I’m goin’ to a Jimmy Buffett show, and I need help stat!

Click image or here for an 8 minute video of live performances of “Fins” and “Son of a son of a sailor”:

Five years ago this month, August 2008, it was a year since my final treatment. I’d beaten cancer and had spent a year wondering “What next? What will I do with my free replay in life??”

What had I always said I’d get around to, someday? In a flash it came to me: Parrothead!!

But there were obstacles. First was the cost of tickets – I was fresh from cancer and a house-sale disaster. Next was that every time I learned about a concert it was already sold out. Then were my three years of being a start-up, with no money for luxuries.

Last winter I realized I could afford it – but again, every time I found a concert it was sold out. What to do?? In early January I did what everyone modern does  – turned to social media. I asked Twitter:

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On May 10, at the KGH Connect conference in Kingston, Ontario, I met Dr. Brian Goldman; we both spoke there.  In 2011 he gave this 19 minute TEDx talk in Toronto; please watch it. It’s stunningly clear, grippingly told, and extremely important to understanding the real truth about medicine: it’s complicated. Really complicated.

Doctors make mistakes. Can we talk about that?

He gave me a copy of his book The Night Shift, a chronicle of one night in the ER where he works. The night’s cases are interspersed with the stories and experience that come to an ER doc’s mind with every new patient who comes in. I’ll write more about the book soon. First, as preparation, please spend 19 minutes watching this. What did you learn? Any new thoughts?

Boy, is this a lesson in how two people can experience the same soul.

Last night I posted about the unexpected death last Wednesday of my younger brother Steve, the first of six siblings to pass on. I reflected on the many ways this news was affecting me, even though I had never been close to him. I said I was writing in part to aid the process of dealing with death, especially an unexpected death.

Part of that process happens in family dialog as those left behind share their memories and perspectives. So one comment on yesterday’s post struck a chord: “Listen carefully at the memorial as you will learn things about him you never knew.” It was from online friend Marge Benham-Hutchins, who should know: she lost her husband to cancer last year.

Boy was she right – it started today. Our sister Suede, the jazz/pop/romance singer, was just 14 months older than Steve; they were close growing up, separated from the rest of us by several years on each side, and they stayed close forever. But I had no idea how close, how much she knew that I didn’t.

Here’s what she sent about her experience of him, in response to mine. I’m so grateful, yet saddened anew by our loss. [Read more…]

Updated a day later, adding more recollections. See also the amazing remembrance our sister Suede sent me, in response to mine. It changes everything.

Wednesday afternoon, unexpectedly, my younger brother Steve died, age 55. He was one of six siblings, the first of us to go.

This is the first time anything like this has happened to me, and the effect has been something to watch. I hesitate to write about this because I know so many of you have plenty of experience at death; plus, a thousand people have probably said what I have to say, and better. I just want to record some of the strange thoughts that have come to mind, partly because it’s part of the process and partly because the thoughts are weird.

And I want to remember Steve.

Basics

I got the news just before a dinner meeting Wednesday where I was to give a speech. I had no emotional reaction at first; as is apparently common, my mind zipped into running through logistics (what needs to be done, and when; “When will this sink in?”), then I got on with the evening and my travel to Toronto for the next event.

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I am so thrilled about this. Watch:

He’s my cousin. He’s awesome. I blogged about him on my old blog years ago, as his story took a sharp right turn. He is determination, passion, commitment.

Some people think my story is amazing – my determination to survive. Well, what I did was finished in six months, and I’m all better. Chris’s life will never be the same as it originally was going to be, and years later he still is achieving his dream.

To be a surgeon. A surgeon. Woot.

His blog is blog.chrismcculloh.com, and on Twitter he’s @ChrisMcCulloh. (He doesn’t tweet a lot – he’s kinda busy. He’s a new surgeon.)