About Kate

Kate Levin had the office next to mine at C-K. Every day at about the same time I would hear her call her kids. She'd be so loud and happy listening to how their day went. Afterwards on occasion, she would come into my office and we'd talk about our kids, almost never work. C-K was a very political place but Kate stayed away from the drama. She got her work done with a passion and the only other thing she wanted to talk about were kids. You could tell that she was conflicted with what I would imagine many women feel: that is, a need for work and a bigger love for her kids.

Kate was a creative director and so she was sort of my boss. She was also a great writer. She came from New York. You know those really entertaining IBM commercials? Kate did many of them including one of the most famous about Christmas morning. Sometimes she annoyed me because she had this new way of writing headlines that was shorter and with more edge. But she was right. I needed to write shorter and with more edge. 

I became an admirer of hers forever one day when we had layoffs. A friend of mine got the axe. Kate was hard on him in the past so I just assumed that she had a hand in firing him. But she didn't. When she found out, she was really, really crushed and actually tried to stop it after the fact. Kate believed she could get the best out of everyone. Instead of not being fond of this writer, she actually liked him because he worked hard. I realized then that no matter how tough Kate was and how much she stayed away from the drama at work, she really cared about her people. 

And boy was she tough. Advertising is a real man's world. Still is today no matter what you may hear from agency heads. So to get anywhere near Kate's position, she needed thick skin and a steel back because a lot of people would be trying desperately to stab at it. 

Kate died today at just before three pm. She fought cancer for a long, long time. I can't even count how many years, it was that long. And she had it bad. I think I've learned a few things about cancer but I can't even pronounce what she had. I can't even describe it. All I know is it was bad and in a lot of places including her brain for a while. I mean, she came back from having cancer in her brain. How is that for tough?

When I was really in a dark place with my second relapse, I called her. She was going to be the one to understand. And because of where she came, way out of the darkness many times, she was going to be the one to lend me that help up. Like myself, she didn't talk to people much so I talked to her husband Rob and heard her many comments in the background. They both offered to do lunch sometime and repeated that offer the last time I emailed them both. I felt better after talking to them. I wish I feel that way right now. 

Kate leaves behind many memories and two beautiful girls. One plays hockey. Tough like her mother. I hope today, sitting here as McKenna gets ready for bed, Maddie sleeps, my wife watching TV and Conner taking a shower that they know how hard cancer people try to stay alive. I hope someway, somehow, it's Christmas morning to Kate. She deserves nothing less. This disease sucks. 

 

Passing it on.

Once again, I'd like to thank everyone for their support the last couple of weeks. My shingles is still around but definitely manageable. I'm up and about doing a lot of mulching.

It's true from what Todd had said. I had the pleasure of seeing our two kids play baseball together. It's actually very strange to come so far. I met Todd in college our freshman years. Who would think that we'd be so old and normal and watching our own kids play ball against each other. Todd's boy got a hit off Conner. Even though he did, it was an enjoyable and fascinating moment. Conner didn't know until after the game. I didn't want to make him too nervous. 

I go in for more tests in a couple of weeks. From what I can feel, the nodes on my left neck are fusing together. They're small individually but together they form a pretty big lump. A "bulky mass" is starting. I'm not sure what the doc will do. You can see them sticking out of my neck now. I try to wear shirts that cover it up. I don't want the kids staring at it. 

My hair keeps falling out. I'm sick of hats but I really have no choice since the hair is coming out unevenly. I refuse to shave it all off. This is the last I'll probably ever see of my hair so I'd like to keep it around for as long as possible. Even if it is covered by a hat.

I'm really enjoying the days here and hating the nights. I wake up late morning, see Maddie, take about an hour to get used to the world and the weirdness of my body and then get on with it. Usually, Sherri and I do something around the house. Lots of mulch is involved. At night, I have to take the pills and I don't feel too good. Toward the end of the night and into the morning, such as now, it's pretty ugly in my head. 

Tonight I made the mistake of feeling the nodes on my left side. If I don't feel around, I'm okay because I pretend to just have a disease. When I feel around the disease becomes more menacing. I rarely feel around but tonight I did. It's actually a little difficult not feeling it. When I take a shower I just don't wash that part. If there's an itch, I pull on my shirt. I don't even shave in that direction. 

I haven't posted here because quite frankly, nothing new has gone on. But I did really enjoy seeing Todd and wanted to write about it. Sometimes you can spot milestones in your life even while they happen. Most of the time, you probably don't appreciate it for what it is. But then I really did. I have three kids and all are great. They have their own personalities and are good people. A couple of weeks ago, I got to see a friend of mine with his own kid and I can see how we all pass it on. Todd is a really ice person who will do so much for a friend. His son recognized me even though he hadn't seen me in eight years or so. Amazing. 

When I was younger, probably as a freshman in college, I thought life was about so much more. I wanted to change so much. But now I'm okay with changing my world and making my world better. No one person changes the world. Nobody changes a lot. But a lot of people change a little. And then they pass it on. 

Phew. That was close.

If I haven't gotten back to you over the last week or so, I am very sorry. I went on lock down again. Lock down for me has nothing to do with prisons. It's when I get really sick. This time, my shingles came back and I got a cold at the same time. I'm still not exceptionally well but am working on it. At least I think it's a cold. When talking to Dr. O'Connor today, he suddenly became quiet and serious. He told me it's either a respiratory infection or my nodes around my lungs. If it's the nodes around my lungs, well, Sherri might want to start looking for another life mate as I'll be cooked for sure. But I doubt it. I'm coughing up plenty of phlegm and it's not the usual blood brown that accompanies bad cancer phlegm. I think the good doctor is just being cautious. So any way, even being a cold, I was pretty sick. The shingles really knocks me good. I'll get better in the next couple of days. That means Shamus, Pat, Rossi and Kevin Kucharski should be expecting some bothersome contact from me. Also, to Todd's step daughter, thanks for the note. It seems as if Todd hasn't changed much. Which is a good thing. 

Life as an eighty year old

Anne Sexton once wrote, "In a dream, you are never eighty." Or maybe it was Sean Hannity. Anyway, it's great insight. I would also like to apply it to what people think of me. You may remember me as being a really annoying, self-centered forty-something with graying hair. Healthy but still really annoying. In a way that's wonderful. I would love to be thought of like that. 

But that person is gone. Now, I am just me. Some of it is hard to look at. My hair is almost all gone now. What's left is white and ragged. My face looks worn. You can see what I've been through by looking at my expression. It's hard to smile even when I am happy. And I am still happy. Also, I'm very skinny. I struggle to keep up a weight of about 160 pounds. When I started this fight I was about 185-190, depending on whether I had a donut before weigh-in. 

Sherri thinks that some of our relationships with friends and neighbors have suffered. We both think that it's hard for people to handle. What do you say to me? So, how is cancer? We think some people just generally stay clear. 

Of those many kind-hearted people who have asked to come over or to just meet up, I really appreciate it. But keep in mind it's hard for me to say yes. You remember me as an annoying forty-year old. When you see me now, you will only see me. And, on my end, I can track the adjustment you make in your head when you look at me. Your mind goes from, "Wow he's changed." to "Man, he looks bad." to "Hide the fact that I said he looks bad. I think I'm going to hell for thinking that." Once again, it's okay. Even if you don't make that adjustment, I think you have or you will sometime later on. When you're driving away, you'll say, "Geez, he looks like crap." 

Kids aren't so sophisticated. Mostly I see it in Conner's friends, probably because boys, like men, are even less sophisticated than women-folks. An encounter usually goes like this:

Kid and Conner come up to me. Kid is looking down.

Kid says hi to me.

Kid has weird look on his face as he looks at me.

Kid looks scared. He sees a monster or at least something he's never dealt with before.

Conner sees none of this. 

Conner makes a joke or comment.

Kid gets away in a hurry.

I think to myself, "God bless Conner." Either he's accepted the fact that his dad isn't like other dads--strong, somewhat handsome, not so ashen. Or he doesn't see it. Either way, it is to be admired. Some people say I'm strong. Try being a pre-teen and you have to introduce your friends to your dad, the sunken-eyed, ashen-faced circus freak. 

I blame nobody for avoiding me or making a face or anything. It's only cancer's fault. In fact, I'll even give you some tips on how to act with me. I might be different from other people with cancer so only apply this to me.

First, ask me anything. What does it feel like? Can I touch it? Is your poop still backed up? Anything. Since I'm dealing with it 24/7, I have a lot in me and would love to pour some out. Just like my poop.

Second, it's okay if you say I look like shit. I do. You're just being honest. Although some of you would disagree, I never really cared what I looked like as long as I didn't look too much like a dork. Average was fine with me. Got me through college. So I don't feel bad for looking so bad. What I feel bad about centers around my kids and wife. I don't want them to think they live with a Thing. I don't want Conner to hate me for being sick. Many of us admire our dads. It's hard to admire a guy who lays around in a blanket all day.

Third, understand my body changes on a minute to minute basis. I might feel well and then a node tells me he's still there, alive and well. So I have these tics now. Also, I may get tired and cancel out on something at the last minute. It's weird. I hit these walls. One second I'm fine and then wham, I just want to lay and stare.

Fourth, take it easy on my wife and kids. They live with me. It's my wife's birthday today. Every day I wish I could give her a normal husband. But today I had to settle for candy, a gift card and a phone charger. Romantic, right? She is so very strong. She's still singing every day. I feel it now inside of me. 

Finally, don't worry about keeping my spirits up. If you're reading this, you have become for some unknown reason, a friend. I don't know why you befriended me. But you did. Every day I wish for the days when we were both healthy and talked about nothing. Feel free to talk about nothing with me. Don't worry about how I feel. Sometimes I feel like shit. I won't tell you that because I don't see the point in bumming us both out. I want you to feel good. That way one of us can feel good. 

Coming Up For Air

One of my favorite books from one of my favorite authors is, "Down and Out from Paris to London." It's by George Orwell. He literally gave all his money away to live as a bum in Paris and London to really see what it was like. He had to give his money away because he wanted the experience to be genuine. 

The title of this blog isn't from that book. It's from another book Orwell wrote that was really boring. It was so boring I can't even remember what it was about. Still, he was a terrific writer.

I spent the last two months trying to stay alive. I wasn't very well. I didn't know it then. When you're really sick, you don't know it. Only later can you look back and say, "Whew. That was close." The shingles really had me. Plus the treatment exhausted me.

Yesterday I saw my doc in New York to start another round of treatments. He was shocked when I told him what was going on with me. I said I'd wake up around noon and just tried to get one thing done in a day. He nodded and went on to tell me about men. Most men are babies. They can't take pain like women. But some men aren't. To their detriment. Some men will suffer through pain because they are ashamed and/or want to beat the pain. But they shouldn't do that. Doc told me that there are other treatments out there and if I am still having a hard time doing anything during the day then we can switch treatments. I told him that I was just happy to be alive even if I was running at about one third speed. He said that there is a quality of life issue and patients need to decide individually if living at one third speed is better than trying to live life better. He didn't think I should be like this at this point.

The thought was to give my current treatment three more weeks. If I'm still tired and nauseous then we would switch treatments. We might switch anyway. The lumps in my right collar bone have fused together forming one big mass. So the cancer is growing. However, the big issue is how fast it's growing. If it's a lot then I'm off to another drug.

I'm still in a lot of pain and am nauseous and tired but now I have a whole list of even more drugs to counter act these feelings. It's too early to tell if they're working. You'll know by my radio silence if they aren't. In one day I can very easily down close to thirty pills. Let's take an inventory, shall we:

Colace so I can poop

Valtrex so I can get rid of Shingles

Hydrocodone for pain (two times a day)

Aleve for sore nodes (two times a day)

Ritalin for energy (two times a day)

Kytril for nausea (two times a day)

Ativan for nausea

2 pills of Benedryl for the Hodge Itch

12 pills for treatment

4 pills to fight cancer

An anti-acid to help with digestion

How I feel

This used to be a fun house.

But now it's full of evil clowns.

The joys of Shingles

I have Shingles. They say they're painful but to be frank, I really can't tell. My body is already killing me from the chemo and cancer. I've had shooting pains and cramps throughout my body for two years, I really don't believe shingles is going to be that god-awful. 

So instead of looking it this as another setback, I see this as another chance to enjoy some vicodin. It's not every day that you get to bedazzle your brain with some powerful-bad drugs that don't make you puke. In fact, I wrote a poem about it. It goes something like this:

Oh vicadin, you put me in a lovely trance.

Just a small swallow 

And I will wallow

With this sweet, sweet drug romance.