#282: Cancer as a Reset Button

I have a Facebook friend who has just started a new blog. It's called ... and she's off! and it's about her journey as a woman and mother who is surviving divorce. She's a good honest writer, and has been a faithful online friend to me through my recent struggles, so I look forward to sharing her travels through her words.

She got me thinking about how rarely we have an opportunity to hit the reset button in our lives. There are certain moments that change everything. We lose a spouse to death or divorce. A parent is gone. A career is taken away. A house is destroyed. The judge declares us to be bankrupt.

Cancer is one of those moments. There were two points in time when everything that used to be true about me changed. First was the moment when the Surgeon confirmed that I had cancer. Then there was the one when the Oncologist burst into the exam room and said, "It's great news!" I was pretty numb both times. I was in the recovery room when they told me I had cancer and slipping into a deep depression when the told me I didn't have it anymore, but somewhere in my mind I knew that things had changed. First I was alive, then I was dying, then I was a "survivor." But that's not a big enough word for what I am. I'm not just surviving. I have a chance to start again.

Team Pennsy, irradiated and radiant.

I made the decision to beat cancer based on two things. I wanted to be an actor and I wanted to be Mrs P's husband. My therapist asked how things were going. I told him I was doing well. Writing. Working out. Rehearsing and auditioning. Getting things done. He asked how things were going with Mrs P. That was harder to answer. I'm not sure we've figured out just who we are now that we've both fought cancer and won. She fought as hard as I did and something big has changed for her too. Having your widowhood snatched away can do that to a person. The truth is, I don't think we're sure where we go from here. But cancer has given us a great opportunity.

So many marriages are about The Rut. Staying on the tracks. Staying together. We get up, go to work, vacations and holidays come and go. Gifts are exchanged. Bills get paid. Chores get done. We become one another's habit, our marriages become routine.

But cancer blows up The Rut. Suddenly the tracks are gone. There is no "normal" left. That's scary as hell, but it's also exciting. Catastrophe is one of the few opportunities we get in our lives to really start again. Everything changes, but that means you have a chance to make choices about what a lot of those changes will be. I can't will myself to be stronger, but I can change the way I exercise to accommodate my weaker muscles and diminished stamina. I can't choose not to be tired from singing, but I can choose to find new ways to sing so my voice will last till the end of a rehearsal or a performance. I can't undo the damage that years of auto-pilot have done to my relationships and my marriage, but I can change the flight plan. Thanks to cancer, there is no more auto-pilot. All routes have been re-scheduled. Now that my arrival times been cancelled, I have a chance to choose new destinations. I may even get off the plane.

Cancer did not kill our marriage. Nothing ever will. But thanks to our victory over a handful of cells that tried to give us the old "death do us part," we have a chance to start being married on purpose again. The way we did when we were courting, only with 21 years of experience behind us. Things don't have to be the way they were before I got sick. We can make them better.

My friend's blog is called ... and she's off! because it reminds her that the gavel at the end of her divorce proceeding  She was afraid it would sound like a shot that would kill her. But it turned out it was actually more like a starter's pistol. Not the death of her marriage, but the beginning of her new race, her new life. Living through cancer is like that. It's a new race. And we're off...

For weeks after they declared me to be in remission, I was haunted by the question, "So now what?" I felt lost in the limbo land between dying of cancer and the rest of my life. Like Scarlett, I didn't know what to do or where to go. How strange and wonderful to realize how much the answers to those questions were up to me. Up to us. Cancer has given me the chance to reorgainize my life around the two things I value the most, the things that kept me wanting to live: my bride and my art.

Plus, I got to lose all that weight.

Almost makes it seem worth the trouble...

Peace,
Pennsy

#281: Hurts So Good

Have you ever exercised your legs so hard that it made your butt hurt? The cheeks, I mean. I love that feeling. It starts deep down in your hamstrings and runs right up into the small of your back. Nothing can make me feel that burn like squats. Yesterday was the first time I got up the nerve to work my legs hard. Well, not hard exactly. I did two sets of ten squats, dead lifts, and lunges in the living room during the Steelers game yesterday. I only lifted my own body weight. My balance is still a little iffy for dumbbells. When i had finished, I was left rubber legged and wooly headed, but today I feel super. There's just that slight feeling of tightness in my glutes. I'm not used to having kind thoughts about my fanny, but today it feels just as hard as a rock. At least from the inside it feels that way. I look forward to reality catching up with that sensation.

After I finished my workout, and the Steelers did their best to give me a stroke, I went to rehearsal. We are finally putting the show on its feet. What I mean is that we're finally getting away from the reading table and the rehearsal piano and moving around the hall a little bit. This is always such a liberating time for the company. The actors finally find out just how detailed a director is going to be, how much "tolerance" there is going to be for us to find our own way own way. Good directors know how to find a balance between letting the cast flounder aimlessly, and giving so many instructions that the players have no room to play. My favorite directors are the ones who can give you an idea of where the play is moving, then trust you as an actor to find the best way to get there. Thats just my preference. Some directors can't stand it, and it terrifies many actors not to have each move carefully planned and choreographed. Those artists generally hate working with me. My work is very disciplined, but it isn't the same approach they are used to. That's cool. We're better off apart.

Our director "J" is a good one, I think. I've always used this image for the relationship between actor and director: Actors are slalom skiers, and the director helps them to find all the flags on the hill. Together, the playwright, the designers, the actors, the crew, and the director work together to shape the course the production will follow. It's an extremely gratifying process, one that prepares performers and stagehands for the equally gratifying process of playing for an audience. At least that's how I see it. Some people hate performing, but love rehearsal. These people become directors. Others love performing, but hate rehearsal. They become waiters.

So, after a rehearsal during which my pleasantly sore legs and behind trembled like water balloons, I jumped in the car and drove downtown to an audition. Fortunately they were running late, so I had a chance to be seen. It was my first audition in a long time, and it was good to open up my old toolbox. Everything felt so familiar. The script in my hand. The other actors pacing, preparing to show their stuff. The little rush you get when the door opens and your name is called. And finally, there is the audition itself. The stage manager introduces you to the director and anyone else who might be sitting at the table. You smile, maybe shake hands. They might give you some instructions. And you're off. 

You're looking at a script for the first time, maybe reading for this director for the first time, and all you can do is tell the truth. Nothing else matters. You make snap decisions about who the character is, what they want, and how they're trying to get it, and then somebody says "go" and you play. You want the job and you want them to love you and the only way to make it happen is to put all that aside and play the role.

Auditions are my least favorite part of an actor's life. I think that's true for a lot of us. But this one felt like coming home. Its nice when someone just calls and offers you a part without having to audition, and it's flattering. But there's something I love about having to earn the part in an audition. It just feels more respectful somehow. I'm not sure I can really explain it. Maybe I just like competing because it feels so good to win...

The gym was brutal today. Not much of a surprise after yesterday's adventures. But I did take a lot of time off of my mile walk. I added some reps to my lat pull downs, but then I was pretty fried. I completed three sets of very light overhead presses, then after a handful of woodchoppers I was ready to call it a day. The right shoulder is the one where they removed muscles and nerves from my neck and it's going to take while to build up the strength around the hole. 

Nice to be making progress on so many fronts, though.

#280: Loving Recovery Day

It's recovery day, and I'm pretty stiff. May just do a nice easy walk around the park with Jake later. I realize that yesterday's post may have been a little esoteric, so I thought I'd fill in some blanks for anyone who's interested. First of all, here's a link to the gym/church. I don't know much about this community, but I sure liked the people I met yesterday.

My time in the mile walk was not impressive at all, but I did feel good about a couple of things. I was able to keep good form the whole way. I left my teeth in, and they did not fall out or choke me. My mouth started to dry out at the end, but it only took a little water afterwards to put me back in shape. The best part was that I was able to go full-out the entire time. By that, I mean that I didn't have to slow down or rest along the way and my pace in the second half mile was not much slower than the first. The track is a balcony around a single basketball court and 17 laps make a mile. It takes a little concentration to keep up with the counting, but it's better than walking on a treadmill. I like running on them, but walking a mile on a belt is just a little boring, even if you do get to watch yourself in the mirror the whole time. I didn't measure my heart rate, but I broke a good sweat and felt like I had gotten a righteous first workout, so I'm not too concerned about that data just yet.

One bit of data that I am pleased about is my weight. I had a doctor's appointment yesterday morning and my weight was 319. That's 80 lbs lost since my surgery day. I know that a lot of that was muscle weight, but I can build that up again. It's the fat that I'm so pleased to see gone. Most of my clothes fit better than they ever have, and a lot of them are too big to wear at all. I'll keep the giant jeans for my before/after picture. An advantage of the weight loss are the reduced strain on my heart and joints. Another is my reduced blood pressure. Once I get the meds and hydration issues worked out, that's going to improve my performance and allow me to work a lot harder.

Here is the book I'm using as my guide for resistance training. Lou Schuler and Alwyn Cosgrove base the workouts in The New Rules of Lifting on the principle that what goes on in the gym should mirror the actual movements we perform in life. The "six basic moves" are Pushing, Pulling, Lifting, Squatting. Lunging, and Twisting. This is different from bodybuilding. It isn't designed to sculpt the body, but rather to improve overall fitness and strength. Working this way may not turn you into Mr. Olympia, but if the cover photo is any indication, it can make you very pretty.

The authors emphasize complex movements. You can curl a heavy bar from your waist to your shoulder, or you can clean and press a really heavy bar from the ground to over your head in a single movement. These complex moves involve more big muscles and have much more cardio benefit, as well as improving strength. So that's how I intend to work.

So what about all these strangely named machines? Well the Lat Pull Down is a pretty standard one.

This exercise does a lot of things, but I'm only using it for one reason. I want to build up my arm, shoulder, and back strength to the point that I can do pull-ups.

The next one I did was the Converging Inclined Press which is a mouthful for a pretty simple gizmo.

This machine works like a pair of dumbbells. Each arm has to lift independently. The big advantage over free weights for me at this stage is that I can't drop the weight on myself or anyone else. Since I was not at all sure about my strength, this was a pretty good choice for a safe beginning pushing exercise. The next step will be to progress to presses with dumbbells with the goal of doing lots of push-ups before I start work on the bench press. Push-ups are probably the better exercise, but the bench press makes you feel so macho that it's hard to give up.

The last move I worked yesterday was twisting. My favorite exercise for this is called the Woodchopper. It is very simple and effective. As you can see from the photo, this movement involves every major muscle group, from the arms and shoulders through the core, and down to the thighs and calves. It is a great workout and really gets your blood pumping. The biggest benefit is probably the way it strengthens those famous core muscles from the abs all the way around to the small of your back. A strong core girdle is essential for stability. It also helps protect you from injury when you do anything from moving the refrigerator to picking up a sock from the floor. There are other twisting exercises, and I'm sure I'll do them, but I enjoy this one, especially at the end of a workout. It feels great when you're done. And you never know when you might need to chop some wood.

The last apparatus I mentioned yesterday was the Smith Machine.

A lot of people hate this machine. The rigid linear motion is not natural, and it can put you in some pretty weird positions. I've never used one, but I've watched people using them and never wanted to imitate them. A free barbell engages a lot more stabilizer muscles and ultimately allows you to lift more weight safely. On the other hand, I guess I understand the liability reasons for not having free bars in an unsupervised weight room. If you throw your back out, that's your fault. If you conk someone's grandma with a 45 lb Olympic bar doing clean and jerks, somebody's gonna get sued. I'm still not sure how I'll integrate the Smith Machine into my workouts. I don't have a lot of alternatives for squatting. There are a lot of people on the message boards who say that it's impossible to do deadlifts safely using the Smith. The movement for a lunge is very similar to the squat, so I may try to do those. I'm afraid my deadlifts will be limited to dumbbells until I can get access to a big bar. That's OK. It is going to be a while before I'll need to do a lot of weight. Right now I'm concentrating on re-learning how to move without falling over.

Actually, today I'm concentrating on re-learning how to move without screaming in pain. Gotta love recovery day.

Peace,

Pennsy

#279: Alive is Good

Walk... 1 mi...19:30
Lat pull downs...3 sets of 10 @ 50 lbs
Convergent incline press... 3 sets of 10 @ 50 lbs
Cable woodchoppers... 10 sets per side @ 50 lbs

Ahh, back to the gym at last. Well, back to a gym. We cancelled my membership at Promatx when I got sick. Mrs P has a membership at a local church's health club. The equipment is pretty minimal but in fantastic condition. Don't get me wrong. For a church, it's downright amazing. One of the most vibrant ministries I've ever seen. And because we joined through Mrs P's work, the cost is insanely low. I'm grateful to have the chance to work out in a place so well taken care of.

So what is there? There's a basketball court, a walking track, a studio space where there was a yoga class today. There are several bikes and elliptical machines and treadmills. The resistance machines are all Cybex, some use plates, some cables. There is a smith machine, curling bar, and some dumbbells. There's no free Olympic bar. It's going to take some creativity to do the kind of whole body workouts I want to do, but I'm sure I can make it work.

I don't want to do a lot of "bodybuilding," so I'm not looking to do a lot of curls and bench presses. Instead, I want to do big exercises that work lots of muscle groups at once. I'll talk about that more in due time, but for now I'm just glad to be back to work.

Tonight I feel that old familiar soreness that tells me I've been moving. It's a good soreness, the best kind, the kind you have to earn. I didn't lift heavy weight or run hard miles, but by the end of my last set, I felt as if I had just won the Olympics. My muscles were throbbing and my head was swimming. I sat on a recumbent bike pedaling slowly and sipping water for my cool down.

I felt completely, deliciously used up. I felt alive.

Alive is good.

Peace,

Pennsy

#278: Learning to Love the Climb

I was going to write about the difference between "contentment" and "satisfaction," but nearly every dictionary I've found uses the words to define one another, so that's not going to work.


My friendly neighborhood therapist (oh how Mrs. P hates it when I call him my "head shrinker") has invited me to consider the role that contentment, or the lack of it has played in my life. I have spent so much of my life wanting "more". More money. More importance. More competence. More respect. How many jobs, how many relationships have I damaged because I wanted “more” than I had?

The therapist asked if I could remember a time when I was content. When I felt like I had “enough.” I’m not sure I really could. New jobs. New loves. New homes. New friends. They always seem to have satisfied me, but before long, I wanted more than was there. I would drift away, or worse, try to force some dramatic change that wound up costing me the very thing I loved in the first place.

What is the difference between being content with what you have today and being afraid that you’ll never get what you really want? Partly, it’s serenity. It’s accepting what you can’t change and changing what you can. But it’s more than that. Faust’s bargain with Mephistopheles was that his life would be over when he said, “I’m satisfied. This is enough.” We all want to be better today than we were yesterday. And we hope for tomorrow to be better than today. That’s just human, I think. But there’s a difference between ambition and frustration. You don’t have to hate where you are in order to love where you are going. You don’t have to give up on the goal because you hate where you are.

This isn’t easy. It’s sounding more and more like one of those twisty paragraphs St. Paul used to write.

We know that the law is spiritual; but I am unspiritual, sold as a slave to sin. I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it. --- Romans 7:14-20

Doo-bee doo-bee doo. He seems to be working it out as he goes along, and I know the feeling. How to put this into words?

You can’t get to the mountain top if you hate climbing mountains. You will lose the trail. You’ll ignore the view. You’ll give up. Contentment means enjoying the climb. It means being satisfied with where you are, and knowing that you are on your way towards a new place that you haven’t seen yet. I may not like being ankle deep in mud, hidden from the sky in the cold shade of the trees. I may have dreams of the magnificent view and the breathtaking winds at the top of the mountain, but they will never be more than dreams if I can’t accept the climb. One step follows another. And each is good. Not just because of where I’m going, but because of where I am today.

Try to imagine what it would be like for an actor who had no patience for rehearsal. How would you learn who the character is? How would you know your role? Without giving yourself over to the process of rehearsal, how could you ever be ready to perform when the opportunity came? You wouldn’t. You couldn’t. And even if you somehow made it to opening night, you would not be an actor for long.

This is one of the secrets of depression. It isn’t just when you hate being only half way up the mountain of your life. It’s when you can’t believe there’s even a mountain top to reach. You start thinking that no matter how long you climb, you’re always going to be in the same place you are now. You lose hope. You might stop climbing. You may even want to get off the mountain altogether.

We all have mountains in our lives. We want to be more fit or healthier. To be better spouses, lovers, parents. We want to retire in comfort and feel valued for our work. The raise. The promotion. The diploma. The relationship. We want to be free of debt or a bad job or a destructive marriage. We all have challenges and the desire to be somewhere we are not. But the paradox of contentment is that we cannot get where we want to be until we accept where we are.

I am not doomed to stay where I am. The fears and anxieties that are slowing me down today will not slow me down forever. I am travelling on the road, climbing up the mountain of my life. I am not where I want to wind up, but the question is, can I accept where I am today? Can I accept that this part of my journey is necessary if I’m going to get where I’m going?

Fear makes me think that things will never get better. Giving up guarantees that they won’t.

Today, I am somewhere on the side of my mountain. I can’t see the top from here, but I want to get there. In the meantime, there are a lot of things good about being right where I am. There are things to learn that I’ll need later. And there are some things that are just pleasant to be around, things I won’t be able to enjoy once I reach the top.

I want to be content with today. I want to be satisfied with this part of my journey.

The trick is knowing how to doo-bee doo-bee doo it.

What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death? Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord! – Romans 7: 24-25a

Maybe Paul is right. Maybe I should start by trusting the One who built the mountain in the first place. Then I can get back to climbing.

Peace,
Pennsy

Photos are from our trip to Bachelor Loop, near Creede, Colorado.

#277: Better Off Alive

If there is among you anyone in need, a member of your community in any of your towns within the land that the LORD your God is giving you, do not be hard-hearted or tight-fisted towards your needy neighbor. You should rather open your hand, willingly lending enough to meet the need, whatever it may be. Be careful that you do not entertain a mean thought, thinking, ‘The seventh year, the year of remission, is near’, and therefore view your needy neighbor with hostility and give nothing; your neighbor might cry to the LORD against you, and you would incur guilt. Give liberally and be ungrudging when you do so, for on this account the LORD your God will bless you in all your work and in all that you undertake. Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, I therefore command you, ‘Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land.’ --- Deuteronomy 15:7-11

I haven’t talked about this very much. I guess it makes me both embarrassed and proud at the same time. But mostly it makes me thankful. And I haven’t said “Thank You” nearly enough.

Sometime in the middle of the summer, our insurance gave out. We had exhausted our savings, I hadn’t worked for months, and the coverage I had from my job could not be extended any longer. Mrs. P went to the pharmacy to pick up the drugs I needed for my second round of chemo, and they turned her away. We could pay retail, (about $6000 for the month, as I recall) or we could go without. I posted a brief note on Facebook to the effect that there would be no more medicine since there was no more money.

A friend of mine, Alicia read that status and felt called to action. She contacted a handful of people with whom I had worked in the theatre here in Lexington and asked if there wasn’t something they could do to help. In just a few days, they had contacted every theatre I had ever worked for in town, and several I had not. Our church agreed to administer the funds. Together, they organized benefit performances in my name where money was raised for a medical fund in my name. Our paper’s arts editor, whom I have ruthlessly harassed as an “evil critic” for years wrote a very kind article in the Herald-Leader and posted the address where people could contribute. The acting companies of all three shows produced by SummerFest, the company with whom I first acted in Lexington dedicated their closing night performances to me. The very first fundraiser was held by Actors’ Guild, the theatre company that brought me here back in 1994. Checks came in from old friends and people I had never met. People wrote kind notes, remembering things we had said or done together that had affected their lives. We even got letters from people from out of town who had heard our story from friends and wanted to help.

People prayed for us. People I didn’t know prayed at all. Phone calls from old friends offering to help, bring dinner, do chores became a regular occurrence. Meals would appear on the porch. The lawn would be magically mowed or the hedges trimmed.

One day, after one of these acts of generosity, Mum looked at me with tears in her eyes. “People are so kind,” she said. “I had no idea you had made such an impact here.”

Neither had I.

Thank you for all the kindness. Thanks for the audio books and the tomato dill soup. Thanks for checking in, lending me books, and sitting with me so Mrs. P could get out of the house. Thank you for saying such encouraging things and for recalling such lovely memories. I have always paid lip service to love, but really had no idea how much there was in the world or what a difference it could make. I am convinced that you helped to save my life. Thank you.

I also learned a lesson that’s worth sharing. You have no idea how you are affecting the people you meet every day. The moment you take to speak a kind word may lift them up for years. You make more of a difference than you can imagine. I don’t want to get all George Bailey on you, but you really are better off alive than dead. You are worth more than you know to more people than you can count. I hope you don’t have to get sick to find that out, but I hope someday you feel what I have felt from the people who love and care for me.

And if someone needs to know that you love them, for God’s sake don’t wait till they get cancer to do something about it. There’s no telling how much they need the healing touch of your heart. Give it to them. You’ll get it back when you least expect it.

I did.

Peace,

Pennsy

#276: Something Useful

It is important to be of use. Even if only to yourself. It is much more motivating for me to be of use to other people. I suppose my hunger for praise is unhealthy in a lot of ways, but I like it when someone else appreciates the things I do. A ham loves applause. It has felt good to drag myself to the drug store or around the dog park, but those things aren't of much use to anyone else. Today Jake and I hauled the rake out of the basement and swept up some leaves in the back yard.

I wouldn't say I finished the job, exactly. There are now three huge piles of leaves and dog poop killing three huge spots in my lawn. I need to bag them up, but I kind of ran out of energy. It isn't urgent. The Maple trees are still pretty full, preparing to undo all our work today. We'll get to it in the next few days. Besides, Jake is going to enjoy jumping in them for a while. Mrs P also likes to jump in the leaves, but since they started falling it has been difficult to clean up after our boy. I wouldn't advise any leaf diving in his yard.

When we were tired from raking, Jake and I sat down on the porch and felt the sun on our faces for a while. How quiet it was. Back in the spring the neighborhood was a symphony. Today all I heard were a few grackles squawking, some squirrels scolding one another, and some sort of constant undertone that sounded like cidadas or tree frogs. A few months ago it took real concentration to pick out individual voices. Today, they seemed to be taking turns, speaking one at a time so as not to interrupt one another.

And under it all is the sound of the leaves. Leaves clinging for dear life to the branches where they spent their green season. They seem to clench the trees, hoping to hold out just a few more hours against the autumn wind. Leaves on the ground, trembling in the breeze, or crunching under Jake's feet as he jumps and runs through them. In the woods, they would stay in their bed beneath the branches. The snow would come and spring would follow and the dust they left behind would nourish the trees from which they fell. But here, where grass grows perversely, right up to the base of the trunk, we have to sweep them up and cart them away. We want forest and meadow at the same time, in the same place. This is the way decent people keep their yards. Weed free. Leaf free. Mowed and edged and manicured. This is why I am such a bad neighbor. I would rather let it grow. I would rather see the grass tall and the trees full of life and the hedges wild and bushy. I know I can't keep my yard like that. My neighbor's property values would plummet. These chores are just part of suburban life.

I love the woods, but I love the city, too. Maybe that's the problem. The suburbs are neither fish nor fowl. Your dog is surrounded by things to bark about and every bark irritates someone. You can get to the store or a movie or the theatre, but you have to drive and park and eat boring burgers out of boring bags. Here I have a house and a yard, but I wonder if this is how people ought to live. Camped out in parcels of earth that they don't really own. Passing neighbors they don't really know. Spending so much time and money just to keep things looking right.

I know, I know. This is the American Dream. It's the way I was raised, and it's how I'll probably spend the rest of my life. But sometimes, I miss the sound of taxis and ambulances. Just as much as I miss fields of snow and the voice of a flowing creek and the songs of more birds than I can recognize at one time. I love walking the canyons of Manhattan. I also love driving the mountains of Eastern Kentucky. This suburban middle ground just doesn't feel like home today. Maybe it'll better when there's snow to shovel. At least you don't have to put that in big brown bags on the curb.

Well, that outburst sort of took me by surprise. Didn't expect to get all worked up about it. I just thought I was going to write about raking leaves with my dog. For now, at least they are in neat piles. That's progress, I guess.

Peace,

Pennsy