When you fall, get back up...

We'll start today's journal entry with a few anecdotes about self-esteem.

Story #1:

I decided to try rollerblading today. As a guy who can barely walk straight without swaying from side to side, I knew this was a gutsy move. But I was ready to give it a shot nonetheless (I like the word "nonetheless" -- and "whirlpool"). So I headed down to the beach where I usually do my bladin' and strapped on my 8-wheeled wonders. I pushed off, rolled about 3 feet, and fell flat on my ass. At this point I had two choices: I could get back up and try again or I could sit there, incredibly embarrassed and cry like the big baby that I am (did I mention that people were watching and that I only went *3 feet*).

I decided to get up and try again. I wasn't hurt too badly (my ego had the biggest bruise) and I figured that I'd eventually get the hang of it. Unfortunately, I couldn't even get up from the ground. Not having balance sucks. As does having weak legs. So I sat back down, reevaluated my situation, and cried like a baby.

Ok, I didn't cry. In fact, the opposite was true: I laughed it off. I was just happy that I had tried. But boy did I realize that I am pretty far from being ready to roll on wheels. Maybe I'll have better luck surfing.

Story #2:

I'm in yoga a few weeks ago, being very yogalicious, and we're doing a few "balance poses." Like Charlie Brown, all I could think was, "Good grief." We started by standing very straight. So far, so good. We then go up on our toes. I'm dead meat. I can't do that with much confidence just yet. And then we (I'll say we, but you get the point) grabbed our right foot and pulled it up to our left knee, making a #4 with our legs. Our hands then extended again -- or something like that -- I was so far gone by this point. I think this pose is called the "tree pose," which in yoga-ese is "balencius impossibilassina." So imagine a class of 10-15 people standing in this intricate pose (which took 3 or 4 steps to get into), and me, standing flat-footed with my arms out - happily stuck at step 1. Why imagine when I can show you!

So what's the point of this and the previous story? Having a cancerous tumor take away my ability to walk (and make any sort of balance a whole new adventure) is a big deal. It's made me really come to terms with my own self-comfort. There's a lot I can't do (yet!) and I've had to allow myself to accept these limitations. What's been wonderful about this situation is that I've learned to appreciate myself in spite of things that could make me feel awkward or embarrassed. I'm much more present in my own life, much more aware of myself and the things I *can* do right now. Having to break through the self-esteem barrier has allowed me to smile where a frown might seem more appropriate. Pretty cool, huh?

Now on to radiation. I met with my radiologist (Dr. Weisenberger) last week in the Cancer Center to discuss my radiation schedule. I was very, very happy to hear him tell me that the PET scan was indeed clean, and they don't see any cancerous activity in my body. Woo hoo! This lack of activity caused a bit of a conundrum (I like the word "conundrum" -- and "clandestine") in that he had to consult "the experts" to determine if I even needed radiation. We should all feel very proud that I was so healthy that the doctors had to regroup and decide how to proceed with Miracle Matt. Dr. Weisenberger called doctors at Stanford and Texas, among others. After some discussion, they decided that I should indeed get radiation. Since I had such advanced Hodgkins, cancer which spread throughout my torso, they will do 4 weeks worth on my chest, wait 2 weeks, and then do 4 weeks on my abdomen. Doing both areas at once would probably lower my blood counts too much, so they split it up. This was disappointing, to say the least. I had previously been told it would probably be 2-3 weeks.

After the consultation, I put on a hospital gown and went through a test run of the radiation process They do this to align the machine to my body shape. In order to ensure the machine can accurately send radiation to the same place each time, they gave me 4-5 "tattoos" on my upper body (I'll probably get more before the abdominal sessions). The tattoos are little black dots, smaller than a freckle. Check it out:

I have a few on my chest and one on my neck. It's wild to think I'll have this permanent black dot on my neck. I'm considering it a victory tattoo.

I left the Cancer Center feeling ok about things, but a little unsure about the long radiation schedule. There are possible long-term side effects of radiation, including reduced lung capacity and an increased chance of "cardio activity" -- like heart attacks. I wanted to be sure that I really needed this risk. I called my oncologist, Dr. Woliver, the next day. After a good talk with him, I felt comfortable with getting radiation. I keep forgetting that I had really advanced cancer. The radiation will help ensure that the cancer doesn't come back. Dr. Woliver thinks my recovery has been "remarkable" (I don't remember his exact words -- but they were very positive).

I get my first dose tomorrow, Monday the 11th. I'll get zapped for a minute or two each day (Mon-Fri), so I should be in and out within a half hour. I'm sure I'll get into a groove and the time will pass quickly.

I'll keep you posted on what it's like.

In the meantime (I like the word "meantime" -- and "ditty"), spend each day not as if it were your last, but as if it were your first. Get excited about the possibilities.

m

ps. My first ps!

I found a few pictures taken just before I was diagnosed in early November. It's so strange to look back.