Days and Nights

I'm not sure what's worse, the late nights or the early mornings. When I can't sleep, I lie in bed and think until my brain hurts. And when I wake up very early, I spend time wondering what horrors the coming day will drop on my head. Our lives here have really fallen into disarray, and I think about when times were good. Then I try to figure out what the hell went wrong. I pretty much know the answers, but I think about it all anyway. If I were a single man, it would be so much easier on my brain. I'd simply throw in the towel, pack up and walk away from it all. Let the bank have the house, file bankruptcy and be done with it.

But the kids are part of my life. I can't just uproot their lives. This house is their home. My youngest was born here. I want their lives to be stable. For 30 years, I did so well in my career. I made good money, and when we started a family, I was at the top of my game. I was a good provider. We didn't spoil the kids, but we did give them a good life. We did some great vacations, had some wonderful Christmases. We did send them to parochial school, not for status, but for the religious education that their Mom and I both grew up with. It was funny, the vehicle I drove was a 1997 Ford Explorer that I won in a raffle. As the family grew, we added a second vehicle: the dreaded minivan!

Life was good.

Then it wasn't so good.

Technology advances basically put me out of business. Injuries I suffered sort of accelerated the process. Everyone knew that if you ever took disability time, it wasn't long before Merrill Lynch would show you to the door. It was sort of an unwritten rule. One guy was out of work for about four months having had surgery to remove part of his intestines, which were damaged by Crohn's disease. He came back to work, but within six months or so, he was "laid off". Another colleague had a few months out because he had a toe removed as a result of diabetes. Within a year, he, too was "laid off". I destroyed my knees and was out for a little more than six months. I returned to work in February of 2007, and on May 24th, 2007, I got my pink slip.

I did see the writing on the wall in my own case. I did a lot of saving in the last two years of my career with Merrill Lynch. When I got the gate, I had 2 1/2 years' salary in the bank, just as the experts advised. I took exams for three different securities licenses, in hopes of transferring to another division within the firm. I was studying for a fourth license exam when the axe fell, and in a minor show of decency, Merrill agreed to sponsor me for that exam. (You need a securities firm to do that for you).

It was all for naught, however. The door opened, and out I went. I immediately began applying for jobs within the industry, and got nowhere. While you never have to supply your age or date of birth in those applications, 30 years at Merrill listed on my resume made it easy to figure out that I wasn't  25 years old. Firms, these days, don't want 47 year olds on the payroll. They could hire two young people for what they figured it'd be asking for, plus the benefits, health insurance, etc., for those youngsters would be a lot cheaper.

So, no luck getting hired. In 2008, I went into business for myself, selling life insurance as well as designing investment portfolios for retirement plans, etc. I was doing pretty well, but between paying a mortgage and paying for my own health insurance (Horizon Blue Cross/Blue Shield was taking $2250 per month) I was starting each month $5000 in the hole. That wasn't going to work. I did stay with it for 3 years until I was offered my current job. I now pay $65 per week for outstanding health insurance. Huge relief.

But even with great insurance, I'm laying out $300-$500 each week for prescriptions, doctor co-pays, etc. (My daughter is ill at the moment and her medications are nearly as expensive as mine). We have about $200,000 in medical bills from the time I was insured privately. My wife had two surgeries which the insurance company pre-approved but then reneged on paying. The same for me; I had surgery and it was pre-approved but then reneged upon. Always read the fine print, folks!

Anyway, I want this to be the last post of this kind. I know it's got to be boring. If you're still reading at this point, thank you for staying with it. I promise to be a little more positive, to inject some humor into this journal of mine. I'll try harder to make it more interesting so it's worth your while to come here and read.

Thanks for tuning in. The best is yet to come.

Hi Brandi.

62 Months: Another Summer

Today marks the official start of Summer. I think it's nice that it happens on a Saturday this year. That allows a lot of people to get a head start on the enjoyment.

I'm really intent on making it a great summer this year. My kids are at that age where hanging out with Dad isn't the most exciting part of the day, and soon enough they'll have plenty of plans of their own. Gotta make it count!
We're going to start off with a visit from my parents, along with my Uncle Fred and my cousin Jack. Should be a nice day all around, and I know at some point, I'll drop that four-letter word. F-O-O-D.
Soon I will be back to work. Not something people typically get excited over, but I work at an awesome place, with incredible co-workers, so it is a great thing for me. My other job will be enjoying summer. BBQ and the like. I'll try, of course, to include activities that don't revolve around chewing. Those muscles are well developed, trust me. Last winter I discovered a very inexpensive bocce set. Even in my cripply state, I can manage a few rounds of bocce ball.
But the summer goal is: if and when the doctors ok it, I will ride a bicycle. Now THAT is something to get excited about.

Stay tuned…

62 Months: Damned Moment of Truth

A friend of mine lost his battle with cancer over this past weekend. He was my age...just a couple of months apart. He also worked in the Downtown Wall Street area with me. 

Sad as I was to get the news, it had an additional effect on me. It was sort of a turning point. 

I woke up this morning in a different frame of mind. I really believe I've kicked this cancer to the curb. Anything that's happening to me from here on in is all part of the recovery process. My kidneys are not functioning properly: it's a result of the tacrolimus medication and the doctors are carefully adjusting my medication to get the creatinine levels back to normal. My potassium levels had been very high; they've given me medicine and a specialized diet to stop that nonsense.

I've requested physical therapy. Today, a visiting nurse will be coming to my house to evaluate me and approve me for therapy. It will be small steps at first, of course, but I've got to knock this peripheral neuropathy out of my legs or at least get strong enough to bear with it. 

The doctors who performed the transplant estimated my recovery time out to October, 2014. I'm not accepting that. I'm aiming at March, or sooner if possible. I'm gonna fight as hard as I can to get back to life as it was before cancer. And I'm going to fight in honor of my friends Jim, Barbara and all the other friends I've either lost or who are fighting cancer right along with me.

I'm a little angry. The EPA said it was ok for us to come back to work, one week after the September 11, 2001 attacks, and we resumed working down there. There are at least 10 of us who've either died or who are fighting cancer now. 

Well fuck cancer. I'm letting go of the anger. I'm letting go of the past. I'm letting go of everything bad and gearing up for the rest of the fight. 

I appreciate all the support, kindness and generosity I've received over the year and a half this battle has been going on. And I appreciate anyone who takes the time to read my thoughts and words here. ( I don't actually know if many people do).

I'll be writing a lot more often. There's going to be a lot happening.

62 Months: Dogs

A BLT sandwich. That's what I ate tonight for dinner. And that's what brought it home for me. And my dogs. I gave them each a bite.

I don't pretend to be all heroic and smiley and brave 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.  But I complain a lot less that I used to. Traffic doesn't seem so awful. And a BLT sandwich sure tastes great. Especially when someone else makes it for you.

My priorities have changed significantly. For me, it's all about living in the now. No time for grudges. Enjoy what and who you have at the time you have them.

My ordeal has been accompanied by some serious eye-openers. I can say that no less than 300 people have stepped into my life to lend a hand, a shoulder, an ear. 300 people. Some from grammar school days, some from the old neighborhood, some from high school.

On the other hand, some 4 or 5 people really shocked me. For all intents and purposes, they've vanished. I never would have seen it coming. But when you have so many people behind you and beside you, you let it go. You enjoy yourself, and like I said, live in the moment.

Kind of like a good dog does. A dog doesn't care that you hollered 5 minutes ago, you're petting him now and that's all that matters. And a dog doesn't care too much about what's going on around him when there's a dish full of food in front of him.

Sometimes I miss the 4 or 5 people, and sometimes I let it get to me. But not for long. And besides, you can't be too grouchy with a BLT in your belly.

62 Months: The Waiting Game

If there's one thing that I've taken from my year with Multiple Myeloma, it's that this cancer affects every single person differently. There is no "routine case" of MM and there are no one-size-fits all treatments.

I'm in the recuperation phase of the allogeneic stem cell transplant I underwent on September 4th. I went through an autogolous transplant in March of this year, but for me there was no tandem auto transplant. My doctors went right for the allogeneic as the next step. I have a chromosomal abnormality to deal with (specifically chromosome 17 deletion) and my lead transplant doctor felt this was my best option. We had some difficulty getting approval from the insurance company for the procedure, as it is apparently still considered a "clinical trial." But the appeals worked, and we went ahead.

As far as how I feel, well I believe I weathered this transplant a lot better than the first one. I've been feeling more "healthy", and have been up and about a lot more. They went with high-dose chemotherapy, followed by the allogeneic transplant. The only thing I read about this transplant was from the MMRF website:

High-dose chemotherapy followed by an allogeneic transplant has the potential to possibly provide better long-term control of myeloma (with longer time without disease progression) than autologous transplants. However, this is a risky procedure with a high death rate due to the procedure itself (20-50%). As a result, this type of transplant is rarely performed. 

Well, so far so good. I'm alive, right? I took the chance and so far it is paying off. I'm bald as a cue-ball, my weight is below 200 lbs (not good, but I'm doing my best to fatten up). There's a lot to think about, there is a lot to be on the lookout for. I'm on it, my docs are on it and I'll be battling on.

After-transplant problems

62 Months: Kindness

I know when I was diagnosed, I was actually so relieved to have an actual answer as to what was going on with my body, that I came home and slept like a baby that night. I knew then that a lot of my problems could and would be fixed. My body had been hurting, but I just played it off as part of growing older.

I've never really been freaked out about the cancer. I had been lucky enough to find a great primary physician who had taken the interest to find out what was wrong, and then she was able to refer me to a terrific oncologist who specializes in Multiple Myeloma. So I felt right away that I was in good hands.

While the cancer was indeed scary, I was still more concerned with my life situation. I won't lie, being out of work for so long left me practically destitute, and the thought of medical bills being added to the fray really messed with my mind. In all my years, no matter what went on in my life, I'd always been able to sleep at night. The finances did a good job of messing that up.

It's been almost a year since I was diagnosed. I'm still alive and fairly well, in part because of the great care I'm receiving from the doctors and hospital. But what's really helped me sleep at night recently has been the tremendous amount of love and support I've received, in some cases, from people who are essentially strangers, if you look at it that way.

My girl will have her dress. As a Dad, that melts my heart, and it's even better because of how it happened. I don't know what I did to deserve such kindness, but I'm forever grateful. And my Facebook family and friends took up an online fundraising campaign to help as well. The insurance only covers so much, and when a single medical bill is pretty much equivalent to one week's pay, things mount up. People sometimes feel that what they do is no big thing, but let me tell you, kindness matters. It really matters.

People have told me, time and again, that it's only fair that I be the recipient of kindness now. That it's my turn now. I'd like to think that I was generous when I could be, back in the Wall Street days. I hope that it's true because it helps me accept the kindness of others now.

It's going to stay in my mind forever.

Cancer put itself in the way of my new career, for sure. I was on track, and in training, for my next promotion at work. I lost 4 months overall, to date. But I'll get past this obstacle and get back in line for that rung in the ladder. And as I get back on my feet, I'm going to make sure that a piece of every week's pay goes to help someone in need. Until 2010, I'd never known what it was like to be someone in need, I'd always been the helper.

Now my eyes are wide open. Thank you to anyone who has offered any kindness, be it a donation, a prayer or a kind word.

It matters.

62 Months: Titanic

There's so many times I just think to myself, "keep fighting, keep going and it all pays off in the end." But I always remember a sales meeting where the leader said,  "Yeah it pays to work hard, but always remember there was probably a guy manning the pumps right up until the moment Titanic sank."

I've found that there are so many people fighting Multiple Myeloma out there. I've been inspired by some, educated by some and encouraged by all of them. I hear stories every day of people who are living a long time with the disease. And it makes me brave.

But one thing I like about the Oncologist who is treating me is that he makes sure I understand all the aspects of Myeloma. He's told me that this particular disease frustrates medicine as a whole, and Oncologists in particular. He said the disease affects every patient differently. He also makes sure that I'm going forward with this little fight with my eyes completely opened.

Well, my understanding of the illness is still pretty limited. That's not the fault of any of the doctors I've been involved with. They try. What I've managed to grasp, however, is basic enough. My case has been described as "high risk" multiple myeloma. I just take that to mean, okay, I'm not going to live to be 100 years old. But it also doesn't mean I'm dying next week.

I have to get another stem cell transplant procedure. It's called an allogeneic transplant ( if you'd like to read about it, here's the place.) It's another weapon I can use. It's another, better chance to get better. I'm going to forget about the pump guy on the Titanic for now.

I don't care much for boats anyway.

62 Months: Getting ready to fight some more...

There isn't a lot to report today because the plan was mostly testing. Onc Doc performed a bone marrow biopsy, and again I want to mention that a bone marrow biopsy is not the horror that a lot of people, TV shows, etc might lead you to believe. For me, that Novocaine shot the dentist pops you with to numb your mouth is a lot worse.

The discussion was about potential options. I agreed to some pretty aggressive treatment back in July 2012, when I was first diagnosed. It might be paying dividends. One of the problems that complicated my situation was a chromosome abnormality, called Chromosome 17 deletion. Basically, that makes the cancer harder to treat and get under control, but also makes me high-risk. And that means the period between remission and relapse could be shorter. However, there is a chance that the aggressive course of treatment that was administered may have helped my cause.

One of the downsides of the chemo is something called Chemotherapy-Induced Peripheral Neuropathy. (CIPN). Always gotta love something with an acronym. If you've experienced neuropathy, you know that it sucks. If you haven't, the best description I can give is it feels like a whole lot of bees stinging you all at once, while you're standing in a hot BBQ. Mine has affected my legs from the knees down, and in my feet. It alternates between hurting and being numb. When it's numb, you feel like you're walking on sponge. Makes it tough to walk right. And I've never been the most graceful guy to begin with.

My Onc Doc is managing the neuropathy fairly well. He's prescribed something called Gabapentin. Gotta love a medicine that sounds like you're dribbling when you say it. It's actually an anti-seizure medicine that's also been found to treat nerve pain. I'm so reluctant to utilize narcotics. I use them only when the pain makes me nuttier than normal. And for some reason, the neuropathy is bearable most of the day, but then at night it's like someone turns the flamethrower up. So I do what I have to, day to day.

The only reason I even mention neuropathy is the discussion about the potential options. If the biopsy results are as expected, we move to the next phase. Option A is most probable, doing the allogeneic stem cell transplant. (that's the transplant which uses donor stem cells) Option B is a lifelong course of chemotherapy drugs, probably low doses of Revlimid and Velcade.

The downsides of the transplant is the risk of rejection, now known as graft vs host disease and of course the risk of infection. The Onc Doc said that this transplant is very toxic to the body at first.

The downside of the chemo regimen is that it's a guarantee that the neuropathy will not go away. Period. They'll have to do their best to manage it. And of course, there's always the risk that the chemo just flat out doesn't work.

Now this isn't going to be a situation where I'm going to have to make some dramatic life-or-death decision. I trust my doctors with my life. Literally. The team at Hackensack is going to meet (they sit down with like 15-20 doctors on a panel) and between them and my Oncologist down here in Howell, they're going to decide what course of treatment is going to serve me best and keep me around longer so that I can keep writing long notes and stupid statuses here.

I was only disappointed because he said he can't sign off on me going back to work for the time being. I'm still a little low in the blood counts, and still fighting infections. I'm good that way. I like my job and I'm about up to here with trying to entertain myself in the house. I'm not allowed out into the general public just yet, so you're all safe.

I've got my to do list. I have everything I'm going to need to get healthy, what to eat, drink etc. It's gotten me this far. I've got to avoid a few foods because I'm a wimpy allergic-to-everything patient. The Nutritionist Doc went over what I can shove into my belly, and what I can't. I'm well armed for the next battle.

I'll see the Transplant team in Hackensack University Hospital on May 16th. Stay tuned.

62 Months: So what the hell is Multiple Myeloma?

Multiple Myeloma. It's cancer.

Basically it's blood cancer. It's funny that so few people I know ever even heard of it, as it is the second most common blood cancer behind non-Hodgkin's lymphoma.

Multiple myeloma is a cancer of your plasma cells, a type of white blood cell present in your bone marrow. Plasma cells normally make proteins called antibodies to help you fight infections.

In multiple myeloma, a group of plasma cells (myeloma cells) becomes cancerous and multiplies, raising the number of plasma cells to a higher than normal level. Since these cells normally make proteins (antibodies), the level of abnormal proteins in your blood also may go up. Health problems caused by multiple myeloma can affect your bones, immune system, kidneys and red blood cell count.

It's not the easiest disease to explain, as I've found out. Usually people take my answer, "It's blood cancer," at face value. But if they press, I start stumbling around with more info. Not good.

One of my closest friends heard my diagnosis and went home and started emailing me info on MELANOMA. But we let that one slide. Another lady told me she had multiple sclerosis too, so if I had any questions, I could ask her.

It's not the most well-known disease, at least in my circles.

I'd like to work on changing that.

62 Months: Movies

I've got a lot of time on my hands now, at least for a while. There's not a lot that I'm permitted to do, so I sit around for a few hours each day looking for movies to watch on TV. I've got the DVR, so when I find pictures I'd like to see, I record them. I've been building a collection of some of my all-time favorites, and when the occasional "blues" hit me, I load up one of my go-to flicks to relax with.

Here are some of the films I consider my favorites:

Apollo 13 never fails to lift the spirits. It's worth the time just to see the ending alone!

Great Story. GREAT story. This one makes you believe in miracles.

I love this movie. Kinda old-fashioned romance story. Makes you feel like there is love out there somewhere, right? And lord knows I'm such an Alyssa Milano groupie.

OK, maybe not what you'd consider a cheer-up movie, but man it's still fun to watch.

If you've not had the chance to watch this Beatles documentary, it's such a great tribute to George Harrison. Good for the spirits, for sure.

This one puts a smile on my face every time. Not usually my style, but there is some serious talent on display in this flick.

Good for some real belly laughs. This movie has some funny people in it. Alyssa Milano and Nicky Whelan are part of the cast. That's worth the price of admission.

Well that's not all of them, but I don't want to push my luck here. I'd love to hear some of your favorites. Maybe I could add a few of them to my list.

April Already

I'm feeling a lot more like myself lately, but it still comes and goes. I'm having good days, great days, not so great and just flat-out bad days. I'm lucky in one respect: while I don't speak to the doctor often, when I do, he listens, empathizes and provides remedies or relief.

My only problems are mostly to be expected. I have a low hemoglobin count, as well as a low red blood cell count. My white count is still low as well, but these numbers haven't had the time to make a comeback. I'm the type of guy, if you tell me that my problems are part of the process and I just have to deal with them, that's what I do. I take my medicines and suck it up. The good thing about my doctor is, he relieves what it's possible to relieve, but tells me what can't be relieved. Make sense?

Got a new hat from my friend Cassie. I have another one around here somewhere, so when I find it I'll share a pic of that one too. Not easy finding "Multiple Myeloma Awareness" gear actually. Breast cancer stuff has become a cottage industry, but MM still needs some work. Maybe when I'm better.

Appetite is coming back. Slowly but surely. That means there's potential for a food shortage on the East Coast.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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."