Right Moves

One of my goals in starting up this blog was to inspire readers to donate to their favorite melanoma cause (and particularly to mine, the melanoma treatment program at the University of Colorado Cancer Center). Thus far, at least as far as I know, I’ve been quite unsuccessful at fundraising through this medium.

So, I’ve been thinking about boarding up the Hotel Melanoma and taking another tack. I’m more than willing to resort to cheap tricks like shaving my head, sporting pink zinc oxide instead of hair, and standing outside the tanning salon down the hill begging for donations. Or maybe I’ll just keep on blogging, in hopes of providing my fellow guests with a musical break from the reality of life at the Hotel. Let me know what you think is the right move.

Meanwhile, I think I need to take a break to recharge (taking a life lesson from my golden retriever) so I’ll leave you with a new version of Bob Seger’s “Night Moves”…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zN1_3zHjhW8

Goal was a little too tall
Could've used some new sounds
Blogging posts hardly renowned
Blog does some black-themed ditties from old rock guys
And rants all my own aiming less than high
Always less than high

Outside of good taste when my jokes get heavy
Often to the sounds of my 60’s bevy
Writin' bout mysteries without any clues
Searchin' for the right moves
Tryin' to make some Black C funding news
Searchin’ for the right moves
In these blogspot lines
In these brief blogspot lines

Black C’s not loved, oh no, far from it
I’m not askin' for some pie in the sky bucks hit
I am just mad my ox has been gored
Lookin’ for a sword
And I'd steal away every song I could
To the chat room, to the facebook, with the hope they’re good
I use them, they muse me
’Cause all of us care
We aren’t gettin' our share
Searchin' for the right moves
Tryin' to lose the Black C funding blues
Searching for the right moves
And I keep bloggin’ lines

And oh the hunger
We want the right things
And we’re waiting for the funders
Waiting for the funders

I pray each night about this cancer’s plunder
How far off I sit and wonder
Started humming a song that’s 1970’s news
Keep on searchin’ for the right moves
’Til we just don't seem to have as much to lose
Aim for the right moves
With autumn closing in

Right moves
Searchin’ for the right moves

Can't Find My Way Home

I know I’m one lucky fellow, having enjoyed nearly eight years of “no evidence of disease” status. Nevertheless, I’ve grown quite weary of being an “at-risk” and closely monitored melanoma survivor who will never hear the words “you’re cured”. I try to keep reminding myself, however, that this beats the only known alternative, as there seems to be but one exit door at the Hotel Melanoma.

It’s not that I dislike the medical profession. Docs and other health care professionals have taken great care of me, and the vast majority of them are truly nice people to boot. It’s just that I’m tired of people messing with my old carcass and am burned out on jousting with health insurance companies. Lucky for me, my oncology posse is not prone to practicing defensive medicine and ordering a lot of tests and scans out of an abundance of caution, despite the fact I’m known to be a recovering attorney. So if I show up to a checkup with no complaints and I present no symptoms of concern discernible from a physical examination, they’ll most likely send me on my merry way without ordering any further diagnostic procedures. Otherwise, by now I’d be screaming “JUST LEAVE ME ALONE”!

I’ll end today’s rant with a new version of Steve Winwood’s “Can’t Find My Way Home”…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VT-SFgkVlno


Turn over no stones
And leave my body alone
’til something shows change
Big C’s the reason
They've been checking so long
Nobody knows I’m free
Well, I'm round the bend and I just ain't got the time
Well, I'm wasted and I can't find my way home

Turn over no stones
And leave my body alone
’til something shows change
Big C’s the reason
They’ve been checking all these years
No CT shows I’m free
Well, I'm round the bend and I just ain't got the time
Well, I'm wasted and I can't find my way home

But I can't find my way home
But I can't find my way home
But I can't find my way home
But I can't find my way home
Still, I can't find my way home
And, I ain't got nothing wrong
But, I can't find my way home

Another Day On The Beach

I’m heading off to the golf course this morning, where I just know I’ll spend some quality “beach time” trying to get out of sand traps. With sunscreen applied and sporting some sun-protective golf attire, I’ll leave you with a new version of Bonnie Raitt’s “Runaway”…



As I age along,
I wonder what went wrong,
With my tans, in sun that was so strong.
And as I still age on,
I think of the things I've done
Sun-weathered, a-while my skin was young.

I've had scanners miss my brain,
Docs are callin' and make me insane,
Wishin' you were here by me
To join this sunscreen spree
And I wonder--
I wah-wah-wah-wah-wonder,
Why,
Why, why, why, why, why I tanned away,
Yes, and I wonder,
A-where C will stray-ay,
I put my tan away,
Tan, tan, tan, tan, tan way.

I'm a-golfin' in the rain,
Putts aren’t fallin' and I feel the pain,
Wishin' lightning would strike me,
To end this bogey spree
And I wonder--
I wah-wah-wah-wah-wonder,
Why,
Why, why, why, why, why I played today,
Yes, and I wonder,
A-why I still play-ay,
Another sunscreen day,
Sun, sun, sun, sun, sunscreen day
Sun, sun, sun, sun, sunscreen day.
Sun, sun, sun, sun, sunscreen day.

Light No Pyre

First, a couple of bad facts: melanoma is the leading cause of cancer death in women ages 25 to 30 and is second only to that more popular pink cancer in women ages 30 to 34. And there’s really no room for doubt that excessive exposure to ultraviolet radiation greatly increases one’s risk of landing here at the Hotel Melanoma. So, please, please use a little common sense, stay out of tanning beds and slap on the sunscreen when you’re enjoying the great outdoors. My “healthy” summer tans weren’t worth the misery of even a single day of biochemotherapy.

Jim Morrison, lead singer for The Doors, was legendary for his self-destructive behavior, so I can’t think of a better song to borrow today than “Light My Fire”…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M_yWyBjDEaU


You know that it would be untrue
You know that I would be a liar
If I didn’t say to you
Girl, you shouldn't be a fryer

Stop it baby, light no pyre
Stop it baby, light no pyre
You’ll regret if skin’s on fire

The time to tempt your fate is through
No time to wallow in sun fire
Fry now you can only lose
And your tan become your funeral pyre

Stop it baby, light no pyre
Stop it baby, light no pyre
You’ll regret if skin’s on fire, yeah

The time to tempt your fate is through
No time to wallow in sun fire
Fry now you can only lose
And your tan becomes your funeral pyre

Stop it baby, light no pyre
Stop it baby, light no pyre
You’ll regret if skin’s on fire, yeah

You know that it would be untrue
You know that I would be a liar
If I didn’t say to you
Girl, you shouldn't be a fryer

Stop it baby, light no pyre
Stop it baby, light no pyre
You’ll regret if skin’s on fire
You’ll regret if skin’s on fire
You’ll regret if skin’s on fire
You’ll regret if skin’s on fire

Verses For Nurses

I spent about twenty days in the critical care oncology unit (“Eight East”) at the University of Colorado Hospital in the fall of 2003, undergoing biochemotherapy treatments. Despite the fact that my performance as a patient was way south of stellar, a bunch of very kind, experienced and professional oncology nurses took great care of me and did everything they could to make me as comfortable as possible. And they worked hard to reassure my wife that, notwithstanding my rather scary appearance and reactions to these harsh treatments, things were all going as expected and I was going to survive the week. Ladies (and a couple of gentlemen), you have no idea how important you all were to my rather peaceful state of mind (it wasn’t all due to those drugs) during this time— because I knew I was in very good and attentive nursing hands that weren’t going to let me fall over the edge. So, with thanks to all of you, here’s my altered version of the Eagles’ “Peaceful Easy Feeling”…



I like the things you caring nurses do,
and with a grin, not a frown.
And I’m gonna sleep, thank you,
in Eight East tonight
with my nursing stars all around.
'Cause I gotta peaceful easy feeling
and I know you won't let me down,
though I'm always demanding on your rounds.

And I found out in a day or so
how tough these drugs can be to control.
Ah, but they can't take me any way
you don't already know how to go.
And I gotta peaceful, easy feeling
and I know you won't let me down,
'cause I'm already counting on your rounds.

I got this feeling I will owe you
as a patient who’s no friend.
And my spouse keeps whispering
in my other ear, tells me
you hope not to see me again.
But I got a peaceful, easy feeling
and I know you won't let me down,
'cause I'm already counting on your rounds,
though I've always been acting...
out of bounds.
oooo, oooo

And please accept my apologies for being an ornery patient.

Fun And Done, In The Sun

It really wasn’t a wise idea for a kid of Celtic descent with naturally pale and freckled skin to be a teenage sun god. But that’s what I was, working for several summers as a bronzed (and often burnt) lifeguard. And I kept up the quest for that deep summer tan long after my work took me indoors— I might have become an office-bound lawyer, but by golly I wasn’t going to look like one.

Little did I know that my 50th birthday ‘gift’ would turn out to be a Stage IIIc melanoma diagnosis. But if I had known, would I have foregone those tans and pursued all of my outdoor activities under a layer of good sunscreen? Would I have listened to the warnings of an old guy who got cooked so done in the sun that years later he was almost done for good? I don’t honestly know the answers to those questions. Nevertheless, I’ll sign off with a musical public service announcement, a new version of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young’s “Just a Song Before I Go”…



Just a song before you glow,
To whom it may concern.
Tanning in the sun so round
It's easy to get burned.

When the tests were over
More cancer they had shown,
And when I opened up that door
I found I'm not alone.

Docs help me with my new case,
I’m praying for nine lives
Treating me for the Black C,
And with those friendly eyes.

Going through infusion weeks
I took drugs for so long.
Docs still go poke at me in gloves,
But C has flown.

Just a song before you glow,
A lesson to be learned.
Tanning in that sun so round
It's easy to get burned.

Thanks, Docs!

Thanks to University of Colorado Cancer Center oncologists Bill Robinson and Karl Lewis, I’m still here and able to annoy ‘net surfers with a silly blog that Google search results fool them into visiting when they are looking for something entirely different. (This blog recently trapped somebody who really just wanted to know whether rocker John Mellencamp has a bald spot, although I can’t fathom why anyone would care to know that.)

I don’t have a clue whether either of these fine physicians likes the song, but I sure do, so here’s a new version of Santana’s “Black Magic Woman”…



I got a Black Cancer Doctor.
I got a Black Cancer Doctor.
Yes, I got a Black Cancer Doctor,
He’s drugged me so I’m cancer-free;
Yes he's a Black Cancer Doctor and
he's trying to keep this devil out of me.

I’ll turn my back on Black Cancer.
I’ll turn my back on Black Cancer.
Yes, I’ll turn my back on Black Cancer,
Won't mess around with your tricks;
I’ll turn my back on Black Cancer,
'cause you can’t survive those chemo kicks.

You put your spell on my cancer.
You put your spell on my cancer.
Yes, you put your spell on my cancer,
Turnin' my brain into stone;
I need you so bad,
Cancer Doctor I can't leave you alone.

Please support the melanoma treatment program at the University of Colorado Cancer Center!

Only The Beginning

It’s been another happy week in a breakthrough year for advances in treatment for late stage melanoma. With the FDA’s approval of vemurafenib this week and its earlier approval of ipilimumab/Yervoy (also known in this blog as Huey), far more Stage IV melanoma patients will have access to these promising new drugs. And not just those patients able to get into a clinical trial or receive the drugs under FDA’s “compassionate use” rules. (Incidentally, vemurafenib’s brand name “Zelboraf” sounds like the name of a KGB agent in a bad James Bond flick, so I’ll stick with my previous nickname for the drug, Dewey). I hope and pray that the FDA’s approval of Huey and Dewey, the “melanoma twins” if you will, is only the beginning of a new era of continuing progress in advanced melanoma treatment.

Chicago’s “Beginnings” fits my sentiments so well that I barely had to change a word, so here’s a love song to the twins…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XI5aD6m7ub0&feature=related


When I take you, it doesn't matter where cells are,
Or where they're hiding. They’re with you, that's all that matters.
Time passes much too quickly when we're together battling.
I wish I could sing it to you, oh no,
I wish I could sing it to you.
Mostly I'm silent.
Never think about words to say.
When I take you, I feel a thousand different feelings.
The color of chills all over my body.
And when I feel them, I quickly try to decide which one
I should try to put into words, oh no,
Try to put into words.
Mostly I'm silent.
Only the beginning of what I want to see forever.
Only the beginning. Only just the start.
I've got to get you savin’ my life.
Got to get you into me.
Only the beginning. Only just the start.

Tanorexia

This is the new word of the week in melanoma world, featured in an ABC News report on new medical research that indicates tanning is as addictive as drugs or alcohol. Personally, I’m a skeptic and cynically suspect this is just one more manifestation of a disturbing aspect of modern American culture: we tend to try to avoid taking personal responsibility for the bad consequences of stupid and self-destructive behavior by claiming that behavior was the product of some made-up “addiction”. (Anybody thinking about Tiger Woods here? I know I am.)

I played in another geezer golf match yesterday, held on a links-style course, and spent way too much time in or perilously near the course’s ubiquitous fairway bunkers. While I knew they were bad for my score, I just couldn’t seem to avoid the sand’s almost magnetic attraction. So hey, maybe I should just go with the flow and blame my mistakes on “sandorexia”, rather than a poor swing or club selection, and lobby the USGA to write a new official rule of golf that gives players afflicted with my addiction penalty stroke-free relief from the sand!

But regardless of whether tanorexia is for real or not, I’m grateful to ABC for increasing awareness of the dangers of tanning and providing me with material for another lyrical rant. Here's a new version of one of my favorites, Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers’ “American Girl”…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uNgt7U9QrFQ


Well, she was an American girl
Braised in tanning beds
She couldn't help tannin'
Since there is a reason now to blame something else
After all it is a great new world
With new excuses for tans too
And if she couldn’t help tannin'
She had more tanning sessions she was gonna keep

O yeah, all right
Over easy, baby
You can’t help but fry
She was an American girl

Well she had found a mole last night,
She sat alone in oncology
Yeah, she could see her life roll by,
Blamin’ addiction for tans gotten on the beach
And for one desperate moment
Warnings crept back in her memory
God it's so painful when something that's the truth
Is still so damn hard to teach

O yeah, all right
Over easy, baby
You can’t help but fry
She was an American girl

Good Works

If you haven’t checked out a facebook page called “Melanoma Prayer Center” (link on the right) you really should. MPC is a rich source of spiritual support for melanoma patients and their families. Its proprietor, Rev. Carol Taylor, is also a fellow melanoma warrior and awareness campaigner who knows firsthand of what she speaks (and prays). There’s an old saying that there are no atheists in foxholes, and I doubt there are many at the Hotel Melanoma either.

Thanks to Carol's work, I'd bet that a lot more people now know that melanoma has become as deadly a stalker of young women as that more popular pink cancer; it isn’t just whacking old boomer guys like me. In honor of all her good works, here’s a request: a new version of Bruce Springsteen’s “Pink Cadillac”…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=29_RZ82aZ6A&feature=related


I know that you are ghoulish
For the ghoulish things you do
You may wonder how come I hate you
When you get in my nodes like you do
Well Black C you know you bug me
There ain't no secret 'bout that
Y’all come on over here and fund me
Rich folks I'll spill the facts
This black cancer needs more money
'Cause pink world got plenty of that

I hate you because pink is now black
Crushed me complete
Hiding on my back
Spreading way too fleet
Stalking for young girls
Lurking out of sight
Taking all our money
When insurance denied
Black C I just wonder how we can stop your attack
Because pink is now black
Pink is now black

Well now well before the Bible
Diseases always came along
There's always somebody dying
From something that is staying around for way too long
We will cure you, black, with silver
And we’ll cure you, black, with gold
And we’ll cure you with new measures
That research will soon unfold
Docs say melanoma could be turned chronic
But Mel we ain't going for that

I hate you because pink now is black
Crushed me complete
Hiding on my back
Spreading way too fleet
Stalking for young girls
Lurking out of sight
Taking all our money
When insurance denied
Black C I just wonder how we can stop your attack
Because pink now is black

Now some folks say it's not big
And this thing too will pass
Some folks say just kills old
And that it kills no lass
But Black C is killer carcinoma
It's badder than we all ever knew
Hey man there's only one thing
Just one thing that will do
Some fine day we won't have to take it
Black C we will kick you out the back

’Til then I hate you because pink now is black
Crushed me complete
Hiding on my back
Spreading way too fleet
Stalking for young girls
Lurking out of sight
Taking all our money
When insurance denied
Black C I just wonder how we can stop your attack
Because pink now is black

And my thanks to Springsteen for his work in melanoma fundraising; I hope he wouldn’t mind that I butchered his song for a good cause.

A Cure For Your Tanning Addiction

Before checking into the hospital one very early Monday morning for my first week of biochemotherapy treatments, I harbored the delusion that I’d be sitting in a recliner in the hospital’s infusion center and trying to pass a boring time by chatting with other patients, reading, and listening to music. And wishing that anything other than Oprah and Dr. Phil had been the daytime TV shows of choice for a bunch of women in for pink cancer treatment that day.

Reality proved to be entirely different and quite ugly. By Tuesday afternoon, we were launching my second twenty-four hour infusion round and I was confined to a tiny room in the hospital’s critical care oncology unit, quite incapacitated and unrecognizable even to myself, wondering what on Earth I’d gotten myself into and hoping the nurses would knock me out with another shot of Demerol in the IV line.

Yikes. If tanning beds are truly addictive, I think I know the cure: sampling one round of biochemo. I can’t think of a more fitting song than “Tuesday Afternoon” by the Moody Blues...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bPLWBhNW3FM


Tuesday afternoon.
I'm just beginning to see,
This has gone astray.
These drugs are shattering me,
Chasing Black C away.
Code Blues called on me.
White coats are running in here,
They will not let me die.
Those gentle voices I hear
Tell me that I’m still live.
I'm looking at myself, reflection blows my mind.
It's just the thing to make me leave my tan behind.
So keep on living through this crazy band of drugs,
If you could just come with me and see no beauty of
Tuesday afternoon.
Tuesday afternoon.
Tuesday afternoon.
I'm just beginning to see,
This is one bad day.
These drugs are shattering me,
Chasing Black C away.
Chaplain looks at me.
She thinks a priest should be here,
Believes I’m going to die.
Those nurses’ voices I hear
Explain that I’m still all right.

Addiction Fiction

The breaking news at the Hotel Melanoma is that some med school professor has published a study that suggests tanning is addictive. Forgive me, but that sounds to me like psychobabble and I suspect the study was funded by some porky federal government stimulus grant.

I played in a geezer golf match yesterday, got incredibly lucky on a couple of par-4 holes, and made two birdies that, thanks to my high duffer handicap, won me some money in the skins game. I know birdies are bad for me because they just might start to make me hallucinate and think I’m a competent player. But those birdies felt really good, and helped my partner and me win our match, so I’m just dying to get back out there and do it again. An addiction to golf? Fiction!

Which reminds me of a great old song performed by a guy who knows a lot about real addictions, Eric Clapton’s “Cocaine”…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q3L4spg8vyo&feature=related


If you wanna flame out, you ought to try it out.
Tanning
If you wanna get brown, end up under ground.
Tanning.

You might die, you might die, you might die;
Tanning.

If you want bad news, and hope to fill them pews.
Tanning.
When your treatment’s on and your hair is gone.
Tanning.

You might die, you might die, you might die;
Tanning.

If your sense is gone and you wanna die young.
Tanning.
Don't forget this fact, you can't get life back.
Tanning.

You might die, you might die, you might die;
Tanning.

You might die, you might die, you might die;
Tanning.

Full Moon Golf Fever

Although my handicap is stratospheric, I enjoy playing golf and I refuse to let melanoma stop me. If you read Al’s hilarious post (dated July 20,2011) on http://www.blackispink.blogspot.com/ about sunscreen safety on the driving range, you know it can be a challenge to play the game while avoiding excess UV ray exposure. But hey, there’s a full moon coming up this weekend. Anyone game for a night golf tournament? Which reminds me of a great old song, Van Morrison’s “Moondance”…



Well, it's a marvelous night for a moon tan
With the stars up above in the skies
A fantabulous night for us golf fans
Need not worry ‘bout bein’ sunscreen wise
And all the pleas of M.D.’s I’m heeding
’Cause I want no more tumors that glow
And I'm trying to follow their pleading
For the pale skin that keeps my risk low
And all the night's cover seems to call for no rush
Since all the soft moonlight will not make my skin blush

Can I just have one a' more moon tan with you, my clubs
Can I just have some more birdies from a-you, my clubs

Well, I wanna make pars for true tonight
I can play ‘til the morning has come
And I know that my swing is just right
And straight into the cup ball will run
And if it does my handicap’s falling
I’ll hit pure and no bogies will come
There and then all my dreams will come true, folks
There and then I will make golf my own
And every time I tee off, I’ll just tremble inside
’Cause I know how far I’ll send that ball for a ride

Can I just have one a' more moon tan with you, my clubs
Can I just have some more birdies from a-you, my clubs

Well, it's a marvelous night for a moon tan
With the stars up above in the skies
A fantabulous night for us golf fans
Need not worry ‘bout bein’ sunscreen wise
And all the pleas of M.D.’s I’m heeding
’Cause I want no more tumors that glow
And I'm trying to follow their pleading
For the pale skin that keeps my risk low
And all the night's cover seems to call for no rush
Since all the soft moonlight will not make my skin blush

One more moon tan for me in the moonlight
On a magic night
La, la, la, la in the moonlight
On a magic night
Can I just have one more moon tan with a-you
My clubs.

A Pity Ditty

There have been days when I’ve felt mighty sorry for myself. And who hasn’t? Lucky for you, today isn’t one of those days and I can poke some fun at myself to the tune of Linda Ronstadt’s “Poor Poor Pitiful Me”…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FmKJ66X0QvM


Well they lay my head in the scanning bed
Lookin’ for the big black C
But my brain don't show in scans no more
Poor poor pitiful me

Poor poor pitiful me
Poor poor pitiful me
Oh these docs won't let me be
Lord have mercy on me
Woe woe is me

Well I had dark tans back in my fool youth
No I didn’t wear no ‘screens
Well they really blew black cancer loose
Spread from smithereens
Yes it really worked me over good
I was no credit to my gender
Put me through some changes Lord
Sort of like a Waring blender

Poor poor pitiful me
Poor poor pitiful me
Oh these docs won't let me be
Lord have mercy on me
Woe woe is me

Well I saw some docs in oncology
For this melanoma
They drugged me up and they knocked me down
I begged "Put me in a coma"

Poor poor pitiful me
Poor poor pitiful me
Oh these docs won't let me be
Lord have mercy on me
Woe woe is me

Poor poor poor me
Poor poor pitiful me
Poor poor poor me
Poor poor pitiful me
Poor poor poor me
Poor poor pitiful me

If you’re having one of those days and feeling guilty about it, well, cut yourself some slack.

Bad To The Bone

Through blogs and social networking, I’ve had the privilege of ‘meeting’ a bunch of tough, determined, funny and inspirational melanoma warriors. Just one example is a Facebook group called “Bad Ass Melanoma Warriors”. The name so fits. Do all of us have our bad days, suffering new psychological maladies like “scanxiety”? You bet, but we pick ourselves up (with a little help from our friends) and go on about our business of doing our best to kick the black cancer’s butt.

For all of you warriors, here’s a new version of George Thorogood’s “Bad to the Bone”…



On the day it was found, our doctors all grimaced and frowned
And they gazed in wide wonder, at dark moles that weren’t round
Those doctors spoke up, and they said this cancer we’ll own
They could tell right away, that we were bad to the bone
Bad to the bone
Bad to the bone
B-B-B-B-Bad to the bone
B-B-B-B-Bad
B-B-B-B-Bad
Bad to the bone

We beat a thousand stats, since time we met you
We'll beat a thousand more baby, before we are through
Not gonna be yours black cancer, so leave us alone
We’re here to tell ya cancer, that we’re bad to the bone
Bad to the bone
B-B-B-Bad
B-B-B-Bad
B-B-B-Bad
Bad to the bone

We make melanoma beg, we all have nerves of steel
We take toxic stuff that’s rough, and make our tumors squeal
Not gonna be yours melanoma, black cancer we’ll own
We’re here to tell ya honey, that we’re bad to the bone
B-B-B-B-Bad
B-B-B-B-Bad
B-B-B-B-Bad
Bad to the bone

And when we walk the streets, wear sunscreen with big pride
Every suntan we see, all look like leather hides
We wanna tell ya silly baby, well ya see we had our own
We’re here to tell ya honey, that tan’s bad to the bone
Bad to the bone
B-B-B-B-Bad
B-B-B-Bad B-B-B-Bad
Bad to the bone

Stories We Should Tell

Blogger doesn’t make it easy to comment on posts, so thanks to all of you who’ve taken the time and trouble to navigate the process. I really do appreciate hearing from readers and receiving your kind and encouraging comments. Or, for that matter, any comments. Otherwise, I’m left to wonder whether site “pageviews” are merely the result of Google sending unwitting ‘net surfers here when they are really looking for something entirely different. For example, Google recently directed somebody to this Hotel who apparently wanted to know how much Ativan he needed to take to become completely numb. I hope he didn’t find an answer, here or anyplace else.

I’m kind of late to the ‘awareness game’. It took me several years to muster up the courage to “come out of the closet” and share stories about my times at this Hotel. Back in 2003 when things were really crazy, I was telling almost no one what was really going on. It was just too difficult to talk about how much trouble I was really in. And my ‘medical update’ e-mails tended to put a lawyer’s positive spin on bad facts. My wife and I didn’t let anyone (immediately family included) come to the hospital during my biochemo treatments because we just didn’t want anyone else to see how very ugly they were. I was doing nothing to raise public awareness that melanoma isn’t “just skin cancer”. That’s why I so admire everyone at this Hotel who’s brave enough to share difficult experiences as they are happening; by dropping the veil of privacy you are doing good for others that just might save some lives.

I regret that the Hotel Melanoma isn’t a real place where we could all congregate and swap war stories, and not more than a metaphor for life with this stinking disease. (Like a swanky all-inclusive beach resort on the Riviera Maya in Mexico, where the bill never comes due.) So, I’ll leave you with a new version of Jimmy Buffett’s “Stories We Could Tell”…



Talkin' to myself again
Wonderin' if this bloggin’ on is good
Is there somethin' else for doin'
Should be doin' if I would

But ah, the stories we should tell
And if it all blows up and goes to Hell
I wish that we could sit around the bar in this Hotel
Swappin’ all the stories we should tell

Stared at black cancer in those hospitals that ain’t for free
Nametags on our docs bring back twenty nightmare dreams
Tears upon our faces tell of all the times we fell
Sharin' all the stories we should tell

Ah, the stories we should tell
And I'll bet you they still ring like a bell
I wish that we could sit around the bar in this Hotel
And listen to the stories we should tell

So if you're on this road strivin' for your every night
Fightin' for more livin' between searching scanner times
And if you ever wonder why you ride this carousel
You do it for the stories you should tell

Ah, the stories we should tell
And if it all blows up and goes to Hell
I wish that we could sit around the bar in this Hotel
Just listen to the stories we should tell

Yes, I wish that we could sit around the bar in this Hotel
Listen to the stories it could tell

Bloggin' 'Bout My Melanoma

Sometimes I’m not quite sure why I keep doing this, but so far I just can’t seem to stop. So, here’s a new version of The Who’s “My Generation”…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=594WLzzb3JI


People try to put us d-down (Bloggin' 'bout my melanoma)
Just because we don’t get brown (Bloggin' 'bout my melanoma)
Meds we take are awful b-b-bold (Bloggin' 'bout my melanoma)
Don’t wanna die before we get old (Bloggin' 'bout my melanoma)

This is my melanoma
This is my melanoma, baby

We know why we’re p-pale today (Bloggin' 'bout my melanoma)
And don't need to guess why we all p-p-pray (Bloggin' 'bout my melanoma)
I'm not gonna blog about l-l-lymphoma (Bloggin' 'bout my melanoma)
I'm just bloggin' 'bout my m-m-m-melanoma (Bloggin' 'bout my melanoma)

This is my melanoma
This is my melanoma, baby

Why don’t cancer f-fade away (Bloggin' 'bout my melanoma)
I won't ever g-get why cancer p-p-preys (Bloggin' 'bout my melanoma)
I'm not bloggin’ about p-p-pink c-c-carcinoma (Bloggin' 'bout my melanoma)
I'm just bloggin' 'bout my m-m-melanoma (Bloggin' 'bout my melanoma)

This is my melanoma
This is my melanoma, baby

Donors forget that we’re r-‘round (Bloggin' 'bout my melanoma)
Just because that p-p-pink abounds (Bloggin' 'bout my melanoma)
Let’s all beat statistics c-c-cold (Bloggin' 'bout my melanoma)
Yeah, don’t wanna die before we get old (Bloggin' 'bout my melanoma)

This is my melanoma
This is my melanoma, baby

When it’s time to stop, will somebody please tell me?

For Eric And Jill

Tanning beds are killing young people and today they chalked up yet another victim. Eric Sizemore lost his melanoma battle early this morning. I didn’t know Eric, I only knew of him as an awareness campaigner who, along with his wife Jill, waged a video war against tanning beds:

“Eric’s Journey With Melanoma” http://www.youtube.com/user/EricNJill?feature=mhee

I pray that a part of Eric’s legacy will be a vastly increased degree of public awareness of the dangers of tanning beds because thousands of young folks who’ll never read this blog will see his story on YouTube and perhaps avoid a stay at The Hotel Melanoma. I’m tempted to drive down the hill and firebomb my local tanning salon, but instead I’ll dedicate a song to Eric and Jill: a new version of Midnight Oil’s “Beds Are Burning”…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ejorQVy3m8E


Until black cancer’s broke
A blood feud for this cancer’s croak
Spreading truth ‘bout tanning evils
End this UV ray disease

The time has come
To take the dare
To pay our rent
To do our share

The time has come
A fact's a fact
It’s now up to us
Let's kill the black

How can we rest when our hearts are yearning
How do we sleep while those beds are burning
How can we rest when our hearts are yearning
How do we sleep while those beds are burning

The time has come
To take the dare
To pay our rent, now
To do our share

Salons have the tanning booths
Lure teenage kids to certain doom
The nagging truth will live and breathe
It’s UV ray disease

The time has come
To take the dare
To pay our rent
To do our share
The time has come
A fact's a fact
It’s now up to us
Let's kill the black

How can we rest when our hearts are yearning
How do we sleep while those beds are burning
How can we rest when our hearts are yearning
How do we sleep while those beds are burning

The time has come
To take the dare
To pay our rent, now
To do our share
The time has come
A fact's a fact
It’s now up to us
We're gonna kill the black

How can we dance when our hearts are yearning
How do we sleep while those beds are burning

Wish You Were Here

One of my indulgences coming out of eighteen months of intense melanoma madness was to fulfill a longstanding wish to become a part owner of a mountain condo. (I don’t have any definitive "bucket list"-- they're too goal-driven and lack spontaneity, and they remind me way too much of just another day in the law office lived in billing increments of one-tenth of an hour.) I recently spent several days at our place and delighted in the gorgeous weather, inspiring scenery, and clean mountain air spiked with the ever-present scent of my wet golden retriever. Call it my vision of Heaven on Earth. Happy old dogs were we.

But at times like these, I often feel a nagging twinge of survivor's guilt. Why have I been so very fortunate when so many others have not? The fallen melanoma warriors who've left behind young children are especially on my mind at these times. I once raised this subject with a spiritual mentor. Her response was that I shouldn't feel guilty because God apparently has plans for me that involve my continuing presence on this Earth, and my job was to listen and do my very best to fulfill those plans. I can't say that I've yet been able to fully buy into the God's Plan Theory. It seems quite presumptuous of me to think that I could possibly merit this degree of divine attention (much less intervention?) when better folks have fallen. It's a mystery I don't think I'll ever be able to solve. So, I continue to just muddle through, try to shelve the guilt, and do my best to be thankful and enjoy a full life that puts service to others first on my unwritten bucket list. And perhaps that's exactly what the fallen would advise if I could somehow consult them?

All I know for sure is that I really hate this damn disease and mourn for the lost. So, I'll end this with some new lyrics to Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here", and a prayer for the fallen...



So, so I pray you are well.
Heaven not Hell,
Blue skies, no pain.
Hope you rest in green fields
In the warm sun rays.
A world with no pale.
So I pray you are well.

And were you able to trade
Your tumors for Hosts?
Hospitals for trees?
Bad air for a cool breeze?
Pain IV's for peace?
And know you exchanged
A hero's part in this war
For a lead role in our rage.

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're lost too many souls
Dying from the black toll,
Year after year,
Mulling over the same old ground,
What have I found?
The same old tears.
Wish you were here.