Trouble Times Two

Cause We've Ended as Lovers

2011-01-04T20:22:00.006-05:00

In late November 2007, guitar legend Jeff Beck and his band played for a week at Ronnie Scott's jazz club in London. Jimmy Page, Eric Clapton, Robert Plant, and other music stars gathered to hear Beck's club set. Jeff was understandably nervous playing before such a notable crowd, for whom the night was full of surprises.

In the early seventies, Stevie Wonder wrote Superstition with Jeff Beck. Since Stevie first recorded the song, originally considered for Beck, he offered the guitarist Cause We've Ended as Lovers as an alternative. The song was included in the album Blow by Blow and is now widely associated with Jeff's solo guitar. That album was my introduction to Beck's playing and I followed his career through the next few albums. I stopped listening for a while after Here and Back, an innovative collection featuring the songs and talents of keyboardist Tony Hymas.

Tonight, I watched Jeff and band perform for the ninth or tenth time on the Live at Ronnie Scott's DVD. The performance was remarkable in many ways -- from Jeff's power on Led Boots, to his technical mastery on Scatterbrain, to his introverted shadow on Angel. I saw his show last year at The Fillmore in New York City and still cannot figure out how he makes such diverse sounds without many electronics -- and I was standing five feet away from him! The DVD represents the holy grail to jazz fusion enthusiasts. Nothing in my mind surpasses this version of Cause We've Ended as Lovers.

The 2007 tour featured seasoned-musician Vinnie Colauita on drums (from Frank Zappa's Joe's Garage days). Vinnie makes me work when I listen -- he doesn't always show you where is one (the first note of the measure). His polyrhythms force the musical listener to keep the beat and find one for yourself. I'm sure it was a lot of work for Jeff and other band members as well. Jason Rebello fit well into a long line of accomplished keyboardists who played with Jeff; Max Middleton, Stevie Wonder, Jan Hammer, and Tony Hymas. Rounding out the quartet was Tal Wilkenfeld, an incredible Australian beauty (in looks, in attitude, in technique) on the bass.

Cause We've Ended as Lovers started lovely and tastefully, like the album version which was dedicated to guitar great Roy Buchanan. Then, Jeff pointed to Tal for her to take a solo. Being a musician (and nowhere near these artists' universe), I appreciate watching the onstage communication between band members. Much of the time, players can not use their hands. They use facial expressions and eye contact to communicate their reaction to what is happening, where they are going in a song, and the desire to go completely off the map. Jeff had no idea that is exactly what Tal would do in a two-minute solo when he pointed at her. Come, watch the video with me.

The solo starts off nicely enough -- very melodic, using more of the fretboard than you can believe with Tal's small hands. Vinnie is adding tasteful fills using brushes that compliment her artistry. About a minute into the solo, Jason adds flavor to the C-minor progression with a B-flat minor 7 chord -- something unexpected, just once. Tal responds and the crowd applauds the riffs she is playing. Jeff raises his hands in praise. The energy from Jeff and the room spurs Tal to new sonic heights. She drops down from the upper part of the neck and plays a series of chromatic phrases that build like a Chick Corea solo. Jeff is even more amazed as the crowd screams their approval. At the end of two minutes, she works her way back down the fretboard to end on a decisive C note. She looks up at Jeff as if to say, "There. Pretty good, eh?"

Jeff is amazed... he hardly knows how to follow this solo. The bar is raised and he must reply. The guitarist hunkers down and gets serious, delivering an artistic message that has music-heads pointing and trying to figure out just how he does it. Guitar, drums, bass, keyboards. The crowd, the palpable energy. The yin and the yang. It brings tears to my eyes every time I see it.

Going Forward -- Turning Back

2010-10-15T23:59:00.001-04:00

I started a blog posting (actually, I completed it) while I was in Tampa last Thursday while drinking scotch and watching "A Perfect Storm." For some reason, my Blackberry app failed to write the blog to this site. As usual, it was good that it happened.

The business trip went okay, but the evening did not go well. I cooked my own food (well, I microwaved it) and thought that I'd do fine. There must have been something in the processed beef, chicken, and/or gravy that affected my system. It surely could not have been the scotch.

Now, I have another chance to write what I wanted to say. It has been stewing in my brain for over a week and it is clearer to me now. It is about energy.

For as long as I can remember, I have remained calm and focused during a crisis. I tell my friends to watch out when it is over, though -- that's when I fall apart. This predicament in which Dorothy and I live is now a year old. For me, it has been months and months of intense focus -- firstly on surviving the chemo and radiation, then on living with an ileostomy, and finally on learning to use my insides again. Energy was directed toward activites to take my mind off the pain and humiliation -- recording and producing a CD, getting work done, etc. This last phase is taking longer than I predicted. Things are getting better, and I note the progress that is made week-to-week. But, I'm not finished healing. I wish I were.

My emotions live close to the surface now. In addition to the obvious reason -- surviving cancer treaments -- they signal the "after time" when I typically fall apart. This time, I feel more like it signals a turn back to an earlier time.

You see, my emotions used to run near the surface. I never saw that as a flaw, but much of the world did. I learned self control, which can be a good thing. Self control involved wearing a mask to filter out pain and my real responses to it. I put on mask upon mask, becoming innoculated against a dog-eat-dog world. Like chemotherapy, the mask blocks good as well as bad. I am steady as a rock, and, as Paul Simon wrote, "a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries." A land mass never says, "I love you."

In addition to experiencing more feelings, I move slower. People used to complain that I walked too fast. I was conscious of the fact, and I did it because I could. My body felt good -- I was 55
going on 27. Now, I feel like I'm 56 going on 57. That, too, is not a bad thing. I knew that things would change, so I tested my body by whitewater rafting, mountain climbing, biking, and hiking. When Dorothy and I walked through the woods, I would be on a hike and she would be on a nature walk. I wanted to feel my breathing and my heart pounding in my chest. She would stop to notice flowers, insects, and wildlife. I missed it all, but I felt good. Now, I want to walk beside Dorothy so she can point out what she sees -- what one can see when one looks closely at the world.

I have been out of balance for too long -- ignoring the yin for the yang. I want to relearn how to be part of the world around me. To reawaken the artist in me. You will soon be able to hear Blue Moon Revue's new CD, "It's About Time." You'll hear a lot of feeling that I never knew I was laying down on the tracks. My body is nearly finished healing, but my spirit has a long way to go.

Giving Care

2010-08-12T21:01:00.000-04:00

No other act of love can compare

To putting one’s life on hold for another

Be thankful to those who love and give care

Those who anticipate pain and who repair

The things distracted nurses didn’t bother

No other act of love can compare

Who carefully weigh the feelings they will share
And the personal pain they will smother
Be thankful to those who love and give care

To be a friend, a father, a brother
No other act of love can compare

To soothe with warm, soft strokes through hair
Like a sister, like a mother
Be thankful to those who love and give care

The person who could be anywhere
But here, and chose to share
No other act of love can compare
Be thankful to those who love and give care

The Final Season

2010-07-23T01:16:00.000-04:00

It has been 2 months since my last post. I'm sure that breaks some sort of blogging rule (post often if you want people to visit your site, or something like that). Don't worry, dear reader. My absence was due to the fact that I was enjoying life and not sitting in front of a computer. I'll catch you up...

An ileostomy is not something I would wish on someone else, but one can get used to it. There were some advantages -- mainly that I had advanced notice when it was time to take care of myself (empty the pouch, etc.) The disadvantage came when the darn thing leaked at inopportune times. I was always prepared, so there were no embarassing episodes to report. I struggled most with how to dress. The pouch was attached to the right of my navel, about an inch down. I could wear my pants on the hips with an untucked shirt, or above the waist (a "chestie" as we used to call it). I preferred the former, but such a casual look was not appropriate in all business settings.

I made the mistake about a month ago of searching the internet for information regarding the upcoming phase -- ileostomy reversal. What I found was a mixture of fact and fiction that surprised and depressed me. My vision consisted of about 2 days in the hospital and one to one-and-a-half weeks home from work followed by full functionality. Why did I think that this phase would be any easier than the others?

In truth, I spent 3 days in the hospital passing much too easily the all-liquid diet I consumed, followed by 2 weeks at home trying to regulate my system. Folks, don't take your sphincter muscle for granted. It performs a valuable service, allowing you to "hold it" much of the time and to "go" at regular intervals. Imagine that it did not serve you in this capacity and you'll know what I am experiencing at this phase. I asked Dr. B the surgeon how long it will take until my bowels function normally again. "Weeks? Months?" I asked. "Weeks. Months." was his reply.

You know by now that I don't take these things lying down (actually, I do take them lying down but I am not defeated). So, what will I do about the situation? On the one hand, I will watch my diet. Dr. B prescribed probiotics to replace the natural flora in my digestive system. The right combination of soluble and insoluble fiber will help me digest my food and maintain the right consistency of poo (a medical term for poop).

On the other hand, I will start exercising my PC muscles. Yes, Dorothy, there are Kegel exercises for men. They are the same exercises used by women after they give birth to strengthen the abdominal floor muscles. According to my research, men use Kegels to solve a variety of problems. Urinary incontinence is a primary reason, followed by fecal incontinence. AskMen.com states that Kegels will also help me "control [my] orgasms and ejaculations and last for longer." That's the bonus -- the icing on the cake. In a few weeks, when I have strengthened my PC muscles, I will not only be a "regular" guy, but I will also "be able to hold up a wet towel with [my] erection."

Now that's something I couldn't do before.

I am Thankful Today

2010-05-20T12:28:00.000-04:00

I am thankful today for:

Friends, coworkers, and family members who keep me from going off the deep end.
Manufacturers of pouches (Hollister, Nu-Hope, etc.) who continually redesign their products to make them discreet, comfortable, and easy to clean and replace.
Medical professionals who combine expertise with empathy, going against the charted course when it makes sense to do so when the patient is breaking down.
Food Faeries who offered their tasty cooking so that we could feed the family while we were down and out.
The desire to live a long life and the willingness to do whatever it takes to live one.

I am especially thankful for Dorothy, who lifts me up even though she bears a heavy burden herself. It is good to hear her laugh as much as she does these days. We've both been through a lot and still have a few hurdles to jump. But, all-in-all, our home is a happy place. I'd hate to admit it, but having a new kitten helps.

The Marriage of True Minds

2010-04-25T11:34:00.000-04:00

In 1983, I was at a loss to write a song for our wedding. I pored through love poems and readings. One night during dinner I jumped from the table and wrote a song based upon a Shakespeare sonnet (#116). His words are copied below... they are truer for us now than they were when Sharon Martin sung them at our wedding. Gerry and I are recording a Blue Moon Revue CD -- I am hoping that Suzi Eldridge will sing a beautiful rendition of this wedding song.
(BTW -- a bark is a ship.)

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.


Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.


William Shakespeare

Love Note

2010-04-13T23:48:00.000-04:00

Humans are the most unformed creatures
When they are expelled, kicking and screaming,
Into the world.

Still shapeless, they unite with each other
To bring another generation, clawing at the air,
Into their lives.

I was formless when you took me in
And pledged your troth, glistening and hot,
Forever and ever.

Forever and ever and ever.
Through sickness and health, not to destroy,
But to build up.

How could I know the turmoil
Life had in store, crouching in the dark,
Waiting to pounce?

How could I know that you,
Of all the women in the world, would be
The one to stand by my side?

We face the world together.
Nothing in all its animal rage can
Defeat us now.

In the end you and I
Walk slowly and carefully, arm in arm,
Into a forest

Teeming with life and sound.
Aware of the power, subtle and strong,
To complete each other.

Endurance

2010-04-05T12:32:00.000-04:00

MEN WANTED: FOR HAZARDOUS JOURNEY. SMALL WAGES, BITTER COLD, LONG MONTHS OF COMPLETE DARKNESS, CONSTANT DANGER, SAFE RETURN DOUBTFUL. HONOUR AND RECOGNITION IN CASE OF SUCCESS.

- SIR ERNEST SHACKLETON

The third season arrived about 2 weeks ago. Immediately after surgery, I was trapped in a hospital bed with nutrition, pain and waste managed through medical tubes. For a couple of days, there was no need to leave the bed. By Day Three, the "self-serve" dilaudid was replaced with oxycodone (probably a good idea). On Day Five, I went home. Like Shackleton's ship, I am trapped in Subarctic ice.

Forward progress is blocked. The pressure of unforgiving circumstances forces cracks in a normally sea-worthy hull. I would prefer to do nothing. But, knowing that inaction will lead to disaster, I force myself to do the things that assure my survival -- move, drink, eat, sleep, take meds, make music, interact with others.

I watch videos on Youtube that show how others cope with ileostomies. I joined an "ostomates" social network. I see and read how others normalize their existence while wearing a pouch. The more I see, the less I want to be a member of their club. Shackleton and his crew voluntarily sailed into the Antarctic -- I had less choice about my journey. Still, I willingly head in the direction of a warmer future.

Shackleton and his crew had to leave the ship behind as it was swallowed by the thawing pack ice.

"Thus, after a year's incessant battle with the ice, we had returned........to almost the same latitude we had left with such high hopes and aspirations twelve months previously; but under what different conditions now! Our ship crushed and lost and we ourselves drifting on a piece of ice at the mercy of the winds"

Shackleton, On New Year's Eve 1915

Some of the crew undertook a momentous journey, battling frigid temperatures and a raging sea, while the others waited on Elephant Island. Shackleton returned 105 days later to rescue the survivors, who were all well.

"..... we had entered a year and a half before with well-found ship, full equipment, and high hopes. We had 'suffered, starved and triumphed, groveled down yet grasped at glory, grown bigger in the bigness of the whole.' We had seen God in His splendours, heard the text that Nature renders. We had reached the naked soul of man"

The naked soul of man. I, too, feel stripped of the daily masks I wear to appear hale and hearty to my shipmates on this voyage. Underneath lies uncertainty, sadness and inertia. Yet, as the captain of my own ship, I must sight the stars when possible and, when impossible, proceed by dead reckoning. Seasons change, pack ice melts, storms calm. I will set a sail and mind the tiller. I will catch the same wind that churns the sea and navigate out of this inhospitable region.

The name of Shackleton's ship? The Endurance.

When We Used to Camp

2010-03-28T12:21:00.000-04:00

You can find me at home these days, completing a crossword puzzle, reading a magazine, or snoozing. Snoozing is a wonderful thing that we don't experience often enough. It is different from sleeping, though.

Sleeping usually takes place in bed in a horizontal position. Dorothy sleeps a lot during her chemo weeks -- the buildup of drugs is dragging her down. I can sleep, too, for about 8 hours. Then, my body wants to get up and move.

Snoozing or cat napping happens spontaneously in any position. Our pillow-back living room furniture is very comfortable. One can put one's head back and be "asnooze" within seconds. It is not the furniture to choose when you want to read Tolstoy's War and Peace or a college textbook. It is good furniture for reading a short story or slogging through a crossword puzzle.

When we used to camp, before kids, Dorothy and I would bring our lounge chairs and a few good books. We would set the chairs in the middle of a clearing if it was cool or in the shade of towering pine trees if it was warm. We would read, fall asleep, read, fall asleep until it was time to make dinner.

Now that was a vacation. Happy snoozing!

Like a Magnet

2010-03-21T11:40:00.000-04:00

The future draws me toward it like a magnet draws iron. Tuesday, I will start the winter season -- one of isolation. To many, this time is to be kept at a distance. Avoided, if possible. It attracts me and creates a strange anticipation. It is coming, no doubt, like tomorrow's weather. I see anvil-shaped clouds in the distance and I can't help but wonder what they will bring.

I have weathered storms like this before -- hernia surgery as a teenager and gall bladder removal in my forties. The pain is familiar and I know that it will pass. The unknown factor will be the ileostomy (look that one up). I feel no fear, but uncertainty about what it will be like to have my body altered in such a way.

No matter what the future brings, it will be different from today. And that is what pulls me into it. I am curious about what I will feel and how I will adapt. I do not anticipate dread and sorrow. In fact, I am not aniticipating anything at all. It will be what it will be.

Today is beautiful. I feel great. There are storm clouds on the horizon and they are full of awesome, healing power. I wonder what kind of tempest they will bring. I am waiting...

85 Percent

2010-03-01T23:18:00.000-05:00

People have been asking me about my health. I give the same answer to each person, "I'm getting better every day. I'm about 85% back to normal." I would wonder what that meant if someone told me that. Here is how I arrived at 85%.

My stamina is not all there. For example, I took the bus downtown today for work. I walked from the Charles Street Metro Station to the office on Pratt Street (about 3 blocks) and used the stairs part of the time. My leg muscles ache -- I never had that problem before. I was hanging pictures and things in the bedroom last weekend and I had to take a rest after a couple of hours. I climbed the ladder (many times) to remove ice from our gutters a couple of weekends ago. I got sore from that. I need to face the fact that I'm not in shape (yet).

My colon is almost back to normal, but it still rules the roost every once in a while. It has greatly improved over the "discomfort" I felt during the chemo and radiation (85%?), but it is not operating at 100% predictability (yet).

I am playing guitar again and singing (my voice is about... you guessed it). I can stand and play for an hour or so, but need to sit down after that. I haven't taken up the trumpet again (yet).

By March 22, I'm sure I will be 100% back in shape -- just in time for the operation on 3/23.

BTW -- Dorothy is doing okay. She still struggles through the chemo weeks, but it seems to be a predictable struggle. Not fun, but not full of surprises either. Keep sending good vibrations.

Season Two

2010-01-28T17:15:00.000-05:00

When conditions become harsh, trees begin to shed their leaves as they prepare for winter. The tree does not mourn the death of its leaves, nor do we. Leaves change color, die and fall from the tree so that the tree may live.

The cancer that clings to me is dying. Radiation results are very good -- there is little noticable evidence of a tumor. By the end of autumn (on March 23), there may be no sign of it at all. Dr. S will operate anyway, but I may not lose as much surrounding tissue. Winter (being trapped) may only last two weeks. I may be reborn in April -- just in time for spring.

The tree does not mourn the death of its leaves, nor do we...

End Season One

2010-01-21T14:00:00.000-05:00

I decided that my journey is like the turning of the seasons; summer, fall, winter, spring -- battling, dying, being trapped, and being reborn. Today ends Season One - Summer. These seasons do not fit into neat, 13-week boxes like Earth's seasons do. Nor do their order and place correlate with the current season (winter now in Baltimore). They do not represent the best that the seasons have to offer. But, they are my seasons and this is how they seem to me.

SUMMER
Summer lasted six weeks, a hot and relentless summer when simple things became effortful. Daily chemicals and radiation caused some parts to swell with anger, fighting for their ability to grow and take over. Other parts were deprived of the soothing balm of natural fluids. Throbbing anger and arid desert to be persevered on a regular basis. Sometimes, it required intense focus to take the next step: with waves of heat radiating through the soles of my feet. At other times, the battle took a siesta and I was able to feel cooling shade and an easy mind. I could be productive then. Luckily for me, the siesta time outweighed the battle time (which I knew was always there waiting for me). The soldiers rested and healed, only to be torn apart again during the next battle. Now I understand why people say they are "battling" cancer. We have an amazing array of bombs and weapons to unleash on the enemy. They have a history of coming back anyway. So we do what we can without destroying the host. Shock and awe.

Tomorrow starts Fall, a time when we wait for the enemy to succomb to the harsh environment we created for them. Their sustenance dries up and their troops are not able to replicate. A time of dying -- for them.

Interestingly, the piece of music that I listened to and heard in my head the most during this season was "Close to the Edge" by Yes. The final verse echoed in my mind at least once a day.

Close to the edge, down by the river.

Down at the end, round by the corner.

Seasons will pass you by,

Now that it's all over and done,

Called to the seed, right to the sun.

Now that you find, now that you're whole.

Seasons will pass you by.

I get up, I get down.

I get up.

Thank you, friends and family for helping me to bear the summer.

A Little Rest is Good for the Body and Soul

2010-01-07T16:53:00.000-05:00

Thank goodness for a long break from radiation. I keep in mind that the past two weeks were 4-days long with the holidays. Even so, they were just bearable with side effects that you don't want me to describe. I will say that I have a pain in the ass most of the time (Dorothy would say the same thing, but then she'd be talking about me). Dr. C, the radiation oncologist, gave me an extra 2 days without radiation -- making this weekend a 5-day break. The additional time allowed my body to heal some and my mind to heal more.

Since everyone deals with chemo and radiation indifferent ways, we must experiment to find what works. Here is what I am finding:

Lots of water -- I stepped up my water intake at the beginning of radiation, but I don't think that constituted drinking a LOT of water. Now, I drink much more and it seems to help my tissues stay hydrated.
A "regular" diet -- I talked about this before. Enough fiber to keep everything moist. Enough carbs and calories to keep me energized during the day.
Rest -- I can take a nap at any time. It amazes me how quickly I can fall into a deep sleep. I feel best when I am horizontal.
Sitz baths -- but not too hot. I think I was scalding myslef in the beginning, creating more distress than I was relieving.
Mineral oil -- to replace the natural lubrication that I seem to be missing. About 15 ml at night helps things work properly (thanks, Jeannie, for getting me to think about this).
Limited liftimg -- even weights over 5 pounds cause a strain and some untintended consequences. I'll get the kids to do the power lifting.

Even with all the precautions listed above, life is no picnic. But it is bearable. I have another 2 weeks of chemo and radiation, then I get to heal for 5-6 weeks before Dr. S operates. I should start feeling better during that time.

Thanks for all your kind words and thoughts dear friends, family, and neighbors. Dorothy is doing okay this week -- it is an "off-chemo" week for her. Keep up the good wishes.

Ugh! What a Week.

2009-12-31T15:01:00.000-05:00

I know I've been out of touch with my blog lately -- it's been that kind of a week. The "low residue diet" didn't work so well for me. Apparently, the colon strains to get out what little residue is in there. That leads to painful "polyps" (a politer word than 'roids). So, I'm on something called a "regular diet," which I haven't experienced for a while. It has protein, fiber AND carbs in it. Meat and vegetables with white potatoes... sounds familiar. I think I achieved that happy balance between watery and solid. Now, if I could just get the rest of my "gluteal fold" pains to go away. The skin is just plain raw. Oxycodone helps.

Dorothy started her 3rd round of chemo this week -- including the Eloxatin that we eliminated in the 2nd round (but still without the steroid). She is noticing no unexpected side effects, but the expected ones are pretty strange. She says that the cold radiates outward from her bones -- an unusual feeling, I'm sure. Also, when she drinks even room-temperature water it "crystallizes" in her mouth. She never ate Pop Rocks, so she can't compare the feeling -- but it sounds like Pop Rocks to me. Other than that, she is tired, nauseated, achy, and has a little headache. Pretty normal stuff for chemo.

We had a nice, low-key (B flat, I believe) holiday. Thanks to Scott and Karen for bringing all the food (those of you who know Karen know what "all the food" means). To be fair, it was less this time than all the food in the world (just kidding). We plan to spend another low-key (C sharp) New Years Eve with Kristen Strader's family (Ryan's girlfriend).

So far, the "food faeries" are working out (I am glad, though, that Dorothy's mother brought corn chowder Monday night -- the faerie didn't arrive until 8:30 or so).

HAPPY NEW YEAR to everyone. I hope your 2010 is full of good surprises.

Get Out the Fat Pants Again!

2009-12-23T15:19:00.000-05:00

It took me years to rethink my concept of food. During that time, I continued to gain weight thinking that I could just lower my fat intake and shed pounds like I did when I was 40. Two years ago, I hit 206 pounds -- 6 pounds over my never-want-to-weigh-that-much upper limit. That was enough, so I tried the South Beach Diet. I took to the diet like a whale takes to water -- extending the 2-week Phase One period to a month long. I did not struggle with eliminating "bad" carbs and processed foods from my diet. A few months and minus-thirty pounds later, I met my "interim" goal. I kept the weight off during last year's holiday season, so I was prouder than ever. This year, it all fell apart.

We ended up in the Northwest Hospital's ER when Dorothy experienced severe stomach pain in late October. Less than a month later, we found ourselves back in the ER after a colonoscopy that found a "small" malignant growth near her appendix and after she experienced more severe pain. I started eating (good) hospital food and other "comfort" food. Dorothy's operation went well to remove what turned out to be a fist-sized mass from her colon (T3N0M0 for you experts). It was 1mm from breaking through the colon wall. Whew! At least Dorothy was able to slim down to less than 150 pounds -- her target weight for a long time. I, however, gained a few pounds.

We thought we were in the clear -- that she would not need chemotherapy -- because they removed all of the tumor. Then came the week of surprises.

On Friday, the oncologist (Dr. K) mapped out a chemotherapy regimen for Dorothy that included infusion every 2 weeks for 6 months. We were quite surpised by this, but Dr. K explained that the narrow margin (1mm), her family history, and her young age indicated that chemo would help. I found out that, without it, she would have an 80% to 90% chance of living beyond 5 years. The chemo will increase those odds to nearly one hundred percent. We ate at Martha and Mary's Restaurant on the way home to comfort ourselves.

On Tuesday, Dr. C told me after a routine colonoscopy that I had a problem and sent me to see Dr. S, the colo-rectal surgeon. The day was like a bad dream, but it only lasted a day. After much prodding and testing, the good news was that the tumor had not spread. The bad news, I suspect, is that it is located near the lower part of my rectum (I wish I could find a better word for that). So, I started chemo plus radiation for 6 weeks to shrink the tumor. To put it bluntly, Dr. S is trying to save my ass.

Dorothy's first week of chemo went poorly and we spent another night in the ER and 5 more days in the hospital. I did what I could to keep my strength up for long days of sitting in the chair beside her bed. Thank goodness the next round went better -- she is generally tired and a little nauseous, but otherwise okay.

We have been fortunate to have food delivered by the Food Faeries over the past few weeks. We have eaten well -- thank you, Lisa and the Food Faeries. Too well, if you ask me. They are weighing me weekly now and I am up to 190 pounds!

I am starting to experience some problems "down there" and I am now on a low-residue diet. Do you know what that means? White potatoes, rice, pasta -- all the things I trained myself not to eat while on South Beach! It is the Anti-South Beach Diet. The radiation oncologist and others want me to maintain my weight throughout the treatment. If I knew that, I would have kept a low baseline (maybe 180 pounds). They tell me that I will end up losing weight when all is said and done. I hope so -- there must be some silver lining to all this.

In the meantime, I still have my fat pants.

Proud to be a Del-Ray

2009-12-15T21:38:00.000-05:00

I played the trumpet for 20 years, until I was in my late twenties. Symphonies, quartets, funk, jazz, blues, concert bands -- I enjoyed playing whenever someone gave me the chance. I enjoyed it, but it seemed to take so much work keeping my emboucher (that is, lip) in shape. I switched to guitar at that time -- it was more forgiving.

Not long ago, I subscribed to a musician's page in my area in order to find people with whom I could jam. I was surprised to be approached by the Del-Rays -- yes, that's right, the Del-Rays.

First of all, that is the coolest name I ever heard for a band. It reminds me of the surf guitar player Dick Dale. Jack, the former-bass-player-turned-keyboardist, contacted me and gave me their history -- they played the Baltimore circuit from the late 60s into the 70s, broke up, and recently reformed. They found all the original members -- Jack, Frank, Paul, and Dick -- except for the trumpet player and the sax player. He asked if I would play trumpet for them. I said, "Sure," and started practicing.

They played a great mix of music -- from Joe Zawinul to Sam and Dave to Wilson Pickett to James Brown -- it sounded great to me. I listened to arrangements and wrote out horn parts for me and the soon-to-be-found sax player. After a few weeks, we were ready for our first practice.

We had a great time, although the drummer Dick just had a cardiac catheterization. He wasn't allowed to drum, so we tried using programmed tracks from the keyboard. It didn't work so well, so Dick drummed with his good side -- he was not bad for a one-sided drummer. I learned that I was the youngest member at 55 years old. The others ranged in age from 61 to 72! I felt like a kid, and I knew who would be carrying most of the equipment.

We haven't been able to practice again. We set a date soon after Dorothy returned home from the hospital, but Jack's stomach problems got worse. We set another date, but my cancer treatments might get in the way. What a group we are!

I propose a new facility, called "The Del-Ray Convalescent Center and Concert Hall." We could all move there and get care for our ailments as we need it. When we are healthy, we could wheel over to the concert hall for practice. Everything would be set up for us. The entire facility would be funded by having big-name acts play at the hall -- Chicago, Hall and Oates, Simon and Garfunkel. It would be safe for them -- medical assistance will be readily available. (By the way, that's not Jack in the photo on the right.)

One day we will practice again. Who knows, we may even play a gig. Of course, it would need to start at 7:00 and end at 9:00 so we can get our rest. We're not getting any younger.

Bittersweet

2009-12-12T12:50:00.000-05:00

Today is December 12 and it is bittersweet. It is Michael's (Dorothy's brother's) birthday and we try to get our holiday tree around this date. So today, we will have fun and go tree hunting. It is also a sad day because Michael died almost 2 years ago in a motorcycle accident. He was working in Texas to provide for his family, who was living in Georgia. Bittersweet.

I am also a bit down today. Last night's gig at Ze Mean Bean in Fells Point went very well. Gerry and I (Blue Moon Revue, see us at www.myspace.com/heartherevue) sounded good. Jack, from the Del-Rays, came to listen and said that we sounded better than the Everly Brothers. That's quite a compliment (more on the Del-Rays later).

I joke about the chemo pump and its complications, but I am realizing that the pump and I will be attached to each other until mid-January. This is the path I chose -- to wear the pump continuously throughout the radiation period. The ultimate goal is to reduce the tumor so that, when Dr. S operates, I will not need to wear a colostomy bag for the rest of my life. I am trading one inconvenience for another.

It reminds me of my father, who spend his final years attached to an oxygen tube. The kids and I joked about the "tssst" sound made by the regulator and how Granddad could never sneak up on people. I have tubing attached to me and my pump makes a sound every 2 minutes or so (I finally traced it -- it is the sound an automatic toilet makes just before it flushes). I can sneak up on people if I do it quickly.

I empathize with my Dad's loss of dignity and why he chose not to venture out with his oxygen (fanny) pack and the regulator that went "tssst." I know some of the feelings he experienced as medical devices worked to extend his life and mobility.

There is one difference. His glide path was toward that ultimate end that we all must face in our lives. Mine is toward a healthy outcome and many more years before the final trajectory.

Fanny Pack Couture

2009-12-10T10:57:00.001-05:00

I reneged on a promise that I made to my children -- to never (ever) wear a fanny pack. Yesterday was my first day of radiation therapy and chemotherapy. When my wife Dorothy received her chemo pump, she had a small shoulder bag that she could wear under jackets, etc. I planned my treatment wardrobe assuming that I would wear the same type of bag. I was shocked when I received a sporty fanny pack instead.

We are being treated for different types of cancer -- hers is colon cancer that was removed about a month ago. Mine is rectal cancer that I still own. Her treatment lasts 2 days, every 2 weeks, for 6 months. It is meant to increase her ultimate life expectancy (she is young at 51). My treatment lasts 6 weeks and is meant to reduce the size of the tumor before Dr. S operates. I will wear the chemo pump during the entire 6 weeks. It is larger than I expected -- hence the fanny pack. (By the way, the person pictured at the right is not me.)

Now I need to rethink my whole fashion spectrum. Firstly, where does one wear a fanny pack? I know the answer should be evident from the name -- it goes on the fanny. But, I see that most people wear it in the front or on the side. Either of those two positions make a statement about the wearer.

Members of Tom Brokaw's Greatest Generation walk up and down the street in front of my home. I assume that is because the sidewalks are too old and cracked for them to use. The men wear fanny packs in the front, because function trumps form to them. A fanny pack is convenient -- it holds their spare glasses, their money, their traveling medications, and their cell phone -- all within easy reach. Go to the store for denture cream or foot powder, take it to the counter, look down, unzip, grab money, get change, put purchase in pack, zip up. It's as quick and as easy as taking a whiz. Functional.

The women, however, carry their smaller fanny packs on the side. Perhaps they are comfortable with side bags because of the purses they carried for so many years. But, if you get behind one of these women in the express check-out line, be prepared to hang around for a little while. Turn, look down, raise bag, rummage, rummage, rummage, hand out money, rummage through coupons, pull out the forgotten coupon, rummage for pennies (all the way at the bottom), zip bag, return it to its proper position, look proud for having exact change, walk toward exit door, go back for forgotten package, take package, walk to exit door, hold up traffic while putting away receipt. Not as functional, but accomplished with great form.

Position is not the only fashion consideration. Should one wear the fanny pack outside or inside the clothing? This one is a little easier. Face it, fanny packs look geeky. Our generation reveres both form and function without sacrificing one for the other. There is no way to hide a fanny pack worn outside the clothing. On the other hand, it is very difficult to disguise one worn under one's vestments.

Yesterday, I wore the fanny pack on my side, under my long-sleeved Red Cross shirt and Denali fleece. It felt like a huge six-gun resting on my hip. I needed to hike the shirt and the fleece over the top, like Doc Holliday. I felt cool -- then I looked in the mirror. Moreover, I was forced to exchange my captain's chair at the dinner table for a chair with no arms -- I was too wide.

Today, I tried wearing it over the fanny in the small of my back. That was much more comfortable. Until I sat down -- too much lumbar support. So, I traded my dining room chair without arms for a stool with no back. That seemed to work fine... until I got into the car. My midsection was so propelled toward the steering wheel that I felt like the world's first pregnant man. So, I slid the fanny pack onto my left side (again). The rest of the day demanded that I move the pack from side-to-back and back-to-side, according to need. I felt most comfortable with the fanny pack under my clothing near my fanny -- until I looked in the mirror. I looked like a male geisha.

I concluded that one cannot hide a fanny pack, nor can one make it look cool. Since I am defeated in my effort to make its presence clandestine, I will go the other route. Flaunt it.

I plan to buy the gaudiest, most tasteless fanny packs money can buy. Hot pink, sequins, rhinestones, faux crocodile. Send fanny packs -- I'll post pictures.