All results / Stories / Kenneth B. Lourie
Column: “Here, There And Everywhere”
The Beatles sang it on their “Revolver” album back in the mid 60s. My wife and I danced to it in the late 70s when we selected it as “first song as husband and wife” – in 1978. And recently we felt it, three years after my stage IV lung cancer diagnosis, as our reaction/assessment to the many similarly diagnosed individuals who’ve shared their lung cancer stories with us. Who knew?
Column: Write From The Heart
Obviously I find comfort in writing. Obviously I have some need to put down on paper that which is in my head. In fact, evidence suggests that cancer patients who write about their feelings have some kind of improved quality of life and/or longer life expectancy.
Column: “Meagulpa”
As a veteran of the chemo wars, I should have been better prepared mentally for the food/taste challenges often caused by the infusion of such cancer-fighting chemicals, but I wasn’t.
Column: “I’m Fine”
Mostly. All things considered, and as a stage IV (terminal) lung cancer patient, it’s impossible – for me, to not consider all things.
Column: “Psycho-not-so-matic” Anymore
Whatever I thought was only happening in my head – or not, or was really happening physically – or not, is the muddled description of the thoughts and emotions that this cancer survivor/cancer patient-still-receiving-treatment feels every time I make a 24/7 self assessment (which is often).
Column: Living Longer, Sort of Prospering
Though my column has appeared in the newspaper as usual the last few weeks, I haven’t felt much like writing. Typically, I’m weeks ahead with my column inventory, having regularly found the time and inclination to put pen to paper and provide the prose you regular readers have come to expect.
A Fluid Situation
I don’t mean to be the least bit paranoid, but I suppose that’s because, as a stage IV non-small cell lung cancer “diagnosee,” I’m already the most bit paranoid. A terminal diagnosis of incurable cancer has a way of doing that to you (at least to me it has). Not to blame cancer totally for my behavior, but can you think of a more deserving and appropriate cause of this effect than the “leading cancer killer in both men and women in the United States.” In fact, according to the American Lung Association, “Lung cancer causes more deaths than the next three most common cancers combined (colon, breast and prostate).”
Column: "Recede"
If you’re a Three Stooges aficionado like I am, you’ve heard Moe Howard say it many times to Larry Fine and brother Curly as three stooges attempted to occupy space (doorways, windows, closets, etc.), large enough/wide enough for only one stooge. In short, “recede” means: back off, one at a time, mind your manners, and the ever-familiar to us long-time fans: “spread out.”
“Chemo-Nosabe”
Although I’ve not seen the current “The Lone Ranger” theatrical release, I am of a certain age and generation who grew up watching – on black and white television with no remote control and only three watchable channels – the original “The Lone Ranger” (starring Clayton Moore and Jay Silverheels), along with other weekday-afternoon and Saturday-morning classics like “The Rifleman,” “Roy Rogers,” “Sky King,” “Superman,” “Leave It To Beaver” and “Ozzie and Harriet” – in my house, anyway. And though the “effects” weren’t nearly as “special” as they are in today’s movie/television productions/versions, nevertheless, the effects on me, personally, were far greater. Can you say wholesome goodness? The Golden Rule? Do unto others…
Column: Airing on the Side of Caution
I don’t think I’m asking too much. I’m not asking for a pony or long life; just a typical life. Unfortunately “typical” might be more statistical than realistic – at least for someone with an incurable disease, which was how my oncologist originally described my lung cancer diagnosis.
Column: No Shame in Crying
Nor is it a crying shame. But something has changed, dare I say affected my tear duct production. I can’t say with certainty – or even specify a particular moment in time for sure – when the tears began to flow more easily, but I’ll guess the change occurred sometime on or around February 27, 2009, the day I first met my oncologist; the day I was diagnosed with a terminal disease, stage IV non-small cell lung cancer (NSCLC), “prognosed” to live 13 months to two years. If that kind of shocking, terminal-type news doesn’t upset your apple cart – permanently, “You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din.” And so it has, as reflected in my frequent “salty discharge” (to quote Jerry Seinfeld).
Column: Cost of Living
As the person primarily responsible for stocking the house with supplies and maintaining miscellaneous inventory, I am frequently in stores (supermarket, drugstore, pet store, etc.) buying the staples (not an office supply reference) our family needs to maintain our lifestyle, such as it is.
Column: Now This is What
Do nothing (no more treatment) and live life to the fullest (for as long as I’m able, and right now, I’m extremely able); start another chemotherapy protocol – with an I.V. chemotherapy drug which, according to my oncologist, has not been proven in any clinical setting to be better than the patient doing nothing; or, try to get into a Study (Phase 1, 2 or 3) at either N.I.H. (National Institutes of Health) or Johns Hopkins (in Baltimore) and let the treatment chips fall wherever experimental/research medicine takes them. This is what my oncologist discussed with Team Lourie at my most recent appointment, my first appointment with him since my hospitalization and subsequent release.
Backwards Thinking
Considering that I’ve been cancer-centric now for nearly five years, one would have thought I might have learned and totally embraced an alternative concept: forward living – and less thinking about past causes and their possible current effects. Certainly cancer causes physical manifestations and symptoms that are diagnosable and indicative of trouble. But it’s the unseen effects that in some cases cause as many difficulties. What I am referring to is the mental and emotional toll a terminal diagnosis and short term prognosis can have on the patient’s perspective on life and living, and what’s presumptively thought to be left of it.
Living With My Decisions
On multiple occasions throughout my nearly five years of being treated for stage IV, non-small cell lung cancer, my oncologist has given me opportunities to stop and/or take a break from my treatment, or to consider alternatives to the normal protocols – for the expressed (literally) purpose of sustaining/enhancing the unexpected, above-average quality of life I have mostly experienced during my nearly non-stop, every three-week chemotherapy infusions which began in early March, 2009. The goal being to enable me to enjoy my life and not be subjected to/beaten down by the ravaging and debilitating effects of chemotherapy.
Column: Symptoms or just Sometimes
Making the best of a bad situation, that’s how I roll (I’m a Red Sox fan after all). Some days are easier than others, some symptoms/treatments/results are better than others. And some columns make more sense than others. But that’s cancer for you: an equal opportunity “screwer-upper.”
Buy Now, Pay Later
Meaning: If I’m terminal, why deprive myself because of cost? If, in fact, I’m only living once – as the old saying goes, and somewhat less of a life than I had anticipated, shouldn’t I, at the very least, “Pull my pants down and slide on the ice,” as prescribed by Dr. Sidney Freedman in an episode of M*A*S*H, way back when?
Present Needing to be Accounted For
As a stage IV non-small cell lung cancer diagnosee/patient/survivor/anomaly, living long--whether prospering or not, is not the simple and presumptive proposition I had anticipated. No more do I anticipate living the same number of years and in the same relative good health that my parents (both deceased), experienced well into their 80s. Now, my life revolves around my oncologist and the CT Scans and lab work that precede our recurring appointments.
Instincts…
Forty-five months later, I am still dealing with feelings – as in still living, for which I am amazingly fortunate. However, those feelings seem to sometimes have a mind of their own, and accordingly tend to take over and rewire one’s brain (figuratively speaking).
Column: A Complicated Answer
And a further explanation and corollary to last week’s column: “A Simple Question,” which attempted to sort through my reactions to being asked an extremely innocent, appropriate, well-intended and always appreciated courtesy: “How are you?” and the problem that it sometimes causes me. That problem being: a question which had it not been asked would then not require an answer. An answer that I’ll always give, but not before I’ve given it some thought, which if I hadn’t thought about, wouldn’t have bothered me in the least