4..3..2..1..

4..3..2..1.. I can finally see the light at the end of the chemo tunnel, and I'm hoping that these last four rounds will disappear without much trouble. Over the past two days, number four came and passed, so I'm left looking at three remaining rounds of chemo on this torturous schedule.

Over the next few days, I'll be expected to take four times as many Neupogen shots in order to spike my white blood cell count far beyond the threshold of adequate recovery. The doctors are intent upon harvesting my stem cells, freezing them and keeping them available on the off chance that my body forgets once again how to make new, healthy bone marrow. At this point, such a development seems unlikely, and the vaccinations I intend to receive at NCI will cover the purposed accomplishments of a stem cell transplant, anyway, but I suppose I'd rather be safe than sorry.

Harvesting my cells will entail connecting two IV lines, one from each of my arms, to a machine constructed for the very purpose of collecting blood content. For me, it's a "been-there, done-that" kind of experience, though I hope that this time it doesn't quite last seven hours and I can manage to walk away from it without any ruptured veins. When I went through a similar procedure during my first stint at NCI, I had a tumor fever, the actual procedure took three hours longer than anticipated, and one of my veins popped like bubble wrap and bled profusely. I'd like to believe that I've already seen the worst that can happen, and while I hope it goes more smoothly this week, at least I know I'm prepared for anything.

Either a stem cell transplant or the administration of these vaccinations down at NCI in Bethesda, at least one or the other, will inevitably come to pass. The intention of such procedures is obviously to keep me healthy for as long as possible, and realistically to save my life. Unfortunately, they each require that my immune system be beaten and battered, broken down to a level of complete vulnerability, which can conceivably be dangerous, and will most definitely be uncomfortable for me, to say the least. My guess is it will be just like the beginning of chemo all over again, when I routinely yearned for death and an end to what seemed like never-ending, inexplicable misery. I'm hoping that this time I'll be better prepared for it, though I really don't think it's something for which I can realistically prepare myself.

Preparation can really only take us so far, and pain will feel like pain regardless of how ready you are to be overcome by it. Being prepared is far from being able to protect oneself, which is damn near impossible as far as I'm concerned.

When my grandpa had a stroke, I knew his time was limited, but I couldn't prepare myself for or protect myself from the pain of losing him. When my girlfriend first spoke of leaving New York for a job and a life in Boston, I was made aware that our time together might have begun to dwindle, and despite my denial, I don't know what I could have done to protect myself from that impending pain. And now, having met someone who has lifted me from the depths of sorrow and taught me to believe in this life again, I'm constantly reminded that despite my deepest wishes, I can do nothing to protect her from her own cancer. For me, I can remind myself what it was like to have my body broken down to nothing, the way it will be again, but I know there's no feeling like the real thing, no camouflage behind which I can hide, and nothing I can say to myself that will fully prepare me for it.

It is, nevertheless, a part of the process, and I'll gladly take my beatings if it means surviving this thing. I still have three rounds of chemo before I undergo more scans to determine the length and intensity of the proposed radiation I'll receive prior to the vaccinations or even the notion of a stem cell transplant, so I'll continue to proceed one day at a time. (I've learned that this is the best, or really the only approach, since my requests and attempts at falling asleep for days or weeks at a time have gone for naught. Honestly, at this point, I'd gladly settle for sleeping through an entire night.)

There's a lot we can never be prepared for, but I'm going to do my best to run through these final three cycles like a bull. Chemo is one obstacle for which I feel as prepared as I'm ever going to be. And I'll keep treading towards that light at the end of the tunnel, because with each passing day, it can't come anywhere but closer.

Happy New Year!

It's no secret that I've had a rough go of things over the past few months. It shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone that this is a difficult time in my life; probably the hardest thing I've ever been through.

A number of holidays have passed since I've been sick. Veteran's Day, Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Christmas; I watched them all come and pass without saying anything particular to them. I wanted to, I meant to, even planned to, because holidays are important, but for some reason I didn't find the words.

It's always important to take time to appreciate the meaningful things in life. I'm sorry for having missed my opportunities when the occasions were upon us, but today is New Year's Eve, a day for reflection and looking forward, and I believe that in order to know where we're headed, we have to appreciate where we're coming from.

I was watching ESPN on Veteran's Day, and the anchors were talking about our soldiers and the sacrifices they make for our country each and every day. They were commenting on how ridiculous it is to use "wartime vocabulary" with regards to sports. Sports are just games, and though the players seemingly "battle" against one another for supremacy on the court or field, ice or what-have-you, an athlete's struggle is far different from the real wars being waged by our brave armed forces.

It made me think about the terms of my own battle, and how complicated it is. I am fighting (I feel secure in using that descriptor) an illness that my body created, unintentionally, yet one that nevertheless threatens my life. I wage my fight with the help of chemotherapy, a recipe of toxic drugs, which has, thus far, yielded amazing results. Unfortunately, the drugs introduce a new struggle between their effects on my body and my ability to recover from them, making me feel like the battleground of some internal chaos that leaves my insides burned and pillaged.

But I've never seen a real battlefield, not a live one, anyway, and I have the utmost respect for those who defend our country and our liberties with their lives. They are the men and women willing to make the ultimate sacrifices so that we may enjoy the way of life to which we've become accustomed, and for that they are true heroes.

Naturally, on Thanksgiving, I thought about the things in my life for which I am grateful. My friends and family came immediately to mind; like most people, I don't know what I'd ever do without them. I was appreciative of the deliciously robust meal, as I always am, but this year I was especially thankful that I was able to keep it all down.

Past all that, however, I had a hard time finding reasons to be thankful. I settled on the fact that despite my current conditions, I'm still fighting, and eventually I should be better, despite how challenging everything is right now. In other words, I'm thankful to still have a chance at a future, beyond all of this, regardless of the odds and probabilities with which I've been faced, presuming I can continue to persevere.

I've learned to appreciate all of the December holidays, because for all of their differences and the differences between the people who observe them, they bring people together in celebration. One day, I hope to see everyone celebrating together, accepting of our individual differences, eager to learn one another's values, and motivated by a common purpose, but for now I'll settle for people coming together in warmth and joy.

I also like presents, just like everyone else, so the December holidays are definitely where it's at.

Again, today is New Year's Eve. A brand new year is upon us. A brand new decade is about to begin. I'll spend the first few months undergoing treatment, but I'm hopeful that the second half of 2010 will be better than the year preceding it.

I'm grateful to have seen another year pass, and I've not forgotten the joys of this last year either. I know it hasn't all been bad, and I guess I've learned to value those precious moments more than I have in the past. That's why I'm so anxious to be out and living again, because I want a chance to appreciate things more than I used to; to see things through a brand new, brighter scope; to meet new people and let them change me, and to hopefully make a difference to them as well.

With each new year brings new opportunities, more chances to touch and be touched, to hold and be held, and to better ourselves so that we can make ourselves happy, because above all we must be happy with who we are when we're all alone. It's an ongoing process, in my opinion; an endless, ever-changing journey that will only offer new challenges as the circumstances in our lives continue to change, but it's a worthy purpose and a journey that I'll hopefully pledge to continue each new year.

And tonight, on the eve of the new year, we celebrate with friends and family, and may we forget for a while the fighting and sickness because holidays are meant to be celebrated. And I love a good celebration, in case you didn't know.

So Happy New Year! I wish everyone a safe and wonderful night, and a happy beginning to an unforgettable 2010.

Be Careful

I've made the decision to wait until after New Years' for my next round of chemo. It was a difficult choice, and one that I'm still surprised at myself for making, but now that I've said it I'm trying not to change my mind. I still hate postponing chemo, and I want to be finished with it as soon as possible. I want to be finished with all of it. I finally realized that allowing myself to feel good for a few days isn't going to make that much of a difference in the long run.

I've pushed through ten consecutive rounds of chemo at an every-two-week pace. The doctors have told me repeatedly that maintaining that pace is simply unfeasible, but hearing them say that just makes me want to prove them wrong.

I was planning to force myself back into the hospital today or tomorrow, today being the twelfth day since the start of the most recent five-day round (meaning I've been out a week). But I've been a mess since then. My stomach is always a shambles, but this round and its accompanying virus really made me feel that I might be hurting myself if I don't let my body heal.

At first, I thought I might be able to go through chemo the two days right before New Years' Eve and then just make the best of the way I was feeling on the actual occasion. I might be miserable, but I'd be one step closer to being done. But If I waited a few days, my stomach might actually recover, and I'd have a chance to get out of the house and explore the outside world for a little while.

I went back and forth over what to do countless times, and along the way I realized that though I may be sick, and for that reason approach my life from now on with a little more regard to my well-being, I don't ever want to be careful.

I think it would be easy to take being sick and use it as a reason to try to avoid bad things from happening. It would be easy to start being scared, but what's the point of living scared? Shouldn't my flirtation with death teach me to go for what I want and to take some chances rather than holstering all of my guns and playing it safe? I don't actually own any guns, I'm just shooting for a metaphor, but really, I don't think that's what I'm supposed to do. I've acquired a heightened appreciation for life and living, so I'm going to chase after life, not wait for it to find me.

Going back in for chemo in the next two days wouldn't be careful of me, that's not what I'm saying. If anything, it would be brash and stubborn, both of which are words I would readily use to describe myself. But I've also pledged to be easier on myself. I still demand a certain standard of commitment and results, but this time I'm taking the doctors' advice and giving my body a break. And, at the same time, I'm rewarding myself with New Years' Eve. A celebration.

I have a ways to go, and after extending this round an extra two or three days, I'll be right back on the two-week regiment as long as my counts can bear it. Right now, though, I'm craving a chance to celebrate the ten I've already completed.

I've already promised myself to be cautious and to avoid trouble, at least for this year's New Year's Eve. The perils of coming down with something are no mystery to me. But if I'm not going to be infused with drugs and bedridden, I should really try to enjoy myself.

Like I said, I'll be back to the grind after just a few days, and I don't plan on slowing down or looking back. I'll plan ahead, though I won't deliberate to the point of frustration. I'll count the days until the things I'm looking forward to, though I won't be too calculated in the pursuit of my dreams. And I'll be responsible, and consider consequences before I act, and I'll do my best to avoid putting myself and others in danger, though I'll never be too careful.