Sucking the Marrow out of Life: An Unapologetically Carnivorous Manifesto on Food and Creation

Like the bone marrow of a perfectly roasted veal osso bucco, today congealed into a perfect, tender morsel of opportunity, flavor and experience.

All of this started this afternoon, when I found out that my own marrow recovered remarkably well from the first bit of rough chemo this round, and I knew I had the temporary immunity to go to a nice dinner.

This was convenient in timing as it comes two nights after Katie was a saint and stayed up all night to take care of me as I writhed in the pain and muscle convulsions brought on by steroid withdrawal (I couldn't even get out of bed to go to the bathroom and she patiently stayed up with me all night, taking care of me, then got up and went to work and a doctor's appointment of her own without complaint -- can you say an angel...)

It also fell on a day I reached a first last -- My first final dose of a chemo drug, doxorubicin, one I'm happy to cross off the list because it causes heart damage and some nasty GI Tract issues (Never again will I watch the red poison ooze into my vein; Goodbye and Good Riddance!!!).

And, finally, it falls a couple of weeks before Katie and I will have been dating for seven years and I know that when the date roles around I will lack the immunity to take her out, so I wanted to "Carpe the F-ing Diem" and take advantage of the opportunity.

So in short, I was in the mood to treat her to a really nice dinner and spend a couple of hours in her company around insanely decadent foods.

This was the context of my thoughts as I smeared the roasted bone marrow of a perfectly braised Veal Osso Bucco on bread as Katie and I enjoyed a long, slow, death-row quality meal at Otto's, a warm, inviting restaurant on the West Side of Madison on this cold, rainy Autumn evening.

Is it sacrilegious to eat bone marrow when your fighting a cancer of the bone marrow? I really don't think so.

I would argue that if anything the greatest value in the struggle of cancer is in the recognition that we are to strive to enjoy every morsel that the earth has so bountifully offered, that we are to suck the proverbial marrow out of life every moment we are given the chance.

That the greatest tragedy in life lies not in misfortune but in lost opportunity. That to injure oneself while trying a new flavor, to see what lies below an unturned leaf, to climb down a precipice and see a waterfall few others have laid eyes on, to dive in and swim around the next bend of a mountain icy stream is the context within which we should strive to live life; that to mar oneself in the pursuit of experience and adventure, is inexpressibly better than the risk that that a life wasted by the timidity of ensuring the safe passage of time brings.

Life is nothing if not an opportunity to find beauty, poetry, flavor and happiness in a forward-moving and entirely unexpected adventure into the unknown.

I have troubles believing that any creator that put so such a wonderful diversity and richness of flavors, colors, landscapes, experiences and contrasts on this planet would want us to waste it by forgoing decadence and enjoyment. Too me the greatest sin would be to be given the gifts endowed by life, the diverse palate that the creator has laid before us, and to let it pass by unexplored and inexperienced. Why would a creator give us such a wonderful world with so many brilliant things and then want us to deprive ourselves of them? I have never understood puritanism, and never will.

Simply stated I feel that the basest of pleasures -- Food, Love, Sex, Fermentation, Camaraderie and Travel -- are the greatest gifts any God above gave us, and that the greatest sin would be to die ignorant of the wonders of our planet, our universe, and our lives.

One might think that having a cancer of the bone marrow -- that having my own bone marrow systematically drilled into and sucked out through a needle six times now -- might dampen my appetite for eating it.

Quite the opposite, I found myself thinking that it would be such a waste to allow such a morsel to go to waste and that I only wish that my eventual death -- whenever that might be -- could produce something as wondrous as the flavor, texture, comfort and poetry that the calf's death had brought in the form of the roasted marrow tonight.

Tonight I sign off with the thought that the greatest worship of our creator is in the enjoyment of all he/she/it has given us.

Perhaps this philosophy makes me an existentialist, perhaps that's the influence of my grandfathers, or my parents. Perhaps it's Harrison and Hemingway and Camus. Perhaps its my time spent outdoors in introspection.

I like to think this philosophy is simply what makes me, who I am.

Tonight I am thankful for my life and for the time that has been given to me, for my loving family and kind friends, for the smiles of strangers, for sex and beef and scallops and creme brulee, for whiskey and for wine, for first snows and Fourth of July's, for forests and rivers and trout, for the company of good friends and nights filled with good cheer, for music and dancing, and for long naps taken in front of warm wood fires on cold winter days.

-Sam

At the risk of you all thinking I've lost my mind I've never hid the mind-expanding experiences associated with steroid withdrawal -- a euphemism for hallucinating. In this spirit and in a deeply abiding trust that you all won't have me committed I'll include as a post-script a poem inspired by last night's lack of cortico-steroid in my system:

Traveling to the Land of My Ancestors:

Last night between the hours of 4:00 and 5:00

My soul was wisped away to the land of

my ancestors.

I floated from this earth, and while

my body and brothers on this planet measured

a mere hour of time passing,

My soul spent months in the fields

as real as the flesh, blood, and bones

of those who came and left this known realm

before me.

Although I have never seen it with my physical eyes,

My mind’s eye explored this spirit world,

A land that I know that I have walked for millennia.

A land where I know the stories

and can trace every bend of the rivers

that flow with the blood of my great grandparents,

and those who came before them.

A land where the amber grains caress my skin

with the DNA that connect me to my first family

that came to this land, watching the life-giving herds

of Buffalo roam the endless expanse.

As I come back to my body lying in my bed,

I know that I am privileged to have been given this vision,

and to know that someday I will reunite

with both the family and friends I have known and lost

as well as with those that I have not yet met but know from blood

in this spirit land of my ancestors.

A Perfect Fall Day and a Pilgrimage to Real Chili

It is a rare but unique quality to experience, food and literature that a single moment can become part of who we are, change us down to our core, and expose revelations that render us forever different.

Nearly 11 months ago as I sat at the precipice of the unknown in a small 6th floor room of UW Hospital I had beside me a compilation of assorted poems at my side. Of a lengthy volume, one changed me forever, and rarely a day has gone by without my thinking on it. So, without further adieu, Tom Hennen's "The Life of a Day:"

"Like people or dogs, each day is unique and has its own personality quirks which can easily be seen if you look closely. But there are so few days as compared to people, not to mention dogs, that it would be surprising if a day were not a hundred times more interesting than most people.

"But usually they just pass, mostly unnoticed, unless they are wildly nice, like autumn ones full of red maple trees and hazy sunlight, or if they are grimly awful ones in a winter blizzard that kills the lost traveler and bunches of cattle.

"For some reason we like to see days pass, even though most of us claim we don't want to reach our last one for a long time. We examine each day before us with barely a glance and say, no, this isn't one I've been looking for, and wait in a bored sort of way for the next when we are convinced, our lives will start for real.

"Meanwhile, this day is going by perfectly well-adjusted, as some days are, with the right amounts of sunlight and shade, and a light breeze scented with a perfume made from the mixture of fallen apples, corn stubble, dry oak leaves, and the faint odor of last night's meandering skunk."

Now, I bring this up nearly 11 months after having first read it because today was one of those perfectly well-apportioned autumn days.

It started simply enough as many of my days do, getting up, showering and heading to the clinic for counts (everything looks all right, but is starting to fall and the platelets are causing a bit of bleeding -- no worries, all to be expected at this point).

After getting counts and getting some work done at the clinic, we escaped unbelievably early (still in the early hours of the afternoon,) so I decided that Mum and I should seize the day and take advantage of the time, the beautiful fall weather, and my rapidly decreasing immunity by taking an afternoon field trip to Milwaukee to get a walk on the city streets and have a bowl of the miraculously restorative and curative "Real Chili" which has existed in Downtown Milwaukee since 1931.

As my eyes have finally overcome the lingering effects of steroids and were able to focus on the clear fall landscape, I was overjoyed as I looked over the golden hues of dried crop fields, red maples, and bright sunshine. Simply put, today creation could not have been outdone on the roads between Madison and Milwaukee. It was a statement that words cannot summarize.

As we came into Milwaukee I saw some of my favorite sites -- The beautiful Ball Park were I've enjoyed so many brewers games with friends and family both as a child and in more recent memory at the new and beautiful Miller Park.

Then downtown Milwaukee where we'd visit once a Winter and walk the streets of the "Big City," and stay in nice hotels. We'd inevitably walk out on the cold streets and warm our stomachs and souls with a heaping bowl of Real Chili -- My Dad's favorite college eatery at Marquette, my favorite when it was in Madison, and a staple anytime we were in the area.

A single taste of The Marquette Special (Chili Beef served over beans and rice with Cheese and oyster crackers) brings me back to my best days and nights in college, to the trip my Dad took to Milwaukee to watch the U.S. Open tennis tournament, to fun and festive winter family weekends, and to some of the best memories my mind holds of time spent with close friends and family.

As Mum and I parked Downtown and headed to the chili bar, my appetite grew, the air was crisp and refreshing, and the warm sun on the back of the neck revived the soul.

And the bowl of real chili was everything I expected it to be and more. Food really can be that powerful.

Afterword, we drove to the Milwaukee Public Market and walked the historic third ward where we got scrumptious cookies and chai tea to enjoy en route home toward Madison.

Overall, a truly well-proportioned day. One simply cannot ask for more in life.

Today I know that a rough couple of months lie ahead, but I am left so appreciative of each beautiful day, of creation, and of the quality time I am able to spend with my friends, families, and close ones. Thank you all for being such a monumental support to me in my life, and for continuing to follow my writings and my journey.

Sam

5/6 Complete with Rough Chemo and the Noonmark Cafe

The finish line is near. For the first couple rounds of chemo, it seemed an abyss that one could never climb out of. Looking at a year of rough seas ahead when you're already seasick is a dim prospect indeed.

But, I did the only thing that I could -- pressed on -- and this week, providing my counts are high enough, we'll start round 6 of 6.

This last round promises to be another hellish affair, but I'm as ready as I'll ever be. The final sprint to the finish line is always the most painful part of a race, the night is always darkest just before dawn, and many other metaphorical cliches...

On the topic of endurance sports, I ran a marathon this weekend. Well, that's not exactly true... An employee (Erin) of an environmental advocacy group that we often work with ran a marathon with the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's team in training program. One of my colleagues donated in my honor (thank you, Wheeler), and Erin tied the names of everyone who had donations in their memory or honor to her shoelaces. I hear that Erin finished the 26+ miles, and she deserves congratulations.

Those of you who know me well know that I've always spent my life in pursuit of adventure. My general philosophy on life has been to escape long enough to experience some terrific stories, come back just long enough to share them with some friends, then head out on a new adventure to build some new material.

This adventure has tended to take two forms that often overlap with one another -- exploring the outdoors and participating in endurance sports.

I suppose it is natural that I looked to fighting leukemia as an adventure as it has been the longest and most challenging endurance competition of my life -- I can only laugh as I look back and see that I chose to subtitle my blog "the leukemic adventures of Sam Weis" so long ago now.

The outdoors are an indescribably important part of my life. The influence of my grandfather -- who took me fishing beginning when I was three, -- the experience of growing up in the northwoods and working in a sporting goods store, combined with my sense of adventure and strong curiosity, all intersect to provide a nearly unparalleled appreciation for nature.

The closest thing to religion I have ever found is standing on the shores of a pristine trout stream lost in the wilderness, with the smooth cork of a fly rod in my hand. I will never understand creation, but I am left speechless and in awe of the world anytime I venture past the boundaries of land tainted by the destructive tendencies of man and head into the wilderness.

Jim Harrison says that there are two types of people in the world. Those who, if rich, would live in a palace, and those who would live in a cabin. Many of my best nights have been spent in a tent.

Which brings me to the Noonmark Cafe.

One of my favorite outdoor trips is backpacking in the Adirondack Mountains State Park in upstate New York. One of the unique features of the park is that communities settled within the parks boundaries before it became a state park, and are still allowed to exist and thrive in the park today.

As a result, the park is big enough that one can get lost in the wilderness for days, but small communities within the park provide a bit of comfort and history when you come out.

Now, I love backpacking. I love to leave the "conveniences" of chirping cell phones, laptops, cars, and the 24-hour news cycle behind, strap all my needed belongings to my back, and disappear for a few days. I find this to be a cleansing and restorative experience, and I try to do it at least once or twice a year.

And the best part about backpacking -- I also love it when it's over. Sleeping on a hard floor, fearing being eaten by bears, eating dehydrated food, shitting in the woods, and having to purify every drop of water you drink makes you realize just how many everyday luxuries we take for granted.

Inevitably after a few days in the woods of the ADK, as we begin to turn back and head out of the woods, my mind begins to wander to the Noonmark Cafe.

The Noonmark is tucked away in the heart of the high peaks region of the Adirondack park. What makes it so special is that there is nothing special about it -- it's just a small place that makes the calorie-heavy, tastey food that only tastes so good after you've spent 5 days deprived of hot, well-cooked meals.

It's the type of place where they don't care how bad you smell or how dirty you are, and where you could care less that you haven't bathed, showered, changed, or shaved in five days. It's the type of place where you can get a burger with fries smothered in gravy and wash it down with a blueberry muffin the size of your head. In short it's my kind of place.

And after 5 days in the wilderness, on the last night of a trip, I would salivate as I fantasized about hiking out and going to the Noonmark cafe in the morning.

And the Noonmark would never fail to meet my expectations when I got out of the woods.

On the eve of round number six, I look at it as the dawn of my last day in the woods. I still have to pack up camp, strap on my pack, and make the long hike out of the woods, but I am eager with child-like anticipation as I know that on the other side the Noonmark cafe, and my plate of fries smothered in gravy, awaits.

-Sam

The New Business Casual

As much as I hate working from home, it does have some advantages. Today I replaced my normal khakis and an oxford with a striking and sexy combination of a white tee-shirt and yellow boxers with bicycles on them as I worked away at my home office.

I realized at one point that any neighbors or passers-by could see in easily through a window, but didn't take any action as I figured that working in one's underwear is a liberty one can take when going through chemo. Other liberties I take include:

-Eating shamelessly high calorie food without guilt
-Renting golf carts for 9 holes
-Driving to work instead of biking
-Taking a midday nap when necessary
-Urinating anywhere outside (sometimes you've just got to go...)
-Publicly discussing bodily functions

This list is by no means exhaustive, but it's at least a good beginning.

Anyway, the last blood tests showed that I utterly lack an immune system at the current time which is why I'm working from home. Being here is beginning to bore me, however(as you can probably tell from the frequent blog posts). I think I might cheat and go back to the office for the rest of the week as today I had the bone pain that usually accompanies rising counts...

Finally, a video that most of you have probably seen, but is well worth watching for its humor and satire:

Protect Insurance Companies PSA from Will Ferrell

Take Care,

Sam

Nutritional Highlights

Is anyone else really tired of marketers shamelessly promoting junk food as healthy? Now, don't get me wrong, I like my guilty pleasures as much as anyone, but I distinctly and fondly remember a time when marketers were more honest and appealed to our baser interests -- our taste buds -- instead of twisted nutritional logic.

As I type, a box of Lucky Charms -- The upper class cousin of my favorite "Marshmallow Maties" -- sits at my desk. On the top of the box, a large banner reads "Whole Grain Guaranteed" and "Nutritional Highlights." On the bottom, a large banner reads "Good Source of Calcium and Vitamin D."

Now I don't eat Lucky Charms for the nutrition, I eat it for the marshmallowy deliciousness. I really hope that the American public does the same, but my training in market research suggests that Kraft Foods probably puts a lot of money into their marketing, and this empty rhetoric actually works.

The irony is, of course, that truly healthy foods (i.e. broccoli)has no packaging to promote its nutritious benefits. If food promotes its healthful benefits in a grocery store and loudly proclaims "Smart Choices Made Easy," then it probably isn't that healthy.

I'd protest by giving up my Marshmallowy treat, but its just too delicious to boycott. And, at least I can still talk like a leprechaun (or Pirate) as I eat them and they still leave games to play on the back of the box. I guess there's really just a little kid in all of us -- well, at least in me.

We're nearing the end of round #5, and my counts are once again hammered. Friday was spent getting blood transfusions, and today receiving what should be my last chemo of the round. Whenever my immune system gets this low I end up with the Top Gun theme "Danger Zone" stuck in my head for days -- Thank you, 1980s.

Comment Question of the Day:

What is your favorite unhealthy breakfast cereal?

Welcoming Autumn,

Sam

Walking into Mirrors...

I'm not sleeping too well these days. I lie awake in bed for hours at night, just to fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning and awake to find myself doing strange things like trying to walk through mirrors. As I explained to Katie, I was probably just trying to enter another dimension... Or, maybe it's just that I'm so good looking that I can't get enough of myself, even in my sleep...

Anyway, kidding aside, you all know from previous posts that I have some interesting sleep habits (disorders). In light of the strange sleep occurrences of the past couple weeks, I feel its appropriate to relay one of my favorite sleep stories.

Three years ago or so during Christmas break, my mom, dad, sister (Kate), my dog Junior, and I all piled into a car to head to Florida. Traveling with a young family is a normal event, but two empty-nesters driving two adult children plus a dog 1600 miles presents a comical situation in and of itself.

So, we left Madison in the evening and due to my father's need to "make good time," and chronic inability to stop and sleep when traveling (another genetic deficiency I unfortunately inherited), we arrived at our destination in Florida at around 2 in the morning.

Unfortunately all of the motels we checked had no vacancy, until finally we found one with a room at around 3am, but this one also had a giant "ABSOLUTELY NO PETS ALLOWED" sign in the front window of the office.

We decided to risk it and Dad went in to reserve a room. Upon entering our room, Dad let Junior (a dachshund, by the way) down to run. Just then a shady character exited the room adjacent and Junior went crazy barking.

Luckily, the office must not have heard the commotion, and we deftly scooped up Junior and headed into the room.

Exhausted all of us crashed and immediately fell into a comatose state -- Kate and Mum in one bed and Dad, Junior and I in the other.

I must pause and explain that I've learned that I tend to do crazy things in my sleep when:

1. I'm really sleep deprived
2. I'm in a foriegn place
-or-
3. I've been on the road for a long time

Now, this night all of these factors were at work and I awoke at 4 am with Junior barking wildly, me on my knees screaming at the top of my lungs holding my Dad's arms down above his head.

As I slowly come back to consciousness, I realize that my Dad, also asleep, is fighting back mightily and screaming himself.

Around this time, Kate wakes up to the commotion, sits straight up, and begins clapping her hands, screaming "STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!"

Then, as quickly as the commotion erupted, Dad stopped screaming and rolled over, Kate, Junior and I went back to sleep, Mum mumbled something incoherently, and it was once again silent.

What the occupants of the adjacent room must have thought, I can only imagine. I only know that if I had heard the screaming, the commotion, and the dog going crazy, I probably wouldn't have gotten a whole lot of sleep in the thought that a mass murder had probably occurred one door over...

Neither Dad nor I know who started the screaming, and how we didn't get kicked out of the motel that night I will never understand.

Back to the present, on Saturday Dad and I went twilight golfing at The Bridges. I had a great time, but for the first time in my life rented a cart instead of walking the course. After six holes I was rather tired and decided I had best put down the clubs and play Caddy for the remainder of the night.

On Sunday I felt like I had run a marathon. It's a good sign you're out of shape when you can hardly move after six holes of golf...

As we near the end of stage 5, I'm rather worn out, but I suppose that is to be expected after nearly 10 months of chemo.

I hope this early fall finds you all well.

Off to Bed...

Sam

Insomnia

Insomnia is an uninvited guest
who stays in your bedroom
and rattles your sanity.

It is the close cousin of the crazed man
who drives incessantly through the night
with the bright lights of a city bypass
flashing rapidly at his windshield.

Insomnia gives audience
to the orchestra of crickets
just outside the window,

To the lonely sound of car tires
whose solo drivers depart
on unknown cross-town missions,

And to the chorus of excitable dogs
whose barks pierce the still, dark
air of a late summer night.

Mr. Schmidt... I just don't get you...

So said a student to my friend Schmidty on his first day teaching in Milwaukee. This made me laugh really, really hard and also made me feel old. When your peers assume positions of responsibility, it's a sign you're growing up.

I'll resist the push to grow up for as long as possible...

I know, I know -- It's been far too long since an update.

I've been doing generally well, tired from so many months of chemo, and trying to put all of my energy toward work.

Highlights/Notable events over the past few weeks include:

-Getting back to the office quite a bit (My favorite place to be right behind on the water...)

-A Sunday spent in the ER with vomiting and intense shoulder pain and a mystery diagnosis...

-A great weekend up north with Mum, Dad, Katie and my friends Pete and Annie.

Because there's a growing demand for more frequent updates, I'm going to begin posting random creative jibberish that I have no other use for. In this spirit, I present to you a poem written this evening:

The Sweet Smells of a Summer Stroll

It takes a cold heart
to not derive great pleasure
from the smells found
on a late summer stroll
through the outskirts of a city.

The strangely sweet smell
of freshly-mowed grass
mixes with the intoxicating scent
of freshly ground beef seasoned
heavily with lemon pepper
broiling over a bed of hot charcoal;
together, these scents warm my soul.

I suppose it is not the smells alone
that bring such great pleasure,
but more so the memories that they conjure.

In the careless years of childhood
spending hours playing catch barefoot
in the cool, soft grass
of a newly-mowed lawn
on a lazy summer Sunday.

In the careless years of college,
the festive impromptu backyard barbecues
where we’d grill beef and sweetcorn
while imbibing whatever libations we had on hand
filling the night with food, drink and merriment.

Remembering the many good days gone by
and the many more to come
I am filled with great cheer
as I walk among the quaint homes on Oakridge
and enjoy the sweet smells of a late summer stroll.