January 9, 2015 – Mom’s service was today.  A day that cannot be characterized as “bittersweet,” but as painful as the death of a loved one can be, tragically, my mom has been “gone” for a very long time. So, in a sense, her passing brought some relief that her suffering – along with my father’s – was over.  Seeing those pictures and accolades brought back a host of memories – some good and some bad – of our family’s life.  As much as I tried to console my father, I knew – as callous as it sounds – that his world would eventually be better.  Today’s visitation was both solemn and low-key.  It was nice to meet some of her old  teaching colleagues and several of her former students.  That was a nice testament to her legacy as a teacher.  No grandiose statements were made or eulogies given.  It seemed odd at first, but I think it fit with the mood.  Glenda has been “gone” for several years now…there really isn’t anything else to say.

November 15, 2014 – It was a “reunion” almost a year in the making.  The idea took hold after I reconnected with several fraternity brothers after announcing that I had cancer.  We thought of it as a reunion because several of us had not been to a home football game in Gainesville, Florida since 2004.  And a few of us were “out of staters,” who had not been to Gainesville in years.  One of my brothers, Greg, took command and organized the entire weekend from A to Z.  All I had to do was show up.

As ideas tend to do, the “seed” grows and flourishes. Sometimes, however, that growth can begin to spiral into something much larger than intended.  In the case of our weekend reunion, the simple idea of a “reunion” started to get out-of-control. Fraternity brothers – and their wives (and children) – were signing on by the dozens, or so it seemed.  Guys who I had not thought of – or thought much of – for years were RSVPing for a weekend that was originally intended to be somewhat low-key.  The seed, it seemed, had become an overgrown weed.

As the November weekend grew closer, anticipation, excitement, and trepidation also grew.  You have to remember that although I keep up with many of these guys via email, texting, and Facebook, I have not seen – face-to-face -many of them in a dozen years, or more.  And I was not the only one feeling anxious about returning to the scene of many a college hijinks. Most of us are in our 50s now, so the thought of getting blasted, smoking a stogie or two, or staying up all night reliving old, old memories was not what several of my closer friends signed on for.

I even got a little concerned when Greg sent out an updated listing of attendees.  “Oh, Lord!” I thought.  I really don’t want to see that asshole, again.  There wasn’t much I could do at that point.  I had to tell myself that I was not that same person, almost 30 years ago…a very young and immature guy trying to figure out who I was, playing a part, wanting to fit in, but still be true to myself.  I put a lot of those thoughts out of my head as the reunion weekend approached.  Still, old habit die hard, and old habits of the mind tend to live on in those creases of your brain that have remained closed for years.

Two generations of “brothers” reliving the past.

Yet, at the same time, I was excited to rekindle some of those old friendships, to be part of that tribe once again, and to thank all those guys who had sent me well wishes and encouragement after my diagnosis in 2013.  It meant a heck of a lot to me that those guys – now, men – who haven’t seen me in years wanted to reach out and support me during this new journey in my life.

As the saying goes, “The best laid plans…often go awry.”  In my case, it was a set of circumstances that seem almost comical now, but were not at the time.  Two days before Vicki and I are to board a plane for Tampa, I get a call from my sister.  My dad is in the hospital and is about to get fitted for a pacemaker.  He passed out in the Publix check-out line and, after having several tests run in the emergency room, the doctors determined that he needed a pacemaker.  Incredible…I had to let everyone know that I may, or may not, be in Gainesville for the weekend.  At the same time, it was a blessing that we were already scheduled to come to Tampa.

My dad ended up being okay…Installing a pacemaker is almost an out-patient procedure nowadays, but we remained in Tampa an extra day to make sure he was okay.  While I missed out on some of the Friday-night festivities, we did finally make it to Hogtown the following morning to tailgate before the game and catch-up during the game with the guys I truly wanted to see.

After the game – another loss during a miserable season – we made our way to my old fraternity house.  That anxiousness, which had been replaced by adrenaline over the past several days, began to creep back into my psyche.  Some it was warranted – those guys who were assholes in college were still assholes in adulthood – but I also met up with guys who I wanted to see, and we were genuinely glad to see one another.  That made all the turmoil of the past several days worth it.  My biggest disappointment was that I did not get to hangout with them longer.

So, can you really go home again?  It’s hard to say for sure…I don’t think I had enough time to feel like I was “home” in the true sense of that word.  At the same time, however, I have moved on with my life and I don’t have regrets with any place that I called “home” (even for a short period).  While it felt good to reconnect with my college friends, I was definitely not home.  I felt like a visitor the entire time I was there – and that includes hanging at my parents’ house.  My home is here with my family and my dog. This is where my heart belongs.

October 20, 2014 – Another 3 – 4 months and another CT scan.  These have become so routine that I have started to almost forget why have to be scanned every three to four months.  At first I thought there was nothing new to report.  In fact, my oncologist looked over the results and said everything was pretty much the same.  So, we’ll just “stay the course.”

Unfortunately, not everything was the same.  I had checked in with my internist on an unrelated medical matter and he had copies of some of the latest write-ups.  What I found out was that there was another tiny tumor in my left lung.  My LEFT lung!  Not my right, which still has a couple of small tumors, but my left.  What is going on?!  I was not happy, to say the least, and my internist explained that both reports sound positive: very small, slow-growing tumors.

Here’s what the report said – There is also a stable 3 mm nodule in the left upper lobe. However, when compared to December 2013, the right lower lobe nodule is much smaller in (and?) the bilateral upper lobe nodules have both minimally increased.  No new consolidation or effusion is seen.  There is no adenopathy or suspicious osseous lesion.

My oncologist didn’t really have an explanation for why he failed to tell us about my left lung, or why he was not clearer in his discussions with us about what was going on in my lungs.  I think one of the things I’ve noticed about my doctor and, perhaps, other cancer doctors is that they have to give so much bad news, or they have to deal with “here’s our last treatment option” that a situation like mine is almost too pedestrian for them, so they forget to bring some of the same intensity and focus as though this is “my last shot.”

While I can’t really blame him for seemingly “glossing over” what I consider a major change in my condition, I am still really pissed about it.  It makes me, once again, think that I need to spend every waking moment that I’m not at work or doing chores around the house studying my disease and all the potential options that are our there.  In other words, I need to “own” my cancer and its treatment.  Then, again, all that energy focused on my condition depresses me.

So, that’s my conundrum….and, unfortunately, it’s not an easy puzzle to solve.

Happy Anniversary to my one and only!

Vicki and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary, ironically, the day after my most recent scan.  I wish we could have done more to celebrate this milestone, but it was not to be.  For that, I feel truly sad inside.  She has sacrificed so much for me that I cannot begin to express in words how much I love her.  I know she would agree that the best anniversary gift I could give her is another 25 years.

Writer’s Note – I’ve been on an extended hiatus for about three months.  So, I first want to say “Thank You” to all of you who continue to stop by and check out my blog.  This blog and several to follow have been accumulating in my head for quite a while.

September 28, 2014 – I decided to “visit” a friend today via Facebook.  I had not communicated with this Internet friend in almost three months and felt a bit guilty about it.  (As I stated in several earlier posts, this past summer was a bit of a bear for me both physically and emotionally.)  My guilt instantly skyrocketed upon seeing his FB wall.  Mads was dead.  He died at the end of June when he lost his battle with melanoma.

I never met Mads, who was originally from Denmark, but we “connected” through one of several Facebook and Internet groups of melanoma patients (and survivors).  That relationship began in October 2013, shortly after I began my treatment for metastatic melanoma.  We would “chat” through the groups or on message boards, and, eventually, became Facebook “friends.”  At that time, Mads was living in Houston and being treated at MD Anderson.  Unfortunately, his prognosis was not as good as mine, which, at times, became evident in his questions about treatment regimens and life expectancy.

Goodbye to my friend…

It’s a positive part of today’s Internet “world” that complete strangers, in different parts of the country, with nothing else in common but an incurable disease, can connect and feel empathy for one another with a couple of key strokes. While that may seem like a blessing to those who are not able to get-around and meet others, it also – in my mind – creates a dilemma for folks like me who value the human element of life.  I want to be able to interact with others.  To sit, to talk, to laugh or cry.  Even talking over the phone is more intimate than “chatting” online.  I hope we don’t someday find ourselves having “virtual” funerals because no one knows how to interact face-to-face.

As time marched on, I got lazy and preoccupied with my own world and all the day-to-day nonsense that clogs up our days, weeks, and months.  It’s one of the saddest aspects of life that we never truly “stop to smell the roses.”  So, I was not even aware that Mads had died or that his close friends and family continued to maintain his Facebook page.  I was sad.  It’s such a shame that someone so relatively young has passed away too soon.

Which brings me to another dilemma I face every time I’m on the Internet – How much do I really want to know?  Yes, I’m part of several melanoma “groups.”  Yes, I get email and FB alerts about my disease on a daily basis.  But how much time and emotional energy do I want to spend on knowing the sadness that occurs when another “melanoma warrior” has lost his battle?  Frankly, I sometimes just want to bury my head in the sand and say, “Enough!”

I think I feel a bit of survivor’s guilt, knowing that my treatment regimen has given me an opportunity to live for (hopefully) many more years.  The folks I read about in our groups have not much hope or time to continue being in this world.  And that’s just sad…very, very sad.

I know I have a lot to be thankful for…but I’m just not very happy right now.

I just found out I lost another friend……..and it sucks!

On our way to see the Techsters play!