Counting our blessings
My weekend at Scoutland actually went very well; I enjoyed working with the other boy scout leaders and assisting in their training. It is true that last night it was a bit…um…nippy, but thank goodness I had a sleeping bag rated to at least 20 degrees. The cooking demo went well; I made probably close to 15lbs of chicken chili (Fiesta Chicken with Black Beans) and all but a scoop or two was left. The Strawberry Shortcake was also a big hit; the cornbread got a little over cooked. (Unfortunately, I didn’t bring my camera with me and I do not believe anyone got pictures of the creations — you’ll just have to trust me when I say they were MARVELOUS.) All in all, the weekend was a success.
On Friday, I started having a pain in my right, lower abdomen which I took to be a pulled muscle. Against the recommendations of MaryBeth and various sundry friends, I did not call Dr. Kauh, as I did not want him to tell me I couldn’t go camping. Perhaps not the smartest decision I made, but certainly an honest one. Unfortunately, the pain has continued to increase and this evening, I ended up taking 2 oxycodones to try and stem the discomfort. I will call Dr. Kauh tomorrow, but I will be sure to inform him that not going to San Juan, PR is NOT (repeat NOT) and option. I’ll let you know what I find out tomorrow.
At training this past weekend, someone talked about the dash. A person’s tombstone typically lists their year of birth and year of death; often listed in the following format: “1960-2009″. The most important part of that presentation, though (as was discussed at training this weekend), is the dash. The dash in that presentation represents the whole of a person’s life. It is the dash that defines who we are; it’s the dash that’s important.
From a straight statistical point of view (and acknowledging that MY actual odds are zero and one), it is likely that my year of death may (will) likely be either 2009 or 2010 (as the majority of people who undergo a Whipple procedure have a relapse within 12-24 months). Then again, it may not. Either way, though, I am doing what I can to make sure that I do not forgo activities this year; this / these are not the years to put things off. It’s all about the dash.
This year my family and I are traveling to NJ for Thanksgiving to spend the holiday with my family (Sid, my younger brother and his family, Marjie, my sister, and her family, Chip, my older brother, and Mom). Because of his long-term involvement with the Macy’s Day parade, my brother has gotten me an invitation to participate in the parade. Thus, on Thursday, November 27th, I will be a clown in the parade (for those of you who know me, probably not a huge leap for me). In December, I am flying up to NJ (again) to be with the other side of my family for Hamburger Hannukah. I don’t know what the future holds, but I don’t want to worry about what I should have done when I had the opportunity.
People like to talk about how none of us knows when we are going to die; they like to talk about anyone of us could step in front of a bus and be mowed down. (Of course, my readily available witty quip is, “Great, now I have to worry about dying from cancer AND getting hit by a bus!”) The difference, though, is the difference between possibly dying (by being hit by a bus) and probably dying (from a particularly pernicious form of cancer). Whether I fall into the former or latter categories, is unknown, so in the meantime, I will focus on the dash; I want people to say (if the situation ever presents itself) that, “He led a good dash!” It’s all about the dash.
Merle