... shots in subcutaneous fat. Seriously. At least these weren't in my stomach like the weekly chemotherapy shot of Velcade, but still. Two full syringes of Neupogen in your arm is a shitty breakfast.
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Thursday, February 6, 2014
A Few Days In.
It's Thursday night, and taking a moment to get caught up here before dinner.
Had most of today and yesterday off after a few days of tests, re-tests, various meetings, etc. A buddy from Parker happened to be out here Tuesday for work so we went to get some sushi, which was nice, and last night a longtime friend of my wife was out here from Colorado Springs so she came over to the villa for dinner. I still need to hit In n' Out but it'll happen before I go into the hospital. And Mastros.
Ariana has slept well the last two nights -- not so much the first 3, so that's good. She seems to be teething a bit and that plus a new place was quite a bit for her to deal with. She's still a lil' crabby but hopefully will get back to normal soon. We all took a walk today -- probably mentioned it but Amy found a place that rented us a crib, stroller and some toys for her, so we busted out the stroller and got some exercise in.
Had a class today with a 15-year nurse in the program about the transplant. No real news to me but was interesting. Hard to believe this is really happening. She went through all of the side effects and what to expect -- sounds like the chemo is going to fuck me up pretty good and then the week or two without an immune system is supposed to suck. But they have wifi and an exercise bike sorta deal in my room, so whatever. A few weeks of hell for several years of remission is a small sacrifice.
The manager here at the Normandie cut me a deal on March, so we're going to keep the villa for another month. That gives Amy some freedom to leave things here if she goes home and to stay if she wants, and takes the pressure off of having to find a place to stay for 2-4 weeks after I get out of the hospital in mid/late March.
Doing OK mentally and emotionally for the most part. As I get closer to the cell harvesting I feel a bit of walking to the gallows-ish though. And I miss Mischief.
In other random news one of my best friend's mother died this week. It feels bad being out here with that having happened, impotent to do anything. And then I get a call today and my parents were in a head-on collision on 285 at 50 miles an hour -- a propane truck turned right in front of them. My dad is bruised and my mother broke both her legs and has a compressed disk and is being monitored for internal bleeding due to the seat belt. Guessing that means they won't be coming out when I'm in the hospital, which is a bummer.
Had most of today and yesterday off after a few days of tests, re-tests, various meetings, etc. A buddy from Parker happened to be out here Tuesday for work so we went to get some sushi, which was nice, and last night a longtime friend of my wife was out here from Colorado Springs so she came over to the villa for dinner. I still need to hit In n' Out but it'll happen before I go into the hospital. And Mastros.
Ariana has slept well the last two nights -- not so much the first 3, so that's good. She seems to be teething a bit and that plus a new place was quite a bit for her to deal with. She's still a lil' crabby but hopefully will get back to normal soon. We all took a walk today -- probably mentioned it but Amy found a place that rented us a crib, stroller and some toys for her, so we busted out the stroller and got some exercise in.
Had a class today with a 15-year nurse in the program about the transplant. No real news to me but was interesting. Hard to believe this is really happening. She went through all of the side effects and what to expect -- sounds like the chemo is going to fuck me up pretty good and then the week or two without an immune system is supposed to suck. But they have wifi and an exercise bike sorta deal in my room, so whatever. A few weeks of hell for several years of remission is a small sacrifice.
The manager here at the Normandie cut me a deal on March, so we're going to keep the villa for another month. That gives Amy some freedom to leave things here if she goes home and to stay if she wants, and takes the pressure off of having to find a place to stay for 2-4 weeks after I get out of the hospital in mid/late March.
Doing OK mentally and emotionally for the most part. As I get closer to the cell harvesting I feel a bit of walking to the gallows-ish though. And I miss Mischief.
In other random news one of my best friend's mother died this week. It feels bad being out here with that having happened, impotent to do anything. And then I get a call today and my parents were in a head-on collision on 285 at 50 miles an hour -- a propane truck turned right in front of them. My dad is bruised and my mother broke both her legs and has a compressed disk and is being monitored for internal bleeding due to the seat belt. Guessing that means they won't be coming out when I'm in the hospital, which is a bummer.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
First Night in the AZ.
Got in about 6 pm tonight ... not a fun drive but not too terrible, and did 85-90 the whole way so it didn't take as long as it could. The villa rocks, feels right. Amy had found a place online that rented us a crib and a bunch of toys for the month so while I unloaded the car Ariana was tooling around the carpeted garage in one of those Flintstone-type red and yellow plastic cars. She zonked out bigtime after a tiny dinner -- she didn't sleep well last night and woke us up at 11:30 pm for an hour so neither did we.
Drive down was fine ... we had snow all the way from Denver to Las Vegas, NM, but nothing too terrible. We stayed in Amy's aunt's place in Santa Fe for the night and then did the rest of the drive today. I drove the whole way, was just in the mood to floor it and zone out.
By the time we got unpacked and Ariana fed and tucked away it was too late to go get or cook dinner, so we snacked and said fuck it tonight when Maggiano's failed to pick up the phone. Dicks. The temptation to make an In N' Out run was almost too much but after a shower and with this nice big warm laptop on my lap I don't even want to get out of this recliner to grab my glass of water.
Will update more this week.
Drive down was fine ... we had snow all the way from Denver to Las Vegas, NM, but nothing too terrible. We stayed in Amy's aunt's place in Santa Fe for the night and then did the rest of the drive today. I drove the whole way, was just in the mood to floor it and zone out.
By the time we got unpacked and Ariana fed and tucked away it was too late to go get or cook dinner, so we snacked and said fuck it tonight when Maggiano's failed to pick up the phone. Dicks. The temptation to make an In N' Out run was almost too much but after a shower and with this nice big warm laptop on my lap I don't even want to get out of this recliner to grab my glass of water.
Will update more this week.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Last Day in the CO.
Sitting at work, frustrated simply due to trying to trade municipal bonds on a Friday. I should know better, but I can only chalk that up on the list of things that I used to be good at remembering and now, probably due to chemotherapy, I forget. It's weird, having a life centered around being cerebral, and then having that fail on a regular basis.
We leave tomorrow, assuming the weather allows us to. I'll be taking a very expensive flight Sunday if it doesn't, I guess. Not too worried though -- roads were fine today, albeit icy, and all we have to do is get about 1/3rd of the way there and it's smooth sailing.
We leave tomorrow, assuming the weather allows us to. I'll be taking a very expensive flight Sunday if it doesn't, I guess. Not too worried though -- roads were fine today, albeit icy, and all we have to do is get about 1/3rd of the way there and it's smooth sailing.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
RIP Little Friend.
I had to have Mischief euthanized yesterday. His kidneys failed and even with a ridiculously expensive surgery there wasn't that great a chance. I went over to say goodbye and give him a few last kisses and hugs yesterday afternoon.
You think, when you are diagnosed with cancer, that at least there's not much worse than can happen to you. But there always is, isn't there? I feel detached now, like a balloon that just popped another hook holding me back from floating away. In the 11 years I had that cat he was a teddy bear, a therapist, a constant comfort, my best friend, and so much more -- everyone who met him loved him and thought he was the most amazing cat they had ever seen.
And right when I need him the most, when everything else is going to shit around me, he's randomly taken from me.
I think I'm in shock. My marriage has been pretty rocky since all of this started, and without a ton of close friends to lean on I've been forced to rely on whatever I could safely get to pull myself through the dark times. I could always count on Mischief's purring or the feel of rubbing his neck fur to calm me down and balance things. There's something to be said, a lot actually with a disease like this, to just have something that loves you for you and doesn't care about anything else except to steal a little warmth and a head scratch.
Months ago I was having a beer with a friend on my back patio and talking about cancer and all of this, and we were talking about religion. Jim mentioned that he held out hope that when he died he'd be reunited with his deceased father. I never put much stock in stuff like that but I told Mischief last night, quietly, that if there is a place like that, and he can't find anything better, that I hope I'll get to have him fall asleep on my lap again someday.
Goodbye, little one. You were a better friend than I probably deserved but I will always appreciate that you shared your life with me, from the moment you picked me out at the DFL until we said goodbye.
You think, when you are diagnosed with cancer, that at least there's not much worse than can happen to you. But there always is, isn't there? I feel detached now, like a balloon that just popped another hook holding me back from floating away. In the 11 years I had that cat he was a teddy bear, a therapist, a constant comfort, my best friend, and so much more -- everyone who met him loved him and thought he was the most amazing cat they had ever seen.
And right when I need him the most, when everything else is going to shit around me, he's randomly taken from me.
I think I'm in shock. My marriage has been pretty rocky since all of this started, and without a ton of close friends to lean on I've been forced to rely on whatever I could safely get to pull myself through the dark times. I could always count on Mischief's purring or the feel of rubbing his neck fur to calm me down and balance things. There's something to be said, a lot actually with a disease like this, to just have something that loves you for you and doesn't care about anything else except to steal a little warmth and a head scratch.
Months ago I was having a beer with a friend on my back patio and talking about cancer and all of this, and we were talking about religion. Jim mentioned that he held out hope that when he died he'd be reunited with his deceased father. I never put much stock in stuff like that but I told Mischief last night, quietly, that if there is a place like that, and he can't find anything better, that I hope I'll get to have him fall asleep on my lap again someday.
Goodbye, little one. You were a better friend than I probably deserved but I will always appreciate that you shared your life with me, from the moment you picked me out at the DFL until we said goodbye.
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
And the hits just keep coming.
I made it through the holidays. It wasn't easy ... it wasn't going to be, that was obvious. My daughter had a good time and that's all that matters, really, even if I had to fake the holiday cheer bit personally. It's impossible to describe to those without the knowledge of what standing in terminal shoes really feels like to explain how the taint creeps in, how often unbidden thoughts come of "how many of these will I have left" and "what will these days be like when I'm gone for those left behind?"
I didn't write here because it's just too painful for me.
I am waiting for the Mayo Clinic to look over my latest test results to confirm they are still doing the transplant in February -- there was a paperwork snafu, as usual, so it's being dealt with late. I am hopeful that I can get down there to meet with the doctor and the logistics folks before things start.
Oh, I discovered last chemo day something new and even more depressing than previous discoveries -- I was sitting there next to a pregnant woman. If there's one thing an infusion room is good for it's to remind you of how fucking awful cancer can be.
I feel like I'm in some sort of toxic orbit right now -- the last few years have been so painful, with one thing coming after another, and there seems to be no let up. 2013 was fucking terrible, so obviously my family was hoping for a reprieve in 2014. But here I sit today waiting for news that won't really make a difference about my cat, Mischief. He was acting funny last night so I took him to an emergency vet and sure enough, he's in kidney failure. They are doing more tests but there's no way I can afford an estimated $8,000 surgery for a cat so regardless of what they find I'll probably be going over there later to say goodbye today. I've had several cats but he was truly a one-of-a-kind animal -- outgoing, friendly, and a teddy bear to my daughter. And me.
I'm sick of feeling like life is unfair.
I didn't write here because it's just too painful for me.
I am waiting for the Mayo Clinic to look over my latest test results to confirm they are still doing the transplant in February -- there was a paperwork snafu, as usual, so it's being dealt with late. I am hopeful that I can get down there to meet with the doctor and the logistics folks before things start.
Oh, I discovered last chemo day something new and even more depressing than previous discoveries -- I was sitting there next to a pregnant woman. If there's one thing an infusion room is good for it's to remind you of how fucking awful cancer can be.
I feel like I'm in some sort of toxic orbit right now -- the last few years have been so painful, with one thing coming after another, and there seems to be no let up. 2013 was fucking terrible, so obviously my family was hoping for a reprieve in 2014. But here I sit today waiting for news that won't really make a difference about my cat, Mischief. He was acting funny last night so I took him to an emergency vet and sure enough, he's in kidney failure. They are doing more tests but there's no way I can afford an estimated $8,000 surgery for a cat so regardless of what they find I'll probably be going over there later to say goodbye today. I've had several cats but he was truly a one-of-a-kind animal -- outgoing, friendly, and a teddy bear to my daughter. And me.
I'm sick of feeling like life is unfair.
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