We Really Need To Find A Cure For Testicular Cancer By November

I have been participating in Movember for three weeks now.  For those that aren't familiar with Movember, the short version is that you grow a horrible, conversation starting mustache by being clean shaven on November 1st.  When someone asks you about your horrible, conversation starting "Mo" you take the opportunity to talk about men's unmentionables...specifically cancers affecting their unmentionables.  Through Movember.com you can also support men growing a Mo with a donation and the money goes to organizations that deal with the aforementioned unmentionable cancers, such as Lance Armstrong's Livestrong Foundation.  All in all it is a good cause, but I hate my Mo!

I really don't see how cops, firefighters, old ladies, and perverts do it.  I have never tried growing a mustache before, and I don't think I ever will again...until next Movember.  For God's sake, we have eleven months to find a cure to prostate and testicular cancer, someone please find a cure so I don't have to grow a Mo again next year...and I don't lose my lone remaining nut, that's pretty important to me too, I guess.

My Mo, although still thin and scrawny, is now becoming long and uneven.  It looks like a cross between a thirteen year old's and Wilford Brimley's.  It is to the point where a few ambitious whiskers are starting to touch my actual lip, making it feel like a bug is constantly trying to sneak into my mouth, making it impossible to distinguish between the actual bugs sneaking into my mouth.  Plus it is getting just thick enough to be absorbent, but not uniformly so.  I take a drink of something...OK Pepsi, and there are random wet patches across my upper lip.  Eat something sugary and/or sticky (which is pretty much my whole diet) and now you have all sorts of dynamic forces acting upon your Mo.

These aren't the only drawbacks, my wife won't even kiss me anymore, saying my Mo pokes her, but the dogs haven't complained one bit (but they are basenjis, so they don't make much noise at all).  In my wife's defense, she stopped kissing me a long time ago, I mean we have been married for nine long, long, long, long, long, long, long years, but this is a new excuse for her. 

The thing is just out there collecting dirt.  I feel like a humpback whale, partly because I am going through life filtering out plankton through my Mo, but also because I move slow, feel like one of the largest mammals on Earth, and ever since my surgery I walk all hunched over.  There is a reason mustaches are nicknamed "crumb catchers", because they are just out there scooping up everything they come in contact with, like lip Velcro.  Food, beverages, dust, spider eggs, toothpaste from aggressive brushing, wayward boogers, paper clips (long story), everything gets caught in it!

For nine more days I will tough it out.  I will never take for granted the ability to sit on the toilet half asleep and run the electric razor randomly over my face, I just have to be awake enough to avoid eyebrows.  At least my Mo is serving it's purpose, it has me complaining about it, and when people ask why I don't just shave it off, I can explain the purpose behind it.  So, support the Mo Bros!  The world will be a better place if there is no reason to grow Mo's next Movember.

Tommy's Big Day Out, Where He Saw A Real Live (Gassy) Baby

Yesterday I had lunch with two more friends.  The one brought her children, including her baby that was born just before I started chemo, so I haven't seen the baby since.  Let the record show that I was brave enough to hold the baby the day she was born.  I was asked if I wanted to hold the baby yesterday, and I declined.  I returned the baby unbroken last time, and didn't feel like pushing my luck.

I am learning a lot about babies with all of my friends that are popping them out left and right.  The only thing I haven't been learning is how to create them as easy as everyone else seems to be able to.  One thing that I supposedly learned is that babies can be gassy.  This is one of those things I didn't need to know.  I am a little suspicious about this one.  I don't think baby farts can make that much noise, especially when it is muffled by a diaper, tights, dress, blanky, another blanky, another blanky, all in a travel seat.  I am more inclined to believe that it was produced by the friend sitting across from me who didn't have near the sound deadening material that the baby did.  If it truly was the baby, I would hate to hear what it would sound like if the baby was going commando.

And from what I can tell, babies are very fragile, which is the main reason I am afraid to hold them, plus the whole atomic fart thing that I learned yesterday.  I had already been hoping that when we do get pregnant we have multiples anyway.  This is for several reasons, my wife says she is only going to be pregnant once so if I want more than one kid, I better make sure there are twins or triplets.  Another reason, with my former and recent illnesses I realize how quickly I can become dependent on others, and the more kids I can have waiting on me the better.  I also figure with mulitples, I have better chances of one of them being a millionaire and taking care of me, or at the very least if I really screw up one of them really bad (through poor parenting, feeding them the same crap I eat, accidental dropping, stuff like that) I will have at least one more to fall back on.  And the lastly, I would like multiples because I am the guy so I won't have to deal with the extra tenants in my body for nine months, so what do I care?  When you come right down to it, us guys are carrying millions of potential little ones all the time and you don't hear us complaining...except sometimes on our birthdays.

There may be a high chance that we will have multiples.  For one, I read on-line (which is always true) that sweet potatoes increase the likelihood of having twins (or more) so I have been urging my wife to eat them every chance she gets.  Plus I keep a stack of them by the bed and shove them into her mouth when she snores, so she is getting a heck of a lot of them that way too.  The more likely reason for multiples is that we don't know if my swimmers have survived the chemo yet.  I don't take that test for about a month (and I haven't even started studying yet).  If my little guys are just as tired as I am from the chemo, chances are we will have to make a withdrawal from the "bank".  And we all know that when you use your bank deposits, the chances of multiples increase.  I say we all know that because the results of that are the corner stone for TLC's programming.  I don't want more than five though, because my wife's car can only hold seven people and she swears up and down she will never upgrade to a "mom-mobile".  I guess we could have six, I mean I don't have to go with her when she takes six kids out at once, do I?  That would free up a seat.

As you can see, the visit with my friends yesterday got me thinking about all of these good ideas, and kept me up most of the night.  Seeing the little baby made me want one even more, not enough to steal hers though...at least not after I found out how gassy she was.  I am thankful we didn't have one during this cancer stuff, I don't know that I would have been able to deal with that on top of everything else.  Plus in my weakened state, the basenjis may have plotted to overthrow the house and coerced the baby into an alliance with them and voted us out of the house (the vote would have been three against two, assuming my wife would vote with me, sometimes I think she is plotting with the basenjis).  I guess in addition to studying for my "swimmer's" test I should also read up on all these weird things that come with conceiving and having a baby(s) and also try kissing up to the dogs so they'll be on my side.

Tom's 2010 Comeback Tour

I am still fatigued, but I am continuing on my Comeback Tour.  And much like Elvis' Comeback Special, I feel overweight, I sweat and grunt with just a little bit of exertion, none of my clothes seem to fit the same as they did (especially my sequin jumpsuits), and some days I feel like I am going to die on the toilet.

Yesterday I met with an older friend who I enjoy talking to a whole lot despite the forty year age difference.  It then dawns on me, that when I finally do have a child, there will be a forty year age difference.  I wonder if my child will see me as a source of wisdom and great stories as I view my friend, or will I still be just an embarrassing parent?  My money is on the embarrassing parent, at least that is what I am aiming for.

Today I met with another good friend I haven't seen in a while.  The first thing she said was that my mustache looked good.  That is a good friend, to tell a bold-faced lie to you just to make you feel good.  Liz, I know my Mo looks ridiculous, you can admit it.  It was good talking to her.  Of course the cancer stuff came up, I mean it has been a big event that I have been dealing with, and she hasn't seen me since it all started.  But we also got to talk about a lot of non-cancer stuff, which was good.  She showed me lots of pictures of her recent trip to China, in which I learned I am not going to China unless I am allowed to bring my own toilet.  I have seen photos of friends' visits to China before, but her visit was away from the traditional tourist areas and I found them fascinating, and I am not just saying that because she sometimes reads my blogs, I am saying that because they were a lot better than most people's usual boring vacation pics (like the ones I show people that frequently involve a large cartoon rodent).

After that great visit, it was time for my cancer support group.  One of my favorites showed up today!  I was getting a little worried, because neither my wife nor I have seen her or her husband in our respective groups, but it turned out that it was just a coincidence that we kept missing alternating groups, and they are doing OK, despite being cancer patients.  The non-therapying therapist that I like is doing the snowbird thing and we were introduced to our winter non-therapying therapist, who tends to therapize a little more that I thought they were supposed to.  But to be fair, I really like our snowbird guy, so I guess I need to give this new guy a chance.  One of the subjects we discussed today was paying for long-term care of loved ones.  I suggested that if insurance refused to pay for long-term care of your loved one, you could always abuse them, then the state would step in and take care of them for you (which should scare the crap out of my parents that I even came up with that thought, I hear an American made Paul Reed Smith with double cutaways and twenty four frets makes children forget a lot of things and really want to treat their parents well in their twilight years...I'm just saying...).  Everyone seemed to be amused and laughed at my comment, knowing that I only half meant it, including the person that brought up the subject that seemed to laugh a little too hard, I don't know if they were so frustrated with insurance that they were actually considering my plan or not.  However, new non-therapying therapist didn't seem to be near as amused.  Heck, we are cancer patients, we can joke.  Does he want us to just sit around and talk about how much our lives suck right now?  Because I do that in my blogs and to my wife and to the basenjis, I don't need to do that in group too.  After all, that's why my wife goes to her group to complain about my complaining.  The two basenjis don't have a group, except each other, and since they are barkless dogs they don't say much.

And speaking about how life can suck, one of the best things about group is getting the experience of the group and hearing about new technologies, treatments, and treatment center reviews.  This chemo fatigue is really bothering me.  I feel like such a lazy bum because I can't lift much and I get so exhausted, even from eating pancakes and changing channels.  So I mention it to the group (and I can say this about group in specifics because it was about me) and all of the other people that have been on or are currently on chemo said I am perfectly normal...well as normal as an unemployed, one nutted, cancer patient that suggests elder abuse to pay for medical bills, can be.  They said shaking the chemo fatigue does take a while, a lot longer than all of the other chemo symptoms.  One suggested taking a regular midday nap until I get my strength back (I liked to hear that), while another said with chemo fatigue naps may have little effect (which I didn't like hearing as much, so I took a nap).  As usual, group was very helpful.  We laughed, we cried, we group hugged-which I still don't like group hugging, but I don't mind tolerating if it helps someone else.

I need to rest up for tomorrow as my tour continues.  After hanging out with a seventy nine year old yesterday, I am hanging out with two twenty year olds tomorrow.  I need two of them, just to give them a fighting chance.  Although I am closer in age to the twenty year olds, the seventy nine year old is still easier to figure out what he is talking about.  I enjoy the twenty year olds' company regardless and I am sure we will have a great time talking about what a wonderful person I am.  Plus, compared to the boys the twenty year olds hang around, my Mo will look normal.

Yesterday, After The Urologist

After the doctor's appointment yesterday, I decided to get out in the real world for a change.  Although I have done that the previous week, this time involved multiple errands, with multiple stops.

I started off by heading to my firefighter buddy's house.  I almost teared up a little bit.  He had seen my Mo for Movember when we went to lunch last week and had decided to grow one in support.  Since his Mo is about a week behind, it looks about as pathetic as mine.  One thing many of us newly mustachioed men are finding, is that the women in our life, although they fully support the Movember movement, are not really a fan of the Mo.  Either that, or they are just using that as an excuse not to touch us.  But the real reason I was at my buddy's house was to take his 1947 GMC pick up for a drive.  This project has been in the making longer than I have been alive, but it's almost done, except for the missing floor, but I still found somewhere to rest my feet.  Of course, the engine is highly modified and the mufflers are...well they just aren't there.  Did I mention it is 8:30 am and he lives in a quiet subdivision?  Well, we changed all that.  We finally get the thing going (many hot rod engines don't like to start in cold weather) and hit the streets very loudly.  Since we can't go very fast on residential streets, he stays in first and second gear and gets to the 20 mile an hour speed limit as fast and as loud as possible (OK, we may have creeped over 20 a few times, but the school buses were already off the streets meaning the rugrats were absent from the streets as well).  We sped from cul-de-sac to cul-de-sac laughing as neighbors run to the window to see what all of the racket is about just in time to see us speed away again.  We were doing great until there was a backfire that caused an air cleaner to fly about ten feet in the air, much to our amusement, and much to the confusion of the other car at the stop sign and the lady out for a quiet walk.  Still laughing, I rush out of the truck, being careful not to fall through the floor, and pick it up.  We head back to base and back down the hill that is his driveway.  As we do this, the cab fills completely with exhaust smoke.  My friend is concerned about all of the smoke.  I point out several factors for that.  First, we lost an air cleaner which means we were sucking in too much air causing the engine to run lean, and thereby smoke more.  Also, we were backing into the smoke.  And lastly, he had a window down to see as he backed up and there still was no floor in the car, which tends to let in a lot of exhaust when you are backing up for some reason.  We both laugh and he is put at ease...or at least he is sleepy from the carbon monoxide poisoning.  We hide the truck back in the garage to make the neighbors wonder who was responsible for all of the noise pollution...and regular pollution.  After a little chat about all the other wonderful projects we are going to complete, I head out to run more errands.

I hit Home Depot and find that out that if you go on a weekday, you might actually be able to find someone to help you.  I also found out that you don't get the "A" team on a weekday.  Surprisingly, for the first time in my life, I walk out of Home Depot without spending a penny.  This is partly because they couldn't help me, plus I am an unemployed cancer patient, and I am saving every penny for the Paul Reed Smith fund where money is raised to buy American made Paul Reed Smiths with double cutaways and twenty four frets for unemployed testicular cancer patients.  So far I have raised, well not much at all really, but at least I am on the way to raising the money, and sometime in 2023 I hope to have enough cash to finally get one!

I then head to a pool supply store, because Home Depot said that is the best place to get stuff to clean your fireplace bricks.  I don't understand either, but I didn't have anything else to do, so that's where I went.  The nice gentleman inside, who obviously doesn't have a whole lot to do running a pool supply store in Ohio in the middle of November, said yes they do carry stuff that will clean fireplace brick (who knew?) at their location about thirty miles away.  Not really wanting to travel that far, because I am not really wanting to clean the fireplace brick, I went to meet my carless wife for lunch.

My wife had to run some errands for her work Thanksgiving dinner.  She warned me that I wouldn't enjoy it, and she is right.  Watching someone else shop for groceries for another someone else is really boring.  So boring, I forgot to buy the things I was going to get while we were out.  We grab Subway, which according to their commercials is just like working out, and I drop her back off and don't work out.

Next I head to see another friend and her baby.  That was the plan, but no baby, no crying, no nothing.  I am very suspect that she still has this baby, I may have just seen a rental baby in the past.  This makes me suspicious about her pregnancy as well.  I should have tattooed the baby last time I saw it, just to make sure she is showing me the same one each time.  I don't know how baby rentals work, and if they give you the exact baby every time you get one, or if they just have a gaggle of similar looking babies.  Next time I will buy a tattoo gun and take it with me.  We have a great conversation with plenty of gossip (and why do I have more gossip than her when I don't even work with her anymore) and then she kicks me out to "work".  I have seen her "work" and that term is used very loosely.  OK, she gets her stuff done, so I guess it's technically work, but she enjoys it too much to get paid.  She should divert that money to my PRS fund.

I decide to go for the hat trick and see some other people that I used to work with.  I was only temporary help for this group of people for about three months last year, but they send me cards about once a week and are constantly calling or e-mailing to check on me.  Don't get me wrong, I don't necessarily need all that, but it does make you feel good to be remembered.  I just wish my previous employer would do the same, except instead of sending me a card they could send me cash, and instead of calling and e-mailing, they could send me cash.  I basically kept them from working for half an hour (I seem to be good at that today) and by then it was time for them to shut down and me to go pick up my wife from work.  I tried not to pick her up, but they warned me that eventually she would find her way home and she would be ticked when she did make it.

I wasn't really that tired while doing any of my running around.  I felt like I was really making progress, until I sat on the couch once we got home and immediately fell asleep.  And today, I feel like I ran a marathon yesterday, or at least what I perceive that it must feel like the day after one runs a marathon sans the bloody stumps for feet.  Tomorrow is another errand day.  Hopefully it will go just as smoothly and hopefully I will fare better the day after.  Until then I will just avoid that nap inducing couch.

Juggled And Poked At The Urologist's Office

Today was another big day in my recovery.  I had the last post surgery follow-up appointment with my surgeon/urologist.  I had some good news, and some not so good news that I am taking as good news.

The urologist was very nice and took a lot of time to answer our questions today.  Of course he had to check his handy work.  To be honest, my goodies have been fondled so much over the past few months I just kind of block it out at this point.  I don't remember what he did or what he said.  I guess I just go to my happy place in my mind.  Some people go to their happy place by remembering their favorite Christmas as a child, or by thinking about being on a warm sunny beach, I just imagine that my goodies are being cupped by a man in a white coat...I guess don't have a very good imagination for my happy place.  He asks how I am doing (after I pull my pants back up) and I answer honestly that I feel like a disgusting, lazy, slob.  I say I am still trying to fight this chemo fatigue, and if I lift anything over a certain weight or twist a certain way I still feel that "tickle" in my incision.  He says something surprising, that I probably will feel that tickle for another month and not to push it.  He basically said to stay away from weights for a while.  I didn't ask about the Shake Weight, because to ask about it would be admitting that I have one, but it seems to be my only option for the time being.  He did clear me to do whatever cardio I want.  That is the good news.  The bad news is that now I am expected to do cardio.

The doctor answered all of our assorted questions, including the ones we had for other doctors but asked him anyway.  He then told me to check my swimmers in a month to see if chemo killed them or not.  They gave me the option of going to the place I went to make my "deposit" or another place (both hospitals, not just in some alley).  I wanted to opt for the other place, because I have already seen all of the getting-in-the-mood literature at the first place and was hoping to see something new.  My wife didn't like my idea and wouldn't let me do that.  Lastly they needed to draw blood from me.  This is usually quite an adventure because my veins like to squirm and roll around when the needle comes at them.  I have been spoiled by the phlebotomists at the oncologist's office because all they do is draw blood all day and they are very good at it.  At the urologist it was people that are normal nurses that happen to be asked to stick people now and then.  First of all, I swear they must use different needle suppliers, because at the oncologist the needle slips in so smooth you think you are still being wiped off with the alcohol pad.  At the urologist, each and every needle feels like it is rusty, bent, and broken off and I watched them take it out of a new package three different times!  The first nurse jabbed the needle in and moved it around like she was churning butter or trying to shift a Mack truck.  When she started drawing blood from places other than through the needle she gave up and passed me off to another nurse.  This nurse was much nicer and talked very calmly, politely, and apologetically as she jabbed the needle into me again and again and churned butter and shifted a Mack truck (they must have gone to the same school).  I was just about to ask if we could do this another time, seeing as how my veins have about as much holes in them now as a clarinet, when she finally got some blood to get into the vial.  I am assuming it was my blood, but as vigorously as she was sticking and moving she may have actually gone through me and poked herself.

Finally we scheduled my next appointment for sometime in January.  I say sometime, because as I was trying to focus on my calendar to pick a day, the nurse kept spitting out possibilities and my wife kept talking about my other appointments as well.  Between trying to focus on three different stimuli (my calendar, the nurse, and my wife) all I could do was just say yes on the first day I heard that wasn't already highlighted in my calendar. The nurse asked if I wanted it written down, which I most certainly did, because I have no idea what anyone said.  My wife decided to keep talking about how I should have made it the same day as one of my other doctor's appointments, which is what I was trying to look up when everyone was asking me so many questions that I couldn't look it up.  For all I know it may be the same day or even time as another appointment, I still am not sure what the heck went on at the counter, I just went to my "happy place" again (that doctor has such soft hands).

All in all it was a good day.  I didn't really want to be told I was still on limited duty, but on the other hand I know I am not just being a fat, lazy, slob.  I am being a fat, lazy, slob that is not supposed to lift too much.  Tomorrow I will start to work on some cardio and maybe step up my Shake Weighting.  I should probably get some rest now, that twelve minutes of exercise tomorrow will really take a toll on me.

Back Home Again From Indiana

I am back at home, and more importantly, back at my own computer.  While there I borrowed my parents' laptop which has the convenient feature of having the cursor randomly jump on the page if your palm happens to brush the touchpad while typing.  Sure it was annoying, but at least it made proofreading interesting.

Yesterday, I definitely felt the effects from my big day on the town Friday.  I don't know how much longer I can blame this on the chemo and when I have to just admit I am a big lazy wimp.  For right now, I will still blame chemo.  But at least I felt good enough to pretty much stay awake all day and watch the crazy dogs.  All six were in rare form, ranging in size from, I don't know, like nine pounds to about two fifty.  Just a rough guess on those numbers.  My wife and I ran into a hippo costume for dogs, and thought it would be a wonderful gift for my sister, who when she is not working to save the lives of your pets, has a hobby of finding new and innovative ways to torture her own pets, such as dressing them in hippo costumes.  I will have to say, her dog looked nothing like a hippo, unless hippos are about a foot high and run around at high speeds doing figure eights and back flips.  Something I did learn from the experience is apparently all dogs have the innate urge to chase hippopotami, all dogs except African bloodline basenjis, which is quite ironic.  I guess since she was the only dog in the room who's bloodline would have actually seen a hippo, it was nothing novel to her.

And speaking of that little African bloodline basenji, Daisy was a completely different dog this weekend.  She was letting people walk up and pet her.  She was very affectionate.  She was exploring the house.  Then we crossed back over state lines and she turned back into her old abused and neglected self.  Well, she is a little better, but certainly not the dog she was at my parents' or even in the car.  But it does give us hope that a normal dog is in there somewhere, er...as normal as a basenji can get.  We may have to move out of state or build a house that looks like the inside of a car, but at least we have options.  

Back home, I am wore out.  Tomorrow we have to get up at around five and head to a urologist appointment.  I am excited and apprehensive both about this one.  I am anxious to hear what he thinks I can do physically and how my recovery is coming along.  However, he still can request the dreaded CAT scan, and I have no idea if he will or not.  If I were a betting man, more that just two bucks on lottery tickets once a week, I would bet I will just have a few ultrasounds on the boys, I mean, boy.  Ultrasounds require significantly less effort on my part than a CAT scan.  You just lay back, flop out your junk, they run some magic wand over the goodies, and tell you to pull your pants back up.  That's something I can handle, even in my post chemo, lazy, wimpy state.  

So tomorrow I will have the final piece of information in my cancer treatment.  I certainly won't be done by any stretch of the imagination.  Cancer treatment involves years of watching, testing, and of course waiting long after what most people consider the "treatment" part is done.  But at least tomorrow, I will know the plan.  This is the last doctor I have to get my medical test road map from and for that I am excited.  Hopefully it will be a plan that doesn't involve sliding into a big metal tube and pooping sensations.

Going Out On The Town, No Matter How Annoying That Town Has Become

Today was the day that we hit all of my favorite haunts from college...well the second time I went to college.  We went all of the places I used to go to except for the half that have went out of business. 

We started the day off at a pawn shop.  Now pawn shops in this college town are different than other pawn shops.  You have the advantage of having a bunch of over privileged kids, who have their parents (or their parents' credit cards) buy them the latest toy that they desperately need.   Then the weekend comes, and not wanting to ask their parents for beer money, they take their new stuff to the pawn shop and go straight to the local watering hole.  This is a good thing for bargain hunters and a bad thing for parents.  There is a trick in dealing with pawn shops, and the most important is, you have to know about the products you are thinking about buying.  Pawn shops are just like any other business or politician, they will try to get as much money out of you as possible if you aren't paying attention. 

The first one we went to is not one of my favorites, but you never know where you will find treasure, and I have gotten a deal or two there in the past.  Today was certainly not one of those days.  They had their usual assortment of crap and rip offs all marked up about ten percent more than you can pay anywhere else, including new.  We leave that store quickly and head to the next pawn shop.  It had better prices, but worse crap.  We hit one more pawn shop today, which had decent prices but sub par crap, even for crap.

We also decided to hit the music stores.  As predicted, I walk into my favorite, and hear my name yelled out.  Even though they have plenty of good prices and lots of good stuff, luckily, I didn't need any of it.  I say luckily, because I am still a broke, unemployed, cancer patient so it would have sucked to find something unbelievable and not been able to buy it, especially if it was an American made Paul Reed Smith with twenty four frets and double cutaways. 

I did see something unbelievable, but not necessarily in a good way.  A quick lesson for people not up on the latest 1980's music gear.  The Roland TR-808 Rhythm Composer, is a vintage drum machine that is pretty much useless today, but is still collected by some people who remember that the "808 kick drum makes the girlies get dumb".  However, nobody really cares about the sister models such my TR707 (if you are, I will give you a great deal on one) or the one I saw today the TR727...at my favorite music store...WAY overpriced.  The reason no one wants these drum machines is that they are old and outdated, hard to program, and most of all the 707 and 727 never made the girlies wanna get dumb they just made them airsick (the two people out there that are fans of Roland, Boeing, and early 90's rap are laughing their butts off right now...if they were reading this, which they are not, because they don't have access to the internet in their group home).  The ironic thing about these drum machines is to use them correctly, you have to be able to read music, which to make a totally prejudice statement, I will ask how many people wanting to use a drum machine have any idea how to read music?  So, as the owner of the music store came over and I saw the TR727, I immediately started laughing.  He instantly set me straight in a way to say that wasn't his choice to purchase that item, nor would he have purchased that item, and yes he knows it is overpriced, but they paid way too much for it and are trying to recoup their money.  I told him that the only person that is interested in old vintage 80's electronic crap like that is me, and unfortunately, I have one!  He couldn't get mad at me because he knew I was right.  I then offered to sell him my TR707 and he respectfully declined.  We then left there and headed to the next music store.

This music store promised lots of equipment and arms...yes weaponry.  We get there and it seemed to fall a little short on both.  We look around the store at the sparse amount of music instruments and I am not sure if this is a music store or if we caught a high school garage band between sets.  At least with my teenager mustache I would fit right in.  We didn't look long for two reasons, he didn't have much of a selection, and if we actually bought anything, it would leave a gaping hole in his inventory display.

Finally, we decided to go grab some food to take home.  The food my wife wanted was in the heart of campus.  I decide to go the easy way...by the stadiums...not realizing the home basketball opener is tonight.  After four hours of cursing at alumni that actually still keep up with the university, we make it past the stadiums and onto campus where the students are taught everything but what a crosswalk is and how a stoplight works.  There were students all over the road, but I wasn't able to run over a single one of them, not even a fat sorostitute that is just there to make her "sisters" look better.  It dawns on me that we are driving around in a glorified "mom-mobile" with out of state plates and two older guys (one with a cheesy pervert mustache), people must have thought we were a same-sex couple coming to school to pick up our daughter.  I tried to pick up a few random daughters, and that didn't work either...not even the fat sorostitute.  We get to the restaurant and I talk my dad into ordering his own stromboli, neglecting to point out that is it basically just a twelve inch pizza folded in half.  The funny thing is, my wife pulled the same trick on my mother when they called us with their order.  We got our food, picked a way off campus that was nowhere near the stadiums and got out safely.

All in all it was a good day.  Going to some of my old haunts showed me that although chemo is still messing with my taste buds, the appetite is back with a vengeance and then some.  And it also showed me that chemo still refuses to give me my energy back, although I feel I am getting stronger everyday.  To celebrate, the family will gather tomorrow to eat even more than we ate today and then sit around and do nothing but argue over which of the six dogs to blame our farts on.  I can't wait!

Dogs Just Sniff You To See What You Taste Like...

Today I did absolutely nothing.  Well I did take a nap and walk the dogs, but outside of that nothing.  Still not completely able to shake free of this chemo stuff, I am trying to develop a rhythm and a routine (no not gymnastics).  By the way, I was told that some may not realize that when I "walk the dogs around the yard" that the yard is five acres, so it is a little more than just standing on the porch holding the leash at arms length while they do their business.

This weekend though, I am hoping things will change.  I will pretty much be forced to do stuff and get into a decent sleep routine.  We will be traveling to my parents' with the dogs for an early Thanksgiving celebration.  To honor my still being alive, they are carving a turkey to look like a malignant testicle...OK, I am making that up.  But I do feel that this Thanksgiving will have a little more thanks than usual, even if it is only coming from me. There will be plenty to do during the day, like sleep while the girls shop, but that is not why I think I will get into a routine.  There will be five people and six dogs.  I try to make it a habit to never be outnumbered by dogs, especially when they can count.  And most dogs can count.  If you don't believe me, get two dogs together and give them treats, but give one of them one more treat than the other.  You will quickly see that I am correct about dogs and arithmetic.  So, there certainly will not be any sleeping during daylight hours, that is when the dogs will all be together and they can plot.  I do not think I can stop them or outrun them in the state I am, but I am getting well enough to knock down my sister when the dogs come after us, and that should be enough diversion for me to get away...and possibly my wife, she is on her own though.  At night time, we all retire to our separate bedrooms, where we will be at parity with our puppies.  Again, my sister will be the sacrificial lamb, but she is the one that let herself get outnumbered so I have no pity on her.

One of the activities my father and I have planned is a trip to some of my old stomping grounds, including one of my favorite stores.  Keep in mind, I have maybe gone into this store once a year for the past ten years, yet the employees still greet me much the same way they greet Norm when he walks into Cheers.  Don't ask how much money you have to spend to be remembered after ten years...seriously, please don't ask.  The only depressing part is usually I have money to haggle and deal with, even on stuff I don't want, and this time I won't.  Between being unemployed and the financial hit we took from cancer surgery and treatment, there isn't a whole lot of "fun money" to be had.  (It turns out that the great insurance that I had through my employer, kind of sucks.)  I thought about selling my body to raise some cash, but I was having trouble giving it away before the surgery, and now after the surgery I am considered "B-stock" or "irregular" and will have an even harder time.  Plus my wife says, she is not willing to pay me for that and even if she did, it is still "our" money anyway.  That just doesn't seem fair.  Because, this place just may have an American made Paul Reed Smith with twenty-four frets and double cutaways.  I wonder if they would be interested in trading one for an irregular body?  Nah, I don't think Phil nor Eric would be interested.

So, between avoiding the canine uprising, looking broke and pitiful at stores (but not so much that they kick you out), and eating turkey, I should get my sleep pattern back.  And getting out will help me to be less sedentary than I have been around here.  However, if my family really wanted me to be active and cared about my health, they would get me that PRS...

Healing In Jeep Country

Today I tried to push myself a little further.  Still coming out of the chemo funk, I started the day off again by taking the basenjis on a long walk around the yard.  Benny wasn't quite chasing as many invisible rabbits as he had yesterday, so he was only bouncing around at the speed of sound rather than the speed of light.

During the last storm, one of our apple trees split in two.  Yesterday my mother in law discussed taking it up to the burning pile.  Her idea was to cut it up into pieces, pick the pieces up, throw the pieces into the lawn tractor's trailer (which means the pieces would be only slightly larger than a loaf of french bread), take the trailer loads up to the burning pile (which since the trailer has the capacity of a five gallon bucket would be approximately 134.5 trips), pick up the pieces out of the trailer, and throw them all the burning pile.  This would involve me running the chainsaw, which I am still afraid of.  As I have said before, motions that require me to move in one direction haven't seemed to bother my surgery.  Motions that require multiple directions, such as holding back a ricocheting basenji, do tend to put stress on my stitches.  Holding a chainsaw up in the air, moving it back and forth, and fighting the kickbacks and dodging the tree as the weight shifts as it twists and turns on the ground, would probably not be the wisest thing for me to do just yet.  So, my solution was hook the Jeep to the tree, drag the whole darn thing up to the burning pile where it's out of sight, wait until we get enough rain to actually be able to burn the burning pile (which will be a long time) at which point I will be able to hold the chainsaw, make a few cuts and just lean large pieces against the pile.  She wasn't on board with my idea, because she didn't think of it.  So as we discuss which is easier, otherwise known as why we should do it her way, she happens to mention that we can't do it today because she has a doctor's appointment.  BINGO!

So, while my mother in law is at her doctor's appointment, I hook my tow strap up to the tree.  There is one limb buried in the ground from the fall that I will have to do something with before I hook up to it.  I carefully put my weight into the tow strap, and after rocking the tree a couple of times the limb snaps and the tree lays flat on the ground, and more importantly, I don't feel any sharp pains in my side or groinal area from pulling on a tree.  I then get the Jeep and pull into position.  I go to put it into the very powerful Four Wheel Low.  Jeep must deem this way too powerful to actually use, because first you have to put your transmission in neutral, then you have to let the  Jeep roll very slowly, then grab the transfer case handle and move it down, sideways, diagonally, and down again before you actually engage Four Wheel Low (I am not making that up).  I imagine corn mazes are easier to negotiate than shifting in to Four Wheel Low.  I then start to back up, when the transfer case pops out of Four Wheel Low.  I guess I didn't correctly navigate the maze.  I again, shift, push, twist, angle, curse, shove, and pop, and now Four Wheel Low is engaged.  I back down the hill to the tree, which I swear was moving, because no matter how many times I backed up, I was always about four inches from hooking up to it.  I finally hook up (pray) and start up the hill.  The Jeep chugs on like it's not a problem at all.

Now there is a reason Jeep makes it so hard to get into Four Wheel Low.  The top speed is around twenty miles an hour in low, which isn't that fast, but you could run over the cast and audience of the View and not even notice, or pull half an apple tree without a problem.  I get the tree to the burning pile and unhook.  I feel good that I finally did something!  I decided I will put all my gear back together later on today when I wash the Jeep.  I go back to the house to cook lunch.  My mother in law comes home, glad to see the tree is gone and still wonders why we didn't do the multiple cuts, multiple trips, and multiple handling of each chunk of tree that she suggested.  

Feeling good that I have done so much already today, I decide to take a break before I wash the car...until it's dark.  BUT, I managed to stay awake all day, and that is an improvement.  And I did do some physical activity today which is also an improvement.  I am getting back to myself slowly but surely.  I am sure I will get the car washed tomorrow, provided the U.S. Forest Service doesn't call me asking me to pull some Sequoia's out of the ground.

I Feel Good Enough To Look Like An Idiot

Today I started to slowly move back into my routine.  I am starting to put more and more stress on my surgery.  I meet with that doctor on Monday, and this may sound weird, but I am afraid he will release me because I don't feel like I am ready for it yet.  There are still certain things that I do where I feel a little tug at the site of my surgery.  I may feel it when I am twisting my torso and trying to lift something with a little bit of weight to it, or if I am pulling something from left to right, or if my wife asks me to do anything I don't want to do like wash the car or go shopping.

The past two days, I have been both getting back to my old routine and testing the strength of my surgery by walking the dueling basenjis.  Daisy the abused one, will stay by my side and not put a bit of stress on me other than wondering how much longer I have to stand out in the cold in my Homer Simpson PJs before she will finally pee (that answer is, until the bus load of kids drives by to laugh at us).  Benny, the spoiled basenji however, acts much like Haley's comet in the sense he takes long elliptical orbits around me at a velocity nearing the speed of light.  Each pass by me ends with a sharp tug that I didn't notice before my surgery, but now sends a shock wave through my body.  I completely understand now how the moon affects the tides.  Regardless of how silly I look out there with my Homer pants and orbiting basenji, I do feel like I am slowly gaining strength.

Also today, a friend I haven't seen since chemo stopped by to take me out to lunch.  He was on the clock, but that didn't seem to bother him much.  I was able to walk at a normal speed, eat food that actually tasted like food, and got to hear plenty of stories that were wholly inappropriate for the lunchtime crowd at a small town Frisch's.  Maybe this chemo and surgery thing is finally gone.  He drops me back off after lunch, and I was feeling so good, that I fell asleep on the couch for a couple of hours.  I guess I am not as recovered as I thought I was, but I am making baby steps.

With my new found sense of freedom, I decided to work in my gardens.  Well, they are AeroGardens, but they are probably cheaper to maintain and a lot less work than a real garden.  In my attempt to try to eat healthier and expand my food palette to things that are green, I have replanted my garden and commandeered a second.  Well, I didn't really commandeer it, we bought if for my mother-in-law to grow tomatoes in the winter and after six months of growing it produced two tomatoes...small...and hard...in the middle of summer when there were plenty of other  bigger, not hard tomatoes around.  So, she regifted and gave the present back to me.  After my hours of toiling in the fields, up on the window sill, I planted lettuce and herbs.  Hopefully, I will be fully healed by the time they start producing so I can reap the bushels of fresh produce I will soon have.  And if history is any indicator, I should be healed just fine, and it will be summer.  I felt a little weird having two AeroGardens at once until I read their catalog this month and saw the article about the lady that has twenty three AeroGardens!  I am still not sure if that article was a sales pitch or a cautionary tale.  I am just wondering how many powerstrips it takes to supply electricity to twenty three different AeroGardens.  I am sure it's up to fire code.

Tomorrow I plan to push myself a little harder.  I may get back up in my workshop and see how that goes.  I can stand up there and stare at all the projects I wasn't able to complete this summer until I am tired and come back down to the house and cry myself to sleep.  Either that or I can just stand outside all day in my Homer PJs and let the dogs do their maypole dance around me.  If you hear little kids laughing on the school bus out my way, you will know which one I decided to do.

Being A One Nut Wonder Has Its Benefits

Ever since my nutectomy, my gastro-intestinal system has gone cattywampus (it's a medical term).  That has become very evident over the weekend.  Without going into too much detail, let's just say I have gotten a lot of reading done this weekend...and nothing else...nothing...just reading...a lot of reading...only reading.  Usually just the opposite is the case.  I mean, I get a lot of reading done, but I am usually multi-tasking at the same time.  No multi-tasking at all this weekend.  I tried one of the usual ways to get things going, drinking lots of liquids, which only resulted in waking up every fifteen minutes to either pee, or unproductively read.  Anyway, my GI doctor and have been trying to get my medications adjusted, with little luck.  We completely cut one medication out and have cut way back on the other.  Even that seems to be too much.  And then something dawned on me.

I asked myself what has changed since all of this happened.  I have lost my job.  I have gotten cancer.  I have had surgery.  I am going through chemotherapy.  The first thing to rule out would be stress, of course not having a job to answer to does cut down on stress levels, but at the same time being out of a job and having cancer tends to stress one out pretty good.  As for the chemo, these latest GI symptoms started showing up before I started chemo.  That leaves one thing (literally and figuratively), the surgery.  My testosterone levels were cut in half with the surgery.  So, that is where I went to the internet to do a little research...very careful research, using only medical terms and making sure the pages didn't have pictures.  It turns out that doctors are investigating a link between high testosterone levels and GI problems like mine.  A-HA!  The problem is that most men are not willing to have a nutectomy just to see on the off chance that this makes them feel better.  Lucky for them, I happened to cut my testosterone levels and get the results for them.  I "took one for the team", well technically I guess the doctors took one from me for the team.  That makes me a testicular martyr, and I feel I should be heralded as such.  Who knows, because of what I went through, men may be asked in the future "Would you rather poop too much or keep both of your balls?".  You know, seeing it written down doesn't make my new research sound near as noble.  But there are other ways to lower testosterone levels, without resorting to getting rid of one of the twins.  You could join a theater company, or watch Oprah, or become a hairdresser, or rent Sex and the City, or drive a Mini, or a Miata, or a VW Bug convertible, or play softball...oops, that last one was a way to increase testosterone in women.  But all joking and offensive stereotypes and prejudices aside (no matter how true they are), there are medications that can lower testosterone levels (and I am not just talking about Appletinis and Cosmos).  On a serious note, there is a link to testosterone levels and "mens'" cancers so in some cases the testosterone levels are knocked down to prevent cancer from reoccurring.

Where does this leave me?  Well, luckily I have a doctor that is very open to new research.  One of the beautiful things about the internet (no, not porn) is that those of us that were previously scattered around the globe with various maladies, now have a way to get together and compare notes.  My stomach surgery is generally so successful that people quit going to the GI doctor, so side effect research ends there.  However, several of us Nissen procedure people got to talking on the internet and we were developing reactive hypoglycemia.  I told my doctor about it, who was very interested, and developed a game plan for me to deal with it, now that we suspect what mechanism is causing it.  I am anxious to talk to him about this latest thing that I have stumbled upon.  Usually when I mention something I have read on the internet he is familiar with it (except for that Richard Gere/gerbil thing, I thought everyone had heard about that), and anxious to see some facts that back them up.  Losing half of your testosterone production and feeling more like a regular pooping person are some pretty interesting results (don't worry, not interesting enough for me to document photographically).  Don't get me wrong though, I still have other GI issues, this doesn't mean I am going to run out to Chipotle, stuff in some Indian food, and top it off with some wasabi and a ghost chili.  But it does give me hope that as a side effect from this cancer stuff, I may be one step closer to being a normal person...with one testicle...and stomach surgery that left wire in my stomach...and an incredibly pathetic mustache.  Well at least as close to normal as someone like me can get.

Can I Be Normal?

Yesterday was the oncologist visit.  I had been half dreading this day and half looking forward to it.  I didn't want to hear when my next CATscan was, but I am ready to get on with my life.

We get to the oncologist's office and I take the required blood test.  I think my mind set is switching from dropping my pants every time I see someone in a white coat to rolling up my sleeve and telling them they are going to need a butterfly.  We had a very nice chatty nurse.  She was fairly painless as well, but today it bruised pretty bad.  I don't know if she was that good or just I have been stuck in the same places so many times that I can't feel anything there anymore.  I don't care about bruising, I will take the bruise over the pain any day.  She gives me my CBC (complete blood count) numbers and tells me I'm perfect.  Tell me something I didn't know...oh, apparently she was referring to my CBC.  I don't necessarily agree with her.  They are within tolerances, but my white and red blood cells are still down considerably from my pre-chemo numbers.  However, my platelets are almost up to normal, so I can bleed as much as I want.  Maybe that is why she bruised me, just to show how good the numbers were.

Next we are led back to the doctor's waiting room.  The wait seemed forever and the walls were paper thin. We could hear him talking to a breast cancer survivor and saying things to lighten her mood, and it was working, we could hear her laughing.  However, if he starts doing a comedy routine while playing with my balls...ball, I don't think I will be laughing.  He finally comes in and seems to be in a good mood.  As a cancer patient, you want to see your oncologist in a good mood, because that means he is telling you good things...unless he is a very bad and inappropriate oncologist "Well, the good news is you want live long enough to pay off this bill!"  He looks at my CBC results and says they are the best he's seen all day.  I tell him that could mean I am doing good or that he has seen a bunch of really sick people all day.  Not missing a beat he said that both were the case.  I mention some of my concerns with my numbers and some other things and he said I worry too much.  Of course I do, I am the cancer patient!

We then come to the part I am absolutely dreading, the follow up schedule where I find out how many CAT scans I have to do.  He starts talking and I go into a trance.  I hear him say every three months this year, every six months next year, and then just once a year.  Not what I wanted to hear, but at least it's significantly less CAT scans than if I didn't do the chemo.  Still in my daze, reliving in my head all the nastiness that happened last CAT scan, when my wife says something that snaps me back to reality.  "So, he will only have to do the X-rays?"  He says yes.  I was so dreading hearing about CAT scans, I didn't even pay attention to what he said at first.  I was focusing on the schedule and thinking about all the constipation and chalk and garlic I would be tasting.  I am so flabbergasted I have to ask him myself.  He affirms that chest X-rays will be able to show him what he needs to see.  Now I am in a good mood!  And it's about to get better.

Still trying to have a baby, my wife and I are trying to get the all clear from all of our respective doctors to resume our procreating.  I ask the doctor the most delicate way I can, without making it sound like I am prepositioning him.  The literature about chemo is kind of vague, some say you are safe to babymake after three days, and others say you have to wait months.  The oncologist said, "Start tonight."  That is good news!  I look at my wife and say, "You heard the doctor!"  Then she reminds me that we are still waiting for a couple more "all clears" from some other doctors before we can resume.  I press the issue later on since this is the one time I am not so interested in a second opinion and she exclaims, "Well you aren't trying to make a baby with me yet."  Which leads me to think she is saying it is OK to try with other people.  She said that is not what she meant and refused to drop me off anywhere to find willing participants.  The oncologist also suggested that I may be a good idea for me to look at enrolling in a sleep study.  You know, where you go to sleep and some doctors watch you on camera to see what you do at night.  At first I think that must be pretty boring for some doctor to sit there an watch me blog and pee, but I guess that is still more exciting that watching someone sleep.  I may be the most exciting thing to hit the sleep study in years.

I was almost feeling like a normal person...until I got home that night.  I am sitting there, I rub my head and a hair gets caught between my fingers.  Curious I do it again.  And again.  And again.  I finally go up to the bathroom and rub my scalp and lots of hair falls out.  It finally did slow down, and you can't really tell that I lost much, unless you happen to look in the sink.  Who knows if I am done molting or not.  I really don't care either way, I am just hoping that if I do molt some more it will be while I am at home and not out somewhere...like I go out anywhere.

So here I sit with a little less hair, a little more blood pumping through my veins, and a lot less CAT scans.  I still have to wait to see if the urologist will order any, but more than likely if he does it will just be one more.  I can be chalky, garlicy, and constipated one more time to be sure I stay cancer free.  Now I can focus on cultivating my pathetic mustache and trying to be normal again.  Wish me luck on that, I will need it!

I Was Too Tired From Acting Normal To Blog

If you haven't guessed by the delay in posting, being a real person kicked my butt!  The whole day was a lot more work than I had planned, but I enjoyed most of it.

First, I forgot how much time it takes to actually get going in the morning.  I had my time all planned out, including stopping for a not so nutritious breakfast at the arches, time to eat it, and getting to my volunteer meeting early to chat.  My schedule went just as planned until I walked out the door...and back in...and back out...back in...back out, I was like Lindsay Lohan and jail.  It had been so long since I had actually planned on being out and about all day, I kept remembering all the things I would need to make it through the day.  I finally got on the road a little later than I hoped, so I figured I would just eat in the car.  I also forgot about school buses.  By the time I had stopped for them stopping at EVERY SINGLE KID'S HOUSE, time for breakfast was gone too.  And if we are so paranoid that kids can't walk to a bus stop anymore, if two kids' houses are side by side, can't they at least stand in the corners of both of their yards so the bus can stop and pick them both up at the same time?  Anyway, I finally make it to my meeting, with minutes to spare.  So much for my plans so far today.

First I explain my silly, pathetic excuse for a mustache.  After that, the meeting went fine, except I was expecting to take a few notes, and instead I was given two three ring binders.  I am not really complaining, because that meant I didn't need to take near as good of notes.  My next plan was to grab a bite to eat, when I was asked if I could do some volunteer work for a few hours.  Since the volunteer work is also training for the job I hope to get, I jumped at the chance.  I mean, I have eaten breakfast every other day this week, one day won't hurt.  The volunteer work was fun.  Part of what I went over was "new" Americans with Disabilities Act information, information that was out of date about ten years ago, but we had to print out these sixty two pages of "new" stuff.  I think if people with these "disabilities" saw what was written about their needs, the would sue the Americans with Disabilities Act for prejudice and defamation under the Americans with Disabilities Act.  I worked on a few other projects and soon it was time to meet my friend for lunch.

I get to Cracker Barrel (our usual spot), explain my pathetic and nearly invisible excuse for a mustache, and as usual we both order breakfast for lunch, which comes in handy because I am using this lunch as breakfast...and lunch.  I should be getting used to this, but I am still a little taken aback as my seventy nine year old friend is telling me about the latest cool apps for our Androids.  We spend lunch trading apps and solving the worlds problems.  The big difference between us being that he actually was an elected official at one time that could solve some of the world's problems, and I just sit around and complain about them.  Don't get me wrong, I don't just sit around all day complaining about the world's problems, I sit around all day and complain about a lot of other things too.  You know like, why isn't my favorite show on, how come my ice cream is so hard, how come the people that are employed by the unemployment office never seem to work, why does my butt have to hurt from sitting around all day, stuff like that.  Our check comes and we do the typical wrestling over who gets to pay.  One of these days I am just going to pay the waitress in advance and really get the jump on him.  It's getting close to my next appointment so my friend and I part ways vowing to finish saving the world next week.

I drive towards my cancer support group and I get stuck behind another school bus!  This one has literally about thirty cars backed up behind it, which I thought was against the law when I took driver's ed, and won't pull over for two minutes to let them all pass while he stops at every   single   house!!!  Luckily I have been stuck behind this bus before so I allowed myself a little extra time to get behind him and cuss.  I get to group with a few minutes to spare, and I am a little bummed.  First of all I am bummed walking around with this pathetic excuse for a mustache that I am tired of making excuses for and two of my favorites from group are missing this week.  However, there are still enough of us cancer patients to have as good a time as a room full of cancer patients can have.  And then the one my heart really goes out for walks in.  He always looks tired, and I imagine from his treatment he is exhausted.  My heart breaks for him because he has two young children and a very poor prognosis...that is until this week!  Let me clarify, he still has the two young children, but now he has a different prognosis.  His doctors finally found something that is not only working but working extremely well...especially for something that they didn't know if they would be able to treat at all to begin with.  I must not be the only one that really feels for him, because there were instant smiles and cheers around the room, and that is not an easy thing to do with a room full of cancer patients.  We eventually get to the subject that we have gotten on several times and that is how much we all hate CAT scans.  We talk about it a lot.  And we relive every single thing we hate about them.  We also talk about how someone was told that the ones in the city aren't even very good so we are all pretty much going through CAT scan hell for nothing.  All this talk is very interesting considering the next day I have an appointment to hear when my next CAT scan will be.  We also complain about something you wouldn't think the cancer patients would complain about.  We have complained several meetings about "Breast Cancer Awareness Month" and for several reasons I won't get into the conversations, mainly because they are supposed to be confidential, but one person in the group said the most profound thing about it that really summed up the conversation and how everyone in the room (including the breast cancer patients) felt.  They said, "Breast Cancer Awareness Month has turned into Christmas.  Everyone is wearing pink and buying pink, but it has been so commercialized that people don't know the reason the are doing all the pink things anymore."  Wow!  They so succinctly put into words what so many in that room frustrations were with the month.

I leave the meeting and left to do a little shopping that I had been meaning to do, but hadn't been able to.  One of the places I had to stop was a former employer.  I was hoping I didn't see any of my former coworkers, because I didn't want to explain that I had been laid off from the job I left them for, and that I had gotten cancer, and that I knew I had a stupid, pathetic excuse for a mustache but it was for a good cause.  Luckily the only person I knew there was too busy talking to notice there was a customer, so I was able to get in and out without any problems.  I finished up my shopping by stopping at one of my pre-chemo favorite restaurants for some take-out.  It doesn't really sound good to me, but I am really hungry, and out of habit, this is the place I love to go when I am really hungry.  I walk in and the smell hits my chemo nostrils and overwhelms me.  I am not sure why I came in here, I am really not wanting this at all.  Still, I order my usual and head home.  By this point, I am not only hungry, but completely wiped out from my day pretending to be normal, and dying of thirst.  Obviously, I have not recovered from chemo as much as I thought I had.  I get home, still not looking forward to my former favorite meal, but yet I still devour it and it doesn't taste bad...doesn't taste as good as it does when I am not on chemo, but it doesn't taste bad either.

What did I learn?  I learned that I am still recovering.  I also learned that I can kind of pass for a normal person.  I learned that it is possible to get too tired to blog.  And finally I learned that I am tired of making excuses for my pathetic mustache and wish it would come in quicker, but as hair falls out every time I touch my head, I don't have high hopes on that one...but more about that in tomorrow's entry.

Scared To Be Normal

Tomorrow I will have to act like a real person.  I say act, because I don't see the oncologist until Friday and the urologist a week from Monday, so they will have to be the ones to officially call me a person again.  But tomorrow, I go through a lot of the motions a person goes through.  For the first time since I was initially diagnosed with cancer (8/31/10, you never forget the date you were diagnosed) I will be out on my own, all day.  I have thus far only been out for short periods of time or with a chaperon.  You know someone to drive when I feel tired (which has been most of the past three weeks), someone to tell me that is too heavy and I shouldn't try to lift it, someone to say they told me so when I am holding myself in pain after lifting it, and someone generally to provide physical and moral support.  That also means I won't have my wife around tomorrow to persuade that McDonald's sausage biscuits and hashbrowns are full of protein and that the oncologist suggest that we get some on the way to the blood test.  She also won't be there later in the morning when I claim that the oncologist said I was in dire need of Dunkin' Donuts to keep my strength up.

On one hand I am actually excited about tomorrow.  I get to meet with a volunteer group I strongly believe in.  I will hopefully hear something on one of the jobs I applied for.  I get to meet a friend for lunch.  And I get to go to my cancer group.  The problem is, each of those things are spaced just far enough apart in time and distance, that it won't make any sense for me to come home in between.  So, I will leave the house at 8:30am and won't get home until about 7pm.  That's almost like having a job...except that I won't be getting paid, I will actually be enjoying what I am doing, and if anyone starts yelling at me or treating me like crap, I can get up and walk away with no repercussions.

The downside is, I should probably try to stay awake for the whole day.  That is a giant step in my life right now.  It probably wouldn't look good napping during lunch or while talking about volunteer leadership.  However, the good thing about cancer group, is if I take a nap there, every other person in the room will understand.  I know this because it frequently happens during group...coincidently it's usually when I am talking.  But that truly is my biggest fear tomorrow, and I am honestly afraid, that I just won't have the stamina to make it through the whole day.  As much as my cabin fear has been bothering me, I don't know that I am ready to be out of the nest out on my own.  After all, I got winded eating a piece of cake today.

But that is not my only apprehension about tomorrow.  My Mo' looks absolutely pathetic.  It didn't take much for me to remember why I never got the urge to grow one before.  Again, at group I am not too worried about it, because everyone will know why I am growing it and some may be doing it themselves.  It is everyone else I may encounter throughout the day.  I wish I had a t-shirt that says "Yes, I know I have a ridiculous, pathetic mustache.  It is for a good cause.  Ask me about Movember".  But I don't.  So, as I go to the restaurant tomorrow to meet my friend, it is very likely that the fifteen year old cleaning the tables will have a thicker, better looking mustache than me, and I am afraid that she will make fun of me for it when she picks my head up off of the plate to take it away.  I guess on one hand, I could blame the fact that I have half the testosterone that I did pre-surgery.  However, if I do that, I may have to explain why, which will be good for the Movember movement to talk about testicular cancer, but I don't know that I should walk around tomorrow telling everyone I see about my balls...er, ball.

So that's where I am at.  I have to get up at a normal hour.  I have to stay awake all day.  I have to walk around with less hair on my lip than an old lady.  And I have to keep it together, because after all, this means I am almost back to normal, and that is kind of an emotional thing to deal with as well.  There is part of me that is dying to get back to normal, and a certain part that is scared and not sure if I am ready yet.  Oh and if Murphy's Law exists, I did some research and people on my chemo, tend to lose their hair between the third and fourth week, which pretty much starts tomorrow.  So, if I am going to lose it, I am sure it will fall out during my volunteer meeting or lunch, either of which are going to make a very awkward scene.  Hopefully I will have enough strength at the end of the day tomorrow to tell how things went.

At Least Breathing In Soot Causes a Different Kind Of Cancer...

I feel like crap.  This has very little to do with chemo (for the first time in three weeks).  Today the guys came in to work on the fireplace.  Again, I could not help them with any heavy lifting.  I know this because they told me this new woodstove weighed the same as the last one (350 pounds) and being a guy, I had to give it a little tug to see if that was true.  And it's true, tugging on this one hurt my surgery just as much as tugging on the old one.  However, I did still have a very important role in their progress.

For those unfamiliar with basenjis, I will let you in on a few things.  First and most important, they cannot bark.  You will see why I mentioned that in a second.  They also can be very playful, and sometimes bite very hard in very sensitive areas when they play.  Basenjis are also very territorial, and sometimes bite very hard in very sensitive areas when they are protecting their territory.  Basenjis can also be extremely quick.  They are comparable in speed to whippets.  And they are also very good at escaping.  Now you put all of these things together and you get a very unique combination.  You get a dog that likes to escape.  Can run extremely fast.  And likes to bite (whether playing or protecting) and since they don't bark, there is usually no warning when they put this combination of traits together.

That was my role today while the workers were here for the fireplace/chimney.  My first concern was that one of the workers kept leaving the door open, which not only made it cold, but was also a tempting exit for a basenji to rush out of to chase a squirrel, rabbit, deer, or any other thing that moves that catch their eyes (the joys of owning sight hounds).  I had significantly less concern for the safety of the workers themselves, but it was still a concern.  Benny the basenji really doesn't give much warning at all when he does bite.  Luckily not too many people come inside his territory, but the few that do (my wife's uncle, neighbor) have had the inside of their thighs pinched at a very high velocity several times.  To paraphrase the old saying, my basenji bites you once, shame on me, twice or thirty times, shame on you.  Especially in these particular bitings, they were walking in the yard the same direction that his runner goes.  It is quite simple to walk just outside the range of his runner, I don't know how many inner thigh bruises and occasional drawn it takes to remember that.

So, my day consisted of walking behind one of the workers to close the door behind him (leave the door open once and make me close it, shame on you, leave the door open a thousand times, but I still follow behind to close it, shame on me I guess).  I also would listen for basenjis to break through my two lines of defense on the stairs, so I could chase them back.  I think I had one Houndini and one opportunist, because the first one down the stairs was always Benny, with Daisy a distant second.  But they both would scurry back up together.  And between those two things, and my mother-in-law coming to check on progress and stating that the dogs aren't a problem (which would be followed by an almost immediate breakout) I decided the best thing to do during chemo recovery is to breathe a bunch of soot.

As they beat, cut, brushed, and swept all of the old soot out of our fireplace, the black cloud emanated from the fireplace, floated to the couch, and settled directly into my throat and nasal passages.  I know this for a fact based on all of the black boogies I have been blowing out of my nose for the rest of the day.  To make matters worse, soot is considered to be a carcinogen.  How fitting that the only one in the room not given a mask to wear was the cancer patient.  I guess if I am going to breathe in that nasty stuff, it is best to do it while I am on chemo.  Maybe that chemo will kick that cancerous soot's butt on the way in.

Ever since they left, I have had the aforementioned mucous discolorations as well as a severely sore throat.  The only consolation to any of this, was as soon as the workers were done inside and I released the basenjis from their prison of the whole upstairs of the house, they flew down here to be by my side.  OK,  I know motivation number one was the fact that I was finally eating lunch, and they saw me slice them their own piece of cojack cheese.  And I know motivation number two was that the masonry work on the chimney was still going on and still very loud and therefore very scary to at least one of the basenjis.  However, being surrounded by attention starved basenjis when you aren't feeling well, is still a very comforting thing.

Tomorrow is supposedly going to be a lot better.  The soot has been completely beaten into submission by the workers today and removed (except for the pieces that flew beneath my computer chair that are poking my feet as I write).  They say they only have one quick thing to do inside and they will be done in the house.  They just have to bring the part that they forgot Monday...and today...and I am positive they won't forget tomorrow.  And by the end of the day, they should be completely finished with the outside as well, because this is a job that will only take two days...two and a half...well, three, but they promise that they aren't leaving tomorrow until they are completely done!  By the end of the day, I should have two basenjis back at my side (since there will be scary stuff going on outside tomorrow as well).  The fireplace will be done.  And hopefully I will still be relatively cancer free and my throat will feel better.  I will let you know if any of that schedule changes...which it probably will.

Do Mo's Help You Boss People Around?

I have slowly been getting better over the past two days.  I have slept a little better.  I still don't feel like I am getting "well rested" though.  Lately my attempts to catch little cat naps on the couch are interrupted by flying dogs as a basenji will soar onto the couch about the same time that I close my eyes.  I am getting cabin fever worse than ever now, and it's not just because of my health this time.

We have finally decided to get our fireplace fixed.  It requires me to stay here the whole time to tell them what to do.  Part of me feels bad, because they are doing some heavy lifting things, that they could certainly use a hand on, but I am still not able to lift that kind of weight.  Just getting the stuff out of the way for them about killed me!  Instead, I just stand around, watch them work hard, and tell them what to do.  This must be what my wife feels like.  No wonder she does it so much, it's kind of fun.  However, it's also kind of depressing.  I certainly don't want to just sit here doing nothing, I would like to pitch in when they need it.  After all, the sooner they finish, the sooner I can get back on the couch and waiting for the flying basenji show to happen next to me.  Also, the sooner I could leave and spend money I don't have.  And it's not that I am wanting to go out and spend stuff, I am just wanting to go out period.  I just wish I didn't feel exhausted by the time we got to the end of the driveway.

The only good thing about being stuck around here is Daisy, the abused and neglected rescue basenji, has been becoming more and more accepting of me with my recent house arrest.  Today she actually sought me out, which doesn't happen very often.  But what also doesn't happen very often is someone using a hammer drill on the fireplace causing the whole house to oscillate and beat to the point that it sounds like there is rave going on in the next room.  Maybe the noise scared her, or the vibrations, or maybe she just doesn't like raves, but she came down stairs and flew onto the couch, doubling its basenji population.

The workers say that the inside stuff will be done tomorrow, which means I will at least be able to do some things I have been putting off.  One of the things is e-mailing people back.  We have been through a lot the past couple of weeks, and all the well wishes and cards have been nice, certainly appreciated and in fact needed, but on the other hand, I have been putting off responding to them.  I guess that is my little way of avoiding the situation.  Don't get me wrong, I can certainly see the bright side of everything that has happened the past two weeks, but I don't know that I want to directly talk about it.  There are many people that did send their kind words, thoughts, and prayers to us and I kind of feel obligated to open up about things more to them.  In a way, I don't want to.  At least in this blog I can control the amount of information, and what information, I send out.  When someone is talking to you directly, you feel like you have to address the things they have said.  In my mind, it has been long enough since we have been through the worst of all of this, I can pretend nothing happened and just get back to talking to friends.  Does that seem right?  I don't know if it does or not, but that is what I am doing.  And the other thing I am doing...

Today is the first of MOvember.  I didn't shave my Mo today and I already feel like a Tom Selleck wannabe. I really don't know if I will be able to stand this for the whole month.  I am almost wishing I lose my hair so I will have an excuse.  You don't necessarily lose all hair from chemo.  Sometimes you just lose head hair, or head and facial, or head, facial and body, so if I lose my head hair, I may have to lie and shave off the Mo too. We will see.  My intent is to keep this Mo, as pathetic as my Mo may be, for the whole month of Movember.  I have decided on the Groucho Marx.  If that doesn't start conversations, I don't know what will.

So, that is my life now.  I am bossing around workers.  Laying on the couch rubbing basenji bellies.  Growing a mangy looking Mo.  And hopefully, getting around to returning tons of e-mails.  I guess there are a lot of people out there that would give their right nut to be in my position, but I did do that, and I am kind of growing tired of it now.  Oh well, the workers should only be here for two more days.  I should get released soon by the oncologist.  Then released from the urologist two weeks from today.  And I am alive and able to grow a Mo, so I guess I can't complain too much.