The Surgery

My son was born on September 23rd, 2009. Six weeks later and after about four months of chemotherapy, the doctors decided the tumor had shrunk down enough, and that it was time to go ahead with the surgery.

Chemo Brain

I was supposed to start writing about the surgery, and I will, but I just came from week one of my second round of chemotherapy. I sat for four hours today, and was infused intravenously through the port in my chest with a cocktail of anti-nausea medicine followed by two types of cancer drugs.

Moving On

You ever feel like the world is passing you by? Like everybody else is moving forward, and you're somehow stuck in place. That's how I feel. I don't leave the house much, and so even a look out the window can make it feel like everybody's in motion and I'm frozen in time.

Father and Son

This is not the way I pictured fatherhood. I was determined to be a good dad -- be there for my son, teach him, learn from him, support him, take care of him, etc. That's not how it turned out. Despite my best intentions and efforts, I am not the great father I'd hope I'd be. Cancer has played a large role in this. Due to my illness and the chemotherapy treatments, I can't leave the house much. I don't move very well. I'm too weak sometimes to even lift him up.

Chemo

I thought I knew a lot going into chemotherapy. I'd heard and read about the nausea, the loss of appetite, the hair falling out, all of it, but I really had no idea what I was getting into. Looking back, it didn't matter that much. My philosophy became, "Just do it.", "Survive." Whatever the doctors told me to do, that's what I did.

KEEMO

Keemo. I'm sure Jonathan is going to tell you some sob story about the pain, discomfort, and torture he endured during his treatment, and blah, blah, blah. But, don't think for a minute that the Keemo is any picnic for me and my kind. That first treatment wave -- there's nothing more terrifying.

Second Opinions

I'm beginning to realize that Cancer is a better narrator than I am. He's more exciting, he tells jokes, he's self confident, charismatic, and says pretty much whatever he likes. I, on the other hand, am supposed to dutifully tell the story of my disease and communicate the degree to which it's devastated our lives.  I knew I was in for a tough battle with Cancer, but I never imagined we were going to be judged against each other on likability.  Blogging is strange. Anyway...

The Little Things

Last night, I taped up all my tubes and connectors, and went out with my wife to our friend's wedding. It took a lot of strength, a pain killer or two, and more preparation than I thought. But, it had to be done. I've lost a good amount of weight, so I had to have a suit of mine brought in (there was no way I could survive shopping for a suit), and I needed to buy a new shirt a whole neck size smaller.

Live every day like it were you're last

Some of the stupidest advice ever. "Live everyday like it were your last." It sounds like the right idea if you have a terminal illness or even if you don't. Who doesn't want to live their life to the fullest?  And it's great if you can pull it off. But what does that really mean? Life has a lot of waiting. At Starbucks, the ATM machine, whatever.