Hey folks,

Wanted to fill you in on the consult I had Friday with the oncologist.
PET Scan shows very positive for cancer in my lungs but
Biopsy returned 3 (three) negative results for cancer.

Shrooms?

What they DID find was a fungal infection which is associated with a common bacteria to which humans are normally immune. This bacteria lives literally everywhere on the planet, and is therefore very common.

For some reason last year(apparently) my immune system suffered some deterioration and the bacteria was able to establish a stronghold in my lungs. It’s this which caused the fungal infection, with symptoms very much like pneumonia. I will be seeing someone who is a specialist in these types of diseases on Monday. I am already taking a specific antibiotic to combat the bacteria.

Biopsy Boy

Other than that there are 3 lymph nodules of interest in/near my upper respiratory tract which also indicated in the PET scan may be cancerous, determined by the high uptake of dyes. At least one of these, if proven to be cancerous, would be considered inoperable. I will be scheduled for another biopsy within the next couple of days.

Since the 1st biopsy returned no cancer cells, it appears that the cancer in my left lung may be surrounded by the fungal growth, which in the end is a great thing as it would mean that most likely this cancer has been detected within only a few months of its presenting.

The survival rate for patients diagnosed with lung cancer at my age is very low, ( less than 3% live 12+months after diagnosis) but that is because most cases in that demographic are diagnosed in a late stage of the condition. If I am right, and the cancer is very young, my chances of survival increase exponentially.

Depending, of course, on the exact form of the cancer, whether small-cell or non small-cell. (Small cell is inoperable at every stage.)

Progress

I think the order it came to be is something like this:

I caught a flu virus, was sick as hell for about a month beginning Nov 07.

Right after that I caught another DIFFERENT flu virus and was sick about another month beginning late Dec 07.

I think I inhaled some foreign substance, possible while cleaning computers ( a common task) while I was getting over that flu.

The substance lodged in my lung and created a mild ‘walking’ pneumonia that kept flaring up every 3-4 weeks until last Aug, when I experienced a partial lung collapse. During this time, I think my immune system became weaker due to constantly fighting this pneumonia.

As the system grew weaker, an avenue was created for the bacteria to gain a foothold in the weakest part – my lung.

I think the reason for the collapsed lung was the fungal growth caused by the bacterial infection.

After that, I drastically reduced my smoking and felt slightly better for a month or so, then in late October last year became seriously ill to the point of being bedridden for a few weeks. I think the cancer was allowed to start right about then, while my immune system was nearly completely dead.

Between the fungal growth and the cancer, I developed a massive amount of infection in my lungs. When I drank all that moonshine in Nov and it made me feel better, I think that perhaps I had just flushed much of that infection out of me. The stuff I coughed up back then was thick, nasty and mostly black. Naturally I would feel better for awhile after that, until the infection built back up and completely closed most of my airways again. Which is what drove me to the doctors this time.

Anyway… you can see that there are still no definitive answer(s) just yet. I was really hoping there would be something a bit more concrete to tell you, but as this thing progresses it appears that more questions are revealed. Bottom line is this: more tests next week and the following week, most likely some surgery and then it’s all smooth groove after that.

I am Jon, walking through the weather, as are we all.

The Future Of The Past

I have always, since my earliest remembered childhood, tried to imagine my death. The whole thought of it has quite simply fascinated me, and as I sit here, pondering my cancer diagnosis, I find that fascination still grips me.

I don’t, and have never looked at death as an ending. It is an event we all experience – every life that has ever existed on this planet eventually dies. It’s simply one of the most natural things all of us do.

That it is shared universally among all of us, whether we are animal or plant or whatever makes it fascinating. Name for me, if you can, another event that ALL LIFE experiences.

That we don’t understand it only serves to make it that much more exciting. As our lives progress the ‘new’ seems to gradually fade away until much of life is boring. When was the last truly NEW thing you experienced? The nature of death ensures its newness, at least for most of us.

Today, please enjoy this brief drink from the lifeblood of my past. The thing wasn’t originally written about death, per se, and in the end the question it asks is more about the choices we face in life than anything else…

Dilemma

A thousand tiny gnats are
biting me at once. Pressures
build up on all sides.
There are no good decisions
sometimes. I walk eternally
between the living and death.
A million monstrous rats are
begging me to follow. Why
do I feel so afraid?

I am Jon, and I wrote that years ago.

Inches, That Is…

Regular readers here @ Wordout will recognize that I haven’t been publishing anything lately. You’ll also remember that I’ve been fighting an illness for quite awhile. The two are related.

Last week I was diagnosed with lung cancer. The cancer seems to be about 2 inches by 2 inches (4.5cm X 5cm), as measured using the CT scan. The lymph nodes in my lungs appear to be clear and healthy, which is a great sign that it may not have spread yet. More test results are required to verify that it’s still only in the lung. I will have those results next week, after the biopsy has been done.

So far I’ve been through the xrays, the CT scans, the PET scan and an MRI on my brain. Next week I will be laying on a table quietly while a doctor punctures my chest with a huge honkin’ needle to withdraw some of the mass for direct observation. A couple of days after that I’ll be able to know exactly how bad the situation is.

Only then will I know what treatment options are available. Right now, it appears that I will either 1) Be a good candidate for surgery or 2) Have no options at all.

Either way, I am alive today.

I’ve done a bit of reading, and here’s a couple of excerpts and links for you, in case you’re interested.

National Cancer Institute

Survival rates can be calculated by different methods for different purposes. The survival rates presented here are based on the relative survival rate which measures the survival of the cancer patients in comparison to the general population to estimate the effect of cancer. The overall 5-year relative survival rate for 1996-2004 from 17 SEER geographic areas was 15.2%. Five-year relative survival rates by race and sex were: 13.4% for white men; 17.9% for white women; 10.4% for black men; 14.5% for black women.

The stage distribution based on historic stage shows that 16% of lung and bronchus cancer cases are diagnosed while the cancer is still confined to the primary site (localized stage); 25% are diagnosed after the cancer has spread to regional lymphnodes or directly beyond the primary site; 51% are diagnosed after the cancer has already metastasized (distant stage) and for the remaining 8% the staging information was unknown. The corresponding 5-year relative survival rates were: 49.5% for localized; 20.6% for regional; 2.8% for distant; and 8.3% for unstaged.(See Fast Stats for more detailed statistics)

Mayo Clinic

Fluid in the chest (pleural effusion). Lung cancer can cause fluid to accumulate in the space that surrounds the lungs in the chest cavity (pleural space). Pleural effusion can result from cancer spreading outside the lungs or in reaction to lung cancer inside the lungs. Fluid accumulating in the chest can cause shortness of breath. Treatments are available to drain the fluid from your chest and reduce the risk that pleural effusion will occur again. Cancer that spreads to the pleura is considered inoperable, so surgery isn’t an option for treatment.

Cancer that spreads to other parts of the body (metastasis). Lung cancer often spreads (metastasizes) to other parts of the body — most commonly the opposite lung, brain, bones, liver and adrenal glands. Cancer that spreads can cause signs and symptoms, including pain, nausea, headaches or others based on what organ is affected. In some cases, treatments are available for isolated metastasis, but in most cases, the goal of treatment for metastasis is only to relieve signs and symptoms.

Death. Unfortunately, survival rates haven’t improved for people diagnosed with lung cancer. In most cases, the disease is fatal. Almost 60 percent, or three out of every five people, diagnosed with lung cancer die within a year. Keep in mind, however, that this number includes people diagnosed with all types of lung cancer at all stages of the disease. People diagnosed at the earliest stages have the greatest chances for a cure. Your doctor can discuss more relevant statistics about your chances for survival with you.

No Doubt

There is no doubt that my lung cancer is caused by excessive smoking. I could spend my time doing the ‘If Only…’ and that time would be wasted, so I’m not doing that. It’s too late to change that past and as stubborn as I am, I probably wouldn’t change it anyway. I bought the ticket, and that train is never late.

But look – it’s not too late for you to stop. If you’re smoking, it’s like making payments for your own ticket. Ask yourself: Is that the (one way) trip I really want to take? Look around you. Are these the people you want to watch you die?

I am Jon. Put out that damned cigarette.

Image by Raptor Alpha via Flickr

And neither is Junior Johnson. I’m not a NASCAR fan either, but I have developed a sincere appreciation for at least one thing this man has accomplished.

He makes and sells moonshine. And he does it legally.

Back In The Day

NASCAR fans already know the short history of the sport. It grew out of the mid-20th century moonshine-runners here in North Carolina, driving powerful muscle cars from county to county, delivering the illegal drink to those who would have it, regardless of the law.

My grandaddy ran a still, way back then. Here in Rockingham county it was a common sight to see the sheriff drive up and get out of his car, pulling his pants up to cover his enormous belly, looking around like he was the sheriff of Nottingham instead of Rockingham. Yes, the fat sheriff from NC who said things like ‘You in a heap o’trouble, boy’ really DID exist. I have seen him in my childhood, and I will never forget.

It was against the law to make your own liquor here. Still is, as a matter of fact. But Carl Axsom, the high sheriff of Rockingham County, showed up on a regular schedule to load the clear juice into the trunk of his huge Plymouth Fury III. On the side of the car in letters 6 inches tall were the words ‘Carl Axsom, Sheriff’, and down below, in 2″ letters was ‘Rockingham County, North Carolina’.

Sheriff Axsom would pull into the driveway, get out of the car and hike his pants up around his really, and I mean REALLY fat gut. It was his trademark move. He’d ask for my grandaddy and they’d go down one of the little farmroads, down into the ‘holler’, to fetch the stuff. A little while later they’d return, loaded down with the shine and drunk on their asses.

Grandaddy would load the stuff into the official car’s trunk, gallons of it, and the fat man would leave.

Back To The Present

Axsom was defeated in an election by a guy who promised to clean up law enforcement, and he did, as best
he could. My grandaddy got older and finally died, a sober man who spent much of his time reading the Bible. In the end, he was a man I was proud to call my family, a man who finally came to be who he was all along, a good man.

But before I was proud of him, I learned to hate drinking alcohol. I learned it made me feel bad, that I hated the taste of it in all its forms, that I was one of the few lucky ones in my family who would not love the beast that killed. I can drink, and I have been drunk many times. That’s how I learned.

So it came as a special surprise to me that I was planning last week to drink that strongest of drinks, white liquor, in a quantity that even my grandfather might have avoided in his wildest days. And I didn’t plan to eat anything while I pulled this drunk. I was just going to pour the stuff in and see what came out.

Long term readers here at Wordout know I have been sick for awhile. Since November 2007, as a matter of fact. My personal philosophy prohibits me from seeking so-called medical advice except in extreme cases. I won’t go into the reasons or the philosophy right here, but I do have reasons for my stance. So in August, when I bowed to my family’s demands that I at least have some tests done, it was a major deviation from my normal way of living.

The truth is, I thought I was dying. I just wanted to know exactly what it was that was killing me. Because of some really severe pains, I was pretty sure it was something in my circulatory system, so I chose a heart specialist. After nearly $3000 in testing, he assured me my heart was fine, and instead diagnosed me with a severe case of emphysema based on x-rays of my lungs. But he also told me that I was a strange case, as the only indication of severe emphysema was the x-rays. I didn’t exhibit any of the symptoms you’d normally expect from a severely emphysemic patient.

That was in September. By the middle of October, I was very ill. When November rolled around, things took a turn for the worst and within another week or so I was so sick I could barely get out of bed. My skin changed colors, gradually becoming a kind of gray you’d expect to see in a terminally-ill patient. The black circles under my eyes had grown to cover much of my face.

I. Was. Dying.

Mysterious Ways and Unexpected Means

I’m a lucky guy, though, and the Lord of the Universe wasn’t finished with me. My niece would come to check on me every day back then, and sometimes would force me to let her drag me to Chaney’s, my favorite local restaurant, for soup, or whatever she could get me to eat.

One particular night during the worst of this ordeal she lugged me over to the restaurant. I hated going there by then. Chaneys is one of the most popular places in this little southern town, and I didn’t want folks I know to see me in that shape. But this night it paid off. One of my friends, a customer with a contract for IT services (which had been neglected for a month due to my illness) came in with his wife and sat at the table next to us.

Southern hospitality always trumps everything else. Forgetting myself, I asked how he’d been lately. It’s the polite question, the equivalent of asking how’s the weather. The answer is almost always as shallow as the question. I expected Tommy to look at me, see my illness, and say something like ‘fine’ and then ask about my health. That’s the normal way it goes.

But he didn’t. He told me how he’d been sicker than he had been in over 30 years, maybe longer. Told me how he’d seen the doctors, taken the antibiotics which did nothing, taken the anti-viral shot which did nothing, followed all the doctor’s orders, all with no improvement. It lasted for 5 weeks he said. ( His wife leaned around him and said that he had looked JUST LIKE ME.) He listed his symptoms, and they were exactly what I was going through.

Well, he looked fine to me, so I asked him what he did to finally get rid of it, which brings me back to Junior Johnson. The cure my friend Tommy came up with was to go back to his childhood, back in the 1950s and 1960s, when his grandma would treat nearly everything with what else but liquor and honey.

Liquor and honey was a big cure-all around my house, too, when I was that young. My grandaddy’s wife, Mama Lacie, would make a small glass with the white liquor and honey and make us drink it. I never understood why, and being so young, I never asked or gave it much thought. It was just one of those things that eventually went away as the 60s turned into the 70s and then the 80s and we became too ‘modern’ and ‘advanced’ in our thinking, throwing away the old so that we could embrace the new.

The wisdom of trying to eliminate an illness gave way to the madness of managing it. Younger doctors with much education brought with them a distrust of the old ways, the ways that had kept us alive these last 40,000 years, the ways which brought us here to this pinnacle.

He Looked JUST LIKE YOU

Back to the story: Tommy said he just sat himself down on his couch in front of his 60 inch plasma TV, turned off all his phones, and broke out the best of the best of the ’shine, a quart of white lightning made by the only guy in North Carolina with a license to do so. He drank that quart over a period of about 36 hours, supplemented only with chicken noodle soup (another old remedy, which recent studies have shown has many curative properties which are still not understood well.)

He said that was all it took. He coughed and shat the infection out of his body within the next two days and had felt fine since. (Again, his wife leans forward and says ‘He looked JUST LIKE YOU, Jon’.) And then he makes a comment that stuck in my head: ‘I think I was on the verge of having walking pneumonia’.

That stuck in my head for a few days. I’d been sick off and on for over a year, always the same symptoms, always seemed to be some form of the flu. For decades before, I had hardly a sniffle and then, an entire year of it. I had done what I never do (seen a doctor… and believed him), and I had given up on recovering health. I had updated my will, began to unwind my obligations, started trying to prepare those closest to me for the certain day of my approaching death.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about what Tommy said. I could barely breathe the day I started searching the internet for information on pneumonia. I knew it was a waste of time, but I had nothing else I could do anyway. I felt like a desperate fool, grasping at a hope that would never be real, but I did what I do. I searched and researched and gradually I learned.

I had never found any illness that matched ALL the symptoms I was experiencing. I’d been searching for nearly a year, and had finally given up. You can imagine how it made me feel to find that pneumonia caused every symptom I felt. Well, imagine my surprise when I found a cross-section photo of a pneumatic lung, and compared it to the cross-section photo of an emphysemic lung, and to my eye they were identical!

Legal Lightning

I realized that if indeed I had pneumonia, that could explain the on-again off-again progress of my symptoms over the past year. I had always thought that pneumonia was caused by either bacteria or viral infections, but I learned that there are at least 5 other causes, and that one of the most common causes was from inhaling particulate matter. Even dust can cause the condition to occur.

I called Tommy. I asked him if I could get some of that moonshine from him. He said I could have a quart if I would use it just the way he said. I agreed, and the first day I was barely able to get out of the house, I picked up a quart jar with an ‘A’ on its lid. The ‘A’ designated the highest grade, 180-proof, 90% pure alcohol.

That’s when I learned where the stuff came from. It was from the Piedmont Distillery, owned and operated by Junior Johnson under a license from the state, making him a legal manufacturer and distributor of the most illegal alcohol in North Carolina. Until then, I didn’t know anyone could do that. From what I understand, it was a hard fought battle to get that license.

In the end, I’m glad Junior Johnson didn’t give up. I couldn’t even tell you what the numbers are on his race cars. I don’t know who his sponsors are. And that probably won’t change. Junior Johnson isn’t in my mind associated with racing. In my mind, he’s the guy with the cure for what ailed me.

Alcohol In – Alcohol Out (Plus Lots Of Other… uhhh… Stuff)

I started last Wednesday night about 8 o’clock, the night before Thanksgiving, by drinking a full four ounce dose of the moonshine. It was really hard to swallow, literally. I don’t drink, remember? Can’t stand the taste, can’t stand the feeling in my stomach. But convinced I was dying, I continued with about 2 ounces every two hours. After a few doses I felt just purely awful, but I persevered.

Following Tommy’s advice, I drank this way throughout Thanksgiving day, and around 10pm was a little more than halfway through the quart. That was the total dosage he had set for me, and that’s when I stopped. I wanted to be able to drive to my mom’s house for the big Thanksgiving dinner on Friday. Most of my family would be there and I had hopes of looking good and feeling better. They’d been really worried about me lately. I wanted them to see a future with me in it, not in a box.

Thanksgiving, For Real

I won’t describe the nastiness that came out of me. Some of you would enjoy that narrative, but my mother probably wouldn’t, and she still reads Wordout. Suffice it to say that I was both amazed and humbled. Alcohol is one of the few things humans put into their bodies that cannot be metabolized at all. Most other things, once eaten, are broken down into what eventually become sugars that your body uses to regenerate itself.

Alcohol is different. It enters your body and remains alcohol until it leaves your body.(<–NOPE! I WAS WRONG HERE! SEE COMMENTS BELOW) From your stomach it enters your blood, goes immediately to your heart, then your lungs, then is sent to literally every cell in your body. It’s removed from your body through your urine, your sweat, your breath, your feces. It comes out the way it goes in – as alcohol.(Wrong again – see comments below)

But along with it comes many things you never even suspected were in there. I will ignore the other ways it comes out and just say here that the blackness which came out of my lungs, clumps of it at times, was simply astounding. I almost said ‘breath-taking’, but after each spell of coughing this crap up, I could actually breathe BETTER.

It is strange to feel yourself healing, almost minute by minute. Within hours of waking on Friday, I knew I was on the right track. A certain fog that had descended on my mind months ago began to lift. My vision actually cleared a little (I am blind in one eye). The pain that had wrapped around my chest for months was gone. It had completely disappeared from one day to the next (and has still not returned).

Dinner was scheduled for 5pm, and I showed up at my mom’s house around 1 o’clock. There was color on my face, the blackness receded to just under my eyes, and my eyes were clear and sure. I could stand straight and tall – geez, I could stand at all! I felt absolutely fantastic.

They Forced Their Hope Upon Me

It’s been a week now, and I still feel stronger. I am not back to my ‘old self’ yet. I don’t have the physical strength that I had a year ago, and I’ve learned quickly not to expect to recover from a year-long illness overnight. There’s a long row to hoe for me to completely recover, but I can hold that hoe and I know how to use it.

What still brings me to tears is the solemn truth that I had accepted my death as not just a certainty, but an imminent fact. I don’t know if I ever actually gave up – I think I was on that precipice – but I do know that I had accepted it. I was trying to help others accept it, trying to make that inevitable day less painful to them.

But they would not accept it. My niece, my sons, my family and friends – they didn’t let me go. And go I would have, with a dignity and honor I have practiced all my life.

There is no way I can ever thank them enough for that. I hope they always know with certainty that they saved me from an end which I mistakenly thought my own. I hope they know how much that means to me. They forced their hope upon me, when I could find no hope at all.

Death, to me, is not something to be feared. It is not some horrible destiny that awaits us like a ravenous beast, but is instead the natural completion of the time we have here. It’s the last New Thing any of us will experience while we live. Still, to die when there is reason and method to remain with the living would be a sad thing, indeed.

I am Jon. I am alive.

Thanks to PerceptiveTravel for some info used here.

OK, officially, this is what the doctor said:

Actually, I don’t really know what the doctor said. I didn’t go back for the results of the tests. My sister, however, works there in that office, and the doc told her that I need to chill a bit. The universe must be in agreement, because here it is the end of August in North Carolina and instead of 100 degree temps we’re enjoying the mid-to-high 80s.

Is that doctor good, or what?

Seriously though, my heart (which is what I was really worried about) seems reasonably strong for a guy pushing 50 who sits on his rear all day just peckin and clickin, with a 39 year history of tobacco (ab)use. The lungs, well, they aren’t in such great shape. We’re talking an advanced stage of emphysema which was clearly evident in the x-rays even to me. In short, my lungs look like bubble wrap. In a strange twist, I don’t show many of the signs of such an advanced case. My blood oxygen is better than most non-smokers at 98%, my blood pressure clocked in at 92 over 60 and all the other tests returned results in the ‘normal’ range. I don’t have uncontrollable (or even ‘controllable’) coughing fits.

Doctors and Such versus Me

By far, the most stressing thing about this ordeal was the stress test. I have a serious phobia when it comes to people who hold doctorates in any discipline, especially in any of the medical sciences. Especially them. And the people who work for them. Especially the people who work for them. You may wonder why?

Because they lie. Since getting out of the military, every single time I’ve been to a ‘doctor’ or a ‘dentist’, I’ve received what I consider to be either substandard treatment or else been outright lied to about the treatment and/or the condition. In my developed opinion, these guys are to be trusted less than politicians or lawyers or religious clergy. To all of you who work in these fields, I offer no apology. What I have experienced is what I have experienced, and nothing you can say or promise will change my perception of your career field or how you, personally, conduct your professional affairs.

For instance, the reason I didn’t go back for the results? Because these guys lied to me about the stress test. First they tried to say that the doctor misinterpreted something (that should make me feel better?). Then they tried to tell me that they had called me and told me the correct procedure(They called twice: once to tell me to call if I had any questions, but that the person I needed to talk to about my questions would be out of the office until the day before the procedure, and second, an automated call to remind me of the appointment). Finally, they tried to tell me I should have called them to make sure they had told me the truth.

At no time did they ever admit to the truth, which was that they told me something that was not true. They told me that I would not have to have an injection, knowing in advance that I would not agree in advance to any injections for any reason. And not once did they offer a real apology. (Telling me that you’re sorry I misunderstood is NOT an apology.)

End Results

Yeah, I let’em stick me, knowing that my body wouldn’t react the way they said it would. Knowing that they lied when they said it would not have any effect on me at all and would be flushed out of my system within 48 hours. (Forgive the graphics here, but my bathroom time was very disrupted for about 6 days.) I wanted the results of the stress test, and they wouldn’t perform it without the injections.

But the end result is this: they proved my fears to be well-founded and correct. And I will never again voluntarily subject myself to any medical personnel in the future, for any reason, regardless of who asks or begs for it. They are nice people at home, I am sure. But they are exactly who I thought they were in the office, self-assured and overconfident. Conceited, even, thinking their medical prowess so great that they can manipulate PEOPLE into doing what they want ‘for the person’s own good’.

These medical professionals made me feel used, unimportant, and angry. They mocked my intelligence, my ability to research and understand the material I researched, and, in general, my entire philosophy concerning how I live my life.

What is it about some people, that they think and feel that they know what is best for someone else? I know what’s best for me, and I can guess at what is best for people I know well, but there is practically no way I can know what’s best for someone I have just met. And even if I thought I knew, I wouldn’t use lies and trickery to get them to do what I wanted.

I am Jon, not a doctor, but not an idiot, either. (Nevertheless, I am taking steps to reduce or eliminate stresses in my life.)

Image via WikipediaSmok’em If’ya Got’em!

I guess I was about 6 years old the first time I ever heard that. Out in the tobacco fields of 1960s North Carolina, nearly everybody had cigarettes or chewing tobacco in their pockets. At six, of course, I didn’t have either. But I had eyes, and I watched the men all fire up or cut off a chunk to chew. Literally every man in the field had something made of tobacco, and like all little boys, I wanted so much to be a man.

By the time I turned seven years old I had started stealing Old Golds from my granddaddy. He worked for the Lorillard company over in Greensboro. Every week he’d bring at least a carton of cigarettes home, a benefit of working for the ‘factory’. Every week, I’d steal a pack and sneak around outside, pretending I was a man.

About a year later, my grandmother, Mama Lacie, caught me. She gave me a choice of being whipped or having my mouth washed out with Lava soap. When I chose the belt, she firmly let me know that the smoke went into and out of my mouth and it was that end of me that was going to get worked on.

Lava soap has a taste you never forget. I didn’t smoke for about a year after that. But during my 10th summer, working in the tobacco fields, the inevitable smoke break would come every morning. I don’t remember which day it was. I don’t remember which man it was. Still, one day that summer, one of the men in the field offered me a smoke and I took it. I’ve been smoking since that day, with only a few brief interludes.

Atelectasis

That was 39 years ago. Last week my left lung partially collapsed. It is perhaps one of the most painful experiences I’ve ever had to endure. Sitting here at this keyboard is nowhere near easy. But I feel like I need to let you know what’s happened here, why I haven’t published anything here in a week.

According to the online Mayo Clinic,

Well, I have a sincere dislike and lack of trust of medical people and modern medical procedures. I have yet to allow a doctor to look at me. But I am giving it some consideration. At the least, I should probably have some xrays done.

Pneumothorax

So what actually causes something like this to happen? We can say: ‘Smoking causes it!’ but that tells us nothing, really. Again, the Mayo Clinic has a great series of pages on it:

Clear The Smoke

Let me make this clear. If you smoke, you will eventually harm your body. You can play the odds, and you will lose. You can pretend that it doesn’t affect everybody, and you will be proven wrong. You can laugh at the warnings from your friends and family, and you will eventually not be able to laugh without pain. You can ignore the warnings all around you, and in ignorance, you will reap the appropriate rewards.

If you smoke, you are probably already addicted. You’ve played with the idea of quitting, but the addiction is so hard to beat. You can’t imagine a stronger addiction. Well, I can.

I am Jon, and I am addicted to life.