three cups of tea. or something.

My reaction to the news of Osama's assassination has been conflicted to say the least. Yes, I think he's an evil human being who bred hatred and unemotionally murdered thousands of innocent people.

Yes, I'm glad he's not on this planet any more.

Yes, I think he deserved to die for his sins in life. No question.

However, I'm so concerned and afraid that one man's death does not change the situation or emotions that caused 9-11 in the first place. It may, in fact, make it worse. For 10 years and two wars, that man and his cronies have been feeding the fire of hate against America and there's no doubt that even if we chopped off the head snake, this Medusa has hundreds more ready to step up and lead the hate brigade. Probably more violently and with less compassion than ever. That scares me.

We lost thousands of innocent people in New York. How many of our soldiers have died since then? More than 3000. How many of our soldiers, young people with families and futures and promise, come home injured? Missing limbs or struggling with the emotional travesties of war? How many innocent people - children, elderly, dogs, you name it - in Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan have been injured or died? By some reports, tens of thousands. I don't know how to feel. I'm not rejoicing or relieved. I'm not angry. I'm scared. For the future. For my children.

I wish that there was some way to rewind the years and find some way to solve these issues with peace and love even though I know that's a full-on fucking pipe dream. But it's my wish, because I want my children and our soldiers' children and the children of the middle East to grow up in a world where they get to giggle and play games and learn and hug their parents and eat decent meals including an ice cream sundae every once in awhile and read as many books as they can and just...be. Is that too much to ask?

Which brings me to this. I read this incredible book called Three Cups of Tea about a month ago. It's about a man who was climbing K2 and got lost on his way down the mountain after a failed summit. He wandered into a town in Pakistan called Korphe where the villagers, who barely survive themselves, took him into their care and nursed him to health and to home. While he was there, he witnessed local children congregating on a flat, hard bit of earth scratching homework into the ground, in the cold mountain air with nary a teacher in site. And he was inspired to help them get a real school with real teachers, especially the girls who had never been allowed education before. Over the course of the book, he endures many hardships - living on a physician's assistant salary in northern California, squatting in hallways of hostels or living out of his car, kidnappings by the Taliban, having to hike the building materials for schools up mountain roads for 18 miles because the passageway became impassable to cars. It's a beautiful story and I love the message that by supporting the Pakistani and Afghani people by helping them get the basics - water, bridges, schools, etc. - you can really make a difference in how they view you, and us, and the world. Let's face it. We all want a few basic things in life: health, love, safety for our children, food, sleep, a roof over our heads, peace.

Hot tubs, diamonds, Porsches, Manolos, iPods...all that stuff is secondary and unnecessary if you have the basics, right? I loved this book and was full on ready to pledge my donations to his institute because I believed in the vision.

And then my belief in humanity was dashed thanks to a 60 Minutes expose that says Greg is a crook. Really?! Really? Really. Is he flying around in private jets and screwing these people in the name of greed? I can't believe it.  I keep hoping that it will all come around as a big misunderstanding that he needs to correct or clarify. Let's face it. I already sent my check and wrote this blog post, so in some ways I'm hoping most people didn't read it to the end. I'm totally willing to own my "sucker" status. It's well documented in life. But this? I want this to be a real thing. Something that leads to hope and peace and true global unity. (sorry. inner hippie is on a rampage today.)

It sounds like he's owning up to some creative license in the book (they did overtly disclaim that in the introduction to the book and I get the reasons why... more interesting story. hello.) so hopefully we'll find out that this little sprig of hope for our future and our common goal to make sure that people - all people - just get to live a happy, serene, fulfilled existence on this planet might still be an option! Either way, I'm keeping the book, and my hope.

what does it say about you?

My sister was telling me about some funny posts they've been doing about the weird shit people have on their desks at work. So I started thinking about peoples' desks and what their "stuff" means. What does my "stuff" mean?

Mine's pretty straightforward, I think. In addition to my entire collection of race medals (13 to be exact), a piece of Tagg's original hand-painted artwork, my "pancake" inspirational picture (thanks, Natalie!), and my special pens (Uniball medium point in every color but black), I also have Rhodesian Ridgeback calendar, a plethora of family photos, some cool toys that I received as gifts from vendors including a couple of robots and a pink piggy bank, a piece of art that we made on nut-painting day a hundred years ago at Megahertz, and a bunch of thank-you cards that make me feel special. And 3 of those little gum tubs - bubblemint is by far the most popular, in case you're wondering.

I used to have an old-fashioned Rolodex because it kind of reminded me of my whole working history but I finally retired that sucker. So that's it. I wonder if someone walked by my desk, would they be able to get a sense of the real me from a quick glance? Do I care?

thanks, miracle man, and best of luck

I just heard from my ass-cancer doctor that he's retiring from the medical profession effective today. He sent me a message on Facebook. And I thought finding out you have cancer via a phone call was odd. Oh, the world we live in!

I'm kind of shocked in a weird way. I had heard that he'd been having some issues that were impacting his work but I kind of didn't want to believe it. I can't really imagine a more stressful profession. If I screw something up at work or if I'm having a crap day, nobody dies. I mean, that's gotta take a toll on a person. Not to mention that you also have to run a business, deal with insurance companies (enough to make a person want to slit their wrists in and of itself), and sacrifice your family for lots of early morning rounds and emergency late night or weekend surgeries. So I get it. I really do. But this guy literally save my ass...and my life. The other doctors I met with at the Huntsman Cancer Institute wanted to do full-on surgery that would result in a colostomy bag - no other options. Period. That, to me, was a pretty close second to death. Dramatic, I know, but there you go. How do you waterski with one of those?! Ick.

Dr. E was the only one who had a good option. He would take out my bowels and some intestines and kind of re-create them with this thing he called a j-pouch. I'm sure there's some more technical name but that's the name I can remember. Considering how low the tumor was and our inability to stage it without risking the bag, this was my best option. A little surgery, some chemo and radiation and it should be alright. It was aggressive and radical, sure,  but it sounded a hell of a lot better to me than the alternative. He had to go through a huge debate with the cancer board (yeah, who knew that when your doctor sets a treatment plan for you, he also discusses it with a bunch of other doctors to get their buy in) but I'm here to tell that ten years later, it was the right choice for me. I may have to dart out of a meeting sometimes and Imodium is a dear friend but it all works. The scars on my stomach have faded a bit but my memories of his passion and commitment, his occasional remarks about how much I reminded him of his sister who was my age, and his energy have not.

So I can't decide if I'm sorry to hear that he's leaving the profession because he's done with the politics and the system. I'm not even sure what that means exactly. Or if I'm happy that he's doing something that makes him happy. I feel so lucky that he was my doctor and miracle worker. His message on Facebook said that he appreciates being able to see our happy life and cute kids because it reminds him of why he was in medicine. He said "enjoy the wonderful life that God gave you." Whatever!  I enjoy the wonderful life that YOU and God gave me every day. You saved my ass (literally!) and my life. You made it possible for me to get married and celebrate 10 wonderful years with an amazing man. You made it possible for me to stay healthy and have these two beautiful, precious children. You made it possible for me to run, and swim, and golf, and ski, and wakeboard, and travel, and write and...be. Sure, me and God and the family and friends, and a little-slash-whole-lotta luck may have been part of the equation too but I will always thank you and treasure you for the gift you gave me.

Dr. E is a part of our life in a very special way and I hope and pray that his choice is the right one and that it leads him to success and happiness. I think he deserves at least that. And hopefully some other miracle worker is picking up where he left off!