No general direction this morning, just things that pop up in my thoughts, stay for a bit and are gone. Hope you all enjoy
Tis a charmed life I live. "Fool!! You're dying of cancer! WTF do you mean charmed?". Well, it's true. It's not often one gets a lead in to the end of their life. Most times it's BOOM, you're gone. For better or worse I've been given some extra time. That has given me the opportunity to get out and get my final arrangements made at the local funeral home, with an attorney, what financials I have, and some peripheral things that mean something to me, but maybe not anyone else. It's given me the chance to look back and reflect and see if I'm happy with the way I've lived my life. Damn straight, Skippy I am. I've no regrets, I wouldn't do anything different. If you're honest with yourself you can't change anything. All the things you've done in the past are what made you who you are now. To change any one thing throws the entire equation off. "The Uncertainty Principle" is held up here, Heisenberg would be proud I think. I'm finding I seem to have impacted a lot of people's lives, and for the most part it was for the better. I'm pleasantly surprised. When they've talked to me about that, I don't remember trying to be anything other than a buddy, shoulder, or ear. Never occurred to me, because of the way I liked to play, that I was being a mentor or anything even close to that. I thought I was just being me. I think I'm better off not knowing then, what I know now. I may have started trying and that would have spoiled it I think. I made a lot of long term friends. Even when we haven't spoken for years, we pick up right where we left off, just like it was yesterday. How cool is that, right? I've had more fun than a mortal should be allowed. That's something I intend to keep up long after I've shed these mortal coils.
I tell people I've done things on my terms. Sometimes that's been costly professionally and personally. You can't run off at the head to your bosses and not expect something to happen down the line. I thought at the time I was doing it to be independent. WRONG!!! I was doing that kind of foolishness to prove that I was right and my boss was wrong. I learned over the years that it doesn't matter if the boss is right or not, he's the boss. They don't like being told "See? I told ya so" any more than I do. So I changed, I did things on MY terms. Sure, I still knew if they were gonna foul up, but I did what they asked, exactly as they asked. So, if I was right and they weren't, I could call and say "I need you to come check my work, something isn't right. Could you come see if I did this like you asked?". Oh yeah, manipulative for certain. My terms set them up to have to say, "I was wrong" without losing face. It also gave me the chance to show them I knew what I was doing. That was the break over point. I got more "Fix this" than "Here's what you're going to do". They also knew that I was going to call if I wasn't sure about something. My way, their way, or indifferent, if it wasn't working, I wasn't afraid to ask for help.
My terms include a pretty piss poor filter on what I say, to an extent. I try not to be hurtful. Sometimes I'm certain that I am, and I don't intend for it to be that way at all. I've learned to be a bit more diplomatic in some circles. Other places, if you screw the pooch, for certain I'm gonna tell you. Then we can get together and work out a proper fix to the problem. The piss poor filter is also a way for me to get frustration off my chest. It's been said that if you don't want to know, don't ask Rock. Probably true, but I've tempered that somewhat in the sense that I use it to be more productive other than just to say "Christ, you're an idiot. How is it you're using my oxygen?".
I swear. A lot. Colorfully pasted together words and phrases are my specialty. Is it because I'm too stupid to put together a decent sentence? No, that's not it at all. Sometimes when "Would you please move your carts so my daughter and I can pass?" doesn't work after three tries, "Move your worthless blabbering fat fucking asses" often does the first time. Has that caused a confrontation or twelve? Yes, but I will treat rude behavior with like. You'll get from me exactly what you put forward. Respect and polite gets that right back. Rude and ugly? Well, you'll think rude and ugly by the time we are finished.
Is that proper behavior in a Politically Correct world? Hell no it's not, but it's being honest.
I've had a couple of people tell me that by being so open and honest that it's given them the courage to go get check ups they've been putting off. One of them, Shannon Waite, had cancer discovered in one breast. After hearing all the options, with pro's and cons of each option, she's voted for a mastectomy.
That's courage to me. We talk a lot about cancer and it's short falls. Other than death, geez. But it has pluses as well. To me anyway it does. It can bring out strength and mental stamina you may not have known you had. It's a test of personal will and determination. It's either going to make or break you. Caught early most cancer has a chance of being beaten, that doesn't mean it's going to be an easy road to follow. It just means you're chances of living and it not coming back are pretty good. Shannon knows all this and is choosing the road that is best for her. I'm proud of her, she's going at it with humor and toughness. Got to love a woman like that.
I love women. They smell better than men for starters. They are a tough lot, with a tender all over outside. They are fun for me to be around. I don't understand jack shit about them though, but I love them. Let's preface that with this : I love strong willed, intelligent women. I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for giggly, dumb broads. What a bore. I married a smart, strong woman almost 21 years ago. Haven't regretted a second of that. She's made me a better man along the way. My daughters are smart and strong women. Love them to pieces. Looking back, I don't think I ever hung around women that weren't. I've thought about why that is and it boils down to this. They really didn't need me for much other than to pick up heavy shit. And in the case of my Highland Games woman friends, they don't need me for that even. That means they let me hang around because they like me, not that they need me for anything other than a good innuendo laden conversation. I hope that while they are strong and smart, they also know there isn't anything I wouldn't do to keep them safe if it's within my power. Women are not to be placed on pedestals and worshipped, they're there to be a partner in your life. That means you defend them as best you can, for as long as you can. I do surely love women.
I've gotten to do a lot of neat things. There's a ton of neat things I'd love to go do, but I don't really have a bucket list. Life is a bucket list. I've tried, and for the most part have done, any damn thing I've wanted. That's why this blog is enjoyable to me. I like the writing. I like being open with friends, family, and people that have been reading this.
Trying to keep people informed is a good thing. Knowledge is power. With it it becomes more and more difficult to be a victim of anything. That applies to everyone. I'm not a victim of cancer, no way in hell, no how. I have it, but I've not let it make me a victim. Baxter is going to get my body eventually, barring a miracle. Baxter can have it. The stupid bastard has caused it to be cut on like a bad slab of beef. What cancer doesn't understand is that it can kill my body and it dies too. It never wins as long as I can think, feel and fight back. My mind and spirit stay intact, cancer's ass belongs to me, and in the end it dies with my body. Just not with me.
"Ramble on" HA!
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Decisions, Decisions
Every day in our lives we are faced with decisions and choices. Most of the time they are pretty small. Do I want a salad, soup and salad, or fries with that steak. Small stuff. Regardless of what the choice, it boils to how you want to live. We all hear about how so many things are society, race, upbringing, economic standing, and that's what brought on X of a person's behavior. Some of that's true, but it all churns down to a personal choice. After all, there are plenty of good examples of what's right and wrong, and to say it's because they couldn't help it (barring some mental disorder) is a load of horse apples. We make our choices and generally have to live with the consequences. You choose to speed, don't bitch about the ticket. You choose to rob a home, don't cry because your ass is in jail. You're the Master of your fate whether you like it or not.
All that being said, have I made all good decisions? Oh hell no, no way no how. As confident as I am in myself, I'm not so delusional to think every choice I've made has been wise. I guess the difference is learning from the mistakes and trying to make it right. And I've not done all that as I could have either. I try, that's no joke. But somethings are never going to be made right because of the choices I made.
I could have gone to college, gotten a degree, and been a miserable SOB in a job I'm sure I'd hate. Or unemployed whining about not being able to find work instead of getting out and changing careers. And I hear a lot of that. I've offered to get people jobs here in the oil field, and some of those folks out of work 2 years, only to hear "I'd never live in Texas!!" or "I'll never work in the oil field! I have a degree!". Good, tough shit for you, but quit bitching about your choice to be unemployed when the jobs have been offered you.
Big rant that's going somewhere with Terminal Velocity, trust me. That's been bothering me a long time, and it's time to get it off my chest. Bless ya for putting up with it. Here's the reason why
Almost 5 years ago, coming up in September, I was diagnosed with cancer. It was a secondary spot, localized in one lymph node in my lower left jaw line. I had biopsies of my mouth and throat, PET scans, CT's and a whole plate full of other tests. Everyone was sure it was localized and the primary spot had been killed by my body. Pretty cool. I had a choice of surgery plus chemo and radiation, or strong rounds of chemo and strong radiation. Both were about the same odds so I opted not to get sliced open. Chemo put me in the hospital for three days, radiation burnt me bag enough I bled from the cracked skin. And I got chemo once a week during the radiation. No fun, but it killed Baxter and after what seemed like forever, the second set of scans came back clear and I was sure I'd gotten it beaten down.
Three years of all clear, and 4 years after my first diagnosis, Baxter the Bastard cancer was back. And pissed off. He was swelling my throat down, and at the time MD Anderson thought probably not into the bone of my jaw yet, but most likely would get there. The Drs, Liz and I discussed options.
They were surgery, which offered the best results after all the stuff I'd already had done. Chemo alone, which was no cure even then since I'd already had as much radiation as I could stand. Or do nothing and slowly be choked to death. Surgery seemed like a plan. As well as one Chemo cycle to slow down the tumor growth since the first open time for extensive surgery was in late January.
The choice brought on this.
While the chemo wasn't as harsh as 5FU on a five day infusion, it had it's own special wonders. So nauseous I couldn't eat. Hence the herbal enhancement, which made me sleep, then wake up and eat like a pig. It dried my skin out so badly my feet cracked and bled. My hair came out in chunks. The worst, the white cell growth promoting drug. Painful. I won't say how painful because I've got friends doing chemo, and they may have a different reaction and I surely do NOT want them to freak and not do the shots if they need them. It'll help keep them alive if they take the shot.
On the plus side, I still had coffee with my buds. I could still eat. And after it was all said and done, I was back in the gym putting muscle weight back on and was feeling pretty spry
I've already talked about what happened with surgery, and with all that I still think it was the best choice and decision. Yesterday Liz asked "What if we'd gone to MD Anderson in the first place?"
I figure it wouldn't have changed a thing. The tumor was isolated 5 years ago, and nothing showed up anywhere else . Besides, we both made that decision based upon the Dr opinion and all the research we did on the cancer on our own. It was a good decision and I'll stand by it until I die. Okay, bad choice of wording there. Addendum: The MD Anderson surgeon flat told us our first visit there, that given all the treatment I'd had previously, and with the surgery, if it came back, that was gonna be all she wrote. Good honest Doctor, I liked Holsinger. You guys at Stanford Medical got a hell of a good doctor, don't fuck it up.
That brings us up to seeing the MD chemo folks. They said, "Do the Chemo". I asked about illness and the other parts of what they wanted. "Do the chemo", and "There are Clinical Trials". Hmmmm, this is a research hospital first and foremost. It's part and parcel to why the have a great cure rate and have done so much for curing cancer. I get that. First choice here "Let me do the chemo at home, I'll do one cycle. After what you described as symptoms, and since it's no cure and there's added chance of life being extended, no Clinical trials, thank you". Big decision, but mine. Twice more with pushing the clinical trial. I get that, it can help people down the road. Guess what? MD Anderson has probably 200 pages of files from every doctor, lab and treatment I've had. They have several different tumor sites and tissue from each. Blood samples for study, and my own observations that I saw all my Doctors right down. I'm no longer your test bunny. Sorry, I've given my share. No surgery? Hell yes I'd do the Clinical study. But I'd still be eating and speaking and would have all my muscle tissue where it belonged and not in my mouth or the lab or the trash. Different scenarios, different decision
Yesterday I see my local Onco. He goes over the chemo protocol with me, including how sick I'll get and pain involved. My port is blown out, so I'd have to have a PICC line. My veins from all the chemo and surgical IV's are blown down, it's hard to find a good spot to draw blood any longer. He goes over the balance of pain to gain. Something I understand. No pain, No gain, right? In this case pain and no gain. He recommends not doing it, I agree. But there's a caveat with that. Liz helps me with this decision. For twenty-two years we make decisions that effect both of us as a team. No sneaky shit, just hash it out and go from there. We live with our decisions, and the consequences there in.
I come home and talk with Liz about it (she can understand a lot of what I say because she's used to it). I ask her what she thinks, "I don't want you to suffer". I set up an appointment for us to see the Dr together, so she can her what I heard, that way our decision NOT to do chemo is completely informed. It's a decision we've made, and one I'll stick with.
So, Terminal Velocity got a little boost. I can't say how much of a boost, but even with chemo it was not much of a braking process. And besides, this is how we roll. Balls to the wall
Monday, August 12, 2013
The Little Things
It's true, most times it's the little things that are the best. The darn dog is still excited to see me when I get home. It's a small thing, but it's nice too. He jumps, slobbers, gets under foot, but it's cool he's happy to see me. Makes me feel good.
It's funny how little things like a touch are fabulous. The other night I was having hell with coughing and clearing my tracy and throat out so I could breath through either my nose or my tracy. Didn't make a damn to me which one, as long as I wasn't feeling like I was drawing a breath underwater, through a straw I was going to be happy. I finally got it, wide awake now for sure, and panting. Liz rolled over and patted my arm. I'm not sure she was even awake, but right off my breathing calmed down, and I got sleepy again. All from a touch. One of the little things.
Hearing my kids laugh, that's always been a pleasure to me. Nothing is funnier or more heartwarming than hearing a baby belly laugh. Cracks me up every time. And if I think back, I can hear their laughs change as they got older. Still funny, but more mature. The same, but different. We try and laugh a lot hear, but my kids are sad sometimes. That's understandable. So, I'm working on making them laugh a lot more than making them sad.Of all the things I want to show them about life, having a good time is the most important. That there's something funny in every thing. We've found things to laugh at at funerals even, where you're supposed to be sad, Liz, I and the family (hopefully some others as well) have found something funny. It's human nature, we do funny shit even when we aren't supposed to do funny shit.
Food!! Oh God I love food. Simple, gourmet, extravagant, it makes no difference to me, if it tastes good I love it. Unfortunately a lot of folk feel guilty eating in front of me. Don't. I love the smell of food, it brings back great memories of meals shared with friends and family. It's a little thing, but I really enjoy it. We took Addison to her Birthday supper and Osaka. It's a Japanese cuisine place with decent sushi. You get a bowl of beef broth with the meal. They brought me one, I think by accident. No matter, after it cooled I put a little on my tongue. Holy Shit!! I did not realize broth tasted so good! I pulled some out with my syringe, and dumped it in my feeding tube. Crazy good, just crazy. No, I couldn't taste it, but it was warm. I could feel it all over my stomach. I've not put warm anything in my stomach since Jan 21. It's the little thing that made it special, the warm. I tasted a bit of Shirley Temple (yes the drink, naughty people), it was great. Tried a little of that in the tube. It was cold and fizzy. And yep, I can feel that in my stomach. With a direct line in and nothing solid in there, it's amazing what you can feel. I put a little Wasabi on a chop stick and tasted that. I love hot food, and I know a little dab will do ya with Wasabi. I wasn't lyin, that shit was HOT, but tasted great. It's a little thing.
I went by Starbucks on Saturday, early in the AM it's slow. A couple of people wanted to know about my cancer and what it was gonna do and how I felt. So I sat at the counter and answered their questions. I knew by looking a couple of the girls were worried about asking me, but they did anyway, and I answered as best I could. The little thing is the interest they showed. Not being morbid, but genuinely curious. It's cool to help someone understand. It turned into a pretty nice Q and A session. They are nice girls, and they proved it again to me. I like those kids
I start PT again this week. I like it, it makes me feel better. The little thing is the care they take with me. We laugh a bit more than some of the other people I see up there. I know we're all in pain and can't move right, otherwise we wouldn't be in PT, but at least have fun with what you can do. I'm a firm believer in laughter helping you heal faster. It can't hurt
I've a FaceBook friend who asks me every morning how I'm doing. They don't have to, but they do. It's nice, very nice. We chat a bit. Sometimes I ramble like a bonehead and for hat I apologize. It's nice to have someone outside of family that checks on me in the morning. It's a little thing that goes a long way.
To me, the biggest little thing a lot of people do is not treat me differently. Sure, they ask about the time I have left. But after that chat is finished, we go right on teasing, talking and being ourselves like we used to. Except I write now, and sometimes it's hard to stay within the same conversation and topic without being left behind a bit. I accept that, and so do my buds. That's a great feeling. Knowing they see you the same even when you're not the same in a lot of ways. They see the inside of me that's hard for me to express now. That's special, and I appreciate it.
New week, new start on Speech and PT. It's time for me to buckle down on both, so I can be as good as I can with the time I have remaining
Y'all be good now, hear?
Sunday, August 11, 2013
To Sleep, to dream
I sometimes go to bed pretty damn early, excluding back 9 months ago when I was at the gym at 2:30 or 3 in the AM. Sometimes I sleep most of the night. Most times, naw, not a full night without interruption. It took 5 months before I was able to sleep in my bed again. Where I didn't have to be almost sitting up to sleep. Too little angle and my drainage would just almost choke me. I was swallowing a bit better, so I wasn't aspirating as much of my own juice and having to cough it out the trach tube in the night. That was pretty decent, by gosh, to lie down at 10 and not wake up until 4 or 5 in the AM. Later if I was really tired. I had cool dreams then, too, and still do. I remember dreaming an entire murder mystery one night. I woke up thinking "cool! But any?". Strange days indeed.
Since the last surgery, my throat and all is swollen back up and I'm not swallowing as well. I'm sure that some of that will subside, and some better swallowing will occur. I think it is now. The bad thing is, I cough up a lot of stuff again. I get interrupted sleep sometimes 4 or 5 times a night. It's why you see me headed to the rack early in the evening more now. I can get 3 or so hrs of straight sleep before I start to hack, then it can be awake to hack every hour, all the way up to every couple, or as short as 20 minutes. That's not so conducive to a good night's sleep. I get plenty, just not in a consecutive run. I rather prefer 5 hrs straight sleep to 6-8 hrs of up and down sleep. It really frosts my cupcakes when the hacking interrupts a sweet dream. Like riding Fat Girl on a nice cool morning. The not sleeping well thing I believe is going to get worse instead of better. As the cancer grows it's going to affect my ability to swallow, which is damn near none existent, and speak, which is getting better. The less I swallow, the more I'll aspirate and the worse the coughing will become. Particularly at night when I'm stretched out trying to saw as many logs as is possible.
Some nights I don't sleep at all. I'll sit in the recliner, waiting for my eyes to get heavy, and nothing. Zilch, nada, zero, nothing. That, when I was younger wasn't such a pain in the ass as it is now. When I was younger I went 6 weeks on a couple hrs sleep a night. When I finally did crash out, it was for almost 24 hrs.. Talk about weird assed dreams. It seemed like all that bottled up subconscious just poured out in one night. Seeing as how that was close to 30 years ago I don't recall what they were anymore, but I know they were odd for certain.
I have really vivid dreams, filled with full blown conversations, action, plot, really neat stuff. Most of them are crystal clear as well. But unless I make a concerted effort to remember them, they fade away by mid morning. Kind of a sad thing, in a way. I mean, how cool would it be to recall the dreams like a regular memory? Unless forgetting them is the safety valve that keeps us within the realm of reality and not dream land. That could be. I know I've gone some pretty slick places in dreams I've never even seen other than National Geographic. Forgetting the dreams has to be the safety valve, otherwise we'd all seem like the folk that "enhance" their resume's. Enhance being the politically correct way of saying "Lied their ass off". The few that I do remember, if I were to "Enhance" my memories would have me snow jumping off the ramp to catch the runner of a helicopter to go get oysters on the half shell in Rhode Island. No, I hung onto the runner all the way from CO to Rhode Island. Cool dream, but I haven't really been on a ski jump, hung onto a helicopter runner, or had oysters on the half with Jason and Steve from Ghost Hunters. Cool, but complete bullshit. I like those though, I wake up thinking where in God's name did THAT come from.
Sometimes I dream about work. When I worked the service rig with the old man, I had a dream we went out to swab a well in. Hooked up the casing swab and down hole we went. The void the swab makes creates a vacuum. Apparently, in my dream, almost all the way out of the hole, the vacuum got so great it killed the engine on the rig and started sucking the sand line back into the well. Pop hung on the brake so hard they glazed and wouldn't hold anything. He walked off the catwalk, said "Well, fuck, come on", and up the hill we went to watch. It ended up sucking the entire rig down the well, and was sucking in the location. Got the dog house, and the pick up. I woke up after dad said "Did you get our lunch and my thermos?". I still remember thinking "What the fuck", told dad the next day and we both had a laugh.
The last work related dream I had was just last week. I dreamed a memory. Almost word for word as it happened. I've never had that happen before. I've had dreams of memories, but they were never totally accurate. The generalities were there, just not the detail. This one last week was detailed, like it was insanely accurate. I wonder why that particular dream. It may have had something to do with visiting My Boys at the office.
Anyway, our lead mechanic (he oversees all the roustabout/repair/rebuild work in the field) took two weeks vacation. He needed it. The boss comes in and tells me I get to ramrod the gangs, which is fine. I can't ramrod the well servicing rigs, they dick around too much to satisfy me. Things like taking lunch at exactly 12, with 10 or twelves sticks in the air instead of just running them, and then taking a break. I lose my cool. It seems I've got 8 days to get an old battery remodeled and ready to handle a new well that's being drilled. 8 heater treaters, 5 tanks, (one of which is a real pile that needs a day of welding repair and another of coating to make it a water tank), set a water transfer pump, replumb the entire header system, and have it ready to sell oil. Wheeee.
So, they send me over 2 full gangs (6 guys), a trace-hoe operator, and I order out 3 vacuum trucks to empty vessels. First day, shut in, tear down. The trucks get there 3 hrs late. Captain Temper is hammering at the door. I explain to them, with an interpreter, (Captain Temper is now kicking the door) that I want the water and interface taken out of the vessels and dumped at our SWD 1/2 mile away. Two trucks working and they are gone, ready waiting to unload, no problem. Third guy is slower than molasses in January. It's killin me. The trucks know to come back. Two don't. Okay, fine, we are close I can make do as I call the truck pusher and eat his ass out for pulling my trucks without calling and clearing it. Third guy, no clue where he went. The gangs and I continue on. He's gone 3 hrs. So far dream and reality are right there, with the time cut down of course, it's a highlight reel.
The driver shows back up, and I ask him just where the hell he's been. He turns his back on me laughing. Captain Temper is now alive, well, and about to open his twin 50's up on this ignorant cock munch. I got started on an old school oil field ass eatin that begins with "HEY!!! You son of a bitch, no mother fucker turns his back on ME when I'm asking him what the hell he's doing wasting my time and money! Turn your stupid ass around now!" When I finish, 7 other men on the location are silent. I think there's a damp spot on the driver's pants. My head gang pusher comes up and asks "Are you okay?" Calm me says "Yeah, I'm fine, what's up?". That's where I wake up. I swear on a stack of bibles it's the memory in dream form. Word for word.
We finished that battery on time, all but 2 well hook ups. My gangs and I got along great, we worked fast, safely, and according to a plan. We had to alter the plan more than once, but it was okay. The job was finished.
In reality, the gang pusher that asked if I was alright added "Were you a Marine?" Nope, too blind and deaf to make the military. "You were leaned in on that guy, hands at your sides, yelling at full throttle, and didn't look like you blinked. One of my guys started over to say something and I said, Really? You want some of that? He stayed with me. 2 of the guys got scared" Of ME? Why? Are the fucking up? No need to worry unless your REALLY screw the pooch.
So now, dream analysts, what does that shit mean? I've no clue, but I woke up laughing. Liz says I laugh in my sleep sometimes. I don't recall doing that. She says really loud and hard sometimes, and I never open my eyes.
Those are the dreams I'd like to remember. Not this work stuff. Here I think I've rambled. I may have to start doing the blogs when I'm up a bit so they aren't so scatter brained.
I used that example to show as well that I'm not always happy go lucky me. My temper is a fierce son of a gun, and I struggle daily to keep his ass locked up where he belongs. He can make my and everyone around me life just miserable. He serves a purpose, for certain. Like helping me fight cancer. He was in my dreams the first time in 08 when I dreamed every night of taking a bit of the tumor out, grinding it to dust and blowing it away. I wonder why that particular dream hasn't shown up this time. Maybe my body knew something ahead of the the Doctors and myself. Interesting question. I'll ask when I start the next Big Adventure. Surely someone on the other side can tell me
Since the last surgery, my throat and all is swollen back up and I'm not swallowing as well. I'm sure that some of that will subside, and some better swallowing will occur. I think it is now. The bad thing is, I cough up a lot of stuff again. I get interrupted sleep sometimes 4 or 5 times a night. It's why you see me headed to the rack early in the evening more now. I can get 3 or so hrs of straight sleep before I start to hack, then it can be awake to hack every hour, all the way up to every couple, or as short as 20 minutes. That's not so conducive to a good night's sleep. I get plenty, just not in a consecutive run. I rather prefer 5 hrs straight sleep to 6-8 hrs of up and down sleep. It really frosts my cupcakes when the hacking interrupts a sweet dream. Like riding Fat Girl on a nice cool morning. The not sleeping well thing I believe is going to get worse instead of better. As the cancer grows it's going to affect my ability to swallow, which is damn near none existent, and speak, which is getting better. The less I swallow, the more I'll aspirate and the worse the coughing will become. Particularly at night when I'm stretched out trying to saw as many logs as is possible.
Some nights I don't sleep at all. I'll sit in the recliner, waiting for my eyes to get heavy, and nothing. Zilch, nada, zero, nothing. That, when I was younger wasn't such a pain in the ass as it is now. When I was younger I went 6 weeks on a couple hrs sleep a night. When I finally did crash out, it was for almost 24 hrs.. Talk about weird assed dreams. It seemed like all that bottled up subconscious just poured out in one night. Seeing as how that was close to 30 years ago I don't recall what they were anymore, but I know they were odd for certain.
I have really vivid dreams, filled with full blown conversations, action, plot, really neat stuff. Most of them are crystal clear as well. But unless I make a concerted effort to remember them, they fade away by mid morning. Kind of a sad thing, in a way. I mean, how cool would it be to recall the dreams like a regular memory? Unless forgetting them is the safety valve that keeps us within the realm of reality and not dream land. That could be. I know I've gone some pretty slick places in dreams I've never even seen other than National Geographic. Forgetting the dreams has to be the safety valve, otherwise we'd all seem like the folk that "enhance" their resume's. Enhance being the politically correct way of saying "Lied their ass off". The few that I do remember, if I were to "Enhance" my memories would have me snow jumping off the ramp to catch the runner of a helicopter to go get oysters on the half shell in Rhode Island. No, I hung onto the runner all the way from CO to Rhode Island. Cool dream, but I haven't really been on a ski jump, hung onto a helicopter runner, or had oysters on the half with Jason and Steve from Ghost Hunters. Cool, but complete bullshit. I like those though, I wake up thinking where in God's name did THAT come from.
Sometimes I dream about work. When I worked the service rig with the old man, I had a dream we went out to swab a well in. Hooked up the casing swab and down hole we went. The void the swab makes creates a vacuum. Apparently, in my dream, almost all the way out of the hole, the vacuum got so great it killed the engine on the rig and started sucking the sand line back into the well. Pop hung on the brake so hard they glazed and wouldn't hold anything. He walked off the catwalk, said "Well, fuck, come on", and up the hill we went to watch. It ended up sucking the entire rig down the well, and was sucking in the location. Got the dog house, and the pick up. I woke up after dad said "Did you get our lunch and my thermos?". I still remember thinking "What the fuck", told dad the next day and we both had a laugh.
The last work related dream I had was just last week. I dreamed a memory. Almost word for word as it happened. I've never had that happen before. I've had dreams of memories, but they were never totally accurate. The generalities were there, just not the detail. This one last week was detailed, like it was insanely accurate. I wonder why that particular dream. It may have had something to do with visiting My Boys at the office.
Anyway, our lead mechanic (he oversees all the roustabout/repair/rebuild work in the field) took two weeks vacation. He needed it. The boss comes in and tells me I get to ramrod the gangs, which is fine. I can't ramrod the well servicing rigs, they dick around too much to satisfy me. Things like taking lunch at exactly 12, with 10 or twelves sticks in the air instead of just running them, and then taking a break. I lose my cool. It seems I've got 8 days to get an old battery remodeled and ready to handle a new well that's being drilled. 8 heater treaters, 5 tanks, (one of which is a real pile that needs a day of welding repair and another of coating to make it a water tank), set a water transfer pump, replumb the entire header system, and have it ready to sell oil. Wheeee.
So, they send me over 2 full gangs (6 guys), a trace-hoe operator, and I order out 3 vacuum trucks to empty vessels. First day, shut in, tear down. The trucks get there 3 hrs late. Captain Temper is hammering at the door. I explain to them, with an interpreter, (Captain Temper is now kicking the door) that I want the water and interface taken out of the vessels and dumped at our SWD 1/2 mile away. Two trucks working and they are gone, ready waiting to unload, no problem. Third guy is slower than molasses in January. It's killin me. The trucks know to come back. Two don't. Okay, fine, we are close I can make do as I call the truck pusher and eat his ass out for pulling my trucks without calling and clearing it. Third guy, no clue where he went. The gangs and I continue on. He's gone 3 hrs. So far dream and reality are right there, with the time cut down of course, it's a highlight reel.
The driver shows back up, and I ask him just where the hell he's been. He turns his back on me laughing. Captain Temper is now alive, well, and about to open his twin 50's up on this ignorant cock munch. I got started on an old school oil field ass eatin that begins with "HEY!!! You son of a bitch, no mother fucker turns his back on ME when I'm asking him what the hell he's doing wasting my time and money! Turn your stupid ass around now!" When I finish, 7 other men on the location are silent. I think there's a damp spot on the driver's pants. My head gang pusher comes up and asks "Are you okay?" Calm me says "Yeah, I'm fine, what's up?". That's where I wake up. I swear on a stack of bibles it's the memory in dream form. Word for word.
We finished that battery on time, all but 2 well hook ups. My gangs and I got along great, we worked fast, safely, and according to a plan. We had to alter the plan more than once, but it was okay. The job was finished.
In reality, the gang pusher that asked if I was alright added "Were you a Marine?" Nope, too blind and deaf to make the military. "You were leaned in on that guy, hands at your sides, yelling at full throttle, and didn't look like you blinked. One of my guys started over to say something and I said, Really? You want some of that? He stayed with me. 2 of the guys got scared" Of ME? Why? Are the fucking up? No need to worry unless your REALLY screw the pooch.
So now, dream analysts, what does that shit mean? I've no clue, but I woke up laughing. Liz says I laugh in my sleep sometimes. I don't recall doing that. She says really loud and hard sometimes, and I never open my eyes.
Those are the dreams I'd like to remember. Not this work stuff. Here I think I've rambled. I may have to start doing the blogs when I'm up a bit so they aren't so scatter brained.
I used that example to show as well that I'm not always happy go lucky me. My temper is a fierce son of a gun, and I struggle daily to keep his ass locked up where he belongs. He can make my and everyone around me life just miserable. He serves a purpose, for certain. Like helping me fight cancer. He was in my dreams the first time in 08 when I dreamed every night of taking a bit of the tumor out, grinding it to dust and blowing it away. I wonder why that particular dream hasn't shown up this time. Maybe my body knew something ahead of the the Doctors and myself. Interesting question. I'll ask when I start the next Big Adventure. Surely someone on the other side can tell me
Saturday, August 10, 2013
What the hell, lets talk about it
I've always said if you have questions, I'm more than happy to answer them if I can, or at least to the best of my understanding and ability. I get some pretty good questions as well. Some that deal with the specific science I can't answer, because that part either went so for over my head I got a nose bleed, or it just wasn't important to me and I didn't pay attention.
Are you scared? You know, oddly enough, no I'm not. One would think you should be. I mean, geez, I'm facing the end of my life, right? Scary shit, right? Nope, not really. In fact it was almost a relief. Now, I know for certain. Okay, not for certain because I don't know what's going to happen until the time comes. But with a better certainty. The gnawing, anxious feeling of "my throat is sore, is it back" is gone. Hell yes it's back, and boy did I piss it off. Whipping it twice apparently just cramped Baxter's style, and he came back with a vengeance. Baxter was what my daughter Sarah named my cancer the first time: Baxter the Bastard. To me, scared is a bad thing, it clouds your rational thought, you pause when you should act, it makes bad things happen. Nervous, anxious, those are things to work around. Once you're scared of something it's a bitch to get over that fear and it can cripple you. I don't like that to happen. I always tell My Boys "Panic will kill ya", so can being scared and fear. Gut feelings and scared/fear are two different things. That little nagging voice is something we should pay attention to, it's the reason I went back to the Doctor just 2 months after my last all clear exam. Pay attention, it can save your life. It did mine twice. It's funny it was silent between May and July. I need to find out what his frickin problem was then.
How's your family? They are sad. Hell, I'm sad sometimes. They are getting better and more relaxed all the time. We laugh more and that's a good thing. Liz and I can talk about what's coming without breaking voices and tears. That too is a good thing. The two older kids and I text some pretty good conversations. The two younger kids and I go about our days pretty much the same. Not like at first where I think they were too upset to be around me much. That I can understand as well. My siblings are sad too. We don't see each other often enough, and that's too bad. We talk some on FB and texts but I really need to get up north and see them.
If you knew it was going to turn out this way, would you do it all the same? I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about that. Sure I did, but the answer, no matter how I roll it around is, yes I would. See, if I'd taken the chemo, it'd slowed down the tumors, but they'd come back. At the time I started chemo before surgery the tumors were growing fast enough to make it hard to swallow, and talk. My voice was already getting raspy, and sometimes even water was hard to get down. I ate like a pig the month before my surgery, but the tumor and chemo still caused some weight loss. In the end, yeah, I'd do it again. It did clear up the cancer for 6 months. It just wasn't meant to stay away.
Did they give you a specific time frame, or odds? Nothing specific, because people differ and each time of demise is still not set in stone for any of us, and unlike how they feel about it, Doctors ain't God. My odds were 20-30% if I didn't do chemo, 20-40% if I did, and 50% if I did the clinical study. All those are for making it a year. Therein lies the rub. Do the chemo and be sick for who knows how long, do nothing and croak sooner, do the clinical and be WAY sick (but possibly help others down the road). Here's how I worked it out for myself. That nagging gut feeling came back and says to one chemo cycle and see Christmas time. So at least one cycle will happen. Depending on how sick it makes me and results will determine whether I do more. If I'd not been so cut up, and the surgery was not an option at the time, I'd jumped the Clinical Study. They've got all kinds of samples of my tumors, and other body parts that died. That's all they need from me this time.
Did you ask what was going to happen? Yes I did, and it was explained to me in pretty good detail as to what was coming up as far as how things are going to progress. Am I going to share that? Nope, that's mine to keep for me. It gives me focus on the here and now. You guys get to be surprised, I don't wanna be.
How do you stay positive? Really? What's left? Abject depression and hopelessness? I'll pass thank you. This is what it is. It's coming for everyone eventually. Shit yes I'd like to be around to have a couple of great grandkids to play with, but that so far isn't gonna happen. That's just my life, better or worse it's gonna happen. If I get down, I die faster. I'm not giving Baxter the satisfaction, the fucker. And yes, there are times I think "Fuck this, I'm tired/hurting/can't breathe, and I wish it'd stop". That doesn't last long. I think somewhere out there is someone who needs ME to be upbeat so THEY can be upbeat about what's going on in their life. Helping folk is what we should do, right? My niece told me she still laughs about me singing "Les Poissons" from The Little Mermaid to her and Sarah, accent and all. That's a good memory, and a fun one. The more I look at those times, how can I get down in the dumps?
How are you going to spend your year? Hell, I don't know. I'm a bit boogered up so my options are kind of limited. I can probably ride the bike a bit, but I really need to sell Fat Girl to pay for my cremation and stuff. I'm going to a couple, maybe three Highland Games in September and October. I'd like to set up a "Throw for the cure" event to be held at some games at the AD's discretion. That money that would be raised would stay local to help folk in my position with less insurance. I'll read some, play on the blog, walk, put things in my PEG tube that shouldn't be in there. Keep working on speaking and swallowing (although that may be a labor of Sisyphus), hang out with the family and some friends. Have a "Goodbye Rock" BBQ and party here in Midland and have all my affairs in order before hand. And, last but not least, die on my own damn terms. We should all have a good time.
I get all kinds of questions on all kinds of topics, and have a good time answering them. Well, until the person asking wells up and their voice cracks, because then mine will too. That's okay, it's part of facing your mortality.
I say "It's going to be okay" and hear "No, it's not" back a lot. Yeah, it really will be okay. This is how it is, it's part of my life. I've had fun, loved, fought and lost, fought and won, seen the beautiful and the ugly. It's a good life, and I lived it on my own terms. Sometimes at a snails pace, other times like I stole the damn thing, and it's gone by in a flash. Crazy shit, baby, but it's my crazy shit.
If you've the stomach for a broadside, come aboard, I'll take you places you never thought you'd go. And we'll scream like idiots along the way
Are you scared? You know, oddly enough, no I'm not. One would think you should be. I mean, geez, I'm facing the end of my life, right? Scary shit, right? Nope, not really. In fact it was almost a relief. Now, I know for certain. Okay, not for certain because I don't know what's going to happen until the time comes. But with a better certainty. The gnawing, anxious feeling of "my throat is sore, is it back" is gone. Hell yes it's back, and boy did I piss it off. Whipping it twice apparently just cramped Baxter's style, and he came back with a vengeance. Baxter was what my daughter Sarah named my cancer the first time: Baxter the Bastard. To me, scared is a bad thing, it clouds your rational thought, you pause when you should act, it makes bad things happen. Nervous, anxious, those are things to work around. Once you're scared of something it's a bitch to get over that fear and it can cripple you. I don't like that to happen. I always tell My Boys "Panic will kill ya", so can being scared and fear. Gut feelings and scared/fear are two different things. That little nagging voice is something we should pay attention to, it's the reason I went back to the Doctor just 2 months after my last all clear exam. Pay attention, it can save your life. It did mine twice. It's funny it was silent between May and July. I need to find out what his frickin problem was then.
How's your family? They are sad. Hell, I'm sad sometimes. They are getting better and more relaxed all the time. We laugh more and that's a good thing. Liz and I can talk about what's coming without breaking voices and tears. That too is a good thing. The two older kids and I text some pretty good conversations. The two younger kids and I go about our days pretty much the same. Not like at first where I think they were too upset to be around me much. That I can understand as well. My siblings are sad too. We don't see each other often enough, and that's too bad. We talk some on FB and texts but I really need to get up north and see them.
If you knew it was going to turn out this way, would you do it all the same? I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about that. Sure I did, but the answer, no matter how I roll it around is, yes I would. See, if I'd taken the chemo, it'd slowed down the tumors, but they'd come back. At the time I started chemo before surgery the tumors were growing fast enough to make it hard to swallow, and talk. My voice was already getting raspy, and sometimes even water was hard to get down. I ate like a pig the month before my surgery, but the tumor and chemo still caused some weight loss. In the end, yeah, I'd do it again. It did clear up the cancer for 6 months. It just wasn't meant to stay away.
Did they give you a specific time frame, or odds? Nothing specific, because people differ and each time of demise is still not set in stone for any of us, and unlike how they feel about it, Doctors ain't God. My odds were 20-30% if I didn't do chemo, 20-40% if I did, and 50% if I did the clinical study. All those are for making it a year. Therein lies the rub. Do the chemo and be sick for who knows how long, do nothing and croak sooner, do the clinical and be WAY sick (but possibly help others down the road). Here's how I worked it out for myself. That nagging gut feeling came back and says to one chemo cycle and see Christmas time. So at least one cycle will happen. Depending on how sick it makes me and results will determine whether I do more. If I'd not been so cut up, and the surgery was not an option at the time, I'd jumped the Clinical Study. They've got all kinds of samples of my tumors, and other body parts that died. That's all they need from me this time.
Did you ask what was going to happen? Yes I did, and it was explained to me in pretty good detail as to what was coming up as far as how things are going to progress. Am I going to share that? Nope, that's mine to keep for me. It gives me focus on the here and now. You guys get to be surprised, I don't wanna be.
How do you stay positive? Really? What's left? Abject depression and hopelessness? I'll pass thank you. This is what it is. It's coming for everyone eventually. Shit yes I'd like to be around to have a couple of great grandkids to play with, but that so far isn't gonna happen. That's just my life, better or worse it's gonna happen. If I get down, I die faster. I'm not giving Baxter the satisfaction, the fucker. And yes, there are times I think "Fuck this, I'm tired/hurting/can't breathe, and I wish it'd stop". That doesn't last long. I think somewhere out there is someone who needs ME to be upbeat so THEY can be upbeat about what's going on in their life. Helping folk is what we should do, right? My niece told me she still laughs about me singing "Les Poissons" from The Little Mermaid to her and Sarah, accent and all. That's a good memory, and a fun one. The more I look at those times, how can I get down in the dumps?
How are you going to spend your year? Hell, I don't know. I'm a bit boogered up so my options are kind of limited. I can probably ride the bike a bit, but I really need to sell Fat Girl to pay for my cremation and stuff. I'm going to a couple, maybe three Highland Games in September and October. I'd like to set up a "Throw for the cure" event to be held at some games at the AD's discretion. That money that would be raised would stay local to help folk in my position with less insurance. I'll read some, play on the blog, walk, put things in my PEG tube that shouldn't be in there. Keep working on speaking and swallowing (although that may be a labor of Sisyphus), hang out with the family and some friends. Have a "Goodbye Rock" BBQ and party here in Midland and have all my affairs in order before hand. And, last but not least, die on my own damn terms. We should all have a good time.
I get all kinds of questions on all kinds of topics, and have a good time answering them. Well, until the person asking wells up and their voice cracks, because then mine will too. That's okay, it's part of facing your mortality.
I say "It's going to be okay" and hear "No, it's not" back a lot. Yeah, it really will be okay. This is how it is, it's part of my life. I've had fun, loved, fought and lost, fought and won, seen the beautiful and the ugly. It's a good life, and I lived it on my own terms. Sometimes at a snails pace, other times like I stole the damn thing, and it's gone by in a flash. Crazy shit, baby, but it's my crazy shit.
If you've the stomach for a broadside, come aboard, I'll take you places you never thought you'd go. And we'll scream like idiots along the way
Friday, August 9, 2013
Master of my fate, Captain of my soul
Leaving Midland at around 9ish Wednesday night to hit Houston around 5:30, feed, morning drugs, then a nap. Liz and I split the drive time we each had 3 or so hours of sleep in the car too. MD Anderson at 5:30 is busier than one might imagine. People are coming in to wait for early appointments, surgery, or getting to work. The drive is decent at night, and because you're not fighting daytime Houston traffic, about an hour quicker. So we sleep, read, check Facebook, and wait. It's not all that bad.
My HR rep for short and long term disability goes out of her way to come see me in person, which I feel is a wonderful thing for her to do. She's a wonderful lady, and today (Friday) is her last day with Apache. It's a loss of a wonderful person, and a great asset to the company, and I wish her only the best in her future. She and Liz visit about all kinds of stuff, I write in where I can. Patti brought us Apache gear from the office and a nice carved cross for me to hold. She said, "I told them I was taking off to go meet Rocky Smith and his wife Liz in person, and I'm taking this stuff with me for them. Any problem with that?" I assume no, since she and the gear showed up, We talk about work a little, and how word around the HR office was that I'd beaten this once, and they expected every time they heard from Liz or I that I was sending a return to work form. The office area she works in was sad to hear the news about the return of my cancer. I tell people Apache is a good company to work for, and that proves it out for me. Any company can take care of you while you're productive, but the ones that really care are the companies and employees that care about you when you can't be there anymore. I like that.
Onward and upward to the 10th floor and the Medical Oncologist appointment. I don't see my regular Onco, since she's on vacation, but I see her cohort. She, too, is a nice woman, and we have a good chat. We talked about a Chemo protocol and a Clinical test. The Clinical test guarantees a lot of sick time, and only a 10% jump in making it a year or more. That's just damn thin odds to spend ill and not be looking at a lot more time. I ask about it being a cure. Nope, it's not, and since I Radiation Therapy will kill me faster than the cancer, I'm opting out of being sick for little gain in time. We talk about the regular Chemo, with is two that I've already had, Cisplatin and Toxerol. I can stand those, Toxerol makes me sick, but not violently so, and not for very long either. Maybe I can brew up some herbal tea to take the edge off that, so along with the anti-nausea meds, I won't be so sick or not sick at all. Something to look into.
It's good, she says that the cancer is localized in my mouth and throat. For now, says I, and she agrees. Tough decisions these. I want to see my 80th birthday, but it's not worth being 80 if I'm too sick to enjoy the next 28 years, 2.5 months. Okay, it's close enough to say 27 years to see 80. I want to see my son graduate HS, my youngest daughter be on her own, the older 2 happy and doing their own things as well. I do not, however, want to see that through eyes dimmed by damn pain and nausea drugs. I'd prefer to be clear headed for those things. I'm a selfish bastard, some things in life aren't worth doing if you're too fucked up to truly enjoy them.
Is this giving up? Not no, but hell no, it's not giving up. It's taking control of what I can control. I live my life pretty much as I damn well please. My end of life should be done in the same fashion. I know that the cancer hasn't taken my mind or my spirit, or my desire to be with my family and friends until we are so old physical contact runs the risk of broken bones. That won't ever change, but here's what has changed.
I can't eat or swallow. That's not going to change as the chemo does it's thing, or as the cancer does it's thing. I've already been told no more surgery, not aggressive to get the cancer, or reconstructive to fix what's already been done. That's over. Eating and enjoying all kinds of food with friends and family was a big part of me. It's hard to beat the laughter, the serious talks, and just plain fellowship of a good meal well enjoyed.
I'll never communicate like I did. That was not such a problem when it looked like I might get a prosthetic soft palate. That would have enabled me to not only swallow better, but given me a shot at speaking quite a bit better. I loved to tell a good story, make people laugh. I loved to tell someone I loved them just because it was true, and it made both of us feel good. If I needed to, I sure liked my voice when I could make it boom and people of lesser mettle trembled. Ask people that have been on the receiving end of that, apparently it was scary. My voice got me into the position at work where I was respected by my co-workers, and I hope my bosses. I miss it greatly. Michelle, my SLP, has helped me get back a lot of my ability to communicate. Bless her heart that can't have been easy, I'm a "right now, dammit!" kind of guy and speech/language skills aren't relearned right here, right now. She puts up with my frustration and makes me laugh while she does it. That's a special soul right there.
They cut out part of my right quad. I can walk pretty well, but it still can make me hitch just a little in my get along. It's a bitch going down stairs with what they cut out, as well as standing up from a chair. Squatting clear down on my haunches, that's damn near out, and that's how I used to relax when I was working in the field. I can hold Fat Girl up okay, that's not a problem. But I can't spin and plant my right leg to throw anything. It folds up like a cheap knife. And while I respect the hell out of the Highland Games judges, and I did it a couple of times, I can't holler "MARK" or "FOUL" or the distances now. And besides, my heart wasn't in judging. The athletes and crowd deserve someone who's heart is in it. A good judge makes you a better athlete, that's what they deserve. I'll never throw again, even if I were miraculously cured. Would I go and volunteer? You damn Skippy I would, and will as long as I'm able.
Since they aren't doing any more reconstructive surgery, my head and neck movement is limited. That's going to limit some of my arm and shoulder movement. All that ties into being a safe rider of Fat Girl. I've taken her out, and will again. But it's dodgy on how safe I feel. I can't whip my head around to see like I should. I can't turn my body to see like I can in the car. And I don't want to miss the guy that can't find me because I hit a blind spot in his door posts. Like I did the biker yesterday. First time that's happened, but Liz didn't see him either. Got lost in the blind spot, scared the shit out of me. I hope like hell THAT never happens again. Jesus. That's also why I wear leather a lot, and don't ride much in shorts, tennis shoes, and tee shirts. Even the most attentive of us might miss one. That still bugs the shit out of me, and will for several days. It's also why I give some people a break. Other's that stop, look right at me, and I know they see me, and still pull out, fuck them. But some folks are genuinely startled and scared when I've blown past them, or screeched to a stall behind them. They honestly didn't see me, even though they were looking.
Those are the things the fucking cancer has taken from me. It hasn't taken my family and friends. God, I have a lot of friends. They are good folk, one and all, and I'm blessed to have them in my corner. My family is tough, and kind, and very afraid. I can't fix the afraid, I wish that I could. Afraid is bad. Anxious, nervous, worried, those are okay. Afraid not so much. Afraid clouds your judgement and insight. It makes it harder to do the things that need to be done. I think I can help them around that part. They are sad too, and so am I. The fight isn't over, it's just changed arenas. It's way more personal now than it was. I've still got faith. Maybe it's a different direction than it was before, but it's there.
So, here it is: "I am the Master of My Fate; I am the Captain of My Soul". The last two lines of "Invictus". Very telling and true. In my case, my fate is up to me in how I live this next part of my life. I've decided to live it as pain free, as illness free, and as personally free as I can make it. I don't quit, I change strategy. In the long run, I win. The cancer can have my body, but it can't have my free will or desire to go on. In the end, when the body goes, so does the fucking cancer. I beat it by proxy. "I die, you die, Baxter, you stupid son of a bitch. You got the body you rat bastard, not me.".
Captain of my Soul. Yes, yes I am. I steer this soul in the direction it needs to go. Toward strength, hope, faith, and hopefully, leadership for other people facing the same dilemma. I'm not all that brave, but I damn sure am stubborn, and some would say overly confident. I prefer "Humility Challenged". Which ever it is, my will and faith have taken me a long way so far. Maybe that will continue on. In this case I won't mind be told I lied, and didn't die from cancer after all. That kind of liar I can stand to be. I don't think God or man would fault me for that particular dishonesty.
So, onward we rush. You and I, friends and family, we go forward toward Terminal Velocity. I carry the banner and lead the charge, you all are my army. Together, there isn't anything we can't conquer or vanquish. So we all fight, until Valhalla calls me up, and in that moment, I hope I'm deemed worthy.
My HR rep for short and long term disability goes out of her way to come see me in person, which I feel is a wonderful thing for her to do. She's a wonderful lady, and today (Friday) is her last day with Apache. It's a loss of a wonderful person, and a great asset to the company, and I wish her only the best in her future. She and Liz visit about all kinds of stuff, I write in where I can. Patti brought us Apache gear from the office and a nice carved cross for me to hold. She said, "I told them I was taking off to go meet Rocky Smith and his wife Liz in person, and I'm taking this stuff with me for them. Any problem with that?" I assume no, since she and the gear showed up, We talk about work a little, and how word around the HR office was that I'd beaten this once, and they expected every time they heard from Liz or I that I was sending a return to work form. The office area she works in was sad to hear the news about the return of my cancer. I tell people Apache is a good company to work for, and that proves it out for me. Any company can take care of you while you're productive, but the ones that really care are the companies and employees that care about you when you can't be there anymore. I like that.
Onward and upward to the 10th floor and the Medical Oncologist appointment. I don't see my regular Onco, since she's on vacation, but I see her cohort. She, too, is a nice woman, and we have a good chat. We talked about a Chemo protocol and a Clinical test. The Clinical test guarantees a lot of sick time, and only a 10% jump in making it a year or more. That's just damn thin odds to spend ill and not be looking at a lot more time. I ask about it being a cure. Nope, it's not, and since I Radiation Therapy will kill me faster than the cancer, I'm opting out of being sick for little gain in time. We talk about the regular Chemo, with is two that I've already had, Cisplatin and Toxerol. I can stand those, Toxerol makes me sick, but not violently so, and not for very long either. Maybe I can brew up some herbal tea to take the edge off that, so along with the anti-nausea meds, I won't be so sick or not sick at all. Something to look into.
It's good, she says that the cancer is localized in my mouth and throat. For now, says I, and she agrees. Tough decisions these. I want to see my 80th birthday, but it's not worth being 80 if I'm too sick to enjoy the next 28 years, 2.5 months. Okay, it's close enough to say 27 years to see 80. I want to see my son graduate HS, my youngest daughter be on her own, the older 2 happy and doing their own things as well. I do not, however, want to see that through eyes dimmed by damn pain and nausea drugs. I'd prefer to be clear headed for those things. I'm a selfish bastard, some things in life aren't worth doing if you're too fucked up to truly enjoy them.
Is this giving up? Not no, but hell no, it's not giving up. It's taking control of what I can control. I live my life pretty much as I damn well please. My end of life should be done in the same fashion. I know that the cancer hasn't taken my mind or my spirit, or my desire to be with my family and friends until we are so old physical contact runs the risk of broken bones. That won't ever change, but here's what has changed.
I can't eat or swallow. That's not going to change as the chemo does it's thing, or as the cancer does it's thing. I've already been told no more surgery, not aggressive to get the cancer, or reconstructive to fix what's already been done. That's over. Eating and enjoying all kinds of food with friends and family was a big part of me. It's hard to beat the laughter, the serious talks, and just plain fellowship of a good meal well enjoyed.
I'll never communicate like I did. That was not such a problem when it looked like I might get a prosthetic soft palate. That would have enabled me to not only swallow better, but given me a shot at speaking quite a bit better. I loved to tell a good story, make people laugh. I loved to tell someone I loved them just because it was true, and it made both of us feel good. If I needed to, I sure liked my voice when I could make it boom and people of lesser mettle trembled. Ask people that have been on the receiving end of that, apparently it was scary. My voice got me into the position at work where I was respected by my co-workers, and I hope my bosses. I miss it greatly. Michelle, my SLP, has helped me get back a lot of my ability to communicate. Bless her heart that can't have been easy, I'm a "right now, dammit!" kind of guy and speech/language skills aren't relearned right here, right now. She puts up with my frustration and makes me laugh while she does it. That's a special soul right there.
They cut out part of my right quad. I can walk pretty well, but it still can make me hitch just a little in my get along. It's a bitch going down stairs with what they cut out, as well as standing up from a chair. Squatting clear down on my haunches, that's damn near out, and that's how I used to relax when I was working in the field. I can hold Fat Girl up okay, that's not a problem. But I can't spin and plant my right leg to throw anything. It folds up like a cheap knife. And while I respect the hell out of the Highland Games judges, and I did it a couple of times, I can't holler "MARK" or "FOUL" or the distances now. And besides, my heart wasn't in judging. The athletes and crowd deserve someone who's heart is in it. A good judge makes you a better athlete, that's what they deserve. I'll never throw again, even if I were miraculously cured. Would I go and volunteer? You damn Skippy I would, and will as long as I'm able.
Since they aren't doing any more reconstructive surgery, my head and neck movement is limited. That's going to limit some of my arm and shoulder movement. All that ties into being a safe rider of Fat Girl. I've taken her out, and will again. But it's dodgy on how safe I feel. I can't whip my head around to see like I should. I can't turn my body to see like I can in the car. And I don't want to miss the guy that can't find me because I hit a blind spot in his door posts. Like I did the biker yesterday. First time that's happened, but Liz didn't see him either. Got lost in the blind spot, scared the shit out of me. I hope like hell THAT never happens again. Jesus. That's also why I wear leather a lot, and don't ride much in shorts, tennis shoes, and tee shirts. Even the most attentive of us might miss one. That still bugs the shit out of me, and will for several days. It's also why I give some people a break. Other's that stop, look right at me, and I know they see me, and still pull out, fuck them. But some folks are genuinely startled and scared when I've blown past them, or screeched to a stall behind them. They honestly didn't see me, even though they were looking.
Those are the things the fucking cancer has taken from me. It hasn't taken my family and friends. God, I have a lot of friends. They are good folk, one and all, and I'm blessed to have them in my corner. My family is tough, and kind, and very afraid. I can't fix the afraid, I wish that I could. Afraid is bad. Anxious, nervous, worried, those are okay. Afraid not so much. Afraid clouds your judgement and insight. It makes it harder to do the things that need to be done. I think I can help them around that part. They are sad too, and so am I. The fight isn't over, it's just changed arenas. It's way more personal now than it was. I've still got faith. Maybe it's a different direction than it was before, but it's there.
So, here it is: "I am the Master of My Fate; I am the Captain of My Soul". The last two lines of "Invictus". Very telling and true. In my case, my fate is up to me in how I live this next part of my life. I've decided to live it as pain free, as illness free, and as personally free as I can make it. I don't quit, I change strategy. In the long run, I win. The cancer can have my body, but it can't have my free will or desire to go on. In the end, when the body goes, so does the fucking cancer. I beat it by proxy. "I die, you die, Baxter, you stupid son of a bitch. You got the body you rat bastard, not me.".
Captain of my Soul. Yes, yes I am. I steer this soul in the direction it needs to go. Toward strength, hope, faith, and hopefully, leadership for other people facing the same dilemma. I'm not all that brave, but I damn sure am stubborn, and some would say overly confident. I prefer "Humility Challenged". Which ever it is, my will and faith have taken me a long way so far. Maybe that will continue on. In this case I won't mind be told I lied, and didn't die from cancer after all. That kind of liar I can stand to be. I don't think God or man would fault me for that particular dishonesty.
So, onward we rush. You and I, friends and family, we go forward toward Terminal Velocity. I carry the banner and lead the charge, you all are my army. Together, there isn't anything we can't conquer or vanquish. So we all fight, until Valhalla calls me up, and in that moment, I hope I'm deemed worthy.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Gone to the office
Big day today. I went to see the guys I work with (okay, worked with, since I'm on Long Term Disability). Tomorrow is 9 months since I went on Short Term Disability, figuring for sure I'd be back by no later than March. Well, that didn't quite pan out like I'd liked. Cancer didn't just stop shit in my personal life, it dicked with what I thought was a grand career I had going. I was doing EXACTLY what I wanted to, where I wanted to be, with a group of men that are as good or better than any group I'd worked with before. The people at Anadarko, I still keep in touch with a few of those guys, we're friends, always will be friends. But I have been around so many people willing to work toward the same goal as these guys were and still are willing. They and my Highland Games friends became my second family. The men I worked with as I was getting sick, we had a system figured out. We knew what each of us needed to do our jobs, we'd all pitch in to help. We took a worn down, mess of a lease almost 3 years ago, and turned it into a damn fine place to work.
I bragged those guys up, and they in turn got and are still getting promoted. I didn't want anything farther up the ladder than I was doing. These are mostly younger guys, at least 8-10 years younger than I, and most way younger than that. They are good men, they work hard, they deserve the promotions they got, and will get. I'd love to be around to cheer them on, see them move up, maybe have on as my boss one day before I retire. Alas, that's not going to be.
We are oil field trash, but tough guys, so it's hard for me to tell them how proud and honored I am to have been given the chance to work with them. How much it makes my heart swell to see them do so very well at what we do. They are sharp. We work to get the job done right, and then, we laugh and have a good time. That's what work should be, not a damned challenge to get up and go to every day. It should be a place where you trust the people you work with to catch your back, I trusted these guys.
Granted, it wasn't always roses and peaches. There were days I let Mr Temper out, and he got back as much as he gave. That's what happens when you work with people, you'll get under each others skin, the thing isn't to carry a grudge. I had a boss or two that did, as far as I'm concerned those rat sons of bitches can suck it to this day.
I call them "My Boys", kinda silly since we are all grown men, and a few were damn near my age. I say that because I took responsibility for what we did, how I taught them what I could, and how well I learned what they had to teach me. They are My Boys, they make me proud to have been a part of the time from bad to damn near perfect. You have to understand, we made do with what we had. We remodeled, not really rebuilt. Cleaned the old stuff, fixed it like new, then put it together like a tank battery and field should be done. Every one of us had input, our boss would listen, we used some of our ideas, some we didn't. That's what made it successful. My Boys did, and I. We did all that.
The guys that have come in during the last 8-9 months, they reap that benefit. My Boys don't brag, but they can, and maybe they should a bit. This field promotes more from within than any where I've worked in 24 years. Not because they have to, but because My Boys can do the job damn well. There's no reason to look anywhere else. All y'all have to let the guys that came in after I left know that shit. They are standing on shoulders that made their jobs easier. Brag yourselves up, you deserve it.
It's a bit tough for me to go out. I miss they men, the field, the work, but it's sure hard to go and know I've done all I can with and for these guys. Give me the core people we started with, drag our asses to a worn out field, give us some time and money, and we can show you how to do it right.
That's what I'll miss about work, and for me, that's hard
I bragged those guys up, and they in turn got and are still getting promoted. I didn't want anything farther up the ladder than I was doing. These are mostly younger guys, at least 8-10 years younger than I, and most way younger than that. They are good men, they work hard, they deserve the promotions they got, and will get. I'd love to be around to cheer them on, see them move up, maybe have on as my boss one day before I retire. Alas, that's not going to be.
We are oil field trash, but tough guys, so it's hard for me to tell them how proud and honored I am to have been given the chance to work with them. How much it makes my heart swell to see them do so very well at what we do. They are sharp. We work to get the job done right, and then, we laugh and have a good time. That's what work should be, not a damned challenge to get up and go to every day. It should be a place where you trust the people you work with to catch your back, I trusted these guys.
Granted, it wasn't always roses and peaches. There were days I let Mr Temper out, and he got back as much as he gave. That's what happens when you work with people, you'll get under each others skin, the thing isn't to carry a grudge. I had a boss or two that did, as far as I'm concerned those rat sons of bitches can suck it to this day.
I call them "My Boys", kinda silly since we are all grown men, and a few were damn near my age. I say that because I took responsibility for what we did, how I taught them what I could, and how well I learned what they had to teach me. They are My Boys, they make me proud to have been a part of the time from bad to damn near perfect. You have to understand, we made do with what we had. We remodeled, not really rebuilt. Cleaned the old stuff, fixed it like new, then put it together like a tank battery and field should be done. Every one of us had input, our boss would listen, we used some of our ideas, some we didn't. That's what made it successful. My Boys did, and I. We did all that.
The guys that have come in during the last 8-9 months, they reap that benefit. My Boys don't brag, but they can, and maybe they should a bit. This field promotes more from within than any where I've worked in 24 years. Not because they have to, but because My Boys can do the job damn well. There's no reason to look anywhere else. All y'all have to let the guys that came in after I left know that shit. They are standing on shoulders that made their jobs easier. Brag yourselves up, you deserve it.
It's a bit tough for me to go out. I miss they men, the field, the work, but it's sure hard to go and know I've done all I can with and for these guys. Give me the core people we started with, drag our asses to a worn out field, give us some time and money, and we can show you how to do it right.
That's what I'll miss about work, and for me, that's hard
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