Radioactive

Olympic Games, Atlanta

Song  On The Stereo-  Live Like You Were Dying: Tim McGraw

In My Bloodstream - cisplatin,  mannitol,  dacarbazine,  Zofran,  Interleukin-2

Update: Rosh Hashanah

No news yet on my pathology.  We know that some melanoma still sits on the margin of my last operation, but the doctor has not contacted us on whether I can have a surgical time out or need to have some more of my scalp excised in the immediate future.  The swelling has receded greatly and the pain has subsided to the point that I am able to sleep (almost) through the night.   A break would be welcome.  However, it does not seem logical to wait until this wound gets better, only to start the same process all over again.  Doing something now, as unwelcome as that might be, would condense the total healing time, and that would be a good thing.  Piling on, I know, but it still might be better over the long haul.   There is as well, a strong indication that another skin graft may be in my future.  But, even the doctor knows how difficult and painful that would be. He knows that I have had about six so far, and I know they were all nasty.   Another option is to do nothing, and wait until the melanoma more overtly presents itself.  The good doctor will weigh in shortly, I'm sure.  In the meantime, we are relishing life.  And waiting.

Bandages are off, but I have chosen not to show you the naked wound.  It looks much worse than it really is.  There is actually a silicone cover on top, but it still gives the appearance of rawness.  I am trying to find out how to keep the pics in jpeg form and allow you to choose whether or not to view the images, rather than censor future images.  If you do wish to see this one, let me know and I will send you the director's cut version.  I do realize that some of you or your friends are going through surgeries and pictures of pre-surgery, post surgery and post-healing, might give hope to those people facing, or int middle of, this type of trauma.  The human body is remarkable in its ability to recover, given enough time and treatment.  There are many more pictures much more dramatic than this, yet to come.  It is much easier for me to provide you those visuals than try to  explain, adequately, what I looked like at different times, start to finish,  through my cancer years.  Some are shocking- more so than you could imagine.  But the images do give an impressive clarity to our story.

The Games

July 25th, 1996, Kath and I were in Atlanta, watching the Olympic games.  I was being treated with Interleukin-2, and my white blood cells were in serious distress.  My oncologist had told me to rest, stay away from crowds and be extremely careful as an infection at this stage of my treatment, could easily kill me.  My system was definitely underperforming.

I convinced Kathy that we should go to Atlanta anyway.  It was a 3 hour drive from Tuscaloosa and I thought it might well be our only chance to see an Olympic Games.  The chemo was making me incredibly sick and I was probably at the weakest point in my life.  I had bouts of diarrhea at my bottom end and spent hours gagging and throwing up on my upper end.  In addition,  everything I tried to eat tasted metallic, and made me sick.  My life was lots of partially eaten meals and panicky toilet visits.  Kath would sometimes cook me three different meals, one after the other, trying to get some nutrition in me.  She never complained.  In fact, she was determined that I would not skip a meal.

Needless to say, my general optimism had been replaced by an apathetic fog.  It was tough for me to focus clearly on anything.  I felt nauseous all the time, was too weak for exercise, and felt, somehow, totally out of focus.  The chemotherapy was never going to make me better.  It might, if we were lucky, slow the cancer down.  That was not nearly a sure thing.  Our mantra had been, "Hang in and do what you can and hope that something better will come along."  We had dodged bullets for years, but sooner or later..........

The future didn’t look all that good.  Kath knows me better than anyone and had earlier agreed that while we were alive and together, we would live our days to the fullest.  This decision was easy for us.  No sense dying without trying.  Keep going until you fall down.  Then get back up, if you can.  I will admit, that getting back up had sometimes been a challenge.  When the pain and the physical sickness refuse to subside, you do need all the grit you can muster - and a dose of help from others.  Kath must have been unbelievably conflicted, asking and encouraging me not to give up, while she saw me sick and broken from the toxicity of Interleukin and the rest of the chemical cocktail.  I was, at that time, at the bottom of the well. I rarely saw the light and was not digging my way up and out as I had done for years.  All I wanted to do was lie down and sleep.  Nothing else.


We had been given accommodation and a considerable number of Olympic event passes over two days by our friends at Kimberley Clark and by God, we were not going to miss this opportunity.

 

What a great experience. The security lines were longish and thorough, but we moved quickly through.  Very efficient.   The crowds inside were massive until we were able to separate, and head towards the individual event sites.  Then, the throngs thinned out.  Despite the lack of personal space, and the oppressive Georgia heat, there was a genuine sense of happiness and expectation.  It was a remarkably upbeat place to be.  People talked to each other, helped others with directions  and showed an abnormal sense of courtesy and genuine friendship.

We were provided tickets for a variety of events  which we happily attended,  and when we could, we toured as much of the venue as we were physically able.  We watched a number of swimming events, sitting across the pool from dignitaries, including Bill Clinton and several heads of state.  I’m guessing Bill's interest in swimming centered around athletic women and bathing suits.  Actually, that’s as good a reason as any, I guess.  Around us, people from every country you could imagine cheered every singe athlete and  were inclined to talk to anyone in their vicinity.  People wanted to know everybody's stories.  Where did you come from?  For what team were you cheering?  Were you staying near the site?  They wanted to shake your hand, kiss you on the cheeks and give you hugs.  We truly came to understand the real Olympic spirit.  It did not matter so much who won an event.  It mattered more that we were there, together, and shared the joy of the competition with others just like themselves.

And I was supposed to be alone, staying quiet, and resting.

We had long walks to and from that venue, and we had to take a number of breaks to allow me to find my breath.  Back to the Village we went and ate dinner and I drank a beer (for strength).  Terrible chemo side-effects and incredibly low white blood cells made a drafty irresistible.  It was a good day.  Back to our hotel for a welcome sleep a bit later.

I was down to 160 lbs. and had trouble walking any distance.  Kathy's cattle prod was influential in me making it to the events on time.  Physically, it was an arduous two days.

The second day we took in an event that would prove to be monumental and probably the most memorable to many of us.  It happened the week after my birthday.  We sat in the lower seats, in the corner of the Georgia Dome, where the U.S. ladies gymnastic team would finish their day on the vault.  Everyone knows the story.  Keri Strug, with an ankle so sore and swollen that she could hardly stand, found strength and will to run, spring and stick her landing for a gold medal clinching vault.  I cannot explain the noise, the cheering .  We were only ten rows away.

 Had we been more timorous and/or sane, we would have been at home and would not have had this seminal moment in Olympic history to implant in our minds forever.

Often overlooked in this story is the fact that the rest of that legendary team had already excelled and completed their jobs.  They had set the table for the finale.  Keri, albeit through severe pain,  just did the same.  It took excellence from each member of the team to win that medal.  We had the opportunity to bear witness.

The rewards of that trip far outweighed the risks.  Great good fortune.

We called our girls at home, to tell them to drive to Atlanta and experience the Games.  There were tickets to be had and an event like this should not be missed.  So much goodness.  So much shared happiness.

                                                    Crowd leaving the Olympic Park

It had been fun.  It had been energizing.  It had been spectacular.  We were heading home on July 27th and the radio station we were listening to reported the bombing in Olympic Park.  We called home to say we were off the premisses and told the girls not to come.  The risk sadly outweighed the reward.  That bombing was a barometer of how terror could destroy so much that was good.  For us, it was an unexpected ending to a beautiful time.  It seemed to us, senseless.   It was a precursor of many more incidents to come.

The best laid schemes of mice and men
Go oft' awry,
And leave us nothing but grief and sorrow,
For promised joy!
Robbie Burns  (paraphrased from the original to make it understandable)

And we carried on - with family - with life - and of course, with my continuing chemotherapy.