Falling Out Of The Dream Cycle

After you fall out of working life and before you fall out of the middle class, you fall out of what I call the dream cycle. All the dreams you have, “I’d love to retire to…”, “I’d love to sail my boat in…”,”When I finish my book, I’d love to…”, seem to fade away. Replacing them are survival dreams. “I want to see my kids grow up.” “I want to make it through chemo.” “I want to make it through the year.”
Despite my strong positive prognosis, one thing the disease robs you of is certainty. Before leukemia, I was going to live forever. I had all the time in the world. There was no reason to hurry. The disease removes that arrogance pretty quickly.

It leaves the small dreams.

Everything else relies on the big dream: Permanent Remission.

Oh, I Hope I Don't Get Pulled Over...

What do you do when you don't look like yourself anymore?

Looking out from the inside I forget I am not the paunchy furrball I once was. I went to pick up my daughter at daycare and they almost didn't give her to me. Although they knew Katie's daddy was going through cancer treatment, it didn't prepare them for the change in my appearance. Fortunately Katie convinced them I was daddy, but that was after the question, "Who was that guy we've been giving her to?" Who indeed.

I passed a woman at the school who I have known since Cooper was small. She has a son Coop's age and we spent many hours together watching them earn their black belts. She tossed some friendly non-personal conversation my way, but when I responded in perhaps, a more familiar tone than she would expect from a stranger, she withdrew. It took me a few minutes to figure it out.

So I am driving a bit more carefully. Partially because I don't have the platelets for a big mistake, but also because I don't relish the "recovering cancer patient" explanation to the trooper.

As for me, the mirror on the medicine cabinet has a stranger on it. I guess I better get used to him, he's going to be there for a while.

The 40lbs I Always Wanted To Lose

I know 4 or 5 lbs of it was hair, I guess. And January is not the month to test the insulating value of hair. Trust me. Hair insulates like a blanket of R-38 fiberglass. I made the mistake of running outside to start the car without my new constant fashion statement, the touque.
Hoo-Wee! I don't know if the staples conduct heat away faster, or if it was just total rapid skull radiation, but the chill hit the bone pretty quick. So I will be within a few steps of a chapeau until summer comes.

So that leaves the rest of the weight I lost... Now my pants don't fit unless I pull the belt tight past the holes. It's a new look for me, tres vagabond. I guess if I start the sit-ups now I have a shot at having a six-pack for the first time since eighth grade.

What are the odds, do you think?

HOME!

After 36 days in the hospital I am finally home!

My blood counts are coming back strong and my last biopsy looked good. I am so happy to be able to sleep in my own bed. Most of all, being home with the family is the best medicine.

Next steps are still being planned. But for right now, staying home with the family feels pretty darn great.

I Thought I Would Join Up Before I Got Drafted

I got some very good advice from another cancer survivor. He said it was much better to grab the bull by the horns and shave your own head before you find yourself standing in the shower with a handful of hair.

My philosophy about this disease from the beginning has been: Forward! My model has been Ernest Shackleton's ship, Endurance. A sailing ship can't back up. It can only, you guessed it, move forward.

So with that in mind, I asked one of my terrific nurses, Caroline, to bring out the clippers and shave the noggin.

Well, it seems that may have been premature. Here I sit with a head covered in fuzz and no sign of further depiliation.

Live & learn.

The bald scalp does make the steel staples look fierce. Someone remarked the other day that the staples are just outside the hairline. So I will have some scars to brag on down the line. I'm sure my surgeons did what was medically necessary but I can't help but think of the line from M*A*S*H (the movie)

Voice 1: Does anyone know if this is an officer or an enlisted man?
McIntyre: An enlisted man.
Voice 1: Make the stitches big.

Ah, vanity.

I have never been overly-proud of my looks. I have often considered myself the "BEFORE" picture or the picture in the Post Office. But let me tell you with the head shaved and the badass scar, I am definitely the guy you don't want to see behind you at night at the ATM.

Thank Yous & Apologies

First, let me apologize to everyone who has written and not gotten a reply. I am amazed and humbled by the sheer volume of emails from friends and well-wishers. During the first part of my illness I wasn't able to respond as I would have liked to everyone who emailed, but please know your kind thoughts and prayers are very much appreciated.

And of course, many, many thank yous to everyone. I can't begin to express my deep appreciation and gratitude to everyone who has called, emailed, visited, sent cards, offered their time, love, labor and blood, delivered food, physical and moral support to me and my family.

Thank you all. You have a special place in my heart. And always will.

I'm Baa-ack!

So after a month in custody - er - hospital, my head is back on straight, albeit with a few steel staples in it. I am done with my first round of chemo, my bone marrow has been destroyed and reborn and my blood counts are rising fast. The word I hear is that I might be home this week.

Stay tuned.