2nd Dose in the mirror.

My second dose of chemo therapy is now in the rear view mirror and as hard as I try to  stay positive and upbeat around the family & friends, I have to tell you, it is a nasty bitch at best.  There is really nothing redeeming about it that comes to mind. 

My treatments come every three weeks and there will be from six to ten of them depending on some future tests I'm really looking forward to.  It is a six day process to get through but only two of the days are really bad.

The Oncology unit where I get the chemo is a large place.  A lot people have cancer.  They administer chemo to dozens of us hollow eyed, bald headed thumb suckers every day.  We sit there with our tubes and pumps for hours at a time, each of us in a different stage of treating a different cancer.  The young ones are the most heart wrenching but there are many beautiful old lives fighting the battle as well.  Graduates never attend reunions I am told.     

Day one is just some blood work so it is just a trip to the phlebotomist and a quick needle to tap a few viles of blood. 

Day two ended up being five hours on the barkolounger this time.  The first one took about eight hours but this time they were able to speed up the infusion pump & I got out in less time.  It is unbelievable the amount of pills and all the different bags and syringes of nastiness they pump into you.  It makes your urine toxic for about a week so there are some simple bathroom duties I have to perform so as to insure no one coming into the bathroom behind me should get into contact with anything that could hurt them.  Also one of the drugs administered decomposes human tissue pretty rapidly if it comes into contact with open tissue.  It has to be shot into the vein and directly into the blood stream only.  They are very careful with this one and have some special little tests to make sure they are all good.  The nasty mouth soars and nose bleeds are a result of this drug, infections are to be avoided at all cost I am told.  I just hope none of you ever have to go through it. 

Day three is a spinal injection, fun deal.   Chemo into the spinal fluid takes three different departments working together to perform the deed.  The first time after they got the needle into my spine there was a 45 minute wait for a Dr. from Oncology to come over and administer the shot.  In the mean time a wave of nausea came over me like a freight train so I broke out into a sweat, called for a bucket, & cut loose right there in their operating room with a needle hanging out of my back.  The Dr. in attendance was quite animated I must say.  I had quite a reaction on him and I'm sure there were some fun time discussions afterwards as to why it took so long etc.  So this last time it only took about an hour all in all start to finish.  And no nausea. 

Days four through six I self administer a rather strong steroid on my own.  It really amps me up while I am on it so if you need your garage cleaned out I am taking reservations. 

So I am on day four of the second dose now.  It's not so bad, I can sit up and write about it.  I was hoping I could get a couple days of work in this week and I might go in this afternoon but I'm feeling pretty poor right now.  The idea of the chemo is to poison the cancer but it ends up poisoning every cell in your body & all your parts scream out in protest and pain. 

C'mon parts, hang in there babies.   

I really need to go.

This is the third week since my first rchop and today, I really need to go. 

The first time it took seven days.  That was too long.  Way too long, but I was able to go on my own. 

The next week I discovered chemo sometimes turns off the digestive system and, I made a new friend.  Her name is Margarete but I get to call her Peggy.  She is a nurse and my "poop friend".  That's what we call it.   I haven't met Peggy yet but today that could change.  So far we have just been chatting on the phone.  I hope you get a clear vision of discussing these most personal of bodily functions with a perfect stranger.  Any sense of dignity is erased when your digestive system refuses to cooperate.  By the way it's toxic I am told, yes, more so than usual.    

Peggy talked me through the second weeks happening.  That is when I saw the face of God, in a blinding flash, right there in the downstairs bathroom.  It was also the day my mother died.  It's true, ya can't make this shit up.

Today, a shipment is due.  It is 48 hours past due as a matter of fact and that is why I get to call work & let em' know I won't be in today.  Here are Peggy's orders of the day.  

#1, No food today. 

#2, Water. Ive already drank a gallon of water and it's only 7 AM. 

#3, Exercise. I already went for my walk, it was not raining.

#4, Aisle 4A at Rite-Aid.  There are at least two hundred different remedies and cures for sale on the shelf.  I get to try them all this morning, at home and on my own.  Then,

#5, If nothing happens by noon, today, ............................. I get to meet Peggy.  She is looking forward to it I'm sure.  Who wouldn't be? 

So, as you can see my day is pretty much set in cement.  I choose to face it with dignity and prayer.  Lots of prayers.  I'll be blessing all the saints today.  

The part I am looking forward to again is the blinding flash.  It was warming, (so to speak), and a perfectly enveloping white light, delivered in complete silence and it was gone in a wink.  The voice was more of a hollow echo, a memory like after taste.  There were no words exchanged rather an idea conveyed. 

It said, "you're Mom & Dad have not quit dancing since she got here." 

That was the vision I had. 

If I get to meet Peggy today I will share my vision with her too.  What do you think the odds are she has heard it all a thousand times before?

        

    

   

Here is a message from twenty years ago,

Here is a message from twenty years ago that is more appropriate today.  It was sent from my father to each of his children over twenty years ago and I came by it just now.  Enjoy,

 
May 29, 1990

Dear Family,

It’s been raining like cats and dogs and it’s colder than ‘ole heck and about all Papa can do to stay out of Grandma’s hair is to bury himself in his room. I’m not in a mood for much else, so I’ll do what I like to do best.


I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the adversities we had when I was a little boy up on The Magpie. About getting my hand cut in the mowing machine, about the folks losing the homestead to the bank, about ‘ole Ted eating the rat poison and dying, about ‘ole Roanie getting her teats cut real bad when she jumped the barbed wire fence, about the time somebody stole the twenty cords of wood brother Joe and I hauled, cut, split and stacked for winter -- and, you know, the list goes on.

But then I been also thinking --
Tough times don’t last,
But Tough People do!

And, when the going gets tough,
The Tough get going.

This has been an adage I have lived by for as long as I can remember.

We have always had faith and hope that things would get better no matter how dark things looked at the time and we always knew we had the love and support from the rest of the family and we have always “Hung Tough” together.

Never forget that!

AND,

We love you all.

Papa

in memory

It was expected, there were no regrets or dark secrets left idle.  Every grandchild, nine, and every great grandchild, eight, got there to see her before she passed.  She spoke each ones name, whispered I love you, and was at peace.  I'm devastated.  As much as you know it will be any moment, it still kicks like a mule.  I will need strength today.  I was going to read someones poem or something, but I think I will just tell the grand kids about how it was back in the 50's & 60's in a little town in eastern Oregon. 

Life was one long dull edge of work, sleep, eat, sleep.  Days were short and cold in the winters.  Nights were long, dark, gloomy and bitter cold.  Mom & Dad worked long hours at their day jobs and we kids went to school.  Evenings and weekends were consumed by meetings, homework, sports, church, and long lists of chores.

If the term drudgery brings you memories of long cold rural roads framed by barren fields gone fallow in the winter, this was our existence.  It was home but it was thread bare.

The name Aurthur Murray', didn't mean anything to me, but my parents, their friends, my older siblings, and even a few of the teachers at school dropped that name like it was an automatic after thought.  Aurthur Murray this, and Aurthur Murray that.  As an eight year old boy, I was too young for dance lessons, but this guy Art, was having one hell of an impact on my little town and in particular, my family.  I never met Art.  I was too young I guess, but it took me years to figure out, Aurthur Murray didn't really come to Hermiston to teach dance lessons at the Elks Club every Wednesday evening all winter long.  It was actually some young couple from Chicago that did a lot of traveling and more dancing than their hearts would have hoped for.  I'm sure the, "exciting new places," section of their recruiting brochures had long been forgotten by the time the Hermiston Elks Club became their regular Wednesday gig. 

I was told I couldn't participate because I was too young but that when I got older I could.  Something happened between, "could not", and "could participate," and I never had a dance lesson in my life.  One of life's great disappointments but I did sit on the couch and watch my Brother and sister, and in particular, my Mom & Dad, practice their moves.  It is this vision that comes screaming back to me in wide screen, THX, HD, 1080P clarity.  Yes sir.  There they are in the living room, Hi-FI in the corner playing the same 33 1/3 RPM LP over and over.

My older siblings kind of liked it, I could tell.  There was something about dancing that was mysterious to me and these two didn't quite get it I could tell.  They tried their best at least some of the time, and they completed their course which included waltz, samba, jazz, modern etc.  But they just didn't have that special spark, that beacon that shown every time my Dad took my Mother in his arms & turned up the music. 

Mom & Dad enjoyed it.  Right there in each others arms they radiated a vibrant glow.  It was like a heavy blanket of love and respect and pleasure.  It was primal and completely normal and necessary.   It was as plain as the salt in the sea, they were in love.  Their intention was clear, they didn't care who knew, they didn't care who watched, their love was the rooms love.

Dad wore a sport coat, tie, polished shoes and freshly laundered and ironed shirt to work every day of his life.  Tonight as he danced with Mom in the living room, his sport coat was hung up in the closet and his tie was loose.  The grin he was wearing was almost too much for me to accept.  I mean, where is your cool Dad?  They were practicing something called the Rumba and he was really enjoying himself. 

Mom was doing about six things at once as she and Daddy practiced dancing and preparing our dinner was just one of them.  She clutched a dishrag from the kitchen in her left hand as they swayed to the music and each time the music stopped she dropped that rag on top of a pot and lifted the hot lid to check on our dinner which was simmering on the stove.  When I close my eyes I can smell the cabbage as it filled the house with its goodness. 

Mom and Dad dancing.  It is a memory I will cherish.    
   

Phyllis Rose Cermak

Today we say good bye to our dear Mother. 

Her final chapter was so meaningful, dignified and graceful.

Her Love has meaning,
Her Love has grace,
she filled our lives with both. 

Love was her lasting legacy. 

Rest sweet lady,

We put Mom into Hospice type care yesterday.  There is really nothing that can be done now but wait & pray.  It was her decision not to have a surgery to repair the blockage.  She is 88 and there are so many more complicating factors being considered.  The surgeon describes any procedure as high risk and a very bumpy road.  There is still a remote chance that the blockage would repair itself.  It's a very slim chance since she has had to have surgery to repair this same thing twice before. 
She is not in pain and is resting comfortably.  Every one of her grand kids are here along with wives, husbands, and all the grand kids/great grandchildren.  She is showing a remarkable dignity and resolution.  I know I shouldn't be amazed by this, after all she is my mother, but I can't help myself.  She is speaking rationally of her love of us, and that is her legacy.  The love that she and Dad instilled in their three children has attracted the most brilliant of people like Gary Hayden, Matt Thommasson, Sterling, Megan, Roxy, Karen, and my wife Patti.  This is quite a gathering.  So far no one has got on each others nerves.  I did eat one of Megan's Cinnabons, but I didn't know it was hers.  It was just laying there, alone,................ on the prairie.
 
Anyway, my battle continues with lymphoma.  All the tests that have peered into the deepest chambers of my body like, bone marrow, spinal fluid etc., have been neg. lymphoma.  No tumors were detected in CT scans so the prognosis remains good.  The only known lesion was removed.  The jokes relating to this subject have been good. Once I bet a guy my left nut & lost!  Ha ha.  The common questions I get are about, do I feel like half a man, lopsided, listing, etc.  Ha ha ha.  My funny bone was not effected.

I am one tenth of the way through chemo therapy and I must say that chemo is pretty much living up to it's billing.  They have the nausea under control but the poisoning effect is strong.  It's like every cell aches & cries.  I'm okay and I get such great care that I feel spoiled.  Dreaming of a couple warm weeks on Alii Drive in Kailua, Hawaii.  Can't wait.  We are planning a "Cancer Free Party", here next August, I hope everyone can make it. 

I just hope that when my time comes to take that final journey I can be surrounded by the same love that Dad & now, Mom are receiving.  I've been thinking a lot about Paul Allen lately.  He is our local billionaire, owns the Portland Trailblazers and has a similar type lymphoma as I do.  Poor ol' Paul got it the first time when he was about thirty, went through the cure back then & now he is suffering a relapse.  I think he is about my age, 58.  Paul is making the fight of his life with no family at all.  I feel so sorry for him going solo in this respect.  I wonder if he would trade his team were a love like Mom &  Dad had available to him? 

Happy Holidays

When you get news like we did last month there are many new considerations.  Cancer makes you think of all kinds of new and interesting subjects.  When I got the news it came in the form of a phone call on a Saturday afternoon as I was heading back to work from an ultrasound test. 

"You have a tumour and it is cancerous."

I called Patti & gave her the news then returned to the office.  There wasn't anything that could be done that afternoon so I thought I just as well might keep my mind busy with work. 

Patti got on the phone and called all the kids and family.  We didn't know exact details or treatments to come but she made those calls just the same.  So everyone knew, I told my associates at work and there were no secrets. 

But how would we tell Mom?  She is 88 and lives an independent life near by but she is getting a bit forgetful and fumble minded as of late.  We don't want her to worry needlessly.  Do we tell her at all?  A couple weeks went by and Patti and I finally decided that we would have to bring her in on the news.

We decided to take her dinner one evening and tell her then. If we took Carter along, our eight year old grandson, we would have an excuse not to hang around because he would need to get a bath and off to bed early.  The next day was a school day. 

So we gave her a call announcing our plans, swung by McDonalds for burgers and placed Carter in front of the TV with his Happy Meal. 

Patti, Mom & I all sat at her dining table as I made my announcement.

"Mom, I'm afraid I have some bad news to share with you.  I have cancer."

"Oh", she said, "what gave you cancer?"

Good question I think to myself, I wonder what did give me cancer.

"Well Mom, sometimes people just get it I guess."

"At least it's not really bad news," she replied.

Patti and I shot a glance at each other and then back at her.  She was being dead serious, at least it was not really bad news. 

I caught the twinkle in Patti's eye and we were able to control our composure until after we had climbed into the car and were around the corner.  Then we laughed and laughed all the way home.  We called the kids and my sister from out of town.  It was the funniest thing to happen to us in weeks.

So tell me what kind of mind trick did that little ol' lady play on us that evening?  When do the words, "I have cancer," become the punchline of hilarity?  Too funny Mom.

Tomorrow is another day but first this one needs to be lived to the fullest.
     

When we were little kids our Mom was a special duty nurse at the local hospital.  I didn't quite know exactly what that meant, bit I did know it meant she was going to be sleeping days at home and I had better be quiet or I would get into big trouble if I woke her up.  She always wore the starched white uniform and the funny nurses hat that was later associated with flying nuns.  Her working nights inadvertently allowed me an additional serving of freedoms since hanging around the house was not appreciated during these periods.  On this particular day the family was already up and going by the time she got home from her night at the hospital.  I could tell she was tired and I didn't need to be reminded of the serious trouble I would be in if I hung around the house being a noisy little boy. 

"Bring me my purse Johnny, and please put this on my dresser for me."  Mom had removed her hat and was handing it to me as I looked up from the table where I sat. "You need a haircut today and I am not going to be able to take you there so here is fifty cents.  You get your hair cut today, and then you will have fifteen cents left over to get yourself a treat, OK?"

Two quarters were thrust into my open hand along with the nurses hat.  I carefully sat Mom's hat on her dresser and contemplated the day ahead.  I had one task ahead of me.  It seemed so easy.  A haircut was easy.  It would take me ten minutes to ride my bike into town.  The barber shop was right there on Main Street next to the drug store.  This was going to be easy.  What would I do with the rest of my day?  What would I spend my additional fifteen cents on? 

Temptation was a cruel mistress that day and at the end of our block I ran into my friend Mike, a neighborhood buddy and fellow charter member of the Buggs Bunny Fan club.

"Johnny, where are you going?" 

For some reason those two quarters popped right out of my pocket and revealed themselves there in the palm of my hand as if they were the Holy Grail.

"I'm on my way to town to get my hair cut."

There was a long silence.  Fifty cents was a lot of money.  Half a dollar!  We stared at each other for a long moment.  History has recorded several such moments in time when the fate of nations hung in the balance. 

After a moments deliberation it was decided that we would get a bottle of soda and a sack of candy and retire to the bank of the sandy river to skip stones and enjoy our wealth.  After all, we had the whole day to ourselves and I could get a haircut at Mikes house on my way home in the afternoon. 

"We have electric clippers and everything Johnny, just like the barber shop!"

It seemed perfectly logical at the time.  I was going to get my hair cut, I was not being noisy at home, Mom would get a good days sleep, Mike and I could have a grand day, what could be better? 

The first glimpse of impending doom was ol' Mike's demeanor as we were heading back to his house.  He didn't seem too interested in my haircut at all.  As a matter of fact, about the time we got to his house he disappeared all together and he left me there with his older brother Spike.  My candy and soda were gone and I felt a bit cheap asking for a haircut from Spike but he was accommodating to be sure.  I soon learned that the 'electric clippers', Mike had referred to were actually used to cut the dog's hair.  They had a poodle, and there was not an experienced barber in the house but Spike did his best.  I remember there was a lot of laughing and finger pointing at my expense that afternoon.   

The part that never made any sense to it at all was Mom's white nurses hat.  For some reason that hat made it's way from the safety of her dresser to the top of my dirty little head compounding the pickle I had gotten myself into.    

Poor Mom.  She was mad and terrified at the same time.  I discovered several lessons that day.  First was something about fair weather friends.  My ol' friend didn't get a spanking that day but I sure did.  I also got a first hand lesson about being prepared.  I was not prepared for the outcome of my behavior but Mom had prepared herself in advance for the unexpected.  I didn't know it but she had a spare nurses hat there in here bedroom hidden from us kids. 

So I was the dunce that evening at dinner with my skinned head, dog clippers hair-cut as I sat at the table wearing the nurses hat.  There must have been a lesson about humility in there somewhere as well.

I'm 58.  I can best be defined as a working class married man living the dream in the twilight of a mediocre career.  I was 15 when I first dated my wife Patti.  Not old enough to drive yet but I had my Oregon learners permit and my older sister went along with my scheming.  With her along I could drive and we had a double date in Dad's 1964 Dodge Polara 2 door hard top.  We went to, "The Grove", drive in theater in Hermiston, Oregon.  Patti and I sat up front and my friend David and my sister in back.  Patti would have to tell you if I kissed her goodnight because I don't remember.  What I was more excited about was driving.  That Dodge had a 383 cu. in. V8, bucket seats with a slush box, I loved it.  Patti could probably tell you the date and what movie played.  These days I hold her hand in the movie theater, we share our popcorn  and, drive-ins' are a thing of the past like that old Dodge. 

If there is one thing to learn from this old world it is that there are ups' & downs' and sometimes bad things happen to good people.  I can handle that in my sleep.  I swear to God there is a silver lining to changing out a starter motor under a 45 year old Mustang after dark in the freezing cold, on the side of the road.  The starter was only $41, the core return was $25 so it only cost sixteen dollars and it was on the shelf at the closest parts store on a Sunday evening.  Try that trick with a Mitsubishi or a BMW, HA!  Don't get me started or I'll take off on another subject.  What I'm trying to say is the Mustang belongs to my 24 year old son and, he was very upset because it wouldn't start.  I loaded up some tools, a jack & a piece of carpet to lay on and an hour later we were laughing about it and praising the Ford Motor Company of Detroit Michigan, and talking of things like fellowship and horse shit.  Those were very inexpensive cars back in the 60s' and they were not designed to last fifty years.

So there is one more little thing to clear up here.  Are you getting a clue by now.  I'm a car guy and not just a curious type that watches NASCAR on Sunday.  I sell them professionally for a living.  I like to have about fifty to eighty folks sit down at my desk each and every month to put their signature on the dotted line. For the past few decades, I've been able to do that.  As a professional it has afforded us a good honest living.  I do know that some folks with small minds think for some reason it is not an honorable way to earn a living but they would be wrong.  Sure there are some bad apples in every profession but one of my favorite parts of the car biz is the people I am privileged to have worked with.  Wow, there have been some great ones over the years. 

Our four kids have seen Mom & Dad get up each and every morning, iron our work clothes, shine our shoes and head off for our days work.  The most unfortunate part of my schedule has been the retail hours I have had to keep, every evening till eight or ten, and every weekend. That my friend, is a legacy.  Show em' how to get out of bed in the morning, bring home a pay check at the end of the month and you will increase their individual chances of success as well. That is half the duty of raising kids the right way.  The other part is never, ever, let them doubt for a moment your unyielding love for them.  Got it?  Sounds simple right. 

If it seems too easy you never raised a teenager.  

I'm going back to work tomorrow morning after nine days off.  My schedule now gives me weekends off and taking a Monday thru Friday for chemo off gives me nine days with both weekends.  I could visit Hawaii nicely in that amount of time.  We need to go for a couple weeks again.  Hey, if you're going to have the heaves anyway, why not in paradise? 

Okay, I'm off to Hawaiian Airlines when I'm done here. I want to go back to magic sands.  My credit is good against my NADART.  We should figure out when I'm going to be through with the radiation, healed back up & ready to swim at Capt. Cook again.  Two weeks at the Sugar Shack.  Maybe in about a year or so.  Guess I have time.

Did I mention I am thinking a lot about what I should be writing.  Are you curious about my disease?  I really don't mind talking about it a bit.  There is something kind of settling about verbalizing what I understand regarding what is happening to me. 

What about a lifespan?  It really gets you thinking about just that.  What the fuck.  If you had to know today was it ..... What would you say?  What would you do?  My father wrote about fifty words to us that are like poetry.  He wrote them almost ten years before he passed but they were absolutely perfect.  Nice work Dad, you always knew exactly what to say and how to be the perfect master of ceremonies. I'll share his letter with you later.  It's a beauty. 

Ya, I want to write letters to folks.  If my bank box has a letter addressed to you the day I pass don't assume it is one that you will rush out and share with everyone.  Read it again please.  Chances are however, If I have memories of you, they are sweet ones. 

Regrets?  My first reaction is absolutely not.  I have had such a great life in every way.  So full of wonder and awe, family and friends, love and sorrow.  Then I remember there was that one time ....  okay, so I'm sorry for that.  And, all those other times.  I get it, it's a biblical thing right?  Eve gave Adam the apple & we've been rocking in the free world every since.  Maybe a few regrets but major things I would have done differently, not really.

Here's one you may not have known.  I got a lot of letters in the winter of 1971 to play football for several colleges.  Montana, some JCs', and the cream was a four year offer at the University of Washington.  Could have been a Husky in the old PAC 8.  So of all the things I am, at least I don't hump legs, sniff crotches or lick my balls when I'm out on a date. 

My one older brother had played for Boise and was on the Ducks with some scholarship money included plus my father put himself through about ten years of eligibility playing college football. So when my turn came, as the youngest boy in the family, what did I do?  I said no.  That was not in my future.

I do remember Dad and I discussing it on at least one occasion.  We were serious in our discussion and I remember being cool with it but kind of shocked by the fact that Dad just said, OK!  Ya see, I wanted to go to a Jr. College in Gresham.  No football.  It would be near Patti as she attended NW Business College for a year. Then we could, would, gulp, get married. 

It was the single smartest thing I ever did to guarantee a lifetime of happiness.  We married on a scorching August day  thirty eight years ago. and I'm taking odds that we will make fifty.  Now that is going to be a celebration.

I have been torn as to how I would share this news with my facebook friends for a month now and it's just not getting easier to discuss, so .... here it is. I was diagnosed with a form of 'diffuse large B cell Lymphoma' about a month ago. Cancer. I had a tumor removed 11-16 and had my first chemo treatments this week. Radiation will follow the chemo in five or six months then the Cermaks are going to have a celebration this summer to start a next chapter, 'cancer free'.  I really hope you all can make it, that would be great.

I'm still working at Landmark Ford, at least part time for now and hopefully more as my treatments progress.  I am just off Interstate 5 in Tigard, it's easy to find so stop by & say hello. Or better yet, stop by & buy a new Ford, I need the business. 

I don't feel too bad really, more tired than anything.  The whole medical ordeal is unbelievable but the Kaiser Health staff have been great.  They have been blindingly fast when necessary and caring in every respect.

I'm okay and doing great, I just wish I didn't have to burden my family & friends with this but sometimes bad things happen to good people.