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It was the big grand  re-opening at the retail store where I worked. There was going to be free popcorn, and snow cones, and BIG sales.
The details of what happened next are a little fuzzy, But, here is what I vaguely remember..,
They needed someone to dress up in a costume to entertain the kiddos and hand out shiny blue balloons. Somehow I got volunteered, probably because I was the closest in size to the kids.
It was spring time in Oklahoma, which means an explosion of pollen and ragweed and hay fever. I had taken an allergy pill before work. It had kicked in and I was feeling drowsy and dopier than normal. So, I was already moving and thinking in slow motion.
So I dressed up in the big threadbare costume, it was a cheap ripoff of America’s favorite mouse.
The costume smelled like sweat, mildew, and a used diaper wrapped in old cheese.
It was…awesome.
The eye holes lined up with the top of my forehead so I couldn’t actually see. Also, the head kept spinning around creating nightmares for small children and interesting aromatherapy for me.
I tried to trudge around in the big awkward foam shoes, I kept stumbling and, at one point, almost knocked over the popcorn machine.
I tried to wave and do a little happy dance.
Kids were pulling my tail and hanging onto my legs.
Some teenagers thought it would be hilarious to kick me in the backside, and push me.
I learned giant rodents get no respect.
Since, I was supposed to be an animated character, I was expected to be animated.
That was hard.
Lethargy kicked in pretty fast.
Trying to function as a fake mouse drug me down.
I was worn out.
I was carrying the weight of the mouse on my shoulders, and I was heavily medicated.
After about a half hour, I was was done.
AND NOW, flash forward to today: a couple of days after my third week of chemo, I feel like I’m wearing that nasty costume again.
I’m wearing something smelly that I didn’t ask for, and I’m on drugs while I do it.
AND, some belly bully is trying to kick my butt and pull my tail.
My hands and feet are heavy, and my head feels like a forty eight pound canned ham as it spins around.
Lethargy kicks in pretty fast.
It can leave a person a little sluggish.
It’s hard to live animated.
I’m tired.
I…have…..no..energy…
…sorry, I dozed off there.
It shouldn’t be surprising, it happens.
It’s a side effect.
Besides, I’m too sleepy to be surprised.
This is the slow motion portion of the fight.
But…
I keep slugging even when I’m sluggish.
I will just avoid heavy machinery and horseshoe games.
I think I’m going to take a nap, I’m just hoping I don’t dream about giant rodents…

My Mind Races…

Posted: September 11, 2018 in Postcards from Cancerland.

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I lie awake at night.
My mind races like a creaky old roller coaster on a rickety wooden track.
It clunks and clanks…
It jerks me around as I try to hold on to a little rest…
There are twists and turns, ups and down all within the amusement park of my brain.
Sleep is short, sporadic and sloppy.
When it comes, it is twisted.
In my detached dreams…
so many images and feelings clunk around in my tired head…
I visit a dime store from my childhood until I get accused of shoplifting by Gumby.
I rewatch movies that I’ve never seen.
I try to hold onto handfuls of cold ramen noodles while riding rushing rapids comprised of tomato soup.
Twisted.
We are almost done with treatment week number three and I’m convinced that a mind is a terrible thing to baste.
The belly bully is being beat down, but there is weirdness left in the wake.
The drug induced almost-dreams are just the start.
I’ve had a needle inserted into my chest for the last seven days straight, I just can’t get used to that.
I’m pretty loopy. It looks like I’m attempting some strange primal ballet dance when I walk.
My immunity system is pretty wonky right now. Germs and pollen are punching me in the face.
I’m super sensitive to smells, I’m pretty sure I can smell toast cooking from a mile away.
My hands resemble tissue paper no matter how much lotion I slather on them.
My voice is cracking when I try to talk and I have a scraggly sprout of peach fuzz randomly growing on the side of my face where NOTHING else is growing. It feels like I’m going through puberty again. I hope not! The first time was painful enough.
In a horrible twist of fate, Doritos presently taste like gasoline.
I have a white blood cell count booster plugged into my arm. That is wild and makes me feel like I’m being transformed into a vertically challenged robot, which is actually strangely cool.
Thankfully coffee still tastes like coffee!
It’s all so very twisted.
BUT, WAIT!!!
I look over the edge of the rickety roller coaster and I realize…
we are HALFWAY!!
I can see the loading/unloading platform from here!!
We’ve gone over three hills (without throwing up!)
We have three more!!
We can do this!!
I grab hold of the guard rail and I renew my hope.
I’m so ready to just spend some time on the Merry-Go-Round with my granddaughter!

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Remember Weebles?
The super cool little plastic roly-poly toy that showed up in the seventies. They were egg shaped people with an unforgettable catch phrase…
“Weebles wobble, but they don’t fall down”.
I loved Weebles.
They made me feel better about my body type.

And now I wobble.
I’ve never actually been a real graceful dude, I’ve always been pretty clumsy.
I wobble.
But, I have a low center of gravity, so I can usually catch myself.
My legs are about fourteen inches long. My girth is probably three times that, So basically I’m built like a Weeble.

But, now I wobble more than ever.

Here’s the crazy thing about my wobbling..,
It’s not the disease that is making me wobbly, it’s the cure!
(Stop and think about that for a moment)
The drugs running through my egg shaped body are making my walking weirdly wobbly.

Unlike Weebles, sometimes when I wobble I fall.
I give into gravity.
I’m not crazy about that.
I want to defy gravity.
As someone told me lately,
“Everyone deserves the chance to fly!”

But gravity can get the best of me.

Here’s the crazy thing about gravity…
I’ve learned sometimes we are meant to defy it,
But, sometimes it’s meant to pull us down.

God created gravitational pulls.

They keep us from getting blown away by tailwinds and twisters.
There are times we need to be grounded.
The wobble is part of the walk.

Gravity reminds us of the need for trust.
When we hit the ground we remember that we will never leave the ground without some help.
We don’t forge our own wings.
We defy gravity when we move at the speed of Spirit, instead of self.

I presently find myself constantly looking for something to grab ahold of when I start to wobble. I need something to lean on.
I stay close to someone or something that can hold me up…
My wife, a nearby wall.

And for now I wobble,
It’s part of my walk.
But, soon…
I
will
fly.

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I like BIG books and I can not lie.
Some people don’t, I can’t deny.
I know people who only read the first and last chapters of a book.
They don’t have time for the in-between, so they skip all of the other chapters or they skim over the inside stuff.
I think that’s sad…
They miss the plot, they miss the character development.
They just want to know how the story starts and ends, and they end up missing the story itself.
True confession: I’ve actually tried to do that in real life.
Maybe you have too?
We want to skip the tough chapters.
We don’t want the pain or the conflict.
We look for shortcuts.
The problem is that shortcuts short circuit the story.
We try to avoid the hard chapters.
We don’t want to stick around when the story gets get old, or boring, or uneventful.
We run from impossible.
We really want to skip over the demanding sentences.
We don’t want to look the dragon in the eyes.
When we take the hard stuff out, we also take out chances to learn and grow.
We miss the plot, we miss our character development.
We miss getting to know the other characters.
In the chapter that I presently find myself in, I’ve come to realize that skipping the hard stuff is not an option.
The dragon is standing before me, his hot breath is on my face.
I can’t just skip to the happy ending.
There are no short cuts to the castle.
Wherever you find yourself in the story of you, I encourage you to let it develop!
Don’t skip a chapter.
Learn from it all.
You won’t want some pages to end.
Some chapters will hurt like hell and you will try to rush through.
Don’t try to run from the pain.
Take pen in hand and choose to write stories of resolution and hope.
Slay the dragons.
Storm the castle.
You won’t always get to choose your adventure.
But you WILL always script your reaction.
SO…
Pick up sword and shield and fight,
Or fall in love,
Or take a nap in a field of sunflowers and rest,
Or play in a waterfall with a unicorn named Jack,
Believe six impossible things before breakfast,
Be brave and kind.
Just don’t skip a chapter.

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We just got back from the Doctor.

We got the results from the CAT scan a few weeks ago!
After the first two treatments…
This next part is best read in an Oprah voice:
 WE HAVE SHRINKAGE!!
The good doctor said that overall there is about a 40% shrinkage in the masses.
On a scale of 1-10 he is putting my progress at a 9.
WOO to the HOO!!
The belly bully is being beat down.
The fight goes on!
Round Three is almost over.
We are going the distance.
We have three more rounds.
There will be no quarter given.
This round has been interesting, a few new pains, coughs, flutters and quivers.
I’ve been a little wobbly kind of like a drunken pirate.
At times it has felt like I have a Spider-Man beach towel stuck in my head.
I’m learning to navigate the pump that is continually attached to my chest a bit better, I think that by the time this is over I will be able to do an impressive dance routine while swinging the pump around like a bulky baton.
I was sitting in the big vinyl infusion chair this morning thinking “WOW! This is a little like Mardi Gras” as I was hiking up my shirt and showing my man boobs to assorted medical professionals and passerby. Then it was a little hurtful when I realized that no one has thrown plastic beads at me.
But the bottom line is we have good news and the belly bully is being beat down.
As a short dude, I didn’t think I would ever be thankful for shrinkage…but I AM!!
Giddy Up!!!

When I lost my chullet…wait…can we just have a moment of silence for my dearly departed weird beard?

Thank you.

Anyway…when I said goodbye to my hairy little friend. I had several wonderful individuals step up and send me solutions for my suddenly naked chin. Here are some of the fake facial hair ideas…

 

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It’s treatment week, that means that I’m attached to the magic juice box again. It pumps three flavors of non carbonated cancer killer into my body for twenty three hours and ten minutes a day ( it takes about ten minutes to get a refill).

We saw on a statement yesterday that just one of my drugs costs $19,000! I think I would rather have a 99 cent fountain drink from QT!
My face is super flushed from the steroids that I’m taking. My round bald face looks like a shiny red Christmas ornament. The last time I blushed like this was the first time I cussed in front of my Mama. (That might be a decent title for a country song!)
When I was in grade school, my Grandpa would draw a horse’s backside around my belly button making my navel the “poop chute”.
Grandpa clearly had a twisted sense of humor. But, I’m tempted to recreate the belly button stallion on
myself in an effort to entertain the unfortunate captive audience who run the risk of being flashed by me in the infusion room.
During infusion week, there is only one chair in our living room that really accommodates me and the juice box.
ALSO, during infusion week, I usually have to get up and go to the bathroom about every thirteen minutes.
Every time I get up our beagle Maggie Moo jumps up and grabs my chair.
Yup, sometimes our dog can be a jerk.
She won’t get out of the chair until she gets a treat.
I’ve heard that some dogs can be very compassionate. They act kind of like furry Florence Nightingales. Not our beagle! She is a scrappy little street dog and she has us trained!

cancer does not discriminate between the sinner and the saint. 

It doesn’t care about ages, wages, or stages.

It just takes, and takes, and takes.

As an act of rebellion…

we keep living and loving anyway.

I glanced around the infusion room today…

It loudly dawned on me…

there are no cookie cutters in the clinic.

Every ugly expression of the disease is different. 

Every beautiful face is different. 

There is struggle and survival…

despair and hope…

goodness and grace…

etched into the eyes.

Every story is different.

There are no cookie cutters in the clinic.

Each soul is inimitable.

Each life an original. 

That’s a great reason to keep living anyway.

EVERY story is needed. 

EVERY life is irreplaceable.

I pray silent prayers for each of my fellow fighters…

The world needs them.

The end of this fight is coming…

The belly bully is going down.

There is great hope here…

I’m willing to wait for it. 

I’m willing to fight for it. 

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The introductions have been made…
“In this corner…straight from the pit of hell…the belly bully.”
“In this corner…in the boxing trunks that don’t fit quite right…Clubber Lang.”
The scruffy little fighter has two rounds under his belt. He sits on the wooden stool and tries to catch his breath.
Round three is about to begin.
There are so many lights and noises competing for space in the fighter’s head.
The fighter shakes his head and his attention goes to the crowd…
The fighter sees someone holding an awesome hand painted sign that reads “YOU GOT THIS!”
It’s such a sweet thoughtful thought, but the fighter knows it really should read “YOU GOT HELP!”
The nonstop barrage of poison punches to the bully have left the fighter a tired he has never known.
As he waits for the bell to ring, his mind begins to wander…
We are ALMOST halfway through this journey.
That causes me to pause and reflect.

I am reminded…

At the beginning of the fight there were so many questions.
There is always one big question that comes up.
The natural tendency is to ask…
“WHY ME?!”
“Why is this happening to me?”
BUT…
That question is quicksand.
It leaves you sinking in a thousand other questions.
And you can’t fight from a sinking position.
You’ve got to stand.
The question that I needed to ask was…
“WHAT NOW?!”
“What do I do now?”
I asked, I got an answer…
I heard the sweet scruffy voice of my trainer…
“Fight outloud with joy, boy!”
(The Holy Spirit frequently calls me boy, I don’t mind).
We didn’t know what to expect, we still don’t.
Each round is different. Last round left me totally punch drunk. Little things like thinking and articulating became challenges.
When I tried to walk distances, I’ve become clunky and wobbly at the same time. Basically, I walked like a toddler Frankenstein’s monster.
I’m carried by the prayers and kindness of friends and strangers.
It’s hard to explain but I tangibly feel the prayers. It’s like I’m literally being lifted by love.
I think back to the beginning when we were scared…
Completely, utterly afraid…
We knew the financial sucker punch we were about to receive because of medical bills and decreasing income.
Worry had us in a suffocating chokehold.
Some unbelievably dear friends started and responded to a GoFundMe for us.
They have busted the fear and lifted a huge load off of our shoulders.
We will never be able to fully express the appreciation that floods our hearts.
I’ve received so many cool cards and gifts and smiles. It has left me with no doubt that “l’ve got this” because “l’ve got help”.
I clear my mind and I focus on round three and I know…
On the weak days and the week days, when I find myself on the ropes, I remember that my strength does not come from self or circumstance.
It comes from God.
HIS joy makes me strong! I hit my knees and draw a line and I refuse to allow anything that didn’t give me my joy to steal my joy.
Strength-suckers, you’ve been served!

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Growing up I was gifted with one of the most magical things an adventure seeking kid can possess…
A red Swiss Army Knife.
It was an amazing tool that gave me the opportunity to do great things.
I could whittle or clean my teeth.
Simply having it in my pocket made me feel safe and more manly. I could defend myself in a street fight or carve my initials into an innocent tree or school desk.
It was a knife but there was so much more.
There were amazing tools to behold…
There was a tiny little hacksaw that you could use to saw tiny little trees like a lumberjack.
There was a set of tweezers that could remove splinters or pinch your sister.
There was even a super handy toothpick that you had to remember to occasionally clean.
There was a can opener that could be used to open a big can of beans or Vienna sausages.
There was a screwdriver that could be used to build small engines, I suppose.
There was a corkscrew and scissors that could be used to defend oneself when attacked by wine bottles or construction paper.
I loved that knife. It made me feel equipped and confident.
I marched into the big scary world armed with my red Swiss Army Knife ready to take care of business.
I still have a Swiss Army Knife, it sits in my dresser next to some old ticket stubs.
But now, I have another weapon.
I am armed with another tool that makes me feel equipped and confident…
Joy is my Swiss Army Knife.
There are amazing tools to behold…
Love is a pointy blade that pops the ugly balloons of fear and hate.
Mischief is a can opener that can open up a big can of fun in the midst of funk. We should never forget the power of play. Play defeats pomposity.
Gratitude is a set of tweezers than help you separate and appreciate what is really important from what is not. You live thankful for what you have, instead of focusing on what you don’t have.
Peace is a toothpick that cleans the plaque from your mind. It removes the things that can make your soul sick. Peace comes from receiving and giving forgiveness, from refusing to hold onto offense.
Silliness is a corkscrew that wiggles and giggles and digs into our tendencies to take life too seriously. When the Creator designed us, He engineered our bodies to make some pretty interesting sounds and odors. Maybe, just maybe, that’s meant to be a built in reminder to not take ourselves too seriously.
Wonder is a pair of shiny scissors that cuts away the old and tired, and unleashes new ways of looking at life. It is discovering things anew that you have seen thousands of times.
I march into the big scary world armed with my red joy Swiss Army Knife ready to take care of business.