When Living WIth Cancer Isn't All That Fun

You know I'm a fan of Living with cancer. Not only living with vs. dying from, but I mean truly Living, experiencing life to the fullest. That's why I wanted to take Marcie with me to Paris earlier this year, why I've wanted to run half-marathons at a pace I would have been embarrassed about not long ago, and why I've tried to be a better dad, more present, more involved.

Living with cancer has its downsides, too. It means not using cancer as a excuse when unpleasant things lie in your path. Case in point - I'm writing this from Room 686 at Piedmont Hospital, where my father has been a resident since last Wednesday. He'd fallen 3 times in a week, despite having his walker next to him. Turns out he has a condition called Congestive Heart Failure, which sounds much more imminently deadly than it is. In fact, he's had it for two years now, which was news to me. But that's a story for another day.

He's doing better and will leave here for a two to three week stay in a rehab facility to regain his strength. The unpleasant part is what comes next. The doctors have told him it's no longer safe for him to live on his own. He's 84 years old, has lived in his current house for 40 years and, understandably,  doesn't want to leave.

We've been building the case with him for the last 2 years, and even have him on the wait list at a nearby community that offers both independent and assisted living options. (Waiting lists in a place like that are a rather morbid concept when you think about it.) I want it to be his decision, his choice. But I have to be prepared to make the decision for him, for his own good. It's one of those child-becomes-the-parent situations, and it sucks. Fortunately, I have Marcie and my sister to help.

It can be a bit depressing, watching your parents age less than gracefully. And it's hit me pretty hard of late. But that's part of life, and part of the price I have to pay if I want to keep on Living.

Chemo Myths Debunked

I am the Great Debunker of Chemo Myths. I'm like the Amazing Randi of tumor treatments. Allow me to explain.

Myth #1 - Chemo Makes You Lose Weight

Not always. Since about my junior year of high school, I weighed between 170 and 175 lbs. I dipped down to about 160 after having a foot of colon removed when I was 38, but I quickly bounced back to my normal level, and stayed there until very recently. Last Fall, I began to add pounds, and inches, while on chemo. A couple months ago I topped out at 191. Some of that was probably the lack of exercise, not the chemo directly, but still.

I'm on my way back to my comfort zone, with the latest weigh-ins tallying somewhere in the low 180's.

Myth #2 - Chemo Make You Lose Your Hair

Certainly not all chemo causes hair loss. I never lost a lock during my first year and half of various treatments. And I was thinning in October, when I decided to take things into my own hands, literally, and shave off what was left. In retrospect, I probably could've gotten away with a good buzz cut. But that's not exactly the myth-busting part.

It's my eyelashes. Some of you know that what my genes lack in cancer-fighting ability, they more than made up for in long, thick lashes. But post chemo, something weird happened. My lashes are even longer. So much so that I now can't wear my glasses without my lashes feeling like a vertical windshield wiper, gliding along the inside of the lenses. I've had random people comment about my lashes a half dozen times in the last two weeks. I'm thinking about trimming them. I'll leave the ear and nose hair au natural, but I must manscape my mascara-less filamentous biomaterial.


I know, that's just two myths. Everything else you've heard about chemo is true. Or is it?

Feel free to post your own stories about chemo surprises, or ask me if I've ever experienced something you've heard about. See that way this can be a two way conversation.

PS - Shout out to my favorite members of the diplomatic corps. It was great to see you this weekend, sad reason notwithstanding.

Why We Celebrate Passover - A Modern Take

This off-topic essay is my response to a request from my cousin Shelley.  

We were slaves in the land of Egypt. Our ancestors must’ve been a lot better at manual labor than we are today. Why else would the Pharaohs make them build pyramids?   After years of dreaming of having the freedom to become accountants, doctors, and lawyers, the Jews were fed up. Moses, their leader, went to the Pharaoh and asked him to let his fellow-steins go.

The Pharaoh, in his best Yul Brynner impression, raised one eyebrow towards his bald head and said “No.”

Moses told him he’d be sorry. G-d sent plagues to Egypt. The first was blood.

“No,” said Pharaoh.

Then came fire.

“Goodness gracious, great balls of fire! But still, no”

Locusts, hail, and a few others nobody likes to talk about followed.

The last one was the Death of the First Born. The angel of death flew around Egypt, passing over (get it?) the houses of the Jews, but entering the houses of the Egyptians to slay their oldest child.

Finally after his own son died, Pharaoh said, “don’t let the door hit you in the ptolyme (which is Egyptian for ‘ass’).”

So we left, crossed the Red Sea, hung out in the desert and ate food like it was Manna from Heaven, which it was, until we made it to Israel, 40 years later. Apparently, not one Jewish man had been willing to stop and ask for directions.

Of Half-Marathons and Full Hearts

Here's a story about 4 ladies who make me feel good, or at least better than I otherwise would...

Pictured below are Taylor (l) and Trish (r) from Dr. Z's office. The sign in the middle was made by my daughter and her friend, our next door neighbor.

T&T ran the Publix Georgia Half Marathon last Sunday. They both knew of my running history, so we talked often about races. They couldn't believe I ran as much as I did during chemo. Sometimes I felt just the opposite - look how little I'm running.

The Publix Half is a great race, attracting close to 15,000 runners. I've done it myself a few times. Unlike the Savannah Half I've done the last two years, this one's all about the hills. Since I wasn't in race shape. I decided to come out and cheer on two of my favorite healthcare professionals, along with Danny G and many of my fellow Team Phidippides runners.

Taylor was too fast to see me as she rounded the corner from Highland Ave to Virginia, and Trish was only able to slow briefly lest she get trampled by the pack. So they missed the sign I'm holding above.

I wanted to stand out amongst the crowd, and lacking sufficient hair to bother dyeing brightly, a sign seemed like a good idea. Citing a need for good penmanship, I'd asked my daughter to help, and she in turn grabbed our next door neighbor. The two of them came up with this excellent poster, complete with St Patrick's day puns (I Rish you a good, fun race), pot o' gold, etc.

Needless to say the grown up gals were touched and impressed by the younger gals work.

And I'm just the guy who shleps neon-hued poster board from Va-Hi to Johns Creek, making everyone happy in the process.

Including me.

Enter Scanman

No, I'm not posting any Metallica videos to go with that title. If you got that reference, you already have all the James, Lars & Co you need.

Today was the bone scan to make sure that pain in my hip and leg wasn't cancer. The good news is, it's not cancer. The bad news is, that's two scans in 10 days that turned out to be unnecessary. Or maybe that's good news. Whatever.

The pain is actually a little better today. The root cause could still be some damage to the ball and socket caused by my radiation treatments. We're going to keep an eye on it, and if it doesn't heal on its own, perhaps do another scan (yay!) with an MRI.

My other abnormalities this week include a 3 day headache, hoarse voice, and a rather pretty rash under one arm. All are likely compliments of Stivarga, so I'm going to take a couple days off, and then start back at a lower dose.

Bottom line - cancer hasn't returned to my bones, and as they say, Nothing Else Matters.

Don't call it a Comeback!

LL admonished his fans not to call his return a "comeback" in this classic.

I get it. Comebacks can be good, or they can be bad. An injured athlete returning to the field a after weeks of rehab is a good comeback.

A head of hair regrowing after a round of chemotherapy ends? Also good.

But pain in the hip/pelvis, the area that started this now two plus year long ordeal, that's a comeback I could do without. Unfortunately, we don't get to decide these things. We just have to deal with them.

I just have to deal with this.

It could be any number of things causing pain on my left hip that is now radiating down my leg. Scar tissue, a new injury, joint inflammation from increased workouts. So I went to see Dr. Z, and have a bone scan scheduled for later this week. He's on the fence about this - leaning toward injury vs. reemergence of cancer in the area we so thoroughly irradiated two years ago. So I'm replenishing my supply of legal narcotics and hoping the scan tells us what's going on.

Until then, I will continue to enjoy my 90's rap collection on Spotify.

"How Fast Can You Get to the Hospital?"

Those are words you never want to hear. But for many of us Members of the Club, they are words we eventually do hear. My first time was last Tuesday.

The catalyst was my description of the burning sensation I had felt in my throat and lungs since the night before. Dr. Z knew I'd been on a long flight a few days earlier and he was concerned that I could have developed a blood clot, despite having been off any chemo drugs for quite some time. So off I went to Emory, to receive a cardiac CT scan.

As it turns out, I am clot-free in all the right places.

We think this is an upper respiratory infection, which I might owe to my seatmate on the Prague - Brussels leg of my trip home last Friday. I've been on steroids and antibiotics for a few days now. The sensation is still there, which has kept me from exercising much this week. I'd give myself about a B so far, for not turning into a total ass as I might have in the past after a week of little physical activity.

I start my new drug next week. I've written before about the co-pay assistance programs that drug manufacturers have to help put really expensive drugs into the hands of people who might not otherwise be able to afford them. My drug, Stivarga, retails for over $10,000 a month. That's $350 a pill, once a day. My insurance company picks up 75% of that tab, so Marcie and I were trying to figure out where the "extra" $2500 or so a month was going to come from.

But along came the Reach Program from Bayer. To my pleasant surprise, I qualified for a grant. My cost will be, are you sitting down, $50. Not $50 a pill, $50 a month. It's a brilliant thing for Bayer, since they still get the $8k or so from Humana. Otherwise, I might've gone with some other therapy that's less expensive. Like the old saying goes, 8 grand in hand is worth 10k in the bush.