The duck goes quack. The cow goes moo.

Something isn't right. I can't put my finger on it, but I just don't feel right. I'm not physically ill, well, except for the cancer. I'm not depressed. I'm having a lot of trouble sleeping. I cannot escape my own synapses. The air is wrong. Warped. The hours don't make sense, and the minutes aren't talking.

I've entered a strange new phase of my carcinomic marathon. My current treatment only takes a few hours a week, and doesn't make me sick, so I'm back to working full weeks. Not only am I back at my desk, I've got new responsibilities, and have been thrown in, feet first, to the deep end of a huge project that has me working even on my days off. I've worked these types of projects before, I actually like it, but this is the first time I've had to work this hard, work all these extra hours, attend all these meetings, interact with all these people, and still remember that I have cancer. Most of my day is too busy for me to think about it, but the reality is that it is still there, the tumor is still there, the disease is still there. Most of the people I'm working with don't know about it. They are aware that I have an odd schedule, and that once a week I work from home, but I don't think they know why. I'm fighting dichotomies now. I'm well enough to work, and I'm good at it, but there are times when my body reminds me that I'm not well. I don't want the people I'm working with to expect any less of me because I'm sick, but I have to work even harder to compensate. I don't want to use cancer as an excuse, but at times it is a reason.

Over the last couple of months I've had to think a lot about the cancer that's left in my body. I've had to weigh the options of treatments. I won't know if this current drug is working on the tumor for a few weeks, but I suspect it isn't. I've decided I want this damn interloper out of me. I'm going to meet with a surgeon at Sloan-Kettering on December 14th. I expect that I will be going into surgery in January, most likely in NYC.

The Holidays are upon us. I won't even begin to try and explain what a tornado this is spinning in my imagination.

To all my friends, I wish you well. I hope to see some of you soon.

Billy

Now with even more blog..ish...ness...ity

The cancer battle continues. The rash crawling all over my body is getting a little better, certainly more tolerable. I haven't been sick since my last round of chemo. So things are looking up for now. I'll be able to enjoy the holidays at least.

In the last couple of years I've gone through a lot of new experiences. Being the cerebral person that I am, I have had a lot of fun examining everything from all possible sides. One of the more interesting scenarios I've run into is the reaction some people have when I tell them I have cancer. For those of you who aren't sure what to say;

What you should not say to someone who has just told you he has cancer:

"That's too bad. My father (mother, sister, mailman, dog, etc.) had cancer. He's (she's, it's) dead now." - Oh really? Is this supposed to be comforting? To this I usually reply "My uncle was walking around one day saying stupid shit. He's dead now."

"I'm sorry." - You can't possibly be apologizing to me! You didn't give me cancer. Or did you? If you're telling me you feel sorry for me, cut it out! I don't feel sorry for me. If you must, do it on your own time, I've got better things to do.

"Wow, you look pretty good for a guy with cancer." - Oh, but for a completely healthy person I look like total crap?

"You know, what you should do is..." - I appreciate your concern and good advice, I really do. But I'm the one that's been fighting cancer for two years now. Believe me, unless you have a secret cure for cancer that nobody knows about, if there is something I should, could, or would do, the suggestion has already crossed my path.

"God will get you through it." - No! My oncologist will get me through it. My surgeon will get me through it. I will get me through it. God is too busy laughing at the evangelicals. Besides, if I believe God will cure me, doesn't that mean I have to believe He's the one that gave it to me?

"That's horrible! I had a bad flu once." - ummmmmm......NO!

Things you should say to someone who has just told you he has cancer:

"Ooo, that sucks. Have a beer." - Yes, it does. And I like beer.

"I'll pray for you." - This is different from "God will get you through it." While I may be a heathen, if you have faith and it makes you feel better, go for it.

"Would you like free pie?" - I have cancer people, I'm not inhuman. Of course I'd like pie!

"How did you get it?" or "How bad is it?" - These are legitimate questions. And really, if there is anything I enjoy more than the sound of my own voice, it's the sound of my own voice telling a good story.

"So a priest, a rabbi, and a poodle walk into a bar..." - I enjoy a good joke. And this is a good time to make me laugh.

"That huge scar on your belly really turns me on. Take me now you sexy, sexy man." - You can say this to me if you are Heather, or Naomi, or Jodi, or Tracy, or Graz, or Ivy, or Meg or any other of my beautiful female friends. If you say it to me Dave, again, I'm gonna have to slap you.

Jell-o shots and the Democratic Party

For the most part, I have faith that this cancer can be beaten. I believe in my surgeon. I believe in my oncologist. I believe in the drugs I'm taking. Hell, I better, because they suck (more on that later). As with most issues of faith, I met a small crisis, I doubted those beliefs.

Last week I went to visit a doctor at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Hospital in New York. Sloan is widely known as one of the best cancer research hospitals in the world. Against my better judgment and usual pragmatic understanding, I had high hopes. I allowed myself, for the briefest of moments, to believe that if there were a Wizard, Sloan was Oz. The offices were pleasant, not clinical at all. The doctors seemed genuine and intelligent. The overall outcome, however, was less than stellar. The doctors I spoke to told me they agreed with my current course and thought I should follow it through. They also mentioned that I might have some other options, but for now we should "stay the course". And there it was... the absolute overwhelming presence of nothing. Nothing new. "Hey! You have cancer! And we're going to give you lots of nasty drugs, which may or may not help in the very least. Good Luck."

It's my own fault. I know better than to think that there is a silver bullet here. I understand the disease process as well as the steps taken to defeat it. I've been through this with my mother, I've been through it with her sister, and I've been through it myself. I know it's going to be a long road, and there are no easy answers. But, I dared to dream, which made the resounding thud of hitting back to earth even harder. Cancer is NOT an easy thing to beat. It takes physical and mental strength and resolve. It takes a family and friends. It takes years. I know all this. And just in case I had forgotten it, the fates sent me prophets in white coats to remind me.

The current drug I'm taking is called Erbitux. Compared to the gut wrenching, soul crushing chemo I've taken in the past, this isn't a horrible drug. I was warned that it would give me a rash. A fellow cancer fighter, whose sister Tracey loves him very very very much, had an experience with this drug last year. His rash became so bad that he could not even leave the house. How will it affect me? Well....let me tell you! It started out with some dry skin on my forehead and cheeks. It flaked, but didn't seem bad. Then it began to burn. not unbearable, irritating like a sun burn. Still, not bad. On Monday I got my second dose in as many weeks. This morning, when I woke up, my skin was cracked and caked with dried blood. My skin is hard and burning even more. Not the handsomest man to begin with, now I look like a leper with acne. Sure, sure...I have stuff to help with it. I have some cream to put on it, and the doc gave me some pills that might help, so really, what's so bad? A little burning and hideous features never hurt anyone. Right Mr. Merrick?

I have some decisions to make in the next couple of months regarding my treatment. For the first time in two years, I'm not sure I can do it. I'm not sure I can make the decisions. I'm not sure I can live through the decisions. The fight keeps getting harder and the results, less noticeable. How the hell did my mother do this for 7 years?

I might disappear for a while. I might not call or answer the phone. I might not blog anything. I might just crawl into my head, sit down to a nice dinner with my demons and discuss things with them. I'm sure they'll understand the need for civility. Maybe I'll put some Coltrane on in the back, they love jazz.

Of course, I might just smash a hole in my wall and continue to blabber on this blog. Choices...

I'm just the guy; who does the thing.

I was laying in bed last night, my mind wandering through every possible maze the universe has to offer when I found myself in a conversation with someone, explaining to them that I have cancer. Cancer. The word, though a major player in my vocabulary for several years, hit me harder than ever. I have cancer. You ever seen what this shit does to kids? (well, people, but the reference would have gotten lost if I didn't use "kids") Here I am, going onto my third year with this, and the width and breadth of the disease is just hitting me now?

I can see how this could happen. I've been so busy paying attention to my treatment, to my surgical recoveries, to getting through it, that I haven't actually looked at "it". Sure, it may seem as if I've had my head wrapped around it for quite some time, but looks like I've just been faking it. I can talk a good game.

I think, sometime in the next couple of weeks I'm going to find myself at my keyboard, late one night, spewing out another deep existential look at this whole mess, it's been a while. But for now I'll just give you an update on the facts of the case.

If you've been keeping up, you know that my tumor grew a little since July. My oncologist has started me on a new drug called erbitux. This drug is not a chemo therapy, it's what is called a "targeted" therapy. The drug is specifically targeting the tumor, and should not make me sick like chemo. It will, however, give me a fairly bad rash after a few weeks. As if I wasn't ugly enough.

I also spoke to my surgeon. He said that surgery might be a good option at this point. It would be major, and put me out for about a month, but it's on the list of options.

Tomorrow I am going to see a doctor at Sloan-Kettering. For those of you not familiar with this facility, it is one of the top cancer research institutes in the country. My oncologist suggested it, and he said that I'm a prime candidate for clinical trials. We'll see what they have to say.

In the mean time, I'm battling my demons left and right. I'm having trouble sleeping. I'm cranky, and tired and mad and just...well....just......arrrrggggggg

In the mean time I'm enjoying every moment I can! Personally I believe in the curing properties of beer.

love you all