February 12, 2002|

A Room With A View

1122. That’s the new digs for the next month. As the days go by, the weather gets warmer, and greenery appears, I’ll be watching from my climate-controlled pad. As opposed to last year, I won’t be allowed out of the room. The fear of infection, colds and flu linger in the minds of many here on the 11th floor. Therefore my room is the safe harbor, where such vessels will not enter. Or at least shouldn’t. Guests wear rubber gloves and surgical masks. The air is new and recycled through a machine. The sweet smell of Lysol permeates the air. It is quite the safe harbor.

I do have a great view here. It’s of the East River. Ah, the East River. Garbage barges barreling up the river, oil rigs sauntering down, the occasional dead mob informant bobbing along this way and that, what more could I want? 🙂

Show Us Your Tubes

If I was down in New Orleans this week, I would get my beads via that suggestion (liken to a similar suggestion that most men shout at the ladies in the Mardi Gras crowd…think about the rhyming possibilities…). Ha ha! It took a day to get used to the catheter they placed in my chest. It was a tad sore and felt heavy yesterday, but today, I didn’t even pay attention to it. That was until my mom tripped on the hosing going to the IV drip and caused a slight yank. Yep, I yelped like a little schoolgirl. No harm done though.

Inherent Risk

I apologize for not having updated early. I also apologize for not writing back to all the e-mails I have received. With the insurance battle over, I had to set my mind on the road ahead. Preparing mentally and emotionally can be quite exhausting. I am thankful to all of my confidants, friends and family members for their gracious listening and probing. We had some great conversations, huh?

One of the most interesting topics that had me up till 4am last Tuesday was that of friendship. I always have a slight predicament whenever I meet someone new, more specifically someone who I know I will be interacting with more in the future. What do I tell them? I can’t hide the fact I have cancer. I don’t want to hide the fact I have cancer. But telling someone you have cancer who you just met over a dinner is not easy. It essentially is a weight. When I say weight, I mean that the person has to come to grips with life, sickness and death when he/she meets me. Those are heavy subjects that many don’t want to carry. Questions arise. “What do I do with these subjects (of life, sickness and death)? Do I continue to engage Art or solemnly move away? Do I really want to have these things on my mind?”

Once someone does accept the load and accepts the facts surrounding me, then much ground is covered. There is an amazing amount of engagement that occurs with matters of emotion and the heart. It is wonderful to get past the superficiality and facade that we all put up. The insides, the guts, that’s where a man lies.

I started to really ponder if I should be meeting new people last week. Should I try to meet new people? Should I make new friends? What happens if I die? Won’t they be hurt? Wouldn’t it be better and more loving to not give them hurt, if that were to happen? What about older friends, do I stop interacting with them so as to not heap more hurt upon them?

Well, to a certain extent I don’t (and I am sure you don’t) want to hurt anyone. This life has enough hurt, why heap anymore on someone? Why set someone up? But then I realized (after much discussion) that this is a selfish approach. Why? Well, it throws out that person’s personal choice in the whole matter. I am not giving the other person any options in letting them decide. Instead, I would be essentially controlling, manipultive and selfish. To a certain extent, it would be a power trip to make others decisions for them. That’s not very loving.

So what’s the solution? Well, it’s education. I make sure people nowadays know what they are getting into with me. They have a decision. Stay put, or enter into my life, an unpredictable adventure filled with harsh hazards, enticing oases and joyful pit stops. If people want to enter, they are free to, but it’s my job to make sure they know exactly what could happen to me. The facts remain: The mini-transplant is new, so all of the details surrounding it are “works-in-progress.” In a study at an English hospital, six patients with relapsed Hodgkin’s Disease were given this treatment. For three it worked, for three it didn’t work. Here at Sloan-Kettering, only two have been done on such patients, with outcomes still pending. Who really knows what could happen?

How does this all tie in? It took me a week to get my arms around it all, but finally the word came to me that sums all of this up. Risk. Life is a risk. More specifically love is a risk. (There must be a million quotes floating out there about this very topic, but with limited internet and library access, I’ll just have to convince you with my own words.) To put yourself out there, to love someone, essentially comes down to a risk. ìWhat happens if I drop the facade and that person sees me for who I really am? Will he/she still be my friend? What happens if I see the other person dropping their facade and I see who they really are? Could I accept them? To love is to risk getting hurt, rejected and betrayed. But to love also is the risk of missing out on the experiencing of happiness, adventure and joy (or essentially the meaning of life). Somewhere along the lines it comes back down to the same old theme, the importance of our decisions and our choices.

The Future

Today I started my chemotherapy and immuno-suppressants. I was supposed to have side effects. I sat around all morning waiting for something to hit. Nothing. Nothing. (The prayer calendar is working!) So I got up and enjoyed the day, talking, flirting (with the nurses, always a fun pastime) and reading. The rest of this week is more of the same. Next Wednesday is transplant day. (Billy, if you are out there, you best be eating well! We need strong cells! Get to work son!) After that, it’s strictly monitoring the new immune system.

There really is not much excitement in this whole procedure. No surgery, no casts, no mind-altering drugs. It boils down to someone else’s blood doing all the work, in order to kill off the bad and heal me. No action on my part will achieve anything. Now that’s a risk. It’s a risk to believe that. It’s a risk to do that. But I choose to. Let the hazards, oases and pit stops come.

February 6, 2002|

Going In

Latest word: I am going in early Monday morning to start the real battle. Thanks to all again for all of your prayers, thoughts and hard work. Look for new links about how you can help in the future.

February 4, 2002|

What happened? Who pushed the button? Who pulled the trigger?

I am not exactly sure what happened or how. All I know is that on Friday afternoon I was making phone calls and organizing the next round of work to be done when I received a call on my cell phone from my Benefits contact at Goldman Sachs. Excitedly all she could say was that independently Goldman Sachs had been doing their own research and based on medical trends, the future of medicine, current thought today, such a procedure as mine should be covered by Cigna. Therefore, they had persuaded Cigna to change their policy on such procedures for all employees of Goldman Sachs and I was the first to benefit from it.

The natural question then, is did we have anything to do with that. The answer is I donít know. I was told their final judgment was made independent of my case and they had been researching this for awhile. Maybe we pushed them over the top? I donít know.

My first reaction is to say I donít care how they did it, but that they did it. But after thinking about that, I disagree. What provoked the change is important, not to me, but to others who have to go through similar struggles. Who did push the button? Can they do it again for someone else in a similar situation? Maybe we’ll find out.

Celebration Weekend

When I heard the news, I was pretty darn happy. I jumped out of my chair and pounced on web master Patrick, who happened to be in for the weekend and was taking a nap to recharge his batteries after taking the red-eye in from San Francisco. If you see Patrick in the pictures I have posted on this site, you realize he’s a big boy. Not just that, but a former college defense lineman. You don’t ever want to pounce on a former defensive lineman. Needless to say, he was ready to body slam me until the words ‘WE’RE FUNDED!’ penetrated his brain through the grogginess of the nap. Then he just hugged me. really hard. 🙂

Hearing folks reactions that night were quite amusing as well. More than once I heard, “THIS IS THE HAPPIEST DAY OF MY LIFE!” The funny things was these people were a.) married and b.) had kids. Hmmmm…

The rest of my weekend was spent with five of my boys from college, who had planned to come in this weekend to visit me in the hospital. Instead we celebrated the entire weekend goofing all around Manhattan. What a more fitting way to celebrate than with the homies in town. God’s plots are always cooler than our plots, huh?

What next?

From all indications, I will be admitted next Monday or Tuesday. As I get more information I will pass it along.

What you can do:

Help me in writing thank you notes to all of the players. Nothing will impress Goldman Sachs, Cigna, Intercorp, and Memorial Sloan Kettering more than getting 1000 thank you notes. I will have their names and addresses up shortly so that you can write them.

Help me in strategizing a long term commitment and plan for working on behalf of patients who are having issues with their insurance. Just because I got in, doesnít mean others are getting in. We need to help them too. Something to think about.

I hope you had a good celebratory weekend. Many thanks for all the hard work, dedication and prayers. Once again, I am amazed. Blessed and amazed.

Send thank you notes to the following people. Show appreciation and thanks for all of their hard work. Overwhelm them with love, baby. Overwhelm them with love.

Henry M. Paulson

Chairman and Chief Executive

Goldman Sachs & Co.

85 Broad Street, 30th floor

New York, NY 10004

Susan Carney

Benefits Vice President

Goldman Sachs & Co.

180 Maiden Lane, 24th floor

New York, NY 10038

Angela Gardiner

Goldman Sachs & Co.

180 Maiden Lane, 24th floor

New York, NY 10038

Nancy Adams-Kenny

Wellness Vice President

Goldman Sachs & Co.

180 Maiden Lane, 20th floor

New York, NY 10038

Patricia Walka

Bone Marrow Transplant Coordinator

Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center

1275 York Ave.

New York, NY 10021

Margaret White, RN, BSN

Cigna Healthcare

Transplant Unit

3200 Park Lane Drive

Pittsburgh, PA 15275-1117

Fax: 412.747.7090

Thanks so much!

February 1, 2002|

Celebration Dinners! Celebrate this weekend!

Preliminary reports are in and WE GOT FUNDED!! 🙂 🙂 🙂 LOL!!! Ha ah! Look for an update on Monday with more details! Thanks for all your hard work, prayers and time! Look for more news on Monday.

More information on Mini-Transplants for your reading interests. I don’t know about you, but after reading these articles, I am pretty psyched!

http://www.fhcrc.org/pubs/center_news/2001/sep7/sart2.html

http://www.ich.ucl.ac.uk/patients_fam/collins/columns/mini_bone_marrow_trans.htm

http://www.bmtnews.org/newsletters/issue47/mini.html#back1

http://health.medscape.com/cx/viewarticle/218801

http://www.curehodgkins.com/hodgkins_resources/mini_transplant.htm

CIGNA ADDRESS AND FAX:

Here’s who to mail and fax your complaints to (notice the new zip code, Cigna had the wrong zip code on all of their stationary! I wonder why?):

Attn: Margaret White, RN, BSN

Cigna Healthcare

Transplant Unit

3200 Park Lane Drive

Pittsburgh, PA 15275-1117

Fax: 412.747.7090

WHAT YOU CAN DO…

Update: The CPP is up and fully operational. A few important notes:

1. Before you do anything, please reflect, meditate, and/or pray. Make sure you fully understand not only my position (wanting to live!) and your position, but also the position of all the parties involved (hospital, my employer, insurance company, etc.). Especially remember that the doctors and managers who work for Cigna are human, and therefore deserve grace. While we all want to fight for justice and against wrongdoing, we also need to be seasoned with understanding, empathy and courtesy (see my past two letters for more on this subject).

2. If you have any questions, concerns or ideas feel free to contact me. Be aware, though, that it is taking a little longer than normal for me to respond to e-mail correspondences. I will get back to you, just give me time.

3. It is really easy to assume that ‘someone else will do the job.’ I get caught up in that thinking all the time, and for me that could literally be deadly. Unless otherwise instructed, assume that you are the only person doing the job. (This is a reminder to me, more than anybody.)

My news:

Things aren’t getting any better. Despite recent chemotherapy treatments, I am having an increase in pain and soreness in my chest and back. I spent most of yesterday and today battling a painkiller-induced hangover. This truly has been the most challenging test I have ever faced. At first it was just a mental and emotional exercise in management, vision and communication. Now the physical side has been added, further complicating the matter. I need prayer. I need help. Two years back I would have been too prideful (and immature) to ask for either. I now know better. I can do nothing without either and I humbled. Thank you in advance.

January 25, 2002

LATEST NEWS: DINGED AGAIN!

At 5:30pm we didn’t have an answer. At 6:30pm it came. The call. Dr. Perales, the Bone Marrow Transplant Specialist called with the news. Once again, Cigna denied the appeal, based upon the procedure being too “experimental.”

Why is it too “experimental?” My guess is that too few participants have done this procedure. It has good results so far, 3 out of 6 patients at Sloan-Kettering who were in similiar situations, in terms of relapsed Hodgkin’s Disease, responded positively. It is a small number though, statistically speaking. I imagine Cigna wants case numbers in triple digits.

Ways to Respond

The human/natural response to such is outrage. “Let’s get violent!” Baseball bats have been brandished and fists have been clenched. “Let’s get the bastards!” It’s what first comes out, isn’t it? “How could any company, anyone, potentially stand in the way of giving someone a chance to live if they have the means? How could they be so cheap? How could they do this to Art?” (swing, swing, smash, smash!)

Here’s the deal though. Yeah, I am unhappy. Yeah, I am a little frustrated. Yeah, I am even miffed. But you know what, I am going to get this transplant. It’s not a matter of “if”, it’s a matter of “how” and “when.” We have the resources. We do. You all have called and e-mailed. You’ve gotten me in touch with people. You’ve helped me develop “The Contingency Plan of Persuasion” (hereby, the CPP). I am not worried, not one bit frankly, and neither should you be. We are going to get this, it is just a matter of the “hows” and the “whens.”

Being “Masters of Persuasion”

I’m a lover, not a fighter…that’s what my personality profiles say. I am a collaborator, not a competitor…according to conflict style surveys. I’m a harmonizer…that’s what the the strengths test in “Now Discover Your Strengths” tells. I am a “man of persuasion”…at least that’s what my mommy says. She says I can BS anyone to do anything I want them to.

While other college kids were taking their nice fluffy liberal arts classes, I purposefully took “Negotiations” and “Getting People to Do What You Want Them to Do” (a.k.a. Education 508: Managing People- great class, Professor Dwyer is amazing). And I learned. Oh baby I learned. Competition, yelling, screaming, negativity never got anyone anywhere. Us vs. them mentality only hurts you (except for the Steeler/Patriot game on Sunday). Finding common ground and working to make the pie bigger through mutual collaboration. That’s the way to go.

In this type of situation, this what I think we need. This is a time to work with Cigna and persuade them. (I don’t mean “persuade” like the way us Italians use it. Example: “Guido, go and “persuade” the man to pay his bills on time. And don’t forget your Louisville Slugger.” “Fuggetabboutit.”) I actually mean persuade. It may take some different avenues, but eventually we will find the right one.

Here are the avenues according to the CPP:

– Public Health Advocates

– Attorneys

– Business friends

– Political friends

– Media exposure

– Doctor friends

All of the above have been contacted, but we could always use more help. Write me with suggestions.

Monday we will hear from our advisors on how to get this rolling. Look for another update then.

Final Words

Personally, if I am going down, I am going down fighting. And no one is going to fight harder or more passionately. I didn’t eat all evening till I forced myself to run to the deli and grab a fake reuben (they used turkey. weird.) at 10pm. I was too busy e-mailing, calling and planning the ways we can get this pushed through in the shortest period of time. No time to eat, I can eat all want when I am in hospital.

But, like I emphasized before, I don’t want this to be a slugfest. If anything, I want Cigna to say, “What the heck? He never slammed us once! And neither did his people. Shouldn’t he be against us?” I want them to be confused. I want massive amounts of cognitive dissonance (Education 508). I want them to see that I/we are different than any other case they’ve dealt with. Not to be cheesy, but I/we want to show understanding, compassion and love. Who knows- someone’s job could be on the line? Who knows what the doctors and case workers who are dealing with this are up against? My/our attitude can make a difference in how this plays out.

This all starts with me. Not easy. I am the fall guy in this all, I need to be the example. Two years ago, when I first was diagnosed, no way. “Let’s go crack some skulls!” would have been my mantra. Me now? I am a little more empathetic. Why? Because of what I have gone through, what I have seen, what I have experienced and most importantly the people who have been empathetic with me. I see the love I have been shown, and dang it, I want to be mirror, reflecting it back. And not just in the easy situations, but in the situations where it is hardest to. That’s the true test. I hope and pray I can live up to those standards.

Trust me. I am going to get this transplant. It’s going to take work. It’s going to take time. It’s going to take prayer. It’ll all be worth it. I know it.

January 21, 2002|

LATEST NEWS

As of 5:30pm, we haven’t heard from the insurance company, the case management company or the hospital. From last Friday, there was a 72 hour turnaround time. Obvious to all, that has been violated. Just more evidence for our case. Hopefully Monday we will receive news. Look for an update sometime Sunday. Till then…Go Steelers!

Latest News: No Baseball Bat-to-the-Head Fatalities to Report

My apologies for taking so long to write this latest update. Computer availability and my availability have been spotty at best. When the computer lab is open here at the Ronald McDonald House of NYC (hereafter to be referred to as the RMH) I am typically napping or out exploring Manhattan. When I am in prime writing mood (which sometimes comes after my sleeping pills have worn off at 3AM) the computer lab has long since shut down. Dejected, I instead write the update in my personal journal, only to discover the next morning that I a.) know gibberish, but just don’t realize it when I am awake, b.) wrote something so unintelligble and confusing to the English language that it would take a team of forensic scientists and anthropologists to unmask the mystery or c.) can’t read it because the ink smeared on the page, thanks to being left-handed. Anyway, all of my gold thoughts of last week are hidden in that journal only to be uncovered at a later date.

So the latest news: We are on appeal #2 with the insurance company, waiting for an answer Tuesday or Wednesday. Without getting into the laborious details, the basic argument by the insurance company as to why I haven’t been admitted into Sloan-Kettering is that this mini-transplant is too ‘experimental’ according to their language. The kicker: other insurance companies have approved such procedures on the first go around with riskier patients at Sloan-Kettering.

Definitions and Explanations

Full Bone Marrow Transplant– proven, older procedure where patient gets blasted with enough chemotherapy that the patient’s immune system and, hopefully, cancer cells are obliterated. Afterwards a matching donor’s bone marrow (or stem cells) is inserted into the patient which regrow the immune system and help to fight any remaining cancer cells.

Mini-Bone Marrow Transplant– newer procedure where patient gets blasted with very little chemotherapy and a lot of immuno-suppressents. Afterwards a matching donorís bone marrow (or stem cells) is inserted into the patient which regrow the immune system and help to fight any remaining cancer cells. The goal of the procedure is that the donor’s marrow will do the entire work, recognizing the cancer cells as being foreign entities.

Importance of MBMT to Art– I have done way too much chemotherapy in the past two years to allow me to do a full BMT. One telling statistic that was revealed to me- my blood gets oxygen at a 50% less clip than a year and a half a go. Simply, any more large doses of chemotherapy and my heart stops. Simply, if we don’t try this MBMT, the cancer takes over my body and my heart stops. Don’t have too many options, do we?

Life vs. the Bottom-Line

I can somewhat understand the insurance company’s dilemma. The company is on hard times. It just laid off 2,000 workers a few weeks ago. Managers are getting pressed into cost-cutting measures. The letter of the law is being dictated. I would not want to be the doctor who has to make the decision to fund this procedure.

I say somewhat though because this goes beyond the bottom line and your average ordinary medical procedure. This isn’t approving hydro-therapy for someone’s bad back (although I can empathize completely). This isn’t cosmetic dental work. This isn’t wart-removal. This is someone’s life at stake. Hello! I don’t get this procedure, I perish. I get a different procedure, I perish. It’s not about the Benjamins, it’s about a life.

Realistic Optimism

Being alone in the city the past few weeks has given me the time to grip that above tension and also the very subject of death. It is so hard to fathom that someone has the right to decide if you die or not, let alone over a dollar amount. Is my life worth a price? Is all that I have done and will do, is there some figure attached to it all? It plainly sucks knowing that someone in a boardroom, in an office, in a cubicle perhaps, is right now deciding whether or not to fund the procedure that could ultimately save my life, hinging on that person’s definition of the word ‘experimental’. Unreal.

It’s not easy coming to grips with what could be your death. This is not to be grim or dark. I don’t want this to be an Emily Dickinson-like rant of impending doom. Rather, in cases like this you have to be realistic. I am a twice-relapsed cancer patient. The chances of survival are heavily against me. Does that mean I give up? Of course not. Does that mean I am not optimistic about recovery? Of course not? Does that mean nothing will work? Of course not.

Importantly though, I (and you) have to be a realistic optimist. I still fight. I still believe I will be healed. I still live each day. I am still cheerful (and goofy). I don’t stop my daily activities or friendships. I am still looking for a good intern/assistant (know of anyone?) to help me manage e-mail, phone calls and appointments 🙂 But I don’t live in a delusional state, blindly believing that there is no doubt that I will be healed. I understand the nature of the ballgame.

Faith, optimism, hope have to be approached that way. Why? Well, for me, it starts with a belief in a Creator who does and acts as He wants. Just because I am Art Canning, was class president, went to an Ivy League school and worked on Wall Street doesn’t mean jack to Him. He could accomplish more in a millisecond than I could ever accomplish in full life. Ultimately, His will prevails. If I (or we) go in blindly, saying “We know Art’ll be healed. We just know it. We prayed for it, etc.” then that is no longer faith in Godís will. That is faith in our own will. That is faith in knowing that we know better how to run the earth than God.

Instead, I take my example from three guys, who as they were just about to be thrown into a giant fiery furnace said, “If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to rescue as from your hand, O king. But even if He does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the images of gold you have set up.” (Daniel 3) Translation (for them and for me): We know God can save us from any situation and certainly will save us now, despite the odds. But we could be wrong. We could be wrong. Itís not about us, it’s about Him. His ways are above ours.

So I go into this next chapter, with just that- realistic optimism. Eventually I’ll get into the hospital and weíll do this transplant. (There are ways around the insurance company that so many of you have come up with. Thank you!) Who knows what will happen? Regardless, I’ll still shake my booty in there like last time, full of passion and enthusiasm, realistically optimistic that God will use all of this for bigger and better things, whether I am here or not.

If you can, please pray for the insurance company, my company (Goldman Sachs) and the hospital. I’ll be OK. Just pray for the people there who are working on this case. I sometimes feel they need it more than I do.

P.S. Go Steelers!!!!!!!!

January 13, 2002|

Waiting My Time

I am still a free man. That wasn’t expected was it? Without laborious details that could get me into a host of legal trouble, all I can write is that we are waiting for a few of the players in this madcap adventure to resolve their differences and allow Art to enter the hospital. Right now we are week behind schedule. The days grow longer, the nights grow shorter, and Art certainly isn’t getting any better. Let’s get this bad boy on!

In the meanwhile, I have appointed Ministers of Art Information to let the masses know what is going on via word of mouth. For example, cousin Shawnee is the Family Minister of Art Information (FMAI). Any new news gets posted to her first for distribution to the rest of my family members. Frederick A. Canning Jr. will serve as Prime Minister of Art Information (PMAI, for those keeping score at home). My dear readers, it’s all about delegation. 🙂

Tuesday’s Sushi?

One of the difficulties in having cancer is in the symptom awareness arena. I have become constantly aware of my condition, knowing every creak, every ache, every sickness. So when a new one appears, I mentally run down a list to see what I did, what I didn’t, what I ate, what pill I forgot to take, etc. in order to remedy it. Friday my stomach was screaming at me. Screaming. I could only think back to Tuesday’s sushi (That would be a cool band name- Tuesday’s sushi). Vengeful justice I thought. Brag about having sushi and it bites you in the butt. It wasn’t till Saturday, though, when I yacked my brains out, that I remembered the 24-hour flu bug that had been making it’s way around New York City. And I also remembered hanging out with about a million people who had either had it or were exposed to it. They too had had a day of crazy stomach sickness/ralphing only to have it subside a day later. Symptom awareness, once again to the rescue. I am still pro-sushi, for the record.

Profound Lord of the Rings-Tolkien Quote of the Week:

“And we shouldn’t be here at all, if we’d known more about it before we started. But I suppose it’s often that way. The brave things in the old tales and songs, Mr. Frodo: adventures, as I used to call them. I used to think that they were things the wonderful folk of the stories went out and looked for, because they wanted them, because they were exciting and life was a bit dull, a kind of a sport, as you might say. But that’s not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that stayed in the mind. Folk seem to have been just landed in them, usually- their paths were laid that way, as you put it. But I expect they had lots of chances, like us of turning back, only they didn’t. And if they had, we shouldn’t know, because they’d have been forgotten. We hear about those as just went on- and not all to a good end, mind you; at least not what folk inside a story and not outside it call a good end. You know, coming home, and finding things all right, though not quite the same- like old Mr. Bilbo. But those aren’t always the best tales to hear, though they may be the best tales to get landed in! I wonder what sort of tale we’ve fallen into?”

“I wonder”, said Frodo. “But I don’t know. And that’s the way of a real tale. Take any one that you are fond of. You may know, or guess, what kind of tale it is, happy-ending or sad-ending but the people in it don’t know. And you don’t want them to know.”

– Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers; JRR Tolkien, page 378

I couldn’t help but throw this nugget in. Anytime you want to look smart, quote JRR Tolkien. It always works. This passage jumped out at me as I read it on the subway yesterday. The best tales are those- the ones that we get thrown into without an ounce of prep time and that we have the choice to turn back once the road gets more difficult. Considering I am closing in on my two-year cancer anniversary, I deemed it appropriate. Chew on it.

Thanks to all those concerned souls who were ready to storm a certain insurance and case management company with baseball bats, clubs and other devices of the common day thug. I am a man of action, and I appreciate hearing of such action. It warms the heart knowing that someone is ready to knock someone else’s head off for your sake. Alas, such action wouldn’t be of any good though. Most of these people don’t even have heads, as they have been beaten off by previously annoyed family of other patients. Regardless, know that I am doing fine and that only the prayers of such passionate people will do anything to get this situation rectified that and maybe staying away from the sushi.

For all the lastest information, check out www.artcanning.com!

January 8, 2002|

Write it in Pencil

I was supposed to be in a haze right now. An anesthetic haze caused by the very minor surgery of having a catheter put in my chest. Instead I am wide awake, writing you from the computer lab at the Ronald McDonald House. Why? I can’t and don’t want to get into the details, but there’s been a hold up in my admittance into the hospital. Insurance company, case managing company and hospital all play a significant role in the delay. Me- I am just a mere observer of the whole affair. Funny how this all revolves around me, yet there is no way for me to enter the circling fray to expedite the process. Patience, my friend, patience.

This whole adventure has once again proven the validity of the “write it in pencil theory.” The “write it in pencil” theory (discovered by noted scientist and educator Fred A. Canning) is that in such a predicament that I am in with my health, you can never write anything in pen in your calendar. Times and dates change so frequently that the calendar would be filled with more scratch marks than actual writing. Therefore you write everything in pencil and learn the value of the eraser at the other end.

As for me, well, I am learning another valuable lesson in patience. That sounds quite contrived and cute, doesn’t it? But it really is the truth. Sometimes the best lessons in life are hidden in such frustrating, irritating and annoying episodes. Think of the clam. The pearl, the beauty, is only created by the clam being irritated.

I actually am surprisingly calmer than I thought I would be. I guess I have just been accustomed to such delays and have learned the value of the “write it in pencil theory.”

So when I will be admitted? Who knows? Till then I am going to enjoy another day of good (ok, decent) health and freedom, maybe get some sushi for lunch and head to B & N for an afternoon of Starbucks and reading. Not a bad day, if I say so myself.

January 3, 2002|

The Tragedy on New Year’s Eve

Previously on ArtCanning.com, Art vowed to be in Times Square for New Year’s Eve. It was a simple vow that as we will read this week was fated not to occur. Alas.

The beginning. It all started at the Pittsburgh Airport, where I lost my scarf, my precious, beautiful, warm navy blue scarf. A scarf is essential for outdoor spulunkering, especially for me- mr. pencil neck.

The downfall continued. My companions on the trip both exclaimed their fear of the cold. Women. You could be in the Sahara Desert and a woman would complain,”I feel a draft! Do you have a sweater!” It was 30 degrees! That’s like summer in Ohio! Alas, it was Art, left by himself.

And onward. I was not allowed to eat the entire New Year’s Eve until I had finished both my CT Scan and PET Scan. True to nature and technology, one of the two PET Scan machines broke, and I was stuck at the hospital an extra 3 hours. I arrived at 1pm, and didn’t leave until 7pm. Further my last meal was the night previous (chocolate cake, mmmm…). Not only would I be late getting to Times Square, but I would be starving also. Nonetheless I planned on.

The kicker. For Christmas, I bought myself a digital camera (Art says “Merry Christmas Art!” Art replies, “Wow! Thanks! A digital camera! You shouldn’t have!”) I was so set to take many a picture for this very web site. Of course, as I was setting it up, while waiting for my PET Scan, the battery ran out. Patient Art was becoming flustered Art.

The change of plans. There was no way I could go to Times Square. At the rate I was going, I probably would have been hit by a herd of crazed taxi drivers on the way there. Famished, I grabbed burgers from Wendy’s, headed to Katie’s apartment and watched “Memento” – one of the most perplexing and confusing movies ever made. Flustered Art became more flustered.

To the rescue.Remembering an invitation gathered the night before, Court, Katie and I convened and decided to go to our friend Steve’s New Year’s get-together. We celebrated the New Year in style, on the roof, squinting to see any sign of the ball dropping and hearing the complaints of many a woman about the cold (“Oh the wind! I feel a draft!”). It was a New Year’s Eve for the books.

More Adventures

Since then, I have been pounding the cement of NYC, hitting Macy’s, the movies, delis, and this internet cafe in Times Square that I write you from. Last night was another one for the books. Ali and I went to see “Kate and Leopold” (starring Meg Ryan and Hugh Jackman) and then had tea/coffee at Cafe Lalo, the cafe from the Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks hit “You’ve Got Mail.” It was only appropriate. I also saw “A Beautiful Mind” on New Year’s Day. It definitely rivals “Lord of the Rings” for Art’s Movie of the Year.

Oh yeah, there is also that whole health thing. Yesterday was another long day at Sloan Kettering, getting all the necessary pre-work completed for the Bone Marrow Transplant. The highlight was Dr. Perales’s “No-Hassle Bone Marrow Biopsy.” A Bone Marrow Biopsy is where the doctor sticks a needle (with a circumference of like 2 inches; at least it feels like it) through your muscle into the back of your hip bone. Nother rivals feeling a needle going into your bone, especially without sedatives or the numbing agent at full strength. Hearing and feeling your bone crack, it is something EVERYONE needs to experience. I think it was some sort of Nazi torture exercise. I am sure it was.

During the procedure, outside, I didn’t move a muscle, looking straight ahead and replying with all the masculinity I could muster “I feel fine!” Inside, it was a different story. I was screaming like a little school girl. “EEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!” That’s why I like this new doctor, Dr. Perales. He gets the job done and means business. “EEEEEEKKKKKKK!! June 6th- D-Day! Normandy! EEEKKKKK!”

So Much More

I have much more to write, but my minutes are running out at this internet cafe. I will try to tell of more adventures next week. Till then, keep your head up, stay warm (esp. you women) and watch out for doctors with big needles.

December 24, 2001|

The Response

It’s Christmas! What are you doing on my web site? 🙂 Shouldn’t you be doing last minute shopping? Or baking that last dozen cookies? Or getting the tree up? Or visiting family and friends? Surfing the web during a down time between it all? Me too. My little brother Billy just taught me about MP3s. Oh, that’s dangerous, especially being a music junkey. Like I tell everyone who encounters my towering collection- I don’t smoke, don’t drink, don’t play video games, don’t have a fancy car- but I buy music in the bucketful and record it (via my CD burners) like a fiend. I am allowed one vice, right?

The Deal

So here’s the new deal with my sabbatical in Manhattan at Hotel Hospital. December 30th I fly into LaGuardia- that afternoon is reserved for Steelers- Bungles game. Can you believe the Steelers? I gotta be out of the hospital by the Super Bowl! I can’t be in the hospital watching the Steelers in the Super Bowl on a lil’ 13 inch TV with no surround sound! We have a goal to meet, that’s for sure.

I digress. December 31st is CT Scan, PET Scan and Times Square Day. I don’t know how I am going to do it all, but I am going to be in Times Square on New Year’s. I can hear all of my second mothers in the reading audience protesting with rage over such an adventure that could endanger my weakened condition. “It’s cold.” “You are too out-of-shape.” “The bathroom situation is hideous.” Let me tell y’all. What is one of my major themes? Live life! Don’t be a spectator, be a player. Make a memory. I am there. The pictures will be online in a few weeks:)

Oh yeah. So I am admitted into Sloan Kettering on January 8th. Around the 16th I get Billy’s cells. We have been hounding him to eat. The kid weighs all of 70 lbs. sopping wet from a shower full of his pearberry and Bath and Body Works lotions. He drinks 15 cans of Pepsi a day and only eats mozzerella sticks. I have been beating him down all my life. Now it is his turn- via his cells- to get revenge. I have a bad feeling my cells are going to kick his cells’ butt, typical Artfashion. He better eat. Gotta save my life, know what I mean?

Serious Note

I have gotten such positive feedback on my last update. I have so much more information to pass on from experience and research on trials, tribulations and suffering, I don’t know what to do with it all. I am going to try to write a nice paper on it. Citations and all. That’s another goal when I am in the hospital. Thanks for all the wonderful e-mails.

You know what astounds me? It is hard to believe, as we are in Christmas time, that God, the maker of everything, came down to earth as a little baby. We all know babies. They are helpless, stinky, finicky…can you believe God came down in that form? Wouldn’t it have been cooler to float down in a super-herolike form? Big, tough, totally independent? The more I think of it though, it is amazing. Because He came down, was born a baby, was reared a child into a teenager into an adult, He can relate to anything we give Him. Hunger pains, bad haircuts, sore muscles, family death, tasty food, good times…He’s been there. That’s amazing. It’s more reassuring than anything. Whatever we throw at Him, no matter how difficult, He can say “Been there, done that, relax.” Just something to think about during this season.

Have a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year’s. And if you watch Dick Clark, look for the bald kid whooping it up…that’ll be me…ah, I mean..Yes ma’am…I’ll wear a stocking hat…I promise:)