>>PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED!<<
Magic Wheel, Chapter 1
I always look on craigslist for bikes.... I only have 3, a mountain bike, a road bike, and a tandem. So I need some more bikes, right? And my nephew Bob would like me to find a nice bike for him, so I always look. Isn't there some saying like 'when you stop looking, you might as well be dead'? Maybe that's for something else...
Anyway, last week on craigslist I ran across an ad for a "Magic Wheel". As you know, there is a sucker born every minute, and I certainly qualify. I googled Magic Wheel and found some very cool videos which proved the MagicWheel is very easy to ride. So I talked the seller down to $35 from $40 and bought it. A real wheeler dealer, I am. Pun totally intended.
What was I thinking? Well, last year when my road biking season was over, I was rollerblading. Excellent exercise and a lot of fun. Problem is finding somewhere with smooth enough pavement / sidewalks. So the genius of the magic wheel is that it EATS THE BUMPS UP, don't you see? Why didn't anybody think of this before? It's a 26" bike wheel that you ride like a scooter. It's a revelation! Watch the videos on youtube, man, this is child's play!
So I met the lady in the Starbucks parking lot in Wheaton. On further review, said Magic Wheel was in excellent condition, hardly even any scratches (there was a clue there, but I missed it). Said her 15 year old son had a riot on it (another clue, he's 15, I'm 15 x 3 and then some, Earth to Steve, Come In, Steve!). I handed over the money and burned rubber before she could change her mind.
Oh yeah, I'm so freakin' smart! All that's left is riding it all over town, impressing everyone with my uncanny balance and suave manner... 'Look at the old man, riding it like he's 15. And that sorry sonofabitch has cancer! If that moron can ride it, I can fly it, to Pittsburgh! I gotta get me some MagicWheel!'
Magic Wheel, Chapter 2 (wherein the author is revealed to be an Idiot and gets His ComeUppance)
There's only one problem with the Magic Wheel: It's UnRideAble! I can't ride it. Julie can't ride it (but, I didn't marry her for her physical prowess. I married her because she looks good in ... Oh, did I start to say that out loud?). Eric (young, hipster, BMXer, Fireman, Man About Town) can't ride it. Noah (13 years old, Fearless MadManOnBike) can't ride it.
We're all in love with it. But none of us can ride it. So I guess the truth is that we're not so much in love with it as we are in love with the -idea of it-. If that makes any sense.
I keep telling myself it will come to me. So far It hasn't. I watch the videos, IT'S SO FREAKIN' EASY. A FREAKIN' GUY RIDES IT ON THE FREAKIN' SIDEWALK, weaving through FREAKIN' people, one hand holding a FREAKIN' ICE CREAM CONE, talkin' on his FREAKIN' CELL PHONE! So, wtf is FREAKIN' wrong with me?
And, all due respect to the seller, I believe she lied about her son riding it. Why? Because it had a grand total of about 2 scratches on the whole thing. In 10 minutes I dumped it about 30 times and put scratches on it every time. It's a mess with scratches. Its scratches have scratches, I tell you.
I can ride a little ways and then lose it and crash. It's not like rollerblades where you fear pinwheeling and falling backwards (with potentially fatal results if you don't wear a helmet). You just jump off when you lose it and grab the handle and pick it up or you just let it go crash.
It's a total bee-otch. I haven't given up but it's a head scratcher. I'm hoping Eric or Noah figure it out and then we'll do the VucanMindMeld.
Maybe it should be called MagicallyMakeYour35DollarsDisappear or MagicRipOff, or something.
Because "Oh-So-Smart-Steve" is being proven to be "Oh-So-Freakin'-Stupid-Man-Child-Who-Will-Never-Grow-Up-Steve". I admit it. I'm a Moron, with a capital M.
**
Saturday past the local HS (Sandwich) had a quarterfinal playoff football game against Mendota. I grew up in Mendota (Trojan Man! Yes, they are the Trojans) but have lived in Sandwich for the last mumble-mumble-and-such years. My kids went through Sandwich schools. We know some people / have some relatives whose kids play for Sandwich. Austin and I had gone to the last playoff game, a last second stunner that Sandwich won with a field goal as time ran out.
So Julie's cousin Jan offered to watch Tessa, and Julie and I went to the game. Austin went too, but his parents weren't Kool enough Kompany so he rode in Bob and Jori's Kar.
And, like many men, I didn't speak of my Trojan past. Unless someone asked.
The game was in Mendota. I hadn't been at a game there in roughly mumble-mumble-and-such years, so it was weird to sit there in that joint again. Weird not to be cheering for the purple and gold but rather the orange and black.
Sandwich dismantled Mendota 42-13, game story HERE. If they can win one more game they'll play for the State Crown the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Knowing some of the people involved and their stories and struggles, I really hope they make it. It's a feel good story on a lot of levels.
Another story HERE.
Go Indians!
**
I'm a mucker, I'm a grinder, I'm a loose puck finder:
I helped my great niece Hallie with her science project and she drew me a cute picture and wrote me a nice note (pret' near made me cry) to thank me and got me a coffee grinder, which I have really been jonesin' for. She brought it over tonight and we brewed a fresh batch of french vanilla (she supplied the beans also).
The fresh ground is every bit as good as I thought it would be. That's livin', baby!
Halz and I enjoyed it very much (she is allowed to drink a little bit and only occasionally as she's just 9.).
**
My father's brother's wife, my Aunt Charlotte, was 92. I got a call from my sister while I was in chemo this afternoon telling me that she died. She had been in an assisted living facility. Her daughter told my sister that after my uncle died, and then when she couldn't golf anymore, her passion for life kind of slipped away.
A couple of years ago we had a family reunion for our immediate family and my mom brought my Aunt Charlotte. We asked if she wanted to play Hillbilly Golf and she jumped right up, even though she had never played before. At 89 years old, in the summer heat and sun, and with a cane to steady her, she played her first game. She even made the winning throw! A gamer right to the end, she was. And 92 is a pretty good run, God bless her.
We'll miss her. All the best to her family.
Her obit is HERE
**
My mom as I've 'blogged, has been having quite a tough time herself. At 86, she's struggling with COPD, post concussion issues and a broken arm, among other things. She just got out of the nursing home on a rehab assignment.
At this point, someone is with her pretty much 24x7. From my mom and dad's families, my mother is the last of the generation, and although she hasn't verbalized that particular thought, I'm sure she's thinking it.
She took the news of her sister in law passing very hard. There's just no way to soften the blow.
My Aunt Charlotte on the left, my mom on the right.
**
Since my diagnosis:
Today I was thinking about how much has transpired since I was diagnosed in June. I had the whole "black period" between discovery, not knowing, diagnosis and prognosis. Then everything changed when we got a very good prognosis.
Then I worried about getting sick. But then I was sooo fortunate not to get very sick. And (so far, knock wood) we've gotten very, very good results with the chemotherapy.
Quite a whirlwind in a very short period of time.
Now I feel like, barring a comeback by the Non Hodgkins Lymphoma, the worst of -this- is over. The nurse was telling me today that I should have minimal side effects because the ritauxin is the least offensive of the chemo drugs and ritauxin is all I'll get in maintenance.
So, that's all good, obviously. But from a personal perspective, the seal has been broken. I'm officially mortal. Even though I've known that I'm mortal since I was old enough to contemplate and understand the concept, staring down the barrel, so to speak, has changed me, I'm sure. Imagining what it will feel like (staring down that barrel) is only theory. Experiencing it is another (very different) thing.
I don't believe that I will ever be "shocked" to hear that I have a medical condition that will end me. I don't believe that contracting another cancer (or having the same cancer come back again), or a heart condition, or having a "grabber" that ends it all while riding my bike would come as any great surprise to me. It will be more of a grudging acceptance, or maybe the thought will occur to me "oh, so -this- is how it ends".
That's not to imply that fear won't be present, I'm sure it will, if I'm conscious. But no shock, no "why me, why now?". That's for young people unfortunate enough to be "called home" early.
I'm not young and it's not early.
I think and hope that I have a new appreciation for life and am able to enjoy every minute of every day in a way I couldn't before.
My good fortune is not lost on me.
But Steve the person is still a work in progress. And I will be until the day I die.
**
There was a guy in a wheelchair today at the cancer center, with oxygen and his faithful wife by his side. He was 71, I think he said. He didn't want to be late for his visiting nurse at home, and so he had to get out of the clinic. "Don't you like it here?" I kidded him. He said he liked it fine, but they were "taking" him, "inch by inch" with so many appointments.
He said the doctors had told him he had 6 months to live, but he had proven them wrong. He said he had outlived the doctors' projections just so he could make his wife miserable. He said she wouldn't know what to do without him, and they both laughed.
SOME PERSPECTIVE, subtitled: THERE BUT FOR THE GRACE OF GOD GO I:
In the waiting area, sometimes you can't help but overhear some of the conversations. Today a lady I would guess was about my age walked up to the desk to talk to the receptionist. The conversation went like this:
"I need the Doctor to write a letter stating that I have terminal cancer. If I don't get the letter my daughter in law will get a reprimand. If the doctor can't or won't write it I will go to my Primary Care Physician and see if he will write it."
This lady was very calm and matter of fact. Her voice didn't reveal any emotion. No anger and no fear. Just very business like. Evidently she's had some time to get her mind around her situation.
What I asked myself at that moment was: What in the hell would I have to complain about?
She got the letter.
**
MY IMMEDIATE FAMILY
Julie, I think, has her mind in a pretty good spot regarding my condition. We both feel good about what modern medicine has done for me and are cautiously optimistic going forward.
Austin always asks me how my port "feels". He calls it my "medicine". He was getting ready for bed tonight and I heard him asking Julie "How's Dad feel?". Sometimes it is easier for him to approach a thorny problem indirectly. I think he was on to the fact that my final regular chemo was in the works. What I think would make him feel good would be for me to get the port removed because it's the only really visible evidence for him that I have a medical issue.
I know I haven't 'blogged hardly at all about my daughter, Tessa. Tessa is 18 and is autistic. Tessa is pretty much oblivious to my condition. Autism is a curse in most ways but maybe in situations like this it's a blessing since she is barely if at all impacted by it. Since my 'blog is about my illness and how it affects me and others, I guess she's been pretty much left out. But it's not because I don't love her dearly, because I do. It's because my illness has not had any visible impact on her.
She is and always will be my baby girl. She can be a handful (autism can be like that) but we love her very much and we get all that and more back from her. She's very affectionate and getting a hug and a kiss from her means the world to me. And believe me, I thought very much about how painful it would be to leave her (and everyone else) behind before I got my (favorable) prognosis. So while I can't say what she thinks, hopefully she's been spared all the drama.
She's got her own little world and she's happy in it. I would like for that to continue regardless of my situation.
**
Oh yeah, my chemo...
The chemo today started late but went well. Everyone there congratulated me and made me feel special because I got through it. Nice bunch of people, very professional and friendly. Can't say enough about them.
Strangely enough I did not see the doctor today.
I'll chart my counts soon.
**
It's 12:28 as I write this and the absinthe is really working... I mean the Prednisone is really working. Not floating but wired. I need to take a sleeping pill and hit the hay.
**
I plan to keep 'blogging on some kind of regular basis. Obviously if "it" is shown to be "back" I will post that here. And PET scan results will show up here, too.
If you have a gmail login you can subscribe to the 'blog and you'll get an email when it gets updated. If you'd prefer for me to send you an email when I update the 'blog I can do that (let me know via email: ninthcole@hotmail.com).
I mention these things because the nature of this thing is that I will probably 'blog at least a little less frequently. But I really do plan on still 'blogging as I often as I feel the need.
THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT. I really appreciate it and it has done my spirits good to know I have so many people supporting me.
&
If anyone knows someone that they think might benefit from talking to me, please let me know. I would be glad to share my experiences if it might help: ninthcole@hotmail.com
My email address is also in my profile.
**
DON'T FORGET TO SCHEDULE YOUR CHECKUP!
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