Chris Writes Stuff

Hurricanes have a dot in the center where there are no clouds, no wind, and no rain.  When a hurricane travels directly over you, there is a brief, sunny pause in the mayhem and destruction.  Then the calm passes and the storm resumes.  That dot is known as the eye of the storm. If cancer and treatment is a hurricane, then right now is the eye of the storm.  In the past: chemotherapy and radiation.  In the future: chemotherapy and surgery.  But right now I'm in the middle of an unpoisoned, uncut, unstabbed, sunny stretch of freedom.  The symptoms from the tumor are gone.  Chemo and radiation have shrunk it down and now the pipes don't get clogged. 💩  The symptoms from chemo and radiation have also faded. ☢️  I no longer feel like I've spent the last week eating vindaloo and jalapeños. 🌶 Chemotherapy is like banging your head against a brick wall... it feels really good when you stop.  Right now I feel great! Shenanigans! ...

I've had a half-written post in front of me for weeks.  It took that long for me to figure out why I couldn't seem to write something decent.  A month after trying to write this post, I've figured out what the problems were.  I'm determined to post this just to break through the block, but I don't think it's going to be any good. First, chemotherapy is making me dumber.  Everybody has that moment where they can't remember a word.  Luckily, it wasn't a common occurrence for me.  My problem wasn't finding the words to express myself... it was what I chose to express and when and where and to whom. 👞→👄 I even used big words like colloquialism and schadenfreude.  These days, I can't go more than a few hours without reaching for a word and coming up empty.  It's terrifying and I devoutly hope it's temporary.  Note: 'devoutly' isn't quite the right word.  Neither is 'sincerely'.  The correct choice eludes me.  At least ...

It's Friday and I feel great. Relatively. If you had told me 3 months ago that I would feel like this and describe it as 'great' I'd have though you were crazy.  But context is a powerful thing.  Compared to 96 straight hours of nausea and a week of painful cold sensitivity... I feel great!   I'm tired and my sense of taste still hasn't fully recovered.  I'm weak and slow and my brain gets mushy.  But I haven't been poisoned in almost 2 whole weeks.  Context! Also, it helps that the CT scan and radiation oncology consult went very well.  The oral and intravenous contrast were appropriately awful.  (Next time I'm bringing a bottle of tequila and a lime to help with the oral contrast.)  But the results were good.  The tumors have responded to the chemotherapy and everything else behaved appropriately.  This is what all the doctors said would happen and they also said I'd be cured at the end of the therapy.  So it's...

Phase 1 treatments are done.  I have another week to recuperate from the 4th and final biweekly dose of FOLFOX and then we charge into Phase 2.  Like a horde of tiny, intravascular, toxic, radioactive stormtroopers.  " For Great Justice! " I'm not gonna lie, Phase 1 really kicked my ass.  For example, I'm sitting here at 0500 on Sunday morning because insomnia.  I guess I'm making up for the more than 18 hours per day I was getting while the chemo was kicking my butt last week. Friday I woke up without nausea.  Small victories.  Saturday we went on a family bike ride.  It was three blocks each way and I was exhausted.  If my energy levels don't improve, I can always go sailing... just like Bob. My energy levels after FOLFOX.  Objects in photo may be cuter. Let's recap the journey so far: Phase 1: FOLFOX dosed every other Monday with a 48 hour hookup and a Neulasta Stabber™ as the cherry on top.  Effectively plu...

The chemotastic rollercoaster ride continues.  Let's start with the good news: The girls are coming home from Disney World tonight.  I can't wait to hear the stories and feel the hugs.   An amazing couple of guys came and installed a sump pump in my basement last Sunday.  Yesterday (April 13th) was the first day since March 20th that my basement was dry. The Mama Bird who lives outside my front door laid 3 more eggs for a total of 4 and continues to sit at her nest when I'm not bugging her. My Flexible Sigmoidoscopy last week showed a significant tumor response to the chemotherapy.  It was done without sedation so I was able to see the actual tumor on screen.  It's ugly, but smaller than it was.  Side note: don't worry about not being able to have anything to drink before your unsedated procedure.  An awake FlexSig is a more effective stimulant than a cup of coffee.  Like chugging a quart of espresso. 😮 Now, the bad news: ...

First, a disclaimer.  I've been riposting hardship with humor for as long as I can remember.  It's my healthiest coping mechanism and I've managed to defuse some gnarly situations with it.  I've even managed to find the humor in cancer and chemotherapy.  I can usually step back and look at the human condition and point and laugh at the insanity of it all.  But I don't think this post is going to be funny at all.  More Melpomene; less Thalia. On the bank of the Delaware River (not pictured: Melpomene, Thalia) Today (Thursday, April 6) my kids fly to Disney World.  Many months ago, my mom and her good friends Helen & Erik decided it was time for a joint family trip to Disney.  All the grandkids on both sides would go, along with parents and of course grandparents (Mom, Helen & Erik).  It was going to be a three-generation, epic journey to the Mouse House.  The trip was planned out in excruciating detail (as Disney vacations ...

Last week was delightfully uneventful.  The effects of the chemo faded and I continued to fight off a lingering cough.  Nobody threw up on anything and there were no stabbings by either objects or people. Anna & Lydia being uneventful Now begins the second round of four in the first phase of chemo.  Six weeks from now this type of chemotherapy will be behind me and I will be getting ready to start the second phase which includes radiation (finally.... Superpowers!) Today I'm getting the FOLFOX  regimen.  Side effects include cold sensitivity, peripheral neuropathy and a metallic taste. Tastes "slightly metallic" Monday is the Big Deal.  I spend 5 hours at the Cancer Center while they give me boluses (concentrated doses) of both chemo and medications to counteract the side-effects of the chemo.  Once the boluses are done, they connect me to a pump and I get 48 hours .  Unfortunately, neither Eddie nor Nick have shown up ...