Let me take you back to the moment when my life changed. The trampoline was amazing. We bounced so high a couple of times, I was able to see the neighbor’s yard. I couldn’t believe the luck. I found the weather fascinating and the force with which I flew up, then back down, was gratifying. I figured that with all of the laughter, this would become a common thing. Oh, I knew that there would be others that would come sometimes, but if we did a good job, we may be able to do this often. So the plan was set, we would do our best and work together. One small slip-up and we may never return. We did it! We performed perfectly! Then he took us off. We chatted for a bit. Then we were all scooped up and…and…oh my gosh he dropped me. He didn’t turn around, he just left.

Read the full story at his site: http://garyoversen.hubpages.com/hub/The-Other-Sock

I didn’t want to keep adding to the never-ending noise of negativity already present in everyone else’s lives (whether personally or through media outlets). What good does it do?

I can write about things I love; Things I’m grateful for; Things that inspire. But two things stop me from that:

1. If I starting listing all I’m grateful for, it would never end. No, really. It would also be horribly cheesy, and full of sappy clichés. That’s what “Chicken Soup for the Soul” books are for.

2. It’s a matter of having things to spare, and NOT having things to spare.

I’m drained, mentally and physically. I cherish the things I’m grateful for (it really is an endless list). But I can’t share them with you. I can’t afford to. They are mine and I need to be selfish. I will greedily take their nourishment as my fuel, my ammunition. I even silently edited or unpublished previous posts praising my wife and daughter. It’s an attempt to reclaim the memories and moments as my own. A way of placing the treasures back in my safe, close to my chest.

On the flip side, the negativity, pain, frustration, anger, and constant drain of this body’s imperfection are all things I have in excess. They are overbearing, heavy, and at times, seemingly all-consuming. Of this darkness, I have plenty to spare. In fact, my spirit is begging for a release.

I will tell you one thing I am grateful for, though, which might not make sense: I’m grateful for anger. When enough steam builds, I explode, but into words. There is something to expressing the anger that enlivens me. Anger is often my inspiration. My own reminder that I am alive, and kicking. And powerful. That’s something truly wonderful.

What is the benefit of honest negativity?

One quite awesome side effect of writing about darkness is that by reading it, you (yeah, YOU) become part of my healing. I write it, thereby releasing it, and your act of reading is in a way, an acceptance of bearing part of my load. So, thank you, dear reader, for being a receiver of my upcoming wrath.

Also, by being honest with my anger and frustration, maybe another benefit will emerge. A reminder that I am the result of archaic cancer treatments done to me as a child. Treatments that haven’t really changed in over 20 years. Why the hell not?

Why are so many cancer sites inspirational? Why are we okay with being fed clichés and sappy stories? It doesn’t always end pretty. Hell, it sometimes never ends at all. You can’t wrap it up in bow (if you have, you are blessed by fate). Cancer is a bomb, treated with a nuke. Newsflash: it doesn’t end post-cancer. It’s the shit that keeps on plopping.

It’s NOT okay.

Inspirational stories, heartwarming survivor moments, and sugar-filled words of encouragement have their rightful place. But they also mask a reality. I’m here to remind of the wake of destruction this disease can produce. Over and over again. Relentlessly. How are we okay with the state of cancer treatments? Where’s the damn progress? Why are kids (and anyone) still being treated with bags of toxic poison?

Don’t look away. Don’t assume “it gets better.” Face the monster. Look it straight in it’s death-filled eyes. Ignore it, and it will continue destroying lives. Ignore it, and it will never be defeated. So I offer you myself, my pain, my piece of the Dragon. I am the Boy Who Cried Cancer, except I’m not fucking lying.

I am cancer-free yet no where near healthy. And I am but one of many pediatric cancer survivors stuck with post-treatment illnesses. Maybe your own child knows the hell of cancer. How will she or he grow up? Maybe my anger will ignite yours. And maybe that anger will inspire action.

Or maybe you will simply know that you are not alone.

To those kids who have walked through the wasteland of chemotherapy, radiation, and surgery… To those souls robbed of innocence far too early… To those making sense of a wrecked body post-treatment… You are me. And we are not alone.

I raise my fist to you, and I will scream for you, as long as I can:

(From the 1976 film, Network)

Amazon.com

A short story about a certain sock, longing for more. An excerpt below:

That One Sock

By Gary Oversen

It all started the day that the vacuum-sealed package was opened. I was one of the first socks pulled out. My owner raised us all up and thanked his mom for the thoughtful gift. I was proud that I would now be able to finally get out and possibly see a little of the world. Luckily, I am a tube sock. The ankle and “no-shows” have become all the trend, but I was happy to be a tube. The fact that I had an opportunity to have an older owner who may take me on some long vacations to exotic locations. Or possibly someone younger who would go out and play on a regular basis. All I knew was that when I was opened, I was going to be put to good use.

Read the rest at his blog: That One Sock

My hair is all grown back now, and I have been taking meds to hopefully raise my thyroid levels to a normal range. Hypothyroidism can cause fatigue, and I felt that long before I was diagnosed. This is still fairly new and so the medication will need some time to work it’s magic on my system. I’ll eventually retest my thyroid levels and go from there.

A bit before the hair/thyroid thing, something else surfaced. I woke up one day, like usual, only my left ear was plugged up. It felt just like an altitude pressure change. I could hear out of it, but all high pitches were muffled or silent. My right ear was perfect. I tried the usual tricks to “pop” my left ear back into crystal clear mode: yawning, chewing gum, yawning more, even the thing you’re not supposed to do-pinching my nose and blowing. Nothing. I eventually went for a complete ear exam and hearing test.

Turns out I have “asymmetric sensorineural hearing loss” in my left ear. That means it can’t be cured with surgery since it is a brain/nerve pathway issue, not an ear canal problem. Permanent, in other words. I was hoping I just needed a canal cleaning, but nope. The sharp, crispy high sounds never returned on that side. Lil Lefty had heard his last tinny cymbal crash.

No treble anymore.

Good news is the hearing loss is mild. I can still hear most things, just not in the higher register. And my right side is still golden.

I had an MRI brain scan to rule out the worst possibility: cancer. I knew that my childhood diagnosis was astrocytoma, which is usually a brain tumor. Waiting for the results was, uh, stressful. But the scan came back all good. No growths, no lesions. Brain looked nice. Phew. Great. Ahhh. Wait, so why did my left ear lose some clarity?

The doctor(s) are calling both diagnoses idiopathic, i.e., they don’t know the causes. Grrr. Could it be related to past chemo/radiation treatments, perhaps? Maybe. Could malnutrition affect thyroid hormone production(I AM still very underweight)? Maybe. All of the above? Maybe. Is not knowing becoming increasingly frustrating? YES. Do these new symptoms make me feel any younger? NO.

Still, I’m doing alright. Mostly. Kinda. But I’m saving the complaints for after the holidays. This is just an update of the latest medical news.

Tonight ends another wonderfully rough and tumble year. High highs and low lows. Tomorrow will bring more of the same. No matter what though, beauty makes it all worth it. And there’s plenty of that. You only need to open your eyes.

Tonight I will toast to life! Have a good one.

And the moon, it followed me home

by Gary Oversen

I fell asleep on the way, coming home from the game.

I gazed up to see I wasn’t alone.

For this time, I would say, that my mind was to blame.

And the moon, it followed me home.

I was sure I could bare, the thought that it might scare.

But I’d hoped it wouldn’t take that tone.

It just winks and it glows, but there’s something it knows.

And the moon, it followed me home.

I just can’t shake its path; Will I feel it’s great wrath?

It seems to be there wherever I roam.

Keep in mind, I was nine. Now I understand why.

And the moon, it followed me home.

I survived, that whole time. With that white ball up high.

I started to comfort in all it’s great glow.

For as long as it’s alive, thank God, then so am I.

And the moon, it followed me home.

Check out his blog for more of his work. Happy New Year, kiddos!

Download: Amazon // iTunes

I’ve been playing this song recently. 3 reasons:

• It reminds me of Manuelita.
• It reminds me of my daughter, dancing on stage.
• It reminds me of my dad, who introduced me to the song years ago.

The Background: Hosting this site isn’t free and costs were not getting any cheaper. Still, I wanted to keep this place alive, even though I hadn’t updated in awhile, so I did. No one, except my wife and dad, knew it was any issue.

About 2 weeks ago: I get an email, unsolicited, from a web hosting company, SiteGround. Here’s a snippet:

“Hello Chris,

[We] went through your website, and… think that what you are doing is both extremely brave and awesome. This site needs to remain online.

We will be more than happy to provide you with free hosting.”

Jaw. Drop. I mean, come on. At a time when I was almost considering ending cancerlifeandme.com. Now came relief, security, and that thing I crave so much and that refills me: peace of mind.

So, all that being said, turns out SiteGround isn’t just a rinky-dink web host. They are considered (after researching) a top WordPress web host company. WordPress is the software that runs this site, FYI. SiteGround makes sure it is accessible and online. They even handled moving my site from my previous web hosting company (and will do that for free, as a courtesy to regular customers, too).

AND… they are affordable. Even MORE with their Halloween sale coming up. Click below to receive 70% off their already low rates. The promotion runs this weekend from Oct. 31 to Nov. 2:

Is this an ad for them? Of COURSE it is. But damn it, they are amazing, and kind, and generous, and have awesome staff, and they deserve some good press! So there.

SiteGround, thank you so much.

Even still, the doctor (Charles Grodin) does drop a grain of wisdom during his half-assed evaluation, when he says,

“Every second spent without back pain is a lucky second. String enough of those lucky seconds together, you have a lucky minute.”

Leave it to Louis C.K. to once again blend that perfect mix of absurdity, tragedy, and truth. Watch “Louie” Monday nights on FX, or: Amazon
// iTunes

Me? Oh, I’m alright. Pretty much same ol, same ol. No real news to break. Pain versus quality of life. Some days are rough, as usual, and some days are not as rough.

But every now and then, there’s a rare instance. A day that approaches close to feeling plain, boring, and normal. Or, as I like to call it, “a good day.”

Today is good. For a few reasons. Woke up feeling pain (nothing new) but for whatever reason, the pain meds worked more than usual. I got drowsy, also usual, but decided to opt for a cup of coffee. Caffeine usually is a no-no for me (slows digestion/can dry out water retention/increase heart rate). But, it also keeps me alert. And today, again, for some reason, it perfectly countered the drowse.

The result? Pain relief and no sleepiness. But wait, the day’s goodness did not end there. No pain, but still nausea (as usual). So, a little morning herb and soon after, I hit near normalcy. No awareness of pain, no drowsiness, and lovely hunger.

What happens when one feels suddenly normal? My energy level rises. Now it’s brunch time and I’m on a date with my wife at a local Mexican joint. I had 3 tacos. And no other issues. Bliss.

Ah… But the day’s goodness rolled along. My medical cannabis patient recommendation expires in a few days (which means another payment for a renewal to be scheduled soon). I decided to be safe and refill medications now, before my expiration.

I went to a local dispensary close to home, called Doctor’s Orders. I was getting a budget variety medicine, when a kind budtender suggested a much better quality version of medicine.

“It’s definitely nice but a bit out of my budget,” I replied.

“Trust me, this is what you want. Here, take it.” Then he dropped it in the paper bag that already had my budget choice inside.

“It’s on me,” he said, and I’m pretty sure I got a lump in my throat and blurred vision.

I thanked him very much and left them a note with my web address. Hopefully you guys read this and if you do, thanks again. Cannabis patients, check them out if you’re in the area (but don’t be a-holes and try to take advantage).

So, in conclusion: good day.

Fuck yeah.

The movie is about a group of oil workers whose plane crash-lands in the frozen wilderness. For me, it worked as a standard adventure/thriller, but so much more as a personal survival story. Ultimately, it’s a showcase of the human spirit.

I don’t think another movie has resonated with me as much as The Grey did. I found it deeply personal, on many levels, but I don’t want to ruin any plot points if you haven’t seen it yet.

Now, if you have seen it, allow me to dig into why it affected me as much as it did:

Spoilers ahead… watch the movie first! Click to read more. ▼

It feels nice knowing there’s a film out there created just for me (of course it wasn’t, but I can dream). See it. Now.

Watch The Grey on Amazon or iTunes

During the dance show, my wife was busy with backstage and other duties, so it was up to me to record the performance. Right before my kid was due to go onstage, however, her mom came out and let us know she was shivering with chills. Apparently a bad cold decided to set in right then and there.

But… it didn’t stop her. She went out, still shivering, and performed her full set. She said later that a few minutes into the dance her bad symptoms faded away. When I tucked her in that night I told her about how much heart she showed. I think I used the word “badass”. It fits.

To my lovely wife: You got me. You got me GOOD. I’m mad at you, though. See, before last Saturday, I had a trump card. If we ever had a disagreement, I could say something like, “But honey, remember the video I made for you?” I had the upper hand! But not anymore. Oh, no. You just had to love me way too much, didn’t you? Dang you for loving me so! I got no upper hand now! D’oh!  (You are the greatest. I love you so much!)

The following is an account of last Saturday as I remember it:

I woke up that day like any other. I was expecting to visit my parents later because I heard my sister and her family would be in town to visit them also. This was the weekend after my birthday, so I figured it would be a nice treat to see some family. My wife was not feeling well and asked if we could go later that afternoon so she could rest. I was fine with that, and at around 2pm, we left our apartment and headed to my parents’ place.

We were soon in their neighborhood, and as we turned the corner onto their street, I noticed a bunch of cars parked around the block. “What the… I wonder what’s going on?” I said. I figured my folks must have had some friends over and maybe the neighbors were having a party at the same time. We were all surprised at the suddenly busy street (normally, there’s plenty of parking spaces available). We found a spot and pretty soon we got to the front door. My wife wanted me to ring the bell, but I had our daughter do it. My mom answered the door with a, “Hi mijo!” and I remember my wife asking me to go ahead, but I waved her and our kid in first. I didn’t want to be rude. Then I came through the door and was completely stunned.

Horns were blowing all around me. The entrance of their house was packed with people. They were shouting “SURPRISE!” and then the Happy Birthday song. At one moment I glanced up and it looked like people were hanging from the ceiling. I couldn’t believe it. For me? It was a sense overload. I felt like everything was cranked up to ten: noise level, visual information, and emotion.

It was sometime during the crowd’s singing that the specialness of the day really began to sink in. My eyes scanned the room. Their was family, supportive as ever. Their were childhood friends, smiling their genuine smiles at me. Their were former coworkers and advocates, their own eyes welling up with the energy of the room. It was a who’s-who of Chris supporters. It took nearly everything I had to not start bawling right on the spot, but I made it. It was surreal. I felt humbled, and deeply, truly grateful.

My friends, you know I don’t lie about feeling down and out sometimes. It’s true, life ain’t always easy. And that is exactly why the surprise felt so good. It was medicine. You were my healers. I was a dry sponge who walked under a waterfall. I was floating on happiness. I felt real love, as if it was crackling in the room. The energy was electric. I felt a high (no, not that kind), and it only increased throughout the day.

After warm hugs, hellos, and thank yous, I was asked to go check out the backyard. On my way, I noticed the decorations. The house was decked out with colorful streamers and balloons. The theme of the party was Superman (or, “Super Chris”). One of my sisters even made a poster of me as the Man of Steel:

Once I saw the backyard, I was awed again. More decorations, people, and… what was this? A taco guy making 4 kinds of tacos, with all the trimmings? Awesome! They had gone all out for me. But that wasn’t all.

Soon, I heard my name called and turned. My sister said there was another surprise for me. At that moment, a mariachi trio strolled outside and began singing Las Mañanitas (Mexican birthday song). I couldn’t believe it! I have always loved the sound of a trio. It’s one of those likes that my wife definitely knows about. I remember I wanted a trio to perform at our wedding, but we didn’t have the budget. Now there was a trio in front of me, performing for me. More wonderful medicine. Thank you, honey, for giving me the gift of my own private concert.
While the trio was singing I thought, “Where’s [my daughter]?” I wanted to put her on the spot and ask her to dance to the mariachi music. Really, I expected her to be shy and say no. But she wasn’t around. I figured she was playing with her cousins inside the house. Well… I was wrong!

After the mariachi had played a few songs, I saw her step into the backyard. She looked beautiful. She was wearing a white Jalisco dress with blue trim. She was accompanied by 3 of her dance class friends. They were going to perform! It was like my mind was being read. All the things I love were unfolding live before me. When the first dance started, I could not help myself. Just moments before, I had to struggle to not cry at the big surprise entrance, but this dance tipped me over the edge. My vision blurred and my eyes watered. This was a dream. I felt magic.

I was on cloud nine after the kids’ performance. I then had a chance to catch up a bit with the many guests. I cannot express just how thankful I was for everyone’s presence. I later told my wife that the day was full of magical moments, and that includes the conversations and brief exchanges I had with everyone. I felt supported like never before. It was strengthening.

I couldn’t get over how personalized the party was. It felt like they had a map to my happiness and followed it to a tee. When the mariachi were not playing, my brother (the DJ) was pumping Young The Giant and Kings of Leon through the stereo system. They had thought of everything. The photos and videos I’m showing here aren’t my own, either. They are also thanks to friends and family. No one missed a step! Amazing.

Trio? Check. Daughter dancing? Check. Good tunes? Check. Tasty food? Check. Amazingly wonderful people? Check. Even the birthday cake was chocolate. Yep, my favorite. I couldn’t have asked for more. But there was.

Before I blew out the candles, my sister explained how instead of gifts, she had asked guests to place a donation in a special box. The money, she said, was to be used towards the purchase of a new tablet. This was another “dream” gadget I had no intention of buying soon. I figured I’d be sporting a tablet in… oh, five years or so. Not so anymore. I’m actually writing this post on my new tablet. It’s everything I wanted. Unlimited reading and entertainment options. And best of all? My boring doctor appointments now have a new contender to mess with. Boredom? Meet the tablet, and kindly get the hell outta here! Woohoo!!! It’s beautiful. Thank you, thank you, thank you, lovely people!

After the cake was piñata time. There were 2 piñatas: one for the kids, and one just for me. I gotta say, it felt good to crack it open. Nice energy release.

We eventually went inside the house again and I sat on the couch while a slide show played. It was full of old photos of myself and family. A sweet blast to the past. Truly, this was my day. The love never ended. I even found out that people had been writing letters to me in a personalized notebook. It was a “dedication journal” and full of thoughts, prayers, and well wishes for me. I actually haven’t read it yet. My mom still had to write in it, so she kept it. I know it will be a treat to read through people’s messages. Yet another example of the day’s never ending stream of goodwill and gifts.

That night I was exhausted, but in the best way possible. Even my cheeks hurt from all the smiling.

I am blessed to be here and to be surrounded by such genuinely good people. You made my day. Heck, you made my life with that party. Thank you.

If life is a battlefield, then you, my friends, are my ammunition. Sometimes I feel like I’m out of ammo, left to fight with my bare hands. Not anymore. I am drowning in bullets. Bless you all.

Thank you so much. You knocked my socks off.

In July, The Spine surgeon had referred me to a General surgeon (his job would be to go through my ribs and remove scar tissue/move lung over so Spine guy can then get to work on my vertebrae). General surgeon said although difficult and risky, he would be able to assist. Okay, one step closer.

Next, I had an Echocardiogram  (like an ultrasound, but aimed at the heart) to evaluate my heart health. The results were good: everything seemed within normal to above-average range and although my pulse is fast, the heart seems to work well. Okay, another step closer to surgery.

Then I met back with Spine surgeon to review those referrals. He seemed positive that the General surgeon was on board but also reminded me of the complexity of the situation, and wanted to know where I stood as well. I told him, I’m ready. Flat out, I need to feel better. I need to gain weight. If there is even a slim chance of my stomach moving faster with a straight posture, then I want to do it. He then referred me to one more specialist: Plastic surgery.

The Plastic surgery appointment was yesterday. The purpose was to see how he could help in closing the eventual long incision I’d have going down my back. He was a really nice guy, and thorough. He checked out my back, but most of the appointment was him explaining the situation and us reviewing options. First, he reviewed the problem: “If we were to simply close you up, imagine a piece of metal just under your skin. Of course, it makes sense that in a small amount of time it could pierce through without fat or extra skin.” Right. That’s what happened after my first spinal fusion in 1993. The rods eventually broke through.

“Ideally,” he continued, “we would take skin from your flanks (sides) and use them as patches to lay over the wound. But since you have had prior surgeries, you have scars where I would normally take skin. And the other obvious concern is that where I would normally NOT take skin, you don’t have any to spare because of your weight loss.”

I ask, “What about tissue expansion, putting balloons under my skin?”

“Yes, I could do that, but did you know that any tissue that is gained from becoming inflated is half as thin as normal skin? So, unfortunately, it does not make sense to use that to cover a large incision. It would be like replacing the thin skin you have now with something even thinner.” Damn.

I said, “My sister asked me to ask this: can she or a family member–”

“Donate skin?” he interrupted. I nodded. “Is she your identical twin?” Nope. “Do you have an identical twin brother?” Nope. “Then, unfortunately, although family has the best intentions, you will reject any tissue that is not your own.”

“So I guess that rules out cadaver skin, too?” I ask. He agreed, and said cadaver skin is not used for that reason. Damn.

I ask, “How about synthetics? Is there some kind of lab-made fiber or sponge-like material that can be used as a skin replacement or padding?” He explained there ARE materials out there to add padding. But just about 1/8 inch or less. He said these materials are used for smaller wounds, in places that are not touched often, such as the back of the foot/calf. If he used synthetic material to cover a wound on my back, with hardware underneath, it would break down.

At the end he said, “I am sorry, Mr. Rodriguez, but as it is, I will have to advise your Spine surgeon that we delay the procedure. If you had another 20-30 pounds on you I could have more padding to work with and then I would be more confident in your healing after an event like surgery.”

“That’s exactly my problem. Gaining.” He only repeated his apology and said he understood. What more could he do?

Spinal fusion, option: GONE. And my gut instinct that my kyphosis was responsible for the slow stomach: irrelevant now.

So now my next option is to meet with the Gastro (digestion) surgeons/specialists and see what procedures they might have for me. And if they have nothing… then what? Time will tell.

I’ve got some fear, I’ve got some anger, but I ain’t got quit.

Download: Amazon // iTunes

How It Ends by DeVotchKa

Hold your grandmother’s Bible to your breast.
Gonna put it to the test.
You wanted it to be blessed.
And in your heart,
You know it to be true,
You know what you gotta do.
They all depend on you.
And you already know.
Yeah, you already know how this will end.

There is no escape,
From the slave-catchers’ songs.
For all of the loved ones gone.
Forever’s not so long.
And in your soul,
They poked a million holes.
But you never let ’em show.
C’mon it’s time to go.

And
You
Already know.
Yeah, you already know
How this will end.

Now you’ve seen his face.
And you know that there’s a place,
In the sun,
For all that you’ve done,
For you and your children.
No longer shall you need.
You always wanted to believe,
Just ask and you’ll receive,
Beyond your wildest dreams.

And
You
Already know.
Yeah, you already know
How this will end.

You already know (you already know)
You already know (you already know)
You already know (how this will end)

Still, I feel compelled to press on. I hope for surgery and a better outcome. The plain truth is I am disintegrating. I have been, for almost ten years. I can’t believe it’s been that long since my weight loss began. I’ve tried a LOT of stuff to gain, but so far nothing can actually make me digest any quicker. I’m withering. Doctors and I are on board that it’s a mechanical problem. Fix the back, and hopefully fix the stomach. If I do nothing, my back WILL continue to get worse. Gravity ain’t one to be messed with.

Despite my family life doing well, I still have tons of frustration dealing with my inability to gain or improve my physical condition. It’s terribly uncomfortable feeling “stuck.” And I’ve been stuck for years. I have to keep going; have to keep improving. If surgery is my shot then I must take it. I cannot quit. Not now. I want more.

What if I die? What if I’m walking into my own death sentence? I don’t want to die. I have to be a dad and a husband. A son and a brother. No, can’t think of death. You’ll make it. Don’t be stupid. You’ll be fine.

Funeral.

Tombstone.

Here Lies [Me].

Fuck. Stop that. What if I wake up like a vegetable? What if I’m quadriplegic? Wouldn’t death be the better option then? Shut up, you’re going to be okay. You’ll survive, like you always have. You press on, you keep going. You don’t give up. Right? Right?

I have so much to live for. So many things yet to see. A daughter to send off to college one day. I have to be around. I WILL be around. It’s time to strap on my boots and go in for the push. Screw being stuck. Enough of that. Keep fighting. Keep going. Don’t quit. You don’t know how.

Step 1: Make an incision on my (most likely) right side, across the ribs and under the arm.

Step 2: Crack a rib or two open (to make room for their instruments and maybe…hands…ugh).

Step 3: In that opening through my rib cage, they would then go in and move my organs to one side in order to get to the spine underneath. This would also mean moving my right lung over. Ouch.

Step 4: Plastic surgeon would then work on finding and removing as much scar tissue as possible. I have lots of useless scar tissue from previous surgeries. Scar tissue is brittle and only good for internal healing. It’s not at all helpful for surgeons.

Step 5: Once scar tissue is removed/reduced as much as possible down my spine, they will patch me up and close the wound.

Step 6: They’d begin a major incision down my spine, from the back this time.

Step 7: They’d identify two areas of my spinal column that do not yet appear fused. (This contradicts what a previous doctor told me. I thought my whole spine was fused but it’s not.)

Step 8: Surgeons would manipulate my spine so the angle of curvature is lessened at those two unfused points. Here’s an example drawing:

Step 9: Once my spine is significantly less curved, they would place a couple long metal rods parallel to my spine. The rods would then be anchored to my bone with hardware. Once done, the rods would extend from about the base of my neck to the beginning of my lumbar spine.

Step 10: Sew me up!

And now, here are some complications/issues to think about:

I have osteoporosis (low bone density). And the rods would need to be screwed/bolted straight into bone. What happens if the bone is not that solid? Doctors say it is an added challenge, but not impossible to work with.

I’m way underweight. How can I possibly recover well from such a traumatic surgery? Doctors agree on this. But there may be hope…through my veins. There’s a way to “feed” someone through the blood. It’s called Total Parenteral Nutrition, except in my case, it wouldn’t be TOTAL. I’d still eat as usual, but get extra calories through an IV bag. This treatment has it’s own set of risks, which I’m not sure about completely yet. But I will meet with a surgeon to discuss this possibility later.

I’m so underweight, there’s no padding on my back. So I’m concerned the wound itself will not heal properly. The surgeon said the skin IS thin, and suggested that a plastic surgeon would most likely be called in (not just to remove scar tissue) to evaluate skin health and discuss best ways to ease wound healing. I may need skin grafts (like patches) to lay over the wound. Or maybe balloon expanders under my skin before surgery. Ugh. I’ll know more when I see a plastic surgeon.

Other complications: Reduced lung function, paralysis, nerve damage, nerve pain, and… you guessed it… death. Oh, and of course the many unknown, unforeseen things life might throw me when I wake up. I also found about a condition that sometimes develops after spinal fusions, which is that stomach emptying slows down. Great. Just great. The surgery I’m having to straighten my back out and alleviate stomach issues may in fact CAUSE stomach issues. Still… it has been my gut feeling (pun intended) that my stomach is bad because of my back. If my back is fixed, I do believe my stomach will get better.

I also had an endoscopy recently, to continue investigating that sharp right abdominal pain I’ve been having. The results of the test were that I have gastritis, severe esophagitis, and a hiatal hernia. That explains the pain. I suspected a hernia, so at least I have an answer now. The doctor also took a biopsy of the tissue to evaluate for any growths or whatnot. I see the GI doctor in a few weeks. For now, she prescribed a different anti-spasm medication for the ab pain. The hernia, I’m sure, adds another complication to the spinal surgery. If I’ve got a piece of stomach sticking through my ab/diaphragm, and then surgeons start scooting my organs all over the place, I don’t need my stomach ripping or something. I’ll bring this up to them when I see them again.

Ah… lots to take in and think about. And I HAVE been thinking. But that’s for another post.

I don’t think I could care any less about top 40 pop hits. But that all changes when I see her dance. So, thanks kiddo, for replacing any disinterest I had in the music with your awesomeness. Now I’ll have your dance moves playing in my head whenever I hear these silly songs again. Perfect!

I kept searching for a new dispensary that would at least be the most affordable. My search went online, and soon, I found the website for All About Wellness. They had plenty of discounts and lower prices all around. My first visit was great, and the staff (from the security guard to reception to the budtenders) was all friendly. Without asking them for any discount, I was able to purchase a month’s supply of medicine for a very affordable price. I left that first visit knowing these folks would be my new refill center.

I continued visiting monthly and really appreciated how attentive and helpful the staff continued to be. I felt comfortable enough to let them know about my blog. The next time I visited, the owner and others let me know they had read my story, and without me asking, the owner offered me an extremely generous discount.

So, to Phil, and his awesome family/staff at All About Wellness… from my family and I:

Thank you!

Your compassion and generosity is too freaking cool, and a GREAT help and financial relief. To those legal SB420 patients in the area, please think about making these folks your new dispensary (if it’s not already). They deserve it.

Pulmonary function (lung health) test: Results show I’ve got “restrictive lung disease,” a fancy way of saying small lung capacity. This puts me at higher risk for infections like pnemonia, since my lungs do not have full coughing power (and junk can get stuck in a lung, then get infected). This also means a tougher time breathing clearly during allergy season. I got to say, though, the news was completely expected. Duh. Of course my lungs are low-powered. After all, they are housed inside of a tight, crammed, and curved rib cage. No surprises there. I’m also going to be referred to a lung specialist (so far I just took the lung exam), to discuss options for easier breathing.

Gastroenterologist (stomach/guts doctor): This lady seems like a bitch (hey, I calls em like I sees em). After describing again my eating/nausea/vomiting issues, as well as the newer right abdominal pain, she suggested a drug called Bentyl. Bentyl is a smooth muscle relaxer. Smooth muscles are things like the stomach/guts/some organs. She advised me to take it every 6 hours and see if the ab pain goes away. I gave it a three week trial and that little spot on my right side spasmed just like always. So I’m done with that drug now. Plus, I got to thinking… why would I take a stomach relaxer when I have a (somewhat) paralyzed stomach already? I only thought about that later, and I sent the doctor that question through an online patient messaging board. That was over 2 weeks ago and still no response. Like I said, she might be a bitch. I see her again in a month or so.

Spine clinic: Today I went back to the Spine Clinic for a follow-up. THIS doctor is cool. She takes her sweet time and always seems genuinely concerned. In fact, by the end of today’s appointment, her eyes were about to water. I think my real situation hit her. At one point, she asked if I was willing to consider a straightening surgery (ANOTHER spinal fusion) or if it was out of the question. I said I would listen to any option that might help.

It just so happened that the spinal surgeon was there today (he’s only there Wednesdays), so she asked him to come in and examine me. A few minutes later, he showed up and checked out my back, and also looked at my last CT scan and MRI on the computer. This wasn’t a formal appointment with him, so he did more thinking than talking, but he seemed almost confident some kind of fusion might work. I asked him, “What about working through and around all the scar tissue I must have? I’ve had 3 major spinal surgeries already…” His reply was, “Yeah, but that’s not the record.” I laughed when he said it because it was relieving. It was his way of telling me he’s operated on even more serious cases. At the same time, though, he was careful to not say too much, and he stressed it would be a definite challenge. He said he wanted to present my case before his colleagues at a conference. YES! That’s what I want, an actual team investigating and planning. I will see him again in early June for a real full-on consultation (and hopefully with a much better idea of possible surgical methods and the risks involved). He left the room saying he’d review my files and see me soon.

The lady doctor then sort of summarized my current situation. She said she knew surgery was a great risk for me, but at the same time, she knew what might happen if I don’t do anything. She also suspected (like I have for a long time) that the curvature of my back is itself a reason for my crappy stomach issues. Because of this, what if I CAN’T gain weight with a cramped and curved back/torso? I could tell it hurt her to realize the scope of the situation. This is when her eyes welled up. I knew what she knew: Do nothing now, and I will deteriorate with time and age until a surgery is inevitable. Do surgery now, and take advantage of the youth I still have for the road to recovery. But surgery means great risk.

What to do? For now, wait. Wait, and hope for the best as my case is reviewed by the surgical team. I am very glad this is happening. I’m sure once I know the details, I will move onto the next phase: fear, sadness, anger, torment.

But first comes relief. I’m finally going to be investigated by more than one monkey at a time. Phew.

My wife and I were recently married, and so naturally the idea of children came about eventually. I dreamed of having my own kids someday. But, I also tried avoiding any conversations about procreating. This is because I highly suspected I might be infertile due to the chemo/radiation treatments I had received, yet I didn’t want it to be official. I wanted to keep hope alive through denial and avoidance. But the question kept bugging me: Can I have kids?

And then I thought about what it was doing to my wife, the uncertainty. We needed to either accept bad news and move on, or realize good news and begin working to increase our family size. So I decided to take the leap and find out what I could from a doctor. A fertility doctor.

I remember the day of the appointment. I was nervous. I was mad. I was scared. I hoped for good news. It was a quick check-in at the clinic and pretty soon I was in the doctor’s room, waiting for the knock on the door. I remember I prayed silently. It was something like, “Please let there be some way… or please give me strength should it not be possible.”

KNOCK, KNOCK.

“Hi, Mr. [Chris], I’m Dr. Mynamedoesntmatter, how are you today…what brings you in?”

*Gulp* “I’m okay…” and I explained everything worked except…there’s no physical evidence (I was more candid with him, of course).

He then examined my “equipment” – embarrassing doctor moment #2,857. He told me of a condition where a male might seem infertile, but may actually be “depositing” in the bladder. One way to check for this condition is to “deposit”, and then urinate immediately after in a sterile cup. The cup is then screened for any mini-me tadpoles. He gave me a cup to take home, and I was to return in a few days with the same cup not so empty. In the few days between appointments, I kept hoping for me to be one of those guys that just deposited the wrong way.

Too soon, the day came for me to fill the cup. Within minutes, I was on my way to the same doctor’s office (“Make sure the sample is as fresh as possible!” he said). I arrived at the clinic and sat in the waiting room, holding a crumpled brown sandwich bag with a little yellow cup inside. “Think positive, Chris. You’ll be cool. Life will find a way. Cancer hasn’t taken everything.”

“Mr. Chris [R]!,” called a lady in white clothes.

Ugh. I was up and on my way towards the nurse who eventually brought me back to the actual doctor room. The doctor took way too long to knock on the door this time. He also showed up way too soon. I wasn’t ready.

“Nice to see you again, Chris. Do you have the sample this morning?”

I handed him the cup. Right away he said, “Hm, doesn’t look cloudy at all… BUT, let’s take a much closer look.”

My heart sank. It was because he said it with such certainty, and with great compassion. “Oh great, he’s being honest AND sincere…not a good sign,” I thought.

Next, he prepared the sample for viewing under a microscope. He looked in the eyepieces and explained as he was observing. He said it looked like a perfectly good sample…of urine. No tadpoles. He even let me take a look. I looked through the scope and there it was: a barren, clear yellow wasteland. Diluted apple juice. No mini-mes wriggling around. Not even dead ones. Not even misshapen little mutant ones.

My heart sank further. I went numb. “If I’m not depositing the normal way, and not the abnormal way either… then it’s over.”

He asked me to take a seat in the normal chair (not the exam table) and wheeled his stool near me so we were face to face. With a warm and supportive tone, he looked me in the eyes and began:

“You know, Chris, you have been through so much for a man your age. You are a fighter. Unfortunately, many men treated with chemotherapy often lose the ability to produce sperm. The reproductive organs tend to be highly sensitive to such types of treatment. In your case, you were treated at a very young age, while you were still very much in development. This further complicates the after effects. After discussing your history with you, reviewing your charts, blood work, and especially based on my physical exam and analysis, I do believe this is the case for you.”

No…no…say something else…It’s not true.

He continued, “The wonderful thing is you are young, and have a life ahead of you. Many families find true fulfillment in options, such as adoption. Your love for your child will be true and you will be no less a father than anyone who claims so by their genes.”

Oh god, he’s consoling me! It’s real. It cant be. This is a cruel joke. It has to be.

But it wasn’t. I couldn’t make a mini-me. Cancer was laughing at me. It was still sticking its knife in me. Even when it was no longer in my body.

I went home in a numb haze. Then anger began thawing the numbness. And soon, I was seething. Another defeat. And a cruel defeat. A harsh realization came to me: Nature would have killed me long ago. I am irrelevant in the genetic pool. I cried for the death of my never-to-be children. I cursed at the humiliation I felt. What is a man if he can’t procreate?

I was miserable. I felt inadequate. Incomplete. A deep, angry, sadness.

However, although I grieved painfully, it hardly lasted long.

It would have, I’m sure, had I been single. But I wasn’t alone. I sulked for about a day, and that was it.

Once I calmed down from the sad/bad news, I thought about how interesting and rare it was when life’s rough edges seem to smooth themselves out. In my case, I randomly met and fell in love with a sweet lady who was a single mom. Together, we slowly introduced her daughter into our relationship. Before I even realized it, I loved the little rug rat. I gained a daughter. I met her when she was 2, and back then she called me “Chris.” After a while, she chose on her own to call me by a different name. I became “Dad” and I loved it. Eventually, I was married and she became my official daughter. I love her.

Everything the doctor said was accurate. My love for my daughter is true, unbreakable, and immeasurable. I know what I have, and I intend to hold onto it. She is a reason to live, to fight, to hope, to improve, to teach, to inspire, to love, to laugh, and to keep getting back up. Being a dad can also be boring and stressful at times, but the highs are amazing. She has allowed me the gift of experiencing what has got to be one of life’s ultimate peaks of happiness. To feel pride in my daughter is to be introduced to a level of gratitude and admiration I did not know existed before fatherhood.

Before I met my daughter, I had begun to feel my body was betraying me, and my spirits were down. Then, she and her mom came into my life and allowed me to see and feel love like never before. They were the genesis of my awakening, and the shedding of my anger and silence.

Genetics, shmenetics.

What do memories know or care about blood, anyway?

What does love know of DNA?

But most importantly of all: Who does my girl know as Dad? ME. And THAT is something beautiful and magical for this man who cannot have kids.

Yesterday, my sister’s dear friend passed away. His name was Jay, and he was a cancer WARRIOR. I was not very close to him, but felt connected to him through my sister, and – even more so – through the strength and goodwill he showed as a survivor.

I miss him, as I know many others do as well. My heart is also with Jay’s wife, Robin, who has demonstrated an amazing spirit and support for her Captain.

Love to you BOTH, Robin and Jay.

(Just Breathe by Pearl Jam)

When you dream, your sense of time can be a lot different than your sense of time when you are awake. For instance, you might dream for what seems like a day, only to wake up and realize a half hour has passed. I know I’ve had dreams that feel like they span months, or even a lifetime. They are like collages of memories I never had, mixed with the usual dream weirdness that pops up.

I know that those long dreams can only really last several minutes in the waking world. We only dream in REM state, and we’re only in REM for minutes at a time (that part IS based on science).

What if your mind had the ability to dream, in the seconds before your own death? Obviously, this wouldn’t be an option for some folks with sudden or otherwise horrendously distracting deaths.

But if you did have the opportunity to think in your final moments, what if your own dream could save you? What if you had a clear image of your own version of paradise? What if you held onto that dream/image as you exhaled for the last time?

Would your mind hold onto that image and stretch it out, like our dreams hold onto to their images? What if your brain could bend your sense of time so much, that in its final act, it could hold your dream for an eternity? An eternity, that for everyone else, would last as long as your final sigh?

Do you think we CAN imagine our way to eternal peace and happiness? I hope so.

I even have a detailed vision of what my own final thought would be (if I have the opportunity). It is my own personal version of paradise, and I’m keeping it in my back pocket, just in case.