Once again, the chemo was able to enjoy a brief victory over my energy reserves. The tiresome effects of the medicine seem to be lingering a bit longer than last time. Although I feel well, I am markedly tired at the end of each day. Of course, this treatment is meant to be compounding rather than cyclical.
As opposed to the end of my last treatment cycle, I'm not particularly sensitive to certain tastes such as salts and sugars. The parallels to pregnancy-eating still exist, however. Currently, I seem to be on an all-cheesecake diet. More specifically, each meal seems to contain at least one slice of the delicious dessert...even breakfast. What's more peculiar, I've never really had an affinity to cheesecake until this past week. Thanks mom.
Just yesterday, the seemingly lifeless stubble atop my head began to abandon ship...again. I'm not completely sure how hair-loss is supposed to happen, but I seem to be letting mine go in cycles. Regardless, I'm pleased to know that I have a decently shaped scalp. Albeit, slightly freckled.
With one more week until the start of the third cycle, I will continue to stuff as many calories as I can into my open mouth. I need food for energy, yet eating requires so much of my energythat it becomes more of a chore than a hobby following each cycle. How's that for a catch-22? Whatever it is, it's a darn good excuse for some more cheesecake...
Good night.

One more thing...
Amber and I gave the kitten to a foster family. With my senses running amuck, the smell of the little critter was making me nauseous.

That familiar ol' treatment number five is upon us. That being said, I expect to be MIA for a few days. Not for reasons any more serious than complete and utter exhaustion.
Bear with me while I hibernate briefly, and I'll catch y'all on the upswing.
I'll post as soon as I can, but no later than Tuesday!!

Also, the kitten remains nameless. Let's name the little guy!!

Few things in life are as important as a good bunch of guys to run around with. More important still are the ones willing to partake in a friendly game of head-shaving. No sooner than I sounded the ol' "my hair's falling out" whistle, these guys were looking like a bunch of hairless rats. God bless them all.

Aside from finally looking like a cancer patient, nothing much has transpired over the last few days...aside from a random camping trip to North Carolina's Smokey Mountains. As Amber and I met a friend for dinner last Friday, our table discussion led to the notion that we should go camping. Within two hours of paying our tab, we were off! Spontaneity is a virtue not to be overlooked. As is randomness. Such trips are always the most memorable, even if they don't always go as planned.

Long story short, we ended up staying in a hotel as our campsite began to resemble a lake...and our fire-pit a bathtub.

My second round of treatments began on Tuesday. Since then, the word of the day...or week...has been nausea. Although I am nestled beneath a plethora of anti-nausea medication, the power of one's subconcious is a force uncontrolled by artificial means. The sights and smells of the infusion center are enough to send my nerves into overdrive. As it has been explained to, this is some sort of an evolutionary characteristic designed to remind of unpleasant stimuli or responses. The theory of evolution has just shot itself in the foot.

Backtracking a bit to a previous post, I'm sure you're all wondering about the aforementioned critter that my wife and I have come to adopt...

Following my treatment this past Tuesday, Amber and I found a TINY little kitten in the grass next to our house. Perhaps "tiny" isn't a fitting adjective. What we found was a two-week old kitten. It's eyes barely open, he was struggling to move all alone in the grass. His likenes is similar to that of a small black mouse. Not ones to abandon helpless critters, we picked him up and made a pitstop at the emergency veterinarian clinic. Following a brief discussion with the staff, we decided his best chance of survival was in a box...at our house. For almost three days, we have been bottle feeding the un-named critter every two-hours 'round the clock. Such is the life of kitten adoption I suppose.

Today has been such a long and tiresome day. I believe that tonight I will simply leave you all with some teasers for tomorrow's post -
...Amber and I found something. It's small and requires a feeding every two hours...
Tune in tomorrow for the thrilling conclusion of "Mystery House-Guest Theatre"!!
Also, I started my second round of treatments today...sans hair.

Is every picture always worth a thousand words?
Perhaps. Rare occasions warrant the use of just two.

Deductive reasoning might lend itself to the notion that some event has persuaded me to shave part, or all, of my head.

At the behest of chemotherapy drugs, my hair has decided to hang around no longer...

Though it was not eagerly falling in clumps to the floor, it was also not resistant to any sort of contact by my fingers. Imagine toothpicks stuck upright into sand.

As the hours progress into another day, my hair may more readily leave it's post. Until then, I'm content with the stubble that remains.

Although the view is nice from the mountain top, the slopes are slippery and steep. After a jovial day of youthful energy, Last night I succumbed to the pitiless energy monster. That's right, just a fancy way of saying that I was too tired to blog.
If you're tuning in for today's chat, quickly make a run to the kitchen for a glass of milk and some cookies. If you're at the office, have a work-safe screen shot on standby incase the boss strolls through. I'm going to occupy your time for a bit.
I want to detail some of the happenings I've experienced since the onset of chemotherapy. Particularly, I'll touch on the subjects of energy levels, appetite, and physical sensation.

Energy Level

Perhaps the most apparent culprit in the lineup, it's also the most difficult to convey to others. To Amber, it's obvious. I'm the lump in her bed. In all consideration, it's so much more than that. The double-dose of medications that my body has to process completely and utterly wipes any and all strength. Eh, nix that...strength is a measureable unit of one's power. This is immeasurable, like the number zero...or infinity.
Maybe I'll be better suited to describe it as the total lack of all transmitions between nuerons. If you can imagine a post-workout exhaustion, you're way off. Pretend that you're just a skeleton on a bed. Just bones. You have no immediate means of mobility or perception, nor do you care for one. Period.
Four days after my last chemotherapy session, a creature began to stir within this sack of bones that said
"Okay, today we move."
Although I slightly resembled a productive member of my marriage; any sort of concentration required, and was granted, my complete energy reserves. By "concentration", I am referring to the acknowledgement of any stimuli. Even a change in lighting. After which, I was once again a pile of bones. This lasted for two days.
Although I'm not quite satisfied with this verbal rendition of my state of exhaustion, I feel the word "skeleton" is quite fitting.

Apetite

I feel that any woman that has ever been pregnant may have a solid grasp on this section. For the guys and the never-beens, I'm bipolar/schizo. Lock me up.
Years ago, I spit out a mouthful of white rice because I figured the cardboard box it was served in would taste better. Since last week, I can't say that there is anything more flavorful! With this recent change in palette, I've become especially sensitive to salts and sugars to a wildly unexpected degree.
If It were possible, or socially acceptable at best, to have a salt block in my house...game over. My mouth waters at the thought of a fifteen pound cube of deliciousness. Sugar on the contrary, I'll take it or leave it. I had to forcefully deny myself the pleasure of ingesting a twelve-pack of pudding cups the week before chemo. Today, I could swear some ol' lady at Snack Pack spiked each cup with ten-times the specified sugar. SUGAR RECEPTORS: ON.
Although I may appear to be a new-found finnicky eater, you're assuredly mistaken. In one sitting, I may change my plate several times. At noon, a ham sandwich is my cuisine of choice. Two bites later, I've already set my sights on a can of chicken noodle soup. Before the microwave dings on the soup, I'm three cookies into a bag of Oreo's.

Physical Sensation

Byfar the most obvious transformation to take place and to explain. I'm sensitive to physical exodermic sensation. Most noteably on my scalp. As a result, A safe bet in Vegas says my hair is a gonner during the next course of treatment.
At this point, my folicles feel as though they are completely fried. If you've ever ignored the warnings on a box of bleaching paste, we understand one another.

Although as a reader you may have felt overwhelmed upon sight of today's entry, It's tragically underwhelming upon further investigation. I always feel that the more I learn, the more I realize I don't know.
I hope to have accomplished the same within my readers.

For fear that I may lose the intrigued following of well-wishers, fabricated stories of heroism and debauchery may begin to materialize within this column. Perhaps a greater fear would be for he who cries wolf.
I guess my job really isn't to create any stories at all, but rather to detail the events of the journey. That in itself isn't a job either, but more of an unlikely side effect of my creativity.
With my health not being of a newsworthy sort, I've been forced to exist an existance aside from work. A life outside of work? My wife thought she'd never see the day.
Up to now, her and I have conconcoted grand schemes of things that our cat does at home alone. We've imagined him galavanting with his friends! We ponder his whereabouts at one-o'clock in the afternoon! Surely he's not just laying around!
The sad truth to it all -
He has no friends. He does not galavant.
There is something to be said for a creature that can sleep more than me at this point. To all of you conspiracy theorists with feline-laden beliefs, get a job.

Admittedly, cats do not seem to be bothered by so much "down time"...

Tonight's musing shall be kept to a minimum for no other reason except exhaustion. All is well on the battlefront as my day was full of checkups with the doctor.
I'm heaeded to the kitchen for round-three with the chinese leftovers.
Wish me luck.

Return of the warrior

In the event of a blogosphere hiatus such as that from yesterday, let's all assume that the ol' addage holds true. No news is good news.
As of yet, I have little been affected over the course of treatment. Yesterday, however, is a slight variant of the norm. As all things are I suppose. The acquisition of two doses of chemotherapy within one twenty-four hour period seems to be just a bit more than this man can solidly defend. Physically speaking, of course. In short, I was blasted. The tiredness was not of the describeable sort. Perhaps it's best to let it remain unsaid.
Today has been a progressive ride upwards, assuming all things are parabolic. To help alleviate the "Paul-shaped imprint" in my wife and I's mattress, her and I attended a registry completion party at Bed Bath and Beyond this afternoon. Not only did we recieve twenty-percent off of our complete purchase, we also scored big in the door prizes! Surely a token well worth our journey.
As I leave you all this evening, rest assured that this daily composure shall not go interrupted in it's sequence. If so, I will simply interrupt the interruption. In the mean time, my belly full of drive-thru chinese is starting to digest a bit. I feel that this shall be the litmus paper to which all sanitary restrictions shall be judged. Good luck Green Tree Chinese Drive-Thru.

Another one has bitten the fine particulate matters of ground earth

Back in action for another day folks.
Of course, I'm sure many of you have been preoccupied with the eighth remembrance of the falling of the towers. Unfortunately, you will find no such blogging in this blog. I am as american as the next guy, perhaps even more so. My pure-blooded american spirit drives me to remember the past, to never forget the past, and also to never dwell on it. If you're looking for some bleeding-heart liberal views of what my man G-Dub should have done differently in 2001, lock on to the CNN blog. Over hear, we are strictly an "every man's guide" to a tussle with the cancer.
Unfortunately, my manliness has surrendered little to the noxious concoction of chemotherapy coursing through my veins. Thus far, the only noticeable recourse are the incessant hiccups. Annoying.
Sometimes the best way to beat an illness that attempts to destroy testosterone, is to engage in activities that preempt it's production. Today while Amber was working, and as I was tending to the laundry, I resurrected my latest firearm purchase for an unnecessary cleaning. This is something that perhaps only the male readers may appertain to...or perhaps it's just me. In any event, testosterone levels are high today.
Tomorow shall conclude the first of five treatments in this cycle of monotony. After which, I expect my body may require several days in which to recover.
Succumbing to an overwhelming sense of patriotic duty, I shall not go quietly into this dark night without first making mention of all of those brave soldiers that have gone before us; And also to those who remain standing, ready, and strong. God bless you all for this great country in which I fight my own battle.

Allow me to amaze thee

Welcome back to the exciting world of the blog!! Tonight's report promises to be full of entertaining ramblings.

First of all, chemotherapy isn't at all as horrific as the images conjurred forth in our relentless subconcious. Amber snapped this doozie on day number one. The contraption to my right pumps the magic juice. All the while, I relax in the supple luxuriousness of a blue vinyl recliner. You'll also notice the slight tan-lined glow of my face. Prior to this particular day, I delivered a serious beatdown to Amber's dad, her brother, and my friend Pat on the golfcourse. It was fitting final-round play of the beloved King Cobra SS irons. I left them in my truck overnight, only to find them gone the next morning. As with my golf clubs, my gps and ipods met the same fate.

Fast-forward to today's experience. I am still rather unaffected by the large amounts of medicine being dumped into my semingly endless urine supply. I did, however, dabble in the medicine bag last night. As luck would have it, I have been supplied with a sleeping pill. This is the single contributing factor to last night's abbreviated post.

Today's trip to the hospital themed resort was more than memorable. Before I start, let me say one thing. I do not intend to make fun of anyone or exploit the falicies of others. I will however, state the facts from the completing day.

While sitting in the chemo room, the lady to my right had a bowel movement ALL OVER her chair. That's it. Obviously it was foul-odored, but sometimes you gotta go when you gotta go.

Amber and I were also fortunate to have enjoyed an in-seat massage from a massage therapist. Sometimes the pleasures of massage can completely overshadow any other stimuli present at the time.

I try not to embarrass my wife in this blog, but sometimes it's unavoidable. She is the single most wonderful person I know. As much as she hates the whole situation, she has always been at my side, putting herself second when she should be number one.

Good night all, you'll be further enlightened tomorrow.

Ten-Percent

As hard as I try, I have not been persuaded that my hair will fall out any time soon. Through the entirety of my session today, I tugged gently from time to time...sure that the folicles would give way. I'm not necessarily anxious for this, It's just that I want to be the first to know if and when. Of course, I know that I am premature in my expectations.
Aside from watching for falling locks, I've primarily kept occupied with slight dizzy spells. Nothng to write home about, just side-effects of the chemo.

Perhaps tomorrow will yield a more interesting string of events. Perhaps not.

Juicin'

I decided to take the euphoric, post-chemo, feelings of well-being for a test drive before I plastered them all over the internet. I'd hate to leave everyone with a false sense of the "doing wells". Not one to disappoint, I'm happy to say that it's been six hours since the plumbing was extracted and I feel just fine. I will admit, after having two large bags of chemo drugs pumped through my system; I feel that there is some VERY expensive urine in the sewers. Perhaps the nurses should have issued a refund check as I left the bathroom?
I also suspect that the chemo is somehow hindering the mechanism that tells me when I need to stop eating. Whether or not my father-in-law enjoys eating leftovers for lunch, I can't say. Regardless, I'm afraid there are none to be had. His icecream stash is also non-existant.

As for the nitty-gritty details of today's session...they're mildly interesting, at best.
Amber is wonderful. Despite her passion for all things un-icky, she toughed it out with me for three hours. Once the I.V. was connected to the port in my chest, two bags of clear fluid were slowly pumped into me. Painless. Essentially, her and I will be relaxing and eating at an all-inclusive resort for the next few days...except we're in a hospital, with nurses as waitresses.

As not to overwhelm the world with bright colors and gorgeous faces, pictures are obviously absent. Not to worry, we'll include them sparingly at first then gradually becoming more numerous.

Good night

Bringin' The Heat

At approximately three-o'clock this afternoon, a fire will be lit. Metaphorically speaking of course.

My wife and I will sit for three hours this afternoon as I undergo the first of twenty chemotherapy sessions. For five consecutive days, the drugs will be administered through a port in my chest. Each session will last for three hours. After I finish the five treatments, I will have two and a half weeks of recovery. This process will be repeated four times.
People often ask me If I'm scared or nervous. Quite simply, No. I've done my research. I have a general idea what to expect. Although I'm in a precarious situation, the thrill of victory is always sweeter than the sweetest sour.

I will post an update this evening that details the afternoon's events...