It is amazing what happens to us as we age. Our body decides to operate differently than it did before. Often the change is so slight that we don’t even notice. It reminds me of the first time that I put on a pair of glasses.
My vision was getting worse and worse when I was 11 but I was the last to know. I was able to play baseball but the number of times I struck out was alarming. However, being 11, I just thought I stunk. Yet, the incident that drove it home was during the spring after I turned 12, I was playing in the garage because it was raining outside.
Being an only child, I had to find ways of keeping myself busy and often played games I created that had something to do with a sport. When it was nice outside I would throw a Superball (now called bouncy balls) against the side of the house by the driveway and play a modified game of baseball dictated by how quickly I would field the ball, throw it back against the wall and field it with my foot on an imaginary bag. If I would do it under the count of 10, the guy was out. If it got by me, every count of ten was another base. Twenty for a double, thirty for a triple and so on. We had weeds on the other side of the driveway, so if it got by me, who knows how high I could count.
Since it was raining, I had to make modifications and do it inside. Only problem was that I used a golf ball and the wall that I threw it against was a finished, plastered painted wall. When my dad got home, the sound I heard would have rivaled the atomic blast at Hiroshima. Apparently, every time I threw the ball against the wall it made a dent. Because of my poor vision, I did not notice the hundreds of dents in the wall. The wall now looked more like a golf ball than a wall. This was the first proof that I was slowly losing my ability to see.
After my dad cooled down, it was decided that I needed to see an eye doctor. It seems my right eye wasn’t too bad, but my left I was terrible. After I got my glasses, I remember looking out of my bedroom window and actually seeing individual blades of grass. I was amazed. Little did I know that what was happening to my eyes would eventually happen to the rest of my body. Only problem is that there is no quick fix like glasses.
A day doesn’t go by that I don’t have some new ache or pain. When I run up the stairs, I look around for an oxygen tank. When I try to wrestle with one of my kids, I feel like the 98 pound weaklink that has sand kicked in his face. What really struck me, though, was when Matt Hare updated his blog and discussed how many stem cells they were able to gather for his transplant. I was as proud as a new papa when I found out that I had gathered over four million the first day. The total goal was nine, so I felt good about having only two days hooked up to the machine. Most take three or four days, so I felt like I had kicked some serious butt.
Matt had mentioned in his blog that he hoped to get his nine million in one day. I sent him a note trying to ease him down so that he would not be disappointed when he didn’t reach his goal. How in the world could he get nine in one day when I only had four? Poor misguided kid.
Then I read his blog. Fifteen million. Yes, he collected fifteen million in one sitting. Heck, he could have taken a break and had a White Castle or two and gotten his nine million. My God, youth is a wonderful thing.
This brings me to the reason that I am talking about age. It seems that I was born on this day, 57 years ago. I have often wondered why we celebrate our own birthdays. Shouldn’t this be a day that the mother is celebrated? She is the one that went through all of the work. Back in the 1900’s when I was born, there was no epidural for the mom. It was head on pain and my mother went through 18 hours of it.
I’m afraid that I lost her 35 years ago, but I still appreciate what she did for me and what she put up with for the 22 years we had together. Thanks, Mother. (She never let me call her Mom. It made her feel old. Her mother was referred to as “Mom”, even by her grandchildren.)
Make sure you thank your mom on your next birthday. Just remember, she is the reason that you will get some birthday cake on your day.
Since this is supposed to be a blog about my health, I suppose I should stop pontificating and get to that part of my life. If you remember, I had another blood test after my two weeks of vacation. Apparently, I deserve my Dr. Kildare lab coat as my theory is at least partially right in that my cancer count dropped slightly (9.45 to 9.01). Certainly not statistically significant (just trying to use words I learned in college), but at least movement in the right direction. I take both a blood test and a 24 urine test on January 18. This will be very important as it will help decide if I need to go on some type of maintenance drug or chemotherapy. I’ll have results on January 21. See you then.
My vision was getting worse and worse when I was 11 but I was the last to know. I was able to play baseball but the number of times I struck out was alarming. However, being 11, I just thought I stunk. Yet, the incident that drove it home was during the spring after I turned 12, I was playing in the garage because it was raining outside.
Being an only child, I had to find ways of keeping myself busy and often played games I created that had something to do with a sport. When it was nice outside I would throw a Superball (now called bouncy balls) against the side of the house by the driveway and play a modified game of baseball dictated by how quickly I would field the ball, throw it back against the wall and field it with my foot on an imaginary bag. If I would do it under the count of 10, the guy was out. If it got by me, every count of ten was another base. Twenty for a double, thirty for a triple and so on. We had weeds on the other side of the driveway, so if it got by me, who knows how high I could count.
Since it was raining, I had to make modifications and do it inside. Only problem was that I used a golf ball and the wall that I threw it against was a finished, plastered painted wall. When my dad got home, the sound I heard would have rivaled the atomic blast at Hiroshima. Apparently, every time I threw the ball against the wall it made a dent. Because of my poor vision, I did not notice the hundreds of dents in the wall. The wall now looked more like a golf ball than a wall. This was the first proof that I was slowly losing my ability to see.
After my dad cooled down, it was decided that I needed to see an eye doctor. It seems my right eye wasn’t too bad, but my left I was terrible. After I got my glasses, I remember looking out of my bedroom window and actually seeing individual blades of grass. I was amazed. Little did I know that what was happening to my eyes would eventually happen to the rest of my body. Only problem is that there is no quick fix like glasses.
A day doesn’t go by that I don’t have some new ache or pain. When I run up the stairs, I look around for an oxygen tank. When I try to wrestle with one of my kids, I feel like the 98 pound weaklink that has sand kicked in his face. What really struck me, though, was when Matt Hare updated his blog and discussed how many stem cells they were able to gather for his transplant. I was as proud as a new papa when I found out that I had gathered over four million the first day. The total goal was nine, so I felt good about having only two days hooked up to the machine. Most take three or four days, so I felt like I had kicked some serious butt.
Matt had mentioned in his blog that he hoped to get his nine million in one day. I sent him a note trying to ease him down so that he would not be disappointed when he didn’t reach his goal. How in the world could he get nine in one day when I only had four? Poor misguided kid.
Then I read his blog. Fifteen million. Yes, he collected fifteen million in one sitting. Heck, he could have taken a break and had a White Castle or two and gotten his nine million. My God, youth is a wonderful thing.
This brings me to the reason that I am talking about age. It seems that I was born on this day, 57 years ago. I have often wondered why we celebrate our own birthdays. Shouldn’t this be a day that the mother is celebrated? She is the one that went through all of the work. Back in the 1900’s when I was born, there was no epidural for the mom. It was head on pain and my mother went through 18 hours of it.
I’m afraid that I lost her 35 years ago, but I still appreciate what she did for me and what she put up with for the 22 years we had together. Thanks, Mother. (She never let me call her Mom. It made her feel old. Her mother was referred to as “Mom”, even by her grandchildren.)
Make sure you thank your mom on your next birthday. Just remember, she is the reason that you will get some birthday cake on your day.
Since this is supposed to be a blog about my health, I suppose I should stop pontificating and get to that part of my life. If you remember, I had another blood test after my two weeks of vacation. Apparently, I deserve my Dr. Kildare lab coat as my theory is at least partially right in that my cancer count dropped slightly (9.45 to 9.01). Certainly not statistically significant (just trying to use words I learned in college), but at least movement in the right direction. I take both a blood test and a 24 urine test on January 18. This will be very important as it will help decide if I need to go on some type of maintenance drug or chemotherapy. I’ll have results on January 21. See you then.
John, I know your sense of humor has helped you greatly during this difficult chapter of your life, so I want to test that a little. Reading your story as an 11 yr old, two things kept entering my mind: first, how did you play anything without getting dirty, because many of us remember how hard you had to work to stay clean in the dugout. Second, did they make those nice little multi-colored golf shirts back in the 20's, since that was the only uniform you could wear. Hope you laugh at my recollections and I hope all your test results are good ones.
ReplyDeleteChuck, I wasn't born on the cover of GQ, it took me a while to get there. I think about 14 when I hit my stride.
ReplyDeleteOh, Chuck, you should see how much he's loosened in the last year. He often doesn't tuck in those nifty golf shirts if he's wearing shorts. It's a huge step.
ReplyDelete