Week 7, Day 1

Which is quicker -- go for the initial blood draw in the Chemotherapy Department at Roswell Park Cancer Institute, where I have to check in anyway, or check in there and then go get it done in Phlebotomy Department, which allegedly adds an extra step to the handling process? 

This week the chemo people seem ready and willing, so why not? Turns out there's still a two-hour wait for the results. No time differential at all.

When the pager calls me back to the chemo department, what takes a lot more time is finding a vein for the IV. The first chemo nurse tries two of them in my right hand and arm, but neither gives the blood-red signal of success. Two tries and out, she says. She won't do a third. I appreciate that.

She summons another nurse, who tries a third vein. Still no luck. They assess my left hand, which got the last two IVs, and declare the veins too hard, after-effects of the harshness of the chemo drug, Gemcitabine. Third and fourth nurses step in, look again at my right hand, and talk about calling still another nurse, George, who never fails to find a vein. But before they do, they spot a prospect between my thumb and index finger. It works. 

Given the tender location, I brace for the worst with the Gemcitabine, which hurt a lot last week, but the first nurse buffers it with an immediate warm blanket and a simultaneous infusion of saline solution, which dilutes some of the nastiness. This, it turns out, has always been an option. It's a good one, the least painful of the Gemcitabine infusions so far. And now a week off. 

Week 6, Days 6 & 7

This must be the upswing. How else could I finally make it back to the office on Tuesday, at least in a limited and assisted way? Friend Broady takes me downtown mid-afternoon (just my third venture outdoors since Friday the 13th). Monica gets me back mid-evening. 
And how else could I hang in there longer than expected, fueled by only one nap for the day? Twelve days worth of backlogged e-mail, two Reporter's Notebook columns to assemble, I spend five hours digging myself out of a hole.
Complicating excavations is the balky Buffalo News computer system. My ancient Windows XP machine has barely gotten humming when it locks up and needs a reboot. And then it locks up again and needs another reboot. Meanwhile, the editors are waiting for Wednesday's column.
Then, later, with Monica idling at the snowy Scott Street curb downstairs, it locks up again when I try to send Friday's column to the editors. Second-richest man in America, our beloved owner, Warren Buffett, and he can't give us decent tools to work with. I seethe all the way home.
Monday, I couldn't have done all that. That's a two-nap day, enhanced with my sleep apnea machine. The sinus infection obliged me to abandon it recently because I couldn't breathe, but now, with sinuses improved (but not cured), I give it another try and immediately see the difference. Not in duration of sleep, but in depth. The dreams! One involves flaming architectural elements of Victorian houses flying wildly through the air. I wonder if my subconscious has a special effects budget big enough to keep doing this.

Week 6, Days 4 & 5

Do I want to come to the cheese shop to pick something for Saturday evening's party? The enduring snow and cold make that an easy decision. So does the interior climate -- foggy and listless.

No option like that for the party itself -- a champagne tasting led by our friend Janine, who's a wine distributor's rep and does this sort of thing for a living. People want to see you, Monica says. And if you feel you want to leave after an hour, that's OK. 

Parked in a chair next to our hosts' living room fireplace, I find a comfort zone that's good for a bit more than two hours, but I'm nowhere near as sparkling as the wine samples.  Back home, first thing I do is call the city desk at The News. They won't be seeing me Sunday night. The party was the test. 

Still foggy and listless in the morning, I nevertheless think I can assemble something for a Reporter's Notebook column on Monday, which otherwise probably wouldn't appear. It takes the better part of three hours at the computer, and by t hen I'm falling asleep in my chair. 

After a nap and lunch and a second nap, some neglected little personal chores get tackled, including an on-line order of some newly-released CDs (Father John Misty, Steve Earle, Gretchen Peters), since they'll show up at the front door before I'm likely to get over to Record Theatre. Stalled repeatedly at the final step in the check-out process, I decide to try my luck with a living human being. I call Waterloo Records in Austin directly (they're open late) and bingo!

Is the rest of the evening spent watching the Academy Awards? No more so than if I had been at work, which is where I usually spend Oscar Night and the telecast is background noise. Monica tapes it on the DVD so she can skip the commercials and we get to watch another diabolical installment of "House of Cards." For those who know the series, suffice it to say we're now two episodes into the second season. Diabolical, indeed.

Week 6, Days 2 and 3

Well, you've reached the halfway point, more than one well-wisher observes Thursday and Friday. Nine treatments in all, right? Just four more to go. A smiling parabolic arc. 

But lately it occurs to me that this chemo trip may look more like the balance sheet of a Silicon Valley start-up in the Dot.Com bust. A month ago, I joked that the treatments would leave me half-dead, and then they'd take the half that was still alive and resurrect me. What if this is only quarter-dead? 

But don't get me wrong. I'm rooting for the parabola. I could use the upswing. Thursday and Friday I need two retreats, not just one, for an afternoon nap (sharing the blanket with Boris the cat, who's suddenly discovered it). Work Thursday? Out of the question. Now I'm beginning to wonder about my plan to get back to the office Sunday.

Not that there are too many physical complaints, aside from the fatigue. The sinuses sometimes still want to be streaming, but with saline spray, a vaporizer running near the bed and a last-resort decongestant, there's a limit on them. 

The left hand, Wednesday's infusion hand, is still a little swollen and sore, but this time around the drug hasn't produced a rash anywhere. Maybe just a lurking hint of nausea. Two nights in a row, my 2 a.m. wake-up arrives with a little unease in my stomach, enough to prompt a walk downstairs to take a preventive Compazine. 

Nevertheless, at this low, low point on the parabola, any pursuit or pleasure beyond basic personal care seems like a victory.

Assembling a Saturday column of duplicate bridge notes and scores and e-mailing it to the features editor? Imperfect, but done. There's hope for those post-surgery weeks in May and June. 

More episodes of "House of Cards"? I want more than one at a sitting, but Monica resists. Season One, Episode 11, on Thursday night gives both of us bad dreams.

Unexpected delight? Chicken pho from the still-new Saigon Cafe a few blocks away at Elmwood and Utica. Monica brings some home Friday evening and it's so tasty I propose laying a pipeline directly to the restaurant. 

Week 5, Day 7 & Week 6, Day 1

OK, no news is not necessarily good news. Even diary-keeping takes a few horsepower. Tuesday is running on so few cylinders that I’m back to bed before noon and only occasionally ambulatory after that. How will I get to Roswell Park Cancer Institute for Wednesday’s chemo treatment when I can barely make it up and down stairs?

        Then, bedding down for the long haul at 11 p.m., turning up the electric blanket against my perpetual chill and lamenting that I haven’t even had the energy to do some reading, my internal thermostat mysteriously clicks on. Off with the fleece, the sweatshirt, the blanket. I pick up a New Yorker. Two hours later, I’m still radiating heat and reading about Russians who want to overthrow Putin. This is ridiculous. Off with the light.

        At least I have enough corpuscles for the Ash Wednesday ride to Roswell Park. Or do I? By morning, well-being is a no-show. My new goal: Shower before the cleaning ladies need to attack the master bathroom.

        The 17-degree air feels less brutal than I imagined, but when we get to Roswell Park I’m doing the invalid shuffle to the phlebotomy department. Then upstairs to the cafeteria for a two-hour wait till the pager lights up, with some crackers and caffeinated tea, which provides a little lift, but not much.

        The blood tests are pretty much within limits, except for the liver and kidney function readings, which are way high. To be expected from the Cisplatin, the nurses say. Not to worry. Its effects are at their height right now. My first month of ease on the drug was a blessing, not the norm.

        I thank the nurse, Doreen, for her deft touch inserting the IV in the back of my left hand, but unfortunately she can’t do much about today’s chemo drug, the Gemcitabine, other than bring a warm blanket to wrap my arm. It helps, but it still feels like crucifixion. My head rolls.

At least it’s only half an hour of infusion, though my left hand stays sore and useless all evening, even after some sleep. I have to ask Monica to open jars and pill bottles.

My internal thermostat cranks up again after I hit the sack (after roasting Monica by bumping the external thermostat up from 68 to 71 to watch “House of Cards” in the living room). My shirt is soaked in sweat at 1 a.m. Turn off the electric blanket, change shirts. Soaked again at 3, new shirt. And at 5. And 7.

P.S.: I now have a surgery date. A tentative one, at least. Me and my bladder are on the list for May 4.

Week 5, Day 6

No ... energy ... whatsoever ... Monday. 

An earlier-than-usual nap and temperature reports above zero make me think I might be able to rally mid-afternoon and go to the office, but no can do. Can't manage much more than a shower and getting dressed. And undressed. And back to bed. Achy too. Tylenol helps. Up again for some dinner and another episode of "House of Cards," tuck in by 11 p.m.

Still wiped out now on this bright beautiful frigid Tuesday morning, which prompts Monica to urge me to call Roswell Park Cancer Institute to see what's up with all this fatigue. The nurse who answers Dr. George's number says this is normal for the Cisplatin drug -- its strongest effects are felt a week after it's been given. She says they'll find out more from my blood test when I come in for the next treatment, which will be just the Gemcitabine, on Wednesday.

Week 5, Day 5

Sunday the weather feels more like a prison than the fatigue does. A lovely shining white prison in the brilliant sun, to be sure, but there's no escaping the feeling of being under house arrest. No way will I defy the minus 20 wind chills to fetch the Sunday paper. No way will I dare to go to the office for the evening shift, either.

Nor will Monica venture out. Her business trip to Tampa canceled by the weather, she takes up her Sunday routine of laundry and making lunches for herself for the upcoming week, with a conference call or two thrown in for good measure. She even gets to take a nap. 

As I awaken from my nap, my Monday bridge partner calls to cancel our date. Fine by me. More energy to devote to a Monday evening trip to the office, frigidity and fatigue permitting.

Sunday evening at home is content and alert, settled down in front of the big TV in the living room for a mini-binge watch of Episodes 7 and 8 of the first season of "House of Cards."

Meanwhile, old side effects keep trying to rear their ugly heads. Sinuses flare for an instant or two. The electronic zinging between my ears reappears now and then. And what are those little pains when I put pressure on my left thumb and my left heel? Well, at least there's no nausea or constipation (for now) and for that I'm grateful.

Week 5, Day 4

More bed than being up and about on Saturday, but at least the nausea's stopped. 

No appetite either. Eating and drinking are tentative all day, mostly bread and apple sauce and Tazo orange spice herbal tea and seltzer and a little bit of pureed Lexington Co-op chicken soup (no chunks that way, just in case).

The worst, though, is the total lack of energy. No, wait, the worst on Saturday is the dull muscle pain, especially in the chest and arms, that shows up after the first of the afternoon naps. Look it up on the computer and conclude that it's probably myalgia, not myocardial. 

Hello again, extra strength Tylenol. 

Finally, after shooing away a succession of would-be snow-shovelers from the front door, I plop in front of the big flat-screen TV in the living room and fire up the stuff that looks best on it -- sports -- first Bill Murray scuffing a drive off the tee in the celebrity round at Pebble Beach, then the basketball game between #4 Duke and my alma mater -- unranked Syracuse, a happy game for the Orangemen until the second half comes along. I start dozing.

Even a third nap in the evening does not put a dent in the fatigue. Watching an ancient Saturday Night Live rebroadcast (George Carlin hosting -- 1975) on the kitchen TV while waiting for another pill-taking moment at midnight, I drift off in the chair and suddenly it's almost 1 a.m. Monica's gone to bed, having already called a taxi to get to the airport for a business flight to Florida in the morning. Fortunately for both of us, it's a flight that gets scrubbed by the weather.

Week 5, Day 3

For Friday the 13th, the pain in stomach central drives away all memories of the persistent dry-mouth of Thursday the 12th. Will soup soothe it away? Not really. Bread and cheese? Recoil right away from the cheese. Some unopened homemade apple butter in the back of the fridge is much more agreeable. 
But after lunch the pain remains and there's only one thing I want to do -- crank up the electric blanket and snuggle back into bed.  I'd been jolted out of bed too soon, anyway, in the early part of the 9 a.m. hour when the plumber arrived to install a new hot water tank. He was supposed to show up around 11 a.m., but assignments opened up for him. 
The plumbing part goes well enough, aside from the sopping wet instruction book. But not the electricals. State code requires a hard-wired CO detector these days. As one is attached to an empty slot in the circuit breaker panel, half the power to the kitchen switches off, a situation that doesn't get fully corrected until evening. 
Meanwhile, I'm determined to catch some theater, despite the below-zero wind chills and that stomach pain. It's the final weekend for "The Graduate" at the Alleyway Theater downtown and longtime friend Connie Caldwell has been getting raves as the luscious, manipulative Mrs. Robinson. Well-deserved raves. I manage to survive both acts of the play, despite a feeling that I might have to slip away and give back some of my lunch. I'd love to stick around after the play to congratulate Connie, but I don't dare tempt the fates.
Aren't the steroids supposed to be suppressing the nausea? When I call health proxy Bill Finkelstein and ask that question, he says I should be taking the anti-nausea pill too -- the generic Compazine. I wash one down with apple juice and apple sauce, which are about the only things that appeal to me at this hour. 
I'm in bed before midnight, still unsure of my stomach. By 1:30 a.m., I'm awake, belching. Except it turns into more than that. And so it goes all night. Instead of rising every 90 minutes for bladder relief, I'm hurrying to the porcelain altar every hour and a half, grateful for the sweetness of the apple sauce and apple butter and praying that this won't happen again, a prayer that doesn't get fulfilled until dawn.

Week 5, Day 2

Where will chemo brain strike today?  Given this slightly fuzzy, occasionally woozy head,  it should follow the template from the first week. 

But it doesn't do abysmal things at bridge like it did before. With my regular Thursday partner unavailable at the last minute, Dotty May is called in as a substitute and we sail to one of my best scores of the year so far -- an even 60% -- first among the North-South pairs. 

Dotty also brought me a get-well gift, a red shawl from the Resurrection Prayer Shawl Ministry at her church, a prayer in every stitch and a blessing upon the whole garment from the priest. With the coldest weekend in 30-plus years ahead of us, including a totally subzero Sunday in the forecast, it should get a lot of wear real soon.

First stop en route home -- Target out by the Walden Galleria, to pick up more Poland Spring water and a few other supplies, like shaving cream. The electric razor I acquired a month ago just isn't cutting it like the blade does. Then the M&T bank branch on Elmwood Avenue to convert my paycheck into a home equity loan payment. 

But no wallet when I get to the bank. OMG! It's at Target. Back out in the 'burbs in Cheektowaga. A call to their service desk confirms it. That sweet little cashier in the hijab had turned it in. So back through thickening rush-hour traffic, accident snarls in both directions on the Kensington Expressway, to retrieve it. The bank is closed well before I get back. The window of opportunity for a nap also is closed. Same for getting to work anywhere close to on time, once again fulfilling first part of the quote I put in Monday's Reporter's Notebook column: 

OLAF FUB SEZ:  Words to live by from eloquent English essayist  Charles Lamb , born on this date in 1775, “I always arrive late at the office, but I make up for it by leaving early.”

Despite an initial inclination to fulfill the second part of the quote too, I wind up following that first-week template again and put in a full evening with only a couple sleepy moments. The stomach, however, does not want to follow the template. It's uneasy. 

Is it the hummus I snacked on in lieu of a real dinner? Or could it be due to the change in taking the steroids (one set of two pills that morning -- the second day stipulated on the label -- instead of one set of pills the previous night, which should be considered "the second day," and the first of two "third day" sets in the morning -- which is the instruction I recall getting the first time and which my health care proxies strenuously maintain is mistaken). For good measure, the stomach gives an acidic gurgle whenever I wake up overnight. OK, proxies, next month we get this straightened out.

P.S.: Thanks to attorney Mickey Osterreicher, who's general counsel to the National Press Photographers Association and whom I've known since he was a Channel 7 cameraman in the 1970s, for insight into Wednesday's invocation of HIPPA rules by the folks at Roswell Park Cancer Institute. In a word, bullshit. 

Week 4, Day 7 & Week 5, Day 1

Trepidation Tuesday. Whenever anybody asks how I feel, I tell them better than I'll feel for the next three weeks because the second round of chemo infusions is starting Wednesday. And since it's the first treatment in the series, it's going to involve both of the drugs.

It makes for a long, long day Wednesday at Roswell Park Cancer Institute, arriving before 11 a.m. for a blood test, leaving a few minutes after 7 p.m. The blood test looks good -- the red cells have bounced back. Everything is proceeding normally. The chemo doc gives me a date in early April for a CAT scan when all the treatments are finished. He says the surgery then will be scheduled in late April or early May.

Only hitch in the day stems from health care proxy Bill Finkelstein snapping cell phone pictures of the health care aide listening to my chest with a stethoscope. She says nothing about it at the time, but a couple hours later we're summoned for what we think will be the start of the chemo infusions and wind up meeting instead with the chemo doc and a female hospital security officer, who say there's been a complaint and tell Bill to delete the photos from his phone. Something about the HIPPA patient privacy laws. They add that no photos should be taken at all in the hospital, lest a patient appear in one of them and have his or her privacy compromised.

The chemo infusion itself -- the Cisplatin for two hours, then half an hour of Gemcitabine -- goes into the back of my right hand and is far less painful than I imagined it would be. Congratulations to Doreen, the nurse, who said she was hitting all the veins on the first try today. Like the last time, I have to make many trips to the bathroom, wheeling the IV gear with me and having the alarm beeper start beeping while I'm in there. During the last couple hours, I also keep nodding off when I try to read. 

After fasting all day on water, tea and Roswell's little containers of apple juice, I'm ready for a full dinner when I get home -- soup homemade by one of my bridge partners, artisan bakery bread and gourmet blue cheese, and those fabulous ginger molasses cookies for dessert. And now, even though it isn't even 11 p.m., I can't keep my eyes open. Otherwise, aside from feeling a little spacey, it's almost like being normal.

Week 4, Days 2 thru 6

   For those wondering why I haven't posted new entries for a few days, be assured that no news is good news. I feel almost as good as I did before this whole thing began. A little more fatigued perhaps. But basically OK. The rashes are gone. To find the pains from the IVs in my hands, I have to press on them. The only nuisance is my infected sinuses, and even those have been quieter since I did a one-time attack on them with Coricidin HBP on Sunday morning.

   Meanwhile, I've been working, napping and playing duplicate bridge, which involved drives to the sectional tournament in St. Catharines, Ont., on Friday and Sunday (Sunday's return being a long slog over snow- and sleet-slicked local routes, rather than risking the expressways and that long tall bridge over the Welland Canal). 

   Nevertheless, I held up well over that long slog and was encouraged by one of our team members at the game Sunday, a retired Toronto pharmacist who had his cancerous bladder removed 25 years ago. He said he's been fine, even plays tennis.

   Beyond that, we took in a play Saturday night, a comedy at the Jewish Repertory Theater out in Amherst. And then there was my most optimistic act of the weekend -- color and cut at Kallista hair salon Saturday. Going into the second round of chemo on Wednesday, I'll be looking pretty good too.

Week 4, Day 1

Oh, happy day! A week off from chemo. A chance for the body to bounce back. Let's take inventory. 

Fatigue? The big one. It's still there, along with a general listless feeling. I need that nap every afternoon.

Trips to the bathroom? Not quite as frequent during the past few days, although I wonder if I'm hydrating my kidneys enough to offset the drugs.

Sinus infection? Still sneezing, still spritzing saline solution, still nose-blowing, still red. 

Rash? Diminishing. Doesn't itch any more. 

Hair? Still got it, but for how long? 

Muscle aches? No throbbing, even after I cleared the snow from the front walk and front porch when I got home from the bridge game this afternoon. Dave the mailman's been boycotting us all week and for good reason. You couldn't even tell there were stair steps out there.

Other aches? The backs of both hands, from where the IVs were inserted. Here's hoping these pains go away before I have to go back to start the second month of chemo next Wednesday. 

Other phenomena? I've lost 20 pounds since I was diagnosed back in October, which I think is a good thing. I've lost my desire to pig out. I could stand to lose 20 more.

Week 3, Days 6 and 7

The RAV-4 had a perfect record. It never, ever got stuck in the snow, not even in the October Surprise Storm of 2006. But it did Monday night. We got a foot of the stuff Monday and there was a ridge across our driveway after the city plowed our side street, Highland Avenue. Even so, a little more speed, a trajectory a little more to the right and I think I could have sailed right in. 

I dreaded getting out the shovel. That afternoon, I tried widening the path Monica had punched to the garage when she went to work and was appalled at how I felt after 5 minutes. My lower back was throbbing. It didn't throb the last time I shoveled a few weeks ago. Hello again, Tylenol. Fortunately, after a nap, the throbbing pretty much took a rest. 

With the thermometer at zero degrees at 1 a.m., digging out the car couldn't do my back any good. But leaving the car there overnight, blocking Monica's exit in the morning, was not an attractive option either. Did I want to leave a warm bed to tackle this thing? Noooo! Three well-calculated digs in 10 minutes freed the RAV and I was without extraordinary physical complaints until I got indoors. Then it was the back. And the shoulders. And the upper arms. More Tylenol. 

Tuesday felt better than it should have, good enough that I got lured to the bridge game by having the rare chance to partner with assistant director Mike Silverman. With no serious mishaps and playing lots of defense, we came in at 53% and won our first fractional master points of the month. 

Still feeling good enough, I joined director Bill Finkelstein and three of the players for the soup buffet at nearby Danny's, then plunged toward the city to pick up a prescription at Tops Market on Amherst Street. A traffic snarl on the Scajaquada Expressway shunted me to the snow-covered local streets, which took forever. An hour after leaving the restaurant, I finally reached home. No time to think of napping, so straight to the office, where I was grateful to quit early -- 11 p.m. Wednesday's paper hadn't even come off the presses yet.

Week 3, Day 5

sunday 1 february 2015 super bowl sunday

   i feel fine when i turn off the light somewhat after 2 a.m., but sleep doesn't want to come. caffeine from the tea at the restaurant? the half-awake delirium is broken at 5 a.m. by a sneeze and then another. the stuffy sinuses are returning. the hip joint hurts again. the previously unafflicted left hand starts aching. oh no, i'm backsliding. hello again, saline spray. good morning, extra strength tylenol. 

   now sleep creeps in. soon it's 11 a.m. and there's a bit of straightening to do for the super bowl party tonight. if i don't get up now, i won't get that necessary nap. fortunately, one of our guests volunteers to bring the sunday paper, so i can stay in all day, away from the snow and those temperatures in the teens. 

   after the nap, i still wish i was feeling perkier for the super bowl soiree, but at least it's a small group -- 11 of us -- and i can pretty much park on the couch. the big new 55-inch TV looks great. the snacky food is good. the commercials and the game itself keep us all attentive until that stupid seattle pass play at the goal line with 20 seconds left. just give the ball to marshawn lynch to run again and you seahawks would be twice-in-a-row champions. but noooo!

   another good thing about super bowl parties -- game over, party over. early to bed tonight. and no caffeinated beverages.

Week 3, Days 3 and 4

friday 30 january & saturday 31 january 2015

friday is the first day of feeling really sick instead of just afflicted. i don't want to venture into the cold to the pharmacy to get that cream for the rash, but a call confirms that it's there and i itch too much to let it slide. with the rash spreading to the upper thighs and raging on the puffy right arm, i wonder how long one bottle of the stuff will last. 

and as long as i'm out, i can pick up more chicken soup at the lexington co-op and meet a friend i haven't seen for a month for a late lunch at panera bread on elmwood. happy addition to the panera menu: broth bowls. soba noodle with chicken hits the spot in many ways.

but after lunch, the only spot to hit is bed. a slather of cream and the next three hours are hibernation, with the usual hop-ups. still feeling like a bear when i arise, i wonder how well i can weather the play we have tickets for at the kavinoky theater -- a. r. gurney's "family furniture," in the last weekend of its run. 

a generous shot of saline nasal moisturizing spray for the sinuses and, for the first time since chemo started, a couple extra strength tylenol for achy hip and arm and leg bones, and we're out the door. the play is a bit of heavy sledding, but a fascinating picture of buffalo's upper middle classes under stress in the late 1940s, with bountiful local references. it's the kavinoky at the top of its form. i feel better by the time the actors take their bows (bravo, tylenol), good enough to join friends broady and janine at broady's house nearby for wine tasting on janine's distributor samples. wine for the others, rooibos tea for me. when we get home, i'm too bushed to write.

there's something of a sleep breakthrough in the middle of the night. i wake up from a longer than usual doze in such a sweat that i need to peel off my wet T-shirt and exchange it for a dry one. off with the electric blanket and i'm asleep again in 15 minutes. next thing i know, it's two hours later, i've slept more deeply and once again i'm soaked. another new shirt and on with electric blanket again. my hands and feet are cold. this time i'm awake for 45 minutes, until scott simon's voice shows up on the radio for weekend edition and sends me back to neverland.

the phone wakes me up, drenched in sweat again, at 10:30. friend chris is coming over to check out the old cathode ray TV in the living room -- a wonderful 20-year-old 27-inch sony which weighs a ton (well, ok, 60 or 65 pounds). he wants it. his autistic son destroys flat-screen TVs, but old-style units seem to resist his punishment. however, it's too heavy for chris to handle alone, especially on our snowy walks and steps. and with my bad right arm, i can't help much. the old TV stays where it is, peeking out from behind our big new 55-incher.  

when chris departs, i take some more tylenol and set out on a few errands. a visit to the horsefeathers indoor market (packed with people) secured a dozen of those fabulous ginger molasses cookies and a recommendation by Carla, the cookie lady, of a couple verses from the Good Book which she says cured her of ulcerative colitis -- Hebrews 11:11 and 1 Peter 2:24. just looked them up and think some Psalms might be more restorative, but you never know.

i set out intending to go downtown to the office to write the tuesday reporter's notebook column i didn't finish thursday night, but the prospect of what would certainly become two hours there made me realize how tired i am. i turn back, buy a saturday paper and head home for lunch, followed by a nap that lasts until it's time to leave for tonight's movie -- the oscar-nominated live shorts out in the second-ring suburbs at the cinema in the eastern hills mall. 

terrific shorts, all five of them -- it's hard to pick a winner -- and once again i feel better at the end (thanks again, tylenol), good enough to join friends dan and susanne and jack and shelley for pizza and wings at rocco's nearby. not that i start out with any intention of eating pizza and wings, but there's pizza without red sauce and the wings are oven-roasted and dry, not deep fried and drenched in frank's hot sauce. there's a family-sized caesar salad too. guess all that's ok. three hours later, the stomach has no complaints.

Week 3, Day 2

thursday, 29 january 2015

everybody among you who is telling me to take it easy, you're right. i attempted to stick to my thursday agenda -- bridge game, nap, a short evening at work -- and missed the goals for everything except the nap. 

i was slipping off toward sleep well before the bridge game was over and our score -- 44,80% -- probably suffered accordingly. partner dianne bloom, eight years past her bout with cancer, commiserated with the chemo feeling that you just want to let everything slide. 

one thing i let slide is the trip to the pharmacy to pick up the cream for the rash that the gembitamine is giving me. it's gotten redder on my right arm, the one that we left alone this time. that arm aches too. the left arm, which got the IV this week, is ok, aside from its smaller red patches. go figure. something else to be thankful for -- no nausea so far.

an hour in bed revived me enough for an evening at the office, which i hoped would be over by 10:30 p.m., but it wasn't. i was there past 1 a.m. and still didn't get the tuesday reporter's notebook column done, which should have happened because i'll be off sunday night, super bowl night. yes, a three-day weekend. i'm so, so ready for a rest.

Week 3, Day 1

wednesday 28 january 2015

we finally get to see the guy who can do the most to address my various side effects and complaints after the gembitamine infusion starts at roswell park cancer institute late wednesday afternoon -- dr. marcus sikorski, who has nothing to lose if he gets into a "going bald for bucks" fund raiser. 

the sinus infection? sure, you can take coricidin HBP for it. but you also should rinse with saline solution. the rash? he'll write a prescription for a cream and phone it in to my pharmacy. frequent urge to go to the bathroom all night long these past few nights? cut down on fluids in the evening. the latest blood test results from earlier in the afternoon, which show low red and white blood counts? often they'd interrupt the chemo sequence with those readings, but it's still ok.

by this point, the haze of pain from the IV is muffling the news. this drug hurts, a circle of high discomfort where it goes in on the back of my hand and more in the lower part of my forearm. it took nearly the whole half-hour before a small level of ease crept in. i'd insisted that we use the left hand this time, because my right hand still is sore from last week. 

at least there's no nausea, thanks to another anti-nausea pill before the infusion started. health proxy bill finkelstein and i go to a nearly-deserted torches restaurant on kenmore avenue for a nice dinner and monica joins us. there's a broccoli and cheese theme this evening. broc and cheese soup with a broc and cheese garnish. for one of the free appetizer treats -- broc and cheese pierogi. yum! for my main course, batter-crusted shrimp on skewers over udon noodles with vegetables, complete with chopsticks. still no nausea. 

plenty of fatigue, though. i start nodding off almost as soon as i set down my chopsticks. a stop at the pharmacy at tops market on amherst street secures some saline solution, but not the cream. they don't have it in stock, the pharmacist says, so they'll have to order it. and my new-since-jan.-1 employer-provided health care plan won't pay for it. how much? $20, she says. no problem, we'll get it, i say, but i'm miffed. guess there are limits to independent health's well-advertised red shirt treatment. more like red flag. 

once home, i can't keep my eyes open in front of the computer. plus i'm cold. it's only 9 p.m., but i need to crank up the electric blanket and crawl into bed. and that's where i stay, aside from those hourly walks to the bathroom, until 9 a.m.

Week 2, Day 7

tuesday, 27 january 2015

on the face of it, tuesday didn't look afflicted at all. i played bridge, i went out to lunch with bridge director bill finkelstein and a couple of the players afterward. i put in a full night at the office, getting home in the code-blue cold (6 degrees) at 2 a.m., just in time to roll out the garbage and recycling totes while a local deposit bottle collector was rummaging through my neighbors' totes down the street. it's the sort of thing i used to do all the time. 

on closer examination, however, there were fault lines in the facade. the sinus infection bedeviled me throughout the bridge game and my nose was dripping red. eeeww!, went some of our opponents. but partner marietta kalman, having been through esophageal cancer, was sympathetic. the fatigue didn't stand in the way of lunch, but became overwhelming a few blocks away from home. it was like driving drunk. getting the RAV safely into the garage was a great relief. 

the nap was as short and unsatisfying as the previous night's sleep had been. i got up feeling vaguely recharged, but wondering if i had slept at all. nevertheless, it was enough to get through work, with occasional urges to doze off. were i not taking wednesday night off after the next chemo treatment (thereby needing to assemble a friday column i otherwise would have set aside till wednesday), i would have gotten home two hours earlier. at 2 a.m., there was only one thing that could wait until morning -- this dispatch. 

Week 2, Day 6

monday, 26 january 2015 

sometimes the point comes when you can't go any further. that was right after lunch when i brought my first load of clean laundry back upstairs and contemplated taking a basket full of dirty shirts back down to the washing machine in the basement. couldn't do it. couldn't drag myself down and up two flights of stairs right then. bed instead.

before that happened, i'd completed my errand list, bracing myself against the bitterness of the 15-degree air each time i pushed outside and especially when i was filling up my near-empty gas tank in windswept cheektowaga. skipped bridge after determining i had no partner lined up and it was just as well. 

the nap refreshed me enough for a night at the office which got stretched out to midnight by people wanting to talk and by my desire to take photos of the place before they rip up most of the newsroom and transplant a bunch of IT people into my old haunts in the features department. end of an era. the place is going to look radically different in a few weeks.

Week 2, Day 5

sunday 25 january 2015

after that super saturday, sunday pretty much sucked. lots of fatigue, lots of trips to the bathroom, no desire to do much of anything but doze off.

distress started right before i turned out the lights saturday night. a metal pin holding two parts of my sleep apnea mask together had worked loose and i couldn't push it back into its hole. well, let's sleep without it for once. how bad could that be? pretty bad. instead of my customary two hours of sometimes deep dreaming sleep, then a wake-up call from my bladder, i was up every 45 minutes or so. about 5:30 a.m., i decided to take my chances and put the mask on anyway. almost immediately, my sinuses filled and i couldn't breathe. 

the short-sleep routine resumed without the mask and without much more nose-blowing until about 10 a.m., but i arose unrested, just obligated to pull things together before our furnace guy came at noon to fix our leaky humidifier. 

complicating that was a series of urgent bathroom visits which made me wonder if those subtle brazilian spices at the restaurant saturday night weren't so subtle after all.

after brunch, i was depleted. back to bed for some more short-term sleep until the hour approached to go to work, this time feeling vaguely revived. nevertheless, i fought an overwhelming urge to nod off from start to finish at the office and bailed out right after monitoring the 10 p.m. news. no matter what else i manage to accomplish tomorrow, it's going to include a call at the sleep apnea store.

Week 2, Day 4

saturday 24 january 2015

a good day for counting blessings. and enjoying them too. stomach settled. fatigue predictable. the only complaint is the underlying sinus infection, which i think i've had since october. every blow of the nose was bloody. 

nevertheless, every plan for the day got fulfilled, including the 4 p.m. nap. there were quite a few plans.

first, the molasses ginger cookies, made by a woman in amherst who has a table at the horsefeathers winter market on connecticut street on saturdays. i hadn't seen her in 2 weeks. got there just as she was setting up and bought 18 cookies, six for friday partner judy kaprove, a dozen for myself. ate one at the sectional bridge tournament and gave away five.

chemo brain tried to derail my bridge game at first, but focus came easier this time. partner paula kotowski and i brought home a 54.9% effort, tenth overall, for 0.67 of a silver master point. that wrapped up tournament play for me this time around with a point and a fraction overall. no complaints whatsoever. 

i eschewed the expressways en route home because of the wet stuff dropping from the sky. sleet? freezing drizzle? whatever. it was getting slippery. then belatedly, but not too belatedly, i remembered the cider tasting at farmers & artisans market. could be a mildly alcoholic alternative to bubbly for me at our super bowl gathering next week. tasted three vintages from south hill cider, an artisan mill in ithaca, and brought home a bottle of their bluegrass russet.

evening plans meant a return trip to williamsville for dinner at brioso by butterwood in the wyndham garden hotel with friends tom and sandy kumiega, whom we hadn't seen in more than a year. butternut squash bisque, a crab guac to share with the table and, in place of an entree, the lobster salad, which included with lots of arugula, all a little zingy thanks to the restaurant's brazilian theme and all good.

then to musicalfare on the daemen college campus for musical comfort food -- a three-woman cabaret show, which included two old friends, singer-songwriters cathy carfagna and leah zicari, doing wall-to-wall carole king songs. i was lucky enough to score the last table for four back on wednesday. final performance is 2 p.m. sunday. 12 tickets left.

Week 2, Day 3

friday 23 january 2015 

major chemo brain mishap in the first deal of the day in the morning session of the buffalo winter sectional tournament in the main-transit fire hall in amherst. i think the black cards in my hand are spades and bid them. partner judy kaprove supports with a 2 spade bid. i don't even notice the opponents doubling us. turns out those black cards are clubs. i have only one spade. we go down three vulnerable. it's a bottom score. 

nothing like a kick in the head to bring things into focus. a few pieces of nut bread from the snack table and the stomach starts feeling better focused too. by the end of the game, mind and body and bridge game are relatively well aligned. judy and i score a respectable 52% and earn a fraction of a silver master point. good enough for me. fatigue is settling in. 

but first a stop at northtown toyota to have them tack down the top panel on my electric window controls, which has been loose ever since they fixed the window. oh, it was just a loose spring, the service rep says when they call me out of the customer lounge 10 minutes later. wrong. i slide into the driver's seat, lean my left leg against the door where the window controls are and up pops the top panel. this time they take 20 minutes and i doze off trying to read in the customer lounge. their solution? glue. not mechanical. not elegant. but so far it works.

home for soup and some sort of nap during the second hour of "all things considered," just enough so that staying in bed longer seems counterproductive. it's nearly 8 when monica leaves work, complete with a plan to meet with friends marti and jim at the vietnamese seafood restaurant i've long wanted to visit on niagara street. the restaurant and its magnificent fish tanks did not disappoint us, but despite soup and tea, i was chilly. and getting cranky. 

however, sitting here at the computer with what must be my seventh or eighth cup of tea today, the furnace cranked up and five layers of clothing (T-shirt, long-sleeved shirt, sweater vest, golf windbreaker and the longsleeved fleecy thing monica bought a couple weeks ago), contentment has finally come back.

Week 2, Day 2

thursday, 22 january 2015

this is appreciably worse than tuesday. "l" words keep coming to mind to describe it. lassitude. lugubriousness. 

license plate on the SUV next to me on the way to work says "surly," so i try that for a few minutes in the hope of working up some adrenalin. then i walk into the newsroom and the sight of all my colleagues suddenly overwhelms me with warmth and love. 

out at 11 p.m. and halfway home realize that my new phone is not in my pocket, a discovery that adds 15 minutes to the trip. when i finally reach the bedroom to turn on the electric blanket (i'm feeling cold a lot more these days), the glowing red dial reveals that it's still turned on from my afternoon nap. maybe an "f" word or two is needed. 

Week 2, Day 1

wednesday, 21 january 2015

        i shouldn't have trepidations. i did all this stuff last week at roswell park cancer institute and it lasted a lot longer. nevertheless, apprehension ran high as joan the RN searched for a vein on the back of my right hand and said that the gembitamine would burn and sting. i knew it would. and it did. more than last week. and there was a feverish feeling, not a hot fever, but chills. was this chemo or stage one of a capital punishment cocktail? "are you all right?" health care proxy and compadre bill finkelstein asked as i rolled my head and shifted in the chair. chills? he was too hot, he said.

 

i felt better when the last drop of drug drained half an hour later, although my hand is still sore. next time, the nurse said, you don't have to go without eating all day before you do this. still, i think i should go easy. after all, she popped me an anti-nausea pill before the procedure started.

exiting the hospital, i was hungry. no, make that ravenous for salmon and soup. unable to come up with a good restaurant alternative, we went to one of bill's favorite places, the iconic downtown buffalo italian restaurant, chef's. 5:30 on a wednesday, the three parking lots were full, but it's big enough so there were still a few tables left and service was fast. soup was their trademark minestrone, hearty with vegetables. no fish on the menu (or pork, either), but i avoided tomato sauce acidity and pasta overload by ordering the chicken with vegetables, which i totally recommend. there was enough for leftovers.  

Week 1, Day 7

tuesday, 20 january 2015

no, it's not really a ringing in my ears, more like a high clear electronic test tone. it showed up every once in a while prior to today. now it's a frequent visitor. it rises, holds for maybe as long as 30 seconds, then subsides, like cicadas in august. 

almost drowned it out at the office by listening through headphones to the fine new decemberists CD ("What a Terrible World, What a Beautiful World") which i treated myself to during a stop at target this afternoon. but not entirely. my thursday bridge partner, dianne bloom, a chemo veteran, said before the game today she experienced it too. 

listlessness persists, but at least it was a day of accomplishment. the horn now works on the RAV-4 (disconnected wires) and it's running sweet and smooth as a new car, thanks to northtown's suggestion to go for upper intake and throttle body cleaning. 

for the first time since chemo started, even the bridge game was sweet. partner marietta kalman and i came in fourth (55%) and earned a master point and a fraction. dulled out, i suppressed my reckless impulses. 

encouraged at the office by the night city editor, who said i shouldn't try to come in on thursday if i'm feeling low, i stayed past midnight for the first time this week and cleared away all my writing obligations for the weekend. if chemo session no. 2 on wednesday lays me out (or if the long shadow of the cisplatin from no. 1 gets darker), i'll have till sunday to recover. 

Week 1, Day 6

monday, 19 january 2015, martin luther king day

this time i'm not the one lying in a backless gown with an IV in my arm. it's monica, coming out of colonoscopy on the fifth floor of sisters of charity hospital. 

she, however, is the one with the energy. for me, after an agreeable grilled chicken sandwich in the dine inn, the bleak hospital cafeteria, it's sleepy time. back home, the thing that beckons most is a nap. 

somewhat recharged an hour or so later, i zip to the office through near-empty MLK holiday streets in near-record time for an evening of ... obituaries.

Week 1, Day 5

sunday, 18 january 2015

still fuzzy headed and totally listless without the steroid lift-off. 

after forcing myself to clear slush from the walks before it freezes again and after soup for lunch, that late-night feeling descended by mid-afternoon, meaning only one thing -- a nap. 

and then to the office, where all is quiet during this NFL playoff evening. am i grateful for the chance to catch up on old stuff, get ahead on new stuff and take what promises to be an early exit? yes, i am. 

Week 1, Day 4

saturday, 17 january 2015

no more anti-nausea pump-me-up steroid pills, but not a day of rest. 

took the last one in the current sequence at bedtime. half an hour before the 8:30 a.m. Samsung Galaxy Note 4 bell, it's clear that nothing can be gained from one more fitful rollover. plus there's a car problem. actually, since the ride home from the restaurant Friday night, two car problems. In the Delaware Avenue S-curves, a new note shows up in the FKA Twigs CD. time for Mufflerman.

how do i love Mufflerman? let me count the ways. cheapest place in town. no appointment necessary. just show up. they'll know you're there. open at 9. at 8:45, two other malfunctioning motorists are there already. out at 9:45 and en route to Northtown Toyota to get that silent horn honking again (you don't miss your honker till you can't horn in no more -- could be another blues song).

usually i love Northtown too, but this is not one of those days. the electrical guy has cars literally stacked up in his bay (one on the concrete floor, one on the lift above it). come back at noon, the serviceman says. if it's wiring and you don't need a new horn, you'll have it between 5 and 6. fine, except out-of-town guests are due at 4, dinner reservation at 6.

at noon, a new appointment (Tuesday) and a new plan -- shopping. need gas. need a new belt. need stuff at Target. want some of that Ithaca Hummus on sale for 10% off at Farmers & Artisans market. want that Meghan Trainor CD after hearing her on NPR this morning (sold out at $9.99 at Target, not so cheap at Record Theatre).

still need the Saturday edition of the Buffalo News. and an "urgent haircut." that adds up to Starbucks on Elmwood, where there's another chance to eschew caffeine. (one of four today, it's everywhere -- no thanks to coffee at Mufflerman, my usual iced coffee here, green tea at the restaurant tonight, Monica's Vietnamese coffee at home again here with out-of-towners Sandy and Gregg). after a plus 4 low temperature this morning, it's above freezing now. definitely unfrigid enough for a tall vanilla frappacino light. 

and now for a nap.

score after an hour -- shutout against nausea, but not much shut-eye. thankfully, the shutout continues through dinner at the new Saigon Cafe. maybe it's the first of those backup nausea pills (Prochlorperazine Maleate 10 mg). i prefer to think it's something easier to remember -- jasmine tea.

Week 1, Day 3

friday 16 january 2015

today's question -- what can be gotten away with? 

-- can that fuzzy head get across the bridge (peace) and play bridge (duplicate) in st. catharines, ont.? 

yes on the first bridge (no wait whatsoever on the canadian side, 15 "urgent haircut" minutes on the way back). so-so on the second bridge (51.75% with partner selina volpatti, less than one tick away from earning master points). best part -- the drive on the QEW. sun-bright fields and woods pristine under thin snow. 

-- can a folk-rocker love british singer FKA Twigs' "LP-1?" gave this resident of a lot of 2014 top 10 lists (including the village voice critics' poll), a first spin during the drive and sorta warmed to the way she sounds like an electro hip-hop kate bush. 

-- can the stomach live in peace if it doesn't have to deal with coffee or tabasco? guess so. and it apparently has a truce agreement with yogurt and cowboy cookies. 

-- can the steroid anti-nausea pill (side effect: insomnia) allow a nap? a little one. hour in bed. half an hour asleep.

-- can we join friends jack & shelley to help them spend a $100 gift certificate at one of the best restaurants in town? let's put it this way -- wild horses couldn't keep the stomach away from those lobster raviolis at lombardo's. 

-- can sick boy survive shelley's suggestion to join her in just one glass of bubbly, even though the bladder pills say no alcohol? didn't faze me at all. i get no kick from champagne. 

Week 1, Day 2

thursday 15 january 2015

   could be living a blues song. woke up this morning with a fuzzy head. guess the cisplatin cell-killing chemo drug is after the weakest part of my body first -- the brain. 

   stomach ok until a funny gut feeling arrived during the drive to the bridge game out by the airport, but passed upon eating a cowboy cookie and a "squeeze" grape-flavored artisan yogurt. came in dead last (36%) at bridge -- my partner, with whom i triumphed in a 66% game last week -- had a bad head too. 

   felt good enough to go out with bridge club manager, health proxy and cell phone guru bill finkelstein for a late lunch at danny's by the airport and confident enough to put tabasco in my third helping of soup. mistake. heartburn tonight, but not excessive. ate a couple pretzels just now and it's settling down.

   making more typing mistakes than usual, though. also just realized i'm not taking as many "haircuts," which suddenly has me thinking i'm not doing enough drinking. living another blues song. 'scuse me while i sip this guy.

Week 1, Day 1

Wednesday 14 January 2015           

          Big surprise after the first day of chemotherapy at Roswell Park Cancer Institute – no nausea. Instead, fuzzy brain and an overwhelming desire to just go to sleep, plus many, many desires to take what the Car Talk guys call “an urgent haircut.”

          “This is the miracle drug for nausea,” Nurse Kim said as she hooked a bag of it into the IV drip prior to administering the first chemo drug, Cisplatin, during the third hour of this seven-hour day at Roswell Park. And, after a strange tingling all over my head and a stranger tingling all through my groin area, it has been. A couple anti-nausea steroid pills later at home and still no complaints.

          As for “haircuts,” I got good at maneuvering the IV apparatus from the treatment room to the wash room. Practiced at least nine times in the final hour, during the drip of other chemo drug, Gemcitabine. With Cisplatin, you’re supposed to hydrate heavily to counteract what it might do to the kidneys, so I was sipping water all day. Kept me from nodding off (as my medical proxy, Bill, did). Instead, I read the same paragraph in the New Yorker over and over.

          Biggest hassle – veins. The phlebotomist tried one on my right arm and hit something that felt like an electric shock. I jumped. “I’ve never had that before,” she said as she searched for another entry point on my hand. Same problem with the IV, which wound up in my left hand.

          So when everybody says you don’t know what to expect from chemo, it’s apparently true. What they’re saying now is that I’ll feel worse on Day 8, when I go back for more Gemcitabine and the Cisplatin has done most of its work at killing cells, than I do on Day 1. Guess we’ll just have to take it a day at a time.