Enemy Territory

Green. In Ann Arbor. On this day. Everyday. 

I feel like a Red Coat in a New York tavern circa 1775. 

By that I mean I'm probably the best dressed person here. 

ZING.

This is real

What a gross day for me to have to be stuck in Ann Arbor. 

I hope I puke all over the town. While singing our fight song. And dancing. Might be tough, but dream big Eh? 

Chemo party starting soon. Yay.

Go green.

You guys are incredible.

I started this blog as a way to chronicle events through this little trip I'm taking down Cancer lane, and to keep friends and family in the loop about happenings and developments. 

I'm happy that I did and I'm happy that those who encouraged me to do it took the time to do so. 

Still...I never could have anticipated the response I've gotten from people. 

Well that isn't true. I expected it from my friends and family, because I have the best of both in the world.

But from total strangers--it's been something I'll never forget.

I recieve e-mails and messages from total strangers regularly, and it never ceases to amaze me each time it happens.

For example, an e-mail I received recently:

Hi Marcus,

I know you have no idea who I am, but I came across your blog when ------- shared your post about ---- a few days ago. I’ve been reading all your posts (essentially stalking the shit out of you) and I just wanted to say you’re a phenomenal writer, your story is encouraging, and your dog is cute. I really don’t have much to say other than that.  Keep bossing cancer around and keep writing…weird strangers like myself seriously enjoy reading your stuff!

Ps…U of M is a stupid, shitty, horrible place – BUT I have a sister whom is in remission after being treated at their cancer center... so keep your faith in them…they aren’t all as dumb as Brady Hoke. J

Cheers!

First of all, these e-mails are all hyperbolic when it comes to my writing abilities. Second, I notice that people seem generally at ease in these messages and they aren't formal correspondence pieces, which I love. Third, I'm awful at taking compliments, and you people flatter me and make a guy feel pretty good about himself.

And fourth, to those of you who have taken the time to reach out to me and send me something, anything at all, thank you. 

I mean it. 

You too, J. By all means, stalk away.

Chemo Day #6, Cycle #3

So I took a bit of an unintentional hiatus from the blog there. Things got busy, the holidays arrived, and I came down with a pretty nasty cold. Excuses, excuses. Anyway, I know I'm late to the party with this entry, as Chemo Day #7, Cycle #4 is right around the corner, but I want to get it in for record keeping purposes. 

#6 of 12. Wow. 

Initial reaction: How the fuck am I only half way through this? 

I guess that sounds whiny, but man, it feels like I've been doing this a long time. I feel like a seasoned veteran by this point. 

The reality is, however, that it's only been a bit over 3 months. Holy shit. 

I guess Einstein was onto something with that whole relativity thing. 3 months on chemotherapy was always going to feel longer than 3 months of "normal" living, right? 

This treatment was interesting. Thankfully, they kept me out of the "garden." I got a bed again, which I love. It's nice. Kick the shoes off. Warm blankets. Lay back...and get pumped full of poison!

For the first time, though, the order of the chemo drugs given to me was different. Since it had been done in the same order the previous 5 times, I figured there was a reason for it. I was wrong. 

IV drips first, which generally don't bother me much. 

Kool-Aid syringes last--which are the worst. As soon as they pull these things out of the bag, I can taste it. It's hard to explain. Even writing this now, I almost gag. 

This new order sped up the process, which is always nice. Once you're done, though, you're done and free to leave. For the previous 5 treatments, I had another full 1-2 hours after the Kool-Aid to collect myself and calm my nerves/stomach before taking off. Not this time. 

This time, the nurse pressed the last bit of red toxin out of the syringe and into my heart, unplugged me and said have a nice night. 

I knew right away that I was going to puke. The taste was so intense, my stomach churning, mouth watering--it was coming. For some reason, though, I just wanted out of the building. I passed more than one perfectly good bathroom, where I could have gotten sick in private. 

Nope. I'll just rush out the doors to the parking lot where concerned people can see and hear me hacking away. I don't know. It was cold outside. It felt good. It felt good to puke. It felt good to puke in public and have people understand why. It was weird, but it was strangely satisfying. Swish some water around, spit. Dust myself off. 

Drive home. An hour from East Lansing. 

Halfway home.

I didn't make it far this time

I couldn't get past my car before throwing up this time. 

Just hacking away in the parking structure, which really sucked. 

Until I realized I was puking all over UofM property. 

That eased my pain considerably.

Also, kool aid makes me puke rainbows.

The Chemo face

As a reaction generally out of my control, I find myself trying to "harden" up, trying to focus, leading up to treatment. 

I say out of my control because I don't make any real conscious decision to do it...just kinda happens. A defense mechanism--and a poor one. The pre-chemo nausea isn't lessened, as the pile of puke in the parking lot proves. 

Still, placing a sharp focus on the smaller details of today, like this being 6/12, knowing what to expect, and reminding myself not to waste this day--embrace it and remember it as another opportunity to kick cancer in the nuts--helps.

What I think I look like storming in to the Cancer Center:

What I actually look like:

I know, I know. They look totally the same.

6/12, you're up. 

Chemo 6/12 tomorrow

We're almost halfway there. That's both encouraging and scary. 

Encouraging for the obvious reason--the finish line is in sight (kind of). 

Scary, because good lord, I'm only half way through?! It feels like I've been doing this shit for years. 

But, fuck it. Let's go at it again, ABVD Chemotherapy. I thought you'd be tired of me kicking your ass by now, but I've got some left in the tank for you. 

"I must break you."

But seriously take it easy on me this time, jerk.

Cancer is fun

Because it provides plentiful opportunities for me to make others uncomfortable, usually with jokes that are certainly in bad taste. 

Or memes like this:

Or, like today, which is my good friends 28th birthday. I wished him a happy birthday, but warned him:

Turning 28 isn't all that cool. All you get when you turn 28 is cancer. 

Then I laughed til it hurt.

Guess I'm pretty weird.

Lions Gameday

The Lions move one step closer to an NFC North Title and playoff appearance today. 

And I'll be there to basque in it's glory.

LETS GO.

Life is better with a beard

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

Exhibit C:

Exhibit D:

Exhibit E:

The defense rests. 

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I WANT MY BEARD BACK AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

William Penn, and a good friend

A good buddy of mine recently lost his grandfather.

Said buddy was in the bar tonight with some friends and sat to chat with me for a while, and he showed me a Zippo lighter that his grandfather had given him. 

It had a quote on it.

"I expect to pass through this world but once. Any good therefore that I can do, or any kindness or abilities that I can show to any fellow creature, let me do it now. Let me not defer it or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again."-William Penn

It's a quote I'd never heard before, and not one I'll forget. 

Aside from being the coolest lighter I've ever seen, passed down from a man I didn't know but who seems by all accounts to be a legend...what a quote. 

And what a friend for sharing it.

Stop wasting time. We don't have that much of it.

The exhaustion stage

Again, I was told to expect this to set in as I got further into the treatment schedule, but good lord. 

I don't feel sick all the time (just most of it), but I ALWAYS am exhausted. 

The kind of tired where mundane things like getting up to go to the bathroom seem like a task unmatched in its difficulty. 

What it feels like to sleep as much as I have been:

What it looks like to sleep as much as I have been:

I still have the juice to get things I need to get done out of the way, and to work. Everything else though, for the moment, has taken a back seat to sleep.

It isn't the worst thing in the world--actually having an excuse to spend large amounts of the day sleeping. Still, I'm a pretty active person whose career and lifestyle previously required very little sleep. It's an adjustment, for sure. 

Onward we go. With lots of coffee. 

Guess who I'm partying with tonight

This guy. 

And by partying I mean cuddling and sleeping. Today's a good day. 

Chemo Day #5, Cycle #3...PET Scan results

Because I'm stubborn, and am making an effort not to let myself get too "high" or too "low" based on any information I receive from my doctors, I'm only going to share a few details of the results of the PET scan here. 

Mainly, that it was good news. Progress has been made in the first 2 cycles. The spread seems to have ceased. Cancer showing up in the scan was less. As much as they had hoped? Perhaps not. Still, we're taking it as a positive, and we're going to continue as planned. If later adjustments need to be made, they will be. 

If this seems like a pessimistic approach to good news, I apologize. It isn't meant to be. I am just far too familiar with this disease and the unpredictability of it--the ups and the downs, the swings that almost feel inevitable--are harder to cope with if you're taking the full downward or upward swing with them.

That's how I'm approaching it at least. Never too high. Never too low. Just go with the program. 

Want me to celebrate good news? 

The day I hear the "R" word, and that my treatment is done, then you can see my celebrate. 

On that day, this will be me:

Until then, I'm gonna keep pretending to be a tough guy, and do what my doctors tell me.  

News Alert:

Chemo sucked. I got a bed this time. I also got a nurse who had never administered this kind of Chemo. She was very sweet and did her best...but at 5pm on a day that I had arrived at the hospital at 7:30am...I just wanted out of there.  

The psychological aspect of this is wild. Just writing/thinking about this now makes me want to puke. I can taste it. 

(5 minutes later)

I did puke. So, moving on. 

While in the waiting room, I did see a guy that shook me to the bone. He couldn't have been more than 25, and couldn't have weighed more than 75 pounds. He looked like the kind of malnourished human you only see on the news, in far off, foreign, unfamiliar places. The kind of paper thin where the gums fit so tightly around every tooth that it almost looks like the mouth is constantly open, the outlines so clear. He was there to receive another round of chemo. 

He was the most fragile person I've seen in there to date--which is saying something. I tried not to stare at him, but in my mind, a gentle breeze would have tipped him over and ruined his existence. He would have shattered like porcelain on the tiled floor.

How is he here? How is he not in hospice? Or at minimum, in a wheelchair? 

Instead, they called his name. He took his time getting to his feet, gathering himself, and with a faint smile painted on a stretched face, he made his way back to welcome what had helped bring him to this state. 

Another round. 

It's been a rough couple days for me. 

But my god, what the fuck do I have to complain about?

Long overdue beard update

IT STILL EXISTS SOMEHOW. It's pathetic, no doubt. Still, it remains.

Unintentionally, the way I've written this blog has set up the beard as a metaphor for my overall health. 

No beard = sick. Beard = healthy.

That being the case, this current beard would probably rate me somewhere in the middle, trending towards sick. But damnit, it's still here. So I'm gonna rock it.

Chemo day +3...blah

Breakfast:

Yum:

Can only get better from here.

All I've got for you guys now

Too tired. I'll have news soon.

Kool aid

This:

Is way less fun than this:

DID I BREATHE GOOD?

Also, slept during the PET scan, because fuck that thing.

Semi-important day tomorrow

Here is the rundown of my day tomorrow:

-Leave the house at 6:30am

-Get loaded with radioactive juice at 8, and hang out for an hour

-PET Scan at 9:00am

-Breathing/Lung Function test at 11am

-Consult with Docs at Noon

-Start the process of beginning another Chemo Party

-Start chemo party (hopefully) around 2-3pm

-Enjoy chemo party (it's not a real party and there's nothing to enjoy)

-Head home around 7pm (hopefully)

So, in short, it will be a long day. 

It's an important day, too. 

After 2 cycles, it's time for another PET scan to check what progress, if any, has occurred. Damn PET scan has not been the bearer of any good news for me in the last 6 months, so it'd be nice to break that streak tomorrow.

Ideally, we'll see that the chemo has began to beat the shit out of the monsters inside me. If not, then some adjustments may be made, and we'll keep plugging away. I'm not generally claustrophobic, but there is something unpleasant about sitting inside a very tight space in a machine that tells me how much cancer I have and where it is. Weird, right?

The PFT test is needed because one of the Chemo drugs I'm on is especially hard on the lungs. I took one of these tests for a baseline before beginning treatment, so now we'll go see if the drug has had any negative effects on my breathing. In general, my chest feels okay. It is pretty tight now and then, and find myself a bit out of breath for no reason randomly. I'm curious to hear the results. 

The test itself isn't all that bad. Mildly unpleasant when you have to "blow until you can't blow any more" a bunch of times, but it's generally quick (45 minutes) and painless.

Still:

Tomorrow will be exhausting, and I'm not looking forward to the days following another treatment. I can already taste the chemo, my stomach is already churning, and the lump in the throat is growing. Number 5 of 12 will suck just as much/probably more than the previous 4, but it's one more off the list, so let's get it over with.

Still, it's time for some good news. I'm due, right?

So cut the shit, PET scan, and tell me something good.

Or I'll go Michael Bolton from Office Space on you: