Surviving Steroid Withdrawal on the Summer Solstice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Back to this week...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This turned out to be wrong...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kind of defeats the purpose, doesn't it?

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

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

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

And Mum got to clean it all up.

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

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

Take care,

Sam

A Great Weekend and A Night of Classic Americana

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sh*t."

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

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




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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

Comment question of the day:

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

Shout Outs:

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

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

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

Sam

A Little Fear and Loathing in Madison

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

"Is this normal?"

I feel liquid entering the back of my leg.

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

"What?"

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

"Is that liquid magnesium?" I query.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank God, back to reality again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

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

Till Next Time,

Sam

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

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

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...

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

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