Help S.R.A.F. Help Jef

Hi ~ I'm a person called Jef, and I appreciate your taking a moment to read this. Before the rabbit-hole that landed you here numbs your legs completely, this is a story about having cancer and putting some creativity to work before the sun goes down. I have terminal cancer and am thusly unemployable, my folks are super-retired. Mother was an educator and administrator for the public schools in lovely Owasso, Oklahoma for over 36 years. Pops began his professional career with two fellas named Jim operating a cant hook at a creosote plant. After one shift he decided that joining the Army in 1967 was much safer. After this he wore many hats in the world of small business for over 40 years. I couldn’t have asked for two better providers and best friends to keep me on the rails for so long.

      I’m not eligible for traditional SSDI assistance for a handful of reasons such as an erratic work history, cash jobs and solid birth control practices. My family lives modestly and insurance is helpful, but after a year now of fighting, the unreal cost of healthcare is finally beginning to take a toll. Some extra funds would help keep my mother and father deservedly comfortable while trying to make it through this bizarre and unfortunate situation. The love they have for me is almost too huge to understand, too powerful to be real, and certainly too pure to believe I deserve any of it. The three of us have created our small family around a seemingly unbreakable love for 42 years now.
Pops, Mum, Myself, dear family friend Cynthia

     When something as awful as a terminal disease looms to interfere - to snatch away the thing they hold most dear in the world, the worst of this cost is grief, and grief takes time and no small amount of energy. The other cost of course being money, relief from even a small amount of the cost spent wrestling the real world financial burden of cancer treatment can allow my parents and myself to use more of this energy to grieve properly. I’m asking for help, for some wiggle room to cope in the healthiest way possible, even if to occasionally only consternate in frustration to unpack our feelings, or take extra time to process things spiritually, I’ve learned new things about our small family in a short time and believe that we can continue to communicate and grow love within our lives, and despite the dismal outcome, eventually prosper in spirit. So yeah, having cancer is expensive I suppose is the message! This didn’t come as a surprise, but now I’d like to be able to raise some funds to help with the different types of cost that come with this mess; and subsequently the time and breathing room to navigate this new, uncharted and unfriendly territory.

      I chose this amount as a goal for now by examining some of the larger expenses so far, how they were paid and can expected to be covered moving forward without excess struggle in relation to what I believe is a reasonable expectation of quality of life for the three of us in the meantime - loosely based on my life expectancy and for after I’m not around to help at all. Some of this is guesswork based on how the insurance has worked with healthcare facilities and pharmaceutical companies up to this point. Definitely a learning curve there. Scans, procedures and unforeseen costs of modern medicine aside, you may say with a little help from my friends I plan to use a small amount of funds raised to keep my own chin up and pull something fun, entertaining and productive from this experience. My way of coping so far has been unorthodox at times. Staying busy when I can, productivity keeps me aware that this is NOT over yet. If anything, I owe it to friends and family to stay grounded and accomplish some of the small goals my great friends and I have set for small projects, artwork and "experiments" to share using our ‘unique’ version of the scientific method (to be further explained ahead). With the time I have left I want to continue to learn and create. Cancer is a lot of terrible things, but believe it or not it’s also a vessel for reality, a confusing yet interesting way to see the world, and honestly, at times, one of the funniest and most bizarre things I’ve ever had to wrap my head around! I’d like to take advantage of the odd feelings of facing the end of linear time as I know it to share and document for anyone who may be interested. For now here's a story, more of a wordy anecdote really about poor me. Hopefully part of my struggles can also inform people in similar situations that there are choices, there are different ways to treat this. The most useful tool I have in my educational belt sometimes is a consistent ability to show people how not to do things! (There's a janky F.A.Q. at the bottom for those of you who are more like me and prefer simply to skip the frills and learn what's going on.)
Ruining a picnic table.

     At the risk of skipping through some relative and important parts of this story … Not long ago, I was born. Years later I turned 42. All caught up? Cool. Last summer I was fishing on my most very favoritist lake, sipping a ‘cowboy cool’ beer in the sun. This was a typical June afternoon, but something was about to change. Time spent fishing but not catching leaves my brain the opportunity to do what it does best: go looking for trouble. When this happens, there's never a shortage of supplies for a pity party, and mine are spectacular. I whistled along with some laughing ducks across the small lake and reflected on recent events. There was a snake bite I'd suffered recently. How much of that was really my fault? Despite being terrified of helicopters, the midnight flight over a sleeping Oklahoma to the hospital was beautiful. What else? Then I wished the pain in my butt would go away or that the recluse spider had at least bitten me somewhere less sensitive. Did I catch Covid in the hospital or had I already contracted it? And where? I thumb through my rolodex of pity, I thought about texting an ex gf because I felt badly about something I'd said years ago - and that I was wrong. Neh. Better to leave it be in case she’s still madly in love with me, which she completely is. My uncle had recently been diagnosed with throat cancer; I wondered if it was gonna kill him. Surely not, the guy had survived worse more than once. Should I start a new painting tonight or write a song? I thought these things, and others. I kind of began to realize I wasn’t partying anymore, I was just regular ol’ thinking. This was unusual for me. What a relief, though, I’ll take it!! I caught a funny-looking rock bass and headed home. 
Crickin' is just living.

      Later, I thought more. I wondered about this feeling I was experiencing lately. It wasn't a new feeling, but it wasn't familiar either. I'm not a huge fan of mysteries when it comes to feelings and emotions, so this definitely had to be explained post haste or it was bound to be disaster, right? Despite recent set-backs, some trips to the ER, some health issues in the family - I had been feeling ok. I felt good, even. This had been going on for days now, maybe even weeks. Something must be wrong. I tried something different this time, I wondered if perhaps something was not wrong. Then, I knew why this feeling was foreign, why it was scary. I did know this feeling. I was ... happy! Holy *&%! this can't be real. This hadn't happened since I was a child. Happiness was a fairytale, a precious accomplishment so many good people pretend to have earned so they can appear self-actualized and worthwhile. Happiness was Santa Claus and everything else people tell kids so they'll be fooled into limping through the disappointment and cruelty of adulthood. Not so fast; I remember happiness!

     Now, what the hell do I do with it? No time to waste, but let's take it slow. Don't wanna break it or scare it away or something. This is gonna be fun, I thought. I can probably even run errands and make plans like normal folks without crippling anxiety playing defense against every move I make. I can play music again! I can paint and frolic and goof off without the full-court press of useless depression that always has a boot on my neck. I could make money, perhaps I'll fall in love again. I can write songs and sing about it.

     One thing I gotta do is make that doctor's appointment. This tickle in my throat is turning into another ear infection. Is this the third time or fourth? I should go to a real ENT; and I probably need more than just antibiotics this time. It'll feel great to get that over with. Cool.
  Like a monkey ready to be shot into space.

     A few months later, I went in to see an ENT about my sore ear and I walked out with throat cancer and a tracheostomy .... what was it I said about singing?

No matter how popular this could become in high fashion, I'm NEVER getting another necktie at a hospital.


     We didn't know if it was a huge deal or not for a few days. Found out it was stage four, inoperable, terminal. As we were speaking during my first appointment, my radiologist actually answered several questions out loud as "Uh oh" or "Yeah, that's not good at all". So ... Whoosh!! Into the meat grinder of healing chaos I go; chemotherapy begins immediately; incompetence out of the gate on the hospital's part delayed radiation (ill communication with the scheduling departments would become a regular drill). I didn’t know what things were, even when things were - of course I haven’t seen my doctors’ faces because of Covid. They could be some of Sherry Shriner’s lizard people and there I am trapped with them!!  There was some shock I suppose. A few procedures were done before I had time to ask certain important questions such as “What is that thing and how far into my body are you jamming it?” I couldn’t have any friends or family with me most of the time so there was a fair amount of escapism, years of depression had prepared me for this. Early in the process a port surgery for connecting me to the medicine-pumping machine caused a bit of a hub-ub. I woke up at home ready to settle down for the first time really, watch some football and try to unpack some of this, but there was a problem, my body was on fire from the inside out. This was later revealed to be a MRSA infection in my blood.The pain was a brand new type of ouch. A very friendly proselytizing doctor asked when I wanted last rights, said I had stopped breathing a couple times. Suddenly he was very, very close to my face, inviting me to check out his men’s faith group. He heard I was a musician and just knew I’d ‘dig’ his buddy’s christian rock band. What did I hear about not breathing? Can we try that again? What the hell!? I want to see my parents! I ended up quarantined in a totally different hospital for two weeks until the infection could be contained and we could get back to regular poking and prodding. Keeping things in order seemed pointless, and recklessly I ate a single ice chip that threatened to delay treatment even further because they won’t give anesthesia if you eat an ice chip. Hard and fast rules. I said we’d rather not delay, let’s do the biopsies and that good stuff anyway. “We don’t do that without anesthesia” they explained. “Well you F’n do now” I snapped. I was tired of waiting. The procedures went well enough, not unlike the scene in Talladega Nights where Ricky Bobby has two knives in his leg at the hospital. Normal as far as I could tell. This was one of many ballads yet to come.

If the afterlife is anything like our heaven here on earth, I'm all set.

     It’s been a year now and the pace still seems frenetic. It isn’t. I don’t think it ever was.

     The odd thing is, generally speaking, I'm still happy. How 'bout that? Don't get me wrong, I'm pissed, I'm sad, sometimes terrified and then pissed off again, but without hesitation or deliberation I've decided to channel this maelstrom of feelings into a something else, a home made weapon hot glued and duct taped together for a fight against indifference and depression. I don't have to see things clearly to move forward. I don't have to wait on anything, I won’t let sorrow play through before I hit my next shot out of the rough. I’m also gonna drive my cart on the green.This will be messy, emotional, reckless, real scary and dangerous at times. It will also be a chance to use a different type of brain power, it'll be an exercise in humility and obstinacy, possibly even educational! ... most importantly ‘it’ will fun with SRAF that jostles off and on the rails. Whatever "it" is, we'll damn sure know it when we see it!

The sisters Dr. the Thin Lizzy and Dr. the Rascal. 

FAQ

1.) Cancer? Yep. Not great, right? I have stage four laryngal and lung cancer. They originally set my expiration date around Xmas, but treatment is helping and I'm not ready to check out just yet.

2.) S.R.A.F.? Yes, and I'm thrilled you asked! Science Rampage And Friends is a simple concept that, with help from my friends, will showcase things my friends, family and I do and create through multimedia before I croak. A ballet? Short film? Flea circus? Learning to skywrite? A children's album? Perhaps. We'll start putting out random content through our YouTube Channel, begin updates in a journal soon and go from there. I'd love for this to grow into something that can perhaps even truck on after I've flipped the switch. A very small and eccentric legacy, but hey, it's mine! One regret that particularly irks me is not putting nearly enough effort toward my artistic endeavors, from music to amateur film and visual art, and this is something I do have time to rectify if only during a short time, so if for no other reason than to see what becomes of Science Rampage & Friends we would be thrilled if you would please bookmark our channel and check in every so often! More coming very soon.

Cheers, 

Jef & family

S.R.A.F.