Cancer Sucks, And It Doesn't Discriminate

Sadly, this world will be minus one righteous meme lord

I started my first blog, The People’s Republic of Seabrook, when I was working as a contract technical writer for Enron (yes, THAT Enron) in Houston on September 3, 2001. Eight short days later, the world changed. About a week later, Enron went belly-up in a blaze of not-exactly-glory.

Somewhere around this time, I think- Hell, I don’t even really remember when- I came across a blog called Stupid Evil Bastard. The title alone was enough to pique my interest, and the rest, as they say, is history. Run by a guy whom I’ve never met (but whom I’ve come to treasure), the brains behind SEB is Les Jenkins, a sarcastic smartass and bon vivant who lives in Michigan. He’s smart, funny, and did I mention that he’s a smartass?

Les wrote about things I often had only a peripheral interest in, but his sense of humor and ability to ridicule those who richly deserved it was spot on. For the past 20 years or so, we’ve communicated over Facebook, each other’s blogs, and, who knows, probably telepathically.

Well, life happened, as often happens. I found myself going to SEB less frequently for reasons I can’t explain, but I kept up with Les on Facebook. Then, he posted a few months ago that he had cancer. My wife’s a nurse practitioner in an oncology clinic, so this got my attention, even though Les’ posts initially were upbeat.

As time went by, his posts took on a tone that made it clear that things were not so copacetic, though I continued to hold out hope. Finally, Les posted this last week:

Well, folks, I tried, but it’s not working. I’m ceasing all treatment and going into hospice.

Reading that felt like a punch to the gut, even though on some level I think I knew it was probably coming. One of the “benefits” of living with someone who works with cancer for a living is that you learn way too much about the disease in all its wondrous iterations. I’m used to hearing about death and dying, though one never grows accustomed to it. Not really.

To give you an idea of what kind of person Les is, I wanted to share something he wrote this past summer before cancer reared its ugly head. It’s written by someone who seemed to have made peace with who and what he is, which is ironic because I don’t think he had any idea at the time what he’d be facing a few months later.

In August I will turn 54 years old, just a year younger than the age at which my biological father died. If I recall correctly, he died from pancreatic cancer. Not something I’m too worried about as my doctor started screening me a couple of years ago and I don’t have the smoking and drinking habit that he had. That said, I’m not exactly in great health myself. I’m morbidly obese, diabetic, and have peripheral neuropathy in my feet. These two facts, that I’m closing in on the age my father died and that I’m not exactly in great shape, have led to me considering my own mortality a lot lately. Specifically, whether it’s better to be happy and die young or miserable and live longer.

Despite not being in the greatest shape, I’m pretty happy with life at the moment. I’ve managed to accomplish most of the stuff I’ve long dreamed of — getting married, owning a home, etc. — and while there are things I’d love to do, like travel more, or, at all, I’m happy with where I’m at. Meanwhile, the attempts I’ve made at getting healthier such as eating better and exercising only make me miserable. In part because I stress over the fact that I’m not doing these things like I should be.

As a result, I find I’m spending a lot of time pondering the question of being happy or healthy. My doctor, being an excellent doctor, would argue that once I get into the habits of exercising and eating healthier and lost the weight and got some of my energy back that I’d be even happier, but the fact is I’m happy now and getting to that supposedly happier status would require a lot of misery.

It doesn’t help that when I bought an elliptical and made a good effort to use it regularly for three months, I ended up gaining weight instead of losing it. Everyone said it would get easier after a couple of months, but it never got any easier. As is the fate of most home exercise equipment, it became a coat rack until we sold it when we moved out of Ann Arbor 6 years ago. In a proper and just universe, exercise would show benefits within a couple of days and not months or years later. It would be much easier to be motivated if I actually experienced some of the supposed benefits sooner rather than later. Gaining weight, even if it is new muscle, is not the result I should be getting for my efforts. Not to mention that food that’s good for you would taste better than the bad food.

When we bought the house 4 years ago one of the first things I did was purchase a bicycle to ride around the neighborhood. I even bought one of those stupid helmets. My thinking at the time was that I had to find something that was fun to do so it felt less like exercise and more like playing and I used to love riding my bike as a kid. However, much like the elliptical, I rode it a couple times a week for that first summer and then parked it in the garage for the winter and it has not seen the light of day since. I look at it every time I pull the lawn mower out to cut the grass and I think I should check to see if the tires are still in good shape and maybe pull it out, but I never do. Hell, mowing the lawn is really the only exercise I get at this point and that’s enough to wipe me out for the rest of the day.

The one change I did manage to stick to was giving up drinking pop and switching to water for the majority of the day outside of a couple cups of coffee. That’s mainly because it’s been long enough that drinking pop — both regular and diet — tastes like malted battery acid these days. Doesn’t stop me from missing it or hating every drop of the water I drink, but at least I’ve managed to stick to it.

I’m at the point where I have resigned myself to my fate. I know I should be doing more to improve my health, but I just get depressed whenever I think of what it would take. I’d rather not die young, but I also like sitting and sitting is considered a lethal activity these days. The one thing I am doing is thinking about it a lot. While sitting, of course. Now if only that burned more calories.

Les will be going on hospice soon, with his life expectancy measured in weeks. I know this must be a difficult time for him; I can’t imagine what it must be like to contemplate the end of your life in such a manner. Likewise, I feel for his wife, who will be left without her partner and with a mountain of medical bills.

(There is a GoFundMe to help defray some of the costs. Please give what you can if you can.)

The great thing about the Internet is that it provides so many opportunities for making connections with people with whom you will almost certainly never find yourself in the same room. I would dearly love to have the chance to meet Les. Part of me wants to drop everything and head to Michigan to pay my respects. The good news is that he’s learning now how many people love and respect him. I’m one of them.

Sometimes we’re fortunate to come across someone who makes us laugh and see things a bit differently than we might otherwise. In addition to being a world-class meme lord and funny as Hell, he’s surrounded by a large number of people who love and cherish him. Whenever he departs this realm, Les will not do so in solitude, and those who love him will long remember him.

Les, I regret that our paths never crossed. We could’ve had some fun. I do know that you’ve been a constant in my life for the last 20 years or so. For that I’m beyond grateful. I consider myself blessed to have known you. Since we’re both atheists, I know that at some point, I’ll join you on the other side, but we won’t know it- because we’ll both be fucking dead.

Cheers, my friend. It’s been an honor and a pleasure. My life is richer for having known you.

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