January 1, 2009

In January of 2005, things were not good. I lost the ability to use my legs. I lost the ability to reason. The visit at the oncology clinic of Dr. Mulvey was a disaster. Hallucinations were bothering me. Before my arrival, I was sure that opening up a certain set of drawers in a random way would allow the light to go on in the bedroom that morning. Things worsened. Ann sat by me in the chemo room at the clinic, and everything she said, I still remember saying, "Prove it!" I kept repeating the words. I didn't recognize anyone by name, by the end of my day there, I had everyone in tears--my wife, other patients, the nurses and staff. My doctor seemed to choke up a bit too. I could not get my legs to move, so after a blood transfusion I had had to receive, I sat without being able to get up out of the chair.

Finally they were able to move me into a room. I remember the doctor telling my Annie that he believed the cancer had spread into my spine and brain. There was not much time left. In the room, he asked me if he could try one thing. He injected some chemo into my spine with a syringe after telling me how much I was loved by so many people.

An ambulance took me to the hospital. To make matters worse, I had had a bad line, tubes going under the skin across my chest and ribcage and connecting to the jugular. Within a short time, the new line that created the staff infection--as if I didn't have enough things going on at the time--was gone and a new one replaced it. A local dermatologist took a sample of skin to have it analyzed, but the chunk was the size of the tip of my thumb, not a smooth move considering the fact that I was on blood thinner. For two days, they could not get the bleeding to stop.

I have to remind myself that I was in a first class seat on the Crazy Train at the time, so as good a memory as I have always had, I will never be sure that I was aware of everything or that I recall everything as it happened. The last night before everything changed, Dr. Mulvey and Megan his PA were in my room. I enjoyed seeing them. I trusted them with my life, because they were incredible, but they were my friends too. Dr. Mulvey whispered to her, but I guess he didn't know an important fact that I always told my high school students: I can hear a gnat flatulate at least 500 meters away. He told her, although I don't remember the exact words, that he didn't know what to do, because I was losing blood as fast as they could put it into me through additional blood transfusions. The staff infection was very bad, and I had a high fever.

He came in the next morning with a solution that he dreamed in a dream. He used a sanitary napkin under the bandage to stop the bleeding. It worked. The bleeding stopped. In another week or so the infection subsided. I returned home very weak, so weak that I could not walk five feet without stopping to rest. Dr. Mulvey told Ann that he figured I had two weeks to two months to live.

My Annie worked hard to make me feel comfortable. She was so sad. One day, she told me that we needed to go somewhere for fun. She asked me, while I sat in a chair, where I would like he to take me.

"Disneyland!" I answered immediately. I also said I wanted Jack and Kristin to come too. When I told Dr. Mulvey, it shocked him. He laughed, and then when he saw that I was serious, he said, "Why not!"

The day we left, it was a bleak day in February. I insisted on driving. My arms shook the entire way to Salt Lake City, but I said nothing, because I was afraid if I said anything, my Annie would take me straight home. We arrived at the hotel, and we left the next morning on an early flight. The trip was fun. I only wish the rest of the family could have been there too, similar to the trip we had taken in late May of 2004 when my cancer seemed to be in remission.

I rented an electric cart, and we spent every day at the park.

When I returned, Dr. Mulvey saw me within days at an appointment. "What ride are you going to tell me about?" He looked at me, expecting me to say that I rode the train around the park a couple of times. I told him about my rides on Tower of Terror.

His response was a classic. With eyes the size of silver dollars, he listened to me tell the story. "You've got to be kidding!" And he began to laugh. Within a month, I started swimming again. First I swam half a mile, and a week later I began swimming a mile a day. In two months it was two miles, and a couple of times I swam four miles. The people at the pool were so good to let me stay in a lane to get the exercise I needed.

In the fall, an administrator asked me if I could return to work. It please me. I thought it to be an incredible compliment, but it made my friend and doctor angry. His reply was another classic. "You remember that drug trial we did with you in conjunction with Loyolla University? According to them, you are not alive."

Like all of Dr. Mulvey's patients, I miss my incredible doctor and friend. This past September, Ann and I traveled to Mayo Clinic in Minnesota to get help with the circulation in my legs, and while there, we visited one of the leading oncologists in the world. When I told him the story, he told me my doctor was right. In fact, when I asked him how many patients survived that drug trail, he told me I was it.

I would be a fool to recognize my survival as anything less than a miracle. Dr. Mulvey is one of the best oncologists in the country, but he told me something important one day. "Jesus must really love you Jon. He wants to keep you around." He teared up when he told me that too.

Rubbing my religious beliefs in someone's nose is something I never do, unless I feel they want to know or if they ask me, but I will say that anyone who thinks that there is not a God or that faith does not make a difference is the foolish one. Friends and family who witnessed what I suffered know this fact, but the reason for this blog is not to talk about this. It is about looking at what I have four years later.

1. Realization that I have a devoted and loving wife is something I have always believed, but now I know it to be true.

2. Recognizing that family is the most important thing in life is a blessing.

3. Having children married to soul mates who treat them well like mine treats me is a small piece of heaven.

4. Laughter of grandchildren is the real nectar of the gods.

5. Loving every second of life is what really keeps you young at heart, although frequent trips to Disneyland with grandchildren are a major asset in maintaining that goal.

Having Cles and Leslie stay with us for a few short days after Christmas was so incredible, but it went by so quickly. And it always does that. I write the same thing when Lydia visits, whether it's for a week or a month.

We saw them just before they left on a shuttle that took them from our hotel in Salt Lake to the airport. Ann and I spent the rest of the day with Jack.

The first stop was at Gateway Mall, where we went to the Apple Store. We finally bought our Apple Computer, after talking the name of Bill Gates in vain for at least 10 years. I hope he knows what he can do with Vista.

We stopped in Layton. After checking Toys 'R Us for any additional Star Wars toys that had been unavailable in our area during the Christmas shopping season, we went to Target which was just a short distance away. Ann called me within minutes of entering the store. They had piles of Star Wars Galactic Heroes Cinema Scenes, and they also had the one I wanted to get Jack and Tommy for Christmas, Jabba's Skiff.

Jack spent the rest of the trip clutching the new toy in his arms. Tommy will get his when he returns to Minnesota. I will mail it to him.


So how is January of 2009 different than 2005? I can't begin to express in words what I feel with every beat of my heart. To see the happiness of a grandchild when I spoil any one of the three of them or all three at the same time is what I live for each day. It is a family tradition for those who knew key people in my family.

It is wonderful to take my Annie's hand and press it to my lips as often as I can. She rolls her eyes every time I do it, just like she will when she reads this, but I will never stop doing it. It is so nice not to hear her sob gently in the darkness over the loss she feared would happen. After almost 39 years, we still enjoy each other, although we will never have the money to drive a Porsche, a Cadillac or even a used Mercedes. We won't have a mansion on the hill above Idaho Falls either, but we do have fun every moment of the day.

And did I mention that I not only filled one I Pod with over 19,000 songs or about 1800 albums, but I am still putting my jazz and classical music on another. There might be a big of room for some books and of course music my children enjoy while they travel with us. It's nice to hold my entire music collection in the palm of my hand.

But I still hope for the day when my Annie and I live in a spot where it is always warm and comfortable, where I can have palm trees in the front yard and citrus trees in the backyard, where my childen and grandchildren can visit often.