Andrew's View of the Week

Of Cancer and Car Batteries

Posted on 02/05/2012 by Andrew Reynolds

I’ve been sitting trying to write a post for this week. Can’t quite make it happen so you get this instead. I am thinking that last week I must have busted a brain cell or something because this week I don’t have any complete thoughts happening. I’ve got a couple of really cool posts that I am working on but they’re nowhere near done and not going to get finished tonight.

So instead of a clear, concise, meaningful, inspiring and humorous post you get the following:

Friday sucked. Sucked out loud with big loud sucking sounds. If you were near the hospital and heard someone’s life suck – that was mine.

I don’t really want to talk about it. In the grand scheme of things it shouldn’t be that big a deal. I’ve dealt with it a million times before and it’s easy to fix. I even know how to do it and I’ve got all the tools. I’ve lost track but I must have done it five or six times in my life. Frankly it’s kind of embarrassing, but I was seriously traumatized by it.

So traumatized that I can’t finish any of the really cool posts I’ve been wanting to write all week.

So you get a post with a lot of paragraphs that start with ‘so’ a bunch of missing punctuation and a large number of one sentence ‘paragraphs.’

So, you want to know don’t you. You’re still reading because you’re hoping to see a train wreck or me write about something very funny.

Okay – it should be funny. There should be a deeper meaning here but when it happened all I wanted to do was cry. Real tears kind of crying. In public crying. No hankie-in-my pocket crying.

Last week I mentioned about Thomas (the disciple, not the train engine) and had a nice email exchange with a friend and am really inspired to write more about it. I’ve even read the related Bible passages and borrowed volume 9 of “The New Interpreter’s Bible” so I could read authoritative quotes about. I got a lot to say about Thomas. And in all honesty I have a lot to say about both, Thomas the disciple and the train engine. It’s all here – I’ve got great stuff to tell you.

But Friday happened and it’s taking all weekend to move past it.

I’ve got a list going of “how to support a cancer patient” and was working on a humorist post on it.
But Friday happened.

Since I learned about my cancer I’ve been looking for ways to emotionally deal with all the scary things that come with the disease. You know things like, “could I die?” “Will I need to buy depends in bulk?” “Will I ever have sex again?” “Will it hurt?” “How will I know if I am dead?” “Will anyone read my blog posts?”

One of the ways I am dealing with it all is to resort to allowing myself to indulge in “comfort activities.” Things that I know make me feel better – watching favorite movies, eating favorite foods. That kind of thing. I’ve even extended that to my reading. The first book I ever truly picked out to read on my own was, “Earth Abides” by George R. Stewart. I was in eighth grade when I saw it at the drug store and with my own money, money I had earned, I bought it. I loved it. I’ve read it a number of times in my life. There is something special in that book for me and I’ve been working on writing a post to explain why.

But Friday happened and now I have to reread the book.

Another thing I’ve been doing to try to cope with all this prostate cancer crap is to stay involved in my marquetry hobby. In January I went to no less than three different club meetings and have worked a few nights and most Sunday afternoons on marquetry projects. It’s great. I can do something with my hands and let my mind and soul focus on creating something. I can let my creativity soar and for a little while leave behind this thing that is tying me to a treatment regiment that is slowly taking all my emotional strength.

That treatment and all the concerns, fears and hopes left me without the ability to handle:

Friday.

So you’ve gotten this far. I’ll play nice and fess up. Here’s what happened on Friday:

I went to the clinic and had my treatment. I left the building, got in my car and turned the key. The starter went, “Click, click, click” and engine did not come to life. The power I was expecting to take me away did not pour into my machine.

I turned the key again and “Click” no roar. No shaking. No sound. Just the CD player quietly playing, “Amazing Grace.” (seriously, I’ve got a CD with church hymns and I often listen to Amazing Grace while driving around. Coping method number 4).

I must have turned the key four or five times before I pulled the key out and sat back stunned. It felt like I had been shot. I felt helpless and very alone. Then a feeling that I’ve rarely known in an emergency – I had no idea what to do. Couldn’t think of one thing.

I don’t really know how long I just sat there before I remembered this new device I carry – a cell phone. I pulled it out and was just about to call my wife to rescue me when I remembered that I’ve got a AAA card. From somewhere I was able to pull out some last reserve and I started calling. Doing something felt good but I was more than a bit resentful that I even had to be dealing with this. I was angry with the car and then I was more than a little embarrassed with myself because I’d totally forgotten how to handle the situation. I’ll tell you in all honesty that I came very close to walking back into the clinic to ask them to call my wife to come and get me.

Why? The clinic is safe. People know how to take care of you there. And the have nice warm blankets to hide under.

So I did manage to get a truck on its way to help. That took two phone calls since the first operator got the address wrong. Good thing the towing service knew something didn’t seem right and had the good sense to call and confirm my location. I did manage to call Heather and tell her what was up. I did manage to tell her that I needed help. We agreed that when I got the car started I’d drive to the dealer and we’d leave it there for them to fix. She’d meet me there and bring me home.

When the yellow truck showed up the driver confirmed my suspicions and agreed it was a dead battery. Then he said something I had never considered and didn’t know they did.

He said, “I’ve got a replacement battery in the truck, three-year free replacement if it fails, $118, I can put it in eleven minutes and have you on your way with a new battery.”

“You take Visa?” was my reply.

Somehow I made it to the office and managed to do real work for a while but had to leave early because I just felt drained.

It’s taken me most of the weekend to rest and recover enough to write and still I had to almost force myself to the keyboard.

You see this blog is another coping mechanism that I have. I find that when I write about something it loses its power over me. I find in the act of writing that I can shape the thought, channel the emotion and highlight the good things and force the bad things into their rightful place – the distant past.

It is likely that I get more out of writing this than you get out of reading it but still I’ve written about Friday and I can move on.

Now for one more story about car batteries. I have a friend that is also going through radiation treatments for prostate cancer and I wrote a short note to complaining to him about my car trouble to which he replied, “Must be the radiation. The battery in my truck died on Monday.”

So, there you have it – one of the side effects of prostate cancer is a dead car battery.

Posted in Prostate Cancer, Spirit | Tagged Prostate Cancer, spiritual | Comments Off

Boredom or How I Survive Cancer Treatments

Posted on 02/02/2012 by Andrew Reynolds

I’ve nearly completed half of my radiation treatments and I know many of you have questions about how it is going. So far the major side effects are a bit of tummy upset and having to get up every morning at 5:30 so I can be at the clinic at 7:00 am. The other effect is mind numbing boredom.

Here is what I have been doing to beat the boredom:

On the way to the clinic I’ll travel in the freeway number 4 lane on Mondays and Wednesdays. Tuesdays I’ll use the number 3 lane but on Friday’s I try to find a pickup truck to follow no matter what lane it is in.

At the clinic I purposely park in a different space everyday – even though that at 6:45 am I am the only car in the lot. There are about 15 spaces and I don’t expect to repeat a space until late next week.

When I go to the dressing room I pick a different changing room each day. There are four to pick from. I’ve been thinking of bringing a four-sided die so I can make the choice truly random.

I turn getting undressed into a logic problem: Each article of clothing must go into my bag one at a time. When I dress after treatment I can only take out one item at a time and in reverse order – FILO (first in last out). What is the most efficient way to undress and pack my bag? Sadly I’ve solved this problem. The solution is: ring, watch and company ID badge go in first. Next my coat. Then pants followed by shirt with my jockey shorts on top. Think about it. I did, a lot.

While on the table in the radiation room I pretend to be somewhere else. Monday I pretended to be on a beach in Maui perfectly lying still in the sun. Tuesday I pretended to be on a beach in Kauai lying still in the sun. Wednesday I pretended to be on a beach on Kona lying still in the sun.

Tomorrow we’re off to Jamaica…

And an update on the giraffe design problem: It will be a recipe holder with a light. Materials include wood, wood veneer, brushed aluminum and clear plastic. I may include brass if mixing metals is still legal. I call it a giroaster. Drawings to follow.

Posted in Prostate Cancer, Spirit | Tagged Prostate Cancer, spiritual | 1 Comment

A Wife’s Post on Cancer

Posted on 02/01/2012 by Andrew Reynolds

My wife proofreads my posts before I put them here. She’s a better editor than I am and catches a lot of really embarrassing errors I make. I also find her input on my writing to very valuable to me. Heather is a bit of a writer herself and has been doing some writing of her own. On Sunday something snapped in my brain and I wrote three posts for this blog and presented them all to her for editing and input. At one point in the conversation she responded to something I wrote saying, “I should write a post for your blog.” “Yes, you should” was my immediate answer – after all she is affected by this cancer thing too and it’s time you heard from her. So here his a guest post from my wife (without any editing from me).

Heather writes:

If there are too many grammatical errors in Andrew’s posts, you can blame me. I get the red pen and paper before you get to see it. Don’t be too judgmental, I catch a lot of the errors. Remember that he’s the one with the English degree – I was just born there 🙂

I was bravely invited to write this post on hubby’s site, and I’m not about to waste any opportunity to express my sincere feelings. OK, I guess it shouldn’t be this much fun – we are talking about cancer.

I’ll make one thing clear. I have no idea what it is like to have cancer, and I don’t want to find out. But, I have – probably like many of you – been brushed by its horror.

I do not use that word lightly.

My first awareness of the word was in the early 1960’s when our Auntie Kathleen (a favorite) came to stay with us for a week and then disappeared into hospital never to be seen again. No goodbye’s, only whispers later of the words “stomach cancer”. It came back to visit the family in the mid-1970’s when we got the news that my nephew (eight years old) had a malignant brain tumor and had spent eight hours in surgery. When I was over for a visit a few years later, a very mature Simon took his four-year old cousin under his care and tolerated with a bemused smile the fact that Kegan continually addressed him as “her” or “she.” Sadly, Simon again struggled with a relapse and was only sixteen when he died in 1985. Around that time my sister Joan was diagnosed with breast cancer. She lived actively whilst dealing with all the devastation belonging to the disease, for almost fifteen years. In 1999 her body was ravaged and cancer finally took her. In 1996, I got a phone call from my sister Hazel on July 3^rd saying that her husband, Malcolm had died that night. I was able to fly out the next day and be there to help with the funeral. Malcolm had four short months to struggle with stomach cancer. He was a proud Welshman and wouldn’t allow my sister to tell anyone he was sick until a couple weeks before he died. I had just quit my job in November of 2006 and was looking forward to nurturing a deeper relationship with my mother-in-law, when she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. My deepening relationship turned into daily visits to the nursing facility where she died five short weeks later. A year ago this month my sister-in-law Marina was diagnosed with cancer (an un-nameable mass) and she was on a course of chemotherapy, which was going well. She and my brother were having a short holiday break between treatments when her duodenum ruptured. I got the call from my sister on July 12, the day she died. I happened to have my three grandsons staying at the time.

I’ll make another thing clear. Writing has a strange way of leading rather than following. This was not the route I had envisioned for today!

I can’t leave it here though. Cancer is as much about living as it is about dying.

The Simon I remember, was the gentlest, most thoughtful fourteen year old, with wispy hair and a dry sense of humour. Joan was the older sister who had a special identity with me – I was reminded often of our similarity. She continued to teach Sunday school, lead history tours in the city of Hull, and use her creativity. I remember her saying once, “People say I’m brave, but what choice do I have?” Joan struggled for years with the ravaging disease, but never stopped living. I was able to have one last telephone conversation with Malc, a few days before died. What I remember is his humour. I asked some benign thing about the football he was watching (the world series was on), and his dry reply was 100% Malc. “Mother “ – we daughter-in-law’s called her that – lived her final five weeks with a grace and dignity that humbled me. Memories of Marina go back to Sunday school days and I had regular phone conversations her during treatment. I remember one particularly well. She had run up the garden to answer the phone and she was laughing and saying, “I didn’t know I could still run.” She knew her time was limited and she took delight in her view of the Malvern hills from her home. I know she thought about death, but she focused on life’s beauty, her friends, and her family.

Well, this post isn’t about Andrew at all. I was going to have fun with the opportunity given me to be the – behind the screen “revealer”.

There is one more thing I want to say.

I learn a lot about what cancer is and about how Andrew feels through his blogs.

He doesn’t often sit at the dinner table and share that stuff.

And, even though – when he states that it is time for bed – I know he’s going to disappear to his computer (to check blog responses), I’m thankful that he is writing his cancer blog. He is living. He’s writing…and I’ve gotta just sneak this in … “too bad it had to be cancer to get him writing regularly! “

Posted in General, Heather's Posts, Prostate Cancer, Spirit | Tagged caregiver, caregiving experiences, Prostate Cancer | Comments Off

Words That Don’t Define Me

Posted on 01/31/2012 by Andrew Reynolds

Over the years I’ve read a lot of news stories about people with cancer. I’ve been interested in the adjectives used to describe them. How we describe people often tells us more about ourselves than the person we’re describing. When I describe a person as ‘brave’ it is often me projecting my wish of how I’d behave if I were them.

A combat veteran once told me, “It’s a very thin line between brave and foolish. Often it’s just the difference between living and dying.”

If I was on a battle field I’d certainly wish that I’d act out of bravery rather than foolishness. The brave soldier acts with valor and lives while the foolish soldier needlessly throw his life away. At my funeral I’d rather be known as the brave soldier.

Here are some of the words and phases that I see written about people with cancer:

brave
survivor
battle
lost their battle
is cancer free
fighter
fighting the battle against
great faith
very loving
great sense of humor.

These words come from the often repeated stereotypes I see describing ‘cancer victims.’ I sometimes wonder if a reporter from a magazine came to write a story about me and my prostate cancer what would be written. I am sure it would include sentences like this:

Andrew is a software engineer who has bravely fought this cancer while continuing to work and support his family.
He has great sense of humor that eased the pain and suffering of the disease that is ravaging his body.
Using both his faith in God and modern medicine he constantly overcomes adversity and is looking forward to being declared cancer free when he finishes his current treatments.

The only problem would be that I am not any of those things.

Brave I am not. What I am is afraid. I am more motivated by fear than anything else. Fear of death, fear of pain, fear of loss, fear of growing a third arm. Okay I am also a bit irrational from time to time. A few days after I got the call I woke up at about 3:00 am with this thought, “How will I know when I am dead?”

Well now, isn’t that good-morbid-over-reacting? The fact is that I am not facing death anytime soon. This isn’t that kind of disease. In fact most prostate cancers are perfectly treatable. We could argue the curable part, but I far more likely to be killed crossing the street. To say that I am “bravely fighting” cancer is an overstatement in the extreme (is that redundant?).

A fighter? Yeah right. Last time I got in a fight, I was the one with the bloody nose.

Survivor? Only in the sense that nothing really bad has happened to me.

Cancer Free? Hopefully in body but my mind has been touched by the word and my spirit be forever affected by that word.

Sense of humor? Maybe but mostly I have a very good memory and can remember almost every joke ever told to me. Also humor is a great shield. When someone gets too close to the truth – tell a joke, divert attention from me to a laugh.

Faith? Well I’ve got some but my patron saint is Thomas – doubting Thomas. Yes I have faith and beliefs. I pray. I mediate. I think. I read the ancient wisdom and try my best to behave as I believe Jesus would want me to. But still I wake at 3:00 am and wonder, “How will I know I am dead?”

So what words describe me?

Scared
Afraid
An engineer
Doing what I must
Hopeful
Mostly a Believer
Alive

So what am I?

I am just a middle-aged-church-going-engineer who got a disease and am trying to squeeze out a few more years by using the treatments that medicine can offer while keeping my mind and spirit healthy by using my faith and relying on the support of my church, my friends and most importantly my dear wife.

and I write these blog posts, watch bad “B” movies and tell bad jokes to avoid thinking about all this too much.