May 22, 2003
Marilu
By the time Michael made an appointment with the urologist who had performed his cystoscopies for the past two years and had given him an “all clear”—despite the fact that there was recurring blood in his urine—the doctor had retired and a younger doctor in the office was going to take over the case. Michael made his cystoscopy appointment for Thursday, May 22, 2003, the same day I had planned to go with my brothers Lorin and Tommy to El Paso, Texas, to close out our uncle’s home. I wanted to go with Michael to his appointment, but it had taken so long for him to make one that I didn’t want him to postpone it for another few weeks or so. His work schedule was so crazily busy during that time of year that who knew when he could go again? I couldn’t change my plans because airline tickets were bought, and organizing the people involved in the move had taken some time. My brothers and I had to go on that day.
Besides, Michael was very reassuring that this was no big deal, even though I had an intuitive feeling otherwise. His brother Rob would be taking Michael to the appointment, which was located much closer to where they both lived. We said our goodbyes and Michael headed to the Palos Verdes area to spend the night before his appointment, and Lorin and I headed to El Paso to see Uncle.
Uncle was not only our Chicago neighborhood’s art teacher, astrologist, and amateur vet, he was also the first natural food advocate and holistic health-minded person I knew, healing sick and injured stray animals from the neighborhood and giving advice about natural remedies to whoever would listen. He used products like green soap for disinfection and homemade herbal broths for nourishment. He believed in natural cures over pills and was a strong influence in my life, especially in diet and nutrition. Uncle was a real character. He and Charles had moved to El Paso in 1989 from the outskirts of Chicago to live with Charles’s sister, Nina, after her husband died.
In February of 1994 Uncle had suffered a stroke. I was six months pregnant with Nicky at the time, and if I had not called Uncle during a lunch break from Evening Shade just to check in, I don’t know what would have happened. Charles told me, “Dan hasn’t moved for almost two days now. He’s just lying on the floor refusing to accept help!” I immediately called an ambulance in El Paso. The doctors later told me that he had suffered a brain stem stroke and had been just a few hours away from death had he not received medical attention when he did. He survived his stroke but was never quite the same, and now, nine years later, was forced to move into a nursing home because Nina had passed away and Charles was dying of Alzheimer’s disease in the same extended-care hospital. They were lucky enough to be roommates because a considerate hospital administrator recognized the bond between them and wrote them up as “cousins.”
By 2003, Uncle and Charles had been together for over fifty years, the longest and most successful relationship in our family. They became a couple a few months before I was born, but now, sadly, a half-century later, disease and time were bringing their relationship to an end. The plan was for my brothers and me to meet in El Paso to gather Uncle’s remaining possessions from their house. Lorin and I drove from Los Angeles on Wednesday, May 21, to meet our brother Tommy, who was flying in from Chicago that evening.
Thursday morning I woke up full of trepidation about Michael’s procedure but eager to face this adventure with my brothers. We’d first visit our uncle in the nursing home and then go off to his home to pack up his stuff. Our visit to the nursing home was very encouraging: Uncle was in fine form, funny and cute with his usual touch of cynicism. He wasn’t as sharp as he had been before the stroke, but there was no reason to doubt that he would be around for several more years. After visiting Uncle, my brothers and I went to his house to organize and pack up more than fifty years of family history. We all knew there would be a lot of fascinating old photographs, cassettes, LPs, and artwork, but I was also a nervous wreck because my mind continued to stray to Michael’s cystoscopy that morning.
With every phone call, he reassured me that my presence back in LA wasn’t necessary because his brother Rob was there to drive and assist him. I couldn’t relax, though. That little voice inside told me something was wrong. Cystoscopies rarely take more than an hour, and his was scheduled for early-morning Los Angeles time, so I expected to hear from him by noon El Paso time. When he didn’t call by lunchtime, I knew something was up and grew more and more upset and worried as the day wore on. It was difficult to hold back tears.
Here I was with my two brothers, whom I’ve known and loved all my life, sifting through our uncle’s collection of family photos, videos, scrapbooks, and souvenirs that documented our childhood, our family, and his beautiful, enduring relationship that was now coming to an end. How lucky Uncle and Charles were to have had each other as soul mates for so many years, beautiful to see as Michael and I were at the beginning of our relationship. I had finally found my soul mate, someone I loved so deeply, and his life and our relationship were in jeopardy. Would we soon be closing shop after a brief, lovely time together? My whole life, I’d wanted to have what Uncle and Charles had. They were my role models. I needed to believe that this was only the beginning of Michael’s and my long journey together.
With all these emotions at play, I kept returning to my worst fears. After trying him several times, I couldn’t believe that it was taking him so long to call me back. But when he finally called, the relief was brief, given his news.
His new, young doctor told him that it looked like he had bladder cancer, but not to worry too much because the bladder cancer he has is similar to skin cancer in that it grows like little skin tags that can be easily loped off. He told Michael to return in a week when the labs results would be in and he’d have more information. I said to Michael, “Did he actually use the word cancer?” And Michael said, “Yes, the word cancer did come up, but the doctor didn’t seem worried.” I told him that I was definitely going with him to his next appointment. I didn’t want to let on how concerned I was or how many questions I had that I’m sure he never asked or that his doctor never answered. That first conversation about Michael’s bladder cancer took place on the steps of Uncle’s house, where the reception was bad and both Michael and I were losing battery. Michael’s voice seemed far away and uncertain. I wanted to crawl through the phone and be with him to see how he was really feeling—and looking.
This was back in 2003 so, of course, I couldn’t just pull up my iPhone and do instant research about bladder cancer. We finished packing Uncle’s stuff, and I was forced to be patient and informationless about bladder cancer during the thirteen-hour drive back to LA with Lorin, which gave me plenty of time to think. What struck me the most about this experience of packing up Uncle’s most important possessions was how much stuff we accumulate in our lives. We are so afraid of letting things go. It’s great to have those things to reminisce and trigger great memories, which is probably the main reason we do it. But as great as those things are, they are just things. Nothing compares to the people we love. I thought about how Uncle and Charles would have gladly parted decades ago with every one of those possessions just to have one extra week together, and how much I would gladly part with everything I own to have more time with Michael.
Lorin and I sped back to LA, stopping only for gas, snacks, and bathroom breaks, because I couldn’t wait to hear more about Michael’s procedure and to gather as much information about bladder cancer as possible. While driving the SUV, my mind was racing with a plan. I wouldn’t go only to the obvious medical sites. The first three pages of any Internet search are usually connected to someone who is paying for the privilege of being there. Very often it’s a pharmaceutical company. My plan was to go to the more obscure health sites that might not have a budget, but have some of the best information. I read everything I can and, even when I find contradictions among the glut of articles, there emerges a pattern that—when I read enough varying opinions—helps me find the truth of what works for me. I’m wary of following just one point of view. Everything has to be evaluated within its own context.
There was so much to read, so much to learn. If Michael’s cancer were truly no big deal, as his doctor said, then we’d still have to figure out where it came from and what he can do about it now. At this point I knew enough about health to know that Michael should immediately begin detoxing his body. Everything from skin brushing to rebounding to colonics to giving up meat, dairy, and sugar—the tenets of the Total Health Makeover—would become part of his daily regime. From now on everything he did would be judged by how it may be affecting his cancer. He would see all the great doctors I’d worked with over the years since my own health journey began in 1978 and listen to what everyone had to say.
The ride home to LA was fast and furious in a good way. There’s nothing like a thirteen-hour road trip to help you gather your thoughts. Michael was waiting for me at the house, and I barely stopped the car before I ran into his arms and we held each other for a long time. I was more resolved than ever to live a long life with the man of my dreams, and, before we even returned the minivan, we grabbed the boys and headed to dinner at Real Food Daily for a healthy vegan meal. We’d eat macro plates with brown rice and beans, fermented foods, daikon and seaweed, at least for a while, as we figured out our next steps. He could even have a vegan Caesar salad or my special cold soba noodles. I wasn’t taking away the flavor; only what I call the health robbers—processed foods, meat, sugar, and dairy—and replacing them with life-giving nutrient-dense foods. Since 1979 I had been saying to everyone, “Change your palate, change your life.” And it was now time to put that into action and prove it to Michael.
Michael
Finally, in April 2003 my useless old urologist retired and I was given a new one. At this point, due to the urging of Marilu, I had become anxious to go to a new urologist and see what he said about this bleeding. I remembered what my general practitioner had said a couple of years before, that maybe the bleeding was caused by cancer.
Meanwhile, I went to Marilu’s orthopedic doctor to check on a chronically sore right knee. The doctor was a friend of Marilu’s and quite popular among the Hollywood crowd. I met with him and went through my symptoms, at which point he ordered up an MRI of my knee. The results came back as a torn meniscus. I was, therefore, scheduled for corrective surgery for the week after my cystoscopy.
My brother Rob took me that day for my first real cystoscopy. I went under with the full anesthesia, the first time in my life I had ever had an operation. When I awoke I was lying in the recovery room with several other patients and a bunch of nurses. I was vaguely aware of my surroundings, still feeling a glow from the anesthesia that I did not want to shake off. My brother came into the room and stood by my bed. You would have thought a party was going on, everyone was joking and laughing. These were my last moments of blissful ignorance. My doctor entered the room. He said to me, “We found tumors in your bladder. You have cancer.” Silence fell over the room. That doctor knew how to kill a party. I was still a bit groggy and did not react except to ask what to do now. He told me to come back in a week, after the results of the biopsy were available. I looked around the room and said, “You can go back to your party now,” and laid my head down. Finally I knew what was causing the blood in my urine; in some way, I felt relieved.
Though the doctor had found the tumors, the tumors had not been biopsied or staged. In general, the biopsy confirms the doctor’s diagnosis and identifies what type of cancer is present. The staging determines where the cancer falls on the number line from stage 1 to stage 4—the higher the number, the worse, more progressed the cancer. Needless to say, the bladder cancer pushed my torn meniscus and the pending knee surgery to the back burner, as I now needed to focus entirely on the cancer.
When I heard that Marilu was coming straight back from a trip to Texas, I went to her house to meet her. I knew that I had to start doing something about this cancer, and was anticipating that Marilu would have a plan. When she and her brother Lorin got back in record time, I again felt whole as I was with my loving woman.
May 24–31, 2003
Marilu
While we waited to get back the lab results of the cystoscopy, I became obsessed with learning everything I could about bladder cancer. I knew I would be going with Michael to his follow-up appointment on May 29, and I wanted to be ready with questions. After learning that there are two types of bladder cancer, I wasn’t going to let Michael take any chances. Eighty percent of the time bladder cancer presents as the papillary type that grows up like a small stalk and can be lopped off like a skin cancer tag. And the other 20 percent it presents as a CIS (carcinoma in situ), which is red, flat, and velvety, and lives on the surface, which can grow down and metastasize into other organs. As Michael’s Doctor Concierge, there was no way I wasn’t going to do my homework and find the best team possible. I was not going to let him down.
In addition to the follow-up appointment, the week was action-packed with getting ready for BookExpo America, the annual trade show for the publishing industry. I had attended several expos with my various books, and Michael had presented at BookExpo with a BrownTrout booth ever since 1989, but strangely enough, we had never run into each other over the years. (Once again it was obvious we were meant to reconnect exactly when we did.) This year I was doing a signing for my book Healthy Holidays, and Michael had his entire team in Los Angeles to man the enormous BrownTrout booth and meet with prospective customers. BookExpo runs Thursday through Sunday, so weeks before we knew about Michael’s diagnosis, we’d begun planning to throw a company party for forty people at my house that Thursday night. Michael had asked that we serve Mexican food, which I always love to serve because when you do it with brown rice and beans and guacamole and salsa, it’s really healthy. But Michael had asked that, in addition to the vegan options and the fish and chicken I don’t mind serving at the house, we also serve carnitas for his gang.
Now, anyone who knows me knows that in all the years I’ve lived in my house, I have never served beef, pork, or veal. Never. Long before the World Health Organization announced the link between red meat and cancer, declaring it carcinogenic, especially when cooked at high temperatures, I had been warning people not to eat red meat, and to absolutely avoid feeding it to their children. My boys have never eaten red meat or had a cheeseburger or a beef or pork hot dog (or had a glass of milk, for that matter), and they are healthy, strong, and tall. When friends heard that I was willing to serve barbecued meat for Michael’s party, they all said, “It must really be love for you to honor his request.” And all I could think of after his diagnosis was, Enjoy your last carnitas, Mister. No more meat or dairy for you after this party!
The party was on the same Thursday as the follow-up appointment, but the night before was also a big deal. My Taxi buddy Tony Danza was performing his club act at the Roosevelt Hotel, and we had arranged to go and see him, not one, but two nights that week. On Wednesday, we were taking a group of Michael’s coworkers, and on Friday, we were going with my other fellow Taxi buddies, Danny DeVito, Jim Brooks, and Chris Lloyd and their dates. It was Michael’s big introduction to a very important part of my life, and I couldn’t wait to proudly show him off. We all, in fact, had dinner at the same restaurant as Michael’s and my second date less than three months earlier when he and I knew that our first time was imminent. I couldn’t help but think about how far we had come in such a short time; less than three months and we were already such a couple.
Seeing Tony’s show on Wednesday and his meeting Michael and his gang was everything I knew it would be. Along with Jim Brooks, Tony is my closest friend from the Taxi days, and he has always been fun and gracious to everyone I’ve introduced him to. He and I have been there for each other through marriages, divorces, openings, and closings, and that night on stage at the Roosevelt Hotel nightclub he was in rare form. Michael was surprisingly festive, and he and Tony really hit it off, and, at one point, Tony turned to me and said, “Mar, he’s great. He’s great, Mar.” He could see how happy I was in this relationship, which was not always the case. There’s nothing like seeing a really good friend to take your mind off the threat of bad news. Hanging out with Tony the night before Michael’s follow-up appointment was a great reminder of a long and happy life, and that, no matter what we would hear the next day, there are constants in one’s life to help gauge milestones. Michael slept over again that night so that we could drop off the boys at school and I could take him to his appointment.
I woke up happy because Michael was in my home and in my bed. The boys had already spent so much time with him and felt so close to him; it all felt so right. And then I remembered that today was the day that life may change. It was a Thursday, which meant the boys’ school had a family breakfast, so we all piled into Michael’s car, which is a Lexus convertible sports car with a very tiny backseat. The boys were so young and small that they loved sitting back there, especially when I was willing to ride with the top down. With the feeling of wind in our faces, Joey in his little hat to block his ginger skin from the sun, and blasting music Nicky chose on the radio, I kept thinking, I am so happy. I want to remember this always. We are a family now. And no matter what happens next, we will handle it. It’s all going to be okay.
We said goodbye to the boys and their friends after breakfast and headed down to Michael’s doctor. The office could only be described as unassuming and mini-mall-medical-center sterile. Michael’s doctor was not my kind of doctor, either. Rather monosyllabic, not at all thorough, and somewhat annoyed that I was asking for specifics. When I referred to the two kinds of cancers, he kept saying things like, “It’s the stalk kind that grows up, like a skin tag. I lopped it off. It’s not a big deal. Come back the first week in September.”
I still didn’t feel resolved with his answer and asked, “So does he have cancer?”
His quote was: “He has it, but I lopped it off.”
“So it’s gone? Is there anything else Michael should do? Any foods he should eat or stay away from? Any other protocol he should follow?”
“Nothing else, just come back in four months.”
I didn’t want to alarm Michael, but I was in a blind rage. I already hated his old doctor for having missed the bladder cancer for two years, but now I hated his new doctor even more for being so blasé and not thorough in his diagnosis and explanation. I wanted to weigh my words carefully, so as not to scare Michael into going blindly with his doctor’s request to just come back in a few months. I didn’t want Michael to take the path of least resistance so many patients take because it seems easier to just follow their doctor’s orders than to question every little thing they’re being told. People often prefer to walk like lemmings over a ledge to their unquestioned fate than to do the necessary homework and risk being annoying or unpopular because they demand more information and options. But I have never been one to back off from controversy when it comes to protecting someone I love or defending a position I believe in. So when we got to the parking lot, I blurted out, “I don’t trust this doctor. This does not seem right. I want you to go to my doctors, starting with Dr. Khalsa. September is way too long to wait. We’re not waiting anymore for the right information.” I could tell that Michael was still reeling from the news, which was totally understandable. And he had an office full of people in town whom he had to deal with. I knew, too, that his mind couldn’t possibly take in all that I had to say. Not yet, anyway.
I dropped Michael off at work and drove his car back to my house to get ready for that night’s party, my mind racing with our next steps. Getting Michael in to see Dr. Soram Khalsa was first on the agenda, and because of my history with Khalsa, I knew I could set up an initial consultation appointment for Michael to meet him and hear what he might recommend in terms of further tests, procedures, and supplements. Dr. Khalsa had been my primary care physician for many years at that point. He is not only a full-on American Medical Association MD, but he is also the greatest integrative medicine doctor I have ever met. A brilliant diagnostician, he is like a medical detective who is always able to figure out what a patient needs and then is able to utilize the perfect combination of Western and Eastern practices. Over the years, I have sent many people to Dr. Khalsa, and I’ve never seen him fail to target exactly what the person needed in terms of diagnostic measures, procedures, supplements, and the opinions of other specialists. I knew, too, that before accepting Michael as a patient, Khalsa would want Michael to write out his complete health history, explaining in as much detail as he could any past illnesses and, in his case especially, any exposures to what Khalsa calls the total body burden of chemicals absorbed by a person over time. This includes places you may have lived near hazardous materials or polluted soil or water, toxins you may have ingested from smoking or doing drugs, or even your sushi-eating habits, which might lead to taking in too much mercury from fish. I knew that Michael had been a party guy in college and that he had been exposed to toxic chemicals in boiler rooms and the like during his merchant seaman days. What I didn’t know was to what extent the other people among his family and friends would support the changes in Michael’s normal that he would be making.
Years ago I had experienced my own family’s shocked reaction when, after months of nutritional research and changing my normal, I came home for Christmas in 1979 and said, “I now know what killed Mommy and Daddy! It was their lifestyle and stress and eating habits!” And they all looked at me like I was crazy when I wanted them to stop serving roast beef and Yorkshire pudding on Christmas Eve and swap it out for healthier organic fare with some vegan options. Sometimes it takes a family a while to adjust to a person’s new behaviors. I have learned from my years of teaching online classes at marilu.com—a website I started in 1999 to give people who read my books even more information—that getting healthy and changing what people know as your normal is often threatening to family members who don’t want to give up, or even examine, their own unhealthy habits. I was in the business of saving Michael’s life, but we were less than three months into our relationship; how would the rest of his people react when Michael started even the basics of a detox program?
When I began my health journey in 1979, one of the first things I learned was the benefit of skin brushing. Every day, your body sheds about two pounds of toxins through your urine, feces, breathing, sweat, and skin sloughing. And your largest organ (I don’t care who you are!) is your skin. I had already given Michael a natural bristle skin brush and taught him how to dry-body brush first thing in the morning, before a shower or workout. Just two minutes of dry brushing your entire body with long sweeping strokes toward your heart, concentrating especially on the lymphatic areas—under arms, behind the knees, inner thighs, bottoms of feet—opens your pores, sloughs off the dead skin, and stimulates the entire lymphatic system, helping you “take out the trash” through your skin. Skin brushing also helps you sweat evenly all over, giving you a glow and keeping you from the heavy concentration of underarm sweat and smell. You need much less deodorant or antiperspirant or foot powder when you skin brush. Women can skin brush everywhere except their faces and breasts, and men should brush everywhere but their faces. For years, I had suffered with terrible psoriasis on the backs of my arms and was too embarrassed to wear anything sleeveless. The one-two punch of eliminating dairy products and skin brushing every day completely cured my psoriasis, so I’ve been giving people natural bristle skin brushes and teaching them the benefits of skin brushing for years. It’s one thing anyone can do to improve their health.
Michael was already on board with skin brushing and was, most of the time, not eating any dairy or meat, even though he had requested I serve carnitas at the BrownTrout party, which was just hours away. After calling Dr. Khalsa’s office from the car to set up Michael’s first appointment, I made a mental list of what else could be done immediately to improve Michael’s health—more bladder cancer homework, finding a new urologist, a more committed vegan lifestyle, and getting his loved ones on board.
I soon found out how difficult that was going to be.
The BrownTrout party that night was filled with characters that had been in Michael’s life, most of them for several years. I was shocked to see how many people were drinking and smoking like it was the sixties, when we didn’t know any better. I was used to a theater crowd where most people are concerned with protecting their voices and would never smoke. Not only were people lighting up, but I came upon Michael’s beautiful sister-in-law and business partner teaching my seven-and-a-half-year-old Joey how to light her cigarettes. Amusing, maybe, but definitely telling as to what we were up against. I walked around the party observing the behaviors of Michael’s gang, trying to grasp his normal. Michael’s cancer diagnosis had only been confirmed earlier that day, so I knew only a few close friends at the party knew about it. I met so many new people that night playing hostess, but whenever Michael and I were within proximity, we would give each other a reassuring hug, as if to say, It’s all going to be all right. We are going to get through this. We are together at this time for a reason.
Michael
A week after my fateful cystoscopy, I went with Marilu to my follow-up appointment to see the doctor. He was Indian and seemed somewhat sympathetic to alternative medicine. He told us that I should wait until September and have another cystoscopy, to see if the tumors had grown back. He said that he had resected all of the tumors; that they were papillary tumors that grew like stalks in the bladder. He assured us that this cancer was slow growing, that it was early-stage, and that if the tumors had grown back by September he would just lop them off again. When we asked what else I could do in the meantime, he said that some people believed in changing their diets and lifestyles, but that this had never been proven to make any difference.
As we went out to the parking lot, Marilu said that we were not going to wait that long to do further tests. She had not waited this long to get with the love of her life to lose him to cancer! I realized she was right. I had waited two years to get properly diagnosed; I could not wait any longer to begin to fight the cancer.
On the other hand, I did not panic over this diagnosis. I went from the clinic straight to my office, where we had a large meeting with employees from around the world, as well as the buyers from our biggest customer. That night we had a big party at Marilu’s house. As I drove up to the house for the party, I had an old friend with me who had just been operated on for prostate cancer, along with other friends and colleagues. I made a joke in the car that we now had something in common: we were now in the Big C Club. Boy, was I ever in the Big C Club!
What was the reason for my complacency? Did I just believe that somehow I was immune to the worst effects of this terrible disease? Was it just plain foolishness on my part? Or did I believe that somehow this was not happening to me? All I know for sure was that as the days and weeks and months dragged on, and the seriousness of my situation became ever more apparent, my mental anguish increased, and I eventually realized that I was in a fight for my life. And as that realization seeped into me, my flippant behavior at my diagnosis seemed to ring ever more hollow. What could I have been thinking?
Marilu was, of course, also worried. As she did her research, I felt like I needed to do some also. But she was ahead of me. She found my new urologist and introduced me to Dr. Khalsa. She encouraged me to begin to do the little things that help so much, like skin brushing and colon cleansing. And she made me take all of this seriously and not sink back into complacency.
During those nights, I lay awake and recalled my childhood and the silly belief that all people lived to be one hundred and that all you needed to do was subtract your age from one hundred to know how many years you had left. This had assured me as a child, so terrified of death that I could not even speak its name. But now, with cancer forcing me to think about death all of the time, I realized how I valued life. How big a difference it made to me now if I lived to be sixty-five or seventy or died in my fifties. I had gone from thinking I had thirty or more years left to thinking I would be lucky to have five more. There was just something in the way this was playing out that I knew I had something more dangerous than my doctor had said. I felt like I was on a slippery slope, where the years I had left might be filled with pain, deterioration, disability, and sickness. My children would be forced to watch their father die while they were still so young. It made me feel so sad for them. And then there was my girlfriend, soon to be my wife, Marilu. Here was a woman who had everything and was ready to give it all up for me. And all I could do was arrive on her doorstep with cancer in my body. What could I have been thinking? How could I have been so stupid, so careless?
After that return visit to the doctor, I was not foolish enough to take comfort in what he had said, because when I thought it over, I realized that it made no sense to wait months to act. I now knew I had bladder cancer, so there had to be something I could do about it! As I grew ever closer to Marilu and her boys, becoming a family, I also felt as if I had a pox, something terribly wrong with me that would derail everything. And I was right, of course. There was nothing normal about my condition; the cancer had not stopped because the stalks had been lopped off. The toxicity of my body created the conditions to grow tumors every day, and I was supposed to believe there was nothing I could do about it!
But I did go on about my life and tried to act like everything was under control. My daughter graduated from college, so my entire family came to Los Angeles—my parents, brother and sister-in-law, sister, and so on. Cassia had graduated from Loyola Marymount University. This was a huge accomplishment. She had dropped out of high school to have a child and then got married. Now seven years later, she was living apart from her husband, raising her daughter, and graduating from college. I was so proud. It had been a struggle, but it reinforced in me the belief that one can never give up, that there is always hope.
Because of my daughter’s mother, my ex-wife, and her tendency to misbehave, I thought it best not to invite Marilu to the graduation party. Everyone asked me about Marilu, including my ex-wife. In retrospect, I should have invited her but, at the time, I felt like I just wanted to get through this event. This gathering of my extended family was one of the first times that I revealed my new lifestyle in terms of my diet, and my father made fun of me. I think in his mind he knew that the cancer was serious, but he did not want to admit it to himself, and when he was with me and I looked okay, he must have thought the cancer might not be that bad. The rest of the family simply avoided the subject, and I did not blame them.
But it was strange not to have Marilu at the reception. She already knew all of my children so well. My girls had been very receptive to Marilu entering my life, and I was thankful for their support. Marilu was sweet and understanding with them, and it helped to break down the barriers. As I began to know the extent of my illness, I was ever more grateful that I had the support of Marilu and my daughters, because so many changes were on the horizon.