Medicated Meditations

Welcome to the first installment (and hopefully last) of:

The Medicated Meditations of an Insomniac

A contemplative essay by a man that had his TV watching couch hijacked - by sleeping children that complained that their upstairs room was too hot - and was consequently forced to play on his computer while high on medication (if it was medical marijuana, I could have gotten a snack and just went to bed).

And now, without further ado: A stroll through the mind of the obviously inept and apparently insane.

Every thing has a beginning, including time and therefore reality as well. In thinking about time as entity that was born of nothing, it becomes necessary to decipher the concept of nothing. But, attempting to objectify nothing results in nonsense because nothing is, by nature, a nonentity and therefore, cannot actually be conceptualized without running into a circular argument that utilizes only what is known and tangible in an attempt to prove the unknown and intangible. Nothing precedes time and therefore, time was born of nothing which never existed in the first place.

The circular arguments of time continually disprove any logical conclusions of reality, in that in order to grasp one, a solid comprehension of the other is absolutely necessary. Both time and reality, spiritual and temporal, seem to be just on the periphery of logic and reason and are therefore, both of them, unable to be considered directly, but float close enough to lure you into their contemplation. Metaphors and similes are used in excess to support our “whys” and “hows,” but only help to further the confusion by allowing the development of false blocks of logic, built from rational attempts at classification and meaning in an effort to support our systems of belief and purpose. Therefore, our attempts at rationalizing have led us down fictitious roads that feel validated only by comparing what we cannot completely form against our familiarity with the abstract and simplified norms that are ultimately just miniscule variables of the same complex unattainable issues that have been broken down to a scope and measure that is both more easily questionable and as a result, more easily answerable. But ultimately, it is always only a metaphor that attempts to analyze a single and artificial part, ceteris paribus, lacking the depth, relevance and direct relationship, correlation or link to the actual questions of time, reality, life and purpose to be of actual use. And is therefore, again, a circular argument that is as misleading, as it is inaccurate and artificial.

This all results in comforting analogies that allows existence to continue without creating, not only mental, but societal fractures of reasoning for the sole purpose of keeping sane amongst the chaos for decisive maneuvering through the unfathomable complexity of actuality. Board games, sports, rollercoasters, consequences and wars, are all amongst the available and massive grab bag of helpful, guiding and consoling clichés that are used as band-aids to bridge together the impossible logical gaps caused by the impassable scale and intricacy of a question too large and unstable for us to answer in a snap-shot, let alone in our perceived “real time.” Insofar as any direct attempt at analyzing the circular argument of time and reality ultimately leads to a narrowed focus, however brilliant, that will splinter, morph and eventually crumble when removed from the airtight vacuum seal model it has been created in and is forced to struggle in an attempt to hold form and relevance, while simultaneously stretching thinner as it is continually manipulated with incredible effort and imagination to fill in the impossible shapes and phenomenon of not only the natural world and its connective bridges over to the yet larger, and some how even more complex, world of the metaphysical realm that completely defies any human design and its capabilities, and lays out of reach of any known form of mathematical measurement available to be understood by mankind. And therefore, the sciences must be replaced with the arcane arts of philosophy and our faulty rationalizations.  

That’s it…that’s what I got.

We hope that you have enjoyed your time here at the magical and magnificent Stupidlandia™; where your dreams and coherent thoughts come to die while waiting for the children to wake up and give me my couch back…where I am sure I can fall asleep watching infomercials for P90x and finally restore balance to the world.

Incongruently-ness

About two months ago, I was told that my condition is permanent. I was in the middle of excitedly explaining my future plans and boasting that even while going through all of the invasive, tedious and sometimes painful treatments and while dealing with the massive pile of crap that goes along with having any type of serious illness (notably for me was the vomiting, headaches, paralysis, etc…), I managed to obtain a graduate certificate in management accounting and was ¾ of the way to an MBA. My plan was to beat brain cancer, while simultaneously finishing my master’s degree, landing a real estate or property management account/finance position, working my way to prominence and then writing a book about how amazing the human spirit is (of course I would have to graciously use myself as the example). To which my doctors - after looking back and forth at each other for a few seconds - informed me that even if the tumor shrinks to a microscopic level, it will never be gone and that since I have one tumor, there are multiples of others that have just not announced themselves as of yet and therefore, I cannot ever actually consider myself in remission or legally tell an employer that I am.

This was news to me. From the moment I woke from surgery and could form a coherent thought, I have been working diligently on my health and education with the necessary aspiration of changing career paths to something more suitable for my new physical limitations and therefore, still be able to support my family and give my kids the life that I know they deserve. I know what you are thinking, suck it up wuss, nothing is ever carved in stone…except death…death is probably carved in stone. But you’re not dead…so suck it up and walk it off. I have been telling myself that exact same thing. I just need to come up with a new new plan. It’s totally cool, I have been creating new career plans every since my wife, waved that magical plastic wand (that smelled like urine) in my face and yelled Avada Kedavra (yes, we both read Harry Potter before we even had kids – because we are super cool), effectively killing my life’s ambition of having absolutely no ambition (just like Charlie Sheen, I was “winning”).

So, in the face of this new dilemma that the doctors delivered to me with all the critical detachment of an alcoholic father explaining why you are worthless and will never amount to anything, the kindly doctors have informed me of the new overwhelming obstacle that I have appropriately named Are You F-ing Kidding Me? Like Wiley Coyote, it is once again back to the drawing board. And lucky for you I have decided to share my amazing, I don’t want to say genius (but, I kinda want you to say it), talents of career (re)planning in the face of overwhelming obstacles and the repeated failures of reality to conform to or even comprehend my meticulously, yet simply, planned future of greatness and accomplishment (like that stupid Road Runner, reality appears to be an easily manipulated and beatable moron – but it can unfairly run through hte caves painted on the side of a cliff).

Anyway, brilliant career planning always starts with simply free writing about your strengths, weaknesses, likes, dislikes, abilities, disabilities, and of course, relevant experience. With this technique, it is easier to arrive at a more specified target as the writing continually cancels out meaningless unimportant routes and narrows to a point; like trimming the blurry branches of an idea to create a razor sharp and crystal clear conclusion on which to impale yourself on later.

Possibly the most significant strength that I possess, is the ability to perfectly plan and navigate life. Unfortunately though, I can only do it in hindsight, ceteris paribus and without the Road Runner of reality hitting me with trains from nowhere or dropping safes on my head. I am also proficient at finding Easter eggs a year after they have been hidden and I possess the ability, and testicular fortitude, to eat the contents of the year old egg without becoming overly sick (most of the time). I can usually generate the phenomenon of finding things in the last place I look in the first place I look, with an accuracy of about 90%. In direct relation, I can give statistical percentages 91% of the time with an 85% accuracy, at least 72% of the time. This is actually something that I can do even if I am 100% unsure of the topic being considered (I guess I can work for Fox News).

Also, I can make it all the way to the end of Rudy and not weep like a baby, but Cool Running's gets me every time (they carry the sled over the finish line people). I can lie convincingly, my children still believe in Santa Claus and I have an amazing singing voice. My children might be lying to me to get more presents though and my voice only sounds good in the shower when no one is listening (and that’s if there is enough hot water left after I get done with the washing and my practiced and perfected American Beauty shower scene). Oh, and last but not least, I can point out the flaws in every movie while others are intently watching it.

An unfortunate weakness of mine though, is the inability to commit to the last couple of paragraphs of any blog that begins to bore me and more often than not, I will switch directions before actually providing any congruent conclusion. But never fear, while writing these last couple of paragraphs and watching the Road Runner (the Coyote is a genius, why can’t he kill that idiot bird?), I have come up with a few suitable career paths and am going to jump right in.

1. Become a Busker – I do not have any notable street performing talents like playing the spoons, guessing people’s weight, drawing, miming or playing an instrument.  But, I do know how to get drunk, pee on myself, limp around, handle a pan and look absolutely crazy…it could work.
2. Sell Avon or Tupperware – My mom did this, but I am pretty sure that she only made an accumulation of Avon and Tupperware, not money.
3. Host a bake sale - If this is anything like selling candy bars for Little League, I will end up eating all of the profit and my mom will have to foot the bill.
4. Write commercials – This could work!!!

Domestic Beer Commercial

Two men (of appropriately different races) walk in to their apartment joking and playing around like an ambiguously interracial gay couple from an 80’s style sitcom. They playfully head to the fridge for a beer in attempt to fain manliness (in true life we all are aware that they would be grabbing a Mike’s Hard Lemonade or each other).

Oh no! There are only two beers left in the fridge – A domestic something and a green import of… who cares (in true life it would taste better – but this is an awesome American made commercial).

The one with the domestic brand takes a swig and immediately his pupils dilate. The camera zooms in through his dilated pupil and into his thoughts:

• Classic footage of baseball clips – Teenagers in Levis playing guitars in the back of a Ford pick-up truck on the beach – Surfer coming out of the barrel of a wave – Pamela Anderson smiling and running in slow motion towards you on the beach.

The camera zooms back out of his thoughts just in time to change directions and zoom into the pupil of the guy who just started drinking the imported green bottle:

• German soldiers marching in high step– the Zeppelin exploding – Augustus Gloop being sucked up the fountain and ruining all of the delicious Oompa Loompa chocolate – David Hasselhoff smiling and running in slow motion towards you on the beach (disgusting).

The camera zooms back out of his eye and refocuses on me just standing there wondering, as I am sure that you have got to be wondering, what the hell I am actually writing about and where this post is going. I am not really sure, but I think that this is what I got from it: When a woman hands you a stick that she peed on, wash your hands before you go out to dinner and don’t set it on the counter where you prepare food either, I have an enormous amount of pointless school debt on top of my ever-accumulating medical debt, Wiley Coyote and I both suck at planning and I like to write f-ing, because I must think that by only implying the word and forcing you to say it, it is somehow different than just manning up and actually saying it.

This post is really not my best and in fact, is pretty stupid. But I am still unsure what I am supposed to concentrate on at this point. Further education seems pointless. I cannot drive, walk, pick things up, concentrate for too long (even reading books or writing lame blogs causes seizures), rooms that involve motion of other beings (or inanimate things of complicated angles) makes me dizzy and even my ridiculous good looks are beginning to fade. Oh well. Time to go plan something ingenious and wait for the next piano to fall on my head.

Cancer Update - Two

As promised, here is the dramatic conclusion to… the Cancer Update…

Keep in mind that sequels are never as good.

When we last saw the evil and dastardly Meat Wad (my brain tumor), it was unclear whether the sneaky bastard was dying a slow and hopefully painful death or just playing dead while in reality attempting a coup d’etat in an effort to acquire more real estate of the perfectly populated, very simple and slightly eccentric land of MyBrainlandia (sneaky-ass MW).

Meanwhile, back at the ranch (in reality though, they’re occupying the same space), David was as excited as a puppy with two peters (classic ranch speak). Because David was going to get a positron emission tomography (pet) scan; a scan that would provide the necessary information that would allow him and his specialized team of highly trained doctors to outmaneuver and foil MW’s evil plans of total brain domination and ultimately, annihilation. The scan is a fairly simple procedure that involves injecting a radioactive dye loaded with glucose into your bloodstream in order to observe if the tumor in your brain is active enough to feed on the glucose. The doctor that handled the super thick lead coated futuristic looking syringe that he removed from the even thicker lead carrying case that looked like the cases that mad scientists, superhero villains and James Bond style assassins hold very poisonous super thick lead coated futuristic looking syringes in, assured me that it was completely safe as he was making his way for the door immediately after injecting me with the disappointingly non-glowing non-superpower granting radioactive material.

I was then told to sit in a dark room and not fall asleep for fifteen minutes while waiting for MW to start feeding on the sugary goodness that I myself have not been allowed to enjoy since having MW (I still eat too much sugar, but the guilt of the sugar fertilizing Meat Wad makes it only partially enjoyable). Then I was put into a machine that scans the activity of the radioactive glucose. The whole process was just a couple of hours and was extremely boring and non-eventful. It has taken a lot of thought (which is not my strong suit – my skills lie within the arts of procrastination and belly aching) to make it entertaining for you readers of this pointless blog (you’re welcome).

Short story long, the highly anticipated results showed no tumor growth activity (which is great) but, most likely, means the discoloration around the tumor is necrosis or dead brain tissue (which is bad). It is 100% normal for the radiation treatments that I went through two years ago to cause necrosis of the affected tumor. What is not normal though, is that the necrosis in question is not of the dead matter of the radiated tumor, but instead is of the surrounding healthy brain matter (brain damage).  My mom has assured me though, that she has figured out that God, through her prayers, is killing my brain to rid me of the tumor. On the bright side though, the tumor cannot expand or grow through the great wall of death that has incased it.

Now you are all caught up and know everything that I know, plus what you already knew, thus you actually know more than I do and can stop reading right…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………here.

Cancer Update - One

It has occurred to me that I should, from time to time, post status updates on my health. But first, I should probably give an account of what is actually wrong with me so that the updates can be viewed in context and not just as a random information dump of abstract things like, it shrunk or for some reason I can taste it or even its moving around and attempting to crawl out of my eye. If the latter actually happens, they will make a movie of my life and my kids will never have to worry about finances again (worth it).

In order to bring you up to speed on my condition, I first need to educate you or give you the tools to decipher the complex and overwhelming cancer lingo, multifarious scientific measurements used to calculate a patient’s health and the pop-cancer-culture - what’s popular (being bald) and what’s not popular (not being bald), etc… You can think of this first part of the post as a technical manual to brain cancer or a kind of secret decoder ring that will enable you to precisely analyze with precision and preciseness of what exactly is ailing me in such an precise manner that you might be in danger of being labeled precisionist (spell check tried to make this say percussionist – that would have made this sentence plain ridiculous…and imprecise).  

The first part of comprehension is learning the lingo. Most of the cancer vernacular that is not doctor-patient related can be found in motivational phrases on posters, bumper stickers, t-shirts, hats, bracelets and billboards that are designed to not only develop an awareness, but to raise the necessary funding for curing cancer – live strong, I love boobies (which even when written on a hat, bracelet or bumper sticker will still cause you to stare directly at the boobs of the slogan bearer), bald is beautiful and finally smell my prostate (definitely the least effective slogan of all the cancers).  Here’s the take away, as long as what you are saying is positive, motivational, encouraging or beautiful, you are speaking the glorious cancer vernacular spoken by the struggling and frightened (suck it other terminal diseases with crappy slogans).

The next part of this intense and educational post will teach you how to understand brain cancer severity. There are 4 general types of malignant brain tumors; Stage four being the worst and stage one being the least worst – since all cancer is severe and tragic it would not be appropriate to say the best brain cancer to have is stage one… but it’s kind of true (lucky stage ones). A stage-four brain tumor is extremely aggressive and is called a glioblastoma (I am fortunate to not have a glioblastoma and can barely begin to imagine what they are going through). Stage-three is called an anaplastic astrocytoma (this is me). Stage-three is less aggressive and slower growing tumor – It takes a lot more work to nurture one into adult-hood than it does with the first two stages. Mine is now about 6 or 7 years old and hopefully dying an excruciatingly painful death (I’m sure that “Meat Wad” -the name of my tumor- feels the same about me).

Moving on, I have saved the most complicated aspect of cancer for last: scientific measurements. There are four basic ways, plus countless variations, in which to measure a tumor. They are: the drinking-ball scale, the fruit & nut scale, the hard currency scale and the pencil-as-a-ruler scale. Probably the easiest and most comprehensive scale for most people to understand is the fruit & nut scale. Covering the span of almond to watermelon, the fruit & nut scale is also the largest and most diversified of all the scales (if your tumor is the size of a watermelon you will probably be giving birth to something soon). But, for what it accomplishes in breadth and layman comprehension, it lacks in accuracy: There is no standard size for a grapefruit, orange, apple or peanut.

After the all encompassing fruit & nut scale, the next scales are used in order for a more accurate measurement starting with the drinking ball scale. Tumors are only measured in balls that can be played with while drinking alcohol - I am not talking about your own balls here (or your friends either pervert). The most common of the ball measurements are golf, hacky-sack, ping-pong and pin. Next, we move to the hard currency scale that includes quarters, nickels, pennies and then dimes before moving into the pencil-as-a-ruler scale that offers only the size of an eraser to the tip of pencil (the best size possible before remission occurs).

Okay, now you are informed enough to understand anything I have to say about my disease. In a nutshell (not the measurement, just the saying), I have a stage-three anaplastic astrocytoma. It started off the size of a hacky-sack and after surgery, radiation (a lifetime’s worth) and chemotherapy, it has shrunk to the size of a quarter. The surgery caused paralysis of my right side, completely eliminated my foot, outer facing leg muscles and hamstring. Necrosis (dead brain matter) has further complicated the issue by blocking neural-pathways and further decreasing my connections to the right side of my body (it is super cool looking when I try to jump or jog).

So, now the update on my condition: My recent MRI has shown a large (possibly dead) spot surrounding “Meat Wad” (like a beautiful gray mushy aura or halo).

This is either one of two things:

1. The tissue around Meat Wad is continuing to die and I am slowly becoming the walking dead (if I can catch somebody then I can eat them).

Or

2. The tumor is growing and I am becoming an incubator for a Sigourney Weaver type of alien (I will be eaten instead).

Yesterday I had a PET scan to confirm whether “Meat Wad” is growing or dieing. My next post (sometime next week after my next doctors appointment) will elaborate on the PET scan – what it is, how it works and what it does. 

Encounters of an Awkward Kind

Chances are that if you are reading this web log, you know someone that has brain cancer. Also, there is a fairly decent chance that if you are reading this that the person whom you know with brain cancer writes a kind of intimately awkward and extremely personal blog about dealing with cancer and that you feel a sense of obligation to read it. And you are now wondering (because of recent and upcoming family functions) what exactly the social protocol is when addressing this incredibly awkward person about his/her blog or if you should even address “said person” at all. Lucky for you, I happen to know a little about these types of situations and in fact, was in the process of actually blogging about it in this very post– that’s right, I also have an extremely awkward and personal blog about brain cancer and am more than happy to guide you through the uncomfortable situations that you are sure to find yourself in while being forced by proximity and social convention to engage this blogger of ill fate. So let’s get started, I have some uncomfortable functions of my own to attend.

I think that the first thing we should address is that if you have been reading the said blog and it has made you feel kind of funny and/or uncomfortable because of the odd, ugly or intimate nature of the blog – like seeing a granny in a two piece – you might have a hard time making eye contact or even looking towards the said blogger. If this is you, I am here to tell you that it is okay and that it is a perfectly acceptable reaction. If you are nervous or uncomfortable thinking about an upcoming event and do not know exactly what to say - what is or is not appropriate - a good rule of thumb is to just not make eye contact and casually walk away. I can tell you from experience that it is a very effective maneuver that ensures avoiding any awkward moments with said blogger.

If you are too uneasy with the previously mentioned approach of not making eye contact, it is completely understandable (you are a wuss). Luckily though, I have several other options tailor made just for you. The first one is to fane ignorance, “What? You have a blog? I will read it for sure when I get home!” Depending on the frequency of blogger-attended functions, this can be an effective approach for up to a year or as little as 3 days (if you are Mexican, you attend an unfathomable amount of family functions and know exactly what I am talking about). This excuse can be modified and reused several times. Examples include: I got home and totally forgot or I could not remember the name of the blog or my computer crashed, etc., etc… A very creative individual can drag this type of avoidance out for a long time. The benefit of this technique is that even after the blogger figures out that you are lying, you can simply and easily use option one and not make eye contact. This technique is called “the excruciatingly slow band-aid pull.” It is overwhelmingly painful to bloggers and might be the most effective way of permanently removing one (modern medical science has made it near impossible to just wait it out).

I think the next scenario we should address is the off chance that you actually liked one of the posts you read and you want to say something like, “Hey man, I really enjoyed that one that talked all girly about being scared of dying lonely and stuff. I don’t know if it was supposed to be funny, but I laughed my ass off.” Um…yeah, I guess that is all right. “How long are you going to be writing this blog, I mean your terminal, right?” You know what, maybe it’s better if you don’t ask any more questions – they’re making me feel kind of uncomfortable. “If I cure cancer will you stop blogging and try to become a productive member of society?” Yes, I will. Oh, you are being sarcastic… funny.

And finally we come to the dreaded possibility that you have not been reading the blog because you do not actually like the person blogging. Does this make you a bad person? I am not sure, but I hope it does.  This scenario is by far the easiest situation to remedy though, as you have countless available options at your disposal. The first option is obviously indifference – you cannot feel awkward if you just don’t care (because you’re a jerk). Another option is to read the blog enthusiastically and discuss the tragedy of the posts in a manner that appears to be excited about the writing, all the while really just enjoying the misery of the blogger’s misfortune. Also, you can always say point blank, “your blog sucks and I don’t like you!” This might actually make it more awkward though depending on the function; if there is any alcohol involved, it is actually an expected custom and will be overlooked and/or laughed about by everyone (by everyone except the blogger that is).

It needs to be noted here that all these situations run the chance of being blogged about by a disgruntled, emotionally wounded and extremely vengeful wannabe writer with nothing to lose (I sound bad ass). But it is only a slight chance and most people will understand your side of it anyway. And honestly, there are only like 3 people that even read the blog (probably, I mean I don’t know if I am even acquainted with your sickly blogger) and those people have probably either been coerced from family pressure or they have been coerced, threatened and bullied from family members or I guess there is the extremely faint chance that they are absolute weirdoes – Seriously, who else would read a misguided and poorly written blog about cancer? (I know that I wouldn’t).

I hope that this has been helpful in relieving the upcoming awkwardness that you have been dreading. If not…well this is awkward.