Wishing on a Blue Star (27 page)

Too bad the information couldnt have come as a result of some interest
othe
r than my calling and raising hell. It’s the little touches that mean so much.

As for the rest, seriously. It’s simply not that big a deal in my mind. It sounds rather flippant, even for me, but it really doesnt matter if there is one cancer or a dozen. It can only kill me once. :)

Please, please, dear people. Don’t fret over it. I’m not, so neither should you.

Hugs!

Patric

The Mentor

Jambrea Jo Jones

Patric is always there for friends with questions and usually with a humorous response. There is no question too absurd or dirty for Patric to answer. Lol. I’ve spent many nights on the yahoo groups laughing so hard that I’m crying. And he always seems to have the answer. I’ve loved his lessons on the groups.

I had planned on doing a short story for Patric but thought that others were going to be doing that. I really just want to share how Patric has touched my heart. Who knew that someone that I’ve never met in person could have such an effect on my life. I certainly didn’t.

I can’t even remember the first time I ‘met’ Patric. I’m sure it was on Ethan Day’s Yahoo Group one night. I just remember how nice he was. It’s funny how some people’s personalities can shine through the internet and Patric happens to be one of those individuals.

Patric is also a fabulous author. After months of talking with him online I finally picked up one of his stories. I think it was
Timeless
. I enjoyed every word and couldn’t wait for the next story by him. I think my favorite is
Santa Mug
. I loved that one so much that I bought it as a Christmas gift for a friend. We had to give our favorite book as a gift and I immediately thought of
Santa Mug.
I even had to email Patric about it. That’s just what I do. Lol I find an author I love and I tend to gush and tell everyone that they need to buy the story.  I’ll share the email I sent because I happened to keep it. Patric has his own folder in my inbox.

We’ve been talking about the Santa Mug on Ethan’s.

I just wanted to send you a personal note because it was such a beautiful story. You grabbed a hold of my heart from the beginning and didn’t let it go until the very last word. Like I said on Ethan’s, it is heartbreakingly wonderful. You put so much into that short story and it really shows. I could FEEL the sadness weaved through. I love Max and his family is wonderful. I just wanted to hug Darren.

Wonderful story. Congrats Patric.

And he was so gracious when he emailed me back. If I could give that man a hug I would. When I found out he was ill, it about broke my heart. Here he is, such a wonderful and kind man going through something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy and I’m too far away to do anything about it. The only thing I could do was show my love on line. And I went about doing just that.

Patric, me and a few others were talking men. And really, when aren’t we? lol. I wanted to know what kind of man Patric found hot and he just so happened to have a picture. He shared with the group and we decided to name him. That is when I got the idea to write a story with Patric in it. To give a little back as it were.

I then began to pester Patric with questions. He might not say it was pestering, but that is just Patric. He answered with grace even when the topic became ‘top’ or ‘bottom’. Lol Like I said, there is nothing this man won’t talk about and I love every bit of him.

Through the months Patric shared his experience with everyone through his blog. I would get the updates on google and at first I’d be happy that I was getting an update because that meant he was still around. Then I would go and read it and be in awe of Patric strength. Well…as in awe as I could be with tears streaming down my face.

Don’t let Patric tell you any different. He is a strong man with a wonderful heart and I am honored and happy to call him friend.

love you, Patric

Xoxo

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Not fit for human consumption

Nor for consumption by rabid dogs with no morals, for that matter.

I’m offline until I’m alive again, or at least able to fake it. :)

Patric

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

When it rains, it pours...

Well... Seems as though the universe hasnt had its fill of making mischief, yet.

Just about the time I declaimed myself unfit for human consumption, the pain began.

Oh dopey me. I actually thought I could be stoic enough to handle THAT??

Ha! How the mighty have fallen.

I did manage for three days though. Now I just have to decide if I was clever, or foolish to wait.

End result was a visit to the ER, where I was diagnosed with pancreatitis. Generally speaking, it’s caused by either gall stones, or alcohol consumption, and of course I dont drink....

Really? One or two flavors of cancer isnt enough so we have to add pancreatitis and when thats stabilized sufficiently, we get to do surgery to remove the offending gall bladder entirely?

Do I sound bitter? I’m not, particularly. If anything, I’m rather amused that it takes this much to run me into the ground, and yet I’m still squirming.

Nyaaa! :)

Patric

Thursday, March 25, 2010

The Joys of Flatulence

Fat guys with beer guts do it loudly.

Lace covered ladies do it demurely.

Little kids do it, and find it the height of hilarity.

Dogs do it. Cats do it.

Even fictional characters do it:

The wolf paused again, the tip of its tongue protruding from its black lips as though caught by surprise, and Marshall briefly wondered at the way it seemed to respond to his voice. The long pink tongue extended and the wolf swiped at the wound a few more times before settling back on its side, still regarding the man completely.

“You’re an ugly fucking thing, do you know that?”

The wolf farted and Marshall laughed. The sound surprised man and animal in equal measure.

“I suppose I deserved that,” Marshal said, “and I’m an idiot for talking to a beast.”

In other words, everybody farts. Unless you have pancreatitis and all the plumbing has taken a holiday. :)

If anyone has said to me a week ago how good it felt to fart, I’d have accused them of being fetishists. Now I have a whole new perspective. An aromatic perspective, that is. :)

I shant bore you with the colorful details (brown is a color, after all) but breaking wind bodes well for the liklihood of doing the surgery laproscopically. Definitely the preferred method. :)

Oh, and I was finally approved for a clear liquid diet today. Joy! I found heaven in a cup of chicken broth. Tomorrow I’ll go for beef, now that the kids brought me a bottle of Worcestershire. And the nutritionist didnt even flinch when I told her about it. How cool is that?

Things are looking up.

Surgery is tentatively scheduled for March 31. I’m tempted to beg they hold off until April 1st. Something about all this being a joke appeals to me. :)

Hugs all!

Patric

Thursday, April 8, 2010

I’m running out of titles, and time...

Once again, I am too far behind with my updates to escape beneath the cover of abject apology.

This time though, it’s from too much rather than too little happening.

Put as succinctly as possible, I’ve become a hospital groupie. :)

Of itself, the surgery went fine, as expected. Unexpectedly however, the original symptoms continue, largely unchanged. I came home last week, rolled around with what I was told was “normal after surgery” pain, went in for my week after check up, and was promptly re-admitted the following day.

Seems there is something hinky with the blood test results that reflect liver activity.

Yeah, right about now I am envisioning honking geese. :)

Tomorrow, I get to experience a HIDA scan, and a procedure which has an acronym that sounds something like ERCP and actually means a camera down my throat.

I hope they let me shoot video. :)

In other news, Papa floated me the cost of a new laptop so I can continue editing the audio books, which is both a god-send and a curse. The former because that’s my sole source of income (oh how the mighty have fallen. lol) and the latter because it’ll never be enough to pay him back, and yet he still insists “I am good for it.”

That is without a doubt his strongest expression of love for me he’s ever uttered, and I am humbled to inconsequentiality by it, especially because we both know without doubt that the cancer is back with a vengeance.

With the latest biopsy results *finally* in, we don’t exactly know what
kind
of lymphoma (the results cast doubt on the veracity of the original diagnosis) but at this point the flavor is little more than semantics. Doc and I can see it develop very nearly on a day to day basis. What to do about it remains a question until the whole stomach thing is resolved first.

I’ll not be terribly surprised to find one is fueling the other, frankly. As Doc said, “stranger things have happened.”

Ah well. Tomorrow, the sun rises.

If you don’t see me on the lists, or answering email messages, or otherwise making my presence known, it’s because I’m standing at the window staring out at it, or someone is taking pictures of my guts from the inside out. lol

Cheers folks! Thank you all for the considered, thoughtful comments!!

Patric

Linchpin

Mary Calmes

For Patric Michael

One

My mother could never just leave things alone; she had to do something. It was her way. The
something
normally translated into pushing when she should have backed off. So this was why she had called in the cavalry in the form of my sister Trish and her husband, Ethan. Because I hadn’t done what my mother wanted, she’d sent them to intercede on her and my father’s behalf. When that didn’t work, they all got on a plane—my parents from Ocala, Florida, where they had retired, and my youngest sister, Deb and her husband, Alex, from Boston. I was the only one who had left the East Coast; the rest of them were all still there. I had gone west and stayed. College in San Diego had translated into a new home. 

“Mark, you need to listen to me.”

They were trying to triple-team me in the kitchen—my mother and my sisters. I turned my head and looked at my mother over the rim of one of the large café au lait mugs that the love of my life had brought back from Madrid the last time he was there.

“Your brother needs help,” she told me.

I grunted.

She sucked in air through her nose. “He needs to talk to someone. He needs to be medicated.” She ran down the list for me. “You don’t just go through what he did and just set your life back on course. He needs to be committed.”

Or not.

“Mark!”

“Mom.” I tried not to chuckle as I put the mug down beside me on the counter by the sink. “I love you so much, and you’re as cute as a button, and I’d love to shrink you down and carry you around in my pocket all day long.” She was starting to smile, unable to resist her oldest child. “And I’m not trying to downplay your concern, but in this instance, I think you’re still freaked out about what could have happened instead of what actually did, and that’s coloring your perception.”

All her emotions were sliding across her face because she’d sort of been rolling around in the catnip of my obvious adoration, but then I had smacked her with the truth.

“God, I’m starving.” I yawned loudly before I turned to yell at my father over my shoulder. “Dad, where’s T?”

He moved the paper away from his face to look at me. “He and Ethan should be back from the store soon.”

My sister Trish’s husband, who had started out his life in our family as a homophobic jerk, was now running errands, on purpose and without the buffering presence of his wife, with my partner of sixteen years. And I knew the reason. There was just no saying ‘No’ to Tai Yosuke. He roared into your life atop a steamroller of warmth and charm and followed it up with sincerity and a wicked sense of fun. No one ever stood a chance, and especially not Ethan. He was overwhelmed from the beginning as Tai had chosen to sit next to him at his first Christmas dinner with our family. I had warned Tai—told him the guy was an ass—and so, of course, my boyfriend took that as a personal challenge.

Ethan had done the slow pan to my boyfriend as my family (not me; I knew better) held their collective breath.

“Hi.” Tai had smiled at him with his liquid black eyes. “You look like crap, man. Later on, you wanna take a run with me? Get out of here?”

Everyone but me was surprised when he nodded, but Tai was irresistible, and soon, he and Ethan were like twins separated at birth. And I knew people who saw them out and about—the six-foot-three, covered-in-muscle blond guy walking around with the six-foot black-haired, black-eyed manga character—wondered about their relationship. Friends? Lovers? They looked good together, but then, Tai made everyone look good, even my brother Frank, who was currently sleeping in my guest room for as long as he wanted.