Back on the Chain Gang

Things had been jumping along pretty well up until the bug struck me earlier in the week. Now I'm still fighting with the side effects of that. About half boo boo tummy and an over production of everything mouth. Saliva, mucus.....swear words. All of it. Is it a set back? Yeah, most likely a small one. I'm hoping it's a short lived mucus factory. If not I'll have to take the damn suction with me everywhere, even for short errands. The little nasty vurp yesterday didn't help. All that acid makes my throat raw, which makes more mucus, which I can't swallow or spit, which makes me suction, which makes me have to hack up the gunk, which can make me vurp,  ei ei o. Tis a vicious circle that for a time is inescapable. But this like other things shall pass. I hope

 I'm back on the chain gang. For a bit I had a touch more freedom of getting out and moving around. The damn bug stopped that, and if this mucus thing doesn't settle down, I will have that sliced down some as well. Good taste, courtesy, and just plain being polite, I'm not going to vacuum the crap out of my mouth in a restaurant. That's not only gross, it's uncalled for. Same thing with a movie theater. I'll have to head to the car or the can. It's the only sensible thing to do, but it cuts into my fun time, and that chaps my white Irish ass just a bit. It takes part of my life on my terms out of my hands. That REALLY pisses me off. Having to alter what I do simply because I refuse to choke on something that's out of my control. Strange, you say, that something I can't control chaps my ass. It does, simply because it's my body. The damn thing is revolting (well, yeah, but that's from surgery) and I can't get an upper hand on it yet. I know the cancer is going to keep me from gaining control over things. But snot? Bullshit. I'll find something that works. Part of it is allowing the PA that hasn't so much as taken my BP to dictate what I know works for me. The set back is something of my own creation. I should paddle myself, but that's a bit on the kinky side even for me. But, alas, it is what it is and there's nothing for it but looking for a way to make it better. We are, however, heading closer and closer to cotton cutting. If there's a crop out there that may have something to do with my snotty self. There are a few things that get me good. Mesquite when it's setting pods, cotton when it flowers and when it starts to head, and milo when it heads up. Whew, plugged and snotty head for all three of those, and since I'm not in milo country, it's got to be the cotton. Yeah, that's the ticket, it's the coootttttoon.  Yeah

 Back on the chain gang too, because like all humans, I'm a creature of habit. As abhorrent as that seems to me I find it to be true. Looking back I railed against my habits, but I couldn't help it anymore than I could stop breathing. I'd try to break my routine, but it jacked the way the rest of my day went I just gave up and sighed. Now, like any rule there are exceptions. When I travelled, bike or car, the only habit I kept was the "Let's get up early, lazy", because face it, the best part of the day is before sunrise. There are two places where being up before 0500 is just a labor of Sisyphus for finding anything to do. Metropolitan areas, or small town. I've driven all over the place in Fort Worth at 0430-0530, looking for either coffee or donuts, or both. Well, not all over, but I've been more than a few miles on the scooter. None of my friends knew of any place, because they were never up that early, and I didn't know any locals to ask if there was such a place in existence. It seems coffee and donuts are elusive. The same thing with small towns. The LK has convenience stores, but their coffee sucks. And I don't want to go eat at a 24 hr diner. Even though I'm a pig and can do it, it's better if I don't eat two full breakfasts within three hours of each other.
Part of the reason I have these habits is efficiency. I'd get up, go lift and cardio for an hour to an hour and a half, shower, get into the work duds, go to the coffee shop early to make sure the girls weren't jumped while opening up, have a cup, read the paper, head to work. Once at work it was check well status on the computer program that had all the wells on pump off controllers, so I had an idea where to go look for trouble first. Check production. Make sure it looked reasonable, and try to find why it didn't if it looked jacked up. Check with the pumpers to make sure they had no issues, or to fix the issues they had or find someone that could if I couldn't do what they needed. Build well bore diagrams and pull history for the guys that chase the rigs. Put out new rod/unit designs on the new wells to make sure we got all the good out of both without causing surface or downhole failures. Work on the failure report on wells we had pulled the month before. Hit the field be no later than 0900, do field work until 15-1600. Finish daily reports, hit the highway home buy 17-1800. Dinner and in bed by no later than 2200, up at 0200-0230. Weekends I slept until 0430. Routine, but I got more done on my own than the two guys they hired to fill my spot. I had to, there was only one of me.
 

  Since November of last year, there hasn't been much routine at all. Other than visit the docs, ride around and stare at people working, or watch the boob tube. After January 22 the only routine was PEG tube feedings and meds. swell, that's not true. I spent time with my wife and kids. She argued for me until they started some PT, which got some gym time back and that greatly improves my attitude. I've also become a Facebook junkie. It's inconvenient  for and a bother for me to get out and around now, so I go walk and do my best to see some sunlight and other people, but really I'm kind of pinned to the house. I do not like this at all, but it is what it is, and I get out when I can for as long as I can every day. Even if it's just a drive across town or to a movie with the family. I've become a dang junkie though, to the things people post on news and other sites. It's addicting to me. I'm amazed, frankly at the lack of knowledge of how local and state governments work. Even more amazed at how much people think they deserve from their respective governments. I for one have never expected anything but a pain in the ass from any of them. I bitch about taxes, it's true. Federal, local, and state. Mostly local, because those boys can piss off more of my hard earned money per capita than the Fed. Shocking. But, I digress, this is about the Chain Gang.
 So yeah, I'm on this cancer chain gang that frankly pisses me off and wears me out more than my 18-20 hr days when I was working. The difference is, this chain gang changes from day to day. Yesterday I felt damn perky, didn't need to suction a lot (which is a God send). This morning it's been nothing but suction, cough until my sides hurt, feed, drug, suction again and in between suction some more. This is eating into my plans to at least get Liz out for a ride with the top down while it was still about half cool out. THAT pisses me off. Maybe I can con her into helping me sort out the brake issue on the bike. I've been putting that off, and I think it's because when I do, I can get her oil changed, checked up, inspected and then sold. Subconsciously I probably don't want to sell Fat Girl. I know I've got to, she's sitting in the garage looking 40 kinds of forlorn. She's supposed to have had at least 7,000 more miles on her this summer and I've let her down. She knows this, it upsets her. So, either I get her fixed, or I sell her to the dealer for less than I can get out of her to someone I know will ride her like she should be ridden.
  Back to family time. Today will be a suck ass  as far as family time goes, I'll take what I can get. Daughter and grandson are here, that's pretty cool. I'll see if he wont read me something. And there's always a chance the coughing and other stuff with calm down shortly and the day is salvageable for part anyway. I can grab Liz and we can head to the Farmer's Market, which around here is like a small craft sale rather than a big market like we were used to in farm country up north. I can taunt the dog with Milk Bones, but that's only good for a minute, HA! I'll suck it up, Buttercup and take the portable suction with us, and go somewhere. As long as it's not an eating establishment, the folks can pogue may hoane as far as it grossing them out. I'm not fond of having to do it either, dick heads. Or perhaps you think I enjoy drooling I can't control or hacking that I can't clear out. Bite me.

 OOOOOOO!!!! I'm already feeling more like the old me, it's already a good day. It's good because Baxter III hasn't beaten me yet. I CAN still get around. I don't HAVE to talk well to make myself understood, that's what middle fingers are for.
 Actually, yeah, I'm still doing things on my terms. I'm looking at the blog now and think it comes off a bit whiny. And if it does, tough shit, whiny was how I was feeling when I started it. I don't feel like that now at all. Now I feel tired! I'm still hacking and all, but it's not as bad as it was and that's a good thing. The family is up, and banging around. That's the best thing. Probably my greatest joy right now is sitting and listening. Really listening, as they go about their morning constitutionals. Right now they are holed up in my bedroom talking to Liz. I can hear their voices, but not what they are saying. My daughter and grandson getting him dressed. Her very familiar voice, his not so familiar but getting more so voice. He's pretty cool. Giving mom a bit of a hard time with school right now, but I understand why and so does she. He made a deal with YaYa Liz last night about school. I think it'll be a turning point.
 Liz is getting to be their "Go To" guy. She always was for me, but it's different having the kids go to her instead of me. It's heartening in the fact that they trust her and more so that she is willing to take on that job of listener and aid de camp. Sure, it bothers me a bit. I was getting used to being the "Go To" guy. I always hoped I didn't foul up too badly. They are good kids and adults. They don't need much from my other than a "yes, that's good" or "have you thought about" from me in the last few years. But every day slides me a bit closer to Critical Mass, and it's damn cool they will be left in strong, wise hands.
 Yes, I'll still be checking on them, make no mistake. And  until then, I'll move along and let them do what they want to do to help me out. They are all going to get see this to the end. I've got to make that part as big a help as I can for them. And, even though it cuts against my grain, I'm giving up a bit of my home independence to allow that. I've done so many things on my own in my life, maybe it's time to share some of the dying part. I'm beginning  to think that is where the true strength lies, knowing when to say, "I need help", not just going until you drop. I did that at work, why should home be any different? (because I never had to ask before, is why)

 Alright, that's enough blathering for one day.
 All y'all pull up your socks and grab......No, that's not appropriate. CARPE OMNIA!! And never turn loose

Back on schedule, kinda

Well, I'm back up at the proper time, now getting all the sleep at the same time would be wonderful. I slept a lot yesterday morning, then when  I went to bed at about 2230 or so, I was wide assed awake at 0145. Hmmmm, I'll try and stay awake longer today and maybe get all my sleep in one fell swoop. Part of it maybe from a damn nightmare. Well, it was either a nightmare or something bad came for me and a guardian angel and I kicked it's ass. I'm voting nightmare for now, unless it continues when I've not take ZQuil to help me sleep. Nyquil used to give me some fouled up dreams, no reason ZQuil wouldn't as well. Depending on what one believes, I won my fight against the bad guys last night. I know I sure woke up ready to knock some one on their ass, but felt like I'd already done it as well.

  Back to doing shit my way. I took this mucus thinning crap the PA and Dr with Hospice wanted me to take to make sure my gunk would cough up okay. After my protestations that I wasn't having any trouble keeping my throat and trach clear. I knew better, because I'd had bad experiences with Mucinex in the past. As in, yes, it thinned my mucus, but I can't swallow so what it did was make it hard to hack up to suction out. So I threw it up instead. Oh the joy of a good barf when there's nothing to keep it from going out your nose. Happened this morning at 0315. The best part of waking up is not throwing up, believe me. Soooooo, when the nurse comes to visit today I'm going to ask if she wants the rest of my OTC mucus thinner, because I'm not using it any more. I'll be back on the Sudafed/Benadryl bandwagon. Works best for me, and if I don't barf using it, all is well in my Kingdom. I'm sure there will be protests about that. Then again I'm dying, they aren't. If it becomes their turn to need Hospice, and I hope they don't have to use them ever, then they can decide what's best for them. Until then, if they get too snotty, I've got "Pogue" next to and "X" on my right but cheek. "Pogue" is kiss in Gaelic, "X" of course marks the spot.

  I get asked about how I'm feeling. That's kind of hard to pin down for me, actually. I ache a lot, but that was nothing new before I had cancer. I have broken bone issues, and I abused my body (damn near put abused myself, what a horrid mistake that would of been with this crowd) working like I did in the field. Some days are worse than others, but mostly with the pain patch and a dab here and there of Lortab, it's no big deal. Mentally? That's different as well. Hospice keeps asking me if I sleep at night, or during the day, or at all. Well yes I do. I know they are looking for signs of depression, and I'd bet my last buck that I probably am depressed to some extent, but not to the point that depression is what's keeping me from getting a full night's sleep. That's from waking up to hack my trach clear so I can breathe all that much better. I can breathe through my mouth and nose, but it's getting more difficult. Partly, I think, because of the time of the year. Partly because that's some of where Baxter is building his condo. My voice is getting gravely, so I know he's getting a but bigger. The positive side of that is I'm not sweating swallowing like I did before Chemo last December. That was a bitch to have to fight to get chow down. Now, of course, as long as the tube is clear, I get to eat. So yeah, I probably am depressed on some level. More frustrated that depressed, I believe. I was watching the Texans a bit last night and it dawned on me I've never been to a pro football game. OMG!!! Not that important, but ya know, I was in Houston when they played last fall. Coulda gone to a game. Didn't think I'd half to sweat it, figured "oh shit, next fall I'll arrange a check up and catch a home game the day before". Oops, miscalculation. On the other hand, I save myself a chunk of money not going! So, yeah, coulda been worse.
  The physical thing is what gets me, a lot. I know I can't do as much as I could. I don't have the muscle mechanics to over ride what's been moved around. I find too, if I flex my pecs, the one in my mouth flexes some as well. Funny, that's a pec in my mouth, no wonder it wants to tighten up. Bad thing is, when it does, it pulls on what's left of my jaw. A couple of times it's cramped hard enough to pop my jaw out for a second, then releases and snaps back in. That'll put the curds in your cottage cheese by gosh. What's happened as well is that it's tightened my neck up to the point it pulls my entire head forward. Makes my back and shoulders scream and me after a while and tell me I'm an ass and to get them some support before they make my pee pee in my pants just a little. Definitely not a positive side to that side effect at all. Now, on the plus end just a bit, they did release that some, so my posture improved almost immediately. It also made a series of muscles and tendons that hadn't worked since late January rediscover they have a job to do, and THEY get all angry with me if I'm not careful. Overall, though, that last surgery helped. And it's the last I'll ever have to do. When it came to a list of surgeries, my Dr at MDA said "That's enough, we're not sure you can stand another, because we can't fix the cancer. No use in putting you through more pain for zero gain". I like that attitude. I can continue to do what I can to help all this out, but I don't have to be sawn upon any more. I'm tellin ya that's a huge relief. I had a feeling something wasn't right, and while I like my plastic surgeon and his assistant, I didn't like being operated on, even if it was to help fix my face and neck. I always felt like I lost ground somehow. It just took a huge toll on me that I didn't let on about. Everyone was pleased, myself included, by the results. And when he came in, sat on the edge of my bed and said "Mr Smith, we found a spot and biopsied it. It looks cancerous". And even though I looked at him and said "Well, maybe it's a localized spot and that was all of it", I knew better.  Hearing that, though, a week later was a stunner for certain.

 Today I'm going to take some of the medical supply stuff I don't need anymore. I'm taking it to Gifts of Hope, Hope House. They provide a place for out of town cancer patients to stay free of charge. Eight private rooms, a kitchen, each room with a private shower. Gifts of Hope also helps those without or who are underinsured, monetarily or with direct purchase of some chemo drugs. I'm sure they can use some of the basic essentials for drain care and the like. They are a good bunch. I have been able to do much for them this year, darn it. I like the operation and the people that run it.

 What I've come to the conclusion at the end of this particular edition is this: "It coulda been worse". I say that a lot, whether I'm  healthy, sick, wealthy or broke. Because in all honesty it COULD have been worse. No matter what you're going through, it coulda been worse than it is. Hell's bells, I coulda dropped dead with they said "Palliative Care".  That also means I'd be missing out on some really cool time released addictive drugs.
 SIDETRACK!!!  Why on God's little green earth do they bother to tell a terminal cancer patient they might get addicted to their pain meds? Is it gonna matter? HA!! I think not! My Grandfather Green got entirely pissed off because they DID give my Grandmother Green Laudanum for her pain. "Why that stuff is opium and that's addictive!". Yes, Dell, it is and it is. On the other hand, ole Ruthie had a lot more good days than bad taking the stuff, and she was for certain going to die. Maybe they say that so the family members can blurt that out, then come to the realization that it's not going to matter in the long run. I don't think I'll be Jonesin' for a fix while I'm on the slab. Maybe it is for the family to come to that point where they can't deny what the inevitable is going to be. Which I suppose is better than just blurting out "Well, Rock, your ass is basically done for! Let's get stoned and enjoy it, whadya say?!"
 Wow, I'm harsh LOL!!
 Take care all you fine and amazing people. Watch yourselves, and for each other too, hear?

Up all night, Sleep all day

Damn, I can't sleep. I've fallen asleep for 20 or 30 minutes, but right back awake like I'd been asleep for 8 hours. Weird. I used to get insomnia on a regular basis when I was in my early 20's. Went about 6 weeks on 3 hrs sleep a night. Makes for a weird experiences believe me. Four to six hours used to do me pretty well, but I need more than that now. I think it's because I slept probably 18 total hours the day before when I was sick. Sadly, I don't feel too whippy right now, but that's because I can't sleep. What a vicious circle.

 So, what shall I talk about since I can't sleep? History? Sure, why not.
I was born in Russell Kansas October 26 1960. That was back in the day when they kept mom and baby for 5 days in the hospital. Ma said it snowed that Halloween when they brought me home. My earliest memory, I suppose, is standing in the living room watching the TV and seeing Pres Kennedy get shot. I was just 3, and not much past that. But I remember my mom coming in and not believing what was going on. Strange how you'll remember that kind of stuff. It was a big 2 story house that set in the middle of town. At the time, there was only one other house on that entire city block, and they moved it across town. Basically I had and entire city block for a yard. Pretty cool stuff for a little feller.
I did get in trouble for crawling down into the old foundation of the house they moved and coming out with a flattened kitty as a door prize. I also remember getting scrubbed nearly raw. Mothers are so picky. Notable things that happened. I got shot with a BB gun above my left eye. The kid that shot me squeezed it out like a zit. He was afraid his dad would beat him senseless, and I think he would, so we hitched up a story about me falling out of the tree. Ma and Pa didn't buy it, but squared it so the kid didn't get beaten blind. I broke an arm in first grade. Simple fracture. The Doc set it in his office without anesthetic. It only hurt for a couple of seconds, but I threw up all over him while he was casting me up.
Broke the other arm in second grade. Compound fracture. Did an overnight in the hospital. At the time you could buy school health insurance for a $1 a year. Covered anything that happened on school premises. Pretty nifty. We bought that until you couldn't anymore.
 I went to school in a 3 room school house. Grades 1,2, and 3 in one room. 4 and 5 in another, and 6 graders got their own room. 7 to 12 went to the High School. I think, in some respects that was a good thing. While we were learning one thing, the other kids were on something else, and by osmosis I think you pick that up. I know that when I went to 5th grade at a bigger school, I could read far better than the other kids in my class. Between fourth and fifth grade we moved out to a farm. A full section with a limestone house and barn. One stone had the date 1868 carved into it. The walls were 18 or so inches thick. Cool old house. We had 2 acres of yard and surrounding area that I mowed with a 20" wide mower. Pop taught me how to start it, took me 3 days to mow it all. Wait 3 days, then start over again, because it was wet that summer. I watched a horse and 40 head of registered Angus cattle for $3 a month. Learned to ride. Didn't have to rope, but the horse and I moved cattle from pasture to wheat, to pasture and back to wheat that summer. The summer was wet, but by September it'd stopped raining and the ponds were drying up. It snowed. A lot. The cattle couldn't get water, so I saddled the horse and moved them off the wheat into the pasture, and chopped a hole in the ice. Got extra sick after that, and the rancher still lost 6 calves to the cold.
 Moved to Great Bend Ks in time for 6th grade to start. Right along the Arkansas river. It flowed all the time then. I enjoyed school there. Wrestled, played basketball, ran track. We were on the not so wealthy side of town. Made some good friends there though. A bunch of us ran the heck out of the river, played like mad men for certain. Tough, man a couple of those guys were tough. One of em ran 4 older kids out of seats at a movie my mom paid for us to go see. Cracked on the head told them to move, because he'd told them the seats were saved. They didn't even blink. Just got up and left.
  Got the livin piss beaten out of me there too. A 16 year old 7th grader, with the help of 2 kids my age, just tuned my ass up big time. I ran home bawling. Dad thought it was just one of the little punk assed kids from up the street, and told me to quit cryin or go finish it. I bailed back into the 16 year old. Got some good licks in before the 2 ass weeds with them ganged in. 2 ass whippins in one day, from the same guy. My old man never forgave himself for sending me out there I don't think. At any rate, one of the river buddies older USMC brother tuned that kid and his older brother up a few months later.
 Moved from Great Bend to Liberal in time to miss 8 weeks of school there. I already discussed that in another blog. Liberal was a good place to live at the time. I wrestled one year, tore the piss out of a shoulder and hung up the wrestling shoes for good. I decided to work and play instead of organized sports at school. The work certainly wasn't at school, nooooo. If I cracked open 2 books in 5 years of school I'm sure it was a mistake. I didn't know how to study because I didn't have to study, not to get by in HS. That's both a good and bad thing. I didn't know how to study when I went off to college. And you really need to know how to study if that's what you want to do.
 Nope, I worked. Mowed lawns to start. Worked at the mobile home park we lived in until July 1, 1975. Dad had a hand twist off in the middle of a work over. At 0430 my bed room light comes on and dad threw me a pair of gloves and said "Hang these on your shit hooks, we have work to do". First day in the oil field. Finished that work over. Then the rest of the summer we did a minimum of 2 pump changes a day up to 4 a day, depending on depth and distance between. My ass dragged all summer long. Made enough that summer that I could have cruised through school without a job, but that didn't seem right. Got my learners permit and went to work cleaning the shop and helping with inventory at the International Harvester dealer. Worked at least 2 school vacations for dad, since hands would cut out during holidays. The IH dealer closed and I went to work for Yankee Clipper. Like Long John Silver's only I thought better. It gave me a healthy respect for people in food service. It's also the first job I told a boss and manager that someone needs to decide who makes the rules, because I wasn't going to get my ass chewed out twice trying to please both people, and quit. It's the only job I quit out of anger without anything to go to first.
 Worked at OTASCO changing tires and delivering furniture and appliances. L Frank Osborn and I made a pretty decent team. Wendall Wilke, the manager was somethin else. He and the assistant manager Roy Arnold used to take me with them on repossessions. No fun that, believe me. It only got hairy once. Roy and I went to Hugoton to get a freezer, the guy bowed up, Roy stepped into a stance, I picked up a board. And that's as far as it went, thank gosh. Frank and I delivered stuff in two of the worst pick up trucks you've ever seen. POS has those trucks pictures under it in the Encyclopedia.
 High lights is all this is. And there may be more farther down the road.

 My buds and I did some crazy shit. But that's going to be up to them to tell those tales. I don't wanna come off as big headed! HA!

 Although, even the highlights are part of what makes me who I am, and why I do what I do. It was never so bad that I couldn't find some bright spot somewhere. It's still that way. Funny shit happens everywhere, you just gotta look for it. Otherwise the dark side of things is all you'll find, and that's a piss poor place to put yourself.

I feel better

SORRY THIS IS LATE!! I SLEPT IN!!
The sad thing about having cancer is that it takes longer for me to do everything. Even heal up from a dang 24 or so hour bug. My entire system is a bit compromised and it's something I don't think I'll ever get used to having be so slow. The surgery did a lot of mechanical damage, making is harder for me to get around. It's amazing that cutting on your mouth, neck and taking things out of your chest can screw up your entire mobility. It's true. I can't lie flat, my equilibrium is jacked up and I have limited motion. Although the motion gets better as I stretch. I want to still drive and go places on my own, so I work on range of motion a lot. I don't know how long I'll be able to keep taking myself places, but I am going to do that as long as it's possible. My voice sounds more gravelly to me now too. I don't know if that's from the virus and it being irritated or if it's the cancer slopping around down in there someplace. Either way I'm sure it's moving along at it's own "giddy up go" pace and there's nothing that will stop it.
 Of all the things that's not working right with me, the darn cancer is working just fine. That's the damnable shame of it ain't it? While bits and pieces of me start to fail, ole Baxter Jr just keeps chugging along. While I knew this was going to be the case, it's still a bit to wrap my head around. I get tired faster, which makes it harder to do the exercises that will keep me healthier longer. If that's not the shits, right? My repaired spots start to cramp more frequently, I'm not sure if that's the cancer or something mechanical within the muscles themselves, but it's weird. But, the things that are working fine still are a nice thing to have. I'm getting some strength back and better motion out of both arms, which is a good thing. Unless I'm tired and sick, like yesterday, the old noodle still works fairly well too. I'm hoping that's the one part of me Baxter can't touch. How awful it must be to lose yourself as a cancer chews away your mind. Sad really.
 I get asked some about a bucket list. What's a bucket list? If I've tried  and succeeded in doing most of the things I've really wanted to do, why do I need a bucket list? Seriously, your life should be a bucket list. You see something you want to do, arrange to get it done now, while you're young and healthy enough to get away with doing it. Farting around until your old and facing death is silly as hell. Trust me, you'll be too tired, too sick and could actually care less about jumping out of a plane (I really could care less about jumping out of a plane, but I know people that love it). Let's see, what have I done that could be bucket list material.
I drove a friend in his Dad's Sunbeam Tiger flat on the floor, because he liked it. I've no idea how fast we went. Over 150 I'm sure.
I've ridden motorcycles in 10 states, the other 40 would have been cool, but shipping to Hawaii would have been bat shit. The others...well, it'd been nice, but some never get that feeling at all, right?
I've ridden rollercoasters
Been to Las Vegas and never come back with less that we went with. Not too shabby breaking even
Been in love, had beautiful babies that are growing up into great adults
I got custody of my kids when only 1% of fathers who tried got custody
I've laughed, been mad, then laughed at being mad
Worked at the job I always enjoyed and wanted to work, even if I didn't see it at the time
I've fought and won and fought and lost. Generally lost HUGE!! HA
Played pool for money.
Pushed a guy down a flight of stairs for wanting to fight because I wear a kilt. (He bounced quite well, thank you, and never came back upstairs)
I laid out our back patio stuff.
I've taken some medals in Scottish Heavy Athletics. I'm proud of those, being a mediocre athlete that was some of the best throws I'd done
  In short, I've done just about everything I wanted to and gotten everything I really wanted. The only thing I'm not going to get that I honestly really want is cured of this cancer and go back to my life. That's just not going to happen this time.
Sure, I've done things I'm not proud of, but I'd do them again. If nothing else to prove that I was right in feeling wrong about doing it, and strive to never do that shit again. I've tried to do what the right thing is, and often I've missed the mark. I still try to do what's right ahead of anything else. In some cases that's made me popular with some, unpopular with others. Those are opinions and have little bearing on me personally. If someone tells me I screwed up, and I have, I'll accept that and move on.
 My life has been my bucket list. To try and find anything else that I'd like to do with all my heart is just not going to happen.

  Maybe we should all strive to do that. I've had a lot more fun that some folks, maybe less than others, but I've always done what I damn well pleased. That's the true bucket list, ain't it

A Damned bug, that's what I've got, a bug

Crap, shit, dammit, rats. I'm sick. And yes I already know I've got cancer, and that makes me sick. This is the low back pain, chills, burn up, freeze, more low back pain, chills, burn up, vicious cycle of some kind of damed bug. Normally I wouldn't say anything to the wife other than "I've got a bug, leave me the hell alone". That way I can sleep, let the aspirin do it's thing for he fever, and eat a bite when I'm sweating or freezing to death. The dang cancer even took the fun out of lying around on the couch watching "Match Game" reruns on the Game Show Network. Oh, and Hollywood Squares. Why? you ask, since I can do that anyway. Welly well, let's explore a bit, shall we?
 All that stuff I'd get when I was a kid? Yeah, I can't eat or swallow any of that. The chicken noodle soup (I liked the stuff that came out of the pouches better than the canned), a little grape juice, some 7-UP, I can't get any of that in and swallow it. Depressing. I can get a taste of it and then go to the PEG Line in my stomach. Oh Joy!!!  not so much. I mean damn, right?  I loved to let a saltine cracker just kind of dissolve in my mouth. Until I was in Jr High School, mom was home and would wait on me. Actually, that was only cool for a couple of hours, then I'd rather be left alone to sleep and all. Here we are back to touch again, though. Remember how nice it was for your mom to come in, set on the couch and rub your feet or stroke your hair? Does it get much better than that? That feeling of being loved and secure, knowing full well it's like that every day, but being sick just brought that out for you to see.
   Now I have this "vanity" issue, and it's a shame I can't see to get around that personally. They butchered the hell out of me getting rid of Baxter Jr. Left my face swollen and cut and scarred. I can't control most of my drool issue, and that's only going to get worse. I'm way less self conscious now than I was say 3 months ago. I'm just not as sensitive about going out in public to be stared at by dolts who don't know how fucking lucky they are to have all their parts and pieces. At first I only went out late at night or way early in the morning, just so I wouldn't be seen. I blew that off as just liking to get up really early. And I still do, but that wasn't why. I was ashamed of my looks. Odd, how now that I'm croaking, I am to the point I don't care if they stare or not. I'll write a nasty message on my board hand hold it for them to see. One feller took umbrage to that and called me all kinds of names. Which I thought was funny, since he ended up looking stupid, not I. Which leads me to this: I don't want to be screwed with right now. I know my wife and kids love me, they show me that hundreds of times a day. I also know that I'm being foolish. But I don't want them to feel pity for me. I don't think they do, but I don't want that at all. I'm going to have to look at this silly feeling again, and get rid of it. What a waste of my time, wondering if the fan gets grossed out or not. I'm sure they do sometimes. (I can freak the oldest out just by taking the whole tracy tube out and showing her the hole in my throat). The fact of the matter is, I'm shutting off a part of the fam that I really need and want. Why YES!!! I am a goober.
 I don't like to be a burden on anyone, ever. But the facts are that I'm going to become a burden, and I'd better get to making all I can of this time before I get really bad and I start to wear thin on everyone. See, this is what pisses me off worst about this go around. Last time I still took the kids to school, I drove myself around (which I do now as well) and knew I was going to get back to near top form. I managed to make that. Right now is as good as I'm going to feel over the coming months. Now, that doesn't scare me, but it pisses me off to have to rely on someone else to help take care of me. That's a sad state of affairs for me to be in. I love the family and friends, but I feel like I'm making them go that extra mile that shouldn't have to go. I'm not quite sure how to get rid of that, but it's gotta go.
   So, I've got this damn but, and I'm sitting here bathed in sweat, nodding off at the laptop. Honestly feel really bad. I was hurt, and sore from the 3 surgeries, but that I expected. And it was a different kind of sore.  This is achy feel like poo sore. I'm beginning to turn into a whiny little shit. I hate whiny little shits. So, I'm going to try and make do with this as best I can. As soon as the oldest gets up and gets her kid off to school, I'm going to teach her how to fill the gravity bag so I can take in more water and lemonade. For some reason my body really likes Country Time lemonade. I don't know what it is about it, but it sure makes me feel better all over. I'm going to set with her and go over some of the things that are coming down the road that I'm going to need help with (that just frosts my cupcakes), and maybe while we are at it, I can explain to her why I'm so very proud of her. And the youngest daughter too. I know it's not easy for either one of them. The youngest is getting better at hangin around with me, and I like that. She's sharp and has a wonderful sense of humor. More people need to be like my daughters.
My sons are both creative. Turns out Declan gets bored and writes. He writes well too. I'm pleasantly surprised. I even catch him reading from time to time. That's cool. Chance, he's a creative chef. His plating work is without rival, I think. He combines flavors better than anyone I've ever met, and is driven like I never was. That's pretty cool.
 So, I'm going to let it go at this. I'm sick, I'm whiny, and I really don't care. It could be worse, I could be looking out of a marble box wondering why I'm all powdery.

 Until next time! Major Astro, OUT

Whaaaat?

I've been at this a while now, with the trach tube and all the crap that goes with it. It leaks air and other not so nifty things around it because of the way my neck is built right now. I don't have nice flat spots for it to set snugly against my throat. So it leaks air and everything I aspirate since I can't swallow for shit.  It's a mess, it's uncomfortable and my skin is super easy to cut and teat because it's damp all the time. Oh, the shit you've got to live with, right? WRONG! The docs all told me they couldn't think of a thing to do to fix it. So, like a good patient I believe them. Silly me. I can't wear a standard trach collar, but we have them so sacrifice parts to me that I can use. Last night, I cut a chunk out of the middle of one, cut a cross in the middle of it, slipped the tube through the cross and VIOLA! a bushing that keeps the damn thing from leaking so badly. I'll be damned. I'd thought about that for the last 7 months, but just now did something about it. Shame on me. Those of you that know me well, know that I live to be proven right, just to prove that I can sort out a problem as well as those fold that are trained for it can. Cie la Vie

 Sitting here waiting to go to therapy when what I really want to do is go with my daughter to take the Grandson to his first day at a new school. I loved doing that when the kids were little. I just didn't get to do it often. Liz and I took Sarah to her first day. No hug, no tears, (not from Sarah, a few from Liz) she just marched right in like she owned the place. Same with the other three. Whaaaaaat?? I thought there were to be huge hugs and terrified looks from the kids. I saw more of that from the moms than from the kids. Must be programmed in that the kids generally don't give a shit and have an "Oh look, new people" attitude. We should all be like that. Are they nervous? Hell yes they are! First time in something new, new faces, new rules, and you have to sit for extended periods of time! I'm nervous and I've been out of school longer than a lot of people have been alive.
I've changed jobs in my adult life twice is all. Once when I quit the rig to go to work for Anadarko, the next when they sold my leases to Apache. That's it. If nothing else I'm a stickler for loyalty. But, I was nervous my first day in each place. You have to get to know a new boss, new rules, new people, and I had to sit for extended periods of......Whaaaat?? Like school? Yes, just like school. We should all look at stuff like kids do. Do they like change? No. Will they do it because an adult says to change something big like environment? Yes they will. Why is that? Because they trust us to not let anything bad happen to them is why. We should trust ourselves as well. If we wouldn't let anything bad happen to our kid, why do we believe we might let the same thing happen to ourselves? Yet it's that fear that haunts our minds. Is this the right thing? What if I messed up? What if, what if what if. Trust and buzz kill that damn "what if". What if I get canc...bad choice. What if I step out in front of a bus? What if a meteor falls from the sky and hits me? Or worse, a frozen turd bomb from an air liner. See the problem with "What if?". Hypotheticals are great to work out a scientific experiment. Not so great in real life. Life is what it is, and "What if" is a standard roadblock.

It's gonna be a real short one today. I overslept. Whaaaaat??? Yes, somedays I have hell falling asleep and in return I don't get up at 0330 or 0400. Sometimes it's 0530. It takes me a while to get my crap gathered up in one place and moving. Mostly because I normally don't feel rushed like I am today. It sucks to be rushed. I miss things when I rush. And right now, at home, that's not a big deal. Job wise it was a HUGE deal. Not so much here. Maury will be on tomorrow.

I've found a way to blow off the extra hours now. "Words with Friends". Internet Scrabble. It's worse for me that Candy Crush is for women. Good gravy did I blow some time off yesterday. At least it makes me think

 Y'all have a large time today. What if it was your last?

Did I do that? Really?

   My memory is a bit fuzzy on some of the things I hear I've done. Not because I was too loaded to remember, just that at the time they didn't stand out enough to warrant remembering. When I was around 21 or so the Safeway checkers went on strike in Liberal Ks (here in known as LK). Sue Flanigan was working there at the time, was still in school, and really needed to work, not strike. She goes in every day, gets hassled. Then the phone calls start in the middle of the night. I never did get the entire story of what they told and called her, but she was upset. This goes on for a week or so before I find out through the grapevine. See, when you scare the shit out of a High School girl who really needs the job, and you're over 21, that makes you a coward and it needs to stop. I hop the bike and putt down there to see why in the hell they thought it was important to intimidate and little girl and I ask as politely as I can that same question. They got nasty and called me names. To the best of my recollection this is what followed, paraphrased I'm sure: "Okay, the phone calls stop today. No more calling her a bitch, cunt, whore, or slut when she comes to work. No more, are we all clear?"There was one man in the crowd, he said "Are you threatening us?".
"No sir, that's a fucking promise. Any more of the bullshit you cock suckers are pulling and I'll make sure your life isn't the same ever again. Trust me"
The phone calls stopped, she was never pestered again. Looking back all those folks would have had to do was call the police and my tits would have been in a big wringer. I didn't think about that though, my friend was scared and that needed to stop. A Safeway checker did call the police on me once, but that was because I cracked a guy in the back of the head as hard as I could swing for slapping his two or so year old son so hard he fell down. The cops met me out front, asked what happened. I told em, they sent me home. Charmed life I live.
 One morning it was cold on the rig. I mean frickin cold cold. Like ten above zero cold. The other hand and I were doing some work up around the floor and Pop says he's gonna have a quick sammich and cup of coffee. I don't know why, but something said turn around. I did and there's Pop, he's turned purple. Looks like he's choking. Shit. I drop my tools and haul ass over, grab him and get him turned around just as he's starting to go down. I ride us both to the ground sitting on our asses and jump in doing the Heimlich Maneuver on him. Four or five good thrusts, nothing pops out but he's breathing okay. Whew.  Had to force him to shut the rig down so we could get him to the Doctor. The other hand just walked off, changed clothes and got in the truck or I don't think I'd have gotten him to go. I don't know yet if they ever figured out what happened that day. Flippin spooky though.
 One of the guys that worked with me on the rig fainted at the sight of his own blood. My blood, no problem, he'd helped me bandage up a couple of nasty cuts before, no big deal. He also wore his wedding ring and didn't like to wear gloves. Pop and I both told him (I was five or six years younger, he wouldn't listen to me anyway) not to wear the ring, or if he did at least wear gloves. We'd fished a chunk of iron out of a well that another rig company had left in. It was bent and all kinds of sharp edges just looking for something to grab were all over it. It turned in our hands, his end caught his ring and took him to the ground. Didn't cut his finger off, didn't break it, it was worse. It tugged his ring into his finger so deep you could only see half of it. Pop had gone to get parts for the well that weren't delivered and it was just the two of us out there. No radio, phones, or pick up. Yep, he passed out. I picked him up, got him over one shoulder and off to the dog house I go. He's still out. That's a good thing. I worked the ring back, and was in the process of tucking the skin of his finger under the ring so I could get it off without cutting it. He woke up screaming. I held up his hand. Out he goes. Yes, I got the ring off and his hand cleaned and bandaged. We always kept antibiotic cream and decent bandages on the rig, for just such an emergency.
  Once, carrying a woman across a muddy parking lot to go dance, I stepped on the edge of a rut and broke my ankle. I didn't drop her, oh no that would have been a terrible thing, but set her down on her feet and hopped into the bar. I knew from experience this was gonna be bad and that I had to get that damn boot off before my ankle got so big I had to cut it off. One of my buds is there, thank gosh. "Cody!! Come pull this effing boot off before we have to cut it off! I broke my M Effing ankle".
He pulls it about half way off and feels my ankle separate, he stops. I wanna pee my pants now. He starts again. I'm not sure I didn't pee my pants a little. I did, however, sooth it with interior alcohol treatment, and went to the ER the next day for a boot, only I had to have a cast instead. I missed 3 weeks work, and cut the cast off. I told Pop I was bored and ready to come back. Broke that same ankle 15 years later. I didn't know you could twist one so far that the eyelets on your lace up boots would show in the soft dirt where you broke it. I shoulda taken pictures of that.
 I nearly cut the tip of one finger off. After working all day with every bump, breath, sneeze and cough really causing some nasty pain, Pop made me go to the doctor in Elkhart Ks. They took an x-ray and found the only thing holding it on was a bit of skin. "It will grow a bit crooked, unless we operate and wire it into place" the Dr says. I say "Oh hell Doc, push over into place, and bandage it there, it'll be fine'. "Do you want to sit? This will be very painful", he says. "Nope" says I "I've worked with it all day, how bad can it hurt?". Oh. My. God. Foolish me. First, stars. Big bright flashy ones. Then wobbles start. It's getting dim. A chair hits me behind the knees and I set down. He was right, that plain hurt. The nurse had wisely gone for a chair and had it behind me while he pushed that bone back in place. It's still a bit crooked. LOL

I broke both my arms in grade school. One about a year apart from the other. Both my ankles more than twice. A couple of ribs. My nose twice (I had help with that). Why, you ask, do I tell this. Is it to make myself out to be this tough guy? No, not at all. In fact I'm not sure why I did. I find humor in most of it, because it was funny. Not at the time but in retrospect. Okay, even at the time some of it was funny.
Mostly it's just my example of making a decision and sticking with it. Was I always right? Probably not, but I was right for me at that time, in that situation.
 I've always been pretty confident in myself, and even if I screwed the pooch, I figured that was a lesson to be learned and moved on from there
 What would be the kicks, to me, is to read what other people remember. Like I say, I tend to be a bit fuzzy on some of the stuff. If we do that, let's keep names out, pretty please? No use possibly embarrassing some one.
 I've been hearing, off and on, odds and ends. It'd be neat to kind of relive some of that, I think. You guys game?

Amour De La Vie

 I got a call from a former teacher and good friend yesterday. Star Craig. She knows I can't speak well on the phone and told me to listen. She and I have been friends a long time. I enjoy her company when I can get there to visit. Even if it's just for a cup of coffee on the porch without a lot of conversation. To me that's a sign of good friends, able to enjoy each other without the need to yap. I've got a couple like that. She recalled my first day as a transfer student in her class in 1975. I was already 8 weeks behind that Monday. She sat all the past 8 weeks of work on my desk and said "Sugar, I know this is a lot of work, but you have to have it done next Monday". She swears all I said was "okay". I got it done. I think that was really the start of our friendship that would grow later as I became an adult. I believe she was the first adult stranger that challenged me to do something I wasn't sure I could do. Pretty good start for a 14 year old kid.
 She also tells me I've got "Amour de la vie" to the nth degree. It's true, I do love life. From the most simple to even when its the worst, I love it. What's not to love about life? I get up very early, always have. When I was healthy it was to go to the gym to make myself stronger so I could enjoy my life as best as possible. There's a certain peace very early in the morning. Lot's of people like to see the sun rise. I like being up a few hours before that. If you look closely, as the earth revolves you can follow the stars and see them change position just like the sun. It's quiet. A nice thing, the quiet is. There's calm in the stillness. The feeling of needing to rush isn't quite there yet. It's like you can slow down everything because it's so quiet you're not sure time is even moving. The closer it gets to sunrise is way cool. Long before the sun actually breaks the horizon for sunrise, the eastern sky starts to lighten. A couple of hours before. It's not much, but you can see it on the edge of the horizon. The temperature drops as well. Weathermen will tell you that's not so, and they are full of crap. Look at an hourly temperature table, you'll see it. More importantly you'll feel it. You get that little chill, not enough for it to be alarming, but it's there, and your body knows the sun is coming up.
 I love the rush of the road under my wheels. Two or four, it makes no difference. I REALLY like it under the two wheels. Riding the Fat Girl is a blast. You experience a lot more on a bike than you do from a car. Why yes, the car can be more comfortable in the heat, cold, or wet. But you can't smell the new mown hay, the wild flowers, the guy that's bbqing a half mile off the road. You know, the smoke you see by the house farm house. Yeah, that guy. Sure, you get wet, and you have to be careful and keep your mind in the middle. It's about being the most relaxed and focused all at the same time. Relaxed because tense actually slows down your reaction time. Focused because mistakes on a bike are unforgiving. You can get away with a few, and all of us that ride have done that, but if you're not focused, they'll kill ya. Don't get me wrong, I love a good car. The wife's car is a sedan. It's also a secret hot rod. It'll light the rear tires up. I also know it's got a good 145 mph in it. On a stop watch, not the speedometer. I'm not sure what the speedometer was showing. I didn't want to look. We have a little Audi TT. Cornering little devil. Hard to make drift though. It's that all wheel drive thing, I think. I'll confess, I can't do a bootleggers turn anymore. I did in High School. Tried it once on gravel even though I knew better, gravel acts like ball bearings and nothing bites like it should. Ended up in a ditch. Had to dig myself out, on Christmas Eve. The nice young lady that was with me had a father that was very, very concerned when we came in an hour late. Ooops
  Confusing people is fun. I don't dress like a bright person. T-shirts and jeans mostly. It's not conducive to being thought of as the sharpest knife in the drawer. But it's a kick showing people not to judge so quickly. I like Shakespeare. Will the Shakes plays and sonnets are ageless and worthy of the effort to read them properly. So, if folks begin talking down to me, I try to find a bit of Will to use back at them. Or to just torture them with what few bits of Latin phrases I remember. Carpe Diem, or my fave, Carpe Jugulum (seize the throat) will throw people off a tad. So many people misquote history as well. There's no Separation of Church and State in the Constitution. Hamilton and Jefferson talked about it, but not to save the government from the church, but to save the church from an over reaching government. Scary little things like that. People get all kinds of blistered over that stuff. It's a laugh. I don't play dumb, necessarily, but there are enough people out there that confuse me having a High School diploma only as a sign that I'm not bright. I like to lie in wait and snap it off in them. I'm confident in myself to the point of arrogance, but I don't use that like some do as a means to bolster my own ego. It doesn't need  the help. Keep em guessing, that's my motto.
  I never quit trying to learn something. When I first got diagnosed with cancer in 08, I researched it to the hilt, and along with Liz, we wrote out questions for the doctors (the fools always ask "do you have any questions?"). Knowledge is power. When a doctor looks at you after you've asked 10 or 15 questions from cause to treatment and says "you're the most informed patient I've had", I've got his respect, he won't sugar coat anything. That's what you need when you've got cancer. Straight talk, no BS. The only time I BS'd that doctor was over the feeding tube. I was told if I lost X amount of weight they'd put it in me. I lost way past X, but I put four, 5 lb plates in my biker jacket toward the end. I didn't get the feeding tube. Win by cheat. The surgeon at MD Anderson was telling me about how advanced my cancer was back in 2012. I asked that he explain the mechanics of the cancer, and the surgery. He looked at me a bit, and went on the describe the mechanics of the operation. I'd bounce in with, "So if this does X, then Y is what I should expect?". It went well enough along those lines he was pleased to say I understood more of what was going to happen than most of his patients. Pretty cool stuff there. Even when he told us that if the cancer came back, that was the end of anything else we could do, I was ready because I learned all I could about that. Not that I wanted to hear it, but it wasn't as frightening as it could have been. Knowledge is power over my fear. Always has been
  My Amour de la Vie is, in short, everything about life. I've always had a great life because just living is the greatest gift we have. I've said before, it's the little things. It is. As well as the good things, the bad things, the things that are indifferent. The joy of holding your baby for the first time, and that nervous, gut wrenching fear of "I hope to God I don't fuck this up". It's finding within yourself that ability to dig deep down when you shouldn't have anything left, and going on anyway. Heart ache to Heart filling. Finding that you can take "That Unforgiving Minute" and in 60 seconds run it to ground. Every day, not just when it gets hard, or is incredibly easy. But every day. If I didn't do that, I couldn't set here and tell you guys how I see it should be done. We all have this desire to see the best of every day. It's sometimes hard to find it, but it's there.
 I'm here, with Baxter eating away at my body, reveling in a bright sunrise. Knowing my wife will come home and take my breath away just for a second when I see her. Hearing my both my daughter's voices, my son's, and my grandson's. Watching the idiot dog hump his bed. Going outside for a bit to catch some fresh air. Watching the squirrel run the trees looking for snacks. Hopefully the neighbors apple tree will produce again this year. The squirrel can't leave the rotting apples alone and he gets drunker than Cooter Brown. It's a riot. There's always something wonderful out there, regardless of what you're going through. I'm missing a titty and part of one leg. Could be worse, I could be missing the entire leg. Or worse than that, my ability to think. My ability to be me, regardless of whether or not I can talk well, or throw the heavy shit, or ride the bike. My mind is still here.
My Amour De La Vie, that won't die with me, that will be around always

The best laid plans

Yesterday we finalized my funeral arrangements. A little surreal, but then again a lot of folks do that early so their families don't have to mess with that when they die. Good idea really. It's zero fun arranging a funeral at the last minute. So Liz, myself, and the funeral directors are going over the arrangements. How I want this, do I want that, and I keep asking Liz "what do you think, I'm not gonna care at that point". Finally she says, "You know what? Whatever you want, it's your funeral". I cracked up, the funeral director just kinda looked at us, but her boss laughed. What's not to laugh at?  I don't know how many times I've heard "All Mister, but it's your funeral!".  This time, literally. I guess that might bother some folks, making light of a situation like mine. But, honestly there aren't many options left. It's laugh now and be upset later. I mean really, why put your family through the agony of getting your funeral together at the last minute when they could be together, helping each other out? Give it some thought.
 I had planned on taking a long ride this spring with my bud John Moye, we were gonna go toward Milwaukee for Harley's birthday party. (the bike, not the guy). We were gonna take a couple weeks, visit some different stuff and generally have a damn nice ride through the country. I like riding with John. We worked out some hand signals for "I need fuel", "I gotta take a leak", "screw this, the traffic sucks", "did you see the boobs on the girl in that car?!?!?!". We enjoy the same kind of things, like historic stuff and places. We like to eat. At least once a trip we eat at a good 4 star place. We hunt around and have been darn lucky to have hit some really good mom and pop places. Especially down south. Most of the joints we've eaten in have home made everything. Shoot, even the bowling alley/restaurant/bar in some little berg in Louisiana had great homemade pies. And was good food. Ya have to be a little careful about that "good food" thing. I've been so hungry that I would have sworn Wendy's made their burgers with Kobe beef. Yes, we take a set of decent duds with us so we can dine in a nice place without looking like we've been thrown off the turnip wagon. There's a really good restaurant in Daytona Beach we ate at twice. Great food, wonderful cuisine, and I'm sure other than Bike Week and pretty solid dress code. We put on the best clothes we have, shine the boots a little and head in. The staff is very nice. We look around, and there's a table with about 12 people sitting at it. Ratty shirts, dirty jeans, squirrelly hair, and loud. I say to John "Jesus, ya know, put on some clean clothes and comb your hair!". He agrees and the closer we look, not a beer one on the table. No mixed drinks. All wine. Not Annie Greensprings, the good stuff. The least expensive bottle this place sells is $75. Something tells me these aren't your typical filthy bikers. Nooooo, these folks are try to pretend to be filthy bikers. Here John and I ride 1400 miles (John closer to 1700) and clean up, and these guys are playing wannabe. There weren't enough bikes out front for them to have ridden. When they leave there are 4 taxis waiting out front for them. Which makes us laugh. Here we do our best to actually ride and be ourselves, and this band of trailer clowns is trying to look like a tough biker.
 I had planned on attending the World Master Highland Games Championships in New Mexico this March. I only needed to games early on to qualify without asking for an exemption. Would I have won my age division? Are you kidding me? Not a snowball's chance in hell of me winning, but going would have been great!!! And I was secretly going to save enough money and surprise Liz with a trip to Inverness Scotland in 2014 for the World Master's Championship that will be held there. It would have meant blowing off a big bike trip, but I figure John would understand. I love the Highland Games. It's a difficult sport that I just suck air playing. It's the only sport I have played that I don't get 40 shades of red mad at myself if I don't throw well. Part of that being the level of athlete I throw with. (Notice I don't say compete, I can't throw on the same level as these guys) The other part being that when I practiced a lot, and was doing better, I found myself getting angry at my performance, so I stopped practicing. I decided I enjoyed the sport so much I wasn't going to let myself ruin it for me. I enjoy the other athletes company too much. I've made too many good friends to allow myself to throw a kink in that anywhere. So I throw, I suck, I laugh and have a good time. At the very best, I'm a mediocre athlete, and I can live with that if it means I can still play. At some point I was going to have to stop, I'm sure, but it would have been nice to stop throwing on my terms, not because the cancer screwed my body up so bad I can't. That is a disappointment, and THAT pisses me off.
    I had planned on slowing down at work some so Liz and I could enjoy each other's company more. They'd put a guy in to replace me, and when I had been able to come back, there were going to be two of us working at what I'd been doing on my own. How sweet would that have been? It'd cut down my 12 hour days from 4 or 5 to 1 or 2 a week. Don't get me wrong, it'd still be 9 hr days, at least, but those extra 3 hrs in the evening would have been nice. I'd had some plans to take her a couple of nice places. Like Fredericksburg had the cancer been an easy fix. Nice place, cool stuff to see. Wineries to visit. Just Liz n Me time. We've never had much Liz N Me time. Liz became a mom officially September 12, 1992. I had two kids she took on as her own with me. We had 2 more of our own. Sure, we took a couple of trips to Jamaica, but the resorts are a hard place for Liz n Me time. Too many people. I had planned on us getting back to the dating Liz N Me. Where every time we went out we found something new about each other. Yes, there are still things we can find out about one another. I already knew she was a strong woman, this is a shitty way to find out she's an exceptionally strong woman. I'd rather have skipped this part for her, not so much for me, but for Liz. I'd planned on us going places she wanted to see, do some stuff Liz wanted to do. I planned on letting her surprise me with those trips. I think that would have been fun
   I planned on living out my life until I was gray, crinkled and a grouchy old bastard. I got to the grouchy part already. And I was starting to gray and crinkle. I planned on showing my grandsons how to do different things. Things they wanted to learn. I planned on giving them a copy of "IF" and taking the time to explain why it's an important poem to me. I planned on being more patient with them than I was my own kids, because Pops can get away with that. I was starting to like getting older. I know 52 isn't very old, but it's getting old enough that I relaxed a bit. People start to listen to what you say. Well, people in their 30's, the guys in their 20's still know everything, right? The getting older thing was really starting to appeal to me. I've always been comfortable and confident in who I am, but now it was starting to be when I was living up to the hype. I figured out that I don't have to do every damn thing, that someone is going to have to do it instead of me eventually. I was getting closer to becoming the guy that ran the old steam rig for the oil show. I need to help find someone to take my spot. It's the last one that's museum quality that still runs on steam. It's important historically.

  Yep the best laid schemes  of mice and men often go awry. I'd spell it in the brogue Robert Burns wrote it, but it's hard to read the brogue.
 These were my long term plans, and only a portion of them at that. Those are all on full stop, unless some major miracle happens. Although I can feel the cancer doing it's thing more and more. This too, will be okay though. It means that farther down the road someone will be doing versions of my plans with their own life and plans. See, our plans are often quite a bit alike, we humans. We all want to have a good time, especially with our loved ones. We just see what is fun in different lights.
So go out and live it up. Make each day a portion of a bigger plan. Let's call that plan "Living", not just life but "Living". I've done that my entire life, and intend to do it on the next leg of the journey as well.

Yeah, whatever

Good lord I got pissed off yesterday. At a couple of people in particular, and at myself for being pissed, and several little things that probably shouldn't have pissed me off but did anyway. I'm not all happiness and sunshine, I've got a temper like you would not believe. There's no telling what will open the door to Mr. Temper's room either. Once he's out, he's hard to put back in where he belongs. That's my fault when he gets out. I know enough to let most things slide off so I'm not going sky high over every little thing. Things just kept rattling Mr Temper's cage yesterday until they shook the lock off. Inconsiderate people started it at 5 AM. I go to sit and listen while my buds have a cuppa Joe and shoot the breeze. It's a nice change and I'm not so self conscious about my inability to be well understood. While walking across the parking lot, some douche nozzle comes screaming in, lays on his horn and gives me the finger. I stop right where I am in front of him and stare. I can't tell him what a complete and utter asshole he is, and if he'd like to step out of his POS Jeep Wrangler we could discuss etiquette up close and personal. For starters he'd not understand me, and the other thing is I don't have the upper body mobility to drag his horse's ass out of the Jeep for a talk. So I rely on irritation. It worked I believe. I get in and sit down. Three people in line, some ass is taking coffee orders over the phone, and holding the line up. Because his and his buddy's coffee are more important than stepping out of line until they sort out what they want.
 On Facebook we had a little discussion about my religious beliefs. Really, it's no one's business but me and my maker what I believe, and I don't like to discuss it in public. I offered to talk to anyone that wanted to know in a Private Message. That discussion got a little rowdy and there really was no need for that. Granted, I opened it up for questions about anything with the caveat I could say "None of your damn business". Which I used, one time, and then offered a private discussion. It wasn't a mean discussion, just unnecessary. I don't give a rat's shiny ass what a person believes or how they go about showing it. That's their personal choice and I respect that, I'll DEFEND that, so why argue it? Got me.
 I've kept Mr Temper tied down for a while now. And maybe it's time it got turned loose for just a bit. I got some things off my chest that had been there for a long time. And while I was chapped at myself for the way I did it, I feel better for having said what I did. Was it kind? Oh God no it wasn't. It did need said though after 4 years of pussy footing around with it, it was time. I'm not trying to make an excuse for anything because it's my behavior. I see and hear enough excuse making to run me the rest of my life, plus some. It seems like it's always someone else to blame for things that are going on in a person's life. I can honestly say, the reason I never made field foreman was because of my mouth. No one's fault but my own. I had a foreman that just honestly didn't like me, he told people he didn't, but he was an ass. I told him so, knowing full well that even if a promotion rolled along I was going to get looked over just so he could keep me under his thumb. I never laid blame to him for that, it was my own doing.
  So, Mr Temper got to spend some time out playing yesterday. What was the total gain in that? No a damn thing. Zero. Zip. Nada.  It wasn't a good solid reason to be angry, not like seeing someone abuse my or someone else's kid, or touch me in a threatening manner, or try to harm my wife or friends. Nope, none of that, it was silly shit that should have been let go and blown off. I try to pride myself in not dwelling on stuff, or letting it build up into blown over the top proportions. I missed doing that yesterday. If anyone is looking for an apology, that isn't happening either, but it was silly for me to twist off like that. It's a short coming on my part. Mr Temper is the reason I never liked to fight. I didn't know when to stop. Mr Temper has cost me a couple of friends down the line. My loss, for foolish behavior. My lovely wife Liz is about the only person that can scare Mr Temper back into his box, bless her heart. She's tougher than I am. She hates Mr Temper more than I do. Mr Temper is an ass, he helps me do stupid shit.
 On the other hand, Mr Temper helps me deal with some of the stuff  I'm going through right now. He's mad as hell at Baxter, so he fights Baxter for me. He won't let Hospice tell me what's best for me, when they've done nothing but read files....maybe. He's with me when the Dr's act a bit indignant that I won't do a Clinical Trial. He asks them "Would you?", but gets no answer, other than a walk around the bushes. He does give me an edge at times, when I let just parts of him come slinking out when I need that boost.

 So, today's lesson? Damned if I know. I would guess it's not to let the little things drive you to losing your temper. If it's going to be lost, do it for the right reasons, not over little stuff. Does this let the person I was most angry at off the hook? No it does not. I just should have been more diplomatic. Short coming on my part. One should try and temper honesty with compassion. It's good to be honest with yourself and everyone else, but there should be a bit of compassion in there as well. You draw more flies with honey, as the old saying goes. To add to the rest of that timeless saw: Use vinegar and generally all you attract are the douche bags

Questions? Anyone? Anyone?

 So, what do people want to know about me or my situation? What questions are off limits?

 Well, let's start with that. Nothing is off limits unless I say something like, "Yeah, like that's any of your damn business". My terms, my limits. If anyone gets put off by a question, I'd say grow some thicker skin. The only way to understand what I'm going through, and what each of us may go through, is to ask. Knowledge is power, and that's no bullshit. For years we heard teachers tell us that there is no stupid question, no matter how trivial a person may think the question sounds in their own head. Ask, be bold. As I say, the worst you'll get is a none of your business answer. I'll answer all of them as honestly as I can. My terms, I get to decide how much detail I go into with each answer. Some will be short because I just don't understand the science. I'm oil field trash, not a doctor. Others will be short because it's something I want to keep for myself. I have to have something that's mine. I dedicated the blog to being open, as open as I can anyway, so people get the chance to learn something. Whether it's how not to be afraid of the future (frankly, none of us get out alive) or just to put a new eye on what's going on around us. I always felt like I  was a keen observer of my surroundings. I didn't miss much of the pretty stuff, or the ugly either. But I've also slowed down my looking a bit now, so everything takes on a different tone. I live in some butt ugly country. Not much more than mesquite, caliche, and some scrub grass, but even here has it's moments. Always has had, I just see more of them now. That was my whole point here. To give folk a chance to see what I am, and maybe see it when they aren't so pressed for time. Dying is a piss poor way to discover the nice stuff along the road, believe me. I've also said I'd be open about how I feel as this goes along. I intend to keep that promise, until I just can't any longer. That may be ugly as sin as we steam along here. I intend to put in everything I can, no matter how crappy and bad it gets. That's the point of being honest, sometimes it hurts a little.

 Okay, onto a question that popped up yesterday on the Facebook Group site. "You're not doing the Clinical Study even if it might help others?"

 That's right, I'm not. I sort of short sheeted that answer yesterday, so I'll try and elaborate on why I came to that conclusion a couple of weeks ago, and how I'd already made up my mind not to do Chemo, before seeing the Oncologist in Midland.

 So here goes nothing. Back when I got the biopsy in late October, I'd told my boss that if the cancer came back it was going to be mad and worse than the first time. Being right isn't all it's cracked up to be. I knew then it was going to be a difficult row to hoe, but I was willing to take the risk and see what was going to happen and how we were going to fight it. Lots of surgery, cutting out big chunks of me. That left me, after some of the muscle flap died and required another two surgeries to fix, unable to swallow or speak. Without a pectoral muscle and missing a goodly chunk of one quadricep. I didn't get PT orders in what I consider a timely fashion, so a lot of my upper body weakened out and atrophied. No fun. They collected samples of all the cancerous tissue, plus the dead quad muscle, as well as having every page of doctor files from the previous bout. A lot of information for a research hospital to use. Including growth rate in me, which was awfully fast. Both times it was very fast, and I see no reason this one won't be the same. I have hell with chemo. Bad side effect? Hell yes, dish that shit up because I'll have some, no doubt about it. Any more radiation and that will kill me faster than the cancer. In short, misery and death, right? My surgeon, at our first meeting, told me this was the shot. If it came back after that, there wasn't anything left to do. I figured that, just taking a wild guess at the mechanics of it all, and decided to give it a shot. We kill the cancer this time, it won't have a place to hide. Or so I thought. Cut away, surgeon, let us be done with the foul disease, repair me, and let's all have a big hug to a successful treatment. Almost worked too. Clear for 5 months

  So, they find it again on my first reconstructive surgery. I knew by the look on the Doc and his assistants face something was up and it wasn't good. Fine. We'll see. A week later I see my new surgeon, he mentions Palliative care, throws my loving wife into tears. Bad. He and I discuss probable time. He says about a year, goes into a bit of what to look forward to (that's a taboo question, I will not answer that at all) and hooks me up with the MDA folks for the next week, along with a chemo consult. We'd already discussed that it wasn't a cure, just an extension, so I was leaning toward no chemo then. After another 2 weeks, and the palliative care consult (the doctor was very cute, and tiny) we had a chemo consult. You notice I keep saying "we". That's the wife and I, she's in this with me.
MDA chemo Doc tells me the protocol they want to use is going to be very strong, but I'm strong enough to stand it. I ask cure, she says no...Strike on. She brings up Clinical Study, a bit shy on details other than it's going to be way stronger and more harsh than the chemo treatment. Cure? Nope, just to see how my cancer reacts to the treatment. Sooooooo, really, really sick and miserable for zero gain on the whip end. I told her "NO" right away. I say I'll think about on cycle of chemo, if I can do it at home where I can be comfortable.
 Fast forward to Midland one week. I'm in wanting to see if MDA has set up the protocol with my doctor. The orders came in while I was waiting. They take some blood, go over the CT report that came with the orders and ask if I can wait to see the doc. Thirty minutes or so later he's telling me about the treatment, it sounds bad to me already. I ask if my wife can come in and hear what he has to say the next day. I've already made my mind up, but Liz deserves to hear what I heard, so she can understand why I said no to the Chemo. She listens, cries a bit,  and agrees with me. No chemo. I know this makes her weepy and stuff all day, and I hate that. For me, it's like lifting a bus off my shoulders. Hearing there wasn't a cure was like having a tank taken off, this was the last big weight and I was glad to be free of it.

 So, here's why no clinical study and no chemo. They've got chunks of me that I signed off for them to have and study. They have dozens of blood tests, CT's and PET scans to go over. They have growth rate. The only thing they don't have is me as a guinea pig.

 My life on my terms, my death on my terms. I've chosen quality over quantity. Without being able to speak will or swallow, or train to throw, or really ride the bike, my quality of life isn't what it once was. Fine, I accept that as part of the war I am continuing to put up against that which will kill my body. And I figure faster than within a year. MD Anderson is a great hospital, and they do wonderful work in curing cancer. If surgery hadn't been part of the equation, I'd jumped on a Clinical Trial so fast it'd make your head spin. As things stand now, no way, no how. I'm still doing speech swallow therapy, so hopefully I'll be more readily understood when the time comes I can't speak at all. I do lymphedema therapy, because that helps everything else as well as my comfort level.

 So now there's a bit better explanation, I needed the extra room Facebook can give, but not as well as this forum. So, ask away. I'm open. And as I've said, if the questions make you woozy or upset, put that extra layer of skin on. Hell, I'm the one being asked, no one else is

Why?

A lot of people are asking "Why? Why do good people have to die?". It's part of life is why. Are some folks taken way to early? Absolutely, and not including myself in that lot. As humans we are a frail lot. No other baby requires the time a human baby does to be able to care for itself. In fact, some never learn how to take care of themselves. We are susceptible to a plethora of illness that 100 years ago would have killed most of us. We aren't as strong as most of the big mammals in the animal kingdom. Our advantage lies in our larger brain pan and it's ability to reason and think in abstract terms. It's what brings us to "Why?". Sometimes there just isn't an answer other than "Well, shit happens don't it?". Because it does. Shit just happens. No matter how we try to rationalize it, or explain it, it just happens. Is it part of a big master plan for each of us individually? It very well could be. I'm a believer in nothing happening without a reason. Does that mean there is a higher power? It certainly does in my mind. If that's God that's fine. If it's just a creator of action that must play itself out, that's fine as well. None of what we do is without reason, nor does it never have no effect. Our hope is that we do a bit better and leave the place better than when we got here. Our little mud ball out here in the universe is different. Any one of a million things just doesn't fall into place exactly right, life doesn't exist here. A bit closer to the sun, it's too hot, a bit farther out, it's too cold. Every meteor strike, every ice age, every warm period, happened for the betterment of the planet and the life that occupies it. That's not random. Random leaves too many variables that can go wrong.
 "Why" can also lead to "What if?". What if deals in hypotheticals that can't be proven. "What if I'd been able to be a Marine?" Well, I might not have done the work I do, met the people I have, had the kids I do, or have this blog. Or not. It's the same as asking yourself "What if I'd done X instead of Y?". You'd not be who you are now. Something would have changed and in turn, that would change your outlook on life and work. There are folks thinking "Oh, no, I'd still be the same.". No, no you wouldn't. You'd have altered something basic in your life. Something so tiny you may not know it at first, but it will have an overall impact on who you are right now. It can't be helped. Our experiences make us who we are. I could have changed majors when I was drinking my way out of college (or just stayed at the dorm and studied, but that was no fun) and gone onto being a history instructor. I might have even been good at it, but I'd not be who I am sitting here typing. My entire outlook on life and work would be altered. I know a lot of petroleum engineers. We talk field work, wells and fun stuff like that. I've mentioned before that I could go back to school and learn exactly what they know right out the box. But I've done work and seen things they'll never see, just because I was where I was at the right time. I also listened and learned things from them. Not being so dead set in exactly what I had done over riding new information let me learn a lot. As well as being able to show the engineers an easy, safer way to work. It was a win/win. I'd never gotten there if I'd lived by "What If?". Do I do that? Hell yes I wonder "What if", I'm human. We all wonder about changing things. I don't dwell on it. I think it's a losing proposition. An unprovable scenario. I think "What if" can paralyze your ability to move forward nearly as badly as, and in some cases worse, fearing the unknown
  The worse thing about "Why" and "What if" is they can keep you from trying. "What if I fail?". Yeah, what if? Big deal, is it worse to fail or not to try at all? Not to try is far worse. "What if I he/she doesn't feel the same way about me I do them?". Don't ask, or lay your heart out there, you'll never be hurt. You'll also never find the miracle of a solid love. "Why did that happen?". Who knows? Did you learn something from it? If you did it wasn't a total wash out then, was it?
 There are so many things that can hold us back from being happy or ourselves. I tried to avoid those, and for the most part I've lived my life on my terms. I spent a lot of time raging against the darkness in spite of not lighting the candle. I learned from those years.  You really can draw more with honey than vinegar, it just took me a while to figure that out. I can look back and honestly say I wouldn't change a thing. All the stuff I've done in the past have gone toward my here and now and my future. Everyone can do that. Don't dwell on the what if or why end. Look at it as the lesson you didn't know you were learning. Our ability to look back and say "This is where I made a mistake, I don't have to do that again" is what separates us from the animal kingdom.
 I just looked at the biggest "What if" of my life. What if I do the chemo and the clinical study? Well, for certain I was going to be incredibly sick and miserable, and the gain in life would be zero to a little. I decided to say no to those, knowing full well I'm going to die a bit sooner. Yesterday a guy asked me
"What if it would have worked?". I suppose I might have lived a long life. Or been clear 4.5 years, or 5 months and it might come back. I don't dwell on that because my decision was made. I feel it was the correct decision for me. Do you all see how defeatist "Why?" and "What if?" are now?  "Why" because in a lot of cases there just isn't an answer. At least not one we can see right away. There's a lot of reasons we can't see right away, and may never see. But somewhere  a difference was made in something. "What If?", because it causes us to question things we can't correct. What if deals in the past. It's okay to think "What if", then play out the different scenarios, but in the long run what has that done? Made some great personal fiction for us is what. You can't move yourself forward if you're so worried about things you can't control that they affect your everyday thought process. It's okay to think "what if I do this, what are the consequences?", that's making a plan. It' not okay to constantly go back and worry about "what if I'd done this instead?". That's a loser, you probably already know that answer. The fact that you made a decision and went through with it, right, wrong or indifferent is a major point in your life. It's teaching you how to deal with the things you do. Don't ruin the good lessons by worrying about "What If".

 Long and rambling. It's becoming a trade mark.
Carpe Omnia. Might as well, as long as Why and What If stay out of your way

Acceptance

This weekend I was asked if I'd accepted the diagnosis. I replied, yes I have.

 Accepting the diagnosis by no means saying I like it, or won't fight it with what I have. What it means is I've come to terms with the oncoming end of my life. Do I like that? Well hell no, I don't like that, but that doesn't mean I'm not at peace with this part of my life. My cancer is rapid growth stuff. When even the Oncologist looks at CT's taken before, after, and immediately before surgery and says "Wow, that grows really fast", maybe it's time to say, "Wow, my cancer grows really fast". I know it does. I can sort of tell why it's having a growth spurt. I get tired, cranky, and achy. Like this morning. Well, this morning could be lag from the fun I had at Kerrville. That being the case, it's no big deal, because that's an ache I'd put up with every day if it meant I'd had fun the weekend before.
 Acceptance means that I'm not willing to spend what time I have left, hooked up to a PICC line having poison pumped into me once a week for God knows how long. It means that I do not want to spend my time trying to keep from vomiting. That creates an entirely different set of problems than simple Chemo yakking does. It means that I'd rather be as lucid as possible. It means that what time I have left, be it a years, way less or maybe more, isn't going to be spent wondering if it slowed down the cancer enough to squeeze in an extra 2-3 weeks. No, that's not doing it on my terms. That's letting someone who doesn't have a personal interest vested in me decide how my life is going to proceed. The clinical trial was going to be more harsh than the standard Chemo. Bless their hearts at MD Anderson, because I know they are looking down range and trying to help other people after I'm gone. I'm thrilled they do that, by the way. They have samples of my cancer tumors and tissue. They have a sample of the muscle that died in my mouth. That's enough of Rock Guinea Pig, they don't need me to be sick for them at all, not if it's not going to cure me, and I as told it would not.
 Acceptance means that I see things a bit differently. There are places I probably won't see now. Somewhere down the line there are people I'm going to see for the last time. I can taste a bit of the foods I like, but I won't be eating them again. People's smiles, voices, how they smell, the feel or their hands when we greet each other. Those are things that, one day, will be the last time I experience that particular person. Jesus, sounds like I'm being a drag, right? I'm not. These are the things I took for granted when I thought I was immortal after beating Baxter down the first time. Not that I didn't cherish my friendship with everyone, that goes without saying. But I took a lot of things for granted. I don't do that now. How often do we really just look and soak in what we are seeing? How the flats turn into the hills? How the hills are wooded differently in different areas? I can tell you when we are getting close to West Texas just by the difference in the Mesquite and pasture land, even if I've been asleep and wake up not knowing where we are exactly. Everyone's hands feel different when you shake them, because it's a person, not just their hand. Pay attention next time you grab mitts with more than a couple of people, it's amazing what you can tell from just grabbing a hand and shaking it. I started noticing that more lately. I think I'm making an image of that person that won't be lost...ever. I'll take some of everyone with me, where ever it is I'm going on the next leg of the journey.  I'll have dozens of people with me, how can that be a bad thing?
 Acceptance makes it easier to get everything Immortal Rock should have gotten done, finished in a timely manner. Put this off, put that off, the next thing you know none of the stuff you wanted done is even close to finished and you're out of time. Me? Hell, I'm getting that done. When the time comes to shake these mortal coils, the only thing the family will have to do is be with each other. No mad running around getting stuff finished for my depot stop. Except maybe the party stuff. That'll have to be set up later. Although we are having a BBQ sometime in November, hopefully while I'm still able and feel up to it. I find myself not planning too far out right now. More my style actually, to begin with. It's giving me a chance to reconnect with some folks I hadn't seen or talked to in years. Not to lay a guilt trip on them or myself, but to let them know that in some way they made a difference in my life. That's a good thing for me to do right now, and I hope it's a good thing for those people to know as well. Acceptance also means it's okay to admit I'm tired and I hurt a lot of the time. Before either round with cancer I had a lot of aches from things I did when I between 4 and 47. I had aches and minor arthritis  from broken bones. Pulled muscles and over exerted everything. It was something I had and learned to live with. Lately I get asked a lot "What's your pain level?". It constantly ran a 2-3. So compared to what? A good day? Then a 5 or 6 is tolerable. And I hate to admit it when I'm really hurting. Shit, I limp a bit because I'm missing part of a quad, so what's a little pain? The Palliative Care Dr at MDA said, "It matters because you deserve to be as comfortable as you can". That struck home for some reason. Okay, that works for me, I accept that. And anyone at Kerrville can attest that I got as comfortable as I could be on that day.
 Acceptance also means that I'm not going to keep telling everyone to suck it up. It gives me the peace of mind to let everyone that wants to be upset with my current run from Terminal Velocity to Critical Mass, be upset. Do I like to see my loved ones cry? I can be a mean old Son of a Bitch at times, but I'm not heartless. It really upsets me. But, acceptable for me now because the folks I love need to have a time to be upset, leak a bit, be mad, all of that. They can even be mad at me for behaving like I was Immortal Rock and doing as I damn well pleased because I wasn't ever gonna die. Surprise surprise surprise Sgt. Carter, looks like I might after all.  I didn't used to like the fuss. My wife thinks she can't cry in front of me, I think, so she can look strong for me. WRONG Lizzy, you can. You've always been my strength and my rock, nothing is gonna change that. It also means I've given up a chunk of myself.  I was always loathe to accept help, let alone ask for it. Stubborn Rock never liked having to have help. Stubborn Rock often took longer to do some things because he wouldn't ask for help. At work, my mantra was "If you need it, ask for help, there's no shame in asking.". Ahhhh to have taken my own advise. I can suck it up because I own this, it's not the same for me as it is others. Let me suck it up, and who ever needs to have that time to be upset, cry, break a dish, vent it out. In the long run it'll help both of us. A bit of something: "Surprise surprise surprise" was what Gomer Pyle USMC used to tell his drill Sgt back in the 60s   early 70s, for those of you too young to remember the TV show

 Acceptance means that I have to accept the fact my thought bucket has run dry.
Today's blog was brought to you by the word "dammit" and the number 3.
All y'all take care now, hear?

IT'S SO FLUFFY!!!

We went to a Highland Games in Kerrville TX yesterday. It was held to coincide with the River Parade. It's also the first time that Kerrville has had a Highland games. The venue was in a nice park right along the river (duh, Rock. River Parade) and though the day was hot, there was a decent breeze and most importantly there were several of my friends.

 It's tough to go to the games, for me, and not be able to throw. But I do like the athletes. So when the Masters and Women divisions are put together to throw at the same time, I went down to shoot the breeze and talk myself into trying the event. Talking myself into trying wasn't so hard. I've got a pain patch on, right? How bad could it be?, I said. Give it a shot!, I said. So I did. Borrowed a hay fork and thought I'd try at 18'. Generally that's a cake walk for me, so sure, why not. I grab Brittney Boswell's fork because it's like mine, and she's let me use it before. I get all set. Feels pretty decent. Do my wind up and let it loose. Oh yeah! High enough, but not over the bar....then OWWWWW. Oh Geez Louise did that hurt. Not just the "wow, I've not done that in a long, long time" kind of hurt. But the kind of hurt that says "No, really, that hurt bad, it's okay to either pee pee a little or cry" kind of hurt. I put B's fork on the ground properly, calmly walk by and say "Ow" and then lament how I've got to sit down for a minute. Suuuuure, because honestly it's sit down or roll up into a ball for the afternoon. Meandering back to the car I slip out the liquid pain medicine that's for back up to the patch. I fix myself a dose and shove that right into the tube. It helps a little. So now I figure most of my time is going to be spent relaxing in a chair and being stoned. I was right, too. One of the guys had some stuff called "Pain a Trater" from Melaluca. Wicked shit that. It's like ICY HOT on steroids, with a touch of aspirin. That really killed the pain off as long as I didn't over do it. Thanks Aaron and Tamyna Woods.

 I talked a little with a lot of the guys there. It's tough since I can't speak well and have to use the board. There were a lot of "I didn't get a damn bit of that" or "what?" going on. That's cool, I understand that. I can hear myself too, and once in a while even I think WTF? There were a lot of kids out there too, which is typical for a Highland Games. Families get together and come to the games. One of the guys grandparents came to see him throw. That's pretty cool if you ask me. Anyway, back to the kids. They had all kinds of questions, which I don't mind. It beats having people look and get that "oh you poor man" expression. Kids are pretty blunt. If you're scary, they won't come around. If they are curious and one brave comes up to talk and ask questions. They all gather around to hear and ask too. So I don't mind. They watched me put water in my feeding tube. "Does that hurt?",  "Where does it go?", and "Can you taste it?" were the most common questions. I had to write down the answers and either a grown up or one of the kids that could read would tell the others what I wrote down. One of the little girls is whispering to her mother. She came over, put her little head down and asked me if she could use my board to draw me a picture. Of course I told no. Wrong, I let her draw me a nice picture, then I took her picture and showed her it was on my phone. I didn't see my board much the rest of the afternoon. I have now found a way to keep kids busy at the games. Dry erase board and neon colored markers. One of the kids was older, probably 12 or so. She asked the really difficult questions. Not difficult for me to talk about, but difficult to hit that middle ground between answering a 4-8 year olds questions, and answering an older kids. I hope I got that figured out to her satisfaction. 

 Liz may have been bored to death, but I love her for coming with me. I'd have had hell driving myself home, and it wouldn't have been safe on the amount of pain killer I ingested. She's looking out for me and I love her to death for doing that. It was hot, and a bit uncomfortable, and she is a trooper and my rock. We laughed a lot over my goofy stoned ass milling around the grounds. Geez, there for a while I couldn't hit my ass with both hands if I'd had a map, compass, and someone aiming them for me.. The river looked some cool and inviting I was thinking about just jumping in. Until I remembered I've got this huge hole in my neck. Can you say "Titanic"? I knew you could. We both laughed about that. 

And that's where we get IT'S SO FLUFFY!!!! Because after the sheaf toss shot of pain, that's how I felt on the pain killer. Fluffy. 

At the end of the day, we saw some pretty country. Visited with good friends. And I found a limit as to what I can do........for now.

 Some of the country was like seeing it with a different set of eyes as well. How fast it changes from the Llano Estacado of the Permian Basin, to heading south toward I-10 where the country is more hilly, and into the Guadalupe River basin. So much change in only 260 miles. And it changes fast. In Kansas it was close to 300 miles to Liz's folks in SE Kansas, the change from western plains to south central plains to rolling Flint Hills to more sharply hilled and forested lands is a lot more gradual. Both are very pretty, and I'm glad I get to see the country I live in now. I always knew each area had it's own type of pretty, but I see it a little different now. That's a cool thing

 Keep it fluffy, all y'all