I've Made A Lot Of Pancakes

Most of the blog and list server posts related to esophageal cancer that I read are written by someone other than the patient. It’s usually a spouse. Mine is one of the very few I’m familiar with that is written by the patient. So I think it’s important to occasionally offer some insight of what goes on inside the head of someone in this situation. It’s not always pretty. But remember, this is a blog about cancer so sometimes it’s not pretty. And you can skip this post if you want. Back in March I wrote down my final wishes. I didn’t post them at the time because I though it might be too morbid. But I think about death often and when I do I fear I might die without anyone being aware of what I would want. So I’m posting my final wishes now. Don’t be concerned. As far as I know my death is not imminent. But it’s coming sooner or later, by cancer or something else and when it does I may not have a chance to let them be known. There is a link to them under “Things Of Importance To Me” to the right. You don’t have to read them now. Just know they are there when the time comes. Not too long ago I received an email from Marny whose husband Dale died of esophageal cancer. Marny continues to offer help and advise to people fighting this battle. She provides support, insight and wisdom to many people. Marny’s email told the story of a young boy who got up early one morning to make breakfast for his parents. He was very young and really didn’t know what he was doing but his heart was in the right place and he wanted to do this for them. He took out some pancake mix and because he couldn’t quite reach the counter top he spilled the flour-like substance on the floor as he tried to poor it into the bowl. He poured some milk into the bowl, but it was far too much. When he put the hand held blender in it and turned it on high power the liquidy batter splattered all over the walls. Somewhere along the way he dropped an egg on the floor and stepped in it. This created sticky pancake mix footprints all over the floor. At this point the boy’s father came down the stairs and into the kitchen. Upon seeing the mess he picked up his son, told him what a good job he had done, and gave him a great big hug. Despite the fact that his son had completely failed and made a mess of everything, the father knew that his intentions were good and he had tried. I’ve made a lot of pancakes in my life. As I look back on my life, which I do often, I see a lot of mistakes. And although I know that my intentions were always good, no one else seemed to know that. Nobody told me “good job”. I’m hoping that when my time comes I’ll meet up with my heavenly father, or maybe even my mortal father, and they’ll tell me I did OK. ____________________________________