Friday, August 29, 2008

When Sick, Laugh


Tuesday I went skipping into the hospital for my last chemo treatment, but they wouldn't let me have it because my body was not healthy enough.  I was not worthy of the poison.  Before they even took my blood, the nurse said she could see that I was not well.  After 27 years of poison injection, she has a real sense of her victims' worthiness.

I never know if it's my red blood cells, my white blood cells, or my unique and glorious chartreuse blood cells, but one of them is out on the town and not doing their job this week.  The bottom line is that I am fatigued enough that I think I might try injecting Red Bull.  The breathing problems are also back, so I'm "quite the sight on the sofa tonight."

So I decided to make myself laugh.

I found an old file on my computer that contained a list of funny quotes I have heard over the past several years.  Here are a few . . . . 

My friend Nancy used to always say, "Some people say the glass is half full.  Some people say it is half empty.  I say, 'Are you gonna drink that?'"

When my nephew was young, my sister asked him the name of Jesus' father.  He said, "Verge."  "Verge?" she asked.  "Yeah, my teacher keeps talking about Verge 'n Mary."

In the same vain, when my cousin was small, she came into the kitchen crying that she had fallen and hurt her holy ghost.  Her mother asked where her holy ghost was.  In making the sign of the cross, she pointed to her head (The Father), her heart (The Son) and her shoulder, the Holy Ghost.

I was talking to my sister one time about how neat she is around her house.  She casually said, "Yeah, I'm so anal, it hurts."

Oscar Wilde once said, "Try everything once, except incest and folk dancing."

And here are a few of my favorite anonymous quotes:

"Veni, Vedi, Visa -- I came, I saw, I did a little shopping."

"I killed an ant in my kitchen last week.  Now none of my relatives will come visit."

"What if the Hokey Pokey is really what it's all about?"

"Time flies like an arrow.  Fruit flies like a banana."

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Lessons

I am continually impressed with the new generation in our family.  One of my sisters has two sons that are incredibly focused, driven, involved, and already successful.  Another sister has three beautiful and talented daughters, and I have several cousins with children that always amaze me in their accomplishments.  We are a blessed family with a great work ethic and nothing but success.

One of those cousins' son was out here in LA visiting last week.  Ethan is 20 years old and spent his first year here at Pepperdine University.  He chose to return to Cleveland to Case Western to finish his undergraduate, which he will do in just three years.

I felt honored that he and his girlfriend wanted to have dinner with me.  And he swears that his mother did not insist on him calling his old sick cousin.  Stephanie was equally as impressive having left Loredo, TX to come to study at Pepperdine.  Already she has spent a semester in Argentina studying Spanish.

During dinner, they asked what advice I would give two 20 year olds with an entire future ahead of them.  Wow.  That's not a question you want to mess up.  My agents didn't prepare me it was coming.  There I was.  Frozen.  Advice?  It better be good.

And then I tapped into everything I have learned these past eight months of thinking and writing.  The answer came easily.

"I don't need to give you advice.  You have already done it," I told them.  Overcoming fear and taking risks is the best advice I can give anyone.   Only good can come from it.  Both of them left home at 18 and came out to California for school.  I'm not even sure that they recognize their courage.  It came from something they had been taught or had instinctively, but it sets the stage for a life of open opportunities and facing them with gusto.  And it prepares them to accept life's challenges, knowing they can adapt and move forward without fear.

Ethan emailed me and said that he and Stephanie talked after dinner and they "are overwhelmed at the excitement of the future."  I love that!  How many Americans live in fear of what might happen?  How many are overwhelmed at the excitement of the future?

Here is the amazing lesson for me . . . . It doesn't matter if you're 20 or 53, the same rules apply to our futures.  I don't have the same opportunities now that I had as I drove away from my fraternity house in 1978, but I have new ones.  A life of experience should give me a new cause to be "overwhelmed at the excitement of the future."  I think I learned more than Ethan and Stephanie.

My sister just reminded me of an expression that Dad used to always say.  "Getter done!"  And his other favorite quote . . . . "If ya ain't doin' too good, don't stay too long."


Monday, August 25, 2008

A Very Short Blog

Just in case Stu should read this, please know that I write this blog primarily for people like you.  If you want to talk, send your phone number to me at BillKavanagh@aol.com.  We live very close to each other.

Friday, August 22, 2008

What Makes You Happy?

My friend Reese and I have been discussing HAPPINESS a lot lately.  He has forwarded several articles to me and even written a couple of his own.  Plus I"m still plodding through the book, "The Art of Happiness."

I have discussed this subject several times before, but I am fascinated by it.  Almost all of the authors agree that happiness is internal and does not generate from external sources or material goods.  We all know that.  An article in yesterday's Wall Street Journal suggests that happiness can also come from our association with family.  The best news is that our minds have the ability to change, and if we're not happy, we can learn to be.  So why don't they offer college courses in Happiness 101?

Funny you ask that question . . . . 

According to an article by Richard Nantel of Brandon Hall Research, it is currently the number one most popular undergraduate course at Harvard, and is offered at more than 100 respected universities.  It is referred to as Positive Psychology.  Whereas in the past psychology has usually focused on mental illness, these courses research human happiness.  That makes me happy.  Imagine.  Positive focus.

As I said in a blog on July 22, the Dali Lama says that some of the foundations for happiness are calmness of mind, compassion and loving kindness, and an openness to all human beings.  Of course we go through all emotions, but there is a certain level of happiness that each of us maintains, if we choose.

Reese suggests in his writing that a happy life comes from ten things . . . . Share, Appreciate, Forgive, Commit, Learn, Wander, Wonder, Dance, Laugh, and Submit.

I'm very curious what makes you happy.  Your kids?  Your job? A hobby?  A sale at Dolce&Gabbana?  (It's OK, you can admit it.)

There is a difference between happiness and pleasure.  Certain things like massages or ice cream can bring us pleasure, but don't ultimately make us happy.  I'd like to know both; your pleasures and your happiness.

I am very serious about asking for your input.  What makes people happy, especially people I know, is important to me.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Molly











Since the theme this week seems to be "giving and helping" (as well as the Olympics), I want to share one of my favorite stories.  There are few other experiences I've had in my life that have affected me so profoundly.

In 2001, just after the world trade center tragedy and just before the winter Olympics, I was alternating between ceremonies on the road with the Torch Relay and being back at my desk in Salt Lake City.  I was in New York for Christmas because on December 26th, Ann Curry was running the torch out of Rockefeller Center on The Today Show.  From there, I followed it up to Rhode Island before heading back to Utah.

When we drove into Providence, an elderly woman with a strong Irish brogue came to greet us at the car.  Her name was Molly.  As we were talking, I asked Molly why she took the time to volunteer in such extremely cold weather.  She explained that her grandson Zachary loved the Olympics more than anything.  He wanted so badly to be there, but he was in the hospital with leukemia.  She wanted to be able to tell him that she saw the torch.

I told her we could do a lot better than that.  We could take a photo of her on stage holding the torch.  Molly was beside herself and she insisted that we sit and eat some soup while she ran to the drugstore to buy a camera.

After the photos, Molly was constantly asking how she could help us.  Her energy was endless.  At the end of the evening, I gave her a small Olympic pin to give to Zachary.

In the next month, I received a couple of cards from Molly, always filled with love and support.  One of them included the photo above.  And then on the day of Opening Ceremonies, I was in my office for a very brief few minutes and I got a call from her.  Zach had died that morning.  He was holding the pin, and he said, "I'm going to the Olympics."

Molly asked two things of me.

First, she asked that we all pray for Zach and think of his soul rising to heaven as the giant stadium cauldron was lit.  And the second request was amazing . . . . 

"Always remember," she said, "that it's not about the millions of people that will be watching the ceremonies tonight.  It's about one little boy that you made happy.  We don't have to change the world.  We only need to help one person at a time."

As if the ceremonies weren't powerful enough for me, my heart exploded that night.  I have never forgotten Molly or her lesson.  And I often pray to a little boy that I never met.

I don't tell this story for praise to anything that I did.  I simply gave away a small pin.  But it had such a profound affect.  Since then, when I produce an event, I am very conscious of each individual.  If it's the CEO or the security guard, every person has a job and a purpose.  It is my duty to help and support all of them.  I do it for Molly and for Zachary.

We never know when we might touch someone.  It could be a simple smile or kind gesture.  But it could change a life.

Does the flap of a butterfly's wings in Brazil set off a tornado in Texas?

Monday, August 18, 2008

Carin' Karen






From mild mannered mom, 



to cancer fighting superhero, my friend Karen was a joy to be with last week when she escorted me to my chemo treatment.  She left her house in Palm Springs at 5:00 am and spent the day with me at the hospital.  I nicknamed her "Carin' Karen, the Chemo Heroin."

Karen and I worked together at Disney, just briefly, but she is another example of the incredible people who step forward and offer to help.  If anyone doubts that there is truly a great energy in the human spirit that exists all around us . . . go get sick.  

At the end of the day, Karen wrote some beautiful thoughts in my journal that I will be able to look back and read for years to come, along with all the other entries, reminding me that 2008 is a year to remember.

Friday, August 15, 2008

What Brings You Here?

It's 1:30 am.  I had chemo yesterday and it usually makes me wake up in the middle of the night. But this time it is thunder and lightning.  I don't think I have ever seen lightning in LA, and yet I have been counting it every 30 seconds for the past 45 minutes.  Evidently it doesn't work like sheep because I'm still awake.

There's not much chance it will bring rain.  That would be way too bizarre for Southern California in August.  It looks more like what we called "heat lightning" when we were kids.

Exactly as I typed that, the sprinklers in the yard came on, as if they sensed what was missing.

I'm fairly sure that the majority of my readers don't sign on for a weather update.  Why do you sign on?  I doubt that it is for more information about my grandmother.  If it's for an update on my health, I appreciate that so much.  My oncologist told me yesterday that my PET Scan was clear and we will schedule a bone marrow biopsy this week to determine if indeed this next chemo treatment is my last.

If I sound nonchalant  about that, it's because that is how the oncologist presents it to me. After chatting with him for 15 minutes about the Olympics, and figuring he was delaying bad news, I finally asked about the scans and he said, "Yeah, they look good."  So I ask, "Does that mean the cancer is gone if the bone marrow test is clear?"  He says, "Well we'll see." And then immediately transitions into, "You know Michael Phelps has a ligament disease, which makes him amphibian-like." 

If you sign on to my blog for humor, I want you to go to my favorite funny video.  www.YouTube.com, and type in "MadTV, Wizard of Oz alternate ending."  No matter how many times I watch it, I still laugh out loud.

If you sign on for comforting words of wisdom, I'm working on that.  Remember, it's the middle of the night right now.  My next blog will be brilliant!

The lightning, the thunder, and the sprinklers have all stopped.  It is very peaceful now.  I think I might take a walk up to Sunset Blvd. just because I've never done that at 2:00 am.  I might be very popular if I'm glowing in the dark from the chemo.


Sunday, August 10, 2008

Such a Wonderful Grandmother















I wrote about my Grandmother a few days ago. This is my favorite photograph of her and me.  It has always been framed in my bedroom, still with the big red nose sitting on top.  It was taken in 1992 at her 95th birthday party just after I burst into the church at the end of mass.

My blog the other day inspired me to email several members of my family to share their best stories of "Rosetta Loretta Pitstick Kavanagh Barmann."  Grandma was loving, funny, stern, constantly cleaning or cooking, and very matter-of-fact.  Just about every story I got back reflected her ability to say exactly what was on her mind.

My cousin Mary C, shared this story . . . . 

"When I brought my first-born to introduce him to Grandma, she took him in her lap and slowly looked him over.  She intently checked out the look of his face, examined the shape of his head, uncovered his feet and opened his hands.  With what seemed to me to be a scowl and a frown she spent an inordinate amount of time examining my precious child.

"Finally she looked up at me, pointed to a slight flat area on the side of his ear and said, 'You see this flat spot, he got that from the Pitsticks.'  No congratulations, no oooohing or ahhhing, just a stern acknowledgement that he had passed muster into the family clan by virtue of his ear anomaly."

And interestingly, my sister Cece had a very similar story about when Grandma came to see her firstborn . . . . 

"Don't ask me why I expected some words of wisdom or sentimental talk, since it was Grandma, but her words when I gave him to her to hold were, "Well he feels just like a sack of flour!"

My brother recalls the day of his ordination when he asked Grandma for advice.  She told him not to watch soap operas because they are filled with lots of sex.  But Kev reminded her that she watched them every day.  "It doesn't matter for old ladies," she said.

And when she gave Mary C a talk about sex, Grandma told her "she purposefully paced and extended saying the evening rosary as she knelt beside the bed with her husband.  Her rationale she said was her hope that he would fall asleep so she would not be called upon to 'do her duty' with an amorous spouse."

And my sister Kathy remembers this story . . . . 

"Grandma asked me to carry plates and silverware to the table.  At the last moment she wanted to include napkins, but I told her I couldn't carry it all.  She said, 'Just stick the napkins down your blouse and carry them that way,' at which time she did a double take and said, 'never mind, they will fall to the floor the way you're built.'"

And my favorite story is from the last time I saw her.  She was 97 and living with my Aunt Monnie and Uncle Chuck.  She sat stroking my hand, as she always did, and told me that she had something to tell me that she hoped I would never forget.

"So many people tell you what to eat so that you'll live longer.  Others tell you to exercise or work less, so you'll live longer.  None of those people have lived longer.  I have.  Trust me, there is nothing wonderful about living longer.  I'm sitting here with my urine in my purse (she had a catheter), and I hurt most of the time.  So I say, eat what you want and pray that it takes you early."

Aunt Monnie, a bit frustrated, said to her, "Mom, you keep saying that you wish you were gone. When is it that you would have liked to die?  85?  88?  92?  When?"

Grandma looked at her, stuck out her tongue, and said, "Thursday.  That lasagna was terrible."


Thursday, August 7, 2008

Dared evil

We all have been reading this week about the avalanche that killed eleven climbers at the summit of K2 in Pakistan.  Every time I hear the story, I am fascinated by the idea of people wanting to endure that challenge.  Nothing could be further from my being.  Give me a small riddle, or maybe a design problem, but a frozen ice peak 28,000 feet in the sky?  I'll pass.

We are all born with different passions.  What is it that moves someone to risk his life, probably his fortune, and a good bit of his office vacation on the side of a mountain?  Why are some drawn to black bears?  Sword swallowing?  White water rafting?  Or even extreme sports?

It must be the danger involved.  Danger must be an adrenaline rush for many people.  The LA freeways are dangerous.  French fries are dangerous.  But eating McDonalds on the 405 does not excite me.

So here is my question.  When these risk takers are confronted with other challenges, let's just say normal life conflicts like . . . oh, maybe cancer . . . does that also give them a rush to tackle it? I pose this as a serious question.  Here is one of the reasons I ask.  There are many parts of my recent experience that have somewhat invigorated me.  I am learning a lot about a new subject. In so many ways, it makes me a better, stronger person.  I am discovering many things about myself and my body, both physically and psychologically, and I get a face-to-face look at the modern advances in healthcare.  Later, I can help coach others.

Am I getting a small taste of what they feel?  Accomplishment, determined spirit . . . lightheadedness?

Yesterday I was stretched out inside a CT scan machine pondering all of these deep thoughts. There's not really much else to do except ponder.  Ponder and panic if you're claustrophobic. And I thought, "This is an experience I'm actually glad to have. I know what it's like to be injected with radioactive materials and then put under a microscope."  (And by the way, I had to stay away from pregnant women and children for 12 hours.)

I don't say all of this lightly.  Perhaps there is a small part of a daredevil  in me after all.  It's kind of exciting to find my way down from this mountaintop when forced to do so.  I wouldn't have chosen it, but most of the greatest things I have learned in life did not come from situations I would have chosen.  We all stretch ourselves in various ways, and I so much commend those who do it to extreme.  The greater the difficulty, the greater the reward.

That being said, you can keep your parachutes and bungee chords.  I'll stick to my Adriamycin. 

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Funny, I Was Just Thinking That


Humor has always been a big part of my life.  When I was young, my father told me that God gave me the gift to laugh and I should always remember to spread it to others.  Later, words like "sick" and "twisted" were used to describe the gift, and maybe I should think twice about the spreading part.

Is laughter the best medicine?  A recent report in "Science Daily" found that  it is one of the greatest assets in healing and stress reduction.  And it also found that employees reported higher job satisfaction when they worked for someone who used humor.  "If employees view their managers as humor-oriented, they also view them as more effective."  This was even truer in medical settings where pain and depression were a daily part of life.

I recently blogged about my "C Card" . . . those business-looking cards that I have handed out to people allowing me to "play the C card."  I have expanded on them, creating others that read, "You're not really that boring.  It's chemo fatigue," "Shampoo?," and "I'm sorry to hear you're having a bad day.  Did I tell you I have cancer?"

So I went online to find other people in the world of cancer who might appreciate them.  To my surprise, when I Googled "Cancer, Funny," there were almost 5 million hits.  By the end of my reading, I was laughing and crying and I realized that I hadn't felt better in weeks.  Medicine?

A woman by the name of Christine Clifford founded CancerClub.com.  She is also the author of "Not Now, I'm Having A No Hair Day."  Her site, her books, and her speaking engagements all reflect the same humor, which I love.  She also markets products for people with cancer who choose to laugh.

I emailed Christine and heard back from her within a couple of hours.  (Ya gotta love this age of instant communication.)  She will be speaking here in Los Angeles in a few weeks and invited me to the event, which I will definitely attend.

This is her introduction on her website . . . 
"Humor is a great connector of people.  I know I needed people, especially family members, around me as I faced my journey with cancer.  Therefore, it is often the patients themselves who need to 'set the tone' and let family members know the timing is right to bring laughter back into their life.

How can we accomplish this?  It's simple:  there comes a point in the life of most patients when they realize that they can't change their situation, but they can change their attitude.  They want their life to get back to normal, and humor is an important ingredient in the recovery process."

Friday, August 1, 2008

Those Glorious Dead People

If I've said it once, I've said it a million times . . . I don't know how I would have gotten through this year without the love and support of my family and friends.  If you imagined the greatest gift you could be given in life, what could be better?

But secretly, I also depend on the love and assistance of a few key people who have left this world and went "movin' on up."  I take great comfort in knowing they are also watching out for me. I have been using the expression "trust rather than fear."  That's been my motto for several months.

I imagine them all, relatives and friends, playing a big card game, laughing and drinking and eating all things decadent.  Every once and awhile, they stop and talk about me.  And then it ends abruptly with Dad saying, "Good Lord Bill, just kick that cancer's butt and get on with it."

My grandmother, Rosetta Loretta Pitstick Kavanagh Barmann, is definitely at the head of the table.  She was the matriarch of our family and loved by everyone.  For many years she worked on our family tree.  She visited grave sites and libraries, families and friends, digging up information.  (Hopefully she didn't do any of the digging at the cemeteries.)  

When Grandma died, she willed the family tree to me.  My brother and I are the last to carry on the Kavanagh name.  For many years she had a chain of photos hanging in her living room.  Her grandparents on their wedding day, her parents on their wedding day, her on her wedding day, my father on his wedding day, and one blank frame waiting for me.  Just before she died, I went to visit her and noticed that she had given up hope.  The bottom frame had someone's dog in it.

This week I pulled out that old family tree.  The last entry was 1987.  I have started entering it into a software program that I can share with all of my relatives.  While doing that, I have become overwhelmed with all the souls that might be at that card game.  All of the personalities that I never knew.  It's fun to think about who they might have been, and how we might be alike.  (I won't dwell on the fact that their inconsiderate genetics probably gave me this cancer in the first place.)

So for all the Myrtles, Stellas, Wilfreds, and Alloysius' in my past, I thank you for taking time from your bridge game to guide me a bit.  And watch out for Grandma.  She's been known to cheat.