Sandi kept fighting, even though her cancer diagnosis came so late — 2024 instead of 2020! Once diagnosed, she kept the treatments going right up until the end.

Lahey Hospital in Burlington MA completely botched her cancer diagnosis. She had what turned out to be a big fat uterine carcinoma, which they first saw on scans in 2020.

2020!!!

They did an MRI of it and concluded it was just a uterine fibroid — a supposedly benign fibroid — but turns out it wasn’t. Instead, it would eventually kill her.

And even if Lahey had gone to the trouble of biopsying the “benign” fibroid, the results probably would not have been conclusive. Lahey did NOT do well detecting cancer, even when they took biopsies of it directly from her uterus. “Oh, results inconclusive…” they would say, not willing to commit to a diagnosis.

Uterine biopsies (and bone biopsies) at Lahey were completely useless. And worse than useless, since they delayed treatment.

It’s difficult to tell what led to Lahey’s gross medical incompetence. Why they wouldn’t have started Sandi IMMEDIATELY on radiation therapy to stop uncontrolled bleeding from the uterus — especially when they already suspected Stage 4B cancer — is 100% beyond me.

So her cancer spread and worsened from 2020 until….

January 2024: pelvis MRI full of suspicious masses, but Lahey does nothing. CA 125 (cancer antigen) level in her blood was high — 71.7 — but Lahey decides to wait.

February 2024: Full-body PET CT, from skull to mid-thigh, shows all kinds of suspicious stuff; but Lahey won’t pull the trigger. Instead, useless bone biopsies — they’re just scheduling redundant tests to pad their budget and put off starting treatment.

Then Emerson Hospital in Concord MA on 29 Feb 2024: Mass. General Cancer Center at Emerson Hospital doctor orders radiation to begin treating Sandi’s cancer THE NEXT DAY.

About time.

Five consecutive days of radiation at Emerson. Symptoms are finally controlled, after Lahey did nothing — no treatment whatsoever — for FOUR MONTHS.

Three more days of radiation later in March.

March 26, 2024: chemotherapy port installed.

April 2nd first chemo appointment.

Groton Hill Music Center concert!

April 20 shave off hair.

April 26th second chemo appointment.

April 24 Ben Folds concert, The VETS, Lowell MA!

May 9th Sandi’s last trip to WICN in Worcester MA for live performances on The Folk Revival, hosted by Nick Noble!

May 13 third chemo appointment.

May 18th The 2024 New Hampshire Renaissance Faire!

A trip to Wells ME for a vacation with friends!

May 28 fourth chemo appointment.

May 31st an old friend brought fancy tea & all the fixin’s!

All this was interspersed with visits from friends, visits to Fancy That in Walpole MA, and whatever concerts & events we could find.

June 10th fifth chemo appointment.

June 17th sixth chemo appointment.

June 22nd Ben Folds VIP package & concert in Great Barrington, MA!

June 25 seventh chemo appointment.

July 4th party with friends!

July 5th fire pit party!

July 8 eighth chemo appointment.

July 11 breakfast with friends!

July 17th more radiation.

Spine MRIs.

July 13 lunch with friends in Lunenberg!

July 15th ninth & final chemo appointment.

Visits from friends.

July 20th House Concert at a friend’s.

July 22nd chemo CANCELED.

More visits from friends.

July 24th more radiation.

July 25th more radiation.

July 26th more radiation.

July 29th more radiation.

July 30th more radiation.

July 31st more radiation.

August 1st more radiation.

August 2nd more radiation.

August 5th more radiation.

August 6th more radiation.

August 7th more radiation.

August 8th more radiation.

August 9th more radiation.

August 12th chemo CANCELED

August 13th EKG & Echo

August 14th Fancy That!

August 17th FPC Jazz Band, 5pm Hudson Town Hall!

August 21st blood draw & rehydration infusion.

Visits from ministers.

Visits from distant friends.

Canceled a visit with friends. Canceled a Lake Boone event.

Oral medication Lenvima to supplement immunotherapy infusions.

September 13th 1st immunotherapy infusion.

Sandi had basically stopped eating regular food by the end of August, except for a spoonful of ice cream to take pills with, a few sips of Pedialyte and an occasional popsicle.

October 4th 2nd (and final) immunotherapy infusion.

October 18 the Tufts at-home Palliative care nurse came and quickly saw that only Hospice care was appropriate for Sandi at this point. She should have been getting Palliative care all this time, but stupid insurance was too cheap to check!

October 19 Hospice care officially started.

October 25th 3rd immunotherapy infusion — CANCELLED.

October 27th Sandi slid out of bed and required help from EMTs to get back in.

October 31st Samhain celebration with friends & ministers crowded around Sandi’s bed. Sandi was somewhat aware; this was her big pagan farewell.

November 6th Sandi was moved from her bed into the hospital-style bed in our kitchen, with the help of EMTs.

November 7th Sandi died, around 7:30 PM, after a day of help from minister Stephanie and then later from the Hospice nurse.

I’m watching the show Brothers & Sisters sisters again; i must have seen it in 2006 when it first came out, almost 20 years ago, and i remember very little of it. Since I don’t remember it, it’s basically like watching it brand new.

A lot of my life is like that — having bad memory recall means getting to do things for the first time over and over again. Since there’s an obvious downside to not remembering things, at least there’s a little upside; i’ll take what i can get.

Because part of the downside is things like when i use an electric toothbrush to brush my teeth at night: a minute after i finish, i can’t even remember if i did brush them — i have to go back and look at the little flashing light on the toothbrush that means the battery was discharged and is now recharging. but part of that is distraction. I’m usually thinking about something else — ideas for writing or some task i have to do that i don’t want to forget.

I learned to live with it. I compensate well enough to make up for my deficits. But it is a little annoying.

I pretty much always remember enough to write something, every day. Do i have more to write on days that I don’t take THC or drink alcohol? It would be pretty to think so, but that’s not the reality, i guess; it has to be a balance.

Part of the struggle is getting myself to do something — anything — and not just retreat into comfortable habits, like reading or watching videos.

I cannot in good faith put another person through trying to have a romantic relationship with me.

There just isn’t enough of me left for it anymore … maybe i was never fully capable of that kind of relationship; and it’s just foolish to try to convince someone that i am now, when clearly i am not.

Fortunately it’s not a problem that i’ll likely ever have to face again; no one wants to go out with a lug like me anyway. It’s one of the advantages of being plain: people leave me alone.

Now if only i can leave them alone, the cycle will be broken. I don’t hang out in cafés so much anymore, so it’s easier to stay out of trouble. No play for mister grey — my short beard does a good job now of signaling my lack of interest.

Not that i was ever besieged by prospective mates; people pretty much always just let me be. (Thank the gods i was spared my father’s Irish good looks.) It’s so peaceful, being retired. I no longer have to do things i don’t want — having no responsibilities and no commitments is heaven.

If i want to sit and read, i can do so without distraction. If i want to watch an old movie, i can. If i want to take a nap, no one stops me. Or a walk. Romantic relationships were interesting, no doubt. But i’m glad to be on the other side of them; my thoughts are so much clearer!

I get the feeling that women are pestered about relationships a lot more often than men are; that just seems how society is shaped. No thank you!

Some of my friends have told me that they’re done with romantic relationships — i can so understand.

I wish you well finding your way!

I have been so blessed in so many ways; i’m so thankful for how i’ve been able to live. Not having children has been central to that. It’s fine if other people want to have children; it’s just not for me.

I’m certainly glad that i don’t have to battle with children over such things as what an appropriate age might be for, say, a smart phone. I barely had enough energy for dealing with a spouse, let alone children. For me it’s much easier to just be alone.

I did get to be a step-parent to an eight-year-old girl for a couple of years — 15 years ago — and that was more than enough, believe me. At least then i wasn’t responsible for any of the big decisions.

Now i can just go back to my regular job of taking care of a severe traumatic brain injury patient; at least i have lots of practice at that. It’s a living.

And please don’t let anyone give you a bad time for being alone and preferring it that way. Spending most days in solitude, for some people, is 100% fine. Not everyone thrives seeing people IRL every day; i’m so glad not to have to anymore unless i want!

Every time you read something, you are forcing your brain to say those words, the words written down; you’re forcing your brain to say them and then obviously to think about them a little — that’s why reading helps you learn.

If something seems too easy to believe, too neat, i recommend that you suspect it of being made up — of being a story, that is; fiction.

Real life is messy. It’s not neat; so just because you see simple words somewhere, don’t believe that there is a correspondingly simple reality to go along with it. Those sparse words are probably a vast oversimplification; that’s what storytelling is.

So don’t believe simplistic accounts you read in a newspaper or a magazine, online, or in a book; it’s always more complicated than that, whether it’s history or current events — it’s always messy.

“Write what you know” is the standard advice for wanna-be authors, and it’s usually a good starting place. “Write who you know” is the pronominal corollary, and some of the best books ever written (Ernest Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises being the foremost example) followed exactly this directive — and much of the story was lifted directly from reality (to the displeasure of some of the participants).

Most writers start off by copying the styles of writers they like, and that’s also a perfectly valid practice — especially if the writers you choose to emulate have diverse styles. Don’t be afraid to reach for the greats!

Some writers read their favorite books many times, training their neural nets (so to speak) repeatedly on quality texts; they may gain the ability to emulate the emotional tenor of a classic, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

Different people will naturally develop different writing styles. Don’t be afraid to be distinctive — just be consistent. Some people can proofread their own writing; others have more trouble and have to seek outside help. Sometimes it helps to read the text aloud so you can hear how it sounds; there are separate areas in your brain for language: receptive and expressive. So reading out loud (and listening to yourself) employs more of your brain than just reading silently to yourself.

Try different methods of writing if you’re having trouble; switch to pen & paper instead of a keyboard, or try composing your text by talking to your smartphone for a change. It’s all you; switch it up, and different parts of your style may emerge with different ways of writing. Try writing in a quiet place at home; try writing in a noisy café; try writing on a beach, or in the woods. Don’t be afraid to experiment!

If you keep at it, you may find yourself creating a world you wish to inhabit — that’s the joy of writing.

Maybe i’m telling the story again this time so that I don’t have to ever tell it anymore.

Maybe i’m finally sick of the story, sick of telling it. My friends certainly will be relieved, because i know they’re sick of me talking about it.

After all, this is supposed to be a progression beyond my original problems… to new and exciting things.

Do i give up on computer programming? No, i shouldn’t give up on it because now i can cheat using AI to fill in some of the boring stuff that I don’t have the patience to figure out.

And i’m not giving up on writing, either; i just won’t torture myself over not writing fiction.

So there’s the answer: computer stuff and writing stuff — what i’ve always been interested in. And i’ll probably have to brush up on my truth-functional logic stuff, too. (And finally learn some modal logic, too.)

I know Professor Keith Simmons would be proud.

Maybe my suicide attempt was the best thing that I’ve ever done for myself. Yes, my injuries were so severe that I barely survived. But I was finally able to find my true self, where I had sort of lost myself before.

Yes, my injuries reduced my IQ by 20 or 30 points; but maybe that was a good thing. So perhaps it was both the best and the worst thing i did for myself.

Maybe i thought about stuff too much. I had a lot to learn about letting go; i still do.

From my point of view, i regard this reality as perhaps being the afterlife. Maybe I did die and this is the afterlife. Why not? Any evidence to the contrary?

So i try to live like this is it. (And i hope to all the gods i know that this IS it — if there’s a whole other life to endure, boy i am gonna be pissed.)

So i just write what i write, and i don’t worry about it. It’s not worth worrying about anything anyway. Everything is temporary.

So I suppose i should tell you how I came to jump off the bridge — i keep not doing that.

My girlfriend, who lived in Ottawa, had unceremoniously dumped me — through a dear John letter, no less — and so i had decided to kill myself. (I know, right … get a life.) And by this point, I was a true Cornellian; so the proper way to kill myself was to jump off the bridge.

Typical of the early 1990s, i wasn’t confiding my difficulties in anyone … let alone actually seeking help. Nobody paid much attention to how i was doing, believe me — i gave them no reason to.

What might’ve been a clue is that i wrote a story for my Creative Writing class about a kid who jumped off a dock high dock at low tide in order to die, but it was the early 90s and a lot of the short stories were probably a little violent or gruesome. I probably should’ve just made a little more of an effort to talk to this Creative Writing teacher more — i was very attracted to her, but not confident enough to meet with her outside of class.

Ironically, i became a lot more confident after the whole jumping-off-the-bridge thing. And i purposely ran into that same teacher during a book signing in 2013 and joked with her about having a big crush on her as a student. She seemed very not-available in 1992, and even more-so in 2013 (with young kids) — and very successful, with more books and a teaching gig at Boston College.

There’s nothing significant in the details of a failed young romance. Happens all the time. Hey, at least it earned me mention in the Wikipedia article titled Cornell Gorge Suicides — the first survivor off of the main suicide bridge.

So here i am, still going.

I promised myself that i would put together a second book out of these blog entries, a sequel to anomaly (2001) that i was going to call Better Off.

I made it through Cornell University all the way to my senior year … before i really went crazy.

My earlier interest in Anne Sexton set the stage for my fascination with the writer George Eliot (the pen name of Mary Ann(e) Evans) when i became an English major at the beginning of junior year.

I guess i was just lucky to have taken a class early on where we read George Elliot at all — how did i know who i would really like? I’d like to think that i took good advantage of opportunities i had — maybe enough to make up for the opportunities i missed. Lots of people probably end up finishing college with majors they didn’t really want, but they did it because they thought it would prepare them for the “best” job. I suppose i was really privileged (as well as ballsy enough) to be able to do what i wanted — i didn’t care about making money.

Maybe if I hadn’t embraced romance, i would have made it through college more easily (i.e., without going crazy). Maybe i would’ve ended up teaching physics somewhere, if i hadn’t switched to English … if i hadn’t fallen in love.

I really don’t know whether that would’ve been better or not. Maybe my fascination with love was as misguided as my fascination with math and physics. Maybe in the end i’m happy to be alone and have lots of time to do whatever i want.

Maybe i never had any idea of what i really should do, … what would be best for me.  Like most of my classmates i mostly stuck with things i was good at. Maybe none of my choices would’ve made any difference.

My troubles with depression probably go back to freshman year of college, at Cornell University.

I may have been a little depressed in high school too, but nothing like what happened at Cornell. I had gotten in over my head academically, and i retreated within myself. My physics professor didn’t care that i had stopped coming to class, and my friends just let it slide. Outwardly, i seemed OK most of the time; but inwardly, i had become obsessed with suicide.

There was something of an under-culture of suicide at Cornell in the 1980s & ‘90s. There were many grisly jokes about self-harm (and roommate harm) going around in those days. When it came close to exam time, people would yell to each other as we were crossing one of the bridges (especially the one with no guard-rails) that went over the deep gorges cutting through campus — “Don’t jump! It’s not worth it!”

That’s what suicide had been reduced to — a joke.

And i had become obsessed with a Peter Gabriel song, called “Mercy Street” about the poet Anne Sexton who eventually killed herself. I used to put the CD in my stereo and set it to infinite-repeat on that song; i would lie on my bed and listen to it for hours.

Oh no, i didn’t have any problems.

[There’s a YouTube link at the bottom of this entry, in case you’re not familiar with the song.]

My roommate was so busy with school that i rarely saw him, and he didn’t know how bad it had gotten. I used to go up to the study lounge on the top floor of our high rise dorm in the evening and think about how it would feel to jump off the balcony. And of course the bridges too.

https://youtu.be/DYw9UrsFJa4?si=prGW0KxoSC-dMDck