I don’t think anyone warned me that at a certain age, everywhere I turned, people would be getting divorced or getting cancer.
Or maybe I was warned and I just didn’t listen. Or I listened politely, but immediately dismissed the warnings. Which might speak to a certain hubris and youthful arrogance, but in my own defense, didn’t most aging-related things people said feel not-quite-true? Were we supposed to believe that after forty years of being a certain circumference, suddenly one day, counter to all laws of physics we’d ever learned, every stray cookie or handful of walnuts would affix itself to our middles and never again leave?
Were we supposed to believe people with creaky hips whose face fat had migrated to their necks when they said such things had happened overnight, with no advance warning—like in a horror movie or a Star Trek episode? Even now these claims seems implausible. They seem highly suss.
Which is probably why, even if someone had told me, I would have doubted other predictions: Like that our couple-friends— whose couches I’ve crashed on and whose kids I’ve played with, and who I’ve only ever known as each others’ lobsters— would decide to uncouple and unfriend.
Or like that in the space of less than a month, I would hear that my mother-in-law, my brother, the best-man at my wedding and and another friend as well — have all been diagnosed with cancer.
On this last point I understand that, given my history, I don’t get to complain about being on the receiving end of this kind of news, but I’m realizing there was part of me that believed the people I love (and thus, *I*) would get a pass, whether because I assumed I’d already paid enough dues, or because I was holding on to the willful hope of my younger self.
But it seems there are no free passes, so here we each are, with whatever burdens have been assigned to us, reluctantly suiting up for the next leg of the race.
I’m not a fan of the course, but I like the people I’m running alongside. And I’m happy it’s not the kind of race where we have to kill each other like in The Hunger Games. Instead we can cheer each other on all the way to the end
(This year I decided to do two versions of a year-end newsletter, the first was a “professional” one that I finished and sent at the end of November, (you know, like a professional). And for family and friends, this version from me and Paul that —no surprise—is a couple days late, a little messier, with a dollop of over-sharing! 😉)
SPRING of 2022 came outta the gate bucking and kicking. First up, a bunch of medical stuff associated with my end-of-2021 colon cancer diagnosis. We got a surgery on the books on the surgeon’s only free slot—a day in early April that coincided with our wedding anniversary. Meanwhile, our house entered its 4th month of being wrapped in plastic as our landlord waited on a permit to do some repairs, one of our cars was stolen, and then three weeks later the other was hit while parked.
But… we got to drive a fancy insurance-paid rental to the Sedona Festival, where we had so much fun and Paul’s film (as a producer) Americanish won Best Comedy Feature. SFF takes great care of its filmmakers, with food, lodging and parties. We met beautiful folks that we’ll keeping in touch with as well caught up with old friends who drove from the Phoenix area to see us!
In April, surgery went well with no adjuvant treatments needed! Paul heroically withstood my resentful looks as he jabbed me with needles full of blood thinners for the first month of recovery, and my mom, Kathleen, hosted me at her apartment for two weeks feeding me from my “no fiber” list of approved foods and giving me a view from windows not covered in plastic!
(Her heroism is continuous, as soon after, we received news that her brother, my Uncle Bruce, had been injured in a car accident. She has been splitting her time between Indiana and Texas for much of the year.)
SUMMER adventures included Paul deciding to take Brazilian Jiu Jitsu classes. Extrovert that he is, he invited three friends to attend the free trial class with him. It’s all fun and games until one of your friends has a heart attack right after class!😬 The attack was minor and the friend is fine. Paul is continuing his BJJ journey… the friend decided it wasn’t for him.
I struggled with what in my theater days we called “post show depression”— when you finish an all-consuming project and then realize you still have to deal with emails, housekeeping, bills and figuring out what to do with the rest of your life. Lacking focus for my own writing projects, I was happy when things picked up employment wise—I began gigs writing for a digital comic and producing some events at Mattel.
Paul continued to assist and consult individual writers and directors in addition to work on his own projects. It’s the nature of the entertainment business for things to alternate from extremely promising to whelp that’s over! so often that one learns to just ride the bronco, but he did he let himself get excited about a certain writing job that felt very close, and so was extra disappointed when it didn’t work out.
We had a lovely weekend break at the beach, celebrating the 80th birthday of Paul’s mom, Noi and his brother’s family.
By FALL the wild horse of 2022 seemed finally to tire. We woke one morning to the sound of workers pulling the plastic away from our bedroom windows. Paul got good news that a large studio is acquiring Americanish for distribution. (A lot of documents and “deliverables” makes this a long process, but we’re hopeful it will land at a streaming channel near you sometime soon!)
During the Halloween season it was fun to see our previous year’s episode of Creepshow highlighted in the show’s advertising, and built into the the hand of the six-foot tall animatronic “Creep” sold at party stores. (Pics below!)
WINTER brought very special and fun times traveling and visiting friends in Texas, Turkey and The Netherlands, and we were fortunate to have family nearby during the holidays, though we missed having Mom.
THROUGHOUT THE YEAR WE REALLY ENJOYED old friends visiting from Florida, Georgia, Texas, Brazil and Ireland, and sharing space with housemates who, in turn, shared their knowledge and interests, from tarot card reading to podcast producing! We loved going back to movie theaters, and taking yoga classes in a studio again.
ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. We’re ending 2022 in good health and good spirits, and a lot of gratitude for feeling hope and possibility as we look to the future.
ON DECK IN 2023 I’ve recently committed to posting short video content for 300 days and now I have to follow through. I have no idea what this project will morph into or how long it will last, but right now, it’s mostly “slice of life” stuff, so if you miss us and want random glimpses into our daily lives, you can check in on TikTok or Instagram).
Paul has started us on a jogging regimen called Couch to 5K, he’s also giving up between-meal snacking for the first quarter of 2023. He’ll continue to be part of two special-interest podcasts: Gamebrain, for hard-core board-gamers, and Star Trek Discovery Pod for Star Trek aficionados. He’s written a really cute horror short to direct in 2023.
OUR WARMEST WISHES FOR THE NEW YEAR The funnest, warm-fuzziest moments of the year were the ones where we got to connect with friends old and new. We hope this year brings you everything you wish for most and a little more
With a lot of love and warm wishes,
B & Paul
P.S. TOO MANY PICS (that I can’t figure out how to resize):
Americans Abroad (Utrecht, Netherlands and Istanbul, Turkey)Americans in America… (Sedona, AZ)Beach House Weekend for Noi’s 80th B-day! (Ventura, CA)
Quick health update: I’m almost six weeks out from my surgery and feeling much better. Some aches and pains will work themselves out for a few months and deep healing is a process, but, as of now, no more daily needles in my belly, the glue is slowly peeling off the wounds, and I wake in the morning with more energy…
So… cool! I guess that means I can get back to what I was doing I when I got distracted, like…. six months ago? What was I doing again?
Oh, right, planning my best life ever in 2022! 😹
As 2021 came to a close, I decided to build the new year around two books: Joy at Work,co-authored by Marie Kondo, and Atomic Habits:An Easy & Proven Way to Build Good Habits & Break Bad Ones by James Clear. My plan was to pre-read these books before the end of 2021, then, in the new year, to go back through them in a more active way, using the advice and doing the exercises until I emerged anew— organized, in control, productive and operating at maximum satisfaction.
Of course, I understood that reconfiguring a lifetime of not-great habits wouldn’t be quick. It might take all year! Though, secretly, I hoped for less. Maybe I would achieve my optimal life in half that time—like by June, or even May!
Hahahahahahaha.
God
Consider this a prequel to some upcoming posts wherein I will reference Atomic Habits in the context of ruminating about life and purpose.
The first rosy flush of “up” in my last post was followed by a couple days of down — of pain not diminishing as quickly as I hoped (or becoming less masked as I tapered back on the meds), of mysterious bruises and swellings that are probably normal and not worth a call to the doctor but the source of niggling worry because what if they are not?
And also the sadness of coming face-to-face emotionally with what I already knew logically — that surgery is crest of a hill but not the end of the journey. This goes beyond my physical recovery. I haven’t really gone into the details of how, in these past months I’ve struggled with focus and direction in my creative / career efforts, but at the same time allowed for the fact that the health situation would have me reasonably, distracted! And I’ve hoped that as I move past my issues of health, there will be a moment when I’ll again feel the desire to finish any of a dozen unfinished projects — and even the hope that one project will call to me louder than the others, providing a clarity I’ve been sorely lacking. Of course, rationally, I knew it was unrealistic to expect that this desire and certainty would descend upon in my in my first days home from the hospital, but irrationally, I was still disappointed that they didn’t.
But after a day or so, the mystery swelling went down in my body and I decided I could be gentler with myself in spirit. After a week of convalescence with my mom I headed home with Paul and we had a really nice Easter with family where I was feeling good. The next day, I received word that the pathology report for my surgery was back:
NO LYMPH NODES INVOLVE, NO CHEMO!
Which is, of course, great news.
I returned to a standing weekly client meeting, and feeling frisky, even shot off some emails, feeling cocky, yes, I know it’s less than two weeks, but energetically, I’m past it, it’s downhill from here!
And then on Tuesday afternoon, I got hit by a mysterious new pain, between and under my ribs. It was alarming in that it was sharper, and in a different location than any previous post-surgical pain — but I know from experience that even the most dire-feeling Am-I-having-a-heart-attack? Am-I-dying?? pains are usually just “trapped gas.” Knowing this, I went outside to “walk it off,” only to return, defeated, after only half a block. I spent Tuesday night and Wednesday day and night curled around a hot water bottle.
But, now it’s Thursday morning and though I’m not 100%, the pain has subsided and shifted in a way that supports the idea that yes — even though I paged my doctor and considering the emergency room at one point — it was likely was just trapped gas that is running its course, if not so quickly as I may wish. There’s also a chance that this episode may be the first in a series known as “the new normal”— a non-serious but painful pain, that, as it comes and goes, will need to be analyzed (did I eat the wrong thing, or too quickly, or in the wrong order?), and ultimately incorporated—ie. balanced and juggled—along with the rest of life.
“Balancing and juggling” feels thematically appropriate to a tarot card I pulled last night. (Very recently I’ve been introduced to tarot cards, and have been drawing a card each morning and evening, not as prophesy, but as a way to learn the cards and think about life.) I drew the Two of Pentacles.
Also called “The Juggler,” the Two of Pentacles is about trying to keep all our earthly balls in the air— work, family, money, projects, food, clothing, shelter etc. And, of course, holding our temporary bodies together for as long as we can while we’re here!
I think I have a lot in common with the dude pictured on this card: We’re both running a little to stay underneath those “infinite” balls that we’re juggling or balancing— or both. Our shoes don’t match, but at least we’ve got some on — even if the same can’t be said for pants! Our boats rock on topsy, turvy, turbulent seas, but they’re still upright and moving forward. Sure, it all feels a little precarious, but somehow, nothing’s crashing to the ground. Maybe because we’ve both had some practice with boats and balls and waves all moving up and down, and understand that, tiring as it can be, there’s some fun in doing the dance, seeing how long we can keep it all going!
(Getting a full colectomy, and the first days of recovery.)
Last Thursday we woke up bright and early… or dark and early I guess, since the sun wasn’t up at 3:45 am. I took my last shower with special anti-germ chlorhexidine soap, and we headed to the UCLA Ronald Reagan Medical Center for my 5am check-in.
There’s a conveyer belt of pre-surgery rituals: I signed in at an admin area then reported to a curtained pre-op room, where a nurse handed us packets with six pre-soaked chlorhexidine wipes and instruction sheet for wiping my entire body down again, as well as special swabs to clean out each nostril (not a Covid thing, apparently, just standard). I changed into a hospital gown, reassured multiple folks that there was no chance I was pregnant, signed consent forms and got hooked up to an IV. Everyone was very kind and nice. The “team” all introduced themselves, etc. A second surgeon working with my surgeon reassured me that their surgery plan prioritized two things: 1) a successful operation that would remove any cancer, and 2) preserving as much as possible of my colon, per my request.
Then they wheeled me in to the operating room. I wanted to to see the “robotic” equipment, since my surgery was to be robotic if needed. It was a little disappointing because the arms were retracted, and there weren’t any Transformer-looking appendages—which makes sense as they probably keep those sanitized and wrapped until the very last moment. But here’s a couple of images stolen from the internet of what things might have looked like after I was knocked out:
Then the drugs hit my bloodstream and I was out. I woke up in recovery later in the afternoon, and was very happy to hear that the surgery had gone smoothly: They were able to do the surgery laparoscopically (as opposed to open) and had been able to keep about six inches of my sigmoid colon.
A few other interesting (to me) details: 1) Along with having (had) a longer-than-normal sigmoid colon, I also have a slightly longer-that-normal rectum. I’m hopeful that this extra length will be helpful as my body adjusts to its new normal functioning. 2) During my first surgery, in Australia, years ago, the surgeons opted to make the small-to-large-intestine connection (the anastomosis) behind my stomach, which is apparently quite unusual. This made the present-day surgery a little longer and more complicated for my doctors, as they had to reach around behind the stomach to do some of their work.
I stayed the night in the hospital and was able to have some visitors, like Paul, my mom and my brother. Everything was pretty painful, but I know how important it is to move in order to get my digestive system working again, so I ate some broth and and a bite of mashed potatoes, and got up to walk around the area, pushing my IV pole.
Currently, I’m at my mom’s apartment, enjoying the quiet, and the luxury of having food cooked and dishes taken away when I’m done. The first couple days was mostly pain management (Tylenol and Oxycodone), very slow walking and resting. But now I can (in limited fashion) read, write and watch TV in the evenings. For the next 4 weeks, I’m supposed to eat a low-fiber diet, which is pretty much the antithesis of everything I normally try to eat, i.e. meat, not veggies, white rice not brown, processed breads and crackers, not nuts or seeds or grains. I’m not supposed to lift more than five pounds or do abdominal exercises — even though I end up doing those inadvertently just getting in and out of bed. I asked my surgeon a litany of questions like, “can I sleep on my side? what if I twist around? can I lie on my stomach? can I do yoga?” and he pretty much said that it would take blunt force trauma to pull apart what has been sutured together. That doesn’t really jibe with the idea that lifting five pounds would be injurious… so as my energy returns I’ll have to figure out some of that out. For the moment, I’m happy to have other people do the lifting!
My least favorite part of the day is when I have to take an anti-coagulant medication called Lovenox —through a needle jammed into my belly! I’m lucky though, because instead of having to self-administer it, Paul does it for me—best husband ever! Apparently cancer patients are more prone to blood clots for longer than most people after surgery, so instead of two weeks, we’ll be doing the shots for 30 days.
For those who are waiting for the “poop report,” so far, there have been no toilet emergencies (though, TMI, my surgeons “oatmeal” example is proving apt)! At the moment, my entire digestive tract is recovering, and, somewhat counter-intuitively, I am taking a prescribed stool softener because the painkillers tend to slow everything down. I’ll have a better sense of my new normal as time goes by, but so far… so good!
