June, 2010 Archives

Having Fun With Cancer

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June 12th, 2010

Chapter 1: The L-Word Chapter 2: Having Fun With Cancer The head nurse walked into my room and did one of those classic sitcom double takes, “What the …???” she said as she scanned my visitors. “Are each one of you sick?” Then she looked over at me smiling in the chair with my trusty […]

Chapter 1: The L-Word

Chapter 2: Having Fun With Cancer

The head nurse walked into my room and did one of those classic sitcom double takes, “What the …???” she said as she scanned my visitors.

“Are each one of you sick?” Then she looked over at me smiling in the chair with my trusty dance partner Ivy standing next to me, pumping her fluids gently into my veins.

Pointing at me, she said: “He’s the one that’s supposed to be wearing the face mask, not all of you!” Then, “Ohhh, Rodney …” and you could almost hear the wuh-waaah of the soundtrack and the audience laughing as my guests realized they’d been duped. Then I busted out my own personalized mask with a giant smile and two gapped teeth drawn in the middle with a Sharpie.

My brother Scott got me back, though. He’s seven years older so he’s always gotten me back. When the sweet Ukrainian woman came in to take my blood she said, “I use small needle. You poked too many times.”
Scott said, “No it’s okay, he likes the bigger needles.” Then, as if she were in on the joke he continued, “Rodney, why doesn’t she use the kind you normally use for heroin?”

Very soon thereafter, my mother showed up and it was if we were on a car ride back in the 70s, “Boys, that is not funny.”

I’ll tell you what is funny. When I woke up to pee for the 19th time I decided to write some of this down while waiting for my vitals to be checked. (Note to Scott: No the nurse checking my vitals isn’t what you’re thinking.)

I Googled “audience laugh track” and “what is the sound in sitcoms when Gilligan does something dumb.” When you click on some of those pages, well, other things pop up. It wasn’t porn, but they were definitely gateways. Just then the night nurse burst into my room and you wouldn’t believe how quickly a guy with a supposedly life-threatening disease could close windows and make his screen look innocuous. Audience laughing.

Some of the people on this ward get my humor instantly. Even the nurse who had cancer herself 25 years ago likes my style. She pulled me aside and said, “I knew instantly you were a survivor. You’ve already got this thing beat.”

But I need to watch my idioms, metaphors and cultural references with some of the foreign staff members. I also need to just plain shut up sometimes. As I was being prepped for surgery this afternoon to install a port to make it easier for them to poison my bloodstream, they checked off my list and said, “Oh and you’re allergic to shellfish.”

That was all due to a flippant comment I made back when I had my gall bladder taken out at this same hospital. I think it was when they asked if anything made me nauseous and I said, “sometimes shrimp does,” but it could just as easily been me saying I didn’t want a Spongebob BAND-AID since I’m allergic to seafood.

That snapped me back to reality. The next question was about having a latex allergy. I bit my tongue when I really, really wanted to answer, “No but I do have a latex fetish.”
   
And I’ll make absolutely no comment about the conversation with the nurse’s desk this morning about me showering.

“Should you unplug me or cover up the tubes going into my chest while I shower?” I asked.

“Oh we wouldn’t want anything to leak out of your tubes. That stuff’s dangerous; you don’t want any of it getting on you. That could be really bad.”
   
Something must be working though. My attitude must be having an effect because that blood taken by the Ukrainian woman indicated a slight increase in my white cells. That hasn’t happened at all during the past six weeks of free-fall. Sure, they’re going to obliterate them as they carpet bomb my system but that one little victory gave me a kind of boost I just can’t describe.

“So don’t touch that dial,” I’ll say in my TV announcer’s voice, “more hijinx and hilarity ahead.”

The L Word

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June 10th, 2010

Do you lead with humor or do you jump right in with the facts? Should you use the piece you wrote a few days ago where the doctor was talking about YouTube while testing your bone marrow or should you just write plainly and simply about the invasion? Invasion? Really Rodney, you can’t type the […]

Do you lead with humor or do you jump right in with the facts? Should you use the piece you wrote a few days ago where the doctor was talking about YouTube while testing your bone marrow or should you just write plainly and simply about the invasion?

Invasion? Really Rodney, you can’t type the word leukemia?

There you go; that wasn’t so difficult was it? Sure, you put it in italics to make it look all squiggly, but that’s healthy. That’s a good sign. Okay, the hard part’s over. Plow through.

When I was having my gall bladder yanked out recently, one of the blood tests came back with a creepy sounding phrase, “your white blood cell count is low.” Ever since the operation, subsequent tests have shown it dropping even lower. I can’t help thinking about that Flo Rida song Low, low, low, low

Great, you’re quoting pop culture from a few years ago. That’s the Rodney we know and love.

No one thought I could have leukemia, particularly since I’m showing no signs of it whatsoever. Every single question the doctors have asked have been met with an easy “nope.” One guy even glanced nervously at Marci when he wondered aloud about HIV.

“Nope.”

But here it sits inside my body. Leukemia.

I’m told the cure rate is very high and if I simply must have leukemia, this is the one to have. I like the fact that it’s acute. A cutie. Awww, look how cute that leukemia is, don’t you just wanna reach out and, and, smash it with a sledge hammer?

I’m in the hospital and have checked in for about a month. Whoa, a month? Did I really just write that? Summer. Cherries. Daughters out of school. Camping. Leukemia.

It sounds like Bohemia. It sounds like Bulimia. It sounds like I’ll be doing a lot of that as they pump poison into my body and I throw up. Ewww, and then my hair.

I have a few aces in the hole though. This is highly treatable and the remission rates are in my favor. Being very healthy going into this makes it easier, supposedly. My doctor has seen more cancer patients than anyone in the area, he claims, and he stared me in the eyes while saying I was going to be fine and get better. Maybe better than I ever was before. I’ll be Steve Austin (the Bionic Man, not the wrestler).

I have another ace and I called her on the Bat phone. You only call her when you really need her. She is the director of blood and marrow at The Mayo Clinic and she is my kindly aunt Roberta. “It’s not going to be a walk in the park,” she told me. “But keep feeling like Rodney; try not to feel like a patient.” Those are great words. I’d rather feel like Rodney. So I’ve been making jokes about it including on the video I made for my daughters where I said, “Let’s lick Leukemia,” then quickly retracted it because, ugh, that just sounds disgusting.

I ordered an iPad, which made my wife instantly suspicious of this whole leukemia ruse. When the doctor said he also loved Cappuccino Blasts and I could drink them with reckless abandon, Marci knew the fix was in.

Friends and family have begun contacting me offering prayers and wonderful sentiments. So far, though, the people that need the prayers more are the bottom third of the Tiger’s lineup. I’m fine. I’m going to destroy this dis-ease. The bottom of the Tiger’s batting order? I honestly don’t know about their prognosis.

I’ll find a better phrase than “Let’s lick leukemia,” but in the meantime my working phrase is “I have a cute leukemia.” Nothing makes cancer madder than belittling it and pinching its darling baby cheeks. 

A Special Note to Rodney and our readers from all of us at ReadTheSpirit:

As lifelong writers ourselves, we know exactly what Rodney means when he writes: Keep feeling like Rodney, not like a patient. Thousands of readers have stopped by Rodney’s website and enjoyed stories from his book. He’s not going anywhere, he assures us. So, keep reading. Keep smiling. And to Rodney … hey, we’re all here smiling with you, friend!