My apologies...and then some crying stuff.

Whew, that was quick.
I'm reeeealy sorry I offended someone, and maybe someones.
I was not using my cancer as a sympathy ploy to get some cheap business.
If one of you took the time to e-mail me and tell me what a "cheap shot" it was to use this vehicle to try and get some "sympathy business" then there is probably other(s) who feel the same.
That was not my intent and I'm sorry that you took it that way.

Nuff said.

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I had an experience yesterday that I have not had so far, and I hope not to have again.

I woke up feeling pretty good as my trip to the urologist came up with a gizmo-treatment that really helps with the problem(s) that lead to the cancer diagnosis.

I started putzing around the house when all of a sudden this weird thing happened.

It started with shortness of breath and within 5 minutes I had to go lie down I was so exhausted/befuddled.

Befuddled is a good laymens term for chemo-brain where you can't think straight and at first I thought "it" was an onslaught of Wineheimers (a form of Alzheimers reserved for us folk who at one time drank more than a wee bit and more than two beers on the weekend).

This happened at about 8:30 and I spent the rest of the day in bed nodding off frequently.

BTW, today I feel fine.

When I got sober, I discovered crying. I can't remember crying as a kid, even if I fell off my bike and skinned my elbows and knees, or got hit by a car on my bike which happened once in Fremont, NE when I was either in the 4th or 5th grade.

I think I may have shed a tear over a teen age romance gone south, but other than that I simply didn't cry.

I was 38 years old when I got struck sober so that's a long time to go without crying.

My first recollection of a good long, meaningful cry was laying on a bed in Lake Stevens, WA the night I got sober (Maybe one of these days I'll expand/expound on that evening using this vehicle).

From that point on, I did some sporadic crying over sporadic things.

But then came March 17, 2010 when I found out I had cancer. I think I already mentioned in a previous "entry" that I spent the next two days in bed wrestling with God, my mind, my pillows, and anything else I could conger up as being against me...but I got over that.

From March 17th, though, I have turned into an artesian well of tears...not because I feel sorry for myself, exceptin' for a few times like yesterday.

I cry because I am whelmed overwhelmed with the literal outpouring of love, caring and attention (the non-sympathy attention) that I have received and continue to receive.

You people, in addition to being wonderful, must have found some 'Clairvoyant' pills at Vitamin Cottage or Walgreens or maybe the Goodness Fairy left them under your pillow because you seem to know what I need and act on it before I have a chance to ask for "it", a.k.a. help.

And that makes me cry, and they are tears of amazement and reciprocated affection.

I just look at you and have to turn and walk away because I know I'm starting to cry...and sometimes I don't walk away, I just go ahead and cry.

I cry at movies on TV, I cry at the news, I cry at the sun, I cry at the moon, I cry at the rain, I cry in church, I cry because you call, I cry because you e-mail me, I cry because both my brother and sister come here to see me, I cry today on Mothers Day because I miss my Mom, I cry "at" the books I read during chemo, I cry in/at my office here to RE/MAX  Advanced just because there is something in the air here...and I'm not talking about allergens.

If crying is healing, then that's just another sign that I'm gonna beat this thing.

Anywho, I spent a fair amount of time crying and being depressed and even told someone who called just to see how I was that, "I just want this over no matter which way it turns out."

Whoa, that's not me.

I was feeling much like I was feeling those two days after I discovered my diagnosis.

I can't remember the name of the movie, but there's a character in it who represents the Dark Side and follows Kevin Costner around who has a small problem with killing people and who wants to quit, but can't...a malady that soooooo reminds me of by utter inability to not drink at one point in my life.

That evil character's name was Marshall.

Well, somehow Marshall got a hold of me yesterday and I couldn't shake him until I finally fell asleep last night and he was gone when I awoke this morning.

The lesson that I learned from yesterday is that I didn't reach into my spiritual tool kit and pull out the tools I need to help avoid yesterdays...I didn't call anybody (Thanks Gregg for calling me!), I didn't get my derrière out of bed and to the office where I always feel better...it's the air there, you know.), I didn't go for a walk, I didn't pick up my current book I'm reading (Thanks Tom & Christy), I forgot to call Abby and/or Griff...I just chose to wallow in fear and some self-loathing.

So, what's the realization?

I said I was going to treat this as an Adventure, and like it or not adventures have their scary places and their abysses, too.

But the Great Physician and the Carpenter Man, saw me through and today is a magnificent day, and tomorrow is going to be another adventuresome day.

Tomorrow I head down to Denver to the Colorado Medical Center for a conversation/consultation about the bone marrow transplant phase of this adventure!

And what an incredibly wonderful adventure this is!