February 19th

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Health update – I’m doing well and making it through the last of this very cold winter.  I have had much fewer episodes of muscles cramps and pain in my feet.  We saw the doctor in mid-January and all my blood work along with other vitals are fine.  The next big date for me is March 19th.  I will have a CT scan, and, depending upon the results, my doctors will decide if they want to remove the two (2) remaining tumors in my right lung.

As I have discussed with several family members and close friends, the removal of these tumors – both of which are now less than a millimeter in size – would be similar to the needle biopsy I had back in August.  In other words, this would not be radical lung surgery.  Vicki and I will, of course, discuss the pros and cons of the procedure, but my doctor’s main concern is that sometime in the future these tumors may begin to resist the drug I’m currently taking and start to grow larger.  There may be several alternatives, so thoughts and prayers are greatly needed as we make our decision.

– – –

Today (February 19th) is Emily’s 20th birthday!  I cannot believe that our daughter is twenty years old!  I have not shared much about Emily in this blog other than to say that she is away at college.  Her arrival in this world is a somewhat unique story that I want to share.  Many of you know some of the story, but most of you don’t know how Emily’s birth profoundly changed our lives, mine in particular, and not necessarily in the cliched way that one may think the birth of child changes a new parent.

First of all were the circumstances surrounding Emma’s birth.  Vicki was more than 8 months pregnant when the infamous Ice Storm ’94 slammed into Memphis.  (As it turns out, the night the ice began to hit here, I was stuck in Dallas dealing with the same icy weather.)  We were without power for almost a week.  Vicki was a bank branch manager and had to go to work regardless of the conditions.  Needless to say, it was a crazy and extremely stressful time for us.  As our power came back on and things began to get back to normal, Vicki kept complaining of back pains and just not feeling “right.”  We finally saw her ob/gyn who told us that her water had broken, and we were going to have a baby in the next 24 hours!

Now our world was really getting turned upside down.  We went to the hospital late Friday evening – Vicki was having serious labor pains at that point, and she spent almost the next twelve hours in labor.  She was exhausted when Emily was finally born.  (I was pretty tired, too.)  Everything seemed to be okay as Vicki rested and Emily was in the small incubator near our bed.  The neonatal doctor came in, did his examine, and matter-of-factly said he wanted to take Emily away to do some tests.  We were so tired we didn’t think anything about it.

After a while, however, we started to sense something was not right.  The nurses kept coming in to check on us and they kept saying things like, “Oh, they’ll be right back with the baby.  The doctor just needs to check on one more thing.”  The neonatal guy finally came back and basically said that Emma wasn’t “pinking up,” and he wasn’t sure why.  He called a couple of specialists who were on call that day – thank God – along with our ob/gyn.  Even though it’s been twenty years and a lot of these memories have begun to fade, I still remember – even now with so much dread – Vicki’s sad, sad face lying in that bed.  She began to cry.  I couldn’t believe this was happening to us…it was just one more incredible thing to pile on top of the ice storm and twelve hours of labor.

Stuart Birnbaum was a pediatric cardiologist, and, at the time, one of a handful of pediatric heart specialists who specialized in genetic heart defects.  We, Vicki and I, still believe – even when our faith continues to be tested, even when I have this tenuous relationship with God, even at the worst of times – that we were meant to be in Memphis, Tennessee because of Stuart Birnbaum and the surgeons at Le Bonheur Children’s Hospital.

Recent pic of Emily playing in the snow at Maryland.

Dr. Birnbaum, who sadly died in a car wreck many years ago, quickly and gently explained to us what was wrong with Emily’s heart.  Emily had transposition of the great vessels, a genetic defect in which oxygenated blood does not cycle back into the body like it is supposed to.

Thus began our unimaginable three-week journey of getting our daughter to remain in this world.  The journey continues to this day – 20 year later – as Emily has annual and bi-annual heart check ups.  She wears a reminder of her surgery – only five days old! – with a scar down the middle of her chest.  Otherwise, she’s a normal, happy – sometimes – college student, who makes her parents proud each and every day.

– – –

Obviously, there’s more to the story than I’ve shared so far.  It would probably take several “pages” to recall everything that happened on February 19, 1994 and the days and weeks that immediately followed.  But as I stated earlier in this post, Emily’s birth forced us to “grow up” in a hurry – me, especially.  I still remember coming home alone from the hospital, trying to get some things organized for the trip to Le Bonheur.  I was alone in the house, which was still a wreck after the ice storm.  I remember saying to myself, “You’ve got to be strong, you’ve got to keep it together…you’ve got to do this for Vicki and for Emily.”  I cried in the shower and I begged God to take care of my family…it was weird, that was the first time I thought about having a “family.”  It wasn’t just the two of us any longer.

So here we are twenty years later.  Incredible…like some of the other difficult memories from our lives, Emily’s birth almost seems like it happened to someone else.  It just seems so far away from our day-to-day world.  And to this day, Vicki refuses to step inside Le Bonheur Children’s Hospital.  It’s not blame or anger…Le Bonheur did a wonderful job, and we donate money to them almost every year.  The memories still sting…she just doesn’t want to be reminded of them.

I think Emily’s birth was the epitome of bittersweet.  I love my daughter so much, and I am so very proud of her as a young woman – no longer a teenager!  But to this day, I wonder how our lives – her life in particular – were shaped by a tiny, tiny heart – no bigger than a walnut – and the doctors who fixed and cared for it.

Happy Birthday, Emily!  May we share many, many, many more.

Love, Dad

January

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As January comes to a close there’s not much new to report on the health front.  Perhaps that’s good news.  On January 15th, I went back to my oncologist for blood work and a consultation.  Everything appears good, even though my cramps and muscle spasms come and go with more frequency.  I blame part of this on the out-of-the-ordinary cold weather we’ve had here in Memphis (and everywhere else it seems), and my doctor concurred.  Asking me if I am “tolerating” the medicine (Gleevec) has become a routine question.  I think what he wants to really say is – As long as your liver is not in failure and you haven’t gone into a coma, then everything is fine.

My doctor wants me to have another CT scan on March 19th.  If the tumors are still in my right lung, we may decide to “zap” them with a procedure similar to the needle biopsy I had back in August.  My hope is that the tumors continue to get smaller.  Right now, they are very tiny.

So, I’ll continue to tolerate my medicine.

On Monday, January 27th, I become an official employee of the medium-sized manufacturing company in Bartlett, Tennessee that I’ve been on temp assignment with since mid-October.  I will be the human resources manager for the company.  Work has been “okay,” and I continue to learn new skills in the HR area and re-learn the subtleties of corporate life.  I think of this position as another opportunity to grow as a person and learn skills (and gain experience) that I can take anywhere in the future.

I still very much feel like an outsider at this company.  (I’ve decided not to name them for personal and professional reasons.) I think part of the reason is that no one there knows anything about my cancer.  And I want to keep it that way.  This may present a problem once March 19th rolls around, but I’ll tackle that issue once we know more from the doctors.

On the home front all is well.  Emily went back to school yesterday (January 25th).  It is very cold at the University of Maryland right now (again, as it is in most places this winter), and Emily has another challenging semester ahead of her. She seems to be adjusting to college life – albeit grudgingly – and her health continues to improve.  Vicki and I remarked at the airport yesterday how “grown up” Emily now looks.

 Zach continues to do an outstanding job at his academic competitions, which occur almost every weekend.  Yesterday, his team placed 2nd in a tournament hosted at a local high school, and Zach was honored for answering the most correct questions out of all the individual competitors during the morning session.

Finally, this Tuesday (January 28th), both Zach and Alisa (Vicki’s sister) celebrate birthdays.  It’s pretty cool to have two family members with the same birth date.  In fact, Zach’s best friend, Deepak, also has a January 28th birthday.

The journey continues…….

Another gratuitous picture of Nix.

The Note

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Last Friday (January 10th) I got a card in the mail.  When I got home from work, I looked at the back of the envelope, but did not recognize the address.  When I opened the envelope, I was stunned by what I read:

Dear Mr. Billett,

It was good to see you in the office the other day.  I was pleased to give you a good report on your skin.  I was worried to hear about the 2 metastases that showed up on your PET scan.  I am glad, however, that they were found so they could be addressed. I am hoping they will be able to eradicate them.

Anyway, I was just writing to let you know I am hoping and praying for your continued great health in 2014 and many years beyond!

Best wishes,

< I left his name out for personal reasons >

It was a handwritten note from my dermatologist!  He had sent it to me following my semi-annual visit about two weeks earlier.  A doctor wrote a personal note to a patient...How often does that happen nowadays?  Needless to say, I was taken aback – “stunned” was the word I used earlier – and a bit overcome by this very personal, very genuine show of concern.

A wonderful and simple gesture – something that I need to internalize and make sure I remember as a blessing in my life.

Thank you!

The Reason for the Season

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January 5, 2014.  We started to take “Christmas” down today.  For me, the end of “the season” is always full of melancholy and, sometimes, a bit of dread.  From what I’ve been told, it’s a fairly universal response to all of the build up leading to the Christmas holidays.  This year, in particular, Christmas felt bittersweet.  While I certainly enjoyed the time with my family, the holidays, however, felt stilted and, perhaps, somewhat forced.

Christmas Morning…ho, ho, ho

I put on a “good face” and I truly believe I enjoyed being around my immediate family, which includes my sister-in-law.  But once the presents were opened and the meal eaten, I just felt empty, which is so very sad.  My family has been through so much this year – mostly because of me – and I want them to enjoy our time together.  I want them to know that I want more than anything else to spend many, many more Christmases with them.

We hear it all the time – The Reason for the Season.  But what does that really mean?  For me, what am I supposed to feel during the holidays?  I have always struggled with “enjoying” Christmas.  It started when I was young, and, as I aged, some years Christmas felt like a burden at times.  Once the kids were born, I began to “feel” Christmas…feel what everyone likes to call “Christmas Spirit.” In all honesty, I think I learned to tolerate the holiday season, but not truly embrace it.

Doesn’t that sound terrible?  Tolerate Christmas?  Sounds pretty pathetic.  Yet, there I was – participating, shopping, laughing, enjoying time with others.  Was I being a hypocrite?  Or just being human?  Sometimes it’s just hard to be honest with yourself, and I wonder if some people “bury” themselves in Christmas because they feel they have to, not because they really “feel” the spirit, but because they watch others – or have been conditioned by others to –       enjoy the holidays.  Maybe I’m the one being honest with myself?  I think spending time with your loved ones, regardless of all the cliches, is the true spirit of Christmas.  My goal is to find a way to capture that spirit within myself all year, not just for the holidays.

That would be a gift that I would truly enjoy.

So another year of my journey begins….Happy New Year!

Happy Anniversary?

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Writer’s Note – The following was originally published on one of my other blogs in November 2012.  I thought it might be of interest to those of you who may wonder what it must feel like to deal with the mental aftermath of surgery and the “scars” that remain.

The blog I refer to is called Nice Guys Finish….http://kbniceguysfinish.blogspot.com/

It’s a collection of my thoughts that are introspective, snarky, sometimes highly negative, and – often times – very pitiful.  I recently began to update this blog as a reminder to myself that we all have our hidden side…think Jekyll and Hyde, and while I want people to feel the good my journey will bring to this world, there is still that negative, self-centered “beast” in all of us that yearns to be heard.

November 2, 2012.  Today is the one-year anniversary of my Stage 1, Clark’s Level V melanoma removal from my right upper-back.  Doctors removed about a tennis ball-sized amount of tissue, then had to go back in about a week later to “clean up” the margins.  I had a 3.5 inch by 6 inch skin graft from my thigh to cover the “flap” created by the plastic surgeon.  I’m about fully recovered as far as movement and stamina are concerned.  However, I still get minor aches and pains when I do too much lifting or other activities.  I still can’t seem to exercise as much as I used to, and, unfortunately, swimming is almost completely out. I find that I really don’t care about exercising, except riding my mountain bike.

I will see a plastic surgeon in a few weeks to look at the scar tissue (including what’s left of my “flap”).  He may suggest an additional procedure to improve the “look” of my back.

In February of this year, while still recovering from November’s surgery, I had two (2) in situ melanomas removed – one on my upper cheek, the other on my upper back (on the other side).  Needless to say, this past winter and spring were not pleasant for me or for my family.

I hope and pray that everyone who suffers through this disease continues to get better and gets the best possible treatment.

Unfortunately for me, I feel that every visit to the dermatologist is just another “shoe waiting to drop.”  Some days, I don’t feet like waiting for the “other shoe.”  Oh, well.

Whoopee!