{{ $image := .ResourceGetMatch “mmn.JPG” }} December 24, 1949 - October 10, 2005
Like one, that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks on, And turns no more his head; Because he knows, a frightful fiend, Doth close behind him tread.
Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace Where never lark, or even eagle flew - And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod The high untrespassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand and touched the face of God.
~ John G. Magee, Jr.’s poem “High Flight”
With the uncertainty surrounding Michele’s health this weekend, with a full body bone scan scheduled for tomorrow, we have been thinking and talking a lot about quality of life this weekend. Both Michele and I place a high degree of importance of our life’s quality. I’m sure everyone reading this would say that they do too, who wouldn’t?
But have you ever really sat down and rationally thought about what that means to you? What would you be willing to endure to stay alive? Or, put another way, what would you not be willing to endure, preferring death instead?
For me my greatest fear as always been something that caused me to lose my ability to communicate verbally or otherwise, leaving me trapped inside my mind. I think I could handle going deaf but blindness would be unbearable. As I age and become more aware that my body will one day start to breakdown I have become aware that some day I will be dependent upon others to take care of me. In our western society that usually means living in an assisted living facility or worse, a nursing home. Without knowing more about it those two options represent to me a total loss of self determination. My ability to live my life as I see fit would be taken away, and control over nearly every aspect of my daily existence rendered to someone else. And not someone I choose or had a loving relationship with either.
For the past seven years Michele has battled a variety of physical ailments, often times enduring painful and embarrassing episodes not knowing when they would lessen or stop. Learning on Friday that she has a metastasis on her left tibia and that metastasis could be the return of breast cancer has been a huge blow to her resolve. While the Internet is a great place to do some ad-hoc research, it also gives new meaning to the phrase, “a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.” While we read that the weakened bone can be repaired with a pin, and that localized radiation can stop the cancer, and systemic chemotherapy can ensure it hasn’t spread elsewhere, we also understand that breast cancer metastases tend to attack the ribs or pelvic region before extremities.
So we are both scared today. Scared to go to the test tomorrow and learn what this truly is. Scared not to go and continue the hellish existence fear, uncertainty, and doubt have left us in since Friday. Our worst fear is that this cancer is advanced, that even with radiation and chemotherapy they’ll have to take her leg. Or that having taken her leg they won’t be able to stop the spread. The worst part today is the not knowing.
The best part today has been a deepening of the faith and love we have for each other. We’ve been reading aloud a wonderful book called The Pagan Christ by Tom Harpur that has explained away many of our questions and doubts about spirituality and the divine. I know that my thoughts about my essence or soul have been eased considerably by this book, and I believe that Michele’s have as well.
Over the past three days we’ve talked and laughed, cried and raged. We’ve held each other, and provided that all important real physical connection to another we each need to survive. No matter what happens I am going to come out of this with a new sense of what is important and what isn’t. Focusing on the relationships I have with others is the most important thing I can accomplish in this lifetime. The love I feel for others, and the love I feel back from them is the only thing I take with me to the next place of existence. All the physical trappings (note the root word trap) stay behind.
Go to the ones you love. Tell them your truth. Forgive them for their frailties and transgressions. Learn to love yourself. To forgive yourself for your frailties and humanness. Become a human being not a human doing.
Yesterday, especially last evening, was rocky for both of us. After plumbing the depths of despair on Friday we both came back towards normalcy Saturday. One of Michele’s best friends, Laura, called and they talked for a long time on the phone. Being able to connect to someone outside of our immediate situation was a very good thing. Michele was able to sort through her feelings and fears without having to worry about me in the process.
I, too, had a long talk with Laura, and felt better for it. The light of a new day strengthened Michele’s resolve to go forward with the bone scan on Tuesday. And we both were able to feel less out of control as a result. However late in the afternoon we started doing some Google searches for things like “metastasis” and “bone scan” and “cancer.” We also searched for “osteoporosis”, and “bone disease related to blood loss.” What we found was not encouraging at all.
There are two types of bone cancer: primary and secondary. Primary is when the cancer starts in the bone, or bone marrow. Secondary is when another cancer in the body attaches to the bone, or metastasizes. Seen on an x-ray the metastasis looks like a dark stain or even a whole in the bone. This describes exactly what her leg x-rays from Friday show. Upon reading this, and seeing that none of the other possible causes for her leg pain matched we both realized that she truly does have cancer.
We spent the rest of the evening in kind of a numb stupor. Earlier in the day the upstairs neighbor’s dog barked incessantly for several hours. We called the office and complained, and given our stress level, we may have over done it a bit. The idiot mitten in the office told the guy upstairs that we had called, and pretty much what we had said, including our threat to involve the SPCA if the barking didn’t stop. He knocked on our door just as we were finishing what passed for dinner and wanted to apologize. Then he wanted to get into having “heard that someone had threatened to call the pound.” We denied having any knowledge of that and got him out of our doorway as quickly as possible.
Both of us were very upset by his intrusion and by the break of confidence by the woman in the apartment management office. It did give us a focal point for some anger and we were able to vent some of our frustrations as a result.
This morning Michele woke me up as she was having a nightmare. After I woke her and we talked for a bit she complained of nausea, so we moved her to the big chair in the living room. While she was sitting there her breathing suddenly got very ragged and labored, and she looked very far away to me. After a few minutes her breathing got slower and shallower, and she opened her eyes and told me that she loved me. I told her that I loved her, and that I was right there with her. From my view point then it seemed like she slipped into a peaceful sleep. She woke up, coughing from reflux, about 20 minutes later. Her recollection was that she was dying. She remembers hearing her heart beat in her ears, and thinking that it was very peaceful.
I helped her move back to the bed and we spent a tearful time there holding each other and being together. She is sleeping quietly now. I am glad she is getting some rest, the past few weeks have been especially difficult for her, and if she is going to survive the tests on Tuesday, and what ever lies beyond, she will need all her strength.
I have terribly mixed feelings about everything now. She has suffered so long with the dysfunctional uterine bleeding/menorraghia, and more recently with IBS, that a part of me wants for her to be out of pain and suffering. At the same time I want to keep my partner, my friend, my lover, my wife here with me always. The only guide I have for now is the part of my integrity that says it isn’t proper for my to take care of myself by forcing her to change or be something she isn’t. While I may want to rush her to the hospital and force every medical remedy known to man on her, that would only be taking care of me. If I truly love her, and I do, then I have to honor her determination about what happens in her life.
Yesterday was surreal; even now it feels like it was happening to someone else. The doctor prescribed some Xanax for us to use to lessen the anxiety of the situation. Around 7 we each took one full tablet. I know that it made me feel vague and floaty, which given the circumstance wasn’t pleasant. Still I couldn’t get worked up about it so I guess the stuff works.
I think we both were hoping that this morning we’d wake up and everything would be fine, that yesterday would have just been some awful nightmare. But today is here, and the nightmare is real. Neither of us knows how to act or what to do, if the disease is far enough along to have destroyed bone mass, one has to wonder what else it has compromised.
In the light of a new day, with this horrible knowledge, we are beginning to understand that her DUB and menorraghia, and her IBS may in fact not be just those simple things, but rather interconnected pieces of this cancer.
Today we are going to stay close to home; with her leg so painful (and with the jeopardy of it breaking very real) there really isn’t any place she can go safely or comfortably. We’ll watch movies, cry, and talk. We both recognize at a deep level that expressing our true emotions, no matter how outrageous, is the only way forward with this.
For severals weeks now Michele has been complaining about a sharp pain in her left shin. Sometimes it would be worse, and sometimes not even there. In the past few days however the pain has become debilitating. Elevating her leg, applying heat or cold provided just a little respite, but no real relief.
Today we went to the nearby Urgent Care to see about an x-ray. The Doctor return with news far worse than we could have imagined. The is an actual hole in the bone, and some growth or disturbance around it. Because of her past history with breast cancer Dr. Ham’s assessment is that it has returned and metastasized to her shin. They immediately setup an appointment for Michele to have a bone scan performed Tuesday morning, with an appointment to see the orthopedist that afternoon.
Alternating between shock and tears we managed to get home. The nurse from Urgent Care called to inform us that they had upgraded her lower extremity scan to a full body scan. Obviously after further consideration Dr. Ham feels we need to search her whole body for more hot spots.
We spent the rest of the day moving in slow motion, barely comprehending what is happening. A part of me wants to pinch myself hard so I’ll wake up from this nightmare. Another part knows that I am already awake, and that the nightmare is real.
Our weekend will be spent quietly consoling each other and trying to put into words the enormity of our emotions.
The Posse Comitatus act prevents the United State government from using US troops for domestic law enforcement duties. Local or state militias, e.g., the National Guard, can and are used to restore order and assist in emergencies.
However a minor coup has occurred in Washington D. C. recently, and el presidente Bush has found a way around having federally sponsored and directed armies at his disposal here on American soil.
Mercenaries
Yes, mercenaries are now patrolling the streets and wards of New Orleans. Outfits like Blackwater (think of of them as a Kelley service for armed to the teeth thugs) are being paid by your tax dollars to interfere, er, help in Louisiana. Stories like this one are too frightening to take in all at once. Do we as Americans really want our military to outsource their responsibilities to some company whose owner’s just happened to give tens of thousands of dollars to the current ruling junta?
It is time to wake up and smell the toxic coffee my friends. The neo-cons through their puppet George Bush have stolen our country, and they are having a fire sale as we sit idly by fixated on the outcome of next Sunday’s “big game.”
What he said.
As members of a society we all agree to an unwritten contract that defines our conduct with others. Break some of the contracts clauses and you’ll be considered eccentric. Break major clauses and you run afoul of the law and go to jail. (Unless you happen to be “corporate citizen.”) Who is the judge and jury that enforces this social contract? You and I, of course.
At present my wife and I live underneath and apartment rented by a immature couple. He is in his mid-twenties and sells cars for his family’s business. She has admitted to only being twenty-one and works for (not as) a local realty firm. Since we looked at that particular apartment when we moved in here, I know that it rents for nearly 1500 dollars a month. He drives a sports car, and they recent bought a Oldsmobile Bravada for her to drive. In the two months since they’ve moved in there has been a steady stream of high-end purchases delivered: a large screen TV, new furniture, and a $400 purebred miniature dachshund.
There has also been a steady stream of beer and wine. Every time we see either of them they are carrying a glass or a bottle. The ground outside our common area is frequently littered with empty beer bottles or cans, and they seem to think that the lawn makes a fine ashtray for their cigarette butts. While the trash and toxic waste are irksome we haven’t really said anything to them or the apartment management figuring that it was too small a thing to get all worked up about.
Unfortunately there is a large problem and has interfered with our lives, and one that has caused us to take action. Domestic violence. (Which is an entirely too passive and demure term for the rage and anger happening more and more frequently above our heads.) The first incident that we were aware of happened around midnight on a Saturday six weeks ago. Yelling, screaming, slamming of doors. It ended with the girl sitting on the concrete stoop outside their front door. My wife, a former domestic abuse counselor, ventured just outside our door to talk to this woman for about an hour that night.
Two nights ago it happened again. This time we could plainly hear verbal threats, and several loud crashes through the floor. Just when we were ready to call the police the fight stopped, and she left. Minutes later he stormed out and left in his car. As he rocketed back past the building on the main road you could hear that he was driving well in excess of any safe speed. He was back in twenty minutes; we figure he had gone to get more alcohol.
The sticky part of this mess for us is what to do. As responsible citizens do we have an obligation to intervene, if only to call the police? If you were to see a fight on a street corner or at work, you’d call the authorities right away. But when it happens behind closed doors in a home, we all pretend that it isn’t our business. Do the rules of society stop at the threshold?
In the end we approached the apartment management to inform them about the situation. They were aware that something had happened as he had called them to say he was replacing an interior door that had been broken. The management said that should this happen again during business hours to call the office, and they would in turn inform the police. Michele and I are resolved to call the police should it happen after hours too.
I cannot, and Michele cannot, sit by and allow a dangerous situation to spiral further out of control. The rage we heard through the ceiling two nights ago isn’t going to go away on its own, and left unchecked will escalate into physical violence. One or both of the people upstairs is going to end up hurt, in the hospital, or dead. Already we have noted that the woman always wears long pants and long sleeved shirts. On one occasion when we knocked on their door to have the television turned down, she was wearing dark glasses.
The most important words in our Constitution are, “We the people…”, meaning that you and I are the power in our society. Government is there to manage and control the commons, but ordinary citizens have to stand up for and defend the social mores and standards. Otherwise we’ll all slowly sink into lawlessness and social anarchy.
For the past couple of weeks I have been struggling with an issue that has been moving just under the surface of my life for many years now. Over the Labor Day holiday it came boiling to the surface and rather then force it under water again I have decided to rid myself of it once and for all. In short I have come to the realization that the relationship I have with my immediate family is toxic to me, that I have no mechanism for moving the relationship towards anything that would be less toxic, and that I need to distance myself from them literally and figuratively so that I can heal myself.
From the time I completed college until now, I tried every thing I could think of to gain the approval and acceptance of my parents and brother. I, incorrectly, assumed that the difficulties I was experiencing were (a) shared by them and (b) entirely my fault. I see now that they have an entirely different view of our relationship than I, and I know from what they have told me directly, that they have no intention of changing. A part of me grieves all the years I put into being the “perfect” son or the “best” brother as I know now that it was for naught. The plain truth is that I could be anyone and their reaction to me would still be highly conditional and not take into account who I am at all.
Every interaction with them results in pain for me. Therefore the only course of action I see as viable is to not have interaction with them. My fear is that I’ve reached a point where I am ready to lash back at them for a lifetime of hurts, real and imagined. While that would feel good in the short term, saying things that would be hurtful or permanently damaging in the heat of the moment would go against my sense of integrity and character. Removing myself from contact with them gives me time to collect myself, to heal my wounds, to come back to a place where I can be civil.
Separating myself from my family come at a very difficult time as my mother is battling lung cancer. While she appears to be in a state of recovery, she is not asking the doctor for any prognosis, so I have no way to know if she will live another week, another month, or years yet. By taking the course of action I feel is necessary to save my sanity, and my mental health, I am risking never seeing my mother alive again. I cannot imagine higher stakes, and yet I cannot follow any other path.
My hope is that with time and distance the heated anger I feel towards them will cool; and that the steps I am taking now to reaffirm who I am in my own eyes, by my own standards, will heal the wounds I’ve had for so long. Once I feel strong in my own opinion of myself I will be ready to interact with my family once again. Until then I must keep myself separated from them and accept the risks that separation represents.
In the past year my little web site has seen approximately 53,500 visitors. I’m currently averaging about 145 visits per day, or 4,350 per month. Pretty amazing for a site that focuses on my mental state, obscure software, and left leaning politics.
For the the three of you who venture all the way to the bottom of the home page, I have updated the counter there to show what I feel is the lifetime visits for zanshin.net. The traffic to my site has effectively doubled each of the past six years, and I have a fair idea of what my visit total was for the first four years. (Yes, zanshin.net will be ten years old in February 2006. Celebration details will be forthcoming.)
I’ve crossed the 100,000 visit mark, and should see something like 135,000 in time for the ten year anniversary. W00t!