It's all relative

It’s all relative

My father went in for a routine check up one day in the summer of 1995 and within 24 hours he was scheduled for a triple bypass.  I distinctly remember the hospital visit with my mother that night because it was the only time I’d ever seen him cry.  I remember telling him not to cry and that everything would be okay.  He said to me, “I’m not crying for me.  I’m crying for you, you are not ready yet.”  And as hard as it was to hear, he was right, I wasn’t.  At 26 I still was immature, going to a bar every Wednesday and Friday night with my buddies.  I was playing baseball in an “old man” league and beer league softball.  I had a nice title, but still was a low paying job.  It did however pay enough for the 69 cent drinks.  I was serial dating with no interest in really finding anyone or settling down.  I was essentially just going along somewhat aimlessly.  I was excelling at what I was doing, but without any sort of strategy or goals.

Dad made it through the surgery, and we talked a lot about life in the next 8 months.  He died the following March and, as stated in a previous blog, I was with him the entire day.  I promised him that I would take care of my mother no matter what, and I have kept my word.  I can still hear his voice when I think of his pre-op phrase.  At 26 I wasn’t ready, but I didn’t have to be I suppose.  A valid concern is whether or not I go before my children have a chance to promise me to take care of their mother (at an age when they understand the commitment)?  Will they be teenagers?  Will Josie be 10 yet?  Will they have to use my journal as a guide?  Or will I be able to ride this out until they hit 20?  If I can get them to 20, I think my work will be mostly done.  They are my opus. My legacy.  They are how I will judge myself on what kind of parent I was.  I never undergo a task without a goal and an associated metric anymore. Old Dell habit I guess, or maybe as early as that night in my father’s hospital room.

I’m a pragmatist, but by the grace of God don’t seem to fall into an emotional hole over my current situation.  I say that because several friends and family members have battled depression over the years and that is a nasty disease.  In my youth I thought it was just angst and cries for attention, now I know that it can be an uncontrollable, or at least extremely hard to control without proper attention and medication, state of mind.  My heart goes out to those who have been affected.  I can usually find a rainbow in a pile of dog shit, so I’m not worried about me.  I’m staying very positive around my children and occasionally share the full extent of what I’m feeling to my wife, so I think that might be helping with a calmer house.  The kids are a bit anxious, this has been going on for almost half a year now.  And I know in their world they need to see some results that are tangible, not just words, numbers on a page, or an uninterpretable scan video.  My numbers are improving, things are getting better, and we’ll see in two months what the next steps are.  I’m hoping for the kid’s sake there is a break in the action. That will be a positive measure for them.  It’s tough for them to see me either in my office working or on the couch covered in a quilt during chemo week.  Maybe that's why I try to do so much during the off week.  Oh, I almost forgot to mention what an awesome time we had with the Wild Kratts.  The kids acted like they'd met their heroes.  Another example of timing my off weeks.  I don't feel great, but it's all relative.

Monday-Wednesday was my 8^th treatment.  That leaves between four and seven in this first round (they try to stay within 12-15 due to the effect on healthy cells).  After my scan in March, they’ll decide whether or not to move to radiation, maintenance medication (chemo-light – still have to use the pump but elimination of the Irinitican), or give my body a break for a couple of months.  I’ve settled into this routine so much that I don’t know what I’ll do without going to Texas Oncology 2-3 times per week.  Good news is it looks like the new Filgrastim (neupogen replacement white blood cell booster) worked.  The numbers were good enough for me to get Chemo and the side effects were no worse than the other.  It was just the first time, so I am viewing this as simply a data point and not yet a trend.  I don’t know if the other 5-6 Neupogen shots got us here first or not.  So we’ll see as the weeks pass. CEA score: 2.3, down another tick, this is great news.  It means the cancer is shrinking and most likely no net new activity.  My numbers have been in the “normal” range since December 28 which, by the way, is the anniversary day of my first date with Nita.  And my travel ban has been lifted, so I’m clear to see customers should I need to hit the road.  How is that for positive?  As for the rest…the diarrhea is about the same as last week and the nosebleeds and mouth sores are tolerable. However, Tuesday and Wednesday the nausea was much worse than normal.  It made for two absolutely miserable days and it took a ton of energy to hide it from the kids when they came home from school.  Add in the fact that I had the hiccups for about six hours on Tuesday and, well it was no fun.  The nurses think it’s the Irinitican (the “iri” in Fulfiri).  Apparently this is where the cumulative effect gets the toughest. I’ve even been put on Prilosec and I’ve never had acid reflux issues before.  The headaches are getting rarer, bone pain is what it is, and I’ll just have to power through it.  Unlike the dread pirate Scott, I am not building up a tolerance to my Iocane powder.  It was a cute bit in the Princess Bride, but I don’t think you can get used to poison.

Oh, one of the nurses did the “hair check” and confirmed that the thinning will continue and it probably won’t make it to the last treatment.  So we’ve decided to do a shave off at home with the kids.  Then Josie and Connor can each draw something in non-permanent ink.  I’m guessing we’re a couple of weeks away on this one.  I may or may not go full Kojak, maybe closer to Full Metal Jacket. With my improving numbers I guess I’ll have to save the best line from the movie 13 hours (not a spoiler). “I sure hope God has a sense of humor, we’re about to find out.” And I really do for my sake hope He does, if not, it might be toasty.  But for now, I have some time.

My diet is really frustrating my wife.  I can still taste food, but it isn’t the same.  I can certainly smell everything and that mostly triggers the memories of how things should taste.  Savory, sweet, and sour are all I can really taste.  Spicy I can feel…twice.  So I keep sweets in the house.  Kids love it, Nita not so much.  With the meds and what my doctors are calling a gladiator’s esophageal sphincter I’m still holding almost everything down.  I don’t really like throwing up and I’m also being smart about it.  Sunday during the football games I made a big pot of chili (used Bill’s idea and added some smoked ribeye to the rest of my normal concoction). Monday, I was smart enough to not eat it.  The chemo looks for any excuse to pound you, so anything super acidic is not the best way home.  It’s not rocket surgery, just common sense I guess.

One of the things that was most fun about potentially winning the powerball, was the planning.  It seems like yesterday that I was touring the multimillion dollar lakeside properties prior to my $12 win for the Billion dollar powerball.  Over the years one thing I would occasionally do (usually around tax season), would be to plan out our retirement.  Check out places where you could live on a pittance, Costa Rica, Ecuador, Panama, etc.  Well now, like the lottery, I may not be an active participant in retirement.  I’ll still plan for the budget, but I suppose I should recuse myself from the location planning, necessary amenities, and the like.

One thing we are planning for are the vacations for the year.  Nothing fancy, just a week in South Padre and a weekend overnight at Fossil Rim Nature Preserve in Glen Rose.  We’re watching our capital outlays and making sure we’ve got enough in the tank for anything else that comes up.  Again, I don’t mean to overdo it, but thanks again for your generosity, prayers, and support.   TeamMarco@austin.rr.com.