Writer's block is a fancy term made up by whiners so they can have an excuse to drink alcohol.Steve Martin
Since starting this blog, it's been relatively easy to pick out a theme to sum up the week's events. I have even developed a list of rules to help keep the entry from becoming one long rant about the evils of cancer treatment. They are:
1. Inject humor whenever possible.
2. Limit the time on the soapbox.
3. Always look for a connection to the practice of mindfulness.
4. Stay off the pity pot.
5. Avoid split infinitives (My spell checker keeps telling me to really work on this grammar rule.)
6. Avoid becoming emotionally attached to what I write. At least until after the last edit.
7. No listening to music while I write. This only leads to writing that is so emotionally toxic that only someone with a therapist's license, or wearing a HAZMAT suit, should wade through.
8. Always end on an upbeat note or, in the absence of a positive frame of mind, a Zen koan (the unanswerable questions given to Zen students to drive them out of their heads).
These rules have served me well, until this past week when I restarted chemo and had a major reaction to one of the drugs. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how many drafts I prepared in my head, I could not fit the shakes, the chills, the fever, the rash and beet-red face into this frame. Even catchy titles such as You Can Beet This, Rash Decisions, and For God's Sake Will Someone Turn the Heat Off, couldn't contain my runaway thoughts about the week that was.
It occurred to me that I could always skip an entry for the week. I could just let things settle down, gather my wits and await the return of a gentler muse. Perhaps it would even be therapeutic in a "let go of the past" sort of way. Or, maybe it never really happened. Who's to say? So much of this seems like a dream anyway.
Then on Friday, leaving the oncologist's office, less red but still shaken, I ended up on the elevator with a young woman who was also leaving the office. She looked at my pinkish new scalp and asked, "Are you through?" "About halfway," I responded. She then touched her full head of hair saying, "I'm done and this is the first growth." She added, “I gained 40 pounds from the steroids.” As the doors opened on the ground floor she said, "I have my first CT scan since finishing and I'm scared it's coming back." "I know," was the only thing I could think of to say. As we headed outside into the beautiful day, me going to radiation therapy, her to whatever her future holds, I quipped, "I can think of a million things I'd rather be doing." "Make it ten million," she responded with a faint smile and walked away.
I sat in my truck and a decided that she would be my focus as this week ended. I shook off my "I gots the red skin blues" and offered her a prayer of loving-kindness:
May you be free from fear. May you be free from suffering.
May you be happy. May you be filled with loving-kindness.
May all people everywhere be happy and filled with loving-kindness.
“Oh yeah,” I whispered, “I'll have some of that too.”
1. Inject humor whenever possible.
2. Limit the time on the soapbox.
3. Always look for a connection to the practice of mindfulness.
4. Stay off the pity pot.
5. Avoid split infinitives (My spell checker keeps telling me to really work on this grammar rule.)
6. Avoid becoming emotionally attached to what I write. At least until after the last edit.
7. No listening to music while I write. This only leads to writing that is so emotionally toxic that only someone with a therapist's license, or wearing a HAZMAT suit, should wade through.
8. Always end on an upbeat note or, in the absence of a positive frame of mind, a Zen koan (the unanswerable questions given to Zen students to drive them out of their heads).
These rules have served me well, until this past week when I restarted chemo and had a major reaction to one of the drugs. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how many drafts I prepared in my head, I could not fit the shakes, the chills, the fever, the rash and beet-red face into this frame. Even catchy titles such as You Can Beet This, Rash Decisions, and For God's Sake Will Someone Turn the Heat Off, couldn't contain my runaway thoughts about the week that was.
It occurred to me that I could always skip an entry for the week. I could just let things settle down, gather my wits and await the return of a gentler muse. Perhaps it would even be therapeutic in a "let go of the past" sort of way. Or, maybe it never really happened. Who's to say? So much of this seems like a dream anyway.
Then on Friday, leaving the oncologist's office, less red but still shaken, I ended up on the elevator with a young woman who was also leaving the office. She looked at my pinkish new scalp and asked, "Are you through?" "About halfway," I responded. She then touched her full head of hair saying, "I'm done and this is the first growth." She added, “I gained 40 pounds from the steroids.” As the doors opened on the ground floor she said, "I have my first CT scan since finishing and I'm scared it's coming back." "I know," was the only thing I could think of to say. As we headed outside into the beautiful day, me going to radiation therapy, her to whatever her future holds, I quipped, "I can think of a million things I'd rather be doing." "Make it ten million," she responded with a faint smile and walked away.
I sat in my truck and a decided that she would be my focus as this week ended. I shook off my "I gots the red skin blues" and offered her a prayer of loving-kindness:
May you be free from fear. May you be free from suffering.
May you be happy. May you be filled with loving-kindness.
May all people everywhere be happy and filled with loving-kindness.
“Oh yeah,” I whispered, “I'll have some of that too.”
Thank you for sharing your soul with those of us that care about you. I'll be out of town until next Wednesday night. I hope we can get together soon. One day at a time is all any of us can do. I'm sending lots of healing light.
ReplyDeleteHugs, Ida
Hey Mike - great "list of rules". Hopefully more people will embrace them and live a simpler way of life counting their blessings and giving more freely. Love your update. Sending purple light your way...all my best - Craig
ReplyDeleteTotally selfish plea: Don't skip writing unless you must. It's important and it's helping us as much as you. We know that every entry cannot be from "..a gentler muse." We are still here.
ReplyDeleteGot one word Mike......Ativan! :)
ReplyDeleteSeriously though...you can have your pity pot moments....you are mindful enough not to keep them for weeks...you still have your sense of humour and you WILL make it through! :) You have a strength within you that will carry you through, and when you dont feel you do...you have that of those around you that can help. Hang in there...
p.s. talcum powder worked for me when the red baldness was a major thing
p.p.s. QiGong worked wonders too :)