Personal Thoughts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.