Category Archives: Fourth Phase

Back Pain, Fourth Phase, Health, Shadow Mountain

Help

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Spring and the Trial Moon

Monday gratefuls:  G.I. tract calmer. Lightning. Red flag day. W.U.I. Rebecca. Visiting Angels. Politics. All dogs. Shadow.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Actinium

 

Kavannah: Netzach. Perseverance. Trial begins on Wednesday. I need netzach as I enter this latest round of treatment.

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Today I have a meeting with folks from Visiting Angels. I need help at home. They will help me decide what kind. Looking forward to it. I realized a while ago I need help.

 

I have a difficult time making meals, seeing I get adequate nutrition. Cleaning the kitchen. Doing laundry. Standing and bending over, my head drops, straining my lower back from above. Changing sheets, pillow cases, blankets. Picking up and putting away groceries.

My old self exists. It looks at various household tasks, says, Oh, I can get those done in no time. So I get up to cook, to load the washer, to reorganize a crowded kitchen counter. And then, my back seizes up, my head drop exacerbates the back. Oof.

A helper for these tasks could lift the psychic burden–dishes, meals, laundry. I carry those unfinished tasks as a heavy collar around my neck.

I’m motivated by the trial which begins tomorrow. New, unknown side effects. Probably more appointments. I could use the unburdening.

Not cheap. Once Visiting Angels and I talk, I’ll create a budget and consult my financial folks at Bond and Devick. Plenty of money. Still, how much I leave behind matters to me.

In addition to the rollover I also have substantial equity in the house. I imagine that will more than compensate for whatever expenses I incur.

Rich Levine offered to help me look for a person. He found a companion for his mother, so he’s familiar with resources up here. After Visiting Angels and my financial consultation, I hope Rich and I can move quickly.

Moving through stages. I cooked and cleaned. Did the laundry. Not so long ago. Then, in September of 2023, I visited the Joseon Palace in Seoul. After a half hour of wandering this huge palace of Korea’s last dynasty, my back, which had never given me problems, failed. I hobbled to the car which seemed twice as far as when we entered.

A watershed moment. After much physical therapy and regular workouts, my back did not get better. Two and a half years of constant pain until my nerve ablation last November. That took away the pain, but my back problems continued.

This is why I need help.

I’m ready.

Not what I want.

Necessity.

 

Fourth Phase, Health

Feed the lev what it needs to prevail

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Spring and the Trial Moon

Friday gratefuls: Mitzrayim. Exodus. Diane. Carrie. Rebecca. Tara. Rich. Ron. Snow and cold. A winter day. Shadow’s kisses.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe:  Better Sleeping

 

Kavannah: Simcha. Joy.  I have such joy with my friends at CBE.

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Woke up with slivers of myself dedicated to different, sometimes contradictory perspectives. One sliver says, oh, go on. Ratchet down. You know where things are headed. Another. I’m so tired of feeling sick. Another. It’s rally time! Absorb this new reality and get on with it. And this one, where has all the purpose gone? One more: You got scammed.

 

I’ve been drifting emotionally. Carried here and there by rivulets of despair, anguish, resignation. No firm place to grab hold, steady myself. Discombobulated. Rudderless. From this: Oh, go on. Ratchet down. Follow the slow rush toward the sea. Don’t fight it.

Recovery from my difficult constipation has taken way longer than I thought it would. Hasn’t fully arrived yet. That means I’ve felt stomach/gut sick for three weeks plus. The constant drain of this symptom, that symptom. Can I eat now? Will eating make me feel worse? Or, better? An alienated stomach.

So tired of feeling sick. I could discount it. Doesn’t work. The symptoms remain.

My sense of purpose. Lost. I felt circumscribed, hemmed in on all sides by cancer, an unhappy G.I tract, increasing weakness. Purpose dissolved. Feeling hemmed in. If there’s no place to go, purpose withers.

One footnote to all this. My dishwasher broke. I called a repair outfit I’d used before. Crow Hill Appliance. Trusted them. The woman scheduling the appointment was not as thorough as the one I remembered. I was ok with that. This was quicker. Oops.

When Slavic, the Ukrainian repair guy, came, we talked a bit and I left him to diagnose my sick dishwasher. A central circulating pump. $390. Sorry, it’s so expensive. I wrote him a check.

And. Nothing.

It was a slick ruse. And I let it happen–distracted, tired, not fully in my body. I don’t expect to get the money back, but I am calling the police.

This morning. A small, but powerful shift.  No symptoms. Body right. I was glad to be awake. A place to get a purchase. Grab on to a level of living above resignation, above a temporary illness. It’s rally time! First time in three weeks. Some juice left in the tank. That feels so good.

Reflection: Feeling sick, debilitated, has affected my mood–a lot. Even though I knew it was happening. I need to remember. Sick body drags down the lev. Conclusion: feed the lev what it needs to prevail.

This moment. Right now. A sun below the horizon–yet I can feel its power.

My lev quickens.

We await the light.

 

Fourth Phase, Health

Life Itself

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Tuesday gratefuls: Rich. Tara. Marilyn. Jamie and Ellen. MVP. Melancholy, come to visit once again. BJ and Pammy. Idaho.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Orion

Tarot: paused

One brief shining:  Embodied. Incarnate. I am life itself, riding this body, the only one I’ll ever have, on the ancientrail from birth to death. No, I’m not special. You and you and you ride alongside me. Someday our paths will fork. I’ll go on my way. You on yours.

 

Over the last two and a half weeks I’ve felt as sick and unhappy as I have in years. I’ve begun to suspect that in addition to constipation and sleep deprivation I had a g.i. bug. I’m still not back. When I eat, my stomach often rebels. I’m sleeping much better, yet still feel worn out. It’s important to me to write this. Get it on the page.

As my physical distress increased, waned, and lingered, as it does now, I went on an emotional journey. Could this mean something dire? Why haven’t I taken better care of myself? Will I feel like this forever?

Self-doubt. It wriggles up, carrying along with it other memories. Those weeks before and after my divorces. When I floundered, no longer at home in the ministry. Less dramatic. What have I done wrong with these vegetables? Why won’t Shadow come inside? Less dramatic, but still corrosive. Acid on the soul.

Focusing on my difficult times, in these circumstances, only made my hard times harder. See. You are like that. Have been all along. Shifting, can you feel it, from a man who made mistakes to a man who is a mistake.

How long can I endure? If I’m a man who is a mistake, not much longer. The pain and suffering will only recur and recur. Such a man can only bring down himself and those closest to him.

If, on the other hand, I am a man who makes mistakes, I can learn, change. Try to make a different mistake. This man will not disappear. Today gives me a chance to alter my diet. To get better sleep. I can even learn to say, oh that was a mistake, how silly of me.

There, you see? I’ve gotten this far down the page. Written myself into a happier place. The key today? I had begun to inch toward seeing myself as a man who is a mistake. One sabotages himself because that’s his nature.

No. I’ve felt miserable and sick because I was miserable and sick. Not as a necessary condition of a permanently flawed man. I can get myself into a better place. How? Eat well. Move. And move some more. Workout how to handle the brace and eating out. Don’t isolate. Participate in the trial.

In other words accept and assert my agency. Don’t let my inner world fill with self-doubt, recrimination. Fill it instead with self-regard, affirmation. Open myself to the wonder of being human.

Quietly.

Peacefully.

 

Family, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health

Charlie’s Big Day

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Wednesday gratefuls: Diane. Shadow’s duvet nest. Relief. My phone returns. Tara’s big help. Fiber and protein. Groceries.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Cease Fire

Kavannah: Wonder. Malchut.  Shadow

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Some days. Yesterday. Tara picked up my phone from the Synagogue. Once again I am in thrall. She also picked up my grocery order and my meds. The Miralax chose yesterday to kick in. I couldn’t have walked to the pharmacy and back to the car without a problem.

 

Not often two week defining events get resolved on the same day. Constipation ended though stomach soreness has not. I can sleep. Get up from a chair without concern. A festival moment for the Moon of Liberation.

My body got relief from a pestering problem.

Also starts sending out messages. Buy the high fiber oatmeal. The seven grain bread. Move more. Sensible. Stuff I know. I order a clamshell of Kiwi fruit.

Yesterday afternoon I had to get my groceries. Couldn’t. Asked Tara. She agreed. Got my meds. My pick up order. When she got back, she put the groceries away. A good friend.

Using the creepily easy find my phone feature in Google, I saw a small, red upside down tear light up in Lakewood. Lakewood? Only took a moment. Luke’s apartment. Made sense since we had lunch together on Sunday and Luke drove.

Sure enough. When Luke looked in the Subaru, my phone was on the passenger’s side. Yay! He took it to Bagel Table, but had to leave it there. Indisposed as mentioned above, I couldn’t get it. Tara had a tutoring student at CBE on Tuesday. Worked well.

When she came with the phone, she also brought Eleanor. Shadow and Eleanor played hard while Tara left for Safeway. I stayed home, preserving my dignity.

The two burs in my side since Sunday a week a go. Got plucked. It was 8-10 days of silence. Once I got over my 21st century existential crisis–someone might need to talk to me!–I found my phone’s absence a relief.

Except when I thought, oh, I need to text Ruth. Look up characters in a movie. Calendar. Emails. You know. That stuff we do with these powerful small computers.

I’m lucky to have a friend like Tara. She says yes whenever possible and shows such joy when helping. That makes it easier to ask her. I’m learning how to navigate this weaker me.

Happy that between my friends and Miralax I could have a celebratory Tuesday.

An epidemic of loneliness.

I live alone, largely relying on myself day-to-day. When trouble comes, I count on an inner-circle of friends and family.

Alone.
Yet surrounded.
By love.

Cancer, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health

Pause. Say Good-bye

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Artemis:  On the way home

Tuesday gratefuls: Miralax. Senna. Michigan. Basketball. Baseball. Another tough night. Artemis II. Space. Hubble. Webb.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Master Travelers

 

Kavannah: Hakarat Hatov.  Gratitude.  “Who is rich? Those who rejoice in their own portion.” Pirkei Avot (4:1)

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: I have been retreating from the world. Lunches and breakfasts are painful due to the head drop. Driving still wears me out though the brace helps. I have new aches and pains. From the cancer? I don’t think so…but.

 

Since last week I have been constipated. Could be a side effect of the Tramadol. Painful. Unresolved. Some progress. Miralax to 2x a day. Add senna.

Went to bed. Early. 6 pm. Exhausted by the demands of the day. Slept well until 1 am. After that. Left side. Right side. Stomach. Back. Repeated and repeated and repeated. Could not find the sleep switch. Up at 3:30 am. Rested. Sorta. Residual aches. Sore back.

A learning about death. You stop. Everything else goes on.  Cars queue up behind a red turn signal. A group of preschoolers, all holding on to the same rope. Going to the park. Shadow circles her food bowl, waiting on you to come home. As you always have. Not this time.

The damnable ordinariness. Years of loving, talking, reading, all made moot. When Kate died her brilliant mind went silent. All her experience as a doctor. A lover. A quilter. Gone.

Yet. Artemis II took three Americans and one Canadian further from Earth than any human has gone before. Michigan beat UConn to reclaim the Men’s NCAA tournament.

I had my aspirations as a young man. Stop the war.  Raise a son. As I worked, people died every day. Good people. Kind people. Their ends did not register in my life. Their momentous parting, everything for them, was nothing to me.

In life I can fight, love. In death I cannot.

Yet I no longer privilege one over the other. When the reaper comes, the fruits of a long and interesting life will gather into my body, then disperse. To create new molecules, new lung tissue, new fingernails.

On these bad days–pain, constipation–I wonder: Is this how the final exit goes. Pain and discomfort. Then, surcease. I hope not. I would prefer to die quietly, surrounded by friends and family, Shadow by my side.

I do not mind dying. Not sooner than necessary. But when it is time. Yes. I take that long last ride.

When it happens, a fisherman catches a bass. A couple will make love and create a new human. I will have gone on ahead.

Stop a moment.
Pause.
Say good-bye.

Cancer, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health

Casual Cruelties

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Artemis:  Miles from 244,850 earth. Miles from moon 26,740. As of 5:06 am, April 6th, 2026.

Monday gratefuls: Eggs. Oatmeal. Kitchen. House cleaner. Medical Guardian. Artemis II nearing moon. Michigan v. Uconn.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Integrity.

 

Kavannah: Hakarat Hatov.  Gratitude.  “Who is rich? Those who rejoice in their own portion.” Pirkei Avot (4:1)

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: I blocked myself yesterday. I didn’t want another entry in the distress cycle, a straight run from April 1st. Couldn’t think of anything else. Also, I had stomach and intestinal issues. Thinking straight was not in the cards.

 

This morning. Still the gut issues. Not as intense. Dispiriting.

When my body aches. My mind responds.

Yesterday I had to sit myself down and have a talk. About casual cruelties against myself. I know, I said, the distraction and pain don’t give us much of a buffer to work with.

The rest of us hears it. Over and over. Does that apply to the sick part of us?  The part that missed our phone call with our boy.

Bad hand grip. I’m going to die. Low stamina. Why are you not on the treadmill. You’re impossible!

What I’m proposing is a gentler version of self-talk. Ah, I see we’re having trouble opening that jar. You stumbled on the way to the  kitchen. This is a surprise? No. It’s who I am right now.

This stumbling guy. This cancer trial guy. A father, a brother, a grandpa. A reader, a writer, a friend to the other. A man.

A man who deserves your compassion and concern, not your judgment or contempt.

Hangs head. Yes, I know. I want to do that, I do. But in the moment of pain. You can no longer do what you used to. I worry. Is this the slope? Work harder. Please.

Not very dignified, eh? No. At some point I catch on to the negative self-take. Big sigh. Charlie, not again. Then I sit myself down with myself. Self-compassion is on the agenda. Even if I am weak, I remain Charlie. With limits–as always. Just different ones.

Got my notice for a pre-trial start up appointment. I imagine I’ll get my first treatment date. I need to get started. Yes. I’ve chosen to surrender myself to the trial, to the new drugs. I chose this.

All of the treatments will be in Rocky Mountain Cancer Care’s midtown office near Presbyterian.

Kate, on her death bed, told me: Trust your doctors.  Zip up. Abandon the rabbit holes. The critiquing. Lean in.

With all the upset and uncertainty of the last year plus I hope these trials can calm the worried me.

 

Watch.

Storms come and go.

Shelter.

Aging, Family, Fourth Phase, GeekWorld

Losing it

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Thursday gratefuls: Artemis in orbit. High orbit. Space dreams. The Moon. The far side of the Moon. Back at it after 53 years

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe:  Retina photographs

 

 

Kavannah: Wonder. Malchut.  Shadow

Tarot: Two of Arrows, Judgement. Randomization today. Decisions will follow.

One brief shining: I lost my phone on Sunday. Hunted in the house, at the restaurant where Luke and I had lunch. No teléfono. Peculiar feelings. Relief. Concern. Has anyone tried to contact me?

Losing your phone seems impossible. Unless you drop it out of a moving vehicle. We cradle and carry our personal computers. With care. Not unusual to hear someone say: My whole life is on that phone.

Cute photographs of Shadow. Alan’s contact info.  A quick way to see if anyone responded to my e-mail about the phone.

When we sit down, the phone comes out. Oh, Ruth texted me. Tom sent out another poem.

How could I leave something that intimate, that personal behind? Maybe it was the fatigue from wearing the neck brace. Maybe that I didn’t wear a hat. I almost always wear a baseball cap. At a restaurant I’ll put my hat down, my phone inside it.

If I knew where I lost it, it wouldn’t be lost.

This would not have been a thing in high school, college, seminary. Or even through my fifteen years in the ministry. Ubiquity of the sort we have today? Not until the early 2000’s.

At my age and my level of infirmity, I’m inclined to forgive myself. Going out has increased in difficulty. Unlike Ruth and Gabe I spent over fifty years without a portable phone. I’m on my side.

Wasn’t always.

What can compare? A car? No match for something I could carry inside it. Television? No. Ironically, no longer bound to home to watch TV. You can watch on your phone.

Lost time. Lost relationships. Lost in the woods. Lost

“Not all who wander are lost.”  JRR Tolkien

In certain Christian communities if you’re lost, you’re going to hell. I’m sure my phone is ok there.

I’ve lost many things. Two marriages. My car in a parking lot. My relationship with my dad. Two wedding rings.

Kate died. Five years ago. In 10 days. Losing her? The most difficult of the last sixty years. I’m following her path. Gradual decline.

Over the last year I’ve lost a lot. I’m weaker. A bit unsteady. My feet don’t always go where I aim them. Opening sealed dog treats. Difficult to impossible.

I’m ok with it.

When you lose something.
Look carefully.
Forgive yourself.

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends

Who do you love?

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Monday gratefuls: Luke, assistant professor of Chemistry. Jamie. Spring. Walking. Moving. Samantha. RMCC.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe:  Leo

 

Kavannah: Wonder. Malchut. The eyes of Shadow. The rough bark of the lodgepole.

Tarot: Five of Vessels, Ecstasy. “…seek and surrender to the cosmic life force.” Accepting, embracing the power of life, even in hard circumstances.

One brief shining: Eating out with Luke. Our long relationship adds another memory over tandoori chicken and mango lassi.

 

Once every month or so Luke comes up to do his laundry. The machines in his apartment complex are cranky, expensive. I love that he comes. A chance to catch up. Eat a meal together.

When Leo comes in the house, Shadow sniffs under the door, tail wagging at propeller speed. Then she twirls around for a couple of turns. When Leo comes through the door, she races over to him, smiling, play bowing.

They go outside for a turn in the big yard, Shadow bouncy and running, Leo walking stiffly. At 13, he’s slower. His joints ache as he tries a couple of runs with the youngster.

Luke had let his hair grow for two years. It came over his shoulder. Before he came up here, he had it all braided, then cut off. He grew it out for a charity that makes wigs for children with hair loss. He showed me a picture of the braids in his hand.

Teaching becomes him. Nobody tells him how to teach. He’s teaching a field he knows well.

He stands straighter, speaks more confidently. He’s created chai-chi–tai-chi taught from within a kabbalist framework.

He also told me yesterday he loves when I tell him I love him. “Not many men do that,” he said. When did we become so closed?

Luke turns 35 this year. Veronica, my mikveh buddy, is late twenties. Ruth turns 20 this year, Gabe 18. At 79 I cherish these relationships.

I turned 34 (Luke’s current age) in 1981. The year Joseph was born and our adoption of him finalized. When I turned 20, I was, like Ruth, still in college. 1967.

The great chain of becoming.  Charlie to Joseph, to Luke, to Ruth. No blood. Still, we love.

When Kate died, I lost my best friend, my lover, my wife. What to do with that love? The love that flourished with Wolfhounds and Whippets, with working in the garden together, cruising around Latin America. Where does that love go? It doesn’t die with her.

Love as many as you can.
As often as you can.
Anywhere you can.

Feeding the dogs. Eating Indian food.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Feelings, Fourth Phase, Paganism, Writing

Doing is Overrated

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Shabbat gratefuls: Rain in the forecast. Cancer. Clinical trials. Samantha. Dr. Josy. Ruth and Gabe. Ruth, 20 in a week.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe:  Shabbat

 

Kavannah: Wonder. Malchut. Knowing myself, my world, my now. Shekinah.

Tarot: #17 The Pole Star. Embrace myself, follow my soul’s purpose.

One brief shining: Having that struggle. Again. Still. What am I, who am I? What is my soul’s purpose? Is it about what I can do? Or, is it about who I can become? Am I stuck in these questions, using them to distract myself from living?

 

College. The moratorium years. I spent them in a fluid, fluxing milieu of protests, carrying my green book bag, The hours in the library, in my favorite carrel. All-night shifts in the guard’s hut at Magnalite.

I came out of college with two majors: philosophy and anthropology. Two disciplines I still love.

Married Judy. A mistake. Unsure of myself. Wandering from silly job to silly job. My mind the same, always escaping from the work I was doing.

While working as a rag-cutter at Fox River Paper, I would spend hours unclogging the cutter, moving bales. Needing stimulation beyond the physical labor.

No direction. No purpose. Frustrated with myself. This went on into seminary, into my stint in the ministry. Oh, I found things to do. Managing the independent living program. Organizing. Consulting. None of them seemed my soul’s purpose. Organizing came the closest.

Yet even organizing fed the wrong wolf. The angry guy was not who I wanted to be. I had fed the same wolf in the polarized protests of the late sixties. I found myself in a constant scanning for injustice, for leverage, for communities willing to fight. Not a peaceful existence.

I had become a clergyperson because I did not want to cut rags anymore. Not because I’d had a sudden reconversion to the faith of my youth. It was a job with a paycheck.

Flailing. Celtic myth and legend. In writing my doctor of ministry thesis I found myself writing a novel, not the thesis. Something in me had stirred, moved me far away from the ministry. Made sense since my Dad was a writer. But. I didn’t like my Dad. Dissonance.

The novel and a turn toward an earth-centered faith led me out of the ministry. Looking back now, twenty-one years of Ancientrails, nine novels later, I’d say a primary purpose of mine is writing. Ancientrails has a body of daily work that not many can duplicate. That’s writing. Every day.

I have another purpose, less defined perhaps. Deep, honest conversation with others. Tara and I, her kids, mine. Gardening. Judaism. Dr. Josy, the joy of animals, her mission to deliver affordable care in-home.

There’s also the gardener, nature mystic. Fed by the green world. Planting. Communing with individual trees, plants. Loving the mule deer, the elk, black bears, mountain lions. A mountain man.

So here I am at 79. A man who writes about paying attention: to self, to others, to mountain life.

I guess those questions, about purpose, about who I can become occur when I feel I’m not doing. Not doing enough. A pox on those thoughts.

Doing is overrated.
Becoming.

Enough.

Cancer, Fourth Phase, Health, Memories

The Trial

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Friday gratefuls: Cool night. Starting my morning. Tamales. Cheeseburger. Mark in Hafar. Mary in Melbourne. Joe and Seoah in Osan.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe:  Morning Darkness

 

Kavannah: Areyvut. Mutual responsibility.  All humans are accountable one to another.

Tarot: King of Vessels, Heron. Quiet presence. Emotional balance. Waiting for the trial to begin.

 

One brief shining: I want my cancer on its heels. Samantha, trial coordinator, called. I need to go back in, redo an EKG, sign more papers. Tired of all the preparatory work. I want to start the trial.

 

Trial. I’ve had jury duty several times. All in Minnesota. A lot of sitting around, reading. Waiting. I served on one jury, an unmemorable case. We found the defendant guilty.

Juries fulfill the promise, made two-hundred and fifty years ago, that I will not judged by aristocracy, but by a jury of my peers.

This clinical trial brings together a jury of my peers.

The full trial lasts nine months. The sentence will be handed down by my body and the actinium’s aim.

No guarantees. My participation is voluntary.

You could call this a capital trial. Some of us will get a reprieve. Hope I’m one of those.

Science. I had polio, measles, and mumps. Polio was long ago, when I was about a year and half old. Yet it continues to impact me at 79. My head drops. My left diaphragm is paralyzed.

I remember mom coming in to check on me. A dark room. I was sensitive to light. Mom would bring me soup or a sandwich, lay a cool rag over my forehead. Measles.

Here’s the thing. When I was eight years old, I had to stand in line in Thurston Elementary. To get a shot. The polio vaccine. I felt this as a keen injustice since I’d already had polio. Result? By 1979, twenty-five years later, polio no longer menaced the U.S.

If only I’d had the MMR vaccine, first available in 1971, I could have avoided the measles and the mumps.

I know, from direct experience, the need for vaccines.

I have benefitted from medical science. I may have been born too early for the polio and MMR vaccines, but I’m pleased my son Joseph could get them.

Not to mention the many different protocols that have extended my life after my cancer diagnosis. I feel good about participating in the clinical trial. It’s medical science which will  help not only me, but thousands of men in the future.

I’m living proof that medical science matters. At the most personal level.

I’ll go in.
Repeat my EKG.
Sign the papers.