What Scares You
In My Bloodstream: Lisinopril, Amlodopine, Omeprazole, Tamsulosin
On The Stereo: The Times Are A Changing: Bob Dylan
We likely all have things that scare us in our lives. Kathy can't stand horror movies. She is terrified of the suspense and whenever the movie reaches its most tense moment, when the music lifts to it's crescendo and the darkness deepens, and the monster (or mouse) suddenly appears, she screams bloody murder. She just cannot help herself. As a result, we never watch spooky flicks. Her nerves will not stand for it. And she is not fond of violence, either, so our movie choices have been substantively pared down.
She is fearful of many of life's realities. The list includes lightning, thunder, insects, bats, dark places, roller-coasters and failure. I could go on, but what would be the point.
Each of us is scared of something, if not many things. We cope. We avoid. We endure. And, at our best, we conquer. To be afraid is a natural instinct. To continue in the face of fear, is heroic. Sometimes it is done in the eyes of the world. And more likely, not to anyone but you. We should not be embarrassed by our fears, but we should feel some sense of victory, when we defeat them.
My friend, Dave Hanna, was in the Viet Nam war. His group was crossing a river, at night. Chest deep in water. Rifles held over their heads, to keep them dry. The thing that Dave most feared was not being shot, or drowning. It was snakes. He knew they were everywhere. He saw them daily. He could not see them, at night, in the water. But he feared them like nothing else on earth. Thank goodness he did not encounter one that night. Like Kat, he might have had an uncontrollable scream. Whew. His platoon owes him their lives.
Snakes, for whatever reason, have a bad reputation. There are not many of us who would not go out of our way to avoid them. There are many species, obviously, and even though we know that most are not venomous, and, in fact, they are responsible for reducing the rodent population and do many good things in our gardens, we are still wary of all of them. I'm guessing the Adam and Eve story might bear some responsibility for that. If we could just remind ourselves that we should not fear all snakes. Watch out, particularly, for Anacondas, rattlers, pythons, and any which offer you an apple.
If I asked what scares you the most, I am sure I would get answers from the sublime to the ridiculous. Men scare me. Women scare me. Marriage scares me. Divorce scares me . Babies scare me. Life scares me. Death scares me. Things like that.
Ah. Death. I would think most of us are scared to die. Fortunately, most have not been close enough to death to even acknowledge it as a threat. Too young. Too healthy. Perhaps. Lucky you.
We all, at least those of a certain age, have lost a family member or a friend, sometime in our lives. When I was very young, and in hospital, the boy with whom I shared a room, died. He was crying and in pain, and was removed by several nurses. I never heard why. No one talked about it. My parents eventually told me that he, like me, had a brain tumor, and they could not help him. Hmm. I was OK. And I carried on, unperturbed.
As a teenager, two of my friends were killed in a car crash. I was shocked when I heard and remained sad for a short time afterward. But I was not really affected. Like most young people, I was "bulletproof". Other people could be killed or die of natural causes, but not me. I could recite twenty incidents in which I could have killed myself. Lots of stupidity. Lots of ignorance. But I did not die. Not me. Not ever.
So then, what scares me?
The words "cancer" and "melanoma" might just do that.
I first heard those words from a doctor's mouth, when talking to me, about me. I was still in Toronto. I was married and we had two little girls. We both worked. We were members of Donalda, a country club in the city. We were active and, in modest terms, successful. We had recently returned from a winter vacation in Nassau. I had been made uncomfortable, while we were away, by a small bump on the crown of my head. I was referred, by my doctor, to an oncologist.
Dr. Starr, after examinations and tests, excised the melanoma tumor from my head and the skin cancer on my back. It was significant in size and also a melanoma. The stain on my back had been there for years. I never paid it any attention.
I was in my late thirties. I took all this in, and never considered these cancers to be life-threatening. How could they be? I was still carrying on with my life, like nothing ever happened. I was so oblivious and so irritated that my life was interrupted, that I played tennis with a huge "S" shaped wound on my back. With the stitches still in. Within a week of my operation. Of course I broke the wound open, and bled everywhere. I only went to the hospital after I finished the game, much to the concern of my playing partner. I was incredibly stupid, but I was not scared of anything. Even cancer.
After a long time, years, we moved to Alabama. Within a year of that move, I was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. And for good measure, I had a recurrence of the cancer on my head. Fortunately, by this time, I had gained some modicum of maturity. Kath, when she reads this, will shake her head, no. Not yet, she will say. Likely, not ever.
There we were. I had relocated my family. Interrupted their lives. We were building a house. I had committed myself to run a business. And now I was going to die. Not right away, the oncologists said, but most likely in three to six months.
Kathy and I had some very serious discussions. We had to plan our future, or more accurately, the lack of it. I promised her that I would do everything I could to fight this cancer. I would give it a battle. I would fight, and fight, and fight. That was my promise. But at some point, my life would be in God's hands. I knew that. And that did not scare me.
I had beaten cancer the first time. I did it without even worrying. It had been a snap. I was not sure this time would prove to be as easy. The doctors were emphatic on my timetable. I was to get my affairs in order. I knew the solemnity. This time, cancer and melanoma had real meaning.
I was now scared. Truly scared for my first time. I was not afraid to die. But I did have issues. I was not at all agreeable with this new timetable. I always realized that death was inevitable. But three to six months? I was mostly afraid for my bride and our children. They were the real victims in my disease. I would not be there to help. To comfort. That honestly scared me. The best I could do was to carry on with our plan. But I was worried. Mostly about how they would cope.
Of course, we overcame that bout of cancer. And more and more. My record against cancer is overwhelming. Perhaps history's best. Inconceivable.
And here we are now, on this fine Monday. Seemingly healthy. At least for the time being. And I hear, too often, the words cancer and melanoma. Now they are associated with friends and family. But now, cancer has a deeper meaning for me than ever. I know the very diagnosis causes fear in the hearts of too many. I have, over years, become more respectful of the disease, and its power, and its insidious and diabolical nature.
Certainly, I am more sympathetic to the plight of others. That is probably a natural phenomenon. Collateral residue from the years of health issues and time in the hospital. Being so near people who suffer. Who cannot count on a future. So much time sitting in waiting rooms filled with eyes of fear and hands clutching, praying for life. For someone who never took his own life seriously, I do now give a damn about the lives of others.
Cancer. That disease rightfully scares a lot of people. Like the snake, it comes with a terrible reputation. And like the snake, not all types will kill you. More importantly, today's treatments and future possibilities provide us with incredible hope. That cancer which might have killed us a few short years ago, is now treatable. The future for cancer patients is in no way predictable by past results. Times are not "a'changing", they have already changed. For the best.
We, the cancer patients, can now truly take hope. Get to work on your disease, overcome your fear, and prepare to battle. Be your own hero. Be a hero for others. You can do it.
Last week's "hugathon" drew a few comments, and I leave you with this....
Our weather has finally improved, and so have my wounds. My biopsies were a little sketchy, and we will have to stand guard on a few of the sites, but we are carrying on. What else can one do?
To all of you who are missing loved ones, or are in the caregiver stage, my heart is with you. Stay strong, and know that you are not alone. Don't be afraid to reach out and talk to someone.
Love from Florida. Take care of each other.
Many of you continue to be in our thoughts and prayers. Even those of you who don't believe in such things, you are still getting them. We have an anti-discrimination prayer policy. The good news is that they cost you nothing and they are non-refundable.
Your comments and calls are always welcome. jrobinmullen@gmail.com
Talk to you next week.
On The Stereo: The Times Are A Changing: Bob Dylan
We likely all have things that scare us in our lives. Kathy can't stand horror movies. She is terrified of the suspense and whenever the movie reaches its most tense moment, when the music lifts to it's crescendo and the darkness deepens, and the monster (or mouse) suddenly appears, she screams bloody murder. She just cannot help herself. As a result, we never watch spooky flicks. Her nerves will not stand for it. And she is not fond of violence, either, so our movie choices have been substantively pared down.
She is fearful of many of life's realities. The list includes lightning, thunder, insects, bats, dark places, roller-coasters and failure. I could go on, but what would be the point.
Each of us is scared of something, if not many things. We cope. We avoid. We endure. And, at our best, we conquer. To be afraid is a natural instinct. To continue in the face of fear, is heroic. Sometimes it is done in the eyes of the world. And more likely, not to anyone but you. We should not be embarrassed by our fears, but we should feel some sense of victory, when we defeat them.
My friend, Dave Hanna, was in the Viet Nam war. His group was crossing a river, at night. Chest deep in water. Rifles held over their heads, to keep them dry. The thing that Dave most feared was not being shot, or drowning. It was snakes. He knew they were everywhere. He saw them daily. He could not see them, at night, in the water. But he feared them like nothing else on earth. Thank goodness he did not encounter one that night. Like Kat, he might have had an uncontrollable scream. Whew. His platoon owes him their lives.
Snakes, for whatever reason, have a bad reputation. There are not many of us who would not go out of our way to avoid them. There are many species, obviously, and even though we know that most are not venomous, and, in fact, they are responsible for reducing the rodent population and do many good things in our gardens, we are still wary of all of them. I'm guessing the Adam and Eve story might bear some responsibility for that. If we could just remind ourselves that we should not fear all snakes. Watch out, particularly, for Anacondas, rattlers, pythons, and any which offer you an apple.
If I asked what scares you the most, I am sure I would get answers from the sublime to the ridiculous. Men scare me. Women scare me. Marriage scares me. Divorce scares me . Babies scare me. Life scares me. Death scares me. Things like that.
Ah. Death. I would think most of us are scared to die. Fortunately, most have not been close enough to death to even acknowledge it as a threat. Too young. Too healthy. Perhaps. Lucky you.
We all, at least those of a certain age, have lost a family member or a friend, sometime in our lives. When I was very young, and in hospital, the boy with whom I shared a room, died. He was crying and in pain, and was removed by several nurses. I never heard why. No one talked about it. My parents eventually told me that he, like me, had a brain tumor, and they could not help him. Hmm. I was OK. And I carried on, unperturbed.
As a teenager, two of my friends were killed in a car crash. I was shocked when I heard and remained sad for a short time afterward. But I was not really affected. Like most young people, I was "bulletproof". Other people could be killed or die of natural causes, but not me. I could recite twenty incidents in which I could have killed myself. Lots of stupidity. Lots of ignorance. But I did not die. Not me. Not ever.
So then, what scares me?
The words "cancer" and "melanoma" might just do that.
I first heard those words from a doctor's mouth, when talking to me, about me. I was still in Toronto. I was married and we had two little girls. We both worked. We were members of Donalda, a country club in the city. We were active and, in modest terms, successful. We had recently returned from a winter vacation in Nassau. I had been made uncomfortable, while we were away, by a small bump on the crown of my head. I was referred, by my doctor, to an oncologist.
Dr. Starr, after examinations and tests, excised the melanoma tumor from my head and the skin cancer on my back. It was significant in size and also a melanoma. The stain on my back had been there for years. I never paid it any attention.
I was in my late thirties. I took all this in, and never considered these cancers to be life-threatening. How could they be? I was still carrying on with my life, like nothing ever happened. I was so oblivious and so irritated that my life was interrupted, that I played tennis with a huge "S" shaped wound on my back. With the stitches still in. Within a week of my operation. Of course I broke the wound open, and bled everywhere. I only went to the hospital after I finished the game, much to the concern of my playing partner. I was incredibly stupid, but I was not scared of anything. Even cancer.
After a long time, years, we moved to Alabama. Within a year of that move, I was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. And for good measure, I had a recurrence of the cancer on my head. Fortunately, by this time, I had gained some modicum of maturity. Kath, when she reads this, will shake her head, no. Not yet, she will say. Likely, not ever.
There we were. I had relocated my family. Interrupted their lives. We were building a house. I had committed myself to run a business. And now I was going to die. Not right away, the oncologists said, but most likely in three to six months.
Kathy and I had some very serious discussions. We had to plan our future, or more accurately, the lack of it. I promised her that I would do everything I could to fight this cancer. I would give it a battle. I would fight, and fight, and fight. That was my promise. But at some point, my life would be in God's hands. I knew that. And that did not scare me.
I had beaten cancer the first time. I did it without even worrying. It had been a snap. I was not sure this time would prove to be as easy. The doctors were emphatic on my timetable. I was to get my affairs in order. I knew the solemnity. This time, cancer and melanoma had real meaning.
I was now scared. Truly scared for my first time. I was not afraid to die. But I did have issues. I was not at all agreeable with this new timetable. I always realized that death was inevitable. But three to six months? I was mostly afraid for my bride and our children. They were the real victims in my disease. I would not be there to help. To comfort. That honestly scared me. The best I could do was to carry on with our plan. But I was worried. Mostly about how they would cope.
Of course, we overcame that bout of cancer. And more and more. My record against cancer is overwhelming. Perhaps history's best. Inconceivable.
And here we are now, on this fine Monday. Seemingly healthy. At least for the time being. And I hear, too often, the words cancer and melanoma. Now they are associated with friends and family. But now, cancer has a deeper meaning for me than ever. I know the very diagnosis causes fear in the hearts of too many. I have, over years, become more respectful of the disease, and its power, and its insidious and diabolical nature.
Certainly, I am more sympathetic to the plight of others. That is probably a natural phenomenon. Collateral residue from the years of health issues and time in the hospital. Being so near people who suffer. Who cannot count on a future. So much time sitting in waiting rooms filled with eyes of fear and hands clutching, praying for life. For someone who never took his own life seriously, I do now give a damn about the lives of others.
Cancer. That disease rightfully scares a lot of people. Like the snake, it comes with a terrible reputation. And like the snake, not all types will kill you. More importantly, today's treatments and future possibilities provide us with incredible hope. That cancer which might have killed us a few short years ago, is now treatable. The future for cancer patients is in no way predictable by past results. Times are not "a'changing", they have already changed. For the best.
We, the cancer patients, can now truly take hope. Get to work on your disease, overcome your fear, and prepare to battle. Be your own hero. Be a hero for others. You can do it.
Last week's "hugathon" drew a few comments, and I leave you with this....
Our weather has finally improved, and so have my wounds. My biopsies were a little sketchy, and we will have to stand guard on a few of the sites, but we are carrying on. What else can one do?
To all of you who are missing loved ones, or are in the caregiver stage, my heart is with you. Stay strong, and know that you are not alone. Don't be afraid to reach out and talk to someone.
Love from Florida. Take care of each other.
Many of you continue to be in our thoughts and prayers. Even those of you who don't believe in such things, you are still getting them. We have an anti-discrimination prayer policy. The good news is that they cost you nothing and they are non-refundable.
Your comments and calls are always welcome. jrobinmullen@gmail.com
Talk to you next week.
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