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

A long overdue thank-you

Six left.

I have been waiting for the day when I had six treatments left because the number 6 has been very important in my life. The reason that it's so important to me is that it's the number worn by my Uncle, Mark Church.

When I was seven years old, my dad was killed in a car accident. His brother, my uncle, stepped in and became a father figure to me and my brothers. He frequently asked us if we wanted to go with him and his family to softball tournaments and he used to pick us up for open gym so that we could go and play with our cousins. My first ever Tiger game was with him. It was a double-header against Toronto, and this was back when they let you pay for one and stay for both. I will never forget that night at Tiger Stadium yelling for Rusty Staub to get a hit. The Tigers lost both games that night and I couldn't have cared less. I was there, finally getting to go to a pro game.

Some of my favorite times as a kid were going to those softball tournaments, especially the ones in Midland. When my Uncle's team played at the stadium there, all of us kids were in heaven. We lived and died with the team. Even though my dad was no longer playing, my mom remained as the scorekeeper and so we were able to go to most of the games. When they would lose, there would be crying and silence on the way home and it was always the umpire's fault that we had lost.

I loved watching my uncle pitch. As far as I was concerned, he was a God on the mound. He threw the best knuckle ball I've ever seen and when that pitch was working, Uncle Mark was unhittable. Period. I can't even tell you how many times I watched him after a game, putting some kind of new skin stuff on the tips of his cracked and bleeding fingers. He would let them sit for a couple of hours and then go out and throw another game.

Uncle Mark was the uncle who would always play with the kids. He would play dead and when one of us would get close enough to him, he'd latch on to a foot or a shirt and pull you in. Then you'd escape and the game would start over again. Once, while playing some variation of this game at his house, I jumped on his back when he was facing the other way. I jumped off a bed because he was taller than me and as my hand reached around the front of him, I hit him right in the nose. It bled a lot and I thought for sure I had broken it. After we got home, I cried for an hour because I thought he'd never play with us again because of what I had done.

After a time, mom decided that she wasn't going to go to all the games. Uncle Mark took us to the games, and often pay for our meals and things like that. I never gave that a second thought and certainly never thanked him for it. It's not that I wasn't grateful because I was, extremely so. I just don't think that at that age I thought about any other aspect of a softball trip than simply being there.

When I graduated from high school, I wanted nothing more than to play for his softball team. He tried to warn me off, telling me that they had a lot of guys and that he wasn't sure how much playing time I'd get. He suggested that I may want to look for a team that would be able to play me more than he was going to be able to. I wasn't hearing any of that business though. I told him that I just wanted to be on a winning team and I didn't mind sitting. At the time, I think I actually believed that.

And it wasn't as though I didn't get my chances. I did sit a lot in my first couple years, but after that, there were a lot of guys who were just showing up for tournaments, so I'd get to play in the league games. There are a couple of things that are important to note at this point. The first is, that most everyone on that team was extremely confident in their abilities, and I was not. The second thing, is that no matter how much I wish it would have been otherwise, I was simply, flat-out not good enough to play as a regular on that team. I remember the day that I came to this conclusion, even though I didn't accept it at the time.

I didn't help myself either. Most everyone on that team had a nickname and my Uncle's was Hambone, which immediately got shortened to Hammy. Instead of simply calling him Hammy like everyone else, I called him Uncle Hammy. Yes, during the games too. I mean, he was my uncle. I don't think I ever addressed him without calling him Uncle. In my head, it was a law or something. Looking back at it now, I think the law actually read “if you have an uncle with a nickname and you call him Uncle prior to using the nickname, you shall forever be known as the team doofus.”

G.H. Johnston Builders was the name (sponsor) of Uncle Mark's team and while I can't remember what their rival team was called at the time, it was always the same group of guys playing. It may have been the Fire House Bar out of Rose City. Some of the regular guys couldn't be there that night so I got to play. I was in left field and just praying for a lot of ground balls so I didn't screw up. Midway through the game, it was my turn to bat and I could see Uncle Mark looking at me as I went to the plate. He called time out and came over to talk to me and his direct quote to me was “Get a hit, you little dick.” I was thrilled because that's how he talked to the guys, not his nephew. Their pitcher was a guy named Clare something (I can't remember his last name) I took a couple of pitches and then hit a ball right back up the middle. I remember being pumped as I ran to first base and then crushed as the first baseman took the throw a half-step before I got to the bag. The shortstop (Brian Hill) had made a great play on me almost behind the bag at second and threw me out. It's probably not true, but I still remember that play as a make or break moment for me with that team. If I had gotten that hit and driven in that run, maybe things would have turned out differently.

I went to another team after a couple more years and although I enjoyed playing more often, I missed the atmosphere and the winning that surrounded his team. At the time though, I was mad. It was somehow his fault that I wasn't confident or good enough to play with that team. The only thing worse than playing for him was playing against him. Like I said earlier, playing on GH meant exuding confidence, and I simply didn't have it. I would get so geeked up when we played them that I never played worth a shit. One of these games really sticks in my head. I was having my usual terrible game against GH and had already committed three errors playing second base. Uncle Mark came up to bat and hit a ground ball right at me. I immediately tensed up and bobbled the ball so badly that Fat Albert could have picked up the rest of the gang and carried them down to first base and been safe by two feet. Instead, as I finally got a handle on the ball, I picked it up and realized that Uncle Mark had not even run it out and had just gone back into the dugout. I realize now that he was trying to be decent to me, but at the time I hated him for it. I was embarrassed because I couldn't catch a cold, and again, he got all the blame.

We also went through the same thing on the basketball court, although to a much smaller degree. I was a better basketball player than a softball player, although one thing held true in both sports. When I played for his team, I always played so nervously that I was terrible. When I started playing for another team, some of the girlfriends on the team taped the games. There was a play where I put a pump fake on a guy and got around him only to go up for a shot and collide with Uncle Mark. I made the shot and was yelling for a foul at the same time he was yelling for a charge. I think I watched that part of the tape so many times, it just wore out.

I know a lot of this may sound negative, but thinking about it now, it really wasn't. I eventually gained that confidence that I lacked as a kid, and I know that's because of the lessons I learned from Uncle Mark.

A lot of what I am today is made up of things I learned from him. My competitiveness, confidence, and aggressiveness are all directly from him, and all have come in handy in my current battle.

I want to tell you Thank-You Uncle Mark. Even though I don't know if I've ever said it to you or not, but if I couldn't have my dad, I was and am lucky to have you as my uncle. You have impacted my life in a lot of ways, and not all in the sports realm.

I have six treatments left. I will beat this thing, and in part, it will be because of things I learned from my Uncle Mark.

I Will Win

Thank You

As far as days go, Tuesday was a good one. It may have been one of the most heartwarming, humbling days of my entire life. Nothing can compare to some life events like the birth of a child or the joy of saying and hearing the words “I do,” but there are other events in ones life that create some of the same emotions.

Some of the people who work with my wife at the courthouse have been adamant that they wanted to do something for us after my cancer diagnosis. They decided that they wanted to throw a benefit lunch for us to help defray the costs of the constant trips to Petoskey and the mountain of medical bills that are sure to be rolling in shortly. In the spirit of honesty that I have maintained in this blog, I have to admit that I was really uncomfortable with the idea. I have always been on the other end of things like this, donating to causes, buying stuff from student-athletes to help support them and lending a hand where I can. Kelly is the same way. We talked about it a couple times and while neither of us was overly comfortable with it, who were we to respond negatively to people who cared enough about us to want to do something to help?

As I drove back from Petoskey yesterday, I caught myself wondering what it was going to be like. How many people would show up? As the person benefitting from this, do I stay in one spot, or mingle? Do I make an effort to seek everybody out or do I let them come to me? I just didn’t know.

Due to circumstances beyond my control, I ended up being a couple minutes late in getting back to town, and when I pulled into the courthouse, Kelly was waiting for me outside the doors. I knew that she was thinking some of the same thoughts that had been going through my head. We exchanged smiles and she asked if I was ready and I said I

was, so in we went.

As most of you probably know, I work as a corrections officer, which is a fancy way of saying prison guard. I keep track of 96 guys every night who have been convicted of a felony heinous enough to earn them a few years in prison. This place is not a flowing well spewing forth the positivity of the human spirit – in fact, just the opposite. In there I see guys who vary in temperament from resigned and downtrodden to angry and rebellious. Neither of which is exactly inspiring. The goodness of people is not easily seen in this environment and it’s not hard to get jaded and start seeing the worst in people and situations.

This wasn’t the case at all though. Margie, Carmen, Suzanne, and Vicki had everything so organized that all we had to do was show up and get some food and the rest took care of itself. I don’t know why I had this idea in my head that it was going to be a bunch of strangers there that I would have to make awkward conversation with, because obviously, if it’s a benefit for us, it stands to reason that the people there would know us.

I can’t even begin to tell you how appreciative and grateful Kelly and I are to each and every person that showed up to express their support for us. The money that was raised will certainly help, but even more than that, the friendship that was exhibited by even taking the time to be there was more than enough.

Also, I know that a lot of people brought in snacks, desserts, and pop in addition to all the paper plates and the necessities for the benefit. Thank you so much for taking the time to make or buy whatever it is that you brought. It is much appreciated.

On a personal note, yesterday sort of restored my faith in people. That, in itself, made the day worthwhile for me. Thanks to all of you for that.

With this in mind, I have decided to make a few changes regarding a few of the people who helped me come to this realization.

1: Carmen Fazari – I will no longer leave the toilet seat up in the courthouse bathroom and laugh as I walk out the door.

2: Micah Corbiere – I will stop thinking bad things about you when I back out of my driveway and don’t hit my mailbox.

3: Libby LaJoie – I will try (try, mind you) to not blow my nose at The Evening News and leave the kleenex on your keyboard while you’re not looking.

4: Kelly Church – I will beat this thing as quickly as I can so that we can get back to living the life that I promised you four years, two months, and 11 days ago.





I Will Win

Hump Day

Guess what day it is people, Guess-What-Day-It-Is.

That’s right, it’s hump day. Actually, it’s Thursday, but today marks the halfway point of my chemo and radiation treatments prior to surgery. Fourteen down and 14 to go. So far, the only side effect that has shown itself is the peeing issue. I mentioned before that when I have to go, it’s a RIGHT NOW kind of thing. Now imagine the Hoover Dam and all the water trapped behind it being forced through a hole the size of a dime. That’s how it feels to pee right now. The doctor said it’s a common side effect of the radiation and so if there has to be one, I’m glad that it’s not one of the big ticket items like the hair or the cracked skin on the hands and feet or even the nausea. I understand that any of these things could still happen, but they haven’t yet and for that, I’m counting myself lucky. They offered me some medication to make it easier to pee (I hate the word urinate or any form of it), but I told them to hold off because I don’t think there’s any room in my pill box for even one more small tablet.

If you’re reading this and it seems hastily thrown together, it is. My schedule right now does not allow for much of anything outside of working, sleeping, driving, and making sure that I take some food with my medications. There just isn’t time for much else. I feel terrible for our dogs because they are kenneled while I’m in Petoskey, and then they are in again while I sleep until Kelly gets home. They sleep when Kelly does too, so it doesn’t leave them much time to go out other than to do their business and get right back in. So if anyone feels like being dragged around by a 160-pound St. Bernard while trying to keep the 10-pound yapper from getting tangled up in the big one’s legs, please let me know. I’m sure they’d appreciate the exercise.

My other new development is that I have a tentative surgery date. It’s January 20, but I’m trying to get that pushed back just a bit so that I can go to the Sault vs. Brimley Cancer vs. Rivals game, which is scheduled to be played on Jan. 21.

In other posts, I have talked about things that I’ve taken from other people to help me fight this thing. I have taken Graham’s will, and Clay’s ability to just go with things. I have used Erick’s ability to make me laugh and put all these things together to not let the cancer get me down. Soon comes the surgery and the recovery from being laid open and having part of me removed. This takes courage among other things.

I have found that courage is like a sense of humor in that everybody thinks that they have it. But despite that, not everyone is funny, and even fewer people are truly brave. I don’t know if I’m brave or not, and hopefully, I’ll never have to find out.

I say that because my definition of bravery can be summed up in one name: Ruth-Jean Church .

She was my paternal grandmother and she died of breast cancer when I was in my early teens. The technology then wasn’t even close to what it is now and she never really stood a chance once it started to spread.

What I am about to write is how I remember things. It may not be entirely accurate, but through my eyes, this is how I saw it.

My Grandma Church was a forceful personality and the glue that held the Church clan together. Not that we were in danger of coming apart at the seams or anything, but even if we had been, Grandma never would have let it happen.

Thanksgiving dinner was at their house every year and to this day, it remains my favorite holiday, in part, because of the memories of those dinners and playing with my cousins and brothers.

You didn’t misbehave at Grandma Church ’s house either. Her weapon of choice was the pancake turner and she wielded it like Zorro, whacking away bad manners or any behavior that she deemed unchurchlike. We often stayed the night at Grandma and Grandpa Church ’s house and the one rule that I always remembered was that in the morning, you don’t wake up your grandparents. They had a bar that separated the kitchen and the entry way and when we got up we sat at the bar and had Wheaties. If you woke Grandma or Grandpa up, there wasn’t going to be pancakes for breakfast, but the pancake turner would be out.

Despite her aptitude with the spatula, my grandma’s bravery was forged in my memory by the way she handled the cancer. They tried treatment after treatment and nothing worked. At some point, I’m sure the doctors told her that she was going to die. She fought to hang on as long as she could and must have endured incredible pain to do so.

I remember that all of us grandkids were able to visit her once in the hospital towards the end. We went in one at a time, and I don’t remember if there was any particular order or not, but when it was my turn, I remember her telling me that I was the oldest and to take care of my brothers and cousins. She told me that she loved me and that she was proud of me. She held my hand the whole time and kissed me before I left the room. Her voice was weak and I didn’t realize until much later how much effort it took for her to speak for as long as she did. I knew that she was telling me good-bye even though she never said it. She smiled the whole time she talked to me and she winked at me as I walked out the door.

Bravery is Ruth-Jean Church. Knowing that you aren’t going to live to see your grandchildren grow up, but summoning the strength to talk to them one last time and to try and make it easy on them by not talking about sad things. Bravery is keeping a smile on your face while you look at theirs for the last time.

Could I do that? Could I be that brave? Yes, because I am Ruth-Jean Church's grandson. I hope with all that I have though that I never have to be.

I Will Win





Since I'm posting this on Friday instead of Thursday, I have one update to add. I was able to get my surgery moved to January 27^th so that I will be able to attend the Pink Game. Now, I just have to figure out a way to talk them into letting me out in time to watch the Super Bowl from my own couch instead of a hospital bed.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vs5QJi-dX-4

Two Weeks Down

I left Petoskey today having completed two weeks of radiation and chemotherapy.  Three weeks and three days to go.  So far, things have gone pretty well.  No major side effects from either, save for the fact that when I have to pee, I have to pee NOW. 

I have spent a lot of time today trying to decide whether to talk about this in my post, but I decided that since I've promised myself to be honest in how I'm feeling, I'd better stick to that.
Mark Fenlon is someone who used to work at the same prison as me.  He left shortly after I started there, after he was diagnosed with cancer.  It was his story, told to me by a mutual friend who works in the same unit as me, that prompted me to go the doctor when I started noticing that things were getting weird in the bathroom.  I have silently thanked him many times because if I hadn't known that some of my symptoms were the same ones as he had, I don't know how long I would have waited to go and get checked out.

I don't know if inspiration is the right word, but Mark is someone who I have looked at as a symbol of hope.  I know it can be beaten because I know someone who has beaten it.  Those of you who know Mark know that he has posted on facebook that his battle with cancer is back on.  They found a tumor in his intestines and he is gathering information right now as to how to fight it best.
I know who Mark is, but I don't really know him personally.  I definitely feel a connection with him though, because of the common battle that we are fighting.  I had a hard time sitting down to write this tonight because I have been focused single-mindedly on beating this things ass.  After reading Mark's post, I am forced to confront the possibility that cancer might want a rematch once this thing is over.  I wasn't ready for that just yet.

After putting a lot of thought into it and reading Mark's post a couple more times, I got something else out of it.  Yeah, it sucks that someone should have to hear the words "you have cancer" even once, much less twice.  But the courage that Mark is showing through this is extraordinary. He has not complained once about it or asked "Why me?"  All I've heard and read from him are thank-yous for the people who are supporting him and a very factual account of what's happening with him.
If you read this Mark, please know that I will be thinking of you and hoping that you beat this thing again.  You have provided me no small amount of hope during my short ordeal, and I know that there will be a day that the two of us can sit down together and talk about what it used to be like to have cancer. 

On to brighter topics.
The other night, I watched my youngest daughter earn her second yellow stripe on her white belt in kuk sool won.  She was thrilled as she got called up to the front of the gym to receive her promotion, and I was thrilled to watch it.  It's kind of funny how cancer makes you appreciate things a little more than you might normally.  I also got a couple of envelopes in the mail today from the school that Andrew and Callie go to.  I opened the envelopes and saw report cards.  I immediately smiled looking at Andrew's grades. He doesn't like school so much, so I wasn't sure what I was going to see on the report.  There are a couple of grades that could use improvement, but there were more that were better than average.  I couldn't stop smiling when I saw it.  When I saw Callie's report card, I was just as proud.  Callie has always enjoyed her schoolwork, whether she admits it or not.  She had all As and A-s on her card.  Good Job Guys!!!

I will post again on Thursday as this will mark the halfway point of my treatment.

I Will Win

One Week down

Well, one week down and four to go. I’m knocking on wood as I type this, but so far I haven’t had any side effects from the radiation or the chemo. I have 23 more treatments to go and have been marking them off on the calendar as I go. I’m looking for a more emphatic way to count the days down, so if anyone has any ideas, I’d love to hear them. My favorite suggestion so far has been to get some cheap plates and break one every day.

As I had mentioned in an earlier post, I was a little nervous about riding the van to Petoskey every day due to my general dislike for public transportation. As it turns out, that fear was groundless. There are typically me and two other guys who ride down there so there’s plenty of room for everyone and really, all I do is sleep for nearly the whole ride anyway.

The rides have taught me a couple things. The first, and most important, is that, while I’m not thrilled to have been diagnosed with cancer, I am not so bad off compared to some others. Both of the guys I ride down there with have throat cancer. One seems to be fairly mild, while the other seems pretty serious. The serious one has a pretty severe rasp to his voice and wears a wrap around his throat at all times. His shirts irritate his throat and he is constantly moving his shirt away from it. I feel for the man, I really do.

Without saying a word, he is a constant reminder to me that I have nothing to complain about.

The second thing I have learned is that someone in the mini-van industry has got to step up and do something about the comfort level of the third-row seat in those things. I’ve only had to ride back there once, but that was enough. It was like sitting on a granite couch at the Flintstone residence. And while I like the two guys I ride with well enough, neither has the “assets”of a scantily clad Wilma or Betty that would take the focus off the discomfort of that seat.

I have to drive myself down there one day per week because I have to meet with my oncologist in St. Ignace after my appointment in Petoskey. I have some blood drawn and they look at the results to make sure that my cell counts are still good. On those days, my friend Erick and I have decided to eat lunch together. He teaches at Northern Michigan College in Petoskey and was just recently married. I have known Erick since my sophomore year in high school and we struck up a very solid friendship.

And to simply call it a solid friendship isn’t really fair to Erick. There was a time when he, Bob Gulick, and I were inseparable. We skipped so many days of school together and went to Traverse City for the afternoon, that I’m surprised that my mother wasn’t arrested under the truancy law. Maybe they didn’t have that then.

As with most high school friendships, time and distance have taken their toll and my relationship with Erick is no different. Marriage, kids, and demanding work schedules all have a way of forcing us to move on and to lose track of bonds that we once thought unbreakable.

I will never look at cancer as a positive, but one thing that it has done is bring me closer to some of those people from my past that I’ve been sorely missing and didn’t even realize it until their texts and phone calls of support started rolling in.

I’ll talk about Bob more in another post, he certainly deserves one of his own. (Spoiler alert: that one might be a tear-jerker).

Anyway, what I was trying to say was that how much I enjoyed having lunch with Erick and catching up. One thing about Erick that has held true for as long as I’ve known him is that he can make me laugh. Doesn’t matter what the circumstances are or how inappropriate it might be, I feel like Jimmy Fallon on Saturday Night Live when we are together, because I can’t not laugh. You have no idea what a valuable friend someone like Erick is until you come to a point when you don’t feel like laughing much, yet there you are, laughing so hard your stomach hurts and tears are running down your face.

I am very much looking forward to my lunch with Erick next week.

I know that a lot of my posts must seem like I’m simply paying homage to people who are close to me and in a sense, that’s exactly what I’m doing.

I can’t speak for everyone who has cancer with what I’m about to say, but I imagine it must hold true for most of us. When you first find out that you have it, you don’t know how bad it is. There are tests to be done and doctors to see and all that stuff takes time. During that time, you can’t help but think about things and people, present and past.

And the “what ifs.” I know I’ve written about this before, but it’s important. You think about what you’re going to do if you only have so much time left. After the obvious thoughts about my children and of course Kelly, one of the things I thought about was regretting the fact that my friends and I haven’t stayed closer since we got out of high school.

I don’t mean to gloss over my thoughts and feelings about Kelly and the kids because the first couple days of this were spent entirely on what I was going to say to them if this all went bad. Fortunately, I am in a position to be able to see and talk to the kids every day and tell them I love them as much as I want. Hearing their voices, even if it’s just on the phone, is revitalizing. Kelly…Well, Kelly knows what those couple days were like because she was right there with me. I would dedicate one of these posts to her, but it would just embarrass her and I don’t know that I’d ever stop writing. She helped me sort through it all, even if she doesn’t know that it was her influence on me that allowed me to get a grip and determine a battle plan. I tell her thank-you more than once everyday and still feel like I come up short a couple when I leave for work at night. (There are also healthy doses of “I love you,” and “Don’t boss me,” thrown in there too.)

So, before I went completely cornball on you in that last paragraph, I was talking about losing touch with some of my friends. A life-altering experience has a way of making you want to correct all the things you believe you might have done wrong in your life. My list is long and not all of them are fixable, but some definitely are, and hopefully, I’ll get the chance to take care of them.

One of my biggest faults is that I am a grudge-holder. I don’t try to do it, but I have a hard time letting things go. There is a Calvin and Hobbes cartoon that makes me laugh because it’s sort of a mantra for me. In the cartoon, Calvin is recounting his day to Hobbes which includes issues with his parents, his teacher and the principal. When Hobbes questions him as to why this happened, Calvin smiles and says that with the right amount of attitude, even the simplest social interaction can be turned into an epic battle of wills.

That might not be exactly how it reads, but it’s pretty darn close, and it makes my point.

What if the reason that I’ve lost touch with some people is because I haven’t made the effort to connect or because I’ve been an idiot over something that happened months, or even years, ago? So, yeah, I’m making an effort with some of my posts to let people know what they mean to me.

Now before you think I’ve gone stark-raving feelings crazy, I should point out that there are a few exceptions to my new-found sensitivity. For example, if you have ever played for the Limberlost in the Houghton Lake Men’s Basketball League, do not read these posts with anticipation of seeing your name mentioned – because it won’t be. Likewise, to the kid who was working the public address system in Mio, Michigan the day that I gave up back-to-back home runs in a fastpitch softball game and announced to the entire complex, “Mister, Mister, kiss your sister –TWO IN A ROW!!!” You should also save your time and read elsewhere.

See? I’ve still got a little work to do in some cases.

I Will Win

Radiation Station

By the time many of you have read this, I will have completed my second radiation treatment and taken another round of the chemo pills. So far, so good.

The radiation was pretty much what I expected. I lay on a table and a machine with an arm that extends over the top of the table hovered above me. The arm can move the machine to either side of the table and can even go underneath it. For me, I received a shot of radiation on both sides and one from underneath. It was just about 15 seconds in each position. I had a slightly embarrassing moment right before we got started. One of the rules there is that you have to put on a pair of their scrubs. I put the scrubs on and tied them up and headed in. After lying down on the table, but right before the radiation started, the guy asked me to pull the scrubs down a little so they could make sure that the pelvis was aligned correctly on the table. As I started to undo the knot, I realized that I had double knotted it, like a shoe knot. Short of having this problem while standing at a urinal, there is no worse feeling in the world than having someone else watch you try and get that knot out.

Probably the weirdest thing about that part of it was what happened after. As I had mentioned in a prior post, they put three dots on me to make sure I was aligned correctly for the radiation machine. The dot under my belly button must have been wrong because they needed to mark a new spot, which they did with a piece of tape. Some special kind of tape that won’t come off…ever. To get the tape on me, there had to be a little shaving done in an area that doesn’t usually see a razor. Not so far south that I felt the need to inquire about his alcohol intake and his steady hand, but south enough that the feel of a razor being held by someone else was slightly concerning.

After that was done, we began the drive back to the Sault, during which, I slept a good part of the way. I’m taking the Road To Recovery van today. That’s a van (obviously), that goes from the Sault to Petoskey every day for people who are receiving radiation. It’s pretty cool because it’s a free service and the drivers are donating their time to help out. I’m not sure how I’ll like the van since there will most likely be other people in it, and I’m going to be tired and wanting to sleep on the way down and the way back.

When I was younger, I took a trip to Barbados. While there, we took a “bus”from our hotel to whatever tourist spot we were going to. Barbados is an English speaking Island, but for whatever reason in that corner of the world, bus must translate into “Volkswagen van.” By the time I got to my destination, there must have been 40 people riding that thing, and while they are a nice people, they are not shy. Nor are they concerned with personal space - theirs, or more importantly, mine. I walked 10 miles that day because I refused to get back on that thing for the ride back. We rented out a cab the next day and greatly overpaid the driver to stay with us the whole day. After the first “bus” ride though, I decided that the cab might have been the best money I spent on that vacation.

Since then, any form of public transportation that involves more than Kelly and I in the back of a taxi makes me a little nervous.

Did I mention that it’s a free service? (I’m praying for bucket seats)

Later last night after catching a little more sleep and then eating dinner, I found myself facing the task of putting the chemo pills in the handy-dandy pill box that was sent to me along with them. I don’t know why, but I had been delaying this and when it was finally done, I just sort of sat on the couch looking at it. I opened up the section designated for Monday Evening and shook the pills out into my hand. Or it might have been that my hands were shaking so bad that they knocked the pills out and I was lucky enough to catch them. Either way, the pills ended up where they needed to be. I stared at them, trying to let them know what was permissible to do to my body and what wasn’t. Finally, after getting my point across, I threw them back with some flavored water and closed up the now empty compartment. I don’t know what I was expecting to happen, but nothing did. I went to work last night and experienced no ill effects. I sincerely hope that continues.

Thank-you for all the concern as to how it went and the thoughts and prayers that were sent my way before the process began.

I Will Win

The arrival of the pills

t was a cold snowy morning when the pills came. The flakes falling from the sky were small, but numerous, wet and heavy, sticking to the ground instead of melting away. The white blanket it created on the ground gave one the feel of December instead of October.

I stood over the sink doing dishes and watching fall transform quickly into winter in front of my very eyes. Why is it that winter never morphs into spring as quickly as fall disappears into the cold, snowy embrace of winter?

It's funny, the effect that the snowfall can have on a person. I immediately felt like Christmas was right around the corner and with that feeling, came memories of childhood and Christmas Eves and Days spent at Grandma Shiel's house.

I was lost in my nostalgia when Bear (our St. Bernard) began barking at the window in the living room. I snapped out of my reverie and went to the door, knowing without looking that he was barking at the UPS driver who had come to deliver my chemotherapy pills.

I signed the driver's tracking device and took possession of my package, still not wanting to believe that the day is coming very close when I'll have to actually ingest them and hope that my body will remain strong.

What you just finished reading was something that I started writing last night. I guess I must have been feeling pretty down. I just sat down intending to finish it and after I read what I had written, my first thought was that Charles Dickens had just written a new story. “A Chemotherapy Christmas.”

Anyway, the only new news is this. The pills are here, and I have to take my first dose on Monday after my radiation treatment. Although I'm apprehensive about the effect that they might have on me, I am anxious to get this stuff started because that means that it'll be over that much sooner.

I think that my wife is trying to kill me, by the way. We have started a walking program together and it amounts to two miles a night at a pace that a Kenyan marathoner would have a hard time keeping (or around 4 mph, whichever sounds faster to your ear.) I have dropped 10 pounds in the four days that we've been doing it. Amazing what changing your diet and exercising a little will do. Who knew?

But don't you worry Kelly Church. I'll be checking into the life insurance coverage and if I find out that there's been some massive change in benefits.... Trouble.

Actually, I'm very grateful to my wife for helping me get on the right track. Her workouts are slowed down by my turtle-like pace and after we get home from the Big Bear (walking track), she gets on the treadmill and puts in another 2 or three miles. How she does it I don't know. My legs feel like a couple of  wet spaghetti noodles when we're done. Where did the days go when we would play basketball for an hour in St. Helen at open gym and then pile in a car and drive to Roscommon and play for another two hours at their open gym? Oh yeah, straight to my right knee, that's where.

My change in diet took a little hit today though. I had dropped some winter boots and snow pants off at school for Abbie and she asked me to come back and eat lunch with her. I accepted after finding out that it was pizza calzones. When I say pizza calzone, what I really mean is hot pocket, regardless of what the school calls it. It was soooooooo good. Not to say that the food I've been eating is bad because Kelly has really helped me find foods that are both good tasting, and healthy, but I guess it must be true that the forbidden fruit is the best, because I've never liked a hot pocket as much as I did today.

And what's not to like about watching a bunch of second-graders play with their food and burp in each others faces and talk about how one kid's lunch looks like crap? (I found out today that crap is a swear word, so I guess poop must be the appropriate substitute).

It was actually nice being able to spend that time with her. One of the things that the doctors have told me is that I basically have to become a hermit while the chemo and radiation are going on. My immune system will be low and being around kids is a hazard. So, no more school visits for awhile and they even told me that if I go to Walmart, to go late at night or real early in the morning when it's less crowded and thus, less chance of catching something.

If I don't write anything before Monday, I'll let you know how the first treatment goes, although I suspect that it'll be somewhat boring.

As always, thanks for the support and good wishes!!

I Will Win

The Plan

Well, we officially have a plan. I will begin radiation and chemotherapy treatments on October 28 and I will have 28 treatments. We met with the radiation oncologist on Thursday morning and got all the details worked out. (actually this consisted of them telling me what was going to happen and Kelly and I nodding a lot).

While I was there, I also got a CT scan and got three new tattoos. They dotted me on both hips and under my belly button in order to help line me up correctly when they are giving me the radiation. This was the easy part of the day.

On the way home, we had to stop at the oncologist's office in St. Ignace and get chemo training. I had been looking at this as a formality and something that wouldn't take more than a few minutes. I was wrong.

The nurse sat us down and started talking to us about the possible side effects of the chemo. I'll be taking it in pill form during the radiation. The form I'll be taking is called Xeloda. This hit me harder than I thought it would because there are a lot of potential challenges to face while taking this stuff. A lot of them, I knew about already. Fatigue, nausea are the ones you hear about the most, along with the hair loss of course. The ones that I didn't know about included mouth sores, and a condition that causes your hands and feet to dry up and crack. For whatever reason, this really got to me. I knew it wasn't going to be a picnic, but I guess I just hadn't given too much thought to what could happen once the chemo started.

The other thing that made the visit not overly pleasant was a discussion about my blood sugar. I am a Type 2 diabetic. I manage it with metformin. Anyone who knows me knows that I like my food and I don't always do the best job of taking care of my sugar. In my last post, I talked about meeting with my brothers and playing golf when the call came with PET scan results. I had forgotten my pill box when I went down there and I didn't take my medication for two days. Of course, I didn't eat very well when I was down there (pizza and breadsticks) and then on the way back, I stopped and got some Kentucky Fried Chicken and some wedges along with a large Mountain Dew. This, added to the stress of waiting for the test results, made my sugar sky-high.

Part of the oncologist visit in St. Ignace included a blood draw. I guess I thought they were going to be testing for lots of things to do with my chemo pills, but never thought they'd be testing my sugar. Wrongo!

I got a call from the oncologist the next day at 7 pm and he told me he was calling to make sure I was still alive because my sugar was high. Really high. My wife thinks I should be divulging the number at this point, but it's really kind of embarrassing. The oncologist also made sure to tell me that he called my family doctor and told him about it too, so in addition to the scoldings I've already taken, I've got at least one more coming pretty soon.

I got out all my testing stuff from the bottom of a drawer in the bathroom and Kelly went to Walmart and picked up some test strips for me. I tested it yesterday for the first time in over 5 years and while it was still high, it was down over 150 points from where it was at the Oncologist's office. Kelly, who has been my rock through this whole thing, has taken over as my new dietitian. I have an app on my phone that tracks the nutritional value of everything I eat. I guess the good news out of this whole thing is that I'll be killing two birds with one stone.

With the sugar under control, I'll sleep better because I won't be getting up to pee every two hours, and that extra sleep will make a whole slew of other things better, including helping with the fatigue that I'm sure to feel during the chemo and radiation. Another important aspect of the sugar is that it inhibits the healing process which is important so that I can recover from the treatments prior to the surgery.

I expect to lose some weight from the chemo and radiation and this will help with the sugar as well, so on the positive side, if I can shed 20 pounds and some back hair, I might come out of this whole thing smelling like a rose.

On Friday night, my youngest daughter Abbie went with us to watch my stepson Shane's final home football game. He is a senior and they got to go out with a big win over Posen. The reason I mention this is because while Abbie was here prior to the game, and was listening to Kelly and I talk about everything that was going on. I had started writing this entry and she asked if she could type while we were talking. I had only gotten one sentence in so I said sure. What follows is her version of what we talked about. She is seven and I didn't edit her at all. Some of it is written in the first person, and some in the third. So, without further explanation, here is my first guest-blogger.

I am happy to announce that there is now a plan and a schedule for me.I will not eat anymore snacks like candy bars for my hole lifetime or any meat with no nutrients because my body needs to heel so when my daghter graduates in 2024 I wont need to ride my scooter in to her graduation. And I don`t want to make my body think it`s ok to eat sugary foods because then it will think it`s fine to eat them ALL THE TIME and thats not what i`m trying to do.Plus my daghter Abigael will not lose all her teeth because she will be eating healther to. And now I have to eat proiten bars and club crackers,my breakfast yesterday was green beans three apples club crackers, ham and finally three more slices of ham and i`m not off to a good start today I think I should not eat any more un-healthy stuff for the rest of the day. And I walked a half a mile yesterday and I was 2,977 calures over and my wife was with me yesterday and I drank 100 onsis of diet pepsy and on my diet of things today is raisin bran and all have it in a ceral bowl with two cups and all be having to cups of 2 persent milk. And I drank one cup of water already and for dinner i`m having a hambergur. And I promise I will eat better and even when this ends I will still eat better. I will listen to my doctor and not eat over the calorie limit I have. And today I will not eat anymore nachas for the rest of the day and keep my diet above and right now i`m lieing that I walked a quater mile but right now i`m calling for help to make my famliy think I ran a quarter mile. And now i`m saying I can not be over my calories because I don`t want to get in trouble. I think I should take exercise lessons with my daghters gym teacher Mr. chromy. I think I on not work nights I should not sleep in at all at less I have work tomorrow because sleeping in bed the hole day isnt exerciseing and not eating healthy I can only sleep in if I can exercise in my sleep and eat healthy if I don`t my daghter and my wife are going to jump on the bed and say waky waky eggs and bakey. If that dosint work they will shout in my ear.It will start the next day I dont have work. Right now my daghter abigael is typeing and my dad is wanting to tell every body they can help me be healther. Although im not a couch potato.

With this kind of “support,” how can I lose?

I Will Win

News from the PET scan

This entry in my blog has two subtitles. The title line should actually read:

News from the PET scan

The Brotherhood

The day my golf game went to shit

To make this as confusing as possible, I'm going to address these titles in reverse order.

My brothers and I got together at my mom's house on Monday night and hung out. I had been wanting to get together with them once before the radiation and chemo process started. Both Graham and Clay took the day off work on Tuesday to come up and play, so thank-you guys for that.

We tried to find a place to play golf on Tuesday, but the closest two places we called were essentially closed. One was on the honor system, and the other was taking reservations on an answering machine but had a rope across the driveway. Our answering machine reservation was not honored.

We eventually decided on The Dream. It's a course that's located between St. Helen and West Branch on a road that we have always called “the old way to West Branch.” The actual name of the road might be M-55, but don't quote me on that.

The course was beautiful and was extremely well maintained, especially considering how late in the season it was. We played the back nine with a cart for $25 each.

I was playing pretty well on the first two holes (well for me, anyway) and then it happened.

Kelly called me and said that my oncologist's office had called her and they had the results of my PET scan. They wouldn't share any of the results over the phone but wanted to meet with me at 3:00 in St. Ignace. Of course, this stressed me out to no end. My tee shot on the next hole went about 30 yards to the right before hitting a tree. On the ensuing Mulligan (do-over), I went even farther right and hit another tree.

The rest of the round went a lot like this as I was spending half the time trying to find my errant shots and wondering what was going to happen at the meeting with the oncologist. What if they told me that there was more cancer? What if they stopped using the word cure and started talking about prolonging life? How would I tell the kids? All kinds of thoughts were running through my head, and not the cheerful, good news type.

I have been very careful to avoid thinking about stuff like that and yet there I was, entertaining the worst possible scenarios and trying to keep it together in front of Graham and Clay.

The Brotherhood

Looking back at it on the drive up north, I'm sure Graham and Clay knew exactly what was going on with me. I told them about the phone call, and much to their credit, they kept things light and made fun of me when I hit a bad shot, and tried to keep my mind off it.

Graham is four years younger than me, and Clay is four years younger than him. They are very different personalities, and I am blessed to have them as my brothers.

Graham is one of those people who has supreme confidence in himself and he is very firm in his convictions. I often envy him in that regard. He has the ability to talk to anyone and is a natural leader. He has an iron will and can often get things done on that facet of his personality alone. One of the things that I like about him the most is his sense of humor. When we're together, we spend most of our time laughing and joking around. I could tell you a lot of stories to make my point here, but probably the one that I think about the most is a time when we were playing football up at the soccer fields in Roscommon. He was playing quarterback for his team and I picked off a pass that he threw. I was running the interception back and dodged a couple players and then it was just me and Graham. We made eye contact and I started to smile. Then he smiled and before I knew it we were both laughing out loud and the play just sort of stopped.

Then there's Clay. Clay is one of the few people that I know that I believe is doing the job that he was born to do. He is a DJ for a very popular radio station in Flint and he does the morning show. I've listened to him on the air and he's good at it. Really good at it. He has a lot of responsibilities at his station and always takes my teasing gracefully. I always make fun of him about only working for four hours a day because that's how long he's on the air. His job actually requires about 70 hours a week.

Clay also has the ability to talk to anyone, but he's different than Graham. Graham draws people to him somehow, while Clay has a knack for just going with the flow. I think in a different world, Clay would have been a great surfer. He has that mind-set that whatever's going to happen is going to happen and we just need to find a way to roll with it. When I told Clay I had colon cancer, the first words out of his mouth were, “I'll donate my taint if you need it.”

They have both been extremely helpful to me through this process and I have drawn on both of them. Graham's force of will, and Clay's “don't stress” attitude have shaped my attitude about dealing with the cancer.

We don't ever say the words, but Graham and Clay, if you're reading this, I want both of you to know that I love you and that of all the blessings that have been bestowed on me in this life, having you two as my brothers ranks high on the list.

So, on to the PET scan.

I recently went to my family doctor because I had a knot on the back of my neck. I've had it before from time to time ever since I was a kid. I have a cyst back there that sometimes fills up and needs to be drained. It got to that point about a week ago and I told them about it when they did the PET scan. The nurse said that she would tell the person reading the scan about it because it might show up as a positive reading. It did, and there was a communication breakdown somewhere because my oncologist thought that the cyst was more cancer. When we went in to talk to him, he asked about it and I told him what was going on and he said that he was really relieved and that other than the original cancer, my scan was clear.

I can't even tell you how good it felt to hear those words come out of his mouth. It was like someone had just lifted a piano off my shoulders. The road will still be long, but not nearly as long as it could have been.

I have an appointment with the radiation people tomorrow (Thursday) and we'll see what they say about when I start that part of the journey.

 

I Will Win