Monday, July 25, 2011

Live From the Chemo Room #10



Run!: 26.2 Stories of Blisters and Bliss

Back home in the ATL after 4 days in the NYC. It was hot there, damn hot. Now I've lived in Atlanta all my life; I've been in humid Houston in August, arid Phoenix in July, and Dallas one summer when it was 105 with a breeze that felt like a hair dryer in your face. But I've never been anywhere hotter than Manhattan last Friday, with the actual temp at 104 and the "real feel" well into the one-teens. Walking the mile or so from South Street Seaport to Chinatown gave me a real appreciation for what people like Dean Karnazes go through running a hundred miles across the Sahara. My friend Brian lent me one of Dean's books recently. It's a great read even if you're not an obsessive runner like me, or a kick-ass triathlete like Brian.




Adam and I had a great time despite the weather. We went inside the flagship Apple store, FAO Schwarz, Toys R'Us, M&M World, Dylan's Candy Bar, the Hershey Store, and  a slice of Junior's Cheesecake and a heaping bowl of Serendipity's Frozen Hot Chocolate (not on the same day). We did manage to fit in a run in Central Park, as well as a hour of row boats there, and to make sure the trip was culturally redeeming, we went to MoMA and saw Phantom on Broadway. We also stopped by the church that served as sleeping quarters for the rescuers during 9-11 and saw the new construction underway at Ground Zero. Cousin Stan let us onto the roof of his Upper East Side building for great views of 8 counties, and Uncle/Brother Steve took Adam to a music-themed exhibit and to the Skyline park. It was a great trip.

I blew a chance to meet in person with Matthew Zachary, the founder of the I'm Too Young For This cancer foundation (see www.stupidcancer.com ) and the host of The Stupid Cancer show on which I appeared last week. Matthew graciously offered a rain check for the next time I'm in NYC, and I'm looking forward to cashing it in.

The folks at Memorial Sloan Kettering agreed that we're doing the right things with my treatment. We've got some work to do on the genetic testing to try to figure out the source of my cancer and to help understand the risks for my kids, my sister and her kids. Long-term, there may be targeted therapy for specific gene mutations, meaning a real cure for the specific cause of each person's cancer. It may be decades away, but that's where the research is headed.

Back here in the chemo room, I had a good laugh with Jessie, one of the nurses. She always shows me the bag with my medicine in it before she hangs it, just like all the nurses do. For some reason it struck me today that this is one of those moments like when they bring you the wine bottle you've ordered. Yes, the label appears to be what I ordered. I asked her what I'm supposed to do when she hands me the cork. I never really know - are you supposed to smell it, visually inspect it, squeeze it?

All I know is whether I like the wine or not one I drink it. Same with the chemo, as long as it's working (and it is), I like it.

Finally, having now written a book about caring for cancer patients, I got to spend a few minutes on the other side today. I overheard two other patients talking in the chemo lounge about how one of them was used to his chemo sessions in Boston lasting 2 or 3 hours, but for some reason, his session today was going to be more like 5 - 6 hours. I used to have those monster sessions myself, so I know what that's like. He mentioned he hadn't brought enough food with him. My infusion was over about a half-hour later, so I walked over, told him I'd been in his shoes (chair?) before, and offered to pickup some lunch for him. He was very grateful for the Chik-fil-a and I was very happy to have been a caregiver for a change. It really felt good. I'm telling you this not because I'm fishing for compliments, but to remind all of you who know somebody going through cancer or other illness that there are always little things like that you can do to help a patient. I don't even know this guy's name, and I was able to do something really meaningful for him. You can do the same for someone. Just be there for them and seize the opportunity when it arises. Be the Muffin Lady or the Chik-Fil-a guy.

Friday, July 22, 2011

Live from Oz

From last Friday... PET scan results were good! The pelvis continues to shrink and the lung is stable to smaller. Both continue to show reduced uptake, making less cancer. Yay!

I'm in the waiting room at the ironically named Memorial Sloan Kettering Hospital with Adam. It's his first time seeing all this cancer stuff up close. Looking around these palatial digs I described back in January, he may notice two things. Dad's pretty young compared to most here on the colorectal floor, and pretty healthy looking. At least that's how I see it!

We are here as a combo trip - his birthday present, conveniently combined with a couple of follow ups for me. Adam spent the afternoon yesterday with his uncle Steve add got a sweaty walking tour of a good quarter of Manhattan. By noon today the focus will be on fun for the rest of the trip.

As it should be.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Live from the PET Scan Prep Room

I'm once again deep in the bowels of Emory University Hospital, having been injected with radioactive stuff and drinking my barium sulfite smoothie. I'll enjoy the comfort of my 11 x 7 cell for an hour until Sara returns to take me to The Tube.

Until then, I have a couple of new things to accompany me. One is somebody playing radio station B98.5 at ridiculously high volume in the room behind me, which I assume is a staff lounge. The other is Big Brother, the watchful eye of a Panasonic video camera mounted high above the door to the room. I'm trying to think of the most entertaining think I could do in order to determine if anyone's really watching me. Might be time to bust a move. I'll wait for the right song to come blaring through the wall.

By the way, according to the several-years-old laminated info sheet push-pinned to the wall next to me, one of the benefits of PET is to identify "distant occult metastases." A guess that explains my sudden desire to stream Season One of X-Files via Netflix. Ooh, that Scully was one fine investigator, no?

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

A Star is Born?

Whatcha doin next Monday night around 8 ET? It's summer, so unless you're a huge fan of Wipeout or Dancing with NFL-Lockout Victims, there's nothing on TV. So crank up the (internet) radio and listen to yours truly on The Stupid Cancer Show!

You can use this link to tune in live or go to iTunes and subscribe to the Stupid Cancer Show, a weekly broadcast from the folks behind StupidCancer.com. The organization provides resources to cancer patients in the 18 - 40 age range, cancer's lost generation. iTunes works for after-the-fact listening in case you can't make the live broadcast.

I'm on to tell my story, talk a little about the book, maybe a word or two about parenting issues facing cancer survivors, etc. I'm excited about the opportunity and hope not to embarrass my family... much. Tune in and see (or more appropriately, hear).

Saturday, July 9, 2011

I've Been to the Show

Imagine you're a pitcher, a bit past your prime. You spent a few seasons in the Majors, never a star, but a solid middle-reliever type. An injury cost you half a season and you've been working your way back through rehab starts in the minor leagues. You get encouraging text messages from some of your old buddies on the big league club as you begin the long climb back, hoping for one more shot at a ring. You decide to intensify your off-field workouts, so you go particularly hard in your P90X training one evening. That's when the phone rings. The big league club needs an extra arm, and since you've been pitching so well at the AA level, they want you to join the club the next day for a 6 AM game. (I know, but I need the game to be at 6 AM for my analogy to work). You get a decent night's sleep, but despite your best efforts, the game is already underway when you reach the ballpark. You barely have time to lace up your cleats when the starting pitcher goes down with a nasty blister and the skipper calls the bullpen, "that kid form the minor's ever make it here? Good, send him in."

You jump into the game, excited about being back with your old mates. You throw a heater past the league's leading hitter for a strike. But you feel yourself struggling to keep that fastball up in the low 90's. You back off, throwing sliders, and before you know it, you've gotten shelled. You barely make it through an inning, and as you pass the skipper on the dugout steps you say to him, "maybe I'm not ready yet, Skip." "Maybe not kid, but there was only one way to find out."

My running friends have already figured this one out, but for the rest of you, here's the translation. I'm the pitcher, cancer is my injury, the big-league club is a group of 7 runners, mostly my old crew and most of whom are under 40 both in age and 10k times, and the game was an 8 mile run they were all doing today. The inning was the second mile of their planned 8 mile run. My hope was to jump in at mile 1 and do a 6 miler with them. I made it one mile. Too fast a pace, too little recovery from last night's P90X workout, whatever the excuse, I ran out of gas.

I'm not ready to run with the big league club just yet, but I needed to see where I was, so I tried. I'll run with Adam this weekend and work on speed and stamina for a while before my next cup of coffee (more baseball talk, look it up). Now enjoy a scene from the best baseball movie not staring a cocaine addict as a wild relief pitcher.

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Post Race Report

Adam and I had a great time running Peachtree, not to mention a Great Time (under 66 minutes).  As you can see by the photo, it was a family affair, assuming an affair involves two people getting sweaty while 3 others cheer them on (Marcie's behind the camera of course).

I was so proud of Adam during the race. He had never run longer than 5 miles before and the conditions at the start were as bad as they've been in 14 years (extra hot and super humid). Still, by the time we crested the hill by Piedmont Hospital (sometimes called Heartbreak Hill or Cardiac Hill), around 4 miles into the run, he was starting to say out loud the things I had planned to say to him:
"OK, that was the last hard hill, right?"
"T-shirt's straight ahead"
"We can do this!"

It was a very cool thing to see him taking on the role of the encourager, even though I didn't need the encouragement. There was no way I wasn't going to match him stride for stride, and when walking, step for step.

I had this sign pasted on my back and received many a compliment along the course, to which I usually responded "thanks, see you at the finish line."


Adam has already asked me what it would take to train for a half-marathon. I felt like Bobby Bonds watching his pre-steroidal offspring Barry lacing up the cleats for the first time. So proud!

A half would be an amazing accomplishment, but we're going to focus on building stamina for shorter stuff for now. And there's no reason we have to be the only Beskinds in the finisher's list next year. Who knows, maybe one day, you'll see all 5 of us kickin' it down Peachtree Street!

PS - My book is very near completion. Hit the link on the right or go to www.facebook.com/cancerhumor  and "like" so I can let you know the minute it's released!

Friday, July 1, 2011

Live From the Chemo Room #9

Something new today - there's a volunteer in the house! Her name is Betty and she's passing out blankets like they're going out of style. Actually, they are kind of out of style already, but that's not important right now.
They are trying to wean me off of Dr. Z. For the second time in a row I saw his PA first, and then was asked if I wanted to see him too. I don't really mind, because in the past I've been that patient who benefitted from the extra time this approach creates in his day. It's all good.
I've made plans to return to Memorial Sloan Kettering later this month. Adam's coming with me and we're making a long weekend of it. I'm just doing a follow up with the Wizard and some genetic work to see if we can figure out why I'm the only one of my 11 cousins on my mom's side who's gotten colon cancer even though all of our parents had it. Shallow end of the gene pool, or maybe the gene pond.
My uncle Joel, the only surviving member of that generation, thinks there may be something to my theory that growing up in the cesspool known as Bayonne, NJ may not have helped the Tasman clan in developing immune systems.
Today's short session is about half over. Avastin down, Zometa to go.