a future for us. So bring on the chemo and radiation. Get the cancer out of my body! I became far more compliant that day, and in his own way so did he. To this day he is receiving acupuncture for his insomnia and I'm happy to say it is working. We are both learning how it give in to each others beliefs.

While my cancer was being removed, there was another battle occurring in our state. The battle for same sex marriage. I never really planned on being married. I did feel that if someone wanted it they should have the legal right, to it, however. But now, I am bothered by the ruling, not because I want to be married so badly, but when I look at Ken, I see this amazing man, who has not been just a great mate, but a care taker. If there was ever someone in this world who deserved a marriage proposal it is him. And yes, we could move to a state that has made it legal, but is that really the point? And yes, we are Registered Domestic Partners but it's not the same. We have a certificate from the state that sounds like we have gone into a housekeeping business together. He has been a model husband and even if he turns me down, I want him to have the right of me asking for his legal hand in marriage. I have never been much of an activist, but surviving cancer certainly changes things. One thing is certain to me, no matter what the law says love will endure.

The Quiet

I love the quiet, especially of the early morning. It is said that early morning is the best time to meditate and I believe it, everything feels so gentle, so calm. Walking along the morning dew clings to your skin like a kiss that holds the promise for a sacred day. It's amazing how the world feels before everyone wakes up. Living in California, I can never take this time for granted. The noise will begin as the first neighbors wake up around 5:30 and begin their day, cars start to roll and just in the distance the freeway comes alive. But now before the dawn it's like being at home when the electricity goes out and you suddenly realize how much noise the refrigerator makes.

I love quiet places. This brought about my love for New Orleans. By reputation you would expect there to be twenty four hour noise, but get just a few blocks away from the tourists and the quite of the neighborhoods engulf you. I have never figured out if the acoustics of the city were brought about by the architecture or the heavy moisture in the air or what, but for me it is one of my quite places. When there I love walking along the banks of the Mississippi River. I've always said that my body lives in California, but my soul lives there. But in really thinking about it I tend to thrive in any quite place and yet I love living in a city. I don't know what that says about me.

I love driving in the quiet. I remember sneaking out as a teenager and riding my motorcycle around the quiet city. Today, I drive with my radio and music off when I am alone. Just listening to the sound of my tires on the road, humming a quite song.

The quiet seems to intensify our connection to the divine. My life feels like a prayer in the early morning. Each action is a communication with God, that isn't the same later in the day even if the actions are exactly the same. Even doing on the dishes takes on a different spirit before the sun comes up. And the way that we are gentle with ourselves in the morning is sublime. Speaking in a whisper to the dogs even if no one else is at home. I worked for Starbucks Coffee Company as a manager for years and always felt lucky to open my store. I hated it when corporate mandates insisted that managers only work 9-5 slots. I fell out of the habit of waking up at 3:30 am and I have to say that I have missed it. Of course there is more than me in my house to take into consideration when it comes to being up at this hour so I will cherish my alone time this morning, knowing that it rarely happens around here.

Hello Old Friend!

Last night I was visited in my dreams by a familiar young man, it wasn't until I awoke around seven am and curled up to the dogs going over the dream in my head that I realized who he was. It was me around 14. It took awhile to realize that the sad eyes and skin made red by acne were mine, but there he was in my dream begging to be noticed. I suspect it was even more than that. You see that little guy went through alot.  He moved in with his dad and new step mother to find his world turned upside down. His fathers new wife smelled the weakness and effeminate behavior and turned her sights into if not straighting him out, at least making him appear to fit in. And fit in in Texas no less. This was a far cry from fitting in California, where it seemed easy to disappear. The spotlight of a new school and being the new kid had the same intensity as the Texas sun.

He had received lessons in how to walk, was forbidden to join choir or drama class and shoved into a pair of Wranglers for his first day of school, where no matter what he did he did not fit in but who cared because he did not fit in at home either. That little guy just dug deeper and deeper into his books, looking for a way out. I admire him because other teens may have considered another more permanent way out. He assumed that one day all of this would end. He faced verbal and mental abuse by his step mother and his father said nothing. She spied on him and finally forced him out of the closet. His father said nothing. This little guy had so many hopes and dreams for his life, this was surly a mistake, but it went on until he was abandoned by his father in a rent by the week apartment. In fairness to his dad (who is also mine), the original plan was that they were to move out together, but his father ended up trying to reconcile with his wife one last time and he apparently did not fit into that plan. He struggled with working and school, where he was failing miserably, and finally gave up. He called his mom and within 24 hours was on a plane headed for home.

Still no direction and no great ideas, he launched a plan. To become someone else entirely. Fueled by the anger at his father he decided much like any actor would to take on a new name. A stage name of sorts, but this was for a grander stage. The worlds stage. That is where this plucky little guy surrendered his life and mine began. I entered the Navy using my new name (which then became legal) and vowed never to look back. I didn't for quite awhile. Two years into my stint, I was reconciled with my father thanks to my new step mother, Doris. Still I tended not to look back. I had forgiven my dad and hoped that he had forgiven me (hey I was far from perfect). I then began the process of stumbling through this life. Oddly enough, and with much help of many of the amazing people who entered my life, I came to like myself. Then I came to love myself. I came to understand my spiritual side. I also forgot about loving myself and forgot about my spiritual side at some point.

Thanks to cancer I was reacquainted with both. Maybe the dream was brought on by the fact that friends from my past have been popping up lately. My old boss, Donn, My old assistant Lupita and most importantly to me my dear friend Blake.  And while I haven't actually seen or spoken to any of them just having them in my on line life is a comfort and a bit hope for me. But back to my younger self. Somehow I came to love myself, but never did love him. Perhaps he believed that he didn't deserve it. That maybe he wasn't lovable. What I was left with upon waking up this morning is that he is here and very much alive within me. He is also lonely and broken and in need of love. Some 30 years after his giving up his life for mine I finally am realizing that that is just not the way it works. His wounds are my wounds and in spite of the fact that I have come to love myself, I am realizing that I have not come to love all of myself. I suppose that some of this will start off with some forgiveness. In many ways he gave me a clean slate for the future and I have to look at what I have done with it and take responsibility for it, both the good and the bad. And most importantly I need to be grateful that this little guy was so remarkably strong. In spite of the sadness and wounds there was still a smile behind his eyes that carried on into my life. I also need to merge both lives and realize that what I am today is because of him. It strikes me as ironic that I was never confronted by him until after I faced cancer and learned that I was strong enough to face anything. Maybe the lesson here is that I am as strong as he is and always was.

Never Forget

While discussing diet, I am frequently reminded by my partner Ken that statistically I am at a greater risk of repeat cancer and need to eat correctly. I hate statistics and sometimes I just want a donut. But like it or not I am tasked with never forgetting my personal past with cancer. Every day I continue to feel better. I am exercising more and feel strong enough to return to work, and yet I am warned by my doctor that I am still anemic from the radiation and should just let things progress in their own time. I listen to him and in the back of my mind think, I'm gonna do what I want to anyway. Of course Ken was at that appointment and ALWAYS has something to say about it. So I am not returning to work. I am trying to stay busy at home.

Did I ever mention that I hate housework? Well I do. It wasn't until I was at my dad's spotless house that my own home even felt dirty. OK in the grand scheme of things I wouldn't qualify for some reality show on dirty homes, but after seeing near perfection, I have to admit that I was a little jealous. So now I vacuum more, scrub the bathroom more and appreciate my clean home more. I also see more and more dust and dust bunnies under things that I would have never noticed before. It's like my mind is taking out all of it's frustration with my situation on the house. Loose cords bother me, spider webs bother me and suddenly there is just not enough hours in the day to tackle it all. The bottom line here is that I need to go back to work or I might crack up and become OCD, that or open my own maid service.

Maybe I just need to find a distraction, yet I am reminded not to get too distracted. Don't forget to eat correctly and take my vitamins. In some ways it is like being 14 all over again (except for the cleaning). I feel like it is time to move forward but am being held back by the tether that is or rather was my cancer. And no I don't want a repeat performance, but it would be nice to feel like I could kick up my heals now and again. I guess the bottom line is this: everything in moderation. That seems to work in every situation and hopefully it will work in mine. Now while Ken is not home I have a some rugs to vacuum and a donut with my name on it to eat.

Another Week

When you think about it it is amazing what can happen in one week. I am very conscience of this right now because the weeks seem to be passing by so quickly and soon I will be back at work. If you really think about it though, think about what one week can bring. A vacation perhaps, a renewed friendship? A new career? A new look on life? A new appreciation of the love in your life? A much needed break? New books? A stronger connection with God?

The weeks that have gone by have brought me all of that and more. I appreciate time in a much different way than I did before being diagnosed with cancer. It used to feel like it was my enemy. Rushing faster and faster until it was going to be too late for me. I was feeling the sand slip through my fingertips unable to do anything about it but try and keep up with the life that I was living. Once diagnosed the entire glass bottle of sand fell from my hand and I had to face the reality that that life was nothing more than an illusion. Being in the world but not of it, never made sense to me until recently. I didn't understand what had happened until I was not of this world.

I used to dream of being a comedian. I thought I was pretty funny. In reality I was wounded and bitter and made jokes based on that. Today, I feel love and compassion, and while I think I have retained my sense of humor, I no longer need to make jokes at any ones expense especially mine. Ironically I laugh more today. I see more joy in the world than I used to. I smile more. I say hi to more people than I used to. In spite of my new speech impediment (which I am working on in therapy) I am not bothered to speak with anyone. Not that all my my mean streak is gone. I have to admit that things like the you tube video of the woman falling into a pond because she is on her cell phone really cracks me up. I think the difference is now I feel that I am laughing with her. I could see myself doing that (and probably will at some point if I don't learn to stay off my smart phone.  I just hope someone it catches on video so others can share in the laugh).

In another week there are hundreds of opportunities for us all to become more connected. To say hi to strangers. To try and make someones day, now just wait around for someone to do something nice for us. This coming week I can do nice things for myself as well as others. This week I can make myself available to someone who is going through a difficult time. Time is a gift. Each week brings new opportunities. Each week brings more love.

Support

Every Tuesday night, I get in my truck and drive some 20 miles up Pacific Coast Highway to attend my support group. Unlike other trips of the same distance that I may make, I never think about wasting gas, or the time involved getting there. This trip is a highlight of my week. The admission to the group was quite high. Over two hundred thousand in medical bills (thank God I'm insured), the removal of part of my tongue, scars that may never look "normal" and a speech impediment. To spend time with this amazing group I would say that the price is fair. You may be thinking that I'm nuts, but here me out.

We can all use some support. Frankly, I'm surprised that support groups aren't the norm rather than for special cases. Think back to grade school and how much more pleasant it might have been to spend a couple hours a week with other kids who were having the same or similar experiences to yours. Just imagine coming  to understand that the bullies were insecure as a child and maybe being able to show some compassion for them instead of fear? All of the beautiful girls that no matter what seem to think their fat learning that they are perfect just the way they are? Redheads standing up and claiming their own special kind of beauty. All of the kids with learning disabilities coming to see themselves as smart and capable, not unteachable. The list goes on and on. I bet that I could have created a special group for just about every five years of my life. And if we did this where would we be as a society?

In some ways churches used to be a kind of a support. During the 50's and 60's, you were looked down upon if you didn't go to church. Then as time wears on going to church fell out of vogue. I will freely admit there was a period of my life that I spent quite isolated from Christians. In fact if I would have been in a support group at that time, it would have been a God please protect me from your followers group. I'm still leery of some sects. Now my group would be more of a God please keep the baptists and their hateful teachings away from me and my family. While visiting my Dad I went to church with him and even though it was my first experience in a Presbyterian Church, I quite enjoyed it. His minister, Dr. Charles Somervill, was fun and up beat. Nothing of what I equate ministers in the south to be (Still have some prejudices). But the thing that really impressed me was the Prayer of Confession that starts off "Our God, we confess to knowing more about how you would have us be than actually being that way." In short it is a confession to being human and fallible. That is something that I can live with. We are all just human after all. I have vowed to check out our local Presbyterian Church here. Usually I am at my most comfortable in a Catholic Church, even if I am not nor will ever be Catholic. In fact I still tend more towards the metaphysical, Earnest  Holmes type of teachings, but all paths to lead to God.

But to get back to my current support group, there is just something about surviving a life threatening illness and being able to weekly tale about the tale. When our families and friends grow weary of us having cancer or health problems related to the treatment of cancer, we find ourselves with a most welcome outlet. We celebrate to good and help each other through the bad. We all learn something new each week, but most of all, speaking for myself, I have increased the number of people in my life that I can truly say that I love. Here I find myself surrounded by wisdom that came a too high of price for any one individual but it is shared freely. We also share laughter, tears, compassion, empathy, humanity and occasionally some really amazing cake! (Thanks "C" and thanks to Laura for telling me about the Cancer Support Community).

Home is Where the Heart is.

My trip to Texas happen too quickly. It seemed that for months it was all I could think about. Then the two weeks leading up to the actual trip I started to dread going. Leaving my dogs, leaving Ken....facing what Doris had been telling me about my dad's decline. It all seemed too much. Then before I knew it I was comfortably seated on Jet Blue flight direct to Austin with my Kindle in hand. Not to sound like a commercial here but for those of you who fly but have not flown Jet Blue, let me say this: Do it! Jet Blue's domestic flights rock. Great service, great prices and more than enough leg room. If you're taller than say 5'10" you can purchase roomier seats for only $45.00 which also come with the privilege of first boarding! 

Once in Texas I realized I had really over packed for the 5 day trip. My excuse is that I am used to packing for two. The reality is that I am sadly out of practice. One thing I am glad I took was my bathing suit. I knew my dad doesn't have a pool (which in my opinion is a must have for Texas) but Granbury has a beach. Not a real beach per say, but the city paid God only knows what to bring in tons of sand to create a "beach" on the lake. My step sister Dorenda and I spent one of the days there and it was a little slice of heaven. First it was great getting to know Dorenda, who in spite of our similarities, I have managed to not spend any time with in the 25 years my Dad has been married to Doris. That is my mistake, as it turns out she is a wonderful person and was a great hostess! (and such a cowgirl and god knows I love me some cowgirls!). Just spending the day talking and taking dips in the cool lake to cool ourselves down from the 103 degrees, was one of the best days I've had in ages. It's pretty cool to have another sister. It still surprises me, for years I have avoided anything to do with family, mine or anyone else's. I can't say if it is age or the cancer, but the feeling of belonging is comfort. I really discovered that first with my In-Laws, Steve and Ruthie. No matter how uncomfortable it was they were troopers coming by the hospital everyday to check on my progress. Some how it finally dawned on me that I wasn't just their son's partner, I was family. (That happened in spite of the fact that to date, California does not recognize or allow same sex marriages).

Now I find myself thinking of Dorenda as my sister. In the end, humans have an amazing capacity for love. Our hearts can stretch to embrace and unlimited number of people if we just make ourselves available. I spent the better part of 40 years to afraid to reach out or open my heart. Now it feels like it is the only thing to do, the only way to be. I think about all of the people who prayed for me during my journey with cancer and wonder if those prayers somehow unlocked my heart and mind. While in Granbury one of the best experiences I had was thanking my parents congregation for their prayers and got to announce that I was at last cancer free. The tears still fall when I think of standing there feeling nothing but gratitude. It feels amazing to be part of peoples lives that I had never met. They were willing to take time out of their busy days and say a prayer for me. . They of course love my Dad and Doris and want to make sure that they are comforted, but to go beyond that and see the selflessness in their simple act of including strangers in their day, requires a selflessness that I have yet to achieve. One thing you can say about cancer is it sure can bring people together. Yeah it sucks and I pray for the cure, but I have to be really honest and say this has been an amazing journey.

My short time in Texas came to an all to quick and and it was time to jet back home. Back to my life with Ken and our dogs, rabbit and fish. Back to the daily chores and the concentration of writing and working to improve my overall health. Yes I am cancer free but thanks to the treatments that got me there, still not as full of energy as I would like to be. Saying coming home feels somewhat odd to me, though. Long Beach has never felt like home, and yet here I find home in the company of Ken and our family. I still find Texas to feel like home. I know that I inherited my mothers nomadic spirit and long to roam, but as I really think about it Home for me is found in some pretty unlikely places. It is not a geographic location. It is where the people I love are. It is my support groups, my writing class, it is found online with friends made years ago or new acquaintances. Most of all it is with my family and especially with Ken. My heart lives everywhere I love. That is the lesson for me in all of this: just to keep my heart open.

A Visit to my Dad

It's already been a week since my flight back from Texas touched down here in California and yet my thoughts have been so jumbled I haven't been able to write about the experience. I guess to sum it up I would say that it was liberating. Early on I convinced my Dad to stay home and that I would fly out to see him after the radiation. I made the good point that it would be more frustrating for all of us. There wasn't anything he could really do, and I was concerned that Ken would then have to look after me and my Dad. That was pretty top of the mind stuff, but I've been digging around in my head and finally had to admit that I didn't want my dad to see me like that (post operation). In truth I didn't want anyone to see me like that. But after it was over there was Ken and Theresa and my amazing In-laws, Steve and Ruthie and most surprisingly my amazing buddy Daniel (who I nick-named Scooter years ago). In some ways I feel guilty for telling my Dad not to come. I wonder if I stole an opportunity from him to be a Dad. If I had it to do again, would  I ask  him to come?  If I had it to do again I would admit that no matter how tough I acted I was scared beyond belief? The dominant voice in my head always told me that I was going to survive, but it might have been nice to have some hands to hold when the other voices where trying to chip away at me. Of course I made it through it, but today it feels like it might have been nice to let go of all of the trying to be a man crap and just have my Daddy's shoulder to cry on.

It all comes down to this: Men all want to make their fathers proud. So we go on with our lives and only try to reveal the good stuff to dad. At least that is my truth. I avoid calling him if I feel off or down. I have never turned to him for advice on deep or difficult things so that he is left with the general impression that I am tough. Truth be told I am tough. I am that way because I have made myself that way. Not wanting to show weakness or fear is my most common way of being. I charged right at the cancer and dared it to try and win. I told it from day one that I was going to be the victor in this story. I allowed my body to be carved and changed, shot up with dangerous drugs and shot full of radiation to prove my point. I only cried a couple of times and those were very private moments between Ken and I. Most of all I never confessed my fear. Never confronted it. Just told it to go away, that I had this all under control.

The trip to Texas changed me. I learned a truth that I should have known all of my life. My Dad is proud of me. In spite of all the stupid things Ive done in my life the man I have always looked up to is proud. I learned a valuable lesson of unconditional love. My father loves me. Broken or whole, rich or poor, single or partnered he loves me. I don't have to try anything or show anything, I just have to be myself. Somehow, and I never saw this before just being his son is enough. I've started calling him a lot more ofter already. I am no longer armed with the excuse of long distance charges, so why not speak as often as we like?

This trip had been a long time coming. Too long. My Step Mom (known affectionately as Momma D) had kept me up on my dad for the past several years. In fact her descriptions of how he was declining made me afraid of going home. I didn't want to see him stuck in a recliner, an old man, a future reflection of my self. In reality my Dad is getting older. I know that he turns 80 this year. But the man that I saw in Texas was not the man that I was afraid of. He still takes his bike out for morning rides and manages to make it thru the day. He even still works as a bus driver during school season. He is also smart as always. cleverr, kind and has a surprisingly open mind. In short this old dog still has some new tricks in him.

As adult children we look to our patents to see our futures. We do this without taking into consideration that we live in a much different world than they did. We judge ourselves harshly based on their successes and tell ourselves that we will never repeat their failures. I believe our fear of aging comes from what we see in our parents coupled with our own judgements. I look to my Dad now and see that 80 still seems pretty young. I am nowhere close to where I should be financially and the thought of retirement scares the crap out of me, so seeing that I still have time to get it together is a big relief. It doesn't give me any wiggle room, but at least I am not terrified.

I think that the biggest lesson that I learned while in Texas was that I want to be much closer to my Dad. There is a side of me that would like to move back there. My Dad won't live forever and the older that I get the faster the years seem to pass. ,  of course,  have Ken to consider in this and his roots are deep where we are. It could be that the desire to move (other than the fact that I have never felt that Long Beach was my home) is just the desire to be closer not physically but honestly. To share my fears with him and let him see me as a human. To call even when I am having a crappy day. To share my failures not just my successes. To finally be his son, not just what I thought he wanted as a son (Note to self: get real, you blew that years ago by coming out and God only knows what else).

Unlike a lot of cancer patients that I meet, my fear is not of the disease, not of having my life cut short. In truth I fully expect to survive this. My fear is to fail at being the man that I was meant to be. Of reaching my goals and dreams. Of fulfilling promises that I have made along the way, especially to Ken. Dying of cancer would be easy. Living to my fullest potential of terrifying! Thanks to my Dad, I have a pretty good coach though.

As the days pass

Things always become easier as the days pass. Ken had taken last week off to attend all of my doctors appointments. In the end we ended up loosing Noir, one of our pugs. Watching Ken in pain over the loss of his first pet has been hard. He started to make 3 dog treats yesterday morning and then broke down. Oddly the other two dogs don't really seem to care much. Noir was always the outsider to them, but we expected something.

One thing that dealing with Noir did was take my mind off of the painful news that I may need additional plastic surgery to repair my neck. This information was followed up by my cancer surgeon who informed me that surgery to the radiation site was not advisable because radiation decreases blood flow and things don't always heal properly. My surgeon explained that his number one purpose was to extend the life of the patient, not give them a perfect face. I pondered that for awhile. What about patients who want a perfect face? What if this were happening to an actor who needed to keep his looks for his career? Ultimately most of my thoughts this week have been of Noir. And for that I am grateful.

As Ken returned to work this morning and another day passes, everything is better. For some reason I'm not so concerned about how I look right now. It's not like I'm hideously disfigured, I just have a thicker neck and look a little older than I did when getting my diagnosis. But then in some ways I feel older too. Not in a bad way, maybe in a wiser way. There is an old saying that time heals all wounds. I know it to be true. Eventually the pain of the loss of our dog will diminish. Eventually I will look in the mirror and feel normal. Eventually I won't "feel" my tongue every waking moment. As for my sexy by fifty plan, it's still in place. Sexy is a state of being, I just have to allow myself to feel that way. I need to strip myself of the current set of rules of what sexy is and do some editing.

Out of this journey has come the understanding of how significant my relationship with Ken is. How the depth of our feelings reaches out to include our friends and family. I am part of a couple in a way that I have never been before. In a way that is about caring and nurturing. And it being two guys there is plenty of picking on and making fun of as well. It wasn't until faced with cancer and possible death that I came to feel safe, but I do today. For the first time in my life I feel safe. How many days had to pass before I realized that?

Thanks for the Love!

10 Years ago there was a knock on the door late on a week night. Our neighbor who did dog rescue had just found a dog that she believed to be a pug mix and since Ken and I had a pug, she was wondering if we would be willing to foster the dog. The next day she brought her over and we agreed to become her foster dads. Just a week later, she had stolen our hearts and even though her presence in the house really seemed to irritate our pug Basil, we decided to adopt her. We named her Noir. She was nothing like any dog I had ever had before. Kenny was new to dogs, he inherited Freddy, our Yorkie when he moved in with me and together we found and adopted Basil to be Freddy's companion so he wouldn't have to spend his days alone.

Noir was "street smart". She would eat anything. That's great if your feeding a dog. It is not so great when your walking them. Rocks, berries, anything that she could grab she did. She even dug up and ate a goldfish we had when he died (If you follow this
blog, yes it was Tokyo). The thing about her, though was her happiness. Always a joy. Always ready to wash your face. For 10 years we had the gift of this little girl. Even though our other two dogs are not affectionate with us, it never stopped her. She was always too happy to dispense kisses or cuddle on our laps. She was louder than the other dogs as well. Always rejoicing in our return home and when we made them special treats she had a bark that could spit your ear drum.Then this past Sunday night she couldn't sleep and finally messed on the bed. We put her out and by the next morning she had diarrhea. That got worse and we took her to the vet. This morning she passed away. She died as quickly as she came into our lives. It was a shock to suddenly have a third dog and now it is a shock to not have this quirky little soul around the house.

When the vet called Ken was in the shower, I got the new and entered the bathroom crying. I could hear Ken start and opened the shower curtain. We just held each other, not caring that I was getting soaked. Nothing in that moment seemed to matter. Ken is my rock but seeing him vulnerable in that moment, I know that I had never loved him more.

The vet mentioned that he suspected that Noir had had cancer. It has me thinking about animals and humans and my beliefs regarding disease. I have always believed that my cancer was a manifestation of my thoughts. What about our pets who have cancer? Could it be the same for them? Do some animals cure themselves through the power of positive thinking and others do not? One thing for certain, I am glad that Noir did not suffer. Her decline was so sudden. To sudden for me to wrap my head around. We drove down to the vets office to say our final good byes before they cremated her. She seemed like she was still alive just laying there with the two of us blubbering over her. Kahil Gibran in the profit says "Love knows not it's own depth until the hour of separation". Once again I find the truth and and beauty in his words. I had no idea how I had grown to love Noir over the last 10 years. Freddy and Basil always seem to take center stage in our house. Ken has lost his running buddy, we both have lost our foot warmer and even greater we have lost an amazing dog that had so much life and joy in her it seems impossible that she could be gone.

Noir, thank you for choosing to love us and share your time here on earth with us. Kenny used to say that in spite of everything you really were the best dog and he is, once again, right.

It's time again

This is one of those weeks where I have several doctors appointments. Yesterday I saw my plastic surgeon (he created the prosthetic tongue), Today I see my regular surgeon (he removed the tumor, which happened to be connected to half of my tongue) and Thursday I see my dentist.

From the standpoint of the doctors all of the news will most likely be of a positive variety. (I'm just there to check on the progress of my healing). That of course is there stand point. I finally pushed my plastic surgeon into telling me exactly how much difference I could expect in my tongue and found out it is pretty much where it will be. That was not good news for me. I work with the public and returning to the workplace will demand that I speak clearly. Currently I sound like my mouth is full of food (which only comes in handy at dinnertime, because I can eat and talk and no one notices the difference). This means that I will be spending quite some time with the speech therapist.

Secondly I asked about the incision on my neck as well as the hardining of the muscles below. I was told it had healed nicely. Really? I was told by my surgeon that there would only be a small natural looking crease on my neck. In reality I have a big flap of skin hanging over the incision site. From the front it doesn't look so bad but from the side it ages my by about 15 years. I know the argument: Ran, you should be glad to be alive! I am glad to be alive, but just like thousands of people I want to be alive and look younger than my chronological age! I was told that in four to six months if it doesn't improve I could have plastic surgery to remove excess skin and fat. That is not the news I wanted. I didn't have excess skin and fat going into this and want the results I was promised. While venting to my acupuncturist yesterday regarding all of this, she reminded me that she does "cosmetic acupuncture". (Not as intense as a face lift, but shows results in the re firming of skin and collegian production). She needled my face for me. I looked at it this morning and couldn't believe the results. The flap had indeed shifted. There is still some swelling, but the results defiantly show. I may not need to get a nip and tuck after all!

Finally, tomorrow, I see my dentist to have the bridge created. (If you have been reading the blog for awhile you may recall I had to have four bottom front teeth pulled due to bone loss and the risk of radiation). That will finally be corrected, which I am hoping will help a lot with my speech. The bottom line is this. There will always be good and bad days for all of us. Cancer has nothing to do with that, although, any cancer patient can tell you they have had their share of bad days. But if you look there is still beauty and miracles all around us. This week it came from my acupuncturist and of course my life partner who took most of the week off to be at all of my doctors appointments. Ken may not be great at cleaning the bathroom, but he is one heck of a caretaker! (not a bad trade off! especially considering that I had cancer and really needed to be taken care of).