Baha’is believe in life after death. It comes with its own set of responsibilities. We believe that the body is a vessel for the soul. Effectively a bucket that contains your soul. Once the bucket is full, you kick the bucket, as it were. Different people, different size buckets. This is not a competition to see who can fill up their bucket first. It also helps explain the death of people at different ages.

Baha’is are not allowed to be cremated. We end life by returning to the earth, completing the circle. Our ceremonies are short, except for this one prayer for the dead. It consists of 19 verses that are recited 19 times. Though not considered a holly number, the numbers 9 and 19 appear frequently in the Baha’i faith.

We are exhorted to be detached from all material things. They have such little intrinsic value that we should put our efforts in improving our spirituality as opposed to massing huge amounts of wealths and possessions. Is that Van Gogh really worth millions?

Another virtue we are told to exercise is that of moderation. We are told to use moderation in all things. Including moderation in using moderation. There is a mind bender. There is an issue at this point. Maybe that Van Gogh is worth the millions as opposed to something else I have in my art collection. A moderate price indeed.

I was back in hospital last Wednesday evening with a temperature of 38.5. My temperature was down to normal by the time we got to the emergency room. I knew the answer to the question about whether I was there to see a doctor or not, this time around. I think I also looked a bit sicker than last time we went in. The emergency room was quite busy. I was eventually ushered in. Blood tests were done, cultures raised. I was held in the unit all night. They had to draw more blood at three in the morning for more cultures. All to prove that I was the picture of health, except for the amazing number of metastasized tumours in my lungs.

And therein lies the issue. The lungs are being infected at an alarming rate, with the tumours frolicking hither and tither having the time of their life. I was sent home from the hospital and told to control my temperature fluctuations with Tylenols. Not much the system can do for me at this point.

The trials had failed. I was referred back to Dr. Hedley who is on sick leave waiting for his knee to heal. EMails were sent and an appointment was made to see Dr Hedley on Friday afternoon. Decision time.

I was optimistic. I had assumed that the inflamed liver was due to it fighting the tumours and winning the battle. The hospital visit appeared to make a mockery of that thought, but I held on to my optimism. Dr. Hedley came in on Friday afternoon specially to see me. He gave Janet and I a gigantic hug and we went into a consulting room. Shahnaz, my wonderful nurse was there, as was a student nurse. We had a 90 minute consultation. The decision to be made was the following:

1. Do more Chemo. This is the FULLFOX treatment. Side effects include numbness of the fingers and toes, extreme sensitivity to cold, to the point where you cannot open the fridge door. Ideal for a climate such as Canada’s. There would be a 30% chance of success, which in my case would mean slowing down the growth rate. We would know within three months if it was working and would have to stop the treatments in six months. We would then be back to where we are now.

2. Do nothing and let nature take its course.

The obvious question that came up is what does the status quo mean. How much time do we have. I had to ask since that was the only way we could come to some decision. The answer was quick and shocking. I have two months.

Dr. Hedley was quicker to add that the number is not written in stone, specially given my record. Regardless of its accuracy, the amount of time left is counted in months. What were we expecting. A year, Janet and I said. He shook his head sadly.

There it stands, two to four months.

We are numb. What is there to say. My sense of humour fails me. I have nothing to say. Janet says she does not accept the verdict. She is defiant. But there is little left to say.

I have spent the last few days letting people know. Tears have flooded involuntarily. We are all sad, living in a surreal existence trying to make sense of this. Two months is such a short time. This is October, then November, then December and the end. Maybe. Still too close for any level of comfort.

We are about to start doing the practical stuff. Transfer all the accounts to Janet’s name. Complete a power of attorney.  Put together a living will? Make sure we have people to look after the house for Janet. The furnace repair man, the contractor, the computer technicians. We are making a list tomorrow. Janet is taking time off work so we can spend more time together. It is all so mundane, and yet I feel fortunate that we have the time to do these things.

I have stopped day dreaming. Seems little point to it after all. What will my kitchen look like? My garden?  The thoughts are barely in my head before the streaming stops. Almost as if my computer has frozen requiring a reboot. I have trouble sleeping at night. I lay awake often to two in the morning until exhaustion takes its toll. Is that becomes dreams are now harder to come by? What is there to dream about? I have no idea what the after life looks like.

Will I see my parents again? Will there be a welcoming committee? Bunch of girls in hula dresses dancing and draping flowers around my neck? OK, so I watch too many movies. Will I see old friends, like Judy Elder? I imagine the after life as a continuum into eternity. A progression of the soul as it moves through the ether. The evil ones start lower while the saintly ones have the advantage o starting on a higher plane. I figure I am somewhere in the middle. I will be happy as long as I can Gandhi and not Hitler.

We have also started planning for the final days. We have an appointment with palliative for November 9. An appointment with the funeral home on Tuesday. The strangest part of all this is that I am basically healthy and sound in great spirits. I called the funeral home. Has the person died yet? No, I am working on it. Everyone is amazed that I am still laughing and joking. I figure these are my final days. I would like people to remember me with joy on my face rather than sadness.

My mother spent the last three weeks of her life in hospital. She was not in very good shape. I spent a couple of hours with her on what turned out to be her last night. We had always been very close, except during her cancer period. She turned to Fetneh to look after her. The last night was very precious to me. I showed up at hospital around midnight. Those were the days of lax security. We talked a lot. She had made sure that no one would be allowed to see her in the last three weeks. She said the way she looks is not the way she wanted to be remembered. She died the next morning. I remember looking art her body lying in peace, finally and thinking she is indeed dead. The soul has left.  That last memory has remained with me for the past 31 years. She was right. Remember us with the passion we had when were in good shape, not as we lie in pain in hospital.

We are going to Atlanta next weekend. Leaving on Friday, returning on Monday. It has to be short. We cannot take the chance of something going wrong while in the U.S..  We have been told that things could go from right to wrong in seconds. I believe it. I wake up sometimes, not feeling quite up to snuff. I return to bed to recover my strength. This morning was one of those mornings. I seem to be fine now. Nothing like a bunch of steroids and Tylenols to perk you up. The steroids open the lung channels, and the Tylenol deals with the pain. Miracle workers between them.

We are staying in a hotel in Atlanta. More privacy. Devin is coming down from New York, and Fetneh is joining us from Montreal. My family is planning on spending a lot of time with me over the next little while. Fo’ad has cleared his schedule and intends on coming up to Toronto to spend a week at my place. Our hotel is opening its doors again.

The whole situation is surreal. I will keep saying that. There is not other way of looking at it. You talk about your own imminent death. What kind of conversation is that to have? Defies sanity. Everyone keeps asking what they can do for me. The only thing left is to enjoy each other’s company. Talk, laugh, have a good time. Nothing else matters.

I am planning to have a plain casket, made from pine. I am told that these are available. I would like a stamp placed on top that says: Property of God. The style will be along the type that was used in raiders of the Lost Ark. I am not going to have a guest book. We will instead have markers of different colours available so people can sign the casket. I can have your names with me for the next part of my journey. That will also save Janet from having to send thank you notes to everyone. Consider yourselves thanked.

This has been a very difficult entry to make.  We received the news last Friday. I have had this open on my computer for a week now trying to find the right words and cadence.

I thank you for being there. For listening, crying and laughing. Hopefully more of the latter.

What to say. It has been a tough couple of weeks. I started becoming tired, almost as if I was on the original chemo regimen and started spending more time in bed. Very lethargic. Lost the will to do anything almost as soon as the will to do something emerged from the depths.

I started spending more and more time in bed. Wake up in the morning, have breakfast, maybe drive Janet to work. Shop for food a bit, then come home and collapse in bed. Sleep from ten in the morning to around two in the afternoon. I thought at times I was not eating enough, or drinking enough water. Increased both those. Got hit by bouts of nausea. Took pills for that.

Fetneh kept insisting I go for acupuncture to increase my energy levels. I kept promising to go, then forget the promise made. Almost as if I did not have the energy to go for the one thing that might just increase my energy.

No one was very happy about this. Janet had to almost accept reality. She could not do anything about it. Kept encouraging them to get on with things. Make a plan, everyone said. Set up a routine and do it. It does not have to be complicated. Just start doing things. I am doing things, I am sleeping. You can bet that put a smile on their faces.

I took my daily sleep last Friday. I had the shivers while lying under the winter comforter. We are in fall mode, nowhere near winter. I should not be cold. I closed all the windows. Still had the shivers. They kept waking me up. I finally roused myself around three in the afternoon. I was hungry. A man has to have his priorities. I was also in pain.

Oh yeah the pain. I have started having these pains along the bottom of my rib cage. It turns out they are due to an inflamed liver. Could be a good thing or not depending on whether the tumours are getting bigger (bad) or smaller (good!). Tylenol 1s take care of the pain rather nicely thank you very much. I pop a couple of those, get dressed and make my way tot he kitchen. I am still shivering.

I am out of breath by the time I get down there. I may have neglected that part of the narrative. I have running out breath a lot as well. Say a couple of words and take a few breaths. It comes and goes. There does not appear to be rhyme or reason for the effects.

I get myself something to eat and am still shivering. I am so dense these days. It suddenly occurs to me that I may have a temperature. I go back upstairs to get the thermometer. We have one of those units that you stick in the ear. It responds in seconds. I register 38.5C. I am supposed to go to hospital hen I hit 38. I decide this is an anomaly. The T1s will take care of it anyways. My temperature goes down as the day progresses, hitting almost 37, An anomaly it may have been.

Janet is in New York on business and to see Devin. She left n Thursday morning. She has arranged, or the friends arranged to come look after me. Diana is coming to feed me on Friday night, and Nancy is doing the honours on Saturday. I have been cooking up a storm of late and find this very amusing. Given my level of fatigue, breathlessness, and fever, the rescue is very welcome.

Diana, Andrew and Leona being dinner over. I love teasing her kids. They are extremely bright and rise to the occasion brilliantly, not shy to defend themselves under my relentless attacks. Diana does not have to step in to defend them. They do an admirable job. They also take the teasing in the spirit it is intended in. We have a good time. Andrew wants advice on what sort of computer to by. He wants something zippy, fast, a computer that will almost read his thoughts. Come on instantly. Oh Andrew, good luck with that. Speed is so relative to your experiences.

I am obviously done for, and they take their leave. Leslie has come home to keep me company. I feel bad, because I am headed straight to bed. She is not to be deterred from her objective and insists on staying home.

Saturday morning sees me with a temperature of 37.8. Sigh of relief. A couple of T1s will, and do take care of that. I go to the market but do have the energy to walk around. I come home, and go to bed. This is getting ridiculous. Wake up a lot later and start doing stuff. Pain, breathless, getting really frustrated. I have a telephone conversation with Janet. She is having a fine time. Devin is doing well, having a good time at The New School.

Nancy calls to confer about dinner. Pasta it is. I have cut down on my eating. Severely cut down to avoid stomach aches. She will cook it when she gets here. I take my temperature. Yikes, I am back at 38.5. Nancy will take me to hospital after dinner. Nothing worse than going to emergency on an empty stomach. They do not have decent food there. We eat, with Leslie coming home and joining us. She stays behind to clean up. Nancy and I drive to the hospital. She drives, I go along for the ride.

I bring all my pills with me. I have one Chemo pill that I have to take at 8AM and 8PM on Fridays and Saturdays. We arrive at the hospital at 8:00PM. Walk up to the triage nurse. She is a bit brusque. Are you here to see a doctor. I am a bit confused by the question. Not sure what my options are. Stammer something like, I guess, maybe, sure. She is getting impatient. Are you here to see doctor or a patient. Clarification. Oh a doctor for sure. I look at Nancy. I don’t look sick enough. She seems to think I am healthy.

I take a seat next tot he nurse and start answering her questions. She takes my vitals. My temperature has not budged. So I am sick. She is much calmer now and processes me. Nancy and I sit in the waiting room. We are barely settled when I get called in to register. I am also told it is safe to take my pills. I take the pills, register, get my wrist band to make sure everyone knows I am a genuine sick person. We settle again in the waiting room. There are maybe half a dozen people ahead of us. Not bad for a major downtown hospital on a Saturday night. Should not be that long of a wait. We are called in almost immediately. Nancy is impressed. I make sure she comes in with me. Nothing she has not seen or talked about.

We are ushered into a private room just beside the nurses station. I like hearing the action and conversations. There is nothing worse than being secluded while in emergency, you feel as if they have forgotten about you. They come and do blood work, request some urine. Nothing unusual. They are prompt and friendly and young, so young, and very pretty. As Judy said, I am not that sick. Dr. Quinn comes in to talk to us. They will do a CT-Scan of the lungs, ultrasound of the heart to make sure there is no water around it, more blood work. The original blood work has come in negative indicating there are no infections. They took blood from my Port-a-Cath. They want to take some more from my veins to make sure the Port-a-Cath is not infected.

Nurse comes in with two very large vials to get more blood from me. They assure me I have enough. She pokes me and takes her samples. They will be used to grow cultures in the lab to make sure I am truly free from infections. There are a lot of people with colds around us. The doctor comes back. The CT-Scan machine is not working. They will take a chest X-Ray instead, looking for signs of pneumonia or other items obstructing the lungs. They still want to do the Scan which will find things that the X-Ray machine cannot see, such as small blood clots that may have made their way into the lung. They do not think there are any since I am taking a blood thinner, but I am a critical case and they are not willing to take any chances.

Everything happens pretty quickly. By midnight, they have decided I should stay in the hospital for observations. The X-Rays show a number of metastasized cancer cells in both lungs. From what the doctor says, I am guessing more than before. I thinks her words were there are a lot of mets in your lungs. Nothing else though which is both good and bad. Good which means I am free from infections, bad because they have to keep me to do a Scan during the day.

Another doctor, Dr. Kimberly Bremmer comes to visit. Internal medicine. She will look after me during my hospital stay. The general consensus appears to be that the Scan will also reveal nothing. They feel that all the symptoms I am showing are a result of the cancer getting worse. The information leaves me a bit numb. Nancy and I hold hands.

I am in a room by 2:00AM. A semi-private room was all that was available, and no room mate. Time are tough. Leigh and Sascha are out on the town and decide to join me. Am I able to take visitors at that time of night. Sure says the nurse. They get there by 2:30 and spend an hour with me. I have to kick them out. This is just slightly past my bed time of 9:00PM.

Dr. Bremmer visits me in the morning. She is with a retinue of interns and a more senior Doctor. They are all very serious. VERY SERIOUS. No smiles from anyone, except Dr. Bremmer. They go over my situation.  Sunday will be a day of rest and observation. The Scan will take place on Monday. Cannot see the future beyond that.

Nancy and I spent the night texting with Janet, Leslie, Fetneh, and Judith. It was almost comical. Hospitals have given up trying to stop us from using our cell phones. Sunday morning saw more of the same, adding emails to the mix as everyone was kept in the loop about what is going on. My fingers were getting sore. Nancy came back to keep me company and also to bring me my phone charger. Janet was on her way back from New York and would be at the hospital around 2PM. Nancy had to leave by lunch time to take Lilly (her daughter) to her riding lessons.

David Jang dropped in to keep me company. Janet finally showed up, as did Diana, and Leslie of course. The traffic of eMails and texting finally came to a halt. It seemed so quiet all of a sudden. I sent Janet and Leslie home around 7. Janet is not feeling well and could use the rest. I was going to sleep anyways. David left around 6. None of us wanted to discuss the worse case scenario.

I had to stay awake till 9:PM. The nurses had to come around and make note of our vital signs.  No temperature, pressure OK. No surprises. My nurse is very charming and we have a long chat about things in general. She leaves, I close the door and try to sleep. Did not have to try very hard. The bed is very uncomfortable, but it matters little as I drift in and out of sleep.

Mount Sinai hospital where I was, is attached to the Princess Margaret Hospital. They all have access to patient files at each other’s establishments. The doctors at emergency and at the hospital were fully up to date with my condition. I was very impressed with their service, professionalism, and general conduct. I was disappointed by their food. Hospitals can surely do better. We are all told about the dangers of proceed foods, and yet are being fed stuff like Rice Krispies and 1% milk as part of a healthy diet. There is something seriously amiss here.

The Scan takes place on Monday morning. The results are in by 2PM. As I keep telling people, I would be a healthy person if it wasn’t for that small matter of having cancer. I am free of infection, blood is clean, lungs are clean, heart is healthy, all organs are functioning properly. Except for the mets. that are having a jolly party.

The title of this entry is Not Enough Words. We are all a bit numb at the news and are not sure what to make of it all. Do I have still have two years in me? More? Less? Janet and I have decided it is time to make some plans. Decide what we want to do and do it.

My father died in a rather ferocious car accident in 1999. The doctors at the hospital reassured us by saying that he did not suffer, that the brain shuts down in the face of huge adversity. So it is with us. There are no thoughts going through my head. The brain shuts down. Every once in a while you wake up and go, oh yeah, I have to think about this, and the brain shuts down again.

There are not enough words to describe what we are going through. Me, my family, my amazing friends who have rallied around me seemingly oblivious to my obvious shortcomings.

Cancer creates such wonderful opportunities. Bi-weekly visits to the Chemo Daycare, the side effects of all the treatments, the incredible amount of information you have to sift through to get the an inkling of what to expect.

The other side is the amazing support of friends and relatives. The good side.

We spent last weekend visiting friends and taking full advantage of their hospitality. Saturday was spent on the shores of Lake Simcoe. Janet’s cousin Deena, rents a cottage on Lake Simcoe every year. We spend a day visiting. Her brother Bryan and family come up as well, as does Eva. All good making for a small family get together. I had a good chat with David Margolese whose company I always enjoy.

We spent Sunday and Monday at the Fraser farm taking full advantage of the company and space. The Frasers were all there, including the delectable and always charming Ceilidh.

Heather Fraser is doing some very interesting work in all kinds of places. We talked (again) about the work of one of her friends. A Dr. Robert Buckman. He, the Doctor, theorizes that we are better off treating cancer by slow doses of Chemo instead of the current methods of bombarding the body with a huge dose of the drugs. The theory is that the cancer cells start dying when bombarded, but soon retreat, in effect removing the threat. The magic happens once we stop treating the body to the cancer drugs. At this point the cancer cells return in full force attacking the body with renewed viguour.

The slow treatment allows the body to be treated with low doses of the Chemo drugs, in effect fooling the cancer cells into thinking nothing is happening, that they are not under attack. This treatment lulls the cancer cells allowing for a more prolonged attack. The current trials have been done on breast cancer patients. The treatments are called DalCM-P. Goolge it, or read this article. I have an appointment with Dr. Buckman this coming Thursday.

I have started my Chemo vacation in a very slow mode. I have been away from my computer for a few days, which is very unusual for me. I have a lot of projects on the go, but find myself in some sort of a limbo state. Still trying to come to terms with all the unsaid words about why we are on vacation. I am eternally positive in my outlook, yet cannot help but wonder about the future.

People insist on telling me that they could die early when they get hit by a bus. I finally found a link that talks about the possibilities of ending your life with said method. As my friend Stone remarked, it is not a competition. If people insist on getting hit by a bus, they are more than welcome to go before me.

I am also receiving information about alternative treatments. More specifically, two people have written me with information on Y-90, an isotope based treatment directed at liver cancer. It is also used for treating metastasized cancer that are now affecting the liver. Items for discussion with Dr. Buckman.

I have not been interested with the type of cancer that is afflicting me until now. The rare occasion when the question has come up has resulted in me answering with something to the effect that I have the type of cancer that eventually kills you. A lot of the remedies I am reading on the web refer to very specific types of cancer that are affected by the treatments. It might be beneficial for me to know what type of cancer I do have to make sense of the articles I am reading.

The amount of information is mind blowing and very confusing. Following the idea that each body is different and reacts differently to everything adds to the confusion. There are cases of people who have been removed from treatments that have survived. People given 6 months who have lived for a lot longer. The comments of people who have tried certain remedies and are waxing poetic about it can also be misleading. Are they genuine? What was their affliction? None of it is corroborated with statements from reputable hospitals or clinics or doctors. We will believe anything that we think will cure us, however absurd it may sound.

How to differentiate between the absurd and the items that make more sense. Does the guy who claims that eating hot peppers on bread with garlic for two weeks make sense? A pepper based diet will rid you of cancer in two weeks he says. That diet will also be rid of me in less time. He just might be right though. Do I throw caution to the wind and attempt his remedy? The temptation is there, going against all common sense.

The next few weeks will see me working on a few projects. I will attempt to make my camera bag. Finish at least one of the two web sites I am working on. Maybe render my new kitchen to paper, as well as the new design for the back yard. All these things take time and concentration. I ams till sleeping in the afternoons. For longer periods than before the vacation. These get in the way of the projects. Do as the body tells.

Time to see the psychologist.

Thank you for listening. Thank you for your thoughts, support, and prayers.

The level of confusion, for want of a better word is amazing. On the one hand, it is good news. Let the chemicals run through their routine and exit the system.

Take a couple of months off to reassess the situation.

Ponder the meaning of life.

Start working on all my projects.

Keep away from the routine of the hospital.

Janet was talking the other day about this situation. You start on this adventure in a bit of a daze. You ask a bunch of questions. According to Janet I was asking my fair share of questions. Except that I was repeating my questions. I was getting answers and repeating the same questions. As I said, in a bit of a daze.

You acquiesce to the advice given by the doctors. Specially if you like them. They seem to know what they are doing. Dr. Heldey has a huge collection of articles to his credit. Surely, he knows a lot of stuff about colon cancer and its metastasized state. He is very reassuring. All we can do is follow his advice.

There is a lot of talk of alternatives to the traditional medicines. There are no proofs, just a lot of information. It is very hard to sift through all the information. We have discovered that you tend to make sense of the information as time goes by, as the need arises to make sense of things. So much of the information is anecdotal. We have no idea if people are responding to the medication, the alternative choices, or not.

I have always maintained that I will not live just for the sake of living. I will not go through a regime that seems to be more work than it is worth. What price is life worth living for? All this work and you live an extra two years. Is it worth it? Probably to the people around you, but not for the person going through the chronic condition. At least not to this one. I keep reading about people going through all sorts of programs to live longer. Why the compulsion to live at any cost?

The health network has looked after me for the past year. Diagnosis, operation, Chemo. Everyone looking after the chronic. With a smile, a laugh and a hug. You, the chronic are being looked after by all these people. The chronic is not doing anything, while things are done to him. We are a bit powerless. Go to the hospital, give blood, get Chemo. Make sure you have taken your drugs before the Chemo. Go home, sleep, rest, make the best of the situation.

We have to move now from having things done to us to deciding what we need to do for ourselves. We have to follow through with some of the stuff we have been reading about. Make sense of all the messages we are getting. Again, sift through everything and make decisions.

I find the situation very confusing. Again not sure if that is the right word. I have a lot of projects to work through, a lot of time to figure things out.

Every once in a while a glitch appears in the system. A time space continuum as they would say in Star Trek. Never quite figured out what that meant. Sounds amazing though.

So it was on this Tuesday. The Chemo Daycare unit lost track of the prescription for my Chemo medication. They had to phone the great Dr. Hedley to get a renewal. I waited an hour and a half. The waiting room was full. I just assumed they had fallen behind. I finally decided it was time to ask questions when I discovered what was causing the delay. This was not good news. The had just received the go-ahead. We now had to wait a couple of hours for the pharmacy to prepare the drugs.

I had arrived at the vampire clinic around quarter to ten. My two favourite nurses were there, Delanie, and Viviene. Delanie took on the task of sucking the blood out of me. This was going to be a full blood test including the liver enzymes in preparation for meeting Dr. Hedley on Wednesday. I mentioned to Delanie how impressed people are with the committee approach to looking after us. She smiled and said that is reserved for complicated cases only. Ahh, more information. Every visit yields new insights.

This was going to be a long day. The whole process was finished at four in the afternoon. All the nurses who looked after me were terrific as usual. They have looked after me before, making for a very relaxed afternoon. My blood count was good. I am hoping to avoid Neulasta for this week.

A couple of interesting observations. One of the patients would not shut up. I watched him in the waiting room. He changed seats three times and engaged the people sitting beside him. They never said a word as he started his conversation and continued until someone else came along, or he was interrupted or something. He sported a small red button that loudly acclaimed that Cancer Sucks.

These two ladies walked in as well. They were a bit agitated, a bundle of nerves. One of them was the companion. They were both wearing the same T-shirt that said something about supporting some cancer fighting initiative. The tag line read Kicking Cancer.

I could not help but wonder at both these displays of distaste with cancer. I do not see the point of either. Both appear to me to be negative in their outlook. We all know cancer sucks. No ones needs to be reminded of this less than the other cancer patients in the room. Yes, it sucks, but what are you going to do about it? Railing against the intrusion does little except make matters worse.

Kicking cancer sounds a lot like you are constantly kicking your self somewhere you should be avoiding. In my case, that would be the liver. Already painful enough. It does not need to be kicked any more. It has gone through enough punishment already.

We have covered this ground before. We surely need more love for our bodies. Fetneh is always reminding me to talk to my liver and tell it how much I love it. Amongst all the other stuff we are doing, it is surely helping. One of my cats, BooBoo Long Paws, insists on lying on me for a bout five minutes almost every day. He lies on my stomach and purrs. We are sure that my liver responds positively to that as well. Whatever. We are full of superstitions about all sorts of things, why not add this to the list.

My body has stopped reacting to the Chemo drugs. Even Avastin is no longer causing the destruction to my nose. I have not had a nose bleed in a couple of weeks. I was talking about this with a friend of mine who said, wow, this is a good thing, no? No, is the answer. The body has rallied summoning all the forces within the immune system, to render all the drugs useless. This is not good. We are seeing Dr. Hedley on Wednesday for a longer discussion on what is next in this new life of ours.

We took a week off Chemo treatments to visit friends and relatives in Montreal

Another Chemo session under the belt, as it were. The routine of these session is a bit disquieting and yet welcome at the same time.

This has not been a stellar day. I have been very tired. I am guessing the Neulasta is taking its toll, quietly exercising its options on the bone marrow. The end result is good, more white blood cells. The trip is nothing short of horrific. I have to say that the last couple of shots [...]

I took public transit to the hospital. Janet and Devin are both working. This is really a non-issue. The streetcar is almost at our door. Very convenient. Arrived a bit early, taken in on time and released right on schedule. Another new nurse. Again, very official. Name, number and date of birth, over and over [...]

All things become normal after a while. Repeat something often enough and you begin to believe it. So it goes with Chemo. I remember the trepidation of the first to or three sessions. What to expect? What will happen? You hear such stories from the good to the very bad. He went back to work [...]

© 2010 I Have Cancer Suffusion theme by Sayontan Sinha