The dark blanket gently lifts as I begin to awaken. Something is not right. The clock outside of the recovery room I am in is barely legible. As it comes into focus, it makes no sense. How can it be so late after the surgery started? There is no way that clock is telling me the correct time. I stare at the clock, waiting for some explanation to come. I look away, then turn back to the clock. Trying to focus, I feebly hope the clock’s fuzzy hands would make sense to me. They don’t.

I’m locked in this spiraling state of confusion, a grinding roller coaster moving at a hauntingly slow speed. If only I could grab hold of something to stop this spinning. I look away from the clock, seeking a brief moment of relief, loosening its grip on me. Then I look back at it – intrigued by its hold on me and wondering if its hold on me is gone, but it’s not. It grabs me just as tightly. Am I losing my fucking mind? I know this is just a clock, but it is speaking to me, telling me lies about how long I have been in the hospital. It was a 30-minute surgery with some recovery time. What the clock is telling me doesn’t add up. Temporal math is failing me.

The curtains to each side of me limit my view. I cannot see anyone and I don’t have the energy to call out. All I have that connects me to anything is the clock, but it no longer intrigues me – it scares me.  It’s one of those rare moments when I feel I have no control and no way of gaining control. I am being led by something else I don’t recognize in a direction I cannot see. I do not like it and yet I can’t stop it. And then the nurse arrives…

Place

Seeing the nurse burst the clock’s hold on me. She checked some lines and machines connected to me. Then I realized that a lot more wires and accessories were hanging off of me than what I would expect for a 30-minute procedure to remove a cyst. I asked her what was happening. She simply and correctly told me that I was in recovery and that a doctor would be around to see me shortly. I had to wait.

Some layer of normalcy began to wave over me. There was still the question of the time on the clock, but it was now a curiosity instead of frightening confusion. While waiting, my focus shifted to how completely uncomfortable the bed was. My tailbone seemed sore for some reason and no matter how I shifted, any relief lasted only seconds. Trying to make that pain go away kept me focused on something until the doctor arrived. I am not sure how long it took for him to come to my bed as I was occupied with my tailbone. There is not a lot to do in a hospital anyway.

News

His words were blunt but necessary, “You have cancer”. For a little while, my tailbone stopped bothering me, with my focus now on trying to digest those 3 words. There is no right time to hear that message, but there is no wrong time if it is necessary. The lone exception might be when you are coming out of sedation after major surgery lasting 6 hours. If a clock was able to haunt me in this state, this news about cancer had no problem ricocheting through my mind and body.

Sue arrived, with a look of worry and distress. This was understandable given she had been given this news a few hours earlier and had that extra time for it to dance in her mind.

The doctor explained some of the things I could expect. First, he told me that it was neck and throat cancer, but the specifics would not be known until further test results came back. Next, he said that this type of cancer could effectively eat at my throat (my words, not his specifically), and it could lead to me requiring a tracheotomy. He also said that it could lead to damaging my vocal cords. Treva had these procedures so it probably wasn’t as shocking to me as it could have been, but the news was still shitty.

Reaction

My mind was spinning so much I could almost physically feel the gyroscope of thoughts, like holding a heavily weighted, yet delicately balanced top in my mind’s centre. So charming from the outside, yet the grinding of the tip burned a hole where it sat and its unforgiving edges ripped away at whatever it touched. I was numb. Then they brought me a mirror…

Now I know why there are few mirrors in the recovery room. I looked at the mirror and it wasn’t me. The person I saw in the reflection had a dark red, yet stitched-up cut on his neck, running 7 inches from the side of his neck to the centre of his throat. On that same side was a deep cavity – part of his neck was removed. I felt a little sorry for the poor bastard in the mirror for a fleeting, ridiculous moment, then better sense reminded me of the reality. When I went in for the surgery, I expected a small cut to remove a cyst, not this.

They took me to a semi-private room. It seemed they thought I might be in the hospital for a couple of days. This was initially reasonable given the story that the doctor and mirror were telling me. I could barely sleep in that room. My roommate moaned all night. I know it was shallow and inconsiderate of me, but all I could think of is how to get this neighbour to shut up. Plus I still couldn’t get comfortable because my tailbone was still painful. Odd how the ass in the bed beside me and my ass in the bed with me were keeping me awake.

Next Morning

The daylight of the new morning brought some needed clarity. My neighbour had left and a quieter roommate arrived. The curtains were kept closed between us. Some places call out for the need to be outgoing and personable – this was not one of them.

Sue was at home, having left the hospital the prior night. She was exhausted, physically and mentally. I have known Sue long enough to read fatigue and emotional wear and tear in her eyes. As much as she tried to hide it, the outward reflection in her eyes showed her inside state very clearly. We did not know what would be happening the next morning, so it was important for the both of us to get as much rest as possible.

The ENT who did the surgery came into my room at 9:20. Up to that time I was tossing back and forth in the bed, vainly seeking a comfortable position. My reprieve was a couple of bathroom breaks, which simply presented another set of challenges being hooked up to monitors and an IV pole. I had a good rapport with the ENT doctor, and his first line upon entering the room was “what happened here?” I shot back some retort about coming in for a simple snip and getting a lot than I bargained for – or wanted.

We shared a quick warm smile to warm the air, then he explained what happened. He discovered cancer cells in my lymph nodes and had to remove a lot of these nodes and surrounding tissue. He then told me that the procedure he gave was called a neck dissection. What the fuck was that? I had never heard the term and seeing the results in the mirror the prior night, the term seemed to fit.

Then he handed me use a mirror to explain the results. He discussed the 7-inch incision coming down the middle of my throat and how he did his best to follow natural lines on my throat. He pointed out the additional 7-inch incision on the left side of my neck, running from my ear to my collar – which I didn’t even notice until then. Again, what the fuck was that? What other surprises were to come?

Going Home

This was a Saturday morning and from experience with numerous hospital stays with my daughter Treva, getting released on weekends can be tricky. I asked Dr. Jackson if I could go home. I just simply said that there is likely not much more they could do for me at the hospital that I couldn’t do at home. He agreed and my release was set in motion. Tubes were disconnected and I was given a crash course on looking after the surgery site and drainage.

Sue picked me up. Between the pain, recent sedation, and no ability to shoulder check, I was not in a state to drive. She drove moderately slow avoiding any quick stops or starts. Even the gentle bumps on the road that we never usually notice sent shock waves through me.

We got home. The place where we would endure months of cancer care and treatments.

Let’s fast forward to today …

Today

Much has happened since that night. So many things have changed.

My wife had been wanting a pool in our backyard for years. I resisted because I was nervous about the safety aspect. I wasn’t sure how well I would sleep, awake at night worrying about pool safety. That mindset shifted when cancer knocked on my door and I unknowingly opened it. I started to think that life is much too short not to enjoy it fully – not just for me, but also for the people around that I love.

Later that year, a pool arrived in our backyard. We have enjoyed it immensely. It is not only ourselves but also for the people we love sharing it with.

That change in my thinking brought on by cancer opened an opportunity for our family and friends to share laughs and plant the seeds of memories. Ironically, in some ways, cancer helped me to live more fully.

Healing

The recovery from cancer was also a reflection of my recovery from emotional damage and addictions from my past.

The years I spent drinking in an attempt to fill holes within eventually started to take its toll – eating at me psychologically and physically, piece by piece – akin to cancer’s insidious growth. Then making the decision that finally put the cork in the bottle was like ringing the bell at the hospital when I finished the final cancer treatment – an opportunity for a brighter future. Then as time passed, I was able to step into the light of this brighter future. Recovery from alcoholism and cancer both left scars that I can readily see and feel, but living with those scars is a pleasant, very acceptable alternative to living with the diseases.

Today, my scars from the cancer are much less noticeable. The scars on my neck are not as visible. My neck twitches and spasms daily (sometimes many times a day). I have very little feeling under one side of my chin. One side of my mouth has a mind of its own – not exactly moving in sync with the other side, causing me to talk like an English version of John Cretian! And I don’t care. I am glad to take all of this and more because I have been cancer-free for nearly 2 years.

Oh – and my tailbone? It’s still sore and I’m quite sure it’s not a result of radiation on my neck! But like the other lingering side effects, I can live with this sore ass over having cancer.

Two years post-cancer – life just keeps getting better …

The post The Day That Changed My Life appeared first on Randy Bassett.

My way out of the maze was not a solo effort. The compounding effect of people lending a hand or simply saying the right thing at the right time helped to cast enough light and navigation to lead me along. Without the gracious touch of so many people in my younger years, I would have been stuck in the maze, never knowing what could have been.

One of the most influential people in my life was a math teacher named Doug Johnston. One particular 15-minute conversation with Doug cast needed light on my life and contributed to my future in ways that only time would reveal.

This is my thanks to Doug.

Return to School  

I never graduated from high school. I dropped out of grade 11 four times from 3 different schools. It was not meant to be.

Instead, I worked at a variety of jobs, making enough to buy cigarettes and beer. Since I was 17 and living on my own, I also covered rent and food. I lived in a one-room bachelor apartment, with enough furniture to be comfortable. The kitchenette, not much bigger than a closet, was hidden behind sliding doors. I paid $103/month for this gem and it felt like a piece of paradise.

My girlfriend, Ann, and I seemed inseparable. Our youth and unbridled libidos kept the flames stoked. I thought we were going to last forever, until she decided that greener pastures existed in the bedroom of one of my drinking buddies. After a brief period of drinking myself to sleep while wailing out Barry Manilow’s Mandy, I realized I needed a change. Since my girlfriend parted with me, the lack of horizontal gymnastics gave me a lot of time, which I decided to fill by going back to school.

Upgrading

After reviewing some options, I decided to get my high school equivalency through Mohawk College. The program had continual intake which meant I could start whenever I wanted. Since it was designed so that students could work at their own pace and write exams when they were ready, it had just the right balance of freedom and structure.

It took 30-40 minutes to get to the campus by bus which I did not mind. I went to school every day which was much different than when I was previously in high school. And it was different in so many other ways. I was now going because I wanted to go, not because I was being told to do so. Plus, I was on a path to show Ann and others in my life that they had made a mistake in discarding me.

The program was broken up into 3 sections: English, science and math. For each section, there were teachers available to help. My math teacher was Doug Johnston – who would become one of the most impacting people in my life.

Meeting Doug 

Of the three sections I had to tackle to get my grade 12 equivalency, math was the one I dove into first. I always liked math and had a knack for it. Doug was the teacher who was in the classroom, available to help any student who needed it. Since it was continual intake and most people were at different places in the curriculum, there was no way to have proper lectures. I generally did not need much help in math, but Doug was always close by if questions arose.

I am not sure why we started meeting outside of the classroom. Maybe it was the math or that we both liked hockey. Or maybe it was simply that our personalities connected. Doug was full of energy. His leg was fidgety, constantly moving and he had a loud, boisterous laugh. He also had a strong, confident voice which I admired.

Over time, we started playing cards together in the cafeteria with some other students and going out for the occasional beer after school.  Sometimes we ended up at his house and played ping-pong over a couple of beers. (I hope we did not drive his wife too crazy). Doug was my friend.

Opening the Door

Our friendship had no bearing on my marks in math because my entire mark was based on one final exam – and there is little room for interpreting answers in math. Answers are right, or they are wrong. In fact, the one mistake that I made on the exam could have been overlooked, but Doug was right in marking it as incorrect. I got 159/160 on the final exam. I am not mentioning this to toot my own horn, but rather to note this test result was something Doug would refer to many times.

After I finished the math section, I still had science and English to work through. Even though I was no longer in the math class, Doug and I still met quite often over cards, beer and ping-pong. He would occasionally bring up the math exam mark, noting it was the highest mark on that exam he had ever seen. He would say it with a level of pride that made me feel uncomfortably good about myself. Up to this time, I had often been told what I should or could be doing in school. Accomplishments were rarely acknowledged.

Late one afternoon, Doug and I were sitting in the cafeteria, having a cigarette and enjoying each other’s company. Doug then brought up a topic that no one had ever discussed with me: going to university. Before that moment, I never gave it the slightest thought. The notion of me going to university never entered my mind, but something strange happened in that afternoon with Doug.

He not only asked if I considered going to university, but he told me that I would do well there. This was all new to me. He talked to me about his own university experiences, which further raised my intrigue in this previously unknown world. This small seed of possibility planted by Doug grew quickly and became a driving force in my life. He flipped the switch that gave me the light I needed to guide me to a brighter future than I ever dreamed of. All from a single conversation.

Lost Touch

I eventually graduated from Mohawk College with my high school equivalency. Doug and I still connected, but since I was not on campus daily, it was less frequent. As time passed and circumstances changed, we lost touch.

I never forgot Doug. As time continued, the power of that single conversation became more evident. Going to university did not define my character, but it did open doors and opportunities that likely would not have been available to me otherwise. It helped point me in directions that took me to the wonderful life I get to enjoy today.

I always wanted to reach out and say thanks to Doug. With the Internet at my fingertips, I searched for Doug several times with minimal success. I eventually tracked him back to the Math Department at Mohawk College. By the time I did so, he had retired. I would check again after a little while, but only ever found him in some Mohawk College archive articles.

Looking back, I could have contacted some people in the Math department who know Doug and who might have been able to connect us. Unfortunately, I did not do that. After all, there would always be time to do that later … or would there be.

Found Doug

A few weeks ago, I decided to look for Doug once again. This time I found an article about Doug outside of the Mohawk College world. Unfortunately, it was Doug’s obituary. He had passed away in 2018 from cancer. This article broke my heart, layering a cloud over me for a few days.

In the obituary, it said, “Doug touched the lives of all who knew him”. I am evidence that statement is true. I never really thought that I would not be able to say thanks to him in person. Being 60 years old, I know we are not eternal, but I was duped by the illusion of tomorrow. I can no longer look at him in the eyes to say thanks, but his conversation with me was one of the 4 biggest turning points in my life – only behind the moment I met Sue and the birth of my two kids.

The Delusion of Eternity

The history of time passing and its apparent unending state deludes many of us into thinking it will never run out. That there will always be a tomorrow. Our treasure chest of tomorrows that have come into our lives masks that idea that the well of tomorrows is bottom-less.

Since reading about Doug’s passing, I have been pondering what I should do with my remaining time. I am no longer blinded by the light of eternal tomorrows.

I have spent so much time filling my space and time excuses about the one thing I am most passionate about – writing. Always believing I will have time. I am no longer going to tolerate these excuses from myself.

Thank You

It seems that Doug touched me in such a profound way 40 years ago, but he also reached out and touched me from beyond the grave. He has opened my eyes wider to what I need to do.

Thanks, Doug – for then, for now and forever.

The post Thanks to an Old Friend appeared first on Randy Bassett.

Given the current events swarming us, gobbling up all of our attention and cloaking us in multiple layers of fear, it may seem odd to say that world is wonderful, but let’s look at it a little closer.

Two Years Ago

In early 2018, I thought I was flying high. I had my own small business. I felt healthy. I was helping to run a local charity. My son and I were hanging out occasionally, going to movies, having a bite to eat or just chatting. My wife and I were stronger together than ever.

I thought that having a small business was the ticket to success – at least that is what so many well-meaning (or self-serving) coaches told me. I had made some decisions in the business which made sense at the time. Those decisions were about to clip the wings of the business and I didn’t even see it coming.

Healthy? Who was I kidding. I was tricking myself into believing that, supported by the mirages fueled by short-term memory. My weight was cycling between 285 and 300 pounds. I had promised myself for years that “this was going to be the year I would lose weight” – just to reset the timeline of that goal each New Year’s Day. My cholesterol was high enough for the doctor to discuss medications to help bring it down. My blood pressure was always just above the high end of normal.

Little did I know that my son was entering a challenging time of his life that would change our relationship. Our relationship was going to be tested in many ways that I didn’t see in 2018.

My wife and were sailing along in our career choices. We were there to support the children and keep them as strong as we could. Yet we also had late nights spent separately because of outside commitments and very few daytime moments connecting together. We were strong in many ways – individually and collectively. But as a married unit, the strength of the bonds were under fire and being tested.

Sure, I thought I was flying high. What I didn’t notice was that the blinders I was wearing were hiding the cliff I was heading directly towards.

One Year Ago

At this time in 2019, I had just found out I had cancer and was starting radiation and chemotherapy. The delusion of the state of my health was unraveling. Medical tests were going to be frequent, as were the mental and emotional tests. I was no longer feeling healthy. But I had made strides in the prior year. I had made some adjustments to my diet, which brought my cholesterol into the normal range for the first time in years, but this was over-shadowed by the cancer diagnosis.

A year or so prior, I had decided that I would focus my business on helping non-profits and charities with their websites. After all, I knew website development and I ran a charity for years, so I knew the challenges that charities faced. It seemed like such a natural direction to take, but it proved to be extremely difficult to market. So many charities couldn’t see the value in a quality website and many simply didn’t have the proper funding. However strong it was on paper, this direction wasn’t flying.

What looked like a potential failure actually helped me to open my eyes and embrace another opportunity. I decided to wrap up my business and take a position with one of my clients. It turned out to be a brilliant move.

My son and I were going to the movies less frequently. Our interests were quite different. It was getting harder for me to parachute into one of his electronic game-playing sessions and play with him. He was so far ahead of me in any game, that I was more of a nuisance, bordering on pathetic! Our discussions seemed to be drifting apart too.

Prior to  my cancer-diagnosis, my wife and were still sailing in our own directions, occasionally bumping into each other. These bumps would sometimes cause us to pause and say “Hi”, other times it would annoy the shit out of each other. Once the cancer diagnosis came, there was a shift. We dusted away some of the external distractions. Necessary light and water were being sprinkled on our bonds, allowing them to grow stronger.

The cancer diagnosis was traumatic, but it was also starting to inject some much-needed reality checks into my life.

Today

I am pleased to say that I am now cancer-free and I truly feel healthier than I have in many years. Ironically, I know I am in much better health now than I was two years ago, even though the Randy back then would have told you otherwise. I am not without ongoing challenges from cancer – it certainly has a way to leave its marks behind. I still have painful neck spasms many times a day and that will likely be my normal for a long time. But I will gladly take those daily disruptions over cancer.

Besides the fabulous support from so many people, especially my wife Sue, what carried me through the cancer journey was my mindset. I knew I was going to come out on top, although there were many times when I had to force myself to keep that mindset in place. This was not always perfect. There were many times when I fall into a salt-bath of self-pity. Why me? Why my family? When was this bullshit going to end? But my strong inner knowing that I was going to be okay would eventually prevail.

Atticus and I are now reconnecting in other ways. I know a lot more about Rap music than I ever thought I would. He tells me about the music and the artists, because this is what is important to him. He is a teenager turning into a young man.

The greatest joy in my life is watching him grow, yet my biggest heartache is also watching him grow. I had to accept that he is growing and needs me less, or at least, he needs me in different ways now. His changes were a natural result of him growing up. In order to adapt to this transition, I needed to change the way I looked upon our relationship. Simply put, my mindset had to change and it did.

As the time demands of the cancer treatments began to subside, Sue and I started to resume our normal cycle of work and looking after our family. But something changed. We continued to spend time together in the evenings. Sometimes it was huddled around the table discussing Opening Hearts or how to keep a half step ahead of the kids. Other times it was just quietly watching TV together. This seemed to be a healthy side-effect of the cancer.

Common Theme

The central pattern over the past two years has been my mindset. I needed to know that I was going to pull through my encounter with cancer. I had to change how I looked upon my relationship with my son. I needed to be reminded that my marriage represents the most important relationship in my life.

These shifts in thinking may appear simple, but they collectively helped to give me the light I needed to guide me to where I am now – healthy and happy.

Reflection of the Pandemic

What I have gone though is a small, yet meaningful representation of what we all experiencing with the global pandemic

Prior to the arrival of Covid-19, many of us were flying high, basking in the muddiness of materialism, yet thinking we were winning the race. Just as cancer grabbed my attention very quickly, Covid-19 has stopped many of us in our tracks.

Similar to chemotherapy and radiation to cancer patients, the community at large is experiencing the challenges of trying to deal with this pandemic. We put our trust in the professionals that these demands being placed upon us are for our collective good. We are drained sometimes. We feel alone. We wonder when it will end. Cancer patients feel the same way.

Sadly, many cancer patients die from the disease, just as many people have died from Covid-19. This is a grim part of these realities. Yet is does cause many others to band together to try and save as many people as we can.

Thankfully, many more people do survive their encounter with Covid-19. Although the survival rate with cancer is not as high as with Covid-19, a majority of cancer patients do survive.

Side-effects are very common with cancer. My neck will never be the same – it will twitch and spasm for years to come. I had to learn to adapt to my new normal after cancer. Similarly, the world will have to adapt to the side-effects of this pandemic. The big difference is the uncertainly of what those side-effects will be. Another big difference is that we, as a community, have some choice as to what those side-effects will be. What will we learn from all of this?

Fear Sells

When the doctor first looked into my eyes and said the word “cancer”, fear was the first feeling that overtook me. My lack of knowledge of cancer immediately equated it to a death sentence. After I dodged denial, it took a while for me to learn more about the cancer I had and work my way through the fear. If I focused only on articles on-line that focused on the atrocities of cancer and the number of people dying from it, my fear would have grown. Instead, I focused on a balanced approach – respecting that cancer can have a drastic outcome, but also focusing on how to get past cancer.

Similarly, we are bombarded with fear-propagating messages in the media about Covid-19. Fear sells. Bad news sells. Worry sells. I have read some articles where the sole objective seems to fan the fire of fear. It’s no wonder that fear is a common community emotion right now.

But is doesn’t need to be.

There is absolutely nothing sexy about good news. An article about our friend who made some masks for Sue and our family will never sell a single copy. A story about people ordering groceries on-line for elderly neighbours will never appear on CNN. A news video about families sitting together to watch a movie or play a game for the first time in months (or years) will never go viral. Good news is boring.

And thankfully good news is so common that it really isn’t news. It will be a sad day when good news is so rare that it becomes news. Stories of families, neighbours and communities connecting are everywhere. The number of scientists coming together across the globe to combat Covid-19 is remarkable. The number of good things people are doing during this pandemic is huge and far outweigh the negative. We just need to look for it, because we won’t find these stories on CNN. We’ll find them in our own community.

Mother Nature is Speaking

Mother Nature has a strong voice – sometimes it is silent and other times it booms. But like many mothers, she may have a plan that will help us, even if we don’t understand it. For instance, forest fires can be devastating. A forest fire from 10,000 years ago could have wiped out a large area. Yet in its wake, lush new greenery arose.

Cancer paid a visit to me. It took its toll and forced me to go through a challenging time, but now I am stronger than I was before – physically and emotionally. I just had to pay attention to the lessons cancer was teaching me.

Using a very loud voice, Mother Nature has given our world-wide community Covid-19 to deal with. We are enduring a challenging time, but if we listen carefully, maybe we can hear what she is trying to tell us.

More people are reconnecting with their families and are learning to slow down. Is she telling us to return to a simpler way of life?

More people are saying “Hi” in public, even as we try to keep 6 feet away. Our physical distancing is causing some people to connect in other ways. Is she telling us to build stronger communities?

When the pandemic first hit, people were asked to stay at home to keep themselves safe. It didn’t work as well initially. The message to stay home was more quickly embraced when we were told it was to help keep other people safe. As a community, we seemed to care more about others than ourselves – a stark difference from what seemed apparent pre-pandemic. Is she trying to remind us to be less selfish and to serve others?

Our Choice

Maybe in its simplest terms, Mother Nature is trying to remind us that our world is remarkable, with all its highs and lows, and all its pains and triumphs. We just need to listen to the messages and have the courage to embrace them. And maybe, as we work our way through challenges like cancer or this pandemic, if we remember the messages we are being taught, our world will become even more wonderful.

It’s not just a cliché embossed in glitter on a greeting card. It’s not just an affirmation we tack to our bathroom window. It’s not just the name of a beautiful song written almost 60 years ago. It’s a simple truth wrapped up in 4 elegant words:

It’s a Wonderful World.

The post What a Wonderful World appeared first on Randy Bassett.

Satchel Paige was a legend in baseball. He played in the 1940’s during the time when black baseball players were first allowed to play in the major leagues. Jackie Robinson is recognized as the first black player to play in the majors, but Paige was instrumental in paving the pathway for Jackie and others.

In 1948, Paige was called up to help the Cleveland Indians in the pennant race. He was a pitcher who spent a number of years crafting his fastball in the minors. He became the first black pitcher in major league baseball.

His feats are amazing, but his age was even more interesting to me. He became a major league rookie at the age of 42 – the oldest man to ever debut in the majors. In reference to age, Paige simply, yet eloquently stated:

“How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?”

– Satchel Paige –

Upon hearing that line recently, the student (me!) was ready, likely due to the health challenges over the past 6 months.

In My Youth

When I was in my teens and 20’s, this would have been a meaningless quote. As I have touched on in earlier blog posts, there were low moments when I considered suicide and even acted upon those thoughts. Those moments were not filled with questioning my mortality, but they were filled with a driving need to escape the engulfing emotional cyclones.

Fortunately, most moments were not filled with such thoughts. I was a young man, doing things that make the present-day me wonder how I made it through it. After all, I was invincible and immortal – I was going to live forever. At least I lived like that was my mindset. I simply would not have understood Satchel Paige’s quote and I wouldn’t have bothered trying to.

As I Aged

With age, I have acquired some bits of wisdom, even though most of it is not Earth-shattering. For me, wisdom would arrive at those flashes when cute words, quotes or concepts would move from the outer layer of awareness where I selectively care about things to the inner layers of deeper understanding and emotional awareness.

Like the moment when I realized that I won’t be around forever. Sure, when I was younger, I had an intellectual awareness of the idea, but the wisdom came when the concept slipped through the superficial periphery into my inner being. It was at that moment that I started to appreciate the gift of life, and how brief how time really is.

I was more ready for Satchel Paige’s quote, but I still didn’t think about mental vs physical age very often. For instance, when I was 55, I would often think “I know I am 55, but from my memories of 55 year-olds from when I was younger, I don’t look or feel like that!”. Yet I never really thought to assign myself another age.

The Quote

I was listening to a CD series in my car a while ago called “Dreams Don’t Have Deadlines” by Mark Victor Hansen. On one CD he discussed Satchel Paige and posed the question “How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were?”

I was hooked. The student was ready. The idea pierced my exterior and entered my inner knowing. I then started assigning the age I felt and compared it to my calendar age, and they did not always match up!

Just Before Cancer

I had already accepted my mortality and began accepting the aches and pains that time bestows upon us. I learned that I had to adapt to new normals or get them fixed. For instance, I fully recognized that I could not run as fast as I could when I was 25, but that is from lack of running more than age.

My kids have helped me to blur mental and chronological aging even further. They help bring out the playful side in me, giving me cause to be a little boy again, but it causes me to get tired a little quicker – feeling old and young at the same time.

I didn’t know what 58 was supposed to feel like, but I felt much younger than that – in mind, spirit and body.

I felt more like 40 than 58. So maybe 60 is the new 40.

Cancer Diagnosis

Being diagnosed with cancer caused my mental evaluation of my age to cycle wildly, sometimes feeling 40, other times much older.

Besides the physical impact of the surgery, I still felt younger – but now trapped in a time continuum rather than a point in time. My mind was trying to hang on to the thought that I am still much younger than whatever 58 is supposed to be, but being pulled in the opposite direction with cancer reminding me that years are advancing.

At any point on time, could feel anywhere from 40 to well over 60.

Cancer Treatments

When chemo and radiation therapies started, I still felt strong – age 40. I was at work, functioning very well. I was getting increasingly tired, but it was still highly manageable.

After 2 weeks of treatment, I seemed to have aged 15 years. I was moving slower and eating less. I was more irritable, but trying to smile and keep up a strong front.

After another 2 weeks, I aged another 15 years. By this time I was eating very little. I was in bed by 8:00 most evenings. Still working, but much slower now. The growing fatigue was more obvious now and I had the decreasing ability or will to hide it.

After another week, aged at least another 10 years. I wasn’t eating at all and I had a g-tube in place to stabilize my weight and give me the nutrition I needed. I stopped working. I was too tired to properly focus on anything. I also felt impaired, like I was constantly stoned, but not enjoying any highs. I decided not to drive because I knew my reflexes were slower. I didn’t care about not having the freedom to go where I wanted because I simply didn’t want to go anywhere.

Because I was I was so mentally distant and physically tired, I was not connecting well with my family. I was dependent on others to help more than I had been ever in my life and I was fortunate that people were there to give me the help I needed.

End of Treatments and Recovery

For a week or so after the treatments ended, I felt even worse – more tired, fatigued and sore. I felt much older than I ever felt. By this time, I felt 85 or older.

I had gone from 40 to 85 in less than 2 months.

During 2nd week after treatment stopped, I started seeing signs of recovery. I was feeling more rested. I started to be able to tolerate some food.

After the third week I went back to work. I was still a bit foggy, but I felt it was better for me to get back to work. Since I was still a bit tired, I asked some co-worker friends to drive me back and forth to work, which they graciously did.

Over the course of a couple of months, I was eating fairly normally and driving myself around just like before.

The clock was starting to roll backwards.

Now

I am now dealing with cancer treatment side-effects, which is still much better than dealing with cancer itself. I am still not at 100% energy that I had prior to treatments, but I understand that it is completely normal for that to take a long time to recover.

I also have some side-effects that I was not prepared for. For instance, I have frequent dizzy spells and neck spasms. I am working with a number of professionals to determine the cause. These lingering side-effects are the reason why I don’t feel 40 again – yet!

Regardless, I would say I feel 45 – 50. I am now slimmer, I have more energy (90%) and I am sleeping normal (although my normal is shitty, it is still my normal). I just turn a blind eye to the mirror and the reflecting wrinkles that want to dampen my mental age-meter.

Why This is Important to Me

I have come to the realization that calendar age is not a prescription for physical or mental condition. Due to cancer and the treatments, I went from 40 to 85 back down to 50 in 6 months. I don’t want to say “I can’t because I’m too old” (unless it involves gymnastics or kindergarten). I don’t want to link limits to aging.

I would prefer to say “I choose not to do that” or “I choose to do that” and leave age out of it.

My Recent Lessons

What I can and cannot do now are a sum of the choices I have made up now. I can’t do karate now, not because I am 59, but because I did not choose to keep myself in the necessary physical condition to be able to do karate now. There are a lot of folks practicing karate in their 60’s and beyond.

As “Mark Victor Hansen” said, Dreams Don’t Have Deadlines and cancer has reminded me of that.

So what are my next dreams? I now have a longer list than I had even 6 months ago. Besides activities and things for the betterment of my family, my top dream is to become a best-selling author. I want my words to get out there with the hope that they will make a positive impact on many.

I have many other dreams on the list that I want to pursue with the passion and energy of the 40 year-old that I am inside. It will mean that I will be winding things up when some people may be winding things down. It also means I will be starting new adventures and opening new doors rather than embracing complacency.

Cancer has taken me through a wild aging cycle, but it has also reminded me that I am here to wear out rather than rust.

And I am always just beginning.

Now I ask you …

How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?

The post How Old Would You Be… appeared first on Randy Bassett.

Along my journey, support came in many forms. Family, social workers and community agencies. These will be addressed in future blog articles. In this article, I want to discuss a very important part of my support: my guardian angel. She has protected me long before I even knew it. Here is how it began.

The Old Farmhouse

My mom and her many siblings were raised in an old farmhouse. The wooden back door opened into a tiny rustic space to kick off your shoes. The door from there led into a small yet comfortable kitchen. A weathered table took up most of the kitchen, yet there was more than enough space to cook on the black cast-iron wood stove.

In the corner of the kitchen was a stand fixed to the wall. Upon the stand was a water basin that was used to clean up before meals. There was no running water, so the basin got topped up from a water pump just behind the house. That pump never seemed to fail in its duty to supply water year-round.

Right near the pump hung an old pot always seemed to have a slight hint of red inside, seemingly always on the verge of rusting. We used it to drink water directly from the pump. In today’s standard people would have shrieked about everyone using the same unwashed, rusting pot to drink water from an underground well. It was the sweetest tasting water I have ever known.

From the kitchen there a doorway leading into the rest of the house. It was important to keep that doorway closed at night, especially in the winter. There was little, if any, insulation and there were more than a few nights when water would freeze in the kitchen. What sparse heat we had needed to be spared for the bedrooms beyond the kitchen door.

Going through the door there was a short hallway, maybe eight feet long. The end of the hallway led into a living room. Perched in the middle of the room was a potbelly stove that provided the much-needed heat. I only had to burn myself once on it to realize that I needed to give it some space.

Around the walls of the living room were some old couch and chairs, barely enough to accommodate all who lived in the house. Off of the living room was one of the three bedrooms in the house. It was a tiny bedroom that fit a sagging double bed.

Part way down the hallway between the kitchen and living room were stairs leading to the bedrooms. There were 2 more double beds in the main room as you got to the top of the stairs. There was one more small room in the back with yet another bed.

The stove pipe from the stove in the living room came up through the main room. The radiating heat from the pipe along with an array of blankets and quilts made sleep quite easy.

My Memories

I spent many nights at that little house from the time I could hardly remember up until I was a teenager. As much as I remember many details, I recall the feeling I had when I was there. My grandfather was a grumpy old man, but I still liked hearing whatever stories I could squeeze out of him. My aunt and uncle taught me how to play the guitar. I learned how to play chess, checkers and card games. I ate eggs that were only hours old and helped pluck the chickens when they went from being egg-layers to become the main course.

I was also with my grandmother when she died in that house.

My Grandmother Protecting Me

I cannot recall what my grandmother looked like. She died just 2 months after I turned 5 years old. I have pictures of her now, but I cannot bring her vividly to mind. What I do see in memory is a silhouette of a farm-woman who loved me dearly.

One afternoon, my grandmother and I visited one of the neighbours along with some of my aunts and uncles. The neighbours had peacocks which interested and scared me at the same time. Beautiful, flowing feathers, yet these birds were much too large through the eyes of a 5-year-old.

The walk to the neighbour’s house only took a few minutes through the adjoining field. When it was time to go back to our place, the skies had started thundering with rain coming down. I was petrified and didn’t want to go. One of my uncles gave me a piggyback ride back, with my grandmother coaching him and comforting me. Even when we got back to the house I was still afraid and my grandmother lay beside me on the couch, holding me and making me feel safe.

The Night in September 1965

At night-time, there was always seemed to be a little jockeying around as to who would sleep in what bed – especially when I was there because it would throw off the normal sleeping arrangements. This night I went to sleep with my grandmother. It seems that I still wanted the lingering comfort she filled me with.

Sometime in the middle of the night, one of my aunts woke me up and told me to go downstairs. I went to the living room and sat in a chair facing the potbellied stove. It was September, so there was no heat coming from it. I was groggy and everything was blurry.

She’s Gone

My next memory was waking up in the bedroom off the living room.

I crawled out of bed and went into the living room. Everyone was in there. At first, I really didn’t notice that my grandmother wasn’t in the room.

Very simply, one of my aunts said, “Randy, your grandma died.”

This can’t be true! I looked around and didn’t see her. She must be upstairs. I ran as fast as my tiny feet would carry me upstairs. I was hoping to see her there, sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for me. She wasn’t there.

Crashing upon me was the realization that she was really gone. Slowly I walked downstairs. My feet and heart were heavy. I was crying by the time I hit the third step and I am not when I stopped crying.

Years later I found out that she had an aneurysm that took her away from us. She passed away around midnight, with me sleeping beside her, completely unaware.

Yet She Was Never Gone

It took me years to recognize that through this heartache, something very magical happened. Like she had done earlier on the couch after the thunder, her spirit wrapped around me, keeping me safe. I didn’t see or feel it then.

I didn’t even feel it through my teens. I now see she was always there. She played a strong part in helping navigate my youth. She still guides me now in those quiet moments when I am not sure what to do.

The spirit silhouette of this beautiful woman pulled me back from the brink on more than one occasion, keeping on the right side of “the edge”.

My Tribute

Before my daughter was born, my wife and I discussed names for her. I wanted to name her after my grandmother, but my wife had reservations.

One weekend I was in Ottawa to write a tech exam. My aunt visited with Sue on a Friday night and they chatted about my grandmother. The next morning only an hour before writing my exam, I talked to Sue and she was now in love with naming our daughter after my grandmother.

I thought about this off and on throughout the 6-hour exam. I had to conceal my intermittent tears of joy so that the examiners wouldn’t confuse my potential crying for exam stress.

My daughter’s name is Treva – named after my grandmother and guardian angel. It was our small way of paying tribute to this wonderful spirit and to say thank-you to her for wrapping me in the warmth her wings always when I needed it most.

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