2010: A Summer Summary

(I started this posting weeks ago, and it's taken me all this time to get back to it...)

Every now and then, I think about how this summer has gone for me in comparison to last year's summer. Back then (as you may recall), I was in the middle of my treatments for cancer. My major surgery had been completed some time before and the incisions had healed, but the radiation treatments were a daily event -- except for weekends -- and the chemotherapy sessions were happening every couple of weeks. I was quite weak, but in retrospect, I wasn't really aware of how diminished I really was.

So I thought I would list and describe how things have changed:

Juggling -- Turks Head Jugglers: You may recall that last summer, I simply abandoned the club for several months. I felt that it would either continue to meet twice a week (thanks to the efforts of a small but dedicated handful of long-time members) or it wouldn't, but I was not prepared to help in any significant way. Well, the club continued to meet regularly without me and we actually picked up a couple of new members along the way.

This summer, we experienced our typical summer slow season, where practice sessions might only have three or four people in attendance. But things have picked up recently, and it's not unusual to have nine or ten jugglers in attendance.

The THJ has been extremely important to me, and I consider its existence and continued success to be one of the major achievements of my life. Over the last twelve or so years, close friendships have formed during these sessions, members exceeded their own expectations on a regular basis, and I've learned and laughed a lot.

And the fact that the club had enough inertia to survive my illness has been deeply gratifying. And I have once again picked up my responsibilities to open the gym and assure that things run smoothly as often as I can. And when I can't, this same small handful of long-term members is there to keep things chugging along. God bless 'em!

Juggling -- performing: Every year (except 2009), I've mailed out roughly 300 sets of flyers for my dinosaur and juggling programs with cover letters explaining what's new and how my shows can support their programs. These get sent out to retirement facilities, libraries, schools, etc.

But last year, I felt I could not to send them out -- in large part because it wasn't at all certain that I would be able to pick up the business once my treatments were done. Maybe not for a while afterwards, maybe never.

But I feel great, and business has almost returned to normal despite the lack of advertising. I've done over 30 shows so far this year, and the fall season promises to be busy.

(Last summer, I had to cancel a number of shows as the chemo and radiation took their toll on my abilities to perform. Late last year, when it became apparent that my health would allow me to resume my career, I sent letters to the facilities where I had to cancel a performance. In the letter, I offered to put on a show for them at no charge. Most folks at these facilities called me to say, "Yes, of course we want you to come and perform -- and of course we will pay you."

Unicycling: Riding around on one wheel is kind of a natural progression from juggling. Both appear to the unitiated to be impossible, but there is a step-by-step approach to either one that takes you fairly quickly to competence. And when you're there, you look back at the process with some puzzlement: Gee, was it really that easy?

Anyway, the unicycles (the Turks Heads now have three of them) sat in my basement all last year, and I couldn't consider holding a "learn-to-unicycle" session or even take one out for a quick spin. And this year, I was reluctant for the longest time to consider climbing back up on one because I've been on blood thinners -- and any serious fall could become a major bleeding event.

But in June or July, I recalled that I hadn't had a serious fall off a unicycle in years and that my balance and coordination were close to their pre-treatment levels. And that I had a life to live and could decide for myself what was worth risking. And then getting back up became a simple decision. And I've been riding ever since.

And I've introduced three folks this summer into the glorious magic feeling of riding one wheel. Three really nice folks. And they all did well. And I'm pleased for them. And pleased with me about the entire enterprise.

Golf: I think I blogged this story already, but just in case, the following interaction happened between me and my E/N/T doctor. He had just finished describing what he planned to do during the radical neck dissection -- the big operation on my neck. Things to be removed during the operation included the lump on the side of my neck that got the whole process started, my left sternocleidomastoid muscle (which is the big ropey-looking muscle on the side of the neck), one of my (four) jugular veins, and a considerable number of lymph nodes for examination for cancerous cells.

After the description, the doc asked me: "So, do you have any questions?"

And, in an effort to establish an air of nonchalance, I asked the doc: "Will the operation affect my golf game?"

He thought for a moment, then asked: "You're right-handed?"

I said yes.

He thought for another moment and then said, "Nah, you should be fine."

What I loved about this back-and-forth was that he clearly thought about the issue. He didn't just blow the question off with a "Oh yeah, not a problem." And that slight delay in his response meant everything to me. That is to say: Yes, he's a golfer as well. Yes, he's just hit an imaginary golf ball to check his own swing (without moving, of course). And yes, he's tracking with me. God bless him.

And he was right. My golf swing -- which I had been working on pretty steadily for a couple of years -- was unaffected. And now that my strength is pretty much back to pre-treatment levels, I'm playing every other week or so with my ex-roommate from college. A fellow I like and admire tremendously. We haven't been in contact for over 15 years, but the golf has brought us together again. Much to our mutual benefit.

Personal Trainer: I am firmly convinced that I came through last year's treatments as well as I did because my overall health was good and my stamina and strength were markedly higher than the average 60-year-old thanks to my work at my health club with a personal trainer.

(At the risk of sounding preachy, please let me encourage you, dear reader, to get healthy and stay that way. Diet. Exercise. Enough rest. Get the stress out of your life. Because you never know when you may need to call on every ounce of energy you have available. Trust me on this one...)

And I'm back at the gym and working with a trainer again. And he's done wonders in helping me regain my strength and stamina. I'm not at pre-treatment levels on either of these things -- and may never get back there again. But I think I'm still way ahead of the conditioning of the average 60-year-old. And it feels great.

Doctors' Visits: These are still a regular feature of my life. My radiation guy. My E/N/T guy. My chemo guy. My tummy-surgeon guy. Every two months, or three months or so. And every time I visit any one of them, they carefully probe the left side of my neck, looking for any indication that the cancer has returned.

And before each visit, I need to pull myself away from the fear that this time, the doc will find something he doesn't like. And maybe I need a new CT scan or MRI or something. In a hurry.

And there's some legitimacy in the fear, because the list of my treatment options is much shorter now -- after the surgery, the chemo, the radiation. And the eventual outcome will be

But I work to bring myself into the present moment. I know there's nothing else I could have done up to now to avoid the illness in the first place or to enhance my recovery. And I know that worry about the next doctor visit will not decrease the chances that the illness will return. And that seeing these wonderful docs is the best thing I can do for the "right now" moment that we live in.

And the fear moves away from me.

(There's lots more to post here, but duty calls me elsewhere. Watch this space -- please -- for more stuff.)

House stuff -- I fell 'way behind in this! We started using a lawn care service last summer, because there was no way that I could manage our mower and Deb had a long list of other things more imporant. But the service has been so good and the price so reasonable, we've just decided to keep the good folks employed.

Normally, I take our windows out of their frames and give them a good cleaning once a year. Needless to say, this practice also came to a halt last summer. But I've just finished giving all of them a good wash -- and it's great to see out the windows clearly again.

And then, there's the half-dozen other projects that fell by the wayside. Where they reside to this very day...

Medications -- I find it hard to believe I've been thorough so many different meds. Pain meds (all of which seem to have worked superbly well!), anti-depressants (prescribed just in case), indigestion meds (several types), anti-swelling meds (ditto), creams and lotions for the surgery site, and two types of blood thinner: Lovenox (a self-injection for immediate anti-coagulation therapy) and Coumadin (a pill for long-term anti-coag). There are collections of empty pill bottles here and there all over the house it seems.

During the summer, I was down to a mouthwash for anti-swelling of tongue, cheeks, and throat; a pill to facilitate salivation, another as a digestive aid, and Coumadin.

The doc has just taken me off Coumadin (as of 10/18/10), and I've stopped taking the other two pills on my own recognizance to see if they're really needed any more. So at the moment, I'm down to the mouthwash, which does seem to be necessary.

Pretty cool...

Sleep habits -- I cannot tell you what a pleasure it was, night after night, to fall into bed during the summer of 2009. To sleep, perchance to dream. And the naps! Ah, the naps!! There wasn't much else going on in my life at that time that had been a part of my life before my diagnosis. But I could still zonk out with the best of them.

Nowadays, I'm waking up fairly early -- often before 5:30 -- without benefit of an alarm clock. And the world is a wonderful place at that time of day. The potential of what that day might hold in store for me is unlimited. And the feeling of gratitude overcomes me once more...

Eating --

Boating --

Family stuff --

My Declaration of Freedom --

My reading --

My religious practice --

My reading list --

Voice changes --

Keyboard lessons --