The Writings of Dan Field
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MAINTENANCE
Most of life is maintenance, I noticed just today,
A little late, the snide ones smirk, for one who’s turning gray,
And had I known this little fact, say, fifty years ago,
My life would have been easier, frustration seldom show.
Change that oil a little sooner, 12,000 miles or so,
Add brake pads to screeching drums before the rivets show.
The dentist’s a necessity, a metal mouth precluding,
A good brushing once a month will stop the plaque intruding.
Make sure they check your eyes out with a magnifying glass,
And once a year a doctor should probe into your… uhh, nose.
The roof can’t leak, the doors can’t squeak, the termites can’t be fed,
The garden yearly weeded, and the children over fed.
So don’t complain, need I explain, take care of what you’ve got,
For if you make it to my age you just won’t need a lot.
But what you do have had better still be working,
Rust never sleeps, remember, and the scythe man’s always lurking
2004
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NEW YEAR'S EVE WITH MOTHER
Apparently at the time, neither my sister Holly nor I had a life. At least one that would include a New Year's Eve celebration that we would have chosen to attend. And so, somehow, on December 31st. 1996, we ended up with Mother in Santa Barbara.
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Dinner was at the Institute, which is what we children called the retirement home into which my parents had moved when they came to the west coast. Its real name is Vista Del Monte, but my dad always called it Vista Del Morte, which turned out, in his case, to be dead on.
Anyway, dinner at the institute was never one of the kid's favorite things, primarily because, although there was a rule against discussing anything medical at dinner, it was honored more in the breach than in the observance, as old Will Shakespeare said. This night however, the assemblage was overjoyed to find funny hats, New Year's hats, at their places; obviously the highlight of their week. Well, not for everyone. My sister has a picture in which all of the women and none of the men are participating in the wearing of the hats. The jollity of the occasion did little to deter tales of dreadful maladies, great discomforts, and surgical procedures. And a lot of discussion of digestive trouble was included. The food was memorable, consisting as I recall of chicken a la mush, powdered mashed potatoes with genuine artificial butter-like substance, with a lovely puree of stewed prunes for dessert. I can't remember any adult beverages, although I'm sure I must have fortified myself in some way.
The next exciting event of the evening was the drive to the theater. Mother sat in the back and couldn't see much of anything, her height and vision at the age of 86 not being conducive to navigating. The street signs in Santa Barbara are not on the corners of the intersections, but are on huge signs hung directly over the center of the streets which mother couldn't read until she was going under them and often not even then. To further exacerbate the problem a light rain was falling. She nevertheless kept up a relentless and rather cranky stream of directions. "Turn right!" she would suddenly cry out in the middle of an intersection. "No" I would answer. "TURN TURN TURN!" she would insist. "NO NO NO!" I would gently reply. Holly would calm her with a soft logical remark, such as "That's the wrong street, mother." An undertone of hysteria could be detected by the trained ear, "That will take us to Toledo, Ohio". Mother, unlike her children, did not like to be told she was wrong. And so it continued. We found the theater anyway.
The theater was the Arlington, a Santa Barbara landmark. Mission revival style, it was built in 1926, and has since been restored. In a scene reminiscent of a Fellini movie, my sister and I, an arm under each of mother's elbows, strolled past the ticket booth, through the Spanish courtyard with fountains splashing through colored lights, and into the theater.
The unreality of the scene was provided by about two thousand people, all of them clones of the Institute clan, all dressed up and all wearing funny hats, except, of course, the men, and all approaching the upcoming gala with happy anticipation. This rather bizarre spectacle should have raised the alarm. Holly and I, both mature adults, were perceived by the elderly as children and were carefully watched to be sure we didn't suddenly break loose and plunge into the fountains. Had they been spewing champagne in the traditional fashion there might have been reason to be suspicious. They were, tragically, just spewing chlorinated water. Don't ask me how I know.
The interior added to the twilight zone aspect. It is decorated to look like a Spanish village, with balconies, windows and staircases painted all around in a triumph of trompe l'Oeil. The ceiling is blue-black and covered with twinkling stars, making one feel as though they were outside in the courtyard of a villa, watching a show in the open air in Guadalajara. Or so the decorators think. I wasn't fooled for a minute.
Holly and Mother sat in the very back against the wall so that mother could rest her neck which was quite sore. There were only two seats there so I moved down to the center and got comfortable. Until others arrived and surrounded me. Cozy does not begin to describe it. And cozy was just the beginning. Somewhere in the middle of the first act of the program the very large past-middle-aged lady to my left began to rub her leg against mine. At first I thought it was just unavoidable due to the press of people all around, but when I shifted to the right, her thigh followed. Now I was not, in those days, averse, under the right conditions, to playing a little kneesy with a stranger, but she wasn't real attractive, to understate the matter, and her husband looked like a large unfriendly mobster, and anyway, the music had captured almost my full attention.
We're talking about a combination of Lawrence Welk and his Champagne Music, Guy Lombardo and The Royal Canadians, and Xavier Cugat and his Blazing Bongos. I glanced back, occasionally, at my sister who was staring, dazed and slack-jawed at the stage, glints of impending insanity flashing from her eyes. Beside her, Mother wore a beatific smile.
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When the fat lady, (not the one rubbing my leg but the one on the stage) sang to end the first act, I again twisted around to look at Holly and found her staring at me with a macabre grimace on her face, frantically gesturing with her thumb that it was time to leave. As the first act curtain fell, Holly and I scurried out of the theater, our hands once again under mother's elbows, but this time with her lifted about a foot and a half off the ground, her little legs churning madly in the misty air. She couldn't understand why we wanted to leave when there was so much more to come.
The rest of the evening is a blank, perhaps mercifully, but I have retained enough memory of the evening to have never gone out on New Year's Eve, ever again, anywhere. However, I did save my funny hat. I look kind of cute in it.
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2004
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"Bang, bang, bang, bang. Four shots ripped into my groin and I was off on the greatest adventure of my life."
This quote, which for some strange reason has always made me laugh, was the opening line in a book by Max Schulman that I found one day on my parents bookshelves when I was about 12 or 14 years old, and it was the most adult book I had seen to that time
The quote had nothing to do with the story … Schulman says he just always wanted to start a book that way, but that very line has become prophetic in my life. For I am about to spend about a month with streams of radioactive electrons beaming into my groin from a linear accelerator, something Mr. Schulman had never heard of.
Anyway, prostrate cancer is fairly common, seldom fatal, and usually cured. About one in six American men will get it and, found early, (which mine has been), still small, (mine cannot be digitally apprehended, if you follow my drift) and not aggressive, (mine is in the moderate zone), it is almost always, to use the correct medical terminology, "blown to smithereens". My choices were (ugh) surgery which frequently leads to incontinence, impotence or both, radiation, or watching and waiting. Watching and waiting appealed to me since it is still localized, but wiser heads (read Sara) prevailed and it was pointed out that it wasn't going to go away by itself, and if it did get loose I'd be in real trouble. So radiation it is, and the prognosis is excellent.
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Still. And while worry and anxiety are not needed, useful, or helpful, prayer will certainly be welcomed. As Jesus said in a vision to St. Juliana of Norwich, "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well." And so I do believe.
As your advance scout in the aging arena, I'll keep you posted.
By the way my new eyes are extraordinary, and my new finger works fine! And I've lost 36 pounds, down to 225! So ….
Bang, bang, bang, bang. I'm off.
Love, Dan
March 2005
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Irascible Curmudgeon on Steroids
Chapter 1. In the beginning.
So I have a doctor’s appointment about bronchitis and Sara says, “get her to check the lumps on your neck”, and I say yeah, yeah … but I do ask the doc to check it out and she said, “well it’s too late to get blood work today but get it early tomorrow.” Oh, thinks I, that’s a rapid decision. Hmmm.
Have you perhaps noticed that the medical community doesn’t always act briskly? “Yes sir, the doctor can see you in three weeks and your surgery well be early next year.” So when they do fall all over themselves getting blood work you go hmmm. I do anyway.
So she gets the lab work and calls and says, come on over. When? Now. I go and she tells me the oncologist will see me tomorrow and get started. Whoa, Nellie … slow down. What have I got here? Cancer? Well of course … the clever among you will have noticed the word oncologist… I was operating a little more slowly. And so begins another adventure in the world of jousting with cancer. (I wrote a booklet about prostate cancer about 10 years ago which I can get to you if you wish.)
My most excellent oncologist quickly allayed my fears of approaching death or, what is maybe worse, a long battle with chemotherapy. I have CLL, short for Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia. This disease occurs later in life and consists of white blood cells multiplying out of control. The old ones are not dying and leaving like they are supposed to and my lymph nodes are swelling up. Other symptoms and lack of energy and lack of appetite, the first a real drag and the second a mixed blessing. So instead of being OMG LEUKEMIA!!!, It is treatable, seldom fatal and if treatment is needed at all it is a sort of chemo lite using two chemicals, one of which targets only the white cells and therefore avoid killing everything else around it resulting in little or no nausea, no hair loss … in general a much easier trip than regular chemo. The other chemical is full bore. Used together they work better and have a less deleterious effect on the patient.
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Chapter 2. Watching and Waiting.
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All of this happened in late November and we began a series of tests to determine the extent and make sure the early diagnosis was correct. These ran through all of December and included blood work, cat scan, pet scan, gerbil scan, and the almost complete exhumation of my family tree.
I had opted not to share this with family and friends until we knew more about it, which was slow going. However we spent Christmas in Bend , Oregon and my daughter Rachel came down from Seattle so I thought it best to tell her in person even if I didn’t know what I was talking about. It was difficult but we survived.
So the testing proved that it was what the doctor thought and he thought and I agreed that we would start with “watching and waiting”. Every three months I would do a blood test then see the doctor.
Three months go by and I wait in the examination room. In comes my most excellent oncologist whom I love, clutching the blood work readout and looking as though this was not the results he had wished to see. White blood cell levels were dropping precipitously and it was time for action? Which I prefer to watching and waiting anyway. (although I do love the song by the moody blues.)
But I digress! It is time for treatment. Chemo lite here we come.
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Chapter 3. Infusement. Round One
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We got to the infusion center, cheered up all the nurses, and began treatment. first a saline drip, then the addition of an anti-nausea substance, then benadryl then the first drug, Treanda ... all of which was accepted gracefully, yea, gratefully by my body. then the second and more powerful chemo was introduced and my body apparently said, and i quote, "HOLY KA KA, WTF IS THIS?" and demonstrated its displeasure by have me go into a sweaty flushing.
My nurse had placed a little bell, like the kind you see at dry cleaners when there’s no one at the counter because they're all in the back sniffing cleaning fluid? Anyway, i tapped it gently and three nurses who were about 10 feet away from me turned their heads as if swiveling on the same rope. within seconds there were four nurses all around me, all doing their part perfectly … the drip was stopped and the saline drip restarted, someone mopped my brow, someone called sara who was out and about shopping, and within i'd say four minutes my oncologist was there. i was seriously impressed with these folks. (my oncologist was, I now remember, smiling reassuringly and fanning me with one of those church pew fans you see in the south.)
So they took my blood pressure which was low, checked my red blood which was low, hovered and waited while i sort of faded in and out of consciousness, (never totally unconscious) until things returned to normal ... it took a while .. then i got the chills which is not uncommon and they plied me with warm toasty blankets. that ended, I came back to whatever normal is for me and they let me go home, ready to return tomorrow for another dose of the one which i tolerated.
Since there was a reaction, they know it's working, think they know why i reacted that way, and are going to save the next dose for next month when i should be much better prepared because some of it is working. On the way home we stopped at the cool cat and i had a chocolate malted with extra malt. i deserved it.
Excelsior! onward and upward, into the night!
The next day’s treatment was uneventful, and I awake to find that my swollen lymph nodes has returned to their normal state. That was a pretty big rush!
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Chapter 4. God has a hearty chuckle.
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Woody Allen once said," if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans."
With that wisdom firmly forgotten i set out Thursday morning for a midmonth check up between chemo treatments, meeting with a nurse practitioner in San Luis Obispo ... simple, should take no more than a couple of hours. so i casually neglected to take with me a book, or a mini computer thingy or even my brain. oh, yeah, or a toothbrush.
Got in with the np who took one look at the numbers on the lab test from yesterday, and said, i think i'll get the doctor. So he comes in, looks at the numbers and says, why don't you go over the the hospital and get a blood transfusion?
Well. why not?, says i, because apparently the numbers were not good. (they were not)
I say to the doctor, they won't keep me overnight, will they?
No, no, he lied, with a cheery smile, no no NO.
So off i go and i'll keep it brief.
14 needle sticks, two pints of blood, several bags of antibiotics, three dreadful meals and 30 hours later i am home. i needed blood, had a touch of pneumonia. caught it all in time and am feeling better today than i have in a loooooong time.
So once again that which could have been a major accident turned into just another bump in the road.
And i must add something. the blessing that came out of this is that i was treated with great kindness, competence, intelligence, love, and concern by EVERYBODY involved in my care. EVERYBODY! i have never seen anything like it. i feel like God decided i could live on a level where only angels tread. i hope i can stay.
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Chapter 5. Bumbling Bureaucracies at their Bafflingly Best.
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Do not attempt to get medical attention on the fourth of July weekend.
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Chapter 6. Infusement. Round two.
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Chemo lite went swimmingly today ... no adverse reaction to the second chemical like the first time. Actually my scalp started itching so they stopped the drip, shot in some more Benadryl, the itch stopped and on we went. Tomorrow just the one drip and i go home.
I asked the doctor about the magic pill i have two friends taking with great results and he says that i won't need it for a while ( i think years) because he expects the cll to go into complete remission. When this is over i will be as good as before it started, if you add in 5 months of chemo and another year older. Still. We are all optimistic.
While i was getting dripped a state inspector and her two minions interviewed me about my experience. Many nurses were standing about listening. I told her that i had never met so many caring competent people in one place in my life. The nurses beamed. then she asked if she gave me a million dollars how would i use it to improve the facility. I said quadruple the nurses salaries. do you not think I am beloved in the infusion center? heh heh heh.
The next day’s two hour drip was uneventful. After searching long and hard for a usable vein the nurse said "that she was looking for a fat juicy one". many bon mot ran thru my mind, as they would yours, i suspect, and my politically correct scanner after a long and arduous search approved, "well, aren't we all?" innocuous enough i thought, and received with gales of laughter from the nursing staff.
Monday they will give me a shot of something that stimulates the bone marrow to make more white blood cells, so that there is no recurrence of them falling so low i need transfusions. So every problem seems to have a solution. Next session in a month right after the family reunion. On we go.
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Chapter 7: steroids
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They give you steroids along with the other chemicals, I think to help alleviate nausea. I have no idea how body builders and athletes take massive doses of this shit and still function in polite society. Perhaps they don't. What they do to me is scrape away at the thin veneer of civilized behavior that barely covers my true nature. Impatience. Nastiness. Snappiness. I would find myself saying things to sara that were awful and embarrassing. I watched myself say them in wonder. Fortunately sara and I figured out that it was the steroids at work and not the real me. Their effect lasted about a week and was most unpleasant. Oh yeah, and it includes insomnia. Avoid them whenever you can. And oh yes, one other weird symptom. My taste buds went bonkers. I'd eat something I really like and it would taste way to salty or bitter or just strange. Sometimes I start something like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich which I have always loved... i'd take two bites that were just fine and then, whammo it would taste awful. I lost about 30 pounds because of this and other reasons but knowing my body I should have no trouble putting it back on. I will try not to however as I am much better off without that extra weight.
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Chapter 8: the drawing of a blank.
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I don't know what happened the next two sessions. I just don't. I didn't write anything that I can find and I don't remember much. I think this is part of chemobrain, which is a real phenomenon manifested in frequent episodes of stupidity and forgetfulness. So be grateful that we are moving on to...
Chapter 9: Infusion #5
Gracefully slipping my tastefully clad feet, (tie dyed socks, of course) from my cutting edge orthopedic flip-flops, i settled back in the faux barc-o-lounger,for the first day of my second to last pair of chemo treatments. my blood is, at this point, totally cancer free and the remaining treatments are to keep it in remission longer. however, as i pointed out, i'm 78 years old and not likely to be around that much longer anyway, and the good doctor thought that i was healthy enough to lower the dose and thereby help me through the weird times till the next treatment. most excellent,says i.
The treatment was completely non eventful, dull, boring and too long. tomorrow's promises to be more of the same but much shorter. by thanksgiving i will be free and clear and will have much to be thankful about.
Chapter 10: Treatment #6 & Last.
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No more. it is done. a year of dealing with this shit, 6 months of chemo two days a month, 6 months of insane steroidal behavior, much chronic fatigue, lots of good times, plethora's of angels tending to my every need, (you may assuredly place my everlovin' wife at the head of that list), a learning experience beyond compare, and it is done. complete remission. should it ever return i am now eligible for a magic pill to control it. The fatigue is gone and my taste buds are behaving like they should.life is good. God is Great. and so are all of you who supported me through the event, that while not life-threatening, nor as difficult as most other chemo treatments, still was made much easier by your love. thanks to you all. let's go dancing!