Quotable Quote #2

"Confirm Reality: Act like you matter." SG, 2007

This came to me like most thoughts do. (In the shower)
While it doesn't seem to have the same significance in print now that I'm looking at it, it still has a lot of meaning to me...

Hospitals

I’ve been spending considerable time at the Hospital with my dad for the last several days. He gets fatigued easily, and recently he’s started to have nausea from the chemo therapy. It appears that his pain level is finally coming under control, though. He has finally gotten over the fear of getting addicted to the morphine pump they’ve given him and now uses it strategically if he’s going to need to get up for something. I can’t do very much for him, but I can tell that my being here with him has really boosted his courage. What else is there to say?

Support: Family is Bigger than you Think

It’s my Dad’s 64^th Birthday! Understandably, we’re not going to have a big old party. But at least Auntie Laurie and Uncle Jim were able to go in and see him for the first time since he arrived. And he was also able to eat some of the ‘special’ Chinese food I brought him. I tell you, he’s almost as rabid about Chinese as his dad was.

I went to the Aldergrove Church with the intention of giving Pastor Dave an update so that he could share it with the congregation. But of course, I slept in and didn’t get around to leaving until I was late for the second service. The praise service was already under way when I arrived. Bill Gerber met me when I came in, and the good man was kind enough to sneak up front to tell the pastor that I was there and had a bit to share with him, if possible. But the pastor just nodded and didn’t move. Bill came back around to where I was, and the only warning I got was when he said, “Uh oh. He didn’t even follow me. Be ready to go up front, ‘cause he does that sort of thing.”

Sure enough, the Pastor announced my Dad’s condition, then called me out onto the carpet to provide details. It was done very nicely, and I could see that many of the members were visibly concerned about him. A special prayer was held, and then I got the opportunity to do what my Dad had asked me to do. “Give everybody a hug from me who wants one,” he said. When I announced that this is what he’d asked me to do and that I’d be in the foyer after the service to ‘deliver’ to all takers, the congregation brought the house down with instantaneous and thunderous applause.

I don’t know how many hugs I handed out, or even most of the names of those who lined up for their ‘turn’. I do know that I stopped counting at about 28 and that there were numerous people after that. Throughout, I had a strong sense of support from everyone collectively and individually that really touched me and lifted my spirits. I so much wish that my dad could have been there to receive it all first-hand, because he was still in a lot of pain, scared about the unknown, and not comfortable with the idea of visitors seeing him in his current condition. Instead, he had to settle for my verbal account of the whole experience, which I tried in vain to do justice. It was a rare ‘major’ day surrounded and cramped in by a host of ‘minors.’

Journeys

Tuesday, February 6: Not the sort of day that one forgets on account of it being so ‘routine’ that it’s indistinguishable from most others. The day before, the decision was reached to not wait until the weekend to travel to Canada to be with my parents. I’d managed to notify all (or most) work related people… and then procrastinated from finalizing the packing process, so any hopes of getting an early start went far from being realized.

The AM hours were spent applying for Passports for the youngest 4 kids for future travel, and taking Txee to yet another CT scan to see what was going on with the cancer throughout her body. With all of the appointments and procedures I’d accompanied her to over the previous 2 years, you’d think that this would be a pretty standard event. But on this day, I felt rather uneasy. She had been experiencing worsening health, with increasing complaints of headaches and hip pain as well as a return of ulceration at the cancer’s site of origin. This caused significant worry with some of her kids, so the “normal” levels of volatility at home were enhanced, to say the least.

When the CT was completed and some random clothing items had been assembled together, it was with considerable relief that I faced the prospect of an open road and 17 hours of travel time ahead of me. I was too cheap to fly, but this gave me some time to put the stressors of home life behind me (or at least store them for later retrieval) so that I could steel myself for the new challenges of being a support for my mom and dad. It was also a time of a huge inner struggle that I don’t think I’ll ever have the ability to even attempt to explain.

The most re-played thoughts in my head on that trip were ones of irony: How is it that I, of all people, had the misfortune of having to leave one stressful living environment with a gravely ill person to go to ANOTHER stressful environment with another gravely ill person?! How does one justify robbing Peter to pay Paul, since I was needed in both places? And how do people cope with this sort of stuff, anyway?

I’ve long concluded that the ‘experts’ out there have no real solutions to offer, and there were no lightening bolt answers from above, either. But the solitude allowed me to prepare and conclude how I would attempt approach this and other similar challenging situations. It was a long drive, and even if no one else who knows me ever notices the difference, the person who arrived in Vancouver the next day is not the one who left Fresno.

Get Well, Mr. Williams

"Mr. Williams" album

The medical system in Thailand is excellent. Services are professional, tests take place both in higher numbers and with a quicker turn-around time than in Canada, and nursing care is… well, both of my parents have nothing but glowing reports about the care given by the nurses in Chiang Mai. The people have been courteous, warm, and encouraging. Pretty much the biggest drawback, in fact, lies not with the Thai medical establishment or the people at all. Rather, the “problem” is my dad. You can see from the pictures that he is Caucasian, white… a “farang” is how they put it in Thailand. Well, this particular farang with the blood disorder happens to have a blood type of A-, which just happens to be a blood type no Asian on the planet has. This means the donor base in this Asian country is, well, NOT! (A serious problem, without a doubt)

And so it was that, early in the week, the Canadian Consulate in Chiang Mai put out an official urgent ‘all call’ to internationals of European descent of the need for blood donors with A- blood to help out an ill Canadian traveler. This communiqué, while effective, nonetheless created a bit of confusion over my dad’s name. Though I did not see it, his name was likely given in the format of Last name first, then First and middle names. I believe this because he received a special delivery of hand-made ‘Get Well’ cards from a second grade class of a Christian school in the area (Grace Christian School??), and every last one of them was addressed to “Mr. Williams.” (William is his middle name) I have since looked through these cards, and nearly all of them say, “Get Well Mr. Williams.” Hence, the title of this entry.

The call for blood donors reached the United States Embassy as well as other European embassies. It reached the headquarters’ of several NGO’s (Non-government Organizations who provide international aid), and it reached numerous Christian Missionary organizations that work with the various hill tribes in the region. In response, from all walks of life and despite it being time consuming and inconvenient, they came! In very large numbers, in fact. Most volunteers turned out not to have a matching blood type, and some were turned away for various other reasons (one was told she was too old to donate blood). More often than not, however, they made it a point to come up to the unit to meet and encourage the stranger they had come to help. In this, they’ve done an excellent job. My parents have both shared with me how profoundly moved they were by strangers who showered them with such overwhelming love and encouragement. My dad’s condition was serious, his pain was excruciating, and my parents’ fear of the many unknowns was considerable. But their courage was buoyed through the support they received from these people. In the end, only two blood type matches were found and accepted, and this was fortunate. But I think that far more good was brought from this than simply the blood that was collected.

So, even though I can do nothing for my dad from this side of the ocean but pray for his safe return and healing, I’m encouraged that, where he is, there are countless people who have him in their thoughts and prayers. "Get Well, Mr. Williams!"

One song that’s never made much sense to me is the “12 Days of Christmas.” Christmas Eve for sure always had meaning, as did Christmas Morning. But… TWELVE days?? I used to wonder this as a little tyke, “Why, in the presence of such a compelling song, am I not raking in the yuletide loot daily for a period of time longer than a week?” Indeed, this was perplexing. My parents had no ready answers to my probing questions on the matter.

Another confusing element to this particular song existed in the actual items given. I could understand “five golden rings” even though we didn’t exactly do jewelry in our house. But what in blazes were, for example, a piper piping, a gessa laying, or a swansa swimming? Why would lords leap, and just what were the criteria to determine that the Hens were in fact French (There was a fleurs de lis tattoo on her comb, perhaps)? And finally, for the love of all that is sensible, WHY would “MY TURTLE” give to me so many birds and all of these other off beat items?! (Seriously, has a turtle ever given YOU a bird? It makes no sense.)

That last mystery was solved a few years later with the discovery that the gifts were actually from my ‘true love,’ not some amphibious pet with a shell that I never actually owned. (Never mind that I’d never to that point had a true love, either. But let’s not split hairs) However, the balance of the song has conspired to keep me baffled nigh these many years. Until now! Yes, at long last, life experience has afforded me further insight into this situation.

Here is how it happened. My Mother-in-law determined that she would like to compile stocking stuffers for the entirety of our considerable horde of children (no small feat). We were not to worry about such trifles as we had other fish to fry. However, a problem with old Father Time arose, and she became fiercely engaged in a losing battle with the ancient codger. A few scant days before Christmas Day, she realized that it was not possible to send the goods the several thousand miles to our home through traditional channels. There was the small matter of pounds of materiel crossing international boundaries, and duties/customs etc. So it was that the cargo was subjected to a series of unconventional methods of purveyance in an attempt to reach us in time for the yuletide celebration. My wife subsequently scrambled to put together alternative collections of items as the great northern stockings stood a snowball’s chance in Death Valley (CA) of reaching us in time.

At this point, the details become a bit hazy. The first leg of the trip saw travel by car or bus, possibly with a detour. Then, considerable time was spent with an acquaintance, who for some inexplicable reason did not see fit to forward the items as previously agreed. Days passed. The New Year came and went. Life returned to something resembling the previous “normal.” Yea, the aforementioned belated items, while not forgotten, were nonetheless essentially written off.

A surprise delivery arrived late in January, obscured in the midst of a barrage of Birthdays and other distractions. In fact, it took a few days before a time was set and the troops assembled in the living room at the same time. But when the appointed time finally arrived, Christmas continued! It was a whole 31 days after the fact, but it was a lot of fun nonetheless. So it was that this year we had the pleasure of experiencing 31 days of Christmas!

This incident FINALLY allowed me to wrap my mind around the concept of 12 days of Christmas. In other words, extenuating circumstances happen. So now, while nature of the gifts in the song continue to mystify me to no end, the extended timeline does not in the least. Think about it. If you were to assemble a collection of rings, hyperactive lords, gyrating ladies, swansas, and geesas, along with a troika of fowl of specific dubious ethnicity and a whole host of other birds, d’ya think you’d be able to make it all come together on ONE DAY!?! I didn’t think so. But it can still be fun.

May your next Christmas season be a long one (but one free of birds & turtles!).

News

Dear Mom and Dad,
Got your email this morning. Or rather, I got pre-dawn call from Larissa letting me know I had email from you this morning. You know how that goes: Wrong numbers come from drunk people between the hours of 12AM and 3:00AM; calls with News give the chickens competition before they have a chance to hit their morning stride!

Tried to call you, but even though my calling card isn't of the Cracker Jack variety, multiple attempts brought multiple results, with none of them being a real person. Just weird tones and then dead air or automated messages in Thai-nglish. (Kup Kuun Kaa, this number is currently unavailable. blablabla. Kun Kaaa... . ). The click and the buzz are pretty universal.

I just wanted to let you know that I'm keeping you in my prayers today, and that I hope you guys have a speedy and safe trip home. Please keep me in the loop as much as possible, though I suspect that things will be pretty hectic on your end for a while. I love you guys… (Email to my parents)

Leukemia. The word has always conjured in my mind images of sick cats and kids or adults who died long before it was their natural time. Only now, it’s being associated with my dad. My sister, who lives in a time zone 3 hours ahead of me, received the news first and passed it on to me before I could hit the ground running for another workweek.

My dad had gotten ill in late December and had been experiencing a great deal of pain in his back. When I talked to him on the phone in early January, I could tell immediately that the constant pain had already had a profound impact on him. His voice was strained, and it just wasn’t… him! However, once some more powerful drugs were able to manage this somewhat, he had proceeded to fly to Thailand for a 2-month trip he had been planning for over a year. Initial indicators were that he’d pinched a nerve and that it appeared to be resolving.

One week into the vacation, in which he’d managed to put in half-days of sight seeing in Bangkok, my parents took the all day train from Bangkok up to Chiang Mai. It was hard on him, and in his words, he was ganged up on by my mom and the Fords and made to go to the hospital. The medical staff were able to zero in on the diagnosis of Leukemia pretty rapidly, and word arrived this morning.

The plan is to stabilize him and arrange transportation home for treatment as soon as possible. I’m numb, but being thousands of miles away, there’s nothing to do but try to go about my business as usual.

Larry Boy needs Help!

One of Tommy’s stocking stuffers was a Veggie Tales game for his Game Boy. I purchased it on sight months ago because I was sure it would be the ultimate coup: What could be more mesmerizing than the marriage of the game play elements of Super Mario 3 with Veggie Tales characters AND MUSIC!? So imagine my disappointment when he spent a whole 5 minutes looking at it before shelving the now less than ‘perfect’ gift idea I’d come up with all by myself.

A couple days later, I rescued the game from its virtual trash dump and fired it up in a derelict Game Boy to see what the problem was. Within seconds, I sensed a presence looking over my shoulder at my embarrassingly brutal skills. I was almost instantly ‘stuck’ in the puzzle because I hadn’t bothered to read the instructions or view the tutorial. Tommy even started to laugh at me. How humiliating! After much trial and error, I discovered how to ‘push’ the movable block so I could stand on it to jump to another platform thingy. What a feeling! I had just started to say “Ha, look at THAT!” to my tormenter when, WHOOSH!! As quick as you please, he snapped the game out of my hands and booked it down the hall.

I was both shocked and momentarily annoyed because I wanted to see what the next challenge would be. Tommy has never, ever done anything like that to my knowledge. I shouted after him, “Wait! I was playing with that….” But Tommy only giggled with glee at the funny trick he’d played on me. You know, that is something people have done to him his whole life, and he clearly enjoyed the shoe finally being on the other foot for a change. I was ‘safe’ for him to do that to.

It then also occurred to me that this is why Tom had stopped the game so quickly; he’d gotten stuck there as well. Ah, at least I was able to help him, and now he was playing the game! (So, no $18 down the tubes for nothing) A little while later, he came back down the hall chanting, “Shelby? Shelby?”… He burst into the room and nearly knocked me off of my chair. Thrusting the Game Boy into my hands, he finished the tirade with, “Help!” Ah, so NOW he needed my help again? I felt strangely warm and fuzzy inside.

It turns out that Larry Boy, the Super Hero cucumber protagonist of the game, can shoot toilet plungers out of his ears! (Who knew?) They’ll stick to the ‘targets’ on the ceiling, allowing him to swing back and forth before launching himself through the air. I’m not even going to admit how long this took me to figure out, but Tom kept getting frustrated that I was letting the timer count down to zero without making the required forward progress. Finally, Larry Boy flew through the air onto the right platform! And once again, WHOOSH! Away went Tommy and his Game Boy. I now felt sort of used and abused, but still warm and fuzzy nonetheless. …

Over the past few days, this has played out again several times. I am absolutely positive Tommy knows how to move that cucumber properly. I mean, that boy can make those vegetables dance all over the place so fast it makes my head spin! But in a few select levels, and always in the same place on the level, along comes Tommy with his, “Shelby? Shelby! Help!” business. By fluke perhaps, this initial mutual interaction offered something Tommy has perhaps never done before; working together with another soul toward a common goal. And thus far, he can’t get enough of it. Yeah, I get used and then abruptly left without so much as a ‘thank-you’. But you know, I can’t seem to get enough of it, either.

BLACK GOLD: The Gift that Keeps on Giving

What a relief! I have been racking my brain about what sort of Christmas gift to buy for a brother-in-law who has yet to produce any ideas or preferences, and I now have my idea! Given the recent falling futures and value for coal, that ubiquitous hard black stuff everyone says can be burned as fuel (yah right!) is now quite inexpensive. A few dollars can now get you a whole heap of this stuff.

Talk about versatile AND cost effective gift! You’d be hard pressed to find anything that can do more for you than good ‘ole Coal. Here are the Top Ten reasons why coal might be the gift for YOU this Christmas.

#10. A load in the back of your pickup will add lots of traction in inclement weather.

#9. Rub it over one eyelid to get lots of sympathy from the ladies.

#8. Put it in bags, and you have near-infinite possibilities and variability for weight lifting.

#7. Strategically placed lumps in your shirt will have people gawking over your killer “six pack” abs.

#6. You can spend literally hours at a time trying to figure out how to make it burn

#5. It is ready ammo that you can ricochet off of the neighborhood dogs’ noggins on your early morning jog/snowshoe trek.

#4. Initial testing indicates that this is a bad idea. Forget it.

#3. Rub it on your face and I have 2 words for you; Instant Tan!

#2. Whereas: 1) We are made of carbon, 2) We eat plants, 3) Plants are made of carbon, 4) Coal is made from plants...
Therefore: It’s safe to eat!

#1. The giver of this great gift won’t have to put up with all that annoying fake enthusiasm and gratitude from the receiver. Guaranteed!

Full 'o Beans

Today had an interesting beginning. Well actually, most days have an interesting beginning for me, but this one was particularly spirited. I guess that’s what you get when you combine an eager telephone and an equally eager autistic boy at the same time.

Tommy was being extra vocal to start with, calling out “Leonie Leonie Leonie” repeatedly and without letup (only he pronounces in more like ‘Waynee’). Then my cell phone rang. I didn’t get to it in time but saw that it was my parents. Whilst attempting to wash Tom, who was in the shower, I attempted to call them back. But in the midst of calling, our Home phone started to ring, so I hung up and ran for the home phone. It rang only once, so I attempted the parents on the cell again and got through. The parents wanted to clarify something on an L.L. Bean gift certificate for Leonie, which we wisely discussed in a different room away from active ears (or so I thought). But I was still on the phone when I returned to Tom.

Well! Once Tom saw I was on the phone, he started up his “Waynee Waynee” ruckus once again and started reaching for the phone. I don’t think my Dad got much out of the conversation, but I did give it a try. It turned out to be a rather short exchange, due mostly, I believe, to my Dad being deafened by Tom. After hanging up, Tom had some choice words. “Waynee… Eo, Eo, Weeeen… Eo, Eo, Beeeeeeen!” Guess he overheard me use the words Leonie and LL Bean in a sentence. Amazing since he doesn’t know what LL Bean is.

Call and shower now ended, it was time to get clothes on. But once again, the cell phone started up. And once again, Tom started gesturing for the phone and saying, “Waynee Waynee Waynee…” This time it WAS Leonie, so I handed it to Tom:

Tommy: “WAYNEE!”

Waynee: “Yes, Tom.”

Tommy: “Pugetti Saw!”

Waynee: “???? Spaghetti sauce? Do you want spaghetti?”

Tommy: “Pugetti Saw, FRIDAY!”

Waynee: “How about spaghetti for supper… at… 5:30, Tom?”

Tommy: “Su..pper… Fi-thirtee! Pugetti Saw!”

Waynee: “Okay, We’ll have spaghetti for supper. Bye bye, Tom.”

Tommy: “Buh Byyyye!”

There, that ought to take care of that business! Now I was running late, so deftly handed Tom off to his mother and bee lined it for the shower. Yet, no sooner had the water struck my back when Tom burst through the bathroom door chanting “Shaobee Shaobee Shaobee…”, waving the (again) ringing cell phone in hand. Booking it after Tom with loud protestations was Michael, but there was no deterring him from his goal. One sight of the big white nude marshmallow stopped Mike dead in his tracks, but not Tom! With a loud and triumphant “WAYNEEEE!!!”, he handed me the phone as I stammered my appreciation. His mission completed, Tom turned on his heel and strutted proudly out, shutting the door behind him with a confident clunk. So there I was! Alone once again, dripping, clad with nuthin’ but denuded dignity and a dinged up Nokia, and what can ya do?! At least Tommy was right, though. It WAS Waynee on the other end of the line again.

You can’t get mad about it because Tom really does like us. I know this for sure because, in addition to giving out lots of hugs, our boy calls us “Waynee and Shaobee” (NOT “Whiney” and “Weenie”). Thank goodness for small mercies!