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.

For Heaven's sake Theodore! The black one is for cutting, the red one is for sitting.

After reviewing my postings here, I'm lead to ponder my state of mind. Granted, being dealt a blow like cancer at 35 years old is staggering, but does it need to be the epicenter of every thought? Does every posting need to revolve around it? Are there not other parts of my life worth writing about?

I've come up with two answers thus far;

1) It makes sense, the name of the blog is "My Cancer" after all. I've made other attempts at blogging in order to share my words. One, The Drinking Club, is a shared blog with Dave and Lance to showcase our writing prowess, but we've not posted there in a while. The other, People I met that remind me of Jean Reno in The Professional , was ill fated from the beginning.

2) Yes, it is a big deal.

Dealing with the reality of having cancer is a mentally and physically exhausting. September of 2004 struck me with a whirlwind. I was set into a tossing sea. Surgeries, procedures, and then the first round of chemo. When my mother was sick, I asked her many times; "Where do you get the strength to fight?" Every time she answered me the same way; "You don't know you have that sort of strength inside you until you need it. You just find it." From the beginning, I've just found it.

I had a small respite over the summer, when I was allowed to enjoy all those things in my life that in sadder times gathered together to offer me that strength. Then it all started again. On the periphery right now, loom several aspects of my life that otherwise would receive my attention. Things may be changing at my job. My social life is far from perfect. My sister just got married. One of my best friends just had a baby. Strange things are afoot at the Circle K. But, for now, I need to focus my energy on this, the cancer. I am fighting now so that some day soon I will be able to look at cancer and expend only enough energy to think of it as a time in my past.

"Some part of the world still cares what color the kitchen is." -E. Ness

And who are you again?

It's Saturday night, just one more day before my next IV chemo. I had a fairly good week. I was feeling well, and even went to my office for a few days. The whole situation still takes a toll on me though. The first day I went back to my office I spent a lot of time talking to my friends, explaining what was going on. It's wonderful to see everyone again, but it really wore me out. I know, this sounds incredibly wussified, but all that talking made me tired. I went out last night for a little bit, and then lounged around the apartment today. I sort of feel guilty about it, knowing that tomorrow is the last day I'll be a functioning human for about a week.

It's funny how your mind and your body can conspire against you. Another strange phenomena that I've come to experience is that my mind and body can also operate outside the realm of reality. I noticed this during the first round of chemo last year, but now I'm reminded of it again. After having a good week, and figuring in that every day that goes by after my IV treatment I feel better, it would follow that I would be in terrific shape this weekend. BUT, and here is where my mind and body just don't listen to reason, I feel pretty crappy. My stomach is a little off, I'm tired, and I just know I'm not getting to sleep tonight. Do you understand why? It's because my mind is showering my synapses with warnings of my upcoming visit to the oncologist, and my body is responding by getting into sick mode. Sick before I get sick. Wonderful.

Pittsburgh; It's the Iron City

Today's missive shall not contain any references to bodily fluids, irregular bowels, or involuntary gastro-intestinal reactions. At least, at this point, I don't believe it will. Today's story is about another gruesome side effect of my cancer; it's seriously impeding my social activities.

But Billy, what does this have to do with Pittsburgh? I'm getting there.

During my first tour of duty at Hackensack Hospital I spent some time doing what every good cancer patient should do; contemplate existence, evaluate my life so far lived, and vow to make changes in the future. At that point, between being told you have some sort of disease and mustering all your strength to fight it, you're suppose to realize that life is short and you must grab all you can from it. Isn't that how the book/movie/poem/song goes? But, as it so happens, when I looked back over how I spent my life, I was rather pleased. I realized that was exactly how I lead my life.

But Billy, what does this have to do with Pittsburgh? I'm getting there.

Remember how you spent your life in college, or for those of you not lucky enough to go to as many or for as long as I did, how you spent your late teens and early 20's? I spent this time with many of you, so I know what you did! We would spend all night watching bad movies. We would play poker for two days in a row. We would have cocktails at 3 in the afternoon and discuss how we are better than the world. We would go to a public place and make fun of everyone. We would disappear into the woods for a weekend. We would make last minute plans, and change them halfway through. We would road trip someplace 3 hours away because we heard there was a diner with kick ass apple pie. We lived in the moment, but remained conscious of the bills to be paid for our folly, and were responsible enough to meet them, well, most of the time. I still do all these things.

But Billy, what does this have to do with Pittsburgh? OK, now I'm getting there.

The Pittsburgh Steelers are going to the Superbowl! As previously noted, I'm a fan of the black and gold through adoption, but Dave is a fan from birth. As to be expected, Dave, who currently resides in San Francisco, will be hosting a party on Superbowl Sunday so that he and his friends can cheer on Bettis and Roethlisberger and Ward and Porter and VonOelhoffenhimerburgerstien and the rest. Dave will do as much as he can to bring a bit of the Burgh to his abode on the west coast. This will include all things black and gold, Primanti sandwiches, and the alcohol icon of Pittsburgh, Iron City Beer. But alas, there is a slight problem with Dave's plan; the nearest purveyor of said Iron City is located in Portland Oregon, 10 hours to Dave's north. Dave's initial plan was to road trip to Portland this coming weekend, spend some time with Devyn, and then return home with enough premium lager to truly instill a sense of the Steel City in his little section of the Mission.

Here is where cancer has put a dent in my fun. In other times, I would have taken vacation from work, flown to California, joined Dave on the road trip, spent the week lounging around his apartment trying not to drink the Iron City, and then celebrated the Superbowl with some very cool people. Instead, I'll be curled up in the fetal position on my father's couch, weakly shouting cheers for the Steelers.

This concept of taking all that you can out of life is associated with many cliches; carpe diem, gather ye rosebuds, grab the bull by the horns, suck the marrow out of life. (you'll notice most of them are from poetry and other literature) To this time honored list I would like to submit my own phrase. From now on, when you want to emphatically impress upon a person the overwhelming importance of understanding the preciousness of life, grab them by both shoulders, look them straight in the eye, and tell them "you have to drive to Oregon for Iron City!!!!" As we are apt to shorten the greatest of our literary quotations to fit our hectic schedules, the phrase will from here out be "drive to Oregon".

Go Steelers!!!

Detroit Motor City!!

The Steelers won the AFC conference championship and they are going to the Superbowl! Of course my team of choice is the Giants, and should one day they meet the Steelers at the Big Dance I will be torn, but the Steelers are my adopted favorites. As luck would have it, the Superbowl is going to be the first Sunday after a chemo treatment. I'm really hoping I'll be in some sort of shape to enjoy it.

I have to admit, I still get a bit misty when I hear a wonderfully rendered Star Spangled Banner or Amazing Grace. Music can be so beautiful.

And in case you were wondering, I feel pretty good! I'm actually going to go to my office this week. The chemo pills that I take are giving me some blisters on my hands and feet, but other than that, all the side effects have subsided. I'm going to make the most of this week. I learned a while ago to enjoy the good moments during chemo because they are few and far between.

Crash

I just got done watching the movie Crash. The 2004 collection of stories revolving around a group of people in LA, not the 1996 James Spader movie about sexual fetishes involving car accidents. I have to say that I was very impressed. There is so much here to write about, but I am going to let it digest before I tackle it.

Oh, by the way, I feel pretty good. My mind is clear, well clearer than it's been in a couple of weeks. My body is doing ok, just some simple digestive issues that may be more due to my overall intestinal health than anything else.

Peace out. Word to your mommy.

Please pass the jelly

I've made it back home!! I've also found another side effect of my current regime. It sucks the energy right out of you. Just the drive from dad's to my place was enough to wear me out. It's a good thing it also takes your sex drive. Not that I would have any opportunity for that either, which is a subject for another blog at another time.

I'm feeling much better, but oddly don't have much to write today. I'll try again a little later.

Doug and Naomi

I would like to preface this post with two warnings:

1. This post contains language and situations not suited for persons under the age of 18, and those with no sense of humor.

2. If you are Dougie Stephens, PLEASE TAKE NOTE! This posting discusses wonderful things about you, so I want you to read it. It also contains some information I do not want you to know. I have devised a plan; The information I do not want you to read will be offset by two markers. The first one DougieStop, telling you to stop, and the second one DougieGo, telling you to go. You may read everything leading up to DougieStop and you may read everything following DougieGo. You may not read what is in between the markers. You are on your honor. I thank you.

I have two wonderful friends in Doug and Naomi Stephens. They live in Oxford, which is in England. I first met Doug and Naomi about three years ago. They showed me great hospitality while I was in Oxford, and I was able to return that favor when they visited the states. Dougie is a warm, friendly guy. He's tall, thin, bald, has a wonderful smile, is uproariously funny, is a wonderful conversationalist, and an awesome drummer. Naomi has pixie short brown hair and big cans. (you probably think that is something I should have hidden from Dougie, but nah, he's cool like that)

Recently, Dougie informed me that they may be moving to the States. I really hope that they do. It will be wonderful to have them so close for a while. In anticipation of this move, Naomi is going to be visiting Connecticut next week. Dougie emailed me the other day to let me know she will be here, and asked if I would be able to meet up with her. DougieStop gonna meet up alright DougieGo She is going to be staying in Stamford, so I don't see any reason why I can't drive up there DougieStop gonna get her drunk DougieGo and spend some time with her. I'm very excited to see her again. DougieStop gonna get her real drunk DougieGo I'm not familiar with the area, so I'm not sure what we'll be able to do. DougieStop gonna shag her brains out DougieGo I do know that whatever we do, we'll have a ball, because Naomi is a lot of fun. DougieStop gonna spank her and make her call me Mr. Bond DougieGo Luckily, I'm feeling much better now. The chemo seems to only be a problem for about a week, and then the side effects DougieStop Oh YEAH!! I'm friggin Superman now!! Look out Naomi. DougieGo are very manageable.

It's Simple

My buddy Chris is the best friend a person could have. Thanks!

And then there was today

My stomach is still a little funky, but overall I'm feeling pretty good. Looks like that's how it will go, one bad week, two good weeks, back to one bad week. I'm sure I'll discuss it with my doctor, and knowing him, he'll adjust the medicine to get that one bad week down to just a few bad days.

With a broad smile on my face, I would like to add that I simply adore Little Jody H.

Right here in River City

Right here in River City. Trouble with a capital 'T' and that rhymes with 'C' and that stands for cancer!

It's about 4 in the morning, and I just can't sleep. Physically I'm feeling ok. Not the best ever, but considering the week I just had, not too bad. When dealing with the hideous side effects of the cure I'm forced to see the enormity of the disease. How bad could something be if I'm willing to endure this sickness in pursuit of killing it? Pretty bad.

Cancer is a solitary disease. It's very personal. I love all my family and friends, and I take comfort in all that you have to offer me, but I don't think any of you can understand what's going on. You all have your own feelings to deal with regarding this, the sympathy and perhaps even empathy you have for me, I'm sorry for that. But cancer is very personal. Dave understands, to the extent that he understands how it personally affected him and that he can't understand how it's personally affecting me. This is my disease. I own it. It's not a bug, or a virus, or something thrust upon me, it's my body, my person, turned against itself. It's a complete loss of control, which for me is probably the worst thing that could ever happen.

I am a control freak. The world throws everything it can at you, but your life is about how you define yourself in the face of it, and you can only define yourself through what you do, what you control. Fortune and adversity may trip over you, but what makes you YOU is how you handle it. My life, the person I am, the friends I have, the things I have, are all there because of who I am, and I have made myself that man. I have had help, absolutely. But a man cannot give credit for himself to others any more than he can blame others for his mistakes. Your life is your responsibility, your control. I even tried to control my own body. I shave my head, get tattoos and piercings, all because it's what I can do to control my body. What little control I have over my own body is stolen by cancer.

Cancer is personal. Not only has my body turned against itself, as if the cosmos needed to drive the point home, it looks like the my body was programmed to do this. Deep down, at the level that none of us can control, yet, my dna has slapped me in the face with a loud and boisterous "You are NOT in control!!"

Cancer is personal. While existentialism has always been a playful pursuit for me, I've come to the conclusion that no person should have to face their own mortality in their 30's. Ok, so in some distant time past 35 was actually the exact time to think about dying, today it is not so. Oh that's right, I said "dying". Since the first day that the doctors hit me with this, nobody has even whispered any derivation of the word "dead". Nobody except me. I've said it, I've yelled it, I've cried it, I've written it. Nobody in my life will let me get away with such talk. There is to be no discourse about death, no feeling sorry, no getting down. It's all positive thoughts and laughter. Of course, they do this because it's exactly what I want. It's how I dealt with my mother. But I get to have my moments of fear and doubt. Before they first opened me up there were words flying around like "big tumor" and "aggressive" and "we don't know". For someone who thinks way too much on a regular basis, this of course will lead to thoughts of "I could die". Before I got sick, I use to think that I would be ok with dying, that I'm proud of what I've done with my life and if something should happen I would be ok with it. I'm still proud of my life, I'm still happy with what I've done, but I am NOT OK with dying!!! I changed my mind! No dying for me! I'm not ready. No way, no how. Of course now it's an honest possibility. Don't know what you have until you loose it, carpe diem, blah blah blah. Almost just as much as I hate loosing control, I'm pissed that I've become a cliche.

Thanks for the comments!

Jody;
The differences between the electric Pepsi and Rush are in intensity and duration. While the soda cans are a quick jolt of sharp pain, Rush is more of a prolonged dull pain in the base of my skull.

H;
Those ribs are just one of the many reasons I have to keep fighting!! I swear I'll be eating a few racks before the end of 2006.

Lance;
While I count you as one of my closest friends, and draw great inspiration from you always, you do make my ego twitch by reminding me there are smarter people than me in the world.

Charlyann;
you're my scarecrow!

Sunday

In previous posts I noted that I was feeling good, and had made it through the day without hurling. Each time, I spoke too soon. This time I wanted to wait and make sure it was actually a good day. Saturday was the first day all week that I was able to keep food down. Now, here it is Sunday night, and it looks like I might have made two days in a row!!

The Steelers won today. It was a close game, and nobody thought they would win, except for Dave. Dave's devotion to and knowledge of the Steelers are more wonderful manifestations of his geekness. I wish I could move to San Fran.

I might go back to my apartment tomorrow. I had a little trouble sleeping last night; hopefully tonight will not be the same.

Chemo tends to fog the brain. My thoughts this week have been vague and disjointed. I had trouble forming complete thoughts in my head, and even when I did, I found it difficult to write them. My wit has been slowed, my vocabulary stunted, my creativity washed out. For someone who prides himself on his mind and writing ability, it's almost as big a struggle as the physical side effects wrought upon my internal organs. Almost.

My Dad's Right Wing Conspiracy

The last couple of days kinda sucked. I couldn't eat anything because I was afraid it was going to come right back up. My stomach was in constant turmoil. Today when I woke up, somewhere around 3, I was hungry, and my stomach seemed to have settled. This is how it goes. I'll be sick for a few days, then I'll slowly feel better, and just as I'm getting back to normal, it's time to go back for more chemo.

Something else interesting happened today. I love my father very much. He takes great care of me while I'm sick. Sure, like any father and son we have our tugs of war, but overall we get along great. One of my biggest peeves about my dad is his political tendencies. Dad is a bit of a right winger, while I lean way over to the left. Granted I'm not as far left as say...Dave, but then again he does live on the west coast.

So anyway....about today. Dad likes to listen to all the right wing clap-trap on the radio. He's a big fan of such blowhards as Rush and Hannity. As soon as he wakes up in the morning he turns on every radio in the house so that no matter where he goes he can listen to the narrow minded hypocrisy they all spew. I don't know if he does this when I'm not here. I have a sneaking suspicion that he feels if he blares it throughout the house while I'm sleeping and sick and therefore susceptible to overwhelming force, that he will somehow make me one of them. I love ya dad, but no go. Oh...so the strange thing...when I woke up today there were no radios on. Hmmm...no right wing propaganda, and I feel better enough to eat again? Coincidence?? I wonder.