6-16-11

[wilomn]

For as long as I've been a father there has only been one time that I have gone more than a few days without being with my kids. I've gone out of my way to be available. It's what fathers should do. Driving to school, midnight sundaes, taxi service to school functions, soccer games, friends gatherings. I'd do it all again in a heartbeat. It's what fathers should do.

Those rides to school in the morning, especially when you're picking up your child from the ex's was a time we used to communicate, to talk, to bond, to plant the seeds of trust, the value of honesty, the goodness of doing for those who can't do for themselves but, more importantly, it was a time, regular, daily often, that we knew we'd be seeing each other. It was a time that my kids knew they'd have my undivided attention and that we could talk.

They're old enough now, my offspring, that I am no longer needed for Taxi service. I miss those mornings together.

It's been a long day today, the third since I've seen either of them. I can remember only once since their mother thought she could do better and divorced me that I have gone so long without seeing them. We talk several times a day, but as any parent knows it's hardly, not even close to, the same.They've taken over my little business enterprises, had those responsibilities dumped on them, more like. They're young, so young, but manning and womanning up, stepping into my shoes, making sure that responsibilities that are not normally theirs are taken care of. We all knew it was coming, but I am proud of them. They are off to a good start.

I RARELY get melancholy, have yet to be fearful, am not prone to missing people, yet those two, the fruit of my loins, I sorely miss. They'll be here in the next day or two, would have been here already were it not for the shoe filling and the wonderful globs of traffic that are inherent to So. Cal. freeways. Without traffic it's a thirty minute drive from my home to here. With traffic, it can take ninety minutes or more. Each way.

My internal debate about what to throw out there to the world in general has me really on the fence about being so open. I'm not prone to sharing my inner self and let's face it, I'll NEVER meet or know most of those who read my words. I am in new territory. Those who know me from when Fauna was The Wild West know I am not shy and have no problem expressing my opinions, but I never let much out about me personally. Same goes here.

I've almost deleted this post a number of times since I started writing it, still may. But then the multisided die in my head starts rattling about, banging ringing careening through what little grey matter I have, each facet showing a different view of what could be, has been, should be; never still long enough for me to make use of what could be valuable guidance. Glimpses, hints there in plenty but I suppose, no, know, that it's just me who needs to make decisions.

This unease opening and sharing seems to be a constant theme for me. Truly I don't know why I continue. Or I do know why but .....running out of words rarely happens, yet here I am, being all somber and personal and, as is my way, quiet. Quiet but with things to say, a story to tell that my vanity (yup I've got my share and then some) constantly pushes me to continue which, if you know anything about me, though how you could prior to me utilizing this forum the nice folks here at BP.net have given me, escapes me. Opposite of my normal way is a mild understatement. Yet, in the interest of honesty and partly to see just what will happen, often my motivation, sometimes the only one, I put to words the random misfires of my synaptic reflexes.

The chemo is starting to have its affect, I can feel it working inside me, making my chest feel sort of like it's filled with cookie dough in a slow moving blender, twisted folded pulled and mashed, bent into new shapes. New shapes which probably have nothing to do with new thoughts, but may well be vitally important to them.

Tomorrow is cytoxin day, white blood cell murder day, followed a day or two later by the beginning of the stem cell transplant. And still I wonder why my biggest concern is that I haven't seen my kids for three days. Not about the struggle to come, not about the possible outcomes of that struggle though I do think I'll be striding out the other side tired but not even close to beaten, not about a lot of things that, when that die is caroming around the inside of my shiny dome, seem like they should be more ..... important, larger in my thoughts, in my thoughts at all or at least contemplated occasionally.

I know what may happen, what has happened to others in my situation, what should happen. I don't know what will happen. The plain and simple is, no one does. Going by odds alone, I'll be home in three weeks. Factoring the human condition it may be quite a bit longer. Or maybe never. But I really just don't let it bother me, I really don't worry about what I can't do anything about. Sure sure, my attitude is good, seriously, but .... but oh well. Can't fix it by sweating over it.

I get checked for vitals every few hours, all patients do. Get meds two or three times a day, as everyone else here. Get asked a dozen times a day how I feel and every time I honestly answer(is there any other way) that I'm good or OK or well enough. And each time I say it, I mean it. This has me running in circles to catch my own tail. I know how serious this is. I know the stakes. But not standing or laying as the case may be, with my shoulders squared, my eyes open and my will as my shield, is not even an option. This writing of it, the minute or so it's taken my to put thoughts to words is almost literally all the time I've given to thought of it. And there's nothing special about that. Nothing at all. There are little kids here who have no idea that they do that very thing every day.

I don't know. I could write this just for me, and I'd write it just as I am since I am writing it for me, not putting it out there, but the little voice I occasionally mention tells me that this is right despite my ambiguity. What makes it extra difficult is the fact that I do hope that it not only entertains but enlightens.

Even saying that to myself reminds me of that pompass ass who used to try to annoy me here until Skiploder handed him his stupid ass on several occasions. I have no, have never had, any desire to resemble him and his ilk in any way whatsoever. bg syndrome is not pleasant.

But, I DO know stuff. I AM going through something that most who read this never will. It is my sincerest hope that they don't. My strength is being tested and I'm one of the most stubborn people I've ever met. (there it is again, sounding like bragging, but I don't know how to convey these feelings without sounding like a peacock strutting for his hens) Perhaps this is why I am so often quiet. Perhaps, (damn, here it goes again) I can lead by example.

When I do my presentations to kids I often tell the teachers to teach, to lead, by example. I reckon I can't do less even if I don't have actual official students. Maybe it's just all the hours I have to write, hours which were committed to other things for these last many years. Hours which I could not justify spending on the keyboard but have been forced to in order to stave off boredom and bedsores, as a challenge to myself.

I've been dancing around with the thought that if I do this honestly, I can't leave out what I don't like. You can't make chocolate chip cookies with the chips, can't tell a story, relate a tale properly, if you leave out entire chapters.

Heh. Chapters. Stories. Tales. I think I may be becoming a writer.

I had a friend of mine tell me recently that he wished I was his father instead of the pile of crap he had been stuck with. That touched my cold peanut butter filled heart and is partially responsible for me thinking that this may help not only me, but someone without someone like me (bg syndrome again). I KNOW I'm a good father, I've spent my entire parenthood striving to do just that. Maybe this bit of skill I have with words, this crapfest I'm writing about, this self delving, will, well, be helpful to someone.

That's a lot of what it's for.

[JLC]

Your children are truly blessed.

And no...there is no hint of that syndrome you fear. That syndrome has nothing to do with honest assessments of self or expressions of truth and confidence.

Hang in there! I know I'm not the only one being blessed by your words.

[wilomn]

Your children are truly blessed.

And no...there is no hint of that syndrome you fear. That syndrome has nothing to do with honest assessments of self or expressions of truth and confidence.

Hang in there! I know I'm not the only one being blessed by your words.

Thanks. It's weird having gone so many years, decades, not really giving a rat's patootie what anyone thought to thinking that I may be seen as scrotumgel like him. I don't care for me, but if I were percieved as such the message, knowledge, whatever you call this, would be worthless. I want this to mean something.

[LoNeSt4r]

There's always going to be someone, somewhere, that your words will touch, no matter how ridiculous they sound. Maybe it's someone who is going through the same issue with their kids, or maybe they're sitting on their bed in the hospital, trying to relieve their boredom as well. The only thing you can hope for is that whatever you write, you make an impact on someone, somewhere, and make his or her life at least slightly better because of it.

[anatess]

Wait... wait...

Chemo... white cells... transplant?

Cancer? Oh man.

I am, as we speak, 1500 miles away from home, caring for my father who is undergoing chemo. It is not fun. In fact, it is terrible. And I'm not the one who is sick!

So, wilomn, keep writing. As honest as you can make it even if it ends up sounding BG-like. You don't know me, I don't know you either. But your words are ringing a chord here. It, at least today, gave me courage to keep going with this stupid cancer thing.

And here's some big HUGS for you. My father is a great man. He lives half-way around the world from me but is currently in the US for chemo treatment. But even when we don't see each other for years at a time, I know he knows I love him terribly. I'm sure your children feels the same way about you.