Haunted by Calista Flockhart

My life is playing out on Brothers & Sisters. For those of you who don’t watch, Kitty (Calista Flockhart) a high powered politico was diagnosed with cancer about 5 episodes ago. They admirably avoided the “very special episode” crap and have dealt with issues of treatment, family and the internal mental game with particularly eerie insight. Someone on the writing staff must surely be a survivor or a close caregiver. Anyhoo, I was particularly happy and freaked out to watch the latest episode where Kitty chooses to shave her head and go the wig route. She has a remarkable moment where she just stares at herself and her hair in the mirror, as if taking one last look at her “normal” self before buzzing her noggin. I feel like I have that moment every morning. Despite my “the Donald” do, I’m too chicken shit to shave my head and move on.

For a while, she contemplates stopping treatment. (We’ve all been there.) Her family is incredulous. Only then does she let the “brave patient” facade drop and truly confess the strains of side effects to her Mother. Mom is embarrassed and sad to learn she had no real idea of what her daughter was suffering, despite sharing a home with her. I realized that I can also be guilty of an overly sunny report to my loved ones. I firmly believe a positive outlook is crucial to healing, but I could probably stand to be a bit more honest about the downside as well. How else do folks know how and when to help?

I also realize that lots of folks read my blog for some sense of commeradarie in the travails of treatment. Maybe a peek at what to expect from a similar regimen can eliminate some of the fear of the unknown rather than depress someone about what’s to come?

So, here’s my current line up of side effects. I list and detail these not to complain, but just to share and let people in a bit on my day to day.

To begin: I’m on a regimen of Folfuri every two weeks. That’s a drip of irinotecan, leukovorin, and avastin followed by 40 hours of 5FU on a portable pump. Overall, its way less awful for me than Folfox which involved oxiliplatin. Oxiliplatin is Satan Juice.

Schnoz: Every time I blow my nose, there’s blood involved. Sometimes a little, sometimes a minor nose bleed that stops quickly. Odd, but not a big deal.

Hair: Its thinning and thinning and thinning some more. I risk a sunburned scalp if I go out without a scarf, hat or my fab new wig. And its thinning everywhere. Lets just say….free Brazilian.

Mouth: Oh the mouth sores. These internal canker sore-type things are truly sucky. I had a couple on my tongue that brushed the sharp edges of my teeth whenever I spoke or ate. Ow. They make it hard to eat in terms of pain and a general oogie feeling that hangs around. And the medicated mouth rinse might actually be ickier than the sores themselves. Imagine BenGay in your mouth. Very weird.

Throat: For about two days in each cycle, I feel like I have 2 big lumps in my upper throat area. It makes it hard to swallow and I have to really really chew everything I eat. Major gulping of beverages as well. My doc admits to being “stumped” on this one. Alrighty then…good thing it always fades away.

Skin: Here’s a freaky one. My palms and the bottom of my feet peel as if recovering from a nasty sunburn. Sometimes it peels to a deep layer and my poor tootsies are red and raw-ish. Moisturizer definitely helps.

I’m also getting very sensitive around the area surrounding my port. I have major owies where the repeated use of tape has pulled away my skin. I’m totally putting my foot down tomorrow and making the nurses find a solution to this. I’m not putting tape on scabs. Duh.

I also used to get tiny pimples on the right side of my face and neck on the day after treatment. It seems the culprit was Decadron, the steriod that I get in my pre-meds. I asked doc to eliminate this from my druggy cocktail and the zits promptly cleared up. #nozitsatfortyWIN

Armpits: This one is fun. While I am free of hair in the pit department, I have developed zits in the region. I learned that it is not uncommon to develop small cysts in the area, but luckily I don’t have any. Just armpit pimples. Yay.

Belly: I’ve lost all muscle strength in my torso, so extended walking or standing can leave me a bit achy or sore. As far as nausea goes, mine is pretty well controlled by drugs. I feel most queasy on my last day of the pump and the day after, but it doesn’t interfere with my diet much. Lately though, I’m getting slightly queasy on days later in my cycle. Probably to be expected after 10 bouts with this chemo cocktail, but I plan to ask doc about this too.

Butt: Hemorrhoids, anal fissures, constipation, diarrhea, rectal bleeding – you name an ailment of the ass, I’ve had it. I’ve learned to alter my diet a bit in different phases in my cycle, but ultimately I have a regular battle with irregularity. Usually some Immodium, Tucks and a soak in the tub will clear up the issue. However, I have had 3-4 episodes of blinding, sweating, cringing pain over the period of an hour or more on the throne. Those days have been the worst in my entire experience of treatment. I’ve been planning a blog specifically dedicated to these horrific scenes, but its just so damn embarrassing I keep putting it off. This coming from a gal who has detailed the day she crapped her pants. Trust me. Its ugly.

Overall fatigue: This is a biggy. On day two of my chemo, I pretty much just sleep all day. I’ve come to accept this for the most part, but it freaks my husband out. Seriously, I’m awake 4 hours max. Its very disorienting and freaky. I also have a hard time falling asleep – mostly I just can’t get my brain to shut off. A groovy drug called Ativan helps a bunch, but my hours are still irregular and hard to manage. Most days, I need a short nap. Some days, I just can’t seem to wake up at all. This takes a progressive toll on me and I see this as my biggest challenge long term. I have a feeling exercise is key, but the ass groove in my couch isn’t shrinking.

Brain: Here’s where the real stamina is required. Yes, all of these side effects are uncomfortable but they are by no means unbearable. (Except, of course, the occasional hour long butt battle.) Everyday, I try to push myself to do at least one thing I don’t feel like doing. Sometimes its just moving from the bed to the couch, but its something. I need to add some exercise to my routine at this point, but I’m not having much luck. Hopefully I’ll have the motivation and discipline soon. Right now, I’m a mostly unapologetic lard ass.

Well….uh…there ya go.
How am I feeling? Now ya know.

But please know, none of this is too much for this Tumor Assassin. As long as I can down the occasional Bourbon; I’m good.

Peace out.

Booty Patrol

Individuals with hemorrhoids should not ride bikes.

Never the less, it was time for this post surgery gal to get off her duff and try to exercise. So, dusted off my bike helmet and took a little ride round the hood. Checked out our new Sausage Shoppe. (No double entendre here, it really is a shop that sells sausage.) Peeked at fancy cooking stuff. (Been coveting a Shun cleaver. ) Contemplated Cold Stone for lunch. (Hmmm…probably counter-productive.) And generally enjoyed myself. Yes,  I panted like a 15-year-old boy surrounded by Venezuelan Ms. Universe contestants, but still glad I got out on this odd Indian summer Chicago Sunday. Nice to feel kinda normal. Especially since my helmet hides my “The Donald” looking remnants of hair.

I also got my fab new wig yesterday and had a date night with my hubby and 2 fellow foodie wine pro pals. Again, felt like my old self. No nausea. Ate a freakish amount of rich food, split 3 bottles of wine (after several aperitif cocktails!),  and woke up late, but not hung over. Now I’m cooking for a dear friend who is caring for his Mom, post surgery. I actually get to help someone else! What a nice change of pace. If I can have mostly days like this, the side effects are not so bad.

Suck it cancer; I’m livin large.

A Streetcar Named Dilaudid

Somehow, I have turned in to Blanche DuBois.

I spend lots and lots of time in the bathtub and I find myself suddenly dependent on the kindness of strangers. I’ve been quiet in the blogosphere for a while, trying to wrap my mental game around some new treatment and ongoing issues relating to chronic illness. Frankly, it blows. I’ve been in a moody place that isn’t particularly inspirational, heroic or even interesting so I just decided to keep my trap shut. But, I think I’ve figured out what’s made me particularly mopey and I think its important to share.

Accepting charity sucks.

There.

I said it.

I am EXCEPTIONALLY grateful for EVERYONE who had shown me profound kindness and generosity over the last 18 months. The outpouring of love and assistance has been truly inspirational. But. Accepting help and gifts and cash from your friends, family and radio fans is a very creepy feeling. I feel totally undeserving. Not because I’m a rotten person or anything, its just Marc and I have it so much better than most. We have great insurance. Marc has an impressive job with a supportive employer. I have access to many support organizations, simply by living in a major city. Somehow, I feel like I’m robbing the truly needy.

That being said, I’ve also learned that friends and family desperately want to “do” something to help. Sadly, they can’t make my disease go away or do chemo for me so many feel quite helpless, which sucks in its own way. In an effort to help loved ones who want to offer some comfort, I suggested they send Jewel or Target gift cards. I made an effort to ask for help, as loved ones have requested.This summer has been tough all over and we can always use stuff to make mine or Marc’s life just a tiny bit easier. I’ve treated myself to new bedding to keep me comfy and a wicked cool red grocery cart that I’m looking for ways to trick out. I’m planning to get a yoga mat and try to channel some pretzel healing karma or chi or whatever it is you get from Yogis that don’t carry pic-a-nic baskets. I’m even flying to Vegas to watch my pal run her 50th marathon in 50 states courtesy of miles from a terrific pal with miles to share. My dear pals Tim and Katherine even set up a donation website where you can donate toward my future care. I’m keeping it all in a savings account, just in case I hit a cap on my insurance pay outs or I have access to a surgical procedure out of network. Those are just a few examples; there are many many more.

Having a bit of a financial cushion is extremely comforting as I look at the insurance statements that roll in every day. But I can’t separate the guilt and even a bit of shame for accepting other peoples hard earned dough. I get it. I asked people for help. But, its still weird being on the receiving end. What’s worse is I haven’t written a single thank you note. I’ve saved names and contact info, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. Not that I’m not incredibly grateful; its just so embarrassing somehow. I feel enormously selfish for not offering a simple written “thanks” to all the generous souls who have offered numerous forms of support, but I’m truly at a loss for words. (I know, it seems impossible.) And the longer time passes, the more rotten I feel.

Please know I appreciate every single gesture, note, card and check. Its just every time I try and muster the mojo to start writing, I stare at the haunting blank note cards until I can’t take it anymore. Then I dip in to my stash of narcotics and soak in the tub. Its the truth and it ain’t pretty. I’m not trying to excuse myself from the responsibility of gratitude or make anyone feel awkward. I just wanted to share my feelings in an effort to explain my discomfort and out of character behavior. And I don’t imagine my feelings are unusual. I’ll bet plenty of tumorous folks out there feel similarly strange accepting assistance in a variety of forms.

So, please don’t think I’m an ungrateful bastard. I’m just embarrassed and tongue-tied. Probably a little high as well. I promise I’ll try again, once I dry off.

Funny Cancer TV coming to Showtime

Hey cancer peeps! I just learned that a pal of mine from college just got a new show green-lighted on Showtime. Its called “The C Word” for now and sets out to be a dark comedy about a young woman with cancer. And dig this…Laura Linney stars. How cool is that?!?

Darlene Hunt is the Writer/Producer and a wonderful chick. We were in the same acting class in college and I can personally testify to her amazing talent and fabulous sense of humor. I can only hope she’ll do a cameo or two as well, because she’s so freakin funny on screen.

Anyway, if you don’t already have Showtime, you should subscribe when the show airs. (Lord knows us tumory folk can’t have enough TV. Plus you should really watch Weeds. Its terrific and deals with another YAWC hot topic, Pot!)

Stay tuned!

Vampire Port

I awoke this morning to find that my port has been sucking my blood in my sleep. This was disturbing. The blood in my line, nearly down to the pump, was bright red. Being 8 am in the morning, I immediately starting freaking out and rushed into the living room to grab the phone. Unbeknownst to me, we had carpet cleaner guys in the house and I tred directly across the newly cleaned and wet area rug. As you can imagine, this earned me a serious WTF look from hubby.

Once I realized my error, I simply explained “I have blood in my line and I’m freaking out…..Sorry.” Always understanding, he says “Oh. I get it. No worries.” So, I tromp back to the bedroom, circumventing the rug, to call my Home Health Care nurse, truly hoping NOT to have to go to the ER. Its the weekend AND the Air and Water Show downtown which will mean thousands of SUVs creeping around looking for non-existent street parking. It would really and truly suck.

On the phone, I am cheerfully connected to Nurse Marta, who hears from me regularly and has a sunny voice. “Hi Marta, its Chris. Um, I just woke up and I have a lot of blood in my line.” One thing about nurses. It takes a lot to get a rise out of them. I’ve always suspected if I called and said “Hi Marta, its Chris. I have a massive head wound and I’m pretty sure it was caused my this meteor that just crashed through my roof.”, she’d give me nothing short of a typical coach’s advice. “Ok honey. Throw some dirt on it. Shake it off.”

Marta quickly eased my fears with typical aplomb. “Oh, that happens sometimes. Its just the way you sleep on it.” (somehow isn’t always the patient’s fault!) She asks me if the pump is still running and on the same schedule as when I went to sleep. (yes and yes). Is the bag of chemo still deflating? (another yes) “Its fine. Now that you’re up the drug will clean the blood out of your line. If it isn’t gone in a couple of hours, give me a call.” I hung up very relieved that I didn’t have to navigate soccer moms and overstimulated children downtown. That is until I realized that my oxygen tinged blood was now flowing BACK INTO ME. Huh. I guess that’s ok.

Hubby sticks his head in the door.
“Did I overhear that everything is OK?”
“Yeah. My port just has a secret life as a Vampire.”
“Want me to go to Starbucks?”
“Yes, please.”

and so begins my day.

Serving up Sangria tonight @ Young Adults w/ Cancer Hootenany

Got Tumors? Cancer doesn’t have to suck while your in the prime of your life. Join Kairol Rosenthal, author of Everything Changes: The Insiders Guide to Cancer in your 20’s and 30’s for a book signing at Women & Children First tonight in Andersonville. Also on hand will be Jonny Imerman of Imerman’s Angels, Matthew Zachary of The Stupid Cancer Show and ME serving up Sangria and talking about my funny little cancer blog: Chemo and Vino.

August 12

Women & Children First Bookstore

5233 N. Clark Street

7:30pm

Sponsored by i[2]y

Here’s my Sangria recipe:

2 750 ml bottles cheap, but not sucky, dry white wine

1.5 c brandy

1 c sweetened lemonade (I like Neuman’s Own)

10 oz frozen peaches

10 oz frozen raspberries

sparkling water and/or sugar to taste

Steep the fruit in the brandy and lemonade in the fridge for a few hours if possible. Combine chilled wine and brandy. Taste and sweeten if necessary. Ladle into glasses and add a splash of sparkling water to each cup just before serving.

The Port Tan

I have captured a new look in Chemo Chic. The Port Tan. Those of you who sport an unintended Farmer Tan or any other white on tan pattern that doesn’t exactly jive with your clothing lines can understand.

Back on the 5FU, I had forgotten that “sun sensitivity” thing and didn’t lather up before I walked two blocks to the train on a cloudy day. My pasty white Irish skin was now that blush pink that makes you look constantly winded and flushed. But what really sealed the deal, was a v neck shirt at an outdoor event with my port peaking out reminding everyone that I’m toxic. “Screw it. Let ‘em see!” I thought. Until I got unhooked from my pump today.

 Now my décolletage is a paler golden color set off by a giant glaring white square just below my right clavicle. It is nicely trimmed in a pink halo of irritation from the adhesive and has already started picking up lint from my shirt for added texture and color. Yes, this is The Port Tan. A stylish square brand that says, “Hey look! I could be even paler!”

 The bright side of all of this is; I’m actually outdoors. Doing stuff. Which is mostly better than sitting on my damn couch, popping narcotics and watching cartoons. Mostly.

better days

Hi gang!

What a difference a few days can make! Today I spent a few hours working at UIC, did a bit of grocery shopping, met my pal Jess and Marc for dinner and started laundry all by myself! I had a good 2 hours on the train, and while my eyes did water a bit , it was just because of the smell of a homeless guy next to me and not tears.

My “fake patient” job at UIC is a great outlet for me right now. I feel like I’m giving back by helping train doctors and making them more aware of their beside manor and compassion. I get to act and go somewhere else mentally for a few hours a day, while still earning a bit of cash. The part where I have to wear a hospital gown is kind of a drag, but I am a pro now in tying and draping those things for maximum coverage. Mostly, its nice to be actually doing something and contributing to society; not to mention our household income.

Speaking of cash. Some incredibly thoughtful friends have created a website to raise funds for my medical expenses and ongoing care. I am both touched and grateful for the outpouring of kindness and support. Take a look at the site here  if you like. I am overwhelmed by people’s generosity. I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to have the freedom to just order pizza, when Marc and I don’t feel like cooking. Or to stock up at Target on jumbo sized paper towel packs and detergent so that we don’t have to spend all of our time together running small errands. I’ve even got a cute, red, rolling grocery cart on the way to help me with day to day shopping. All of these things make our life just that little bit easier, but it makes a huge impact overall.

Marc and I are also going to open a special savings account to store contributions toward my ongoing care. I am keeping an eye on clinical trials and new surgical procedures that may require out of pocket expenses and/or travel. Again, it is just such a wonderful feeling to know that I will most likely have the freedom and resources to pursue this kind of treatment. Thanks to all of you, I have the luxury of just focusing on me and my eviction of these tiny invadors. It still sucks to have cancer, but I couldn’t ask for a better crew of folks to help me kick this thing’s ass.

chemo plan, tub retreats and the occasional weep on the bus

Hey there!

Sorry I’ve been a bit incommunicado. I’m just having a couple of really rotten days in a row and didn’t feel like doing much of anything other than sitting in the tub or doing crosswords. I’ve also been a bit weepy for some damn reason when I talk on the phone, so I’ve turned the ringer off my phone. I dont really feel depressed or anything; mentally I’m actually as ok as can be reasonably expected, but I feel a bit wacky in the hormonal dept. Weird.

Anyhoo – I did meet w/ Dr. Fab Shoes and she laid out for me the chemo plan. Its almost identical to what I did before, so I’m not really scared or freaked. Difference is the oxiliplatin that gave me all the neuropathy and cold problems has been nixed and a new one called Erbitux ( I think) is probably swapped in. The docs actually have to do some kind of test on my tumor to determine which one. (Yes. They still HAVE it. My ginormous ovarian blob is in a freakin jar or somthing somewhere at NWMH. How creepy is that?!?) As for side effects this round, I am more likely to lose my hair, but its not a guarantee that I will. She just wants me to be prepared. Likewise, a lot of folks develop an acne like rash on their face, back and or chest. Some people get it very mild, others its pretty nasty. I guess I just have to see where I fall. But they have a dermatoligist on staff whose whole entire job is to deal with patients who have side effects from this one particular drug. (Talk about specialized!) Other than that, its the same every 2 weeks I go in, drippy drippy for 3 or so hours, and then go home with the fanny pack of the infamous 5FU.

The docs are also really trying to help me with my mysterious digestive problems and giving me some new things to try, plus a meeting with the dietician. I finally feel like they are taking this thing serioiusly, so I feel more at ease there. Working theory is that these evil little tumors sprinkled about my peritonal wall may also be peppering my bowels. It only takes one tiny guy to sit on a nerve or something to cause irritation and discomfort. Unfortunately, like I’ve mentioned before, they can’t SEE these mofos. So its still just a guess. No matter what, the treatment to deal with these bastards is chemo, so the hope is that chemo will shrink and kill these guys and I’ll get some relief.

There was also mention of a clinical trial that doc might get me in on. If it is ready to start in the next week, she’s gonna give me the skinny on it and see if I wanna participate. However, I’m anxious to start treatment and there is some sense of urgency on the doc’s side that I get going quickly as well, so unless this one is all set to rock n roll like next week, I’m gonna skip it.

Likewise, there is a newish surgery out there that actually removes these tumors from the peritonal wall. The docs call it “shake n bake”. (nice, huh?) Basically, they open you up and scrape off as much of a layer of the peritoneal wall as they can, then they pour a chemical chemo liquid along the wall and coat your guts with it. NWMH doesn’t actually perform the surgery at this time and Dr Fab Shoes thinks the results are still too mixed for me to consider it just yet. She has refererd some other of her patients to another hospital for it (MD Anderson, I think) but its her opinion that chemo as a first line of attack is better. The up sides of this surgery, when it goes well, is that you are indeed cancer-free. And many people recover well. The down side is that many people recover pretty poorly, with enormous amounts of pain and a lot of general desenitization. (not enjoying food, activity, etc). I agree, that this isn’t right for me at this time, but its comforting to know that this procedure exists. My hope is that the technique will continue to improve and that should I need it someday, it will be less risky.

As for “how am I doing?” well, honestly I’m a bit weepy here and there. Whenever I get in the shower or, oddly enough on the bus, I get teary. (Granted, my local bus is enough to reduce a healthy person to tears, but I digress.) Seeing the docs with the “Pallitive Care” titles in my room was freaky and I actually feel like a sick person on occassion which really starles me. However, I think the blubbering is probably good. Its the first couple of days I’ve had time alone, so its not exactly unexpected, and I do feel a release everytime it happens. Its mostly frustration filled and not a profound sadness, so I think my noggin is just clearing out the leftover angst and trying to move forward. I really truly believe that things will get better and this is just a more than reasonable funk I need to kick over the next few days. I’m going to my support group tonight to get some quality time with my tumor peeps which should help, too.

I have a high school speech/theatre reunion this weekend, that I’m actually looking forward to. I think it will be fun to see my drama nerd pals and NOT talk about cancer for a while. Likewise, I do want to get some fun scheduled asap. I really want to go to some outdoor concerts, ballgames and horse races and stuff, so I’m scoping the various calendars and figuring out what we can swing financially and what jives with my energy level. Today’s project is pork shoulder in a crock pot. I’ll kepp you updated with other lofty goals as they develop.

What’s next?

My release from the hospital actually went as planned (just so you know I do some things in regular fashion) and I got to sleep in my own bed Sunday night. My great pal Mandi transported me, Marc, my Mom and a freakishly large suitcase back home where Marc had spent hours cleaning and organizing for our return. Mom got settled in to our guest room/office and we set out on figuring how to live as Man, Mom in Law, and Druggy Gimp for the forseeable future. Words have been exchanged and toes were trodden, but there have also been laughing fits, nice meals, and crossword puzzle management to fill our time together.

I know most of you are interested in the WTF part of my last post, so I’ll dig right in. As I mentioned, cancer was discovered in my peritonal wall and it is impossible to treat surgically. I learned that there is no scan technology available at this time to see these kinds of tumors in this specific area, so no errors were made. Obviously, my docs would have never sent me in to surgery if there were a way to detect this type of cancer from the outside.

Docs have explained that chemo is now the best option for treatment. It is a way to manage these tumors and ideally shrink them or at least keep them from growing or spreading. As you all know, I responded to chemo very well last time and did not experience a particularly difficult time with side effects. It wasn’t exactly a cake walk, but it wasn’t horrible.

The big hurdle here is that my planned procedure had been a possibly “curative” option. In other words, that surgery had the possibility of removing all of the cancer from my body and possibly eliminating it long term. My current situation has no “curative” option. My cancer is certainly “treatable” and even “manageable”, but anything that looks like total remission or a cure is not in the picture.

So, this is not great news. Not gonna sugar coat it. However, cancer really doesn’t have a true “curative” option for anyone in the big scheme of things. I knew from the day I was diagnosed that my particular strain of colon cancer has a very high reoccurance rate and that it would likely be a challenge I faced on and off for the rest of my life. In fact, 5 or more years ago doctors didn’t have any effective treatment for a gal in late stage like me, so I’m grateful for all of the technology I’ve benefitted from in just the past year.

Chemo it is. Dr. Fab (my oncologist) explained to me that cancer will now be a chronic disease I will manage, like other folks who deal with diabetes, heart disease, etc. It takes vigilance on the dr’s part and some lifestyle changes on mine, but there is action that can and will be taken. Dr. Fab explained to me that she can actually keep me on chemo indefinitely and that she has patients who have been in ongoing treatment with her for years and years. I have met a couple of her patients who have been in chemo with her for 2 + years and honestly, they don’t look bad. They are both older than me and seem very put together and used to the routine whenever I see them. I have a model for how life can co-exist with treatment and it’s not just barf buckets and head scarves.

I didn’t get to chat in detail with Dr. Fab about my drugs or frequency of treatment etc, but I have an appointment to discuss all of that in two weeks, once my belly has healed up and I can better take a chemo punch. She mentioned that she is cheffing up a totally new combo for me that will probably not include Oxiliplatin. (the drug that gave me the freakish sensitivity to cold) Reality is, I live in Chicago and that won’t work for me long term. Its details like this that make me feel confident that we can create a plan that provides treatment strong enough to keep my cancer at bay and still keep a manageable quality of life.

When you ask “How are you?” I know you aren’t really referring to the pain, but more my mental game. Of course I would have rather the surgery went as planned and I’d be anxiously awaiting my next scan. But you know what? Now I’m going to start chemo and spend time anxiously awaiting my next scan. That part never changes for a cancer patient and I got used to it a while ago. I have friends who get scanned every three months, never knowing if their life will be upended for another 3 months while they do their 5th, 7th, or 14th surgery. While indefinite chemo blows, at least its predictable. I will eventually figure out my rhythm of good and bad day cycles and discover new hurdles, but its not a complete drop from society with little warning like surgery. I’m not naive that my life or “new normal” won’t have some limitations, but I’m pretty sure I can take it. And if treatment starts to really make me miserable, that’s when I chat with Dr. Fab and we make adjustments. I always have the power to say no to anything that makes me feel truly awful.

I would like to point out that progress in treating cancer is made everyday. There could certainly come a day in a month, a year, or more that a surgical “curative” option may become available. We plan to stay updated and condsider this and all other developments that come along, without making ourselves crazy chasing lizard pee elixirs from Peru or magnetic underwear.

I view this new development, not unlike my diagnosis. Its just one of those crappy bad luck things that sometimes happens to people and this time it was me. I quit pondering words like “fair” a really long time ago because I find it completely unproductive. No one “deserves” to get cancer. Its not “fair” for anyone to be challenged by such a montrous disease, but I am, in this specific way, and we move on.

I’ve seen every episode of The West Wing and I’ve always loved President Barlett’s use of “What’s next?” There’s a hostage sitaution in the US Embassy in Columbia? “What’s next?” Call in the military big wigs, get advice, create a plan, and make it happen. There’s no wringing the hands over what we can’t change, no rehashing to determine cause or blame, no stewing over how we will ever go on. Just get information, evaluate, and take action. And when the crisis is contained, “What’s next?” because there is always something new to be dealt with. Pointing fingers or asking why gets you nowhere. It just keeps you from enjoying and living in the here and now.

What’s next for me is chemo. And Ravinia picnics. And a 50th marathon celebration with Sue in Vegas. And pork chops.

See ya there.