I stood beneath an orange sky

I've said it before, and I will continue to say it with conviction, because never before in the history of our lexicon have two words been combined to form a single sentence which bears such validity; chemo sucks.

I won't bore you with the horrible details. Those of you who check this blog are well aware of the physical, emotional, and psychological beatings I take.

Here I am though, toughing through it. I don't often strike a self congratulatory tone, but I have to say sometimes I'm impressed with my own ability to deal with it. I'm a strong, resilient, and resourceful sonofabitch. But then you knew that, didn't you?

Or did you? It occurred to me lately that my life has gone through several dramatically different stages over the years. Through them all, I feel that I've always been me, but the circumstances around them have varied. I was speaking with a long time friend the other day and it came up that there are a lot of people in my life right now that don't know what I look like with hair. Yes, that seems silly, but it's symbolic of an often overlooked but none the less important truth; we are all a sum of our parts, but not everyone knows all those pieces. By the way, my hair was brown and curly.

It struck me that there are even some of you who don't know a Billy without cancer. As I move on with my life and meet knew friends, there will be many more of you. Though you may not know what I was like before this disease set up shop in my intestinal track, you still know my strengths, my weaknesses, my philosophy. You know me. But I wanted to share with you some things you may not know.

When I was in grammar school I was "gifted". I skipped grades for certain subjects and was taking high school courses starting in the sixth grade. I grew up in a very close Sicilian family where the women outnumbered the men by 2 to 1. My father first taught me how to fire and care for a gun when I was around 6. I went to an all boys high school. I am an Eagle Scout. I was involved in some questionable activities as a teenager with a certain group of friends. We once threw a party that did considerable damage to a house. I stood on the George Washington Bridge for Hands Across America. I was in a fraternity. Actually, I was president of my chapter briefly. I've always wanted to be an actor, or a director. I have been mugged, shot at, and in quite a few fights. I have attended, at last count, 4 colleges, one of them twice. I have been an EMT since I was 19. I volunteered on a first aid squad and worked for professional services for over 10 years. I've watched people die, I've saved peoples' lives, I've delivered babies. I once swam for over a mile. I worked in strip clubs, and a few other bars, for over 10 years. I was a dj, a bouncer, and a club manager. I dated a few strippers. I hung with VIPs at the Limelight, when it was relevant. I held my mother's hand as she died. I've been in love too many times to count. I was engaged briefly in the late 90's. I've been to about 30 states and 9 countries.

The things you think about when you have cancer!

I hope I get to add a lot more to that list.

"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream" E.A. Poe

4 am. Do you know what's on TV at 4 am? Lots of infomercials for air beds, or a pain relief light, or food storage bags, or titillating videos featuring hundreds of drunk girls being drunk girls. Maybe if I mounted one of those lights on my new bed I could trick myself into forgetting the day ahead of me and actually get some sleep, but I doubt it. And since I've mastered the bachelor style of buying what I need to make my meals as I need them, and I spent my 20's and early 30's surrounded by drunk girls, I need to find something else. Thankfully the "I Love Lucy" of the 21st century, "Law and Order" is always on, somewhere.

For those of you who are still following me (which seems awfully redundant. who else would be reading this?) here is an update.

I started chemo 3 weeks ago. The first dose was so toxic that I spent an entire week evacuating every drop of fluid from my body. I dropped 24 pounds in 7 days. Instead of my second treatment, my doctor ordered me to belly up to the IV bar for a few days and replenish during week 2. I got a little bit of a break that week, but it was short lived. Last Monday I returned for treatment. My doctor read me the riot act for not coming to see him sooner that first week. I suggested that we just take as read that I will be sick and deal with those consequences. He balked and said that we should adjust the meds and I wouldn't be as sick. He gave me the lowest dose of the drugs and sent me on my way. Turns out the doc might know what he was talking about. I didn't vomit this week at all. I did have a little issue with fluids shooting out of my ass at supersonic speed, but at least I was able to eat and maintain hydration. Tomorrow he'll hear the news and turn the drugs up just a little.

Once again, the drugs do more than just force my body to empty itself from every orifice. Chemo fogs my head, saps all of my energy, obliterates my libido. I spent the week either in bed or on the couch. The walk in between often wears me out. Though, by Saturday some of me had returned. In a rebound affect, my appetites went from one extreme to the other. ALL of them. Someday, when my mind is clear and I can write like I know I can write, I'll try to explain the absolute frustration of that phenomena.

I'm starting to miss my life. Sure, in the last 3 years (it's been 3 years since my first diagnosis) I've tried to grab hold of the moments in between being sick. But sometimes I think about how things were going right before it all started, and man was it sweet. I was at the beginning of what could have been a fantastic chapter, and I'm anxious to get back to it.

After this last round of drugs, my psyche took a big hit. I was spiraling down pretty quick, considering maybe it was time to bring in a professional. But then there was a moment. A text message on my phone. A notification that slapped my face and reminded me why I do this. My sister, my little sister, my love and savior told me she is going to bring another life into our family!!!! While I am excited that there will be another Lamazza-Dall-Klag, the part that gives me strength is that I know this is what my sister really wanted. She is maternal. She loves family. Knowing how happy this makes her is enough to get me to do anything. She, above all others I know, deserves to be happy.

If this week goes not horribly, maybe I'll write more. I have so much more to write, but my brain can't make the connections right now.