Metastatic Memories

I've put this off for a long, long time. In fact, I've put it off for a year and a half. I mostly discouraged myself from even considering the attempt, from the very beginning. I saw other people doing it, and I thought that although in some cases they were very successful in their undertakings, it simply didn't appeal to me. Something about it makes me squirm. It inspires me to fight to uncover any excuse in the book in order to justify my inaction.

What am I talking about? What is this terrible and ugly thing that I'm resisting with every fiber of my being? Because there are many things in life that I choose to resist. Things I refuse to take responsibility for out of fear or an inability to face the emotional and psychological consequences. As with us all, I too abandon certain nagging thoughts to the dark recesses of my mind. As with us all, I accumulate pain and guilt through a series of encounters with forces either beyond my control or not. And as with us all, I have many pervasive and lingering fears. In this case, however, I'm talking about the decision to write publicly about my experience with cancer.

Perhaps publicly isn't the right descriptor. Because, in fact, I've actually written a book about it that's currently being shopped around for publication. And there's hardly anything more public than that. I suppose what I mean, specifically, is the actual act of blogging. Blogging is a more accessible form of media. It's a series of intimate details about the blogger's own life. A projectile vomiting of unfiltered ideas that can be interpreted and analyzed with little effort. Constant postings that explain the character defects and neuroses of the author. Blogging constitutes a window into the blogger's very soul. It's a very public enterprise. I've always wanted my accessible thoughts, my public thoughts, to reflect a particular attitude or brand. I never wanted to be the cancer kid. Yet that's what I am. I wanted to be the carefree, mildly eccentric, live-life-on-his-own-terms, rock star personality that I so admire. I want to make people laugh. The last thing I want to do is make them uncomfortable. In fact, I don't even want to make myself uncomfortable (who does?), even though I've been in a constant state of discomfort, albeit unconsciously at times, since my diagnosis.

My decision to finally offer up a public record of my cancer fiasco is in fact an act of great personal courage. But I'm not asking for your admiration. Others may not find writing about their cancer to be very difficult. But they might struggle with something I find easy. That's the nature of being human. We all have our wars to wage.

And so my reluctance to blog about this has been covered by layers and layers of justification, buried deep with no hope of discovering why the resistance is present in the first place. Any time the topic is broached, I find myself saying, "Blogging? Well, shit, I wrote a book, for God's sake -- isn't that enough?" And I don't know the answer to that. Maybe it is enough. Or maybe, as a cancer survivor, I have a unique obligation to increase awareness and fight for those who can't fight for themselves. Possibly, and I plan to post more on this later.

But why the resistance to blogging? I did write a book. I wrote it while undergoing immunotherapy for stage 3 metastatic melanoma. A good bit of it, probably a third, was completed during my first month in the hospital, where I received the lion's share of treatment intravenously every weekday for four weeks. Days when I cried myself to sleep most nights, and struggled desperately to keep my sanity intact. But those images and feelings, those metastatic memories, are distant. My diagnosis, my surgeries, my treatment, all passed in a blur. And likewise, most of the actual writing did as well.

It's the paralyzing fear of revisiting these memories that keeps me from blogging. Now that I'm thinking clearly, and enough time has passed, I've gained the capacity for perspective. When something traumatic happens to you, it's very common to shut down emotionally in order to avoid the most terrifying aspects of your ordeal. And that's what I did. I functioned entirely on autopilot for a year and a half. Ostensibly, that isn't even a bad thing. In fact, I did very well. When you've severed all emotional connections to your circumstances, you can be anything you want. I was very courageous, and I'm told I was the glue that kept my family together after my diagnosis. I spouted contrived wisdom and used romantic ideals to comfort those closest to me, hardly realizing what I was doing. Some of the things I said or did are offensive to me now, due to the absurd oversimplifications I entertained or encouraged. Cancer is not romantic, and the smell of death circling above your head can never be effectively aerosol-ed. The mere suggestion that it can is offensive. And I was at one time the worst offender.

And so, after "waking up" from a year and a half of autopilot, a year and a half of embedded trauma, and a year and a half of drug-induced cognitive suppression, it's almost unbearable to look back over the events of the last year and a half without overwhelming terror. I've woken up to find myself alive, in working order, and surrounded by love and support. It's my responsibility to carve out a path from there. That in itself is terrifying -- what is life supposed to be like after cancer? How fulfilled can it really be? Do you stop taking shit from anyone, or anywhere? Do you adopt a no-shit policy? Is it okay to finally be selfish? Is it alright to ignore certain responsibilities, because you finally have your priorities straight? These questions and more are certainly worthy of extensive examination.

Personally, I suppose blogging will be an outlet. It'll allow me to finally free myself of some pervasive negativity, and maybe even relieve enough of my recently adopted neurotic behavior to once again function in the world at large. It will certainly serve to garner awareness for cancer, and that's a primary goal in my life these days. Because, as much as my experience has pained me and set me back in my own life, the thought of anyone else undergoing the same level of suffering is very hard for me to think about. I find myself tearing up every time I begin to read the account of another cancer survivor. Awareness is important, because suffering is only alleviated when there is enough manpower present to alleviate it. It isn't magic -- it's math. And all the publicity in the world won't help unless enough of us decide to act. Action manifests itself in several ways, and that's part of the reason I've finally decided to blog about this.

My account is detailed in my book, "Cancer Kid." But that isn't enough. I have certain goals I've sworn to meet, without excuse, and I plan to meet them. Blogging was not originally one of those goals, but it's going to help in several ways. It will hopefully help the public at large be more informed about the goings-on of cancer survivors. It will help me create a platform for myself and publicize my work, which will in turn increase awareness and further the fight. It will allow me the resources to fund the foundation I'd like to build. And, perhaps most importantly of all, it will free me from the fear I've buried so deep in my subconscious, and allow me to remember the important things in life.

The Sweetest Thing is Also the Dirtiest Thing

Affection reveals itself in many forms. Just about as many forms as there are people to reveal it. Likewise, the means with which you choose to declare that affection are equally as numerous, yet exponentially more important (to this story, and hopefully in real life too). You could send flowers to her office - always a fan favorite - or hide chocolate under her pillow (unless you have just met, in which case you should likely go to prison [if not for this, then something else. Because you are creepy]). Now, I like things like this, because I prefer to be creative. And there's nothing more creative than a well thought out surprise that leads to you getting your jollies with the girl from HR. I kid - the girl from HR is cute, but has never set foot inside a library, and that's important; trust me, this is an advice post. Actually, there's nothing more creative than a well thought out surprise that leads to the creation of a certain emotional bond that... well, you know the rest. And anyway, this isn't an inspirational post, it's an advice post.

There's also the direct method. Ask that fool to dinner. Go to a movie. Build a snow fort and eskimo kiss. These are all viable options that are sure to solicit a positive response (she will say yes [unless you are the creepy guy from the first paragraph]). And if you do go to a movie, I know that you will be tempted to do the fake yawn wrap around trick, and maybe even the penis-in-the-popcorn trick. Don't do it. Not only is it unsettling, it's also unsanitary. And never acceptable in a family environment.

Now then, if you're thinking seriously about making a move, remember this solid piece of advice, if you remember anything I've ever told you. There's one form of declaring your intent that trumps all others. One form alone that sends a clear and unmistakable message. One form, that is sure to get you a lifetime pass of holding hands on the Ferris Wheel and sharing chocolate lava cakes after every meal. What is this miracle solution, you might ask me. And if I could hear you, I would say, the single act that can do all this is...

Pushing girls in the mud.

Think about it. When you push a girl in the mud, she knows what's up. If you don't believe me, we'll break the action down and analyze the whole as a summation of its parts.

First, you have to pick her out in a crowd. You have to give her eyes. Eyes that make her swoon. Maybe even do that suave little "what's up" head nod. It's so cool. Then, you have to physically touch a girl to push her in the mud. And everyone knows that physical contact, however seemingly innocent, is a good way to send a message. Just look at all those kung fu movies. You know what happens after that? She gets dirty. This is a metaphor. We all want our girls dirty, and God clearly knew this, so he made pushing them in the mud the ultimate form of declaring your intent.

Now that you've seen the evidence, there's really no denying it. When you were ten, and you didn't know how to express yourself tactfully, pushing girls in the mud was perfectly acceptable. Albeit, they had no idea what you were doing. They would just get mad and run away and you'd get detention (or worse - no recess). But now that everyone is aware of the meaning of this - the sweetest and most considerate of acts - I submit that it should be a more common method of showing affection. I think this could really catch on. At the very least, I would like to see more people soliciting dates under the pretense or the suggestion. As in: "Go to a movie with me or I'll push you in the mud."

Either way, I think we would benefit greatly as a society if we just pushed more girls in the mud.

Fairy Tale Corner

The following is inspired by actual events.

Once there was a beautiful princess who lived all alone in an ice palace. She didn't particularly want to be alone, but she was just so beautiful that no one ever thought to ask her out. One day, the evil wizard who lived in the neighborhood hatched an evil wizard plan to kidnap and bang her. Hey, the evil wizard was just being honest with himself; he was in the middle of a nasty separation from his fifth wife, and all he wanted was filthy, dirty sex, and lots of it. So he gathered an army of skeleton warriors and told them to sail out to the ice palace in long, viking-style row boats (because they were badass). They surrounded the poor princess, while the evil wizard's dragon began to melt the walls with his fire breath.

When the town's people caught wind of this, they were horrified. Especially the men, because they had all wanted to bang the princess too. And they figured, well if we don't get to, then no one else can either.

There was a brave hero who once lived in town, but had moved to a far away city in search of fame and fortune. The townspeople remembered the strapping young lad, and agreed to send a messenger to plead for his help. The messenger found the hero easily after hearing of his exploits in the city. He began by telling him of the evil wizard and his plan. Wait, said the hero, isn't this wizard the same guy who used to sit up in his crooked tower all night and watch porn? Yep, that's the one, the messenger confirmed. Well no wonder his relationships never worked out, said the hero. I mean, porn is fine and all, but watching it to that extent is clearly unhealthy, no matter how evil you are. But then the hero became dubious of the young girl's beauty. He thought he remembered her from high school. She can't be that great, he remarked. Oh no, said the messenger. She's changed a lot since last ye met. She's grown oh so beautiful, and smart, and sweet as a dove, and lovely as a wistful summer's night. What more can I say? I'm getting an erection just thinking about it, said the messenger.

And so, convinced the quest was a worthy one, the hero set out to return home and see what all the fuss was about. As soon as they neared the ice palace, he caught a glimpse of the princess's woeful face staring desperately from the highest balcony. Immediately, the hero felt butterflies twitting around in his stomach, and his heart careened with delight. Holy shit sticks, said the hero, she's more beautiful than ever. He ran heatedly into battle, and met the skeleton warriors with a ferocious strength they'd never seen in all their undead lives. They faltered when he professed his love for the princess, since they had no hearts of their own, and fled back into the grimy seas. Then he met the dragon in glorious combat, and sent him reeling with a swift kick to the groin. The dragon wasn't having anymore of that shit, and he flew away into the clouds. You see, he'd been trying to have little dragons for some time now, and if he damaged the goods any more, the Mrs. would rip him a new one.

And so it was that the hero saved the princess from the horrendous fate of being groped and manhandled by the creepy evil wizard. The princess decided the hero wasn't so bad looking either, and they made plans to go steady. He picked her an ice flower from the base of the palace - it was kind of a cop out, but he was a little unprepared to find the princess so beautiful - and she leaped into his arms. The cock-blocked evil wizard sadly returned home to his evil wizard tower and resumed his DVR of nuns with buns 4.

City Highlights (With a Twist)

I love New York City. It is truly the pinnacle of human society, complete with every pleasantry and pitfall one could expect to find. That being said, there are so many exciting and terrible things happening around every turn of the corner. The choices an individual faces on a given night can be literally overwhelming. I once had aspirations to review events and activities and market myself as a media guide. However, I quickly came to realize I don't possess the willpower to travel around and figure out which shithole bars are worth all the tea in china. With that said, there are some entertaining things in and about my fair city that I can point out. For example...

In my neighborhood in New York, there is an ice cream truck and an SUV that plays ice cream truck music. It's like a game show for little kids. What's behind door number two today, Bob? Oh no, creepy pedophile van! It's not an ice cream sandwich anymore. (Watch out, little Billy. Because he's the ice cream in the sandwich now).

This is the sort of thing that interests me about New York City. St. John the Divine is neat, South-Side Seaport is fun, Grant's Tomb is old and creepy, Central Park's castle is awe-inspiring. The buildings are glamorous, the concerts are grungy and hip, the bar scene is diverse, movies in the parks are serene, the museums and libraries here are the epicenter of knowledge. The sites and sounds are truly abundant and wondrous. None of this can be denied. But for me, the heart of this great city lies in an SUV that plays ice cream truck music.