Slightly Off the Mark

I spent a lot of time in medical facilities, usually as a visitor, occasionally as a patient. And yet--this will come as a surprise to my fourteen regular readers--I've never had an MRI. Until a few years ago.

Oh, plenty of X-rays, and a biopsy. The MRI was oh, so much more fun, in a world where "fun" is relative.

 The Magnetic Resonance Imaging test was to find whether there might be cancer in my prostate, and also, I suppose, to confirm my head wasn't up there. As I said earlier, there was no cancer, which doesn't mean there were no surprises.

We were told by various armchair testing experts that the MRI would take around twenty minutes. luckily, my wife brought a book with her anyway. It would take an hour, the med people said as they presented me with the only good surprise of the day: scrubs to wear, instead of one of those weird back exposing half-shirts you couldn't tie shut with duct tape and Superglue.

The people there (who were very nice, by the way), asked a laundry list of questions designed to make sure I had no metal on me. There was a pause when I told them I had a piece of metal in my upper chest. Where was it from? I told them "Nam", with a fairly straight face, because the truth is just too mundane.

"Well," one replied, "if your Viet Cong shrapnel starts to heat up, or if any other area catches fire, let us know."

I've seen metal fly into the air before, and it's always very exciting.

(FYI, I was thirteen when the Vietnam War ended. I really need to update that particular lame joke.)

I was also told not to touch my hands to each other, or I might look like one of those movie superheroes generating lightning between their fingers.

As you slide into the little tube, they give you a bulb to hold in one hand. Squeezing it sets of an alarm. One reason for this is because you're packed into that thing so tightly even people with no fear of enclosed spaces feel like the lowest sardine in the pack.

They put headphones on me, because the MRI machine makes more noise than a reelected Congressman on his third drink. I was looking forward to some nice music, or any music, but these were just regular headphones--the music ones were on back order. Instead I was serenaded by the grinding and buzzing of a machine so loud I heard it plainly even with headphones and earplugs. It was like trying to sleep in a jet engine.

And every once in awhile the thing suddenly moved, which no one warned me about. I thought some giant was squeezing me out onto his toothbrush.

But the weirdest thing that happened was right after they turned it on, when someone started tugging on that bulb in my hand. I was startled, because no one was in the room. My hand was floating into the air, as if the Force was trying to get me to lift my car to a closer parking spot.

Then I realized it wasn't my hand lifting into the air--it was my ring. It was trying to float away and take my finger with it, which feels just as weird as it sounds.

This very ring, which, yes, could have come from Uranus.

After that all went well. The sliver of steel is still in my chest--Gulf War?--and I passed the time by plotting out a new novel. It's going to be about a guy who gets transported to another world through an MRI machine.

Or Magneto.


 

Remember: Every time you buy a book, a Terminator gets stuck to an MRI machine. Save John Conner.

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

Now that I've finished the final draft of my new novel and handed it over to Emily to edit, I had to go back and figure out why I started working on it in the first place.

Ordinarily, when I finish writing a novel I like to have it finished--as good and polished as I can get it, before I move on to a new project. I also want to have it in circulation: submitted to literary agents and/or publishers, depending on the way I'm going.

That's where I have Fire On Mist Creek, Beowulf: In Harm's Way, and We Love Trouble, searching for attention in the cold, cruel world.  Smoke Showing is our upcoming non-fiction book, and it doesn't count because it was waiting for Emily's contribution when her work schedule lightened up in the fall. (Then I put her to work editing something else, so never mind.)

(I came up with all these titles; can you tell?)

So, four books I should be either self-publishing or submitting for traditionally publication. Then there's The Source Emerald, which Emily sent me notes on, and as a result now waits for another look. (The book, not Emily.) Add to that our already-published books, which are begging for some promotion and publicity time.

So when I finished the rough draft of "Found Dog Antique Fire Truck Romance Story" (still blocked on a title), it suddenly occurred to me: Why did I start a new book in the first place?

There's an antique fire truck in it. Specifically, one of these.

When I realized I started it in early spring, I remembered why.

My brother passed away at the end of January, and I started the new story about two months later, when the weather was still wintry-crappy. That was why I did it: depression. I don't mind editing or polishing a story, and I don't hate submitting, and I pretend I don't hate promotion ... but it's the writing, the actually telling of the story, that I love. So, to battle feeling down, I started work on a new book in April.

Yes, there is a Jeffrey in the new book ... kind of. There is not a Mark.

As long as I was doing that, I told my wife, I would also use the new story to work through my grief over Jeff's death. My wife asked me if that was a good idea and I told her something along the lines of, "I know what I'm doing.".

Notice how people who say that so often don't?

Now that the "final" draft is done, it's a pretty good story, although it needed more editing than usual. However, it's not the story I had in mind.

You see, I write in several genres, and one of them is romance. Now, there's nothing wrong with a guy writing romance, although it isn't common. However, all mine so far have been romantic comedies. That's what I like to read (and watch), so that's what I like to write. This was going to be one, too.

 Should have known better.

Hey, sometimes even dogs get depressed.

Oh, it still has humorous parts, but let's take a look at some of the subjects covered in the novel: cancer; family loss; puppy mills; animal cruelty; winter depression (seasonal affected disorder); and the stages of grief.

This was supposed to cheer me up?

The final story isn't as dark as that makes it sound, but it certainly couldn't be described with the word "comedy". So, here goes a dive into another sub-genre. How many am I up to, now? In addition to those there's humor, young adult, science fiction, mystery, history, and ... well, I guess The Source Emerald is urban fantasy, given that it has magic being used in modern society. If I had a publicist, they'd be horrified.

But what the heck ... writing's still my thing, and I still love it--even when it's therapeutic.

Genres? Yeah, we got genres.

 Today, February 5th, is my brother Jeff's birthday.

Almost a week ago, last Saturday, is the day he died.

Emily and I had stopped by to visit with him and his wife Cathy that evening. He's been undergoing treatment for lung cancer and other problems for years, and a couple of months ago had been given two weeks to live--but more recently he rallied, gained weight, and was doing a lot better.

But by the time we got there that night he'd taken a turn for the worse. A hospice employee was on the way to check on him, and the three of us were trying to get Jeff from the bathroom back to the living room couch when he collapsed and died.

I didn't think of it at the time, but in my fifteen or so years as an active EMT and forty years as a firefighter I've never had anyone actually pass away in my presence. Jeff quite literally died in my arms, surrounded by three of his loved ones. It was the end of the struggle for him, and the beginning of a struggle for us.

Here's Jeff's obituary:

https://www.hitefuneralhome.com/obituary/Jeff-Hunter

Jeff and Cathy

Of course, obituaries rarely tell you much about a person. 

Jeff was a lifelong smoker, and that's the only bad thing I have to say. When you get addicted to something as a teenager, it's hard to think it might come back to haunt you decades later. why do I bring it up? Because we could have had him for another twenty years or more. It's worth noting that for those of you whose loved ones would like to keep you around, too.

Jeff and I were only a couple of years apart, and since our sisters weren't born until years later, we grew up basically as just two siblings. We loved each other, and we protected each other, and we fought like wildcats, and we tried to kill each other. He managed to shoot me with both an arrow and a BB gun, not to mention almost blowing me up more than once. We loved blowing stuff up, climbing places we shouldn't climb, and jumping things we shouldn't jump.

He put together all my models of starships and warships, and his of various cars and trucks. He was a hands-on doer, while I just liked to play and imagine. That would be a pattern our entire life: Whatever I had that broke, he would fix it. Jeff could take an engine apart blindfolded, and put it back together again without instructions. I could write. Believe me, when people needed help it was him they went to, and he usually dropped what he was doing. He single-handedly kept my first three cars together, despite all my youthful efforts to shake them apart.

His teenage years were a little shaky, but by eighteen he was working, and he worked full time for the rest of his life. He wasn't a joiner; he wasn't part of volunteer organizations or other groups, although as I said earlier he was always ready to jump in and help. Like me he was something of a homebody, but he did a much better job of it than I did. Basically he wanted to pay his bills, take care of his home, see his friends and family, and not interfere with the lives of others. Boy, we could use more people like that.

He put ketchup on everything.

He was a fan of science fiction as I am, and wanted to see the new TV show, Picard, so Emily and I bought him season one. But his birthday is today, and he was gone before we could give it to him.

So, that was my brother. Life is duller for him not being around. My job now is to make it less dull by making sure people remember him. Forgive me, but for the moment this writer can't do any better.

He was loved.

Izzy was ten. She spent fully half of her young life battling cancer, and once we really thought she'd beaten it. But cancer is stubborn, and insidious, and it really, really likes killing people.

There are some fund raisers going on for the family, and they really need it. (She has two younger brothers.) Overall there's a Prayers for Izzy FB group here:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/1005688059446767/ 

And also a Paypal fund raising account: 

https://www.paypal.me/findacureforizzy?fbclid=IwAR2PJtiUpHGtXKlNiOhqYv2hPajg2haI9Ip63WW0oWc0yzwpGqA2S46dWQw 

And some creative people selling stuff to help: 

https://www.etsy.com/listing/661308018/prayers-of-izzy-washer-bracelet?fbclid=IwAR2LcYLkhKFGB6ZyN3njWSiUVgjZekKXeuk01ppRJbWBQxTIoqMVPcutdjc

https://www.etsy.com/listing/675149071/prayers-for-izzy-cuff-bracelet?ref=landingpage_similar_listing_top-4

 And that's about all I have to say, because ... what can you say? Nothing covers this. There's no inspirational comment or encouraging word you can give anyone in the face of this. Honestly, I have trouble even looking at those last few photos.

I have two daughters of my own.

People have been asking, and I'm overdue to give an update on my brother Jeff's status:

On Tuesday he had surgery to repair the leak that developed around his chest tube. The surgeon, Dr. Greenlee, says the surgery was a success, but he did find cancer and removed the upper lobe of Jeff's lung, along with some lymph nodes. More samples were taken, so we're awaiting tests to confirm the diagnosis ... but I assume Greenlee wouldn't have taken that step if he wasn't already darned certain of the diagnosis. I also assume Jeff''s going to have to have some chemotherapy later on, but the next course of action on that front remains to be seen.

Teams are needed for the Relay For Life of Noble County, which has set a fund raising goal of $45,000 for their 2015 effort to fight cancer. As of late March 17 teams have signed up for the Relay, which is being held May 16-17 at the West Noble High School, south of Ligonier along US 33.

At least 15 more teams are needed, and the Relay is also looking to honor and celebrate cancer survivors. The Relay For Life movement unites communities across the globe, with community based events that raise funds for local programs, services, and research in the fight against cancer. Teams and individuals walk or run around the West Noble track and can stay overnight, participating in various activities and entertainment along the way.

For more information, Please contact Mike White at michaelwhite8@hotmail.com or Tammy Taylor at tamera.taylor@cancer.org

SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK

I can make fun of anything. It’s my job. For instance, last July, as we stood on a scenic overlook over the Mississippi River in Missouri (you can’t look at the Missouri River in Mississippi), I got a phone call to tell me my father had cancer.

Um …

Okay, I can’t make fun of everything.

My Dad had a long, six month fight that wasn’t much fun for anyone, especially since he’d been diagnosed with a type of cancer that has a poor prognosis. (As opposed to a poor proboscis, which wins this column’s unusual word prize by a nose.)

But Dad is one of those people who is always working, so he went to work, kicked cancer in the face, and messed up its proboscis so much that it now looks like proboscis and gravy. His latest checkup is due in a few days (Me? Nervous?), but as of now he’s been declared cancer free.

I won’t go into too much detail, but suffice it to say Dad’s particular cancer, and how advanced it was, makes his cure a miracle … a miracle assisted by modern medicine, just as my father was assisted by the American Cancer Society.

(Suffice, by the way, is the word proboscis beat by a nose. But enough parenthesizing.)

Now, I know what you’re thinking. (Scary, ain’t it? Oops—I parenthesized.) “Mark, you’re not going to use your father’s illness to shill for the Noble County Relay For Life, are you?”

Yes. Yes, I am. But isn’t it better than when I misuse my column to sell books? I mean, use my column to sell books?

(Editor’s note: We’ve only had one complaint about Mark self-promoting in his column. Still, we smack him when we have to. With one of his books.)

(Writer’s note: I’ve got a new book coming out this spring. Ow!)

I try to portray myself as rather self-centered and profiteering, because that way people don’t ask me to, say, help them move, or donate my time. Just the same, some years ago I was brought on board as promotions chair for Noble County’s Relay organization, because they told me I could wear a captain’s hat and put my name on a chair at the meetings. Captain’s hats are cool. We all need to give a little back to our community, and by giving I don’t mean littering in the park.

Finding out I may have prostate cancer made it a bit more personal to me, but after a couple of years of sitting on pins and needles (It’s the prostate. Think about it), Doctor Finger declared that it was probably more or less a false alarm, for now.

(Darn, parenthesis. Oops—darn!)

I have to say, I wasn’t all that thrilled with the caveats on Doctor Finger’s diagnosis. By the way, I had peas and caveats for dinner last night.

Then my step-father had a cancer scare. Then my father actually got cancer. And my father received support from the American Cancer Society, direct, concrete support that involved money, not concrete. Money that people donate through events like the thousands of Relays For Life (Relay For Lives?) that take place around the world.

So, how can I not help our local Relay? Especially after they gave me the cool captain’s hat? Sometimes, when I’m sitting in the living room in my captain’s chair, I pretend the TV is a view screen and order Sulu to go to warp speed. Unfortunately, the only available Sulu is my dog, and he hasn’t mastered the helm controls.

My point, and I had to get to it because all those parentheses have me running out of space, is that cancer is bad. The American Cancer Society is our largest voluntary health organization, unless you count Girl Scouts, who contribute to our emotional health with those cookies. They’re not perfect (The ACS, I mean, Girl Scouts are)—for instance, they didn’t get me a Captain Kirk shirt, which is okay because he didn’t actually wear a captain’s hat. I’d have looked pretty silly ordering the dog to go to warp speed “while … talking … likeCaptain … Kirk” in both a Starfleet uniform and a captain’s hat, wouldn’t I?

I wonder why my wife is laughing at me?

(Editor’s Note: It just occurred to us that Captain Kirk kind of talks in parenthesis. That explains a lot.)

For more information about the Noble County Relay For Life and how you can get involved, contact Mike White at (260) 302-2052 or mjw_2013@hotmail.com            The Noble County Relay website is:

http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR?pg=entry&fr_id=58860

            And the Facebook page is:

https://www.facebook.com/RFLofNobleCounty

And you can buy my books at www.markrhunter.com (Ow!)