Looks like I'm graduating without a diploma.

My physical therapist has given up on me because my jaw hasn't gotten any better. So, she bounced me out on my keister today.

I've started seeing a chiropractor/acupuncturist. One visit, though, does not an opinion make and I'll have to see where this goes.

Most of my time lately is being spent searching for new business and working on my art show. Referrals are coming in, slowly, and some are even in the works for new jobs. The show is going to be a lot of fun. . . but it is a helluva lotta work.

Invitations are going out this week and next and I really hope that you'll come to it on Saturday, Sept. 20th, in Fort Worth — Richland Hills, to be precise. Here's your link for an invitation and more information about the show. There'll be something for everyone and lots of fun, music, and food.

Do me a favor if you decide to come, will you? RSVP for the show so we get a handle on how many people to expect. These things are always difficult to figure out how many people will attend and an RSVP would be most helpful.

I suppose I'm doing pretty well these days, aside from the slight problem with the jaw. I have some feeling coming back into my neck; I'm putting on weight (a bit too much, actually); and I'm starting to get back to work. Going from cancer surgery to an art show in the space of 11 months is edging up there toward miracle territory.

It just goes to show you what people around the world can accomplish when they put their minds to it through prayer. To say I am grateful is an understatement. Thank you.

---

How is it possible that I get to be a great uncle again in the span of less than a week?

Meet Cash Michael Isbell, firstborn of my niece, Whitney, and her hubby, Josh, stationed in Germany in the USAF.

Again, I’ll let my sister, Lorraine, introduce you properly.

There is an Isbell at the end of the tunnel……. Cash Michael Isbell, 8lbs. 4oz. Born @ 1:19 PM Tuesday…Germany time.
20 ½ Inches long. He was delivered by cesarian  after 28 hrs of Hard labor.
Whit was spectacular! All are doing Fantastic!
Isn’t he beautiful?
Can’t wait to get my hands on Brock now.
God is good.
Love, Granny

What an amazing week. God truly is good.

---

The handsome young man you see here is Tillman Brock White, the newest addition to our family. And. . . there’s another on the way.

I’ll let his grannie — my sister, Lorraine — do the honors.

Well……..
Tillman Brock White was born on Thursday morning….not sure exactly the time…11:25 or so, [weighing in at] 8 lbs and 21 inches.
No problems…looks like Lance.
[Amelia] started labor @7:15 & pppththtthhththththtt…Spit him out!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Will send pictures when I get some. 
We went to Whitney’s appt. this morning at the hospital. Looks like Monday they will induce if she doesn’t have this Child this weekend.
Love ya!
Lo

His mother, the aforementioned Amelia, looks happy and rested, judging by her expression in a few other photos. Tillman/Brock’s dad, my nephew, Walker, appears to be a proud papa. And my first great-nephew, Lance, seems to be enjoying having a new little bro.

What a great day! And, as I said, there’s more to come. My niece, Whitney — the one with the large belly, above — is stationed in Germany in the USAF and is about to “domino” in the next couple of days herself. Cash Michael Isbell could pop out any time now.

2008 is turning out to be a banner year. I get my life back and the family adds two more little ones.

Life goes on. . . in spades!

---

CAUTION: If graphic descriptions of medical procedures make you queazy, grab some dramamine and read on.

Yesterday morning, I went in to Parkland’s FNA. . . wait for it. . . Clinic. . . for a Fine Needle Aspiration in my neck and, as it turned out, in my armpit. Seems every little, tiny sub-specialty at Parkland has it’s own “clinic.” It’s crazy. Weird thing is, they share the same space as the ENT Clinic. Same faces, different day.

I knew something was different when I arrived. I almost always park in the same spot; metered parking a good 1/3 of a mile from Parkland’s front door. It’s cheaper and gives me a bit more exercise, which I need. I pulled up, got out of the car, and stepped up on the curb to put some quarters in the meter. “Out Of Order,” it said, and flashed the word FAIL in big, digital clock letters. Hmm, I thought. Free pass today.

I was expecting something like my experience with my first and only other FNA from a year ago, when I was diagnosed with squamous cell carcinoma. That one was a biopsy of an enlarged lymph node in my neck — of “A Lump In My Throat” infamy. It was just a tiny prick, that, and a powerful suction, turning me inside out; strangest sensation I think I’ve ever had.

This time, they used a 23 guage needle for the first two stiicks. Oh, did I say first two?For the next 3 sticks they used the really fine 25 guage needles. Previously, I told you about the ENT resident referring me for the PET/CT scan and this FNA. She thought a lump in my neck was a very slightly enlarged lymph node and wanted a sample of it. Fine, I thought.

Once the pathology resident stuck me twice, I decided that I wanted some more o’ dat and asked him to biopsy a lump that appeared in my armpit beginning a couple weeks ago.

He whipped out his 25s — not once but twice — and oh, so not very gently, stuck me in the armpit, wiggled it around a bit, and sucked out enough tissue to smear a slide with each needle.

To finish it off, the attending physician, came in, jammed the 25 guage needle in my neck one last time, reeeeeally jiggled around and sucked out enough fluid and tissue to make steak tartare.

Honestly, I’ve had worse sticks when having blood work done. But there’s something about that suction. You know when you reach the bottom of a milkshake and it makes that slurpy sound? And the cherry’s sitting there in the bottom of the shake? Now, imagine that you’re the cherry and you’re being sucked through the straw. That’s how it feels.

Smelling salts, anyone?

I’d post pictures but there’s really nothing to see, particularly on my neck. Perhaps, a tiny red dot. No more. There’s a bit more to see where they stuck my pit. And, yes, I did take pictures. It was the only way I could see what the hell the doctor did.

Each time, he’d go away and give the slide a quick look under the microscope. The good news is, he didn’t see anything suspicious during his quick inspection. The bad news is, I spent the rest of the afternoon with my elbow raised to shoulder level. (In other words, it was kinda sore.) I’ll know more about the results of the FNA and the PET/CT scan in a couple weeks. I’ll expect good news then, too.

Better to be safe than sorry; y’know? I suppose every little thing like this will seem suspicious for a while.

I can live with that.

---

If you’ve been following my journey back to health for the past several months, you know how I’ve struggled to get back to normal. Physically, there may be little left to improve; I’ll probably always have to work at keeping my shoulder strong; my jaw may or may not get much better — I’m still working on that and time will tell.

One of the most important things to me has been getting back to work, and I’m doing that slowly but surely. I’ve just recently finished a website for a new client, Southland Safety.

I’m almost done with a DVD of a slideshow tribute to the recently deceased father of a friend, which I’ve done pro bono and which may lead to more work. I’m also preparing — along with two other artists — to mount an art show and we have hopes of making it not only an annual event but something that could grow and even outlive us all. The website at FortWorthArtShow.com just went online and I hope you’ll visit it and make plans to attend the show on Saturday, September 20th.

Referrals seem to be coming at me from many directions. In the past week, I had one that has produced, at this stage, a warm prospect. I’m hoping to heat things up a bit and bring them on as a client. Another in the past few days didn’t pan out. But that’s the nature of prospects; isn’t it? You win some, you lose some.

I’m beginning to change the way I look at finding work. Seems that it’s beginning to find me! That’s a good feeling.

☆

Last Friday, I had a PET/CT scan, which I covered in the last update. The actual scan went well. Time or, rather, the passing of it while I waited for the scan was not nearly as difficult as it is at Parkland. UTSW Medical Center doesn’t have nearly the amount of traffic of Parkland. I won’t know the results of the scan until my next ENT clinic appointment.

Tomorrow morning, I go in for an FNA, doctor-speak for Fine Needle Aspiration — a biopsy. The young resident who examined me last time at the ENT clinic found something she thinks needs further examination. My thinking is that it’s a bit of scar tissue that’s been with me since the operation in October. I honestly can’t feel anything that feels even remotely new and/or out of place — and it’s my body! I see in my mind’s eye a very befuddled technician trying to figure out just where he/she is supposed to stick the needle.

Now, here’s something that is good news and has happened so slowly that I didn’t notice it until just this moment. Since the surgery in October, I’ve had no feeling in my neck, right below my jaw on the right side. Nerves take a long time to come back but it would appear that I’m getting some feeling back in the area — about the size of a slice from a medium-sized tomatoe — that’s been completely numb for 9 1/2 months. This is really exciting because it gives me hope that the muscle control of the right side of my chin might return, as well.

That’s it for now. I’m grateful for all that is going my way, no matter how long it takes. I’m a very lucky man.

---

Again, it’s been way too long since my last update. This, out of necessity, will be brief.

I’ve finally finished my first job of work since April of 2007. . . a website for an industrial safety company in East Texas. Feel free to check it out; tell your friends if you like it; tell me if you don’t.





I also have the prospect of doing some business in a market I’d never even thought of -- funeral homes. Not very glamorous. . . but it could lead to some steady work.

There’ve been plenty of medical visits over the past couple of months; nothing really out of the norm; just the usual stuff to watch for the return of any cancer. (It won’t.)

However, a young, super-diligent resident at Parkland (not shown actual size) has ordered a PET scan

and an FNA (fine needle aspiration biopsy) on a tiny little lump along the scar on my neck.



It’s been there since the operation so I’m not really worried. I think it’s probably a little scar tissue. . .

(I have plenty of that to go ‘round!) . . . and an overzealous resident who wants to play it safe. Obviously, she’s getting in some practice for later in her career.

Other than that — and my ongoing problem with the pain in my jaw — I feel like a million bucks!

This morning, I walked up and down Swiss Ave. (3.2 miles) in just under an hour, worked out and did my physical therapy excercises, and I feel better than I have in a long time.

I’m happier, too. Not deliriously so; just. . . happy. Is everything perfect? No. Not by a long shot. But who said it was supposed to be? Riddle me that, Batman!

I’m getting ready for my art show in September with my friends, Karen Frances and Paula Joyce. This is a lot of work, I gotta tell you. I hope those of you here in the Metroplex will make a point of coming to the show.

The three of us have a really wide variety of art to choose from and I know you’ll find something you won’t be able to leave without. Food, wine, beautiful surroundings, and lots of art. Can you tell I’m getting excited? The website for FortWorthArtShow.com goes up very soon. . . probably next week.

Make a note to come visit the site and see what’s going on. We’ll even give you a peek at some of the art you’ll see.

Well, I’ve got to get back to work — love saying that! — so I’m cutting this short.

Thanks again for your support. It’s meant so very much to me and really helped to buoy me when things were not quite as rosy as they are now.

God Bless you all.

---

I realize that I’ve, once again, lapsed in keeping this blog current. I suppose that I could say that I’ve been so busy with getting back to a normal life (whatever that is) that I haven’t had time. That’s partly true. But, truth be told, I’m getting a bit tired of the whole process of having cancer and surgery and healing and. . . etc. So, I’ve put it off. I hope that’s a good thing.

And with that. . . on with the show!

☆

My cancer is long gone. Several CT scans and an MRI show no traces of cancer from my cheek to my sternum. As far as I'm concerned, the surgical team that operated on me in October of last year successfully removed all the cancer.



Who knew? Apparently, I'm the only one who did know because the docs still ask about doing radiation in my neck as a way to raise the survival rate from the 60s to the 90+ percentile. My stance is, not only no but "Hell, no!" The reason being my quality of life. The first thing they would do is pull all my teeth to prevent complications from the radiation. Somehow, this is supposed to be an improvement over my present quality of life. I realize my docs want me on a soft diet and ibuprofen to treat my mis-aligned jaw (ignoring the fact that it didn't work when we tried it before) but being on a permanent soft diet has no appeal for me. At all.

These days, my jaw is the focus of my thoughts and actions, as I seek out the best treatment for it. Being in excruciating pain almost every time I eat is, understatedly, no fun. The frustrating thing about it is that the MDs at Parkland — and, presumably, nationwide — aren't trained to deal with (and barely to admit) an injury that they themselves caused during the surgery.

I endured a 3-hour-long MRI only to be told that I have an "anterior translation of the right condylar head" of my right jaw. In English, the little, finger-sized protrusion at the top of my jawbone that mates with the TMJ in my skull between my ear and my cheekbone is moved forward from its normal position.

It took me 3 hours to find out what I already knew to be a fact. If I'd known all the proper TLAs (three-letter acronyms), I could have written the MRI report myself and saved myself and Parkland time and money. In other words, they didn't tell me anything new. And they seemed so proud that they'd discovered it.

So, now, I am looking for someone who works specifically — perhaps only — with TMJ Disorder. A good friend in Denver, whom I trust implicitly, recommended some people. Contacting them, I asked them to get back with me with a local referral. Not a single one bothered to call me back. Or returned my second calls. So, I search for treatment on my own.

In the meantime, I'm still on a soft diet (mostly).

Next time, I want to offer up a summary of the process I've been through. Why? Well, it seems that a significant percentage of the people who visit this website are looking for answers. Now, I certainly don't have THE answers. But I do have my own take on the process I've been through since my diagnosis. If you're one of those who want to know what to expect as you begin your own journey, you'll want to read this next blog.

Till next time, God Bless you and keep you.

---

Sometime over the Mother's Day weekend, we will pass the 10,000 visitor mark. Now, for a commercial website, that's not saying much. But for a little blog intended to keep family and friends up-to-date on my battle with cancer going out to a list of a little more than a hundred people, it's pretty amazing.

I am not quite sure how to convey my gratitude to those of you who have followed me on my journey of discovery and my struggle to get back to health after surgery except to offer a simple — and very humble — thank you.

Several times, over the past ten months, I've mentioned receiving email and letters from people all around the world. The map you see below is a composite visitor map from the past month or two — I'm not quite sure of the time frame — showing visitors from all over the globe. The darker areas indicate heavier return visits and a geographic concentration of visitors.

Considering that I do no "promotion" of the blog other than sending out an Update Email, I'm astonished at how many visitors the site gets and how widely visitors are spread out.

Composite visitor map

Let me share with you a couple of emails from one person:

From: jennyxxxxxxx@xxxxx.com
Subject: lump in my throat. . . also
I came across your site as I was looking up causes for lumps in the throat. I'm having mine surgically removed tomorrow, so I shall see then if my battle ends or just simply begins.
Jenny

Thanks for responding, Jenny. My prayers are with you. Good luck and God Bless.
Let me know the outcome.
Larry

Subject: the lump in my throat....
Hi,
I was just updating you on the lump found in my throat almost 3 weeks ago. The immediately had me scheduled for surgery. . . performed all kinds of biopsies while I was under and determined it was benign. . . thankfully.
They removed a tumor a little larger than a golfball, called a schwanoma (too pretty a name for a tumor, in my opinion). . . anyhow it was lodged between my aeorta and carotid arteries and clear back to my spine. It would have continued to grow had I ignored it as I wanted to and I would have eventually had a stroke. Our bodies do talk to us if we just listen. I'm glad I chose to listen this time and will from now on. : )
I hope when you get this you are doing well and my prayers and thoughts are with you.

Dear Jenny,
Thank God your tumor was benign. But the surgery to remove it must have been difficult. Are you on the mend?
I ask that because having cancer -- for me -- was the easy part. Having surgery and healing from it has been much more difficult than I thought.
I pray you do well and return to good health soon.
God Bless you and Keep you, Jenny.
Keep me posted about your recovery.
Larry Stevens

Larry,
Nice to hear back from you! Yes, the surgery was pretty extensive, but I have had 5 c-sections (my last baby boy born just 6 months ago) and those to me were worse to recover from!! : ) But then Im a woman and we women are tough cookies and I have babies that wouldn't let me stay down for long! : )
My right side of my face, neck and ear have slowly been "waking" up over the past 2 weeks, they are numb and still a bit puffy as I think they pretty much beat me to a pulp during surgery. The doc thinks that I may have some nerve damage as my right eye is a little lazy now, but I WILL TAKE it any day over what it could have been!!
. . . It was a comfort to find your site and know that I really was not alone in this hardly fair and scary world, yet so wonderful at the same time. . . especially when it comes to such things that are completely out of our control and all we can do is rely on our fellow humans for comfort : )
God Bless,
Jenny

◊

Thank you all, friends and newly befriended alike, for supporting me over the past ten months. I get so much more from your emails than I could possibly return in kind. As it has since its birth, this site will continue to evolve, just as my journey takes me down this path one step at a time, with each step a new adventure. And I know that I never walk alone.

God Bless you.

---

Just so you aren't kept on the edge of your seat waiting for the other shoe to drop (boy, can I ever mix metaphors or what?) I wanted to update you on the latest news about my MRI last week.

I finally tracked down someone who could tell me what they found and guess what?!? They told me exactly what I thought was the problem – an anterior translation of the condylar head of my right mandible. Woo-hoooooo!!!! Waydago, docs! Tell me what I ALREADY KNOW!

[sigh] Okay. . . I'm alright, now. Getting better. Getting better.

If you detect a note of sarcasm, believe me, it's deserved. I've spent the past 6 months (next week) in pain, not from the cancer. . . oh, no, that's gone, taken care of (and. . . thank God). No the pain I've been in has been from the surgery to remove the cancer.

Granted, it's a helluva tradeoff: no more cancer and a probable nasty death from tumors in my throat, neck, and wherever else the cancer decided to metastasize to on the one hand, for excruciating pain in my jaw every time I eat or drink — or sometimes for no reason at all — on the other.

Trouble is, the pain is driving me a bit crazy. It demands my attention and bullies its way into my daily thoughts, shoving aside thoughts of being surrounded by beautiful, white, healing light like a gate crasher at wedding party.

That wouldn't pose much of a problem if it weren't for one little niggling fact: I like to eat. Daily. Sometimes several times a day. And not just soft foods like pudding and oatmeal. Oh, no, my friend. I like big, thick steaks, crunchy, fresh vegetables, crisp, tart Granny Smith apples, and both hard and chewy candies.

So, what do I get in return for lying quietly, not twitching an itch for three hours while my jaw and shoulder were scanned within an inch of their useful lives? "Your jaw is out of place, Mr. Stevens."

My, what a surprise! I thought I'd stubbed my toe.

"No, sir. Your right jaw is out of place and has moved forward slightly from its normal position."

Okay. . . so how do we fix it?

"I don't know, Mr. Stevens. You'll have to see someone in Oral Surgery for that. We only deal with ears, noses, and throats."

No clue, huh?

"No, sir. That's someone else's job."

Can't even give me a general idea?

"On the advice of our attorneys, we're not allowed to step on any other specialty's toes. They could sue us."

Then, when can I see an Oral Surgeon?

"30 days or so."

Thirty days!?! Let's see if we can't do it a bit sooner. That's a lotta pain to go through. Especially since it's getting worse. I nearly went to my knees yesterday.

"Then, maybe we can send you over there when you come in for your next ENT appointment next Thursday."

That works. By the way, who are your attorneys?

"Stickum, Pokum, & Proddum, Attorneys at Law."

Humph. . . Shoulda seen that comin'.

More soon. . .

---

It's only a couple hours away, the MRI I told you about previously.

I can't really say why. . . but I'm a bit nervous. Yeah, I know. It's painless and non-invasive. I don't have anything to worry about.

My anxiety comes from the "what-if-game" my mind is playing with me. What if the doctors look at the results and say, "Well. . . beats me?"


The pain in my jaw has gradually gotten worse and I'm beginning to tire of it. The chronic pain is very slight — not even pain, really, more like constant pressure that demands my attention. But the pain when I eat or brush my teeth. . . now that's some pain, my friend. At home, I can give voice to it. In public, however, it's a different story. I simply (simply. . . ha! Good one.) internalize it and, at worst, moan or make an unpleasant face.

This is some complex pain, this pain in my jaw. It involves the nerve behind my jaw, my temporomandibular joint (TMJ), the muscle running from the joint to my jawline, and the parotid salivary gland. I can induce pain by eating even the softest of foods or eating something that requires even the slightest of molar involvement, drinking something slightly tart (like orange juice) or something completely tasteless (like water), taking too big a bite, requiring me to open my mouth widely, shaving, brushing my teeth, or being touched too firmly on my cheek and jaw. Or I can just be doing nothing and the pain will strike.

Now, I realize that it might make some people uncomfortable to listen to or read descriptions of how and how much it hurts and, honestly, I understand. I feel the same way. Pain is such a personal experience — and such a universal one — that it's easy to want to "duck and cover," to want to avoid hearing about or seeing another's pain because deep down we know, "That could be me and I'd rather not face that possibility."

I don't say that to be cruel or hateful. It's just an observable truth. And I do it, too.

During the last 4 months of my physical therapy, I have been privileged to meet some very brave people who are far worse off than I am. Some of them will never get back to the state I was in on my worst day after my cancer surgery. Yet, they smile, and they keep on working to strengthen their bodies, to have some chance of getting back to "normal."

This experience has sensitized me to the pain and the infirmities of others. I don't mean that in the sense that it's elevated me to a position "on high" where I can look down on those who aren't so sensitized to others' pain but, rather, in the sense that I've been there myself, hurting, and spent time among other people who are hurting.

What I realize is that we are all quite fragile as human beings. Regardless of our situation in life, we can go from being on top of the world to struggling to get through each day in a heartbeat. It can be planned and planned for, or it can strike like a bolt from the blue. In either case, attitude is the key to making it through the pain to peace on the other side.

If nothing can be done about the pain in my jaw, I'll simply — ha! There's that word again — I'll simply suck it up and deal with it on a daily basis. I pray that something can be done to "fix" the pain. At this point, I'd even go through another surgery, though that's not my first choice. Whatever happens, I know that even if I have pain for the rest of my life, I'm damned lucky. . . I could have had radiation and might have lost my jaw to osteoradionecrosis. Now THAT would have sucked dead bears for nickels and given change.

Results tomorrow. . . .

---

Life is good.

Though I still have "issues" with my jaw and my shoulder brought on by cancer surgery in October, I'm feeling well and getting back to a somewhat "normal" life. I'm even working, creating a website for a client in East Texas, the first job I've had in a year with more to come, I'm sure.

This experience has given me a better understanding of my relationship to God, my family, and my friends. Lessons learned don't always stick but they do most of the time and I'm grateful for that. Of course, the ones I don't learn will just come around again at a later time to give me another opportunity to "get it." Right?

One of the particularly wonderful things that has occurred to me — among many — is an explosion of creative output during my healing process. So much so that two dear friends and I are planning an art show in September. Karen Frances and Paula Joyce, both of whom I know from the Dallas Tango community, are artists of a different stripe from me, and therein lies the alchemy for a truly exciting event.

Karen is a talented sculptor and a painter with a gift for capturing the female form; Paula's primary medium is fabric; her scarves and other hand-painted clothing are exquisite and her paintings are delightful; and I jump back and forth between photography and limited-edition digital paintings.

Karen lives in Fort Worth and has recently built separate studios for her sculpture and painting and a smaller building to house her kilns. What an amazing place! The buildings are finished and she's turned her attention to the grounds in preparation for the art show in September. This will be a terrific new home for the show which, we hope, will be an annual event.

We'll share more details as they become available to pique your interest enough that you'll make plans to join us in September for our inaugural art show. We'll put up a website where we'll post news about the show, the time, date, and location for the show, as well as a few samples of our work to whet your appetite. Your feedback and suggestions are always welcome. Please contact me with either.

God Bless all of you who have been so supportive over the past year during my difficulties with cancer. If it hadn't been for your prayers, I'd never have gotten through this and this art show would never have even occurred to me as a possibility. Now, all things are possible and I thank God — and you — for that.

---

May I have a moment to whine just a bit? I don't do it often. I find it a particularly unattractive trait, to whine all the time, and hope you'll indulge me just this once.

For some time, I've been saying that I wanted to get back to some sense of "normal," whatever that is, and to find a rhythm in my life, the kind of rhythm that most of us have in our daily lives.

Well, I seem to have found a rhythm. It's just not the one that I figured I'd be "groovin' " to at this point. That rhythm goes something like this: ba-dump-ba-dump-ba-dump-bb-dd-mm-pp. (Insert cymbal crash here.)

Seriously, the weekly grind of physical therapy and medical appointments post-surgery feels oddly like a hamster wheel. . . with no beginning and no end. I know it won't last forever (thank God!) and it really is helping me. I just want to get off the wheel for a bit and stretch my legs, so to speak.

Enough of that. I'm done whining. Thanks for indulging me.

☆

Today, I spent 4 hours at the ENT clinic at Parkland, the last 2 1/2 hours of which were spent waiting to be discharged. I'm not complaining (see above); it's just a fact of my life right now. Waiting.

The good news is that the CT scan I had last month, evidently, didn't show anything wrong. Or, so I am assuming, because I got virtually no details about it from the doctor I saw this morning, Amy Mettman, M.D.

She sprayed my nostrils with Lidocaine® and shoved a laryngoscope (actually, a nasopharyngoscope) up my nose and down my throat to see how well I've healed. "Looks good," she said, in her typical terse tone. (Very professional, she.)

I told her about the ongoing pain in my jaw, the difficulties I'm having with my shoulder, and showed her an order my primary care physician (PCP), Dr. Jessie Doyal, wrote for an MRI for both areas. This, of course, is in order to see what can be seen in the soft tissue that a CT scan misses. She honored the order — Doyal said they weren't obliged — and issued one of her own.

Voila! I'm having an MRI — next month — to look at the inner workings of my jaw and shoulder. In the meantime, I've got to contact the pain management clinic to follow up on that front. I need a medical secretary (sorry, administrative assistant) to keep up with all the appointments I've got. It's getting crazy.

Well, that's all I've got today. I need to go make lunch and get on the phone. (Consecutively, not concurrently.)

Hi-yo and awaaaaaaaay!

---

I know, I know. . . I haven't updated this blog in far too long. Almost two months.

That's a good thing. Really.

It's now five months post-surgery and my physical therapy schedule has left me with little energy except for getting work done for a couple of clients and a pro bono slideshow I'm doing for a friend. Everything else has taken a back seat.

It's what I was asking for, I guess. Wasn't it? Normalcy. A rhythm for daily living. (Thanks! I think I got it!)

Aside from a hectic therapy and medical schedule to get me back to health and keep me there, my life is just beginning to feel normal. Not quite. But it's getting there.

The upshot is, I'm feeling better. Stronger. Healthier. And happier. Oh, I definitely have some issues I still deal with on a daily basis -- some that may never get better or go away -- but life is good and getting "gooder."

I'm getting back into an old activity that had almost become a distant memory -- photography. My little point-and-shoot is getting a real workout and I'm making some really beautiful photographs.


My friend, Ric, asked me to put through its paces a new digital SLR he bought and was unsure about keeping and, boy, did I! It's made me realize what I've been missing for so long. . . a way to express my point of view and to create images that others might even want to hang on their living room walls.

I still have a lot of work to do to make enough money to buy one of these honkers -- on top of getting back to some sort of firm financial ground -- so any referrals for web design, print design, writing, or creative project management you can send my way would be greatly appreciated.

As always, it's good to hear from friends. Several have written lately who I haven't talked to in a while and it brings me a lot of joy.

Conversation has turned toward more mundane things and away from the crisis talk that comes with having cancer. It's good to talk about things that have absolutely nothing to do with my health.

One conversation I'm having a lot lately is with God. Never particularly religious, I find that talking to a power outside of and greater than myself is not only engaging but supremely comforting.

So, that's what's going on in my life, lately. I see a doctor at Parkland next week about the CT scan I had last month and find out the results of that. I expect good news.

Thanks for hangin' with me.

---

My physical therapist, Zhizong Cao — otherwise known as Keri, for reasons I've yet to discover — beat me up yesterday. You'd think I had pissed her off.

And here I am, weak as a kitten in my right arm, using only one pound weights to strengthen my shoulder. Pathetic. I should be using 40–50-pound weights like I used to. Right? Not so fast Watson; all the evidence is yet to present itself.

Seems my shoulder (trapezius, deltoids, superspinator, pectorals, and scapula, for all you anatomy freakazoids, like me) is not only atrophied but is a bit "frozen," if you will. Normally, the muscles are, somewhat, in a state of balance, so that everything works smoothly. Some of the opposing muscles have weakened to the point that the strong member of the "pair" has no choice but to overpower the weaker muscle.

That's why I frequently find my shoulder has crept up near my ear when I'm not being conscious of my gross anatomy. When I am being conscious of my gross anatomy, I usually find myself hugging the ceramic altar. . . simply because it is so gross. (Joke.)

All of that said, I do find myself getting stronger. However, Keri says I'll get more benefit from working the muscles through everyday activities than through an hour of exercise twice a week. To that end, I've been working my tuchas off in getting my new home set up, assembling shelves and desks, and setting up my bed. (Try that with only one good arm!) Maybe I should hire myself out as a handyman, just for the exercise. In another lifetime, I mean.

Aside from my shoulder, I'm still dealing with pain in my jaw that is fairly complex. Let me see if I can describe it. The normal amount of pain I have, chronically, is about a 1 or 2 on a 10-scale. Background noise, I call it.

When I eat, the first several bites are about a 7 or 8, sometimes a 9. I'm not sure, really, what a 10 is; I'd probably pass out. The pain is centered on my temporomandibular joint (TMJ). At home, I have the luxury of privacy and can scream until the pain subsides. In public, it would be far too uncomfortable for those around me to hear me scream, so I swallow it, close my eyes, and shake for a bit.

Drinking — even water — can be almost as painful. Juice, being acidic, often will set my parotid salivary gland into paroxysms of discomfort. A different type of pain, entirely.

On the odd occasion, the muscle in my jaw will, for whatever reason, contract without warning or stimulus. This is particularly attractive. I usually stay away from small children and animals when this happens.

Monday, Jan. 21st, I go in for x-rays on my jaw to find out the source of the pain in my jaw. My friend, Dana, is an ENT surgeon (not a part of my case), who conjectures the meniscus — the cartilage in the joint — may be dislocated and gets "pinched" when I chew. Sounds reasonable. I'll find out next week.

All this pain has shown me one very important thing about myself. I can tolerate a LOT of pain. If that weren't so, I wouldn't be putting on weight. Not that I really wanted to regain the weight I'd lost. . . .

Going through the process of dealing with the cancer and having it removed was quite an effective weight-loss program; believe it or not, I weighed 178 pounds when I started in late-June, early-July of last year. When I got out of the hospital, I weighed 151. Yesterday, I stepped on a scale at Parkland and weighed about 164. Looks like I'll have to find another way to get down to a healthier 145 pounds.

Experiencing this pain in my jaw and in my shoulder has been difficult, frustrating, and, yes, a blessing. I'll leave it to you to ponder why.

---

You may have noticed something different about my website. I'm toying with the design of the site as I move into a new phase of my recovery from cancer. Sounds reasonable, anyway. Your comments are always welcome. A couple of odd things I seem to be experiencing — and you may, too — is being able to view only the current blog entry and my artwork is MIA. Something's amiss and I'll fix it as I have time.

I still don't have an Internet connection (THANKS, AT&T!) and I'm currently doing all my updates from my laptop at an Internet café in an undisclosed location. This means I can't fix things at my whim until then. Please, remain in your seats and stay calm. The captain will take care of all this nasty turbulence as quickly as possible.

☆

When I first walked into this charming, little carriage house, I knew it was the perfect place to continue my healing process.

I've been here, officially, since New Year's Day. Moving Day was actually Jan. 4th and I'm finally beginning to make some headway in unpacking. I'm at the point where I could unpack the rest of the boxes. . . but I have no place to put things. I need to get some things from my storage unit at Cedar Creek Lake (I know. It's a long story.) and my sister, Lorraine, has some things she can contribute to the cause. Having been in the antiques-slash-junk business for many years, she has more than she can use. I'm not sure what I'd do without her.

Here's a link to some photos I took on Moving Day. Not the best of shots, as you can tell, but I was focused on moving boxes that day, not photographing them. Things, as I said, have cleared up considerably and I'll post more photos soon.

All the work I've had to do hasn't been for nothing: my physical therapist says it's really the only thing that will build up my shoulder again. And that will just take time.

You know how to reach me. . . just send an email at my Guest Book, above. Or call me. You probably have the number. If you can, come by and say hello. I promise I won't stick a paintbrush in your hand.

---

What a Wonderful Christmas!

With good news on the health-front and a lovely gathering of my family over the holiday, this year's Christmas has been the best in. . . 56 years.

In spite of some rather nasty weather leading up to the 25th, making shopping a bit difficult and uncomfortable, Christmas Day here in Texas was quite nice. Well, our family's Christmas Day, at any rate. Because my sister, Lorraine's, brood had international travel plans on the 26th, we decided to have our family get-together on the Sunday prior. And what a lovely day it was.

It wasn't without its challenges. Mini-challeges, I should say. I would swear on a stack of bibles that both my mom and sis confirmed that we were gathering at Lorraine's place in Henderson, about a 2 1/2 hour drive from Dallas. I marked it in my calendar. Checked it twice. I evidently didn't hear correctly because when I arrived at the appointed hour, no one was to be found. A quick phone call revealed my mistake and I backtracked an hour-and-a-half to Mom's house.

Four hours of driving, at this point in my recovery, is quite a lot, and I was a bit tired from the drive. A short rest to catch my breath and good meal had me back in gear and the rest of the day I was fine.

I got to play Santa because my young grand-nephew, Lance, 4, decided it was better to receive than to give because Santa had to wait for everyone else to open their gifts before opening his own. Watching that critical thought process wash across his face was priceless. When he took off the Santa cap and gave it to me, I just "ha-ha'd," to use my mom's phrase, and Lance was off to open the first of many gifts.

What a treat it was to play Santa this year, a privilege I take very seriously. And with much joy.

I hope your Christmas was as warm and loving as mine was and that you have many good memories (and goodies) from 2007.

God Bless you all. . . US all, I should say. I thank you again for your love and support during this difficult time in my life and know that yur prayers made the difference in ridding me of this cancer.

Have a Prosperous New Year filled with abundant blessings for you and your family.

With much love,

Larry Stevens

---

Good tidings to all! On top of all the other good news in my life — drumroll please — the CT scan from last week shows that I'm cancer-free! Woo-hooooooo!!!

And the scar in my throat from the "mother of all tonsillectomies" is healing quite nicely, thank you.

All this good news is from one of the docs on my surgical team, Dr. Dale Ehmer.

He also gave me a referral to the Oral Surgery clinic — don't go freak out on me, now! — to check out the pain in my temporomandibular joint (TMJ). . . my right jaw joint.

The joint has been hurting like nothing I've ever felt before since the surgery and doesn't seem to be getting better. The problem with the weakness in my shoulder pales in comparison. So, we get to shoot some x-rays and look at the soft tissues in my cheek and jaw to see if there is a serious problem that warrants further treatment.

Of course, I don't relish more surgery but, at this point, I'd do almost anything to stop the pain. Yeeeeooowwwww!!

Even that would be good news.

I'm fully convinced that the prayers of friends, family, and, yes, strangers have brought me through this crisis and I am so grateful to all of you. Without your help, I'd still be pouting on my sofa in my old apartment, asking "what am I gonna do?!?"

Thank you. And Merry Christmas one and all.

---

Today I had my first Physical Therapy session. Before I went, I knew my shoulder was weak. What I found out was that my range of motion was also diminished a bit. Not a lot. Just enough to notice when run through some tests.

So, I'll be going in for PT a couple times a week for the next two months. And, when I'm not at Parkland, I'll be running through a series of exercises daily to strengthen my shoulder.

Can't wait to get to the finish line.

☆

Yesterday, I was privileged to be asked by my friend, Paula Reed, to volunteer to read Christmas stories to a group of kids. You may have seen the founder of the non-profit organization that provides children with a place to go after school on Oprah some time ago. Bea Salazar. The organization is Bea's Kids — quoting from their website "provides educational and personal development programs to children from low-income families so they will stay in school and break the cycle of poverty."

Today, after my PT session at Parkland, I headed to the Richardson location of Bea's Kids again to volunteer, doing whatever I could to help out.

I have to say, I'm both amazed at the children I met and angry at the failure of the government school to teach some of these kids adequate communication skills. I won't get too political here on this blog because this isn't the place for it. But, it is sufficient it to say, I'm pissed. More than a couple of the children I worked with could not write a simple sentence. Yet they could speak two languages. Their math skills were not that great either. I don't blame the children. I blame the schools — their teachers and the administrators — for failing to teach them language skills that will provide the basis for greater learning, greater success. In school and in life.

I wanted you to know that I had originally intended to volunteer to help in some small way to repay what was given to me by the citizens of Dallas County through Parkland Hospital— a surgery that surely has saved my life. And all I got in return was a lesson about how government schools are failing our kids. Instead of feeling powerless to do anything, my voice will rise, strong and confident, to be heard.

I may not have children of my own but the future of our country — for all people in this country whether they have children or not — is dependent on all children being prepared for life. The fact that our country's government schools are failing to adequately prepare these and most children for the needs of that future surely is an indication that government should get out of the business of education.

Okay. . . I'm off my soapbox. Once I get settled in my new digs, I'll start my Off The Dime podcast once again and get back to writing and voicing more of my socio-political opinions there. As I said, this is not the place for it. Thanks for indulging me.

More soon. The coffee shop is closing soon and my free Wi-Fi is about to disappear. I need to upload so I can go home and download.

Later. . . .

---

Once again, the specter of dealing with the bureaucracy of Parkland Hospital looms large. I have an appointment tomorrow to have another follow-up with the docs in the ENT Clinic to go over the results of a CT scan I had last week. Ostensibly, it's for the purpose of discovering how successful the young surgeons who carved the cancer from my throat and neck were at their jobs.


The CT scan, itself, was not a big deal. The waiting was even less of a pain in the ass than usual — only 2 1/2 to 3 hours. The CT tech pumped me full of radioactive iodine and warned me of the sensations I'd be feeling. "Be sure to drink at least 8 big glasses of water today to flush it out of your kidneys," she warned.

I thought, "Sure. No big deal. Like last time, they exaggerate to get you to drink a little water. No prob." Oh, yeeeeeeaaaaaahhhh. . . . that worked.

The following day was miserable until I realized that the young tech (Angelique) wasn't just exercising her jaw. No. She meant what she said and I was paying the price for ignoring her advice.

I will, henceforth, drink my 8 glasses of water after a CT scan. No Big Deal. Really.

☆

You may have noticed that this blog has not been updated in quite a while. I apologize for that but there is a reason. I'm currently living in temporary quarters with 6 other people. . . 3 of whom are IT geeks. And PC geeks at that. (Not that there's anything wrong with that!)

Several times while I've lived here since Sept. 15th, they have changed the wireless router settings. Almost always, it has effected my access to the Web. Never has it improved that access.

Bottom line: I'm unable to log in to my server, so I cannot update this blog or a couple of websites I manage.

At various times, I've thought it was the server (Nope. Not according to GoDaddy.com tech support); or the software (FTP client) I've been using to connect to the server (uh-uh); or maybe it was my Mac (doubtful because Mac's ARE perfect, y'know).

I keep coming back to the wireless router settings here at the house. That DOES seem to be the problem. I nailed that down a couple of days ago when I took my trusty MacBook laptop to an Internet café in Addison. Fired up my FTP client (CyberDuck) and voila! My long lost connection worked immediately and without a hitch.

That, my friend, is how I have just updated this blog. . . by using a free Wi-Fi hotspot at an Internet café. Neither rain nor snow nor gloom of ill-fitting router settings will stay this courier from updating his blog. Ta-daaaaaa!

☆

There is more good news to tell you about: I'm moving. After searching all over town for a proper place to live, someplace quiet and secluded, I finally found a lovely little carriage house/garage apartment that is perfect.

It has hardwood floors throughout (except for the bedroom), CH/A, a GAS stove (this was a joy to find), plenty of closet space, a washer and dryer (thank you sweet baby Jesus!), and lots of windows. . . all in about 800 sq. ft. It was completely remodeled recently and all of the expected "old world charm" of a place like this in this area has been updated and modernized. I couldn't be happier.

To top it off, my landlady is a very warm and charming person and she lives a couple doors up the street with her husband.

I move in the first weekend in January and then my sister, Lorraine, is going to help me fix the place up. She's the one with the domesticity gene; not me. It'll be rather spare for a bit since almost everything is in storage but that's okay. My life is all about change right now.

☆

Today, I'm going in for some physical therapy on my shoulder (and my lip, too, I hope). I'm not sure if I've mentioned it before. . . but my shoulder muscles — primarily my trapezius muscle have atrophied since the surgery. I have little lifting strength in my right arm. Lifting so much as a full glass of water at arms length is difficult and painful.

The good news is that it's fixable and will only require some hard work, some of which I've been doing on my own with weights and "power bands."

In fact, I need to be there in just a bit. . . .

More soon.

---

So far, seven weeks since my surgery to remove a cancerous tonsil and a couple dozen lymph nodes — two of which were malignant — I've yet to find the sense of normalcy that I've been seeking.

Every day is unique, meaning I have no routine to give me the stability I crave. Everything is in flux and it makes me a bit anxious.

This realization is something new for me. I used to think that I was one of those "fortunate" few who didn't need the structure that most people have, structure that gives them a foundation on which to build the business of their lives. Me? Naaah.

What a load! How deluded can a man be? Allow me to make a sweeping generalization here — and correct me if I'm wrong: We all need structure in our lives in order to give us stability. More specifically, I need it. It's Newton's 2nd Law of Thermodynamics in action: Without an outside influence, everything turns to crap.

This Law of Entropy, as it's also known, is in effect always and provides us with one of the negative motivators we all face at one time or another — fear. Fear of loss, mostly, I think. When life is nothing but chaos, most of us find it difficult to get things done, to feel secure and stable, and we often only kick into action to reverse the slide into chaos when we've begun to slide. That's where I'm at now. I can't lose any more; I hardly have anything left to lose. Except my sanity, perhaps, and that's not an option.

So, I'm taking action to create some structure — an outside influence — in my life. Housing, work, exercise, nutrition. . . all of these are areas in which I'm beginning to feel chaos in my life. Most of that chaos centers around work and home, so that's where I'm concentrating my thoughts and prayers, and my efforts.


Who knew that fighting cancer would be so difficult? I certainly didn't. It's changed my life in a myriad of ways that I never anticipated. Simple, I thought. No Big Deal.

Maybe it's time to leave behind the old life and move into the new. Trouble is, I have no idea what that new life looks like, what it means for me in terms of work, relationships, or home. Taking it "one-day-at-a-time" is so hackneyed a phrase that I hesitate to use it. . . but it's the only way I can express how I'm going about getting back to "normal." One day at a time.

I'll let you know when I arrive.