Mothers Day

Here is another funny one from my Uncle Scott. Man, it brings back so many fond memories.

Unchemo 2.0

If I were still getting chemo, today would be a chemo a day. All said and done, I'm glad it's not.

In the picture below, you'll see two me's. The me on the left is from Unchemo 1.0, the me on the right is from today.


You'll notice that the only real difference is that I have a bit more head hair and facial hair (it only took me 8 days to grow that Grizzly Adams!) I still have the Amish thing going, but there are a few adventurous pioneers settling in on my upper-lip (I call em The Sooners). Another peculiar difference between me now and me two weeks ago, is that my head looks to be about 10% bigger. Weird...

Bamboo

Anna and I walked to get ice cream yesterday and we happened onto a discussion about bamboo plants. Half way into our conversation, I had said the word bamboo about 10 times and it occurred to me - that is one silly word.

Try it yourself. Say "bamboo" out loud, ten times, fast.

Radiation 4.0 (there is no "or" today)

Not much to say about radiation today. However, I did notice that today there were four nurses instead of the usual three. Word must be out that I'm a "casual dresser". I guess my Dad was right with his comment to yesterday's post. It could also be that the super power theory is actually a reality (I'll ask Mathilde).

I don't think I am feeling any side effects to radiation yet, but I have had a weird taste in my mouth for two days, and my lungs feel more irritated than I think they were just a few days ago. Neither of those necessarily have anything to do with radiation though. But if they are, I think it is normal.

A little message to the "tough guys"

I just got back from my free heart test which turned out to be a nice afternoon nap. The doctor injected some radioactive stuff into my arm, and then my job was to lie there and relax on a bed (with a soft pillow) while a camera and some little EKG-round-sticky-things monitored my heart. By the time it was done I was so groggy I didn't want it to be over. I yawned the whole way home.

But an interesting thing happened before she stuck the needle in my arm. I reached up with my free hand to scratch my eye, and she paused and asked if I was okay. I told her I was fine, I just had an itch. She said, "Oh I thought you were crying." She went on to explain that young men were the worst at being stuck with a needle.

So I just want to say, to all the sissy-ass guys who are crying and whining when they stick a needle in your arm, suck it up! You're making it difficult for the rest of us. I had to fake laugh and smile for the next two minutes so she wouldn't think I was one of you. Now she probably just thinks I'm retarded.

Anyway, I'll get the results of the test sometime next week.

Radiation 3.0 (or, Windows on my laptop)

Odin was awake this morning and ready to go. Part of the standard quality control is that from time to time they attach sensors to my chest that measure the amount of radiation I am getting. I suggested that considering Odin's "misbehavior " yesterday, that perhaps today would be a good day to do some quality checking. They assured me that the problem had nothing to do with the amount of radiation, but as it turned out, the quality checking was already on the schedule today.

It took a bit longer because they have to pause between zaps in order to move the sensor. But other than the 10 extra minutes, everything went fine. The only glitch at all came from my side. See, after I lie on the bed and grab the crotch ring, the nurses then raise the table up to about their shoulder height so they align the lasers with the tattoos. It was at this point, as I am holding the crotch ring and lying face level with 3 nurses, that I discovered my fly was not just unzipped, but wide, wide open.

The only consolation was that I was wearing clean, not pink, underwear.

Bringing out the gimp

Radiation 2.0 (or, Friggin' Odin)

I just got back from my second radiation treatment and it went as smoothly as they promised. I was in and out in 15 minutes, and round trip from home and back was 45 minutes total.

I didn't get zapped by Odin today. When I arrived the nurse told me, "Odin is sleeping and we can't wake him up, so we'll be using Frigg today". Now as you know, I was kind of worried about getting one of the female machines, but Frigg turned out to be just fine (the machine is identical to Odin). For those of you who don't know, Frigg is Norse Goddess. And not just any goddess, she is Odin's wife and, according to Wikipedia, "the only one other than Odin who is permitted to sit on his high seat Hlidskjalf and look out over the universe". So, as you can see, I really had nothing to worry about.

However, the fact that they couldn't "wake Odin up" might be cause for concern. The nurse explained yesterday that Odin and Frigg are brand new machines and still have a few hiccups. As long as a "hiccup" doesn't mean I get a quadruple dose of radiation, I guess it's okay with me. I'll just have to have faith that they implement enough safety mechanisms in these machines so that they can only "hiccup" and can't actually puke all over the place.

I remembered to bring the camera today, and the nurse was nice enough to take some picture while I was on the board.

This is the "control room" for Frigg. Yesterday I was talking to my Mom, and she mentioned how it must be depressing to be a radiologist, because they are always stuck in a dark basement somewhere. As you can see, that isn't the case here. This part of the hospital has been totally renovated and is very light and open. There are sun umbrellas all over the place.


This is Frigg. She looks exactly like Odin.


The big round thing above me is the "arm", that extends and rotates around me, shooting from underneath, the side and the top.


The nurse took this one from the control room. That's me on the monitor, about to get zapped.

Radiation 1.0 (or, Spiderman has retired)

Today was my first radiation treatment. I have to admit that ever since I was at the hospital last week, getting measured and scanned, I have been anxious to meet with them today in order to ask a few questions. Question number one on my mind was, "Why the hell do I have a mask to pin my face down, when you should be radiating my chest?" I was kind of concerned that the answer to that question was going to be, "Your CHEST??"

Luckily, all of my worries were laid to rest after the meeting today. It turns out they were just as confused by the mask as I was. They said it didn't hurt anything, but there was no reason to strap my face to a board if they didn't need to. So, from now on, I'm just plain old Peter Parker (except at home, where I will now have two spiderman masks to play with).

We started with a meeting where we talked in more detail about the procedure. They will be beaming my chest and armpit. I get zapped from the front, then the back, and then they shoot some rays at angle in the side. They are shooting into the same area, but doing it at different angles and from different sides in order to avoid vital organs as much as possible. A small section of my left lung, will get hit, and possibly a small section of my heart (she was going to double check the plan, and I forgot to follow up on the answer).

After the meeting, it was time to get aligned again. They strapped me in, like Hannibal Lecter, and aligned the lasers with my tattoo and the marks on the mask. Once I was lined up, they took the mask off (which was a nice thing). Then they went out to the control room and took some x-rays. Using the x-ray, they aligned me precisely to the CT scan from last week. Once I was realigned, they took some more x-rays to double check the alignment.

The aligning part took about 30 minutes. 30 minutes where I was just lying there, alone in the room. Despite all of the buzzing in the room, I started to fall asleep. I have a tendency, when I fall asleep, to have short dreams where I collide into things (biking into trees is a favorite of mine). The result is that before dozing off I can completely spaz-out, flailing my arms and legs a fool. Knowing this about myself I figured it wouldn't be too cool, if I fell asleep and crashed into a tree, so I fought hard to stay awake.

After the alignment was done, Odin (my radiation machine) moved his big, fat, stubby arm into place and did his thing. Except for an intimidating hum (that sounds exactly like radiation ought to sound) there is no other indication that you are being bombarded with bad stuff. Radiation in itself took about 1 minute. After that, the technicians came back in the room, tattooed me four more times on my upper body, and said, "See you tomorrow".

Tomorrow I'll bring the camera and try to get some pictures of Odin.

Oh yeah, and why the mask? I'm not really sure. Mathilde and I figure that it was probably that surrealistic doctor I wrote about a while ago (the one who kept giving me the stink-eye). Our guess is that being young, and inexperienced, she just went ahead and ordered The Full Monty. I am also getting a heart test that it seems may be unnecessary. But hey, as long as it doesn't hurt, I think every guy would be happy to have a free heat test and few extra spiderman masks kicking around.

Exhausted in a really good way

I have spent most of the last 9 months feeling really tired. But today was the first time in a long, long time that I have felt really tired in a really good way. The kind of tired you feel from spending the weekend digging in the dirt and working outside in the sun. A natural, normal kind of tired. It's nice.

I'm pretty ignorant about flowers and bushes and green stuff, but for some reason I really like planting things. So that's what I spent the weekend doing. I think the thing I like about yard work is that it doesn't really HAVE to be done. If I get bored with it I can just stop. If I feel like it, I can even take a nap in the shade. Most other work isn't like that.


Because I was busy doing the hard stuff, like planting flowers, Mathilde got to mow the lawn.


I have no idea what kind of bush this is, but it's pretty cool.



Hmm... I wonder if this says anything about where this blog is headed - posting pictures of lawn-mowing and pretty bushes? Maybe next weekend I'll paint something and post a picture of it drying.

Anyway, it was a really good weekend. And I'm happy-tired.

I totally kicked their butts

I guess Emily and Anna are bit out of practice, because today was wrestle day, and it was embarrassing how badly I beat them. Now I'm sure they'll try to claim victory, but they are going to have a tough time getting around the fact that I made Emily cry once and Anna cry twice and they made me cry ZERO times. IN YOUR FACE GIRLS!

Just kidding. We did wrestle this morning and it was a lot of fun, and nobody cried (I may have whimpered once or twice). Those two little squirrels are pretty fast and strong, and Emily has what she calls her "secret weapon" - she can will herself to not be ticklish. It's pretty impressive actually, and makes me feel all the more pathetic when all they need to do is touch me feet to have me squealing like a 300 pound bodyguard.

In the beginning they were worried about my stitches, but after about three minutes Anna did a knee drop on my head, so I guess they haven't been too traumatized about me being sickly and fragile for the last 6 months.

Incidentally, if you would like to know how you would fair in a Battle Royal against Emily and Anna, this site might give you an indication.

I've been thinking I'd like to start baking my own bread

I really have. I even bought the stuff I needed a few weeks ago, but I haven't gotten around to doing it yet. I guess maybe I have been waiting to be inspired.

I think I just found my inspiration.

Another hair report

Although I have reconciled myself to the fact that I don't have any eyebrows left (Mathilde yanked the last one out a few days ago just to be funny), I didn't think my hair looked too bad. In fact, I've been strutting around this past week thinking my hair actually looks pretty darn good. Leave it to a 6 year old to set me straight.

Anna was looking at the pictures of me getting my spiderman mask. When she came to this one of me getting a tattoo, she was impressed.


"WOW Dad! You got a tattoo!?" she asked. I said, "Yep, sure did!"

Anna immediately ran over to where I was sitting on the couch and said she wanted to see it. I started unbuttoning my shirt in a proud, macho kind of way, but Anna jumped up on the couch and began poking at my head like a chimp looking for lice.

I said, "What are you doing?"

She said, "I'm looking for your tattoo."

The little twerp thought that picture was my head!

Spaghetti man

You probably didn't realize this, but my commitment to flossing was only step one in a grand plan to get myself back on track. And not the old track, but a new and better track. A track that will take me farther, so to speak.

About two months ago, an issue of Esquire arrived with an article that seemed tailor made for me, chemo boy. The article is called, Retool, Reboot, Rebuild. It is a seven day program designed to help you get in shape and stay in shape, and to live a healthier life by eliminating a lot crap that's not good for you. For example, if you click the link, you see each day has several assignments. On Day 1 you are supposed to buy sea salt (table salt is treated with aluminum, which isn't so good for you). This is probably what caught my attention, I already have a lot of sea salt, so I started thinking this get in shape stuff might be easy. You'll also notice Day 3 is titled "Diet and Flossing" - thus the flossing.

I read through the article and decided that when I was done with treatment, I was going to follow the program. It sounded exactly like what I needed - to retool, reboot, and rebuild. Even before chemo ended, I started doing little things on the list, like getting rid of plastic and generally confusing Mathilde with a new, paranoid skepticism about all kinds of foods that I used to just gobble down.

I was thinking yesterday that I am at the point where I can start. Chemo is behind me. Radiation doesn't start for a week (and its not supposed to be that bad). My big toe is still black and blue and painful (I wasn't kidding about that) so running isn't much fun, but my lungs are pretty good, and I don't think there is a risk of me blowing out the hole in my artery any longer.

So yesterday, to test myself, I got down on the floor and did 25 pushups. Then I picked up some dumbbells and lifted those about 12 times. To top it all off, and close out my first major work out session in months, I did 15 squats with the dumbbells.

33 hours later this is what I can tell you. I now wince if I have to lift my arms above my head and the pain in the back of my legs causes a slight limp and prevents me from picking up anything that I happen to drop on the floor. And no, I'm not gonna say how much the dumbbells weigh.

I guess I can't say I'm off to a flying start, but I am still really looking forward to it. If this cancer experience has done anything for me it has totally, completely shaken off any remnants I may have had of teenage immortality. A pretty obvious fact of life has smacked me right between the eyes. And that fact is this - we only get one car. If Tom Cochrane is right, and life is a highway, then we only get one car.

Now, our real car is a 20 year old Volvo that still runs pretty well even though we basically just give it gas. But if I knew it was going to be our last car ever, our only car, I sure as hell would change the oil more often. I'd do something about those rust spots too. So, that's what I'm gonna do, change my oil and bang out a bit of rust (you know, my metaphorical oil). And if your car is anything like mine, then you should consider doing it too.

And remember to floss.

UPDATE: Mathilde pointed out that if you are of a certain nature then you can grossly misinterpret the 2nd to last paragraph (the one where I mention metaphorical oil). I don't see what she is talking about, but something had her laughing her ass off. This was not intended. So, if you, like my wife, see something funny there, then super! But you're the sicko, not me.

Major Pounder

My Uncle Scott sent a link to this video from SNL. It's funny, I can never figure out if I get my perverted sense of humor from my Mom's side of the family or my Dad's.

Chalk one up for Dad's side.

To hell with the chemo-costume...

For radiation you get your own friggin' Spiderman mask! AWESOME!

This morning Mathilde and I went to the hospital for some preliminary radiation stuff. They needed to get me all measured and lined up for the radiation treatment which starts next week. This involved creating my own personal face mask, and then a CAT scan that they will use to determine precisely where they will radiate. All in all, I'd have to say today had a pretty high interesting stuff to low pain ratio (usually stuff they do to you is either interesting, but painful, or boring and painless -not sure where to classify the rectal exam (just kidding!)).

The best part about today, though, was that Mathilde remembered the camera - she was jumping around that place like a wedding photographer.

First they had me lie up on a table and hold a styrofoam ring over my crotch with both hands (It turns out the placement of the ring had no significance - they just need me to hold my hands and arms still, and the ring is a tool to help do that. But I was kind of curious at first, because typically when someone has me put a ring over my crotch it gets me thinking).


Once I was lying still, they criss-crossed my whole body with lasers and tried to get everything centered. They suckered me in with a compliment on how symmetrical I am, and after that, I was like putty in their hands.


Then they draped a big warm plastic mesh over my face and shoulders, and used their hands to mold it to my contours. At this point, I think Mathilde became fascinated, because she stopped taking pictures. Of course, I was the only one who couldn't see the fun, so I shouted through my closed mouth, "maaaaaeesh ishures!" The doctor scolded me for talking, but good old Mathilde knew exactly what I said and started snapping away again.




After they were done molding, we waited a few minutes for it to cool and harden, then the doctor drew outlines for my eyes and mouth (some people have cool jobs).



At this point, I was done with the masking part, and we were sent out to a very nice waiting room with recliner chairs and a flat screen tv. It turns out it was my lucky day, though. They discovered that they had made the wrong size mask for the radiation machine I will be using (Odin) so I got called back so they could make a new mask AND I got to keep the first mask - woohoo!

So, after the second mask was done, we were off the CAT scan.



They presented me with my own, personal Spiderman mask.


And then used it to pin me to the table (the whole purpose of the mask is to help keep your body perfectly still and in the exact same position each time).


After a whole bunch of measuring and marking, they started me through the tube. They ran me through once, took some pictures, then squirted the radioactive stuff in my arm (the stuff that makes you feel warm and tingly ALL over). Then they ran me through again. Short and painless.


When that was done, a got a little tattoo on my chest and that was it. We thanked them for a nice morning. I took my Spiderman mask under my arm, and we headed home.


And of course Mathilde couldn't wait to try it on.

Photosensitive

Lauren sent a link to a very moving image collection sponsored by the Canadian Cancer Society. You can see it here.

There is something about the categories, that define people based on their relationships that I find extremely effective. Cancer or no cancer, I think its good to pause now and then and define yourself based on the lives you touch.

Thanks Lauren.

Bears beats Battlestar Galactica, baby beats ice cream

Our good friends, Pernille and Benjamin, have two kids who are both the same age as Emily and Anna. By some strange coincidence, we have managed to have kids at exactly the same time. This past fall, we were having brunch with Pernille and Benjamin and they confided in us that they had decided to try for a third. And there was the coincidence again! About a week earlier, Mathilde and I had decided we wanted to try for a third as well.

Well, the coincidence didn't get much beyond that. A few months later, Pernille and Benjamin found out they were pregnant, and we found out I had cancer. Of course, at that time, a third baby became the least of our worries and we were just relieved that Mathilde wasn't pregnant.

Here we are 7 months later. Pernille is about to have a baby, and the sad truth is Emily and Anna desperately, desperately, desperately want one too. We have never even told them that we considered a third. I guess they don't see a coincidence as a coincidence, but as a natural pattern that ought to be followed. Anna has gone so far as to ask for a baby for her birthday. I think Mathilde explained to her a bit about chemo, and how we may not even be able to have more babies, and that we would, at a minimum, have to wait for at least a year.

At least Mathilde must have explained some version of the above, because one day last week, she arrived at school and overheard Anna enthusiastically and matter-of-factly explaining to a group of other mothers, "My parents can't have a baby for one year because then it will have cancer. But after that they'll probably make one for me." A few days after that, Anna arrived home from school with picture book about pregnancy that she had checked out of the library. Anna wants a baby.

Emily is no better. Last night we were at Mathilde's Mom's, where we had a nice dinner and desert (with ice cream). When we got home, we were putting the girls to bed and Mathilde whispered to me, "do we still have any of that rasberry sherbert?" Emily, as she usually does when we whisper, pricked her ears up and listened intently. I said, to Mathilde, "You want more?"

Emily heard this, yelled "YIPPEE!", and started jumping up and down. We said, "Emily, you are going to bed, you are NOT having any more ice cream." She looked dejected and said, "Oh, you're only talking about ice cream."

A few minutes later, when I was kissing Emily goodnight, I asked her what she thought we were talking about. She said she thought we were talking about having more babies. I asked if she would rather have ice cream or a baby. She picked the baby. I said, "What if you could have ice cream any time you wanted for a whole year?" Emily, the girl who is completely obsessed with the thought of where she is going to get her next sweet fix, said, "I'd still pick the baby."

I think maybe we should look into a puppy.


p.s. A cookie to the first one who knows the reference in the title :-)

Unchemo 1.0

If today had been a "normal" Friday, I'd be getting poisoned right now. But luckily for me my "normal" is starting to get back to normal. I did have to go out to the hospital for some pre-radiation blood tests, but it was almost a pleasure to go there, and leave again an hour later feeling nothing that a little band-aid on my arm wouldn't fix (one of these days I am going to count how many times I have been stuck with a needle in the last 6 months).

I have decided to document my getting back to normal. Mathilde suggested that I should take a picture of myself every day from now until the summer (or whenever it is that I am back to normal). I thought it sounded like a fun idea, so below is the first picture.


Don't worry, I am not going to post a picture of my goofy mug each day. I thought in the end, I would collect them all into something like this. Hopefully mine won't be three years long though (which also means it won't be nearly as cool).

Feeling good

Here's a little health report. Although I still don't get sudden urges to jump up and act silly with the girls, I am no longer feeling exhausted, which is great. My lungs are definitely getting better each day, which is also good news (it means whatever has been bugging them is going away). My toes are still tingly and a bit numb, but that too is getting better (which I don't necessarily think is good news - I jammed my big toe this weekend, so as the numbness goes away it kind of hurts).

I cleaned my bullet wound this morning and was disappointed to find out that the doctor only gave me 2 stitches. I mean, seriously! After 6 months of chemo I don't think a manly amount of stitches is too much to ask for. Two stitches is just sissy.

They told me I should be careful about lifting things for a few days, and I think I'll listen. It doesn't hurt at all, but the fact that I had a tube stuck in a major artery for 3 months makes me a bit concerned about how fast that hole can securely close. I have images of me lifting a too-heavy-bag of groceries and suddenly having blood squirting out of my chest. But maybe I'm paranoid. Mathilde did just make me help her move a piano across the room and there isn't any blood gushing yet. I love the way she keeps presenting me with small challenges.

Okay, this almost makes me sad

From the article This Is an Ex-Candidate in the Washington Post:

2:57 p.m., Yeager Airport, Charleston, W.Va.: A steep descent brings Clinton's plane to Charleston's hilltop airport. After an appropriate wait, she steps from the plane and pretends to wave to a crowd of supporters; in fact, she is waving to 10 photographers underneath the airplane's wing. She pretends to spot an old friend in the crowd, points and gives another wave; in fact, she is waving at an aide she had been talking with on the plane minutes earlier.

Papa Bear is angry

Steven Colbert is a funny, funny guy :-)

Tubeless

I just got back from the hospital where they removed my catheter. I was really curious about how they were going to do it - maybe put a knee on my chest and pull, or something exciting like that - but it was pretty uneventful. I got a few injections of Novocain, then when I was sufficiently numb, he made few little cuts in the skin, tugged a few times, and before I even knew what happened, he was stitching me up.

It's still numb now, which feels strange. But the cool thing is, it's bleeding a bit, so it looks kind of like I've been shot :-)

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

Thanks for doing so much to help me (and the girls) through the last 6 months. I feel so lucky to have you as a mother. I Love you.

Brilliant

Just brilliant!



UPDATE: After a chat with my sensitive wife, I think I should point out that the above video is NOT just comparing Hillary to Hitler (I think we are far to quick these days to make comparisons to Hitler).

The scene above is from the movie Der Untergang . If you haven't seen it (it's great), it's about Hitler's "final days in his Berlin bunker at the end of WWII". Hitler had a pretty difficult time accepting the fact that he was defeated. So, the comparison is between Hillary and Hitler at the moment each is forced to confront their inevitable defeat. And it is pretty damned funny :-)

Rickroll'd

For a while I thought I had really misfired with my little Rickroll link in the post below. I assumed that most people were not nerdy enough know what it means to be "Rickroll'd", but that was okay - it still made me giggle. In case you are wondering, all it really is, is a stupid little prank (you can read more about it here), a prank that I have fallen for about 10 different times in the last few months (I guess I've surfed a lot while going through chemo).

Anyway, as I said, I didn't think many people would "get" the joke, but I didn't realize people would actually completely misunderstand. The worst was my Mom, who thought it was my new "theme song". She said, "I LOVED the video you linked to!" I tried to explain that it was just a joke, but she wasn't having it, she just kept saying it was a great "theme song". I was mortified at the thought that people might assume, as my Mom did, that I was linking to the video because I thought it was cool (I still can't figure out if she was just yanking my chain - which she is exceptionally good at).

Then there was Mathilde (and probably others), who watched the entire video and left scratching their head. When I told Mathilde it was a joke, and tried to explain, she said something like, "That's dumb." I started to feel bad for the people who sat through the entire video waiting for something more.

The only thing that made me think the joke hadn't completely bombed were the number of pretty damned funny comments, with silly identity thieving and all.

But then, yesterady afternoon, I knew I hadn't misfired when I got an email from Mathilde. The subject of the mail was, "going to make you mad at all those Danes". There was this link, http://www.computerworld.dk/apple, that obviously linked to an article about Apple (Mathilde has heard me bitch many times about how anti-Apple Denmark can be). Excited about the prospect of getting riled up, I clicked the link... I can't believe I got rickroll'd by Mathilde!

Then, when I got home from work, I started jumping with joy when an email arrived from Rod with the subject, "woohoo she is done, she gave up!" (Rod has heard me bitch a few times about how Hillary just will not accept defeat). The mail had this link, http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/08/us/politics/08campaign.html?_r=1&ref=politics&oref=slogin, which I excitedly clicked on...

I was rickroll'd twice in 2 hours! And both times were a hundred times more clever than my little "click here" link. It made me so happy :-)

Chemo 12.5

It is my sincerest intention that this will be my last chemo post EVER. I know you're gonna miss them, but that's just too bad. If next Friday rolls around, and you find yourself thinking, "My God! What am I going to do without today's chemo post", this should keep you entertained for a while. Otherwise, just buckle down and wait for Radiation 1.0

By the way, I'm feeling pretty good today. Tired, but good.

HAPPY 34th, SCOTT!

Hope you have a very happy birthday!

Good riddance

I just received a letter from the hospital saying that I have an appointment on May 13th to get my Hickman catheter (aka iPod Embedded) removed. That's in one week and that's really good news!

I couldn't really get excited about the final chemo - its hard to get excited about something that makes you feel sick, even if it's for the last time - but next Tuesday is something I can really get excited about. First, I'll be feeling pretty close to normal then, which means I'll be over the final round of chemo. But more importantly I'll get the freaky tube taken out my chest.

I remember being pretty depressed the day that I got it. I put off getting the catheter for as long as long as I could. Back then I had about a week out of my two week chemo cycle where I felt really good. At times, I could even forget that I was fighting cancer, and the last thing I wanted was a constant reminder sticking out of my chest. After 5 rounds of chemo though, the veins in my arms were starting to constantly hurt and with at least 7 more rounds to go, I realized the catheter was inevitable.

I have gotten used to, but I don't like it. In a paradoxical way, I am glad I got it AND I hate it. Even though they don't say much, I think it scares Emily and Anna (Emily asks all the time when it is coming out). They also see it as the main reason why I can't wrestle with them anymore, so I think when I get it out I am going to get my ass kicked pretty quickly. And that's an ass kicking I'm looking forward too.

Chemo 12.4

I ended up crashing yesterday afternoon and slept for most of the day. I still feel pretty lethargic today.

Pictures from the weekend

On Saturday, Mathilde set up a nice chair on the patio and forced me to get my lazy chemo ass outside. I was glad she did.


On Sunday, Emily and Anna made a "bed" in the yard. I laid there and napped while Mathilde read Harry Potter to the girls.


Anna, dressed to match the cherry tree.


Emily and Anna (not fighting).


The girls walked down to the beach with Mathidle's Dad. You can see Sweden on the horizon.



More pictures for grandparents here.

Chemo 12.3

The metal taste settled in last night, I could feel it arrive from one hour to the next. Weird. I also keep waking from sleep because my tongue is cracking dry - I like to call it my dog-paw-tongue. Both of these will pass in a few days though. I am basically doing fine and feeling happy and lucky about that.

I have been thinking a lot about Heather lately (who is also battling Hodgkin's and who has a much tougher treatment than I do). She wrote on her blog about a week ago that she wouldn't be blogging for a while because she was going back into the hospital. Heather, my thoughts are with you and I hope you are out of the hospital and back with your family soon!

Chemo 12.2

I slept and read most of the day. I feel a bit nauseous at the moment, but I'm almost out the other side.

I was lying in bed looking out the window earlier, playing my usual game of spot-the-face-in-the-tree, and it occurred to me that I have spent a lot of time looking out that window these past 6 months. It was a warm, sunny spring day, so the windows were wide open and I could hear all of the birds singing (Mathilde has been feeding the birds all winter, so there are a hell of a lot of birds out there). Although sunshine and open windows are nice, I think I actually prefer doing chemo in the winter months- you don't feel like you are missing so much. On the other hand, it's going to be super nice to close the door on my last chemo and walk out into the sunshine.

Bill Moyers on Jerimiah Wright controversy

No fancy news graphics, or dramatic music, just 6 minutes of calmly spoken thoughts on what this all about. How boring!

Chemo 12.1

Feeling like I normally do after chemo. Sat in the sun on the patio for an hour, that was nice.

Sympathy shave with sprinkles on top

Yesterday, before my final chemo, I woke up to find this mail from Scott.
_____________________________________________

Kevin,

I am not sure if you will get this before you leave today for this, your final chemo. Even if you don't get it until you get back, I hope you know I am thinking about you.

I have been thinking all week about the significance of today and all that you have been through and I wanted to do something special. At first, I decided to let my hair grow out for a final sympathy shave. And I did...

This, of course started with the trimmers.


And, there was the sink full of (short) hairs when I was done.


But that wasn't enough. So I lathered up the shaving cream and got out my trusty "Head Blade"

(yeah, I bought a razor just for my head. So, even though I tried to deny it, there might be some truth to your suspicion that i like my head shaved...)


After a few minor nicks it was clean and smooth as a baby's bum...


But that didn't seem like enough. After all, you have been through a lot...

So, I dug back through your blog for inspiration, and finally it hit me! You had already answered my question about what the ultimate sympathy shave would be in your post titled "It doesn't necessarily have to be over"

http://squaticdiversion.blogspot.com/2008/03/it-doesnt-necessarily-have-to-be-over.html

Here was your suggestion...


Of course, how do I get THAT on my head?

So, I started by printing it out...


And tried soaking the paper....


No luck....

I tried oiling the paper.


No Luck.

Then, I found this:


Freezer Paper. It is a bit like wax paper, but not quite as waxy on the shiny side, and more like paper on the other side.

A little trial and error, and.....

Ta Da


No, I have no clue how hard this is going to be to get off, and in the time I have typed up this message it has probably really soaked in, but you know what? That is OK. If I have walk around for a few days with a dozen cuts on my head (man I suck at shaving!) and a picture of my brother slowly fading from my skin I am glad to do it. After all, Cancer Sucks!

Today is the end of Chemo. But more importantly, it is the BEGINNING... You are done with Chemo and it kicked the Cancer's ass. In two weeks and a day you feel better than you have in months. The day after that, you will feel even better... Sooner than you would like though, you will have to tackle Radiation, and that is going to suck too, but you will do it, and get through it!
_____________________________________________

THANKS SCOTT! I had a nice laugh all the way to the hospital.

When I got back from chemo, I showed the final picture to Mom (I told her you had tattooed it there). She said, "Oh gosh, are those pimples on the back of his head?" I said, "No those are cuts from the razor." Mom laughed and said, "Oh man! The tattoo of your face is going to have scabs all over it!"

12th and final round

I just returned from my very final round of chemotherapy (I intend to do whatever I can (whatever that may be) to make sure #12 stays my final round).

Getting chemo was uneventful so I don't have anything to report. Even though it was my last, I don't feel much like celebrating at this point. But I am sure I will once I have all this crap out of my system and I'm on my way up again.

Just got a letter that radiation treatment starts May 27th, so I get almost a month of vacation. Woohoo! And double woohoo! because it looks like I got Odin. Odin totally rocks!. For example, you probably didn't know that, "Odin has a number of magical artifacts associated with him: the spear Gungnir, which never misses its target". It's true - I looked it up in wikipedia.

NIght sweats

I have been happy to notice the past several days that the night sweats are much, much less severe than they used to be (and thats even without taking my relax-ative). In fact, if Mathilde hadn't been awake the other night and witnessed me "sweating like a pig" in my sleep, I would have said that I haven't really sweat at all the past many days.

Some mornings I wake up and my shirt is slightly damp, as if I had perspired a bit in my sleep (which is how it was the night that I unknowingly sweat like a pig). Other mornings, like this morning, I have awoken to find my clothes and sheets are snug and dry.

Neupogen

I woke up early today and had to get out of bed because my lower back was sore. Not a common thing at all, but I figured I just slept wrong. As I sat uncomfortably in a chair and waited for the coffee, a strange thing happened - I coughed, and as I did I felt little shoots of pain in my pelvis.

I just checked online and sure enough I found this when googling Neupogen side-effects, "Some people have a dull ache or discomfort in the bones of the back, pelvis, arms or legs."

I don't recall feeling this the last times. It's no big deal though, just something I noticed. And of course it got me out of bed earlier than I really wanted to.