tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51234569840597203162024-02-23T18:03:15.072-08:00Kevin and Barbie -- Our Journey of Hopekevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.comBlogger300125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-16667244694089646712017-05-11T02:16:00.000-07:002017-05-11T02:52:49.756-07:00The Last Blog - Full Circle<div class="MsoNormal">
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Recently I was asked to speak at a donor family
celebration in Reno. Each year Donor Network West honors the families of those, that in
their passing, became organ and tissue donors and thereby saved and improved the
lives of countless people and their families. As I reflected upon this
miraculous blessing in my own life I thought back on all of the moments and memories
that I have had in these past nine years. I have seen 7 grandsons born, we have
traveled the world and found countless natural and cultural discoveries, both at home and abroad, I was able to return work for eight years and thereby helped in curing cancers and improving
countless lives. I still spend every day with the love of my life, which is the
best gift of all. I wrote a book. I became a pilot. So many more moments of
beauty communing with nature and communicating with others which are innumerable;
all because of a heart.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Memories continued to pull me back. I was laying in pre-op
at Stanford University Friday evening on August 15, 2008. The last beats of my old
heart counting down the seconds with just over 14,000 remaining. A nurse
informed me that my new heart was on its way from Reno. The only information
that she could share was that he was 6' 2" tall - my height. I began to
think about the terrible grief that must have overcome his family. But I had to
focus on the moments just ahead of me. I was not afraid at all. This was the
most right of all moments. How often do we get to remember the moment just prior to being
born? I was so happy.<br />
The next morning I woke up, what an understatement. Consciousness;
I was me again. I felt indescribably infinite gratitude. I was luminous.</div>
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Three days later was my 49th birthday. As I laid awake in
the darkness as my thoughts returned to my donor's family. All I wanted to do was
thank them, I wondered if that could ever happen. In my mind I wrote the following
blog and posted it a week later.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .4in; margin-top: 0in;">
<i><span style="background: #ffffdd; color: #333333;">August 15 was the day that two worlds were uniquely
united, and at the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">coeur</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"> of it all, a heart. This heart had already lived
a lifetime in my donor. Each beat becoming the sum of his existence. Altogether
they wove a tapestry of color and life that reflected all of his joys and
sadness, his longings and toil. The heart was his witness and his strength,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">unfaultable</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"> in marking each moment, constant. But then, the
unthinkable occurred, and as his life silently slipped away, his heart kept
going, awaiting a new life. In that moment, my donor made the ultimate final
gift, his heart to me.</span><span style="color: #333333;"><br />
<br />
<span style="background: #FFFFDD;">My own heart has served me so well. I have experienced more
joy and fulfillment in one lifetime than most men would have in three. But my
heart was worn out, ravaged by disease and struggling daily to keep me going,
and soon, it had marked its last beat.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: #FFFFDD;">While I lay there on the operating table, for at least an
hour, I had no heart inside my chest. My survival was maintained only through
machines and technology under the skilled hands of committed doctors and
nurses. And then, his heart was placed inside me, and my life began again.
I had a new heart, but it is not completely mine, nor will it ever be. For it
is a shared heart. This shared heart has already lived a lifetime and must be
remembered as such.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: #FFFFDD;">This must be why I have the strong desire to hug everyone. A
hug, in such a simple act, can bring two hearts together, marking a brief
moment of friendship. I feel like I should share my shared heart with others. I
will honor the memory of my donor by offering his gift to others with a hug.</span><br /><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFDD;">Two things that heartbeats and hugs have in common are that
they are both strong symbols of the importance of being in the present. Past
regrets and future concerns have no place in the moment of presence. What I
have learned from all of this is to cherish the present.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: #FFFFDD;">My dream is that someday, if allowed, I may meet the family
of my donor and through the simple act of a hug, reunite them with him, one
more time in the present.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: #FFFFDD;">In memory of my donor and his family.</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFDD;">Please say a prayer for them.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: #FFFFDD;">Kevin<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .4in; margin-top: 0in;">
<i><span style="background: #ffffdd; color: #333333;"> August 27,
2008<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I finished my remarks and the meeting ended with a video remembrance
of each donor whose family was present that day. This was a week ago Saturday. The first
photo was of Shane, my donor. I did not expect this. I had met Shane's aunt 2
years ago after she had contacted me wanting to meet Barbie and me in Roseville, CA, however, st that time, Shane's parents were understandably still not ready to cross that emotional bridge.
A week prior to the Reno donor celebration I had invited Shane's aunt, Patty, to come to the meeting, Through
Donor Network West she had his photo included in the video presentation. As it appeared she then whispered to me, "Bev is coming." I couldn't hide my emotion; would my dream from nearly nine years
ago really come true in the next few minutes? The meeting ended and, as I got
up to move to the front of the room, I turned around and saw a woman I had
never before seen looking at me and smiling. In my heart I knew who she was as
she said, "I am Beverly." I quickly moved forward and as I hugged her I said, "I am Kevin. Thank you for my life." In that moment the heart
of a son was reunited with his mother. He was home.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Barbie was soon at my side, the reunion was almost complete.
Within minutes we were joined by most of Shane's immediate family. I met his
older sister and her daughter, who was born soon after her uncle's death, his
92 year old grandmother was there, his uncle and finally his cousin who only
two years ago received a kidney-pancreas transplant which simultaneous cured
his kidney failure and diabetes. We had come full circle, two men, cousins, one
a donor and one a recipient; no one can deny the magnitude of the impact of
these life altering decisions experienced by this family.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We visited for a time, we spoke of Shane, we hugged and then
parted ways.<br />
I am who I am because of so many decisions. Many were mine, but
many were not. Years prior to his death, Shane told his father that if he ever
died, he wanted to be an organ donor. Later, when the family was approached concerning
organ donation they checked his wallet and there it was on his license -DONOR. We are
nothing by ourselves. It is only through our shared experiences, sacrifices,
relationships and love that we can ever feel true joy; that we ever fully become
complete. A man died and I still live. Another Man died and I will, and Shane
will and each of us will live forever. And this is why my cup of gratitude will
forever be overflowing</div>
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Thank you for your interest and caring</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kevin<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Vd2SBlngTZICXhk1za1KzC-lXJ48P1gLkh3q0NiHttMsxJAqzvCKHJQTWy1PkPDnOky7yDOVMvHc-jUAcyn7q78monoUT68pudguJwJw9nfF1-6SaT3EUg75f_C1FkIDtqDEWxUQw4A/s1600/File_004.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Vd2SBlngTZICXhk1za1KzC-lXJ48P1gLkh3q0NiHttMsxJAqzvCKHJQTWy1PkPDnOky7yDOVMvHc-jUAcyn7q78monoUT68pudguJwJw9nfF1-6SaT3EUg75f_C1FkIDtqDEWxUQw4A/s400/File_004.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hearts Reunite</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfl2mtBlQ-7wVxtznyF0mTq0ltiBOGEbocQrjho1G3tQU2oVfq-uRmh_bhwSp5G2PiSCCTYXC85DgloGRqxSpESYWJ92D022gvs3pX_J5YNrdIHK5_t-aY9rH-dQXk9EXeUe23ogcV36U/s1600/File_008.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfl2mtBlQ-7wVxtznyF0mTq0ltiBOGEbocQrjho1G3tQU2oVfq-uRmh_bhwSp5G2PiSCCTYXC85DgloGRqxSpESYWJ92D022gvs3pX_J5YNrdIHK5_t-aY9rH-dQXk9EXeUe23ogcV36U/s400/File_008.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shane's Family</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpvB-2UDSHFdgYtpg_N1ANFDJTymYTbmBCLEISGvS93Hi-6teKAQuojvdB2xm2NJqb2mYdoaQ3r_zBmlVHavLgBK69o0a2aCnu0Hokt4ALItSAdtBm7IjqBEAps6G_oZYZlN3c3yALylE/s1600/IMG_0020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpvB-2UDSHFdgYtpg_N1ANFDJTymYTbmBCLEISGvS93Hi-6teKAQuojvdB2xm2NJqb2mYdoaQ3r_zBmlVHavLgBK69o0a2aCnu0Hokt4ALItSAdtBm7IjqBEAps6G_oZYZlN3c3yALylE/s400/IMG_0020.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shane - My Hero</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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kevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-50279101821065583002015-11-13T17:12:00.003-08:002015-11-13T17:33:41.809-08:00The Sky's The Limit<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeLU0mMhwLCFcGVifsJMIRqgQMKrtr4pxJfkKCixl81SskFoFZABeKahH-5CNjsvYtvIWW9iEGPHWOcE3uitxq1iDT2APgUJ7WDG2qwuLBdOQnWDC_zH1-c8jr6XR0k_XZPxChsR0gjdk/s1600/IMG_0380.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeLU0mMhwLCFcGVifsJMIRqgQMKrtr4pxJfkKCixl81SskFoFZABeKahH-5CNjsvYtvIWW9iEGPHWOcE3uitxq1iDT2APgUJ7WDG2qwuLBdOQnWDC_zH1-c8jr6XR0k_XZPxChsR0gjdk/s400/IMG_0380.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bill and I after my first solo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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About four months ago I met an amazing 92 year man. Since my
days as Chief of Urology at the VA Hospital in Connecticut I always ask the
same question to men of a certain age. "What did you do in the war?"
Which war is always understood based on their age. He replied, "I flew
B-17 bombers in the Battle of the Bulge." I excitedly told him that I was
learning to fly to which he responded, "Are you a natural?" I said
that I didn't know. Today I soloed for the first time. It was incredible and
exhilarating. Learning to fly has also been the hardest thing that I have done
this side of forty. I was not a natural. Learning to consistently land well
took many hours of practice. The intellectual study, physical control and
mental focus was immense. It's hard to learn to do something very difficult in
your fifties. So often we're just coasting at this point. Yes, I can do
difficult surgeries, but I developed those skills in my twenties and thirties.
We can still learn new and difficult skills later in life, but you must pay the
price and not give in to the momentary disappointments and self doubt. Today I
celebrate the opportunity to fly and learn and see the world from a completely
new point of view. We are only truly old when we stop learning. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I've always wanted to fly but never really considered it an
option given all of the other responsibilities that took priority for my time.
Then two years ago Barbie gave me a gift of an introductory flying lesson. I
was immediately hooked. However, at that time, patients with heart transplants
could not get a regular pilot's license. That has now changed but certain
chemotherapy drugs also limit ones access to such a goal. Then for Valentine's
day I got Barbie an introductory flight lesson. It was so fun to see her
pre-flight the Cessna 172 and the take off with the instructor. Soon, to her
delight, she was in control of the plane; banking and turning, as we flew over
our house. This reignited my desire to fly. It turns out that to fly a
light-sport plane a medical exam is not needed. All that is required is a valid
driver's license.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I began my training in June with California Sport Aviation
in Lodi, California, which is a 55 mile drive from Lincoln. My flight
instructor is Bill Bardin. We spent many, many hours flying over the Sacramento
valley, learning maneuvers and landing. He is a good instructor, but he wants
perfection as he feels responsible for the ultimate safety of the pilot and the
plane. Many times he would pull back on the throttle and say, "Your engine
just quit, what are you going to do now?" And I would scan the earth for a
suitable landing area and execute a low approach, (as if I were going to land). I often felt like a medical student again being grilled by the professor.
I don't know if any pilot ever gets their instructor's voice out of their head. In
a way, I hope not.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It seems that all of the really difficult things in life
that we learn require a good (and patient) mentor. I was fortunate to find
Bill. I was also very lucky in that we never cancelled a lesson for weather or
equipment issues. I now feel confident to continue learning on my own. I spent
a year during my fellowship with Dr Clayman learning how to do a laparoscopic
nephrectomy. But it was only when, at Yale a year later, that I did my first
case as the attending that I really felt like the surgeon. This is how I feel
today.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
You can do anything that you really put your mind to. The
sky's the limit.</div>
kevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-90899306823774373532015-06-28T17:20:00.000-07:002015-06-28T17:20:05.244-07:00Dream Come True<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
The first night after my heart transplant I had trouble
sleeping. As I lay awake in the dark my mind drifted to the person whose gift
had just changed my life forever. I began to compose a letter to his family in
which I expressed my desire to meet them in person so as to give them a hug and
bring his heart close to them one more time. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It has now been almost seven years and the dream finally
came true yesterday. My donor, Shane's, Aunt Patty and his grandmother Gertrude
were in town for a tennis tournament. Patty, who is paraplegic, competes internationally
and was in Roseville for the weekend. On Thursday we opened the mail to find a card
from her hoping to meet us. Shane's cousin had recently received a
kidney/pancreas transplant which stirred in Patty a desire to find out about
me. I couldn't be more thrilled to meet her and her mother, Gertrude, who just
celebrated her 90th birthday.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Barbie and I arrived at the Johnson Ranch Tennis Club about
a half mile from where I work every day. My emotions were raw and spontaneous
as I knelt to give her a hug. They told us all about Shane; about who he was
and his personal decision, conveyed years earlier to his father, to be an organ
donor. I felt a new closeness to him and to our shared heart. The connection
was complete. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Words can never convey the gratitude that I feel to him and
to his family. When my time here on earth is done, (a very long time from now,)
I will find him in heaven and finally know the man that made my continued
mortal existence possible. For now, meeting his family fulfills a wish and a dream
that has lingered so long. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kevin</div>
kevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-55327986695442358522014-09-11T00:59:00.000-07:002014-09-11T01:09:58.934-07:00Grandpa Anderson<br />
My Grandpa Anderson died in April 1959. I never knew him in this mortal life. However, I believe that my birth 4 months later helped to comfort my parents in their mourning. My earliest memories included the assurance that my Grandpa Anderson knew me in heaven and sent me to my mom and dad. Years later I came across a few documents that he had written. In those few pages I sensed a connection between us; his love for nature, his loyalty and patriotism. How teaching was so significant in his life. Of the sorted photos that we have of him one stands out. He is sitting on his porch, looking out over his front lawn to the mountain which would have filled his view. He is holding a grandchild on his lap.<br />
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Here I am now, 66 years later, holding my grandson on that selfsame porch in his house which is now my house. Buildings vary so little over the decades. While the people inside and the world outside change faster than we can adapt. Beyond the white picket fence I see the golden washed clouds over Mt Timpanogos as the sun sets to the west. This is a moment. I am now Grandpa Anderson. I belong here.<br />
We traveled to Utah last week for the blessing of Luke Daniel Anderson, our youngest grandson born 7 weeks earlier to Samuel and Michelle. All of our children, their spouses and Luke's three cousins came to witness the event. What a joyous reunion it was. We are currently scattered in five states.<br />
Four grandsons in one year; what a dream come true. Jamison David Solari, son of Caitlin and Ben turned one this week, followed by Kent Durham Anderson, son of Alexandria and Jeremy, who is 10 months. Then Seth Douglas Hammond, son of Rebecca and Jason, now 8 months old.<br />
Sunday arrived and it was time for the blessing which occurs at the beginning of Sacrament Meeting. We encircled Luke with our hands as we stood shoulder to shoulder; four generations. Sam invoked beautiful blessings and promises. As we sat down again in our pews I casually glanced at those around us. With Barbie next to me I saw to each side and directly in front each of our four children and their spouses. On each of their laps sat a firstborn son. I reveled at the amazing beauty of this moment/ Could life ever feel better than this?<br />
Then suddenly a surprise. It was announced that the musical interlude would be performed by the Anderson siblings, soon on the stand we heard our children sing together for the first time in many years. Jeremy on bass, Samuel tenor, Rebecca sang the melody with Caitlin on the soprano descant. I was overcome with emotion.<br />
To paraphrase Elder Neal Maxwell, "If moments are the molecules that make up eternity, this was a <i>macro-molecule</i>."<br />
Is there a happier man than me? I think not. To be present at such gatherings, to return to work full time, to see my grandchildren born and develop. To have a new heart for six year that remains free of amyloid deposits, the wake up and fall asleep next to my true love and eternal companion everyday is more than I could have dreamed of a few short years ago.<br />
<br />
My Goal: Make as many new and lasting memories as possible<br />
My Plan: Stay alive<br />
My Hope: Increase in integrity and compassion in all that I do, like my Grandpa Anderson<br />
<br />
Kevin<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSNBfx9NDMhLgPDWNaFoiZzi7bih2ufXPsF4UvPirlc77wYblRf-Q95-O96foBhKLKM-avrbyPvj2rQ_FV_PNb-Etz0X3HsRsXxSzzz4NRMQoCMJQSvhbsyjpDY_47qNGQBV1r8ZbPFF0/s1600/IMG_6307.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSNBfx9NDMhLgPDWNaFoiZzi7bih2ufXPsF4UvPirlc77wYblRf-Q95-O96foBhKLKM-avrbyPvj2rQ_FV_PNb-Etz0X3HsRsXxSzzz4NRMQoCMJQSvhbsyjpDY_47qNGQBV1r8ZbPFF0/s1600/IMG_6307.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kent and Seth</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kent</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgojwOg9r-aITY54xDp9hHfC1yeFR7yyVtAsMFEMqYBfJ7k2vqARqdMzWL0IfiMc5BiK24YwjQjxgEarBqitATmxRg_2YwppMmcauGHercl4ESM7iSHDlLIXD3_xC7OB1RrPvH9gaBFX74/s1600/IMG_6332.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgojwOg9r-aITY54xDp9hHfC1yeFR7yyVtAsMFEMqYBfJ7k2vqARqdMzWL0IfiMc5BiK24YwjQjxgEarBqitATmxRg_2YwppMmcauGHercl4ESM7iSHDlLIXD3_xC7OB1RrPvH9gaBFX74/s1600/IMG_6332.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cousins</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMjf2Ew7Dgv6JosRPe5POzc7_XYhrCE_Qbv0-AFuAshuv7uAWqf5ykiM-HZW1jGRM2k5qq0IpB2D52e6oKydTGAhzdkTAOqpXXAGgKkhgXy8rfpaTxC8vjklDm-lVtJvFadeZdZsxGtQo/s1600/IMG_6369.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMjf2Ew7Dgv6JosRPe5POzc7_XYhrCE_Qbv0-AFuAshuv7uAWqf5ykiM-HZW1jGRM2k5qq0IpB2D52e6oKydTGAhzdkTAOqpXXAGgKkhgXy8rfpaTxC8vjklDm-lVtJvFadeZdZsxGtQo/s1600/IMG_6369.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jamison and Luke</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Four Generation (Mitochondrial line)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michele, Luke and Samuel</td></tr>
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<br />kevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-18833329828497007542014-04-08T20:48:00.000-07:002014-04-08T21:59:37.473-07:00New experiences<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Some people are thrill seekers. They are into extreme sports so they can get that "adrenaline rush". Yet, there is a certain sense that in taking risks you feel truly alive. I love to experience new things because it allows me to see the world from a different perspective. Ah, yes, the "per" words perspective and perception. These vernacularian twins represent vision divided by reality. What wise soul would not want to increase their perspective, thus allowing them to see the world from different angles, viewpoints, the other side to every story. Since perception is reality, at least at the individual level, the inherent value of fine-tuning our perception through the summation of its angles is immense. Perspective augments perception.<br />
Some new experiences require us to step outside of our comfort zone: Trying Thai food for the first time, riding a mule down the Grand Canyon, speaking at a press conference with the Speaker of the California State Assembly. Just jump in, the waters fine.<br />
Today Barbie and I spent the day at the California State Capitol in Sacramento. April is Donate Life Month and Donate Life California, of which I am a volunteer ambassador, was tasked to spend two days working as advocates (the non-profit word for lobbyists,) to encourage state senators and assembly members to vote for AB2399 which would facilitate simpler e-registration for organ donation. Barbie and I had no idea that this meant meeting with legislators and their staffers. In one office we met Sen. Berryhill who had a heart transplant 13 years ago. We shared an emotional moment as we remembered the gift and sacrifice of our donors.<br />
Finally, at the press conference, it was my turn to speak after the Speaker, Sen Perez (the bill's author). I was told that I had 2 1/2 minutes (oddly reminiscent of junior Sunday School 50 years ago.) Various disparate ideas coalesced into one of the most coherent messages that I have ever given. Even my laryngitis was momentarily transformed into a steady low bass. In essence I shared that the depth of gratitude that we as organ recipients share is beyond preparation. It wells up from the innermost core of our souls and remains a daily reminder of our indebtedness to the kindness of compassionate strangers.<br />
As I finished, the leaders at Donate Life California felt that I had properly shared their vision and their message.<br />
I have never experienced, first hand, the inner working of politics. I have new perspective which can now, hopefully, fine tune my perception.<br />
<br />
Are you an organ donor?<br />
<br />
Kevinkevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-17971867494148470542014-01-07T21:21:00.000-08:002014-01-07T21:47:33.666-08:00Eat Better in 2014"Eat Better in 2014" Catchy title. But this is not a blog on the virtues of vegan existence or grazing on crudites. It is about eating stuff that <i>tastes</i> better. And we all know what makes things taste better: FAT.<br />
For Christmas I asked for an A&W Root Beer mug set. (nothing's better than drinking root beer from a frosty mug.) and a Presto Fry Daddy deep fat fryer. Barbie bought the upgraded version with a lid and a basket (still under $25.00). Everyday during the Christmas break my son-in-law, Ben, would ask with child-like exuberance, "What can we fry today?!" We did sweet potato fries with a horseradish fry sauce, corn-dogs, green beans a la tempura (healthy crudites) and even deep fried Oreo cookies.<br />
Finally the day came when I had to attempt the coup de gras, double fried French Fries or, as we call them here in Southern Placer county, 'Lincoln Frites'.*<br />
For the record, I used many organic ingredients, even the plastic lid on the fryer and the extension cord were organic, albeit if your definition of organic refers to items composed of carbon-based molecules. Were synthetic fertilizers used on my potatoes or peanut oil? Actually, I do not know; nor do I care.<br />
I began by squaring off three Yukon Gold potatoes and cut them into 3/8" rods using a fry cutter called 'a sharp knife'. (The choice of Yukon Gold was arrived at when I opened the pantry and found some left over potatoes from Christmas Eve.) These were washed in ice cold water until clear and transferred to the fridge.<br />
Now these fries cannot be confused with Fast Food because it took over 10 minutes to heat the peanut oil to 325 degrees. I the cooked the fries for about five minutes until the outsides were barely crisping and the insides barely translucent.<br />
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Upon holding the fry, it was limp. (let it cool first.) These are then place aside in a bowl.<br />
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The oil is then heated to at 375 degrees.<br />
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The first batch I under-cooked because they mistakenly looked more golden brown in the fryer. The second batch I cooked for about four minutes and they were perfect; and I'm talking Celestial perfection.<br />
The fries are then drained on a deconstructed paper bag. The indigenous peoples of the Altiplano near lake Titicaca in Bolivia have been draining on paper bags for centuries as this is known to remove all of the oil from the potato thus rendering the fries 'fat free'.** (or is it un-rendering?) After a light dusting from your salt pig, you eat. These can be perfectly paired with nothing, or not nothing.<br />
They are great at work parties, weddings, divorces, Bar Mitzvahs (substitute Kosher salt) and in your RV while travelling to New York. (just set the fryer to 375 and the vehicle to cruise control. (even better with Burgundy sauce))<br />
The extra raw cut potatoes can be stored in water and fried up in the morning for breakfast.<br />
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Eat Better through more expensive oils with high smoke points<br />
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Eat Better with creative sauces all based on more fat<br />
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Eat Better with batter<br />
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Eat Better by calling your mayonnaise "aioli"<br />
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Better Eat quick, your fries are getting cold.<br />
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Kevin<br />
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* Now Gluten Free for people who don't actually have celiac sprue, but feel better when they don't eat gluten.<br />
**FDA disavows this claim as unsubstantiated.<br />
<br />kevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-25120196456707049232013-12-17T21:00:00.001-08:002013-12-17T21:09:36.833-08:00CarphoriaCarphoria <i>noun (karforeeah) <span style="font-size: xx-small;">OLD ENGLISH</span> </i><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The experience of exhilaration felt while driving home in your wife's convertible roadster with the top down in 65 degree mid-December weather from your Velcade (chemotherapy) injection appointment which is then augmented by having the general euphoria that comes 8 hours after ingesting large doses of steroids (Decadron) which makes you slightly hypo-manic prompting the playing of rock music at level 11; way louder than either your wife or audiologist would allow. Finally spiced by the wearing of shades, fedora and a care-worn leather jacket with the setting sun scene in the rear view mirror.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Speaking of Velcade, I have learned a few things about how best to receive it. First, and foremost, get it injected subcutaneously. It is just as effective and has less peripheral neuropathy complications. (see review on </span><a href="http://www.amyloidhope.org/" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank">AmmyloidHope.org</a><span style="font-family: inherit;">) Second, ask the nurse to inject it deep. The very first time I got it, the nurse placed the needle under the skin superficially by inserting the needle at an angle as she entered. This resulted in the drug both irritating the dermal layer of the abdominal skin and also getting absorbed into the skin lymphatic system. Within three days this caused severe skin inflammation with red-purple lines tracking to the groin where the now </span>inflamed<span style="font-family: inherit;"> lymphatics drain. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The next week I asked the nurse to push the 1/2 inch needle perpendicular to the skin and all the way to the hub. I actually grab my </span>abdominal<span style="font-family: inherit;"> wall to give them a deeper target so that it doesn't hit muscle. It's almost painless. The area still turns faint red is is mildly painful to touch, but it resolves in a few days instead of two weeks. Since I often have a different nurse each week, I offer a gentle reminder before they take the plunge.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Little things can make a big difference.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Kevin</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>kevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-60500996271594873162013-11-13T02:06:00.001-08:002013-11-13T02:11:47.216-08:00South Africa - Gem of the Southern HemisphereWe recently traveled to South Africa to Kruger National Park for a four day safari. Then it was off to Cape Town to experience the beauty and wonders of the southern most tip of the African continent. It seem a bit surreal that in the same year we have been to both ends of a continent that I never expected to visit in my lifetime. Tangier, Morocco and Cape Town, SA are as different as New Haven, CT and Lincoln, CA. The trip was magical. We were fortunate to have David and Natalie Boucher, (Maria Boatman's uncle and aunt) as our guides. They have traveled extensively to Africa as missionaries.<br />
We began in Kruger National Park, a game preserve, and stayed in the Skakuza Camp. It is fitting that Skauza has the phonetic ooZ in its name as we were literally in a reverse Zoo. We were in the cage with an electric fence keeping out the native animals.<br />
Everyone want to experience an encounter with a least one of the big five. Some visitors count themselves lucky to see more than one. We saw all five every day.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfwM3o5imorECupTt5S1SzBD_PmaGIlnojlxkth6bwqs2LaTDJOQvebdAUFyIownwSj_mYWNId2_jmtH53oc0y1pV5GSne-Q9fvFG-eb64X9EuXKZayz5ekEzeZr4MK1x86tI9DjKgbHc/s1600/IMG_4181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfwM3o5imorECupTt5S1SzBD_PmaGIlnojlxkth6bwqs2LaTDJOQvebdAUFyIownwSj_mYWNId2_jmtH53oc0y1pV5GSne-Q9fvFG-eb64X9EuXKZayz5ekEzeZr4MK1x86tI9DjKgbHc/s400/IMG_4181.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leopard</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtSjBQNH3jNPzOB25ADVJCaIeieErEXOwMR0nqwYWF_giIF11S_9-i53UUDo2UkJn5OiuX-Na5DibIgga2VYK6Ji2RjnnL5SPZLWW9kbfvws7yD2HPVtyKzUl99pahlz-nTd_Kd4WRLVE/s1600/IMG_4257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtSjBQNH3jNPzOB25ADVJCaIeieErEXOwMR0nqwYWF_giIF11S_9-i53UUDo2UkJn5OiuX-Na5DibIgga2VYK6Ji2RjnnL5SPZLWW9kbfvws7yD2HPVtyKzUl99pahlz-nTd_Kd4WRLVE/s400/IMG_4257.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lion</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdLGTxYDg2kXCuDcJI3Fi_pJdbI98TIFlVPPK29GlsyPfnSc1CKXKergXNFR3eA9np4FUVj21ThkolpRsvqlmjUP3ZTqxJGCe5HsLaHiUkC_r7gqCTL2rfTtQPZDJIYfYcdspwpVv3b_Q/s1600/IMG_4312.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdLGTxYDg2kXCuDcJI3Fi_pJdbI98TIFlVPPK29GlsyPfnSc1CKXKergXNFR3eA9np4FUVj21ThkolpRsvqlmjUP3ZTqxJGCe5HsLaHiUkC_r7gqCTL2rfTtQPZDJIYfYcdspwpVv3b_Q/s400/IMG_4312.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Savannah Eliphant</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">White Rhinoceros</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_wyEMxHR6z2SqU834Cpq3vnYTlT5qhvSNIAAGvfy1Kry3WKPADSCX04cQSNWitbf19pKmcIi-CJLV6GXn3ZFrYZx5fVWtYAo6giaTte40VPPUFgSa5JhgQdWh8sV-HQEGSaAe_TgDSO0/s1600/IMG_4912.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_wyEMxHR6z2SqU834Cpq3vnYTlT5qhvSNIAAGvfy1Kry3WKPADSCX04cQSNWitbf19pKmcIi-CJLV6GXn3ZFrYZx5fVWtYAo6giaTte40VPPUFgSa5JhgQdWh8sV-HQEGSaAe_TgDSO0/s400/IMG_4912.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">African Buffalo</td></tr>
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<span id="goog_1557391161"></span><span id="goog_1557391162"></span>In addition to these majestic beasts, we encountered numerous other mammals, exotic birds, giant reptiles.fascinating flowers and unique trees. It was a naturalist's dream. Our tour guide Knut and our safari guide and driver, Sam, made sure that we were up close and personal with the untamed world of Kruger.<br />
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Each night we would return to our thatched roof bungalows, gates were closed and we were treated to traditional South African food which is a combination of British meat and potatoes and South African item such as meli pap (a corn based porridge served with tomato-onion sauce) bobotie (a meat casserole) Biltong (jerky) and Malva pudding for dessert.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYCvPvz8xjKczvXD2YmLk52iJcMXONhh21ylh3pNDS59t_dFYoYqJ-mCHzaPH5EtQQOOVpfkADaaeAZ61wgI-jH0y24DsRyhaoRPyw8GoPmUpwYLgVswRA0JgEe9j57y1kjTkWG3ywcII/s1600/IMG_1842.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYCvPvz8xjKczvXD2YmLk52iJcMXONhh21ylh3pNDS59t_dFYoYqJ-mCHzaPH5EtQQOOVpfkADaaeAZ61wgI-jH0y24DsRyhaoRPyw8GoPmUpwYLgVswRA0JgEe9j57y1kjTkWG3ywcII/s400/IMG_1842.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skakuza Camp</td></tr>
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After a five hour bus ride to the Johannesburg airport we then flew to Cape Town and stayed near the waterfront. Highlights included a gondola ride to the top of table mountain. The most beautiful coastal drive to the Cape of Good Hope, Evenings on the waterfront having dinner with the Boatmans and the Cardinets, the trip to Robben Island where Mandela was imprisoned for 25 years and strolling through Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjselYl5xTmTq7sruHctJM8bPAazGLAsMpcmg4eLAvRv6EOiHTc0pT7kukjKh_xkuM_rYL6KTc2JqurPITC1Z4GGerZJ_tHG54YFN2pxSi371WrNAXQ-S8MOBjRKSk4vIOJzNpHjsWY3y0/s1600/Africa+013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjselYl5xTmTq7sruHctJM8bPAazGLAsMpcmg4eLAvRv6EOiHTc0pT7kukjKh_xkuM_rYL6KTc2JqurPITC1Z4GGerZJ_tHG54YFN2pxSi371WrNAXQ-S8MOBjRKSk4vIOJzNpHjsWY3y0/s400/Africa+013.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Native Village near Pretoria</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga_aygAm28akpNmg8XCgHE0x_4vX9nzcafxOQ-RqiQA0GvD-xb9rU6iQKOOSJgESz-ZO7jq6mGYJItMCGLiRe6ckB0Ct-sgvHoL2WK6M3GFLOCNz-lIr5hOm5v4tYc8Y6rlM-bXs7fmw0/s1600/Africa+811.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga_aygAm28akpNmg8XCgHE0x_4vX9nzcafxOQ-RqiQA0GvD-xb9rU6iQKOOSJgESz-ZO7jq6mGYJItMCGLiRe6ckB0Ct-sgvHoL2WK6M3GFLOCNz-lIr5hOm5v4tYc8Y6rlM-bXs7fmw0/s400/Africa+811.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cape of Good Hope</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc8IY0Z1h5y0AadTaHNKrjyJPYmjcstqeH_ShAPUR4Y-ohMUDr0AuMNncqFHzvbW6wpyvH92M-llUjJyXF4y6ie1k_w49gnt-fLAGLIsSJs7O-Jtq83Mnne5XIdR5A7yD7H_3NTsF1m9s/s1600/IMG_1923.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc8IY0Z1h5y0AadTaHNKrjyJPYmjcstqeH_ShAPUR4Y-ohMUDr0AuMNncqFHzvbW6wpyvH92M-llUjJyXF4y6ie1k_w49gnt-fLAGLIsSJs7O-Jtq83Mnne5XIdR5A7yD7H_3NTsF1m9s/s400/IMG_1923.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don, Jason and Me conquering Table Rock</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAXfDFSYCIKbJotyL1g4o8TklXVwEnB8G2nH_mq4qCGMnV0n6WOysAC9ZO6X6ZrlEXp9sgtQLGvipcUZlkHvaWD03suAks-CL3TNDGSFW6X8KDeVYeRwzVfIbMHMdMZSmk7eJ7EC5njLk/s1600/IMG_1945.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAXfDFSYCIKbJotyL1g4o8TklXVwEnB8G2nH_mq4qCGMnV0n6WOysAC9ZO6X6ZrlEXp9sgtQLGvipcUZlkHvaWD03suAks-CL3TNDGSFW6X8KDeVYeRwzVfIbMHMdMZSmk7eJ7EC5njLk/s400/IMG_1945.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coast drive</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMo0WPzV8oMMGyDpAte7rHCGgmnSqxBro5MnaiF-nl3rxSMyWZ28cj61rx2ZslrF7ldnvLxwGX8pCqGLGONGJMn-5c8HCcKJvBe-VGHcaQxoP22VwFleqC65Lhw6m7iBjZsaXFXcd5rws/s1600/IMG_1948.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMo0WPzV8oMMGyDpAte7rHCGgmnSqxBro5MnaiF-nl3rxSMyWZ28cj61rx2ZslrF7ldnvLxwGX8pCqGLGONGJMn-5c8HCcKJvBe-VGHcaQxoP22VwFleqC65Lhw6m7iBjZsaXFXcd5rws/s400/IMG_1948.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">White sands</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9wOwz1yc0GHi4UePydzc3bsHTMLZP5qV0bkY6u8FHhpZH3zniuM9mdskyu-ttt32MlBn76Ug39DOaReWKMpaNHx1sI2BGbS-HbFo04QGe8oxtDhCXON_eofZdxIVA9EJNfd36b1n5ExA/s1600/IMG_1987.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9wOwz1yc0GHi4UePydzc3bsHTMLZP5qV0bkY6u8FHhpZH3zniuM9mdskyu-ttt32MlBn76Ug39DOaReWKMpaNHx1sI2BGbS-HbFo04QGe8oxtDhCXON_eofZdxIVA9EJNfd36b1n5ExA/s400/IMG_1987.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kirstenbosch Garden below Table Rock with a table cloth</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzIduKbUdpkVwUCP_0T0ot1mi854Vstt6jmfh6xDJzZ7HdgHWnkCLajkyi2UYEq5wILV341FVZAMPI4bxJn9of9pwiYUX_0vGc9mUtmUKn8yuuNKvTt3Xh7whprZ_W8wE6H85yEPf7kDg/s1600/IMG_5414.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzIduKbUdpkVwUCP_0T0ot1mi854Vstt6jmfh6xDJzZ7HdgHWnkCLajkyi2UYEq5wILV341FVZAMPI4bxJn9of9pwiYUX_0vGc9mUtmUKn8yuuNKvTt3Xh7whprZ_W8wE6H85yEPf7kDg/s400/IMG_5414.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of Cape Town and Table Rock from Robben Island<br />
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South Africa will be a trip that we will remember and cherish forever.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Kevin</div>
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<br />kevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-37518051317176403662013-10-03T00:48:00.003-07:002013-10-03T01:36:42.628-07:00When the New Normal Becomes the Old Normal.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8G5V-w6a80y7n0-z22Z78LwTMWlIKe3Zp1PjOoaCwgDQJX6jM1F8Xb5MLkjhhzX4FZMLzDPv2NUSiRXFmI-xJOcs5ueDs2TU5087dCcILZ3Lq_1suG_sNvro42oHia8_fZgBXpnoNlBo/s1600/Sonoma+Coast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8G5V-w6a80y7n0-z22Z78LwTMWlIKe3Zp1PjOoaCwgDQJX6jM1F8Xb5MLkjhhzX4FZMLzDPv2NUSiRXFmI-xJOcs5ueDs2TU5087dCcILZ3Lq_1suG_sNvro42oHia8_fZgBXpnoNlBo/s400/Sonoma+Coast.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sonoma Coast</td></tr>
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In the midst of the anxiety surrounding the decision to undergo the bone marrow transplant I asked a question that hitherto I had not broached. Nor have I asked since. Before asking I was aware that doctors our lousy fortune tellers, but that didn't stop me. As Dr Schrier and I discussed the details of our joint decision to proceed with the procedure I asked him to predict my future. "If the stem cell transplant works, how long can I expect to live?" I asked, hoping for hope. "Well, generally after four years the disease tends to come back," he reported. Immediately I said, "I was hoping for ten years."<br />
Where did that number come from? Why not twenty? I see numbers in everything and ten years resided at the corner of pragmatism and optimism; facts and faith.<br />
After the stem cell transplant, but before I knew that it failed, I wrote a fictional story of a man who knew exactly when he was going to die. (Link to <a href="http://www.arborniche.com/uploads/1/8/8/5/18858234/_solids.pdf" target="_blank">Solids</a>) There was no pre-planned allegory or moral that I was trying to convey. It was just a story. Over the years I ascribed many things into the meaning of what 49 year old me was feeling as 54 year old me re-read it. What I see most now is the consummate importance of the unknown. We metaphorilize the future unknown as darkness, yet is it only the place where the light has yet to shine; and we hold the beacon.<br />
Two and a half years ago I stepped down as chief of my department. It was hard to fulfill all of my responsibilities while working only three days a week with mounting side effects of my varied chemotherapy drugs. I was often sick for extended periods of time. I remained on disability and closed my practice to new patients. I focused on a referral practice to treat prostate cancer with radioactive seeds and continued stone lithotripsy on Fridays. Dr. Troxel asked how much longer I expected to work. Given my knowledge of the natural progression of amyloidosis I said I figured to work two more years assuming by then things would have worsened.<br />
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The future had a different plan for me.<br />
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I continued my chemo. Slowly, I better adapted to the predictable outcomes of my drugs and their side effects seemed less onerous. My disease responded better than expected as the treatment repelled and tamed my bad clones. The tiger remained, but was now quietly curled in the corner just barely out of sight.<br />
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Just over two months ago Barbie observed that I hadn't been sick for a long time. I realized that she was right. She added that maybe I should consider going back to work, not only in extending my work hours, but also to take on full duty responsibilities. As such, I would do many more of the types of surgeries that I was trained to do. This would also include call. There have been many times in our marriage when Barbie will suggest something that would completely change the course of where I thought we were going and immediately I know that she is right. It was time to eschew the safety net of disability and move forward with the goal to continue working until I am old enough to retire, just like everyone else does.<br />
<br />
Today was that day. I began the first day of my new old life as just a regular urologist working with my partners again to take care of whomever needs our care. It was wonderful. The patients I met today will be my patients for a long time. I truly have no idea of how long I will live nor do I think about it much. I have returned to the masses who live in blissful ignorance of their own mortality. It's a wonderful neighborhood.<br />
<br />
How many times have I used the lesson of the importance of accepting the new normal unaware that my old normal lay in the unseen reaches where time takes us all. When the new normal becomes the old normal it uncovers the magnificent adventure that it is to fall forward into the unknown we call future.<br />
<br />
"Ten years? Sounds like someone is bargaining with God." Dr Schier had told me.<br />
We are <i>still</i> on good terms.<br />
<br />
Kevinkevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-34730751862778217282013-09-12T00:54:00.000-07:002013-09-12T01:06:26.881-07:00Novato: Edified in 6 Edifices of Essential Education<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Two weeks ago I hurried home after holding our new grandson, Jamison, so that I could return to my hometown of Novato, CA to speak at my old high school. As an ambassador for the California Transplant Donor Network I have the opportunity to encourage students to choose life and become organ donors when they get their driver's license. I was extremely excited as I had not visited my high school since I graduated in 1976. The evening prior an article about my visit appeared in the local 'paper' The Novato Patch <a href="http://novato.patch.com/groups/around-town/p/novato-hs-grad-with-new-lease-on-life-urging-students-to-join-donor-network" target="_blank">(see article here)</a> Early Wednesday morning on the August 28 I mistakenly left at 4:00 am as my alarm clock was an hour early. As such, I arrived in Novato two hours early. I decided to tour the places representing my youth.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6g3XmnndLhAMm_eXB-Sor8RZMGpL_T7rj7aEQSVT1E3b3m5tC1j0W0KkTwWkFdekMM1jN6bitb0iu6-JS37alr7gy0F7onTc1IX1PXYp1CQ2KXg7daDoQ33KaVJL9M6tM2z49s6pYYsU/s1600/scan0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6g3XmnndLhAMm_eXB-Sor8RZMGpL_T7rj7aEQSVT1E3b3m5tC1j0W0KkTwWkFdekMM1jN6bitb0iu6-JS37alr7gy0F7onTc1IX1PXYp1CQ2KXg7daDoQ33KaVJL9M6tM2z49s6pYYsU/s400/scan0001.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Calle Paseo House age 4-11</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loma Verde Elementary</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Corte Alta house (moved in when sibling # 9 was born)<br />
Age 12-19</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">San Jose Junior High</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT5FCCYKS648Uq7EfOXmxjKhfupSTXP-pi1QzU702kOBzwbABhEzHvsDe7WGbNNV3YLCmEVvlfiNlouOiPQVDuML4GzDG4tQf8kK4AfJ81AIKTLpcxFtgIlIH_uMXj_Qf69OLi-zlR-oQ/s1600/IMG_0139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT5FCCYKS648Uq7EfOXmxjKhfupSTXP-pi1QzU702kOBzwbABhEzHvsDe7WGbNNV3YLCmEVvlfiNlouOiPQVDuML4GzDG4tQf8kK4AfJ81AIKTLpcxFtgIlIH_uMXj_Qf69OLi-zlR-oQ/s400/IMG_0139.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Novato High</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicsWDRJSpKCSIoc4farYiG6jIyQVMBx498iS1F5l9KXfw2sDjdP5oX66-p1X5Yuo98VYA-hzzKJKi1TvwhB5pFSqU2uBw38QbPyJd3mk3gWRQIkzP_Q3OlzTgUvsxik5-12ITcFzqZ1z0/s1600/IMG_0136.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicsWDRJSpKCSIoc4farYiG6jIyQVMBx498iS1F5l9KXfw2sDjdP5oX66-p1X5Yuo98VYA-hzzKJKi1TvwhB5pFSqU2uBw38QbPyJd3mk3gWRQIkzP_Q3OlzTgUvsxik5-12ITcFzqZ1z0/s400/IMG_0136.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Novato LDS Church<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">I spent 87% of my life from age four to 16 in these buildings and therein learned most of the precepts and values that shaped who I am and what I could become. I had some amazing teachers. Mr. McNern, my third grade teacher, not only taught me extraordinary new ideas in math, geography, world studies and linguistics, he supported my fragile ego just when I first learned that I was poorly coordinated in sports and therefore <i>de facto</i> unpopular. When I said that I wanted to be president of the United States he completely believed in me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">The man who taught me algebra in 8th grade was Mr. Orth and he was very cool for an old man. Recently, his neighbor came to see me for treatment of his prostate cancer and sent me Mr Orth's phone number with an invitation to call. Mr. Orth's octogenarian voice answered with youthful effervescence still intoned. "Kevin Anderson," he mused. "Weren't you that sandy haired Mormon boy from a large family?" "That's me." I chucked. What a simplistic description my young life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">I thanked him for teaching me algebra and teaching me how to teach. I was later a T.A. for him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">I stopped by my church where I spent so many hours a week for 15 years. Oh the lessons I learned there: on keeping God's commandments, on studying scripture, on the duties of a priest, on learning how to ask a girl to dance, on tying knots that could save your life; or somebody else's.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Soon, however, it was time to go to Novato High. I had to walk by my old chemistry and pre-calculus classes. Mr Hicks and Mr Schrick respectively prepared me for college and medical school as they enlarged my understanding more than almost any other teacher until I met Dr Bradshaw my last year of college.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Nostalgia overload then gave way to the task of convincing two classes of new freshmen to check the organ donor box at the DMV. I told them my story of how I am here because of Shane, my heart donor. I sensed understanding in their eyes as their numerous questions confirmed the seeds on conviction. It was my turn to teach in my old school.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">The last two buildings were our homes. Dad taught us to work hard and how to treat others in society. He taught us to respect women. Mom answered my unending curiosity about everything. One day I asked, "Why do our memories begin around age three?" She thought for a minute and explained, "It is probably related to when we start speaking so that we can remember with words." That seemed so wise to me, it still does.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">All of the buildings look mostly unchanged over 40 years. The trees were bigger. It was the people in them that had changed, just as the world outside did the same.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">I am forever grateful for my teachers. What they taught me I taught to others; and so it goes on <i>ad infinitum</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Novato was good to me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Kevin</span></div>
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kevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-74817739408098308492013-08-18T15:44:00.001-07:002013-08-18T16:04:34.634-07:00Between Birthdays<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Thank you, Shane</div>
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I get to celebrate two birthdays. Friday, August 16, was my heart's 5th birthday while tomorrow, August 19, the rest of me will be 54. I feel great. No, I actually feel better than great, but I would need to invent a new word to describe that; .... I feel euphorolicious. ?? Maybe not, how about wonderpendous. Recently Barbie commented that for the last many months I haven't been sick. Reading between the lines I also understood her to say, "You are not as annoying as usual two days after Decadron." I took this not only as a complement, but also as an affirmation that things are working well. When asked by a friend why am I doing so well five years later I responded that I don't have any medical or logical explanation. I thank God for this.<br />
Last week I went to Santa Clara for my biennial left heart catheterization and my semiannual right heart cath. (how are semi and bi different?) My coronary arteries are wide open. My cardiac index is 2.3 (normal), my right heart pressures are normal. My echocardiogram looks great with an E.F. of 65% (Very Good to Excellent). The heart biopsy showed No Evidence of Rejection (NER) and, the envelope please, no amyloid in my 5 year-old heart.<br />
Barbie and I are so pleased at this news. We have incrementally increased our 10-year marital bond yield to a 40th anniversary. There is a lot of interest in that.<br />
Today Barbie directed the choir for stake conference. She was magnicredible. The best two choral directors that I have ever sung for are Barbie and John Bringhurst; although I like Barbie a little better and she is nicer to look at. She has this gift of pulling beautiful music out of a choir of mixed experience and we all feel better having sung together under her direction.<br />
I love how music expresses what words cannot convey. Maybe I should sing a song about how I feel now. But since I sing Tenor eleven notes off, I shall sing solo that no one hears me. Groan.<br />
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You've been a great audience<br />
<br />
Kevin<br />
(No, this was not written under the influence of steroids; this is really me.)kevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-90147298745268372112013-08-08T01:07:00.000-07:002013-08-08T02:08:46.107-07:00 Hallelujah<div style="text-align: center;">
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I am a Christian. In first grade we were at recess one day. I was in line to climb the monkey bars. I had just dropped from the rings and landed wrong such that I came slamming down on the potato sized 'tan bark'; that's what we called it. The rip in the knees of my hand-me-down jeans (with double cuffs so that they fit) got even larger. No blood, so on to the next gravity testing device. The girl behind me asked what religion I was. I responded, "I am a Christian." Later, I understood that I was also a Mormon and was sub-categorized as to the type of Christian that I was. Later, in High School, I was ridiculed by teachers and students alike for being the wrong kind of Christian, or for believing in God at all. Through all this I felt in my heart that monikers don't matter. I always knew that God was there and that He loved me.<br />
As Mormons we tend to express our faith quietly and feel our exhilaration inwardly. Our hallelujahs are in our hymns while our amens remain in our prayers. While in Connecticut, new members to our faith would often express their emotions in our meetings with the language to which they were accustom. Praise the Lord and Praise God would be loudly heard. I often wished that I had the courage to do the same. But my culture was different.<br />
Today has been a really good day. My health score is 98.6. It started with a visit to a friend whose father miraculously recovered from a deadly brain cancer four years ago. But now it is coming back. We spoke of life and death, faith and hope, and ultimately we arrived at that unanswerable question, "why do some live while others die?" This is a hard question. Two soldiers in war: one dies one survives. Two teens in a car accident; two patients with the same disease. All were being prayed for. What does this mean to the faith of those praying? Why is it essential that we require cause and effect for all outcomes, whether good or bad? Then come the theological <i>non sequiturs. "</i>Why did God actively cause this death?" "Why did God passively allow this death?" and finally, "God is cruel, so I will reject Him." I truly do not understand these sentiments as they go against everything that I understand about this world and God. Bad things happen for both random and human controlled reasons. God understands and supports us thereby allowing <i>us</i> to then respond in a way that teaches us who we really are and what we are capable of. To do otherwise would rob us of our true purpose for existence. Yet, there are also times when we feel His influence leading us to miraculous moments. I do not now nor likely ever will understand why these outcome differences exist. I defer to His wisdom.<br />
Then one day a few weeks ago I realized that I had it backwards. Death is not a curse, it is a blessing. Well, maybe not to the individual dying, rather to our world as a whole. Imagine, for a minute, a world in which there was no death. What would it be like? What defines a cancer cell? It is a cell that never dies; it is immortal. This would be fine if the cell was also perfect. On the contrary, these cells are corrupted. They do bad and unnatural things. It would be the same with immortal humans. They would remain selfish and vengeful. When the space and resources eventually ran low the stronger, more clever and cunning ones would subjugate and contain the rest for eternity. It would be hell on earth. Immortality only works with perfected souls.<br />
In life we fulfill our purpose. In death we move on. It is the loved that remain who feel the pain. This may be why we choose not to talk about death; yet it is not a failure of faith rather its fulfillment.<br />
Barbie commented this evening that she has noticed that my health has significantly improved over the last few months, even on chemotherapy. She is right. I feel wonderful most of the time. I tried to think of a reason why I am doing so well. My logic remained vacant. All I was left with was the strong feeling to consider God's continuing miracles in my life.<br />
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Praise God! Hallelujah! Amen and amen.<br />
<br />
Kevinkevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-77287680336882079322013-08-01T01:25:00.002-07:002013-08-01T01:44:45.262-07:00NEOD001<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last Saturday I drove to the quarterly Northern California Amyloidosis support group held at the Walnut Creek Kaiser. It was wonderful to reconnect with so many friends and fellow patients. Charlesetta looks great after her bone marrow transplant. She's like me, first a heart then BMT. Dena had invited the chief science officer from Prothena to speak about their new drug in phase 1 clinical trials to target amyloidosis, NEOD001. THIS IS REALLY IMPORTANT. Never has a company targeted a drug to only treat amyloidosis. Most of our current drugs we borrow from the world of multiple myeloma. The main paradigm shift is that we can now focus, not just on the plasma cell, but rather the toxic light chain proteins themselves.</div>
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This is tricky. The light chain has two parts: The hypervariable region and the constant region. The hypervaiable region is like a snowflake; no two are alike. Concomitantly each patient's bad light chain is also different, likely arising from a random mutation in this same region. As such, no one drug (antibody) could target them all. Additionally, if you designed the drug to attack the constant region, it would attack all of our antibodies, both the good, the bad and the ugly. Alas, how do we correct this conundrum? Aha! The cleverness of y'all. First you ask, "What is common to all misfolded light chains? Answer: they are misfolded. When normal good-guy antibodies correctly fold they hide, or physically cover a region that is common to all light chains. Misfolded bad light chains swing open, like a gate on a hinge and, Viola! the cryptic epitope is now exposed and visible. NEOD001 is an antibody that is designed and produced in manufactured cell cultures. It specifically targets this previously hidden amino-acid sequence, activates the immune response and the<b><i> terminator</i></b> arrives to clean up the mess. The toxic villains are neutralized and removed from both the serum and the tissues. The normal, good-guy antibodies are unaffected because this target sequence is still hidden deep inside; unavailable to the drug. Wow, what a concept.<br />
One of our group members in currently in the study and shared that he seems to be doing just fine with no untoward effects. We thanked him for doing this for us.</div>
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This changes everything, if it works. </div>
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Until now, I have always considered amyloidosis incurable. My current fight is not to be cured, but rather to shut down my plasma cells with drugs so that fewer light chains are floating around to attack my new heart. </div>
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Now, by detoxifying the rogue light chains, it isn't exactly the definition of cure, but it feels the same. It is possible that we will stop using the term fatal with this disease. We will manage our disease and move on with our lives.</div>
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That would be nice</div>
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Kevin</div>
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P.S. I like that the Prothena logo looks like a gamma-globulin (antibody) designed to look like a "P"</div>
kevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-83129307698042672362013-07-25T00:10:00.000-07:002013-07-25T00:33:59.391-07:00The moment of ellipse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I have had more than a few people ask me recently, 'What does "The Middle of Infinity" mean?' Well, it has meant different things to me at different times. Because of this I often ask in return, "What does it mean to you? I have received many answers, most of which contain a common theme; something to do with being in the present moment. This definitely resonates with me. It is quite common to hear from almost all individuals that have experienced a 'mortality awareness event' to comment on how it changed their priorities and the perceptions of what is important in their lives. The little annoyances and pet peeves are cleared away like cobwebs and musky old drapery. The newly cleaned windows illuminate the saved soul and, for a time, they bask in the moment.<br />
This is truly how I felt immediately when I woke up from the heart transplant. I was, and still am, a new man. The<a href="http://www.kevinandbarbie.com/2008/08/hug-shared-heart.html" target="_blank"> first blog</a> that I wrote in my mind only two days later ended with the phrase, <i>"</i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><i>Past regrets and future concerns have no place in the moment of presence. What I have learned from all of this is to cherish the present."</i> Later, in a fictional story I penned called "<a href="http://www.arborniche.com/uploads/1/8/8/5/18858234/_solids.pdf" target="_blank">Solids</a>", Arthur, the protagonist, in a moment of epiphany realizes that, <i>"</i></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Times New Roman, Times, FreeSerif, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><i>The present is the gift we give ourselves."</i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Times New Roman, Times, FreeSerif, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">For some reason I think elliptically and, as such, I also occasionally write in similar fashion. In our conversations, Barbie will say something which will cause me to think of something tangentially related, which will remind me of something else and so on. Five and a half thoughts and 3.791 seconds later I will begin verbalizing my new pondering; all previous frame of reference having completely evaporated. Barbie now has no idea of whom or what I am talking about. I often do this with words and phrases. Recently, at the produce market, I started bagging my groceries while the salesperson was still ringing me up. He jokingly commented that they would have to start paying me whereas I responded, "Well, it is the shortest distance between two points." It took him a second to realize that I was referring to economy of motion and economy of time. So what does any of this have to do with being present. (Now you know how Barbie feels.)</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Times New Roman, Times, FreeSerif, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">How long is a moment? Is it a zero dimensional point in the middle an infinite timeline lasting exactly 0.012 nanoseconds? For me a moment feels more like a focused connection during an event. As I recollect them I subdivide and compartmentalize them into my memory. When I remember getting married the moment that I cherished was not purely the few seconds when we were pronounced married, rather the moment began when I entered the room and ended when we left and my focus shifted. Some moments last seconds while others can go on for many minutes, even an hour. For me memories of moments occur in blocks of time. At least this is how I organize them. Somehow, now when I say </span><i style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">cherish the moment</i><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"> I need to remind myself to cherish the uninterrupted focus. Then passively my mind shifts into elliptical gear and the train of thought is derailed. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">To cherish the moment means actively holding the focus on what matters most; the person present before you.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Over time it is easy to forget that epiphany manifest through salvation and fall into old habits. Then something beautiful is noticed, an amber and gold sunset, a baby grasps your finger, a hug from an old friend and the awe and wonder returns.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Kevin</span>kevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-35377421540794676412013-07-18T00:25:00.000-07:002013-07-18T01:02:43.782-07:00Writing is Hard<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Writing is hard. Writing a book is really hard. I mentioned to Barbie the other day that I believe that everyone has at least one book in them; the story of their own life. Some would write it as an autobiography while others would fictionalize it, as did Harper Lee with "To Kill a Mockingbird". What keeps everyone from writing a book? It's not easy. Well, it wasn't easy for me. I am sure that there are many writers that can sit down every day and bang out five to eight thousand words. The thinking part is easy. I wrote the book a hundred times in my mind. Yet the application of fingers (that is two index fingers) to keyboard has always been very difficult for me.<br />
It took three years to write. And yet if I counted the number of days that I actually wrote it would be less than 50. When I switched from Revlimid to Velcade two years ago I suffered many new side effects. One of which was a lack of motivation. However, I could be guaranteed that at least one day a week that motivation would return. This occurred on Wednesday evenings when my high dose of steroids was in full force. This is when the hypomania portion of my drug induced bipolarity bubbles to the surface. However, the motivation produced is also accompanied by a certain degree of disinhibition which allows for a more soul-baring and uncensored writing.<br />
My two greatest challenges in the process were first: how do I truly paint a picture with words that conveys the full emotional impact of the moment? And second: how do I fuse the retrospective narrative with the prospectively written blogs to maintain continuity while avoiding redundancy. In the latter, Barbie was immensely helpful. She read and re-read the manuscript offering invaluable input.<br />
Then one day in January it was done. Writing is just the beginning. Now you have to get it published. Ten years ago I would have been at the mercy of literary agents and the big publishing houses. We now enter the world of self-publishing. In January I knew nothing of this world. It has now become my new hobby.<br />
First yo go to the source of all useless knowledge (and some very useful knowledge: Google.) I found a book called <a href="http://www.amazon.com/APE-Author-Publisher-Entrepreneur-How-Publish/dp/0988523108/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374132655&sr=1-1&keywords=a.p.e" target="_blank">A.P.E</a> and downloaded it to Barbie's Kindle. It teaches the novice author how to <u>A</u>uthor, <u>P</u>ublish and market (<u>E</u>ntrepreneur) a book. I followed the steps, doubling back on certain blind pathways, and ultimately decided to have the book self published through CreateSpace, a subsidiary of Amazon. They provide a publish-on-demand service such that the physical book is only printed when someone orders it through Amazon. What a concept; no inventory.<br />
First, though it had to be edited. When my editor, Sarah Bringhurst Familia, sent me revised manuscript, it was bleeding red on every page. Yet, as I clicked and accepted her changes, it became a real book.<br />
Next was designing a cover. This was really fun. I found a website <a href="http://www.99design.com/" target="_blank">www.99design.com</a> that, for $299, will create a contest where designers compete to build you the perfect cover. Ultimately I had 19 designers submit 64 designs. The last day of the contest Barbie called me to say a new design came in that was awesome. I immediately knew that this as yet anonymous designer had captured my vision and that we had found our cover. In the end it was a graphic design professor from the University of Viterbo, near Rome, Italy, that one the $200 prize. The longest process was the internal book design done by CreateSpace to format the interior. And now it is done.<br />
I have learned so much in that last six months about writing and publishing. We live in a world where so much more is available to us because of the internet. Seemingly impossible things are not just possible, but relatively easy. No one needs to forgo their dreams anymore. You just need to know what question to ask and to whom.<br />
The book is now out there; for some I hope that they may find in it comfort and hope in their struggles. For others, I just hope it is a good story. For me it is a testament to miracles.<br />
<br />
Kevinkevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-11672436782158130802013-06-26T23:46:00.000-07:002013-06-26T23:53:17.920-07:00Bashir's Invitation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Recently, Barbie and some of the family and I travelled to Southern Spain to the Costa del Sol in Andalucia. I was stunned at the beauty of the mountainous terrain as it descended into the beautiful Mediterranean Sea. The waters of 'Middle Earth' are met with numerous small towns; each with their own unique charm, Estepona, San Pedro de la Alcantara and the hermosisimo, Marbella. We thoroughly enjoyed our daily excursions as we met people who were welcoming and kind to us. I love the Spanish accent. It sounded so clear in my Argentine ears.<br />
I had a goal to claim Africa as a continent that I had set foot in. We were close enough to see the mountains of Morocco in Northern Africa while sitting on the couch in our villa at the Marriott. To get to Morocco was actually quite simple. We drove 45 minutes to Tarifa, a small town just past the Rock of Gibraltar. Tarifa forms the corner between the Atlantic and the Mediterranean. A fast ferry then carried us to Tangiers for the day.<br />
Our tour guide met us at the dock (If you go to Tangiers on FRS, get the tour. It's cheaper and a much better way to see the city than walking.) He introduced himself as Bashir in English that was quite understandable. He seemed quite laid-back and unaffected. I liked him. He could so easily engage in such casual banter that I could envision visiting with him over a ceviche tostada sitting on the sea wall of the Pacific Beach boardwalk in San Diego.<br />
He described the city as we drove in and around it. Eventually he took us to the open market in Medina and finally to the Casba for lunch. While walking he made reference to the Moroccan flag with its five-pointed star, each point representing the five pillars of Islam. As he later described the minarets and the call to prayer five times a day, I asked if the frequency was also connected to the five pillars. He did not know if they were correlated.<br />
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After lunch, we were requisitely funneled through the shops of hard-sell vendors of rugs and spices. (These likely subsidised the lower cost of our ferry tariffs.) Finally, we were back on the streets of the Casba, mercilessly hounded by street vendors that would follow me for blocks.<br />
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Trying to escape, I walked down to a mosque decorated with geometric green and white tiles. Somehow I instinctively knew not to enter. I stood at the door gazing in. In a moment Bashir was next to me. As I turned toward him, his face got very close to mine and with all seriousness he said, "you seem to be a very wise man." I didn't know what to say. Then he continued, "do you want to go to hell or to heaven?" I answered, "To heaven, of course." He then proceeded to urgently invite me to study Islam. He reasoned that he could not stand before Allah at judgment day and admit that he did not share the truth with me when he had the chance. It was <i>deja vu</i>. This was a rationale that I had also used when teaching Christ's Gospel in Argentina. We then engaged in an absolutely lovely discussion about our beliefs in <i>one</i> God. He said that Muhammad's message was not just for Islam, but for the entire world. He said that Jesus was also a prophet. I said that, for, me Jesus is the Son of God and that his teachings were for all people as well.<br />
Was I offended at his invitation? Not at all. I was honored that he saw in me someone who could listen openly to something that he cherished. I was struck that our differences paled in comparison to what we held in common. We both have the same goals. Live honorably by studying what we are taught in our scriptures that we may return to a loving God.<br />
I thanked him as he left us at the dock to again return to Spain; to Europe. As I sat on the ferry I reflected on the courage he had to share with me his faith. And then I thought, when you value something so much, why would you not share it?<br />
I learned much from Bashir that day.<br />
<br />
Kevinkevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-45491356742265409922013-05-23T00:16:00.000-07:002013-05-23T00:17:34.993-07:00Hard Questions -- Good Questions<br />
Social media allows for the interactive dissemination of information without boundaries. The possibilities then extend beyond the limits of our personal understanding and credulity. One must just find the right question.<br />
For many years two questions have plagued me. Both relate to the process and results of a stem cell transplant (SCT) or to as it is sometimes referred, a bone marrow transplant. I have read numerous scientific articles describing the outcomes of SCT for AL amyloidosis but found that many of the reports did not differentiate the survival rates, or even include data regarding how many patients, and for how long, were spared the need of continued use of chemotherapy after their treatment.<br />
Since my SCT failed, (at least based on my blood tests that immediately showed not only no decrease in my light chain levels, but rather a doubling of those bothersome proteins,) I was also keen to understand why at the cellular level.<br />
I have learned that often the best source of discovery regarding a rare disease is from the people that live with it every day. So I went to that repository of combined life experience and wisdom, the patients. In the past I had joined an online amyloidosis support group and recently felt to reconnect there. As I began to read many of the comments, old personal questions began to resurface. Finally today I wrote the following.<br />
<br />
<i>There are two questions to which I wish I knew the answers. First, does a SCT fail because the Melphalan fails to kill all of the plasma cell clones in the bone marrow? Or is it that survivable clones are re-implanted with the stem cells? Second, my goal for stem cell transplant was to be free of chemo for at least two years. (I don't like taking dexamethasone.) What percentage of patients that have a SCT remain off chemo for at least two years? </i><br />
<br />
I was encouraged at the number and caring quality of the responses that I received. But three in particular had important insights that taught me things that I needed to learn.<br />
First was from a man whose experience was a major reason that I wrote the questions. I had met some amyloidosis patients that had complete responses from their SCT, they were successes, yet their oncologists still kept them on chemotherapy, just in case. Tim wrote the following.<br />
<br />
<i>I had an SCT in July of 2011 at xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxx (had consults at mayo as well). I had VelDex as a front line treatment prior to transplant and achieved near complete response after transplant. My doc wanted to see if we could get to complete response so we resumed VelDex in November of 2011 and continued treatment until June of 2012. I was getting really run down from chemo so voluntarily stopped after a consult at mayo where the specialist there said that they would not have treated at all and would have just waited to see. Flash forward nearly a year and my numbers remain stable and I'm hoping to be chemo free for at least a year. I feel good off the chemo teat and will be wary of getting pushed back on in the future.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Another woman described her story with the preface that she generally did not respond on the site because her story is 'discouraging'. Yet her story was my story. Her SCT failed and she remains on chemotherapy. I felt connected with her and shared my hope that new treatments are already available and on the horizon. It is a good time to be alive.<br />
<i><br /></i>
But the one that affected me the most was from woman who also failed the SCT and her light chain levels remain elevated. But her doctors are not treating her with chemo. This is the question that Barbie and I have been asking for four years. Is the chemo adding days to my life? What would happen if I stopped it?<br />
This woman, named Jan, offered the following after describing her numbers, which were my numbers; except that she is not on chemo.<br />
<br />
<i>But as someone said, we are all different. And for us as individuals, the</i><br />
<i>statistics are meaningless. We either had a response or not. We either need more</i><br />
<i>treatment or not.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I totally agree with you. I really would like to avoid chemo if I can. So far I</i><br />
<i>can...I live from 3 month check up to 3 month check up, always knowing it could</i><br />
<i>change. Hoping the best for you.</i><br />
<br />
Ultimately, Muriel Finkel, the site administrator found the answers through her connections at the Mayo clinic.<br />
<br />
To question 1: The SCT doesn't always kill all of the bad clones in the bone marrow.<br />
<br />
To question 2: 80% of patients with a successful SCT remain off chemotherapy for at least two years.<br />
<br />
This news was very encouraging to me. Generally, scientific studies speak of success in terms of overall survival (who's still alive at 5 years) and disease free progression (who has no evidence of disease progression at 5 years) These numbers refer to quantitative success. They often don't report on whether those patients were on adjuvant (or continued) chemotherapy, (qualitative success). This is what I want to know as this is what makes our days miserable while we wait to add to the survival statistics. Living a long time is great. Living a long time off chemo is outstanding.<br />
So what's next? For now I will remain on chemo. But I am encouraged by those that have chosen a different path having asked these hard questions. Not with just their words, but with their minds and bodies.<br />
<br />
Kevin<br />
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kevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-29752764212004514002013-05-09T01:33:00.001-07:002013-05-09T01:39:54.879-07:00Where do we go from here?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The first week after receiving the diagnosis of amyloidosis is the most confusing. Everyone that knows you wants to help. Suddenly dozens of voices are offering advice and it is difficult to see which way to turn. These are good voices of people you trust and who care about you; but you just don't have all of the facts yet. Not to mention, you feel like crap.<br />
The internet only makes it worse. Initially, you find sites that only speak in vague generalities and appear to be copy and pasted from some unknown literary progenitor. Finally, you find and abstract written in medical jargon that offers more details, but you cannot read the whole article unless you pay for it.<br />
Your primary care doctor make an appointment with a hematologist/oncologist, but they have only had one prior amyloidosis patient in the last 18 years. Besides, how do you know what questions to ask them? It is a very confusing week. It was for me and I am a doctor.<br />
My sister works with cancer patients and has vast experience with chemotherapy and bone marrow transplants. I told her that my Kaiser doctors had suggested that I go to the Mayo Clinic for my work-up. Her colleague, a professor at the University of Washington said, "No, he needs to go to Boston University, they are the best at treating amyloidosis." I felt torn. Do I go back and tell my doctors that they are wrong in their recommendation? Or do I trust them implicitly?<br />
Finally, around week two - three a groundwork is laid. The smoke clears and you find your advocates. The doctors, nurses, social workers and caregivers who light the first part of the path so that you can move forward. A plan is proposed and it feels right. You take the first step.<br />
Every amyloidosis patient has a story of their delay-in-diagnosis. Unfortunately, this is the rule, not the exception. It is an uncommon disease with common symptoms. It is not easy to diagnose. Someone has to think about it. Notwithstanding, once diagnosed, and properly verified. We need to forget past delays, miscommunications and annoyances and move forward. This need no longer be a fatal diagnosis, and to the doctors that recommend getting our affairs in order we could respond, "with all do respect, I suggest the same for you, doctor." Doctors are terrible at predicting when someone will die if it longer than a month.<br />
Where you receive your care is an emotional decision affected by many factors: the burden of travel, family issues, work issues, money, cost of care, insurance coverage. These limitations are set against the understandable desire to get the best care that we can. It truly can be a matter of life and death. What I have learned as a physician, and now as a patient, is the power of the team. No one person can be at the top of their game 100% of the time. With a team, each person specializes in certain aspects of the process so fewer things are missed, Teams tend to use protocols and 'best practices'; learning from the successes of others. Teams are not necessary for all diagnoses, just the really complicated ones. Often these teams are referred to as centers of excellence. They are everywhere.<br />
Amyloidosis centers of excellence are found throughout the country. Although, we all owe a great debt of gratitude to the pioneers in our diagnosis that have laid the groundwork, done the research and written the papers so that all can learn from their collective experience. The Mayo Clinic and Boston University and others, stand out as giants in this area. We owe them our lives. Those who find new treatments for multiple myeloma also help immensely as so many drugs that start there transfer to us.<br />
All of this knowledge, available to all and administered through centers of excellence can truly assuage our anxiety such that we know that the place that we are at is the right one for us. This is not a time for doubt, but for trust.<br />
I no longer consider my diagnosis fatal. Yes, I will die and yes, it will likely be from complications of amyloidosis. But I am still alive and I shouldn't be. Since each day is, for me, a gift, the need to live a long life is no longer the goal. Rather, the goal now is to learn every day and to give love through service every day. This is where we go from here and the journey continues.<br />
<br />
Kevinkevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-91966441909414515412013-05-01T18:31:00.000-07:002013-05-01T18:58:20.202-07:00Fruit FliesYesterday the operating room where I work suffered a four hour delay. Someone had left a bag of fruit in the break room over the weekend. A few fruit flies were seen nearby. However, when the bag was finally found and opened thousands of fruitflies escaped. (I see a metaphor here to gossip, but with a pillow and feathers; but I digress.) It was clear that it would take a few hours to clear out and sterilize the area. We were scheduled to do three radioactive seed implant cases for the treatment of prostate cancer.<br />
Wanting to ascertain the status of our day, I hovered near the main office where a high level pow-wow was in progress. The head anesthesiologist was commenting on how cases using implants would need to be rescheduled because of their heightened need for absolute sterility. Still just outside the door, I commented to him, as an aside, that there existed no bacteria in creation that could survive on <i>our</i> radioactive implants.<br />
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A moment later, finally inside the office and the conversation, the OR director looked at me and queried, "Now, Kevin, you guys are using implants, correct?" Clearly, wanting to make the distinction that we were safe I answered. "Yes, but bugs don't like radioactivity.<br />
Without missing a beat he threw up his hands in a feigned sense of importance and exclaimed, "but what about Spiderman?!"<br />
<br />
Kevin<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3_G8Gmzb4MpwT8j9iZMKDNVL_N3zXvzUbcMRo6IN0foHQKpfvoRA2ZbqF69LRC6QYG-gK7WfEVb7QZh7DjtOGBgxa3GHiIbyVKmbuoeEE9T2iYOT8JOlteb1iJ_4nZE_FHfSQXu5a_Hw/s1600/spider.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3_G8Gmzb4MpwT8j9iZMKDNVL_N3zXvzUbcMRo6IN0foHQKpfvoRA2ZbqF69LRC6QYG-gK7WfEVb7QZh7DjtOGBgxa3GHiIbyVKmbuoeEE9T2iYOT8JOlteb1iJ_4nZE_FHfSQXu5a_Hw/s320/spider.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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kevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-16581371123230898952013-04-30T19:49:00.000-07:002013-04-30T20:04:51.385-07:00Dangerous Discovery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5icbUBk7LjijD4LnQChuk3OiL0grlnc-vf83zny-wMB5E3lOicBN6FYTx3QtRPrezlEeAMq7u_Ig12CCXorehAOHZcFdKKU6L1xEU2iNf5YdeRSPkynXoHvjm3yjBgmeOeBipDf_KkCs/s1600/dingdong.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5icbUBk7LjijD4LnQChuk3OiL0grlnc-vf83zny-wMB5E3lOicBN6FYTx3QtRPrezlEeAMq7u_Ig12CCXorehAOHZcFdKKU6L1xEU2iNf5YdeRSPkynXoHvjm3yjBgmeOeBipDf_KkCs/s400/dingdong.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Definitely did discover dangerous delectables during a drop into Walmart. Depressed by dint of the demise of Ding Dongs I did delve the shelves of dubious duplications. I did detain a decoction developed by diametrically dismantled engineering. My dubiosity did develop into the done deed. Dollars donated. Their designation a deceptively devilish dessert.<br />
Then I ate it.<br />
The distinction differed to my delight. The denoted generic 'Ding Dongs' did define themselves deluxe at a discount. My disdain dissolved; as did the devilish delight.<br />
This is dangerous.<br />
<br />
Kevinkevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-10997754311162916452013-04-25T02:04:00.002-07:002013-04-25T02:17:19.929-07:00Small Victories-<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvnqVjuP4ZMc8y3ly_02orZEtfnq1y4eMuqlVl6PXzM_jnYzeOhMwgIT2ppWiEAKkI1NAn3wX3G5RbA1sVt94Mlpwd60bKHG3H_VuuomYkvUOiKsJmtG067P34lw2_J2V__93KU8xUx3A/s1600/IMG_3140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvnqVjuP4ZMc8y3ly_02orZEtfnq1y4eMuqlVl6PXzM_jnYzeOhMwgIT2ppWiEAKkI1NAn3wX3G5RbA1sVt94Mlpwd60bKHG3H_VuuomYkvUOiKsJmtG067P34lw2_J2V__93KU8xUx3A/s400/IMG_3140.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eagle River, Alaska</td></tr>
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I looked on Yahoo news, but I didn't find it. I did find out that two celebrities were wearing the same dress at the same event and that another sports figure did something stupid. But there was no mention of the woman that called me on the phone today. She wanted to tell me that she had received a new heart and that she was a changed person. This is huge. She was going to die very soon and now she will not. I did not wonder why this was not big news in all of the major venues. She is not famous. She is just like the rest of us. And what a blessing that is.<br />
I met her and her husband in February. She was an inpatient and was placed on the transplant list that very day. I was there for my semi-annual heart biopsy. She had heard of me and wanted to ask me some questions. She has primary AL amyloidosis and was in much worse condition that I had been prior to my new heart. But, she was initially afraid and did not want a heart transplant. Finally, with her doctors' urging and her husband's support, she acquiesced and agreed to go on the list. But she was still nervous. When Barbie and I entered her room she was surprised to see how healthy I looked. We answered her questions and named her fears such that they no longer lurked in the darkness of uncertainty. When we parted she was visibly relieved and increased in hope.<br />
I knew from what she told me of her symptoms that without a heart transplant she would not be long for this world. I silently prayed that the heart would come soon. It did. Within a month I got word from her husband that she had an uneventful surgery and recovery. She had an early heart rejection, but this was reversed with ridiculously high doses of I.V. steroids (Solumedrol: nasty stuff) and has done well since.<br />
She called me today to ask when she should be rechecked as to the status of her amyloidosis. We discussed this and her new side-effects. She spoke of a wicked 'Prograf' tremor (Prograf is the major anti-rejection medicine that we take everyday, forever.) This causes a bad 'intention' tremor. This type of tremor gets worse as the effort at fine motor movement increases. So when the spoon begins at the bowl, it is not that bad. However, when it finally reaches the lips it is like eating soup on a roller coaster during an earthquake with a magnitude of 7.2 on the Richter scale. It is messy. I reassured her that this would greatly improve in 9 - 12 months. I gave her suggestions on managing her light-headedness after sitting for long periods. Barbie and I reminisced on how we never knew what the cause of all of my early side-effects were and how it would have been nice to have someone to call. The doctors tried, but patients understand these thing better; we live through them every day.<br />
It was amazing to hear her describe her new life. She is no longer short of breath; no more oxygen tanks. The defibrillator vest is gone. No more pain when eating. And the nasty swelling in the legs is gone. She now walks a mile a day. What a miracle.<br />
This should be momentous news; such an amazing event. But it happens to regular folk every day all over the world.<br />
Fame is a funny thing. Some people actually seek it, but they are always disappointed.They often proffer some salacious tidbit that immediately vaporizes into cyberspace as they remain unsatisfied. Fame is an empty promise. I define fame as when 51% of the people who have ever heard of you have never met you. I would rather be famous among 50; within a small group whose lives you have touched while becoming better for having met <i>them</i>, either physically or through our ever expanding virtual world.<br />
In this group we know each other. We share our stories and listen and understand. We give hope to each other and enlighten the path for those that follow. In this group we are each enriched as we share our small victories<br />
<br />
Kevinkevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-47531419836762873912013-04-17T22:57:00.000-07:002013-04-18T01:15:21.086-07:00In My Father's House <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQAda343tCev0JQgwij5m-Sg3JDB9LGXFFPw0O9MObudl2meSHP836_GA7ikosz8uZY0SbIraIxvhKoKOXsqOts7D_ElZI7JQcWPqxDi7MmXdNt5u5IeIAWwbAu7HURtbstSQpKQwp8cw/s1600/Provo+House.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="331" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQAda343tCev0JQgwij5m-Sg3JDB9LGXFFPw0O9MObudl2meSHP836_GA7ikosz8uZY0SbIraIxvhKoKOXsqOts7D_ElZI7JQcWPqxDi7MmXdNt5u5IeIAWwbAu7HURtbstSQpKQwp8cw/s400/Provo+House.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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We had the opportunity to purchase the house in which my father grew up. It is located two blocks from downtown Provo, Utah. Barbie and I fell in love with the house when we first saw it. It is a Craftsman Bungalow style built in 1927. But we also felt its history. My dad moved here when he was nine and lived there until he married my mom and moved to California. There is so much of the history of my ancestors that happened in this house. My first recorded memory (one attached to a fixed date) happened when we travelled to Utah for the funeral of my Grandmother in April of 1962. I was in the kitchen as I watched boiled oatmeal escape the saucepan and pour over the rim onto the stove. This frightened me.<br />
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Barbie and I traveled to Provo last week to see the basement that we had remodeled so that Caitlin and Ben could live downstairs while Samuel and Michelle reside in the main house. This was a long long-distant process and had its share of both minor bumps and major issues. We had excellent help through our friend and interior designer, Wendy Ormsby, and our contractor, Jeremy Brown of AllElectric Construction. We did our best to maintain a virtual presence through smart phones as we texted, sent photos and face-timed to oversee and hopefully not overlook the many details involved The result created one of the nicest basement apartments that I have seen in Provo. (A university town with its share of basements dungeons. I lived in one in 1980.)<br />
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I decided to include some before and after photos.<br />
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(Click to enlarge)</div>
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Bathroom</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1hpk6vAR76k_LxSEyliTF93nf2nrWT7YFtpwkATqGFyclahJoEjXavKakRVgU8lvZMLT2GJF-5D31n33CEIeekg0hBwTkLWiCzqdVAha4GUniRBc0CaWdQSqeZDmrwrCyWjuFeqsrHFs/s1600/IMG_2709.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1hpk6vAR76k_LxSEyliTF93nf2nrWT7YFtpwkATqGFyclahJoEjXavKakRVgU8lvZMLT2GJF-5D31n33CEIeekg0hBwTkLWiCzqdVAha4GUniRBc0CaWdQSqeZDmrwrCyWjuFeqsrHFs/s400/IMG_2709.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Before, Note the painted ducts</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhryj_A8VmRwaw3bRQcAP_hrCyiY8qKIccLuprcdrmo6doBZaI7G9p6igaLacPqXyULYnLzMHUlLgLI0xazIWYWipis40jzJ0uOtuj9LMFmUhB6tmwGYaMRr8h3CqGX6N8uNcv8K3GsJG4/s1600/IMG_0686.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhryj_A8VmRwaw3bRQcAP_hrCyiY8qKIccLuprcdrmo6doBZaI7G9p6igaLacPqXyULYnLzMHUlLgLI0xazIWYWipis40jzJ0uOtuj9LMFmUhB6tmwGYaMRr8h3CqGX6N8uNcv8K3GsJG4/s400/IMG_0686.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRKN_QG0F3VH358Y0t1xr4fqZRaE9K6VqQ16nyQl2rtf_ICdU3PgWbqD3Ye7G7fwLeRnCF1XItmzlsEgglXRKg00ndn6GDrEnS8Wvkh7P0FOqfRIRS0KLoSwkiqDpUIZjBxNeZDVXlBmc/s1600/IMG_2709.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /></div>
Two areas of the old basement not seen here in photos are the cinderblock coal room which was behind the water heater and originally stored coal for the first furnace in the house. This was removed and made room for the bathroom above. The old coal shoot was converted into the bathroom window. Additionally, there was a root cellar that ran the width of the back of the house behind the basement kitchen. This was excavated and finished to become the pantry off the kitchen, the laundry room and a back exit to the internal staircase to the main house. This staircase was required by Provo City in order to get a building permit and caused a large delay and a large cash infusion.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDLtGUgsgRQR_8Yzhzjg1pluz8pL7mI0FkEWGsp0_lknDBZtVx0APvy8ryrj1SDTptgE_1io4h2MI5DLc6OyrdoR-liIwTX9I59kC3rNBDgJSD-fyj55RI3YMgCpwyGBZ1PBuuAZd8ZlA/s1600/IMG_0696.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDLtGUgsgRQR_8Yzhzjg1pluz8pL7mI0FkEWGsp0_lknDBZtVx0APvy8ryrj1SDTptgE_1io4h2MI5DLc6OyrdoR-liIwTX9I59kC3rNBDgJSD-fyj55RI3YMgCpwyGBZ1PBuuAZd8ZlA/s400/IMG_0696.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Front Room</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioYJIJ-3z9gZcmfHPXGUpuzijI1zTNZ4WRs8gxPT0b_tRVUUcsZ1EOWBB2fDPg9R076dkvC0TMjEFXSDgc8_gwi2bY7fHKyrH_mPjPbxlfYLI-DGTPNqafk9Mir1b2rvMmRm4yXdMOZjI/s1600/IMG_2710.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioYJIJ-3z9gZcmfHPXGUpuzijI1zTNZ4WRs8gxPT0b_tRVUUcsZ1EOWBB2fDPg9R076dkvC0TMjEFXSDgc8_gwi2bY7fHKyrH_mPjPbxlfYLI-DGTPNqafk9Mir1b2rvMmRm4yXdMOZjI/s400/IMG_2710.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVxrMYWTNTOJaKChh_lLJWoldbHggLBmJmIfbN8uLA9zxdEpm816OgKheV2CrnRz56-_MjKe1Jd3rQqQTw8qW3fkUWLOoBmJ3gtn_nLNzEOU2r8RJQmCqYj31Niu_nxPwUhJktqtrWISA/s1600/IMG_0705.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVxrMYWTNTOJaKChh_lLJWoldbHggLBmJmIfbN8uLA9zxdEpm816OgKheV2CrnRz56-_MjKe1Jd3rQqQTw8qW3fkUWLOoBmJ3gtn_nLNzEOU2r8RJQmCqYj31Niu_nxPwUhJktqtrWISA/s400/IMG_0705.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After</td></tr>
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View from door</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM9CLFrm1jqPTivIvbKrTBAvCi5WH1V2S1Efm-DH9hVMYkXAAGIqa5oDatSlL5aoIUU4IHf-vB5vSSZWJycJKCUYITcMVikqOa95I75ChKVp8QbACv_nX1Ph6YyeEtNVwMZT2uuThihds/s1600/IMG_2712.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM9CLFrm1jqPTivIvbKrTBAvCi5WH1V2S1Efm-DH9hVMYkXAAGIqa5oDatSlL5aoIUU4IHf-vB5vSSZWJycJKCUYITcMVikqOa95I75ChKVp8QbACv_nX1Ph6YyeEtNVwMZT2uuThihds/s400/IMG_2712.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiexehLm5GNVpGlNRm0uJPQ3IuT87-xOV1W9dUDG4KdP7kmKq2xqQVBO2hWL6Afia3UaQrblyZfZwURFKH_rr9W_NcNjXz6u-cvAg9zU3BBXr5oJXzcTpOwfzjokkg_8VA10s0XdTRMXZE/s1600/long+view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiexehLm5GNVpGlNRm0uJPQ3IuT87-xOV1W9dUDG4KdP7kmKq2xqQVBO2hWL6Afia3UaQrblyZfZwURFKH_rr9W_NcNjXz6u-cvAg9zU3BBXr5oJXzcTpOwfzjokkg_8VA10s0XdTRMXZE/s400/long+view.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After</td></tr>
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<br />
Bedroom</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaz7OyqwDa6D7aOIv8tMhX4t1ZmVi7vD65orq_RDVGmQbk7RCNoNS1vrZJefKP5iKbbZJBFUHtuOqlAue_VLsKfn117rse6BaUzOUHOkyUGgDggM3hylbagUSQzwwJB2ONuUmUCvsoNhc/s1600/Old+Bedroom.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaz7OyqwDa6D7aOIv8tMhX4t1ZmVi7vD65orq_RDVGmQbk7RCNoNS1vrZJefKP5iKbbZJBFUHtuOqlAue_VLsKfn117rse6BaUzOUHOkyUGgDggM3hylbagUSQzwwJB2ONuUmUCvsoNhc/s400/Old+Bedroom.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5zHFCivIShT0rwb5tyri-DNXz2soIJXyf08y5dXVZAoyDQRENzu_jzaj_fkHmGvyPjg4dVE2R11wkJ7FnNCjN4xWBrVFsGwKrn-Bu1Ql2k_11YbMxkiMd0IlGNl8lqyEreKFyXPmo24I/s1600/IMG_0688.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5zHFCivIShT0rwb5tyri-DNXz2soIJXyf08y5dXVZAoyDQRENzu_jzaj_fkHmGvyPjg4dVE2R11wkJ7FnNCjN4xWBrVFsGwKrn-Bu1Ql2k_11YbMxkiMd0IlGNl8lqyEreKFyXPmo24I/s400/IMG_0688.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
Kitchen </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvwNP-ukUtxc8PcLmz50kHW7t-JKKl8yZBAkOZmEkMgTuai3fF5WiQqjmesmDiZ7Yt17tnW-CQ4EQ1kHp46ZqPA-l_qlHeYdS4FtctjqowUynANd5VmO5i-WS-s78I8Y2eqHq0dcpB1bw/s1600/DSC_0060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvwNP-ukUtxc8PcLmz50kHW7t-JKKl8yZBAkOZmEkMgTuai3fF5WiQqjmesmDiZ7Yt17tnW-CQ4EQ1kHp46ZqPA-l_qlHeYdS4FtctjqowUynANd5VmO5i-WS-s78I8Y2eqHq0dcpB1bw/s400/DSC_0060.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghnVSXosV_wRV9QLmeeDyzPgadaPI_9S5S4fGZYD1O39XdVn52lruDe9vnmGmY7-R6v6_-6pVNmgO211a8f9cNm4uWRy7rLx2WS2WA4DC6JO1Hlc_73KPyZfSqcvARYtyMes4dl836_ZY/s1600/IMG_0676.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghnVSXosV_wRV9QLmeeDyzPgadaPI_9S5S4fGZYD1O39XdVn52lruDe9vnmGmY7-R6v6_-6pVNmgO211a8f9cNm4uWRy7rLx2WS2WA4DC6JO1Hlc_73KPyZfSqcvARYtyMes4dl836_ZY/s400/IMG_0676.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After, with view into pantry</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We decided to create the basement that we would like to live in if we were young married BYU students.<br />
I'm ready to go back to school.<br />
<br />
Kevin<br />
<br />
<br />kevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-79482357794091426202013-03-28T01:30:00.003-07:002013-03-28T18:16:55.553-07:00All Things Being EqualI am fascinated with words, even more so with phrases. I wonder how they get crafted and adopted. All things are rarely equal. But it helps to attempt equality when deciding between things. Currently all things are going well, and yet they aren't. I am reminded of this in the blog post that Rebecca so courageously shared yesterday about dealing with a miscarriage. <a href="http://rebeccawithanr.blogspot.com/2013/03/a-wretched-life.html">a-wretched-life</a><br />
I am proud of Rebecca and Jason for their faith and perseverance. We so love our children and want them to be happy. But there will always be days that are sad.<br />
I continue to do extremely well with my health. No changes of note. I still get Velcade weekly along with my Decadron. There are, however, some promising new drugs on the horizon that may change the course of my disease. I will keep you updated. Work is going well and I will be working with Kaiser to develop a video for patients newly diagnosed with prostate cancer. I wrote the script and will be in front of the camera. I'm trying to lose 10 lbs so that I look better on computer screens around Northern California.<br />
Barbie has been working consistently in temporary positions as an RDH and is considering some more permanent options. She is a great hygienist.<br />
We recently returned from a very romantic cruise to the eastern Caribbean. We visited Turks and Caicos, San Juan, Puerto Rico, St Thomas and a private island that Holland America owns called Half Moon Cay. We had such a relaxing week with 7 days of no cell phones, no Internet and no schedule. The sea was a beautiful clear turquoise, the water was warm and the few fish that we saw enough to say we snorkeled.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpx-RG7eY1sO0AGrUfkROA2udGel7aILraDmqNZ1o9NAluT8mZUfjiJoyJA1fR0oiRaZralHgGCn6fnMrLLsIQan_aKzCJLJ5rGmFdwnfB7yMMQXFCkeMoqEpHkDVaQgyfvM2x3P9z8Jo/s1600/IMG_0874.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpx-RG7eY1sO0AGrUfkROA2udGel7aILraDmqNZ1o9NAluT8mZUfjiJoyJA1fR0oiRaZralHgGCn6fnMrLLsIQan_aKzCJLJ5rGmFdwnfB7yMMQXFCkeMoqEpHkDVaQgyfvM2x3P9z8Jo/s400/IMG_0874.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Half Moon Cay</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The basement of the Provo house was finally finished and Caitlin and Ben moved in on Monday. It is not a typical BYU basement apartment. Barbie's friend, Wendy Ormsby is an interior designer and, working with her contractor, Jeremy Brown, were able to take Barbie's vision and create a wonderful 'space'. Caitlin is delighted to have a little more room for her womb as she is now in her 17th week and wants to nest. Once I get the before and after shots of the basement, I'll post them.<br />
With the book done and a grandchild on the way, my previous bucket list had officially expired. While watching the ocean from our stateroom balcony I penned a new one. It has some fun stuff like reading Dickens, learning French, doing a culinary experience in St Helena, CA and riding the Orient Express from Paris to Istanbul.<br />
I hope to continue writing, both here on our blog and other places as well. Maybe if the prostate cancer video plays well, I might get a call from Kaiser Hollywood.<br />
<br />
Kevin<br />
<br />kevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-60095877830120601422013-01-17T01:53:00.003-08:002013-01-17T01:53:25.553-08:00Looking for help<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It's been over a year now since I effectively stopped
writing regularly in our blog. The reason I perportively gave at that time was
because I was going to work on writing a book about this experience of a
patient as a doctor. I haven't done a very effective job at doing either over
the last year. As I reflect on my life at that time, I had just switched from
Revlimid to Velcade to treat my disease. While Revlimid had more physical side
effects, Velcade has produced more insidious psychological side effects. As a
result, my motivation suffered. It is very difficult to write without
motivation. It would briefly return on Wednesday evenings when the morning dose
of Decadron produced a state of hypo-mania coupled with insomnia and mild
dis-inhibition. (This is where I am tonight.) All of which can be useful for
writing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet I would occasionally force myself to sit and write in
fits and spurts. As such, the book is now essentially written. I am now ready
to free it from the solitary confinement of my mind (and a file on my desktop)
to let others read it, and critique it. This is actually a scary proposition.
That is why Barbie will read it first. I trust her. Over the last week I have
been quite anxious about publishing it. What if people don't like it? What if
they can't relate? Millions of books are written. Why does the world need
another one? I tell myself that my only audience is that of my future
grandchildren, and that helps me to keep going. Sometimes I think that I will
share great, previously un-thought truths, some enlightened revelation to
benefit humanity only to realize that there is nothing that I have ever thought,
said or written that hasn't already occurred to some millions of other
observant humans so many times over the last 10,000 years; and then I realize,
"It's new to me, and is therefore of great value." "These are
the lessons that I needed to learn."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do we really need books anymore? Books take too long to read
when we have social media. Of course there are blogs which represent the
cyberspace union of narcissism and voyeurism. But given their wordiness, they
might require a longer attention span. For those with medium attention spans
there is Facebook. While those with limited attention, and prone to quick
boredom, can opt for Twitter. For pre-schoolers there is Pinterest. (I like to
look at the pictures.) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are times when trying to describe the scope of a life
requires more, and therefore more investment from the reader. I once heard,
while attending a lecture on chaos theory, that in New York City there is only
sufficient food on the island of Manhattan to last for three days. And yet,
there is no master plan on how to get this food resupplied on a daily basis. It
just happens. Any regular mathematical model would fail in trying to describe
this so the problem is given to those who can speak in the terms of chaos
theory.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Imagine that Manhattan is a book. Chapters would be found in
SoHo, the Village, The Upper East Side, Time Square. The pages are made up of
the restaurants in China Town, the penthouses near Columbus Circle and the
Galleries in Chelsea. The words are us. We build the stories of the book
everyday of our lives. But you couldn't truly read the Book of Manhattan if you
never left Wall Street. You would have to take the Subway for a day at the Met;
a stroll in Central Park. You would need to stand in Battery Park and gaze off
at the Statue of Liberty. However, while you may get a feel for Manhattan, you
could ever comprehend it all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A single human life is more complex than all of Manhattan.
Are lives are not as ordered and planned as we think they could be. Chaos is
all around us and in us. It has been difficult for me to assemble even a year
and a half of my life so that I can make literative sense to those that may
read it. I struggle to tie strings of relevance with a knot at each critical
turning point to guide the unfamiliar along this foreign path. My only tools
are memories and words; woefully inadequate. There are passages of my own prose
that are torture for me to read as they rekindle painful memories that are
immediately real. And yet I know that my failing as a writer can never convey
that same visual memory burned in my brain. So why bother.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My hope comes from the reader. They will subconsciously
recognize my gaps in narrative and fill them seamlessly with their own
imagination, experiences and intuition. Our common human wisdom may serve to
save this endeavor. This gives me some hope. My story, in a way, becomes their
story in the sharing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once Barbie, and a few others, read this and it is finally
done. I have no idea how to publish it. Or how to even start. I have heard that
I could put it as an E-Book on Amazon. I don't know. If anyone has any good
suggestions. Please let me know.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thanks,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kevin</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
kray0819@gmail.com</div>
kevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5123456984059720316.post-60801832967493198862012-08-30T00:12:00.001-07:002012-08-30T00:30:18.269-07:00Summer of our Bliss-content<br />
<br />
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<br />
The marathon seemed to begin with 2nd of four drives through Battle Mountain, NV to bring Barbie and her patient candidate, Elaine, for her practical dental hygiene boards in Orem, Utah. On April 21st her patient was rejected and she, with the confidence of a Navy seal, kept her wits, found a new patient and passed the exam. Two days later, on her 19th birthday, Caitlin accepted Benjamin's Solari's proposal of marriage and set the wedding date for the end of July. A week later we closed on the Provo, Utah house; the only house that my grandparents, Harold and Catherine Anderson, ever owned. A house that they purchased in 1937 and was sold in 1962 when my Grandmother died. This house marked my first recorded memory connected to a fixed date at the age of two and a half.<br />
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Three weeks later, Barbie and I flew to Atlanta for the American Urologic Society's annual meeting. It was the following week that two more extraordinary things happened. Barbie turned 50 on May 27th and graduated for dental hygiene school and was chosen by her class to be their voice on this momentous occasion. Her graduation gift ended the 30 year tradition of practical family cars as this one is not kid friendly.</div>
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<br />
The following day we flew to Pennsylvania to visit Samuel and Michelle at Penn State and, while there, made side trips to Connecticut and the Pentagon for lunch. We even got to observe Samuel performing acoustical experiments measuring cavitation bubbles in a water tunnel.<br />
A week later we flew to Alaska and spent a week visiting with my brother David and his wife Joel'lene. The week culminated in my honored opportunity to speak to the medical community there in remembrance of one of their fallen colleagues and a fellow amyloidosis patient.<br />
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Then the preparations began in earnest for Caitlin and Ben's wedding. A thousand details, all with a deadline of July 28th, miraculously flowed together to create that magical moment when your last child and youngest daughter melds her life with a new man. May he love her as I always have and always will. He married an angel.<br />
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While they honeymooned in Kauai, Barbie and I prepared for our family vacation to the Marriott Newport Coast villas. We also celebrated are 30th wedding anniversary on August 6th with a trip to Santa Clara for my four year anniversary heart biopsy and pressure studies. Not only did my heart show no rejection, additionally we found that my cardiac index is 3.0 (very good) and their is no evidence of amyloid deposition. We also celebrated by visiting the temple in Oakland where we were married 30 years before and then relaxed on the beach in Pacifica until we picked up Ben and Caitlin from the airport.<br />
With our our four children, now all married, we met for the first time as the complete package in Southern California. It was a wonderful week as we all relaxed together before the mounting responsibilities of September began.<br />
We spent every day in the warm southern California surf and caught some awesome and totally gnarly waves. This time I did not fracture a rib, I only tore a cartilage at the costochodral junction of my right 6th rib. It seemed to hurt less when I got back in the water to shoot some tubes on my new Boogie Board that Barbie got me for my 53rd birthday.<br />
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We returned home in time for Barbie to direct music for our Lincoln Stake Conference and celebrated a quiet birthday with an enchilada dinner ( something I have often requested since childhood.)<br />
Two days later we drove to Utah for the fourth time to move Ben and Caitlin into our new house in Provo and fix it up for the extended Anderson family open house which we had last Saturday. It was a treat to have my Mom (age 78), my Aunt Gloria (age 88) and my Uncle Harold, my dad's brother (age 89) there with many of their children, grandchildren and great grandchildren at the home where it all began. So many stories and memories were shared. As cousins roamed through the house, Patty, Harold's second daughter shared a tender moment. She pointed to the upstairs landing and recalled that she and her older sister Karen, ages 7 and 8 respectively, were sitting there in April of 1959 when an emotional father slowly ascended to inform them that their grandfather had just died downstairs. It was their first memory of seeing him cry.<br />
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Monday we waved goodbye to Ben and Caitlin on the steps of our new home as they begin their new life together. It was bittersweet.<br />
Today Barbie started work as a dental hygienist and I restarted chemo after a month vacation. We are back.<br />
<br />
Last Saturday, as the my kinfolk were leaving, my cousin Doug thanked me for the wonderful day of reminiscing. I replied that, since my brush with mortality, I have become very interested in investing. The only commodity that matters are relationships; and the only investment worth making is in building memories. In our reunion we shared lost and individual memories with each other; our common home as the catalyst. The present moment captured past experiences for future generations. I believe that this summer had an incredible return on investment as we lived our lives to the fullest and reaped hundreds of moments of joy which now serve to further enrich our portfolio of cherished memories.<br />
<br />
Let the next generation begin.<br />
<br />
Kevinkevinandbarbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04634011893927790997noreply@blogger.com2