24 October 2018

Let's start back up with a downer

It's been awhile, hasn't it?

I have cancer. Metastatic melanoma.
A weird thing about having cancer (for me specifically) is that I don't feel ill (yet?), so there is a heavy element of cognitive dissonance.
A weird thing about having cancer, like just in general, is the way it comes crashing in and forces you to reprioritize your life, TODAY.
Will I live long enough that the baby remembers his mom? I should start getting in front of the camera. I should start recording my voice more places. I should start buying special books.
What special things have I always intended to do with my kids? Can I do them? Can I do them today? We should go to the snow. We should go to the beach. We should go to the city.
I need to get my affairs in order. Call estate attorney has been on my list every day for a week. I have the contact information now, at least.
I need to spend less time doing things I hate. The cleaners are coming weekly now.
I need to train my employees on how to perform my essential job functions.
Should I buy a camera? Should I buy a new phone? My phone is almost 3 years old, maybe a new phone would solve the camera problem.
Will the kids be okay?
Will Quentin be okay?
Will Quentin get rid of his fucking elliptical machine?

I already had the misfortune of learning this when Quentin was in the hospital, and on a smaller scale when people close to me passed away, but a thing about personal disasters is that they bring your friendships into focus.
I have been sending awkward texts.
"I have cancer. It's not good."
"I have cancer, a bad kind, I just wanted to let you know."
"This isn't a specific request I just wanted to let you know that I have metastic melanoma and I don't know what is going to happen next."
Some people respond well. Or "well". I have decided that the best response is some variation of that sucks and I'm sorry.
Some people respond in what feels like the wrong way to me, either with too much brightsiding or too much anger and grief directed back at me or with too much advice or in a way that makes me feel like I need to reassure them.
A weird thing about cancer is that every person you've ever met is secretly an oncologist, and knows more than your doctor about how to cure you.
Some people (just a few, but some) have not responded at all, and that is the shittiest response of all.

Some people have very good hearts but are so eager to help that it is overwhelming.

I have been getting phone calls from weird people. All of my uncles have called me. We don't have a phone call relationship. Two of my uncles, I mean, I have never spoken to them of the phone even once, in my entire life.

Anyway, I'm just going to end this here.

I have cancer, a bad kind, I just wanted you to know.


  1. That sucks, I'm sorry, and I love you.

  2. This long time reader sends extra love and open ears.

  3. That sucks, I'm sorry. Quentin, for the love of all that is holy, get rid of the fucking elliptical.

  4. I follow you on twitter and I have followed your blog for years. I'm so sorry. I wish I could do *something* to support you during this time but I don't want to add to your stress/being overwhelmed. I also don't know you *personally* but please know I care... and if you want a crochet hat/blanket let me know. (random I know... social anxiety is making me babble..)

  5. There are a million and one thoughts racing through my mind right now.

    I don't know you personally, but I started reading your blog when you were in Sacramento, trying to get home.

    I feel like I have watched your first born grow up... and seen you find happiness, as well as struggle and be a lovely human being.

    I want to hug you, but that is probably inappropriate.

    And, I don't know what I can do.

    But I do know this. I don't break - I bend, but I don't break. I am not afraid to hear anything you need to say. It's an odd offer, I know. Just keep it in your pocket in case you need it.

    Sending big love and virtual hugs.

  6. This really sucks, I'm sorry. Also, I love oyur voice, always have, always will.

  7. I am sooo sorry. I suppose that words will never be enough. Perhaps not feeling ill is a sign that the road won't be so rough (at least physically). Sending love. V.

  8. It really does suck. I know. Believe me, I know. My son was 10 and I was having to answer questions that no person ever wants to have to answer.
    One piece of advice that I wish I had taken - when people offer to help, let them.
    Second piece of advice that I DID take - tune out the opinions of people who give 'medical' advice.
    Virtual hugs and good vibes coming your way.

  9. Sending so much love to you and your beautiful family.

  10. I’m so sorry. I love you. This sucks. 💔❤️

  11. Criminey. Wishing you better news SOON. <3

  12. I check your blog often, and boom here is the saddest news I have ever read. Take care of you, and write to us. Tell us what is going on, with al this, we like you, your our friend. Love you, love your style Kid. God Bless

  13. This sucks.
    I don't have other words.
    This just sucks.

  14. Oh. Oooooh. I am so, so sorry. Thinking of you, and Q, and those gorgeous babies you've so generously shared with us over the years.