The Skin Crowd

Just for grins and the dancing pleasure of my molemates, here’s The Hotel Melanoma rendition of Dobie Gray’s “The ‘In’ Crowd”…



I'm in with the skin crowd, I glow where the skin crowd glows
I'm in with the skin crowd and I grow what the skin crowd grows

Anytime of the year, don't you hear? Bless benign, baking nein
We breeze up and down the street, we get respect from the people we meet
They make way day or night, they know the skin crowd ain’t out of fight

I'm in with the skin crowd, I know every palest stance
When you're in with the skin crowd, it's so easy to find long pants

Any time of the year, don't you hear? If it's bare, we say prayer
We make every minute count, our care is always the biggest bum out
Other guys imitate us, but the original is still the greatest, skin crowd!

Any time of the year, don't you hear? Spendin' cash, blockin’ rash
I'll show you a real ‘good’ time, come on with me, leave your troubles behind
I don't care where you've been, you ain't been nowhere til you've been in
With the skin crowd, with the skin crowd, skin crowd!

I Just Want To Thank You

As a blogger and melavangelist, I’ve been quite the slacker of late, preferring to play a lot of golf (rather poorly I should add) over doing anything worthwhile and productive. But the Saturday before Thanksgiving is sort of a ‘cancerversary’ for me, because that was the day in 2003 when I was released from the hospital after completing my last round of biochemotherapy.

Thirteen years of “no evidence of disease”. I’m lucky and blessed, but so often perplexed and sorrowful that all too many of my molemates haven’t been as fortunate as me.

So today, I just want to thank all of the folks who’ve helped me get so many years and miles down Melaroad—especially the medics who talked me into an aggressive and toxic treatment regimen and all of my molemates, particularly my Tutu Brother Mark, who’ve made the journey bearable and, quite often, a joy.

From Nathaniel Rateliff and The Night Sweats…



Spend your years
Spend your time
With all these fears
Not all were mine

I just want to thank you
I just want to thank you
I just want to thank you
I just want to thank you
I just want to thank you sweet maties for getting me through

Can’t hide your fears
I can’t hide mine
In spite of all this drear
I think we’re fine

I just want to thank you
I just want to thank you
I just want to thank you
I just want to thank you
I just want to thank you gritty maties for getting me through

I was looking back there, Lord
Could have been no one else
I would have been so cold
Graying here by myself
Ever since you found me yeah
Never be anybody else
Yeah maties, yeah

I just want to thank you
I just want to thank you
I just want to thank you
I just want to thank you
I just want to thank you
I just want to thank you
I just want to thank you sweet maties for getting me through

Cloudy Days

So, I’ve been feeling a little glum since removing myself from a volunteer position in the melanoma nonprofit community. (And losing a stroke on my home course handicap hasn’t helped to improve my cranky mood.) Despite the good intentions of all involved in the endeavor, sometimes these things just don’t work out like you hoped they would and you come to the realization that it’s time to move on and hope you can be more effective elsewhere. But this aging melavangelist ain’t givin’ up just yet. I will seek and find another way to be actively and effectively involved in supporting melanoma research, education and prevention. Have blog and black tutu, will travel!

I strongly suspect I’m far from alone in the melahomie community in wanting to do something to defeat the Black Beast but finding it a challenge to figure out how and where and with whom to best do that. If you’re in the same boat, I’d love to hear from you with your thoughts and ideas on how we survivors can make a real difference.

Until next time, I’ll sign off with the Hotel Melanoma rendition of The Eagles “No More Cloudy Days”…


The Eagles - No More Cloudy Days (Live 2005) by olatoniggg

Sitting by a foggy window
Staring at the pouring rain
Falling down like lonely teardrops
Memories of nothin’ gained
These cloudy days, make you wanna cry
It breaks your heart when somethin’ cleaves and you don't know why

I can see that you've been hurting, maybe I've been lonely too
I've been out here lost and searching, looking for mole pals like you
Now I believe the sun is gonna shine
Don't you be afraid to try again, put your hand in mine?

Baby, I would never make you fry
I would never change your hue
I would never let you brown
We would always seek breakthrough

I know a place where we can go where UV never preys
There’s no more stormy nights, no more cloudy days

I believe in second chances
I believe in angels, too
I believe in new advances
Baby, I believe in you
These cloudy days are coming to an end
And you don't have to be afraid to don golf glove again

Baby, I would never make you fry
I would never change your hue
I would never turn away
We would always seek breakthough
I know a place where we can go where UV never preys
There's no more stormy nights, no more cloudy days

Reaching Out

A large part of why I’m so glad I eventually wandered out of my lonely, single room at The Hotel Melanoma is that I’ve had the privilege of getting to know one of the true gems of the melanoma community, (Rev.) Carol Taylor. As many of you know, Carol (a/k/a Southern Mama Preacher) founded the Facebook community page Melanoma Prayer Center and it’s been a source of comfort, support and inspiration to thousands of melahomies. Carol has lived a life of service to her family, her church, and the melanoma community—which has made it a great honor for a very flawed and less selfless fellow like me to have been adopted as her big (i.e. much older) brother.

Carol has had quite an influence on the musical content of my little blog, e.g. the occasional disco tune which I’d never have done but for her ‘requests’. But today I’ll stick with my roots in Classic Rock. For Carol, who has done so much to remind me that the true purpose of human life is to serve others, here’s Bob Dylan’s “Gotta Serve Somebody”…

You may be an ambassador to England or France
You may like to gamble, you might like to dance
You may be the heavyweight champion of the world
You may be a socialite with a long string of pearls

But you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes
Indeed you're gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you're gonna have to serve somebody

You might be a rock 'n' roll addict prancing on the stage
You might have drugs at your command, women in a cage
You may be a business man or some high-degree thief
They may call you doctor or they may call you chief

But you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes you are
You're gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you're gonna have to serve somebody

You may be a state trooper, you might be a young Turk
You may be the head of some big TV network
You may be rich or poor, you may be blind or lame
You may be living in another country under another name

But you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes you are
You're gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you're gonna have to serve somebody

You may be a construction worker working on a home
You may be living in a mansion or you might live in a dome
You might own guns and you might even own tanks
You might be somebody's landlord, you might even own banks

But you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes
You're gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you're gonna have to serve somebody

You may be a preacher with your spiritual pride
You may be a city councilman taking bribes on the side
You may be workin' in a barbershop, you may know how to cut hair
You may be somebody's mistress, may be somebody's heir

But you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes
You're gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you're gonna have to serve somebody

Might like to wear cotton, might like to wear silk
Might like to drink whiskey, might like to drink milk
You might like to eat caviar, you might like to eat bread
You may be sleeping on the floor, sleeping in a king-sized bed

But you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes
Indeed you're gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you're gonna have to serve somebody

You may call me Terry, you may call me Timmy
You may call me Bobby, you may call me Zimmy
You may call me R.J., you may call me Ray
You may call me anything but no matter what you say

Still, you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes
You're gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you're gonna have to serve somebody.

Forever Young

Next month I’ll turn 63. And in the “I’ll never-grow-old” fantasy world of this Baby Boomer, that’s middle-aged.

During my first decade or so of living at The Hotel Melanoma, my life planning horizon didn’t extend beyond my next 90-day or 6-month checkup etc. at the melanoma clinic. And I don’t think that’s the least bit uncommon among my N.E.D. melahomies who are also living with a high risk of recurrence.

But slowly yet surely over the course of the past couple of years I’ve started to contemplate the possibility that I might, just might, actually grow old. Really old. (Although I’m convinced there will always be the ornery juvenile delinquent brain of a seventeen-year-old trapped inside an increasingly frail body.) And if I do, where will I live when I can no longer manage my two-story home in the often-snowy woods? Will my retirement savings keep me stocked with single malt scotch? Will self-driving car technology keep me mobile? When do I start teeing off from the ladies tees? I know that I’m quite lucky and that I ought to be grateful to have such questions rolling around my chemo-fogged brain, when all too many younger lives have been cut way too short by the Black Beast. Meanwhile, I’m still just a ‘kid’ who’s hoping we all grow much, much older while somehow remaining forever young at heart.

For all of my molemates who’ve been laboring so hard to build melanoma awareness this month, here’s The Hotel Melanoma rendition of Bob Dylan’s “Forever Young”…



May God bless and keep you always
May your skin checks show pale hue
May you always do for others
And let others do for you

May you build a ladder from your scars
And climb on every rung
May you stay
Forever young

Forever young
Forever young
May you stay
Forever young

May you grow up to spread whiteness
May you grow up ‘til C’s through
May you always know the truth
And flee tan lights surrounding you

May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
And may you stay
Forever young

Forever young
Forever young
May you stay
Forever young

May your scans always be pretty
May your tweets always persist
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift

May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung
And may you stay
Forever young

Forever young
Forever young
May you stay
Forever young

Just Rewards

Many of we residents at The Hotel Melanoma are all too familiar with ‘Dr.’ Joseph Mercola and his quack claims about the health benefits of exposure to ultraviolet light, false advertising claims made to promote and sell his own line of tanning beds. But it seems that Lyin’ Joe is about to receive the just rewards of his quackery, as this past week the Federal Trade Commission announced a settlement of its false advertising lawsuit against Mercola. Settlement terms include making refunds to buyers of his tanning beds in an amount up to $5.3 million and a promise to stop selling his cancer incubators. Read all about it here.

Mercola is reportedly unrepentant and standing by his claims of the cancer-fighting benefits of tanning bed use. So I can imagine him singing this Hotel Melanoma rendition of Simple Minds’ “Don’t You (Forget About Me)”…



Hey, hey, hey, hey
Ohhhhhohhhhhohhhohhhhwooooo

Won't you come see about C?
I'll be a-prone, tanning you know it baby

Tell me your troubles and doubts
Giving me everything inside and out and
Small change, I’m still a doc shark
Think of the cancer things that we were working on

Glow change may pull us apart
When the light gets into your parts, baby

Won't you, forget about C
Don't, don't, don't, don't
Don't you, forget about D

Will you tan and love me?
Cook my way, never shove me
Rays keep calling, rays keep mauling
Brown, brown, brown

Will you idolize me?
Fall for claims or balk on lies
Rays keep calling, rays keep mauling
Brown, brown, brown, brown

Hey, hey, hey, hey
Ohhhhohhhhohhhohhhhwooooo

Won't you fry and be friend
It's my feeling I’ll win in the end
I won't warn you or touch your pretenses
Vanity, insecurity

Won't you forget about C
I'll be a-prone, tanning you know it baby
Going to take you apart
I'll put us back together at heart, baby

Don't you, forget about D
Don't, don't, don't, don't
Won't you, forget about C

As you walk on by
Will you call my name?
As you walk on by
Will you call my name?
When you walk away

Or will you walk on rays?
Will you walk on fries?
Come on, buy my claims
Will you buy my claims?

I say
Blah blah, blah, blah, blah, blah
Blah blah, blah, blah, blah, blah
Blah blah, blah, blah, blah, blah
Blah blah, blah, blah, blah, blah
Blah blah, blah, blah, blah, blah
Blah blah, blah, blah, blah, blah
Blah blah, blah, blah, blah, blah
Blah blah, blah, blah, blah, blah
Blah blah, blah, blah, blah, blah
When you walk on by, and you call my name

Something Good Coming

Back in the Dark Ages of melanoma treatment, 2003 to be exact, I had a close encounter with a Stage IV diagnosis. A CT scan showed a large mass next to my cervical spine. The initial prognosis was quite grim, as further metastasis to my spine, brain and heart was likely. I was told that the only treatment options available at the time, radiation and chemotherapy, might extend my life a few months but would not commute my almost certain death sentence. Lucky for me, and against all odds, the mass turned out to be a benign nerve tissue tumor, not a melanoma tumor. It’s been one troublesome sonofabitch requiring extensive neurosurgery and radiation treatments (and permanent nerve damage has wreaked havoc on a golf swing that was never pretty) but it isn’t a killer.

The state of metastatic melanoma treatment has so very, very much changed for the better since 2003. Today there is real and thoroughly rational hope for long term survival after a Stage IV diagnosis. And I have to believe that we’re nowhere near done with treatment advances and there is something good coming to The Hotel Melanoma. Soon, very soon.

Thinking of my friend Donna today, I’ll sign off with my take on “Something Good Coming” from Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers…



I'm watching the bloggers
Watching the posts
Suddenly I know
What I want the most

And I want to tell you
Still I hold Black
I need some time
Get my life on track

I know that look on your face
But there's somethin' plucky about this place
And there's somethin' good comin'
For you and me
Somethin' good comin'
There has to be

And I'm thinking 'bout Donna
And about her kids
And the way she lived
And the things she did

How she never had a chance
Never caught a break
And how we pay for our skin mistakes

I know so well the look on your face
And there's somethin' plucky about this place
There's somethin' good comin'
Just over the hill
Somethin' good comin'
I know it will

And I'm in for the long run
Wherever it goes
Ridin' the river
Wherever it goes

And I'm an earnest man
Hope’s all I know
You take that away
Don't know where to go

And I know that look that's on your face
There's somethin' plucky about this place
There's somethin' good comin'
For you and me
Somethin' good comin'
There has to be

A Blogoversary Oldie

I’ve been quite the blogging slacker of late, but I’ve been aroused today from my winter torpor because it’s the 6th anniversary of the ‘grand’ opening of The Hotel Melanoma. I often wonder (while my chemo-soaked brain wanders) just why it is that I keep doing this. I guess I do it because I just ‘love’ the Black Beast and every so often (like this past January) I’m reminded by some vigilant medic that I can’t ever breakup with her. And because I feel obliged to continue to stand up and be counted among the ranks of the very lucky, long term survivors of a complicated relationship with this b***h.

Hoping and praying that the next six years is even better for treatment advances than the last six, I’ll sign off with a little ‘love’ song to our adversary. To the tune of “Let’s Hang On” from Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons…



There ain't no could in our goodbyein'
New drugs take a lot of tryin'
Oh, my fryin’…

Let's hang up on what we've got
Just let go, girl, we've fought a lot
Got a lot of ‘love’ between us
Hang up, hang up, hang up on what we've got

You say you're gonna go and call it quits
Gonna chuck it all and break our ‘love’ to bits
Break it up (I wish you'd ever said it)
Break it up (oh yo, I’ll not regret it)
That little blip of shining on old scans
Cost a fortune, baby
But you know it stands for the ‘love’, (a love to tie and bind ya)
Such a ‘love’ (we just can't leave behind us)

Baby (don't you know?)
Baby (won't you go)
Think it over and stray

Let's hang up on what we've got
Just let go, girl, we've fought a lot
Got a lot of ‘love’ between us
Hang up, hang up, hang up on what we've got

There isn't anything I wouldn't do
I'd pay any price to get all good from you
Pack it up (give me a second learnin')
Pack it up (don't fuel spots while I'm burnin')

You've got me cryin', dyin' at your door
Just shut me out, ooh, let me out once more
Open up (your arms, I need paroled new)
Open up (your heart, oh girl, I drugged you)

Baby, don't you know?
Baby, no, no, no
Think it over and stray

Let's hang up on what we've got
Won't let go, girl, we've fought a lot
Got a lot of ‘love’ between us
Hang up, hang up, hang up on what we've got

A Sneaky S.O.B.

Last Sunday I was looking like I’d taken a hard punch to my right jaw. (I can think of several people- including my wife- who might want to take a punch at me, but nobody did.) My primary care doc’s diagnosis on Monday was “lymphadenopathy, cervical”. So, after the primary care doc talked to my dermatologist, who in turn talked to my oncologist, I’ll be trucking up to the melanoma clinic next week for a checkup and likely a bonus “fine needle aspiration”, which they always seem to do in the breast cancer clinic where I draw some very quizzical looks from other patients. The initial plan was to do a head/neck CT scan prior to this checkup, but my wonderful insurance company refused to authorize it; but that’s okay with me, I guess, because I would’ve had to pay for it thanks to my sky-high deductible and now maybe I’ll dodge a scan expense.

The strong odds are that my lymph node(s?) are merely enlarged by an excess intake of chocolate over the Holidays. Or single malt Scotch. But then again we all know that melanoma can be one sneaky S.O.B and pop up after years of lying dormant. Be vigilant my friends. No matter how long you’ve been in “no evidence of disease” status, please be watchful and have regular monitoring checkups with a melanoma specialist.

Feeling a touch of melanoma paranoia, I’ll sign off with the Hotel Melanoma rendition of “S.O.B.” from Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats…



I'm gonna need some docs to help me
I'm gonna need some body scans
I'm gonna need someone to hold me down
I'm gonna need someone to care
I'm gonna writhe and shake my body
I'll start pulling out my hair
I'm going to cover myself with more splashes of goo
And mole buddies gonna give a damn

Son of a bitch, get me a shrink
One more fright is shaking me
Son of a bitch
If I can't scan clean I'm gonna drink my life away

Now for seventeen years I've been growing them black
Seventeen more will bury me
Can somebody please just tie me down
Or somebody get me a goddamn shrink

Son of a bitch, get me a shrink
One more fright
This can't be C
Son of a bitch
If I can't scan clean I'm gonna drink my life away
Hey, Yeah now

My heart is quaking, hands are shaking
Docs are pawing all over me
My heart is quaking, hands are shaking
Docs are pawing all over me
My heart is quaking, hands are shaking
Docs are pawing all over me
My heart is quaking, hands are shaking
Docs are pawing all over me

Son of a bitch, get me a shrink
One more fright
This can't be C
Son of a bitch
If I can't scan clean I'm gonna drink my life away
Son of a bitch, get me a shrink
One more fright
This can't be C
Son of a bitch
If I can't scan clean I'm gonna drink my life away
Yeah ah

Poke-a-Mole

Just for grins on a wintry day here in the Rockies, The Hotel Melanoma rendition of “Kokomo” from The Beach Boys…



Keytruda, can quake ya, ooh I wanna take ya
Intruduh, skin trauma, come on pretty mama
Opdivo, doc ego,
Baby why don't we go,
Fake-bake ya

Off the Florida Keys
There's a place called Poke-a-Mole
That's where you wanna go
To get away from it all
Bodies never tanned,
Topical zinc melting in your hand
We'll seek awning in sun
To the rhythm of a steel drum band
Down in Poke-a-Mole

Keytruda, can quake ya, ooh I wanna take ya
Intruduh, skin trauma, come on pretty mama
Opdivo, doc ego,
Baby why don't we go
Ooh I wanna take you down to Poke-a-Mole,
We'll get there fast
And then we'll take it slow
That's where we wanna go,
Way down in Poke-a-Mole.

Doublespeak, that doctor rap mystique...

We'll put out the C
And we'll perfect our chemistry
By and by we'll deny
What’s little left of sanity
Afternoon delight,
Cocktails and moonlit nights
That dreamy look in your eye,
Give me a tropical contact high
Way down in Poke-a-Mole

Keytruda, can quake ya, ooh I wanna take ya
Intruduh, skin trauma, come on pretty mama
Opdivo, doc ego,
Baby why don't we go
Ooh I wanna take you down to Poke-a-Mole,
We'll get there fast
And then we'll take it slow
That's where we wanna go,
Way down in Poke-a-Mole.

Port’s all rinsed, I wanna scratch the PICC...

Everybody knows a little place like Poke-a-Mole
Now if you wanna go to get away from it all
Go down to Poke-a-Mole
Keytruda, can quake ya, ooh I wanna take ya
Intruduh, skin trauma, come on pretty mama
Opdivo, doc ego,
Baby why don't we go
Ooh I wanna take you down to Poke-a-Mole,
We'll get there fast
And then we'll take it slow
That's where we wanna go,
Way down in Poke-a-Mole.

Keytruda, can quake ya, ooh I wanna take ya
Intruduh, skin trauma, come on pretty mama
Opdivo, doc ego,
Baby why don't we go,
Fake-bake ya