Love is the Tuesdays

“I've come to know that love's not only the best days Or the worst days Love is the Tuesdays“

Waiting for cancer results is never fun. Cancer friends understand that. Some non cancer friends who have had family also understand it. One of them said, because she knew from her father’s experience who passed away from cancer, that ‘whatever happens it’ll be a relief. I think that all your friends are so used to hearing good news that when the bad news day comes we’re not going to believe it.” I genuinely appreciated that she said when the bad news comes because for very very few of us is it if, it’s just when. 

I’ve reevaluated the job I have and had genuine conversations with my boss about where I feel in it. I shared things candidly and bluntly. I had conversations with the boards I sit on that were blatantly honest. I also let the pain dictate too much and didn’t run despite two rough nights until finally this morning I ran. Running was the better decision. I dealt with a couple of organizations I’m on the board and let them know what I think we should be doing for long. I talked to Kiana about how she’s closer to an adult and what she’s thinking about today, this summer and the rest of her life. I also finally started working on the ‘memoir’ of sorts (who knows how it’ll go but if you want to see it painfully in progress send me a message and I’ll send you a link). I don’t think it takes someone with a whole lot of psychological training to wonder whether or not these are mistakes but they certainly point to someone who wants to know they are or did contribute while they are facing their mortality. 

In the middle of all this, a friend from elementary and middle school shared something online mocking Tuesdays. It was definitely amusing but it reminded me of a song quoted above (https://youtu.be/IdZvEZlBJPU ) that was shared with me a few years ago, Love is the Tuesdays. I had a friend get married on a Tuesday last year and unfortunately was not able to make it but shared it with them and they used it at their wedding. I don’t own it unlike my favorite music but I listened to it because the guy who doesn’t get relationships right still somewhere believes in love and life after love. ‘

But the theme there is what matters to me. I appreciate the friends and family who showed up at the hospital, at the weddings, the ones who will come to the funeral. They will be among the best friends who had the capacity to also be there when the messes had subsided to just take the random walk during injury or the random ride when I couldn’t drive or just called to talk about nothing. It wasn’t the concert or the happiest memories because the human mind isn’t wired for that being a big impression but like proper regular nutrition as opposed to an occasional salad or regular flossing more than biannual dental cleaning or the regular runs that create the heart, lungs, legs and mental health which is even more important than the races, it is the things that occur regularly that shape us even if we don’t recognize it. 

So as I headed to get the results, I focused on who had been there on Tuesdays and random regular moments, the ones that occur and occur and shape you slowly and steadfastly like a river carves it’s path. Perhaps it is the flood of cancer that leaves some damaged and permanent shaped scars both below and above the surface and can literally flood too much and change the landscape forever but the Grand Canyon wasn’t created by a flood, it was created by a river. It is those deep and shaping influences that I hoped to focus on, those who know who to show up and those who I showed up for. And honestly focusing on that helped me realize that whatever the results had been made thankful for a very good life. 

So that’s what Tuesday was but then came Wednesday, the day of the results…I woke up early and I ran, slow and easy and without focus. 

When the results finally came in, and as I drove there, I realized I hate that neighborhood. I can’t shake the trauma of it. I’ve been to a wedding within a  block of it. There was a girl or few that I’ve taken on a date near there.  Kiana was literally born in the hospital that I’ve had some work done and that was the original memory but now I can’t seem to shake the most persistent memory of the WADA tests, and the ER visit and the neuropsychological and the MRI results and the and the and the. It’s like the house where I had a seizure next to I’ve run it by a hundred times next to it, other than shortly after it, I haven’t avoided it but it still comes to mind. So much for a damaged memory you have to accept that trauma can be king. 

The results were stable. The doctor who spent most of the first decade telling me it was a if not when it grows and said at 10 years that for most people it grows before 10 years. He’d seen it too much between 10 and 12. But here at 12 he said maybe I’ll be one of the lucky ones. He also shared that he recently had a transplant from LA that’s had it for 30 years. He hopes I’ll be a patient that has it that long longer and maybe I’ll also get lucky. I genuinely appreciated that he kept saying lucky. I have too much guilt in knowing the friends I’ve buried along the way to have the arrogance to say that it’s my running or my health habits or the importance of my parenting or because I have something left to give. The only way I assuage any of that guilt is by believing the old proverb that the race is not always to the swift nor the battle to the strong but chance and circumstance happens to us all. I am okay with that being why I got it, why I survived it. 

We covered the car accidents and how similar they were. He said that may also have been dumb luck (does it all balance out that you keep having bad luck that doesn’t kill you but just costs you money?). However, we are going to do a more thorough vision test, a neuropsychological like the ones we did early in the cancer journey and possibly a wave test to see if I am having focal seizures that I’m missing. There were no residual signs of trauma or impact from the accident though everything seems to be consistent that I am having inner problems when it’s happening. 

So I’m calmer and hopefully I sleep better tonight from relief and exhaustion. And I’ll definitely going to live from the dreams I’ve thought through and about in the last 48 hours. But I”m also going to focus on those who  can share the Tuesday jokes and moments with. 

In Restless Dreams I walked Alone

“ Why live life from dream to dream and dread the day when dreaming ends?”

If anyone wonders if scananxiety is real, it’s 2:26 am and I am blogging. I had an MRI yesterday roughly 12 hours ago to see whether or not my tumor is growing. Somewhere the logic says, just 6 months or so ago, the doctor told you that he believed you’d be one of the lucky ones. Somewhere the eternal optimist says come on you’ve gotten through so many of these this should just be a ritual. But the nightmares still came the night before and tonight, one of two between results. 

Somewhere the hopeless romantic wishes I was better at real connections to where the nights weren’t alone, somewhere the guy who has inadequate approach to at least those types of relationships is relieved that if something goes wrong there’s at least one less worry. I have a ritual, habit, of spending that time framing my mindset of it’s my time, what will I need to do to get ready and if it’s not what do I dream of in the future. For better or worse, the older I get, the shorter both lists get.

This is the closest these have been since my 8 year cancerversary. There is nothing gigantically critical that I or anyone has told about why the tumor has been growing that prompts this 6 month interval instead of what had now become annually. But I had two car accidents since then, both of which I was behind the wheel. I wondered then and now and had conversations with some other brain siblings was my brain failing to send some signal, was it just an actual accident or are there gaps? I’ve had a lot of vertigo since then, mostly occasionally but still happens as recent as yesterday. It can apparently be relatively normal because of some dislodged ‘rocks’ in your ears and can last for a while. Anyway, this MRI is both to see if there is tumor growth or some other type of brain damage. 

There has been some highlights since then. If anyone wonders if I still care about running despite that I had been on a string of my slowest races ever with little exceptions for most of a year and a half, it’s not a coincidence that I scheduled it the day after a half marathon and four weeks before the marathon. They give me a medal dye that sometimes makes me nauseous (it did yesterday) and so I wanted to disrupt my training as little as possible. 

It was a good half, the weather was perfect. I made a playlist primarily of old songs that remembered and focused some of the concern and worry and anger about having cancer. There was a nod to my 92 year old grandfather whose independence even as he is less mobile and has lost his partner of 71 years is still pushing. There was exactly one new song on there that had never been used on a playlist, purchased that morning, Rihana’s love on the brain thoroughly appreciating the nod that I would run for miles just to get a taste, must be love on the brain. 

I appreciated that immediately afterwards the song Humor of the Situation came on, reminding myself of the reality that somewhere I still appreciate that running arbitrary distances at arbitrary speeds is some measure of self worth. It was a sub 1 30 marathon. That was my goal for my first half marathon ever and I didn’t hit it till my second one. It was nowhere near my fastest but with the way the last one went (1:34) I wondered if there would be another one and I was glad that day was not the last one. 

Sometimes life leaves you high and dry, feeling abandoned on the side of the road. I’ve even woken up in ambulances on the side of the road in the middle of a run. Here, a friend with me in the middle of the road but on both sides of the road there were friends both old and new cheering while traffic was being held for us to run this town. 

I’ll get results on Wednesday and maybe, probably? it will all be fine but the scanxiety is real, the loneliness at 2:52 am is real, the feelings are real even if the fears that cause them may all be imagined. You know, the guy and friend I run with the most, said that there’s a study that showed once you make a certain capacity of money happiness is measured by how many friends you have you can call at 2:00 in the morning. I know there’s no need to call anyone about scanxiety but I also, I also know there are good people I could and that makes me very grateful.

I know someday I’ll fly away and leave all this to yesterday but while Moulin Rouge may wonder why you life life from dream to dream, I am not going to dread the day when dreaming ends. I am going to acknowledge that I am thinking some of what if the dreams are wrapping up if my time is too. But if it’s not, even if it’s just between MRIs, even if it’s just one race at a time, one day at a time I’m going to keep dreaming.

It’s all about the socks

 I grew up poor in Mexico and then came over in the same financial state to the United States at 8 years of age. Christmas memories vary for us all but for me I genuinely don’t have the memory of getting super materialistic happiness on December 25th. Most of my clothes were hand me downs or garage sale shopping (we didn’t have a Goodwill in the town I was in and now I work for them!). 

The present I remember most often is socks. I’ve always enjoyed athletic endeavors and whether that be running or team sports, my huge toes lead to worn out socks. So very often I would unwrap something under the tree that was a nice package of sacks likely from the dollar store. I remember always being greatful, though perhaps not excited. The one time I received a just for fun gift that I remember was a Heman tiger that I accidentally dropped into the neighbors friend and whose dog quickly destroyed it. Even fake cats were the enemy… 

I’m 42 years old now and I realize just how much those socks meant. I’m a runner still and on Christmas Eve it was the first time in my life that the year, the temperature and the mileage all matched-22. I was pretty consistent and just faded a little in the last couple of miles which made it the longest I’ve ran in over a year and in the entirety of the year. The wool socks mattered. 

But as I sat and thought of this, I realize that well I’ve gotten socks from lots of people including raffles (hey modern running socks individually are more expensive than the packs I got as a kid). But it takes me a moment to realize, without exception, everyone I’ve ever purchased and given socks to is someone that I love. It’s family and friends that could call at 2:00 in the morning and I’d be there in a heartbeat. 

I have socks from Kiana about how cold of a dad I am, I have gag ones that are bright colors that I rarely wear but don’t dare to discard. I also have some race ones and some recovery ones that are solid memories of events. Kiana for a long time was horrible about putting socks away and would just throw them in a drawer and then rather than looking for a match one day, decided to just grab two different ones whether or not they matched in color or length. I loved the non conformity and creativity of it. 

I hope whoever or however you’re spending this holiday season or the upcoming New Year, you reach out to those who lovingly provided you socks or have provided them for. The only person who I’ve never shared a home or a bed with that I’ve gotten socks to is my friend Chris, who is by far the person I’ve ran with the most and somehow will run with holes in his socks. My to go gifts for him are vodka and socks; I should combine those two someday. And believe it or not, it’s not a bad time to still get socks from someone. (If you’re thinking about me, somehow I’ve never gotten socks with an 8 or a lion!).

I am at the house I would always visit when I would come to west Texas. It’s a home my parents have been buying but my grandparents have been living in. Since my grandmother passed away last summer, my parents have been living here with my grandfather. I’ve struggled with the signs referencing that it’s grandpa and grandma’s house. It’s the first time I’ve ever visited and somewhere between the turkey or the tamales or the Mexican hot chocolate, I still feel like she’s just around the corner. I’m dreaming of a fully brown Christmas because there’s less of us now who don’t speak some if not fluent English but with her we had to talk in Spanish or be quiet. I’ve cried a bit but mostly I have tried to focus on the pictures of her smiling with different people at different stages. She was one of those people who gave me socks. 

So, let me emphasize again, that I hope you use and I certainly intend to, call, text, dm, shout at someone and thank them if they took  care of you from head to toe, those bare necessities whether or not they provided you the luxuries of life. Tell them you love them and appreciate the way they took care of you or the privilege you have in taking care of them. Maybe if you’re lucky, it’ll knock their socks off. 

Carma running over Dogma

 This thing is called picking up a hitchhiker because I’ve picked up every hitchhiker I’ve ever passed by and then needed rides for 3 years. But my carma has caught up in a different way in the last few weeks, I have been driving in 2 different cars that have been totaled in the last few weeks. I’ve also had my car on my ‘new’ 2007 Prius broken by someone who was breaking mirrors and biting people and then after that got repaired, the hybrid battery ran out. Somehow all the car bills from 3 years of not driving almost a decade ago got caught up and then some in 3 months. It’s a good thing the world is so car bill and purchase friendly right now… oh wait. 

I would like to apologize to whoever I pissed off because after a few runs of the best years in my life from like 2016 to 2018, I have been on a downhill trend since 2019 in so many ways with 2022 being the worst year of my life in about every way possible. Still, my email signature reads “ I am and always will be the optimist, the hoper of far flung hopes and the dreamer of improbable dreams.” Some people have interpreted that to mean the simple colloquial meaning of an optimism of seeing the glass half full rather than half empty. I’ve never quite understood that allegory since it’s an even split. When it’s not, are we supposed to say 1/10th full rather than mostly empty. Optimism for me is to stand in the pouring rain and believe the sun will shine again. 

I crashed into someone at a race recently, one of only two ‘good’ races I have had in over a year and like the days of old, one I signed up for the day before. They said my social media posts and this blog is not quite as positive as they remember it. I didn’t know what to say to that. There is some acknowledgement in that; I know that I’m worse for the wear, more than I’ve been in anytime I remember but hey I have a damaged memory. That’s a great irony because people still say I have more energy than anyone I’ve met but one of the women from the past recently said that my vitality in life was one of the attractive features of mine.  Only so much credence you should give to your exes (and I have enough in Texas to where I may have to retire in Tennessee) since it didn’t work out but it definitely made me wonder. 

I’m thankful to be alive each and every moment of every day. There are moments of those who are supposed to be the keepers of the flame that feel more abusive, more chokeholds or slaps in the face of those who are supposed to be caretakers. The medical bill for some bloodwork that was quoted to me for $50 came in at almost $4000. Several phone calls etc end with ‘there’s nothing else we can do for you” but they didn’t do anything for me to begin with. As I write this, I think I’m done with anything new in the medical world. I know I’m only 42 years old and this and that but I made peace with dying a long time ago and I’ll do the upkeep that I’m supposed to on what we know but I am exhausted. I’m not quitting; I don’t quit (trust me I did a half marathon yesterday in the slowest time I’ve ever done that course in a lot of pain in the humidity yesterday and there was not a moment of walking despite all the pain). But there is acceptance and not signing up to tilt at certain windmills anymore. 

I know no one fully gets it; I still have people who know that I walk into the room and am happy to be there and to see everyone because I genuinely am still happy in the freedom I take. But again “oh freedom, that’s just some people talking when my prison is walking in this world all alone.” I don’t think I’m getting bailed out of that prison ever cause a poor boy from an immigrant family in Mexico and small town West Texas to college in Napa Valley has lots of friends but such an odd story that relatability is both legion and hard. As a college professor once shared, “you are unique just like everyone else.” I have turned town book deals though it was offered at two different points in my life. (In case you’re wondering, I would call it “The Thrill of Hope, a Soundtrack of Quiet Desperation” with each chapter named after a song.) I am tempted to write it more and more these days but I don’t think I could with the honesty and rawness that I’d want because while I see and would project most of what’s gone wrong on to myself, sharing the details of other people’s lives who matter to me, well oddly enough too many of those people read this blog and appreciate but are very private. Most of them realize that it’s just hiding in public which is actually far more freeing than just hiding or hiding in therapy or telling almost enough to your friends to where you feel honest. But while some people live life to add this time or that one to the memoir, I think all/almost the things I’ve ever read that were based on true stories it was people living with intent to live more than intent to remember that made interesting. 

So I’m ready for this year to end. I’ve kind of given up all old traditions about Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s that I once had in this rough era thinking maybe it was time to let the old ways die. I’m hoping the carma days run over my dogmas and I just hope for a really really boring year in 2023. I am going to run the Austin marathon in February which is the furthest I can dream ahead. It’s odd, in July it was the first time my oncologist stated/believe I wouldn’t die of cancer according to the stats but my father’s death in 2021, my grandmother’s in 2022 and invariably the number of cancer friends that continue to give me survivors guilt make me have a harder time envisioning too far down the road. Right now I’m tired enough to where I’m not even thinking to my next MRI which was my previous method of keeping time. But for today and at least tomorrow, I still want to live like Don Quixote but not die like him. I want to die an unreasonable man, tilting at windmills till the end. I want to love though I gotta get better at that pure and chaste from afar if Dulcinea even exists anywhere except in my projections.  And when I walked away from totaling car accident number 2, I ran the fastest race I have in about a year and a half, the only good one since June of 2021 (a friend joked I should have more car accidents). But with simple materialistic or any other sorrow, even if I can’t go as far, I still want to run where the brave dare not go. And well if I can do that, I think my heart will be peaceful and calm when I’m laid to my rest. 

The Narrative To Come

 “Narrative is one of the best intoxicants or tranquilizers.” ― S. Byatt, Still Life

I imagine most, if not all of us, have stories we tell ourselves, songs we listen to, something that makes our inner self release what we want to come out. Maybe it's right, maybe it's wrong, maybe it's neither but life with a better flow makes a little sense. 

People have said about this blog, or my speeches or even work presentations that I'm good at narrative. I may just be doing awake what we all do at night, writing a story that connects the randomly received to the remembered reality. But here I am again, reflecting on one more year of cancer. Remember, remember the 5th of November, 13 into them, 12 anniversaries where the damage in my brain is relegated to still being secondary to life. 

I celebrate it or acknowledge it in someway every year, every year. That is more times than I have acknowledged my birthday in the entirety of my life and if it makes will surpass the wedding anniversaries I've celebrated despite being married twice. This year, acknowledging that some people you adore and appreciate deserve quality level stuff, I had a "what ages well" themed celebration Saturday night asking people to bring fine wine (even throughout the dare that whoever brought one from the same year I was diagnosed got extra points). 

There were more bottles brought than drank but early on, someone brought one called Austin Hope and as they did they asked me to make a toast. It was off the cuff and I don't remember it all but it started with a joke about how I often get paid to speak and they weren't paying enough for me going very long. I shared the appreciation of those in the area and those not there and I finished remembering that almost to the minute 12 years ago I was being admitted to a hospital and because I had shared that I had something going on in my brain, good friends were coming into the room. When others showed, the nurses asked them "Are you here for the party room?" and pointed them the right way. 12 years later, the party goes on! Who can't say cheers to that?

It was low key, talking to old and new friends from the one who helped raise money to get me to brain surgery, to the one who ran with me outside the hospital and helped keep me safe in the marathon I put off brain surgery for (they just had a baby!), to the one who flew me back from Duke to different ones along the way, most more established friendship but some brand new ones to though those I could count on one hand; this was a more established relationship invitation primarily. Even Kiana realized how important it was because while she was supposed to be at her mom's for the weekend she was there for it. 

We broke in the newly built patio (the previous one rotted) and it was the first real gathering since pre pandemic with roughly as many years as I've been alive people coming through and going. At the end of the night we had finished exactly 12 bottles of wine, some light, some dark, some blends, one non alcoholic. Speaking of good stories that seemed like a good parallel to the last dozen years. 

It would be dishonest to say that between year 11 and 12 was not by far the suckiest time of my life ever and well... that's saying something. But it took a little bit of fire and hope to realize that even during the rough times, I want s'more. 

The next day I ran a 10 mile race that I once ran by myself in under 60 minutes, that I once ran with Kiana in a stroller in 63 minutes and that I ran next to Kiana in about 75. The muscles are worn and tired these days and still have unexplained deficiencies. I barely beat Kiana's time. But at the finish line and now, I realized that while it may be what got the world's attention, my speed was a release point not the point itself. The playlist I have made for the last few races have had different music and it was as I cheered friends in that I realized the angry songs don't make my playlist anymore. There's no more Eminem. They are still up beat and rhythmic but I don't have much anger left in me. I'm not sure, despite my damaged memory, I even completely recall what I was so angry at and why that needed to be absorbed through shock on concrete and pavement. There was a point late in the race when I knew that my competitive spirit it at least not what it used to be if not entirely gone when a woman in a stroller past me about 3/4 past the race and I was more proud of her than I was ashamed of me (but both were true for the record). 

But focusing too much on the past was never my style no matter how good or bad so I ran and finished and smiled. And I cheered people in and I loved that I am still part of this community and part of the run of it. 

I don't know what life holds next but that's always been true and the guessing game of just reading this blog shows you that it's about as reliable as Texas weather reports. I may be true to my word but there's other people and circumstances that I wouldn't have ever ever guessed. 

It's Election Day as I write this. In this representative democracy where we each should do our own part and really all do whether it's passive or active, make a choice in what comes next. But I'm going to keep focusing a lot on today and plenty on tomorrow and even on the nights that end harshly, I'm going to be thankful for each day, challenge myself and those I love to make tomorrow a little better in its own way. Perhaps, with that, there will be a dozen or more 5ths of November and days to make choices and the narrative to come will be not a perfect but a great experience. 

Immortal But Not For Long

Roughly 10 days ago, I was at the first LIVESTRONG Challenge weekend I had been at since 2018. I spoke briefly at the 25th anniversary gala, only a few days after I had remembered the adventures at the 20th one. The room had changed since then of course, CEO was different as were a good percentage of the attendees, but there were still a few friends in the room and in the display was my guidebook, a gift that keeps on giving. 

It was the first time I ever quoted Tolkien while speaking, that not all who wonder are lost, and that some of the tools and guidance they gave me helped me remember home in a time of disorientation. I’ve never grown entirely into being comfortable being a cancer guy, perhaps because I still have it and I never wanted to identify too closely with what I’ve always believed would kill me. But the people there were wonderful. Some of course only saw the idea of me since we only interacted briefly but there were friends there, who knew exactly how human I were and how helpful and hopeful they were to that humanity. It was not lost on me, however, that despite the smartest thing I ever said came from a LIVESTRONG video that ‘you have to work on the relationships you want to keep’ that I was the only person speaking at that event who came and left alone. Still, enough people commented on my speech and my fashionable outfit to where I left smiling.

The next day I had a 10k that I am doing as part of this distance challenge series of races that are all or nothing. I’m still struggling with returning to running at my previous capacity and believe you me that’s frustrating so on a flat course I was riding a see saw of will power and vitamin deficiencies and potential. The playlist had some good songs previously quoted on here before but there were also some new ones, perhaps remembering that change is life’s constant. Still it was lyrics from the song here that stuck out to me as I was around mile 4

Sometimes the only payoff for having any faith is when it’s tested again and again every day

I’m still comparing your past to my future; it might be your would but they’re my sutures. 

I encapsulated that the past and the future were both versions of me but at least in regards to running certainly liked the past. I tried to close after that song was over and still wanting to believe that I was the 30 something year old that was daring to dream about maybe getting to 40, I was the 42 year old straining a hamstring. But of, of course, I finished because I would crawl before taking a DNF.  Almost 12 years into this journey, I am not certain that I’ll ever find someone to call when I can’t crawl anymore. Still, I had a friend Tim pacing me for most of that 10k and by pacing, it meant slowing down with my hamstring. We’ve raced each other before and perhaps will again but it was good to have company. 

From there, I went to the LIVESTRONG Challenge. Before I knew it would conflict with this race, I had signed up for the 100 miler but I biked 20 miles for the 20th anniversary, so I went for 25 on the 25th. I had company for the first bit and varying company on the return. I was slow going out but hauling on the way home. I’ve been all around the world and as a matter of fact, who says you can’t go home. It was different people at the finish line, some who asked some of the tough questions since we last saw each other, some who shared it in the silence. There was enough warmth there where you realize that there’s room for a new welcomes. New firsts that will can still exist at this point in life.  

I spent that afternoon reflecting on the friends I’ve made along this cancer journey, many, most of them better people than me. I still and will always struggle with the survivors guilt where people who statistically were supposed to alive did not outlast me. Some were better athletes, better partners, better fathers. I also remembered the last one and reached out to some of the ones who hadn’t made it. It was all a tough but healthy perspective. 

Then the next morning as I headed to run with Chris, the primary run with, in the street I’ve turned off since I bought a house 16 years before, I got hit by a car on my drivers side. I stepped out of the car and checked on the other drive. She was shaken up but seemed and stated she was fine. Someone pointed out I was bleeding. It was from my head on the passenger side, something I still can’t make sense of since the impact was on the drivers side. 

Three minutes or so after getting out of the car I was calling the friend I was on my way to run for telling him I wasn’t going to make it due to my car getting totaled. He immediately said he was on his way over. I  made a list of phone calls about missing work, to share that I was okay without someone even knowing I was in an accident, to make sure Kiana’s mom could pick her up from school. I realized quickly this wasn’t normal; I was holding a blood soaked towel while taking care of business. People have suggested this was the adrenaline but it’s what I did after seizures. It’s what I did after brain surgeries. Somewhere I’m not wired right. I wasn’t even going to go to the doctor but Chris insisted where I ended up with 20 stitches with my favorite joke being that I sure go to a lot of effort to get matching scars. 

Still, a friend who happened to have an appointment in the building took me to another friend who lent me a car for a week. I made my 11 am meeting, worked into the evening and had enough time to make a dealership to realize this is not a good time to be looking for cars used or new. For all that I’ve done wrong in my life, I must have done something right to get good friends. I’ve long stated that I have great friends but the great punchline comeback was someone who stated “Of course all your friends are good people; only really good people could put up with you.”

Still, Chris who had come immediately upon finding out and took the pictures said to me “3 feet further and you’d likely not be here.” It takes a cursory look at the photos to realize he was right. I grew up in a rough neighborhood, I have cancer and outlasted the prognosis for most people, I’ve had seizures in various places and now I’ve been through a serious car accident. I was at a run yesterday where as I took a picture of the group they said “get closer to each other, don’t make Iram go into the street; he’s cheated death enough times.” I don’t know if Leons, since they’re from the cat family, technically get 9 lives and with my luck I only get 8 probably but probably wise not to push the limits too many times. Still, strained hamstrings, vertigo, vitamin deficiencies and issues with my liver, I still insist that I may be more afraid of aging than dying. 

But of course, I was running 3 days later, I have a 12th cancerversary party this Saturday (like fine wine baby, like fine wine; which one are you sending if you’re reading this) and I’m running a 10 mile race on Sunday and I still believe I can learn to hope and love and live better. They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks but I’m a Leon. 

So even today while I got a several thousand surprise medical bill for some of the oncological stuff I did earlier this year, I feel like my life has been a ‘day of the dead’ scavenger hunt, I remember that in Encanto and some of my culture the way those who have passed ‘stay alive’ is by being remembered. That’s charming in it’s on way but I am also trying to remember those who are alive now that I do so too. 

My life, love, my drive they came from pain. So even as life continues and continues to be strange, I’m a believer. 

To Hell With You

“But all alone his blood runs thin and doubt, doubt comes in” Hadestown

I watched Hadestown last weekend, a musical spin on the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. It was the day after I got the bloodwork result. While I’m more tempted to sing you a couple of the songs or give my critical review of the Tony award winning musical, I don’t think that’s why I write here or why anyone read. 

On my bloodwork it was determined I don’t have any reason to believe I have any new cancer or  too serious of liver damage. I just have some leukopenia and that is what’s causing some issues. There doesn’t seem to be any solution we’re going to approach or figure out and like my brain, it’s just going to be a sit and watch and wait monitoring situation so several medical appointments later… no real progress. They thought I would be more excited to hear that there was no cancer or evidence of disease and it was my doctor’s assistant who came by who hadn’t met me so I responded with a recent oft repeated line that I’m more afraid of aging than dying.

I am relieved but not as relieved as they hoped. But in the context of that confusion I watched a musical about someone who goes to hell to save their loved one but they aren’t able to make it back because they look back right before helping them escape. Whatever interpretation you want to give is fair game but surely there had to be some one who was trying to focus on looking forward. Looking back hurting the person you love the most and then hurting you because you hurt them… if that’s not hell I don’t know what is. 

That wasn’t the part that caught my eye, ear, or heart though. It was that the reason his loved one ends up in hell was because she was asking for help but he was too focused on his own song so did he put her in hell only to love her enough to almost get her out? That’s a tough story. I’ve obviously not been great at helping people join me through hell much less to hell and back. In those moments on a hospital bed where you turn away emotionally asking what’s wrong with my brain, you hope someone is listening and that they rescue you on the way to hell not to just get you to escape. 

The balance of relationships and health and ethics and consequences were singing through my head quite literally about when I have tried to figure out too much at once alone. I know I have good friends with the vast majority of the ones who were in the hospital room still available. I was talking to someone about money and they said that after a point it doesn’t matter how much money you make, just how many people will show up if something goes wrong at 3 o clock in the morning. I am thankful to have and be in that kind of relationship with good people.

I come from a background that says there is power in the blood and so as my athleticness give ways due to blood issues it sure seems to be true. But somehow despite the fact I am not generating power in the way that I used to. I just did a 5k that during my usual days (like a year and a few months ago) I likely would have finished in the top 3 I’m super disappointed that I came somewhere in the top 20. It’s funny almost 12 years ago, I was scared because the way I’d always defined myself by my brain was now at risk and I learned to define myself more by my running muscles. Now those are struggling and I’m lost a bit, that was easy to read in the last post. 

But today, I’m seriously considering signing up for more races, perhaps even return to a marathon for the first time in over a year for the Austin marathon. I can’t decide if to take it as my final lap. Then again when at 30 I was doing it as my final lap well I’ve done over a dozen since then so who knows. But how can I not do 42 kilometers at 42 years of age? 

I hadn’t blogged in a while but the last one helped me remember while I may not have listened well enough yet to stop hell being a factor in my life, I’ve had some good people who keep leading me out. But I guess that reminds me of a cheers from there “To the world we dream about and the one we live in now!” Oh and for my expert review, in case you were wondering, my favorite part was some great female trombone solos with some serious good slick slides up and down the scale. 

 

Bailed Out

“Stuck in this game you've started, Don't leave me broken hearted 'Cause I've got nothing left to lose”-Higher

I’ve not been blogging much. In fact I’ve blogged as many times this week as I had the rest of the  year. There was once upon a time I started writing it just to remember with a damaged memory. There were times I was hesitant because for some reason strangers started reading it instead of known people and then when people I cared about were being written about more got more private, it got harder for it be raw and uncensored since they all appreciated their privacy as much if not more than most people. I’ve written elsewhere in a process where I write things out and then delete it, more of a purge than a process. 

There are other reasons which perhaps will get a blog of their own in due time or as someone who reminds that life is short and that they are hot, there are still people who think I should write a book. I doubt it would be well received because too many people still like the idea of me better than myself. But there was a comfort in hiding in public in this forum so at least for today, well I’ll try it again. 

This year has been medically rough. Somewhere late last year there started being health issues, none of which have been written around here. Something didnt’ feel right in my muscles. I wanted to dismiss it as mental but hard as I tried I couldn’t turn the mental back on. Maybe it was malnutrition and I just needed to take more protein. I changed up some eating and drinking exercises, I took off the better part a month off running after not having missed a day in over 3.5 years. I went to a chiropractor. Finally I went to a doctor where I acknowledged that I was more afraid of aging than I was of dying. They took 14 vials of blood taken in February to run some tests where there were some deficiencies in vitamins and iron. There were 3 supplements and follow up, that resulted in more blood tests and more follow ups which resulted in more blood tests, a second doctor and more follow up. On Monday, 3 days ago, I did the 5th bloodwork of the year. This year I have had the most medical appointments in any year of my life since year two of cancer. Something is definitely wrong. It could be a variety of diseases or just simply damage to my liver or kidneys having issues from heavy dosage of medication or maximum dosage really for almost a decade to keep me from waking up or the lack thereof on the side of a run as occurred once. But the only result missing from Monday’s work is whether I possibly have lymphoma or leukemia. It is possible (but highly unlikely the doctor said) that I may have one of those. The last time the doctor ordered some cancer test and said it was highly unlikely that it was something… well let’s just say it got this blog started.

I have sat here and wondered what to do. I have a DNR order and a futile care order well established. I am tired and worn out. I am not sure how much of the fighter still remains. I think i can go at least 5 rounds but could I even get to my favorite number and do I have what it takes to knock it out if it’s there again. It felt from the last brain cancer appointment that maybe I was finally getting free from prison but maybe I just moved to another one. Is there anyone to bail me out? What’s the right way to ask the bailif a question at this point? Too early to tell I suppose. 

There will be people who will ask what about Kiana. My goal almost 12 years ago was not to just be there indefinitely, just to give her some good memories and to hopefully give her the tools to be fully capable of independence when I’m gone whenever that may be. Watching the struggles of her adolescence, I’m not sure I’ve done much for either. But I often genuinely wonder if maybe her life wouldn’t be a lot better when I reflect on the fact that the biggest negative contributor in her life may well have been the tension between her parents which is zero percent her fault, much of it coming from her mother leaving in the middle of cancer with scars and staples in my head and the damage from that continuing from too many people. I also think I’ve likely never modeled any healthy relationships for her at least in the significant other category. 

So sometimes you just feel lost? And you wonder if there’s some writing on the wall? I don’t have spatial orientation anymore after surgery but recently I was able to march like someone bringing flowers to a king to a new place but I could remember it perfectly because it was next to medical appointments I had pre brain surgery. My mind’s most powerful memories are in trauma and lyrics. As I drove home from there, I got a text that some of the results were in. I pulled over to read it but it was a minor update to the complete blood count not the cancer tests. 

I don’t know what’s coming but I’m tired of the tests and the scanxiety and doctors again. I long ago said to my regular doctors that the less I see them the more I like them. This new set, one of them said that I was the kind of patient who keeps them up at night because the results are so odd. But whatever comes I’l try to focus on continuing to dream the impossible dream even if it’s an unreasonable way to tilt at windmills. And if some parts of my body are going lower, I’ll try to find some love or hope or positive emotion to let me go higher.