Introduction

The "Hotel Melanoma" moniker is a metaphor for living with my particular brand of cancer. Except for those lucky few of us deemed "cured", all we cancer survivors are guests of one of the many, many branded hotels in the "Hotel Carcinoma" chain. We can check out any time we like, but we can never leave. Meanwhile, let's be livin' it up; and please support cancer education, prevention, and treatment research.



Tutu Brothers

Thursday, August 9, 2012

A Self-Inflicted Wound

You know, it’s not easy for a recovering attorney to be honest with himself. But on those semi-rare occasions when I am, I realize that nearly all of my problems and failures in life (and most certainly on the golf course) have been self-inflicted wounds.


Take melanoma for instance. I was a naturally pale kid of Celtic descent, covered with moles and freckles and more likely to burn than bronze. But that didn’t stop me from working several summers as a lifeguard and trying to look like some brown surfer dude. My ‘sunscreen’ was baby oil. Those reckless days in the sun took about thirty years to catch up with me, but catch up they most certainly did.

Thanks to biochemotherapy, I just may have dodged this bullet. But I just have to wonder what I’m doing today that may come back to haunt me in the future. And whether I’d change that behavior if I knew big trouble lay before me somewhere down the road. Oy.

So, next time I start to climb on my high horse and lampoon some foolish soul like Tan Mom, maybe I should pause and first look inward?

I’ll sign off with a little ditty about me, The Hotel Melanoma version of Jackson Browne’s “You Love The Thunder”…



When you look over your shoulder
And you see the life that you've left behind
When you think it over do you ever wonder?
What it is that holds your life so close to trial?

You love to blunder and you love the flame
What you see revealed within the danger ain’t worth the pain
And before the fright’ning fades and you see end near
You've got a second to look at the dark side of the tan

You love to blunder and you love the flame
You know your sun fear like you know your name
And I know you wonder how you ever came
To be a young man in love with a tan in search of C’s pain

Draw the blade and flight it higher
For it’s slice that scolds you when golf’s your game
And just like your driver, knows you’re no Tiger
And the crazy swing thing that time will never tame

You love to blunder and you love the flame
You know the rough here like you know your name
You shot high number and it's still the same
And you can dream
But you can never go back and save the game

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