The powers of the mind

I have always been a big believer in the healing power of the mind.  I believe that the right attitude and what you allow the body to accept goes a long way toward resolving any medical condition.  By accept, I’m not talking about food and nutrition, I’m talking about not letting the body buy into the fact that something might be wrong with it. 

 

For example, I never admit to having a cold.  I might be sniffling, I might be coughing and sneezing, but if anyone asks, I do not have a cold.  I’m just a little stuffy, or I just have a little head thing going on.  This is not to say that I don’t do anything about it, although Kelly might have a different opinion.  When I feel something start coming on, I make sure I take my daily vitamin and drink some extra fluids and for whatever reason, I don’t usually get overly sick.

 

The reason that I’m writing about this is not so that people will think that I’m crazy, but because I’ve had a lot of people ask me if I’m feeling alright or ask me how I’m doing.  When I say “I feel fine,” I get some surprised looks and then people tell me that that’s great.  I tend to agree with them because I think it’s great too that I don’t feel terrible and don’t have unbearable pain.

 

It’s kind of like the alleged cold though.  I know that I have something the matter with me, but I have been trying to make sure that my body knows that it’s business as usual, and we’re not going to get overly worked up about this thing that isn’t going to be around for too much longer.  For the most part, I feel like I’ve been successful with this mindset.  There have been a few setbacks to be sure, but I truly believe that refusing to let this cancer shut me down will be a huge determining factor in my impending victory over the disease.

 

It may sound easy to just believe that nothing bad will happen, but it isn’t.  Every day there are examples of that attitude not working or the cancer simply being too strong or too rooted in to be exiled by the power of positive thinking.

 

All medical reasons aside, it takes more than your own positivity to come out on top.  It takes help from the people in your life.  Friends and family have got to provide you with experiences that allow that beautiful resiliency to keep the faith and make the body believe.

 

I have been lucky enough to have that in abundance from both my family and my friends, and had an experience today that is a perfect example of what I’m talking about.

 

Yesterday, Kelly and I had my kids over for dinner and to celebrate Andrew’s 16^th birthday.  This means in February, I feel like I should be turning 106 years old.  Anyway, after dinner, cake, ice-cream, and gifts, we were getting ready to take my Churchlings back to their mother’s house.  Abigael asked me if I wanted to see the new dinosaur movie, and I suggested that she and I have a little movie date the next day at 3:15. She agreed and our date was on.

 

I went over and picked her up and we drove to the theater. We bought our popcorn, drinks and tickets and as we were walking into the theater, Abbie said to me. “Dad, mom suggested that maybe Abbie Kabelman could come with us today, but I told her nope, not today. Today it’s mine and dad’s time together.”  Hearing her say that brought on a slight allergic reaction that amounted to my eyes watering a little and me having to whisper thank you to Abbie and also to whoever was in charge of good karma yesterday.

 

We had a great time watching the movie together.  She asked some questions about the differences between carnivores, herbivores and omnivores.  There was no math involved so I was able to answer her questions correctly and at one point during the movie, she reached up and grabbed my baseball hat off my head and put it on hers.  Don’t anyone tell her this, but although I always act like it bothers me, I actually love seeing her wear my ball hats.  For whatever reason, it makes me feel closer to her and she always acts like she’s pulled off some great caper by getting ahold of my hat. The smile on her face when she does it should be bottled and sold as a cure for heartbreak.

 

This next paragraph or two is just going to be a straight-up rant so if don’t want to read it, skip down to where the paragraph starts “On the way back to Abbie’s mom’s house, I got a phone call.”

 

As we were leaving the theater, I got what I knew was coming.  “Daddy, can I play the claw game?”  I’d seriously like just five minutes with the person responsible for that game, and five more with the person who made the decision to put it in the theater.  I mean, like you haven’t spent enough money on all the movie trimmings?  Now, you have to come out and produce .50 cents per try for your child to play a game that has a lower success rate than most carnival games?  Good Lord!!!

 

I thought I had her though because all I had in my pockets was two twenty dollar bills and I told her that, thinking that that would end the debate.  Abbie Church is a smart little devil though.  She examined the machine for a second and then informed me that the electronic criminal did, in fact, accept twenty-dollar bills. Seriously, five minutes, that’s all I want.  I was able to hold my ground though and we escaped without further expenditure.

 

On the way back to Abbie’s mom’s house, I got a phone call.  It was my other daughter Callie, asking me if I would come in when I dropped off Abbie and help Andrew.  I said sure, wondering what I’d be helping with.  As it turns out, I got to look smart twice in the same day.  Andrew needed help getting his new x-box 360 wireless controller to sync with the game console.  We got it figured out in about 10 minutes and he was good to go.  I looked in on Callie and got to watch her draw for a couple minutes on her iPad which is about as rare as being attacked by a grizzly bear and a polar bear on the same day.

 

The whole experience of the day provided more healing to me than any radiation or chemotherapy that I’ll ever get.  It’s those kinds of interactions that I was talking about earlier that allow your mind to convince your body that all is ok and that failure is not an option.

 

I have been extremely blessed through this process with both the concerted efforts and the unintentional gestures of those close to me that allow, and motivate me to convince my body that it’s business as usual.  By this summer, I won’t have any more convincing to do.

 

I Will Win

Battered Pitcher Seeks Help

The following is something that I wrote a while ago. Two years ago to be exact. I was doing some writing for EUPNews.com at the time and this was originally published there. I am posting it on my blog for the simple reason that I just noticed it on my desktop and when I opened it and read it, it made me laugh. It is aptly titled, Battered Pitcher Seeks Help.

Over the past several weeks my five-year old daughter Abigael and I have engaged in a series of wiffleball games in our front yard. I have tried to teach her how to stand at the plate, how to hold the bat, and how to keep her eye on the ball. I don't want to talk myself up too much, but I must be a very good teacher as I've lost every one of our matchups.

I do have some theories on my losing streak however.

1- I am never allowed to bat. My offensive output in these games is nonexistent as I'm sure you can imagine. I have appealed to the rules committee several times regarding this matter, but my wife (who fancies herself the head of said committee), has continually rejected my appeals with rulings of "shut up and pitch."

2- There are no strikes. Every pitch I throw is either a hit or a bad pitch. My earned run average in these games is just over eleventy-million and Abbie's batting average is 1.000, or perfect for those who don't know the lingo.

3. My daughter is involved in some sort of massive conspiracy against me that reaches the highest levels of government. I realize that this may sound like paranoia at its finest, but when you add to the wiffleball beatings the fact that my record in board games is every bit as bad against her as my record on the field, I think it's easy to read the writing on the wall. I mean, how many times can the kid draw the Abuela card in Dora Candyland? I should have her pick my lottery numbers.

Ok, maybe the conspiracy theory is a bit much, but I still say there's more to this losing streak than meets the eye.

Adding to my problem is the fact that she's actually getting pretty good. She can hit (when I'm not throwing "bad pitches," obviously), and I have discovered that she is ambidextrous when throwing a ball. So, if I ever do get to bat, that's just one more advantage that she has on me.

For now, I guess I'll just keep on pitching and wait for a ruling on my latest appeal.

Oh wait, here it is right now.

As I expected.

"Shut up and pitch Scott Church, Shut up and pitch."

*sigh* Maybe next game.

Abbie is seven now and my situation has not improved. My appeals are not even being heard anymore and Abbie is hitting better than ever. We're going to switch over to actual softballs this summer so my physical well-being may actually be in jeopardy. And of course, I still am not allowed to hit.

This is a battle I will lose every time, but as for the other one,

I Will Win

Decisions, decisions

When I started messing with the idea of doing a blog, I bought a book. I think the title was “Blogging For Dummies.” There was lots of good advice in it and without it, I doubt that my blog ever would have gotten off the ground. One thing that the book said though that I kind of disagree with is to post often - multiple times a day even.

I just don’t have that much going on that I could post that much. I think the quickest way to bore people right out of reading something is to saturate their desire to read it. I still have designs on where this blog will go when I’m done monkeying around with this whole cancer thing, and for what I plan to do then, the posts will probably be more frequent.

(See what I did there for you Kelly Church? You and my grandmother have actually influenced me into using the word monkeying.)

I have used this blog as an outlet for frustration, triumph, fear, and remorse. One thing I have not done is solicited opinion. Until now.

At work, we have three ways to be off. There are RDOs (regular days off), annual leave (pre-scheduled vacation days), and sick leave (self explanatory). There are two RDOs every week and we accrue annual and sick leave every pay period. Sick leave is always earned at 4 hours per pay period regardless of how long a person has worked here, while annual leave accrual is based on your service time.

I bring you this information knowing that you probably couldn’t care less about it, but it does factor into what I’m going to write about today, so please bear with me just a bit longer.

There are people where I work that have massive amounts of both annual leave and sick leave. I am not one of these people. I would like to be, but there are just too many reasons not to. Between kids, a little laziness, and the occasional “better offer,” I don’t know that I’ll ever be one of those people who live to accrue leave.

This brings me to my question. I have burned some leave while taking the radiation and chemo pills. I will have to burn more leave – much more leave – when the surgery date comes. If you burn more leave than you have, it’s called lost time. While you get paid for annual and sick leave, the state will not pay an employee for lost time.

I know that Kelly and I will face some massive medical bills before this thing is over and if I get into lost time and don’t have a paycheck coming in, that could be a problem. At the very least, it will delay my purchase of the new X-Box 1. At the very worst, I’ll be playing my new X-Box 1 in my very lavish cardboard box house under the International Bridge .

One thing that I promised myself over the course of working for the state is that I wouldn’t work any more holidays. I worked them all when I started, but one of the neat things that the state provides us is the ability to take a recognized holiday off and still get paid for it. It’s not automatic or anything, but if they can find someone to work for you, they will let you take it off.

There aren’t many good things about working a holiday in a prison. In fact, I can only think of one. You get paid for your regular shift and you also get 12 hours of holiday pay. You can also take this holiday in the form of 12 hours of comp. Those 12 comp hours per holiday would help me to earn the hours necessary to insure that I don’t go into lost time. For example, if I were to work Christmas Eve, Christmas night, New Year’s Eve, and New Year’s night, I should earn 48 hours of comp which translates into a week and a day of time off for me.

Seems like a no-brainer right? I need the time, so work the holidays.

Here’s the thing. I have maintained the utmost confidence throughout this ordeal that I will win. I still believe that. However, on January 27^th, someone that I have met one time in my life is going to remove my innards (parts of them permanently) and then put me back together like a jigsaw puzzle.

What if?

I hate leaving Kelly alone on Christmas Eve because, the way we have it set up, all the kids are with their other parents. So it’s just her and the dogs. And while Bear is really friendly, he’s not exactly the kind of company you want sitting on the couch with you watching “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

We usually go out and get some late dinner that night, and trust me, it’s never anything fancy. We have gone to Pizza Hut once, and Frank’s Place once. It’s just the two of us and we just enjoy the evening before going home and sitting with the tree on and enjoying each other’s company.

What if?

I’m not trying to be morbid or think negatively, but this surgery is no joke and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared out of my mind about the possibility of being laid open like the proverbial Christmas goose. What if something goes wrong? What if, what if, what if, what if, what if. Get the picture?

I just feel like time is precious right now and the thought of spending a holiday away from the ones I love so that I can be here with 96 murderers, rapists, and thieves just doesn’t seem worth the 12 hours to me. Of course, losing our house, vehicles, and my hat collection doesn’t seem like a very attractive alternative either.

A couple people that I work with have offered to donate leave time to me to help out when the time comes, but I have no idea how much time I’ll need. I’m at a loss as to what to do, because if something were to go wrong, I can’t imagine having to face the possibility that my last Christmas was spent away from my family, and my last New Year’s Eve was spent with anyone other than our friends.

That probably seems a little melodramatic, but like I said, this will be the most invasive surgical procedure I’ve ever had done and I’m scared.

Some of you who are reading this know who Gloria Lamma is. Some of you don’t. She lost her battle with cancer a few days ago, and I’m sure her goal was to make it to Christmas. What do you think she would have given to have had one more Christmas with her family? When I saw the post from Mark Fenlon on facebook that she had passed, it hit me hard; harder than I would have expected. I have battled this thing so far with an attitude that didn’t allow for defeat. Like I thought that if I never gave any credence to the fact that cancer could kill me, then it simply couldn’t. Gloria’s death is a reminder that cancer is a stone cold killer. It doesn’t care who, where, when, or why.

I didn't know Gloria personally. I knew who she was and started following her story because she was fighting the same fight I am now. I have the same kind of cancer that she had, so her story is particularly heartbreaking and terrifying for me. And I know this is just numbers mumbo jumbo, but while I was writing this, it just hit me that my youngest daughter is seven – the same age I was when my dad died.

Having said all that, I remain steadfast in my belief that I will come out of this on top. Nobody said this was going to be easy or without difficult moments. I will be scared, but I will beat this thing. I will have moments of doubt but I will overcome them. I will wonder “what if?” But most importantly,

I Will Win



I would like to take a second to send out prayers and good wishes to my Uncle Mark and to Wade Miller. Both have been dealing with some health issues of their own recently. Get well guys!!

Phase 1 Complete

It seems like yesterday that I got the news about having cancer and having the treatment plan laid out for me. Yesterday, I threw cancer strike one. I completed my 28^th and final radiation treatment and finished up with the chemo pills this morning. Strike two will come on January 27^thwhen I will have surgery to remove the cancerous part of my colon. I won’t talk about strike three before the surgery, but it’s coming. I promise you that.

I don’t want to say that the last month and few days have been easy because they haven’t. I’ve had days where all I wanted to do was sleep and I did end up missing a couple of days of work because I just didn’t feel up to going. I do feel like though, I’ve had it easier than a lot of people battling cancer. I didn’t have very many side effects from either the chemo or the radiation and for the most part, the ones I did have were relatively mild.

What I’m going to write about next is a little gross, so if you don’t find “poop humor” funny, it’s probably best that you skip to the next section.

The worst part of my treatments was the fact that I developed diarrhea about three weeks in. It’s not like I’ve never had it before, but I can honestly say that I’ve never had it like this before. It happens after I eat and it doesn’t matter what I eat. Vegetables or Candy, red meat or chicken – if I eat it, I’m going to poop it out in a remarkably short period of time. It’s sort of like my stomach is a dishrag and Arnold Schwarzenegger has both hands wrapped around it and is screaming “everybody to the colon! Get oooooouuuuuuuutttt!”

This has put me in several compromising positions over the course of the past couple weeks. I have every potential bathroom stop between the Sault and Petoskey memorized, including a rating system for each one. If you find you have need of this, let me know and I’ll tell you the best places to stop for an emergency colon evacuation. Some things that I thought were funny, although not at the time, were that when I’d get out of the car and head for the bathroom, I’d never make it without having to stop and clench up every muscle in my body for fear of exploding before I could get there. I have stopped to check some imaginary text messages on my phone, examined the nutritional information of a box of Mrs. Grass’s chicken noodle soup (which did not help my cause at all), and I have even stopped to caress an apple to the point that I felt obligated to buy it. (I had held onto it for so long that I took it into the bathroom with me and apparently that activates some ridiculous store policy that says you’ve pretty much bought that apple.) Hopefully, that apple made a fine meal for some woodland creature between Pellston and Alanson where I threw it out the car window. Once the urge becomes tolerable again, there is that awkward shuffle to the bathroom where you find yourself praying that it is unoccupied. I don’t think anybody really notices that stuff though. Riiiiiiiiight.

Ok, enough about that.

They gave me a diploma today in the radiation department to celebrate my last treatment. I have had nothing but positive experiences with everyone that I’ve dealt with so far and these people are no exception. Every day, they were friendly and kind. They put up with more than a few requests for time changes on my appointments and made me feel like I was a part of their day and not just one more person to be shuffled through. Rob, Dusty, and Mary were the people who usually gave me the radiation, while Annie and Dr. Boike were the ones who usually handled my weekly consults. I know that I saw other people in there from time to time and I appreciate the efforts of everyone that helped me, but the people I just mentioned were “my people.” Thank-you so much for making the daily trips to Petoskey bearable and as quick as possible. And a special thank-you to Dr. Boike for his recommendation. I can’t really say what he recommended, but he knows what I’m talking about.

While I know that he’ll probably never read this, I’d also like to say good luck to my most frequent riding partner Tug. He has a longer road than me and will be making the trip down there for at least another month. We had a deal that we were going to stop and get pizza on the way back from treatment sometime, but it fell through because of his condition. So Tug, if you find yourself able, look me up and we’ll get that pizza. Same rules apply though. You can have mushrooms on your half and you dispose of the box so that my wife doesn’t find out that I had pizza. (And just so you know Kelly Church, by pizza, I mean vegetable tray).

Also thank-you to all the people who drove the Road To Recovery van. It takes a special person to give up half of their day to drive people around like that. Especially considering that the weather didn’t always cooperate.

I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to being able to come home in the morning and just go to bed. No more sleeping in a van seat and no more not getting to bed until 1:30 pm.

So just to recap:

1- Phase 1 is done, surgery on January 27^th at Detroit Henry Ford Hospital .

2- Diarrhea is bad, and sometimes embarrassing and can sometimes lead to unwanted fruit purchases.

3- People in Petoskey are good.

4- Good luck to Tug.

5- Pizza = vegetable tray.

6- Road to Recovery Drivers are also good.

7- I Will Win