The Best Thanksgiving Ever

   

    To say this Thanksgiving was the best one ever wouldn't be an overstatement at all. When I was faced with a diagnosis of cancer as a late birthday present in February I knew I was in for the fight of my Life. This was much more than a drunken brawl at a bar or a party over something that in all reality was always just an example of stupid shit that many of us are guilty of in our younger years. When it came to thinking about the possibility that I would not be here for Thanksgiving let alone Christmas that was something I couldn't allow myself to do. Forget about talking about it either because the idea of having that conversation felt akin to giving in and I refused to do that.

     We had an awesome Thanksgiving dinner on Sunday made with love by my amazing wife. We have both worked in call centers since the turn of this century and anyone else out there who works in one of those salt mines of the city knows it is very rare to get a holiday off. We have become accustomed to the practice of Thanksgiving on the weekend that follows it, which ends up being a nice way to start the holiday season with a running start. I devoured my whole plate before she finished hers, which happens rarely even though my portions are still small compared to my pre-diagnosis meals.

     When we called Mom and Dad after dinner we got the conversation started about why this was the best Thanksgiving ever and talked about the ones to come and it felt really good to do that.  Later my wife and I continued the conversation after that door opened.

     I could only imagine what went through her mind on a daily basis at the beginning of this battle and hearing from her what it was like then was enlightening and further hardened the cement in the conviction that I am so thoroughly loved. I told her back when we first decided to be together that she can tell me she loves me all she wants though I'd rather have her show me. She has never disappointed in that regard. She still shows me every day and it's been vital for me in this past year and still is.

     My thinking at the the beginning of this challenging year was foggy at best from the pain, drugs or being carted from one doctor or test to another that was happening on any singular day. I do know I wondered how my girl was doing and I 'd ask. And she, in her own similar to my "do it myself" fashion said she was fine and wouldn't let on what was going on for her. The clarity I have now versus the lack of recall I have for much of those first couple months makes me grateful.

     Our after dinner conversation evolved into how thankful we both were for having this holiday together and about the ones we have yet to come.  Just being able to share this holiday together made it the best Thanksgiving ever. As I finished that sentence a thought came to me in the form of a question.

     Isn't every holiday the best one of its kind ever if you get to celebrate it with those you love and who love you?

     My holiday wish for each and every one of you is that the answer to that question is a resounding yes.
 

                                                              HAPPY HOLIDAYS

Worse Than a Bad Relative

This was taken a couple weeks after I first started chemo and before I started to melt like the witch in the Wizard of Oz. My kitty companion nurse couldn’t answer the phone or the door but she sure could lay down some stinky farts. This recliner I'm sitting in has been both my hangout spot and my bed since the beginning.

     After my first post about dealing with the scary C word for most of this year I wasn’t sure if I wanted to pen another one. After giving it some thought I decided to go ahead and do it. Back at the beginning before my hands started to be uncooperative and I felt like a double order of dog shit and biscuits 24/7 I started a journal over this bout with lung cancer.  


This experience has monopolized my thoughts and my days since February and as much as I had no desire to stay stuck in what many perceive as a negative it sure has been a learning experience. Those opportunities I've heard and often them called myself by the acronym  A.F.G.O, aka, Another F***ing Growth Opportunity. It sure has been. I figured tossing some pictures in the mix wouldn’t hurt either. I also have a request I’ll save to the end. For better or worse here we go.

Never too far from me

    

     When I looked back a few months before my diagnosis I can see how things evolved. I felt something may have been wrong for a while since I felt so lousy and run down on a regular basis for months before I landed in the ER. I considered getting an MRI for the pain in my shoulder a couple times since that had been a constant issue. Even with insurance the outright ridiculous cost made it easier to put off. I figured I'd pinched a nerve in my arm or something because the pain, the tingling or both would disappear from time to time.  


     The MRI on 2/5/16 found a mass about the size of a billiard ball. It was in my upper left lung and pressing on my throat and spine. A PET scan a couple weeks showed how lucky I am since it was all localized and hadn't spread to my lymph nodes. Even after I told the Doctor what had been going on he said there was no way of knowing how long it had been growing. I’ve never asked the doc for a prognosis though I know from my research that the numbers for Stage lllA adenocarcinoma suck. I decided early on, “Nope, we aren’t having this shit in my house”; it would be worse than the relative who drinks all your booze then leaves a mess in your bathroom. You know sooner or later they would eventually have to leave. I planned on making this turn out the same way.

     You sure need to keep your sense of humor because cancer will definitely try to steal your dignity. The daily task is not only keeping your chin up but also trying to find some humor in whatever form it takes. We've for sure had more than an abundant share of our own laugh out loud moments. Humor is definitely a port in a storm during an experience like this. You have to keep your mind turned to the good around you though not be afraid to yell Foul! when you need to.

Yes Virginia there was a chin under under all that fur. My Mrs. had never seen my chin, it took her a bit of getting used to. I had to shave my face for the last 18 radiation treatments. The reason for that shows up below. This was taken after round 3 of chemo about halfway through radiation.

            First the hair had to go, it wore me out moving it out of the way to eat and what not.Tying it back became too uncomfortable.

Then I had to get rid of the French Connection from my chin to my ears. Shaving with a blade became too difficult when I couldn't bend back to see my neck.  Getting used to an electric razor has been interesting endeavor.

Mom and Dad came from upstate NY to visit for a weekend a few weeks after radiation ended. It was such a seriously big boost to both our spirits that words just really can't  express.  Thanks and Love to you both.

These are, as I called them, my Radiation Kids . They had to talk me down off the ceiling that last week. I was so done with getting filled with poison and being zapped by lasers at that point. I had already graduated to my Doctor Who suspenders weeks before this was taken since my belt didn't have enough holes to hold up my pants.

This is the reason for the shave. I named it my Count of Monte Cristo mask.  My Mrs. wasn't a big fan since she knew how tough the last rounds of radiation was on me. The black buttons snapped onto the table and held this sucker right against my face so I couldn't move my head while I was broiled with lasers. It's stuck in a closet waiting for an indecent burial. The candy was a surprise for sure from my Radiation Kids  and I was surprised when they told me it wasn't something they often did. I figured I must have received the World's Worst Patient Award; my lovely wife Dani will attest to that moniker.

About 2 months after radiation and chemo ended and I finally started to put back on some of the weight I lost.

This is what a gallon of Magic Mouthwash(real name for it) looks like. This stuff is pretty much a life saver if you can't swallow without a lot of pain. Take it from me, don't think more is better, it is not. I made that mistake only once and was numb all the way to my stomach. What a thoroughly strange feeling.

     

     There are a couple of things left I feel the need to mention and one comes in the form of a request. If you have a persistent feeling something doesn't seem quite right about you go to the damn doctor that's what they're for. You are your best advocate. If you have questions, ask. Write your questions down prior to any doctor visits or tests. It makes those questions easier to keep track of since it is quite easy to get distracted by all the machinations you're put through during the process. The doctors and nurses will get tired of questions. Tough, there are much worse things then being the World's Worst Patient if it keeps you alive. If something doesn't seem right or changes in midstream verify what is going on. Everyone may be nice and appear helpful though incompetence too can have a smiling face.The Magic Mouthwash above was suggested by another former cancer patient and we had to ask for it since it wasn't suggested as an option. When you're being told you need to eat but everything tastes like black pepper or dirt nothing is very appetizing. If it also hurts like hell to swallow, food becomes another thing to fight through so make yourself more comfortable. This stuff is liquid gold and comes in different mixtures for different conditions.

     One of the things I've had to force myself to get accustomed to is I can't just bounce around the stores at this juncture. Out of necessity I've become one of those cart people that get in your way at the grocery store. Even now I'm pretty sure I can drive a car better than I can one of those. I now have somewhat of a deeper appreciation for what it's like to get around on wheels at least part time. Tooling around a store on one of these jokers is often not a lot of fun since they are generally not maintained worth a crap. Often found rickety is the phrase I would use. Still there are moments when it can be fun; like after you knock over an entire rack of shirts at Walmart. 

As a final request please be mindful of those folks in the carts since I could be one of them. The toes you save may be your own. 

Thanks for stopping by. Comments and shares are appreciated.

From the desk of  Greg Davis, thanks.

I Hope You Got a Better Birthday Present

     This post has been probably the most difficult one to write of any that I’ve posted here. It has taken me the better part of a year to finally just put it out there. It was not because I was planning to rewrite War & Peace or something ridiculous like that. Even now sitting here tapping out some edits of these words I find myself hesitating to continue.

     Why so hard you ask? Well, there are a couple of reasons behind that and they are interconnected I’d have to say. I can’t say with any conviction which one carries more weight than the other though that can and has changed from day to day over the past 8 months. Anyone that knows me or has over a long stretch of time and thankfully there are still a good few of them around, knows I’ve been known to keep stuff to myself. The other is there have been many days I wasn’t up to it. Actually there were quite a few of those days and contact of any kind was too much to handle at that juncture.

     Back in February on my birthday my intended Facebook status for the day was coming to the conclusion that as the calendar page changes and the days roll into years the only thing anyone truly wants for their birthday is another one. Within a few days I wasn't sure I'd be able to fulfill that desire.

     Before I was able to actually update my status that day I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t catch a breath and was gulping air like the goldfish that jumped from his bowl to the counter. Needless to say I scared the living crap out of my lovely wife when I woke her from a dead sleep to call 911.

     So off to the ER at the nearest hospital I went to endure what passes for emergency medicine for the next 8 hours or so. After blood work, a chest x-ray and some pain meds they decided to keep me for observation.

     That night I saw a parade of doctors and nurses either just checking in or checking vitals. If your doctor ever tells you they are putting you in the hospital for rest and observation you can tell them from me that they are full of shit; especially the rest part. Granted I often sleep only in 2 hour stretches anyway but having someone else wake me up every 2 hours to poke me and fiddle around gets old real quick.

     By the time I got to day 3 I knew something was up. I spent that day having what felt like every test known to man. They stuck a camera down my throat to look at my gizzard then I rode the Stargate machine, otherwise known as a CT scan. The pain in my back made the MRI virtually unendurable and they had to fill me with goofy juice so I wouldn’t fidget. I dubbed the MRI tech Cruella DeVille for her sparkling bedside manner.

     Later that day the doctor who I’ve spent the most time with these past months came to see me while I was waiting for another test. When he told me he was an oncologist I wasn’t surprised. My initial reaction was more like scared and pissed and in that order. I liked him immediately. The fire in his eyes communicated to me he would do his best to help me whatever it took.

     He told me I had Stage lllA adenocarcinoma small cell lung cancer that he saw in my left lung and he wanted to start me on chemotherapy as soon as possible. Some of the horror stories I’ve heard about chemo flashed through my mind as I listened to him tell me the plan.

     Over the next two weeks I spent a good part of many days sitting in waiting rooms for tests, bloodwork, etc. Since I was feeling pretty much lousy as a constant state of being at that juncture doing all this really wore me out.One of those trips included getting a little plastic and metal power port attached to a big vein just below my right collarbone. It’s used to administer chemo and take blood so I wouldn’t end up being looking like a pincushion. The damn spike they use to access it is over an inch long and it’s buried to the hilt when they use it. Thankfully they use freeze spray most of the time before doing that though the image of it going in is a bit freaky. And with no freeze spray it would bring me right off the chair. Fun was not had. I still have it and it’s not a problem other than the weird feeling I get when I happen to run my hand across it.

     After my first chemo treatment I was still continually fighting to breathe and I was worn out. My days turned into a series naps in my recliner when I wasn’t going for tests or doctor’s visits. My doctor put me back in the hospital after one visit when he became concerned about my breathing. So off to the ER again I went from inside the hospital this time for more tests. The ER doc looked at my CT scan and determined that the tumor had grown since I had started chemo. It hadn’t changed size it had just moved. Since oncology was not his specialty nor was reading CT scans he started a chain of events that landed me in the hospital for the next few days and also start the mapping out of the next several weeks. My Oncologist and Radiologist decided they wanted to push the start of radiation ahead and do both together. Little did I know what would transpire in the coming days.

     I’m not going to bore you, though I may have already, with the details of the hell the next 6 weeks entailed. This is the part where I talk about the cure being worse than the disease. It’s definitely true when referring to what we know of medicine here in the US. Losing over 60 pounds in the matter of a few weeks will knock the ever living shit out of you. By the time radiation ended I had 3 more stays in the hospital ranging from 2 to 5 days. The last one was for a blood transfusion after I crashed in the oncologist’s office and would have bitten anyone that got close enough to me. This happened during my last week of radiation. I was done with all of it. I was beat up, beat down and just plain tired of feeling like I wouldn’t make it through the night and enduring  other days hoping that I didn’t. Those were some dark days, very dark. Thankfully one of my radiation techs talked me off the ceiling to finish the last 4 days of radiation since I was having none of it.

     Since then I’ve been slowly building myself back up. Of course we all know patience is a virtue and there are days I don’t feel so virtuous. Patience with myself to get back to a sense of normalcy hasn’t happened fast enough for me, though it’s getting there.

     The good news is this. My first CT scan 2 months after treatment ended showed the mass had shrunk from the size of a billiard ball to be the size of the ball that comes with a set of jacks like I used to play with as a kid. Even better was the last one 2 months later that showed the tumor as nothing more than a shadow, basically gone plus the node I had from a dose of valley fever in my right lung is now gone too. Also, the part of the tumor that was pushing my spine and causing my pain is stable and hasn’t changed though the pain still reminds me its around. My voice is improving but I still sound a bit like a villain from a 40s gangster flick. Talking for an extended period of time still tuckers me out pretty well too.

    I do get tired out pretty quickly and the nueropathy in my hands and arms makes writing both therapeutic and taxing. When I get to the point of having to retype almost every word I know it is time to quit for the day. Naps have become an important part of my day to regroup and recharge. Life has become simple; Eat when I’m hungry, sleep when I’m tired, do what I can when I have the energy to do so.

     As of today, I’m doing good though right now I’ve reached one of those simple points; it’s time for a nosh and a nap.

     Thanks for reading, as always comments and shares are welcome. I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere just yet.  

No You Didn't See Me in the Funny Papers

     I know it has been a right good while since I’ve dropped a few words here and at the risk of being cryptic I’ll ask you to bear with me a bit longer in that regard. I haven’t been locked up, in a coma or hiding in a cabin in the mountains in case you’re wondering. This year has been one for observing, a lot of that in fact, and there has been much to see in the view from my chair.

     One thing I did do, which in hindsight I seemed to have spent an inordinate amount of time on, almost to the point of literary paralysis, was attempting to decide what my niche or target audience would be. That question crops up repeatedly when reading blogs, books or magazine articles about the writer’s life. Many days just reading became a singular accomplishment in itself.

     Several, if not many times I sat hands poised above the keyboard with a blank document open in front of me and I somehow managed to find something else that jumped in line ahead of what I had in mind to put to paper.  I sure cannot say that there hasn’t been enough happening around the globe to leave me at a loss to write about.

     I’ve never liked being pigeon-holed and I imagine most folks don’t like to be either. That particular feeling for me is akin to standing in a hole buried up to my chin while waiting for someone to use me as a Whack-A-Knoll. What I did learn however is that I have a myriad of interests and any posts in the future will continue to be my usual mixed bag of whatever I’m tickled to write about.

   


     In between my bouts of research and some forced inactivity I did manage to get a few bits of short fiction at least partially in the can. Getting to the point where I force myself to stop trying to tweak and edit it further or getting distracted to work on another idea has become the proverbial double-edged sword.


     I also spent some time going back through the posts I’ve already dropped here and realized a few things; I definitely need to bone up on my editing skills and my blog layout is in dire need of a sprucing up. Those projects will be good for days when my muse is asleep.

     To say this year has been one full of profound challenges and startling epiphanies would be a gross understatement. One exceptionally positive note has been the many examples in my experience that reinforce my gratitude for the people that show me they love me which repeatedly reinforces the feeling that I am the luckiest cuss in the world.


     Reconnecting with some old friends and peers has frequently left my heart full and my face wet. You or I can read a pithy post any day of the week on Facebook or any social media site how big a role friends and family play in one’s Life. Often though it is easy to overlook taking the time daily to consciously be grateful for those folks being part of our daily existence. There are definitely situations that can arise at any time that can cause one to just get stuck in dealing with what is on the plate right in front of you to the exclusion of anything or anyone else.  Whether that is right or wrong it is how it is. The last guy who we were told had an almost perfect batting average ended up with holes in his hands and feet so the bar has been set rather high.

     In some ways it’s hard to believe it is almost October. This year has flown and in other bouquets of moments has been somewhat agonizingly slow. I’ve learned much, so overall it has been a grand success in more ways than one.

     For now I’ll put a bookmark here and ask that you keep your eyes open for my next entry. To those of you who have been reading since the beginning I thank you for your support.  Comments and shares are appreciated and welcomed whether you read on a PC, tablet or phone and comments should be open on all devices.

From the Vault: One for Father's Day

Connecticut Defense Council Auxiliary Police ID, probably WWII era

(I found this among some of the things I had written and though it has been out there on the web previously I felt it needed a little edit. So I fixed the writing faux pas’, added a little and thought it was worth re-posting in honor of Father’s Day)

Yesterday, April 5^th, was my dad's birthday, he would have been 107. I've wondered more than a few times what he would have thought of the changes the world's been through in the 40+ years since he passed and the discussions we would have had about them. I’m sure his analytical mind would love the idea of the Internet but the endless posts about where I’m eating a sandwich or the myriads of bathroom selfies would be lost on such a private person as he. I bet he sure would love the animal videos though.

He left home at 14 and hooked on at a number of shipyards up and down the east coast. I still have a piece of paper written in his spare efficient block printing of his "resume', which is just a list of the places and the hourly rates he worked for from 1922 onward. 

He used to tell a story of living in New York during those years. He lived in a 3rd floor walk-up and to help pay his room and board he made horseradish for the landlord. His telling of the story of having to stand by the window and having to grate this gnarly root by hand never failed to produce a laugh from those in attendance. He always told this story with a bit of a grin, as he knew that good times and bad times often overlap and the differences weren’t always discernible in the moment. Onions apparently have nothing on grating fresh horseradish when it comes to making tears. He said you couldn't wipe your eyes because that made it worse, so he'd have to stop periodically to throw water on his face. Sometimes he'd shred his fingers instead of the root and be just a total mess with tears running down his face and bloody fingers that stung like hell from the horseradish  juices. Needless to say he found other accommodations quickly.

He managed to keep working pretty much all through the Depression, which was an uncommon feat in those days. I worked for a while at the same place he and my Mom met and it was also the last job he had right up until he passed. I heard a few good stories about him from some of the guys that were still around from the time he worked there. 

The guys in the shop gave him the nickname “The Gray Ghost” because he had an uncanny knack for walking around the corner just as a group of guys would decide it was goof off time for a few minutes. They said he was a good boss and always fair, though you didn't fuck with him or any of his crew. One day a guy from another department was giving one of his crew a real hard time and preventing him from getting his job done in their mutual work area. When my Dad went down to find out what was going on the guy got pushy and mouthy. One punch later he was on his back, lights out. I still grin when I picture Jonesy telling me that story just shaking his head with his big bugged out eyes, his battered hard hat reversed on his head. "Nope, no sir no one fucked with the guys on Bill Mark's crew ". He was also not without his moments. One day he happened upon Little Charlie B_____ hammering away at something on a workbench, his hand choked up on the handle near the head of the hammer. Dad stopped and said to Charlie, “Don’t you know how to swing a hammer by now, doing it that way will take forever. Give me that.” My Dad took the hammer, gripping it at the end of the handle like one should and took a swing with it. The hammer head flew back over his shoulder and skidded under another bench about 10’ away. My Dad’s face got beet red, he turned to Charlie and handed him the empty handle and told him it was time get a new hammer then walked out of the shop. Hilarity ensued among the witnesses though it took Charlie a couple of minutes to stop shaking.

I wonder sometimes what my Dad would think of the pussification of America, where you can't tell someone, "You're an idiot for doing that" but it's okay to be rude as hell to someone you've asked for help in a customer service position. He always had a good word for the waitress or the checkout person. He always took our cars to the same mechanic, even though he could fix them; he used to say, "Those guys need to make a buck too." I feel fortunate to have put my wrenching days behind me since I found a good honest mechanic too.

The house I grew up in was the first stick built house he'd ever owned. He had always lived in apartments or trailer homes. That house was a bit of a fixer upper and he put a lot of time into improvements after we moved in. I remember him wrestling big rocks out of the ground with a long pry bar on the hilltop in our backyard. Then he'd roll them down the hill where he would split them with a hammer and chisel to add to the stone wall he built to keep the back hill from washing on to the red brick patio he laid. He had most of it done but never was able to finish the wall before he passed. 

He didn't know a lot about playing sports, though he did play golf and do some caddying for a while when he was younger; well before golf became more mainstream. I guess he gave up golf and pipe smoking when he married my Mom. He coached my little league team when I was 12. We spent a lot of time practicing my pitching in the driveway. His shins were always black and blue that summer due to bouncing balls that hit the dirt from what passed as my fastball in those days. We got to share the first ever season of Monday Night Football, though I never got to see the end of games since they ended at midnight on the East Coast. He would stay up to watch the end and leave me the scoring that happened after I went to bed written on small piece of paper on the kitchen table.

                                                             

                                                        Family Friend's backyard 1960's.

My uncle used to tell me frequently that he was the smartest man he had ever known, they did a lot of projects together at my uncles house. He also told me after Dad’s funeral that he'd never seen so many people at a funeral before. Dad's was the first funeral I ever attended and for years after it didn't matter who passed I refused to go. I remember sitting next to my Mom and shook so many sweaty dead fish-like hands that to this day I always look sideways at anyone who shakes my hand that way. That experience really threw up a lot of walls in my young mind and I never wanted to attend another funeral; that attitude changed as I got older, though that is a story for another day.

He left me a tough legacy to follow to be respected by so many. I wonder sometimes what he'd think about what I've done with my life, both the successes and failures and the hope I'd done well in his eyes just to keep on keepin' on. Like most things I write I don't know where this came from, I guess I just fell through the hole in the paper.

Thank you for taking the time to (re)read this and to all the Dads out there, Happy Father’s Day.

One Year Ago Today

                                                                   

     One year ago today I married the love of my Life, which for me says a lot mainly because I have some miles on this chassis.  I've heard that phrase used by other folks and though I don’t know what that means to them I do know what it means to me.

   After a bit of trial and error, some false starts and a couple of missteps the universe finally got my order right. I remind my wife on occasion that I ordered her from the universe a long time ago, it just took a while for us both to end up in the same place. Her reaction? She giggles.

                                                                 

     I've learned along the way that finding the love of your life isn't about not having to endure rainy days together; that just makes for a dry dusty landscape where Life struggles to scratch out a meager existence and grabs what is available. No rain or stormy weather turns everything a shade of brown, which lends credence to the idea that beige isn't a color it’s an attitude. Learning to walk hand in hand through a quick downpour or a thunderstorm punctuated by hail enables us to truly appreciate the sunny days when warm breezes caress our cheeks and romantic nights when the kiss of the light from a full moon casts a halo around all creation. There is comfort in believing “This too shall pass “ in concert with another and trusting each other enough to keep on walking the walk.

     Finding the love of my life means feeling the fire inside me when I finally see my honey after a long day; Its seeing the way her eyes light up when she looks at me, whether across the dinner table or as she drops her cares and ways after a day at the salt mines. It also means sitting at opposite ends of the couch, each with a book in our hand, occasionally reaching out just to touch hands, no words needing to be exchanged. 

     Love I've learned is about finding someone that gets you, that understands who you are and despite all that can entail loves you anyway.  Love I've learned is about allowing you to find your own way with no judgments; and returning that idea in kind, offering support, encouragement or just an ear when needed. Love is about allowing my partner enough space to have her Life while understanding I can’t be all things for her at all times, nor expecting her to be that for me.

    This is an example of the woman I married; this surprise was waiting for me when I got home from work on Friday night. The book, “Our Life Together - So Far”, is a collection of pictures of our years together -so far. Yes, that is Crème Brule sitting there too. How cool is that? All this was accompanied by a reminder to set my alarm for an early start for another surprise the next day.

                                                                     

     My morning surprise was breakfast at the little café that sat next to the Chapel at the Farm,( http://www.chapelatthefarm.com/ ) where we were married. We had lunch there after we took our vows that day. Saturday morning we sat outside on the patio, and though the weather was fabulous and the food was excellent, the company was the best part of the whole meal.

                                                                        

Happy Anniversary My Love and since I can’t sing worth a damn I’ll let Phil Phillips do it for me:

Gone,Gone,Gone