What's Happening to Me? A Milestone TODAY!!!

I generally take my first walk of the day at 5:30 a.m. and I am told I cover 4 miles in about an hour. This doesn't set any records but due to hydrating issues and old knees, walking is less difficult for me than jogging was. I still jog a little but it is and never was a pretty sight. I am finally learning to cope with retirement after almost five years at this game. I need to be clear here, retirement was never really difficult for me, it's just that I continued to ALWAYS keep very busy and now I am learning that it is perfectly acceptable to take life a little slower and appreciate a more relaxed pace. This may not be big news to some of you retired folks out there, but it was to me.

I am noticing some "things" as I get older foremost of which is that Diane and I now attend way more funerals than weddings. This comes as no surprise but I used to talk about this phenomenon and now I am living it. Life is a bit different after a bout with cancer or I suppose, after any serious illness, and it takes a while to adjust to ones "new normal." I imagine this is the reason I go to bed at 9 or 10 and get up at 4:30 or 5. It's just the way my body works these days. I still can choke on food and need to constantly drink water, but my taste buds are back to maybe 65-70% which is good news.

I do have difficulty determining what is happening to my body. I was never a nap person and still am not but I can lie down and rest for 20-30 minutes from time to time. Not every day, but it is a new reality for me. Last week I had some yard work to do so after I walked I spent the day 8 to 5 working non-stop mowing, digging, weeding, pruning, and spraying. This never used to bother me, and it didn't this time except I consumed three Advil, took a shower, and was in my pajamas by 7 and asleep before 9. I woke up the next day and basically was paralyzed until I mustered up the strength to get out of bed. Heck, I didn't even walk. I asked myself what the heck was going on and decided it was a combination of what cancer and the treatment did to me and the reality that "hey stupid, you're 67, slow down." Actually, I believe Diane may have delivered those words, either verbally or subconsciously.

In addition to my yard work and I applied copious amounts of sunscreen and wore a broad rimmed Ramah of the Jungle hat (50 SPF series), I neglected to apply mosquito repellent. I have always been a favorite of mosquitos who find me very delectable and even more so since my bout with cancer. I entered the house and began to scratch my rear end and my head and I do mean scratch. I had huge lumps in the lymph node areas, but I knew what was going on so I applied some ointment and after 3-4 days the swelling and itching subsided. Last year when this happened, I assumed I was terminal and even drove to Burlington where my Ear, Nose, Throat doctor told me to go home and remember to apply repellent when I venture out into the yard.

I've been saving this last little vignette for the end as it has directly to do with the aging process. I am not a doctor, at least not the kind that can help anyone, but I have made some observations on the effects of the aging process. Since my “c” experience, my weight has stabilized at 160-165 pounds. Diane says it should be a few more but it is what it is. Lately, looks in the mirror reveal that Gordy Taylor has, as Elvis would say, "left the building." In his place is this man, not exactly old, but clearly not young. His chest has literally fallen into his stomach and there is this little bulge where 30 years ago was nonexistent. As I look at this guy, as I do when brushing my teeth each morning, I am looking squarely at Dr. Gordon A. Taylor, Sr., good God, my Dad! I suppose we all begin to have some weight adjustments/relocations as we age, but I never thought this would happen to me.

I'm not sure how it happened but it did and I/we feel fortunate, blessed, and quite happy about it. Jennifer, Gordon III, and Ryan have become three of our best friends. Of course, it's great when we "get along" with our adult children, but these three have become so much a part of our “go to” group, and we talk about everything, enjoy our time together, and laugh, and then laugh some more. Apparently there is a "statute of limitations" on stories involving the past behavior of our kids and since Diane and I can no longer do anything about any of it, the kids feel free to enlighten, shock, and not so gently inform us that at one time or another we raised three Ferris Buellers. We remain "parents" and are there for them when serious issues arise as they do for all of us but this friendship dimension nicely complements the role we play as parents.

As for grandchildren, I need say nothing. If you have them, you are aware of how "cool" they are and how they too, add a unique perspective and significant dynamic to your life.

I close this with the further realization that this retirement "thing" is really pretty good--more time with kids and grandkids and time to do precisely what I want to do or nothing at all. I would advise anyone getting ready to retire to have something to occupy your time, whatever it is. I keep busy in the yard, exercising a bit, and have Across the Miles to keep me energized and connected. Today, June 10th, is the three-year mark of the end of my cancer treatment which included 35 radiation blasts and 4 chemo infusions over 7 weeks, and I never tire of saying thanks to all of you who were and are there for us. Now that is excellent news to report!!!

Never Enough Thank-Yous!

Thank-yous are important; subsequently, I sent another letter to the center and its staff who were the driving force in my treatment/recovery in 2010. 

Great River Cancer Center

1315 W. Agency Road
Burlington, IA  52655

To the Staff:

 

I am one of your former patients and a surviving patient as well.  I was treated by your staff for base of tongue cancer from April 22, 2010 until June 10, 2010.  Naturally, there were numerous pre and post treatment appointments but all my radiation and chemo were provided during the dates mentioned above.  As I recall, I wrote a thank-you note sometime after I began to recover but recent events give me cause to write again.  I will not attempt to mention any of you by name since the passage of time clouds an old person's memory (that would be me), and I assume some folks have left and others arrived since I ceased treatment.  The nature of base of tongue cancer is that those afflicted with the disease tend to become members of a fraternity or sorority and help each other out as each of us charts our own course through the uncertain journey that afflicts us and our loved ones.

You, the special people at the Cancer Center in Burlington, are wonderful for many reasons—small and large.

·         friendly hello from receptionists every day, drawing blood made fun and conversation worthy, appointments were timely coordinated so that driving to Burlington and back to Macomb was doable. 

·         initial prescriptions, then revisions, then more revisions as my body decided how to react along the way and each     time the staff  saying "let's give this a try" always with a positive, “we can do this” tone in their voices.

·        chemotherapy—a great way to spend an entire Friday. You put me in a corner (by my request), gave me bags to throw up in when I was embarrassed to death, brought warm blankets hour after hour, consoled and conferred with my wife, Diane, about what had transpired since my last dose, and almost got me to believe that simultaneous radiation and chemotherapy was a neat combination of activities by which to pass some time.

·         I started at 180 pounds on April 22^nd, and your "diet plan" got me down to 152 on June 10th. The first few days I would stride confidently to the scale, and look at you like you didn't know what you were doing as my weight held steady at 180.  After a couple of weeks "things" changed. The staff watched me walk to what had become "that damn scale," made sure I wouldn't fall down, and even took the rocks out of my pockets in my vain attempt to keep my weight up (not really, but it crossed my mind). Finally, "Gordy, did you bring some music?"  When I handed over Aaron Copland or Leonard Bernstein CDs which I'm confident were not at the top of anyone's hit parade, you understood.

·         Visits with Dr. McGinnis (ok, I mention one name) and his trusty assistant were particularly enjoyable as they told me what was going to transpire each week and of course, it did—loss of weight, inability to speak or swallow, awful sores in my mouth, infections, a tube in my stomach, and even a little loss of hair.  Dr. M was the swami, he told me every week what was going to happen and then of course, it did, just as he predicted.  Yet, having said that, he and his staff were on call that day and every day to answer Diane’s and my questions, and he continuously reassured me that all was going according to plan.

So, you see, you "guys" were fantastic, but I told you this almost three years ago, and as I talk to other folks struggling with a wide range of cancers, this is not always the case.  I'm told of doctors who don't spend adequate time with patients, of chemo treatments where the patients feel as if they are a burden, of office staff who view patients as an intrusion into an otherwise lovely day, and operations where everyone seems to act independently of other areas of responsibility, and people don't even seem to want to work together.

I think back and it dawns on me that I took the stellar treatment I received for granted.  I just assumed that you would all do a great job—you did!  Over time, I have come to realize that is not always the case and you need to commend yourselves for the thoughtful, considerate, and, yes, I'll say it, loving treatment you provide the patients fortunate to end up in your universe.  That's it—many thanks to everyone.  You're the best, and maybe you just need to hear that from time to time.  Keep up the good work and Godspeed to one and all.

 

David Scott Taylor, February 10, 1942 to March 19, 2013

David Scott Taylor, February 10, 1942 to March 19, 2013

There were four Taylor "boys" as our Mom referred to us, born February 9, 10, 11, and 20 beginning in 1942 and ending in 1957. David was the first to arrive (71) followed by Gordy (67), Douglas (who would be 62) and Gregory (56). Dad used to say, after 1957, "I guess I need to send your Mother away during the month of May."

Doug died at age 54 in 2005 and he was a gay activist long before that was acceptable in our society.  At Western Illinois University, he was a student leader, writer par excellence, and film critic for the student newspaper.  His career took him to California where he was a noted publicist for many Hollywood personalities.  He died of a heart attack while living in Big Bear, CA.

That brings me to the sad news of today as brother David just died, primarily of complications from the same cancer I battled (base of tongue). I sat on the beach today on Marco Island, Florida, knowing that he was on his deathbed back in Illinois. I looked out on the ocean and tried to make sense of all that was happening but my efforts were futile and frustrating.  

You see, David and I have been estranged from one another for 25 years. When Dad died, we had some sort of disagreement, and we stubbornly stopped talking to each other. As I look back, it was nothing particularly serious but then I imagine it seldom is when we let our emotions cloud our good judgment. I feel particularly sad today because it was not always this way between us. 

He is four years older than me and while he teased me in a thousand different ways, as we got older and into our twenties we forged an extremely close bond. He meant everything to me and with the exception of my dad, David was my best friend during that time.  He did so much for me: 

1.  taught me how to drive and told me to always drive defensively

2.  taught me that to get ahead you had to be willing to work hard and smart

3.  told me to get all the education I could

4.  told me that no one owed me anything, that if I wanted to succeed, that was my responsibilty

5.       even protected me from neighborhood bullies as only a brother can do.

We were quite a combination. We both loved sports and it drove him crazy that he could never beat me in tennis. He took lessons, had beautiful ground strokes, and a fancy new racket. I would show up in a pair of old sneakers, never had a lesson, looked gangly and skinny but my net game was pretty good and he just couldn't beat his little brother. He took me on fishing trips to northern Wisconsin where he was a magician with a rod in his hands, and fish seemed to literally jump in his end of the boat. By contrast, I was not so lucky. First he had to bait my hook and then I would sit there for hours never getting a strike while he laughed with every fish he landed.

Hunting was one of our pastimes.  He bought me a shotgun, gave me some safety lessons, and out we went.  David could bring down quail with ease and a rabbit seldom escaped his quick reflexes.  I, on the other hand, was lucky to hit a barn or a tree even if it were directly in front of me.  Both laughed at my utter futility.

We had fun whenever we were out together. I have what I'm told is a bit of a unique personality but next to David I looked like the poor country cousin and out-of-step slow learner. We went to Bears, Bulls, Cubs, Sox, and Blackhawk games and simply had a terrific time at each outing. When I went to Western Illinois University, he was finishing up his degree there, and he preregistered his younger brother and set up a bang-up schedule before I ever set foot on campus.

Our bond clearly did not have to end, but it did because of a couple knucklehead A+ personalities let it happen. He's gone now, and I never got to tell him in person that I loved him or say goodbye. I write this in hopes that maybe someone out there will read it and attempt to reconnect with a sibling, parent, or special someone who you have allowed to slip out of your life.

Godspeed David Taylor. We shall make amends in the great beyond. I need to believe that

 

Friends

Ava Alexis Taylor
August 22, 2012
Photo taken in February 2013
 

 

Let me start by saying, "I'm fine." My Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor says he sees no evidence of disease and that is all I can ask for regarding my health detour that began in January 2010.

 

Diane and I are on Marco Island, Florida, for a couple of months, and we take daily walks on the beach where we discuss the world around us and try to make sense of what is happening to us, our family, and our friends. We have been married almost 45 years. Yes, let me spare you saying it:

 

1.  "How has she put up with Gord for so long?"

2.  "She must be a Saint."

3.  "There is most certainly a place in Heaven for Diane."

4.  "How has she done it?"

Yesterday, as we walked, I said, "Maybe I should start up the Blog again with an occasional update on what is happening to us as we age." Diane stopped dead in her tracks, and it was one of those moments when people who spend a lot of time together are thinking the same thing. She wholeheartedly agreed, so here we are. 

It has been ten months since I last wrote and much has happened. The inevitable process of life and death has touched us up close and personal. We lost Diane's Dad in May and then added the lovely Ava (daughter of Gordon III and Lisa) in August. While neither of these events came as a surprise, the loss of a parent (and Harry was a genuine nice guy) is never easy. The arrival of Ava gave us the opportunity to reunite as a family over Christmas, and we all had a wonderful time. Diane and I both find that we enjoy time spent with our children as adults and, of course, grandparenting is the Cat's Meow (whatever that means).

We shared some other nice adventures during the year including visits by and to friends, marked the 200th episode of Across the Miles (a local access tv show I host for Western Illinois University), endured the drought of 2012, and generally enjoyed ourselves. However, we did apparently cross a threshold of sorts this year--we are not going to live forever. I am well aware that at almost age 67 this body of mine has been subjected to lots of abuse over the years and while I regret none of it (except maybe the controversial football loss to Seal One in 1967) it seemed like my supply of days was pretty much endless.

I have said it hundreds of times here and elsewhere that the most important things in life are not things at all, but the people we meet on our journey through life--people who nurture us, enrich us, stand by us, and become a permanent part of our personal tapestry. They shape us, make us laugh, are there to comfort us in our times of need, and define who we are as human beings. This has been a never-ending stream of good fortune, wonderful stories, and shared experiences with people who have been a part of the Taylor family over the past 50 years.

 

That is, until 2012 when the Grim Reaper visited us four times. I am learning that life goes on, life is to be savored, life is to be enjoyed, but there is an end to this grand adventure so do not put off until tomorrow those things you really want to do now. You may or may not know these people depending on how long you have known the Taylors but everyone reading this has their own set of personalities who have excited the stage in the course of your life.

Steve Stanko lived in Seal Hall during college. I was his Resident Assistant. He was the first genuine eccentric I ever met, and he was priceless. I never met his mom Susan but each of my children has a flannel baby blanket made by her. Steve and his dad Mike came to every WIU home football game. Stanko stories abound during his college years, and he was truly one of a kind. He came to Jennifer and John's wedding and sat at the family table with us. We never passed through Gillespie without stopping to see our dear friend. He was a teacher by trade and his students in Staunton loved him because he really cared about them. And then he was gone.

Jerry Goggin went to high school at Brother Rice in Chicago and was best buddies with my friend Bill O'Toole. We got to know each other at Western because of a fondness for sports, accounting, and beer. The Midge, as he was known, was a prolific story teller and a crazed fan of Notre Dame football. After college, he moved to Ft. Wayne, Indiana where he became an extremely popular teacher at a local parochial school. Jerry was there in 1975 when Gordon III took his first steps in Macomb. While we didn't see much of each other after college, we would talk a couple of times a year and the conversation would invariably move to his beloved Notre Dame. I miss his voice and good cheer.

Steve and Jerry had some long-term health issues so losing them, while an unwanted surprise, was not totally unexpected. Terry Moloznik is another story. Bang, in our face knock-out punch. The email from his wife Renee brought us to our knees. Terry, heck he was one of my students, he babysat and played with my kids, we played football, baseball, and basketball together. He too, like me had 10 thumbs, but he helped me put up shelves in the garage of the house on Glenoak Drive that you could "sort of" put stuff on and maybe it would or wouldn't fall off. Terry was a "man's man" and I cannot explain him any better than that. He was young, vibrant, full of life. We last saw him in Washington DC when we were there with Diane's folks. Terry walked up and I said something crude. He responded in kind, hugged Diane, then proceeded to engage Diane's Dad in some small talk about their respective time in the Army. I still have my friend's photo on my desk in my office because I am just not ready to "let go."

Dave Beveridge is one of the reasons I returned to Western in 1970 to teach. I remember like yesterday calling Diane after my interview telling her I had met this neat couple (Dave and Judy) and that I was sure she would like them--she did. Diane and Judy became best friends and remain so to this day. Dave held about every significant academic position there is at Western but it must be noted that he was manager of the undefeated College of Business Softball team in the summer of 1971. Of course, he recruited a couple of graduate assistants (Red Jordan and Charlie Bokemeier) but heck, no one said he couldn't. The Beveridge children (Ryan and Jill) grew up with our kids, and we saw quite a bit of each other. Dave and Judy are Godparents to our son Ryan so that gives you some indication how we feel about them. Dave helped me clean my gutters every Memorial Day; he never figured out my "scam." We would invite the Beveridges over, play some ball with the kids and then I'd hit one up on the roof and while retrieving it say to Dave, "Heh, while I'm up here..." and he never figured it out. On an extremely personal level, no Dave Beveridge, no PhD for me. He helped me every day for literally months and once I finally got it, Diane hosted a grand party which concluded with a toast that initially was for me then quickly morphed into one for the first "co-authored" PhD in the United States.

 

What is remarkable about my four departed friends is that they were all as close to Diane as they were to me. Each of us, in our own way, loved these guys who became part of our extended family. Where do I go from here, what point am I trying to make? Maybe I just felt the need to say goodbye one more time or publicly thank them for being part of and enriching my life. Not that I ever did, but I will never take friendship for granted as it is a precious gift given to us one person at a time. Memories are fine and they remain with us but I have learned with the passing of my friends that I shall endeavor to appreciate even more time spent in the here and now.

Time for a walk on the beach.

 

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