Yesterday was my second session of so-called strong chemo, taken as always at the world-famous Chemo Lounge. This one was sideways from the get-go. The doctors hadn’t sent over the orders, which the nurses (who run the Chemo Lounge) need to be able to do anything. So, it took about an extra hour to get that fixed. Then, they have to do blood work & labs to make sure my system can handle the chemo infusion. Which, apparently it was. So, I gets my pre-infusions, which include fluids (I always think of the teevee show Emergency & “5 ccs of Ringer’s lactate”), followed by Benadryl for allergic reactions & industrial-strength Pepcid for nausea control. That takes about another hour, where I am also waiting for the pharmacy to mix up the chemo cocktails. Around noon, four hours after all this starts, I get my first cocktail — carboplatin.

Now, this session is my 8th round of chemo…I had six in the first cycle, which were weaker cocktails, since I was doing radiation at the same time. Apparently, it is quite common for a chemo patient to experience an allergic reaction to the carboplatin around this point. And so, being a quite common man, that’s exactly what happened. And thank God the nurses were paying attention, because I wasn’t even aware of it happening while it was. I started coughing, I got red in the face, my heart rate went through the roof, my extremities got blood-red, and I was having trouble breathing. So…they stopped the carboplatin infusion, called the docs, who prescribed another dose of Benadryl and another dose of steroids. Which handled the deal. They restarted the chemo infusion, at a slower rate, and I made it to the end of that with no more issues. In restrospect, about the time I came out of the reaction, I realized it felt exactly like the old days when I’d get a bee or wasp sting. I hadn’t had that kind of reaction in about 10 years, either, despite stings since then. Weird.

By way of caution, the nurses did a slower rate of infusion for my second chemo cocktail (paclitaxel.) After a suitable waiting period, they cranked it up to normal. By then, I was feeling just fine, of course, and getting impatient from ten freaking hours of sitting in that damn chair. I was the last patient left, and there were two poor nurses who had to stay to finish it out. I walked out and got home about 14 hours after I’d left. Made for a long day. Used up half the battery on my Kindle (which, I think, that battery is getting the same damn battery problem that all these mod-cons get.) Ate all my snacks. Listened to 100+ songs on my iPod. Never unlimbered the laptop, surprisingly — I have the last season of Breaking Bad on it, but I’m kind of saving it. For what, though, I do not know.

Now, today, I’m feeling pretty good, although kind of weak and shaky, with a bit of a bubbly stomach. No muscle or joint pains, and if I do get them, the doc prescribed some more steroids (dexamethasone). I’m not too crazy about that, especially the prescription part of “take three times daily”, so I’m going to hold off until I think I need them. Yeah, that might be stupid, but damn, I’ve got a lot of dope running around in my body, and since it’s palliative and not therapeutic, I’ll take it as it comes. I wasn’t debilitated during the rirst round, and if I get that way this time, then I’ve got a choice to fix it.

Speaking of the dope, I should take a picture of my kitchen table. It’s covered in nostrums and potions and various meds. Completely unorganized. I write the name of the dope or the condition or the broad description on the cap, and just leave it sitting there. Some are in baggies for travel, some are no longer needed. Only one or two have migrated to the bathroom cabinet. It’s a mess, and a fine testament to how my organizational skills have deteriorated over the course of this ordeal. Ah, well…onward.

Oh, and next up…we have more scans! PET scan and CT scan. Then the wizards read them, and pronounce the ever-present “here’s what we do next.” That is two weeks away. I also have a filling for tooth that’s badly decayed and probably really needs a root canal, which I can’t afford that right now, if I can avoid it. It seems almost superfluous to be worrying about teeth, but hell, I look like a hobo already with the bald cabeza…toothless seems a step too far. A man’s gotta eat, right?

And so forward we go…it’s a journey. A wise man told me just the other day, “Cancer is not a disease of death, it’s a disease of life.” He’s right. There’s so much uncertainty and indeterminancy surrounding this, it’s very easy to lose sight of anything that’s not right in front of your nose…the next pill, the next meal, the next appointment, the next chemo, the next scan. Thinking much further than that seems kind of pointless, until you take what Tom says there to heart. You can’t let it take over your life. And so you don’t. And I won’t.

I was gently chastised for not updating more often. I guess twelve days between posts is kinda long, especially for a wordy son of a gun like me. In no particular order:

I got my first ‘strong’ chemo treatment two weeks ago. Fallout was minimal at that time, mainly muscle pain and joint aches, like having the flu. There was very little nausea, which surprised me. The joint pain kind of settled into one knee, my left one, that has always been weaker than the right. That’s been there for decades, I think from my tennis career, and exacerbated by being fat. I’m wearing one of those elastic braces on it, just to stabilize it.

Now, right there, I said “at that time.” Today was a shocker, though…all my hair started falling out in the shower. Big handfuls of it. So, as I promised myself, I got out the sheep shears, and buzzed down to the same burr haircut I had when I was six years old. I must say, I look frightening to myself. I’ve been very vain about my hair for a long while, but vanity ain’t in it no more. I’m sure I’ll get used to this, like I have so many other things over the last four months, although I will be wearing a hat more often…it’s kind of airish with no hair.

Everything else is A-OK. My blood counts looked low in key areas, but not panick-low, just under the threshold for ideal. I am having mouth problems again, with loose painful teeth, so I’ve got an extraction scheduled for Monday. No doubt, my appearance will improve with that, as well. Fortunately, they are way in the back.

My next chemo is next Thursday. I’ll try to update a little more regular.

No, I won’t be posting an “After” picture of my cue-ball head.

For the Big Boggy and their Texans, for adequately representing the Texas state religion of football in the NFL. Which is something the Romo*-Jones clusterfark can’t manage any more, if they ever could.

It’s weird pulling for a Houston team, but never let it be said that I wasn’t a true Texas sports supporter, if not a very loud one. It would be better if the Silver Star was representing in their conference, but you can’t have everything, and really, their flounderings have just become an embarrassment of the first order.

Besides, two World Series in a row for my beloved Rangers, who I never thought would get there, makes up 1000 times over, for the decline and fall of the Pokes. Ten more days on the clock to sign the soon-to-be-Cy-Young Yu Darvish, the 6’5″ Iranian-Japanese** twirler. There are still mumblings in the edge of the tweetverse about the Rangers snagging big, fat cheeseburger-loving Prince Fielder who would bring beast-mode to the BPiA and make the right field bleachers a hard-hat zone. Pitchers and catchers report in 50(ish) days. There’s your light at the end of the sports tunnel, as Ball of the Foot winds down and we only have gangsta hoopstas to watch for February, unless you’re into hockey.

* I said five (six?) years ago, to my little brother with the Ph.D. from the Big Boggy who does naught but tweet these days, that the Cowboys would never go anywhere with that spaz. Tell me I’m wrong, apologists.

** And ain’t that a weird romance? To make it weirder, they met in FLA.

All of that hullabaloo, all of that money spent, all of the ink & pixels, and what we got was an 8-vote difference in the Iowa Horse Race of yesterday. Superb. PROTIP: the last guy to ‘win’ in Iowa was Mike Huckabee, so…something? A slot on Fox News weekends? A national radio show listened to by mostly nobody?

The important thing is this: now I can, as someone else put it, go back to thinking of Iowa only when I’m pondering pork products or corn-on-the-cob.

Numero uno, you won’t likely find me out wearing a funny hat at midnight. I know that’s disappointing to my legions of fans, but the idea of being awake tonight at midnight makes me want to take a nap right now. I have no doubts that I’ll be sawing logs as the clock ticks over, and that is right & proper for a decrepit 51 year-old, despite what the glitterati would tell you. Besides, as is noted by all committed rummies, this is Amateur Night, and if you’re not at a hotel ballroom with a room a short elevator ride away, you’re just asking for trouble. From the drunks on the road, to the mean drunks who are looking for a fight, to the coppers who are looking to pad their DWI stats — there’s just very little upside these days.

Numero two-o, this has definitely been the weirdest year of my life, what with the lung cancer diagnosis, and all the fall-out from that. So bloody much of the fallout is mental, too. The physical part, that’s manageable, at least so far, just by conserving strength and managing diet and taking the right approach. The mental side, though, man, it’s like the Daytona 500 running in my head every waking moment. The biggest issue for me is just how far ahead I should be looking. Hell, there was a time back in September that I was no way sure I’d make it to this day. Now, after the first round of treatment is done and was (I guess) fairly successful, I’m getting physical strength back, and I’m ready to go do productive things again. But wait — I have more chemo to go, and I have to be short-term about that: do I have enough soup, rice, hot chocolate, Stouffer’s meat loaf teevee dinners, etc., in case it knocks me flat on my ass? And if it does, what the hell else does that mean? Bah — that, at least, I’ll find out in the next week, plus. But three, four months out? Who knows? Nobody but God. So, barring a flash of Heavenly Guarantees, I have to kind of keep my horizon at about one to two months, which is most likely the shortest time frame I’ve ever planned for in my life. Hell, I used to keep a rolling five-year plan that I updated every quarter, with goals and milestones and crap. Been a while since I did that, what with the necessity of finding business and making a living and indulging some part of my inventor side.

The bottom line for me, if there is one, is that I reckon 2012 is going to be even weirder than 2011 for me personally. That’s fine and all. I’ve done weird for my whole life. I’m still mystified how I ended up riding some of the waves I’ve rode over the years. But God has a plan for me, somewhere, somehow, and I’m just going to take comfort in that. We’ll see if it becomes apparent, and if it does, that’s what we’ll do, and if it doesn’t, we’ll just keep making it up as we go along.

For you, dear reader, I have nothing but the best wishes for 2012, and that it be just weird enough to make you happy. I thank you for stopping by this dusty, stale-beer-and-Marlboro-smelling corner of the internet. It’s been my great good fortune to have so many kind folks along for the Klown Kar ride this life has become, and it humbles me to be so blessed. Happy New Year!

Roll with it…it could have been a barking Widetrack…

Merry Christmas and/or Happy Channukah to all of my faithful readers, for whom I am so very grateful, it is impossible to say.

Look, you can roll with the cool-club-kid techno Norks and hope you don’t look too old, or you can go ahead and be funky. You know me, I like funky, baby.

La Russa said Pujols has been “in pain” since he accepted the Los Angeles Angels’ 10-year, $254-million offer.

“I know it was a painful decision and it pains him now,” La Russa said. “He deserves what he got. He earned it. There’s no bad guy here. I think the Cardinals went where they thought they should go. If they can’t go farther, they shouldn’t.”

Oddly, my Give-A-Fuck-O-Meter is not registering the psychic pain of Albert ‘$250MM’ Pujols.

And it’s not unexpected, but it is a) greatly appreciated confirmation, and b) a load off of my mind. Again cutting/pasting from the family email:

I had the doctor appointment this morning to go over the results of the PET scan on Monday. They were characterized as “very good” — it showed tumor shrinkage, no enlarged lymph nodes and no spread to brain, other organs or bones. There is still blockage of the bronchus intermedius (? – something to do with a branch of the airway), and indication of pneumonitis (not pneumonia.) My voice is still very hoarse, so that nerve is still impacted. It is getting louder, though, at least a little bit. I have some light-headedness after standing up, which was described as “getting old” by the PA. Great.

The treatment plan is to move into consolidated chemotherapy, which will start Jan 5th. I neglected to ask how many they planned, but I have an appointment the day before I start chemo, so I’ll ask then. Needless to say, I’ll go for how ever many they say. The drugs will be carboplatin and taxoplatin (?), the same thing I had before, just stronger doses. I imagine at some point, I’ll be getting another scan to see how I’m reacting to it, and make any adjustments. I’ll probably start losing hair with this round of chemo. Sigh.

Regardless, I’m sure that the multitude of people praying for me has had an enormous effect on me. Your love and support has meant everything to me, and I’m thankful beyond words.

So, here we are, the second fork in the road, which of course, I shall take, with all yall along as the happy peanut gallery. I’ve gotten inside information on the “strong” chemo (thanks, Tom!) that makes me somewhat nervous about how I’ll react. I’m definitely not down with losing hair, as I’m doing well enough with that on my own without any help. I guess I should look at this as an opportunity to buy a nice new Resistol, and purty up a little bit.

There are still a lot of things up in the air going forward, such as just what the hell I’m going to be when I grow up. I hate, hate, hate being unproductive — I really want to try to do something with the 30+ years of IT experience, 20+ years of networking experience, 15+ years of internet experience, and 10+ years of web experience. I’d still like to take some of the last 5+ years of video surveillance R&D and do something in the oil patch. I’ve still got a few ideas rattling around in my soon-to-be-hairless head on video + cellular + wifi, but by the time I can get them actualized, it might be too late. C’est la guerre, as we say in the high-tech world. I should make a Facebook app or something equally useless. If I had any creativity, I would.

For now, though, I’m going to enjoy Christmas with the family, up in North Texas, seeing some friends, just relaxing a little bit before I have to take that fork in the road. Thanks for all the prayers, good wishes, kind karmas, etc. Believe me, they work.

Seasonal Affective Disorder has set in, or that’s what I’m blaming. I’m tired of gray skies, rain, and cold. That’s all we’ve had for like two weeks, and it’s not even January yet. Just give me some sun, OK, and we’ll call it even. Because in the immortal words of Augustus McCrae, a man can buy a coat.

PET scan today, in 60 minutes to be precise, to judge efficacy of those six weeks of chemo and radiation. Prayers are appreciated, muchly.

I’m reading the Day 3: Winter Meetings Chaos live chat at BBTIA.

Mainly just trying to get some CJ news, and see what else the Ins know. These cats are at least as knowledgeable as the national Ins. About 1000X less obnoxious, too. Though Ken Rosenthal doesn’t grate as much as he used to, for some reason.

LaTroy Hawkins???

Albert Pujols is gonna have some serious cabbage at the end of this. Merry Christmas, Alberto.

Here’s a lightly edited version of what I sent my family this morning:

Yesterday was my 2-week followup after the end of the first round of treatment. All was well, really. Just real quick:

• swallowing is becoming progressively easier
• so, my appetite is coming back and my taste buds too
• still having muscle pain in back and shoulders which I think is just 3 months with no exercise
• hydration issues are easing with the swallowing
• still having regular nausea, I think from eating more adventurously than Ensure and chicken soup. They are switching me to Regulan for the nausea
• I guess the voice is gone for good? No improvement in that, unfortunately.

I’m really feeling a lot better, and getting a lot of things done pursuant to moving. I’m still not getting a full night’s sleep, but I can take naps during most days or within an hour or two of waking up early in the AM.

I’m scheduled for a PET scan on 12/12, with the followup on 12/15. This will determine if & how the cancer has progressed, and the next course of treatment, which will be consolidated chemo, and some number of sessions, 3-6 of them.

And really, that’s kind of that. I guess there will always be uncertainty, but I’m still feeling confident, as well as just all-around better every day. So better that, in honor of the WPBT taking place this weekend, I seriously am considering a drive to Eagle Pass to play poker with the Injuns. Man, they picked a shitty time to kill online poker for me…I could have been sitting here folding for the last three months, and do you know how happy that would have made me???? Grrrr…stupid, meddling, dipshit-Eric Holder DOJ. Piss on ye, for killing Mexicans and Border Patrol agents and online poker, you lousy good-for-nothing water-carrying fall guy. I am also thinking of camping, but at lows of 30s and 40s with rain, well — not this weekend. Man, I want to be outdoors.

OK, then…a reminder…the Collection Plate is rattling. If you’ve already donated, I thank you from the bottom of my heart…it removes a little of the uncertainty, believe me, and that’s a good thing.

I suppose this sleeping business will all work itself out.

I’m thrilled about Greg Maddux joining the Rangers FO. That guy has all the hardware a great pitcher can have. He’s highly respected throughout the game. Best of all, his approach to pitching – control – is precisely the key to success in the bigs. Now, though, the kids in the rotation will have to listen. I bet he can make them do that.

Yeah, I’m still reading about baseball. Nothing else is interesting.

Amazon’s Cyber(?) Monday

I guess…because there are folks who didn’t want to get out of their turkey stupor for Black Friday? Because there are folks who only use the internet tubes at the office?

Here’s an idea: make a Wish List, and give it to your present-buying loved ones!

Well, hell…back up at 3am.

Here, listen to Boot Liquor Radio…good cow-punk.