There is Always Hope

When I was a kid I used to ask for signs. Stupid things. Things like "God, if the Bulls are going to pull this game out in the 4th quarter... give me a sign." Then, I'd expect a picture to fall off the wall or something. It never happened, but then again the Bulls had Michael Jordan. They probably didn't need the divine intervention. Still, I don't think signs work that way. I get the feeling they are a bit more complex.

When you try to put together the picture of what six weeks of recovery from a cancerous tumor looks like - its difficult to walk that thin line between melodrama and meaningful perspective. But, some things are undeniable. For instance, I have a wallpaper background on my laptop of a graffiti artist - Banksy. I put it up on my computer months ago; a picture of a little girl, hair blowing in the wind, outstretched arms, just out of reach of a heart shaped balloon floating away. In itself it's a nice picture. Nothing amazing, but rather an interesting moment frozen in time of a girl and her balloon, juxtaposed on a dreary street corner in London somewhere. But, that wasn't all to the photo. On the same cement, a few yards down from the girl was a simple phrase etched on the wall in sloppy handwriting: "THERE IS ALWAYS HOPE"

I remember there being a moment, days before the surgery, when things started to feel all too real. In hindsight, the anticipation was far and away the worst part. But, then I saw that photo of the girl, and the balloon, and the phrase of hope. I wish I could say it was like a shining light, some powerful message that carried me through unchartered waters, but that's all too cliche. It wasn't as much that I carried it with me, but rather that it stuck. Days, weeks later, I found myself coming back to it, unable to shake it from my memory. And, it wasn't nearly as much for me as it was for others. While there was a cancer on my side, the people I shared a floor with at the hospital were men and women of all types of conditions. Some better, some worse. Some were probably like me - going home in a few days. But, some were small children, all too young to be in such a place. Some were old, and tired, and had surely ditched hope years ago for a much more tangible sidekick - survival. But, that's not to say the hope wasn't there.

I don't know what it was about that simple phrase, but it still hasn't quite left me, and I hope it doesn't. It's not hard to walk away from a situation such as this and say that you learned to live everyday like your last. Or, to cherish everything because it can be taken away in a heartbeat. And, those things would be right. But, few people can actually live everyday like their last, or defend against getting comfortable with the things they cherish. I'll want to throw my blackberry against a wall sometime soon. I'll be mad that I missed too many shots in a basketball game sometime soon. I'll let things get to me. That's not the point. The point is that there are things deserving of hope all around - things I most likely would have been blind to before. And, I don't consider myself some phrophet because I had a tumor. Everyone finds their way on their own, and it would be ignorant of me to think I am in a position to impose whatever "lessons" I may have learned on anyone else. Sharing is a different story. So, if walking away from the hospital, and working my way through recovery with the image of that girl and her balloon and the phrase of hope is what I take from this experience - I'm fine with that. Mr. Morton would probably fine with that, I'm sure. So would the little 5 year old boy down the hall, and the the nice British woman's father. After all, "hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies." Thanks Andy Dufrense.

Steve Lavin and Homer Simpson. Ahh, it must be March.

Rot - verb

1. to undergo decomposition; decay. most likely in the form of sitting or laying position. typically on a sofa with some sort of entertainment.

2. Mind completely shutting down

source: Ricky Butler personally published dictionary

Hockey, baseball, football, futbol, college football ... umm, arena football... fans across the globe: soak this in.  Let it marinate.  The best time in sports all year.  March.  College basketball.  Mmm, that tastes good, huh?  The 11 other months of the year I am subjected to Chris Mortenson analyzing the NFL, Kirk Herbstreet analyzing CFB, Mel Kiper breaking down the draft picks, Lou Holtz shocking the world day in and day out that a) he is still alive and b) ESPN still employs him.  I am subjected to baseball lasting FOREVER, and completely befuddling the mind by scheduling 245 games per day, despite their only being 30 MLB teams.  And soccer and hockey, well, being professional sports (Beckham in LA! that was cool for about a day).  

It doesn't get better than the NCAA tournament, and even most non-basketball fans willing to swallow their pride can admit that.  And, while I couldn't have predicted or planned this (well, I could have, but that have been borderline masochistic) I have received doctor's orders to continue to Rot for the first two rounds of the greatest show on earth (sorry Ringling Brothers Barnum & Bailey, and the St. Louis Rams '99-'01 "greatest show on turf").  What is rotting you (read: me) ask?  It's doing nothing.  It's sinking so far into your couch that you create a Homer Simpson ass-groove.  It's being so mindless that you answer questions with grunts and moans.  In this particular situation, it's absorbing zone defenses, cinderellas, sleepers, upsets, buzzer beaters, blowouts, and Steve Lavin's gelled hair until you melt into an extension of the television.  It's really quite beautiful.

But, we all know this.  Everyone knows this - that March Madness is the best.  But, what's special about this year?  Well, here's 3 things I like, and 3 things I don't like:

Like

1: The freshman.  Is it just me or do you need to continue to be reminded these kids are 18 and 19 (OJ Mayo is actually 20, go figure).  Not that they are this good at such a young age, but that they are grown men with facial hair that puts Adam Morrison's senior year mustache to shame.

2. The middle of the pack.  Villanova is a 12 seed, Notre Dame is a 5 seed, and Duke is a 2 seed, and I have absolutely no idea which team is the best.  Jim Boeheim said it best on PTI in that with all the studs leaving early for the NBA you don't have truly great teams anymore, but just a bunch of good ones.  Great, my bracket is screwed.

3. Psycho T.  What is up with Tyler Hansbrough?  Oh wait, these are things I like?  Woops, wrong category.

Don't Like

1. ESPN "expert" pics.  Between Jay Bilas, Reece Davis, Digger Phelps, Hubert "quickly to be replaced full time by Bob Knight" Davis, Bob Knight, and Dick Vitale no one besides Knight picked a seed lower than #2 to be in the final four.  Thanks, experts.  No, really, thanks.  I mean, the selection committee spends hours and hours to determine who the top 8 seeds are, and the guys on ESPN are earning their keep by pointing out to us exactly which 8 teams they picked.  We can read, guys, but really, thanks.  Way to go out on a limb.

2. Butler-Southern Alabama & Gonzaga-Davidson.  Probably the 4 best mid-major schools are slated to play each other in the first round.  I know the selection committee doesn't have enough time to take everything into account, but we see mid-majors play each other all year long.  Isn't this the time we see if they can hang with the big boys? 

3. Bob Knight.  To make up for Psycho T belonging in this category (purely for his super weird intensity), I'll put Knight in the "like" category.  After a whopping 3 days of experience he's already better than most as a TV analyst and does so by simply speaking from the immense amount of basketball knowledge he has.  In the midst of the immense time crunch of the tournament picks (and my depressing amount of ESPN watching) I've seen technical difficulties (prompter not working, graphics not working, etc.) completely stump the analysts.  It's like they don't even know what basketball is without a teleprompter.  Knight has been good, very good even.

Should be a good few weeks.  I have Kansas, Memphis, UCLA, and Tennessee in the final 4 - three #1's and a #2.  Looks like I am a product of my own rotting; unable to go out on a limb picking anything but what the experts tell me.

Sneakerology 101. Seriously.

I feel conflicted, torn, confused.  I'm searching for answers, direction, a sign even.  Carnegie Mellon, a rival athletic institution of my alma mater NYU (yes they both have athletic programs), has started offering the course "Sneakerology 101."  How could this be possible?  How could Carnegie Mellon, far and away one of the most boring campuses I have ever set foot on, offer this class?  A school located in Pittsburgh.  Pittsburgh! Blue collar Steelers fans.  They aren't interested in the origin of the Nike Dunk, or the uprising caused by Run DMC - the first hip hop group to to receive a Million dollar contract from Adidas.  How could NYU not have jumped on this earlier?  I mean, I took plenty of ridiculous classes at NYU, and Sneakerology 101 would rank right up there near the top.  The entire student population is full of vibrant, diverse, fashionistas with too much money and not enough time.  There could have even been a field trip to one of the local sneaker bodegas offering one-of-a-kind kicks.  Are they going to open a Flight Club in Pittsburgh? (hint: the answer is no)  

I should be happy about this.  An extremely respected university embracing the roots of the Sneaker culture; from hip-hop and basketball to the modern day marketing schemes of Nike.  But, all I find myself is feeling like a sore loser, a bad sport, a disgruntled college graduate that was stuck taking African American Vernacular English 101 (seriously) as an elective (actually one of the harder courses I ever took).  Eh, there's always grad school.

Can I have surgery... umm with a side of an aston martin, rolex, and some crocodile loafers. yeah, definitely don't forget the loafers.

Not that I expected different, but hot damn there are a lot of 0's at the end of the the bill after surgery and a hospital stay.

Kind of alarming to think of the 47 million Americans that go without health insurance.  But don't take my word for it, here's a little more hard data than just my two cents (or couple hundred thousand)...

• Nearly 47 million Americans, or 16 percent of the population, were without health insurance in 2005, the latest government data available.¹
• The number of uninsured rose 2.2 million between 2005 and 2006 and has increased by almost 9 million people since 2000.¹
• The large majority of the uninsured (80 percent) are native or naturalized citizens.²
• The increase in the number of uninsured in 2006 was focused among working age adults. The percentage of working adults (18 to 64) who had no health coverage climbed from 19.7 percent in 2005 to 20.2 percent in 2006.1 Nearly 1.3 million full-time workers lost their health insurance in 2006.
• Nearly 90 million people - about one-third of the population below the age of 65 spent a portion of either 2006 or 2007 without health coverage.³
• Over 8 in 10 uninsured people come from working families - almost 70 percent from families with one or more full-time workers and 11 percent from families with part-time workers.²
• The percentage of people (workers and dependents) with employment-based health insurance has dropped from 70 percent in 1987 to 59 percent in 2006. This is the lowest level of employment-based insurance coverage in more than a decade.^{4, 5}
• In 2005, nearly 15 percent of employees had no employer-sponsored health coverage available to them, either through their own job or through a family member.⁶
• In 2006, 37.7 million workers were uninsured because not all businesses offer health benefits, not all workers qualify for coverage and many employees cannot afford their share of the health insurance premium even when coverage is at their fingertips.¹
• The number of uninsured children in 2006 was 8.7 million - or 11.7 percent of all children in the U.S.¹ The number of children who are uninsured increased by nearly 610,000 in 2006, the second year that the number of uninsured children increased.
• Young adults (18-to-24 years old) remained the least likely of any age group to have health insurance in 2005 - 29.3 percent of this group did not have health insurance.
• Nearly 40 percent of the uninsured population reside in households that earn $50,000 or more.¹ A growing number of middle-income families cannot afford health insurance payments even when coverage is offered by their employers.

source: National Coalition on Health Care

Who wants to move to Canada?

My own "True Life"

MTV may have gone off the deep end (sorry Lauren Conrad followers) with their bevy of reality shows, but one of the few shows that remains refreshing is their "True Life" series.  Always entertaining, whether they are following soldiers coming back from Iraq or overweight teenagers, one of the most interesting episodes was "True Life: I'm moving back home."  The show chronicled three young adults as they moved back in with their parents after stints of independence.  Even though I came home with a duffle bag and a small suitcase (and no intention of ever moving back in) - that show has been feeling all too familiar in my own life over the past 3 1/2 weeks.

Independence, like many other aspects of life, is a funny thing in that you don't truly appreciate it until it is taken away from you.  Living in my own studio apartment by myself for the past 8 months has worked out great for me.  It's nice to come home to your own space after work.  I have a gym down the street.  I have a nice TV.  My bed is comfortable.  Cool, right?  Well, mix one part surgery, one part recovery, one part short term disability, and one part recuperating at your parents house and that nice little world (of independence) that I've created for myself has all of a sudden disappeared.  But, what could be so bad - it's just taking it easy at home with the 'rents for a few weeks?  Well, New York City has a reputation for being the "city that never sleeps," and as cliche as that saying is, it still spawned from some sort of truth.  Unfortunately for me, my house in suburban New Jersey really really values sleep, and I'm not exactly used to being yelled at for watching TV too loud past 9:30.

Most important, however, hasn't been the mild noise violations I have incurred, but rather my slowly but surely returning need for independence that is being thwarted by the parental influence that reigns supreme at 22 Olden Drive.  As I find myself able to move around more and more, I also find myself butting heads with the powers that be as if I was 16 again.  Just like the MTV series portrayed, it's not easy for grown children to take orders again after they have come so accustomed to living on their own dime and own itinerary.  Hey, I love my parents and they're great, but there is a point where enough is enough and it goes without saying that the itch to get back to living on my own feels like the product of a full fledged head to toe rash at this point.  

 

The 5 Stages

Thus far in my life I have been lucky enough not to deal with too much grief.  I have lost 3 grandparents and a dog, and as sad as it may sound, I was probably closest with the dog.  Regardless, the stages of grief, in my own personal opinion, can also be applied to other traumatic experiences in one's life.  In returning to the MSKCC after a couple weeks at home on the mend it got me thinking: I have certainly come a long way since my initial appointments, and the surgery - nearly 3 weeks ago.  In a very stripped down and raw tone, I think my own progression goes something like this...

• Denial - "Look, I appreciate my family physician referring me to a good doctor in NY, but I think he overestimated my condition.  I mean, everyone in here has cancer.  I don't belong here.  A chemotherapy suite?  Um, yeah.  I need to get the hell out of here.  I'm not sick like them."

• Anger - "Alright, I've had to come back here 3 times now.  Why the hell are they treating me like I have cancer?  This is bullshit.  I've had this stupid thing on my side for a while now, and it's not causing any pain, so how the hell could it be something dangerous.  I'm wasting my time."

• Bargaining - "Ok fine, what if I do all the research, take tons of vitamins and all types of things that will make me really healthy - maybe when I have the surgery the doctor's will realize it's not that serious.  Could that work?  I mean, it might.  I'll just be really prepared, and maybe it will turn out to be nothing."

• Depression - *laying in a hospital bed, trying to move around* "umm. this sucks."

• Acceptance - "I've come back to the hospital and the word 'cancer' doesn't make me cringe anymore.  This isn't so bad.  The worst is behind me.  The people in the waiting room no longer look desperate and sick to me anymore, but rather people with hope to recover and people I can relate to.  Yeah, it's rough, but best case scenario they'll be just fine - like me.  Thank god my doctor's are smart, capable, and skilled.  I owe them a lot.  But, oh yeah, the coffee in the waiting room still sucks."

I'm extremely happy that I'm at a place much closer to "acceptance" than "depression," and I think a great deal of that goes to the fact that I had doctor's that not only knew how to use a sharp tool to cut me open, but also knew how to explain things, answer questions, and listen.  Dr. Pusic, the plastic surgeon, showed great empathy and managed to take the issue of moving an entire muscle in my back and make it something I understood. Dr. Park had to kind of figuratively slap me across the face a few times because of my blatant ignorance.  In my first appointment with him I asked if I could have the surgery on Friday so that I could return to work on Monday - only missing one day.  In hindsight, I'm not sure a cross between the Terminator and Cal Ripken could have pulled that off.  But, it just goes to show how much of denial I was in that this "thing" on my side was anything serious.   Yeah, I'm pretty lucky.

word

Basford

When it drains it pours

Returning back to Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center for my follow-up appointments, I knew it was going to be a long day.  We set out on the open (read: traffic) road at 8:30 am.  The first appointment was with the plastic surgeon at 10:45 (read: showed up at 10, didn't go in until 11:30), followed by a chest x-ray at 12:30, followed by another appointment with my main thoracic surgeon at 1pm, followed by ensuring my apartment was in one piece, followed by driving (read: me sleeping in the passenger seat) home.  It was a process to say the least, but the goal was to get it all done in one shot.  

While my main incision has been really healing nicely, and the percocet has been holding up it's end of the bargain taking care of the internal pain, the most annoying thing about my condition is that I have two drainage tubes in my back.  They make sleeping, sitting, moving around, etc. a pain because they are not exactly in the most convenient place.  My big goal with these appointments (besides obviously being told I am doing well) was to get these tubes removed and finally be detached of all things foreign to my body (except for the mesh and cement that now serve as 4 of my ribs, of course).  Well, the doc took a look and made the executive decision that one of the tubes can be removed, but the second one needs to stay, at least for a few more days.  

So, while I thought my energy level has risen to a near-normal level, this trip to NYC landed me comatose in my bed for 4 hours upon immediate arrival back home - and I need to do it all over again on Thursday.  However, I understand that things must be kept in perspective and they could be much much worse.  The main surgeon was very pleased, and, in fact, told me he didn't need to see me for another 5 or 6 months; for another CAT scan to ensure the tumor is not growing back.  The pathology report confirmed that the tumor was a desmoid cancer, but it also confirmed that removing it ridded my body of that cancer.  Maybe I'm being a drama queen about having to make another day trip into NY for a dr's appt.  It's not so bad.