Happy New Year!

I missed posting about Christmas because, well, I got sick again. Or still, depending upon your point of view. Bad enough that a day ahead of what we planned, I tried to visit a walk-in clinic up where my in-laws live and we wound up leaving a day early.

I was in a pretty bad way. It had been a week since I'd finished the antibiotic I'd hoped would be enough firepower to win the fight. I did get well enough to lay still for that PET scan you may be wondering about, but by Christmas Day, enemy forces had regrouped and taken me down.

This only dampened Christmas though. I came home with some excellent new fleeces and two new shirts, some fluffy/grippy socks, a healthy eating cookbook, a Thai curry cookbook, curries and rice to go with, a bunch of clever gifts from Germany courtesy of my traveling in-laws, and a very cool new pair of FRS/GRMS rechargeable walkie-talkies among lots of other gifts and sweets.

Back home I paid a second visit to my own doctor and got some horse-sized antibiotics for a second battle. This one is going well so far helped along by my Mom's Russian spiced tea.

I've receovered my strength enough to have muscled my big surprise Christmas gift down into the basement for a temporary setup. Do you know what pachinko is?

Ye of my longer associates know just what I'm talking about; the highly addictive Japanese gambling game. Imagine pinball stood upright, about as wide as your shoulders, with hundreds of small pinballs falling through a strategically placed playing field of brass nails. The nails dodge and direct the falling balls into and way from traps; some that open and close. Balls that are caught cause the machine to yield more balls in return... but those that are lost you don't get back. Hence the gambling aspect.

In Japan these machines are lined up in parlours in even the smallest towns. Players buy a set quantity of balls and risk them in the machines to win a variety of prizes ranging from plastic toys in the fun parlours to groceries in some pragmatic places and motorcycles or cars in high stakes casinos.

My oldest friends know I've found and fixed a handful of antique machines. They are fascinating to figure out as all the older ones really need is gravity to work. The falling balls do all the magic both in front of and behind the machines.

This new one though... it does need electricity.

But that's because it's a personalized Las Vegas casino! It has music and digital slot reels to make the caught balls even more hopeful as one plays. And it has lights. LOTS OF LIGHTS. And it happens to be Star Wars themed. (Think of a movie, rock band, Japanese cartoon, etc... there is probably a pachinko machine with that theme out there)

My Nerd Night friends punk'd my big time with this thing. They all chipped in to buy it and surprised me last week when I showed up for our regular Monday night out. I walked into the cantina and noticed it. I thought the restaurant had bought one to go with the video games, jukebox, and poker machines. I was completely shocked when they told me it was for me!

I've got some pictures to share later and a little video I found online... enjoy!
Better yet, come visit Jody and I to play it yourself!



Look at the video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bnS19GVSvsE

NnuuunnnrrruuuRRrrrnnn,,,

That's the sound I make to help clear my chest.

Or at least as close to what I think it might looked like if I could only type it out.

I got it honestly though and I wouldn't have missed it. Joanie was home this past weekend and I was able to spend the afternoon with her. She was pretty sure she'd picked something up on the plane. By evening we were both sniffly with a little sore throat starting. When I got home, all hell broke loose and my sinuses congested in what felt like minutes. By morning, I was very sick.

The dry house hasn't helped, nor has the room humidifier I bought in desperation. I've missed work every day this week. And I had to reschedule the PET scan I was supposed to have today.

I've got two days on antibiotics to go and I hope they're enough. My biggest worry is that my immune system isn't up to the task of finishing this off.

Note of irony: it was a cold and a dry cough that I couldn't shake that got me in to my doctor that led to the x-ray and the original scan that revealed the cancer. Go figure!

port problems

Waaaay back when all this stuff first started picking up steam, Dr. Grasso signed me up to get a port. It would make IV chemotherapy much easier to administer saving me endless needle sticks in my arms. This sounded great back then because I have notoriously shy veins in my arms that have always been hard to find, much less hit.

It was supposed to be this great thing letting me get a needle in my chest (a lot less pain than you might think) and allow for both infusion of IV and medicine as well as blood draws. But then the insurance kicked in and for some truly stupid reason, blood draws and port accesses couldn't be done on the same day. Mind you the appliance makes both possible with just one visit... one needle... one insurance claim to pay. Nope, two visits for two procedures. And so Life went on. It still hurt less than getting stuck in my arm.

Until a few weeks ago that is. You see, the port needs to be accessed every four to six weeks whether it's being used for therapy or not. I'd been on Xeloda for so long, the only action my port was seeing was a routine access to flush it clean and keep it working. The last time it had been used in anger was for my reversal surgery way back in April. For my routine flush in at the end of October, things didn't go so well.

The needle went right in with only the skill Brenda has, but the saline flush did not give me the distinct scent of lemons I normally feel. It's a normal thing for me; I get this sensation of smelling lemons from the very back of my sinuses, forward. It's just how my brain processes the chemical signal of the flush and I've come to expect it. When things go wrong, I know it immediately.

Not only was there no lemony fresh scent, but there was a knot of pain and pressure, next to and above the port site. It happened again today. It feels as if the catheter tube from the port has been blocked and blown up like a balloon though I do not think it is that flexible. It hurts and it feels very very wrong.

So, Dr. Grasso got a call and a message to see about possibly bringing me in to see if the port is still in good shape. This almost definitely means a trip to the hospital where no one is as skilled at hitting the port as Brenda. It may also mean another outpatient surgery that I'd rather not go through except to get the port taken out.

And that may be a possibility too. If the PET scan on the 19th comes back looking good, chemo may be off the menu and I won't need the port. I already give regular blood samples for tests from my arms and hands so the port would be unnecessary. I'm getting ahead of myself but I admit it would be nice.

Meanwhile, any of you locals who know personal fitness trainers, drop me a line. I'd like to find someone whom can help me out while being careful in shaping up my abdominal muscles. Someone with experience training chemo patients would be awesome.

Best Gifts Ever

It's that time of the year... and I really hate being asked for a gift list. ;)

If someone sees something they want me to have, I will appreciate it. Please don't ask me to tell you what to buy. To me that's just you saying you don't want to think of me more than you want to cross my name off of a list. It truly is the thought that counts to me.

Having said that, I've received gifts that have left their mark on me.

The first was a toy I still have after nearly thirty years gone by. My Dad was in the Air Force when I was growing up. We were coming back stateside from Japan just before Christmas in 1979. All of our stuff had been crated up and was taking a slow boat while we were living out of suitcases and holing up with my grandparents as Dad got out of the service. Mom and Dad had known our move home would interrupt Christmas and had planned ahead mailing toys home ahead of us... this was back when the mail could take weeks.

Under the tree that Christmas was the coolest toy ever; a remote controlled R2-D2! There was an American rc R2, but it only had two legs and was cloudy white plastic with a dull silver dome head; totally lame by comparison. My plucky little droid is -still- bright white with dark blue stickers and a mirror-chrome top. He's got -three- legs and his head swivels when he rolls around stopping on command and -shooting- tiddlywink discs! I still have him in his original box. A few years ago I had him appraised at $1400 for a Discovery Channel show but, to me, he's priceless because Mom and Dad had gone to so much trouble to make sure I had him for Christmas that year.

The second gift was a Snap-on 1/2" breaker and a tin can with some sockets in it. When I opened them, I did not understand what they were. Obviously they were tools, but they were clearly worn not to mention they were sizes I already had. Then my folks told me where they'd come from.

Officially, my grandfather died on my 21st birthday. He'd had a stroke several weeks prior and the family rushed to Florida from all corners, including my aunt who had been deployed to Riyahd during Desert Storm. Grampa had been looking us in the eye and able to blink yes and no but was otherwise completely disabled by the stroke... it was heartbreaking. My grandmother told him all their kids were there and she would be okay and when she told him he could stop fighting, he stopped responding to us. I feel that was when he passed despite the agony of the bureaucracy of stopping life support; which he'd been put on with complete disregard for the papers he had signed himself when he was originally admitted for a minor stroke. The major stroke happened in his hospital room.

My grandfathers' tools were supposed to have been split up and passed on to each of his grandsons; a fact I never knew. It had been hidden from me because my uncle had run completely roughshod over his parents home, his own mother's home, taking things before any of Grampas' wishes could be carried out. This heavily damaged my uncle's relationship with his sisters and, to this day, is still a tender subject. My uncle pawned nearly all of the tools I and my cousins were supposed to receive.

Somehow my aunt and her husband wound up with the breaker and the sockets I was holding in my hands. Years had gone by before they came across the tools in a stateside move of their own (Air Force too). They felt these few tools ought to go to me. As my mom told me who they'd belonged to, how they'd escaped the hands of my uncle, and that they were supposed to have been mine many many years ago, I broke down.

Those old sockets and the patina'd breaker bar now hold a very very special spot in my toolbox. They've turned fasteners on my and my friends cars now and made a few trips to different paddocks with me. I think of my grandfather every time I see them and I can feel he is happy knowing they're finally in my hands.

Here is a picture of an Artoo like mine. Give me some time and you may get to see those tools in use on one of your cars.

quick and painless... until the blood draw that is

Dr. Lee was a bit late this morning, but I did not mind. I gave her a quick update and she agreed I would probably heal up more fully now without the chemo coursing through me being reinforced every other week. I'd had a rough weekend, worst night in about a month. I'm honestly a lot more worn than I want to admit, but I am feeling better. When I asked about getting into a fitness regimen, Dr. Lee saw no problem.

She deferred to Dr. Grasso specifically for any abdominal muscle training. I spoke with him this evening and he suggested I avoid overly stressing my abs and possibly invest in an ab belt for extra support. When I mentioned I may try finding a trainer whom has worked with recovering surgical patients, he thought that would be a good idea. So, that'll be the plan and hopefully my reduced hours will help. Dr. Grasso asked after my bimmer and told me he'd been in surgery today with another doctor working on a 2002. Car guy docs rule!

I'm in a minor holding pattern waiting for a referral for a PET scan on Dec 19th. I'm going to stay on top of this referral and not let it get goofed around with some typo or rejected for the wrong mailing address or, as luck would just have to have it, some inattention because of the holiday this week.

Which brings me to Thanksgiving. Like every year I have a lot to be thankful for if I just stop and think about it. Which is my encouragement to you. Take a little time out and consider your own situation. :)

off to the oncologist

I'll be jumping in the shower shortly and off to see Dr. Lee first thing this morning. Chemo has come to an end so I anticipate we will be scheduling a PET scan to see how our work has paid off.

I'll also be asking her advice on exercising, specifically strength training. I've lost a lot of weight and, as you may have heard me say, I would like to capitalize on it. But I've lost a lot of strength too... and I didn't start off with a great deal. Now that there's no chemo going in, I want to know if it's okay to try building muscle even as the chemo tapers off.

Wish me luck!

breathe...

For some reason, we instinctively hold our breath when something big approaches. It's second nature; a reaction to fear. I wish I had a dollar for every instructor who has told me to breathe or even for every time I've caught myself tensing up, forgetting to do what is guaranteed to keep my head clear and my actions smooth.

Just gotta breathe.

When I don't, I feel it. Often just a bit too late and I knock myself off my rhythm. I brake too soon, turn in too early, knot myself up and make it hurt worse, or psych myself into breaking down. Such was the case Saturday evening, and I've been paying for it since then. Less and less, thankfully, but I can still look back and see where holding my breath put me off my game.

This was supposed to be a good thing. Chemo ended Saturday evening. But I'd held my breath and turned it into this emotional mountain to climb that has upset me for days all because I didn't just swallow those last four pills instead of fixating on them.

So, lesson learned again. I never was the kid who really got it that the burner was hot the first time I touched it. I've always had to burn my hand a second time just to make sure. I need to just let the chemo go now and not get all worked up over my next meet with Dr. Lee. Yes, we'll talk about what happens next, but I do myself no favors trying to hold my breath until then.