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Garth Callaghan

Napkin Notes Dad

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The Napkin Notes Blog

Perspective on My Cancer Fight

WGarth Callaghan

From August 7, 2014

I woke up at 5 AM today. It was dark and too early for me. I usually like that time of the day, but I have gotten used to sleeping past 7 lately. 5 AM was tough.

I had a busy morning scheduled. I had a 6:15 MRI then an 8:10 with my doctor. I drove to the hospital while yawning and remarked to myself how hungry I was. I wouldn’t be able to eat or drink until much later.

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Grit Part 2

WGarth Callaghan

show your grit garth noel.jpg

Noel has a good life today, but we don't know exactly how she lived before we rescued her. We know just enough.

We do know she was about 40% underweight. She was missing a lot of fur. She had recently had puppies. She was found in a rural county which didn't have a no-kill policy in their shelters. She was rescued on day 59, one day before she was to be put down.

She clearly was having a hard life. Thank goodness she was tough enough to make it that far. Thank goodness we were blessed to be able to rescue her.

She was terrified of me at first, especially if I had a jacket on. Worse than that, I didn't really want a new dog in my life. We had just lost my best pet a few months prior. I didn't want Noel and I don't think she wanted me.

We did need each other though.

One year after Noel joined the family, she saved my life. That's a story for another day. (CLICK HERE TO READ IT)

Noel has been my pet partner through my cancer crisis. We've both been through a lot. We're tough on the inside. We've got grit.

Click here to Donate or learn more: https://donate.johnwayne.org/ca…/show-your-grit-2017/c118743

Grit is silent, but strong

WGarth Callaghan

Writing out 28 extra notes

Writing out 28 extra notes

Grit is usually quiet, but ready to be there when you need it.

Grit is getting up at 5 AM when you’re dog tired.
Grit is not paying attention to the headache.
Grit is just wiping away the nosebleed.
Grit is ignoring nausea, vomiting and diarrhea.  
Grit is working through the fatigue and muscle pain.

Grit is handling your side effects to write out 28 napkin notes in the dark of the morning because it’s what you do. You’d never dream of sending your daughter off without notes. You’d never allow your side effects to get the best of you and stop you from writing over and over, until 28 were completed. Grit is ignoring the lump in your throat as you count up 28 notes, one for each day she’ll be gone.

Grit is overlooking the fear of sending your daughter away for four weeks because it will be a wonderful experience for her.

Grit is silent, but strong.

#ShowYourGrit

Click here to Donate or learn more: https://donate.johnwayne.org/ca…/show-your-grit-2017/c118743

Show Your Grit

WGarth Callaghan

Emma and Garth

Emma and Garth

I don’t feel particularly gritty. I’d actually rate myself a 2/7 on the grit scale. In any given week, I might have grit on two of the days. The other five days I just feel average, sometimes well below average. I certainly don’t feel it when I am stuck in the bathroom for no reason except my daily chemo is making my stomach wonky. I don’t feel it when I am waiting in line for blood draws or MRIs. I don’t feel it when I think of how much cancer has impacted my family.

Imagine my surprise when I received this email:

Good Afternoon Garth,

I wanted to reach out to introduce you to the ‘Show Your Grit’ campaign, a national fundraising and awareness initiative from the John Wayne Cancer Foundation (JWCF), that may present a meaningful partnership opportunity for you. In case you are not familiar, JWCF is a nonprofit organization that was founded in 1985 by John Wayne’s children as a way to honor the memory of their father and the many others like him who have battled cancer. The mission of the foundation is to bring courage, strength, and grit to the fight against cancer by funding programs that improve cancer patients’ outcomes and save lives through research, education, awareness, and support.

They thought I had grit and wanted me to join in on their #showyourgrit campaign this month.

 

Huh. Me?

 

OK, I wanted to take stab at this. Yeah, I have been doing daily chemo for 3.5 years now. This has been the longest running, hardest thing I have ever done. I choose each day to swallow those pills, the pills which make me sicker than I have ever felt. It’s a choice and I still do it. Not only do I take them, but I take them with enthusiasm! How gritty is that?

One of my biggest focuses has been how I can raise Emma to become the strong, confident, young woman I know she has inside of her. I hope how I have dealt with the cancer diagnosis and treatment is an example for her. I hope she learns tenacity, perseverance, endurance, bravery... I guess, grit.

And you know the best thing about grit, it lasts for a long time. It sticks around. You don’t have to have it every day. It’s ok to only have grit sometimes because it carries you through to the next day.

Join me in the #showyourgrit campaign. Take a selfie with a cowboy relate item and post it. Better yet, make a donation to the John Wayne Foundation and help fight this darned disease.

Click here to Donate or learn more: https://donate.johnwayne.org/campaign/show-your-grit-2017/c118743

Spring. Renewal. Easter.

WGarth Callaghan

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No, my life is much more mundane than that today.
 
It’s been 10 years since I wandered into the Virginia DMV to renew my license. I just received my notice.
 
When was the last time you thought about your driver’s license? I generally don’t speed or have a cause show a police officer. I can’t remember the last time I was asked for identification at the ABC Store or a restaurant. I only give it a thought when I travel. I have a heightened level of apprehension as I pull out my wallet and approach the TSA podium. I don’t resemble the picture on that piece of plastic one bit.  My ticket matches my ID, but my picture doesn’t match my face. Sure, both pictures show a guy wearing glasses, but there’s a 55 pound difference, and if you haven’t noticed, the hair color isn’t the same! I can see the TSA agent trying to assess me. The agent looks at my license, glances up at me, back down to the ticket, and repeats for a bit. I usually lean in and whisper, “Cancer.” Yeah, I am probably on some list somewhere. (Actually, I am. Did you know I was responsible for adding the word ‘lightsaber’ to the TSA database?)
 
Back to the issue at hand. My Driver’s License is expiring. Where was I in 2007??
 
Lissa and I had been married for 10 years.
 
Emma was 7 1/2 and in 2nd grade. She was on swim team and took martial arts lessons. She also
got her ears pierced while I was away for work. (I was NOT happy about that.)
 
I had just started my own IT support company.
 
I wasn’t really going to church. I think I acknowledged God, but He wasn’t part of my life.
 
I marched in my first parade dressed up as a Jedi.
 
I didn’t own any Star Wars T-Shirts.
 
My parents visited at Christmastime and played Wii Bowling with Emma.
 
It’s very likely I already had a tumor growing on my kidney.
 
I didn’t mean for this to become a virtual time capsule, but here we are. I am not even the same person I was in 2007. Thank goodness!
 
Our lives have radically changed in the last decade. I am sure your lives have, too. Have you reflected on that? Have you looked back and remembered where you were and how far you’ve come?
 
When I first started writing this post this was a minor complaint I was processing. My ID doesn’t match my ‘today’ face. I didn’t want to have to go in to the DMV to have a new picture taken. Come on, who wants to experience a multi-hour visit to the DMV and pay extra for an in-person visit just to have their picture refreshed?!?
 
I’ve been blessed with some memories which didn’t surface nearly as much as they should.
Maybe I need to reflect like this more than once every 10 years.
 
-------------
 
Many of you have seen my recent post about some of the ‘extra’ side effects I was experiencing and the minor dental crisis I had. I am well on my way to better health. My mouth is healing up. I still have 3 appointments ahead of me. I resumed daily chemo treatment about 10 days ago. Let’s hope for a better March than February!
 
Lissa, Emma, and I thank you for your continued support!

December 20

WGarth Callaghan

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Excerpts from Napkin Notes:

I was quickly learning how much this battle would be a waiting game. I just wanted to get into the hospital and cut the cancer out of me. Instead, we had to wait until right before Christmas. I hated that this was overshadowing what was normally such a joyous time of year. My surgery was scheduled for December 20. Hopefully everything would go well and I would be back at home by the 22nd. It wouldn’t be a normal Christmas, by any means, but at least, God willing, we would be together. I purchased Christmas presents and helped to decorate the house.
--
One morning I paused as I watched Lissa washing dishes at the kitchen sink. I knew how heavily all of this was weighing on her. She was trying to be strong for everyone, keep the family running, and celebrate the holidays. I could tell her spirits were down. I walked over to her, hugged her tightly, and said, “I’m sorry. You didn’t sign up for this.” She replied, “Yes, I did. It was in the vows.” She didn’t even stop washing the dishes. Facing this would have been so much harder if I didn’t have Lissa by my side.
--
When surgery day arrived, Lissa of course accompanied me. As I was wheeled out of the pre- op room, someone put heated blankets on me. What a wonderful, cozy, and safe feeling! I was more than ready for this surgery. I was ready for this battle to be over. The surgery took longer than expected. The tumor had built a substantial network of blood vessels to feed it, and that network needed to be cut away. I woke up in the post- op room but was groggy. I was warm, and someone applied a cool washcloth to my forehead and neck. A nurse came by and asked if I had any pain. I apparently replied, as I pointed to Lissa, “Only a pain in my ass.” Thank goodness I was still under the effect of the anesthesia! But more important, I then realized I was still alive. Hopefully this nightmare would be over. I could go back to being a husband, father, son, brother, and employee. I was done being a patient.

Hurdles

WGarth Callaghan

Everyone has hurdles. My dad battled alcoholism for years. I grew up in a small town where many of the fathers spent hours toiling as loggers or farmers. I have a relative that struggles with depression. My mother and her sister haven't spoken in years. (You have to fix that, mom. Maybe by the time this book comes out …) I have cancer.
 
I’ve long been a believer that it’s not about the hurdle you face but how you overcome it. And that overcoming hurdles can teach you more than a flat stretch of road. You learn to fight. To go into battle to go after what you want.
 
The first battle I remember facing was during tryouts for the Port Leyden Baseball Farm Team. Small towns have tryouts. Not everyone gets to play. It's simple logistics as there are but so many uniforms. Players had to survive the cut in order to get one of the coveted positions.
 
I walked across town, by myself, for the first day of tryouts. I had a new glove and I was ready to play. Most of the boys in town were there, but the coach hadn't arrived. A few of the older guys were smoking. I thought that was weird and I didn't have any desire to smoke. Of course, they were all offering cigarettes to the younger kids. I refused and one of the guys promptly threw a glove into my face. It hurt like hell and I left, embarrassed. I shrugged my shoulders as I walked away. I knew I really wanted to play baseball. But the older guys clearly didn't want me there.
 
I didn’t even make it back home before I turned around. The big kids weren’t going to get the best of me. I marched back to the ball field and practiced anyway. I practiced every evening until the tryouts. I loved baseball and I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
I didn't make the team that year.
 
Although I would make the cut in subsequent years, I don't remember a single thing about those tryouts. Why? Because there wasn't significant adversity. Those later tryouts were unremarkable. I didn't have a battle to fight.
 
“A champion is someone who gets up when he can’t.” – Jack Dempsey
 
Cancer was the biggest hurdle I’d ever faced. As soon as my doctor put the CT scans on the screen, even I, with no medical expertise, recognized there was something very wrong with my scan. I didn’t understand the danger level completely, but “cancer” sent me into DEFCON 1. I was presented with a battlefield in which I was a complete novice. How could I become a remarkable cancer patient?
How could I assist my doctors and help them to save me?
 
From Napkin Notes, Chapter 2 Copyright 2014 by Garth Callaghan
 
Napkin Notes Available on Amazon: http://nndad.co/1Q86gmB
 
Notas de amor 22.11.2016: http://nndad.co/2fSKpSP