Capt. Mike "Bush Doctor" Weingart

Capt. Mike Weingart (Left) Capt. John Carpenito (Right)

The news reported that Sawyer Sweeten had died on April 23rd of an apparent suicide at his home in Texas. He was the child actor from “Everybody Loves Raymond.” He was only 19 years old.

Why? Who knows. I really don’t understand this. There is so much to live for. I’m currently fighting cancer but under no means have I contemplated ending my life.

I lost a good friend several years ago. Suicide. I never could understand it and honestly, I’ve never gotten over it. Capt. Mike was one of those happy go lucky guys with a great attitude and was loved by his clientele and co-workers alike. And then one day he was gone.

Not me. I’m going to do everything I can to hang in there and make this an adventure rather than a depressing, God awful event.

I love you Mike. Hope you are doing OK in heaven. I know you made it there. The world would be really unfair if you didn’t.

It's Important

JoNell is my caregiver. It sounds funny to say that now. She and I have always shared our home duties.

Before cancer she kept track of the money, paid the bills and put in more hours than I did. She usually worked at her office in Naples for 8 to 10 hours and then came home and worked another 1 or 2 on the computer. She also put in another chunk on the weekends. Her other home duty was feeding the cats. They love her.

I worked on the water as a charter captain. I did anywhere from 5 to 14 trips a week. Sometimes it was a short week, sometimes it was a long week. When I got home I was the house cleaner, laundry dude, kitty sandbox changer, pool cleaner, yard maintenance dude and in charge of getting the recycle cans and garbage to the street on the proper days. I made sure the vehicles keep running. I also took care of all things SoulMate Charters, Inc. Bills, deposits, taxes etc.

We both shared the making of dinner and the trips to Publix.

All this changed when I got diagnosed with cancer. I became fairly useless and JoNell had to pick up the slack of running the entire household. It was quite a shock for both of us. I don’t think either one of us realized how much the other did and I know she didn’t know my routines.

Over the past two months we have adjusted and I am starting to feel physically better so I can lend a hand on a few chores. It’s still tough for me to last longer than 15 minutes or so, but it makes me feel better when I can help. Just folding clothes means I’m helping a bit and I really want to do that for JoNell. 

I love her so much. It’s been quite an ordeal and it has weighed on both of us. Most of the time we work toward getting it done. We don’t talk much about the future. We just keep plugging away at the here and now. Today.

Every now and then the future creeps in and that’s when the tears start for both of us. We had plans and this has pretty much wrecked that. JoNell also realizes how close she came to losing me. She was there for the incident at the hospital and she’ll most likely never forget it. She was pretty sure that was the end. We’ve talked about it and I’ve told her that she’s stuck with me. It’s going to take more than cancer to do me in.

I’m writing this as advice for couples. Married or not, you need a plan that covers your worst possible moments. What happens if...  It’s important. JoNell and I were under the assumption that things would just move along as they always have. Kind of a pre destiny. Well, that was wrong. We should have known better, but we were both lulled into a false sense of security.

Take the time to learn what the other does. How you each fit in to the overall scheme of things. It’s very important. It’s much better to be ready than not.

I'm Lucky

Learned something this week. Chemo is mostly a big surprise. I’ve been on it for several weeks, off and on, and I was pleased that I have been able to handle it through aches and pains. The Friday morning blast of steroids has been a pain saver and moved me tthrough the early week without a lot of trouble. And then that changed.

All of a sudden the double whammy of the chemo pill and shot really knocked me down. My white blood count fell through the floor and I ran my fist big fever since leaving the hospital. Terrible night sweats and very little sleep. Off to the doctor in the morning to see if it was an infection or chemo. Fortunately it was chemo related and a new shot called Neupogen was prescribed to help raise my white blood cell count. It worked and I was feeling better by Thursday. One little problem. It also makes your bones ache. Oh goody.

Chemo is all about attitude. Keep it positive and and stop worrying about tomorrow. Just hang in there, there is light at the end of the tunnel. I’m happy that I’m two weeks on and one week off. That one week off gives me something to focus on during the bad times. I also receive half of my chemo (the shots) in a room full of people also getting cancer treatments. Mine is relatively easy compared to some of the patients who have to spend all day, sometimes 2 to 3 times a week, under the gun.

I’m lucky.

Sympathy

I look at things differently now thanks to having cancer. Especially the trials and tribulations of others.

I was watching the second round of the Masters golf tournament and Rory McIlroy was having a particularly tough day. Heck, the way he was playing he might not even make the cut for the weekend. Balls off the course in the rough and in the woods and his approaches weren’t very good. He was visibly disappointed.

I thought to myself, “So what. Add cancer to the mix and be glad you are where you are. Get that chin up and play ball. Quit pouting.”

Not really a very nice thing to be thinking and a gross lack of sympathy. Saying that having cancer is tougher than his current situation might be a little off base, but his whole down in the mouth attitude kind of pissed me off.

But in defense of Rory, he had every right to be disappointed. He’s one of the best professional golfers in the world and he’s worked very hard to get to this point in his life. Shit, he’s playing the Masters!

But I still don’t have much sympathy for him.

One Day At A Time

You have cancer.

Those are the words that a good many folks will never have to hear. For some reason I thought I’d be in that group. I don’t really know why, it was just a feeling.

Wrong. At first I thought it was going to be a different diagnosis. Perhaps just a very serious flu or perhaps an infection I’d picked up from a fish bite or nick on the finger. I’d read about that and I’d heard about the “flesh eating” stuff that was very dangerous and had to be treated right away. But cancer? Not a chance.

It really did come out of the blue. So many survivors and people in remission have said the same thing. “It came out of nowhere. I wasn’t even sick and then...”

The only medicine I’d ever taken on a regular basis was Advil. I used it for the normal aches and pains of being a fishing guide and for the occasional over imbibing of alcohol, which had become less and less with age. You learn your limits as you pass your sixtieth birthday.

Cancer changed that. Now I take nine different medications to control everything from blood pressure to pain to infection to nausea and my ability to pee. I also take another as part of my daily chemo and then get a chemo shot twice a week. I then add 10 steroid pills taken all at once each Friday. I haven’t taken an Advil since my diagnosis in late February and I haven’t had a cocktail since then either. How’s that for irony?

Until you have cancer you have no idea what a person with cancer is going through. I thought I could sympathize with such a person but no, I couldn’t and can’t. It’s much too complicated. It’s hard to understand all the feelings that come with the diagnosis and it’s almost impossible to put it into words.

I do, however, understand what the support group is going through because I’ve been there, several times. I’ve lost a couple of good friends to cancer and I’ve also helped rescue a couple. Each time is different but it all adds up, just the same. You are on the outside looking in and the inside is impossible to fully understand.

One day at a time becomes the new mantra. The future is much too fickle and feels unreachable. It’s not, but it feels that way. One day at a time. That’s where I am right now. One day at a time.

It Was THIS Big

I love to fish. While catching big fish is fun, it’s not important to me. I no longer need to prove myself by bringing the biggest fish back to the dock. Some anglers do and that seems more like the person that has to have the biggest car or truck with the biggest engine. Perhaps he’s trying to make up for a shortage elsewhere.

If the body of water I’m working is giving up small fish, so be it. I’m good with that and I’ll downsize my tackle to match the catch. It’s the act of fishing and not knowing what’s on the end of the line that makes fishing fun for me. It’s the mystery of it all and the mystery of being surrounded by the great outdoors.

I also don’t need to report a catch of “40 redfish.” I just love the fisherman that starts the bragging by giving his last outing a number. “We caught 62 redfish yesterday and we were only out for three hours.” I’d like to point out that mathematically that’s one redfish every three minutes if you spread the catch out over the three hours. That would be really tough even on the very best day. Heck, that would be tough on any day. A solid redfish bite in this neck of the woods would be about 15 over the three hours.

Honest.

Carrying The Flame For Dean-o

Originally published 2007

My good friend Dean Hicks passed away in May. He was the owner of Reel’s Inc., a custom rod and tackle shop located in San Carlos Park. He was also the distinctive voice of Reel Talk Radio, a call-in fishing show that continues under my direction each Saturday morning from 7 to 10 on 99.3FM.

While we all amass a great number of acquaintances in our lives, we usually only have a few folks we call close friends. It’s tough losing one.

Dean-o and I met about 5 years ago during the initial manatee zone battles. He was invited as part of the press to go on a boat ride to look at the proposed new zones near the mouth of the Caloosahatchee River. I was the captain that day and Dean-o, in his usual way, introduced himself shortly after arriving on board.  I’ll never forget it. It was like we had known each other for a lifetime. He had a knack for making you feel as if you were the most important person in his presence, even on a boat full of press and politicians. He sounded and looked like a pirate but it became obvious to me that there was much more going on than met the eye. We talked about the manatee situation, about fishing and about the business of fishing. He told me about his radio show and his shop and encouraged me to stop in and see him. I’m glad I did. What began as a business relationship soon developed into a friendship.

We had a lot in common. Both of us were military veterans, we loved the water and conservation of the resources, and we were both doing our best to raise daughters that are almost the same age. We had a lot of great talks and debates. I’m going to miss those the most. But most importantly Dean-o got me involved in the community. Oh, I had donated a fishing trip or two for good causes and I had sent my dues to the Coastal Conservation Association, but I soon learned that that was the tip of the iceberg in Dean-o’s world. It was an eye opening experience and one that I have continuee to carry on in his absence.

I implore you, the reader, to also do your part. If you love southwest Florida and you love to fish or recreate in this great playground of ours, then you need to pay attention to what’s going on around you. There are very important issues on the table right now concerning boating access to Everglades National Park and we are still fighting the battle of water releases from Lake Okeechobee. There is much to be done and it’s not going to get done by itself.
   
Dean-o is going to be greatly missed, not only by his family and friends but by the entire community. His tireless efforts to make this a better place to live and fish will be carried on by those of us that knew him, and I for one, will make sure that the flame never goes out. 

Dean-o, Peace my friend and catch big fish.

Time On The Water

I really miss fishing.

No, I mean I REALLY miss fishing. I’m surprised. I’ve always done a lot more watching than actually fishing while on one of my charters. As a matter of fact, charter fishing is really the act of taking others to find and catch fish. So I was surprised how much I miss the act of fishing.

Maybe it has more to do with the surroundings than actually wetting a line. I love the view. I love my office. It’s ever changing and almost never looks the same from day to day. Perhaps that’s it. I’m not sure.

I started fishing when I was boy. That was back in 1959. I was six years old. My Dad took me to the old Clearwater Beach bridge that had been turned into a fishing pier. The first thing I remember catching was an octopus. It tried to climb up the line to the rod and then proceeded to squirt ink everywhere. When you are six years old it doesn’t get much better than that. I guess that’s where it all started. The simple curiosity of what might be caught on any given trip. That mystery has never left me.

I’ve lived and breathed fishing since 2001. That’s when I started fishing full time for a living. The longest stretch of days in a row on the water has been 41. That’s right, 41. At that time I was booking every day and only taking time off for bad weather. We had a very long bout of beautiful weather. I was praying for rain about day 30 but it just wouldn’t come. Here’s the funny part. The break in the good weather was four days of rain and wind. About day three I was actually starting to miss the water. It still feels that way, especially now.

I went to the hospital on the afternoon of February 25th. I’ve been off the water for 40 straight days. Hard to believe.

I REALLY miss it.