Out of retirement, into the fire

So I got a job.  This was highly unexpected. I had pretty much resigned to an early "retirement" living on Social Security Disability and doing "love" projects as a volunteer and avoiding any long-term commitments.

One of those "love" projects was helping out my friend Kim Dabbs who is the new Executive Director of a local organization, the West Michigan Center for Arts and Technology (WMCAT) with a video project. This is an organization whose mission has always interested me and I was happy to contribute in some way.  I met several of the staff through my volunteer activities and my esteem for the organization grew.

Unrelated to those volunteer activities, I started seeing references (on Facebook and some email lists I belong to) to a job opening teaching video to teenagers part-time.  Of course this interested me.  I thought I might be able to refer this job to ma friend. When I read the job description I kept thinking, "Wow, this would be a perfect job for me if i was not retired.  My resume perfectly matches their requirements too." But I am retired and so I forwarded it on to some friends and tried to forget about it.  After all, who would hire someone with stage 4 cancer for a 9-month contract anyway?

While I was up north at Glen Lake for a vacation, I received an email from one of Kim's WMCAT staff members in charge of the youth program asking me if I knew anyone who was qualified as they were having a hard time filling the position.  I replied that I would send the description to a few of my friends and then I added, "I'm tempted to apply, myself."  She replied, encouraging me strongly.

I guess I nailed the interview.  I really had nothing to lose.  And now I find myself contractually obligated to survive another 9 months in good health as I teach two groups of 12 teenagers how to make videos with community partners.  I meet each group twice per week in the afternoons, Tuesday through Friday.

I'm incredibly impressed by the other teachers and staff members and humbled to be accepted into their company.  They all LOVE what they do and assure me that this will be a rewarding experience.  I'll meet my students for the first time at a retreat the weekend of September 20.  Until then, I need to come up with equipment and curriculum plus the courage to embark on a new adventure with many unknowns. It will be a leap of faith, but so far the signposts are all very positive.

Here goes!

Do you need a port when there's no storm in the forecast?

I've been given another clean bill of health this afternoon!  Dr. Scott wonders where he went wrong thinking I would be a very sick man by now.  Now that's glass-half-empty thinking! He's now giving me another 3 months of doctor-free living before the next scan and if that one comes out clean too, he's going to recommend that the port be removed. Those 3 months will also mark the end of a full year since chemo ended.

A port is really no trouble except that you have to have them flushed out every six weeks so that they don't clog up. That means a trip to the cancer center.  It is really nice to have a port if you are going to undergo chemo and they are also pretty sweet as an alternative to an arm poke I.V. when you have a scan done.  The scanner technicians push the dye activator pretty fast and the fluids feel much more comfortable going into a great big receptacle on your chest than that very soft, sensitive flesh at the arm joint.

A port is also a physical reminder of cancer and cancer treatment.  I've got scars, a bald head, small stomach, tingly extremities and skinnier frame that also remind me on a regular basis, but the port is this artificial appendage that specifically speaks to the potential of more chemotherapy.  It would be nice to feel like I am completely done with that phase.

On the other hand, if the cancer did come back would I be given chemo again?  Would I be given a choice? I tend to think that I lived through it once and I could live through it again.  I really enjoy being alive and I know how good it feels to come out healthy on the other side. If I did have to go through chemo again I would surely want the port.  Should I tempt fate?

I've got one more scan and three months to think about it.  I can't help remembering that every single tube ever placed inside of me felt like an important crutch and I feared having them removed but in every situation my quality of life improved dramatically after they were pulled out. The port is the least intrusive of these and I'm not sure how much more room I have for improving the quality of my life anymore.  It's pretty damned good already.

The closet

Looks like it has been a month since I have been compelled to write in this forum.  It has been a great month!  I've been describing to many my feeling of elation; waking up happy, enjoying my days and then going to bed happy at night. Spring moving into summer is definitely a factor. Warmth and renewal does a body and soul good.  It seems that everywhere I go people are telling me that I look good; good color, good weight, good energy.

This week I was approaching the 3-month mark where once again I would be reminded that scans were needed to probe deeper, beyond my sense of well-being to an invisible, cellular place where dark forces could be trying to kill me. I thought that my final week of the respite would involve jury duty but after reporting last Monday, I was told that all cases had been resolved and my jury service was complete.  Lacks Cancer Center called me a few days ago to tell me that Dr. Scott needed to reschedule my appointment.  He needed a vacation and along with the holidays, it would be another month before they could squeeze me in.  My scans and blood tests would need to be postponed too.

This is good news.  I always am thinking that Dr. Scott needs a vacation.  He works too much.  And I am in no hurry to get back into the world of pokes and probes.

Strangely, however, this postponement has had the effect of steering my inner thoughts back to the idea of palliative care and mortality. I'd been expressing outwardly to friends and family that I was putting my cancer outlook in a closet.  I wanted to practice life with the notion that all had been cured. "Emotionally dangerous", some might say.  But I was thinking that a closet was a perfect place for it.  Out of sight and perhaps forgotten, but as retrievable as an old winter sweater; far easier to locate and less muddy than if it was buried deep in a damp hole in the ground.

So now I find myself peaking in the closet. Yep.  It' still there.

My friend Bob Russell recently entered into Hospice care. To me this is the most poignant reminder of how quickly conditions can change and even an upbeat and wise fighter can arrive at the point where it is time to stop the active battle.

Fortunately I am nowhere near that point.  I have no idea even what it would feel like to get those initial twinges that hint at a newly empowered disease, let alone a full-on struggle to simply breathe.  Right now I only know that food tastes really good and every day can be filled with beautiful moments and interesting opportunities.

Back to Curacao

On a vacation it often seems like you have lots of days left and then all of sudden it is the last day.  This is sort of the last day because a chunk of it will be spent on the first leg of travel home. Since we flew into Curacao, we must fly out of Curacao. When we were there a week ago we scouted out hotels and since it was just for the night, we were looking at the one hotel near the airport. But after reading the reviews on line, we decided to splurge on something nicer that required a longer cab drive. We booked the Marriott. A nice hotel will stretch that vacation feeling just a bit farther.

Dutch Antilles Express had bumped our flight to 4:00p.m. So we really had the possibility for an excursion on Bonaire before leaving. The problem was that checkout from our apartment was 11 a.m., The scooter was due back at 10a.m. and it is hard to have an excursion with no transportation and a pile of luggage.

I had this fantasy that we could still pull off going to Klein Bonaire; an uninhibited island a few kilometers out in the bay that offered some of the best snorkeling available from shore. A water taxi takes you there and picks you up. There is no shade and you must take plenty of water. We could almost pull it off... the first trip there is at 9:30a.m. and the first return is 1:00p.m.  But I could only negotiate a 1:30 late checkout and I was just not enough time to walk back from the water taxi, take a shower and be ready for the airport two hours before flight time. So we resigned ourselves to checking out some spots that were close by.

I gassed up the scooter to a full tank (about 4 dollars) before we squeezed in our first snorkel plunge before we had to return Our ride. I then scooped up Mary and we rode to the very first beach, Eden Beach, we had tried when we first got to Bonaire and this time we went deeper and farther from our towels. It was again, very pleasant.  

With wet suits, we made it back to the scooter rental place at the exact scheduled return time. From there, we walked a block back down to the ocean and surveyed our walkable options. We could plunge in anywhere but there were lots of moored boats so we chose to stroll to the end of the beach walkway and snorkel around the adjacent property.

I buried my wallet under some coral gravel, marking it with a pink stone although throughout our trip we discovered that no one really messes with your stuff and there are never that many people around anyway. Snorkeling again, we saw some new species and all of the old ones. The was the added bonus of some man-made wreckage on the bottom and also a bunch of scuba divers (I counted nine) swimming along the drop off. Quite surreal to spot humanoid shapes through the depths.

I'd left my watch back at the apartment so we had to guess about the time and our goal of getting back by 12:30. We hit it pretty much right on and I microwaved leftovers from yesterday's "Thai" dinner while Mary showered. We were mostly packed already so after I rinsed off, we double-checked for loose items and lugged our baggage down to the Dive Hut. We met Irene, the co-proprietor, there and paid for our incidentals and chatted about Island life while we waited for Broertje to pick us up in his taxi.

He arrived on time and ten minutes later we were in the airport. Check in was easy and in no time we were back in the mostly empty prop plane ready for takeoff. Once in the air, I was able to to see through the propeller to Loc Bay and then a minute later, the north end of the island where we had scootered past the flamingo reserve to Rincon and later returned the wrong way.

Landing in Curacao for the second time was reassuringly familiar and we breezed through customs after waiting an uncomfortably long time for our checked bagged to come through. We found a cab immediately and the driver quoted the amount that we were expecting via our Internet research. Ten minutes later we were in the lobby of the Marriott.

The Marriott is definitely one of the nicer hotels on the island. It is clearly an American comfort pod in an otherwise foreign land. Our bags were handled for us and iced lemonade served to us while checking in. The room was awesome and we had sliding doors that opened into a shady courtyard that led to a remarkable pool and beach with thatched shade huts scattered about.

Mary napped while I typed up yesterday's blog entry.

When Mary awoke and I finished uploading, we referred to our Marriott guide to see there was a sunset drink special at the beach bar.  We thought we better check it out. It was OK but we were annoyed by some gabby Americans at the bar who were talking loud enough for us to hear all their boring details.  We decided to check out dinner options from one of the hotel's four restaurants and settled on a casual outdoor seafood venue. We split an order of coconut shrimp, an order of ceviche and a slice of key lime pie.

Back in the room, I had a case of the hiccups so I wend back out the sliding doors and listened to the Curacao night sounds while a veiled, almost full moon looked down on me. 

We knew that our 4:00am wake up call would come too early so we got our bags ready, hopped into bed and turned on TV to HBO until we fell asleep.

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We got our wake up call, made coffee, checked out and got into the cab that was waiting for us. We probably could have slept another hour. Why do they always say, "Be at the airport two hours early"? There was hardly anyone there and none of the check in desks were manned. 

But all went smoothly and I am writing this from 38,000 feet above the Caribbean. I watched Curacao disappear from my window and wondered if I'd ever see it again. I have all my own snorkeling gear now so why not?  

See you in Grand Rapids this evening.

Last full day on Bonaire

I'm writing this at the airport while we wait for a plane to take us back to Curacao.  (So as I write "today", I really mean yesterday. The short entry was a placeholder for those who may be worried about our safety since I am otherwise publishing regularly in the morning.)

Today was a day to travel to southern side of the island. We intended to do a swoop along the southern rim and end up at a bay that was mainly a Mecca for sailboarders but we had been told about an exceptional reef there too.   Our intent was snorkeling there. There was also a recommended authentic restaurant for lunch where we could get the fabled iguana soup or goat stew.

We decided to consume our remaining delicious mangoes in our room and have only coffee at the apartment's bar (it's called The Dive Hut).

Soon we were speeding helmetlessly, beyond good sense, past the airport, past some very attractive snorkeling beaches, toward the salt processing industry.  The ocean was on our right and the immense rectangular ponds of curing salt were on the left.  There were no trees and LOTS of wind. And every time a car or truck passed us, we were stung by flying salt. It was a pretty long loop with a threat of more of the same for a long time.  After reaching the spot where it appeared that salt must be loaded on ships, we turned around and head toward plan B: the cross-island cut off.

On this route we were headed directly into the wind, which was a little easier for scooter handling.  It also took us past the donkey reserve.

Donkeys are an island pest. Left on the island to breed on their own decades ago, their only role seems to be eating people's plants and creating a road hazard.  We met the proprietor of the reserve and she immediately snapped into the stereotype of what we think of as a crazy cat lady. She was a crazy donkey lady.  She loved them to pieces and shared with us all her best stories of rescue and anthropomorphism. We were weeping in minutes. Well, not really, but it was hard not to part with a mere seven dollars each to spend some time with them and help this lady and others like her to provide food for over 400 donkeys.

The reserve contains most of the donkeys on the island. Another 100-150 still roam free but eventually they are captured and brought to the reserve where the males are castrated and wounded donkeys receive veterinary care.  There were plenty of opportunities to donate more. Mary bought souvenirs and I put an extra dollar in a bin that showed a painting of a donkey eating dollar signs.

They allowed us to take the scooter on the dirt path that traversed their vast grounds. By the end, I was convinced that they really had 400 donkeys there. I was doubtful at first but every one of them b-lined for the scooter all along the route. Another fundraising scheme is to buy carrots to feed them. Woe to he who stops. I had wrestle our lunch bag out of the mouth of one of them.  But I must say, the little ones especially are adorable.

We escaped and soon arrived at the eastern bay or "Loc Bay". It is geologically unique to the island and also encompasses a mangrove swamp. A reef blocks in the bay so the waters are calm on the lee side but a strong wind always blows.

We were hungry so we decided to try to find "Mikey's Snacks". Our directions were a bit vague and signage is poor or non-existent. Anyway, I turned down the wrong road. It was rough and long but had some great scenery, including some relatively close flamingoes. We finally stopped at a kayak adventure place to ask directions. Yep. Should have turned one street farther down. He did help us by selling us our water recreation passes. Bonaire Charles $ 10 per person who does any kind of water recreation and this pays for clean up and preservation. It is good for a year and we were happy to pay it. Especially after we heard there is a steep fine for being caught in the water without one.

By this time, we were so hot and we were dying to get into the water.  So we backtracked but instead of getting lunch, we drove back around to the other side of the bay to find the snorkel spot. We had packed a back up lunch consisting of a sandwich made from last night's Swiss leftovers and some tortilla chip crumbs and we scarfed that along with our reserve of water.

We had been directed to go to the beach near this resort and then walk about 10-20 minutes to the place where we could snorkel and enjoy some pristine shallow reefs. It was not clear to us where exactly we should go so I went into the resort to ask. The woman I encountered at the desk had an American accent but when I said "snorkeling", she looked at me like I was crazy. (It is a rather funny word.) She told me it is too shallow to snorkel here. Nobody snorkels here. It is highly discouraged. She encouraged me to check out the beach, which we did but it was very unclear where to go from there. No direction looked like you could walk 10-20 minutes and get somewhere else.

Three strikes. We kept thinking about the sure thing... those beaches we passed by the airport. Roland had mentioned that he thought they were some of the best.  Windsock was the name that stuck in our head.

We backtracked, past the donkey reserve. Mary took a turn at driving the scooter since it was a long straight line and she would not have to deal with cornering with a passenger right out of the gate. 

We arrived at one unnamed beach and the snorkeling was pretty good.  Unfortunately i inhaled some seawater right off the bat and it caused me great discomfort and breathing anxiety. Mary was having a great day with her equipment. We saw a couple of fish varieties as yet unseen by us and some really large and unusual banks of coral.

After an hour, we scooter end on and Lund the beach called Windsock.  It had a shady place to park and there were other snorkelers here; a good sign.  Again, excellent snorkeling with several varieties of coral and all the fish. I'd recovered from my seawater gargle so I was much more comfortable.  I love how the sea floor is littered with dead coral chunks that look like bones. I kept imagining an alien autopsy dumping ground.  We were both really enjoying this spot and despite the plan deviation, we felt it was a good day with new experiences.

We returned to he apartment in time to shower off all the dried salt residue and drift over o the Dive Hut for the "Thai Dinner Night" we had signed up for.  The story told to us was that the was this Thai woman who liked to cook for them every two weeks.  We didn't see anyone in the kitchen who cold pass for Thai and the food was not like any Thai restaurant I'd been to before. There was a meatball appetizer that had some coconut in it and a spicy sauce to dip it in. It was pretty good.  Then the dinner plate came out. Chopped up chicken and broccoli, a pile of white rice, an undressed salad and a chive omelet. Tasty but it had no name and did not seem very authentic to us.

We retired to the room, waiting for my over-full stomach to adjust and then at 9:00 we hopped back on the scooter one more time to check out a recommended ice cream joint. It was homemade gelato and was quite delicious.

When we jumped back on the scooter to go home, it would not start. The electric starter turned over and over but it would not catch. A friendly, young local man passing by said to kick start it. I had no tried that before but I could see it would need to be up on the kickstand to do it. The man helped me to put it on the stand and then gave it one sharp kick and it came to life. He gave me a fist bump and we zipped home for another good night's sleep.

No time for real post

In case you are worried that if I didn't post it means we have driven the wrong way on a one way curving mountain road and plunged over the edge... Your fears can be relieved. The scooter is returned and we are preparing to leave Bonaire for Curacao. Yesterday we pet donkeys.

Adventures in Bonaire

We woke up to a cloudy day. There had been a little rain overnight as well. That's not really such a bad thing when your agenda is an open air scooter ride around the island. The sun is the killer element.

We breakfasted out of our fridge eating fresh fruit and peanut products but stopped in for coffee at the Dive Hut; the bar associated with the apartments. We met Irene, the co-proprietor of the small complex and she encouraged us to try "Swiss night" at the Hut. She explained that she is Swiss and they cook Swiss cuisine once a week. We added our name to the list.

After coffee, we we went back to our apartment, packed for our day trip and sped off up the coast on the scooter. 

After we passed thee last dive site, we saw no other cars for some time.  It was a protected no-dive zone, preserving a pristine reef. The road finally cut in an easterly direction across the island and along an inland lake that was a nesting area for the Bonaire flamingoes. It was lovely and we saw lots of birds and iguanas but we saw only one lone flamingo. It was satisfyingly dark pink and at first we were not sure whether we were looking at a decoy/lawn ornament or a live bird. I say it moved.

At 11 a.m. we rolled into the town of Rincon. We were looking for a restaurant called Rose's Inn which had been recommended as an authentic local place to eat. Calling it an "Inn" is a misnomer. It was an outdoor seating area with a booth at the entrance that served as a kitchen. We were told to sit anywhere and except for a small collection of local men sitting near the entrance talking to whomever was in the booth, we were the only ones there.

Eventually a woman came out and took our drink orders. There were no menus but we established that they had beer and fruit juices so Mary ordered the former and I the latter. She asked what we wanted to eat and we asked her what she had.

"Today I have some salt fish, chicken stew, beef stew or I have a tuna sandwich."

Mary asked about Iguana soup, which had been recommended, but we were informed "no soup today." She then walked away saying, "you think think think about it."

About a half hour later, our drinks were gone and another couple entered and we heard them order food. Their lunches were prepared and served and and she had not yet returned to our table a second time or even shot us a glance. It was a lovely place to sit with good music playing but we were pretty hungry. Finally Mary managed to signal the woman who came over and took our orders. We had probably been sitting there nearly an hour. Glad I did not have my watch on. Was this the pace of the Island? Had we said something wrong?

The food definitely was fantastic. I ordered the salt fish, not really understanding what I would be getting and Mary ordered chicken stew. They both came with a lettuce salad, corn cake, bean cake and fried plantain. I had French fries and Mary had a mound of spiced beans and rice. Salt fish was delicious. I think it was tuna fried with...something. Mary loved the chicken as well. Getting the check proved as difficult as waiting to be served but we eventually payed and scooter end out of there. Good food. Awkward experience,

We looped backed to the coast on a different route. But when we came to the split, we discovered that the road we had been on up the coast had turned into one way beyond the dive sites. I never saw a sign. In retrospect, that is probably why we never saw any cars coming the other way.  Looking at a map, the only way out of there looked to be back-tracking to Rincon and circling the long way around on the windy side of the island, far away from all the snorkeling sites.

This may sound like a stupid decision but I chose to drive the scooter the wrong way down a single lane road for the couple of kilometers to the point it becomes two-way again, at the dive sites. To Mary's credit, she thought it was a bad idea but she held tight and we white knuckled it around each curve. I knew there was almost no traffic and if I went slow and pretended I was more like a bicycle and less like a motorcycle, I could get away with it. On the 3 occasions that I saw a car coming, I pulled over and stopped. Only one person wagged a finger at us. Hey, we are driving a power scooter without helmets. Why not go all the way to retarded? But you will have to trust me that this was the correct decision and never really felt that scary to me. And Mary got a nice jolt of adrenaline out of the deal.

We were anxious to try out the new modified goggles with Mary' lenses glued in to them.  They worked acceptably well. 

We decided to try diving at a spot called 1000 steps. There are only 64 steps but apparently it feels like 1000 if you are arriving scuba gear up the flight. There was beach at the bottom and secluded nooks for changing out of wet gear. There is not really sand in Bonaire. Just dead coral chunks and finely ground coral. This beach had quite a bit of the latter and since it was a fairly windy day, the water had it pretty stirred up and cloudy near the shore. There appeared to be very little live coral here and not as many fish as yesterday. At one point I looked for Mary and she was out in much deeper water. I swam out to her and discovered that she had found where the live coral was. It was a forest but it was maybe 20 or 30 feet deep so we were quite far above.

We swam for at least an hour and we were the only ones left of the 6-8 people who came and went while we were there. We changed back to dry clothes, ascended the rocky steps, and buzzed back to our apartment on bi-directional roads. 

[ Captions: snorkel dork and snorkel goddess.]

We decided to find an ATM and with draw some more cash, we discovered that credit cards were not accepted at as many places as we were led to believe in the research phase of this trip. If you are spending a lot of money on a meal or a vehicle rental, yes. If you are getting small items, groceries or authentic meals, not so much.

Swiss dinner was a little electric grill on your table with a plate of meats and vegetables that you heat up on top. No oils or spices were provided but he gimmick was that there is a mini pan that you use to heat up a slice of cheese by placing it in a slot under the griddle. Then you can pour hot cheese on your vegetables. We tried to be good sports every time they came to our table and tried to remind us how much fun we were having.  It was just find and the ingredients were good but it was hot already without a glowing stove in front of you and if I'm going to cook, I sort of feel like I should clean up too.

After dinner we sat at the bar and we were joined by Roland, the other co-owner of the establishment. He talked about how he came here. He was Dutch but got tired of how judgmental Dutch people were and he moved to Switzerland where he met his wife Irene and they came here because the Swiss were not much better than the Dutch. And now the island is full of Dutch people who took their attitudes with them. He also advised us on tomorrow's adventure and another authentic restaurant on the windy side of the island near one of he nicest coral reefs accessible from shore.