Thursday, June 18, 2009

"My friend" is Unpredictable

The little white pill is unpredictable. I thought I had a routine: take pill @ 1 or 2 pm, feel "hinky" for a couple hours and then have a pleasant late afternoon and evening. The program seems to be changing. Saturday, to try and entertain after 1pm, I took "my friend" at 11am; 2 or 3 hours earlier than my routine. I swear, I was messed up for two days. I mean like hunkered down in a cave. Tuesday and Wed I rode my bike knowing that would help, but both days were still odd. Today I rode, took the pill at 1:15pm, pushed through to ride home, showered and putzed on the computer and then about 5 the hinky feeling started. Poor balance, shaky legs and hands, jello feeling in my head. What do you call that? Hinky.

I don't like it. But, there is no dirt on my belly, I am vertical most of the time, and I am sucking air. We all know the little white pill is working and the discomfort is worth it.

Meanwhile, I spoke with one of the more impactful people in my recovery, a woman I admire. She was waylaid by a surprise heart problem and I ask that you steer your prayers her way. It's not just me, she has helped many many addicts to recover and we need her!
Bill

Saturday, June 13, 2009

Push through?

Today I'm gonna find out if I can push through my late morning dip in alertness/energy without getting horizontal for a little while, and through the post little white pill 2 - 4 hour "hinky" period. I have people coming over for BBQ and later a speaker meeting in West Valley. The prep stuff this morning has me running low and so I'm taking a break. When Jacki and I have people over I tend to run around doing whatever it takes to make it exceptionally good for all. Maybe it's possible to let our guests help, like another person can probably do the actual cooking just fine.

A BBQ just does not seem like the big deal my head thinks it is. I am wound up at this moment over something that really is just a gathering of friends. People who just want time, not a magnificent array of gastronomical delights. I snapped at Jacki this morning. I know it was due to me being wound up. I fretted over this last evening, fearing that the little white pill would prevent me from doing it right. Will I be tired and not be a good speaker this evening because I tried to do too much? I am more limited than I used to be but I really don't know how much. But really now, what does it matter. God's in charge and it's all okay.

I learned early in recovery that I have an MMM - Magnificent Magnifying Mind. It is good at blowing things out of proportion; making molehills into mountains; causing me to sweat the small stuff; giving me the delusion that I have to handle something huge. By myself.

Take cancer for example. Sometimes my mind can make just as big a deal out of a BBQ as it does cancer. Truth is, even my cancer pales in relation to all the rest of my previous life and in relation to all the living I still get to do. But fear pops up. Something as tiny as not doing a BBQ correctly can trigger my fear button - fear that I will look less than and others will see I am not perfect. That fear then sets me up to act on shortcomings like getting snappy with Jacki.

The cancer triggers fear that I will lose this sweet life I enjoy. The fear alone takes away from that life. The fear assumes that all the good stuff is over. And then I think I have to stand up to it, again by myself, and be the perfect seeking to survive cancer patient. People will think less of me if I do not survive.

My head can get on such merry go rounds and wind them up tight enough to go beyond my usual amusing speed of spin. To do so I have to step into fear, assume I am alone, know that I am not enough to push on through and not connect with my God and all of you standing beside me holding each other up. And of course I have to magnify and sweat the small sh*t. Instead, just for today maybe I will just enjoy the afternoon and evening, trusting God will get it done even without much help from me. Whew, what a load off my back. Jacki will be home shortly and I get to set it right with her for the bit of harm from my snap.
Bill

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Survivors

I have recently begun getting to know a cancer survivor who is inspiring. Notice I did not say I am inspired. Rather I would like to be inspired by what he has done and how he does it. He had two or three cancer bouts that included serious chemo and radiation. For awhile he had to wear a Sh*t bag (I don't know it's proper name). He rode his bicycle wearing that thing. Now he exercises hours a day, fasts over a day each week, and practices regular formal meditation. That's his story and I find myself disbelieving. How can anyone be that disciplined? How could I be that disciplined?

His cancer was terminal - instead of dying, he did things like have lunch during 3 or 4 hours of IV chemo. He says exercise, diet and meditation is the key. I want to be inspired.

First definition in Webster's for inspire is: transitive verb; to influence, move, or guide by divine or supernatural inspiration. Too big a part of me just does not buy into me being so inspired as to behave in such a positively obsessive way as my new friend does. And yet, for 15 years I have been practicing a spiritual path and I have seen many miracles. Divine inspiration is waiting for me to reach for and participate in my own miracle. My friend's
actions have maximized his body's natural immune system and its ability to heal. What about me?

It is not news to me that self sabotage is my biggest shortcoming. Hmmmmmmmmmmm. Shortcomings; the things in me my sponsor has asked me to write about. Maybe that is what I am doing here. TOMORROW I WILL RIDE MY BICYCLE. God, please help me . . . some more.
Bill

Sunday, June 7, 2009

My Thick Head

Getting it through my thick head that this is a looooooooonngg process has changed the picture as I see it. Maybe cancer does not have to reign supreme at renting space in my head. Maybe I can live without wondering if every little pain or ache or cough or whatever is the cancer on a rampage. Maybe it can sit in the back seat and not get to drive so often. A certain sense of freedom is unfolding. What could I be free to do? Ideas?
Thank you for participating.
Bill

Thursday, June 4, 2009

The Long Haul

We met with the Doc today to go over results from last week's catscan. Nothing is bigger and nothing is smaller. No shrinkage and no growth. The doc says this is good news. For me, it is not the news I hoped for, but also not the news I feared.

Doc scheduled me to come back in six weeks, not the every other week as before. He wants another catscan in 12 weeks, not the eight weeks as prior. Apparently any changes in my cancer will be very slow, be they growth or shrinkage. Please, remember that with this type of cancer, metastasized papillary renal carcinoma, stopping the growth is very good news. This type grows slowly but is hard to treat. I am in for a long haul. Jacki is in for a long haul. All of you in my corner are in for a long haul.

So how do I live my life? What do I do with my days and months and years? I have a few role models, people who can no longer work but have rich and useful lives. We do recovery, and a bit more service. And, maybe we volunteer in other ways. Several of you have suggested I write a book - I go immediately to the best seller or not worth writing. Maybe not a good reason to totally reject the possibility. However, there are two causes peripheral to addiction, that touch my heart.

Many years ago I volunteered at a crisis nursery 4 hours per week. I did that for four months. I remember assembly line diaper changing. Playing lullabies on my harmonica hoping a room of 15 babies will sleep for awhile at night. And I remember the horrors of abuse that some of the infants came with to the nursery. Cigarette burns on tiny feet sticks in my head. I know that I felt useful and I had a pretty good touch with the babies.

Secondly, I feel drawn to somehow volunteer in a domestic violence prevention role. It is an issue personal to me in my own life. I grew up with a family tree rife with hitting and throwing and yelling at women and at children. My dad was not as bad as his dad, who was not as bad as his dad, on back to some beginning generation of family violence that no one can pinpoint. Three different times I slapped my first wife. 1978. I remember it like yesterday. I felt so small and ashamed. I vowed never to hit again, and I never have. However, what happened to that anger? What is a man to do with emotions he learned are not okay to feel? Hitting, throwing and yelling is what I learned to do with those feelings, and now, with that vow, hitting is no longer an option. What to do now?

I was not aware in 1978 of that dilemma. Looking back I can see a lot of stuffed emotions and more and more drug use to help keep them stuffed. Don't interpret that to mean I became an addict because of how I was treated as a boy. Rather, I was trapped with that dilemma - what to do instead of rage? None of the men in my family showed any answer to that question, and I remember not one single time of anyone anywhere in those days even have a discussion about such a subject. It has taken years of a tough and costly road, before and since getting clean, to begin to solve that dilemma in an effective and healthy way. I see many of my fellows in recovery, who suffer from that same kind of bottled up with no outlet emotions. I think I have helped some of them and maybe I can do more outside the rooms of recovery. I am interested.

Thank God for very slow growing bad stuff that also has some silver lining. Knowing a possible way that I will one day die, does not make me at all special. It is likely cancer will not cause my demise anyway. What really makes me special is that I am like you. Thanks.
Bill