For the first time we can envision the possibility of stopping cancer in its tracks.
But just when science is on the verge of giving us the breakthroughs that can end cancer,
the will and the funding to do so are disappearing from the national agenda and from our collective consciousness.
Cancer takes one person every minute. One life in a moment.
They are our brothers, our sisters, our fathers and mothers, our husbands and wives,
Our best friends, our children, ourselves.
Every day in America 1500 people die and yet the means to save them are literally within our reach.
To wait any longer for someone else to save our lives and the lives of those we love is unforgivable.
Inspired to act by our own personal experiences with cancer,
We recognize that we can no longer rely on the current system alone to give us the breakthroughs we need.
So, we are calling on the public to help take matters into our own hands, investing in a revolution
That will change the way scientist and clinicians work to understand and treat these diseases.
Stand Up To Cancer is more than a rallying cry. It is a galvanizing force created to urgently move cancer research forward.
This is where the end of cancer begins: when we unite in one unstoppable movement and:
Stand Up To Cancer.
WE ARE STANDING!
Friday, September 05, 2008
Thursday, September 04, 2008
(WSF) ABOUT PEACE, LOVE & UNDERSTANDING?
Sage, wise words from the Master:
Elvis Costello.
Hey Brother, Scott!
I'm sending this out to you and your ska brothers.
Knowing if you were here, you would be fighting, protesting and pleading;
DOING everything in your power, to fight for peace and bring about change.
Love and Miss you, Monkey-Man
Slarry
P.S. I hope you, Dan and Nadine are taking care of one another.
Give yourselves *hugs* from me.
Monday, July 28, 2008
One Sister's Perspective
Written initially, as a "comment" to Scott's post on September 11, 2006.
Re-posted today, almost two years later, as another member of our family,
Has recently been diagnosed with Cancer.
This comment feels as though I barely wrote it.
I miss my brother. I miss my Mom. We all do!
I am going to fight and support my brother In-Law, and his wife
(my sister)
With every resource available. Peace and love to both of you. sas
Others, too, that I'm close to-
Have lost their Mother, Brother, Sister, Father, Son or Daughter, or a dear Friend
In the months since Scott passed away.
Countless other's are dealing with their own illness, be it Cancer or some
Re-posted today, almost two years later, as another member of our family,
Has recently been diagnosed with Cancer.
This comment feels as though I barely wrote it.
I miss my brother. I miss my Mom. We all do!
I am going to fight and support my brother In-Law, and his wife
(my sister)
With every resource available. Peace and love to both of you. sas
Others, too, that I'm close to-
Have lost their Mother, Brother, Sister, Father, Son or Daughter, or a dear Friend
In the months since Scott passed away.
Countless other's are dealing with their own illness, be it Cancer or some
other life threatening disease.
Please know, my heart, and love are being sent your way.
I will continue to fight against Cancer, whether I am donating my time, or money,
Or preparing a meal, or offering a shoulder to cry or lean on. Anything and Everything!
That is the least I can do.
It's the least we all should be doing.
Thanks to all of you who were, and remained, so supportive, kind and selfless
Please know, my heart, and love are being sent your way.
I will continue to fight against Cancer, whether I am donating my time, or money,
Or preparing a meal, or offering a shoulder to cry or lean on. Anything and Everything!
That is the least I can do.
It's the least we all should be doing.
Thanks to all of you who were, and remained, so supportive, kind and selfless
in your caring for Scott.
Thanks to my friends, also, who have been patient, loving, kind, gracious- long suffering
Who have also spread rays of sunshine, and kept my feet on the ground
Thanks to my friends, also, who have been patient, loving, kind, gracious- long suffering
Who have also spread rays of sunshine, and kept my feet on the ground
and moving forward.
As I continue the journey of redefining my life, living my life, without the blessing
Of having my Brother and Mother physically near, I can hear and feel them
As I continue the journey of redefining my life, living my life, without the blessing
Of having my Brother and Mother physically near, I can hear and feel them
poking, coaxing and encouraging me. I cannot help but listen.
A special thought for Kerry and Stacey Swaner Moore; I am here, just down the road a bit,
if you need ANYTHING.
Cancer is so.... what? Intrusive, indiscriminate and penetrating.
It has no manners.
I will continue to fight; raging war against this senseless disease,
A special thought for Kerry and Stacey Swaner Moore; I am here, just down the road a bit,
if you need ANYTHING.
Cancer is so.... what? Intrusive, indiscriminate and penetrating.
It has no manners.
I will continue to fight; raging war against this senseless disease,
that seems to effect so many more with each new day.
My best to all of you,
Sheri
[comment post coming... technical difficulties and other duties requiring my attention] : )
My best to all of you,
Sheri
[comment post coming... technical difficulties and other duties requiring my attention] : )
Monday, May 26, 2008
The Continued Offering of Mr. Jones
JULY 13, 2008
An Offering of Food: By Chef Scott
Mr. Jones (aka Scott Swaner)
Creating a culinary delight, featuring; Grilled Salmon, Fresh Spinach Salad with
bits of bacon, crushed blue cheese, walnuts and pears
and of course, Rice.
The feast was delicious, by the way.
photo taken in 2004, at Sheri and [Steph's]** house.
**ADDENDUM:
Steph is no longer a part of Mr. Jone's family.
04/20/09
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Remembering Mr. Jones (Scott Swaner) photos
Mr. Professor Jones, hanging in his office at The University of Washington.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
"LIFE IS LIFE - Not to be Squandered" By Dave
Thank you Dave, for this and many other things.
Scott Swaner
By Dave
January 7, 2007
I first met Scott in English class when we were freshmen at East High School. He was smart, really really smart.
The trick was that he was witty and outgoing and cool on top of being smart.
Scott wore black and white wingtipped shoes to school because "he" thought they were cool,
nevermind what anyone else thought. That was Scott– he decided what he wanted to do
and went after it will all his guts. The same could be said for his music, skating, schoolage, and girls.
Later, at University, Scott pointed out the best looking girl on campus (and she was at the time), and told me he would marry her (we had only met her a few hours earlier). Sure enough, six months later, Scott married her.
Scott saved my soul on more than one occasion. he showed me there is meaning in life–
the meaning is living itself. Scott made me watch “The Razor’s Edge” at least twice, until I got it.
Life is life– not to be squandered.
In this movie, two characters sit in a foxhole in WWI, lamenting the loss of their close friend,
who only moments before jumped on top of a grenade to save their lives.
In some odd ritual, they listed out the vices of their dead friend, and– through their tears–
tell each other that he will not be missed.
Scott lost a battle to cancer last month. He was 38.
He likely lived more in those 38 years than many many of us could even hope to do in an entire lifetime.
Scott was brash, smart, quick, and charming. he could cut quick with a comment,
but follow up with a trusting support that let others knew he would back them no matter what.
Scott was one of my oldest and closest friends.
He will be missed.
I first met Scott in English class when we were freshmen at East High School. He was smart, really really smart.
The trick was that he was witty and outgoing and cool on top of being smart.
Scott wore black and white wingtipped shoes to school because "he" thought they were cool,
nevermind what anyone else thought. That was Scott– he decided what he wanted to do
and went after it will all his guts. The same could be said for his music, skating, schoolage, and girls.
Later, at University, Scott pointed out the best looking girl on campus (and she was at the time), and told me he would marry her (we had only met her a few hours earlier). Sure enough, six months later, Scott married her.
Scott saved my soul on more than one occasion. he showed me there is meaning in life–
the meaning is living itself. Scott made me watch “The Razor’s Edge” at least twice, until I got it.
Life is life– not to be squandered.
In this movie, two characters sit in a foxhole in WWI, lamenting the loss of their close friend,
who only moments before jumped on top of a grenade to save their lives.
In some odd ritual, they listed out the vices of their dead friend, and– through their tears–
tell each other that he will not be missed.
Scott lost a battle to cancer last month. He was 38.
He likely lived more in those 38 years than many many of us could even hope to do in an entire lifetime.
Scott was brash, smart, quick, and charming. he could cut quick with a comment,
but follow up with a trusting support that let others knew he would back them no matter what.
Scott was one of my oldest and closest friends.
He will be missed.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
In Memory Of Nadine Swaner, our Mom
ONE YEAR AGO TODAY
For our beloved Mother:
NADINE COX SWANER
September 13, 1927 ---- January 13, 2006
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Dear family, friends and loved ones,
Today, at 3:25 pm, our wonderful, beautiful Mother, Wife, Grandmother, Aunt and friend,
Nadine Cox Swaner, died at the Huntsman Cancer Institute,
surrounded by her family.
It was only one week ago that we were together with many of you,
as we grieved, honored and paid tribute to our brother, her son, Scott.
They were such dear and tender friends and so close.
Their bond and love for one another was deeper and stronger than anyone could imagine.
As tragic as the loss is that we feel today, we are grateful knowing they are not alone.
But together; able to enjoy, laugh and learn from each other, as they always have.
They are both now free from pain. This brings us some comfort.
The loss of our Mom, the loss of a Mother is especially difficult.
She has loved, protected and taught us so, so much.
She is unique in all the world. We count ourselves particularly lucky
and blessed to have been hers.
She is grand, eloquent, beautiful, selfless and long suffering.
She will be remembered most for her graciousness, generosity,
unconditional and boundless love and strength. She lived a determined and purposeful life.
She is the strongest woman we know. Her faith and love for her Heavenly Father is unparalleled.
A gentle woman, with a twinkle in her eyes and a smile that could light up every room
and brighten any heart. She brightened all of ours.
We love you Mom! Infinitely and Eternally.
We will always miss you more than you will ever know.
Our hearts are broken and we are so, so sad.
No one, and nothing prepares one adequately for the loss, the death of your Mother.
We promise that we will love and cling to one another, forever and always
and think of you every minute of every day
and be grateful for every stolen moment and memory we shared with you.
Loves,
Sue, Sheri, Stacey ( and Scott )
We know that for many of you, our Mom’s death comes as a shock.
Many of you were not aware that she was ill.
Please feel free to contact us and we will help as best we can.
Sue Swaner: albeez_90@hotmail.com
Sheri Swaner: sschapin50@gmail.com
Stacey Swaner Moore: pancreasboy@comcast.net
A Mother's Love
~
A mother's love determines how we love ourselves and others.
There is no sky we'll ever see
Not lit by that first love.
Stripped of love, the universe
Would drive us mad with pain;
But we are born into a world
That greets our cries with joy.
How much I owe you for the kiss
That told me who I was.
The greatest gift--a love of life-- Lay laughing in your eyes.
Because of you my world still has
The soft grace of your smile;
And every wind of fortune bears
The scent of your caress.
Nicholas Gordon
Sunday, December 23, 2007
BRIEF INDECISION revisited: July 22, 2006
This post is a reprise from the original from this same blog.
As the one year Anniversary of Scott's death came and went, December 20, 2007, a mere
two days ago, it prompted me to re-read some of his blog.
It brought back many memories, reflections, and the utter horror of this entire situation;
Scott's diagnosis, and his eventual death from pancreatic cancer.
There was so much, in the "in between."
The same could be said for "The Aftermath," the time, spaces, places, feelings, people, confusion
between the here and now.
One of Scott's dearest friends, a frequent and eloquent blogger, and a dear, dear friend
to many of us, lost her Mother to cancer, shortly after Scott died. A "double whammy" to be sure.
My family, Scott's family, lost our Mother a mere three weeks after Scott died.
These episodes and events, give one pause.
Cancer--- I'm sick of it. Death, I'm so tired of it interrupting so many peoples lives.
And yet, it is a part of life.
It is almost Christmas Day, a Holiday, a day of worship, joy, reflection, a traditional time of "family,"
for many people.
Whatever your belief system is, whatever you do on this particular day,
at the very least it is filled with feelings and memories-- both of families and friends.
A day of love and connection.
This day, is forever changed and altered.
I wish DZD comfort and peace. I wish franky, the same.
There are too many people to mention, and, this really isn't my blog or forum-
it's my brothers.
But I do wish you all, peace and comfort and joy.
And if Scott were here today, I know he would want to thank all of you
for loving and caring for him so completely, supporting him,
with such gracious selflessness. Me too.
I wish any and all who are struggling, suffering or filled with a sense of loss
or emptiness, any who are fighting for their lives, just as dear Scott did, not so long ago,
the determination to continue to fight and rage. Life is worth it.
There are better times ahead. And even when it doesn't feel like it,
you are not alone, we are not alone--
we have each other to lean on, when we allow it.
My best to all of you,
Sheri
PS I love and miss you Spot.
revisiting Scott's blog.
His post and the comments made, on July 22, 2006.
Do Not Go Gentle — Poetry & Cancer, Life & Death
Some thoughts about pancreatic cancer, pancreatica, metastatic cancer, dying young, untimely death, quality of life, then poetry or "a making, a creation" — & what can be left of it while coping with fear and grief and dumb fate; trying to make a life, with what seems like little left. Family & friends, love & loss. Comments are welcomed and encouraged, though word verification and moderation are required.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
7.22.06, Brief Indecision
Walked into the kitchen, which is still shaded out because of yesterday's heat — and what they say will come today as well, and took a left turn, walked about ten feet to the far wall where I stood facing the sink, coffee maker, coffee grinder, rice maker, dish rack. For a brief moment I thought about what Frank asked me once, or I thought rather the object of his question, at what point when you get up every morning do you think "Ah, fucking cancer"? Today I woke up and it was already woven into my thoughts from the left turn, the ten feet, the facing of the morning machines.
Cancer, cancer, schedule, calendar, how long, tasks, limited range of drugs, more cancer, less calendar . . . for a moment that's all I thought, not consciously but still that's what I woke up with. Then it hit me, "It's simple. Just make coffee. That is clearly the answer to everything." Just like in Home for the Holidays when Holly Hunter and Anne Bancroft are together talking family shit in the kitchen at 3 in the morning, what does mom do? She puts on a pot of coffee. Every morning, then, too, that's got to be the same answer. It's Pascalian, ". . . kneel and move your lips as if you believe. . .", the exact same behaviorist principle. You'd be surprised at how much of life's routine will simply automatically begin its motion, just start to move by itself, once the beans are ground, cold water filled in, and the switch flipped. It all starts. It's all about making coffee.
This is how the terminal psychology seems to work, if I am in any way representative: News from the restaging wasn't really news in the sense it was information I was waiting for but already knew, information I knew would be coming at some point; the only remaining question was precisely "when will it come?" "when does the cancer pick up and start to move again?" Those are the basic stakes, point being that it shouldn't have come as much of a surprise. But the last restaging brought unexpected good news, and so this week, we, I at least, thought "Hey, maybe we'll have one more piece of good news. Just one more."
The pychology: You receive the shittiest news, you absorb and process it, then you begin to live your new life with this knowledge. The infinite amount of time ahead of you, the juggling of projects within the mind indefinitely, the procrastination with little consequence, and simlpy taking every day for granted and people for granted and the concept of "tomorrow" for granted, all of that is wrenched up, turned over or around, and slammed down in some disfigured form. You still have to make use of it, just that now this thing, it is misshapen and unfamiliar almost. Now, the restaging restarts the whole process, but you've been through it once before so that this version is not quite so baffling, the tunnel vision, heavy crushing feeling descending on your skull, the inexplicably loud heartbeat, and the gradually collapsing vision of the whole room around you — all this happens again but not so severely. This time you know it won't beat you, you're not actually worried you'll pass out and wake when head cracks against the exam room white linoleum floor. This time there's more anger than surprise. This time you're faced with how cancer doesn't give two squirts of piss about 8 weeks of rest or healing, it will move on. This is all just to inform you. An expensive way to inform you. You've been playing on your winnings already. One message. Your winnings are about gone. Second message.
Posted by Mr. Jones at 1:56 PM
3 COMMENTS:
lefty said...
FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!.....
there, i said it. did it work? did i shout it loud enough? spot, i'm so sorry i haven't commented in forever. i do try and catch up and read everything a few times a week. stolen moments at work, you know.
i go through every day with thoughts of you, the cancer, the past, the future, history with you, history despite you and then WHAM.......the daydreaming and nightdreaming with thoughts of you front and center or blended with something else going on, end. i am jolted back to the present, your present. this can't be happening to you....i remember there is not a damn thing i can do.
i can't remember not knowing you. i don't think you know how important you are to me. all of these random thoughts are driving me mad. i'm trying to keep my girlfriend upright and focused while i'm so pissed off and sad. this long distance really sucks right now. if i could only go pick up some pho (thanks for that spot) and come over tonight. well, i could come and get you and bring you back here with the central air and we could watch home for the holidays and the ref and laugh so hard at all of the familiar, or familial, moments until rice noodles choke us. my thoughts are so crazy jumbled after that post spot. i love you so much. i think i am encroaching on a larry length post : )
just put your chucks on and come over. i miss you and i think laughter is the only decent medicine there is. you know, you are going to miss mormon, i mean pioneer day here in this fair state (not the state fair-that’s something else). a free day off work to eat your favorite...swine. hot dogs for you who are unfamiliar with the crazy customs of this crazy state. it’s bigger than the 4th and we are home to the 3rd? largest parade in the united states. the people camping out are a sight to be seen.
all of the jones’ family will be gathering at tossing salad’s for steak and farmer’s market vegies and fruit and maybe some swine. we will all be thinking, talking and laughing about you. there will be some massive fireworks and then the grind starts again. there will be no effing (sp?) mr. jones senior though. he’s not ready to witness his offsping having fun, i mean, his offspring living “immorally”. save that for another day.
you are in my every gesture and thought.
your eloquent posts are incredible but today knocked me on my ass. larry had to walk away.
xoxo, lefty
7:15 PM, July 22, 2006
tossing salads said...
scott, just had a nice conversation with julias brother who lives across the street from me. im sitting her with tears in my eyes. i love you and i fucking dont want this happening to you. your restaging wasnt the best news but it wasnt the worst news. i have been blessed to be your sister. i can only thank you for the opportunity to have helped name you, change your diaper, watch you hit home runs, be so fucking smart that it was scary. i knew i would never be able to keep up. what a gift you are. thank you for showing me a different way of thinking, of being. i cant even imagine what knowing what you are facing means. i would like to know that i could be so brave, so thoughtful, so giving. i dont think so much is fair. we so need people like you. to make this world a better place. you have never thought of yourself as better just because of your intelliegence. you have just accepted that some can teach, give you knowledge, just accepting. from one of the most intelligent people on the face of the planet. fuck!!!! please keep fighting, all the way. this doesnt deserve you. we deserve you. i love you. i so want to be as brave as you. my thoughts are always with you. thank you.
8:03 PM, July 22, 2006
Anonymous said...
Mr. Scott Jones
this might come across cold, but it is not meant to be. what you posted today, although i wish your illness never happened, i almost feel relieved to hear you confront it. i think it's good that you are so up front and honest about your feelings. what a privilege it is to be able to share that with you through your blogs. there's a lot of intimacy with all of your posts, but the nature of this one seems especially so. thank you. thank you for keeping everyone in the light when it comes to how you are actually handling all of this. you could've just as easily shut everyone out. i think you're right. although i wish with all my heart that things were different, i'm thankful to hear that you're trying to go through one day at a time (whether it'd be making a cup of coffee or something else), you're still getting up to do so - you're still fighting for every bit of "normal"; even though your post reads a little like a part of you is letting go, facing the horrid truth of the matter - i think it's all strength. i know you're just being truthful...but don't forget, "let the chips fall where they may" can still buy a lot of time if you fight for it. please keep fighting -
10:27 PM, July 22, 2006
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Professor Scott
Some photos of Mr. Jones,
his family and friends.
We miss and love you, Mr. Monkey Man !!
A very kind note from Scott's oncologist.
Dear Scott's Family and Friends,
I am thinking of Scott today, as a year from his passing races up so quickly.
My thoughts are warm and positive about Scott. I remember him very fondly.
I of course feel regrets and frustrations about the horrible thing that cancer is,
and I wish that I could have done better for Scott. I hope you all are holding up ok.
And that you are living fully and with joy, as Scott would want, and as life demands.
My very best to you. My very best to Scott.
Sincerely
Sam Whiting MD
Dear Dr. Whiting,
Thank you for contacting us.
What an unexpected pleasure. We remain, as ever,
so grateful for the loving care you provided Scott.
He felt safe and confident with you and your vast skills-
and for that, and all that you did for him
we are forever grateful.
Our best to you and your family.
his family and friends.
We miss and love you, Mr. Monkey Man !!
A very kind note from Scott's oncologist.
Dear Scott's Family and Friends,
I am thinking of Scott today, as a year from his passing races up so quickly.
My thoughts are warm and positive about Scott. I remember him very fondly.
I of course feel regrets and frustrations about the horrible thing that cancer is,
and I wish that I could have done better for Scott. I hope you all are holding up ok.
And that you are living fully and with joy, as Scott would want, and as life demands.
My very best to you. My very best to Scott.
Sincerely
Sam Whiting MD
Dear Dr. Whiting,
Thank you for contacting us.
What an unexpected pleasure. We remain, as ever,
so grateful for the loving care you provided Scott.
He felt safe and confident with you and your vast skills-
and for that, and all that you did for him
we are forever grateful.
Our best to you and your family.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
BITS OF GRACE & GRATITUDE
More and more, I am discovering that I am not the only one
whose life Scott touched.
Thank you, for your kind letters, emails, and for "checking in,"
especially this first Holiday Season of loss.
It means so, so much.
Please feel free to write, comment- whatever.
Somehow, I think your voice and words will find their way
to him.
With love,
Sheri and family
sschapin50@gmail.com
<posted by: slarry
a guest and sibling of mr. jones
Sunday, November 18, 2007
THE AFTERMATH Holidays without Scott and Mom
AUTUMN, 2007
Saturday, November 10th 2007
I still can’t imagine my life without my brother and Mom being an
every day part of it. I know it is real, as real as it has been,
for the last eleven months. The knot in the pitt of
my stomach is a constant reminder.
It has been almost a year since Scott passed away.
I guess for the most part, I am doing ok; functioning, getting up in the morning
going about, and doing, what appears to be my life.
Yet, there are times when the "two-by-four" feeling and thud, strikes
me with a blow and force, that knocks me down on my
emotional ass. I stay there for a while and think and wonder...
The shock and emptiness of it all. The harsh, tragic realities that happen,
in this thing we call life.
As much as I sit here, stagnating, thinking and wondering,
I already know what they want me to do.
Stand up, shake myself off,
and get on with things; my life. LIVING.
That is what Scott asked of and wished for me,
mere hours before he died.
Not distracting myself from the pain and emptiness I feel-
but how to live and carry on inspite of it.
Scott believed that distraction is an activity that averts
our eyes from seeing what is really happening, all that is REAL.
Yes, I am a grieving sister and daughter, yes, the loss of my brother and mom
will follow me wherever I go.
I won’t distract myself from the pain that surrounds me.
I will follow their lead-
and LIVE.
Enjoy and be grateful, for all that I have.
The family and friends I have been
so richly blessed with.
Grateful for those who love and care for my brother and Mom.
Be grateful for even the mundane.
They were.
loves and hugs.
I, we, all miss you so very much.
love,
Slarry
Saturday, October 20, 2007
WHAT CANCER CANNOT DO / a guest of M. Jones
Several people have asked if I know where they can find the quote:
"WHAT CANCER CANNOT DO."
Here it is. I have a Tee shirt with this quote on it,
though I must admit- "CANCER SUCKS !" remains my favorite.
Cancer is so limited
It cannot cripple love
It cannot shatter hope
It cannot erode faith
It cannot eat away peace
It cannot destroy confidence
It cannot kill friendship
It cannot shut out memories
It cannot silence courage
It cannot invade the soul
It cannot reduce eternal life
It cannot quench the spirit....
--anon.
Hope this helped.
Yes, cancer is painful, horrid, senseless, tragic and
sometimes, terminal.
As dzd said in her guest blog a year ago ( ? )
be grateful for the mundane, the every day things of life.
They are precious, and often overlooked, as "gifts."
Though Pancreatic Cancer killed Scott physically, he lives on
in the hearts of all of those who know and love him.
He lives on through his words, his beautiful mind
and through all of those he inspired.
I miss my brother....
Sheri
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
TINFISH PRESS: "Someday I'll Be Sitting in A Dingy Bar"
"Someday I'll Be Sitting in a Dingy Bar"
Tuesday, Aug 21, 2007
a collection of poems, by Hwang Jiwoo.
Hwang Jiwoo: Author & Poet of:
"Someday I'll Be Sitting in a Dingy Bar"
with Professor Scott H Swaner, one of the co-translators.
This beautiful, yet often hauntingly dark collection of Korean poems
can be purchased at: www.tinfishpress.com.
As Scott's family, and our recently getting to know the great and talented people of TinFish Press, we have grown to admire and value our new kinship with them. More, to appreciate and respect their vision, and the passion and dedication they put into each of their creations.
They are a generous and creative bunch of people, who seem to work endlessly.
They are enthusiastict with each individual book they print, each cover they create. Creating opportunities for new writers, who might otherwise not get heard.
"The Dingy Bar Book" became available for purchase a little over six months, after Scott passed away from Pancreatic Cancer.
Being a part of the translation process, making "The Dingy Bar Book" available for english readerhip, along with co-translator, Young-Jun Lee, was one of Scott's most treasured gifts.
He felt honored to be a part of its creation and to work with and learn from such a gifted poet; the eloquent & brillant Hwang jiwoo.
As one of Scott's sisters, I view "The Dingy Bar Book" as part of Scott's legacy and definition.
His love, appreciation and passion for all things Korean--
most especially, its people and their voices.
---sas
www.tinfishpress.com
Our thanks, to Susan M Schultz, editor, creator and publisher of TinFish Press.
Scott H Swaner
Scott H. Swaner
Dr. Scott H Swaner 1968 ~ 2006.
To our friends and loved ones; Our son, brother, uncle, friend, colleague and loved one, Scott Swaner, died December 20th 2006 in Seattle, Washington of Pancreatic Cancer. He was 38 years old. At the time of his death, Scott was an Assistant Professor of Korean Literature and Poetry at the University of Washington in Seattle. After successfully completing an LDS mission (the church of his youth) in Seoul, Korea, Scott's ongoing love affair with all things Korean began. Quoting his mentor and dear friend, Dr. David McCann of Harvard University, "Scott was the first student ever admitted in the Ph.D. program to study Korean Literature at Harvard University. He was a wonderful student, passionate about literature, the serious study and performance of it, and above all else, its relationship to the lives of the Korean people who made and read it. Scott's essay for Harvard's Library and exhibit of works remains an inspiration and tool for Professors and students alike." Scott was born in Northridge, California January 6th, 1968. He grew up in Castro Valley, California until the family moved to Salt Lake City in 1978. Scott graduated from East High School, where he formed many lifelong friendships. Friends who we as a family honor and remember today. Even in high school, Scott was a devoted writer and lover of learning. It was at East High where Scott also developed his love for music, Vespas, soccer and Southern Utah.
Scott earned his B.A. in English Literature from the University of Utah and his M.A. in Korean Literature from Cornell University in Ithaca, New York. Scott was also a a recipient of a Daesan Foundation Grant for translating Korean Poetry and was also awarded a Fulbright Scholarship. Scott earned his Ph.D. in Modern Korean Literature from Harvard University. Upon graduation, Scott was awarded the position of Assistant Professor of Korean at the University of Washington where he taught for three years.
Scott was first and foremost a teacher and a writer, a lover of words with a gift for translating poetry, teaching and deeply understanding critical theories and had a great passion for philosophy. He had a huge impact on his students and left an indelible mark with his teaching, poetry, essays and thoughts.
We were stunned and grief stricken at his diagnosis of Pancreatic Cancer in March, nine months ago. Scott began a website www.donotgogentle.blogspot.com upon learning of his diagnosis.
In it, he continued to teach and educate others about his experience with the knowledge of a foreshortened life, his symptoms and cutting edge treatments of Pancreatic Cancer.
Our family wishes to thank Dr. Sam Whiting and his staff of the SCCA for their consistent, empathetic and supportive care of Scott throughout his illness. We are forever indebted to Dr. Whiting for the lengths he took in helping prolong Scott's life, allowing him to linger here with us just a little longer.
Pancreatic Cancer is intrusive, invasive, senseless, insipid and in Scott's case, terminal. It robbed us of Scott and has left a huge void in the lives of those he leaves behind and all those who love him. Scott left this world much the same way he entered it; with light and life. He fought and raged against cancer with immense courage and bravery. His strength of mind continually amazed us. He did not "go gentle into that good night" (Dylan Thomas) even until his last hours. With his beautiful mind intact and even more expansive heart, he died surrounded by love.
"NOT ONLY IS ANOTHER WORLD POSSIBLE, HE IS ON HIS WAY. ON A QUIET DAY, ONE CAN STILL HEAR HIS BREATHING." Arundhati Roy
Yes, there is another world, another life and we will always be able to hear his breathing.
We love you Scott. You did more in your 38 years than most do in a lifetime. We are and will forever be grateful to have been blessed with the gift you are and have been in our lives. Love you Infinite Numbers, your family.
Scott is survived by his parents, Dr. Harold and Nadine Swaner, sisters; Sue Swaner (Susan Passino), Sheri Swaner (Stepheni Hutton), Stacey Swaner Moore (Kerry), nephews and nieces, Mike Luna (Whitney), Deborah Luna Swensen (Garth), Matthew Luna, Whitney Moore, Dayne Moore and great nieces Alexandria Swensen and Jasmine Luna, and his constant companions and source of peace, his cats.
Preceded in death by his friend and nephew, Daniel Luna, who passed away almost two years ago suddenly and tragically. The loss of Dan affected Scott and we all continue to morn the loss of him.
This is not goodbye, dear Scott. You will never lose your magic . . . and we promise to take care of our beloved mother.
Special friends: Kim Luu, Gillian Harkins, Frank Chiarella, Ted Mack, Daisy Dailey Scholz and Samuel Straight. Special thanks to Kim, Gillian and Ted, Scott's Seattle family, for your constant love, care and support for Scott.
There will be a memorial service held Saturday, January 6th, at noon at Larkin Mortuary, 260 East South Temple. All friends and family are invited to attend.
There will be another memorial service on Jan. 19th in Seattle, WA. Please consult Scott's family or web site for updated info.
Published in the Salt Lake Tribune on 1/4/2007.
Guest Book • Flowers • Charities
posted:
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
by: Slarry, aka; Sheri Swaner, one of Scott’s sisters
31
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Mr. Jones Obituary
SCOTT H SWANER
01/06/1968 - 12/20/2006
Scott H. Swaner
Dr. Scott H Swaner 1968 ~ 2006
To our friends and loved ones;
Our son, brother, uncle, friend, colleague and loved one, Scott Swaner, died December 20, 2006 in Seattle, Washington of Pancreatic Cancer. He was 38 years old. At the time of his death, Scott was an Assistant Professor of Korean Literature and Poetry at the University of Washington in Seattle. After successfully completing an LDS mission (the church of his youth) in Seoul, Korea, Scott's ongoing love affair with all things Korean began. Quoting his mentor and dear friend,
Dr. David McCann of Harvard University, "Scott was the first student ever admitted in the Ph.D. program to study Korean Literature at Harvard University. He was a wonderful student, passionate about literature, the serious study and performance of it, and above all else, its relationship to the lives of the Korean people who made and read it. Scott's essay for Harvard's Library and exhibit of works remains an inspiration and tool for Professors and students alike."
Scott was born in Northridge, California January 6, 1968.
He grew up in Castro Valley, California until the family moved to
Salt Lake City in 1978. Scott graduated from East High School,
where he formed many lifelong friendships. Friends who we as a family honor and remember today. Even in high school, Scott was a devoted writer and lover of learning. It was at East High where Scott also developed his love for music, Vespas, soccer and Southern Utah.
Scott earned his B.A. in English Literature from the University of Utah and his M.A. in Korean Literature from Cornell University
in Ithaca, New York. It was there that he was
awarded a Fulbright Scholarship and he earned
his Ph.D. in Modern Korean Literature from Harvard University.
Scott was a recipient of a Daesan Foundation Grant for translating
Korean poetry at Harvard University. He was then awarded the position of Assistant Professor of Korean Literature and Poetry at the University of Washington, Seattle.
Scott was first and foremost, a teacher and a writer, a lover of words with a gift for translating poetry, teaching, and deeply understanding critical theories. He also had great passion for philosophy, politics and the poetic process. He had a great impact on his students and left an indelible mark with his teaching, poetry, essays and thoughts.
We were stunned and grief stricken at his diagnosis of Pancreatic Cancer in March, nine months ago. ( 2006 )
Scott began a website, www.donotgogentle.blogspot.com
upon learning of his diagnosis. In it, he continued to teach and educate others about his experience with the knowledge of a foreshortened life, his symptoms and cutting edge treatments of Pancreatic Cancer.
Our family wishes to thank Dr. Sam Whiting and his staff of the SCCA , Seattle, for their consistent, empathetic and supportive care throughout Scott’s illness. We are forever indebted to Dr. Sam Whiting for the lengths he took in helping prolong Scott's life, allowing him to linger here with us just a little longer.
Pancreatic Cancer is intrusive, invasive, senseless, insipid
and in Scott's case, terminal. It robbed us of Scott and has left a huge void in the lives of those he leaves behind and all those who love him.
Scott left this world much the same way he entered it, with light and life. He fought and raged against cancer with immense courage and bravery. His strength of mind continually amazed us. He did not
"go gentle into that good night" (Dylan Thomas)
even until his last hours. With his beautiful mind intact and even more expansive heart, he died surrounded by love.
"NOT ONLY IS ANOTHER WORLD POSSIBLE,
HE IS ON HIS WAY.
ON A QUIET DAY, ONE CAN STILL HEAR HIS BREATHING."
Arundhati Roy
Yes, there is another world, another life and we will always be able to hear his breathing.
We love you Scott. You did more in your 38 years than most do in a lifetime. We are and will forever be grateful to have been blessed with the gift you are and have been in our lives.
We Love you Infinite Numbers, your family.
Scott is survived by his parents, Dr. Harold and Nadine Swaner, sisters; Sue Swaner (Susan Passino), Sheri Swaner (Stepheni Hutton), Stacey Swaner Moore (Kerry), nephews and nieces, Mike Luna (Whitney), Deborah Luna Swensen (Garth), Matthew Luna, Whitney Moore, Dayne Moore and great nieces Alexandria Swensen and Jasmine Luna, and his constant companions and source of peace, his cats. Preceded in death by his friend and nephew, Daniel Luna, who passed away almost two years ago suddenly and tragically.
The loss of Dan haunted Scott, and we all continue to morn the loss of Dan.
This is not goodbye, dear Scott. You will never lose your magic . . . and we promise to take care of our beloved Mother.
Special friends: Kim Luu, Gillian Harkins, Frank Chiarella, Ted Mack, Daisy Dailey Scholz and Samuel Straight.
Special thanks to Kim, Gillian and Ted, Scott's Seattle family, for your constant love, care and support.
There will be a memorial service held Saturday, January 6th, 2007 at noon at Larkin Mortuary, 260 East South Temple, Salt Lake City, UT.
What would have been Scott’s 39th Birthday.
All friends and family are invited to attend.
There will be second memorial service on January 19th in Seattle, WA. Please consult Scott's family or web site for updated info.
Published in the Salt Lake Tribune on 1/4/2007.
Guest Book • Flowers • Charities
Thank you--
Mr. j
http://www.legacy.com/saltlaketribune/Obituaries.asp?Page=Lifestory&PersonId=85805480
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Memorial Services
Memorial services for Scott will be held:
SALT LAKE CITY, UT
Saturday, January 6th @ noon
Larkin Mortuary, 260 East South Temple
Please contact Sheri Swaner for further details.
SEATTLE, WA
Friday, January 19th @ 3-5 pm
University of Washington Campus
Smith Room in Suzzallo Library
Please refer to his department website, Asian Languages and Literature, UW
or contact Gillian Harkins for further details.
All friends and family are invited to attend both ceremonies.
SALT LAKE CITY, UT
Saturday, January 6th @ noon
Larkin Mortuary, 260 East South Temple
Please contact Sheri Swaner for further details.
SEATTLE, WA
Friday, January 19th @ 3-5 pm
University of Washington Campus
Smith Room in Suzzallo Library
Please refer to his department website, Asian Languages and Literature, UW
or contact Gillian Harkins for further details.
All friends and family are invited to attend both ceremonies.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
27 December 2006
Dear Blog:
I apologize that once again, it is me writing and not Scott himself. It’s been a long time since the last post, and much has happened. It is hard to write on behalf of Scott but unfortunately this duty is left to those of us who stay behind.
It is with stumbling fingers and a heavy heart that I report: Scott passed away on Wednesday morning, December 20 in our home in Seattle. He fought against pancreatic cancer for nine months, with the love and support of his friends and family. He was an amazing man, committed, thoughtful, self-reflective, intense and complex.
It’s beyond me to write anything even resembling an obituary, and I hope that you’ll forgive that this post took some time in coming. I don’t know that anyone was prepared to lose him so soon.
Those of us who loved him will miss him terribly, and in time will sort out the next steps.
Services are being planned by friends and family in Salt Lake City and also in Seattle. We’ll try to post the information as it becomes available, but with this entry I’d like to close the blog. I’d like to thank everyone, this community, grown out of love and concern for Scott for being with us on his last journey.
Sincerely
Kim Luu (xyla78@gmail.com)
Gillian Harkins (gharkins@u.washington.edu)
Sheri Swaner (sschapin50@gmail.com
Scott H. Swaner
06 Jan 1968 – 20 Dec 2006
Dear Blog:
I apologize that once again, it is me writing and not Scott himself. It’s been a long time since the last post, and much has happened. It is hard to write on behalf of Scott but unfortunately this duty is left to those of us who stay behind.
It is with stumbling fingers and a heavy heart that I report: Scott passed away on Wednesday morning, December 20 in our home in Seattle. He fought against pancreatic cancer for nine months, with the love and support of his friends and family. He was an amazing man, committed, thoughtful, self-reflective, intense and complex.
It’s beyond me to write anything even resembling an obituary, and I hope that you’ll forgive that this post took some time in coming. I don’t know that anyone was prepared to lose him so soon.
Those of us who loved him will miss him terribly, and in time will sort out the next steps.
Services are being planned by friends and family in Salt Lake City and also in Seattle. We’ll try to post the information as it becomes available, but with this entry I’d like to close the blog. I’d like to thank everyone, this community, grown out of love and concern for Scott for being with us on his last journey.
Sincerely
Kim Luu (xyla78@gmail.com)
Gillian Harkins (gharkins@u.washington.edu)
Sheri Swaner (sschapin50@gmail.com
Scott H. Swaner
06 Jan 1968 – 20 Dec 2006
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
12.06.06, From Zion, Condition, Updates
[I just sit back here and watch what is happening on this post, this post to cover my ass for all the days I've missed, the days of distraction, trying to cover for pain and other things. Thanks to Kim is all.
]
"Travelogue and Updates"
Tuesday, 28 November 2006
I asked Scott if I could do this blog as an opportunity to share some thoughts. Some of this is indeed a travelogue, on our recent trip to Salt Lake City.
Some thoughts on my past two months in Seattle and learning what it means to live with cancer. Finally, an update on the situation, Scott’s condition, that sits so heavily on everyone’s mind and heart. Perhaps this will be more than some of you are prepared for, and surely not the news you’d prefer to hear, but here I go . . .
There are moments in everyone’s life that for one reason or another stay cemented forever as one of Life’s Defining Moments. Watching a son say goodbye to his mother, both people thinking that perhaps it will be the last time. If it were simply that, it’d be sad but not very unique of a situation. But, the mother is in the Intensive Care Unit at the hospital and the son is visiting her from out of town. The son is 8 months into a fight with Stage IV pancreatic cancer, a disease with a mere 20% survival at one year. It’s a race, for life or death as the case may be – will the elderly mother outlive her son in his fight with cancer, become one of the 80% who do not make it, within the next four months time? Or, will the son beat the odds only to watch his mother succumb to old-age disease, tired body parts and systems slowly failing in an escalating cascade? And what of the family? Trapped in the middle, watching old and young alike struggling as disaster and tragedy lurk around every corner. This is of course all happening to a family that has already experienced another tragedy, another senseless death barely a year ago.
Unfortunately, this does sum up a big part of what I took away from the trip we made to Salt Lake City for Thanksgiving, to visit the Swaner Clan. The trip coincided with his mom being in the hospital due to a yet undiagnosed cardiopulmonary disorder. So, a tough way to spend the holiday, between trying to manage the holiday frenzy and juggling hospital visits to see Scott’s mom, as well as Scott’s own ever increasing issues with cancer.
I hadn’t met most of the family before, and didn’t quite know what to expect even as I had gotten the basic who’s who from Scott. Many interesting observations on human psychology and coping mechanisms, family dynamics and relational roles. I’ll just leave that one there =) Everyone I met was very nice, and I was touched with how involved everyone seemed to be in all the sickness, and helping out wherever they could. I still remember how draining the daily trips to the hospital can be, coupled with the feeling of helplessness and the constant waiting for news, any news from any doctor that might bring the situation closer to resolution. Big thanks to everyone for your graciousness and hospitality.
Shifting gears now to Scott, and how he’s been doing. I’m sure you’ve all sensed from the diminished frequency of blogs that things have been getting tougher as more time passes. If you’ve communicated with him recently indeed his thoughts are darker as the quality of his days increasingly fluctuates towards bad. It’s hard to deny that the clock is ticking louder, if not also faster. Idealistically, every day starts with the hope of being better than the last, but too often these days precisely the opposite seems to happen. It’s rough to start a new day when the night just kicked your ass. The cancer seems to be actively spreading, day by day despite the rage and fight against. It moves faster than we do, faster than we seem capable of adjusting and adapting to. There is no such thing as “managing” the disease, only a weak attempt at not getting steamrolled by it. It seems to manage Scott, dictates what he can and cannot do, what he can or cannot enjoy even. I can launch a complaint, scream that it’s not fair, but what’s the use?
The synopsis is that things have been pretty rough. He spends a lot of time just trying to get the pain under control, which becomes a physically draining task. Most days, he has a tough time even getting started in the morning as his mind seems foggy and slow. The days start with a big dose of pain meds, at whatever hour between 5 and 7 am that the pain becomes unbearable, then lie back down and wait for the meds to kick in and try to catch up on some sleep that didn’t happen the night before. Late morning, try to wake up for real and start some semblance of a day which might include some phone calls, some email, or mostly lying down or sitting still and reading if he still doesn’t feel too great. Try to push down some food in order to take some meds, drink some glycojuice. By the time I get home from work between 5 and 6, often the pain has returned in some (usually pretty serious) capacity. All this to mean, all but a couple hours of each day are pretty much stolen from him, from us, by this loathsome disease. Thus, the challenge becomes: can we make the best of that brief time each day. I won’t deny that it can be overwhelming.
Additionally, Scott’s been experiencing shortness of breath for the past several weeks. Initially, this was attributed to his diminished red cell counts (anemia), as was his general lack of energy and tiredness. These are all very common chemo side effects, and thus not of particular concern. He’s already on a biweekly drug (Darbo) to help manage the anemia. His breathing got acutely worse on the Saturday night/Sunday morning after Thanksgiving while we were in Salt Lake. Bad enough that we paged the doctor on-call in Seattle, to ask what we should do. She actually suggested a range of possibilities, from anxiety and stress on the mild end, to a pulmonary embolism on the severe end as explanations for this sudden change. Her recommendation was to get a chest scan as soon as possible.
Monday morning, back in Seattle we went straight from the airport to the Cancer Care Alliance for what should have been a regularly scheduled chemo appointment. We relayed to the nurse what had happened over the weekend, and she arranged for the CT scan that the on-call doctor had recommended. A quick check of his blood oxygen level put him at 92%, which was not a very good sign as normally it should be closer 97%. Five brutally long hours later, the CT scan showed a pulmonary embolism. Scott was told that the decision to go ahead and do chemo that day anyhow or postpone was his. After all that had happened with not getting any sleep for two nights, waking up early to catch a flight, then all the waiting around at the hospital, he could barely put together a coherent sentence. I tried to get him to eat some soup, and he kept falling asleep with the spoon mid-way to his mouth. Not getting chemo was probably a good idea.
On the pulmonary embolism – it’s essentially a blockage of an artery in the lungs by fat, air, clumped tumor cells, or a blood clot. They’re not sure what caused it, but apparently cancer patients are at an increased risk for developing them due to changes in the clotting mechanism of the body and/or as the tumor spreads. There really isn’t any quick treatment to get rid of the clot, but they gave him an inject-able blood thinner called Lovenox to help dissolve the clot so that his body can slowly resorb it over the next several months. This means he won’t get better very quickly but he shouldn’t get any worse either. They arranged to get oxygen delivered to the apartment that afternoon, to be used ‘as needed’ and so home we went.
I must say that this particular piece of news was difficult to digest. On the one hand, it’s pretty bad news. But it’s uncertain how bad it is, or if something else will come along and be even worse? For now, it’s manageable with the oxygen at home and it’s slowly being treated with the anti-coagulant (blood thinner). In terms of quality of life, it does make it harder but it still doesn’t beat out the pain as the biggest detriment to this factor. It just means this wretched disease is only getting stronger as it takes more away from him . . .
Thursday, 30 November 2006
Fucking cancer. I can’t keep up. In the day and a half since I had started this post, things have changed yet again. It’s progressed, or at least we’re more aware of the progress now than we were two days ago. To be frank, it’s moving fast . . .
I don’t have the complete details as I wasn’t present for today’s appointment, another restaging, but I will relay the details best I can. There has been a significant change in the CA19-9 cancer marker number. This is the number that started approx 12,000 when Scott was first diagnosed. At it’s best, we saw a drop to the 5,000 range after the first several rounds of chemo in May/early June. However, by the second restaging mid-July when we learned that the chemo was losing it’s effectiveness the number started to slowly but steadily rise again . . . 8,000; 9,000; 12,000. We’ve been trying to play catch up ever since. The most recent numbers have seen a much more accelerated increase. I saw a number from November 13th at right under 30,000. Today, we learned that his most recent test (Nov 27th) came back at 41,000.
An update on the pulmonary embolus, which turns out to be emboli. Two of them, one on each lung. Luckily, neither of which are too close to the heart (fear of it breaking off and causing a heart attack). Tumors, and sizes thereof, were not really discussed today as this restaging didn’t involve a pre-restage CT scan.
A significant portion of today’s discussion with Dr. Whiting centered on management of the pain that has been ever increasing, and overall quality of life issues. And yes, end of life issues. The decision to continue with chemo or not was posed, as it’s become evident that there are diminishing returns to balance with the side effects of chemo that have been intermittently manageable, or somewhat heinous as was the case with the acneiform rash from Tarceva.
Some new meds for pain management were prescribed: a fentanyl patch, Dilaudid, and another one that I can’t recall the name of. The thought was that Scott has been seriously under-medicated for pain for a while now, and the hope is to try to get it under control. We keep getting told that he shouldn’t be suffering as much as he is, and maybe this will be a positive change. Although, it is scary that they’re bringing out the big guns on this one, so to speak. As a drug, fentanyl has an analgesic potency of about 80 times that of morphine. The patch is meant to offer a slow but steady dose of this compound continuously. Dilaudid (aka hydromorphone) is one of the most potent narcotics they can prescribe. He’ll give these new drugs a whirl as soon as the prescriptions actually get filled.
I lack Scott’s eloquence and grace with prose, and thus apologize if my delivery is too blunt or harsh. Scott and I have had a few conversations on what to tell people, the friends and family that are concerned for him and anxiously await any updates, any news at all. As difficult as the news is to hear, it has been exponentially harder to deliver and I wanted to help him out on this one. I hope this allows everyone some time to think about and reflect on the situation, what has been happening and what might be happening sooner than we’d all like. Difficult times lie ahead, and your continued support and encouragement do not go unnoticed nor gratefully received.
]
"Travelogue and Updates"
Tuesday, 28 November 2006
I asked Scott if I could do this blog as an opportunity to share some thoughts. Some of this is indeed a travelogue, on our recent trip to Salt Lake City.
Some thoughts on my past two months in Seattle and learning what it means to live with cancer. Finally, an update on the situation, Scott’s condition, that sits so heavily on everyone’s mind and heart. Perhaps this will be more than some of you are prepared for, and surely not the news you’d prefer to hear, but here I go . . .
There are moments in everyone’s life that for one reason or another stay cemented forever as one of Life’s Defining Moments. Watching a son say goodbye to his mother, both people thinking that perhaps it will be the last time. If it were simply that, it’d be sad but not very unique of a situation. But, the mother is in the Intensive Care Unit at the hospital and the son is visiting her from out of town. The son is 8 months into a fight with Stage IV pancreatic cancer, a disease with a mere 20% survival at one year. It’s a race, for life or death as the case may be – will the elderly mother outlive her son in his fight with cancer, become one of the 80% who do not make it, within the next four months time? Or, will the son beat the odds only to watch his mother succumb to old-age disease, tired body parts and systems slowly failing in an escalating cascade? And what of the family? Trapped in the middle, watching old and young alike struggling as disaster and tragedy lurk around every corner. This is of course all happening to a family that has already experienced another tragedy, another senseless death barely a year ago.
Unfortunately, this does sum up a big part of what I took away from the trip we made to Salt Lake City for Thanksgiving, to visit the Swaner Clan. The trip coincided with his mom being in the hospital due to a yet undiagnosed cardiopulmonary disorder. So, a tough way to spend the holiday, between trying to manage the holiday frenzy and juggling hospital visits to see Scott’s mom, as well as Scott’s own ever increasing issues with cancer.
I hadn’t met most of the family before, and didn’t quite know what to expect even as I had gotten the basic who’s who from Scott. Many interesting observations on human psychology and coping mechanisms, family dynamics and relational roles. I’ll just leave that one there =) Everyone I met was very nice, and I was touched with how involved everyone seemed to be in all the sickness, and helping out wherever they could. I still remember how draining the daily trips to the hospital can be, coupled with the feeling of helplessness and the constant waiting for news, any news from any doctor that might bring the situation closer to resolution. Big thanks to everyone for your graciousness and hospitality.
Shifting gears now to Scott, and how he’s been doing. I’m sure you’ve all sensed from the diminished frequency of blogs that things have been getting tougher as more time passes. If you’ve communicated with him recently indeed his thoughts are darker as the quality of his days increasingly fluctuates towards bad. It’s hard to deny that the clock is ticking louder, if not also faster. Idealistically, every day starts with the hope of being better than the last, but too often these days precisely the opposite seems to happen. It’s rough to start a new day when the night just kicked your ass. The cancer seems to be actively spreading, day by day despite the rage and fight against. It moves faster than we do, faster than we seem capable of adjusting and adapting to. There is no such thing as “managing” the disease, only a weak attempt at not getting steamrolled by it. It seems to manage Scott, dictates what he can and cannot do, what he can or cannot enjoy even. I can launch a complaint, scream that it’s not fair, but what’s the use?
The synopsis is that things have been pretty rough. He spends a lot of time just trying to get the pain under control, which becomes a physically draining task. Most days, he has a tough time even getting started in the morning as his mind seems foggy and slow. The days start with a big dose of pain meds, at whatever hour between 5 and 7 am that the pain becomes unbearable, then lie back down and wait for the meds to kick in and try to catch up on some sleep that didn’t happen the night before. Late morning, try to wake up for real and start some semblance of a day which might include some phone calls, some email, or mostly lying down or sitting still and reading if he still doesn’t feel too great. Try to push down some food in order to take some meds, drink some glycojuice. By the time I get home from work between 5 and 6, often the pain has returned in some (usually pretty serious) capacity. All this to mean, all but a couple hours of each day are pretty much stolen from him, from us, by this loathsome disease. Thus, the challenge becomes: can we make the best of that brief time each day. I won’t deny that it can be overwhelming.
Additionally, Scott’s been experiencing shortness of breath for the past several weeks. Initially, this was attributed to his diminished red cell counts (anemia), as was his general lack of energy and tiredness. These are all very common chemo side effects, and thus not of particular concern. He’s already on a biweekly drug (Darbo) to help manage the anemia. His breathing got acutely worse on the Saturday night/Sunday morning after Thanksgiving while we were in Salt Lake. Bad enough that we paged the doctor on-call in Seattle, to ask what we should do. She actually suggested a range of possibilities, from anxiety and stress on the mild end, to a pulmonary embolism on the severe end as explanations for this sudden change. Her recommendation was to get a chest scan as soon as possible.
Monday morning, back in Seattle we went straight from the airport to the Cancer Care Alliance for what should have been a regularly scheduled chemo appointment. We relayed to the nurse what had happened over the weekend, and she arranged for the CT scan that the on-call doctor had recommended. A quick check of his blood oxygen level put him at 92%, which was not a very good sign as normally it should be closer 97%. Five brutally long hours later, the CT scan showed a pulmonary embolism. Scott was told that the decision to go ahead and do chemo that day anyhow or postpone was his. After all that had happened with not getting any sleep for two nights, waking up early to catch a flight, then all the waiting around at the hospital, he could barely put together a coherent sentence. I tried to get him to eat some soup, and he kept falling asleep with the spoon mid-way to his mouth. Not getting chemo was probably a good idea.
On the pulmonary embolism – it’s essentially a blockage of an artery in the lungs by fat, air, clumped tumor cells, or a blood clot. They’re not sure what caused it, but apparently cancer patients are at an increased risk for developing them due to changes in the clotting mechanism of the body and/or as the tumor spreads. There really isn’t any quick treatment to get rid of the clot, but they gave him an inject-able blood thinner called Lovenox to help dissolve the clot so that his body can slowly resorb it over the next several months. This means he won’t get better very quickly but he shouldn’t get any worse either. They arranged to get oxygen delivered to the apartment that afternoon, to be used ‘as needed’ and so home we went.
I must say that this particular piece of news was difficult to digest. On the one hand, it’s pretty bad news. But it’s uncertain how bad it is, or if something else will come along and be even worse? For now, it’s manageable with the oxygen at home and it’s slowly being treated with the anti-coagulant (blood thinner). In terms of quality of life, it does make it harder but it still doesn’t beat out the pain as the biggest detriment to this factor. It just means this wretched disease is only getting stronger as it takes more away from him . . .
Thursday, 30 November 2006
Fucking cancer. I can’t keep up. In the day and a half since I had started this post, things have changed yet again. It’s progressed, or at least we’re more aware of the progress now than we were two days ago. To be frank, it’s moving fast . . .
I don’t have the complete details as I wasn’t present for today’s appointment, another restaging, but I will relay the details best I can. There has been a significant change in the CA19-9 cancer marker number. This is the number that started approx 12,000 when Scott was first diagnosed. At it’s best, we saw a drop to the 5,000 range after the first several rounds of chemo in May/early June. However, by the second restaging mid-July when we learned that the chemo was losing it’s effectiveness the number started to slowly but steadily rise again . . . 8,000; 9,000; 12,000. We’ve been trying to play catch up ever since. The most recent numbers have seen a much more accelerated increase. I saw a number from November 13th at right under 30,000. Today, we learned that his most recent test (Nov 27th) came back at 41,000.
An update on the pulmonary embolus, which turns out to be emboli. Two of them, one on each lung. Luckily, neither of which are too close to the heart (fear of it breaking off and causing a heart attack). Tumors, and sizes thereof, were not really discussed today as this restaging didn’t involve a pre-restage CT scan.
A significant portion of today’s discussion with Dr. Whiting centered on management of the pain that has been ever increasing, and overall quality of life issues. And yes, end of life issues. The decision to continue with chemo or not was posed, as it’s become evident that there are diminishing returns to balance with the side effects of chemo that have been intermittently manageable, or somewhat heinous as was the case with the acneiform rash from Tarceva.
Some new meds for pain management were prescribed: a fentanyl patch, Dilaudid, and another one that I can’t recall the name of. The thought was that Scott has been seriously under-medicated for pain for a while now, and the hope is to try to get it under control. We keep getting told that he shouldn’t be suffering as much as he is, and maybe this will be a positive change. Although, it is scary that they’re bringing out the big guns on this one, so to speak. As a drug, fentanyl has an analgesic potency of about 80 times that of morphine. The patch is meant to offer a slow but steady dose of this compound continuously. Dilaudid (aka hydromorphone) is one of the most potent narcotics they can prescribe. He’ll give these new drugs a whirl as soon as the prescriptions actually get filled.
I lack Scott’s eloquence and grace with prose, and thus apologize if my delivery is too blunt or harsh. Scott and I have had a few conversations on what to tell people, the friends and family that are concerned for him and anxiously await any updates, any news at all. As difficult as the news is to hear, it has been exponentially harder to deliver and I wanted to help him out on this one. I hope this allows everyone some time to think about and reflect on the situation, what has been happening and what might be happening sooner than we’d all like. Difficult times lie ahead, and your continued support and encouragement do not go unnoticed nor gratefully received.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
11.21.06, The Lost Comment
Franky Scale, held in suspension between 5 and 6, which feels like an improvement after the past many days. The acne/rash I've been dealing with seems to have subsided some in the past few days, but my face does still very much look a piece of modern art, a Pollock. Filled with physical traces of confusion and pressure and possibly some meaning if you stare hard enough.
One result of this is that I now look sick, visibly. This is relatively new. I looked thinner before but "great" according to most family and friends based on what they had expected after not seeing me for some time and knowing that inside me, at least, something is eating my body away. Now with this ocular proof I expect you'd be a little shaken up. This is to be expected.
Now, a lost comment. I approved a comment today, posted on the 19th by "anonymous" and it's quite enigmatic to me. It says something about "for someone who has spent a lot of time thinking about Pascals' wager, it's funny you don't apply the same thinking to your disposable income." Would Anonymous care to shed light on this for me? It's just odd, I'm still trying to piece it together. Did I post somethind financial? Was I musing on money recently? Hm. Now, too, I can't see what post of mine this was attached to. Have to search for it. Or if anyone else finds it, let me know.
OK, I found it, it's connected to the "5.23" post. I read it again. Is it a castigation? Just a prodding to think more carefully? Curious. Curious.
One result of this is that I now look sick, visibly. This is relatively new. I looked thinner before but "great" according to most family and friends based on what they had expected after not seeing me for some time and knowing that inside me, at least, something is eating my body away. Now with this ocular proof I expect you'd be a little shaken up. This is to be expected.
Now, a lost comment. I approved a comment today, posted on the 19th by "anonymous" and it's quite enigmatic to me. It says something about "for someone who has spent a lot of time thinking about Pascals' wager, it's funny you don't apply the same thinking to your disposable income." Would Anonymous care to shed light on this for me? It's just odd, I'm still trying to piece it together. Did I post somethind financial? Was I musing on money recently? Hm. Now, too, I can't see what post of mine this was attached to. Have to search for it. Or if anyone else finds it, let me know.
OK, I found it, it's connected to the "5.23" post. I read it again. Is it a castigation? Just a prodding to think more carefully? Curious. Curious.
Friday, November 17, 2006
11.17.06 Friday Slide
Today's the last of a long week for me. Nothing eventful to be marked, save its end, no great ordeals or traumas, no riveting stories — unless you're overly interested in bodily functions and myriad fluids, let's leave that one there — just another name for another bit of time to say a little more has past. Everything seems to continue, and thought the next restaging is a few weeks away, it seems the cancer is moving right along with the time and the gradual diminution of days. Meds keep going, supplements, as well, calls now and then, emails — though I'm slacking there a bit — energy, and the various complications that are what they are and don't need mentioning today.
I do still appreciate the emails, comments, etc. From yesterday, 34DD, thanks and good to hear from you again; TS, I feel all your concern and the love you send and my thoughts are with you though my voice is often disconnectd; Slarry, I always appreciate your willingness to help out and know how genuine it is. Mom is out there somewhere, too, hopefully doing well: if someone could fill me in on today's check up I'd appreciate that. And from a couple of days ago: Jen, I am so sorry we couldn't meet up before your departure. But I hope you're in a better place and things conintue to improve. My thoughts are with you, both of you. Take good care.
My super came up to check out some apartment repairs today. I wasn't in the best form I guess so he asks whether I'm all right, says I look like I might have the flu or something. I thought I had mentioned my "condition" once some time ago, in order to expedite any FedExes that come for me since they're often meds I need, but apparently I hadn't. So for some reason I decided just to tell him, especially as he lives on my floor, he's a good guy, and he does stop by to drop off packages when they show up. (A new sofa in the mail today, a little more comfort for denizens and future guests. . .) Anyway, I told him, "Nah, it's not the flu, I have cancer." And Sam just kind of looked at me, "Jesus, Scott, don't tell me bad news.... What kind of cancer?" It took him a minute to mentally locate the pancreas, and he tells me he's just taking biology right now and has been learning these body parts. He finds it in his mind, then just says "Ah, don't tell me such sad news."
Just straight up, a moment. He didn't know what to say but, like so many of us have learned, if we didn't already know, that's not nearly as important as the sentiment involved. His sincerity was touching. It was just a small real event for the day. I don't know if I should call it a "bright" spot, it did bring some odd relief though. The small human connections.
Today's Franky Scale, related to this event, and seemingly increasing in its import or the degree to which I feel it defines my life right now, is low. Today's been down there, probably a 4 most of the day, though in the last couple of hours there's been some relief. It kind of marks this whole week, a tough one overall. A bit of slide, that.
I wish there were more to pass on, or better to pass on. Maybe with a little more time. Soon it will be thanksgiving, I'll be headed to Zion again, that strange spiritual testing ground of my youth. Family, friends, old places. Memory. Memories. And all the young kids running around in my family providing some sense of future. The travel itself I'm not psyched about, though it's a very manageable trip, still I am looking forward to seeing everyone. So that comes soon. For my friends there I hope you'll be able to stop by — I might not be incredibly mobile there but I should be available.
All right then, just that for a check in today. Thanks again to everybody for the good thoughts, the support, and the love. On we go, for now at least.
P.S. "pho" is soup. No repeat required :)
I do still appreciate the emails, comments, etc. From yesterday, 34DD, thanks and good to hear from you again; TS, I feel all your concern and the love you send and my thoughts are with you though my voice is often disconnectd; Slarry, I always appreciate your willingness to help out and know how genuine it is. Mom is out there somewhere, too, hopefully doing well: if someone could fill me in on today's check up I'd appreciate that. And from a couple of days ago: Jen, I am so sorry we couldn't meet up before your departure. But I hope you're in a better place and things conintue to improve. My thoughts are with you, both of you. Take good care.
My super came up to check out some apartment repairs today. I wasn't in the best form I guess so he asks whether I'm all right, says I look like I might have the flu or something. I thought I had mentioned my "condition" once some time ago, in order to expedite any FedExes that come for me since they're often meds I need, but apparently I hadn't. So for some reason I decided just to tell him, especially as he lives on my floor, he's a good guy, and he does stop by to drop off packages when they show up. (A new sofa in the mail today, a little more comfort for denizens and future guests. . .) Anyway, I told him, "Nah, it's not the flu, I have cancer." And Sam just kind of looked at me, "Jesus, Scott, don't tell me bad news.... What kind of cancer?" It took him a minute to mentally locate the pancreas, and he tells me he's just taking biology right now and has been learning these body parts. He finds it in his mind, then just says "Ah, don't tell me such sad news."
Just straight up, a moment. He didn't know what to say but, like so many of us have learned, if we didn't already know, that's not nearly as important as the sentiment involved. His sincerity was touching. It was just a small real event for the day. I don't know if I should call it a "bright" spot, it did bring some odd relief though. The small human connections.
Today's Franky Scale, related to this event, and seemingly increasing in its import or the degree to which I feel it defines my life right now, is low. Today's been down there, probably a 4 most of the day, though in the last couple of hours there's been some relief. It kind of marks this whole week, a tough one overall. A bit of slide, that.
I wish there were more to pass on, or better to pass on. Maybe with a little more time. Soon it will be thanksgiving, I'll be headed to Zion again, that strange spiritual testing ground of my youth. Family, friends, old places. Memory. Memories. And all the young kids running around in my family providing some sense of future. The travel itself I'm not psyched about, though it's a very manageable trip, still I am looking forward to seeing everyone. So that comes soon. For my friends there I hope you'll be able to stop by — I might not be incredibly mobile there but I should be available.
All right then, just that for a check in today. Thanks again to everybody for the good thoughts, the support, and the love. On we go, for now at least.
P.S. "pho" is soup. No repeat required :)
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