Every Rose Has Its Thorn

When I was around twelve years old and maybe a little older then I'd like to admit, one of the '80's glam hair bands I listened to was Poison. Like most everyone else, I grew up and stopped listening to them. Then there was some news in 2010 that their lead singer Brett Michaels had a brain hemmorage. Out of nowhere some of Poison's old songs popped in my head and I found myself reminiscing their hits on YouTube.  Like magic his fans and the media shone the spotlight on him once more. 

I have no idea whether Brett Michaels is back in good health and that's where I feel I can relate. My road to recovery looks to be long, perhaps the toughest days are ahead. I wonder who will care when Myrtle and Faith need support the most and 'Ruban having cancer' is old news. That's not to say people don't truly care now (they do) and won't later (they will). Plus it might be unfair to compare my families life to an '80's glam hair band. I'm hopeful that unlike Poison, our little band's best days are ahead of us.    

Actually the outpouring of love has been overwhelming. I'm stunned and speechless to who has reached out and how. Thank you for all the email and snail-mail. 

It's humbling to be in this position. Any distance walked longer than our home I need to use crutches. Anywhere I drive I need someone driving me. My ten month old girl is beginning to move faster then me. Sitting down on a regular chair is best kept under 30 minutes. I could go on, but suffice it to say it has been an adjustment physically and emotionally since my oncologist said "There's no point to go back to work."

Being home the vast majority of the time must be a peek into what it's like living in a seniors home. Like them I spend most of the time in a recliner, read the news, scoff at idiot politicians, and I wait for people to come visit and try to talk them into staying longer (mental note: must buy more Werther's Original Hard Candy). Fortunately, as of now Myrtle is the only one in a diaper here. 

Recently I read a story worth sharing:

There once was a man whose lifelong dream was to board a cruise ship and sail the Mediterranean Sea. He dreamed of walking the streets of Rome, Athens, and Istanbul. He saved every penny until he had enough for his passage. Since money was tight, he brought an extra suitcase filled with cans of beans, boxes of crackers, and bags of powdered lemonade, and that is what he lived on every day.

He would have loved to take part in the many activities offered on the ship—working out in the gym, playing miniature golf, and swimming in the pool. He envied those who went to movies, shows, and cultural presentations. And, oh, how he yearned for only a taste of the amazing food he saw on the ship—every meal appeared to be a feast! But the man wanted to spend so very little money that he didn’t participate in any of these. He was able to see the cities he had longed to visit, but for the most part of the journey, he stayed in his cabin and ate only his humble food.

On the last day of the cruise, a crew member asked him which of the farewell parties he would be attending. It was then that the man learned that not only the farewell party but almost everything on board the cruise ship—the food, the entertainment, all the activities—had been included in the price of his ticket. Too late the man realized that he had been living far beneath his privileges.

Of course I'm on a different journey of sorts, and it's much too early to have a farewell party. Recently I have focused too much on what I can't do thus ignoring what I can do.  Before the tumor I planted on my window sill several seeds to be transfered when they were big enough and the weather was favorable. Thinking about how that man missed out his journey of a lifetime I decided to transfer those plants from pot to soil. Faith brought Myrtle outside and we mucked in the soil. The girls soon went inside to eat dinner and get ready for bed, but I kept on.  

Canada has lax child labour laws.

As cars passed by me I could hear them say (in my head) "Isn't that the guy on crutches with cancer? He should be resting." My reply back was "I am that guy, I'm not dead and mind your own business!" When done I surrendered to a long hot shower and decided to no longer live beneath my privileges.