Time for generics

If you had any plans to buy me expensive wine, or take me out for lavish dinners, let's put them on hold for now*. The good news is food no longer seems like it is all made from powder. The bad news is that it no longer has any taste.
It is pretty weird, I can still get the general sense for what I'm eating...sweet, sour, etc. but the specific flavor is all but gone...and everything tastes like chicken. So, if you've got a favorite place for dinner...its my new favorite too!

Runny eggs? Yum!
10-day old meatloaf? Bring it on!
Fruitcake? Did you say steak?!
Grits? Yeah, about the same.

So, my list of chemo cut-backs for the frugal cancer patient:
-Any meal over $7
-Any bottle of wine over $2 (**caution as this may lead to an increased/offsetting investment in Advil)
-Shampoo
-Razors & shaving cream
-Barber
-Tickets for amusement parks, zoos, ball games and generally any place full of sniffling children.


*Just kidding, please send me the wine anyway. Lavish dinners will be accepted dutifully sometime next year.

Mushroom Topping

You'll have to bear with me, the eyes don't like the screen...so if I weave a incongrous tapistry of nonsense, you'll have to go read someone else's testicular cancer blog. Good luck with that.

This week's recovery was slightly better than last time, maybe more physically prepared, maybe more mentally prepared...who knows. The illness was there, but I packed my anti-nausea pills more closely to the belt. The toxic stomach came back, but the anti-acid's were at hand. I took the Neulasta (the long-lasting big brother hit of Neupogen) on Saturday. Same weird pain, mostly headaches...more prepared this time with my Advil on the side.

Sleep is still uncomfortable, especially as it cools down outside, your body likes to make excuses to keep you from venturing outside of the covers. So, as your bladder screams, your head pounds and your stomach wretches, it seems perfectly logical that you should wait another 15 minutes because the pillow feels good right there.

So, as I said, it is getting chilly. Not Toronto chilly, that's only for lunatics (snow!?!)...I won't even mention those who live in Ottawa. We're talking Atlanta chilly. A bit brisk, towards freezing at night, a breeze or two. Cool enough to realize that I need a critical addition to my cancer-wardrobe...a hat.

To most guys, this is a simple feat, you walk into your closet, pull out a salt/sweat stained nasty rag, place it on your freshly schorn noggin, and off you go. Doesn't work that way for me, since I was a child, no hat wished to be placed on my head. It would promptly bring ridicule and laughter as clearly a hat does not belong on my head. I've settled in recent years to the hybrid, green-hat option of the visor, I still force my head to feel the agony of global warming (those of you who know me, know the context of that statement...), while still looking delightfully good in the sun.

Anyways...for those that may have failed physics, have never seen a visor, or were otherwise unable to draw inside the lines during pre-school, the visor does not offer baldness-supportive warmth during such months. It behaves more like a chimney to freeze the core of my body capriciously with every breeze.

A toque/stocking cap seems to be the item of choice.

***Note***
This is where I clearly become a foreigner around here. Somehow the southerners have twisted the English language to accept TOBOGGAN as an acceptable substitute for toque/stocking cap. And as with all Southerners, there is no arguing, it is just the way it is. You point out what a toboggan really is, and that it would be a tad uncomfortable, even unfortunate, if one had to wear one as a hat...and their response is "I don't know what you're talking about, it is a stocking hat". "No" you say, "a stocking hat is a stocking hat, a toque is a stocking hat, a TOBOGGAN is a damned sled that kids use to ride down a mountain" "Well, its a stocking cap here." In "southern" I've learned that "here" actually means "so <bleep> off". That might be useful on any trips to come visit.
***End Note***


So, off to the store. With my supportive wife (from the "lay off the sauce" fame). We started with the mall, must be something classy, not too high-school oriented that I could pick up there, right? No dice. I tried on every damned shape and size of hat available...beanie to cowboy, dunce to bowler, toque to toboggan...all left my wife with the same glowing laugh, "you look like a mushroom!" To which she'd pat the top of my head and look for the next costume for my dress-up game. Upon the next try she might add "yeah, if you had hair, this one might look good". Damned if she weren't so cute I'd have tackled her right there in the store.

After a trip to REI, and what appears to be a military surplus hat, I now can be sheltered from the artic blasts storming Atlanta. However, supportive as my new hat may be, I'm unsure my crushed self-image will ever recover from the mushroom-ridicule of 2008.

Week 2 almost in the bag

Just off to the races this morning. We tapped up my left arm this time, the nurse let me know the track-marks on my right arm were beginning to look a bit "gross".
Back to the left arm where I got all the pain last time from the potassium. Turns out I messed up that vein quite a bit, feels hard as a rock from the round that burned me up over there. We'll see how things go today, may have to switch back to the right arm again if it starts to get worked up on me.
The fatigue is definitely setting in earlier and harder this time around, slept almost all day yesterday. It is a strange sleep...when you wake up you're fine to do whatever, close your eyes for a minute, and you're asleep for 4 hours (or until your bladder wakes you up).
My eyes are getting a bit more difficult to work with again--focusing on the screen to type this is a bit of work, suspect it'll get harder through the next couple days. Could mean you'll have to search out other venues of entertainment, perhaps even catch up on this "election" that's going on.
The sickness is similar to last time, not too bad. Just an ever present "din" of sickness, makes you want to avoid food and drink, but for a few minutes a day. I'm not really nauseated too much, but after eating I never feel like I'm actually digesting the food...just seems to sit there with me for the next few hours. Nice. Learned to sit up & sleep post-meal.
Tomorrow I'll be off to get my Neulasta shot to keep the WBCs up for the next treatment. That should mix the bone pain with the fatigue, an enticing mix indeed. So it goes.

So, about half the journey has elapsed, things still on track. Only casualties are a couple veins and a lot of hair. Neither ever made me look too good anyway.

Queasy Bake Oven

It's not easy, being queasy. At least today is better than sitting beside the snorer from yesterday, you know the kind of snoring that is impossible to ignore...deep, startling, goes silent for a minute just to throw you a new curve on human sound.

So, I'll enjoy my silence, if only disturbed by nausea that doesn't seem to want to quit today. Yuck. Bananas are a friendly food in this situation, my sandwich has very much lost its appeal. Bread seems like a horrific food. I see smoothies in my future.

Went for a second round of head shaving this morning, as the stubble began to come out in the shower from last round. Weird sensation, the razor didn't drag as it does normally...more seemed to snag the hair and pull it from the root...no resistance. Same with the stragglers on my beard. I had the facial hair growth of a 14 yr old boy. While cool, I decided to get rid of it to prevent the hoardes of teenage girls from being impressed.

Generally, my body seems to be reacting about a day earlier than how I felt last time. The previous round on Tuesday I was still up for a long walk. Not so much last night, was fading fast by 9 and was barely awake by 10pm. Didn't feel all that well last night either. Normally my "morning sickness" would pass by the time I was out of the shower, but now it is lingering with me through the day too.

Still, all things considered, I'm at about a 2 on the scale of 10 for side-effects. So I haven't room to complain. And without "snorey" sitting beside me, my blood pressure is probably a lot better today as well.

Wonder Drug

My WBCs were literally off the charts today, proving that people should buy stock in Amgen. With the new set of WBCs, I have discerned that I am now functionally invincible, and have taken note of some interesting statistics since this morning, the polls will close at 7 pm ET.

• At least 9 out of 10 cars have not hit me today, proving that my invincibility extends to my vehicle. Melissa getting in the garage is another story. I'll refresh this statistic once she arrives home. :D
• Almost 100% of the other patients in the infusion ward didn't get attacked by wild animals while I was in the room. Therefore, my invincibility may be transferable to other humans as well. I'm unsure of its lasting effects, so don't get cocky.
• 9 out of 10 homes have not been torn town by large equipment in my neighborhood. The one that did had it coming. I never much liked that house anyway. Therefore, my invincibility can be withdrawn, if I didn't like something in the first place.

I will be taking dares for the rest of the day in return for compensation. I've already accepted one from my brother for $100 to shave my head. Done and done. Pay up sucker.

Day 1, session 2, in the books.

Caged Fighter

My WBCs slid much lower over the last few days, creating a new dynamic for existence. While it doesn't appear the weakened condition will lead to a delay in my next round on Monday, it does create yet a new dynamic. I suppose I needn't be in fear of losing my anonymity for the time being.

The instructions I received today are virtually identical to those fearing biological warfare. Now fighting the everpresent enemy, the one that envelops the world so completely.
Don't touch.
Don't eat.
Don't breathe.
It's best you avoid people.
If you must see them, be a masked man, avert your eyes and bury your head.

Now to the magic shot, the potion that will keep us from amputating your finger from a paper cut, from hospitalizing you for a sneeze. What an amazing world; fighting an invisible enemy with a weapon that can't be seen.

So, armed with my weaponry, I will sit and fight an omnipresent invisible enemy, without flinching. Waging a battle for my survival without looking at my enemy, guided solely by the actions of the unseen. And you still think I'm talking about the drugs.

The foolish are easily misled into trusting the wrong savior.

Whomever says this world isn't full of faith just hasn't looked for the invisible.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Cancer is a funny thing...it pretty much defines you for some portion of your life and becomes an inescapable web of experiences that all lie within the broad umbrella of "cancer".

Today my hair is falling out, I'll give it the gentle push and just shave it all off before creating too much (more) of a mess on my pillow. It is an interesting step as it removes the last shroud of anonymity, and normalcy, from the experience.

The last 35 days have been almost consumed by cancer. You wake up in the morning with the realization, again, that you still have cancer. You go to bed at night with the same thoughts. The bruising on your arms from chemo, while not apparent to others, reminds you as you turn over at night that you are still there. You get a lot more phone calls. Emails are a continuous reminder of your support group. Smatterings of get well cards, even from folks you've never met, greet you in the mailbox each day. People have tears in their eyes more frequently. As a patient you rarely have a discussion that doesn't start or end related to your health. You rarely have a conversation that doesn't include the word cancer, or chemo. You're no longer a husband, son, brother, friend, co-worker. All of them now carry an asterisk. That asterisk denotes, larger than your relationship definition, that you have cancer. Indeed, it is the first thing people see. Not incorrectly, not badly, not upsetting. Different. It is what it is.

Cancer Is Omnipresent...save for anonymity. There was still the fleeting moment or two, when you'd walk into a store or restaurant, and you were still a regular person. The people around you don't know you, and still shuffle through daily existence without a second glance in your direction. For brief moments you can wear the cloak of normalcy, people smile at you without tears in their eyes.

Today I suppose that goes away too. Just like wearing the IV for a day defined that I was still a cancer patient when I got home, the too-white bald head will give away my asterisk no matter where I go. The hair is the least important thing, the complete loss of normalcy is a different game.

When I was taking martial arts years ago, I had my head shaved pretty close. Prior to beginning some more "hands on" fights, our master reviewed our equipment and gave us pointers so we'd be prepared for the eventuality of injury. When he spoke with me he said he liked my haircut.

When I asked him why, he smiled and said "when you're in a fight, you don't give your enemy anything to hold onto."

Round two is about to begin.