Radioactive

Headstrong

In My Bloodstream: Lisinopril,  Amlodopine,  Omeprazole, Tamsulosin
On The Stereo: More: Tyrone Wells


Thanksgiving 

I hope your Thanksgiving included turkey, friends and family.  We did not have family this year, but the Frenches joined us for cocktails, football and dinner.  The Hannas dropped in for a quick drink, on their way home from another party.  Turkey sandwiches the following day and delicious turkey chili a few days later.  We discovered that dish in Deer Valley, skiing, years ago.  So that was all good.

I am probably not alone, in the scope of my thanks.  I reminisced, later, when our guests were gone and the kitchen was clean again, of events, long ago, which allowed me this day.

In my second year of college, I ran out of money.  I was dead broke.  I was walking home in the snow, to my room, lower than a toad's rectum, wondering what I was to do.  It was almost Christmas break.  My parents were not wealthy.  Far from it.  I could not go to them.  They would have come up with whatever I needed and then borrowed money to cover their own reduced cash flow.  I had already hocked my guitar and banjo, my only personal possessions worth anything.  And apparently nowhere near what I had paid for them.  A panhandler, on my way to school that morning, had asked for some money.  I said to him that if I had a nickel for the street car,  I would not be walking.  I was rude, no doubt, but likely was no better off than that poor man.

I had been buying bread and stealing butter and cheese for several weeks, from the grocery store down the street, so that I could eat.  Grilled cheese sandwiches.  That was my daily meal.  I was a small town boy in a big city, and it had chewed me up.  This could not go on.  I, definitely, could not go on.  I thought that if I got caught stealing, at least in jail, I would have a place to live and food to eat.  Dignity had departed.  I had never felt so despondent and so completely alone.

I found a newspaper and scoured the want ads.  I was lost in life.  My dreams of education and business had lost their place in my mind.  I was without rent money and was desperately short of food.  I needed something.  Anything.  I realized I had better find work.  I had had no luck, previously,  finding part time work anywhere in my vicinity.  Perhaps a full time job was possible.  Without a completed degree, my resume would not be as sterling as I had hoped.  I went home and put one together.  There was no time to waste.

I applied, and interviewed the next day, for two jobs.  The first was with Hewlett Packard.  It would be a sales job.  They appeared quite interested, and said they would let me know in the next few days.

The second was with CIL, a large multi-national chemical firm, who were in need of an order desk person.  Don Smith, an older gentleman, conducted the interview.  He was most pleasant, gray haired and very affable.  His speech was slow and quiet.  He offered me a vending machine coffee, which I accepted out of politeness.  I did not drink much coffee in those days, and this drink was not even close to coffee.  Weak, bitter and putrid.  I sipped it slowly throughout the interview - very slowly.

I had intended to go into this meeting with bravado and confidence.  That was not to be.  For whatever reason, I trusted him, and told him my pitiful story.  I  let him know how perilous my life had become, and that school was still important to me, and that it was my intention to continue my courses at night, if, and when I found employment.  I said I was not afraid of hard work and believed myself to be a quick learner.  I had been in the customer service business every weekend and every evening after school, up until I had moved to Toronto.  "Mr. Smith", I said, "I need this job.  I can do this job".

I am still, so thankful to Don Smith, who opened the door to my future life in business.  Because of his faith in me, I continued with that company almost twenty years, working my way up the corporate ladder, as they say.  I was able to attend night classes and continue my education as I had wanted.  I met Don Young, who took me under his wing, and not only taught me the chemical business, but showed me, by example, how to be a good husband, father, and person.  And I spent much of my time with his wife Barb, and their beautiful daughters, and even Don's parents.  Don and Barb remain dear friends to this day.  And I palled with Michael Deverell, who later married his then girlfriend, Patricia.  I am godfather to their son Matthew, a twin to his sister Shannon.  Friends for life.  All of them, and so many more.

And I met a pretty little girl there.  She had a summer job, waiting for the school year to start, to begin her teaching career.  Kathleen Mary Tompkins.  She became my Child Bride.

All of this and these people, and so many more, became integral to my life.

"You will do well here.  You can start tomorrow morning."  So this Thanksgiving, I remembered  Don Smith.  And that atrocious coffee.  You will stay in my heart, Mr. Smith.  From whence I came, I was given a chance.  Who would believe it.  As an aside, I was offered the Hewlett job the next day.  I thanked them and I never looked back.  This Thanksgiving, decades later, I gave thanks.





Head Surgeries - 2017

In April, we were full steam ahead, in the sizable task of ridding my scalp of melanoma in situ. The surgeries were plentiful, as the reconstruction was underway.  Every step was followed by a stumble. Every excision needed another.


In the end, hopefully, Dr. Harrington had covered the entire excised section of scalp, with Integra.  Underneath was a war zone of dead and mangled flesh, having been eaten away by melanoma.


                                                    Ready for the removal of the staples.

It was still early April, but it was like Christmas, as we waited for the opening of the dome.   We had no idea how this multitude of wounds would heal, if at all.  If you recall how this had started, with those giant growths, anything might have been better.  Anything.


                                                                   The unveiling.

I thought it beautiful.  No doubt, it was a bit rough, but I knew from experience, that our bodies are the most remarkable machines ever created.  Healing time would turn a mess into a Picasso.  A stretch, you might think, but not for me.  The transformation was extraordinary.


While I was between surgeries to excise the in situ melanoma, we did not take any down time.  Skin cancer had continued to develop all over my body.  We had neglected its treatment for years, as my internal stage 4 melanoma, had posed a more significant threat.  The peripheral cancers had taken a back seat, for obvious reasons.  Now that my future looked somewhat brighter, we began a regimen of surgeries, leaving little time in between, for rest and recovery.


                                     Early June, post brow surgery.  Neck work was bonus.

By mid June, we had more work done.  Head bandages were removed and excisions removed cancer from my neck, chest, upper right arm, and lower left arm.


            Dancing with joy in the kitchen.  Donor site for skin grafts came from my right thigh.

                       Sitting by our kitchen window, contemplating my next appointment.

I recovered well from all of these superficial wounds.  The only downsides were my inability to walk properly and my appearance.  The combination left me housebound.  Difficult for me, but more painful for my poor nurse.  The caretaker's job is, by far, the most difficult.    Kath stepped up to the plate, again and again, never complaining.  Patients have no choice.  We are simply trying to survive.




                     Preparing for a much-needed shower.  Always an adventure after surgeries.

                                                 This is how you keep the bandages dry.

By April, time had sufficiently passed, and my head was in a much improved state.  We had more challenges ahead, but at this juncture we were buoyed by our successes.  We were able to get out in public, exercise, and feel less a spectacle.  We had much for which to give thanks.

Today

Back in present time, we are getting by, very nicely.  Kat continues to wrestle with her auto-immune problems, with aches and pains, and random occurrences of bleeding.  She is hopeful of a new treatment, and should hear more about it this coming week.  The co-pay for us was to be $1400, but her doctor is working with the manufacturer, to reduce that amount.  Our fingers are crossed.

The large, frontal brow scar is fading more each month, but is already so much better.  We live each day with gratitude for our friendships and each other.


                                                                 Here's to you.

Peace and love to each of you.  I know several are having some difficulties with health issues, but have faith and fight.  You are in our hearts.

Your comments are always welcome.  I love hearing from you.  I really do.

Thank you, and stay well.  See you next week.

Love conquers all.

jrobinmullen@gmail.com