Later

At 1:30 we left for the Seattle VA Hospital to keep our appointment with

Dr. Schubach, the head of the Seattle VA Oncology Department. We got a good,

close handicapped parking place, and I struggled through the maze of fences

and over the cracked and broken pavement and sidewalks to the Emergency

Entrance, where we went through the second set of doors and down the long

hallway looking for the Oncology Department. The direction sign on the wall said

that oncology was located in the West Wing, but when we got there we were told

that oncology was in the East Wing, so we retraced our steps and found the East

Wing and checked in. Michele commented along the way that the journey was

like entering a Third World Country, and I agreed with her as I’ve actually visited

a couple of those countries, if Mexico and Viet Nam count. I guess Belgium

doesn’t count. Michele also suggested that we should be leaving a trail of bread

crumbs to enable us to find our way back out of this labyrinth. I wandered around

the waiting area, not wanting to sit down, but in a very few minutes our name was

called, and I had my vital signs checked. I was told my blood pressure was high.

Right. Soon after that we were called by Dr. Schubach himself to follow him down

the hall.

While we were moving through the halls and while we were waiting I took

stock of the situation, and had familiar thoughts about the VA. The other veterans

don’t look good. They all look as though they are dying. They look sick, poor and

mostly unkempt. The East and the West Wings look like bomb zones, with lots of

construction or demolition in progress. The place is a crowded mess, and does

not make a good impression. I had a great impression of the nurses who took my

vital signs. And my impression of the person who checked us in was a positive

one.

Dr. Schubach held the door for us, and he shook my hand and introduced

himself to both of us. Soon we were in a room with him, and I took a seat, using

my walker to lower myself into the chair. The doctor gratefully took the envelope

with the 70 plus pages of the Group Health records in it, but did not at that point

look at the records. He asked me to tell him my story, and I proceeded to do so.

He was attentive and kind as he listened to me recount my history with my

multiple myeloma. After I told my story, he leafed through the records. Later he

told us that he would look through them again later, when I wasn’t breathing

down his neck. I agreed that was a good plan.

Dr. Schubach outlined for us what would be available at the VA. He made

the point that if I’d been getting care from the VA for my multiple myeloma from

the get go, all the medication would have been paid for, and other protocols

would have been considered if appropriate. He agreed that the protocols I have

been receiving are the most likely ones they would have started with. He did

mention that he’d prescribe for me a medication that would act to prevent blood

clots and there’s a 20% chance of blood clots with thalidomide. Also he stated

that the bone strengtheners should be given every month. He was careful to not

be critical of the care I’ve been receiving at Group Health, but when the option of

bone marrow transplants were brought up, he seemed to think that if I responded

positively to these first treatments, my age would not be a consideration in

whether or not I would get such treatment. He made the point that at the VA,

patients in their 60’s through their 80’s have successfully received such

treatments. He also made the point that the treatments were not so invasive and

awful that quality of life became a bad thing. He said that apartments nearby

were available for us to stay in during the treatments. All gratis. As is all the

medication and treatment.

While we were discussing medications, the subject of pain medications

came up and I mentioned the problems I’d had with pain meds and constipation.

Dr. Schubach said that he was convinced that we could come up with a plan that

would strike a balance, which would allow me to take pain meds that would help

with my pain, but would not result in constipation. I am eager to explore that

option. I don’t want to be in any more pain than I have to be. Who does? I also

don’t want to be doped to the gills and out of it, which the doctor assured me

could be avoided.

He also explained at some point that the room we were meeting with him

in was the worst of the rooms available, as he’s the head of the oncology

department and that’s why he has chosen the worst room. Actually I thought the

room was more than comparable to the room we first met with Dr. Norman in at

the Tacoma Group Health. It was a clean, well-lighted space with a computer and

an examining table and a few chairs. Both Michele and I were positively

impressed with Dr. Schubach’s manner and with his deportment. His kindness

was such that when I was struggling to get my big Carhartt shirt back on, after he

examined me, having me breathe in and out, all the usual stuff. Then he helped

me find my left sleeve and get that arm into place. One doesn’t expect a doctor to

do that. He also tried to help me up from the low chair I was sitting on.

Dr. Schubach explained that the VA would pay for my chemo whether or

not I was being treated at the VA, with him as our PCP. I immediately felt that the

VA was the way to go. Dr. Schubach has many more resources available to him

and us than does Group Health, and he makes a much more proactive and

involved impression than Dr. Norman, whom I like, but who seems, by

comparison, inexperienced in dealing with Vietnam veterans with Agent Orange

connected multiple myeloma. Dr. Schubach has strategies in mind in dealing with

my situation, and if what I am doing now isn’t found to be working, something

else, something better, will be tried, and cost will be no object.

I asked him about my swollen ankles and he examined them. He thought

that my tight short socks had exacerbated the problem, and mentioned other

kinds of socks that I could obtain. He didn’t feel that I was a “dead man walking”

when I asked him about my current chances to live longer. He did say that my

MM was of the worst kind and that my situation was not good, but that I had a

reasonable chance to survive a while if I respond positively to the protocols and if

I can be admitted to the bone marrow transplant program. I felt more hopeful as I

listened to him outline my options.

Michele filled out a form for the VA pharmacy so that we could get a

contact with the pharmacist that would lead to our getting our thalidomide

prescription provided by the VA. We will be getting a call, soon, from that

pharmacist. I look forward to seeing how that works out. We set up another

appointment with Dr. Schubach for next week, on Tuesday. Before we left the

office, Michele made a point to praise Armi, the oncology nurse we’d dealt with

on the phone, for her kindness and persistence in setting up this appointment,

and in pursuing copies of the Group Health medical records. Armi said that Dr.

Schubach was the best, not because she worked with him, but because he was

the best, and I believe her. The doctor said great things about Armi, too.

As soon as we left Dr. Schubach’s office, after spending most of an hour

with the doctor, Michele and I looked at each other and voiced our positive

feelings about Dr. Schubach and about the VA oncology option. Dr. Schubach is

the man we prefer to be handling my situation. He made the usual comments

about my not looking to be 66 years of age, and he commented on my being a

dirty old man to have such a young, beautiful wife, or words to that effect. I asked

him his age, as he appeared to be in my age group, and he admitted to being two

years younger than I. I like dealing with a fellow who is older and presumably,

wiser. Certainly, he is an oncology doctor with lots of experience with MM. That

has to be a good thing.

On our way out of the VA hospital, as we walked past all the signs telling

us that there was “No Exit,” that we were in the midst of the “terrazzo floor

construction project” and that the VA “Protects those who protected us” Michele

and I exchanged our positive views about our meeting with Dr. Schubach. We

pretty much decided that we must change to the VA if we wanted to be certain

that everything that can be done to keep me alive would be done. Michele

expressed surprise that she was positively impressed by a doctor within the

confines of the VA system as she wasn’t predisposed by our experience with

previous VA doctors to think that possible. I agreed. We made our way through

the maze of fences and barricades, across the rough and rocky terrain to our

Ford, and Michele drove us back through rush hour traffic to Maple Valley.

When Dr. Schubach asked us where we lived and we told him Maple

Valley, he commented that half the folks he works with live in Maple Valley. He

also asked us what sort of house we lived in. I told him about our rambler in

Maple Valley, that it was all on one level, and that when we bought it 16 years

ago, one consideration was that it have no flights of stairs, as I foresaw that at

about age 66, I would be in such shape due to my health, that stairs would be a

problem for me. He didn’t ask me why I thought that, but he did give me a look. I

had my reasons. I knew I’d been exposed to Agent Orange in Viet Nam, and I

knew that my father had died at age 66 from brain cancer, caused, I think, by his

exposure to poisons in his job as a chemist at Krop King in Yakima. Further, I

was aware that neither of my grandfathers lived to be 66 years of age. That

reminds me that he asked something about where we were from and where we

had been raised. I told him that both Michele and I were born in Seattle at

Virginia Mason Hospital and that both of us had attended the University of

Washington. He wanted to know what we’d done for employment, and I told him

I’d been a librarian for thirty years and Michele mentioned that until recently,

when she got her 30 years in, she had been a principal of an elementary school

in the Tahoma School District.

Dr. Schubach took the time to get to know us a bit, and asked questions

that made me feel that I mattered to him. Also he gave us plenty of opportunity to

ask him questions and he was a straight shooter in his replies. It’s our plan to

keep our appointment on Monday with Dr. Norman at the Seattle Group Health

and to let him know that we are jumping ship and committing to the VA and Dr.

Schubach for the rest of my MM treatment. I have my bone strengthening IV

procedure on Monday as well. I also will get the results of the 24 hour urine

collection, which I start tomorrow. Dr. Schubach made it clear that that test is the

best one for determining if my current protocols are working to defeat the MM. He

said that if he were my doctor, he’d want me to do that collection monthly, so that

he’d know what progress, if any, was being made.

The only major item that’s left on my want list pertaining to the VA is for

my disability claim to be adjudicated and settled for a 100% disability. We

brought this up briefly with Dr. Schubach, and he told us what we knew already,

that his function is completely separate from that process. He emphasized that

he would have it no other way, as his goal is to help vets with their cancer, not to

deal with any money or claim issues, which are all totally apart from him. It’s

interesting how VA functions are kept separate, and at this late date in my

dealings with the VA, I can understand why this is so. I am glad that my being

assigned a PCP is separate from the claim process, and that I don’t have to wait

for the treatment or the meds to be paid for until the claim is adjudicated. I wasn’t

clear about that at the beginning of this process nor was I clear how I got to the

point of having a PCP assigned to me. Now I think I get it. I also think I am clear

that financial eligibility and Michele’s last year’s salary won’t enter into

consideration in this part of the process. I assumed from what I was told when we

applied for my VA medical ID card that her last year’s salary was a consideration

that would make us ineligible for our meds to be paid for by the VA. I shouldn’t

have assumed that. I should have soldiered onward, unmoved by that

information. Of course, then I had no idea that we’d be spending over $10,000 on

the thalidomide in the next three months. If I’d had that information then, I would

have been highly motivated to further pursue VA involvement in paying for those

meds, which they would have done, I now realize.

We’ll be seeing Dr. Schubach next Tuesday, at which time we will tell him

that we now have decided to go with him as our oncologist, and that we are

ready for him to evaluate what we’ve been doing, and to determine what would

be best to do next. Right now as I type these sentences, Michele is gone to our

favorite Thai restaurant to pick up bags of Thai food for our dinner. We deserve a

treat after such a day. It was a good day, and I held up well, but a good, spicy

dinner is a reward that’s appropriate. Spicy coconut milk, soup, spring rolls,

mango fried rice, and maybe a surprise or two. I can hardly wait. Meanwhile, I’ll

listen to the Buddy Holly CD’s that I got in the mail today, and sit on the hard

kitchen chair that’s easy for me to get up and down from.

Oh, I forgot to mention that this morning I got a call from my old friend,

Steve C. with whom I worked for 30 years at GRCC, in Holman Library. He said

that he could come by tomorrow afternoon and visit with me. I look forward to

that. I seldom, almost never, get a chance to see somebody from my

employment past in person. And Steve was always one of the good guys, always

helpful and patient to deal with. I remember him as being one of the few people

who was steadfast and responsive when friends of ours got sick, and later died.

He was much better about that than I ever was. I tended to shy away, as though I

were scared of sickness and death being catching. I think I was. Now the shoe is

on my foot.

Wednesday / 25 February 2009

I started my 24 hour urine collection project this morning at 8:00. It has to

be done, but it’s a tedious process.

I got a call this morning from Steve C. who asked me if I’d be up to going

out for lunch today, and when I told him I didn’t think so, he said that he’d like to

bring over some tuna salad sandwiches for us to eat for lunch. I gave that option

my blessing. When I told Michele about the sandwiches, she was relieved as

she’d been fretting about what I’d have for my midday meal. I look forward to

seeing Steve C. Soon I must begin the process of showering and dressing

myself. That daily process is always a good measure of how I am doing and

feeling on that day. Some days I feel as weak as a sick kitten when the process

is done. Other days I am still full of piss and vinegar. I suspect that the days I

have just taken the steroids are my best days for that process. When I mentioned

that to Dr. Schubach, that I get a jolt of pep and a false sense of well being from

the steroids, he commented that he expected that and had heard that before.

That feeling lasts for a couple of days at most. Today I feel that I will have a great

day.

Later, around noon

Steve C. showed up right on time, with a lunch for the two of us to eat. I

was hungry and so was Steve, so we settled in at the kitchen table, after Steve

brought out the sandwiches and chips and dip and cookies and bananas that

constituted our lunch. The tuna salad sandwiches were delicious, and we talked

as we ate, mostly about our 60 plus years that we worked at GRCC, but also

about our health situations. Steve shared with me that he has had serious

brushes with death recently, so he’s in the place to well understand what I am

going through now. His health problems have left him with the need to devise

various strategies to deal with getting in and out of bed, and with going up and

down ladders, as one of his arms is still not up to speed.

After we finished our lunch, and I confess to eating the lion’s share of the

delicious cookies that he’d provided, Steve asked about tasks that he could do to

help me. He knew that there were things that had gone undone around here, that

were the sorts of things I’ve always taken care of, and he knew that these things

would be preying on my mind, especially in the wee hours of the morning when I

awaken and brood. I listed some of the things that I wanted him to do for me.

First, he went out the back doors into the yard and picked up the end of the

Christmas tree that was on the patio and threw it into our woods. Then he

retrieved the Christmas tree stand and brought it through the house and placed it

in the garage, so that later he could put it back in the attic. He got six apples out

of the fruit drawer in the fridge for me and placed them on the counter so that

later I could prepare baked apples. He also got out the baking dish for me, as it

was on a low shelf that I could not reach.

We went out into the garage, he under his own steam, and me leaning

heavily on my walker and using the rail that Guy Libby installed months ago.

Without that rail, I would not be able to make it up and down those few steps into

the garage. Steve pulled down the attic access ladder, went up the ladder into

the attic and turned on the light. The next few minutes were occupied by his

moving several plastic tubs of Christmas stuff into the attic and storing them in

the appropriate niches. He also stowed away the Christmas tree stand. The left

side of the garage was blocked by some clutter that had accumulated, and Steve

moved that stuff into places that freed up that space. He moved the sleds out of

the garage and stored them in the yard near the doghouse. Allie’s bicycle was

moved into an area where it no longer blocked parking.

We went into the bookroom and packed up the Christmas stuff that was

spread out on the bed in that room, and stored it in a plastic tub that Steve also

moved up into the attic. After that, Steve dealt with the clutter of debris that had

accumulated near the bookroom door. Now that area was safe and clear again,

not a pit and a snare for feet and ankles. Then Steve got the big broom and

swept out the right side of the garage where lots of pine needles and mud were

caked on the floor. The garage was once again in apple pie order. Before we

went back inside the house, Steve folded up the big blue tarp that was spread

out in the back of my Ford Freestar, stowed it in the garage, and put the Ford’s

seats back in an upright position.

We went back into the house and settled down in the living room to talk,

while the Golf Channel quietly showed us Tiger Woods’ return to golf in the

background. Steve talked about his mother’s health problems and her sister’s

decision to step in and rescue her at a time of need and about where his mother

and her sister had come from. Interesting stuff. Of course, I love family history,

especially when there are lots of detailed memories and old photographs, which

Steve has accepted responsibility for and has shared with other family members.

Soon our afternoon was over and Michele and Allie both arrived home. Steve

said hello to them and goodbye to me, and he reminded me as he left that he

only lives five minutes away, and that I should call him if I need him, even if it’s

only to help me clear a blocked vacuum cleaner intake. What a great friend to

take time from his day to help me out in a time of need.

After he left, I worked on my baked apple project. I got out the walnuts, the

raisins, and the brown sugar, found the nutmeg and cinnamon and mixed all of

those ingredients together, cored the six apples and stuffed them with the mixed

ingredients. I added water to the pan, and I covered the pan with aluminum foil. I

called on Allie to get the baking dish filled with apples into the oven, and she did

so. I set the oven at 400 degrees and in about 45 minutes we checked on the

apples. They were doing fine, so we removed the foil and put them back in for

another 15 minutes. Michele prepared brown rice and thawed out some chili, and

soon we were eating dinner.

Later we ate baked apples with whipped cream that Allie prepared. The

apples were delicious, a perfect way to end a good day. It made me feel good to

prepare one of my old dishes and to have it come out well. I miss cooking every

day, but it’s good to occasionally take on a cooking project and to acquit myself

well. Tomorrow I plan to prepare one of my favorite pork chop recipes, along with

some baked sweet potatoes and baked white potatoes. I think I can handle that

challenge. We’ll see.

Thursday / 26 February 2009

At 8:00 I finished my 24-hour urine collection project. It’s good to be done

with that. Michele will have to drive to the Federal Way Group Health lab and turn

in the container today. The Tahoma Schools are closed today due to the

overnight snowstorm, so the roads are not good right now. Michele will have to

wait until later today for the roads to improve before she makes that trip to

Federal Way. She should have parked her car in the cleared out left side of the

garage, but last night we had no idea that a snowstorm was on the way. So her

car sits in the driveway, covered with snow.

Later

Michele took the broom outside and used it to sweep her Honda free of

snow before taking off to run a series of errands, the most important of which

was to deliver my 24-hour urine collection project to the Federal Way Group

Health. She was also assigned the task of buying me a yellow onion for my pork

chop recipe. While Michele is gone on these errands, I will sit in the living room in

my Zero Gravity chair and watch Tiger Woods and Phil Mickelson play match

play golf. Allie made me a snack of crackers and cheddar slices, which left my

shirt front covered with crumbs. After the cheese and crackers, I nuked one of

the baked apples I prepared yesterday and ate it, too.

Friday / 28 February 2009

I received the message in my Outlook Express that Group Health had sent

me an email with results of my recent lab tests. I used my Group Health number,

the one beginning with two zeros, and my password, to access the results of the

24-hour urine collection analysis. The message was headed “Kappa/Lambda

Free Light Chains W/Ration (GHC). The first entry listed the Kappa Free Light

Chains, Serum, and my value was 949. I moved my eyes to the right to see what

the standard range was. 3.3 to 19.4 mg/L. This entry was flagged with an “H.”

Wow! I am a bit out of that range. Was I alarmed? Not really, as I expected that

number would be a high one. What else would explain the changes in my body,

and the pain that I was feeling just about everywhere, especially when I try to get

myself to a standing position from the extreme lowness of my Zero Gravity

chairs. The other entries for Lambda Free Light Chains, Serum and for

Kappa/Lambda Free Light Chains Ration were also instructive. My value for the

Lambda Free Light Chains, Serum was 7.75. The standard range was 5.7 to 26.3

mg/L. No flag on that one. The entry for the Kappa/Lambda Free Light Chains

Ratio gave as my value 122.45. I moved my eyes to the right for the standard

range and found that it was given as 0.26 to 1.65, and that one was flagged with

an “H.” I could see that these numbers were a warning of some sort. It will be

interesting to hear what Dr. Norman, our Group Health oncologist, has to say

about these numbers when we meet with him this coming Monday afternoon.

What sort of plan of action will he present to us? The next day, Tuesday, we will

meet with Dr. Schubach, our VA oncologist, and he’ll have a plan of action to

present as well.

On Monday we will tell Dr. Norman that we are moving to the VA

Oncology Department, and that Dr. Schubach will be our oncologist. I will tell Dr.

Norman that we talked it over and decided that I would be more comfortable at

the VA, with an oncologist who has dealt with many Vietnam Veterans who have

had Agent Orange related multiple myeloma. I hope that Dr. Norman takes this

well. I hope he doesn’t choose to look at this decision as a rejection of him

personally. With the above numbers in mind, I am eager to make the change, as

I got the sense when talking with Dr. Schubach, that he had a plan of action for

me that he wanted to pursue immediately. I predict that he will present us with

some changes in my protocols and that he will act as though time is of the

essence. I have not gotten that sense at Group Health. I have not felt a sense of

urgency about my case. I am feeling it myself right now, especially because of

the numbers, but also because I can feel my body failing me. I keep thinking

about that old poem about the Wonderful One Horse Shay and how it fell apart.

Each day I seem less able to do what I want to do.

Yesterday I received in the mail the DR Pepper sign that I won on eBay a

couple of weeks ago. I wanted to mount it on the wall where I have the DR

Pepper clock and the other DR Pepper sign, but I couldn’t do it. I was able to use

my grabber to get down the small sign that I had holding the place for the new

sign, but then I was stymied. I could not reach high enough to measure the spot

for the new sign. I shed tears of frustration, but came to my senses and did other

stuff, stuff that I could do. I took my shower and dressed and watched golf. When

Allie came through the door later in the afternoon, I was standing in front of the

DR Pepper wall, and Allie asked me how long I’d been standing there. I told her

for hours, but I was kidding. I’d been there for about one minute.

In short order, Allie measured the spot and used a hammer and a nail to

mount the new sign in the empty spot on the wall. It looked perfect. I couldn’t

have done a better job myself. The new DR Pepper sign looked just right there

with the DR Pepper clock beneath it and to the center and the other DR Pepper

sign balancing it out to the right. My vision was vindicated. Just a few months ago

I was able to get up on the step ladder and move signs around and mount a new

sign just where I wanted it. Not for the first time, I thought of Howlin’ Wolf’s song

written by Jimmy Oden, Goin’ Down Slow. Not so slow right now, though.

Saturday / 28 February 2009

Today I felt up to an outing, so when Michele and Allie got back from a

lacrosse meeting, Michele and I drove to Issaquah, where we parked in a

handicapped-parking place in front of the Target store and I used my walker to

enter the place, make my way to the greeting cards. I picked out an anniversary

card for Michele, and made my way, oh so slowly, to the checkout counter where

I bought the thing. Michele was busy returning a shower curtain and some false

eyelashes, so after I paid for the card, I slowly walked myself out the doors, into

the parking lot and successfully negotiated the lanes to our Ford. I folded up the

walker and set myself in the front passenger seat. In a few minutes, Michele was

in the picture, wondering what had happened to me.

Next we stopped at the Antique Mall, where we looked for Curtis prints for

my sister Leanne’s next present. Didn’t find the one with the burro in it, so we

were soon on our way to Bamiyan for lunch. Today the owner, Amir, was there,

so I chatted with him about the special Persian tea that I always drink there. He

said that he’d make us up a special mix of the tea leaves and spices and give us

a call and we could come and pick it up. He’s a sweet guy. I gave him a piece of

paper with my name and phone number. He told us we’d need a teapot to

prepare this tea. I’ve got dozens of teapots out in the barn, as I aggressively

collected teapots for a few years, but I don’t think I’ve got one in the house. I’ll

need to enlist Michele or Allie to retrieve one of them for this project. That

shouldn’t be too hard. I had the game hen for lunch with rice, and Michele had

chicken in a different sort of a mixture with saffron rice. For dessert we shared

baklava, which was delightful and not excessively sticky and sweet. Michele also

had a Turkish coffee. We paid and were soon on our way home.

Sunday / 1 March 2009

Michele has gone to a memorial service this afternoon for Tyler Johnson,

dead at age 27 from brain tumors. Michele taught Tyler when he was in the fifth

grade, and we have been friends with his parents, the sweetest, kindest people

you’d ever want to know, for many years. Such a death makes one think of

mortality. Because of my condition, mortality is already much on my mind. But

when Michele told me of Tyler’s death, I thought of myself, the way people do,

and what my death at the age of 27 would have deprived me of. I would never

have worked one day as a librarian. I wouldn’t have had children. I would never

have met Michele, the love of my life. I would never have written and published

REMF Diary. What had I accomplished at the age of 27? I’d been to Viet Nam,

and I’d been exposed to Agent Orange on a daily basis while stationed for

months at Long Binh. That was the most important thing I’d done up to that point.

But I didn’t even know it. Life is a mystery, and the importance of events can only

be measured decades after the fact. If then.

Due to my unsteadiness on my feet, and my discomfort in large crowds, I

have been spared the responsibility of accompanying Michele to the service. I

would not be able to keep from crying, even though I never knew Tyler. I cried

when I watched the video footage of Michele’s fifth grade class that showed Tyler

working in small groups with other fifth graders. It’s one thing to die when old. It’s

expected, and an old person has a life of accomplishments and memories for

comfort or torment, but when a young person dies, it’s hard not to think that fate

has cheated him of a future. I know that some have argued that death at an early

age spares the dead the certainty of later failure and fading. I vaguely remember

that the poem “To An Athlete Dying Young” has a few lines that can be read that

way. Never having been an athlete, I found it hard to put much stock in that

message. I’ve had a long run, and I am grateful for it. I’ve outlived my

grandfathers, who were both dead before 66, and I am even with my father who

died at 66. I never expected to live much beyond age 66, but I am determined to

make the effort to do so.

Serious things, and silly motivate me to do so. I want to attend my 50th

high school reunion. That’s silly. I want to spend more time with my family,

perhaps make it at least one more time to Seaside, Oregon for our annual

vacation there. That’s serious. I hope I’ll get a better idea of what sort of chance I

have for another few months of life this Monday and Tuesday when I meet with

my oncologists. They are unlikely to give me anything concrete to think about,

but perhaps I can draw my own conclusions from changes in treatment and

comments about what my current numbers mean. I don’t want to know exactly

when I am destined to die, and nobody could tell me that anyhow, but I am about

as ready as I am likely to get. Tyler Johnson was not ready, but he went anyhow.

Who was it who said, When your number is up, your number is up? Not a wise

saying, but worth thinking about.

Later

Guy and Brigitte Libby delivered and unloaded an electrically operated

chair that stands up the person sitting in it. They shoehorned it into the family

room, right next to the large brown leather easy chair, and I tried it out. It worked

great to get me into a standing position from a sitting position. I can see how it

will enable me to stand up without the spasms of pain I am currently experiencing

when I try to extricate myself from the low lying Zero Gravity chairs. I discussed

this problem with Guy, and he suggested that he make a platform that is about

six inches high for the Zero Gravity chair to sit upon. He suggested that a six-inch

difference would enable me to stand up by grasping my walker and hauling

myself to my feet, perhaps without spasms. I agreed that it was a grand idea. He

measured the base of the chair and said that this week he would build such a

platform. I started thinking later about what it would take to install such a platform

under the very heavy ZG chair, but I guess that bridge can be crossed when

necessary. It would be great if such a platform enabled me to continue to use the

ZG chairs without dreading getting out of them, and experiencing the symptoms

of sciatica as a painful result. I greatly appreciate how kind and helpful the Libbys

are. Those stairway railings that Guy installed months ago have been a lifesaver.

Monday / 2 March 2009

I slept in the new chair last night and slept well, but found it difficult to get

out of, even though it stood me up. It was an interesting experiment, and one of

many that I’ve embraced in my adventure with multiple myeloma.

Michele and I left the house this morning at 10:30 and headed into Seattle

for two Group Health appointments. When we got there at 11:45 we checked in

on the 5th floor with oncology where I spent an hour and a half getting bone

strengthener. While I was tied to the IV, Michele went across the street and got

me an order of fish and chips and brought the order back for me to eat while I sat

in the comfortable chair getting the stuff dripped into me. The session was as

well planned and comfortable as it wasn’t when I received the stuff at the

Tacoma Group Health in what seemed to be a hastily remodeled storage closet.

After this procedure was over, we went down the hall and checked in at

the desk for our appointment with Dr. Norman. He breezed in as breathless as

always, shook my hand, and gave us the news about my numbers. I am

responding to the protocol, but the numbers on the protein in my urine, the result

of the 24-hour urine collection, hasn’t yet come in. The number that is now 900,

was originally 3600, so that number has come way down. Dr. Norman thumped

my back and told me that I needed to exercise and get myself back in fighting

trim. He suggested that I use a warm swimming pool for some hydrotherapy.

Great idea, but not really helpful out in Maple Valley. He said that he thinks my

pain is due to the treatment and my being inactive. I suspect he’s mostly right

about that.

I told the doctor that we had met with Dr. Schubach, the oncologist at the

VA Hospital and decided that I would seek treatment there beginning tomorrow

when we had an appointment scheduled in oncology. He thought that was a

good idea, and suggested that we might get restitution for the $10,000 we’ve

spent on chemo so far. I expressed doubt about that. Certainly I don’t think that’s

likely unless and until my claim for disability is adjudicated and accepted, if that

happens. Michele and I shook Dr. Norman’s hand and thanked him for his care,

and we took our leave of Group Health. Even though it was a busy traffic time,

we made good time getting back to Maple Valley.

We picked up the mail, which the mail carrier had wedged into our

mailbox, probably using a mallet, and there was a new George Jones CD and the

All Music Guide to Jazz, so I had a pleasant afternoon in store for me.

Tuesday / 3 March 2009

At 11:45 Michele and I left for the Seattle VA Hospital. We couldn’t find a

parking place, so we were forced to use the valet parking service. We tried to get

blood work done when we went into the building, but got nowhere with it as one

of the labs was closed for lunch and the other one didn’t have a record that we

needed blood work.

So we went to the oncology department and checked in. Soon I had my

vital signs taken and was told my blood pressure was high. Soon after Dr.

Schubach came out to the waiting room and waved us in. We met with Dr.

Schubach for about an hour, and a third-year medical student named Mike was

also present. We discussed all the same things that we talked about last time,

but from the angle that Dr. Schubach is now our oncologist. The one piece of

information that’s needed is the number for the protein in my urine, information

that will be forthcoming soon from Group Health. Dr. Norman said we should get

that information today. We’ll expect it to be in our email when we get home.

We also discussed in some great detail that I chose to take 150 mgs of the

thalidomide instead of the recommended 200 mgs. When I asked to explain why

I made that choice, I said that when I took the daily dosage of 200 mgs, I

experienced tingling and numbness in my extremities, on both sides, and also

some double vision and blurry vision, but that when I reduced the dosage to 150

mgs those symptoms faded or went away altogether. Dr. Schubach stated that

he’d never encountered this before. I guess he meant that he’d not encountered

such a small difference in dosage, just 50 mgs, resulting in such different

outcomes. But there it is. He asked me if when I tried 200 mg’s again more

recently had I noticed the same results. Yes, I did, was my reply. I imagine this

doesn’t matter much because I anticipate that soon Dr. Schubach will take me off

the thalidomide and put me on some other chemo, such as Velcade.

Once Dr. Schubach has that information, we’ll decide what’s next, whether

I will continue with the protocol I am on, or whether a new protocol will be

explored, one that perhaps will involve more frequent administering of steroids,

or dropping the thalidomide for one of two other possibilities, one of those being

Velcade. Dr. Schubach also gave me a referral to physical therapy. And a referral

for a better walker than I am using currently. We made another appointment with

him for a week from now, an appointment that might not be necessary,

depending on what happens next.

Next we went to the lab and checked in and got a number. In about twenty

minutes my number was called and I went in for the blood work. I really like the

young fellow who staffs this small lab on the second floor. He’s a sharp guy and

does a good job with the needle. At some point in our exchanges he mentioned

that my timing was good and that he thought I’d missed my calling if I hadn’t

done standup comedy. I laughed and said that I had considered and had tried a

bit of it, but decided against it as a life plan. He asked me what had made me

decide against it. I told him it was the cocaine. That I didn’t think it a good idea to

fuel myself with the stuff to get up and be up and on and funny, and the

audience’s expectation was that I would be that way. So I walked away from that

career choice. We talked about Robin Williams and other greats. I mentioned

Richard Pryor as being my idol, but not my role model. I think I made the right

choice. I have no regrets. It’s more fun being able to get the blood guy to laugh

and to remember me from one blood taking to the next. As I left, he said, you’re

really funny man. I said, yeah, I’m a comic genius, but promise that it’ll be our

little secret. He laughed and promised.

After I was out of his office, I looked around at the vets who were waiting

their turns, and a sadder, greyer lot you can’t imagine. Not a chuckle in the place.

Doom, gloom and drear of the worst ilk. Michele and I noticed while were we

waiting our turn that the veterans in the room were of two sorts: those of my age,

50’s and 60’s and those who seemed to be in their 20’s or early 30’s, but nobody

in between. I suspect the wars dictated that bifurcation. And most have serious

problems with their ambulation, many worse than my problems. We were all

sitting in low, Danish modern type chairs, and every veteran that got his name

called struggled to get up. Some had to be helped by a caregiver, usually a grey

old wife.

One younger veteran, who weighed in at about 350, had his name called

and took so long to get out of his low chair that the number caller came over to

him and asked him questions about his slowness. Eventually he languidly

extracted himself from the chair and sauntered along after the medical

professional. He was dressed in dark counter culture clothing with a tee shirt that

memorialized a musical group I’d never heard of. He was one of the better

dressed vets in the room. The other vets in the room were mostly unkempt and

even homeless looking. I dressed to be comfortable, and wore sheepskin

slippers due to my swollen feet and ankles, but I look like a Brook Brothers model

compared to most of the denizens of the waiting room. What does it all mean? I

take it to mean that many of the veterans’ lives have not worked out well, and

that they are at the end of the line. I watched one veteran near me prepare to

leave after he got his blood work. He had his wife with him, but she offered him

no help as he struggled to get into his elegant suede jacket. Perhaps she knew

better than to offer any aid. What does an outsider know of the rules of operation

of another’s marriage? He finally did get it on, but his collar was rucked up and

his sleeves weren’t straight, and his grey, thinning hair was wild. He walked out

with his wife, but his gait indicated that walking wasn’t the thing he was doing

best these days. He was wearing an elegant jacket, though.

After we took the elevator back to the ground floor, Michele and I made

our slow way to the valet parking booth and retrieved our Ford and rocketed on

home. We got the mail, no bills and no bundles from Amazon either. Michele

made me a tall, cold drink and then took off for the grocery store. I hung out at

home, still full of piss and vinegar. After all, I took ten steroids this morning, and

even Dr. Schubach noticed that I was speeding along and pretty talkative. And

he hardly knows me. As he said, he’s seen that before. I suspect he’s seen it all

before. He told us quite a bit of concrete detail about what it will be like for me

when I do the bone marrow transplant option, and it sounds like an ordeal, but a

necessary one if I am to try to lengthen my life. Two weeks in the hospital will be

a challenge for me, but if others have done it and survived, so can I. First, I need

my numbers to come down, especially the protein number.

Later

When we got home, Michele checked the email and said that Dr, Norman

had left us a message saying that my protein number had come down to two

grams for the 24-hour collection period. Dr. Norman said the drop in urine protein

was significant, in that the level had dropped from eight grams to two grams

during the course of the three month thalidomide/dex treatment protocol. On the

face of it this information seems like good news of a sort. It will be interesting to

see what Dr. Schubach makes of it.

Later yet

Michele emailed Dr. Schubach and told him about the protein number

dropping from 8 grams to 2 grams. He replied at about 7:30 this evening and said

that he set up an appointment for us to come in next Tuesday to receive

Velcade(bortezombid) via IV as he wants a more dramatic response from me

before I start the bone marrow transplant process. Exactly what he proposed was

that I begin “velcade/melphan/dexamethasone on Tuesday.” He went on to state

that “the schedule will be 40 mg of dexamethasone on days 1-4 (Tues-Fri),

melphalan days 1-4 and bortezombid days 1, 4, 8, 11, 22, 25, 29, and 32. This is

followed by ten days’ rest and repeat.” At that point the urine will be rechecked

with another 24-hour urine collection. This collection will help determine how

many cycles of this treatment will be necessary. He wants the numbers as low as

they will go before collecting stem cells. The goal is to eradicate the secretions in

the urine or to at least attain a plateau. We were both impressed that Dr.

Schubach took the time to email us this evening. We get the impression that he

thinks time is of the essence and that he wants to keep me on the right side of

the grass. I support his goals totally.

Wednesday / 4 March 2009

Today is a down day for me in the sense that I have no appointments

today. Michele has gone to put in a rare full day of work for the Tahoma School

district, uninterrupted by my schedule. She’s placed food for me on the higher

shelves of the fridge so that I can reach a hot dog and a bun to nuke for my

lunch. I am already looking forward to that repast and it’s only 9:30. I expect that

I’ll be contacted some time today by Armi, the oncology nurse, or by someone

else in the VA Cancer Care Clinic to talk with me about next Tuesday’s

appointment to receive my first Velcade. Michele carefully instructed me to try to

get a morning appointment if I could, and to ask how long this procedure will last.

I think I can remember those two things, unless I get stage fright during the

phone call. That’s why I rarely am involved in the nuts and bolts of arranging

such things. Scheduling is my least best thing. Later when I’ve had a few days to

think about it, I can sometimes see where I went wrong, but in the heat of the

moment I am not capable of figuring out why one time of day or one day is better

or worse than another. I am frozen in the headlights like that deer of song, story

and cliché.

Right now I am going to get caught up on answering email, and then

shower and dress myself. I will also decide if I am up to using my cane or my

walker to ambulate next door to the Roberson’s with a check to pay for our one

third of the most recent cost of repairing our much repaired well pump and tank.

If I do that, it will be my biggest adventure and accomplishment of the day. The

terrain between here and there is rough, but I need to get more exercise and to

work on my gait and stamina. The big goal is to not fall down. And to get back

into my house alive and well. I think I can manage that. Time will tell.

Later

I got an email from Dr. Schubach confirming that we should cancel our

1:45 Tuesday appointment with him, as the appointment that day for Velcade will

be the Tuesday event. Okay, we’ll do that.

Later yet

I got another email from Dr. Schubach in which he advised me that he’d

discussed my case with other myeloma experts and that he’s modifying what he

said earlier. Because of my neuropathic symptoms that I experienced with the

thalidomide, they would like to avoid, if possible, the use of bortezombid for now.

The new regimen would be: Dexamethasone 40 mg/day for four days (days 1-4)

Lenalidomide (Velcade) 25 mg/day days 1-21. Repeat this every 28 days. They

will monitor the 24-hour urine prior to day 28 and decide on continuing or

proceeding to transplant. I was told to come to the Cancer Care Clinic on 5 East

at about 10:00 on Monday, 3/9 to begin this new regimen. I am excited to get

started on this. It looks as though I will have to be at the Cancer Care Clinic

every day at 10:00 for 21 days straight. That will entail lots of commuting to

Seattle. I hope that one month of this will do the trick and get the numbers to

where they must be for the transplant. At least the appointments are in the

morning. That’s a good thing. Michele’s schedule will be heavily affected by this

regimen. My Angel of Mercy will really get a lot of driving time in.

Even later than that

We got another email from Dr. Schubach. We have an appointment with

him Monday morning at the Cancer Care Clinic, and we will get pills at that time.

We won’t have to return each day, as the chemo I will be taking will be in pill

form, not given to me via IV, which is good news. So we won’t have to drive into

Seattle each day for 21 days. It’s great to have an oncologist who takes the time

to communicate with us so freely, even during his evenings.

Thursday / 5 March 2009

We got a call from Armi, the oncology nurse, verifying with us that we

have an appointment Monday morning at 10:00 on the 5th floor of the VA Medical

Center at the Cancer Care Clinic. Michele also called the Physical Therapy

Department at the VA and set up an appointment for me to begin PT that same

day at 1:30 in the afternoon. Monday will be a big day for us at the VA. I think

we’ll take the opportunity to have a nice lunch, perhaps at a Chinese restaurant.

I’d really like to dig into a platter of Dungeness crab served in garlic and ginger

sauce. That might be possible, if we can find a parking place in the International

District at lunch time. That will be the challenge. I wonder if we’ll be given our

prescription for the Velcade in the Cancer Care Center or if we’ll have to visit the

pharmacy and take a number and wait in a long line. By the time Monday is over

we’ll know more. Michele was told that the new walker that Dr. Schubach

prescribed for me is ready and waiting for me to pick up. I am eager to try it out.

Later

My dear old friend, Jeremy Green, visited with me today and we talked

about old times and current events. We had a great lunch of Vietnamese French

sandwiches that Michele picked up for us at a new Vietnamese sandwich place

not too far from here. When Michele told the owner that the sandwiches were for

her husband, a Vietnam vet who is battling with Agent Orange related multiple

myeloma, the owner said that she’d make her the best sandwiches that we ever

ate. They were really fine sandwiches. Jeremy and I enjoyed them Michele told

me that the sandwich maker insisted that the best way to serve them was to toast

them in a hot oven, “not in microwave,” before serving, so that’s what we did.

Delicious. We talked about movies too, and Jeremy asked me if I’d seen Tropic

Thunder. Of course, I saw it and I regretted that I was no longer teaching my

course, The Vietnam War and the Media, as that movie would be a perfect movie

to show to illustrate every filmic cliché that’s been perpetrated since the war. And

it’s a movie full of lots of laughs, too.

Later yet

I started reading the book I got in the mail today. The War Comes Home:

Washington’s Battle Against America’s Veterans by Aaron Glantz. Chapter 16, “A

History of Neglect,” outlines briefly the history of the VA’s attempts to dodge

taking responsibility for exposing Vietnam veterans to dioxins such as Agent

Orange. Glantz states that “As early as 1966, a report by the National Cancer

Institute found Agent Orange to cause birth defects in mice and rats.” 1966 is the

year that I arrived in Vietnam. On February 6, 1991, George Bush, Sr. signed a

bill into law that guaranteed compensation to veterans who were victims of two

types of cancer caused by Agent Orange. It took twenty years of battling with the

VA for this to happen. I find myself wondering if it’ll take twenty more years for

my disability claim for my Agent Orange caused multiple myeloma to be

adjudicated. Glantz’s book makes the point again and again that the VA moves

slowly, if at all, when it comes to responding to veterans’ needs. The VA seems

to be ruled by the fear that going less slowly might lead to a veteran somewhere

getting money that he or she doesn’t deserve to get. We can’t have that.

Friday 6 March 2009

Jim L. came over today at 11:30, and he and I went to The Apogee and

ate lunch. We both had hamburgers. It was very quiet in there today, but we got

there just as it opened. I made my way to the front door using my cane, and did

okay once I got warmed up. It was Jim’s treat today. After we finished our lunch,

we went back to my place and I dragooned the good-natured Jim into doing a

dirty little job that I always took great pleasure in doing, cleaning the ashes out of

the woodstove. He did his usual careful and meticulous job with it, and dumped

the ashes on the large midden I’ve been building on the other side of my fence.

Some day an archeologist will be puzzled by the symbolic meaning of the many

layers of ash and dog poop. What sort of ceremonies resulted in such deposits?

He’ll never know. We then spent a delightful time talking about my sign collection

and chatting in general and soon Jim was on his way home. We actually had a

nice sunny day. Usually when I would empty the ashes from the woodstove and

pull the barrow out into the backyard, there would be hard rain falling and a stiff

wind blowing, but not today. I didn’t miss that face full of ashes that the wind

would blow up at all. The day was perfectly still. I look forward to seeing Jim

again in a week or two. I suspect that the next time he comes to visit, I might ask

him to help me find my storage bins full of teapots. I think they are in the attic.

But I thought they were in the barn, and I was wrong about that.

Later

I got an email from Bruce Solheim at Citrus College. He has requested me

to do a live reading of some of my Viet Nam War poetry by phone for his class. I

had told him I would be willing to do the reading, even though I had no idea how

the logistics of the process would work, but that I didn’t know where there were

copies of my poems. He emailed me the texts of the three poems that he wished

me to read: “Me, At War,” “The Killing Machine,” and “My War Dreams.” I would

include the poems here if I had any idea how to do that without retyping them line

by line. I won’t do that. The first of the three poems I wrote when I was in Viet

Nam in 1966-1967. The other two I wrote decades later. To the best of my

recollection, I’ve only written three Viet Nam War related poems since I left Viet

Nam. I’ll ask Michele or Allie if there’s some nifty computer shortcut to including

the poems, and if there is, I’ll stick them in here. Otherwise, that won’t happen.

Me, At War

How would you feel if the ordinary quit

And all were strange and unfocused?

Would you shy back from the sound,

The move of someone you once had met?

Would you fear conversation on public pavement

And spend much of your time sidling

For the imagined calm of the past?

When you look at old, and new is seen

Do you doubt yourself and feel insanity’s gleam?

Do you? Do you?

How would you feel if the ordinary quit?

The Killing Machine

I say, “I’m sick of the grunts and their obsession with their M-16s

And the enemies’ AK-47s.

My memos and TWIXs killed more soldiers

Than the grunts ever dreamed

Of killing

With their mad minutes, free-fire zones and sweep-and-clears.”

“Yeah,” said Dan, “but the grunts were killing the enemy.

Your memos were friendly fire.”

“Well, yeah. There’s that,” I say. “But that’s the only real difference.”

(This is the one Vietnam vet poem I’ve written. I wrote it in 1993, and I

dedicate it to Dan Duffy.)

My War Dreams

Once in a while

I have Vietnam War dreams

That aren’t about typing and filing.

I had one the other night,

And I awoke shaken,

Still wet from the rice paddy

I’d never waded,

Still scared from AK 47 fire

I’d never heard,

Still sickened by the blood

Of the dead buddies

I’d never known.

It took me a while

To figure out that I was safe

In my big house

In Maple Valley

Protected by my big mean dogs

And threatened only

By the images

Of war movies

I showed my class by day—

Images that came back

In the night to get me.

I’d give up watching war movies

If I thought

That would help me sleep

Through each night.

(written 6 October 1995)

Saturday / 7 March 2009

I am home alone today as Michele is busy driving Allie around the county

to her various Saturday appointments. First, Michele had to drive Allie to

Enumclaw for a choir performance. After that obligation was done, the two of

them were to head to Federal Way to Thomas Jefferson High School for a dance

thing that Allie is involved in. Better them than me. I have a chance to get caught

up on my reading. I intend to finish reading the Abel Jones Civil War novel by

Owen Parry that I’ve been struggling with all week. The Bold Sons of Erin. I

suspect that I’ve read this one already, years ago, but I can never be certain. I’ll

be glad to be done with it. Right now it looks as though the North is likely to lose

the Civil War, but the suspense is wasted on me as I’ve read enough history to

know that the North won.

Later

I was feeling pretty steady, so I pan fried oysters and large shrimp for our

Po’ Boy sandwich dinner. The oysters and shrimp were a golden brown when I

removed them from the pan, and the sandwiches were enjoyed by the three of

us, along with cole slaw, tomatoes and the homemade clam chowder that

Michele made. By the time I’d fried all of the oysters, I was no longer feeling

steady, but I persisted until I’d cooked the last of the shrimp. After dinner I sought

refuge in my Zero Gravity chair, even though I knew that getting out of it later to

watch Rescue Me with Michele would likely trigger painful sciatic spasms. When I

first sat in the chair, I could still feel some sciatic pain. Gradually it faded as my

body adjusted to my chair. In years past I was over familiar with sciatic pain, but I

hadn’t anticipated that it would rear its ugly head now, when I am in this

weakened state. Life is full of surprises.

Sunday / 8 March 2009

We awoke to a snowstorm, but soon the day warmed up enough that the

snow turned to rain, and then the snow melted. We had planned to drive to

Issaquah today to eat an anniversary dinner at Bamiyan, and to pick up the

special tea that Amir had prepared for us. Michele assured me that this little

snowfall will not impede that plan. I’d hoped that I would awaken and my sciatic

pain would be gone, but no such luck. When I see Dr. Schubach tomorrow I will

discuss this pain with him, and later when I have my physical therapy

appointment, I will mention it again. I wonder if there are any strategies for

dealing with it, other than gritting my teeth and putting up with it. Perhaps I’ll find

out tomorrow.

Michele and I exchanged 23rd anniversary presents and cards. Twenty-

three years passed mighty swiftly. It seems like yesterday that we married and

began our life together. This is the first year that I had to buy Michele a present

online rather than going to Nordstrom to pick it out myself. Nordstrom online did

work well, though, so this old dog did learn a new trick. It’s one thing to buy

books and CD’s online. It’s quite another to buy Michele a Ralph Lauren robe

that looks good and fits her well. The little tiny thumbnail-sized pictures online

don’t allow for much discrimination, let alone provide the opportunity to

appreciate color and texture. But she was happy with her present, and that’s all

that matters to me.

Later

Michele and I decided that we wanted to drive to Issaquah and eat our

anniversary dinner at Bamiyan, even though we were in the middle of a

snowstorm, so we did so. About five minutes from our house the snowstorm

disappeared and we drove the rest of the way to Issaquah in normal March

weather. We saw not one more flake of snow. When we got to Bamiyan, Amir

wasn’t in evidence, but we’d hardly settled at our table when he showed up and

gifted us with a large freezer bag of his special blend of tea. It was wonderfully

aromatic. I can hardly wait to make a pot of tea from it.

It was a special occasion so we had a table full of appetizers, one platter

of which was on the house, and then I devoured a rack of lamb. Michele had the

dumplings she favors. We finished up with Turkish coffee and baklava. I left a bit

ahead of Michele as my walker makes me move slowly. Later she told me that

Amir gave her a big hug, and she told him about my current health situation. He

had suspected that I was dealing with something serious, as we’ve been eating

at his restaurant for many years, and the walker sort of gave away that major

changes have happened to me. It was a perfect anniversary dinner at a place

that’s always been special to us. It would be nice if the weather eventually gets

warm and sunny, and we get a chance to return there and sit at the outside

tables and do battle again with the yellow jackets. Just for old times’ sake. It

could happen.

We drove back home, but not until we arrived in our neighborhood did we

see evidence of the snowstorm. Our yard and our house were snowed in, but

that was about it. I guess this snowstorm was seriously localized. We were smart

to not be intimidated by the snow into hunkering down in our house and missing

out on the Bamiyan experience.

Monday / 9 March 2009

We started off for the Seattle VA Cancer Care appointment at 9:00, driving

into the teeth of a vicious snowstorm. A few miles from Maple Valley, I had a

vision in my mind’s eye of our car being in the ditch, and my being stranded

alongside the road with my walker, trying to figure out what to do next, so I

requested of Michele, our driver, to turn around and go back to our house in

Maple Valley. The snow was coming down like a blizzard, but we made it back

home safely. When we got home, I called Armi, the VA oncology nurse, and

informed her that we’d started for Seattle, but were now back home again, and

could she reschedule our 10:00 Monday appointment for later in the week. She

said she’d call us back. She did call back later, but neither Michele nor I were

anywhere nearby a phone, so we missed that first call. Lucky for us, she called

back a few minutes later and told us that she had us re-scheduled for an

appointment with Dr. Schubach for tomorrow, Tuesday, at 1:45 in the East Wing

Oncology Department, when we’d talk with the doctor and sign an agreement

related to the new chemo treatment, and perhaps we’d also talk to a pharmacist

about the new meds. Armi said we should call and re-schedule our Monday

afternoon PT appointment, too, but we said we still had hopes we might be able

to make that appointment. The snow has stopped falling for now. Why is it again

that nothing in life goes smoothly? I’ve wanted that question answered for over

sixty years, but have yet to get an answer that satisfies me.

Later

We left for the Seattle VA Hospital at 12:30 to get to the physical therapy

appointment at 1:45. We saw no signs of a snowstorm along the way, and I

second guessed my decision this morning to turn back as a bad decision. We got

to the VA Hospital in plenty of time, reported to the PT Department, and had a

fifty-minute session with Meg, the physical therapist. She interviewed me about

what my goals for the day were. I explained to her what I’ve been going through

lately when I get up from a low chair, and emphasized that I was eager to reduce

or avoid the sciatic pain that resulted from my efforts to rise from a chair. Meg

retrieved my new walker, and showed me how to use it. She also adjusted the

height of the old walker and showed me the right way to use the thing. That

advice will help me. She gave me a lumbar pillow to put behind the small of my

back. She also showed me various exercises that I can do to prepare for arising,

exercises that will help reduce the pain because my spine will be better prepared

for the exertion of rising. I found the time with Meg to be extremely useful, and I

expect that her advice will help me. I am eager to put this advice to practice.

I don’t know exactly what I expected to find when we entered the PT

Department, but I think I expected more activity. The PT Department was a large

room, filled with PT machines and staffed by several physical therapists. There

was only one other customer or patient in the place while I was there, and he

was in a far corner, so I couldn’t really tell what he was in there for. I could hear

him talking about his father, and describing his father as an active guy in his 70’s

who was still moving around under his own steam. The guy talking was sitting on

one of the machines, but I was too focused on my own situation to take stock of

what was happening to him. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find the room filled

with more recent veterans of more recent wars, receiving PT for problems that

they got in the Middle East, but I saw none of that. I wondered where they were.

If I’d had more presence of mind, I would have asked Meg about that. Maybe

next time. So far my time at the VA hasn’t resulted in any serious interaction with

other veterans at all. We seem to be sealed in our own little troubled worlds.

When we left the PT Department and headed for the front of the building,

we discovered that another snowstorm was in progress. Michele drove us home

on I-5, then to 405 and then along the Maple Valley Highway. When we came out

the Maple Valley Highway two and a half hours earlier, there had been few signs

of snow and no signs of a snowstorm. Now we were driving in a full-fledged

snowstorm, and along the highway there was at least three inches of snow.

Traffic was inching along, and motorists were being extra cautious. We made it

home in one piece, and hoped that when we got home that Allie would be home

from high school. She wasn’t home. We did get our mail, and the Buddy Holly CD

set finally arrived, about one month after I ordered it. While I checked email,

Michele made me a sardine on dark rye sandwich. The activities of the day had

left me famished.

Later yet

Allie got home from high school, and wasn’t a part of the four-car wreck

we saw the aftermath of on 240th, so that was a good thing.

Tuesday / 10 March 2009

Michele got home from a morning of work at 12:45 and we took off for our

appointments at the Seattle VA Hospital on Beacon Hill. We couldn’t find a

parking place when we got there, as today was a sunny day, unlike yesterday

when there were many empty parking places due to the snowstorm, so we had to

use the valet parking. We made our way through the maze of construction and

the deadend hallways until we found the oncology reception area and checked

in. Soon we were called to Dr. Schubach’s office. He oriented us to the new

protocol which will be Revlamid. He instructed me to stop taking the thalidomide

and the ’roids until I get the new meds in the mail and begin the new regimen. I’m

okay with that. I’ll be taking aspirin daily, too, to thin my blood and help prevent

blood clots.

I asked him about the side effects of the Revlamind and he explained that

it was a second generation form of the thalidomide and would have similar but

fewer side effects, and some of my ankle and foot swelling might be reduced. I

hope the swelling will be. We signed the Revlamid agreement and were

introduced the Craig O’Brien, the pharmacist who works with those folks who are

headed toward the bone marrow transplant program.

After we’d finished our meeting with Dr. Schubach, we found the elevator

to the 4th floor where we made our way to the bone marrow transplant

department. We met with Craig O’Brien there for about twenty minutes and he

gave us the full particulars about the Revlamid, including a nifty booklet to read.

He also informed us of the procedures we go through to get our medication. We

have done what we have to for this cycle to get the Revlamid and it will come to

us in the mail. To get the other meds, we had to go back down a few floors to the

pharmacy and take a number and wait in a line. I used my new walker’s high seat

as a resting place, and enjoyed being able to sit at a height that was easy for me

to stand up from, in contrast to the low Danish modern chairs that are made

available for crippled old vets to sit on. Soon our number was called and we

interviewed with the pharmacist and she verified our home address and we

requested that our meds be sent there. They will be. We left the hospital, went to

the valet parking and the parking guy took off like a rocket into the lot to get our

Ford. In a jiffy we were on our way home, not in a snowstorm but driving in a

sunny, blue-skied day. A mighty cold day, though, especially on top of Beacon

Hill.

Later

I emailed my friend Ann L. and asked her if she had my USARV poems

saved on her computer, and if she had them saved, could she send them to me

as an attachment. When I searched my own computer, I found only three poems

filed that I’d written in Viet Nam, and those three were not ones that I’d chosen to

included in the USARV Poems. She emailed me back in no time flat and told me

that she did have those poems. Soon I had the emailed attachment, and I

handed over the responsibility of dealing with it to Michele. She filed the USARV

Poems in my documents, and inserted the three poems #’s 20, 25 and 26 in the

appropriate place where I’d referred to Bruce S’s request for me to read them via

telephone to his Viet Nam War class at Citrus College. Ann is also going to

forward to me, via snail mail I think, a copy of my book, A Short History of the

Viet Nam War. I was within an inch or so of getting that book published, when my

attention had to be redirected to my eldest son, Mungo, and his then on-going

problems. Maybe I should try again with that project. I’ll give it a look when I get it

and decide what I should do with it.

Wednesday / 11 March 2009

At 8:30 Michele and I left the house for the Tacoma Radiation and

Oncology Center. We parked right by the door in the covered parking garage,

and I used my new walker, the one I got at the Seattle VA Hospital PT Center, to

get to the offices. Soon we were talking to Dr. Wang’s nurse, who made a point

of telling me how great I looked and praising me for getting my weight back up

from the low of 165 pounds that I plummeted to during the radiation treatments.

She talked to us about a friend of hers who had multiple myeloma and who had

had the bone marrow transplant and had then had five years of no problems with

her disease. And then it came back. She also mentioned that her friend was

having serious problems with sciatic pain. I mentioned some of the strategies that

I learned from Meg, the PT specialist at the Seattle VA Hospital, and I

recommended that her friend seek PT advice for dealing with her sciatic pain.

Certainly the advice I got was helpful in reducing my pain.

After that we had a brief chat with Dr. Wang himself. We told him how

pleased we were with the Center and with all of the staff, and especially with the

treatment which eliminated the pain in my spine. He made the point that they’d

used less than 50% of the dosage of radiation, so if the pain returns, I can also

return for more radiation. We left and were home in Maple Valley by 10:30. It was

a pleasure to drive to Tacoma and back on a clear, sunny day. Clear and sunny,

but cold, bone numbing cold.

Thursday / 12 March 2009

I received an email from Larry Snyder, Davis High School, 1960, 50th

Class Reunion organizer. The announcement attached informed me that the 50th

reunion is being held September 17th, 2010, 6:30 PM to Sept 19th 2010 12:30

AM, at the Red Lion Hotel, 607 E. Yakima Ave, in the Garden Terrace Room,

Yakima WA 98901. The price is $75.00. There was a list of RSVP’s and Betty

Nordlund was on it. I remember her from 2nd grade. The other folks on the list,

other than Larry Snyder, didn’t ring any bells with me. Larry rings plenty of bells. I

remember him from the 6th grade at McClure Elementary school, because he and

his friend Chris Bachofner used to take turns hitting me as hard as they could in

my right shoulder. I would stand stoically and take it, turning the other cheek. I

never struck back physically. It was a few years before my tongue got dangerous

enough that mean boys decided to leave me alone.

It seems silly, but one of the first thoughts I had when I was informed that I

had multiple myeloma, was that I might not live long enough to attend my 50th

high school reunion. I’ve been looking forward to that event for a long time for

reasons that are not necessarily to my credit, but there it is. One of the reasons is

that I look so much better than the other graduates of the class of 1960. And

everyone keeps telling me that I continue to do so. When I look in the mirror, I

see a gray beard, but other than that, I have to agree with them. I do look great. I

probably would shave off the gray beard if I live so long as to get to attend that

reunion.

My father-in-law also wished to attend his 50th high school reunion, and he

lived long enough, just barely, to do so. He had been diagnosed with lung

cancer, and it ran its course rather rapidly, as lung cancer often does, but

through strength of character, he hung on long enough to make it to his reunion.

He was a sports hero in his class at Bellingham High School, and was a BMOC,

which I wasn’t. The closest I came to being a sports hero was that I was the

football manager for a couple of years and was in charge of collecting dirty

jockstraps off of the locker room floor and putting them in the washing machine. I

was referred to as a “jock sniffer.” The romance of that assignment wore off by

the time I was to begin my senior year, so I dropped out of that position. Larry

Snyder was one of the stars of that football team. I remember that he sat near

me in our senior English class. Our relationship was quite cordial by that time. I

would sometimes give him advice about grammar and word usage in an English

assignment. Grammar was never my strong suit, but I had a slight edge on Larry.

Will I make it to that reunion? Only time will tell. I will try to figure out how

far away it is. Not an easy thing to do. It reminds me of the story problems that

mystified me in 7th grade math from Mrs. Pollack, the math teacher who hated

me because my father was made the head of the math department rather than

she. If a train leaves Yakima and travels at 50 mph towards Seattle and if

another train leaves Seattle and is traveling at 45 mph towards Yakima, at what

point will the trains collide. I always hated that story problem because when I was

a kid, I was actually on a train with my mother that ran head-on into another train.

If it were September 2009 right now, the reunion would be a year away. But it

isn’t September, it’s March. So how far is it to September? I counted it off on my

fingers and it seems to be about six months. So it’s a year and half until the 50th

reunion. I guess I might last that long, especially if the bone marrow transplant

goes forward and if it works out well for me. Lots of ifs. Life is full of them.

Later

Michele came home from a trip to Auburn where she finally caught the

House of Vacuums open, and she was able to buy some bags for our vacuum

cleaner. After she left to do some work at the Tahoma School District, I replaced

the bag in the vacuum cleaner and vacuumed all the rugs in our house. I took it

slow and easy, and tried to imagine what the physical therapist would tell me

about strategies for vacuuming. I did not stress my back by doing any heavy

lifting, but I did get the pine needles cleaned up, and the dog hair and most of the

dust balls that had accumulated. I certainly felt a sense of accomplishment when

I was done and could coil up the long frayed cord of the machine and put the

machine back in its appointed corner. The corners of some of the rugs may have

terrier teeth marks, but at least for now, they are mostly free of the worst of terrier

hair. What’s a house without dog hair? It’s a house without dogs, and I wouldn’t

want to live like that. Dogs are the greatest comfort on this planet, other than

some few special people, so it’s easy for me to overlook their few bad habits.

Friday / 13 March 2009

The above date made me think that we had another Friday the 13th not

that long ago. What’s up with that? Lucky for me, I’m not all that superstitious.

But I don’t plan to go anywhere today, and I’ll take the day with a grain of salt.

Today I will await Brian Mac’s call, and plan to spend some time with him later in

the day. It’s been a long time since I saw him in person, so it will be fun to get to

spend time with him and talk about what’s happened since the last time we met.

He’s in Seattle for a library conference, and a guest speaker is Sherman Alexie.

Brian is lucky to get to see and hear the great Alexie. And to get a book signed

by him if the line is not too long.

Brian is here from Austin, Texas where he’s attending whatever it is they

are calling Library School these days at UT. He put in his 25 years in an Army

uniform, participated in a war or two, and retired as a colonel. I think of the

military opportunities that I turned away from, happy with the scant 21 months I

spent in uniform, and wonder about the road not taken. My father spent exactly

the same amount of time in the military during WWII, but several weeks of that

were on Iwo Jima where he was a Marine Corps rifleman. He was the same age

as I during his military service, too. I never wanted to be a Marine. I wonder

about family dynamics when I read memoirs of Viet Nam War vets whose fathers

were Marines, and how they always wanted to follow in their father’s footsteps. I

never had the urge to follow in any of my father’s footsteps, and especially I

never considered being a Marine. What was wrong with me? We may never

know.

Later

Got two calls while I was taking my shower, of course. Neither was from

Brian Mac. One was from the glasses place letting us know that Michele’s new

frames had come in. The other one was from the company we are getting the

Revlamid from. I wish I could remember the name of the company, but I didn’t

have pen and paper in the shower with me, so I couldn’t write it down. She asked

me a lot of difficult questions, all of them sounding as though they’d been devised

by a team of attorneys to avoid lawsuits later if I had sex with a fertile human

female who then produced an offspring with stubby arms. She wanted to know

the name of the blood pressure med I am taking, which entailed my having to

walk, naked and dripping, the length of the house, to find the med bottle and read

the name of the med to her. Why she couldn’t have called during the three hours

that I was sitting next to a phone, I’ll never know. She also informed me that I

have to call their 888 number and take the survey that will ask many intrusive

questions about my sex life. I look forward to that. She said that if I take that

survey today, I should receive the Revlamid in the mail next Tuesday. Okay, I will

do that. It’s something to look forward to.

Later yet

Everything worked out fine with Brian Mac, and we spent an enjoyable

evening chatting in the family room, me in my Zero Gravity chair, Brian sitting in

the big chair that will stand a person up if he uses the push button control option.

Michele made it all possible by driving into downtown Seattle and picking up

Brian and transporting him back to Maple Valley. Michele is an Angel of Mercy. I

showed him the display of my personal Viet Nam War artifacts, and he wanted to

take my picture in front of them. Maybe that will happen when he visits for dinner

on Saturday. I also must make a mental note to show him the collection of Viet

Nam War books in the Book Room. I get few if any visitors who have any interest

in that collection, so I want to take advantage that Brian might have some

interest.

Brian and I talked a lot about music, and family background and fathering.

One of my conclusions is that fathering is a difficult role, but that’s a conclusion I

came to about thirty years ago, and my thoughts now are not much more

advanced or philosophical than they ever were.

Saturday / 14 March 2009

I was happy to notice when I woke up that typical Pacific Northwest

weather was upon us. Rain, rain and more rain. Allie got up and took off for a

lacrosse practice and Michele got ready and left for a MM meeting in Bellevue. I

was on my own, and I had a lot of stuff to work on. I’ll change the CDs in my

stereo, probably replacing the Texas-singer songwriters with some moldy fig jazz

musicians. Then I’ll shower and change and do a load of wash. That will use up a

couple of hours at the speed I am currently moving at. Then I’ll take stock of my

situation and perhaps watch Phil play some golf while I sit in my big brown Zero

Gravity chair in the living room.

Later

I cooked Willson’s special chicken for dinner. I cooked it in a pan, not in

the oven. I browned chicken thighs, bone in, chicken wings, cut up by me, in oil. I

added paprika, pepper, caraway seeds, cinnamon, Trader Vic’s sauce and

Worchester sauce. Also some secret ingredients. I added a cut-up sweet onion

and lots of sliced mushrooms, not the weird kind, but the normal kind. I tossed a

couple of handfuls of small carrots on top for color, added chicken broth, a

couple of inches, and put on the lid. I cooked the mixture at 250 degrees for an

hour or so. It smelled great. Let’s hope it tastes good, too. When Brian comes

over for dinner, we’ll find out if it’s edible.

Michele made her famous escalloped potato dish in the oven, as the

accompaniment. We’ve got rice for Allie as the potato dish would kill her.

Later yet

Brian got turned around in Renton, but he righted himself and showed up

for supper. Both my chicken dish and Michele’s escalloped potatoes turned out

great. A bowl of green peas was placed on the table so that those who wanted

them could add some color to their otherwise brownish-dominated platters. After

dinner, I allowed Michele to do the honors with cleaning up the kitchen, and Brian

and I chatted. Also I gave him a tour of my bookroom, so that he could see my

depository of several thousand Viet Nam War books, mostly fiction. He

commented on the dozens of copies of Paco’s Story by Larry Heinemann. I

bought them right after they were remaindered by his publisher, and right before

he won the National Book Award. Timing is everything. Brian took a picture of me

in front of the shrine I built to my 21-month military career, and then we enlisted

Allie to take a photo of us together in the computer room.

Brian moved his stuff into Michele’s Honda CR-V, and we said our

goodbyes. Michele drove him up near the Sea-Tac Airport where he was staying

the night so he’d be close for his early Sunday morning flight home to Austin,

Texas. I appreciate that I got to see Brian again after so many years, and my

thanks goes out to Michele who bore up under the brunt so gracefully in

providing transportation to Brian.

Sunday / 15 March 2009

We awoke to another snowstorm. Here is its mid-March, and the snow

keeps falling. At least we don’t have any appointments at the VA in Seattle today

or tomorrow. Will spring never come? Today I intend to spend in my brown Zero

Gravity chair in the living room, watching golf. Will Phil Mickelson win another

tournament? Or will the young Nick Watney win? The suspense won’t kill me, but

I must say, this is about as exciting as golf gets.

Later

Phil Mickelson won, even though he looked as sick as a dog and had

been in a hospital the evening before due to dehydration. I called my mother right

after he won, as she loves Phil, and we chatted about Phil’s win and other

unrelated matters.

Monday / 16 March 2009

At noon, Michele drove us to the Imperial Garden Seafood Restaurant

located in Kent in the Great Wall Mall, and we ate dim sum. We got a convenient

handicapped-parking place right in front, and I used the new walker I was given

at the VA to get myself into the place. There was no crowd on a Monday, so we

had a table full of toothsome morsels within five minutes of entering the

restaurant. The sticky rice was especially good, but we also enjoyed the eggplant

and the green peppers. We got a box full of hum bows to go, just in case Joaquin

is able to get over the pass later today from Ellensburg to visit us for a day or so.

Snoqualmie Pass will be closed for twenty minutes to two hours later today for

avalanche control, but maybe Joaquin will make it to Maple Valley. I’d love to

watch some Bugs Bunny cartoons with him, and the Tommy Lee Jones movie

directed by Bertrand Tavernier. Confederate Mists or whatever they called it.

Only time will tell.

Tuesday / 17 March 2009

Joaquin and I have had a busy day today. He made it here last night,

driving through the blizzard on Snoqualmie Pass. First thing this morning,

Joaquin and I went out into the garage and looked in every box and every

storage tub for an old video tape that showed me reading some of my Viet Nam

War poems. Bruce S. who teaches a Viet Nam War class at Citrus College asked

me some time ago if I could find that tape, but until Joaquin was here, I wasn’t

able to dig through all the stuff to look for it. He and I were going to try the attic

next, but I had a mild brainstorm that it might be in the storage closet in the book

room which is in the corner of the garage. We found it there. Then we watched it

to make sure that I was reading some poetry. The video tape is in color and it

clearly shows me reading “Alms for the Burned” and “My War Dreams.” The

sound is excellent, too. Thanks to Steve C. for the fine work he did at all the

symposia in recording the action. After I finished reading those poems, I read

some from In the Army Now, the first book, chronolgically in the REMF trilogy. I

read poetry at the 9th Viet Nam War Writers’ Symposium at Green River

Community College, May 31st, 1996. I suspect that I read more poems at other

symposia, but I was not ready to look for those tapes and then spend many

hours watching them for evidence of that. I would like to find a video recording of

me reading my favorite poem, “The Frogs Are Gone.” Maybe one day I will take

the time to look for that.

After we found that tape, Joaquin moved a shelf of Viet Nam War related

monographs and journals out into the bookroom onto shelves that he’d cleared

novels from by integrating them with other stacked novels on an adjacent shelf.

The empty shelf in the family room now plays host to a large assortment of

reference books on various subjects of CDs. Those large books had been

stacked here and there in the family room and in the kitchen. Now they are neatly

arranged on their own shelf, a shelf that is easy for me to get to, even with my

mobility impairment. Progress was made.

The greatest thing about doing these chores with Joaquin was the great

pleasure of working with him. I loved witnessing the patient, well organized,

painstaking way that he approached each task. No slap dash, no hurry, just easy,

careful progress, so that in no time, we had the chores done. I supervised his

moving dozens of heavy boxes in the garage, and Joaquin did all of that with

great good will and kindness. And humor, too. Joaquin is a pleasure to spend

time with. I found myself being happy in his company, a feeling that I’ve found to

be a rare one in the days long gone when I spent time with my two older sons.

After we accomplished those tasks, we settled down in the living room to

reward ourselves and watched In the Electric Mist (with the Confederate Dead),

starring Tommy Lee Jones, and directed by Bertrand Tavernier. We both enjoyed

the movie, and during the movie we’d make occasional comments to each other

about the action. During the movie, FedEx arrived with my Revlimid prescription,

which Joaquin signed for. I already received the aspirin from the VA, which

leaves only the Dexamethasone prescription which has not arrived yet.

Later

Michele came home briefly to check on us, and we chatted about the

Dexamethasone not being here yet. She called the VA pharmacy, and the

pharmacist checked and found that due to a glitch the drug had not been sent out

to me. Michele was told that we had to go to the VA Hospital in Seattle and pick

up the stuff. Great. I’ll email Jim L. to see if his schedule tomorrow will allow for

him to drive me in there to go through the agony of dealing with the pharmacy to

get the stuff.

Michele prepared us a beautiful T-bone steak and baked potato supper,

with Bush Baked Beans as a side dish, and we chowed down. It’s a favorite

dinner for Joaquin and me, but not so favorite for Michele and Allie who are not

big meat and potato people. Joaquin concentrated on his T-bone steak, but I ate

everything, glorying in having a good appetite and dedicated to getting my weight

up to 175 pounds or so, in preparation for an anticipated ordeal ahead in which I

suspect my weight might plummet. Maybe I am fattening myself up for the

slaughter. We’ll see.

After supper, we chatted some with Joaquin, checked Snoqualmie Pass

online, finding that it was clear to Ellensburg, and we said our goodbyes to our

son, hugged him and he drove off to Ellensburg. I, as always, warned him to

watch out for the damned speed traps on his way through Maple Valley. He

chuckled, and he was off. I treasure the time I get to spend with my son, and this

day or so was no exception. We had a lot of fun, watched a movie and got

important things done. Next time we must take the time to watch some Bugs

Bunny cartoons together.

Wednesday / 18 March 2009

Today’s big adventure will consist of Jim L. picking me up at my house at

10:30 and driving me to the Seattle VA Hospital on Beacon Hill in Seattle. I hope

that this expedition will go off without a hitch. We were told that all I had to do

was to show up at the VA Pharmacy, take a number, wait my turn, and tell the

pharmacist that I needed the dexamethasone prescription that they told us they’d

send to us in Maple Valley. They’d find the prescription, give it to me, and we’d

be on our way. I predict that something will make this process harder than that. I

suspect we will spend a lot of time waiting in line for my number to be called, and

that once I’ve talked to the pharmacist, I will have to go back to the waiting area

and wait for a long, long time. That’s the way it worked at Group Health, so why

wouldn’t it work that way at the VA? I hope we don’t have to wait for three or four

hours, as we had to do at Group Health. If and when I get the prescription filled,

Jim and I will leave and try to find a place on the Hill to eat lunch. You’d think

there would be a place that would serve decent sandwiches. We’ll see.

Later

Jim and I drove into the VA Hospital, parked in valet parking, made our

way through the concertina wire and fencing to the emergency entrance,

checked in with the pharmacist and had an interview. He said the

Dexamethasone had been sent out, and it will probably be waiting for me when I

get home. Okay. He did the paperwork and sent us to the other window to get yet

another bottle of the stuff. I waited until noon, stood in the line and got the

prescription with no problem. My name appeared on the TV screen as I got my

medication. Everything went as smooth as silk, and I like to think that Jim brought

me luck.

We left the place, got Jim’s car back from the valet parking, and drove

down the hill to Columbia City to eat at Geraldine’s. I had the hash with two eggs

on it, and Jim had a scramble served in a hot frying pan. We both had the

strawberry coffeecake with whipped cream for our dessert. It’s a great place with

great service. I did make it to the restaurant and back across the street without

using my walker. I suspect that the ten dexes I took this morning, as well as

yesterday morning made me spry as a mountain goat, a regular twinkletoes.

Compared to last week, that is.

Soon we were back in Maple Valley, and Jim did a couple of things to

make my computer work better. He put A Short History of the Vietnam War in my

documents. So there it is, even though it’s not yet published. Maybe one day.

Michele got home and told me that the dexes had arrived. Now we have two

bottles full of the stuff. That’s better than none.

Thursday / 19 March 2009

Michele and I spent some fiddling around with what Viet Nam War Writer’s

Symposia video tapes I could find, and we did find one on which I read “The

Frogs are Gone.” I wrote detailed instructions on sticky slips and stuck them on

the video tape boxes. I couldn’t even figure out the instructions myself when I

read them, so I hoped that when I arrived at Kit’s Cameras later that Natalia

would be there so that she could listen to me, and make me a custom DVD of the

material on the tapes which shows me reading my poems and part of my novel.

At 12:30 Steve C. showed up and drove me to Covington, where we ate

Thai food at my favorite nearby Thai place. We had a delicious lunch of the usual

Thai food. Lots of noodles, washed down by Thai iced tea, which was creamy

and a joy to drink. I had a yellow curry, and started with a bowl of spicy soup. We

both enjoyed the food and the service which was excellent. After we finished our

lunch, Steve drove me to Kit’s cameras, and I lucked out in getting to chat with

Natalia herself. She was her usual patient, compassionate self, and seemed to

fully understand my complex instructions for creating the DVD, which she said

she’d do personally. Brandy was also present, and Steve, the boss was there,

too. Steve C. went back and talked cameras with him, while I had my chat with

Natalia. The place wasn’t busy at all, so that made it easy for us. Natalia said

she’d give me a call when the project was done, probably later today. I told her

I’d be in tomorrow for the DVD if it’s done by then.

I’ll then bring it home, watch it to make sure it works right and shows the

stuff I want it to show, and then I’ll mail it off to Bruce S. at Citrus College in

California so he can use it in his Viet Nam War class. That’ll be one more loose

end wrapped up. It’s amazing how much I need the help of others for such

projects. It takes a village to help me make any progress.