Joe

On March 5, 2009, my remarkable brother-in-law, Joe Johnson, passed away after a courageous battle against lung cancer. I wrote this tribute for him, and finished it several days before his passing, but did not have a chance to share it with him.

Joe

I grew up, the second oldest of six children, in central New Jersey, near the shore. My baby sister and older brother were the radical bookends of our clan, testing the boundaries with our parents, and helping to keep the foibles of the middle four in check. When I went to college, I joined a fraternity, and added many Brothers to my already sizable family. One day, I met a young freshman from a town near my parents’, and he chose me as his Big Brother, essentially a mentor. Not long after, my baby sister called to tell me that she was dating someone she really liked, and he was related to someone I knew. It turned out that she was dating the younger brother of my new fraternity brother. Eventually, they married, and now my Little Brother’s Little Brother is married to my little sister.

Joe is a great guy. Stocky in build, he’s always looked healthy and strong. As a longshoreman, he worked the docks in north Jersey for awhile, until he worked his way up to becoming a Captain for Circle Line, ferrying folks around the Statue of Liberty and across the Hudson River to Manhattan. On one trip, he even let my young son “drive” the boat, thrilling him and worrying the heck out of my wife.

Joe is the kind of guy who will do almost anything for anybody. He was a great son-in-law and friend to my father, who passed away last summer, and the two of them were often like peas in a pod. Every now and then, though, Joe would mischievously provoke Dad by asking him about doctors, ostensibly the bane of his existence. And Joe would also push Dad to achieve more. I remember a time about eight or nine years ago, when Dad was nearing the end of a long project, almost single-handedly reroofing the house he built about 50 years earlier. I had recently started helping Dad, respecting his leisurely pace; he was becoming a little nervous about being on the roof and had begun to welcome the help. Joe came over one day, and talked Dad into finishing the last ten percent in one shot. Actually, he made it tough for Dad to say, “No,” by simply ripping off the rest of the old roof.

About six years ago, Joe got the news that we all dread – he had cancer, a particularly nasty kind of non-small cell lung cancer. It was the same type that had claimed his own father at an early age. Joe’s genetic predisposition certainly increased his risk, but no one ever would have ever suspected it, given his apparent health and age (early forties). He had surgery to remove the cancer and half of one of his lungs, and followed that with rounds of radiation and chemotherapy.

For a while, things were looking good – he went back to work, got most of his energy back, and returned to doing most of the things he did before. His continuing treatments have been difficult, and at times, he’s had to slow down, but his recovery from the surgery was nothing short of remarkable. He has beaten unbelievable odds with his determination, and his indomitable spirit and drive. While incurable, his cancer has found a formidable foe.

I’ve now known Joe for over thirty years. In that time, I’ve never known him to feel sorry for himself or feel that he is better than anyone else. Ever since his initial diagnosis, Joe has made a point of enjoying life and his family. He’s spent a lot of time with his three wonderful sons, sharing their love of baseball, enjoying outdoor sports, and taking them places. I know that he’s great for my sister, and a great dad for his boys. His example of class and fatherhood is one that he can truly be proud of, and the world is certainly a better place because of a guy named Joe.

One More Day

Six years ago, my Dad, Wm. Clyde Morgan, was diagnosed with lung cancer. He passed away on July 1, 2009. The gift of the last six years is due to several doctors and nurses who took a sincere interest in him, and the wonderful care that my mother and sisters provided.

He kept his sense of humor to the end – in the week before his passing, he was expressing frustration at not knowing what the plan was for his treatment, and said he was going to call hospital information and ask about the condition of Mr. Morgan in Room 585. I remember telling people how we would know when Dad was getting better – he’d start telling jokes.

When my Dad was sick this last time, I kept thinking I’d see him tomorrow, so I could learn more about his life. He kept fighting to see one more day, out of his deep love for Mom and our family. Sometimes, I’d see him the next day, and he’d look stronger than the day before. He’d lived for one more day, and I’d still think I’d see him tomorrow.

He ran out of tomorrows. Now what we have are yesterdays, the memories of the fine man he was, his infectious smile and laugh, his sense of humor, his great wisdom, and his sense of honor. He’s left a great legacy in our memories, and we’ll always keep him in our hearts.

He fought the good fight. He finished the race. You done good, Clyde.

Facing Your Enemas

Once upon a time, discussions of this sort would have creeped me out. Now that I’ve matured, and learned the facts of life, it’s a lot easier to talk or write about these things – maybe too easy…

Despite dire warnings, the recommendations of doctors, loved ones and numerous celebrities, the very thought of it may be enough to bring the bravest and toughest among us to our knees. The indignity of it, the invasion of privacy, the probing, the pictures… Of course, I’m referring to a colonoscopy, which for many of us is a least-prized 50th birthday present.

At a small party my wife and I attended recently with a group of contemporaries, as conversations with folks our age tend to go, the discussion eventually got around to the subject of colonoscopies. Almost everyone had been through at least one, but two people hadn’t had theirs yet. One had scheduled an appointment, and it was coming up soon, so the taunts and teasing escalated as the night wore on. The conversation was hilarious as several people recounted their close encounters and contemplated posting their pictures on FaceBook, MySpace, or better yet, YouTube! Only my wife and another couple knew that my colonoscopy a month earlier had uncovered early stage colorectal cancer.

For those who haven’t had “the procedure” yet, the prep is the worst part, but for most, it’s not so bad. A handful of tablets or magic powder and a torrent of fluids the night before clears the way for the doctor to perform the exam while you’re in a blissful state of sleep. If it’s any consolation, you can imagine that the doctor’s perspective is a lot different, and that you’re certainly on the better end of things. If you’re employed, it’ll mean a day off, but you’ll need a chauffeur, which may make things a bit more challenging, and a bit less private. But once the procedure is completed, you’ll get over it and reward yourself by gorging and replenishing your system.

In my case, I had put the procedure off for several years, and finally ran out of excuses. The doctor who performed the routine examination removed a small non-suspicious growth, and as a matter of routine, sent it to the pathology lab, where it was found to be cancerous. Although surprised by the results, she felt that she had gotten it all with the initial excision. This was substantiated with additional testing performed at a cancer center that she recommended. While the doctors are confident, there’s no certainty that it’s gone. However, all indications are good, and with (ugghh!) more frequent ‘oscopies, the doctors feel they can effectively monitor for recurrence. I suggested that with training, since I spend so much time with my head up my butt, I could keep a close eye on it myself. Ever the professionals, they felt that an expert (second) opinion would be more beneficial than just relying on my own point of view.

The reason that colonoscopies are such a good idea is that they are relatively simple to perform, very effective at detecting disease, and don’t require hospitalization. Colorectal cancer is the third most prevalent, and the second most deadly form of cancer in the US. In 2015, an estimated 135,000 new cases were diagnosed, and approximately 49,000 lives were lost to the disease. Almost 1 person in 20 will be diagnosed with it during his or her lifetime. If the procedure is performed in time, doctors can detect many colorectal cancers early, when the cure rate is very high. If not caught soon enough, colorectal cancer is one of the more insidious forms of cancer, showing few, if any, symptoms. If caught in mid- to late-stage, the prognosis is equivocal, and the road ahead is potentially painful and debilitating, and very expensive.

Take it from me - denial is an ineffective preventive or defensive strategy, and avoiding the unpleasantness of a colonoscopy and its prelude is not a wise course of action. Some things are best dealt with head-on (pardon the metaphor), and the consequences of inaction or procrastination can be fatal. And as I’ve learned, having your head up your butt doesn’t provide as good a view as a trained professional can get. So, if you’ve been depriving some doctor the joy of examining your nether region, park your excuses and make the call. It could just save your life – it surely saved mine.

Saved by the Ax (Things Could be Worse)

This is a piece I wrote that was published as an op-ed in the Trenton Times on April 5, 2009. Beware of the jaw-dropper at the end of the first paragraph, and know that I'm fine.

When I received word late last year that my executive position in engineering and support operations at a local biopharmaceutical company was being eliminated as part of a reduction in force, I was understandably disappointed, but moderately optimistic. Since then, I’ve seen the bottom drop out of the job market and the ranks of the Brotherhood of the Vocationally Detached swell to almost unprecedented levels. Mom always told me, “Cheer up, Bob, things could be worse.” So I cheered up, and sure enough, things got worse. The colonoscopy that I’d been putting off for several years while I was too busy at work revealed early stage cancer.

My purpose in writing this is not to garner sympathy. I’m writing in hopes of a catharsis for myself, and possibly to encourage someone else who might be faced with similar circumstances. So here’s my advice in a nutshell: Learn from the past; deal with the present; and plan for the future. You can’t change the past; you live in the present; and your future will be what it is, but can be guided by how you prepare for it.

With regard to my medical condition, the lesson is a hard one: I should have listened to the expert advice (including my wife’s), and had a colonoscopy five years ago. There’s no certainty that it would have uncovered my problem, but it certainly would have reduced any anxiety about the procedure itself. For those who haven’t had it yet, the prep is not so bad, and the procedure is done while you’re in a blissful state of sleep – the doctor definitely has the worst view. So for the present, I’m dealing with it fairly well - gathering information, aggressively pursuing treatment, and now, announcing it to the world! As for the future, I’ve awakened to my mortality, and am taking the time to organize notes and records so that it won’t be such a chore to figure out where things are or how circumstances should be dealt with whenever my time is up.

The road ahead is not clear yet, but with age and otherwise good health on my side, the prognosis is excellent. Also a comfort, my wife’s medical plan is a good one, so loss of coverage with my job wasn’t a double-whammy. It may be a defense mechanism, but I’m even able to see humor in the situation, although most of it is probably too graphic to recount here. Odd as it may seem, I’m feeling pretty lucky. Usually, this type of cancer isn’t found until it’s further advanced. Ironically, if I was still working, I might have continued to make excuses for not having the procedure until it was too late. As such, I’m offering myself up as somewhat of a poster-boy, although anxious to know what the poster will ultimately look like, especially in light of pending healthcare reform.

With regard to my vocational detachment, the lesson is also a hard one: I had a good run, and my company treated me well, but I focused too hard on the job and didn’t prepare adequately for the inevitable changes that were occurring as the company shifted focus and was sold several times. The present is rife with challenges, but opportunities as well, and I’m reaching out in many directions to find the right mix of both. For the future, the networking I’m doing now (and have neglected in the past), will continue to pay dividends for both me and those in my network.

The current job market is daunting, and with so many layoffs being announced, the competition for relatively few job openings is fierce. The flip side, though, is that many companies are not only downsizing for the sake of reducing costs; the smart ones are learning from the past, and dealing with the present by reorganizing to realign themselves for the future. They’re also realizing that experienced people who have seen ups and downs before can provide an immeasurably valuable perspective to help focus their vision. The opportunities that result are ripening for those of us who understand where we can truly add value to a company as the economy recovers, as it surely will. For those of us whose finances are drowning in the perfect storm of unemployment coupled with tanking retirement investments, adding value is also the best hope for our own economic recovery.

Some would regard these life events as an emotional roller coaster. They’re actually more like the stock market or the current financial crisis – you never know when there’s going to be a rise or fall (opportunity or challenge), but you know something’s going to happen. As an engineer with an MBA, I’ve learned that meeting a challenge or solving a problem requires an understanding of the situation, identification and analysis of alternatives, planning for the chosen solution, implementation of the plan, and follow-up with adjustments when needed. The challenges that I and many others are faced with require a thoughtful and diligent problem-solving process, and the opportunities are there for full recovery for all of us.

Learn from the Past. Deal with the Present. Plan for the Future. And for goodness sake, if you’ve been putting off seeing your doctor, schedule that appointment now!

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Okay; if you're still with me, check out this companion piece, which won't be published in print for reasons that will become obvious.

Turning the Other Cheek

My recent essay, “Saved by the Ax,” is really about Making Your Adversity Something Special. That’s a bit of a mouthful, so an acronym is in order: MYASS. That’s right, “Saved by the Ax” is really about MYASS, so this story is just another way of looking at it.

As MYASS was developing, I had trouble keeping my thoughts from wandering and my ideas focused. In other words, I was having difficulty keeping my head in MYASS. As hard as I tried, I just kept putting more stuff in MYASS, and eventually had to take some out, because MYASS was just getting too big and ugly.

When I was nearly done, I had several people look at MYASS to see if it was okay. Several responded that I should Keep It Short & Sweet. In other words, using another acronym, they were actually saying, “KISS MYASS!” While that may sound harsh, I appreciated their advice, and now MYASS is in better shape than it ever was before.

So now MYASS is ready for primetime. I’m trying to get MYASS in print or on the radio or on TV. If that happens, MYASS will be around forever. In fact, you’ll be able to google MYASS. Yes, you’ll be able to look up MYASS on the internet. Perhaps MYASS will develop a following, and have a Facebook identity, or show up on YouTube, or even better, LinkedIn. If it gets established on LinkedIn, you’ll be able to pull all kinds of things out of MYASS whenever you need them.

MYASS features two Circumstances Having Equally Exacting Kickers, again begging an acronym: CHEEK. When you put my two CHEEKs together, you can see MYASS whole! One CHEEK relates to my unemployment, where I’m out on MYASS, and the other CHEEK relates to my early stage colon cancer, where I’ve got a bug in MYASS. While each CHEEK is clearly separate, they come together to a point that is both simple and profound.

As MYASS has developed, I’ve become rather attached to it, partly because MYASS embodies my intelligence. Although MYASS isn’t very deep, if you have a slow computer, MYASS might freeze. You may have to get out of MYASS at that point, then boot MYASS again, then get back in to MYASS and pick up where you left off. MYASS gets backed up every time I change something, so if you’re interested, you might want to take a fresh look at MYASS once in a while. I hope you’ll treat MYASS with a little respect, and once you’ve had enough, I’ll promise not to ask you to look at MYASS again!

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Editor’s note: MYASS was found on the internet, and is attributed to Derek Iverson’s, Millenium Year Application Software System. A few of his analogies have been adapted, but most are fresh. I used it previously in a parody about a Multiple Year Analytical Spreadsheet that I developed at work, which I referred to as “Raw Material Inventory – MYASS.” I was working on its companion modules, “Accounts Payable – MYASS,” “Customer Relations – MYASS,” “Project Management – MYASS,” and “SOX Compliance – MYASS.” Each would be a single user per version of MYASS.