The Experience

" . . . a man who works with his hands and his brain and his heart is an artist."

Recently I read this thought - - " . . . a man who works with his hands and his brain and his heart is an artist." - - and it hit home. Until The Experience ... I had used only 2 of these 3 ... my hands and my brain. Not my heart. On this journey ... with my hands ... and with my brain, I added heart.

This is what happened. This is The Experience. Two doctors each tell me I have 2-3 months to live ... if I don’t have a bone marrow transplant.

One says I might get lucky and have 2-3 years ... but ... "Ray, don’t count on it".

I ask the chemotherapy doctor if I could wait 40-45 days before beginning treatment. Why? Well, it’s the holiday season. I have plans. Family plans. Business plans. And a very busy business January scheduled. The New Year's coming and I'm getting ready to charge. I wanted to do what I’d always done - I was putting me and my business first.

Dr. David Paul answered my question this way;

I didn't.

There are about 10,000 people in the USA with my version, and my level, of Leukemia. It’s called Myelodysplastic Syndrome - MDS for short. There's little to no knowledge about why it happens or how you get it.

The only fix ... the ONLY fix ... is a bone marrow transplant. The only fix.

This stuff is a killer. It will kill me. Sooner or later it’s going to get me.

Mid-day ... Monday, December 17, 2001 B.C. ... B.C. ... Before Chemotherapy - I sprint - yes, literally sprint - to the 12^th floor Oncology Ward of Good Sam / City of Hope hospital in Phoenix, Arizona

For the next 41 days I live in this environment. There are 6 more days of out patient care before I head home. 7 weeks in the hospital.

This is what happened ... this is the adventure ... this is the survival experience;

* First, for 7 consecutive 24 hour days I got pumped with 2 chemo drugs. That’s 168 non-stop hours of chemotherapy.

Most of this first week I feel pretty darn good. I eat well, take a shower every day, am on the phone and E-mail. I have two conference calls. I write my weekly E-zine articles all the way into February. I watch football and read a few books. And had an early Christmas with a few members of my family.

* And then it hit!

For the next 8 days I remember nothing. Nothing. Zip. Zero. Nada.

The drugs went to work and killed nearly everything. Most of the bad stuff - and most of the good stuff, too. Whatever can happen to you with chemo, it happened to me.

You don’t want to know the details - just know I was as close to DEATH as you can be. That's D E A T H. Death. Twice. Twice Nurse Kathy brought me back from going all the way south. Twice.

Still, during this time I did some "interesting" things. For instance;

#1). I watched a lot of television. i.e., Big Bird on Sesame Street ... and I liked it. I had never watched this program before - ever. Nor, have I watched it since!

#2). I rang for a nurse early one morning - about 3 o’clock - telling her I needed my street clothes. As I had to go immediately to Tucson on a "secret mission" An old black/white movie on television had pulled me into an interactive mode.

Daughter Julie.

#3). Julie, my daughter, came in early one morning - she tells me I was very animated. She greeted me with a kiss - I thanked her and then asked her to please sit down ... because I was leading a seminar. I picked up the Kleenex box and "continued" to use it as a remote control.

And I learned some interesting things, too. Like sitting to take a shower.

Ray, taking a sitting shower ... and enjoying it.

Taking a sitting shower is the way to go. Why?

Well, there is a bonus to taking a sitting shower; frequently during my time at Good Sam I had an aide (usually a young lady) help. No, the bonus is not a young gal helping an old man take a shower - the bonus is ... if you're good ... the back massage she gives you.

I still like taking a sitting shower.

There were some rough physical things happening. I lost my voice and could not talk - couldn’t say a word. For a guy who likes to talk, this is a rough time - no talking.

I could not walk - lost much of my muscle power and over 20 pounds, and could not walk. I’m an active guy. Not being able to get about was no fun.

And I could not eat - I had an infection ... my throat and swallowing got all messed up - and I could not eat.

My third day in re-hab was a turning point. Following the morning session Jim, my PT - my physical therapist - told me he’d see me again @ 1:30 that afternoon. And ... that I was to walk . . . that’s W A L K . . . walk downstairs back to the gym. He was NOT coming to get me in a wheel chair. I was on my own! As small as that may be to you ... it was big time to me.

For 2 weeks I was in re-hab. It got me going again. Not well, better. Not fixed, better.

Well enough that I could go home. 7 weeks, the real survival experience, the real adventure of my life ... and I go home.

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