Memorial Day

I've been home two days and sharing a day of remembrance with the country.  Today I'm remembering all the great folks joining my fight against cancer.  And you all are joining a fight, don't kid yourselves that you are only lending support, just sending positive energy or reading a blog.  By caring you've decided that my cause, and the fight against cancer cause, matters to you and can have consequences to you when things do not go right and losses are taken.  You've each put a little bit of yourselves on the line by reaching out to me, coming to me here or meeting me somewhere where I needed you.  I'll honor that commitment and fight for you, my allies.  My family has been great, friends and acquaintances from work and personal life continuously surprise me (and top up the old hope reservoir).   Sometimes big things, sometimes things that may seem small can mean so much each and every day.  Today some neighbors wheeled a Lazy Boy recliner down the street to my house because they heard I was going to try to go out to shop for one (I'm spending so much time in bed).  They left their barbecue and pushed the damn thing all the way down Marigot Drive and into my living room.  I bet cancer does not have a Lazy Boy, or such friends as these.

Concessions

I checked out of the hospital yesterday, and Ann and I are spending a couple of days in a local hotel in Houston as my body resets and hopefully gets ready for the flight home - especially my liver as my blood counts remain dangerously low.  I am so happy to be out of that hospital room and the IV machine, but am a bit worse for wear.  My skin is shot with chemo burns and various splotches and irritations and I still cannot stand any kind of food.  I still have my PICC line with two valves coming out of my arm, cyborg style.  Ann took a class on how to change the dressing on it and keep the lines clear and passed a test in front of a RN yesterday, I'm very proud of her.  Plus, I'm really weak - and it kills me to admit it.  Ann and I walked across the hospital to the pharmacy yesterday and it wiped me out most of the day and I had to lay in bed for the duration.  On the other hand, it was the first time I received a shopping bag full of meds and a whole other shopping bag full of medical supplies.  They are sending me home with 10 prescription drugs and other creams, lotions, salves, etc.  I guess the two weeks at home will not be a return to normal.  That whole reality, that "normal" is something we left behind last week before I got admitted and not something we'll see again until I finally kick this cancer, really did hit me hard.  I've already given up my career, my beloved bike. Now no more playing with the kids in  the pool, chasing the dogs around the house, having a beer at the end of the day with the wife.  OK, cancer got one up on me on this front but I'm not conceding easily because this is temporary.  When I get that lifestyle back I'll relish it, and worship each energyful moment I've been able to snatch back from the disease.  All future non-sick moments will be a small dance on cancer's grave and I'll savior each and every one

Round One - To the Fighter in the Pajamas

It's 4:20am and they ended the IL2 at midnight so I'm starting to feel sort of human again. My blood platelette count took a dive so they cancelled the last Interferon shot, meaning that round one is over and I'm still standing. The chemo effects will continues to work on the cancer for another week, and on me as well, but we know who'll get the worst end of that. The past five days have been amongst the hardest challenges of my life, I cannot believe this is standard treatment for cancer patients. The thought of thousands and thousands of other parents, or children, out there going through the same thing I just did fills me with a great deal of sadness but also more determination to do something about it when I kick this. Pat, the leader of zMotion, told me about a new event with Livestrong in October and I've circled that date on every calendar I have as my target return back to a normal life and taking the battle to melanoma. I'm just starting to catch up on all the e-mails of support - they mean the world to me. Sorry to be so scattered, just wanted to let you all know as soon as I could that the bell has rung on round one.