Blog Strong

"Normal-looking" marrow

2010-01-25T18:07:00.000-06:00

Hey All,

Well, it's not often that I get to say anything about myself is "normal," but I just wanted to pass along a happy update that my marrow "looked normal" according to my Doc. last week.

We've now started maintenance, and I'm still crazy-tired from recovering from the last round. I'm rather beat down, and getting a little impatient to feel better, but I just keep reminding myself that it's been a long, long road, and I should expect recovering to take some time as well.

Almost all of my energy is going into getting back to work (I apologize for not updating more promptly), but I promise to have some longer and more reflective posts once I get a bit of energy back.

Thank you all so much for your support and for the time being I'm going to continue sleeping, getting back to work, and enjoying being cancer free!

I hope this night finds you all well.

sam

Hospital Stay #3: "We're going to need a doctor and a priest" edition

2010-01-11T20:56:00.000-06:00

Sometimes life is all too predictable. I wrote in my last post that I had just finished my last shot of Cytarabine, one of the drugs responsible for putting me in the hospital. Last week, I began feeling really off and woke up one day with a low grade fever and absolutely no design on getting out of bed.

I asked Mum to email my study coordinator to see if I could get into the see the doctor the following day, and within ten minutes one of his head nurses called and said "you need to come in right away, you have 0 neutrophils."

We headed right in, and it's a good thing, as by the time we got in there I was grasping to maintain conciousness. I knew it wasn't just in my head when one of the nurses saw me staggering, grabbed me by the armpit to brace me and walked me straight back through the "employees only" hall to get me to the closest bed in the chemo room. Turns out the fever had dehydrated me something fierce so I had crazy-low blood pressure.

They got some fluids in me, took 60 ml of blood to check for infection (that's a lot), took a chest x-ray complete with adhesive nipple markers applied by the technician (always fun), and then admitted me to the hospital.

I was put in room B6/660, and immediately thought "it can't be good to be in a room that has the mark of satan." When the nurse case manager asked if I'd like to see a chaplain or religious leader, I said no, but chuckled as I thought I should say "I'm going to need a doctor and a priest."

I apologize to all of you who haven't seen "The Exorcist" and are completely lost.

To make a long story short, I spent a few nights in the hospital, but the blood cultures, chest x-ray, chest CT Scan, and Sinus CT scan all came back clear, so at my request they sent me home early enough to watch the Packer game at home.

I'm now recovering at home and sleeping about 18 hours a day, but my marrow seems to be recovering quite well given it was doing next to nothing for about 3 weeks.

Thursday I'm scheduled for what I hope to be my last bone marrow. If that comes back clean, we'll move onto maintanence and I should actually get my life back. If it doesn't, well, instead of reaching the summit this climb will get a hell of a lot steeper.

It's strange and a bit unnerving having so much ride on a single test -- good vibes would be very, very much appreciated.

All right, usually I try to keep some semblance of order in my posts, but this isn't expository writing class, and this past year and change has been crazy, so I'm going to spew some random thoughts...

As we come toward what I hope to be the end of rough treatment, even after a full year, I'm still left in disbelief over the events of the last year. I've been through something that very few people can comprehend, and I wouldn't want them to be able to. It sounds funny, but even I have troubles comprehending or believing what I've gone through in the last year. I figure that if I'm able to make it through the door and back to the other side, I'll be able to use the phrase "I've been through hell and back" with a great deal more authenticity then most.

If I'm completely honest, I haven't really allowed myself to deal emotionally with the reality of everything that has happened. If this test comes back clean, I'm a little concerned that the floodgates will open. There are so many people who have helped me out so much without even realizing it, people that I just want to bear hug, but I probably won't because I know that I'll start crying like a 12 year old girl, and uncontrollable blubbering and rubbing one's snotty face all over someone's shoulder is neither a good way to thank them, nor a good public look.

Finally, I'm a bit conflicted because I feel like going through cancer treatment should be a life changing event, and I feel as though all I want is to return to my life as it was before cancer.

You see all of the life lessons that cancer brings with it -- never take time, friends and family, or health for granted; most things just aren't worth getting upset over; life isn't fair, get over it; and others -- are all lessons I learned when my Mum went through cancer treatment.

As a result, for as long as I can remember, I've lived my life with these understandings. My friends all know that my love of life, adventure and tomfoolery, are all nearly unmatched. I've always tried to squeeze every bit of life out of every day -- a habit that has lead to inebriated and euphoric late night skinny dipping in summer thunderstorms and late night discussions with friends of such length that I've rolled home on my bike as the light of dawn appears on the horizon. I've always loved and laughed freely, and always accepted people for who they are -- In my opinion the true key to happiness.

The more I think -- the more I write -- the more I realize that instead of being concerned that cancer hasn't greatly altered my perspective on life, that I should be grateful that I've lived such a fun, fulfilling, and exciting life, that I just want to get it back.

I can be accused of a lot of things, but no one can accuse me of failing to squeeze every last drip out of life.

All right, enough random thoughts for one night. Thanks for being a portal to bounce my thoughts off of.

I hope this night finds you all enjoying life.

Sam

A Cytotoxic Cell-abration -and- Declaring Nuclear War on Leukemia

2009-12-17T22:21:00.005-06:00

I just finished my 32nd, and last scheduled, subcutaneous shot of cytarabine. 32 times I have pinched up skin in my stomach or leg, jabbed a needle into my stomach or thigh, and meticulously emptied this toxic drug into my system.

This follows last Monday's final scheduled bag of cytoxin.

Like most chemo drugs, I have a love-hate relationship with cytarabine and cytoxin.

Both of these drugs are intentionally designed to kill rapidly dividing cells in the body including not only cancer cells, but also healthy hair cells, cells that make finger and toe nails, cells in the mouth and digestive track, and cells in the blood and bone marrow.

These are the only drugs that have made me vomit, they have decimated my blood counts and brought my immune system to zero. They've sapped my energy for weeks, and made me black out whole days or weeks. They led to July's infamous infection that put me in the hospital for 9 days.

In short, they are not easy drugs to take.

But, without these drugs, there is almost no chance that I would be around tonight sitting next to a lit Christmas tree, listening to Bing Crosby and Bob Dylan Christmas music, and typing this post.

In many ways, engaging in chemo is very akin to declaring nuclear war on cancer. Like Truman's decision to bomb innocent civilians in Nagasaki and Hiroshima to end the Second World War, oncologists and their patients decide to drop an atomic bomb on the body in the hope that the death of millions of good cells will bring with them the cancer cells, and many more healthy cells will be safe to thrive as a result.

Tonight, even with my counts decimated to the point that I needed to go to the clinic for a bag of platelets and two bags of blood, I could not help but celebrate the fact that, if all goes well and I can avoid a relapse, never again will I need to dance with the vindictive little devils that are cytoxin and cytarabine.

Much like I hope to never see the use of real atomic weapons in my lifetime, I also hope to never attack my body with these cellularly atomic bombs again.

To quote one of my favorite holiday songs, let's hope for:

"A very Merry Christmas
And a Happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear
War is over, if you want it
War is over now."

All right, it is the holiday season, and one of the many goals of this blog is to encourage acts of good will. Last year, together, we raised well over $1000 dollars to help fund the construction of the Restoring Hope Transplant House near Madison. This brought me more happiness and cheer than you can imagine. So, in the spirit of the holiday season, here are some ideas to help out others and help make this world a better place.

1. Donate to the Transplant House Again.

The transplant house is still short of the money it needs to open its operation. It's founders have worked tirelessly for years trying to come up with the funds needed, and this is a cause worth supporting if you have money to charitably devote. You can learn more and help transplant patients by giving here :

2. Donate to Clean Wisconsin.

Clean Wisconsin is the non-profit environmental advocacy organization that I work for. We work diligently to keep Wisconsin's pristine areas clean, and restore those that are polluted. We focus on clean air, clean water, and push for clean energy. I work for this organization because I honestly feel that Clean Wisconsin is one of the most effective organizations at protecting and preserving our environment -- something important for a guy who treasures the outdoors as much as I do.

Beyond being a damn good environmental advocacy organization, Clean Wisconsin has been a family to me and has helped me through this last year -- unquestionably the toughest in my life. They've demonstrated their unrelenting support, stayed by me in the roughest of times, made me laugh, and made me feel normal throughout this whole absurdly crazy adventure.

I honestly don't know how I would have gotten this far without the organization and it's people, and I would strongly encourage you to give if you're able. You can learn more and donate here, and I promise we'll work hard to make your money matter.

3. Donate Blood.

Sometimes we don't have the extra cash to donate, but luckily, there are hundreds of ways we can volunteer our time (or our blood), to help out others.

This year I have needed to fill up on blood more often than I've had to fill up my Subaru. Without the nameless and faceless donors who so selflessly donated their blood and platelets, I never could have made it through chemo.

Please consider donating blood and helping out others, like me, who couldn't live without it.

All right, I hope this holiday season finds you all well and chocked full of merriment.

-Sam

Inquisitive Eyebrows -and- On the Road Again

2009-12-15T22:55:00.006-06:00

"Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise." These wise words from Thomas Gray generally apply to life. I'm now learning the hard way they're also applicable to my follicle state...

Because the chemo drugs knocked out all of my hair before radiation, I had no idea which hair loss was from chemo and which was from radiation.

Now that some of my hair is growing back, I was distressed (actually amused) to find that the outside of my eyebrows (within the field of radiation) remain completely bald, as the inside of my eyebrows begin to grow thickly for about 3/4 of an inch.

As a result, I now have a constant expression of puzzlement and inquisitiveness... At least I don't look angry like Uncle Leo (pictured).

So, if you should run into me on the street, I'm not confused -- it's just the eyebrows...

For a quick update, we're now back on track and I'm getting the rough stuff right now (the same stuff that put me in the hospital last time). It's beginning to hit me, but I'm so excited about getting close to a finish line that I remain in really good -- nearly euphoric -- spirits.

Last week Monday I got what I hope to be my final bag of cytoxin. I never thought getting cytoxin could be a celebration, but as I sat in the chair listening to music, I couldn't help but smile and rock out as I thought that this could well be the last of the toxic stuff that I watch drip into my veins.

Tuesday, snow, snow and more snow. 18 inches here in Madison. I was so excited that I headed out into the night for some "sidewalk skiing" despite my inability to find my poles. All went well until a few blocks away my skis began to slide out from under me and I went ass over teakettle in a valuable lesson regarding both Newton's Law and Karma (for gloating about a snowstorm.)

Not wanting to come in, as I would have felt like Ralphy from "A Christmas Story" who had just shot himself with the Red Rider BB Gun, I continued skiing with my elbow and my pride a bit worse for wear...

That night I had another 3am "here we go again," session of blagejeviching, and Wednesday morning I woke up unable to move my elbow as it swollen to a point that it looked as though I was trying to smuggle a racquetball under my skin.

It healed rather quickly, however, and I'm hopeful that I'll get back out on the skis this week -- with poles this time.

My good friend Phil has been in and out of town. It was great to see and spend some time with him. He and I know each other a little to well, and many who have spent time with us have laughed as he and I bicker like an old married couple. We really know how to get on each others nerves, but we have also shared some of our greatest adventures together, and it was fun both to goof around and to reminisce about absurd adventures of the past.

I've always meant to write some "Phil stories" on this blog, but I don't even know where to begin...

That's really most of the excitement. I'm entering what I expect to be a really rough three weeks, but eagerly anticipating getting it behind me -- and hopefully getting back to life.

Any good vibes you can spare would be appreciated.

Festive holiday vibes radiate toward all of you, from me.

Take care, and happy holidays,

sam

Stalling in the Soft White Snow

2009-12-04T00:14:00.005-06:00

There is something remarkably magic about the first angel-white snowfalls in winter. Every year, the first snow brings out the innocence and childlike enthusiasm in all of us. Like most signs of the changing seasons, snowfall renews and rejuvenates my spirit.

I can't help but become a small child filled with joy as I try to catch soft white flakes on my tongue during the first days and nights of snowfall. Like the city lights reflecting off the white roofs of houses, part of me glows from deep inside.

This year I've been fortunate to have two first snowfalls. Last week I drove through the beautiful deep woods of Northern Wisconsin on freshly-snowy gravel roads (a barn near Rhinelander is pictured above), and tonight in Madison streetlights reflecting off of snow lights up the streets and houses of my neighborhood.

Well, my counts were too low to start the last leg of rough chemo on Monday so the bad news is we seem to be currently stalled out. The good news, however, is that I feel great and have been fortunate to have the health to truly enjoy the first snowfalls of this winter.

Take Care,

Sam

###

The Silence and Sounds of Snow

As I sit in my apartment

sipping warm cider,

the snow falls silently

outside my windowsill.

The silence of this season’s

first late-night snowfall

provides peace, and

quiets my restless soul.

As I quietly and contentedly

watch the soft flakes silently fall,

it occurs to me that snow

also has many sounds.

Snow squeaks and whooshes

under my thin Rossi skis,

as I speedily glide through a

dense grove of evergreens.

It illicits the innocent laughter

of euphoric young children,

who sled and make snow-angels

on the school year’s first snowday.

Sometimes, after a snowfall,

the surface of the snow is Icy

and, as I walk, each step

provides a satisfying “Crunch!,”

reminiscent of a silver spoon

breaking the caramelized crust

of a freshly-torched crème brulee.

When I hear any of these

familiar sounds of snow,

my usually active mind

falls silent, and I slowly

drift into the strong

and wonderful memories

that these sounds summon.

As I watch the snow

fall silently outside my

windowsill, from the warmth

and comfort of my Apartment,

my restless soul feels quiet, and

I am simultaneously thankful

for both the silence as well as

the many distinctive sounds of snow.

Happy Hunting Season (and Thanksgiving...)

2009-11-27T00:01:00.012-06:00

Other than remarkably similar capitol buildings, the world I grew up in is entirely different than the Madison-world where I now live. Comparing the Northwoods to the Capital city is like comparing fried venison sausage to a vegan tofu sandwich, and I love them both for their strikingly different characters.

The locality where we grow up shapes us in profound ways, and as much as we might sometimes try to shed it, the character of our hometowns becomes part of who we are as individuals.

The antique guns that hang on the wall of my home office and the lamp with deer antlers that sits at my desk provide some proof that we may leave our hometowns, but our hometowns never leave us.

Last week my counts were still a little too low to begin treatment, so we decided to wait until this upcoming Monday to give it another shot. This actually worked out brilliantly as it allowed me to come home for Thanksgiving and spend time with family and friends.

This year I certainly have more to be thankful for than ever. Most of all, I am thankful simply for being here this Thanksgiving, and to have the opportunity to spend it at home with family and friends.

Driving around the Northwoods, one cannot escape noticing how different it is culturally from Madison. Hunting season up here is celebrated as fervently as religion. If you think I am over-exaggerating, I would urge you to enter a grocery store in Rhinelander the Friday before the opening of hunting season. Not only will the store be busier than any other time of year, but also 9 out of 10 of the shoppers will be wearing at least 3 articles of blaze orange clothing.

As we drove up, I laughed as I realized that nearly all of the messages on motels, restaurants, resorts, and other highway business signs read "Good Luck Hunters," and then included "Happy Thanksgiving," almost as an afterthought.

Hunting in the Northwoods is a holiday, a tradition, and a rite of passage so intimately tied to our culture that I cannot imagine life up here without it.

As I write, I notice that we have now moved from Thanksgiving Thursday to the aptly named Black Friday -- The largest retail shopping day of the year.

Every year, Americans get injured or even killed as mad mobs rush into Wal-Marts and Best Buys across the country in a rush to find the best sales.

I don't want to be overly critical, but what does it say about our society when in other cultures people may get trampled in religious pilgrimiges and in America we trample each other to death in a mad rush to purchase reduce-priced consumer goods.

While some may argue that Christianity is the most common religion in America, I might argue that it is in fact Materialism.

I hope that's not true. But, unfortunately, it's how I often feel.

Now, as avid readers of this blog will know, late-night consumption of sugary breakfast cereals is a guilty pleasure of mine. In fact, sugary bowls of Life, Lucky Charms, Frosted Flakes, and others often fuel me as I write for this blog.

Well, this Blog Strong blog post was fueled by Cocoa Krispies, and as I poured the box I couldn't help but read a big banner that explained "Helps Build Your Child's Immunity!..."

All of this time the answer to raising my neutrophil counts was right under my nose -- Looks like Monday I'll be eating Cocoa Krispies for breakfast...

I hope you all had a delightful and fun-filled Thanksgiving.

Sam

And finally, a poem to freak out my Madison friends...

“Opening Weekend”

On this foggy 40-degree morn

in Northern Wisconsin

the swift snaps of rifle-fire

continuously pierce the morning air,

sending me back years

to the old hunting camp.

Suddenly, I am once again the

twelve-year-old boy lying on

the 20-year-old couch, warmed by

a scratchy army-surplus wool blanket,

the night before my first day of hunting season.

Too excited to sleep, I lie awake until

3am, fully knowing that I must rise

at four-thirty to beat the dawn to the

tree stand constructed years before

by my father and grandfather.

I load and shoulder my

bolt-action Remington 243,

and walk through thick trees

in darkness, trying to contain

a strong feeling of fright.

There is something about the

deep woods in darkness that

closes in on even the most

seasoned outdoorsman,

especially an Imaginative

outdoorsman.

II.

After getting to the stand, I

shiver in the dark, and sleep

soundly for two hours.

When I wake up, two deer

stand at my bait pile.

As the blurriness of

sleep leaves my eyes,

I realize that it’s Erick and Amil,

two twin yearling bucks that I

recognize from bow season.

I sip coffee as these twins

crunch away on the corn and

apples of my bait pile.

I utter some comments

as if they can comprehend.

“Are you two as cold as I

am on this crisp morning?”

(I’m sure most hunters do such

strange things; it can get quite

lonely out in the woods alone.

Most, however, likely would

never admit to such

bizarre behavior.)

At 8am I unload my rifle

and scurry down the

wooden ladder of my stand.

Time for breakfast.

I laugh as I walk by

Erick and Amil crunching corn,

looking back at me

lacking any trace of concern.

“The big bad hunter has hunger,”

I explain.

“You know, you two

should really be a great

deal more careful, or

you could get shot,”

I say as I laugh

heartily by myself.

III.

The smell of sweet rolls

baking, as well as

camp eggs and turkey sausage

sizzling in cast iron pans

meets the smell of pancakes

and maple syrup, providing an

unparalleled olfactory experience

as I enter the warmth of the

steamy-windowed tar-paper shack.

Dad was the cook and always

the first back in the morning.

I was always second,

Grandpa third,

with Skubie and Josh

trading the fourth and

fifth positions.

(Coincidentally, this also seems to

rank how seriously each one of us

took deer hunting.

On second thought,

Perhaps that’s no coincidence at all.)

After the nearly endless layers of jackets

and insulation were removed,

we’d sit and wait patiently but hungrily

for the morning’s meal at the square

wooden table.

The sweet scent of kerosene from

an old lantern placed in the

center of this table would

weigh the warm air of the cabin.

When all was ready and warm,

Dad would bring pan after pan of

delicious steaming food.

The hunters would relay the morning’s sightings,

then bull-shit about where the big

bucks might be, as we gorged ourselves

on the breakfast Dad had prepared.

After breakfast, my day became divided

equally between reading on the couch

in the cabin, taking naps, and hunting.

I rarely shot anything.

This might be the result

of Grandpa’s and my

affinity for naming deer.

It wasn’t only Erick and Amil.

There was “Old Thumper,”

“Merdle,” and the aptly-named

“Three-Legged Leroy.”

In years of hunting,

I only shot one doe,

and only did so then

because I had a strong

craving for Venison.

Our hunting camp broke

all of the stereotypes.

After dinner, the five men

spent nights chatting,

reading, playing chess,

and building card houses

under the warm glow of

the kerosene lantern.

In my many

years of hunting,

I cannot remember

anyone ever having

so much as a single drink.

VI.

We sold the hunting land

and the cabin some time ago,

but the memories made there

will forever live in my mind’s eye.

I don’t miss hunting,

but I do deeply miss

our hunting camp.

Today the square table where we sat

for all of our camp breakfasts

sits in my apartment’s dining room.

The kerosene lantern that provided

the warm light for so many chess matches

and the construction of so many card houses

still sits atop that table.

Every time I catch the

sweet scent of Kerosene

weighing the air of our apartment,

I can’t help but find myself once again

back in the cabin during hunting season.

And this morning, as I awoke in Rhinelander

to the snapping sounds of rifle-fire,

I found myself once again a young boy

lying awake on a 20-year-old couch,

excited about his first hunting season.

One Year, How I Got Here -and- Blog Stong's First Birthday

2009-11-19T01:24:00.010-06:00

After writing that last post, I realized that it's been exactly one year since starting treatment.

One year ago today, right about this time, I was lying in bed wondering what the day, and the next year would bring.

One year ago today, my parents drove me to the hospital as I stared out the window, wondering if I would ever walk the streets of Madison again.

One year ago today, I was spending a night in the hospital for the first time in my life, frightened, and had no idea what to anticipate.

One year ago today, if I'm honest, I thought it unlikely that I'd be around to type this blog post one year later.

One year ago today, while sitting in a hospital bed, I wrote out what became the first post on this blog.

I like working at my desk better...

In the last year, there have been some rough patches when I thought I'd never make it through. There have been many.

But each and every one of these rough patches has been met by emails, cards, comments, and simple words of encouragement that have carried me through.

In short, you have all gotten me here today, and I'll never be able to thank you enough.

The picture above was drawn and written by my Best Bud Jacques, the son of my friend and former co-worker Shane. It hangs above my desk at my home office and I look at it every day. It is only one example of the thousands of mementos and messages that I keep that have helped me cross the treacherous seas of treatment over the last year.

I had originally planned on doing a long list of shout outs including everything that has helped carry me through then realized that there have been so many that I could never list them all and that to try and miss some would be an injustice.

The truth is that each and every person reading this post deserves my great thanks.

Thank you all for getting me here today. I appreciate all of the little things that you've done (including reading this blog) more than words can express.

Sam

On Yammering On and On -and- How Blogging's My New Drinking

2009-11-19T00:59:00.006-06:00

According to more emails and comments than I can keep track of, I seem to be making an awfully high number of women cry lately. As I said on the phone this evening, I just hope these are good tears and not bad ones.

Anyway, I thought it might be time to make people laugh a little as well, so the picture on the right is me (a few years back...) I include it as I'm currently getting "ready to dive back into chemo."

The last two weeks we’ve had a break from chemo resulting from low counts, and as a result, this last week I’m beginning to feel more myself than in more than a year and a half -- and it feels great.

For the first time in about as long as I can remember, I’m actually sleeping 6-9 hours a night, I’m energetic and can actually focus (a little – which is as much as I’ve ever been able to), I’m getting more work done than ever, and I’m actually useful around the house.

My weight is back within my normal 130-135 range for the first time since before I started chemo almost a year ago. Although I must admit that it’s a much softer 130, and that the weight has shifted from muscle to my cheeks and chin (Thank you, corticosteroids…)

I’ve been seeing all kinds of old friends and catching up, hosting movie nights, having people over for meals, and doing my best to get others inebriated.

Having this little break and getting a window to get back to my old ways feels awesome.

Even old dormant problems like tooth sensitivity and random bleeding from one spot in my mouth (no one’s ever been able to figure that one out…), that all disappeared when we started chemo, are now coming back. It’s strange to greet these problems like I would old friends – every time they pop back up I feel like saying “Oh, that’s right, I forgot about you. Where have you been hiding for the last year you sneaky little devil?”

While seeing and catching up with a lot of friends has been great, one concern about it is that I seem to have become a manic talker; I go on and on and on literally for hours with crazy-long story after story. Additionally, I’m writing absurdly long emails, updating my blog at a tornadic pace (Usually I shoot for once a week), and all of this is all on top of writing all day long for work.

And, all of this without any steroids in my system…

I was beginning to get very worried as I’ve always prided myself on being a good listener, and then I realized that, as I have explained in previous posts, I was born a story-teller and have always lived my life alternating between being around friends and telling stories and out in pursuit of adventure to ensure that I always have some new material.

Although I try my best to be a good listener, lately I often talk far too much to let my friends get many words in edgewise…

The very nature of treatment for Leukemia has prevented me from seeing many people often as I often completely lack both energy and immunity. The result is that I’ve had the craziest adventure of my life over the last year, and I have hardly seen any of my friends or family to tell them about it.

As a result, I have more material than I ever have, and I have thus become a temporary manic talker.

On top of all of this, I’m an intensely social individual who is often quarantined at home – working all day at home where I lack a whole lot of interaction doesn’t help a whole lot…

Thus, while at first concerned, I now have hope that I will have eventually caught up with everyone and I can stop yammering on and on. For the time being, I must apologize to the many, many people whose ear I’ve talked off over the last couple of weeks.

On the note of storytelling, I recently realized that blogging is my new drinking.

I used to go out late at night to bars with friends and spend hours exchanging stories. It wasn’t so much the drinking that I ever enjoyed (Okay, maybe a little), but rather it was the opportunity to sit for hours in an inviting and warm place in the company of good friends, that pulled me out into the night.

In this high-paced world, it’s difficult to slow down and focus on nothing but enjoying the company and conversation of others. A Pub or Tavern late at night with a few drinks is one of the few places I have found where this is possible.

That, or a campfire.

I recently had the realization that I tend to blog late at night and do so to share stories with my friends and family – just like drinking. I then always enjoy hearing their (your) stories in emails and comments. It’s a late-night exchange that fulfills most of the things that drinking used to – I just wish I could talk to you all face to face (and maybe have a whiskey or two…)

All right, tomorrow I’m back for counts and maybe starting the second half of round six.

Ahead we have 28 days of rough chemo once we start, then a break to let my counts recover, then a bone marrow biopsy to see if there’s any cancer left (This will be a really stressful week for me of the test followed by waiting for the results.)

As always, any good vibes you can spare would be very much appreciated.

Then, if all is clear, we’re looking at three years of “maintenance,” which is a fancy and friendly word for low-dose chemo. After a year of going to the clinic twice a week, going once a month seems absolutely unfathomable.

I’ve had a great break and this next round is going to be really, really rough, but with a finish line in sight I’m also ready for the final sprint. To use one of my old mantras:

Bring It On.

Sam

On a Legend -- A Poem about Grandpa "Dewey"

2009-11-15T00:37:00.029-06:00

"Hamburger Gravy"

At the market after work

I buy a package of ground beef

And some Yukon gold potatoes.

On the Gas Stove

I brown the hamburger,

Seasoning liberally with salt and pepper

Then add boiling water from the potato pan.

“The secret is to use the potato water,”

I turn to her and say.

“I know,” She says

“You tell me every time.”

After adding boullioun for flavor

And flour to thicken,

I smile as

The smell of the potatoes boiling

Along side the simmering gravy

Conjures strong and

Inescapable memories:

I’d wait impatiently on the pier,

Fishing rod in hand

For the infamous whistle

Of the old blue and tan Ford pick-up

Headed down South Rifle Road

At a break-neck pace.

The pitch caused by an undiagnosed air leak

was too high for the old man to hear.

It was not, however, too high for the neighbors to hear

And soon the truck became known in the neighborhood

As “Old Whistler”

You could hear her approaching for miles

Like the sound of a pre-pubescent freight train.

As the noise grew louder

The boy on the pier grew increasingly anxious.

The day had been spent waiting for this moment,

Waiting to go fishing,

Waiting to head out on the water with him.

He’d walk down the concrete stairs

And I’d see his dark, leathered, skin

And thick head of bright silver hair

Disappear into the brown shed next to the lake

To get the Styrofoam “Minnie bucket”

From the shelf next to the large fake deer.

He’d kneel down on the pier

Pulling the frayed yellow rope

Of the mildewed yellow minnow cage,

Meticulously tossing out the dead minnows

And carefully scooping live ones into

The blue-rope-handled Styrofoam bucket.

After several scoops he would look thoughtfully into the water

And say “That ought to be enough, don’t you think?”

Then pause and add one more scoop.

Fishermen are always a hopeful lot.

We would head out to Sam’s Point for bluegill,

Radke Bay for walleye and northern pike,

Bible Camp Bay in pursuit of large musky or little bass,

Sometimes it was Tony’s bay for panfish and crappie.

It didn’t matter.

I learned from a young age,

He had taught me,

“Being out here is the mashed potatoes,

Catching fish is just some gravy on those potatoes.”

Only someone who was born before the depression,

Someone whose deep, deep past holds memory of rationing

and the second world war, would ever use such a phrase.

Sometimes I’d get skittish at the sight of

Storm clouds and thunder approaching over

The dark pine forests of the Northern Wisconsin lake.

As it would begin getting

“Darker than the inside of a black cat,”

He would reassure me that everything would be all right.

“What will be, will be,” he would say.

“The good lord will take us when the good lord wants to take us.”

After fishing for hours, we would head back home,

Where Grandma had already peeled the potatoes.

I would watch carefully as he added ground beef

To an electric fry pan, browning it evenly then adding

Boiling water from the potato pan.

“The secret is to use potato water,” he would say.

He would add two cubes of beef bouillon

And finally some flour to thicken.

Hungry from a long day's fishing,

We would binge on this delicious

“Hamburger gravy” served over potatoes.

Grandma always cooked a vegetable as well,

But these were rarely touched by either him or me.

III

Years later, I am many inches taller

But every year as fishing season begins

I still often feel the anticipation of the young

Boy standing impatiently on the pier

Waiting for Old Whistler to come

Barreling down South Rifle Road.

The house is the same, only now with a

Large garage in the driveway

And a Green Jeep has long since

Replaced Old Whistler,

Undoubtedly an exchange greatly appreciated

By his neighbors.

Now he waits anxiously

For my silver Suburu Pick-up

To come barreling down

South Rifle Road,

A trip I find the time to make

Far too infrequently.

After a brief hello to Grandma

We quickly head to the pier where

He retrieves the Minnie bucket

Scoops four or five scoops,

Looks thoughtfully in the water and says

“That ought to be enough...”

Before pausing and

Adding one final scoop

“For good measure.”

We head out to the same bays

Pursuing the offspring of the same fish

That we chased years ago.

Our hats facing backwards

The 25-horsepower Evenrude pushes

The same 16-foot aluminum boat

With all of its might.

He shares stories from the past

And we reminisce about all of the good times

On the water and in the woods.

All the big ones caught,

And the much bigger ones lost.

About the time the loon swam under the boat

Chasing my bright silver doctor spoon,

Or when the musky nailed the side of the boat

After hitting the pink “hell-raiser” bait that he

Had bought at my request with a promise that

“You’ll never catch a thing on that bait.”

After fishing for hours,

We head back home where grandma

Has already peeled the potatoes,

And we chat as he prepares the traditional

Post-fishing-trip hamburger gravy.

“The secret is to use the potato water,”

He always says.

###

A Super-freaky Radiation Vacation and Some Blood on Friday the 13th

2009-11-13T19:15:00.010-06:00

In the words of the great Rick James, the picture adjacent is "super-freaky." How appropriate for Friday the thirteenth...That's me getting my brain nuked this week during my "Radiation Vacation."

I decided to call it such as the very thought of cranial radiation scared the living daylights out of me and I was planning on taking a week's vacation from work, fully anticipating being in rough shape. The phrase "radiation vacation" was thus simultaneously ironic and literal, and I felt that this made the term a rather nice little literary gem.

My counts, however, weren't quite high enough to start the nasty chemo, the steroid withdrawal has entirely passed, undergoing radiation is far less scary than I thought (and it looks), and I have yet to experience any serious side effects from the radiation.

So, it really did feel like a radiation vacation, as I feel more myself than I have in a year and a half. I've seen friends I haven't seen in a long time, had some over for brunch, hosted a movie night, met other old friends for coffee -- it's been a good week.

"Radiation vacation," however, still manages to maintain its irony as this week instead of taking vacation I've had one of the busiest weeks I've ever had at work. I haven't sat down to count my hours yet, but when I do, it will be scary. It was good timing to have so many media opportunities when I feel so well and been a great deal of fun.

For the last eight mornings I've received low doses of cranial radiation (radiation to the brain). The hope is that this helps reduce the risk of A.L.L. relapsing in the central nervous system, yet there's very little empirical data to prove that it does, as this has been the standard of care for so long that there is little to compare it to.

In the last couple of years, a couple of treatment plans have cut out radiation as they are trying to figure out whether it's really necessary (this radiation can have some nasty effects on children, as their brains have yet to fully developed). After many discussions with doctors and much thought, I decided that because the risk of debilitating side effects is very low for adults and the increased risk of relapse is entirely unknown, that refusing the radiation treatment was simply too risky.

Each morning, I'd go in, lie down on a table, and the technicians would affix a mask that was molded to fit my head onto the table in order to keep my head still. They would then exit the room and turn on the machine to nuke my brain. This would take about a minute. They would then come back in, line things up on the other side and move the machine to the other side of my head, and then turn the machine back on to nuke the other side of my brain.

When the radiation would go off I would see a bright whitish-blue light. The very strange thing is I could see this light with my eyes closed, but not with them open -- precisely the opposite of every other experience I've ever had with sight.

I also would smell something burning when the radiation was active (let's hope that wasn't my brain)... One of the radiologist told me that many kids experience this, but few adults.

While this all sounds and looks rather unpleasant, it was far from it. In a strange way I'm rather going to miss it. The technicians were friendly and I enjoyed seeing and chatting with them every morning. The room was comfortably lit, mask tolerable, and they had an Ipod dock where I could play the excellent "Radiation Vacation Playlist" I had thrown together.

And, when they'd move the radiation machine I could see myself in the glass and I looked back at myself looking like Freddy Kruger and couldn't help but laugh each morning. As I said in the previous post, sometimes laughter really is the best medicine.

My only concern is that there is usually a time lapse between radiation and it's side effects, when people experience them -- here's to hoping I'm not brain-dead and drooling at my desk in two weeks...

I've been making a lot of such jokes lately, which are nearly always met by rather good laughter followed by "We really shouldn't laugh at that."

My philosophy is "what is there to do but laugh?" -- I'm just so glad I can still laugh at this after a year of it.

In other news, I awoke this morning with a nasty headache and heart palpitations and knew I was getting a little low on blood. Wanting to ensure I didn't beat the clinic record for lowest counts ever seen (held by none-other than yours truly), I went to hematology after radiation to have labs drawn to check my counts before the weekend to see if I needed a transfusion.

Having meetings scheduled all day, I asked my very nice and patient study coordinator to email me the counts and have someone call me if I needed some blood, then left to hurry home to check email, scarf down some food, shower, dress and get to the office as fast as I could. They called back and said I needed to turn around to get blood before I even got home...

After a bit of a conversation with one of the nurses, we finally figured out that I could get blood in the infusion center at 5:00 this evening so I wouldn't have to reschedule all of my meetings and could get some work done... I ran around like crazy all day and it was a great and productive day, then went to the clinic at 5:00 where it felt so, so good to be able to sit for more than a few moments without thinking about where I had to be next.

Looking over today and the last week, it's amazing how much energy I have with only half the blood of a normal person. It really demonstrates to me just how much the chemo drugs wear me down. I'm a little concerned what should happen if they ever get my red blood back to normal. I'll certainly be hyperactive (already am) and Katie will certainly have her hands full trying to keep up with me.

Because we went in at 5:00, they had everything ready and transfusing the two pints of blood took a total of about two hours, wildly contrasting the average 4-5 hours we spend at the clinic for a transfusion. I feel as though after a year of this, I'm really starting to figure the clinic out.

Katie joined me after work and she picked up a couple of pizza's from the very near and very good Lombardino's. As the blood dripped, we ate some pie and watched "Arrested Development" on my laptop, then she chatted with her sister as I wrote the first half of this blog post (I'm a little benedryled-out, so I apologize if it's less entertaining than usual.)

It's strange to say, but very similar to radiation, getting blood really made for an enjoyable evening.

When radiation and blood transfusions are fun -- well, I guess that really is frighteningly freaky Friday the Thirteenth...

Wishing you all well,

Sam

SHOUT OUTS! -- it's been too long, and many deserving of SOs will be missed...

SO to Brandon, Sarah, Steve, and the whole radiology crew: You guys managed to make radiation fun... Now, that's frightening...
SO to Ryan Schweitzer and crew: I hope you realize how great you're doing. I'm impressed. I was in far, far worse shape at the same point.
SO to the whole Clean Wisconsin crew: It was great making it back to the office to see all of you. "Thai Take Out and Tie-Tying" will take place, and it will be awesome.
SO to Dederich, Abby, Cavan, and Julie: It was great getting to see all of you this week.
SO to Mediocre Tim: Why can't we connect on the phones? I think the universe is plotting against us...
SO to Vitse for making me laugh: "I thought you were kidding. I thought that was a joke. I even wrote it down in my diary - [Vitse] had a very funny joke today. I laughed about it later that night."
SO to Ezra for Illiciting Elated Laughter in Excellent Emails Employing Exaustive Amounts of Awe-inspiring And Awesome Alliteration.
SO to Schryver for his first comment to me back in the office. I can't remember precisely what the phrase was, but I remember the general sentiment as well as the gesture and it was priceless.
SO to Melissa for being in the Wall Street Journal (maybe twice???) and for her marrow post comment.
SO to Scott: I think your my most diligent blog reader and I look forward to making it up to Rhine-town to meet up with you.
SO to Mitchell Mode: Do they have an "over 60" age category in the Birke??? (How can I not give you a hard time on this one?) Belated Congrats on turning 60; I just hope I get there and am in as good of shape as you.
SO to Dennis: Here's to being psychotically connected...
SO to Stuart, Vanessa, Dick, and all of my fellow fighters who blog.

SOs to be continued...

And finally, a picture of my brain:

7 Years and A Demonstration of How Laughter Really is the Best Medicine

2009-11-10T16:26:00.006-06:00

Katie and I have been dating for seven years today. She doesn't know it, but I actually have enough white blood cells to take her out for a nice dinner and I'm really excited about surprising her.

I asked Dawn, my nurse, on a visit yesterday if I had enough immunity to go back to the office (where we've had a documented case of the piggy flu) she said no. I asked her if I could take Katie out to eat tonight and she said "You take that girl out for a nice dinner!"

It also provides the perfect opportunity to relay one of my favorite stories from my early chemo days. Around Thanksgiving last year (wow, almost a full year ago now), I was in a rough place. Recently diagnosed, trying to figure out how to live with chemo, and fresh out of the hospital where the nurses had told Katie and I that I couldn't go outside and I had to be treated like a newborn baby (completely the wrong thing to say to a new chemo patient...). I became paranoid, OCD, and agoraphobic to a spectacular degree. I'd go weeks without leaving my small 6oo foot apartment and not seeing more than two people. All of this, and I was wired on High Doses of corticosteroid, strung out sleeping a few hours a night.

Right around Thanksgiving, my family convinced me to come over to my sister's for dinner -- she only lived a block away but even that is quite a step for someone who fits most of the descriptions contained within the DSM Manuel. Picture Bill Murray in "What About Bob," and that was basically me, only I wouldn't leave the apartment.

Anyway, while eating dinner, I looked over and saw the picture above in a glass case on my sister's windowsill. The photo was taken at a dance early in high school before Katie and I were dating but there was a bit of a courtship going on. I had brought another girl, Emily, to the dance and my date and Katie both Dark Brown-Haired and striking show up in the same red dress.

At the end of the night I asked Emily if it was all right if I danced with Katie, she said of course and after my first ever dance with Katie I whispered in her ear that she looked beautiful, and the rest is history.

Now, those of you who are really paying attention will notice a rather striking inconsistency in my story. I mention the beautiful red dress that Katie was wearing that night, yet in the photo above it looks as though Katie is wearing a velveteen tie-dyed hippy dress.

This is what caught my eye as I ate dinner at my sister's house that night. I looked over and thought, "What the? Somethings not right with that picture."

I walked over, picked it up and looked at it. Condensation from the window had dripped on it in such a perfect way as to make it appear that Katie was wearing one of the most ridiculous looking dresses I've ever seen.

I began to laugh which I hadn't done in a long, long time. Then, I noticed that not only does it look like she's wearing a crazy hippy dress, but also because her arm is around my back and the condensation has made a new hippy dress arm of it's own -- it looks as though she's reaching straight down my pants. And all of this is compounded by the fact that I'm wearing suspenders, and we both have huge grins on our faces.

I laughed so hard I cried and then thought I was going to die. Honestly, I don't think I've ever laughed so hard in my life. I started to get chest pain I was laughing so hard. It felt so good to laugh after being stressed out for so long, and that night I felt really, really well for the first time since I had started chemo.

On one final tangential note, even though Emily was just a good friend, I was terrified to ask her to that dance. It was getting close to the date and all of my friends said "you've got to do this today," and we all went out for Chinese food. Not finding the opportunity (read "cohones") to ask her during the meal we were going around the table reading fortune cookies just before leaving.

"What's your's say, Sam?" someone asked.
"Mine's a question." I replyed.
"What?" Someone asked.
"Emily, will you go to the dance with me?" I uttered in a timid mumble.

Yeah, real smooth, young Sam Weis, real smooth... I like to think I'm a little smoother today.

I'm not.

Luckily, I don't need to be.

I love you, Katie.

Sam

And for all your viewing pleasure a newer photo of us (tonight) -- I don't have as good of a fop of hair, but I've got some awesome chipmunk cheeks from steroids and I like to think I'm dressed a little better. Katie is certainly dressed better than her hippy dress and at least this time has the restraint to keep her hands out of my pants.

On a Single Orbit Around the Sun

2009-11-04T18:39:00.011-06:00

To say that I had a lot on my mind exactly one year ago tonight, would be to use understatement to a degree that I cannot even begin to explain.

The last time this world occupied the same position in orbit around the sun as it does on this eve, I sat in the small living room of my one bedroom "Treehouse" apartment on Dewey Court watching the election results come in.

As it became more and more evident that Barack Obama was about to become the first African-American President of the United States, as he walked out into Millennium Park with his young and beautiful family to a crowd of hopeful Americans representing every race, creed, ethnicity, sexuality, and economic status, tears rolled down my face.

They rolled down my face as I, for the first time in my life, felt truly inspired by a leader. I have been inspired by leaders of the past, but never during my lifetime had one person given me so much hope for our world, for the ability to bring people together instead of spreading them apart, and never before had I had so much hope for our future.

Tears rolled down my face as I felt the presence of my late liberal Grandmother, and wished so much she could share this moment with me, as I remembered one of the last times I had stopped to visit with her.

My paternal grandparent's house is in Steven's Point (my Grandfather still lives there), and in college I would frequently stop by unannounced as I traveled between Madison and the Northwoods to enjoy Grandma's delicious recipes (she always made you eat -- and way too much) and have feisty and enjoyable debates for hours about where our country and government goes wrong. (Pictured is Grandma and I on a good day gone by at their house in Point)

On these visits, I would often stay well into the darkness of night, my grandparents and I debating religion, gay rights, health care, welfare, poverty, education, war, injustice, and any other world problem we could come up with, all while enjoying a vast array of buttery and chocolaty snacks Grandma had always prepared from scratch in anticipation of such unexpected visits.

I would stay so late, in fact, that I'd often arrive back in Madison in the wee hours of the morning, slapping myself in the face just to keep myself from falling asleep behind the wheel. It was worth it, however, as few memories shine as brightly and warmly as late night debates and snacks at the Weis grandparent's house.

Tears rolled down my face one year ago tonight as I remembered the last time I had seen her on such a stop. Growing weaker from a long fight with cancer, she was feisty as always, but could see and talked openly that an end was coming near.

We ate her delicious cookies. It was summer and the election was coming, and per usual she didn't want to talk about anything but politics. All her life she had been a staunch liberal and she hadn't seen her candidates win nearly enough. She realized she was waning, and she was all right with that because she had lived a great life, but her last remaining hope was that she could just hold on long enough to win one more time -- to see an intelligent, liberal, African-American become the President of the United States.

She didn't quite make it to see her dream become a reality, and as I watched Obama and his family walk out on the stage at millennium park, chills rolled down my spine and tears down my face as I felt the spirit of her presence, her utter happiness, with the night's events.

If we each have a unique heaven or blissful afterlife, I like to think Grandma's is in that diverse and tearful crowd on the shores of Lake Michigan one year ago tonight.

Tears also rolled down my face for another reason that night.

Tylenol and all, I could not alleviate a sharp pain in the back of my hip caused from the previous days bone marrow biopsy.

For two months, doctors had wondered why my blood counts were off, and only the day before took the "precautionary measure" of a bone marrow biopsy to make sure "it's just a virus and not something more serious like cancer."

As I sat emotional and in pain watching Obama's speech, I knew that the future had diverged from the passed, that nothing would ever be the same. I could not help but recognize that the results of the election would change our country and our world.

I also knew from the incessant pain in my back that within 48 hours I would receive a phone call that could change my world forever.

Simultaneously, I held so much hope for the future of our country and so much fear for what my personal future might bring.

I now new we would have an inspirational young leader who held the potential to make the world a better, more tolerant and inviting place.

I would need to wait two days to find out what my life would like in this new world. Was I about to continue on as planned, living a great life, working my dream job, and all with a new exciting political establishment, or was I about to engage in the fight for my life.

I couldn't have imagined that night as I tried to focus my mind, that I'd be sitting at my computer one year later, as happy as I have been in my life (if a bit worn down), reflecting on the unknowns of a night I now know has been followed by a scary phone call, a year of chemo, a year of fear and of happiness, of love and laughter, a year of breaking down and of getting back up, of pain and suffering, of euphoria and ecstasy, of sadness and delight.

There simply aren't enough words to describe the emotions, events, and experiences I've had over the earth's most recent passage around the sun.

And as I watched Air Force One land in Madison today on TV I could not help but find it eerily fitting that Obama was in town on this strange anniversary.

I also found it fitting that while digging through my office this week I found a note card for the recipe for Grandma's chocolate chip cookies that I wrote down one of the last times I visited with her in Point.

As I enter what I can only hope is to be the final stretch of rough treatment that kicks this cancer's ass for good (tomorrow we start radiation plus if my counts are high enough we will start all of the worst chemo drugs -- the ones that put me in the hospital last time), I plan on baking some of Grandma's cookies both in her honor and to give me comfort as we navigate what I hope to be the final stretch of the rough seas of treatment that precede the calmer seas of maintenance.

Good vibes would be very much appreciated as we once again enter these darker waters.

Just as when I made the passage from Isle Royale, tonight I am nervous as I stare out over the roughest seas that lie just outside the breakwater, but I can now see the safety of Copper Harbor, and I am beginning to get very, very excited about what the next passage of the earth around the sun might bring.

-Sam

A Gonzo Halloween!!!

2009-10-31T13:33:00.017-05:00

Sometimes Halloween costumes just make themselves. When I awoke this Holiday morning with the realization that I was bald, skinny, pale, awkward, knobby-kneed, insomniac, and hyped-up on a miraculous cocktail of mind-altering drugs that illicit some remarkable hallucinations -- how could I not celebrate this Halloween dressed in tribute to the late gonzo journalist and cult hero, Hunter S. Thompson?

Mad props to Katie for quickly and spontaneously finding the props to make the costume work.

Today became a perfect day, spent gallivanting about our quiet neighborhood taking pictures with my adorable girlfriend in the childlike pleasure that Halloween always brings.

Our pleasant day is being spent a bit more low key, and enjoyable, then the absolute Madness that infamously overwhelms State Street every year on this date. The massive Badger win today should only add to the festivities and debauchery.

Instead, of entering or spectating the madness, I plan on staying home with Katie and my parents to watch Mystery Science Theater 3000, "Werewolf," one of my all time favorite films. Few things in life beat the entertainment value of watching a movie that tries so hard but fails to thrill and entertain only to succeed masterfully at being produced so poorly that it brings shrill laughter, cheer, and delight.

Enjoying life and wishing you all well -- On this day, don't forget to find your inner child and dance with delight in the revelry of Halloween.

-Sam

Sleep Deprivations and Dopamine Deficiencies

2009-10-23T11:23:00.006-05:00

A body's inablity to paralyze itself during dreams can make for some interesting living, as you've seen from previous blog posts.

This morning I have a very vague recollection of a comical event that must have confused Katie a bit to say the least, that I thought I'd share.

After a solid hour of sleep, I have a hazy recollection of blocking Katie's access to the bathroom door as she attempted to get in to ready herself for work.

"The editor man in the bathroom says that I must pass the first bean before granting you access." I said with conviction.

Receiving a funny look I pressed on explaining the situation:

"I think that you, my friend, have found yourself in quite a literary pickle."

After some persistent convincing that there was no editor man in the bathroom she lead me back in bed, I laid down, and that was the end of the exchange between me, Katie and the man in the bathroom.

Thank god she doesn't think I'm too crazy...

-sam

Sucking the Marrow out of Life: An Unapologetically Carnivorous Manifesto on Food and Creation

2009-10-22T20:59:00.011-05:00

Like the bone marrow of a perfectly roasted veal osso bucco, today congealed into a perfect, tender morsel of opportunity, flavor and experience.

All of this started this afternoon, when I found out that my own marrow recovered remarkably well from the first bit of rough chemo this round, and I knew I had the temporary immunity to go to a nice dinner.

This was convenient in timing as it comes two nights after Katie was a saint and stayed up all night to take care of me as I writhed in the pain and muscle convulsions brought on by steroid withdrawal (I couldn't even get out of bed to go to the bathroom and she patiently stayed up with me all night, taking care of me, then got up and went to work and a doctor's appointment of her own without complaint -- can you say an angel...)

It also fell on a day I reached a first last -- My first final dose of a chemo drug, doxorubicin, one I'm happy to cross off the list because it causes heart damage and some nasty GI Tract issues (Never again will I watch the red poison ooze into my vein; Goodbye and Good Riddance!!!).

And, finally, it falls a couple of weeks before Katie and I will have been dating for seven years and I know that when the date roles around I will lack the immunity to take her out, so I wanted to "Carpe the F-ing Diem" and take advantage of the opportunity.

So in short, I was in the mood to treat her to a really nice dinner and spend a couple of hours in her company around insanely decadent foods.

This was the context of my thoughts as I smeared the roasted bone marrow of a perfectly braised Veal Osso Bucco on bread as Katie and I enjoyed a long, slow, death-row quality meal at Otto's, a warm, inviting restaurant on the West Side of Madison on this cold, rainy Autumn evening.

Is it sacrilegious to eat bone marrow when your fighting a cancer of the bone marrow? I really don't think so.

I would argue that if anything the greatest value in the struggle of cancer is in the recognition that we are to strive to enjoy every morsel that the earth has so bountifully offered, that we are to suck the proverbial marrow out of life every moment we are given the chance.

That the greatest tragedy in life lies not in misfortune but in lost opportunity. That to injure oneself while trying a new flavor, to see what lies below an unturned leaf, to climb down a precipice and see a waterfall few others have laid eyes on, to dive in and swim around the next bend of a mountain icy stream is the context within which we should strive to live life; that to mar oneself in the pursuit of experience and adventure, is inexpressibly better than the risk that that a life wasted by the timidity of ensuring the safe passage of time brings.

Life is nothing if not an opportunity to find beauty, poetry, flavor and happiness in a forward-moving and entirely unexpected adventure into the unknown.

I have troubles believing that any creator that put so such a wonderful diversity and richness of flavors, colors, landscapes, experiences and contrasts on this planet would want us to waste it by forgoing decadence and enjoyment. Too me the greatest sin would be to be given the gifts endowed by life, the diverse palate that the creator has laid before us, and to let it pass by unexplored and inexperienced. Why would a creator give us such a wonderful world with so many brilliant things and then want us to deprive ourselves of them? I have never understood puritanism, and never will.

Simply stated I feel that the basest of pleasures -- Food, Love, Sex, Fermentation, Camaraderie and Travel -- are the greatest gifts any God above gave us, and that the greatest sin would be to die ignorant of the wonders of our planet, our universe, and our lives.

One might think that having a cancer of the bone marrow -- that having my own bone marrow systematically drilled into and sucked out through a needle six times now -- might dampen my appetite for eating it.

Quite the opposite, I found myself thinking that it would be such a waste to allow such a morsel to go to waste and that I only wish that my eventual death -- whenever that might be -- could produce something as wondrous as the flavor, texture, comfort and poetry that the calf's death had brought in the form of the roasted marrow tonight.

Tonight I sign off with the thought that the greatest worship of our creator is in the enjoyment of all he/she/it has given us.

Perhaps this philosophy makes me an existentialist, perhaps that's the influence of my grandfathers, or my parents. Perhaps it's Harrison and Hemingway and Camus. Perhaps its my time spent outdoors in introspection.

I like to think this philosophy is simply what makes me, who I am.

Tonight I am thankful for my life and for the time that has been given to me, for my loving family and kind friends, for the smiles of strangers, for sex and beef and scallops and creme brulee, for whiskey and for wine, for first snows and Fourth of July's, for forests and rivers and trout, for the company of good friends and nights filled with good cheer, for music and dancing, and for long naps taken in front of warm wood fires on cold winter days.

-Sam

At the risk of you all thinking I've lost my mind I've never hid the mind-expanding experiences associated with steroid withdrawal -- a euphemism for hallucinating. In this spirit and in a deeply abiding trust that you all won't have me committed I'll include as a post-script a poem inspired by last night's lack of cortico-steroid in my system:

Traveling to the Land of My Ancestors:

Last night between the hours of 4:00 and 5:00

My soul was wisped away to the land of

my ancestors.

I floated from this earth, and while

my body and brothers on this planet measured

a mere hour of time passing,

My soul spent months in the fields

as real as the flesh, blood, and bones

of those who came and left this known realm

before me.

Although I have never seen it with my physical eyes,

My mind’s eye explored this spirit world,

A land that I know that I have walked for millennia.

A land where I know the stories

and can trace every bend of the rivers

that flow with the blood of my great grandparents,

and those who came before them.

A land where the amber grains caress my skin

with the DNA that connect me to my first family

that came to this land, watching the life-giving herds

of Buffalo roam the endless expanse.

As I come back to my body lying in my bed,

I know that I am privileged to have been given this vision,

and to know that someday I will reunite

with both the family and friends I have known and lost

as well as with those that I have not yet met but know from blood

in this spirit land of my ancestors.

A Perfect Fall Day and a Pilgrimage to Real Chili

2009-10-19T20:35:00.006-05:00

It is a rare but unique quality to experience, food and literature that a single moment can become part of who we are, change us down to our core, and expose revelations that render us forever different.

Nearly 11 months ago as I sat at the precipice of the unknown in a small 6th floor room of UW Hospital I had beside me a compilation of assorted poems at my side. Of a lengthy volume, one changed me forever, and rarely a day has gone by without my thinking on it. So, without further adieu, Tom Hennen's "The Life of a Day:"

"Like people or dogs, each day is unique and has its own personality quirks which can easily be seen if you look closely. But there are so few days as compared to people, not to mention dogs, that it would be surprising if a day were not a hundred times more interesting than most people.

"But usually they just pass, mostly unnoticed, unless they are wildly nice, like autumn ones full of red maple trees and hazy sunlight, or if they are grimly awful ones in a winter blizzard that kills the lost traveler and bunches of cattle.

"For some reason we like to see days pass, even though most of us claim we don't want to reach our last one for a long time. We examine each day before us with barely a glance and say, no, this isn't one I've been looking for, and wait in a bored sort of way for the next when we are convinced, our lives will start for real.

"Meanwhile, this day is going by perfectly well-adjusted, as some days are, with the right amounts of sunlight and shade, and a light breeze scented with a perfume made from the mixture of fallen apples, corn stubble, dry oak leaves, and the faint odor of last night's meandering skunk."

Now, I bring this up nearly 11 months after having first read it because today was one of those perfectly well-apportioned autumn days.

It started simply enough as many of my days do, getting up, showering and heading to the clinic for counts (everything looks all right, but is starting to fall and the platelets are causing a bit of bleeding -- no worries, all to be expected at this point).

After getting counts and getting some work done at the clinic, we escaped unbelievably early (still in the early hours of the afternoon,) so I decided that Mum and I should seize the day and take advantage of the time, the beautiful fall weather, and my rapidly decreasing immunity by taking an afternoon field trip to Milwaukee to get a walk on the city streets and have a bowl of the miraculously restorative and curative "Real Chili" which has existed in Downtown Milwaukee since 1931.

As my eyes have finally overcome the lingering effects of steroids and were able to focus on the clear fall landscape, I was overjoyed as I looked over the golden hues of dried crop fields, red maples, and bright sunshine. Simply put, today creation could not have been outdone on the roads between Madison and Milwaukee. It was a statement that words cannot summarize.

As we came into Milwaukee I saw some of my favorite sites -- The beautiful Ball Park were I've enjoyed so many brewers games with friends and family both as a child and in more recent memory at the new and beautiful Miller Park.

Then downtown Milwaukee where we'd visit once a Winter and walk the streets of the "Big City," and stay in nice hotels. We'd inevitably walk out on the cold streets and warm our stomachs and souls with a heaping bowl of Real Chili -- My Dad's favorite college eatery at Marquette, my favorite when it was in Madison, and a staple anytime we were in the area.

A single taste of The Marquette Special (Chili Beef served over beans and rice with Cheese and oyster crackers) brings me back to my best days and nights in college, to the trip my Dad took to Milwaukee to watch the U.S. Open tennis tournament, to fun and festive winter family weekends, and to some of the best memories my mind holds of time spent with close friends and family.

As Mum and I parked Downtown and headed to the chili bar, my appetite grew, the air was crisp and refreshing, and the warm sun on the back of the neck revived the soul.

And the bowl of real chili was everything I expected it to be and more. Food really can be that powerful.

Afterword, we drove to the Milwaukee Public Market and walked the historic third ward where we got scrumptious cookies and chai tea to enjoy en route home toward Madison.

Overall, a truly well-proportioned day. One simply cannot ask for more in life.

Today I know that a rough couple of months lie ahead, but I am left so appreciative of each beautiful day, of creation, and of the quality time I am able to spend with my friends, families, and close ones. Thank you all for being such a monumental support to me in my life, and for continuing to follow my writings and my journey.

Sam

5/6 Complete with Rough Chemo and the Noonmark Cafe

2009-10-05T23:56:00.006-05:00

The finish line is near. For the first couple rounds of chemo, it seemed an abyss that one could never climb out of. Looking at a year of rough seas ahead when you're already seasick is a dim prospect indeed.

But, I did the only thing that I could -- pressed on -- and this week, providing my counts are high enough, we'll start round 6 of 6.

This last round promises to be another hellish affair, but I'm as ready as I'll ever be. The final sprint to the finish line is always the most painful part of a race, the night is always darkest just before dawn, and many other metaphorical cliches...

On the topic of endurance sports, I ran a marathon this weekend. Well, that's not exactly true... An employee (Erin) of an environmental advocacy group that we often work with ran a marathon with the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's team in training program. One of my colleagues donated in my honor (thank you, Wheeler), and Erin tied the names of everyone who had donations in their memory or honor to her shoelaces. I hear that Erin finished the 26+ miles, and she deserves congratulations.

Those of you who know me well know that I've always spent my life in pursuit of adventure. My general philosophy on life has been to escape long enough to experience some terrific stories, come back just long enough to share them with some friends, then head out on a new adventure to build some new material.

This adventure has tended to take two forms that often overlap with one another -- exploring the outdoors and participating in endurance sports.

I suppose it is natural that I looked to fighting leukemia as an adventure as it has been the longest and most challenging endurance competition of my life -- I can only laugh as I look back and see that I chose to subtitle my blog "the leukemic adventures of Sam Weis" so long ago now.

The outdoors are an indescribably important part of my life. The influence of my grandfather -- who took me fishing beginning when I was three, -- the experience of growing up in the northwoods and working in a sporting goods store, combined with my sense of adventure and strong curiosity, all intersect to provide a nearly unparalleled appreciation for nature.

The closest thing to religion I have ever found is standing on the shores of a pristine trout stream lost in the wilderness, with the smooth cork of a fly rod in my hand. I will never understand creation, but I am left speechless and in awe of the world anytime I venture past the boundaries of land tainted by the destructive tendencies of man and head into the wilderness.

Jim Harrison says that there are two types of people in the world. Those who, if rich, would live in a palace, and those who would live in a cabin. Many of my best nights have been spent in a tent.

Which brings me to the Noonmark Cafe.

One of my favorite outdoor trips is backpacking in the Adirondack Mountains State Park in upstate New York. One of the unique features of the park is that communities settled within the parks boundaries before it became a state park, and are still allowed to exist and thrive in the park today.

As a result, the park is big enough that one can get lost in the wilderness for days, but small communities within the park provide a bit of comfort and history when you come out.

Now, I love backpacking. I love to leave the "conveniences" of chirping cell phones, laptops, cars, and the 24-hour news cycle behind, strap all my needed belongings to my back, and disappear for a few days. I find this to be a cleansing and restorative experience, and I try to do it at least once or twice a year.

And the best part about backpacking -- I also love it when it's over. Sleeping on a hard floor, fearing being eaten by bears, eating dehydrated food, shitting in the woods, and having to purify every drop of water you drink makes you realize just how many everyday luxuries we take for granted.

Inevitably after a few days in the woods of the ADK, as we begin to turn back and head out of the woods, my mind begins to wander to the Noonmark Cafe.

The Noonmark is tucked away in the heart of the high peaks region of the Adirondack park. What makes it so special is that there is nothing special about it -- it's just a small place that makes the calorie-heavy, tastey food that only tastes so good after you've spent 5 days deprived of hot, well-cooked meals.

It's the type of place where they don't care how bad you smell or how dirty you are, and where you could care less that you haven't bathed, showered, changed, or shaved in five days. It's the type of place where you can get a burger with fries smothered in gravy and wash it down with a blueberry muffin the size of your head. In short it's my kind of place.

And after 5 days in the wilderness, on the last night of a trip, I would salivate as I fantasized about hiking out and going to the Noonmark cafe in the morning.

And the Noonmark would never fail to meet my expectations when I got out of the woods.

On the eve of round number six, I look at it as the dawn of my last day in the woods. I still have to pack up camp, strap on my pack, and make the long hike out of the woods, but I am eager with child-like anticipation as I know that on the other side the Noonmark cafe, and my plate of fries smothered in gravy, awaits.

-Sam

The New Business Casual

2009-09-22T23:37:00.007-05:00

As much as I hate working from home, it does have some advantages. Today I replaced my normal khakis and an oxford with a striking and sexy combination of a white tee-shirt and yellow boxers with bicycles on them as I worked away at my home office.

I realized at one point that any neighbors or passers-by could see in easily through a window, but didn't take any action as I figured that working in one's underwear is a liberty one can take when going through chemo. Other liberties I take include:

-Eating shamelessly high calorie food without guilt
-Renting golf carts for 9 holes
-Driving to work instead of biking
-Taking a midday nap when necessary
-Urinating anywhere outside (sometimes you've just got to go...)
-Publicly discussing bodily functions

This list is by no means exhaustive, but it's at least a good beginning.

Anyway, the last blood tests showed that I utterly lack an immune system at the current time which is why I'm working from home. Being here is beginning to bore me, however(as you can probably tell from the frequent blog posts). I think I might cheat and go back to the office for the rest of the week as today I had the bone pain that usually accompanies rising counts...

Finally, a video that most of you have probably seen, but is well worth watching for its humor and satire:

Protect Insurance Companies PSA from Will Ferrell

Take Care,

Sam

Nutritional Highlights

2009-09-21T23:07:00.003-05:00

Is anyone else really tired of marketers shamelessly promoting junk food as healthy? Now, don't get me wrong, I like my guilty pleasures as much as anyone, but I distinctly and fondly remember a time when marketers were more honest and appealed to our baser interests -- our taste buds -- instead of twisted nutritional logic.

As I type, a box of Lucky Charms -- The upper class cousin of my favorite "Marshmallow Maties" -- sits at my desk. On the top of the box, a large banner reads "Whole Grain Guaranteed" and "Nutritional Highlights." On the bottom, a large banner reads "Good Source of Calcium and Vitamin D."

Now I don't eat Lucky Charms for the nutrition, I eat it for the marshmallowy deliciousness. I really hope that the American public does the same, but my training in market research suggests that Kraft Foods probably puts a lot of money into their marketing, and this empty rhetoric actually works.

The irony is, of course, that truly healthy foods (i.e. broccoli)has no packaging to promote its nutritious benefits. If food promotes its healthful benefits in a grocery store and loudly proclaims "Smart Choices Made Easy," then it probably isn't that healthy.

I'd protest by giving up my Marshmallowy treat, but its just too delicious to boycott. And, at least I can still talk like a leprechaun (or Pirate) as I eat them and they still leave games to play on the back of the box. I guess there's really just a little kid in all of us -- well, at least in me.

We're nearing the end of round #5, and my counts are once again hammered. Friday was spent getting blood transfusions, and today receiving what should be my last chemo of the round. Whenever my immune system gets this low I end up with the Top Gun theme "Danger Zone" stuck in my head for days -- Thank you, 1980s.

Comment Question of the Day:

What is your favorite unhealthy breakfast cereal?

Welcoming Autumn,

Sam

Walking into Mirrors...

2009-09-15T22:11:00.009-05:00

I'm not sleeping too well these days. I lie awake in bed for hours at night, just to fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning and awake to find myself doing strange things like trying to walk through mirrors. As I explained to Katie, I was probably just trying to enter another dimension... Or, maybe it's just that I'm so good looking that I can't get enough of myself, even in my sleep...

Anyway, kidding aside, you all know from previous posts that I have some interesting sleep habits (disorders). In light of the strange sleep occurrences of the past couple weeks, I feel its appropriate to relay one of my favorite sleep stories.

Three years ago or so during Christmas break, my mom, dad, sister (Kate), my dog Junior, and I all piled into a car to head to Florida. Traveling with a young family is a normal event, but two empty-nesters driving two adult children plus a dog 1600 miles presents a comical situation in and of itself.

So, we left Madison in the evening and due to my father's need to "make good time," and chronic inability to stop and sleep when traveling (another genetic deficiency I unfortunately inherited), we arrived at our destination in Florida at around 2 in the morning.

Unfortunately all of the motels we checked had no vacancy, until finally we found one with a room at around 3am, but this one also had a giant "ABSOLUTELY NO PETS ALLOWED" sign in the front window of the office.

We decided to risk it and Dad went in to reserve a room. Upon entering our room, Dad let Junior (a dachshund, by the way) down to run. Just then a shady character exited the room adjacent and Junior went crazy barking.

Luckily, the office must not have heard the commotion, and we deftly scooped up Junior and headed into the room.

Exhausted all of us crashed and immediately fell into a comatose state -- Kate and Mum in one bed and Dad, Junior and I in the other.

I must pause and explain that I've learned that I tend to do crazy things in my sleep when:

1. I'm really sleep deprived
2. I'm in a foriegn place
-or-
3. I've been on the road for a long time

Now, this night all of these factors were at work and I awoke at 4 am with Junior barking wildly, me on my knees screaming at the top of my lungs holding my Dad's arms down above his head.

As I slowly come back to consciousness, I realize that my Dad, also asleep, is fighting back mightily and screaming himself.

Around this time, Kate wakes up to the commotion, sits straight up, and begins clapping her hands, screaming "STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!"

Then, as quickly as the commotion erupted, Dad stopped screaming and rolled over, Kate, Junior and I went back to sleep, Mum mumbled something incoherently, and it was once again silent.

What the occupants of the adjacent room must have thought, I can only imagine. I only know that if I had heard the screaming, the commotion, and the dog going crazy, I probably wouldn't have gotten a whole lot of sleep in the thought that a mass murder had probably occurred one door over...

Neither Dad nor I know who started the screaming, and how we didn't get kicked out of the motel that night I will never understand.

Back to the present, on Saturday Dad and I went twilight golfing at The Bridges. I had a great time, but for the first time in my life rented a cart instead of walking the course. After six holes I was rather tired and decided I had best put down the clubs and play Caddy for the remainder of the night.

On Sunday I felt like I had run a marathon. It's a good sign you're out of shape when you can hardly move after six holes of golf...

As we near the end of stage 5, I'm rather worn out, but I suppose that is to be expected after nearly 10 months of chemo.

I hope this early fall finds you all well.

Off to Bed...

Sam

Insomnia

Insomnia is an uninvited guest
who stays in your bedroom
and rattles your sanity.

It is the close cousin of the crazed man
who drives incessantly through the night
with the bright lights of a city bypass
flashing rapidly at his windshield.

Insomnia gives audience
to the orchestra of crickets
just outside the window,

To the lonely sound of car tires
whose solo drivers depart
on unknown cross-town missions,

And to the chorus of excitable dogs
whose barks pierce the still, dark
air of a late summer night.

Mr. Schmidt... I just don't get you...

2009-09-03T18:17:00.008-05:00

So said a student to my friend Schmidty on his first day teaching in Milwaukee. This made me laugh really, really hard and also made me feel old. When your peers assume positions of responsibility, it's a sign you're growing up.

I'll resist the push to grow up for as long as possible...

I know, I know -- It's been far too long since an update.

I've been doing generally well, tired from so many months of chemo, and trying to put all of my energy toward work.

Highlights/Notable events over the past few weeks include:

-Getting back to the office quite a bit (My favorite place to be right behind on the water...)

-A Sunday spent in the ER with vomiting and intense shoulder pain and a mystery diagnosis...

-A great weekend up north with Mum, Dad, Katie and my friends Pete and Annie.

Because there's a growing demand for more frequent updates, I'm going to begin posting random creative jibberish that I have no other use for. In this spirit, I present to you a poem written this evening:

The Sweet Smells of a Summer Stroll

It takes a cold heart
to not derive great pleasure
from the smells found
on a late summer stroll
through the outskirts of a city.

The strangely sweet smell
of freshly-mowed grass
mixes with the intoxicating scent
of freshly ground beef seasoned
heavily with lemon pepper
broiling over a bed of hot charcoal;
together, these scents warm my soul.

I suppose it is not the smells alone
that bring such great pleasure,
but more so the memories that they conjure.

In the careless years of childhood
spending hours playing catch barefoot
in the cool, soft grass
of a newly-mowed lawn
on a lazy summer Sunday.

In the careless years of college,
the festive impromptu backyard barbecues
where we’d grill beef and sweetcorn
while imbibing whatever libations we had on hand
filling the night with food, drink and merriment.

Remembering the many good days gone by
and the many more to come
I am filled with great cheer
as I walk among the quaint homes on Oakridge
and enjoy the sweet smells of a late summer stroll.

Sometimes Truth is Stranger than Fiction -and- Why I don't Keep Weapons Near Where I Sleep

2009-08-17T22:39:00.000-05:00

Part I: Wisconsin Generates Some Interesting News:

One might think that the mayor of Wisconsin's biggest city getting beat up by a man with a pipe while heroicly responding to the distress calls of a woman at a state fair would be the biggest news story of the day.

This story, however, was overshadowed by the Governor's announcement that he wouldn't run for re-election.

But, neither of these stories can compete with the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile's recent crash into a home in Racine.

Yup, sometimes truth really is stranger than fiction.

Part II: Why I don't keep weapons near wear I sleep:

Reason number one -- one we can all learn from:

Last night in the dark draining hours of the morning I woke up to a crash coming from inside our apartment. I asked Katie if I were dreaming or if she had heard such a crash.

"I thought I had been dreaming," she responded.

So, I bravely began exploring the apartment for an intruder. After cautiously exploring the kitchen and the dining room, I continued into the living room then saw a shadow coming around the corner toward me from the dining room.

Ready to spring toward the intruder and unleash 125 pounds of fiery, I noticed that the shadow of the intruder was rather petite and had long hair.

Katie, walked around the corner.

So, here's some advice for all of you: If someone you live with is looking for an intruder in your house, announce your intentions before joining them, lest you get mistaken for an intruder...

The loud crash, by the way, turned out to be a picture falling off the dining room wall.

Reason number 2 -- One that applies only to me (and my father):

Due to some strange genetic deficiency that is easily traced to my father, I easily mistake the dream world and real world as I sleep. This confusion results in some interesting behavior including wandering around the room mumbling, sitting straight up and screaming in the middle of the night, getting violent, and other experiences that can make sleeping in a room or tent with me a rather exciting experience.

In the past I have dreamed that I was in a tent with no zippers only to awaken in the middle of the night in a tent, panic, and come to only to find myself holding a knife ready to cut my own exit.

When I was young I once walked out of my grandparent's motor home in the middle of the night on the shores of Lake Superior wearing only tighty whities. Luckily my Grandmother heard my exit and sent my Grandfather (also only wearing tighty whities) to find and retrieve me. I can only hope that someone peered out their window in the campground at some point to see an 8-year-old and his grandfather wandering around the grounds in only underwear.

There are many, many other entertaining stories of strange actions occurring in my sleep.

Anyway, I've decided that when strange and uncontrollable behavior occurs in my sleep it's probably best that I hide anything of danger when I doze off. Even though I am terrified of getting eaten by a bear, I resist the urge to carry a gun or a hatchet when I backpack lest I accidentally murder my tentmate in my sleep (your welcome, Lommen, Phil, and Schmidty.)

So, those are the two primary reasons I don't sleep near weapons or sharp objects.

That's all I've got. I'm enjoying the end of summer but very much looking forward to the refreshing briskness of the coming fall.

Take Care,

Sam

"Your blog sucks, I'm tired of reading about that damn race"

2009-08-13T23:07:00.000-05:00

Those were the words that my colleague and buddy Ryan greeted me with today. I take them both as a compliment and as a sign it's probably time for an update...

Monday began round five of six rough rounds and we started out with a spinal tap, and two chemo drugs. They maxed me out with a dosage of sedation, but I could still remember being in quite a lot of pain during the procedure -- I found out why the next morning when I looked in the mirror and saw multiple holes in my back. Katie counted six different holes in my spine.

I really can't complain, however, this was spinal tap number 11 and my Doctor had a perfect record for the first ten. I suppose everyone has an off day every now and again.

Tuesday was day two and a dose of Peg Asparaginase -- a drug that knocks me out pretty good for a day or two.

Thus, Wednesday I was pretty useless and spent a great deal of time on the couch watching daytime television. At one point I actually watched about 3 or 4 minutes of "Jon and Kate Plus 8" before snapping out of it and realizing what I was doing. I swiftly retreated to my office in a self-loathing mood to think about what I had done.

On the brighter side, I caught the Presidential Medal of Freedom Award Ceremony on CSPAN -- Yes, I am that big of a nerd to watch CSPAN. If you ever want to feel inspiration and as though you've accomplished next to nothing in life, I highly recommend watching one of these ceremonies. It really was amazing to see so many people who have so profoundly changed our world in one place.

On an especially interesting note, the woman who discovered that leukemia is caused by a chromosomal abnormality -- the biggest breakthrough in cancer research to date -- received an award. I had never so much as heard of her before watching this ceremony. See, you really do learn something new every day -- even when your indolent and barely conscious on the couch.

All right, this is a pretty boring update, but the muse just hasn't been singing -- I've had a very good couple of weeks but very little inspiration when it comes to writing. I'll come up with something a bit more entertaining and update soon.

I hope you're all well and enjoying the last weeks of summer (at least up here in the North)...

Comment Question of the Day:

What's one TV Show, Movie, or Music Album that you're embarrassed to admit you've watched or owned?

Take care,

Sam

Two-Thirds Complete with Rough Chemo and the 3am lap of 24/9

2009-07-30T19:26:00.000-05:00

Recovering from the fourth round of chemo and that nasty infection has left me utterly exhausted this week. A normal day for the last nine has looked something like this: get up and eat, lay down, take a shower, take a nap, go to the clinic for an antibiotic infusion/labs, come home to sleep, walk a few blocks with Katie (going further every day, at least), watch a little TV, then go to bed.

I couldn't remember ever being so tired and worn out in my life -- then I remembered 24/9...

For those of you who do not know, 24/9 is an abbreviation for "24 hours at Nine Mile," a 24 hour mountain bike relay race held annually in Wausau, Wisconsin.

Every year, I'd gather a group of 3-4 friends, and we'd excitedly prepare our bikes, pack our tents, and ready our camp stoves for the event. The race almost always takes place the last weekend in July. It begins at 10am on Saturday morning, ending at 10am Sunday morning. It's not so much a race for time as it is one for distance. At 10am on Sunday morning, the team with the most laps wins.

The trail was always 13-14 miles with a few great sections of gnarly singletrack, so it would take between an hour and an hour and a half to complete a lap. This meant that, on a four person team, we'd have about 3-4 hours to eat, clean ourselves, fix our bikes, and get some rest before heading out on another lap.

I'd always be anxious to get out on the first lap, the adreneline would be going, and I'd be ready -- the first lap was always the fastest.

The second lap always took place in the afternoon/early evening, and would feel business-like. Not all that much fun, but not too bad.

The first night lap was always my favorite. Riding through the trees in the pitch dark with only a headlight was such a rush that I would just fly. My legs would burn and my body ached, but I didn't care, night riding was just too much fun.

After the midnight lap, I'd be fried. I'd usually ride into camp and pass out in my tent, bike shoes still on, muddied by the trail and a few crashes, and go straight for the zzz's.

It always felt like no time at all had passed before someone would stick their head in the tent to let me know that it was time for my lap again. I'd crankily get out of the tent queezy, muscles and head aching, and despising the thought of heading out on another dark lap.

This was the 3am lap. Every year I headed out into the woods on bike, fueled by Jimmy Dean Heat 'n Serve sausage, Ramen Noodles, Cytomax, and cheap beer, and every year at 3am I'd swear I would never ride 24/9 again.

It was miserable. My lights always seemed to get knocked around or broken, and even when I'd see obstacles, my body was too tired to do much about it and my brain too slow to respond. I'd bounce off of trees, crash over rocks, and cuss myself out the whole way for agreeing to -- and even organizing -- another year of this hell.

Now in fairness we could have made it easier on ourselves. We could have skipped the beer. We could have brought along a support crew of a chef and mechanics instead of attractive girls who busied themselves with tanning -- but this just wouldn't have been quite as much fun -- wouldn't have been quite so epic.

As I look forward to two more rounds of chemo, there are times when it seems overwhelming or even impossible, but then I realize that we're at the 3am lap at 24/9. So, while I'm not in the best shape right now, I'm crankily coming out of the tent at 3am preparing for another lap through the woods. I'll bounce off some trees and probably crash a few times, but, like 24/9, I move forward knowing that eventually dawn will break and 10am will come around.

And unlike 24/9 -- I really do hope never to have to do chemo again.

Sam

Back Home and Why I Think my Collegues are Trying to Kill Me...

2009-07-24T15:17:00.000-05:00

Well, I suppose that it's fitting that I'm back updating my own blog for post number 50. Yup, that's right this is the 50th post since I started treatment and the blog, quite a milestone when I update as infrequently as I do...

Much thanks to Katie for updating everyone with post number 49. My energy was entirely sapped, and, in fact, I had better get going on this post as I have much to update and my body's and mind's batteries are running real low...

Last Monday I woke up late feeling exhausted. Katie and I had just moved into our new apartment and I figured it was just fatigue from the little bit that I had helped. I finally rolled out of bed around 11:00am took my temperature (it was just below 100 -- a bit elevated but no real concern...) and commenced eating a bowl of cereal. Within 5 minutes I was blagojeviching uncontrollably into the toilet, then into a garbage can and threw my back out something fierce.

I called my sister, Kate, who promptly came over and I passed out semi-conscious on the couch. Within a half hour I was shaking nearly uncontrollably and I took my temperature again -- 102 -- not only was it high, but it was going up real fast. So, we were on our way to the clinic.

At the clinic they confirmed that I must have an infection and apologized for having to admit me to the hospital "for what would probably be just a 48 hour stay."

It took over 48 hours for my team of doctors to definitively conclude what was going on -- I had a strep blood infection similar to what used to be known as scarlet fever. I highly recommend avoiding Scarlet Fever if at all possible, though that should be easy for most of you as nearly everyone born around or after the turn of the 20th century has immunity to it...

Truthfully, much of the eight total days I spent in the hospital are a haze -- they gave me so much benedryl for blood transfusions and lorazapam for nausea that I was about a quarter conscious at my very best.

I did want to relay one rather comical story, however.

Now, let me start by saying that I don't really believe my co-workers are trying to kill me and I care deeply about each and every one of them.

They have been an amazing source of support to me over the last eight months. They've put up with me when I'm manic on steroids, they've put up with the times I can only make it into the office for a few hours, they've come to visit me when I couldn't make it into the office. All of this and much, much more.

Someone from work also purchased a gross of red wristbands from the lymphoma and leukemia society that read "relentless" in support of my fight. If I'm honest, in my more temperamental moments I've nearly gotten choked up at work seeing so many of my colleagues sporting the red wrist band.

So, as a reminder of this support, I've worn a red wrist band myself nearly non-stop since starting treatment -- that was until last Monday...

Last Monday was my first night in the hospital, and when the night nurse came in I saw her give me a rather funny look. I could not place what would be so out of the ordinary. Later that night she came back in to hook me up to an antibiotic and gave me the same look, only this time let on what it was all about:

"You're mighty young to have Do Not Resuscitate orders," she said.

"Ahh, What?" I inquired.

"The wristband."

"What about it?"

"A red wristband is hospital code for Do Not Resuscitate."

Well, as you might well imagine, the red wristband was off my wrist and hidden in my bag within a number of seconds... That's one mistake I'd prefer not to make...

For now I'm extremely happy to be back at home, but my energy is still sapped (this is the longest i've been able to sit on a computer in weeks.) I also need to go into the clinic once every day to receive an antibiotic and blood tests to see if I need any transfusions -- so it kind of amounts to going from being imprisoned to being on probation. It is extremely nice to sleep in my own bed and not get poked multiple times daily, however.

Thanks to everyone who visited, sent cards, emails, letters, or just good vibes. Shout outs will come but for now i am too tired to remember everything and want to make sure I don't miss anyone...

Sam

Update by Katie

2009-07-18T19:55:00.000-05:00

Hi all-this is Katie (girlfriend- not sister) writing for Sam. I am doing a quick update for Sam who is not quite feeling up to posting for himself.

We have had quite the week! Sam had to make an unplanned trip to the clinic on Monday when he started vomiting and had a fever which was rising fairly quickly. This trip turned into a hospital admission and almost a week stay. He is still in the hospital. The doctors have found an infection in his blood and have found an anti-biotic which seems to be working pretty well. He is starting to feel a little better and some of the nurses seem hopeful he may get to go home soon-there is some talk of maybe tomorrow but Sam says he's starting to feel as though the fever is going up again and so he is less hopeful than the nurses.

In order for Sam to be able to go home he needs to have no fever ( or at least a very low grade fever-we aren't totally sure). His white counts are extremely low: 0.2, but believe it or not that is higher than they have been all week. Because of this they are starting to give him something to help his whites kick into gear-hopefully this will help get us out of here sooner.

I can't think of anything else to add at the moment. I'm hoping Sam will feel up to posting for himself soon-I know I personally miss reading the great stories he posts. Hopefully he will be able to give you all a much more thorough and entertaining account of our hospital adventure soon.

Thanks to all those who have been sending good vibes his way-we appreciate each and every one of them!

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

2009-06-26T14:58:00.000-05:00

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?

2009-06-24T01:55:00.000-05:00

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

2009-06-20T15:12:00.000-05:00

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

2009-06-16T22:07:00.000-05:00

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

2009-06-06T12:36:00.000-05:00

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

"Am I bleeding?... Nope - Just Salsa" and other Stories of the Day

2009-05-22T23:43:00.000-05:00

Today was entertaining. Every Friday before Memorial Day Weekend should be. Yesterday my neutrophils were still too low to start round four, so we pushed it back to next Wednesday for another test. So today I was happy to head back to work.

Fridays when I'm healthy enough to go out are like holidays because its fish taco Friday at The Cabana Room -- All-you-can-eat of the world's best fish tacos for $8.95. You show me someone who claims to make a better fish taco and I'll show you a liar...

So after downing a bowl of chips with salsa, rice and beans, and part of Katie's sandwich I was well into my fourth fish taco when I wiped my nose and was surprised to find bright red on my napkin.

"Shit, am I bleeding?" I asked aloud as I wiped my nose again.

"Nope, just salsa," I responded to my own question as I glanced back at the napkin after taking a second swipe of my face, quickly returning to the fish taco at hand.

We then headed to a coffee shop below my office to grab a decaf for me and a chai latte for Katie. After the gentleman behind the counter rang up the drinks, he looked at me with a bit of a surprised expression and said:

"Don't you want a cookie as well?"

"I suppose I had better," I responded.

"Chocolate Chip, Right?"

"Yup."

Perhaps it is a sign that you're eating too many cookies when a Barrista expresses shock at the very thought of you not ordering one.

It was only after this exchange that I realized that I drink a decaf coffee and eat a chocolate chip cookie every afternoon I am in the office -- perhaps this helps explain the recent weight gain -- to use an old joke, what used to be a six pack is now rapidly becoming a snack pack.

To try to keep this in check as well as maintain some level of fitness, I have spent a great deal of time on my bike and walking this week. It feels great to get outside in the warm air, and I find myself wanting to stay up late wandering the streets on these beautiful summery nights.

Also, as you may have noticed, I've completed a bit of a comeback:

Three months ago I'd have weeks when I didn't have the energy to update the blog or get any meaningful amounts of work done. Then, slowly I started updating the blog. Then, I stopped updating the blog because I had the energy to get work done, but this would basically exhaust my supply of energy for the day. Then I started working and exercising a bit. Now, I have the energy to get work done, exercise, and update the blog.

I know that rougher seas lie ahead again, but for the time being it's smooth sailing and life is beautiful.

Shout Outs:

SO to Dennis: Lunch was great.
SO to Sare: I look forward to seeing you this weekend
SO to Scott: It's good to hear from you and I hope that you enjoyed frisbee golf and the movie
SO to Schmidty: What's your beef with Waxman/Markey?
SO to Schryver: Have fun in the Porkies
SO to Philly: Here's to picking up women in that new sexy Ford Taurus
SO to Sarah S. for introducing me to FML blog, though it took up three of my hours this evening
SO to the Fond Du Lac mystery individual who dressed as an ape and tried to steal a display banana from gas stations. Here's the real news story:

Man in ape costume tries to steal banana displays

FOND DU LAC, Wis. (AP) — Police continue a fruitless search for a man wearing an ape costume who has attempted to steal foam banana displays from inside local gas stations. Capt. Steve Klein said Thursday someone donning an ape costume entered two gas stations Wednesday trying to steal the displays and police have received several calls about the suspect hanging around town. While Klein acknowledges that the action may seem funny, they want to talk to the person behind the ape suit because they aren’t sure what the suspect’s motives are.

I'd imagine the person's motives were to make people laugh -- and at this they were wildly successful.

Have a safe, happy, and memorable Memorial Day Weekend.

Happy Trails,

-Sam

Six Month Reflections

2009-05-19T23:20:00.000-05:00

The earth has traveled halfway around the sun since I started treatment.

As we wait for the next round to commence and pass the six month mark for treatment, I think it's appropriate to take a look back at from where we've come.

Nine months ago I was feeling off. I had a persistent hacking cough, my joints hurt terribly, my appetite was waning and my energy level felt completely drained. I went to the Doctor, and at my request -- and only at my request -- she took some blood tests as an afterthought, looking for Lymes Disease or West Nile Virus.

The tests found that my blood counts were way off. I was anemic and my white blood cell count was low. She set up an appointment for me with a hematologist "just as a precautionary measure." I had to wait a month before there was an opening.

Eight months ago, I was really starting to feel bad. I had frequent night sweats, nightly fevers, complete loss of appetite, couldn't handle my alcohol, and was losing weight rapidly. My visit to the hematologist, however, showed that my blood counts had risen. "It's probably just a virus," he said. "Come back in a month and we'll test you again."

One month later, my blood counts had stayed the same. It was only then that he thought it best to do a bone marrow biopsy. This was one day before the presidential election.

That Wednesday he called and said "you're bone marrow shows some blasts, but there aren't many. This really doesn't look like cancer, but we'll know more tomorrow when the final report comes in."

What a relief...

The next day I was having a terrific day at work when he called back around four o'clock. "You need to come in and talk," he said. "This looks like leukemia."

Two weeks later, six months ago today, I was in the hospital starting treatment. I can say definitively that the two week interim between diagnosis and commencing treatment were the scariest two weeks of my life.

For four months, through induction and consolidation, I seemed to grow weaker every day. Despite efforts to keep it up, my weight fell to 115, far below my normal 130-140 range. There were days when it took every ounce of determination I had to get up, ride my trainer for ten minutes, eat and shower -- those simple things would exhaust every bit of energy I had for the day.

It felt like an abyss. Every day grew worse than the day before and it felt as if there was no way out. "How much more can I possible take?" I found myself asking.

Then stage 4 came around. My neutrophils rose, so I could once again eat the foods that I enjoy (healthy food). Slowly I started to pick up my old habits -- the first bike ride was short (and shaky), I left the Madison area for the first time in months, I went fishing and felt the tug of a fish at the end of the line, I went hiking in Upper Michigan, went out to eat with Katie and with friends, got back to the office, and the list goes on. These were things that I could only dream of doing during the rough first few months of treatment -- things that I had feared I would never be able to do again.

I also regained a great deal of strength during the last two months. I'm back to 135, although it's admittedly a much softer 135 than in years past. I'm also able to bike or hike a fair distance -- I won't be riding a century anytime soon, but today I biked 15-20 miles with relative ease.

On December 22nd, I rode my trainer and wrote: "Today I spent a half hour on my bike and could shut my eyes and envision I was riding my bike down Wilson street in the Sun to work at Clean Wisconsin." Today, that dream was realized as I road my bike down East Wilson in the bright sunshine to work at Clean Wisconsin. I must admit that I cheated a bit and went around capital square to avoid the big hill.

As we get ready to ramp things up again I know that we are not even close to being out of the woods yet (or perhaps more appropriatly for me -- I know that there will be much time spent outside of the woods, where I'd rather be). But now as things get worse I will at least know that things do get easier, that better days lie ahead.

This insight will help transform days that feel like an abyss to feel more like a really painful bike ride -- one that you keep pedaling for home knowing that a hot grill and cold beer awaits you at the finish.

Thanks for stickin' with me and following my adventures over the last six months.

-Sam

Break Extended...

2009-05-18T20:16:00.000-05:00

Well, my assumption that we would start round four today proved wrong -- My neutrophil count has fallen, so it's back to work for a couple of days to be followed by another lab on Thursday to see if my neutrophil count is up high enough to commence round four.

I'm looking at it as the break between round three and four extended instead of round 4 delayed...

-Sam

A Shout-Out Laden Post

2009-05-16T12:32:00.000-05:00

It's been way too long since I've posted -- Every corner there seems to be someone saying "you really need to update you're blog." I'm just happy that people read it.

The past month (wow, it's really been almost that long since my last update) has been terrific. I haven't been updating because I haven't had a whole lot of time to update; I've been far too busy living.

I have been writing, however, and if you're ever curious what I'm up to you can always look in the Clean Wisconsin Press Room. I've concluded that, perhaps with the exception of getting out and enjoying the outdoors, there is nothing more fun than trying to protect the environment using the media.

It's great to be back to work. I love the excitement that having no idea what I'll be working on as I head into the office brings. I love the pressure of having to get a press release out the door. I love the strategy and tenaciousness of an all-out media brawl.

Working is what makes coming home in the evening pleasant. Working is what makes weekends so great. It is no coincidence that we often define ourselves by our occupation -- there is, after all, a reason why we phrase the question "what do you do" and not "how do you make money."

Last weekend I had the pleasure of fishing with my Grandpa up in Rhinelander. This was a particularly special treat. Since I was three years old, my grandfather and I have fished the same bays of the same lake in the same boat. Regardless of what is happening in life, fishing with Grandpa always grounds me, reminding me both of where I am and where I came from. Pictured is he and I fishing in Florida two years ago.

Monday we start the next stage, delayed intensification, which brings with it nearly all of the rough drugs that the last stage did. I probably won't feel this way in a month, but for the time being I feel ready to take it on. Months ago I wrote that my new motto for chemo was "Bring it On." This will now be stage #4 of 6 rough chemo stages, and a light is beginning to show at the end of the tunnel and growing by the day (and it's the right kind of light at the end of the tunnel...)

Monday I'll also once again begin taking high doses of a steroid, dexamethasone. When the blog posts get a little crazy, it's the Dex. It should be interesting. It's a strange feeling knowing that you're about to temporarily lose your mind -- that's really what it amounts to, too.

It's been a terrific two months much to the thanks of a lot of people, that as well as the fact that I haven't updated in a month results in a long shout out list:

Shout outs:

SO to John Caldwell: I hope you're feeling better soon -- good vibes are being sent your way
SO to Katie: Congratulations on four years of hard work and this weekend's graduation
SO to Philly: Congratulations on five years of hard work and this weekend's graduation
SO to Grandpa Giles: Thanks for taking me out fishing, it means more to me than you can know
SO to Jesse for winning the "sticky situation" story comment question challenge
SO to Mitch for taking a close second (and for keeping Mel's open a bit longer so that i could buy a Mother's Day gift -- oops.)
SO to everyone who posted eco-friendly lifestyle changes, they were too good, I can't even pick a winner.
SO to Schryver and Vitse for making me laugh with Chair Wisconsin -- Brilliant
SO to Vitse and BKelly for helping me move my office furniture -- Yeah.
SO to Stuart: One more round to go -- congrats and get ready to kick ass in softball
SO to Shelly: It was great running into you in clinic the other day
SO to Ben and Jen: Congratulations on having the little one, I hope you're getting some sleep
SO to leaves on trees -- it's hard not to feel alive when mother nature springs to life

Comment question of the day:

Post a link to something online that makes you laugh -- A Web site, A video from the Youtube, or a particularily funny news article. Here's mine:

http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/

-Sam

Sometimes they Close Roads for a Reason

2009-04-22T23:05:00.000-05:00

Sometimes they close roads for a reason. Usually they don't. All of my life I've read the "Road Closed" sign as "No Traffic Adventure Course." Never had I stumbled upon a closed road that was impassible.

There's a first time for everything.

Friday after work, I checked the weather and saw that it was 79 degrees in Ontonagon, Michigan. I swiftly jumped in my car and headed north -- surely this heat wave would get the Steelhead running.

Saturday, my dad and I awoke to temperatures in the mid 30's and mist. We decided to wait for evening and warmer temperatures to head to the Presque Isle River to fish.

In the late afternoon we headed out planning to take South Boundary Road through the Porcupine Mountains to get to the river. This road acts as a snowmobile trail in the winter, but is a paved road when the snow melts, running the interior boundary of Michigan's largest wilderness area.

When we entered the park, a large barrier read "Road Closed to Thru Traffic." The road looked dry as a bone, so we decided to slip around the barrier and head into the hills. To our surprise 3 miles up we began to encounter a bit of snow on the roadside.

"How did that snow survive the 80 degree temperatures?" we pondered.

Five miles in it began to get a bit deeper.

"Are you sure we're not going to get stuck up here?" I asked

"Yeah, this is nothing for this car to take," Dad responded.

Thirty seconds later all four tires began to spin.

Dad and I both got out and stared at the car perplexed. We jammed pine boughs under the tires hoping these would get sucked under and give us traction. They did not. We dug out the tires and threw everything we had under them -- cardboard, rocks, newspaper, dirt dug up in the woods -- but all to no avail.

After about 40 minutes, four college-aged kids in a Subaru pulled up behind us -- they too had disregarded the road closed sign and the barrier. They stopped before the deep snow and helped us rock the car until we were pushed out of the ruts that had been dug -- sometimes you just get lucky.

We caught no fish, but had a terrific weekend nonetheless. On Earth Day I must admit that I feel a bit of guilt for having my second 700 mile weekend in two weeks, but it is my passion for the outdoors that drives me to try so hard to protect it.

It is Earth Day, so do me a favor and after you read this do one thing to make your home more energy efficient or reduce your carbon footprint. Change one light bulb from an old-school one to a compact fluorescent, bike or walk to work one day this week, or put your computer on a surge protector and turn it off at night. Want more ideas to save some money and the environment, check out this press release written by your's truly.

All right, enough infomercial. Tomorrow will find me back in the clinic for some methotrexate, vincristine and a spinal tap with chemo, the precise doses of which will be determined by my blood counts. Then we get a ten day break followed by another round of methotrexate and vincristine which will complete the treatment of round 3. Round 4, an intensified stage will then begin in Mid-May (after the opening of fishing season which is something I am eternally grateful for.)

Comment Question of the Day:

Tell me about a sticky situation you once found yourself in on a road trip -or- post one thing you did to make your home/office/life more energy efficient. Winners of both categories will recieve a shout out.

Happy Earth Day,

Sam

Escape to the Gitche Gummi and a Colon Cleanse Recipe

2009-04-13T21:08:00.001-05:00

It was time to get the hell out of Dodge. I was born a traveler, an adventurer. I simply wasn't meant to stay in one place for any length of time. I hadn't traveled outside south-central Wisconsin in over 4 months, and last week I decided it was time to get out.

On Wednesday I decided I was going to head north with Katie over the weekend to see "The Big Lake," Lake Superior. Lake Superior holds a special place in my heart. It is where I would travel with my grandparents every summer when I was young. We would walk along the beach looking for agates and stare out into the beautiful cool vastness.

Superior is where I've had some of my best fishing adventures. Life rarely gets better than kicking back a few beers on a warm summer night while trolling for lake trout and salmon and watching the sunset over calm water at 10:00pm. Except perhaps when you get back to the cabin and fry up the day's catch with potatoes to be immediately followed by a driftwood campfire on the beach and many more beers for good measure. Retiring by 2:00am I'd sleep happily in anticipation of doing it all over the next day.

I've driven north to Lake Superior after a ten hour day at the bike shop, leaving at 9:00pm and arriving at 3:00 in the morning. Last April, I drove 8 hours alone through a blizzard to get to the big lake just for the opportunity to spend a day and a half trying to catch a steelhead. The snow was up to the bumper of my truck, and I only saw one car in a 150 mile stretch of the Upper Peninsula. I caught no fish, but didn't regret making the trip for a second.

The Big Lake holds all of these memories and more. It is the embodiment of my youth, the location of my greatest adventures.

So, this was all on my mind Wednesday as I daydreamed about heading up. I decided we were to leave on Thursday night, but wouldn't tell anyone as I've learned never to make plans lest we pull another "let's go to lazy jane's in the morning!" only to end up Blagojeviching all night. I was giddy with anticipation.

Wednesday night, I packed up all of my trout fishing gear. Going through my backpack and fly fishing gear brought back memories of so many great adventures -- the half eaten flies bitten off by wild bluefish in Florida, the giant hole in my backpack and frayed straps chewed through by a pesky pine martin in the adirondacks. It also brought excitement as I thought of the many adventures to come.

Thursday after work Katie and I packed up all of my meds -- a full basketful -- and the rolling pharmacy (Katie's Blue 1987 Buick Lesabre) headed north. After spending a great night at Katie's parents, we headed up into the upper peninsula on hwy 45 stopping at my favorite roadside food stand "Big Honkin' Sandwiches" in Watersmeet, MI -- home of the Nimrod Nation -- no kidding, it's their mascot.

We arrived at the cabin next to the lake with enough time to take a quick nap -- all right it was two hours -- and to watch the sunset over the ice dunes on the lake. It is impossible to describe or capture the beauty of the sun setting over ice dunes and a sea of ice. If you've never seen it, it's really worth a trip.

I spent Saturday fishing the Presque Isle river below the falls. It was about a week too early and I didn't catch anything, but then again, I didn't really care. I was happy to be out at one of my favorite hideouts. The sound of the falls, the smell of the fire we stoked on the beach, and the freshness of the air made for an extremely pleasant day. Especially so because there were so many days during the last stage when I would lie on the couch not wanting to move, but then get on my bike and ride for 15 excruciatingly painful minutes -- the only thing giving me the motivation to spin the pedals was telling myself over and over again "I need to keep the leg strength so that I can climb the stairs at Presque Isle Falls this Spring... I will get there."

It was a terrific trip.

I have to thank everyone for posting/sending me their favorite recipes. Many of them sound delicious and I look forward to cooking them. As those of you who have been reading my blog from the beginning will remember, I often like to read the advertisements on the sidebar of gmail that are created by scanning the content of the message. These often are incredibly humorous as many of you may recall from the "Uncle Jimmy's Hangin' Balls" post. Well, another great one jumped up when someone who shall remain nameless sent me a recipe recently. The recipe looks delicious, but the first content-guided advertisement read "Colon Cleanse Recipe." On second thought, maybe i'll avoid that recipe...

I hope this week and Spring find you all well.

Comment Question of the Day:

What is your favorite season -- and why?

Shout Outs:
SO to Stuart -- good luck in round six.
SO to Grandpa Weis -- Thanks for Easter dinner, it was great.
SO to GG Giles -- Have a safe trip home and stay out of those nasty storms
SO to the 90-year-old in Pat's grocery store in Ontonagon wearing a black Stormy Kromer w/ a rainbow gay rights pin (how awesome is that?)
SO to Julie -- Thanks for sending me the great photos of your trip

Shop Whole Foods this Thursday!

2009-04-08T22:45:00.000-05:00

Just a quick post... I'm feeling very well and have been dedicating most of my time and energy to getting back to work for this stage and getting back into public. This explains the most recent blogout -- no worries, it's a good blogout. I actually have some white blood cells for the time being!

I'm extraordinarily excited to get back into the office, even if it's only for 4-5 hours a day. On that note, anyone reading in Madison should shop Whole Foods on University Avenue on Thursday (4/09), as 5% of that day's total sales will go to Clean Wisconsin, the state's largest-- and world's best -- environmental advocacy organization.

Get some tasty, healthy food and support a great cause. Shop yourself and send your friends.

All right comment question of the day:

Post or send me your all time favorite recipe.

Shout Outs:
-SO to Vitse for missing the shout outs
-SO to Dennis -- Lunch was great, thanks for introducing me to Buraka
-SO to Philly -- I'd stick to less than two pots of coffee a day -- unless you balance it out w/ a fishbowl-sized margarita.
-SO to Schryver -- Congrats on the half-month hero award.

Later,

Sam

"The only problem with bacon is that it makes you thirsty... For more bacon."

1/3 of The Way Home & Sometimes you just Need a Sushi Roll

2009-03-24T20:12:00.000-05:00

Sometimes you just need to eat a sushi roll. Jim Harrison often discusses the "restorative properties" of certain meals, and I have never felt anything more restoring than the California role I downed with soy sauce and wasabi this afternoon.

It is perhaps not the best idea to consume food that the general public is warned of consuming for the potential for illness when one has a compromised immune system, but then again it made for the most enjoyable sushi role I've ever eaten. If danger had a flavor it would be that of a California roll, and it would be delicious -- especially with soy sauce and wasabi.

The road to the sushi roll began Monday with labs, which revealed my neutrophils had jumped just high enough to commence the next round of chemo "Escalating Methotrexate." This is now round 3 of 6 heavy rounds of chemo which is followed by 3 years of "maintenance," which is much lighter.

Monday began with a spinal tap with chemo, IV methotrexate, and IV vincristine. Apparantly while sedated for the spinal tap, I discussed sushi with my Doctor for the entirety of the procedure often getting so excited that I'd lift my head up putting pressure on the needle in my back and causing all kinds of trouble. The good news was that the Doctor thought it would probably be all right to eat some sushi, which I took full advantage of today after recieving two shots of chemo in the 'ole glutes this morning.

It seems funny to say that having a spinal tap with chemo, two IV chemos and two shots of chemo within two days feels light, but so far my Doctor's promise that this will be an easier stage seems correct. We have 48 days before begining the next, heavier stage "delayed intensification," and I plan on enjoying each and every one of them.

It seems more than fitting that we began this stage of treatment the day classes resumed at UW. It was a wonderful "Spring Break," but I'm happy to be back on the grind again.

Comment question of the day:

What's the best spring break and/or vacation you've ever taken?

Take Care,

Sam

Spring Break '09!

2009-03-19T21:08:00.000-05:00

Spring Break '08! And Good Riddance to Consolidation:

Last year at this time, I and three friends backpacked into the Adirondack mountains and camped in stormy, freezing temperatures for four days so that we could snowshoe to summits of mountains in the high peaks region.

The snow was 6 feet deep at camp, 8 feet deep at elevation. Our feet were blistered; our hands perpetually numb. A pesky and clever Pine Martin would find ways to raid our food supply every day at base camp regardless of how much time and energy we spent trying to outwit him.

The Lean-To we had chosen was too small for two tents to lay flat, so one tent needed to be laid over a log support. Each night two of us would have to sleep with our heads well below our feet, not exactly the most restful way to recover from a full day's snowshoeing and climbing.

Being spring break we brought a fifth of whiskey along with us. The whiskey was largely ignored, however, the bottle of IB-Profen would get passed around each morning with oatmeal.

We would stand atop peaks, freezing our asses off and joke about hot white sand beaches with cold margaritas and ladies in little bikinis. The joke quickly became to scream "Spring Break '08!" any time we were so cold that we could hardly stand it any more.

After four days, we hiked out and returned to my sister's apartment in Clinton, New York. We drove 20 miles to feast on massive, gooey burritos at Tex Mex, my all time favorite Mexican restaurant. On the return trip, I decided we had better stop at a liquor store to get some whiskey and Saranac Ale to wash down the tasty Mexican.

It was well passed two in the morning -- after the contents of the liter bottle of Seagram's Seven and box of beer were finally depleted, after the chicken nibbler eating contest had finished -- before someone finally bothered to ask me "what time are we leaving tomorrow for home?"

"Eight O'clock." I said.

"There's no way you're going to get up and be ready to go by eight!" another said.

"Oh, I'll be ready to go."

A moment from that infamous night is pictured above.

I awoke at seven to the sound of my alarm and hushed voices downstairs in the living room.

"Do you think Sam will be awake enough to drive?" I heard my friend Cavan say.

"There's no way." I heard Karsten say.

I took this as a challenge. I jumped into the shower, dressed, walked down the stairs and said with a gigantic smile "Mornin' boys. Let's get going," promptly at eight o'clock.

After drinking a bowl of coffee in downtown Clinton, I was not only awake enough to take the first stint of driving, I drove non-stop from New York to Wisconsin, through a blizzard. We arrived in Madison after sixteen hours, my point well made. It was a great trip.

I share this story because it is the best way I can describe the last round of chemo -- the "Month from hell" felt remarkably like it feels to drive 16 hours through a blizzard on 5 hours of sleep after spending a night of heavy drinking and 4 days snowshoeing over mountains and sleeping in fifteen degree temperatures and heavy winds.

But... The 57 Day "month of hell" is now officially over -- Goodbye and Good Riddance.

Spring Break '09 and a Medical Update:

The protocol that I'm on requires that my platelet count rise to over 75 and that my neutrophil count (infection-fighting white blood cells) rise to 750 before beginning the next round. While my platelets are in good shape (just over 100), we're still waiting on my neutrophils to rise in order to start (they're at about 200).

While I would prefer that my counts were a bit higher, this little break in chemo came at an opportune time as it corresponds not only with an abundance of sunshine, but also with UW's Spring Break meaning I've been able to spend a great deal of time with Katie and my buddy Phil.

Also, because my marrow seems to be revved up to kick out red blood cells and platelets, I've been feeling very well and having more energy than I've had in months. It's amazing how quickly the body recovers. Whereas a few weeks ago I had days when it was a struggle to remain conscious (this is not an exaggeration), now I'm feeling remarkably well. Certainly not "normal" but very, very well.

In fact, one of the struggles is remembering that I cannot engage in some of the behaviors that I used to. It's a sign that I'm feeling a great deal better when I find myself forgetting things like wearing a mask when I have to go to the clinic, and having to think things like "Sam, don't lick that doorknob even if it would be funny, you don't have any white blood cells, remember?" Or, "Mmmm, Whisky... No, you're liver's already in an endurance competition known as chemo -- you can't drink whisky, remember?"

Particularly special this week was that I was able to ride my "Soma" a single speed mountain bike that Phil and I spent last summer finding parts for and building. We finished this bike shortly before I was diagnosed, and I was able to ride it only once before starting chemo -- Then it sat in my basement this winter for months. Getting out on three rides on the Soma this week in the Springtime sun felt symbolic of a comeback in so many ways.

Also, it occured to me this week that I had not left the city limits in months. It was a beautiful day, and I immediately jumped in my car and headed for my favorite trout fishing stream on a scouting mission and a short hike. It felt great to walk next to the babbling stream in farm fields as well as to drive far too fast down old curvey country roads with the window down while listening to the likes of Bruce Springstein.

Any writing without the mention of food is, in my opinion, a waste of words. If you ever leave my blog without feeling at least a twinge of hunger, then I fear I have failed. So, the food report:

Although my slender appearance may suggest otherwise, those of you who know me well know that my affinity for good food is surpassed by few others, and this week I've really enjoyed some great food. I'm getting better and more creative with the neutropenic diet and it's making life a lot easier.

Figuring I could use the luck of the Irish, on St. Patty's Day I enjoyed the best corned beef and cabbage I have ever had -- salty, filling and delicious. Last night, I grilled out with Katie and Phil and had a grilled portabella mushroom cap with grilled zucchini served on a toasted italian role with mayo and roasted red pepper -- It was amazing to eat something comprised almost entirely of veggies. Tonight, Fish and Chips, a classic that is hard to beat.

Overall, I am extraordinarily grateful for my "Spring Break '09." It's been one of the best Spring Breaks I've had as the events of the last 5 months have magnified my appreciation for the little things in life to an extent that I never imagined possible. A meal, a dance, a song, drive, walk, rainstorm, moonrise, or moment can be more beautiful than words can describe -- and for this perspective, I am thankful.

Happy Spring Break,

Sam

"I'm still Kickin,'" a Few Fill Ups, and a Big Bag of Platelets

2009-03-11T00:02:00.000-05:00

When you start getting the "Are you still alive?" emails, it's probably a sign the time has come to update your blog. I must, once again, apologize for the blog update blackout, or "blogout." I am happy to report, however, that whereas the last blogout resulted from being in rather rough shape, this blogout resulted from feeling quite well and devoting my energy to getting work done, getting outside, and doing my best to respond to individual emails and calls -- things I hadn't been able to keep up with in the previous month.

Furthermore, nothing terribly exciting or humorous has happened in the last two weeks to share with you. No blood spurting on walls, unexpected blagojeviching, or late night needle runs. Boring is good. I hope for much more boring in the coming months.

There is one entertaining story to share with you...

While I've been feeling rather well, my blood counts have been hammered by the recent round of chemos and I've needed a few fill ups. Since my last post I've received 4 pints of platelets and 2 more pints of red blood cells.

Last Thursday my platelet count had fallen once again and they brought me back to the chemo room where my transfusion was to take place. I asked my friendly nurse Suzanne if I was to get one or two bag of platelets...

"Just one bag today, you can't get to stingy on us now, Sam," she joked.

After taking pre-meds (Benedryl and Tylenol) and waiting a half hour for them to kick in in order to prevent an allergic reaction, the bag of platelets arrived from the blood bank. It was HUGE. Suzanne held it up and stared at it in disbelief.

"I've never seen a bag of platelets this big," she said.

She began calling other nurses over and I watched in a bene-drilled haze as nurses gathered with comically shocked expressions on their faces.

For the next hour, as the platelets dripped, nurses from all over the chemo room came to my bay having heard the rumor of the giant bag of platelets.

The truly amazing thing is that it was all from a single donor. To use one of my favorite expressions, someone joined the "man-up club" at the blood donation bank, and to the mystery donor I am forever thankful.

All right: the medical update:

Let's see, its just after midnight meaning we just entered Wednesday, day 56 of the 57 day "month from hell." On Thursday I am scheduled to have a bone marrow biopsy to see how we're doing with treatment. Any good vibes, thoughts, positive energy, prayers, ritual dances or ceremonies you can send or perform would be much appreciated.

If my counts are high enough, we will begin the next stage of treatment on Thursday as well, however, my labs on Monday showed that they were still very low, so this is exceedingly unlikely.

Fun Stuff:

Comment Question of the Day:

I'll be sedated for Thursday's bone marrow biopsy which is always interesting because, try as they might, they can never seem to give me enough to put me to sleep, only enough to make my recollection of the event hazy. I end up talking, and talking, and talking throughout the entire procedure and often have rather comical things to say (I know this because I've tape-recorded it in the past.)

In an attempt to save myself the embarrassment of rambling on for a half hour about "the therapeutic qualities of beer and wine," I now usually listen to soothing music while under sedation. I was rather content with randomly picking an album off my ipod until I was driving recently, heard The Ramones "I want to be sedated" on the radio, and decided the irony was just too great to pass up -- the time had come to compile a "Sedation Playlist" on my Ipod.

So, the comment question of the day: What songs (ironic, soothing, or otherwise) should go on the "Sedation Playlist?"

Shout Outs:

SO to Sharky -- I love the shadow box and can't wait to see you.
SO to Philly -- Hope you excelled in Saturday's beer pong tournament.
SO to Shelly -- Thinking of you and sending good vibes your way.
SO to Stuart -- Congrats on hitting the halfway mark... hope you're home and comfortable.
SO to P. Taglia -- Thanks for the prompt and thourough answer to the efficiency question.
SO to Johnson -- It's great to hear from you... hope you have a great break in New Orleans.
SO to Schmidty -- Congrats on Teach for America... Can't wait 'till your back in the Midwest where you belong.

Take care,

Sam

Blood and Blueberry Pop-Tarts

2009-02-23T19:57:00.001-06:00

Well, the good news is I'm done with the cytoxin and cytarabine, two of my least favorite drugs, for a while. The bad news is we now get to sit back and watch them decimate my blood counts for a couple of weeks.

Today found me back at the clinic for "labs." "Labs" really is just a euphemism for stealing from the little bit of blood you have and looking at it under a microscope to make sure they're keeping you alive. I of course kid -- kind of -- western medicine really does amaze me.

It's really quite strange how quickly a new situation becomes "normal." For twenty-two years I would go years without visiting a doctors office. Now, spending two full days a week in the clinic, getting blood drawn, analyzing labs, getting an occasional pint of blood or platelets, being given chemo drugs, swallowing chemo drugs, injecting chemo drugs, having to have someone wrap my arm in plastic wrap daily to shower, and a myriad of other bizarre experiences have all become "normal."

Anyway, I digress. Today my labs found that I was rather severely anemic, and I received two bags of fresh red blood cells, so thanks to the two people out there somewhere who so generously gave blood. I do appreciate it, although one of them made me a bit itchy, and I couldn't help but think as the blood was coming into me "I hope this individual didn't smoke, drink, eat a Big Mac and engage in unprotected promiscuous sex before giving this blood." Well, one can hope at least -- beggars can't be choosers.

I guess I'm not one to talk when it comes to eating healthy; I've been a bit of a gluten lately. They say the key to cancer-fighting foods is to ensure you eat a lot of foods with color. If that's the case, then the frosted blueberry Pop-tart with red, green, yellow, blue, and orange sprinkles that I ate tonight must be the best cancer fighting food ever -- The thing looked like the grand finally at a fourth of July fireworks display.

The Pop-tart washed down about half of a pizza with sausage, pepperoni, and artichoke hearts. Yesterday I drowned my sorrows from the depressing badger basketball game with two tasty Barbecue Beef sandwiches with baked beans and pasta salad. I'm wearing my fat pants, and I'm not even on steroids (I don't know if you can really call them "fat" pants when you're "up" to 130 pounds...)

Well, that's about it for the update. In general I'm feeling quite well and thoroughly enjoying life. This weekend was wonderful. I spent it with Katie, going on walks, cooking meals, driving around and listening to music. Tomorrow I plan on taking my new red blood cells out for a test drive on a long walk if it's warm enough or on my bike (preferably both).

Thursday will find me back at the clinic for more labs, and two more chemo drugs (Vincristine and Peg Asparaginase). My blood counts will likely be very low for the next two weeks, so lots of good vibes would be much appreciated.

Until next time,

Sam

Shout Outs:

SO Mitch, Shane and Travis: Great job in the Birkie and I hope to be there with you in a few years.
SO to Stuart and Candace: I hope you feel better, Candace, and I hope you're getting some sleep, Stuart.
So to Dick: Congratulations on your amazing progress and have fun swinging the tennis raquet.
SO to Pete: Thanks for the book, I love it.
SO to Sare and Andrew: Thanks for the belated birthday present, the shirt fits brilliantly, and the book is beautiful. I can't wait to get back out there.
SO to Robin: Thanks for the e-mail, it brightened my day.

A Good Day

2009-02-18T17:25:00.000-06:00

Well, this week has been hard. Really, Really hard. I experienced fatigue like I have never had in my life. Once again, the pain of steroid withdrawal made my skin and bones hurt like crazy and caused severe depression (although I think this results from an inability to to anything more than anything else.)

That's the bad news. The good news is that today was a good day. After waking up and showering, I was able to get the energy to drive my car around town a bit. Just listening to the radio and looking at the houses and the lake felt terrific. It felt normal, and I cannot explain how good "normal" feels these days.

I parked in a neighborhood I've never been to before and went for a short walk. The fresh air, wind, and snow in my face felt so good and so refreshing. I love the outdoors. I really miss spending a lot of time outdoors these days and cannot wait until I can get out more often.

After driving home, I went to my Mum's apartment and we made meatball subs. This is as close to normal food as I've eaten in a long time, and this also felt great.

It seems that the oncologists who devised this protocol really know what the body can take. It feels as though they push you until you feel like your body can't possibly take any more, than they bring you back just a little bit, then knock you back down again. It's all worth it if the lymphoblasts feel it more than I do.

Tomorrow will find me back at the clinic for labs, and I'll once again begin injecting myself with cytarabine at home. My blood counts should be at their lowest again for the next week or so, so all the good vibes you can send would be very much appreciated.

I hope this finds you all well, and that you're staying warm out there!

Sam

No Needles...Argh!

2009-02-12T23:30:00.000-06:00

Never before did I think a lack of needles in my household would be a problem...

Slated to inject myself with a chemo drug this evening, I reached into my fridge to pull out the syringes, and immediately noticed that the pharmacist forgot to include needles for me to inject myself with. I knew that speaking of how smoothly things went at the clinic this morning would jinx my luck (we were in and out in three or four hours which is the equivalent of a land speed record for Sam clinic visits...)

Anyway, after calling the on-call doctor who said "I don't even know what to do," Katie is now on the way to the hospital to retrieve the much-needed needles.

"You better hope I don't run off and sell this to someone on the street," Katie joked as she exited with my syringe.

"Good luck finding someone who wants to buy cytarabine," I retorted, with rather quick wit I might add (at least for a chemo patient).

Well, I will happily allow murphy's law to add interest to life so long as it focuses its attention on the minutia of treatment.

On a second note, I am happy to report that my sense of humor is returning. The darn spinal taps seriously alter my ability to detect humor as well as significantly slowing my wit. After an eight day break, I can feel it returning and it feels great to laugh again. Laughter is a great medicine, after all.

Well, that's the report of the rip-roarin' good time at Sam's house this evening.

All right, since this is post number two for the evening I will not include a comment question of the day, but please do take the Music Challenge from the post below... I'd very much appreciate it.

Till next time,

Sam

"Just Cytoxin" and a Musical Challenge

2009-02-12T15:42:00.000-06:00

Well, I'm home from the clinic and choc-o-bloc full of Cytoxin. Rumor has it it will stay in my system for 72 hours, so the next three days I'll be focused on drinking fluids to keep it running smoothly through my system -- lots and lots of fluids (10-12 glasses a day).

After joking yesterday about my Mum saying that I would "just be getting a spinal tap and vincristine" last week, my nurse today looked down at the chart then looked up and said "oh, you're just getting cytoxin today." I laughed, and she caught herself. "I guess that's easy to say when you're not the one getting it," she said.

My counts today were across the board. White blood counts came up, although I didn't have as many neutrophils as I would like, red blood count fell a tiny bit, and my platelet count shot up (over 300). I do rather like having those little guys on board.

I also feel a bit better today as the past 2 days I've been unable to straighten my right arm (this is the arm with my PICC Line -- an IV line that runs from a vein in my bicep to a vein near my heart), and today they informed me that it was likely not a blood clot or infection, but rather tendinitis or some similar injury incurred from lifting weights.

"Don't lift weights with your PICC Arm!" seemed to be the message of the day. Hey, they told me to get regular exercise...

Allright, Fun Stuff.

Comment Question of the Day: A Music Challenge:

I often listen to music at home to relax when I'm not feeling well and I almost always listen to music in the clinic before and during chemo treatment to pump myself up to kill some lymphoblasts.

I've found some good ones, but I'm in need of some new material, Which leads me to the comment question of the day:

What are the best songs for Sam in the following categories:

1. Best "blast some Lymphoblasts" chemo fight songs
2. Best soft or sweet, relaxing music
3. You're all time favorite song or songs (open)

As always, leave a comment (I'll check back), or zap me an e-mail at bikeryder@gmail.com.

Shout Outs:

SO to Stuart. Great news on your remission!
SO to Dick Bowley. Great news on your counts, keep it up!
SO to Shelly. Wishing you the best on today's bone marrow.
SO to everyone whose still checking my blog regularly, even though I've been slow to post -- I appreciate it more than you can know.

A February Thaw and Vincristine Vacation

2009-02-11T15:10:00.000-06:00

Wow. Well, the doctor warned me that this would be a rough stretch of treatment...

We're on day 28 of 57 of misnamed "month of hell," so we've officially reached the halfway point. The bad news is we're about to restart the cycle of drugs that decimated my blood counts and knocked me down pretty hard (I apologize for not posting for such a stretch). The good news is that there are no spinal taps in the second half of this stretch (as of last week I had had 4 spinal taps w/ chemo in 22 days, and these make me notoriously fuzzy-brained and quiet.)

An Update:

Prior to leaving for last week's appointment, my Mum turned to me and in a chipper voice said "oh look, this week you only get vincristine and a spinal tap!" This made me laugh as it's a bit like saying "Oh look, this week you only get a punch in the gut and a kick to the groin!"

I like to make fun, but the truth is that I myself got rather excited when I saw this as well. In fact, because I'm in the middle of such a heavy cycle of drugs, I've privately referred to this week as my "vincristine vacation," because while I'm still quite out of it, I'm at least on my feet and can enjoy a good book, music, or the company of others.

I'm eternally grateful that this little "break" in treatment came during a February thaw here in Madison. Yesterday I just sat out on my porch for a while, and it felt great to breathe in some moist air and feel the sunshine on my face.

Last week, I was excited to see that my platelet count had jumped up to 167, within the normal range! After the bloody adventure a couple of weeks ago, I've decided that I much prefer having more than a few of those little buggers.

Unfortunately, I can't say the same of my white blood cell count which had fallen to 0.4. I guess the whole purpose is to kill these guys off though, so I'll deal with it.

Well, tomorrow will find me back in the clinic for another round of cytoxin, one of the notoriously strong chemo drugs. I will also begin taking another chemo drug orally (mercaptopurine-- sounds like a cat food, doesn't it?) for 14 days and will inject myself with another (cytarabine) for 2 stretches of 4 days. Together, these should once again decimate my blood counts, so as many good vibes as you can send would be very much appreciated.

The good news is that with any luck, this should be the hardest part of treatment and it should get less intense from here.

Take Care,

Sam

A Heat Wave in Madison and My Pants are Tight!

2009-02-01T15:35:00.000-06:00

How's that for a post title. No, it has nothing to do with my fresh red blood cells migrating to a certain part of my anatomy, you dirty minded individuals...

Rather, my pants are actually tight. Whereas just a month ago my skinniest pants were barely hanging on, I went to put on a pair of jeans yesterday and was pleasantly surprised when I was unable to button them. Yup, that's right I'm putting on some weight and excited about it.

I'm perpetually amazed by how different "healthy eating" is for me than for 99 percent of Americans.

On another front, Madison broke the freezing mark for the first time in 28 days yesterday. After spending some time on my bike, Katie and I went for an excellent walk around the neighborhood. It hit 38 degrees -- a regular heat wave! The moisture in the air, light, and warmth of sun felt excellent. I can't wait for Spring.

Comment Question of the Day:

What's your favorite Superbowl party appetizer or food?

If I weren't trying to avoid large amounts of red meat, I'd definitely be making the "Bacon Explosion" this Sunday (pictured). Check it out, it's unreal.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/28/dining/281brex.html?_r=1&ref=dining

Take 'er easy,

Sam

"Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy
Sunshine almost always makes me high"

You think I look Bad? You Should See the Lymphoblasts...

2009-01-31T12:07:00.000-06:00

Thursday brought another exciting day. I went to bed Wednesday night excited that my Thursday clinic visit was not scheduled until 11:30. Usually I need to be to the clinic by 8:30 or 9:00 and those of you who know me well know that I usually don't much like rolling out of bed before 9:00 unless it's to head out fishing or on an adventure.

Knowing that I needed to fast for six hours before being sedated at 12:30, I stayed up late so that I would sleep late. I also set an alarm and woke up at 6:00 to eat a big bowl of cereal to hold me over through the day. I then went back to bed. I arose at 8:30 to go to the bathroom, and when washing my hands, blood began flowing freely from my left nostril.

I held a tissue under it for a few minutes hoping it would clot and I could go back to bed. It did not. I sat in bed for an hour holding tissues and thinking "Come on platelets, pull together, I don't want to lose any more of my precious red blood cells."

After an hour and a half, we headed to the clinic early. I was unshowered, wearing sweatpants, a white tee shirt with blood stains down the front. Trying to figure out a way to control the bleeding and wear a mask in the clinic was not easy. I shoved some tissue in my nostril, put on the mask, and entered the clinic.

The nurse brought me right back to the "chemo room" where I sat with ice on the back of my neck, ice on the bridge of my nose, pinching my nose closed. The lab technicians came in to draw my labs, then we waited for the results.

By the time the results came back it was 11:30 and I had been bleeding for 3 hours. The results showed that I was LOW on platelets, the little buggers that are responsible for coagulating one's blood. How low? I had 7 platelets per unit of blood. The average range is between 160 and over 300... That's what intense chemo drugs will do and explains the bloody nose.

They then had to order a bag of platelets from the blood bank. This took another hour or so. It was well into the early afternoon before the little buggers began entering my blood stream. The bag of platelets was yellow -- who would have thought?

My hemoglobin was also quite low again. After receiving my bag of platelets we moved on to two bags of red blood cells, two bags of saline, and a bag of Zofram (an anti-nausea drug) as a pre-med for the chemo I would be receiving. My IV pole looked like a Christmas tree. On top of the IV products, I also had two rounds of Benedryl, Tylenol, and a steroid as pre-meds. As well as Acyclovir and Fluconozole (Anti-viral and Anti-Fungal that I now take every day). All of this was on an empty stomach with almost no water. My poor liver must have felt like that of Hunter S. Thompson.

If you're looking for a measure of just how much blood, fluid, and meds they pumped into me, without eating or drinking all day, I still managed to gain 5 pounds.

By this time it was well into the afternoon, and we had not so much as begun any of the scheduled treatment for the day (another spinal tap, and two more chemo injections). I went for a walk around the chemo room with my Mom. Now here's a visual -- Me in sweatpants, a white tee-shirt stained in blood, a hoodie over it unzipped, pushing my Christmas tree of blood products and meds. And to top it all off, a kleenex stained in blood hanging out my left nostril.

I looked pretty hardcore. One nurse looked at me, smiled, and said "Hi Sam. You look like you were in a serious fight and lost." Had the Benedryl not slowed me down and supressed my wit I would have replied "You think I look bad? You should see the lymphoblasts..."

I really wish I had had a camera.

Finally, with some fresh blood, the Doctor came in to do the spinal tap. I went over some side effects I've experienced with him (chest pain, abdominal pain, acid reflux, back pain, extreme fatigue, chronic blood in nose, headaches, vomiting, and a laundry list of other ailments.) Each one I'd list off he'd nod and say umm hmm, umm hmm, yup...

"Is this okay?" I asked.

"Sam, you're on a super intense chemo regiment," the Doc said... "We'll give you all of these," he said pointing at my list of twenty or so symptoms. "We just won't give you a fever. If you get a fever you need to come in. Otherwise you'll be all right. I like to call this the 'month from hell'."

I found this strangely comforting. If this is the month from hell, at least I can look forward to some less intense treatment and better days. I did find it strange however that he referred to it as the "month" from hell when this stage is 57 days long. That's a long month by any stretch of the imagination. Especially when you're getting blasted. Oh well, one month to go anyway.

By the time we finished the spinal tap, the IV Chemo (Vincristine), and two shots of chemo in the 'ole glutes, we ended up closing up the chemo room for the second straight week. Another full day complete.

Yesterday and today I've felt rather well. I'm back on the 'ole bike, lifting some light dumbells for my arms, and dancing with Katie. Life is good.

Finally, I'll share with you one more "Sam is an anomolly" story. I was extremely concerned over the last stage because despite eating about 3500 calories daily I continued to lose weight until I was down to about 115 pounds. Every time I'd ask a doctor they'd say, "that's funny, most people put on a lot of weight during this stage and lose weight in the next stage, but I wouldn't worry about it too much."

Well, I was worried, I don't much like the thought of withering away below 115 pounds. After coming off the steroids (which are suppose to cause weight gain) and intensifying the chemo drugs (which are supposed to cause weight lose), I've now began putting on weight again. I can happily report that I'm now at 130 pounds, much closer to my old norm.

I have to laugh every time I see a commercial for weight loss products, foods and services. If only I had that problem I could deal with it. I'm getting really very tired of eating meat and heavy foods. I'd about kill for a spring roll, a salad, or a sushi role.

Allright, fun stuff: Comment Question of the Day:

One redeeming quality of fighting leukemia is that I get to use two of my favorite words in the English language, hemoglobin and coagulate, without having to awkwardly work them into conversations like "you can turn the heat off on the rice and the liquid will coagulate as it cools." Technically such a statement is correct, but it always draws funny looks.

So, the question: What are your favorite words in the English language (or another language, but you need to give me a definition and explanation if you do this)?

Shout Outs:

SO to Julie for the mix CD
SO to Schryver for recommending "Man on Wire" back in the day -- much enjoyed
SO to KO, sorry I haven't called back yet -- I will soon
SO to all my friends at BBC
SO to Abby and Dederich, thanks for being "on call" last night

Enjoying the sunshine and warmth and hoping it lasts,

-Sam

On Food, and Blagoeviching

2009-01-27T22:12:00.000-06:00

My last post began "quite a day." Well, I shall begin this post with "quite a week."

The last night I posted (Thursday) I was feeling great. I posted, got ready for bed, looked at Katie and said "why don't we go to Lazy Jane's (a cafe in my neighborhood) tomorrow morning." Now, most of you need to understand that with a lack of white and red blood cells, just leaving the apartment can be an adventure...

I went to bed and for the first time in weeks was sleeping well. Then at 2:35 in the morning I woke up and thought to myself "boy, I feel good. I can't wait for those eggs, toast with jam and seitan hash with hot sauce." I rose to go to the bathroom which is about eight feet from my bed and at step number two thought "hmm, my stomach doesn't feel quite right."

At step number four I thought "yup, here we go," and proceeded to drop to knees in front of the commode and Blagoevich so violently that I pulled a muscle in my back and stomach as well as gave myself a bloody nose. Then, I went back to sleep feeling sore, but overall just fine. One half hour later I woke up and repeated the process all over again. Never once was I nauseated, I would just wake up and think "yup, here we go again."

In the morning, I began eating timidly, a bit afraid of what might come, but by lunch was back to Amy's organic black bean and vegetable enchiladas smothered in cheddar cheese (God I love Mexican food). I'm still not sure what brought on the episode 'o vomitus, but I'll tell you this much -- I'm not going to eat a pulled pork sandwich 20 minutes before a spinal tap again. Well, I guess I can't promise that, I do love pulled pork.

I seem to be writing an awful lot about food and the funny thing is i'm not even on steroids -- I just love food, always have. To quote Jim Harrison "Small portions are for small and inactive people." I may be small, but it's not by choice and I've never liked small portions.

This weekend was great. Katie and I cooked, cleaned the apartment, and watched Star Wars. She enjoyed the movie as I bored her with drivel about the archetypal importance of certain characters, as well as the theories of Carl Jung and Joseph Cambell. It felt just like old times, and it was great.

Yesterday brought rougher seas. I was worn out and having a bit more trouble, but made it through, and today was another great day.

I'm back to the clinic on Thursday for another spinal tap and a blast of Vincristine. Any mental energy you can send my way to destroy those pesky lymphoblasts would be much appreciated.

Tonight all of my good vibes are going to Dick Bowley a leukemia fighter who had a bone marrow transplant in Atlanta today. Let you're new immune system come back like the light of Spring.

All right, to the fun stuff. Comment question of the Day:

I challenge you to come up with a better verb for vomitting than "Blagoviching"

Shout Outs:

SO to Scott for the e-mail -- much enjoyed
SO to Salmo for recommending "Sneakers" on the Netflix challenge -- laughed my ass off.
SO to Jesse for almost killing me by making me laugh so hard on a comment with the headline...
SO to the red-wrist-band-wearing colleagues at Clean Wisconsin (try saying that ten times fast)

Raising a glass to this adventure that is life (unfortunately it's water),

Sam

Fresh Blood and a Full Day

2009-01-22T20:28:00.000-06:00

Quite a day... I woke up at 7:30 (an achievement like you wouldn't believe for me these days) to get ready to go to the clinic for 9:30am labs and a 10:30 spinal tap. It figured to be a short appointment and I anticipated being back at home by early afternoon.

Instead, after labs I waited in the waiting room for an hour talking with a woman I met, Shelly, who also has A.L.L and is scheduled to have a bone marrow transplant next week. She is a brave, optimisitic, and inspiring woman, and I ask you, my readers, to send her all the good vibes you've got next week.

After about an hour, a nurse came out and informed me that the appointment had been changed to 12:20pm, and that I must have lost my appointment card. Shoot. I asked her whether my lab results were back yet, and she went to check. She came back shortly there after and informed me that while I still have some white blood cells (low but still hangin' out), My red blood cells have fallen to 8.2 units, a rather anemic state that they usually transfuse for -- This explains why just getting out of bed has been a challenge the last couple of days.

So, I had to go back to waiting for labs to test my blood to cross with the blood bank. After waiting an hour, the nurse finally came back out and asked why I was there. "Waiting" I replied. Turned out, the lab never received the orders for the test and 15 minutes later I finally got in.

This all worked out all right, however, as in the interim waiting period I discovered that they had scheduled the wrong chemo for me for the following two weeks. It took a bit of coaxing, but once the research director looked into it, she finally admitted I'm supposed to have four spinal taps this round, not two. It always pays to be your own health advocate, although I never thought I'd push for more spinal taps.

Once in the chemo room, I was pre-medded with benedryl (to prevent a reaction with the blood) and tylenol (to prevent a fever). The Doctor was running late, so the spinal tap would have to wait. We started running the blood into me, and all seemed to be going well -- No immediate reaction. After about 15 minutes, I stood up to use the restroom, went to the restroom, was washing my hands, and experienced a strange pain in the middle of my chest. "Oh Shit."

I hurried down the corridor, found a nurse, and tried to calmly explain:

"I'm getting blood and have a strange pain in my chest."

"What?"

"I'M GETTING BLOOD AND HAVE A STRANGE PAIN IN MY CHEST!" I replied in a less than calm manner.

She and another nurse grabbed onto me threw me down in the bed in my chemo room, ripped the blood cord out of my arm spraying the bed, my arm and the wall with blood and called the doctor.

My poor mother who had just 10 seconds previously been quietly and peacefully listening to a phone message in the room alone looked completely wide-eyed.

The Doctor calmly took my vitals, concluded it was either anxiety or indigestion, gave me some lorazapam (chills you out) and some benedryl (chills you out), and hooked me back up to the blood. All is well, false alarm.

After this debauchel, we did the spinal tap which went with surprising ease. After monitoring me for another two hours to make sure my heart wouldn't explode, they finally let me go. My anticipated two hour appointment done after only nine hours... quite a day.

I am thoroughly enjoying my fresh supply of blood. It really gave me quite a boost. Please consider donating blood next time you have the opportunity. You may never know who receives it, but believe me, it will be appreciated.

My buddy Stuart who I've mentioned on this blog before is having a brain port put in his head today to deliver interthecal chemo drugs. Please keep him in your thoughts.

Till next time,

Sam

On Hope, A New Day, and A Dream Realized

2009-01-20T19:58:00.000-06:00

We can never know what the future will bring. If one year ago you would have told me that I'd be fighting an aggressive cancer today, it would have come as a shock. If you would have then told me that today I'd proudly wrap myself in the American flag and post a photo on the Internet, I would have breathed a sigh of relief and said "at least now I know you're kidding."

Today is a great day for me, for America, and for the world. It is a new day, a day of hope, and we stand at the precipice of a great change.

I believe that while we have lost track of it, what makes America great is how much we all have in common. Today let us set aside our differences and celebrate our shared hopes and values. We can all hope for a more peaceful future, for less war, for cures for disease, for less poverty, for equal education, for health care for all, for a cleaner environment, and for happiness.

Watching a black man named Barack Hussein Obama being sworn in as President brought tears to my eyes for so many reasons today. It is a dream realized for the thousands who fought for civil rights in this nation.

It was a symbolic and overwhelming image of the ability to overcome odds and of the power of hope.

More to come... I'm moving a bit slow today...

-Sam

A Steep Climb Ahead and the Netflix Challenge

2009-01-15T23:08:00.000-06:00

Stage 2 of the climb began today. It's rumored to be one of the steepest sections of the climb. More literally, Day 1 of consolidation and being 23 is coming to a close, and it's been a good day -- much better than yesterday.

Here's what I learned today: We're still waiting on the result of one final test, and the chemo drug (cytoxan) that they gave me today will stay in my system for around 72 hours, so please keep the good vibes coming.

This is also a stage of treatment where I'm at a high risk of infection and the doctor tells me there's about a fifty percent chance that I will end up in the hospital for a stretch of it -- most likely in about ten days. This means I'll likely need to be almost entirely home bound -- might not even get out on my occasional excursions as I do now -- which brings up my Netflix Challenge so please check out the bottom of this post labeled NETFLIX CHALLENGE.

I also learned, or rather confirmed, that I'm an anomaly (I guess I always have been). How much so? Here's a list of what I had done today in order of those that caused me the greatest anxiety:

1. Spinal Tap without sedation (This one I think is pretty normal to rank high)
2. Getting New pills I need to swallow
3. Having to get up at 8:30am and step into a -20 degree wind chill
4. Having to give myself a shot in the stomach of a chemo drug

I can only believe that the vast majority of people would bump up number four a bit, but it didn't bother me all that badly. Swallowing pills the size of regular strength Tylenol, now that is a real challenge for a guy who avoided almost all medication for 22 years because "it just can't be good for you; it's unnatural."

TODAY:

Early this afternoon, the nurse brought me a cup full of "pre-meds" before chemotherapy. The biggest of them, an important anti-nausea medication that she informed me "don't worry, everybody can swallow that, even our patients with throat cancer."

"Okay, Sam, you can do this" I thought to myself, threw it to the back of my throat, and promptly spit it back up into my hand. "Hmmm." The friendly nurse, Mary, luckily shared my sense of humor and adventure, so we decided to make crack open the capsule, make a slurry with water in a measuring glass and do a shot 'o anti-nausea -- Not ever done orally to my knowledge, but I figure if I can handle a "Flaming Dr. Pepper" (don't ask), I can handle anything. With great apprehension and a host of nervous eyes looking at me I did the shot, looked up and after a short pause responded "hmm, tastes of candy" to the surprise of everyone in the room. Well, no complaints here -- other than that each pill costs about $100... Although worth every penny if it continues to work.

Later in the afternoon, as I received cytoxan and was feeling a bit of discomfort from the LP, Katie was sitting next to me, leaning close, holding my hand, and we were both listening to my ipod with one ear bud in each of our ears. A short while later, Katie and Mum left to go to the cafeteria and the nurse, Mary, came in and asked "Where did your mom and sister go?"

I was a little loggy, and had to think for a minute. "I didn't think Kate was here, those drugs must really be messing with my mind..." I thought. ***I must pause here to note that my girlfriend's name is Katie, my sister's name is Kate if this isn't self-evident*** Another thinking pause... "Ohh, sh**, she thinks Katie's my sister."

"That's my girlfriend, not sister." I said laughing
"Ahhh, I thought you to must be mighty close for siblings."

We both got a good laugh.

TONIGHT:

The anti-nausea pre-meds included a low dose steroid, so tonight I've had the appetite of a horse and am still up at 12:30am. I feel great, as I usually do on chemo nights. It's always the day after that is hardest, so I never want to go to sleep because I feel good and know that I'll wake up feeling rough; But as long as I have my nights I'm ecstatic.

I got home after a close call of having to urinate in the car on the 15 minute commute (I'm super-hydrated), I ate a light meal and jumped on my bike for 10 minutes. I will ride my bike every day that I am able, period. Then I stretched as I watched the President bid farewell to the nation.

Katie, Mom, Dad and I then enjoyed the Badger Men's basketball game (as much as you can enjoy a game Bucky blows it right at the end -- what's with Wisconsin teams this year???).

Then, I finished the night by putting on some music and Katie and I danced together. It was wonderful -- One of those things I rarely took the time to do before cancer that brings such simple and pure enjoyment.

Please, do me a favor and take a break from your routine to think about and show someone how much you love them, we all do this far to rarely in life.

Overall a great night. I can only hope tomorrow will be as well.

THE NETFLIX CHALLENGE -- Comment question of the day:

Need a distraction from work? Bored at home? Just want to help me out? Do I have a task for you...

The doctor warns that I'll likely be pretty much stuck at home entirely (if i'm lucky) or in the hospital over this stretch of treatment. My Aunt Vicky was kind enough to buy me a subscription to Netflix, and so I need your help.

You see, I just don't know what to put in my queue. I know the types of movies/TV I want, just not individual ones. So, if you could compile a list of best movies in the following categories and post it to the comments on this post (or email me at bikeryder@gmail.com), I would be forever grateful.

Again, I will echo myself, and say that everyone should feel free to participate. Don't feel awkward if you don't know me well or we've never met. I love seeing different people's tastes, and I love getting unexpected emails/comments.

I will announce a winner at some indeterminate point and they will be rewarded -- I'm really hoping with dinner, we'll see how my white blood cells are doing and treatment goes...

The categories include:

1. Sam needs to laugh his ass off and take his mind off of cancer comedies

2. Sam's coming off steroids and is willing to admit he really enjoys Notting Hill on the oxygen network chick flicks and romantic comedies (have fun ladies)

3. Sam needs to go after the lingering lymphoblasts like Butch Cassidy blows up trains Action/Adventure (English nuts will note the alliteration of "lingering lymphblasts like")

4. Sam wants to watch his friend's/families/coworkers/strangers top 2 favorite movies of all time regardless of category, so he can think of them while he can't have visitors (Open category)

One rule: try to censor for movies where no one dies of cancer... Shortly after my mother was diagnosed with lymphoma, my sister brought home "The Stepmom" having heard it was a good movie thinking it would provide a nice distraction. This logical and thoughtful gesture backfired when the stepmom in the movie died of lymphoma at the end. Today we laugh about it; what are the chances???

All right. Take your time, make a list, and post it to the comment or email me. Don't worry if you're reading this late, I'll check back to the comments often.

NEW FEATURE: SHOUT OUTS:

I'm going to begin sending shout outs to the people who help me out through this who might never know it. I am forever grateful and amazed by my caregivers -- my girlfriend, my family, and the staff at the hospital and clinic -- and do my best to show them my gratitude. Fighting this often feels like it takes three full time jobs.

Shout outs, however, will be for those who help me in huge ways who I'm not able to thank face to face. They will also be for people I'm thinking about at the time. Tonight there will be quite a few.

*SO to Dennis for all the emails, they've helped me more than you'll ever know
*Belated SO to Vicky for the Netflix
*SO to Abby for designing and making the "chemo shirt" its a hit like you wouldn't believe and the clinic and sooo much more comfortable than having to strip down to short sleeves -- we really need to talk about this...
*SO to Terry for sending me an email out of the blue
*Belated SO to Schmidty for the Isle Royale Poster
*SO to Mark, I hope your arms doing better
*Belated SO to Ryan for introducing me to the band "The National." "Fake Empire" is the song that pumps me up for chemo and keeps me focused when I'm at the clinic. Also, thanks for suggesting "Arrested Development," makes me laugh like you wouldn't believe.
*Belated SO to Keith for the book and the card, cheered me up right when I needed it
*SO to Grandpa and Grandma Giles, I love and miss both of you -- here's hoping you find some great lion's paws in the morning, Sharky.
*SO to Grandpa Weis, It was great to talk to you tonight

All right, I had best get to bed as the hour now approaches 2:00am. Today was another good one, and if experience is an indicator I can expect tomorrow to be one of rough seas, but I am ready for it -- It is all part of the journey and as long as I can look forward to days like today I shall enjoy life as much if not more than I ever have.

Stay Warm,

Sam

"With a little love and luck, you'll get by
With a little love and luck, we'll take the sky."

Wise and comforting words from the philosopher Jimmy Buffett.