Keeping your compass towards the positive is invaluable when passing through tough times. In 1984 I was driving down a small country highway along the upper Sacramento river, not far from Chico, CA. We were going to do a little fishing, see some friends for a few days in Chico and then drop down to Cal Expo and see the Dead.
It was a beautiful afternoon in late May, sunshine peeking through the willows along the river, big ice cream clouds floating by, no one around for miles.
Then I woke up in the intensive care unit.
A drunk driver using the wrong side of the road had hit us head-on. Someone riding a bicycle just happened upon that stretch of road, come across the accident and then rode to a farm house and called it in. This was still in time before cell phones.
My passenger was OK but passed out or knocked out. I was very badly injured and in the process of bleeding to death. The two in the other car were going fast as well. It took them some time to cut me out of the truck and by the time I got to the hospital I was nearly gone. I had an out of body experience in the emergency room, which is a whole other story.
I had many broken bones, numerous other injuries and went through nine surgeries in three weeks. Then there was a long period of rehab, learning to walk and, at age 26, getting used to a new body.
During those months I watched a lot of comedy. I must have seen "The Holy Grail" twenty times! Hung out as much as possible with friends and family who loved me, even though my mouth was wired shut for a couple of months and I couldn't talk. And always stayed on the positive. These days I get around pretty good, though I am missing a knee cap, teeth and most things don't bend like they should.
It is so crucial not to waste precious energy on self-pity or bad thoughts towards others when one is healing. I am sure I never could have made it otherwise, and boy are my kids glad I did :)

Peace

I suffer from a crippling form of MS, have done now since 2001. Been a real rough road. When I had my first attack, it hit my motor function part of my brain, which left me in ICU for 4 months, because losing motor function skills involves just about everything yopu can imagine. All your moving parts, eye focusing, dinking , eating , talking, walking, and so forth. Now I have had some great people help and support me along the road to semi- recovery, including all my family, especially my folks, my wife, my 3 teenage daughters. Some days losing alot of my freedom of mobility gets me down, or the inabilty to kkep the complex web of my thoughts in some sort of coherent order. I suffer from high fatigue, just because I have to concentrate hard to do most things, but I refuse to go down without a fight.
Does anyone else suffer from this condition? Which manifests itself in Manic Depressive bouts as well as a by-product? Any ideas to help me or others that suffer from it? RFrom the constant pain? etc etc.
I keep myself as positive as I can, and I can say three things that helped me return from a comatose like state ( not being to eat,drink, walk, talk ) One is listening to endless hours of Grateful Dead ( Dreaming I am back at the Frost or other places, Twirling in the back, grinning and laughing my fool heart away), and a new band called Radiohead ( rather complex music), and learning all about Classical Music, through hours of listening to that as well. It kept my brain thinking at a fast rate, which aided in my recovery.

But like I said, it is coping with the pain now that I need advice about, because exercise is difficult or fleeting, my diet has always been balanced. I am on massive doses of nerve inhibitors, but I am loking for anyting else that might help, especially from the Professional Alternative Medical people, or Traitional Western MEdical People.

Thanks for your time in reading this
cheers,

My heart goes out to you. May you be granted much inner peace and strength.
Hal

If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it is, infinite.

William Blake

Our story coincidently begins with hurricane Katrina as well. We were gassin' up our Uhaul as the first bands of rain were coming in the Mobile area. We were moving up to North Carolina so we could have our son up here. I was interested in going to graduate school so that I could change my career to better suit my family situation. We moved to Brevard, NC and lived there for a year while we sold our place in Mobile and looked for a house in the Western North Carolina area. Our future was still kind of shaky, we were taking a leap of faith big time, still are really. We didn't know where we would end up, all we knew was that we didn't want to end up stuck inside of Mobile.

It was a long year. We had a baby and I spent nearly seven months at sea. We had debts to catch up on and a down payment to save. We were really up against it, financially we were about as organized and calculated as you would expect from a couple of dead heads in lower Alabama. It was hard, especially with Marjie at home alone with the new baby and all, but we made it through. Just as soon as we got comfortable in Brevard, we moved a couple hours away to Lenoir. We could afford a house, garage, log cabin and eight acres for what our tiny house in mid-town Mobile cost. It was a triumphant victory for our family after months and miles and some of the biggest idiot real estate agents you could possible imagine. I wish I had time to tell it, just looking for real estate is a dramatic event.

So anyway, we got moved to Lenoir, me Marjie, our dog Sally Rae, and our cat Ted. Finally we had landed, home, our place, our land, our future. We could afford it with what I made out at sea, and it was commuting distance from Appalachian State, my top choice for state schools here in North Carolina, mainly based on location and proximity to Asheville. We were broke, but we'd been there before, a sailor's family is used to the feast or famine lifestyle. All we needed was a sea trip or two and that would be that. I got on a ship right after the move, once again leaving Mariie alone in a new town. I was exhausted, I was beat. I was totally motivated to do my job, work my overtime, and ball that jack all the way home to my family for good. I had a heat stroke the first day. I had been sailing for some time by that point. I had worked all over the world under all kinds of conditions. That day in Houston I felt my mortality for the first time. I felt like I was going to die. The next morning I woke up in the hospital and the ship was gone...and we were broke.

I took the next ship I could get. A new ship for the company, the "Harriette" was supposed to be this big piece of shit and nobody wanted the job. I was a second engineer, but I took a third's job just so I could get paid. It was a food run going to Durban, SA and Mombasa, Kenya. All I heard was long trip, lots of overtime. That was all I needed. Tunnel vision, get ready for the trip...get the place squared away, do something about the trash....the dog and cat......and what about the skunk? No time now, gotta go, I love you guys, and I'm off and that was that.

The Harriette was a piece of shit, but the kind that makes close friends and good shipmates. I began to think for the first time that I might have found a ship I could call home. Finally a ship I could go back to before I was broke, and make and save and maybe go to school... but mainly take care of my family. I was on the ship a month, a week at the dock while we fucked around the engine room and loaded cargo, and three weeks down in the middle of the south Atlantic. I was going down for the mid watch, that's the midnight to four in the morning. The time change had created what Marjie and I call the email vortex, and so I was checking my mail on my way down because I expected a new message. That was it, that was the one. What mammogram? You remember...Oh, yea, that's right, my mom had to come and watch Jack and....Oh my god.

The first was this cool cat from Florida by way of Boston named Anthony. He was a constant and consistant smoker. He and I knew each other pretty well by then, he knew me, he asked if I wanted him to take my watch. I said no. He just handed me his pack of smokes and a lighter and walked out. This cat was as hyper active as me, and he was quiet for the first time since we had met. So was Trent, his watch partner who I had known and fought with and made friends with and all that all on another ship. He and I were like brothers. My watch partner was always silent. He was a great guy though, and I could trust him to take care of all our routine shit while I sat in the machine shop smoking cigarettes and eating Klondike bars out of the galley. Coffee, devil coffee....engine room coffee....up all night.....maybe the next night too...three more weeks to Durban and I got off the ship.

By the time I made it home Marjie had had her lumpectomy and they were getting her ready for the port. It would be alright. We could borrow some money and get back on track. I would catch the Harriette the next time around, relieve the second this time and Anthony would be going chief. Not to mention that I was friends with the chief mate from yet another ship and he would be going captain. Great ship....good guys.....lots of overtime.... no problem....

Then chemo. We woke up that morning (Thursday morning) almost as usual. Dead Air and the Wednesday night Jar of Jam on WNCW had kept us up late, so the morning was foggy; foggy but not hung over. Jack got us out of bed with his cooing, and that was that.

Omlettes, toast, coffee, and all the usual morning treatments. I stayed as high as possible so that I would be able to rush her out the door without an ounce of frustration or aggrevation. After my peanut butter and jelly and cooking and medicine, there was no time for me to shower. Stink and stuble and out the door, what would you expect?

Marjie had to run back into the house several times to find things she had forgotten and sent me in once for things she had taken in during her searches. Finally she sent me back in to pack a bowl. We drove fast and listened to one of our favorite Dark Star's all the way. We got there late, but we still had to finish the song and our discussion about Pan before going in. We were stoned, we were armed against the death and sadness inside.

My small book bag held my various books and notebooks and it hung on my shoulder. I carried in one hand Marjie's purse and her trapper keeper, and in the other hand her books, notebooks, and drugs and whatnot. It was reminiscent of the good ole days of gathering up all our favorite toys and bubbles and music and cigarettes and settling down for twelve hours or so of laughing and deep conversation. We were high and in no way ready for the insurance dilemma that greeted us at the will call.

She could have the treatment but not some follow-up shot to help her blood count. they could do some 3 shot deal but it wasn't as good. We could give her the shot ourselves. What the fuck? Doesn't insurance cover that? "Just give it to her and fucking bill us. I'd rather owe you guys than some of the goombas I've owed for drugs." Marjie squeezed my arm. "I'm sorry." I said, ""that union insurance is bullshit." She seemed to understand. We all agreed that I should be quiet. The lady seemed to be on our side. As usual we were the dirty hippies stuck out on the road with cars whizzing by and not a ride in sight.

Despite my outburst things worked out. Our preparation would pay off and treatements would begin on time. I might make my ship and everything will be okay.

The Red Devil is the worst..........

As the nurse was busily disconnecting the tubes and pulling out needles I realized that I had seen all of it one time before in a dream.....

This was only the beginning. Over the course of her treatments Marjie's port malfunctioned and she was put on this heinous blood medicine to keep clots from forming around it. She was passed down from one doctor to another without she or the other doctor being told. A P.A. that worked there suggested that she skip the white blood cell shot deal after her second treatment. We spent a week in the hospital after that. TIP for newcomers to cancer, check all your local hospital's billing policies before you go to one.

Despite the fact that everyone told us that she would not get it Marjie ended up developing lymph edema in her right arm. All the while I was putting off sea trips and planning this and borrowing that and now suddenly here we are hours from any family and broke and I can't go back to sea. We sold our house. We are selling our stuff. We have been bouncing around now and moving, but we finally ended up in a great town. We don't know what we are going to do. I am still planning to go to grad school, we just have a couple more eyes to cross and a couple more tees to dot before that is feasible. Our son is two now, and loves living in town. He starts daycare next week, and I truly feel like that will make all the difference in making things happen for us. I love him, but damn if I don't wanna take a piss once in a while without pushing shoving or holding twenty five pounds in one arm in some isometric exercise.

Our futures are still blowing in the wind. We don't know what we are going to do. I've applied for jobs, and yada yada yada. I can say this, I've been my son's daddy now for all last year, a big part of his life, a rock for him, a buddy and a playmate....a father. I wouldn't have done that otherwise....I would have been off making money, no doubt about it. Marjie is getting better. Her hair is growing back. Our family is suspicious of us, we are poor and unpopular. Fallings out with everyone, and mostly over money. So what....who cares.......my son is happy, Marjie is beautiful as ever and smiles when I look at her over my glasses....we've been humbled and we know it...and to be honest we are happy for it.....and the music never stops.