During his first cancer he called himself "cancer boy"--apparently the first sign that he was a full fledged member of the cancer boy club was his lack of eyebrows, making it very hard to tell whether he was joking or serious (but Phil was hardly ever serious). When Phil's cancer came back, we didn't have any clever nicknames--we were mostly just pissed off. Cancer, in case you didn't know, is a bitch. Hopefully someday it's a bitch that we can beat so people never have to go through the same shit Phil did.
Visiting the Lombardi Cancer Center was always a little bit nerve-wracking for Phil--sometimes there was good news (high neutrophil count) and sometimes the news sucked (no chemo allowed because the prior chemo had made him too sick). But Phil always handled these appointments with laughter--he liked to play with medical instruments in the exam room, often belting out some lounge singer tunes. And the nurses always knew when he was around because they could hear us laughing (mine was always the more nervous laugh, but Phil's was genuine amusement). We always said that we just came to the hospital for the cable TV and the fine cuisine.
Phil will be missed by those who hiked, drank, joked, fought, smoked, caroused, helped, laughed, cried, and loved. He is the love of my life and I will be forever grateful that I had the chance to know him and love him.
Love,
Mrs. Bearmagnet (Dani)
