Just watched this on DVD with the daughterini - and I must say I hope I can be at her wedding. All the stresses and such that they go through in this silly musical ABBA-fest reminded me that nothing is assured in life, and that I would sure like to be available for the "giving away" part of the wedding ceremony.
Just sayin...
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Where the heck have you been?
Excellent question. Be prepared for the lamest of answers, but I have found busy-ness to be a welcome (though overwhelming) change from cancer-dom. Cancer world is a place where you focus most of your energy inward - self-examination of mental and physical states takes one hell of a lot of energy. I now find that those inward-oriented "looks" are both simpler and not as important to my days (and nights). The sleeplessness of chemicals and worry have been replaced by the heavy sleep of exhaustion after a hard day's work and play.
I ride my bike a lot. I work hard (both at my paid job and at home tasks). Too many things are on my plate, but I rather enjoy a full-to-overflowing plate much more than the one that looks picked over with only bits of salad and potato left. I finally succumbed to Facebook (having been pushed into LinkedIn by a colleague and then goaded by my wife to "get with it"). I have enjoyed many a glass of beer or bottle of wine with my friends. I am enjoying the living of my life.
But the blog suffers. And even the most deicated blog readers slowly drift away as a result of my inattention. Cancer survivorship is a heavy responsibility - for family, for friends, for those whose journey is just beginning - but I have been giving myself room to distance myself from the 24/7 mental and physical work that chemotherapy is. Just ask anyone that has gone (or is going) through it.
I am well. No evidence of disease through the second round of post-chemo CT scans. Next "viewing" is in December, right before we head to SunRiver for a week of post-Christmas skiing and playing in central Oregon. It's nice to have stuff like that to look forward to...
I ride my bike a lot. I work hard (both at my paid job and at home tasks). Too many things are on my plate, but I rather enjoy a full-to-overflowing plate much more than the one that looks picked over with only bits of salad and potato left. I finally succumbed to Facebook (having been pushed into LinkedIn by a colleague and then goaded by my wife to "get with it"). I have enjoyed many a glass of beer or bottle of wine with my friends. I am enjoying the living of my life.
But the blog suffers. And even the most deicated blog readers slowly drift away as a result of my inattention. Cancer survivorship is a heavy responsibility - for family, for friends, for those whose journey is just beginning - but I have been giving myself room to distance myself from the 24/7 mental and physical work that chemotherapy is. Just ask anyone that has gone (or is going) through it.
I am well. No evidence of disease through the second round of post-chemo CT scans. Next "viewing" is in December, right before we head to SunRiver for a week of post-Christmas skiing and playing in central Oregon. It's nice to have stuff like that to look forward to...
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Sad news - Leroy Sievers has died at age 53
A great light for me - now extinguished - and I am sad. In so many ways Leroy's blog was a vicarious living for me. And his valiant fight has ended. I discovered him just after my own diagnosis with colon cancer, as he had just described his own cancer journey on a television program Living with Cancer. His death is a reminder to me that nothing can be taken for granted, that our efforts daily must be wholesome, and that fighting does not always mean winning.
I am sad. This is hard to write about, because he was NED/NEMD for four years and then his world went to hell. And I must admit to my own fears and uncertainty.
You can find a nice description of his life at the NPR site (http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=92028479) and a wonderful commentary about his impact on the blogging world at his blog (http://www.npr.org/blogs/mycancer/).
When the second shoe drops, it can be very loud.
Peace and love everyone - and live strong.
I am sad. This is hard to write about, because he was NED/NEMD for four years and then his world went to hell. And I must admit to my own fears and uncertainty.
You can find a nice description of his life at the NPR site (http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=92028479) and a wonderful commentary about his impact on the blogging world at his blog (http://www.npr.org/blogs/mycancer/).
When the second shoe drops, it can be very loud.
Peace and love everyone - and live strong.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Story of a Life
The other day I was walking to work, listening to my iPod, when Harry Chapin's "Story of a Life" shuffled its way to my earphones. In case you haven't heard it recently, Harry writes (and sings) of the twists and turns of a young man's life - much the same as Cat Stevens' Father and Son, though with a different flavor. And I have been reflecting (slowly, you might think) on the value and experience of blogging.
Huh? What's the connection here? How did we jump from classic folk songs to blogging without so much as a how-do-you-do? Well, my thinking goes something like this... (1) we all invent our lives every day in the choices that we make and the habits we confirm, (2) we tell those stories to ourselves and our world in the words we speak or write and the relationships that we reaffirm, (3) some of us publish those words (formally in print and informally on blogs and letters), and (4) others read those published works. A blog is nothing more than an un-refereed publication, and it can take on a virtual life of its own (caching is an enormously powerful force for being careful when it comes to writing things down - no real way to ever go "out-of-print").
Great. Now I think the connection is clear. What, no? Well I was once a young man, and sometimes I think that that young man still knocks around inside my biological cache... and there is *nothing* like a cancer diagnosis to wake you up to a lot of things about life. What were those dreams that I was so adamantly pursuing? And why, for goodness sake? And what really separates the fiction from the non-fiction in our lives?
This blog started out being a convenient means for communicating my immediate cancer-related feelings to a close group of people. To be a little more honest, though, it was a means of avoiding the many "replies" that a distributed emailing list generated when I was too tired to do much more than take pills and the occasional shower. I figured that there were people out there that might want to read of my experience - my reality - of being a cancer patient. But my reality was colored by the drugs, the emotions, the fatigue, and many other crayons. I struggle now to find meaningful words and topics to write about.
I have been avoiding the blog. I type comments on other cancer bloggers' sites - I know where they are in cancer-world (to a small extent) having been there myself... but am feeling almost unwelcome by my completion of my treatment. But I still fear - and that is my reality, a story of my life. I am sorry for the silence, because I think there are people checking in with my blog now and again - wondering about a cancer survivor's life. It's just that I feel like the story is now a lot more personal, you know? And I am not sure where to start...
Huh? What's the connection here? How did we jump from classic folk songs to blogging without so much as a how-do-you-do? Well, my thinking goes something like this... (1) we all invent our lives every day in the choices that we make and the habits we confirm, (2) we tell those stories to ourselves and our world in the words we speak or write and the relationships that we reaffirm, (3) some of us publish those words (formally in print and informally on blogs and letters), and (4) others read those published works. A blog is nothing more than an un-refereed publication, and it can take on a virtual life of its own (caching is an enormously powerful force for being careful when it comes to writing things down - no real way to ever go "out-of-print").
Great. Now I think the connection is clear. What, no? Well I was once a young man, and sometimes I think that that young man still knocks around inside my biological cache... and there is *nothing* like a cancer diagnosis to wake you up to a lot of things about life. What were those dreams that I was so adamantly pursuing? And why, for goodness sake? And what really separates the fiction from the non-fiction in our lives?
This blog started out being a convenient means for communicating my immediate cancer-related feelings to a close group of people. To be a little more honest, though, it was a means of avoiding the many "replies" that a distributed emailing list generated when I was too tired to do much more than take pills and the occasional shower. I figured that there were people out there that might want to read of my experience - my reality - of being a cancer patient. But my reality was colored by the drugs, the emotions, the fatigue, and many other crayons. I struggle now to find meaningful words and topics to write about.
I have been avoiding the blog. I type comments on other cancer bloggers' sites - I know where they are in cancer-world (to a small extent) having been there myself... but am feeling almost unwelcome by my completion of my treatment. But I still fear - and that is my reality, a story of my life. I am sorry for the silence, because I think there are people checking in with my blog now and again - wondering about a cancer survivor's life. It's just that I feel like the story is now a lot more personal, you know? And I am not sure where to start...
Saturday, July 5, 2008
New acronym - NEMD
I have to admit that I have been holding my metaphorical breath for a bit over a week now. On June 25th, I trooped over to my favorite outpatient center to have another CT scan - which we now realize was supposed to happen PRIOR to my six-month follow-up visit to OHSU. Long story short - the fact that my oncologist left OHSU to become a department head in Canada has created some turmoil in the details of my continued participation in clinical trial N0147, and calendars got shifted but key appointments did not. Oh well, this stuff happens.
Fast forward to July 3rd, where we find the hero of our story making a few phone calls to find out the results of the CT scan. Keep in mind that bad news related to cancer travels faster than the speed of light (translation: if there had been evidence of recurrence or metastasis, my phone would have rung the very next day (at the latest)), so I was not as concerned as someone might be in this situation. Still, I proceeded to call everyone that was supposed to have received the report from the latest CT scan, including OHSU, my local oncologist, and my primary care physician. None of them (not one) had seen any report whatsoever. Suffice it to say that, even given my sense of time as outlined above, this caused me some concern - but the story ends happily. The oncology nurse at OHSU promptly called the Imagery Department and had the report faxed to her. She then immediately called me back and read the report.
No evidence of metastatic disease (NEMD)! I have a few persistent cysts in my liver (apparently you do too - they are VERY common) that have not changed in size or position over the last six months. And that's it... from now on I am thinking that being labeled "NEMD" is as good as being "on the mend."
Live strong.
Fast forward to July 3rd, where we find the hero of our story making a few phone calls to find out the results of the CT scan. Keep in mind that bad news related to cancer travels faster than the speed of light (translation: if there had been evidence of recurrence or metastasis, my phone would have rung the very next day (at the latest)), so I was not as concerned as someone might be in this situation. Still, I proceeded to call everyone that was supposed to have received the report from the latest CT scan, including OHSU, my local oncologist, and my primary care physician. None of them (not one) had seen any report whatsoever. Suffice it to say that, even given my sense of time as outlined above, this caused me some concern - but the story ends happily. The oncology nurse at OHSU promptly called the Imagery Department and had the report faxed to her. She then immediately called me back and read the report.
No evidence of metastatic disease (NEMD)! I have a few persistent cysts in my liver (apparently you do too - they are VERY common) that have not changed in size or position over the last six months. And that's it... from now on I am thinking that being labeled "NEMD" is as good as being "on the mend."
Live strong.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
LiveStrong Challenge 2008
I rode the 40 miles in just over two hours (2h07m) - about 18 mph... not bad for an old guy who was a lot weaker just six short months ago. We also saw Lance Armstrong all over the Nike campus. At about the 35-mile mark I noticed that my legs were markedly wobbly, but that could have been due to the heat too.
I promise to post a more prosaic description later this week, but everything seems to be conspiring against me having any energy/time at the end of the day this week... we are preparing for the annual July 4th feast-and-fireworks extravaganza.
I promise to post a more prosaic description later this week, but everything seems to be conspiring against me having any energy/time at the end of the day this week... we are preparing for the annual July 4th feast-and-fireworks extravaganza.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Normal?
So, not so long ago, here is the scoop...
Ed, bent over a stationary cycle machine (toe clips engaged, iPod playing some Tchaikovsky, sweat dripping), is trying to maintain some sort of training regime related to the LiveStrong Challenge. Outside the windows it is dark (mind you, it is 4:45pm), and I am attending a work conference in Orlando, FL. Lightning and thunder are trading exclamation points of light and sound, and there is a deluge engulfing the Marriott World Center Resort. I am sitting still but pedaling through the "random" hill course on a "Star Trac" cycle, and I am beginning to wonder if 45 minutes at level 10 (out of 20) was such a good idea. Oh, and did I mention that I had just spent 8 hours engaged in a training course related to "Enterprise Architecture"? Well, that too. I completed 12.2 virtual miles in 46 minutes.
Just over a year ago, I started chemotherapy for colo-rectal cancer that surprised the hell out of me and my family. Just over a year ago, I started working for the State of Oregon (again) as a policy analyst. Just over two weeks ago, my primary care physician said, "now that we are back into a normal health situation, we really ought to get an update on your cholesterol levels." THAT, I might venture to say, is a very good sign.
I like to think, occasionally, that I am a normal person (others may disagree, and they can just bite their proverbial tongues). But then I try to describe my line of work, which regularly leads to glazed-over eyes and a polite retreat. I am not sure that "enterprise architecture" is a more-simple response to the "so, what do you do?" question than "enterprise GIS collaboration and policy." So I am coming to terms with the idea that what I do is fairly esoteric, and not exactly prone to a simple description. For those that have known me for any length of time, this is not a significant change. For the rest of you, welcome to my world.
But I like to think that things are returning to normal - whatever that means. I am semi-seriously thinking that the kitchen DOES need to be remodeled, and there are some other house projects that we should think about - insulation for the attic and south walls sounds good, and what about a solar water heater? And an EA program for Oregon does not seem particularly far-fetched...
Normal - all the stuff you don't think about as important that really is.
Ed, bent over a stationary cycle machine (toe clips engaged, iPod playing some Tchaikovsky, sweat dripping), is trying to maintain some sort of training regime related to the LiveStrong Challenge. Outside the windows it is dark (mind you, it is 4:45pm), and I am attending a work conference in Orlando, FL. Lightning and thunder are trading exclamation points of light and sound, and there is a deluge engulfing the Marriott World Center Resort. I am sitting still but pedaling through the "random" hill course on a "Star Trac" cycle, and I am beginning to wonder if 45 minutes at level 10 (out of 20) was such a good idea. Oh, and did I mention that I had just spent 8 hours engaged in a training course related to "Enterprise Architecture"? Well, that too. I completed 12.2 virtual miles in 46 minutes.
Just over a year ago, I started chemotherapy for colo-rectal cancer that surprised the hell out of me and my family. Just over a year ago, I started working for the State of Oregon (again) as a policy analyst. Just over two weeks ago, my primary care physician said, "now that we are back into a normal health situation, we really ought to get an update on your cholesterol levels." THAT, I might venture to say, is a very good sign.
I like to think, occasionally, that I am a normal person (others may disagree, and they can just bite their proverbial tongues). But then I try to describe my line of work, which regularly leads to glazed-over eyes and a polite retreat. I am not sure that "enterprise architecture" is a more-simple response to the "so, what do you do?" question than "enterprise GIS collaboration and policy." So I am coming to terms with the idea that what I do is fairly esoteric, and not exactly prone to a simple description. For those that have known me for any length of time, this is not a significant change. For the rest of you, welcome to my world.
But I like to think that things are returning to normal - whatever that means. I am semi-seriously thinking that the kitchen DOES need to be remodeled, and there are some other house projects that we should think about - insulation for the attic and south walls sounds good, and what about a solar water heater? And an EA program for Oregon does not seem particularly far-fetched...
Normal - all the stuff you don't think about as important that really is.
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