Columnist Steve Johnston looks back on a life of humor

WHEN I WAS in Vietnam in 1966, I got stuck on a mountain just north of Danang and ran out of drinkable water. This went on for days, and I got really, really thirsty. When I got back to my base camp, I was in my bunk when I felt a sharp pain in my back — kinda like someone took an ice pick to me. They hauled me off to the hospital at China Beach, where the doctors said I had passed a kidney stone. They said I would have them the rest of my life.

Well, I thought, that sucks.

The years went by, and I passed more kidney stones. Women who had babies and passed kidney stones told me that passing stones hurt more. At least having a baby you get something to show for all your pain! I went to see some doctors, and they tried different treatments on me. I even thought one treatment worked because a lot of time went by and I didn't pass any stones.

I started believing I was clear of medical problems. Hah!

In the early 1980s I noticed that the left side of my face felt like it was asleep. Over the next couple years, other parts of my body started feeling weird, kind of numb. Then one day I woke up to find I couldn't see out of my left eye. It was like someone hung a pie pan in front of it. I could look directly at an object but only see this large round black shape with some light poking around the edges. I went to the doctor, and he said I had an infection. He gave me some pills and said it should clear up in a month or so.

It didn't.

I went to the doctor, and he did a spinal tap. A spinal tap leaves you with a headache that makes you think your head will explode. A couple days later, the doctor called and said I had multiple sclerosis, the progressive type, meaning I was going to get a whole lot worse and maybe pretty fast.

Well, I thought, that sucks.

But at the time, I was way too busy to get sick and die. I had a wife and four kids who constantly rolled their eyeballs at me and generally acted like I was out of my mind, but they counted on me to bring home the bacon. Besides, I actually loved them. I had lots of friends, too, and this interesting job that allowed me to do things that most people don't get the chance to do. I'd covered a big racketeering trial in San Francisco, where I met the future Truly Unpleasant Mrs. Johnston. I got to tramp around volcanoes (Mount Baker when it started venting and Mount St. Helens when it blew in 1980) and to face a triple murderer in court. There were plenty of humdrum stories, too, but mostly it was an adventure every day. On top of that, I started writing the Sunday Punch columns for this magazine and a bunch of other columns for my bosses at the Eastside edition of the paper.

Sure, I could tell my eyesight was fading, my arms and legs felt numb, and I was walking like someone who had too much to drink. But mostly I ignored it all for a few years until I finally got a cane and started taking assignments that didn't require too much walking. I even wrote a story for the magazine about having MS. One line in the story said: "MS won't kill me. It will just bore me to death."

Flash forward 20 years or so, and my MS has taken a heavy toll. Not only can I not walk, but I can't do most anything, like get dressed or take a shower. We hired help, but I needed more medical care.

We had to do something, and that something was a nursing home. We found a nice one in West Seattle, close enough so my family and friends could visit. While the Truly Unpleasant Mrs. Johnston may not agree, I consider myself a fairly reasonable man, but as I surveyed my situation, one thought kept popping into my head. I bet the alert reader will know what I was thinking. So let's chant it together:

Well, I thought, this sucks.

Just about the time I was getting used to the nursing home, I noticed a bump on my neck. After having a doctor look at it and thinking there was nothing to worry about, I went back to my regular life — which included going to the racetrack with my guy friends to bet on horses with the stupidest names or taking in movies with a woman I call my "afternoon wife." This is my wife's best friend, who goes with me to see shows that are too juvenile for most people to enjoy.

But the bump did not disappear, so a biopsy was done and stage 4 cancer was found.

Well, I thought, this REALLY sucks.

While some people may look at all this and think I should get depressed, I have remained in pretty good spirits. I'm married to a woman who I not only still love but also like. And this woman and I have managed to raise four children who have turned out to be good human beings. I like them, too. And now two of my sons have children of their own, and they're already starting to roll their eyeballs at their parents. My other son is getting married this summer.

Even the "baby," the only girl, is acting like a grown-up these days. I was keeping busy putting together a bunch of Sunday Punch columns to leave for my grandchildren, but she thought it could be something more, stepped in and made a book out of them.

All in all, it has been a good life. I've kept my sense of humor, I managed to keep my wife after 30 years, and my children finally moved out of the house. They still live nearby, though, and spend time with me.

And that definitely doesn't suck.

Steve Johnston is a former Seattle Times reporter and columnist. Fred Birchman is a former Times news artist.