Isaac Bonewits
I'm sure my gentle readers already know this from various other blogs (including the Wild Hunt Blog), but in case you've been hiding under a rock, Isaac Bonewits has been diagnosed with a rare form of colon cancer. Fortunately, it seems that this form is responsive to chemotherapy and radiation, so he may not need surgery. He and his wife, Phaedra, are keeping people up to date via their Facebook page, here:
http://www.facebook.com/ibonewits
Now, I admit that while I am not sure that I know Isaac well enough to call him "friend," he's certainly someone I know, and have had many a years' worth of 'round the campfire conversations, and that kind of thing with him. Last year at Brushwood I helped him out, schlepping his stuff in our Prius so he wouldn't have to hike across the site from the trailer to ADF's Taj-mah-tent, and we chatted the whole way. He's a quirky old bird, and no mistake - and I think he'd own that appellation with a good deal of pride and wry humor, since that's how he is.
In that vein, Isaac, a few things I learned from my mother-in-law's bout with lung and lymphatic cancer, my friend's bout with breast cancer, and a few other places:
1. Keep a good-sized clump of hair in a drawer somewhere. That way when people exclaim sadly about how "you lost your hair," you can say...."well, no, I know right where my hair is. I left it in that drawer, over there.."
2. Now is the time to experiment with wacky fun punk colors. My mother-in-law considered Day-Glo orange. I suggested she do a three-stripe sherbet look in pink, orange, and green. What the hell, it's falling out anyway. Might as well have a good time.
3. Once you are completely bald, schedule times for your friends to come over with their water-based, washable magic markers. They can have fun doodling on your skull when you visit. Take pictures. My favorite one was the "butterfly garden" look my mother-in-law's friends gave her, complete with a daisy-chain 'crown.'
4. Do what your doctors tell you. As your personal metaphysician, I suggest time alone with your thoughts. People tend to hover around critically ill friends and relatives, because we just don't know what else to do with ourselves. Take some time for you, too. You've earned it. We'll understand it.
5. Remember that it is perfectly OK to be an asshole when you're sick. We kind of expect that, too. Rage is normal, so is despair. So is laughter, at the funniest, oddest, and bleakest times. Remember, too, that we're here to tell you when enough's enough, and that this, too, is all part of the same process.
Listen - this might all sound flippant, and in a way it's meant to be. I'm one of those 'laugh in the teeth of death' personalities. But it's also a fairly clean look at what's about to happen; a long, arduous, pain in the ass (Ah-hah-ah-haha-ha-ha-ha, pardon the pun) process. Some days will be great days. Some days will be bleak days. Most days will...well...they'll just be the days that you're keepin' on with keepin' on, and that's the best you can ask for.
Still, you know...luck in battle. Strength, health, and wealth to you and yours in your time of need.
I look forward to seeing you again at Brushwood, if not sooner.