How the hell

A little consistency as far as my reactions to chemo from treatment to treatment was a bit too much to ask for apparently. 

After day 1 of what are now 2 day treatments, I hit another new low! Woohoo! Not here to complain, but in the interest of documenting this experience, which is what I set out to do in the first place...there was Gratuitous vomiting. Constant fever. Shivers, sweats. Weird baby eye goop. Cramps. The whole nine yards. It was a nasty 24 hours--nasty enough that my treatment scheduled for Thursday had to be pushed back to Friday, which is where I'm on my way to now. 

Only thing better than chemo is more chemo HAHAHAH AMIRITE.

Again, up to this point, I've only had a handful of what I would consider extremely unpleasant experiences--the rest falling under the "blah this kinda sucks" label. That's a good ratio. 

It's hard not to get angry about it while it's happening and my stomach is being rung out. 

Not mad I'm sick and not from a place of self pity, but mad as in damn, how is this still the best option? Is this the best we've got, science? It obviously is, and if it works, then I'm all about it, but jeeze. 

It's just cancer. Still feel lucky I even get to experience all this. Especially the nasty stuff. 

I don't feel like I'm in a "fight." Just along for ride. 

I also don't feel like surviving cancer is supposed to be easy--certainly not all the time. 

Thank you to everyone who reaches out with well wishes and kind words. I have the best family, friends, girlfriend, co-workers, boss, and dog a guy could ask for. 

I'm a lucky dude.

Again, I didn't say it was an interesting blog post. 

Chemo number ? today, then ?+1 tomorrow

I've lost count. Sure, it would be pretty easy to get the exact number, but that would take a lot of scrolling and counting. 

Also: 

Numbers bad. Words good.

I think it's 15 and 16 coming up, I don't know, but the point is, damn. That isn't even that many times, especially in comparison to what I know others go through, and I'm pretty damn sick of it. 

Not fed up. Not depressed or demoralized. Not angry (well, kind of angry).  Not dreading every time this day comes around and cursing the fates or falling into "woe is me. "

I'm fine. Today just happens to be the day. I'll do what I'm told. I'll spend 8 hours at the Cancer Center for a 2 hour treatment. 

I'll be friendly to the nurses and doctors who do an awesome job and go out of their way to make me as comfortable as possible. 

I'll nod and smile at and make small talk with other patients. We'll roll our eyes at the wait time and share what we're comfortable sharing about our diagnosis. 

Which in my case isn't usually very much. There's an incredibly weird dynamic in there--and maybe it's unique to me because I'm a weirdo, but there's this strange feeling--shame--that I feel when sharing my diagnosis with someone who I perceive to be "worse off" than I. 

I hope the readers of this blog like Game Of Thrones, or this is gonna seem pretty weird.

 I've had it drilled into my head that I have "good cancer," so I feel sheepish explaining my problems to the man with prostate cancer, the woman with lung cancer, the woman my age with breast cancer, etc. 

I realize it's silly, I didn't ask for this and neither did they and we didn't have any control over it and I shouldn't feel ashamed yada yada yada.

Who, me? Oh um, I have the fun one. The fun cancer. So...let's just talk about you.

 I know it's weird. So is Cancer. Hey I'm just gonna hang out here and multiply extremely rapidly, cool? k cool. 

Shocker, I've gotten off track. 

I tend to get lost mid-blog post.

I'll go down to Ann Arbor today, listen to sports talk radio on the way. I'll stop and get coffee. It all seems like a normal day until the moment my door closes behind me in the parking lot. 

I'm in control of things up until that moment and can still exercise free will. I could turn around and go home. 

 I can limit the size and scope of my predicament by using humor, belittling it, or just ignoring it. 

"It's only as big and scary as I permit it to be," right?

Then the door closes, and:

Just--damn. 

 

 Go Science, go.

Chemo guy party boy---and lots of GIFs

I'm a little late to the game on this update, but I've been really busy and things are moving fast and I didn't have the time SO LAY OFF ME OKAY?!

Jusssssst kidding. I've been busy, but that's not the reason. The reason is mostly because I didn't want to think about it. 

I was told that this round of chemo would be "lighter" than the last round--that the side effects wouldn't be as severe and that I would feel better in general. Well, they were right! I can't say I felt great, but it was certainly a gigantic difference from the holy-shit-I'm-gonna-puke-up-my-intestines-I-can't-get-out-of-bed routine I "got used to" last round. 

So after back to back treatments on Wednesday and Thursday, while expecting to feel pretty awful, I found instead that I felt like a functioning human. 

One might say I even got a little cocky. 

And by "might" I mean "definitely." 

I decided I felt good enough to stand up in one of my best friends weddings. I'm very happy I did--life events like these only come along a few times in a close circle of friends, and I wanted to be a part of it. 

I mean, who am I to deny the guests the entertainment of my dancing at such an event?

However, after 5 hours outside for a ceremony and pictures on an 85 degree day in a 3 piece tuxedo, this was me:

 I tried to suck it up, and made a half-hearted attempt to be fun at the reception, but it became apparent pretty quickly that I was going to be punished for my decision. 

The entire car ride home was essentially non-stop this:

Thankfully, I didn't start producing anything with my heaves until I got home. I ran a low grade fever consistently for the next few days, couldn't keep food down, was completely drained of any energy...it was probably the most uncomfortable and miserable I've been since I started this whole process. 

I thought I had hit bottom before, but was wrong. 

I hope it doesn't sound like I'm whining about it. I rebounded well after a few days and have been feeling fine since. The frustrating part for me is that I can't really blame chemo or cancer for how horrible I felt for those few days--it was completely my fault. 

Mr. Tough Guy bit off more than he could chew. I don't regret going to the wedding, I needed to be there...but I should have been smarter about it. 

At the end of the day, with another round of chemo coming up next week, I don't dread it (or dare I say fear it?) in the manner I did during ABVD. I think that my doctors called it and that this cocktail is easier on me. 

I'm not going to lose my hair or beard at the moment, so that's already a win. 

So I'm hoping that it was my arrogance, my "lack of respect" for the chemo and for cancer, and that I just need to not be such a moron, and learn to take it easy. I just know I never want to feel like that again--but I probably will.

Time will tell. Small price to pay. Yada yada yada.

In other pretty cool news, a handful of people at the UofM Cancer center came across this blog, and as a result I was approached by some folks who create the Cancer Center's publication Thrive. I guess they think I'm interesting and want to do a story of some kind--even being the "cover story" was mentioned. I fear they'll be disappointed, BUT--they are making a very smart call by wanting to involve Griswold in the photo shoot--so he should help me save face. 

As in "this guy is a dingus--but man that dog is cute."

So I'm excited about it, and I'll keep you all up to date. 

Don't worry, I won't forget you all when I'm famous. 

An update from the real reason you check this thing

You're all very nice, but it ain't the writing. 

Hi.

Why are your shoes on if we're not on a walk? 

Missed this goofball. 

We see that you're awake. That's nice. Put food in the bowl. 

First time in a while I've had the dog. Long story, but it should be a more regular occurrence going forward. Nothing's changed though--he still has no concept of personal space, is constantly happy (caught him wagging his tail in his sleep last night),  and that happiness is contagious. 

In my head, all dogs like to be close and cuddle and all that fun stuff, but I know that isn't true. This guy is special. Go get a shelter dog! 

Cancer is in the title of the blog too, but who cares about that today. Still there, still sucks, on its way out.  

Also, because she didn't believe me when I said I'd do it--this is my girlfriend who's prettier than I am. I'm very lucky . 

Living the high life

On day two, thanks to my frequent cancer rewards points, I've been upgraded to a luxurious private room with a bed. 

"Go ahead, Old Sport, take my room, if it pleases."

So yes. There is a bed.

And a poster of a pug puppy.

Next to the radioactive sharps container.

Above the radioactive trash can. 

Oh and there's also a sink with all the amenities. 

Living the life on day 2. 

Who's got it better than me? 

Really, it's pretty nice. 

I didn't say it was an interesting blog post. 

Chemo Day, round 2, day 1, cycle 1. Lucky number 13. 867, 5309.

And we're back at it. 

Where there was a ton of anxiety yesterday (I cleaned the house and organized things--not my favorite things to do--for like 4 hours), I'm pretty calm today. 

Just resigned to the fact that is what comes next. 

This is what I've been told to do, so

I'll do it, and let the science do it's thing.

Feeling a little sick, but it's all in my head. Or it's all in my stomach, because I stuffed my face with sushi last night. 

Probably a bad choice. 

So here we go. There's comfort in knowing it can't be as bad as it was at the end of the last round, or so I'm told, and so I hope. 

We'll see! 

No matter what, though, the first taste of chemo always looks like this:

Throwback notion. Also, America.

"Happiness consists in realizing it is all a great strange dream."

-Jack Kerouac

A while back, I wrote about a feeling I had: that I needed to "embrace" this situation and take it as it came, to learn from it. That even in the tougher moments, when it may be hardest to realize it, I'm fortunate and I'm experiencing something relatively few get to (have to). It was probably a pie in the sky notion. The kind of optimism that screams of a defense mechanism. 

Still, I think it's worthwhile. 

I've gotten away from that lately, I think. Lost it in the fog of frustration and anger and uncertainty. 

One way or another, this is happening. I have no control over basically everything that will occur and no control over the outcomes. What will happen will happen. 

I can control the choice to embrace the moments. Experience things. Resist the urge to turn on the auto-pilot, the apathy cruise control, and take it all in. 

It's probably a pie in the sky notion, but I think I'll give it a try again. I'm still angry, but anger only can carry you so far. 

I have a better family than I deserve. A beautiful, kind, patient girlfriend. Great friends. A great job. 

Time is limited for us all, cancer or not. Certainly not preaching--not at all. Just trying to remind myself not to waste any of this finite commodity. 

Happy 4th Y'all. 

America. 

"Good Cancer."

And so it continues. 

The growth in my chest more than quadrupled in size over a six week period. Needless to say, that's pretty drastic. Still, it's treatable. Still curable, in my doctors words. 

So we'll work with that. 

Next Wednesday, Chemo begins. I'll go Wednesday and Thursday, for two different drugs, and repeat the process every three weeks. This will continue until the cancer goes into remission--until it can be seen that it has stopped growing. 

Ya know what? Nope. You don't need a breakdown of exactly what's coming any more than I need to give it to you. It's coming. We're starting again. I'm sure I'll write about what I'm experiencing as it's happening, but to lay out what's coming...just, no. It's happening, and I'm along for the ride. 

All this shit that I wish wasn't going to begin again--everything that was supposed to be wrapped up by now because I was lucky enough to be diagnosed with "good cancer," will start again next week. If that sounds bitter, well, it is. 

"Good Cancer." 

What else is there to say? 

I can pretend I'm ready. I think I am, but who the hell knows. I feel myself about to puke when I just think about sitting in the infusion chair. Not a good sign. 

I'm not happy about it, but I don't need to be my own cheerleader. I won't pretend to be some seasoned veteran, it's only been a year. Still, I have a good idea of what lies ahead in the coming months. 

Chances are good it will suck at times, if not the entire time. 

I won't complain about it either. At least not any further. It's happening. It's not a dream--the slim chance I spoke about didn't come to fruition. 

I have it great. I'm here. Others are not--I think of them every single day. 

"Good Cancer."

We're starting again. 

And when it's done--whether it's this attempt to kill it off, or the next, or the one after that:

I'll be cancer free. 

And it will all be more than worth it. A small price to pay. 

And you won't have to read my rambling, wandering, nearly-incoherent, angry blog posts.