Friday Pregame

For tomorrow's game:

That is all.

Except really, Sparty?  8 votes in the poll so far? Did you all boycott my site after I made fun of "Tie your shoes like Kirk Cousins" day?   

This the worst thing in the world:

Ernie Harwell's life to take center stage; Mitch Albom to pen script

 I don't fight cancer because I fear death; I fight cancer because I fear Mitch Albom writing about me after death.

A close second worst thing in the world:

Being at home and dealing with cancer is fun.  Except when I have to see things like this happen:

Harper Woods police seek 2 boys in Escalade carjacking

Harper Woods -- Police said Thursday they were looking for two boys and a Cadillac Escalade after a woman reported the preteens carjacked the vehicle...

..."He lifted up his sweatshirt to show me his gun," she said.  Johnston said she handed over her keys and told her mother to get out of the car.

The boys hopped in the Escalade, and the shorter of the two boys scooted up to the steering wheel and took off, Johnston said. The other suspect is about 5 feet 5 inches tall.

A close third:

The mother who "wrote" me the letter about her dead son two days ago...decided to follow it up with a phone call to my house yesterday.  Begging me to vote for Bill Schuette.  Since I've been in Ann Arbor for seven years, I never really had good chances to get really pissed off at Republicans.  And you know I'm an equal-opportunity hater.  I'm glad Bill Schuette is providing that opportunity. 

Thanks Illinois, for reminding me that I haven't ranted about the bar exam in about a week

So last Friday, the State of Illinois released their bar exam results.  Like most things related to the bar exam, the people in charge of such things seemed to have used a Chinese Fire Drill as their template.  While I watched the carnage unfold on Twitter and Facebook for several hours, I couldn't really tell what the hell was going on.  So I e-mailed a couple friends to get the inside scoop.  Here are some excerpts:  

I have no real insight into the black box that is the Illinois bar association.

It does seem to have been roughly alphabetical. I found out at 11:30 and the only other people  mentioning it on facebook were A and B last names.

I know either last year or the year before they did A's and B's first then everyone rushed the site  and the server crashed for a full day

Maybe the batches were alphabetical (A through C, then D through F, etc.), maybe not

Without facebook or Twitter, the people who found out later would be none the wiser

Maybe [exam results were released based on] when you had your paperwork completed with the Illinois bar. Maybe it's by shoe size, alcohol tolerance, hair color, eye color, hat size, or height ? all of which are as accurate metrics of your knowledge of the law as the bar exam itself

I was wondering whether the blame should have been placed on law students or bar examiners, but aren't bar examiners people who never really got over tormenting law students?  I mean, there's really no other point to the bar exam.  So my general rule is: when in doubt, blame the bar examiners.  They know how big this exam is, they know how law students are going to react, they do this twice a year, every year, and they had six months to plan for this.  And the best they could come up with was a "roughly alphabetical" IV-drip that crashed the server a year earlier and did not account for things like "Facebook" and "Twitter" and "law students talking to each other."  I don't know, maybe Illinois did the best they could.  But it sure seemed like they had Les Miles running the show down there. 

Anyway, the Illinois fiasco made me remember that I was supposed to attend a "professionalism course" in Baltimore in early December.  But both the lymphoma and my treatment beat up my immune system pretty good, so traveling (airplanes) and crowds are things I try to avoid as much as I can.  Also, while I've been doing pretty well in terms of my energy levels, fly-in, fly-out trips and long drives get to me a little bit.  So I pulled out my stack of "Vaguely Threatening Things Maryland has Mailed Me" the other day to fill out a deferment form for the professionalism course.  I hope "I have cancer" is a good enough excuse.  

But my journey through the stack led me to this letter, and I just had to post it.  Why?  Because this letter so perfectly captures the essence of the bar admission process:

  So there it is.  A simple letter.  But so perfect.  Why?  Let's begin:

• There's really no information whatsoever in it.  Any information there has been conveyed to us hundreds of times.  One paragraph is on law school transcripts, which is like the 300th warning on this topic.  The next two simply say, "If you've changed your name or address, tell us."  The next paragraph might be relevant, although it just means we have to sign roughly the 20th document stating that we are not lying to the Board.  And the last paragraph contains the information nobody forgets: when and how exam results will be posted.  
• It's mean to look so damn official, what with the names of the board members and the seal and the haughty "MEMORANDUM" for no good reason.  But...it's completely crooked.  That's not just the way I scanned it.  It's that way in the original document.  Like comically crooked.  To the point where my frist thought upon looking at the letter was not, "I should pay attention to this stuff," but "LOL I gotta put this on my blog." 
• Sometimes on this blog, I use bold text or capital letters to highlight important phrases or concepts.  The State of Maryland appears to employ the same tactics.  Except, as this letter indicates, everything that comes out of their figurative mouth is the most important thing in the world, so roughly 40% of the letter is bolded or in caps. 
• Maybe this is just me, but every time I read something that Maryland sends me, I just feel so...threatened.  Look at the thing.  Every other sentence is "YOU MUST" or "YOU MAY NOT" or "MARYLAND WILL NOT" or "IF YOU DO NOT COMPLY WITH RULE 12(C)(6)(B), MARYLAND WILL BRING THE PAIN ON YOUR FACE."  Here is the original letter, but now with "vaguely threatening" sentences and phrases highlighted (and straightened):

I feel like the damn thing should be written with letters cut out of magazines and newspapers.

Anyway, it gets better.  Let's look at a couple of my favorite parts:

I love the header.  First of all, the letter is a page and a half, so finding some way to reduce this monstrosity to say, nothing at all, would allow the State of Maryland to save a couple thousand pieces of paper and increase their "green quotient" or whatever.  Hell, they could have e-mailed us the thing.  But I digress.  Second, I love the whole "MEMORANDUM" thing.  I don't even know why.  I think it might be the "To:" line, which lets me know that, as a July 2010 Applicant for Admission to the Maryland Bar, the Memorandum is indeed for me.  I was pretty sure the thing was for me, since it was sent to my house and addressed to me, but this was valuable confirmation.  Or maybe it's Steven W. Boggs' handwritten initials after his name, implying that the Memorandum is indeed form Steven W. Boggs, and not, say, a Nigerian Prince.  Either way, Maryland, massive, official-looking letterhead and header on a document that is a "reminder" and thus of very little importance = good use of a half page.

It's a letter from Maryland! About the Bar Exam! Let's make a checklist!

• Use of the word "pursuant"? Check.
• Cite a possibly-fake rule by number? Check.
• Use of the phrase "State Board of Law Examiners"? Check.
• Make the applicant responsible for something but prohibit the applicant from actually doing it ("you are responsible for ensuring...The Board must receive the transcript directly from the law school.")? Check.
• Ominous but ultimately meaningless deadline ("Your transcript was due in this office by September 1")?  Check.
• Bold text? Check.
• ALL CAPS? CHECK!
• Underlined text? Check. 

I'm not sure if this paragrpah is that amusing, beyond these things: 1) I actually decided to determine my number of chemo cycles by counting the number of times the phrase "this office" was used in this paragraph; 2) You know who else asks me to send them my social security number? Nigerian princes; 3) This paragraph could have been written with about 150 fewer words; 4) The usual: "here's an imminent deadline for you, while we take more than three months to grade eleven questions."

I love the last sentence of each of these paragraphs.  First, we are told that the "Affirmation Form [bolded twice for no reason at all] will be on colored paper to distinguish it from the notice of results."  Presumably so we don't eat it or something.  I hope mine is pink for cancer.

Now check out the last sentence of the second paragraph.  It's just so...mean.  Like, you guys get 100 days to grade my exam, I get 10 days to send you a form back or you will "enter an exception to [my] bar admission."  And the exam results are released online on a Friday, so I presumably get the Affirmation Form in the mail sometime after that.  And November 15 is a Monday, so presumably it has to be there "by" then, which means the previous Friday.  So...I don't know.  I might just track down the mailman, sign the Affirmation Form immediately, fire it into a pre-addressed and pre-stamped envelope, and hand it back to him to expedite the process.

Because if I don't, "the Board will enter an exception to your bar admission with the Court of Appeals of Maryland on the presumption that you have failed to make a complete and current disclosure of current information relevant to your character and fitness." (Bold in original).  Shit, guys.  I'm not really sure what any of that means, but it sounds pretty serious.  And sorta mean.  Especially considering I swore to update the board with any new information relevant to my character and fitness about six months ago.  So I don't mail you a piece of paper quickly enough and you "presume" that I am withholding information and "enter an exception"?

Of course, I'm sure the actual situation isn't as dramatic as the previous two paragraphs make it sound.  But that's the point: this is all a bunch of faux-dramatic stuff.  And it irritates the living hell out of me because I have to deal with really serious stuff on a daily basis.

It's October 7th.  I started studying for the Bar Exam on June 2nd.  I finished the Bar Exam on July 28.  I was diagnosed with lymphoma on July 30th.  For four consecutive months, I have been dealing with some of the most difficult stuff I will ever face.  Two months of one, two months of the other.  To beat cancer, I will do anything, and I'll do it with a smile.  Or at least with my head up.  Get poked with needles and take a drug cocktail every day.  Drive all over the place for various appointments.  Get pumped full of toxic chemicals and radioactive glucose and whatnot.  Lose my hair, lose my appetite, lose my sperm, whatever.  With struggle #2, there's meaning.  All my suffering has a purpose.  It was thrust on me by the universe, but literally every human I have come into contact since then - family, friends, doctors, nurses, strangers - has done everything in his or her power to help me out, make me feel comfortable, and pick me up.

So when I'm sitting here bald and bored with my bones throbbing, I have a little trouble getting amped up about some Board who wants to put a demerit in my file because I didn't sign and send them colored form T-22(C) before some arbitrary date. 

I guess it all goes back to perspective, and how much mine has changed in the past two months.  A lot of the things you think were important suddenly become far less important after a diagnosis like this.  And some things you didn't think meant very much suddenly mean the world to you.  It's why I really appreciate my family and friends a hell of a lot more now.  It's why I honestly am not worried about the bar exam at all right now, and why I just dropped a couple thousand words poking fun at a state that hasn't yet admitted me as a lawyer.  I have a cancer blog.  I write my thoughts on it.  That's that.  I respect the process, I'll submit to it, and I'll comply with it.  I'm aware of no requirement that I like it.

I don't mean to hate on you Maryland.  I still love crab cakes and football, and I don't blame you for Joe Flacco taking a dump on both of my Fantasy Football teams.  I haven't much cared for your entire Bar Exam process, but I think that's how every law student in the country feels about the Bar Exam process from every state.  I don't mean to single out Maryland.  I just decided to choose their bar, cancer decided to choose me, I decided to start a blog, and now I have loads of time every day to sit around and write about things. So here we are.

But I would be lying if I said that after four months of dealing with two pretty awful things on a daily basis, I didn't compare the two situations.  I have all day to hang around and think about this stuff.  What do you want me to do?  So I think about this stuff, I write, and hopefully it entertains you and many of you can empathize.  It's certainly therapeutic for me.

It's like napalm in my veins

Sometimes chemo feels a bit like this...

With each cycle getting closer and closer to turning me into a crispy treat. 

I asked Dr. Anderson last week - just for kicks - where R-CHOP rated on the "intensity scale" of chemotherapy treatments. He said it was about a 7.5 out of 10.  Which I probably could have guessed - in either Detroit or Dearborn, I have never seen somebody outlast me in the  treatment room, about half of the other people are not bald, and I can only have treatment every two weeks (many others have shorter treatments multiple times a week).  But still, I'm lucky.  That 7.5 translates into a very effective treatment and good results, and at least I avoided a more intense treatment, which would have registered a 9.5 on the fake chemo intensity scale and would have put me in the hospital for a few days every other week.  Decidedly less fun. 

I didn't post yesterday, in part because there's not much more to say about each cycle - they are all the same - and in part because I had quite the crowd of visitors yesterday, to the point where the receptionist told me "maybe some of these people should wait outside."  A very good showing by all who came, so thank you.  I'm really starting to hate every moment I spend in the treatment chair, but at least when other people around, I can take my mind off things for a bit. 

Overall, treatment went fine, although we didn't set any speed records (and won't be setting them in Dearborn. For some reason - trying to figure out why - I'm allowed to get the Rituxan at a faster rate downtown than I am in Dearborn. I have no idea why that matters. But since Rituxan takes the longest to administer, this has a big impact on the overall speed of treatment).  Although I did get two R-CHOP treatments in 13 days instead of 14, so I hope that counts.  

We brought in a new drug from the bullpen for cycle 4: Aloxi.  Anti-nausea drugs, like pain meds, are graded so you use the appropriate drug from the appropriate level of pain or nausea.  Aloxi is a step higher than the Zofran I was on during previous cycles, but the main difference is that Aloxi lasts longer and is designed to prevent delayed onset nausea and vomiting. 

And, knock on wood, the stuff seemed to work.  I made it until around 10:30pm without feeling any nausea at all, and even then I felt only very mild nausea which didn't really bother me.  Woke up today feeling pretty good.  I don't normally feel worse from one day to another, so hopefully the worst I have to deal with (in terms of nausea) is over. 

Everybody and their cousin will be in Ann Arbor this weekend, and I'm still on the fence about that.  I don't think I can handle going to the game itself, because it's quite a physical challenge to stand and scream for three hours.  But I think I'm going to have problems dealing with this game mentally no matter where I watch it.  I specifically made sure the Aloxi would last thru Satruday for this purpose.  While they have an array of drugs to prevent chemo-related nausea, I'm not sure if they make any drugs that will allow me to watch our defense without vomiting on my shoes.  I'm not sure they even have drugs to prevent our secondary from vomiting on their shoes during the play.  So bottom line, I have no clue what I'm going to do this weekend, although I'd like to be in Ann Arbor if I feel up to it. 

So I'm done with 4. I'm not sure if this is the 4th quarter or the end of regulation - that decision will be made next week - but it is definitely 4.  And that's closer to whatever number I need to be finished with this stuff.  So I got that goin for me...

Normandy

Progress. 

I'm making it.  For the first time, I finally feel like I'm on the offensive, not on the defensive anymore.  It's a pretty distinct feeling.  In the past few days, I've finally been able to think about things post-treatment.  Starting to look at places to live, picking out furniture, thinking about a moving date.  These are things that I really could  not do a couple weeks ago.  It wasn't really logical, but it was the way I felt.  Today was the first day in a long time that felt sort of like a normal, cancer-free day. 


There's one thing I've come to realize over the past few weeks: I have more control over my experience that I thought.  I focus on this stuff day-by-day.  And if you have some control over every day, you begin to take control of each cycle.  And if you take control of each cycle, you begin to have some degree of control over the course of treatment.

I think the entire goal of enduring chemotherapy treatment is this: Avoid the downward spiral.  It goes like this: you feel a little down, so you decide to stay on the couch.  You're not moving, so you keep thinking about your condition, sulking, feeling even more down.  You're on the couch and not moving, so you feel even more tired, and you don't really feel like eating, so you skip a meal or two.  And then you missed a couple meals, so you feel even more tired and week, and you don't feel like moving or doing anything.  And then you think about your condition even more, and so on and so on.

That's the "downward spiral" I'm talking about.  So I do everything in my power to try to fight it.  My friends have been really good about inviting me places or texting me to see if I want any company, and sometimes I'll go out or tell people to come over even if I'm really not feeling up to it.  I take walks sometimes, which always sort of ego-crushing for me - I really dread the point in my life where a "walk" counts as exercise - but it really beats sitting around.  I eat when I don't feel like it, which is pretty much all the time since I haven't been "hungry" since mid-July.  I go to the gym when I don't feel like it, and I never feel like doing that.  Sometimes that's really tough because I can't do too much and I get tired quickly.  But the upside is that I look much better in the gym, mostly due to the hair loss.  I spend a lot of time mentally jousting with myself.  Like, really yelling at myself in my own mind.  As in, "Get off your (expletive) ass and quit being a sorry little (expletive).  You think because you have cancer you're allowed to sit around and mope?  (Expletive) you!"  Seriously.  I say some pretty mean stuff to myself.  Made myself cry once.  It was a real mess.

In any event, I try to temper my self-criticism.  Overexertion just causes other problems, so I want to avoid that.  And I know there are certain things I can't do right now that I wish I could, but I also know that I'll hopefully be able to do those things again someday soon.  I know I'm in a delicate position for a while, I know I can't do what others do, and I know that that's a pretty raw deal.  But I'm over it.  This is the situation.  Just deal with it.

But I've always believed that the real test for me is not how I act around other people or how I write on this blog.  Those things can be faked.  I could put on a great performance.  The real test for me is how I deal with this when I'm alone, lying in bed, stuffed in a PET Scan machine, sitting around watching TV when there's nobody around.  No audience. 

And good lord, I really do try to psyche myself out. I don't know if I do it for my own amusement or because I'm sadistic.  I guess it doesn't really matter.  Sometimes, certain things precipitate it.  Like Facebook photo albums of somebody's awesome bar trip, a vacation, or a night at the bar.  Or hearing about people moving to and getting settled in a new city.  Or hearing people complain about a hangover, or having to work late, or their "rough day."  Sometimes, I just say crazy things (in my head, not verbally.  I'm not that far gone) to myself to see how I react:  Pretty much everyone else got to decompress after the bar.  Not me!  Hey want a beer?  Nope!  Not for me!  Remember when you could go four consecutive days without feeling like hell?  Yup...24 sure was a fun age!  Want to go to your friend's wedding?  No can do!  Everything...EVERYTHING I had planned in the near future just got kicked in the mouth and tossed to the side.  In an instant.  As fake Mitch Albom wrote, "One moment.  One arm pit.  One lump." 

And why?  Cancer!  What a stupid effing thing.  I'm very much the "winner" of the world's shittiest million-to-one odds lottery.  It's not even like it's something I did that led to all this.  Just one day something decided I should get cancer and poof, it was done.  I tell my story to people who don't already know and they react like they're witnessing a car accident.  Their eyes get big.  Their hands cover their mouths.  They can't utter much beyond "oh dear" and "oh my god, no."  My mom goes to the pharmacy to pick up my drugs and they ask her how her husband is doing.  My grandparents tell their friends to say hi to their their grandson in the Henry Ford Hospital Oncology treatment room...you know, because we hang around the same places now.   My sister and my friends spend "quality time" with me now as I'm tethered to a pole with a needle in my arm getting poison pumped through my veins.  Sometimes, I just step back and look at the absurdity of the situation, and I got nothing.  I'm speechless.  I don't even know what to say or what to think.  Besides: Seriously, what the fuck?!

So yeah, I realize I just dropped a two-paragraph pity party on everybody, and I'm sorry about that.  I try to be as candid as possible here, and these are things that I, and many other cancer patients, definitely consider.  But I mentioned all this to illustrate what I think about in my own mind sometimes when I'm not writing here and when I'm not around anybody else.

And to make this next point:  That stuff just does not bother me.  That's one of the things that has really stunned me about this whole experience.  I don't know if I'm denial or just being delusional.  I don't know if I can actively control my emotions or my mental state.  I think there's some validity to this - if you just tell yourself you're not going to feel pity, can you actually make that happen?  I just know that sometimes, I sit there and try to make myself feel bad just for kicks, and then I go on and tell that part of me to STFU and go somewhere else for a few months because I am busy and I don't need his negativity right now.

I have no room for those thoughts right now.  I can't speak for other cancer patients.  I explained why earlier.  But I don't think it's a stretch to say that cancer at 25 is different from cancer at 65.  That's why I use that phrase "cancer at 25" so frequently, because I think it captures a unique situation that a young person faces that older people don't.  Not to take anything away from either experience.  It's just that I think they are different.

But I'm on a different plan here.  I don't think, "oh what a wonderful life I've had."  I mean, I have, but that thinking is sort of fatalistic.  I hate the phrase "quality of life" with a passion because I think it has a "he's doing the best he can" ring to it.  And that's why I can sit here and tell you about every little ache, pain, sensation, thought, and emotion I feel but not get seriously bothered by any of that stuff because that is not the point.  It absolutely does not matter.  So what if I feel nauseous or my legs hurt?  So what if I'm deserving of pity?  What does that get me?  Ok...you are pitied.  And now what?  Absolutely nothing.  It's a waste of time.  All that shit is a means to an end. Anything that distracts me from that end is just noise. 

Every single day I wake up, I have two goals: One, win the day.  Two, avoid the downward spiral.  They go hand in hand.  And it starts upstairs, mentally.  I don't know if I can actually have an impact on my treatment or prognosis this way, but I'm not sure it even matters.  I feel like I can have an impact.  I feel like I can fight this thing harder than others, in part because of my age and health, in part because of my mental situation.  Arrogance alert, but does anybody out there could out-cancer-blog me?  So why should I ever let anybody out-cancer-fight me?  Not gonna happen.

Of course, I'm realistic.  And trust me, nothing humbles you like cancer.  Nothing makes the sheer speed with which you could get flicked off this rock more evident than a diagnosis like this.  And I know that things happen irrespective of how hard people "fight."  I had a reader write to let me know about her time as a cancer counselor, and her directive to not use "fighting words" with cancer patients because patients might always wonder if they could be "fighting harder."  I'm a slave to my situation, in a large part, and I get that. 

But on the other hand, I'm still me.  And I'm still dealing with this in my own way.  And if that seems insensitive or offensive to others...well you are free to complain about me on your own cancer blog.  Because my attitude most of the time is, "Man up, grab your weapon, and start killing something because we are in a war here and I'm gonna be the one who walks away from this."  And that attitude, crazy as it might be, gets me through each and every day of this crap.

Because this is Normandy.  The beginning of the end.  I'm not sure exactly how close I am to the end, but we're getting there.  Nurses tell me that treatment becomes more difficult after cycle 4, so I'm sure this will be a battle.  I don't know what will be waiting up on the beach, but I'm confident that I can beat it.  

Things that always made me angry make me more angry now that I have cancer #3 (this one is really bad)

If you haven't been able to figure this out from reading the site, I don't much care for politicians.  I wouldn't say they are worse than cancer, because that's pretty mean.  But my cancer has never taken my money and then asked me to thank it.  It doesn't sit there all day repeating the phrases "working families" and "shipping our jobs overseas" ad nauseam.  It doesn't sit around, accumulate enormous amounts of power and wealth, and then ask us to honor it for being our "public servant."  My cancer is straight up, no BS, no frills.  I'm here.  I'm going to try to take over your body.  Try to stop me.  I respect that.

My favorite politican of all time is Clint Webb, which is ironic because he is completely fictitious.  But he is the most honest politician I have ever seen. Here he is in action:

Oh, and there's one thing my cancer has never done to me: it has never sent me a fake handwritten letter from a mother of a murder victim along with a photo of said victim with a fake handwritten note on the back in an attempt to get me to vote for one candidate in an election over another.  I shall explain.

Yesterday I received a letter in the mail, addressed to me.  I recieve a lot of stuff in the mail from people now, so I opened it.  Here's what I found:

A pretty realistic-looking letter that begins "You don't know me..."  Which I would usually toss away, but I receive a fair number of messages that begin with "You don't know me..." these days, so I read on. 

The letter goes on to mention David Leyton.  David Leyton, you may remember, is a current prosecutor and the Democratic candidate for Michigan Attorney General.  I tore into him last week for telling a Republican Court of Appeals Judge that he "continuously ruled for murderers and rapists and child sexual predators," which is 1) blatantly false, 2) a pretty deranged thing to say, and 3) indicative of either an inability to grasp reality or a willingness to say whatever he wants, regardless of the truth, to win a job.  All of which should disqualify him from competition to be the "top law enforcement officer in the state."  That single comment made me think a) David Leyton is an absolute psycho, and b) that I might want to vote for the Republican just so this guy doesn't get elected.

So yeah, when I started reading this letter, I thought it from was a ticked off reader of this blog, or somebody who had been forwarded my post, or somebody who was angry enough to Google the name "David Leyton" and she found my post, or whatever.  And so I read on, and it turns out that this woman was the mother of a murder victim, she thought David Leyton went easy on the killers, and she was mad about it.

I also noticed there was a picture in the envelope:

And then I flipped the letter over.  And found this:

This.  Is.  The.  Most.  Disgusting.  Thing.  Ever.  EVER!  I've been following politics for a long time and I've tossed out hundreds of pieces of junk mail from candidates over the years, and NOTHING has provoked a reaction in me like this thing.  Holy shit.  I mean, THE MICHIGAN REPUBLICAN PARTY SENT ME A PICTURE OF A MURDER VICTIM TO TRY TO GET ME TO VOTE FOR A CANDIDATE.  OH AND THEY EXPLOITED HIS MOTHER IN ORDER TO SEND A FAUX-HANDWRITTEN NOTE TO POTENTIAL VOTES TO MAKE THEM VOTE FOR A CANDIDATE. 

I feel terrible for this guy and his family, but holy hell.  My sympathy is completely overwhelmed by blinding rage for the Michigan Republican Party.  I am equal-opportunity rager.  I'll rage on BS when I see BS.  And this was so far beyond BS it wasn't even funny.

Poor Michigan.  Your prisons are bursting at the seams with guys who sold some rocks or some grass, and your potential "Chief Law Enforcement Officers" are jello wrestling over who hates murder victims more.  These two guys are responsible for putting and keeping thousands upon thousands of people in jail - many of whom deserve to be there, some of whom do not - but are engaged in an election battle over who is "softer" on crime.  When they're both complete psychopaths. And the AG's office doesn't even handle criminal matters that often. 

So yeah, when you go to the polls this November, you can do what you want.  I guess you'll be stuck with one of these two guys (and I say "you" because I'm going to GTFO of this state, hopefully before either of these nutjobs are sworn in).  But I'll be writing in a vote for my tumor, because my tumor is less disgusting and will cause less damage then either of these cats. 

Side effects may include...

So I kept bumping the "close" date of the poll to see if I could experience one more Prednisone bump and one more bout of leg pain before deciding which chemo side effect was the worst.  But those side effects did not cooperate this cycle.  Plus I sorta screwed up by asking "Which chemo side effect would you find least enjoyable" in the poll, and asking if you could guess which one I hate the most in a post.  

But overall, I think people were pretty accurate.  Of course, everything really depends on the severity or frequency of the side effects.  But I'll comment as if all things are equal.  So, on to the results:

Nausea (41%)

Nausea takes the top spot by a comfortable margin, and I think that's a good choice.  Nausea blows.  I don't like it very much.  Fortunately, I don't have to deal with it very often.  While my chemotherapy drugs have not changed much over the past several decades, there have been tremendous advances in the management of nausea.

There are three levels of stomach-related issues I deal with during chemo: all-out nausea, what I will call "queasiness," and loss of appetite.  These are pretty distinct sensations.  Nausea is the worst, and I really only have to deal with that right after each treatment.  At its worst, it's crushing.  As the all-out nausea subsides, I'll sometimes be left with a queasy feeling, which is sort of like an upset stomach but not as acute.  This makes eating sort of difficult.  The queasiness is somewhere between nausea and the third sensation: loss of appetite.  This is pretty much constant.  I haven't been really hungry and I haven't had a craving for any sort of food (except Jet's pizza for some reason) since July.  I never really feel like eating.

As I've mentioned before, the chemo drugs target fast growing cells.  This includes cells in the digestive system, so that's why chemo is a constant battle to control these side effects.  The real danger is that nausea or an upset stomach leads to not eating, and then to a lack of nutrients, and then begins to impact recovery time between cycles.

But I agree with the poll: Nausea at its worst is probably the worst thing I have to deal with.  BUT, the Doc made a change to my anti-nausea drug IV regimen, so hopefully that will take care of the post-chemo nausea.  Nausea is the only symptom that has gotten worse every cycle.  Not looking forward to this one.

Bone Pain (30%)

This is actually how it looks when I have bone pain.  My knee glows like E.T.'s heart, I suffer a spontaneous compound fracture, and then I go sit on a stool and try to hold everything together. 

This has to be a tough one for people to think about, since I don't think it's something most people have experienced.  I certainly haven't until last month.  But it's pretty bad, and worthy of its second-place finish.
 

The bone pain seems to meander around from my upper legs to my lower back.  At times, the pain radiates, and that is when it shoots into my abdomen and chest and gets quite irritating.  And it feels like the pain is in the bone, which is an odd feeling, especially for athletes who might be used to strained muscles in the legs or back.  It's a very distinct pain.  

But now that I know what causes it and that it's not serious, it's not terrible to tolerate.  Tylenol usually does the trick, and during cycle 3, I think I only took about 2 doses.  For some reason, the bone pain only comes out at night - I haven't had to deal with it during the day at all.  Which is exceptionally irritating when I'm trying to sleep.  But at its worst, it doesn't beat out nausea.   So second place it is.  

Hair Loss (13%)

I'm all over the place with hair loss.  I'm fine with it now, except sometimes I get a little chilly.  And I used to scare myself in the mirror sometimes like a dog or an infant.  But that's really minor stuff.  

One one hand, there's a pretty big psychological impact here.  It's a pretty big visual reminder of your illness.  It's the first time you actually look like you have a disease.  And others know it, or at least have some idea of what's going on.  

But hell, except when I'm in front of a mirror, I don't have to look at my head.  Other people have to deal with it, but most of the time, I don't even notice it.  Plus I'm used to it now.  And it will grow back soon.  And not having to shave has been nice.  Overall, I think it's pretty much a wash.  

But I don't think I'd be singing the same tune if I was a girl.  From what I hear, hair loss is a much bigger deal for women, for obvious reasons.  I would be interested in seeing the gender split on this choice. 

Spermicide (11%)

I'm surprised this choice didn't get more votes.  It's certainly not something that causes me physical pain or something that I have to deal with right this moment.  But...yeah, "this may render you useless" seems to be a pretty big side effect to me.

For what it's worth, the jury is still way out on this particular issue.  Some guys come through the whole process just fine, others have issues.  The number of cycles tends to increase the chance of spermicide, which is something to consider when we debate the 4 vs. 6 cycle thing. But I got money in the bank, so I should be good. 

And really, this won't become an issue for a significant amount of time.  Emily's brother and sister recently had babies (well her brother didn't, his wife did, but you get the picture) within two weeks of each other.  So I've spent more time with babies in the past two months than I have in the past 20 years.  And...no thanks.  The babies are extraordinary cute.  And Emily, as an Aunt, can come and go as she pleases.  But I see beyond that.  That's not the way it works as a parent.  The wife may be the proverbial "ball and chain," but at least you can still move with one of those things chained to your ankle.  Not so with a baby.  That's a full set of shackles. 

Oh and another thing: I think my sister had one of those "Baby Alive" things when she was younger (like, back in high school).  Remember those commercials?  You would "feed" the baby some substance and that substance would travel down the hollow interior of the doll and come out the other end almost instantly, and then you would have to change the doll.  Yeah, that wasn't a simulation.  That's really what happens with these things.  Fortunately, I'm not of close enough relation to the babies to be conscripted into diaper changing duty, and if I was, I would immediately execute a block with my Cancer Card.  I just don't see the upside here.  As of now, I'm going to adopt a fully ripe baby or at least have the nanny raise the thing for a few months.  I just have to make sure she's not an illegal immigrant. 

So final verdict here: TBA. 

Fatigue (2%)

You know who I don't trust?  Guys who wear black dress shirts. 

The Ralph Nader of the group: Fatigue.  Probably in its rightful place, because I just don't feel very fatigued.  I can tell I don't have the type of energy I used to have when I try to run or hit the stationary.  I don't think I would be able to play sports right now, and I do get tired during the day on rare occasions.  

But damn, if anything, my sleep schedule has improved and I wake up feeling better and more awake in the morning than I have in a couple years.  Cancer seems to have fixed a couple things on me, and this is one of them.  I'm downright sprightly most of the time. 

More than anything else, you just feel "down" all the time.  In varying degrees.  It's hard to even explain.  I know something's not right, I know I don't feel normal, but I can't really pinpoint what it is that's out of whack.  And it's usually different things on different days. My joints hurt, a sore throat, a headache, fatigue, upset stomach.  Overall, I think I'm getting through this pretty well.  But it's going to feel very good when I'm back to normal again.  When that is, I don't know.  But I'm looking forward to it. 

The good week

Last Sunday night, I was feeling kind of crappy and staring at a week in which I would experience both the Prednisone bump and bone pain.  I was nervous about my PET Scan.  I still didn't know exactly how the rest of my treatment would play out.  And while I don't like to think about things post-treatment, I had to start dealing with the issue of when I would move to DC.  Which made Emily nervous, because she had to start thinking about what she would do for a job once we moved.  And she was heading into her last week of work.  I was dreading last week.

And Monday morning confirmed my dread.  I had trouble sleeping Sunday night, and I was woken up before 8am because the roof was being torn off our house.  Literally - we got a new roof last week.  And I couldn't get back to sleep.  I don't even know what I ended up doing, but I was probably angry while doing it.  And Monday was absolutely gross.  Just a terrible day.  Crappy days really affect me now (nice days have a bigger impact on me too).  Not sure why.  Sorta weird.

But things turned around on Monday night.  I had been a little slower to recover from cycle 3.  I didn't feel terrible, but I felt a little worse after the cycle for a little longer.  I finished up the Prednisone on Monday night, and I started feeling significantly better after my last pill.  Got my appetite back, stopped feeling tired, grew my hair back to sophomore-year-of-college levels.  Naw I'm just kidding about the last one.  I'm still bald as shit.  But still.

Tuesday rolled around.  I had the PET Scan out in West Bloomfield at 11am and it was pouring.  I was planning to go with my grandmother, but that morning, my grandfather decided to tag along.  Which is fine.  I never mind having them at anything, and I actually invite them both to come along to appointments (except for treatment.  Just a personal thing.  I do not want my grandparents to see me go through chemotherapy.  I tolerate my parents there, but I still don't like it.  I think watching somebody go through chemo - especially your child or grandchild - is absolute torture, and I don't want anybody I love to have to do that).  Anyway, I'm supposed to take Xanax before my PET Scan, which I wasn't going to do because 1) it's to prevent claustrophobia, which has never been a problem for me and 2) the stuff has no effect on me whatsoever.  But then both my grandparents showed up at 9 in the morning, and we had to drive to West Bloomfield, in the rain, in the same car.  So I immediately took the Xanax (and good thing I did, since it apparently serves a related purpose during the PET Scan by regulating your body temperature so the radioactive contrast doesn't bind to the brown fat.  I have no idea what that means, but apparently it's bad if the radioactive contrast binds to the brown fat.  Messes up the image or something).

Anyway, the PET Scan itself went very well.  And as Tuesday moved along, I started feeling even better.  It was another crappy day, so I stayed inside, but I was able to eat more than I had since cycle 3.

And then I got the phone call.  From Emily.  If Emily calls me on the phone, I know something is up.  Chalk it up to our modern modes of communication or whatever, but we just don't talk on the phone very much.  We text, we GChat, but unless somebody gets a job or cancer, we don't really call each other.

Fortunately, she got the former.  I didn't really believe her when she told me, but there was an awful lot of screaming on the other end of the line.  That's not atypical for an Emily-Nick phone call, but you could tell she was excited.  So then I got excited.  Like I said, I didn't know how I was going to feel if the girlfriend peaced out in the middle of my treatment, but I was really happy then and I'm really happy now.  In that moment, so much of my own post-cancer life got settled.  I talk a lot about how much it helps to have fewer things to worry about when I'm going through treatment.  That phone call took a few more things off that list.  It was a huge boost.

Wednesday continued the streak.  Normally, I finish up my Prednisone, have a one-day grace period, then it's feel-like-hell time.  Wednesday came...and went.  With nothing.  I was kicked out of bed before 8 by activity on the roof again.  I think I threw up some blog posts.  Then I made an appointment to head up to U-M hospital on October 12 (more on that later), which was outstanding because 1) I had tried to make appointments there before but the dates didn't work out and 2) they happened to have one date open in October, perfectly placed on October 12, one week after cycle 4.  Otherwise, they had stuff open in November.  Which...not so useful to me.  And I honestly decided to call only because Emily got a job and I wasn't feeling like hell so I thought that meant I was having a lucky week.  Guess it worked.

Then, Thursday.  You know all about Thursday.  Thursday changed a lot for me.  I was not able to - and I did not want to - think about things post-treatment.  I'm starting to become ok with that now, in small doses.  I'm significantly more upbeat (although I was never really...downbeat?), although cycle 4 should take care of that, at least temporarily.

Friday rolled around: bone pain day.  Bone pain usually hits on days 8-9 of a cycle.  But bone pain day came and...no real bone pain.  A few flare-ups here and there, but nothing like the shit that put me in the hospital last month or the leg pain of cycle 2.

And once Saturday rolled around and I felt better, that pretty much meant cycle 3 was easier to endure than cycle 2.  Which went better than cycle 1.  Which means each cycle has been better than the one before it.  Which is beyond weird.  I felt a little more down on a day-to-day basis during cycle 3, so it wasn't all cake.  But I largely avoided the Prednisone bump and the bone pain, which are two of the three major issues that I deal with each cycle (along with nausea the day of treatment).  I know I have awkward reactions to medications and various substances, but this is ridiculous.  I'm sure cycle 4 will put an end to all this.  But there is something to be said for the body getting acclimated to this stuff.  Sure, it's actively killing a lot of me.  But it's killing the cancer even more.

Also: Denard Robinson.

I'm not sure how much longer this streak will last.  It's a treatment week now and Emily is leaving on Wednesday (actually coming to treatment with me and leaving from there.  So we will have our dramatic goodbye in the treatment room at Henry Ford Fairlane.  Which is exactly how I pictured this moment in my dreams). But I'm at least halfway through chemo now.  Back to the grind.