A Shift in Momentum

A shift in momentum

There were some dramatic turns in my lab work this week.  More on those later, but the blog I originally intended to write was somewhat scrapped and replaced by the new information.  The other stuff can keep for another week or so, but there was in fact a big shift in progress.  I’ll try to get there quickly.

Friday afternoon my buddy and I went to watch our other friend play in the Texas Open.  It brought back a flood of memories of how many times I’ve walked a course with him, his family, and all the wonderful people I’ve been able to meet along the way during his 25 year professional golf career.  Saturday each kid had a baseball game.  I’m proud to announce that Connor stood in the box and swung the bat.  He didn’t get a hit, but he made contact and more importantly hung in there and didn’t bail out.  We immediately made good on the promise and went to Toys R us.  He was so proud of himself and I was happy that he was able to conquer a fear.  That’s really the secret isn’t it?  Finding ways to conquer our fears.

Thanks to the parents who sent me pictures when I couldn't be there

This was chemo week and I missed tee ball games Monday and Tuesday due to Josie not wanting me to scare other kids with the chemo pump and needle in my chest.  She also didn’t want me to accidentally get hurt which is pretty sweet.  I offered to wear a disguise and she was opposed.  She said, “Daddy, someone might recognize you and say, “Hey there’s Marco, let’s go give him a hug!  And then what would you do?”  My girl.  Plus, it still takes a toll on me and does weird things to my mouth and stomach.  Chemo is a pesky thing for sure.  I think those two weeks off let my body somewhat recover too much, because this was a weird week.  I really felt the effects well into Thursday evening. It may have also been because within a few hours of getting my pump removed I went and pitched a coach pitch game for Connor’s team  (He actually made a pretty salty play as well, that boy is coming around).

When I was 16 I really thought I wanted to be a doctor.  I still have an infatuation with the profession, but back then I was really focused.  My father suggested that I become an Emergency Medical Technician (EMT) to see if I really wanted to do it instead of spending 8-10 years after high school discovering it might not be my thing.  So off I set to become the state’s youngest EMT. After high school classes, baseball practice, homework, I took night classes to get certified.  10 weeks and 32 hours of Emergency room, Labor and Delivery, and Paramedic ride-along rotations later, I was qualified to take the state test.  But I had to wait until my 18^th birthday to actually take it.  I passed and joined two first responder units immediately. I couldn’t wait for my first call.  I know it sounds horrible, but there was something exhilarating about rushing to a call, being first on the scene, and trying to stabilize an injured person. 

I did not become a doctor (inside Aggie joke alert) mainly because my time at A&M lacked some focus.  It was more Kenny Hill than Johnny Manziel, but still left a lot to be desired. So I left to finish at Texas Lutheran.  I’m glad everything worked out the way it did and I’ve used my training over the last 30 years to help countless people in different situations, friends who needed help, kids at games and birthday parties, and of course my own family.  What I enjoy is the calm feeling that comes over me when a situation comes up and I’m able to triage an injury and help someone.  Recently I received a note about a friend who has a family member who was going into emergency surgery for colon cancer.  He indirectly reached out to me and of course I was glad to help.  It allowed me to stop focusing on my own issues and try to help someone else.  That is pretty therapeutic for me, and probably one of the reasons I put so much effort into this blog.

There have been several second and third hand accounts around how helpful this blog could be, or might be, and how it has inspired some folks.  Additionally other cancer survivors and sufferers share their stories with me and disclose that they find strength in the blog.  I’ve even been asked to convert the blog into a book.  (I had a lot more written here, but as mentioned earlier, there was a turn of events that pushed it out, or it would have turned into a five page read).  In any case, I hope you can all find strength here especially when you need it the most. For some reason an old love saying popped into my head.  “Love me when I deserve it the least, for that is when I need it most.”  Please keep those prayers coming.

So Wednesday I went in to get my pump removed and I got some alarming news.  Monday’s bloodwork revealed that my CEA tumor marker score climbed to 6.6, which is more than double the last score.  That might have meant one of several things, with a faulty test score being the only positive outcome.  They took more blood Wednesday and sent it to another lab for validation.  This new information certainly started my mental hamster running and emotions came flooding in. The most devastating of those thoughts was recalling a very recent discussion with my daughter.  After missing her two games, and her telling me the story of how well she did, Josie asked when my cancer would be gone… presumably so we can get back to “normal” and I wouldn’t miss any more games.  Tuesday night, I told her that I didn’t know, but I was trying.  The new information on Wednesday makes me less optimistic. 

Thursday morning I got the news that my score had gone up another tick to 7.5. This is not good and validates that the first was not a false positive. Remember just a couple of months ago when the score was in the 1.5 range and we were thinking that a remission might be around the corner?  Well that plan just blew up.

It has been recommended that I get to MD Anderson for another scan in the next two weeks and potentially change protocols.  What has likely occurred is my cancer has broken through the current protocol and is no longer contained. Sorry Josie, the timeline just got longer.  So that means we are effectively going back to square one.  Maybe not completely, but there is new activity that needs to get treated and the current fix is no longer cutting it.  Six weeks wasn’t much of a break, but it is what it is.  I’ll be honest, this was not easy news to hear and digest. The current protocol takes a significant toll on my body and I can only imagine what starting a new regimen will do.

I took a few hours and had my own little pity party.  It was disheartening to go follow all the instructions, keep a good attitude, and suffer through the meds and side effects.  Then only to hear that there was a breach in containment.  I wanted to blame my body, my mind, my faith, stress, almost anything.  Is it possible I was still taking too much for granted?  Is there another lesson I need to learn? I’m sure you can imagine the spiraling thoughts of hopelessness that crept in.  I am not proud of this moment of weakness, nor am I ashamed of it.  Kudos to MDA for quickly rescheduling my scan and looking into my issue within hours of my request.  They really are the best.

I guess this is where I need to put some energy into healing myself in addition to helping others.  I’ve been saying so frequently that I’m strong enough to do this, it’s time again to put my money where my mouth is.  From an advice point to any new readers or cancer sufferers, I believe my mistake was buying into the confident support and the urgency of healing.  Everyone wants you to get better so very quickly and buck all the odds. Sure, who doesn’t?  (Aside – the statistics are there for a reason and based on empirical data, not merely probabilities like a coin flip).  My new outlook is to set small goals and milestones along the way.  Start racking up victories each day, week, month, etc.  Then focus on longer term objectives such as remissions, clean screenings, and ultimately whatever is supposed to happen.  Cancer is a nasty disease for a reason.  If it was so easy to contain and treat, it wouldn’t be so big a deal would it?  But alas it is, and it sucks, and it has claimed many scalps for its trophy wall.  But when I was starting to lapse mentally, another magical nudge from above occurs.

A couple of weeks ago I was watching Joe Versus the Volcano.  As I was flipping around between innings of the Ranger game, I saw the title again and it reminded me of a scene that really impacted me.  If you don’t know the movie, it’s a campy flick where Tom Hanks is tricked into believing he has a brain cloud.  He then has to travel to a Polynesian island to ultimately jump into a volcano to because there are none “brave enough among the Waponi-woo” the indigenous island inhabitants. This is done to appease the volcano “god” and the Waponi-woo would then sign the mineral rights over to a guy who produces microchips.  Joe’s reward is unlimited funds for a few weeks and a trip aboard a yacht to the island. 

On the way he encounters some hardships but one magical night he is floating on his luggage with Meg Ryan (the ship goes down) and the moon comes up over the horizon. He watches the magnificent sight and thanks God for his life.  Joe did not feel betrayal, fear, or even disappointment, but rather gratefulness. I remember seeing that scene and thinking how thankful I was for my own existence.

I’ve traveled and seen a great many things.  I’ve been a part of some amazing teams in my career. I married the love of my life.  I have two beautiful and amazing children of whom I am so proud. I had a father that died way too soon, but left me so many lessons that I treasure and use every day.  I have an 80 year old mother who is healthy, lives a mile away and is a big part of our lives.  I have amazing friends who would do almost anything for my family.  So yes, thank you God! Thank you for my life.  It is time to strap up and get back in the fight.  I almost feel silly for the moment of weakness, but I suppose it just shows I’m human too.  It happens. But fear not, no one rings out today.  The Martinez family never quits. TeamMarco@austin.rr.com

Character

Character

This week has had quite a few ebbs and flows.  My son was sick over the weekend and my best friend was preparing to play in a PGA event.  Is there anything worse than being sick on your days off?  Poor Connor was reeling from having to miss some of the events planned for the weekend and further distressed when he discovered the axiom “never trust a fart when you have a stomach bug.”  Additionally, with all the rain and subsequent rain outs, he is really feeling the no new toys until he swings in a game policy.  He is champing at the bit to swing this Saturday.  Which is kind of the goal isn’t it?

Omar is widely known on tour for his fajita cookout and his mother’s enchiladas. It started off at a house 20 years ago with a couple of golfers, moved to a park with about 30 golfers and family, then to the tournament driving range where his dad and a family friend cut and cooked all the fajitas for the players and families.  It has finally progressed to having the PGA fully fund and take on the event.  Other events have cropped up in other locations over the years, but Omar was the pioneer.  During this event I’ve seen a lot of changes and met a lot of the folks who make the tour work including caddies and of course the golfers. 



Four guys who have caddied for Omar on Tour...and Pete

You can tell a lot about folks when you meet them at a picnic.  You can tell who is genuinely friendly, who is desperately trying to remember you, and people who don’t care and think you are wasting their time.  These things are all exponentially obvious the more important they are or that society has convinced them of their position.  Like any other bell distribution, on tour there are all kinds of people including a lot of great folks.  There are also a lot of folks who have earned certain reputations.  A particular person I’d like to call out is Matt Kuchar.  He is a guy you love to love.  There are countless examples, but let’s just say he is the perfect example of the saying, “You can tell a lot about someone’s character by the way they treat people who can do absolutely nothing for them.”



Aggie Bronson Burgoon at the cookout

A funny aside to this story. There is one guy (a PGA Tour winner) who never remembers my buddy or me.  As you must know by now, we are both very boisterous and tell a lot of what we think are memorable stories, and we don’t dumb it down in front of celebrities.  As my wife puts it, we take up a lot of space in the room.  Hell we took that bluebonnet picture, how are we forgettable?  In any case, we have both taken this guy to his house when he needed a ride and have seen him many times over the years.  On cue we go up to him at the cookout and make small talk.  We ask about his home, etc.  He then launches into a story about his wife having a sidearm and checking the perimeter of their property.   Pete and I laugh for a long while knowing this is his way of saying, “I don’t like that you know where I live, but just in case, we have guns.”  I guess we won’t be popping over for coffee and cake anytime soon.  He’s not a bad guy, in fact he’s very nice.  Over the years he has given us clubs, training tools, balls, etc.  He’s been fun to play golf with and has always been nice to us.  But for the life of him, he can never remember who the hell we are.



Before you judge, there is a long story behind this

Matt reminds me that I have some work to do on my own patience and courtesy.  There are a lot of folks who have reached out to me over the last seven months (several years if I’m honest with myself) and I have not always made time for them.  I need to do a better job of acknowledging folks and showing appreciation.  It really doesn’t take that much effort to be nice does it?  I need to improve in this area and then be a better example to my family on how to demonstrate that skill.  Kuchar has it down and is well liked because of it.  Guess who already has that skill?  Connor.  That boy is as friendly as anyone you have ever met.  He doesn’t say bad things about anyone and doesn’t make fun of his peers.  Perhaps that is why he is universally loved on his baseball team while contributing very little to the generation of outs or runs.  Maybe I can to learn more from him than he does of me in this category.

My friend Omar is firmly planted in the character department.  During his tenure on the PGA tour he has never “big leagued” anyone and has always been courteous, made himself available, and generous.  Without getting too much into the “inside baseball” portion, the Tour does a lot of things for players and their families, and they are pretty cool things too.  Omar’s cookout was one of the first events that included caddies and tournament staff.  Omar is beloved in the caddy community and the golfer community alike.  And when he plays in Texas it seems like he spends more time trying to get tickets for everyone who comes out of the woodwork than actually practicing…which is a shame.  And he never makes anyone feel bad about it. As I focus on legacy building, what is better 10 tournament wins or being a person everyone likes and respects?  Another old saying is “money doesn’t buy class” and we have all seen countless examples of it.  Watching Omar grow up and spending a lot of time with his family, it is no surprise that he is a salt of the Earth kind of guy. I’m honored to have him as a lifelong friend.

And then on Thursday Prince dies.  Social media blew up and it seems everyone had their favorite story, memory, song, video, etc.  I have a few of my own, but won’t bore you with them, suffice to say that Prince was an amazing talent and gave the world something it needed. There is a youtube video about Kevin Smith (Clerks, Mallrats, Dogma) and his weeklong documentary experience with Prince.  As he goes through his story at the very end it turns out that Prince doesn’t thank him for his time.  Kevin makes the poignant point that perhaps this is why people turn on their heroes, a lack of gratitude. People love to idolize those who have amazing skills and abilities, but the moment they show a lack of character it can destroy the relationship with the fan.  It happens more than you think.  And you don’t have to be a celebrity to have someone respect you, and it doesn’t take much to destroy that by being a complete jerk to them.  I’ve been on both ends of that and truly regret those actions that, in retrospect, were completely avoidable.  No one tells their priest during the last rites that they wished they’d been a bigger asshole do they?  Luckily, I’ve been mending some fences and trying to be better, more gracious, and just nicer.



Josie and Nita were in a little luncheon fashion show on Thursday

Speaking of fences, this revelation of not being a jerk did not just come after my diagnosis.  My father wrote me a letter almost 40 years ago that contained the guidelines to be a good man, father, and person (I’ve written a similar letter to my son).  Those guidelines were clearly lost on a seven year old, but as I would find and reread the letter with each passing decade, more and more brilliance shined through.  In one section he tells a story about a boy who was filled with rage. His father told him to hammer a nail into the fence every time he lost control.  Within a year the fence was full of nails.  The kid eventually realized the futility of his rage and the fact that it didn’t change anything.  The father then said, “every time you keep your composure or conquer your initial instinct to be mean, nasty or hurt someone, go pull a nail out of the fence.”  Within a few years the boy was able to control himself and had pulled most of the nails out of the fence.  When he pulled the last nail he excitedly ran to fetch his father to show him his accomplishment. The father then explained that he was proud of his son for his new demeanor and his obvious change in how he reacted to things.  He then pointed out all the holes and scars in the fence.  He further explained that even though you can apologize and try to make things right, you cannot fully reverse the damage you cause to other people.  Every mean or nasty thing you do or say leaves a mark that no words or actions can ever completely undo.



Sunday is my 12th wedding anniversary, talk about someone who has had to be patient with me.  Thanks Nita!

As for me, two weeks with no poison feels pretty good.  I went for fluids this week and only felt mildly nauseous at times.  One Imodium per day was sufficient.  I am definitely noticing the off week during the maintenance medication phase.  As luck or blessings would have it, I didn’t catch Connor’s bug and felt full of energy.  Next week is infusion week again, but why look forward to that?  I’ve got a wonderful family to love on, a friend to go watch play golf, and a great support group who make me want to be a better person.  So if I don’t give you the time you deserve, please be patient…I’m trying.  TeamMarco@austin.rr.com

 

The path to 48 starts with a single step

The path to 48 starts with a single step 

I get to skip a week of chemo and I’m looking forward to actually pushing myself a little bit.  My best friend (I have two if you are keeping score at home and get confused) is playing in the Texas Open PGA event in San Antonio next week and I’ll be going down with the other best friend to watch him play.  In order to make everything work, I had to push my chemotherapy back a week.  This actually sets up the family vacation schedule quite nicely.  Now the two dates we had on the book line up with the new schedule.  My oncology team advised that I could always schedule around vacations and other events as long as it wasn’t habitual.  And after all, I’ll pretty much be doing this for as long as I’m still ticking so why not enjoy a week with the family when I need it right?  It is kind of funny when talking to other cancer patients or medical professionals.  A very common question is “How long is your treatment (or some variation which involves a fixed number or timeline)?”  My answer is, “Forever.”  Because, with no cure, that is what I have in front of me.  Sure a remission is a possibility, but realistically this is my new reality.

Last weekend was my birthday.  It was pretty amazing how many folks reached out.  We had a nice dinner with some friends at a steakhouse with a view and it turned into one of those four hour dinners.   There were a lot of great stories told and even a few toasts and speeches.  Flattering would be a conservative word choice, humbling is probably more appropriate. 

The next night was a friend’s wedding.  It was a guy I hadn’t seen since high school and there were so many former classmates it felt like a reunion.  Again, we visited, told stories of crazy exploits back then that would get you arrested today.  We all wondered how we made it out of our late teens alive and unanimously agreed that our children would not have permission to do any of the hijinks we perpetrated on our community. I guess technically we didn’t have permission either.  It was good fun though.  Isn’t it funny how back then a one year separation was a huge gap and even talking to someone two years older/younger was a breach of etiquette?  As we get older it seems anyone within 10 years of your age is essentially the same age.

David Crockett High School classes 1986 and 1987

Josie was scheduled to have a baseball game on Wednesday and it rained out.  She literally cried about missing the game.  I cannot believe this is the same girl who wanted to quit just a few weeks ago.  She was all uniformed up, hair braided, cleats on.  I checked my phone one last time and there was the message to call the game.  Josie actually had to be consoled for a while in the family cool-down rocking chair.  It was Nita’s old nursing chair that has now been repurposed for coping with hurt feelings and injuries (after dad has checked for actual medical attention).  In any case, it was pivotal in helping her overcome the rain-wash-out.  Connor on the other hand loves playing, but it isn’t a life and death thing and certainly not worth crying over.  We’ll see what this weekend brings.  He has a new motivation and that is no new toys and no arcades until he swings the bat in a game.  He doesn’t have to get a hit, just stay in the box and swing.  It isn’t nearly as harsh as it might sound at first, sometimes we all need a nudge overcoming our fears.  I know a lot more about nudges now.

I had a chance to hit some golf balls for the first time in a year. I have to say it felt pretty good.  I was very conscious of my port catheter, but other than that I had no bad thoughts.  I guess that is what worked.  Ball flight was a little low, but the yardage was consistent, swing was mostly smooth, and I was on target.  I guess a year off really made me forget all the bad swing thoughts.  I also believe that having my oncologist’s warning in the back of my mind made me slow down and smooth out the swing a bit.  My buddy Pete said my 6 iron (longest club I hit on the range) looked like my wedge swing.  I also was amazingly void of shanks, pulls, duck hooks, or blocks.  It was fun…until the next day when I felt every muscle group asking me why I waited so long to use them in that fashion.

For you non-golfers out there here is how the golf swing works…in your head.  If you are a great golfer you have positive thoughts reinforcing your target, line, and you visualize the perfect swing then execute.  Let’s say your target is a tree, a great golfer picks a leaf or branch and takes dead aim at that small target.  Good to average golfers have about 50% good thoughts (see above) and 50% bad (don’t hit it there, oh crap there is water left, I HOPE I fly that bunker, etc.).  At the half way point usually whatever bets are in play start to also factor into the golf thoughts.  They aim at the whole tree, maybe even a clump of trees.  Bad golfers hope a lot and wonder where that darn beer cart girl is.  Swing thoughts are either completely absent or 80% negative.  Occasionally they’ll hit a good shot and celebrate it with anyone within earshot, that’s what keeps them coming back…that and the beer cart girl. There may or may not be a target other than “that way” or “closer to the hole than I was before the shot.” In this matrix, bad golfers enjoy the game a lot more than good and great golfers.  They just do.

Connor’s baseball practice was a small baby step in the stay in the box mantra.  I re-watched the ESPN 30 for 30 special I Hate Christian Laettner the other day.  He won a couple of national championships for Duke in the early 90s.  He was a tough basketball player who made his teammates better and tougher too.  Now I get that Connor is only seven and I’m not going to bully him just to toughen him up.  But, there is a lot to be said about Laettner’s upbringing.  He was not brought up with the “I’m special, I deserve…” attitude we see in a lot of millennials. So instead of focusing on the promise that I won’t hit him again with a pitch, I decided that we’ll focus on the task itself.  Stay in the box and swing.  If you get hit, you get hit.  I asked him if it still hurts from the last time and he said it didn’t, during ground ball practice a few bounced off his shins, and he shook it off.  So we won’t focus on the negative thoughts, only the positive.  “I will stay in the box, put a good swing on the pitch, and I will get a hit.”  There are a LOT of positive incentives for him to do this, and no negative consequences per se.  The only negative is he doesn’t get the positive stuff unless he swings the bat. Baby steps.

So after golf and baseball my body was pretty sore.  Nothing that ice and hydro can’t calm down.  Thursday night Connor got a slight fever.  And even though I’m feeling better and not taking the bone marrow killer, I still have to be very aware of little bugs floating around.  We kept him home from school today (Friday) and he just went upstairs to get back in bed.  Hopefully he’ll sweat it out soon.  The part that is heart breaking is he asked for me to come snuggle with him.  Now there is nothing I would rather do in the whole world than go up and snuggle with my son while he is feeling bad.  But I just can’t.  I gave him a big hug and told him I loved him and he seems to understand. 

Some of the tougher parts about dealing with cancer are the little things. The inability to do what used to be normal and even mundane things.  I can deal with the pain, the nausea, even the diarrhea. But the emotional part of not always being there for a sick child is what gets me.  Sure I can play the hard ass coach, and do the discipline stuff to keep them out of prison later.  But if you know my kids, they are also the sweetest children you may ever meet.  They still hold my hand when we walk around.  Connor even does it before and after baseball games which I think is fantastic.  He either doesn’t realize, notice or care that none of his peers do the same thing.  I hope he doesn’t catch on.  Josie of course still holds my hand everywhere, even in the house.  She’ll draw a picture she wants me to see and she’ll take my hand and lead me to her art.  I love it.  I look forward to and really embrace these moments.  But when they are ill and need me and I cannot be there for them completely, that sucks.  It hurts more than the needle sticks or dry heaves ever did.

Nita and I are discussing whether or not she’ll have to go back to work and it has been tough.  She was really finding her happy place doing the stay at home mom thing, but we have to do what are in the best interests of the family.  I cashed in some of our IRA savings and will continue to work my network for our next steps.  As you can imagine, cancer is expensive.  We know moving is a last resort, but to be realistic, we have to put all our options on the table.  In any case, this is a good exercise for later when the inevitable happens.  It’s far easier to act responsibly when there is no desperation, and you can rely on good judgment…very much like a golf swing.  So even though I am living in the moment and not putting undue stress on myself, I still have to be a realist and plan for everything (even if it is just on paper).  I plan on taking another trip(s) around the sun.  And that plan involves making sure things get done, the kids learn what they need to succeed, and I keep myself healthy.  It seems like a lot, but how does one eat an elephant?  One bite at a time.  Every journey begins with a single step. TeamMarco@austin.rr.com

All I Want is Another Trip Around the Sun

All I want for my birthday is another trip around the sun

Baseball.  Connor can hit wiffle balls in the side yard, and squish balls anywhere, but put him on the field and he has this Jekyll and Hyde relationship with the baseball.  He just shuts down and currently cannot force himself to relax, see the ball, or swing for that matter.  Poor kid has had a hat trick (three strikeouts) every game since the “incident” and barely pulls the bat off his shoulder.  The ironic thing is I’m constantly attempting to prove to him that the ball only hurts for a little while (an old “dad-ism”). I don’t show any weakness when I occasionally get dinged up.  In Wednesday’s game I took a shot up the middle and instead of catching it, I tried to dodge it so the play would stand.  I was unsuccessful. Now I have a deep bruise on my lowest rib.  It was pretty sweet of the team to check on me when it happened.  There was a lot of concern, but in an attempt to continue to show Connor it only hurts for a second, I didn’t flinch.  I just picked up the ball and kept pitching.  A few seconds later I found out that it’s just a dead ball.  Hell I would have caught it if that’s all it was.  And now my rib has gone passed blue and is in the green stage.

One might think it bothers me that my son is not as athletic, or is not taking to sports the way I did.  It is not.  I will admit I had hoped that he’d inherit some of the hand eye stuff and maybe even that killer instinct.  But alas, he likes to catch bugs, lizards, and play in the dirt.  And I couldn’t be more proud.  What has happened is he has really helped me fall back in love with baseball.  For me it’s all about the fundamentals and helping other kids get better and truly understand the game.  It isn’t about statistics, averages, and the like. In fact, this whole ordeal has caused me to really reflect on my 47 trips around the sun.  We’ve all seen parents and coaches lose their minds in youth sports.  There wouldn’t be so many memes or jokes about it if it wasn’t so prevalent. Connor’s lack of talent but utter enjoyment of the game and comradery is a constant reminder of why we are out there and what made it so fun in the beginning. I told a coach the other day, “No one ever asks you how many games you won when you were 8…Ever.” 

Right now, I have a much larger appreciation for all the things my father did big and small to get me to and from the games, keep me fed and hydrated, and helping me get better each week.  I continue to find his guidance and voice when I least expect it. On another note, thank goodness the ball didn’t hit the port catheter.  That might have been a minor disaster.  Could you imagine it dislodging from the blood vessel and the ensuing chaos?  That might have left a mark on the kids don't you think? I also got some bad news at the oncologist’s office.  After the Dell match play and with this week being the Masters the golf bug was starting to nibble on me.  So Nita asked him if I was able to go play golf again.  The answer was, “you can chip and putt, maybe hit a few short irons, but no violent swings and not a full round.”  I have to avoid long stretches in the sun (the chemo makes sunburns easier and more dangerous), and I can’t risk dislodging the port ‘o cath.  So there is that. 

Josie was talking about her career ambition the other day (being a vet).  I advised her to start her own clinic and run her own business.  She said she didn’t know anything about running a business in the cutest five year old way.  I told her I would gladly help her and lay out the blueprints, etc.  She then asked if I wished I’d started my own business.  Briefly all these amazing ideas I’d had over the years came flooding to the front of my mind.  And then I said, “Sweetie, no I do not.  Because if I had done anything differently, I wouldn’t have you, mommy, Connor, or many of the friends in my life.  So every choice I’ve made in my career and life (smart and stupid) have led me here and I have no regrets.”  It reminded me of the time I almost got cut off from the first class stewardess.  I asked for another cocktail in between tearful sobs.  She thought I’d clearly had enough.  I then mentioned I was reading the book Caddy for Life – the Bruce Edwards story.  The story is about eight time major champion winner Tom Watson’s caddy.  Golf is different than any other sport in that there is a non-participant less than a yard away from you during your contest.  A coach or spectator can’t just stand next to you on the free throw line, or in the batter’s box, etc.  So the caddy takes on a much larger role than just a pack mule with clubs and a penchant for addition and subtraction (yardage calculation).  And due to tumultuous relationships and stress they usually do not last a very long time on the bag, golfers change caddies a lot.  Bruce was with Tom for 27 years.

Bruce Edwards was diagnosed with ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease) and kept it from everyone, until he couldn’t hide it any longer.  His body eventually succumbed to the disease.  People noticed when his speech started to slur and he was unable to perform his duties.  Tom Watson who had led the money list for years paid for everything he needed, tests, flights, doctors, etc. The part in the book that got me on that flight was when it became obvious that Bruce was on his final lap, Tom asked him a question. “Bruce is there anything you haven’t done?  Anything at all, I can make it happen.”  Bruce replied, “Nope, I’ve done it all boss, thanks to you.”  That simple. A man who in the moment had access to seemingly unlimited resources truly appreciated his life, his experiences, and his friendships.  He realized that his life was a testament and culmination of all those events and one more visit to any location would not significantly alter the person he had become to his friends and family. 

This is where I’m at.  That is my peace and my calm.  I know my ticket could get punched before I hit 48, or I could go another decade or so.  It won’t be from a lack of effort, but things are what they are.  Right now I’m helping build experiences for my kids and maybe fund a few more things for the family after I’m gone.  I don’t need any new sights, trips, or exotic destinations to define me.  I’ve been around and seen some cool things.  I’ve hung out with some pretty cool celebrities, and have really had some amazing blessed experiences. And have the best support group I could hope for.  At this point, Love me or don’t.  I am who I am and I’ve never been more comfortable in my skin.  There is a peace and calm I feel, and it isn’t concession or defeat.  It is the knowledge that every day I wake up and I have a fight. I will rise to the challenge and come out on top today, and I will do it again tomorrow.  One day at a time.

After two full rounds of the maintenance meds, I have a conclusion.  They are not easy, they are just easi-ER, but they still suck.  I still have that sour feeling and taste.  Food doesn’t taste right.  My mouth gets thrushy on chemo week.  The nausea still pops up, and I still need the Imodium. My hair has now turned straight and thin.  Additionally my plantar fasciitis hurts and will take six months to heal.  And I feel blessed and lucky to be going through all of this instead of pushing up spring flowers.  Yes, my perspective and definition of success and crappy days have definitely changed.

Back to baseball for a second.  I now have the gift of seeing baseball through the eyes of a child.  You see, I don’t care about stats and Connor making all-star teams anymore.  I don’t care if Josie decides she doesn’t like baseball next year.  We are together three to four times a week on the field and I get to high five them, hug them, pat them on the butt, and be a part of the experience.  And they are part of mine.  There is no substitute for these moments.  I do not take them for granted, and I do not take them lightly, in fact, I cherish them.  Because, no one knows if they’ll happen again next year.  I don’t know if they’ll still want to play, or if I’ll be around to play with them.  So the time is now, like everything else, it is time to live in the moment. 

Switching to wrestling.  Everyone who has ever wrestled has seen Vision Quest and you should too, it even has a young Madonna in it.  There is a line where the hero Lowden Swain is questioning his boss for taking off of work to watch him wrestle.  Lowden questions his choice by saying, “It’s just six lousy minutes.”  The boss responds, “It isn’t the six minutes, it’s what you do in those six minutes that count.”  Some of us are waiting for the clock to end, some of us are making something happen in those six minutes.  Some of us think there is plenty of time left.  Some of us know there isn’t.

A buddy came to visit me in chemo camp on Monday.  We wrestled together in high school and he later went into the Marine Corps for a number of years.  We joked about how hard some of our wrestling practices were and how he related them to some of his training and real world experiences.  We decided that our mentality was shaped with the mantra of “do as much as you can, then hang on until you die or they stop the drill.”  That is really kind of how I go through my infusions now.  I know going in how I’m going to feel and I hang on until they pull the needle out two days later.  Sometimes I’m dumb enough to go pitch a kid pitch baseball game on the same day when I’m nowhere near my best.  But I get another hour in the sun with my kids and I’m a participant not a spectator.  And that really is what it is all about isn’t it?  Anyone can watch the show, I get to be in it.

So I turn 47 today.  Nita and friends have been asking what I want, I think we all know the answer.  For now, I’ll take another trip around the sun.  I’ll keep on making memories and enjoying my friends and family.  Either way I’ll keep going to chemo camp every two weeks and I will fight and hang on until I die or they stop the drill.  Either way, there is no quit.  Thanks to all those who continue to fight with me. God bless.  TeamMarco@austin.rr.com

Hit by Pitch

Hit by pitch

With MLB starting and little league in full swing, there is a lot of baseball going on.  Baseball, to me, has a lot of life stuff to teach.  You have to be ready for anything at any time, it is a quick twitch game, five tools (you can’t just be good at one thing), etc.  I played a lot and analogize of a lot of things in terms of baseball fundamentals.  A funny thing about baseball is that it is a game of imperfection.  You can't be perfect all the time.  But you can give perfect effort, but even that is hard.  There are so many games played that things normalize over the season and you can be sure eventually everything that goes around comes around.  It is a game of repetition.  Like in life you don’t just show up and are automatically good at something.  You have to do it over and over again to become serviceable, much less great.  We used to have a saying, it takes 10,000 swings for a swing change to feel normal.  That’s a lot of cuts in the cage.

Connor had his first baseball game after spring break on Monday night.  We have been practicing his hitting and things were really starting to click.  Right before the game, we hopped out to the side yard and did a little batting practice, he was smoking the ball.  Then we headed over to the field where the coach had secured the batting cage for us and we went in to take our cuts.  Connor hit the ball so well that even his teammates were making positive comments…unprompted.  Connor’s smile was a mile wide.  And truth be told, mine was too.  The head coach made the lineup and put Connor third.  I was pitching.  Connor came up to bat and I was really confident, by the look on his face, so was he.  I threw the first pitch and Connor smacked it down the left side just foul.  Nice job son.  And then I did the one thing I could not do.  I hit him.  Plunked him right on the arm.  As you get better at this game you can hit your target pretty well…unless you get the yips.  So what was I looking at?  My son.  And what did I hit?  My target.  Shit! At that moment he stopped trying to hit and started trying to not get hit.  He bailed on every pitch after that.  Back to the drawing board.  You might think you know how bad I felt, trust me it was exponentially worse.  I’ve pitched every game and half the practices and I’ve only hit two batters…my son…twice. 

Back at Texas Lutheran there was a fall baseball tradition.  The pitchers would practice something that is harder to do than it sounds.  Effectively throw at a batter.  You see it in the Majors and in College all the time.  A batter will show up the other team, or their pitcher will hit the best player and retribution is swift and automatic.  Your next guy or best guy will get hit.  However, it is harder to hit a batter than it sounds.  When you are in little league, it is never on purpose.  The kids just don’t have enough control.  When you get older and better it’s 50-50; maybe a ball got away from you, a slider didn’t break, or maybe the batter is a little too close to the plate…or asked your girl out for the weekend.  When you are a pro, you better believe that 99% of hit batters are intentional.  So at Texas Lutheran, fall ball began with a week of every batting practice pitcher throwing at (and usually hitting) the first batter they faced.  So when the game situation arose, you could hit your man with confidence.  Whether you agree with this philosophy or not, it’s as much a part of the game as fighting is in hockey.  I may explain more another time, but rest assured your number 1 goon does not fight the small scoring wing, he squares off with the other number 1. There are rules and they are honored, or again, retribution will be swift.  The baseball season is so long and there are so many games that almost all things even out.

Josie had a practice on Tuesday night and I was hitting some outfield fungo to the team.  Yes they are tee ballers so of course I wasn’t hitting it hard.  But I also didn’t have a catcher with me.  So the kids would throw the ball back to me and I’d block it with my bat, knock it down and then fire off another one to them.  About ½ hour into the practice a kid threw a ball to the left side of me and I lunged with the bat to knock it down.  It was wet out and of course the ball skipped off the bat and hit me right in the face.  Thank goodness it didn’t hit my nose or it might still be bleeding.  But it hit just below my left eye and I have a very minor bruise… baseball karma didn’t take long to settle the score.  In tee-ball kids get hit all the time.  Many can’t catch well and take one off the shin or chest regularly.  I was able to show the kids how to “walk it off” and get back in the game.

The weekend was amazing.  The Dell Match Play golf tournament was in town and I honestly had no idea how they were going to handle the foot and car traffic to the event.  Well I should have had more confidence.  Dell and the PGA Tour did a fantastic job and erected a foot bridge under the 360 bridge.  Friday I went as a guest with my pal Lance.  He had skybox tickets for number 12 (that par five they constantly showed on TV behind Faldo).  It was amazing to see the talent and distance gap even among the top 60 golfers in the world.  Some guys hit Driver three wood, some even laid up.  Dustin Johnson and Jason Day hit Driver wedge.  Those boys can pound the golf ball.  The next day I ran into my old buddy Michael.  He works for ESPN and was able to get me the “media experience.”  I can’t say much more, but I did have a press conference and hold the trophy.  I also was able to hear some “inside baseball” type conversations with some of the top professionals that were off the record and will remain so.  In the media control center I ran into an old friend who used to have the golf beat in Austin a few years ago. He recently published a biography on Harvey Penick, and sent me home with a signed copy.  Go pick it up if you are a golf fan who ever poured over the little red book.  Thanks Lance, Kevin and Michael.

It was a great time and I hope within the next couple of years I can bring Connor to enjoy this with me.  Currently he’s got too much energy for a pro golf event.  I’ll also make a prediction, within 2 years the boats on the lake will be replaced by double deck pontoon boats sponsored by companies entertaining clients (water luxury boxes).  They can control food, beverage, do it at a fixed cost and still have access to three water-facing and exciting holes.  By year 3, the PGA will figure out a way to charge those boats a fee to be in the vicinity.  Let’s see if my prediction holds up.

My boss and I had a discussion the other night and we mutually decided that it might be time for me to look for another job. I won’t go into details, but there were some events at the company and in the industry that have created the perfect storm.  As such, it’ll be better to take my game to another field.  I really have a lot more to offer and am looking forward to whatever my next role will be.  We are still friends, my boss and I, and no matter where I land I will still help and consult for him as he navigates the industry environment.  There is no effective date set, but if you hear of any sales or marketing leadership roles, don’t hesitate to shoot me a note.  What I can say with confidence is although I don’t know how much time is on the clock, I’m a leave it all on the field kind of guy.  I feel I’m as mentally tough as anyone you may run into, and I’ll leave it at that.  (Not an April fools joke btw).

This was an off week for me and I’m wondering how much residual chemo is still hanging around.  My appetite was very low, but the nausea was very controllable, and I only needed one Imodium per day.  I was able to do all the baseball things with the kids and a lot of walking on the golf course over the weekend, even on my foot; but I did receive a steroid injection a couple of weeks ago.  I was told that plantar fasciitis takes a full six months to a year to recover, so I guess that brace will be my nighttime friend for a while.  The nosebleeds are somewhat subsiding and my platelets must be getting better because that ball to the face I took didn’t cause a huge black eye like I thought it might.  I think it is just the pollen in the air causing throat soreness but I am paying close attention.  Several kids in my children’s classes have had strep.  Luckily for me there has been no fever.  Actually, I’ve been quite lucky/blessed and have not gotten ill since my surgery and cancer diagnosis last August.  Frankly my energy level seems higher as well.

Next week is my 47^th birthday. I’m really paying attention to milestones now.  It seems like every one of them is a new gift that I had previously under-appreciated. Not anymore. I am really enjoying life, my family, and my friends.  My wife was talking to one of the ladies with whom she walks and mentioned that our marriage has never been better.  I have to agree.  I definitely work harder at it, that and being a better dad; and being a better friend.  It's not all rainbows and unicorns, but I do the best I can with what I have.  Sometimes that's enough. TeamMarco@austin.rr.com