DIET

I've been on the chemo diet a little over two months.
Came in at 164 lbs. at my doctor's office today.

This all started when they took out my tonsils on April 1st. I weighed close to 190 lbs. then. So I've dropped about 25 lbs. And the drawers are a droopin'. None of my pants fit.

I didn't want to lose 25. Sure, maybe 5 or 10. But I'm scared to think what my Mom will say when I see her next month. She thought I looked thin at 190.
And I'm tired of being hungry. I've been mildly to moderately hungry most every day since April 1st. This must be what it feels like to be Keira Knightley.

Here's pretty much how it goes:
- I eat like a horse my first two days in the hospital.
- The final two days I'm slightly nauseated and everything smells bad. I force down what I can.
- The first three/four days I'm out of the hospital everything tastes like a big pile of salt. I eat a little, but hate the fact nothing tastes like it should. Except potatoes. Potatoes taste like they should.
- Then my tatste buds recover, but I can have other problems. For instance, the drugs made me constipated after my first round of chemo. I think it was the first time I had ever been stopped up in my life. It was rough. I couldn't eat much of anything for days.
- After my third round, I had sores in the back of my mouth. This is a very common side effect. The back of my mouth was so swollen I could barely open my mouth wide enought to eat.
- After my fourth round (currently), I have sores on the side of my tongue. So everythime I swallow or talk, the sores rub against my teeth. It's worse than you would think.
- Then I feel good for a few days, before they send me back into the hospital to start the cycle all over again.

Only I'm done. No more chemo scheduled. Which means, while I'm sitting here starving while I write this, looking forward to my liquid lunch.. I will be eating like a horse in a few days. And I won't have to worry about any impending nausea, salt-mouth, constipation or sores.

I just need to heal quickly. I'm driving home next week. And if I can't enjoy a giant shrimp po-boy while I'm on the coast, I'm gonna be extremely cranky.

Fear

My oncologist gave me a one-year devotional.
There's a Bible verse for each day, and a brief interpretation of the verse.
Today's stood out to me. Matthew 8:26 reads, "You of little faith, why are you so afraid?"

I've had some recent fears. Not just the fear of dying. But fear of leaving my wife without a husband and my children without a father. Also, fear that I've wasted most of my life. I mean, tell yourself you could die before Christmas and then think about what you've left behind.

But this verse reinforced what I've been telling myself. I often prayed, even before my diagnosis, for God to give me comfort and strength in the knowledge that whatever happens, my life is in his hands. I have nothing to fear. If it's my time, it's my time. I could be cured of lymphoma and fall off my roof while cleaning my gutters. The 74 bridge could collapse while I'm driving across. I could be killed by the flames of my fire-breathing dragon lady co-anchor(actually, Libby is very nice. I just like to pick on her)

Betrayal is another feeling I'm dealing with. I feel like my body has betrayed me, to a degree. I eat fairly well; try to enjoy plenty of fruits and veggies. I exercise. And I'm only 35 years old. I'm told the average lymphoma patient is over 60. So, I'm having more trouble putting the betrayal feeling to bed.
I'm reading one verse a day. Maybe I'll find one to help with betrayal in the days to come.

My Lovely, Loving Wife

My wife turned (CENSORED) last week. So I thought it the perfect time to tell everyone how wonderful she is. Kind of a late, extra birthday gift.

Let me start by saying Amy is a wonderful wife and even better mother.
Does she drive me crazy sometimes? Absolutely!!! But that's in the vows, right?

Chemo has been tough on me. More importantly, it's been tough on my family.
I've not been able to play with our four-year-old girl as much as I would like, or bond with our newborn son as much as I would like. I have also not been able to take care of them as much as I would normally be able. Basically, I've been pretty worthless at times, which has put an increased parenting burden on Amy's little shoulders.

But she's been a champ. She has handled caring for Aaron almost entirely by herself, plus a large
chunk of caring for Alex, too. She's stronger than I ever thought she would be, and probably she ever thought she could be.

And she hasn't held my worthlessness against me.(at least not outwardly)
She loved me when I was at my best, and is loving me when I am far from my best. That's what love is all about, I think.

So, happy late (CENSORED) birthday, baby.
See you when I get home.

#@*! McDonald's

I have the ass today.

My white blood cell count has been low for days. And the resulting mouth and throat sores have kept me on a liquid diet for the better part of four days. I had a small mound of mashed potatoes for lunch and felt victorious.

Anyway, I thought I would improve my mood with a cup of McDonald's ice cream/frozen yogurt on the way to work. I drove up to the speaker and said - painfully, because of the mouth sores - "Could I have a small cup of ice cream." The voice in the box replied, "We don't have an ice cream machine today."

Let's examine this brilliant statement: "We don't have an ice cream machine today." Did someone steal it? Did the Hamburglar lose his taste for meat after the mad cow scare and start lifting ice cream machines? Or could it be that maybe it just wasn't working today? That's more likely and that's what should have been parlayed to me. For example, "I'm sorry, sir, but the ice cream machine is not working at the moment. Can we get you anything else?" I would have thought, "Hell no, you dumb bat. The only thing on your menu I can eat is unavailable. Thanks for ruing my day!" And then I would have driven away, which is what I did.
Pardon me for being a word snob. But I happen to work in a business where words and their meanings still matter. Say what you mean, people.

And why is it the ice cream machine is always broken in the summer? (Probably because I never try to order ice cream in February)

I have no previous beef against McDonalds. In fact, I took my first job at McDonalds at age 16. It was hot, greasy work and I went home smelling like a McNugget every night, but I have fond memories of working with my friends. It also helped me put some money in my pocket and bank account. And it confirmed that I wanted to go to college and find a better career. (some would argue journalism and nugget chef may be on par)

All I'm saying is I needed that ice cream today. So I boycotted McDonalds.. for about three hours. I drove to a different one around the corner from the office and got my cup. All's well that ends well, delayed gratification, etc. I guess I just wanted to bitch.

Top 10 Workplace Pet Peeves

In no particular order.

1) LOUD NOISES - My distaste for loud noises is chronicled in a previous post. (see "I Hate the Air Show") At work it can be co-workers eating loudly or talking loudly. Eating is for the break room and I"M RIGHT HERE! There's no need to yell. I'll say it again. I need an office.

2) NOT MY BUSINESS - Speaking of talking loudly, how about the person in the office who talks about personal matters on the phone, at a volume everyone can pick up. All you can do is walk out of the room. Or break out the ear buds. (similar to headphones for older folks like me)

3) BEING PAGED - Everything else on this list is just an annoyance. This one really gets under my skin. I don't like being paged to the set, though it is sometimes necessary. I don't like it when people page and ask me to call them. I anchor four half-hour shows a day and produce a 20-minute show. That means I'm sitting at my desk about 85-percent of my workday. So chances are I will be there if you call my extension. No need to page! Of course, all my co-workers will read this and start paging me all the time. Jerks!

4) MANAGEMENT - Nuff said.

5) DIRTY BATHROOMS/BREAK ROOMS - Just act like you're at home. And if you say you would do the same at home, I'll pray for you.. or your wife.. or your mother, 'cause you may never find a wife if you're living like that.

6) KICKERS ABOUT WORLD RECORDS - Kickers are the light stories we run at the end of newscasts. One of my co-workers can't stand it when we run a story about world record efforts. Girl Scouts setting up the world's longest lemonade stand, Belgian chef making the world's biggest waffle, Rock Island going for world's longest recount, etc. He despises them all. I had another former co-worker who hated stories about panda cubs. Weird people in this business.

7) DOING A STORY FOR SALES - "Hey these guys want us to go out and do a story on blah, blah, blah. They are big advertisers with us. Do you think you could do it?" I always want to say, "Yeah sure, but there's this guy starting a business in town. He's helped us with a few story tips in the past. Do you think you could give him some free ad time?" But that's not my job. If only management would step in and... yeah.

8) TANKING READS - Burns my BLEEP when I see this. Some anchors will, at times, either because of their mood or apathy, will read their stories like they would rather be taking a nap. I'll admit it can be hard to find energy in the last half-hour of your workday. But it is the most important half hour of the day for news anchors. I'm sorry. Just go home early if you don't want to be there. I want to point out this in no way applies to my current co-anchors.

9) THE CONSTANT COMPLAINER (A.K.A. the Mayor of Whinetown) - Some people aren't happy unless they are a little unhappy. I understand this. I just don't want to hear it sometimes. There are times to be complain. But if you are the boy/girl who bitched wolf, no one can tell when to take your complaints seriously.

10) NO WATER COOLER - I've been working at least part-time for nearly 20 years, and only one of my employer's had a water cooler. It was great! The water was clean and ice cold. Plus, it gave me opportunities to get up and stretch my legs. Tap water just doesn't motivate me in the same way.

And a little lagniappe:
THE GUY WITH WEIRD NERVOUS HABITS - This may seem hard to believe, but I once worked with this guy who rubbed his hands together vigorously when he was excited or angry; like he was trying to start a fire or something. He also rubbed the back of his head like a maniac when he was upset, to the point he should have been bald in the back.. hummed songs to himself nearly constantly.. and clicked his heels together when he was standing, like he just couldn't stand still. The strangest part is no one but me seemed to mind.

Father's Day

Sunday was my first Father's Day without my Dad.
He died in May, four days before I started chemotherapy. He had surgery to replace a valve less than a week after seeing a doctor about shortness of breath. There were complications during the procedure and he never woke up. Or at least that's what they tell me. I wasn't there.

I wasn't even supposed to know about the surgery. My brother went behind the old man's back and told me the day before. He said Dad didn't want me to worry, in light of my own medical problems. And those medical problems kept me from being there to see him, and help my brother and uncle get through a tough time. (the only time I ever thought my brother may have needed my help) That's a bit tough to swallow.

Most men, at some point as they get a little older, realize they are, in some way, becoming their father. You say or do something one day and then thinkl, "Oh no, that was my Dad." It has been a hard realization for me to come to, since I've always told myself I would be a better husband, a better father than my Dad. Because he had his flaws. And the cycle of disappointment continues with my four-week-old son, who doesn't always think much of me. It could be because he is nursing and I can't help him with that. As a result, I am a regular source of disappointment for him.

Sometime after my treatments end, I will go home to Mississippi, help my brother pick a spot and spread the ashes. And I'll be glad to do it. Because even though my Dad and I were not especially close after I reached adulthood, we were friendly. He always remembered my birthday, was always ready for a good laugh and always enjoyed getting the pics I sent of our little girl, his granddaughter.

So, he was a flawed man, but not a bad man in my mind. And though we only spoke every month or two, I never dreaded picking up the phone and dialing his number. I wish I would have called him before his surgery, even though I wasn't supposed to know about it. I wish he could have held on for a few more weeks to welcome his first grandson. And Sunday, I wished I could have told him Happy Father's Day. It just didn't seem the same without saying those words.

I Hate the Air Show

To be honest, I've never been to the air show. I hate what precedes the air show.

Every year, the pilots announce they are in town by buzzing the city for an hour or two. And every year, they interrupt a perfectly nice Spring day with their own special style of noise pollution. It would not bother me to the extent it does, if their flight path were not right over our office.

I'll admit a prejudice against loud noises. I tend to dislike concerts, clubs and auto races, among other things. Even people who talk or eat too loudly can get under my skin. I can be a touchy SOB! What can I say, I need an office!

But that doesn't make those amped up, peace-interrupting, jet fuel-wasting fly boys any less annoying. (I have this image of them playing shirtless volleyball, exchanging ridiculous high and low fives while planning how to ruin my day.)

By the way, my views in no way reflect the views of others at the station. They love the air show. Libby is riding in one of the planes tomorrow. I hope the pilots don't read this and make her puke extra to get back at me.

Kickin' Tail, Takin' Hugs

I like to hug.
I'm secure enough to say that.

I've been hugging and enjoying it for years. Whether it's a teammate, a friend or family, get on in here and get some! Sure, sometimes it's the handshake, then slip into the hug. It's more acceptable for the menfolk this way. But no matter how you get there, you end up in the same place.

When I learned I had lymphoma, I spoke with my good friend and former co-worker, Mark Prater. He had a scare and underwent chemotherapy a few years back, and I wanted to talk with him about his experience. We went over how bad news about your health can help you prioritize your life. I told him I had been hugging my little girl a little tighter in the mornings. Mark has four kids; he understood.

My poor family. I mean, I was huggy before. Now I'm asking for hugs all the time. Heck, I demand them from my four-year-old. "You want a popsicle??? I want a big hug!" And if she wants to act shy, then I take a hug(and add a tickle, if I'm in the mood)

I guess I'm asking you to not wait for bad news. Take a hug today, whether it's from your child, your brother or just a friend. Start with the handshake, if it makes it easier. Tickle is optional.

Censorship

I've been meaning to address this for days.

In a post last week, which you can read below, I wrote smartass. It was automatically changed to SmartBLEEP. I'm sure it has been changed again, which makes this more confusing than it needs to be.

This post is my official protest.. against The Man.

HOME

They let me go home late Saturday. YEAH!!!
Four-and-a-half days in the hospital will make you miss a demanding four-year-old, a two-week-old who never sleeps more than a few hours at a time and a grumpy wife (who I love very much, and is not really that grumpy)
I didn't feel well and had to get up to pee about every hour because of all the fluids they pumped into me before I left, but home was fantastic. I mean, who cares if you're up all night. The baby was already awake. Every time he cried, I peed.

It's not that they are not nice to me at the hospital. The nurses and staff are great; very kind. And the food is not as bad as the stereotype.
It's the waiting. Ninety-six hours is a long transfusion. And when you add the pre and post-hydration, it's over 100 hours. I take books, crosswords, movies, etc. But that is a long time to kill. Work, of all things, is saving me! A co-worker loaned me a laptop, so I can help produce/write some news while I'm there. It makes the time move faster. And it makes me feel closer to normal.
Plus, the hospital constantly reminds me I am sick. They come in and ask every three hours if I am in pain, then check my vitals. And I spend the entire time tethered to the pump pushing poison/medicine into my body. And the medicines designed to heal me slowly make me feel worse during my stay.

Enough complaining. The good news is I'm probably the healthiest patient on the floor when I'm there.
I met a guy named Bill this time. His wife has lung cancer that has spread to her kidneys and back. She's in bad shape. There was nothing I could tell Bill to make him feel better, but we walked and talked for a while. And I hope he enjoyed the company, because I did, even if it was another reminder of mortality.
Anyway, if you guys could say a prayer for Bill and his wife tonight. If God cannot bring them a miracle, maybe he can give them strength and a little peace.

Bald is Beautiful

When I first tell people I have lymphoma and need chemptherapy, one of the first questions is, "Are you gonna lose your hair?"
Well, yes, I'm going to lose my hair; all of it, quite likely. arm hair, leg hair, nose hair, couple of back hairs, ear hair and.. let's just stop right there. The hair on my head started falling out in clumps last week, so I shaved it off and made my "bald debut" on the news Monday night. (The early reviews are good)
My wife read online many male cancer patients struggle more than they thought they would with hair loss; that they felt like plucked chickens. I'm choosing, instead, to focus on the positive. In fact, if there were a "best" thing about chemotherapy, for me it would have to be hair loss.
I'm a TV news anchor. That means on any given weekday, I spend 30 minutes to an hour fixing or refixing my hair. Vanity is a necessary, if sometimes unfortunate, part of the business. I wanted to go to a crew cut years ago, because I don't want to worry about my hair. What real man does!!! But if I had gone to my bosses and said, "Ya know, I'm thinking about trying the Richard Gere look from 'Officer and a Gentleman'." They would have replied, "Get out of my office!" And I would have said, with appropriate emphasis, "I got no place else to go!!!" (If you got that joke, you're likely on the verge of being middle-aged. But I'm proud of you, if you did)
And even better, I don't have to shave! I have shaved most every weekday since graduating college. But I plan to give my face a break over the next two months. It's earned it! In fact, I may start calling my chemoterapy "Operation Facial Freedom". I like the way it sounds, and maybe I can get federal funding for it.
Besides my personal comfort, did you see the news Monday night. I have a pretty nice-looking melon. Nice and round. No points or lumps; no strange fat-head wrinkles. In fact, I think my wife, Amy, may want me to keep it. Of course, that's way too much maintenance once the hairs start growing agaian. I mean, it'll be horrible enough when "Operation Facial Freedom" comes to an end.
But maybe the best part of losing my hair is it gives me added chances to be a smart BLEEP. The following are smart-BLEEP answers I came up with for when people ask why I shaved my head:
- Just got back from the Kojak convention in Vegas
- Decided to take up competitive swimming at age 35
- My four-year-old dared me.
- My four-year-old Double Dog dared me
- It's my homage to the 80's cult classic(not really) film, "Powder"
- Shaved it for audition for "The King and I". Still didn't get the part.
- Misunderstood requirements of "Sheer Beard" photo shoot; thought it was "Shear Beard"
If you have better smart-BLEEP responses I can use, feel free to share them with me.

R-EPOCH-N-ME

Normal 0 That’s the name of the chemotherapy the doctors are giving me. R-EPOCH. Each of those letters stands for a drug.
I went to the hospital April 1st to have my tonsils removed. Dr. Johnson told me one abnormally swollen tonsil could mean lymphoma, but that it wasn’t likely. Six days later, April 7th, I learned it did mean lymphoma in my case.
Since then, I have seen three doctors. I’ve also had a PET/CT scan, a MUGA scan, given a bone marrow sample (you haven’t lived until you’ve done this), had a piece of plastic inserted under the skin at the top of my chest, and given more blood samples in about three weeks than I gave the entire first 35 years of my life. Those tests all revealed encouraging news: it appeared my lymphoma had not spread.
The PET/CT scan showed some activity where my big tonsil used to be. It could be lymphosites, or it could be the healing process from my tonsilectomy three weeks prior.
I have what is officially claissified as “Unclassifiable Diffuse Large B-cell Lymphoma with characteristics of Burketts”. Both Diffuse Large B-cell and Burketts are aggressive non-Hodgkins lymphomas. So, the doctors do not want to take chances, despite no signs the cancer has spread. That means three months of chemotherapy for me, followed by radiation treatments.
I plan to update this blog often; daily, if I am up to it. It will not always be about cancer and chemo. But since it is a big part of my life right now, those subjects will surely come up frequently. So, I thought I would start by explaining.