tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-385540982024-03-05T23:48:03.985-05:00Boy Loses GirlMy life with and without the most beautiful girl in the world.
Dedicated to Debbie (1965-2006)T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.comBlogger107125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-74705827769563458462019-10-19T14:46:00.000-05:002019-10-19T14:46:20.507-05:00AnxietyYou know how four out of five dentists recommender sugarless gum for their patients that chew gum? I’m the kind of person who would listen to the fifth dentist.<br />
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As you know, I was in the hospital overnight for a pleural effusion on Tuesday. I had already bought my plane ticket out of town for Friday. So naturally one of my first questions was whether this would cause a problem.<br />
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The first ER doctor was encouraging, saying once the fluid was out I would likely be OK. I asked the technicians who actually did the procedure, and they said there should be no problems. The assistant to the oncologist is been seeing came in and I asked her about it. She said Friday was probably the best time to do it because I’d have the maximum effects from the procedure by then.<br />
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All encouraging, right? Except my brain likes to focus on certain words. Like “likely.” “Should.” “Probably.”<br />
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I like to hear “will be.” “Guaranteed.” “What are you an idiot? Nothing can go wrong!”<br />
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But the overall message was positive, and my anxiety level, while elevated, wasn’t in panic mode yet.<br />
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Yet.<br />
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I pushed my luck. The attending physician — let’s call him Dr. Downer — came by in the morning to check on me. I asked about flying.<br />
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He just about slammed the lid on my coffin. “I wouldn’t do it. If there’s a problem at 30,000, it’s over.”<br />
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Anxiety Level: DEFCON 1.<br />
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I was out of the hospital Wednesday night. I rested as much as I could physically on Thursday, but my brain kept on cranking out signals. Probably. Should. 30,000 feet.<br />
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I have never been a nervous flier. The first flight, maybe, but after that never.<br />
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Now a two hour flight, probably one of the shortest I’ve ever taken, had become Twilight Zone fodder to me. “Look, on the wing! It’s my lungs!”<br />
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I had a mini breakdown talking with my brother in law. For the first time since this whole health thing began, I had tears. I told him I was scared to death. I said I knew he had my best interests in mind because a two hour flight was going to be easier on my still-painful leg than a nine-hour drive, but I was terrified that if I got on the plane I could die.<br />
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He did his best to reassure me, but I don’t envy his having to suddenly deal with an irrational person who had had two days to work up a full steam of neurosis. His strength is logic, and anxiety takes to logic like fish take to skydiving.<br />
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Seeking what i figured to be a voice of reason, someone who would get me off the plane long enough to figure out another way, I texted my friend Donna. She had gone through cancer treatment, and her pieces of wisdom from the experience were reassuring to me.<br />
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I spilled out my fears, told her I was deathly afraid, didn’t want to get on the plane. I asked her what she thought.<br />
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She told me I needed to get to my family and that I spent too much time inside my own head for my own good. There was more danger driving on I-4 than on the plane.<br />
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Boom. If there was such a thing as a gentle mic drop, I had just been served one.<br />
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She was right. I haven’t been able to let myself get distracted since this thing began. I let my anxieties have a party and my emotions were suffering from the hangover.<br />
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I apologized to my brother in law, though he said it wasn’t necessary. I promised I would try to get on the plane.<br />
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Friday, I was boarded onto the flight. I tried to stay distracted with a word game on my phone, but it didn’t always work. We had a good deal of turbulence flying out of Tampa, and it was almost a relief because it took my mind off the fear.<br />
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Two hours crawled like two months. Then I heard the landing gear lower.<br />
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We had made it. I had made it.<br />
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I wish I could tell you I felt elated, that if I was capable of jumping for joy I would’ve gotten a gold medal for gymnastics. But I didn’t. I was too tired emotionally to feel relieved.<br />
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But I’m trying to take something away from this: to not let my life be hampered by what-could-bes There’s a lot of those in my future as I face treatment for cancer. If I let myself be guided by the worst possible outcome, then that’s what I’ll receive.<br />
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I put my trust in God, but I didn’t put this part in Him. It’s time I do.<br />
<br />T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-7459408984661927292019-10-18T15:44:00.001-05:002019-10-18T15:44:11.067-05:00My testimony I’ve mentioned my Christian revival a few times in other entries and how I came back to God while I was lying flat on my back. Seems to me like a good time for me to offer my testimony.<br />
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My mother made me go to the nearby church when I was little. Her belief was I learn about God but make up my own mind when I was older.</div>
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Valley Baptist Church was a Southern Baptist congregation. We would have Sunday school, then they would troop us into the big hall for the adult service. I remember trying to grasp the things Rev. Gage was saying, but not always succeeding. </div>
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Every service would end with the doxology (Praise God from whom all blessings flow ...) and a call for anyone who wanted to accept Christ as their savior to walk up to the front of the church and meet with someone. A lot of times no one would walk up.</div>
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When I was about 10, I made the walk. I remember the hymn was “How Great Thou Art.” It seemed like time. I had absorbed lots of instruction, memorized a few verses. I believed in Jesus, the Old Testament, the 10 Commandments. </div>
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I continued to go to church until I hit 13. Yep, puberty came between me and God.</div>
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Suddenly getting up early on Sunday seemed like a waste of a weekend. My mother said I was old enough to decide for myself whether I wanted to go to church or not and let me stay home.</div>
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I continued to pray every night. On occasion I’d dust off the Bible and read some Scripture. I thought of it as preventative maintenance; God would understand. He would know I was trying my best. And He would accept a half hearted faith over none at all, right?</div>
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When I was about 17, I had a brief revival of faith when my uncle started preaching at a local church. I realized that I had not been baptized, and I thought it was important that I do. After all, Jesus thought it was important enough to be baptized by John before starting his ministry. If it was good enough for the Son of God, it must be a requirement.</div>
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My uncle baptized me, and while I didn’t go to church, I did watch his services on TV.</div>
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It didn’t take long, however, for me to drift again. I don’t want to blame liberal teaching in college, but I started growing more cynical and sarcastic about this time.</div>
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Suddenly believing in Adam and Eve made little sense when you have evolution. And really? A boat large enough to get two of every kind of animal on board? Let’s not even get started on God stooping the world from rotating so Joshua could win a battle.</div>
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I eventually told myself the Bible is a book of folklore, legends to illustrate morality. But it contained as much fact as Tolkien.</div>
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Then I learned about secular humanism. I was told you could be moral without believing in a Supreme Being. It seemed so simple. I could live a life without being held responsible but still be a good person! </div>
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Over the years, I redefined my beliefs as I went along. Along with a secular humanist, I considered myself an agnostic, a skeptic, nondenominational. At one point I considered myself an agnostic Christian, if you can believe such a thing. I decided I followed Christ’s teaching without being tied to believing he was God incarnate and had risen from the dead.</div>
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Yep, my faith was contorted into a moral pretzel.</div>
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Throughout it all, believe it or not, I kept praying. Even while I was an agnostic. It was a backup plan, just in case I was wrong. In my defense, I prayed for God to be with other people, not me. I thought I still would get the brownie points from God.</div>
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That went on until August, when my life came crashing down around me.</div>
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In a nutshell, I broke my leg, found out I had Stage 4 cancer and was walloped by complications from not taking care of my diabetes for years.</div>
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I have one or two memories of going to the ER, but after a couple of tests and calling my sister, it was like I blacked out. </div>
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It could not officially be a coma because I had some response to stimuli, I guess. People who saw me say I would nod, even speak. The fiancée of one of my visitors said she was sorry she didn’t get to see me. Don’t worry, he told her. I don’t think he would remember It anyway.</div>
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He was right. I can’t tell you what happened for a week. I don’t remember eating or using the bathroom. I vaguely remember visitors, but how often and how many I don’t know. </div>
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My first coherent memory was lying in the bed in the middle of the night. I couldn’t move because I was so weak. I saw the ceiling tiles, and that was about all.</div>
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I didn’t know about the diabetes issues. I remembered I had broken my leg and had cancer. But it was clear something was very wrong.</div>
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The next day my sister came in and filled me in. While I was out, I had been treated for pneumonia and a blood clot in my lung. </div>
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The rest of the day was a blur, like the days before. But the news has sunken into my head.</div>
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I had come close to dying. </div>
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That night, again unable to sleep, I stared at the ceiling tiles, creating patterns with the holes. It was about all I could do in my condition.</div>
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I started thinking about my life. Not in a life flashing before my eyes sort of way, just in a way of considering what I had done with my life.</div>
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I realized I had spent a good deal of it alone. By choice. </div>
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I thought of how I could have better spent that time. Mostly by helping others. Making more use of my potential.<br />
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I also realized that I had been spared.<br />
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I had stopped believing in coincidences long ago when I met Deb when everything in the universe seemed to be against it. I put it down to destiny. I didn’t name it.<br />
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I realized whatever force that had guided me to her, that had guided me had guided me to that moment as well.<br />
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I was not angry at my situation. I was glad to be alive.<br />
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I was grateful to God.<br />
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After years of a half hearted faith, of pretending I could be a Christian without putting in the<br />
emotional commitment, I had come back to God.<br />
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I prayed very hard for the rest of the night. I prayed that Jesus would come back into my heart. I prayed that I would get the chance to find the reason I had been spared for. I prayed that I would be cleansed body and soul.<br />
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I didn’t try to make a deal. I knew it was up to God what was to happen to me, not anything I could promise. Like salvation itself, I couldn’t earn His mercy. It was a gift made possible by the blood shed on the cross by Jesus.<br />
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I felt relieved afterwards. I knew I had been heard.<br />
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Since then, I have tried to follow the right path. I read the Bible every night and listen to sermons online. When I am stronger I want to go to church to worship with others. I want to find ways to help others.<br />
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I even think by writing this blog I am doing His will by sharing my story, how I’m turning my fears over to God and trusting in His plans for my life.<br />
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Do I think I will have days when my faith will waver? Yes. But I must try to remember that God does not waver in his love for us.<br />
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I don’t expect to be a perfect Christian any more than I expect to be a perfect human, but I am trying to be a better one. I hope I will succeed.</div>
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T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-20608847424661303782019-10-18T12:11:00.001-05:002019-10-18T12:11:40.037-05:00So long, TampaThe time has come to depart.<br />
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It’s hard to believe I’ve been a Tampa resident for 15 years. When I came here to work at The Tampa Tribune, the future seemed so bright. Newspapers were flourishing so much I was actually flown out for an interview. I had gotten married only a couple of months before.<br />
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It all seemed ahead of us.<br />
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Then Deb got breast cancer. She died in 2006.<br />
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The Tribune took longer to expire, but it’s gone now too.<br />
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It hasn’t been all bad. I made some friends, had some good times. Learned about life, tried a few things. You know: lived.<br />
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You can’t be somewhere for 15 years and not have it rub off on you. Besides my birthplace, I’ve spent the largest chunk of my life here. I’ve gone to Rays games, stood in front of Dali masterpieces, watched dolphins romp.<br />
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Now it’s time for me to go. Hopefully not for good, but that’s up to God.<br />
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To all of you here who have made my life better, thank you and may the Lord protect you till we meet again.<br />
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Adios, Tampa.<br />
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<br />T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-47283311011607370112019-10-17T08:02:00.000-05:002019-10-17T08:02:23.517-05:00Time for change I have been holding off on this announcement for far too long. It’s not a secret and more than a few know. Maybe I’ve been holding back because of the pain this decision has caused me, even though at the same time it is a source of pride and a sign of the greatest love.<br />
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I will be leaving Tampa and moving in with my sister and her family while I get my treatment.<br />
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I need the support system you can only get from your family. They have opened their home to me, helped me schedule medical appointments, and helped me plan for the move.<br />
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I hope this is a temporary change. I have so many friends here and I enjoy everyone at my work. It’s been great being here the past 15 years. Coming back to Tampa is a dream.<br />
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But for now, this is the best call.<br />
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It was an easy decision on one hand. I love my sister and her family so much, and I want to be with them as much as possible. When they volunteered to take me in, I realized more than ever what a blessing they are to me. Without their help, I would not have made it this far.<br />
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I believe God is working a miracle for me through them. And if you ask them, they will tell you that it’s God, not them, who is at work here.<br />
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It hasn’t been easy getting rid of a lifetime of accumulated stuff. But once this crisis hit all my priorities changed. God made it clear I am not my possessions, I am the unique soul He created that he knew from before the womb. He cares for me and watches out over me. And I believe He is preparing a miracle for me.<br />
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I’ve been reading the Scriptures a lot, and the part about the lilies of the field applies here. Matthew 6:38. <br />
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I won’t be able to personally say goodbye to everyone I know here, and that’s for the best. I don’t have the emotional energy to do that. Each and every one of you have made a positive change in me. The way you reached out to an apparently emotionally reserved person like me and took the time to discover the lunatic underneath is a gift I can never repay.<br />
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I wish I could hug all of you, tell you individually what a special person you are. When some of you have contacted me by text or email, I have tried to tell you what you have meant to me. I hope that in a small way it has helped to break down the emotional walls I spent my life building. I promise to keep doing that.<br />
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I said this in an earlier post: I don’t accept or make Facebook friend requests lightly. If you are my Facebook friend, it’s because you made a real impression on me. You’ve made my life brighter with your presence, you’ve made my days more bearable, you helped me along the way. Thank you.<br />
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There’s not a lot else to say on the subject. I will be blogging as I get used to this new life and keeping everyone apprised on how I’m doing. Thanks to this modern gadgetry, we are as close and as instantaneous as neighbors taking across a backyard fence. Keep the messages, emails and texts coming. If you would like my number, send me a PM.<br />
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Time for a change.<br />
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<br />T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-586466879329617232019-10-16T18:38:00.003-05:002019-10-16T18:38:44.530-05:00Hospital HijinxDon’t take breathing for granted. I’ve learned my lesson.<div>
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I was released from St. Joe’s this afternoon after the doctors drew off still more fluid from my chest. I can breathe again, but when I do it feels like I hit a wall when I get going. It will probably take a day or so for the lungs to get closer to normal size.</div>
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Last night in the hospital wasn’t as bad as I feared it would be. Sure, I was woken up at 4 am when my roommate apparently pulled out his catheter and it took a while to clean him up, but the nursing staff was very kind (heck, one of them was named Angel) and attentive. Plus having access to the good pain medication for a night was a blessing.</div>
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Plus the hospital food is so much better than the frozen dinners I’ve had recently. With my leg, it’s not so easy to whip up a decent dinner, so I’ve been relying on icy entrees. Bleh. So a breakfast of scrambled eggs and home fries, then a lunch of chicken parmy and grilled vegetables tops whatever imitation food stuff that comes out of the microwave.</div>
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Yes, I just praised hospital food. I almost wish I’d stayed another night.</div>
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Even the bed was comfortable. The one from my previous stay had a bad crease right where my butt would go when I sat up. Not this one. </div>
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There was a big bummer when I turned on the TV and realized I had cable for a night, only to find Comedy Central was airing episodes of The Office from after Michael left. It was like being told you won tickets to a concert by a former Beatle and it turns out to be Pete Best.</div>
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So I’m back home. For now. I expect this won’t be my last trip, even my last brush with pleural effusion. Just hoping it will take a while. I could use a timeout.</div>
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T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-50723287846523578022019-10-15T21:09:00.002-05:002019-10-15T21:09:29.530-05:00DrainedSo the breathing problem got worse overnight. I was not only gasping for air after walking a few feet, but lying down I could only inhale a second’s worth of air.<br />
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I didn’t want to go to the hospital because I had an appointment for bloodwork in the morning and figured if there was an issue I’d go after that. Plus the last time I went to the hospital I lost a week of my life to amnesia and woke up with more health problems than a dog has fleas. And I had read shortness of breath was a chemo side effect, so I figured it would wear off.<br />
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But it was clear something was wrong. If it was chemo related or not, I needed help. Now.<br />
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My brother in law drove me to the ER, where I was placed in the lowest, most uncomfortable wheelchair ever made. Between gasps for air, the Seinfeld where George gets the busboy fired played in the waiting room.<br />
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My mind ran over several scenarios. My pneumonia was back. Another blood clot. Just a chemo side effect.<br />
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There was one diagnosis I was hoping it wasn’t. Even though it was probably the easiest to fix.<br />
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Finally after bloodwork, Xrays and a CAT scan, the diagnosis was in, and it was what I was afraid of.<br />
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Pleural effusion. Fluid collects around the lungs, pressing in on them, causing them to shrink.<br />
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This was not my first experience with it. Deb had it several times.<br />
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I knew there was an easy remedy: draw out the fluid by sticking a needle through the back. It’s not as bad as it sounds because you’re given a local anesthetic and the hole is small.<br />
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I just hoped it wasn’t that because I’ve already had enough callbacks to Deb’s ordeal, thank you very much.<br />
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But there it was. No doubt about it.<br />
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So they numbed a spot in my back and jabbed a needle in, and I watched as fluid filled one bottle, then part of another. There’s still more fluid in there, but the doctors will decide tomorrow whether it needs to come out.<br />
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For now, I’m spending the next night or so in the same hospital where I lost a week of my life and went from an ordinary guy to a cancer patient. Not where I hoped to be again.<br />
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On the other hand, it is where I reconnected with my belief in God, so the sweet is mixed with the bitter.<br />
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As it is in the rest of my life recently.<br />
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<br />T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-28275218019208551682019-10-14T21:03:00.001-05:002019-10-14T21:03:43.712-05:00Still Me<br />
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What’s up? Not me.<br />
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The breathing issue continues. I can’t cross the room without wheezing. I haven’t stepped outside for a few days. I’m all right lying still, but trying to sit up takes an effort.<br />
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But I’m still here.<br />
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I’m fortunate enough to have a few friends who have been through cancer, and their advice has been helping me through this. Their best advice, however is the hardest for me to follow.<br />
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“Listen to your body. It’s telling you to rest.”<br />
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That’s fine when me and my body agree. Right now we’re barely on speaking terms.<br />
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I’ve always prided myself on my self reliance. Except for my marriage, I have lived alone all my adult life and not regretted it. I’ve never been annoyed by a roommate. If I wanted spaghetti at 2 am, I made it. Watch TV till 6 am? As long as I don’t bug the neighbors, why not?<br />
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But now I’m finding myself in a position where I have to ask for and accept help. And I loathe it.<br />
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And it’s my body’s fault.<br />
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My mind wants to take charge, to get up and rehab my knee. Go to the kitchen and eat, even if it is healthy food. Take a hot shower.<br />
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Be me, in other words.<br />
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My body is telling me, “Just try it, and I’ll cut off your air supply.”<br />
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Stupid body.<br />
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T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-13062845679760510902019-10-13T15:12:00.001-05:002019-10-13T15:12:24.059-05:00Doing TimeFeeling blah today.<br />
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I got up at the usual too early after the usual not enough sleep. I’m still winded from walking across the room.<br />
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I tried to watch TV for a bit, but my attention span is about the length of a puppy. I’m spending way too much time lying down instead of trying to walk around.<br />
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I had hoped the chemo effects would be wearing off by now and I’d be working on rebuilding my strength. Hoping that process begins soon.<br />
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Got a visit from a friend. I remembered he visited me when I was in the hospital, and I even remembered he brought a carrot cake for the nurses on my floor, but I honestly can’t tell you how many times he was there.<br />
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The hospital stay was a blur to me. I remember driving myself to the ER early Monday, then having to call out to an orderly on a smoke break to bring me a wheelchair because I wasn’t going to make it on crutches. He wheeled me in, and I went straight back. No one else was around. I was already in the system because I had come in a couple of weeks before because of my knee pain. That’s when I got the crutches.<br />
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I remember getting the X-rays while lying on the bed they had put me on. I remember the doctor coming in and giving me the cancer diagnosis. I vaguely remember calling my sister and telling her the bad news.<br />
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And after that I remember waking up in the hospital bed, barely able to move, and a week had gone by. I had had surgery and Chemotherapy, but I only found that out after people told me.<br />
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I have flashes of events in between, but they’re almost like dreams. I saw coworkers’ faces. I remember trying to make patterns out of the holes in the ceiling panels. I remember looking at the clock and the crucifix next to it. It’s all a hazy blur. It’s the closest I think I’ve been to being comatose.<br />
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I’ve heard I would stare and nod at people even though I was clearly out of it. I apologize to any visitors who had to witness it.<br />
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It wasn’t until a week into my stay that I think I was able to regrasp reality. The memories start to be less fuzzy. I can tell you who visited and that I was getting shots all the time. I remember turning on the TV to watch Friends and poker just to keep from watching the clock because I couldn’t sleep.<br />
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As far as hospital stays go, not being able to remember most of it is an approach I recommend, though there must be an easier way to accomplish that than a cancer diagnosis, a diabetes crisis, a blood clot, pneumonia and a broken femur. Just saying.<br />
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Unfortunately, I remember much more of the rehabilitation facility I was sent to after they discharged me from the hospital. I was taken by private ambulance to the facility, and I think the driver didn’t miss a single bump. Plus the facility was near a college that is always busy traffic-wise. It was not a comfortable trip.<br />
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They wheeled me in, then slid me over into an uncomfortable old hospital style bed. The one in the hospital was a Rolls Royce compared to the Ford Pinto I was now expected to sleep in.<br />
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I lay there about half an hour, wondering whether they even knew I was there, before someone came in to register me. And then I was signing insurance and indemnity forms I barely understood in my condition. And then I was left alone.<br />
<br />
At first I had the bed next to the door, which meant I had the lights on and all the corridor noise. I was still not getting much sleep because of my leg pain. And my new roommate (in the hospital I got were single rooms) had a lot of visitors.<br />
<br />
The first night was a horror. I pressed the button for the nurse for a bedpan, only to wait a long time. I was kept awake by the unanswered calls for other nurses in the hallway.<br />
<br />
I complained to the nurse, who didn’t apologize. She matter of factly told me the noises were normal and that she had other patients. The end.<br />
<br />
In the morning, I asked to speak to someone in charge. I was expected to spend two weeks, maybe three, at the center, and I wasn’t going to be silent. Never mind that it was only one of two facilities the insurance would cover and that alienating the staff on the second day was not a good strategy. I was going to complain.<br />
<br />
I complained about the lights, the noise, the long response times, the nurse’s response. I was calmly told there was little they could do. I clearly wasn’t the first to give them these complaints.<br />
<br />
For what it was worth, however, I was switched to the bed by the window, which caught less light from the door. It wasn’t much quieter, but it was more private.<br />
<br />
And the next time I saw the nurse she was more polite. She explained there was one nurse for 21 patients. I took that to being as close to an apology for the wait times as I was ever going to get.<br />
<br />
Things settled into a routine.<br />
<br />
6 am - pre breakfast shots<br />
715 - breakfast<br />
10 - the physical therapist would come in and tell me it was time, even though I hadn’t had my pain meds and morning pills.<br />
1001- the therapist goes searching for a nurse to give me my meds.<br />
1030 - I get my meds<br />
11 - Actual physical therapy<br />
1215 pm - lunch<br />
130 - More therapy (some days)<br />
4 - More shots<br />
515 - dinner<br />
10 - still more shots<br />
10 pm - 6 am: lie awake in an uncomfortable position until exhaustion forces me to pass out.<br />
<br />
The wait times for nurses never improved. The alarms kept me up. The food was school cafeteria quality. It was an ordeal. I can’t help but wonder what the other facility was like considering this one had better reviews.<br />
<br />
I will say it wasn’t all terrible. The therapy staff was friendly and was doing their best to help us patients despite the conditions. They took time with us, encouraged us on. By the time I left I wasn’t as far along as I had hoped, but I credit the staff for getting me as far as they did.<br />
<br />
Finally after two and a half weeks of incarceration ... I mean rehabilitation, I was sent home. Exhausted.<br />
<br />
All because of a fall.<br />
<br />
<br />T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-6200395451903349512019-10-12T18:55:00.003-05:002019-10-12T18:55:31.682-05:00Tough daySo I have cancer.<br />
<br />
Not a good day, folks. I was hoping three days after chemo I’d be bouncing back. As it is, I’m getting winded walking to the bathroom.<br />
<br />
I was getting to the point where I could walk around the perimeter of my apartment complex with a walker and even take a few unassisted steps in my room. Today, I can’t.<br />
<br />
My stomach hurts. My knee hurts. I’m feeling bummed out about everything. I can’t pretend to care about much right now.<br />
<br />
It’s frustrating to have what little progress I had taken away from me. I keep hitting on this point, but it’s something I completely believe: if I had only broken my leg and/or had the diabetes complications I could cope. Toss in the big C, and I find myself pushing a boulder uphill.<br />
<br />
And today was the day I gave up my cats. I just couldn’t give them the attention they needed, and this is the best for all of us. Especially Annie, who gives a new definition to the word “needy.” My other cat, Buster, I had had since he was a couple of weeks old. He’s getting up there in cat years. The shelter they went to is no kill, and I’m assured they will find a good home, but I will miss them.<br />
<br />
I knew this was going to be a tough road. And this is obviously one of the tough stretches.<br />
<br />
I feel like I’m being evicted from my own life. Granted, it wasn’t much of a life, but it was mine. I got up, I went to work, I had Starbucks, I watched movies, I played video games, I went to sleep.<br />
<br />
Now I take shots three times a day, I take drugs I will probably need for the rest of my life, I try to sit up and watch tv so I don’t lie down all day, I try to find interest in anything, and I lie awake until exhaustion finally takes me away.<br />
<br />
I wish this journey was all inspirational, one big lesson to help anyone who reads this. But this journey is tough. I’m not giving in, but I also have to acknowledge the awful parts. And I have to let myself feel bad, I know. If I try to put up a positive front, I’d be lying and hiding from the truth.<br />
<br />
I wish I could take a break from this new normal. Not be hobbling around on a bad leg. Not worry about what I eat. Not worry that another chemo treatment is around the corner, waiting to knock me back down.<br />
<br />
I recently learned that the old expression about God not giving you more than you can handle is a myth. It doesn’t appear in the Bible at all.<br />
<br />
I’m not saying God is putting all this on me to break me or even test me. One article I read said the difficult times are when you put all your reliance on God so you don’t have to rely on your own strength. That sounds fair.<br />
<br />
But I’m only human. Part of me says nothing about this is fair.<br />
<br />
I will press on. I will read some Scripture, listen to a sermon. Seek inspiration in survivor stories. Try to find the way from this dark moment and try to start again.<br />
<br />
But this simple truth remains, and it will frustrate me for a long time.<br />
<br />
I want something I can’t have.<br />
<br />
I want my old life back.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-44277112262944660882019-10-12T07:20:00.002-05:002019-10-12T07:20:35.022-05:00Spiritual Therapy So I’ve got cancer.<br />
<br />
Where is God?<br />
<br />
I think that’s a natural question to ask. I think I could be forgiven for feeling put upon. There are drug users, sex offenders and other criminals who probably deserve a good dose of cancer. Why me? Why as I singled out?<br />
<br />
Honestly, I haven’t had that question yet. Maybe I will. For now, like I said a couple of posts back, it just feels like my turn. My mother, my wife, then me.<br />
<br />
Do I blame God? No, because I believe He spared me. Why would He give me a disease then save me from it?<br />
<br />
Who do I blame? No one. Something in my body chemistry just went rogue and here I am.<br />
<br />
So, where is God while this is going on?<br />
<br />
Right here. Carrying my fear. Reminding me I have reasons to go on. Giving me a chance to have a future.<br />
<br />
I won’t pretend to be a very good Christian. I’m still relearning to walk the path. I’m as unsteady on my spiritual legs as I am on my physical ones.<br />
<br />
I’m reading the Bible and listening to sermons to learn. I hope it acts like spiritual therapy in tandem with my physical therapy.<br />
<br />
While you’re praying for me to overcome this disease, please pray for me to be stronger with God as well. That’s what really matters.<br />
<br />
<br />T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-91332530313032067052019-10-11T20:53:00.000-05:002019-10-11T20:53:17.442-05:00The Stranger in the Mirror (trigger warning - body image)So I have cancer.<br />
<br />
I’m still in the early stages of dealing with it, physically and mentally. Honestly, I wouldn’t know if no one had told me. There were signs, but I thought they were something else. For the record, losing 50 pounds while drinking Frappuccinos regularly is not normal.<br />
<br />
I would go days without a BM (sorry to be blunt, it’s a leftover from spending days using a bedpan provided by a total stranger). I thought it was because I wasn’t eating a lot. Oh, and I wasn’t eating a lot.<br />
<br />
I can’t allow myself to play the What If game. I was getting regular checkups, and I was getting bloodwork done on a regular basis. You would think something unusual would have turned up somewhere, but it didn’t. If that didn’t set off an alarm, it was going to go undetected until now.<br />
<br />
But as I said, I’m just starting to deal with the effects. And here’s the worst one so far: my body has become a stranger to me.<br />
<br />
When I fell and went into the hospital, I weighed 187 pounds. When I left the hospital for the rehab center, I weighed 162 pounds. I have never weighed so little in my adult life.<br />
<br />
Lying on my back for two weeks had done my body no favors. My muscles had wasted.<br />
<br />
I didn’t get a look at myself until the rehab center. When I was finally able to get to the bathroom by myself using a walker, I finally got a look at myself. And I was horrified.<br />
<br />
Skin was hanging off me. I could see my collarbone and ribs. I thought immediately of World War 2 documentaries. (I apologize to anyone finding that tasteless, but it’s the truth).<br />
<br />
My midsection drooped. I had no more man boobs, and frankly ... there’s no more padding in my seat cushions. Sitting is now a difficult thing.<br />
<br />
Skin draped off my arms like curtains. My biceps looked like cables in my thin arms.<br />
<br />
I have never cared too much about my looks or body image. I only give enough thought to it to keep me from being arrested. But looking at myself in the mirror, I felt embarrassed.<br />
<br />
It was ridiculous to feel that way, of course. It wasn’t my fault. No one was going to see me like this. Clothes would cover it up. But the stranger looking back at me made me uncomfortable. And knowing I’d have to live in that body was too much.<br />
<br />
It’s gotten a little better. I don’t automatically flinch when I see myself in the mirror when I shower. But I still don’t like what I see. I’m hoping after I get some chemo behind me I’ll fill out again. And when my leg gets better I’ll get more exercise in to tone my body.<br />
<br />
But for now I don’t recognize the person who looks back at me. And I miss the old guy.T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-64059619997737924232019-10-11T15:40:00.001-05:002019-10-11T15:40:36.726-05:00It’s just emotionSo, I have cancer.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I’m reflecting back on the moment I was told. The ER doctor really did say it as plainly as, “You have cancer. I’m sorry to tell you this way.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
How did I react? I don’t think I did except to say, “OK.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I think they thought I was in shock or denial or something. Or maybe it was the pain from my broken leg. But I pretty much was emotionally absent at the moment.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It wasn’t bravery. It was just reality. If I have cancer, what’s next? Treatment? Surgery? Turning off the lights?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I really haven’t had an emotional scene since the diagnosis. The only time I get close to tears is when I express my gratitude to everyone for support. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Am I worried I’m going to break down crying and not stop? I’m looking forward to it. I really could use the release.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Maybe the other health problems are taking emotional attention away from the cancer. If I had only one issue to deal with, I’d be kicking and screaming. As it is, like Jesse Ventura said in Predator, “I ain’t got time to bleed.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I also have been looking back and think I’ve been emotionally distant for a long time. I haven’t really expressed to people how I feel about them. Since this happened, I’ve been taking more time to tell people how I feel about them. I wish I had started it sooner. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I know people know I care about them, but I wish I had said so. I also feel like I used barriers to keep people out of my inner self. That’s something else I’m working on.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I’m not a positive enough person to say the cancer made me a better person. Frankly, you can keep it and I’ll go back to being an emotional shut in, thank you very much. But I do feel better expressing my feelings, not about my illness, but about the people I care about. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Don’t wait to let those you care about know. That’s my advice.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-29746857594205492142019-10-11T14:27:00.001-05:002019-10-11T14:27:33.585-05:00And so it’s my turn I did not intend to write on this blog anymore, but life had other ideas.<br />
<br />
It started in the spring when my knee started hurting badly. I went to an orthopedist, who diagnosed a small ter in my left meniscus. We tried physical therapy, and when that didn’t work I scheduled surgery.<br />
<br />
The pain got worse, so I went to the ER, where they put me on crutches. Then one night, I fell. I was able to get up, so I didn’t think it was a serious thing. The next day, though, it was so painful I drove myself to the hospital.<br />
<br />
After a while, they told me I had broken my left femur. Then they told me the kind of fracture wasn’t from the impact, but because the bone had been weakened.<br />
<br />
By cancer.<br />
<br />
The ER doctor said it matter-of-factly. The cancer had come from another part of my body, which meant it had metastasized. It was an advanced case, likely stage 4 pancreatic cancer.<br />
<br />
Did I cry? Did I scream? Did I ask why me?<br />
<br />
No. My thought was, “It’s my turn.”<br />
<br />
I went through this with Deb, of course. And my mother had cancer. Since then, part of me was convinced it would happen to me. This was just confirmation.<br />
<br />
I also ignored many health warning signs. I lost a lot of weight, convincing myself it was something I was doing. I also had digestive problems, and I let my diabetes run wild.<br />
<br />
But there I was. Suddenly I’m a cancer patient.<br />
<br />
They put me in the hospital and put a steel rod in my leg, and that’s where it got even worse. My diabetes turned into a dangerous condition called keto acidosis. Then I got a blood clot on my lung. I barely remember anything from the first week or so of hospitalization. I know I got visitors. My sister turned up, but I can’t tell you when she got there. I vaguely remember calling her and telling her I was in the hospital, but I dont remember her arriving.<br />
<br />
The first solid memory I have after going into the hospital was lying flat on my back in the bed, ready unable to move. All I could do is think.<br />
<br />
You may have heard of a “Come to Jesus” moment. That was my “Come Back to Jesus” moment. It wasn’t just desperation; it was an awareness I could go either way: to life or to death.<br />
<br />
I thanked God for sparing me and rededicated my heart to Him. I committed my soul to Him and vowed anything that followed would be for his glory, not mine.<br />
<br />
I really do believe I’m still around for a reason, and God knows what it is.<br />
<br />
Back to the narrative. After two weeks flat on my back and developing a pressure sore on my behind, I was transferred to a rehabilitation facility. The difference between that place and the hospital was like that between a first class restaurant and a gas station bathroom. The place was understaffed. Alarms went unanswered for a long time. Considering I was coming out of a diabetic crisis, being served cinnamon buns for breakfast showed what kind of dietary standards were being followed.<br />
<br />
The best thing I can say about the place — other than the staff, who were doing the best they could with limited resources— was that the conditions motivated you to leave as soon as possible.<br />
<br />
I was in the center for two and a half weeks, but I’m still not able to walk without a walker, which i had hoped to be able to do.<br />
<br />
I’m not getting the time to rehab my leg because ... well, cancer won’t wait.<br />
<br />
I had my first round of chemo in the hospital. My second round would be the first I was aware of. The oncologist is very upfront with me: the treatment is meant to slow the progress, not to cure it.<br />
<br />
I had my second round, and as expected it’s set me back on walking better. And I’m adjusting to life as an insulin dependent diabetic as well.<br />
<br />
Triple whammy. I could cope with one or two of the issues, but I admit three has got me going back to a dark place in my life. If it wasn’t for the promise I made to Deb, I don’t know if I would be holding on as hard as I am.<br />
<br />
Well, the promise and the support of my sister and her family. If she hadn’t rushed to my side, I’m sure I wouldn’t be writing this. I was so out of it I’d never been able to make decisions. Without her, I’d be gone.<br />
<br />
I still haven’t had a big emotional breakdown. It would only be natural if I did. But I don’t tend to do that. When my parents died, I had one big breakdown, then I go on with things. Maybe that’s what I’m trying to do now.<br />
<br />
Things are very up in the air. I’ve got more chemo. I still need lots of therapy on my leg, and I’m learning how to live without my favorite foods.<br />
<br />
But like I said, I believe there’s a reason I’m still here. And I’ll try to find it.<br />
<br />
And I must point out that when my mom was diagnosed, she was given only weeks to live and managed to add 16 years to her life. So you never know.<br />
<br />
I’m hoping to at least match her.T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-23965120587821145362012-10-07T15:46:00.001-05:002012-10-07T15:46:26.707-05:00Like no one is watchingI was feeling overwhelmed by the crush of political news on my way to work the other day, and "Love Shack" comes on the radio.<br />
<br />
I associate that song with Deb for two reasons. First, I took her to a friend's friend's birthday party early in our relationship, and there was a karaoke machine. Deb was a karaoke fiend and grabbed the mike. Being in the stage where you'll do anything to impress your date, I joined in on "Love Shack," doing the guy's part. I was starting to wonder what I was getting into when she really let loose on "Tin roof, rusted!" even though we were in someone's apartment, not a bar.<br />
<br />
The other reason is one day after we moved in together we were unpacking her stuff and found a videotape without a label. I asked her what it was and she said she didn't know. I popped it in the machine, joking it was homemade porn. Instead, it was a tape made one night when she and a couple of friends went out to karaoke. There she was, singing "Believe" by Cher, "Mickey" by Toni Basil and, of course, "Love Shack." She told me to record over it. You bet your butt I didn't do that. And I'm glad I did, because it's the only video I have of her.<br />
<br />
Anyway, "Love Shack" is on the radio, and I think of Deb. And I think of how she was in the video, singing and dancing, uninhibited in that way she was when she was having a good time. The first concert we went to, I was a little embarrassed to see her get up and do that full body dance of hers. Then I realized she was having fun and I had no right to stop her, and why would I want to? Just because I'm more inhibited? Clearly, she was having fun, and who was it hurting?<br />
<br />
The memory of her dancing like no one was watching made me smile, and my mood lifted immediately.<br />
<br />
The next song on the radio was "Rock Steady" by the Whispers, which I hadn't heard in years. I forgot how catchy that song is.<br />
<br />
First I tapped my fingers along. Then the head bob. Then the Jay and Silent Bob head weave. Then the car seat butt wiggle.<br />
<br />
I'm sure the people in the other cars got a good giggle. I didn't care. It was like no one was watching.<br />
<br />
OK, maybe one person was, but I know she was dancing right along. T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-70785777082709469682012-09-10T23:51:00.002-05:002012-09-11T01:33:08.609-05:00Six years onHey, you.<br />
<br />
Every year would seem to bring up farther apart, but when I hear a song that reminds me of you, or I go someplace we've been, or I notice at a picture of you that I see every day but pay no real attention to, and it's like it was yesterday since we talked.<br />
<br />
You're still a part of me, as much as my arm or my lungs. You're the thought that reminds me that your life can change for the better in a second so the problems of now don't seem so bad. You're the realization that I can be a better person than I often let myself be.<br />
<br />
But you're also far from me, and my heart aches when I realize that you're a part of my life that's not happening now and isn't likely to happen again.<br />
<br />
And no day do I feel that more than on Sept. 11, the day we said goodbye, and the day we last said I love you.<br />
<br />
But this isn't a letter of mourning. It's just to thank you again for saying yes. For showing me the things I was wrong about and the things I was right. For giving me the best time of my life.<br />
<br />
P.S. Sorry about forgetting your birthday.<br />
<br />T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-29669331302018031332012-06-13T11:22:00.001-05:002012-06-13T11:22:33.281-05:00Happy anniversaryIt's much easier to arrange a wedding than you might think.<br />
<br />
Print out your own invitations.<br />
<br />
Order a cake from the supermarket.<br />
<br />
Have your uncle perform the service.<br />
<br />
Hold it in your mother's living room.<br />
<br />
Have your nephew play the keyboard and your niece to be the flower girl.<br />
<br />
Say "I do" when prompted.<br />
<br />
Then embark on the most important and satisfying experience you're ever going to be a part of. <br />
<br />
Simple.<br />
<br />
Happy anniversary, sweetie.<br />
<br />
<br />T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-46243489641784080502012-05-22T01:33:00.000-05:002012-05-22T01:33:00.317-05:00The gift that was not to beWhile gathering up things for the Memory Vault, I came across these:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5QyVkYU52dxtPPwLC5cUjRgTKFuJfYcdpiMJ-FegevxG8oNrKq-p7hvc7JUMcDH-uEV0jQsM4h0DDyHoxUOlw8yPoFa38pQZSpokYODHb8aHvdsAfIXy9JEmgPMi1W9bfHj60/s1600/IMG_0375.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5QyVkYU52dxtPPwLC5cUjRgTKFuJfYcdpiMJ-FegevxG8oNrKq-p7hvc7JUMcDH-uEV0jQsM4h0DDyHoxUOlw8yPoFa38pQZSpokYODHb8aHvdsAfIXy9JEmgPMi1W9bfHj60/s320/IMG_0375.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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These are the movie stubs and other tickets from the first years we dated. I was going to put them in a frame and give them to her on our tenth anniversary.<br />
<br />
There are advantages to being a packrat.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-86111782943597918692012-05-10T01:55:00.009-05:002012-05-10T02:17:55.036-05:00Tales from the Memory Vault<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5bErJQfx6FaPeLnHXL2PZYWH21VP4pPa8AIumr30fWH6a2UEItC6NdUXINR2Tx9GQgUkyHDvZanihuwzKOHQAjynpR3GtSx6qoPnna6w0Fc_2luDyKsZiUkZ6crbdPD74kl1R/s1600/IMG_0353.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 245px; height: 183px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5bErJQfx6FaPeLnHXL2PZYWH21VP4pPa8AIumr30fWH6a2UEItC6NdUXINR2Tx9GQgUkyHDvZanihuwzKOHQAjynpR3GtSx6qoPnna6w0Fc_2luDyKsZiUkZ6crbdPD74kl1R/s200/IMG_0353.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5740795056546122626" border="0" /></a>This is the box I keep the mementos from my life with Deb in. I call it the Memory Vault.<br /><br />Deb was a packrat, and so am I. It was hard to part with her things, but I eventually decided to be sensible and keep just enough to fill one bin.<br /><br />I'm going to share some of those memories here through some of the things inside of it.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia84qCvbPQAt7XdJ3pgpzFOJbVkJtQUQFXGW2URE7QKLJAA1gWZ52HZ6KOG86ZHsangNxdiMP_tZ_da2TlRsjq-vDtJ-cVXmN8cGcZRwijs2jldccsRp5xPbu7MhaxAS2yIDZm/s1600/IMG_0366.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 244px; height: 182px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia84qCvbPQAt7XdJ3pgpzFOJbVkJtQUQFXGW2URE7QKLJAA1gWZ52HZ6KOG86ZHsangNxdiMP_tZ_da2TlRsjq-vDtJ-cVXmN8cGcZRwijs2jldccsRp5xPbu7MhaxAS2yIDZm/s200/IMG_0366.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5740797660310495666" border="0" /></a>These are the Tigger ears she bought when we went to Disneyland on our first trip together. Every time I get on the Winnie the Pooh ride, I think of her singing the Tigger theme song. If her ghost haunts any place on this earth, it's that ride.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_4KN9C4HB0DJK_BuUxM28v7cvPl60uCFUeNIHlIvc3ojBF9SAPbgWVMBj4pjfHIeH9MTa7aDJWHreBxaQA0i86Awb9u7JSndqEcVZ5S69F9aU79NDF0T_dMG5WklZOeCQHyaf/s1600/IMG_0361.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 245px; height: 183px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_4KN9C4HB0DJK_BuUxM28v7cvPl60uCFUeNIHlIvc3ojBF9SAPbgWVMBj4pjfHIeH9MTa7aDJWHreBxaQA0i86Awb9u7JSndqEcVZ5S69F9aU79NDF0T_dMG5WklZOeCQHyaf/s200/IMG_0361.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5740795664219500930" border="0" /></a>These are seashells I brought back to her from a trip I made to St. Petersburg. Little did we know that a couple of years later we would actually move to Florida and she could've gotten her own shells.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbUpeD_eJ6kI6Uexy5GVp0oo7NTm3UBiBCtedko3pcss6qd_RcZoK5QdQ_P1JKCrNA6ioqXHoikLs2ut-yZ0t8a8W0uPPmwYiqyZ5lzbA05HEG9kAXf-XXAykGxT3zjYPbYwTT/s1600/IMG_0356.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 246px; height: 184px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbUpeD_eJ6kI6Uexy5GVp0oo7NTm3UBiBCtedko3pcss6qd_RcZoK5QdQ_P1JKCrNA6ioqXHoikLs2ut-yZ0t8a8W0uPPmwYiqyZ5lzbA05HEG9kAXf-XXAykGxT3zjYPbYwTT/s200/IMG_0356.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5740796640384916354" border="0" /></a>This is the stuffed animal I won for her at Six Flags in Denver. She couldn't make the trip, so I brought it back for her, like a good boyfriend should.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDJlZFrGzKoWNRMrqxbmvJUDH_xxtLQithlK7MeA9r_z4zPzqdmr4frtctqa_kKM3wrQcNDwAZTI1G5OxJ0IVuJOnEzZtBS5jsL8wcl4bawpwSpquPQ9SWitaQ8PxGeT_o3Rzu/s1600/IMG_0363.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 248px; height: 185px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDJlZFrGzKoWNRMrqxbmvJUDH_xxtLQithlK7MeA9r_z4zPzqdmr4frtctqa_kKM3wrQcNDwAZTI1G5OxJ0IVuJOnEzZtBS5jsL8wcl4bawpwSpquPQ9SWitaQ8PxGeT_o3Rzu/s200/IMG_0363.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5740797206528321826" border="0" /></a>This was her hairbrush. It still has strands of her hair in it.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW-r0zoYhtY-TX1Ysj-p8XHYcFzNRWyPv8cizzDac3v37dDWyqrhFnbz_L6RZ8UnUKGXHTfSrGgebKR1vytZ5fSE8SLaH8TIgsbHfVCG7l-S3hxBjA7W4ZZPIpOUpxJ8yfJrgs/s1600/IMG_0367.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 249px; height: 331px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW-r0zoYhtY-TX1Ysj-p8XHYcFzNRWyPv8cizzDac3v37dDWyqrhFnbz_L6RZ8UnUKGXHTfSrGgebKR1vytZ5fSE8SLaH8TIgsbHfVCG7l-S3hxBjA7W4ZZPIpOUpxJ8yfJrgs/s200/IMG_0367.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5740798939401494786" border="0" /></a>This is her wedding dress, her bouquet, the cake topper, the wedding cake service set and the Minnie and Mickey dolls we got on our honeymoon to Disney World.<br /><br />The things in the Memory Vault mean a lot to me, but not as much as the memories they bring back, of course.T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-68480225455783320102012-03-13T19:58:00.003-05:002012-03-13T20:58:50.230-05:00Eulogy<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNFj09t7lEvbA9WtZnkX-7H1zCxE3gc9xqoB-kp-gUfvy_BdnTDMhzyFCokxSr0vJyNTMWb9XUnfTH3JivhYN1JhRP92RTzblUHWH0UEmC-w-toPnNbYilHT-rW06XT-WfFVqO/s1600/doris+copy.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 119px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNFj09t7lEvbA9WtZnkX-7H1zCxE3gc9xqoB-kp-gUfvy_BdnTDMhzyFCokxSr0vJyNTMWb9XUnfTH3JivhYN1JhRP92RTzblUHWH0UEmC-w-toPnNbYilHT-rW06XT-WfFVqO/s200/doris+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719564498184501810" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />My older sister Doris died last Sunday. It wasn't really a surprise; she had been sick for a long time. But she had always bounced back, so it wasn't really something I was prepared for.<br /><br />The most embarrassing part is Deb and Doris knew each other, and now there's someone on there's someone on the other side who can tell baby stories about me.<br /><br />I made my plans to go back to Yuma on Thursday, so I could either sit around and mope for a couple of days or I could try to carry on as usual. I chose the latter. It worked out OK, because I feel better when I have something to occupy my mind. But I did ask the few people I told to keep it to themselves because I wanted things to be as normal as possible. I knew the emotional stuff would hit me when I got back there. And so it did.<br /><br />I volunteered to say a few things during her service. I knew our mother wouldn't be able to make the trip, and even if she had she wouldn't have wanted to speak publicly, so I felt I was acting as her representative, as well as being there for myself. I'm not fond of public speaking, but I figured I could tell a story or two off the top of my head; get on fast, get off fast, before my nerves took over. I saw it as a mission.<br /><br />So I get there, and I see the program for the service.<br /><br />Welcome.<br /><br />Opening prayer.<br /><br />Eulogy - Tim Chong.<br /><br />You know that sinking feeling when you get the restaurant bill and instead of it being $15 it's $50? Multiply that by a thousand.<br /><br />Somehow between Monday and Friday, my story or two off the top of my head had become a full eulogy! I'd never done a eulogy; I wasn't even sure I'd ever seen one. I tried to hide my terror as best I could, but I knew I was going to have to come up with something very good, very fast.<br /><br />I messaged my sister Sandy, who hunted up a couple of websites for me. I found one of those very useful. Plus once I started thinking about Doris, the words just flowed. I was up late writing it and ironing it out, but finally I came up with something I was satisfied with. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have had any sleep that night.<br /><br />After the service, people told me I did a good job. I didn't care about that. I just cared about doing Doris justice. And I hope I did.<br /><br />Here's what I wrote.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Good morning, I'm Tim, and I'm here to talk about my sister Doris.</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Please forgive me if my voice wavers or I lose my place, because microphones make me nervous. You know they're always pointing at you, and I think it's rude to point.</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">First, allow me on behalf of my family to express our gratitude for all of you coming out today for this service. Never in my wildest dreams did I thought this would ever happen. Doris was on death's doorstep so often, death thought she was the pizza delivery guy.</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">When I heard she was sick again and was going into hospice, I thought, as I'm sure most of you did, that this was just another time when she was going to ignore the doctor's advice and instead of dying, she was going to get better and live.</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">If there is one word that describes Doris, it is stubborn.</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">She got her stubbornness from our mother, who couldn't be with us today because, like Doris, she has her own health problems that should have killed her years ago, but, like Doris, she ignored the doctors and lived.</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">But I still half expect Mom to come down the aisle on her electric scooter any second now, having ridden here from Missouri, saying, "Sorry I'm late, the interstate was backed up." And Doris would pop up and say, "That's no excuse, Ma, you should've called. I'd have come and gotten you."</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Mom didn't play favorites among us kids, but it's clear Doris was closest to our mother than any of us. They were so much alike. They both got married young. In 1965, they both had charming, intelligent sons. Thirteen months after I was born, they both had daughters who ... well, they're sort of OK. No, I'm just kidding; they both are beautiful women who had beautiful children.</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">When they would go out together, sometimes they would be mistaken for twin sisters. I know Mom was tickled whenever it happened, but I never had the courage to ask Doris what she thought about it. But they were so close, I imagine Doris was proud to be compared to our mother anytime.</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Their bond was the purest example of family love I've ever seen, and it's one everyone should strive for. It's the kind of strong bonds that can carry a family through any crisis, like losing a brother to leukemia in his early 20s. Or a bad auto accident that sends you into a windshield, making people wonder if you will even speak again. Or caring for your mother as she fights an aggressive cancer and wins. These are challenges Doris faced and conquered, and it's this kind of family love that will have to carry us through this difficult time as we try to adjust to life without this sweet woman who affected our lives in so many ways, and always for the best.</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I said before this isn't the first time Doris had been close to death. In 1995, she had her liver replaced. After it was over, she asked me to write a letter to the family of the donor, and I was proud to. In one part of the letter, I described Doris this way:</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">She is the mother of three, and a grandmother. She has an excellent sense of humor and has a laugh you must join in with whenever you hear it. She is incredibly strong willed (I didn't want to call her stubborn) and is the type of person who gives to others, sometimes at expense of her own comfort, and through this ordeal she has shown nothing but strength and optimism for the future. I admire her a great deal.</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">It's 17 years later, and all of those words are true.</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Earlier I said that if there was one word for Doris, it would be stubborn. Of course, one word isn't enough for her. You need so many others - loving, funny, caring, mother, Christian. Of all those words, though, I think the most important is caring.</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Doris was always caring for someone or wishing she was caring for someone. I was told when she ended up having to use a walker, she'd grab the walker with one hand and have a dustpan in the other, still trying to clean.</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Doris was always telling our mom that she was going to go to Missouri and take care of her. My mother was amazed, telling me, "How is she going to take care of me? She needs to take care of herself!" But it wouldn't have surprised me if I called Mom one day and she said, "Guess who just showed up at my door."</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Toward the end, I'm told Doris was restless and agitated. The hospice nurse asked if there was anyone Doris might be waiting to talk to before she left this life, and someone said maybe it was our mother. They got Mom on the phone, and even though Doris couldn't talk, Mom told her that it was OK, she would be fine, and that it was OK for Doris to go and that she loved her. I'm told Doris calmed down after the call, and a few hours later she died peacefully. I firmly believe that even at the end Doris was wanting to take care of Mom and she wouldn't leave this world until she was certain Mom was going to be OK without her.</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Doris was always caring for someone. She cared for her children, then her grandchildren, then her great grandchildren. She cared for me and my sister when we were young. She cared for other people's children as a babysitter. And she cared for her husband.</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Now she's in a position to care for all of us, without the body that betrayed her in this life. And I bet she's excited about that job and already getting started on it, rushing around heaven, and if she sees our guardian angel taking a nap on a cloud, she's nudging him, going, "Hey, get back to work. They need you down there!"</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Let me end with this story, and please forgive me if I have trouble getting through it without tearing up. My wife Debra died of breast cancer in 2006. We had been married for a little over two years, and she was everything to me. With her gone, I was completely lost. I didn't know who I was and didn't care if I was alive or not. The funeral was in Missouri, far from our home and the few people we knew in Florida. And even though my relatives were around, I felt completely alone. In the middle of the service, it hit me, like it's hitting me now, that I was really saying goodby, that this is really happening. I broke down completely. I was at the lowest point of my life and I thought I would never be happy again. I thought no one would ever care for me that much ever again.</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Then I felt someone grab my hand.</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Doris held on to my hand through the rest of the ceremony and pulled me through. It was like she was a lifeguard, and she kept me from drowning in my grief.</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">It would take me years to crawl back to being able to enjoy life again, but the one who started me back on the path was my sister Doris. And I thank God that she was a part of my life, and I will miss her.</span><br style="font-style: italic;"><br style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I love you, sis, and thanks for everything.</span>T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-62870140198903445372012-01-07T04:06:00.002-05:002012-01-07T04:14:02.745-05:00That's my girlConsidering how many times she told this story to me, I can't believe I've never blogged about this one before, but here goes.<br /><br />Deb was in the market for a new car, and after a lot of research she decided she wanted a Toyota Camry. So she goes to a dealership and tries to get one, knowing the list price. She told the salesman she knew what she wanted to pay and wasn't going to pay any more. The salesguy told her she'd never get one for that price. She leaves.<br /><br />She goes to another dealership and gets the car at her price.<br /><br />Her first trip was back to the first dealership. She finds the salesguy and says, "Do you remember me? You told me I'd never get a car at my price. Well, that's my car over there, and you lost a commission."T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-62988059460219732462011-12-08T02:53:00.002-05:002011-12-08T03:00:37.939-05:00The moment my life changedDec. 8, 2000. 12:30 p.m., Mountain Standard Time.<br /><br />That's when I met Deb at the Olive Garden on Academy in Colorado Springs.<br /><br />If I wanted to, I could get a GPS and pinpoint the spot and tell you the longitude and latitude.<br /><br />But the details aren't really what's important. What is important is that was where and when a boy met a girl, and two lives changed.<br /><br />Happy anniversary, you.T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-73343789295556945192011-09-11T01:15:00.004-05:002011-09-12T01:58:31.356-05:00Five years laterDear Deb,<br /><br />It's hard to believe it's been five years since we parted. It seems like forever since I held you, and it feels like only yesterday since we had to say goodbye.<br /><br />It's only been recently that I've realized that when I talk about you now, it's to celebrate your life, not to mourn your death. That's an amazing relief.<br /><br />I have so much to thank you for that I could never put it all in words, but here are some that come to mind right away.<br /><br />Thank you for making me a better person, and for making me believe I can be even better.<br /><br />Thank you for showing me what love really means, that it's not just about how you feel, but how someone feels about you.<br /><br />Thank you for teaching me to appreciate the finer points of cat ownership.<br /><br />Thank you for accepting my faults and teaching me to accept yours and others'.<br /><br />Thank you for teaching me that togetherness sometimes means being apart, and that just makes being together again that more special.<br /><br />Thank you for your smile and your laugh, because even now they carry me through the darkest times.<br /><br />Most of all, thank you for saying "Yes."<br /><br />Love you always,<br /><br />Me.T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-45098935857501743672011-08-22T16:52:00.002-05:002011-08-22T17:43:58.969-05:00QuestionnaireFor those who didn't know Deb, I thought I'd fill out a questionnaire for her. I'm sure I'll get all sorts of things wrong, and maybe this will end up saying more about me than her, but all I can do is try.
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<br />*PERSONAL DETAILS
<br />Name: <span style="font-weight: bold;">Debra A. Chong</span>
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<br />Nicknames? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Debbie, Sweetie</span>
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<br />Where do you live? <b>Tampa</b>
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<br />What's your age? <b>Stopped counting at 39 :) (would've been 46 tomorrow)</b>
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<br />Hair colour? <b>Brown</b>
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<br />Eye colour? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Blue</span>
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<br />Height? <b>5' 2"</b>
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<br />Shoe size? <b>5</b>
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<br />Date of Birth? <b>August 23</b>
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<br />What's your star sign? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Virgo</span>
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<br />How many siblings? <b>1 Sister- Donna</b>
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<br />How many pets? <b>2 Cats: Buster and Bailey</b>
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<br />Obsessions?<span style="font-weight: bold;"> Playing video games</span>
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<br />Bad habits? <b>Nail biting</b>
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<br />Phobias? <b>Spiders</b>
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<br />*ABOUT YOU
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<br />What makes you happy? <b>Cats, lounging in my PJs, coffee</b>
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<br />What really irritates you?<span style="font-weight: bold;"> Getting mayo on my burger when I specifically tell the counterperson not to put it on. </span>
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<br />What makes you sad? <b>Cancer</b>
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<br />What makes you angry? <b>Abusers
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<br /></b> What makes you scared? <b>Spiders</b>
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<br />Who is your best friend? <b>Tim</b>
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<br />Ever broken a bone? <b>Yep. I was in a car crash and broke my collar bone. </b>
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<br />What was the last CD you bought? <b>Pat Benatar, "Go"</b>
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<br />What was the last book you read? <b>"The Highwayman and Mr. Dickens"</b>
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<br />Who was the last person you spoke to? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Tim</span>
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<br />What was the last thing you ate? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Macaroni and Cheese</span>
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<br />What was the last thing you drank? <b>Water</b>
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<br />What's the best thing you've ever bought? <b>BooKitty</b> :)
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<br />What's the worst thing you've ever bought? <b>The Mommobile</b> :(
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<br />What's the best thing you've ever been given? <span style="font-weight: bold;">A wedding ring!</span>
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<br />What's the worst thing you've ever been given? <b style="font-weight: bold;"></b><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cancer</span>
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<br />What are your future goals? <b>To beat cancer</b>
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<br />Describe your bedroom? <b>Not a lot of furniture, but we'll get around to that. The bed is nice and comfy :) </b>
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<br />Favourite thing to do on a hot summers day? <b>Sit out on the front porch with a big glass of ice tea</b>
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<br />Favourite thing to do on a snowy winters day? <b>In Florida??? </b><span style="font-weight: bold;">:D</span>
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<br />If you were granted 3 wishes, what would they be? <b>1). A cure for cancer. 2) Homes for all unwanted pets. 3) To be a singer.</b>
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<br />If you could go back in time to see or change something, when would it be and what would you do? <b>I wouldn't have gotten married right out of high school. :(
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<br /></b> What's the first thing you think about when you wake up? <b>WHERE'S THE COFFEE!!!</b> :)
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<br />What exactly were you doing on September 11th as the terrorist attacks were being carried out in America? <b>I was at work as a dispatcher in Douglas County.</b>
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<br />Have you ever been in love? <b>Yep</b>
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<br />Do you believe in the after-life? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Not sure, but I hope so</span>
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<br />Where do you see yourself in 10 years time? <b>Owning my own knit shop</b>
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<br />If you could choose your own death, how would you go?<span style="font-weight: bold;"> At home, with Tim </span><b></b>
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<br />Would you ever consider having plastic surgery? <b>I already had it. And once I get the cancer beat, I'll get some new boobs. :)</b>
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<br />What's the funniest joke you've ever been told? <b>"Zsa Zsa Gabor went on the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson and she had a cat on her lap. She asked Johnny, "Would you like to pet my pussy?" and Johnny said, "Sure, just move the damn cat out of the way!"</b>
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<br />Do you have any regrets in life? <b>Yes</b><b></b><b>, but I don't have time to think about them. </b>
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<br />Any hidden talents? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Knitting</span>
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<br />Is yours an 'innie' or 'outie'? <b>Innie</b>
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<br />Last job? <b>Customer service representative for Checks Unlimited</b>
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<br />Current job? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Customer service for AOL</span>
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<br />Dream job? <b>A rock star!</b>
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<br />Who is your hero? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Firefighters</span>
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<br />Describe yourself in 3 words: <b>Caring, inquisitive, shy</b>
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<br />*FAVOURITES
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<br />Favourite colour? <b>Pink, green</b>
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<br />Favourite animal? <b>My cat</b>
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<br />Favourite sport (to play)? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Miniature golf</span>
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<br />Favourite sport (to watch)? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Baseball</span>
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<br />Favourite soap? <span style="font-weight: bold;">General Hospital</span>
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<br />Favourite programme/s? <b>Cops, Coupling, Court TV, Crossing Jordan </b>
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<br />Favourite movies? <b>The Wizard of Oz, Benny and Joon, Chocolat, Breakfast at Tiffany's</b>
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<br />Favourite band? <b>Barenaked Ladies </b>
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<br />Favourite song? <b>The Rose</b>
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<br />Favourite room in the house? <span style="font-weight: bold;">The bedroom</span>
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<br />Favourite famous celeb/s? <b>Johnny Depp, George Clooney, Barenaked Ladies</b>
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<br />Favourite board game? <b></b><span style="font-weight: bold;">Risk</span>
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<br />Favourite video game/s? <b>Sonic, Mario Kart</b>
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<br />Favourite PC game? <b>Magic the Gathering</b>
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<br />Favourite food? <b>Kraft Macaroni and Cheese</b>
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<br />Favourite fast-food? <b>Ho-Ho's Chinese food </b>
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<br />Favourite drink? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Coffee</span>
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<br />Favourite magazine? <b>Any knitting magazine</b>
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<br />Favourite place? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Zion National Park</span>
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<br />Favourite cartoon character? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Lisa Simpson</span>
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<br />Favourite day of the week? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Saturday</span>
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<br />Favourite day of the year? <b>Christmas</b>
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<br />Favourite season? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Winter</span>
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<br />Favourite car? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Mini Coopers!</span>
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<br />Favourite shop? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Knit n' Knibble</span>
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<br />Favourite holiday? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Christmas</span>
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<br />Favourite country? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Ireland</span>
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<br />Favourite smell? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Fresh bread </span>
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<br />Favourite sound? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Rain</span>
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<br />Favourite accent? <b>British</b>
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<br />*PREFERENCES
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<br />Coke or Pepsi? <b>Coke</b>
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<br />Pen or Pencil? <b>Pen</b>
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<br />Day or Night? <b>Night</b>
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<br />Cat or Dog? <b>Cat</b>
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<br />Summer or Winter? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Winter</span>
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<br />T.V. or Radio? <span style="font-weight: bold;">TV</span>
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<br />Brains or Beauty? <b>Brains</b>
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<br />Tea or Coffee? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Coffee</span>
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<br />Brush or Comb? <b>Brush</b>
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<br />City or Country? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Country</span>
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<br />Red or White wine? <b>Red</b>
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<br />Early or Late nighter? <b>Late</b>
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<br />Early or Late riser? <b>Late</b>
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<br />Blonde or Brunette? <b>Brunette</b>
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<br />Scarey or Romantic movies? <b>Romantic</b>
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<br />Board or Computer games? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Both</span>
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<br />Half full or Half empty? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Empty</span>
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<br />Long nails or Short? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Short</span>
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<br />Happy and poor or Sad and rich? <b>Happy and poor</b>
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<br />Swimsuit or Bikini? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Swimsuit</span>
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<br />Glasses or Contacts? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Glasses</span>
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<br />Flowers or Chocolates? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Chocolate, of course!</span>
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<br />Love or Money? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Love</span>
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<br />Hugs or Kisses? <span style="font-weight: bold;">BOTH!</span>
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<br />*WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU...
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<br />Cried? <b>When I found out I wasn't going to go on the Barenaked Ladies cruise </b>
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<br />Laughed? <span style="font-weight: bold;">When the girls from Knit n' Knibble came over.</span>
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<br />Swore? <span style="font-weight: bold;">When the doctor said more treatments wouldn't help</span>
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<br />Lied? <b>When I told Tim I believed him when he said that I was going to get better</b>
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<br />Got drunk? <span style="font-weight: bold;">The last glass of wine I had at PF Changs. :)</span>
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<br />Read a newspaper? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Last weekend</span>
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<br />Read your horoscope? <span style="font-weight: bold;">The last time I logged on a computer</span>
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<br />Had a bath/shower? <span style="font-weight: bold;">When I got home from the hospital</span>
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<br />Smiled at someone? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Last night</span>
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<br />Gave someone a cuddle? <b>Last night</b>
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<br />Said, 'I love you'? <b></b><span style="font-weight: bold;">Last night before Tim went to bed</span>
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<br />T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-18947900644761015142011-03-09T01:55:00.002-05:002011-03-09T02:23:40.578-05:00A piece of adviceThe first time I had to take Deb to the hospital was when she got food poisoning. She didn't feel well, so she asked me to speak for her at the emergency room check-in.<br /><br />When they asked her birthday, I turned to her.<br /><br />"You don't know my birthday?" she asked, in a tone I imagine she would've used if I had just admitted that I didn't know nose picking wasn't socially acceptable.<br /><br />In my defense, if I was good with any sort of numbers, I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">could've</span> gone farther in life, I feel. As it is, dates are numbers, so there you go.<br /><br />So I learned her birthday. Aug. 23, 1965. 8/23/65. I worked at it. I got to remembering as easily as I remembered my own. I memorized it so I would never hear that tone again.<br /><br />A couple of years later, some guys at work was planning a guys' night out. We were going to catch a Sky <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Sox</span> game (the Colorado Rockies minor league team) on 50-cent hot dog night. Baseball, cheap eats, beer ... toss in a cigar and it would've been perfect.<br /><br />So I tell Deb my plans.<br /><br />"A guy's night out," she says.<br /><br />"Yep."<br /><br />"On Wednesday."<br /><br />"Yep."<br /><br />"The 23rd."<br /><br />"Yep."<br /><br />"Of August."<br /><br />That tone was back.<br /><br />Needless to say, there was no guy's night out for this guy.<br /><br />So, fellas, here's that advice. Don't just memorize her birthday. Write it down on every calendar. Put up Post-Its all over your computer. Tattoo it someplace conspicuous. Do whatever you have to do to remember it, because whenever you forget it, you'll get that tone, and brother, that ain't good.<br /><br />You'll thank me one day.T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38554098.post-61115916813996465032011-03-08T02:39:00.004-05:002011-07-08T12:31:45.373-05:00The other side of the storyLooking back at recent entries, I notice I keep coming up with things I did for Deb, but I haven't gone into things she did for me. I worry that it makes me look like I'm trying to boost myself or, worse, not painting a complete picture of her.<br /><br />So this one's to try to set the record a little straighter.<br /><br />1. On one of our first dates, we went to Poor Richard's in Colorado Springs. If I was to list my favorite places on earth, Poor Richard's would make the list. It's a combination pizza place/bookstore/toy store. Seriously.<br /><br />Anyway, being me, I was showing off by playing with the toys, especially this dragon handpuppet. It had a tongue, so I started using it to lick her face, my face, the other toys' faces.<br /><br />Months later, for Christmas I got that puppet. I barely remembered playing with it, but she did. Its name is Aloyisius, and I still have him. And yes, he still licks everything in sight.<br /><br />2. After I had my torn ACL repaired, Deb drove us back to the townhouse, but I couldn't make it inside, only to a lawn chair on the back porch which faced the street. I was weak, and I could feel my vision narrowing. I was getting the whole tunnelvision/head into the light thing, I swear. As i was passing out, she kept her cool, called 911 and got an ambulance.<br /><br />I fully recommend marrying someone who's had emergency training and has worked as a 911 operator. They're good in crises. We even stopped one day at a traffic crash and she took charge of the scene until the highway patrol arrived.<br /><br />Anyway, it turned out the anesthetic hadn't worn off - I remember the paramedic saying my blood pressure was 75 over 50, and he was surprised I had any consciousness at all. So after some monitoring, I got to go home for reals. But in our townhouse the bedroom was on the second floor, so Deb nursed me in the living room for the next couple of days.<br /><br />3. The day after my first full-on panic attack, I was petrified of going in public, but I knew that avoiding crowds wasn't going to be an option. So when Deb went to the grocery store, I tagged along. Walking in the door, I was paralyzed. She told me I didn't have to go in, but I told her I did. OK, she said, and she took my hand and led me around the store, reassuring me constantly.<br /><br />That's the girl I miss.T.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12495250621080532867noreply@blogger.com0