Category: Life Lessons


Since May 5th, there have been 25 mass shootings. In total, 96 injuries and 23 deaths. None made the national news. Yet, between May 5th and now, some have responded that this blog site even went there — as if I sided with one political platform. (That would be pro-gun control.) But unfortunately, I don’t think there’s one unique solution or approach to gun violence. It’s pure fantasy to believe that minimal gun regulation threatens to take away every gun. And, just like we’ve seen across America, it’s an utter fantasy to think arming teachers and abolishing gun-free zones is the reasonable response to gun violence. 

Facts no longer matter. Nor do values shared with politicians advocating prayer. The NRA, and a majority of GOP Republican politicians, never apologize, never back down. God knows that offering prayer to God for something we can impact ourselves is pointless. We’ve done little. So, why should God? 

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Watching the ‘Trump Shit Show’ (i.e., CNN Town Hall) was so ugly it would have to improve to be ranked as awful. “The hatred unleashed in 2016 will take 20 years to correct,” I told a friend some years ago. “It will take at least tens for Americans to figure it out and another ten years to fix it.” Pausing for a moment, “If we figure it out.”

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One of the hardest things about having a life-threatening disease is determining when to tell family. As many of you know, I’ve been hiding Parkinson’s and my cancer for some time, having told roughly nine people. And when you do, the thought of what to say is on the forethought of the brain. “Hey, the weather is going to be great this weekend. Daily high temperatures will be 84 degrees. And, oh, by the way, I have cancer. So, wanna grab a cheeseburger? There’s a great palce down the road?”

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New rule: Never go to a Cancer Doctor at the doctor’s request on Good Friday. Why? The news is unlikely to be ‘good news.’ During my April 4th clinical appointment, my Primary Care Physician recommended a friend whose a Cancer Orthopedic Surgeon. “His office will likely call to schedule you in a couple of weeks. He might be able to assist with pain management. I will forward his office your records this afternoon.” Several weeks later never happened; I received the call April 5th. 

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A day after the Nashville shooting, a young man lay in our hospital intensive. He had been shoot. This kid didn’t make the news. Nobody cared about him. No mother sat bedside weeping between heartbeats. This scene repeats throughout hospitals across America. However, gun deaths are unlikely to shake America’s cult-like devotion toward high-powered assault weapons. Before Nashville, we openly coveted these weapons. Post Nashville, they lust today, and they’ll lust tomorrow. Do we love children as much as weapons? Fuck no. 

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Here are the responses from key Tennessee political representatives.

  • Tennessee Rep. Tim Burchett (R): “It’s a horrible, horrible situation,” Burchett told reporters. “And we’re not gonna fix it. Criminals are gonna be criminals. My daddy fought in the Second World War, fought in the Pacific, fought the Japanese, and he told me … ‘Buddy, if somebody wants to take you out and doesn’t mind losing their life, there’s not a whole heck of a lot you can do about it.”

Burchett voted against a bill expanding gun background in 2021. He was one of 62 Republicans who voted against a bill to support hate crime victims; voted against reauthorizing Violence Against Women Act; and supported efforts to overturn the 2020 election results.

Wow! What a profile in courage.

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The answering machine indicated the presence of a new voice message. “This is Doctor ‘I will perform surgery’ ENT. It’s time to schedule your ear surgery.” The very sound of the receptionist instantly transported me back to late October 2022.

“You don’t have Ménière’s,” the ENT stated. “Whatever you have, it’s more neurological.” However, he believed otosclerosis (a term derived from ‘oto,’ meaning “of the ear,” and ‘sclerosis’, meaning “abnormal hardening of body tissue”) and that surgery could fix that. “I can perform the surgery in April 2023. First, we’ll perform a CAT scan of the ear to ensure there’s nothing else happening; then, we’ll schedule the surgery.” The scan showed no Ménière’s-like damage, and I canceled the surgery. (I’ll give the ENT doctor an ‘A’ for effort.)

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Weird. Just Weird

There’s a moment in everyone’s life when the morning alarm sounds, and you smack the ‘snooze button.’ “Oh God,” we whisper, “Just five minutes more.” That very moment begins another day of weirdness. For instance, I chose to drive to work yesterday. And there’s that weird moment when a white Toyota confused me. At that moment, I lost orientation. Where am I? What am I doing? Where am I going? Why am I here at this spot? What the hell is a white Toyota out here? I couldn’t place my finger on it. Ten minutes later, my brain operated flawlessly. It was weird.

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‘Then what?’

Question: When diagnosed with severe illness, do you fight like hell or walk away (from life)? When faced with the ultimate choice, there may be offers of comfortable, safe, warm places to stay. However, in the end, will you choose the solitude and movement of life or pour a host of chemicals through your body’s veins in hopes of living three, six, or nine months more? There will be a myriad of kindnesses and struggles, each bringing people together and, on occasion, sometimes challenging their commitment to the vision set for themselves. 

To be more visionary, stringing the body to repeated rounds of chemotherapy offers non-joyful, conflicted rounds of clinical togetherness through an endless maze of medical tests. Moments such as these highlight that aging in America makes people invisible. Even in crowded waiting rooms, in the thunderous booms of clanging bedpans, like a salmon swimming upstream against the tide of infirmity, one wanders the solitary existence of medical marvel. Even in such moments, it’s hard for the ship to remain moored, but it’s never wholly undone.

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Cancer is My Job

Bone ache has increased its presence since the last blog post in early February. It makes one weary, and the angel of death suddenly feels more present than ever. It’s not that I am on death’s door. At least not yet. But it’s gnawing its way closer. (At least, that’s how I feel.)

My energy is decreasing. By 7 PM, the bed looks wonderfully beautiful and seduces me with potential dreams of another world. I want to eat, but I cannot. And I hunger for sustenance, but eating makes me nauseous. “Forty-one pounds,” I muttered to myself. “Wow. Forty-one pounds lost since mid-October 2022.”

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