10k down, miles and miles to go

The weather in Atlanta has been March-like this weekend, with highs in the 60's. I took advantage and ran 5 kilometers twice, which I will probably regret, having previously run a total of 12 miles over the last two months. But here's the thing. If you are a runner, you run whenever you can. Warm weather makes it easier, but most of my running friends and I would never let a sub-20 degree morning in January keep us from getting in some road work. You do it, because running is what you love to do and because without it you risk turning into a complete ass, at least according to those with whom you live. 

When you have cancer, it's a little different. You don't do stuff because you enjoy it or because it makes you amiable. You have a better reason. So when they tell you they're going to zap your backside once a day for two weeks, and that it might turn you mocha in places you were previously pasty white, you do it. When they want to pump you full of poison that will make you nauseous, cause you to need Imodium in the Sam's Club 500 count bottle, or turn your chest hair orange, you do it. OK I made that last one up. I'm only one chemo treatment into this new routine, and it's probably best to assume there are many more to come. It's easy to sound tough about it when you're feeling good, as I am now. What's hard is pushing through all the crap (meant figuratively...mostly) and eating the day after chemo when it's the last thing you want to do. It's drinking 2 gallons of fluid on the days when you just want to curl up and watch ESPN2 all day (because one can't get enough bowling, women's college hockey, etc.). 

I wasn't so good at those things the first time so I lost weight. A lot of weight. As most of you know, I'm not somebody who was fighting to knock those last ten pounds off. Thanks to (reasonably) good living and all those miles on the roads, I've weighed about 170 lbs since my senior year and Briarcliff High (shout out to you Barons). When the nurse weighed me at 162 a week after chemo, I knew I was in trouble. So after 10 days of packing in the calories, I'm within a donut or two of 170 now. Just in time to start all over again this Thursday. 

Our neighbor, the drug rep (the legitimate kind, so no help with that brownie project we talked about, DG), came by today with lots of good info about how to prevent side effects from getting to Stage 3 or 4. Who knew side effects had stages just like cancer does? After selling oncology drugs for years, she's heard it all. If you ever want to talk diarrhea, especially the chemo-induced kind, stop by and I'll introduce you. Seriously, thank you Jackie for caring and for sharing! By the way, I guess we owe our real estate agent Steve Tinter big thank you for 16 years ago putting us on a street where we'd eventually be surrounded by MD's and at least one pharma-rep. It's a bit like what David S said about living in Druid Hills. If some kid falls on the ice on Ridgewood, six pediatricians swarm in to check vitals. It's very comforting.

The road I'm on is very long, and I've taken only a few steps down it. But miles and miles from here, there's one helluva post-race party. You're all invited to join me there. Just make sure to leave one of the porta-potties available for me, OK? 

Thanks for the Gum Ball, Mickey!

If you do not get that reference, chances are you are too young to be reading this blog. So stop. Unless you grew up in another country where they didn't sell these cute little gum ball machines:

Why the reference? Somebody out there sent me a book yesterday and I'd love to thank them for it, but I have no idea who it was. Oh I have my suspicions, but given the big speech last night and all that ruling-the-free-world stuff, I highly doubt he had the time. So whoever you are, "Thanks for the cancer book, (insert name here)!"

I'm in what hope will continue to be a state of bliss. My last oral chemo for this round is tonight, and I'm feeling pretty close to normal  as I have for a week now. At the risk of dooming myself to future side effects, I'm OK with a week of less than perfect followed by two weeks of goodness. I know each time the toxicity is building up so it may take longer to feel normal, but I'm also smarter about heading off those effects before they get bad - or so I hope!

So unless I have something particularly funny to say, I might take a little break from blogging and enjoy the somewhat misguided notion that I'm completely fine. Now if it would just warm up enough for me to get in a good run!

Sleeping Potion and Baby Lotions

So my mission last night was to find the right combination of meds, behaviors, and imbibements to result in sleep. I aligned everything I had in my granny caddy (a Rubbermaid bin that houses all my prescription medication), and carefully looked for words like "do not operate machinery" on the warning labels. Then I grabbed the remote, the new issue of Wired, and a bottle of Pinot Noir and headed to the couch. I decided to forego the prescription medications, since they have all those annoying primary effects. I considered the cable series Spartacus, but decided the combination of slow motion gladiator gore and regular-motion gladiator soft-porn wasn't likely to result in restful slumber (at least not for me, but possibly for the gladiator). I went with Old Dogs, the delightful tale of Mork and Vinny Barbarino, or whatever their real names are, as bachelor business partners who must take care of Mork's illegitimate and heretofore unacknowledged twin spawn for 2 weeks. Yawner  - perfect! I slipped in a Tylenol PM just after the final credits rolled and read a couple of articles in the mag. I made it upstairs and... woke up some 6.5 hours later thankful for my Pinot and my Uverse Starz free trial.


Elizabeth, running partner and skin doc extraordinaire, did read yesterday's post and wanted to make sure my colorfully described skin issue was nothing to worry about. She declared me well, at least on the outer layer, but did leave me with some new (infant) cream to use on the spots, which was very much appreciated! It was also good to see her again a week after my low point so she could share with others that I'm indeed looking much more like myself this weekend. 


I've used the Baby cream a couple times now with no ill effects. I need to fill up my Gerber bottle with pinot now and choose my movie, so night night all! 


Where's my binkie?

Ewwww! What's That?

Ladies, just in case you were wondering, should you happen to see your man au natural for the first time in a while, the non-word that should come out of your mouth first is not "ewww." "Ooooh" is a near homophone with a very different connotation, and would make a much better choice given the fragile egos of those of us in the less-fair gender.

Still, when faced with what she was faced with, I guess you can't blame Marcie. And it was far from an intimate moment, by the way, as a child or two also occupied the bathroom while I disrobed for my morning shower. The source of this exclamation is what I hope one of our Dr. friends will confirm is a perfectly normal side effect from radiation. I have, for lack of a better description, what looks like the result of me giving up a quarter of the way through a tattoo session in which I told the artist to give me a leopard-print belt around my waist. Seriously. Little freckles in a band about a half inch wide going around my left rear quarter-panel. If it doesn't fade, I know what I want for next Chanukah - no sense leaving the job unfinished, right?

By the way, remember me calling Lunesta my new BF? Well, we broke up. Bitch wouldn't let me sleep and gave me a freaking hangover the next day. I'm done with her. Who knew the 2 a.m. Sportcenter is the same as the 5 a.m. one?

I met my Imerman Angel match Marc via phone yesterday. Great guy, unbelievable story with a "no evidence of disease" ending. He's a runner like me and may be reading my blog for the first time. I did a mile today Marc - my driveway run...

Today was a GOOD day!

I'm eating like my old self, was up and around in time to drive big A to carpool, and I generally felt more like myself than I have in a long time. Now if me and my new BF, Lunesta, get along tonight, all will be right in my world.

So, I left you with a cliffhanger. How was The Group? Well, other than the odd meeting opening ritual of everyone taking off their shirts to show off their chemo ports (awkward, since I was the only dude)... nah, just messing with you. It was really good. It's a small group, people my age, some older, some in the middle of the fight, some long-term survivors (including a survivor of a Stage 4  liver metastasis!!) It was 2 hours of good stuff.

Tomorrow I meet my match from Imerman Angels on the phone and I get to see my old partner Tom (for anyone who doesn't know me well, I mean partner like business partner) who happens to be in town for work. Haven't seen him since not long after My First Time. Sounds like it could be another really GOOD day, huh?

If you group hug me, I'm gonna puke!

Cancer is a lonely disease. Even when surrounded by people who care about you, love you and would do anything for you, it can be lonely. That's why there are support groups, but I've never been a big support group guy. I just picture a room full of people a lot older and sicker than me saying things like:

Bertha:  Hi, I'm Bertha, and last month I had a colectomy 
Group (enthusiastically): Hi Bertha!

Oy vey!

But I did hear about a local group and I'm going to give it a shot tonight. If there's really a Bertha in attendance, I will not be able to suppress a guffaw.

Even cooler, the folks at Livestrong, my favorite charity-started-by-a-guy-who-looks-increasingly-guilty-of-blood-doping, referred me to something called Imerman Angles (www.imermanangels.org), that matches people living with cancer with those who have survived, often the exact type and stage that the patient is dealing with. You call in or fill out a form online that does a great job of getting the details of who you are, specifics about the cancer you have, treatments you've had or plan to have, what you're most concerned about, etc. Then you get to rank how important each of those factors are in making a match.  I did it last night, and before lunch today, I received a call from a "matcher" who listened to my story and who will look in their database and make a match. I'll let you know how it goes from there, but I had no idea there was such an amazing service available. Of course it's free, and they even provide prepaid phone cards to people who can't afford to talk long distance to a match.

There's a special place in heaven for people who come up with ideas like that. And when I get there in 50 years or so, I'm going to be sure to thank them. 

Can I kick it?

Many thanks to one of my farthest-away, yet closest supporters, Ghila, for today's musical inspiration... Listen past the first few seconds, there's a song in there.

I'm told my late-night posting is not as concise, so I'll try to stick to respectable hours. Today's amazing moment was when I received a call around 6 pm from Sherrie, the nurse at Dr. Z's. I had called her yesterday at a particularly low point before certain meds had kicked in to control the GI fun. She was concerned about me and wanted to make sure everything was under control. So she called me. On her time. And, no, Stu B, I don't think it's because she's fallen under my spell.

I can't even begin to compare that to the experience I and others have had at our favorite local University hospital. Just today one of our readers was abandoned for hours on end, left to decide whether it was important to reconnect the heart monitor after going to the bathroom. Answer: yes it was important, but nobody came to check when it wasn't reconnected for over an hour, so disconnected or dying apparently nets the same response. Not seeing an actual doctor for 18 hours until literally dressed to leave, missing procedures because the staff on the floor forgot - you know, the usual.

Sorry, I know this is supposed to be about me getting better, but now I'm just getting pissed. Some of our closest friends are amazing doctors and nurses working in that very hospital, and we literally owe our lives to their dedication, and to the great medical work that gets done there. The people working there know everything there is to know about treating patients, but treating people? That's where the institution falls flat on its face.

Well, I feel better now... And like I said, that's what this is supposed to be about, isn't it?