Lymph Notes

Goodnight

2009-01-22T17:36:00.000-08:00

Imagine a small bald baby bird as he calms his screaming, looks over the edge of the nest, and takes a leap. No longer is he dependent. He stumbles at first, not quite sure which direction to fly, or for that matter, if he's flying at all. Hopefully soon, he will be soaring to new heights and building his own nest.

Little Bald Baby Billy Bird is writing his last blog . . . with tremendous sadness.

This experience with you, my readers, has been without question the most healing part of my journey with cancer. But it's over now and I have to move on, physically and emotionally. Just as much as the chemotherapy, the medical teams, and my private journal, I want this blog to always be a part of the capsule that I will close and file away under the title of "My Most Amazing Year."

I hope I have said something of purpose for each of you. There is no question that this writing, the research for it, and most of all, your responses and comments, have projected me into a new realm of spirit. Please continue to send me thoughts and ideas at BillKavanagh@aol.com.

Of all of my 95 blog entries, this is the most difficult. Just as I ended my journal with "Goodnight sweet cancer," I will end this amazing segment of my healing with,

Goodnight sweet friends. You saved a life.

Man's Search For Meaning

2009-01-16T11:28:00.000-08:00

I have been reading Viktor Frankls' "Man Search For Meaning," which has sold over 12 million copies since it was first published in 1949. A good friend suggested I read it since its theme is very close to all that I have tried to say in the past year. Many of you have probably read it.

The book is a tragic recount of Dr. Frankl's experience in Nazi concentration camps, including Auschwitz, from 1942 until 1945. And yet it is an amazing tale of survival and the human spirit. "Without suffering," he says, "human life cannot be complete."

In no way would I ever attempt to compare my past year to his tremendous agony, but from reading this book, I have learned so much from his theories of why we experience suffering. If I could summarize my thoughts from his book, it would be,

Each person's suffering is unique.

Each person's lessons are his rewards.

Each person's purpose is his gift back to the world.

Rather than to try to explain my own translations, I will copy some of my favorite quotes from the book.

"If there is a meaning in life at all, then there must be a meaning in suffering. Suffering is an eradicable part of life, even as fate and death. . . . The way in which a man accepts his fate and all the suffering it entails, the way in which he takes up his cross, gives him ample opportunity -- even under the most difficult circumstances -- to add a deeper meaning to his life."

"It does not really matter what we expect from life, but rather what life expects from us. Our answers (to the questions of life) must consist, not in talk and meditation, but in right action and in right conduct. Life ultimately means taking the responsibility to find the right answers to its problems and to fulfill the tasks which it constantly sets for each individual."

"Success, like happiness, cannot be pursued, it must ensue, and it only does so as the unintended side effect of one's dedication to a cause greater than oneself or as the by product of one's surrender to a person other than oneself. Happiness must happen, and the same holds for success: you have to let it happen by not caring about it."

"Humor is one of the soul's weapons in the fight for self preservation. It is well known that humor, more than anything else in the human make-up, can afford an aloofness and an ability to rise above any situation. . . . Any man can, even under such circumstances, decide what shall become of him mentally and spiritually. He may retain his human dignity even in a concentration camp . . . it is this spiritual freedom which makes life meaningful and purposeful."

The second half of Dr. Frankl's book is an explanation of his psychological theories called "logotherapy." Rather than based on our past, like most therapy, logotherapy focuses on the future . . . on the meanings to be fulfilled by a person in his future. According to logotherapy, the striving to find a meaning in one's life is the primary motivational force in man. He calls it "a will to meaning." He explains that once we know the "why" for our existence, we will be able to bare almost any "how."

I am not alone in my generation of Baby Boomers who strive to do good and find our purpose. Currently in this country, every day, 8,000 people turn 60 years old, many of whom are entering a new phase in that search for meaning. Viktor Frankl's book has never been more pertinent.

Love From Beyond

2009-01-07T10:55:00.000-08:00

Today I did something very powerful. I have wanted to do it for a long time but haven't felt emotionally stable enough to attempt it. This morning at 5:00 a.m., I felt strong.

My partner passed away in 1992 and for the past year I have wanted to write him a letter to ask for advice. He was a strong intelligent leader, and I knew he would have great things to tell me. That was the key to writing this letter. I had to also write a letter from him back to me; the most anxious part of the assignment.

Give it a try. Write all of your thoughts, updates, and questions to someone you love who is now up there protecting you. Poor your heart out. Be honest. And then without hesitation or thought, write a return letter. The true lesson for me is that all of the great advice that Randy gave me in this letter was obviously already in me somewhere. All of the good things that I don't want to admit are easier to say and hear when it doesn't feel like it's coming from me.

My motivation for finally doing this came after I rented a movie recently titled "P.S. I Love You." It sounded like a total chick flick, but I thought, "What the hell. I can handle a little sappiness right now." Sappy, chicky, whatever, it had a profound influence on me. If you don't know the story, a husband dies and leaves his new young wife a letter to be discovered every day for several weeks. The last letter asks her to please see herself the way he sees her. That was an amazing line for me.

I know how much Randy loved me. It had never occurred to me to look at myself through his eyes, or to value the things he loved about me. Or one step ahead of valuing them . . . simply contemplating what they are.

My only warning to you is to have a box of tissues by your side (see blog below). It isn't working if you're not crying.

Tears

2009-01-05T19:47:00.000-08:00

I went to an adorable Christmas play in Ohio for the elementary school where my brother is pastor. Throughout the entire show I was struggling to hold back tears. Nothing makes me cry more than little kids singing because they seem to be filled with such love and sincerity. Also, the children that are terrified in front of an audience remind me so vividly of a certain little Billy about 45 years ago. My mother agreed to put me in a fashion show when I was 6 and I sat on the edge of the stage, in front of the audience, crying and screaming "Mommy!" until someone walked out to get me. The scars still remain and the tears still come back at the thought of it. (Turns out it was my brother they wanted anyhow.)

The Today Show did a story about the Chicago post office offering letters to Santa for the public to come read and fulfill the requests. I cried at the generosity of strangers and the heartfelt intensity of the letters.

My young twin nieces showed up for our family Christmas dinner after being away for a long time. Guess what? Uncle Bill cried.

Why does Uncle Bill still have this lingering side effect from cancer that makes him cry every time his heart is touched? Obviously it is better than other side effects, but it's the only one that he can't hide. Of all the pains to remain, it's the strain of the pain with the most shame to refrain.

And then I think about it. It is not a side effect of cancer at all. It's a side effect from a heart that swelled last year to many times its previous size. Why would I want it to shrink again? I'm probably stuck with this side effect.

I remember that tears were abundant after chemo, or when I was very fatigued, but I have had plenty of sleep lately so now the excuses are gone. I have to blame them on lessons learned. Good lessons. And if I reread the first part of this blog, I was crying when I was 6, so maybe things haven't really changed that much.

Over the years, people have offered different theories for why we cry. I believe them all. It is a cleansing of our psyche, one person told me. It is the truest form of courage, another said. (I'm not sure I understand that one.) And another friend explained that we cry to flush away pain. But of all the explanations, I love my father's the best. When I was a child, he told me that when we get a lump in our throats, it is love solidified in our bodies.

That's what my crying has been all about recently, and all of this year. Not my psyche. Not courage. Not pain. Pure and simple Love.

One Year Ago Today

2008-12-21T20:00:00.000-08:00

It has been a wonderful three weeks in Ohio with my family. Although it is currently 5 degrees, I am truly enjoying sitting here quietly by the fire, watching the snow fall, and reflecting on a long and beautiful year. One year ago today was my first entry into my journal Lymph Notes, sitting in the "Pet Waiting Room" anticipating my first pet scan, and writing about my feelings. This is a portion of the entry:

"I am fighting tears right now. I pray not tears of self pity. I would much rather think of them as an enormous self will to have back my energy and spirit. My spirit. It is my spirit I miss. I can't seem to emotionally handle this wallowing of doubt and not knowing. I have recognized for a long time that there is something wrong with my blood. I have not had the ability to exercise, and sometimes even just standing up makes me light headed.

I must prepare myself for the possibility of cancer.

I continue to glance up at the only other patient in the room. She is also journaling. I want to burst into tears and yet she appears to have such a strong will. Poised and dignified, even with the IV dangling from her arm. Maybe she could loan me a bit of spirit. Possibly she thinks I look confident and poised. What are her thoughts? Uh oh. They have just come to take her away.

Now it is just me and complete total absolute silence. It stirs memories of being in a church confessional waiting for the priest to slide the little door open, or in the womb, waiting for the doctor to slide the little door open. Someone please come help me."

What a difference a year makes. Here I sit once again, one year later, in total silence. I remember that day as if it were today, and yet I am a completely different person because of what 2008 has taught me . . . .

I have learned that there are a lot of good people in this world. How powerful that last line, "Someone please come help me!" From my closest family members to strangers that I have never met, from old friends that I had forgotten to new friends discovered purely because of my illness . . . there are people who sincerely want to love and offer a new spirit. So many came to help me.

I have learned that quiet moments like this one can be the most powerful moments of our lives.

I learned that I have something to say. I started writing again, in a completely different context, but because writing had always been a passion of mine, it has been rewarding for me to use that passion to satisfy a necessary release of internal energy.

I learned that every individual deals with suffering in his or her own way, and that it is absolutely my right to use laughter as my coping tool.

And most of all, I have my spirit back again, thanks to all of you. A new and beautiful spirit.

Happiest of holidays to everyone.

Round On The Ends and Hi in the middle

2008-12-12T14:34:00.000-08:00

When I was in college, a friend and I kept a list of the ugliest and the prettiest words in the English language. Top on our list for ugly were words like stink, sassafras, and cooties. Two of the prettiest words were winter and whisper.

I thought about that this morning as I woke up here in Ohio and we were having a soft (another of our prettiest words) fluffy snowfall. Winter and whisper both came to mind. Snuggled under a big comforter, I was amazed at the peaceful beauty of it.

And then I got up.

I have lived in Texas or California for thirty years. My blood is not used to this 20-degree weather. But I love all the things that go with it, like fireplaces, hot chocolate, sweaters, and soup. So I'm loving the extreme change from West Hollywood.

The other thing that fascinates me is the amount of land occupied by shopping centers and GIANT stores like WalMart and Target. They are like Starbucks out here . . . one on every corner. And you can barely see them because the parking lots are more enormous than the stores.

I know I'm sounding like a stupid city slicker, but it is overwhelmingly shocking and yet so incredibly convenient. When was the last time I had the opportunity to actually walk to a Home Depot?

Right here on my street is a Home Depot, Staples, Michaels, Barnes & Noble, Marshalls, Target, WalMart, Meiers, and of course, a GIANT EAGLE. Also represented is every imaginable food chain. My sister knows I love buffets, so my first night here she took me to Hometown Buffet, which we lovingly refer to as "The Trough."

Being here reminded me of some old jokes about Ohio:

You know you're in Ohio when . . . .

-- You know what's knee high by the fourth of July

-- Every festival is named after a fruit, vegetable, or grain

-- You think the major four food groups are beef, pork, beer, and jello salad

-- You know about cow tipping and possum kicking

-- You only know three spices; salt, pepper, and ketchup

-- National and international news takes up one page in the paper. Sports takes six.

-- The four seasons are Almost Winter, Winter, Still Winter, and Construction

-- You know what a real buckeye is, and you have a recipe for candy ones

-- You can spell names like Cuyahoga, Tuscarawas, and Cincinnati

I'm happy to be here with my family, and more than anything, so thankful to be able to travel again.

Fortune-ately

2008-11-25T11:30:00.000-08:00

I had a great Chinese dinner on Sunday night with a couple of good friends at a local restaurant, and at the end we all got our traditional fortune cookies. "You will receive good news tomorrow." "A surprise visitor will bring good fortune."

I was telling them that many years ago, I was at a large business dinner. When I read my fortune cookie aloud, ("You have a yearning for perfection"), everyone started laughing. I thought they were all telling me that I was not very organized. Turns out everyone thought I said, "You have a urine infection."

So we started thinking Sunday night what a great idea it would be to slip some "misfortunes" into the batch of fortune cookies . . . maybe one in ten.

"Your husband secretly wears your underwear."

"You will lose your left foot in a tragic car accident."

"This meal will give you food poisoning tonight."

"Everyone hates your blog. They just don't tell you."

So many options. So much fun. Ah so.

BOLT

2008-11-19T12:11:00.000-08:00

I was fortunate to be given VIP tickets for the world premiere of Disney's new 3-D animated movie, "BOLT" on Monday night. Seated among the film's stars, John Travolta, Miley Cyrus, and her guests, the Jonas Brothers, I felt so Hollywood cool. If nothing else, I was happy just knowing who they were. I don't exactly have all of their music.

We arrived and walked the red carpet, hardly to be noticed. Miley was getting out of her car just as we entered. The crowd was screaming her name and waving photographs of her, as if she forgot what she looks like? Her song in the movie is rumored to be a nominee for an Oscar.

The movie was excellent. I laughed out loud on several occasions. The after party was exciting with lots of food (mostly in the theme of dog . . . but no Alpo to be seen), crafts and games for the kids, and lots of stars roaming the crowd. I even urinated right next to one of the Jonas's. I can go to my grave with that.

If you have been to a 3-D movie, you know that everyone wears big black glasses. It was so funny to turn around and see the entire crowd looking like Jack Nicholson. If you take the glasses off, everything in the film has a double image. For several hours after the movie, that was my vision. My friend Tim went with me, and he had to read to me all the food signs. I could not even recognize people's faces and I was terrified I was going to walk up to old Disney friends and not know who they were. And try climbing a flight of stairs with a food plate when you're seeing double steps.

Fortunately when I woke up yesterday, all that remained were memories of a fun movie and a fun night. I don't have to go through life with those glasses.

I'm Here, and I'm . . . um . . .

2008-11-17T11:34:00.000-08:00

I have been away from the blog for a few days in an attempt to focus on other projects.

Key word, attempt.

One area that has definitely kept my attention is the rallies that have been flaring up all over California and now across the country. Proposition 8, the state proposition to ban gay marriage which passed on election day, is a

difficult pill to swallow. (And I have swallowed many pills this year.) The struggle for most gay people throughout our lives is a sense of not feeling as good as others. We generally were not athletic stars, and were more "sensitive" than others. Individually, we have always felt that we are different, and as we get older, we have to somehow accept and justify that we ARE different, but still equal to others. The world has just told us that we are not equal. It hurts. It is not hard to understand why there are so many gay teen suicides, and such a high percentage of alcoholism.

A young boy, around 14 years old, interviewed me the night of the elections. He was producing a documentary about Prop 8 for a class project. He was extremely insightful for his age and asked me if I was offended by the mere fact that there was a Prop 8. Then he asked me to say something to the girls and boys his age who were struggling with their sexuality. I was suddenly silent. Fortunately I was with a good friend who has a grown daughter. Since she grew up with a gay father, he told her story of struggle and ridicule.

I have not stopped thinking about that little boy. He was me. But thank God we have progressed enough to discuss it, and that a child his age can produce a documentary to help him deal with it.

As someone who always looks for the positive side, I see the passage of Proposition 8 to ban gay marriage as a chance to bring more attention to the issue than if it were defeated. I would have never written this blog, forcing myself to confront a topic I never talk about publicly. I'm still afraid to do that. How does that help that little boy? That is why I march despite a swollen leg. I personally need to physically release the frustration. We are always peaceful, but always passionate. It is difficult not to hate, but we cannot. We are marching for the cause of love.

The photograph above was in the Los Angeles Times yesterday from Saturday's rally, which drew over 20,000 marchers. I can be seen in the far right bottom corner. Talk about coming out publicly! Unfortunately they did not capture my sign, so I have also included a photograph of it.

I have complete faith that times are changing and we are about to cross over a line in history. One small, fabulous, dancing skip for mankind. Soon these rallies, and the entire issue, will seem as incredulous as women not voting or blacks being forced to the back of the bus. I hope I live to see it.

Q & A

2008-11-05T16:40:00.000-08:00

The election is over. All of our months and months of queries have been solved. What in the world will CNN do now? Probably have several more weeks of reliving the same questions, only now knowing the answers.

While waiting in line at my polling place yesterday, I ran into an old friend who has been going through a tough time. He said he has so many questions about his life's direction. Another friend called last night and said, "I question why the human spirit is so fragile."

So many people with so many questions. Of course we want answers, and need answers, but my question is this . . . don't we also love dwelling in the question? Many questions, such as the one about the human spirit will never be answered. Those are our favorites because we can reside in the "what if's" forever. They make for great discussion and intellectual debate. And our own solutions bring us peace.

A year ago, I was in pain and my legs were swollen. I didn't know why, and I was desperate for an answer. I got my answer and didn't like it. I wanted another answer. But here is the kicker. The true answer is yet to come. Do we really take our questions far enough? What if, one year ago, I would have said, "I wish to God someone would tell me why I am in pain," and then followed it up with, "And will this pain lead to one of the most unbelievable years of my life?" "Will this pain ultimately change the direction of my thinking and my life as I know it?" "Will an African American be elected President next year?" I can't even imagine that I would have had any clue to ask those questions which all would have been a beautiful "Yes."

We need to take our questions which we project to have negative answers and follow them up with unbelievably positive new questions. I love that. Ask any question you want, and then follow it up with three very positive "what if?" answers.

Last night, a big question was presented to the people of California. Do you approve of gay marriage? Their answer was a clear "No." Questions answered lead to far more in depth questions. "Why?" is a good start. The only issues in question are love and equality. So my biggest question is "How can you not believe in those?" And I close my political questions.

My original question was about our natural instinct to enjoy the questions.

Let me rephrase the question . . .

Would I?

2008-11-01T22:38:00.000-07:00

I can't remember the last time we had a thunderstorm in Los Angeles. After weeks of record-breaking heat, it's a welcome change. Rain is very comforting, and ironically, lightening and thunder make it even more so. I think the reality is that God decided to wash the streets (and a few people) after last night's West Hollywood Halloween festival, the largest in the country.

So I made a cup of coffee and decided to flip through my journal from the past year just to see if there might be material for advancing my very early stage of considering a book.

Wow. I wasn't expecting the emotion that came with that. I only got through my writings about the early tests, the diagnosis, and my first chemo treatment. Maybe it's too soon to go back.

As I have tried many times to convey, the emotions are not sad. Each moment, each hour, and each day were filled with so much love and strength and learning. The difficult part for me today is the realization that this was the most powerful year of my life and it's ending. Like a football game, I could have won or lost, but as long as I played with passion and tenacity, it didn't matter. Winning just made it all the sweeter.

How can I convince myself that the game might be over, but the season is just beginning? Why can't I continue that passion? Maybe I've just gone through training and I'm not even in my first game yet.

No matter what I type, it sounds like a bumbling mess. I've got to come up with some way to try to communicate this feeling, and I'll tell you one thing for sure . . . football is not the answer!

Last night in bed, I asked myself the question, if I could repeat this past year, would I? It took lots of thought. One of the blessings of the human mind is that we forget pain and remember joy. I remember waiting for several hours in the emergency room on February 6th, but more vividly, I remember laughing so hard as the nurses danced around my gurney. I remember being sad and lonely in the hospital on the 4th of July, but more than that, I remember the harpist who played "Oh Danny Boy" for me that night.

A harpist, dancing nurses, costumes for chemo, family who visited and cooked and cleaned, friends who called every day, and my head painted like an Easter egg. That's what I remember. Who wouldn't want to repeat all of that? Who wouldn't wish that every year of his life could be filled with such intensity?

So why am I crying right now? It's not at all about sadness. It's all about the beauty of life.

Trust

2008-10-26T17:09:00.000-07:00

I found a small store in Venice (CA, not Italy) last week that sells pins called "Blessing Rings." I bought one to wear around my neck that says, "New Beginning."

All of us question our future, and in this economy, I am certainly not alone in wondering about my immediate future. I have been given a new life and I don't take that lightly. I want to be certain that what I do with it has a purpose to honor my recovery. We all have interruptions in our lives, and if we look back on them, they were usually direct blessings. They often change our direction in a positive way, once we get through the uncertainty.

One of my favorite quotes, by Sandra Watson, is "The real issue is not about whether the door is opening or closing, but how you deal with the hell in the hallway!"

I'm hoping to continue my work in developing seminars which would assist people in discovering new careers and purpose, and I have been working on two or three other projects as well, but it's just a part of the human brain to worry.

I have blogged several times about changing that word "worry" to "trust." Two days after I bought the pin, I flipped it over and on the back, in very small engraved type, it says, "Trust and Believe." You can't stop me . . . I'm taking that as a sign. A sign of what, I don't know, but it's definitely a sign.

There is a great song that I listen to often. (Ignore the fact that is is from the musical "Hairpsray.") Queen Latifah sings the ever-lovin' poop out of it. The title is "I Know Where I'm Going 'Cause I Know Where I've Been." These are some of my favorite lyrics:

There's a light

Burning bright

Showing me the way

There's a cry

In the distance

It's a voice

That comes from deep within

There's a cry

Asking why

I pray the answer's up ahead

'Cause I know where I've been

There's a road

We've been travelin'

Lost so many on the way

But the riches

Will be plenty

Worth the price

We had to pay.

There's a dream

In the future

There's a struggle

We have yet to win

And there's a pride

In my heart

'Cause I know

Where I'm going

And I know where I've been.

There's a road

We must travel

There's a promise

We must make

'Cause the riches

Will be plenty

Worth the risk

And the chances that we take

There's a dream

In the future

There's a struggle

We have yet to win

Use that pride

In our hearts

To lift us up

To tomorrow

I know where I'm going

'Cause Lord knows

I know where I've been

A Quick Smile

2008-10-24T16:21:00.000-07:00

I always love my blogs that have photos. So this time I thought I would include one of my favorites. My brother and sister came to visit a few years ago and I took them to the new Disney Concert Hall downtown. Behind the theater are the Lillian Disney gardens. My favorite part of the gardens is the giant flower water sculpture made entirely out of broken Blue Willow dishes that belonged to Lillian.

Kathy, in all of her sunburned glory, posed comically on the fountain, and when I got the photo back from printing, I saw that Kevin was waving in the background. It still gives me such a chuckle.

Now I stage this same shot every time people come to visit. Click on the photo to get a larger view of the fountain (and the sunburn).

I WAS Happy

2008-10-23T16:30:00.000-07:00

My favorite blogging topic has been "Happiness," what makes us happy, and how do we maintain a certain level of happiness. My friend Reese sent me another link the other day to an article about our favorite subject.

The article, repeated a few basics; happiness is not relative to others' happiness, (We know that the opposite is true. If you base your happiness on others, you'll never be happy), happiness fluctuates, happiness is difficult to measure, age brings more happiness (so why do we regret getting older?), and most of all, you can't teach happiness.

Then the article began to list the categories of people who are the happiest . . . .

1) Women are happier than men. (One mark against me.)

2) Baby Boomers are the unhappiest generation living today. (Oops. Two down.)

3) Those over 65 are the happiest. (I'm not doing so well.)

4) Parents are much happier than those without children. (I'm doomed to sadness.)

5) Purpose makes us happy, like work, religion, or politics. (Doomed. Doomed. Doomed.)

6) Those who lean to the right politically are happier (Super doomed.)

7) Extremists in politics are happy. (I quit. I'm very sad now.)

It concludes that the strongest key to happiness lies within our sense of purpose outside ourselves, like children, volunteerism, or politics.

It also says it is essential that we are content with our lot in life and who we are. I was just fine with that until I read this article!

Hanging Out All Over

2008-10-21T22:40:00.000-07:00

Last night I went to a reading for a new musical. For those of you who have never been to a reading, it is a very early preview of a new piece of theater to get the reaction from an audience. The cast members are generally seated and "reading" the script. There is no stage blocking yet, no sets or lights.

In this instance last night, there was a piano, simple cast movements, basic lighting, and . . . oh yeah . . . the cast was completely naked. You see, the musical was titled "Hanging Out" and was all about nudity, sex, and body image. There were four men and four women, each of whom had nerves of steal as far as I'm concerned. It was a very intimate setting in that there were only 18 of us in the audience. (More than once, I had to distract my eyes so I counted the audience.)

The cast went in and out (pun intended) of different sexual issues, and often had the balls (pun intended) to pretend to be their own genitalia. Other moments were tender and softer (pun intended). (I got a million of 'em! Tip your waiters.)

I applaud the writer/producer in that it was a very entertaining show, once I got over the fact that I was sitting crotch level in front of eight nude adults, ranging in age from about 30 to 60. If ever there was a show with a major distraction, this was it, but once I got beyond the boobies and "tinkle bottoms" (as my parents called them when I was young), I was able to listen to the lyrics and music.

I went with my friend Dan who wrote one of the songs titled, "Does This Song Make My Ass Look Big?" There was a great number depicting Mr. Rogers and his little friend Dick. And my favorite was a gospel choir song dedicated to "St. Viagra."

In Hollywood it is easy to get strong actors, which can make or break a new show. Otherwise a reading can be dreadful. Last night's performance had great singers and funny stand-up (sorry, that's the last pun). You should have seen the fear in the eyes of the audience in Act 2 when they asked for a volunteer. She did a great job and all she had to do was sit in a chair while the men sang to her.

All in all, it was a fun night. On the outside I was distinguished and poised. Inside I giggled like a ten-year-old and was dying to shout, "Look! I see his tinkle bottom!"

Personal Thoughts

2008-10-20T12:23:00.000-07:00

Almost like a faucet that had been turned off, phone messages for me stopped as soon as I got my cancer-free news. It made me feel like I was finally normal again. I was no longer the sick person that everyone felt obligated to call on a regular basis. I don't mean that in a bad way. These were family and friends who genuinely cared and wanted to help me. These were the people that got me through the year. I could not have done it without them. They often validated my feelings and sometimes took my feelings a step further, which proved that they understood.

In my mind, I wonder if people will forever think of me as the guy who had cancer. Will I always be "the sick person?" Maybe because I have been HIV positive for 22 years, I've already been "the sick person." Now I'm "the really sick person." And because of my odd sense of humor, I might even be "the sickest person we know."

And yet after just a couple of weeks, I'm sensing that people are starting to put me back into the normal category. As a therapist might ask, "How does that make you feel, Bill?" Hmm. Good question.

It is a very interesting combination of joy and sadness. I did not like the need to accept help from others. That was difficult. However I learned that friends sincerely want to help and by accepting care, I am allowing them to be good people. I did not like being that guy with cancer wherever I went, and yet I did love the drama of it all, if that makes any sense. In some ways, I liked being bald and different. I liked shocking people who didn't know. Once again, it's that sick humor that I loved. The cancer gave me such great material to be funny.

I liked learning all about cancer and chemotherapy. I loved learning that I could go through it with pride, dignity, and some strange sense of wanting more, just to see how much I could take (and then dramatize). As the emergency room nurse told me, "Write a book and title it 'Bring It On, Bitch!'" Does it make sense that the suffering was worth it to be able to write about it?

I also felt the cancer making me more compassionate by the minute.

I tried very hard throughout the year not to talk about the negatives such as pain, procedures or treatments. No one wants to hear about it, and more than that, I didn't like talking about it unless it was over. I would usually twist it into a funny story. I'm not writing this to make me sound like a saint. There were huge ego motivators bouncing around everywhere. I wanted attention but only under my parameters.

There was a special supplement in the LA Times yesterday about how to treat a loved one with cancer. In my opinion, that's like trying to write a directory on how to treat your spouse, or your parents, or your co-workers. Everyone is completely different. And even more, my mood and my attitude changed so often that my best advice would be to simply listen and treat the person however you feel is appropriate in that moment. You might need to cry, you might need to laugh, or you might need to slap 'em. More than once, I know I needed slapped.

I'm not sure this blog entry has much significance other than a cathartic release of my feelings. We'll just chalk this one up to Baby Bird helping Baby Bird.

A Day At Disneyland

2008-10-16T17:59:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'm happy. I'm happy that I made it through all the traffic from West Hollywood to Anaheim. I'm happy I'm past the lines to get into the theme parks. And I'm really really happy that I'm sitting here eating a funnel cake. I'm not so happy about the little girl sitting next to me with no shirt on who told her father that she wants my funnel cake.

I bought a "park hopper" pass, which gets me into both Disneyland and California Adventure. I'm currently in the middle of "A Bug's Land." The bugs seem to be happy.

I'm rejecting all negative thoughts, like wondering if people are asking, "Why is that creepy old man all alone at Disneyland?" Or asking myself that question. Or asking what happened to Mickey's fifth fingers.

Another family just walked by. Instead of asking about me, the little girl, being carried by her mother, asked, "Why does that girl have her shirt off?" Without a beat, her mother responded, "Because they're white trash, Honey." That made me very happy. Almost spit-up-my-funnel-cake happy.

Having worked for Disney, I know that they go to great lengths to make sure that visitors within the park cannot see anywhere or anything outside the park. I guess a glimpse of the free world (or the freeway) would make them unhappy, reminding them what is to come on the ride home. And that is very much reflected on the giant sign at the entrance which says, "Where elephants fly and time stands still."

I see people posing and laughing with Pluto and Goofy. They never think about the temperature inside one of those costumes. The "cast members" (as Disney calls all employees) are trained to stay in character, be animated, and never speak while in view of the guests, and I feel so sorry for Goofy who just got poked in the eye by a little boy. Goofy will get over it and the little boy will remember this day as long as he lives.

It's now three hours later. My feet aren't so happy. I still have neuropathy in them and they're reminding me of that. I have visited It's A Small World, Toon Town, Tomorrow Land, and Adventure Land. I'm now in the middle of My Dogs Are Barking Land, and heading towards I Need To Get The Hell Out Of Here Land.

It's been a great day. I've cried more than once just watching the faces of little kids. It's so much more rewarding than any ride. And I have learned one more enormous way to be happy . . . watch others be happy.

While working for the company, I got a letter from a mother who's little 5-year-old had a terminal illness and he adored Tigger from Winnie The Pooh. So for our next event, I arranged a meeting with the little boy and Tigger. I cried my eyes out watching him, in his wheelchair, get so excited that he couldn't speak. I was embarrassed that I had taken so much time to organize it, and then one of the executives praised me and said that was the basis of the entire company. It still makes me happy to think about it.

Along The Road

2008-10-14T19:52:00.000-07:00

If you have been reading my blog, you have seen comments from Doc B. He has become a true friend and motivator, even though we have never met. His notes always cheer me up because I know they come from his heart.

Doc B's been holding out on me. Until today, he had not shared one of his favorite poems. I love it because it sums up several months of my thoughts . . .

ALONG THE ROAD

I walked a mile with Pleasure

She chattered all the way,

But left me none the wiser

For all she had to say.

I walked a mile with Sorrow,

And ne'er a word said she.

But oh, the things I learned from her

When Sorrow walked with me!

I've written before about my grandmother and her religious belief that we are all meant to suffer for the souls in Purgatory, (April 8th, "Don't They Have Vicodin In Purgatory?") so I don't necessarily translate the word "Sorrow" in the poem to mean suffering. Rather, in my mind it means challenges or that unexpected turn onto a highway that will reveal it's destination later.

Thank you, Doc B.

On a similar note, I had lunch today with a wonderful new friend who is writing a script about cancer. During her questions, she asked me if there were things I did this year on a whim. Did I ever say, "Oh what the hell, I've got cancer and so I'm going to . . . .?"

On the drive home, I decided I didn't do that enough. So tomorrow I'm going to Disneyland. Just because I can. I have written so much about all the things that make us happy, so I'll sit and write a blog from "The Happiest Place on Earth."

Pump Up The Volume

2008-10-12T16:30:00.000-07:00

This is my second week back at the gym. I should feel great about that. Yeah right. Here I am, skinny, pale, and just coming out of chemo, going to a gym in the middle of West Hollywood during the afternoon hours when all the actors and models are pumping up. I know this is the point in the blog where I should go into a deep and positive lesson about the beauty of what we have inside. To hell with that. I want to look like them!

I try to convince myself that most of these "actors and models" are actually hustlers and out-of-work wanna-be's, but who cares. They look great. I've always said that if you would or could trade places with someone, you have to take the entire person, you can't just take a part of them. OK. I'll still trade.

Many years ago, I wrote a silly little book called, "Gym Shorts." It was one-liners that I overheard at the gym. These are a few of my favorite quotes. The first one was the impetus for the book. I heard it at the water fountain, wrote it down, and decided to start listening for others. So from the stair masters to the hair blasters, here are a few:

"Well he might have gotten so drunk that he threw up all over your sofa, but God love him, he brought a casserole."

"He actually told the salesman he wanted a sexual sofa. The salesman said, 'You mean a sectional sofa.' He said, 'No. I just want an occasional piece in the living room.'"

"She was lying curled up on the floor in a heap at the party, so I kicked her and said, 'Baby Jessica got sympathy, but she was younger, cuter, contorted, and bandaged.'"

"I've got to stop drinking so much Diet Coke. Someone told me yesterday . . . I don't remember who . . . that sacarin makes you forget stuff.'"

"The sign says 'Improper behavior will result in the loss of club privileges.' I thought improper behavior was the only club privilege we had."

(Pointing to a guy doing leg exercises . . . ) "Do I see a dangling participle?" (Answer . . .) "Shut up or I'm gonna misplace your modifier."

"He's not just gaining weight, he's starting his own zip code."

"You should have your portrait done on the decline bench. All your wrinkles disappear."

Sadness

2008-10-09T13:11:00.000-07:00

I have not talked to Eva in several months, but yesterday I felt the desire to write about her. Just a few hours later I received an email that her husband suddenly passed away. My love, my heart, and all of my energy go out to you Eva and your two children. I am in such gratitude for all you have done for me.

Strengths

2008-10-07T16:00:00.000-07:00

I have worked many times over the years with my good friend Eva, a very successful life coach. She was instrumental last year in helping us form NEXT, the seminars to guide older adults to investigate, discover, and create new careers.

When I got sick, Eva thought it was a great time for me to do some investigating of my own. So she sent me a book titled "Strengths Finder 2.0" by Tom Rath. Included with the book is a personal code to go online and take their evaluation test to discover your individual strengths. One of the things I love most about the test is that you have 30 seconds to answer each question, thus only allowing for honest answers.

The jacket of the book says, "All too often, our natural talents go untapped. From the cradle to the cubicle, we devote more time to fixing our shortcomings than to developing our strengths."

After taking the test, I learned that my five biggest strengths (in order) are Empathy, Communication, Positivity, Arranger, and Ideation. Quite blatantly, it is no coincidence that I love blogging. I arrange the ideas to communicate positive thinking, and my primary goal is to help others. And speaking of empathy, I guess it shines a little too brightly in the last blog. I tend to go overboard. I'm one of those bleeding hearts who can't enjoy a party if I see someone standing alone.

Eva couldn't have been more right. The book brought me joy discovering a little more about myself. It made me look back on my career and see exactly where I failed and why, and where I succeeded because of these strengths.

I know self-help books are filling the shelves at bookstores, but this book is an easy one to tackle because you only have to read the five segments that are your strengths. That is, unless you want to see all the strengths you don't have. If so, I have great empathy for you.

A Completely Mindless Blog

2008-10-02T09:17:00.000-07:00

It was 100 degrees in LA yesterday. Too hot to sit at home with no air conditioning, so I went to the Beverly Center to see a movie. Eating in the food court before the movie, I noticed an older man, sitting alone and obviously having trouble swallowing. I felt so sorry for him. And then it occurred to me . . . I am an older man, sitting alone, and having trouble swallowing. About that time, he started talking to himself and I felt much better.

Or did I? He got up four times to get Haagan-Dazs ice cream. That's a lot of ice cream. And yet I know how good that feels when you have mouth sores or can't swallow.

I couldn't stop thinking about him during the movie. He looked like such a sweet old man. He's probably somebody's father, somebody's uncle, somebody's best friend. Why was he at the mall? Why was he dressed up in a suit and tie? Who the hell was he talking to?

I thought about him again on the drive home, I'm writing about him here, and I have come to one conclusion. I need to get a job.

Take Two Chuckles and Call Me in the Morning

2008-09-29T13:05:00.000-07:00

It has been nine months since Dr. Richard Gould said to me, "I'm sorry, but the bone marrow biopsy came back positive for cancer. That means you are in stage 4 of lymphoma." I told him that just like all of life's challenges, this would eventually end up as a huge positive blessing in my life. But of course I was frightened. Frightened of the unknowns such as long term affects, pain, my career, insurance, treatments, support . . . an endless list of things I didn't even know to be frightened about.

Jump ahead very rapidly to nine months later and it's gone. Done. Where did it go so quickly? I now know the answers to the questions I didn't know to ask. Because of that, I want to dedicate a blog to newly diagnosed people. I know that more of you are reading now. More than anything else, had I asked these questions, no one could have told me the exact personal journey that I was about to take. For me, the biggest challenge of all became a commitment to make it like no one else's experience. I made it personal. It takes a bit of adjustment and acceptance, but then my personality and my passions kicked in.

I started to write again. I wrote about everything. I want to look back on this year and remember details. I want to remember exactly what I was thinking on any given day. And by writing, I could see the progression of my thoughts and my attempt to direct them onto positive paths. I took lots of photos. I posed in every wig I could find. I hugged a lot of people in pictures. I put them into three binders filled with artwork and fun colorful drawings. (Notice I avoid the word "scrapbook.") More than anything, I laughed.

When I was beginning my chemo, I had three types of questions . . . those I was afraid to ask fearing the answers, those I didn't know to ask, and those I was embarrassed to ask. I know now that all of them were valid and real, so I want to emphasize that there are no bad questions.

Questions I was afraid to ask:

Will I get really sick? Can I take care of myself or will I need help from others? Will I be able to work at all? Will I probably have to go to the hospital often? How do I tell my family? And of course, will I die?

Questions I didn't know to ask:

What are some of the side affects of the chemo? Are there foods I cannot eat? Foods I should eat? How do we monitor my blood, which is so important for continuing the chemo? What does my insurance not cover? How do I apply for disability if I am eligible?

Questions I was embarrassed to ask:

What is chemotherapy and how is it administered? Will I lose my hair? How will people treat me? Will I get skinny? Will I look like I have cancer? (Mostly all the ego and self image questions.)

There's not enough space here to answer them, and many are personal and individual, so I won't begin. However if there is anyone who would like to discuss them, please contact me. It's why Billy blogs. I can assure you, my answers will lift your spirits.

Your spirit is the best medicine you have.

The Kidses

2008-09-26T11:48:00.000-07:00

Cecelia Ann, Eileen Marie, William Joseph, Kathleen Monica, and Kevin James

Alias, Cece, Leenie Girl, Billy Boy, Peanut, and Kevie

Aren't we adorable? Granted this was 45 years ago, but hey, we're still adorable.

I'm blessed with the best siblings in the world. We have always been very close. One big reason for that is probably because our mother died when we were young; just about exactly when these photos were taken. The twins (Kevin and Kathy) were only 5 years old. Cece, at age 11, took over many of the household responsibilities. Someone said to me recently that I should be thankful in some ways that my mother died because I don't have to deal with all the difficulties that every mother inflicts. I couldn't disagree more. I think of Cece in many ways as a mother, and she is a saint on earth. If I had to, I don't think I could come up with one flaw. (OK, maybe those glasses in the photo.)

There is an old saying that you don't really know someone until you share a vacation or an inheritance with them. I've done both with my siblings and always feel even closer afterwards.

My father buried three wives. (It was difficult finding him dates after that.) He survived his last wife by a year, and died just two years ago. Of course we miss him a lot. He had been both a father and a mother throughout our childhood. He went to Cece's campfire girls' fashion show, and he was the only father in my cub scouts mothers' club. He cooked us pancakes in the morning and almost always brought a topic of discussion to the dinner table.

One topic that came up often was, "tomorrow I want you to come to the dinner table and tell me something that you perceived." I could never distinguish between something I saw and something I perceived. I clearly remember saying once that I perceived the statue of St. Catherine in the hallway at school. "No," Dad said, "You saw that statue. What did you perceive about it?"

"I perceived that she looked confused why she was holding lilies."

"Very good!" Dad exclaimed. I was so proud. Proud enough that I never forgot it. But I still couldn't figure out why I didn't just SEE that St. Catherine was confused. Today I understand it completely. What we see and what we perceive are critical to our personalities. Thanks Dad.

There must have been thousands of moments like that one that I don't remember. They are what made us five "kidses" (as Dad called us) who we are today, and why we are blessed to have each other. At least that's how I perceive it.

Oh Well

2008-09-25T12:23:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, I agreed to help produce a segment of the Los Angeles gay pride parade for an AIDS organization. Our concept was based around giant 12-foot letters on casters spelling L I F E. About two blocks into the parade, the F fell over because it was so top heavy, and it broke into a million pieces.

Everyone enthusiastically wanted to go on, but there was something very wrong about marching in a parade representing an AIDS organization with the word L I E. I quickly made a decision to pull us out of the parade, and I spent the next two hours sitting on the bottom of the L and waiting for a truck to come get us. Mostly I was happy to be out of the parade, but saddened that all that hard work was wasted.

I could make many deep-thought analogies here about "rolling down the street of LIFE," or marching to a different bummer, but I won't go there. Instead, I just want to make the point that sometimes we start out doing things that are very intensely important, and they only end up being a funny story. I call it the "Oh well" syndrome. As an event producer, the "Oh well" syndrome happens often. Best laid plans don't always work. In an event, just like life in general, the one thing you can count on is that something will go wrong. So when it does, let it roll off your shoulders and simply say "Oh well" and move on.

Almost every wedding has a story of something that went wrong. Ironically, that always becomes the best story from the wedding.

"Move on" is a difficult concept for some. They tend to get stuck in the drama of the pain. They talk about it constantly, they sue, they write a book. Not to say that some causes are not worthy of pursuit and extremely justified. I applaud those who fight for an injustice. But wallowing in the misery and agony of something that just happened out of misfortune hurts no one except the person who chooses to be in the pain.

I still like referring to the parade incident as "the F word" because that is the first thing we want to shout when something like that goes wrong. Dragging my cancer back into this (after all, that's what this blog is about), my F fell down and smashed, but so what. This time I'm getting back into the parade of L I F E and I can't wait to start marching again!

Oh, The Drama

2008-09-22T17:18:00.000-07:00

Lymph Notes originally began as my personal journal. That journal is now three volumes of photos, artwork, and writings from the past eight months. I decided that my last entry would be the day that I was clear of cancer. And so Friday I wrote my last line . . . "Good night, sweet cancer, good night."

When I wrote it, I was extremely sad, but when I tried to tell friends about it that night, I burst out laughing at the drama of it all. It is a perfect representation of my emotions this week. I can go from joy to sadness faster than a politician can change his views on government intervention.

I'm accepting that it's ok for me to be depressed that this experience is ending. It's been an incredible journey. I have opened my eyes to so many new perspectives, and I have very much enjoyed the generous affection of others. I don't want to ignore the pain that was part of it, but as I have written before, that became a big part of the adventure, giving me even more of a chance to see what I could tackle, and learn a lot about the world of cancer. And besides that, I had always wondered what I would look like bald.

Why have I learned so much this year? An article in this month's "Fast Company" magazine says that we are all creatures of habit. Our minds are programmed to make assumptions based on our experience and how we have always perceived the world.

The article states that "only when the brain is confronted with stimuli that it has not encountered before does it start to reorganize perception. The surest way to provoke the imagination then, is to seek out environments you have no experience with."

Famous glass artist Dale Chihuly didn't discover his sculptural genius until a car accident led to the loss of an eye and forced him to perceive depth in a different way. Walt Disney didn't create animation until he saw his drawings projected on a screen in a theater.

In my case (not to put me in the category of Walt or Dale), the perception of life from a positive platform came from a confrontation with sudden illness. I now see so many things, and appreciate them, in a different light. Perhaps that is the reason it is so difficult for me to bid farewell. It's like saying a final goodbye to your favorite teacher. The lessons will not be forgotten, but the friend and mentor must now be in your past.

Life goes on. A new chapter will open soon, but as I pass from this chapter, I am saddened to say good night, sweet cancer, good night.

LIFE

2008-09-19T00:05:00.000-07:00

It is September 18th, 2008. Today I found out that I am cancer free. I thanked the doctor, hung up the phone, and burst into tears. I didn't really think it was going to be that big of a deal, but evidently I had an enormous amount of emotion inside that I had hidden somewhere in the Disney dust.

I sent an email to close friends and family, and unexpectedly was overwhelmed with the response. One person after another left me a message while crying. After a pause to clear her throat, my sister said, "This is a moment I will never forget."

A few other responses:

"My head is spinning from happiness. Next time, just get me a puppy!"

"I'm so happy, I'm going to buy you a comb."

"Now let's hope you don't get hit by a truck."

(The sicker they are, the more I love them.)

Just when I think I have allowed myself to accept love, I am startled by this reaction from people. I am embarrassed by it. But I laughed and cried while I read the emails and listened to the messages . . . over and over. And I will do it again several times tomorrow.

The first week I moved to Los Angeles, I was visiting a friend in his apartment building. As I entered the lobby, there was an elderly woman moving out. Her family was moving her back to the east coast. I chatted with her and she told me, "It's now time for someone else to begin a life in Hollywood." There I was. We hugged and never saw each other again, however I have never forgotten the power of that moment.

Last night I had a long conversation on the phone with someone who discovered my blog and contacted me. He recently received his diagnosis and began chemotherapy today for lymphoma. This came the night before my good news. "It's now time for someone else to begin a life in Hollywood." More than anything else, I assured him that the journey is everything that you make of it. It can be as rewarding as you choose. It can be unpleasant, but life changing. Interestingly, all the things I was told by the woman in the lobby.

Before our conversation last night, I wrote down all the things I wanted to say to him. But there were no words that I could think of to convey the spirit that I wanted to bestow on him. How could I tell him to enjoy the journey? Cherish those peaceful times when you are alone with your thoughts. Or how could I even begin to express the abundance of love he will feel if he allows it? And most of all, there is no appropriate way to say to him, "This can be the most incredible year of your life. Do not miss a moment."

Sean, please know how much I was thinking of you when my doctor called today. It was exactly the time that you were getting your chemo. I hope you can hold in your heart the knowledge that, very soon, you will be getting the same news.

I thank you all. My family. My incredible friends. Those of you who read this blog. You are the ones who fought this cancer. I was just the one who got to march down the street in the parade.

Calmness and Gratitude

2008-09-15T12:02:00.000-07:00

Last night, just before going to sleep, I sat on the edge of my bed in a very serene and contemplative state. The room was washed in white light from a full moon. There was a cool breeze blowing in, and the only sound was crickets in the garden. I have never heard crickets in California. Full moon, breeze, crickets . . . more staged than a movie set.

It was one of my rare unique "cancer moments" where I feel so much at peace. I wanted to be anxious about my bone marrow extraction scheduled for this morning, but I wasn't. Instead, I was feeling blessed and grateful. So what if an eight-inch needle was going to be drilled deep into my hip bone and then the thick marrow sucked out in excruciating pain. Not to worry. There were crickets and moonlight.

I really didn't want to put my head on the pillow. I was so much enjoying the calm storybook moment. It was such a sad weekend for so many Americans. Thousands of people devastated and displaced in Texas, and thousands of others who lost their jobs in New York. This was the perfect moment for me to say a prayer for all of them, and be grateful.

The extraction was fine. I was in and out in thirty minutes. And it is so minimal in comparison to the pain that is being felt by all of those suffering such loss. My heart goes out to all of them.

Thanks Benny

2008-09-14T12:50:00.000-07:00

When I worked in Salt Lake City for the Olympics, I had a wonderful, fun friend named Angie. Sadly, as in so many journeys in life, most of us have all scattered across the globe and have lost touch. But recently Angie and I reconnected via email even though she is now living in Europe.

Angie read my blog to her 4 year old son Benny, and he asked her to comment on the blog with a joke that he hoped would cheer me up. "Why did the nanna (banana) go to the doctor? Because he wasn't peeling too well."

I'm not sure that Benny has any clue just how much that did cheer me up. That innocence, that silly humor, and that love that wants to cheer up someone who is sick, is so incredibly motivating to me. Thank you Benny. And thank you momma Angie.

I'm peeling so much better.

That Pursuit of Happiness

2008-09-11T13:02:00.000-07:00

It is still somewhat of a twisted mystery to me how cancer has made me a happier person. I think that is why I have been doing so much research into what brings us happiness. And why. And how. And who.

I know there are sometimes people who discover my blog because they have just been diagnosed and they are researching on the internet. I want so badly to reach out to them and offer encouragement. I want this blog to be for them. I stray off subject some days because I love throwing in a few entries that are just silly or humorous.

I try most of the time to come back to meaning and purpose, and for me that is largely based on these last nine months bringing me love, a sense of adventure, and most strongly, happiness. It is not as much related to the outcome or success of treatments, although that is bright and certainly doesn't hurt, but it is the daily journey that matters most. I've learned that the key to happiness in most people is recognizing that important fact. It's today, not tomorrow. Oddly enough, if you want to be happy right now, you can be. You don't have to make an investment. You don't have to drive to the store. You don't even have to get out of your chair.

I opened the LA Times on Monday morning, a day I wasn't feeling too well, and there was a huge article titled, "C'mon Get Happy." Here are a few of the highlights:

Happiness is becoming a huge research topic. Slowly, it is increasing in proportion to the study of depression. It is right there in our Declaration of Independence - The pursuit of happiness.

Happy people are more productive at work, learn more in school, get promoted more, are more creative, and are liked more.

Happiness is 50% genetic, 40% intentional, and 10% circumstantial.

Once basic needs are met, the effects of income on happiness get smaller and smaller. That's because happiness lies in the way you live and look at the world.

If you want to be happy, pursue something else vigorously and happiness will catch up with you.

What else can make us happy? Gratitude. Forgiveness. Savoring positive moments. Getting involved. Use what you're best at to participate in a cause that is bigger than yourself.

And very importantly, happiness brings success, not the other way around.

Clowning Around

2008-09-10T16:45:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine read my blog yesterday and called to tell me how much he related to the message. A large sign hangs above his desk at work that says, "The beatings will continue until morale improves."

He explained that it is a constant reminder to him that doing the same things day after day, particularly those things that do not bring progress or joy, are as senseless as daily whippings. (He added that the sign also does a little to hamper the complaints of those who work for him.)

And on a completely different and crazy note, a friend found an ad on Craigslist that he shared with me . . . .

"We need an Adult Drunk Clown who is good at getting drunk and stupid. No need to do any clown tricks, just hang out and drink a s#*t load. We will be hopping around to different bars and want a clown to tag along and drink heavily. He doesn't even need to socialize with anyone, just drink. This is in Bucktown Ohio, and oh, don't worry, we will purchase all the drinks."

My friend Paula, who happens to live near there, said, "Finally a job I am not overqualified for."

Uncomfortably Comfortable

2008-09-09T10:26:00.001-07:00

I hope someday I look back on this particular blog and laugh.

I have become very comfortable in a routine of discomfort. As ridiculous as that sounds, and is, I am now the perfect display of proof that we are creatures of habit.

For the past several months, I have gone to the hospital every two weeks to spend a day receiving chemotherapy. I know that I will feel OK for two days and then I'll be sick and exhausted for about three days. There will be mouth sores and neuropathy starting on day 5, a voice like a Muppet on days 6 and 7, and I won't even get into the clockwork colon calendar. In such a strange way, it is all OK simply because it is routine.

I equate it to any job. There are the monthly billings, the whiney clients, the forms and paperwork, and the incompetent people around us. It all becomes a routine pain in the ass.

Nothing is as much of an absurd example as my last job. I woke up at 4:00 am every Monday so I could be in my office by 9:00. That office was in San Francisco and I live in Los Angeles. It just became habit. And it was comfortable, in a very uncomfortable way.

I've always said that I don't understand people who stay in a relationship or job where they are abused or terribly unhappy. I think I do now. No matter how unhealthy, routine becomes a comfort in its own right.

Fortunately for me, I have no choice but to move on. And obviously I would never choose to stay in this situation. But it is amazing how we adapt. And I now have a much higher level of understanding for those who fear stepping beyond what is uncomfortably comfortable.

Hopefully we learn. I heard a great quote this morning; "Age teaches us that there is less time to do what matters." I am going to try to let that sink in and become a motivating transition from this uncomfortable routine. "What matters" is far more important than simply a new routine.

Wherefore Art Thou?

2008-09-07T15:59:00.000-07:00

I heard my friend, Blog

At my door yesterday,

"Can Billy come out?

Can he come out and play?"

No, Billy's been sick

With that same icky tune

But he wants you to know

That he'll be better soon.

He had his last chemo

So this is the end

(Not "The End" in a bad way,

Just the end of the mend.)

For now he needs rest

But no cause for alarm

Very soon he'll be back

With his brilliance and charm.

A new blog will shine.

Hopefully tomorrow.

Because to lose all his friends

Would cause Billy much sorrow.

When Sick, Laugh

2008-08-29T16:59:00.000-07:00

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."

Lessons

2008-08-27T11:14:00.000-07:00

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."

A Very Short Blog

2008-08-25T10:07:00.000-07:00

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.

What Makes You Happy?

2008-08-22T15:22:00.000-07:00

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.

Molly

2008-08-19T15:36:00.000-07:00

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?

Carin' Karen

2008-08-18T15:24:00.000-07:00

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.

What Brings You Here?

2008-08-15T11:06:00.000-07:00

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.

Such a Wonderful Grandmother

2008-08-10T16:11:00.001-07:00

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."

Dared evil

2008-08-07T10:57:00.000-07:00

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.

Funny, I Was Just Thinking That

2008-08-05T07:37:00.000-07:00

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."

Those Glorious Dead People

2008-08-01T18:08:00.000-07:00

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.

Queen of Chemo

2008-07-30T14:43:00.000-07:00

My good friend Kristen took me to my chemo treatment yesterday. We worked together at Disney on many animated movie premieres involving every imaginable princess, so it was only fitting that we crown her Queen of Chemo.

I came prepared with my oxygen, my camera, and of course all necessary props. Kristen came prepared with incredibly delicious oatmeal-cookie-coated popcorn. But neither of us came prepared for an earthquake on the drive to the hospital. While sitting at a traffic light, we thought were hit by the car behind us. It wasn't until we got to the hospital that they told us the truth.

All was well in the city. No injuries or major damage. All was well in my veins. No injuries or major damage. And I would love to say that all is well with Kristen, but these photos could possibly cause major damage. The nurse walked in as we were laughing and shooting the pictures, and she asked, "What does this say about our clinic?" Kristen responded, "It says that fun people continue to have fun no matter what."

I have had 14 treatments with 14 different loving friends or family accompanying me. Hopefully there are only two treatments left, but after posting these pictures, it might be hard to find two more daring candidates. When we were kids, my brother would pose for photos in anything I asked him to wear. Maybe he'll come back and I can create a Pope's outfit with a hypodermic hat. Kev?

Thinking

2008-07-29T10:42:00.000-07:00

I have written many times that I have been given a beautiful gift of reflection through this little bout with cancer. Most people do not have the opportunity or time to sit and focus on the What-if's, and the What-now's, and the What-could's. Life is too fast and it's hard enough to keep up withe the What-the-Hell's and the What-the-#*@k's. I'm always impressed when people tell me they had the time to read this blog.

One day someone suddenly says you can't work for a year. You can't go anywhere, and you might not feel so great. So you sit and think. And then you think some more. And then you think about what you might think about next. (And then you blog about thinking.)

I still have managed to have a bit of my life. Time with family and friends, and a chance to appreciate that as well. And then. A mean doctor says, "No that's not good. Now you must be tied to a sofa 24 hours a day by a clear tube connected to your nose." And so I will think some more. A lot more.

The kitchen is within reach of the tubing. And while baking muffins this morning, it occurred to me that bending over a gas oven with oxygen in my nose was probably not a great idea. Evidently I wasn't THINKING?

I can watch TV. That does not qualify as thinking. Yes, I can read, but I think I try to avoid it, even though it has become a good friend. Thinking and learning are different. Or are they? I'll think about that.

I read enough of the daily paper and watch enough CNN to be a breaking news reporter. I feel like I know every footstep of Obama and McCain. And did you hear that Britney has her bikini body back and will get more custody of her kids?

One of the definitions in the dictionary for "think" is "To bring something to a particular condition using the mind." OK. I don't think I'm on the sofa right now. I think I'm on a beach in Hawaii.

All joking aside, I truly do feel that this year has been such a gift for my soul. It's been a cleansing and a redecorating of my psyche. Free time does not bring boredom, it transforms into new areas of thought.

Bottom line. Thinking is good. More thinking must be better. I think.

Lunch, Glorious Lunch

2008-07-27T14:24:00.000-07:00

OK, it's a toss up between grilled cheese and peanut butter and jelly . . . with every variation imaginable for both.

From Nancy:

"Ooey Gooey Buttery Sloppy Grilled Cheese on honey wheat berry bread with a slice of tomato, accompanied by heavily peppered steak fries and some tangy dill pickles. No contest."

From Craig:

"Peanut butter and jelly with Fritos and a dill pickle. And it must be eaten in a specific order."

And there was grilled peanut butter and jelly. Grilled peanut butter, honey and bananas. Peanut butter and marshmallow.

Grilled cheese with tomato soup was very popular. (I have to admit, I had it for lunch the day I read it. It sparked a huge craving.) And I can't wait to try grilled cheese with organic baby food sweet potatoes. My friend Kristen swears by it.

Egg salad was popular. "Packed on a bicycle, on pumpernickle, with a pickle."

Bacon lettuce and (only fresh) tomatoes. Has to be on whole wheat. (Everyone got so demanding that all sandwiches be done exactly as God intended.)

I think maybe the strangest entry was Doc B's mayo and sugar sandwich, however he redeemed himself with the tasty sounding hot dog and Welch's grape juice.

Then there were the odd bunch of submissions. Liverworst and mustard?? I don't think so. And I have to admit that the Irishman in me had to Google "conpollo." I know enough Spanish to know it means "with chicken," but I wasn't sure what was with chicken. Turns out it is just rice. I can tell you that most mothers barely turn out a PB&J, much less whipping up some rice and roasted chicken.

Chicken soup of course had a high ranking. We all seem to associate that with being sick. It is the most popular sick-kid lunch.

All of my Midwestern readers were not impressed with the Californians who commented on the blog that they like "fresh salad, fruit, and leafy greens." We do have a west coast image to maintain, but I will tell you that one of those came from my nephew Patrick in Chicago. So there.

And I end with, hands down, my absolute favorite entry. It was from my niece who completely surprised me with a lunch that she said my sister would make for her daughters. She put different colors of food coloring in bowls of milk and had the kids paint the bread. Then she would make them into grilled cheese "works of art." And it would work for french toast as well. That is the most creative childhood lunch I have ever heard of. The blue ribbon goes to my sister Eileen!

Boo Hoo

2008-07-26T09:30:00.000-07:00

I really hate to dwell much more on the problems of our healthcare system, and I promise after this, I will move on. We all know the seriousness of the insidiousness. However, it's a big part of my life right now, and I have a couple of observations.

On a positive side, I applaud companies like Kaiser Permanente, or at least their marketing department, for promoting a fun, pro-active health image through their campaign "Thrive." I have friends that work there and others who are insured with them, and they all seem very happy.

I've been consulting with a friend on a couple of events for another healthcare company who also is beginning an internal colorful "Pro-Fit = Profit" campaign. Some companies (hopefully) are getting it.

I compare this to a "what-if" theory that the IRS would actually consult taxpayers upfront rather than to attack and kill after the fact. Imagine the government taking a pro-active approach.

Sadly, most health insurance companies are now taking a governmental attitude towards their customers. Even the term "customer" is not appropriate. We are their circus animals, performing as they instruct. A customer at Macy's, or even with other types of insurance, can easily take his/her business elsewhere. Not with health insurance. For me, I am stuck in the three-ring agony of their discipline.

I lay in bed and dream of a person at Health Net who would say to me on the telephone, "I know this is a difficult time for you. How can I help you? I see that your doctor has ordered a CT Scan. Let me see what I can do to get that approved."

Instead, this is reality.

"Why do you need a CT Scan?!" (As if I'm asking for tickets to Disneyland.)

"Oh I don't know. I need artwork in my living room, and I thought a transparent black and white image of my cloudy lungs might be just the thing to perk up the feng shui."

As much as I make light of the situation, it really has been a serious problem. Knowing I had no time to argue because I needed to keep my chemotherapy on schedule, they switched me to an HMO and reassigned a new, cheaper oncologist. They told me that somewhere in the fine print of my policy it says, "PPO, except for cancer."

At any rate, I'm blessed that I have coverage. Many don't. It's a broken system that will require minds much greater than mine to repair it (and other minds to approve it). I trust that someday someone will hear, "How is it that I can help you?"

I'm folding up my soapbox and enthusiastically compiling a list of the best lunch suggestions I received. A much happier subject to think about.

Billy Be Breathing

2008-07-24T09:34:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting here connected to an oxygen tank. A very large one. It was a compromise with my doctor . . . a tube in your nose at home, or go back in the hospital. I emailed a group of friends that all I need now is a rocking chair, a net for my hair, and some knitting needles. One of them, mustering as little empathy as possible, simply responded, "What hair?"

If there is an opposite to the book I'm reading, "The Art Of Happiness," it would be a book about health insurance companies, "The Art of Discomfort and Bowel-Irritating Insidiousness." As much as I try to avoid reading it, it's a perfect example of the negative that comes into our lives every day that we must confront.

My insurance company made it as difficult as possible for me to get the oxygen. I suppose it's their job to try to save money, but they fail to see the alternative of me being back in the hospital.

So it was a long day yesterday, calling three doctor's offices a number of times, two different divisions of my insurance company, and three oxygen supply companies. (The insurance kept changing suppliers, requiring me to get the approvals and records to all of them.) The absolute irony is that the total cost was only $120.

Later in the day, a friend sent me a new website he just designed honoring another friend of ours who died. It suddenly put life back in perspective of what is really important. Not that getting oxygen to my heart and brain are not important, but injecting love and tears into my heart felt so much better. One would think I could have both oxygen and love, but when I cry, my nose runs and it blocks the oxygen tube.

And for anyone who cares, I'm getting Homo2 Oxygen and my liter flow is 2.

Happiness

2008-07-22T11:28:00.000-07:00

I am so excited that my blog about our favorite lunches brought so much response. I'm going to compile some of the best ideas for yummy lunches and report back soon. It's interesting that as I sit down to write about what brings true happiness, I realize that something as simple as a comforting lunch from our childhood is a great example. Or is it just a pleasure?

I read one time that one of the keys to happiness is always having something to look forward to. Turns out, there are many keys, much deeper, according to this book that I have mentioned.

Several people have been telling me that I am such an inspiration because I am always looking for the positive side of life. I would be lying if I didn't admit it is flattering, however it only seems natural to me. Why would anyone want to dwell, much less investigate, the negative? I honestly don't feel that I deserve much credit just because I want to be happy.

One step towards that is my ability to choose the people I associate with, the TV and movies I watch, and plain and simply, what I think about. Certainly I can't ignore problems of the world or of my friends, but I can choose to focus on helping and being a good listener whenever possible.

So the book is "The Art Of Happiness" by Howard Cutler and His Holiness The Dalai Lama. It is not a review of religion at all, but rather thoughts on what brings happiness. Each page is filled with so much inspiration that I have to go back several times and reread them. It has taken me quite awhile just to get through 50 pages.

Here are a few of my favorite highlights . . . .

The purpose of our existence is to seek happiness. It is not self-centered or self-indulgent. Happy people are generally more sociable, flexible and creative. And most important, they are found to be more loving and forgiving. They have a quality of openness, and willingness to reach out to others.

Happiness is determined more by one's state of mind than by external events. Success can bring temporary elation, or tragedy can cause depression, but eventually happiness migrates back to a certain baseline. Lottery winners, on one extreme, and those struck by a major illness, on the other extreme, both were found to return to their usual range of moment-to-moment happiness.

Our feelings of contentment are strongly influenced by our tendency to compare. Who is smarter, more beautiful, or more successful? Once our basic needs are met, " . . . we don't need more money, we don't need greater success or fame, we don't need the perfect body or even the perfect mate -- right now, at this very moment, we have a mind, which is all the basic equipment we need to achieve complete happiness."

"The greater the level of calmness of our mind, the greater our peace of mind, the greater our ability to enjoy a happy and joyful life."

Many people confuse happiness with pleasure, such as the touch of a loved one, sex, a hot bath, a beautiful sunset . . . . or other extremes of cocaine, heroin, alcohol, or a winning streak in Las Vegas.

And lastly, and this is my favorite,

"If you maintain a feeling of compassion, loving kindness, then something automatically opens your inner door. Through that, you can communicate much more easily with other people. And that feeling of warmth creates a kind of openness. You'll find that all human beings are just like you, so you'll be able to relate to them more easily."

Lunches

2008-07-20T09:59:00.000-07:00

What is your favorite lunch? Be honest. I won't tell anyone if it's decadent. But I would love to get your emails. I know many of us still crave the simple lunches we had as children . . . peanut butter and jelly, or mac and cheese. Maybe with a new twist.

There were so many wild combinations of sandwiches that I loved as a kid, and all involved peanut butter. Tomato, peanut butter and mayo. Or peanut butter, bananas and raisins. Peanut butter and bologna!

But now my favorite lunch, and I never seem to grow tired of it, is my own special concoction of chicken salad. I pull apart the chicken, add grapes, apples, raisins or dried cranberries, dijon mustard and mayo. It's great on bread, crackers, or all alone.

So now I need new suggestions. Quick and easy. Tasty. And fattening doesn't hurt.

Rarely do I let myself indulge in burgers and fries, but when I do, I savor every morsel. My favorite is the Jack in the Box ultimate cheeseburger, however last week I had McDonald's angus, bacon, chipotle, cheese burger. (It was that, or eat a pound of lard.) It tasted amazing.

While living in Salt Lake City, I became addicted to Utah Fry Sauce, a creamy blend of ketchup, mayo, and worcestershire sauce, so I always hurry home and whip up a bit for my fries.

I'll report back soon with the findings of my survey so others can share in the "lunches that make us go 'YUM!'"

Keeping it Fun

2008-07-17T12:51:00.000-07:00

I spent most of yesterday in the garden. Interspersed with sessions of going inside to regain my breathing, I managed to enjoy planting new roses and border flowers. Today my arms look like I was attacked by a mountain lion, due to the thorns, but it's all worth it. I have always noted that for some reason, when my garden is doing well, my life is doing well. That's a sure sign that I need to keep the weeds out and the color in.

With that same attitude in mind, I want to go back to Scott Hamilton. I love reading about other cancer patients and survivors who have a similar approach to happiness. You will remember Scott as the 1984 Olympic gold medalist in figure skating. Soon after that, he was the brainchild of "Stars on Ice." He now lives in Nashville with his wife and two sons.

I quoted Scott earlier with his humorous remark after fighting testicular cancer,

"With what I've endured, if I can be happy, anyone can. I'm a short, bald, half-neutered, chemo-d, radiated, male figure skater. What choice do I have but to be optimistic?"

His approach to life is so inspiring to me, " . . . stay positive, keep it fun and friendly, and have the quality of life that you deserve. I learned that you can choose how you feel on a particular day, and if you just turn something slightly -- like you might turn a piece of glass and get a rainbow -- you change your perspective."

As a young child, Scott developed a mysterious illness that caused him to stop growing, but he continued to take skating lessons and play hockey. At age 17, financial pressures forced him to quit competitive skating until an anonymous couple sponsored him for the 1980 Olympics.

He has had his share of difficulties, but he says, "If life was fair, it wouldn't be interesting . . . Challenge me, tell me something is horrible, and I'll find good in it. Tell me something is going to defeat me and I'll find a way to beat it." He believes we all have three choices: "succumb, adapt, or evolve." We can give up, just deal with it, or take it and become better for it. "I'm going to be a much richer, better, more in-touch person than I've ever dreamed because of this."

Ever dreamed. I love that.

Scott established The Scott Cares Initiative with the Cleveland Clinic, where he was treated for his cancer in 1997, and together they have raised over $10 million for cancer research. What a guy. What an inspiration. To Scott I toast my chemo cocktail.

He's Back!

2008-07-14T17:28:00.000-07:00

I am excited to share pieces of a new book I am reading titled "The Art of Happiness." My roommate slipped it into my "essentials" bag of underwear and pills that some friends delivered to me at the hospital. It was the perfect reading to keep me sane while hooked up to oxygen, a heart monitor, and and two IVs.

However, it would be superfluous to not first talk about my health. This is my chance to update so many friends and family. And before I even do that, I have to tell a great story. . . .

It was Monday, June 30th, that Rob, my roommate took me at 11:00 pm to the emergency room. I was evidently much worse than I thought. They told me it would be a three-hour wait and then once they triaged me, they yelled for an emergency wheelchair and told me I was not allowed to take a single step. My vital signs were all through the roof. (I love drama, particularly when it's all about me!)

They finally called Rob in the waiting room and he joined me in the ER, God love him, until 2:30 am. During that time, he asked me if I had eaten any of the cheesecake in the refrigerator. I had a piece at lunch, I told him. "Did it upset your stomach? I had a piece tonight and my stomach hurts." I told him everything hurt, so I wasn't sure about my stomach.

The last thing Rob said as he was leaving was, "I'm going home and throwing away that cheesecake." He got home, but was not there long. He came back to the ER, and within a few hours had an emergency appendectomy. We ended up just a couple of floors away, texting each other through the night. Just when I get a little a drama, he has to outdo me!

After a couple of days in ICU and a broncoscopy, they discovered pneumonia and put me in a regular room for the rest of the week. My chemo treatment for last week was postponed until tomorrow, and they will test me to see if I am strong enough. I still am having difficulty breathing.

So that's the update. I don't like talking about the bad stuff. It is what it is. But I hear from too many friends to "Keep it real." So there. Thank you everyone for so many wonderful emails and phone calls. Any pain at all is completely overshadowed by love.

A Week Away

2008-07-07T21:19:00.000-07:00

The blog has been empty for a week because I have been in the hospital. I will be back soon, but for a few days, I need to recover.

One quick and beautiful story from the seven days in Cedars-Sinai. On the 4th of July, I was journaling that it would not be a very celebratory holiday. Just a few minutes later, two good friends showed up, dressed in red, white, and blue, carrying cupcakes and singing. After visiting for a few minutes, we heard music in the hallway.

A beautiful elderly lady was playing the harp. I was whispering to my friends and the nurse that when I was a small boy, my Godmother would play old Irish songs on the harp for me. Just then, the woman pointed to me and asked if I had any requests. I asked her just to play one of her favorites.

Right then, in this very Jewish hospital, she started playing "Oh Danny Boy," probably my family's favorite. There could not have been a more perfect song. And to make it even more incredible, one of my friends is a professional singer and he began to sing. Thank God I had the IV pole to hold me up!

I hope everyone had a great holiday and I will be back very soon.

The C Card

2008-06-28T17:18:00.000-07:00

Ever since starting treatments, I have laughed with friends who are envious of me getting to play "The C-Card." If I don't want to do something, I just simply insert into the conversation, "I've got cancer," and I'm scott free.

And it's not just me using it. My roommate got us much quicker cable maintenance using the C-Card. While my sister was visiting, she used it a number of times for faster service or to cancel orders. Sometimes I had to put on a sad face to pull it off, but she was lovin' it.

My brother the priest brags that his C-Card (the Collar) works even better than mine, and together we could conquer the world.

So I decided to make it official and construct actual C-Cards. The one for me says, "I wish I could, but I've got cancer." And for friends, I made some that say, "I'm sorry, Officer, I'm on my way to help a friend with cancer."

Our Journies

2008-06-27T04:06:00.000-07:00

What inspires us to move forward in our lives? What holds us back? What traditions, fears, people, real estate, or financial concerns keep us from fulfilling our hearts?

How often do we stop and seriously contemplate, "If I could do anything with the rest of my life, what would it be?" Obviously I am stopping and doing that a lot lately, but I have done it often throughout my life. I wonder how many others reflect on it, and truly give it justice. For me, I would never call it a midlife crisis, because I see it as the opposite of a crisis. It's a continuing promise that I made to myself.

Whether it's changing our career, retiring, becoming entrepreneurial, giving back to the world, enjoying a more relaxing peace, or moving to a new city or climate, we all have dreams that will hopefully become realities some day.

I just read an article by Roger Housden where he "captures that moment when you dare to take your heart in your hands and walk through an invisible wall into a new life."

For him, he says it took a long time. His hard outer shell had to be softened, broken down even, before the moment of truth could appear. He needed to be humbled and cooked in the tears of loss for any deeper life to emerge. That is true for so many of my friends. He explains that not everyone must first be exposed to pain, however, "A new life requires a death of some kind, otherwise it is nothing new, but rather a shuffling of the same deck."

For many people he says, it could mean that one day, for no apparent reason, you simply know that you cannot continue to play by the rules you have accepted for years -- the rules of a relationship, the abuses at work, or the script you have written for your life.

Wow. That's some heavy poop to process. What script have I written that needs editing? Are there some back page notes telling me I must be rich or important, or doing something interesting to others? Is there a chapter on image that must be deleted?

The article ends with this . . .

"In being true to that small voice within . . you are being of service to others and to the world in the most profound way possible. You cannot know where that voice will take you, but in being willing to save the only life you can save, you are affirming one of the deepest and most sobering truths of all: No one else can ever walk your journey for you. You alone can respond to your call."

A Healthy Balanced Blog

2008-06-25T08:52:00.000-07:00

When deciding the ingredients for my blog, I try to stick to a healthy balanced diet.

There is a lot of heavy meat. Subjects like reducing stress, knowing when to move on in our lives, our time on earth being just a stop at the 7-Eleven, dealing with life's punches and trusting in our futures. I've tried to insert pieces of wisdom from other cancer patients that I have read. Often times, there is so much to contemplate, it's a bit overwhelming for me.

I sometimes blog about personal situations like emergency room visits, my symptoms, friends who help me, the love of my family, the amazing quilt that my sister made for me, and my garden.

For spice and garnish, I sprinkle a little about hummingbirds, a lymph note musical, questioning why they don't have Vicodin in Purgatory, renaming medications like iSick or MakeMePoop, and breast milk.

I know my most memorable and intense blog will always be from April 22 on the beach. Rereading it gives me comfort and strength.

More than anything else, I try to emphasize that life is good, challenges are opportunities, and our future is as bright as we choose to see it.

I wish I could say that I have always been a good reader, but I can't, so I like transferring my current reading cravings into metaphors of sugar and fat. I've always been great at consuming those elements.

My appetite for all of the above ingredients seems insatiable. And I often get so full from trying to eat it all up that I feel like I'm going to burst.

Tomorrow after chemo, a little more heavy fare about being true to ourselves.

Lake Arrowhead

2008-06-23T10:45:00.000-07:00

I spent this past weekend up in the mountains at Lake Arrowhead . . . less than two hours away from Los Angeles, and yet a million miles from the city. It was my first trip anywhere in over seven months.

The air is clean. The trees are majestic. The lake is crystal blue. The only sounds are those of coyotes, birds, trees rustling, and an occasional neighbor laughing as they pass on the road.

My friends Reese and Greg have worked on their beautiful lake house for over five years and finished it to perfection. From the all-wood interior, stone fireplace and incredible details, it is the perfect setting for grounding oneself in "the shit that matters most."

And we did that. There were eight who ate. A lot. We played games, visited with each other and neighbors, took the dogs for long walks, and swam in the lake (while others read).

As the time rolled around to begin packing up, I started to get new emotions. Empathy for those who had to return to stressful jobs the next morning. Pity for those of "me" who didn't get to. But I quickly took what I have learned recently and shifted my thoughts back to reality. Everything is just as it is meant to be right now, for all of us. Why fight it? It's such a waste of brain power.

So I smiled and thought about getting up this morning, making coffee, and having the joy of blogging.

Mm Mm Good

2008-06-20T09:57:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite actresses of all times, Miss Piggy, once said, "Never eat more than you can lift."

This past week, I have had to install a forklift to assist me with my appetite. Evidently, that tiny pink pill called Prednisone packs a powerful punch for food craving. I cannot stop eating.

For the first time in my life, I laid awake in bed last night compulsively focused on all the food downstairs in the kitchen. Finally I got up, ate an entire box of cereal and a bowl of ice cream, and then seriously considered making cookies.

I'm certainly not complaining. I have been trying to gain weight and this seems like the gift I have been waiting for.

If it's not moving, eat it. If it's moving, shoot it and eat it.

And In Other Words . . .

2008-06-17T17:07:00.001-07:00

My wonderful friend Danny, an attorney and yoga instructor, sent me an email yesterday just a few minutes after my posting of the blog. He had not seen it, and yet this email was directly related. I want to share some of what he wrote . . .

"There are two fundamental lessons of yoga. The first is skillful proportionate effort. This is the one Americans are pretty good at: hug in here, stretch long there, align you knee over your ankle, press into the floor, extend out from your pelvis, etc.

The second fundamental lesson of yoga is to surrender and receive. This is the hard one. Before, during, and after the exertion of effort, we learn to remember that we are supported and cared for by an infinitely loving universe. We learn to breathe into our back body and feel the loving support of God and of our friends, family, teachers, sponsors, and fellow travelers . . . we learn to ask for what we need, to reach out and connect and let others have the gift of lending us a hand.

. . . You are beginning to get the hang of surrendering and receiving. In spiritual terms, once we have learned the lessons that our challenges were sent to teach us, the challenges themselves dissolve, evaporate, transform into gifts."

That is what I have been trying to communicate in three months of blogging all in one sentence. Thank you, Danny.

Thank You

2008-06-16T12:32:00.000-07:00

My most vivid Christmas memory is a hint of the character of my father. It's not a bicycle under the tree or a sled ride in the backyard, but rather a trip we took across town to give an underprivileged family a turkey dinner. As long as I live I won't forget the face of the little boy hiding behind a door who jumped out quickly, grabbed an apple, and ran back to hiding.

Long before I understood its value, Dad taught us that service to others is the key to happiness. He would often gripe about his "jughead" tenants, but always helped them far beyond his means. My favorite story has always been his black drag queen tenant. It was probably two years before Dad realized he wasn't renting to "a nice man and his sister."

I think helping each other is a natural instinct shared with most other living creatures. Ants and chimpanzees have a difficult time writing checks, so they help each other in a hands-on way . . . the most rewarding way in my opinion.

I write about this today because I am on the receiving end of the service call these days. That's not easy for me, but as I have said before, I have learned to simply say, "thank you."

When I was in college, my aunt and uncle wanted to help me financially. Although I desperately needed it because I was going to drop out of school to try to catch up, I was too proud to take it. Then my aunt told me, "If your uncle and I were in trouble and you wanted to help us, how would you feel if we said no thank you?" That completely gave me a new perspective. Allowing others to help is just as important as offering service.

With each "thank you" that I say, I remember that I will return the favor to someone else someday. I'm building a lot of them, so get your wishes on a list.

The many faces of Billy Bird

2008-06-13T15:39:00.000-07:00

It is very difficult for me to put these photos on here. I'm doing it as a marker of my current life so I can look back and never forget. And it is not a coincidence that it is Friday, the 13th. The first photo was taken just before my diagnosis. The second was at chemo #8. Granted, I posed for full affect. Everyone tells me that I never really looked that bad, but the camera doesn't lie. Photo three was at chemo #10 as my hair was starting to come back. And picture four was about an hour ago in my courtyard. Looking at it, I cannot believe how much weight I have lost. I am going to eat a small farm animal for dinner tonight!

My oncologist yesterday told me that my breathing problems are a side affect of Bleomycin, one of my chemo meds, so he has discontinued it. He has prescribed two new meds which he said will improve my breathing, and low and behold, also improve my energy, emotions and mental attitude. I never even told him that I was having emotional swings and attitude problems, but maybe his first clue was that I was crying when he came in the room.

I have lost nine pounds since the last chemo two weeks ago. The new meds will unfortunately cause thinner arms and legs, which I do not believe is humanly possible. I will focus on the positive thinking and not the linguini I see in the mirror hanging from my shoulders.

I'm excited at the thought of new energy. Marathon here I come.

To Kelly

2008-06-12T10:31:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow, my niece Kelly will receive her masters degree from the University of Cincinnati in social work. That makes me proud on a number of levels. First of all, she is dedicating her life to helping others. What greater gift can a person give to this planet and to herself? Through all the work she has already done, she loves the accomplishment of helping others improve themselves.

Secondly, she is the first in her generation of our immediate family to get a masters. She'll be followed shortly by one of my nephews, but for now, she is the first. (I so much applaud my sisters for raising such wonderful, giving, intelligent children.)

And not the least of my uncle proudlyness, Kelly is graduating from my alma mater (which is Latin, by the way, for "nourishing mother," whatever relevance that might hold). Granted it was exactly thirty years ago that I marched in my cap and gown, but hey, we never lose our loyalty. And I dare anyone to challenge me . . . . I can still sing every word to the UC fight song.

Dreams

2008-06-11T13:43:00.000-07:00

Just as I began a nap yesterday, God decided it was more important to have a tree removed next door. Second only to a bomb or a rocket lift-off, there aren't too many things louder. So I smilingly took the hint, got up, and . . . yes . . . watched Oprah.

It was then that I realized God had another plan. This episode was about people with cancer and the lessons they are learning. These brave guests on her show have serious afflictions and know they are going to die. Their messages were powerful and extremely thought provoking.

Among the great words of wisdom were to live each day filled with what is important. Have integrity and be a good person. Help others. Love. But the message most important to all of them was to do the things you've always wanted to do. One man's quote was, "Rarely do we look back on our lives and regret the things we did. We regret the things we didn't do."

After the show, I sat and tried to think of things I have always wanted to do and haven't yet accomplished. It wasn't easy. I'm not one of those people who wants to sky dive, climb Mount Everest, or snorkel where no man has snorkeled before. There is nothing appealing to me about the earth coming towards me at warped speed, and being face to face with fish creeps me out. I'll leave those to other dreamers.

I've never taken a cruise. I've never been to Mount Rushmore. And I've never been skiing. None of them seem appealing enough that I feel the urgency to accomplish them.

And then I started to wonder why I don't have a big dream, and I believe the answer is because I was faced with fairly certain death in the late 80's. There was absolutely no reason that AIDS wouldn't take me just like all of my friends. Doctors gave me a few years. And like Oprah's guests yesterday, I decided dying wasn't as important as living. Since then, I truly believe that almost every decision in my life has been based on that. I have never been afraid of taking a risk. I also recognize that it has been a blessing that I don't have a family, unlike most others, and have always had the freedom to move.

I went back to that list of things I have accomplished in life. I recommend everyone make one. It always cheers me up. If there is something missing on your list, then by all means, make a decision to attempt it. As I study my list, I will admit that I would someday like to be published, having written books, plays and short stories. Someday I hope to write something worthy of a press.

A huge positive affect on me right now is the book I am currently reading, "LEAP! What Will We Do with the Rest of Our Lives?" by Sara Davidson. That, combined with her workbook will help me tremendously with new goals.

So I will continue to dream and make a new list. It was a good lesson I learned yesterday. Move on from the list of accomplishments and on to a list of dreams. Dreaming is so good.

The Musical

2008-06-09T16:17:00.000-07:00

OK. Here it is. The pitch for "Lymph Notes, The Musical!"

A bold little bird named Billy is just a few days old when a violent rain storm throws him from his comfortable nest. He manages to ride the storm safely to a lily pad below, but the wind and rain continue to rage. Billy floats helplessly into unchartered seas.

The storm eventually breaks, however after days of desperate attempts to find his way home, he drifts further into a land that looks like nowhere he could imagine. The music fades up and Billy sings an emotional ballad titled, "My New Pad Just Aint Home."

Suddenly the lily pad crashes ashore and as he picks himself up and stumbles to the ground, Billy sees a beautiful winding path made of yellow bricks.

Along his journey on the path, he meets so many skilled and generous other birds who want to help Billy find his way home. He first meets a very intelligent, but scared, crow who is convinced that Bio Feedback is the answer to getting back to the nest. The crow sings a duet with Billy; "Somewhere Over, and Down By, The Bio."

Further down the path they run into a loving Silver Warbler who believes Billy's answer can be achieved with Raiki. Squeaking down the trail, he sings, "Achy Breaky Raiki."

And finally they meet a courageous little Tufted Titmouse who generously offers Billy her breast milk to give him the strength to go on. All four of them toast, and drink, and joyfully sing "Teets the Little Things In Life That Matter."

But eventually Billy's true salvation comes from a wise old Oncologist Owl (Alright, let's just say it . . . . "The Wizard of Owls"). After singing "Whooo's That Knocking At My Spoor?," he takes Billy under his wing and flies him safely to his nest where he grows into a healthy energetic bird.

There's no place like home.

Bobby Lama

2008-06-08T09:31:00.000-07:00

I had an interesting and refreshing twist of thinking yesterday.

My good friend Bob, a crackerjack attorney who earns his living convincing judges, arbitrators, and powerful executives of the truth, had a little come-to-Jesus with me. Bob has often listened to my troubles and concerns and then hit me with some intense one-liner that makes me go home and completely change direction in my thinking. I secretly refer to him as my Bobby Lama.

I was planning on going to a movie last night with Bob and his partner Rob, who is equally as caring and understanding. I felt sad that I didn't have the energy to join them. As I have done a lot lately, I began my liturgy about feeling lazy and unproductive. There is a very logical side of my brain that knows I have cancer of the blood and I'm going through intensive chemotherapy, but there is always that crazy "made in America" side that says we get up, no matter what, and march to some stupid drum. My drum makes Purdue University's look like a toy.

Bob has such an attorney's knack for knowing how to take the logical truth and reroute it into a convincing line of thinking, usually with some spark of new truth that got lost in the crazy side of the brain.

A few months ago, Bob was instrumental in assisting me with applying for disability. He was telling me yesterday that we did that so I could get paid to heal. My full-time job right now is to heal myself. If I am not constantly working towards getting better, then I am not doing my job. That means resting, and not pushing my body against its natural instinct to repair itself. The reward will be healthy energy some day soon. He said I should not be a slacker at my job. I should stay in bed.

We laughed that I immediately wanted to make T-shirts that say, "DON'T BE A SLACKER. STAY IN BED."

Bob is celebrating a major birthday this weekend. What kind of gift says "thank you for saving my life so many times?"

For Doc B

2008-06-06T16:15:00.000-07:00

I want to dedicate an entry to Doc B. You never know where you might meet a new friend and inspiration.

Doc B is the father of a friend of mine. Although we have never met, he has continued to read my blog and comment, always offering words of encouragement and friendship. Thanks Doc B.

And to all of you who take the time to read this. I appreciate it. New friends. Old friends. Cousins. Nephews. And an occasional physician. I promise you all credits when we produce "Lymph Notes The Musical."

A Cause to Pause

2008-06-03T10:01:00.000-07:00

My recent low energy brings with it a generous amount of reflection time. Like so many other aspects of our lives, we don't usually take the time to contemplate what is important until there seems to be an urgent need. It's a rare gift to be forced to sit and read and think. Definitely not a gift I would have chosen. (Who knows? Maybe I would really like fruitcake if I had to try it.)

I pulled out a book I read about five years ago. It is a book that helped me in many ways, titled, "I Will Not Die An Unlived Life" by Dawna Markova. I had dog-eared so many pages. You might want to skip this blog until you have a few minutes to absorb it. Dawna offers some beautiful places to launch a spirit into new perspectives.

"If you move very fast and stay very busy and live in a very noisy way, never relating to inertia or the truth stillness can bring, you may never hear your hungers . . . . Just as you can hear your stomach grumbling when your body is hungry, so, when the shell gets too thick, if you listen really deeply in the silence, you will hear your soul keening," she writes.

And I offer you a few of the other quotes that I love. They are meant to address our futures and what values are most important to us.

"What (people, places, events, situations) deplete your energy? What generates energy for you?"

"May we all find something to love that is larger and more powerful than anything we fear."

" . . . the art of success is using what you're good at to overcome the challenges that life brings you."

"To be fully alive, we have no choice but to finally move closer toward what we usually veer away from."

"You can't grab God. You just have to become empty. Then God will have a space to enter."

And finally, particularly profound for me right now,

"What if the moments of the greatest wounding in your life were also places where the Divine crossed your path and the unquenchable dream of your life was born? God has an exquisite sense of humor. Wouldn't it be a good joke if the worst that has happened to us holds the possibility of bringing the best in us to the community?"

What A Difference A Day Makes

2008-05-30T17:22:00.000-07:00

I feel so much better today. More energy and more alive. I'm happy that I share my not-so-good experiences because it is a part of all of us. I wouldn't be human if I didn't have down times, and it would be ludicrous for me to ignore them in my writing while I experience cancer.

But now I look out and see the bumble bees and hummingbirds enjoying the snapdragons and I'm back to my pollyanna self. After a few years as a Disney writer, I guess I still see the world through the eyes of a princess. I promise I'll try not to put too much icing on the cupcakes.

I had a chemo treatment yesterday. It was a long day because of a chest x-ray that was taken due to some breathing problems I have been having and a few fevers. But all ended well and I got my treatment.

People are put in our lives at certain junctures amazingly at just the right times. Part of my stress was feeling depressed about not knowing what is in my future. I met two people on Sunday who are music writing partners; Elaine Macaluso and Don MacBain. Thus they formed "Mac and Mac Music." They had heard me speak and gave me a CD asking me to listen to one particular song.

The song is "It's Not The Time." It was very powerful to me. Some of the lyrics include,

"It's not the time to ask any questions

It's not the time to understand why . . .

It's not the time to dwell in my sorrow

It's not the time for my soul to cry . . .

It's not the time to think of tomorrow

It's not the time to learn how to cope

To look at your life, remember the laughter

Some comfort there, a glimmer of hope . . . "

Music Macs Publishing

To put the song into perspective, Elaine wrote it last year for a friend of hers whose son had just been killed in an alcohol related car accident. That affected me so much more when I reread the lyrics. My problems are so small in comparison.

To hear the song, visit iTunes and type in "Mac and Mac Music, It's Not the Time." There are two beautiful versions, one male and one female. Please take the time to listen (even if "it's not the time").

And thank you so much for taking the time to listen to me. I love getting your emails.

Keep It Real

2008-05-27T15:55:00.000-07:00

I can't seem to conquer the fatigue. It's day nine. This is how I felt early in my treatments and I'm hoping it's not another infection. I called my doctor this morning, but both he and his nurse are on vacation. So I called the advising nurse with my insurance company. I have not heard back from her yet.

This is probably normal for chemotherapy, and I can hardly complain about being tired. It gets frustrating and a bit depressing to sleep all day when it is so beautiful outside. There will be more pretty days.

Yesterday was my birthday, to throw another pity log on the fire. I slept the entire day, but I was blown away by the number of people who called, emailed, and sent cards. There is no doubt that I am blessed. I never knew there were so many renditions of "Happy Birthday." I even got flowers and cupcakes. Thank you everyone.

Moving Forward

2008-05-23T10:26:00.000-07:00

In the early 1990s, I was chairman of a fundraising organization for AIDS. Part of our mission was also to offer grief seminars. What I remember most from those seminars is that we often think we are grieving the loss of a loved one, or a job, or a divorce, but the reality is that we must also allow ourselves to grieve "the loss of our assumed future." We cannot change what has just happened, but we can change the outcome in our lives.

The only thing that we can truly predict is that there will be changes. Many of them will be beyond our control. It's not really fair to naively say, "roll with the punches." Anyone who might say that hasn't been punched too hard. And most of the time, we Americans do not allow ourselves adequate time to grieve and process. "Buck up. Get back to work. It'll get your mind off of it." In most other cultures, people are allowed weeks off work for the death of a family member. The usual time in United States is a week or less.

I recognize that I write often on this subject, but it is usually these new directions that are forced on us in life that redefine who we are and give us a new purpose. It is not easy for many people to take risks and leap into new territory. Sometimes they need to be forced on us.

As I look back on my life, my most difficult punches always lead to a new land of Oz that I had no idea even existed. I would have never chosen to get the punches, like cancer, HIV, or being gay, but they are a part of this life for me, and once I grieve their arrival and move on, I choose to find the good in it . . . and there is plenty. If nothing else, it gives me something to blog about.

Actors get their biggest applause from their most difficult roles. Many high-risk company ventures become the most profitable. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Blah blah blah. We all have to learn that we can't really plan our futures. Shit will happen.

A nurse in the emergency room recently asked me to write a book and title it, "Bring It On, Bitch."

For Ray

2008-05-21T23:24:00.000-07:00

When I was a freshman in college, one of my roommates was a small shy red-haired boy from central Indiana named Ray McCarty. He was an only child and adopted by his parents later in their lives. Ray was a brilliant Architecture student, continually amazing his teachers with his talent. It was unusual for him not to work through the night even on the smallest projects.

I pledged a fraternity the first quarter of that year, and convinced Ray to rush in the Spring. It was a major challenge for him because, like me, he was not outgoing, athletic, or a real stud . . . all the things fraternities are searching for. And sadly to me, he didn't feel like it was a good fit in the beginning.

And then.

His pledge class had a talent show. We kidnapped Ray and knotted his large red afro into tiny little ringlets, like Alfalfa in The Little Rascals. Dressed only in a pillowcase and beads, he opened the show by performing and lip synching to "Lady Marmalade." ("Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir.") And Ray rocked the house! I will always remember that there were many guys literally rolling on the floor laughing. Instantly he was one of the gang.

Just a few months later, Ray got cancer. He chose to stay at school studying what he loved, but he moved away from the fraternity. A few of us would visit him from time to time, but we were uncomfortable, and I have always felt that we neglected him. I saw him a week before he died, however his parents had a very private funeral and we weren't invited.

I have been praying to Ray a lot lately. I pray for forgiveness and understanding. I pray that he is designing beautiful buildings and receiving all the praise that he so justly deserves. And mostly I pray that he still has that huge red afro bouncing to Lady Marmalade.

I'll never forget you, Ray.

Sleeping and Milking

2008-05-19T10:21:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time since I have been this fatigued. The chemo always hits me the Sunday and Monday following treatment, and this time it has hit with a nice little punch. I have slept 12 hours the past two nights and much of the afternoon between. I'm hardly complaining. Being tired is not really anything to whine about.

I also got a bit of nausea yesterday. I'm hoping it's not because I began the breast milk in my coffee. ("Breast milk in my coffee, moo moo moo. Skip to my Lou my darling.") It actually did not taste bad at all. I have been sent so many websites proclaiming its healing values. Here is a short list of some of its medicinal uses:

Pink eye - apply a few drops in the affected eye(s)
Cold sore - apply and allow to dry
Warts - apply and allow to dry
Minor cuts, burns, scrapes - apply, allow to dry and bandage
Stuffy runny nose - squirt a few drops in each nostril
Sore cracked nipples - apply and air dry
Ear infections - squirt a few drops in affected ear
Insect bites - apply and the itching will go away
Sore throat - drinking the milk will fight the infection
Contact lenses - dry lenses or run out of solution? Substitute the milk. It's sterile.

Now back to resting.

One Big Love Fest

2008-05-16T20:09:00.000-07:00

It's 3:00 am. I never sleep the nights after chemo. I picture in my mind that it's because of a bright white healing light that is pulsing through my veins. I realize that sounds like something you would tell an 8-year-old in a Disney movie (Has anyone in a Disney movie ever had

cancer?), but it beats this reality check that comes with one of my drugs:

"Adriamycin is a cytotoxic anthracycline antibiotic. As such, it is an antineoplastic and interferes with the growth of cancer cells. It may cause unusual bleeding, lower back/side pain, or difficult urination. Avoid contact sports, blogging, or other activities where bruising or injury could occur."

Oh well. I will blog without bruising. . .

Today (yesterday?) is a day I will never forget. I got to have two of my sisters with me for the treatment. They are both such a joy. It was much more than a day at the hospital, but rather a day of telling stories and remembering.

My oldest sister, Cece, brought me the most amazing gift I have ever received. She hand made a quilt out of my father's neckties. The center panel is from my mother's wedding dress when they married in 1949. I cherish the symbolism of them comforting me like a blanket of love. In California, we can't hang much above our beds in case of an earthquake, and so this is the most perfect solution. What better would I want to fall on me?

My sister Kathy got a call from one of her largest customers, The Kroger Company, and he asked her why she was in California for a month. She told him that her company (Qwest) allowed her to come do her job here to spend time with her brother who has lymphoma. He said he was so happy to get to do business with a company that would allow her to recognize what is important in life.

In exchange, I will always support Kroger (Ralphs in CA). It's just one big love fest. When I first mentioned on my blog that there would be so many gifts and blessings from this experience, I had no idea that it would end up being a feeling of joy as I shop for produce, because of their phone system.

TRUST

2008-05-08T20:05:00.000-07:00

Everything we are can lead us to where we should be.

If we trust it.

Most of my time last year was spent creating a new venture called "NEXT." The company would design seminars across the country to assist individuals approaching a transition point in their lives. Our mission would be to provide inspiration and guidance to those who are challenged to discover a new, meaningful and fulfilling NEXT career.

The business plan and financial projections were written with the concept of three-day retreats, however we became more focused on shorter, more intense one-day seminars.

I continually meet older adults who have left their successful careers for whatever reasons and know in their hearts that there is a new purpose for them. And yet they are struggling with the discovery and transition of that purpose. Baby boomers are still the largest segment of our population, and every day 8,000 of them turn 60.

Now after a few months of taking a hiatus, I struggle with the viability of such a company. I know there is an audience, but I question most people's excitement or willingness to attend seminars. Websites and books are already in existence on the subject, but I feel strongly about a personal connection for this subject and participants' ability to discuss their feelings with others face to face.

Follow up is also vitally important. Attendees need to continue to connect and ask questions, or browse career options or links to opportunities, paid and volunteer, in their own communities.

I am my own biggest client. After four months of soul searching and writing, I recognize that my life has changed. Once I jump from this restful nest, I trust that I will fly to new territories. Key word, trust. It's amazing the difference between the two words "trust" and "worry." I know so very deep in my heart how difficult it is to absorb the first sentence of today's blog.

Creativity and Purpose

2008-05-07T10:46:00.000-07:00

Last night I volunteered with my sister at a benefit to help raise awareness and money for a wonderful organization called "Picture Me Happy." PMH brings cameras, computers, and crafts into hospitals to stimulate creativity among terminally and chronically ill children. I feel a particularly closer bond to the mission now that I can relate to the families . . . and I look like the kids.

It is easy for me to sit and write about my life and my expectations, but it is very difficult for me to comprehend the pain of parents watching their child go through such suffering. What could be more painful? Searching for a positive side to that difficulty is almost impossible for me.

The founder of PMH told us last night about one of his first patients for this new nonprofit; a very young girl, curled up at the bottom of her bed with her fists clenched. She was not communicating at all. Within minutes of playing with a few Polaroid photos, she was up on her knees and smiling.

I started to cry as he spoke about the effects of creativity in the healing process. It hit me right in the gut. For much of my recent journey, the only task I have been able to accomplish is working in my journal . . . shooting photos, creating artwork, and writing. It has brought me such joy and will be a cherished part of my life forever. I can only imagine the lasting affects of such a gift to the parents of these children. www.picturemehappy.org

While at the benefit, I met a woman who retired in October. In her words, she went from 1,000 mph to zero in one day. I asked her if she was enjoying the zero, and her response was that it is only good for a very short time. She has come to realize how much she loved the 1,000 mph.

Our world is a mosaic of tiny pieces that all fit into a beautiful mural. This woman is searching for a new purpose, this organization fell into her path, and these children desperately need her skills.

Tomorrow I want to blog about finding new purpose, discovering new careers and how to search inside ourselves to create our futures. Good stuff. Stick around. We'll be right back.

A New Appreciation

2008-05-05T11:53:00.000-07:00

I want to enthusiastically welcome any readers from The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. It was such a wonderful gift to be featured on their home page today. They have been so very kind and gracious.

And it comes with perfect timing. This past weekend, I have been contemplating a few new "Deep Thoughts" (for those of you who remember Jack Handey on Saturday Night Live). If you are new to my blog, I would ask that you start with my first entry on April 1. It is from those thoughts that all others seem to generate.

As I have mentioned, my sister is staying with me for a month. We were able to get out this weekend to a house warming and a memorial service. She suggested that I not wear my hat . . . a frightening consideration for me. I took her suggestion, and I felt amazingly free. For the first time, it was as if I was truly accepting and embracing my cancer. And I have to say, I got a little satisfaction from all the people who wanted to touch my head.

I am so happy where I am in life right now. Lymphoma has given me the opportunity to ponder that. I no longer have many of the things that come with youth, and that's OK. To replace those things, I have been given experience, knowledge, unbelievable friendships, appreciation for the important things, and the ability to look back at youth and smile. The experience has brought me an exciting life, and it has brought me some difficult challenges. You will hear me say this many times, they are always the beginning of the greatest blessings. I would trade that any day for a day at the gym and a night at the clubs.

I sit here right now, quietly thinking, remembering, and appreciating. Most everyone else is bustling around the office, taking conference calls, reading endless emails, and all the other everyday happenings at work. I look forward to being back there again, but next time, I pray it will be with a new perspective. A new appreciation. Life goes by so quickly. I want to enjoy every minute.

Doctor's Thoughts

2008-05-03T00:46:00.000-07:00

So I'm like, um, sitting in my chemo session yesterday, and like I asked the, um, doctor, "Why am I getting this totally fat, not phat, protrudenous tummy?" He explained that one of my chemo meds causes fluid to build up in the stomach while making the arms and legs get very skinny. OMG! That's me. Just picture in your mind how attractive that is. Kind of like the Sun Man in the jimmy Dean commercials. Or once again, exactly like the baby bird in the photo to the right.

So I just keep remembering what Glenn Close said, "Vanity and happiness are incompatible." That little bird has no idea that it is anything but perfect, and one day soon, it will fly. And I am as happy as I have ever been, knowing I too will fly again soon.

Other little tidbits that my doctor has told me:

Although reports show that cancer is declining in this country, most oncologists report a very big increase in cases. He believes it is due primarily to our eating habits. He says that many foods we think are good for us, like milk, are pushed on us politically. In most other countries, adults don't drink milk. By nature, it is only for the very young. But in this country, milk is the sacred cow (so to speak) and not to be disputed.

The B vitamins, particularly B-12 and B-4, are underestimated and are the best vitamins for our immune systems.

He said that he believes the only way that there will be any type of health insurance reform in this country is if doctors take the lead by striking (meaning they would only work minimal hours or in emergency situations, and not accept any new patients).

Happy Drugs

2008-04-29T10:31:00.000-07:00

I attended a dinner last week for the National Lymphoma Research Foundation. It was primarily two hours of medical updates on trials (tribulations) and treatments. I have to say that there are very few industries that can conjure up such complicated names for products. It's almost as if they work hard to create the most difficult names possible for drugs so that no one can remember them. A couple of my favorite chemotherapy drugs that they discussed are Cyclophosphamide and Mechlorethamine.

Currently I am on, or have recently been on meds including Adriamicin, Vinblastine, Diphenhydramine, Cimetidine, Intelence and Insentress.

I have always wondered why they don't take note from the technology industry (eBay, iPod, Google, Yahoo, etc.) and give drugs cute snappy names we can remember. What's wrong with Goober, CureMe, iSick, or MakeMePoop? Who would forget the name of a medication if they were taking SuzieSuppository? And that way, instead of guessing which drugs don't interact with each other, we would easily know. For instance Cheerleader Cheryl would never socialize with Viola Volleyball. MakeMePoop or SuzieSuppository probably wouldn't be too popular with PartyTime.

At any rate, lurking within all their very complicated vocabulary, I learned some extremely promising news about my cancer. (Let's bring this all back to me.) B-Cell Hodgkins Lymphoma is the only cancer that can be cured. And with a negative PET Scan after the third cycle of chemotherapy, there is a very high chance I will be included in those miracle cases.

All other cancers can go into remission but not completely eliminated. That tidbit was well worth the two hours of medical education. I can only hope that through research, other cancers can eventually be as effectively treatable.

2008-04-25T17:04:00.000-07:00

I have mentioned before that I get so much joy from my garden. So I thought I would share a few photos. No sense in hording all the joy.

My sister Kathy arrives on Sunday to stay with me for a month. How often in our lives do we get the pleasure of taking a month with someone we love from another state? My older sister, Cece, will be here for several days during the month as well. I hope they both know how excited I am. Although I have a list of things to do and places to see, it will be the quiet times reminiscing and looking at old photos that will be so wonderful.

I found a box today labeled, "Photos of my happiest moments." It was amazing to sit and look through them. I am so incredibly grateful that I made that box several years ago, never realizing

that some day I would have cancer and nothing better to do than sit and relive each of those happy moments. I took a picture of myself with the photos so that I can add it to the box . . . as one of the happiest.

If you haven't done it, take some time and put together a box like it for yourself. Some day, many years later, you will find it and laugh and cry and . . . . be humiliated by many of them.

Love and Be Positive

2008-04-24T18:05:00.000-07:00

This morning I went to the dentist to have my teeth cleaned -- a recommendation from my oncologist to help fight bacteria. My dentist asked me a very thought provoking question; "What lesson have you learned from cancer that will change your life permanently? Say ahhh, and contemplate." Who knew I would get cleaning and therapy in one session?

The drill, the scraper, and the polish are all gone and I'm still contemplating. I want to believe that the many tremendous blessings I have learned will not fade to black when I re-enter the work world.

I hope that the biggest lesson I have learned is to continue to think positively. Without doubt, I have created a new future committed to allowing myself to love and to accept love, or at least to work on developing such an outcome. That pledge, combined with an ability to think positively, will be the lesson I hope I never forget. Thank you once again John for your 1989 reminder, "The future is always beautiful if you choose to see it that way."

And I end with another wonderful quote from Scott Hamilton, a cancer survivor, with a similar attitude . . .

"With what I've endured, if I can be happy, anyone can. I'm a short, bald, half-neutered, chemo-d, radiated, male figure skater. What choice do I have but to be optimistic?"

On the Beach

2008-04-22T16:35:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting on the beach right now, scribbling on a sand-filled note pad. I used to always come here when I was depressed, searching for forgiveness and answers. I usually found it in the rocks. I would pick one up to represent beauty, one for strength, and one for hope. I remember the morning that I was reaching for the hope rock and the surf rushed it back out to sea. Suddenly hope was gone.

Now I have nothing around me except rocks of hope. I wish the entire world could stop and be here with me right now and feel this peace.

I'm crying tears that are reminiscent of the sadness I had back then, and yet now they are filled with happiness and an enormous swelling of my heart. I wish I could explain the incredible fullness I feel, together with nature and myself, and a huge appreciation for the gratitude.

The air if very cool but comfortable. I cannot see another person anywhere on the beach. The water is loud and silences life behind me to the East. And as I look to the open and vast West, it is completely and defiantly free. Not unlike my life right now. What will come over the horizon is a mystery. Meanwhile I will enjoy the sand and the sea and everything that comes from it.

Breast Milk and Nuns

2008-04-21T10:35:00.000-07:00

I apologize to so many of you who have tried to comment on here. I realized that I have had my settings to only allow members to comment. From now on, everyone can speak up.

Now Billy be back to blogging . . .

Many good friends have offered meals, rides, and many other kind gestures, but one close friend truly takes the cake. She has offered her breast milk. Research is showing that human breast milk is healing for certain types of cancer. After asking my oncologist, I might just add this to the list of B-12, Alabama mud, biofeedback, reiki, and acupuncture. One patient reported that it tastes a bit sour, but when mixed into a smoothie . . . . not so bad. Immediately my head goes to the formation of a new Southern California Smoothie chain of stores. And I'll open up the comment board to suggestions for a name.

Completely new and unrelated subject . . .

I have a great aunt who is a Catholic nun and will be turning 90 years old next week. She is a very special person who has helped me a lot lately. She and my father were exactly the same age and grew up together. I asked her at Dad's funeral about her fondest memory of him. She said laughing and playing in the watermelon patch as children.

Yesterday she sent me the following email. (Yes, she's 90 and emails me several times a week.) It sums up everything I have written on this blog. Sister Aniceta is a cancer survivor and she understands.

"I asked God to give me happiness.

God said, 'No.'

I give you blessings;

Happiness is up to you.

I asked God to spare me pain.

God said, 'No.'

Suffering draws you apart from worldly cares,

and brings you closer to me."

Vanity and Happiness

2008-04-19T11:22:00.000-07:00

My good friend Ron told me the other day that his favorite quote is from Glen Close in Dangerous Liaisons: "Happiness and vanity are incompatible."

I had been telling him how uncomfortable it is for me to go out in public because I feel as though people are staring and it hurts my pride. Ron reminded me that my blog is all about how happy I am right now. Gotta love that Glen. She is always right.

I was telling this to my nurse on Thursday as she was injecting me with chemo. She said, "I'll inject this happiness into you, it will give you your hair, weight, and color back, and then you can have both."

Also on Thursday, my oncologist gave me some great news. The PET Scan came back completely negative from cancer. I still will have the remaining four months of treatments because my bone marrow is still probably infected, but that is not a problem for me, particularly if I stay feeling this well.

I have had so many people send me emails saying that they cried when they heard that news. I am so blessed to have so many wonderful people love me. I won't forget this as long as I live.

Now here comes a statement that I cannot believe I am going to type . . . . "Am I the only person on this earth who has loved having cancer?" As I have said on here before, it has generated so many gifts. The people that have flown to see me, the friends that constantly call to help, the writing, art and photos I have created, and most of all the appreciation for things that matter. It takes a major force to get us to slow our lives down to this pace and makes us appreciate the smaller things that are so beautiful around us, and IN US.

Most of my family and friends know that I spent much of last year beginning to develop an new company that would design a series of national seminars to help people create second careers. It's called NEXT. For whatever reasons, many older adults, particularly Baby Boomers, decide to discover within themselves something that is more important to dedicate their lives towards. They may be retiring and yet not ready to stop working, or they might want to simply rethink their futures.

This is one of my favorite lines from the business plan, written by one of our Board members:

"Through self discovery, we can learn to reach into our true selves and pull out the notepad of our lives upon which to write our NEXT story. Everything we ARE can lead us to where we should BE. If we trust it."

Nothing has become more real for me in these past few months than that statement. Although our seminars will be one to three days, mine will be eight months. I am hoping that I as I re-enter the workforce, it can somehow be a sequel to what I have learned. NEXT will be the perfect opportunity to help others through this experience.

Vain rhymes with pain. Happiness rhymes with (Sappiness and crappyness?) Oh well, it started good.

Stress Reduction

2008-04-16T16:37:00.000-07:00

Today I did Reiki I have also done bio feedback, acupuncture, self hypnosis and meditation training. If someone recommended it, I would probably try a week in a Texas polygamy camp. I'm not opposed to being very open minded, particularly when it is spiritual in nature.

The Reiki involved flat stones, large bells, fire and water, and his hands strategically placed on my chakras. It is for stress reduction and healing. He also said he felt the strong presence of a Jim and a Theodore. I got home and Googled "Jim & Ted" and got a YouTube video of Big Jim's 'Wanted Ted or Alive' Bikini Bullriding Contest. So much for stress reduction.

I am a firm believer that we all must stop as often as possible and be calm. Call it meditation if you dare, but it is vital to our stress reduction to simply take a few deep breaths and remain centered for a few minutes on healing and the total disappearance of stress. When I took the classes in self hypnosis, I learned that total relaxation is effortless. It is the absence of effort. I have always loved that, and it has put me to sleep on many occasions.

And so this is the Dali Billi bidding you all a very good night's sleep and sweet dreams about the Bikini Bullriders.

What Brings Me Joy

2008-04-15T15:09:00.000-07:00

We all have had those days when nothing seems to go right, and some well-meaning but not very sensitive person, usually older, says, "Well at least you've got your health." As if the answer to any problem is to make a list of all the more serious problems we might have. What kind of thinking is that?

It would be so easy (and humorously satisfying) for me to say that to people right now. Every time someone tells me even the slightest problem, I put on my sad puppy eyes, and jab them that deep cutting offensive "At least you've got your health." As someone who doesn't have his health right now, I hereby give you permission to respond to anyone who tells you that statement, ". . . And at least I'm not bitter and sick like you."

Now I move up the brain chain to a few things that currently bring me joy.

I used to write a lot. Although never published or produced, I have written three full books, two stage plays, one screenplay, dozens of short stories, and three small coffee table books. I did self publish a small book I edited of quotes from my partner's journal that he kept while he was dying of AIDS. I did that for Randy. I also created 14 large pieces of art in conjunction with the book, each containing a quote from the book and an object that belonged to him.

I quit writing for the past three years because I became frustrated with the hundreds of hours that I put into all of those projects with no one ever having read them. That is why this blog brings me joy. I am writing again. I am writing for a purpose. And with the help of the patron saint of lymphoma, maybe someone is reading it. Let me know.

I get much joy from flowers. It's a luxury that I allow myself right now because of the healing nature that they offer. Their color, their smell, their unbelievable intricacies. I don't know if anything is more gay than that, but I don't care. I actually have it written in my will, "In lieu of flowers, send more."

I get joy from the intimate one-on-one time I get to spend with each friend and family member who takes me to a chemo session. In each case, we talk about what matters most in life and we share a bond that will never happen again (I certainly hope).

Cleaning out old files yesterday, I found a list of things that I was proud that I have accomplished in my life. If you want a little joy, make the list. You'll surprise yourself. And you'll surprise yourself with the kinds of things that bring you pride.

And lastly I get joy from this tremendous ability to take a pause in life and appreciate what brings me joy.

Transitions

2008-04-12T17:14:00.000-07:00

I have blogged here lately about how we cope with life's speed bumps. I'll be the first to admit that I know as much about sports as Bush knows about world politics, but I do know that the team that usually wins is the team that is best prepared for whatever their opponents might surprise them with. The entire idea of athletics is to roll with the punches and when knocked down, get up and fight harder.

I certainly do not mean to make light of tremendous sorrow, for I feel strongly about allowing ourselves time to grieve. Rather, I am referring to facing the truth that we all will be hit by unexpected hurdles.

I was having a discussion with a friend at dinner the other night who told me he had just attended a conference on career transitioning. The moderator got up on stage and simply said, "It's over." He then instructed everyone to go off and write about what that meant.

When they returned, he explained that everything in our lives has a beginning and an end. He used the example that when we are around eight years old, we look at our toys and don't want to lose them, and yet at the same time, we no longer have an interest in playing with them. It's over. Our relationships, homes, and things we are interested in, all come and go. Our careers, he explained, are subject to the same beginning and end. We are all creatures of habit, but we must recognize when "it's over."

I have contemplated the mourning process that we must allow for some endings, and the celebrations of others. When my lymphoma is gone, I will celebrate that "it's over." And yet I will look back on it as such an enlightening piece of my life. Moving away from it will be a rewarding, but moving on will be a challenge.

My father taught me that we all have a gift in remembering good times, but can never fully relive the bad times. Eventually we heal from the pain. We all have sad days in our lives that we will never forget, but thank God we do not have to experience the severe pain we felt at the time.

Transitions are difficult. But we all change and hopefully grow. We eventually move on. Move up. And continue to climb the ladder of life.

A Glowing Report?

2008-04-10T18:27:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I have my first progress check, a Pet Scan. I received instructions for preparation for the scan which tell me to fast for 12 hours and only eat protein tonight. But this is the part that is the most interesting:

"Patient will expose others to radiation. Need to stay away for 8 hours after scan. If there are small children or pregnant women in the home, patient should stay in a separate room and use a separate restroom."

I'm beginning to believe that eight to ten cancer patients on the roof could heat an average American home.

I was planning on hosting a game-night tomorrow night. I hope we don't play hide 'n seek. I'll definitely lose.

One of my most memorable experiences

2008-04-09T12:29:00.000-07:00

It's only been three and a half months that I have been spending time with my little friend lymphoma, and yet we have had a few memorable experiences together.

One delightful day in February, we spent 21 hours in the Emergency Room at California Hospital in downtown LA. I wouldn't want to repeat the experience, but it was a lifetime memory filled with good and not-so-good. God love my friend Bob for being with me or I could not have survived it. Amidst the sea of suffering in the third-world waiting room filled with crying, moaning, puking, and fighting, Bob attempted to accomplish a little of his legal practice on his Blackberry, dressed in a starched shirt and tie. He also munched on a taco from the taco truck parked immediately outside the door. It was a clashing of culture, and yet Bob was the first to point out that there were some very compassionate and understanding people amongst us who were concerned for me. I couldn't have gone with a better person.

It was a long 8 hours in that waiting room before I was finally admitted to the ER and got a bed. A bed in a dark, foul smelling corner, but a bed. I felt for the 28 others who were serious enough to be in line for a bed, among the dozens of people waiting only for the trauma center. I was told that many would give up and go home.

The next 13 hours in that bed would prove to be eye opening and enlightening. What an experience to lay there and be only a small curtain away from the worst traumas of downtown LA. An elderly woman cried and screamed in pain having fallen down stairs. An hour later, she couldn't stop vomiting from the morphine.

Stabbing victims, car accidents, and a very detailed and serious vagina crisis in the bed right next to me, all made me feel so lucky to simply have cancer.

And yet, the unbelievable nurses and doctors that deal with this on a daily basis were incredibly down to earth and personable. They often gathered around my bed and we told stories, shared experiences, laughed and cried. Granted, by this point I had had an injection of pain medication.

Michelle, Anathea, and Debby sang for me, danced for me, and chatted about life and priorities. I don't mean to make light of my situation. There were moments when they had to put in emergency IVs for my blood pressure and eventually I was moved to ICU. But it all paled in comparison to the human interaction I experienced. At one point, as I was discussing with Anathea the acceptance of my challenges with lymphoma, she asked me to write a book and title it, "Bring It On, Bitch." (I learned that ER nurses aren't demure.)

My reason for being in this situation was an extremely low white blood count, and an abscess that had grown slightly larger than Nebraska. I call it my "infecta-rectum." Infecta decided to take matters in its own hands around 5:00 am . . . i.e. my water broke, like a flooding of the Missouri River. Having had a second injection of pain medication by that point, I just pleasantly smiled at the nurses and told them I was giving birth.

As I said, I ended up in ICU for a day, a regular hospital room for three more days, and had surgery on the abscess. Eventually I was released because when a body is prone to infection, the hospital is the worst place to be. For the next three weeks, I had a visiting nurse come to my home every day.

If I had to choose Disneyland over the ER, it wouldn't be much of a decision, however I am happy to have experienced both and know that the comparisons are striking . . . long lines, creepy characters, funny stories behind the scenes, and friends like Bob that make the day all worth it.

Don't They Have Vicodin In Purgatory?

2008-04-08T11:15:00.000-07:00

Several friends have been having fun with my head, loaning me head pieces . . . everything from Mother Theresa to the Muppets and Munchkins. As I get a little more comfortable with this blog, I will share a few of the other photos. My sincere thanks go to Rob, Bob, Doug, Ken, and Tom for giving me a few hearty laughs.

And so I sit in my Paul McCartney hair and contemplate my productivity. It bugs me. (Yes, the wig AND the productivity.) It is very difficult for me to feel as though I am not a contributing member of society, even temporarily with cancer.

I grew up in an extremely hard working family. Chores, jobs, volunteering, and success. Anything less was lazy. A voice deep inside my head continues to shout, "Cancer schmanser. Get off your ass and be productive."

My father died about a year and a half ago because he refused to listen to doctors who told him he couldn't walk. He got out of bed, fell and broke his hip, and died about ten days later. I'm sure he would not have a single regret that he tried to get up "and get busy." He knew no other way.

And what about the pain? Well my grandmother, my father's mother, always said that God gives us pain so that we can suffer for the souls in Purgatory. Now what part of that statement makes even a remote amount of sense? Even the Catholic church has said there may not be a Purgatory. They're keeping Limbo, but the Purgatory "waiting room" has been closed until further notice. Babies who die without a blessing can now proceed directly to heaven . . . no wait . . . they still go to Limbo.

For the most part, I have found great solace in knowing I can rest in bed as doctors instruct me, and still be productive in other ways. Writing brings me so much comfort. I believe the key is a personal balance in recognizing what is necessary for my healing, and what is eating bonbons while watching enough Food Network to get a culinary degree.

And then I start to feel physically good again for a few days and I stress that I should be spending my time helping others. That's what we do . . . we humans, we Irish Catholics, we twelve steppers. And I believe that with every ounce of my being. It is only through helping others that we find our own true happiness.

So I return once again to thanking all of you readers for giving me the opportunity to feel balanced, productive, of-service, and creative. The only thing that would make it even better would be if they had internet access in Purgatory.