Gut Truck and Gut Punched

Some weeks are better than others.  Some weeks are, well, the pits.  That's what last week was for me.  The pits.

At the end of the week, I learned that one my high school friends, Dave, likely has less than three months to live.  Less than two years ago, he was diagnosed with a glioblastoma (brain tumor).  For the most part, he's done remarkably well.  As recently as six weeks ago, an MRI was very encouraging and revealed little traces of the tumor.

Unfortunately, an MRI he underwent last week revealed the tumor had stormed back with a vengeance, it's tendrils wrapped in and around his brain.  Apparently, it's not uncommon for a tumor like this to be hidden at times during treatment.  It's so fast growing and aggressive that a relatively clean MRI doesn't mean as much as one would hope and, for sure, it doesn't change the life expectancy with a glioblastoma, which is roughly 15 months from diagnosis.

It's not about me, of course, but it's tough in my line of work to emphasize with a client whose wife is hiding chairs and a table he was awarded when I have a friend with a wife and two grown children whose time on earth is at and end.  It makes what I do in the trenches, everyday, seem mundane.  That's the way I felt by the end of last week, anyway.  On top of that, it seems that almost every lawyer I am opposite in a current case has chosen this point in time to be difficult.

JP had a baseball tournament in Memphis over the weekend.  He played early on Friday afternoon and when it became apparent I would be stuck in Court in Nashville, I decided to stay home and try to get caught up on work.  More importantly, I needed some time to myself, to try to recharge my batteries for what is about to be an extremely busy and demanding week at work.  

Burnout?  Maybe, but I'll fight through it, like I always do.  I'll also fight like hell to keep things in perspective, at home and at work, as Dave and his family deal with the end of his life.  As of yesterday, it looks like a group of us may drive to Louisville, KY, this weekend to say goodbye.  

At 58, I didn't plan on having to say goodbye to friends I've know for more than 40 years.  Not by a long shot.  

Dave had a band in college in the mid-1980's.  Gut Truck.  He played bass, as I recall.  He also started a recycling business in college and I think the band may have been named after the pickup truck he used in the recycling business.  Ever the entrepreneur and a born salesman, Dave succeeded beyond belief from a financial standpoint and, yet, here we are.  

I've been thinking about his wife, Mary, and this children, since I heard the news.  Nothing to do, I guess, but pray for Dave and his family.