Facts

Posted on June 3, 2018 by dearcamden2016

Facts! You have them or you don’t. I am a fact gatherer. That is my job, but many days the facts that I need are hard to come by. Sometimes I have to use the totality of the circumstantial evidence in order to try to explain what has happened to get a case charged. Prosecutors like facts that are more indisputable, you know, what they call evidence.

Evidence such as photographs found on the bad guy’s cell phone, recorded interviews, DNA evidence, the results of medical tests. That type of evidence or facts is harder to dispute.

Prosecutors do not like hunches, gut feelings, or suspicions. I have to tell families that it is not what I think happened, but what I can prove happened. What theories or hypotheses I might have always go better with evidence.

Now, having a gut feeling or suspicion that something is not right will drive me to work harder to develop the facts. Sometimes it just takes time.

My medical team also likes to deal with facts. You know, such as the fact that no matter which doctor I am seeing they each want me to pee in a bottle at every visit.

Conversation goes something like this: “Mr. Brown would you please pee in this bottle.” “If you hold it still this time I will.” The bottle people!! The bottle!! Get you head out of the gutter.

Sorry attempt at humor, I know.

Anyway, not having the evidence or needed facts can be a problem for my medical team.

If you remember, last time I spoke about the theory developed by my urologist concerning the spread of my cancer. It sounded good, and made sense. Three of the four doctors working on my case at that time agreed it was possible. My oncologist does not agree.

Dr. O wants more facts. He needs evidence. He still wants me to have the second surgery and have the surgeon take out more ribs to hopefully find answers to what is showing up on the scans.

You know that surgery that I cancelled in April basically because I was pissed with the surgeon? Yes, that surgery. I agreed to meet with the surgeon to go over the post operation scans, and to listen to what he had to say.

When Christy and I met with the surgeon it was very different than past meetings. As soon as he walked in, he sat down and wheeled his stool over to me with pad and pen in hand. He sat next to me and explained what had been done in the past and what he wanted to do next. He spoke to me and not Christy.

He started drawing a chest cavity. He put in the ribs and talked about where the scans showed the areas that I had lesions that concerned everyone. He explained this would be a longer and more involved surgery.

We talked about Dr. U’s hypothesis concerning my disease. It made sense to him. He knew what he had seen inside my body during the first surgery, but he would also prefer to have more evidence. He said that Dr. O still wanted more evidence.

The conversation that day was at times gloomy. We all knew what Dr. U’s diagnosis meant if correct. I knew what treatments Dr. O was going to push. Damned if you do. Damned if you don’t. Cancer sucks.

He told me that he did not know if another surgery would provide the answers we were looking for. He told me that this was my choice to make. He did not need an answer now. He gave me his cell number and told me to text or call if and when I wanted to talk about the procedure. I told him that I would be in touch. We left.

On the way home it was a quiet drive most of the way. We were on the interstate and I was doing my customary 85 mph (I cannot drive 55). I looked over at Christy, and she at me. She started crying. I reached over and put my hand on her knee and told her that everything was going to be alright. She said to me, “I am having trouble imaging a life without you.” Wow. That hit hard.

She told me that she wanted me to do everything that I possibly could to stay alive. She let me know that I should not be so hard headed and might even do what the doctors ask of me from time to time. I thought I had been. Oh well. Different perspectives I guess.

Now I can deal with an angry Christy, and many times have. What I find hard to deal with is a scared and crying Christy. She had me where she wanted me. She had her say and calmed down. The car again got quiet.

As the drive continued my mind went back to the first time we met. It was near the end of April 1981 my junior year of college.

I was living off campus with my friend Ron Hall. It was a beautiful weekend day and finals would be starting soon. I knew that if I stayed at our apartment that I would not get anything done. So we played a game of ice ball to decide how we were going to tackle this conundrum of needing to study, but also wanting to do something outside.

While trying to figure this out we played ice ball in the living room until we ran out of ice. You know you empty all the ice trays and bags if you’ve got them and take turns pitching and hitting. We had a little bat and when we hit the ice we did not have to pick anything up. It just melted. If you got hit with the ice it did sting.

I do not know if I won or lost. It was hard to keep score during those games. All I know is when the ice was gone we still had not figured out how to avoid wasting the day. Playing ice ball is not wasting the day.

We ended up driving to campus to study at the library. That, I thought was going to be a big waste of my day. It was not.

If I had to be at the library I had a table where I normally liked to sit at which was hidden in the stacks of books. Friends knew of my table and would show up for a few words or sit down to also study. So many days it was like a party at the library, but with no one around to tell us to shut up.

That day in April was going to be different. You see, someone that I did not know was sitting at my table. She had not been invited, and even had books spread out. I was looking at her, and Ron asked if I wanted to go find somewhere else to sit. I said, “Hell no that is my table.” Also, she was cute.

I told Ron that we were going to sit there. I also told him that I would bet him a beer that before we left I would have her phone number. Ron took that bet. I now had a mission.

So we sat down and said hello. She moved some of her books to make room. Looking at her books I said to myself “Freshman.” At some point I started talking to her, and she played it rather coy. She acted like I was bothering her. Oh she was a stubborn one.

At some point the cute freshman girl asked me to watch her books while she went to get something to drink. I said sure.

She returned with two Cokes from the McDonald’s across from the library. I was and always will be a Pepsi guy, but hey I drank it.

I knew at that point that this girl wanted me. Why would she risk smuggling in a Coke for me if she did not want our encounter to continue? Drinks were not allowed in the library. If caught she could have been expelled from school (Maybe not, but it does make for a better story). She was taking a great risk to impress me. She could tell that I was worth it.

So while drinking the Coke I took that as study break time. We started talking more. At least I talked more. She was playing hard to get, you know. She looked more and more annoyed. Me? I have often seen women use this tactic.

Remember, I had a bud light riding on this encounter. I would not be deterred.

I told her of a party at Dr. Tom’s residence. He was a management professor who had become a friend and he was having an end of year party at his house. She gave me her phone number. Ron bought the beer.

So I later called and made arrangements to pick her up to go to Tom’s party. She lived in a dorm on campus. When I got there I called up to her room. At that time it was an all girls dorm. Men could not just walk around the place. It is so different now. Thirty seven years too late if you ask me.

Anyway she said that she would be right down. I waited and waited, but still no freshman girl. She was standing me up. Then she came through the front door. I was at the wrong dorm!

She tracked me down. I told you that she wanted me.

She lived over at the Laws, Lathrop, and Jones complex of dorms. They all looked alike to me, and I still do not remember which one she lived in. She found me.

We went to the party and had a good time. Had one more date that semester before she left town to return to her home in Carthage, MO for the summer. Her sister attended summer welcome that year and that freshman girl came with her to see me. She may have even brought a Coke. She wanted me.

My senior year started and now the little sophomore girl started to become a bigger part of my life. She wanted to be with me. I realized at some point that year that I wanted to be with her. The rest is history.

Camden, that is how I met your Nana, and it all started in April 1981, thirty seven wonderful years ago. Now I would imagine that the little freshman girl’s recollection of events might be a little different. Just remember, I have the facts.

What Christy was trying to tell me in that car ride from the doctor’s office was that she was not ready for our thirty seven year ride to end. So I better get with the medical program.

Later I decided to contact the doctor with some questions. I did not want to interfere with his work so I texted. He then called. We spoke a few more times and I then agreed to another surgery.

He wanted to do it ASAP. I said okay, but that I had a fishing trip planned and I would not let surgery interfere with that trip.

He wanted to know when I returned. I told him that I would be back in town on May 21^st. He thought that May 22^nd sounded like a good day for surgery. I was not terribly excited about the idea, but agreed. We got off the phone and a nurse called me later and told me to be at St. Francis at 6:00 A.M. on Tuesday the 22^nd. It was a done deal once again. I was back on the surgery schedule. I then went fishing in Colorado.

When I got home on the 21^st I made a short to-do list. One of the tasks on that list was to call mom. Maybe that one can wait. I know. I know. I should call mom, and I did. It was at the top of the list, but was the last thing checked off.

Sometimes, no let me restate that, I always hate talking about cancer with mom. I have tried to shield her from what has been happening the past few years. Whether that was right or wrong, it’s what I did.

Now she knows about this blog. I did not tell her about the blog until about a month or so ago. As a friend pointed out, I have been a bad son. I knew that someone would eventually bring the blog up in conversation with her. That is what happened. I did not tell her until I had to. How do you tell a parent that you are sick and might die? Walking that tight rope has been hard.

Recently she asked me if I felt that I would be able to beat this. I did not have to think about what was the best answer to give her. I did not hesitate or stall in giving my answer. I told her: Yes! YEs!! YES!!! I do think that I can beat this. I am going to beat this.

Whether that is true or not, I do not know, but that is the only answer you can give your mother. (Maybe she will not read this one.)

Life is so precious and in the history of the world we humans are here for so short a period of time with some people here shorter than others. Cancer patients hold no monopoly on dying before their time. It can happen to anyone.

Have I got you in a good mood yet?

In my job I have unfortunately been the witness to a few deaths. The deaths I have witnessed have normally been caused by acts of violence. They did not have to happen.

Years ago an entire neighborhood was out on a hot summer day, but instead of a neighborhood garage sale or barbeque they got into a big ass fight. I and a few other guys were sent to keep the peace. Right?

When I arrived I found this to be a very serious fight involving many people. Some had weapons.

I saw a man lying on his back on the ground. I walked over to him and discovered that he was having difficulty breathing. I let the dispatcher know that I need EMS and Fire with me, but they were not coming into this mess until I and the three other officers with me could get the fight under control and make it safe for them. I was on my own to try to help this man.

I knelt down beside him looking for injuries. I saw none. I saw no blood. He looked at me and wanted to know if he was going to be okay. I told him that he was. I really thought he was. His breathing was getting worse. He did not look well. I asked him what had happened, but he would not talk about what had happened. He just wanted to keep hearing from me that he was going to live.

He stopped talking all together and was gasping for air. I heard him exhale and a gurgling or rattling noise was coming out of his chest and into his throat and out his mouth. His body started shaking. Then everything stopped. His last breath had turned to air.

At the exact same time that I was witnessing this I saw a woman out of the corner of my eye who had walked up and was standing about fifteen feet from us. Her eyes were fixated on the man on the ground. It was like she was in a trance. Her arms were down to her side and I saw that in her left hand she held a large kitchen knife. The knife was resting against her thigh and was pointed down.

Seeing the woman with the knife, I had to get up and leave the man. I walked at an angle toward the woman so she could still see the man. My eyes were darting back and forth from her face to her left hand. I wanted to see if she was going to offer any kind of facial expression that might tell me her intentions. I did not want to get stabbed.

I grabbed her left wrist with my right hand. My left hand then grabbed her hand and my right hand slid down and took the knife.

She finally looked at me and asked if the man on the ground was going to be okay. I told her that I did not know. She told me that the man was her husband. That during this big fight he was attacked by some other men with a baseball bat. She had gone into their house to get the knife so he could protect himself. When she came back out, it was too late.

At this time Fire and EMS were with her husband. He was dead. He had been hit so hard with the ball bat that his aorta had been torn from his heart and he internally bled to death.

The gurgling noise that I heard was what is known as the death rattle. This was the first time I had ever witnessed a man die. It was the first time I had heard the death rattle. Unfortunately it would not be the last.

On that hot summer day all that man wanted from me was an assurance that he was going to live. I told him that he was. I hope that I gave him a little bit of hope before he realized that what I said was bullshit.

I hope that when I tell people that I am going to be okay, it gives them a feeling that I am doing well and confidence that they do not have to worry about me. I cannot help to feel that when I tell people that I am going to be okay, that I am once again dishing out bullshit.

Just like that man all I want is for someone on my medical team to tell me that I am going to live. That I am going to beat this. They have not. I do not expect to ever hear that. I guess they need more facts.

No one knows when their time will come, but death will take each of us at some time. When I play out the scenarios in my head I know that death will ultimately win. But not today! I will not let cancer win today. Each day before leaving the house I tell myself that today is my day, and I am going to make today the best day possible. Going forward, I will do what I think is best for me in order to live the best life that I can.

I hope this surgery will help answer some questions, because I am getting tired of them, and goddammit they hurt!

Before the surgery I wish that I had bet Christy a beer on how things were going to turn out. I have a good history when it comes to betting beers. I live with the evidence. That is a fact.

I will have a surgery update coming later.

Spoiler alert….I live.

Kev

Every One Is Right

Posted on April 28, 2018 by dearcamden2016

So Wednesday night I am home from the hospital wondering when the results of the biopsy/autopsy of my rib will be available. I have an appointment with the surgeon on Monday to learn the results. But do I really have to wait until Monday for the results? I think not.

Christy knows everyone in the pathology department. She will know Thursday which doctor will be assigned to examine my rib. She knows the head of the pathology department and has his personal cell phone number. I think we will know before the surgeon even knows.

The head of the pathology contacts Christy on Thursday. He tells her that the specimen was examined by one of his doctors and no cancer was found. He also examined the rib and found no cancer.

The doctor told Christy they had one more test to run and they would not know the results until Friday. Friday they told her that all tests were complete and no cancer was found. Yahoo!!!

I said, “So much for the cancer surgeon being so confident that my cancer had spread.”

This was great news. I was cautiously optimistic with the results. I am always concerned about what else could go wrong. It just seemed too good to be true with all the pain and discomfort I had been having. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

This time though I was convinced that was not going to happen. I had two pathologists saying they found no cancer. What more did I need?

With the pathology information and many people waiting to hear about the results I posted on Facebook that the tests were completed and Brutus was not found.

It turns out that I was a little premature in my announcement.

We went to KC to see the kids that weekend and had a good time. Except for the trip to Lawrence to watch KU play Villanova, that was not good.

So we get back into town and we have a meeting with the surgeon on Monday to go over the test results. I told Christy to pay attention to who the doctor spoke to while we were there. She did not agree that he had ignored me on our last visit. I told her to just watch.

So once there to meet with the doctor it was just the three of us in the room. No other white coats today. Once again he directed his conversation toward Christy. I found a cosmo something or other to read. I was listening to their conversation.

He spoke about the pathology report and that it was negative for cancer. He showed Christy the report. He did not show me. I was taking a survey I found in cosmo.

Christy told him that she had talked to the pathologist last week about the results. We were happy.

This is when the other shoe dropped or I should say a steel toed boot kicking me in the ass.

The doctor announced that he did not agree with the report. He said that lots of mistakes can be made through the process.

He explained that what he had seen during the operation was bone that had been damaged from cancer. He did not understand why it was not showing up on the other tests. He is a cancer surgeon and he knows cancer when he sees it.

Christy leaned forward and told him that maybe he was the person making the mistake.

Boooyyy things just got interesting. Christy was coming out swinging. She had the doctor backpedaling. She hit him with a right and then a left. She then threw in a hook to the body and an upper cut to the jaw. The doctor was trying to do the famous rope a dope, but it was not working.

The doctor looked at me and tried to engage me in conversation for the first time. His eyes said save me. I do not think he was used to someone questioning him.

I just stretched out in my chair and placed my hands behind my head. I needed popcorn. I was thinking you two go ahead I am fine right here.

Well when the bell rang, and she went back to her corner, the doctor continued.

He explained that he was a cancer surgeon. That is how he made his living. He knows what cancer looks like. I would have used the duck analogy but he continued saying that if it looks like a dog and barks like a dog then it is a dog.

He said that his belief was that the cancer had spread into my bones. He knew that is not what I wanted to hear, but that was what had happened.

Based upon the scans and what he personally saw inside me he said that I had metastatic prostate cancer in my bones. He believed that the disease had spread into several of my ribs.

During the conversation I then learned that he had taken my entire fourth rib. I thought that he only scooped out pieces. He said that the entire rib was diseased and he took it.

Now I thought that he had cut it out. But no, he explained that they have a special pair of pliers and that he just broke off pieces of the rib with the pliers until he had it all.

He then spoke about how he felt that I should have another surgery and that he should take the ribs from my right side that showed possible tumors and have them sent to the pathologist.

This was the surgery that I did not want. This was where several ribs would be taken and he would replace them with some sort of fake rib.

Christy was about to come out of the corner for the next round. I sensed that he felt another ass kicking coming and he pulled out his cell phone and had my oncologist on the phone in a matter of seconds. How did he do that?

He told Dr. O that he had Mr. Brown with him discussing the test results. I heard Dr. O say “Kevin.” It is good that your doctor knows who you are, but it probably is not that good. I sensed that they had already talked about my need for another surgery. Dr. O agreed with the surgeon that I should have the second surgery. They got off the phone.

The doctor continued with his passionate case that I needed the surgery. I gave in. I agreed to the surgery.

We left with the agreement that his people would call my people to set this whole thing up.

Walking to the car Christy made the comment that the doctor at first was ignoring me and only talking to her. I said that he only started talking to me when he became scared of her. I know exactly how that doctor felt.

That was on Monday. On Wednesday the surgeon tracked Christy down in her lab. He told her that he had been talking with several doctors familiar with my case and he had decided that he would rather again operate on my left chest area. That was still the area they were most concerned with. He no longer wanted to operate on the right side.

Once I received that news I called the doctor’s office. I spoke to the lady that does the surgery scheduling. I informed her that any surgery on my body was now cancelled.

He had convinced me that the right side needed attention, and then he changed his mind. What the hell was going on? Enough of this bullshit!! No surgery!

So let’s review what we have so far:

CT Scans and Bone Scans show the disease has moved into my rib bones.

Surgeon: He saw the dog and it was not a little dog, but a big cancer dog.

Pathologists: Well we found no dog.

Oncologist: He still does not want to commit at this time. Great! He is probably a cat person.

Urologist: He is not aware of what has been happening. It is time to pay him a visit.

I credit Dr. U with saving my life. He correctly diagnosed me when Dick did not and performed the cancer surgery.

When this all started, I went to see him for a second opinion and when we met he did a DRE that sent me to the ceiling. I had never had an exam like that. I thought that this meant we were getting married. Put a ring on it doc. I later lay on the exam table waiting on my cigarette. He then told me that I was in very bad shape and needed surgery NOW.

He told me that my cancer had spread out of the gland and that he was very concerned for my welfare.

Dr. U is a little older than I am and much older than my other doctors. He is my Wise Old School Doctor. We get along most of the time. He has gotten a little irritated when I have chosen to follow other doctor’s advice and not his. Still we’re good.

I had lab work done before seeing Dr. U and so the first thing we did when we met was go over the labs.

He gave me great news. He said that my PSA number was zero. He thought that I would never see my PSA drop to zero, but it had. Fist bump time.

Many times I have written about my lab numbers, but I have never explained what they are looking for. They check for several different things, but the main number they are concerned with is the PSA number which stands for Prostate Specific Antigen. A normal prostate will produce this PSA protein. Cancer will also produce PSA. So when you have surgery and have the prostate removed you should no longer have the PSA protein in your blood. If you do, it is a sign that malignant cancer cells have escaped the gland and are producing PSA on their own. I had a very high PSA after surgery. After surgery it should be zero.

Now the number had dropped to zero due to my drug treatments. I am scheduled to go off treatment. I asked how long the PSA would stay at zero. I knew that this was not a question he could answer. I was testing him.

He said that it would be zero until it wasn’t. We both laughed.

No one knows how long the number will stay depressed. It could start going up very soon indicating that Brutus was once again growing and spreading. It could stay depressed for a year, and then return. The drugs have shrunk the tumors to undetectable levels at this time. The tumors are dormant. They are not dead. Brutus will grow again.

We were standing in an exam room when I asked the doctor what he thought of the biopsy results. He pointed toward the chairs along the wall and said, “Kevin, have a seat.” Not good. He seldom calls me by my first name.

Dr. U does not like to be the bearer of bad news. He avoids it at all costs. His favorite way to avoid tough discussions is to say, “Let’s talk about that next time.” I have had to overcome that before and then turn into an interrogator to get information out of him.

We sat down and the conversation went like this. I will paraphrase. I had to pay attention. Christy was not there.

Doc: When we first met you were in very bad shape. Your PSA is zero today, but it will not stay there. You are not curable and the cancer will return. When it returns it will be in your bones.

Me: Say what doc!?

Doc: Every one is right. Your cancer has spread into your bones. The tests are correct. Your surgeon is correct. The pathologist is correct.

Me: Doc you are going to have to explain that to me.

Doc: The CT Scans and Bone Scans are showing where your bones are trying to heal from the cancer. Your surgeon saw the damage the cancer had caused. It is there. The pathologist could not find the cancer, but the cancer is there. They could not find it, because the drugs you are on have finally been able to get the upper hand and have shrunk the tumors. They have shrunk so small that they are not detectable to the pathology tests. Therefore, negative results from the test. The cancer is there in your ribs. I am sorry. We have drugs and they are coming up with new treatments all the time to help you survive.

The Wise Old Doc had seen this scenario before.

He told me that with hindsight he now believed that the cancer was in my bones before surgery. They were microscopic cancer cells and did not show up on tests. My pain is what has lead to the discovery of the spread of the disease.

His explanation made perfect sense. It definitely was not what I wanted to hear, but finally someone had made sense of what was going on inside my body.

We parted and before leaving the building I made another appointment to see him in a few weeks. At least I think I did. Things were a little foggy as I was leaving.

When I first started this treatment process dealing with the side effects of surgery, radiation, pills, and shots made me sick. The treatments were what made me sick not Brutus. All the complications I was dealing with were manmade.

Now things have changed. The pain I had been feeling in my ribs was caused by the cancer actually attacking my body. Brutus is trying to kill me from the inside.

This is devastating news. I have written about what this type of diagnosis would mean. I will not go over it again. I will just say that my prognosis is terrible, and I do not want to talk or think about it.

I purposely am posting this essay on the weekend so that the great people I work with can read it and adjust. Some might talk with each other. Some might text me. I know this will hit many of them just as hard as it has hit me. Well maybe not quite as hard as it hit me.

Cancer is chaos and I should not be surprised this has happened. It seems things change on a daily basis.

People will want to know what they can do for me. Right now I just need some space.

I am still trying to figure out what is next. It seems like I am on a never ending cycle of scans, blood work, shots, pills, doctor visits and picking up my dry cleaning. Cleaned, pressed and starched. You think I do that shit? Hell no.

Now if I could only figure out how to clean, press, and starch Brutus.

Kevin

Religion

Posted on April 25, 2018 by dearcamden2016

At work my detective partner is named Dave. I take Dave out in the field with me when I think I might get my ass shot off of someone’s porch when I knock. I realize that it might be nice to have a back-up at times or at least a witness to my demise.

Dave’s father is a retired minister. I would say that Dave is probably a little more religious than I. His office is next to mine and we have had some deep discussions at times. A few talks have been about religion or I should say my lack thereof.

With my current situation in mind Dave asked me one day if I ever prayed. I told Dave “No.” I have never in my life prayed for myself. Whether it was about cancer or anything else.

Now I guess I have to qualify that statement, because I think that there have been times in my youth that I have asked God to please make the bed stop spinning and if he could do that for me that I would never again do what I did last night. Also in my youth maybe I have said to God, “Please don’t let her be pregnant!” Maybe or maybe not, college was a good time. I do not think those wishes really qualify as prayer.

I have never asked God for a cure. I have never asked God to stop the pain. I have never asked God for strength. I have never asked God why. Why me? I have prayed for others, just not me. If someone wishes to pray for me I appreciate that very much. I appreciate everyone’s prayers, thoughts, and wishes. They keep me going.

Maybe I should ask God to kick our state legislators in the ass, and get them to increase funding for our schools so that some bright kid might one day discover a way to help people suffering from disease. Yes I might do that.

Some people when reading this will say, “Well Kevin if you prayed you would not be in the deep shit you are now.” Maybe they are right or maybe not. Maybe I will get the opportunity to meet God and when I do I am going to have one question for her: WTF!!

I do know how to pray. Hell I was born and raised Catholic. I went to Catholic grade school and I was an altar boy. I have been a recovering Catholic for about 40 years.

In Martinsburg Sister Mary Peter Damien was my teacher for 1^st and 2^nd grade. Both classes were in the same room. Sister Mary Black & Decker was the shop teacher. I know old joke, but I still laugh. You must remember that one of the reasons for this blog is to make me laugh, and laugh I will.

When older I would sometimes go to confession in Martinsburg, sometimes in Wellsville, other times in Mexico, MO. I had to try the different churches in order to learn which priest was the most lenient. You know, I needed to know how many Hail Mary’s I was going have to say if I had an affair with the lady next door. Hahaha.

Often I found myself in Mexico on a Saturday and my mother liked to go to confession at the church there. I did not like it there.

The church had more than one priest, and I learned quickly that if you told one of them that you had missed church one week that your penance was automatically going to be to say an entire Rosary. That was a lot praying. You would have thought that I did sleep with the neighbor’s wife. I thought that was a little harsh for missing mass.

The Church had two or three confessional booths. Cannot remember how many, but for this story we will say three. It was my task to try to figure out which confessional booth Rosary priest was hiding.

So I walk into the Church and I can hear Don Pardo yelling out, “Kevin do you want what is behind curtain #1, #2, or #3?” This was a big decision. I had no time for the Rosary. I had to find the right priest. Don would not let me phone a friend for help. I picked #2.

So I get in there and start, “Bless me Father for I have sinned. My last confession was……”

Then I hear the priest. Ooooh noooo. It is Rosary priest. So that day I decided to add another lie to my lie list and not mention having missed mass since my last confession. I was told to say a couple of Our Fathers and Hail Mary’s and I was out of there in time to get with my friends for a Saturday night party. You know us Catholics.

At college I went to the Newman Center (the Catholic church on campus) a few times. I decided that it was not for me.

Religion never really was an issue until Christy and I were in serious discussions about our relationship future. She was Methodist and she told me that she would not become Catholic or be married in the Catholic Church. Hell I did not care where we got married. I just wanted to have sex.

It did matter a bunch to my Irish Catholic grandparents. So I was able to get Christy to go and meet with a priest. We enrolled in education classes with the knowledge that she was trying to keep peace in the family. We went to class every week with other couples.

The priest made it a point to make sure that everyone abstained from sex before we were married. No problem. Well it wasn’t for awhile. Also the priest would sometimes ask.

You see we were living in separate apartments, but our leases were up one month before the wedding. We found a place and moved in together. This is where we would live after the wedding. Did I mention that it was just a month before the wedding?

I was walking behind Christy one day and she bent over to grab a can of corn. I do not know what happened, but it happened. I could not control myself and we had sex right there. Hopefully the priest would not ask.

So we are back in class a few days later and the priest he asks if we have been abstaining from sex. I guess I could have lied and added that to my tally at confession, but I told him the truth.

I told him that she had bent over for a can of corn and I could not control myself and we had sex right there.

The priest told me that we were no longer welcome into the Catholic Church. I said, “Father that is okay, because we were no longer welcome in Kroger either.”

Hahahaha. Gotcha.

Okay. Okay. That was supposed to be part of an April Fools post but April Fools was on Easter this year. Did not think that was a good time for this post.

Anyway most of what you have read here is very true. Some is not. You figure it out.

I am not trying to challenge anyone’s religious beliefs. I guess I am still on that road trying to figure out my own. Hope I have not pissed off too many friends and family, but at this stage of my life I guess it does not matter.

By the way we were married in the Methodist Church. Seven years and one great granddaughter later my grandmother got over it.

Seriously I am not sure of the existence of Heaven or Hell. I figure that when I die that I will either go to sleep and never, never wake up or wake up in Heaven. I really am not in any hurry to find out, but my money is on the former.

I am spiritual, but do not consider myself church religious. I see God when I see a couple sitting on a park bench holding hands. I see God when people do unselfish things for their fellow man. I see God in the eyes of my Camden. I am in no hurry to leave.

Several years ago I stopped going to church. It did not feel right. No matter how many times good intending people ask I have no plans to ever return.

I do not want to have a church funeral. I would rather have a big party in which I am the host. Video recorded of course. I will welcome everyone there and say sorry I could not be there, but I am dead.

I will have a recording of myself asking questions for a game of Dead Man Trivia. You know trivia questions about me. Questions like who is the world’s greatest band? One of the kids better get that one. I want everyone to have a good time.

Maybe I will see you there. Maybe not.

Kevin

“Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.” Henry David Thoreau

Surgery

Posted on April 23, 2018 by dearcamden2016

In the March 18^th post I was talking about needing a rib biopsy and how they were going to give that a try in an attempt to avoid surgery. I had two meetings with the surgeon. The first was with just me and the second one Christy was there. The meeting with Christy present was so different than my meeting. Let me explain.

The doctor was a Via Christi cancer surgeon. Christy works for Via Christi in the lab at St. Francis Hospital. She has a degree in Laboratory Sciences from the University of Missouri. She is a blood specialist and works with cancer patients who have leukemia and other cancer blood disorders. At St. Francis the color of scrubs you wear designates what part of the hospital you work. When the doctor walked into our room along with several other people in white coats his attention and focus went right to Christy. He could tell from the scrubs she was one of them so to speak. I am not ever sure if he knew if I was there. I was okay with that.

They started talking and it was like I had been sent to the kid table during a holiday dinner. I one time tried to say something, but I think the doctor raised his hand like do not interrupt the adult conversation. All I wanted to know was if they had a ball or something for me to do while they talked about my future.

I later asked Christy what he had said. She said that he told her that I was fucked. Hahaha. You know Christy did not say that. She never uses the F word. Well not often anyway only when she is really mad at me. Who would ever be mad at me? Do not answer that question.

Okay he did talk to me a little. I kid you not it was very little. I guess he needed me to agree to his plan. Christy was nodding her head so I said okay. The plan was to try a needle biopsy and if that did not work I would have surgery.

March 26^th was the day they finally set up the biopsy at St. Joe Hospital. I arrived early that morning and met with the radiologist that was going to try to stick a needle into my fourth rib on my left side. Scans had shown that I had a mass, tumor, or lesions on both my left side and on my right side. The word choice, I guess take your pick. I have heard it called all three by different medical people.

They decided to do the left side instead of the right. They were more concerned with the left side because it was the most recent tumor/lesion to show up on the scans. The mass on my left side was very close to my heart and in the back of the rib bone up against my lung. It was going to be a little tricky for the radiologist to get that big ass needle, it was big, into the bone and not punch through it and hit the lung (bad) or the aorta (very bad).

The procedure was done with the use of a CT scanner. They would cut a little then place me into the scanner to see what they were doing and if it was going well. Take me out and do a little more work and then put me back into the scanner to see if things were good. In and out I went over and over. Yes I was awake during the procedure. They numbed me up and I really did not feel anything.

Parts of it were kind of funny. I had to laugh when they brought in what sounded like an impact wrench that you use to change a tire. I even felt my skin being twisted when they put that thing in me.

The doctor was trying to put the needle into me at an angle so that he would not go through the bone and into the lung or aorta. They had everything set up to get me into emergency surgery in case the needle slipped.

The only time it really hurt was each time he actually tried to penetrate the bone. The needle slipped off each time and I would move about a let out a yell. The doctor kept saying he was sorry and told him not to worry about it. I told him thatiIt did not hurt that bad, actually it did, but I wanted him to get it over with and be successful. He finally gave up.

What he needed to do next was to mark the rib so that the surgeon could take the correct one out. He actually put a treble hook into me. It was placed under the rib and a metal wire was attached to the treble hook. The wire would be several inches outside my body and the surgeon would follow the wire down to where he needed to cut. Fishing for ribs.

Now this is not how things were suppose to go. I had no idea that surgery would be done right after if the biopsy was not successful. I do not think the surgeon wanted it that way either. He was on a staycation with his kids. He had to come in on his days off to operate. Once that hook is put into you they have to operate soon. They wanted to operate the next day, but could not get me on the schedule. Wednesday would be surgery day.

I went to recovery after the attempted biopsy, but I wanted out of there. I was able to get them to let me go home. I was out of there by mid afternoon.

I needed to contact my supervisor, Travis, and let him know that I would probably be out of the office the entire week. The pain was actually bad. I was told not to move around so that the hook stayed in place. Like I was going to go on a run or something.

Christy had spoken to Travis and had told him what was going on. I still felt the need to communicate with him.

So I plugged Travis’ phone number into my phone and started texting him. Now in the past for some reason I have not been able to text him. So I started over from scratch and plugged his number into my phone.

This was the first message.

Now we like to have fun with one another and when he said this was not acceptable, I figured that I would play along. So I offered to work a half day. Like that was going to happen.

With his next response I started to get a little irritated and pissed. He was about to make my list.

It is common knowledge around work that I have a list of names that if I am ever told I have six months to live that you better hope you are not on that list. Travis worries that he is on that list. I keep him thinking that. He really is not on it. I like the guy, but he was getting very close to being on that list.

Then when he started talking about Christy I knew he would not go that far. I got to wondering who the hell I was talking to. I checked the number and the last digit should have been a five and I plugged in 6. I was not talking to Travis at all.

How funny. I really enjoyed the humor of the situation.

Travis can rest easy. He has not yet made the list.

Wednesday the 28^th was surgery day. I had to be at St. Francis at the ungodly hour of 5:30 A.M.

Surgery was scheduled for 7:00.

So I am in a big pre-op room with probably a dozen people all waiting. I was in an area with a curtain drawn around me and all these people kept coming into the area to talk and then later prep me for the surgery.

The anesthesiologists came by and with him he had Doogie Howser 1. He explained that Doogie was going to be assisting him. I was thinking where the hell did they get this kid? I have clothes older than this kid. Yes my fashion is a little outdated.

Then the surgeon who was assisting the surgeon came by. The assistant was one of those white coats that had been in the room when the doctor was talking to Christy. The assistant to the assistant who was assisting the surgeon I had never seen before. He was Doogie Howser 2. I asked what his role would be. He was going to just observe. Good because I was going to object to Doogie 2 touching me at any time.

My chest was being shaved by a lady and some sort of jelly it seemed was being rubbed all over me. The room was ice cold and so was the jelly, and so were the ladies hands. Each time she touched me I could not stop from laughing. She told me that I was the only patient in the place laughing and that I needed to calm down or all the other patients would wonder what was going on. I could not help it.

I looked under the blanket and then I told the lady that she needed to call hospital security because I needed to make a police report. She asked what I was talking about. I told her that I came in here with a six pack and she had turned it into a jelly belly. She laughed and told me that everyone my age that leaves the hospital leaves with a jelly belly. That did not make me feel better.

So the doctor came by to talk, but by this time they had let Christy back to where I was and of course he was talking to her. That was okay because Doogie 1 had given me something before they even wheeled me out of that room and I was almost off to La La Land.

They wheeled me away and a few hours later I woke in recovery. I went home that night.

In a few days I will talk to you about the results.

Kevin

Chaos

Posted on April 23, 2018 by dearcamden2016

I was sitting at the kitchen table drinking my coffee looking out into the yard at the bunnies running around and I was thinking of all of the things I wanted to do this spring. Playing ball, travel, running in races in which I will collect more t-shirts that Christy will try to hide or throw away, and of course trying to get well. I had many thoughts running through my head. I also thought about how chaotic and hectic the last month had been and if someone would ever be able to explain what was happening with Brutus.

I thought about what I needed to do to be able to get myself in shape to run the Zero Prostate Cancer 5k in about a month. I was wondering if my body had healed enough to even allow me to start running again. Last year I walked the race. I said that in 2018 I would come back and run. Not sure that is going to happen. I stopped running late last fall when the pain got too bad in my ribs. I am disappointed.

When I thought of what I needed to do in order to get back into shape I thought of my old trainer David Pace.

Dave and I have known each other since the 4^th grade. We went to grade school, high school, and college together. We lived together a couple of years while at the University of Missouri in Columbia. We have a lot of history in which some has been pretty wild. I have many stories. I will not tell them here, at least not yet.

Several years ago Dave took a job in Wichita and he called me about where he and his family should buy a house. I told him that he needed to be in the Maize school district. He ended up buying a house two blocks from me.

When I was the most active with my running I would come home from work and go for a 3 to 5 mile run most nights. The weekends were for the longer runs or races.

Funny thing happened with those long weekend runs with Dave living two blocks away. I found myself leaving the house and jogging over to his place. He would invite me inside and grab two frosty mugs out of his freezer and two Bud Lights. Now that is what I call training. If it was before noon I would put a cornflake in the mug and call it breakfast. I do not think my times improved that summer. That is okay. I enjoyed the talks.

Dave and his family lived here several years. They moved away and now live in the KC area. My training has never been the same. Erin does not live far from Dave and Julie. I am planning on being in KC in a few weeks to see the kids. I might run, no I will drive over and knock on Dave’s door. Maybe drink a beer.

Dave has always been a very good friend. As I have been going through this cancer process his impact on my life has been even bigger.

He started by sending me cards out of the blue every so often that greatly helped pick up my spirits. Dave I cannot tell you how much those cards meant to me. He called so often that he at times was annoying. Just kidding Dave, but if you do know Dave as I know some of you who are reading this do, you know that he can be annoying at times. I love you Dave. You are one of my besties

When Dave would call I sensed that he was worried that he was going to lose a friend. He needed reassurance from me that I was not going anywhere. The problem was that I was also worried that he was going to lose a friend. Hell I am still worried he is going to lose a friend.

I felt the need to convince him that I was fine and that everything would be okay. I think at some point he finally started to believe. The problem was I did not believe what I was selling.

I also feel the need to convince each of you that I am going to be okay. Hell sometimes I start to believe it. In the short run I think things will work out. The long run, well who knows? In the long run I guess we are all dead. The problem is my long run is most likely shorter than most.

I try to stay as positive as I can. Being positive helps me get through the day. But I also have to face reality and at times it is very difficult to stay positive. It seems that for every step forward I have been able to take, I soon find myself taking two steps back. That has not changed. I get good news and soon the bad news follows.

I talk about Dave as an example of the support I have received since this mess started. Many of you have contacted me and let me know that I am in your thoughts and yes your prayers. I greatly appreciate that. Having that contact is what has kept me going, and will continue to keep me going. Thank you.

People who I do not even know have contacted me because they somehow found the blog. Some are cancer patients. I have exchanged emails with many of them and I am glad that they enjoy reading what I write and have found the blog helpful for their situation.

I have been called brave by some. I greatly appreciate the thought, but I am not sure that is the adjective I would use to describe me. You see I just do (most of the time) what my doctors tell me to do (they might disagree). I show up for my appointments. Show up for the scans and other tests. Let them cut on me when they have been able to convince me of the need. I just do what needs to be done.

Stupid is another adjective that some might use to describe me. At times that one is fairly accurate. I do not consider myself to be a stupid man, but I do at times play one in real life.

I have had contact with friends that I have not spoken to or seen in years. That has been wonderful. Sometimes I think that I have pushed too hard. I have at times said things I wished I could take back. I want to apologize for my stupidity. I would hate to lose contact with the people I have found. Sometimes I feel that I am running out of time.

My work family has provided me with so much support. I cannot find the words to explain to each of you what you mean to me. You have seen me at my worst. Each of you has done wonders for my spirits and your support has kept me going. Thank you.

Much has happened since the last post on March 18^th. I had surgery and the surgeon talked me into another surgery, because he did not like the results of the first surgery. After I agreed to another surgery things changed, like they always do. I let the doctor know that I no longer wanted the surgery.

I have had more scans and tests. I have seen my doctors over and over. I am having another scan this week and another appointment with the surgeon to listen to him tell me one more time how he is going to help me.

I have a friend in town that is a cancer survivor and I was talking with him about all the crazy things that have been happening the last several weeks. He told me that when he was dealing with his cancer that his doctor told him that the best description he could give of cancer was that of chaos. Cancer never stays the same. Each day it is different. This causes chaos in treatments and in the patient’s daily life. Yes chaos is a good description.

Being a mush brained TV addict I thought of Maxwell Smart along with Agent 99 fighting the deadly spy’s from K.A.O.S. Brutus is an agent of Chaos and K.A.O.S. I need to call Maxwell Smart for help. Let me get my shoe phone.

I have found this past month to be especially physically and mentally challenging. My emotions have been all over and I find myself depressed at times. You will understand as this week unfolds.

I am going to do the post a little different than the past. I am going to try to write shorter posts and just post more often throughout a week or so. That means more work for Erin. I am sure she will not mind. I am going to give that a try because I am not sure anyone wants to slog through a 10,000 word post.

Let’s get started.

Kevin

Let’s Talk

Posted on January 21, 2018 by dearcamden2016

It has been a few weeks since my last essay and I have a lot to say. This might be a long one. Go ahead and have a seat or lie down on the couch. Put your feet up and make yourself comfortable. Here we go. Let’s talk.

I stopped taking most of my medicines in December and I feel so, so, so, much better. Not sure that was the best move, but it sure felt like it at the time. The nausea and extreme headaches have gone. I have not hugged the trash can in my office for weeks.

So when you ask me how I am feeling the answer will be “good.” Now you have to understand that my good and your good are different. I will always be dealing with side effects from surgery, radiation, and medications. I have stopped taking the oral medications, but will continue with hormone therapy for a few more months.

What I am saying is that your good will always be “gooder” than my good. Is gooder a word? Well it is now.

(Everyday is a good day with Cammy)

I look normal. I look fine. But I deal with things that you do not see. I have good days, bad days, and ugly days. Most often my days are a mixture of all three. I can be walking along feeling fine and the pain hits. That pain can literally knock me to the floor. We are working on trying to solve the pain issue, but for now I have tabled all of their recommendations. I guess you can say that I am taking their recommendations under advisement.

I mentioned that I was no longer taking any pills. The goal of the meds I was taking was to shrink any existing tumors and to slow cancer cell growth. The numbers showed that the poison I was taking was working, but not as well as had been hoped. The fractional drop in the numbers we were seeing in my opinion did not justify the side effects I was going through. The cost vs. benefits did not add up. So I stopped.

Christy pointed out that I was taking the meds to decrease the probability that the cancer will kill me. She fears that my numbers will soon start to go back up. She is probably right. She has the brains in the family. I am the looker. You know the eye candy. Shut up Erin! I know that I am probably the only one laughing, but laughing makes me feel good.

Christy worries. I understand that. I think she would like to see me stick around a while. We have talked at great length about the future and all the uncertainties of life. She knows that what is important to me is having more life in my years rather than adding more years to my life.

I want to live not just survive. Constantly being sick is not living. Christy has a front row seat to what is happening. She is a witness to what I am going through. She understands that quality of life is very important to me and that future decisions will be made with that being the most important goal.

When someone in your family gets cancer everyone gets cancer, especially your spouse. I try to comfort Christy the best I can. I often grab her by the shoulders and pull her close to me. I look into her eyes and wipe away her tears. I tell her that everything is going to be okay.

So where do we go from here?

Advanced prostate cancer is a progressive, and life shortening disease. When I say advanced cancer I mean cancer that is not curable.

I like to look at it as a currently incurable disease. I am hoping that sometime in the future that some smart researcher will find a cure. I hope that will happen. I suspect that it will not happen in my lifetime. I think amazing advances will be made to help people and maybe even help me, but I do not think a cure will be found anytime soon.

I mentioned that I am currently on a hormone therapy treatment. It is called androgen deprivation therapy. (ADT)

Androgen deprivation therapy is often used when dealing with advanced prostate cancer. Androgen hormones are what feed the prostate cancer. Testosterone is an androgen hormone. Lupron is used to reduce the amount of testosterone in my body.

You see or hear commercials about men with low T needing to take supplements or drugs to increase their testosterone levels to get them to feeling like a man again. Well I not only have low T I have no T. Yup zero.

A side effect of the Lupron that you can see is the weight gain. The suppression of testosterone causes weight gain. I was told to expect a 25% increase in body weight. I went from 155 to 185. Right now 175. None of my suits fit. I had to buy new clothes. Damn.

I took one suit to my tailor. I refuse to take all of them. I hope to lose the weight eventually. Hopefully when off the Lupron in April the testosterone will recover and the weight loss will be easier.

I have to deal with several nasty side effects due to no T. One of them being hot flashes. Ladies I feel your pain or should I say heat.

My office door is near a rear exit. Sometimes the flashes are bad enough that I will walk outside in the nine-degree weather we have been experiencing to cool off. It helps. Next time I will try to remember my key card so I can get back inside. I had to walk to the front entrance to get back into the building. It was a long cold walk. Where is a hot flash when you need one?

With no testosterone in my body the ratio with estrogen is out of balance which causes the hot flashes. I want to start taking off clothes, but that is not an option at work. It might be an option when shopping at Walmart.

Men can be such bitches. When asked about my treatments I have tried to explain the hormone treatments. I no longer do. I got tired of the girly man jokes. The next guy who makes a girly man joke is getting hit with my purse right upside their head. Take that bitch.

My next Lupron shot is scheduled in April. I am going to tell them no thanks. I will then be off all drugs. Then we will see what happens. I am so looking forward to being completely off everything.

I will then be tested every few months to monitor the growth of the cancer and when it reaches a certain level I will be back on treatments. When I return to the treatments I will be sick again.

I asked my urologist how long I would have to continue this cycle of on and off treatments. He gave me his best “Squints” impression and told me “for-ev-er.”

I will be on this cycle of treatments for the rest of my life or until they stop working. Some patients stay in this cycle for many years. I call them superstar patients. They do not get better, and it might get worse, but does not become terminal.

Advanced prostate cancer patients will never beat the disease, but if treatments are working the disease will not beat them either. They will battle it to a draw and will die of something else.

This is where I am now and where I hope to stay. But I have to deal with the reality of my specific disease characteristics, and the treatment options currently available.

Based upon my age and disease characteristics at some point treatments are most likely going to stop working for me, and my cancer will go from being incurable to terminal.

Hopefully this will be many years from now and maybe additional new treatment discoveries might extend my life. Unfortunately no matter how much I hope I might not become that superstar patient. The disease might progress faster than expected.

I have asked my doctors how long I have. The only answer they will give is that it all depends on how I respond to future treatments. If the past is an indicator of the future I could be fucked.

Most people will not leave this earth without having to deal with some sort of adversity. This is mine. It is what it is and we will deal with it.

Some people refer to what I am going through as my new normal. To me the “new normal” is like the phrase “journey” or being called a “survivor.” I do not agree with any of them, but if someone else is comforted by these words then they should use them.

To me this is anything but normal so I refuse to say this is my new normal. I want to work to getting back to the old normal, but I know that is impossible. This disease has taken so much from me.

I have been mutilated, burned, and poisoned. More will be coming. This is not normal. My life has been forever changed.

People ask what they can do to help. Others do not know what to say.

There is nothing at this time that you can do to help. Let me take that back. The one thing you can do to help is to stay in contact. Talk with me. I want so much to talk with you to find out how you are doing and what you have done in the past and what you plan for the future. I want to hear all about your vacation and talk about your children and grandchildren. That would make me smile.

We do not need to talk about my cancer. This is what I have to deal with. You do not need to deal with it as well. If you want to ask some questions that is fine. I will answer.

I do not want you to feel that you have to come up with some magic words too console me. That is not needed.

I only ask for your presence, and your time. I am not contagious.

That would help me in my attempt to live a normal or new normal life.

When I think about it I have become a different or new person. A New Kev so to speak. Old Kev still exists, but has become hard to find.

New Kev has taken over and Old Kev is not sure he likes that. Old Kev likes some things about New Kev. Other things he does not like.

When I find Old Kev I am going to tell him he no longer has to be angry. Even though he has much to be angry about, the anger does not help. He needs to let the anger go. I will tell him to smile more and enjoy life.

I would tell Old Kev that he has been strong, but that his constant vigilance has taken a toll on him physically and mentally. I would tell him that it is time for him to stand down and to let New Kev carry the load. I would tell him that New Kev has his back. I would tell Old Kev that I know that he is scared, and that is okay.

I would tell him that Christy wishes he did not use the “F” word so much.

I would assure Old Kev that the fight was not over.

When I find old Kev I am going to grab him by his shoulders and pull him closer to me. I am going to look into his eyes and tell him that everything is going to be okay. That is the least I can do for him.

Some people say that everything happens for a reason. Well fuck, fuck, fuck, that!!!!

Wow!! I think I just found Old Kev. Let’s Talk.

Kev

The gift

Posted on January 2, 2018 by dearcamden2016

I have to admit that I have been a little depressed this Christmas season. This year things have not gone as I had envisioned. It has been hard at times to keep a positive attitude. Some days it is impossible. Cancer sucks and it beats you down making it hard to even have the desire to get out of bed. But we continue to place one foot forward and then the other. We keep going, but life has still sucked. Maybe things will get better, but it looks like not anytime soon.

I met with my doctor on December 14^th to go over my latest test and to let him know how I was feeling. I had to be honest with the Doc and I told him that I felt like shit, but that I was willing to continue being sick if the treatment plan was working. I learned that the remission we were hoping for by using this experimental drug protocol was not going to happen.

Months ago when we returned from our vacation in Seattle the plan was that I would start chemo. Once back I had another meeting with my doctor and he had another alternative he wanted me to consider. A new clinical trial had been completed showing promising results with patients with stage 4 prostate cancer. Patients like me with some of the same characteristics as my disease.

It was a small study, but showed promising results. Some of the patients had gone into remission. He estimated that the probability that I could go into remission at 25%. I understood that the probability of a remission with chemo was less.

I thought so why are you asking me which one do I want? WTF Doc we are going for a remission screw chemo. I never wanted to do chemo anyway.

He then explained that the treatment was not FDA approved and considered experimental by insurance companies. The drugs cost $10,000.00 a month and that most insurance companies would not pay for it.

I told him to submit it to the insurance company and if it was not approved then chemo it was.

Well everyone about shit their pants when the insurance company approved the drug. Not me. I do not shit my pants. I do piss my pants, but do not shit them.

I went on the drugs.

On December 14^th I learned that I was not going to be one of the 25% to go into remission. The numbers were not where they needed to be, and the side effects I was experiencing were too severe to continue.

The last four weeks using the drugs had made me very sick. October and November were not bad, but December was kicking by butt. The side effects were getting worse. I was taking more pills to combat all the side effects the drugs were causing just so I could continue using the drugs. I was taking more pills to help control the side effects than I was to control the cancer. Still it was worth a try.

I still have the medicine inside of me from my ADT shot therapy. Good old Lupron. No more Zytiga at this time. I am down to one pill bottle in the morning and evening instead of five. I still take Percocet when the pain gets really bad. Hate that shit, but it does help me sleep.

Oh I did find out that one of those pills I was taking was for the dog. Hey early in the morning when it is the first thing you do is get out of bed and walk downstairs still half asleep all I do is see pill bottle then take pill. The pills for Winston were also on the table. The Tiger Dog pills must have been the only pill working. I kept scratching the front door then went outside for a few seconds then back inside then out and back several more times. You get the picture. (Just Kidding – Maybe)

So no remission along with being sick adds up to the blues. My spirits did change on December 23^rd at 9:30 P.M. That is when Amy Brown walked through the front door. She announced that she wanted to go look at Christmas lights. I really had not been in the mood for driving around looking at lights. I was in a certifiable “Bah Humbug” mood, but Amy usually gets what she wants. The baby you know. So off we went.

We went to Candy Cane Lane which is an area of houses that we had been to many, many times in the past. This time was a little different. I decided to park the car away from Candy Cane Lane and we walked there to look at the houses. Yes it was very cold, but the wind was not blowing. Oklahoma blows you know. That is why we normally always have a south wind. Not tonight. Thanks Oklahoma.

So we walked around and were able to spend much more time looking over the decorations. No cars hurrying us along. Just had to dodge a few of them, but hell I can dodge a wrench. (Patches O’Houlihan)

We talked to people in their cars and spoke to a few home owners and talked about their decorations. One house had lights reading, “Happy Birthday Jesus.” I never found out where to go to get my treat bag.

We took pictures, and talked and laughed. This was a moment that I will cherish. This was fun times with my Amy. The blues were gone. No more feeling sorry for myself.

Over the next couple of days I enjoyed time with Justin, Amy, and Allie. Amy introduced a new game to the family called ‘The Chameleon.’ I am now the South Central Kansas Chameleon Champion. Okay, Okay maybe Amy is, but she cheated.

Christmas Day was a little different as well. I was going through Cammy withdrawals, and the blues were trying to sing again. Then the snap shits started.

I was sitting at the kitchen table drinking my coffee when the first snap chat arrived. I was able to watch Cammy playing with his gifts from Santa. Let me tell you he you really made out in the gift department from Santa and everyone else. He could open his own store. I guess that is to be expected when you are the first and only grandchild on both sides.

When the snaps stopped and he took a break from playing Cammy called making it face chat time. Is that what you call it, face chat? Well that is what I am calling it today. One word or two? Hell I do not know. Moving on.

I am sure Erin dialed, but when we spoke Cammy was not going to give up that phone. He wanted to show us everything that Santa had brought. He started walking around and yes Nana and I got a really good look at the floor (Vacuum Erin). Also had a good view of the walls, and ceiling. It also made us a little bit dizzy at times.

During all of this he was actually able to show us what Santa had brought and he told us all about it. He also hung up on us two or three times, but that is normal.

Cammy I so enjoyed the snaps and face chatting and attempting to have a conversation with you, but I want to tell you that as you get older that you will learn that the best gifts that you will ever receive will not be found under the tree. They might also appear at other times than Christmas.

I did not bring it up when you called. You are only two years old, and dah, would not understand. When you get older and are reading this I think you will understand. But now as a small child it often does revolve around what is under the tree or in the corner tucked away. Right, Ralphie?

I do want to take this moment Cammy to tell you about one of the best gifts I ever received in my life. His name was Grandpa Albert. We were very close and he was more of a father to me than my father ever was. I spent more time with him than any other man. As a small child he took me to St. Louis many times to see the Cardinals. He is responsible for my deep devotion to the Cards. I hope to pass that devotion onto you.

I think of him often. Grandpa died 31 years ago. I still miss him. The sadness I feel after all these years is still there inside me. It will always be there. I do not care if someone tries to tell you differently my experience is that you never really get over the loss of someone extremely close to you. You just learn to live through it.

Cammy I have found myself thinking about Grandpa often this Christmas. He was my grandfather and I am yours. I hope that as he looks down on us that I have made him proud. I would like to think that I have.

Christmas night I asked Amy what was the best gift she had received this year. She told me that her best gift was looking at the Christmas lights and spending time with me. Our moments!

Everyone needs an Amy. Everyone has an Amy. We just need to open our eyes and our hearts and live and love in the moment we find ourselves.

Your moments are all around. Sometimes we are just too busy to see them.

Your moment might be taking a hike or bike ride and sharing that experience with family or friends.

Finding the man or woman of your dreams and telling that person each and every day in words and/or deeds that you love them.

One day Camden you will find your best gift somewhere other than under the tree. Amy gets that. I get that. Someday you will too.

Live and love in the moment. Cherish your experiences. Make them count.

Love,
Papa

Introduction

Posted on December 18, 2017 by dearcamden2016

Let’s just address the reason for this blog right up front. I have stage 4 prostate cancer. They tell me that the cancer has advanced too far and is not curable, and that fucking sucks.

Let me explain my word choice. You see if you are going to be a reader of this blog you will need to be sure that you have your big boy/girl panties on because I plan on using big boy words. As for me I wear my big boy Depends. Prostate surgery and incontinence you know. That radiation did a hell of a number on me as well. Fuckers!

Anyway I find that the F word can be used to help explain many things. I use the word as a noun, verb, and adjective. So you will probably see it from time to time.

Moving on: Okay Kevin you have cancer, why the blog?

I am writing for a couple of reasons: One I find it to be a form of therapy. I talk to myself a lot and if you are a writer you get to answer. The second reason is for my three children and grandson and any future grandchildren.

My kids are adults and have moved on with their lives. My home will always be their home. The job of a father is never over, but I do not have the influence nor do they need me like they once did. And that is good. With the kids we have memories that they will have for the rest of their lives. If things turn ugly we have had our time together.

With Camden it is a different story. Camden is my two-year-old grandson. I love him more than I can ever explain. My greatest fear in all of this cancer shit is that my time will come before he has had the opportunity to form lasting memories of our relationship. I can only remember bits and pieces of when I was say five, six, seven, or eight years old. I would imagine that his future memory of what was going on in his life at that age will be cloudy as well.

So I take videos with him as often as possible, and you will see those here and on Facebook. I will use this blog to say things to him that maybe he will be able to look over in the future and smile. I hope, I hope, I hope, that maybe something will happen to change things and Cammy and I will be able to sit down together and read over these pages years from now and laugh. Unfortunately that is most likely not going to happen. So these pages will be my branches that I am leaving behind for Cammy.

I read a story many years ago that stuck with me. In that story a son was taking his mother up a mountain to die. As he carried her up the mountain she would grab branches from the trees and drop them onto the forest floor. The son asked her why she was doing that and she explained: We are going up the mountain together, but you will be coming back down alone. These branches are to help you find your way.

Maybe something I say here will help my family find their way in a world without me. I hope that is not anytime soon. But as I have always said you gotta be prepared for the worst and hope for the best.

You will be learning a lot about me here on these pages. I will try to be as open as possible and that is really hard because that is not me. I will be talking about my hopes and fears, and at times that might get uncomfortable for me or you. If that turns out to be the case and you feel that I am providing TMI, I ask that you stop following the blog.

I hope to also help others with cancer. I will be talking about my treatments, doctors, and insurance companies. I guess the entire medical establishment.

For those of you who decide to check in from time to time all I can say is strap on your seat-belts, you are in for a hell of a ride!

You will learn that another reason for the blog is just to get myself to laugh. You might laugh along with me. I will probable laugh harder, according to my kids.

So that is kind of an intro to what you will find here. Oh I almost forgot. I probably need to introduce myself in case someone finds their way to this page through a Google search because they also have cancer. Welcome.

My name is Kevin Brown and I am 58 years old. I am the father of three and husband of one. I am a cancer patient and I will forever be a cancer patient.

Until next time keep on Living…Loving…Laughing.

-Kevin

“Time is shortening. But every day that I challenge this cancer and survive is a victory for me.”
-Ingrid Bergman

I’m Thankful For

Posted on December 17, 2017 by dearcamden2016

Around Thanksgiving through Christmas you see lists made by people describing what they are thankful for. In the past I have not really done much inner reflecting on what I am or should be thankful for. But I have found myself thinking about what all has happened this past year and realized that I have a lot to be thankful for this year. Not just during the holidays, but things that I need to be thankful for each and every day. So today I am going to talk about one of the things that I am thankful for.

Ice cream, yes ice cream; I am thankful for ice cream. You are probably thinking: What the hell Kevin, you started off with what seemed to be a serious topic and now you want to talk about ice cream. Bear with me. There is more.

Most kids like ice cream, right? I spent a lot of time with my kids eating ice cream at home, at the Dairy Queen, Braum’s, Jimmy’s Diner, Wendy’s, Baskin Robbins etc.

I remember being at a restaurant and they had put us in an area off by ourselves (smart people) except for one older couple we had the area all to ourselves.

We were having shakes and the kids decided that it would be fun to blow into the straws and watch the shake explode. We were having a good messy time. We laughed and laughed and were very loud. I noticed the couple watching us. I walked over to them and apologized for being so loud. The man said that they were not concerned about the noise. He and his wife said that they were just enjoying watching us have so much fun with the kids. I am thankful for ice cream.

My girls danced on their high school dance teams and after most football and basketball games we would end up at an ice cream store. No matter if I was with Erin or Amy we always had at least a couple of their friends. Their friends learned to love, no I should say like, no I should say tolerate, yes tolerate sports talk radio on our drives to the ice cream store. When I see McKenzie, one of Amy’s high school friends, we still talk about listening to sports talk radio.

Once at the store we would have our ice cream often with what I called victory sprinkles. You know the little candies you put on top of ice cream after a win or even after a loss. No matter the outcome we deserved victory sprinkles. We would talk and laugh. I learned a lot about what was going on in my girls’ lives while at the ice cream store. I am thankful for ice cream.

Erin and I enjoying some victory sprinkles

I coached or helped coach many of Justin’s sports teams. We too spent a lot of time in ice cream stores. Frosty’s at Wendy’s were normally our first choice. There we would talk about the game, and at times I was able to crack his armor and we would discuss life. The ice cream helped break the ice so to speak. I am thankful for ice cream.

When they moved away and started attending that school that shall not be named I eventually got over it. I started enjoying going to Lawrence for visits and exploring Mass Street. There we go to Free State Brewery and have a meal and of course a beer or two. We then head to Sylas & Maddy’s for some great ice cream.

This year the kids have been coming home maybe a little more than in the past. They have been coming home to spend more time with me. Things have not gone as hoped in my cancer treatments.

When they are home they normally find a well stocked freezer of ice cream. A lot of fun conversations as well as serious conversations started this year while having a bowl of ice cream.

Amy and I on an ice cream run. Shoutout to Chance for helping us pick out the best ones! — Harps in Bentonville, AR, 2012

This Thanksgiving we were at Erin’s house. They bought their first home this year and moved from Overland Park to Olathe. I do not know the Olathe area as well yet, but while driving around exploring I found a Dairy Queen in the neighborhood. That is all Cammy and I need.

The family will all be together in Wichita the weekend of December 16^th. I am sure the topic of my heath will come up and I will update them on how things have been going and what are my next options. I will be reporting on the conversation I had with my oncologist during my appointment on the 14^th. Once again not the best news, but could be worse. I am going to need some ice cream. Maybe even a few beers.

It will go something like this. The kids will go to their mom first to talk about how I am doing, and what kind of mood they should expect when they corner me. They will formulate a plan on when and how to approach me. Or Erin will just come out and say, “Well dad WTF is going on?”

I taught her well.

When they come to me I better have the same report as mom or I will be in trouble. I will be accused of holding back information. They have ways of making me talk. It usually involves ice cream.

So sometime during our visit I am sure that I will be taking them to an ice cream store. I am thinking Cold Stone. I will order my two scoops in a bowl, and with the HOPE for a better future I will ask the server to add a few victory sprinkles.

Take… that… cancer.

Yes I am thankful for ice cream.

Kevin
Optimist
Pessimist
Trying to live in reality
MIZ

The Dance

Posted on October 29, 2017 by dearcamden2016

“To dance, put your hand on your heart and listen to the sound of your soul.”
~Eugene Louis Faccuito

Dancing has always been a big part of my girls’ lives. Both Erin and Amy were dancing around the age of four. By the time they reached softball age I could not rehabilitate them and turn them into ball players. Amy was busy picking dandelions in the outfield, and when she wore the catcher’s gear she could not walk, but my how cute she looked. Erin caught the ball with her mouth one too many times, and decided softball was not her thing. Their mom had won. Dancers are what they would be.

I have loved watching them grow into beautiful, graceful dancers. I was eventually fine that dancing was the athletic endeavor they chose, and I have always said that they get their dance ability from me. I have always loved to dance myself and have been known to break out a few moves now and then.

Dance became a part of my life as well as theirs. I enjoy dancing wherever and whenever I can. Weather that be in a class, such as my adult tap class, at a wedding, going out with friends, or just in my basement. I have found dancing to be very uplifting.

You lose yourself in the music. You listen to the keyboard, the drums, the guitar, and the music will enter your body and capture your soul. Then you move. Then you dance. This is when I forget that I am sick.

There is also another kind of dance that I am very familiar with as well. It is what I will call dancing around a subject. It is kind of like when I am interviewing someone and they ask me if they are going to jail. I may have known they were going to jail the minute they showed up to my office, but am not ready to tell them…ball change. Or I might not really know yet if they are going to jail and need more info from them to really answer that question. The dance continues…shuffle…hop…flap…ball change.

Then there is the dance of my medical team. It can be hard sometimes to get a straight answer. Sometimes I have to lead other times follow, which brings me to the call I received from my doctor’s office about my lab results several weeks ago.

A Tuesday afternoon I was in an interview when I saw my phone light up and that the call was from my doctor’s office. I knew that the call was about my lab results. On the voice mail Teresa asked me to call.

Surgery and radiation are the curative treatments for my cancer and I have had both, and I am on a lot of drugs. It had now been over two months since my radiation treatments ended. So at this stage of my treatments they should not find any evidence of disease. Any other news would be bad.

I called back around 4:00 and Teresa gave me the numbers. I was not disease free. The dance began.

She then talked about how much the numbers had improved and how things would hopefully get better. I wondered if she knew the significance of what she was telling me. Did she realize that the information she had just given me told me that my cancer was not curable? Was she deflecting my questions because the answers I was seeking should come from my doctor?

She was continuing to talk as positively as she could, but I was no longer listening. My mind was somewhere else. I thanked her for the information and I hung up the phone and I thought ‘Oh no Mr. Bill.’ (Kids you will have to Google Mr. Bill SNL)

I then cleaned off my desk, turned off my computer, locked my office door and told my partner next door that I was leaving early for the day. I then left the building.

As I drove away I had many thoughts. I thought about our trip in March to see a cancer specialist in Illinois. This was after surgery when they told me that the disease had spread, but they were not sure where it had gone. I needed a special scan and the machine was only in a few hospitals in the country. We tried Mayo in Minnesota, but they could not get me in for a few months. We did not have the time to wait. A cancer hospital in Texas wanted me to commit to having my treatments at their hospital. I said no. We were able to find a hospital in Illinois with the machine and we traveled there.

The scans revealed that the cancer had spread to several lymph nodes in my pelvic region. They also noted concerns for the cancer having reached lymph nodes outside my pelvic area and into my stomach. The radiation oncologist wrote in his report that several of the lymph nodes were highly suspicious for metastatic disease, which would mean incurable. I did not want to think about that.

The scan was able to tell us where my radiation treatments should be concentrated with the hope that it would kill the cancer and cure me.

I also thought about the day I met with my current surgeon for a second opinion before surgery. I remember the doctor examining me and he told me that I was not stage 1 as I had been told by the other doctor who I fired. Rather I was at least stage 3 or worse. He looked at me and said that he had great concern for my welfare.

I knew when he told me stage 3 that it was very hard to cure stage 3 prostate cancer.

So what I learned from Teresa that day really was not surprising. Actually in the back of my mind it was expected.

The lab results told me that any future treatments would not concentrate on curing me but rather on prolonging my life. To give me more time, to help me hopefully into remission. Hopefully the disease will be treatable and manageable. Time will tell.

I have not really shared the information you have just read with many people. I have become a very private person over the years. I am very protective of my family’s privacy. I think it is because of the job that I do. Hell I do not even have a goddamn Facebook page. (Until a few hours ago. Erin set me up. Have to see how that works out.)

I find it very odd and scary that I am sharing my experience with so many people now, and in this manner. But I have found that putting my feelings in writing has helped me deal with what is happening and allows me to think deeper about this process. I guess if I am going to write it then someone ought to read it.

When you read this please do not feel sorry or sad for me. I do not need or want sympathy. What I need is to feel your positive thoughts and love. When I see you I want to see a smile and I will take a hug. I need more smiles and hugs.

I do not know what the future holds, but I do know this:

I WILL NOT ALLOW FEAR AND DEPRESSION TO TAKE OVER MY LIFE. WE WILL GET UP EACH AND EVERY DAY AND MAKE IT THE BEST DAMN DAY POSSIBLE. THAT I PROMISE. I AM SORry for yelling. I have calmed down now.

And by the way if anyone ever asks you what Papa Brown did after he left his office that day he got those shitty lab results you can tell them that I went out and did what I do most Tuesday nights — I went dancing.

Kevin
Optimist
Pessimist
Trying to live in reality

MIZ

Dear Camden

Living…Loving…Laughing

Tag Archives: living with cancer

Facts

Every One Is Right

Religion

Surgery

Chaos

Let’s Talk

The gift

Introduction

I’m Thankful For

The Dance