Miz Patsy!!

Boy, are we glad to see you back with us!

It looks like some real heavy-duty praying may just be in order this time and I'll take every bit of it I can get. I won't lie. It is frightening to face the possiblity of a disease that can take your life in such a horrible, ugly way. It's such a terrible way to go that the doctors seem almost afraid to even say the words. They try to couch everything in terms of "maybe..." or, "we have to look closely and see what can be done..." or "well, we are always finding new ways of fighting these things..."

I was almost ashamed by how relieved the doctors looked when I said the words they didn't want to or were afraid to say to me... lung cancer!

There. I have said it again. It still hangs over my head like a Damoclean sword, but they are just words. They have only the power over me that I give them... and that is damned little.

When I look back at the events of my life and the horrors of combat operations I survived in Viet Nam, I find that I had little real "fear," as such, back then. Sure, I was afraid. We all were. Mostly, however, I feared that I would be horribly maimed or die a slow and painful death as did other men I knew or even commmanded in those days. We all could handle the thought of a quick, instant death that many of us found there. It was simply a reality with which we lived. This is somewhat different, however. The fight to come will leave me debilitated even if I win... and, I DO intend to win! My weakened heart may not be able to handle the stress that is certain to come with treatments that may, or may not, work. That is something that is beyond my control.

Most of you know that Secretary Sage picked up everything to move south and to take over my care personally. I can never thank her enough for who she is and has been since for me she came here and even before that. There's a special place in heaven for people like her.

Unlike another, she never denied the reality of my condition because she didn't want it to be true. She just accepted it and moved forward from there. That was really important for me right then.

It still is. If anyone really needs and deserves your prayers and best wishes, it is her. She will have the hardship of dealing with whatever happens to me with little she can do to change anything that is to come. That is my greatest regret. I don't want to be a burden to her or anyone, but I sure am thankful she is here with me now and has been all along when I needed someone to help prop me up. She has held my head as I barfed up my food a lot lately. There's no way anyone can be that ill and still feel meaningful in any way, yet she has helped me retain my dignity when it has been difficult to do. Through it all, she has never complained either. That's a special person in my book.

I plan to live as normal a life as possible for as long as I can. That means I won't cut anyone here any slack nor do I expect any of you to cut me any. Since I was 8 years old, I have refused to let anyone see or hear me whimper or cry. I am not about to start now. The entire situation sucks big time, but it is a reality.

Those who refuse to face realities are known as lunatics or deemed to be delusional. I still have all my faculties and the only lunacy in my life still involves doing the "hokie pokie" or a truly madman's "tango" in a wheel chair or even waylaying unsuspecting hospital employees in an MRI lab's corridors. One of these days, someone will take me up on the "table dance" offer and I am going to have to put up or shut up.

So long as I am able, I will continue to bitch about hospital food and tell duty nurses that the Geneva Convention requires they provide me with hot coffee in the morning BEFORE drawing any more damned blood! I will also continue to say and do maniacal things simply to leave unsuspecting souls in total disbelief and consternation and, when it's all over, I will leave this group of doctors trying to explain how the Hell I beat Mr. Death one more time. I've gotten fairly good at doing that over the years.

Just over two years ago, I was told I had only a year or so left. They were wrong then too. They will be wrong this time as well. I want to live long enough to see my son once more and tell him how much I love him and how proud of him I am.

It has always been my intent to die of gunshots fired by an enraged father of a young lady (with cause) when I am at least 11 months past my 120th birthday. I have already checked with the doctors to see which ones have very young granddaughters or even great granddaughters who might be around in 60 more years when I am ready. It looks I have to outlive their grandchildren too. Let them worry about the innocence of their great-granddaughters.

So there!

As for Mr. Death..."Watch it, buster." You best pack a lunch, bring lots of help and pack an overnight bag. This lion won't go quietly, readily or willingly.

That's not my style.

Never has been.

Never will be.