35 radiation treatments.

7 chemotherapies.

He's home now. 

Amazingly, he didn't lose his hair nor did he lose weight.  A testament to my mother's tenaciousness in forcing him to eat and of course the crazy man vegetable juicing he's been doing. 

I'd like to think all the energy work I did with various peoples helped support him in way that he endured it all without any side effects other than tiredness.  Or the flesh burning that comes with concentrated radiation. 

Still, this could be the end.  Sometimes when the treatment stops the tumor comes back super fast.  Or, it could be a few more years.  We'll only know on a day to day basis.

I can imagine that if my father were writing this story, that he would write it where he had some crazy rare cancer and had an awesome come back.  He's a beat the odds kinda guy and he loves the glory that comes with it.  Those are the stories he loves so I can imagine that if we truly do write our own stories, this is the one he would choose.  Something Rocky-like.

So here's to hoping for many more years to my father's life.  Many more years of bad puns, worse farts, and amazing chicken rearing.  Here's to hoping we're at the part in Rocky where inspired, Sly decides he's going to in fact eat lightning and crap thunder, per Burgess Meredith's recommendation.  The part where he wins the belt, gets the girl, lives long and prospers.

I'm flying home for his birthday.  It'll be his 75th. 

Thank you for all your good vibes, thoughts and prayers.  It's all on him now.

I am a huge fan of microlending and financing via sites like kiva.org and kickstarter.  On Kiva, I check in semi-regularly to reinvest my money and I am always on top of any updates on my lendees.  All but one was able to pay back their loan which is great and makes me happy that my "friends" have been able to launch their projects and fulfill some basic income needs.  (The one who was unable to pay back the loan experienced an unexpected natural disaster that actually killed the farm animals my money helped purchase)

I'm also a huge fan of off-kilter prison programs that end up teaching hardened criminals new life skills alongside compassion.  Like teaching felons and murderers Vipassana meditation as shown in the documentary Dhamma Brothers (full film is available on YouTube I hear) 

I also like things such as prison pet programs where inmates take care of animals that otherwise would've been put down and teach them how to be good pets again.  Of course the prisoners themselves learn new depths of love and caring for themselves as well as others.  

So you can imagine my excitement when I heard about this, "A collaboration of solutionaries from inside and outside communities that inspires and awakens our connection to the earth and each other, by contributing to individual, community and global transformation."  Basically, it's inmates learning about the environment and learning how to mitigate or improve current environmental issues.

God, throw in some gluten-free bread and you've god an awesome sandwich.

I love that people are still trying to help our forgotten prisoners.  That people haven't "locked them up and thrown away the key."  That there are folks out there who still see these felons, rapists, murderers, falsely-accused, embezzlers as human beings with something to contribute to this world.  I can't say that I always do, but like I said, I'm grateful that there are people out there who can look past that and see what is good.  And how awesome to find some of those people are also out there working hard to bring understanding to what our actions do to the key entity that supports our survival as individuals and as a species: the earth.

Seriously awesome sandwich. 

I used to be afraid of having people over, whether planned or in some impromptu situation.  I think I felt that my place wasn't tidy enough, big enough, or I didn't have anything for folks to eat other than chips.  I would envy people who would randomly invite the drinking crowd over to their home after last call and not only have more to drink on hand, but be able to whip up great late night snacks or even meals for their guests.  I wanted to be that person, that kind of casual hostess - and finally, that's starting to happen.

In part it's because of my Skype chats with Brian.  The first time we did cooking over Skype I was like all showered and made up and the kitchen had been scrubbed.  Now after a bunch of our own versions of Drunk Kitchen*, I'm pretty much unshowered and in last night's clothes, and one time, I hadn't even bothered to brush my teeth.  But the point is, the chat's are like having Brian (or any person) over in real life and I'm not getting uptight about how clean the kitchen looks anymore or trying to make sure everything is put away.

That was the first baby step.

Then Awesome Downstairs Neighbor (The Chef) moved in.  She's so open and casual and frequently drops by for a chat so I had to give up worrying about whether I'd scrubbed the toilet in the last week or whether I'd hand washed the kitchen floor.  That was baby step number two.

Then, with all her guests in town and all my guests in town, more and more people were dropping by (or staying) and then we'd all be hanging out in the kitchen while I did my usual weekend cooking.  And because people were here while I was making food, I'd end up serving them what I was making.  

Right?  So you can see how that's been evolving.  Totally organic, nothing forced.  

So late last night, I ended up hosting an impromptu event when one of The Chef's classmates came over to hang out with her.  Instead of just going off on their own, they ended up camped around my kitchen table, at first drinking and chatting with me then later, dancing and singing to every ridiculous song you can find on Spotify.  Good times were had by us, but not by anyone in hearing range.

Around midnight, when The Chef's friend mentioned she was hungry, I busted out some killer fish tacos along with a black bean, corn, tomato salad.  People, I have never ever made fish before unless it was in the shape of a rectangle or stick but with my tipsy courage (and pointers from The Chef) I got the fish thawed.  I seasoned it all by myself and got it prepped for the tacos.  Everything ended up tasting great, so much that the guests went back for more.  I could not have been prouder in that moment, getting good reviews from people who know food.  

It wasn't until this morning that I realized I'd done what I'd always dreamed of (albeit for a very small group): I'd finally hosted something totally off the cuff and actually pulled it off.  People had a good time (I'm assuming they did since they didn't leave until 3 AM) and, perhaps more importantly, I did not freak out about being a hostess.    

It's neat to look back and see how that's been growing on its own and I owe a lot of that to BFF Brian and our Skype dates.  

* If you have never seen an episode of Drunk Kitchen, I can't recommend it enough.  Here's a sample and if I may, the first 2 minutes are golden.  I love this woman.

I know, people.  It's been awhile.  Cut me a little slack.  My dad's got the cancer and all.

I'm going to spare you every single daily up and down.  All you need to know is that it's minute by minute for the man.  I'm doing everything I can on my end to boost his qi (particularly when I'm sober) and the doctors are doing everything they can to fuck it up.  I'm not kidding.   Chemo and radiation are incredibly effective...when it's not as intense as what my dad's going through.  To quote a friend, "That shit is shoddy" and that's coming from a buddy whose father died essentially because of it.  But energetically, it rips apart the life force from the outside in and from the inside out.  Not a lot to work with if you're me.

But my dad is hanging in there.  Until this week he was all about beating it but today was the first time the word "probably" crept in there.  "Will probably beat it."  Shit.  Dad.  Seriously?  Fuck that. 

He'll make it through the remaining couple weeks of chemo and radiation, I know he will.  But after, I'm terrified. That's usually when the cancer comes back and with a vengeance so I'll have to be (sober) on guard and ready to support his field if requested.

So, it'll be touch and go for awhile.

When I'm drunk I go to extremes of "He's got this.  He'll be fine for 3-5 years" and other times I'm all, "Shit, I need to buy better funeral clothes."  I'm too close to it.  I can't read the energy at all. 

Dad, if you do die in the next few months, you owe me a shit ton.  I demand to have the saw that you played for me with a violin bow.  It will go up in the kitchen - somewhere prominent in the house - so that I will always remember how you, no shit, played some cray-cray Chopin, Mozart and Bach on that when I was a kid still wearing polyester, rubbing dried boogers away from my nose.  I don't want your bible, or anything else.  Just the saw.  Just the instrument that showed me how music could be made from anything, and played well if played from the core of the soul. 

Dad, you better have this in hand.  You'd better not die right now.  This would be more than I can handle on top of the other shit I have going on.  You hear?

So, the thing is, my mom is completely nuts.  You know that, right?  You can not have a conversation with her lately without her telling you the entire story of her battle with breast cancer.  I could be all, "How do you think dad's handling the radiation?" and then she's off, running at the mouth about how she handled her radiation.  You know, when she had breast cancer.  And how her faith is what saved her.  

Sidenote, I'm not the only one subjected to this.  When my dad was first at the cancer center, every friggin time he met a new doctor, my mom would go on about her own cancer experience, how humble she is, how she's sooo devoted to God.  I applaud the doctor who cut her off after about 15 minutes and said, "I'd like to hear from the patient if you don't mind."

Booyah!

Over the last few weeks I've had to endure this countless times - about how humble she is since God spared her life (with her always weeping earnestly about her own humility) - that I could probably move my lips along with her speech in perfect sync.  Her latest thing though is how compassionate she is.  Just the other day when she insisted I save some food scraps for the chickens back at home she said, "You know, it's because I'm so compassionate.  I'm a compassionate person, even to the chickens."  

My mom doesn't just say this.  When she says the word 'compassionate' she is closing her eyes and turning her head to one side, the word coming out in a whisper as she's got one index finger raised for extra emphasis.

I know, right?

If all that weren't bad enough, apparently she told my sister that basically my dad brought this cancer on himself.  That because he was a sinner somewhere in his past and hadn't suffered enough, god brought this on him and now my dad had to prove to god that he was as devoted as my mom so he could be healed.

My sister, who happened to be trashed at the time, flipped out on her and told her to "SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP! YOUNEEDTOSHUTTHEFUCKUPRIGHTNOW!" In her classic style my mom said in her fake ubercalm, condescending voice, "Well, I can see you are very upset. Maybe you need to think about this some more before we continue this talk. I will pray for you."

Not sure what she said after that since my sister told me she just hung up on her and went and poured herself a stiffer drink.

Upon hearing this, a friend of mine was trying to be encouraging and kind towards my mom by suggesting, "This is how your mom is coping," and I considered that for a bit.  But you know what?  No.  Not how she copes.  She does this all the time.  She's been doing the 'humble' act for decades.  I'm sure she just recently learned the word compassionate and is merely adding it to her shtick.

Well, y'all missed out on some good posts over the weekend.  In a late night drunken stupor, I hit some wrong buttons (stupid keyboard shortcuts) and lost them but no worries.  I'll get around to processing and venting and all that in the coming days.

It's hard to go back and write something you've already written.  Plus, my brain wants to do everything chronologically but I think I'll just go with whatever's on the top of my mind.

I flew to Houston last Thursday morning at some god-forsaken hour with the BF.  We stayed with my sister for a night and then Friday morning, the entire family loaded up three cars and headed to Pointe West off the Gulf coast for some time at the beach.  It was a very purposeful trip with the intent of getting my dad out to the water to go fishing with his grandson, very possibly for the last time.  Of course we were also there to celebrate my niece's tenth birthday, the zombie Jesus, and savor our time together as a family before there is one less of us.

The BF has been nothing short of friggin amazing throughout all of this.  Making sure my glass was full, that I had help cooking, that I had all the things I needed.  He was busy running around finding things for me (my barrette, my glasses, that one shirt, etc.) because for whatever reason, my memory has gone to shit the last couple weeks.  Probably stress, but I'm surprised that I'm showing signs of cracking so early on in the game.  Of course on the other hand, it could be all the boozing.

He was also game for running around with the kids, taking them on bike rides so their parents could get a break, getting them inner tubes and kites to play with on the beach.  He made sure to be up and about in the mornings helping whoever was in the kitchen, to socialize with my family, and was always up with me late at night to make sure I was okay and that my liver didn't explode.  The guy endured some ribbing from my sister, my mom's endless chewing-and-talking with her mouth open, and didn't bat an eye when forced to hold hands with my brother in law (and later my father) when my mom insisted on a prayer circle before a few meals.

He's a keeper, that one.  And, as my sister pointed out, "He hasn't left yet."  Amen to that, people.

Not even sure where to start.  I mean, these weeks have been jam packed, chockfull, overflowing with crazy, funny, stupid, everything.

Get ready.

Some time ago, I promised myself I wouldn't drink during the week which is what I have honored until now.  On Wednesday, after a phone call from my sister at work, that went out the window.  I went to the corner store, bought a pack of smokes, hopped on BART and came home.  I said to the BF, "Here's how it's gonna be.  You're going to the store now and you're going to buy 6 bottles of wine.  I'm going to eat this entire bag of corn chips and smoke a shitload of cigarettes.  I will be sitting out back when you come home."

And it all went downhill from there.

The phone call was about my dad's appointments at the cancer center for the day.  It wasn't about the news (none of it was earth shattering) it was that my sister "had to go" after dropping the news on me.  I flipped out on her and was like, "What do you mean you have to go?"  She'd done this every single fucking day since Sunday.  "You don't get to go!  You can't call me with this shit and just hang the fuck up!  Do you have any idea how fucking awful it is for you to leave me with, 'My concern is,' or some shit like that?  No, you don't get to go.  Fuck you.  I need to know what's going on.  I feel fucking helpless and no one will let me come visit or tell me everything about dad's situation!"

Not like that stopped her.  But the impotence of my situation was boiling over.  I poured glass after glass of wine and called BFF Brian who patiently listened to me while I ranted about everything and nothing.  For an hour (guess I used up my minutes with him).

The bottom line to date is that yes, it's official.  My dad has anaplastic thyroid cancer.  The doctor said to him, "You have a year.  You need to get your affairs in order."  And that didn't mean get your will updated or whatever.  It actually meant, you need to get someone with a solid head to have power of attorney.  See, the way he'll die is the growth will get so big he'll choke, won't get any air.  Now, my mom, my sister, me?  We'd be all taking him to the emergency room, doing whatever we could to get that airflow going but my dad said, "That's not for me."  And it's true.  My dad is not a hanger-on kinda guy.  Doesn't want that shit.  As he put it, "If God's calling me, I'm going to go."  So the person responsible for pulling that plug will be my brother-in-law, the poor bastard.  And I know he'll do the right thing.  I trust him.  I know he's grown to love my father over the years and has a tremendous amount of respect for him.  I'm okay with that.

On the upside, the doctors at the cancer center (also doing ground breaking research) are floored.  My dad's first biopsy was almost 3 weeks ago.  The tumor has barely (if at all) grown.  This is unheard of.  Granted, he is also the *only* person they have ever seen this early in the stages of this particularly aggressive cancer, but still.  Kindofa big deal.  Big enough that every friggin doctor that specializes in this area is coming to see him tomorrow.  They can't believe his stats!  That it hasn't grown!  So, more poking and a little prodding so they can get what they need for further research.

Of course it was an optional thing but my dad was all, "If it helps somebody, dass hokay."

That's my dad.

I talked with him today and I gotta say, I know he attributes the lack of growth in his tumor to the vegetable juicing he does.  He's upped it to 4 times a day.  Frankly, I don't necessarily disagree having seen enough proof online, even through TED talks, about the power of eating a fucking vegetable.  (If you're curious, check this shit out.  Unreal.)  Of course the way that I view the results is is different (organic vegetables carry more clear qi than farm factory meats or GMO crap) but still.  Between all the garlic, turmeric, veggies and who knows what else my dad is doing, something seems to be working, right?

But I have to keep in mind a few really important details.  One, no one has ever seen this cancer this early.  Ever.  So this could be normal for awhile.  Moreover, the treatment which in this case is daily radiation and one day of harsh chemo, is only prolonging the inevitable.  This particular cancer is fatal.  It's not like breast cancer where you can come back, wear pink, walk a 5K.

Still I can't help but have some kind of hope.  Look, I don't doubt that this cancer is crazy aggressive and fatal.  But thing is, I still, right now at a gut level, feel like there is still this window of time before what is energetic becomes fully physicalized.  Does that even make sense?  Nutshell, I believe disease starts in our outer bodies, on the subtle energy levels.  Yes, cancer has entered that field for my dad, and has penetrated and started to solidify on the physical level.  But it's not quite crystallized.  This is not some naive thing - I just feel it.  Crazy, i know, but I feel it.

Is it close to crystallizing?  Not just yet.  There is still space for a total shift which is awesome.  Which is why in the next few weeks I have an appointment every fucking day, at the cost of my job (and checking account) with someone I know who can get all up in my dad's energy field.  I am fully aware that what transpires may not cure him.  But I am absolutely certain that what will transpire will clarify for my dad on an energetic level, what will be best for his body and spirit.  (look, I'm drunk right now so just roll with this).  Whether we end up helping him heal his bodies or whether we end up helping prepare for his death/transition, I am certain that this will help.

And that's really what I want.  To help my dad.  Who helped me with so many things over the course of my lifetime.  My poppy! 

Dad, whatever you want, I just want to help.  I love you.  Please let me give back to you in a way where I can contribute and that I feel could really help you on all levels.

Daily radiation treatments for 7 weeks.  Chemo once a week for those 7 weeks.  He'll lose his hair, get a horrible sunburn on this throat, possibly lose teeth, for sure will lose weight.  Jesus, the treatment alone could kill him.  But I will be doing my damndest on every other level to support his immune system and his whole being. 

Don't fuck with me in that space.  I know what I'm doing and I will do it fucking well.  My dad will not die because of lack of support there.  He will only die because he chooses to. 

I've been thinking about this post from bearclau listing out 30 questions.  Many of them jumped out at me as things I've either never considered or haven't thought about in a long while.  I've been muddling through some of them off and on but one really has me stumped and that's, "What are your 5 greatest accomplishments?"

Shit.  I dunno.  *shrug*

It's easier to answer in the context of my professional life but outside of that, what have I really accomplished?  How do I measure that?  Here's my best shot so far and in no particular order.

1. The weight loss thing.  I set a goal a couple decades ago and finally got around to hitting that weight.  Not bad.

2. Divorce.  I realize divorce isn't necessarily an 'accomplishment' but to me, the way that T and I split - as lovingly as we possibly could, without a ton of bitterness - is a pretty big deal to me.  It was a serious "growing up" moment for the both of us and I think we handled it fairly well.  It wasn't easy and it definitely came with some new personal lows on my end (and his) but we worked on minimizing damage and are still friends.  I also feel I should get extra points for handling all the annoying paperwork.

3. Self-discovery.  Also probably not a real accomplishment in some ways but people, it's taken a lot of work to figure out my own inner workings (and it will be neverending). I have dedicated a large part of my life to to figuring out what it is I enjoy (as opposed to 'should' enjoy or enjoy because a friend or boyfriend enjoys them), what I choose to believe, how I want to express myself.  The fruits of that for me are things like my ongoing yoga practice, getting back into exercise in a way that is mine (not some program or a result of some external pressures), choosing my words more carefully at work, and truly having a better work-life balance.  It's also helped me to find and sustain a good relationship with the BF and, I hope, be more supportive of my friends.  I think it's also helped me in my parental interactions, keeping things out of personality and on a more meaningful level.

4. Cooking.  I think this might be tied into the one above but it deserves its own slot.  I think I used to be afraid of cooking, of messing things up, of the meal not being perfect so I avoided it.  Frankly, it also seemed like a lot of effort.  Through cooking, I reinforced that part of me that could be creative, expressive without the confines of rules and measurements, and just enjoy the (boozy) process.  And you know, I've come to love it.  I've come to love the mistakes, the sliced fingers, the accidental hot pepper juice in the eye, all of it.  I can now make (some) things without a recipe in front of me or experiment with flavors without a near come-apart.  This is a huge deal for me and something about which I'm really proud.

5. The Big Hike - and for something more along the lines of a regular accomplishment, I'd have to say last fall's 30+ mile hike is another big deal accomplishment for me.  I mean, I'm the chick that never wanted to get off the sofa, who always had her nose buried in a book, who topped out at 175 lbs (on a 5'4" frame), who would eat a brick of cream cheese as a snack.  The same chick who hated being outside because jesus, what is with all these bugs and things and where am I supposed to plug in my phone charger/hair dryer/laptop?  Same person trekked 30+ miles with a 30 lb pack on her back and had (mostly) a lot of fun (despite being sick and then injuring myself at the end).  But I mean, the fact that I even considered it and then executed it?  Pretty damn awesome.

So there's my 5 for now.  What are yours?