I know what chemo is...now.

        Today we had bloodwork. It came back fine. The chemo pills that I am on do not impact my counts, which is great. I do, like with other chemos have to have an echo-cardiogram every so often to make sure it isn't damaging my heart more than people missing Jay Leno's comedy on Late Night.
         So when we  were first diagnosed with cancer, as many of you know, we were told that the cancer was a sarcoma. Which I had never heard of before. We were thinking it was isolated under my right arm, manifesting itself as a large mass. Very large and neglected...and again as many of you know the day we found out it was cancer, we found out it was in more than one place. It was on my adrenal glands. So about a month or so later we began an aggressive approach of treatment with chemo. Going into this, of course I was frightened of cancer and the mystery it brings to each it infests...but I was different. Not because I thought I was going to beat it or die from it, but because one of my best friends had hodgkins when we were teenagers. We hung out a lot during his first bout with it. Watching him lay around, exhausted. Watching him get sick, often. Watching him lose his hair and his weight and his current way of life as he knew it. It totally threw his life off track. Witnessing all this and feeling very close to him left me with the arrogance that I had experienced cancer intimately enough to feel prepared for what to expect.
          I couldn't have been more wrong about what was to come. He, just in his first bout with the disease had it worse, I believe, than I had it for the first year of mine. The medicine they have to counter much of the nausea and many of the other side effects that comes along with the chemo did not exist 20 some years ago. I think what was most revealing during the chemo, for me was the constant. The constant, feeling of weakness, being out of breath, or mouth sores. The thing is, as close as I thought I was with my friend, I was, I think like most. When someone says, "Man, this hurts..." I thought about it for a minute, then I continued on with my normal thought processes. I spent a lot of time going back over the things he went through and processing what an ordeal he had to deal with. When you have it, it's not a thought. It's a continuation of the pain or whatever is wrong. The thoughts are never really cease. I guess for me, it was like having flu-like symptoms for 2 weeks of the month for almost a year. He, like me, had/has an amazing village of support. I can say he's been cancer free (for the most part) for over a decade. As I mentioned yesterday, I don't know that I will ever be 100% again. Even in all the best case scenarios. I look at him, and he wouldn't let you know it, but I think he probably feels the same about his physical condition. But what I've learned during this process is not just that I didn't know cancer, the side effects (both emotionally and physically) but  I was also being arrogant in assuming I did. I learned from him, by his actions, not advice or words, that cancer, as much as you may want people to understand what you are going through, is a private affair, that will be different for each and every individual going through it. He handled his pain with strength that I'm not sure I would have if I had not witnessed it in him prior to my diagnosis. We both were avid basketball players in our late teens. I dominated him (and his brothers) on the court before cancer. I think my diagnosis is just leveling the playing field for a rematch of the cancer battle-tested bodies we are both in now. I am pretty sure I'll win...again.
             I guess what I am saying is, don't feel sorry for anyone with cancer. Just respect what you don't know. I'll be right there with you with my respect for the uncertainty that anyone I meet is experiencing while fighting their individual battle.

"One of these days their bombs will drop and silence everything" -Dave Grohl...again

With love,

Brian