Stoner's Plumbing Problem

Kudos to the excellent staff at UM Hospital, especially Dr. Narasimham Dasika, and to Stoner's friends and family who were so generous and compassionate and loving through these last few weeks. Pictured are the critically-wounded (yet somehow still devilishly handsome) Stoner, his angelic R.N. Chelsea, and dedicated friends Jill and Jen.
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The death carrot

When you are a cancer patient, you are reduced to getting excited by news stories like this one:

A chemical in the poisonous Mediterranean weed Thapsia garganica — known as "death carrot" by Arab nomads — was found to kill tumor cells in mice, according to scientists at the Johns Hopkins Kimmel Cancer Center. The anti-cancer drug G202, derived from the weed, travels through the bloodstream until activated by cancer proteins. It won't attack healthy blood vessels and tissues. The researchers treated 29 patients with advanced cancer and are planning a second trial to test the drug in people with prostate and liver cancer.

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Infusion Diary

5:30AM -- What the fuck is that? Oh, it's the alarm clock I seldom use any longer.

7:25AM -- Drive to Ann Arbor, listening to crazy jazz CD (above). Usually, this time of the morning is better suited to piano trios, but, for some reason, today I enjoy this album more than I have previously (it's my fourth spin). The cover is a recreation of a famous Impulse! Records album that rocky probably owns on vinyl. rocky -- can you call it?

8:10AM -- Where is the freakishly-tall, effusively-cheerful Scandinavian blonde parking attendant? Not on duty. All smooth visits to the Cancer Center begin with her recognizing me halfway through her spiel and saying "You know what to do" while I smile at her like a lovestruck simpleton.

The guy in the booth this morning exhibits all the concern and warmth of a cashier at a dog track. I sense trouble ahead.

8:30AM -- Trouble arrives at blood draw. Nothing will flow from my port. I turn my head and cough, do a handstand, couple other Jack Lalanne moves, to no avail. They take blood from my arm. That's the easy part.

9:10AM -- Adult Infusion takes me in right away. (Patients are usually stacked up like cordwood in the hallway for hours, but not today.) The nurse attempts a blood draw from my port, with more calisthenics from me, but no flow. They'll have to order an anticoagulant from the lab [for the device,not for me] and wait for delivery, or they can start the chemo intravenously, or some combination thereof (the anticoagulant doesn't always take on its first application, sometimes requires several at half-hour intervals.)

I haven't taken chemo through the arm, but it's supposed to burn like hell. I decide to wait on the lab.

9:15AM -- Read New Yorker article on closing of Lower East Side bar/art gallery Max Fish.
Eat complimentary breakfast. Start New Yorker article on crazy Turkish soccer fan culture. Work Sunday Boston Globe crossword. Slumber.

10:30AM -- Lab delivers dose. Dose administered.

11:05AM -- Blood draw success after initial dose. My gamble paid off. Infusion begins w/atavan pill and one-hour pre-hydration drip.

11:30AM -- Headphones on, cue up The Bad Plus-GIVE. Terrible version of Sabbath's "Iron Man", pretty version of Pixies's "Velouria".

1:07PM -- Wake up, need to use restroom. This is a sign to the woman several seats away that I am free to chat. Finish soccer article as soon as politely possible. Almonds and water. Slumber.

3:35PM -- Done. Go home. Eat your vegetables.

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"As Tolerated"

My doctor's appointment yesterday brought the news that a CT scan taken days earlier showed a greater-than-expected decrease in the size of my cancer.

This, along with an increase in white blood cell counts from my two most recent tests, and a decrease in side effects (nausea and fatigue) from chemo, led my doctor to pronounce me clear to proceed (between continuing treatments) with normal life -- work, gym-going, even travel -- "as tolerated".

I like that "as tolerated" very much. If you can find a friendly doctor to write a similar note for you, I suggest you do so, and keep it on your person at all times.

If Pascal was correct, and all of man's trouble stems from his inability to sit quietly in his room, "as tolerated" may be the perfect prescription for sanity for us all.

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Hey...Where'd Everyone Go?

Chemo took four+ hours. Like a layover in O'Hare. No side effects so far.

The Polish Girl marveled at how "neat" my friends were. I explained it was upbringing -- that we were all raised at the same campsite. In Minneapolis.

Thanks again for humoring me late into the night through endless hours of AMC FearFest, and for introducing me to television viewing sans opera glasses, the comedic genius of Chumley, spicy fish guts, and the idea (if not the reality) of home smoothie production.

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