I was asked a question the other day. My aunt asked how long it took me to recover from my surgery. My grandpa is having bypass surgery this week, and seeing that he'll have his chest cracked, my aunt thought to ask. The age difference alone i told her...I said that from time to time, when i cough it hurts. Sometimes my chest will crack like a knuckle.
Its still something i have to come to terms with. Its not something that i can hide, or something that i dont have to see. Its something i have to explain every time i lay down with a girl, or i have my shirt off. Its not that im shy about it...i talk about my surgery when asked. It was...something that i dont think about that much anymore. I dont know why this is bugging me so much...if bugging is the right word to use. It been on my mind since the other day.
Each time someone or something forces me to think about cancer...im not sure it gets easier...it gets harder. The more i want to let it go, more its there. I know the irony in that...
George asked me why i stop writing...im not sure i gave him a straight answer, but a tangent about corporate greed or some other life rambling. There is no good answer why. I guess the easiest...ive had some sort of writers block going on for a long time. I have some bright spots of creativity, but mostly i draw a blank. More along the truth, i often dont want to talk about...
Seems ive been working on this blog for months. The good news, the surgery went well. Though, there was a point that...my grandpa could die on that table. What was i going to say at the funeral. Someone shouldn't be thinking that...but it was sobering. I started to scribble something down. When he came out ok, I knew one day i'll have to dig up that napkin. It was hard to go to the hospital. I knew the pain he was feeling, with all the tubes, the background noise from the machines that seems be drowned out the deafen silence of the hospital. When i sat with for awhile, the oxygen tube in his noise...i looked. He started to clean his noise. I said "its a pain in the ass huh? I could never breath with that damn thing..." He laughed and agreed. He look disheveled...sort of the way i did. Though i had short hair and a watch cap on after. It such a helpless feeling to put your hands into someone you dont know, dont trust, but you have to trust them to the most basic of stuff...help you up, clean your ass if need be, change you...its...well you can image. Its strange, thought not directly, ive relived my ordeal though him. Probrobly why ive stayed away from the hospital...I think he knows why.
The good news, as of this afternoon, he was doing well. Though no news on when he'll be coming home. I've sent my suit to be clean. I started to polish my shoes...much like my grandpa taught me as a kid. Ive tucked that napkin away...just in case you know.
Cheers
Monday, March 3, 2008
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Art, Cancer and Mental Health
Found this in the NY Times today.
One thing Dr. Heineman, an English professor at USF and head of the Honors program, often said was that in the United States of America, there is too little focus on mental health. I never forgot that.
We were reading Freud at the time. As a 21-year-old student at a private college in San Francisco, I had the privilege to not think about the issue, or at least not feel affected by it.
Nearly ten year later and having been through cancer and chemotherapy, I completely agree with him.
The physical is obvious and visible. You can see when someone is physically sick or feeling weak. Signs like the return of hair, the tone of ones voice and strength in your step, are easily noticed.
But what goes on beneath is not. And, as we all know, it's not that hard to hide.
At least in this country, and many of this country's cultures, it is difficult to talk about mental health.
How often do we honestly reply when some asks 'How you doing?'.
Though I think there has been a great shift -- in acceptance -- in attitudes towards psychiatry and mental wellness between my generation and my parents, there still seems to be more to go.
I was lucky. I had Adrian, Paul, Guadalupe and many more friends to talk about how I was feeling. My oncologist, Dr. Ahmann, mentioned he could refer me to a psychiatrist that works with cancer survivors. My parents were anxious to listen to my feelings. Even here, I was able to write and get it out.
As a writer, be that articles, poetry, essays or songs, I am comfortable expressing my feelings. But that's not the case with everyone.
I can't even imagine being a child cancer survivor, like little Henry Ortega, Jr., or 11-year-old Alexandra La Force Harkins, mentioned in the Times article, and dealing with cancer and survival, let alone regular growth and development. How different the world must, and will, seem to them. they are the real survivors.
So programs like this are important. I'm glad to read about one.
One thing Dr. Heineman, an English professor at USF and head of the Honors program, often said was that in the United States of America, there is too little focus on mental health. I never forgot that.
We were reading Freud at the time. As a 21-year-old student at a private college in San Francisco, I had the privilege to not think about the issue, or at least not feel affected by it.
Nearly ten year later and having been through cancer and chemotherapy, I completely agree with him.
The physical is obvious and visible. You can see when someone is physically sick or feeling weak. Signs like the return of hair, the tone of ones voice and strength in your step, are easily noticed.
But what goes on beneath is not. And, as we all know, it's not that hard to hide.
At least in this country, and many of this country's cultures, it is difficult to talk about mental health.
How often do we honestly reply when some asks 'How you doing?'.
Though I think there has been a great shift -- in acceptance -- in attitudes towards psychiatry and mental wellness between my generation and my parents, there still seems to be more to go.
I was lucky. I had Adrian, Paul, Guadalupe and many more friends to talk about how I was feeling. My oncologist, Dr. Ahmann, mentioned he could refer me to a psychiatrist that works with cancer survivors. My parents were anxious to listen to my feelings. Even here, I was able to write and get it out.
As a writer, be that articles, poetry, essays or songs, I am comfortable expressing my feelings. But that's not the case with everyone.
I can't even imagine being a child cancer survivor, like little Henry Ortega, Jr., or 11-year-old Alexandra La Force Harkins, mentioned in the Times article, and dealing with cancer and survival, let alone regular growth and development. How different the world must, and will, seem to them. they are the real survivors.
So programs like this are important. I'm glad to read about one.
just in case you were wondering
(Shakeys, Nogales, AZ. 12/30/07 by GRC)
Here's a photo of me: full head of hair and my bigote. Guadalupe shot this one of me last week when we went to visit her grandfather, Samuel Herrera, in Amado, AZ. We took him down to Nogales and we wandered around all afternoon.
Grandpa Herrera has come up with some great plans to support his family after he passes on and he has enlisted my help to set up a factory that manufactures toy UFOs. Also, we'll be heading off to Caborca, Sonora, Mexico, sometime in early February to find a hangar where he can build a safe plane.
I kid you not.
Expect a short story on this adventure later on down the line. While I was getting excited about our adventure, he promised Guadalupe there would be no girls, only pilot business.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Never Saw My Face in the Obituaries
I got a fade today.
It has been nearly five months since I last walked into Curley's (formerly Johnny Gibson's)in downtown Tucson.
Thomas, my barber, was really excited to see me. He said he'd been wondering how I was doing. I let him know how things had gone and how I was feeling. He explained that he kept a close eye on the obituaries in the local newspaper. Since he never saw my photo, he figured I was alright.
I suppose that's one way to keep tabs on me.
My hair isn't that long. In fact, it is about the same length when I left Curley's back in August. I've been letting it grow since the reunion. But my cousin Diane is getting married in Albuquerque next weekend and I want to look sharp. Besides, Guadalupe tells me every time she sees me, my hair is different and it feels like she's seeing a new man. so I can't let her down.
Meanwhile, I've been keeping an eye on my finger nails. Another subtle reminder of the chemo., the dark streaks have moved closer to my finger tips and I suspect that part of my nails will be clipped by the time I get to Abq. Slowly returning to normal.
Oh yeah, I thought I'd share this with you.
Turns out only nine people tested positive for TB after the Cancer Clinic screened 700 people.
It has been nearly five months since I last walked into Curley's (formerly Johnny Gibson's)in downtown Tucson.
Thomas, my barber, was really excited to see me. He said he'd been wondering how I was doing. I let him know how things had gone and how I was feeling. He explained that he kept a close eye on the obituaries in the local newspaper. Since he never saw my photo, he figured I was alright.
I suppose that's one way to keep tabs on me.
My hair isn't that long. In fact, it is about the same length when I left Curley's back in August. I've been letting it grow since the reunion. But my cousin Diane is getting married in Albuquerque next weekend and I want to look sharp. Besides, Guadalupe tells me every time she sees me, my hair is different and it feels like she's seeing a new man. so I can't let her down.
Meanwhile, I've been keeping an eye on my finger nails. Another subtle reminder of the chemo., the dark streaks have moved closer to my finger tips and I suspect that part of my nails will be clipped by the time I get to Abq. Slowly returning to normal.
Oh yeah, I thought I'd share this with you.
Turns out only nine people tested positive for TB after the Cancer Clinic screened 700 people.
Friday, January 4, 2008
Saturday, December 15, 2007
6-mile manda for St. Ignatius
manda [mahn'-dah], f. 1. Offer, proposal. 2. Legacy or donationleft by virtue of last will.
-- Velazquez Spanish and English Dictionary
I did a 6-mile ride for St. Ignatius this afternoon. My body is sore, but I feel very relaxed. The afternoon air is crisp despite the desert's evening freeze. Coffee and afternoon tea make a big difference here.
My pilgrimage was a manda i made with St. Ignatius, part of the cadre of saints i prayed to every night during chemotherapy and since. I realize some of my readers are unfamiliar with Spanish and Latin American Catholic tradition. so I'll explain a manda real quick before I return to my story.
A manda, as I understand it, is a promise you make with a saint, the holy trinity or even god itself. typically it is made out of desperation or fear. sometimes prayer is all you've got. For example, Mothers pray to La Virgen asking for fertility and in exchange they'll promise to name their child Guadalupe.
when it was discovered there was a tumor in my right testicle, a few mandas were made for me and for my health.
personally, I don't entirely like the idea of making mandas with the spiritual world. not for any existential or logical reasoning. very simply, I think there's plenty of other problems in the world that need attention and mine feel very minuscule in comparison. nonetheless, every night, when i pray, I invoke several saints: St. Francis, St. Ignatius, St. Augustine, Saint Peregrine, San Martin de Porras, St. Michael, St. Judge and La Virgen. People who have asked me to pray before a meal have heard my litany and sighed in exasperation. Anyway, during chemotherapy I would pray and ask for strength, not only for myself, but for those who were by my side, physically and emotionally. i also pray for my father and lately I've added a new name, Henry Ortega, Jr., the nephew of a Loyola classmate and young cancer patient.
So, as i previously wrote, when I had the chance, I visited the basilica in Mexico, D.F., and thanked La Virgen for her support during chemotherapy.
This week, as I was looking up mass times for the feast of our lady of Guadalupe, I stumbled across this address: 785 W. Sahuaro Street, Tucson, AZ 85713.
It was the address of a capilla, or chapel, of St. Ignatius of Loyola. that night, after work, i drove to the capilla, which was adorned with flowers and portraits of La Virgen. unfortunately when I arrived, they were locking up the folding gates placed at the entrances of the capilla. I promised to return.
the capilla is in the heart of Old Pascua and on the grounds of the Old Pascua neighborhood center.
It shouldn't be surprising that the Yaqui community has a capilla dedicated to San Ignacio.
A brief history lesson: the first known Europeans to wander the southwest were Alvaro Nunez Cabeza de Vaca and three others, shipwreck survivors from a Spanish expedition in 1528. One of Cabeza de Vaca's companions, Esteban the Moor, as he is called, later led the Franciscan Missionary Fray Marcos into the Southwest. Marcos' reports led to the Coronado Expedition of 1540, which was the first major European excursion into the Southwest. Disappointed that there were no obvious resources to appropriate, Spaniards left the area and its inhabitants alone (well, lets just say they didn't rape, pillage and decimate, like they did in Mexico, Central and South America) for nearly a century, until mineral wealth was discovered and mines created in Sonora. the new found source of wealth prompted a Jesuit mission in1686, which was lead by Father Esubio Francisco Kino, who is buried in Magdalena de Kino, south of Nogales, Sonora. The Jesuits helped the Spaniard government colonize the area until 1767, when the Jesuits were expelled from the new world by the Spaniards.
The effect of the Jesuit missions were long lasting, physically evident by the missions that dot the Sonoran landscape and metaphysical, by allowing the Yaqui to mix their own religious practices with Catholicism. Pascua ceremonies, and I'm extremely simplifying things here, are an amazing mix of the two.
Now back to the twenty first century: I am the product of Jesuit education -- Loyola High School class of '97, University of San Francisco class of '01. I am interested in the history of the Jesuits and the personal journey of St. Ignatius. To be honest, I often thought about his own convalescence and conversion during chemotherapy.
I've prayed to him for many years and this one was no different.
So I awoke this morning, had breakfast, took care of some bills and paperwork and a little after noon made out on my bike for a my own small pilgrimage to la capilla San Ignacio de Loyola.
It was my first long bike ride since before chemo. and I gave myself a couple hours for the ride. I didn't know what I'd be capable of.
with helmet and yellow safety jacket on, I pedaled my rebuilt JC Penny cruiser north up Park Ave., about a mile and half, to Grant Road, where I turned West. As the traffic wizzed passed me and a few cars and trucks encroached a little too much on the bike lane, I continued past First Ave., Stone Ave. and eventually past Oracle Road, and down south into Old Pascua.
My calves burned at first, especially on the slight inclines on Park Ave. just north of the University of Arizona. But the ride, from my apartment to Old Pascua, took only about thirty minutes. It's a little more than three miles, according to mapquest.
i dismounted my cruiser, chained it up at the Old Pascua Community Center entrance and walked across the dusty, dirt courtyard to the entrance of the capilla. The front gate remained locked. Adornments from the feast of La Virgen were still out. So I kneeled on the concrete, up against the gate, said a prayer and thanked St. Ignatius.
The ride back was peaceful, going slow through Old Pascua, looking at the architecture of the homes and trailers, the corner stores and warehouses. I stumbled upon Esquer Park, 1331 N. 14th Ave., a large, green plot of land in the shadow of Tucson's downtown.
-- Velazquez Spanish and English Dictionary
I did a 6-mile ride for St. Ignatius this afternoon. My body is sore, but I feel very relaxed. The afternoon air is crisp despite the desert's evening freeze. Coffee and afternoon tea make a big difference here.
My pilgrimage was a manda i made with St. Ignatius, part of the cadre of saints i prayed to every night during chemotherapy and since. I realize some of my readers are unfamiliar with Spanish and Latin American Catholic tradition. so I'll explain a manda real quick before I return to my story.
A manda, as I understand it, is a promise you make with a saint, the holy trinity or even god itself. typically it is made out of desperation or fear. sometimes prayer is all you've got. For example, Mothers pray to La Virgen asking for fertility and in exchange they'll promise to name their child Guadalupe.
when it was discovered there was a tumor in my right testicle, a few mandas were made for me and for my health.
personally, I don't entirely like the idea of making mandas with the spiritual world. not for any existential or logical reasoning. very simply, I think there's plenty of other problems in the world that need attention and mine feel very minuscule in comparison. nonetheless, every night, when i pray, I invoke several saints: St. Francis, St. Ignatius, St. Augustine, Saint Peregrine, San Martin de Porras, St. Michael, St. Judge and La Virgen. People who have asked me to pray before a meal have heard my litany and sighed in exasperation. Anyway, during chemotherapy I would pray and ask for strength, not only for myself, but for those who were by my side, physically and emotionally. i also pray for my father and lately I've added a new name, Henry Ortega, Jr., the nephew of a Loyola classmate and young cancer patient.
So, as i previously wrote, when I had the chance, I visited the basilica in Mexico, D.F., and thanked La Virgen for her support during chemotherapy.
This week, as I was looking up mass times for the feast of our lady of Guadalupe, I stumbled across this address: 785 W. Sahuaro Street, Tucson, AZ 85713.
It was the address of a capilla, or chapel, of St. Ignatius of Loyola. that night, after work, i drove to the capilla, which was adorned with flowers and portraits of La Virgen. unfortunately when I arrived, they were locking up the folding gates placed at the entrances of the capilla. I promised to return.
the capilla is in the heart of Old Pascua and on the grounds of the Old Pascua neighborhood center.
It shouldn't be surprising that the Yaqui community has a capilla dedicated to San Ignacio.
A brief history lesson: the first known Europeans to wander the southwest were Alvaro Nunez Cabeza de Vaca and three others, shipwreck survivors from a Spanish expedition in 1528. One of Cabeza de Vaca's companions, Esteban the Moor, as he is called, later led the Franciscan Missionary Fray Marcos into the Southwest. Marcos' reports led to the Coronado Expedition of 1540, which was the first major European excursion into the Southwest. Disappointed that there were no obvious resources to appropriate, Spaniards left the area and its inhabitants alone (well, lets just say they didn't rape, pillage and decimate, like they did in Mexico, Central and South America) for nearly a century, until mineral wealth was discovered and mines created in Sonora. the new found source of wealth prompted a Jesuit mission in1686, which was lead by Father Esubio Francisco Kino, who is buried in Magdalena de Kino, south of Nogales, Sonora. The Jesuits helped the Spaniard government colonize the area until 1767, when the Jesuits were expelled from the new world by the Spaniards.
The effect of the Jesuit missions were long lasting, physically evident by the missions that dot the Sonoran landscape and metaphysical, by allowing the Yaqui to mix their own religious practices with Catholicism. Pascua ceremonies, and I'm extremely simplifying things here, are an amazing mix of the two.
Now back to the twenty first century: I am the product of Jesuit education -- Loyola High School class of '97, University of San Francisco class of '01. I am interested in the history of the Jesuits and the personal journey of St. Ignatius. To be honest, I often thought about his own convalescence and conversion during chemotherapy.
I've prayed to him for many years and this one was no different.
So I awoke this morning, had breakfast, took care of some bills and paperwork and a little after noon made out on my bike for a my own small pilgrimage to la capilla San Ignacio de Loyola.
It was my first long bike ride since before chemo. and I gave myself a couple hours for the ride. I didn't know what I'd be capable of.
with helmet and yellow safety jacket on, I pedaled my rebuilt JC Penny cruiser north up Park Ave., about a mile and half, to Grant Road, where I turned West. As the traffic wizzed passed me and a few cars and trucks encroached a little too much on the bike lane, I continued past First Ave., Stone Ave. and eventually past Oracle Road, and down south into Old Pascua.
My calves burned at first, especially on the slight inclines on Park Ave. just north of the University of Arizona. But the ride, from my apartment to Old Pascua, took only about thirty minutes. It's a little more than three miles, according to mapquest.
i dismounted my cruiser, chained it up at the Old Pascua Community Center entrance and walked across the dusty, dirt courtyard to the entrance of the capilla. The front gate remained locked. Adornments from the feast of La Virgen were still out. So I kneeled on the concrete, up against the gate, said a prayer and thanked St. Ignatius.
The ride back was peaceful, going slow through Old Pascua, looking at the architecture of the homes and trailers, the corner stores and warehouses. I stumbled upon Esquer Park, 1331 N. 14th Ave., a large, green plot of land in the shadow of Tucson's downtown.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
first post-chemo. appointment
Along with the feast of la virgen de guadalupe, yesterday was my first post-chemotherapy appointment with Doctor Ahmann.
the streets of Tucson were layered with a thick fog in the early morning like I'd never seen. You couldn't see more than a half block away. it reminded me of northern California.
not long after I arrived and checked in with the front desk staff, i had my blood drawn. When I sat down and the nurse found my vein, I remembered how i got a blood draw every week for two months. i had forgotten about my regular trips to the sonoran quest labs and how i'd become a regular with the staff at the office off 6th St.. not to sound cliche, but it feels so far away now.
about twenty minutes later, i met with Doc. Ahmann.
He was glad to see my hair had grown back so thick. He gave me a general checkup, poked around my body and asked the usual questions: pain, discomfort, energy level, etc.
I mentioned my finger nails.
Last time I was home, Bean freaked out about the dark streaks across my finger and toe nails. They occured during chemo. but didn't cause me any pain, so i paid no attention to it.
Ahmann said the streaks were a result of the bleomycin and should be considered a normal side effect.
While looking at my back, he said the acne was drying up like it should. that's nice.
it was too early to get the results from my blood draw, but otherwise, he said everything looked great.
after the appointment, I wandered over to the elevator to visit everyone up in the infusion pod. i ran into an elderly gentleman, his wife and a young lady I assume was his daughter. he was thin and walked slowly. i noticed the blue bandage on his right hand. it was his shunt.
i remembered how adrian told me its important to talk to other patients and survivors, even if it might seem awkward. in my mind, I could picture adrian talking to the others in my pod when he came to visit.
so i asked the gentleman how he was holding up. we spoke for a bit. he had a positive attitude and sounded good. the gentleman said he started chemo. around the time i left the clinic. I told him he could do it and that I'd been done for about two months now. i tried to give him what encouragement I could. I noticed the ladies eyes widened when I told them I'd gone through two and half months but was doing better now. I embraced all three of them when we got to the second floor and went our separate ways.
among the pods, I ran into shelly, estella and another nurse, whose name escapes me for the moment. we caught up, albeit briefly. they asked about my parents, work, gave me props for my coverage of TUSD and laughed about the TB incident. apparently shelly dealt with the patient.
i also ran into Selena, who everyone up there knew as Maria. She's a local churchgoer and our families ran into each other often at the clinic.
it was nice to see everyone. but I needed some time away before i went back to say hello. they understood.
the streets of Tucson were layered with a thick fog in the early morning like I'd never seen. You couldn't see more than a half block away. it reminded me of northern California.
not long after I arrived and checked in with the front desk staff, i had my blood drawn. When I sat down and the nurse found my vein, I remembered how i got a blood draw every week for two months. i had forgotten about my regular trips to the sonoran quest labs and how i'd become a regular with the staff at the office off 6th St.. not to sound cliche, but it feels so far away now.
about twenty minutes later, i met with Doc. Ahmann.
He was glad to see my hair had grown back so thick. He gave me a general checkup, poked around my body and asked the usual questions: pain, discomfort, energy level, etc.
I mentioned my finger nails.
Last time I was home, Bean freaked out about the dark streaks across my finger and toe nails. They occured during chemo. but didn't cause me any pain, so i paid no attention to it.
Ahmann said the streaks were a result of the bleomycin and should be considered a normal side effect.
While looking at my back, he said the acne was drying up like it should. that's nice.
it was too early to get the results from my blood draw, but otherwise, he said everything looked great.
after the appointment, I wandered over to the elevator to visit everyone up in the infusion pod. i ran into an elderly gentleman, his wife and a young lady I assume was his daughter. he was thin and walked slowly. i noticed the blue bandage on his right hand. it was his shunt.
i remembered how adrian told me its important to talk to other patients and survivors, even if it might seem awkward. in my mind, I could picture adrian talking to the others in my pod when he came to visit.
so i asked the gentleman how he was holding up. we spoke for a bit. he had a positive attitude and sounded good. the gentleman said he started chemo. around the time i left the clinic. I told him he could do it and that I'd been done for about two months now. i tried to give him what encouragement I could. I noticed the ladies eyes widened when I told them I'd gone through two and half months but was doing better now. I embraced all three of them when we got to the second floor and went our separate ways.
among the pods, I ran into shelly, estella and another nurse, whose name escapes me for the moment. we caught up, albeit briefly. they asked about my parents, work, gave me props for my coverage of TUSD and laughed about the TB incident. apparently shelly dealt with the patient.
i also ran into Selena, who everyone up there knew as Maria. She's a local churchgoer and our families ran into each other often at the clinic.
it was nice to see everyone. but I needed some time away before i went back to say hello. they understood.
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