tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64980403739799767692024-02-20T10:39:00.346-08:00Finding the PonyMy journey through cancer, looking for the ponyarnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.comBlogger169125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-21779678414285541472017-04-22T09:14:00.002-07:002017-04-22T09:14:32.725-07:00You can't take that away from me
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Cancer takes things away.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I would imagine that doesn't come as a
surprise to you. I've probably even talked about it on these pages
before.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But I've been thinking about it quite a
bit as we prepare to move out of our house of 12 years. Cancer has
taken our ability to live in our home any more. True, age hasn't
helped as we live on a couple of small pensions and Social Security,
but I think we could have continued to manage for a few more years if
cancer hadn't entered the arena whacking everything with its big
fekokta stick.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We just can't manage the upkeep any
longer. I am completely unable to do any of the chores, other than
running the vacuum once in a while and hitting the furniture with the
feather duster.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We have had to pay for services that we
normally would have done ourselves, most notably mowing and snow
removal. Yes, we have a riding lawn mower and we finally purchased a
snow blower a couple of years ago, but I don't even have the strength
to run either of them. Sheri has done her best with both, but since
she broke her leg and ankle at the beginning of last year, the
ability to do those things has decreased dramatically.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, we love our home. It is on an acre
of land and overlooks a beautiful lake, with 50 feet of lake
frontage. But, so what? We can't manage it any more, so off we go.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We have actually found a pretty ideal
condominium in the nearby city which fits most of our needs. Snow
removal and lawn care, big pluses; it's on one floor which is
becoming increasingly important with Sheri's leg injury and my
constant fatigue.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But it isn't this beautiful home we
have now. And the decision to move has really been made for us. It is
the type of effect that cancer has that you just don't think about
until it is you who have cancer.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You have cancer.” Done and dusted
doc. Lots of medicine, doctor visits, fatigue, nausea. Right. Got it.
But what about having to give up your home, albeit for one that
better fits your needs? What about the confidence you have that you
have your health, so you don't need anything else? What about your
hair? As it turns out, I've been able to adapt a style that I like,
but again, it wasn't a style I picked, it was a style I adapted to
because one of my chemotherapy treatments caused my hair to fall out.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, cancer takes.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I've been having a hard time dealing
with that lately, but, as always, the answer to living with it comes
with flipping the coin and considering what cancer has given. Sheri
and I are closer than ever before, which is really saying a lot.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My kids and I feel like this is a fight
we are in together, so, even though we are hundreds of miles apart,
it gives us something to share; something to consider at length.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The amazing support we have gotten from
friends is unbelievable. Virtually every week brings an “It's a
Wonderful Life”-ending sort of moment where people have helped us
overcome what seemed like an insurmountable obstacle with room to
spare.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Moving is only the latest example. We
have already moved a lot of our stuff into a storage area with the
help of friends.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Our daughter Kristie was able to visit
from San Francisco for the first big weekend of moving boxes and big
bits. Her enthusiasm was wonderful and she made sure neither her mom
nor I overdid.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There was a wonderful symmetry to her
being here as we made what is almost surely our last big move as we
settle into the place where we'll spend the rest of our lives.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When I went to Sheri's house to pick
her up to go our our first outing (calling it a date when we were
both 44 years old was not doable), Kristie was home visiting from
college. As she let me in to the house, while wheeling her bike out
for a ride, Kristie (whom I had never met) said, “Be nice to my
mother, she's a nervous wreck!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And so she was, and so was I, and here
we are almost 24 years later facing another outing with nerves and
excitement galore. So, let's get to it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-87113783596829682352017-02-25T07:39:00.001-08:002017-02-25T07:39:34.289-08:00One too many mornings
<div align="RIGHT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">An'
the silent night will shatter</span></span><br /><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">From
the sounds inside my mind</span></span><br /><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Yes,
I'm one too many mornings</span></span><br /><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">And
a thousand miles behind</span></span> </span></span>
</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>One Too Many Mornings</i></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Bob
Dylan</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
There
are too many mornings right now where the ability to get up to face
the day is taking a hammering.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Facing
cancer on a daily basis has been a challenge of varying proportions
for the past three and a half years, but in this Winter of Our
Discontent, it has seemed like a losing battle.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
See, I
have no idea how long it's been since I've felt good, felt healthy.
The goal for most days is to not feel so bad that I can't function.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I've
also had to come to grips with a hard decision. I'm beginning to
doubt if this fight against cancer can be won. Wait, let me put that
another way. The battle is being won. My blood work has been
outstanding for the past few weeks, since I started my new treatment,
actually.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
But,
here's the thing. As the cancer is being knocked down, so is the rest
of my system. Cancer is no joke. If you're going to battle it, you
have to use the big guns and doing that brings collateral damage.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
It is a
hard, but true fact, that I am putting poison in my system on a
regular basis and it makes me feel sick... a lot. But what am I
supposed to do instead?</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Good
question, that. Obviously, we keep going. We keep the cancer numbers
knocked down and wait for spring.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I've
missed a couple of treatments this month. One because I had/have a
horrendous cold and I won't go around other patients and risk
compromising their systems. The other was because we could not get up
our road which had been made impassable by ice, the same ice which
has made it hard for us to get out on any regular sort of basis.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I did
get to the clinic for a day-long treatment yesterday; day-long being
only a slight exaggeration. I left the house at 9:30 am. and got back
at 6:30 pm. I did have to stop at the pharmacy to pick up a
prescription, which took about 20 minutes, so, you can see, the bulk
of the day was spent in the treatment chair. It was one of the very
few days Sheri wasn't with me. She now has a horrific cold and did
not go with me for the same reason I missed one of my own treatments.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The
worst side effect of the new treatment is suffering hot and cold
flashes which leave me drenched in sweat and freezing old. They
started this time about half way through the procedure and were in
full flow when I walked in the door at the end of the day. Sheri
actually took one look at my face and asked if it was raining, and
she wasn't kidding.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
And so
the rest of the night went... add clothes, remove clothes, get a
towel and wipe sweat, wrap towel around my neck to hold back chills.
Oy.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then
it's bedtime and I go to sleep wondering what the next day will
bring, but fairly sure it isn't going to be a time when my feeling
lousy takes a day off.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Brothers
and sisters, I have tried to remain positive through this long, long
journey and I think, for the most part, I've had success. But now, I
need to be honest, honest as I have tried to be throughout our
journey together. I am running out of steam.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
What
does that mean? I don't really know. Does it mean I'm going to give
up? No. Does it mean I'm going to make feeling sorry for myself a
bigger part of my life? No.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I don't
know what it means.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I do
know I'm tired, but I will continue to scratch and claw my way
through this. We are so much better off than when I first started
treatment, and maybe I can hold on to that fact and build from there.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I guess
we'll see.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-81158507395029316942017-01-26T07:23:00.002-08:002017-01-26T07:23:27.378-08:00A double dog dare is not the answer
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: #616161;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Doctor,
my eyes</span></span><br /><span style="color: #616161;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Tell
me what is wrong</span></span><br /><span style="color: #616161;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Was
I unwise to leave them open for so long</span></span> </i></span></span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Jackson
Browne</span></span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I've
been looking through the Book of Mainenites lately, particularly the
Book of Jim. This is because the number of potential “Why me's”
continues to grow. I don't think I would say we have reached Job
numbers yet, but if I got caught out in a shower of frogs without an
umbrella, I wouldn't be surprised.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Before
you have a fit... I know the rain of frogs wasn't Job's in the Bible,
but maybe there is a similar incident in the Book of Mainenites, I
haven't read the whole thing.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">You
may wonder why I would make fun over something as important as my
eyesight. Well, what would you rather I do? Making fun of serious
situations is what I do...it's how I cope.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Anyway,
my eyes have been bothering me constantly the last few weeks, with
the situation worsening as the days go by. For lack of a medical
term, they keep producing gunk, which obscures my vision. It is
constant. All day long, every day. Once in a while, the gunk hardens
and I need to take care not to scratch my eye or the surrounding
skin.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My
Idaho friend Peters (currently his real name) tells me he has an eye
condition where he feels like he's looking through some kind of gell
all the time. He quit playing fast pitch softball when he struck out
on three pitches that <b>sounded</b> fast.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mine
isn't quite like that, but my vision is blurred most of the time and
I have to keep clearing gunk, wet and/or dry, out of my eyes.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">As
is often the case, it's hard for my doctors to pin down what's
causing this. The best guess is that it's a side effect of something
that I'm taking.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">If
that's the case, once again we face the dilemma of whether or not the
cure is worth it. We haven't really had a report on my kappa light
chain proteins for a while. We'll make sure the necessary blood is
taken the next time we visit the clinic, which is in just a couple of
days. We can make a decision from there.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I
know my friend Peters has been brave with a problem that, in this
case, is obviously greater than mine. But, I don't want my health
plan to come down to a case of a double dog dare. He has what he has
and is dealing with it as he does. I have what I have and Im dealing
with it as I does, and I'll be in Scotland afore him, but how much of
it I'll be able to see would be in some doubt.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Look,
as far as we know, this isn't threatening my sight. It is merely
another inconvenience in a life that has become full of them.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">On
the other side of this particular moon... I seem to have stopped
throwing up. I still feel nauseous much of the time, but vomiting
seems to have taken a holiday. That's very good.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Buy
on the other, other side, I feel a lot of bone pain. Many of my bones
register a five on the scale I have to report at each visit. Still,
if I touch almost any of my main bones, the pain shoots up to a 10
and beyond. I probably need to have a full body bone scan done, which
involves about 26 X-rays.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My
read on that is that my medical team is reluctant to do it. I suppose
they don't see much in the way of assistance coming out of it. If the
myeloma has done damage, and the scan shows that, well... what are we
supposed to do about it. The process would seem to have little value
in terms of improving how I feel.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But,
here's the thing. I don't care. I don't care if we can't do anything
about the damage that it's done. I want to know if I have lesions, or
holes, or cracks, or nothing affecting my bones. I haven't made a big
deal out of it yet, but I'm going to and I know the doctors will give
the go ahead for the scan. They are absolutely concerned with my
mental well being, just as much as my physical situation.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So,
stay tuned... again. The eyes may have it, but what does that mean,
exactly.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-87348701702128885952017-01-12T08:40:00.002-08:002017-01-12T08:40:41.674-08:00There will be tears before lunchtime
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Don't
let it bring you down</span></span><br /><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">It's
only castles burning,</span></span><br /><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Find
someone who's turning</span></span><br /><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">And
you will come around.</span></span> </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Neil Young</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The following happened in our house one
day last week. True story.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I was in our downstairs bedroom/office,
so tired I had to take a nap. It was early in the morning which is a
time I usually go on our computer to check out Scottish sports team
and newspaper sites. Our cat Wolfie usually comes in and sits at my
feet, eventually weaving himself around my legs while I pet him.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
This is our routine. We both enjoy it
on an almost daily basis.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
On the day in question, though, I was
so tired I had to lay on the bed. Wolfie had come in, no doubt to
follow our routine, but I was completely unable to play my part. I
started to tell him that, but then I began to cry. Seriously. I felt
so bad for letting him down, I just dissolved into tears.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And I couldn't really stop. Wolfie took
off for greener pastures, and I sat on the bed longing for sleep to
put me out of this particular phase of my misery. It came quickly
enough, and when I woke up, I felt less weepy, though I wasn't about
to watch Old Yeller or Bambi any time soon.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It certainly doesn't take a genius to
know there was more to all this than what appeared on the surface.
While I was genuinely sorry to let the cat down, the cat didn't seem
to care all that much. It had to do with me, not meeting
expectations. And, once that door was opened... holy cats, stuff fell
out of there like Fibber McGee's closet.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now, I realize, that many of my
references verge on archaic to many of you. But those of you to whom
they do, likely have no problem asking Siri for help, or just looking
it up yourself. This is just how I talk and the references that I
use. I imagine most of you are happy enough to stick with me at this
point. I have been doing it for so long, I think we've weeded out the
only casually interested.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, I sit and take my bearings to try
to see what is at the bottom of this.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Well, my eyes are having an issue. They
leek some sort of fluid which turns, alternately, gooey and crusty,
to to be too insensitive. And, check, they are still doing that.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The skin over my entire body is so dry
it causes an itch that is impossible to put to rest. Check. That's
still going on.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We've adjusted some of my medications
and maybe that plays into it? I doubt it, but you never know.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm going to the clinic for my day-long
treatment in a couple of days and will try to get some direction as
to what to do about all of that.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In the meantime, I need to take a look
at what is happening right now. Why is not meeting my cat's
expectations, or rather, not meeting what I think my cat's
expectations might be, reducing me to tears?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You know what I think it is? When I
began my journey through cancer approximately three and a half years
ago, I was pretty much full of piss and vinegar. I was able to face
things and find solutions. And I shared all of that with you. The
issues, the fight, the resolution. Done.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now, I find myself coming up short a
lot. I think that's where I feel I let people down; where I let you
down. I am so weary now that I just can't fight every issue that
looks me in the eye and demands solution. I am too tired. Too. Tired.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, this stuff builds up inside my
head. And it builds up and builds up and I find myself crying because
I am too tired to sit at my desk and share five minutes of time with
our cat.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
This whole cancer thing is hard. I
think it's the type of test that people buy Norton study guides to
try to pass. Only, there doesn't seem to be a Norton guide for this.
You just have to suck it up, day after day, and solve the questions
that are put before you then. Some are multiple choice, some are
essay; all are tiring.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Wolfie and I have spent numerous
sessions together at our appointed posts; me at the desk searching
and typing, him brushing against my feet and through my legs until
he's had enough and wanders off to sleep under the bed where he can
still keep an eye on me while he takes his nap.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There have been no more tears, but
there probably will be. As long as we all take this journey together,
tears are inevitable. And you know what? That's just fine with us.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-68342620745846014962017-01-02T15:26:00.002-08:002017-01-02T16:50:47.450-08:00Boxing Day. Who needs it?<div align="RIGHT" style="border: none; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">And
there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">and
gie’s a hand o’ thine!</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">And
we’ll tak’ a right gude-willie waught,</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">for
auld lang syne</span></span></span></span></i></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="border: none; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Robert
Burns</span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "scoutlight" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="border: none; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
So. Boxing Day. If you're unsure what it's all about, don't mind too
much. There seems to be as many explanations as there are days
leading up to the Dec. 26<sup>th</sup> holiday.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Google it and see how many answers you
get. When I was a kid, my parents told me they didn't know why it was
so called, but, then, my parents also never told me how old my
sisters actually were. True story. I still don't know.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Boxing Day. How many of us remember
where we were on any given Boxing Day? Right? If you're like me, you
have enough trouble remembering where you were on any given Christmas
Day... or yesterday.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sheri and I will likely remember this
one for a while because we spent the bulk of it in the emergency room
of the local hospital. Bonus coverage. It didn't seem to have much to
do with my cancer.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Here's the story... We had a very
pleasant Christmas, enjoying lunch with our friends Wanda June (not
her real name) and Billy (not her real name either). All was good
until about 6 am Boxing Day when I woke up shivering... violently. I
added all sorts of extra layers to my nightime bedclothes, but
nothing worked. I. Was. Freezing.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ever practical, Sheri took my
temperature. 102.4 degrees. This was bad. Very bad. I'm supposed to
call the clinic any time my temperature is over 100. So, call the
clinic we do.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Closed. But it's a Monday. Yes, but it
is also Boxing Day and Christmas was on a Sunday. Oh, man. This
wasn't something we could wait to see it it passed. As I think I have
said here before, this is the sort of thing that will ultimately be
the death of me. An infection of any kind.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The clinic put us in touch with the
terrific doctor on call, who phoned ahead to the emergency room to
let them know we would be coming in. That cut the waiting time. It
did not seem to affect the amount of time we spent there in total,
however.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There were numerous tests to be run
including X-rays and an EKG and a bunch of other stuff, all trying to
determine why my fever was so high. Well, as is so often the case,
none of the tests could tell us bupkis.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As we stagger and stumble our way down
this road, dealing with cancer, we have found, more and more often,
that medicine does not always have the answers. In fact, we're
finding it quite often can't offer much of a clue.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Meanwhile, back at the emergency
room... Time passed, five plus hours, my fever lowered and I got to
go home... and spend the rest of the day picking those little sticky
bits from the EKG off my skin. Some of those were tough little
buggers, by the way.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
This left us with only one more holiday
to endure/enjoy... New Year's Eve, or hogmanay, as we call it in
Scotland.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Personally, I spent no time, none, not
any, looking back on 2016. I don't know why. It would seem like a
natural enough thing to do. But, I didn't.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
From some of the things I've read, it
was a pretty rotten year for most people. I can only guess that my
bar on rotten has been lowered because I live my life in days and let
the years take care of themselves. I don't mean that in any sort of
bad or fatalistic way. I feel ill so much of the time that I take
things bit by bit- endure the bad, enjoy the good.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Whether this led to us missing the
dropping of the ball for yet another year or not, we cannot say. All
we know is that we were totally engrossed in watching the latest
version of “The Jungle Book” in HD and only when it was over did
we consider the time. Even then it was only to see if it was bed
time.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Holy crap,” says I to Sheri. “We
missed New Year's.” And so we did. So we gave each other a kiss,
decided it was late enough to go to bed, and called it a year, all be
it a little bit later than many on the east coast.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="border: none; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">In
case you're unsure of the what the verse above means: And there’s a
hand my trusty friend! And give me a hand o’ thine! And we’ll
take a right good-will draught, for auld lang syne.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="border: none; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="border: none; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Hope
you have only the best in 2017.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="border: none; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="border: none; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">There
are a variety of versions of the story that gives this blog its name.
The pony is the constant in all of them. A man is on his way to a
party when he comes across a young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle
at an enormous mountain of manure. The man asks the child if he
wouldn't rather go with him to the party than shovel all that poop.
The kid says, “No way man. With all that poop... there must be a
pony in there somewhere</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="border: none; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-6076087851438049192016-12-19T17:08:00.002-08:002016-12-19T17:08:57.256-08:00Sad isn't a four-letter word
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I
wish you a hopeful Christmas</span></span><br /><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I
wish you a brave New Year</span></span><br /><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">All
anguish pain and sadness</span></span><br /><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Leave
your heart and let your road be clear...</span></span><br /><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Hallelujah
Noel be it Heaven or Hell</span></span><br /><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The
Christmas we get we deserve</span></span></i></span></span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Greg
Lake</span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sad.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As I sat waiting for Sheri to bring the
car around following our latest cancer clinic visit, I tried to root
out what I was feeling. Sad was the winner.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There's a lounge just inside the front
doors of the clinic, with a fireplace and a piano, of all things,
along with some comfy furniture. Now, I would normally have gone with
Sheri to get the car, but we were at the end of a truly unpleasant
session at the clinic. The temperature outside was frightful, and the
fire was kind of delightful, which is a great line for a seasonal
song, but not so great when cancer has you by the mistletoe and is
making you break out in cold sweat after cold sweat. Single digits,
the wind whipping and the day-long sweats had made my clothes damp
and going outside into a completely unheated car would have been...
well... bad, to say the least.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, I was sitting there and the usually
innocuous, constantly present background music happened to be
Christmas, big surprise. Say what you will about Christmas music, it
is not to be ignored. This was Bing Crosby, along with a number of
collaborators, including David Bowie. And as I sat there and had a
lifetime of feelings pass over me, I realized I was simply sad.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I wasn't upset about Christmases past,
present or future. I wasn't longing for my two front teeth, and I
wasn't remotely interested in a white Christmas. Chestnuts roasting
on an open fire? Sheri made some of those our first Christmas in
Maine. The fact that they were the wrong kind of nuts probably
contributed to the note she left with them for me to read when I got
home from work at the credit card call center around 2:30 am: “These
are the worst things I've ever tasted. Ever. They're horrible. Try
some.” I did not, but enough said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And sad was okay. We'd had a couple of
pretty rotten days to finish out a pretty rotten week in my
treatment. With this new regimen I'm on, I have found myself actually
throwing up at some point during the week. I hate that! This week, it
happened to be Thursday night, just hours before we had to be at the
clinic.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, I woke up feeling less than stellar
and... wait a minute... did I just see my breath?!? And am I very,
very cold?!? It took a little while, but I made my way to the
thermostat to register the fact that it was 53 degrees in our house
on a morning when it was minus 7 outside our house.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We use a heat pump as our principal
source of heat, which is fine. But they don't really work all that
great when the temperature gets too far below zero. We know this. But
it was the first night of the heating season when we should have set
our furnace as back up. Set up? We hadn't even turned it on.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I must confess, I almost asked out loud
if maybe, just maybe, having cancer wasn't enough of a challenge;
maybe having to spend seven hours at the center with two different
chemotherapies and a bunch of other poisons being eased into my
system wasn't enough. Well, brothers and sisters, evidently not.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But, on a positive note, and I mean
that sincerely, without a trace of sarcasm, the car started and we
were able to make it to the clinic, cold though we may have remained.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Despite the best efforts of everyone
involved in my treatment, the day was crappy. I kept getting cold
sweats; hot blankets came and went; and I couldn't get comfortable,
no matter what.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But, eventually the session ended and
it was time to go home and I was actually okay sitting, waiting for
Sheri, listening to Christmas songs and feeling a little sad.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
This is our fourth Christmas with
cancer. I always have to remember that I didn't think I was going to
see one Christmas after the initial diagnosis and before we settled
down to battle my multiple myeloma. So, I'll take a little sad along
with the joy and gratitude that regularly fill our hearts.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You know, probably the best Christmas
gift I could get is the one that just came to me while I was sitting
here trying to finish this column: no matter where we are in life, or
how hard things may seem... we just need to be brave a little bit
longer... just a little bit.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Merry Christmas.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-14145419424446609202016-12-11T07:53:00.002-08:002016-12-11T07:53:28.293-08:00The joy can be in the journey
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When you take any journey in which you
control the mode of transportation, you can experience things you
wouldn't if you had to ask the driver to stop the bus, risk the fine
for pulling the emergency cord on the train or just continue to look
wistfully down from 35,000 feet at, say, where the World's Largest
Ball of Twine is known to sit.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My daughters make the best of an
average 10-hour journey to visit us by picking a web site featuring
roadside attractions, many of them as simple as a business sign that
catches their fancy, one like Mr. Peanut in front of Perry's Nut
House just north of the City of Belfast, and visit as many of the
gems they see as they can fit into their travels.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Maybe it's their recent visit that has
me thinking of some of the things I've gathered in this three-plus
years journey with cancer. Is that a forced comparison? You tell me.
It's certainly something that I've been thinking about.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It could be it's the holidays that make
you look back, not only at previous holidays and what was happening
in your life then, but at the times around those mostly day-long
celebrations.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Whatever the reason, I've been think
about some of the things that I've noticed as I spent the past 1186
days with cancer.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
First, although I am certainly more
than a cancer victim, as I have pointed out numerous times before, it
is almost impossible to have a conversation in which it does not come
up, usually to the exclusion of anything else because cancer is a
definite conversation shortner. Talking about it makes the vast
majority of people very uncomfortable, and after a quick check-in to
see how you're doing, they generally wander away as their most
effective method of ceasing the conversation.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Chronic pain sucks. It doesn't even
have to be really painful pain. When it is present every day, it
makes it very hard to find positives in your life.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And finding positives in a journey like
this is probably the one biggest find/roadside attraction you have to
try to discover every day. The days you fall short on that need... it
really doesn't matter if your cancer is in recession or has come back
full blast,they aren't going to be good days.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
People are going to want to show your
their love for you , their caring and they're going to want to do
things for you. You need to let them.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Communicating in relationships is even
harder, and the closer the relationship, the more difficult it can
be. Take my wife and me for example. We are both under a tremendous
amount of pressure; she sees someone she loves in some state of
physical disrepair everyday, while I have to watch her worry and
stress over my failing health. Nerves are part of our physical make
up and subject to damage just like any other. But how do you snap at
a person who has cancer? How do you become short-tempered with
someone who is doing everything in their power to help you though
this horror? The very nature of the sickness forces us to be
together, and under stress, a lot. For Sheri and me, we do the best
we can and apologize quickly when we cannot.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And in a somewhat related item, I've
found that having two spleens doesn't change the process of venting
your spleen. Since one is comparable to the donut-sized spare tire
most cars come with these days, you petty much move right though
that. But, hey, maybe it replaces the time-tested count to 10 before
you say something you'll regret. Maybe not. I'll have to do some
research and get back to you, brothers and sisters.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Spiritual signs pop up all over the
place. If you believe in coincidences, that might be what you see. I
don't. I need to consider just two examples from the last
nearly-1,100 days. I first discovered I had multiple myeloma when I
went to my family doctor to check out some damage to my ribs that I
thought was caused by an attack of wasps while I was doing some yard
work. Nope. Cancer. And now for your consideration: a friend of my
older daughter's is part of the team that has developed the amazing
new treatment regimen that is the latest to be used on my cancer. Add
the fact that the same daughter has another friend, working for a
different pharmaceutical company that has come close a couple of
times in a treatment for multiple myeloma and it pretty much, at
least in my mind, rules out coincidence.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
One last thing for now: cancer is
everywhere. Maybe you need to have it to realize just how much you
see it in real life, in the plot of virtually every TV show if it is
on the air long enough, in books, movies... everywhere. So I think it
becomes important that we keep hope everywhere. Miracles are
happening and new treatments and cures are being found. So, let's
keep the faith baby. The joy can be in the journey.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-4712328807086019592016-11-29T09:01:00.002-08:002016-11-29T09:15:43.187-08:00Look who's back, just in time for Christmas<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Four
in the morning </span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Crapped
out </span></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Yawning
</span></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Longing
my life away </span></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I'll
never worry </span></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Why
should I? </span></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">It's
all gonna fade</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Still
Crazy After All These Years</i></span></span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Paul
Simon</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Hi. Remember me? I didn't die, or
anything. Fatigue has just won the last few rounds of my ongoing
fight against cancer.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The fatigue... weariness. You know it's
nothing new. It's been a constant complaint since I got sick. I'm
used to standing up to it and getting stuff done. Not much, perhaps,
but some.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, why haven't I written in weeks?
Well, to be true, my fatigue has sucked any/and all desire out of me
to do anything, and that includes writing. I just don't care to
write... about anything.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I certainly have plenty to write about:
another Thanksgiving with cancer; my daughters came to visit me for a
few days, without the grandkids or family; my latest treatment. All
valid and all things I've written about in the past, in one form or
another.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
This time? No thanks.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I think I might be depressed. I know
what you're thinking... who wouldn't be depressed, given his
circumstances. But it doesn't work that way. Justified. Not
justified. Depression is going to make you weary and you certainly
don't need to have a good reason.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
This is about the fifth column I've
started since the last one I wrote and I think I may actually have
found the root of the problem. Maybe.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
See, brothers and sisters, I'm in the
midst of a radical new treatment for my multiple myeloma. It is
pretty complicated and the medical staff and myself and Sheri are all
finding out things about it as we go along. It involves heavy doses
of steroids, which we all know I hate. We are through the first part
which involved eight, eight-hour treatments, one each Friday. It took
so long because of the number of medications I had to take before we
even started, and then because we had to administer the principal
chemo very slowly.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
At this point, right in the middle of
it all, I still go to the clinic once a week. One chemo is given
intravenously and takes one to two hours, and the other remains a
seven to eight-hour process.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And the things is... it's working very
well. VERY well. Prior to introducing this latest therapy, my kappa
light chain proteins had gone up month after month and showed no
signs of topping off. After one session of this new treatment? Bam!
They dropped from 72.1 to 1.01, startling not only Sheri and me, but
the entire medical team working with us. The proteins have since been
lowered to 0.69 which gives us all more faith in the results.
Initially, it was sooooo startling, that everyone, and I mean
everyone- except maybe Sheri, who is never so- may have been somewhat
skeptical.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And, of course, that is all well and
good. But... But... I remain fatigued, distressed and depressed, and
here's why: with this treatment, we're winning the fight against
multiple myeloma. No doubt. However, we are losing the side effects
battle. I feel so poorly so much of the time that knowing we are
managing the cancer seems to matter only a little. That's not really
true. It does matter, a lot. But...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, the days go by and I hope to keep
up the fight; hope to get past the side effects and into reveling in
the absence of cancer and the presence of better health. I think they
call it hope.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-71964331563093417862016-10-23T08:18:00.001-07:002016-10-24T16:42:34.316-07:00This whole quality of life thing is pretty tricky<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, I would choose to be
with you</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
That's if the choice were
mine to make</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But you can make decisions
too</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And you can have this heart
to break</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And so it goes, and so it
goes</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And you're the only one who
knows</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Billy Joel</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We... </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sheri, my daughters Jennifer, Alison
and Kristie and son Jason, and friends like not-his-real-name Walter
having been talking a lot lately about quality of life in face of my
new, groundbreaking cancer treatment.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Quality of life is just another one of
those things I totally got wrong at the beginning of my treatments
for multiple myeloma. If you've been with us since the beginning, you
know I've been spectacularly wrong in a lot of my assumptions about
having cancer.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Some were admittedly silly: being able
to sense the cancer cells running around my body like Ms. Pacman
gobbling up whatever it is that Ms. Pacman gobbles up. Some were
probably overoptimistic. I thought my stem cell transplant would have
had a far greater effect that it has done.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The truth is, though, that the
transplant was a game changer. It hammered the myeloma pretty good
and, if not for separate stomach issues, I would have been able to
enjoy a few months' respite.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But the thing with quality of life...
First off, I certainly thought it should be in capital letters- not
all caps, I hate that- but definitely a Capital Q, Small o, Capital
L, Quality of Life!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Big ticket items all around. Bucket
lists, living every day as if it were my last, expressing the love I
have for family and friends in big and important ways EVERY (O.K,
there the caps seemed necessary) day. And perhaps that's the way
it would have been if I had a definite prognosis with a fairly
dependable date of expiration. I mean, if I was told I had six months
to live and optimistically doubled it to nine to 12, I may have felt
more of an urgency to do those things. After all, a prognosis is as
apt to be wrong on the short side as on the long.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But, that hasn't been the case. From
the very get go Sheri and I, and my doctors, both here and in Boston,
have been adamant about the lack of a point in trying to figure out
how long I would have to live with this multiple myeloma. They
pointed out that almost every case of cancer is unique to the person
who has it, and probably even more so with a blood cancer like
multiple myeloma.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, our considerations of the quality
of life in our case slowly but surely started to shift. For me, at
least it culminated in the past couple of weeks when two wonderful
things made an appearance on our own time line.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
First, Sheri and I celebrated our 20<sup>th</sup>
wedding anniversary. Before we appeared before our family and friends
to exchange our vows in public, our wonderful pastor insisted on
meeting with us privately to go over those vows so we would be
perfectly clear on what it was we were pledging one to another before
God and our friends and family.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“When we're down there,” he told us
(as I recall), “you're going to be so worried about not
embarrassing yourselves, you won't really be aware of what you're
telling one another.” It was a serious moment. I was actually taken
aback with the weight of the decision we had made; the life we would
be entering into. Brothers and Sisters, I had no idea.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In sickness and in health, good times
and bad. Love and support and trust in God. Yeah, 20 years of that
and then some. That decision, and that journey with Sheri, has made
it possible for me to face cancer with the belief that the odds are
in my favor.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The second big event was the initial
results from my new treatment. After having gone up every month since
December (remember up is bad), my kappa light chain protein numbers
not only dropped, but plummeted from 71.2 to 1.01. Whaaaat? Everyone
was shocked, including my primary care doctor up here. Since the
procedure we're going through is so new, and there aren't a lot of
documented results in my clinic, we're not entirely sure what it
means. But, we do know it is wonderful. Amazing!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And this is when the switch in quality
of life in our situation really meant became rock-solid apparent,
once and for all. With two wonderful life events to celebrate, I put
in one of the worst couple of weeks I've had since we began. The new
treatment really knocked me on my butt and left me with very little
energy to enjoy the grand things happening around me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
See, the side effects of treatment are
really more of an issue most of the time, at least in how I feel on a
daily basis, than the cancer itself. And, in the grand scheme of
things, that's what the quality of life comes down to, isn't.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My one constant refrain when talking to
Sheri about this is: I would just like to go to sleep at night, or
during my daily nap, and wake up feeling not ill. Feeling good would
be great, but for me, right now, quality of life comes down to not
feeling ill, and even more so, not feeling so exhausted.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So in the meantime, the treatments
continue and Sheri and I move through our 21<sup>st</sup> year happy
to be together and sharing the vows our pastor made such a point of
our understanding. Thanks, Bill (his real name).</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-42839091533713070802016-10-02T09:04:00.002-07:002016-10-02T09:04:21.106-07:00Oh, yeah. Happy anniversary
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<i>Lies that life is
black and white</i></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Spoke from my skull...</i></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Ah, but I was so much
older then,</i></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>I'm younger than that
now”</i></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Bob Dylan</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Lost in all the kerfuffle around my
latest treatment is the fact that it has been three years since I was
diagnosed with multiple myeloma.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Actually, three years plus a few days,
but considering the questions and mystery surrounding the initial
diagnosis, three years seems like a safe enough anniversary to mark.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The beginning of a journey is always...
well, exiting if nothing else. Somewhere in yourself, you know there
are going to be highs, lows and middles. Whether it be something
wonderful, like a trip to Disney World or some other long-dreamed of
place; or merely mundane, though pleasant, like the annual visit to
family around an annual event (reunion, Thanksgiving, etc.)... highs,
lows middles.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As it begins, I think, as humans, we
focus on the highs. Everyone on the trip will be on their best
behavior, all connections will be made, and fatigue will be
manageable.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In truth...not so much.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Still, when I found out I had multiple
myeloma, a rare, incurable, but treatable, form of cancer, after the
initial shock, it appears I decided to make the best of it. I mean, I
didn't have a discussion with myself, nor did I confer with Sheri on
whether or not to be positive, negative, fatalistic or what. I just
decided to keep my oncologist appointments and do what came next.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Before I started “Finding the Pony,”
I did some journaling, off and on, for the first few weeks. I decided
to look back and found, as would be expected, plenty of confusion and
more micro managing than I would have thought it possible for one man
to carry. Every twitch of pain, every disruption of sleep, every
doctor's visit was held up to the bright light of worry, scrutinized
and assigned an importance it could not possibly hold.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Amidst all this flaffery, fluffery and
over thinking, I even misunderstood what multiple myeloma actually
was. Probably because it was lesions in my bones showing up on a CAT
scan that was one of the confirming factors in my diagnosis, I
thought it was a bone marrow cancer. Is there even such a
classification? As we well know now, it is a blood cancer, and a
tricky little bugger at that.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Despite all that there was the
occasional moment of clarity: <i>Oct. 17, 20013- So, I begin
treatment in earnest tomorrow. I am more than ready. There is some
trepidation about how tired and/or ill I may get, but I really want
to start doing something about the cancer itself. So, let's go,
right?” </i><span style="font-style: normal;">True dat.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">And
here we are three years later, still standing, still showing up for
my oncologist appointments and doing what comes next. Like any
journey, there have been highs and lows. In something of a reverse of
what I wrote before, going into this I think I expected more minuses
than pluses, more lows than highs, and yet, I can't say that's how
it's been.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">There
have been far more many highs than lows. Through all the different
treatments, and through all the different kinds of pain, there's been
a focus to things in my life; a better, though not perfect,
understanding of what's important, what matters and a willingness to
accept the love people have been heaping on me virtually since day
one.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Reading
through the pages of my journal, I also found this, which, frankly,
describes the most important thing I have learned in all of this:
</span><i>“Late September, 2013: Just looking back at the cards and
letters Sheri and I exchanged when we first started going out... It
was crazy, terrific and tough. But these, right now, are the days
when love shows. Not just being sick, but growing older, sharing our
latest fears and successes, loving our lives together. The beginning,
when it was crazy, is not to be lamented. It was wonderful and
difficult, and sooo worth it all... because we needed that to bring
us to this.”</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Happy anniversary
to all of us. You have been an important part of my journey and I
thank you for it!</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-6759460810549228272016-09-24T08:37:00.000-07:002016-09-24T08:37:04.443-07:00A long day's journey into night, three times, so far
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Wow.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
This new treatment is a doozy. I mean,
brothers and sisters, if this is going into the Book of the
Mainenites, it's going to have its own chapter... maybe two.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It is pretty involved and new enough
that even the nurses seem to be following the same sheet that we have
at home. And it takes soooooo long.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It begins at home, early in the
morning, when I have to take a large doze of steroids before we leave
for the clinic. This week I actually forgot. Seriously. I'd called
the clinic the day before to confirm that I could take them at home,
and then... I forgot. Yikes. Fortunately, there was no big issue
around that because I could take them when I got there, which I did.
Good boy.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then, beginning about 8:15 am, I have
three medicines to be ingested an hour before we begin the treatment
itself. So, we take those, and wait. Then, there are three more
things to be taken before the actual chemo is begun. So, we do that.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then we begin. We know it is going to
take a long time because the insertion rate starts really low and
then builds up throughout the day. Still, we're going, we're
underway. But then, we're not.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We have to stop a couple of hours into
treatment to add some more preventative medicines to the process.
See, all of these things we're doing beforehand and now, during, are
to cut down on the possibility of negative reaction to the chemo. And
these are real concerns for truly bad things to happen. So, I'm all
for using all the time we need and all the care we need to take.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then eight to eight and a half hours
after we've begun, we go home. And in the Book of Mainenites it
reads, “And the man and and his wife were so glad. They would have
looked for a fatted farm animal to sacrifice but that sort of thing
had gone out of style hundreds of years before so they settled for
being really nice to their cat.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The days end mercifully soon after that
because Sheri and I are both in my bed 8 pm. And sound asleep. And we
do sleep through the night, except for a couple of cat breaks where
Wolfie simply has to have some attention. He's been alone all day and
has tried to let us be, but he just can't take it any more. So, we
give him his attention and all three of us go back to sleep until a
more normal waking time.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The first treatment took two days
because of the sheer volume of chemo to be infused. We are now down
to one day, and by the next couple of treatments, provided I continue
to tolerate the chemo as well as I have been, we will be able to get
it done much quicker, though it will still take three of four hours,
I think.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The treatment is so new, so cutting
edge, that we get the feeling that the medical staff and Sheri and I
are going through it together. And we know there is no group of
medical people we would rather be doing this with than the ones we
have. There is not a large accumulation of anecdotal material and
often we simply aren't sure of what's what. It's good to know that
what we're going through is going to be of true assistance to people
who come after us and have to take the same treatment. And we're
doing pretty well throughout it all anyway.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
At least at this point, I'm probably
tolerating this better than anything else I've been taking. The
fatigue I feel is extreme, but other than that... There is nausea and
quite a bit of bone pain. But those are things I've been living with
since the beginning. This is just a little bit extra.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There is something, though, that I
haven't been able to put my finger on, that is, until I woke up this
morning. When people ask me how I'm doing, I tell them what I've just
told you. But that hasn't quite felt on the mark. I do feel much
better than with other treatments, but... This morning I realized: my
entire system is fighting multiple battles with itself in the common
goal of beating this cancer. I am at ground zero in this war, and
that's never a very comfortable place to be. I may have summed it up
best when I said to Sheri, “I just don't want to feel like this.”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And it's as simple as that. It's not an
especially bad feeling though it certainly doesn't feel good. But,
turning again to the Book of the Mainenites, it's just time to do
some smiting and being thankful. And maybe there should be a bit
about pulling on my big boy pants. Not very Biblical, I know. We'll
have to see.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-44275232769468281972016-09-12T15:30:00.002-07:002016-12-22T07:15:39.196-08:00OK. So what we need is a different new plan<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yes. I did ask for a plan. Yes. I did
say that being able to fight back was better than having to sit and
have cancer knock me about. Yes. I did say Sheri and I would be ready
to go and tackle my multiple myeloma again, if only we had a plan.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Well. It would seem that there are
plans and then there are... plans. I figured our plan would be more
of the same. I thought we'd take the medicines we've been using and
tweak them into a different order and strength. After all, that's
what we've been doing.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I wasn't prepared to have to toss aside
what we've been doing, almost completely, and head down a different
road; in this case, the road less taken. The treatment that makes up
our new plan is really new and pretty cutting edge. Obviously, that's
a good thing, but the process is very involved and means spending
quite a bit of time in the treatment chair.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I admit that I've been spoiled. Since
my stem cell transplant, I've been able to take my chemo and other
medicines in pill form, at home. When they made me sick, I was right
there ready to lie down at any time and throw up in bucket of my own
choosing.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In the immortal words of the
not-so-immortal Mary Hopkin, “Those were the days my friend, we
thought they'd never end.” Yeah, well...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The new plan calls for, six (maybe
five) medicines to be deployed before I take the chemo itself, and
more steroids for two days after. The first course needs to be given
over two days; about five hours the first day and two to three the
second. The whole process includes a high volume of steroids which WE
KNOW make me very uncomfortable, in fact borderline crazy. While I
realize crazy is not a medical description, it is certainly less
offensive than bats**t which probably better describes what happens
when I take minor doses of steroids, let alone the copious amounts I
have to take with this new plan.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I have to take the majority of the
medicines while in the clinic because of the worries over side
effects. The main concern is something called infusion reaction; that
is, reacting badly at the site of, and because of, the infusion
itself. I have had an initial bad reaction to everything I've been
given through this fight. I think being in the clinic at time of
insertion is just what the doctor ordered.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I have to say, this is the most nervous
I have been in a long, long time. While I know a lot about the
treatment, I don't really know what it is all going to mean to me.
Also, it is a whole different approach. Previous treatments I've
endured have been aimed at attacking existing cancer cells. This new
one seems to be inserted at the DNA level to boost your own immunize
system to put up the fight. Now, is it just mean, or does that sound
worrisome to you?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In the somewhat limited use the drug
has had, it seems to be very successful, so we've got that going for
us, which is nice.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But, here is a partial description of
the drug's mechanism of action: “This is an IgG1k human monoclonal
antibody produced in a Chinese hamster ovary cell line.” Take a
second and think about that. Not just a hamster, but a Chinese
hamster. Maybe Chinese hamster is like a “wink wink” so that
competing companies are thrown off. Maybe it actually means a hamster
taken from Bob's (not his real name) Pet Store.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I have a tremendous amount of respect
for the people who work so hard in cancer research. They are
fighting to save my life. There aren't words, not in my book anyway,
to say how much that means to me. But at what point do you look
around the lab and say, “Hey. That Chinese hamster in the corner!
Let's give her a go?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I expect the treatment to begin this
week, although it may be hard to put two consecutive days together,
we'll have to see. But this whole treatment alternative has me on
edge, thrown for a loop and any other similar cliches you wish to
bring to the game.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I will say this, and it absolutely
true... you can look it up... On top of all this, I have to at least
save some concern for the fact that game wardens have been trying to
catch a bear (brown, I hope) that has been roaming our town for over
two months. How's that for a line of concern: a Chinese hamster to a
Maine brown bear? You gotta laugh.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-44179896533906810052016-08-26T04:40:00.001-07:002016-08-26T04:40:36.013-07:00O.K. So what we need is a new plan
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, this is how it is now.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The new form of chemotherapy that has
been added to my regimen made me sicker than ever this time. I was
laid flat from mid-afternoon Monday until early Tuesday evening.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was very unpleasant. I slept off and
on between bouts of being sick, and even the sleep was filled with
bad dreams that made little sense, but left me feeling worse all the
same.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
While this has been going on, we wait
for the results of my blood work. Specifically my light chain
proteins to see if the wretchedness I feel has some value if the
number has dropped.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Wednesday morning the doctor's office
called to say that not only had the number gone up, but it was the
highest single spike since I went out of remission. It went from 38
to 58.6. As I've said before, I don't really know what the numbers
measure, but I know that having the number increase is bad.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And now the waiting revolves around
what we do next. I was hoping we would discontinue the new drug
because even if it had brought the number down, I wasn't sure I was
going to be able to deal with the side effects on a regular basis.
The doctor wasn't sure he wanted me to do that either.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sheri and I confess that the news is
distressing, but what is there to say, really? Yes, the fear is
ratcheted back up again, but... We always do better when there is a
plan. Being fearful and worried is unavoidable, but focusing on it
generally just makes us more of each.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But, when we have a plan to knock the
number back down and get back on top of this? Yes, the numbers for
the moment remain unchanged, but hope and faith are better to focus
on. Besides, doing something is almost always better than doing
nothing.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As I consider exactly what it all
means, I realize that my thinking has once again undergone a shift.
What I'm about to write may be a bit much for you, but it something
I need to say out loud. Why? Because I have always written what I
need to write.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Understanding that death and cancer go
hand in had doesn't make any of us akin to a rocket scientist; even
in this day and age when being told you have cancer is no longer like
receiving a death sentence. Heck, when I was undergoing the CAT scan
that determined I had multiple myeloma, the technician said, “Even
if you have it. Cancer is no longer a death sentence.” 'Nuff said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But what about dying of cancer? To be
cold and clinical, what about the process? Multiple myeloma is a
tricky little spud. Yes, it attacks your immune system. But what does
that feel like, exactly? I just went through a horrific period where
I had an infection that almost put me in the hospital. Is that it? Is
that what will happen?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And, yes, it attacks my bones and can
create lesions. My bones hurt quite often, that's for sure. But do
sore bones kill you?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then there are the proteins which
can lodge in any of my major organs. What is that like? Have I
already experienced it and didn't know it?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As I've written before, bar being hit
by a bus or any of the other deaths we're all susceptible to, it's
most likely I will get some kind of infection that I won't recover
from.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
One of the things I feel grateful for
is that I am very unlikely to keel over someday. Maybe I'm wrong, but
I feel, no matter what, I will have time to deal with it all. People
with severe heart conditions and/or stroke issues often aren't as
fortunate.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, we'll wait and see. We'll find out
what the next plan of attack is and get after the disease again. It's
what we do in our house... in our home.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-24675869383956642512016-08-21T11:12:00.002-07:002016-08-21T11:12:43.214-07:00Sorry I haven't written lately
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I hope you haven't been too concerned
about my unwriting over the past few weeks.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The truth is, I've started numerous
columns only to stop and put my head down on my desk, moving a
clutter of papers I'm supposed to attend to to make room.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In early September, I'll mark three
years of living with multiple myeloma. Three years is a long time to
be tired, concerned, fearful, hopeful... a long time.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I am tired. At some point I have
transitioned from the thought of dying from multiple myeloma to
coming to grips with living with it. The difference is huge. Living
with it means constant adjustments. I need to monitor my system every
day. Is that a new pain, or the return of an old one? Is that twitch
multiple myeloma or being age 67? What are these marks that keep
appearing on my skin, seemingly out of nowhere?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And my wife Sheri has to endure the
same sorts of things. She sees all these impacting my overall health
and she can't help but worry about what's going on. Three years is a
long time to watch someone you love get sicker and sicker.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Even my doctors are having to adjust my
care plan as we go along. My light chain proteins (remember high
numbers are bad) have continued to increase, albeit in relatively
small amounts. We have brought in a powerful, somewhat new
chemotherapy to add to the Revlimid mix I was already using. To say
it has kicked my butt would be a vast understatement. The drug is
called Ninlaro and it is a very small pill, but doubting its impact
is impossible. I keep throwing up after taking it. I hate throwing
up, but there you are.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We haven't really gotten a good read on
my protein levels since I started taking it, but we have already
reduced the dose because of how sick I was after taking it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Humorous (I hope) aside: The first time
I took it, our cat got out of the house for the first time ever.
Yikes! I was, literally, in the middle of throwing up, when I had to
join her efforts to get him back. So, there I was calling his name,
throwing up on the neighbor's lawn, and then calling his name again.
Repeat.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In the end, it seemed he really didn't
want to be outside any more because he ran up on the porch and waited
for Sheri to open the door to let him in. Hahaahhahahahaha. No. As
the professional patient I have become, I finished throwing up
outside- on our own lawn this time- and went back in the house.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Right now, my whole situation seems
like a mess. We are using the chemotherapy to hammer away at the
myeloma, but, given the nature of the beast, we are also hammering
away at everything else. A couple of weeks ago, I came down with an
infection and almost ended up in the hospital because of it. My white
blood cells were so low, it seemed like the only thing to do was to
put me in the hospital to monitor my counts and knock back the
infection.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In the end, my doctor decided putting
me in the hospital as a response to a possibly worsening infection
didn't make a lot of sense. Let's face it? What is a hospital full
of? Right. Sick people, many of whom have infections just looking for
the opportunity to join with all the other things I'm currently
fighting.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, he ordered antibiotics and they
seemed to do the job. Mind you, I still have a cough, but we're now
calling that a summer cold.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, I haven't written lately because I
just haven't had the energy. The columns, for whatever reason are no
longer being run in the local newspapers, so I don't have the added
burden of trying to meet a deadline, which makes it easier to yield
to the complete lethargy I feel virtually every day.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But here's the thing... It's not my ego
speaking when I say that I know you worry about my health. When I
don't let you know what's going on, how can you help but think the
worst? And while it's true things have not been going well, there is
certainly a big “worst” hanging around.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, now that I have begun again, I will
try to keep you up to date as I have done over the past three years.
Who knows? I may even return to my old snarky, sarcastic self. Hey,
it could happen.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-64066966760321245692016-06-25T08:40:00.001-07:002016-06-25T08:40:13.667-07:00I left the room and the next thing I know ...
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
First, let's see if you've been paying
attention. Last time I wrote about Kappa and Lambda light chain
proteins.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
At my clinic visit this week, I found
out that the light chains are going back up; this time from 18 point
something to 21 point something else. Now, light chain proteins going
up are a) Good; b) Bad); c) What's a light chain protein?; d) I went
out with a Kappa Lambda in college.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I know most of you got it right. The
number going up is bad, especially since the medical regimen I'm on
right now is making me feel poorly, as my Aunt Jessie used to say. I
mean, it's one thing to feel tired and kinda nauseous all the time
when you are having some success, but another thing entirely when
what you're doing isn't even working.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, we had something of a group meeting
about it when we were at the clinic. Interestingly enough, I missed
it. Sheri had arranged to talk to our oncologist in Augusta alone for
a few minutes at the end of our session. During the visit, we had
discussed a number of options and agreed our doctor would contact the
Boston oncologist who is really the big dog that oversees my care.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Well, I left so Sheri and the doctor
could talk. Never being one to let things wait, though, after I had
gone out to the car to sit and wait, our Augusta doc got on the phone
with our Boston doc and the two of them, and Sheri, were able to
discuss what to do next.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Do you think I should have felt
indignant at having been left out? Remember, these are the three
people in my life who know as much, and in some cases way more, about
my multiple myeloma than I do. So, why would I feel indignant? I was
just impressed that no time was being wasted and we had a solution in
place while I was sitting sipping Sheri's cold coffee in the car
while working on lies to tell her about how I actually hadn't been
drinking her coffee. She does not like ANYONE messing with her
beverages.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, here's where we are now. I'll
continue to take the chemo and dexamethasone as I have been, but we
are going to add another piece to the puzzle: Velcade, which is the
first therapeutic proteasome inhibitor to have been tested on humans,
an explanation which certainly comes from the “aren't you glad you
asked” department.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I have actually been treated with
Velcade previously. Before my stem cell transplant, it was added to
the mix I was taking at the time. At that time I took it through an
IV, but this time it is going to be in some sort of capsule form. I
prefer the capsule, mostly because an IV means sitting in the
treatment chair for about two hours, between getting it set up,
getting me set up, administering the Velcade and detaching after
we're done. The other way, I just take a pill, Jill, and I'm done.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I won't start the new protocol for
another week, so we'll see how it goes.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In the midst of all this, I found
myself thinking about my daughters, Jennifer, 47, and Alison, 44.
They live quite a distance from here, so most communication is by
Facebook, email, or phone.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When I first found out I had cancer,
one of the tougher things to be done was to get on the phone and tell
the girls (don't care how old they are, girls is what they will
always be to me) to tell them. At that point, I said I would never
evade the truth (also known as lying) as far as my health goes. Good
or bad, I would let them know.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And that's what's happened, But Sheri
noticed that as I was avoiding whining and complaining about my
health, I wasn't painting a totally accurate picture for Jennifer and
Alison.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I thought about that, and saw she was
right, as she so often is. So, when we talked on Father's Day, I took
the time to tell them that I hadn't been feeling good and that I was
tired all the time. I also broached the subject about quality of
life. Look, I'm not on death's door by any means, but I do have to
make decisions like the one we just made about the latest treatment
plan.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We had a really good conversation and I
think they probably have a better handle on how I'm doing: good, but
not great.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, now we all head into this new round
of treatment aware of the situation that we are fighting and what to
look for in the results. Remember... light chain proteins up... what
is it brothers and sisters? That's right, bad. Now you have all you
need to know to track our progress. Good job.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-6163484578940198332016-06-16T20:14:00.003-07:002016-06-16T20:14:49.685-07:00Speak American, would ya!?
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Two months after my 18<sup>th</sup>
birthday, a college friend helped me land a job working for a very,
very, very rich woman at her sometimes summer home in New York's
Adirondack Mountains.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My principal job there was as a
houseboy. Yeah. Really. Myself and another 18-year old worked seven
days a week; both of us in the morning, alternating afternoon and
evening shifts the rest of the time. The two of us were part of a
very large staff, most of whom traveled with the woman to her homes
throughout the world.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The staff was comprised of other people
from Scotland, as well as England, France, Ireland, Germany and
Norway. When we all sat down for supper, an interpreter was needed to
help the conversation flow. Well, we didn't have one, but, at least
back then, my French was pretty good, so the job often fell to me.
The fact that I had only been in the country for about four years,
also meant I was used to working hard to have people understand what
I was saying.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
On the plus side, everyone tried to
talk at the same time and no one really cared what anyone else had to
say, so I didn't have to be too accurate in my interpretations.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I got to thinking about this the other
day when I realized that having cancer meant understanding the
language of medicine as it applied to my disease. Multiple myeloma
was my own particular dialect.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There are so many terms and names that
I have had to develop an at least passing understanding of, so that I
might converse with the medical staff in a manner helpful to us all.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
First off... I had never heard of
multiple myeloma until I had it. As I've said here before, cancer is
an almost universal disease with very few families untouched by it's
reach. Still, only one per cent of cancer sufferers have multiple
myeloma, so there was work to be done before I even knew what it was
I was suffering from.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then there was all the new medicines I
was given, over a dozen of them, some of them designed to help me
tolerate some of the others. The biggest challenge was in ordering
refills. Normally, faced with a situation like that, I would approach
the glass the item I needed was kept behind and point. Not an option
in this case, obviously. I did learn that most of them had common
names, or “other” names, which were easier to use, which is what
I did. I also learned to order refills by the number on the bottle.
Dead simple.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As part of the stem cell transplant
process, I was treated with a number of chemotherapy solutions. Since
they were each designed to kill my immune system, I was less worried
with what the names were than what, exactly, kill my immune system
meant. Well, it meant... kill my immune system. Rather than worry
about the names, each time one came up as a topic of discussion, I
just asked, “Will this one make my hair fall out?” Eventually,
the answer became yes.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then there was the apheresis machine
which took the blood out of my system, removed the healthy white
cells and then put it all back. Well, put the healthy cells where we
needed them and put the rest of the blood back in my system.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And the Hickman line, which was
surgically placed into a large vein near/in my neck and was used to
draw blood and give fluids or medications. It came to be one of my
favorite things (though impossible to work into the song) because it
saved me from having countless numbers of IVs put in. Since there
were times when I had upwards of five lines attached at one time, you
can, perhaps, see why I loved it.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The surgery to put that line in was the
only actual operation I've had and it provided one of the
unintentionally funnier moments of the entire journey. As I was
recovering from the mild anesthetic, I heard someone say, “Great.
You really killed that one.” Though I quickly realized it was a
surgeon talking to a would-be surgeon who was learning the process,
it did give me the chance to make suggestions on improving operating
theater verbiage.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The bottom line, I guess, is that I
have become fluent in speaking cancer, or at least the multiple
myeloma dialect. Wow. My mother was always touting what I could have
been if I'd only applied myself. Well, she should see me now.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-61225066562502988812016-06-10T08:10:00.001-07:002016-06-10T08:10:15.041-07:00A cat of nine tales
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Gggggrrrrrr.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Gggggrrrrrr.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There are times, as I know you know,
when I just become sick and tired. Sick and tired of feeling
nauseous. Sick and tired of being unable to be all that I can be.
Sick and tired... of having cancer.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yeah, and here we are again. I had a
bad day yesterday which turned into a bad evening. It was one of
those times when I can't even explain what the problem is. I know
there is a problem because I feel wretched. Is it mental, though?
Physical? Both? Something I haven't even put words too yet? I do not
know.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
What I do know is that I feel...
defeated, is as good a word as any. I reach for one of my tools to
adjust the feeling, but it's... it's like the problem is metric and I
have a box of standard tools. They can come close to fitting the
problem, but in cancer, close isn't nearly enough.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The problem was made worse by the fact
that Sheri was out of the house fulfilling a commitment she made to a
social group we belong to. That left just me and our cat Wolfie to
fend for ourselves. He quickly realized I wasn't going to be any fun
and trotted off upstairs to take a nap.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, there I was, alone, trying to find
some way to occupy myself since that's the only way I can get relief
when I feel the way I did. Most of the time, watching soccer on
television will do it, but the only game of any interest at all was
Brazil v. Haiti. Which was pretty much like watching the opening
scenes of “Jaws” with Brazil as the Shark and Haiti as the Girl
Who Goes Swimming.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
On top of everything else, I was cold.
Now, cold is an almost constant state for me since I got sick, but
usually I am able to warm myself up. Not last night. I could not get
warm until... One of my periodic hot flashes decided to take the
stage. But even that didn't help much. It certainly didn't last.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I did pick up a book I'd nearly
finished and that helped some and then Sheri got home.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As I watched her shuck off the bits of
her day in the outside world and settle into the comfort of our home,
I felt gratitude flood over me. Yes, at first I thought it was
another hot flash, but it wasn't. It was gratitude. I was grateful
that I had someone to be connected to through all of this. I thought
about people I've talked to and heard from who have to face their
challenges, be they cancer or something else, alone. Yes, they have
doctors and others, but when the demons come to fill the empty spaces
in your day, when it becomes a case of you against them, being alone
must leave you totally over matched.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I have learned that sometimes going to
bed is the best solution, especially if you're as tired as I was. So,
that's what I did. It was barely dark outside, but I didn't care. I
just wanted to not feel like I did any more.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It worked as I quickly fell asleep and
didn't wake up till about 6:45 am. As is my custom, I took a quick
inventory of how I was feeling. Gggggrrrrr. No change. In fact, if
anything, I felt worse. The pain in my stomach was horrible. I tried
to look past the pain to see what the rest of the day could bring.
Nothing. The time in front of me seemed completely empty. And, in
truth, that scared me more than anything in a long time. Empty is
bad. Worse than that, as I lay there, it seemed unfillable. I had my
pain and a whole lot of nothing. Before I could get my self pity in
high gear though...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The first sad, longing, needful meow of
the day came from the doorway to the bedroom. Wolfie was back and
ready to have his breakfast served to him. Here's the thing- That cat
has come to rely on us to take care of him, and not just when we feel
up to it. So, I got up and gave him his breakfast and went back to
bed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A few minutes later... He wanted the
side door opened so he could look at and see the critters in the
yard. Done. Another few minutes later... I needed to put out bird
seed on our feeding table so that the squirrel, chipmunks, birds et
al would come to feed and he could watch them coming and going.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Well, by this time I figured I might as
well get up. I realized that the day ahead was no longer empty. It
had already been filled with quite a bit of activity. Saved by the
cat.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Life, huh? You never know where the
light is going to come from, do you?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-1242946329339171082016-06-02T22:20:00.003-07:002016-06-02T22:20:42.966-07:00Ups bad, downs good, kappas rule
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The story's in the past
with nothin' to recall</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I've got my life to live
and I don't need you at all</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The roller coaster ride we
took is nearly at an end</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I bought my ticket with my
tears, that's all I'm gonna spend</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The Cyrkle</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I had been in this country only a few
months and I didn't really know what a roller coaster was. It was
sort of like when I took my first spelling test in an English class
in this country and was asked to spell sophomore. Spell it? I had to
ask what it was, much to the amusement of my classmates especially
since we were all in tenth grade at the time.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, just a few months later, the
opportunity came to ride a roller coaster, I wasn't about to ask
questions. I mean, this was 1964, so it wasn't much compared to what
a roller coaster is today, but still... It was very high and looked
scary. Questions might have been good, and I might even have asked
one or two despite the sophomore fiasco, but, just a day or two after
the spelling test, we had a quiz in health class and were asked to
name a poisonous American snake. I knew it was cotton something, but
classmates' laughter told me it wasn't cottontail. Oy.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The roller coaster... My friends said I
should sit in the very front of the very first car because it would
be less scary. Right. That wasn't true and the ride I took explains
why the sum total of all the roller coaster rides I have taken in my
67 years is one.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It's ironic, then, that I've been
thinking of my experience with cancer as being a roller coaster ride.
How would I know, right? One experience does not an apt analogy make.
Well, I've never been to Hell, but when people use it as a measure of
how hot it is, I get the idea.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I suppose it's egocentric to talk about
my cancer as a roller coaster ride. How often have you found yourself
in situations where you're on top of things one minute and at the
bottom shortly thereafter. I mean, that's life, that's what all the
people say, riding high in August...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I hope you'll indulge me, though, in my
use of the analogy. It's just so apt. If I were to chart the peaks
and valleys of my nearly three years with multiple myeloma, joining
the dots would create a pattern that has been typical of roller
coasters since the country's first roller coaster ride opened in
Coney Island in June of 1884. (I actually looked this up. It went six
miles an hour and even I may have been tempted to pony up another
nickel to ride it a second time.)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As I've mentioned before, one of the
key measurements of the state of my cancer is something called kappa
light chain proteins. Since December mine have been going up. The
increments have been small, but consistently higher than the month
before and, in this case, up is bad.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Let me pause for another bit of irony.
In college, I did not pledge a fraternity nor did my academics earn
magna cum laude nor summa cum laude status. Greek letters were
nowhere to be found, though, as I think I've mentioned here before, I
did graduate laude how cum. But I don't think that counts.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And, now, here I am tracking my kappas
like my life depends upon it, which I suppose it does,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The last time I was at the clinic, the
people who care for me and I were discussing changing my treatment
because it wasn't knocking the kappas down. So... roller coaster
alert... it came as yet another surprise that my latest blood work
shows they actually have gone down. Granted, it was only from 20.5 to
18.3, but still... down is good. Eighteen point three whats? I don't
quite know, but like so much of all this, I don't have to. I just
need to know that up is bad and down is good and there you are.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, are we going to change my treatment
plan? Don't know. It is having a positive impact, but the chemo
leaves me feeling really tired and often nauseous and the question
becomes - is the latest impact enough to make feeling ill worth it?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Don't know that either. It's a roller
coaster ride for another day, I guess.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-72801425317636770842016-05-26T06:29:00.001-07:002016-05-26T06:29:57.177-07:00A farewell to arms
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Regular readers have often been asked,
by me, to be arbiters of taste, mine. And here we are again.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sheri and I were outside with our
neighbors Harold and Sue (their real names) contemplating the demise
of some groundhogs who had wrought considerable destruction on our
gardens. It was twilight and mosquitoes were out in full force. None
seemed to be biting me and so I asked, “If I have a cancer of the
blood- which I do – and a mosquito bites me... is the joke on it?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Not only did I think it was funny, I
thought it was a valid question. My wife feigned outrage, although it
might not have been feigning. Sue laughed and Harold was not around
for the conversation. So, that wasn't much of a sample.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My wife said “only you” would say
something in such bad taste, but she says that a lot so it doesn't
have the impact you think it might. It's funny, right?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Whether or not you find that funny,
last week marked another landmark on my journey through recovery. I
had my final replacement immunizations which were the last step in
the lengthy stem cell transplant process.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The bulk of the work was done in May
2014, but, since the transplant wiped out my entire.... entire immune
system, I needed to have all my childhood vaccinations done again,
along with some adult ones. Due to necessary time frames between
injections, it took 18 months to complete. So, yes, I had the final
appointment on my calendar for almost 18 months.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I have said before that I am not always
the go-to person around my disease or my treatment. Tell me when,
tell me where and I'll be there. A Reader's Digest condensed version
of what the treatment will be is nice, but, as anyone who has
compared the RD version of a book and the book itself will tell you,
much is left out.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Anyway, I showed up the other day to
get my final shot, which I knew was for rubella, measles and mumps. I
knew that because I read of occasional outbreaks of these diseases
and it worries me to have any of those in my golden years. But...
Reader's Digest alert... much had been left out. I was actually
supposed to get six shots. Six shots. Six. Shots. Oh, man.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When I was first diagnosed, a friend of
mine, we'll call her Megs (not her real name), in a completely
unrelated Facebook post, wrote that she'd had to have a shot that day
and it had completely unnerved her. She hated getting shots and even
the thought of them really upset her. Without thinking, I typed,
“Geez. Don't get cancer.” Relax, I didn't send it. That would
have been bad taste.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But still, it was moments like this I
was thinking of. Especially in the beginning, every health
professional I saw stuck a needle, or more than one, in me. You do
get inured to it, but still... six. Oy.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Anyway, I got my six shots and they
were very professionally administered, three in each arm. There was
tetanus, rubella etc., pneumonia, and some others. And that was that.
Stem cell transplant successfully completed. I did feel bad that my
cancer had returned before the entire process was done, but that was
an oversimplification of the event. The shots were technically the
end, the practical conclusion had come when the last of the
restrictions on my lifestyle (eating soft ice cream) was removed,
which was after about a year.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course, it was only a matter of time
before the shots began to create some discomfort... My arms hurt, So,
I turned for succor to the fountain of succor in the Arnold house, my
wife Sheri.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“My arms hurt.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Yeah? Well, you better pull your big
boy panties on and deal with it.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She was kinda joking, but she's had
Type One diabetes for over 22 years and in the course of that time
she has given herself thousands of shots, many of which hurt. So,
there was more than just a touch of “get over yourself” in her
jest.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, I didn't say too much more about
it, which was fine. Until I was lying in bed that night and realized
I really couldn't lift my arms very easily, or quickly. The thought
occurred to me that if someone broke in and told me to raise my arms
or I was a dead man, my only option would have been to sing a rousing
chorus of Woody Guthrie's Dust Bowl epic, “Goodbye It's Been Good
to Know You” in farewell.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
True story.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-61075690815937589822016-05-19T15:49:00.001-07:002016-05-19T15:49:51.417-07:00A big brain is a terrible thing to waste
Yeah. So I had coffee with
Not-His-Real-Name Walter earlier this week. Please note that this is not something I do just so I may enjoy a delicious beverage..<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
See, Not His Real Name has a big brain,
as do I. When put together, conversation generated can be upsetting
to the casual observer. One of the saving graces. Though. is the fact
that Walter's brain is more developed and has a greater capacity
towards improving the common good. He reads actual magazines, news
magazines, as opposed to those exploring and exploiting pop culture.
Me, I don't read magazines unless I'm stuck somewhere waiting for a
doctor, lawyer, car mechanic or some other who tries to distract you
from the amount of extra time you are having to spend waiting for
them.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Walter also makes daily visits to web
sites specializing in presenting the latest news, usually accompanied
by analysis designed to spark discussion. My favorites list is
scattered with sites like Icanhas.cheezburger.com where levels of
sweet and cute can become dangerous to the health of any diabetics
who may stumble onto them, and where serious discussion, if there
even is any, will invariably swirl around the merits of dogs v. cats
and which make better companions.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The fallout from these differences
means that if Not His Real Name and I are going to have a serious
discussion about a serious topic, he's going to have to take the
lead.
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Take the other day, for example. He
brought up the topic of man's inability to accept that, at some
point, he is going to die; that our instinct for self-preservation is
driven beyond all logic. By and large, he said, we will fight like
the dickens to avoid talking about death, thinking about death, or
dealing with death in any way, shape or fashion, even though, on some
level, everyone knows they can't avoid it.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Watching people deal with it,” he
was saying the other morning, “is a lot like watching someone
living in a house that's on fire and hearing them say, 'Yeah. I know
the house's is on fire, but don't you think a new sofa would look
great over there? What about some new drapes?”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It becomes a case where something
important, nay essential, that is, our desire for self-preservation,
actually becomes a bad thing if you think about it. Time we could
spend making a logical transition from robust youth to a necessary
older age is wasted on nostrums and schemes designed to keep us
feeling young, or at the very least, convincing those around us that
we're younger than them.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now, this is where
Not-His-Real-Name-Walter's big brain really rises to the fore. Just
as the self-preservation battle is reaching a peak such as only a
serious physical break can slow, we're given this sort-of aging
blanket that covers us and forces us to look at and accept certain
things at certain times of our lives.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Under cover of the blanket, we see we
can't run as fast as we once did, let's say. We still carry on the
fight for self-preservation, but with one less tool. Then maybe we
realize we need to take more naps. Arthritis tosses its two-cents
worth in to make it more difficult to open that jelly jar lid. And so
on.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The fight continues, but as all these
little bits and pieces add up, we begin to see that maybe, just
maybe, letting go a little wouldn't be so bad; acknowledging that
there will come a time when death isn't necessarily the horror we've
believed it to be all these years.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now, this blanket has great value when
you're able to start using it at the correct point in your life. For
it to produce the desired affect, it should be mid-70s or later, when
the parts that aren't working as well as they once did begin to
outnumber the parts that do. Makes sense, right? Who wants to jump
out of bed first thing in the morning yelling, “Hey. It's raining!
I get to battle the arthritis in my knees today!”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, the fight for self-preservation and
the aging blanket become two essential tools in finding comfort as
you grow older and move towards the inevitable “you know what.”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But, as Walter is apt to do, he points
out that people like myself... those with a major disease that aims
to cut my life short, don't really get full advantage of the aging
blanket. My aches and pains haven't reached anywhere near critical
mass; not even close to the point where there can be comfort waiting
along the road that leads to the end.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Unfortunately, that's as far as our
discussion got: seeing the issue, but not the solution. Still, as
long as he continues to visit cool web sites, progress can be made.
At the same time, I can spend my time watching cute cat videos to
keep my mind off things. Then we can get our big brains back together
and see how far we can go the next time. Stay tuned.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-23951884212113184322016-05-11T16:21:00.001-07:002016-05-11T16:21:42.067-07:00Hope is just a doggie in the window
Here's what was going through my head
as I was waking up the other morning: How much is that doggie in the
window, the one with the waggly tail, how much is that doggie in the
window, I do hope that doggie's for sale.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yeah. Welcome to my nightmare. If
you're a certain age, you doubtless remember Patty Paige's hit
version of this song in early 1953, the one that sold over two
million copies. If you're of a different certain age, you likely
wonder why a song about a dog for sale in a window could ever be a
hit record. Well, it was. You can always bring it up when someone
older than you is telling you your music is rubbish and how stupid a
certain lyric might be. Doggie...in the...window.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As the endless repetition of the song
through my head was finally winding down, I was actually left with …
hope. Why did that linger when the rest had gone? Beats me. I really
don't like thinking too much because odd things like this are often
the outcome.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I will say, and maybe it has something
to do with all this, since the first day I learned I had cancer, hope
has been an essential part of my journey. It has been one constant in
an otherwise muddled and sometimes frightening path.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When you're told you have an incurable,
but treatable, form of cancer, it wouldn't surprise you to know that
you immediately start hoping for the best, right? I mean, it just
makes sense. And that's what we did,</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then, as we moved through all the
treatments and medicines, hope remained in the foreground. When I was
told the initial treatment would be chemotherapy in pill form, it
made little sense, given what I knew about cancer. However, given
that I knew next to nothing about cancer, it quickly became apparent
that that was how it was going to go. I hoped that it would work,
obviously, and to a certain extent, it did.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then came the stem cell transplant. If
I knew little about chemotherapy in pill form, I can assure you, I
knew even less about a stem cell transplant. What the heck was that
deal? Again, it was time to drag hope into the picture and throw it
at this procedure and wish for the best. Again, the treatment was
quite successful. It was a lot to go through, and involved many
moving parts, and arduous days for both myself and my wife Sheri. But
in the end, hope had its day and we beat the multiple myeloma back.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But now, it's making a return
engagement and we're back to trying to knock it down again. Hope?
Yeah, we could us some.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
This time though, hope almost seems
like it came be one of those four-letter words. You know, the kind
you need the upper case keys on a keyboard to be able to use in a
family setting: s#*& or … well, you know what I mean.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Maybe it should be spelled h%&*, or
h&p*. I'm finding it hard to hope right now, at least in part
because I'm not sure what to hope for. Yes, yes, the big picture:
knock the myeloma down again, get back into being free of its more
obvious effects. Right. Of course. But there's more to all this than
that one big picture.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Daily, you need to be able to find
things to hang on to, look forward to, feel good about. You have to
be able to hope that this afternoon will be better than this morning
and this evening will be best of all.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Many mornings, I wake up and find that
I feel okay. But, as I get up and start moving through the day, I
begin to weaken; to feel sick and/or tired and don't know what to do
about it. Hope sort of turns on you and gives you a false sense of
what your life is today. At times like that, I suppose giving up
would be one thing I could do, but it isn't an option. Lost as I
sometimes feel, I need to keep going, bumping into things as I must,
even losing heart on occasion.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But, hope is ultimately going to be the
tool to use, because, it's limitless in what it can do. The limits I
put on it are mine. Just as we never truly knew if the doggie was for
sale, although the singer lists a multitude of reasons why she would
like to buy the dog, we just have to keep hoping that the outcome
will be what we need, rather than what we might want.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-20616114304022686372016-04-28T17:15:00.000-07:002016-04-28T17:15:27.459-07:00If I could put time in a bottle... Could I still get my deposit back?
So, if I said to you, “Time is a
funny ole thing,” you wouldn't necessarily argue, would you?
Certainly not without some clarification.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We've gone back and forth about that on
this space before. Well, I assume we have. I mean, I've gone back and
I assume you've gone forth. But the point I'm generally trying to
make is that even though an hour is always an hour, always 60
minutes, 3,600 seconds... If you had a stop watch and were supposed
to press “Stop” each time an hour had passed, even given a
generous cushion -10 minutes either way, say - you'd probably still
be wrong way more often than you would be right. Right?
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I don't claim to have any idea why this
is, I guess I don't even know if its a universal truth. The only
thing I can say with certainly, I suppose, is that it's true for me.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
At no time, nor place, is this more
apparent to me than when on some monumental journey, physical or
mental. Say, driving to Florida from any New England state (or the
geographical equivalent in miles) with more than one kid and/or dog
in the car... Can I get an amen brothers and sisters? I don't know if
having DVD players, iPods, cell phones or other electronic doodads
makes a difference, but I rather doubt it, unless kids are somehow
forbidden to use the word “mine” for the entire trip. The dog can
take his chances.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As far as mental vanquish? How about
waiting for lab tests? Any lab tests... even/especially
pee-on-a-stick.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The second anniversary of my stem cell
transplant is just around the corner. Talk about an event that ran
the gamut from the blink of an eye to spilled molasses in February
(slow, though it would have to be spilled outside and what you would
be doing monkeying around with molasses outdoors in February raises
enough questions to get us completely off track if we think about it
too long, so...).</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The time leading up to the actual
process was painfully long, but there were so many details to be
fixed that any less would have been criminal. And as the day
approached ever sooo slowly, key bits of the procedure kept popping
into our heads- “You'll be given enough strong chemo to kill
you...twice;” “You'll be in isolation for about 20 days;” “Then
you just have to wait for the new cells to take hold.” And as time
went by, those actual phrases, though not their portent, became more
and more succinct: “chemo, kill, twice, isolation 20 days, new
cells, hold, chemo, kill, isolation, hold, kill, kill, kill.” And
as the number of words dropped, the speed with which they would
present themselves in my brain would grow.... until they didn't.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After the verbal climax of the
transplant itself, we began the arduous trip back to what we thought
would be a clean bill of health, but what turned out to be less than
that.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Still, as we recovered, foods would be
dropped from the prohibited list; I no longer needed a mask, first
indoors, then outdoors, then in small crowds, big crowds etcetera; my
hair would grow back. The days were taken up with watching for signs
that I was getting better, whatever that meant. Time flew, time
dragged, an hour lasted every length of time imaginable except for 60
minutes.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And now all those 37-minute, 76-minute,
61-minute, 44-minute hours have added up to almost two years. So,
even the sum total is a gyp.
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I mean, in many ways it seems like just
yesterday Sheri and I were on our way home from Boston and I had rain
fall on my bald head for the first time ever. But, too, it must have
been way more than two years ago that Sheri and I sat on my hospital
bed in Boston and stared at the dry erase board willing my white
blood cells to climb from two to 6,000 so I could go home.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And what have we been through in those
two years, people? You've had your share of 71- and 54-minute hours,
and so have we. And here we are. Still standing. Sheri is a little
tipped to one side because of her broken leg and ankle. I'm not quite
as upright as I was two years ago and chances are you may not be
either.
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'd still take my journey over
anyone's. How 'bout you?</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-62585554336370364732016-04-21T15:16:00.002-07:002016-04-21T15:16:50.295-07:00Happy birthday? Why?
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Well, I just turned 67 years of age.
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Personally, if I were you, I would
figure that deserves a spot in the Great Big Book of Why Would I Care
About That? Seriously, another year on. And It's not an isolated
incident. As long as you live, it's the same thing year after year.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But, your birthday demands some kind of
attention, right? Even if you don't ask for it, you get it. Now, with
Facebook, it's even more so.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When I was a kid, when birthdays may
actually have meant something, neither me nor most of my friends had
birthday parties. A couple of the more well-to-do families might have
given their child/children a party/parties, but there weren't too
many of those in my circle of friends.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My new American friends gave me a
couple of parties early on. They realized I'd never had a party and
wanted to make sure I had one in this wonderful, new, home of the
brave, land of the free and birthday parties for everyone! It was a
nice surprise and people gave me stuff. Nice.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Somewhere between there and now,
though, I pretty much lost interest in my birthdays in general and
parties in particular.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Look, I think there are certain
birthdays that matter. The year marked is some sort of watershed, so,
yes, they are something of a big deal.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When you turn five, or so, you
generally begin going to school. I think until that moment, your
social grace and skills have slowly but steadily been getting
stronger. Once you start school, the long slide into social
mediocrity irrevocably begins.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then, as you move into double digits,
you and/or your family take care of some religious obligations. First
Communion, First Confession, Bar Mitzvah, Bat Mitzvah. Important to
mark those events, with or without a party.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
At 16, earning a driver's license
becomes an issue. Some are ready, some are not, but the fact that
such a huge step toward adulthood is available hangs over everyone's
head like the Sword of Damocles.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
While turning 18 and registering for
the Draft isn't the horror it was when I became 18, it's nevertheless
a milestone. You can vote, though the legal drinking age now pretty
much remains three years away.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There's where I think the last birth
year worth noting sits. You've been given all these rights and
opportunities and now you can even toss them all away in one night of
unacceptable drinking behavior. That first felony conviction's a
doozy, brothers and sisters.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
While I believe all of that to be true,
I must also say that since I became a cancer sufferer, the passing
years mean something different. Look, I find it hard to generate
enthusiasm for another birthday. It still feels like just another
year, just another auld lang syne.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
What is different, though, is that each
year now feels like a marker of some kind. Like living to another
Christmas, a grandson's graduation, another beautiful, sun-filled day
sitting in our yard with my wife. So a birthday becomes another
marker of time achieved, of cancer held at bay for a while longer.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And one last thing about birthdays.
Aren't we recognizing and celebrating the wrong person in that deal?
What was the birthday celebrant's part in the process? You lounged in
a nice warm, sauna-like setting, soaking up the nutrients, pretty
much just chillin'. Your mom on the other hand, spends about 38 weeks
purring on weight, fighting swollen feet, clothes that are not
comfortable, knowing at the end of it all she's going to have to pass
the equivalent of a bowling ball through a space made for a tennis
ball. And she doesn't get the party, why??!!!</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She's the one who should get the cake,
and the presents, and the singing. Good job, mom. Just sayin'.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-84838559820628109732016-04-14T13:15:00.003-07:002016-04-14T13:15:48.194-07:00Another loss, another fight
I lost another friend to cancer this
week. I say friend, cause that's how he seemed to me. I mean, I
hadn't known him an especially long time, didn't see him on any sort
of regular basis, didn't have dozens of stories to share about things
we did together. But...He was someone I liked; someone kind, caring
and thoughtful; willing to help others on a moment's notice. Those
are the things that matter; those are the things that led me to call
him friend.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I had bumped into him about three
months ago when we were each visiting our own doctors at the cancer
center. He looked pretty good, and I wasn't aware that he'd been
sick, so we didn't talk an awful lot. Hey, for all I knew, at that
point, he could have been there as a volunteer helping other people.
That's just the type of person he was.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I saw him again about a month later and
it was obvious that he was there for himself, not for others. He
looked pretty sick, but he didn't complain. Again, we just talked
about what each other was doing to help ourselves and away we went
for our doctor visits.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The last time I saw him, he didn't look
so good. That doesn't always mean much, not as far as outside
appearances goes at any rate. But, this time, he looked really tired,
from the inside out. He was having a hard time talking, his
significant other was there and Sheri was with me and the four of us
kinda huddled together to share... well. To share whatever positives
we could.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then the two of them were off down the
hall to see their doctor and Sheri and I went off to see mine. And
that was that.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
This comes at a time in my journey
through cancer that, other than my stem cell transplant itself, has
been the hardest physically... by far. My cancer has put a tremendous
strain on me mentally over the months, a strain not always matched by
physical symptoms. This time, though, the physical pain is the Alpha
Dog. Bow flippin' wow. Best in Class.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It began with the first dose of my
adjusted chemotherapy and how terrible that made me feel. Somewhere
in there, something happened to my collarbone (the good one this
time). Now it hurts to breath, it hurts to not breath, it hurts for
you to not breath somewhere I can see you...</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
This lead to an emergency room visit
and after a few hours, tests, etc., it was decided that some
cartilage had separated from by breast bone. How did that happen?
Well brothers and sisters, that answer's in the same book with the
one for “Why did I get cancer?” In the medical profession I
believe they call it, “The Great Big Book of Because.” I guess
the big boy name for what I have now is Costochondritis.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Just to show you the universe is still
good for quite the little chuckle at my expense... This is EXACTLY
what I thought I had when I went to the hospital after being attacked
and stung by bees 2 ½ years ago; when we came to find out if was
multiple myeloma. Yeah. Seriously.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When I sit in hospitals these days,
which I do a lot, I am very aware of how much actual disease and
illness is around me at again given time. Every cough. Every sneeze
seems like a personal attack.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, it didn't come as all that great a
surprise to arrive home with something which, though maybe not flu,
wouldn't certainly do until the flu showed up. Aaaarrrrggggghhhhhh.
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It took difficulty in breathing to a
whole new level and took any cough, no matter how slight, and turned
into a multi-colored display of the body's pain centers that left
anyone looking at it wondering: “Okay. Red is pain. Right? But what
about all these different shades of red? Red is all we have.” True
dat, my sisters and brothers in the medical field. Welcome to me.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The bottom line in all this is that I
feel lousy, but it's a strange lousy. It's almost like a pre-cancer
lousy, when all you had to worry about was which of the myriad
medications shown on TV would work best. That lousy was an adult
version of what you had felt as a child through young adulthood
through.... well, now. There were mild variations, but rubbing Vick's
on yourself wasn't so different from your mother rubbing Vick's on
you.
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But you don't rub Vick's on light chain
proteins and drinking warm tea with honey is just going to gum up
your system. But... But... Here's the thing we know as a result of
the past 30 months. We can adapt. We can adjust. We can figure out
what it is we need to toss at the “new” lousy and beat it... I
just hope it doesn't turn out to be that neon yellow liquid medicine
that stuck to the countertops and wouldn't come off. Yeah. I hope it
isn't that.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
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arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498040373979976769.post-38435396975005177212016-04-07T15:06:00.000-07:002016-04-07T15:06:06.845-07:00Now that's what I'd call pain
I seem to finally
have stumbled across some information that helps me understand a
question that has bothered me for... well, for as long as I can
remember, and certainly as far back as the birth of my first
daughter, Jennifer, who just had her 47<sup>th</sup> birthday.<br />
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
With all a woman
seems to go through to have a baby (pain, screaming, tears and so
on), why would she ever have another”</div>
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I mean, I don't
need to shut my hand in a car door to know that it would hurt. I've
seen plenty of other people do it. Shutting parts of one's anatomy in
various bibs and bobs of mechanical things has always fascinated
audiences. And it doesn't have to have the artistry of Charlie
Chaplin becoming one with a machine and traveling through the cogs in
“Modern Times.” It just has to be man... soft piece of bodily
anatomy...hard surface... close the loop and laughs will ensue. Heck,
America's Funniest Home Videos has made a living off of it for
donkeys years.</div>
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<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, yeah, looking
at it from the safety of never having had one, I can see why a woman
would say- and gladly- “Baby? Me? No, but thanks for asking.”
</div>
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
There was a time,
of course, when going forth to procreate was what women were expected
to do, right? Just so we're clear... I'm not saying I thought that
was the way it should be. I'm just sayin'... Get married, have a
baby. OK, but then, before you knew it, we were in a position where
babies were like the candies on the Lucille Ball-Vivian Vance
assembly line sketch - they were coming out so fast we were stashing
them wherever we could find room and losing colossal amounts of rain
forest to build cribs to stash them in. And by stash them in, I mean,
of course, places to lovingly place them with warm blankies, stuffed
toys and plenty of easy escape routes.</div>
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Anyway, the process
seemed to normalize somewhat in the early 70s and the birth rate
surely did slow down. Sitting by my wife while Jennifer was being
born, I was, admittedly, very young- three months short of my 20<sup>th</sup>
birthday – but it seemed like all that screaming and carrying on
would have made the chance of a second child a long shot. And that's
before my wife started to feel the pain.</div>
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Bam! Good one! The
classics never get old... before my wife started... Brilliant.</div>
<br />
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But seriously
folks, the whole procedure looked and sounded very uncomfortable,
heck, you could even say painful. So, “Why would you go through
that again?” didn't seem like that unreasonable a question.</div>
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Well, in my
research, there seemed to be one answer and one answer only: “After
a while the memory of the pain fades and you just remember holding
the baby...” and so on.</div>
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<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now, I think the
reason I have asked countless women this question over the years is
because it doesn't really seem like a good answer to me. Yes, this
would obviously be different if it was men who were responsible for
going forth and procreating, Sure, there would be plenty of going
forth, but I think darned little procreation... “You want me to to
pass something the size of a bowling ball through a space in my body
the size of a lemon? Yeah... That's not going to happen. Let's just
save the rain forests instead.”</div>
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
All of this came
flying back to me the other Sunday morning at 3:30 am. The
chemotherapy I have currently started again is a 28-day course. I
take the medicine once a day for 21 days, then have seven days off to
let my system recover. As I mentioned previously, we have tripled the
amount of chemo I was to take, and added another form of medicine to
try to get me back in remission.</div>
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Saturday night was
the first time I had used the new protocol. Whether it was because it
was even stronger than I thought it would be, or because my system
had been resting for a week, or a combination of the two, all hell
broke loose. I'm serious!! My stomach felt like 13-14 people were
using my stomach to stow embers to restart their fires in the
morning. Brothers and sisters... it was horrific. It was by far the
worst pain I have experienced in my cancer journey.
</div>
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
And here's the
thing... I almost immediately forgot how bad it was. I was even
trying to remember so that I could let Sheri know and we could talk
about it. But. Gone... Bupkus... Nada. Yes, I knew it had been
terrible, but I couldn't remember the details. Sort of like the
ladies had been telling me all these years. And I didn't even had a
beautiful little baby to compensate for the pain. I just had a
headache.</div>
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Life's a funny old
thing, ain't it?</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere</i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
arnoldjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12596874387597189387noreply@blogger.com0