And here it is. I got the results from my PET scan yesterday. The tumor, that smarmy little 2cm x 3cm bugger that has taken up residence in my abdominal cavity decided to have a little feast and it put on some weight. It's now 3cm x 4cm. Yup, it got bigger.
There are plans. Good plans. Plans to do stuff. Stuff that should help. Of course, I've been living by plans for the last two years and I still have cancer. Sure, you wouldn't know it by looking at me; I've gained back weight, I'm getting around ok, I don't look sick. But, sure enough, I'm still a cancer patient.
I'll fill y'all in on the plans later. For now, I need to be the cancer guy that I don't like to be; the cancer guy I don't show you. The simpering, angry, scared guy. I figure I'll need at least the week before I get back to the screwed up normalcy that I've been living.
Love you all!
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Friday, October 13, 2006
Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain
Welcome to a mid-non-chemo-having-not-in-the-hospital-nothing-really-wrong-physically-week edition of my blog.
Today was the closest I've felt to "normal" in quite a long time. Surely I've had good weeks, even great weeks such as my recent vacation down at the Outer Banks, but today was almost back to the pre-cancer Billy. I was having trouble sleeping this week as I await the results of my recent PET scan, so last night I doubled up on the meds and took some ambien along with the normal dose of Tylenol PM, and I slept like the proverbial log. Since I got a good night's sleep, I was able to wake up early and get to work at a normal time. I also took the train to work. This is not the way it's been for the last couple of years. Usually I sleep a little later and drive into the office. But, back to my normal commute, I felt a little bit more like myself. I spent a full day in the office, another rarity these days, and then joined some friends after work for a birthday celebration. Back to my old self....sort of.
I noticed something tonight, something different about me. I've written before about the solitary nature of having cancer; about how it's a very personal situation. For the most part, this part of it has been fine with me, I'm a rather solitary person. I loved living by myself, and now that I have a roommate I often enjoy the idea that Vinny is never home, it's like living by myself. But there has been a change that in retrospect, started when I first got sick. I'm not so happy being alone anymore. All day I looked forward to being out with people, and when I was, I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to be alone. Taking a strong honest look at the situation, it seems that now, when I'm healthy enough to be active, I have an almost compulsion to be around other people. It's strange, this is not me, it's a little scary. I'm not afraid of being alone, at least I never was, and I am not overwhelmingly sad when I am alone, but still...there is something going on. I didn't want to leave my friends tonight. I even called and texted a few other friends. I felt something, I don't know what it was, but it was heavy, as I walked to the train station alone. I listened to some melancholy songs on the way home. And when I got off the train I called Dave because I knew that he would still be up. I called just to hear his voice. I called just so that I wasn't alone walking from the train station to my apartment. The phone call didn't last all that long, and I know that if Dave is reading this he's going to tell me "why didn't you just say that you wanted to talk? I would have stayed on the line with you." but Dave, don't worry. I'm just venting here.
I'm a strong person, and as you can tell from the things I've written before, I depend a lot on myself. It's not that I don't depend on other people, it's more that I don't feel like it's anyone else's responsibility to take care of me. My parents raised me well, and I am a man, so I should be able to take care of myself. I can remember the first time I was in the hospital. I was there for three months. It was great that during the day I had people around, lots of visitors. But, at the end of the day, when the sun was no longer streaming through my window, and the floor was quiet, I was alone, all alone. It was just me and the trauma that put me there. Those nights hurt. I've never told anyone this. I would get pretty freaked out looking around the empty, dark room, knowing that I had to get out, and I was really the only one that was going to make that happen.
In case I didn't mention this before, I'm a little drunk. I offer that as some excuse for the disjointed and probably incomprehensible thoughts I've presented here. I think what I'm trying to say is that there is a new part of me, a part that I'm not all that crazy about, that feels a need to be around people, and I'm having a lot of trouble dealing with it. It's not easy to say to someone "hey, can you come hang out with me? not do anything mind you, just be there, be a presence." I can't figure out why this should surface now, why cancer has brought this on me, but I'll figure it out.
Today was the closest I've felt to "normal" in quite a long time. Surely I've had good weeks, even great weeks such as my recent vacation down at the Outer Banks, but today was almost back to the pre-cancer Billy. I was having trouble sleeping this week as I await the results of my recent PET scan, so last night I doubled up on the meds and took some ambien along with the normal dose of Tylenol PM, and I slept like the proverbial log. Since I got a good night's sleep, I was able to wake up early and get to work at a normal time. I also took the train to work. This is not the way it's been for the last couple of years. Usually I sleep a little later and drive into the office. But, back to my normal commute, I felt a little bit more like myself. I spent a full day in the office, another rarity these days, and then joined some friends after work for a birthday celebration. Back to my old self....sort of.
I noticed something tonight, something different about me. I've written before about the solitary nature of having cancer; about how it's a very personal situation. For the most part, this part of it has been fine with me, I'm a rather solitary person. I loved living by myself, and now that I have a roommate I often enjoy the idea that Vinny is never home, it's like living by myself. But there has been a change that in retrospect, started when I first got sick. I'm not so happy being alone anymore. All day I looked forward to being out with people, and when I was, I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to be alone. Taking a strong honest look at the situation, it seems that now, when I'm healthy enough to be active, I have an almost compulsion to be around other people. It's strange, this is not me, it's a little scary. I'm not afraid of being alone, at least I never was, and I am not overwhelmingly sad when I am alone, but still...there is something going on. I didn't want to leave my friends tonight. I even called and texted a few other friends. I felt something, I don't know what it was, but it was heavy, as I walked to the train station alone. I listened to some melancholy songs on the way home. And when I got off the train I called Dave because I knew that he would still be up. I called just to hear his voice. I called just so that I wasn't alone walking from the train station to my apartment. The phone call didn't last all that long, and I know that if Dave is reading this he's going to tell me "why didn't you just say that you wanted to talk? I would have stayed on the line with you." but Dave, don't worry. I'm just venting here.
I'm a strong person, and as you can tell from the things I've written before, I depend a lot on myself. It's not that I don't depend on other people, it's more that I don't feel like it's anyone else's responsibility to take care of me. My parents raised me well, and I am a man, so I should be able to take care of myself. I can remember the first time I was in the hospital. I was there for three months. It was great that during the day I had people around, lots of visitors. But, at the end of the day, when the sun was no longer streaming through my window, and the floor was quiet, I was alone, all alone. It was just me and the trauma that put me there. Those nights hurt. I've never told anyone this. I would get pretty freaked out looking around the empty, dark room, knowing that I had to get out, and I was really the only one that was going to make that happen.
In case I didn't mention this before, I'm a little drunk. I offer that as some excuse for the disjointed and probably incomprehensible thoughts I've presented here. I think what I'm trying to say is that there is a new part of me, a part that I'm not all that crazy about, that feels a need to be around people, and I'm having a lot of trouble dealing with it. It's not easy to say to someone "hey, can you come hang out with me? not do anything mind you, just be there, be a presence." I can't figure out why this should surface now, why cancer has brought this on me, but I'll figure it out.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Just when you thought the salami was right
OK, let's talk cancer. I had chemo last week. I think my body is getting used to it. This isn't to say that the whole week was roses and strawberry jam, no chemo still sucks harder than a Dyson, but I didn't throw up, or really even feel like I was going to. Oh lordy, the things that are "good" in my life... I'm going to have a PET scan sometime in the next two weeks, and will get the results on the 16th. A PET scan involves injecting radioactive sugar into my blood stream and then using a large tube-like machine to take full color photos of my innards. If there are any cancer cells left, they will munch down on the sugar and it will "light up" on the scan.
I've written before about the scans. I've written before about the immense anxiety I go through while I'm waiting for the results. But it bears repeating. This is going to be a tough couple of weeks.
Again, for some unknown reason, the enormity of this whole thing hit me like a wet fish last week. CANCER!! If you're not careful, something like that can kill ya! I was gazing up at a beautiful blue sky when I had a very vivid recollection of the day I first found out I had cancer. I was surprised by a birthday party in Amsterdam. I was surprised that I made the all-star team in pee-wee football. I was surprised when I got my first set of SAT scores back. I was surprised when Allegra Smith asked me out. I was surprised when my cousin told me she was having a baby. NOTHING is quite like the surprise of finding out you have cancer. Trust me on that one. That was two years ago now. Two years. Two years pretty much lost to this whole fight. I've had my share of good times in the last two years, but mostly it's been about the cancer. Can you imagine loosing two years of your life? For a total of 6 months of those two years I was in a hospital bed or rehab facility. When I wasn't, I spent two or three weeks a month sick from the chemo. I'm 37 right now, but I don't remember what it was like to be 35 and 36. Those two years were simply exercises in tolerance, strength, coping, and quite possibly futility. I'm not feeling too positive about the scan. I don't think that the cancer has spread, or that I'm any worse off, but I simply can't believe that I'm rid of it. Don't get upset, I'm not. I'm not being fatalistic. Cancer is now part of my life, as is the cane I use to walk with. These are just the realities of my life, and I've accepted them.
I feel like I've droned on and on with this blog about the whole "carpe diem" thing, and about how fighting is worth the effort, and about how much I love all you guys and how much your support means to me, so for now I'll let that go. The next couple of weeks are going to include a lot of sleepless nights, maybe some drinking, certainly some football. You know, life as it is.
I've written before about the scans. I've written before about the immense anxiety I go through while I'm waiting for the results. But it bears repeating. This is going to be a tough couple of weeks.
Again, for some unknown reason, the enormity of this whole thing hit me like a wet fish last week. CANCER!! If you're not careful, something like that can kill ya! I was gazing up at a beautiful blue sky when I had a very vivid recollection of the day I first found out I had cancer. I was surprised by a birthday party in Amsterdam. I was surprised that I made the all-star team in pee-wee football. I was surprised when I got my first set of SAT scores back. I was surprised when Allegra Smith asked me out. I was surprised when my cousin told me she was having a baby. NOTHING is quite like the surprise of finding out you have cancer. Trust me on that one. That was two years ago now. Two years. Two years pretty much lost to this whole fight. I've had my share of good times in the last two years, but mostly it's been about the cancer. Can you imagine loosing two years of your life? For a total of 6 months of those two years I was in a hospital bed or rehab facility. When I wasn't, I spent two or three weeks a month sick from the chemo. I'm 37 right now, but I don't remember what it was like to be 35 and 36. Those two years were simply exercises in tolerance, strength, coping, and quite possibly futility. I'm not feeling too positive about the scan. I don't think that the cancer has spread, or that I'm any worse off, but I simply can't believe that I'm rid of it. Don't get upset, I'm not. I'm not being fatalistic. Cancer is now part of my life, as is the cane I use to walk with. These are just the realities of my life, and I've accepted them.
I feel like I've droned on and on with this blog about the whole "carpe diem" thing, and about how fighting is worth the effort, and about how much I love all you guys and how much your support means to me, so for now I'll let that go. The next couple of weeks are going to include a lot of sleepless nights, maybe some drinking, certainly some football. You know, life as it is.
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