One Job

I used to have several jobs. I still do, but almost all of them have been relegated to the backseat because now my main job, the most important one, is to get calories in my body.

And that is a job.

Seems easy enough, right? Just eat.

Well it's not quite that easy. As you know, I can't really put food in my mouth with that whole going to make me throw up thing still going on. Although, let me say a few days ago I did walk in to the kitchen and Rachel had a Costco rotisserie chicken on the island, that Nathan had already devoured the two legs from, and I said I'll take some chicken. And for whatever reason, I could eat a little chicken on that particular day. That's been the extent though. And no, it didn't taste the way it should. So, in general, I still can't really eat food. Instead it's those "cans" of nutrition that I pour down my tube.

Several times a day.

This is the "job" part. It's what I have to do. It needs to be done. And it is annoying.

About every two and a half hours I have to get a can down the tube. Thus, I feel like I'm always pouring these cans into my stomach. "Didn't I just do this?" I ask a lot. And, yes, I did just do it, 2.5 hours ago.

That's not a lot of time between "meals".

It makes it difficult to leave the house because I can't be gone very long. Oh, I guess I could pour a can in out in public, but you know I'm not going to do that. Now I have it down to a routine and changing that routine would be a pain in the ass. Plus, no one wants to see me pour liquid into my tube while we're sitting at the local cafe. Not to mention that because of chemo I'm highly susceptible to catching a disease or something minor.

So forget it. I'm feeding at home.

This will affect my teaching job which starts in about a month. I'm trying to figure out how to handle that situation. A buddy of mine and I have a couple of good ideas. We'll see what plays out over the next couple weeks.

I need these calories. It's what my body uses to repair all this damage that is being done to it from the radiation and chemo. It's working, it's just such a pain in the ass to have to put a can in so often. That's really what I'm complaining about, here: the frequency.

I know it won't last for ever, and it's helping me get stronger every day.

But it is a job.

Not a job I enjoy, but it is what it is. I'll get the job done. I'll just be glad when I no longer have the tube and food hopefully tastes like it's supposed again.

Oh yeah, and I'll be glad when the radiation and chemo have eliminated my body of this cancer that I've been fighting.

Yeah, I'll be glad about that for sure.

Then this entire job will be completely worth all this effort.

Odds and Ends

We're finally down to single digits of radiation treatment left. Still have a long way to go, but it's nice to know I only have a few more treatments remaining.

My mouth is swollen and sunburned inside. If it gets too dry then it hurts to swallow water. I try to keep in moist. The tube feeds are going as well as can be expected. I mean, I'm just putting in calories along with everything else these things have that my body needs. I've been maintaining my weight. I think that's good. We'll see what the doctors say this week.

I have four more chemo treatments. Not looking forward to those. They wipe me out. Nausea has gotten somewhat better. I hope it stays that way or gets even better. I think the "feedings" have helped in that regard.

The constipation is better. Almost feel normal in that regard, but still pretty cautious.

Still don't want food in my mouth. Still trying to come to terms with smells. I want to be able to smell food without having to rush out of the room.

Patience.

The boys wear me out. I can't really stay in the same room with them for very long before I need to seek seclusion from the chaos.

The chemo makes my nose get very dry, but the bigger issue is that it has wiped out any libido that I had. It's just gone. Side effect, I guess. At least for me. It's fine anyway, may not be fine with Rachel, but I don't have the energy for such activities anyway. It should return at a later date. At least I hope it does.

So I'm kind of in a staying pattern at the moment. Which is certainly better than the free-fall I was in earlier.

I do have a lot of work to do for my classes. It'll get done. Somehow. This is the last week of Summer Quarter so luckily that's about over.

In any case, this is just a quick update. I hope you all are doing well.

I'm doing the best I can do at the moment. I'll let you know if things change.

Eclipse

There is a light.

It's dim.

I can barely see it.

But it's there.

I know it's there.

And it'll get brighter each day.

But I'm not here to talk about that particular light today.

Instead, I need to talk about the dark days.

When I started journaling my cancer adventure, I made a promise to myself to always be honest in my writing. To tell my story truthfully, whatever that may entail. No matter how ugly this adventure may get, I intend to keep that promise.

This is the hardest fucking thing I've ever had to go through. I hate it. I hate the constant disgusting taste in my mouth. I hate that I can't eat real food and have to feed myself through a god damn tube. Smells, and even food in my mouth, make me vomit. I don't like to ride in the car because it can make me nauseous. It's just all shit and I hate it.

I'm constantly exhausted and spend a lot of time in bed. Part of that is probably related to my energy level, part from the actual treatment.

And the fucking treatment. Holy shit, the fucking treatment. It's one of the more rigorous treatments they give people. And it is brutal. It's brutal physically, mentally, and emotionally.

And all three are taking a toll on me.

Physically I don't look too bad. That's good. My neck looks pretty good but the inside of my mouth is very uncomfortable. I'm still expecting the pain inside to increase soon, though. As of today, I have 13 more radiation treatments. They get a little harder to do each time.

We received the "cans" of "food" a few days ago. This is the food that goes into my tube. I'm supposed to have 6-8 cans a day. Well, that didn't work. They don't keep me satiated very long, maybe two hours. Then, if I get too hungry, I get nauseous and have to run to the toilet and throw up. Yeah, fun times.

So I've changed to having a can about every 2-2.5 hours. At that rate, I'm having like 11 or 12 cans a day. And this shit is disgusting. It smells disgusting and tastes disgusting. I didn't think you were drinking it, you say. That is correct. But I've thrown it up. It's disgusting.

Mentally I am drained. Your whole job is to stay alive. That's a lot more mentally exhausting than you might imagine. I mean we do it every day, right? We try to stay alive. But this is different. This is taxing. A tremendous amount of effort is required because all your energy is being zapped away by the treatment.

But you have two options (at least I have two options), either dig deep and get through it, or die. There is not a gray area. This one is completely black and white. And even though the treatment they are putting me through has a good success rate, it is not 100%. So I must dig deep just to give myself a fairly decent chance of surviving. A fairly decent chance is better than no chance at all.

Emotionally I am a wreck. Lately I've been crying a lot. Mainly over how difficult this is on me. I know it sounds like a self-pity party, but that's not it. It's just so overwhelming. All of it. There's never a break because you're constantly battling something whether it be nausea, food, or even sleep.

And I burst into tears every single time I learn of someone, particularly someone I know but it doesn't have to be, who has just been diagnosed with cancer. It breaks my heart.

One of my dearest friends texted me the other day and I took that opportunity to just vent away. She said it was good to vent. It means I'm pissed off and fighting. So, yes, I'm angry.

I'm also sad, frustrated, scared, anxious, and at times depressed.

All of that is mentally and emotionally draining.

Oh, and the anti-nausea medications cause constipation. Yeah. This is the worst constipation I have ever had in my life. I literally put on surgical gloves, dip my finger in vaseline, and break up shit in my ass just to get it out. It's excruciatingly painful. It's getting better but it's a lot of work and pain. I'm hoping the Mirilax kicks in soon.

And of course, some days are better than others. Actually, it's some moments are better than others. There is no preparation for this. They don't teach you how to deal with this shit it in school.

Fuck you, cancer.

You have fucked up my life beyond comparison. You took my dad, you tried to take my wife, and you're currently trying to take several people I know.

Stop it!

And praying does not make cancer go away. If it did, don't you think the world would be free of cancer by now? People have been praying for cancer to go away for several millennia. Well it's not gone away. It seems to be everywhere. It's not going away, either. It's here to stay because every person's cancer is slightly different. That's why there'll never be a cure: because the cancers are all slightly different for each person.

That may be a hard pill to swallow, but it's the truth.

Have no doubt, though, that treatments will get better. So while the world will never be free of cancer, the way we fight it will keep improving and just may not be so bad in the future.

When Rachel was going through her breast cancer adventure, her thing became to tell everyone to check their breasts. At least once a month. And not just women because men can get breast cancer, too. The earlier breast cancer is found, the better. And that's one cancer that can usually be found early. So check your breasts. If you don't know how to do it, then learn.

My thing is if you're in the appropriate age range, then get the HPV vaccine. Both men and women. It can give both sexes several different cancers and we have a vaccine for it. That is awesome. So find out if you're a candidate for the vaccine, and if you are then get the god damn thing. It could prevent you from having to go through the shit I'm going through.

A few days ago I wrote a new short story. It helps to write. I'll post it soon.

I took the title of this post from one of my favorite Pink Floyd songs. Actually, it's two songs combined to make one, and Eclipse is the second part. I feel like I'm in an eclipse, waiting for the sun to come back and shine it's beautiful light on me again.

It will.

And I'll be here, ready to bask in its beauty.

Battles

As parents, we learn to pick our battles with our children.

As people, we learn that sometimes we don't get to pick our battles. Many battles are forced upon us either from external or internal forces.

Battling cancer is a not a battle we choose to take on. It is forced upon us. It invades our life. Sometimes as fast as a freight train, other times as slow as a snail. Since getting cancer is rarely expected (I mean if you're smoking cigarettes then getting cancer should be expected) then when you learn you have it, it's like your head was clubbed with a two by four. It takes a long time to process everything you are being told. In many cases everything seems very urgent and things begin to move very fast. But your head is spinning with information. That's why it's very important to have someone with you when you have these doctor visits. This person should take notes (because you're really not in the frame of mind to do so) and ask questions if they have any. These supporters are our advocates. We need them. We need their strength.

Rachel's my rock. I would've floated off long ago had I not been tethered to her and her strength. She is by far the best note taker in the family. I suck at it. Badly. She has accompanied me to several of my doctor appointments and always does a fantastic job of taking notes. When she was battling breast cancer last year, she had good friends go with her and they would take copious notes. Yeah, I'm jealous of all these people who are capable of taking such good notes on the fly. I find it amazing.

If Rachel is unable to join us at the doctor visit, then we resort to using FaceTime during those appointments. So she's there. She hears the conversation and can ask pertinent questions. She's taking copious notes. (I think it's just something she really likes to do.)

Battling cancer could possibly be the most difficult thing you may have to do in your life.

In fact, it becomes your life.

Almost every thing you do revolves around your cancer and the corresponding treatment.

Literally, almost every thing you do.

Oftentimes it is overwhelming.

And while the battles between you, the mountain, the mountain lion, and the god damn bear are the main battles, more subtle ones begin to take place.

My newest battle: anxiety.

And it is achingly high.

It's prevented me from eating, has caused nausea, and even a little depression. These all become smaller, yet no less important battles that now have to be taken on. But we only have a limited amount of energy. You do the best you can. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't.

I've never had to really deal with high anxiety before, so it took awhile before I even figured out that's what was going on. It's a horrible feeling and I am trying to keep it at bay with medication and cannabis. Most of the time these work and I'll be able to eat some food. Not that the food tastes good, mind you, but at least my nausea isn't so bad at the time that I can get some food in.

Clearly I should have anxiety. I understand that. The next chemo treatment, even at 1/3 the original dosage, frightens me to no end. It's difficult to not think about this next bear attack, but it terrifies me. I can not overstate that enough. After what happened the first time, yes, I am terrified to get my next chemo treatment. So my anxiety hits the atmosphere when I think about the next one.

I think that's fairly normal. Think for a minute about what they are putting into the bloodstream. That shit is not supposed to be there, so you're body acts like it's supposed to act when a foreign body has entered. It tries to get rid of it. The anti-nausea and other medications are to trick the body into thinking this foreign body is ok and to help keep it in your body.

I guess most of the time they do a pretty good job. Unfortunately, that's not what happened in my case the first time. Here's to hoping for the best for the second time around.

Because of this battle I've been having with eating, I got a g-tube. The anxiety was high that day because what if I have seizure and they can't get the tube in? You know, all the things that can go wrong rifle through your head because you're scared shitless.

To do the procedure they needed to place an air tube up my nose, down my esophagus, and into my stomach. This allows them to blow air into my stomach so they can find it easier. Ok, that's a good thing. Wouldn't want this tube going into my liver.

Now I've had several ENTs scope my vocal chords and throat before. They use some numbing spray that works generally pretty well. The difference here is they don't use such numbing spray. Instead they use some numbing gel. And while the ENTs go to the back of my throat, this tube needed to go down my esophagus. So it has to go in at a different angle. I was told this is the part that most people have trouble with.

Ok.

I literally screamed "Fuck that hurts!" as he got the tube past the painful part. And hurt it did. Like a burning stick being shoved, and that's the word "shoved", right up my nose. God damn that hurt.

Once we got past that, things settled down and the pain disappeared. So now I'm laying on the bed. with this tube sticking out of my nose. Here's what I looked like. You might click the picture and enlarge it so you can get the full effect.

They then did a CT scan to find my stomach and mark where it was. Then they wheeled me to radiology room where they did the procedure.

I was awake for the entire thing.

Oh they had me on a couple of drugs, but I was wide awake. The worst part (after the nose incident, of course) was when they deadened my stomach. The needles hurt a bit. Once that all kicked in, though, I didn't feel any pain. I could feel pressure, but no pain. I even made a joke during the procedure, so we all got a bit of a laugh during this stressful moment.

They then wheeled me back to my recovery room where Rachel and I waited until we got discharged.

Now the nurse pulled the tube out of my nose, and yes, it hurt just as bad as it did going in. It was not a fun afternoon.

A little while later later Rachel drove us home. Literally, as soon as she parked the truck in our driveway, I began throwing up.

I threw up for the next three hours.

And oh did my stomach hurt.

And this wasn't dry heaves either. My best guess was that when they put the tube in my nose it caused my nose to bleed (there was evidence of that). I think I may have swallowed a lot of blood, and that blood was needing to come back up. It did.

It murdered my stomach muscles. I couldn't move much so I laid by the toilet for around three hours. When the nurse got there later that evening I managed to get into bed. They gave me some meds and I went to sleep. Exhausted.

I know I said earlier that I did not want a g-tube. Mainly from fear of losing the ability to swallow on my own. But now that I have the tube, and Rachel and I are figuring it all out, I have to say that I was wrong. The g-tube has been very helpful. I'm stronger today than I was just a few days ago, and I owe all that to Rachel being able to get nutrients into me. (Of course she's never allowed to tell me what she puts in her concoctions. It's best that I don't know.)

Rachel was messing around with a new app and this was the picture we liked the best. It's the g-tube.

The effects of radiation are starting to kick in, and this week could be the week they increase in intensity. Not looking forward to that.

So that's the latest. Radiation treatments 14-18, and chemo treatment #2, are all this week. Looks like I'll battling high anxiety this week. Ugh.

I'll leave for now with the following:

"We can rebuild him. We have the technology. We can make him better, stronger, faster..."

Screw that! I'm just tired of being cut into!

P.S. I wonder how many people got my reference?

This Was Not Part Of The Plan

Sometimes the pieces of your life inexplicably explode.

Most pieces land somewhere close around the edges, fairly easy to find and put back in place.

But some pieces are lost forever, leaving a hole for all eternity.

I wasn't terribly anxious about getting my first chemo treatment. After all, it wasn't that long ago that I watched Wonder Woman (My Wife) fight through her treatments, and in general she did fantastic. I used to make the joke that on chemo weeks she would be "useless" for about 4 days. It just knocked her out and the boys and I rarely saw her. But I was wrong. She wasn't useless because the could actually still do many things for herself. Sure she couldn't help with the boys (which practically made her useless to me) but in general she was still functional.

So, in kind of a bad way, I had an idea of what to "expect". I put the word expect in quotes because each cancer is different, each person reacts differently to their cancers and/or treatments, and, quite frankly, I was wrong.

Got the 4-hour chemo treatment. Then about 5:00pm I started feeling a little queasy. Not bad, just kind of uncomfortable. By the time Rachel got home from her Book Club meeting around 10:00pm or so, I was passed out (in bed asleep). No memory of her getting home. Slight memory of some quick conversation while she got ready for bed. Then nothing else.

It was like the walls of my life enclosed me, wrapping me in my own personal hell, all the while attempting to asphyxiate me.

I was going to delete the previous sentence, but I think I like it. It stays.

Anyway, the day after chemo was a living in Hell. Actually, I might have been a zombie in TWD. I would have preferred to be a zombie!

Rachel got me to my daily (the second one by this point) radiation treatment, but after I got done with that (which takes about 15 minutes total), she had amassed a team of doctors and nurses and I was being shuffled off to a room to get fluids.

Um, this was not part of today's plan.

Life with cancer.

Rachel and the boys picked me up four or so hours later and we headed home.

Now know that at no point have I actually vomited. This is all that nausea feeling that is kicking my ass.

I can eat. It all sounds disgusting. And now, the smell, sound (saying the word out loud), and even the word itself, vanilla, makes me queasy. This is painful. Part of the plan was to have vanilla milkshakes through this crap because it's my favorite flavor.

I should've known, this was not going to be part of the plan.

So vanilla is out. Can't do it at all. I hope that is not a permanent feature.

But everything I eat tastes disgusting. So much so that I often can't eat it and I have to look for something else.

I hate it.

Enough about food. It's going to make me wretch.

So after I received some fluids, for over four hours, we had the same plan we started with. Take the anti-nausea meds like clockwork.

Seems simple. I had already done what was recommended so it's not like I wasn't trying to stay ahead of the game. I even set an alarm for the middle of the night so I could continue taking my meds through the night. I was told that most people don't feel the nausea pains until day 4, and that's usually because they had not been already taking their anti-nausea meds.

My nausea began the same day I received my first dose of chemo.

And I was unable to recover.

What I've learned: I'm not "most people".

For five days I didn't get out of bed. I slept for literally 18-20 hours each freaking day. I didn't eat for days. (This of course made the whole nausea feeling worse.)

I was unable to really do much of anything for myself.

I began vomiting three days after treatment. The fourth day got worse. And the fifth day after treatment was the worst day (in terms of vomiting).

And as the days moved on, getting to the Cancer Center became more difficult for me. Riding in the truck was too much movement and caused vomiting. But I had to go.

The fourth and fifth radiation treatments, which corresponded to days 6 and 7 after my chemo treatment, I ended up vomiting while on the table to get treatment. Once after treatment was over, but once before it began, causing us to delay that day's treatment. I did end up getting radiation on that day, just a little while later.

Seven days after chemo, I was in bad shape. Again, couldn't really get out of bed except to get to radiation, and, I still haven't found any relief for my nausea. And, it's doctor day. So we meet with the radiation doctor and nurse.

Major concern is my weight loss.

Still haven't eaten anything substantial.

I lost about 10 pounds in a week. My weight gets much lower and we'll have to delay radiation. I'll be too weak.

The g-tube was discussed.

We went home.

Relatively speaking, it was the best day yet for getting food into me. (Not that I was able to get a lot into me, mind you.)

Then it all came back up around 6:00pm.

The g-tube wouldn't help my nausea.

And the nausea is what I need to stop.

Day eight after chemo:

Much worse day than the previous day. Woke up around 6:00am needing to wretch at the toilet. For over an hour. Dry heaves suck.

Got to radiation.

Got through radiation.

Met with Physician's Assistant. She was fantastic. Then met with chemo doctor.

The g-tube is again discussed.

Insertion of the g-tube is now scheduled.

It's not so much that I'm going to have a g-tube that bothers me, it's the fact that the g-tube isn't going to do anything for my nausea.

The PA writes out a plan, regarding anti-nausea, to administer after the next dose of chemo.

The next dose of chemo?

That scares the shit out of me.

The original plan was to have three doses of chemo throughout the whole thing. And these are big doses of powerful stuff. Cisplatin is famous for making people nauseous throughout its history. What's been surprising for all of us is that it hit me so fast and the anti-nausea drugs are not working.

So my nurse said we're not going to do that to you again.

And my doctor has now split those last two doses into six smaller doses. So for my next chemo treatment I'll be getting about a third of what I originally got on that first day.

That still scares the shit out of me.

A third of what I just went through, of what I am still going through, terrifies me to no end.

It was, and still is, that bad. My stomach is still in knots. I still have difficulty eating because everything tastes nasty (a side affect of chemo). I'm nauseous most of the time. I'm tired all the time. And we're 11 days out from when I had treatment. I can't feel good about having to endure only a third of that. It scares me.

Then a very good friend posted the following on Facebook:

What It's Like To Go Through Cancer Treatment

And all I can do is laugh and cry through the whole thing because it really is spot on. That is what it's like, at least for me. I'm fighting a god damn mountain lion with a bear that can only fight the lion by going through me.

So I'm getting mauled both inside and out.

The last 11 days have not been a roller coaster, there haven't been any "ups". Instead it's been a living hell. The bear just kicked my ass. I actually said to Rachel, "The chemo is killing me."

Then I went to the hospital (short stay) on the 8th day after chemo.

Doctors were very concerned about fluids. It takes 2 hours to deliver 1liter of fluids into my system. I was to get two liters that day.

The previous couple of days I began using MMJ to see if that would help with the nausea. I'm lucky and very grateful to live in a progressive state where we can do such things legally.

It worked.

At least it works when I am fully "medicated". If I'm only partially "medicated" then it doesn't work at all. So we've added this to our arsenal. Then we promptly ran out of the stuff that was actually working for me. I haven't found a replacement, yet, and so the nausea continues.

But I can tell you that I have rediscovered my love for Pink Floyd. ;-)

In any case, while in the hospital I wasn't feeling nauseous so I ordered pudding. I didn't quite finish it, there was still about an 1/8 left in the container, but when the nurse came in to see how I did eating it, I pointed at the container to show her the top 7/8 that was empty, and said "That's more than I have eaten all total in the last week."

Then I ordered lunch.

Ate half a ham, turkey, and cheese sandwich and part of a baked potato.

I began to worry that I was eating too much after going so long without eating, but everything stayed down. I actually felt pretty good.

On the tenth day after getting chemo I had someone other than Rachel take me to the Cancer Center so I could get my radiation treatment. It was the first time I felt like I could go with someone else. It went the way it was supposed to go: I get there, I lie on table, they put the mouth piece in my mouth and lock me down, they radiate me, I leave. Fifteen minutes.

Then I spent the rest of the day in bed.

That was yesterday. I'm still nauseous, probably at this point from hunger, and everything sounds like it's going to taste nasty, but at least today I am able to finish writing this entry.

So that's the update. I'm getting a g-tube soon, we're cutting the amount of chemo I'll be getting each treatment to a third of the original dosage, I'll be getting weekly chemo treatments, and oh yeah, all those side affects of radiation haven't even kicked in, yet.

Future challenges.

I'm an emotional wreck; I'm tired; I feel like shit; I feel bad for my kids; I feel bad that I can't do more for myself or my family; I cry; I sleep; I cry some more.

Then I run to the toilet to wretch.

This was certainly not part of the plan.

The Goal

"We're going for a cure."

Words I was grateful to hear.

Now that doesn't mean we'll be successful in getting that cure, but that's the goal.

And sometimes, all you need is the goal.

I'll be having thirty-three radiation treatments along with three chemo treatments. I guess the chemo they are using is pretty potent. It's really popular among those that like that nauseous feeling. (That would not be me.) They said I'll feel fine for the first three days because they give me some extremely powerful anti-nausea mediation when I get my chemo treatment, but come day four, well, that could get ugly. So, it's absolutely crucial that I take my anti-nausea medication at home. I guess some people feel so good during those first three days after treatment that they don't take the anti-nausea medication during those three days and then they really suffer come that fourth day.

We know this from experience.

Even though Rachel got different chemotherapy than what I'll be getting, she didn't take her anti-nausea medication those first few days after her first chemo treatment. Yes, she payed for it. Let's just say she learned her lesson, and I learned from watching her, and she took her anti-nausea medication correctly from then on out. The nausea situation was much better after that. She was more fatigued than nauseous.

I can live with fatigued a hell of a lot more than I can live with being nauseous. You can bet your britches I'll be taking that anti-nausea medication correctly from day one.

Then there's radiation.

Remember, radiation is the real cancer killer for my situation. The chemo treatment is to actually help the radiation work better. I lie down on the "bed", which is really a hard slab that slides back and forth in and out of, I guess I'll call it, the "radiation chamber".

After I lie down they put a personalized mouth guard in my mouth and then lock it down. This is what it looks like:

It's locked down because we don't want my head moving. Lasers are also used to pinpoint the area that is to be treated. We want to make sure the radiation is focused where it's supposed to be going every single time. It feels pretty crazy and the mouth guard tastes pretty bad, but it's remarkable we're even able to do this.

Now, one of the side effects of the radiation is that my goatee will go away because the hair will not be able to grow. So, here's what I have looked like for at least the past 15 years:

And here's what I look today:

They encouraged me to shave it off.

So there you have it.

I don't think I like it, but maybe it'll grow on me.

It's an aggressive cancer and we're fighting it aggressively with a brutal regiment of radiation and chemotherapy. It's nothing to look forward to, but it's all I've got. We all know the alternative and I'm not ready for that. So this is my shot, my attempt to rid my body of this disease.

All I can do is hope it works.

Yes, Mountains Move

Some days I feel like I can do anything. Kicking cancer's ass is of course at the top of that list, but in general I feel strong, empowered, and able to conquer any mountain that moves to block my progress.

And yes, mountains move.

Those days are great. I feel relaxed and ready to take on the world. Nothing can stop me.

Today is not one of those days.

Today I want to crawl into bed, get in the fetal position, and just cry. (And yes, real men cry.)

I got my PICC line today. It sucks. My arm hurts a little and the whole goddamn thing is just uncomfortable. I can't get it wet, so showers should be interesting. When I had a PICC line before I was so sick that I didn't give a shit about taking a shower, so they were fairly rare while I had the PICC line in. I think I may have resorted to a few quick baths. I hate baths. I'll probably have to resort to taking quick baths again. Ugh.

Here's what it looks like with the "sock" on it, you know, to help keep the end from flopping around:

And here's what it really looks like:

See those two ends on the right there? Yeah, I got a double one. Yay me.

Around 20% of all the people admitted to hospitals around the country end up getting a PICC line. That's pretty remarkable. However, I'm disappointed I'm in that 20%.

But I have to get my chemo treatments.

I have a few more lessons, blood draws, and dry runs before the actual treatments start. I'll have thirty-three radiation treatments and three chemo treatments over the next seven weeks. The chemo treatments are to help with the radiation treatments. The radiation treatments are what's going to kill the cancer.

I'm sure no one ever feels ready to begin this shit. I'm no different. I do want to start because I'm tired of waiting, I'm anxious, and the sooner I start then the sooner it'll be over.

But no, I'm not ready to begin this shit.

But it's been almost seven weeks since I had surgery to remove the tumor and lymph nodes. It will not be good if we wait much longer.

Luckily, the wait is almost over.