The C Card

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

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

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

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

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 . . .

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

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.