health – Page 27 – The Tao of Bill

Not going gently into that good night

https://lindaghill.com/2018/01/18/jusjojan-daily-prompt-january-18th-2018/

I found a part-time job that I can work without affecting my disability claim. It’s manageable, 2 days a week, no stress and it’s something I love.

I got up at 6 today, my new Thursday routine. I leave early and drive down to MA, about 2 1/2 hours of driving, work Thursday and stay at my buddy Jim’s place Thursday night and drive home after work on Friday. It’s been fun so far.

I came down at 6:20 to find my mother in the kitchen. She can’t just sleep in, she needs to see me off with our ritual morning coffee. “You’re looking chipper this morning, don’t tell me you slept well?” (I never do). I admitted that I did feel good. I was tired from a lack of sleep but I was excited. Excited is a look and feel I haven’t worn in a while.

I bid my mom adieu, stepped out into the arctic blast, started the sled, topped off my washer fluid and I was off. I adjusted my seat, charged my phone and adjusted my rear view mirror. I caught a glimpse of my homely mug in the process and instead of my usual grimace, I smiled. I realized at that moment that Mom was right. I was feeling chipper. I’m feeling like the old me. In short,

For those of you that have read my posts before, you have seen that I have struggled with some significant obstacles. I have openly lamented that I don’t have the fight that I used to. My readers will also know that the “Superman” thing is not a glorified ego or a magnified self-image, it is a character trait. I have always wanted to fix everything, have always acted bulletproof and my refusal to let my illness slow me down was the cape to my illness, aka my Lex Luthor. I have been called Superman as an insult by my wife who thought I was in denial. I have been called Superman by a few lovelies who received a good “Rogering” late in the evening to get another one early in the morning before work (man I wish those days) but most importantly I’ve been called Superman by those who knew I was sick but couldn’t tell. Simply put, I refused to be a sick person.

After this past summer, it’s been harder not to be that sick person. I have been symptomatic in so many ways it became like a game show. “What do we have today behind curtain number 1 Johnny? Ooooh tooo bad it’s swollen legs. No walking for you today!” The next day it’s Gout, Ooooh too bad!” Just one thing after another after another, eventually I hung up my cape.

Even my wife, who I perhaps unfairly, consider to be my ultimate detractor had told me that I had to get the “Old me” back. To get the fight back. It wasn’t there. But lately, I think less about feeling lousy and look forward more to feeling good. I wake up and set goals, I tell my Drs. what I can do, not let them tell me what I can’t. I am thinking about the future, regardless of how long it is, not dwelling on today. I am defining the situation before it defines me. I am not the sick guy until the day after they bury me.

I like this feeling. I’m not just raging against the dying of the light. I’m starting a goddamn revolt.

Every man dies. But not every man lives…

the power of music

I did some work for a guy the last couple of days. It was a nice opportunity to dabble in my old profession, make a few bucks in the process. It put some wind under my sails to do it again. The only drawback is that I had a 3-hour drive ahead of me. It’s not too bad, I can do that drive non-stop if I have my faithful companion Spotify with me.

I strapped on my seatbelt, made sure the lid on my coffee was on tight and opened the app. I was about to select one of my new Playlists (I have been a Spotify junkie this past year with all of the driving) when I saw an option for “Your favorites for 2017”. Wtf, I put it on shuffle and promised myself that I would listen without skips. How would I know that my drive would end up not as a tedious straight line between 2 points, but instead an emotional, unflinching, and cathartic journey of my last year in song.

The music took me away. I went down to the River with Bruce only to find that it was the River of Dreams by Billy Joel. I waded in looking for answers, found none and on the way out Stevie Nicks warned me that taking my love down would cause a Landslide.

I gathered my strength to climb the embankment and took a breath, which was painful, I have been thinking about my wife and the pending divorce, feeling bad about it, and Rascal Flatts didn’t hold back from reminding me of What hurts the most. Dave Mason softened the blow a bit by pointing out that, at the end of the day, We just disagree.

Hoping for a break the next song delivered with a jam session as the Allman Brothers took me Southbound, I jammed on the dash like John Candy in Planes, Trains and Automobiles doing the Messaround by Ray Charles. I got to thinking about how much the world misses John Candy.

On the theme of days gone by, Al Stewart brought me back in time to the Year of the Cat. A simpler time indeed. Tom Petty would then tell me all about his American Girl, and then make it impossible to drive the speed limit when he offered up You wreck me. The wailing guitar and the pounding drums urged me to go faster, faster you son of a bitch! But alas the car in front of me didn’t see the urgency or hear the song.

After I slowed down a little, the Indigo Girls brought me a little Closer to Fine but I was in a funk. I again thought of the failed marriage and the Eagles were there to remind me that, at the end of the day, I gave her the Best of my love.

Nearing the end of my journey, I found myself teary eyed, reaching towards the heavens, while trying to drive of course, hands to God as Mondo Cozmo powerfully, with vocals and harmonies that filled my car and and the world around it, implored God to Shine his light down upon us. An emotional wreck, I pawed at my eyes and Journey had the nerve to ask me Who’s crying now? It’s me, alright? You got me.

Fortunately, Michael Franti, my barefoot Brazilian Messiah, took it to a metaphysical level and asked all of the right questions, said all the right things as he explained why It’s good to be alive today (my blog URL btw).

Then I pulled in my driveway. My physical journey over for the day, my emotional one only beginning. This playlist was my year in review. It nailed it.

I’ve had love and I’ve lost it.

I’ve sung and danced, and I’ve drummed with delight and cried my ass off on the same steering wheel.

I know what I need to do just not how to do it.

I’ve been to the River and found nothing but dirty water.

I’ve reached to the sky and found heaven right in front of me.

And I’ve gotten behind the wheel, gotten the urge to go somewhere and God help the bastard in front of me if they don’t let me pass them.

It is good to be alive today.

When worlds collide

jjj-2018

https://lindaghill.com/2017/12/27/what-is-just-jot-it-january-2018-rules/

My phone vibrated for what seemed like the one-hundredth time that morning. I was stuck in another endless meeting and I knew that checking my phone was taboo. In order to see if it was an important message or an FB notification required me to dig my phone out, it was a gamble because my megalomaniac boss had a “thing” about cell phones during meetings. I gambled, unlike most in my office, my job required of me a lot of access by our customers so it wasn’t uncommon for me to take a call. It was a company phone after all. I put the phone in front of me while feigning interest in the monotony going on around me and glanced at the tool bar. It was an FB message from my mountain biking buddy Barbara.

did you hear about Rick?

No,what?

He died last night

call you as soon as I can

That indelible moment when you realize you just lost a good friend.

Rick, Barbara and I mountain biked together. Barbara and I were part of a larger group but we paired up a lot because we were the same skill level, had similar schedules and were close friends. Rick was a Fire Chief by day who was a friend of a friend of Barbara’s who had recently joined us on some rides. Rick and I became fast friends and it wasn’t long before he and I would squeeze in an extra ride on nights when others weren’t available. The night before was one of those rides and I had the bloody shin and bruised ego to show for it.

Rick had gladly assumed the role of making me a better rider. He wasn’t much to look at but he was very athletic for his age and body type and surprisingly coordinated. He had been making me try increasingly difficult terrain and I was doing well. That night we went somewhere new, a State Forest notorious for its technical (difficult) terrain. 30 minutes and 2 miles in, I followed him across a makeshift bridge of 2X4’s over a muddy ravine. I panicked, I helplessly watched as my front tire wobbled and I went in, face first.

It was horrible. There was only black, putrid mud. I went in elbows deep, my torso from my chest down was drenched. I stood up, in disbelief, starting scraping the shit off of me and there is Rick, laughing his ass off.

“I’m sorry to laugh, I should ask if you’re ok first.” He wasn’t sorry, he was having a blast. I must have been a sight!

I was a little bloody, but my ego was bruised worse than my leg. And my bike was broken, the front brakes were damaged. The wheel wouldn’t move. I was looking at a 2-mile hike carrying a bike. Then Rick somehow fixed it enough that I could ride it out. He just happened to have the tools.

In the parking lot, he looked at me and we both started laughing. I was a mess, covered in mosquito bites (the little bastards loved the smell of that mud) and I was stained black.

“Want a picture for memories sake?” Defeated, I agreed.

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I’m glad for this picture, after all how would I know that I would never see him again? He died at home, of a heart attack about 4 hours after that picture was taken.

I called Barbara, she was an emotional wreck. It turns out they were dating. He was estranged from his wife, I knew that she was a “cheater and a liar” from our many conversations while pounding through the woods. She had found him, she went to his house after he didn’t answer her calls. She asked if I would go to his wake, of course I agreed.

Have you ever been to a Firefighter’s wake? Or a Chief’s for that matter. There were thousands of people, police details, Firefighters in full dress, friends, family and respectful citizens patiently waiting in a line that would wind through the old Victorian Funeral Home for 2 hours. Barbara and I and a few other Mountain Biking friends waited together. Finally, as we reached the point where we could see into the viewing room, I saw a pair of legs that looked hauntingly familiar. The first thought that came to mind I immediately tried to chase out of my head.

No! The widow, AKA the cheater and liar is Deb?!?! I waited impatiently now, to get a better view. As I got closer I realized it was true. The widow was my first serious girlfriend out of High School. Not the one that got away, I let this one get away. She lied to me and cheated on me too. I, 20 years before Rick met her, parted ways with her for the same reasons.

I got to the receiving line, we made very awkward small talk and I got the hell out of there. Outside, Barbara asked me why I looked so messed up. I told her. Her answer…

“only you, dude. Only you could go to a funeral and have this happen.”

Rick was a very nice man. I know we would continue to be good friends had he lived. But it turns out we shared a lot more than he would ever realize. I know that he would laugh his ass off if he heard this story.

Even when you’re ready for it

When you know someone is dying it is like being staked to the ground watching a snowball headed for your face. You can do nothing but wait and let it happen. And it stings like a bitch when it hits you. My friend Tony died today. I was expecting it but a massive ouch just the same.

This won’t be a long post, I already wrote a post about him a couple of weeks ago that nobody read so I wouldn’t want to subject more of you to not read it again. (here is the link if you do)

I am feeling so many things right now. I am sad that the world lost another honest, hard-working, simple and decent man. He had the adoration of his children, the devotion of his wife, and the respect of everyone that had the good fortune to meet him.

I’m upset that I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. It’s bad enough when someone goes and you realize that you have unfinished business; or that you are unhappy with the last thing you said to that person; or that you meant to visit them but you just didn’t get around to it. But I made the effort. I reached out to the family, asking to visit Tony, but Tony didn’t want visitors. He just wanted to be alone.

Finally, I am feeling nostalgic. One of the only things about working at that miserable restaurant was working with him. It continues to baffle me how any task, like sweating your ass off while serving hundreds of people in one night, can be fun when around those that you love. And I do love Tony, he was like a second father to me. When I was mad at my own, it was Tony who reminded me to love and honor my father because he only wanted the best for me. This from a guy who worked every weekend and holiday, never seeing his family. to do the best for them that he could.

I don’t know what kind of work ethic I had when I met Tony but I know what it is now. I credit him so much for that. Work meant something to him, it wasn’t a source of “braggadocio”, it instead gave a man his honor. I would come to value the accomplished feeling of a job well done, of contributing, of making a difference.

Losing Tony is like losing a part of me. I take comfort knowing that as recently as a few months ago I saw him. We enjoyed a cocktail and I gave him an envelope that he wasn’t allowed to open until I was gone. Inside was a letter telling him how much I cared for him, thankful for all that he taught me and how grateful I was that he had beat Round 1 of Pancreatic Cancer. I know he read it, but he wouldn’t mention it even if I asked.

At least I don’t have the awful burden of things unsaid. I just wish I could have sat with him and squeezed out of him one more of his trademark laughs.

He always told me to say hi to my Dad for him. I hope he gets to do it in person. I’m sure they are in the same place.

Goodbye dear friend

Inventory

I was reminded today of one of my favorite expressions.

“Happiness is not having what you want. it’s wanting what you have.”

And in a very close second comes the Stones with

“You can’t always get what you want, but you get what you need.”

2 years ago I would have measured my success as a man by how much stuff I had. It was the life I was living. I lived in a nice neighborhood with neat lawns and beautiful cars in driveways. I had the Jones’s on both sides of me and I was trying frantically to keep up with them. I couldn’t. My illness was increasing, my income was dropping and trying to keep up was literally, and I never use that word, killing me. When I lost my job the bottom fell out and we knew that moving and breaking up the family was imminent. I was livid, disgusted with myself, mad at the prospect of not seeing the kids every day and feeling like a complete failure. I was also relieved to be out from under the crushing weight of the lifestyle I was living.

Fast forward 2 years and what do I have? If measured in possessions…not much. I own as much stuff that would fit in a ’13 Honda Civic. If you were to measure my heart. I have everything.

Once I realized my career was virtually over, my dreams of a beach house were gone, my marriage was beyond repair and my health was in serious trouble I had to assess what I did have. It took some serious soul searching but I found that I was a wealthy man in assets that money cannot buy.

I don’t have everything I want. By the old standards. But I really want what I now have.

I have become a totally honest person, in particular with myself. I know who and what I am and no longer have a job pushing the boundaries of my ethics on a daily basis. I am comfortable in my skin for the first time.

I have a wonderful relationship with my children. The distance has created the need for quality time, and conversations were had and growth was achieved. I found that they respect me and understand the situation. They just want what is best for me.

My mind is clear and sharp. I’m reading the books I’ve always wanted to, I’m writing on a daily basis, reading some great bloggers and thinking on a level previously unachieved. In addition, I feel inspired.

I have renewed my relationship with my mother. We were very close until my wife put a wedge between us. We are like best friends again. Not to mention how much she is helping me right now.

I have optimism for the future. There are still so many things that I want to do, and if I set reasonable expectations and listen to my body I may be able to do them.

By having some “me time”, forced or otherwise, I realize that for the first time I like myself. If it’s possible to not say that in a self-serving way that is.

This year-end I want to end on a high note, with momentum and heading in the right direction. Unlike many other years in which I was down, defeated and counting on a new calendar to give me a better life. It just doesn’t work that way, I have to make it happen.

Happier New Year

I am really looking forward to seeing 2017 limp out the door Sunday night at midnight. I hope that it was a wonderful year for anyone that sees this, but for me, it is one to be forgotten. I won’t dwell on the bad stuff if you are a reader of this blog, you already know what I have been dealing with. I am encouraged that, after self-evaluation, I am still able to look to the future as an opportunity for better things and new opportunities.

My son last night told me he is glad that I am optimistic after this last year. I explained to him that I had, in fact, lost it for a while but now have it back. I explained a boxing analogy to him. A good fighter can take a good shot to the chin, shake it off and come back swinging. For years I was able to do that. This year, this fighter took a devastating series of blows that I couldn’t shake off. I fell to the mat and was down for the count. But I’m back now and I want a rematch. As I tear a page from my daily planner, underneath is a fresh day.

One thing I am very happy about in 2017 is this blog. I have always dabbled in writing but never had the time to commit to a blog. Now, for better or for worse, I have nothing but time. I have committed to working on this blog every day. It has done wonders in helping me to exorcise my demons, to express myself, and to unburden myself of the excessive emotional weight of the events of my life. And I am so happy to have readers.

I have almost 40 followers. A paltry amount to many but a big deal to me. As an aspiring writer with a story to tell, you give me the motivation to continue to write, to explore my boundaries, to share my story and in the process, free my soul.

I follow so many of you, I enjoy your posts and admirable writing styles. You give me feedback, hope, and encouragement and you have become a part of my life.

I hope all of you have a wonderful New Years Eve and a fantastic 2018 full of pushing forward towards your dreams.

My car has a big windshield and a small rear-view mirror because what is behind me is not nearly as important as what is ahead.

Dog chasing a car

Ever seen a dog chase a car? My first question was always “what is he going to do if he catches it?”

I made the mistake the other day of clicking on one of the “hookup” site links. I was feeling, well what the fuck let’s call it what it is, horny. My wife had told me earlier that day that even though we are not officially divorced yet if I wanted to “get back out there” she was fine with it. I guess that means she suggested it. I certainly don’t want a relationship so I entertained the idea of a casual thing. So I signed up, no credit card required appealed to me.

I instantly regretted it. I began getting bombarded with nude pics of really slutty women “near me” and very provocative messages. I immediately knew that this wasn’t for me. Despite how “delicious” I appeared to one lady; despite the fact that Paradise was the “only one who could take me there”; and contrary to Sexygodess17’s assertion that she’s “the one I’ve been looking for”, it’s just not my style. I deleted the account immediately. Like a dog, if I chose to chase this car, what would I do with it if I caught it?

I’m not a casual sex guy, never was. I like the idea of a Friend with Benefits. I have friends that have this. Just sex, no commitments of any kind. But I’m not wired for it. When I was a younger man I had many long-term relationships and a few one-nighters. I never felt right after the one-nighters. Laugh if you want but I respect women and felt dirty if I objectified them in any way. Even when they seemed perfectly fine with it I still needed two showers after. It’s how I am and if I have to choose, it’s a good thing.

I recently entertained the casual route because I’m not ready for the real thing. For a lot of reasons, none of which has anything to do with my wife, she’s actually the one that gave me the green light.

I don’t like how I look. I’m still heavier than I want to be even though I’m losing it. I’m very self-conscious of the swelling in my legs and how it would look to someone should I take my clothes off in a lit room. And, since I am a brutally honest guy, I only have one testicle. I had testicular cancer when I was 31 and lefty was removed. I was offered a prosthetic but I said no, it’s not like I was dating or planned to. I was with my wife. I regret that now. I think a woman might get freaked out about that. Do I bring it up ahead of time or do I let her find out for herself? Should be interesting.

Again, in the interest of complete and brutal honesty, I must also confess that I haven’t had sex in 8 years. My wife shut me off then and I couldn’t bring myself to break the vows of my marriage. Several opportunities arose, as did I, but I abstained. I have stayed in my marriage for the children and all I had was my honor. If I was unfaithful, my children would lose respect for me and that’s all I have. So, not having gotten more than a handshake in that long, I am very reluctant to ask my next potential suitor for an instruction manual for her vagina. And a kleenex.

Another issue is what do I have to offer? A woman my age would most certainly see that I have little or nothing to offer them. I can see the ad now:

Broke, balding, chronically ill heavy guy with one nut and a great sense of humor who lives with his mother for the foreseeable future seeks, well shit, ANYBODY. Confidence in the bedroom depending on how long it takes to turn out the light.

I really want to meet someone to spend time with. To walk and talk, read and watch movies, drink and hang out, and be casual with the pace. On top of everything else I don’t have, I don’t have baggage. I’m actually a pretty good guy and fun to be with if someone can get past all…that…shit.

At least Advil helps with the Carpal Tunnel.

My Special Purpose…Part 2

Deciding to be more positive would prove to be less daunting than actually doing it. I was in a rough place. I was still jobless, broke and living with my mother. Not exactly the cover of Forbes Magazine. I decided that the first course of action would be to embrace my surroundings. Despite the hectic, chase- the-dollar-lifestyle I had been living (and dying from) I was always a lover of the outdoors, an avid reader and a fledgling blogger. I spent time outdoors, read voraciously and started this blog…often all while outside. I soon realized that this was where I was meant to be, I just got here earlier than I planned.

I also found myself thinking clearer and better than I can ever remember. I achieved a state of Zen in my thinking, I achieved presence. For the longest time I have felt that I was not living my life, but instead watching it play out in front of me. I had achieved clarity and a desire to be completely, brutally honest with myself. I looked at everything, the good, the bad and the seriously ugly in a harsh and unforgiving light. I sorted out what would never be possible again and cast it aside. I envisioned what I would be capable of and I game-planned it. I forgave myself for my mistakes and I asked God for guidance. I decided, as cliché as it is, that my two choices were to dwell on the avalanche of misfortune that had swept my life away or to move forward. My income would be modest, I would never have the career, lake house and garage full of muscle cars that I had been working for. But money has become less important to me. What matters to me is quality of life.

I decided that I would do whatever it took to get healthy and stay healthy enough to secure my legacy. I would master the one thing that I was able to do consistently, sometimes unknowingly and without effort…to inspire. With apologies to Steve Martin, I found my Special Purpose.

It might seem corny but I have always had an underlying desire to help others. My original Graduate school curriculum choice was counseling. I wanted to either be an underpaid social worker or a School guidance counselor. It wasn’t until I got married and my life became all about paying bills that I grudgingly decided that I needed a “real job”. I decided even then that I would always do what I could to help others, as a job or as a calling. I always felt as if I could do more. Now it appears that maybe I have.

The one thing that got me through decades of illness, bad relationships, and financial hardship was a hard-headed denial. I refused to acknowledge those things that threatened my goals and I was able to downplay and often shut out thoughts that were “downers”. Starting with my chronic illness, I loved when someone said: “you don’t look sick.” Well, that’s good I would think to myself that’s the goal. As I got worse, and more and more people knew about it, the more determined I was to not show it. My doctors would later say that my denial worked for me. By not acting sick I actually stayed healthier.

With regards to my marriage and the money problems, well they were one and the same. My wife would constantly attack me about the finances, asking me if I knew what was going on. If I knew how much trouble we were in? Of course, I knew, but I asked her if she thought it was helpful or healthy to dwell on it. Perhaps I should stay home? Give up? Not try at all to make it better? I suppressed it and went to work, it beats laying down and dying. As with the illness, when people found out how much trouble I was in they would marvel and say “you would never know it by looking at you.” Once again, that’s the point.

My children are grown. My miserable marriage is pending divorce. My health is relatively stable for now. I am debt free. My mind is sharp. Nothing is stopping me now from utilizing my special purpose except time. How much life is left in my years? I’ll know soon enough. But until then I am going to be the best person I can be, and hopefully, instill hope and inspiration in others. Not to achieve accolades, my end goal is so much simpler than that. I only want to be remembered as a good person. I think it’s doable.

I have already started the journey. I have forgiven myself and let go of my grudges and anger. I have forgiven some people that held more of a hold on me than they deserved. I tell people how I feel about them. I take time to say thank you. I find a way to help instead of an excuse not to. I volunteer at the food bank. And I just submitted an application for financial aid in order to study to become a Substance Abuse Counselor. I’m on a roll and nothing is stopping me now. If there is a way that I can make someone’s life just a little better and I have the resources to do it then I’m going to try. Someday, someone will say to my stone “Yea, he was a good guy.” That is all I want. To be the best friend, father, son, cousin, and human being that I can be.

And maybe I will have inspired others to do the same.

My special purpose… Part 1

I’m not dying, I just live like I am.

This past July I wanted to die. I was so sick, so down and out that my will to live was receding like the tide. Chronic illness had hospitalized me before, kicked me pretty hard but never knocked me to the floor. I always managed to dust off, put on a good face and pretend everything was fine. But this past July was different, it was a perfect storm that came roaring in and left my life in a debris pile when it left. In the 3 ½ weeks I was hospitalized I would lose my job, my apartment and be forced to accept that I needed to go on disability. In addition, I learned that I had lost about 30% of my kidney function. The realization that my Kidney Transplant, the greatest thing to happen to me other than the birth of my children, was failing was more than I was prepared to deal with. I was losing my famous optimism. I could handle a few punches but not the barrage I had been dealt.

I would check out, pack my few remaining belongings into my civic and move to my mother’s house to recover and plan my next move. God bless my mother. She welcomed me into her home, without judgment and gave me all of the tools to recover both physically and emotionally. It would be weeks before I would get my breath back, literally and figuratively, and start to plan my next move. Priority one was getting out of my very uncharacteristic funk. It was bad, even my wife who I feel notices nothing about me, commented “you need to find the old you, the fighter. I don’t recognize this guy. Get him back.”

It would be Facebook, of all things, that would get me on track. Many years ago, when I was really getting sick and in need of a transplant or dialysis, I joined an online support group for Kidney patients. I made a few friends across the country, one of them was Jeanne from West Virginia. Jeanne was at the same stage I was and we often commiserated about our progress. I would get a transplant much earlier than she would and she followed my progress. For someone I never met we knew each other well and had a solid connection. Fast forward to August, Jeanne has since received her transplant and she is doing great. She posted on the 4-year anniversary of her progress and her new lease on life. I was compelled to comment and I posted that I found her “inspirational”. Her response floored me. “You were my inspiration, thank you.”

I was floored by this revelation. To think that my story had compelled someone, had given them hope was invigorating. I told one of my best friends about this, he agreed with her. I would learn that he and many others found my “push forward” attitude refreshing and motivating. That had never occurred to me and I was floored. I only acted as such to motivate myself to keep going. I knew then that I had to find my old mojo, if not for me then for others. I needed to, at this point the only thing that gave me any joy was my children who I never saw but loved more than anything.

To be continued

Poker face

“You know, there’s this really great support group at a church in town. You may get something out of it” she said. Roxanne had startled me, I was zoning out in the chair. I removed my headphones, retracted the extendable arm of the TV, turned and gave her my full attention.

“Do I look to you like I need to go to a support group?” I asked. “I’m the last one in this room who needs that.” I subtly pointed out the people around me, nodding my head in their direction. “I mean, look around.” All around me were cancer patients, attached to bottles and tubes getting chemo, plasma and god knows what. They looked very sick. I was the only non-cancer patient in the infusion center, there for an anemia deficiency. I thought I looked pretty good in comparison.

“Bill, you’re carrying around an awful lot of baggage, you can deny it all you want but this is what I do. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to someone.” I didn’t question Roxanne’s pedigree, she was good at her job. She knew all of her patients that had walked in after me, enough to hug them and in some cases elicit tearful responses. This was my first time at the infusion center and I felt like I have known her for twenty years. She was older yet youthful, matronly but attractive, professional but very comforting. I had come in expecting a simple shot, I was to find out that I was to be seated for a 90-minute infusion. In the time it took her to swab my arm, insert my IV and hook up the bag she had extracted my entire medical and personal history. She was very easy to talk to. I felt like she knew me. But did she know me enough to tell me I need help dealing with my apparently visible emotional baggage?

The problem is that I think I’m doing pretty good with everything. A lot has happened, and I have lost a lot of what is dear to me. But I roll on, in my family tradition and I try to stay positive. In doing so I make an effort to concentrate on my body language and facial expressions. Beneath it all, I am a control freak through and through. If I look like I am handling it, then I am handling it. What goes on in my mind will not show on my face. I’m not feeling bad for myself, I don’t ask anyone for anything and I don’t want pity. “Why me?” is not part of my lexicon.

It never occurred to me that maybe I’m not pulling it off as well as I thought. Maybe only someone like Roxanne, the infusion center cougar, whose job it is to provide relief and comfort to the truly sick among us, can see through it. Or maybe I’m just kidding myself. Maybe I should talk to someone.

I always thought I was a good poker player. I won a lot of tournaments. Until one day I played with my friend Jeff. He called all of my bluffs and beat me handily. It turns out I have a lot of “tells” that he picked up on. If I don’t have the poker face I thought I did, then maybe Roxanne is right. I mean, it can’t hurt, right?