This too, shall pass

Sometimes shit just doesn't work out the way you thought it would. Matt and I will be putting our house on the market in February.  He's been unemployed since getting laid off in August.  We love everything about Charlottesville, our neighbors, home, schools, and friends.  But my job doesn't pay enough to support a lifestyle in Charlottesville.

We are grateful to have our health.

Neither of us has cancer, and for that I'm extremely happy.  Our predicament isn't permanent or even long lasting.  

Matt has been deployed three times in four years, we've been married for ten years, and in that time we've moved four times, a fifth time won't break us.

This home and everything it represents, was all we wanted.  It's time to acknowledge that sometimes shit sucks.

We won't have the perfect family neighborhood for much longer, and that's ok, because our little family of three is perfect in itself.  This is the time of year where thankfulness is shoved down our throats, and I am, thankful/grateful/whatever other "full" word you can insert.

We've had plenty of challenges as a family.  Post partum stress, post traumatic stress and hopefully post unemployment stress will be in our future.

But for now, I say thank you to an awesome home and neighborhood that provided us a glimpse into stability that we hope to provide yet again to our daughter.  

Sometimes shit sucks, but we get back up and keep on keepin on.

Man's Best Friend?

Most of you already know how awesome dogs are. Apart from sniffing butts, bombs, and drugs, dogs are now sniffing cancer like it's going out of style. This is probably old news, but check out this article: http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2011/01/110131194319.htm.

It's pretty amazing what our furry friends can do. I'm always impressed with new discoveries about dogs. I've seen them find explosives and drugs and whatnot, and the animals love their work. They get so much joy out of finding dangerous items. I saw a video explaining that dogs have a sense of smell 100,000 times more powerful than humans. Wow, right?
But wait a second. My brother has a dog and my brother-in-law has a dog. Those dogs sure screwed the pooch on that one. What the hell were they up to? They were probably playing poker or humping something. Check out this video:
CBS news

So this lady's dog tells her that she has cancer and we can't get a little heads up from our dogs? What the crap? We have a hound dog named Ramona who probably knows that we all have cancer, but she would rather bark at the UPS truck than save a life. There's probably cancer all over this house and our dog won't tell a soul.  Man's best friend indeed. And where the hell is Cesar Millan in all of this? The so called "dog whisperer" hasn't weighed in on any of this. The dogs were probably whispering this stuff to him the entire time. I declare shenanigans.

I'll part with a story of why dogs sniff each other's butts. I'm not sure which elderly person told me this story, but it has stuck with me. Without further ado: Why dogs sniff each other's butts:
A long time ago all of the dogs got together for a dog wide meeting to discuss dog issues. When each dog arrived, it would take its butt off and hang it on the coat rack. During the meeting, a dog catcher showed up and all the dogs scattered. In all the confusion, each dog just grabbed a butt from the coat rack without checking, put it on, and scurried out of the meeting. Ever since then, when two dogs meet they sniff each other's butts to see if that is the butt they left behind at the dog meeting.

I was convinced this was true until my late twenties.

Just for fun; this is our cancer ignoring dog who was paralyzed by a towel placed on her head.

Damn Nature, You Scary

I am not special.  News flash, none of us are.
Scientists just discovered proof of living organisms from 3.5 billion years ago.  Fuck! 

I can't even wrap my brain around 35,000 years.
This is amazing and also very humbling.

Not many of us will make a difference in the world.  We can only make a difference in the immediate few around us.  It is important to be nice to people.

This past weekend we hung out with some new people, and it was a blast.  Its been a long time since Matt and I have hung out with someone that really gets our sense of humor.  The person with whom we got to hang out, recently lost his daughter to cancer.  Its a rare cancer, so much that I'm too lame to remember the name of it.  It causes small tumors up and down the spine and brain stem.  Oddly enough we have also recently become friends with another woman who's spouse died of this same type of cancer two years ago.

I feel like a heel, because I have met this guy once before.  He is great, and when I met him the first time his daughter was alive.  She has since passed, and I didn't know what to say.  Do I bring it up?  This is only the second time I've been in the same room with him.  Do I tell him how very sorry I am, when I cannot imagine the pain that he has endured for the past several years, through her treatments?
I did not.
I am an asshole.
I chose the path of least resistance and that was to not say anything.  I didn't say 'I'm so sorry' or 'how very terrible'  because what if he was just trying to have a good time and not think about shit for a few minutes?  What if he wanted to hang out with people that had never met his daughter?  What if he wanted to NOT talk about cancer for a fucking second?

These are all of the excuses I made in my head for not stopping the laughing, for a god damned second, and saying 'hey guy, I'm sorry and it sucks so hard'.
It does suck, all of it.

Why a seven year old girl?
I know it sounds heartless to all adults that have cancer, but it just sucks so much more, when you hear about the death of a child.

The fact that we, as a race, are still thriving, is in of itself something very cool.  We may not all make a difference to the earth or the landscape or the other people living an ocean, state or city away from us.  But we can be nice to each other.  I do struggle with this sometimes.  In my narrow view of the world, I have my own shit going on.  But I will try to be nice, and to acknowledge that everyone is going through hard stuff.  It may not be the same type of hard, but it is shitty just the same.
We are not special, but we can try to make each other feel a little better about a bad day.

Forced Family Fun

We went to a safari park, and although the only panda was the one on Matt's face, we did get to see some cool things.  

We got to feed giraffes and pet kangaroos and we met a goat that was only a few hours old (ridiculously cute, btw).

Matt and I have decided rather than buying each other gifts for birthdays and anniversaries and other crap, we will partake in forced fun.

No more spending money on gifts, we will now do something as a family.  Granted Sofia will HATE this when she gets older, but us being able to torture her with it, will make it that much better.

33 is the new 73

I'm turning 33 tomorrow.  Whoopie.
I am not really going to talk about cancer, but I will say that I'm very down today.  I'm not sure why exactly.  It just sucks.
Having a birthday should be pleasant, I should be grateful.  I am grateful, I guess, but it has been overshadowed by this horrible nothingness.

I'm not exited, I no longer get the jittery fun feeling of the anticipation.  Its just another day.  When do we lose that?  and more importantly WHY do we lose that?
I want that back.

I want to be thrilled that I'm getting older.  I do want another year to set goals and disappoint myself with them.  But this past year has been especially challenging.  So much so, that I'm just too tired to be excited.  I'm tired, but I'm ready to keep on keeping on.

We lose the feeling of invincibility from our 20s and the 30s are a decade to figure shit out.  I've figured shit out, for the most part.  We are grown ups, we have a kid and a house, and a Subaru,  and a dog.  It is a normal suburban life.  The 30s are our decade to appreciate all of that crap, and not be concerned with aging.  I'm not scared about getting wrinkles or gray hair (mainly because I already have plenty of both) but I'm scared I'm not taking care of myself, but too lazy to do anything about it.

Tom Hanks was on David Letterman the other night, and told everyone he has Type Two diabetes, he then said "ya know, something is gonna kill us all, Dave. Something is gonna kill us all"

Tom (we're on a first name basis) then said:  “My doctor said, ‘Look, if you can weigh as much as you weighed in high school, you will essentially be completely healthy and not have type 2 diabetes.'  And I said to her, 'Well, I’m gonna have type 2 diabetes.’”

If I'm 33 and worried about cancer and blah blah blah, what fun will my life be. I guess I need to be conscious about it, but not let it overwhelm me, because something's gonna kill us all.

I've had two trains of thought, since our brothers were diagnosed.
1) "it doesn't fucking matter, eat that doughnut, fuck it, eat 10, and do a snow angel in the powdered sugar and cartwheel into chocolate frosting"
2) "oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, We need to buy every book Michael Pollan has ever written and spend our life savings on eating organic and juicing, and never even smelling another fast food restaurant."

As you can see, we struggle with this several times a day.  I love baking, and I'm pretty damn good at it.  So I want to eat yummy cakes and cookies that I bake.  I also love cooking, and guess what, I'm pretty fucking amazing at that too.  So we eat well in our house.  But dammit if McDonald's doesn't make a really tasty cheeseburger.  So I guess moderation will become our mantra.

Now I'm going to go eat another piece of pumpkin spice cake with cream cheese icing on it, then throw the rest in the trash can, so I can start fresh on my 33rd Birthday.  

Wish me luck homies.

The Gift of Colonoscopy

My brother has given me the gift of colonoscopy. He's 34 and recently got the awesome news that he has stage IV colon cancer. Because of this, my Doctor thinks that I should get a colonoscopy every couple of years. The first one is tomorrow. I will provide coverage of this event.

Day One

9:32 AM
So they tell me that the hard part is the preparation. Up until after the procedure, I am on a clear liquid diet. That's no solid food, and nothing with color added. I'm allowed to have broth and jello. It's like spending the day at an old person's house, but with more pooping.
Another fun thing about today is the laxatives and special drink that I get to have all day. The special drink is a four liter jug filled with colon cleanse. They want the system cleaned out, so today is about pooping and not eating. It's a porn star's diet.
Before bed last night, I weighed 207 pounds. I'm hoping to get down to an even 200 by tomorrow.

11:00 AM
At noon I have to take 5 laxatives, and then the fun begins. Poopfest Extreme 2013.

12:03 PM
I have taken the laxatives. No more than 3 minutes after taking the poop pills did the power in our house go out. We have well water in my house, and when the power goes out, so does our well pump. No well pump equals no running water. I'm pretty sure that I'm being punked right now.

3:15 PM
I have Jedi-like focus. I am willing myself not to poop. I'll file these last few hours under, "how to make your colon angry."

3:30 PM
The power is back on. Just in time. I had a shovel in my hand, ready to dig a hole in the backyard when the lights came back on. I am thankful for toilets that work. Let the pooping commence.

4:00 PM
It is time for me to drink my special drank. The mix is basically baking soda and sodium. I'm not really sure how this all works, but for the next hour I need to drink two liters of the stuff, 8 ounces at a time. The bottle says that diarrhea will start within an hour of drinking the solution. The pooping is supposed to stop after three hours. So I've got that going for me.

4:30 PM
I am down one liter. I have had roughly four glasses of the nastiness. It tastes like salt mixed with band-aids. It is not the worst thing ever. It's like taking a shot of whiskey without the fun. I am muscling through this. It's pretty horrible.

5:00 PM
Two liters down. And now the waiting. That last liter was difficult. My stomach is sloshing around. No immediate need to drop a deuce yet. Time to enjoy the calm before the storm.

5:20 PM
We have lift off. I never dreamed that there could be poop like this. It's an ass faucet situation. A high pressured jet of filth is coming out of my body. It's strange. It is not like a poop your pants situation, and there's no cramping. It's just time to go to the bathroom, and then all the water in your body evacuates through your butt. It is all kinds of fun. I honestly don't see how there can be any more in my system to poop out.

5:45 PM
There was more.

6:10 PM
And more.

6:30 PM
And some more. This has to be all that is inside of me.

7:30 PM
Not quite.

8:10 PM
I am pretty sure that's it. I don't have a crazy urge to poop anymore. I think that will do it for the night.

9:30 PM
I am laying in bed early tonight. There is a battle in my guts right now. My stomach sounds like a Wookie orgy. It's growling and gurgling. I am going to bed hoping for no more poops.

DAY TWO (EXAM DAY)

7:00 AM
So it was an uneventful night. I stepped on the scale and it read 197 lbs. How's that for weight loss? 10 pounds in a day. I'm going to go on biggest loser next.
I am not a big food guy. I don't get crazy cravings and I rarely finish my plate. I don't get cranky when I don't have food. I usually go without breakfast and lunch. It's weird, I know. I've gone some time without eating before, but it was a choice before. When someone tells me that I am not allowed to eat, it makes me want to eat. Needless to say, I am starving. The good news is that I get to drink the rest of my special drink in an hour.

8:00 AM
On to the special drink. Two liters to go.

8:30 AM
I am not sure if I can drink the rest. I feel like it is the end of the night of drinking and people are trying to get me to do a couple more Jager Bombs. My body is very upset with me right now.

9:00 AM
How is there any more to poop? My body keeps proving me wrong, with the ability to poop. I haven't eaten anything in more than 24 hours, and yet, I am pooping like it is my job. If this is my new super power, I am going to be very upset.

10:00 AM
So I just read the instructions that the doctor gave me again. Apparently, I was only supposed to drink half of the four liter bowel preparation. What can I say, I'm an over achiever. There's a lesson to be learned in this. When I figure it out, I'll let you know.

11:30 AM
At this point, I am no longer allowed to drink anything until after the procedure. I know the question that is running through everyone's head is: Can Matt Beard still poop? The answer is a resounding yes. Yes I can still poop.

12:40 PM
My throat is dry, my bowels are empty, I'm weak as a kitten, and off we go. My procedure is at 1:30, but I have to get there at 1:00. I'd like to say that I'm not nervous about this, but my brother wasn't worried and he has stage four colon cancer. So yeah, I'm a bit nervous. I have been carefully examining all of my bowel movements for inconsistencies, you know, like a crazy person. Nevertheless, here I am; I've been to war twice, jumped out of more airplanes than I can count, and now I'm afraid of a doctor looking at my butt. Away we go.

3:30 PM
Procedure complete.
My wife and I were the youngest people in there. It's a good ego boost if you are starting to feel a bit old. They called me back to the preparation are, I kissed my wife and left her in the waiting room. A nurse led me back and weighed me. She took me to a curtained area with a bed, had me sign some forms, and told me to take off all of my clothes and put on a gown, but not to tie the back. I asked her why as a joke, but medical professionals don't like to joke around before looking at your butt, I guess.
I'd like to take this time to note that I have no problem with being naked. I really don't. I used to be the naked guy at parties. It's really not a big deal to me. Unfortunately, the gown that they gave me to wear must have been for a child or something. I'm not an enormous person, but I'm certainly not small. I'd like to think that I'm a large medium person or a small large person. This gown had to have been built for a toddler. I put it on, and it was like wearing a slightly large shirt. I couldn't find a way to lie on the bed without my downtown bonanza on full display. I just decided to hike up the gown and let it hang out despite it being cold in the room. I was on my side with the goods on display when the nurse came back and quickly told me to roll over on my back. She grabbed a blanket that I was supposed to use, and put it over my lower half. I suppose looking up my butt is cool, but genitals are out of the question.
She put in an IV and I waited, counting ceiling tiles (15 if you are wondering). A few minutes later a nurse rolled my bed back to the procedure room. It was dark and calm. A doctor came to my left side and introduced herself as my Anesthesiologist. I asked her what they were using on me, she said Propofol. I asked if that was the drug that Micheal Jackson used, so that I could seem smart. I already knew that it was, but it couldn't hurt to trick her into thinking that I'm intelligent.
The doctor who was preforming the procedure came in and sat and talked with me for a while. It was nice. I figured that it would be more like a drive through operation, but he took the time to talk. He asked me why I was getting a colonoscopy at the age of 33. I explained about my brother, we talked family history, etc. He told me that it was a great idea that I had come in, so I felt better about the entire situation. He asked if I had any more questions. I said, "Just one. If my colon is healthy, could you put in the report that 'Matt Beard's colon is magnificent?" He just laughed.
It was the anesthesiologist's turn next. She prepared large vials of sleepy medicine. She injected a clear liquid in. Then there was a milky white liquid. She said that it was very fast acting. In my head, I was like, "yeah right, I used to drink professionally, I can hold my own." Then she injected the white liquid. I sat up and I said, "That's good." They positioned me back down.
Then the Doctor said, "Okay, we are all done."  I was awake, like wide awake. I wasn't groggy at all. I told them I felt like singing. They told me not to, but I did anyway. They wheeled me back to the room that I started. It felt like the next day, but it was only forty minutes later. The nurse removed my IV and asked if I wanted to bring my wife back there before the doctor came in and talked to me. I said of course. I got changed and Leah was back there with me. The doctor came back and explained that my colon is healthy. No problems. I asked him if he thought that it was magnificent, he said that it was certainly healthy, then he left. I have to come back every three years because of family history. Then Leah and I, ignoring all doctor's order, ate big greasy cheeseburgers at a restaurant a couple of blocks away from the doctor's office. 

Appropriate dinner convos

We went to visit my brother-in-law and fam last night.  I guess I'm a little too used to talking about this whole cancer thing because Matt reprimanded me for not tippy toeing around it.  Matt's brother was saying that he isn't sure if there is a type of genetic colon cancer and I jumped in with figures.  12% of colon cancer cases are genetic.  I discussed this over dinner and didn't think twice about what I was saying.

When a family member is diagnosed with cancer, it's all anyone can think about.  It's the elephant in the room and the room is tiny with no AC and it's full of shit.  The only things to talk about seem terrible.  It's difficult to joke around about normal everyday things like farting in public and not murdering your coworkers.

After a year of thinking about cancer nonstop, it's commonplace for me to regurgitate cancer tidbits and not have any concern for my audience.  I have to keep in mind, though, that to a newly diagnosed patient and his family, they may not want to discuss percentages.  And the pit of cancer talk is just as desparaging as the diagnosis itself.  In the future, I will try to not depress my dinner company.

Bitch, Peas

So in an effort to live as far away from cancerville as possible, We are going to be eating healthier.  

I'm not trying to eat diet food, just real food.  Yes, of course, I will still be eating cookies, but I will try to eat cookies with ingredients I can pronounce or cookies I bake myself.  

I enjoy cooking and I love baking but working full time doesn't always allow for scratch cooking.  Pre packaged food was a norm for side dishes in my prior dinners.

My new goal is to cook real food at least five nights a week.

I've actually been successful for the past two months, and it's cheaper.

I'm not freaking out about organic vs pesticide laden, right now I'm trying to eliminate preservatives.  I'm no expert but if preservatives can keep food from breaking down on a shelf, they sure as hell can keep fat from breaking down off my ass. 

Cheers to a new kind of healthy, that will include real butter, and real milk and a lot of fuckin veggies!

Preparation H(ousehold)

Matt (our septic system) is prepping for his colonoscopy.

When bad things happen to good people

I've been thinking about karma a lot lately. Maybe my brother's cancer is some form of karmic retribution. I know a lot of people who would say that he's a great guy, but I beg to differ. I grew up with the guy. I have narrowed down why karma would be getting back at him to three reasons. 

1. He used to tell me that I was adopted and that I had no brain.

 

I know that this is not a new thing for older siblings to do, but I really believed him when he told me I was adopted. I don't really look like the rest of my family, and I was born in Japan, so it was really believable. There was a moment when I was absolutely sure that I was not part of the family. It left me suspicious of my parents to this day. 

Once I accepted that my parents had been lying to me my whole life, and that being adopted was no big deal. He would tell me that I had no brain relentlessly. It would drive me insane. I would say something, and he would say "Shut-up, you don't have a brain." I would respond with, "If I didn't have a brain, I couldn't be talking right now." He'd follow up with, "If you didn't have a brain, you wouldn't know it." Repeat this about 40 times a day, and I would start believing him. Maybe I am adopted, maybe I don't have a brain. I still don't know. 

2. He used to hit me when I beat him at video games.

We didn't have much money growing up, but somehow our parents managed to get us the latest video game system. I don't know how they managed to do it, but we got a Super Nintendo when it came out. We also got this little indie game called Street Fighter 2. We'd spend unhealthy amounts of time playing the game. My brother was a master of button mashing. I took my time and learned the special moves and secrets. I became better at the game, beating my brother nine times out of ten without trying that hard. Once that happened, his technique changed. I'd beat him, and then he would hit me over the head with the controller. I got good at dodging, but he would nail me in the head most of the time. This extended to any other game we would play. He was methodical about it though. Some times he wouldn't hit me, just to see me flinch. After I flinched, he would hit me. It made for very tense video games. Fast forward to 2013, I still play video games, and I still flinch when I win. I flinch when I am playing by myself. I don't like people sitting near me when I play games. I have PTSD from playing with my brother.

3. My brother would shoot me with a blow gun.

That's not a typo. My parents got my brother a real blow gun. He couldn't have been much older than eleven when my brother got this dangerous weapon. It fires darts that look like this:

Let me make another thing clear: we did not grow up in the country where shooting stuff is normal. We didn't have a bunch of land where shooting one of these would be sensible. We also were not south american tribesmen forced to fashion a weapon that could shoot tree dwelling animals for our survival. We were a family in a one story house in a crappy neighborhood. 

My brother would shoot this thing in his room at the walls and whatnot. When he got tired of shooting stationary targets, I was in the cross hairs. I would walk to the kitchen, and get shot in the leg. It would hurt, and I would bleed a little. My brother would threaten me if I said that I was going to tell our parents. An abusive relationship was formed. A trip to the bathroom would require quick feet and a few ninja rolls. Unfortunately, for me, my brother is a great shot. It's odd that I was the one who joined the Army, when he was so good at shooting people. 

Karma might have been paying attention to all of these things and punished him with cancer. Maybe that is what happened. If that is the case, most of us would have cancer. 

In the years that followed, my brother became a responsible hard-working guy. All this craziness happened during adolescence, he has done a lot of growing up. I'd almost call him a decent person. I have known him my entire life and he has always been there for me when I was destroying my own karma. So I think that his karmic debt would have been paid by now. 

If it is Karma; Karma can go fuck itself. 

Quit playin

I'm a creep

Is it "uncurable" or "incurable"?

Either way it's unbearable and intolerable. Cancer is all Matt and I can think about.  I was texting with my brother today about Matt's brother.  It's weird that our brothers have this in common now.  What a shitty thing to be able to relate to. Its like you win a prize for being stage IV, only winners get diagnosed stage IV on their first try. 

My brother said "What a shitty awful sneaky disease.  Cancer doesn't fight very fair.  By the time we knew about our conditions it's already too far spread.  Fucking terrible."

My brother, stage IV, feels bad for someone else that is stage IV.  I'd like to think I'd be so kind.  I'm not so sure.

If I was going through chemo, I'd be the whiniest asshole.  I'd wish everyone else would have to go through it. There is no way I'd have sympathy for anyone going through anything else.  

"Oh you're stage II? Cute"

"Oh poor thing you have pneumonia? That's adorable"

"Stroke? That's hysterical"

Basically I would use cancer as an excuse to be an even bigger jerk than I already am.  Because let's face it, if I'm suffering from headaches/cramps/vertigo/stubbed toe/corn in my teeth/boogers/heartburn, everyone suffers.

I'm constantly amazed at how pleasant my brother and brother-in-law still are, in spite of their disgusting poison treatment.

They are losing weight and white blood cells and they still are able to make jokes.  They amaze me.  

If I ever get diagnosed with cancer, please unfriend me, because I promise, I will make everyone around me miserable and enjoy every minute of it.

louis, louis

http://happyplace.someecards.com/26383/louis-ck-explains-on-conan-why-kids-shouldnt-have-iphones

A letter to God

Dear God,
I've heard you work in mysterious ways, but I don't seem to see the lesson here. When bad things happen, we are all supposed to nod our heads and say, "God works in mysterious ways." Then we are all supposed to find the hidden lesson in all that is happening. If the lesson is that you don't like us much, then message received. If the big take away from the Christian God is that you loved us so much that you sent your only son to die for our sins, I can tell you that is not good enough anymore. Way too many people have given up their lives for others for me to be impressed by you killing your son. How is that supposed to work anyhow? How am I supposed to feel better about you when you kill your son. If I met anyone else on this planet who had purposefully killed his son, that guy would be an asshole. If he said it was for a good cause, I would still be uncomfortable around that guy. If that guy told me he loved me and forced me to give him money and sing songs about him, I would not call that man mysterious. I would call him a dick.
Your all consuming love is a front for explaining away bad things. I for one, am sick of it. You sent your only son to die? Who gives a shit? I've known plenty of people who have died. Am I supposed to be impressed by the fact that you sent your son to die? So, you are all knowing and all powerful and so on; you would have known that your son would rise from the grave anyhow. So is that really sacrifice? You knew he was coming back. You knew, and yet we are supposed to literally bow down because you let your son come down to earth to die, even though you knew he was coming back. That's some sneaky shit, God.
Meanwhile, cancer is killing people everyday. Here's a list of  diseases that have been cured in modern times.
1. Chicken Pox (1995)
2. Diphtheria (1913)
3. Hib Disease (1985)
4. Malaria
5. Measles (1963)
6. Pertussis (Whooping Cough) (1933)
7. Pneumococcal Disease
8. Polio (1955)
9. Tetanus (1933)
10. Typhoid Fever (1896)
11. Yellow Fever (1944)
12. Smallpox 
I'm sure that you already knew all that information because, you are all-knowing and whatnot, but I'd like to remind you that a lot of diseases get cured. So what is your stance on cancer? Is it still you working in mysterious ways? If you wanted me to solve mysteries, shouldn't you have created me as a detective, or a crime sniffing dog, or a team of hard on their luck kids who solve mysteries? Or you could be more like David Blaine, David Copperfield, or Chris Angel, cuz those fuckers are mysterious. 
Here's the thing, God. You are trying to kill the people I love and it makes me hate you. There is no fucking mystery in that. 

Your old pal, 
Matt Beard 

It's universal

So I'm just now watching "Breaking Bad"

I'm like a small Eastern European country, I'm at least five years behind on the cool things the youth are into.

Either way this meme is pretty much my take away.  

Laughter is the best medicine, well that and actual medicine.

I don't really want to think or write about cancer today, so enjoy this thing that makes me laugh.

-Matt

RAD

There was a time when kids would just ride their bikes everywhere. I know that it feels like a long time ago, but when I was a child, that's what we did. My brother and I would ride out bikes all over the planet. The feeling of freedom that we had riding around our neighborhood was exhilarating. The world was our oyster. It was like the world had grown to a size that only we could understand. We became bike mechanics, fixing busted chains and checking for flat tires. At ten this is a big deal. The movie Rad (a BMX bike riding movie) was a big hit on the VHS circuit back then, so obviously our future revolved around competitive bike riding. None of that tour de France crap, but riding over jumps and hopping curbs was our future. That was our world. That was our danger zone (Top Gun was a big hit at the time too).
I must have been ten, my brother eleven and we were riding our rad bikes through a neighborhood with Kenny Loggins running through our heads. Before we could realize it, we had bogies to our six. Teenagers were fast approaching. My brother was ahead of me, and the teenagers flew past me. They knocked my brother off of his bike. I skidded to a halt, leaving black marks on the sidewalk. One of the big kids pushed my brother down and started kicking him. I was frozen with fear. Fight or flight was not an option. My only option was observe. I watched the teenagers kick and beat my brother, unable to do anything but cry. They must have got their fill and rode off, leaving my brother on the ground. He eventually got up and we rode home.
I have been thinking a lot about that incident since my brother's cancer diagnosis. I have been thinking about how I did nothing during his time of need. I'm a grown man now. I have been in fights. I can hold my own. If anyone tried this move today, I would destroy who ever tried to mess with my brother. Now that I have the ability to fight and defend my brother, I can't do anything.
Cancer has turned me back into that scared shitless little boy, frozen with fear.
-Matt    

The Daily Grind

We (the family members of cancer patients) are on our own journey of dealing with cancer.  While it is not as difficult or mind numbing as what my brother and brother-in-law are dealing with day to day, it’s still a journey for us. 

There are times when I am grateful I am removed from the daily ritual of sickness and looming treatments, and while not being involved daily can help, it is also a great hindrance.  I often picture my brother sick in a bed and wasting away.  He is not sickly, he does not act different.  He still quotes “The Simpsons” and he still makes me laugh.  Not seeing him is difficult because my imagination gets carried away, and I understand that seeing him every day would wear me out.

My family and I are dealing with my brother’s cancer in a way that seems selfish.  If someone says “I’m so sorry you are dealing with this” I feel like a fraud.  Like I am somehow taking away good thoughts from him.  He is the one dealing with this, not me. 

But in our own way, I guess, we too are dealing with this.  Granted, I don’t have to wear a poison fanny pack every other week, and I still have my eyelashes, and there is no hollow tube stuck in my chest, there are things that I carry every day. 

I’m pissed and I have regrets.

I’m not sure why I’m pissed off, I just am.

It’s terribly selfish to expect my brother to allow me and my family to be a part of this.  This is his journey and he can deal with it in any way that works well for him.  And again, this pisses me off.  

My mom and sister and I are a very nosey bevy of ladies.  We need to be in the know, and we need to feel like we are helping.  To the point of aggravating everyone around us with our incessant offers of drinks, food, and comforts.

My brother is and has always been a very patient person.  I’m fairly certain, he learned this from having to put up with me and my mom and sister.  He relies on humor and we can all learn from him, not just in the face of cancer but in everything we do on a daily basis.  My brother is not defined by his diagnosis, and he is still one funny SOB.

Brace Yourself

Yeah, so I am 33 years old and I am all set to have a camera go up my butt. I know that in some circles, that is a normal statement. I do not exist in any of those circles. I went to the doctor today to explain what happened with my brother, and the doctor is setting me up with the best gastro doc in town (or first available). She asked if I had any preferences, and I told her that I wanted someone with strong hands and a gentle soul. Isn't that what we are all looking for?
I was reading from a book last night, because I still know how to read (thanks Indian Lakes Elementary). I wanted to leave with some sad quotes.
"The diagnosis of cancer--not the disease, but the mere stigma of its presence--becomes a death sentence. The illness strips you of your identity. It dresses you in a patient's smock and assumes absolute control of your actions. To be diagnosed with cancer, is to enter a border less medical gulag."  That's from the book "The Emperor of All Maladies."   For all of the grammar a-holes that are thinking about the punctuation around the title of the book, you can drink a 12 hour liquid diet then be fed a bunch of laxatives, shit yourself for seven hours, have a camera shoved up your ass, and then be told that your butt is killing you. Or you could just let it go. Your choice.
More to follow folks. I feel like we are just getting warmed up. 

Matt & Ryan (and baby Ben)

Chip & Leah

Everyone Poops (kind of)

So, I am officially afraid to poop. I know that I shouldn't be. Maybe this book will help. I don't understand why there is an apple on the cover. Does an apple poop? If so, maybe we've been looking at apples wrong this entire time. I have never had trouble pooping before. Ask anyone. One time, I pooped in a zip lock bag and put it in some one's  barracks room. Do you know sheer mechanics of pooping in a plastic baggie? It's an adventure to say the least. I can poop in front of anyone. One time I pooped in the white house. The actual white house. Where the President of the United States lives. It was a big moment for me.
After my brother was diagnosed with colon cancer, I can't bring myself to poop. Maybe today will be the day. I will keep everyone posted.

-Matt 

Fuck Cancer

I’ve been 32 for almost a year now and in that time I’ve had a miscarriage, a deployed husband, a brother diagnosed with stage IV cancer, and now a brother in law diagnosed with, guess what?! stage IV cancer.  

Up until this week I was looking forward to putting 32 behind me.  I am not afraid to grow older and this has been one hell of a year and I was in desperate need to get out of the 32 funk.  Now I’m terrified to get older. My brother was diagnosed with cancer at the age of 35. My husband’s brother was diagnosed this week, and he turns 35 in a month.

How on earth did 35 become the new 75?

Cancer is weird. In almost all types of cancer an audience wants to blame the patient.   When I told people that my brother was diagnosed, at 35, with stage IV esophageal cancer, the first reaction was “well, did he smoke?”

People inherently want to blame the cancer on the cancer patient.  Its easier to deal with if they can think that its only terrifying if they do certain activities.  A neighbor asked, when hearing about my brother in law, if he had a bad diet.  The audience wants to blame someone other than cancer.

Cancer is this scary thing that is hard to explain, but somehow becomes less terrifying if the patient themselves “deserve it”.  No one deserves cancer.  For the record, my brother had persistent heartburn that lead to his cancer.  WTF?!  Heartburn?  How does that lead to cancer?

My brother in law has lead a gluten free diet for the past year.  They are in no way responsible for their diagnoses.   Its bullshit that the first reaction of most people is to blame. I was totally guilty of it too.  I like the idea of being able to say that I definitely won’t get testicular cancer because I don’t lead a lifestyle that makes me have male organs.  They seem bunchy and I’m sure would get in the way a lot, so I KNOW I won’t get any type of ball cancer.  Thank GOD I don’t have balls!

Ball cancer or not, No one deserves cancer.  People seem less sympathetic once they find out its anything but breast cancer.  That is why the NFL gets all decked out in pink. Breast cancer is that unicorn of all cancers.  Its beautiful and easy to find “hope for a cure”.  People love to picture breasts, even if they are cancer ridden. No one wants to picture an esophagus or colon. How do you assign a color to those.  Breast cancer is pretty in pink.  All cancers should be represented by doo doo brown, or if there is a color of a unicorn’s tears, that is what we should put on a ribbon.

Fuck Cancer

-Leah

The amount of brothers with cancer is too damn high!

About a year ago my wife found out that her brother had stage four esophageal and bone cancer. Two days ago I found out that my brother has stage four colon and liver cancer. Now when they say stage four, I almost want to say, "well done, you've made it to stage four." Unfortunately, that's not the case. My brother is thirty five. My wife's brother is thirty six. We are going to use this space to vent about how cancer sucks. We are not going to try to cure cancer, but there's a lot that we don't know. So, welcome, we are going to curse and yell and go through all of the stages of grieving. Including some new ones that we are going to make up. I'm sure that there are going to be some posts that aren't about cancer, so bear with us for a bit.  My name is Matt. My wife's name is Leah. We will try to post as often as possible.