We have found an accupuncturist that trained at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer hospital in NYC. He is not a flavor of the month "healer" that decided to give up his job as a fry cook to become an accupuncturist and crystal healer. We used to call them sage monkeys and crystal hippies.
The decision was due to a few articles that said that in addition to traditional treatment certain alternative treatments have shown promise. We shall see.
Monday, September 3, 2007
Old Yeller
I find that our family "disagreements" now tend to boil over and become very complex. Tonight is a perfect example. My 14 year old is insistent. She gets a note from school about supplies. They will hand them out on Wednesday for the "A" class schedule and on Thursday for the "B" class schedule.
It is her considered opinion that she must get her Wednesday things Wednesday and must get her Thursday things Thursday. You can not get both Thursday. To do so would cause a ripple at the least and a tear at worst in the fabric of time. If the space time continuum is destroyed then we all will die and that will occur if we do not go on both Wednesday and Thursday. There is no other option and to even consider it is unthinkable.
So, we have a problem. I am on a business trip Wednesday and not back until late. My wife can not drive as she is very weak and her brother does not return until late. So we have a problem. We have an immovable object and an unstoppable force.
Normally there would be a solution and some negotiation and compromise as we get to the point. However tonight there was no compromise. Wait, this is a 14 year old, there is never a compromise.
When you are accustomed to doing things and that is suddenly taken away from you you feel helpless and worthless, to some degree diminished. The cancer and its treatment have a cumulative effect and weakness has set in. She is tired and grows weary very quickly. Walking down the block and back is a chore, going to the store is an effort that results in over exertion and illness. Driving 30 minutes to go to a Target and back again is an almost Herculean feat for her and it results in a daylong recuperation. It is effort that a year ago was no more than a little outing with the girls.
The argument that ensued pitted a 14 year old's insistence against the weakness and it resulted in my love crying that she could not even take care of her children any longer and was useless and tired. I tried to reason with the 14 year old and it went no where. Then I blew up and yelled at her loudly enough that people in Lebanon surely heard. Her 21 year old brother rushed to her defense. I told him to stay out. My 14 year old cried and my 21 year old argued and I yelled.
We stopped and took account of the damage that was done. Even after apologies are issued the damage is done and cancer has hurt yet another person. I hate the disease and all it has done to us, every one of us.
It is her considered opinion that she must get her Wednesday things Wednesday and must get her Thursday things Thursday. You can not get both Thursday. To do so would cause a ripple at the least and a tear at worst in the fabric of time. If the space time continuum is destroyed then we all will die and that will occur if we do not go on both Wednesday and Thursday. There is no other option and to even consider it is unthinkable.
So, we have a problem. I am on a business trip Wednesday and not back until late. My wife can not drive as she is very weak and her brother does not return until late. So we have a problem. We have an immovable object and an unstoppable force.
Normally there would be a solution and some negotiation and compromise as we get to the point. However tonight there was no compromise. Wait, this is a 14 year old, there is never a compromise.
When you are accustomed to doing things and that is suddenly taken away from you you feel helpless and worthless, to some degree diminished. The cancer and its treatment have a cumulative effect and weakness has set in. She is tired and grows weary very quickly. Walking down the block and back is a chore, going to the store is an effort that results in over exertion and illness. Driving 30 minutes to go to a Target and back again is an almost Herculean feat for her and it results in a daylong recuperation. It is effort that a year ago was no more than a little outing with the girls.
The argument that ensued pitted a 14 year old's insistence against the weakness and it resulted in my love crying that she could not even take care of her children any longer and was useless and tired. I tried to reason with the 14 year old and it went no where. Then I blew up and yelled at her loudly enough that people in Lebanon surely heard. Her 21 year old brother rushed to her defense. I told him to stay out. My 14 year old cried and my 21 year old argued and I yelled.
We stopped and took account of the damage that was done. Even after apologies are issued the damage is done and cancer has hurt yet another person. I hate the disease and all it has done to us, every one of us.
Self Medication
9/3 I have been self medicating. I admit it. "Hi my name is X and I self medicate." It numbs the pain and fear and anxiety. I am anxious all the time. I am scared to death. I am also very depressed and no amount of sunlight will cure it or defer it. I think that by controlling the environment that I can make life easier and better for her so she will get rest and be able to fight this devil. In some respects that is true but it takes its toll. So, I self medicate.
My medication is two fold. I run. I run from things. I run for things. I run to save my life and sanity. I run 20-25 miles/week, not much by many standards but I am a 50 year old under duress. It goes like this: things pile up and I can't take it so I plan to get my gear and run but something comes up and I can't. So I put it off for a bit then my morning run becomes an afternoon or early evening run. I take off and do a mile on flat terrain. I think about how lucky I am to have great kids and a great wife and a great life. Then I pray. Then I think about all the things that happened and that are coming up and I get keyed up.
Drop the shoulders, lengthen the stride, even out the pace. Breathe and relax.
I turn and face the hill. It goes up for 1/2 mile. I put effort into it and my legs burn; it is catharsis. I power up thinking about how goddamn angry I am and how all this is just so unjust, and fucked up and she doesn't deserve it and I don't' and....
Drop the shoulders slow the pace, you have 30 minutes left.
I hit the first plateau and my mind clears a bit as my body reminds it that I am indeed 50 years old. I breathe and catch my breath better, realize my foot hurts and stride a bit.
Second hill comes and I charge it almost in tears. It hurts and I think that if I can just burn through this I will burn through my anger and feel better. I lean into the hill and work through the intersections as cars pass and people stare at this rhino charging up the hill.
I hit the top and turn right and cruise up a small hill and on to a flat. I get to the intersection and cross along the flat terrain. I am calm and peaceful but my breath is a bit labored. I slow my pace, drop my shoulders and relax my jaw. Sweat is pouring off my forehead and into my eyes.
I start down a hill and it hurts more than going up. I feel like the scarecrow in Wizard of Oz. I run past the college and the coeds. Most don't even notice me and I like the anonymity. It feels good. I notice some kids at the park and I relax, the endorphins kick in at 5 miles. I head up a hill that is just enough to make me lean in to it and I run through the little bit of pain. Turning right I complete my big square and try to run the last 1/2 mile. I finish my 6 miles out of breath and legs shaking. My mind is clear and I know what I need to accomplish and how to get it done.
I also have been drinking more than I should. I have a beer every other night or so and I finished a bottle of a decent Australian dry white from Marlborough in two days. It deadens the impulse and lifts my mood. It also screws up my sleep making me more tired and irritable the next day.
I realize I do not need liquid depressants and I should get on anti depressants to take the edge off and make things more manageable. I just don't like the idea of sacrificing the highs for the sake of diminishing the lows. I need the highs at this time in my life.
Maybe I will up my distance to 30 miles.............
My medication is two fold. I run. I run from things. I run for things. I run to save my life and sanity. I run 20-25 miles/week, not much by many standards but I am a 50 year old under duress. It goes like this: things pile up and I can't take it so I plan to get my gear and run but something comes up and I can't. So I put it off for a bit then my morning run becomes an afternoon or early evening run. I take off and do a mile on flat terrain. I think about how lucky I am to have great kids and a great wife and a great life. Then I pray. Then I think about all the things that happened and that are coming up and I get keyed up.
Drop the shoulders, lengthen the stride, even out the pace. Breathe and relax.
I turn and face the hill. It goes up for 1/2 mile. I put effort into it and my legs burn; it is catharsis. I power up thinking about how goddamn angry I am and how all this is just so unjust, and fucked up and she doesn't deserve it and I don't' and....
Drop the shoulders slow the pace, you have 30 minutes left.
I hit the first plateau and my mind clears a bit as my body reminds it that I am indeed 50 years old. I breathe and catch my breath better, realize my foot hurts and stride a bit.
Second hill comes and I charge it almost in tears. It hurts and I think that if I can just burn through this I will burn through my anger and feel better. I lean into the hill and work through the intersections as cars pass and people stare at this rhino charging up the hill.
I hit the top and turn right and cruise up a small hill and on to a flat. I get to the intersection and cross along the flat terrain. I am calm and peaceful but my breath is a bit labored. I slow my pace, drop my shoulders and relax my jaw. Sweat is pouring off my forehead and into my eyes.
I start down a hill and it hurts more than going up. I feel like the scarecrow in Wizard of Oz. I run past the college and the coeds. Most don't even notice me and I like the anonymity. It feels good. I notice some kids at the park and I relax, the endorphins kick in at 5 miles. I head up a hill that is just enough to make me lean in to it and I run through the little bit of pain. Turning right I complete my big square and try to run the last 1/2 mile. I finish my 6 miles out of breath and legs shaking. My mind is clear and I know what I need to accomplish and how to get it done.
I also have been drinking more than I should. I have a beer every other night or so and I finished a bottle of a decent Australian dry white from Marlborough in two days. It deadens the impulse and lifts my mood. It also screws up my sleep making me more tired and irritable the next day.
I realize I do not need liquid depressants and I should get on anti depressants to take the edge off and make things more manageable. I just don't like the idea of sacrificing the highs for the sake of diminishing the lows. I need the highs at this time in my life.
Maybe I will up my distance to 30 miles.............
How People Stop and Stare
This weekend we went out for breakfast. Now mind you that our little town of NP has more than its share of people to look at. Some days I think we are in competition for the greatest number of tattoo parlors/capita and most citizens of a town with a tattoo. One guy has his face tattooed (that had to hurt), a young woman has both arms and legs (and I am certain it does not stop there) tattooed. I think Iam the only one without a tattoo.
My love has a Power-Pic-Line in her arm that travels up the vein in her arm so they can deliver things and remove things from her body without poking her again and again. It is very convenient and a good thing but she has these two lines exiting her arm. It gives me the creeps to look at it. However I have adjusted.
We were heading to our favorite breakfast place and I began to notice people staring. Perhaps it was the near hairlessness, the cap, the pained walk, the pale skin or the Power-Pic-Line. I don't know but it made me wonder if I had given such looks to other people and if it bothered them or made them as self conscious as it made us.
The reactions seemed to range from slight horror to pity to amazement. I kept expecting mothers to grab their small children and hustle them inside. I also expected the tattooed to not look. I mean these folks have let someone draw on them and not necessarily very good drawings done very well. However, they looked at her like she was the freak! So much for tolerance and kindred spirit. So much for the community of the outcast.
So I did the only thing I could, I would slowly pull up the sunglasses and give them a stare back, locking their gaze and following them. A friend once said I had the stare of someone in a witness protection program, hard mean and intimidating to average citizens. I used it and it worked. I don't feel bad about it but it caused some conflict in me. I can guarantee you I will never stare at the guys on the bus out for a day away from the group home or someone who has a disability or a homeless person. It just isn't right and makes you feel like there is something not just wrong but deficient about you. I hate those sort of Epiphany's.
My love has a Power-Pic-Line in her arm that travels up the vein in her arm so they can deliver things and remove things from her body without poking her again and again. It is very convenient and a good thing but she has these two lines exiting her arm. It gives me the creeps to look at it. However I have adjusted.
We were heading to our favorite breakfast place and I began to notice people staring. Perhaps it was the near hairlessness, the cap, the pained walk, the pale skin or the Power-Pic-Line. I don't know but it made me wonder if I had given such looks to other people and if it bothered them or made them as self conscious as it made us.
The reactions seemed to range from slight horror to pity to amazement. I kept expecting mothers to grab their small children and hustle them inside. I also expected the tattooed to not look. I mean these folks have let someone draw on them and not necessarily very good drawings done very well. However, they looked at her like she was the freak! So much for tolerance and kindred spirit. So much for the community of the outcast.
So I did the only thing I could, I would slowly pull up the sunglasses and give them a stare back, locking their gaze and following them. A friend once said I had the stare of someone in a witness protection program, hard mean and intimidating to average citizens. I used it and it worked. I don't feel bad about it but it caused some conflict in me. I can guarantee you I will never stare at the guys on the bus out for a day away from the group home or someone who has a disability or a homeless person. It just isn't right and makes you feel like there is something not just wrong but deficient about you. I hate those sort of Epiphany's.
Hair Today Gone Tomorrow
9/01/07
"Okay, in right at 2-3 weeks you will start to lose your hair.", said the nurse. "Lots of women cut their hair really short just so it won't be so dramatic. Your hair will come back when you finish chemo and sometimes it comes back just like before and in some cases it comes back curly. You just never know."
We began chemo August 1. By August 14 there was no real hair loss then in the third week, it came out. She had cut it into a very feminine hairdo and it looked cute. I admit it, it looked cute. Then it came out in combs, in the shower and on the pillow. More was present on the towel and on her shirts.
It is amazing the difference our hair makes in our perception of ourselves. She cried and cried and tried to put it aside. We got hats, caps and berets. We got scarves and hoodies and more caps. No matter it was the same.
I love her dearly and have come to grips with the hair loss but it is still so hard for her to get used to it. At one point in her life she had hair that came down to the middle of her back and swung as she danced and ran ahead of me on the track. I loved that hair.
"Okay, in right at 2-3 weeks you will start to lose your hair.", said the nurse. "Lots of women cut their hair really short just so it won't be so dramatic. Your hair will come back when you finish chemo and sometimes it comes back just like before and in some cases it comes back curly. You just never know."
We began chemo August 1. By August 14 there was no real hair loss then in the third week, it came out. She had cut it into a very feminine hairdo and it looked cute. I admit it, it looked cute. Then it came out in combs, in the shower and on the pillow. More was present on the towel and on her shirts.
It is amazing the difference our hair makes in our perception of ourselves. She cried and cried and tried to put it aside. We got hats, caps and berets. We got scarves and hoodies and more caps. No matter it was the same.
I love her dearly and have come to grips with the hair loss but it is still so hard for her to get used to it. At one point in her life she had hair that came down to the middle of her back and swung as she danced and ran ahead of me on the track. I loved that hair.
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