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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.

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Today is my birthday. I count this as the first of many more to come. Fifty-six is going to be a very good year.

Yesterday, I had my first of twelve monthly visits to follow up after surgery.



The docs want to do another CT scan to make sure they got all the cancer. And they want to put me into physical therapy to help with the atrophying muscles in my shoulder. I'm hoping that PT will also help with the crooked smile left behind by the nerve in my jaw that was cut to facilitate removal of 24 lymph nodes.

As an aside, the longer I'm in the healthcare system, the more I realize that the bureaucracy runs counter to the needs and best interests of patients. It will also become, in large measure, the focus of this blog as I move forward. But that's another story for another day. Not today.

Today is my birthday and I'm simply grateful to be alive and cancer-free (so far).

I also want to share that gratitude with all of the people who contributed to the benefit fund at the milonga held for me on Oct. 21st. This has been a rough period for me. For the past 4 1/2 months, I've been totally focused on finding out about this disease and my options for treating it. (There weren't many.) Work was non-existent for the past 5 months and it's put me into a financial tailspin.

Fortunately, I've been blessed with a bit of work since coming home from my sister's place in East Texas and will start on that project within days. And the fund all of you who contributed to has gone into a "rainy day" account -- a 60-day CD which will roll over until that rainy day. I'm doing all I can to get back to "normal," whatever that is, and start working again. You've provided me with a cushion in case there are bumps along the way and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Today is a good day. It's my birthday.

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Today makes 4 weeks since my surgery. Each day has had its own challenges but I'm definitely noticing an uptrend. And that's a Good Thing™.

Much of the chronic pain in my jaw was evidently caused by my jaw being dislocated. A couple of days ago, while finishing a spring roll at a little Chinese restaurant called Sam's Cafe, my TMJ popped back into position so loudly it knocked me back on my heals. Instantly, the pain went away. What an unusual sense of relief! Like everyone on the planet, I've frequently felt the sudden onset of pain (OUCH!) but I don't recall pain suddenly just disappearing. Aaaahhhhhh. . . . it was almost pleasurable.

I'm now back in the house in Grand Prairie. I've been gone long enough that my old roommates have been replaced by new, noisier ones. One, a young pregnant girl who obviously suffers from OCD, has a penchant for running the vacuum cleaner, vigorously, every day. Makes sleeping in a bit difficult.

Nonetheless, I am sleeping as much as my body tells me to. . . and that's a good bit. Right after the surgery, I couldn't sleep because of all the interruptions from nurses doing their jobs, from the constant tug of the drainage tubes in my neck, and from the pain. I'm obviously making up for lost sleep. . . and healing, too. It seems to be working.

Back "home," I've begun to settle in and I'm trying to get into some sort of routine. Exercise and some physical therapy are next on the agenda. I'm working on rebuilding strength in my shoulder with some weights; nothing too heavy, just enough to build up the muscle, slowly.

And that's how the process is going. Slowly. But that's okay. Because I've got nothing but time. Thank God for that.