This blog needs some fun. Writing in it has helped me a lot, by allowing me to keep friends and family updated, to sort out complex issues, and to deal with the annoying emotional stuff. But I still want more of a fun factor.

Having fun during cancer may seem too ironic to be real, but for me, having fun is too important to overlook. I’ll give some examples from history and family. During WWII, London was bombed for 57 consecutive days and nights. Berlin and other cities had similar bombing later in the war. That’s worth thinking about.

Out of respect for the millions who suffered, it’s worth thinking about what people went through. Maybe you could take a moment to imagine any big city you’ve been in and what it would feel like today if it were bombed every day for weeks. These days, we complain about rush hour every day. What if there was a few weeks where each moment of traffic congestion was a bomb? That’s what ordinary people in London, Berlin, and other cities lived with, but humor still showed up. In London, shop keepers went to their blown-out shops, got to work, start selling stuff, and said they were “More open than usual.” I’m certain the same humor happened in Berlin and other cities in WWII, probably happening right now in Serbia.

Another funny moment comes from my sister Sue. She and her husband own Shing Wako Resort, near Brainerd MN. Many years ago, my family was spending time at the resort, and my brother Mike and his girlfriend took a paddleboat out for a sunset ride. That’s a great time to be on the water, but they had a tough time finding their way back, for several hours. Sue and the rest of my family were very worried, since Mike and his girlfriend are both blind. Sue’s husband, Marty, was just about to go looking for them when Mike and his girlfriend glided to the dock, in the paddleboat, Sue had a serious and playful response. She called out to them, “You are so grounded!”

I’ll give one more. Part of it is harsher than the rest, but it’s a true story, and I don’t like avoiding hard facts. This one is also about Mike, funny how often he shows up in these stories of misadventure. Anyway, he went to a vo-tech when he was in his 20s, and one of his prized possessions was his Honda 750 motorcycle. One afternoon, he was driving the cycle out of a parking lot, looked around carefully, but was still hit by a truck. The truck broadsided the cycle, which leads to the harsh part.

Mike’s left leg was between the truck’s bumper and the motorcycle engine, so when the truck hit, the leg was more crushed than broken. While he was on the ground, Mike saw his foot pointing the wrong direction. That’s the end of the harsh part, but the next part is funny, or maybe just amazing.

An ambulance showed up, and paramedics put him inside. I’m not sure how much time went by, but I’ll guess it was 15 minutes. At that time, Mike asked the paramedic, “Can I scream?” She said yes, and he did.

I still expect to have down moments, but I am so thankful to know about hard times where people had the need, strength, or both to keep laughing.

I’ll end with an update. My new treatment plan is that I’ll get chemotherapy, unless the plan changes again. It should start on Oct 26, and I’ll get another round of chemo every 3 weeks, for a total of 18 weeks. The chemo will make me very tired for a few days, but I’ll slowly get my strength back. I won’t get my hair back during those 18 weeks, but I plan on saving a bunch of money on haircuts and using it to buy hats.

I learned about that treatment in a recent meeting with my oncologist. In the same meeting, he told me that my case is unusual, again. This time, my case is usual because the advance of my cancer was detected by a fairly new scanner, at the Mayo. That’s called a Choline PET Scan. Medical research hasn’t done long-term studies with that scanner yet, since it is so new. That means my case does not match the many medical trials that are completed each year.

Medical research has focused on MRI scans, which wouldn’t have seen my cancer for about another year. Seeing my cancer a year early is good news, and it’s also good news that my oncologist said my cancer is “low volume.” A bit of less good news is that my cancer has moved quickly and could again, but at least we’ll be fighting it directly very soon. We’d fight it even sooner, but I have some fun planned.

Ruth and I are going on a week-long bike tour in Louisiana. We fly out this week on Friday, the 13th. My oncologist said it was safe to put off my treatment for one week, until we’re back. He’s a smart man whose worked very hard to become a senior oncologist. Apparently, he’s also learned the importance of some fun in all of this. If you have any fun or funny moments from people who’ve gone through tough times, please post them here. I already have a few in the “Humor” section of this blog, which is a tab at the top. It’d be great to add more to that section.