Two months out

As of March 27th it's been two months since the surgery. Since then, a lot has happened. I have had a port put in, I have taken the first chemo treatment, and I have gone back to work.

I wasn't particularly excited about any of these three events, but unfortunately, they all seem necessary. The port and the chemo for obvious reasons, and the return to work for several different reasons.

A couple nights after I had gone back to work, I had to walk to the annex to turn in some paperwork and when I got there, the captain of my shift and two of my sergeants were sitting and talking in the sergeant's office. They all asked how I was doing and how the surgery went and we got into a small discussion about it. We started talking about other people who had been off for extended periods and had talked eagerly about coming back to work.

In some ways, I didn't want to go back. Not because I'm lazy or anything, but because I got to enjoy sharing a bed with Kelly and not having to leave every night. Sleeping like a normal person was another nice perk. On the other hand though, going back was nice in a couple ways. When you're off work for as long as I was, you start to feel a bit useless. It's not like I could be at home just doing whatever I wanted. I had restrictions on how much I could lift and what I was allowed to do. It's no fun watching your wife go outside and pull snow off the roof or shovel the driveway while you sit inside.

Another nice thing about going back to work is that it gives a sense of returning to normalcy. It kind of gives the belief that even if you're not completely right yet, you're on the way. I talk about getting my life back all the time, simply meaning that I want to get back to the way things were before all this crap started. Being at work was the norm before my diagnosis, so going back to work makes it feel like I'm one step closer to “getting my life back.”

Tomorrow, I get the second chemo treatment, or as my wife said to me today, a quarter of the way done. As usual, she has found a way to put it into terms that makes it a little easier to take.

Throughout this blog, I have made mention of the fact that I have been lucky despite the diagnosis. Sometimes it's easy to forget that. I don't feel lucky when I know that I have a treatment coming up, or when I look in the mirror and see the bump on the left side of my chest where the port sits. I also don't feel lucky when I'm hooked up to the pump and everything that would normally require no effort or forethought, now requires me to have a plan for something as simple as getting out of bed to pee.

When I do forget though, I always seem to find a little reminder as to the fact that despite whatever troubles I might have, I am better off than a lot of people. Last week, my kids stayed with Kelly and I while their mom was out of town. I would get home from work and Kelly would have everyone up, dressed and fed. We would all pile in the car and I would drop the kids off at their respective schools and then take Kelly to work. On one stretch of road on the way to Kelly's work, there is a spot where there was a minor sink-hole last year. The hole has been filled, but the road is still dirt in that spot and it makes for a bumpy few feet. After taking that route twice, Kelly suggested an alternate route to avoid it. The morning that she suggested it was bitter cold. At the intersection where I would normally turn left to take Kelly, I went straight and it was there that I saw my reminder.

A man was pulling a sled with a small child in it across a parking lot. At least I think it was a small child. Like I said, it was bitterly cold that morning and all you could really see was a lump in the sled covered in blankets. The man was dressed in a coat, a winter hat and gloves and had the sled tied to him by a rope around his waist. Based on where they were, he had to have been heading to Lincoln School which was still a solid mile away. There was no snow in the parking lot that he was pulling the sled across so he was just dragging his child across the concrete. He was going to have to hurry because it was close to 8:00. And then even when he got to the school, he was going to have to turn around and walk back to his house only to return at 3:00 when school gets out and pull his child home.

It's been bothering me since we saw them walking that I didn't pull up and tell the man to get in the car so that we could take him at least to the school. Now that the kids are back at their mom's house, I no longer take that route to take Kelly to work. I have been thinking about making a detour though and seeing if I stumble across them again so that I can offer them a ride. I don't know whether the man would accept my offer, but the fact is he can neither accept nor decline unless I stop and ask.

Being lucky has a lot of different meanings, and I keep finding that I am only unlucky in one aspect of my life and it is fixable. Others have illnesses or situations that are not fixable. I am lucky.

I Will Win

The Bill, Technology issues, and a little extra

This post was supposed to be put up last night, but due to some technological issues, I'm just getting on here right now. So please adjust the days and tenses.

I have said a couple times in different posts that I've been lucky through this whole process. I know that it sounds ridiculous to say. I mean, saying I'm lucky and having cancer is akin to standing in front of a five-man firing squad and counting your blessings that one guy's gun isn't working properly.

But, like I explained, even though I have cancer, it has turned out to be a manageable, curable form of it and I've seen people who are way worse off than me. This has been an inconvenience and certainly not pleasant, but I'm pretty confident that I have a lot of time left on this earth, so yeah, I'm lucky.

I got another reminder of how lucky I am the other day in the mail. Kelly and I have been trying to watch our money, knowing that the bills are going to start rolling in. A major abdominal surgery, an osteomy, a 12-day hospital stay at one of the best facilities in the state, and every test known to man. Add to that the minor things like supplies and meals and you just know that you've got one whopper of a bill coming. We've gotten a couple already, but small ones, relatively speaking. I went out to get the mail a couple days ago and there was an envelope from Henry Ford Hospital. I figured that it was another radiology bill or something, but this turned out to be “the bill.”

As I looked it over, I was absolutely stunned. I knew it was going to be expensive, but even so, it floored me. The bill was 60 large. That's more than I make in a year. Right now, I'm sure as a reader, you're wondering where the word lucky comes into play here. When I looked at the portion of the bill that was not covered by insurance (the amount that we actually have to pay), it was $2,500. In my book that's pretty damn lucky. How many people go through what I have and even more and have to do it without insurance? Can you even imagine opening that envelope and seeing a $60,000 bill, knowing that it's all on you? I would burn that letter and move to a different country that doesn't extradite for lack of payment. (I don't know if any country would bring you back for that, but I'm sure that there might be a hit-man or two employed.)

I'm no expert on Obama Care by any stretch of the imagination, but I can't believe that someone who is forced to pick up that insurance plan would be in any position to pay for that. There should be a contingency plan for people battling life-threatening issues.

Tomorrow is the day that the chemo starts, so I am enjoying my last poison free afternoon by doing a whole lot of nothing. Actually that's not quite true. I have done a load of laundry and shaved. Needless to say, it's been a pretty full morning. I'm pacing myself for the rest of the afternoon.

Today is March 17^th, which means it's St. Patrick's Day, but more importantly, it means it's exactly two weeks until opening Day at Comerica Park. Looking out my window here in the Sault, it seems pretty hard to believe that there's going to be baseball played in this state in 14 days, but if they can make it work, I'm all for it. Once the season starts, time will be easier to measure for me. Eight treatments, four months, a little over halfway through the baseball season. Once it all gets started, hopefully the time will fly by.

I will post again in a couple days after I have an idea of how the treatments are going to go. Nervous but excited to get this stuff started so it can get over with.

I Will Win

What the heck, I guess this will be kind of a bonus night or for those of you who don't really like to read, I'm about to be a jerk. It's Tuesday night now and I've just sat through the first round of chemo. We had to be there at 10:20 in the morning and didn't end up getting out of there until 3:20. Not really anybody's fault, just lots of prep to be done and forms to be filled out. I suspect that the next time it won't take so long.

I was talking to my brother Clay tonight afterward and he asked what it was like so I told him. He laughed and said that for whatever reason he had imagined them pointing some big laser at my junk for about 10 minutes and then I was done. I suspect that this is retaliation for me teasing him about only working 4 hours per day at the radio station instead of the 12-14 that he actually puts in.

It's actually not too bad there. There's a big room with a nurses' station and 5 recliners with one in a private room. These are not ordinary recliners my friends. They have extra padding and they heat up and vibrate if you want them too. They also have TVs on long swinging arms that allow you to sit back in your chair and pull the TV right up to your face so you can watch it and not disturb anyone else in the room with loud volume. I also got lunch. They had a pretty decent menu there and I chose the chicken nuggets and fries. I also got a piece of pie. The meal was ok, although they were a little stingy with the ketchup and I don't know if I'll be ordering the pie again. The simple fact that there was food there was pretty cool though. I ended up sleeping in the chair a little bit and watching some pre-season baseball between the Yankees and the Red Sox.

I expected a tomb-like atmosphere with a room full of people getting chemo, but it was pretty much the opposite. There was a lot of banter between the nurses and patients and a lot of good natured insults. They left me pretty much alone as I was the resident rookie, but I doubt that will last. One of the patients came in and had a box of pink blow-pops that she was handing out. When was the last time that any of you had a blow-pop? It's been awhile I'll bet. I honestly didn't even know that they still made them. I got another blast from the past as we left town and stopped at one of the gas stations in St. Ignace. I didn't even know that stores were allowed to sell candy cigarettes anymore, but there they were.

So anyway, back to the process of the chemo. As a patient, you sit in the chair and take some anti-nausea medicine through the port, which was kind of weird. The port sits just under my left collar bone and when the nurse comes at you with the needle to stick in it, I kind of had the feeling that Nicholas Cage must have had in The Rock when he had to stick the big needle in his heart to counteract the effects of the chemicals. It was a little creepy, but as it turns out, I didn't feel a thing. Of course, I had my eyes closed and my head turned too, so I didn't see anything either.

Once the chemo delivery process starts, there is little to do but wait. Kelly didn't get to sit in a recliner, so I'm sure that the time went much more slowly for her. I had to get up to pee a couple times during the process and when I came out of the bathroom, I found her sitting in the recliner. I think everyone should be able to sit in one of those things, if only for a few minutes and preferably not getting chemo.

I am at home now and am still connected to the pump. I'll have it on until Thursday afternoon then I'll have a week off and we'll start over next Tuesday. One of these bitches down and seven more to go. I think it's gonna get worse before it gets better, but it will get better. By August, this is going to be nothing more than a story and a memory.

I Will Win

The Port

I have been debating long and hard about the pros and cons about taking round two of the chemotherapy. I took the first step toward actually going through with it yesterday by getting my port put in. I showed up at the hospital at 5:30 in the morning and got prepped for the procedure. I am told that having this port will make it way easier to administer the chemo treatments.

A couple of funny things happened during the prep process. The first is that my chest had to be shaved. Right now my chest looks like a big yard shared by two neighbors. The north neighbor is a meticulous groomer of his yard and mows regularly. The south neighbor does not own a mower and is more a fan of the “natural” look. Anyway, I think it's safe to say that my chest looks funny.

The other thing that happened was that when I got into the operating room I was slathered with iodine, and yes, I mean slathered. I now know what a pork roast feels like when it's getting barbequed. During the slathering process, I ended up with iodine all over my arms, shoulders, neck, and part of my face in addition to my chest. So to sum up, I am partially orange and partially hairless. I am not allowed to shower until tomorrow, so obviously, I have stayed out of the public eye today.

One thing that I wanted to talk about today is something that I read on facebook a couple days ago that was posted by Mike Llama. He talked about how hard it's been living without Gloria and how he is hesitant to talk about it because he thinks that people are tired of hearing about it. Cancer took Gloria just before Christmas.

I doubt that Mike reads this blog, but Mike if you do read it or if someone shares this with you, I just wanted to tell you that you don't need to grieve on anyone else's time but your own. I know that I've mentioned this before in various posts, but I lost my dad in a car accident when I was seven. Losing someone close to you doesn't just go away and you don't get over it all of a sudden. It takes a lot of time. After awhile, you may go an hour without thinking about your loss. Then, after awhile longer, you may go a whole morning or afternoon without thinking about her. There will probably never be an entire day when you go without thinking about her. I'll admit, there have been days that I haven't thought about my dad, but it's been nearly 40 years and I didn't have the same kind of relationship with him that you had with Gloria. I guess what I'm trying to say with all this is grieve at your own pace and if you want to talk about it, then talk about it. Talk to friends, or if it helps, maybe even start a blog about her. Thay way, people have the option to read if they want to and you always have an outlet. I know that mine has been a great outlet for my frustrations and a great way to confirm my beliefs about things when I'm having doubts.

Doubts like how this second round is going to go. There are several things about it that worry me, but the one that is weighing on me most right now is my job. I'm going back on the 21^st and I'm hoping that I'll be able to get through it. I know that there will be days when I'll feel terrible, maybe tired, maybe sick. I just don't know. The thing that really scares me though is the cold sensitivity thing because of where we live. No matter whether I'm able to work or not, there are still bills to be paid and groceries to be bought. I did pretty good with the first round though, and I'm hoping that round two goes as well as the first.

I started writing this on Tuesday and stopped. It's Wednesday now and I just got back from Walmart. It's cold today, but the sun is out. It's a beautiful day here except for the temperature. I took a few extra minutes outside because pretty soon, I won't be able to be outside any more than absolutely necessary. Another thing that I noticed was how many things felt cold while I was at the store. I walked past the popsicles that I like and thought about the things that were going to be off-limits. I won't be able to drink cold water, or even put my hand under the stream to feel if it's cold or the right temperature. I'll have to wear gloves most of the time and I've got to find some sort of ski mask for my walk in to work from the car to the main building and then from the main building to the housing unit that I work in.

The thing that bothers me most about all of this is the fact that I probably won't be able to watch my daughter Callie play softball as much as I want to. A lot of her games will be played in some pretty cold weather, and that's not good for me. I have coached her since she started playing t-ball and I love doing it. I'm going to miss that terribly this summer.

There are going to be some dark days ahead for me. I don't say that to sound like I'm feeling sorry for myself, but reality is reality. There are days when I'm going to forget what I can't do and I'm going to pay for those slips. It will get better though. I will be able to do the things that I want to do again. I'll be able to drink what I want, touch what I want, and not have to worry about whether or not it's going to hurt. Oh yeah, and I'll be able to coach Callie again.

I Will Win

Treatment plan

Through this whole process, there have been a lot of ups and downs. This past Wednesday was a definite down. I went to the oncologist's office and got my chemotherapy plan and education session.

Listening to the possible effects of what I'm going to be getting scares me almost more than taking the chance of not taking it at all. Almost. I'm still going to take the treatment and hope that things go as well for me as they did with the first round. I took radiation and chemo and although there were moments that I was not at my best, it was not nearly as hard as I had anticipated.

This stuff sounds like a whole different ballgame though. I'm going to get three different fluids put in through a port that I get put in on Tuesday. I wish I could tell you the exact names of them, but I don't remember. I know the treatment as a whole is called FOLFOX 6. A lot of the potential side effects were the same as when I took the first round, but there is one that is causing me a lot of concern. I've talked to several different people about this, including one person who's had this treatment. I'm going to become sensitive to anything cold. I'm really glad that I don't live in a cold weather clima...wait a sec... Damn, I'm screwed there. I won't be able to touch, or drink or eat anything that's cold. I'm told that if anything cold touches the inside of my mouth it's going to feel like I stuck my tongue in a blender and my throat will probably spasm, making me feel like I'm choking. I see a lot of soup in my future. This is in addition to the usual promises of nausea, vomiting, diarrhea and mouth sores.

While I've said I'm going to take this treatment, I can also tell you without hesitation that if I didn't have other people to think about, I would not be taking it. I would be looking for another alternative or refusing it altogether. I will be getting a big reminder this weekend as to why I'm going to gut through this and come out on top. Tonight my stepson plays for a district basketball championship. My wife Kelly and I and probably my daughter Abbie and my stepdaughter Sydney will go the game together and root him on. Tomorrow, my son Andrew, my daughters Callie and Abbie and possibly Kelly will go to my grandmother's house to celebrate her 91^st birthday. My brothers and their wives and kids will be there as well as my mom and my aunt Kay. These people are the reasons that I will do this. They are the reasons that I'll get through it.

Last night, Kelly and I went to Pellston to watch the Brimley girls play for the regional championship against Posen (it also helped that I was being paid by The Evening News to cover the game). On the way home, we stopped at the truck stop in St. Ignace for dinner. It was just after 9 p.m., and the place was nearly deserted. I found myself listening to a guy sitting at the counter talking to the two waitresses. The more I listened to him talk, I found myself in a state of envy. He was talking about simple things and didn't seem like he was in any hurry and had no pressing concerns. Please don't misunderstand, I like my life the way it is just fine. But in that place, that moment, I longed for a life that seemed as uncomplicated as his seemed to me. No cancer, no treatment, no medical complications, and no stress regarding any of it.

I went to the restroom, and when I got back to the table, Kelly informed me that the guy had revealed that he was a truckdriver and had to leave for Grand Rapids in a few minutes, thus blowing my whole unhurried, uncomplicated life vision. But all the same, it was nice to envision for five minutes. By the way, the food at that truckstop is phenomenal.

Good luck to Shane and the rest of the Bays tonight. I can't tell you exactly how that will turn out, but one thing I can tell you for sure is this.

I Will Win

By the way, if anyone knows where I can get a heated throw blanket by tomorrow, please let me know because that's what my grandma wants for her birthday. I have been to Walmart, Kmart, and Big Lots and nobody has one.