The Truth About Christmas

In case you haven't noticed, I tend to be an independent thinker. I don't just go along with popular thought. Even as a Christian, I question everything. So for years I've wished I could go to a church where "the truth" was told about Christmas. And by the truth, I meant the historical facts about its origin as a holiday.

Things like the fact that the Apostles and the First Century church didn't celebrate the birth of Jesus. And the fact that Christmas was created by the Church centuries later in an effort to replace pagan winter solstice festivals that happened around December 25th with a Christian holiday. Many of the traditions that we still use today come from those pagan festivals, like the tree and the Yule log.

Most Christians know by now that Jesus was not born on December 25th. He was born in the spring, during lambing season. That's when the shepherds were out watching their flocks, not in the middle of winter. But if we celebrated his birth in the spring, it would conflict with Easter, the most holy Christian holiday.

So I have no trouble celebrating Christmas at this time of year. December 25th may not be Jesus' birthday, but there's nothing wrong with celebrating his birthday now. And as I approach the end of my first full calendar year with cancer, I realize that the historical facts about the origin of Christmas are not the same thing as the truth about Christmas.

The truth about Christmas is, love is in the air at this time of year. We are reminded of how much we love the people around us, and how much they love us.

The truth about Christmas is, we try harder to be the people we want to be at Christmastime. Though our schedules may be hectic and our nerves may be frayed at times, those hectic schedules and frayed nerves usually happen because we're so busy going to see people we love, or because we're out fighting traffic and crowds buying gifts for those we love. It's the only time of year when most of us expend that much energy on others.

The truth about Christmas is, the music, decorations and lights stir something in us. At least, they do in me. There's a sense of comfort and home in those things. When January comes around, for me, the comfort disappears, and only the cold remains.

There's a generous spirit around this holiday season. People are more giving than at other times of the year. We tend to entertain more, and socialize more. Long neglected relationships are rejoined with a call, a visit, or a card. That's the truth about Christmas.

I am not one who cares much about whether people say "Happy Holidays" or "Merry Christmas." From my point of view, the holidays go from Halloween to New Year's Day. I greet people by whatever holiday is next. Happy Halloween, Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year. But if a retailer wants to save time and ink by lumping them all together into one season, along with other ethnic holidays at this time of year, it doesn't bother me. Because those things have nothing to do with the truth about Christmas. I didn't go to that store to hear the correct greeting. I went to buy something for someone I love.

Of course I believe in the Biblical account of the birth of Jesus. If you follow me on Facebook, you've seen my relentless Bible Blog posts about it. I believe in celebrating his birth at this time of year, whether he was born in December or not. But I think Christians sometimes get a little defensive about this holiday. Yes, we celebrate the birth of Jesus at this time of year, but Christmas is about more than that. It's about family. It's about friends. It's about love and giving. It's about telling our kids that a fat man in a red suit delivers toys to all of the children of the world in one night, for crying out loud! It's about believing in miracles.

Last Christmas was my first with cancer. Now, after more than a year with this disease, after having been diagnosed Stage 4 and being given a prognosis which predicts that I won't be here for many more Christmases, this season has become much more precious. It's true that I've had a hard time getting into the spirit of the season this year, for whatever reason. Or maybe for one very obvious reason. But I'm there now. I'm not letting cancer steal this Christmas.

So to the traditionalist who boycotts stores for saying, "Happy Holidays" or the skeptic who loves to tell people Jesus wasn't really born on Christmas and Santa Claus was made up by the Coca-Cola Company, I say you're missing the point. I used to be that guy, but not anymore. Now I'm here to tell you that Jesus came to bring love into the world, and love is never more clearly on display than it is at Christmastime.

To quote my wife's favorite Christmas movie, Love Actually, love actually is all around at this time of year. Those who believe and those who don't show and bask in that love on and around December 25th, and in so doing, reflect the love that God sent into the world when Jesus was born. That's the truth about Christmas. #waroncancer

Cancer Won't Steal My Christmas

My last post struck a chord with many of my cancer brothers and their loved ones. One comment in a support group rocked me. One guy said that the day he found out he was metastatic, he had to buy new tires for his old car. He remembers what a crisis it was for him to buy tires with a five year warranty. I can relate to that all too well. But another comment, in a different group, from a new friend, put it in perspective.

She said that while she and her husband, who has prostate cancer, are making some changes to deal with the reality of their situation, she also won't let cancer steal her today. She has today with her husband, and she treasures that. Such a beautiful attitude, and one that I need to get better at having myself.

I've been guilty of letting my doubts about my future steal some of my joy for today. My hesitation at buying the LED spiral tree, pictured above, was all about not knowing how many Christmases I'd be able to set it up. But now I realize that it's more important to enjoy it now than worry about that.

Our front lawn slopes to the east, so the tree tilts a little, as does my Christmas mood. But it shines brightly, setting off the rest of our lights, just as I hoped it would. And it lifts my spirits when I look at it, just as I hoped it would.

None of us are promised tomorrow. We're not even promised five minutes from now, for that matter. My prospects may seem more dire than yours, but none of us knows how much time we have on this planet. The point is not to dwell on what might happen in the future, or on past regrets, but to live in the now.

It's true, I don't know how many more Christmases I have left, but neither do you. Neither do any of us. That only makes it more important to enjoy this Christmas. I don't know if I'll have next Christmas, or the one after that, or the one after that. But I'm pretty sure I'll have this Christmas. So I can't let cancer steal it from me.

Little by little, I've been getting in the mood. The arrival of my spiral tree helped, as illogical as that may seem. The opportunity to sing in a dear friend's Christmas choir also helped tremendously. When you've been in and put together as many church Christmas programs as I have, something's missing from Christmas when you drop out completely.

As a long-time choir director, the opportunity to direct the biggest song in the program with my friend singing the solo was such a blessing. I told our friend that I wasn't sure I would ever get to direct a choir again, because I'd have to put the whole thing together. I don't have the energy to do that anymore. I'm done running the show. But she gave me the chance to step in and direct a really fun arrangement of O Holy Night, and my only responsibility was making sure I knew the song well enough to direct it. If you want to see the video, check my Facebook timeline. It's pretty awesome.

And that's not all she did for me. She also let me speak to the choir about my illness, and tell them what a blessing and privilege it was to be part of their choir for a while. After I shared with them, she called on the choir to surround me, lay hands on me and pray for me. She led the prayer, and there's nobody else I'd rather have pray with me. This woman has a direct line to God.

There were two services that morning, and the prayer time happened right before the first service. So I was very emotional during that service. She was always telling the choir to smile, but I didn't smile much in that first service. I was too busy crying. Christmas was starting to come closer for me, and not just on the calendar.

I've finally started listening to Christmas music, but I have yet to watch a Christmas movie. I'm just not there yet. So I guess I'm still letting cancer steal some of my today.

Being a cancer patient consumes our identity if we let it. In a post from last April, What Am I? I said, "Like many, if not most cancer patients, I feel like that's what I am. That's all I am. It's the entire focus of my life. Everything else fades in comparison." I still feel that way, but that attitude can steal our todays.

Living in the now. Because this moment is all any of us have. I believe that when we live in the now, we come close to what Heaven will be. In Eternity, there is no past or future. Time does not exist. Time and space are part of the physical universe, and Heaven is an altogether different plane of existence. In Heaven, there is only an eternal present. An everlasting now. So when we live in the now in this life, rather than letting past hurts, resentments, regrets or mistakes preoccupy us, or letting doubts and worries about the future weigh us down, we experience a taste of Heaven here and now.

So I won't let cancer steal my Christmas. I won't let it steal my today, despite what it might do to my tomorrows. Today I am blessed, and loved, and well on my way to getting in the Christmas spirit. I might even watch a Christmas movie tonight. #waroncancer

The Things You Think Of

Even though I've begun a new treatment that I hope will extend my life, and my last PSA number was encouraging, my prognosis has not changed. Nobody likes it when I go there, but in my head, I can't help but go there all the time. I'm constantly reminded of it by so many things, from the mundane to the meaningful.

I'm reminded of it by the beautiful cross pendants that my wife just learned to make. The picture above is of her first batch. I asked her to start making them, since she makes jewelry, for me to wear and to give away to cancer patients that I feel led to give them to. I love them, but every time I put one on, it's a reminder.

My mortality is a frequent topic of conversation between my wife and me, because we have to be prepared for the day when she won't have me around. Who will troubleshoot the wifi? Who will run my website and ship CD orders, which will hopefully continue long after I'm gone? I've always been the tech guy around here, and if you've been to our house, you know how we have TV and music in just about every room. That's important to me. Now we have to think about simplifying that setup so my wife can run it on her own.

You're probably thinking, "Thanks for the buzzkill, Mark! Merry Christmas to you too!" The truth is, I've had a lot of trouble getting into the Christmas mood this year. I thought maybe it was because of the warm weather we've had until recently, but the weather's cold now, and there's snow on the ground. The decorations are up, so I should be in a festive mood, especially considering the fact that I don't know how many of these I have left. But then, neither do you.

Even with Christmas only a little more than two weeks away, I'm still not feeling it. Could it have anything to do with the fact that my mortality keeps tapping me on the shoulder? Here are a few examples, both mundane and meaningful.

A few years ago, when LED lights started to become popular, I decided to change all of our outside lights to LED, from our porch lights to our outdoor Christmas lights. We had a few incandescent outdoor decorations, but incandescent and LED don't mix well. It's warm light vs cool light. So I threw my old incandescent decorations away and started over, and I've gradually been adding one LED item each of the past few years.

After a few years of adding pieces, I've come close to having the kind of display I want. It's nice, but it needs one more thing to make it complete, at least for me; some kind of centerpiece to go in the middle of the front lawn. What I wanted was an LED spiral tree, since they are collapsible, and don't require much storage space. But for the past several years, LED spiral trees have been hard to find, or very expensive.

Just out of habit, I looked for one this year and found a very affordable one with good reviews on Amazon. Prices are finally starting to come down on those. But I hesitated. In past years, I wouldn't have even thought about making a purchase like that. I wouldn't have asked my wife about it. I would have just done it. But this year, I find myself wondering how many more years I'll be able to put the outside lights up. If I'm able to do that for two more years, I think I'll be doing really well. I know that after I can't put them up anymore, nobody will. So what's the point of adding anything now?

I'm not being morose, just practical. In our financial state, I have no business making frivolous purchases anyway. And in my mind, any purchase needs to be measured against the standard of whether or not it will continue to be useful to my wife when I'm not using it anymore. That mindset kinda puts a damper on my Christmas mood.

I asked my wife about this. I told her how much the spiral tree I found costs, and what I was thinking about making those kinds of purchases, and she said to go ahead and order it. She said if we only enjoy it for a year or two, at least it will make those Christmases more special for me. At least I'll get that much enjoyment out of it. So I ordered it, and it should arrive soon. I can't wait to set it up. I have a feeling that it will start to feel like Christmas for me once it's here, making my outdoor light display complete for the first time since the changeover to LED.

The things you think of. Little reminders that keep cropping up. I was making an online purchase this morning, and the website asked for my credit card information, including my card's expiration date. My current credit card (we only keep one, and pay the balance to zero every month) has an expiration date in 2020. I couldn't help but think that my credit card might have a better expiration date than I do. I might never have to renew this card.

It's December, so a lot of movies are coming out. We've been to a couple, and expect to go to a couple more this month. Every time I go to a movie theater, I see what their senior discount is, and wonder if I'll ever get to use that senior discount. The things you think of.

But every reminder I've had recently has not been mundane. One that happened on Thanksgiving has had great meaning for me. I've been carrying this around since that day, and probably will for the rest of my life. Let me tell you about my Thanksgiving with Gloria.

Gloria is seven years old. She and her sister and their mom are all like family to my wife and me. Chosen family. My wife and I don't live near our families, so we spend our holidays with close friends, which I hear referred to now as "chosen family." I like that term. I love both Gloria and her sister Maxine desperately, but Gloria and I seem to have a special bond. She wanted to sit next to me at the Thanksgiving dinner table. After dinner, she spent a significant amount of time on my lap.

As we sat down to eat, our hosts asked me to say a few words. I said that I had been hearing the term, "chosen family" a lot recently. I told our friends how thankful we are to be part of their chosen family, and to have them be part of ours.

Of course, I brought the latest batch of my dark chocolate ice cream for all of us to try. Gloria loves my ice cream. She wants to know how to make it, but I haven't figured that out for myself yet! We had been discussing with the whole group what the name of the ice cream should be, and Gloria said she knew what it should be. I asked what she thought, and she said, "Chosen Family Chocolate." We all looked at each other and said, "I like that!" I think Gloria may have named my ice cream that day.

Then she said something that broke my heart. We were talking about a memorial garden on our host's property, where the ashes of loved ones and pets are buried. Our dog Ziggy's ashes are buried there. I talked about how Ziggy had always wanted to stay at their place, and now he gets to stay there permanently. Our dear friend Nancy said that her ashes would be buried in that garden one day. I said that I didn't know where I would be. I'll be wherever my wife wants me, I said.

Jokes were passed around about how I'll have no control over that. Nancy suggested that they could keep "a piece of me" to bury in their garden. A portion of my ashes, you understand. They're not gonna bury a finger. I said yes, and I'd also like some of my ashes to nourish my lilac bush in our back yard, which is so precious to me. Still eating her ice cream, Gloria interjected, "And I will cry and cry."

I was floored, and my heart melted. Can a heart break and melt at the same time? Mine did. I immediately asked her mom if Gloria and Maxine knew about my prognosis. I put it in a rather crude way; I asked if they knew that I'm likely to die before they reach middle school. She winced, and said yes, they know. My heart broke a little more.

Last year, we had pretty much this same group over to our house for Thanksgiving. As has been my practice post-cancer, I had a blessing prepared for each person at the table, and I took great joy in speaking them aloud to each one there. Gloria and Maxine were the last ones I spoke to. I told them how special they both are to me. When I spoke to Gloria, she climbed up in my lap and said she wanted to stay with us for a week.

After the individual blessings, I had one more thing to say to these young girls. I told them I had a new goal, and asked them if they wanted to know what it was. With shining eyes, they both said yes. I told them that my new goal was to dance at their weddings. That goal seems out of reach now. I'll be doing well to make elementary school graduation.

I tell that story of last year's Thanksgiving because, based on conversations that Gloria and I had at this year's Thanksgiving, I have no doubt that she remembers what I said. She knows that I'm not likely to achieve my goal of dancing at her wedding. She knows we weren't just referring to the fact that she's a young girl and I'm an old man, so naturally, she will outlive me. She knows that day is probably coming while she's still a child. And she will cry and cry.

I can't get that out of my head. The vision of an inconsolable Gloria stays with me, weeks after Thanksgiving. Maybe that's part of what's stealing my Christmas joy. Even a spiral tree won't chase that image away.

While my last post, which has gotten quite a reaction, shows that I haven't given up, that I'm trying new treatments to try to beat expectations, I'm still reminded at every turn what the most likely outcome is. It's just part of the deal when you're in my shoes.

What Gloria said on Thanksgiving still haunts me. I know she won't be the only one crying. But when she's done crying, she will grow up with the knowledge that I love her very much, and she'll always be able to say that she picked the name for Chosen Family Chocolate Ice Cream. #waroncancer

Tiny Popsicles

This is a post I've been waiting to write for a while now. The process has taken some time to get going, but my new alternative treatment program is underway. It's a concentrated cannabis oil called Full Extract Cannabis Oil, or FECO for short. For my type of cancer, it's taken in suppository form. Let the jokes begin.

I know there are some who are troubled by the idea of medical marijuana, or scoff at it, or just disagree with it. I hope you'll hear me out. Trust me, there's nothing recreational about this. Does the picture above look recreational to you? This is not something I ever thought I'd like to do for fun. And I'm not. This is how it's done, apparently.

FECO is a purer version of Rick Simpson Oil. If you haven't heard of Rick Simpson Oil, there's lots to find out about Rick Simpson and his oil on the Google machine. He says he cured his own skin cancer by soaking a bandage in the oil and covering his skin cancer with the bandage. He intentionally made his oil easy to make at home, and has given away, but never sold his oil to thousands of patients. There are many reports of people cured of their cancer using Rick Simpson Oil.

I don't make mine at home. I have what the state of Colorado calls a caregiver. He grows the plants that are needed to make my medicine. He makes the oil, and gets it to me. He's been my caregiver since I was diagnosed. Under his care, I completed a 120 day program of Rick Simpson Oil early on in my journey. I took it orally, in capsule form. 1,000 milligrams per day for 120 days. Boy, did it make me stupid. I couldn't do that again, because it impaired me so much.

The first step was getting my medical marijuana card renewed. For that, you don't go to your primary care doctor. You go to a doctor who specializes in that. My caregiver found one who took appointments and I met him at the clinic.

I don't know what I was expecting. Maybe a Rastafarian with a twenty dollar online degree, or a burnout in a shabby storefront who can't believe this is what his practice has come to. Instead, this clinic was in a newly gentrified part of the city, in a nice old building with a welcoming feel to it. The staff were all very friendly, including the doctor, a man I'd estimate to be in his seventies.

My caregiver was there with me. He was getting his own card renewed. The doctor saw us together. He asked me what my stage was. I told him it was stage 4. He said he didn't like to hear that number. I didn't either! I showed him my latest bone scan to prove my condition. It turned out that he and my caregiver were from the same area of New Jersey, so they chatted a bit about that. It was a very friendly exchange.

The doctor came across as very enthusiastic about the benefits of medical cannabis. This is not some cynic doing it for the money. He's in it because he believes in it. He told me that, in a case like mine, he hasn't seen a cure, but he has seen extension of life and help with pain. I'll take both of those. He signed both of our licenses, and we were all set for the next year.

As I said above, the recommended way of taking FECO for prostate cancer is in suppository form. The suppository releases right next to the prostate. If properly inserted, there is very little, if any sensation of being high. Both of these are important factors for me. I want it to be concentrated in the prostate area, and I don't want to take time off being impaired from medical marijuana any more than I want to take time off to do chemo.

Without going into a botany lesson, the two best known parts of the cannabis plant to have medicinal value are CBD and THC. THC is the ingredient that gets you high. CBD has most of the medical benefits, I think, including pain relief. But it's THC, when used in combination with CBD, that has been shown to kill cancer.

The dosage level is high. To reach what's called the therapeutic level for cancer, 1,000 milligrams of THC are needed per day for 90 days. Let's put that in perspective. Unless you're a heavy pot user, a ten milligram edible is as strong as you'd want. Especially if you are a tourist here trying it for the first time. And the pot tourists are legion here. But I'm supposed to take a thousand milligrams? Every day? Not possible. Been there, done that. Was too stoned to buy the T-shirt. This time around, I have too much to do.

I joined a couple of cannabis for cancer groups on Facebook, and learned that the most effective way of taking it for prostate cancer is also the least impairing way. As a suppository. So I decided to pursue that as an alternative treatment.

My caregiver showed me what to do. He ordered the molds and gave them to me. Also the syringe and the jar for the oil. The oil is 25% strength, almost 100% THC, with coconut oil as a carrier. I draw the oil with the syringe and inject it into the molds. Coconut oil mixed with FECO isn't solid enough at room temperature for this purpose. It has to be frozen. Yes, friends, we're talking about putting tiny popsicles up you know where.

When I was a kid, when the ice cream truck drove by, one of my favorites was a sherbet treat called Pushups. Anyone remember Pushups? This gives Pushups a whole new meaning. I won't get too graphic, but like handling ice cream with your fingers, these frozen treats melt fast, so your aim had better be good. Mine was not so good this morning, but it's getting better.

I want to be careful about the gross out factor here, so I won't go into detail about how it's done. But there is a specific way to do it to insure that you don't hit a vein and get uncomfortably high for hours, if not days. I wear a glove, of course. Afterwards I have to sit still for about fifteen or twenty minutes and allow it to absorb. Don't want to lose any oil.

I do this twice a day, morning and evening. I rarely feel any sensation of being high from it. Even when I do, it's very mild. I'm able to work and function normally. It doesn't impair me. It does help me sleep, though.

My caregiver gave me two sizes of molds. The ones I'm using now are around 350 milligrams. That's why I have to be careful. If I hit that vein with a 350 milligram dose all at once, I will be very uncomfortable for a day or two. Once those are used up, I graduate to some 500 milligram molds he also provided, which I'll also take twice a day. That's the target dosage to kill cancer, remember. The therapeutic level. 1,000 milligrams, or one gram per day. But taken that way, I don't think it will be any problem after having done 700 milligrams a day for a few weeks.

My caregiver has a concern about this approach. He says if I don't feel high from it, it means that no THC is reaching my bloodstream, where the cancer is spreading. I think he may have a point. I've asked about this in a cannabis for cancer support group, and so far, the responses have agreed with my caregiver. Suppositories are good for localized cancer confined to the prostate, but once it gets into the bloodstream, it needs to be attacked there.

The oil can be taken orally. I've tried that at times when I don't need to go anywhere, and my work is done for the day, so I can afford to be impaired. And to be honest, I like it. It's a very pleasant sensation. Are you going to judge me for that? Are you going to tell me I shouldn't feel high in order to get THC into my bloodstream where it can kill my cancer? I hope not.

I believe that God created this plant for our good. Living here in Colorado, USA, I see the advances in medicine that are being discovered from cannabis. Kids with epilepsy are given a natural treatment with no side effects that really works for them, and it's the only thing that does. People with migraines and other chronic pain are helped. And for those of us with cancer, it helps chemo patients get their appetite back, and helps with pain, including bone pain, which is what I'm trying to put off.

My caregiver also gave me some suppositories that are made with cocoa butter, which is solid at room temperature. He says he's working on making the oil that way. That would be great. I've tried the cocoa butter ones, and they're easier to work with than the popsicles. But then the title of this post would be Cocoa Butter Bullets.

There are plenty of crude details about this, and crude jokes to go with them, but I'll pass on those for this post. If we know each other well, there will be plenty of time for that. But this is no joke. I've informed my oncologist about this, and he has no problem with it. He doubts it will do me any good, but he doesn't think it will do me any harm. One of the great things about cannabis as a medicine is that it has no known interactions with any other medication.

My next PSA test and Lupron shot are scheduled for January. We'll see where my numbers are then. This program goes through the end of February. I hope the combination of this alternative treatment with Lupron and Xtandi will keep me pain free and keep my cancer in check for a long time. And there are other treatments to explore as well. Normally, I'd be a "one-thing-at-a-time" kind of guy. Let's just try one treatment at a time so we know what works. But I don't think I have time for that anymore. It's time to start throwing stuff at the wall.

I've promised to be as candid and open about my treatment and its effects as I can be, so I can't leave this out. If it works for me, I want you to know that. If it doesn't, I want you to know that too. As it goes along, I'll let you know how it's affecting me and my ability to do the things that are important to me. As in other areas where you may disagree with me, I hope you'll respect my choices.

One thing I can testify to. I feel no indication from God that I shouldn't be doing this. If you've read this blog from the beginning, you know that when I was declined for disability, I felt the Holy Spirit very clearly indicate to me that I should not appeal, but trust him. We did that, and he has been faithful. I believe that, if I were doing something wrong now, he would let me know. If anything, I feel closer to him than ever before.

I'm not able to travel to other parts of the world for treatment like some do, but I'm blessed to live in a place that many people relocate to just to have access to this medicine that in many cases is the only thing that helps them, or a loved one, or their kids.

Call me an old hippie. Guilty as charged. I do like tie dye and Pink Floyd. But if all I wanted to do was get high, I wouldn't be doing it this way. #waroncancer

Done Running The Show

For my whole adult life, whatever I was involved in, I always wanted to run the show. But cancer changed all of that. Now I have no desire to be the one in charge, the one who's organizing everything and making sure it all comes together. I'm done running the show.

I've wanted to run the show for most of the things I've been part of, especially musically. Many of the bands I've been in have been formed to do my original songs. I've been a sideman too, and had a gig as a backup singer in a country band for three years, along with my years as a wedding band singer. I was never the band leader for those gigs, and was happy not to be. But I've never been in a collaborative original music band. Every original band I've been in, I was in charge. We did my songs, arrangements, and parodies.

I've enjoyed singing in every choir I've been in, but in each one, what I really wanted to do was direct. I have directed many choirs. Choir directing has been one of my great musical passions over the years. But the last thing I want to do now is try to put a choir together and put on a Christmas concert. Not happening. I'm too tired.

Ditto for every church music program I've been involved in. For most of my life, I was a volunteer. I wasn't in charge. But eventually, that became an itch that needed to be scratched as well. I finally got the chance to lead from 2011 to 2015. I got to decide what songs we did, how the service would go, what the PowerPoint would look like, who was in the band, and all the rest. Basically everything but the sermon. I got to do it in my own style, the way I thought it should be done. But now, when I go to church, that's the furthest thing from my mind.

That's been the case in the studio as well, but since I'm the producer, and it's my studio, that's to be expected. But I'm even losing my desire to do that. I have one more CD project to produce. One more show to run. Then I'm done. I'm looking forward to capping off that part of my career, but it makes me tired just thinking about it. I'm looking forward to moving on to what's next.

I've been talking in this blog for weeks about my final big performance. It may seem ironic that I'm saying all of this after having just shared the videos of that concert on Facebook for the past two days, but for me, the two go hand in hand. The video of the full concert, and videos of each individual song, are on YouTube now. For anyone who reads this blog, but isn't on Facebook, here is the full concert video. It's an hour and 24 minutes long, so watch it later, or please come back!

That was one of the most difficult shows I've ever attempted to run, and not just because of cancer treatment. If you watch the video, you see how many people were involved. There were a lot of schedules that had to be juggled. The set was so long, I had to break rehearsals up into halves that rehearsed at separate times. Four rehearsals for each half were originally planned. We ended up rehearsing the first half three times, and the second half only two and a half times. And I wasn't there for one of the two full rehearsals because I was sick. I cancelled another simply because I was having a bad day and just couldn't do it. It came off remarkably well considering all of that - and adding a case of bronchitis on top of it - but it made me realize that I'm done trying to herd that many cats. I'm done running the show.

I went into the planning of that show fully intending to do another big one next year. After this performance, I realize that's not in the cards. It's not that I've lost the love of performing. It's that I've lost my desire to do all of the work that goes into it. And it is a tremendous amount of work. Even a standard 25 minute set for this same event next year is too much if I'm in charge. If someone else has a song or two in their set that they want me to sing, and they'll make it easy for me, we can talk. But I'm no longer motivated to put together sets of my own anymore. That itch was scratched very well this year.

You see, I'm retiring from music. Except for my work with the kids, my weekly song parody service for my two remaining radio clients, and my one last CD project, which will be finished in early 2017, I'm ready to step out of the spotlight. I don't have the energy or the desire to stay in it anymore. I have other priorities now. God is leading me down a different path, and I'm fine with that. Better than fine, actually. I'm excited.

My fellow musicians and friends look at me like I have two heads when I say this is it. How can I just lay down my main passion in life with no regrets? Surely I'll change my mind. Sorry, but I don't think so. My mind has already been changed. So has my heart. I have new passions, and I'm anxious to pursue them.

I have a story to keep telling. I intend to start putting it into book form soon. My wife and I have a 40th anniversary celebration to plan. But my wife will run that show! And I have a dark chocolate ice cream empire to build. But first, I have to get the recipe right.

I no longer have any desire to be the one directing the music in church, but what I love to do now is speak. From proposing toasts and pronouncing blessings to officiating weddings, I love to share from my heart what God has placed there. I got a brief opportunity to do that in church last Sunday.

As you may know, last Sunday was the first Sunday of Advent. The first candle of the season, which symbolizes hope, is lit. My wife and I were asked to light the candle, read a verse of scripture, and say a few words. My wife took care of the candle lighting while I read a verse of scripture and shared for about five minutes on the subject of hope. I talked about what gives me hope, and where my hope is placed. Most of what I said was taken from this blog. I closed with another verse of scripture and a prayer. The "speech," if you want to call it that, was planned ahead of time, but the prayer was totally off the cuff. I don't like read or rehearsed prayers. I'd much rather just pray in the moment, and that's what I did.

I think that five minute talk in church last Sunday was as meaningful for me as the concert was a week prior. And it took a whole lot less preparation and stress. But that's not the point. It felt like the future. The concert felt like the past. This whole process feels like one outlet, one ministry is ending, and another is beginning. I don't think this one will last 28 years, but I'll take whatever I can get.

Part of what made last Sunday so meaningful for me was that I was just a small part of the service. I could still worship. I didn't have a job to do while others worshiped. I just got up and said my piece when the pastor called me up. I didn't have to run the show.

I don't have to put a choir together, schedule rehearsals, and herd a million cats to make sure my church has a great Christmas program this year. But our closest friend is giving me a great gift this Christmas. I'm singing in her Christmas choir, and she asked me to direct one of the songs. A big arrangement of O Holy Night that she sings the solo on, (she's the best singer I know) and a really fun song to direct. I don't have to run the show. I don't have to make sure everybody knows their part. I just get to step up when it's my turn and direct the biggest song in the program. I couldn't be more excited. What God takes away with his right hand, he gives back with his left.

If, after watching my concert video or having seen me perform or lead worship over the years, you're disappointed that I'm hanging it up, if you're finding it hard to understand why I'd stop doing something I obviously love so much, I can only say this. Hormone treatment is making me weaker all the time. But more than that, cancer has changed my priorities and passions. I'm not the guy I used to be.

Months ago, when I was having a hard time getting past some psychological blockage and getting back into a musical head space so I could get work done, I said that it felt like a page had turned, and I had to keep going back and rereading what I'd already read. I still feel that way now. But I'm closer to finally being able to turn that page for good and move on. I have a new path to walk, and I can't wait to get started. I still have much to do, not the least of which is rest and focus on treatment. So no more big musical performances for me. I'm done running the show. #waroncancer

What I'm Thankful For

My heart is full today. I am so blessed that I can't let this day go by without telling you what I'm thankful for. It's a long list, which I know won't surprise anyone. I'll try to consolidate it as much as I can.

If you follow me on Facebook, you've seen shares of posts from last year at this time where I count my blessings, and talk about being thankful, not just in the bad times, but for them. Since I wrote those posts a year ago, much has happened. Most of it has been well documented in this blog. And over the past year, my gratitude has only increased.

To start with, I'm thankful for the opportunity I got to perform this past Sunday. I wrote about it on Facebook, but in case you didn't see it, it was a wonderful night. It went very well, especially considering how little rehearsal we had on much of the program. I felt very loved, supported, and validated. Friends came from near and far, and I got to perform some songs that I've wanted to perform for a very long time. I'm thankful for the friends who put in many hours of practice and rehearsal time to put this concert on with me. You all rock!

There was a three camera shoot of the concert, and the video will be up on YouTube very soon. I'm thankful to have such a cool document of that event. I'll cherish that video for the rest of my life.

I "went there" with the audience at the show. I explained to them why I felt the need to do an extra long set of "bucket list" songs. I told them about my disease and my prognosis. Things don't often get that quiet in a bar, but you could have heard a pin drop. I'm happy to report that I did not cry. But a few other people did.

I also got to perform with my friend Todd and some of the kids I help to coach Sunday night. I'm very thankful for the opportunity to work with them. It means a great deal to me.

I'm thankful that I don't feel any pain from my cancer yet. I still feel relatively normal, and that enables me to do the things I love to do. I am weak, and have little endurance, but I'm not incapacitated like many of my brothers are. That day is probably coming, but it isn't here yet, and for that, I am thankful.

I'm thankful for Xtandi, which is keeping my PSA number down, and by so doing, keeping my cancer under control, at least for now. And in case we need to be reminded, now is all we have. None of us are promised tomorrow, or even five minutes from now. I think gratitude and peace happen when we live in the now, rather than worry about tomorrow, or live with regrets about yesterday.

I'm thankful that my treatment is 100% covered. Without that, my prognosis would be much shorter.

I'm thankful to live in the state of Colorado, where the alternative treatment I've just begun is so readily available. My next post will be all about that. It will be titled, "Tiny Popsicles."

I'm thankful for my therapist. She has made a huge difference in my life. I'm in a much better place now than when we began our work several months ago. If you can afford counseling, or have coverage for it, I highly recommend it, especially for my brothers with prostate cancer and their loved ones. There is something about having someone to talk to who doesn't know anyone that you know. It frees you to say exactly what's on your mind, and get to the bottom of why you feel the way you do. I'm still getting there, but I've come a long away in just a short time. My therapist gets the credit for that.

I'm thankful for the supplement 5-HTP, and for the dear friend who turned me on to it. I, in turn, have told others about it, in the support groups I'm part of, in particular. It's helped many of them too. I don't feel like I need it as much anymore, as my body seems to have acclimated to the effects of Lupron after more than a year of injections, and because of the therapy I talked about. But I still take it from time to time when I'm upset, or feel like I'm about to get upset. It's a godsend.

I'm thankful for the friendships I've made in those support groups. Some have become very close. I'm not going to name names, because I don't want to leave anyone out. You know who you are. It's hard for me to imagine my life without you. Our friendship has been an unexpected blessing. It's hard for me to believe we didn't even know each other a year ago. You have made a real difference in my life.

The same goes for new friendships made and deepened in person this past year. Again, you all know who you are. It blows my mind to think that, in some cases, we weren't even friends last Thanksgiving. I don't know how the past year would have gone without you in my life. I'm so grateful that we are friends now.

I can't leave out my longstanding friendships. Most have gotten closer in the past year. Some have been revitalized. Some that were dormant have been restored. All are precious to me. I'm thankful to and for each and every one of you.

Two couples in particular have been a huge lifeline for us, financially. Without you, we wouldn't make it. We are thankful for your friendship and your continued acts of love for us. Thank you. We love you.

My wife and I are also especially thankful for our closest friend, who just moved back here from California. Of all the blessings of the past year, that one ranks right at the top. Our friendship with you is a blessing beyond calculation. And once again, it was completely unexpected a year ago. How can we say thanks enough for a blessing like this? We can't. But we are so grateful you are here. Your mere presence here has turned a light on in our lives. We thank God for you.

I'm thankful for my supportive, Godly family, who have been there for me throughout this ordeal. If not for the upbringing I had, and the prayers and encouragement I get from my family, I'd be in a much worse place than I am now. I'd have a much worse disposition about it, of that I'm sure. The faith that was instilled in me from a young age sustains me now. I don't know how people without a supportive family get through something like this.

I'm thankful for my beautiful, amazing wife. If you know her, you know why. I've said many times over the years that if, God forbid, I ever lost her and had to get married again, it would have to be to someone who never knew her. Any woman who knows her would think, "There's no way I can measure up to that." And she would be right. If you're one of the two or three people on earth who haven't read the blog post I wrote about her, read Counting My Blessings #2: Sharon. Once you read that, you'll know why I'm so thankful for her.

But the relationship that I'm most thankful for is the one I've experienced with God. The theme of this blog from the beginning has been how God has used cancer to wake me up to what's really important; the people in my life, and my relationship with my Creator. God is more real to me now than he's ever been before. My heart has been changed. My attitude has been changed. Everyone who knew me before has seen it. That's a God thing.

We've all heard the expression that God is love. I can testify that it's true. God's very nature is pure love without conditions. From early on after I was diagnosed, God began revealing himself to me. The closer you get to God, the more you realize that God doesn't just feel love for us, or perform acts of love. No, love is what God is. I now see that the love I've received from friends and family is a reflection of his love. All love comes from him. I am eternally grateful for his love, and yours. It's all the same thing, whether you acknowledge it or not. Whether you acknowledge him or not. I'm thankful for love, and for the God from whom all love flows.

Since I went there with the audience Sunday night, I have to go there with you too. None of the above blessings would have happened without cancer. The new friendships, both online and in person, would not exist if it weren't for my cancer. Even my relationships with old friends and family would not be what they are now if it weren't for the fact that I have cancer. Certainly my relationship with God would not be what it is without that.

If not for cancer, I would not have had the opportunity to perform last Sunday to the extent that I did, and whatever I did would not have had as much meaning. I wouldn't be working with those kids, either. And I wouldn't even know what I was missing.

If not for cancer, I wouldn't be writing this blog. I wouldn't have this platform or this ministry. I am thankful for this blog, and for all of you who read it, and support it with likes, shares, and comments. Writing this blog has replaced music as my main passion. I never thought that would be possible, but there it is. I don't regret for one second that last Sunday night's performance was the last big one that I'll put together myself. I love music, but God is leading me in a different direction now.

So yes, as counter-intuitive as it seems, as wrong as it may sound, I am thankful for my cancer. It has brought untold blessings to me. Yes, there is suffering too, and there will be more. Much more. For me, and for those who love me. But for me, the good has far outweighed the bad. This much love is worth any price.

As a pastor I once had used to say, I'm not done, but I guess I'll quit. I could go on forever, and I almost did, as I'm fond of saying. I know you're not thankful for my cancer, but I am. And I'm thankful for you. For everyone who takes the time to read what I write. Thank you.

So that's what I'm thankful for. As you gather with family and friends today, and consider what you're thankful for, I hope you'll remember that the people in your life are more precious than anything else. And I hope you'll remember that God not only loves you, he is love. Let him reveal himself to you the way he has to me. #waroncancer

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever. (Psalm 118:1)

Steroids Are My Friend

Today is the first day I've felt pretty much normal since I came down with that cold, or bronchitis, or whatever crud it was. This was a tough one to put down. My usual regimen of echinacea, Vitamin C, and sleeping with a vaporizer wasn't going to do the trick in time for my last big public performance this Sunday. It was time to call in the big guns.

I remember how a good friend of mine used to come down with something every year, right before a big production. So he would go to his doctor and get a steroid shot. Fixed him right up so he could get through the hours he'd have to put in. So I called my primary care doctor, and he couldn't see me until sometime next week. That wasn't going to work for me. I wasn't sure what to do, so I called my oncologist's office to ask if they could help me. They not only said they didn't have what I was looking for, but that I should stay away from their offices while I'm sick. Oh yeah, there are chemo patients there, dummy. Can't go there.

The nurse there told me to go to an Urgent Care facility. It was my first time going to one. There's one very close to our house, so it was convenient. The consensus was that I had some kind of bronchitis, though they didn't take a throat culture to make sure. The doctor just wrote me a prescription for a steroid (methylprednisolone) and an antibiotic. I've finished taking the antibiotics, and I have two more steroid pills to take. Beware my 'roid rage. But I feel pretty much at full strength now. I still have a bit of phlegm going on, but my singing voice is back. And not a moment too soon. I have one of the two remaining rehearsals for Sunday's performance today.

Years ago, my wife had to take Prednisone for something, and gained five pounds in three days. So she stopped taking it immediately! When I started taking mine, she guaranteed that I'd gain weight from it, but I haven't. Not one pound over five days. Don't hate me because I'm beautiful.

I'd feel good about that, except for the probable reason why. It's not just because I'm naturally thin. It's also because cancer is driving my weight back down. It's eating me up one cell at a time, as my nutritionist confirmed a while back. Gaining weight has always been difficult for me, and losing weight very easy. It's been a great advantage for me my whole life until now. It wouldn't be too hard for Gaunt Cancer Guy to make a reappearance. But I won't keep taking steroids to avoid it.

With the coverage I have now, my trip to Urgent care cost me a two dollar copay. Another two dollar copay for the prescriptions. That's it. Under the old system, that would not have been possible for me. That trip to Urgent Care would have been two hundred dollars. I have no idea what the prescriptions would have cost. A few years ago, I probably would have had to call this show off.

When I said in my last post that all I was concerned about was being able to get coverage for my pre-existing condition, that wasn't entirely true. I'm also concerned that I will have to buy insurance from a company that can charge me whatever they want because I'm in their highest risk category. The 100% risk category, as a matter of fact. To me, that would be the same thing as not being able to get insurance at all. Right now, I get a lot of help from the government. I doubt that same amount of help, if any, will be forthcoming next year. I really hope I'm proven wrong.

But in the meantime, I still have coverage now. I got my steroid pills in time to get me right for this performance. I'll still have coverage when it's time for my next Lupron shot in January. Hopefully everything will stay in place for a little while longer. Who knows? By the time things change, it may be a moot point for me. I hope not, but given how my cancer has behaved so far, it could happen.

But I'm not gonna think about that right now. Right now, I'm looking forward to this gig, followed by the holidays. I have a lot to be thankful for, and I want to tell you about it. It's a good day. It's the first day I've woken up in a good mood in a week. It's the first day I've not felt sick in twelve days. I finally feel like myself again. Steroids are my friend. #waroncancer

Personal Consequences

They say that elections have consequences. That's especially true of this one for me personally. I've tried hard to leave politics out of this blog. For one thing, I don't want to lose half of my readers over a political statement. And that's not what this blog is for anyway. So I'll refrain from sharing my views on this election, except in respect to how it could very well affect me and my cancer treatment. I hope not, but if those in leadership starting in January keep their promises, I could be in some serious trouble.

But before I get into that, I should tell you that my cold is getting better. It's settled into a phlegmy cough that's mainly bad at night. My voice isn't back yet, but I expect to be back to full strength, or close to it, by next week. I had an IV treatment of Vitamin C and Zinc on Tuesday, and expected to feel much better yesterday, but I don't think it made any difference. I laid awake coughing for half the night on Tuesday, so yesterday was rough. But I slept much better last night, and feel like I'm on the mend today. My big performance a week from Sunday is still on. Holy smokes, it's a week from Sunday!

I always avoid talking about politics online. I especially hate political posts on Facebook. Followed closely by games and pictures of food! I've always been very interested in politics, but this election has cured me of that. When my wife was looking forward to her retirement, she expressed concern that I'd be watching political coverage all the time while she was at home. She doesn't like the amount of time I've spent on it. I had three daily political talk shows I recorded and watched every day. There was another weekly one I watched almost every week. So I made her a promise. I told her that, after this election, I'd give up politics for good. And I have.

I stopped recording all of those shows, and I relied upon local news Wednesday morning to tell me the outcome. I couldn't even stay up to see the final call. Another thing cancer has taken from me. I've avoided political news since the election, and I have to say, it feels pretty good. I don't miss it.

But the results of this election will have a profound, concrete effect on me and all of my loved ones. I don't mean to be melodramatic when I say what I'm about to say. I'm just stating the facts as I know them, and taking the candidates and elected officials at their word about what they will do. Not for the first or last time, I feel the need to say to my international readers (and how thankful I am that you are here!) that the concept of having to buy insurance coverage for health care will be a foreign concept for you. Literally! But that's the way it is here in the United States for many, if not most of us.

In my last post, I mentioned the fact that, for most of my adult life, as a self-employed musician, I've had no health insurance. That was also true before I became self-employed, because I worked for companies that were too small to provide it. It wasn't until the Affordable Care Act - otherwise known as Obamacare - was implemented in 2014, that I was able to get coverage that we could afford. The next year, I was diagnosed with aggressive, inoperable prostate cancer. But because of the new law, I could not be dropped because of my illness.

Under the ACA, preventative care is free, including yearly checkups. That's how I found out I have cancer, in a regular checkup with blood work, which cost me nothing. That's when they discovered that 15.8 PSA number.

My coverage has changed three times in the last three years, and it's been a bit of a roller coaster - well documented in this blog - but I've had coverage. Under the old system, I would have discovered my high PSA at a local health fair. After paying out of pocket for a biopsy, an MRI and a bone scan, I would have been diagnosed. But I would not have been able to get insurance after being diagnosed with a serious pre-existing condition. A terminal illness.

You all know where I'm going with this. This congress has tried more than 50 times to repeal Obamacare. This coming January, they will have a President who will sign a repeal. They say they will do it within the first 100 days. At that point, I expect to lose the coverage I have.

I know they say there will be a replacement for it, but I doubt that whatever replacement there is will be ready in the first 100 days, or that it will cover people like me the way Obamacare has. It will be a more "free market" approach, which will mean I'll be thrown back onto the individual market. Will there be protections for people with pre-existing conditions? I don't see how that works unless they mandate that everyone buys insurance, the way Obamacare does. You can't force insurance companies to cover sick people unless you give them a lot more new customers at the same time. That was the deal that Obamacare made with the insurance carriers; You have to insure everybody, but all the healthy people will have to buy insurance too.

My treatment costs are high, though not as high as many. My four-month Lupron shot, which is due again in January, costs $1,900. But as you know if you've been reading this blog, Lupron has stopped controlling my cancer. So we needed an add-on to it; Xtandi, which costs $9,000 per month. If I lose coverage early next year, and have to wait for the government to come up with some replacement, nobody is going to pick up that tab in the meantime. We have friends with means who are helping us a lot, but I think that's beyond their reach.

I have many other concerns about the outcome of this election, as many do. But this one is in sharp focus. It's deeply personal, and it's literally a matter of life and death. The alarming rate at which my cancer was advancing has been, for the moment, arrested by Xtandi. If I have to go off of it for even a few months because the cost is too high, all those gains will be lost in a hurry. If I lose coverage permanently, well, you do the math.

I know Obamacare has its problems. I know it's been a hardship for some. I know people that it's been a hardship for. And I really don't want the comments on this post to be a debate on the merits and drawbacks of the ACA. I'm just telling you my story. Once I had no insurance, now I have it. And I'm afraid that I'll lose it soon, and that my life span will be severely shortened because of it, because no company will cover me with aggressive Stage 4 cancer. That's all.

That's as close to a political statement as you'll ever see from me. I'd like to end this post on a more positive note. Earlier, I talked about how I dislike politics on Facebook. A couple of weeks ago, I composed a post that I intended to put on my Facebook timeline, but never did. I think the sentiment of that post would make a good conclusion to this one. Here's part of what I wrote, but never posted:

I never react to or comment on a political post on Facebook, whether I agree or disagree. I'm as political as anyone. Probably more than most. But friendships are ending over this election. I refuse to let that happen. I don't want to lose anyone I love to this crap show. It comes down to this: I love my friends more than I love my belief systems. If we could all get to that point, this world would be a much better place, I think.

Let's love each other more than we love our belief systems, whether they be political, religious, or any other construct. Elections come and go, but people are forever. As Forrest Gump would say, that's all I have to say about that.

Now that I'm done with politics, these words ring true to me all the more. Let's love each other more than we love our belief systems. I am at peace about my mortality. It's up to God to decide if I get more time or less. Who knows, maybe Xtandi was only gonna work for me for a few more months anyway. But I'd like to keep taking it for as long as it works, not just for as long as I can afford to take it.

However this works out, I hope that, in their rush to dismantle the signature achievement of this President that they despise so much, they remember to protect people like me. #waroncancer

Cancer With A Cold

This is the first time I've been sick since I've been sick. I mean, it's the first time I've had a cold or some kind of bug since I was diagnosed with cancer. It's not fun, and it's made worse by the rehearsal schedule I've committed to. In fact, I have to make this post short, or my wife will start telling me to get back in bed.

I've always been able to get over colds quickly, within two or three days. I attribute this to the fact that, for most of my adult life, as a self employed musician, I didn't have health insurance. So I didn't go running to the doctor every time I had a sniffle, and therefore, have not been taking antibiotics my whole life. I really believe that antibiotics, while sometimes necessary, if taken repeatedly over a course of many years, beat down our body's ability to heal itself.

When I would come down with a cold, I've had a regimen for many years that's worked for me. In the 1980's, when I was going to a walk-in clinic when I needed to see a doctor, a physician I saw there advised me to overload on Vitamin C to ward off a cold. He told me to take 1,000 milligrams four times a day. That worked pretty well for me for a period of years, but then I learned about echinacea in the 1990's. Since then, when I feel a cold coming on, or I'm trying to recover from one, I take my 1,000 milligram capsule of Vitamin C (Natural C, never synthetic, with rose hips - who knew roses had hips?) with an eyedropper full of echinacea drops in a glass of water four times a day: Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and before I go to bed. A few days of doing that, plus sleeping with a vaporizer in a closed room when needed, would knock a cold out of me in just a few days, or keep one from gaining a foothold, while my friends who had been taking antibiotics for their whole lives had their coughs and colds hang on for weeks.

But that was before I got cancer. I've wondered since I was diagnosed what would happen if I caught a cold or flu. God forbid I get the flu. That's why I got a flu shot. Will Lupron and Xtandi, by making my body weaker, make the recovery time from a cold longer? Could I get an infection that sends me to the hospital? Is my immune system compromised from hormone treatment?

In my last post, I talked about an upcoming rehearsal, and how important the performance it was for is to me. That rehearsal was last Saturday. If we are Facebook friends, you may have seen a video from it that I posted yesterday morning. I could feel this crud coming on beforehand, but I powered through the rehearsal as best I could. My voice wasn't full strength, but it was good enough to get through this important rehearsal. This one wasn't quite as long as the last, but it still went for five hours. I ended up having to shut it down during a third run-through of the closing medley. After the fifth or sixth run to the Kleenex box in a few minutes, I said, "I gotta call it. The crud's taking over." And since then, it has.

Even when relatively healthy, I'd expect to need a recovery day or two after a rehearsal like that. What I didn't take into account is that the effort to fight off this cold would would fail spectacularly because of having run myself down the way I did. I couldn't go to church yesterday, and I had to cancel a vocal rehearsal tonight because I'm still too sick. I don't want to infect my friends. I'm afraid I may have already done that on Saturday, though I certainly hope not.

I'm better today than I was yesterday. I'm hoping that two days of rest and keeping to my regimen - along with another herbal remedy recommended by a friend - will get me back to full strength in time for the next rehearsal on Wednesday. I also have an appointment set for an IV treatment of Vitamin C and Zinc tomorrow morning. If all these measures don't get me well enough to rehearse two days from now, this final big performance of my career is in jeopardy, as I said in an earlier post.

Last Friday night at dinner, a dear friend told me to take it easy on Saturday. She asked what would happen if I had to cut this performance down or cancel it. I tried to communicate to her how important this is to me, and how I'm willing to pay whatever price is necessary to see it through. If you watch the video of that rehearsal, you can see how much this energizes me. So taking it easy is not an option.

I have a mantra with the kids I'm helping to coach: Practice like you play. Practice with the same intensity and enthusiasm as though you're in front of an audience. Practice like you play, or else you'll end up playing like you practice. That's what I've always done. It's the only way I know how. Like a puppy, I have two speeds: Stop and Go. In a rehearsal for something this precious to me, there is no Take It Easy. There's only Full Speed Ahead.

I'm almost afraid of the advice I'll get from all of you. Slow down. Take care of yourself. Try this cold remedy. I really appreciate that you care, but this is something I have to do. I just wish I didn't have to try to do it with a cold. Or with cancer.

But if not for cancer, I wouldn't be doing this much. That's the irony. It's the Sense Of Urgency that I have now that pushes me. I don't know if I'll be able to do something this big next year. I'll only be weaker, and maybe in pain. As I told my friend on Friday when she asked what would happen if I couldn't go through with this performance, I told her I'd regret it for the rest of my life, however long that is. If I lose a little time on the back end because I pushed myself so hard now, so be it. At least I will have done what I love, and what I was born to do, one last time.

It stinks having a cold, even without cancer. With cancer, it's worse. But hopefully, not that much worse for me. I don't think I'm likely to get an infection that sends me to the hospital, because I haven't had chemo to compromise my immune system. Yet another reason not to do chemo.

I need your prayers now more than ever. I need to kick this thing fast so I can be ready for the next rehearsal, and my last big public performance. Thank you for your continued support and prayers. They are needed, and they are felt. #waroncancer

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

It's been more than a week since I last posted, which is unusual for me, especially lately. But I haven't had that much to tell. Suffice it to say that the past week has been more good than bad. I've had one bad day out of seven, which is pretty much normal for me these days. That's a pretty good average. I shouldn't complain. But as Joe Walsh once said, I can't complain, but sometimes I still do.

I've learned not to write just to make myself feel better, or because a few days have gone by, and I feel like I should keep the ball rolling. Someone told me a while back that the first rule of creative writing is Have Something To Say. Wise words. It's funny, but during my last visit to my oncologist, where he told me the good news about my PSA numbers, he said he didn't need to see me for a few months. He said I should just "live my life." But the past few months have been so rich with news, there's been a lot to say. I told him that I don't mind coming in more often. I almost said I need to keep coming in so I have stuff to write about!

But since I told you what the rest of last week held in store in my last post, I think I should tell you how it went, and what it portends for the future.

Previously, on Mark's Melodrama, I had a rehearsal for my upcoming performance scheduled for Thursday, then a Halloween party with friends on Friday night, which I knew would go late into the night, followed by a rehearsal Saturday morning with the kids I've been helping to coach, dinner here with friends Saturday night, and a gig with the kids on Sunday afternoon. I knew this would test my endurance, and for the most part, I passed the test. Except the whole process started on the wrong foot.

As it turned out, Thursday was my one really bad day last week. For whatever reason, I hardly slept Wednesday night. I've never been good after a bad night's sleep, and the longer I go on hormone treatment, the worse it is for me when I don't sleep well. Lupron makes me weaker every day. I used to be able to power through the day after a bad night's sleep, but that's much more difficult now.

One thing that's kept me from sleeping recently is frequent leg spasms. The muscles in one leg or the other tense up every few seconds. It only happens when I'm lying down, never while standing or sitting, and these spasms make it impossible for me to sleep. I've had this problem infrequently for much of my adult life, but it hasn't happened often enough to seek medical help for it. I just get up for an hour or so, and when I go back to bed, the problem goes away. Except for Wednesday night.

As I laid awake Wednesday night, at about 2:00 AM, I decided to get up for a while in an effort to get my leg spasms to stop. While I was up, I got on my computer and looked at Facebook. When I did, I saw some really bad news from a dear friend and cancer brother. I've become good friends with him and his wife in a support group we both frequent, and I've become very attached to them. So his news hit me very hard. The rest of my night didn't improve after that, and Thursday went sideways for me from that point on.

After about 90 minutes on the computer, I went back to bed. No luck getting back to sleep. My leg kept tensing up every few seconds. I got up Thursday morning having only slept two or three hours at the most. All day I fretted about my friends. I prayed for them, which I do constantly anyway. But last Thursday, my prayers were weak and filled with doubt. I couldn't focus on anything. And I had a rehearsal that night to prepare for.

This upcoming performance has so much material that I've felt the need to break rehearsals up into two sections; The main "bucket list" set, and a mammoth 26 minute medley for the finale. Last Thursday night was supposed to be the first rehearsal for the finale. So I tried to take a nap in the afternoon to make up for lost sleep. I've always been able to nap well, but not that day. When I tried, I had more leg spasms. This time, it was the other leg. Go figure. So I got up after about 90 minutes of trying to nap with no success, just as bad off as I was before, if not worse.

In the end, I had to call off the rehearsal. Only four of them had been scheduled for this gig, and there was no way to make that one up. So now, we're down to three rehearsals for this 26 minute epic.

It's not so much losing that one rehearsal that bothers me. It's wondering if it will happen again. If it does, this whole performance is in jeopardy. All along, I've been looking at this performance as my finale. My swan song. That's why I asked for more time at this annual music festival where sets are normally restricted to 25 minutes because so many people want to play at this event. But because of the fact that my wife and I have been such integral members of this group for a decade now, and because of my condition, allowances have been made for me this year. I'm very grateful for that, and it will kill me if I end up not being able to go through with it because I've had to cancel too many rehearsals when I'm having a bad day.

That experience, coupled with the recovery time I needed from the first rehearsal a week ago last Saturday, makes me realize that this really will be my last big public performance. It will take everything I've got and more to put this one on. Assuming I'm able to make it happen at all. By this time next year, even if I'm not experiencing bone pain, I sincerely doubt that I'll have the energy to put together another big set of my own. If somebody wants me to sing a song or two in their set, maybe we can talk. But I had plans for another huge production for next year as well, and as long as I'm still on hormone treatment, I don't see that happening now. I just don't have the energy for it anymore. Next year will only be worse.

That was my one step back. The good news is, the rest of my weekend was all good. I got a good night's sleep with minimal leg spasms Thursday night. I felt rested on Friday, and for the rest of the weekend. The Halloween party Friday night was great, mainly because it was spent with people that I love very much. We stayed until 11:00 PM, which is very late for us, especially these days. My rehearsal with the kids was at 10:00 AM the next morning, but I was fine. The rehearsal was fun. They always are. I never would have believed how much fulfillment I could get from mentoring young talent, but I do. I love every minute of it.

That night, we hosted friends for a Halloween-themed dinner at our house. It was with the same family in whose home the rehearsals with the kids are held. They are some of a few friends that we've become close to "post-cancer." In one way, our friendship just sort of happened. But in another way, I realize that I've dragged them into my drama, and they came willingly, regardless of how hard my road is on them. Our friendship has been The Gift In The Wound for all of us.

Sunday afternoon, the kids had their gig at a local bar. It was a "Battle Of The Bands" type thing. I got to be onstage with them for a couple of songs. I sang a harmony part on one song, and played organ and sang harmony on another. I'd had a good night's sleep the night before, but even so, you might think I'd run out of gas, considering my schedule the previous few days. But I was energized. I always am in a performance setting. A rehearsal might prove too much for me, but if I feel fairly rested going into a performance, adrenaline will always carry me through it. Sunday was no exception.

As usual, the wrong band won the competition. That often happens in these things. It's actually the norm. Anybody who's ever participated in one can attest to that. But it didn't matter. That wasn't the point. The point was to get these kids some experience in the real world, and that goal was achieved.

I probably shouldn't single anyone out, but I feel moved to say that one of the most exhilarating aspects of this for me is working with a very exciting young singer. This girl can bring the house down at age 17. She did just that on Sunday. I told her afterwards that it's an honor and a privilege for me to be onstage with her, and I meant every word. Over the next year or two, I hope to try to help her become the dominant stage performer I know she can be.

I came home from that show exhausted, but elated. When I look back on that string of four days, it started off very badly, with a major step back for me. But each day thereafter was a good step forward.

One bad day out of seven is a pretty good average. It just stinks that one of those bad days came at the start of a long weekend when I had an important rehearsal scheduled. I hope I can keep to that ratio, at least until my performance on November 20th is over. I really need you to pray that, when a bad day comes, it won't force me to cancel any more rehearsals. It's my own fault that I'm trying to do more than I probably should, but I have to look at it as my last chance to do something big. I need for this to happen, and for it to come off well.

Two steps forward, one step back. Actually, three steps forward, if you take each day of the past weekend into account. At least I'm making some progress. And I'm doing what I love, one last time. #waroncancer