I was magnanimous (for a change)

Sorry it’s been a while but life got in the way.

We are moved in to the new house and we love it. What we aren’t crazy about its our quarter-mile, 35 degree angled, treacherous driveway that we have to deal with every time it snows. And living in New Hampshire, we get a lot of snow.

A good snowplow guy is your best friend during winter or could be your worst enemy if he is an idiot. Ours fell into the latter category.

The owner or of the property gave us the number for his plowguy, who came with the house the same way the mice in the basement did, the same way the fox who killed one of our chickens did, the same way the mold on the rocks under the pine trees did. He has been a fixture here since last winter so we had to use his services.

He came up a few weeks ago, got stuck halfway up, had to be hauled out by a neighbor, and scrambled off. Said he wouldn’t come back unless we salted the driveway first. OK fine, we find out that we have to go to the highway department with 50 pound buckets, fill them with road salt, haul them up to the house, and I walk behind the truck as Melissa drives up the hill and I salt and salt to get the initial ice layer melted for our princess of a snowplow guy so he ‘don’t get stuck again’.

We do this. It’s a good workout, so I don’t mind. Plowguy shows up again, get stuck at the bottom of the hill but after a few more tries he makes it up and finally clears our driveway. $75 thank you and he is on his way. Not cheap, especially since we salted ourselves.

Last Sunday we were pelted with 10″ of fresh snow. Out I go again to prep the driveway for snowplow guy. He never shows. We make it down the hill in our truck slowly, carefully, but since we salted, it was passable and we took the kids sledding. We came back an hour or two later and I noticed some tracks way at the bottom of the hill, maybe about 10 feet up. It looks like plowguy showed up again but failed and left, quickly. Up we go, 4×4, and we make it just fine.

Monday comes. More snow. Plowguy shows his weather-beaten, mustachioed face and with his New Hampshire drawl tells us that he came up the hill on Sunday, got stuck for two hours, had to get towed, did the driveway and wanted $75 for Sunday and $75 for Monday as well. I was half paying attention since I was at the computer working. Melissa dealt with him and even questioned him “Are you sure you were here yesterday because the driveway was not cleared and the tracks we saw were only at the bottom.” “Nope, I was here, I was here for two hours, got stuck, and had to get help.” She wrote him a check and off he went.

Still with me?

On Thursday I am out at the woodpile getting some wood for our stove when our neighbor Chris, a good man, comes over with his tractor (yes, we live in farm country) and says “Hey you know, your plowguy’s is a real nitwit. Did you know that?” I said I did. He then told me that on Sunday he came over for five minutes, tried to get up the hill but couldn’t then stormed out and took off. I could feel my blood boil instantly. Even though it was 12 degrees outside I stood there and the back of my neck got really hot. Chris kept telling me that the plowguy’s problem, besides being an idiot, is that he uses regular truck tires, not winter tires and he can’t get up the hill without difficulty. Any plowguy, Chris said, knows that do to this driveway he needs winter tires, not regular ones.

I told him that he claimed he was stuck for two hours, Chris called him a ‘damned liar’ who was here for five minutes and he swore to me that he and his wife laughed at him the entire time. Chris bailed him out once before when he was stuck, but vowed never to do it again since the guy never repaid him with a case of beer. Fair enough.

OK now I am steamed.

I go inside and grab the phone to call this guy but figured I am way too angry and I need to calm down, plus I was sure that plowguy is an alcoholic and night time constructive talking would not be his forte. I was right: I found a police record on him for domestic assault and battery from 2007 and 2003, both events happened in January, at night. Something about the winter months and alcohol and locals. Bad mix.

OK so I wait till morning. I find out he cashed our check for $150 ($75 of which I now considered stolen money). I call him. He answers. And I tear into him calling him a liar and a thief. He claimed he was there for two hours, got stuck and had to go. So that’s why he charged us so much money. I told him I had witnesses who swore he was there for 5 minutes (another neighbor came forward and corroborated the evidence) and he called them all liars. So I said “they are all lying just to screw you? Why would they do that? Why would strangers to you lie to me? Explain.” Silence. “I WAS THERE!! TWO HOURS NOW YOU ARE PISSING ME OFF!” He screamed back. When someone gets caught in a lie, it ain’t pretty. He then offered to produce a witness, I made a joke about our chickens being good witnesses and he got even angrier.

I gave him one last chance to come clean and do right by us. He refused. One more: “Be a man, confess what you did, and we can make this right. Or keep lying, you lose the account all winter, and I take you to small claims court, file a police report, and ruin your already ruined name in town. Up to you.” “I an’t doin’ nuthin” My last response was, “Wow, you are as stupid as they say.” No answer. I hung up.

After getting off the phone my first thought was to grab a crowbar and drive over to his place and smash out his windows and break his kneecaps, something that 20 years ago with have been a real reaction on my part (can you smell my NYC public school education) – but of course I can’t do that now. And I didn’t. What was overwhelming is that with all our difficulties, this asshole and his lying and cheating was the one other stress we didn’t need.

But we decided to legally deal with him and his nonsense and keep going on with our lives. Then last night I took my son to his hockey practice at the arena. And who do I see there? Idiot plowguy. He has an older son who plays hockey and I saw him dropping him off and leaving. I wanted to go over and talk to him but was still suiting up Jack. Plowguy left and Jack went on the ice and I turned around in my seat to face all people and activity (never sit with your back to the crowd or to the door if you ever want to avoid a suckerpunch, which plowguy would seem like the perfect perpetrator thereof). I read my book, watched Jack practice, and as Jack came off the ice, I see plowguy across the lobby of the arena waiting for his son, his young daughter by his side.

Exeter is a small town. We are going to be running into each other at the arena, at the supermarket, at the bank. I mustered up all my anger, put it away, and after I got Jack undressed, I walked over to him and put my hand out and said look, “We have been through hell this year. I had to go on disability, I have been battling cancer, my wife is only working part time, we lost our home, and so every penny we have is accounted for. So when I feel like someone is trying to take advantage of my family financially, I lose it. We’re both hockey parents, we live in the same town, and I have cancer. Cancer likes stress and I hate cancer, so I have to let this go. I don’t want to be angry with you over money issues. What happened happened, and I want to move on so I can avoid one more stress in my life.” He kept looking down at the floor. Not sure what was going on in that head of his but I hoped I was making a connection. I made sure to to look in his eyes the entire time but he kept avoiding mine. He only lifted his head once to say ” I was there.” I waved him off and said “I never said you weren’t, it’s your time that I have a problem with.” And again, I ended with saying “Look, it’s over. I’ll see you here and say hello, and you can do the same, Oh and if you doubt any of my story, Google me. You’ll see it’s all true.” I shook his hand and walked away.

I felt exhilarated. Jack watched and heard the whole thing and asked me about it afterward. It was a good, teachable moment. I was tightly wound all day from our call, I wanted to really hurt this asshole for hurting us, but instead I took the high road, which I rarely do when I am wronged like that. And it felt incredible. I felt free. I let it go and that is hard for me to do.

My father would have decked this guy if he were in the same situation when he was younger man, a scene I witnessed numerous times as a child when he had me in tow. I handled it differently and it was good.

My cancer meditation CD tells me that only I have the power to let certain people control my emotions, my life, and my stress. Last night, at the hockey arena I took control in a good way.

And guess what? I was free. I had a great night with the family. my stress disappeared, and that tight feeling my chest was gone.

A cancer journey dream…

Just before I woke up this morning I was knee deep in a dream in which Melissa and I were boarding an Amtrak train with an Asian male friend and we were headed to a location somewhere in Ohio or another rust belt state. I’m pretty sure it was Ohio because I remember looking at the state map as we tried to get from point A to point B.

Now, cancer is and has been a journey for us and the Asian male friend is clearly Dr. Cho who has been our copilot in all this. Why Ohio? I went to Purdue, which is in Indiana, but Ohio makes me draw a blank.

WMUR (NH Channel 9) does an on-air segment

Channel 9, our local station from Manchester came on Friday and interviewed me for a segment for the evening news. I have to say, they did a really nice job. Highlight of the interview: When they told her that we were going to be on TV, Tess said “How are we going to fit in there?”

Here is the blurb. They have not posted the video yet online. As soon as they do I will link to it.

Pisces and the coming weeks

OK, so I am not the biggest supporter of, or believer in the horoscope world but I look for inspiration and signs every day as of late. Despite the inherent issues with horoscope gurus, there is one star who is really a fantastic writer and seer named Rob Brezny. I first discovered Brezny in the Village Voice weekly in NYC years ago and I have visited his site from time to time. He writes poetically in his horoscopes, using references to mythology, history, and current events to make his points. His horoscopes are as literary as they are prophetic, making for fun reading.

I picked up The Wire yesterday in Durham and found this on its’ last page in the Rob Brezny  section:

PISCES                                                                                                                                    In the past few weeks you have veered close to the edge of blissful triumph. From what I can tell, you averted total ecstatic breakthrough and fantastic raging success by only the narrowest of margins. If you don’t want to go all the way in the coming days — if you’d rather remain faithful to your fear of success and fall back into your humdrum comfort zone — you should slam on the brakes immediately. But I warn you: The cosmic pressure to push you over the top into loopy, grinning, shameless victory is almost irresistible.

Hey, I’ll take what I can get.

A bobcat, the Catskill Mountains, and my first cancer dream (I think)

The view from our town lake in Halcottsville, NY

I woke up from a scary dream this morning nice and early. The sensation was nothing unusual: Heart thumping, a feeling of thankfulness that it was just a dream, and some confusion.

The dream began in a diner-type restaurant in NYC, my hometown. The place was run by my old friends, most of whom I found again after years on Facebook. It was closing time as I sat on a couch and we all talked and laughed. Through all these glass doors I could see the city pulsating outside: Taxis, people crossing the street, and I could hear the rumble of the subway under the floorboards.

I got up and walked through a door to go into the kitchen and walked into this nice old farmhouse with the same type sliding glass doors all around me. In the distance I could see the tops of the Catskill Mountains on a hazy late summer afternoon. Just outside the doors was an old creaky, red wrap around porch. I stepped outside and basked in that beautiful glow. I walked off the porch and sat there, eating some snack out of a box that was lying on the ground. I then walked inside and sat on the couch.

As it got dark, I heard animal sounds outside near the area where I ate the snack. I opened the glass door and went right over… A mouse scurried and a bobcat, its head right in my box of food, jumped back and ran on the porch as I chased it off with a sock in my left hand. He scurried away, running in fear. I could see the fear in his eyes and knew I had him on the run, even though my heart pounded. He had nowhere to go and he stopped running and turned and faced me. We had a staredown. He stood there, watching my hand with the sock and I swatted him a couple of times. He recoiled. I woke up.

OK let’s take this apart a bit. NYC is apparent; I grew up there, it is my source of strength, and it’s where most of my friends and family still live. It will always be in my blood and I find it hard to live anywhere else after spending my life there. Melissa and I moved from NYC 18 days after 9/11 since she was 7 months pregnant with Jack and we feared what was in the air. We just thought we would move upstate, have the baby, and then move back after things calmed down.

We wound up buying a farmhouse with a rental property in a tiny Hamlet in the Catskill Mountains, plunged all our savings into fixing these damn houses, and spent 7 years up there in the middle of nowhere on and off. The Catskills are ancient, spiritual mountains considered by old Indians to be full of ghosts and strange, mysterious magic and strengths. I can see the reason for the Catskill setting in the dream: The mountains’ wild nature, their calm and serene setting make for a good, dramatic environment for this confrontation.

The bobcat was afraid. I was afraid too, but I was on the offensive. While I chased him around the porch I only thought of my kids and wanted to make sure they were OK, that they were locked up inside the house, away from this danger. Throughout this cancer journey of mine, I think about my kids more than I think of my own life or health. I worry about them all the time. I worry about not being here for them, about not seeing them grow up, and I worry about looking weak and cancerous to them as I battle this shitty disease. And then I get mad.

In the end, this dream is about confrontation, fear, and looking the cancer right in the eyes. I was not afraid of the bobcat. I was afraid for my family.

I just rode my bike for 25 minutes at an uphill climb.

With sock in hand, I will kill this bobcat.

C.R. (Complete Response)

When we met with Dr. Daniel Cho a couple of weeks ago, as we were discussing his team’s success rate with HDIL2 patients, he mentioned that they have been having a lot of CRs lately. I asked what CR meant and he said it was a “Complete Response” to the therapy. That essentially means that the metastases disappear completely from the patient’s body.

CR has become my mantra. My son Jack drew up a couple of CR posters for me to focus on as I ride my bike in the sun room. Here they are in all their glory. I look at them, repeat the mantra, and keep telling myself that I am going to destroy this ridiculous cancer. I will blow it out of existence and have my CR and reclaim my life (thank you Bernadette for that last phrase).

Why I love self-loathing Jews

Fucking brilliant. I love Larry David and I love this scene from Curb Your Enthusiasm. My previous post on Roth and his examinations on the human condition (often the male, Jewish version of it) made me realize that I am drawn comedically to the self-loathing Jew personality in Hollywood, on the radio and TV, and in books. I find some of the great Jewish talents of today and yesterday and their examination of their cultural and social roots of immigrant, working class Judaism to be some of the greatest cultural moments we have ever produced.

Maybe there is a personal connection of sorts since I grew up in an ethnic neighborhood in NYC, the son of working class immigrant parents. I knew lots of Jews and other immigrant kids growing up and we all shared this embarrassment of sorts about our backgrounds, but we also shared the need to transcend this handicap, as we considered it, and become more white, if you can believe that.

And I think that still holds true for Jewish personalities today. Think of Woody Allen, Howard Stern, Larry David, Jerry Seinfeld, Philip Roth, and even Lenny Bruce and their very public, very funny battles with cultural Judaism and how it has hampered their outlooks on life, and their acceptance into white America. This Jewish personality is never happy, never satisfied despite huge financial and cultural success. Howard Stern still takes abusive calls from his classic Jewish mother on the air, Woody has parodied his Jewishness in the face of Anglo-America, and of course Larry David is self-loathing  as well.

I think there is also a connection between all working class immigrant groups that we can all identify with. We all seem to have been raised by parents who instilled this fear of success, of life in us in terrible ways. We always had to teeter between being Greek or Jewish and being Anglo, you know, in order to make our way up into the American world. We never knew where we belonged. We had to be successful, but not too successful so as to forget our roots. We had to be Greek, dammit, and had to marry our own kind, or else. We always have to walk that line between the culture of the immigrant, the culture of the American, and the culture of oneself, which is a fucking mental disaster, making it impossible for us to make anyone happy. Am I American, am I Greek? A blend does not work either. And Jews are in the same boat.

I remember once I went out with my father to a Greek cafe in Queens for some coffee. My son came with us. The waiter came over and asked my son in Greek for his order. Of course Jack does not speak Greek. My father explained to the waiter, sheepishly, “My son married a foreigner, so the kid does not know our language and culture.” Let’s dissect for a minute: We were sitting in a cafe in Queens, New York City (in the USA) where English is the official language, I am surrounded by Greek immigrants, I grew up in this city, in this country, I married an American Jewish woman and she is considered a foreigner. I had nothing to say. How do you respond to something like that? You don’t. As the product of this insane immigrant environment, you learn that reality is a tricky, elusive, and enigmatic thing. You realize that these folks who raised you are so mentally and culturally confused about who they are as a people, as a race, that there is no right answer.

Back to the Jews. I think this is why I connect with this group of personalities. We all get it. We are all part of the same club and we all share the same values and confusions that make us the lucrative therapy cases we are today. Stern goes to therapy four times a week, while Woody has been in therapy for over 30 years! I have done my fair share as well but am done spending the money. I realize that no therapist will ever fully get the self-loathing thing unless he or she is one of us. And if he or she is, run for the hills.

We are self-loathing because we are incapable of making the people who created us happy. Ever. I just saved us thousands of dollars in therapy.

OK I just popped two pain pills and am getting all fuzzy, which I love. Plus, my typing is starting to slur. Oh and by the way, this site is all about self-indulgence and selfishness so I can write about anything I want. So there. Plus, free form writing will help keep my brain intact, especially since there is a small dent in it now that the tumor has been removed.

Striking the perfect balance

McQueen

Gandhi

Ok, so I know that meditation and positive visualization will be beneficial and necessary in my beating this thing once and for all. It’ll be especially helpful when I am undergoing HDIL2 treatment and focusing on allowing my body to take the punishment the treatment has to offer and making it work. Its a two step process, making it bearable and then making it succeed. I can do this through the mind-body connection. I’m not worried about that.

What I worry is that I will rely too much on the eastern approach and forget about what else I need: Steve McQueen. Yes, positive visualization and meditation are wonderful, sensitive-dude elements, but what about the ability to quietly kick ass? McQueen had this quiet anger that you could feel, that permeated all of his performances, especially Bullitt. And I love that because the cancer battle is a lonely, quiet one. It takes place in my body, in mind, alone, with supporters of course, but the battle is so internal and so private that no one can help me but me.

And that’s where this post is headed. It will take both the passive resistance of the Gandhis of the world but also the toughness of the McQueens, both of whom will help me win. You can’t beat cancer without both of these personality traits.

Not only will I need to consume wheatgrass shakes but I will also need to be able to punch the guy who makes me a bad one. Quietly, of course.

An inspirational guy

I know that for most of us Lance Armstrong is the cycling dude who beat metastatic cancer and has retooled his life in very inspirational ways. He has not been a central figure in my life, but the guy is impressive, a super athlete, and a successful human being on many levels.

But I recently started to look at his story more closely given my personal cancer situation and I have to say, besides seeing a parallel or two between us and our health, the guy is really an amazing survivor. His testicular cancer spread to his lungs, his brain, and his lymph nodes. In selfish ways, I read about his metastases and compared notes. We both had it in the same places (minus the nodes for me) and so his story became much more interesting for me.

So after his treatment and his personal battle, he was declared NED (No Evidence of Disease) and has been so for over a decade. While our cancers differ, its nice and selfish of me to side with this survivor who had multiple metastatic sites and who beat them all. I just bought his book through Ebay and will devour it quickly and try to sum up how he handled his spirit and his mind throughout his ordeal.

Oh, plus, we are the same age and obviously in the same physical shape. More things to crow about and bond over. I do love long distance biking however. And like after last year’s round with cancer, gettig on my road bike and getting into mental and physical shape was was got me through the entire summer of recovery. I got up to 20 miles  a  ride through the Seacoast of NH and loved every minute of it. It is my favorite thing to do and one of the things I am focused on once I get stronger this spring.