Shivering in my pyjamas

“And I stood there shivering in my pajamas
And watched the whole world go up in flames
And when it was all over I said to myself
Is that all there is to a fire?”

So I went through the wringer and I came out alive. Came out in one piece. I’m still standing, but more than that. I survived. I am now a survivor.

My journey in Cancerland started 8 months ago with the discovery or awareness of a lump that I previously had not noticed. It did not appear overnight but one morning I looked in the mirror and said hey that looks like a lump, maybe I should should get that looked at.

So we got it looked at. And we had our blood extracted and tests were done and X-rays were taken and finally three months into this self examination, I was scheduled for a biopsy. They told me that the results would probably take about 5-10 days. They took about five hours if that. My Doctor called me and said you have cancer. Not in those words, but you add up carcinoma this and lump that, and BINGO you got cancer.

Then we saw experts. They looked down my throat. It’s a head and neck cancer. Looks like throat cancer. See that spot there, that’s tongue cancer. And your whole world goes spinning. We’ve seen the movie. And just like when I was diagnosed with depression some 16 years ago, suddenly I become aware that so have a few friends who either have cancer, or have had cancer. And survived.

So fuck cancer. And the horse it rode in on. Like it’s never been fucked before, he added. And plans were made to record songs, just in case. I had been through a heart attack and then bypass surgery. What’s a little cancer?

Well, let me tell you about it. And so I did. I wrote about it in many posts over the past eight months. Heartfelt posts, graphic posts, enlightening posts. And here I am now on the other end. The other side.

Survived the tests, the blood extractions, the pokes the prods the pricks. I experienced the love and care and the wonders of life and cancer and survival. Along the way, friendships were created and friendships were strengthened and born anew.

A good friend died, as the cancer he had, it kept growing through the chemo, and in the end it was too much for his body to withstand. Then when his daughter told everyone on social media that her beloved father had died, she never expected the negative and hurtful comments from strangers, people who were compelled to explain and comment on his death and life, to go about how “creepy of slimy “ he was.

It was disgusting beyond belief. As his daughter had to take control of his Facebook identity, as the surviving family does, and were forced to remind the cancel mob that yes, it was the daughter here, and yes, these comments were extremely hurtful, and just who were these people, and did they even personally know her father. I felt sick to my stomach knowing the courage he had drawn upon to get to his end, and how even as he was dying, he brought me homemade chicken soup, and how we talked about how people would remember him and and how he wanted people to remember him, and to know that ultimately he was a good man. He was a complicated big individual that encompassed many men and many stories, and granted they all weren’t good, but in the end, it was how you come to terms with your life and how you had lived it. And for me and my relationship with him, we saw the glass was more than half full. We were good.

Nobody is perfect. God knows, I know that. Regrets, I’ve had a few. Drinks, I had a few of those too. Am I proud of each and every moment of my life? Certainly not. Do I crave more life so I can continue to try to be the better me, the one I want people to remember? Damn right.

I am sad that some people did not get to see all the great parts of my friend who died, to experience the knowledge, the laughs, the warm thoughts that we all crave. How he loved his daughter more than you can imagine. How he will live on in her.

I am three weeks into eating real foods, and putting away the cane, and having very few appointments, and going back to work in the office. Driving the car. Making love or at least trying. Back to what we call normal.

And I have to acknowledge all the help and love I received from my darling Michelle, and my favourite daughter, and close friends and family, theses who drove me to appointments or called to see how I was doing, who gave me so many kind messages and comments, and texts and who reached out. I couldn’t have done it without you.

This last week I was being run off my feet, trying to keep my head above water. The needs of work are what seems to be a black hole of wanting. There is never enough time and there is so much to do. All at once. Like running blind and naked with scissors.

Until you just want to say STOP. And then you remember the time before Lump. How you tried to go to 4 days a week of work, how the lure of retirement is real, but there was always too much work to allow you to work less. How I tried to juggle work and my creative pursuits, like writing and music and talking with friends. And dog walks.

So finding myself here, a survivor, I realize all those discussions and distractions and discoveries are still very much in play, still very much undecided. And perhaps that is a good thing.

Perhaps simply having the opportunity to be overworked, or swamped with things to do, is what I just fought for. All those decisions that were put on hold so many months ago while I fucked cancer, they are still here. Just as I am still here. I survived and they survived.

And I realize that I just wrote my post, after starting about five of them in the past ten days only to leave them behind. I just needed some time. I know the passion is still alive. There us still much to do. But this time, that is a good thing.

“Is that all there is, is that all there is?
If that's all there is my friends, then let's keep dancing
Let's break out the booze and have a ball
If that's all there is”