Recollections

I've had the great pleasure of performing in three different venues in September this year. (It would have been five, but two were rained out. Drat.) I thought you'd like to hear about some of the lovely things that happened to me on these gigs.

Hanover Chili Cook-Off
A great community-building event: local restaurants, community groups, and whomever else, set up tents on a fairground and cook up their favorite chili recipes. For a small fee, visitors are given a small plastic cup of chili at each tent, then given a ballot to vote for their favorite. To wash down the chili, visitors can also purchase a large plastic cup of beer.

Hmmm.... small plastic cup of chili. Large plastic cup of beer. Yup, sounds like a good time to me!

My first assignment was to put on a show in front of the music stage while Band #1 took down their sound equipment and Band #2 set up theirs. I spent the first 5 or 10 minutes of the show trying to convince my audience that juggling three yellow balls (or "spheroids of death," as I called them) was far more dangerous than juggling three machetes. And if they really wanted to see something special and something extremely dangerous, they should demand that I put away the machetes and juggle the balls. (The audience remained unconvinced of my argument, and insisted I juggle the machetes. Big surprise there.) It's an old bit, but one I had never done before, and I liked the audience response. So I think this bit of silliness may become a permanent part of my outdoor performing repertoire!

I spent the next two hours doing walk-around performing -- and having a great time. (Deb was kind enough to come along and make sure I didn't do anything too foolish. She brought a cooler of bottles of water and Ensure Liquid Instant Meals to keep me going.)

One young man (maybe mid-20's), who had not been eating enough chili to keep up with his beer consumption, became fascinated with my diabolo play. After watching for a while, he started gathering a bigger audience for me, grabbing passers-by and saying: "You gotta stay and watch this guy! He's incredible!"

He insisted on tipping me, despite my protests: "Hey, I'm getting paid well for this gig, please keep your money." And as I collected his money under duress, others decided they needed to contribute to the cause. I honestly didn't want the cash, but accepted it as a "thanks for helping make my day" from the passers-by.

After several routines with various juggling props, he and I parted company, as I left to entertain elsewhere on the fairgrounds.

When I saw him again, he was surrounded by a group of friends. By his demeanor and speech, it seemed his beer-to-chili consumption ratio was headed in the wrong direction. He grabbed me by the shoulder and proclaimed to his friends: "You have got to see the incredible tricks this guy can do! He has spent the last three years... on acid... practicing up for today." And, then to me, "Go ahead, do something incredible!"

I've often been accused of using magnets, velcro, and hidden strings to make my tricks work. (And grateful that the accuser, because he or she obviously thought that my trick was too good to be true!) But this was the first time I'd ever been accused of using psychotropic substances...


Homestead Village
Most really nice retirement facilities, like this one, have a special outdoor day in the fall when residents, families, and neighborhood folks come to walk around the grounds, eat lunch, and listen to and watch the entertainment. In this case, the entertainment was a brass band sponsored by the local fire department, several other smaller musical groups and a juggler. A juggler doing double duty by making balloon animals. That would be me.

Deb and I were late getting on-site, and I had forgotten several important props that I normally use in a "stage" type show. My sponsoring person was a bit anxious that I showed up later than I had promised, and our shared anxiety meant that I started going through my collection of props too quickly. Bottom line: I had promised to do an hour-long show and I was running out of stuff to do after 40 minutes.

Now, I can fill 20 minutes with a series of plate spinning tricks -- if I can get several people from the audience to participate. This is never a problem in an elementary school, but always a problem at a retirement home. (At retirement homes, I usually dragoon some staff members to participate.) As I neared the end of my inventory-of-props-I-did-bring, I kept scanning the audience for some kids, or staff members or anyone that might be willing to spin a plate with me.

I put down my last useful prop and took a quick look at my watch. Much too much time left over... Then I looked up from my prop table and into the audience just as two teenage girls finished positioning two wheelchair-bound residents into the front row of the show. (I think the girls were volunteers from the local high school.) And much to my surprise and relief, they both were perfectly agreeable to participating in my show. Then two other kids (one boy, one girl) showed up immediately afterwards. And the four of them saved the day for me. (Seriously now, would you rather see a 62-year-old man spin plates or four handsome and enthusiastic kids from the local area? Learning cool stuff and grinning from ear-to-ear?)

It was one of those moments when you felt that someone or something in the Great Beyond was toying gently with me -- and coming to my rescue at the last possible moment.

The rest of the show went fine, and finished almost exactly one hour after it started.

I was scheduled then to do walk-around for the next three hours -- giving mini-performances and lessons as well as making balloon animals.

My sponsoring person had asked me to walk through the building as well as the event grounds to see if there were people who would like to see a show. I couldn't find any residents, but I did find a cleaning lady who had her two small kids in tow. I asked the older of the two (he was maybe five) if he would like a balloon doggie, and he said he would. So I twisted up one for him, and he was quite pleased. His younger brother (maybe two) started squirming in Mommy's arms and making noises. His older brother interpreted that he, too, would like a balloon doggie.

I complied in making the dog, and also making sure that Mommy and Older Brother understood that the youngster should not be allowed to place the balloon anywhere near his mouth, which they both understood.

The look on the little guy's face that made the event special. You would have thought I had offered the Key to Universal Peace and Understanding to him. His face lit up and just glowed and glowed and glowed.


Wings 'n' Water
The Wetlands Institute just outside of Stone Harbor holds an annual fund-raising event every year to support their work in maintaining the pristine condition of the wetlands that still exist down near the southernmost point of New Jersey. There is artwork for sale, as well as clothing, books, binoculars, DVD's and so forth. Everything a nature-lover could want.

My job here was to set up a "learn-to-juggle" area with diabolos and flower sticks and absorb some of the excess energy that some of the kids brought with them to the event. Let Mom and Dad relax a little bit.

Almost every kid who stopped in my area learned something, but one young lady -- maybe 12 or 14 -- spent almost the entire day with me, learning the diabolo. Her determination, persistence, and aptitude for the prop were wonderful. She had never seen a diabolo before that day, but after an hour or so, she was giving lessons to other kids.

And every half hour or so, she would come over to me and ask for a new trick to learn.

Mom could not have been more grateful for all the time I was spending with her daughter. And there were serious conversations between Mom and kid as to exactly when she (the kid) was going to receive her own diabolo -- birthday? Christmas? just because I've been good?

As they were leaving, Mom thanked me once again, and said that the only reason that her daughter was doing so well with the prop was because of all the time that I had spent with her.

Which gave me the chance to respond that, if it weren't for the natural talent that the young lady brought with her, there was little I could do.

Mom looked at kid and beamed. Kid looked at Mom and smiled. They held hands and walked off towards the parking lot together.


The Amazing Part
This is the part that always astonishes me: People invite me to such wonderful places, and then pay me to show off and to share.

Local News -- Just In!

Assume for a moment that I am currently cancer-free. That the combination of surgery, chemo, and radiation removed all detectable traces of cancer from my body.

There are two ways in which the cancer can come back again:

Local re-occurrence means that a tumor would show up in the same place from which the first one was removed.

Distant means that the cancer had metastisized and showed up somewhere else. Usually, in the case of this cancer, the lungs or liver -- as I understand it...

Anyway, my E/N/T doc today did a pretty thorough physical exam today of the site of the primary tumor -- the "Local" area. He probed the area of my neck that he had operated on, then put on surgical gloves and probed the inside and outisde of my cheek -- the location of the parotid salivary gland where all this started.

He couldn't find any new lumps or anything that caused him any concern.

And he told me: "With a cancer as aggressive as this type is reported to be, if it were going to re-occur locally (i.e., in the cheek and neck area), it probably would have done so by now. And I can't feel a thing anywhere in that area."

(The next step will be the PET/CT scan, searching for any "Remote" occurrences of the cancer. And that will happen in early- to mid- October.)

So the "Local" news is good. Not a guarantee of anything, of course, but definitely welcome news.

Don't you think?

A Plan Emerges -- And A Lesson in Preparation

Sometime really soon, I want to post about the four big-deal juggling gigs I've done this September -- with one more to go. Each has at least one special memory that I want to share with you. And in fact, I had every intention of writing that report today -- until Deb and I had a meeting with my medical oncology doc (i.e., the chemo guy). Now the juggling report will have to wait for a day or so...

Now, I had a list of things I knew I wanted to discuss with my doc and I was fairly sure (based on our previous discussions) that there would be some areas of contention during the conversation. So I had every point I wanted to make written out on a three-by-five card. And I prepared several verbal strategies that could be useful during the discussion. Just in case.

(Now this approach to the meeting may sound like a Good Thing to Do to get ready. The former Boy Scouts out there in blogland will likely recall the Boy Scout motto: "Be Prepared." And that may be sound advice if you're about to embark on a 2-week canoe trip or a 30-mile hike. But it may not be useful advice in preparation for a potentially confrontational discussion with your doctor. Because as you prepare for Possibility A and Possibility B and Possibility C, you mold yourself -- your thinking and your attitudes -- to those possibilities and close yourself off to the dozens of other things that might take place. Maybe it's better to be open to anything.)

Anyway, the bottom line on all this is that the meeting with the chemo doc went splendidly, and the doc was more than cooperative and understanding about what I wanted without my asking for anything. All I had to do was listen closely and nod in agreement. And all my preparation was for naught. A perfectly good three-by-five card wasted.

See?

The end result of the meeting was a scheduled follow-up meeting on Wednesday, October 21. By that date, I would have had both a PET scan and an ultrasound on my DVT (deep-vein thrombosis) blood clot.

If the PET scan comes back clean, then he suggested that I have the food tube removed as soon as possible -- but that I should leave it in place between now and then, just as a precaution.

And if the ultrasound comes back clean, then I could stop wearing the compression stocking and stop taking Coumadin (an anti-coagulant drug).

And he suggested that having a glass of wine every now and then wouldn't be a problem -- even while taking the Coumadin.

And he gave me very clear guidelines as to what physical exercises I could consider -- and which I should avoid -- in regards to the blood clot. And he wrote the guidelines out, so I can give a copy to my Personal Trainer, so she and I can get busy on getting Randy back to a stronger physical condition.

And he confirmed that the squamous cell carcinoma on my right jaw had nothing to do with the salivary gland duct cancer that was the cause of all this surgery and therapy.

He even told us a joke.

So I still get to set the exact dates on the PET scan and ultrasound, and the suggestion of waiting to remove the food tube makes perfect sense. And the timing he's suggesting matches the timing the radiation doc had in mind very closely.

I very nearly wept as Deb and I were leaving the meeting. What the doc provided for me was everything I could have asked for -- without my having to ask for anything.

I felt that I had been Heard. That the doc truly understood Who I Was and What I Needed today. Without my having to explain anything.

Both of these scans (which will take place in early- to mid-October) may come back clean. Or they may not. Other than maintaining a positive attitude; reaching for the best healing mind/body connection I can; and eating and sleeping well, there's not a lot else I can do between now and then. But today I feel that my chemo doc is truly on my side and providing the support I need from him.

Between now and the next meeting, I can be grateful for feeling healthy -- and understood. And I can take every opportunity to experience being alive and firmly rooted in the moment. And can continue to be deeply thankful for you, dear reader.

God bless you for staying with me on this journey.

My Teeth -- an Enamel-Coated Conundrum

I've always had good teeth. If I were a horse, I'd get high marks tooth-wise. But the fillings have created another story over the last several months.

The analysis of at least one of the scans (CT, PET or MRI -- I forget which...) done on my head and neck reported that the scan image was blurred in one particular area because the scan radiation was scattered by a filling (or, as it turns out more than one) in my teeth. And wouldn't you know that the area in question turned out to be very close to the location of the primary tumor. So there's always been a bit of doubt about the complete size and location of that initial tumor. (Which is why it has been such a delight to me that doctor after doctor -- and now a dentist -- have physically probed that area in the last several weeks and felt absolutely nothing that suggests residual tumor.)

The other issue with my fillings -- which I've blogged about several times -- was that the X-rays from the radiation treatments scattered off one (or as it turns out more than one) filling and created an ulcer that was extremely painful for months and made eating by mouth impossible. My throat was fine. My tongue was 8-out-of-10 painful when touched by anything. Including tap water.

(In case you missed this part of the story, my tongue has now healed completely. Yay!!)

So today, I was going to deal with this filling issue once and for all. I'd set up an appointment with my dentist, and I was going to have him remove the offending filling (because, in my mind, there had only been one offending filling) and replace it with a totally non-metallic one. One which would not scatter radiation.

(When I discussed this with my radiation doc, he assured me that I would never get any therapeutic radiation in that area ever again. That the bone and other tissue in my jaws had been so changed by the high-level X-radiation of my now-completed treatments that they would not handle any more. Ever. If the primary tumor re-appeared in my jaw area, alternative treatments would have to suffice.)

But I still wanted to have the cleanest possible scans of that area, so I felt that having the filling replaced was a sensible thing to do.

The first thing my dentist did was to take x-rays of my teeth. He assured me that the dosages from his x-ray machine were miniscule in comparison to those of my therapy, so... okay... I guess...

While the x-ray films were developing, he cleaned my teeth and we chatted.

When the films were ready, he popped them onto the screen and showed me how well my teeth were behaving, and that all the fillings were in great shape. He then was clearly ready to escort me back to the waiting room so I could pay my bill.

"But wait!" I said, "how about replacing the filling? Should we do that on my next visit or what?"

Now, he didn't actually say "Ooops," but he might have well done so. It seems that I had not fully explained the purpose of my visit, or the filling issue had slipped his mind or something. But in any case, it was clearly not on his agenda for the day.

So I explained the reasons why I thought replacing fillings was a good idea, and he looked over at the films, which were still hanging on the viewer. He said, "Well, my guess is that it would be that filling right there. Or possibly this one here. Or maybe the crown on this tooth here."

In short, the scatter issue was probably not caused by a single filling in a single tooth, but multiple pieces of metal in multiple teeth.

There were at least five teeth on that side of my mouth that could have contributed to the scattering issue. The dentist said, "If you want me to start over here by replacing that filling, then start moving across to the rest of these other teeth, I can do that. It'll take some time to get it all done, but it's up to you."

Hmmm... I don't think so. Maybe we just leave the teeth alone and be grateful that they are healthy and should last for the duration. Something about: "If it ain't broke..."

The blurry image from the scan/scattering issue will be there as always, but now, the possibility of a metasticized tumor showing up elsewhere -- away from my teeth -- becomes an issue at least as important. So we let the tooth-fixing issue go. At least for the time being.

Somehow, I find all this more confusing than it seems it ought to be.

My Choices Now

Well! The meeting today with my radiation doc went beautifully. (My charming sister's analogy comparing cancer treatment to a roller coaster ride is validated once again: after a sharp dip, there is often a quick rise.)

In my last posting, I wrote that I hoped the rad doc would give me the "green light" to have the food tube removed. He did better than that: he handed me a script so that I can talk directly to the surgeon and schedule the removal whenever I want. He did that because I haven't used the food tube in over a week and have put on three pounds since the last time he'd seen me. And I assured him that I was not comfortable at my current weight and planned on increasing it by at least another five pounds. He told me that he had patients who might say such a thing just to convince him to authorize the tube removal, but he understood my commitment, and was comfortable writing the script for me.

Now, the rad doc (who is a conservative sort of fellow) told me twice during the discussion that he would be happier if I waited for a couple of weeks just to be absolutely sure that the food tube was completely, absolutely unnecessary now and forever. But the decision on timing was still completely mine.

And what became clear to me as he was talking was that the actual removal of the tube (which is a real nuisance when you're taking a shower) wasn't the issue. It was much more an issue of who gets to make the decision. That, up until today, the doc could say "yes" or "no" to the tube removal and I had no recourse. Now, I can call the surgeon's office and find out how far in advance I need to schedule the operation, whether it's an overnight at the hospital again, what precautions have to be taken after the removal operation, etc. Me. I can do that now!

(So this afternoon, I went out and hit a few golf balls, as my E/N/T doc assured me that golf should not bother the tube or loosen the penetrations of abdomen and/or stomach lining. Felt good, don't see or feel any problems. So I think I can play in the upcoming fundraiser golf tournament for our local Quaker School without dislodging the tube in any way. So the actual removal can wait. Now, that's easy to say.)

After we got that resolved, I asked when we would schedule a scan -- which, as I mentioned in my last post, hadn't been done since May -- to determine whether my cancer has spread since then. And the doc told me he felt it should be a PET scan, and then he wrote another script and handed it to me! So I get to schedule this function too!

He told me that there could easily still be areas near the major surgery site that could still give a false positive reading (residue of the radiation therapy), and he suggested waiting at least another two or three weeks before having the scan to reduce the chances of that happening. And I found that I was okay with that, too. Because I now can choose when to have the scan performed.

Thinking back over how I felt when writing the last post, I understand that an important part of my despair was the feeling of helplessness. Others had pretty much absolute control over what happened to me. But my rad doc has not only given me some measure of control, but has felt comfortable doing it because of who I am and how I've handled the work he and I have done together.

I think the word I'm looking for is "trust." My rad doc trusts me.

There are still many opportunities for the roller coaster to take sharp dips and jarring turns, but for this moment, the ride is fine. Just fine.

What a difference a day makes!

Trying to Understand and Cope

I haven't blogged for a couple of days now. But not for lack of wanting to do so.

It's funny how this being sick stuff has been working. (Funny peculiar, not funny ha-ha.) Life was easier in some ways during the chemo and radiation therapy. Back then, I felt I was actively fighting my cancer. Following instructions from my docs, doing whatever they told me to do. Putting up with any pain or inconvenience because I knew it was all in my best interest. It felt that it was modern medical science at its finest.

It was easy back then to imagine X-rays crashing into cancer cells and exploding them. Gone for good. Or cancer cells finding themselves surrounded by Cisplatin (my chemo drug) and being ripped apart and dissolved. Something was actively happening to make this disease a thing of the past.

But all that ended in late July and early August. Since then, I've gone back to my docs for regular check-ups -- and I continue to try and do what I'm told.

But I don't feel like I'm doing anything to assure the quick and permanent demise of my disease. I am trying to heal -- and I now understand that the process will take a much longer time than I anticipated. And I do understand that complete healing is critical to full recovery.

But I'm anxious because I haven't had a scan of any type (CT, MRI, or PET) since May. So I may be completely clean of the cancer now and never have a recurrence ever. Or I may have 8 or 10 new tumors in my lungs, liver and/or elsewhere. The radiation doc tells me there's no sense in scanning if we simply "light up" a perfectly healthy lymph node or two that was activated by the radiation treatments. In other words, generate a false positive.

So for weeks now, I've been suspended in this net of uncertainty. Things may be perfectly fine. Things may be deteriorating rapidly. I don't know. And I can't know. Not yet, anyway.

And this squamous cell carcinoma on my jaw was certainly no confidence-builder: why would that show up? what does it mean? The docs kind of tossed off an answer for me, and it may be true (see earlier posting) but lately, it just feels kind of ominous.

All of which is to say that I have spent most of a week trying to understand and cope with what it might mean if and when this cancer returns. As mentioned elsewhere in this blog, this is a very aggressive form of cancer...

A very dear friend has uncovered an alternative medical treatment, and we've been trying to get our medical support staff to pay attention to its possible use in my situation. No luck so far...

Another dear friend has suggested a series of internet-based lectures on Living Within the Present Moment. I've signed up. It feels very healthy.

But sometimes. Despite all the love and caring that I feel from you, all the words of encouragement from so many wonderful people, all the clever ideas from so many sensitive and wise friends... sometimes, I just get scared.

So I haven't spent any time blogging for a while. But I've been busy weeping and sobbing. And holding onto Deb for dear life. I have been trying to face the worst possible scenarios and tell myself that even this scenario or that one would be okay. But it's not working really well.

I try to disconnect myself from the past (which I cannot change) and the future (which I cannot predict) and live totally in the present moment. And that helps considerably. But the old habits of "What if..." and "Why did..." creep up on me and take over my thinking. And that can bring on a fresh set of tears.

[Transition starts here!]

Tomorrow, I see my radiation doc. And I hope that he will give the "green light" to have the food tube removed. That would help me feel a great deal more human and normal. And he may talk about scheduling a scan of some type or other.

And I've made an appointment with my dentist to have the old amalgam-based filling removed from the molar that caused such damage to my tongue (which, I am happy to report, is completely healed). This should give any future scan a clearer picture about what is going on in that part of my head/neck -- the area where the original tumor was located.

Keyboard lessons are going well. I am now working on the Cmaj to G7 chord transition with my left hand. A very basic piece of piano playing, but hey.

Deb continues to be the light of my life. I had a gig scheduled last Friday at one of my favorite events (a combination classical farm equipment show, 19th century trade skills and just good fun), which was washed out both Friday and Saturday. On Sunday, however, Deb and I went to the event -- in perfectly wonderful weather -- and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. We have found in each other more love and caring in the last several months than I could ever have imagined.

My Meadville School starts up in a couple of weeks, so I will spend three days soon with people who mean a tremendous amount to me.

And I am compelled to admit that life has been pretty good to me.

Another Bump -- But A Fairly Quick One

I want this blog to be an accurate record of what's gone on with me -- the good stuff and the not-so-good stuff. And while I'm not comfortable writing up this entry (because it feels a bit embarrassing), I feel the blog would be incomplete without it.

To begin with, you need to understand how much I want to get rid of this food tube. It has been critically important to my therapy and recovery since its installation in late June, and I am deeply grateful to the people who created such a clever way to deliver high-quality nourishment to people that can't eat the regular way. Some folks my age -- and much younger -- will, as I understand it, spend the rest of their lives dependent on a food tube for nourishment. God bless 'em all!

But I'm trying to move on from this recovery period of my life, and the food tube feels like a major obstacle in that regard.

Okay, I'll say it: I've been impatient to get rid of the tube. And paid a price yesterday and today for the impatience!

As I understand it, my radiation doc (who insisted on the installation of the tube to begin with), needs to give the okay to the surgeon to have the tube removed. And I meet with the rad guy next week. So I've been trying to eat "regular" food the "regular" way and put on a few pounds to convince the doc that it's time to remove the tube and let the body penetrations heal. Tongue is totally fine and swallowing is pretty easy. Most days lately, I don't have any Jevity liquid meal substitute at all. (Earlier this week, Deb and I had steak and potatoes for dinner. And I ate all my food without any difficulties at all! Boy, did that feel good!)

I think the problem I'm about to describe came about by:

-- not chewing my food enough (Chewing adequately is a bit tricky, as my saliva output is limited -- and some food needs to be washed down with water. So I have been guilty of swallowing food chunks that were larger than they should have been.)

-- surprising my digestive system, which has spent six weeks or so dealing with the Jevity liquid -- and hadn't seen a piece of steak or even a spoon of oatmeal in all that time.

So my lower digestive system simply shut down. For several days. And I didn't notice quickly enough.

By the time I realized what was going on with my lower GI tract, it was "sit-on-the-throne-hold-your-ankles-and-whimper" time. And the over-the-counter medications wouldn't cause anything to budge.

Fortunately, I had a prescription liquid called Lactulose -- but the doc suggested I use this only as a last resort. As far as I can tell, it works by tying your lower intestine into a series of knots that would impress most sailors. Especially the "double bowline" knot that showed up today around 1:30 PM and lasted for four hours.

But the awful deed is finally done. A 24-hour ordeal I hope never to repeat. My digestive system has made its point to me (whoever suggested that the brain controls the body has never suffered the way I did today!), and my cheerful demeanor is returning.

So I promise to drink more fluids. Chew my food more carefully. Be more sensitive to what my body is telling me. And keep the Lactulose handy.

The Truth About the Sweater and the Car...

Many of you know that I am terribly gullible.

And when so many people started responding to my posting about wearing Argyle sweaters and acquiring a vintage British sports car, I got anxious. Is anyone out there taking me seriously?

Please don't. Take me seriously, that is. Not on this one.

The ideas expressed in the previous posting took me back to my days at Drexel in West Philadelphia -- which is located next to the University of Pennsylvania.

Penn students, in fact, did wear sweaters (although maybe not Argyle -- don't recall...) and did drive vintage sports cars. And did wear penny loafers without socks.

Drexel students wore sweatshirts and drove Plymouth Dusters. And most of us wore shoes.

So the posting was a minor lament for the loss of a mustache and recalling my youth -- when shaving was a weekly event. And none of our crowd looked old enough to buy a six-pack of beer. And I would watch the Penn guys in their sports cars. And wonder why they didn't wear socks.

Wouldn't trade the memories for a zillion bucks. Wouldn't want to go back to those times for ten zillion bucks.

But if you do know where I could find an Austin-Healey Sprite -- or even a 3000 -- please let me know.

Hair -- Part 5

There's a number of things I want to post about -- but let's get right to the trivial first!

Facial hair. I gave up. Had no real choice.

You may recall that my beard had to go when the radiation therapy fried most of the follicles on the left side of my face. (My doc told me this would happen, so I had my barber give me a pre-emptive cut to take the facial hair down to a mustache and goatee before my face started to shed.) That was some time ago.

Then the goatee had to go, since the later rounds of radiation caused the hair on my chin to fall out. Just plopped into my lap five or six hairs at a time. Okay, bye!

I had hoped that the mustache could be salvaged, but it insisted on growing in blotchy -- much heavier on one side than the other and several patches of no growth at all. So the mustache came off completely last night. It may be back later and I will be attentive to its progress, but as of right now, I'm presenting a naked face to the world.

(The irony here is that, for the last several years, I'd been thinking about shaving the beard off anyway. But I didn't do it because I really didn't want to start shaving again after a ten-year hiatus. Well, modern medical science solved that problem for me!)

Anyway, my boyish grin is still intact, and I intend to use it as often as possible. And to compement my new "clean" look, I plan to start wearing Argyle sweaters this fall along with chino pants with pleated fronts. And penny loafer shoes. Without socks.

And drive a vintage British sports car.

But the pipe will be made of licorice...

(Anybody out there know where I can put my hands on a Mark 1 Austin Healy Sprite?)

And Now For Something...

somewhat different.

On a recent Saturday morning, a really nice lady named Eryn Travis visited our juggling group (The Turks Head Jugglers) to write up a piece for the Examiner.com website. Her interest was whether the THJ is a place to recommend for children and/or adults.

She and I sat in one of the School's classrooms and had a nice chat (with me trying to explain we're not a babysitting service or any kind of organized "club" with age restrictions, lessons, skill awards, etc.) Then she went into the gym and took some good pictures of some of our group members "in action."

The piece recently appeared on the website, and you can get there by clicking on this: http://www.examiner.com/x-22075-South-Philadelphia-StayatHome-Moms-Examiner~y2009m9d1-Introduce-kids-to-juggling-with-Turks-Head-Jugglers .

I could quibble with some of the wording, but I think Eryn captured the essence of what we're all about. Thanks Eryn!!

So if you've ever been curious about our juggling group, please visit the site and tell me what you think! (And don't miss the short "slide show' towards the end of the article!)

"Superficial"

It's just after 6:00 PM and I just got off the phone with my E/N/T guy, who did the operation on my jaw around 8:00 this morning. He called just to check in.

I assured him I had no pain or any discomfort, to which he said, "Yeah, well you really shouldn't. The tumor was really very superficial -- it didn't get down into the muscle or anything like that."

(Now honestly, folks, when was the last time you enjoyed -- you were thrilled --at being called "superficial"?)

Anyway, I told him I still found it puzzling that the tumor showed up at all, and he said that he had talked to my radiation doc during the day, who confirmed that radiation can sometimes trigger a latent patch of pre-cancerous cells. That it's unusual, but certainly not unheard of. And that it's not something to worry about: if it's going to happen at all, it will happen shortly after the radiation treatment. Like now.

So.

Health Update: 9/1/09 -- Today's Surgery

The operation this morning went about as smoothly as one could imagine or hope for.

During our visit with the E/N/T doc yesterday in preparation for the surgery, the doc had me smile and smile again -- to allow him to determine the best possible approach to the excision: should this be more of a horizontal cut, a vertical one, or something in between? In this process, he found a "line" in the structure of my face that he liked a lot and explained it to Deb and me: "See? there's a natural fold in the skin and muscle right here, and if I follow that line, it should make the excision easy and complete, should be a quick healing, and it should keep us well away from the facial nerve."

(Have I mentioned before that we like this guy a whole lot? And not just because he's Canadian...)

So the surgery site is bandaged -- as one might expect -- but the size and shape of the dressing looks like he followed his plan closely if not exactly.

The operation took place under local anesthesia, so I had the opportunity to listen in on the "chatter" that took place during the procedure between the doc, the nurses, and the anesthetist. Most of the talk was about kids going back to school. Very pleasant and relaxing. (Does anyone out there remember Bill Cosby's routine about hearing his surgeon say "Ooops" in the middle of an operation? Cosby says: "Doc, I don't know what you mean when you say 'Oooops,' but I know what I mean when I say 'Oooops'!" Nothing like that today!!)

While I was recovering from the anesthesia, the doc talked to Deb and said he was quite pleased with the way the surgery went. He said he had "clean margins all the way around" -- which means he could easily see where the tumor stopped and the healthy tissue started, and was able to excise the entire tumor with confidence.

(Have I mentioned before that we like this guy a whole lot? And not just because he's Canadian...)