Essay by Rex: July 2004

Brethren,
I went to my scheduled chemotherapy treatment today, Thursday the 22nd of July, 2004. A PET scan 2 weeks ago came back with less than desirable results. I called 3 days later to find out what the scan said.
I was told over the phone by a member of the office staff that the doctor was in with a patient and put me on hold. She came back a minute later and said the results were "stable".
I asked for a definition of stable and she paused. I knew I was chatting with a "20 something" office girl who is "out of her wheelhouse" regarding anything beyond the immediate workings around the reception desk. She just repeated that 'things are stable.' I thanked her and hung up ... nicely.
Three weeks ago I had been told by Dr. Mehdi there was a chance of switching me to a new form of drug treatment because more test results came back from the May 13th biopsy.
After consulting with colleagues at UC Davis he said he was certain that they were treating the wrong cancer with the current drugs I have been getting. The PET scan would determine whether those drugs had any effect.
Well, today just prior to my scheduled chemo treatment I was supposed to see Sandra, a physician's assistant (I think). She came in, asked a couple things then said the Doctor would be right in.
Dr. Mehdi came in with a somber face. I then realized Sandra wasn't smiling like she usually did. He started right in with the fact that he'd previously said the treatment could change. Now it was certain.
I got a bit of a shock when he said I would be admitted to St. Joseph's early Monday morning for a much more aggressive form of treatment. (More Aggressive?!?) It will require 5 days of hospitalization. Then 3 weeks of recuperation and 3 to 5 more days of a stay in the hospital. This routine will repeat for 3 complete cycles.
I asked about putting it off a week because I had Scouts going to Scout Camp this next week.
He said, "No."

I don't know what things will really need to change as far as getting ready for Camp. My van and camping equipment is still available. I will just load the lanterns etc. in the van and it will be ready.
Frank is handling most of the day to day details anyway. Bro. Gary Taylor is going to be the other adult leader until Thursday night or Friday AM. Bro. Wandvik is supposed to be there Friday. I am just not sure of the Two-Deep Leadership being covered towards the end of the week.
One other detail on my van... and a warning. It has been Floyderized. This is a word I made up years ago. Floyd had me buy hundreds of $$ worth of parts to fix the A/C. It worked great for a several days. Some of those very parts flew off as I was traveling on Hwy 99 about 1,200 miles after he put them on. The A/C no longer works. I'm told he will get around to it...
Oh, and another thing. The gas gauge no longer works. Again, Floyderization. Floyd borrowed my van and cut a wire while trying to hook up lights to a trailer. Somehow the gas gauge is now always at "E". A 'fill up' will get you about 280 to 300 miles. Use the trip meter of the odometer to be safe. Rick Fairbanks, Allyssa Fairbanks and I, all have stories about not setting the trip meter. The stories always include ...being beside the road ...somewhere ...with a red plastic gas jug ... or ....wishing for a red plastic gas jug. Once again, Floyd has promised numerous times that he will attend to this very small detail when he has time.
This not a 'shot' at Floyd's mechanical skills. If I ever need work done on my huge diesel school bus or my huge diesel fire truck, he's "the man".
Unfortunately, I don't own these types of vehicles. It's the ordinary, everyday vehicles that sometimes seem to need 2 or 3 'tries' before it's exactly right. That is the pure definition of "Floyderization".
Sorry if this puts anyone in a spot. It's out of my hands. Much like the last 25 years of my life.

Rex

Rex's About Me: 8 Finger Biscuits

I have always been fascinated with woodcarving, carpentry, cabinetmaking, furniture, tools/collecting them. 3 beautiful grown daughters living in other states. Twin grand daughters. Enjoy most outdoor sports. Boating, canoeing, fishing, camping, dutch oven cooking. My blog name is because in 1981 as a journeyman carpenter I lost 2 fingers to a saw. My dutch oven specialty is large buttermilk bisquits. Making them with now only a total of 8 digits, I called them "8fingerbisquits". Why? People remember them, one way or another.

Essay by Rex: January 2003

January 28, 2003. 2:55 PM Pacific Standard Time... 3:55 PM Mountain Standard

I held my cellphone as close to my head as possible without smashing the ear shut. If I was careful, held my head a certain way while plugging the unused ear with a finger, and if no construction workers happened to start a power tool within the next few minutes, I might hear the 'ceremony' take place.

I had about 16 hours notice via phone call from my baby, my 18 year old daughter Heidi, engaged for about 3 months to Nathan, an 18 year old, unemployed Catholic from Missouri. They had decided to move up their wedding day from June to January. Since it is at least a 10 hour drive in the best of conditions and with such short notice, I said I wouldn't be attending. I asked if there was "a bun in the oven." No? Good.
I would say that neither of my other 2 daughters were "overjoyed" at their younger sister's decision ... OR taste. My "ex" who I have nicknamed "Hurricane" for obvious reasons, apparently wasn't too thrilled either. Funny that her whole reason to move to Utah was to be around a better society of people with better standards. Oh, and to get away from me. Amazing that with all the Mormons in town, my daughter picks a Catholic, a backsliding one at that. I did get a bit of satisfaction when I sent Hurricane a rare email saying, "We are reaping what we have sown. Hope you are happy."

I was insulated from all the preliminary ceremonial stuff except for several phone updates from Rachel and ultimately assisting with the funding of the festivities.
There had been a frenzy of activity to pull this 'quickie' off. Getting a license, lining up a Justice of the Peace, going to a few places to get some decorations, refreshments, a cake. This event appeared to have the surprise of an elopement with all the hassles of a real, planned wedding. Just condensed down into several hours' time. Eliminate most of the guest list ... and voila ... two 18 year old kids who don't know a thing about life other than sensing the rage of hormones would soon be "one" in holy matrimony.

At the other end of the call, Rachel, my eldest daughter was pulling double duty by being Maid of Honor and holding the cellphone. If she was close enough to the Justice of the Peace the chances of me "being there" were greatly improved. Of course a mental image would have helped so Rachel served as my "color" commentator.
She said the blessed event, [scheduled for 4:00 PM Mountain Standard Time and taking place on January 28, 2003] was at the Justice's St. George, Utah home in the living room. He was wearing an official looking robe and because of his advanced age was standing in front of his 'walker'.
Those attending were the bride, Heidi, age 18, and the groom, Nathan, age 18 and currently/chronically unemployed. Debbie and Gary Elder, parents of the groom. "Hurricane" Carson, mother of the bride. Others in attendance: Rachel (Maid of Honor) and Aubrey, the bride's sisters. The groom's Best Man, Kaden, age 17 (and thus being a minor, unable to sign the papers as a witness. He HAS been able to 'witness' some hecka cool skateboard tricks done by the groom though.)
Also attending was Christy, the groom's sister and her significant other, Anna. Don't ask. Of the 4 younger adopted siblings of the groom, the two youngest, adolescent girls, were there. The two mid-teen boys are both currently in Detention, a.k.a. Juvenile Hall or they would have gladly attended.
It was like some bad TV commercial where a cellular phone service provider is trying to promote it's service as if "It's almost like being there!" In my head I could almost hear a crappy, upbeat music jingle. I could imagine the TV screen showing 'homey' surroundings, flower arrangements, lot's of smiling faces of family and friends. There would be a general excitement in passing around a phone so everyone can "participate", and a soul satisfying contentment felt by all. A Norman Rockwell moment, really...
Promptly at 4:00 PM the Justice of the Peace began. I could hear a distinguished baritone voice with that southern Utah twang in it. The man had probably performed dozens or hundreds of these ceremonies. Some probably within the walls of the House of the Lord a few blocks away. He spoke the words one normally hears at such informal occasions and offered some counsel and advice.
The "I Do's" were completed, then a kiss. The time was now 4:07 PM. I heard some sniffling sounds and figured it was allergy season in the High Desert. I could tell there was hugging and other stuff going on.
I stood by my tablesaw trying to realize that my youngest daughter was now married and that I was going to take a step back from her life and let her wobble off on her own as if she were on a two wheel bicycle for the first time. Now someone else was at her side.
A bitter disappointment came to mind because I knew I hadn't really been by her side for over 9 years. I wasn't allowed. Even when I really tried to be there in one way or another, obstacles were thrown in front of me. It will take a lifetime to sort it out in my head and heart. I will still try. That is all I can think to do. Only now, she has an additional resource (I sincerely hope) in Nathan. Maybe the two of them will be good for each other.
I was still on the phone listening to a family milestone event that normally is filled with joy, emotion and imprints itself in one's mind for all time. Rachel handed the phone to Heidi and I congratulated her and told her I loved her. She told me she was so happy and that she loved me too. I knew she meant it because for over nine years I had not heard it from her. For over nine years when I would say it to her upon a departure or at the end of a phone call, there was no response, in kind. For most of those years even getting her to come to the phone was near impossible. When they announced their engagement in late September we had a long chat and she finally said it. Since she waited so long I knew it was not a phrase she just tossed around lightly.
Later there was a small reception at the "House that Hurricane Built." In addition to those already mentioned, Heidi's Grandparents showed up and a couple other friends. Rachel told me later that she saw Nathan's sister Christy and her significant other, Anna in a quick "lip lock" on the couch at the reception at Hurricane's house. Ah, romance is in the air...
Nothing like a wedding to make everyone all mushy inside ... and especially so close to St. Valentine's Day.

Rachel suggested an ending to this essay and I thought it was perfect.

"Blank VHS tape: $3.00
Bouquet of fresh daisies: $25.00
Refreshments for 20: $76.00
Cake: $35.00
One Night Honeymoon including a Personal Chef: $185.00
Knowing your 18 year old daughter isn't pregnant and getting married anyway: PRICELESS.

From the Horse's Mouth....

Got a text (or seven) from Dad today:

Yeah, it's weird to wake up at 3am with my oxygen up on my forehead. I didn't adjust it back. Woke up again at 6am still no oxygen. None at all today. Waiting to see. Is it me adjusting to the increase of Lasix diuretic? That old idea of ...'hey, if some is good, more is better.' ??

(I asked if he increased the diuretic himself or if the doctor/hospice nurse suggested it.)

I increased it myself but it was mentioned that it could be done without any trouble. I decided to give it a try. Fluid retention seemed to be the 'problem' anyway. I'm looking for some relief from enlarged abdomen on the right side. It pushes my pants down, and with the wieght loss, there's no butt to help hold pants up. So, the next step is suspenders or overalls again. Still no oxygean as of 6:30pm but laying back makes me consider it.

Essay by Rex: February 2003

Midweek my parents came to town to have lunch and asked me to meet them there. Seems my Dad had watched so many TV commercials about "baby back ribs" he couldn't deny himself any longer. I knew I was going to be a bit late so I asked Mom to order me a large salad.

Oh, Pah-leeeze...

Don't think I've gone "gay" or anything by ordering a salad ... but since I have almost no ability to taste food resulting from the recent radiation treatments, there's no sense in me ordering something I ...WISH... I could enjoy.



There is a 10 year age difference between my parents. My dad is a bent, shriveled old geezer with a collection of canes, crutches, wheelchairs and electric scooters. He is staring at being 80 in a couple of years. His decrepit appearance matches his overall sour attitude and selfish outlook on life. I know him to have taken a rather casual approach to being a provider during the productive years. He has a very bad heart condition now which prevents him from 'tinkering' like he used to but allows him to fine tune the art of napping.

My Mom, on the other hand is an energetic, outgoing, fun woman who's nearing 70. There is no doubt who has put forth all the effort and made the marriage work all these years. She still takes good care of the ol' man but she works as a nurse just to get out of the house. Sort of a work release program during her life sentence.

At the end of our meal, my Mom excused herself to go to the Ladies Room. My Dad, who sometimes seems to be "losin' it, upstairs", leaned over to me and asked,

"Is her birthday this month or next month?" Hmm... A vague flicker of memory.

"It was LAST MONTH." I answered. I had reminded him of that fact once or twice before the actual date hoping on an outside chance, he would surprise her with some thoughtful gift or dinner out.

"Oh. Well... I guess I don't have to do anything then.", he said. He then changed the subject to his latest car trouble woes.

Forty-nine years, eleven months and about 20 days ago they had married in front of a Justice of the Peace. I came along 16 months later.

My siblings and I were planning a surprise Golden Wedding Anniversary celebration for the following Sunday. Lots of guests, lots of refreshments, lots of running errands and making calls. My sister, her husband and my brother were doing most of the set up. We, in fact, were doing it for Mom. Fifty years together and my Mom should be given some sort of Gold Medal for putting up with this incredibly thoughtless 'hump' I was sitting beside. He's my Dad and I love him but 49 and a half of those years should be credited to my Mom for reaching the milestone.



All three of my daughters came from Utah for the occasion and my youngest daughter brought her new acquisition... a husband, along. This was going to be a chance for me to get to know this kid that I am trying to learn to call a 'son-in-law'. He is 18, unemployed and still wet behind the ears, so I had yet to be sold on him as a "keeper".

If he was just a boyfriend, I would have crossed my fingers and pray my daughter would be fickle and soon lose interest in him. Maybe she would wait and find some guy with some "sand". A young guy with some substance. Maybe a guy who was in an apprenticeship program somewhere, or the military, or maybe going to college. But, all that wishing and hoping evaporated when she chose to marry him. On short notice.

Lowell Slade tried to comfort me by saying that I didn't have to live with him, SHE did. I really pondered those words ... looking everywhere for even a scrap of comfort.

Rick Fairbanks and I were considering our daughters and their futures once when he said something to the effect that it seemed singularly important that a young man who married a daughter should be considerate and treat her well, above all else. Not an earth shattering conclusion to arrive at but a significant, vital point to keep in mind.



I had a couple of conversations by phone with my new 'son-in-law' early on about him applying himself, working at any available job to discover what he really enjoyed doing which could turn into a career. I wasn't sure how much headway I made.

When I was 18, I was working 60 hours a week at an asbestos plant, saving money for a 2 year mission for my church. I didn't marry until I was 25 and a journeyman carpenter. I held off mentioning that I had walked to school everyday of my youth in waist deep snow, uphill, both ways. Figured I'd save the tough luck stories and other good stuff for later.

While the girls and Nathan were here in town I showed them around, taking in the sights of Modesto and it's surroundings. A trip to San Francisco and Fisherman's Wharf was a highlight. At one point, my cellphone rang and the call was Nathan's Mom in St. George. I handed over the phone and wandered off to look at something. A couple of minutes later I returned to see tears running down Heidi's face as she leaned toward Nathan who was still on the phone. She was really upset. He looked a bit concerned at what he was learning from the phone call. I asked what the problem was and heard Heidi's dog had been hit by a car earlier that day. The call ended and I saw Nathan filling Heidi in on the details.

What I saw next was something which elevated my opinion of this goofy 18 year old 'son-in-law'. He put his arms around Heidi and was comforting her and letting her know the dog would be all right inspite of a trip to the Vet and the loss of two toes on one paw. He helped wipe her tears with a napkin from the lunch we had eaten.

He could have acted like a Mr. Tough-Guy, say it was just a dog and brush off Heidi's concerns. Or, be like me and start griping about a Vet bill awaiting them upon their return, but he didn't. He briefly let us know what was going on and then focused on his wife and her fears.

Heck, maybe he is a 'Keeper'.

Letter from Dad: February 2005

Well Girls,
It's Sunday evening, I'm at Fairbanks and it has been quite a day!
At 6:30 this morning, someone stole my diesel van from in front of my
shop (the old shop). I heard it start up and they , he or whoever...
drove away just as I was running out the door with my 9mm locked and
loaded. I saw the rear of the van go around the corner of the building.
If I'd been even 5 seconds faster, I'd have been able to drill a couple
of holes in my van just for the fun of it. Or maybe even give the thief
something to remember me by. Anyway, I called 911 on the pay phone up by
the sandwich shop since my cell phone was out of charge. The sheriff's
Office located the van a couple hours later and had it towed. I won't get
to see what was stolen out of it until tomorrow. I'll have to pay $175
for the tow which was only a couple miles but being the victim of a theft
is only the beginning of victimization, I've learned. The thief nails you
then the law cause some grief with tow fees and paperwork. Lastly,
insurance usually gouges you after the fact some how. That is before I
even begin to learn about all the things missing. That is always a long
slow process. Well, I love all 3 of you. Take care and when I get my phone
charged up and can be in contact with you each, I will. Happy Valentine's
Day! I was going to try to send something to each of you but now the funds
will have to go to get my van out of the storage compound. Aubrey, I'll
write you. And will hopefully chat with Rachel and HEidi on the phone soon.
I go to UC Davis on Wednesday at 2PM. Gma may go along. Love you.
Later, dAd

Slideshow of "Grump-Pa"

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!

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.

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.

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

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

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...

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.