Radiation Oncology

Nice waiting area!

Shining Star

Today I'm going to Centra State Hospital in Freehold, NJ. I'm going to consult with a Radiological Oncologist. The cancer has been kicking the hell out of my legs and my doctor thinks that radiation can help alleviate some of the problems and let me stop walking like the Mummy.

It should be all good. We'll get the Christmas tree set up and use me as the tree-topper. I figure I'll glow brightly for a while and I'll look good up there.

I'm determined to make it a good holiday. Medical expenses will keep me from having a banner year for my kids as far as gifts, but we'll have a great Christmas anyway, just by being together.

And eating. I love to eat.

I really hope the radiation will help. Let's keep our fingers crossed, ok?

Boring!

I sat and looked at my blog tonight and I realized what a boring writer I am. I guess I am trying too hard to write really profound things.

I guess the biggest problem I have is that there really isn't anything profound going on in my life. I'm getting through the treatments, and I am honestly not feeling too badly these days.

I have an appointment with a radiologist on Friday. My leg bones are really mashed up and giving me a lot of trouble. I don't know if you call them lesions  or tumors, but whatever they are they are very active. The doctor seems to think that radiation will help alleviate some of the discomfort, so I'm all for that.

Life has been pretty good for me these days and when I see patients with other kinds of cancer, I realize that I am not too bad off.

My appetite has been out of control, which is a good thing. I've been struggling to maintain weight.  I guess I'll just have to keep eating!

I am going to try and liven things up in here from now on. Stay tuned!

An Update

There is a lot of technical stuff going on, things that I don't quite understand myself. That's why doctors go to medical school and learn about all this. I don't have to know what every detail means, I just leave it to the docs to fix it.
I met with the transplant team in Hackensack University. During this meeting, I learned that I have something called "chromosome 17 deletion." I don't know the physiology of this detail, I just know that it's going to complicate things a whole lot. Now, instead of just having a transplant of my own stem cells (not bone marrow), I will have my own stem cells transplanted (autologus transplant) and that will be followed by a stem cell transplant from a donor. This will most likely be one of my siblings.
There will be a lot of chemotherapy. There will be a long, long period of recovery (6 to 9 months). There are no guarantees of outcome, unfortunately. What we're striving to avoid is something called "refractory myeloma", which basically means that if there is a relapse, the cancer comes back in a form that is more difficult to treat each time it does relapse.
Sounds gloomy, right? The way I see it, this is just a different scenario. I have to fight the same fight, with a few extra tricks to pull out of the hat. It's not going to be easy at all, but who ever really plans on "easy"? I have the challenges in front of me, and I know what I have to do. 2013 sure will be an eventful, busy year.
There is already a drug in trial that's intended to combat the refractory myeloma, should the need arise. If I do come up against that, the timeline will be just right. The drug should be fully approved and ready to go. The research has produced more in the last five years than it had it the previous twenty-five. So every year forward will bring us closer to a cure, and in the meantime produce a lot of results to keep us all going.
I'm ready for this. I'll finish the current round of chemo by the end of December. I'll then be evaluated, and if it's all good, we'll start the next course of treatment. That's one solid month of intensive chemotherapy to prep my body for the final round of chemo, which is short-term, powerful stuff.
I'll have a nice, shiny head for the nice, shiny new year. And by year's end, I'll have a nice shiny immune system, along with a very welcome remission. We'll worry about nothing. Worrying is useless, and I've learned that lesson very well.
There are a lot of lunch dates, dinner dates, etc, on hold, and I fully intend to eat each and every one of them with you. I have places I'm going to visit, so keep the bed made and ready. My kids and I love Woodloch Pines, so that's in the cards too. And I think I might even grow a mullet.
I have the best medical team I could hope for. An oncologist without peer, a nursing staff that's the most incredible group of professionals I've ever met. And while I'm free to eat and drink anything I want, I also have the guidance of a doctor who specializes in nutrition. They all do their jobs flawlessly, but with a ton of patience, compassion and concern.
But they say that attitude is 90% of the game. And that's where you all come in. My family has been a rock. My friends, you have all carried me when things got rough. Those little comments that you post mean a whole lot. Don't ever think otherwise. I can't, and don't want to, do this without you.
I'm happy, and at the moment, feeling quite well. My numbers are all good. My appetite is ok, and they have medicines that help with the digestive issues. I'm working and happy to be there. Really. It beats the hell out of staying home all the time. I don't need anything other than my family and friends.
I'm going to post a lot more stuff, so be patient. I want to have a record of the day to day, minute to minute things that will be going on. I want to show people that cancer doesn't have to win. I want to show people that life can and does go on. Every time cancer hits me, I'm going to hit back.
Thank you all so much for the support you've been giving me. It means the world to me. Love to you all.

A Good Look Around

I really should count my blessings these days . There are probably 1000 reasons why I could say life sucks. but it really doesn't.

I'm going to be frank. Life has really kicked the s*** out of me the last few years. I am a world away from where I was in 2002. While I was never rich , I earned a good living, had a comfortable home, and was able to give my kids a good life. We shared everything we had, and had a lot of good times with people.

Serious injuries cost me my Wall Street career. Merrill Lynch kicked me to the curb like a bad blind date... Just like that, 30 years down the drain.

I went into a private Financial Services business in time for the 2008 banking debacle, which basically led to people choosing between investing or eating. Guess what won?

Things were lousy. They picked up a bit in early 2010, but caved in again with the debt crises both here and in Europe. I was having a great ol' time watching my savings evaporate and seeing my 401K turn into a 1K.

There was actually a day I can remember when I literally had 8 dollars in the bank. 8. Talk about having a bad day, right?

I moved myself into a completely different direction as far as careers go. In late 2011 I joined a company that runs high-end food stores here on the East coast. I'm restarting my career at a time when many of my former peers are looking at retiring. Yay for that.

My injuries would have allowed me to take advantage of permanent disability payments. I could have spent the rest of my life collecting about $6000 per month. But that didn't sit well with me. I felt that if I could work I should work. So I turned that down, found a surgeon who put me back together and carried on.

Believe me, there are days I think about that decision... I'd be lying if I said I don't. But my kids were young, and on disability you don't go running around with children. I didn't want to live like that.

So I found the new career. I make literally 1/10th of what I once earned. I'm damned near flat broke. My home is nearly in foreclosure. I have a 15 year old car. And I have two miserable, debt-collecting lawyers taking up residence in my butt.

And now I have cancer. A rather nasty cancer at that.

So why am I lucky, huh?

Because I have my life. I have 3 kids who have rallied to my support. I have a wonderful family and awesome friends. And thanks to social media, I've come into contact with people I do consider friends, including many who are battling cancer every day.

Twitter and Facebook bring me smiles every day from people who simply remind me that I matter. People who have no reason to perk me up other than just being kind and loving.

And once in a while, even Alyssa Milano says hi to me. Yeah, I'm a dork and that makes me happy.

Pain passes, wounds heal. Love lasts forever. And I have way more love than pain.

If just one person gets hope from my life, then none of the bad stuff matters. It all fades away.

I know very well that a lot of people are battling way harder than I am, and I'd be a loser if I complained too much.

Life is good because I have my life.

Hope that makes sense.

Setbacks

So I got some new results today and they weren't great. The lesions in the bones have come back some. Despite my ridiculously good appetite I somehow lost 11 pounds in a week.

For the first time this week I've experienced bone pain. The doc said we can use radiation to alleviate that. The lesions / tumors could shrink and reduce the tension pushing out on the bone.

As long as he has remedies I'm good. I trust him and his judgments. It's all good.

Onward and upward. This was never supposed to be an easy fight, right? Makes for a better ending!

Update - Not Great

I had a bone marrow biopsy last week, and the results came back this past Monday. I'd say, not horrible, but not great. We were hoping for remission at this point, but I'm not there yet. It's likely that I'll have two more cycles of chemotherapy before I can move toward the preparations for the stem cell transplant.

I'm not upset, or disappointed, or anything like that. I was informed, from day one, that there are no sure things other than reaching remission. So from these numbers, it just means I'll be at this a little longer than planned. The medicines are working. I feel better every day, and my strength has come back so much. I'm not in denial, I'm not afraid of this cancer, and I'll get well soon. I'm hearing great success stories from so many people, and those make me even more confident that we can beat this disease. I've always been willing to do as I'm asked, and whatever efforts I have to make to kick this monster to the curb, well I'll just make them. I have a lot of people counting on me to get this right, and I have no intentions of letting anyone down.

Onward and upward, right?

A Damned Challenge

"While available drugs can push the disease into temporary remission, fatal, uncontrolled cell division always re-emerges over time. Until now, the cellular mechanism driving this relapse has remained unclear."

That's a pretty tough nut to swallow. 

I've been informed that people live one year, others live 10 years. The late Geraldine Ferraro battled longer than 10 years with MM. She was older at the time of her diagnosis than I was when I received mine, but she didn't take any nonsense from Myeloma and slugged it out to the end.

I'm beginning to understand that Multiple Myeloma is always a fatal disease. The first remission is considered fairly routine and predictable. It's the relapses that really screw things up. The whole situation changes once there is relapse and things always look a little bit darker.

Because multiple myeloma is ultimately fatal, people with multiple myeloma are likely to benefit from discussions of end-of-life care that involve their doctors and appropriate family and friends

A sentence like that is hard to read without feeling some sort of negative reaction, right? But when I look at what's been done in just the last five years in the battle against MM, I'm determined to do anything I can to stick around, survive as long as possible and see what the medical magicians pull out of the hat over the next five.

Big Steps. BIG!

Good news today. I met with the Oncologist today, and he reviewed my blood work. The numbers are good, and right where he'd hoped they'd be. This cancer (Multiple Myeloma) is a real technical-sounding disease, with a lot of names and numbers I'm having a hell of a time understanding. But in a nutshell, the bad protein in my blood has gone from 5% to 1.5% which means I'm responding to treatment just as hoped.

The Doc told me that the next step is an evaluation and bone marrow biopsy. We'll do that this coming Monday. Right now, my condition is "very good partial remission" and he said we can't declare a remission without the biopsy. If all is good with that, then I'll have a consult with the transplant team at Hackensack University Hospital in New Jersey.

What has to happen is that they'll decide if I need another cycle of treatment with Revlimid, Velcade and Zometa. When that decision is made, the next step after that would be to prep for the stem cell transplant.

The way I understand it, the process is this: They'll harvest my own stem cells through IV. They'll freeze and store them. Then the Oncologist said they'll use something called melphalan, which will wipe out the remaining myeloma cells. This also destroys the bone marrow, so they'll wait till I'm clear, and then transplant my own stem cells back into me.

The next step is to avoid infection (boy in the plastic bubble time) and wait for the engraftment process to happen, to regenerate my bone marrow and thus, my immune system.

I'm very excited. The next few weeks will be busy. Consults, meetings, a class. And then we look forward to early 2013 for the actual transplant. I can't wait!

Looking A Little Ahead

One thing I've always liked about an online blog is that it is a permanent record of thoughts. I can look back at any time I've written and have an idea of how I was feeling or what I was thinking at the time.

Today, at 9 AM, I'm going in for an evaluation of how the chemotherapy is working on me. If things are great, then the next step will be to prepare for the stem cell transplant. If things aren't there yet, we'll resume the medicines. Either result is good, but in my mind I'm looking at the transplant scenario. I've been very optimistic to this point with everything that has happened, so I won't be disappointed if we're not quite there yet. It will just be a matter of time.

It will just be nice to know how I was feeling right now.

A Little Bit Of Hope?

Today I'm going for a full series of blood tests to see how my little battle with Multiple Myeloma is progressing. We've been targeting December as the remission date, but there's a slight indication that things might be coming along a little faster than expected.

I've followed my doctor's instructions to the letter. I've behaved. I've gained some weight, and that's the first time that I've ever been happy to hear that. Eating my way back sure has been fun.

I've never been more positive and optimistic. Multiple Myeloma can be a very nasty little disease. We don't hear about it as much as other blood cancers, but it's pretty wicked in its own right. It destroys bone and causes kidney failure. It typically attacks older people, with few, if any, people are diagnosed before age 40. There is no cure for Multiple Myeloma. It can be put into remission, however, and then patients are monitored regularly to head off any relapses, which are likely.

I've broken my own rule, and gone ahead and read some articles about the life expectancy of MM patients. I was pretty upset by what I'd read, but what I realize is, those limits are there to make us Myeloma patients fight just a little bit harder. And I won't be reading those articles or any like them any more. I plan to stick around a long, long time. And I'll do whatever it takes to get the job done.

I can't take any credit for this. People have been so very supportive. And my Oncologist is the best. His competency is reinforced every time his prognoses are confirmed. I'm doing a lot better now than I was in June. Just a few months ago, I was resigning myself to feeling lousy. Accepting misery as just part of getting older. And now I feel better.

We're gonna fight hard here, and when the fight is hard, we'll fight some more. That's what I have to do.

Thanks everyone.

Put Me In, Coach

So, I'm done with my pity party. Thanks for indulging me if you did so.

I broke the rules by reading that stuff about life expectancy. The worst thing one can do in a fight is think about the ways you can lose. Any good coach will tell you to assess the opponent, but never let the opponent take up any more space in the brain than you decide.

Of course, I'm still going to watch cartoons. And eat bad foods for a while more, at least until I see some fat around the middle of me!

Hell No, I'm Not Dying Right Now, Thanks.

(Note: When I include links in my posts, they always open in new windows)

I read this article tonight: Life Span of Multiple Myeloma Patients

Then I read this one: SEER Stat Fact Sheets: Myeloma

And of course, this one, which is responsible for my Blog's Title: Multiple Myeloma


I'm not going to lie. This is the very first time I got shook up. It was a quiet night around here, and I was browsing my laptop looking at all the photo's of my kids and family that I have. Suddenly, I felt very mortal. But just for a little while.

I've never fit into too many molds. I have managed to pull off a lot of things that people said I wouldn't or couldn't do. I wasn't always a flop, either. I know that right now I'm working a very menial job and that I'm far removed from the life I led just 5 years ago. I was a community college grad (which seems to make one a bit of a joke, it seems) but I managed to achieve the position of Director at Merrill Lynch (when it was a respectable, upstanding company), and I'd started out as a coffee boy/flunky. And I was the first one in my family to get a Bachelor's Degree. Ever.

My personal life hasn't followed any prescription, either. Looking at my life, you can see proof that men and women can be friends. Some of the best friends I've ever had, and still have, are women. I have friends as young as 19 and as old as 75. And I manage to keep those friendships healthy. So yeah, I'm a screwball by conventional standards.

But that keeps me from accepting limits. This is not the same as living in denial, mind you.

And god damn it, I'm not going to accept any life expectancy limitations. These articles shook me up, for sure, because they opened my eyes up a little bit more, and I realize how formidable this opponent is. Not that I was taking it lightly from the get-go, but I most definitely need to man up a little more and train just a little bit harder for the next few rounds.

I didn't cry. Almost, but I didn't. I don't want Myeloma to ever see me cry. So, please pardon the language, but as they say on Twitter, #fuckcancer.

Profound

The word "profound" does not apply to me. Oh, I often try to come with up some pearls of wisdom, thoughts that might help promote me as a sage. But, man, I am so plain, ordinary and simple.

Not that that's a bad thing. At least not for my own purposes. I don't worry about making impressions on people in my every day life. They see what they want to see, most of the time. I learned a long time ago that I'd never be suave, smooth, cool and collected. I'm not quite Peter Pan, but I have remained pretty much the same as when I was a kid.

I like being the class clown, I love attention from humor. I always wanted to be a stand-up comic, but I definitely don't measure up to that because my jokes and silliness are too spontaneous. I can't write a script for being a comedian. And besides, my style of humor is along the lines of that of Lewis Black, and he does it a lot better than I do.

Funny as I try to be, it rarely translates to the page. So I've tried to invent some alter-ego, some other side of me that could philosophize, and try to make sense and light of the events off my life. I've walked away from situations that should have killed me. I've survived things that make me a mini medical miracle at times.

Why? It always makes me think that I'm intended to do something great. But yet I work an ordinary job, have little in the way of special talents. I sing ok, I cook fairly well, but that doesn't amount to much. At least not for historical purposes.

I don't know what's up. But I'm going to keep working on it until I figure it out.

A Little Excitement In My World Today!

I had another chemo treatment on Monday. The nurse administered the drugs, and when she was done, she said, "OK so next Monday you come in for the full blood work procedure. Then Dr K can see if you need another cycle or if you're ready to start preparing for the stem-cell transplant."

I left with a big smile on my face. C'mon next Monday!

Wish me luck.

79 Days Into The Fight

My life has a lot of aspects to it right now.

I'm living a very ordinary one, to begin with. My body is adjusting pretty well to the chemo, and my side effects are minimal. My vision is about the worst of things. The steroids apparently cause blurry vision. I did get a new pair of eyeglasses as it was probably time for that anyway. I'm back to work, and that's going well. I work with some really terrific people who are watching out for me. It's funny at my age to have a bunch of new "Moms" keeping an eye on me, and I'll take it. I do sleep a lot, but that's how we recharge the batteries, right? I eat well (sometimes too well!) and my life's routine is almost back to normal, however boring that is.

I'm living a very lucky life too. When I go into the Center for my treatments, I see some people who are so desperately ill and it touches the heart to see them smiling and battling. There aren't any grouchy people there, and that's incredible. There are people well into their 70's and 80's, sick as can be, and they're cheerful. Everyone chats, shares snacks and treats, and under other circumstances, this could be a fun group to hang out with. There's a NJ State Trooper, in his 30's, who is being treated for Leukemia, and he's the unofficial mayor of the clinic. He makes his rounds, chatting people up and making friends. There's another gentleman who is 79, I believe, and he really is a "gentleman." He sits quietly, but responds cheerfully when spoken to, and reads his newspaper. (Remember those?) But whenever I feel whiny, I think about the people who are fighting much bigger battles than I am. Mine is not a death sentence, mine is not so awful. It's taken its toll on my body, for sure, but there is a bright future possible for me. I know, from much experience, that some cancers are still killers. But that doesn't seem to discourage any of my chemo buddies, and that's so inspiring. I can't be a baby in that kind of company, now can I?

My friends have put together a blood donation drive for me. It's September 29th and it's such an honor. Some people have really stepped up with a ton of support for me, and sometimes I don't feel as though I deserve that much love, but again, I'll take it. I know for sure that my heart is very much alive because it's swollen with love and gratitude. No man is an island, and that sure is true when you need a hand.

I'm aiming to keep these posts short, so I'll quit for now. I'm also going to try and make this a little lighter and sillier. Being so serious just doesn't feel right. I'll work on that.

Life Goes On and On ... 62 Months

Who'd ever think that a return to ordinary life routines could be so exciting. Well, I'm excited today.

I'm back on the job as of 9:30 this morning, and I couldn't be happier. (Ok well maybe a winning lottery ticket would help boost that a little...) I think the most important thing to do when slugging it out with cancer is to maintain some sense of normalcy. No one wants to feel "different" for the wrong reasons.

It just makes life so much better when we can do the things we're used to doing, to feel that comfort of the familiar. Daily routines and regimens help keep us sane. I think for my kids' sake, the best thing that could happen is to remove the stigmas and alarm and discomforts of this disease. Show them that no foe is invincible.

"Life goes on" is a great mantra in these circumstances. The best way to beat cancer is to not let it win in the first place. Sure, it has undeniable physical effects that can't and won't be ignored. This isn't about a fairy tale. It's a real problem that doesn't simply get willed away. But victories have to be complete in order to count. If cancer beats the body down, it's the spirit that helps fight back. Cancer never really wins if it doesn't take your heart and soul.

Cancer has given me the opportunity to experience just how wonderful people can be. If you're ever wondering whether your words matter, try saying them to someone who's struggling. I can tell you first-hand that words matter. I'd get a message, and email, a Tweet, a Facebook post, and in the blink of an eye, the day would get better.

Love someone today. And let them know that you do. People living regular, everyday lives are always in need of a little of that. Remind yourself that it's more important to take the chance and put some kindness out there than it is to sit quietly. You matter a lot. Support is everything.

I'm smiling today because I'm ordinary. And I'll take that..

62 Months - Good News

I met with my Oncologist today and it was all good news. Things are moving along as hoped, and we're aiming at the end of this year to get the remission/stem cell transplant things moving along. My doctor is confident that while there is currently no cure for Multiple Myeloma, there is certainly a way to live with it. And live with it I will.

I know some people might wonder why I'd take this personal situation public. I'll tell you why I am doing just that. First and foremost, I've given myself a chance to see just how supportive and encouraging and loving people can be. Even relative strangers have reached out and touched my heart.

But more importantly, I'm doing it because I am a very ordinary guy. There is nothing heroic, superhuman or even extraordinary about me. I'm as plain as they come. This cancer is evil, but a lot of people haven't heard of it. It generally strikes older people (45 and older). And when you get a diagnosis like this one, there isn't a whole lot of information out there that isn't scary.

But cancer can be treated like the bully it is. It comes at you, you go back at it. It gets aggressive? Well you just get more aggressive. There are some very capable doctors out there. There is a great research foundation out there, http://www.themmrf.org/ that you can check out.

I know someone will be diagnosed with this again soon. If they are, send 'em to me. I'm no braver than anyone else. I just trust in my doctors, follow the instructions, and I'm getting better. I looked at cancer and said, "F*ck you!"

Remember, any cure will start with one patient. Why not me? Or why not them?

Time to #deletebloodcancer

62 Months - Thinking

56 days into the process. Wow.

One thing I highly recommend is not thinking too much. There is definitely such a concept as "overthinking". You can start being annoyed by the pills and medicines and shots. Yes, it's mundane and routine to wake up every day and count pills to swallow. The doctor's appointments can take forever (although not in my case, not at all), and there is always the insurance company nonsense.

But that's nothing compared to what would be happening to me if I weren't taking medicines and seeing doctors and getting MRI's and xrays and shots and... well you get the point. Sometimes I read or hear something someone writes or says, and I want to yell, "Cut it out!" The sad thing about being human is that there is always someone worse off than you are. There's always someone whose personal hell is a lot hotter than yours.

The happy thing about being human is that there is always someone there who is looking to lend a hand, to share some kind words. There can be a lot of pleasure in the simplest meal, a lot of joy in the briefest conversations. Stop worrying, stop thinking. Put your faith in the doctors, let them do their job. Let people help. Find friends you haven't met yet. Touch base with old friends. And love your family.

Live.

Prognosis - 62 Months

"Your medical outlook is unclear."

That sort of statement usually takes on a negative connotation. It's as if it's immediately about a time limit, some sort of finite period.

Happily, for me, it also allows for interpretation. I titled this Blog "62 Months" because that's the median life span of someone with my stage of my cancer. And that's the beauty of a median. Basically, it means that half the group lived less time than that, and half lived longer. I'm going to take the latter here.

I like that there is no definitive course this cancer is going to take. I like that there are no defined risk factors that led to this disease. I can eliminate all the second guesses that way. I didn't cause it, it happened, and that's that.

I'd like to set some sort of record, maybe. Be the longest-lived multiple myeloma patient. That would annoy some very select people, and I'd be only too happy to accommodate.

But now it's time to start getting my head around working my way back into the real world. My body is adjusting to all the medicines they're giving me, I'm not as sickly as I was.

And my appetite is just fine. Too fine. See, I'm losing weight. The doctor wants me to eat. And eat. And get the weight on. That doesn't suck.

Bon appetit .

62 Months - Day 44

I'm having good days and bad. Mostly good.

Wednesday I spent the evening with my daughter and her boyfriend. We ate a nice dinner and then took a walk on the beach with the dogs. My dog had never been on sand before, so it was a blast watching him go crazy, running, digging, even eating some. The other dog was basically looking at him as if to say, "What is wrong with you?"

The medicines are tough at first. They beat up your system a little bit, upset stomach, that sort of stuff. I was dehydrated the other day when I went in for my treatment so they loaded me up with a couple of bottles of saline IV. I was a little surprised because I've been very conscientious in my attempts to stay hydrated. I've been drinking Gatorade like it's my job. Well, I guess it could have been worse if I hadn't, right?

I've had some pain in my right leg. While there are 4 lesions in my right femur, the Doc thinks that there is some involvement in my back now too. He's sending me for an MRI on Monday to see if there are any lesions there. If so, he might have to go with radiation therapy as well as the medicines. Just a bump in the road.

I have got to work on making this blog a whole lot less boring! I'll get on that.

Minor league

Got a small setback today. My doctor ordered an MRI because he suspects there are lesions in my back. I also learned that, for my purposes, lesions and tumors mean the same thing. Just semantics.

Anyway, it's not really a setback, more like a minor inconvenience. If there are more lesions, they'll probably include radiation in my treatment plan.

So we can use me as a flashlight.

Day 29

I've decided I'm going to start a collection of cancer awareness hats. The baseball caps with logos and such on them. I ordered and received my first one this week, the burgundy ribbon for Myeloma awareness. It's a plain khaki cap. I'm not sure I want to overdo it with t-shirts and stuff. I think the caps will do it.

I have now taken at least one dose of all the medicines this week. We're going full-blast this coming week. Two appointments on Monday, two on Tuesday and one on Thursday. I got the newest capsules on Friday. It's pretty potent stuff I guess; I had to get it shipped to me directly from the manufacturer. This medicine came with a whole lot of literature, handling instructions, dosage, side effects, etc. Maybe I'll start glowing in the dark!

Onward and upward and sideways.

Here We Go!

I'll be going to the oncologist's at 12:30 today. We're going to start Velcade and Zometa. Tomorrow I'll receive my prescription for Revlimid and we'll get that going too.

This is one time in my life where I'm going to get it done. There's no way I'm going to let cancer win. I normally don't like fighting, but I am ready for this one. Might get a few bumps and bruises along the way. I can deal.

Another Starting Line

I'm probably the only one in town who was glad to get a cancer diagnosis. For the last 5 months or so, things really started to go wrong with my body. Things were hurting where they once were fine. I was losing weight like crazy, which was really odd, because I'd begun eating as though it were my job. But mostly I was sleeping way too much. And I like to sleep, believe me.

So many times, things go undiagnosed for people. Things go wrong, and no one can tell them why. I've always felt like that was the worst thing. Something hurts, and no one can fix it.

But I got a solid diagnosis. And for me, that's a good thing. I feel like I was getting my ass kicked in an alley, but now someone has taken my blindfold off and I can see who I'm fighting. The odds just got a whole lot better.

On August 9th, 2012, I'm going to get my first round of two drugs, Zometa and Velcade. Friday I should be getting a delivery of another medicine called Revlimid. That one's heavily regulated and controlled. I can only get that one shipped directly from the manufacturer. I've been doing a little reading from the literature the doc gave me on these drugs, and I might be a little sick for now. But what the hell, anything worth having is worth fighting for, right?

Onward and upward. Or some other cliché!

Small World!

The world gets a little smaller when you get sick. I have always liked the "little things" in life, but when they are all you have, they're that much more special.

I am not a candidate for bone marrow transplants. I have Multiple Myeloma, and that's not the way my blood cancer is treated. I'll be going through a stem cell transplant sometime in 2013. If that happens, my situation is a little different than someone with leukemia, who needs a bone marrow donor. But it sure was nice today to see people signing up to be potential donors. Leukemia and lymphoma are nasty cancers. Leukemia hurts a lot of kids, while myeloma rarely affects people under 45 years old.

Today, the NY Yankees and DKMS held a blood cancer awareness campaign to get people to sign up to become bone marrow donors. Seeing the word spread on Twitter and other social media, I felt like I was part of a community for the day. It made me smile to see those red Yankee's caps. An actress named Leighton Meester is one of the spokespersons heading up the campaign. Sort of makes me feel as though these people have my back. It's a nice feeling when you see people caring about something you care about. It makes it feel as though the world is a little smaller, closer to you.

I like that.

62 Months...The Beginning

"62 Months" is an odd name for a blog. But for me, it's an inspirational title, and here is why:

On Friday, July 13th, 2012, (yes, Friday the 13th) I was diagnosed with a form of cancer called Multiple Myeloma. According to the Mayo Clinic, Multiple myeloma is a cancer of your plasma cells, a type of white blood cell present in your bone marrow.

I was pretty much asymptomatic in the months prior to the diagnosis. I did, however, experience a significant weight loss that began to concern people around me, in particular my oldest daughter. Without being precise, I'd lost about 50 pounds. I was attributing it to a new job that I'd taken. The new job is very physical, which is new ground for me, having been a Wall Street stockbroker for years.

My daughter persisted in her requests for me to get a physical. I happened upon a walk-in medical practice one afternoon and decided to give my daughter her wish. During the physical, I did mention that I'd lost a lot of weight without dieting. My new doctor was not satisfied with the explanation of why I'd lost the weight, and thankfully she decided to run a complete battery of tests.

Long story short, the tests came back with a couple of red flags, one being something called a "globulin gap." This prompted more specific testing. Those results told my doctor that it was time for me to see a specialist, and I was referred to a wonderful Hematologist/Oncologist. His conclusion was that I had this multiple myeloma. He ordered a bone marrow biopsy to confirm the diagnosis, and that came back positive. My cancer was set at stage I.

So that brings us to "62 months." As word spread about my illness, people naturally began to offer encouragement and information. One kindly gentleman, who shall remain ever nameless, sent me a link to a website ( http://www.cancer.org/Cancer/MultipleMyeloma/OverviewGuide/multiple-myeloma-overview-survival-rates ) I'm sure his intentions were good. But when I opened the link I saw it was a list of survival rates for my type of cancer. Thanks so much!

Well, I looked at Stage I and the median survival rate was listed at 62 months.That's a little over 5 years, if my math is correct. That's not a long time, is it?

I didn't look at this number and think, "OK, I'm dead in 5 years." What I'm thinking right now is, this is a challenge. I'm going to beat this median. I'm going to haunt the world for a lot longer than that. I'm not naive, and I'm not thinking that this is going to be some stroll in the park. My doctor has told me that this disease isn't curable, but it is treatable. I'm going with that.

His plan is to attack this aggressively and get me into remission by December of 2012. When that happens, the next step will be a stem-cell transplant in early 2013.

So that's what we're gonna do. That sounds like an awesome plan to me.

And then I can say, "The hell with 62 months."