2015 Ends with a Bang!

2015 ends with a bang.

Even though this is my new reality, sometimes I lay in bed and wonder if this is really happening.  This week marks my seventh treatment.  I don’t think you can do more than 12 straight, they have to let your body recover.  How my markers and scans go in March will determine what the new maintenance drugs will be or if that will be the extent of it.  I am wondering what the last three quarters will hold for me.  Maintenance? Another surgery? Radiation?  And then do I start all over again in October?  While I’m thinking these thoughts, I hear the pump break the night silence and know that is not a dream.  I do not like infusion week.  The nausea is getting worse, but the heart breaker is the concern on my children’s faces.  I don’t like having to be more careful around them, watching for tubes and giving one sided hugs so they don’t jostle the needle in my chest. I can deal with the pains, but that last part sucks.  As many of you know I’m a very affectionate person – some would call me a hugger.  Now 20% of my time is guarding my accessed port (needle in my chest).

So here is how my typical two week cycle goes: Infusion week: Monday (roughly five hours) urine and blood test.  Before proceeding they need to make sure there are no proteins in my urine and my WBC count is high enough to further deplete it; also liver, platelets, and tumor markers need to be checked.  Then when Dr. Netaji gives me the thumbs up to proceed they access the port (stick a needle in my chest and start the lines.  I get anti-nausea, another side effect drug, saline, Avastin, Irinotecan, then a 3 second Fluorouracil (5FU) push, then they attach the pump with the bag of 5FU and I can go home.  I take alternating anti-nausea and anti-diarrhea meds during the day.  Tuesday is filled with nausea and trying not to catch my tube on anything.  I also am not supposed to shower and get my dressing wet.  On Wednesday I usually cheat and sneak in a bath or shower prior to going in, then I get another bag of anti-nausea, saline to hydrate (fluids), and then remove the pump.  Thursday, white blood cell booster shot.  Friday, anti-nausea and saline to hydrate.  Following week: Monday and Thursday I get another round of fluids, and maybe a WBC boost depending on my score.  Usually I’m feeling pretty good by Thursday through the weekend.  But it is short lived, because on the following Monday I start all over.  I have also been informed that my maintenance therapy may include the pump which I am really disliking each time.  I thought I’d get used to it, but instead I just loathe it.  But it is shrinking the cancer, so whatever it takes.

I’ve had several friends die of cancer since I started my treatments.  Two that stand out are one was a young guy with colon cancer with whom I went to high school (if you consider me young – I do). Another was a woman who had battled lung cancer once, was “cured.” It then came back to the other lung and she chose not to go through it all again.  That alone may give you an indication of what some go through, and how hard it really is.  In any case, I am acutely aware of how precious and unpredictable life is.  There is no reset button, you get one shot.

On the brighter side…my tumor marker scores went down another tic.  The CEA score was 3.2 in case you are keeping track at home. This has been a nice trend line considering I was at 15 just a few months ago.  Less than 3 is considered “normal.”  This is another indication that these meds are doing their jobs and things could work out.  I have often said, “God has led me this far, why would I believe he will let me go now?”  My hair is hanging on for dear life.  It is coming out and thinning, but still passable, no clumps.  No shave yet, but it probably won’t make it to spring.

The kids had a wonderful Christmas and got the things they really wanted.  Josie and Connor got new bikes, and nerf annihilator guns.  Santa brought tickets to the Wild Kratts show including a meet and greet.  Connor got a signed PGA flag from his Godfather who played the event this year.  We had Christmas Eve dinner at Nita’s mother’s house, and Christmas dinner at my mother’s house (of course we had tamales). It was calm and fun. Since I am unable to go into a big crowd of potentially a large number of sick people and I more than likely cannot stay awake passed 1AM; we are going to host a small kids’ rockin’ disco New Year dance and karaoke party at the house.  We let the kids each select one guest and we’ll officially welcome the New Year to Buenos Aires (9PM CST).  Then send the kids to bed after a spoonful of black-eyed peas.

I would also like to make a correction.  My mother read last week’s blog and said that when my grandmother gave my father the money he had been sending, he first paid cash for an extension on her house so it would become a two bedroom (it was the house I stayed in so many times as a kid I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me). He used what was left over to buy his used car, and that is the rest of the story.  Even though we lived in Austin (Manchaca) we still visited his my grandmother once a quarter and had her over for the big holidays.  We moved my mother into our neighborhood when Connor was born (Nita’s mom was offered but declined).  My mother was living way across town and I knew she needed more than an occasional visit.  She comes by a couple of times a week and even has the children sleep over at her home occasionally.  It’s so close we even go walk to pick them up sometimes.  I sincerely believe we added 10 years to her life by doing that.  It came from a story my dad told me that I have never forgotten:

There once was a man who married and had a child.  His wife was somewhat controlling and very into appearances.  When the man’s father got older, he invited him to stay in the house with them.  After a month the wife was furious.  She could no longer take the man’s manners, smells, farting, leaving clothes around, etc.  So she gave the husband an order, “Tell your father he has to go, I don’t care where.”  The husband didn’t have the heart to do it so he tells his son, “Give your abuelito this blanket and tell him he has to go, he can’t stay here anymore.”  The son does his duty and returns with half a blanket.  The father asks, “Why did you give him only half?”  The son replies, “The other half is for you, when I send you away from my house.” 

This story has eliminated any and all arguments about what we should do, and how much we should help our mothers (both fathers are deceased).  Love and take care of the ones who loved and took care of you.  Enjoy simple moments, kiss your children on the head and smell their hair.  There are incredible moments to savor every day, if we just take the time to notice.  Not every single moment is filled with rainbows and unicorns, but there are more than you probably notice.

Speaking of unbridled generosity, a very special thank you to all who took the time to read, share, and participate in either or both the cookbook and the go fund me campaigns.  It has meant a lot to us.  Nita cried when she saw the outpouring of support. The result is a huge portion of the anticipated medical costs for 2016 are covered.  Thank you all so much, God bless and BTHO Louisville!

 

Christmas 2015

Christmas Letter 2015

Last year we got a dog, Nita left her company to be a stay at home mom, I left Dell and started a new job, and Connor went on his first dove hunt.  How could we possibly top all of that? Well buckle up, grab your beverage of choice, get a cozy seat by the fire, and hang on.  Here we go…… 

Nita first full year AS A SAHM           ([Sum] pronounced like Buford T Justice would call Smokey a Som B****).  Everyone who has ever started a job or a new project mid-year finds that you don’t truly get the hang of something until you have a full year under your belt.  Well this was Nita’s first year as a stay at home mom.  I think there may have been more than she expected.  Top five things “we” learned:

1.      This is hard, harder than actually going to an office and shutting it down at 5 or 6 pm.

2.      Your vocabulary will regress into whatever is on the first grade reading list and your book club book.

3.      Don’t give your wife any shit about book club, girl’s nights, trunk shows, or any of it. Just don’t, it isn’t worth it and they need the adult interaction.  And no: calling, texting, and emailing do not sufficiently scratch the itch.

4.      There is a new sheriff in town.  Do not be surprised if you give an order to the kids and they immediately look to momma for the final “go” or “no go.”

5.      It just may simultaneously be the most underappreciated job in the world.  Nice job honey!

Spine and rehab           Most of this year and half of last year was spent NOT playing golf.  I gutted through a few tournaments and played a few nine-hole scrambles, but all in all it was miserable.  I was diagnosed with a herniated disk.  I spent a lot of time and money with physical therapists and chiropractors, even acupuncturists.  I eventually got to the point where I could exercise a little, but my violent golf swing which gave me so much pleasure and yardage was a thing of the past.  Turns out there may have been more there.

Tee-ball and soccer                 One of my dreams finally came true.  I had a plan that I would not push my children into sports.  I would love for them to be in them, but not for me…for them.  I knew the value of comradery, teamwork, responsibility. I knew winning and losing would help them in life.  But I didn’t want them to feel like it was a chore, because we all know it takes work to get better at anything.  Well imagine my joy while walking through Academy Sports on February 21 when Connor said, “Daddy, I want to play baseball.”  *record scratch/crooked dog head* “Are you sure son?”  “Yes dad, I want to play this year.”  Inside my happy F bombs were dropping like a WWII blitzkrieg. “Well son, let’s go pick out a bat, new glove, and a tee.”  I found out that the registration for our league had closed…the day before.  I emailed EVERYONE I knew including the commissioner.  I told them of my background and volunteered to coach and potentially be a medical resource (EMT) for the kids.  Connor was on a tee-ball team three days later…and I was an assistant coach, and helped a guy with a broken nose.  Connor’s focus issues eventually rose to the top, but we had a great year, the kids learned a lot, and my back issues notwithstanding I had an awesome year.  Connor was even awarded two game balls this season, an award he cherished more than anyone really knows. Connor decided to play coach pitch, and Josie excitedly made me sign her up to play tee-ball next spring. 

When Connor showed his interest for tee-ball, Josie was not about to be left out.  She wanted a sport and decided soccer was for her.  She played both spring and fall seasons.  She loved the spring session because there was one really aggressive and fast kid on her team that scored at least a half dozen goals per game…I don’t even know what they call that, a golden flaming sombrero?  Anyway, by the end of fall (where the team was not scoring goals and winning) she had decided her soccer career was over.  In fact by the end of the season both wanted to quit. We explained that “Martinez’ never quit” and they fully bought into the philosophy but they were not having fun.  So after the last game, we all decided that soccer may have run its course in our family. 

A dentist friend has a son that Connor loves to play with.  Turns out the dentite was a former wrestler as well.  So we proposed an impromptu wrestling camp for the two kids and both were excited about it.  We plan to give it a shot during the Christmas holidays.  Greg (the dentist) and I are already salivating over how this might play out.  Wrestling does a LOT for kids in so many ways.  It helps with bullying, stamina, agility, toughness (mental and physical), pain tolerance, balance, and general bad-assery. One thing I have seen in my life is that people will mess with wrestlers…once.  What more can you ask of a fair skinned red head who is arguably the sweetest kid you will ever meet in your lifetime.  I’m not just saying this as a parent, I get this feedback ALL the time.  Connor is truly a gentle giant.  At his birthday party he was stepped on in the bounce house and it busted his lip.  He came to me with a bloody mouth and almost emotionlessly asked me, “Dad, someone stepped on me in the bounce house, can you please wash out my mouth?”  No tears, no blame, not freaking out at tasting his blood.  He just wanted to fix it so he could go back out and play. That boy makes me so proud on so many levels.

Last Spring Sing for Connor             In the spring Connor finished his last year at Hope Children’s Center.  His final spring sing was met with joy and tears.  His teachers and the administrators adored him and he loved them too.  Even though he was just moving across the street to Spicewood Elementary for first grade, it was a bittersweet day.  A month later Nita took him to the dentist.  As some of you may be aware, redheads need more anesthesia than “normal” people.  So the Demerol and nitrous were unable to calm him down enough to do his dental work.  Three years earlier we had an ear, nose and throat doctor suggest removing his tonsils and adenoids after contracting strep twice in three weeks and the fact that his tonsils were in the 4+ range.  As it turns out, you can have your doctor and dentist coordinate in the hospital and the dentist will do their thing first, then the ENT will come in behind and knock out the tonsils and adenoids.  Poor Connor had to spend one night in the hospital, but he was a champ.  He ended up getting seven fillings, two teeth pulled (technically one fell out when they intubated), and the tonsillectomy/adenoidectomy. Within five hours of post-op, he was bouncing on his core ball watching Kung Fu Panda. That kid is amazing and his pain tolerance is unbelievable.

Finding Pita                   As you may remember from last year, Connor has an affinity for finding reptiles especially snakes, lizards, frogs, and turtles.  This time as Nita and the kids were exploring the Spicewood golf course (which will never re-open, please stop telling people that it will), he found a baby aquatic Texas Cooter that the kids named Pita.  (“Mom!!  You’ll NEVER believe what I just found!”)  Nita corresponded with a UT Arlington biologist (www.texasturtles.org...also on FB), and we learned that the newly named Pita needed sun for her shell, UV light, and live crickets.  One day, Nita and the kids put Pita outside in a toy water table with rocks and water to get some ‘shell time’.  When they returned from running errands…Pita was gone, Nita was mortified, and the kids were inconsolable.  Nita put a note out on the Balcones mom’s and neighbor’s groups and hoped for the best (let’s turn on the crazy! ), Of course it didn’t help that the very next day our yard crew came by and well, mowed the yard.  Three days later, our awesome neighbor John knocked on the front door, holding a little aquatic turtle in a plastic storage container.  “Is this the little guy you were looking for?  He was in our swimming pool.”  The kids were so excited to get her back.  We even bought a few minnows to put in the tank to keep her company…and a snail for the cleanup.  Pita is the longest lasting reptile with us (we usually set them free) and has been with us for almost 7 months now.  Oh and in the “you have got to be sh**ing me category…on December 3, Nita walked into our master bathroom and guess who was laying on the floor?  Paco!  Yes, the checkered garter snake we lost last year. Now he is 27 inches long (yes….we actually measured him…..on a 1970s yardstick compliments of the late, great, Luke L. Patrenella Jr.) and I’ve wondered why I haven’t seen a house gecko in months.  So our lack of fear of reptiles made him an easy catch for Connor and believe it or not, he was so docile it almost seemed like he missed us.  Although….we may have jumped the gun on Paco.  I think it is a new snake with very different mannerisms than Paco had. So with this new theory, Josie has renamed said snake…ready?  “Cutes – Rainbow – Godzilla.”  The good news is I hear the Austin Herpetology expo will be in our driveway next year.

Port Aransas                The beach trip was nothing too special this year.  We didn’t go with any friends this year, and the seaweed wasn’t piled high as in years past.  In fact it was pretty relaxing.  We stayed at a friend’s beach house who lent us his golf cart. I took Connor on his first fishing charter and of course he caught more fish than anyone else on the boat.  He was so proud of himself and we even ate his entire catch for dinner that night.  Nita still insists on making him look like Casper the ghost when we go out and I get it, he’s a fair skinned red head, but your pictures shouldn’t look like an Al Jolson negative.  “At least he isn’t getting freckles,” she says. While this was going on torrential rains and floods were hitting CenTex.  We even had a tree fall on the same good neighbor’s house that returned Pita.  We then popped over to Houston to the Italian cousins’ house to congratulate young Nicholas regarding his acceptance and future attendance at Texas A&M.  The night we arrived, we attempted to eat dinner at Patrenella’s restaurant. The rain and flooding were so bad we had to turn around and not drown.  We actually saw cars with floodwater up to the windows downtown.  It was somewhat nightmarish because the kids were starving and we ended up on the highways for almost two hours trying to drive 15 miles.  But as the storms pounded everyone we knew, we were safely somewhere else and our drive back to Austin was uneventful.  God is certainly watching over us.

Connor starts Spicewood                  Connor left the friendly confines of Hope Children’s Center this year and started public first grade.  We were worried a bit because as many of you know Connor has transition issues and to call him “fidgety” is perhaps the understatement of all time. But his OT doc said he was ready and frankly he is doing great.  By the first month, he was on a behavior plan.  By December he had already won a Principal’s Pride award.  He even gave a presentation the first week of December and was amazing.  Nita and I crashed it, and he wore his teacher’s microphone lanyard without playing with it or being silly.  He did not use the pointer in any manner other than to point to the picture he would be describing next. Finally he called on his peers in a polite commanding manner answering all their questions accurately.  Proud doesn’t begin to describe it.  What I’m most proud of is that he is a happy go-lucky kid and a gentle giant.  He’s almost a head taller than most of his peers and sweeter than a gumdrop.  He always tells the truth, even when he knows he’ll get in trouble.  We learned that actions have consequences, but lying makes them worse.  For the better part of 3 years, he’ll tell you what happened even if he can’t tell you why it happened.  “Integrity is a thing you can only sell once” my father used to tell me (Miss you dad).  Josie is in her last year at Hope and will enroll in kindergarten at Spicewood in fall 2016.  She’s ready, but you already knew that.  She has definitely blossomed into a little miss preen. She seems to be in charge of her class most days and leads them all in the daily lunch prayer.  She even drops the hammer at home if someone tries to sample something on their plate prior to the family prayer.  Also, some days she likes certain vegetables, some days she only likes them prepared a certain way, some days they are right out!  She has also discovered the power of the tear drop.  The force is strong with this one.

Top ten (or so) things Marco learned about his cancer

For a full account go to the blog.  I’ve been keeping a play by play journal, and frankly it would consume the entire Christmas letter to describe it all.  You can find it at www.tworedstwobrowns.blogspot.com.  First episode is “265 likes for a fart.”  So the top ten or so things I learned with Cancer and Chemo:

1.      MD Anderson is so big you have to take a shuttle inside the buildings (which stops running at 8:30PM and they are the best cancer center in the world).

2.      I cannot begin to articulate how humbling it is to see an army of friends and family rally around you and demonstrate how truly loved you and your family are.

3.      There are angels all around us and they come in all sizes.  They show up exactly when you need them (not necessarily when you think you need them).

4.      75% of the people who bring food will bring you their best casserole dish…which is carby, heavy, and DELICIOUS.

5.      Imodium and anti-nausea medicine can determine how your entire day goes and a good cry is more therapeutic than I ever imagined.

6.      Make friends with doctors!  If your doctor friend ever wants to change your surgical team for any reason, let them.  Don’t even ask what or why.  You just thank and hug them!

7.      Don’t forget the Lidocaine on infusion day and an IV bag with a pump connected to your chest is even more cumbersome than it sounds.

8.      When you lose part of your sense of taste, what you eat is not as important anymore, but you still crave sweets (I know, don’t start).

9.      You can actually survive on one bourbon per week…not one continuous bourbon after another, like before.

10.   I found that there is no love that penetrates your soul more than that of your concerned child, I never dreamed how deeply until I experienced it. 

11.   Don’t freak out when you get a $250,000 bill that has been “discounted” to $98,000.  It isn’t as real as you think…for you anyway.

12.   Don’t forget to tell everyone you love them.  Do it every day and pray, it works.  Live in the moment, enjoy your family, and love the life God gave you. What are you waiting for?

 

Nita’s new vagina      So that title was as subtle as a speculum.  So why are we talking about this? Because…incredibly, the day BEFORE I went into the hospital, we had an appointment with urogynecologist Dr. Tomas Antonini.  We were finally getting around to repairing Nita’s significant pelvic floor prolapse, which has been an issue for her since Josie’s birth.  She wanted to put the surgery off until the kids were more independently mobile, and until we were sure we weren’t going to be a family of five.

After Nita’s consult, my surgery occurred four days later…and Nita thought I was absolutely insane for asking her to keep her surgical appointment.  What were we thinking trying to add yet another element of drama to our already burdened home?  Logically it made a lot of financial sense to do the surgery this year especially with all the existing support from our neighborhood with meals, rides for the kids, and other contributions.  Besides with my issue in flux, what should she wait for? So…she did it!  She checked in for surgery on October 21st, survived the megadose of anesthesia reserved for saucy redheads (next to Tiffany on the hot crazy matrix) and now she is doing very well.  In addition to the prolapse repair, she had a total hysterectomy and a bladder sling implemented as well.  The full enchilada. Dr. Antonini says the surgery will restore her vagina to its pre-childbirth status (he may have even mentioned something about prom).  However, she will never be able to launch that career in professional weight lifting like she had been mulling over.  Now that she has no personal need any longer, she has been dubbed the feminine products fairy for our neighborhood.  Tampons, anyone?

Well, there it is.  Another action packed year of ups and downs.  Through it all the Martinez clan has come out stronger, wiser, and closer.  You can knock us down, but you can’t keep us down.  We are a family of lovers and fighters and we don’t give up.  Martinez’ never quit. So we’d like to wish you a very Merry Christmas, a happy and prosperous New Year filled with laughter, joy, and tight squeezy hugs.  We love you and want to thank you for being a part of our lives.  You make us better people.  May God bless and keep you and your families and always find a reason to keep going and never ring out (read the blog).

Final addendum: The great folks at my recruiting website Aggie Yell started a GoFundMe account.  Feel free to visit or don't.  Team Marco Go Fund Me

The gift that keeps on giving

The gift that keeps on giving.

Do you ever wish you could relive those childhood Christmas moments?  The “eyes of a child” quote comes up a lot this time of year doesn’t it?  Well you can, and it’s pretty cool.  I’m not just talking about buying toys and sitting on the ground playing with your kids.  I mean, getting caught up in the wonder and miracles of hope and faith.  When my father passed away I delivered is eulogy. Our family Priest got us started.  He spoke about the three greatest virtues in the Church being faith, hope, and charity.  I have experienced all three over the last five months with an extra helping this Christmas season. It has been nothing short of magical.  And miracles do happen if you know where to look.

Some of you may remember I wrote a little story about my father’s last day with me.  We went to the A&M vs. Michigan baseball game on March 11, 1996.  He died that night in my mother’s arms.  I was able to tell him I loved him and get some advice from him.  Now looking from the other side of this equation, I am very aware of how I express my love and spend my time with my family.  I still have to discipline and teach the kids, but always follow with a hug and a kiss.  I sometimes even second guess if I was over the top (chemo-pissed off is not quite roid-rage, but you do have to fight through it to get to your best, it isn’t just sitting there like a fluffy bunny).  I think maybe telling you a little about my father might tell you more about me (listen up kids, this is the story of your Abuelito).

My dad was born in 1935 in Corpus Christi, TX.  He was the son of a fourth generation Texan (Texican). His father was worthless and did not participate which his brother took as guidance.  My father was smart and strong and knew right from wrong, he went the good way.  Out of necessity he was in a gang on Agnes Street and quickly realized if he stuck with it he’d be dead or in prison.  He was in the gang because that is what you did if you wanted to survive at all. They were poor because his mother was a woman so the family land hand-me-downs went to the sons and not to her. She was given a small one bedroom house which was more than most had.  At 16 he joined the Navy.  About one month before he turned 17, they figured it out and discharged him.   A little over a month later he joined the Air Force and was shipped to Japan to fix airplanes during the Korean War. He sent his mother 50% of his paycheck.  She didn’t spend a dime of it, so when he came home she handed him a jar with all his money.  He used the money to build another bedroom onto her home making it a two-bedroom house. With the money left over he bought a used car. Momma first.   After he came back to Corpus he fell in love with my mother and used the GI bill to get his degree from Texas A&M Kingsville (A&I at the time).  He later told me that when he came home all his old “running buddies” were either dead or in prison. He suffered through racism and bigotry but didn’t let it get him down.  Instead he used science and math as his entry into mainstream society due to their lack of subjectivity (at the time).  He taught math in a Corpus high school and was an assistant football coach.  He ran into an old neighborhood guy and told him he was working at the school.  The guy said, “Orale, you’re a janitor esse, you got it made guay.” My father did not correct him, he just thanked him and wished him well.  Humility. After a brief teaching and football coach/scouting career he became a computer programmer…back when they were still using punch cards. He moved to Washington D.C., worked for the IRS and helped write the system that was in place until the mid-80s.  He was the recruited by the Department of Veterans Affairs to run their computer division in Austin.  This will date us, back when storage was reel to reel he purchased 2 TB of storage for over one million dollars. He had planned to retire the year he died and was studying to be a docent for the Lady Bird wildflower center.  We always had a vegetable garden and it kept him (and us) grounded and centered.

Growing up, dad was a huge sports fan.  I remember tagging along to countless football, baseball, and basketball state championship and playoff games that my dad and his friends would attend.  Dad would even pull me out of school for some of them.  Being in Austin, most were played here, but we’d still drive to Houston, Dallas, or San Antonio with his buddies for those that weren’t.  Dad played tennis twice a week for decades and during company picnics it was obvious he was a good athlete.  I played year-round sports and dad coached almost all of my teams in some capacity.  He was very much a “rub some dirt on it” kind of guy rather than “are you okay, let me give you a hug.” 

Dad’s gardens allowed me to become country strong.  We had a few acres in Manchaca which had nice rich soil.  Although there were very few neighbors, those we had mostly had tractors so it was easy for them to come and till a few rows for us, and then my job was to pick up rocks.  It was my punishment at times but also an opportunity to earn spending money. There were always rocks to pick up and haul to the rock pile.  I must have hauled several thousand wheelbarrows full of rocks across our property.  We also didn’t have a trash service, so we burned the trash and crushed our cans.  When we cleared trees, we hauled them to the “burning pile.”  I figured big branches required fewer trips so I’d haul the largest pieces I could handle. When I got to high school and tried out for the freshman football team they asked me how much I benched.  I had never lifted weights before and was laughed at.  I was moved from the “weak” group to the strong group on the first day.  I guess lifting tractors, trees, and hauling rocks were kind of a work out after all.

Dad was very competitive.  He played in a lot of tennis tournaments, and every year during his company tournament he’d ask me to be his partner.  For years we played doubles in these events and we never placed.  I was too impatient, always looking for the big serve, etc. His peers would just wait us out until I would make a mistake.  Dad never won another trophy as my partner but said his favorite times were playing in these tournaments with me.  I get it now.  He was also a wonderful guitar player.  He used to sing and play with his friends when we had parties and fish fries. He loved to BBQ and cook outside; he used me as a gopher, baster, and mixer and at the time I didn’t realize he was actually teaching me to BBQ and work a grill.  He tried to teach me a little guitar and like a dumb ass kid I rejected him and only picked up a little.  One of my biggest regrets was not learning guitar.  Dad gave me more gifts than I can count and they routinely come flooding back to me.  His little sayings, sage advice, competitive attitude, stubbornness, grit, toughness, huge heart, faith, and his embracing of our responsibility for charity. 

When he died and we were cleaning out his things, we found his junk drawer.  In it there were hundreds of raffle tickets, BBQ day passes, etc.  Any and every friend who asked him to buy something to support any cause was met with a willing purchaser.  He never won anything, never cared.  He gave what he could and supported his friends and community.  It wasn’t all rainbows and unicorns, we had our moments…but he was a great man and I strive to be more like him.  He had a saying that I can never escape, “Excellence is a state of becoming, never a state of being.”  There is always more in the tank, if you reach for it.

The peer pressure of my group has forced me to occasionally wear a mask out in public or in a gathering where I know there will be a lot of kids.  The white blood cell boost helps, but the tradeoff is the temporary hobbled walking at times. I can gut through it when the kids are around so they don’t have to worry. Another funny and counterintuitive side effect is the relationship between smell and taste. My sense of taste especially for salt is greatly reduced but my sense of smell is heightened. So I can smell things that Nita and the kids don’t notice.  Odors and aromas are much stronger/pungent to me now.  Sometimes it affects the nausea if left unattended.  In the grand scheme of things, I am lucky.  My chemo is working, my wife and kids are healthy, and I am surrounded by an amazing support group.  That leaves time for me to notice things.  As poignantly stated by Ferris Bueller, “Life moves pretty fast.  If you don’t stop to look around once in a while, you could miss it.”  Speaking of movies a friend puts on a children’s production each year.  This year was the Grinch that stole Christmas, almost.  While there, my best friend Omar’s father in law and I spoke for a while about living in the moment.  We talked about the real tragedy is that it actually takes a tragedy for some folks to realize what they have been missing all along.  So of course Scrooged/Dickens came up.  The moral of course is that what if the ghosts had never visited Ebenezer Scrooge?  Would he have ever enjoyed anything around him?  Well of course the second and third ghost tell us he wouldn’t.  But they did come and he did learn. So, apropos for this season don’t you think?  Let me be your ghost.  Don’t miss another minute if you don’t have to.  

I bought a guitar this Christmas.  I was watching a documentary on the group Daft Punk and something just clicked in my mind.  Nita is a musician and we have instruments all over the house.  She even bought me a classical guitar a few years ago.  I started on it but quit when I broke a string and never got around to having it fixed.  I had a vision of the family Christmas where everyone plays an instrument and we sing a few carols, very Norman Rockwell.  We still sing around the piano, but I didn’t keep my part of the bargain.  Now what exactly am I waiting for?  So I treated myself to a cheap little starter electric with a small amp.  I have a lot of friends who have played in bands and I’m sure I can lure one or two of them to remind me how to strum a few cords so I can be serviceable around the house.  Back to the Daft Punk show.  I turned off the Dallas vs. NY Jets game and invited Nita to watch it with me again.  She gave me a compliment that was pretty neat.  She said, “You know lately you’ve been paying more attention to the arts…actually, just paying more attention and I like this more attentive you.”

I guess that is the secret: paying more attention.  Now I try to be present, involved, aware, and not merely around.  This goes for work, family time, dinnertime, wrestling, story time, and playtime with the kids.  We are back to doing puppet shows, sing-a-longs, other creative things, and general tomfoolery. It’s kind of like being a kid again.  I wish someone would have let me know how I really should have been living…oh yea, someone did.  It was my dad and he showed me every day.

Merry Christmas!

 

Now that it's working

Now that it’s working

I’m back home from Houston and suffered through another round of infusion (chemo) this week and frankly I suppose I can’t complain about the side effects too much.  The drugs are working after all, and that is the main goal.  Like any therapy or rehabilitation (muscle/bone/ligament) it’s going to hurt and take some work to get better.  So a little more nausea this time, meh, I can live with that.  Well, I said that initially, but Monday and Tuesday were miserable.  I wonder if it was because during my trip to Houston I either over did it a bit and zapped my energy, didn’t get my normal two bags of fluids and anti-nausea drip for the week, or both.  It’s funny how easy it seems to drink 8 beers during a round of golf and settling up bets after but 72 ounces of water in five hours seems impossible and damn near unreasonable.

As we mentioned last week, my buddy Bart said he’d take us to lunch in his plane.  So I went and fetched Connor from school and off to the airport we went.  The boy was all smiles and was telling anyone who would stop to listen about his pending adventure. The cloud cover kept us from touching down in Llano and getting our grub on, but we had an awesome time in the air.  Connor even morphed into his air traffic controller staccato robot voice.  We then flew home over the Austin skyline and Bart touched us down like a feather from a pillow in a 28 MPH crosswind, but what else do you expect from a former Marine helo pilot?   

Saturday night was our men’s golf association Christmas party.  I hadn’t been able to play much golf lately so it was a very nice treat to see all those guys.  Nita and the wives also had some nice chats.  Everyone was pretty excited to hear the news about the shrinking tumors.  But it was weird for a weird reason.  As a former “A” (single digit) golfer I had no problem telling these older guys what to do, where to hit, yardage, club selection, etc.  I'm also known to tell a story or joke at the club on occasion, but as a guy with cancer surrounded by older guys who were coming over to hear how I was doing, it was different.  This might sound stupid or odd, but I don’t care.  I was still telling my story, but I felt surrounded by support, caring, and true empathy.  And this is a group of stodgy old men, and here I felt a spiritual hug.  Surreal and neat, you never know when the next log will appear.

Sunday we were back at the golf club for brunch with Santa.  The kids ate without getting all the food on them this year and the pictures turned out nice.  Connor is finally comfortable around the big man, although a little nervous about some tomfoolery that has been going on during the year. He is firmly convinced that action – consequence is no joke and Santa doesn’t mess around.  Josie has always been fine with characters dressed up and Santa specifically.  She’s also the “good one” (don’t start, I don’t have favorites) and as such is not too worried about her haul each year.  We even have to make up things for her to work on like “eating more vegetables not just the meat.”  There were three more Christmas functions in between but I won’t bore you with those other than to say I was pretty worn out by the time I showed up for my infusion.

Another way we know the chemo is working is that my white blood cell (WBC) count is wrecked.  My numbers were just barely high enough to authorize chemo this week.  What that means is the drugs are attacking my cells, good bone marrow and cancer.  They’ll give me a couple of shots to boost the WBC count this Thursday and early next week.  I just need to take it easy and not put myself in a lot of social situations.  Which means making cameo appearances at Christmas functions or just hanging in the back trying to be a ghost.  I cannot afford to get sick(er) (I suppose, right?) while having a low count.  So this week I have our company Christmas luncheon, vendor/partner dinner, infusion, fluids, Josie’s Christmas show (Wed and Thurs), and…  My job is to see how many hands I can avoid shaking while not looking like a dick or an attention whore.  Part of me thinks I should wear a mask, jury is still out.  Everyone at work and Josie’s school knows, so it isn’t a shock, I’m just trying to be as subtle as possible while avoiding a medically induced coma for Christmas.  So I think you see my dilemma.

Monday infusion.   Nausea was much worse than the last few times.  Work drugs work!  It has been a pretty rough week with the neuropathy kicking in for good measure…and don’t even get me started on QB transfers (football, if you get it you get it).  Good news in chemo camp! Two fellow campers on what I call the “rowdy row” rang the bell (good ring, not my ring).  That means they have completed their treatments and are on to another chapter, but their bodies effectively get a break from the chemo.  Good for them, but I’m going to miss their cheerful banter and fashionable stocking caps.  God bless you Amy and Mimi.  Oh and chemo tip for the week: Costco sells an Imodium-like product in a 400 count for 1/10th the price of the brand name.  I remember just five short months ago thinking, "Why would anyone buy a 48 pack of Imodium?"  Then just a couple months later thinking, "Why do they only sell them in 48 packs?"

Live your life.  My best friend Pete has changed his ringtone to “live like you were dying” for whenever I call.  He came by the other day and he said that people are always asking about me.  His response, “He’s never been happier.  I wish you could understand that he really is living like he is dying and enjoying every minute of life.”  I may not go quite that far, but I definitely find beauty in a lot of things that used to be mundane.  As for parenting, I’m not really a daredevil and I suppose I was somewhat of a helicopter parent in the beginning.  Using a football analogy I have a theory that former athletes are like cornerbacks (who don’t get burned on a wheel route), while non-athletes are more like safeties who’ll bite on the play action.  I’m not passing judgment, just making an observation.  Without over simplifying because yes there are plenty of athlete moms who fit in this category…but for the most part dads are constantly guarding their “man” watching the child’s hips to see where they are going next.  Moms tend to wait for the play to develop and then react.  It’s why you see those pictures of people (mental or physical) with their hands on their cheeks like Home Alone while something is happening and dads are icing a hamstring because they sprinted and dove when they saw a collection of threats that might develop into an event.  Meanwhile everyone was left looking at them like they were insane…but we know don’t we?

As for now, I’m in more of a let them learn, they’ll heal mode.  I’ve been talking to my SEAL buddy more and he tells me stories of guys injuries and gunshot wounds like I would tell a joke.  The moral of the story is that the human body is amazing and has unfathomable healing properties.  The human mind is also amazing and it develops through experiences and helps in the healing process.  So my previous chirping to Nita, “Where is your man, cover your man” has died down considerably.  I think now it might be more valuable for the kids to have a bit less oversight, let them work things out on their own, and figure out what is a good idea and a bad one.  I’m obviously not going to let them play in traffic, but you get the point.  I can’t be there for everything, and well, more than likely I won’t.  So I focus more on the lesson after the event, instead of preventing the event.  Speaking of which, Connor has a little buddy that might join a wrestling program with him…stay tuned.

When I got the pump removed on Wednesday I was able to help get the kids to bed.  I read Josie a bible story and we talked about some other things at her school.  She seems to really understand how my situation is going and is very sensitive to making quality time together (can you believe she is barely five?).  Both kids had another wonders and worries appointment on Thursday.  Last time they came home with charts on types of blood cells and a bag of “plasma” made from rice, marshmallows, gelatin, and something else. This time they came home with "patient dolls" with gauze, scrubs, gloves, etc.  The intent was to make those things seem common and eliminate the shock value.  I’m sure they know what they are doing, but that seems pretty advanced for the average five and seven year old, how many teenagers even know what platelets are?  Oh well, better to know than to be in the dark. Connor also shares a lot about my situation to others.  But he's able to compartmentalize it a bit.  I'm also proud to announce he even won a "principal's pride" award on Monday."

Notice the ring on VP Page's hand?!

Thanks to all of you who purchased cookbooks.  According to Bill they should be shipping this week so you can try some new recipes for Christmas or ship them on to the intended recipient.  I even saw a few pop up on Facebook with friends proudly displaying their purchase. Quite a bit was raised and it will help tremendously with the medical bills. Further I made a pledge to donate 20% of whatever came in to the Marine Corps Law Enforcement Fund.  It creates college funds for fallen military families and first responders (fire, police, EMT).  The reason I chose this charity was they also have a 90+% payout, which means they don’t spend the majority of their money on fundraising, advertising, and administrative salaries…the money goes to the people for whom it is intended.

I’ll save the rest for the Christmas letter, but thank you all who read, care, send notes, call, pray, etc.  Your support makes a difference and here is how:  We’ve all either seen or been a part of an event where someone just has nothing left in the tank and there are one or more people screaming at that person to push farther, do one more repetition, take another step, etc.  These are common for military training, every gym you’ve ever been to, almost any sporting event practice, or races.  Well, you fine folks are that influence for me.  Anytime I feel a little down, I hear the hundreds of voices telling me to push through and do one more rep.  So thank you for that.  So if you ever wonder if you are making a difference in the world, or making a dent…you are.  Even if it is to help me.  I hope I am in turn helping some of you.  God bless you all, and Merry Christmas.  TeamMarco@austin.rr.com

Traditions

Traditions

The Martinez family has a few family traditions some of which are integrated into those of our neighborhood.  I also went to a school that taught me the importance of maintaining traditions no matter what.  In fact, even after I transferred to Texas Lutheran, I took a few fellow baseball players with me to the very next Aggie Bonfire.  They constantly remind me what an amazing experience it was.  So they are important, they matter, and they do make impressions.  Now we don’t actually do anything to the magnitude of setting up four rows of logs with a crane and spraying them down with Jet A, but we do have some pretty neat things to discuss.

Last year was Connor’s first year to throw trees.  Our neighborhood does not have streetlights…except during Christmastime.  The lights are actual Christmas trees decorated with C9 lights.  Our HOA sells and delivers 650 Christmas trees each year to the neighborhood.  We start around 6:30AM using four trucks with flatbed trailers. About 20-30 guys, and 10-15 kids load up these trees and we drive around delivering to all that ordered one…no matter what the weather is like.  Some years you are in jeans and t-shirts, others in snow gear.  This year was high 30s, low 40s and clear, not too bad.  Instead of throwing, I was the navigator this year, checking off the boxes for the neighbors who did and didn’t order (I felt like Santa).  Connor had a blast in the back of the flatbed dragging trees to the front yard with two other kids.  It’s great to see all the neighbors come out and start putting up their tree that early in the morning, I love the spirit and how deeply they embrace the tradition.  Our hood goes pretty Griswold and it is a fun place to drive around during the season.

This year we put up our first live tree as a family.  We had previously used a pre-lit artificial tree and I actually set a record (personal) one year with complete set up in under 7 minutes, including the fluffing (now go wash your mind out with soap, you know who you are).  Because of the convenience of front steps delivery, we didn’t go cut our own tree, but just might next year.  The smell in the house is fantastic and the wife and kids had a great time hanging ornaments and as usual it is bottom heavy.  Of course after the last ornament is hung our tradition includes putting the angel on the top to bless the house and remind us the true meaning.  Afterwards Connor and I went outside and did the lawn decorations.  It usually takes three times longer with his “help” and last year it annoyed me…but I wouldn’t trade it for the world this year (what was I thinking last year?).  I hope that we continue this for a while, and when the time comes, Connor knows to do it on his own for his mother and Josie.  He’s a good boy, I’m sure he will.

The next day is Christmas cart caroling.  Living in a golf community that allows personal carts has given life to this event.  People come to the  golf club (who provides carts to those who don’t own their own and a hayride for the kids) and we decorate our golf carts in a Christmasy way.  Then we go to five or six predetermined homes in the neighborhood and children and adults sing carols. Josie is turning into quite the performer and was pretty much center stage complete with hand gestures and some dance moves.  Nita was a drum major in high school and marched in the Longhorn band for three years, so she led the music.  There are hot toddies, fireballs (this year), and lots of fun.  Then we head back to the club where cookies and cocoa are set out to reward the worn out carolers.  I’ve been the traffic cop for the last 7 or so years and enjoy my post.  Most people are excited and understanding about a slow tractor pulling 20 kids in a trailer followed by 20 more golf carts…some are not.  At the end of the day, everyone has a great time and it’s a wonderful event to which we look forward each season. 

While we’re on tradition, my mother’s favorite musical is Fiddler on the Roof.  My first job out of college in 1992 was selling fax machines and copiers.  I made $1,000 per month plus commission.  When I got my very first paycheck I purchased tickets to a small theater rendition of Fiddler on the roof for my parents and me to attend.  It was a small production, but that was my way of giving back as much as I could afford for all the years of love and support.  Since then, mom has obviously been taken care of and is now living a mile away from us, including her own golf cart to shuttle back and forth. If I have done my job, the kids will do the same for their mother.

So why am I writing all this?  I really hope this doesn’t come across like a Facebook version of “hey here’s a picture of my lunch.” There are a lot of reasons, but a very important one is so my children will know me.  I want them to read the stories I may not be able to tell them later.  I want them to know how much I love them, even when they fart at the table.  (20 year-old Connor is either thanking God that this never got published, or wondering why and how in the hell Nita was able to get this published).  I want them to know that I’d fight to the depths of hell and back and endure anything for them.  Hopefully someday I can just read these to them and we’ll all have a nice laugh.  Realistically, I probably won’t see them graduate from high school and won’t be around to help them select a college, a career, or give relationship advice.  It is certainly a VERY long shot to be around to help advise (solicited or “un”) on parenting.  So this is my medium to guide them.  A further benefit is some of you can find inspiration, strength, love, support, and comradery through my experiences.  I’m happy to help any who want or need it.  Finally, by pouring out my soul many people are reaching out to me, praying, crying, laughing, you name it with me.  And that helps me.  Going through this knowing you are loved and supported makes it a lot easier than wondering why you are getting another round of shots, taking another med, being bled again, etc.

 

Monday before I took off to Houston, I was able to have lunch with my son at his school.  After lunch he gave a presentation to his first grade class.  He was poised and handled it like a boss.  He controlled the room, had a nice steady cadence, and then called on classmates to answer their questions.  I was very proud of him and he may even be a better presenter than his daddy.

Tuesday after seeing customers it was time to see if the current drug protocol is working.  The unnerving thing is that I get to go back to the condo (thanks George) and sleep knowing that my Doctor and nurses know if it’s working…but I won’t, I get to wait until 11AM the next morning.  There are worse spots in which to be I suppose.  When I got there I was looking forward to using my port-o-catheter instead of having my arms stuck for blood draws and the contrast dye. I showed up at the MD Anderson (MDA) facility just before my appointment at 5 for my blood draw, they had to stick my arm.  I then had until 6:30 to start my Barium cocktail for my contrast CT scan. Well, for all you MDA potential visitors, here is a tip.  If MDA didn’t install your port, they won’t use it, unless you have an x-ray of it to “verify” the location.  They can schedule an x-ray…before 5.  Or you have to go to another wing to get it done…and the port has to be started by the nurses in Infusion, on another floor.  I didn’t have time to navigate the maze so I chose arms one last time…and of course they missed and lanced one vein for good measure nd I leave with three puncture wounds including one heroin chic bruise.  Also, I was hoping that between 5PM (bloodwork) and 6:30PM (CT check in) I could grab a bite; I hadn’t eaten since lunch.  Nope, one is supposed to fast for three hours prior to lab check in.  Plus of course they were running an hour late, which I found out by experience not at the front desk.  By the time I was done, I wasn’t even hungry anymore, but I’m not supposed to skip meals, so I had an Ensure and a banana around 11:00PM.

When the scan was over around 10:30, I also discovered that the shuttle stopped running...at 8:30.  So I had to carry my stuff about a quarter mile to the main building through the sky bridge all the while with a feeling that the valet stand had closed for the night. Fortunately it hadn’t.  I was talking to my wife on my walk back, semi-complaining about how late it was, no shuttle, etc.  And then I got hit with my own dose of perspective.  While standing in the valet area waiting for my car, a child was wheeled in.  A child with no hair, wheeled presumably by her parents, balloons on the back of the chair, IV lines in.  A smiling child, enjoying a moment outside before heading back to her room for the night.  I immediately thought, “My God, what if this were happening to Connor or Josie?”  Thank God this is happening to me instead.  As strong as some of you think I am, I don’t think I could bear watching my child go through this.  Perhaps I could find another gear, but I’m not very confident.  Sure I can take this for me, and I think I know where my mental and physical tolerance points are (thank you wrestling team and Dell).  I would crumble into a mess and probably drink myself to death if it happened to my children.  So, in the course of five seconds I went from complaining to thankful. And it was sincere.  Nita even said, “Honey, don’t even think that.”  But it was true, I’m sure some of you read this and thought, “I would gladly suffer so my children would not (those without teenagers I presume)” and now you know how I felt.  It was one more log on my bonfire. By the way, my bonfire is my imaginary bonfire of strength (something like Ed Norton’s ice cave in Fight Club).  As things come along, another blessing, a smile or laughter from my wife and children, another reason, another act of kindness, etc....I take that virtual log and toss it on my fire to keep it burning.  It’s a visualization thing that helps me confidently: rest, sleep, take on whatever; as long as my fire is burning with plenty of fuel nearby to keep it going.

It reminded me of Connor’s surgery this year.  He’s a redhead and as some of you may or may not be aware, they need more anesthesia than non-redheads.  So when he went to the dentist for a filling(s), the Demerol and nitrous could not get him comfortable enough for the work to be done.  We’d also been told by an ENT (ear, nose and throat doctor) that his tonsils were large (4).  In fact he contracted strep throat twice in three weeks a couple of years ago.  When we were told the dentist needed to fully sedate him for his fillings we called the ENT to see if he could do the tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy concurrently (consecutively).  Apparently they do this all the time.  It was pretty easy all things considered, 1.5 hours for seven fillings, two teeth pulled, and the tonsils/adenoids.  (Before you ask if he eats candy before bed every night…he had hyperplasia due to a couple of high fevers as a child.  It affected his enamel formation).  But one night in the hospital then home.  Connor was a stud.  No complaints, and within 3 hours of his surgery he was bouncing on a core ball and watching Kung Fu Panda.  As bad as I wanted to stay with him of course he wanted his momma.  I suppose it is pretty normal, Daddy drops the discipline hammer at home and momma cleans up with hugs and kisses.  So if you are bleeding and need attention, you run to daddy (former EMT if you are getting here late); if you need soothing…well momma has a special rocking chair just for such occasions.  The point is, I was never worried about his surgery.  He’s a tough kid, the doctors were awesome, and I knew it was a quick temporary thing.  I am thankful my kids are so healthy but realize and will have to tell them someday they’ll have to get screened early because they have my genes.  I am praying my situation was a fluke mutation and not a genetic hand-me-down.  Not a very good gift.

Wednesday, results day.  But first another Aggie from my Aggie Yell group is meeting me for breakfast.  He is also an MDA visitor and I supposed we’d talk about our cancers and joke about our experiences.  We met at a joint called the Breakfast Klub.  If you haven’t been to this restaurant in Houston you must go!  It is awesome, soul-food/comfort food, but worth the trip if you are downtown. Phil was a great family guy, good Ag, and we did in fact joke about our cancers and treatments and the behemoth that is MDA.  We also talked about our support networks, the importance of attitude, and we talked about the end game a bit.  He’s a good dude and will be in my prayers, he even snagged a few wristbands.  He also reminded me that I need to articulate how awesome my family is.  They are fighting right along with me and even though they aren’t “feeling” the effects, they are in the middle of it for sure.  I get a lot of the attention, but my wife and kids are sweating out every treatment, infusion, lab test, and therapy along with me.  And bless their hearts they are helpless to do anything more than watch and love me, which they do in droves.  So thank you Nita, Connor, and Josie!  And thank you to all those near and far who check up on me, drop by, bring food, provide lodging, cookbooks, send treats, contribute, and pray for me.  And thanks to the Houston family for all the love and support and the delicious dinner at Patrenellas (Nita's uncle and cousins) Wednesday night.

Enough suspense, the tumors are shrinking!  They are shrinking in both size and density!  My bloodwork also showed a decline in tumor markers (as illustrated by the graph in last week’s blog) which is good.  There was one lone-wolf lymph node tumor that grew, but by a very small margin.  There was also some thickening in the colon, but not uncommon with the surgery, Imodium, diet change, and probably that damn pie/cake.  It’s something to be aware of, but not freak out about…right Thiru? Before anyone starts hiring mariachis and signing me up to partner in that 2025 four man scramble…this is a lifelong battle.  Remember, also from last week’s blog post, there may be a ping pong effect of good results, possibly even remission, but the tumors will more than likely come back…and we’ll fight them again.  I don’t mean to dilute the great news, but I also don’t want those closest to me to create unrealistic expectations.  The good news is I have plenty of logs on my fire.

Back to the good news. There are two more approved drug protocols!  From just the three months I last visited MDA, there were two more new drugs that were approved and have shown efficacy for my cancer.  That means if my current cocktail loses momentum, and the FulFox doesn’t work or loses steam, there are two more options I can take before clinical trials (which insurance may or may not support). This is great, because it also means there are advancements being made.  Like my friends Dr. Shaw and surgeon Dr. Lakshman said, “Stay in the ring, fight until the next advancement is made/approved.”  One round has already been made, so my job is to stay above room temperature until the next set are released.  Let’s enjoy our victories when they come, but not set ourselves up for crushing defeats.  But in the meantime how does one celebrate news like this?  Why you go pick up your son from school early, take him to the airport where your buddy Bart keeps his plane.  Then you fly to Lockhart for a BBQ lunch!  Right?!  And what the hell, hire the mariachis! Not really mom, just a metaphor (mom loves mariachis, but that is a story for another time).  TeamMarco@austin.rr.com