Sweet

Well, there you go. I've graduated! I think I only have two other certificates that have been awarded to me - a Myers Park High School graduation diploma and while I was there, I won a Blue Ribbon Art Award for a linoleum cutting print I did of the coolest art teacher a kid could've had - Dean Barber. May he R.I.P...

But anyway, I'm not planning on resting in peace just yet, and while the above certificate does not give me eternal life, it does close a chapter on this journey that began last May. Good Lord! Next up for me will be a blood test in 3 months to check my PSA levels. Hopefully it will be around the zero range. If not, I'm sure the doctors will have yet another course of treatment to put me through, but whatever. We'll see, but I do feel optimistic. I now just want to relax.

I have avoided mentioning by name the medical group that has been treating me. I thought maybe I shouldn't divulge who they were for some reason or another, but I'm not going to black out their name on my certificate. I have nothing bad to say about them. Aces in my book, from the diagnosis, biopsy, the endless tests and scans, the surgery, the catheter adventures, the Lupron injection and as just completed, the radiation therapy. I trust them and their doctors. Of course it ain't over yet. They may not have cured me, but that's not the point. They've done everything in their power to try to cure me.

But what I want to talk about here are the troops in the trenches. The nurses, the receptionists and in particular, the radiation therapists. These are the folks that do the grunt work. They are on the job 8 hours a day seeing a steady flow of usually very sick and unhappy people. I was extremely lucky to have this particular group of men and women treating me. They responded perfectly to my brand of humor, which I was hoping would help them relax a bit, so I could relax a bit. I learned that this helps me enormously in getting through stressful situations, which became apparent in 1989 when I ended up at San Francisco General Hospital for emergency eye surgery after I got attacked walking poor Stacey (who had only been in San Francisco for about a month!) to my apartment from her job at Tower Records (another R.I.P...)

Long story short, a young man ran up behind us and smashed me in the eye with either his fist or some object. The result was a lacerated cornea that required 10 stitches to close, about 20 stitches in my face, and a 5 day stay in the hospital. He didn't rob us or anything, he just hurt me. Aside from knowing something was seriously wrong with my eye, (it felt like there was a huge chunk of glass from my glasses stuck in there - there wasn't), I was overcome with embarrassment that Stacey now had to deal with this. Welcome to San Francisco, honey. It's really a cool place. No, really!

In the ambulance, I told the attendant that I was really happy that my nose wasn't broken (one of my biggest fears), and he looked at me like I was crazy. "Sir - you have a very serious eye injury!" Oh..ok. Yikes!

At the emergency room, it seemed as if the whole hospital dropped everything and came to my aide. I remember sitting upright as phone calls for eye specialists were placed. Doctors were swarming at my face to get a good look at my eye, as I signed papers saying that I understood I could die during surgery (!), and an anesthesiologist asking me what I had for dinner (steamed spinach and tofu, which fortunately the guy replied with a much appreciated "remind me to never eat at your house!").

The thing that was getting to me was that everyone just looked so damned grim. I know they were just doing their job and wanting very much to save my right eyeball (they did), but it was all too much for me. I raised my hand and said "Stop! Is my other other eye ok?" "Yes" a woman doctor replied. "Then could you all please lighten up just a tad? You're freaking me out!"

I honestly do not remember how they reacted, but whatever happened, I think that I was able to calm down a bit, enough to give instructions to a nurse to please give a phone number to Stacey so she could call my wife (we were separated at that point) because she knew how to contact my family back in North Carolina. Imagine how my poor little morphine addled brain must have tried to process the sight of my wife and my girlfriend both staring down at me as I woke up from surgery!



The point being is that a little bit of levity helps. It's a self-preservation lesson that I have had to call upon many times during my cancer treatments. I was so very fortunate to not have had any significant side effects from the radiation. The doctor told me that I stood up to the treatments "remarkably well", but the tiredness thing could rear it's ugly head after the treatments were over. I'm most pleased that my bladder hung in there like a fuckin' champ even though I now sport a permanent and very strange new...hairstyle...down there..(think Munchkin Merkin...or not....)



(sorry!)


But it was still a very stressful 33 sessions for me (too bad I couldn't get one extra 1/3 of a dose in to satisfy RIAA standards!). The endless driving from work to Oakland, the constant battle to avoid constipation, the insane task in arriving with a somewhat full bladder (but not too much!) for the actual zapping, and just plain dealing with something ugly I had to put my body through, yet again.


Yesterday at my last session, I was saying some genuinely sad goodbyes to my therapists, and one of the guys (who is a San Jose Sharks fan!) told me this: "Mr. Ray, not many people come through here joking around with a sense of humor like yours. It was a real pleasure working with you." I told him that I have learned in life to always tip your bartender (this goes back to my Game Theory days when drink tickets seemed to be used up during soundcheck...) and most importantly, be good to the caregivers. His comment really made my day, but it is indeed tempered by the fact that it was the only way I could have made it through this, and most importantly, my cancer never hurt.

I'm a very lucky man.

Unless something bizarre or newsworthy comes up before my PSA test in 3 months, I'm gonna shut this part of Po'buckra down. I'm going to try to get back to more fun things such as pop culture, adventures with Dexter and hopefully resume my "Life In Music" series. I believe I need to start wrapping my brain around my time with The Happy Eggs!

So there you go.

I now know that I could die tomorrow and die as a man that knows he is truly loved. I have received so much love and support from loved ones close and far away. The world is filled with great people whose job is to help you and I can now accept them warmly into my heart. It really is a beautiful thing, and I will do my best to give back. Love makes the world go 'round. Treat others nice, cause you never know when you might need a free beer.


I will leave you with my very favorite quote from this adventure. This was from an on-call emergency nurse during a particularly rough weekend: "Mr. Ray, the doctor says to relax and don't worry. A swollen and discolored penis is completely normal at this time."

Sweet.

My Favorite Sound

Check out my cool Xmas/Radiation Advent Calendar! The best thing about it, other than remnants of where Dexter has tried to eat it, is that I'm over the half way point! So far, so good. No major problems or side-effects other than having a bit of a cold at the moment, and a slightly queasy stomach.

One thing about this calendar that a couple of people have mentioned is that I get a couple of holiday breaks; 4 days off in a row for the major holidays. I assume the remaining cancer cells do not know this and I hope they will not take it upon themselves to go nuts while the radiation beam, the techs, and myself take some well deserved time off. Maybe I'll trick them and replicate the 20 second high pitched sound I hear as the machine makes it's seven stops around my body each session! Ha! Gotcha!

Oddly, the moment I decided to give a listen and to try to make my fellow cancer pals crack a smile, I have found myself the only guy in the waiting room. It appears my sessions are the last ones of the day, so most folks have cleared out. There are plenty of women in the other waiting room, but the conversations sound fine without me. You go, girls!

But I have developed a pleasant and fun relationship with the techs that carefully adjust my body so that the laser beams line up just right with the guidance markings and tattoos on my body. We kid around a lot, but not too much. They work hard and are super diligent and I appreciate that a whole lot.

But enough of that..I want to talk about snow!

North Carolina is getting some snow right now (as is much of the mid-Atlantic states - I have seen some photos friends have posted on facebook). What beautiful stuff! Of course in Charlotte, which seemed maddeningly and perpetually on the wrong side of the fine line of either snow or just rain, the snow was not a season long battle to deal with, day in and day out. It was a unique break in the week that meant no school or work, and how lovely and special it was!

As a young adult, I discovered that my most favorite thing regarding snow was the sound it made: No sound at all. Total quiet, especially late at night. I loved going outside to just walk around listening to the crunch of it underneath my feet and then just stopping and listening. Nothing. Stillness. Peace. The world was smothered under a gorgeous white blanket with millions of shiny jewels reflecting the light. So gorgeous and so quiet.

I particularly loved looking up at the streetlights and the areas that they would cast their light upon - the trees, the roads, the bushes - all were now other worldly. And so quiet.

One of my very favorite Game Theory moments took place in the snow. I do not remember the year, but we were playing at the Blind Pig in Ann Arbor. It was at a point of the tour that I just couldn't deal with another slice of pizza for dinner (and actually, a little time by myself was needed too), so I left the club on foot and walked around the neighborhood until I found a little diner. Perfect! At that time I was somewhat of a vegetarian, so I had my usual diner fare of that tour; grilled cheese sandwich, french fries and a coke. (Hey - I just said I was a vegetarian, not a health food nut..) The dinner was fine and it was nice to be alone.

While I was eating it started to snow. Pretty heavily, strong enough to start building up on the streets and ground, and swirl around the streetlights. It was beautiful, and I took my time walking back to the club. As I turned the corner, I was absolutely shocked to see that a line, about half a block long, was waiting to get into the club to see Game Theory! Good heavens...I had never seen this before! I continued my walk on the other side of the street and people started to recognize me and call out my name! I was stunned. I stopped to savor the moment - it could be the only time in my career this would happen (it was), so I stood there and took it all in. The snow, the cold air, my warm belly filled with a grilled cheese sandwich, the crunching sound under my feet, the line of fans, the autographs, a fabulous club and a rocking band...and for that one moment it was all mine. I was at peace.

I would like to ask that those of you that are lucky enough to have snow on the ground tonight, to please steal away a moment for yourself to go outside and find a nice spot to stand in and just take it all in. And while you're at it, give it a listen for me. I'd like that. It's my favorite sound.

I wish you all love and peace this holiday season, and heartfelt thanks for being here.

Love,
Gil

There Are 8 Million Stories In The Naked City...

...and in the radiation/oncology unit, I'm hearing all of them...

I've just completed my first three radiation sessions (only 30 more to go!), and it's already a grind. Driving back and forth to work, the hospital and home, anxiously monitoring traffic conditions on the computer, and well, driving. I cannot stand being late so of course I end up being early, but that's OK. I can leisurely run up to the cafe upstairs and grab a pretty decent sandwich to take back to work for lunch. From there, I check in and let myself into the locker room to change out of my clothes and into my hospital gown. Since my lower parts are getting basted, I have to remove pants and underwear. Shirts and socks and shoes are OK. It's a great look.

From there, I go into a small waiting room with 3 chairs opposite 3 more chairs. There is room enough for the chosen ones to walk through to either get to the locker room or the radiation room. When it's your time, the techs come and get you. It's an efficient system, with usually not much actual waiting..if one was not so compulsively early!

Part of being a reasonable and good person is to reach out and listen with a sympathetic ear to people that feel the need to tell you their story. Unfortunately, in this case, it is their cancer story. But in this club, you are also asked (and compelled) to tell your cancer story whether you feel like it or not.

My first story was from a kind and gentle man with colorectal cancer. It was his last session of his 6 weeks of radiation treatments. His surgery is coming later. He looked pretty good and had a nice, sweet smile. After he told me his story, I paused, not yet sure of the cancer club protocol, and after a few seconds he asked me what my particular problem was. I told him. It wasn't a natural progression of bonding, but there it was, and we did.

He was called for and went off for his treatment, and another man entered the waiting room. Disheveled and on crutches, he sat next to me and mentioned I must be new here because he had not seen me before. This was his last week of treatments, so I am definitely the new guy in the club.

After he told me the story of his crutches (a 40 year old motorcycle accident), he started telling me of his lung cancer. Since he didn't bother to close the back of his gown, I could plainly see a large radiation sunburn on his back, roughly where his bad lung was. It's actually only half a lung at this point, I learned. The other half was removed 2 and 1/2 years ago.

He then told me of how painful it is to swallow, but he has a numbing liquid, the viscosity of "shampoo", that helps somewhat as long as he pulverises each bite of food he takes.

At this point I started to freak out. Not on the outside - I was listening, commenting and really feeling empathy for this poor guy, but on the inside, deep within my soul I was was screaming; Nooooooooo!!!!

I don't want to hear these stories. I don't want to feel pressured to tell my story. This is my fucking cancer and I want to deal with it on my fucking terms. Leave me the hell alone!

Lung cancer man was then called for and I wished him well. Colorectal cancer guy came out of his session and a very humorless nurse presented him with a certificate of completion! Good Lord. I was wondering if you get a souvenir. The sweet man took it and gave me a quick glance and smile and then asked the nurse, "Does this mean I'm cured?"

I was a bit shocked when she matter of factly replied, "No. It just means you have completed he radiation treatment".

This is when I realized what my purpose is, here in the Cancer Ward. I reached up and touched the man on his shoulder and with a shit eating grin told him and the nurse, "Man...that's a loaded question!"

It worked. Both laughed.

He turned towards me and held out his hand and wished me luck. I returned his handshake with well wishes of my own, and I really meant it. I now understand. While I don't want to be in this club, I am. They don't want to be here, either. We are going through terrible shit, and like it or not we're going through it together. We are going through it for one reason and one reason only - we want to continue living. And what is living, true living, for other than to help one another through the hard times? Those times are here, and now I feel I have place in the cancer ward. Levity. It's not much, but I think it can certainly help my new friends.

So whoever I meet next, be it bladder cancer guy, thyroid cancer guy, or brain cancer guy - nice to meet you. I am prostate cancer guy.

Like I said, there are 8 million stories in this Naked City, and I'm hearing all of them. But with no pants or underwear on.

Inked!

I have wanted a tattoo for most of my adult life, but to this day I just cannot think of what I want the tattoo to be of. I have a few ideas, but eventually I guess I will need to just take the concept to the tattoo artist and let him do his thing. The tattoo you are looking at is indeed a tattoo and it is mine, but this is not what I had in mind! It's a cancer tattoo and I now sport 3 of 'em! One on each hip and one on the front, about 5 inches below my belly button. The tattoo is the little black dot in the center of the drawn on lines. It's purpose is to insure they align and target the radiation accurately every session. Ink! Tribal!

Today, Stacey and I met with the oncologist/radiologist nurse for information about what I can expect during this part of the treatment. He was very nice, soft spoken and earnest, and I couldn't help but notice that was also really good looking. I was sure Stacey was thinking that too, but I just hope she was listening to what he was saying because my mind tends to....wander...when I have to listen to important stuff like this.

He mentioned the most common side effects: burning urination, diarrhea, unhappy skin and tiredness (and you thought we were done with pee/fart & poo talk!). Hopefully the tiredness will not rear it's ugly head well into the treatment. He also gave us pamphlets and support group info (unfortunately, thanks to one of the pamphlets, I learned that my cancer is considered Phase 3, with Phase 4 being the worst. Damn! Printed matter freaks me out!). He showed me the changing rooms and lockers that I will be using everyday, along with I.D protocol which as you can imagine is very important. Don't want someone else's radiation treatment for say...brain cancer!

He also talked about the scheduling, which I was concerned about. It would be best if I could get early mornings or late afternoons to help cut down on my travelling between work (Marin County) and the treatments (Oakland), but he showed me the daily list of radiation treatments this particular center gives and I was astounded. About 5 pages of a list of names in pretty small print. There are a lot of people getting these treatments.

After the orientation, I was off to get a cat scan of my pelvic region. This is to help them map out where they want the radiation to be administered to. I met the 2 techs (that I will definitely get to know over the course of 6 weeks!) and they explained a bit more about all of this.

There was a bag type thing that they positioned under my legs, once I was laying on the cat scan table. After they positioned me, they inflated the bag and it formed a mold of the backs of my legs. This is another method of achieving accuracy in targeting the beams of radiation. Every session it will be put under my legs to hold me in the correct position. Then, with the guidance of laser beams, they started to mark my body with markers. Once they were satisfied with that, they put a drop of ink on the 3 specific areas and poked it into my skin with a quick needle prick.

That was that. Got my tat. Oh yeah...this clinic also provides valet parking. I'm so....Dennis Rodman!

Next Friday I go in for a x-ray and weigh-in. The Monday after that, I begin the radiation. Talk to you then!

Next Stop - Radiology!

Well now....I've been feeling absolutely great for the most part these last several weeks, but now it's time to go back to the hospital and start feeling crappy again... Nice!

Next week Phase 546 begins of my cancer treatment: Radiation Therapy! Can you tell how excited I am? Not. Whatever - time to blast those rogue (Palin-like) cancer cells that are still partying around my nether regions. I am so not looking forward to it. Maybe even more than the surgery. That was something finite - an event that would happen and then be over, with allowances for recovery, of course, but in the weeks leading up to it I just sort of accepted it, cussed at it, but didn't really dread it.

Not so with this, though. It just seems so... unrelenting. A radioactive blast everyday, Monday through Friday for about 6 weeks. The possibility of the return of very unattractive side effects. Cumulative wiped out-ness. And a whole bunch of unknown thrown in for good measure. More work hours to be reduced and more paperwork for benefits. More, more, more.

The hormone treatment hasn't been bad, though. The hot flashes are seldom and mild, but my emotional state has fallen to a pretty permanent state of crankiness. I'm a son of a bitch right now, but I guess that's to be expected. Grrrr.

But with all that being said, I will get this done. Not much choice in the matter if I don't want this particular disease to do me in. I will do it with Stacey's help. I will do it with support from my sibs. I will do it with love in my heart from all of my friends, close and distant. But most of all, I will do it because I Am Atomic Man.

So there.

Excuse Me????

Well...this is a bit bizarre...Some doctor did some study of guys that had the same procedure as me, and discovered that robotic/laproscopic surgery to remove the prostate is more likely to result in erectile dysfunction and incontinence. Nice. I was told by the head of the urology department and my surgeon the opposite. I believe them. Not this guy. And I'm fine with my decision. Makes sense to me that high magnification and robotically controlled instruments would be much more effective in sparing those gosh darned nerves, then having your belly sliced open and putting your faith in the shaky hands of a hungover surgeon....just kidding.

Really...I'm good. But this is still bizarre.

naysayers of robotically assisted prostate surgery

(Hot) Flash Report!

Ok - it's been over a week since my Lupron injection and about the only thing to report is general tiredness (at times pretty extreme) and headaches (not too bad). It has made me miss some work hours and the thought of adding radiation treatments to the mix is a bit depressing.

No signs of hot flashes yet, bigger boobs, or my inner girl busting out. I'm on the lookout, though!

I'm just tired.

Lack of male hormones can contribute to loss of muscle mass, so I'm taking calcium supplements and going through some reps with 10 lb. weights. If I get bigger boobs, they will at least be...firm!

Jesus! I think I don't like Led Zeppelin's "Physical Graffiti"!