Click play to listen to the audio portion of this multimedia experience.
In 2006, approximately 524,830 individuals in the United States lost their battles with cancer.This is the story of one.
My friend Anthony Glass was diagnosed with cancer in July of 2005.In the summer of the following year, as his arduous struggle againstthe disease continued, he and I recorded a series of conversationsabout his experience. We then asked his family and friends to sharetheir own perspectives on his illness, and over the next 16 months, theelements of this project were collected.
This is Anthony’s story, just one of the more than half a million that concludes with cancer every year in America.
Look, listen, and learn how Anthony and those who love him facedthis greatest challenge together, and how, even in loss, peace can befound.
Look at the panels, beginning with Anthony and proceedingchronologically forward through the exhibit. The panels are arranged inthe order the interviews were conducted. The accompanying texts areorganized by date, and the snapshots capture Anthony’s life from hisboyhood to shortly before his passing.
Listen to the audio interviews recorded with Anthony, his family,and friends. Six short segments explore the experience from Anthony’sinitial diagnosis until after his death. The segments are separated bymusic selected from the blog postings of Anthony and his friends duringhis illness. These musical interludes offer an opportunity to study theimagery and read the texts.
Learn how individuals are impacted by the diagnosis of a majorillness and the various ways in which they respond. The millions ofAmericans affected by terminal cancer every year must learn difficultlessons about life, love, and mortality. We are sharing our experiencewith The Anthony Project in the hope that it may offer comfort andguidance to those who will follow in our footsteps.
My friend Anthony Glass was diagnosed with cancer in July of 2005.In the summer of the following year, as his arduous struggle againstthe disease continued, he and I recorded a series of conversationsabout his experience. We then asked his family and friends to sharetheir own perspectives on his illness, and over the next 16 months, theelements of this project were collected.
This is Anthony’s story, just one of the more than half a million that concludes with cancer every year in America.
Look, listen, and learn how Anthony and those who love him facedthis greatest challenge together, and how, even in loss, peace can befound.
Look at the panels, beginning with Anthony and proceedingchronologically forward through the exhibit. The panels are arranged inthe order the interviews were conducted. The accompanying texts areorganized by date, and the snapshots capture Anthony’s life from hisboyhood to shortly before his passing.
Listen to the audio interviews recorded with Anthony, his family,and friends. Six short segments explore the experience from Anthony’sinitial diagnosis until after his death. The segments are separated bymusic selected from the blog postings of Anthony and his friends duringhis illness. These musical interludes offer an opportunity to study theimagery and read the texts.
Learn how individuals are impacted by the diagnosis of a majorillness and the various ways in which they respond. The millions ofAmericans affected by terminal cancer every year must learn difficultlessons about life, love, and mortality. We are sharing our experiencewith The Anthony Project in the hope that it may offer comfort andguidance to those who will follow in our footsteps.
Anthony
From: Chas Turnquist
To: Anthony Glass
Date: July 18, 2005
my new LEAST favorite thing?
is when you are not here,
and at the doctor’s...
I am sending you all the love
and strength my body can offer...
can you feel it?
fuck I miss you...
I wish I could hold your hand
right now, and tell you everything
is going to be ok.
anthonyglass.blogspot.com
October 27, 2005
and all of a sudden
getting ready to meet with my surgeon this afternoon,
writing my list of questions to ask him... kind of slowgoing...
question #1 "how much is this going to suck?"
question #2 "how long is this going to suck for?"
this month has flown by,
and as eager as i was for the surgery to arrive,
its two weeks away, and i can’t help but feel
like that’s suddenly much closer than i thought.
as a follow up to the chemo and radiation therapy,
two days ago i had to go in to get an imaging scan
of my abdomen to see how my insides are looking.
as is standard practice, i had to down two liters
of barium contrast (with a delightful citrus flavor.)
it was disgusting, and i’m quite sure if i ever need
to vomit on cue in the future, i’ll have plenty of motivation.
still facing the obstacles of blue cross.
writing my appeal to get my surgeon, Dr. Beart, covered.*
feels something like writing a personal statement
to get into a college i know will never accept me.
but maybe if i write something so absolutely brilliant...
right.
*quality costs money.
To: Anthony Glass
Date: July 18, 2005
my new LEAST favorite thing?
is when you are not here,
and at the doctor’s...
I am sending you all the love
and strength my body can offer...
can you feel it?
fuck I miss you...
I wish I could hold your hand
right now, and tell you everything
is going to be ok.
anthonyglass.blogspot.com
October 27, 2005
and all of a sudden
getting ready to meet with my surgeon this afternoon,
writing my list of questions to ask him... kind of slowgoing...
question #1 "how much is this going to suck?"
question #2 "how long is this going to suck for?"
this month has flown by,
and as eager as i was for the surgery to arrive,
its two weeks away, and i can’t help but feel
like that’s suddenly much closer than i thought.
as a follow up to the chemo and radiation therapy,
two days ago i had to go in to get an imaging scan
of my abdomen to see how my insides are looking.
as is standard practice, i had to down two liters
of barium contrast (with a delightful citrus flavor.)
it was disgusting, and i’m quite sure if i ever need
to vomit on cue in the future, i’ll have plenty of motivation.
still facing the obstacles of blue cross.
writing my appeal to get my surgeon, Dr. Beart, covered.*
feels something like writing a personal statement
to get into a college i know will never accept me.
but maybe if i write something so absolutely brilliant...
right.
*quality costs money.
Penny, his mother
anthonyglass.blogspot.com
October 27, 2005
this was written on the 18th
doctors.
assistants.
bureaucracy.
forms.
rules.
body.
health.
mind.
tumor.
blood.
organs.
fuck.
i’ve never been good at games,
bending when the blurs let them.
and why am i the one that has to keep calling them?
keep pushing them, organizing them, fighting for my health?
this isn’t the way it should be.
they should be coming to me,
calling me to remind me, ask me,
help me, fucking fuck them.
i’ll fucking do it.
keep me conscious during the surgery,
so i can keep an eye on the fuckers even then.
such.
bullshit.
but why would it be any different?
cancer didn’t make me grow wings out of my back,
why would it make the health care system
suddenly efficient and simplistic?
alright.
enough rant.
anthonyglass.blogspot.com
October 30, 2005
It’s all happening…
the weekend has expired,
left itself in small pieces
in forgotten places
(it is sunday night, after all)
picking them up, folding them neatly,
and putting them away
(monday comes better that way)
the best news in recent memory came thursday afternoon,
when meeting with my surgeon for my post-therapy, pre-surgery consult
he told me the tumor had responded very well to the radiation and chemo,
and had dramatically reduced in size allowing for a much smaller section
to be removed when i have surgery november 16th.
i was however in mid-exam when i received the news,
and tempered my joy until the anal-scope was removed
and my ass was lowered from the mechanized exam table
that had it perched 5 feet high in the air.
needless to say,
once i was back on my feet
i was ecstatic.
went to see charlie kaufman at the writers guild,
and was reminded of so many things,
so many good things.
halloween party at a house
i don’t live in anymore.
everyone dressed up as someone else.
but there were some familiar faces,
and it was fun, especially the part when i went home,
quiet home.
peaceful home.
feel like a squirrel nesting in here,
trying to get everything ready
with winter fast approaching.
counting my acorns.
good news:
happiness is available for all
in the form of $12 slippers from target.
they might’ve changed my life.
October 27, 2005
this was written on the 18th
doctors.
assistants.
bureaucracy.
forms.
rules.
body.
health.
mind.
tumor.
blood.
organs.
fuck.
i’ve never been good at games,
bending when the blurs let them.
and why am i the one that has to keep calling them?
keep pushing them, organizing them, fighting for my health?
this isn’t the way it should be.
they should be coming to me,
calling me to remind me, ask me,
help me, fucking fuck them.
i’ll fucking do it.
keep me conscious during the surgery,
so i can keep an eye on the fuckers even then.
such.
bullshit.
but why would it be any different?
cancer didn’t make me grow wings out of my back,
why would it make the health care system
suddenly efficient and simplistic?
alright.
enough rant.
anthonyglass.blogspot.com
October 30, 2005
It’s all happening…
the weekend has expired,
left itself in small pieces
in forgotten places
(it is sunday night, after all)
picking them up, folding them neatly,
and putting them away
(monday comes better that way)
the best news in recent memory came thursday afternoon,
when meeting with my surgeon for my post-therapy, pre-surgery consult
he told me the tumor had responded very well to the radiation and chemo,
and had dramatically reduced in size allowing for a much smaller section
to be removed when i have surgery november 16th.
i was however in mid-exam when i received the news,
and tempered my joy until the anal-scope was removed
and my ass was lowered from the mechanized exam table
that had it perched 5 feet high in the air.
needless to say,
once i was back on my feet
i was ecstatic.
went to see charlie kaufman at the writers guild,
and was reminded of so many things,
so many good things.
halloween party at a house
i don’t live in anymore.
everyone dressed up as someone else.
but there were some familiar faces,
and it was fun, especially the part when i went home,
quiet home.
peaceful home.
feel like a squirrel nesting in here,
trying to get everything ready
with winter fast approaching.
counting my acorns.
good news:
happiness is available for all
in the form of $12 slippers from target.
they might’ve changed my life.
Gordon, his stepfather
From: Anthony Glass
To: Chas Turnquist
Date: November 15, 2005
and so,
it is becoming late in the afternoon,
and the sun is setting lower in the sky,
lower than it should for this time of the day,
but i guess that’s the kind of light
and the kind of feeling
this time of year brings.
i know i must be feeling overwhelmed
because all i want to do is fall asleep,
and wake up when everything is as it was
instead of as it is.
at times,
i see this all as a good thing,
as life saving.
i think about what this could have become
had i gone untreated.
other times,
i can’t help but feel frustrated with myself,
for not catching this sooner,
and think about how i could have prevented
everything that’s happening right now.
i think about the first incision,
and feel like i will be forever altered,
damaged, changed.
people lose limbs.
lose organs.
lose lives.
i am losing a part of my body.
a bad part.
i need to remember that.
this is a beginning,
not an end.
and you.
are you crying yet, reading this?
i don’t know how to describe
the way i feel with/for you right now,
and i know i’ve thanked you
for being as close and strong
as you’ve been with me
through this entire fucking mess,
but i don’t think you really understand.
after covering the entire emotional gamut
over the past nine months,
i don’t quite know how we’ve landed
in the soft and secure place we’re in right now,
but i am so happy that we have.
it feels like we’re fulfilling what we both saw
at the very beginning.
i love you.
a.
From: Chas Turnquist
Date: November 18, 2005
Hello Everyone!
I know you are all awaiting an update, so I’ll get right to it...
Anthony is doing GREAT!
So good in fact... that this morning, yes I said THIS morning (only 12
hours after his surgery,) he got out of bed and walked down the
hallway... an accomplishment he is quite proud of.
This of course was only after he got a sponge bath by the cute nurse
(no joke, I think this helped boost his motivation... either that or
the morphine.)
His spirits are high (though, again it might have something to do with
the drugs?)
No, seriously though... he is doing REALLY well!
As for the medical side of things, they are running many tests...
results that we will not know for days or weeks. We did have a brief
chat with the surgeon who gave us a lot of optimism and said the
surgery itself went really well.
I will let you know how he is feeling, and will try to give you an
update each day... as for right now, he should be ready for visitors
Saturday and Sunday.
and...
I just want to thank everyone again for their love and support... you
guys have no idea how much it means to him!
I can never thank you enough.
Chas
To: Chas Turnquist
Date: November 15, 2005
and so,
it is becoming late in the afternoon,
and the sun is setting lower in the sky,
lower than it should for this time of the day,
but i guess that’s the kind of light
and the kind of feeling
this time of year brings.
i know i must be feeling overwhelmed
because all i want to do is fall asleep,
and wake up when everything is as it was
instead of as it is.
at times,
i see this all as a good thing,
as life saving.
i think about what this could have become
had i gone untreated.
other times,
i can’t help but feel frustrated with myself,
for not catching this sooner,
and think about how i could have prevented
everything that’s happening right now.
i think about the first incision,
and feel like i will be forever altered,
damaged, changed.
people lose limbs.
lose organs.
lose lives.
i am losing a part of my body.
a bad part.
i need to remember that.
this is a beginning,
not an end.
and you.
are you crying yet, reading this?
i don’t know how to describe
the way i feel with/for you right now,
and i know i’ve thanked you
for being as close and strong
as you’ve been with me
through this entire fucking mess,
but i don’t think you really understand.
after covering the entire emotional gamut
over the past nine months,
i don’t quite know how we’ve landed
in the soft and secure place we’re in right now,
but i am so happy that we have.
it feels like we’re fulfilling what we both saw
at the very beginning.
i love you.
a.
From: Chas Turnquist
Date: November 18, 2005
Hello Everyone!
I know you are all awaiting an update, so I’ll get right to it...
Anthony is doing GREAT!
So good in fact... that this morning, yes I said THIS morning (only 12
hours after his surgery,) he got out of bed and walked down the
hallway... an accomplishment he is quite proud of.
This of course was only after he got a sponge bath by the cute nurse
(no joke, I think this helped boost his motivation... either that or
the morphine.)
His spirits are high (though, again it might have something to do with
the drugs?)
No, seriously though... he is doing REALLY well!
As for the medical side of things, they are running many tests...
results that we will not know for days or weeks. We did have a brief
chat with the surgeon who gave us a lot of optimism and said the
surgery itself went really well.
I will let you know how he is feeling, and will try to give you an
update each day... as for right now, he should be ready for visitors
Saturday and Sunday.
and...
I just want to thank everyone again for their love and support... you
guys have no idea how much it means to him!
I can never thank you enough.
Chas
Chas, his love
anthonyglass.blogspot.com
November 22, 2005
exit/enter
fuck.
so i walk out of the hospital,
or rather, i do a sad hunched/shuffle version of the way i used to walk,
and i breathe the air like it’s the first time,
and i smile at the sky like i’m seeing an old friend,
and it’s so cliché i have to laugh a little,
because i have become a hallmark card.
it’s ten minutes since my victory lap around the fourth floor,
complete with high fives from the nurses
and goodbyes from the other patients,
thirty minutes since i was unplugged from my last IV/attachment
and allowed to shower for the first time since the morning of surgery,
six days since i entered this hospital to live within its muted colors,
and it feels fucking great to finally be going home.
i walk to a nearby bench to wait for chas to pull up the cruiser,
and sit with some effort, finding a posture that seems more akin
to a zen buddhist than cancer patient, but it works
and it gives me a moment to think about it all.
cancer.
surgery.
friends.
family.
life.
all the words and all the advice echo
and i remember this is far from the end,
that, in fact, there is no end.
i had cancer. they cut it out.
but even if it’s not in me,
it will be a part of me.
other patients come in and out of the doors,
some sporting wheelchairs, others wearing obvious wigs.
this is my team?
can’t we re-pick?
anthonyglass.blogspot.com
January 7, 2006
in the middle
halftime?
intermission?
c’mon glass, there’s an analogy here somewhere...
with some argument from my insides, i can say now
that i have completely recovered from the surgery.
i am walking, moving, and living just like i used to.
and it’s fucking great.
most times, the thoughts of cancer, of surgery, of everything,
recede to the back of my head, and quietly lay down for a nap.
but they wake easily...
running my hand across my belly, there’s a twelve inch reminder:
of the weeks past, of the months ahead...
visited the oncologist this week and got my chemo recipe:
1 two hour IV treatment of oxyplatinum every three weeks
2 pills of xoloda taken twice a day between treatments
six cycles.
simmer.
for best results add supplements during treatment.
so here we are,
and i still don’t have a metaphor...
the short break before the last climb?
ewey, that’s cheeseball...
the deep breath before... aw gad that’s worse...
honestly, it sucks to start over again.
to have worked back to feeling normal,
and to have to give that up...
but the last couple of weeks have been great,
and if anything, they are a reminder of what
it will be like after these six cycles are done...
that is something to look forward to.
November 22, 2005
exit/enter
fuck.
so i walk out of the hospital,
or rather, i do a sad hunched/shuffle version of the way i used to walk,
and i breathe the air like it’s the first time,
and i smile at the sky like i’m seeing an old friend,
and it’s so cliché i have to laugh a little,
because i have become a hallmark card.
it’s ten minutes since my victory lap around the fourth floor,
complete with high fives from the nurses
and goodbyes from the other patients,
thirty minutes since i was unplugged from my last IV/attachment
and allowed to shower for the first time since the morning of surgery,
six days since i entered this hospital to live within its muted colors,
and it feels fucking great to finally be going home.
i walk to a nearby bench to wait for chas to pull up the cruiser,
and sit with some effort, finding a posture that seems more akin
to a zen buddhist than cancer patient, but it works
and it gives me a moment to think about it all.
cancer.
surgery.
friends.
family.
life.
all the words and all the advice echo
and i remember this is far from the end,
that, in fact, there is no end.
i had cancer. they cut it out.
but even if it’s not in me,
it will be a part of me.
other patients come in and out of the doors,
some sporting wheelchairs, others wearing obvious wigs.
this is my team?
can’t we re-pick?
anthonyglass.blogspot.com
January 7, 2006
in the middle
halftime?
intermission?
c’mon glass, there’s an analogy here somewhere...
with some argument from my insides, i can say now
that i have completely recovered from the surgery.
i am walking, moving, and living just like i used to.
and it’s fucking great.
most times, the thoughts of cancer, of surgery, of everything,
recede to the back of my head, and quietly lay down for a nap.
but they wake easily...
running my hand across my belly, there’s a twelve inch reminder:
of the weeks past, of the months ahead...
visited the oncologist this week and got my chemo recipe:
1 two hour IV treatment of oxyplatinum every three weeks
2 pills of xoloda taken twice a day between treatments
six cycles.
simmer.
for best results add supplements during treatment.
so here we are,
and i still don’t have a metaphor...
the short break before the last climb?
ewey, that’s cheeseball...
the deep breath before... aw gad that’s worse...
honestly, it sucks to start over again.
to have worked back to feeling normal,
and to have to give that up...
but the last couple of weeks have been great,
and if anything, they are a reminder of what
it will be like after these six cycles are done...
that is something to look forward to.
Zach, his friend
anthonyglass.blogspot.com
February 22, 2006
for fuck’s sake
this blog began shortly after i started fighting cancer,
as a place to inform family and friends,
as a rug where i could sweep up my mess,
and as an outlet, as i fought.
and so, although i should be calling people on the phone,
and really talking and explaining the news,
this seems like a better place for it:
do you remember what page we were on?
let’s see, we had the diagnosis, covered the chemo/radiation,
got through the surgery, and were dancing through post-surgical chemo,
on our way to candy mutherfucking mountain? right?
detour.
a few weeks ago i started feeling some swelling in the lymph nodes
on my left side, between my neck and shoulder.
weird. called my oncologist: "don’t worry"
emailed my surgeon: "wait and see"
continued with my chemo, returned to see my oncologist
a few weeks later for a standard blood test.
took another look at my neck, and sent me for a needle biopsy:
cancer cells.
fuck.
underwent a series of scans to see where it was,
and discovered that my cancer has returned,
with a fucking chip on its shoulder.
the cells are highly differentiated,
which means it’s a much more aggressive type
than what i was initially diagnosed with.
it has metastasized to my lungs,
and obviously, localized lymph nodes.
fuck.
so here we are. stage 4.
wait a second, how did this happen?
how did we get here all of a sudden?
feels like just a minute ago my biggest concerns
were what to eat for dinner and having clean underwear.
now i’m fighting for my fucking life?
fucking serious?
you know how in every medical drama,
the surgeon comes out of the operating room,
rips the mask off his face, and with a sigh of relief
tells the family, "he’s gonna make it... he’s a fighter."
i always wondered if i was that guy,
laid out on the table, what would happen?
would i have the fight?
"uh... sorry folks, he just ate it. seems he was a big pussy."
no. this is my fight:
started a new kind of chemo yesterday, hopefully with better results.
reading literature about cancer nutrition, fascinating stuff. eating right.
yoga every other day. building the mind-body connection.
started an entire regimen of immune system building supplements
(one of them is a powder drink... i’ll fucking gag if i have to describe it.)
meditation and positive visualization. fruity, but i’ll try it.
walks. bike rides. stupid movies.
laughter.
love.
silver linings are lame, but here’s mine:
it’s been less than a week since this latest chapter unfolded,
but the quality and quantity of love,
of help, and support i have felt in that time
is something i will never forget.
truly.
i am blessed.
(aw crap... getting schmaltzy... quit it.)
point is.
this cancer has come back aggressive. nasty.
it hits hard, and so i’m hitting it back. in the balls.
the IV of chemo pumps into my veins,
and thousands of little laser-wielding spacemen
are swimming in my blood, zapping the fucking cancer cells.
take a bite of broccoli (and all its anti-cancer nutrients)
and i imagine i’m biting cancer in the fucking face.
bending into some impossible yoga pose,
i’m sweating cancer out of my fucking body.
fuck cancer.
leave it to my creative director to give me perspective:
"this cancer is a burglar, he’s in your fucking home,
and he wants to kill you. what are you going to do about it?"
i’m going to kick its fucking ass.
February 22, 2006
for fuck’s sake
this blog began shortly after i started fighting cancer,
as a place to inform family and friends,
as a rug where i could sweep up my mess,
and as an outlet, as i fought.
and so, although i should be calling people on the phone,
and really talking and explaining the news,
this seems like a better place for it:
do you remember what page we were on?
let’s see, we had the diagnosis, covered the chemo/radiation,
got through the surgery, and were dancing through post-surgical chemo,
on our way to candy mutherfucking mountain? right?
detour.
a few weeks ago i started feeling some swelling in the lymph nodes
on my left side, between my neck and shoulder.
weird. called my oncologist: "don’t worry"
emailed my surgeon: "wait and see"
continued with my chemo, returned to see my oncologist
a few weeks later for a standard blood test.
took another look at my neck, and sent me for a needle biopsy:
cancer cells.
fuck.
underwent a series of scans to see where it was,
and discovered that my cancer has returned,
with a fucking chip on its shoulder.
the cells are highly differentiated,
which means it’s a much more aggressive type
than what i was initially diagnosed with.
it has metastasized to my lungs,
and obviously, localized lymph nodes.
fuck.
so here we are. stage 4.
wait a second, how did this happen?
how did we get here all of a sudden?
feels like just a minute ago my biggest concerns
were what to eat for dinner and having clean underwear.
now i’m fighting for my fucking life?
fucking serious?
you know how in every medical drama,
the surgeon comes out of the operating room,
rips the mask off his face, and with a sigh of relief
tells the family, "he’s gonna make it... he’s a fighter."
i always wondered if i was that guy,
laid out on the table, what would happen?
would i have the fight?
"uh... sorry folks, he just ate it. seems he was a big pussy."
no. this is my fight:
started a new kind of chemo yesterday, hopefully with better results.
reading literature about cancer nutrition, fascinating stuff. eating right.
yoga every other day. building the mind-body connection.
started an entire regimen of immune system building supplements
(one of them is a powder drink... i’ll fucking gag if i have to describe it.)
meditation and positive visualization. fruity, but i’ll try it.
walks. bike rides. stupid movies.
laughter.
love.
silver linings are lame, but here’s mine:
it’s been less than a week since this latest chapter unfolded,
but the quality and quantity of love,
of help, and support i have felt in that time
is something i will never forget.
truly.
i am blessed.
(aw crap... getting schmaltzy... quit it.)
point is.
this cancer has come back aggressive. nasty.
it hits hard, and so i’m hitting it back. in the balls.
the IV of chemo pumps into my veins,
and thousands of little laser-wielding spacemen
are swimming in my blood, zapping the fucking cancer cells.
take a bite of broccoli (and all its anti-cancer nutrients)
and i imagine i’m biting cancer in the fucking face.
bending into some impossible yoga pose,
i’m sweating cancer out of my fucking body.
fuck cancer.
leave it to my creative director to give me perspective:
"this cancer is a burglar, he’s in your fucking home,
and he wants to kill you. what are you going to do about it?"
i’m going to kick its fucking ass.
Jane, his friend
anthonyglass.blogspot.com
April 5, 2006
news
it was a cold and rainy tuesday morning when chas and i
set out across town to see my oncologist, to get the news
from my latest CT scan, and see how this bullshit cancer
was responding to the latest chemo i had started.
the weather wasn’t helping our nerves.
does good news come on dreary days like this?
apparently not.
it wasn’t good news, and yet it wasn’t terrible news.
the cancer is still spreading in my lungs. a little.
i will stop taking the avastin, go to usc immediately,
and discuss some new options with their oncology department.
it wasn’t altogether a surprise. the lymph nodes in my neck
are still swollen, and have become my own informal way of
determining if the treatments i am taking are working or not.
very much looking forward to the day when these fuckers go away.
so here we go again.
setback. regroup. attack.
break down. pick up. breathe.
it’s the morning after now, and thankfully, the sun is out.
my list of things to do is long.
it’s time to get started.
From: Anthony Glass
To: Chas Turnquist, Penny Glass, Gordon Avery
Date: April 18, 2006
just got a call back from Taline, she said i don’t qualify for the
clinical trials because i wasn’t given enough CPT-11 by dr mosher
(according to my chart, his dosage was only 50mg per visit,
at USC they usually start with 120-150mg per visit).
she and dr lenz think i should try to get erbitux and CPT-11
through dr mosher and my insurance company, and if my body doesn’t
respond to it, then i may qualify for a clinical trial with one
of the other treatments dr lenz had described. if i try to go
to usc for the erbitux and cpt-11, it will be out of pocket
and cost approximately $10,000/week.
just put a call into dr mosher, waiting to hear back
and to figure out the next step of treatment.
this sucks.
it shouldn’t be this complicated.
a.
April 5, 2006
news
it was a cold and rainy tuesday morning when chas and i
set out across town to see my oncologist, to get the news
from my latest CT scan, and see how this bullshit cancer
was responding to the latest chemo i had started.
the weather wasn’t helping our nerves.
does good news come on dreary days like this?
apparently not.
it wasn’t good news, and yet it wasn’t terrible news.
the cancer is still spreading in my lungs. a little.
i will stop taking the avastin, go to usc immediately,
and discuss some new options with their oncology department.
it wasn’t altogether a surprise. the lymph nodes in my neck
are still swollen, and have become my own informal way of
determining if the treatments i am taking are working or not.
very much looking forward to the day when these fuckers go away.
so here we go again.
setback. regroup. attack.
break down. pick up. breathe.
it’s the morning after now, and thankfully, the sun is out.
my list of things to do is long.
it’s time to get started.
From: Anthony Glass
To: Chas Turnquist, Penny Glass, Gordon Avery
Date: April 18, 2006
just got a call back from Taline, she said i don’t qualify for the
clinical trials because i wasn’t given enough CPT-11 by dr mosher
(according to my chart, his dosage was only 50mg per visit,
at USC they usually start with 120-150mg per visit).
she and dr lenz think i should try to get erbitux and CPT-11
through dr mosher and my insurance company, and if my body doesn’t
respond to it, then i may qualify for a clinical trial with one
of the other treatments dr lenz had described. if i try to go
to usc for the erbitux and cpt-11, it will be out of pocket
and cost approximately $10,000/week.
just put a call into dr mosher, waiting to hear back
and to figure out the next step of treatment.
this sucks.
it shouldn’t be this complicated.
a.
Kaethy, his friend
anthonyglass.blogspot.com
April 24, 2006
balls
today has been a good day.
as we all know, life goes in cycles,
and things were pretty rotten last week,
internally, externally, and, well, just in general.
so after an unusually good night’s sleep
(relatively speaking, of course)
and a binge of personal hygiene this morning
i decided mondays are my allotted day of the week
to truly kick ass and get things done.
up until recently, i considered myself fluent
in the language and nuance that is my body.
hunger. fatigue. thirst.
these were all things that i could pick up on,
and easily distinguish the difference between.
a little voice spoke up inside and said,
"water"
and i drank water, and felt better.
"tuna sandwhich,"
and i ate tuna, and felt full.
"rest,"
and i did, and it was wonderful.
problem is, these days
that voice speaks chinese.
or maybe it’s japanese.
or one of those ancient fucking languages
that died out because nobody could fucking understand it.
welcome to the terrordome.
hunger doesn’t feel like hunger anymore,
it presents itself as an ache and pain.
fatigue feels like fatigue, but coated with
a lovely ache and pain.... acheypain shall we call it?
thirst? don’t really get thirsty,
just feel acheypain.
like most men, i’ve always had a fear
of holding a crying baby, and not knowing
what it needs, or how to make it stop.
problem is, i’m the baby now.
acheypain... acheypain... acheypain...
what the fuck is it?
am i hungry? should i rest? want some ginger ale?
chas and i disagree on the subject,
which is of course, natural.
i think pain meds and watching the nba playoffs
are the most obvious cure for what ails me.
she doesn’t. she thinks getting out of the house,
staying active, embracing life... blahblahblah...
crap.
fuckin’ girls...
think they’re so smart.
so here we are on a manic monday,
and i’m crossing things off my to-do list,
taking gladys for a long walk, getting ready
to ride my bike down to the beach. and i feel good.
i’m not doing jumping jacks, mind you,
but it’s an improvement.
and i’m watching the playoffs tonight.
you can bet your ass...
right, honey?
April 24, 2006
balls
today has been a good day.
as we all know, life goes in cycles,
and things were pretty rotten last week,
internally, externally, and, well, just in general.
so after an unusually good night’s sleep
(relatively speaking, of course)
and a binge of personal hygiene this morning
i decided mondays are my allotted day of the week
to truly kick ass and get things done.
up until recently, i considered myself fluent
in the language and nuance that is my body.
hunger. fatigue. thirst.
these were all things that i could pick up on,
and easily distinguish the difference between.
a little voice spoke up inside and said,
"water"
and i drank water, and felt better.
"tuna sandwhich,"
and i ate tuna, and felt full.
"rest,"
and i did, and it was wonderful.
problem is, these days
that voice speaks chinese.
or maybe it’s japanese.
or one of those ancient fucking languages
that died out because nobody could fucking understand it.
welcome to the terrordome.
hunger doesn’t feel like hunger anymore,
it presents itself as an ache and pain.
fatigue feels like fatigue, but coated with
a lovely ache and pain.... acheypain shall we call it?
thirst? don’t really get thirsty,
just feel acheypain.
like most men, i’ve always had a fear
of holding a crying baby, and not knowing
what it needs, or how to make it stop.
problem is, i’m the baby now.
acheypain... acheypain... acheypain...
what the fuck is it?
am i hungry? should i rest? want some ginger ale?
chas and i disagree on the subject,
which is of course, natural.
i think pain meds and watching the nba playoffs
are the most obvious cure for what ails me.
she doesn’t. she thinks getting out of the house,
staying active, embracing life... blahblahblah...
crap.
fuckin’ girls...
think they’re so smart.
so here we are on a manic monday,
and i’m crossing things off my to-do list,
taking gladys for a long walk, getting ready
to ride my bike down to the beach. and i feel good.
i’m not doing jumping jacks, mind you,
but it’s an improvement.
and i’m watching the playoffs tonight.
you can bet your ass...
right, honey?
Jay, his friend
From: Anthony Glass
Subject: this is a hard email to read
Date: June 13, 2006
and it’s an even harder email to write.
in fact, it shouldn’t even be written,
it should be a series of phone calls.
but if that were the case, it would be that much harder.
as many of you know, chas, my mother, and i went
to USC yesterday to get the results of my latest CT scan.
seeing as i have felt increasingly shitty over the last few weeks,
it wasn’t a surprise to find out the news was bad.
the surprise came in just how bad the news was:
the chemo regimen i have been on didn’t work,
as the established cancer cells have grown significantly,
they have also spread dramatically throughout my body.
we’re preparing to start a new combination of experimental therapy,
but the strategy now is more along the lines of extending the fight,
rather than expecting a recovery.
they told me "months."
"maybe a year."
and so, an email.
after some time to think, to process, and plan,
i hope to speak with each of you,
whether that be in person or on the phone.
until then, know that i am finding my peace,
and that as my friends and family,
you are all a part of it.
love,
anthony.
IM chat between Anthony & Zach
June 19, 2006
Zach: ah... carla and I were talking at dinner, and she pressed a little bit too much into my relationship with my father. totally innocent, but she just touched on a REALLY sensitive spot. And that turned into a huge emotional reaction out of me
i barely got home before i lost it
Anthony: didn’t expect that.... are you ok?
Zach: no. it wasn’t really about him dude. I haven’t really faced any of the feelings inside me since I heard your latest doctor’s report
they came boiling the fuck out
Anthony: it comes to me in waves as well... i am still struggling to get my head all the way around it, and to plan around it...
Zach: i don’t know what the fuck to do, A. I’m just broken right now.
Anthony: don’t be. my blessing is this: i am able to live the time i have to the fullest i am able to live it, to tell my loved ones that i love them, and find my peace in the time i am given. that is a blessing many are not afforded.
Zach: oh man, you’re killing me
Anthony: no pun intended, right?
Zach: too busy crying to pun bro
Anthony: sorry
i’ve been through it, and continue to go through it
it is my daily meditation
and those thoughts are the ones that come out it.
did an interview with york, talked about a lot of issues and thoughts... it was a lot like therapy. it helped.
Zach: i’ve listened to some of the past ones.
Anthony: it helps to talk
Zach: if you can, at some point i’m going to need to talk to you
Anthony: i can
whenever you want
Zach: you’d think it’d be you who leans on me.
Anthony: we lean on each other
Subject: this is a hard email to read
Date: June 13, 2006
and it’s an even harder email to write.
in fact, it shouldn’t even be written,
it should be a series of phone calls.
but if that were the case, it would be that much harder.
as many of you know, chas, my mother, and i went
to USC yesterday to get the results of my latest CT scan.
seeing as i have felt increasingly shitty over the last few weeks,
it wasn’t a surprise to find out the news was bad.
the surprise came in just how bad the news was:
the chemo regimen i have been on didn’t work,
as the established cancer cells have grown significantly,
they have also spread dramatically throughout my body.
we’re preparing to start a new combination of experimental therapy,
but the strategy now is more along the lines of extending the fight,
rather than expecting a recovery.
they told me "months."
"maybe a year."
and so, an email.
after some time to think, to process, and plan,
i hope to speak with each of you,
whether that be in person or on the phone.
until then, know that i am finding my peace,
and that as my friends and family,
you are all a part of it.
love,
anthony.
IM chat between Anthony & Zach
June 19, 2006
Zach: ah... carla and I were talking at dinner, and she pressed a little bit too much into my relationship with my father. totally innocent, but she just touched on a REALLY sensitive spot. And that turned into a huge emotional reaction out of me
i barely got home before i lost it
Anthony: didn’t expect that.... are you ok?
Zach: no. it wasn’t really about him dude. I haven’t really faced any of the feelings inside me since I heard your latest doctor’s report
they came boiling the fuck out
Anthony: it comes to me in waves as well... i am still struggling to get my head all the way around it, and to plan around it...
Zach: i don’t know what the fuck to do, A. I’m just broken right now.
Anthony: don’t be. my blessing is this: i am able to live the time i have to the fullest i am able to live it, to tell my loved ones that i love them, and find my peace in the time i am given. that is a blessing many are not afforded.
Zach: oh man, you’re killing me
Anthony: no pun intended, right?
Zach: too busy crying to pun bro
Anthony: sorry
i’ve been through it, and continue to go through it
it is my daily meditation
and those thoughts are the ones that come out it.
did an interview with york, talked about a lot of issues and thoughts... it was a lot like therapy. it helped.
Zach: i’ve listened to some of the past ones.
Anthony: it helps to talk
Zach: if you can, at some point i’m going to need to talk to you
Anthony: i can
whenever you want
Zach: you’d think it’d be you who leans on me.
Anthony: we lean on each other
John, his friend
From: Chas Turnquist
Subject: bittersweet
Date: July 26, 2006
They say true love is unconditional… ours bittersweet.
On July 23rd, Anthony proposed. A proposal so sweet, so thoughtful, so pure…
That today, we are getting married under the tree in our backyard.
"to have you as my wife, even for a day, means everything to me…"
Please join us this evening for our reception to celebrate love… and
to celebrate life.
Our house at 6:00 pm. (it’s ok if you’re late)
We will cook dinner on the grill. Have champagne and cake.
Please do not bring anything… and dress comfortably.
Our reception is meant only for you to share your love, and a chance
for us to share ours.
From: Gordon Avery
Subject: Anthony
Date: July 27, 2006
Hi, Averys. Events here in California have been tumultuous and bittersweet. Anthony came home from the hospital, on home hospice care, Saturday.
Sunday, we made a special dinner for Anthony and Chas on the terrace. Penny and I were cooks and served as waiters. Anthony spent an hour getting dressed, and sat in his wheelchair. Chas wore a beautiful sun dress which he had never seen before. There was candlelight and special music. Anthony proposed and Chas accepted. Tears, love, magic beyond belief. They could hardly bear for the evening to end.
Monday we made arrangements with the priest, figured out how to have a special marriage license done by a notary, in the home, and set the wedding for Wednesday, July 26.
Tuesday, we got the license, bought wedding rings, met with the priest, and got ready.
Wednesday morning was the wedding, around Anthony’s bed because he was getting too weak to come out. Just Anthony, Chas, Penny and I, and the priest. It was wonderful. Chas was simply lovely in her bridal dress and with baby’s breath in her hair.
Wednesday night we had about 20 special friends of Anthony and Chas for buffet in the garden, and they each got a few minutes to visit and say goodbye to Anthony. The evening was full of love and remembrances.
Then at 5 AM on Thursday morning, Anthony died. He had a lot of pain, although that was under better control towards the end. There were times when he needed to be quiet and pull inwards. But he never lost his dignity, his concern for others, his devotion to family and friends, and his total love and commitment to Chas. Sick as he was, weak as he was, in pain as he was, he was the same Anthony until the very end.
Subject: bittersweet
Date: July 26, 2006
They say true love is unconditional… ours bittersweet.
On July 23rd, Anthony proposed. A proposal so sweet, so thoughtful, so pure…
That today, we are getting married under the tree in our backyard.
"to have you as my wife, even for a day, means everything to me…"
Please join us this evening for our reception to celebrate love… and
to celebrate life.
Our house at 6:00 pm. (it’s ok if you’re late)
We will cook dinner on the grill. Have champagne and cake.
Please do not bring anything… and dress comfortably.
Our reception is meant only for you to share your love, and a chance
for us to share ours.
From: Gordon Avery
Subject: Anthony
Date: July 27, 2006
Hi, Averys. Events here in California have been tumultuous and bittersweet. Anthony came home from the hospital, on home hospice care, Saturday.
Sunday, we made a special dinner for Anthony and Chas on the terrace. Penny and I were cooks and served as waiters. Anthony spent an hour getting dressed, and sat in his wheelchair. Chas wore a beautiful sun dress which he had never seen before. There was candlelight and special music. Anthony proposed and Chas accepted. Tears, love, magic beyond belief. They could hardly bear for the evening to end.
Monday we made arrangements with the priest, figured out how to have a special marriage license done by a notary, in the home, and set the wedding for Wednesday, July 26.
Tuesday, we got the license, bought wedding rings, met with the priest, and got ready.
Wednesday morning was the wedding, around Anthony’s bed because he was getting too weak to come out. Just Anthony, Chas, Penny and I, and the priest. It was wonderful. Chas was simply lovely in her bridal dress and with baby’s breath in her hair.
Wednesday night we had about 20 special friends of Anthony and Chas for buffet in the garden, and they each got a few minutes to visit and say goodbye to Anthony. The evening was full of love and remembrances.
Then at 5 AM on Thursday morning, Anthony died. He had a lot of pain, although that was under better control towards the end. There were times when he needed to be quiet and pull inwards. But he never lost his dignity, his concern for others, his devotion to family and friends, and his total love and commitment to Chas. Sick as he was, weak as he was, in pain as he was, he was the same Anthony until the very end.
The bike ride
From: Chas Turnquist-Glass
Subject: a night to scatter
Date: August 26, 2006
a night to scatter…
our souls
our memories
our tears
our bikes
our stories
our laughter
join me as we crack open the bottle of cristal from our wedding day...
to watch (and laugh at) anthony’s old high school movies and student films... listen to funny voice messages, share stories, read old emails, and smile at photos.
Then at midnight we will bike to the beach to spread anthony’s ashes at his favorite place in venice.
"maine is my heaven… but venice is my home."
once we arrive, each of us will make a toast to…
our dear friend
our old roommate
our secret crush
our glassanova
our beautiful Anthony
our crazy tony
our Antone
our ‘thony
our inspiration
our true love.
It’s a night
to scream to the heavens,
and whisper to the sea…
"we fucking miss you."
Subject: a night to scatter
Date: August 26, 2006
a night to scatter…
our souls
our memories
our tears
our bikes
our stories
our laughter
join me as we crack open the bottle of cristal from our wedding day...
to watch (and laugh at) anthony’s old high school movies and student films... listen to funny voice messages, share stories, read old emails, and smile at photos.
Then at midnight we will bike to the beach to spread anthony’s ashes at his favorite place in venice.
"maine is my heaven… but venice is my home."
once we arrive, each of us will make a toast to…
our dear friend
our old roommate
our secret crush
our glassanova
our beautiful Anthony
our crazy tony
our Antone
our ‘thony
our inspiration
our true love.
It’s a night
to scream to the heavens,
and whisper to the sea…
"we fucking miss you."
The Anthony Project, a multimedia fine art exhibit exploring cancer’s influence upon personal identity, premiered on August 18th & 19th, 2007 at the O’Melveny Gallery in Los Angeles, CA, attracting hundreds of attendees during its weekend opening.
We offer this emotional and educational experience to interested galleries, venues, and organizations to share it with audiences nationally.
We offer this emotional and educational experience to interested galleries, venues, and organizations to share it with audiences nationally.
The exhibition includes ten 72”W x 36”H panels and two 36”W x 36”H panels, wall-mounted with industrial-strength Velcro®.
The accompanying one hour audio program requires a stereo system in the exhibition space.
A related short video presentation is also available for venues with a separate media room.
The accompanying one hour audio program requires a stereo system in the exhibition space.
A related short video presentation is also available for venues with a separate media room.
We would like to share The Anthony Project with all those whom have been, or may be, touched by cancer.
We do not solicit donations or promote organizations, products, or services as part of the exhibition.
We do not solicit donations or promote organizations, products, or services as part of the exhibition.
If you would like to suggest an appropriate exhibiting venue, we look forward to speaking with you. Please contact us.
"It’s easy to get caught up in the idea that power, money and success are what’s important. Anthony has shown me that none of that matters. What matters is family, friends and love."
- Anonymous premiere attendee
- Anonymous premiere attendee
The Anthony Project was made possible by the invaluable support of the following contributors.
Seth Abramovitch
Roberta Accinni
Elizabeth Ai
Anonymous
ArtSlant
Gordon Avery
G Scott Barrett
Matt Berling
Jean-Paul Bonneau
Deborah Bridson
Joseph Campanella
Patrick Carroll
John Carswell
G Paolo Cascardo
Misti Champkunthod
Vivian Cheng
Sarah Clarke
Gabriela Cocco
Alicia Corbett Davis
Defamer
Kristin Dickson
Joy Downey
Rose Duignan
Experience LA
Nicole Federico
Brandon Fernald
Richard Ford
Erica Frauman
Sousa Funston
Anthony Glass
Penny Glass
Jeremy Greene
Michelle Gurman
Prakriti Hale
Charlie Heath
Bruce Hesse
John Ibsen
Keita Ideno
IZZE Beverage Company
David James
Melissa Johnson
Larry Jordan
Kaethy Kennedy
Michael King
Jay Lafayette
Wendellyn Lamb
Steve Larious
Pat Lee
Zach Lee
Donald Bryant Little
Misti's Kitchen
Jodi Newman
Richard Newman
Don O'Melveny
Bo Opfer
James Napier
Scott Parrott
Mark Priola
David Prosenko
Julie Ragland
Jo Rhodes
Angie Rubin
Michele Ryan
Krista Smith
Andrew Steinthal
Emma Stoller
Jane Stoller
Sybil Stoller
Jinny Story
John Sutherland
Langdon Taguiped
Charity Tran
Tito's Vodka
Suzanne Todd
Beth Trentacoste
Bill Turnquist
Chas Turnquist-Glass
Daylan Williams
Seth Abramovitch
Roberta Accinni
Elizabeth Ai
Anonymous
ArtSlant
Gordon Avery
G Scott Barrett
Matt Berling
Jean-Paul Bonneau
Deborah Bridson
Joseph Campanella
Patrick Carroll
John Carswell
G Paolo Cascardo
Misti Champkunthod
Vivian Cheng
Sarah Clarke
Gabriela Cocco
Alicia Corbett Davis
Defamer
Kristin Dickson
Joy Downey
Rose Duignan
Experience LA
Nicole Federico
Brandon Fernald
Richard Ford
Erica Frauman
Sousa Funston
Anthony Glass
Penny Glass
Jeremy Greene
Michelle Gurman
Prakriti Hale
Charlie Heath
Bruce Hesse
John Ibsen
Keita Ideno
IZZE Beverage Company
David James
Melissa Johnson
Larry Jordan
Kaethy Kennedy
Michael King
Jay Lafayette
Wendellyn Lamb
Steve Larious
Pat Lee
Zach Lee
Donald Bryant Little
Misti's Kitchen
Jodi Newman
Richard Newman
Don O'Melveny
Bo Opfer
James Napier
Scott Parrott
Mark Priola
David Prosenko
Julie Ragland
Jo Rhodes
Angie Rubin
Michele Ryan
Krista Smith
Andrew Steinthal
Emma Stoller
Jane Stoller
Sybil Stoller
Jinny Story
John Sutherland
Langdon Taguiped
Charity Tran
Tito's Vodka
Suzanne Todd
Beth Trentacoste
Bill Turnquist
Chas Turnquist-Glass
Daylan Williams
