Killed by the shaking of some random hand, which transferred germs. Germs containing just enough Kryptonite to bring the Man of Steel crashing down.
This is a dramatic way of saying that somehow I have caught a cold. Normally when I catch a cold, I get sick for five or six hours in the morning, throw up, then find a spot to park my car in the sun and sleep, and sweat it off. I’m usually fine by evening.
I employed this method to no avail, and spent Friday and Saturday feeling awful .
I normally wear a safety helmet when I go to chemo, one I got at the Alameda Flea Market.
Safety first!
It’s a vintage helmet, probably originally for a civil defense worker in the 1950’s. I’ve worn it each and every time I’ve gone to chemo, and since this was my last scheduled session, Kaki decided to don hers as well. So we set off enthusiastically in our helmets for our meeting with my oncologists, celebrating that this was to be my last chemo.
To out chagrin the doctor, although very entertained by our positive attitude, informed us that this was actually not the last chemo. Normally, he explained, chemo continues after surgery as well, sometimes for six months to a year.
So we should hang on to the helmets.
As a side note, I feel great and have a great sense of comfort from my oncologist and my surgeon. I feel like I’m in good hands.
My oncologist has very smartly disseminated information to me only when necessary. For example, it wasn’t until this last chemo session that he informed me that I was on the most brutal chemotherapy regimen available.
This was subsequently confirmed by two doctors I met who each said, “Huh, I’ve never seen someone on both oxyplatin and folfirinol.” Both remarked on how well I was doing, considering that each one separately usually knocks people out. Their comments seem to prove that my natural physical health and strength have been my greatest gift, besides the presence of Kaki with me every day.
It should also be noted that upon being weighed, I had gained 9 pounds. All thanks to my Mendocino All-Natural Weight Gain Program. Smoke an ounce, gain some pounds!
During the meeting with the oncologist we scheduled a CAT scan on May 6 to reimage the tumor and decide if it has shrunk enough for surgery. This will be decided by my surgeon Dr. Kirkwood on May 10. Although I am looking forward to all of this ending and getting back to a normal life again, the concept of the surgery is indescribably overwhelming. Especially now that my poops are so brown, which is a direct sign that my pancreas is functioning properly.
The improvement in my health was reinforced dramatically by the hike I took from the top of Mt. Tamalpais to Stinson Beach in Marin with Erin Rooney and Kaki. Approximately 6 miles. Breathtaking views.
A note to anyome who lives in the area:
There’s a bed and breakfast called Redwood Haus at the bottom of the trail. They provide a taxi service back up to the top for $20. Even the non-cancer stricken of our group though this was a great idea, since their calves were burning as well.
I’ve noticed a strange sensation when I eat meat, especially fish. It feels like the flesh is adhering to my bones, building muscle. My muscles have all come back at least 25%. Two weeks ago I had no deltoids, pectorals, forearms, or biceps. These all have now made modest reappearances, like Spring’s first buds, eager to bloom.
I’m no longer getting winded on stairs and actually feel 100% healthy. Which leads me to a very disturbing paradox – the concept of having my organs rearranged to work better seems counterproductive to the better health I’m feeling now.
This week has been completely and totally normal. This continued (and admittedly irrational) doubt about the continued presence of cancer due to my good health was fortified throughout the week as I continued to eat three meals a day, including various kinds of meat. Adding to my sense of well-being and this state of feeling cancer-free are my utterly normal-looking stools, dookies, numbers 2’s. Trying not to say poop here.
I even ended up working a bit this week.
Went to see Dave Chapelle at The Punch Line With Mike O’Reilly and his French designer Gerard Pronko. Although Dave is still hilarious, I was reminded that some of the best times I have laughing are with Mike and Gerard, whom I look forward to recuperating with in Hawaii after the surgery.
Went out for a sushi dinner. It’s the first time I’ve eaten raw fish since this whole thing started. My diet for the past year has somewhat mirrored Kaki’s, that is to say a strict vegetarian diet that includes goat cheese and eggs, but i never missed meat or craved it. But since dropping from 168 lbs. to 131, every time I am around a flesh-based food product, I turn into an eating machine.
That night definitely triggered my sushi craze. I’ve had it four more times since then, with increasing volumes of fish each time. People are noticing my beautiful, radiant glow. I’m hoping this is not from the Fukushima power plant in Japan. Gotta check where that fish is sourced from.
Went smoothly. I felt satisfied that during this chemo session I was able to call the company that makes the chemo drip machines and ask them how to turn down the piercing beep that alerts the nurses when the bag of chemicals is empty. Started a small revolt among the other chemo patients in the chemo lounge who agreed that the beeping and the alcohol wipes were the worst part of chemo.
I must be feeling better because I was verbally assaulted by a nurse who demanded I not touch the machine (which I hadn’t). I explained to her that I was just trying to figure out how to make our time in chemo more audibly pleasant for everybody. She seemed unmoved.
Then it was off home where I began my second round of internal medicine (i.e. I finally started smoking the right weed).
As I’ve mentioned before, up until this point I had not been eating much and have continued to lose weight. But almost as if I’d been given a prescription by Dr. Houdini, this situation has magically transformed. The weed, an indica strain, wiped out my nausea and gave me an extreme case of the munchies. This marked the beginning of my journey back to three meals a day.
It was so effective that on Friday night I found myself at Bloom’s Bar on Potrero Hill at my friend Erin Rooney’s birthday party, where – though I was abstaining, obviously – I was able to revel with lots of drunken, empathetic friends.
I continued to eat regularly for the rest of the weekend, occasionally smoking a little weed to trigger my appetite. By Monday, the weed became unnecessary and I was back on a normal eating schedule for the first time in I don’t remember how long.
One of the benefits of this regimen is that now I don’t need to take any more nausea meds, which makes chemo and my morning cup of chai my only two medicinal supplements.
