Brain tumor just another chapter in activists life

by F.T. Norton
Appeal Staff Writer, ftnorton@nevadaappeal.com
August 15, 2007, 4:01 AM


SILVER SPRINGS - Tom Blomquist noticed he was having "cognitive issues" for a while. Friends told the Lyon County animal activist he was acting funny and, he said, he kept getting into car accidents.


"Parking lot of the Fifi Market. Bigger than this acre. One car. I hit it," he said, laughing loudly. "The (Lyon County deputy) came and she said 'Tom I know you,' and I said 'Yes sir, you do, but I don't go to Storey County.' Then they wanted to bring in their medical team. I called her sir."


Two weeks ago, after a visit to the Fallon hospital, Blomquist got a diagnosis he never expected.


He had a 6.8-centimeter brain tumor.


"They said it's big. It's been there for a long time," he said. "Thank God it doesn't hurt. I'd be whining like a girl dog."


He undergoes surgery in Reno today.


Since 1996, the colorful Blomquist has been a vocal animal rights activist in Lyon County. He and his wife, Lee, created and ran the Silver Springs Spay and Neuter Project together. Now that the couple has separated, Lee continues the work, he said. Blomquist said he is proud of what he accomplished for the county, especially helping to create an animal control board.


"I've forced the county to follow laws," he said.


But despite his work with animals, it's Blomquist's quirkiness that makes an impression.


Pushing 60 years old, with a head full of naturally blonde hair that he said women envy, Blomquist is a character.


Outside his rundown trailer he just bought "down the river from Fort Churchill," Blomquist has a recliner, chairs for visitors and, where one would expect to see a coffee table, he has an upside-down crate covered in what he calls rune stones.


Sitting shirtless in the sparse shade of a locust sapling on Thursday, Blomquist talks about advice he's gotten over the years, jobs he's held as a bartender, a dice dealer, a waiter. Occasionally, he picks up a shoe box near his feet and shuffles through pictures until he finds what he wants.


"This here is my running partner Doug," he said, handing his visitor a photograph. "Some people would kill for you, he'd bury the body."


Another picture he pulls out is of an owl he snapped sitting on his fence post.


Pausing for a moment, Blomquist rolls a cigarette, saying he needs to focus on that or he'll get confused. When he can't find his clippers to nip off the tip, he tosses it aside.


"I'll get a tailor made," he said with a chuckle, and digs out a Camel from a pack on a table next to him.


His conversation goes everywhere as he sips water from a small electric coffee maker carafe. He talks about his grandfather's and father's foray into bootlegging, his Nordic roots, the cane he holds passed down through generations, friends in Poland, his godson who is the child of Argentinean friends. He also repeats himself and it's always the same topic.


"I'm just so blessed to have friends," he said. "I'd rather be in this shape and have friends than to have won the lottery and wonder who my friends are."


His friends helped him with a down payment for the plot of land he lives on now. His friends drive him to his doctor appointments since he's parked the truck after his accidents. His friends will watch his place the 10 days he's recovering in the hospital. When he's released and will need help, his friends are letting him stay in their home.


Blomquist smiled easily and said he's not worried. He's ready for whatever happens.


"I can't be frantic, or stuff stops happening," he said. "If the horse rides west, I'll go with it."


Yet, there's also plans for after the surgery. The next legislative session he plans to lobby for stronger animal abuse laws. He has big plans for remodeling the rundown trailer. When people suggest he get rid of it and get a newer home, he scoffs.


"Why, so it can sit in a landfill somewhere?"


And he's made a date with a ceramic gargoyle he's set up on top of a shed that Blomquist says represents the tumor.


"When I come back, I got a .410 shotgun and I'm gonna walk in here and my first official piece of action is to blow that little bastard away."


Cancer diagnosis follows brain surgery for Blomquist

by F.T. Norton
Appeal Staff Writer, ftnorton@nevadaappeal.com
August 18, 2007, 4:01 AM


A Lyon County activist learned Friday that a tumor surgeons removed from his brain is cancerous.


"In a few weeks I start aggressive radiation," Tom Blomquist said from his bed in the intensive care unit of Renown Regional Medical Center. "It's gone and it's going to stay away, one way or another."


The indomitable Blomquist, formerly with the Silver Springs Spay and Neuter Project, was diagnosed with the tumor two weeks ago after repeated car accidents and friends saying he was acting funny.


Surgery to remove the invader on Wednesday was postponed until Thursday when things went off without a hitch.


He said the cancer news wasn't a shock and the diagnosis was actually a relief.


"I can't reiterate how much I'm blessed by circumstances. I could be a homeless guy with these same symptoms and never had it diagnosed," he said.


An animal rights activist for years in Silver Springs, Blomquist, 57, has turned over the reins of the Spay and Neuter Project to ex-wife Lee.


He said he isn't sure what he'll do once his medical condition is stabilized, but he's feeling pretty good. On Friday, despite his nurse's displeasure, Blomquist slipped into a pair of Levi's, tossing aside the tiny hospital gown that barely covered his 6-foot 3-inch frame.


He said with the tumor gone, small things aren't confusing him and the patch of hair he's missing will grow back.


"This is exciting. This is an adventure. They've got me up against the wall which is the best place for a personality type like mine. I have to fight it and I will," he said.

Super friends will be chipping in to help on Saturday

Barry Ginter
September 21, 2007, 4:01 AM


To Tom Blomquist, that acre in the sagebrush south of Silver Springs is heaven on earth, the exact place the universe wants him to be at this time in his life as he does battle with brain cancer.


Even with all of his optimism, he's got a realistic side and knows that a practical evaluation of his new estate would list a small, run-down mobile home unfit for occupancy on a sandy plot of land. There's no running water nor electricity, the fences are falling down, and there's a general sense of disarray.


Normally, Tom would have much of this taken care of by now, but his life-threatening medical condition has kept him otherwise occupied.


Tom is sleeping outside under the stars these days, something he might be doing even if there were a half-million-dollar home on his acre. But it's turning cold, and for a guy who just survived an operation to remove a brain tumor and is now going through radiation treatments, that's probably not something doctors would advise.


You'll never hear a complaint from Tom. In fact he just bought a stocking cap to wear on his newly unprotected head (he's shaved his hair off rather than wait for it to fall out from the radiation).


Tom has lots of friends who have supported him in many ways through the ordeal. Many of them he's made from his bartending jobs, and many more from his years as an outspoken animal activist in Lyon County.


Those friends are planning a big event Saturday, the "Help Tommy B Day," to make it easier for him to settle into his new life. All are welcome to pitch in. Among the work: painting, cleaning, hooking up a propane stove and heater, and checking out the fireplace and chimney.


"We are going to rip out the carpet and steam clean the place and turn the eclectic acre into Tom's River Ranch," wrote his friend Bob Williams.


Rather than put in new carpet (it's impractical in the desert), they're planning to put in floor tiles. If you've got some, the donation would be appreciated. Other items they'll need are paint (light yellow), cleaning supplies, buckets, propane tanks, C and D batteries and trailers for taking stuff to the dump. Dennis Hof and his BunnyRanch will be supplying lunch on Saturday.


The work begins at 9 a.m. at 8190 Hooten in Silver Springs (take Ninth Street for 3.5 miles and turn right on Hooten). If you want more information or would like to help out, give Williams a call at 246-0998 or 220-9649.


There are plenty of people who wouldn't see the charm in Tom's home, who might prescribe a bulldozer rather than a fix-up day. But I had no problem seeing it when I visited. It was during the Perseids meteor shower, and we craned our necks for hours, chortling like kids as each flash knifed through the sky ... journeys of untold millions of miles ending in the atmosphere above us.


It was a memorable night, but something puzzled me a I drove home: I'd never picked up in his voice or actions any hint of uncertainty or fear, even though his surgery was just days away. I'm pretty good at detecting those nuances, but the opposite seemed to be true. That's peculiar, in that he is well aware there are no guarantees he's gong to survive this thing.


Maybe it goes back to the first sentence in this column ... his complete confidence that this is the exact place the universe wants him to be at this time. And maybe it has something to do with all those friends who'll be showing up on Saturday.


It will be a year for celebration

By Editor Barry Ginter


On Dec. 16, Tom Blomquist was told by his doctor that he might be dead in six weeks, possibly six months, a year if he were really lucky.


He came up with some simple things ... visit the ocean and San Francisco again (where he worked during one very good year, even saw Ella Fitzgerald rehearse at the Fairmont). He began planning for hospice care for his final days. His doctor told him there are drugs that would keep the pain to a minimum. He began planning how to disperse his possessions.


But now there's a new development. Recent tests show the brain tumor hasn't come back (he had surgery in August to remove it) and that the cancer in his lung hasn't grown.


He's not out of the woods ... it's still Stage 4 cancer, but the planning for his final days on his acre in the sagebrush south of Silver Springs is less urgent. Initially he lived there, by choice, with just an old wood stove for heat and no electricity or running water. Through the help of friends, he now has limited electricity from solar panels that give him a few hours with lights each night and time to boot up a laptop computer and send e-mails.


The doctor at first didn't think his cancer patient could live in those conditions, but now the theory is that's what kept Tom going. Having to chop wood to build a fire to stay warm and cook, and to pump water to wash dishes, keeps one connected with the bare essentials of life. He said he's grateful that he has friends and that he can see well enough to read. It keeps a person active, too. He walks about a half-mile a day. His humble home is so quiet that a high-flying jet gets his dogs, Truckee and Rivers, out barking.


He's convinced that if he were in an apartment somewhere, he'd be dead ... "too much time to watch stupid TV and eat stupid food."


Tom is not asking for sympathy. In fact, there have been offers for him to stay at the homes of others, but he has no intention of leaving any other way but feet first. And he knows his cancer can probably be traced to 30 years of smoking filterless Camels.


An e-mail came on Feb. 12 from Tom, saying:


... I owe $141,000 in medical bills I want to get working on.


I want to learn to ride a horse, finish the Harry Potter books, read more on the Supreme Court and The Constitution, plus the Koran, Bible and other spiritual texts, a few novels and more on the history of Poland.


I want to read a poem every day and walk to the Carson River every day with my dogs.


Because of the help of good people I live much better now; by spring I hope to have running water and propane for heat and cooking as I cook on a wood stove and heat water to bathe and wash dishes."


He's still planning to sell much of his stuff ... says he doesn't need it any more.

As for paying off those medical bills, he has a plan for that, too.


How? Well, one of his ideas is selling T-shirts at his Web site, www.getthisshirt.com. His first offerings: "Don't much care how you did it in California," and "Armed, off my meds and can't pay my medical bills."


Yes, he's aware how many T-shirts he'll have to sell, but he isn't complaining.


He's grateful, because he also knows that every day on earth is a gift worth celebrating.


• Barry Ginter is editor of the Appeal. You can reach him at 881-1221, or via e-mail at bginter@nevadaappeal.com



Tom Blomquist
Email - Tom@GetThisShirt.com