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?

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

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

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.

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

Again? Really?

 Back to the gym at the time the plastic surgeon said would be okay. I guess anymore I'm the odd duck at the gym. I go to lift and train. I'm not there to check and see how well the lifting is making my biceps/pecs/whatever look in the mirror every set. Nor am I there to seal business deals, talk on the phone, play games, or stare blankly into space for 10 minutes. All the while sitting on the equipment you were using so no one else can use it in your moment of "I cleared Level 123 on Candy Crush". I go to lift, and I put my plates and things I use up where they belong, not hanging on bars or scattered from here to hell's half acre, but that in itself could take up an entire blog. And it may

 So, I lift. It's no where near the weight I used to use, and that frustrates me to no end. As I've said, I get hung up in "Yeah? Well I useta could!" which is bad if you're weight training, healthy or not so healthy. I don't dawdle, 5 separate lifts, 3 sets of 10 with increasing weight. My left shoulder is entirely upset with me, because I push it to the point of pain. It hates when I do that, but it is getting stronger. My PT shakes her head and says things like "Doesn't that hurt?". Well yes, love it does, but it's getting stronger all the time too. All said and done,  5 types of lifts, 3 sets of 10 and I'm in and out in 40 minutes. Let us lift and train. When I was healthy and training hard it took and hour to an hour and half of pretty steady lifting through way more than 5 separate lifts to get me there. I've decided the 40 minutes is enough, if I go home tired. I generally do.

Home! It's where the feed bag and formula is, as well as the heart. Drug up with the stuff for my thyroid that died after radiation, a little Prilosec, and because my left shoulder is pounding and yelling at me, a little pain med. Here I sit, writing yesterday's blog, all full and the pounding is down to a gentle tap, tap, tapping where my shoulder is sore (a poor paraphrase of Poe, I know), when I start to cough.
Normally big deal. My epiglottis doesn't work right so I aspirate some of my secretions and have to cough them out the trach. OH! Nope, this is getting worse. Bad enough I have to take off my glasses so they don't go flying. Bad enough I close the computer and set it aside.
 Shit, now I'm choking and coughing. I know what comes next. I'm gonna vomit. Shit, and double shit, I hate to do that. Everyone does, but I don't have a soft palate, so what doesn't go out my mouth blows up into my sinuses and out my nose. Why yes, it does make my eyes water, and it's also a pain in the ass to get cleared up. Yep, I was right, throwing up. Wheeeeee. Dammit. When that stops I notice a real stabbing pain in my mid back on the right side. Fun!!! A muscle pull! Can't beat that. Dammit again.

 At the SLP, it's a struggle. Mrs Trant, her student, McKayla, and I are working (I'm trying to talk more so we don't work because suddenly my entire body aches) on various words I can't say well and some exercises to strength my speech and swallow. MD Anderson calls, I can't speak on the phone so Mrs Trant gets it for me. I have to speak on the phone so they'll let her hear about my PET Scan report.
The Cancer is in my throat, this time on the right side as well. That means it's growing. Duh, I figured. Good news is it's not in my lungs. Very good news. They strongly suggest I see the medical oncologist Thursday. Duh, again,  Liz and I will go just to hear what they have to say, and decide from there.

 Barry Atkins set up a group for me on FaceBook, he's a nice guy. I'll post the blog there, and it's a place we can all gather up and act like fools and laugh. I'm gonna like that a lot. Thanks Barry.

Later we can talk about setting up your own final arrangements. It's not as weird as one might think

Therapy and stuff

Well, therapy.
 I sat on my ass for 2 months asking myself "why aren't I working out?" That was an easy answer, MD Anderson said not to do anything until they said okay. We asked, Liz and I, more than once for a timeline on that before we left. I've trained a little, I know how fast you begin to lose muscle mass and how quickly unused muscle and tendons atrophy. I know in my heart waiting is bad for me. But I do it anyway.
 After several attempts at getting e-mail and phone calls from Liz to MDA returned, I jump on their FB page and tell them, "Since I was dismissed from the hospital, it's as if I didn't exist. I need to get cleared for PT and other rehab, but no calls or e-mails are returned. It's as if once you leave the grounds, you're kicked to the curb.". That started a turd storm. The FB administrators asked for my phone number, and after telling them that I couldn't speak, but my wife would love to, I gave them her number and e-mail address.  Within 24 hrs we had calls from more than one Dr.. I was set up with PT and Speech/Language therapy. Amazing what a true statement, placed in a public forum can do for you.

 Physical therapy. I've had some pain before, I set my own broken fingers and toes and the like. My surgery sites hurt to some amount all the time. I ain't never hurt that bad in one spot in my life. Even rehabbing my torn bicep tendon didn't hurt that bad. My PT Barb would say, "If it's too painful tell me and we'll stop". No way I'm admitting it's too painful, right? Bullshit, I said it was more than once! Most of it was stretching already shrunken muscle and tendons. I still fight that a lot, but in the beginning it was a major pain. For reals.
 To start, I couldn't raise both hand over my head at the same time. I can now, not like I could before, but the strength is slowly coming back. My chest where my pec was is tight all the time, the scar tissue doesn't seem to want to loosen up as fast as I would like. As fast as I would like would be, you know, yesterday. My left side is about useless as far as I can tell, my PT's tell me other wise. I find myself hung up on "Yeah? Well I used ta could...". As soon as I lose that attitude I do better, but I find myself wandering back there. Silly bear, that road goes no where.
 I'm going back to the gym. 3 times a week, unless the pain knocks me down too far to get up. I find that I tend to way intense, which isn't good I'm sure.

Speech and Swallow therapy. Oh, the shit we take for granted. Like swallowing. It's natural, right? Don't even have to think about it, right? Wrong!!! I have to struggle to swallow anything. And sometimes, like when I was writing
 this blog, I choke and cough so hard I throw up. Which means my sinuses fill because I don't have a soft palate. I cough so hard I can't see, which makes it a pain to make it to the head before I barf. I seldom make it, which means cleaning up a mess. Dammit

 I found I couldn't speak at all. Well, a little, but no one could understand what I said. Talk about frustration on steroids. Not only did it piss me off, I could see the anguish in my families eyes as they struggled to understand me. I finally just quit. I text or wrote on my board. Yes, it was the easy way out, but it was less frustrating and my penmanship improved.

 My SLP Michelle gave me a list of exercises, that seem silly until you try to do them. They are tough, and tiring. She also works me hard during our meetings, which is also tiring. It also works. Even when to some people it looks like we are horsing around, we are working. I gave my bud Barry Atkins one of the exercises to try, you all might as well try it too. Stick your tongue out, hold it with your teeth, and try to swallow. It's a bear to do. It's also my throat, with no base of tongue my tongue won't move back to help get a swallow started. Prior to SLP therapy I could swallow nothing. Now I can most of my saliva, and even some ice cream. It ain't much, but it was the world to me when that started.

 Okay, the choking, coughing, throwing up fit has worn my old ass out. Time to TTFN

Take care, kids