Dear faithful reader,

I apologize for never writing in here anymore.  My only excuse is that I haven’t felt like writing.  If I feel like saying anything, I take the ADD way out:  facebook status message updating.  I’ve found that a lot of people with Hodgkin’s stop blogging and commenting in the forums when think that they’re out of the woods with the illness.  I am no exception.  I feel like a reporter without news to report, but unlike some bright-toothed, stiff-haired news anchor, i don’t need to go on the air live at 7.  Plus, I was comfortable leaving off with my last post.  I guess no news is good news right?

So when I write in here, it’s going to be about news.  The less I write, the better.  Something that is new though is that I got my chemo-port taken out.  This is the little doo-dad they insert under the skin into your chest so that the medicine goes directly into your veins.  It’s minor surgery, but its still surgery, so they make you go to the hospital to get this thing out.   Before the surgery, i wanted to ask them if I could keep the port.  I had an idea that i could do some kind of cool arts and crafts project with it:  maybe nail it to a board and make some kind of shape with the tube… some kind of keepsake to look at on my wall before I leave home in the morning, to help me always put stuff into perspective.    The morning i went to get it out, i was tired and forgot my little jar that I was going to ask my doc to put my port in.  I’m mad at myself for forgetting, but on the other hand, i think it might be a good omen.

I kicked cancer in the balls.

After 12 chemo sessions, I look exactly the same as I did before, see? Balloons and t-shirt provided by Eliana Glicklich.

Exactly one week ago, on Dec 29, 2008 I had what will hopefully be my last experience with chemotherapy ever.  Good f’n riddance.  After letting this sink in for a week, I feel less like a glorious prizefighter and more like a dude whose just gotten out of prison and is ready to get his life back together.  A lot of people have been congratulating me, but I feel like I’ve accomplished nothing.  I’m freed from an anticlimactic scenario that I shouldn’t have been involved with from the beginning.   The real test will be in turning this whole experience into something awesome;  like Lance Armstrong or Chef Jeff Henderson.  I can’t guarantee that level of greatness, but I do guarantee something, someday.   One thing’s for sure:  I’m motivated, bitch.

In the meantime, I will continue to feel a little bit better every day.  In about two or three weeks, I can anticipate my body having no memory of the last 6 months aside from a biopsy scar and the chemoport that is still implanted in my chest (I get that out after a few more clean PET scans).  When the port comes out, I will be declared in remission.  I’ll call right now an unofficial remission, or to use the words of Maxim Kreditor, my oncologist, “I think you’ve had a complete response to treatment”.  Sometimes I wish that cancer lingo was a little bit more black & white as you’ve probably deduced from the title of this posting.

I’ll continue to make new entries, and i’m even considering blogging about things OTHER than cancer.  Thanks to everyone for taking the time to read and comment on my posts.  You’ve helped me get through this more than you know.

still alive, thanks for asking.

I have no excuse for not writing a blog entry for the past few weeks aside from the fact that there wasn’t anything to report.   Well, treatment 9 got delayed because my doctor had some kind of emergency on chemo-day and couldn’t find his Nick Rivieraesque replacement.  I could’ve just postponed til the monday before thanksgiving, but then I would’ve been too sick to stuff my face like a fatass for 2 days in row.  I opted for the luxury of  holding off on chemo for another week.  So amongst other things this thanksgiving, I was thankful for being able to inhale good food rather than just stare at it (or possibly get nauseated by it).  yay!

Change I can believe in.

So what if it's too early to be celebrating?

Good news and bad news always seems to come in waves for me…  Did I tell you that I was in a car accident the day before I found out I had Hodgkin’s?  True story.  In the spirit of overkill, watching Obama win the election reinforced the sense that my scans would reveal good news.  My hunch was right:  a complete response to treatment.  After some premature celebrating, followed by another chemo session, I feel like a repeatedly run-over million dollar bill.

I asked my doctor if they could reduce the chemo dose in my circumstance, but apparently that’s a really dangerous idea.  So it’s 3 more times of getting kicked in the nuts and then the trickiest part of all: repeating these results every scan for the rest of my life.

The Mickey Mouse of cancers

Mickey mouse can be a merciless prick sometimes

With its’ ridiculously high survival rate (even in late stages), some people tend to write off Hodgkin’s Lymphoma as the Mickey Mouse of cancers.  When I got diagnosed, I tried to look at it that way too.  Now that I’m more than halfway done with treatment, I see Mickey Mouse for the persistent, sadistic bastard he is.  It’s truly been feeling like a marathon lately.

After my next bite of treatment sandwich, I’m going to get another PET scan to see how the cancer has responded thus far.  10 out of 10 of the dumbest people you can find would be able to look at a before-and-after picture of my collarbone area and tell you that it’s been working… But what I’m hoping for is that I’ve had a complete response to treatment (which my doctor seems to think I have) vs. only a partial response (which in my case, might be indicitative of a heartier disease).  Either way, I’ll have to get another 4 treatments, and then another scan which will also hopefully say “complete response” and then it’s the end of the story.  Stay tuned to the hodgeblog for the exciting results of my next PET scan.  I’ll be shitting bricks in the meantime and writing another survival guide for your entertainment.  Ciao!

Back on Earth…

For the past week and particularly the last few days, I have been feeling extraordinarily well.  I normally get chemo on tuesdays, but this week (and from now on) its been moved to fridays to make things easier on my mom (she’s a teacher and misses less work this way).   It’s amazing how big of an impact those three extra days make.  For the first time since this all started, my body forgot that I’d been getting treated for cancer, and felt….   almost normal.

I spent the Jewish Holiday at my parents’ home in Randolph and went to a get-together at my friend’s family’s home the next night.  I went for a walk by a serene lake and took a peaceful drive through my old neighborhood.  I visited a friend of mine who has also has cancer and had conversations no one else could possibly understand.  I attended the R/GA offsite and caught up with the geniunely goodhearted people I work with.  I made significant upgrades to my PC, and enjoyed drinking copious amounts of consequence-free beer.

This morning I went with my ladyfriend to Popover’s and ordered my last meal before chemo:  the delicious Eggs Benedict Arnold was a great way to end my temporary surge of invincibility.  Chemo was business as usual aside from the fact that i got particularly nauseous and had to get pumped up with an extra dose of IV no-pukes.  Now i’m sitting at my computer eating mashed potatoes, and looking back at this gift of extra health like it were a crystall ball peaking 3-4 months into my future.   My body’s confirmed that it will recover very quickly when treatments end.  5 more to go…

PS:  the streak continues.

I still feel like blogging.

So here’s a picture of my sister and i chilling out at the last Yankee game at (the old) Yankee Stadium.  Even though the Yankees didn’t make the post-season, and even though I paid a king’s ransom for tickets, and even though the public was lied to about being able to walk on the field before the game, it was totally worth it.  Bob Sheppard announced the starting lineup and Derek Jeter made a brief speech to the crowd after the game.  There was a good article about it in the NY Times the other day.  http://www.nytimes.com/2008/09/22/sports/baseball/22jeter.html?ref=sports

No, we weren't able to jack seats.

Whoooooah, we’re halfway there!

Though I generally consider myself an optimist, It’s impossible to equate being halfway done with chemo to the glass that is now fortunately half empty.  To use my favorite metaphor, being halfway done with chemo is like being half-done eating a giant shit sandwich (sorry mom):  Your body is feeling the effects of what you just ate, and the portion left on your plate is even soggier and nastier than the first…  In other words, the chemo has  been getting undeniably rougher;  It takes me a longer amount of time to recover to a lesser peak of health (which is still higher than where I expected it to be).  Observe my beautiful chart.

Get a good look. The next time you see this chart, I'll be done with chemo.

However, I’ve made it over the hump, and that’s what’s important.  No more mickey mouse milestones, this one is the real deal.  6 treatments down, 6 to go.  The mortality of these dark days has never been in such plain view.

Hodgkin’s survival guide part 1- maximize your chance of having a good treatment.

The difference between a good day at treatment and a bad at treatment affects how sick you’ll feel in the coming days, how quickly you will recover, and the quality of your life once you are recovered.  Follow my plan, and you will be on the road to having consistently good chemo days.

Step 1 – Eat a tasty, balanced meal about an hour before treatment.

it should be high in carbohydrates, vegetables (or vegetable juice), and meat or chicken, and WATER!!!!  I know a lot of people tell you not to eat your favorite foods the day of chemo, but i think they’re full of shit.  Have a reasonably good meal beforehand (as long as its not something that would normally cause your stomach to go on strike like buffalo wings and Guinness), and then keep it to chicken soup, bread, cereal and milks, or otherwise light foods after you get home later.  You don’t want to get too hungry at chemo, or you’ll be forced to put back bananas or ice pops by the scores.

Step 2 – Don’t fear the chem-oh

Mind affects body; and if you’re dreading going to chemo, you’ll wreap what you sow.  You get there and your body is clenched, your knuckles are white, stomach’s turning, and you haven’t even been hooked up to the IV yet.  It’s a natural response to knowing that this is the cause (and cure) of your unpleasantness but you’re in for a rough time, my friend.  You have to be at peace with the fact and I know it’s something easier said than done.  Different people have their strategies for overcoming this problem, some set goals and landmarks (only 7 more treatments to go, whoohoo!).  Some people allevieoriate their anxiety by chewing your fucking ear off.  Other people take comfort in sedavtives, like IV Benadryll.   Me?  I don’t fuck around; I get prescription tranquilizers;  the ones that could knock a horse out.  Now, I’m able to associate going to chemo with the feeling of being pleasantly sedated.  The bottom line:  Know thy self and do what it takes for you to be at peace with your situation, if you’re a nervous nancy like myself, there’s no shame in having hope in dope.

Step 3 – Cop the fuggout

Don’t be the chemo version of David Putty staring into the back of an airplane seat.  Have some kind of game plan:  Ipods work, but I prefer watching movies:  specifically comedies or poorly-made horror or action movies that watch like comedies.  Today I watched the south park, last time it was rambo iii.  both great choices.  Keep yourself distracted when the nurse is changing your IV bags, and it’ll go by even quicker.  Some people sit there and read the whole time.  i have no idea who they do it.

Step 4 – Talk to people

There can be some really interesting people, of all ages, sitting in the recliner next to yours.  Today, I wound up talking to some lady who worked for the UN.   Put yourself out there.  if worst comes to worst, put your headphones back on.

Step 5 – When you’re done; go home and stay home!

Mowing the lawn after chemo will not make you feel better.  nor will going on a 2hour bikeride, you dumbass.  GO TO BED.  make other people (mom/girfriend/unpaid interns) do your bidding for you.  the more you get up the worse you will feel (unless your getting up to get a no-puke pill or some medical marijuana).  Trust me, stay in bed and  don’t overdo yourself. You will feel better down the line.

Tips for days 2-3 and then 4-7 coming soon.

Hair Today?

I amazed my doctor the other day by showing up to my 4th treatment with a full head of luxurious red hair.  Although my particular regimen doesn’t cause hair to fall out in clumps (the way breast cancer drugs do), it does cause the hair to thin and eventually fall out.  As you can tell by the picture, my hair has definitely thinned.  However, some people with Hodgkin’s wind up not losing their hair completely.  The question of the hour is whether or not my hair was originally thick enough to withstand 12 chemoblasts.  I’ve lost some of it, but if you looked at me, you wouldn’t even notice.  Time will tell if i have to shave my head or not, but the goal is to emerge from this experience with longer hair than when I started, in a Matt Grieco-esque flare of post adulthood triumph.

The hair on the rest of my body has thinned to some extent as well, with exception to the lumberjack beard which appears to be totally unaffected.  If my beard makes it through these six months, i will recognize it as the source of my strength and never again shave it as long as I live.

UPDATE:  9/9/08

Grieco rocking the teen-wolf circa Februrary 08'