Hello, Darkness, My Old Friend...

This never stops being funny to me. Many apologies to Ben Affleck.

Well, I'm back at it. I've returned once more (Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more...) to chemotherapy treatments. Last week, I went in on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday to get infusions. Oh, and Sunday for a shot of something that's supposed to help me recover from what they did to me all those other days. On Friday (I think it was Friday), I got a lovely little fanny pack with a pump that shoveled poison into me for 24 hours straight.

It was awesome.

Yes, okay, you got me; there's some sarcasm there. But also, not as much as you might guess. While I wasn't excited about starting back in with the side-effects, I was happy about moving forward.

So, about those side-effects. To date, the RICE protocol has been more... subtle, I guess... than the ABVD. When the ABVD would hit me, it would hit me like a ton of bricks. I knew exactly when it was happening. This one's trickier. Sneakier. Deadlier.

Heh, heh. Farts.

The bad taste is definitely there, but it's a different bad taste. The flavor I have in my mouth right now is a veritable personification of death, decay and chemicals. Not pleasant. I'm tempted to experiment with sugar, but I know sugar isn't a fantastic idea right now anyway, so maybe I'll just let that sucker ride. There's definitely still a sensitivity to sweet--sugar is WAY too sweet, so I'll use that to keep me sugar free until after my bone marrow transplant.

Speaking of bone marrow transplants... My wife mentioned, and I agree, that "stem cell transplant" is far more clear and specific when it comes to what I'll be doing. There will be no harvesting from my bone marrow.

Harvesting makes me think of this, which then makes me think of this...

Aaaaand now I'm hiding under my blanket.

They'll do another bone marrow biopsy to make sure the cancer hasn't taken up residence there (things get a lot more complicated if that's the case), but that's the only invasion of my bones that should be happening. They give me a series of shots that cause my stem cells to float around in my bloodstream, then they do a centrifuge kind of thing where they take my blood out, spin it around to separate out the stem cells, then deposit the other blood products back in my bloodstream.

Back to side effects. Neuropathy in my feet (prickles and tingles and numbness and occasional sharp pains). Heartburn like a mother. Wow. I've never had heartburn like this before. It's like an explosion of acid right where my sternum is. Nausea? Check! I mean, what would chemotherapy be without some good ol' nausea? Brain fog. Yes. Different than it was, and I think maybe not as extreme, but definitely there. Weird mouth pain. Not like the fire that the red devil (Adriamycin) would cause, but one that sneaks in after and makes it no fun to brush my teeth.

Where this one is hitting me the hardest is in fatigue. I am so tired, y'all. The best way I've found to describe it is that I feel like I've been through a dementor attack. All energy, life, joy, motivation... sucked right out through my face and into the gullet of a waiting predator. Oh, and I can't eat chocolate to recover. Seriously. Eff Todd and the horse he rode in on.

Yep. Something like that.

There are moments when I need to do something--go teach or grab something or meet with someone or just to go to the bathroom--when the thought of moving feels like it's truly impossible. The level of tiredness I'm experiencing causes me random crying jags when I lie down to rest.

Bleak, right? And I'm not looking to back off from that assessment. It's really hard. The hardest thing I think I've ever done, and I've done at least a couple of hard things in my life.

But.

I really debated this. I tend to tie things up in a nice little bow way too often when I write. I'll tell you how bad it is, but then I'll give you a little happy wash on the end of it to soften some of the sharp edges. I don't want to do that. I don't think it serves others who are going through cancer (or any other life threatening condition), or who have family members or friends who are.

But.

I'm getting better. The last PET scan was discouraging. This cancer's aggressive and FAST. It managed to make its way over to my liver, my lung, my bones. The lump under my arm was growing pretty big. Big enough to see; big enough to be painful. It was no bueno (that's Spanish, y'all... with SO many apologies to my friends in Spain for butchering their beautiful language).

¡Viva, España!

I can see the difference the new regimen is making. And even if I didn't have that, I have the reaction I experienced when the chemo drugs were being administered. One of the drugs (the R, if you care about that kind of thing--rituximab) causes the lymphoma cells to basically blow up. So there's lots of flotsam and jetsam that ends up in your body, which can cause a whole host of reactions. For me, it was getting really chilled with some pretty violent shakes. As much as I didn't want to have a reaction (you have to go through a whole thing; they stop the treatment, administer steroids, yada yada yada), the fact that I did have the reaction means that I know for a fact that cells were getting smashed to smithereens.

Good times.

Once again, though...

But.

This one's even harder for me to admit. I'm afraid right now.

That probably seems like a no-brainer. I have cancer. The cancer was misdiagnosed (stupid grey zone lymphoma). Me being frightened should follow like jelly follows peanut butter.

Side note--not a fan of pb & j. Either on its own? Excellent. Together? Meh,

But for the most part, I'm not scared of my cancer or of dying. Call it denial, call it narcissism, call it peaceful acceptance--I'll cop to all of those and more. But that's not what keeps me up at night.

Night sweats. That's what keeps me up at night.

What's got me frightened is that I currently am employed doing what I love. For the past umpteen years or so, I've been teaching (mostly part-time) at multiple universities. The last two years, I've been full time at my current place of employment, on two separate year-long contracts. For each of those, I went through a full job-search process.

I can't fully express how much I love my job. I love the faculty. I love the students. I love the physical environment there. It's kind of my dream job.

And this month is when they decided to open up the full-time tenure-track search for the position.

I am in no shape to be competing for anything right now. I have no energy. Day-to-day existence feels like pretty much all I can do right now. And yet now is when the job opening came. It's just a reality of life. No one to blame for it. No real cause for me to want to blame someone for it. But that's exactly what I want to do. Of course it is! BECAUSE I AM A MORON.

Thank you. Thanks for that.

Intellectually, I know it isn't a competition. The right person for the job will get the job. If I don't get the job, it was never mine to begin with. If I try to force the universe (or God or my higher power) to give me the job, I will regret it... probably sooner than later.

Doesn't matter. Still want it.

The heart wants what... You know, I just can't finish that sentence. Gag.

This goes back to control. I want to be in control of my own life, in spite of the fact that I keep receiving lesson after lesson that teaches me that I'm not. In spite of some pretty incredible (read: miraculous) stuff that's occurred in my life, I continue to give ol' God some serious side eye.

What you talkin' about, God?

I have very little desire to trust, even though I've been given lots of reasons in my life to do just that. What would it look like if I just let go? If I didn't try to push to get what I want? If I trusted that things will work out the way they're meant to?

That idea is scarier to me than some sick mash-up between The Shining and Children of the Corn.

Seriously. So. Many. Nightmares. Thanks, Jack.

I guess, in the end, it's just something I'll have to take a day at a time. Can I let go right now, just for a second? Yeah. I can handle that. So, each time that desire to push and control and shape comes over me, I'll just let go. Just for a moment. And those moments will turn into hours, days, weeks... But you know what?

This sucks.

Oh! And pictures! Pictures galore! That's what happens when you go in for chemotherapy FOUR DAYS IN A ROW.

Chemo 2.1

Why yes, those are cats in boxes. Thanks for noticing.

Me and the bestest person in the whole wide world.

DJ Baldy Ben, rocking the infusion room.

Bob Ross and his happy little accidents.

You know, I own a LOT of plaid.

Stylin' with my sweet, sweet fanny pack.

 No, you can't borrow my blanket. Know why? BECAUSE
I GIVE ZERO FOX.

Caveman socks. Because I can.

Yes, I know there are only three days represented here. I don't know what happened to the fourth. It's very upsetting. I don't want to talk about it.

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Next up, we skirt around the real issues caused by chemo. Such as halitosis.

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