#0


i remember this scene from my childhood. i was in 5th or 6th grade and over at my dad's for one of my weekends with him. one of my favorite things to do as a kid was ride my bike on his street, pinebrook lane. the street was just killer. the lion's share of the houses lie in this valley. you have to travel down a huge (for a kid) hill to get down into the neighborhood, proper, and the street dead ends into a cul de sac that's up another great-sized hill for a bike. both were steep enough that a kid like me felt like it was a legit accomplishment if you could pedal your bike all the way up without having to hop off and walk the rest of the way up. as i and the other kids on the street got older, we learned how to weave back and forth up the hill, maximizing our momentum to climb our everests. countless times, i would get up to the top of pinebrook lane and rest for a second, then take off down the hill, wind in my hair. it was just the best. occasionally, i'd take my hands off the handlebars and glide down the straight hill with no worries about ever crashing.

until i crashed.

it was the worst bike wreck i ever had. everything was normal until i got to the key's house and i must have hit a rock or a hole that wobbled my front tire. by the time i realized i was losing control, it was too late. i over-corrected and took a hard left into the curb in front of the dearman's (our next door neighbor) yard. my front wheel hit the curb and stopped the bike, cold turkey. i flipped over the handlebars and by complete accident somersaulted forward and landed flush-flat on my back. all the of the air was forced out of my body on impact. through sheer luck, i didn't land on my helmetless head. (who wore helmets in the 80's anyway?). the air was forced out of my body and for a brief moment, i worried about death and dying. i think that was the first time i ever questioned my mortality.

it took a long time before i was comfortable enough to go no-hands again. i wasn't afraid of being hurt. i was afraid of something much more permanent. and i couldn't risk it.

i've brought those fears and that anxiety into adulthood with me. and they have multiplied exponentially with each of my two cancer episodes. while i realize in my head that i will at some point pass from this earth, i am still not ready.

not yet.

i brought those fears and that anxiety with me to kirklin clinic this morning. after i received the news of my clean scan, i couldn't completely lose them. not for good. i did put them back in my pocket for a bit, and i hope it'll be several months from now before i give them any thought.

death and dying is such a romantic topic to some. for me, it's a bummer, my life's biggest obstacle to overcome. not to not die, but to be okay with it. to welcome it. to find comfort in what comes next.

is there comfort in what comes next?

today, tonight, i will not worry about that. i'll think about not being on chemo and what that's going to feel like in a few days. i'll think about how many people have shared these last 28 days with me on this blog and on facebook. i'll think and wonder about the care and concern of others and what i ever did to deserve such encouragement from so many people. i'll think about the summer to come. i'll think about what it means to celebrate the end of something that i never wanted to spend a year doing. i'll think about the daily show and inside amy schumer and other mindless things. i'll think about star trek and my new phone and the tattoo that i'll soon burn into my skin to mark this, the longest year of my life.

i am happy for life. i am happy for a third lease on it. i am happy for my family and my closest friends for whom i would gladly take chemo for the rest of my life if it guaranteed they would never have to share the experience.

chemo, after all, is a helluva drug.

it makes you hurt. it makes you tired. it makes you sick. it makes you mad. it makes you sad. it makes you feel alone. it makes you poop your pants.

i am through with chemo, hopefully for a long long time. maybe ever.

i don't have any cancer in my body and hopefully won't for a long, long time. maybe ever.

i'm gonna let the blog breathe for a bit the next few days. go back and read over my chronicles. laugh all over again. cry some more. and then put it somewhere in the back of my mind for a bit.

because i don't want it anymore.

because fuck this cancer shit.

#1


i threw myself into work and resets and whatnot at the store today. i wanted to keep busy, not thinking about tomorrow. for the most part, it worked. i was barely in the office, which is a total rarity these days, and, regardless of how bad i felt or how tore up my stomach still is, i just kept on keeping on. the day flew by, and i was even late picking up the girls from the y and getting us all back to church for dinner.

then the rest of the evening began. the last four hours have felt like fifty. there was a big part of me that didn't want to show up in the gym this evening. i didn't want to have uncomfortable conversations with anyone that was trying to go out of their way to be nice, as terrible as that sounds. i didn't want to have uncomfortable conversations with people that were completely oblivious to what i am doing in the morning. i didn't really want to talk to anyone, save a handful of folks, but i went anyway, because going to dinner on wednesday night is what we do.

showing up late played to my advantage. most everyone there was already knee deep into their dinner and table talk. i walked in as harris was about to pray, and, to my delight, the first thing he and andy and i talked about was baseball. i could talk about baseball for hours! let's just stand right here and talk about nothing other than baseball!!!

i sat down with andy and the girls as the girls rubbed it in my face they could taste their milo's. my plain grilled chicken sandwich tasked like a watered down pair of shoes, but i needed something in my belly before i have to fast for the scan. i fed june two or three kernels of corn, one black-eyed pea, and the rest of the evening has just been a blur, a wall of noise and worry and anxiety and "OH MY GOD WHY IS THE ROOM SPINNING?!".

caroline talked non-stop about many things on the way home. i was listening to the end of the heat/bulls game. if i could've reached her tiny neck without running off interstate 59, i would have considered choking her out. instead, i just affirmed her every now and again with a "yep.", "sure", or a "yeah?" and we finally made it home.

and now, i'm here, on the couch, banging out this short post. everyone around me "feels good" about tomorrow.

i wish i felt the same.

#1

toxicities present:

none of it matters anymore. all that matters is the scan.

pain (scaled 1-10):

whatever.

#2


there's a thorn in the side of my emotions today. as you know, if you've been following along even ever so slightly, you know i'll swallow pill number 252 of 252 later tonight. tomorrow will hopefully be my last day "on" therapy for a long, long time, maybe ever if this treatment worked the way we all have hoped. and yet, there's still a very distinct disturbance in my force. not surprisingly, this has everything to do with my impending scan on thursday morning.

the plan will be similar to the scan in november. the biggest difference will be they are going to scan me neck to pelvis rather than abdomen to pelvis as they did six months ago. i'll go in and have my scan at 7:00 a.m. my six week follow-up with my oncologist is scheduled for two hours later, at 9:00. if the scan is read as quickly as it was six months ago, i should have the results during that appointment.

back in november, i really appreciated my doctor coming in and quickly saying, "everything looks fine." i am sure he's well aware from his vast experience that no one is going to listen to a word he says, much less be able to put together a conversation, if they are worried about the results of a scan. and so, he came in, gave me the good news, i took a deep breath and began the six month march into the second half of my treatment plan, which will culminate tonight and then thursday morning.

and so, we are here. so, what? i made it. i feel like i should feel a more immense sense of accomplishment, but i don't. i have to believe the reason for that is that i don't know if i truly have a reason to celebrate yet.

yes, of course i am happy to finish this, the longest year of my life. the pain, the discomfort, the physical and psychological anguish of these last twelve months because of the poison i've been voluntarily swallowing is coming to an end. as sarah mentioned last night, it'll really hit me two weeks from tomorrow night when it becomes reality again that i am not on a "break" anymore. i'm just done. period. there's something incredibly awesome and incredibly frightening about that thought. awesome, yes, in that i'll feel like myself for more than just one week. frightening, yes, in that i'll then move to worrying, "what if the medicine is all that's been standing in the way of this thing not coming back since this time last year?" even that hypothetical thought puts the cart before the horse, though, right? for that thought to make any irrational sense, i've got to have a clean scan first.

and so, i want to be so much more happy on this day than i am. i want to cry big, happy, tears of joy. i've worked so hard, endured so much to get to tonight. and instead of feeling good, i'm just worrying that something dreadful will show up thursday morning when they look inside me.

certainly, that's got to be normal. i know this. if you find something inside you like cancer once, you are never going to be able to totally let it go. i'm much better now than i was three years ago at the whole "get busy living" thing. but my fears, my anxieties, my paranoia have not been cured. they've just been masked by the short term peace of mind that a clean scan brings.

at this point, i'll take it. even in the short term. you can't put a dollar amount on how valuable peace of mind can be.

because at this point, the fear is paralyzing me on what should be my greatest day of 2013 so far.

fuck this cancer shit.

#2

toxicities present:

mainly just the stomach and the fatigue and the reflux and the chewed up hamburger meat today. i didn't poop my pants, though, so things are trending up.

pain (scaled 1-10):

5

#3


frequently asked questions:

"how are you feeling?" - numero uno. the most often asked, the most annoying, the most disturbing, and, more often than not, really, what is anybody supposed to ask someone on chemo anyway? there's no good way to answer it, because i don't really feel like most people want to know. unless my answer is "great. i'm feeling really, really great.", it's going to wear a brother down in, like, five seconds if i answer truthfully on most days. it's annoying only when i sense the question is insincere or ignorant. like i've gone on about here in the past, i've worked really hard with my diet and the workouts that i can still do to stay healthy and not fat and not weak and all of that. so, on the outside, other than my white facial hair and/or limping, you wouldn't know i'm on the medicine. that is, unless you've ever paid attention to the blog in the past year or ever talked to me in person or ever given thought to how difficult it is to talk about cancer or my situation or if you've given thought to how terrified i am of dying every single day. i'm being mean. and judgmental. i know some people ask the question of how i feel because they really want to know and really want me to feel better than the last time they asked. it's disturbing because it makes me think about how bad i feel and saying it out loud makes the cancer seem real and talking about is disturbing. but again, there are probably no good questions to ask me anyway, so i should just stop banging on this one.

 "how many more cycles/pills do you have?" - this one always makes me so mad. my first thought is, "christ, jackass, i put a picture up on facebook every month!" or "you've asked me this eighteen times!" but then i breathe for a second and remind myself that i am the only one going through this. no one owes me anything, much less to remember how many pills i have yet to take, and, again, people are likely just trying to be nice and act invested in me, even for just a second.

"how are the feet?" - again, first reactions first. first reaction is typically, "mother.fuck. i am using crutches and limping like i've broken something. but i haven't broken anything! they fucking hurt so bad they have redefined my definition of "hurt"." back off for a second. breathe. people just don't want my feet to hurt.

"how many pills do you have left?" - you just asked me that, bro. like, yesterday.

"when's your next scan?" - cue panic attack.

#3

toxicities present:

waterbabies. chewed up hamburger meat. while trying to relieve some of the gas pain i was experiencing after lunch today, some waterbabies slipped right out. i tightened the hatch up, surveyed the situation and enacted plan "no one can know about this". i ninja-d my way back to the bathroom without anyone suspecting anything. hand-washed and dried my pants as best i could with the materials i am afforded in the psp restroom. i came out and went about the rest of my day, no biggie. i've become such an expert at pooping my pants at this point, it's ridiculous. and sad.

chemo brain. most of the day, i couldn't remember my old best friend's middle name. this bothered me so badly that i almost cried. this may have nothing or everything to do with the chemo, but, since i have these types of moments more and more often recently, i'm gonna say they correlate. either that, or now i have a brain tumor.

reflux. chest tightness. nausea.

feet started to get sensitive again today. what my feet don't know is that i am almost done with chemo and they don't have time to get really bad again. so, fuck you, feet. i win this round.

pain (scaled 1-10):


7

#4


etc...

a short list of still-annoying shit that hasn't made the cut to be mentioned on the blog yet.

- i've already mentioned how every orifice on my body dries out over the course of a cycle. this includes the nose. this one particular spot on the inside of my right nostril ends up scabbing up every motherscratching cycle and it is excruciating. other scabs have developed in and around both nostrils over the year, but this one pops up every time. so, between week 2 of each cycle until about a week after the cycle ends, there is a great chance you'll see me pushing against the side of my nose, contorting my face to try and stretch the scab open or flat out digging up in there trying to rip the scab out. it's incredibly painful to rib that scab out, but the 15-30 seconds after its removal are pure ecstasy.

- as i journeyed through puberty, i was really lucky with the whole acne thing, or lack thereof. i didn't suffer through months on top of months of pimples and oily face and other unsightly issues. now, that's not to say that chemo has led me to rue the day that i celebrated being luckier than some of my peers, but i've had these random rashes pop up on my forehead and my legs almost each cycle. on the top of my legs, there have been these small little pimples that hurt like mad. maybe it's my lack of experience, but these little fuckers will not pop for anything, and so i end up just doubling or tripling the size of the pain because i squeeze and squeeze and squeeze the little bumps 'til i can't even see the whitehead. oh well.

- i'm cold. all the time. for the last two or three weeks of each cycle, i can't get warm, and, during the cold weather months, i couldn't stand to be outside. i'm not really a layers kind of guy, but i did eventually go and buy a scarf. if you had any idea how much fun i made of amy and her scarfs, you would know it wasn't easy to become what i hate. to my surprise, i think i look pretty good in a scarf.

#4

toxicities present:

extreme reflux. i'm hoping the severity of the reflux these last three weeks is what's been leading to the tightness in my chest most days. if not, i'll have another problem to address soon.

my stomach is just a raunchy, gassy, crampy mess. waterbabies have been delivered four times today, each with an increasing velocity. i went wed.-fri. without eating dinner to try and avoid labor in the middle of the night. i'll probably pay for my mother's day dinner out with sarah and the girls in about five hours.

which brings us to the chewed up hamburger meat. i'm pretty sure the inside of the hatch is permanently on the outside now. and forever will be.

i spent the night with bhn at the church last night. the cute little 3 year-old in the next classroom was up and babbling 'til after 2. the fatigue is crippling today. i'm proud that i soldiered through church, a workout, and dinner. some days, you fight harder.

i bit the shit out of my tongue today. not chemo related, but, you know, injury to insult and whatnot.

pain (scaled 1-10):

7

#5


o-ren: "you didn't think it was going to be that easy, did you?"
beatrix: "you know, for a second there, yeah, i kinda did."

the first few days of EVERY ONE of my nine cycles has been a case study of mismanaged expectations. for the first day or two, like my urologist guessed, it is actually almost like "taking an aspirin". my taste is still around from the end of the break. i have tons of energy. i feel good. my feet feel like running. the world feels like it is, again, my playground.

and during that relative peace time, my imagination gets the best of me. what if this one isn't going to be so bad. what if my feet don't kill me around day 10? what if the waterbabies come, but they don't come and destroy my insides like they did last cycle? what if my energy stays good and true and i don't feel 80 years old by week 3? my imagination plants the seed deep. before i know it, around day 3 or 4? inception. i believe my imagination. i feel confident that this one won't be as bad as that one.

and during EVERY ONE of my nine cycles, i am kicked the testicles by the steel-toed boot of what is real, of what is actually true. by the fact that chemo is a helluva drug.

chemo is designed to do damage. the hope is that it damages the cells the specific therapy targets, but other innocent, good cells are casualties of the war. and as your insides hurt, so do your outsides.

i'd like to believe that my mismanaged expectations are a good thing, a product of my hope in the better, in the hope that "this too shall pass", in the hope that i know i won't always feel this bad. on my worst days, though, i wish i had been more realistic in the beginning of every cycle so i wouldn't be so disappointed at the end.

#5

toxicities present:

all of them.

pain (scaled 1-10):

6

#6


what to say. what to say. was today any better? no, not really. was today any worse? i don't guess so. started off rough, with the angry stomach and the waterbabies and whatnot. thanks to hannah and her own angry stomach, we got a four a.m. wake up call that had me bright eyed and bushy-tailed way too early. i need sleep.

tomorrow begins what might be my last weekend on chemo. five pills left to swallow. seven or eight days left to feel my worst. my attention has started to turn towards thursday of next week and the scan.

what if something shows up? it shouldn't, right, but what if it does? then what?

i'm so nervous. i'm so scared. this time next week, either a great weight will have been lifted and i will truly have reason to celebrate or i will have to reconsider what i have in front of me, again.

#6

toxicities present:

all of them.

pain (scaled 1-10):

7

#7


i had someone with experience tell me early on, "chemo takes you to your lowest place. then it takes you lower."

as i've said several times during this series, no one side effect, other than the feet, is something that all of us haven't experienced during our lives, maybe many times during our life. headaches. fatigue. diarrhea. muscle aches. random rashes. sores in our mouths. what's so dreadful about chemo, at least in my experience, is that all of these, by the end of a cycle, are piling up on each other, all happening at the same time. and during those last few days, nothing anyone can say can make it any better.

a few days out from the end of each cycle, someone will comment, "you're almost there." and they mean well. they do. but they have no idea. seconds feel like minutes. minutes feel like hours. hours feel like days. days feel like weeks. i realize all of that sounds very dramatic, and i would read it that way too if it wasn't exactly how i feel.

so, yeah, i feel pretty low this evening. alone. hurting. tired of being tired. and yeah, i only have six pills left to take.

but i have six pills left to take.

fuck. this. cancer. shit.

#7

toxicities present:

all of them.

pain (scaled 1-10):

7

#8


we've already established here in this series that everybody poops. we don't talk about it, because poop is gross. it happens. we know it. no biggie. we've also established that everybody craps their pants. we don't talk about it either, because we think it's even more gross (it's not) or uncommon (it's not) or unnatural (it's not). everybody poops. everybody has a splash of diarrhea from time to time and everybody accidentally poops their pants. welcome to the human race. it's part of the journey.

even though the frequency with which i've pooped my pants has increased drastically while on chemo, it's been directly proportional to how often i deliver the waterbabies. if all we ever had was waterbabies, we'd all be pooping our pants all the time, and it'd be no big deal whatsoever.

one of the most painful symptoms of this particular toxicity, though, i didn't properly prepare myself for. i don't often try and visualize what my rectum looks like, but, at this point, i can only imagine it looks like someone chewed up raw hamburger and spit it out. and then covered it with blood. at the end of the chewed up hamburger meat now grows every nerve ending in my body, naked and violently exposed to the delivery of the waterbabies over and over and over again. in and of itself, this would cause the hemorrhoids and it would also cause pain, because, let's face it. the human body isn't made to endure rip-roaring diarrhea five to six times a day, day after day after day, much less clean up after those experiences day after day after day. again, we've all had those dreadful diarrhea days, but they usually only last 12-24 hours and then our body heals itself. during the last three weeks of every one of my nine cycles, my chemo stomach does not allow for one of my most sensitive areas to heal. even the softest, most heavenly piece of toilet paper feels like prison toilet paper. no, fuck that. prison toilet paper would be the best. it all feels like sandpaper, and since every nerve ending in my body is now exposed outside of the chewed up hamburger meat, it hurts.

no, i didn't properly prepare myself for that type of pain. nor did i prepare to feel like i was always "open for business". part of the natural order of things when you are going number two is when you finish your business, you can tell. the hatch closes, and you know it's time to wipe, lysol, and exit the gas chamber. if you are delivering waterbabies five to six times a day, the hatch breaks, at least mine does/has. sitting on the toilet, i always have that sensation that there is more yet to come. after an arbitrary number of minutes, i just have to cut my losses and clean up the hamburger meat. the only thing i've found to be more sensitive than the outside of the hamburger meat is inside the hatch. sandpaper was never meant for that area.

the only lesson to be gleaned here? never eat. never feed the beast. and god help you if you ever have to clean the inside of the hatch.

#8

toxicities present:

holy crap, literally. non-stop waterbabies all day. imodium had no power to stop them.

stomach is so, so cramped and mad at me.

couldn't shake the fatigue mid-afternoon on.

chest and back have been tight all day. either i'm going to have a heart attack or throw up later tonight. i'm no doctor, but i'm pretty sure those are the only two options.

feet got a little better today.

pain (scaled 1-10):

based purely on my butt - 8

#9


i used to be super-afraid to throw up. i would do everything in my power to not throw up. breathing exercises. meditation. "there is no spoon." no one likes to throw up. i mean, i get it. it's not just me. it's such a helpless and fucked up feeling. this self-defense mechanism of the body where your insides literally turn themselves inside out to hurl something evil out of your system. the initial surge is usually surprising, but it's not the worst part. that initial surge is when the lion's share of the evil is purged and most of the contents of the stomach are puked into the toilet bowl. but, no, it's not the part that i was always terrified by. it's those next two to three to four heaves that finish off the violence. one of those last heaves always last just a liiiitle bit too long, right? you propel and expunge and push and garble and moan until your completely out of breath except the heave isn't finished. not just yet. it's goes further, for maybe just two or three more seconds until you reach the point where you feel like you are going to pass out or die. that is the scariest part. but the heave does stop, you can swallow a deep breath and live to throw up another day.

thursday a week ago, when i threw up four or five times in three hours, i had that death heave feeling every time, and something changed. after the second or third time, i looked forward to it. i had experienced it enough to know for a fact i would not die. i knew the death heave feeling was signaling the end of that respective episode. so, i owned that shit. pushed even harder than necessary. dared my brain to lose enough oxygen to black out. silently screamed a "fuck this cancer shit!" to myself and moved outside of my fear and back into reality.

reality told me i was really sick that day, but i would get better. i hope that experience plays as a metaphor for the bigger picture of this chemo experience in a couple weeks.

#9

toxicities present:

several premature deliveries of waterbabies today. that particular orifice is so damaged at this point that it would be too disturbing to describe here today. doesn't mean i won't do it tomorrow when it gets worse.

the mouth is so bad i've had to skip brushing my teeth a couple times over the last few days or just go with water to avoid the pain the toothpaste causes.

feet are improving slightly. if i get out of this cycle having already experienced the worst foot days, it will be better than in past cycles. that would be a surprise.

fatigue wasn't so bad today. usually not on off days. still nice.

muscle stiffness wasn't quite as bad today either. calm before the storm? we'll see.

pain (scaled 1-10):

4

#10


"the incident"

my memory tells me that it was sometime late june/early july. katie and i took off running from the house as we already had many times since moving into the trussville house on lake street. our normal route took us from the top of lake, down to a left on rockridge, right onto oak, crossing north chalkville and taking a left up to turning right onto pine. at the old junior high, we reach our first mile marker. we would hit the sidewalk and take a right on the sidewalk, heading down towards highway 11.

my stomach didn't feel "right" before we left the house, but that was often the case before a run. i don't know if it's anxiety or what, but it wasn't so uncommon that it frightened me away from running. many times, i'd start a run with a nervous stomach feeling, but it would fall away by the time i hit the first half-mile marker. not so much that day.

my stomach rumbled the entire first mile. at two or three different points, i had to struggle and concentrate really freaking hard to not let the hatch fly open. once we hit the old junior high, i started planning the pit stop. we would pass the park in about a half mile. i would duck in to the restroom there, take care of business, and we'd finish the run. as we approached the park, something changed, if only for a moment. i felt fine, good even. we jogged past the driveway to the park, i looked to the left, and i figured whatever was boiling inside of me was gone. i couldn't have been more wrong.

we got about a hundred yards past the park and the feeling hit me again. hard. i had to come up with a new plan, fast. the hatch was about to fly open. home was way too far away. i didn't think i could even turn and make it back to the park. construction was (and still is) happening right at highway 11 at veterans park. surely, surely there would be a port-a-potty there that i could dive into. at this point, i told katie something severe was about to happen and we were going to have to hit the pause button. she agreed she'd just run on to highway 11, finish the second mile, and then come back to meet me.

we got to the park. i was sweating a freezing sweat. my sphincter squeezed as tight as i possibly could, i turned into the park. looking around feverishly for the mobile toilet, there was not one to be found. plan b. on the fly. the first thing i came upon to hide behind was a bulldozer. like mark renton in trainspotting, it made no matter that this would serve as the worst toilet in trussville. what mattered is i didn't want to crap all over myself two miles away from home. i crouched behind the bulldozer, scraping my bare ass on one of its teeth on the way down and let nature run its course. it was the most freeing and terrifying feeling i had ever experienced. here i was, in the light of dusk, hid as best i could behind a bulldozer, shitting waterbabies all over the ground and my shoes. once i finished, i cleaned up with what i could find on the ground around me as best i could, and i came out from behind the bulldozer, probably as pale as a ghost.

katie knew something was amiss, but she wouldn't ask for details, thank god. i told her we needed to walk back, and i made her walk a step ahead of me the whole way, embarrassed that she would see or smell the evidence left on the back of my legs and my shoes. we made it to the house. i told her to not look back at me on the way to her car.

i walked in the house and sarah was in the kitchen. i stripped down in the laundry room, so humiliated, and asked her not to talk about it. not now. i walked naked through the house to the shower, to wash away the feces and the shame.

and that was my first experience with my chemo stomach that has stayed with me for the last ten months.

#10

toxicities present:

chemo stomach/waterbabies - how many times in your adult life have you crapped your pants? once? a couple? maybe three? before chemo, i could probably come up with a time or two. you think you are just passing some gas, and whoops, something comes with it. it sucks, and, again, it's shameful, but like the kids book that educates toddlers to the fact that "everybody poops", everybody also, at some point, craps their pants. if you deny this, you lie. since the chemo treatment began, and since the fateful day of the incident, two hands would not be enough to count how many times this has happened to me. i've gone from being crestfallen the first few times it happened to now, where i have lost any pride or potential for shame i once had. at this point, it's just, "uh-oh. crapped my pants again. gotta run home and change. it's not embarrassing anymore. it's just a minor inconvenience. and this is unfair and sad.

the feet feel about the same as yesterday. tender, not terrible.

my head has hurt all freaking day for some reason.

muscle stiffness. i pulled a bag off topstock this afternoon and was afraid my traps were ripping to the bone, which is to say it hurt.

reflux was pretty bad through lunch when i was finally able to refill my prescription. it's a little better now.

some nausea. not the worst ever.

death by a thousand cuts.

pain (scaled 1-10):

6

#11


toxicities present:

wearing the dress shoes for eleven hours did damage to the bottom of my feet. yesterday, it was cute to say i was just being stubborn. not so cute today. i guess i deserve the anguish.

the reflux has been present today, but it's never gotten super-bad. just annoying.

while the muscle-stiffness is getting more severe, the silver lining is that i still seem to be able to work it out to some degree. i'm able to exercise as much as usual. that's helps my mood on tougher days.

oh, those waterbabies. more on those tomorrow.

pain (scaled 1-10):

7

goodnight, moon.

#12


a sad day today as we remembered the wonderful life of euel mcelroy with many of his friends and family. to a person, the praise and memories and recollections were beautiful stories of a man whom, by all accounts, did nothing more than make every little piece of this world that he touched better.

he did the same with mine. euel and i never had much of an excuse to talk before my cancer recurred last year. he was one of the first at the church to come up to me, offer to listen, and be a piece of peace in my life that had been terribly disturbed for a second time. a couple times over the last year, he would come into limbo before we got started just to check on how i was. here was a guy that was in so much more pain than i, his circumstances so much more dire, but he was willing to be outside of himself to make sure i was doing okay.

i treasure that selfless attitude and i think of euel almost every day. for every day that i struggle, he was struggling more. for every day that i've felt sorry for myself, i never got the impression that he was.

and so, he's made me want to be strong for those around me. to be positive. to look good. to keep exercising. to not allow the chemo to derail my life entirely.

thank you, euel, for everything you gave me. your kindness, care, and concern never went unnoticed.

blowin' in the wind...

#12

toxicities present:

the dress shoes were probably a bad idea, but i'm stubborn. whatareyougonnado?

holy cow. my stomach. waterbabies being delivered here, there, and everywhere.

if i never wiped after a trip to the bathroom again, it would be too soon. it would also be disgusting not to, so i'll continue with the torture.

pain (scaled 1-10):

6

#13


i'm at the point in this story series where i am starting to worry that anyone that is following along with me is probably thinking, "okay, gee-zus, man. we get it. you're taking a little pill every night that gives you a little upset tummy and makes you bitch a lot about being tired. shut the fuck up, already." then again, i guess, if that's the case, maybe those people have just stopped clicking on the link by now.

i digress.

i've commented to this point (i think) that every cycles seems to have it's good days, it's bad days, and it's worst days. truth be told, this cycle has been a challenge. i could only count the first couple as "good". there have been two "worst" days (the throw-up day and the zoo day), but the rest, to some degree, can absolutely be categorized as "bad". i feel like i'm due some peaks to contrast the valleys, but maybe this is just a product of how long the medicine has been in my system at this point. it didn' take nearly as long to ramp back up in my system, ergo the side effects manifested more quickly and and are more stubborn to cycle through.

i was joking around monday night after watching the guys play softball about how bad i felt, and mark mc. half-jokingly said, "you should just stop." i thought about it for a half-second, too. surely, what's done is done. if it takes eleven more of these pills to keep this thing from coming back again, i fear it was going to come back again anyway. maybe that's not the right way to look at it. maybe that's not the point.

i suppose the point is we set out at the beginning of this thing to do a year. we knew the warnings. "treatment changes lives." it did. it has. it is. but i've done it. i'm going to do a full year, and i'm praying to the chemo gods that it was a year's worth of pain for the reward of many years ahead of me being cancer-free. i'm praying.

#13

toxicities present:

i went to lunch again, like an asshole, at rock 'n roll sushi thinking this time would be different. it wasn't. the initial taste of each bite was so, so delicious, but then my poor little mouth burned and burned and burned. i'm not going back til i'm well again. i don't want to create a block in my head towards rnr.

stomach has been super-messed up today. cramping. water babies. more cramping. more water babies. the works.

i am so tired. not sleepy tired. just soooo sluggish.

my feet aren't that bad today. still super tender in a couple spots on each foot, but i'm not dealing with any shooting pains or radiating up my calves pain.

is chemo brain a real thing? some say yes. some say give me a break. i haven't spent any time on cognitive impact of the medicine yet, because i'm not confident that i'm suffering from it to date on this cycle. today was the first day something felt off, though, not unlike other days i've experienced on other cycles. maybe more on this later.

death by a thousand cuts.

pain (scaled 1-10):

4.5

while eating: 7

brushing teeth: 9

#14


fortuitous turn of events today in that the feet didn't respond to the zoo trip by even so much as calling me names. not only were they not worse, but they were a little less angry, so, wow. don't get me wrong, there was limping all day, and, if i stepped wrong on the wrong spots, i knew it, but, when i went to bed last night, i just knew this morning would be excruciating. it wasn't, and i am glad.

#14

toxicities present:

feet.

the open ulcer is going to cause some problems in a couple days i fear. it and the other mouth sensitivities are causing me to tear up when i brush my teeth, but drinking water today burned like i was swishing around hot fire. that's not supposed to happen.

muscle stiffness is starting to extend further down my back. by the time i finish this cycle, i'm going to feel like i look like pinocchio from that terrible show, once upon a time, the girls won't let us quit watching.

stomach was super crampy today, but no water babies as of 530. my lacerated rectum appreciates this.

did i mention the lacerated rectum? i did, didn't i?

fatigue was there but not so bad today.

reflux was a little bad after lunch but has died down some.

death by a thousand cuts.

pain:

5

godspeed, euel.

#15


caroline will never fully appreciate how uncomfortable i was during the field trip to the zoo today. after leveling out a little yesterday, my feet ramped up again last night and it was quite difficult to get into and endure standing in the shower this morning. with as much care and concern as i could, i cleaned off, dried off, put some clothes on, carefully placed two pairs of socks on each foot, strapped on my soft-bottomed new balance and stood up, ready to attack the day. having the cushion underneath me gave me reason to think i could make it through the whole trip, and i left the house.

all it took was the trip from the back door to the car to realize i was in for a long day. i got to the zoo, grabbed my cane that a co-worker had brought me a couple months ago, and made the decision, right then and there, that caroline would never know i was in pain.

i couldn't fully hide the limp and with all the ups and downs at the zoo, there wasn't any way for me to pretend when i stepped on a hot spot and reacted negatively, but caroline never asked me if i was okay, so i figured i was doing a good job of faking it for her.

we sat down for lunch, which was nice, but the break only made my feet more angry when it was time to head back in to the park. we stood in line for the train, took in the monkey house, traveled over to the reptiles, and, finally, our day was done. we sat down outside the park for a little bit and enjoyed some snacks and water together. i reveled being able to hear her interact and converse with her classmates as they retold each other about their favorite parts of the day. you don't see caroline open up like that much, and i felt fortunate to have seen it.

after the last class picture, i gave her a big hug, told her i loved her, and watched her get on the bus.

i limped over to the car, sat down, closed the door, and cried softly for about five minutes, finally allowing the pain and emotion of the day to exit my body.

caroline will never know (until she reads this) how hard today was. and i am proud of that.

fuck you, cancer. and fuck you, chemo.

#15

toxicities present:

the worst hand/foot day of the cycle so far. being up on them all day will likely mean tomorrow will be worse. it was worth it.

ulcer in my mouth opened up overnight. cottonmouth all the time. no taste. open ulcer. fuck.

fatigue was present today. i just had to ignore it. had more important things to do.

stomach cooperated at the zoo. it woke me up at 4:15 this morning, so i dosed myself on imodium before i left the house. that was a good move.

muscle stiffness in my shoulders and neck are bad today. real bad. pain radiating and causing a nagging headache to add to the list.

nausea and reflux, both are back today.

as you can probably tell by now, outside of the worst feet days, it's not any one thing that causes the most problems. it's everything happening all at once. death by a thousand cuts, if you will. with two weeks left to go, we still have several things that will flare up.

pain (scaled 1-10):

8