Faceless Blog

The “Dear 16 year old me” video that’s been going around reminded me of an old note I wrote on Facebook a while back.  It still rings true to me, so I thought I’d repost it here.  So, here you go!

An open letter to the individual who would have ended up with cancer,


Dir Sir or Madam,

I’ve said since this whole ordeal started that, “if this had to happen, I’m glad it happened to me, and not someone who wouldn’t be able to handle it.” Well, while there are days when it’s more difficult than others to believe that, I stand by that statement. And though I do stand by it, I wanted to write this letter to you to make sure that I haven’t gone through this for nothing.

Are you young? (You probably are, as my type of cancer typically only affects children or infants). Get out there, pick a sport that you love and play it. Don’t spend your summer days cooped up in the basement. DO something. I’m not even going to tell you what, that takes the fun out of it…but pick something you like, and do it…often! Go to an amusement park, visit the zoo, go see the paintings in the Museum of Art. Swim in the ocean, walk in the sand. Try and do something new every weekend, just to broaden your horizons and find new and different things that you like.

Are you older? Take a road trip to somewhere you’ve never been before. Go camping and catch your own dinner in a nearby stream. Be active in your community. Plan a three day weekend getaway to some nearby tourist attraction that you’ve never taken the time to check out. Try to get out and see at least one “Wonder of the World.” (be it one of the Wonders of the Modern World, Ancient World, Natural World, etc.) Throw a bonfire party with as many friends as possible…roast hot dogs if available. Thank a nurse. Shake a doctor’s hand. Live. Live hard and live long.

Of course, these are only suggestions. The real trick is to take the spirit of this letter, and make your own life out of it. Every day that I feel trapped in this chair, every time I’m stuck in the house or feel the loss of my independence…I think of you, out there, making the most out of the life that you have, and it helps.

I’m sure I’ll never know who you are. That’s ok, I don’t need to. Just promise me that you’ll do your best, and that will do. 

Sincerely,
Jeff (aka Facelesscog)

First and foremost, I have named the left “residual limb” in much the same way that I named Leeroy.  For the left, I chose the name myself, and it’s one that I think is appropriate.  So, from here out, my left residual limb shall be named “John.”  This is appropriate, in my eyes, because it was the first name of Inspector Gadget, the cartoon detective who had artificial limbs.

So, I’m going home today!  The doctors are happy with how John looks, and all that’s left to do now is to take out my IV line, fill out some paperwork and be on my way…which probably means that we’ll be here until 2:00 or 3:00 this afternoon.  Either way, though, I’ll just be glad that I get to go home.

I’ll have to go back to the doctor’s office in a few weeks to have the stitches taken out, then spend a month (maybe) with the shrinker, then I get fitted for my prosthetics and it’s time for physical therapy!  I couldn’t be more excited.

It’s been a while since I’ve done a Life on Wheels entry, and I figure I better get them in while they’re still relevant!

I tend to be a morning person, nearly always getting up before my wife. Now, ever since I did my time in the hospital, I don’t like to be in bed any more than I have to be, so as soon as I wake up, I need to get out of bed. It was this morning, as I was sneaking around trying not to wake her up, that today’s topic popped into my head. Being sneaky in a wheelchair is totally different from being on foot.

You’d think, with wheels on a carpeted surface, that I’d be pretty quiet. For the most part, that’s correct. However, in the still of the morning, before the normal background noises of the day start to intrude, you have to be a little more careful. First, I have to use only the tips of my fingers and thumbs. This doesn’t make sense at first, but trust me. When I’m moving around normally, during the day, my wedding ring clinks against the metal rim of my left wheel on every “stride.” It also helps that I know my chair very well by this point. I know that if I move in certain ways, it will creak. I have a very good “wheelchair sense,” so I can avoid running into other objects in the room and making a racket that way.

Interestingly, I’m going to have to learn how to “sneak” all over again, once I start walking again…but I couldn’t be happier about that prospect.

Let me preface this story with a little tidbit about myself:  I used to be a very independent person.  Growing up, I was often described as the “Lone wolf” kinda guy.  I had no problem entertaining myself, driving out to the mall, seeing a movie, starting a project, whatever.  Even after I started dating and then married my sweetheart, my independence was still there.  If I needed something from the store, I’d drive out and get it.  My wife could certainly come along if she wanted, but I didn’t need her to take me.  Fast forward to now.  I can’t drive.  I require frequent assistance for wound care.  Hell, I still occasionally need help in the bathroom.  So, sometimes, when I’m really feeling like I don’t have any control in my life, I shave my beard.

Follow me on this.  In this awful situation where I feel like so much control has been stripped away from my life, I always have control over my facial hair.  It sounds silly, but sometimes I just have to remind myself that there’s still at least one thing that I have total control over…so I spend a few minutes shaving my face completely clean.  When it’s all done, I can look in the mirror and say “I did that.  I required no help.  I can still do this.”  And sometimes, that’s enough to get me going again.