One Event Can Make a Difference

One event can make a difference

As I have been reflecting on my situation and really focusing on the details of things that have happened and are happening, I am finding nuances or triggers to most of those events.  In the past, I would either ignore them, not notice, or chalk them up to mere coincidence…and they may be.  But isn’t it funny how the smallest act or gesture can unlock a series of events that spiral into even more growth or joy.  Sometimes those events are not pleasant, but are still a gift once you truly digest them.  I can tell you that I am filled with joy when I find out that my friends and readers are getting colonoscopies. I’m also pleased when they find polyps or tumors in early stages when cancer is most treatable with the highest success rates.  Looking back, I may have had some digestive system hints, but I ignored those because getting a colonoscopy might be scary or inconvenient.  There were a few events just this week that are a nice reminder that my blog can legitimately help folks.  Some just need some inspiration or confidence.  Others need to know that they are not alone in whatever fight or struggle they find themselves.

A few entries back I wrote about celebrities and how much they can make a difference.  I think we’ve all been “big leagued” by someone at one time or another.  Of course there are other times when a superstar (no matter how large or small) took the time to make you feel special.  How much does that mean?  Well guess what, you are probably a celebrity to someone you don’t even know (especially your children).  You can give someone else that same feeling, I humbly request that you don’t pass up that opportunity.  The joy the recipient gets from a small gesture is definitely worth the time and effort.  I have personally failed in this regard more times than I can count, but I’m trying to do better.  One specific instance I remember was from about 25 years ago. My college buddies and I were playing old man baseball with some up-and-comers.  We won the league each year (probably appearing better than we were) and would play games at the local college campuses.  I remember one game in particular we had just beat another team like a rented mule in a double header.  It was July and HOT.  As we were leaving the dugout to walk back to our cars a couple of kids came and asked for baseballs.  So we gave them a couple.  They then asked if we would sign them.  I told one kid, “Are you sure? Your ball will drop in value as soon as my name goes on it.”  He didn’t get the joke and of course I signed it.  He then went to each of our guys and got signatures.  The kid’s faces were priceless.

Sunday was the last day of our family vacation.  A friend whom we affectionately call the “fart whisperer” gave us some tickets to the Round Rock Express game (the local AAA minor league affiliate of the Texas Rangers).  Our seats were right behind the dugout on the home side.  I promised Connor I would work my magic and get him a ball. We don’t chirp at the players or beg them, we get in our baseball ready position and present an ability to catch a ball flipped to us.  The kids even wore their little league uniforms.  I was starting to think it wasn’t going to happen.  Then in the 6^th inning a guy who has bounced back and forth between the big league Rangers and the AAA team poked his head over the dugout roof, pointed at Connor and slid a bat over to him.  A bat!  That NEVER happens!  Connor’s face lit up like a Christmas tree and three days later he is still smiling and carrying his bat everywhere. (I found out later that my mother was trying to clean off the pine tar because it was “dirty and smelled bad”…I was mortified).

To put this rarity in perspective, I’ve been going to ballgames since I was five or six (42 years), and I’ve never seen it happen live.  I’ve seen it on TV but only after a batter loses his grip and the bat goes flying into the stands.  Usually after EMTs treat the head wound, a locker room attendant brings another signed bat to the victim to trade out.  Balls yes, batting gloves yes, bats…no.  Consider that it’s also a weapon in the stands, so the practice may even be frowned upon.  To give an analogy, say you are at a concert.  Balls are like guitar picks.  The guitarists throw a few dozen out to the crowd during each concert.  But imagine if a drummer broke a snare or a tom and unlocked it from his/her kit and walked out and handed it to someone in the crowd.  Ever seen it?  That is how rare it is!  So Josie asked me, “Daddy if we wear our uniforms and come to another game, maybe they’ll give me a bat too.”  Let me tell you, if that does in fact happen…this surely is my swan song.  I’ve got short term parking for harp playing, wings, and a white tunic. 

The point I’m really trying to make is that I’ve written a lot about baseball this spring.  The kid’s ebbs and flows of quitting the game, not being very good, being scared of the ball, etc.  By the end of the season both were champing at the bit to play another year and Connor and Josie are both asking if we can keep practicing at home all summer so they’ll be better next season.  Throw in the bat from Hanser Alberto and Connor might be hooked for life.  One gesture that was probably an afterthought from him when he split the handle, transformed to everlasting fame now in at least two children’s lives.  Little things and sometimes big things can do a lot to change lives.  Connor has now decided he wants to keep playing baseball until he grows into the bat.

So this was another chemotherapy week.  My oncologist took pity on me and took out one of the medications and the 5FU bolus (injection prior to the pump). I was still pretty tired for the week and felt pretty crappy.  The metallic taste in my mouth is going on five days now.  It affects everything I eat and my stomach is in a somewhat constant state of fury (either nausea or diarrhea). Luckily I have medications to stave them off but it still feels bad.  It is hard to describe the feeling, but it is like an acidic acrid taste in the back of your throat that won’t subside.  Food is no longer tasting the way it used to during chemo week.  I’ll have to take a friend’s advice and not eat any of my favorites during this time period. 

This week my CEA score was a solid 13.  So it is still showing high on the activity, but the trending is flat to down and I did skip a full two weeks in order to take the family to the coast…which was more than worth it.  I’m not scared, but I’m aware that this number needs to go down quickly.  After a couple of steady regimens on normal timing I fully expect that score to plummet. If it doesn’t, then it will be time to switch medications.  Either way we have a plan.



A sister in arms had an even more traumatic experience recently.   She too is suffering from stage IV colon cancer and was actually declared “cancer free” as few as six months ago.  I remember being so happy for her and a little jealous.  I was using her victory and my sub-two CEA scores as ammunition to convince myself that I too might be cancer free in my March scan.  We all know that I was not and it was a tough blow.  Unfortunately for my friend in Florida…her latest scan showed renewed activity in her liver and now she’ll have to do radiation and another 12 chemo treatments.  I was heartbroken for her.

This is the challenge we all have in stage IV land.  We have been told countless times there is no cure.  Yet we want to have faith and believe that anything is possible.  We see positive results and scores.  And that piece of shit cancer just keeps coming back and growing.  So we find a way to renew our positive energy.  Find our “thing” or another “log for the fire” and press on.  We can’t give up, we’ve invested too much in life.  We won’t give up, we’ve proven to ourselves that we’re tougher than that.  So we wait, and hope, slog through the treatments, and pray.  We love our families and friends but sometimes our minds stray towards certain inevitabilities.  The reality is that we are all waiting for an event that has not occurred.  There may be a cure soon, but not yet.  It is no longer difficult for me to see how some may give in.

Super Hero night at the Dell Diamond

I received a note from a friend the other day who said my blog was starting to let some negativity show through and for me to “suck it up buttercup.”  I laughed.  She’s awesome.  I still feel positive, but I can honestly say I’m feeling mortal.  I rode a superhero type wave for a while and perhaps I’ll find it again soon.  But right now I’m no longer feeling invincible. That is okay isn’t it?  I do need to tighten up in front of the kids.  This week’s ride was rough and I guess the kids being on summer break seeing me all the time was weird for them.  And to think that just last week I was throwing them around in the ocean, it must have been confusing.  They still wanted to horse around and frankly I just couldn’t do too much of it.  I may have shown that I was uncomfortable.  Thank God my lovely wife Nita - with awesome instincts here - took them swimming, to the library, shopping, etc. and gave me some space to just be miserable.

So what is the message this week?  I suppose it is that character is forged not in the good times or the easy times but when you are tested the most.  Anyone can be happy and friendly at their best.  But when you feel like you’ve been dragged behind a truck, can you still look someone in the eyes, smile, and really wish them well?  It isn’t always easy, but it can be done.  And small things can produce big results.

A few weeks back my family had dinner with an old wrestling and USMC buddy and his family.  We joked about our practices and remembered a battle cry from our coach.  When you found yourself on the bottom or in a precarious position in which you were somewhat trapped but could still bridge (arch your back and put the weight on your head instead of letting your shoulders touch) that you needed to do whatever it took to ride out the period. He would say, “What kind of person are you that you can’t fight for one minute?”  For the record when your arms are tied up and you’re being worked over, a minute is a long time.  But you know what?  We did it.  We rose to his challenge and we fought.  We lasted more than you would think.  The easy way out was just to let that shoulder touch and it would all be over.  Water, rest, air were just a slap of the mat away.  But we fought. 

So as I looked for some more inspiration to gut through this chemo week, I guess I just needed to ask myself what kind of man am I if I can’t go one more minute.  I surely have one more minute in me right?  I’ll deal with the next minute when this one is up.  TeamMarco@austin.rr.com