UPDATE APRIL 17

Guatemala: Nora eating on the porch of the Hotel; The next picture is of our room as seen from where Nora is; The bottom one is the entrance to "Blind Lemon's" a restaurant.


I really wanted to buy a Hotel in San Marcos and may still do so.

April 17, 2010

I last reported on April 9, so I'll try to fill in all that's been going on since then. As you know, I receive radiation monday through friday and I take chemo everyday. Chemo, for me, consists of just a couple of pills. Although they are deadly poisonous, it is not the same as receiving chemo drugs intravenously. My pills come in little bottles and are in biohazard bags that per instructions only I can handle. A bit scary. Combined with the radiation I distinctly get the impression someone is trying to kill me. Actually, in the words of my oncologist, they are trying to kill me but pulling back just a hair at the last moment. For instance, I was a bit concerned about receiving CT Scans every couple of weeks. Ct Scans can actually cause cancer and no one wants to have too many of these. I asked my radio-oncologist about this and his response was, " Look, a CT Scan gives you 2 units of radiation. We are subjecting your brain to about 200 units of radiation every day. I don't think I'd be too concerned about the effects of the CT Scan." Whoa, that definitely put me at ease.

I have been receiving rides to the South Sac Cancer Center (where I get my treatment) from pretty much a different person every day. I still am in awe of the number of volunteers who have come to our aid, and mind you it is not only my aid but it really helps Nora, as well. In any event, because of this I have had the most varied of conversations. Ranging from esoteric discussions of choral music, to the spiritual to learning about neighborhood issues. I love it.

Then, at the Center, I have made friends with about four individuals who are also cancer patients. Two of whom arrive and receive treatment before me, and one after. It is quite amazing, and I know a bit of a cliche, how we bond over our similar situations. We are all suffering from different forms of cancer, and I am by far the youngest of the group and afflicted with the most severe form of cancer, but it hardly matters. We are all in it together. Rooting for each other and sharing, in the few minutes we are able to discuss our lives and family (obviously that which is most important to any of us) before going into the radiation room, the softer and more sincere side of our personalities. The other day, John N. (I don't know if he'd want for me to disclose his name) and I spoke about our conditions. He had a form of throat cancer, was about in his early seventies, lanky, casual in jeans and appeared a person easily at home in the country mending fences or cutting lumber or engaging in some type of physical outdoor activity. We spoke softly and slow. Perhaps due to his condition, but I'm more certain it was due to the reverence we had each recently acquired and now felt toward life. The precarious and fickle existence with which we occupy our place in this world. How fortunate we really are and how quickly it can be altered. When I got up to go in and receive my treatment, John reached over with one hand outstretched to shake my hand, and with a calm, warm and friendly voice, simply said, "Good luck with your treatment." I wish I could express in writing how those words, simple as they are, were felt. How he looked into my eyes; How his hand not only touched mine, but joined it, even for the briefest of moments, we understood one another, way beyond our intellectual abilities and for that momentary respite in our daily routines we shared in a fellowship of desire, an alliance that we would each, separately and together, want for one another to beat this thing called cancer. Don't worry, I haven't found Jesus or anything like that, just a lot of time available to listen and think about things.

PURPLE HAZE: I mentioned in an earlier blog the "purple light" I experienced when they radiated my brain. It happened again on monday. I asked what it was about and found out that it is often reported when the radiation occurs at the same time they take pictures of the brain. So, on monday they were taking pictures along with the radiation and I was treated to the flashes of purple lights flashing from the back of the head but originating from somewhere within the brain and moving quickly toward the front. Hey, it's the small things get my attention these days.

Feeling Good: I am grateful for the fact that for the time being I'm not experiencing any ill effects from the radiation or the chemotherapy. I was told that by the end of this week I'd probably start experiencing fatigue, but so far so good. In fact I pretty much feel as I did on February 22 (day before the accident). However, I know my immune system is taking a hit so I'm being cautious about being around people, especially the little ones, what I eat and taking precautions not to be infected with unnecessary germs. How can you totally avoid exposure to the world of microbes? You can't, so I just do the best I can.

I have a lot of people in my corner, some pray, some are sending positive energy, others just thinking about me. I appreciate every thought and every effort and, I WILL BEAT THIS. Lenny