What it means to "kick butt"

Hi! I had a conversation today with an acquaintance, one who happens to know quite a bit about melanoma. I had not seen this individual in quite some time, and it was enjoyable to visit with him again. In the course of our conversation, he mentioned that I looked surprisingly well. I told him I actually felt very well and that my attitude toward this cancer is that I am going to "kick its butt." He replied by pointing out that it's been almost 16 months since my diagnosis, which means I've already beaten the odds. Then he gave me one of those sympathetic looks that seems to say, "I greatly respect your courage. But, my good man, wake up to reality!"

I know this individual had the kindest intentions and I do not fault him for his words or his pity. My initial reaction, however, was that I wish he hadn't shared either with me. Why? Because the implication was that the odds are only going to get worse for me from now on. That's how I took his comment anyway. Whether I was right or wrong in my assumption, those are not the kind of expressions I want to hear right now--or ever--and it pretty much fouled up my Friday morning.

After eating lunch and taking a nap, however, it dawned on me that this individual probably did not understand what I meant when I said I was going to kick melanoma's butt. I think he interpreted my words to mean that I would beat the cancer, that I would drive it completely out of my body, and that I would live tumor-free the rest of my life. I think he would have responded the same way if I had told him I knew God was going to cure me, which, in my opinion, would be an absolutely ridiculous thing for me to say. I don't know what God is going to do. Only He knows.

Anyway, I digress. The fact is that I did not say I would "beat" melanoma. Such an occurrence very rarely happens, and I have accepted the fact that I will, in all likelihood, die of melanoma. Everybody dies of something; it might be a heart attack, it might be a car accident, it might be anything. In my case, it's probably going to be cancer.

BUT . . . before anyone concludes that I am hereby expressing a deathwish of some sort, I want to point out what I actually did say: I'm going to kick melanoma's butt. And what does that mean if it doesn't mean I'm going to beat it? It means that if the day ever comes that melanoma "wins" this battle between us, people who hear the news will say 'yeah, but he put up a hell of a fight.' Think Rocky Balboa losing to Apollo Creed in the original--and best--of the Rocky series. Or Boromir's death at the hands of the orcs in "The Lord of the Rings." Or the lesson Harry Potter learns from Dumbledore in Book 5 of Rowling's fantastic series:

“It was, he thought, the difference between being dragged into the arena to face a battle to the death and walking into the arena with your head held high. Some people, perhaps, would say that there was little to choose between the two ways, but Dumbledore knew—and so do I, thought Harry, with a rush of fierce pride, and so did my parents—that there was all the difference in the world.”

So, whatever the outcome, I am going to kick melanoma's butt. Not alone, of course. I'll need the prayers and help of Kelly, my kids, and all of you (and so many other people who can't access this blog). But I will kick melanoma's butt. I'm doing it now, and I'm going to keep on doing it for a long, long time.

Jeff

PS The picture is Finn sporting his gorgeous "up do". Or, as we call it, his orangutan hair.

My Rise to Fame

Kelly here. The masses are calling for an explanation, so I thought I should relieve your curiosity about my reunion with my beloved Rabid Aardvarks. There really is no story: they called and asked if I would come back. I said "yes." The end. It really is that simple. But, since Jeff has left you hanging with the promise of a juicy story, I'll try to deliver. Just for fun, I'll tell you a little story about one of my earliest performances on the big stage under the bright lights. It's about one of my first attempts at hitting it big as an entertainer. Of course, back then we were all going to be famous. My brothers were natural comedians and intuitive filmmakers. My sister was born prettier than the rest of us, which meant she was destined to model. I was a generalist: singer, orator, writer. We had ambition and grit. All we needed was a big break!
Mom schemed incessantly to catapult us into the stratosphere of fame and fortune. She had her first taste of success as a stage-mother when I was seven years old and my brothers were five. She wrote, directed, and produced a one-act skit featuring the “Archuletta Players” for our town’s Lion’s Club Talent Show. Local rules required us to compete in the age-group of the oldest member of the act. Therefore, my brothers were forced into the big-time by having to go up against my 7-year old peers. We would be going head-to-head with my best friend, Jenni, who entered the contest with a piano solo. The only other kid in our age category was another friend named Cindy who, like Jenni, had elected to compete with a piano solo. Jenni and Cindy were evenly matched, but they were competing for second place as far as I was concerned. I was beginning to sense the sweet smell of victory before the competition even began.
The contest was held on the Big Stage in the Ogallala High School theater. As the curtain opened, I took my place next to a small card table with a dark bed spread draped over the front and sides. On top of the table was an arrangement of tubes and beakers. I stood in a nurse’s uniform reviewing an imaginary medical chart when my brother Jim entered from stage right. Appearing clean-cut with a very official-looking lab coat and glasses, he greeted me and asked how we were coming on our “new development.” We then both admired a bottle of dark liquid on the table and speculated aloud that it would be powerful indeed and most certainly make us rich, riCH, RICH! The doctor (my brother, Jim) then insisted upon sampling the elixir. As soon as it passed his lips he became overwrought with spasms and gags. As he dramatically and strategically collapsed to the floor behind the skirted table, my other brother, John, (who is Jim's identical twin) immediately emerged from underneath looking possessed and wild-eyed in a tattered, messy-haired version of Jim’s costume. The audience was delighted in the trickery which resolved itself when both brothers took a final bow together at the skit’s end.
We won the local contest, the regional contest, and the state contest. At the state contest, the emcee announced our win and called us to the stage. As we lined-up to face the audience, the emcee handed me a tall and deceptively heavy trophy. The trophy was, of course, handed to me, not because I was the oldest and least likely to drop it or wield it like a medieval weapon and not because I was more likely to responsibly deliver it to my parents, and not even because I was the tallest and in closest proportion to the size of the award itself. It was obviously given to me because I was the cutest and the best and because everyone liked me the most. At least, that's what my brother thought. However, my 5-year old brother was outside his age group and could not rationalize this like a mature and almost-famous 7 year-old. Instead, he believed that the emcee handed me the award, not because he liked me best, but because he liked Jim the worst. Jim was irreversibly convinced that I had won the only Tall Trophy that had been or ever would be made and that he would have to walk the earth alone and trophy-less for the rest of his days. As far as Jim was concerned, I had won and he had lost. Period.

At least that's how I remember it. I'm sure Jim will correct me if I'm wrong, but my mom has a priceless picture evidencing the story with me holding the trophy--all smiles--and Jim standing there sullen trying to suppress his red-hot anger and tears. If I remember right, John at least mustered a fake smile but, he, too, knew the truth--the trophy was awarded to Princess Kelly who always got everything she wanted and always won everything!

So, there's your little story. I hope it was worth all the hype. Even if it wasn't about the Aardvarks.

Peace,
Kelly

Hello Houston!

Hi! For those who don't know, a snowfall is measured by locating a flat area that is minimally affected by drifting and sticking a ruler in the snow. Really scientific, right? That's how they do it, though. Judging by the amount that accumulated on a garden table just outside our bedroom, I would size up yesterday's snowfall between 12 and 14 inches! The airport received a little less than that, but still enough to earn this winter the title of "Milwaukee's Second Snowiest Year" (the snowiest was 1885-86). And just when we were starting to see the grass again! I am so ready for spring: you know, that period in late April through early June when we Wisconsinites can break out our unlined coats and bask in the heat of lovely 50 degree days! (NOTE: That statement reveals sarcasm but not hyperbole.)

Anyway, all the snow reminds me of a long-overdue blog I've been meaning to post: a great big "Hi Y'all!" to my friends in Houston. Kelly and I have frequently talked about the fact that I missed out on last year's winter weather because I was in Houston from January to April. And that in turn led to further enjoyable conversations about the many people who made my Houston experience so wonderful.

There's Dr. Legha and his assistant, Jeanine, of course. And all of the nurses, techs, and other support staff at the various hospitals, clinics, and outpatient testing centers I had to visit on an almost daily basis. But more importantly, there were the Gardners, who unofficially but more than graciously served as our host the entire time we were there (as well as each time we have had to go back); Jerry and Margaret Toomey, who treated me with the type of kindness and generosity--not to mention excellent cooking--typically reserved for close relatives; the Costantini family, who knew how to point me in the right direction whenever I needed guidance and who also served me the best Italian meal I've ever had; Kathy Connors, who time and time again asked what I needed and then, by mining the resources of the ND Club of Houston, delivered brilliantly; Grace Presbyterian Church, who provided--at the unbelievably low rate of $25 per day--a fully furnished medical apartment that we called home for more than three months (a great example of creative Christian ministry that truly serves those in need); and the list could go on and on. I know as soon as I post this I will remember more names that I should have included on this list. Blame it on my whole brain radiation that I can't think of those names at this time.

But named or unnamed, know that I ceaselessly think about you all and thank God that he brought you into my life. I do look forward to visiting you all again.

Jeff

PS Here's a picture of me, Aubrey, Regan, Jack, and a dozen decorated eggs. Happy Easter!

Reiki Review

Hi! The wife of one of Kelly's partners scolded her last night because I wasn't updating my blog often enough, so I promise I'll try to do better. : )

I had my introductory Reiki session today. Reiki is an oriental healing practice that focuses on the body's energy points and the flow of energy between these points. What does that mean? Basically, I laid on a table for about an hour while the Reiki master (that's really what he's called) went around my body and held his hands either very close to or directly on certain parts of my body: the top of the head, the ears, the solar plexus muscles, the shoulders, etc. He told me in advance that I might feel a variety of sensations during the session, and I think I did. When he was holding his hands near the top of my head, for instance, I had a sensation of pin pricks. The Reiki master said that he felt energy leaving my body when he was holding his hands there. He said it was probably caused by the release of toxic energy related to my whole brain radiation.

That sounds a bit crazy, and I'm still not quite certain what I think about the idea of "energy points." Reiki practioners make it very clear that Reiki is not a religion, and the Reiki master tried to use the concept of quantum physics to explain the process to me (I know nothing of quantum physics, so that part was lost on me). But I think I came away with a positive impression of the entire process because Reiki reminded me of the "laying on of hands" that happens so often in religious ceremonies.

In the past year or so I've discovered the power of the "healing touch" (that's what I call it anyway). I first noticed it when I went to Houston and spent time with Dr. Legha. He frequently would put his hands on my shoulders, on my back, on my arms, and on my legs when he would visit with me. It seemed to alleviate my stress while forging a positive bond between patient and doctor. The Reiki session had the same effect. For that reason, I think I will schedule at least a few more sessions just to see what happens. (NOTE: A Reiki master can perform Reiki without touching the other person, but personally I think it would be much less effective.)

In other news, Kelly had her first performance last night--in Dunnigan's Pub in the nearby town of Erin (how's that for a St. Patrick's Day celebration?)--with the reformed Rabid Aardvarks. Maybe she'll post a blog sometime to explain how that came about. I'm happy for her because I know singing is something she enjoys so much.

Last but not least, Finn finally found a solid food he likes: my mom's banana bread. He has obstinately refused to eat solid foods and has thrown up every time we try to introduce some to him. Even Gerber's baby spaghetti made him gag. But this past weekend, Kelly gave him a bite of my mom's banana bread and he loved it. I can't blame him. Anyone who has had my mom's banana bread knows it is a masterpiece of baking. There simply is no comparison between her banana bread and the rest of the competition. What made the situation funny for everyone, however, is that it made us think of how much Jack loves her banana bread and how, in the period between ages two and five, Jack would hold the same conversation with my mom every time he talked to her on the phone, which was at least once per week.

"Hi Jack!" she would say in greeting.
"Can you bring banana bread?" That was his response. Every time.
"Sure, Jack," she would answer, just as surely. "I'll bring you banana bread."

And then Jack would hand the phone to Regan or Aubrey or me. That was it; the entire extent of the conversation. All he cared about was the banana bread. It looks like Finn is heading down that same road. I can't think of anything that would make a grandma happier.

Jeff

The Answer

Hi! Yes, I realize I haven't posted in more than a week. And yes, I feel a bit guilty about it, especially as I have several reasons to do so.

First, I left you all hanging in suspense wondering which baby is Finn. Actually, there seemed to be little suspense. Almost everyone who commented or emailed me got it right -- except for you guys in Seattle! : ) Finn is Baby A, Aubrey is Baby B, Regan is Baby C. And the mystery baby (newly inserted exclusively for today's blog) is, of course, Jack.

Second, I have begun practicing focused breathing, guided imaging, mediation, and relaxation exercises. Practicing is probably too strong a word. I simply try to do a little each day. I am also going to try something called sound meditation and next week I've scheduled a session of Reiki, which as I understand it is essentially like getting a massage except they don't touch your body. These things may sound a bit farfetched. I simply look at them as different tools that can help me achieve a particular goal: namely, to relax my body and clear my mind so that my immune system can work at its optimum efficiency. I do the structured breathing and one or more of the other techniques before and after my afternoon nap.

Speaking of naps, I've reached the third--and undoubtedly the best--development of the last week. One of my neighbors has begun to come to our house each afternoon to take care of things while I take a nap. When I say she takes care of things, I mean she watches Finn and welcomes the kids home after school, of course. But that's not all. She also picks up the kitchen, folds the laundry, goes to the grocery store, and . . . get ready for this . . . makes us dinner! It's been a perfect match so far. She came to me last fall and asked if I, as a work-at-home individual, knew of any home-based businesses she could do to occupy her time now that her youngest was away at college. Nothing came to mind at the time. When I had my recent serendipitous moments, however, it dawned on me that maybe she would be interested in helping me get a nap each day. So far it's been a dream arrangement. Denise and her husband have four children, three of whom babysat for us and one of whom gave Aubrey guitar lessons for a while. On top of that, she's a brilliant cook! When she gets here, I just finish what I'm doing and head upstairs to my bedroom. She has free reign to do whatever she likes after that. The afternoon naps have been wonderful, Finn has had no problem making the adjustment, and Kelly has fewer items on her list of things to do each evening. Thank you, Denise! This, I think, has been another serendipitous occasion for the Dodd Squad.

This weekend, we plan to drive down to Chicago so we can tour my sister's new condo and see my baby niece, Timoree. Mom and Dad will be there as well, so it should be a fun excursion.

Jeff

Serendipity

Hi! I was thinking today of the word "serendipity." I'm a writer, a reader, and an English major; so yes, I do think about things like this (lucky Kelly, right?). Few words in the English language are as fun or as joyful to say as "serendipity." I often find myself wanting to use this word but refraining because I want to make sure the circumstances truly suit its semantic glory.

Anyway, I'm using the word today in this blog because I think I had a couple of serendipitous moments in the past week. The first occurred while I was browsing through my bookshelves looking for items to send to the Goodwill. I picked up a stack of books and noticed one, Andrew Weil's "Spontaneous Healing," that had been recommended to me by a friend when I first received my cancer diagnosis. The book bills itself as a guide on "how to discover and enhance your body's natural ability to maintain and heal itself." I had purchased the book last January on her recommendation and immediately read Ch. 19 titled "Cancer As A Special Case".

At the time I first read this chapter, I came away discouraged largely because of one sentence:

"Once cancer becomes established in the body, and particularly when it has spread from its initial site (metastasis), it is very difficult to cure."

This did not seem promising. Plus, I was already a bit skeptical of "healing" as a form of cancer treatment because it typically presumes that the person who needs healing is living an unhealthy lifestyle. This was not the case with me. Prior to my diagnosis, I ate a very healthy diet, had a very active lifestyle, and had very solid relationships with the people I love. Needless to say, I didn't read much more.

When I picked up the book last week, I turned it over in my hands and then--almost instinctively--turned to Ch. 19 again. I don't know why. Maybe to reconfirm my reasons for rejecting it originally. Whatever the cause, I suddenly found myself deeply engaged by the words on the page. They were the same as I had read before, but this time I found myself focusing on a different sentence:

"The future (of cancer treatment) will bring immunotherapy capable of rousing a slumbering immune system to action."

This exactly described the way melanoma treatments have developed since I had my malignant mole removed in 1995. After reading a little further, I flipped to the front of the book and located the copyright date: 1995. More than twelve years ago, this guy was writing about something that the best melanoma oncologists are embracing today!

This, I believe, was serendipity! I immediately decided I would accept whatever recommendations Weil had for boosting the immune system. And--lo and behold--his recommendations from 1995 largely conformed to the recommendations given by Dr. Legha, Dr. Richards, and almost every other oncologist I've visited in the past year: be active, and eat a diet of low fats, low sugars, and lots of fruits, vegetables, and whole grains. He also recommended the use of guided imagery techniques and herbal supplements. A local cancer support group has free classes in the imagery techniques so I'm going to give some of those a try. I'll have to talk to Dr. Richards before taking supplements to ensure that they won't interfere with my current treatment.

It was obvious to me that the potential benefits of optimizing my "healing system" outweighed any negatives that might come from following Weil's recommendations, so I didn't need any other motivation to do it. But then I had my second serendipitous moment. Kelly, who rarely reads books (she prefers magazines), recommended that I read a book she had received from one of her clients. The book is called "Love, Medicine, and Miracles" by Bernie Siegel. I found the first few pages intriguing but nothing particularly special. And then something interesting happened. The author asked a question of the reader: "Do you want to live to be a hundred?" Even though I was reading quietly to myself, I immediately yelled "Yes!" to the empty room before continuing with my reading. Here's what the rest of the paragraph says (pardon the ellipses and parentheses; I'm trying to summarize):

"(I) have found that the capacity . . . (to fight cancer) . . . is accurately predicted by an immediate, visceral 'Yes!' with no ifs, ands, or buts. Most people will say 'Well, yes, as long as you can guarantee I'll be healthy.' However, the persons who . . . (fight cancer successfully) . . . know that life comes with no such warranty. They willingly accept all the risks and challenges. As long as they're alive, they feel in control of their destiny."

This paragraph, which incidentally was first published in 1985, gave me a tremendous boost of encouragement. Earlier that day, I had looked at myself in the mirror after taking a shower and thought 'This is not what a diseased body looks like.' Siegel's words seemed to confirm that thought. I am not a diseased body. I'm an individual who wants to crush this melanoma and get on with my life. That's how I felt last January; it's also how I feel now. And it's actually been rather easy to maintain this attitude thanks to all of you: our friends, relatives, and neighbors who have done so much to support me, Kelly, and the kids through this whole experience.

So that's it: serendipity. A couple of unexpected happenings that have put a little extra spring in my hobbled step. I hope you all enjoy a few serendipitous moments of your own in the coming days.

Jeff

PS. We were organizing some photo albums the other day and came across some pictures that really took us by surprise. Everyone tells us Finn looks like Jack. But he seems to look a heck of a lot like Aubrey and Regan when they were the same age he is now. Can you tell which one is Finn? I'll give you the answer in my next blog post . . .