My Sand Bucket List

Chemotherapy is the bug zapper of cancer treatment. For any millennials or younger that may not have witnessed the electrifying fun of a bug zapper, let me highlight the basic mechanics of one for you. A bug zapper is a small cage with an ultraviolet light inside that is strategically placed outside your patio or deck to attract mosquitoes into the light. Here’s the catch, but don’t tell the mosquitoes: the cage is made of a high voltage electrical wire mesh that electrocutes the mosquitos that enter with a spectacular zapping sound and a flash of light for extra effect. Sure, it may draw in and also electrocute other innocent insects that do not bite, including moths, fireflies, and ladybugs, but these collateral casualties are just a tradeoff for getting to those pesky mosquitoes. Likewise, chemo is designed to zap the growth of cancer cells, which grow and divide quickly. Sure, it also zaps other healthy cells that divide quickly, such as hair follicles, but those cells dying are just collateral casualties in the fight to keep the cancer cells from chewing through the rest of your body.

My oncologist warned me of some of the side effects of chemo. He informed me that I might feel nauseous. I did, but thanks to anti-nausea medicine, that was manageable. He said it might take away my energy. I was more tired than normal, but that too wasn’t as bad as I had anticipated. He said most people become sensitive to cold things. He was right. Grabbing a carton of milk felt like I had submerged my wrist in a bowl of ice water, and drinking a glass of cold water felt like I was swallowing shards of glass. But, I quickly became accustomed to wearing oven mitts to handle anything inside the refrigerator and learned to take only small sips of room-temperature liquids.

What I wasn’t prepared for and what I hated the most was not something in particular that I felt. It was everything that I felt. And, everything I didn’t feel. The drug Oxaliplatin in the chemotherapy had a way of making all stimuli overwhelming. When trying to read a book, the words danced across the pages scrambling all meaning. Watching TV felt like someone was flashing a strobe light and banging loud cymbals next to my head. Audiobooks that I had been eager to listen to were incoherent and annoying. Hearing my kids tell me about their day felt like someone was shouting at me in a foreign language. I just wanted to close my eyes and lie in a quiet room. I wanted to remove myself from all sensation and just be left to feel nothing. I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t in pain. I didn’t even feel terribly sick. I was just numb. And, I just wanted to stay numb. I was just a shell of a human who wanted to feel absolutely nothing.

Fortunately, the side effects did get better. My oncologists adjusted my levels of Oxaliplatin making my future rounds of treatment much more tolerable. I also was fortunate to be able to move from chemotherapy to immunotherapy after eight rounds, which - at least so far - has been much easier to tolerate and, unlike chemo, is designed to make your natural immune system target and fight the cancer cells. After a year of being off the bug zapper, I still have some of the side effects, such as numbness and a tingling sensation in both my feet - similar to what it feels like when you have an extremity that “goes to sleep.” Doctors call it neuropathy. I simply call it “freaky feet” and accept it as some of my collateral damage, like the innocent firefly lying lifeless at the bottom of the bug zapper.

There is a benefit of freaky feet. It’s a regular reminder of that awful feeling of numbness that I felt when taking chemo. They are my daily reminder to be thankful for life. To enjoy life. To live life. To FEEL life.

To feel life you have to fully live life, and there are a lot of things in my life that I’ve never done. I’ve never gone bungee jumping, skydiving, or ridden in a hot air balloon. I’ve not run a marathon or ridden a mechanical bull. I’ve only seen a very small fraction of the countries in the world, never been to the Olympics, haven’t seen the movie The Godfather, and have never eaten fried tarantula.

There is so much I still want to do. That I need to do.

I recently went on vacation to Fort Walton Beach in Florida with my family and some friends. The view was beautiful. The company was fantastic. The weather was perfect. We spent a good portion of our time just sitting in chairs along the beach and digging holes in the sand for the kids - only to fill them again at the end of the day. Although everything about the experience was wonderful, I couldn’t help but think, “What am I doing?” Or, more precisely, “What am I not doing? Is this living?”

Since my diagnosis with cancer, my time has felt so precious. My recent great news that my treatments appear to be working had a way of making life feel normal again, which is exactly what I was craving. But, as I lay in a beach chair watching two of my friends - Lee Stuart and Jason Ransberger - dig two large holes in the sand, I couldn’t help but think, surely there’s more to my life than this? Was I spared and given more time on Earth just so I could watch two grown men shove a plastic shovel into that same Earth?

How should I be spending my time? I’ve always taken pride in my ability to prioritize and compartmentalize. At work and in my personal life, I always have more on my daily to-do list than I can possibly get done. Juggling multiple projects, responsibilities, and even “emergencies” is part of what I love about the job and even some of the twisted joy of parenting. Every day is different and the work feels meaningful. But, after my diagnosis, suddenly everything in my life had a way of both seeming meaningful and meaningless at the same time. Everything feels urgent, but nothing feels obtainable. When I thought I had less than a year to live, I told myself that I wanted to make my family my priority. But what does that mean exactly - especially when it comes to deciding how to spend my time? Should I work as much as possible while I am physically able to help reduce the financial burden that they could face when my health deteriorates? Should I focus on getting my funeral/burial arrangements in order? Should I focus on simply being present for Tonya and the girls - savoring each soccer game, cheerleading event, shared meals, or car rides together? Should I focus on writing - to give my kids something to guide them in their own life journey after I am gone? Should I focus on the daily chores - helping with laundry, cleaning, cooking because those things don’t just help make our home feel normal, they make our lives feel normal? Or, should I focus on building memories with Tonya and the girls - really committing to more vacations, trips, and time together?

Everything that lies in front of me seems absolutely essential and completely trivial at the same time. I feel restless and ridiculous digging a hole on the beach and yet the task feels critical to living a complete life if it even hints at building a happy memory for my kids with me. I feel perfectly healthy and capable of digging the hole and yet still wonder if soon my corpse will be lying horizontally in a similarly-sized hole. Finding myself somewhere between being cured and dead has given me enough hope to believe that I still can get everything that I want done checked off my list, but the keen awareness of the limited time that I may have left to do them.

But, who am I kidding? I don’t even have a list. Perhaps that is why I feel both overwhelmed and restless at the same time.

I need to have my bucket list.

I’ve searched for ideas of things that I must do or see before I die. It’s tempting to gravitate to some of the most popular ideas, which seem to be a combination of adventure and travel. Afterall, most of the ideas sound interesting and lots of fun. Who wouldn’t want to dive the Great Barrier Reef or ride a camel in Israel? Others are definitely outside my comfort zone, but would certainly evoke strong feelings. For example, riding a mechanical bull, going to a nude beach, or visiting an active war zone may all be events that make me feel something, but even if I rode a mechanical bull naked in Afghanistan, I’m not sure that I would feel more accomplished and my life would seem more complete.

What I have realized is that it’s not what I’m doing that seems to matter; it’s why I’m doing it. The worth of anything that I do almost always comes back to how it makes others feel. It sounds selfless, but it actually ends up being self-serving in an ironic way. When people that I’m with are laughing, I feel happier. If I can help overcome a problem or challenge that others are facing, I feel like I learned something. When I can help others feel more loved, I feel more loved.

So, rather than having a bucket list with events that I want to do once in my life, I want to focus on those things in my life that I want to do as frequently and thoroughly as possible. Rather than focusing on the what, I want to pay more attention to the why. Why travel? Why jump out of an airplane? Why ride a mechanical bull? Why dig and fill a hole on the beach?

Like a sand bucket that can be used to create beautiful sand castles on the shore by simply packing fine sand with the right amount of water, I want to bring beauty and meaning to my life by packing my life with three simple ingredients: laughter, learning, and love. So, I may not have a bucket list, but I have something more important: My Sand Bucket List.

Brad’s Sand Bucket List

1. LAUGH
   When I think of the best moments of my life, it almost always includes laughter. It doesn’t often take a lot for me to laugh. Keep in mind, I’m the same guy that thinks cows are funny. And the hardest times I have laughed really didn’t require a professional comedian or anyone finding my secret tickle spots. It typically involves me, a few of my friends, and something that happens that is completely insignificant, marginally stupid, and yet utterly hilarious.
   
   Examples of things that make me laugh…
• Seeing Lizzie and some of her friends dress up like a pack of dinosaurs and pilfer candy from neighbors during Halloween.
• Hearing Tonya regularly mix her metaphors and dramatically say bewildering things like “It’s isn’t rocket surgery!”
• Pretending that a ghost stepped into an elevator with two friends and me.
• Seeing a friend attempt to drive a two-person paddle boat by himself by yanking left and right on the steering rod positioned conspicuously between his legs.
• Watching my friends and complete strangers transform into a bull on the dance floor while I serve the role as their matador.
• Squirting my kids with water on the last day of school. 

 So, I want to…

• Be with people that make me laugh.
• Go places that make me laugh.
• Do things that make me laugh.
• Help make others laugh.


2. LEARN
   I think being given the gift of life comes with the responsibility of staying curious about things in our lives. I want to try to go to bed each day a little smarter than when I woke up. Whether we are learning about the stars in the universe, keeping informed with the news, or just reading a good book, learning isn’t just the food that nourishes our minds, it is the fuel that drives a brighter future - not just for our short lifetimes, but for all the generations that follow.
   
   Examples of things that help me learn…
• Reading a good book and thinking about how seemingly unrelated topics relate to each other.
• Listening to others and seeing how different perspectives and other people’s strengths make ideas stronger and open the world to more interesting and rewarding possibilities.
• Reading and listening to the news from several different sources.
• Struggling with a problem until I find or develop a possible solution.
• Traveling to other parks, cities, states and countries to experience the beauty of different places and the beauty of meeting different people.

 So, I want to…

• Stay informed and committed to issues that matter.
• Gain insight, understanding, and skills on new topics and subject areas.
• Design, build, and create solutions that make others’ lives a little easier or better.
• Understand and appreciate different cultures and perspectives.
• Share my limited knowledge and skills with others.


3. LOVE
   Although love is the most powerful force that brings meaning to my life, it is also perhaps the most elusive concept to translate into daily action. I think I know when I see it. I also am probably aware when I’m spreading it or failing to spread it. I definitely know love when I feel it. And yet, it’s hard to translate into a checklist that needs to be completed each day. Love can sometimes best be expressed at times with a hug, but it’s certainly more than a hug.
   
   Examples of things that make me feel love…
• Receiving all the comments, prayers, and cards since my diagnosis.
• Witnessing simple acts of kindness, such as a hug, a note, a pat on the back, a kind word to someone that needs it most.
• Seeing people have the courage to do what is right even when it is extraordinarily difficult.
• Tucking my girls into bed at night.
• Having Tonya grab my hand at night when I crawl into bed.

So, I want to...
• Be present for my family and friends. Not just show up for events. But really be mentally and emotionally present.
• Be more sensitive to others’ suffering and to let them know that I’m sorry they have to go through their struggles and that I am here for them.
• Fight for and contribute to causes that will make this world a better place both for my kids’ future, but the future for all, everywhere.

So, to live a rewarding life, I will avoid running towards the fluorescent light hidden behind a suspecting cage with the ominous buzzing sound. I will listen to my freaky feet’s reminder to FEEL life. I will be the proudest fan on the sideline for my girls’ events. I will take pride in my work. I will continue to write. I will load and unload the dishwasher. And, who knows, maybe I will ride a mechanical bull. I may still struggle to prioritize all of life’s events, but through it all, I want to laugh, learn, and love. And, yes, I will help dig that hole on that beach only to fill it back up with sand later - recognizing that the joy has little to do with the depth or width of the hole or how quickly it is dug or filled. Life is about how you fill that hole with meaning and memories in the short time that it exists.