Now That You're Gone

The world turns slower

Now that you’re gone,

The stars less brilliant than before.

The oceans still churn

Though not quite as strong,

And the moon leaves tears on the shore.

The forests seem bleak

Now that you’re gone,

The colors subdued and forlorn.

The plants still flourish

Though not quite as long,

And the animals cry and mourn.

Onward time goes

Despite that you’re gone,

A fact we’re unable to change.

But our hearts hold dear

Memories of you,

Memories we’ll always arrange.

Our lives move forward

Though you are gone,

Less complete without you it’s true.

You touched so many

In ninety-three years,

We’re better for just knowing you.

So we say goodbye

Now that you’re gone,

Your journey has come to the end.

In our hearts you’ll ride

With love and a song,

Our family; our ally; our friend.

--Randal D. Anderson

September 13, 2017

Are You Scared?

After the beauty of an intimate encounter, she rested her head on my chest and draped her arm across my body. "Are you scared?" she asked.

"Not yet," I replied.

But I am.

Not of the possibility cancer has returned or if I'll have to go through all that pain and suffering again, which was, of course, the question she was asking, so no, I didn't keep the truth from her.

But I'm scared of other things.

Things like you and the boys not having health insurance if I die.

That shit keeps me awake on some nights.

I don't understand a world where people think, no, make that where people actually believe that such a situation is the way it is supposed to be; that healthcare is a privilege for the few and not a human right for all.

I don't understand people who are fine with their tax dollars going to the military, or some undisclosed, secret governmental organization, for the purpose of killing other human beings, but are so against those tax dollars going toward the healthcare of others.

As if dealing with health issues is a choice.

"Get a job that has health insurance," some say.

"Healthcare should not be a for-profit business," I respond.

But it falls on deaf ears.

It falls on those with no empathy for others.

It falls on those with only selfish motivations.

Mostly, it falls on those of privilege.

Almost all of my fear is health related: My cancer, your cancer, his seizures and other ailments.

It's a large part of our life together but I am thankful it's you that I go through this with.

I'm also scared for our children's future. Not because of the orange asshat that is currently in office, he is just a temporary blip, but of the way a large part of the population sees our child and those like him. What does his future hold? It keeps me up some nights, as well.

For our other child, my fear stems from what the future will be like for him. What will be left for him to do to earn a living, to be productive, and to find happiness?

Most parents have this fear for their children, but there's never been 7.5 billion people on the planet before. And this number will continue to grow.

I teach mathematics. I know this growth rate is not sustainable. I know the future will have problems that we humans refuse to acknowledge today.

More of that selfish motivation.

I know most jobs will be automated. Much sooner than many of you realize. Thus, there will be more people looking for work than there are today, but there will be far fewer jobs available.

Call me paranoid.

Call me foolish or stupid or insane or any other word you want.

It will not phase me.

If you've chosen blindness, that is your right.

But it leads to more of that selfish motivation.

More of that us versus them mindset.

We need more of that "we're all in this together so let's help each other" mindset.

We're all going to die.

You're not stopping that from happening.

So instead of being selfish, we need to help one another.

We need to listen to one another.

We need to have empathy for one another.

We need to realize we are all pieces of meat, made of stardust, riding this very small blue orb around a much larger orb in an average spiral galaxy through the vastness of space.

That's not hopelessness.

That's reality.

And that's why each of us are no better than anyone else on this planet regardless of money, occupation, or social status.

We really are all equal in the eyes of the universe.

It's unfortunate human nature doesn't let us see it that way.

But we are.

The truth doesn't need your approval.

It's doubtful you'll live approximately 2.5 billion seconds without any health issues. (That's around 75 years.)

And so our health matters.

Healthcare is a right.

Not "access" to healthcare.

That's bullshit.

We deserve actual healthcare, paid for with our tax dollars, as well as the knowledge that we will not lose everything we own when we get sick.

Everyone knows it.

It's not a secret.

Life is better than death.

We Keep Moving Forward

I'm better now, but I had to make it through some very, very dark days.

Well, it's been awhile since I last posted. I just couldn't bring myself to write during the past month or so. For most of that time I didn't do much of anything. No reading, no watching movies/tv. I didn't even listen to music for quite awhile. I just sat in bed for many hours a day. For the first time in my life, I was suffering from depression.

It was awful.

There were some very dark days, days where I didn't think I could go on. Days where I didn't really want to go on. I couldn't eat, I felt horrible, I was still vomiting. I would lay in front of the toilet because the floor felt good and, well, I was close to the toilet. It was truly a horrible time in my life.

I think the main culprit may have been oxycodone. I took it for nine days about every two hours. That's a lot. But I thought I needed it because my throat hurt and while I was taking the oxycodone my throat wasn't hurting.

Then I had to go to the emergency room.

My g-tube was leaking more than usual, and it was a little loose. One of my closest friends came to visit me the day before I had to go the ER, and she and her partner, along with a friend that works at the hospital, stayed with me while I was there.

But I was like a zombie. Not a Night of the Living Dead or The Walking Dead zombie, no, I was apathetic, lethargic, and fairly unresponsive to those around me.

I didn't know it at the time, but it was because of the oxycodone.

We waited for quite awhile before I was called back, so it had been several hours since I had "eaten" (put a can in the tube) or taken oxycodone. Two things I thought I needed to do every couple of hours or so in order to survive. Well now it had been something like five hours and I wasn't really hungry, though I knew I needed to "eat", plus my throat wasn't hurting.

But wait, I need oxycodone to make sure my throat doesn't hurt?

Apparently, I didn't.

So I decided to stop taking oxycodone. Cold turkey.

I didn't know it at the time, but that might have been a mistake.

The next week, particularly the next four days, was the most difficult time of my life so far. Depression, vomiting, apathy ruled over me. I was lethargic and just stayed in bed or by the toilet. It was truly a horrible time.

It was also the first time in my life I had ever thought about suicide.

But I thought about it.

I wanted out.

I wanted my wife and kids to be free of the shit life I all of a sudden had.

I didn't think I'd ever be able to eat real food again.

I was terrified of my life.

If this was going to be the quality of my life then I didn't want any part of it.

So yes, I contemplated suicide. I had it all planned out. I even went as far as writing a letter to my wife for her to read when she found me.

I was planning on doing that on Friday, four days after the ER visit. She had gone to Costco and was headed to pick up the boys from school. I thought this is my time.

Then she spontaneously showed up at the house to drop off the frozen food before going to pick up the boys from school.

She was planning on taking the boys to get ice cream and asked if I wanted to join them.

Up to this point about the only time I had been out of the house was to go to the fucking cancer center or hospital. I guess I was going stir crazy, as well.

I said I'd love to join them and then put my shoes on.

I don't know if I really would have gone through with it or not, but I credit that moment with turning me around. While it has still been rough, I haven't thought about suicide since.

Today, there is no way in Hell I would contemplate it. That's not an option.

I really think the oxycodone was doing a number on my head. I was going through withdrawal. It took a few more days before I figured that out.

Oh yeah, we had a good time getting ice cream, though I didn't get any. Wasn't ready, yet.

Then the tube started leaking again and again became loose. At my next appointment with the oncologist I showed her. She thought it was infected and took a culture. Then she scheduled me to meet with the surgeon that Rachel and I like. The same one that took the tumor out of Rachel's breast last  year.

When I went to the ER, the ER doctor didn't have any experience with g-tubes but this surgeon happened to be working next door so he went and got her. She came over and fixed the tube from leaking, did a McGyver she called it, but it worked. She's awesome.

The culture came back negative but I kept my appointment with the surgeon.

A week or so later I had some ice cream at home. It was the first solid food I ate. I was terrified it would come back up, but it didn't. It wasn't much, and it hurt to swallow, but I ate it and it stayed down.

I slowly tried to eat other things over the next week but it was quite difficult. Plus, I didn't really have an appetite. I had way too much anxiety about eating. It scared the shit out of me.

But I continued.

Then I got to a point where I was eating solid food more than using the cans and the tube. I would use the tube during the night and eat solid food during the day.

Then came time to meet with the surgeon.

She came in and said that my oncologist thinks that she should take the tube out.

I was terrified. This was what had kept me alive for the past two months. It was difficult to think of not having it. I wasn't really eating terrifically and I was very worried about the middle of the night.

With a little peer pressure from the surgeon and my wife, I laid down on the table and she took the tube out. My anxiety was sky high.

Later we picked the boys up after school, and to celebrate me getting my tube out we went and got ice cream. I had a scoop and ate it all. I was very pleased.

Since then, I have been eating more. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and pasta are still pretty difficult to eat, but chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, turkey sandwiches, scrambled eggs and pancakes are not.

I started seeing a therapist, because, well, this hasn't been the easiest trip for me. The first day we met we talked about food. I told her I didn't like yogurt but I thought it was something I could eat. She scheduled to meet with me again two days later and I was to bring two yogurts.

So two days later I met with her. I had a vanilla yogurt and a strawberry yogurt. I sat there in that room with her and ate the strawberry yogurt. It took 25 minutes. At the end I told her I was just tolerating eating it. That of course is ok, as long as I eat it.

After I finished she wanted me to try the vanilla just to see if I liked it better. I did, and now I eat at least one vanilla yogurt a day. I actually look forward to eating it. This is a major change in my eating habits.

So eating has gotten better. I've eaten a lot of chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy. Turkey sandwiches are slowly becoming a staple again. I'm even able to eat chips and hummus. Next is tacos!

Eating real food again has made me feel better and stronger. I'm out of bed more and interacting with my family and trying to help around the house. Every day I get a little bit closer to my normal. I am very thankful for that.

This past Monday we went to a restaurant for the first time since May. I didn't know how much of the two enchiladas, beans, and rice I could eat, but I was going to try.

I ended up eating all of it. That surprised me. And I wasn't feeling stuffed afterward. I guess my stomach is stretching back to its normal size.

While I'm still 30 pounds less then when this whole thing started back in May, I think I'll be able to gain some weight now. The cans and the tube just weren't cutting it.

I had a CT scan this past Monday that I'm a little nervous about. I get the results in a week. I am hoping I'm all clear.

So that's the update. Sorry it took so long, but I thank you for understanding. Things are much better now and I am mentally in a much better place than I was.

We keep moving forward.

Eclipse

There is a light.

It's dim.

I can barely see it.

But it's there.

I know it's there.

And it'll get brighter each day.

But I'm not here to talk about that particular light today.

Instead, I need to talk about the dark days.

When I started journaling my cancer adventure, I made a promise to myself to always be honest in my writing. To tell my story truthfully, whatever that may entail. No matter how ugly this adventure may get, I intend to keep that promise.

This is the hardest fucking thing I've ever had to go through. I hate it. I hate the constant disgusting taste in my mouth. I hate that I can't eat real food and have to feed myself through a god damn tube. Smells, and even food in my mouth, make me vomit. I don't like to ride in the car because it can make me nauseous. It's just all shit and I hate it.

I'm constantly exhausted and spend a lot of time in bed. Part of that is probably related to my energy level, part from the actual treatment.

And the fucking treatment. Holy shit, the fucking treatment. It's one of the more rigorous treatments they give people. And it is brutal. It's brutal physically, mentally, and emotionally.

And all three are taking a toll on me.

Physically I don't look too bad. That's good. My neck looks pretty good but the inside of my mouth is very uncomfortable. I'm still expecting the pain inside to increase soon, though. As of today, I have 13 more radiation treatments. They get a little harder to do each time.

We received the "cans" of "food" a few days ago. This is the food that goes into my tube. I'm supposed to have 6-8 cans a day. Well, that didn't work. They don't keep me satiated very long, maybe two hours. Then, if I get too hungry, I get nauseous and have to run to the toilet and throw up. Yeah, fun times.

So I've changed to having a can about every 2-2.5 hours. At that rate, I'm having like 11 or 12 cans a day. And this shit is disgusting. It smells disgusting and tastes disgusting. I didn't think you were drinking it, you say. That is correct. But I've thrown it up. It's disgusting.

Mentally I am drained. Your whole job is to stay alive. That's a lot more mentally exhausting than you might imagine. I mean we do it every day, right? We try to stay alive. But this is different. This is taxing. A tremendous amount of effort is required because all your energy is being zapped away by the treatment.

But you have two options (at least I have two options), either dig deep and get through it, or die. There is not a gray area. This one is completely black and white. And even though the treatment they are putting me through has a good success rate, it is not 100%. So I must dig deep just to give myself a fairly decent chance of surviving. A fairly decent chance is better than no chance at all.

Emotionally I am a wreck. Lately I've been crying a lot. Mainly over how difficult this is on me. I know it sounds like a self-pity party, but that's not it. It's just so overwhelming. All of it. There's never a break because you're constantly battling something whether it be nausea, food, or even sleep.

And I burst into tears every single time I learn of someone, particularly someone I know but it doesn't have to be, who has just been diagnosed with cancer. It breaks my heart.

One of my dearest friends texted me the other day and I took that opportunity to just vent away. She said it was good to vent. It means I'm pissed off and fighting. So, yes, I'm angry.

I'm also sad, frustrated, scared, anxious, and at times depressed.

All of that is mentally and emotionally draining.

Oh, and the anti-nausea medications cause constipation. Yeah. This is the worst constipation I have ever had in my life. I literally put on surgical gloves, dip my finger in vaseline, and break up shit in my ass just to get it out. It's excruciatingly painful. It's getting better but it's a lot of work and pain. I'm hoping the Mirilax kicks in soon.

And of course, some days are better than others. Actually, it's some moments are better than others. There is no preparation for this. They don't teach you how to deal with this shit it in school.

Fuck you, cancer.

You have fucked up my life beyond comparison. You took my dad, you tried to take my wife, and you're currently trying to take several people I know.

Stop it!

And praying does not make cancer go away. If it did, don't you think the world would be free of cancer by now? People have been praying for cancer to go away for several millennia. Well it's not gone away. It seems to be everywhere. It's not going away, either. It's here to stay because every person's cancer is slightly different. That's why there'll never be a cure: because the cancers are all slightly different for each person.

That may be a hard pill to swallow, but it's the truth.

Have no doubt, though, that treatments will get better. So while the world will never be free of cancer, the way we fight it will keep improving and just may not be so bad in the future.

When Rachel was going through her breast cancer adventure, her thing became to tell everyone to check their breasts. At least once a month. And not just women because men can get breast cancer, too. The earlier breast cancer is found, the better. And that's one cancer that can usually be found early. So check your breasts. If you don't know how to do it, then learn.

My thing is if you're in the appropriate age range, then get the HPV vaccine. Both men and women. It can give both sexes several different cancers and we have a vaccine for it. That is awesome. So find out if you're a candidate for the vaccine, and if you are then get the god damn thing. It could prevent you from having to go through the shit I'm going through.

A few days ago I wrote a new short story. It helps to write. I'll post it soon.

I took the title of this post from one of my favorite Pink Floyd songs. Actually, it's two songs combined to make one, and Eclipse is the second part. I feel like I'm in an eclipse, waiting for the sun to come back and shine it's beautiful light on me again.

It will.

And I'll be here, ready to bask in its beauty.

This Was Not Part Of The Plan

Sometimes the pieces of your life inexplicably explode.

Most pieces land somewhere close around the edges, fairly easy to find and put back in place.

But some pieces are lost forever, leaving a hole for all eternity.

I wasn't terribly anxious about getting my first chemo treatment. After all, it wasn't that long ago that I watched Wonder Woman (My Wife) fight through her treatments, and in general she did fantastic. I used to make the joke that on chemo weeks she would be "useless" for about 4 days. It just knocked her out and the boys and I rarely saw her. But I was wrong. She wasn't useless because the could actually still do many things for herself. Sure she couldn't help with the boys (which practically made her useless to me) but in general she was still functional.

So, in kind of a bad way, I had an idea of what to "expect". I put the word expect in quotes because each cancer is different, each person reacts differently to their cancers and/or treatments, and, quite frankly, I was wrong.

Got the 4-hour chemo treatment. Then about 5:00pm I started feeling a little queasy. Not bad, just kind of uncomfortable. By the time Rachel got home from her Book Club meeting around 10:00pm or so, I was passed out (in bed asleep). No memory of her getting home. Slight memory of some quick conversation while she got ready for bed. Then nothing else.

It was like the walls of my life enclosed me, wrapping me in my own personal hell, all the while attempting to asphyxiate me.

I was going to delete the previous sentence, but I think I like it. It stays.

Anyway, the day after chemo was a living in Hell. Actually, I might have been a zombie in TWD. I would have preferred to be a zombie!

Rachel got me to my daily (the second one by this point) radiation treatment, but after I got done with that (which takes about 15 minutes total), she had amassed a team of doctors and nurses and I was being shuffled off to a room to get fluids.

Um, this was not part of today's plan.

Life with cancer.

Rachel and the boys picked me up four or so hours later and we headed home.

Now know that at no point have I actually vomited. This is all that nausea feeling that is kicking my ass.

I can eat. It all sounds disgusting. And now, the smell, sound (saying the word out loud), and even the word itself, vanilla, makes me queasy. This is painful. Part of the plan was to have vanilla milkshakes through this crap because it's my favorite flavor.

I should've known, this was not going to be part of the plan.

So vanilla is out. Can't do it at all. I hope that is not a permanent feature.

But everything I eat tastes disgusting. So much so that I often can't eat it and I have to look for something else.

I hate it.

Enough about food. It's going to make me wretch.

So after I received some fluids, for over four hours, we had the same plan we started with. Take the anti-nausea meds like clockwork.

Seems simple. I had already done what was recommended so it's not like I wasn't trying to stay ahead of the game. I even set an alarm for the middle of the night so I could continue taking my meds through the night. I was told that most people don't feel the nausea pains until day 4, and that's usually because they had not been already taking their anti-nausea meds.

My nausea began the same day I received my first dose of chemo.

And I was unable to recover.

What I've learned: I'm not "most people".

For five days I didn't get out of bed. I slept for literally 18-20 hours each freaking day. I didn't eat for days. (This of course made the whole nausea feeling worse.)

I was unable to really do much of anything for myself.

I began vomiting three days after treatment. The fourth day got worse. And the fifth day after treatment was the worst day (in terms of vomiting).

And as the days moved on, getting to the Cancer Center became more difficult for me. Riding in the truck was too much movement and caused vomiting. But I had to go.

The fourth and fifth radiation treatments, which corresponded to days 6 and 7 after my chemo treatment, I ended up vomiting while on the table to get treatment. Once after treatment was over, but once before it began, causing us to delay that day's treatment. I did end up getting radiation on that day, just a little while later.

Seven days after chemo, I was in bad shape. Again, couldn't really get out of bed except to get to radiation, and, I still haven't found any relief for my nausea. And, it's doctor day. So we meet with the radiation doctor and nurse.

Major concern is my weight loss.

Still haven't eaten anything substantial.

I lost about 10 pounds in a week. My weight gets much lower and we'll have to delay radiation. I'll be too weak.

The g-tube was discussed.

We went home.

Relatively speaking, it was the best day yet for getting food into me. (Not that I was able to get a lot into me, mind you.)

Then it all came back up around 6:00pm.

The g-tube wouldn't help my nausea.

And the nausea is what I need to stop.

Day eight after chemo:

Much worse day than the previous day. Woke up around 6:00am needing to wretch at the toilet. For over an hour. Dry heaves suck.

Got to radiation.

Got through radiation.

Met with Physician's Assistant. She was fantastic. Then met with chemo doctor.

The g-tube is again discussed.

Insertion of the g-tube is now scheduled.

It's not so much that I'm going to have a g-tube that bothers me, it's the fact that the g-tube isn't going to do anything for my nausea.

The PA writes out a plan, regarding anti-nausea, to administer after the next dose of chemo.

The next dose of chemo?

That scares the shit out of me.

The original plan was to have three doses of chemo throughout the whole thing. And these are big doses of powerful stuff. Cisplatin is famous for making people nauseous throughout its history. What's been surprising for all of us is that it hit me so fast and the anti-nausea drugs are not working.

So my nurse said we're not going to do that to you again.

And my doctor has now split those last two doses into six smaller doses. So for my next chemo treatment I'll be getting about a third of what I originally got on that first day.

That still scares the shit out of me.

A third of what I just went through, of what I am still going through, terrifies me to no end.

It was, and still is, that bad. My stomach is still in knots. I still have difficulty eating because everything tastes nasty (a side affect of chemo). I'm nauseous most of the time. I'm tired all the time. And we're 11 days out from when I had treatment. I can't feel good about having to endure only a third of that. It scares me.

Then a very good friend posted the following on Facebook:

What It's Like To Go Through Cancer Treatment

And all I can do is laugh and cry through the whole thing because it really is spot on. That is what it's like, at least for me. I'm fighting a god damn mountain lion with a bear that can only fight the lion by going through me.

So I'm getting mauled both inside and out.

The last 11 days have not been a roller coaster, there haven't been any "ups". Instead it's been a living hell. The bear just kicked my ass. I actually said to Rachel, "The chemo is killing me."

Then I went to the hospital (short stay) on the 8th day after chemo.

Doctors were very concerned about fluids. It takes 2 hours to deliver 1liter of fluids into my system. I was to get two liters that day.

The previous couple of days I began using MMJ to see if that would help with the nausea. I'm lucky and very grateful to live in a progressive state where we can do such things legally.

It worked.

At least it works when I am fully "medicated". If I'm only partially "medicated" then it doesn't work at all. So we've added this to our arsenal. Then we promptly ran out of the stuff that was actually working for me. I haven't found a replacement, yet, and so the nausea continues.

But I can tell you that I have rediscovered my love for Pink Floyd. ;-)

In any case, while in the hospital I wasn't feeling nauseous so I ordered pudding. I didn't quite finish it, there was still about an 1/8 left in the container, but when the nurse came in to see how I did eating it, I pointed at the container to show her the top 7/8 that was empty, and said "That's more than I have eaten all total in the last week."

Then I ordered lunch.

Ate half a ham, turkey, and cheese sandwich and part of a baked potato.

I began to worry that I was eating too much after going so long without eating, but everything stayed down. I actually felt pretty good.

On the tenth day after getting chemo I had someone other than Rachel take me to the Cancer Center so I could get my radiation treatment. It was the first time I felt like I could go with someone else. It went the way it was supposed to go: I get there, I lie on table, they put the mouth piece in my mouth and lock me down, they radiate me, I leave. Fifteen minutes.

Then I spent the rest of the day in bed.

That was yesterday. I'm still nauseous, probably at this point from hunger, and everything sounds like it's going to taste nasty, but at least today I am able to finish writing this entry.

So that's the update. I'm getting a g-tube soon, we're cutting the amount of chemo I'll be getting each treatment to a third of the original dosage, I'll be getting weekly chemo treatments, and oh yeah, all those side affects of radiation haven't even kicked in, yet.

Future challenges.

I'm an emotional wreck; I'm tired; I feel like shit; I feel bad for my kids; I feel bad that I can't do more for myself or my family; I cry; I sleep; I cry some more.

Then I run to the toilet to wretch.

This was certainly not part of the plan.

Going Through Hell On A Roller Coaster

I had four medical appointments in three days. Two on Wednesday, two on Friday. So, Rachel and I decided to stay in Seattle three nights and have a day and a half of vacation, something we have not done in at least ten years. I hope to hell it's not another ten years before our next vacation.

Tuesday night: We arrive in Seattle at 10:30pm and check-in at the hotel. I thought this was a very good sign:

A perfect room number for a math teacher.

Wednesday morning: Met with the surgeon who did the original big surgery back at the end of May. This was a follow-up to get the go ahead to begin radiation. Everything looks good, so radiation is a go.

Right after he left we met with the speech therapist. I've met with her several times before as she has always been present during my appointments with the lady ENT at Swedish. She gave me some swallowing exercises because in the not too distant future (probably 2-3 weeks) I will have difficulty swallowing. The goal is to not get a g-tube so I need to be able to keep swallowing, no matter how painful it may be.

After we met with her, Rachel and I had lunch at Piroshkis. We'll probably go back again in the future. It was pretty good. Our good friend Jeff joined us there and then he dropped us off at Half-Price Books while he went back to his place to finish up his work for the day. I could spend hours in Half-Price Books. I love used bookstores. Yes, we found some good stuff.

Rachel and I, then, went for a little walk around the area we were in, actually headed to a real comic book store. It was nice to just walk with my wife on this beautiful day in the big city. I'm not a big comic book guy but it did give us an endpoint to walk toward. Jeff picked us up there and we all three headed to dinner. I don't remember the name of the place we went to for dinner, but man, that was some good Italian food. It was a good ending to a great day.

Thursday morning: Rachel and I slept in (when does that ever happen?). This was the day we had planned to be our "vacation" day. We were going to be tourists, so we headed to the EMP Museum. We spent a few hours around the Seattle Center, mainly at the EMP Museum. It was frivolous and it was fun. I really liked the history of the guitar exhibit. The Nirvana and Hendrix exhibits were cool, too, but, to me, not as cool as the guitar one.

I also really enjoyed the Science Fiction exhibit, Infinite Worlds. There was a lot of movie and television memorabilia. Stuff from Star Wars, Aliens, Dr. Who, and even Mork and Mindy.

The first exhibit we went to, though, was the Star Trek exhibit. On display were several costumes worn by the cast members during filming of the various TV shows and movies, props, such as weapons and miniatures, and even the bridge from the original series. What the exhibit really made me want to do was go home and watch all six Star Trek series. Yes, I'll probably do that. My kids need to watch those shows.

After spending a few hours at the EMP Museum we headed back to the hotel. Jeff picked us up a little while later and we hit, yet another used bookstore (I have an addiction), and then we had dinner.

I was only allowed to sleep four hours or less on Thursday night because I had an EEG scheduled on Friday morning. So while Rachel slept, I stayed up. I slept from 1:00am to 5:00am, and then waited for my wife to wake up and join the living. That took for what seemed like forever.

Friday morning: Had 24 electrodes placed on my head for the EEG. They flashed lights at me and then had me do some quick breathing, all in order to see if I would have a seizure. I didn't. Then I was to rest (sleep if I could) for the next half an hour. I actually did sleep for about 20 minutes. Then the tech woke me up, cleaned my head, and then I was done. Rachel, Jeff, and I then went and had lunch.

Friday afternoon: Met with the epileptologist. This is my third doctor at Swedish. All three have been fantastic. The EEG was normal. That's not really important, though. After all, it was just a quick snapshot, like 30 minutes, out of my day. But at least nothing was glaringly wrong.

The MRI, however, was not normal.

This was the MRI that was taken at the local hospital on the same day I had a seizure on the operating table. Recall that there were "spots" on my brain. We'll now call these "spots" lesions. I have several lesions on my brain. One in particular is located on my temporal lobe. This lesion is probably why I had a seizure.

Here's the best guess as to why I'm in this situation: When I had staph endocarditis back in 2003-2004 and was hospitalized for 17 days, I had petechiae several places on my body. They were like little hickeys except for the ones that ended up at the end of my finger and toe. Those areas ended up turning completely black as the blood vessels there burst.

Essentially what happened was the bacteria that was growing on my aortic heart valve started breaking off and traveling through my body because, you know, the circulatory system and everything. I remember getting an EKG (several actually why I was in the hospital during those 17 days) and actually seeing the bacteria, which looked huge on the screen, flopping around every time my heart pumped. It was amazing. The violent pumping of my heart made this bacteria flop around, literally like a fish out of water. It was pretty cool to see. Not to experience, mind you, but to see it was amazing.

I remember one of the many doctors I had during that adventure was doing the EKG on me one day. This was after the antibiotics had started working and I was starting to feel a little bit better. While he had the EKG gadget on my chest, he pointed at the screen and said, "See that. That's the bacteria." And it was violently flopping around with every pump. "We don't want that to break off your heart valve."

"Why?" I ask.

"We don't know where it might end up," he answered.

In other words, we don't know where it will go, but it could go somewhere that could kill you. Like my brain or my lungs.

A few days later I had another EKG done. When I looked at the screen I could see my two heart valves, but the bacteria that had been flopping around so violently before was no longer there. It had broken off my heart valve.

I was devastated.

When they got me back to my hospital room, I literally just sat on the edge of the bed and cried.

A nurse walked in on me and all I could do was hug her while I kept crying.

I knew I was dead.

Obviously I didn't die, but at the time, I thought that was it for me.

I had several MRI's during that hospital stay and they showed that I had petechiae on my brain. Several places on my brain, actually. And this is what we think caused those lesions that are now present on my brain, including the one that probably caused my seizure. The bacteria traveled to those places on my brain and caused the blood vessels to burst.

Very little is 100% positive in medical care, but this is our best guess as to what has happened.

So I now have a seizure disorder. All it takes is one seizure for you to meet the new definition. I'll probably be on anti-seizure medication for the rest of my life.

That's fine.

Essentially, I had a stroke and didn't even know it.

The really bad news, though, is that by law I am not allowed to drive for six months (provided I don't have another seizure). That's January at the earliest.

This will make things difficult for the Anderson household.

Chemo and radiation begin next week. Radiation is Monday-Friday which means I need to be at the Cancer Center on those days to get treatment. For the next seven weeks. Not being able to drive myself there has put a burden on our daily schedule. Despite this difficult situation, we'll figure something out. Getting to those treatments is the top priority for me and my family.

There's also no swimming or operating heavy equipment, but that's ok. It's just the no driving that is difficult to deal with.

I next see an expert on strokes to make sure there's nothing that's been missed. I'll be doing that after the chemo and radiation treatments have finished. At least that's the plan right now.

As you know, I was unable to get a chemo port because of the seizure. So now the plan is to get a PICC line. Yeah, I said I didn't want a PICC line, but that's what has to happen. I get that early next week because that's how they are going to administer the chemotherapy. I'm not thrilled about it, but it is what it is.

My dad told me once, when he was dealing with his cancer, that getting old is hell. He was making a joke at the time, but underlined that joke with the seriousness of his and my mom's health issues.

I think it's more like: Getting old is like going through hell on a roller coaster.

There are ups and downs and curves and sudden drops and giant hills to climb.

You know, it's just life.

If you're lucky you get to ride that roller coaster for quite awhile.

I'm strapped in, but I refuse to keep my arms and hands inside the car at all times.

Here we go.

The Line

There's a very thin line between doing okay and plunging over the edge into the dark, forbidding places that lurk within you.

Places that are ready to swallow you whole if given the slightest chance.

We all walk a slight variation of this line at some point in our lives, and unfortunately, sometimes we walk it more than once.

Everyone is different.

Some walk the line just fine, without falling one way or the other, and they get through to the other side where things are far better than just okay.

Praise them for that accomplishment.

Some struggle to walk the line. They teeter several times from okay to the dark places, but eventually, they too, make it to the other side.

Help them walk that line. Then praise them when they have succeeded.

Some are unable to walk the line and they plunge over the edge to those dark, forbidding places.

Carry them to other side. Praise them for letting you help them.

I've been walking this line since I learned I had cancer.

It would be very easy to just fall over and plunge to those dark places below.

But I fight it.

Yes, I want to crawl under a rock and just cry.

And sometimes I do.

I just refuse to stay there for very long.

I get back to walking that line, even though I can't see any light at the end.

But I'll keep walking.

I plan to make it to other side.

I'll Be Lost For Awhile

For now,
I stumble through my existence.

Always

Always

Thinking of you.

I feel you in the soothing temperament of the breeze,

Gently caressing my skin,

Enveloping my soul.

I hear you in the quiet solitude of the night,

Softly whispering my name,

Stirring me from slumber.

For now,

I’ll be lost for awhile.

Always

Always

Thinking of you.

--Randal D. Anderson

June 15, 2015

When Forever Ends

When Forever Ends

When forever ends,

Be there

Holding their hand,

Kissing their lips,

Reminiscing about the life you both shared.

For at that moment,

As you wipe away the dust from faded memories,

Everything else no longer matters.

Hold on to those moments.

Cherish those memories.

Unfortunately,

We have but a short time to create them.

For whether your time together

Is measured in months, years, or decades,

The love you shared will be what’s remembered,

When forever ends.

--Randal D. Anderson
June 19, 2015

Fading Away

My son, I have something to tell you.
Yes it's cancer, please try not to cry.
I have but a few months of still breathing,
So today I begin saying goodbye.

I'll be doing some national drug trials.
Helping them learn from what I go through.
No, there's no pain, I really do feel good.
Yeah, the doctors find that very strange, too.

Mom and I will keep you updated often.
She and I have things to take care of right now.
I need to go but know that I love you.
I'm going to make the most of what time will allow.

Hey son, yes it's dad, how are you now?
Oh, I'm doing well and still there's no pain.
Yes, everything is all taken care of.
I forgot I liked hearing the rain.

We were hoping to visit you all, soon.
But now we're not sure if we can.
We'll know more when I get tested next week.
Yeah, nothing ever goes as you plan.

Well son, another cancer has hit me.
This one so rare there's no name.
I'm now out of the national drug trial.
With all other meds, yes I did do the same.

They now give me a week left to be here.
We'll see how true that turns out to be.
I'm saying my final goodbyes now.
Please try not to find tears for me.

I know that it's hard but stay strong son.
Your wife and your boys need you too.
Your mom will be well taken care of.
I'll talk with you soon. I love you.

Well son, there's a lot going on here.

It's strange knowing that you're going to die.

So many people stop over to visit.

I'm glad I have time to say goodbye.

I really have lived a good life, now

And I'm proud of the man you've become.

Take care of your wife and my grandsons.

I hear the rhythm of my final drum.

Hey son, it's been almost a month now.

Guess those doctors were wrong after all.

Yeah, I'm weak and I tire real easy.

I need to go rest now, I love you all.

Well son, thank you for the videos.

I love those boys so much, yes I do.

It's getting harder to type on my phone now.

Just know how much I love you.

Hey son, I'm getting real weak, now.

I sleep for most of the day.

When awake I feel pain all through me.

I feel I'm starting to fade away.

Well son, I don't ... will ... long now.

It's ... harder ... remember things ... knew.

Need ... go back ... sleep ...

I know ... time ... almost through.

... son, know... love you.

... tired. ... sleep. ... pain.

... love the boys, ... your mom, ... your wife.

I think ... in ... brain.

... son, ... tired ... rest, now.

... what I ... to do.

I've ... good life.

... love you.

...

--Randal D. Anderson
June 13, 2015

It's Time To Go

I've seen my last sunset
Felt my last breeze
Heard my last rainfall
Dance among the trees.

I've walked my last mile
Cried my last tear
Dreamed my last dream
It was beautifully clear.

I've sung my last song
Danced my last dance
Played my last role
In this lifetime of chance.

I've felt your last touch
Tasted your last kiss
Loved your last smile
Now I head to the abyss.

I've written my last story
Starred in my last show
Taken my last breath
It's now time to go.

--Randal D. Anderson
June 5, 2015

The Journey

Water flows.
Trees sway.
Life continues its journey
Down the winding path of the unexpected.

Billions of journeys throughout the world.
Some short,
Others long
But each one unique.
And while some paths cross
With journeys shared,
Others travel alone.

But the journey is the adventure.

Travel slowly
For the journey is swift.
There is much to enjoy
In a short period of time.

Take the time.

Ahead
The unknown.
Behind
The pieces that make us whole.
The journey
Our legacy.

--Randal D. Anderson
January 17, 2004