"I Feel Like the World has Lost a Terrific Dancer" -- A Rant about How our News Fails Us

Today I was dragging a bit from my most recent dance with the devil (cytoxin and cytarabine), so I decided to stay home in the air conditioning and take a day to rest and recuperate.

After eating breakfast, showering, and checking work email I headed back to bed and slept most of the morning away -- in one of those deep, comatose sleeps one rarely finds during the daylight hours.

When I awoke I cooked myself some lunch (we're back to cooked-only food now), and clicked on cable news as to see what was happening in the world as I chowed down my grub.

In a half hour of cable news, flipping between networks, here's the breakdown of coverage:

Conflict in Iran: 45 seconds
Stock Market Update: 1 minute 15 seconds
Death of Michael Jackson, Debate over custody of Michael Jackson's children and estate: 28 minutes.

Maybe I'm an idealist. Perhaps I'm just old school. Probably journalism school tainted my view of the news. But I firmly believe that the news media of all types should enlighten and inform the public. That it should drive public dialogue, debate, and discussion while steering said discussion toward the important issues on any given day. That beyond simply setting the agenda, that its pages and studios should act as a forum to debate local, regional and national issues. And finally, that it should serve as the watchdog of our leaders, elected and otherwise.

And Michael Jackson's death, while sad and perhaps a bit shocking and morbid, just does not fit the bill. Coverage of Michael Jackson's death will do nothing to help us move forward and find common-ground solutions to challenges in a world full of strife and conflict. I am left no more enlightened or informed as a citizen knowing that Michael Jackson's third child's nickname is "Blanket."

I feel sympathy for his kids and family, but then again I did when he was alive as well. And, furthermore, there are thousands upon thousands of individuals out there who deserve our sympathy -- why focus our national attention on one or two because they are celebrities, the very people who probably need our sympathy the least.

And as the news camera's face the Neverland Ranch today, they turn their backs to real and consequential events happening in the world.

In Iran alone, grassroots opposition to the religious establishment continues with thousands of courageous individuals already having been incarcerated and hundreds killed in the fight for religious and democratic freedoms.

Journalists in the country are being incarcerated and the government is stifling nearly all reports or images from Tehran and across the country. A high ranking Iranian cleric this morning endorsed the execution of protesters under Muslim law, and The U.S., Germany, and Britain are increasing the rhetoric condemning the actions of the establishment government -- as they well should.

Individuals in Iran are dying in a fight for freedom that could well alter the shape of the Middle East and of the world.

These events welcome a debate over the balance between the need to protect human rights and freedom of speech and religion weighed against the right of nations to govern they're territory sovereignly.

It welcomes a debate about the role religion should play in government, and a discussion about the differences between major religions and how that shapes our world.

It is a sad but fascinating conflict and its outcome -- one way or the other -- will have a profound effect on our world.

Yet, instead of facilitating these important and consequential discussions, the U.S. news dedicates its time and space to the absurd life and sudden death of a celebrity.

And that's just in Iran.

Here in the U.S. Federal Policy Makers prepare to vote on climate change legislation that will profoundly impact the future of our country -- It's time to act to address global warming and it looks like Congress is finally poised to do it.

This bill, The American Clean Energy And Security Act (ACES) will shape the future of American energy policy as we ween ourselves off of fossil fuels and will likely be voted on in the next couple of weeks, yet you'll find very little coverage of the bill on television news. Especially, when there's something far more sensational -- and far less consequential -- occuring.

Finally, more deserving of coverage than the Jackson scandal, is the fact that members of Congress and the White House are currently attempting to do what so many have failed at in the past -- reform and make sense of our health care system.

There are deep, deep injustices in our health care system as it currently operates, and I sincerely hope that this administration and this Congress can find a way to ensure all Americans receive effective and affordable health care. It will not be easy and there are many challenges -- but few things worth doing are easy and fixing health care is the right thing to do. This issue hits close to home with me, and you can expect to hear more in the coming weeks and months.

With so much of consequence going on in the world, the nausea from the cytoxin has passed, but I had trouble holding down my lunch (and my temper) when the national news played footage of someone being interviewed on the street who had this to say of today's events:

"I Feel Like the World has Lost a Terrific Dancer."

Wow. I can only imagine what the great journalists of the industry's hay-day would think of today's media. Actually I can -- they would be ashamed.

If there is a heaven (and I have no intention of getting there any time soon) the nightly TV news will be narrated by Walter Kronkite and Tim Russert, the radio news will be reported by Edward R. Murrow (where he got his start), and that the pages of the newspapers will be filled with journalist as brave, talented, dedicated as Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein.

Here on Earth we'll need to continue to search for good, consequential news coverage as one pans for gold (It's still out there as there still are many very talented and dedicated journalists around -- I work closely with many of them). Until a revolution occurs across the industry, however, we'll have to put up with the senseless "infotainment" that dominates the pages, broadcasts, and hours of today's news media.

And there's my two-cents worth.

I hope everyone has a terrific and enjoyable summer weekend!

Sam

My Last First Dose of a Chemo Drug?

This weekend, I headed up north with some lingering steroid withdrawal. As it turns out, walking the beach watching storm clouds role over the Porcupine Mountains, listening to some Bruce Springstein, reading some John Steinbeck, and bouncing around in our old tub fishing on Lake Superior, all proved to have a curative property well beyond any medication I could have taken for steroid withdrawal.

I even got bit by a tick (no big worries it was a bear tick -- not the Lymes-carrying deer tick). I derived a strange if a bit sadistic pleasure knowing that the blood-sucker's last meal was laden with chemo-- that parasite picked the wrong host.

It was an all-around terrific weekend of recovery. No fish, but also no complaints.

Yesterday found me back in the clinic to see if my blood counts were high enough to proceed to the second half of delayed intensification (rough chemo round #4 of 6).

Technically in order to proceed onto the second half of this cycle, we were supposed to wait until my neutrophil (bacteria fighting white blood cells) count was 750 and my platelet count was at or above 75.

The platelets did their duty (112), but the sluggish neutrophils were just below 500.

Both my Doc and I were anxious to stick a needle in my back and keep plugging away, and luckily my study coordinator found a footnote in the back of the protocol that says there's no need to wait to continue because of immune suppression alone -- As long as I'm healthy and there's no active infection, I could continue.

Because I feel healthy as a horse -- This statement might be a bit hyperbolic considering the steroids left me soft and my legs so weak I couldn't run 4 strides if a hungry, ornery grizzly bear were nipping at my heels -- so, let me restart:

Because I feel healthy as a horse considering I've been through 7 months of chemo, we decided to proceed.

I like this. To use a favorite if overused cliche, it fits my general "go big or go home," philosophy of life and keeps us moving forward instead of waiting -- I hate waiting.

This is going to be another really rough stretch, but because we started yesterday, if we stay on schedule, I should be feeling really well again by the end of July and have a great deal of the summer left to enjoy -- and fish.

So yesterday was another spinal tap with chemo (methotrexate on the mind today) and a big 'ole bag of cytoxin -- one of the more notoriously rough chemo drugs. Last night and for the next three I'll be injecting myself with my old friend cytarabine -- my least favorite chemo drug, and last night I took my first dose of another oral chemo drug Thioguanine.

If all goes well, and this protocol kicks the hell out of the leukemia such that it never comes back, last night's dose of Thioguanine was a real landmark -- my last first dose of a new chemo drug.

In celebration of this event, I thought it fitting to put together a "Sam's reference guide to chemo drugs and their side effects." Being on so many drugs, it's often difficult to figure out which side effects belong to which drugs, but being at this long enough I've figured a great deal out.

Now a couple of important notes -- These are side effects i've dealt with over the course of seven months -- reading through it all at one time will make it look like the last seven months have been miserable. Truthfully, it has been miserable at times, but the vast majority of the time i've experienced a couple of side effects at a time and its been more than tolerable.

It's also important to note that everyone who goes through chemo experiences wildly different side effects; what you'll find below is not what the doctors say the side effects are, it's what I've experienced personally. Someone reading this who might also get chemo may experience very different effects.

I've said before that one of the many purposes of this blog is to record my journey openly and honestly. As humans we tend not to be honest about our experience, especially when it comes to something as intimate as our bodies. I've always tried, and will continue to try, to buck this trend. This is all a part of life. Medically squeamish beware.

I figure this list will act as a reference for me in the future as I take these drugs-- and hopefully as a reminder of rougher days gone by...

And, without further adeiu...

"Sam's No-Holds-Barred Guide to Chemo Drugs and Their Side Effects -- In Order of Drugs Recieved"

1. Cytarabine Administered to the Spinal Fluid:
Effects: Severe and Sudden onset of nausea; spinal headache.

2. Prednisone (Oral Steroid):
Effects: Irritabillity; Sleeplessness; Weakness/Muscle loss; Weight gain in cheeks, shoulders and stomach; Insatiable appetite; Severe acid reflux; Loss of inner monologue; Delusions of grandeur; severe A.D.D.

Withdrawal effects: Severe bone and joint pain; severe muscle weakness and tremors; feeling that something is lodged in lungs, esophogas and chest; extreme fear; loss of 7-10 pounds of water weight in single night; extreme depression; hallucinations at night.

3. Vincristine (IV):
Effects: Neuropathy -- numbness in my hands and feet; cramps in hands and feet; testicular pain and tenderness; temporary impotence (thank god it's temporary -- this lead to a scary couple of weeks!)

4. Daunorubicin (IV):
Effects: Gas and Bloating

5. PEG-Asparaginase (Two shots injected into glutes)
Effects: Severe Fatigue, Sleeplessness, Flu-like symptoms

6. Methotrexate administered in spinal fluid:
Effects: Severe fatigue; Occasional mild headaches; irritability; loss of sense of humor for 3-5 days; slowed cognitive ability for 2-5 days

7. Cyclophosphamide (alias: Cytoxin) (IV):
Effects: Severe fatigue; Lowered red blood counts sufficient to make me extremely anemic and require red blood transfusions; lowered platelet counts sufficient to cause nose bleeds and require platelet transfusions; severely suppressed immune system sufficient that the lab technicians could not even count my neutrophils.

8. Self-Administered Cytarabine shots:
Effects: All of the same as cytoxin + Nausea.

9. Mercaptopurine (taken orally at home):
Effects: Lowered blood counts.

10. Methotrexate (IV):
Effects: Fatigue; Diahrea at higher doses; hot flashes at higher doses; lowered blood counts at higher doses

11. Doxorubicin (IV):
Effects: Gas, Bloating and Diarea sufficient to cause rectal bleeding (this made for a fun week...)

12. Dexamethasone (Oral Steroid):
Effects: Same as prednisone only exagerated + Amnesia and memory loss.

Withdrawal Effects: Same as prednisone only to a much, much greater degree.

13. Thioguanine (Oral):
Effects: ???... I'll have to report back. I'm now two doses in and haven't felt a thing (knocking on wood)

Well, that exhausts my list of chemo drugs. While some of the side effects have been and will continue to be rough, I will try never to complain so long as they share one effect: killing the leukemia. Life is a beautiful, beautiful thing and I hope to stick around for as long as possible, and it is these miraculous drugs that give me hope.

It is my sincere hope that doctors and medicine only get better so my fellow leukemia-fighters of the future can not only all be cured but can do so without all of the side effects of the current treatment protocol.

Take care and stay cool in this crazy heat,

Sam


Shout Outs:

SO to Shelly: It was great seeing you, have fun at the Mall of America!
SO to Pete-o: Thanks for driving back to see me, it was great to BS with you and I appreciate it very much.
SO to Stuart: I'm glad you're feeling on the up and up.
SO to Dennis: Blast that mother ship.
SO to Annie: Sorry I had to break our weekend plans... We'll have to reschedule...
SO to Sally Mode: Sorry I've been slow getting a hold of you... I promise i will eventually...
SO to the Brew Crew for tonight's great game.

Surviving Steroid Withdrawal on the Summer Solstice

Take a good look at the photos above. Without these two, I never could have made it through this week -- Severe steroid withdrawal, round IV.

Much to the chagrin of Mum and Katie, I'm usually a "grit-your-teeth-and-bear-it" kind of a guy. I hate taking anything for pain, it just never seems right. In 6 months of chemo prior to this week I had used a single "as needed" bottle of liquid Tylenol, a fact I was rather proud of -- I really hate the idea of pain meds.

I knew coming off the steroids would be bad, I've done it before and I felt ready. I had no idea what was to come.

Before I begin this week's story of steroid withdrawal, I must pause and explain a back story: Katie just graduated from UW and began working at a full-time position for the first time in her life last week. She's always worked extraordinarily hard, but there certainly is a transition between going to school and getting up at 6:30am to complete the 8-5 Monday to Friday grind of a work week (especially when you're like me and never went to classes scheduled before noon at school).

On top of the difficult adjustment a normal young adult would have to make as they transition from college to the professional world, she has to deal with the tasks of caring for a severely stubborn boyfriend fighting leukemia. So, on a good, normal day she now gets up early, gets ready for work, helps me get ready for work, goes to work all day, helps set up our upcoming move during her lunch hour, finishes work, runs errands for me like going to the grocery store or pharmacy, and then comes right back home to help take care of me for the night.

And in return for all of this -- if she's lucky and I'm having a good day -- I'll cook her dinner -- Which she'll then likely need to clean up from because I'm too tired.

Now I'm a pretty darn good cook, but that somehow still doesn't seem like a very fair trade... and that's on a good week...

Back to this week...

Wednesday night the bone pain of steroid withdrawal started as expected and I actually took a dose of Tylenol at around 11:30pm -- if I've learned one thing it is that when I come off the drugs I need to sleep whenever I can and I thought this might help. When I went to bed the pain was around that of a persistent and nagging toothache in my hips and legs -- pretty typical of steroid withdrawal.

I then awoke in the middle of the night with intense pain in all of my bones and joints "Wow, time for more Tylenol" I thought to myself.

I got up, looked at my watch, and it was only 12:30am. It would be another 5 hours before I could take more Tylenol, and clearly it wasn't even going to begin to mask the pain.

After writhing in bed for about 20 minutes I decided I needed to try to let Katie sleep and retreated to the futon in a futile attempt to distract myself from the pain with television. I lay watching "Mad Men," a truly great show, but the pain left me entirely incapable of watching in any meaningful way. It felt as though all of the bones in my body were splitting and there was no position, no movement, that would make it cease.

Mercifully, I was finally able to get about an hour of sleep between 4am and 5am on the futon, but when I went back to bed at 5am was left writhing in pain keeping Katie awake. By this point all of my bones and joints constantly ached with a toothache-like pain that would not go away.

On top of the general steady, aching pain, every now and again I would feel as though someone were slowly and methodically breaking certain bones in my body leaving me unable to control my breathe, tears rolling down my face and shaking. I wanted so badly to put on a brave face and pretend that it didn't hurt so bad because I could see Katie suffering in my pain, but was left entirely without control.

Katie spent the morning with me trying to make me as comfortable as possible. "We just need to wait this out, I'll be okay," I kept telling her -- and I knew that it was true.

Steroid withdrawal and the pain associated with it is something that only time will fix. I may writhe in pain and tears may stream down my face, but it will pass. While I had rarely experienced such intense pain, I was still in very good spirits. Having gone through it before and knowing that it will get better put me in a much, much better psychological place than when I first went through steroid withdrawal.

So, after getting about 3 hours of sleep because of my writhing and groaning, after spending the morning comforting me, Katie headed into work and let Mum take over taking care of me -- a changing of the guards.

When I come off of steroids I am completely useless, these two do everything for me. They help me out of bed, they get my meds ready and measure them, they get me food and water and clean up after me, make my bed, help me get down stairs and into a car -- there are times when I literally can't do a darn thing for myself and they take over without complaint. This is on top of the many, many tasks (cleaning, disinfecting, laundry, errands, dishes...) they help me out with on a daily basis just so that I can preserve my energy to go to work when I'm healthy enough to make it into the office.

All of Thursday was spent in intense pain. In the morning we went to the clinic to have labs drawn because I was dreaming of heading north this weekend, but dealing with some bleeding issues and wanted to make sure my counts were high enough that if I were able to go that I wouldn't bleed to death on the shores of Lake Superior... While there we asked the nurse how best to deal with the pain. She said the worst should be over and it should only get better from here -- what a relief.

This turned out to be wrong...

When we got back from the clinic, try as I might, I could not distract myself from the pain. Tylenol did nothing. I could not sleep to escape the pain -- it was too intense. Working, reading books, listening to music, watching TV or movies all proved fruitless, the pain was simply too intense to get off my mind. I felt like I was in labor. I was in constant pain with pulses that would make my eyes tear and I'd groan and hyperventilate. My poor mother stuck it out with me all day, waiting on me hand and foot as I repeatedly made a dramatic scene of the pain I was in.

Katie came home and took a short nap and ate dinner as I took a shower. After the shower I lay in bed, pain unrelenting.

Around this time my sister, Kate, called and warned that intense storms were forecast for Mad-town. "They're saying there might be baseball-sized hail and tornadoes," she warned. I get excited about big storms -- I love them -- but I could have cared less.

My brain was entirely saturated with pain. It was all I could comprehend. In 48 hours I had slept just 3 and hadn't once been able to escape or distract myself from the bone and joint pain of steroid withdrawal. Laying in bed, wide awake I realized that I was on the verge of madness from the pain-- I was close to snapping and feared what would happen if I didn't find some sort of relief... All I could think about was finding an escape from the pain, the thought of relief was one of euphoria... Nothing else mattered... I went to talk to Katie to figure out what to do.

Katie called the on-call Doctor to see if he'd prescribe something to ease the pain or help me sleep. Storm clouds grew darker and darker outside as we waited for a call back -- me growing ever more crazy and restless by the minute. After a half hour, Katie called back.

"The on-call Dr. doesn't seem to be picking up his phone." the operator informed Katie.

Kind of defeats the purpose, doesn't it?

Finally he called back and said he would happily prescribe some Tylenol with Codeine which should help quickly. He just needed to figure out a 24 hour pharmacy that would fill the prescription. Unfortunately that pharmacy ended up being on the opposite end of town.

So, in the midst of a severe thunderstorm warning and tornado watch, Katie headed out in the middle of the night in torrential rains and lightning to cross town to fill the prescription the Dr. had called in for me. She returned in an intense storm and by midnight the codeine had taken its effect letting me get a couple hours of sleep and a bit of relief from the pain. The absence of pain was the most euphoric feeling after simmering in it for so long. Katie stayed by me the whole stormy night, catching a couple hours of fitful sleep on the floor next to me (I was sleeping on the couch). At 6:30am Friday morning she was back up getting ready to go to work, without complaint. She was a real lifesaver.

And for all of this, for a nearly sleepless, stressful week from hell -- I got up early to make her breakfast before work. Cinnamon roll french toast w/ fruit and cheesy eggs. It was good, but it hardly seems like a fair trade off...

And Mum got to clean it all up.

So, to wrap this up, don't worry or feel sorry for me and know that I'm doing well (I'm happy as a clam writing this post from a porch overlooking Lake Superior and while the pain hasn't completely gone away, it now feels as though I ran a marathon yesterday as opposed to being bludgeoned repeatedly with hammers...)

Do however take another long look at the photos of Mum and Katie above, and if you should see them around town -- be extra nice to them. They deserve it.

Take care,

Sam

A Great Weekend and A Night of Classic Americana

Life really is an unbelievably beautiful experience. I have always loved life and lived with a carpe diem mentality that has led others to occasionally label me as spontaneous and fun-loving at best, a bit too easy-going, sporadic, and carefree at worst. Yet, I have no regrets. It is how I chose to live my life pre-cancer, and I wouldn't change a thing if given the opportunity.

As much as I enjoyed life and experience before cancer, I have said before, and will say again, that it is in contrast that we find the most happiness.

Cancer sucks, there is no question. If I am honest -- and I'm not looking for sympathy but rather write for you and myself in the search for raw and unabated truth -- I never considered how much we can suffer psychologically and physically as individuals until I was diagnosed and began treatment.

Yet, I cannot completely reject cancer and the suffering it has caused because it has resulted in a deprivation and contrast that makes life experiences that were enjoyable but regular events pre-cancer, amazing and euphoric experiences in a post-cancer world.

This lens on life makes me appreciate weekends like this last and nights like tonight -- ones that would have been pedestrian to me one year ago -- in ways that would be impossible without the suffering and insecurity that cancer and treatment have brought.

This weekend Katie and I were able to head up to Upper Michigan and the Big Lake, Lake Superior. Arriving Friday night, I awoke at dawn to wake Dad up to head out on the Big Lake, as it was a beautiful calm day, the first I've been healthy enough to be up north when the weather would permit us to get out on the Big Lake after some fish -- I've never hidden my connection to the big lake, and fishing on it has quickly become a a religious experience for me.

After grabbing some gas station breakfast sandwiches from the M64 Marathon -- an early morning fishing tradition, Dad pushed me out in the boat and pulled the trailer out to go park. After sliding out into the Ontonagon river near its mouth at Lake Superior, I went to turn the boat to the pier but heard snap, snap, snap and the motor wouldn't turn to the right...

"Sh*t."

After getting back to the pier using crafty and well executed series of left hand turns we pulled the boat back onto the trailer and to the local marina -- which was closed. We then headed to the cabin to examine our options. After calling across Upper Michigan, it appeared that our hopes of getting out on the big boat were lost so I pushed the kayak out and paddled around.

It was great to get out on the lake silently paddling on a beautiful morning -- a broken boat ended up being a blessing in disguise. Five minutes out and a pair of common loons surfaced not 15 feet from me on the calm cool water calling and displaying, a truly beautiful sight. Katie was able to snap a couple of pictures of a loon fishing next to me as I tied on a spoon to fish myself:




After coming back in, I went to work again trying to find someone to fix the big boat. My friend, Schmidty, is now back in Wisconsin from D.C. and was planning to come up to visit and I very much wanted to get out on the water with him if possible. We found a mechanic willing to take a look at it, but the steering column was busted, needed replacing, and there wasn't a part in town, so the big boat was out.

Being a calm day, My dad offered to head to back to Rhinelander to get the small fishing boat. We don't have half the fishing equipment we need on the little boat, but with a day so calm at least we could get out on the big lake and drag some baits through the water. He headed down and retrieved the boat as I rested and recuperated from a sudden bout of queasiness (chemo does have some drawbacks after all). He spent four hours driving to get the boat so I could get out on the Big Lake which I have been dreaming of for months, and I cannot thank him enough for doing it.

And it paid off. I wouldn't have cared whether we caught anything or not, but Schmidty caught a great Lake Trout as the sun set (they'll be referred to as Lakers from here on out). He fought it like a girl, but I can't blame him because some just weren't blessed with innate masculine instincts for doing things like fighting fish -- sorry, Buddy, I've got to give you a hard time.

It was great to get to see my old friend. I'm happy to have him back in Wisconsin. He's a brilliant and talented individual whose serving Teach for America, and his presence will undoubtedly have a profound impact on the lives of many youth that need strong role models in their lives. Our state needs smart, dedicated, civilly minded people like Schmidty here and truthfully I'm just happy to have a close friend back near me again. Here's a picture of us with his fish:



Today was another great day -- a day and night of classic Americana that would have been a regular night a year ago but was made amazing through the lens that is cancer.

This morning I woke up and not having to be into the clinic until 10:00 prepared a pot roast for dinner in the crock pot with potatoes and onions. After labs and a productive afternoon at work I stopped by Fraboni's Italian Market for some cold pasta salad and potato salad as sides (an amazing treat I don't get to eat when my counts are low) and then my local east side farmer's market for some freshly picked organic sweet carrots to add to the pot. Mom, Katie and I enjoyed our wonderful dinner, then watched the beginning of the Brewer game.

Well into the seventh inning of tonight's great game, Katie and I got the hankering for some ice cream so headed to Micheal's Frozen Custard -- a throw-back root beer style ice cream and burger shack for some frozen malts and french fries. We then drove our bounty to Olbrich park and sat in the car enjoying our fries and ice cream, listening to the smooth voice of Bob Ueker calling the end of the Brewer game while overlooking Madison's beautiful skyline across Lake Mendota. It was a quintessentially American way of spending a summer night and more beautiful to me than I can explain with words.

And to cap it all off, the Brew Crew pulled out another fun victory -- icing on the cake of a wonderful night.

Well a quick medical update before I go -- Labs only today and the last day of steroids so a couple of rough days lie ahead but I'm ready for it. The counts are starting to come down so it looks like it will be close next week on whether they'll be high enough to move on to the second -- rougher -- half of this stage. If not we'll have to delay a bit until they come back up. I hope to move on but without control am content to wait, see, and do whatever is necessary.

Comment question of the day:

Send me a life update -- what are you up to, what are you excited about, what fun is going on this summer???

Shout Outs:

SO to Shelly: Seeing your smiling face in the clinic always brightens my day. You have been a friend and inspiration to me since the day I met you.
SO to Schmidty: Great seeing you this weekend, Buddy. How was the fish?
SO to Cousin Diane: Thanks for the card and book -- I'm enjoying it immensely.
SO to Abby and Alex: It was great getting to see you and hang out with you last week, we should do it again sometime soon.
SO to Stuart: I hope you're feeling well and that your counts are on 'el rebound
SO to Momma Amy, the Little One and the New Grandparents: I can't wait to meet the new member of the family.
SO to Grandpa Weis: I hope you're recovering well and getting plenty of rest.
SO to Philly: You're missed in Madison, but I sincerely hope you're having fun in the woods of DC.
SO to Grandma Giles: I hope you're feeling well and getting through the steroids -- I understand how rough they can be.
SO to Scott: I hope this early summer finds you well

All right, because it seems fitting I'll end with an old phrase I overused far too often on wonderful alcohol-induced summer nights that fill my memory with joy. It's a bit crude but seems eerily relevant and perhaps foreshadowing given the events of the last year. In life, writing, and this blog my goal is to search out truth, raw wisdom, and happiness. If one phrase captures my philosophy of life, if my experience and journey can imprint one idea in the minds of others, I hope that I can convince them to examine what is important and consider my lens on life:

"Life's too short -- Carpe the F-ing Diem."

Sam

A Little Fear and Loathing in Madison

I lay in the bed in an unfamiliar room, people standing all around me, my heart racing.

"Is this normal?"

I feel liquid entering the back of my leg.

"A shot of magnesium will do that every time," a voice responds.

"What?"

My heart races faster and faster, feeling as though it's beating out of my chest. I sweat on the bed as more and more people gather around me with keen interest. I look up to see a crazed-looking Doctor in safety goggles holding a bag of sparking, glowing liquid that is spilling over the corners of the bag.

"Is that liquid magnesium?" I query.

"YES!" the doctor screams growing more excited and crazed by the second.

The room grows dark with the exception of the slag-like drippings of the liquid magnesium that illuminate the doctor's face. Suddenly the slag begins hitting my legs. My body immediately becomes electrified. I am transparent, glowing, and hovering above the bed. Everything goes still and I see myself in a state of suspended animation.

The scene which had been disjointed and characterized by static suddenly becomes quiet, peaceful. I hover, glowing above the bed, then I hear the voice of the doctor again -- and this time the voice and face are familiar.

Gene Wilde's Dr. Frankenstein character stands in the corner of the room, filling the roll of the crazed doctor. Starting with talking, then building to chanting, then screaming.

"IT'S WORKING!"
"IT'S WORKING!"
"YOU WILL COME BACK!"
"YOU WILL REBUILD!"
"ARE YOU READY?"
"GET READY!"
"NOW!!!"

My body falls out of the suspended animation, crashing down to the bed.

I wake up looking out the window and hearing the familiar noises of Willy St. at 10:00am.

Thank God, back to reality again.

This is one of about 8 hallucinations I had last night -- yup, steroid withdrawal has come around again. At least this time I knew that it was coming and know that it will eventually go away. The other good news is that my mind seems to come back to me with the morning whereas when I came off of my first round of steroids months ago I felt as crazy for a full week.

I share this with you all, knowing full well many of you will think I'm losing my mind, but it's all part of the experience, and I share it because it's fascinating if a bit terrifying. The good news is that the peak of steroid withdrawal seems to have passed, so other than some pain management and feeling a bit strung out from hallucinating at nights -- it should only get better for a few days.

Then next week is another week of steroids and we'll get to do it all over again.

Despite some steroid withdrawal I have had a very good couple of weeks. Still getting lots of work done and enjoying life.

I was healthy enough to head north last weekend to see the Gitchi Gummi, hike a canoe into a favorite Brook Trout fishing haunt (And by hike a canoe I mean my Dad pulled the canoe two miles as I walked behind it -- Thanks, Dad.), and go fishing with my Grandfather.

My Brook Trout Fishing Hole is a completely undeveloped lake in a maple forest in Upper Michigan. In about two hours we saw mallard ducks, mergansers, two loons (one of them displaying), an eagle, painted turtles, a doe on the hiking trail, Orioles, and more Brook Trout surfacing than I could count. It felt so good to get out in the wilderness and breathe in all the fresh air.

It was eden, and as good of a weekend as a young lad can ask for. Here's a photo of me throwing a stick into the Big Lake for our Slum-Doodle, Wyatt:




This weekend I'm taking it a little more easy -- Looks like a movie and baseball day today as my body grows accustomed to not taking straight metabolized adrenaline.

Once again I will finish my post with some old advice -- Don't do drugs. Unless they're saving your life. And for those of you who say "But it expands your mind." I'm more concerned with getting my mind back in the box -- it's plenty expanse without the aid of mind-altering substances.

Till Next Time,

Sam