Cancer's Many Gifts #1

Of the many gifts cancer has given me - and they are many - the most unusual is new hair.
I now have the same hair as Kung Fu Grip G.I. Joe

Tick – Tick – Tick

Clock is ticking. (get it?)

Today I had my (hopefully) final bone marrow biopsy.
Boy, it sure was a sight. Super-Oncologist Alison Loren, MD, MS, AWESOME, who, to be frank, weighs about a hundred pounds soaking wet, standing on a stool over yours truly with a biopsy needle (picture a turkey baster with a ten-penny nail on the end) digging through my pelvis bone for marrow to send to the lab. And yes, I wrote, digging.
I wish I could describe it in more detail but I was lying on my stomach on the exam table pretending it didn’t hurt. Bonnie could describe it better. She’s seen five of these now.
Five.
Five.
The first two were at Chestnut Hill Hospital. They did two because they couldn’t get any blood or marrow out of the bone the first time. In the middle of the procedure, the hematologist said, to his crowd of students, “you sometimes see this in leukemia patients.” This was the first time the word leukemia had been mentioned to us and it came out accidentally.
That’s some bomb to drop so casually.
Anyway, back to today’s biopsy.
Couldn’t sleep last night. Why? Well the test itself is no big deal, as dig-a-hole-in-your-bones tests go. But to put it academic terms, imagine a pass-fail final that you can’t study for. You pass, and you get your life back. You fail, and you have to repeat the class. And all the labs.
So now we wait for the results.
But wait, you say, you’re in remission! Yes, well there is remission and there is REMISSION.
If you were to examine my blood under a microscope right now you would find no evidence of leukemia. The treatment has worked. But the underlying cause of the disease is some damaged RNA inside two chromosomes in my cells. If the RNA have been corrected by the chemotherapy, they will no longer reproduce cells with damaged chromosomes and I will stay in remission, theoretically, forever. If the RNA is not corrected, they could, at any time begin to reproduce the damaged chromosomes and eventually allow the leukemia to return.
That’s not going to happen. You know it. I know it. But we have to prove it to medical science.
So right now my bone marrow is being sent to a specialized lab where they will examine my cells down to the molecular level and begin counting the millions of chemical combinations that make up the RNA of a bone marrow cell.
Forget what you’ve seen on CSI:Miami. It takes five working days.
Five working days.

Tick-tick-tick…

And What Have We Learned?

I have learned many things during my cancer treatment. I have learned much about myself and my family. I have learned about life. I have learned many things about the high quality and character of my friends and colleagues.

But there are many lessons that are difficult to discuss. There are things – important things – that are not, shall we say, ready for prime time. But these important facts should be known by everyone because statistics bear out the sad truth that everyone – everyone – will be, or will be close to, a cancer patient in their lifetime.

An Example:

Be kind to – take very good care of - your sphincter ani externus.
Why do I obfuscate in Latin? Those easily offended now have fair warning to move on. Those interested can easily Google it.

Take very very good care of your sphincter ani externus. Because regardless of what kind of cancer you have – leukemia, prostate, breast, bone, skin, liver… And regardless of what kind of treatment you get – chemo, radiation, alternative, herbal… Your sphincter ani externus will be affected.

Part of the difficulty of any treatment is managing the side effects. And almost all the side effects for any treatment have some negative impact on your sphincter ani externus. One day it might be too much, and the next few days, too little. Either way, proper respect and tender loving care must be paid. You don't want to be cured of cancer only to succumb to an e coli infection.

And they sure don’t tell you that in the brochure.

Another thing I have learned is that discussing the minutiae of your bodily workings with your spouse is a real buzzkill. I understand it is necessary. But you know what? Before she was my wife she was my girlfriend. And before that, she was the hot sixteen-year-old I lured to the drive-in.
So daily comprehensive discussion of my bodily fluids and fuctions… I mean, Man! Come on!

Yesterday I was frustrated with the graphic detail of my daily health report. So I decided to use my talent for spin. When Bonnie asked how I was doing down there, I replied I felt like the prettiest guy in the Gay Pride parade.

She laughed. And laughter, I have learned through all this, is the absolute best thing in the world.

DONE!

No, no, Thank YOU

My nurses gave me this award for my last day, plus a going-away feast of chocolate-covered fortune cookies. All the fortune cookies had excellent fortunes. Just like me.

ONE MORE DAY

One More Day.
One more trip to Penn's Perelman Center for chemo.
Sure I'll be back from time to time for tests and such.
But only one more day of poisonous chemicals invading my body.
I will not miss the treatment, but there are people I will miss.
I will miss the incredible professionalism of my oncology nurses at the infusion center. Professionalism, wrapped in laughter and joy. I will say this again because it bears repeating over and over until the world acknowledges the vital truth in it: A doctor may cure you, but a nurse will save your life.
And I will miss my brothers and sisters in arms. My comrades in cancer. Although I know far too few by name, their strength and good humor through obviously terrible adversity has lifted me through this. They are a constant reminder to me of how fortunate I am. Fortunate to get a cancer that has such a high rate of remission. Fortunate to be treated by the top medical professionals at Penn, a world-class health facility. Fortunate to have an incredible support system of friends to pull me through this. And fortunate to have a family whose endless flow of love is the very reason to live.
Compared to my comrades in cancer my path has been an easy one. In my heart of hearts, I hope that my easy manner and good humor during our all-too-brief interactions represents something too: Hope.
In my secret dreams I want to be the poster boy for all that has been accomplished in cancer treatment. And I want to represent all that will be accomplished for all the cancers left to be cured.
Some of you might think I am getting ahead of myself. I am not "cured." From what I have learned there is no such thing as "cure." There is only a remission that can eventually become a permanent remission. To borrow from Thomas Jefferson, eternal vigilance is not only the price of liberty, it is the price of remission.
I am borrowing a lesson from all the sales training I have worked on: Assume The Close. Until someone tells me different, I am done with leukemia and on my way back to living a normal life. Hopefully, a much better person for the experience.

See you soon.

Life Without Leatherman

From the Random Thoughts Category
(and believe me you have plenty of random thoughts on chemo):

They took my Leatherman tool from me in the hospital and Bonnie brought it home. I have not used it since I was diagnosed.
This is the longest period of time I have gone without some sort of Leatherman or Swiss Army knife in over 30 years.

I come from a long line of pocket knife people. My Dad also included a pocket magnifying glass and a pocket tape measure in his daily kit. As I prepare for my return to real life next month, I suppose I shall have to dig the boys out and see how they feel again. Like I said, Random