A little punning around with stage 4 cancer: my apologies

My Neuropathy – Sing to the tune of All Apologies by Nirvana

What else cant i eat? No meal is complete
Vegetable shakes no steak? Sugar is my bane
How tired am I today? I think in bed I’ll stay.
I cant feel my feet? My neuropathy

Can’t take sun, Its not fun
In the scan, In the scan
NED?
NEAD?
YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH Yeah.

I am now stage 4, there’s a chemo course
I wish I was stage 3, that’s when I was free
I cant feel my hands, I cant even stand
Can’t think of what to say, chemo brain today

In the sun, I will burn a bright red I will turn
Metastases,
Metastases,
YEAH YEAH Yeah Yeah

YouTube Video of the real song performed by Nirvana

With credit to Nirvana, lyrics via https://www.lyricsondemand.com/n/nirvanalyrics/allapologieslyrics.html

Photo courtesy of: Breast cancer cells dividing. Image: National Cancer Institute

The Impeachment of a Comic and a Lose for Medicinal Laughter

Louis C.K. as a Sacrificial Ram in a spectacle-crazed narcissistic society

I need laughter. A self-prescribed medicine that does me wonders and there are very few comics who leave me in stitches of the good kind; not unlike having “the good kind of breast cancer.” As I write here in California, my healthcare costs rise with the sun, day after day, along with my pulse rate. The expenses to treat my terminal case of incurable cancer continually rise higher as a result of the current stupid administration run by a pussy grabbing, verbally abusive, somehow illegally elected president of a society looking for sacrificial mutton chop to gnaw on publicly. And without the right to a defense by a legal system in short supply of honest practitioners.

Memory strikes at the strangest of times. Thinking back about a dozen years ago, in a corporate building in the heart of Sunnyvale, sitting in my now gone office and executive technology strategist career, I typed up an opinion piece for our blog on customer experience about Louis C.K.. The piece centered on retaining artistic freedom, one brave person at a time, thus creating room for great experiences. Louie controlled his channels of distribution for recordings of his stand up shows and I was elbow deep into intellectual property rights at the time. The days right before Net Neutrality was enacted by the FCC (recently dying a whimpering, bleat of a death in the same public works department at the bequest of our aforementioned president and deceitful grabber of pussy.)

Louis publicly, though not rudely, turned away from the Machine as the Machine continued churning out cookie cutter emoji shit piles of same sounding jokes. Mr. C.K. killed with his brand of self-deprecating humor for us to feel a bit better about our own shame and small mindedness.

This same man is temporarily finished with a career, since he got the hook off stage for masturbating in front of several women. He didn’t cower and deny it. In fact as the proof of his obscene behavior towards the victims became public, we can recall he allowed all of us to peep through a window into this behavior in nearly all of his stand up routines. Comedians absolutely need attention, or they’d pick another career. But attention to alleviate deep melancholic sadness, some with deep depression, and the loneliness of their lives splayed out for us, well…like a Skype call with a guy crying as he masturbates to porn. Our own loneliness is reflected in their very presence by our own entertainment choices; we need to laugh at someone else’s misery. I think my own mortification lies somewhere between public hypocrisy and the bullshit people believe to have come from the real deal, no questions asked. Lest we forget our “elected” POTUS, who himself is a vagina pinching bag o’ wrinkly combed over Dorito dusted testicles.

Yet my ginger headed comic handled the situation as peacefully and thoughtfully as one could, with regret and a promise to listen, not to talk uncensored, open loop and without a self correcting blue pencil, as he enjoyed doing prior to public humiliation. However, I hear no discussion taking place between the sexes, only silence and one way monologues at the bobble heads reporting the now fake media and news.

To listen after a career spent providing some of the neediest of us with soul saving laughter, Louie C.K., approached this situation without denial of his actions and an apparent understanding of his responsibility for the situation. His responsibility is that of anyone who’s viewed from the bottom of the ladder as part of the desirable star making comedy higher ups. It was in these women’s presence, in the glow of their admiration of his comedic power, to hope that by watching his testicular spectacle, it would launch their careers from the bottom of the ladder from which the man himself once hailed.

So now selfishly I, who needs laughter to heal my aching body each night, am punished for his generally unconcerning, sexually self consensual, and slightly weird actions.

Yet, as a woman, even under the influence of two knockout drugs slipped into a drink by an unnamed investment banker who tried to make off with a little of my CEO poon, I said absolutely not. And he didn’t. He wound up with a thousand dollar hotel bill, a very remorseful call to my then fiancée to tell him personally why I was there, and a very embarrassed early departure.

I say to these women – if raising several million dollars to fund a 2,500 person payroll that week wasn’t worth me allowing a disgusting troll to molest me, then you could have slapped your own douchebag and walked out of the room while blowing a whistle then and there. We are free to go, lucky for us, without a hand on us and tell someone or even get psychological help for the man who tried to jack off in your presence as a way to stop it from happening again. Strength lies with those who have courage to speak up, and even do it privately if there’s concern about the future of your own careers. I hope you all made it on your own talents and did not skate upon the frozen pond of masturbational output of a depressed yet entertaining stand up artist and comedy writer.

So many men of vastly more power than his own live in a state of Denial – I believe it may become the next territory of the United States like Puerto Rico. That’s a state where power and greed align like Venus and Mars, along side sexual abuse and the fossil-fueled decay of western civilization. With the pretense of their rights and without understanding of the depth of pain of the words they shared years later and personal corrosion by public influence upon another very insecure man and his family, including his children. Then and now I say these young women’s desires to become the next of the famous, far outweigh the currency they now feel denied of receiving by rising on the heels of the heavyweight comic. His very sad, but not very deplorable actions showed the tears of the proverbial clown. The accusers’ own greediness sits shelved, some set aside with dreams of winning a Golden Globe, a Grammy, aPalm D’Or…

I pay my attention to victims of Harvey Weinstein, Woody Allen, Bill Cosby. I pray for the broken dreams and hearts of those nameless and faceless women who were used and abused by the studio system in the 40s and 50s long forgotten and hardly acknowledged.

Louie knows his own strength, certainly. I don’t know him personally, yet his raw comedy brings up a certain kind of unknown/ known for me. Stand up comics, actors, writers, especially exceedingly talented ones, still put their pants back on just like us simple folk. They screw up, just like us. They jack off, too. Were all of the same stuff, no one better than another, known or unknown. His victims created another victim in a way, because an accuser’s word in the spectacle of public unconsciousness, wields a broad sword attacking a guilty until proven innocent person, like the popular opinion’s power of influence. Influence that provokes anger and raises the temperature of the our citizenry, sparked and already burning up by the fires of philosophical division.

We must now look for a target somewhere or we might just explode a load of our own sputum all over ourselves, rather than a depressive comedian’s T-shirt. How did the case rest without a conviction and with the sacrificial ram leaving the stage with more guilt and shame than what drove him to propose the naughty-ish script? Would anyone venture to guess or to even take his side of the court of majority rules opinion?

Please be my guest and comment below, as it occurs to me I should at least ask you, the unseen others, if I’m going to continue write such self-pleasuring masturbatory blog posts, what you really think. I think too many people are not going to say what we’ve all thought (admit it) – they could have just gotten up and left the situation. It’s not their fault by any stretch of the imagination, but they were not held down, nor were they his hostage. There I said it and I am a woman, too. Y’all thought it but you didn’t say it. I suppose we can now return to the spectacle that is our current POTUS already in progress. Lord, please help us all.

(And, by God, why can’t we all have a Nielsen presidential ratings “impeach” button on our $200 75” plasma TV sets’ remote controllers?)

Holiday Cancer Cheer

There’s no Cocktails that really make it onto my holiday menus since my cancer diagnosis. Those halcyon days of fine wine and creative concoctions are long gone. So the lack of drink kind of makes these dry holiday seasons well…dry. In light of that I thought I might share with you some of my anecdotes about how I handle all the stress and the isolation of cancer and the holidays. I’m taking a bit of a different twist on your usual cancer blog fare.

Perhaps you can take some key points away and infuse your own drinks with some of these interesting ways of handling things that are rather uncomfortable and can be somewhat depressing. I find the holidays carry as much weight as all of the past 12 years of being with my beloved and every stinking holiday season beginning about two weeks before thanksgiving and ending just after New Year’s Eve, when I can finally relax.

After 54 years alive and 1/4 of those with my husband and most of those 12 years with two adolescent growing to teen boys who expected incredibly nice, increasingly costly gifts, here’s some practical as well as some less pedantic, more spiritually-based techniques of handling the cancer holiday blahs.

  1. Learning to deal with bodily functions such as farting in public or knowing every clean bathroom in about a five mile radius from the house. Me: farts in line at the grocery checkout. Clerk: looks at me like this 😑 Me: Looking down, holding out my index finger, as if to scold a dog or a small child, and saying, “bad dog! Oh you know these support animals. I should cut down on his protein shouldn’t I?” Clerk: looks around sees no dog. Rolls eyes and elbows the teenager bagging my beets and ginger and tumeric. Me: Fart again, “bad boy!” looking around embarrassed and hoping silently I’m in range of a clean bathroom. I laugh to myself and muse as to why it has to happen so often at the grocery checkout. I stab the credit card machine with my chip up hoping it’s not declined heaping additional facial redness on top of that brought on by my intestinal eruption embarrassment. This year I am hoping for a few Silent Nights rather than personally sounding like I am playing a one -woman band version of the entire horn section of the college football show at halftime.
  2. Don’t wind up in the hospital. I don’t know if it’s the stress of the holidays or if it’s thinking about the people who haven’t called me or who might call me or who might not call me on the holidays and all the stress that goes along with that and what to say and what they’re going to ask. Perhaps that stress is all just coincidental to becoming ill enough to wind up hospitalized. However, every year this time of year I have been in the hospital for the past four years. I’m hoping that this year the hospital is not in my holiday plans instead of a nice trip elsewhere. I don’t consider the hospital a vacation. Nor that nurses are there to serve my needs and to wait on me hand and foot or to give me facials and massages. Although I wish they would instead of waking me from thin skinned sleep and asking me for my vitals over and over again.
  3. To decorate or not to decorate? Do I have the will to actually put the lights up get a tree haul it home put it up and hope that Craig will be there to help me. And then adorn it with all the decorations that I have collected over the past 12 years for family. I’m not sure that I’m going to do it this year though I did find a very cost effective retailer (Big Lots has 18 feet of white outdoor LED rope lights for $12!). I think I’d rather enjoy the beauty of nature all its own and use the stars as my decorations this year. First it’s a lot cheaper and second it’s a lot more beautiful and I appreciate them all the more every night that I’m out here and it’s not raining.
  4. Getting up before 1 pm to shop for gifts on time and with a bit of meaning for those who will get them. Probably late due to not getting out of the house in time to get to the stores or lack of personal financial resources. Wake up! I yell inside my mind, where no one can hear me but myself. As I reach for my magic rope, one I imagine falls from the ceiling above my bed, generalized bone pain and neuropathy in both arms, I’m prevented from reaching the frayed and knotted jute twisted above me. While the painful tingling in my hands caused by nearly five years of chemical therapies wakes me with a jolt I’ve no problem staying awake.
  5. Lose the guilt. Many days guilty feelings wash over me instead of a restorative shower. I feel guilty for lazing about and wonder if it’s even necessary to feel ashamed. People who count on me know I have morning challenges, or in some cases afternoon challenges. My schedule shifted later and later as we closed in on moving out of our house in San Jose. It’s amazing how much crap people accumulate over 11 years in one home. I realize too that 11 years is the longest span of time I’ve lived in one house. And now I start afresh without the guilt. I have new friends that don’t know me as I was before and therefore don’t have expectations of me as I wants was. They know me now and they like me as I am now. So I intend to drop the guilt this year and also if my friends who live in San Jose or back on the East Coast don’t understand well I suppose they’ll just have to live with that. I won’t live with the guilt anymore that’s for certain.
  6. Listen to more music. Music fills me with joy. I sing many songs I make up on the fly to my cat, Simon. Most of them are lullabies, as he seems to enjoy these most of all. I’m definitely guilty of singing loudly in the car and of course in the house. I also sing in the shower and pretty much everywhere I can. I’ll even sing to the music on the loudspeaker in the grocery store. Hopefully the same clerk who hears me fart does not hear me sing.One of the things that was absent from our lives for about five years while my husband was depressed was music. Music has refilled our house, filled spaces that were left void of sound and reverberates in our ears words and tunes that we both love to listen to. Right now we just listened to that one jimmy our Canadian trio Rush’s Fly by Night and it’s an awesome album. The title song is about leaving the past behind you with life leaving us “no time for hindsight” and that something I also intend to do which is not ditch the music from the past, but…
  7. Leave all of those past things that I can do nothing about behind me. Not making much ado about nothing. That’s something the cancer taught me to do, which is to leave the past where it belongs. In the past. That alleviates a whole lot of guilt (see above number 4) and it also brings me to my next point which is…
  8. Do not hold onto expectations of the future. With cancer you cannot have expectations of the future even if the future is tomorrow. Plans change ljconstantly. My health changes constantly and everything changes constantly around my health. It’s very hard to make plans and keep plans around something that is constantly changing. Life should be like that anyway: a little more spontaneous and a little less planned. But that’s hard to do around the holidays when people want to make plans. Further, when I was forced retirement I really didn’t have to plan my days anymore. I don’t have to live by calendar except to show up at the oncologist and get my chemo and make sure that I get my prescriptions on time. I also have a small business and I do need to ship my items on time but other than that I really don’t have to keep much of a diary. The only real diary I need to keep is a personal diary.
  9. Isolation can be good for writing not for the holidays. I wonder to myself if the reason I don’t hear from people is that they’re wondering if I’m dead or too ill to speak. Or maybe they think I’m in the hospital which I usually am this time of year. Or maybe they don’t want to give excuses for why they haven’t called or called back or texted or texted back. But it’s all OK it really doesn’t bother me all that much because honestly I’ve determined that if he will don’t want to call me I’m not going to pressure them to do so and I’m certainly not going to pressure myself into trying to call them. I don’t get very many cards anymore he used to get quite a lot. But now one or two trickle in maybe a half a dozen for the entire holiday season. Part of this has to do with my husband being depressed for the last five years and part of it has to do with me having cancer for the last five years. His depression comes and goes, stage 4 cancer just comes, and that’s about it.
  10. Live. Just live. And have a peaceful end of this year. I hold out hope. I’ll always have it for myself and for all of you. Go in peace. You deserve it.