July 6, 2020 – I finished the last of my scheduled doctor’s appointment this afternoon – annual physical. Everything was fine according to my internist. I’ve been with this same doctor for perhaps 25 years. He knows as much about my health as I do. After last year’s physical he joked, “You’re the healthiest guy with cancer, who had a heart attack, I’ve ever seen.”
Based on the numbers from this year’s blood tests and urinalysis, I hope that comment remains true.
Appointments, Appointments, Appointments
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| At least it’s clean. |
Because of COVID-19, I waited until June to follow-up with most of my doctors. In the past thirty days, I saw just about everyone: cardiologist, urologist, orthopedist, dermatologist, oncologist (we’ll get to that in a moment), and even the dentist (no cavities!). All of these visits we’re either annual checkups, routine appointments, or quickly scheduled due to an issue that came up. I saw my orthopedist after I over did it with exercise, yard work, and pressure washing the back patio.
Note: The patio’s now clean, but I was in some serious back and muscle pain for about a week.
Metastatic Melanoma
In early June I had my scheduled CT scan and doctor’s appointment at the West Cancer Center. As I mentioned previously (see Status Quo and An Early Christmas Gift), I am now scanned about every six (6) months because my tumors remain stable and (for the most part) unchanged. June’s CT results were pretty much the same. Nothing – in my lungs – has changed.
Now For Something Completely Different
There was, however, something completely unexpected on the scan results. A fairly large mass – about 2 1/2 inches – on or around my right adrenal gland. The adrenal gland sits on top of each kidney. The radiology oncologist called it a heterogeneous mainly low density mass. Basically, it looks like I had some internal bleeding either in or around my adrenal gland.
Between chemotherapy meds, blood thinners (to help keep the stent in my heart working), and everything else I’ve been through, it’s hard to know what caused this mass.
Modern-day Torture Device
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| You never know what’s lurking inside. |
My oncologist scheduled an MRI to get a better look. If you’ve never had an MRI, it’s very strange and a bit nerve-racking. The MRI machine is claustrophobic and loud. And weird…I swear I could feel the magnetic force going through my midsection. Yuck!
Unfortunately, the MRI didn’t provide any new clues as to what’s going on inside me. The concern is that this blood mass may be hiding a cancerous tumor (or, the mass was caused by a cancerous tumor). The size has not changed, and I’m not in any pain.
At the end of July, I’ll have another CT scan to see if anything’s changed. Then, the doctors and I will figure out what the next steps will be.
Possibly another twist in my melanoma journey. More to come…
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May 18, 2020 – Here’s the fourth (and final!) installment in my pictorial journey through self-imposed home quarantine. As I said in my first post (see Part One), I wanted to keep this light with some humor thrown in. These last four weeks, however, have been almost as surreal as the first few days of the pandemic. My somewhat dark mood has given way to anger, just pure anger.
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| I’m so bored! |
When the Walls Come Tumbling Down…
So, May 1st came and people acted as though they had been stuck at home for years…decades, even. As a species, we still have a ways to go on the evolutionary track. I know I’m sick of being at home, but to put your fellow humans – potentially – in harm’s way…it’s sickening (pun intended).
A Month of High and Lows
During a typical May, our family endures an emotional rollercoaster of highs and lows (or, ups and downs) that might cause motion sickness for most folks. The ups and downs started on May 1st – Sam Black’s birthday – and continued on May 2nd with my guest appearance on the Melanoma Research Foundation’s Virtual Miles for Melanoma Opening Ceremony.
There was The Blues Foundation’s virtual Blues Music Awards the following day, then, a week later, there was Mother’s Day – a bittersweet time in our home. At least the weather that weekend was nice and crisp (we even made an outdoor fire).
May also brings back memories of high school and college graduations, along with the end of the school year, which seems to coincide with my birthday on May 20th. (See They Say It’s Your Birthday)
All of this in the midst of a pandemic and a nation that is trying not to dissolve into complete chaos. At that point, we stopped watching the news and tried our best to stay away from the internet. Pretty much impossible to do.
Politicians, Pundits, and People
I’m tired…just plain tired of people…politicians and pundits. Everyone has an opinion and anyone else who disagrees is wrong, just wrong. One group feels their rights are being infringed upon, another group believes those people are reckless and selfish, while others believe this entire “virus thing” is a hoax. To say that people are idiots is to almost understate the problem. We simply don’t care, regardless of our intents, regardless of what we believe or say…bottom-line is – we don’t care. As long as our little self-contained world hums along with no government interference, or pesky intrusions by the neighbors, or whatever…we don’t care.
We are becoming a nation of morons who think only in terms of instant gratification and what can be achieved by crapping all over others. It’s sad…and disgusting. Throw in useless politicians – who only make things worse – and pundits who are simply out for themselves – and its no wonder no one has faith in our societal systems any longer.
Saving Grace(s)
The saving grace for me is that I’m healthy and at home. (Yes, my own little world, thank you.) We have spent a lot of time together, which is wonderful given my health situation. And there are my plants, of course. Always a source of comfort even when they’re a
lot of work. I’ve finished more yard/garden projects this spring than
I’ve finished in the past five years.
So the three pics on the right are definitely my saving graces: good food (compliments of Vicki), gardening, and, as always, beer.
By The Way, Thanks for Asking…
I’ve grown tired of religious folks in this country. As I mentioned in Part 3, I already have a strained relationship with God to begin with. I used the word tenuous – meaning flimsy or weak – and that’s about right. God and I haven’t been on speaking terms in years, especially after Emily’s cancer diagnosis.
I know that runs counter to what most Christians believe…if anything, you’d turn to God in time of need. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work for me any longer. To better understand my frustration with organized religion and with people who claim to be “religious,” you have to understand the distinction I make between religion – which is of men – and spirituality – which is of God, or a higher power.
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| Yeah, I could use a haircut…and a shave. |
I’m tired of people using their “religion” and their religious institutions to judge others and – in the process – cause pain and anguish. Its hypocritical and destructive…and goes against the teachings of that two-thousand-year-old Jewish carpenter from the Galilee.
Matthew 7:2 pretty much sums it up…For with whatever judgment you judge, you will be judged
I’d like people to stop and think the next time they say “We’re praying for you.” Some of these same people post ugly political memes and defend worthless politicians who match their world view. They’re very quick to chime in on a political post, but don’t take time to wish someone a Happy Birthday, or simply ask someone with a chronic condition, or cancer, How’s it going? How are you feeling?
Time to Move to New Zealand
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| An entire country full of sheep! Count me in! |
At one point a few weeks ago, I was so fed up with our country – including places I thought we might end up living after retirement – Colorado, Florida, the Carolinas – that I told Vicki that we’re retiring to New Zealand. Seems the Kiwis have figured out to handle the virus, mass shootings, and runaway Hobbits.
Finally… I’m Still Healing
As you may remember (see Don’t Believe the Gripe), I had another melanoma removed on February 28th. It’s been almost three full months, yet I still have a wound that has to be cleaned and bandaged every day. At this point, I think it will be the end of June before I’m fully healed.
Anyway…thanks for listening. I promise the next post will be a little more positive.
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March 24, 2020 – Here’s the second in my pictorial journey through self-imposed home quarantine. As I stated the last time (see Part One), I’ll try to keep it light and try my best – no guarantees – to keep out the politics and frustration (a hard one at this point). We all need to smile a little more, right now.
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| Aero Garden in the kitchen. We should have grown veggies instead of petunias. |
Pandemic Hits Home
Thursday, March 19th, Vicki comes in the back door and puts her things down in the dining room. She has an odd look on her face. It’s lunch time, so both Emily and I are sitting at the table in our breakfast nook. I ask her if everything’s okay…she proceeds to tell us that a coworker – who is new to her department – just got a call that her adult son was sent home from work because he has a cough and was running a fever. Suddenly, coronavirus gets even more real for our family.
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| Really? Sleep in here? |
Upstairs/Downstairs
We disinfect everything – and I mean everything. Vicki moves all of her day-to-day things into the dining room. We use clean dish towels to touch door handles and sink faucets. Emily and I continue to eat in the kitchen area while Vicki stays mostly in the dining room and the (rarely used) living room. Emily and I commandeer the den.
I sleep in the mother-in-law’s quarters downstairs. Zoe, of course, sleeps downstairs with me, but she doesn’t like it. Life is now very surreal. We have a much better appreciation of how people on the front lines of the pandemic deal with everyday life.
Weather, Weather, Weather
As I said in Part One, the weather in Memphis has been crappy – and that’s putting it nicely. Warm and rainy one day, cold and rainy the next. It makes a weird, depressing situation even more miserable. You can’t go outside, and it’s so dreary that every day looks like nightfall. Ugh.
God Paid the Utility Bill
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| Finally…sunshine! |
Finally…sunshine! Saturday (March 21st) was a glorious day. The sun was out almost the entire day. The neighbors were out, too, which was a mixed blessing. I’m not sure everyone is on board with social distancing. In particular, one set of neighbors are all crammed together in the front yard yucking it up and playing a form of tennis on the driveway. I watch from my front porch as one player hands a racquet to another neighbor (not a family member, by the way), who proceeds to get in the game. Yeah, I’m really not sure that everyone – even when one of those neighbors has cancer – understands how serious this situation has become.
One other note – We were invited (via text) to come over and hang out with these same neighbors. Vicki replied – also via text – that we may been exposed and needed to self-isolate. Did she get a response? Has she gotten any kind of response to this day? Nah. Piece of advice – If someone who’s married to a Stage IV cancer patient says that she may have been exposed to a deadly virus, and, therefore, we need to stay away from each other and everyone else, shouldn’t you do the courteous, caring thing and – at the very least – respond? People. I’ll address this, especially “religious” folk, in my next installment.
Zombie Apocalypse
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| Apple Store in Germantown. Four o’clock on a Sunday afternoon. |
After about two weeks of being at home, I decided that Sunday to get cleaned up, put on some real clothes, and drive around Germantown. Vicki and Emily had told me about the store closures and empty grocery shelves, but I wanted to see – from the safety of my car – what this pandemic looks like. It was – as I told Vicki when I got home – like a zombie apocalypse. No one’s out. Very few people driving around. Shopping center parking lots empty – on a Sunday afternoon! Wow.
Thanks, as always, for listening…and be safe and, if you can, stay home!
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Late January 2020 – We’re standing in one of the museum’s backrooms, the drone of the HVAC system along with the faint backbeat of blues emanating from the interior speakers can muddle your senses…especially when you’re having a conversation.
How Are You Doing?
Joe, being Joe, asks a straight-up question: “How’re you doing’?”
I’m asked this question all the time. All of us are asked this same question every day. The question is typically asked out of politeness, not really out of concern or as a genuine inquiry. The questioner doesn’t want to know how you really are. The questioner simply wants to be polite or appear friendly.
It’s like asking, “How’s it going?” You truly don’t want the respondent to go into a thirty-minute soliloquy about what’s really going on in that person’s world. Again, you’re simply being polite. It’s almost like a greeting.
In my case, however, How are you doing? takes on a whole different dynamic. Folks in my life know that I have cancer – Stage IV to be exact – and they also know that, at present, I’m beating the odds. Most of them also know that in December 2018 I had a heart attack.
So, How are you doing? almost becomes a Yeah, I want to know how you’re really doing cancer-wise, but I don’t know if I really want to hear the truth. I’ve actually noticed some people start to cringe or slightly wince – like they’re in pain – as I begin to respond. It’s a subtle thing, but it’s there in their facial expressions. Along with a more noticeable sense of relief when I tell them I’m doing fine.
Which is exactly what I tell Joe. I ramble a little, but there’s a lot to my condition that’s not so easy to explain. I’ve written before about how people look at me in disbelief when I tell them I have cancer – Stage IV cancer as a matter of fact.
Joe looks at me pretty much like he looks at everyone else – like he’s sizing you up. He tells me that he’s glad everything is going well. We banter a little more about living with cancer. Finally, Joe responds, “I know exactly how you feel.”
No Joe, I say to myself, you really don’t.
Say It Ain’t So
Say it ain’t so, Joe is an idiom used to express disbelief, disappointment, or even grief upon learning some unfortunate truth about someone or something. (The Free Dictionary Idioms)
The saying comes from the infamous Chicago “Black Sox” scandal when baseball hero Shoeless Joe Jackson admitted, under oath, that he and other team members cheated during the 1919 World Series.
My disbelief and disappointment stem not from learning some unfortunate truth about someone, but more from an unfortunate truth about something: People truly don’t get it.
They simply don’t get what I’m going through.
A Journey and A Nightmare
Having Stage IV cancer is both a journey and a nightmare.
I don’t expect people to pity me – in fact, I don’t want anyone’s pity or sadness. There are so many more people with cancer who are in dire situations. I also don’t want your prayers or your “qualifiers:” God’s blessed you or You’re so fortunate.
I already know I’m lucky to be alive. I don’t need to be reminded of it.
In early November (2019), I met up in Jacksonville, Florida with some college buddies and their spouses. While it was a great weekend, I still felt isolated and a bit frustrated that no one asked me how things were going. Sure, a few of them asked How’re you doing? Or, even, You look great! But no one really asked the question that is easy to avoid: How is your cancer?
There’s never a good time to discuss cancer. There’s never a good time to sit down and have a long discussion about a cancer patient’s prognosis. People are never sure what to ask or how to respond. What they don’t understand is that most cancer patients want to be asked How’s your cancer? They want to be able to give an honest assessment – the good along with the bad. We’ve already had to come to terms with our situation. As I like to tell people when they do ask – It is what it is.
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| Little Milton gets it. Just say nothin’ and enjoy the music. |
I’m not being cavalier…as I just said, I’m lucky to be here. But it still frustrates me how so many people in my world just don’t get it. For the most part I look fine, but I AM sick, unfortunately very sick. I think people don’t see me as someone who is dying, or at least they don’t want to think about death and disease. It’s difficult. In fact, it’s a nightmare – if you let it become a nightmare.
Be Careful What You Say
On the other hand, many people don’t know what to say or ask, or simply don’t want to say something stupid or insensitive.
I understand that, and I also understand that it seems everyone has been impacted by cancer. But you don’t know how I feel and you don’t know what I go through every day. Just like I don’t know what others with cancer go through. It’s my disease…it’s my cancer.
Say it ain’t so…but I have cancer, and I’d be happy to tell you about sometime.
Thanks, as always, for listening.
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September 26, 2019 – Melanoma has also left an imprint on Ken’s family. “Vicki has been my rock throughout this entire process,” says Ken. “She goes with me to every appointment. She also tackles all of the insurance forms and doctor’s bills so I can focus on getting better. Most importantly, she’s the ultimate glass-half-full person.”
The above quote is from an online article – that I co-wrote and edited – about my melanoma journey recently published by the Melanoma Research Alliance (CureMelanoma.org).
The article highlights an important aspect of battling cancer – support. I wouldn’t be here now without the love and support of my family and close friends. And I have no closer friend than my best friend, Vicki. She is truly my rock and the glue that hold our family together.
It’s also important to understand that not everyone has this loving support. That’s a horribly sad aspect of having a potentially fatal disease. It’s also, unfortunately, part of our cultural and, in some ways, part of human DNA. That’s why the work of organizations like the MRA and the American Cancer Society and so many others are so necessary in the fight against cancer. All cancers, not just melanoma.
Here’s the link to the MRA article:
https://www.curemelanoma.org/blog/article/living-life-with-melanoma
Over the past several months, I have shared – online – my melanoma journey story. The posts have appeared on Facebook, Twitter, this blog, Skincancer.net, and even LinkedIn. Each post has a slight variation to it. Some of these I have authored myself and some – like this one from the Melanoma Research Alliance (MRA) – were written by the organization. As I said in several of the lead-ins to the posts, I am humbled by the responses and the support I have received. I am truly fortunate.
Thanks, as always, for listening.
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