August 1, 2002|
Undercover Brother
Eager anticipation has marked my summer. You think it would occur because of the various milestones I traversed through, eating normal foods again, regaining weight and strength, and the reduction of medication, just to name a few. Fact is, those all don’t compare to the joy of looking in the mirror and seeing a new creation. Yes, I have hair. But it’s…dark…and curly? BWOING!
I have heard many reports from cancer patients about the changes in the color and texture of their hair. My first two chemotherapy treatments did little to confirm those occurrences. I still was a dead straight brown-haired boy. But as the month of June staggered into July I noticed a stark difference in my appearance. My straight locks twisted and turned. This morning, in an attempt to see the extent of the transformation, I combed my hair, gelling it with the finest Aveda products, only to BWOING! five minutes later. Now I know how the other half lives.
So now the ongoing internal debate rages on in my mind. What do I do with my do? Do I let it grow to Afroic proportions? Do I resort back to the tried-and-true Carson Daly forward and up? Do I grow a curly mullet? Do chics dig curls?
Hanging with the Peeps
Next to the tried and true “How are you feeling,” the second most asked question I hear is “How do you spend your days now that you don’t work?” In response, I frequently mumble something unintelligible and sneak away. I feel I should have a good answer, like writing a book, sewing a sweater, or solving world hunger. What do I do? I water my dead garden. That takes a couple minutes a day. I spend all day Tuesday at Memorial Sloan Kettering (AKA Memorial Slow Kettering) reading Teen People and Vogue as I wait to receive my IV immune booster and see Dr. Perales (“Your hair looks funny. Ha, ha! See you next week.” in his stately British Portuguese accent). I roller blade in Prospect Park, hence my recent rash of black and blue marks. I drive to Starbucks daily and read various non-fiction works and periodicals. (Is there anything more addicting than using your Starbucks card?) Where does the rest of my time go?
As I drove the 14 hours back to New York from Chicago last week I reviewed my past two months. It’s been a whirlwind of activity, but doing what? Don’t know. I pulled out my trusty Palm VIIx and glanced at my calendar. Hmm…weekends spent at weddings, bachelor parties, summer camp, and entertaining out-of-town guests, countless days of lunches and dinners in Manhattan. Call it what I want, but it’s been the summer of “hanging out.”
Being a former (and current) workaholic, it has taken a major life-threatening illness to teach, and reteach me a valuable lesson. People are important. Many times previously I have written on this subject, but it never seems to get old, and I constantly need internal and external reminders. Did a book visit me in the hospital? Did a garden send me a reassuring and optimistic e-mail when I needed it? Were any of my accomplishments, awards or stuff there to hear me complain when I needed to vent?
I have found this to be more and more true. One of the more interesting confirmations has been what I discovered the Bible says about relationships. Christianity is based on relationship. God is made of a relationship between three parts. Adam wasn’t happy in the Garden of Eden, the most desirable place ever created, until he had someone to share it with. And heaven, it’s not about receiving material goods that we didn’t get here on earth. It’s a giant reunion and feast, shared with others we bring along with us!
This is not to diminish the importance of production and work. Where would the earth be without us lovely type A’s? If type B’s ran the world, nothing would EVER get done. But in the end, what matters? People. Family. Friends. Relationships.
The Merry Month of August
August could turn out to be an exciting month. If I am rid of the CMV virus in two weeks, my Hickman Catheter is removed. I can once again show my bare chest without scaring all the ladies. Ummm, well, maybe not. On August 21, I have both a PET Scan and CT Scan. Those are the big ones, so get your prayers ready. If those look good, well, watch out. And, if I forgo my haircut for the month, I could probably add another half inch to my ëfro. JJ Walker, here I come.