Category: Life

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Pardon my “French” in the title of this post, but I certainly can’t say this particular story is about gratefulness in the sense of something fantastic happening in my life like most of the rest of my posts. I’m a realist, and ALS sucks about as bad as anything you could imagine.  But I want everyone to know that I am not going to lose my health and physical fitness battle by going down without a fight on both the medical and personal fitness sides of things.  I truly love life, and I’m a really stubborn bastard when it comes right down to it! 

FYI—This post is rather long and not really intended to be as fun or entertaining as some of the others, but I wanted to do something to increase understanding of ALS from the patient’s perspective.  It’s a long, winding and very bumpy road that I feel obliged to discuss even if I’d rather be writing about something fun like most of the other stuff on the blog.  I briefly explained things in my opening message a couple of months ago, but this is the updated, more detailed version. 

Like cancer symptoms, a lot of neurological symptoms are invisible from the outside, and I completely understand why others don’t really fully understand it.  I’ve had countless well-meaning and sincere friends and relatives tell me that I “don’t look that bad” or they want to be kind to me and take me out to parties, concerts, sporting events and other social stuff because they are just trying their best to be great friends by helping me maximize the time I have left, and they honestly don’t understand all the hidden torture and limitations of ALS and other neurological diseases.  The way I tell people to think of ALS now is a form of “nerve cancer.” I know that’s not technically correct in a medical sense, but it is a term that helps people understand the degenerative nature of the disease. I sure as hell didn’t understand until it hit me, and as I degenerate weekly I have to reach new understandings and adapt as I go. 

The degenerative nature of ALS is really the toughest thing because it’s always going to get worse, but you don’t have any idea which parts of your body will be disabled or how quickly it will happen.  I’ve seen ALS victims who are still limping around but can’t speak a word.  I’ve seen others who are the exact opposite.  I’m one who is losing control of all my muscles from head to toe at roughly the same rate as you will see when I explain my journey below.  Some victims last 10 months, while others last 10 years, and the average is about 2.6 years.  But it’s a hard (and expensive!) disease to diagnose (as you will see), so any “average” is a bit fuzzy in my mind.   So read on if you have a little time or you simply want to know my current status as some of my friends do.  Or skip this one and stick to the awesome pre-ALS stuff in life for which I’m obviously grateful.  Totally your call…

To be perfectly honest, even though I am accepting the reality that there’s a 97% chance that my ALS diagnosis is correct, I’m still bugging every doctor I can get to pay attention to look at obscure infectious diseases, my constantly painful spine and any other ideas they might have.  Something causes these nasty ALS symptoms, and sooner or later someone will figure it out (even if it’s been 150 years since Charcot discovered it, dammit!)  Who knows—Maybe my diagnosis is wrong; maybe something in me will reveal itself if I bug enough doctors to look hard enough, or I’ll be the one in ten thousand whose disease goes into remission and heals for no apparent reason.  Or maybe I’ll be the freaky human lab rat whose symptoms or tests present something in such a way that doctors are able to discover a proximate cause of ALS?  All long shots to be sure, but why give up when I’ve got absolutely nothing to lose?!!!  Imagine the blog I could have if I were some even freakier freak of nature than I already am—Hahahaha!!!  Hell, I wouldn’t need a blog then—The New York Times and the New England Journal of Medicine would handle a lot of the publicity for me. Or I’d be a TedTalk topic…

All my hopes notwithstanding, this part of my story begins in March 2018 when I went to a concert with my ex-GF and longtime friend April and experienced something very unusual, at least for me.  We were at a Rolling Stones’ tribute band concert at a local casino.  We were listening to the band and dancing, and I probably had about 6 beers or so by the time the show was over in about a 3-hour period.  This was nothing unusual for me, and I felt just fine.  We went upstairs to have dinner, and I had a glass of wine and got up to go to the bathroom.  On the way out of the bathroom, I began losing my balance and my body felt like it had had 15 drinks but my mind was pretty damned clear.  I had obviously been drunk at other times in my life, but this was different in that only my body was affected.  I fell down once on the way back to the table and told April no more wine for me!  While sitting down I felt fine, but when we got up 90 minutes later after dinner to leave, my balance problems returned immediately and I wiped out twice more on the way out!  I felt 100% sober by this time, and we both thought that I had been “roofied” by mistake or something weird like that. 

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I was home by 9pm or so (it was a Sunday afternoon show), and I still felt a little weak and wobbly, and continued feeling the same again in the middle of the night when I got up to use the bathroom. By the next morning I still wasn’t 100%, and by then I was positive I had gotten some small unintended dose of some kind of drug.  (Does anyone intentionally “roofie” dudes in bars?  Maybe, but the whole thing was just so damned weird!)  I felt a little off for the next few days, and when I went out for a trail run a few days later, much to my dismay, I couldn’t perform a running gait!!!  My right leg just wouldn’t lift up in proper timing with the left (neurologists call this by the very scientific term “drop foot,” but that is a very accurate description!)  I had been experiencing increasing low back pain in recent months, and my first thought was that I had somehow re-injured my already twice-herniated L5 disc.  Needless to say, I was pretty bummed out about that and thought it would get better with some rest, stretching, etc.  Just to see if the rest was working I would try to run a few steps, and I could rarely do it at all!  I did manage to have a mediocre day almost exactly a month later, and I ran my last trail ever on April 21, 2018.  Even that was a slow one (3.5 miles in 51 minutes on a relatively flat, easy trail), and I felt like I had to mentally focus on every step just to get through it without wiping out.  

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In hindsight, my neurological problems probably began 6-12 months earlier, but there was nothing glaringly obvious to me until that night in March at the concert.  I had been going to my chiropractor for the low back pain and a snapping, popping neck since September 2017, and I figured it was just something an old guy who liked to run and work out would have to deal with and manage the best I could.  As I think back on that period now though, there was a slight decline in my overall performance in a few exercises, and I noticed an occasional feeling of shortness of breath when there really shouldn’t have been a reason for it.  I also remember occasionally stumbling over a few words with a lots of consonants in them (like my name and the name of my company) and I had obviously said those things at least 10,000 times in the past 25 years!  But I just thought I was an old man with a back problem who was possibly working out too much, and my strength training really wasn’t affected to any great degree.  I was already being proactive there and had designed my workouts so that I wouldn’t put undue stress on my low back anyway.  And ALS, PLS, cerebellar degeneration, or any kind of motor neuron disease was certainly nowhere on my radar…

I asked the chiropractor what he thought, and strangely enough to me, he recommended I see a neurologist.  I thought for sure he would say it was my back because of the pain and previous injuries, but I took his advice.  A week or two later I did, and the neurologist ran me though a bunch of physical tests in his office, some nerve conduction tests to measure the speed of my motor neuron electrical signals, and offered me the option of spinal and brain MRIs, which I did.  He did see evidence of my herniated L5, some degenerative disc disease, and some minor nerve pinching, but given that the initial symptoms had appeared while drinking alcohol, he recommended I stop drinking and see if things improved.  I hadn’t known it, but alcohol is actually a neurotoxin, and given my history as a hard partying Cheesehead, I was pretty bummed out by this medical advice!!  Needless to say, I bit the bullet and followed it, but my symptoms continued to decline in various ways. 

The next major motor skill to go south was my ability to play the guitar, and that happened around July 2018.  I had played for over 40 years by then, and although I could still form the chords with my left hand, I could no longer strum in a rhythmic way with my right arm and hand.  In essence, my right arm had gone the way of my right leg, and I also noticed it was getting much harder to write (I’m right handed).  By this time, it was also getting more difficult to speak clearly at times.  This was still pretty infrequent compared to the leg and arm problems, and I would occasionally have days where shortness of breath was a problem for a few hours at a time. 

At about the same time, I lost the ability to dance.  Besides playing in over a dozen bands, I had seen over 1,000 music shows in my life, and I absolutely loved to dance.  I remember holding onto the band’s monitor speaker at my last show (see below) so I wouldn’t lose my balance and so I could stay out on the floor longer. I was one of those guys who would go out and dance by himself or with whoever was out there. I could literally dance all night, and I loved it! Losing all my rhythmic musical abilities was perhaps one of the most painful things to me. 

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The Limping Phase: By the end of the summer, I was limping noticeably almost all of the time.  My co-workers and clients noticed and expressed their concerns.  All of this worried me enough that I figured I better get a second opinion, so I went through another round of physical tests in a different neurologist’s office, some blood tests, and a $3,000 DaT scan for Parkinson’s disease.  The test for Parkinson’s turned up negative.  At this point I thought I better break out the big guns, and I asked for referrals to Barrow Neurological Institute and Mayo Clinic.  Of course, I couldn’t get an initial appointment at either for 2-3 months, but I’m not going to get too far into what I think is wrong with our current medical system.  This is a blog about gratitude, and I intend to keep it that way!

I was beginning to get quite nervous at this point but kept hitting the gym 4-5 times a week. A good workout almost always made me feel better, so I figured I was doing the right thing.  I couldn’t really run anymore, so I switched to low-impact cardio like the elliptical, the stationary bike, and the stair climber because I was more convinced than ever that my increasingly painful back was the source of my problems.  And I continued lifting weights of course, although I was noticing that my right side was becoming about 25% weaker than my left, and I was starting to have increasing right shoulder pain to go along with my ever increasing low back pain. 

I managed to maintain my strength pretty well until about December, and by then I had to do a lot more work on the machines versus free weights because my balance, coordination and core strength were steadily going south as well.  During the last 6 months of 2018, I was able on some days to alternate a limping jog for 50-100 steps with a few hundred steps of walking in between, and I did manage to walk 3 miles or so a few times on flat trails during late 2018.  One other thing that became abundantly clear was that it was much easier to maintain my balance going up a hill or upstairs than down.  I learned that the hard way by wiping out a few times and fortunately wasn’t hurt. 

The Cane Phase: By January 2019, I could no longer walk safely without a cane so I bought a pair of those cool adjustable trekking poles they have at Costco.  I was still working, although I often had an assistant with me on set in case something physical needed to be done in a hurry.  By March I was so slow on set that I realized I wasn’t giving my clients the full value of what they were paying for and decided I had to sell my business and go on disability.  At that point it was a major challenge just to do normal stuff around the house (cooking, cleaning, etc.), my level of fatigue was increasing rapidly, and I just couldn’t move quickly enough to get all my work done. 

By January 2019, I had seen 4 neurologists and 2 internists, and after spending about $30K, I received my first diagnosis of primary lateral sclerosis (PLS), a slower moving but very rare form of ALS.  I saw neurologists number 5 and 6 shortly thereafter, and by March I was pretty well screwed according to a good cross section of neurologists, including a couple at the Mayo Clinic.  I don’t have too many medical photos, but here are a couple from the Mayo Clinic where they injected me with 1,000mg of methylprednisolone a day for 5 days in a row.  OK—So I lied in my “Fatness to Fitness” article.  I did ‘roids 5 times and it cost me $5,000!!!  And the vein stickers on the weekends were newbie trainees.  One of them couldn’t hit my vein after three tries, and I was a dude with about 10% body fat at the time.  My veins were so easy to see and hit that I could have done it myself with my other hand—Hahahaha!

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Despite all my efforts to the contrary, I graduated to the wheelchair phase around April 2019.  I just didn’t have the neurological control of my legs and my balance to walk any distance safely at all, even with a cane.  I started wiping out in the gym because my balance was gone, and my solution was of course to work out the best I could in a wheelchair. I had seen other people doing that, and I remember admiring their tenacity, so I tried it myself in April. I worked out a couple of times in the chair with my trainer Dave at The Yard, and I did about a half dozen more workouts at a place called Ability 360, a very special gym geared specifically toward the disabled. I had been there before because I had done a few video and photo shoots there, and I loved both the concept and the people who ran it. You don’t have to be disabled to work out there though, and I would encourage anyone to check it out. It’s modern, beautiful, clean and friendly–Give it a try sometime even if you aren’t in a wheelchair. Exercise is good for everyone to the extent that they can do it! But by mid-May, I could no longer exercise because of the increasing intensity of pain and fatigue as well as the lack of balance and coordination in general. After my last workout of 24 sets in a wheelchair and 10 minutes of slow cardio on a stationary bike, I was exhausted for the next 3 days! As much as I hated to hang it up, I had to. I needed all of my energy just to make it through the day.

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So I tried to make the best of it and schlepped around my favorite store in one of their awesome carts. (Costco rocks, and everyone in the pharmacy knows me now!)  In a weirdly prophetic coincidence, I ran across some old photos of myself in about 2013 (long before my disability) mocking people in motorized carts at Scottsdale Fashion Square.  I wasn’t trying to be mean spirited of course–just goofy, but I guess karma really is a bitch!

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Throughout my first year, I was also reading online and investigating everything I could about the medical science surrounding MS, ALS, Parkinson’s Disease, spinal degeneration, infectious disease, nutrition and anything else I though might be affecting my health.  I think I did more research than when I was writing term papers for a living back in the day!  Of course I received a lot of well-meant (but trendy, in my humble opinion) advice from friends about diet being the cause of all evil in the body and stem cells being the cure for everything that couldn’t be cured by a diet.  In that sense, the internet is highly overrated as every nutrition guru tries to hawk their “”nutritional protocol” ( a fancy term for “magic diet”) which can supposedly cure everything from MS to cancer.  And I was extensively tested twice for food allergies, and came up negative for 99% of the edible stuff on earth.  (And there is no toxic mold inside my house—I had that tested too.)

Just for the record, I’ve attached some photos of my typical dietary regimen for the past 8 years.  I normally ate about 120g of good protein, 6-10 servings of vegetables a day, and I had given up alcohol when my neurological symptoms began.  Just for grins I’ve been gluten and dairy free for about a year because I read about something in a medical journal called “gluten ataxia.”  I also tried eliminating various foods for a month or so at a time and took that “Restore” product which was supposed to fix “leaky gut” syndrome and stop the blood-brain barrier from being broken.  Regardless of what I did, my symptoms continued to worsen, and here I am now.  And yes I know that everyone has their religious beliefs in “magic diets” and will find something “toxic” in the foods pictured below, but I was eating healthier than 95% of Americans and honestly don’t believe that is the cause of my ALS.

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In spite of my skepticism of both the allopathic and naturopathic medical systems in this country (who can’t seem to cooperate even when their patients are dying!), I’ve explored naturopathic treatments too. I was turned down for mesenchymal stem cell cerebral spinal fluid (CSF) injection therapy in Panama City because they didn’t think it would help me, but approved to try it in Bangkok for about $30,000. To their credit, they didn’t claim it was a cure for ALS–They said it could potentially (or not) slow or halt the symptoms down by a few months if I were lucky, and that they honestly didn’t know why it helped some patients and not others. My thinking was really to try it for the hell of it since it’s always possible that I have been misdiagnosed and that I had nothing to lose but a little money anyway.

The thought of a 30-hour trip to Thailand is overwhelming in my condition, but I would gladly try a similar treatment here in the US–I mean, we’ve got to be way ahead of BFE places like Panama and Thailand in terms of medical technology, right? Oh, wrong–The wonderful people at Big Pharma, MegaMed, and their lackeys at the FDA have decided that any type of CSF stem cell injections need another decade of “clinical trials” before it’s even legal here. Apparently I don’t own my own body, and I certainly don’t have the right to try to save my ass from a deadly disease here in the “land of the free” until American MegaMed corps can figure out how to patent a treatment and overcharge health insurance companies and Medicare $100,000 for it. And I’ll be dead by then along with at least 50,000 others…

That’s enough medical/political ranting for my gratitude blog, so I will say that I have explored a variety of naturopathic treatments to potentially ease my symptoms as well. I’ve tried a couple of nutritional supplement protocols (which made me feel worse!), some ozone therapy (which seemed to make me temporarily feel better, much like the steroid therapy at Mayo Clinic shown above), to some electrical zapping which didn’t seem to do anything at all. And I’m of course taking a few allopathic, Big Pharma things for muscle spasms and pain relief, but they are only temporarily useful in the case of a degenerative disease like ALS.

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Just to be quite clear for those that haven’t seen me:

–I can only walk a few hundred steps a day around the house in my walker because the muscle spasms in my legs are so bad they won’t bend when I put any weight on them. 

–After about 30-40 tiny steps with the walker, I have to sit down for at least 15 minutes before getting up again. If I sit down for an hour or two and “rest,” it’s even harder to get up because the muscle spasms tighten my whole body to the point that it doesn’t want to move and creates additional pain. I’m damned if I move and damned if I don’t…

–I can’t get up from a seated position without using my arms as well, and I can’t maintain my balance standing without holding onto something sturdy with my hands.

–If I stand upright for more that 2-3 minutes, my back pain from the muscle spasms is unbearable and my legs are at risk of collapsing.  My legs are getting weaker and in a month or two I probably won’t be able to stand at all. 

–I can’t bathe except seated with the help of a caregiver. (Well, I probably could, but wiping out in the shower and then not being able to move would be a very bad idea!)

–I fortunately can use the bathroom myself for the moment, but that probably won’t be the case in a month or two. And the bathroom has to be cripple friendly or someone else will have to lift my half-naked ass off the toilet. My friends keep inviting me over, but if I can’t use the bathroom, I sure as hell can’t stay very long!

–I can’t really write more than one capital letter every 5-10 seconds or so because my hands are so weak and uncoordinated.

–It’s getting increasingly difficult to perform any fine motor skills with either hand. I’m talking about everyday stuff like opening a bottle, eating with a fork, opening an envelope, picking up an object without dropping it or knocking something else over. Both arms and both hands are getting weaker and less coordinated, and my ability to grip objects is going away.

–My typing is pretty slow and difficult and it won’t last much longer.  I used to be a whiz.  I’m trying to get as much out on my blog as quickly as I can before it’s too late.

–My speech is so slurry and labored that I sound like I’ve had a half a bottle of JD by 10am.

–It’s getting increasingly difficult to chew and swallow although I can still eat most food at the moment.

–I’m sleeping in one of those mechanical hospital beds now to relieve back pain and help raise me up and down so I can get in and out. My core isn’t working well enough that I can even roll onto my side without a huge effort and grabbing the side handles of the bed to help.

–It’s getting increasingly difficult to breathe, which is the scariest symptom of all to me.

–My level of fatigue is incredible.  I’ve probably got only about 10%-20% of the energy I had a year ago, and it’s getting worse.  In spite of constantly feeling exhausted, sleep is hard to come by because sitting or lying in one position too long aggravates the muscle spasms, causes pain, and wakes me up.

At some point, ALS victims need to make tough decisions about how far they are willing to go to prolong their lives.  When you can no longer move, eat and breathe unassisted, you end up like the people in the photos below. Their ability to move is generally limited to maybe one arm, a few fingers and their eyes, and you can see that they have breathing and feeding tubes as well as computer technology which allows them to communicate one letter at a time through a computer screen that recognizes eye movements. (I don’t think a foodie, gabby bastard like me would be very happy with any of that technology!) How far anyone wants to take this is a very personal and difficult decision that is looming just ahead for me.  I think about it every day, particularly on days when it’s difficult to breathe. 

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Having said all that bad news, I can still say that I haven’t entirely given up on the medical side of things even now.  I’ve recently gone to neurologist number 8 at least last week (at Barrow), and he’s agreed to run a few more tests on my spinal fluid and refer me to an infectious disease specialist to see if anything obscure was missed so far.  I also have a couple more referrals in the works—One to a local spinal neurosurgeon, and another to a diagnostic genius “Dr. House” kind of guy in Dallas who is going to give me his opinion based on my medical data I have sent him.  So I am fighting until the end in every possible way I can to make sure it is really ALS and not some other incredibly obscure disease. 

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Maybe there is a lesson in gratitude here after all.  I have never had to fight this hard for anything in my life, and it’s oddly gratifying to know that I can fight pretty damned hard when I have to.  I was never even in a fistfight when I was a kid (I was always Mr. Chill Peacemaker even back then), and now this!  As I’ve been writing the blog about my very enjoyable life, I began realizing how easy things were for me, and I also began to think that readers who haven’t had it nearly as easy in life might thing I’m kind of a clueless, ungrateful asshole!  And I’m certainly not going to say that they are wrong.  For most of my life, things came so easily to me that I really wasn’t in tune with the suffering of others.  I had generally written most people’s problems off as things that were largely their own fault, and I didn’t really have the empathy I should have had on many occasions.  And I’ve been taught this lesson in life by all of you who have come out and offered me your amazing love and support!  When you think about it, I was given the gift of really never having to learn things the proverbial “hard way” for my entire life, and now that it’s my turn I realize I’ve been one of the luckiest bastards on the planet!

Since I’ve started going down, I’ve noticed that I’ve been paying a lot more attention to conversations I’ve had with my family and friends about the hardships other people are facing.  In just the past week I heard about a friend’s dad who was diagnosed with brain cancer and died five weeks later.  I heard another story about a 3-year-old girl who died of cancer.  I’ve met ALS victims who are in their 20s!  People die from or are disabled by heart attacks and strokes unexpectedly every single day.  So as shitty as ALS is, I can say that me sitting here (scared shitless and in pain to be sure) is still a hell of a lot better than a lot of people have it!  I had a long conversation with my friend Jean the other night about God torturing Job, and it’s really just one of life’s challenges that we all have to deal with suffering in some form try our best to be at peace with it.  I must admit I haven’t mastered the peace part yet, but I’m much worse physically but strangely figuring out the peace and acceptance as I fight my way through the rest of life.  And I thank you all for your kindness, help, and understanding.  It truly is more than this really lucky bastard deserves. 

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Genetically speaking, I was born to be a fairly lean guy at 5′ 11″ and a healthy weight of somewhere around 160#.  I was only about 145# when I graduated high school, but by my mid-20s I was about 160# and a normal healthy size.  Unfortunately, I had developed the typically American habit of eating whatever the hell I wanted, and I had also been raised to learn the “grew up in Wisconsin in the 1970s” habit of drinking as much beer as I wanted.  I had a fast metabolism and could have probably handled one or the other, but the combination of the two eventually got me.  Here are a few pics in my 20s—I was very slowly gaining weight, but I looked normal and was having a hell of a lot of fun!

At age 30 I was probably up to around 170#, and I surely couldn’t wear those Levi’s with the 29″ waist anymore!  I was starting to get the typical beginner’s beer gut and small “love handles” and I was gradually buying slightly larger clothes.   At that point in life I was mostly writing for a living and I had just gotten started in the advertising production business.  Sandy & I met on a shoot and got together when I was 31, and having an awesome cook at home didn’t hurt my porky transformation either—Hahahaha!  Here is a pic from this era, and you can see that I was starting to put on a few. 

I quit smoking cigs around age 33, and although that was a good thing I was ramping up my beer consumption and began a 15-year era of “work hard, play hard” in the extreme.  I was literally doing one or the other or both every waking moment, and although I was psychologically wired to be perfectly happy doing that, my body was suffering physically.  By my early 40s, I weighed close to 200# and I can safely say from what I learned later as a fitness freak that it caused my health to suffer substantially.  My main problems were serious issues with high blood pressure caused by being fat and gout caused by drinking waaaaay too much alcohol.  I used to wake up most days with painful creaky joints from head to toe and a hangover to one degree or another.  Of course, all this could be “cured” by a few cups of coffee and another 15-hour day of work!  I still remember my doctor telling me that the blood pressure meds were no longer working and that she would have to keep increasing the dosage, OR I could just STOP EATING AND DRINKING SO MUCH. 

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Of course, I ignored her advice until I learned something very important and had a painful epiphany on my 48^th birthday in 2010.  The epiphany was both instant and powerful, and I knew my life would be forever changed.  It was very tough at the time, but it’s one of the things I’m most grateful for to this day.  Hell—I could have already been dead from a heart attack a few years ago rather than battling ALS today.  (Again—the irony of life rears its ugly head—Hahahaha!!!) 

I decided right then and there that I was going to take a more well-balanced approach to life and get with my physical side which until then had been completely ignored at the expense of the cerebral/business and hedonistic “work hard, play hard” mantra I had chosen to live by until then.  To me, “work hard, play hard” seemed quite balanced, but as we get older we have to invest some time and effort in the maintenance of one’s physical health.  I was trying to keep driving my 120,000-mile body at top speed without ever once stopping for an “oil change.”  What an idiot I was! 

Within a day or two of my 48^th birthday, I had gone on the Atkins diet and limited my alcohol consumption to 3 Michelob Ultras a day.  That might not sound like much of a sacrifice to you, but for a boozing Cheesehead like me, it was like a religious conversion!  I allowed myself the 10g of carbs from the Ultra, and the rest came from vegetables only.  No bread, rice, pasta, fruit, soda or anything else with a carbohydrate in it.  And I stuck to this for at least a year.

About a week later, I joined the gym and was getting up at 5am every day to go swimming.  I chose swimming because my gout was so bad I couldn’t possibly walk or run any significant distance.  And get this—I was in such pathetic shape that I couldn’t really even swim laps in a traditional sense.  The only stroke I had enough endurance to do was one LENGTH of a face-above-the-water, old lady breast stroke and a walk back to the beginning end of the pool and repeat.  Seriously?!!  I was in pretty bad shape.

But what did surprise me was the relative speed with which my old body adapted and rose to the occasion in terms of both diet and exercise.  In a few months or so I had lost about 20 pounds and could swim the real breast stroke continuously, albeit pretty slowly.  My gout disappeared relatively quickly so I started walking/jogging and lifting a few weights at home.  I had a stationary bike too and added that to the list.  I wouldn’t have believed it myself, but within 6-8 months, this old fart could jog 5 miles, swim for 30 minutes nonstop, and lift a few weights!  And I got off the blood pressure meds because my BP had dropped back down to about 120/75 and my resting heart rate went from about 80 to 65.  Who knew this diet and exercise shit really worked?!!!!

The one mistake I did make though was in doing the same 12 or so weightlifting exercises 2-3 times a week.  The problem was that they were all upper body and all pushing exercises (no pulling), and they threw my shoulder joints out of whack to the point that I couldn’t even lift my right arm from the pain!  Ever the voice of reason, Sandy encouraged me to ask our neighbors for a referral to their personal trainer, and my days as a gym rat officially began!  I’ll say this right now and reiterate it later: NO STEROIDS, drugs or anything other than a healthy diet and exercise were involved in my physical transformation. I’ve been asked/accused, had erroneous assumptions made, and no freaking way did I “cheat.” I was 100% “natty” (fitness-speak for “natural”) all the way.

I told Rachel the trainer what I was doing; she laughed, showed me the right way to train, trained me herself 2-3 times a week in the gym and gave me an exercise plan for home.  I trained with Rachel for a couple of years and got really good results for a 50-year-old dude who started out as a fat slob! Here are a few pics after about 6 months on my own losing weight and 6 months in the gym with Rachel. I stayed around 170# and about 15%-18% body fat or so but was continuously losing fat and building muscle.

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Rachel eventually got a real job as a physical therapist for the benefits, and I moved on to Julian and Dave, two of the trainers who owned “The Yard,” the gym where I was training with Rachel.  I was in pretty good shape already, but those guys had been chomping at the bit for a couple of years to get their hands on me and train me like one dude trains another.  In their minds, Rachel was good for the beginner that I was but now I was ready for the real deal!!

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Julian was a younger guy about 30 who regularly entered bodybuilding shows and had even won a couple.  Dave was a retired wrestling coach about my age, and I nicknamed him “Dr. Triceps” because he was a master of that particular muscle as you can clearly see from his photo!  They both took me to school on the finer points of weightlifting, and I achieved both strength and a look I never thought possible in my 50s. Julian took more of an overall body approach using a lot of traditional strength training exercises like the bench press, lunges, shoulder presses, lat pulldowns, etc.

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Dave on the other hand was more of an isolation guru and would invent his own exercises to specifically target certain muscles in certain ways. His particular specialty was the triceps muscle because according to his logic, it was the largest muscle in the arm and needed to be properly targeted for maximum upper arm size. I certainly think photos of both he and I prove that his theory was sound! Here are a few pics of me around age 52-54 after a couple of years with Julian and Dave. At this point I was about 160# and 10%-12% body fat and at my physical peak before my disease started a short time later.

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If it seems like I’m bragging in words and pics, I definitely am, and there are two reasons for this.  (And, hey–I posted my fat, ugly pics at the beginning, so fair is fair–Hahahaha!) First and foremost, I want to impress upon everyone reading this that they too can achieve things they never thought possible and at any age.  I had no idea I could achieve what I did, and I don’t want anyone else to underestimate their potential. Too many people invent bogus excuses in their minds about why they can’t do something (particularly diet and exercise related!), and I’ve heard them all since I became fit.  I’ve had literally hundreds of people essentially ask me some version of of question about what my “magic” diet or “special” exercise regimen is (and I’ll repeat myself again for those who think I must have “cheated” in some way–It never involved steroids or anything other than a few completely legal nutritional supplements available anywhere!), and when I tell them my story, I always hear some version of an excuse about why they can’t do why they couldn’t possibly do what I did for 100 bogus “reasons.” I’m telling you in all honesty that I never even intended to take things this far or would have believed it were possible.  My original intention was simply to lose 25 pounds and tone up a bit, but my endorphins kicked in and got the best of me–Hahahaha!

Most people who asked me about fitness were really only looking to lose weight (or more accurately body fat), and I told them I had very good news for them. Weight loss is typically 80% diet and 20% exercise, so if they hit me with excuses about their “bad knees” or “busy schedule” preventing them from spending a few hours a week exercising, my answer was “No problem at all. Just stop stuffing your face with too much of the wrong food, and you will lose a pound a week.” I often showed them the meme below when the excuses for being overweight led in the direction of “secret, magic, trendy diets.” There is way too much of that bullshit going on these days. I simply told them to pick the one which most agreed with their taste buds and to stick to it. This pretty much says it all…

The second reason I’m bragging about my physical success is that I believe people should be proud of their achievements in any area and advertise the fact (within reason, of course!)  Someone has to lead the way and set the right example, and although it wasn’t my initial intention to lead anyone in this area, it’s become my role to help people whether I like it or not (and yes, I liked it—Hahaha!)  And I work in advertising, so I know damned well that people don’t buy the “product” unless you make it look its best and sell the shit out of it by any means necessary!  Be proud, act proud, talk your shit up, and encourage others to do the same. 

Here area a few more pics, and I had also taken up trail running at this point. Sherry had gotten me into hiking with her, and I soon discovered how much I loved the trails. While she was at work, I would run the trails alone, and I was one of those crazy guys who did 5-6 mile runs in South Mountain Park in July when it was 112 degrees outside. I would laugh at the signs saying it was too dangerous and loved having the trail all to myself (except for the snakes, Jean–Hahahaha!) As I think back on it, I’m damned lucky I never wiped out and knocked myself unconscious on the middle of the trail somewhere. I would have likely died from the heat because nobody would have found me for a day or so.   Irony is everywhere…

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It became my intention a few years ago to become a personal trainer and probably open a small gym as my “semi-retirement” career. I had thought advertising would eventually slow down for me, but it never did, and then I became too ill with ALS to work at all. As part of my preparation for my next fun career, I wrote a couple of simple nutrition primers which I planned to give to my future fitness clients. That never happened, but they really are about 90% complete, so I’m going to attach them here in case anyone wants to check them out and benefit from some simplified but effective guidelines for weight loss. I know most people won’t overcome the weight-loss inertia if they have to buy and read an entire book on the latest trendy diet, so I did my best to condense what worked for me into just 7 pages total. My approach is low-carb, low-fat, but others will work too. But mine is only 7 pages, it works, and it’s free!

Honestly, I was so far ahead of the fitness game for someone my age that I’m guessing it helped me stay a step or two ahead of my disease as I went down fighting.  I’m proud of the fact that I exercised as long as I could to the point of doing it in a wheelchair until the resulting physical fatigue was so great that I couldn’t do anything else.  And I’m still really bummed about that, but part of my “55 rock star years” were my 8 years of physicality and fitness.  It is something I’m still very grateful for and remember with joy in my heart…

Chapter 1

This might seem weird to some of you, but I’m actually quite grateful to have grown up in what were really two distinct technological eras.  Of course human technology has always been advancing, and things were different between birth and death for our parents’ and grandparents’ generations, but the rate of technological acceleration seems to have gone off the charts in my lifetime.  I’m amazed at certain things, and I’ve probably said to at least 100 people that if you had told me when I was 25 that I would be able to hold a tool in my hand (as I wave my iPhone around) that can access almost all of the world’s knowledge and communicate with over a billion people, I would have thought you were crazy.  And all of this for under $1,000 and about $50/month.  Wow…

The interesting thing about the technology of the 1960s-2000 and 2000-present is to me the way it has impacted the amount and types of freedom I’ve experienced in my life.  Back in the “old days” of the pre-PC era, there was a great deal more personal freedom in many ways because nobody could “track” you, and there was no digital history of where you went and when you were doing what with who. 

One glaring example of how things have changed is in the area of driving a car.  Back in the old days, you had to learn to drive while you were as young as possible if you wanted to have any kind of freedom at all.  The only way to interact with other kids your age was to physically get out of Mom & Dad’s field of vision and do whatever it is you wanted to do.  Sex and drugs and rock ‘n’ roll were only available if you could go somewhere else to enjoy them!!!

During my childhood, kids started learning to drive first on their minibikes and go-karts when we were about 10 or 12.  I got a go-kart on my 10^th birthday only because my Mom quashed Dad’s initial plan to get me a minibike instead.  Dad had a motorcycle or two when he was a young man, but Mom said “hell no!” to the 2-wheeled tool of danger, figuring (probably quite correctly!) that a go-kart with 4 wheels was safer than a minibike with only 2 wheels.  It mattered little anyway because the kids all took turns riding each other’s machines all over the neighborhood streets, our rather large yards, and in the farmer’s wooded trails that surrounded our idyllic “subdivision” of 12 houses on 2-acre lots.  Talk about having it made as a kid!  Once you were motorized, you were your own man (or woman) and had the freedom to cruise around at will. 

Of course, by age 13 or 14 we were more than ready to aim for bigger and faster challenges, and that’s when our parents’ cars and the roads outside the neighborhood started looking rather interesting!  I was staying over at my friend Eric D’s house (not in our neighborhood—about 3 miles away) one night in the 8^th grade, and we were 13 years old.  Eric D’s parents had gone out for dinner and drinks, and Eric D. got the idea that it would sure be fun to take Mom’s Buick station wagon out for a cruise.  I’m pretty sure it was my neighbor Chris and I in the back seat, and we picked up Eric’s neighbor Leo on the way down the road and were out on our first cruise in a real car!  Well, Eric D. was a bit of a maniac driver considering his extreme level of inexperience, and I distinctly remember him burning rubber, skidding around corners and speeding like all hell!  I was honestly a bit scared because I knew he was just making it up as he went along, but we had so much fun cruising around that before we knew it, two or three hours had gone by.  I seem to recall Chris and/or Leo taking a turn behind the wheel (hey—we were all taught that “sharing” was an important virtue—Hahahaha!), but I declined and was happy just to be a backseat driver on my first clandestine road trip.

We decided that it might be smart to get home and park the car in the detached garage (they had a large lot out in the country) before his parents got home.  Well it was already too late for that, because as we started to pull into their long tree-lined gravel driveway, we noticed that Eric’s dad’s car was back in it’s usual spot next to the house!  Since we had to park Mom’s car in the detached garage anyway, Eric got the bright idea that we could turn off the car’s lights and drive through the apple orchard around the back of the garage and Mom and Dad (now sitting in the house) would be none the wiser.  As we started to pull through the rather steep ditch and into the apple orchard in the dark, it appears Eric had forgotten about the rather large willow tree that was next to the apple orchard.  CRUNCH!! went the Buick’s right front quarter panel and we were jammed in our tracks between the ditch and the tree! 

We panicked for a minute and then shut the car off and contemplated what to do next.  First we surveyed the damage—Yup, Mom was certainly going to notice that her car was quite smashed up and it didn’t happen in the garage!  Next, we figured that if three of us helped push the car out of the ditch with one guy driving, we MIGHT get it out of there and moving forward into the apple orchard again.  Eric D. was the biggest dude in our group, so I think my neighbor Chris drove while the rest of us pushed.  Well, we did succeed and managed to get the car back into the garage and entered the house quietly hoping Eric’s parents were none the wiser (yet—Obviously, Eric would have to tell them something to explain the smashed up car!)  His parents hadn’t heard a thing, so we all went upstairs to his attic bedroom and contemplated various ways to lie our way out of our “situation.” 

To Eric’s credit he decided that it would be best to tell the truth, and we also reasoned that we should do it right now to score as many integrity points as possible AND because his parents had had at least a few drinks and were in a happy mood when we came in the door an hour before.  This turned out to be a pretty smart move for some scared teenagers, and I figured I’d be in some trouble with my parents when Mrs. D told them we had been out cruising in her car.  But, get this—Mrs. D. was so cool that she didn’t even tell any of the other parents about the cruising excursion!  She was so impressed that we all came downstairs and admitted everything to her and Mr. D that we had learned our lesson and that there was no point in telling our parents.  They scolded us a bit of course and rightly so, but talk about luck!  I guess that honesty really is the best policy…

Chapter 2—Eric H. and Chris Learn to Drive

Well, Mrs. D turned out to be half right in thinking we kids had “learned our lesson” in terms of driving before we were legally old enough.  My next-door neighbor Chris and I learned what we used to call “The Eleventh Commandment” in Catholic high school, and that was: “DON’T GET CAUGHT!”  After that first joy ride, we both had a taste for the road and by age 14 we were continuously looking for opportunities to drive when our parents were out.  I’ll come right out and say that Chris had more balls than I did in the instigating department, but I sure as hell never said no!

Our usual mode of transportation was Chris’ Mom’s car—a 1973 (I think) Olds Custom Cruiser.  It seated 8 or 9, probably weighed about 6,000 pounds and was literally the largest passenger car on the road at that time.  The only problem with that was that Chris and I were both late bloomers and probably were about 5′ 4″ and 122# at the time.  The front seat literally swallowed us up!  But being ingenious youngsters who weren’t going to get caught, Chris grabbed some phone books and a couple of his dad’s dress hats so we would look larger inside the car in case any cops happened to notice us out on the road.  And we would of course be smart enough to get home before our parents did so we wouldn’t have problems parking the car!

To our credit, we did succeed in getting in at least a dozen excursions in within the next year or so, and half of them were in the winter.  Unlike Eric D., we didn’t drive like maniacs—We actually taught ourselves to drive and wanted to keep doing it right up until we were old enough to get our licenses.  Not getting caught and losing your “driving privileges” (and probably others!) was a big deal to us.  We had quite a bit of adrenaline junkie fun teaching ourselves how to navigate that giant rear-wheel drive sled on snow and ice, and I’d have to say we got pretty good at it until the inevitable happened…

No, we didn’t get into a wreck or caught by the cops (although our hearts skipped a beat when they drove past us on the roads more than once!), but we took a chance we shouldn’t have.  We usually only drove when both sets of parents were out for the evening.  We were next door neighbors and you could kind of see each other’s houses through the trees, but one night we bent our rules and paid the price.  Everything went fine on the drive, but when we brought the car back down his driveway, my Mom just happened to be looking out the kitchen window and saw the car pull in.  She happened to know what Chris’ parents were doing that night, and it was too early for them to be getting home at about 9pm.  Of course I unwittingly didn’t help matters by strolling in the door about five minutes after we parked the car, which further raised my Mom’s suspicions.  She mentioned something about it to me, and I just shrugged it off and told her I didn’t know anything about it.  Mom took it upon herself to call over there, and quickly found out from Chris’ older sister that her parents weren’t home yet, and it didn’t take too long for my Mom to get it out of her who was really driving the car when Chris’ parents were still out! 

About 10 minutes after I got home, my Mom came into my room and had it out with me.  Of course I lied and said this was the first time we had ever done such a thing, how sorry I was, blah, blah, ad infinitum, but she was still pretty pissed off about it.  I was 15 by then and would be eligible to get my learner’s permit in only a few months, but she said my punishment was that I would have to wait another year!!!  Well, the parents all had a talk about it over the next week or so and cooler heads prevailed.  Chris and I both got our driver’s licenses on time, and the best part was that we already knew how to drive!!!

Being an agnostic, anarchist/libertarian has always made me somewhat of a rabid individualist outlier (to say the least!) in a world of very tribal human primates, but I think it’s important to know that someone’s religious or political views typically have little to do with whether they make loving friends or not.  I’ve always had close friends all over the religious and political spectra, and let’s face it—I’m the weird one if some of my stories are any indication!  If I insisted on religious or political agreement, I wouldn’t have many friends.  Just the opposite is true, because there are loving people all over the place, and I’ve been lucky enough to find that out with a vengence now that I’ve taken ill.  (They may be politically or intellectually “confused” or “inconsistent” to me, but that just makes for some interesting discussions–Hahahaha!  And a lot of them think my extreme freedom value system is equally nuts!)

My view on any potential afterlife is that this is an unknowable thing as long as we are alive.  (For the record, I have very definite opinions about good versus evil, but that’s another discussion.)  I will admit I hope there is a heaven (who wouldn’t—It sounds awesome particularly in my current situation!), but even if there’s nothing, I still can’t complain about my “55 rock star years” here on Planet Earth.  That’s my rationalist view of things, but something really interesting and inspiring happened to me yesterday when my high school friend Dano reached out to me after hearing the bad news.  (Side note: Dano wrote “1981 Overture,” which was the inspiration for my blog and the first essay I posted!)  Dano knows I’m an agnostic (he’s a hard-core Catholic), and he told me he would come to see me next week.  During our conversation he asked me if I would object to a Catholic priest hearing my confession, forgiving my sins, and praying for my healing or journey to heaven based on God’s will.  Even though I’m an agnostic, this had to be one of the most touching and loving things anyone ever offered to do for me based on the incredible love in his own heart.  Whatever turns out to be true in the afterlife, his main concern was that I was not neglected based on his belief system.  If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is. 

But wait, there’s more!  I was expecting Dan to organize the priestly visit when he was in town visiting me next week and it would be an experience we would share together.  I hung up the phone with him around 10am, and my Mom arrived for a visit at noon.  Like Dan, my Mom is a devout Catholic, and we were both surprised by a knock on my door at about 1pm.  My Mom knows I’m an agnostic, and she was very surprised to see a Catholic priest at the door!  It turns out she was thinking the same thing about the sacraments my friend Dano was (only she didn’t dare ask me), and the priest came in and administered the sacraments to me in front of my Mom!!  Both my Mom and I were in tears, and Dano, I can’t thank you enough for giving my Mom and I that very special gift. It gave my Mom a huge amount of peace, and it all makes me wonder if things don’t happen for a reason. 

To be clear, I’ve had two similar experiences with other Christian friends (both named Robert, ironically) who took me to church with them on more than one occasion and basically stepped up to help Eric the agnostic because of the love in their hearts.  Both of them flat-out said to me: “It’s what we do because we want to do it.” I have other friends who are believers who have done tons for me in the past few months as my needs have increased. From their point of view, they see good or “godliness” or something inside me that I don’t even see, and want to share their love with me.  I also have another very close friend named Robert who is more of an agnostic like me and still shows the same love the believers have!   It’s exactly the same with my die-hard atheist friend Marc too. Both of these guys totally have my back, and all of this is a bit incomprehensible to me, but writing about it helps me sort it out a bit in my mind.    

And if there really is a god, he definitely has a sense of humor.  My friend Kevin and I used to mock Dano in high school when he admitted to meditating with the Bible under candlelight in his bedroom closet.  His nickname: “Dan the Priest”—Now if that’s not some incredible irony for you!  Kevin even made up some song lyrics we sang to mock him based on the Rush song “Temples of Syrinx.”  The line we sang to Dano was (I think): “Dan is the priest of the Temples of Mequon.” (our home town).  “His Holy Bibles fill the closet walls.” (Or something like that—Kevin can correct me since he made it up—Hahahaha!)  If God made man in his image, he (or she!) definitely has a sense of humor! And if there really is a heaven, Dano will be having the last laugh! (And I will be meeting Jimi Hendrix and Tom Petty–Hahahaha!)

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In a lot of ways, Sandy & I were fortunate to meet when we did, because I think Sandy was ready to break out of her New York City steady gig, and I was ready to settle down with the woman of my dreams.  There’s not enough time in my life to tell every story about our lives together, but it was good for both of us that we met when we did and shared 20 years together.  And I am very grateful for it. 

Sandy & I met on a fashion photo shoot in December 1992.  I was a relative newbie PA/motohome driver and Sandy was a younger but much more experienced photo assistant and pretty much her boss David’s right hand for anything work related.  We stayed long-distance friends for a while via phone and letters before my first trip to New York in September 1993.  We immediately hit it off, and by the following summer Sandy was headed to Arizona so we could be together.  In the business arena, we each had somewhat different strengths that made us an excellent business team as well and immediately formed East-West Productions to handle all the out-of-town shoots that came to Arizona in the winter.

Besides all the joys of self-employment I’ve mentioned in my other writings, I particularly enjoyed my life with Sandy because we both got 6-10 weeks off in the summer to travel for both business and pleasure.  We would road trip it (I hated flying and loved road trips—Sandy was just the opposite, but she tolerated me—Hahahaha!) first to Chicago and Milwaukee to visit my people and pitch potential clients for a few weeks, and the we would do the same thing in New York.  I had never been to NYC, and for a guy from suburban Milwaukee, New York City was like another country (at least in certain neighborhoods!)  I really loved our long visits to New York, but what I’m most grateful for is that we were able to spend so much time with family and friends and really enjoy the luxury of maintaining those relationships for decades.  Many people don’t get that opportunity (and get to see and do things that would only be possible in NYC!!) 

The other great thing about our summer “working” vacations is that besides always going to our hometowns in the Midwest and NYC, we would add different detours almost every year! Throughout our 20 years of traveling the US, we visited a lot of different cities, towns, and parts of the countryside visiting many different people. Here’s a short list off the top of my head: Boston & rural New England, Upstate New York, North Carolina, Florida, Nashville, Pittsburgh, Dallas/Ft. Worth, St. Louis & rural Missouri, Minneapolis & rural Minnesota, and at least a half dozen other places I can’t even think of right now. We had the pleasure of connecting with family, friends, and clients over the years to a much greater extent than most people do. I am very grateful for all the close friendships that freedom has allowed me to maintain that are still with me today!

We also took an awesome 23-day trip to Europe that I’ll talk about in a separate story. And I could kick myself now for passing up a couple of trips to Hong Kong and Singapore over the years. Sandy had family there, and I (what a dumbass I was!) decided that work was a higher priority and that I would always have another chance to get there. In fact, Sandy used to chastise me for never saying no to a gig, even when we already had a few others happening. She thought I was a little nuts in that department–I was Mr. Ambitious to the extreme, and Sandy–You were absolutely right! I’d feel a lot smarter right about now if I had said yes to Asia and no to a few of the 900 shoots we did in over two decades. But hindsight is 20/20, and I never expected what is happening to me now (or at least not so soon–Apparently, 55 is the new 95 in my case!) All in all though, I have nothing to complain about. Sandy and I explored a lot of places and had fun with a lot of people in 20 years!!!

Since Sandy is actually a real photographer (with a real degree from FIT!), I’ll let each picture tell a thousand words.  (And you’re probably sick of me blabbing by now—Hahaha!)  Of course, I could spend a year posting pics, but I’ll put up a few good ones so you get the idea… 

I was born in 1962 and adopted by my parents Bob and Peg when I was two months old.  I am very grateful for this since they treated me with the greatest of love and raised me in the positively idyllic setting of Mequon, WI in the 1960s and 1970s.  Abortion and single motherhood were much less common then for a variety of reasons, and I am extremely grateful to my birth mother for making two really good choices, without which I may not have been able to have the awesome life that I have. 

Being a typical dude, I’ve only been mildly curious about my birth parents and never made any effort toward finding out who they were until my girlfriend Sherry made an offhand comment to me one day while we were hiking.  Sherry and I were avid hikers, and we would typically hike for 1-2 hours several times a week.  Sherry was of almost all Irish descent, and would always cover up her awesome body and delightful alabaster skin with hiking apparel, sunscreen or both!  I couldn’t blame her because when she missed a spot, she would burn, burn, burn in a nanosecond or two.  I on the other hand, only wore athletic shorts, no shirt, and I don’t even own any sunscreen. 

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One day after a particularly long hike, Sherry noticed my golden brown all-over tan and asked me about my genetic heritage.  I told her what I had always been told—I was Irish and German.  She kind of snickered in disbelief and said, “No way dude—I’m Irish and look at my skin compared to yours.  You’ve got Greek skin!”  I had never considered that before and told her she was nuts, but the more I thought about it, I realized that Sherry indeed had a point.  What Northern European can walk around barely clothed in the blazing Arizona sunshine constantly and almost never burn?  Sherry knew I was adopted and strongly encouraged me to do the Ancestry DNA thing, which I quickly agreed to.  She was absolutely right in saying I really didn’t know shit except for some third-hand story I’d been told since birth.

Well, I spit in the magic tube and sure enough the results came back in a few weeks.  I’ve posted them below and it turns out the lovely Sherry was not only beautiful but quite smart!  This “German/Irish” guy turned out to be about 25% Southern European and barely German at all!

That was in 2016 and I pretty much forgot about it until my neurological problems started getting worse in mid-2018.  I had heard you could download your raw DNA data and have it analyzed for health purposes, so I went back on the Ancestry DNA site for the first time in two years.  When I signed on I noticed that I had a 6-month old email from a guy named Duane, and it said we were very close relative in the first cousin range.  He told me a little bit about himself and was curious about how we might be related.  After a few more emails, we figured out that his older sister Denise (or “Dese” as the much younger Duane called her) was indeed my birth mother!  Their family were hard-core Catholics and Denise would never have considered an abortion (Thank you, thank you, thank you, Denise!), and my parents adopted me (I really shouldn’t tell you guys this!) for the princely sum of $5 and a modest donation to the Catholic Church (probably $100 or so).  So I am definitely one of the cheapest bastards on the planet—Hahahahaha!!! 

After Duane (or Uncle DQ as I now call him!) and I hit it off pretty well during our email thread, we started exchanging photos, and I’ll leave it to you to decide whether I look like my birth mother Denise or not.  I know Uncle DQ thinks so because we did eventually meet for lunch last winter when he was vacationing here in Arizona.  He is a super chill guy who is actually crazy enough to live in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan in a town on Lake Superior (He’s a freakin’ “UPer”—Hahahahaha!), and we had a great time meeting for lunch at the Space Age diner in Gila Bend of all places.  (Uncle DQ went camping in Why, AZ for 3 months and hates big cities—Ya think?!!)  All during lunch, he kept staring at me and smiling, telling me it was exactly like looking at his older sister again.  She had died of breast cancer at age 64 many years ago (he was 12 years younger than Denise), and I was so glad to be able to give him that gift.  We still stay in touch via email, and this story is so full of gratefulness all the way around it could make one’s head spin. 

I debated telling my adoptive parents Bob & Peg about this for many months, but as my disease got worse I decided to open up one day and tell them the story.  My Mom was practically in tears and expressed her gratefulness for the decisions young Denise made in allowing them to have me as their son all these years. 

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There is one thing for which Denise and Peggy both deserve some blame though.  If you find any of my writing or musical shit on this blog to be annoying, you only have these two women to blame.  Denise was an opera singer/piano player, and she taught English and music as a career.  My Mom knew all of this about Denise when she adopted me and always pushed me hard in both areas because she was convinced I had natural talents in music and writing.  (Nature or nurture; talent or no—I’ll let you readers be the judge of all that—Hahaha!)  I ended up playing guitar because I quit the viola (can you blame me?!) at age 12 when I became interested in rock music. But Mom insisted that I take up another instrument to my liking and adamantly refused to let me quit playing music altogether. Drums were my first choice, but I’ll leave you to guess which member of our household vetoed that idea—Hahahaha!  (Hint—It wasn’t Mom…) And I had a 10-year career in writing which you can read about in my story “Do You Have the Term Paper Blues?” Nature or nurture? I’ll leave that for you to decide, although my mom certainly didn’t encourage my writing career in any way, shape, or form!

Thank you Sherry for your very wise observation about my “Greek Skin.”  Many people owe you a debt of gratitude for leading us down the road almost not taken!

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