Wednesday, January 05, 2005

Chemo 3.1

Today was fairly brutal physically, but mentally I always seem a little better off when I'm in the thick of it than when I'm only anticipating. That was true again today.

The home health nurse and radiation therapy both started and finished on time. Chemo started timely, but took a lot longer than I expected, so I was there from 9:00 am to after 2:00 pm. I felt bad for the friend driving me today, but he assured me it was ok.

I watched Troy and half of Starship Troopers 2 in chemo, and neither of them made me cry. I wouldn't recommend them either, though, unless, like me, not crying is your main movie selection criterion. (By contrast, last time around I cried twice, TWICE, during Spiderman 2).

When I got home, I napped until about suppertime, but am feeling pretty good now - probably a lingering effect of the steroids.

Tomorrow, no home health visit and no Taxol, so chemo should not run as long. Also, tomorrow we resume twice daily radiation for the duration of the schedule.

I had a great chat with an old friend on the phone this afternoon that really cheered my up a lot.

One day down, four to go.


Blogger Ryo Ichijouji said...

This is Dale. I hope you feel better. Me and my dad are praying for ya every night. I hope you get the opportunity to watch Star Trek: The Motion Picture while at the hospital. It should make all the treatment stuff at least a little more bearable..... Live Long and Prosper.

8:08 PM  
Blogger Tom Wolf said...

You're obviously overwrought; I cried only once in "Spiderman 2." (Can't figure out the italics on this thing.)

I know it is and will be a struggle to get through each day, but hope you're able to get a little detachment and see how wonderful you are in the midst of this torture. And how wonderful life is, notwithstanding.

Dale and I are on page 432 of Stephen Ambrose's "Crazy Horse and Custer." It's shaping up to be a bad night for Custer. Which reminds me of the "at least I'm not" game I played as a kid, perverse as it was. When I would feel really depressed, I would think of someone I saw who was worse off than I and say to myself "at least I'm not that fellow." So, for tonight, at least you're not Custer, running out of ammunition and watching your brother, nephew and other friends and soldiers die all around you for your mistake, as 3,000 or so Indians circle ever closer, screaming for your scalp, and it dawns on you that they probably deserve to get it.

On a brighter note, my mom had cancer years ago, went through absolute hell with the chemo, and I'm going to Delaware next week to celebrate her 80th birthday. I look forward to celebrating your 80th, when I will be a young 93. We're praying for you, and I send you good vibes in my meditations.

Love, Tom

8:51 PM  
Blogger vkenny said...

Hi Jimmy, I understand what you mean when you say it is better mentally when your in the thick of things, it seems the closer you get to the finish line the harder every step seems to get. Just make sure you get all the rest you can and lean on your friends & family as needed that is what we are here for. We will continue the prayers & positive thoughts. Keep fighting the good fight.

9:37 AM  
Blogger Kita28 said...

Dear, dear Jim,

Just wanted to let you know that I'm praying for you this week as always.

Thank you so much for the personal gifts you sent to me on your first day of Chemo - I am eternally grateful. You remind me how brave, strong, and GOOD people can be, and help me to remember to try to be the same.

I love you,


10:34 AM  
Blogger Jenn said...


I did not cry during Spiderman 2, but John did, like a Miss America winner. I agree with Dale that Star Trek is a kick-arse movie. I once read somewhere that movies are not just entertainment, they are self-medication. On that note, I'd like to recommend my cinematic form of Xanax, Caddyshack. That movie has gotten me through some very dark times. Nanananana.

7:16 PM  
Blogger UisceBaGirl said...

My thoughts are with you as you run down the home stretch to the end of radiation, a truce with the chemo, and surgery. I'm hoping the brightness I see is the light at the end of the tunnel. Or is it the warm glow of all the prayers that people are continuing to create in their hearts for you, each glowing like a candle lit at the altar, to light your way back to health?

11:22 PM  

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