caveat emptor

An Update on Susan, Since you Asked

Many people have asked many questions about Susan. Here are some answers.

• Can you describe the surgery? Susan had an esophagectomy and partial gastrectomy using the Ivor-Lewis approach (a long incision on the front of her abdomen from just below her sternum to just below her navel and an incision on her right side and back that runs under her shoulder blade). They removed some lymph nodes from near her left kidney and some lymph nodes from her chest. They removed the top 1/4 of her stomach and bottom 2/3 of her esophagus along with the junction (GEJ) between the two. They fashioned her remaining stomach into a tube, brought it up through her diaphragm and attached it to what is left of her esophagus, so her remaining stomach is in her chest, not in her abdomen. They also installed a small feeding tube (J-tube) from her small intestine through her lower abdomen on the left side of her navel. It's a couple of inches long outside her body and ends in a port to which a six-inch extension tube is attached for slack.


• How did the surgery go? The surgery went very well. The recovery has gone mostly well, but there have been a couple of complications:
  
  
  
  • Some fluid collected in her lung cavity and partially collapsed her left lung. They drained it and there has been no further problem with it.
  
  
  • She developed an infection in the incision on her abdomen. They had to reopen the incision. It was left open and is healing using a Wound V.A.C. (Vacuum Assisted Closure) for packing and closure. The healing of that wound with the V.A.C. has gone okay, though a small new bit of infection flared up yesterday. It is being monitored (by her physician and a home-health nurse that comes three times a week), medicated with antibiotics and treated with the V.A.C, so we're led to believe everything is still proceeding acceptably on that front.


• Can she eat? She can eat, but not much yet. We give her enteral nutrition through her J-tube until she can build up to consuming enough calories. She's starting carefully and avoiding foods that might be hard to digest or foods that might irritate her. So far we haven't had any major issues with her eating, but it's slow going. Her stomach is still a little traumatized from the surgery and a little paralyzed by the pain narcotics so it isn't emptying as fast as it should, but this is only temporary. Once she can eat enough (maybe a month or two), the J-tube will be removed.


• How does she take medication? She's had some trouble with nausea still, so we give her most of her medication through her J-tube. The liquid we inject with a syringe and the pills we crush, mix with water and inject with a syringe. Once she can swallow better and the nausea isn't such an issue, she'll take her medication orally and we won't need the J-tube.


• Any lasting effects from the surgery? Her stomach is much smaller, so she won't be able to eat very much at one sitting. She'll eat several small meals each day. Also, there is no sphincter/valve at the top of her stomach, so she has to be careful about lying flat or elevating her body above her head, lest the contents of her stomach come up her throat. This is mostly a problem for a couple of hours after eating, but it's a minor problem at all times. Our bed has to inclined to at least 30 degrees.


• What about the cancer? Before the surgery we had hope that the cancer was all gone. The last two PET scans in July and November showed no evidence of disease. When the tissue removed during the surgery (lymph nodes, esophagus and stomach) was examined, however, active cancer was found. This means she certainly had cancer at the time of the surgery and it would certainly have grown had we not gone ahead with the surgery. The question now is, "Did they get it all?" We hope so, but we know the statistics are strongly stacked against us. For now Susan needs to focus on recovering from the surgery. In February we get new scans to look for cancer. So, we wait and we hope.

Hello, friends. Thanks for your concern. I trust you're well.

Later. Love.

Fierce and Joyful

Today I'm thinking of Susan like this, just after she started treatment when we decided to shave her head because her hair began to fall out aggressively. She's in a long, major surgery today to remove her esophagus and the top portion of her stomach, a seven hour surgery, and I'm sitting in this damnable waiting room, and it comforts me to think of her like this, full of strength and good humor and energy.

Please think good things for her today. Thanks.

Hello, friends. I hope you're well.

Later. Love.

Brief Note. Oh, So Brief.

Today is traveling day. Packing and driving and whatnot. Last day Susan can eat with an esophagus. She'll not be eating at all for a while now, then she'll have to relearn. So we'll try to get something special for dinner tonight.

That's all. Not very me-esque, I know. It's this damnable iPhone. I can type with it, but it inhibits my mojo.

Hello, friends. I hope you're well. Are you?

Later. Love.

On Susan: Back to Plan A

A group of medical oncologists and surgeons met in Houston today to debate my Susan's treatment. They decided, if you can call it a decision, that there was no way to know whether it would be better to do the resection surgery to remove her esophagus and stomach or to wait and see if the cancer returns. Risks abound either way. They determined, in the end, that they should offer her the option.

She has decided that she wants to go ahead with the surgery. She will not feel she has done everything within her power to fight this cancer if she doesn't have the surgery. It's tentatively scheduled for December 11th, one month from now. Until then, her task is to eat and exercise, a tall order for someone who can't even get out of bed most days and who has lost more than thirty pounds in the last month.

This is, ultimately, her decision. I am conflicted about it, but I'll support her in whatever she decides.

Please continue to remember us in your thoughts.

Love.

Test Results and the Future, Where Cancer is Concerned

From the beginning (back in May) of Susan's cancer ordeal, we've heard the same thing:

Surgery to remove your esophagus and some part of your stomach is, according to available statistics, your best chance for long-term survival.

They told us this before Susan was staged at Stage IV, with tumors in her esophagus and stomach, plus in some local lymph nodes, plus in one distant lymph node. When they discovered that her cancer had metastasized (spread) and she was, therefore, not a candidate for surgery, that sounded like a death sentence to her. They also told Susan that she was not eligible for radiation treatment, statistically the second best option. She was only eligible for aggressive chemotherapy. We were starting out with what was, statistically, the treatment least successful in leading to long-term survival. But, it was our only option, so she did it.

In July, after her 8-week chemotherapy regimen, they did new scans and, quite unexpectedly, none of the tumors showed up. They were, evidence suggested, gone. At that point the options of radiation therapy and surgery came back into play. The tentative plan became: Susan would undergo six weeks of combined radiation and chemotherapy, take a five week break, and then get new scans. If the scans were still clear, we would plan the surgery. This was a relief to us because, even though the surgery was daunting and the life-changes it would bring were scary, it was, as far as we had heard, her best chance of long-term survival.

So, Susan did the (grueling) six weeks of radiation and chemotherapy. We waited five weeks, and then we went back early this week for new scans. They were clear. No sign of tumors. Then we met with her oncologist and he said, once again, "The surgery is going to be your best hope for long-term survival." Even though the cancer is gone, you see, there is only a 30% chance that it will not return, leaving a 70% chance that it will return. We knew all of this already, and we went from that meeting to a meeting with the surgeon.

The surgeon made several points in his discussion with us:

• People with metastatic cancer aren't usually candidates for major resection surgery like this since treatment of the primary location won't help in the long run when cancer is, potentially, all over the body.


• Susan's unusually good response to the therapy (no tumors) has caused them to consider her for the surgery where usually they would not.


• If the cancer does come back, it could come back anywhere, not just in her esophagus and stomach


• If they remove her esophagus and stomach and the cancer comes back elsewhere, what was all the suffering and loss of quality of life for?


• If the cancer comes back in her esophagus and stomach only, they can always do they surgery at that time.

So, in spite of everything we've heard to date, the surgeon recommended against the surgery. This was a surprise, but it was a welcome surprise. Susan was not excited about having stomach and esophagus removed, believe it or not. The surgeon's logic made perfect sense to us, expressing thoughts we'd already discussed and questions we had pondered together.

They're meeting next Tuesday with a large team to discuss Susan's case. They'll come to a consensus and let us know what they recommend at that time. For now though, here's what we know:

• The scans showed no tumors. (Hooray!)


• There's a good chance Susan will not have surgery, a wondrous new possibility for us. (Hooray!)


• We'll go back for monitoring scans in two months, and then every six months for five years. If we ever find anything, we'll start over. If not, then they'll call her cancer-free after five years.

Thanks for your positive thoughts, your hope and your prayers.

Hello, friends. I hope you're well. Are you?

Later. Love.

This Week in Me and My Susan

Today Susan and I return to MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston for several days of diagnostics. The results will determine what the next few months of Susan's treatment will involve. If there are no tumors, then we'll plan the surgery to remove Susan's esophagus and stomach. If there are tumors, then we'll enter another regimen of treatment. Both roads are tough, but we hope for the former (no tumors and surgery) because it is the most hopeful in the long run. Please hope with us.

Hello, friends. I hope you are well. Are you?

Later. Love.

Twick or Tweets (Get It?)

Today I'm posting a bunch of Tweets I've posted on Twitter. That sucks, I know. Some of them are pretty good though. What? They are. Some of them. Just read them. (Or don't.)

• It's true: I lack depth. I'm missing a few dimensions. I'm a tracing along familiar lines, the same old jokes all the time. A shtick figure.


• I find it offensive when I glance over at a woman and her boobs are staring at my eyes.


• dear people who decided things should be this way: i respectfully disagree.


• Our universe doesn't have to be probable because it's already here. Only things that don't exist yet care about probability. What is is.


• Let's write a song. I'll write the chorus, you write the verses and the bridge. Ready? Chorus: Singing, "Oh yeah. Oh yeah, baby. Baby yeah."


• "We're all outsiders, Ponyboy. You, me, Martin Sheen's kid, Squeaks, Matt Dillon, Fonzie, the Karate Kid, Cherry Coke, Tom Cruise, Cracker Jack and Rob Lowe. We're all outsiders and that's all we're ever going to be. Outsiders." (From "The Outsiders")


• Have you noticed that there are fewer imaginary animals flying around these days? I hope someone will lobby for their protection.


• I hope all your nightmares come false.


• Like a lot of you, I haven't really fleshed out the details of my Middle East policy. I should really do that before it's too late.


• I've always thought the attacks should have been on 7-11. It's funnier that way. (Still too soon?)


• Do you think the Beatles love us? It's hard to tell. Sometimes I think they're just pretending to like us so we'll buy their music.


• What's your favorite post-Beatles song? Most people like Lennon and McCartney, but I love "Moustache Fandango" by Ringo Starr and the Noses.


• Do remember where you're going to be when Paul McCartney dies (again)?


• I think Paul and Ringo should produce an album of the worst Beatles songs ever. "Greatest Misses".


• My new song is about a magic puffin named Drag.


• I've decided how I want my story to end. I wish I were writing it.


• I am wearing a jacket, an honest-to-goodness jacket. And I'm wearing a dishonest-to-goodness hat. And an honest-to-badness fake moustache.


• I am the Fake McCoy, the original, genuine, real Fake McCoy.


• I'm trying to get my imaginary friend to keep it real.


• I told him I felt fortunate to have avoided meeting him for so many years. I told him I'll always look back fondly on not having known him.


• Before there were mugs we all carried around handfuls of hot coffee. It was awful. Then we evolved mugs. Now we can type and drink coffee.


• I haven't tweeted in a while, so I'm completely full of shit. I hope you enjoy it.


• I want a bumper sticker that says "Guess What?"


• I want a bumper sticker that says "I'm Also Behind You".


• I want a bumper sticker that says "My Harpoon Gun Has 2 Car-Lengths of Rope".


• In truth, I don't have any stickers on my car. I would never put a sticker on my car. I don't like them.


• Also this: I don't wear slogan T-shirts. (I want a shirt that says that.)


• I consider the continuation of overcast heavens a kind of agnostic grace. The skies are full of doubt. Wherever you look, it's a grey area.


• He told me that great minds rarely agree. I agreed.


• Is the top of the morning at the beginning, the end, or in the middle? How is the morning shaped? I can't tell from here and now.


• There's a grackle walking around outside the window. I wonder if he's looking for me. Maybe Dumbledore sent him.


• You're always free to choose, but you have to choose. You have no choice. Freedom is mandatory, I'm afraid


• He told her that giving a man an erection is not really an accomplishment. "It puts you right up there with yawning," he said.


• People who become disciples of a leader have already missed the mark, I think. The leader would never have done that.


• You can never get behind yourself, nor in front of yourself. You can be figuratively beside yourself, but you may as well get over yourself.


• My high school French teacher just came into the coffee shop. She's the one who taught me how to say, "Je ne parle pas Francais."


• Movies that garner great praise but then turn out to be stupid are overrated.


• If I could share two truths with you I would only share one of them and I would keep the other one. It would be a big secret.


• I wear white, crew-neck, T-shirt undershirts. That's just who I am. Deal with it. I never wear wife-beaters, not even when I beat my wife. Also I don't beat my wife, except when we play trivial pursuit. I just get so angry when we play that game.


• The cop was chasing my car for a completely petty offense. It was a trivial pursuit.


• I now refer to the back of a right shoulder as "The North Face". I'm so open to suggestion.


• Google Wave scares me. I'm not going to be young enough to do it right. I can tell already.


• Sometimes my sense of humor cracks itself up. Sometimes it's not all it's cracked up to be.


• A lot of people don't realize that Eddie Murphy played every character in Beverly Hills Cop.


• I never meant to make you cry. I hope you will forgive me. Mostly, though, I hope that you will stop.


• Someone said, "There's something funny about a lot of sad things." I agree.


• I do try not to laugh loudly at funerals, or cry loudly at comedy clubs. I don't want to distract the mourners/victims.


• My mother raised me to be older than I was. I'm still working on that.


• She was arguing that L. Ron Hubbard invented histrionics. We were trying to explain the mistake to her, but she was throwing a fit about it.


• The difference between Dianetics & Diabetics is not subtle, though the words are very similar. This is why I never trust words to be clear.


• She said, "It doesn't matter how you smell." "Stinky people are unpleasant," I replied. "What? Oh, I meant 'spell'," she said.


• She threatened to throw a tiny statue of Moloch at me. I told her I don't respond well to idol threats.


• I recently decided my dreams weren't the right ones. I've picked new dreams. They're simpler, more attainable. They're more real, less ideal


• Is Kevin Bacon Jewish?


• Did you know Kevin Bacon's middle name is Crispy? It's true.


• Jack Black was in the movie Tenacious D with Meat Loaf who was in a sandwich with Kevin Bacon.


• I've never seen Squid Bob Sponge Pants but I've heard a lot about him from the young people. He sounds pretty cool and fresh and rad.


• "You could give minorities the right to vote, but what good would it do? Minorities never win votes." That almost makes sense, except not.


• Children are so adorable. I wish they would all leave this coffee shop and go have wonderful lives. Or just shut the hell up.


• How can you tell if a ventriloquist lawyer is lying?


• Disney has licensed the rights to the Balloon Boy story. They're going to call it "Up II: No Good".


• I still insist that people named Nicholas have the best nickname.


• I'm trying not to give foothold to evil in my life, but I can feel wickedness welling up like fire in my gut. Someone should stop me.


• You cannot count to infinity. There simply isn't time. Even if you go by tens it will still take forever. That's how infinity rolls.


• If they're going to press charges against the Balloon Boy family, they should list our dumb culture as an accomplice.


• My doomsday device isn't working. I cannot get the lights to flash. I haven't tried pushing the Doom button, but I bet it wouldn't work.


• It's so hard to believe that we're all the same species. Such variation. She looks more like a gazelle and I'm more a rhino.


• The technical term for liposuction is "hippoplasty". A lot of people don't know that.


• TV watchers seem to assume that you're judging them when you say you don't watch television. They do this because TV has made them shallow.


• A lot of Germans read my blog. I'm not sure what that says about me. Something guttural, I bet.


• I should learn to like the things normal people like. I wish it wasn't all so awful. That would make it easier. What's wrong with everyone?


• Does all this extra weight make me look fat?


• When I die, I want my last words to end with an ellipsis. People can debate the meaning of my aposiopesis for years to come.


• There is only one absolute, and this is it.


• He said, "Legalize same sex marriage? We've been having the same sex in our marriage for decades. I say OUTLAW IT!"


• I immediately regret this tweet. It's too honest, too raw. I'm foolish to be so vulnerable.


• I'm yawning. Yawns are contagious. Now you will yawn.


• Being a goy from TX, I'm no expert, but popular culture has left me with the impression that Yiddish is a language made up mostly of insults


• Druids dance and spin around the conifers, casting their swirls before pine.


• It's cold in this coffee shop. I wonder if they'll let me swim in the coffee.


• She asked me if I knew of a dating service that catered to older people. "Well,..." I replied, "...there's carbon dating."


• Whenever you play them on the jukebox you want your nickel back. That's how they got their name.


• He picked up 2 coins from her change and placed them between his lips absentmindedly. "You shouldn't lip her nickels at the table," I joked.


• The tiny clairvoyant lady from the movie Poltergeist has gone missing. That means there's a small medium at large.


• The new message on Flickr captions is funny: "This photo has people in it. Move your mouse over the photo to see them." I see them already. I'm a human, Flickr. Unlike you, I can recognize people in pictures.


• It seems to me that most people just aren't smart enough to understand the value of elitism.


• According to Gaiman it's an old saying. Have you heard it? "Every hour wounds. The last one kills." Not cheery, but I like it.


• In my next story there will be a man named Les Moore. Some people will call him Les, some Moore. He doesn't have a preference, Moore or Les.


• It makes no difference. Les is Moore.


• I always fly off the handle when people call me reactionary.


• Everyone is a different person every day. This belief has the dualistic advantage/disadvantage of preventing both resentment and intimacy.


• Why do people get so upset when you tell them their kids are ugly? It's not like you said they're ugly. (Even though they are.)


• I knew some guys in the 80s who got into Top Gun. Not the school, the movie. They REALLY got into it. Called each other IceMan and Goose.


• After hours of not talking on the fishing boat she said, "You take me for granted." Truth is, I take her for ballast.


• I finally perfected my new invention: The Skeleton Lock. You can open it with any key. I'm taking orders. How many can I put you down for?


• It's not really texting while driving that's dangerous, it's driving while texting.


• Jay Leno was all like, "Sometimes I feel like I'm being watched," and I was all like, "That's just your imagination."


• Once I had this dream that this monster was chasing me but then the monster woke up so the dream was over. I didn't know it worked that way.

Okay, so that was a crappy copout of a post. Sorry.

Hello, friends. I hope you're well. Are you?

Later. Love.

The Set of All Things Belonging to The Set

My head is so full of undifferentiated thoughts that it might as well be empty. Nothing to say, but I cannot say nothing, so it's list day. I guess I should have a theme. Hmmm... a theme. Hmmm... what should the theme be? Hmmm...

The Set of All Things Belonging to The Set

• I've never seen a John Wayne movie and I never expect to. Not a fan of westerns or war movies. Not really a big action movie watcher. I think it's because I was raised by hippies. Peace.
• When the aliens come to take over the planet and use all the resources to power their space ships and harvest all the humans to serve as Hors d'œuvre for the big "Planet Takeover" party, I hope it's on a Monday and not on the weekend. That way we can all get out of school and work. Because of the alien invasion and all.
• I've never been a cannibal, but I do have a list of which people I'd eat if I were a cannibal. Is that weird? Does it make you wonder if you're on the list? Do you know if you'd go better with a red or a white wine?
• Cloudy days are the days when the gods can't stand to look at us any more. They come around eventually, but it takes a few days sometimes. They hate Seattle. Probably they're just jealous.
• Soccer, or football, was invented by the English. They wanted a game they could play without hands so they wouldn't have to put down their cutlery.
• In handball, is there a penalty called "Feet"?
• I've created my own language, but I cannot get anyone to speak it correctly. One small Asian country has adopted it as an official language, but they butcher it. They pronounce it correctly, but they totally screw up the choreography.

Such as it is, there it is. Indeed.

Hello, friends. I hope the day finds you well, and that you find the day satisfactory. How are you?

Later. Love.

The Man of Fall and Gary the Groundhog

Autumn is upon us. The nights are getting longer. It's like summertime for vampires. This is the time of year when the leaves fall and they don't come back until the fall leaves. It's jacket weather, casual people bundling up in flannel and fleece and sweaters and hoodies. I'm not sure what the dressy people wear. I bet it's expensive and uncomfortable. Suckers. My love for this time of year is much storied, though only on this blog. Last time I checked there was still no Wikipedia page about me.

Today I want to tell you the story of Gary the Groundhog and his struggle to get high-speed Internet access for his colony. Gary was a great hero among whistle-pigs, one of the great marmots of our time. He didn't ultimately succeed in getting the Internet access, but just filing the paperwork is pretty remarkable for a lowly woodchuck, if you think about it. But don't think about it. Surely you have better things about which to think.

I really have nothing to say this fine autumn day. The trees are getting bare, the bears are getting sleepy, the nights are getting long, the willows getting weepy. The skies are getting grey, the evenings getting colder, the birds are getting out of town, the kids are getting older. This time of year makes me thing of endings and beginnings, of growing up and growing old and growing closer and growing roots and growing restless and growing corn. Not sure what corn has to do with anything.

Hello, friends. I hope you're well. Are you?

Later. Love.

"I'll show you the life of the mind!"

We are more that what happens to us or, perhaps more correctly, we are other than what happens to us. We are, all of us, born into a context of genetic nature and genealogical nurture, a culture with language and customs and traditions and beliefs. In spite of all of that, there is a mote of consciousness inside that is, quite in spite of our situation, our mind, our identity, our self. That mind, that voice, is me. It's you. I've always been here, inside, thinking and reasoning, learning and discovering, reacting to the pitch and roll of my situation. This inner voice has been a constant from childhood through adolescence, into adulthood, through things I've done and the things done to me.

It is difficult, in the sensual interchange of physical reality, to see past the situation of a person to their self. Here I sit, a man of a certain age, with a certain look and build, married with three children, working in some occupation, dressed in some fashion, with all sorts of social and familial and cultural strictures that shape and constrain how I might relate to any one of you, how I might appeal to you, what you might think of me, how we might engage, or not engage, with one another. Then, inside, there is me. And there is you.

This is something I enjoy about the online medium, a form of interaction in which I have participated for several years now. Here, if you command sufficient skills of expression, you can relate to other minds without all the other baggage. Some people get along fine in the tangible world and feel little need for such an outlet, but I find it liberating. I don't often write about my situation in life, what's happening to me, what I'm doing. I am more than my situation. It does not define me. I am this voice projecting out into this digital theatre, trying to describe myself and my thoughts and my ideas to you. This voice you hear is that same voice that I've had all my life, the constant of my identity.

And then there is you, us. We might not work as a relationship out there in real life. If you saw me sitting at my table at the coffee shop, typing into my computer, there would be no thrill of recognition. You wouldn't know me. You would probably walk right by. That's okay. The real world is bound up in my situation and I don't really have the time or energy for complicated entanglements out there. In here it's simple, and that works for me. In here we work, we can be friends, your voice and mine.

Hello, friends. I hope you're well. Are you?

Later. Love.

The River to the Sky

I'd rather be an engineer than a salesman. I can explain what that means to me, but I'm not willing to persuade you to agree. See?

Not far from my house there's a river that has decided to flow straight up into the sky. It rounds a little bend, passes a giant willow, runs over a shallow rapid of broken rocks, and then rises gently up from the ground in a slow curve until it flows upward into the blue heavens and out of sight. Fish and turtles go along for the ride. I wonder where they end up. Does the river flow into space? Does it come back down somewhere? Is it pooling up into a lake in the sky? I don't know, and the scientists are refusing to look into it on principle. "It's impossible," they declare from their cathedrals. "It cannot happen." They're probably right, but the river doesn't care. Schools of fish don't teach science, and turtles are all home-schooled.

I'm building a raft. It's big enough for several people. Who's in?

Hello, friends. I hope you're well. Are you?

Later. Love.

P. S. - I don't like to talk about reality if I can avoid it, but I'll make an exception to tell you about Susan. She has completed her second treatment regimen, a regimen that included daily chemo pills, daily radiation treatments, and weekly chemo infusions, along with many pain and anti-nausea medications to deal with the side effects. The regimen, which lasted six weeks,  was hard on her. At week four her blood tests were so troubling that they made her take a week off. But, she made it through. Now she has about five weeks to recover from the regimen and wean off the medications before we go back to M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston to get new scans and see what the cancer is doing, if it's still around. If everything looks good, they'll begin preparations for Susan's next ordeal, a surgery to remove her esophagus and all or part of her stomach. Still a long way to go, but we're glad to have one more step behind us. We would appreciate your continued positive thoughts, wishes, magic charms, prayers, whatever you have to offer for Susan. Thanks for stopping by.

Back Around. Round and Round.

There is a difference between a fabricated story and a mistake and a lie, though none of them are true in the technical sense. Anyone who argues that they are the same is a technician and not an artist. Burn them at the stake. The technicians will lead us all to doom if we don't stop them. Open your eyes, artists. Look around you. There is a difference between a portrait painter and a Xerox machine. Anyone who argues otherwise must die. The revolution starts today. Round and round we go.

Meanwhile, in the coffee shop, our hero is typing a blog post, sipping a cup of coffee, staring out the window. Let's see what he has to say.

I think I'm back from my hiatus. Only time will tell, I suppose, but I have reason to believe, from the perspective of here and now, that I am indeed back. This seems like the same coffee shop, the same table by the window, the same text editor. I think I'm the same person, within the parameters of normal human change over time. I guess all of this means I'm back. I'm glad you're all still out there, if indeed you are. I'm glad to be here again, writing the same new things I've always written, the same old originality I've invented over and over and over for years. Round and round we go.

Hello, friends. I hope you're well. Are you?

Later. Love.

Hiatus

Have to take a break for a while. Just too busy. I'll be back. I promise.

Later. Love.

Being Particular

In particle accelerators they speed particles up to amazing speeds and then smash them into an obstacle and measure the spectacle with sensitive instruments. They see the trails of tiny particles that are startled into being, set out enthusiastically for a short journey to oblivion, and then wink out of existence altogether. That's me. I'm a particle like that. And this my trail. And you are the sensitive instruments that detect me. Here I am. See? I'm right here. Please pay attention. I promise I won't last long.

Hello, friends. I hope you are well. Are you?

Later. Love.

The Man Behind. The King of the Mountain.

I was asked to come out from behind the text. I get this request in one form or another from time to time. "There's not enough of you in your writing." It's just that I'm going through this period of being highly disinterested in reality and all of us, the people that populate it (except for you, of course). Also I feel empty, or used up, like I've said my lot. I'm reminded of the lyric that says

Hello, old friends.
There's really nothing new to say.
But the old, old story bears repeating
And the plain old truth grows dearer every day.

I love that lyric sometimes. Enough of all that, though. Here's something else:

The boy in the bubble bounced up one day
Asking if we might come out to play
We burst his bubble and sent him away
Because of the king of the mountain

A girl with a red dress and curly hair
She wanted a kiss at the top of the stair
We left her broken and standing there
A nod to the king of the mountain

The back of the room, the end of the hall
A knife to the wood of the bathroom stall
A scar on our cheek, a gut full of gall
And all for the king of the mountain

The top of the mountain is covered with snow
No throne looking down on the world below
And we prance and howl and we ravage and crow
And bow to the king of the mountain

That's all for today.

Hello, friends. I hope you're well. Are you?

Later. Love.

Enemy Mine

Of all the nemeses I've had, you were, by far, the most diabiolical and the most adorable. I was never a match for you, we both knew that. Struggling against you these last three years forced me to stay sharp and frosty, pushed me to be better every day just to survive.

Now that you're gone I'm not sure what will become of me. Battling you has become the reason I get up in the morning, my motivation, my focus. Now I am diminished, my life pointless. I will miss you, my enemy, my friend.

Rest in peace, Maisie.

Hello, friends. How are you?

Later. Love.

A Return After a Hiatus. Also a Susan Update.

I'm a little creaky at writing. I've done none for almost a week. I've forgotten so many words and punctuation marks. The muse has taken up knitting in my absence, something with which to stay busy during the writing hiatus. The good news is that, after almost a week with no literary outlet, I'm probably bursting at the seams with ideas begging to be expressed. Here goes:

...

Hmmm... nothing comes to mind. All of my thoughts are crowding back against the far wall, dodging and flinching as the grasping hand of my muse reaches in through the cave opening of my mind, trying to pluck one of them out into the written world. Perhaps I should leave them alone, the poor, frightened things. They're just small baby thoughts, after all. They need time to grow. When they're older they'll fill with boldness and burst forth uncoerced, no doubt.

Many of you follow me on the various social networking websites where I am quite popular and powerful, Facebook and Twitter and such, so you've already heard an update about my Susan and her cancer situation. For those few of you who are too socially awkward or otherwise occupied with more important matters to participate in such venues, here's an update:

After spending the past two months (four treatments) in aggressive chemotherapy, we went last week to The University of Texas M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston. They did a PET scan. None of the several tumors that showed up on the scan before the chemotherapy showed up this time. This suggests a fairly complete positive reaction to the chemotherapy, which is exceedingly rare after only four treatments.

What I describe below is the road ahead, but I want to briefly underscore what I said in the previous paragraph. There is a chance, against incredible odds (97% against), that Susan has completely recovered and has no cancer in her at this time. This is such an amazingly unexpected outcome and I don't want it to get lost in the description below of the awful ordeal Susan still has ahead. It would be nice if technology were sufficient to examine her and declare her cancer-free so we could avoid the next steps, but caution in the vacuum of reliable diagnostic techniques requires that we proceed. Nevertheless, her response to this point is statistically remarkable and something to be celebrated as quite a victory in the first and most important battle of this ongoing war.

Because of this apparent progress, they have decided to allow Susan to participate in a combination of chemotherapy and radiation therapy, something they were unwilling to allow before due to the spread of the cancer outside of a single "field" of radiation. This is good, since it is a step on the road to recovery. So, Susan will begin, next week, a six-week regimen of chemotherapy combined with radiation therapy. The chemo will be smaller doses but more frequent (one infusion every Monday and three large pills every weekday). The radiation will be every weekday. We're not sure what to expect, but we suspect we'll be trading a hell of sickness every other weekend for a generally crappy exhaustion all the time. Ah, well. Susan is tough.

After the six weeks of chemoradiation, Susan will be allowed a break for about a month to recuperate and to allow the effects of the radiation dissipate, then they will reassess her condition and re-stage her cancer. If things still seem pretty clear (no tumors), we will schedule surgery at M.D. Anderson. The surgery, we've been told, is a necessary step on the road to recovery. Even if there are no signs of cancer, the very high likelihood of recurrence dictates removal of Susan's esophagus and some part of her stomach, a serious and life-changing operation, as you might imagine. How she eats food afterwards depends upon her reaction to the surgery. She might be able to regulate her own intake and still eat small amounts of food orally like the rest of us. She might need a feeding tube. We don't know.

When the surgery and recovery are done, we enter into the constant reassessment period, checking continually for recurrence. So, there's still quite an ordeal ahead of us. I say, "us." Of course, her's is the hard part.

Anyway, that's the update.

Hello, friends. How are you today?

Later. Love.

In a Hurry. Doggy in the Window.

Not much time this morning for thinking or writing. I overslept, or underawoke, or something. Barely time for oatmeal and coffee and a quick hello to the world. Barely time to hear Louis Armstrong sing All of Me. Whenever I hear Louis Armstrong scat sing it reminds me of my notion that it would be difficult for Germans to do so. Scat singing doesn't go well with hard constant sounds. Anyway, no time for such notions this morning. I'm running late, just like that white rabbit in that story.

You know, it's very hard to work with this outside the window.

Distractingly cute. She's, like, three feet away from me. I could reach out and pet her, if I broke the window.

Also, that's my Prius. She's cute too, in her own way.

Hello, friends. How are you today?

Later. Love.

A More Typical Post of the Genre "Blog"

The Caveat Emptor Advisory Board felt yesterday's post was entirely too thinky. "What the hell does it even mean?" asked Richard Arthur Pemberton III, the distinguished Chairman. "I have twelve doctoral degrees and am professor emeritus at four ivy league universities and I didn't understand it at all. I think it was just gibberish." Rick is never a fan of the thinky stuff.

So, today I've been "advised" (ordered) to post something more "bloggy." Here goes.

Went to dinner last night at a place called the Chef Point Cafe. It's not much to look at. In fact, it's a gas station. Not even a nice gas station. To be honest, I don't think I would buy gas there. Here's the thing, though, it also has an amazing restaurant in it. Who knew? Apparently it was recently featured on the Food Network's show "Diners, Drive-ins and Dives" or, as I like to call it, "Throw Up! with Guy Fieri!" Here are some photos of the filming.

The food? It was amazing. Susan had the Blackened Stuffed Pork Chops featured on the show. I had the same thing, but chicken. We didn't have the renowned bread pudding, but we should have. My soul weeps for not having tasted it.

Hmmm... what else is going on in my life that's blog worthy. Hmmm...

Oh! The Internet is sending me cookies! Again! Don't you love it when the Internet sends you cookies? It's so awesome and makes you feel so... What? The Internet has never sent you cookies? Really? How strange. It's happened to me twice now. Funny. Well, I wouldn't take it personally. I'm sure it will happen for you.

I'm trying to avoid the C word. (Not THAT C word, the other one.)

On the cancer front, we're still in information gathering mode. We know it's an adenocarcinoma, about 5cm in length, in the distal esophagus and proximal stomach, the area known as the Gastroesophageal or Esophagogastric Junction. My working theory (Thanks, Google!) is that it's a Siewert type II or type III, but I'm not a professional oncologist, having only studied the subject for four or five days on Google. The CT scan we got on Wednesday showed that the cancer doesn't seem to have spread much, if at all. There's one spot they're going to look at more closely with ultrasound and a PET scan, but things aren't as bad as they might have been. They still haven't told us what "stage" the cancer is, so we're just being patient (NOT) and waiting. We're having meetings with doctors and phone calls and appointments over the next week. Hopefully we'll have a plan soon. Until then, we'll just keep waiting. And eating. (Do you eat when you're stressed? Do I? I can't answer right now because my mouth is full of food.)

Rereading this, I can see that it's very "we"-centric. I should probably mention Susan. You remember Susan, right? She's the one that actually has the cancer? Susan is going to work as usual and being a patient patient, though she's understandably anxious. She still has the ocassional discomfort and trouble swallowing that led her to get the initial test that found the cancer, but she's otherwise fine for now. Her spirits have been remarkably good and she's able to talk about both the hopeful scenarios and the worst ones with candor and honesty. She's a very strong and realistic person.

That's all I've got. What about you? How are you today?

Later. Love.

Santa Fe and TequilaCon '90'09 (oops)

I'm not the most social person. It's true. Every now and again, therefore, I find it therapeutic to go to a party of some kind and hang around the edges, barely talking and approaching no one. I always take Susan with me so that the people who do approach can enjoy friendly interaction (also because I like having her around in case I start to cry).

This past weekend I heard about a party just a few hundred miles away from my house and decided, "Well, since I'm in the neighborhood." So, Susan and I went to TequilaCon 2009. It was fun. We flew into Albuquerque (which I spelled correctly without looking [BRAG]), we rented a volvo [BRAG], I drove to Santa Fe [BRAG], and we stayed in a lovely place called "Inn of the Anasazi". If you're in Santa Fe and don't mind spending $300+ a night for a nice place, it's great. Their restaurant, where we had dinner Saturday night, is SO good. I started with the split pea and green chile soup (AMAZING) and then had the lamb porterhouse (IT KILLED ME WITH TASTY). Susan also had the soup and she had a buffalo burger (not as good as my lamb but still AMAZING). We splurged on the hotel and restaurant in belated honor of our recent 18th wedding anniversary. Here are some photos of our room and of us being adorable as we have dinner.

Then, after dinner, we went to TequilaCon. I was actually able to relax and enjoy myself a bit. It was great to actually meet Jenny, Brandon, Vahid, Dustin, Sir, Dave and crap I shouldn't have started listing people because I suck at remembering things. Here are some pictures of all that. </LameRecap>

And here's a picture of a bear statue I thought was awesome.

And here's a picture of Susan reacting to a joke I told.

Hello, friends. How are you today?

Later. Love.