And Now, This

I have been a long-time fan of Monty Python, for many reasons.  One of the things I love is their original shows, that utilized the narrative device of "And now for something completely different" to change directions completely.  John Oliver shortened this to "And now, this" which is a more succinct way of stringing together completely random things. Or, as Sheryl Crow says, apropos of nothing. Which is to say, what this post will be.  I understand that my narrative transitions are tenuous in normal times, but linking thoughts seem to be even harder during treatment.

"Squirrel!"

Wait, before I leave the topic of Monty Python, just wanted to add "I'm not dead yet!"

And now, this.

Hotel Dreams
My vivid, mundane dreams have been focusing of late on poorly designed hotels.  Last week, I had a dream that I was staying at the Ramada in Milwaukee (don't ask me why Milwaukee, perhaps the chemo drugs are manufactured there).  This particular Ramada had hallways that led to other hallways, that led to further hallways.  I was vaguely annoyed.

Then, a few days ago, the dream was moved to a Holiday Inn (city unknown).  For the life of me, I could not find my room.  I walked through the convention hall, which seemed to be hosting a conference of chocolatiers.  When I got to the back hallway, the rooms were non-sequential.  Room 120 was next to room 355, which was across the hall from room 1100.  An objectively terrible numbering system.  I went back up to the front, but the front desk was closed.  The giant candy store next to the front desk had opened, however.  Yes, there is at least one easily identified theme at work here.  I started wandering around the hotel, and eventually found someone who worked there.  I told him I was looking for room 466 (actual number, unsure of significance), and he led me to this hallway that had a staircase.  At the top of the staircase was a multi-colored tunnel that I would have to traverse to get to room 466.  I assessed that I could make it, but that my yellow (!) hanging bag likely would not fit.

Probably some deep meaning here about seeking, journeying, finding your own path, blah blah blah.  Or maybe I just need a Twix and a roll of Spree.

Somewhat related to that...

Self CBT
I am engaging in a bit of do-it-yourself cognitive behavioral therapy, despite the fact that I have no training in it, and only a rudimentary understanding of what it is or does. 

Beyond some very specific times when I have had seizures (from moderate in January to comprehensive in May and a couple of short ones on Mother's Day), I can attribute all of the rest of feeling bad to treatment - hospitals stays, spinal tap, medication, chemo, and radiation.  As long as I believe this, I can continue to believe that they will go away when treatment stops.

Tuesday, I had a couple of micro moments where it felt off.  Not full-on third person disassociation.  More like second-person.  Not "Bob Dole is turning on the water in the shower", more like "you are turning on the water."  [certainly, I realize that's an old reference.  I find myself pining for Bob Dole these days - a person with whom I can disagree with on a multitude of issues but still believe in his integrity].

Then yesterday, as I was walking down the very wide hallway at work, I found myself unable to avoid running into the wall.  I sat down on the conveniently placed couch, and realized that the proverbial writing on the wall was in motion.  The world was literally spinning.  Or, it was for me.  No, the world does actually spin, so it was literally spinning.  I was just enjoying a new side effect of drinking too much without the pleasure of drinking too much.

That degree of dizziness put the micro incidents into perspective.  Certainly, second-person could have come from dizziness.  And since "May Cause Dizziness!" is a prominent warning on several of my medications, these could be treatment related.  No, these were definitely treatment related. 

I changed the self-narrative.  I did not have micro seizures.  I think that's kinda the jist of CBT.  Again, not a psychotherapist.

Apropos of nothing...

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow
Yes, I understand that's a dad joke.  Or, as I am re-branding it - a Cancer Dad Joke.  Like: I finally figured out the Keto diet.  I just haven't been hearing it correctly.  It's the Chemo diet.  I've dropped 15 pounds.  Not sure I'd publish books or send out a bunch of spam e-mail about it, but it does work.

Or: Have you checked out my "rad" new hairstyle? 

But, on that topic - Jill pointed out that it is not just the hair on one side that is falling out.  I'm losing from both sides and the back.  I have come to the scientific conclusion that it is only the gray hair falling out.  This may be less "cognitive behavior therapy" and more "the secret."  If you wish it, it will become true. 

I know that my hair has been going gray over the years.  The thing that I hadn't understood until a few years back is that the hair on the back of my head is completely gray, while the sides and front (all of the things I see in the mirror) are just lightly sprinkled with gray.  It was always jarring at the Supercuts when they handed me a hand mirror and asked if I wanted to see the back.  "Whose old man's head is this?  I am only sprinkled with gray."  Long ago, I changed my answer to "No thank you,  I do not want to see the back.  I trust you and the job you've done."  Helps preserve the self-image, and seems to empower the stylist.

So, I don't have any empirical evidence to support my absolutely-true hypothesis, but it is 100% a fact that only the gray hair is falling out.  The hair that had, if we are being honest, given up already.  At the end of treatment, only the strong, whatever-color-my-original-hair-used-to-be hair, will remain.  In small clumps, here and there.  Likely an amazing look.

And then there's this...

Unwarranted Pride
I meet with the Radiator and his Extender every Wednesday, the one day they are in the office.  The rest of the time they are out fighting crime.  Possibly off on Tuesdays.

Each week, they both ask if I am still working, and seem surprised when I tell them that I am still keeping a mostly full-time schedule.  My hair may quit, but I never will.

I derive a small degree of satisfaction and pride in the fact that I am still working.  But if I delve a bit into that, that feels like a fairly trivial point of pride.  They are not asking "So, are you still mountain climbing?" Or, in somewhat keeping with the theme, "Are you still lion taming?"

And finally...

Gratitude
I have talked a lot about gratitude, and how grateful I am to all of the family, friends and others who have reached out, helped out, and generally made this tough journey easier.  I kinda think it's time to say some specific thank you's, with the pre-apology that I will absolutely miss some (gonna throw out the whole "I have a brain tumor" thing as pre-explanation)

Rides to radiation - in addition to my lovely wife Jill (who I am grateful for every moment of every day), I am grateful to Tara, Chris, Eric, Bess, Eric, Bess and Eric for taking me to my appointments.

I am very grateful to my friend Bobby (now Bob), who has picked me up from and taken me to work multiple times, brought me books, and to his whole family (see wife Tara above), who have been enormously supportive.  I posed the following question to him early on:

"Hey, Bobby (I don't add the "now Bob" when we talk).  Want to take a road trip in August?"

See, Jill and I had months ago split up the "taking the kids to college" task.  Alex moves in to Loyola in New Orleans on August 15th, and Abby moves into Trinity in San Antonio on August 16th.  Since Jill went to Trinity and is a Wildcat (a very inside joke), she is taking Abby.  Since I vaguely remember spending a handful of Mardi Gras (is that the plural of Mardi Gras?) in New Orleans sleeping on the floor of my friend Kenneth's dorm room at Tulane, I am taking Alex.  This plan, however, was made before my May adventures.  I may be driving again by mid-August, but I certainly won't have the confidence for the long drive each way.  So, road trip!

Bobby (now Bob) was in.  It wasn't till a bit later that I realized I had sold this to him as a road trip, when in actuality, I was asking "can you drive me and my daughter to New Orleans, help me move her into a dorm room, and then drive me back to Austin?*"  He understood that was the ask.  Heck, we've known each other since 6th grade, which is now more than 40 years ago.

* Turns out that there are parent activities at Trinity the weekend of August 17th and 18th, so I amended my pitch of "Want to take a road trip?" to "can you drive me and my daughter to New Orleans, help me move her into a dorm room, and then drive me back toward Austin, but then drop me off in San Antonio instead"?  My friend Bobby (now Bob), said "of course."

On the topic of people I have know for more than 40 years, I am grateful to my friends Lisa and Karen, who both sent me random greeting cards (cat puns and a birthday card for Jill) in response to my post about the proper display of "Sorry You Have a Brain Tumor" cards.  I ran this by "Dear Abby" and she said "Seriously, dad. Stop.  And why are you writing me letters?  Ever heard of texting?"

I kinda thought this was how it worked.  If you know an Abby and need advice, you write her a letter.  Heck, if I ever meet a Heloise, I will ask her for hints.

I am grateful to Jill's book and wine club, who collectively and individually provided food and transportation that has been tremendously helpful.  And I am grateful to Melissa for the Matzoh Ball Soup; aunt Randy, cousin Jared and Guo Jing for lots of food; and to everyone who has picked me up for a lunch date the last two months.  And to everyone who has reached out by phone, card, Bookface, text, and other methods to send their regards and best wishes. As well as to Edna (not her real name) and her deity, since I still think she is onto something.

My mom and Tom, and dad and Joy, have all been checking in on me regularly, even while travelling across the country.  My brother has done the same, while travelling across the world.  Jill's family has been amazing.  I am grateful to them.  And my Jill. And my Kaileigh, my Abby, and my Alex, who have all traveled internationally this summer, and are all on the verge of new life journeys.