Shit.

In a perfect world, this would be a celebratory post thanking all of you for all of the support I've been shown over the last 7 months.  I'd be excited about being cancer-free, and you all would be excited about no longer having to read my overly dramatic writing style. 

The blog ends when cancer ends. 

So the blog continues. 

I'll get into the emotional/mental aspect of what this "new" diagnosis means to me and what it means going forward, but I know many of you had this date circled, and I want to get the information out there. 

A recent PET scan shows a considerable amount of new cancer in my chest, "relapse" or "refractory" cancer, it's called. In Hodgkin's Lymphoma patients, this happens in less than 10% of them--so at least I'm special. 

Long story short, it isn't good. 

Good news, though, is that my doctors are still classifying it as "curable." That is a very important distinction. The aim of all I'm about to take on is to cure the disease--not just treat it, slow it down, or extend life with it. The idea is to eradicate it. 

Which makes sense, given the dramatic nature of the treatment. 

I'll begin with two months of relatively mild chemotherapy. It won't affect my life a great deal as the side effects are mild. 

I'm going to use these two months to get as healthy as I can, because after I finish these two cycles, I'll undergo BEAM Chemotherapy accompanied by a Stem Cell Transplant, and will spend as much as 6 weeks hospitalized. 

In short, this is a nuclear option. Almost literally. 

My doctor described the treatment and transplant this way: 

"Imagine an island with lots of bad people, and a few good people. Then imagine taking all of the good people away from the island. Then imagine nuking that island, letting it heal, and bringing the good people back."

The treatment is so harsh, that should I come out on the other end of it, I'll have to be re-vaccinated. 

Yes, as in the vaccines you receive as a child. 

It's almost like I'm a malfunctioning nintendo console...the docs are taking the game out of me, blowing in it, and hitting the "reset" button. (Only older people will get this reference). 

The odds of success are in my favor, but as I've learned now--there are no guarantees when it comes to beating this fucking disease. 

That's where we are. I'll have more details and will probably get into how I actually feel about all this, especially about a month+ hospitalization and the insanely intense treatment I have in store for me....but I'm going to stop myself here, because I'm a pretty angry person right now. 

I'm going to be fine. 

For 48 hours though, my attitude is something like:

Sorry for the language. 

No I'm not. 

Also, I think my doctor voted for W based on his analogy.