Cancer is not taking any time away from our lives this Holiday Season. As I am in the familiar wait-and-see mode from my second debridement, we got news recently that a good friend of ours is still battling her own cancer. Winnie Brown, who was mentioned here about a year ago, has an extremely rare form of cancer that attacks nerve tissue. In her case, it's in the area above and to the side of her right eye, which is an extremely tricky area to treat, as you can well imagine. She had surgery and radiation treatments last winter, and had been doing very well with her recovery. But after noticing some new pain around her eye, she has been told that either her cancer has come back and/or new cancer is present. She has an appointment on January 8th, at which time she'll hear more details from her doctors.
Please take a few moments to include Winnie, her husband George and their entire family in your thoughts as you give thanks this time of year and as January 8th comes around. I can tell you about power of Team Mike's Good Vibes by reporting that Flo Prusak is doing better. She still has a long way to go, but her condition is improving little by little. I am told that Mr. Prusak expanded Team Mike for her by printing out that post and distributing it to people around them, looking to get as many Good Vibes as possible sent Flo's way.
Keep up the good work and expect something special from Santa for helping us and so many other people as a member of Team Mike.
Mike
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Sometimes someone just gets it
For reasons that I can't put a handle on just yet, I've found myself lately asking the question we all did as kids when in the middle of something we didn't like:
"Can we play a different game now?"
It's been more than four years now since the symptoms of my cancer started to show, and I think that I'm just...well, pooped from the whole chain of events that have unfolded over that time. Even my good fortune of having survived this thing sometimes can't lift my spirits enough, and I just want a day or two when things were like they were before this all started. Then, something like the article below comes along and puts it all in perspective for me. It was written a little while ago by Don Rymer, who was a TV and movie writer. He passed away a few days ago from the same cancer I had. It might not have the same impact for those of you who've not had cancer or been a caregiver, but it really hit home for me.
"Sad Eyes"
by Don Rhymer
Cancer pushes everybody’s buttons differently. For some, it’s a scary “what if it happened to me?” For others, it’s an all too present reminder of the traumatic experience of a family member or close friend.
Either way, cancer is a devastating car crash that even the most disciplined bystander has a hard time turning away from.
After I was diagnosed with cancer of the head and neck, I learned quickly that everyone’s experience with cancer is different, and you can’t judge people by their response to your diagnosis. You can only count on the fact that it is probably scary for them, or at the very least emotionally charged, so you just have to give them grace.
I appreciate the “cool kids” who come with a joke. Or at least an attempt at one. I have always felt “whistling through the graveyard” is the best way to get to the other side. It acknowledges that, yes, you are “up the creek,” but that doesn’t mean the journey can’t involve bits of inspired slapstick and the occasional fart joke.
In the bottom of the ninth with the game on the line, you don’t want someone stopping by the on-deck circle with a tear and a macaroni casserole.
The “medical geeks” are okay too. The ones who drill you with a million questions about symptoms and side effects and come off just a little bit creepy when they ask to see your surgical site. Usually, these people watch far too many medical shows.
I can even handle the “it could be worse” people. There are certain people in this world who feel that true empathy is pointing out how utterly awful things could be and actually are for someone else they know. “So sorry you have cancer, Don. But it could be worse. My friend was mauled by a bear that ate 80 percent of his body, and now his wife has to roll him around in a Tonka® truck.”
The only ones I can’t handle are the ones who come at you with the dreaded “sad eyes.” They slink up with droopy faces and speak slowly as if talking to a child or a foreign exchange student. “How are youuuu?” No matter how upbeat your response, their reaction is almost always, “Awww!”
Now again, I try to give them grace, but sister, it ain’t always easy. Nothing reminds you of your own mortality like someone who appears to be practicing to greet your loved ones at your funeral. “He looked so healthy – up until the end when he lost all that weight and his wife had to roll him around in a Tonka truck.”
The point is, in the bottom of the ninth with the game on the line, you don’t want someone stopping by the on-deck circle with a tear and a macaroni casserole. You want someone slapping you on the back and offering you his or her lucky bat.
It’s not easy having cancer, and I know it’s certainly no picnic being the friend or family member of someone with cancer either. You don’t know what to say or do. You don’t know if you should be present or keep your distance, if you should send flowers or a whoopee cushion. Well, speaking for cancer survivors everywhere, I can only say that we can’t help you.
Because we don’t know, either. We’ve never been through this before, so we don’t always know what we want or need. The only real solution is the hardest one – to be completely honest. To do what you want to do, when you have the opportunity to do it. To say what you feel, when you feel it. And for us on this side of the equation? We have the hardest task of all – to develop the courage to ask for help when we need it.
There are no right answers in cancer world, but that also means there are few wrong ones. Except for “sad eyes,” which are universally unwelcome, and macaroni casseroles, which are not gluten free and are bad for my colon."
Thanks, Don. I can now tolerate this game a little better.
Mike
"Can we play a different game now?"
It's been more than four years now since the symptoms of my cancer started to show, and I think that I'm just...well, pooped from the whole chain of events that have unfolded over that time. Even my good fortune of having survived this thing sometimes can't lift my spirits enough, and I just want a day or two when things were like they were before this all started. Then, something like the article below comes along and puts it all in perspective for me. It was written a little while ago by Don Rymer, who was a TV and movie writer. He passed away a few days ago from the same cancer I had. It might not have the same impact for those of you who've not had cancer or been a caregiver, but it really hit home for me.
"Sad Eyes"
by Don Rhymer
Cancer pushes everybody’s buttons differently. For some, it’s a scary “what if it happened to me?” For others, it’s an all too present reminder of the traumatic experience of a family member or close friend.
Either way, cancer is a devastating car crash that even the most disciplined bystander has a hard time turning away from.
After I was diagnosed with cancer of the head and neck, I learned quickly that everyone’s experience with cancer is different, and you can’t judge people by their response to your diagnosis. You can only count on the fact that it is probably scary for them, or at the very least emotionally charged, so you just have to give them grace.
I appreciate the “cool kids” who come with a joke. Or at least an attempt at one. I have always felt “whistling through the graveyard” is the best way to get to the other side. It acknowledges that, yes, you are “up the creek,” but that doesn’t mean the journey can’t involve bits of inspired slapstick and the occasional fart joke.
In the bottom of the ninth with the game on the line, you don’t want someone stopping by the on-deck circle with a tear and a macaroni casserole.
The “medical geeks” are okay too. The ones who drill you with a million questions about symptoms and side effects and come off just a little bit creepy when they ask to see your surgical site. Usually, these people watch far too many medical shows.
I can even handle the “it could be worse” people. There are certain people in this world who feel that true empathy is pointing out how utterly awful things could be and actually are for someone else they know. “So sorry you have cancer, Don. But it could be worse. My friend was mauled by a bear that ate 80 percent of his body, and now his wife has to roll him around in a Tonka® truck.”
The only ones I can’t handle are the ones who come at you with the dreaded “sad eyes.” They slink up with droopy faces and speak slowly as if talking to a child or a foreign exchange student. “How are youuuu?” No matter how upbeat your response, their reaction is almost always, “Awww!”
Now again, I try to give them grace, but sister, it ain’t always easy. Nothing reminds you of your own mortality like someone who appears to be practicing to greet your loved ones at your funeral. “He looked so healthy – up until the end when he lost all that weight and his wife had to roll him around in a Tonka truck.”
The point is, in the bottom of the ninth with the game on the line, you don’t want someone stopping by the on-deck circle with a tear and a macaroni casserole. You want someone slapping you on the back and offering you his or her lucky bat.
It’s not easy having cancer, and I know it’s certainly no picnic being the friend or family member of someone with cancer either. You don’t know what to say or do. You don’t know if you should be present or keep your distance, if you should send flowers or a whoopee cushion. Well, speaking for cancer survivors everywhere, I can only say that we can’t help you.
Because we don’t know, either. We’ve never been through this before, so we don’t always know what we want or need. The only real solution is the hardest one – to be completely honest. To do what you want to do, when you have the opportunity to do it. To say what you feel, when you feel it. And for us on this side of the equation? We have the hardest task of all – to develop the courage to ask for help when we need it.
There are no right answers in cancer world, but that also means there are few wrong ones. Except for “sad eyes,” which are universally unwelcome, and macaroni casseroles, which are not gluten free and are bad for my colon."
Thanks, Don. I can now tolerate this game a little better.
Mike
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