Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Least Favorite Food
Dad has always hated green peas. Even when he was little. He would tell us a story about a time he tried to get out of eating his peas.
Back then, you had to 'clean your plate' or you weren't excused from the dinner table. Ever so stealthily, Dad would take a few peas and shove them under the rim of the dinner plate. Over the length of dinner, his peas were gone and he was excused to go play.
When Grandma lifted the plate from the table, a perfect little ring of peas remained...
He's never liked peas - ever!
Back then, you had to 'clean your plate' or you weren't excused from the dinner table. Ever so stealthily, Dad would take a few peas and shove them under the rim of the dinner plate. Over the length of dinner, his peas were gone and he was excused to go play.
When Grandma lifted the plate from the table, a perfect little ring of peas remained...
He's never liked peas - ever!
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Essay by Rex: November 2002
My eyes were beginning to blur while looking at a quarterly magazine in the waiting room. It said it was sent exclusively to purchasers of new Jaguar automobiles. Obviously, my doctor was either a lover of luxury cars or managed to get a cool mag by mistake. Advertisements were for Rolex watches and many other types of finery that good incomes could bring. Don't get me wrong, I was not envious of that sort of thing. I don't begrudge the doctor being rewarded for all the years he invested in his education. He is a soft spoken, kind and compassionate man. It just seemed a bit funny to have such a magazine placed in with tattered copies of People and Newsweek.
I was going to find out the results of all those tests I had been having since late August. Even before the surgery by Dr. Gray in September of this year, I knew already in my heart and head. It had come back. Or, never really left. But I had not had much trouble for almost 7 years.
Dr. Di removed some in 1990. Another doctor removed more in an office procedure after that. Then in 1995, Dr. Goodman had me under the knife twice within weeks when lab results got "ugly". It took months to recover physically from those last two. Financially, ...well, I had been torpedoed, amidships.
So, when the post surgery lab reports came back from Stanford recently, Dr. Yee, my primary care physician personally called me 6:40 PM on a Friday to say he was referring me to an Oncologist, "A really good one.", in Stockton. 50 minutes away. He said the Oncologist's office would call me on Monday morning to set up an appointment. Dr. Yee soberly said, "You HAVE to go."
So, here I was in the waiting room for the 3rd time, tests all done, waiting to hear just where I stood. Each of my visits here had impressed on me that I was no longer in the minor leagues of ailments. There were some really sick people in this room. Many were wearing hats or wigs to hide hairless heads. Some were in wheelchairs and no one seemed very energetic. Even the family members accompanying these cancer patients seemed tired. Weighted down from the burden this disease places upon everyone close to it.
As tired as I was, I felt as if I didn't belong here. If this were a scene from a bad martial arts movie with a plot more warped than usual, I could single-handedly take on all 20 to 30 people in the room, at once. Not like the carefully choreographed scenes where only one attacker approaches the good guy at a time. Heck, I was Hercules compared to anyone here.
When she walked in the front door to the waiting room at Dr. Medhi's Oncology Clinic, my first impression was of a very sick middle aged woman. Quite attractive in her day, I thought. Whispy, thinning blonde/gray colored hair, barely covering the sides of her head. On top was a knitted cap, haphazardly placed as if she had been involved in a snowball fight at a family trip to the snow. The big coat, sweat pants and fuzzy booties added to the look of someone trying to keep warm in inclement weather. That it was a sunny, warm, autumn day where short sleeve shirts and sunglasses were more the norm seemed completely lost to her. Darkness under her eyes and her fragile almost see-thru facial skin reminded me of looking at a marble statue. She had a clear plastic tube near her nose hooked around her ears. She was pulling a green oxygen bottle behind her on wheels. There seemed to be a defiant courage in her struggle to pull the small tank over to a seat. She was going to do everything for herself as long as she could. She was followed by another woman in her late 50's and a handsome, slightly overweight but robust man in his mid 30's wearing Levi's 501s and a golf shirt.
This trio's entrance caused me to lose interest in the magazine. The interaction between them as they sat, kept my attention. The man was very kind and attentive, the 50ish woman got a paper cup of water for the ill woman who appeared to have an almost unquenchable thirst. Then it hit me. The woman on oxygen wasn't middle-aged at all. More like, early to mid 30's. The man was her husband. The 50ish woman, was most likely there to help her own daughter who was, in my opinion, not long for this world. She still was beautiful, but the cancer was taking it's toll.
I didn't know if there were any, but I began to think of the possibility of their children being watched by a close friend or family member while Mommy went to the Dr. with Daddy and Grandma.
I couldn't help it, but as I sat watching this loving couple chat, my eyes watered up. A lump grew in my throat. I was looking at a married couple on a journey where they soon would part and go separate ways. One would journey into the unknown, the other left behind pondering life and it's meaning. Perhaps soon, he would have to explain to little curly haired, big eyed children that Mommy still loves them even though she's no longer there. My observation of the scene was one of those moments when you ask "why" and consider the eternities.
My name was called and I got up and went thru the door, following the nurse who three weeks earlier had raised and dashed my hopes to avoid a painful procedure called a bone marrow biopsy. That day, she was looking for something in all the cabinets of the room I was in. She said,"This may be your lucky day. I can't find the needles." Dr. Medhi told me it would be an unpleasant experience. For 3 weeks I considered showing up all 'liquored up' but what good would that do? The nurse said "Oh, here they are." and plunked down a big plastic package on the tray. I stared at the hardware she had just exposed. I asked her,"When do they stop calling them needles and start calling them PIPE?" I had daintier looking tools in my carpenter's tool box. He was right about it being unpleasant.
Dr. Medhi came in and asked me about whether I'd had one particular test. Yes. He called on the phone about something in the CT scan. He sat and said it was confirmed that I had Lymphoma. Fortunately, a low grade or slow growing type. Most likely could be kept under control with radiation and occasional surgery. I have some type of growth on one kidney and another lymph node in the neck which need attention. Treatment will be radiation every day for 4 weeks. A three month check up will see if there is any change. Chemotherapy will be saved for more aggressive treatment later, if necessary. He said if I had to get cancer, this was the type to have. We both smiled. I knew that many prayers were answered. Frankly, I asked for one blessing prior to the September surgery. I suggested to those administering it that I knew they had great faith, but please to not go overboard on what was said in the blessing itself. I was NOT interested in living to be 120 years old.
Heavenly Father has blessed the medical profession to know and understand that treatment of this ugly disease should be carefully measured and monitored. I am thinking of all those people in years past who were subjected to surgery, radiation and chemotherapy in doses where the proper amounts were unknown. Because of their suffering, and the good men who become doctors with a desire to heal and "do no harm" had to do just a little harm to fine tune their research.
I left the Clinic that day greatly relieved that although my future health concerns may not always be pleasant, most likely my condition will not shift gears into something faster. I drove back to Modesto and pulled into a KFC for a big Pepsi and a bucket of chicken to celebrate. Didn't have someone to immediately share my good news with in person but I also didn't have to face what that young couple was staring in the face either. I just hope they were able to smile with Dr. Medhi that day too. I sense that somehow their courage made them smile.
I was going to find out the results of all those tests I had been having since late August. Even before the surgery by Dr. Gray in September of this year, I knew already in my heart and head. It had come back. Or, never really left. But I had not had much trouble for almost 7 years.
Dr. Di removed some in 1990. Another doctor removed more in an office procedure after that. Then in 1995, Dr. Goodman had me under the knife twice within weeks when lab results got "ugly". It took months to recover physically from those last two. Financially, ...well, I had been torpedoed, amidships.
So, when the post surgery lab reports came back from Stanford recently, Dr. Yee, my primary care physician personally called me 6:40 PM on a Friday to say he was referring me to an Oncologist, "A really good one.", in Stockton. 50 minutes away. He said the Oncologist's office would call me on Monday morning to set up an appointment. Dr. Yee soberly said, "You HAVE to go."
So, here I was in the waiting room for the 3rd time, tests all done, waiting to hear just where I stood. Each of my visits here had impressed on me that I was no longer in the minor leagues of ailments. There were some really sick people in this room. Many were wearing hats or wigs to hide hairless heads. Some were in wheelchairs and no one seemed very energetic. Even the family members accompanying these cancer patients seemed tired. Weighted down from the burden this disease places upon everyone close to it.
As tired as I was, I felt as if I didn't belong here. If this were a scene from a bad martial arts movie with a plot more warped than usual, I could single-handedly take on all 20 to 30 people in the room, at once. Not like the carefully choreographed scenes where only one attacker approaches the good guy at a time. Heck, I was Hercules compared to anyone here.
When she walked in the front door to the waiting room at Dr. Medhi's Oncology Clinic, my first impression was of a very sick middle aged woman. Quite attractive in her day, I thought. Whispy, thinning blonde/gray colored hair, barely covering the sides of her head. On top was a knitted cap, haphazardly placed as if she had been involved in a snowball fight at a family trip to the snow. The big coat, sweat pants and fuzzy booties added to the look of someone trying to keep warm in inclement weather. That it was a sunny, warm, autumn day where short sleeve shirts and sunglasses were more the norm seemed completely lost to her. Darkness under her eyes and her fragile almost see-thru facial skin reminded me of looking at a marble statue. She had a clear plastic tube near her nose hooked around her ears. She was pulling a green oxygen bottle behind her on wheels. There seemed to be a defiant courage in her struggle to pull the small tank over to a seat. She was going to do everything for herself as long as she could. She was followed by another woman in her late 50's and a handsome, slightly overweight but robust man in his mid 30's wearing Levi's 501s and a golf shirt.
This trio's entrance caused me to lose interest in the magazine. The interaction between them as they sat, kept my attention. The man was very kind and attentive, the 50ish woman got a paper cup of water for the ill woman who appeared to have an almost unquenchable thirst. Then it hit me. The woman on oxygen wasn't middle-aged at all. More like, early to mid 30's. The man was her husband. The 50ish woman, was most likely there to help her own daughter who was, in my opinion, not long for this world. She still was beautiful, but the cancer was taking it's toll.
I didn't know if there were any, but I began to think of the possibility of their children being watched by a close friend or family member while Mommy went to the Dr. with Daddy and Grandma.
I couldn't help it, but as I sat watching this loving couple chat, my eyes watered up. A lump grew in my throat. I was looking at a married couple on a journey where they soon would part and go separate ways. One would journey into the unknown, the other left behind pondering life and it's meaning. Perhaps soon, he would have to explain to little curly haired, big eyed children that Mommy still loves them even though she's no longer there. My observation of the scene was one of those moments when you ask "why" and consider the eternities.
My name was called and I got up and went thru the door, following the nurse who three weeks earlier had raised and dashed my hopes to avoid a painful procedure called a bone marrow biopsy. That day, she was looking for something in all the cabinets of the room I was in. She said,"This may be your lucky day. I can't find the needles." Dr. Medhi told me it would be an unpleasant experience. For 3 weeks I considered showing up all 'liquored up' but what good would that do? The nurse said "Oh, here they are." and plunked down a big plastic package on the tray. I stared at the hardware she had just exposed. I asked her,"When do they stop calling them needles and start calling them PIPE?" I had daintier looking tools in my carpenter's tool box. He was right about it being unpleasant.
Dr. Medhi came in and asked me about whether I'd had one particular test. Yes. He called on the phone about something in the CT scan. He sat and said it was confirmed that I had Lymphoma. Fortunately, a low grade or slow growing type. Most likely could be kept under control with radiation and occasional surgery. I have some type of growth on one kidney and another lymph node in the neck which need attention. Treatment will be radiation every day for 4 weeks. A three month check up will see if there is any change. Chemotherapy will be saved for more aggressive treatment later, if necessary. He said if I had to get cancer, this was the type to have. We both smiled. I knew that many prayers were answered. Frankly, I asked for one blessing prior to the September surgery. I suggested to those administering it that I knew they had great faith, but please to not go overboard on what was said in the blessing itself. I was NOT interested in living to be 120 years old.
Heavenly Father has blessed the medical profession to know and understand that treatment of this ugly disease should be carefully measured and monitored. I am thinking of all those people in years past who were subjected to surgery, radiation and chemotherapy in doses where the proper amounts were unknown. Because of their suffering, and the good men who become doctors with a desire to heal and "do no harm" had to do just a little harm to fine tune their research.
I left the Clinic that day greatly relieved that although my future health concerns may not always be pleasant, most likely my condition will not shift gears into something faster. I drove back to Modesto and pulled into a KFC for a big Pepsi and a bucket of chicken to celebrate. Didn't have someone to immediately share my good news with in person but I also didn't have to face what that young couple was staring in the face either. I just hope they were able to smile with Dr. Medhi that day too. I sense that somehow their courage made them smile.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Essay by Rex: January 2003
Wow, things have hit a new low as far as side effects to this radiation go. No, I'm not sicker. Fatigue has leveled off for now. Only occasional nausea. Sore throat is the biggest discomfort but my voice is more normal on a regular basis now. There's no need for shaving unless I want that baby's butt feeling. And who cares about that around a bunch of construction workers? Oh yeah, there's that cement guy that wears the Hawaiian shirts... I'll have to watch out for him, he may be a switch hitter. For the most part, I am grateful of the way I am currently feeling. Better than a couple weeks ago.
As I have previously mentioned, I was only able to notice sweet and salty in the flavor dept... and maybe those aren't even considered "flavors" but more of a sense. Any thoughts on that little detail? Therefore, I was drawn to things that I knew would be sweet or salty. The only real struggle was to actually get it down ... or swallow. Salt was going on my salad and soup at the diner. Vanilla ice cream was somewhat soothing as long as it was only a cone from McD's. The cone was discarded, being too scratchy.
On Monday, ice cream became too cold for the inside of the raw and sensitive mouth. Switched to pudding cups to help the medications go down. There's nothing like putting a spoonful of pudding in and realizing even it wasn't going down until some water was added.
Dr. Wong's mouthwash concoction which looks like Pepto Bismo and feels like an overload of the dental pre-shot Q-tip swab of lidocain is supposed to be used prior to eating. It gives about 20 minutes of absolute numbness to the mouth. "A good thing" as that scary lady on TV says. Just one problem. Being that numb makes my tongue feel as if it is as large as my forearm and about as long. I wouldn't know if I was chewing a piece of dried fruit or part of the tongue itself. I may save this stuff and rub it on my sore knee later. I'd know right away if I was chewing on my knee.
One thing mentioned in the pre-radiation info was that the use of metal flatware or silverware might become a problem. A metallic taste might be noticeable and be very unappealing. I glossed over this and passed it off as an item of little consequence. Until now. Plastic forks and spoons are what I use now. A cruel trick to play on someone who craves TASTE and only gets a metallic one.
It really is disheartening to be able to smell all the wonderful food aromas shooting out of the restaurant exhaust stacks around town knowing that even if I purchased something very appealing it will NOT translate into the reward known as taste. At work, if the wind is right, all I smell is "dairy" which is helpful to keep me from thinking about food.
Anyway, the new development is that I now cannot taste salty or sweet either.
Have you ever heard so much wimpy whining?
The good news is that the last day for radiation is this Friday, the 10th. Day after tomorrow. The additional 7 days of radiation were eliminated. I don't know why but I think it has something to do with my 'charming' the nurses. The nurses actually said to me that they wouldn't be seeing me after Friday. I said, "Oh, I'll eventually be back. I may not be able to make money or relationships grow but I'm really good at growing these tumor things."
No more Nurse Ratchet buckling my head down to the table like she was snapping the latches on a toolbox and giving me that daily headache. The turning point may have come on Monday when Nurse Crankenheifer took my blood pressure and weighed me in. She started in on the fact that I had lost another 8 lb... She said that I was now under 300 lb. as if I had done something wrong. I haven't been under 300 for 15 years. Believe it was all those fishsticks, Tater Tots, chicken nuggets and pizza that Hurricane had been shoveling at me and the kids during the married years. Additionally, in more current times, a single guy's eating habits do nothing to whittle down hibernation fat. It tends to stick around like a bad credit report.
Nurse C. started grilling me on what I had been eating and that I wasn't eating enough. Again I said "Look at me ... we're not discussing a shriveled 120 lb weakling here." She said she'd bring me a case of varied nutrient drinks and that I'd need to drink them chilled 4 or 5 times a day. I am watching each of her chins bounce as she is telling me this. I am wondering about the last time she was under 300 lbs...
I have 98% confidence in Dr. Wong. Nice man. I liked him from the very start. I just wish he didn't remind me of Moe Howard of the Three Stooges. The height, the build, the face, the upside down kitchen bowl haircut, black hair. That's where the 2% comes in. I swear, if he tries to hit me with a sledge hammer, slap me or poke my eyes, the percentage will definitely change.
I'm so glad that I spent two years in the Pacific Islands listening to heavy accents struggling with English from all over the Pacific Rim. That's the term used to encompass all the countries anywhere in contact with the ocean itself. Which if you think about it, involves an incredible variety of culture. Anyway, I need every bit of help in listening to Dr. Wong's instructions and questions.
My very first meeting with him was well over an hour of listening to the who, what, where, when, why and how of the treatment. During the consult he asked if I wanted to invite someone else into the room with me to sit in the other chairs. I remember saying "Wha... who?" ....Oh, my support person(s). "No. I'm fine."
He began his long explanation of all the side effects, etc., and would occasionally ask if I had any questions. I kept saying "no." Eventually he didn't like this answer and I had to tell him I was spending so much time just processing everything I was hearing I didn't have time to think up questions. So, he kept talking, offering more information. I was on overload...
We were about an hour into it when he stopped and as an aside, said "You can have regular sex with your wife." Stunned by this from out of the blue, I just said "Wow, will SHE be surprised." Dr. Wong asked why. I said "because she divorced me 8 years ago." Momentary silence.
He recovered and said "Well, your girlfriend, then." I said, "Uh... I don't have one of those either." There was absolute silence for just a brief moment. The room seemed small. He didn't know where to go from there and neither did I. So, he went back to wrapping up the information on the treatment process.
So the weekly weigh-ins, the weekly blood draws, the weekly X-rays, the daily drive to and from St. Joseph's hospital is coming to a close on Friday. Dr. Wong says my sore throat should subside in a week or two. A couple of months and the fatigue will be gone and my taste will be back to whatever I'll be left with. The salivary glands are history. Dry mouth will be one of my assets. There will be no drooling.
I may live to be in my 70s or 80s, wearing diapers, unable to feed myself or otherwise entertain myself or others but at least no one will be on the disgusting detail of emptying my drool bucket.
And, I can always have regular sex with my wife.... Dr. Wong said so.
By the way.... Just what IS regular sex? I seem to have forgotten.
As I have previously mentioned, I was only able to notice sweet and salty in the flavor dept... and maybe those aren't even considered "flavors" but more of a sense. Any thoughts on that little detail? Therefore, I was drawn to things that I knew would be sweet or salty. The only real struggle was to actually get it down ... or swallow. Salt was going on my salad and soup at the diner. Vanilla ice cream was somewhat soothing as long as it was only a cone from McD's. The cone was discarded, being too scratchy.
On Monday, ice cream became too cold for the inside of the raw and sensitive mouth. Switched to pudding cups to help the medications go down. There's nothing like putting a spoonful of pudding in and realizing even it wasn't going down until some water was added.
Dr. Wong's mouthwash concoction which looks like Pepto Bismo and feels like an overload of the dental pre-shot Q-tip swab of lidocain is supposed to be used prior to eating. It gives about 20 minutes of absolute numbness to the mouth. "A good thing" as that scary lady on TV says. Just one problem. Being that numb makes my tongue feel as if it is as large as my forearm and about as long. I wouldn't know if I was chewing a piece of dried fruit or part of the tongue itself. I may save this stuff and rub it on my sore knee later. I'd know right away if I was chewing on my knee.
One thing mentioned in the pre-radiation info was that the use of metal flatware or silverware might become a problem. A metallic taste might be noticeable and be very unappealing. I glossed over this and passed it off as an item of little consequence. Until now. Plastic forks and spoons are what I use now. A cruel trick to play on someone who craves TASTE and only gets a metallic one.
It really is disheartening to be able to smell all the wonderful food aromas shooting out of the restaurant exhaust stacks around town knowing that even if I purchased something very appealing it will NOT translate into the reward known as taste. At work, if the wind is right, all I smell is "dairy" which is helpful to keep me from thinking about food.
Anyway, the new development is that I now cannot taste salty or sweet either.
Have you ever heard so much wimpy whining?
The good news is that the last day for radiation is this Friday, the 10th. Day after tomorrow. The additional 7 days of radiation were eliminated. I don't know why but I think it has something to do with my 'charming' the nurses. The nurses actually said to me that they wouldn't be seeing me after Friday. I said, "Oh, I'll eventually be back. I may not be able to make money or relationships grow but I'm really good at growing these tumor things."
No more Nurse Ratchet buckling my head down to the table like she was snapping the latches on a toolbox and giving me that daily headache. The turning point may have come on Monday when Nurse Crankenheifer took my blood pressure and weighed me in. She started in on the fact that I had lost another 8 lb... She said that I was now under 300 lb. as if I had done something wrong. I haven't been under 300 for 15 years. Believe it was all those fishsticks, Tater Tots, chicken nuggets and pizza that Hurricane had been shoveling at me and the kids during the married years. Additionally, in more current times, a single guy's eating habits do nothing to whittle down hibernation fat. It tends to stick around like a bad credit report.
Nurse C. started grilling me on what I had been eating and that I wasn't eating enough. Again I said "Look at me ... we're not discussing a shriveled 120 lb weakling here." She said she'd bring me a case of varied nutrient drinks and that I'd need to drink them chilled 4 or 5 times a day. I am watching each of her chins bounce as she is telling me this. I am wondering about the last time she was under 300 lbs...
I have 98% confidence in Dr. Wong. Nice man. I liked him from the very start. I just wish he didn't remind me of Moe Howard of the Three Stooges. The height, the build, the face, the upside down kitchen bowl haircut, black hair. That's where the 2% comes in. I swear, if he tries to hit me with a sledge hammer, slap me or poke my eyes, the percentage will definitely change.
I'm so glad that I spent two years in the Pacific Islands listening to heavy accents struggling with English from all over the Pacific Rim. That's the term used to encompass all the countries anywhere in contact with the ocean itself. Which if you think about it, involves an incredible variety of culture. Anyway, I need every bit of help in listening to Dr. Wong's instructions and questions.
My very first meeting with him was well over an hour of listening to the who, what, where, when, why and how of the treatment. During the consult he asked if I wanted to invite someone else into the room with me to sit in the other chairs. I remember saying "Wha... who?" ....Oh, my support person(s). "No. I'm fine."
He began his long explanation of all the side effects, etc., and would occasionally ask if I had any questions. I kept saying "no." Eventually he didn't like this answer and I had to tell him I was spending so much time just processing everything I was hearing I didn't have time to think up questions. So, he kept talking, offering more information. I was on overload...
We were about an hour into it when he stopped and as an aside, said "You can have regular sex with your wife." Stunned by this from out of the blue, I just said "Wow, will SHE be surprised." Dr. Wong asked why. I said "because she divorced me 8 years ago." Momentary silence.
He recovered and said "Well, your girlfriend, then." I said, "Uh... I don't have one of those either." There was absolute silence for just a brief moment. The room seemed small. He didn't know where to go from there and neither did I. So, he went back to wrapping up the information on the treatment process.
So the weekly weigh-ins, the weekly blood draws, the weekly X-rays, the daily drive to and from St. Joseph's hospital is coming to a close on Friday. Dr. Wong says my sore throat should subside in a week or two. A couple of months and the fatigue will be gone and my taste will be back to whatever I'll be left with. The salivary glands are history. Dry mouth will be one of my assets. There will be no drooling.
I may live to be in my 70s or 80s, wearing diapers, unable to feed myself or otherwise entertain myself or others but at least no one will be on the disgusting detail of emptying my drool bucket.
And, I can always have regular sex with my wife.... Dr. Wong said so.
By the way.... Just what IS regular sex? I seem to have forgotten.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Letter from Dad: September 2006
Dear girls,
All I can do is encourage you each to strive to do better than the example your parents set for you. I have always and will always feel the burden of not giving you what I consider to be a balanced, gospel centered family life. Now that you are adults, the remainder of your lives is up to you. I love each of you more than you know. You will understand how much once you have children of your own. Love you.
Love, dAd
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Letter from Dad: May 2005
Dear Rachel, Aubrey and Heidi,
Hi girls,
It's getting late Sunday evening and I'm pretty tired of deleting junk email.
I just wanted to tell each of you girls before I go into this next 2 months of medical unpleasantness that I really love each of you. You each have talents and strengths I admire. Each of you are good people, fun to be around, with much to offer others. You each are a credit to society and to the McBride and Carson families. I'm proud that each of you is striking out on your own to live life, develop your talents and skills and be more rounded personalities. You'll each have challenges ahead but that's what makes life interesting.
I've often wished we could have grown up closer together, had a more gospel based family life and that we'd have logged many more hours, days and years of experiences together by now. This has been a gnawing regret in my life and really don't know where I could have done things differently under the circumstances we faced (except to have been a better example of what a husband, dad and a priesthood holder should be). I have always wanted to be closer to each of you. You each should have had better. My hope is that what you've been through will not sour you too much as you face the challenges of adulthood. I'm proud that each of you will watch out for each other.
I go into these medical procedures buoyed by the strength I feel from each of you. It may be a bit selfish but I want many more memories with each of you, individually and together. I go into the UC Davis Medical Center willing to face all they can throw at me ... and more, if necessary to be able to see you girls farther into your adult years.
If, though for some reason things don't come out the way we expect, I must say this one thing. There were a couple of things I did correctly in relation to you. Your Mom and I saw to it that you were blessed and given names as infants in the Lord's Church by proper priesthood authority. I entered the waters of baptism with each of you and used my priesthood authority to perform that most sacred of saving ordinances. It is so critically important an ordinance that even Jesus, the most perfect person to ever walk the face of this earth sought out someone with the proper priesthood authority (John the Baptist) and submitted himself to be baptized. Any question or doubt how important the ordinance is?
I laid my hands on each of your heads and confirmed you each members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. You were each given the gift of the Holy Ghost, a gift to use as you see fit. Live by the gospel teachings and the gift will be a great blessing in your lives. Your conscience is the "Light of Christ" mentioned in the scriptures. Ignore it and the gift will fade away little by little. But, if you call upon it, it can be a help and a companion to you in times of making personal decisions or even in times of danger. Nurture it as if you would nurture a seed to grow and it will be a guide and bloom into something of great worth throughout your lives. These ordinances were the best things I could have helped you to experience. They were not gifts I could offer to you myself. I have no power myself except that I was ordained to be able to do these things by the power of the Holy Priesthood.
Heidi mentioned once that she could barely remember the experience of baptism and so felt it had little meaning for her. She has a good point, and it is a fair and understandable observation. I happen to remember mine because I was 14 and a half when I was baptized.
At the age of eight it could be very easy to be just doing what the family considered acceptable. As your parents, we should have helped Heidi (or each of you) to better appreciate what she was going to experience. That she was baptized at 8 years old and the divorce took place when she was 9 years old tells us that other stresses were on each of us and we perhaps "dropped the ball" in guiding her at a critical time.
We all got "beat up" in the divorce in one way or another. It does not however make Heidi's baptism or anyone else's less valid. Each of us still has the responsibility to guard our membership in the Lord's Church by living the Commandments to the best of our ability. We all will stumble and we all can resolve to do better. It's part of the repentence process.
You've heard these words before but they are nevertheless just as true. There is a true church on the earth. A church that is guided and organized the way Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ would have it done. Joseph Smith was, and is the prophet who was the Savior's representantive on earth to do the job.
There is a man living today who serves us as the current prophet for our times. Gordon B. Hinckley.
If we keep an ear to the Lord's prophet today, we can be assured of not being lead astray from the critically important things in this life.
The Book of Mormon is a true record of a people who lived centuries ago on this American continent. It is a record of God's dealings and teachings to these ancient people through prophets who left their words and testimonies for us to consider. If you have any doubt about whether the Book is factual, you are offered a promise and challenge to find out for yourselves of it's truthfulness. I've accepted Moroni's challenge (Moroni 10:3-5) many years ago and know for myself. I may not be the best example of how to live a righteous life but I know it's true.
I challenge each of you girls to become familiar with the Book of Mormon. Take Moroni at his word and find out for yourselves what all the commotion is about. It's either true or it's not. If it's not, if all this true church stuff is a lie, Heavenly Father will warn you off such a crazy book. If it is true, (and you find this out by reading, pondering and praying to find out) it will be the most important discovery in your entire lives.
Love always,
dAd
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Ball Point Pens & Feet
One of my favorite memories as a kid was when Dad would tuck us in to bed at night. He'd tell us one of many silly stories of his youth that would crack us all up. Then he'd turn out the lights and say goodnight.
Occasionally, just as I was drifting off to sleep, Dad would suddenly come back in my room, pull the covers off the bed, and put one of my feet in a choke hold. He would be giggling and taunting as I screamed for mercy. Dad would take a ball point pen and, holding my foot while I kicked and screamed and giggled, write my first, middle, and last name on the bottom of my foot. If I wiggled enough for him to not finish a letter, he'd have to do that letter over and over again until it looked right. Just more Daddy style torture.
And something that I'll have to try on my kids eventually also...
Occasionally, just as I was drifting off to sleep, Dad would suddenly come back in my room, pull the covers off the bed, and put one of my feet in a choke hold. He would be giggling and taunting as I screamed for mercy. Dad would take a ball point pen and, holding my foot while I kicked and screamed and giggled, write my first, middle, and last name on the bottom of my foot. If I wiggled enough for him to not finish a letter, he'd have to do that letter over and over again until it looked right. Just more Daddy style torture.
And something that I'll have to try on my kids eventually also...
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Memories...
Even though he's not gone yet, I feel the need to start to write down some 'Memories of Rex'. He has always been a special influence in my life and I want my children to know him as well as anyone can. I welcome contributions and stories and "Rex-isms" by email at idispatch4911@gmail.com.
----
He had 8 fingers, 100 projects and 1000 ideas.
Rex Howell McBride was born June 29, 1954 to Gerald Lee McBride and Bonita Gay Lewis McBride in Redding, CA.
He was a true mountain-boy and grew up most of his life in the foothills of Sonora, CA. As a child, Rex loved exploring the foothills, riding motorcycles, hunting for his supper, and participating in scouting. He always knew he wanted to be a woodworker.
Rex played many sports in high school including football, baseball, wrestling, and boxing. He pursued scouting activities and earned the rank of Eagle Scout. He graduated from Sonora High School in 1972. He always wanted to expand his mind and learn new things, but felt he was a poor student. He moved to Modesto to pursue his love of wordworking and strike out on his own.
Always patriotic and proud of his country, Rex considered service in the military but was eventually dissuaded by his father, a Marine with Raider Training from World War II. He always respected the veterans who served and afforded us so many luxuries.
Rex worked many jobs to afford serving an LDS mission at the age of 21. He proudly served in "the best mission in the world" Hawaii Honolulu from August 1973 to September 1975. He came home and continued his service in Church callings geared toward missionary work.
In his bachelor days, he honed his skills and love for woodworking and finish carpentry, and dated a little. He met and married Kristi Carson in 1979. They made their home in Modesto, CA. The couple had three daughters: Rachel, Aubrey, and Heidi. As a family, they enjoyed boating, gardening, swimming, and trips to visit family. They attended church regularly and were very active in missionary work and church service.
Rex stayed as close as a father could when his daughters moved to Southern Utah in 1995. There were many visits over the years and phone calls, emails, and text messages kept the father and daughters bonded. He tried to be a supportive influence over the many miles of separation and readily aided his three daughters when he could.
More recently, Rex became a father-in-law to Ryan and, eventually, a grandfather to twin granddaughters Adelyn and Chloe. He was a proud grandpa, sharing stories, pictures and videos of the growing girls. He remained a positive example on his family throughout the years and miles.
In 1994, Rex complained of pain and poor muscle tone in his right shoulder and arm. He was diagnosed with cancer and a series of surgeries commenced. He went into remission but the lymphoma came back several years later. More surgeries, radiation and eventually chemotherapy was scheduled. Again, the cancer went into remission.
By 2003, Rex felt more lumps and found out the cancer had returned. More chemotherapy and dozens of days in the hospital found Rex weaker but determined to fight. He had a bone marrow transplant which afforded him a few more years with his loved ones.
Doctors kept close watch on Rex and the mantle cell lymphoma. Again, the tumors enlarged and Rex began chemotherapy treatment. After some sudden breathing difficulties in 2009, it was determined that Rex had cancerous cells in his lungs and that the cancer had spread to other areas of the body.
He continues to fight, valiantly and stubbornly, loved deeply by the many lives he touched throughout his life.
----
He had 8 fingers, 100 projects and 1000 ideas.
Rex Howell McBride was born June 29, 1954 to Gerald Lee McBride and Bonita Gay Lewis McBride in Redding, CA.
He was a true mountain-boy and grew up most of his life in the foothills of Sonora, CA. As a child, Rex loved exploring the foothills, riding motorcycles, hunting for his supper, and participating in scouting. He always knew he wanted to be a woodworker.
Rex played many sports in high school including football, baseball, wrestling, and boxing. He pursued scouting activities and earned the rank of Eagle Scout. He graduated from Sonora High School in 1972. He always wanted to expand his mind and learn new things, but felt he was a poor student. He moved to Modesto to pursue his love of wordworking and strike out on his own.
Always patriotic and proud of his country, Rex considered service in the military but was eventually dissuaded by his father, a Marine with Raider Training from World War II. He always respected the veterans who served and afforded us so many luxuries.
Rex worked many jobs to afford serving an LDS mission at the age of 21. He proudly served in "the best mission in the world" Hawaii Honolulu from August 1973 to September 1975. He came home and continued his service in Church callings geared toward missionary work.
In his bachelor days, he honed his skills and love for woodworking and finish carpentry, and dated a little. He met and married Kristi Carson in 1979. They made their home in Modesto, CA. The couple had three daughters: Rachel, Aubrey, and Heidi. As a family, they enjoyed boating, gardening, swimming, and trips to visit family. They attended church regularly and were very active in missionary work and church service.
Rex stayed as close as a father could when his daughters moved to Southern Utah in 1995. There were many visits over the years and phone calls, emails, and text messages kept the father and daughters bonded. He tried to be a supportive influence over the many miles of separation and readily aided his three daughters when he could.
More recently, Rex became a father-in-law to Ryan and, eventually, a grandfather to twin granddaughters Adelyn and Chloe. He was a proud grandpa, sharing stories, pictures and videos of the growing girls. He remained a positive example on his family throughout the years and miles.
In 1994, Rex complained of pain and poor muscle tone in his right shoulder and arm. He was diagnosed with cancer and a series of surgeries commenced. He went into remission but the lymphoma came back several years later. More surgeries, radiation and eventually chemotherapy was scheduled. Again, the cancer went into remission.
By 2003, Rex felt more lumps and found out the cancer had returned. More chemotherapy and dozens of days in the hospital found Rex weaker but determined to fight. He had a bone marrow transplant which afforded him a few more years with his loved ones.
Doctors kept close watch on Rex and the mantle cell lymphoma. Again, the tumors enlarged and Rex began chemotherapy treatment. After some sudden breathing difficulties in 2009, it was determined that Rex had cancerous cells in his lungs and that the cancer had spread to other areas of the body.
He continues to fight, valiantly and stubbornly, loved deeply by the many lives he touched throughout his life.
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