The good with the bad...and more Chemo.

It seems to me that's what this whole process is about--weighing the good news and the bad news you receive, and then deciding which "side" is "victorious" on a given day based on what you've learned. 

So rare is a day that everything I hear from doctors all "good," that I don't even consider it a possibility when I am on my way to see them. 

Not once have I had the thought "Man, I just gotta feeling...I think everything I hear in there is going to be awesome."

That, I understand, is a pretty standard defense mechanism. Can't be surprised by bad news if you're expecting it, right? It's useful. 

It softens blows. 

Still, as unlikely as they seem and as little hope I have for experiencing it: 

one of those "all good" days would be nice, eh?

Even on the day I'm told I'm in remission, which is coming, I'm sure I'll be lined up for appointments for the next 5 years of my life and told what to look for and what to expect and the likelihood of relapse and yada yada yada. 

Which brings me back to where I started, that it's all a balancing act. 

My whole little personal mantra this entire time has been "never too high, never too low." 

It's admittedly a throwback to my athletic days--a comfortable place that I go often--but it has translated well. 

If I let every little victory turn into a party, and every small defeat turn into a crushing blow--who the hell knows where I'd be at this point.

It wouldn't be pretty. 

Steady as she goes.  

I told my dad, even on relatively good days, that "I'll celebrate when this is done."

I realize that it might make it tougher on my family and friends. I've had some good days and some good news. While they're thrilled to hear it and excited for me, I usually temper expectations and sit stone faced. 

I'm not trying to be a downer. I just can't let myself get up too high. 

Or fall too low. 

I've experienced it, but more than that--I've seen it.

My mom had it "beat" for years. 

My amazing friend Becca Sernick beat long odds and fought it off for years--longer than any doctor gave her a chance to. 

 My "second father" Kevin Moody was sucker-punched by it. 

Everyone knows somebody who's had these experiences with cancer.

I'm not unique. 

This is an unrelenting, unpredictable, resourceful and stubborn monster that they dealt with, and that I'm dealing with.

It's purpose is singular. 

Just when you think you're ahead of the game, that you've got it on the ropes, comes an uppercut you didn't see coming. Back on the mat. Wondering what's next. 

It's not negativity. It's realism. 

I'm optimistic. 

An appointment yesterday showed that my blood counts look very strong and are rebounding well. Some are even into the "normal range" that a person who hadn't recently had a transplant could expect to be at. My ability to fight off infection is coming back. It has a ways to go, but it's returning. 

This is good news. 

I'm being transferred from the Transplant Team back to my Oncologist in the Cancer Center. This indicates a comfort level among the Transplant Doctors with my recovery and trajectory. 

This is good news. 

It was also confirmed that I'm not done with Chemotherapy. 

News I was not pleased to hear and was not expecting. 

Not good news. 

It's called "maintenance" Chemo, and it's a drug that really kicked my ass last time. 

But so be it. Whatever it takes.

I also learned that Flip Saunders, a longtime NBA coach and a guy well-respected in his profession passed away from Cancer. He was 60. I decided to check out what kind of cancer. Mistake.

Hodgkin's Lymphoma.

We won't share the same fate, but seeing that--seeing that this "good cancer" does kill people, wasn't great.

Not good news.

Still:

The "good" won yesterday. It definitely did. That's a victory, but a small one.

More chemo looms, as does a PET scan and the knowledge that these transplants are not 100% effective. 

That number is closer to 30-45%. 

Never too high. Never too low. 

Life is good. I'm feeling better. I'm getting stronger. I have people surrounding me who love me. 

I GET TO SEE GRISWOLD AGAIN (the doctors okay'd it). 

I'm in a good place. 

And I'll celebrate. 

When it's over.