There is no way those are real

There is an HBO original series on. The show revolves around a small working class port town, I believe in England. Or Norway. There are three girls in their mid twenties, who are close friends and seem to be the focus of the series. One of the girls is particularly blonde, has a veracious sweet tooth, a penchant for bocce, and every week she questions and tests her sexual identity. There is an 18 year old boy, who is quite fond of red Adidas jogging suits. He is trying to find his way out of this sleepy little hamlet, and is counter balanced by a 50-ish year old rugged man who has just returned to his boyhood home after having spent some time in the Australian navy.

Dave is sitting on the edge of the couch and apparently something has really made him angry. He has worked himself into such a lather he has become a non-functioning heap of steam, facial tics, and the occasional potty word. I'm not quite sure about all the details. I do know that at some point he was holding his cell phone wrapped in a handkerchief, and poking the air near me. He was hissing something about his friend Fisher and a bar called the Royal Inn.

I made all of this up. There is no HBO series, I don't even know if Dave has a friend named Fisher, and, as Dave is 3000 miles away, for all I know he is as happy as a pig in shit.

I have cancer. Have I mentioned that? It sucks.

Do you know the one about the frog and the scorpion?

Even at lower doses, chemo is still chemo. Euphemisms for vomiting:

hurling
hucking
heaving
chucking
up-chucking
puking
driving the porcelain bus
talking to ralph
ralphing
driving the buick
praying at the porcelain altar
multi-colored yawn
tossing your cookies
loosing your lunch
purging
emptying
doing the Roman

Murph, did I miss any?

Surprise Surprise Surprise

Yesterday was iv chemo day. The pre-medication discussion with my oncologist yielded some unexpected results. I explained to him that the side effects from the Oxaliplatin lasted for more than two weeks, to which he replied "Hmmm...they should only last for a couple of days." We talked about the treatment, and made plans for a ct scan after the next iv chemo. He gave me the option of cutting down the dosage of Oxaliplatin, explaining that cutting down on the sickness may also cut down on the efficacy of the drug. I mulled it over for a while. I was fearful that another iv treatment at the same dose, having an accumulative effect, would now have me ill for three weeks, bringing me right back to the next treatment without any respite, and that is a very unappealing concept. I had to face a similar dilemma the first time I went through chemo, and back them I opted for lowering the dosage, and this time I went the same route, and took a lower dose of the chemo.

Yesterday, right after the treatment, I felt relatively fine. No nausea, no gi problems, and just a bit tired. I did sleep a lot yesterday, last night, and this morning, but when I finally woke up I had an appetite!! The last couple of treatments left me without the urge to eat for at least 4 days. Again today, I have no nausea, but my stomach is sort of upset. I have a little more energy than expected. The tingling in my fingers and the pain in my jaw is still present, but I'm hoping this will only last a few days rather than two weeks.

I'm usually a positive person. I may bitch and moan about things, but overall I believe that things will work out. Situations won't simply improve on their own, but if we work towards the resolution we want, I believe the outcome will be positive. But, in the mean time, I will be the first one to ramble on about the absolute suckiness of the situation. To me, complaining is just part of the healing process. Better to get the negative thoughts out than to let them fester. So here I am, feeling not as absolutely horrible as my other tangles with this chemo drug, and of course I have to find something to worry about. I'm concerned that lowering the dose is also lowering the killing power of the drug. Sure, we talked about it, and I understood both sides of my decision. Cancer sucks!

I don't know nothing about birthing no bovines

In 1900 a wise man named Milton, after some time in the candy business, decided to take his recipe for milk chocolate and make it into bars. 106 years later you can go to the nearest shop and buy a chocolate bar with nuts, or caramel, or nugat, or walnuts, or crisped rice, or almonds, or peanut butter, or...well you get the idea. I do enjoy Baby Ruth, Chunky, and Kit-Kat bars. But every now and then there is nothing better than simple, pure, basic Hershey's chocolate bar; 12 little rectangles of solid chocolate bound together into a perfect bar. Sometimes there is just too much, all those other little things they put in the bar fake your mouth into thinking it's having a good time, but they just distract from the beauty of the chocolate. Are you getting the metaphor?

This week has been pretty good. I haven't felt sick, and I got some energy back. I decided to take advantage of the few days I have to be functional, as they are getting fewer and farther in between. I went to my office today for a while, and may go back in tomorrow. I'm going to do something this weekend, I'm not quite sure what but I'm going to do something. The specter of Monday's chemo is hovering over my shoulder. I am not looking forward to next week at all, but just as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow, it will come.

I just saw a commercial on tv for some sort of children's shampoo. There were topless kids, probably about 3 or 4, boys and girls. How does society come up with it's ridiculous rules? We allow little girls to run around topless, and then at some point tell them they have to stop. It's ok to show a 3 year old girl on tv with no shirt, but let the hammer of the moral majority come down on us if she is 23. Personally I find it more disturbing to look at a naked 3 year old.

Ian Dury likes the rhythm stick. Tim Curry; He does the rock.

My friends Doug and Naomi, from Oxford, that's in England, are moving to the States. In preparation for their move, they spent last week in Stamford Connecticut. Connecticut is a Native American word meaning "on the way to Boston". Rather than fly home at the end of the week, they came down to Jersey to visit with me for the weekend. I felt a bit guilty as I could not be the host I wanted. My body is still tired, and so we spent most of their visit simply sitting around the apartment, talking and watching TV. If you have the opportunity to watch American television with intelligent Europeans, I highly recommend it.

Saturday evening was spent eating a fine meal, drinking quite a few bottles of wine, and vibrantly and passionately discussing a myriad of subjects. One of the more contentious conversations revolved around fate and destiny. I'm adamantly opposed to these philosophies and all their connotations. Some time I'll tell you about it.

Today I am two weeks removed from my last chemo injections, and I still feel the effects. I'm tired and still my brain is foggy, which as I've stated before is a substantial cause of grief for me. I was finally able to drink something cold today, so I've got that going for me. I've only had two rounds of injections, but if this trend of the side effects lasting longer continues, it's going to get to a point where I have no time of respite between treatments. Anyone wanna trade lives for a while?

My birthday is coming up in a month. More on that later as well.

I had ideas for this blog, and I'm sure they were brilliant. But, here I am, fingers tapping away, and my brain has decided that they are locked away, under a soggy cardboard box, on a shelf in the small hallway, locked away in the basement, and it's just too much work to go get them right now.

A bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck

I don't like feet. I really hate those women's shoes wit the 5 inch soles, or wedges. I like grilled cheese sandwiches, but not all the time, I have to be in the mood to eat one. I can't stand reality tv. I love football. I'm not sure if Madison Avenue is responsible for the dumbing down of society or just catering to the majority of it, but either way they need to be held accountable. Scarlett Johannson is beautiful.

A week ago Monday, January 30th, I had another round of IV chemo. Before they begin the regimen I meet with my oncologist to discuss how things are going. My oncologist is wonderful and I really feel like he helped to save my life. He's great. Just wanted to note that, cause he has a sense of humor like mine, so sometimes when it sounds like he's being a horrible doctor, it's just because I'm not writing well enough. This time, as soon as he walked in, I said "I've been thinking, maybe cancer isn't so bad. Maybe we leave it alone and it will go away?" He was unimpressed with my humor. I told him I had a rough time with the first treatment, throwing up for a week straight. He told me "well, you know I want to kick the shit out of this, and to do that we have to kick the shit out of you." He agreed to give me some meds to help with the vomiting.

Last week sucked. Allow me to be less than delicate and far from eloquent and say that it sucked donkey balls. I didn't throw up at all. While the medicine may have helped with that, it's also possible that I did not purge myself because I did not eat a thing for 5 days, partially because I had no appetite, partially because I was afraid to place anything in my stomach that would provoke a revolt. So, upside is no puking, down side is that I've probably lost another 10 pounds and here I am, a week and a half later, and I still barely have the energy to tap out my muddled thoughts. The intolerance to cold is sticking with me longer. I figure I should be over that in a couple of days and then I'm going to consume nothing but water from my refrigerator and ice cold RC Cola until my next injections.

I think, for the time being, my life will just suck, in varying degrees.

I don't like Mondays

This past Monday was chemo day. I feel like crap.

Monday also marked 4 years to the day that my mother died. I still can't bring myself to call it an anniversary.