Curveballs – Life Is Full Of Them

Just when everything is going great, WHAM, you’re suddenly out in left field picking dandelions. Nothing good lasts forever maybe, but then again, neither does everything bad. Life is cyclical and ups and downs are part of it. Some of us have more experience with this concept than others, but when you’re hit in the gut, you only have two choices – you can lie there or get up. That just reminded me of the song – I get knocked down. But I get up again. You’re never gonna keep me down…by Chumbawamba. The rest of the lyrics are kind of inane but I really like these lines. My creed.

I got great news recently…that I remain completely clean of lymphoma and I am now officially on an annual checkup schedule. I got bad news recently…that one of my very best friends has cancer (type and stage to be determined by biopsy this coming week). Is there a moral here? Not really, except that every minute that is trouble-free should be exalted and noticed and every minute that clouds cover your horizon, believe they are not permanent. They move through the firmament on their own schedule, but do remember they are always moving. They arrive and they also leave…nothing but blue skies from now on. I’m apparently on a musical bent tonight. Okay, deciding not to fight the maestro who has temporarily (I hope) possessed me, one of my favorite songs is I Can See Clearly Now…the rain is gone, all of the bad feelings have disappeared. Here is the rainbow I’ve been praying for…it’s gonna be a bright, bright, sun-shiny day. Do you believe that can happen? I do. And I’m counting on it.

*************

I was just about to sign off when I thought of another favorite (song). Pick yourself up, dust yourself off and start all over again. Now I feel like I’m on a roll and wondering how many more bits of musical inspiration I can conjure up. However, it is nearly four am and this was all running through my head, literally. I can’t sleep when I have something to say, which is often problematic. I have an open house today and can’t sleep in. However, I can come home and take a nap…see how great things always work out.

I’ll leave you with one of the best, Louis Armstrong – And I think to myself…what a wonderful world!

Read Full Post »

You Haven’t Lived Until…

You haven’t lived until…you’ve been told you’re going to die.  I don’t mean someday far off in the distant future (like, well sure, that happens to all of us), I mean having a doctor somberly tell you what no human ever wants to know, and taking great pains to pinpoint the date of your expected departure from all things earthly.  TMI, TMI, TMI!

I have had the pleasure of being faced with my mortality in such a way.  I’ll explain the pleasure part later, if it’s not already obvious.  In 2008 I was diagnosed with stage four mantle cell lymphoma with ninety percent of my bone marrow involved, as they put it.  I considered involved to be a funny word.  The doctors made it sound as if my marrow had joined a gang.  I don’t think my marrow had a choice by saying, “Hey marrow cell buddies, let’s not participate just now.  We’ll just get into trouble.  Just say no.”

Mantle cell lymphoma is rare and the most aggressive type of lymphoma there is.  If you know me, you know I don’t like to do things halfway.  Why shouldn’t I have the head honcho, the boss, the toughest adversary I could find.  Go big or stay home.  (I can’t think of any more clichés right now.)

My father (you know him as Bud), insisted I get a second opinion and treatment at Sloan Kettering in NYC.  To appease him I went.  My son and daughter drove me up, and we saw the specialist there.  This doctor advised, verbatim,  “What Johns Hopkins wants to do is too aggressive.  Do you realize you’ll have to be hospitalized?”  Well, duh!  I should be more afraid of being hospitalized than dying?  The entire conversation became even more incredulous.  He explained what Sloan’s treatment would be, what would happen and then I would die.  I would definitely, most definitely be dead in three years.  We walked out of his office (never to return).  I turned to my kids and said, “Well, he’s not going to be my doctor!”  They said, “No, we didn’t think so.”

Well, many regimens of chemo and a bone marrow transplant and booster later, I’m (gasp) still here – four years later and clean scans to prove that not all doctors know what they’re talking about.  They are not God.  For the past four years, I admit, I have wondered how it was I didn’t fall apart when I was diagnosed.  I’d fallen apart over many things in my life – all manner of things and certainly much less significant than being told you’re going to die.  Faced with my imminent disappearance from the face of the earth, I was oddly calm and declared clinically, “not depressed” (they force you to see a therapist at least once).  It was only recently I had an epiphany, concluding, “I never actually thought I was going to die.”  I’m aware this sounds crazy under the circumstances I found myself in, and I can’t explain it, I only know it’s true.

I’ve always been a bit obstinate (bullheaded is the word some would use).  I come by this honestly from my father, who has elevated it to an art form.  I think I was just too bullheaded to believe what they told me.  I don’t even remember being afraid, so I’m either bullheaded or stupid…has to be one or the other.  I tackled the lymphoma like it was just another of my many trials in my soap-opera life (maybe all the horrible experiences in my past had hardened me to deal with this).  This was just an episode in the soap series, and I was planning to still be acting the next season.

Regarding the pleasure part, well I wish all of you could live life with new eyes and new regard for what is truly beautiful and meaningful.  When not considering our possible demise, we float through our lives and relationships, taking things and people for granted.  We are often superficial participants.  All I can say is, “Don’t be that way!”

Read Full Post »