Lymph Notes

Goodnight

2009-01-22T17:36:00.000-08:00

Imagine a small bald baby bird as he calms his screaming, looks over the edge of the nest, and takes a leap. No longer is he dependent. He stumbles at first, not quite sure which direction to fly, or for that matter, if he's flying at all. Hopefully soon, he will be soaring to new heights and building his own nest.

Little Bald Baby Billy Bird is writing his last blog . . . with tremendous sadness.

This experience with you, my readers, has been without question the most healing part of my journey with cancer. But it's over now and I have to move on, physically and emotionally. Just as much as the chemotherapy, the medical teams, and my private journal, I want this blog to always be a part of the capsule that I will close and file away under the title of "My Most Amazing Year."

I hope I have said something of purpose for each of you. There is no question that this writing, the research for it, and most of all, your responses and comments, have projected me into a new realm of spirit. Please continue to send me thoughts and ideas at BillKavanagh@aol.com.

Of all of my 95 blog entries, this is the most difficult. Just as I ended my journal with "Goodnight sweet cancer," I will end this amazing segment of my healing with,

Goodnight sweet friends. You saved a life.

Man's Search For Meaning

2009-01-16T11:28:00.000-08:00

I have been reading Viktor Frankls' "Man Search For Meaning," which has sold over 12 million copies since it was first published in 1949. A good friend suggested I read it since its theme is very close to all that I have tried to say in the past year. Many of you have probably read it.

The book is a tragic recount of Dr. Frankl's experience in Nazi concentration camps, including Auschwitz, from 1942 until 1945. And yet it is an amazing tale of survival and the human spirit. "Without suffering," he says, "human life cannot be complete."

In no way would I ever attempt to compare my past year to his tremendous agony, but from reading this book, I have learned so much from his theories of why we experience suffering. If I could summarize my thoughts from his book, it would be,

Each person's suffering is unique.

Each person's lessons are his rewards.

Each person's purpose is his gift back to the world.

Rather than to try to explain my own translations, I will copy some of my favorite quotes from the book.

"If there is a meaning in life at all, then there must be a meaning in suffering. Suffering is an eradicable part of life, even as fate and death. . . . The way in which a man accepts his fate and all the suffering it entails, the way in which he takes up his cross, gives him ample opportunity -- even under the most difficult circumstances -- to add a deeper meaning to his life."

"It does not really matter what we expect from life, but rather what life expects from us. Our answers (to the questions of life) must consist, not in talk and meditation, but in right action and in right conduct. Life ultimately means taking the responsibility to find the right answers to its problems and to fulfill the tasks which it constantly sets for each individual."

"Success, like happiness, cannot be pursued, it must ensue, and it only does so as the unintended side effect of one's dedication to a cause greater than oneself or as the by product of one's surrender to a person other than oneself. Happiness must happen, and the same holds for success: you have to let it happen by not caring about it."

"Humor is one of the soul's weapons in the fight for self preservation. It is well known that humor, more than anything else in the human make-up, can afford an aloofness and an ability to rise above any situation. . . . Any man can, even under such circumstances, decide what shall become of him mentally and spiritually. He may retain his human dignity even in a concentration camp . . . it is this spiritual freedom which makes life meaningful and purposeful."

The second half of Dr. Frankl's book is an explanation of his psychological theories called "logotherapy." Rather than based on our past, like most therapy, logotherapy focuses on the future . . . on the meanings to be fulfilled by a person in his future. According to logotherapy, the striving to find a meaning in one's life is the primary motivational force in man. He calls it "a will to meaning." He explains that once we know the "why" for our existence, we will be able to bare almost any "how."

I am not alone in my generation of Baby Boomers who strive to do good and find our purpose. Currently in this country, every day, 8,000 people turn 60 years old, many of whom are entering a new phase in that search for meaning. Viktor Frankl's book has never been more pertinent.

Love From Beyond

2009-01-07T10:55:00.000-08:00

Today I did something very powerful. I have wanted to do it for a long time but haven't felt emotionally stable enough to attempt it. This morning at 5:00 a.m., I felt strong.

My partner passed away in 1992 and for the past year I have wanted to write him a letter to ask for advice. He was a strong intelligent leader, and I knew he would have great things to tell me. That was the key to writing this letter. I had to also write a letter from him back to me; the most anxious part of the assignment.

Give it a try. Write all of your thoughts, updates, and questions to someone you love who is now up there protecting you. Poor your heart out. Be honest. And then without hesitation or thought, write a return letter. The true lesson for me is that all of the great advice that Randy gave me in this letter was obviously already in me somewhere. All of the good things that I don't want to admit are easier to say and hear when it doesn't feel like it's coming from me.

My motivation for finally doing this came after I rented a movie recently titled "P.S. I Love You." It sounded like a total chick flick, but I thought, "What the hell. I can handle a little sappiness right now." Sappy, chicky, whatever, it had a profound influence on me. If you don't know the story, a husband dies and leaves his new young wife a letter to be discovered every day for several weeks. The last letter asks her to please see herself the way he sees her. That was an amazing line for me.

I know how much Randy loved me. It had never occurred to me to look at myself through his eyes, or to value the things he loved about me. Or one step ahead of valuing them . . . simply contemplating what they are.

My only warning to you is to have a box of tissues by your side (see blog below). It isn't working if you're not crying.

Tears

2009-01-05T19:47:00.000-08:00

I went to an adorable Christmas play in Ohio for the elementary school where my brother is pastor. Throughout the entire show I was struggling to hold back tears. Nothing makes me cry more than little kids singing because they seem to be filled with such love and sincerity. Also, the children that are terrified in front of an audience remind me so vividly of a certain little Billy about 45 years ago. My mother agreed to put me in a fashion show when I was 6 and I sat on the edge of the stage, in front of the audience, crying and screaming "Mommy!" until someone walked out to get me. The scars still remain and the tears still come back at the thought of it. (Turns out it was my brother they wanted anyhow.)

The Today Show did a story about the Chicago post office offering letters to Santa for the public to come read and fulfill the requests. I cried at the generosity of strangers and the heartfelt intensity of the letters.

My young twin nieces showed up for our family Christmas dinner after being away for a long time. Guess what? Uncle Bill cried.

Why does Uncle Bill still have this lingering side effect from cancer that makes him cry every time his heart is touched? Obviously it is better than other side effects, but it's the only one that he can't hide. Of all the pains to remain, it's the strain of the pain with the most shame to refrain.

And then I think about it. It is not a side effect of cancer at all. It's a side effect from a heart that swelled last year to many times its previous size. Why would I want it to shrink again? I'm probably stuck with this side effect.

I remember that tears were abundant after chemo, or when I was very fatigued, but I have had plenty of sleep lately so now the excuses are gone. I have to blame them on lessons learned. Good lessons. And if I reread the first part of this blog, I was crying when I was 6, so maybe things haven't really changed that much.

Over the years, people have offered different theories for why we cry. I believe them all. It is a cleansing of our psyche, one person told me. It is the truest form of courage, another said. (I'm not sure I understand that one.) And another friend explained that we cry to flush away pain. But of all the explanations, I love my father's the best. When I was a child, he told me that when we get a lump in our throats, it is love solidified in our bodies.

That's what my crying has been all about recently, and all of this year. Not my psyche. Not courage. Not pain. Pure and simple Love.

One Year Ago Today

2008-12-21T20:00:00.000-08:00

It has been a wonderful three weeks in Ohio with my family. Although it is currently 5 degrees, I am truly enjoying sitting here quietly by the fire, watching the snow fall, and reflecting on a long and beautiful year. One year ago today was my first entry into my journal Lymph Notes, sitting in the "Pet Waiting Room" anticipating my first pet scan, and writing about my feelings. This is a portion of the entry:

"I am fighting tears right now. I pray not tears of self pity. I would much rather think of them as an enormous self will to have back my energy and spirit. My spirit. It is my spirit I miss. I can't seem to emotionally handle this wallowing of doubt and not knowing. I have recognized for a long time that there is something wrong with my blood. I have not had the ability to exercise, and sometimes even just standing up makes me light headed.

I must prepare myself for the possibility of cancer.

I continue to glance up at the only other patient in the room. She is also journaling. I want to burst into tears and yet she appears to have such a strong will. Poised and dignified, even with the IV dangling from her arm. Maybe she could loan me a bit of spirit. Possibly she thinks I look confident and poised. What are her thoughts? Uh oh. They have just come to take her away.

Now it is just me and complete total absolute silence. It stirs memories of being in a church confessional waiting for the priest to slide the little door open, or in the womb, waiting for the doctor to slide the little door open. Someone please come help me."

What a difference a year makes. Here I sit once again, one year later, in total silence. I remember that day as if it were today, and yet I am a completely different person because of what 2008 has taught me . . . .

I have learned that there are a lot of good people in this world. How powerful that last line, "Someone please come help me!" From my closest family members to strangers that I have never met, from old friends that I had forgotten to new friends discovered purely because of my illness . . . there are people who sincerely want to love and offer a new spirit. So many came to help me.

I have learned that quiet moments like this one can be the most powerful moments of our lives.

I learned that I have something to say. I started writing again, in a completely different context, but because writing had always been a passion of mine, it has been rewarding for me to use that passion to satisfy a necessary release of internal energy.

I learned that every individual deals with suffering in his or her own way, and that it is absolutely my right to use laughter as my coping tool.

And most of all, I have my spirit back again, thanks to all of you. A new and beautiful spirit.

Happiest of holidays to everyone.

Round On The Ends and Hi in the middle

2008-12-12T14:34:00.000-08:00

When I was in college, a friend and I kept a list of the ugliest and the prettiest words in the English language. Top on our list for ugly were words like stink, sassafras, and cooties. Two of the prettiest words were winter and whisper.

I thought about that this morning as I woke up here in Ohio and we were having a soft (another of our prettiest words) fluffy snowfall. Winter and whisper both came to mind. Snuggled under a big comforter, I was amazed at the peaceful beauty of it.

And then I got up.

I have lived in Texas or California for thirty years. My blood is not used to this 20-degree weather. But I love all the things that go with it, like fireplaces, hot chocolate, sweaters, and soup. So I'm loving the extreme change from West Hollywood.

The other thing that fascinates me is the amount of land occupied by shopping centers and GIANT stores like WalMart and Target. They are like Starbucks out here . . . one on every corner. And you can barely see them because the parking lots are more enormous than the stores.

I know I'm sounding like a stupid city slicker, but it is overwhelmingly shocking and yet so incredibly convenient. When was the last time I had the opportunity to actually walk to a Home Depot?

Right here on my street is a Home Depot, Staples, Michaels, Barnes & Noble, Marshalls, Target, WalMart, Meiers, and of course, a GIANT EAGLE. Also represented is every imaginable food chain. My sister knows I love buffets, so my first night here she took me to Hometown Buffet, which we lovingly refer to as "The Trough."

Being here reminded me of some old jokes about Ohio:

You know you're in Ohio when . . . .

-- You know what's knee high by the fourth of July

-- Every festival is named after a fruit, vegetable, or grain

-- You think the major four food groups are beef, pork, beer, and jello salad

-- You know about cow tipping and possum kicking

-- You only know three spices; salt, pepper, and ketchup

-- National and international news takes up one page in the paper. Sports takes six.

-- The four seasons are Almost Winter, Winter, Still Winter, and Construction

-- You know what a real buckeye is, and you have a recipe for candy ones

-- You can spell names like Cuyahoga, Tuscarawas, and Cincinnati

I'm happy to be here with my family, and more than anything, so thankful to be able to travel again.

Fortune-ately

2008-11-25T11:30:00.000-08:00

I had a great Chinese dinner on Sunday night with a couple of good friends at a local restaurant, and at the end we all got our traditional fortune cookies. "You will receive good news tomorrow." "A surprise visitor will bring good fortune."

I was telling them that many years ago, I was at a large business dinner. When I read my fortune cookie aloud, ("You have a yearning for perfection"), everyone started laughing. I thought they were all telling me that I was not very organized. Turns out everyone thought I said, "You have a urine infection."

So we started thinking Sunday night what a great idea it would be to slip some "misfortunes" into the batch of fortune cookies . . . maybe one in ten.

"Your husband secretly wears your underwear."

"You will lose your left foot in a tragic car accident."

"This meal will give you food poisoning tonight."

"Everyone hates your blog. They just don't tell you."

So many options. So much fun. Ah so.

BOLT

2008-11-19T12:11:00.000-08:00

I was fortunate to be given VIP tickets for the world premiere of Disney's new 3-D animated movie, "BOLT" on Monday night. Seated among the film's stars, John Travolta, Miley Cyrus, and her guests, the Jonas Brothers, I felt so Hollywood cool. If nothing else, I was happy just knowing who they were. I don't exactly have all of their music.

We arrived and walked the red carpet, hardly to be noticed. Miley was getting out of her car just as we entered. The crowd was screaming her name and waving photographs of her, as if she forgot what she looks like? Her song in the movie is rumored to be a nominee for an Oscar.

The movie was excellent. I laughed out loud on several occasions. The after party was exciting with lots of food (mostly in the theme of dog . . . but no Alpo to be seen), crafts and games for the kids, and lots of stars roaming the crowd. I even urinated right next to one of the Jonas's. I can go to my grave with that.

If you have been to a 3-D movie, you know that everyone wears big black glasses. It was so funny to turn around and see the entire crowd looking like Jack Nicholson. If you take the glasses off, everything in the film has a double image. For several hours after the movie, that was my vision. My friend Tim went with me, and he had to read to me all the food signs. I could not even recognize people's faces and I was terrified I was going to walk up to old Disney friends and not know who they were. And try climbing a flight of stairs with a food plate when you're seeing double steps.

Fortunately when I woke up yesterday, all that remained were memories of a fun movie and a fun night. I don't have to go through life with those glasses.

I'm Here, and I'm . . . um . . .

2008-11-17T11:34:00.000-08:00

I have been away from the blog for a few days in an attempt to focus on other projects.

Key word, attempt.

One area that has definitely kept my attention is the rallies that have been flaring up all over California and now across the country. Proposition 8, the state proposition to ban gay marriage which passed on election day, is a

difficult pill to swallow. (And I have swallowed many pills this year.) The struggle for most gay people throughout our lives is a sense of not feeling as good as others. We generally were not athletic stars, and were more "sensitive" than others. Individually, we have always felt that we are different, and as we get older, we have to somehow accept and justify that we ARE different, but still equal to others. The world has just told us that we are not equal. It hurts. It is not hard to understand why there are so many gay teen suicides, and such a high percentage of alcoholism.

A young boy, around 14 years old, interviewed me the night of the elections. He was producing a documentary about Prop 8 for a class project. He was extremely insightful for his age and asked me if I was offended by the mere fact that there was a Prop 8. Then he asked me to say something to the girls and boys his age who were struggling with their sexuality. I was suddenly silent. Fortunately I was with a good friend who has a grown daughter. Since she grew up with a gay father, he told her story of struggle and ridicule.

I have not stopped thinking about that little boy. He was me. But thank God we have progressed enough to discuss it, and that a child his age can produce a documentary to help him deal with it.

As someone who always looks for the positive side, I see the passage of Proposition 8 to ban gay marriage as a chance to bring more attention to the issue than if it were defeated. I would have never written this blog, forcing myself to confront a topic I never talk about publicly. I'm still afraid to do that. How does that help that little boy? That is why I march despite a swollen leg. I personally need to physically release the frustration. We are always peaceful, but always passionate. It is difficult not to hate, but we cannot. We are marching for the cause of love.

The photograph above was in the Los Angeles Times yesterday from Saturday's rally, which drew over 20,000 marchers. I can be seen in the far right bottom corner. Talk about coming out publicly! Unfortunately they did not capture my sign, so I have also included a photograph of it.

I have complete faith that times are changing and we are about to cross over a line in history. One small, fabulous, dancing skip for mankind. Soon these rallies, and the entire issue, will seem as incredulous as women not voting or blacks being forced to the back of the bus. I hope I live to see it.

Q & A

2008-11-05T16:40:00.000-08:00

The election is over. All of our months and months of queries have been solved. What in the world will CNN do now? Probably have several more weeks of reliving the same questions, only now knowing the answers.

While waiting in line at my polling place yesterday, I ran into an old friend who has been going through a tough time. He said he has so many questions about his life's direction. Another friend called last night and said, "I question why the human spirit is so fragile."

So many people with so many questions. Of course we want answers, and need answers, but my question is this . . . don't we also love dwelling in the question? Many questions, such as the one about the human spirit will never be answered. Those are our favorites because we can reside in the "what if's" forever. They make for great discussion and intellectual debate. And our own solutions bring us peace.

A year ago, I was in pain and my legs were swollen. I didn't know why, and I was desperate for an answer. I got my answer and didn't like it. I wanted another answer. But here is the kicker. The true answer is yet to come. Do we really take our questions far enough? What if, one year ago, I would have said, "I wish to God someone would tell me why I am in pain," and then followed it up with, "And will this pain lead to one of the most unbelievable years of my life?" "Will this pain ultimately change the direction of my thinking and my life as I know it?" "Will an African American be elected President next year?" I can't even imagine that I would have had any clue to ask those questions which all would have been a beautiful "Yes."

We need to take our questions which we project to have negative answers and follow them up with unbelievably positive new questions. I love that. Ask any question you want, and then follow it up with three very positive "what if?" answers.

Last night, a big question was presented to the people of California. Do you approve of gay marriage? Their answer was a clear "No." Questions answered lead to far more in depth questions. "Why?" is a good start. The only issues in question are love and equality. So my biggest question is "How can you not believe in those?" And I close my political questions.

My original question was about our natural instinct to enjoy the questions.

Let me rephrase the question . . .

Would I?

2008-11-01T22:38:00.000-07:00

I can't remember the last time we had a thunderstorm in Los Angeles. After weeks of record-breaking heat, it's a welcome change. Rain is very comforting, and ironically, lightening and thunder make it even more so. I think the reality is that God decided to wash the streets (and a few people) after last night's West Hollywood Halloween festival, the largest in the country.

So I made a cup of coffee and decided to flip through my journal from the past year just to see if there might be material for advancing my very early stage of considering a book.

Wow. I wasn't expecting the emotion that came with that. I only got through my writings about the early tests, the diagnosis, and my first chemo treatment. Maybe it's too soon to go back.

As I have tried many times to convey, the emotions are not sad. Each moment, each hour, and each day were filled with so much love and strength and learning. The difficult part for me today is the realization that this was the most powerful year of my life and it's ending. Like a football game, I could have won or lost, but as long as I played with passion and tenacity, it didn't matter. Winning just made it all the sweeter.

How can I convince myself that the game might be over, but the season is just beginning? Why can't I continue that passion? Maybe I've just gone through training and I'm not even in my first game yet.

No matter what I type, it sounds like a bumbling mess. I've got to come up with some way to try to communicate this feeling, and I'll tell you one thing for sure . . . football is not the answer!

Last night in bed, I asked myself the question, if I could repeat this past year, would I? It took lots of thought. One of the blessings of the human mind is that we forget pain and remember joy. I remember waiting for several hours in the emergency room on February 6th, but more vividly, I remember laughing so hard as the nurses danced around my gurney. I remember being sad and lonely in the hospital on the 4th of July, but more than that, I remember the harpist who played "Oh Danny Boy" for me that night.

A harpist, dancing nurses, costumes for chemo, family who visited and cooked and cleaned, friends who called every day, and my head painted like an Easter egg. That's what I remember. Who wouldn't want to repeat all of that? Who wouldn't wish that every year of his life could be filled with such intensity?

So why am I crying right now? It's not at all about sadness. It's all about the beauty of life.

Trust

2008-10-26T17:09:00.000-07:00

I found a small store in Venice (CA, not Italy) last week that sells pins called "Blessing Rings." I bought one to wear around my neck that says, "New Beginning."

All of us question our future, and in this economy, I am certainly not alone in wondering about my immediate future. I have been given a new life and I don't take that lightly. I want to be certain that what I do with it has a purpose to honor my recovery. We all have interruptions in our lives, and if we look back on them, they were usually direct blessings. They often change our direction in a positive way, once we get through the uncertainty.

One of my favorite quotes, by Sandra Watson, is "The real issue is not about whether the door is opening or closing, but how you deal with the hell in the hallway!"

I'm hoping to continue my work in developing seminars which would assist people in discovering new careers and purpose, and I have been working on two or three other projects as well, but it's just a part of the human brain to worry.

I have blogged several times about changing that word "worry" to "trust." Two days after I bought the pin, I flipped it over and on the back, in very small engraved type, it says, "Trust and Believe." You can't stop me . . . I'm taking that as a sign. A sign of what, I don't know, but it's definitely a sign.

There is a great song that I listen to often. (Ignore the fact that is is from the musical "Hairpsray.") Queen Latifah sings the ever-lovin' poop out of it. The title is "I Know Where I'm Going 'Cause I Know Where I've Been." These are some of my favorite lyrics:

There's a light

Burning bright

Showing me the way

There's a cry

In the distance

It's a voice

That comes from deep within

There's a cry

Asking why

I pray the answer's up ahead

'Cause I know where I've been

There's a road

We've been travelin'

Lost so many on the way

But the riches

Will be plenty

Worth the price

We had to pay.

There's a dream

In the future

There's a struggle

We have yet to win

And there's a pride

In my heart

'Cause I know

Where I'm going

And I know where I've been.

There's a road

We must travel

There's a promise

We must make

'Cause the riches

Will be plenty

Worth the risk

And the chances that we take

There's a dream

In the future

There's a struggle

We have yet to win

Use that pride

In our hearts

To lift us up

To tomorrow

I know where I'm going

'Cause Lord knows

I know where I've been

A Quick Smile

2008-10-24T16:21:00.000-07:00

I always love my blogs that have photos. So this time I thought I would include one of my favorites. My brother and sister came to visit a few years ago and I took them to the new Disney Concert Hall downtown. Behind the theater are the Lillian Disney gardens. My favorite part of the gardens is the giant flower water sculpture made entirely out of broken Blue Willow dishes that belonged to Lillian.

Kathy, in all of her sunburned glory, posed comically on the fountain, and when I got the photo back from printing, I saw that Kevin was waving in the background. It still gives me such a chuckle.

Now I stage this same shot every time people come to visit. Click on the photo to get a larger view of the fountain (and the sunburn).

I WAS Happy

2008-10-23T16:30:00.000-07:00

My favorite blogging topic has been "Happiness," what makes us happy, and how do we maintain a certain level of happiness. My friend Reese sent me another link the other day to an article about our favorite subject.

The article, repeated a few basics; happiness is not relative to others' happiness, (We know that the opposite is true. If you base your happiness on others, you'll never be happy), happiness fluctuates, happiness is difficult to measure, age brings more happiness (so why do we regret getting older?), and most of all, you can't teach happiness.

Then the article began to list the categories of people who are the happiest . . . .

1) Women are happier than men. (One mark against me.)

2) Baby Boomers are the unhappiest generation living today. (Oops. Two down.)

3) Those over 65 are the happiest. (I'm not doing so well.)

4) Parents are much happier than those without children. (I'm doomed to sadness.)

5) Purpose makes us happy, like work, religion, or politics. (Doomed. Doomed. Doomed.)

6) Those who lean to the right politically are happier (Super doomed.)

7) Extremists in politics are happy. (I quit. I'm very sad now.)

It concludes that the strongest key to happiness lies within our sense of purpose outside ourselves, like children, volunteerism, or politics.

It also says it is essential that we are content with our lot in life and who we are. I was just fine with that until I read this article!

Hanging Out All Over

2008-10-21T22:40:00.000-07:00

Last night I went to a reading for a new musical. For those of you who have never been to a reading, it is a very early preview of a new piece of theater to get the reaction from an audience. The cast members are generally seated and "reading" the script. There is no stage blocking yet, no sets or lights.

In this instance last night, there was a piano, simple cast movements, basic lighting, and . . . oh yeah . . . the cast was completely naked. You see, the musical was titled "Hanging Out" and was all about nudity, sex, and body image. There were four men and four women, each of whom had nerves of steal as far as I'm concerned. It was a very intimate setting in that there were only 18 of us in the audience. (More than once, I had to distract my eyes so I counted the audience.)

The cast went in and out (pun intended) of different sexual issues, and often had the balls (pun intended) to pretend to be their own genitalia. Other moments were tender and softer (pun intended). (I got a million of 'em! Tip your waiters.)

I applaud the writer/producer in that it was a very entertaining show, once I got over the fact that I was sitting crotch level in front of eight nude adults, ranging in age from about 30 to 60. If ever there was a show with a major distraction, this was it, but once I got beyond the boobies and "tinkle bottoms" (as my parents called them when I was young), I was able to listen to the lyrics and music.

I went with my friend Dan who wrote one of the songs titled, "Does This Song Make My Ass Look Big?" There was a great number depicting Mr. Rogers and his little friend Dick. And my favorite was a gospel choir song dedicated to "St. Viagra."

In Hollywood it is easy to get strong actors, which can make or break a new show. Otherwise a reading can be dreadful. Last night's performance had great singers and funny stand-up (sorry, that's the last pun). You should have seen the fear in the eyes of the audience in Act 2 when they asked for a volunteer. She did a great job and all she had to do was sit in a chair while the men sang to her.

All in all, it was a fun night. On the outside I was distinguished and poised. Inside I giggled like a ten-year-old and was dying to shout, "Look! I see his tinkle bottom!"

Personal Thoughts

2008-10-20T12:23:00.000-07:00

Almost like a faucet that had been turned off, phone messages for me stopped as soon as I got my cancer-free news. It made me feel like I was finally normal again. I was no longer the sick person that everyone felt obligated to call on a regular basis. I don't mean that in a bad way. These were family and friends who genuinely cared and wanted to help me. These were the people that got me through the year. I could not have done it without them. They often validated my feelings and sometimes took my feelings a step further, which proved that they understood.

In my mind, I wonder if people will forever think of me as the guy who had cancer. Will I always be "the sick person?" Maybe because I have been HIV positive for 22 years, I've already been "the sick person." Now I'm "the really sick person." And because of my odd sense of humor, I might even be "the sickest person we know."

And yet after just a couple of weeks, I'm sensing that people are starting to put me back into the normal category. As a therapist might ask, "How does that make you feel, Bill?" Hmm. Good question.

It is a very interesting combination of joy and sadness. I did not like the need to accept help from others. That was difficult. However I learned that friends sincerely want to help and by accepting care, I am allowing them to be good people. I did not like being that guy with cancer wherever I went, and yet I did love the drama of it all, if that makes any sense. In some ways, I liked being bald and different. I liked shocking people who didn't know. Once again, it's that sick humor that I loved. The cancer gave me such great material to be funny.

I liked learning all about cancer and chemotherapy. I loved learning that I could go through it with pride, dignity, and some strange sense of wanting more, just to see how much I could take (and then dramatize). As the emergency room nurse told me, "Write a book and title it 'Bring It On, Bitch!'" Does it make sense that the suffering was worth it to be able to write about it?

I also felt the cancer making me more compassionate by the minute.

I tried very hard throughout the year not to talk about the negatives such as pain, procedures or treatments. No one wants to hear about it, and more than that, I didn't like talking about it unless it was over. I would usually twist it into a funny story. I'm not writing this to make me sound like a saint. There were huge ego motivators bouncing around everywhere. I wanted attention but only under my parameters.

There was a special supplement in the LA Times yesterday about how to treat a loved one with cancer. In my opinion, that's like trying to write a directory on how to treat your spouse, or your parents, or your co-workers. Everyone is completely different. And even more, my mood and my attitude changed so often that my best advice would be to simply listen and treat the person however you feel is appropriate in that moment. You might need to cry, you might need to laugh, or you might need to slap 'em. More than once, I know I needed slapped.

I'm not sure this blog entry has much significance other than a cathartic release of my feelings. We'll just chalk this one up to Baby Bird helping Baby Bird.

A Day At Disneyland

2008-10-16T17:59:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'm happy. I'm happy that I made it through all the traffic from West Hollywood to Anaheim. I'm happy I'm past the lines to get into the theme parks. And I'm really really happy that I'm sitting here eating a funnel cake. I'm not so happy about the little girl sitting next to me with no shirt on who told her father that she wants my funnel cake.

I bought a "park hopper" pass, which gets me into both Disneyland and California Adventure. I'm currently in the middle of "A Bug's Land." The bugs seem to be happy.

I'm rejecting all negative thoughts, like wondering if people are asking, "Why is that creepy old man all alone at Disneyland?" Or asking myself that question. Or asking what happened to Mickey's fifth fingers.

Another family just walked by. Instead of asking about me, the little girl, being carried by her mother, asked, "Why does that girl have her shirt off?" Without a beat, her mother responded, "Because they're white trash, Honey." That made me very happy. Almost spit-up-my-funnel-cake happy.

Having worked for Disney, I know that they go to great lengths to make sure that visitors within the park cannot see anywhere or anything outside the park. I guess a glimpse of the free world (or the freeway) would make them unhappy, reminding them what is to come on the ride home. And that is very much reflected on the giant sign at the entrance which says, "Where elephants fly and time stands still."

I see people posing and laughing with Pluto and Goofy. They never think about the temperature inside one of those costumes. The "cast members" (as Disney calls all employees) are trained to stay in character, be animated, and never speak while in view of the guests, and I feel so sorry for Goofy who just got poked in the eye by a little boy. Goofy will get over it and the little boy will remember this day as long as he lives.

It's now three hours later. My feet aren't so happy. I still have neuropathy in them and they're reminding me of that. I have visited It's A Small World, Toon Town, Tomorrow Land, and Adventure Land. I'm now in the middle of My Dogs Are Barking Land, and heading towards I Need To Get The Hell Out Of Here Land.

It's been a great day. I've cried more than once just watching the faces of little kids. It's so much more rewarding than any ride. And I have learned one more enormous way to be happy . . . watch others be happy.

While working for the company, I got a letter from a mother who's little 5-year-old had a terminal illness and he adored Tigger from Winnie The Pooh. So for our next event, I arranged a meeting with the little boy and Tigger. I cried my eyes out watching him, in his wheelchair, get so excited that he couldn't speak. I was embarrassed that I had taken so much time to organize it, and then one of the executives praised me and said that was the basis of the entire company. It still makes me happy to think about it.

Along The Road

2008-10-14T19:52:00.000-07:00

If you have been reading my blog, you have seen comments from Doc B. He has become a true friend and motivator, even though we have never met. His notes always cheer me up because I know they come from his heart.

Doc B's been holding out on me. Until today, he had not shared one of his favorite poems. I love it because it sums up several months of my thoughts . . .

ALONG THE ROAD

I walked a mile with Pleasure

She chattered all the way,

But left me none the wiser

For all she had to say.

I walked a mile with Sorrow,

And ne'er a word said she.

But oh, the things I learned from her

When Sorrow walked with me!

I've written before about my grandmother and her religious belief that we are all meant to suffer for the souls in Purgatory, (April 8th, "Don't They Have Vicodin In Purgatory?") so I don't necessarily translate the word "Sorrow" in the poem to mean suffering. Rather, in my mind it means challenges or that unexpected turn onto a highway that will reveal it's destination later.

Thank you, Doc B.

On a similar note, I had lunch today with a wonderful new friend who is writing a script about cancer. During her questions, she asked me if there were things I did this year on a whim. Did I ever say, "Oh what the hell, I've got cancer and so I'm going to . . . .?"

On the drive home, I decided I didn't do that enough. So tomorrow I'm going to Disneyland. Just because I can. I have written so much about all the things that make us happy, so I'll sit and write a blog from "The Happiest Place on Earth."

Pump Up The Volume

2008-10-12T16:30:00.000-07:00

This is my second week back at the gym. I should feel great about that. Yeah right. Here I am, skinny, pale, and just coming out of chemo, going to a gym in the middle of West Hollywood during the afternoon hours when all the actors and models are pumping up. I know this is the point in the blog where I should go into a deep and positive lesson about the beauty of what we have inside. To hell with that. I want to look like them!

I try to convince myself that most of these "actors and models" are actually hustlers and out-of-work wanna-be's, but who cares. They look great. I've always said that if you would or could trade places with someone, you have to take the entire person, you can't just take a part of them. OK. I'll still trade.

Many years ago, I wrote a silly little book called, "Gym Shorts." It was one-liners that I overheard at the gym. These are a few of my favorite quotes. The first one was the impetus for the book. I heard it at the water fountain, wrote it down, and decided to start listening for others. So from the stair masters to the hair blasters, here are a few:

"Well he might have gotten so drunk that he threw up all over your sofa, but God love him, he brought a casserole."

"He actually told the salesman he wanted a sexual sofa. The salesman said, 'You mean a sectional sofa.' He said, 'No. I just want an occasional piece in the living room.'"

"She was lying curled up on the floor in a heap at the party, so I kicked her and said, 'Baby Jessica got sympathy, but she was younger, cuter, contorted, and bandaged.'"

"I've got to stop drinking so much Diet Coke. Someone told me yesterday . . . I don't remember who . . . that sacarin makes you forget stuff.'"

"The sign says 'Improper behavior will result in the loss of club privileges.' I thought improper behavior was the only club privilege we had."

(Pointing to a guy doing leg exercises . . . ) "Do I see a dangling participle?" (Answer . . .) "Shut up or I'm gonna misplace your modifier."

"He's not just gaining weight, he's starting his own zip code."

"You should have your portrait done on the decline bench. All your wrinkles disappear."

Sadness

2008-10-09T13:11:00.000-07:00

I have not talked to Eva in several months, but yesterday I felt the desire to write about her. Just a few hours later I received an email that her husband suddenly passed away. My love, my heart, and all of my energy go out to you Eva and your two children. I am in such gratitude for all you have done for me.

Strengths

2008-10-07T16:00:00.000-07:00

I have worked many times over the years with my good friend Eva, a very successful life coach. She was instrumental last year in helping us form NEXT, the seminars to guide older adults to investigate, discover, and create new careers.

When I got sick, Eva thought it was a great time for me to do some investigating of my own. So she sent me a book titled "Strengths Finder 2.0" by Tom Rath. Included with the book is a personal code to go online and take their evaluation test to discover your individual strengths. One of the things I love most about the test is that you have 30 seconds to answer each question, thus only allowing for honest answers.

The jacket of the book says, "All too often, our natural talents go untapped. From the cradle to the cubicle, we devote more time to fixing our shortcomings than to developing our strengths."

After taking the test, I learned that my five biggest strengths (in order) are Empathy, Communication, Positivity, Arranger, and Ideation. Quite blatantly, it is no coincidence that I love blogging. I arrange the ideas to communicate positive thinking, and my primary goal is to help others. And speaking of empathy, I guess it shines a little too brightly in the last blog. I tend to go overboard. I'm one of those bleeding hearts who can't enjoy a party if I see someone standing alone.

Eva couldn't have been more right. The book brought me joy discovering a little more about myself. It made me look back on my career and see exactly where I failed and why, and where I succeeded because of these strengths.

I know self-help books are filling the shelves at bookstores, but this book is an easy one to tackle because you only have to read the five segments that are your strengths. That is, unless you want to see all the strengths you don't have. If so, I have great empathy for you.

A Completely Mindless Blog

2008-10-02T09:17:00.000-07:00

It was 100 degrees in LA yesterday. Too hot to sit at home with no air conditioning, so I went to the Beverly Center to see a movie. Eating in the food court before the movie, I noticed an older man, sitting alone and obviously having trouble swallowing. I felt so sorry for him. And then it occurred to me . . . I am an older man, sitting alone, and having trouble swallowing. About that time, he started talking to himself and I felt much better.

Or did I? He got up four times to get Haagan-Dazs ice cream. That's a lot of ice cream. And yet I know how good that feels when you have mouth sores or can't swallow.

I couldn't stop thinking about him during the movie. He looked like such a sweet old man. He's probably somebody's father, somebody's uncle, somebody's best friend. Why was he at the mall? Why was he dressed up in a suit and tie? Who the hell was he talking to?

I thought about him again on the drive home, I'm writing about him here, and I have come to one conclusion. I need to get a job.

Take Two Chuckles and Call Me in the Morning

2008-09-29T13:05:00.000-07:00

It has been nine months since Dr. Richard Gould said to me, "I'm sorry, but the bone marrow biopsy came back positive for cancer. That means you are in stage 4 of lymphoma." I told him that just like all of life's challenges, this would eventually end up as a huge positive blessing in my life. But of course I was frightened. Frightened of the unknowns such as long term affects, pain, my career, insurance, treatments, support . . . an endless list of things I didn't even know to be frightened about.

Jump ahead very rapidly to nine months later and it's gone. Done. Where did it go so quickly? I now know the answers to the questions I didn't know to ask. Because of that, I want to dedicate a blog to newly diagnosed people. I know that more of you are reading now. More than anything else, had I asked these questions, no one could have told me the exact personal journey that I was about to take. For me, the biggest challenge of all became a commitment to make it like no one else's experience. I made it personal. It takes a bit of adjustment and acceptance, but then my personality and my passions kicked in.

I started to write again. I wrote about everything. I want to look back on this year and remember details. I want to remember exactly what I was thinking on any given day. And by writing, I could see the progression of my thoughts and my attempt to direct them onto positive paths. I took lots of photos. I posed in every wig I could find. I hugged a lot of people in pictures. I put them into three binders filled with artwork and fun colorful drawings. (Notice I avoid the word "scrapbook.") More than anything, I laughed.

When I was beginning my chemo, I had three types of questions . . . those I was afraid to ask fearing the answers, those I didn't know to ask, and those I was embarrassed to ask. I know now that all of them were valid and real, so I want to emphasize that there are no bad questions.

Questions I was afraid to ask:

Will I get really sick? Can I take care of myself or will I need help from others? Will I be able to work at all? Will I probably have to go to the hospital often? How do I tell my family? And of course, will I die?

Questions I didn't know to ask:

What are some of the side affects of the chemo? Are there foods I cannot eat? Foods I should eat? How do we monitor my blood, which is so important for continuing the chemo? What does my insurance not cover? How do I apply for disability if I am eligible?

Questions I was embarrassed to ask:

What is chemotherapy and how is it administered? Will I lose my hair? How will people treat me? Will I get skinny? Will I look like I have cancer? (Mostly all the ego and self image questions.)

There's not enough space here to answer them, and many are personal and individual, so I won't begin. However if there is anyone who would like to discuss them, please contact me. It's why Billy blogs. I can assure you, my answers will lift your spirits.

Your spirit is the best medicine you have.

The Kidses

2008-09-26T11:48:00.000-07:00

Cecelia Ann, Eileen Marie, William Joseph, Kathleen Monica, and Kevin James

Alias, Cece, Leenie Girl, Billy Boy, Peanut, and Kevie

Aren't we adorable? Granted this was 45 years ago, but hey, we're still adorable.

I'm blessed with the best siblings in the world. We have always been very close. One big reason for that is probably because our mother died when we were young; just about exactly when these photos were taken. The twins (Kevin and Kathy) were only 5 years old. Cece, at age 11, took over many of the household responsibilities. Someone said to me recently that I should be thankful in some ways that my mother died because I don't have to deal with all the difficulties that every mother inflicts. I couldn't disagree more. I think of Cece in many ways as a mother, and she is a saint on earth. If I had to, I don't think I could come up with one flaw. (OK, maybe those glasses in the photo.)

There is an old saying that you don't really know someone until you share a vacation or an inheritance with them. I've done both with my siblings and always feel even closer afterwards.

My father buried three wives. (It was difficult finding him dates after that.) He survived his last wife by a year, and died just two years ago. Of course we miss him a lot. He had been both a father and a mother throughout our childhood. He went to Cece's campfire girls' fashion show, and he was the only father in my cub scouts mothers' club. He cooked us pancakes in the morning and almost always brought a topic of discussion to the dinner table.

One topic that came up often was, "tomorrow I want you to come to the dinner table and tell me something that you perceived." I could never distinguish between something I saw and something I perceived. I clearly remember saying once that I perceived the statue of St. Catherine in the hallway at school. "No," Dad said, "You saw that statue. What did you perceive about it?"

"I perceived that she looked confused why she was holding lilies."

"Very good!" Dad exclaimed. I was so proud. Proud enough that I never forgot it. But I still couldn't figure out why I didn't just SEE that St. Catherine was confused. Today I understand it completely. What we see and what we perceive are critical to our personalities. Thanks Dad.

There must have been thousands of moments like that one that I don't remember. They are what made us five "kidses" (as Dad called us) who we are today, and why we are blessed to have each other. At least that's how I perceive it.

Oh Well

2008-09-25T12:23:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, I agreed to help produce a segment of the Los Angeles gay pride parade for an AIDS organization. Our concept was based around giant 12-foot letters on casters spelling L I F E. About two blocks into the parade, the F fell over because it was so top heavy, and it broke into a million pieces.

Everyone enthusiastically wanted to go on, but there was something very wrong about marching in a parade representing an AIDS organization with the word L I E. I quickly made a decision to pull us out of the parade, and I spent the next two hours sitting on the bottom of the L and waiting for a truck to come get us. Mostly I was happy to be out of the parade, but saddened that all that hard work was wasted.

I could make many deep-thought analogies here about "rolling down the street of LIFE," or marching to a different bummer, but I won't go there. Instead, I just want to make the point that sometimes we start out doing things that are very intensely important, and they only end up being a funny story. I call it the "Oh well" syndrome. As an event producer, the "Oh well" syndrome happens often. Best laid plans don't always work. In an event, just like life in general, the one thing you can count on is that something will go wrong. So when it does, let it roll off your shoulders and simply say "Oh well" and move on.

Almost every wedding has a story of something that went wrong. Ironically, that always becomes the best story from the wedding.

"Move on" is a difficult concept for some. They tend to get stuck in the drama of the pain. They talk about it constantly, they sue, they write a book. Not to say that some causes are not worthy of pursuit and extremely justified. I applaud those who fight for an injustice. But wallowing in the misery and agony of something that just happened out of misfortune hurts no one except the person who chooses to be in the pain.

I still like referring to the parade incident as "the F word" because that is the first thing we want to shout when something like that goes wrong. Dragging my cancer back into this (after all, that's what this blog is about), my F fell down and smashed, but so what. This time I'm getting back into the parade of L I F E and I can't wait to start marching again!