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