Welcome to today.

I want to run; I want to scream; I want to bike; I want to cry; I want to lose myself in the woods; I want to be with my best friends; I want to be completely alone; I want to throw up; I want to be everything and nothing. I want one year ago today to have never happened. I want today to not exist.

One year ago today I found out I had cancer. One year later and I no longer have cancer. My marrow is no longer full of leukemic cells. I am now making my own blood, and I am making lots of it. I have changed in so many ways, most of which I can not even explain. One year ago, I was sick, and now I am healthy. But I am so much more than that. I have been pushed to my limit physically, emotionally, mentally, socially. I wouldn't say I've looked death in the eye, and death looked away first, because I haven't. I have thought about death, though, and I know I have caused other people to think about death and the uncertainty of life. I think it is fair to say that I have gone through, and survived, maybe even prevailed, over more trials than I ever thought possible. Every day has been a challenge to think positively. Many days, strangely, many more now that I have finished chemo, I wake up not wanting to face the world. I haven't wanted to leave my room or my apartment, haven't wanted to see other people living their lives, oblivious to pain and certainly not noticing me.

I wish a year ago today had never happened. But it did happen, so now what? So now, I get to keep going. I get to go to school; perhaps I will even graduate. I get to live with the multitude of small scars on my chest and lower back. I get to understand others' pains because I have Been There. I get to live with the certainty that I can beat anything. Even if I forget sometimes, there is nothing that can keep me down. I know how important it is to listen to my body. If I am hungry, I eat (a lot). I sleep when I'm tired (usually). Possibly the most important thing I need to take from this is how important it is to listen to what my body is yelling at me. We are complicated machinery, and our bodies have a fantastic system of internal communication. When something is terribly not right, there will be messages. We all need to heed those messages. Not become paranoid, necessarily, but at least be aware of what we need to do for ourselves. Now, I just hope I remember what I've learned.

Also: I wouldn't have made it through these past twelve months without my family, friends, and everyone who has supported me or even thought about me or sent a prayer my way. Thank you all. I have realized just how important my friends are to me. We all need each other, every single day. I've needed a bit more, and thank you for giving it. And to every person who has told me I look good with short hair: Thank you so much for making my day all the time! I've lost a lot of confidence in my appearance, and it's nice to occasionally be reminded that I am just being silly.

I am having a party at my apartment tonight, "Holidazed." I worked this morning. I won't say I've had a great day, because there's this whole bit sort of hanging over it, but I have had a good day. I can't wait for my party, to actually be among my friends. I wish everyone I know could be here, enjoying my chicken chili and not-so-tasty gingerbread cookies (and beer...), but thank you for being with me these past months. I am not finished with this stupid disease yet, but the worst part is over, and now it's just wait and see what tomorrow brings. Peace, pax, however you say it. Enjoy life.

'Tis the season where very little goes right.

It is nearing the end of the semester, which means final projects and final exams are imminent. I have papers, portfolios, and an overdue essay for English, all to be turned in sometime this week. Oh but wait, there's more. My computer has begun to have epileptic fits. Sometimes it turns on; sometimes it does not. Sometimes it freezes; other times, it goes to the Blue Screen. My dilemma is this, then: I replaced my hard drive exactly one year ago today. It is barely still under warranty. I could have my hard drive replaced for free right now, but then I would lose my software, especially MS Word, not to mention my camera stuff. I basically just need a brand, spanking new computer. Gah. I really do not want to deal with this right now, but I suppose I must.

The really awesome news is that I have been running, and I feel and look very healthy. I ran last night for fifteen minutes, which I broke up with walking. I was so excited though because I found a groove, and it just felt good. So while I am stressed out about school and such, all is generally well. Also, I found out I am going home for Christmas now. I wasn't planning on it. Last Christmas wasn't that great for me, and I hadn't particularly wanted to go home again. But I am hoping this year will be better, and I'll get to see my brothers. I would really, really love to go see the Bears play on December 23, but I don't think I'd be able to find tickets. I mean, holy poop, they are playing the Packers! How amazing would it be to actually be at the game? I remember watching Bears games in the hospital over Christmas and getting so excited and probably weirding out the nurses. Good times. So, maybe I'll get to the game, but most likely I'll be watching it from my living room. At least it won't be from a hospital bed. I am looking forward to going home now, though, although I had to think it over very hard. It will only be for about a week anyway.

So school/computer problems aside, life is pretty good. I think I am going to start phasing this out soon. I have a bone marrow biopsy tomorrow, and after that things calm down for a bit. So we'll see what happens with the b-log. In the meantime, thanks for reading, and enjoy the rest of this week! Peace.

Would it be cliche to write a Thanksgiving Post on Thanksgiving?

Yes. Yes it would. Luckily, I will still do my best to write one. Thanksgiving honestly doesn't mean very much to me anymore. Consumerism, the driving force of America, has almost eradicated Thanksgiving as a holiday. After Halloween, stores went straight to putting up Christmas decorations. I suppose it makes sense from a commercial standpoint: Thanksgiving is not a money-making holiday. Halloween is; Christmas is. The point of Thanksgiving is to give thanks for what we have. It is difficult to find a way to commercialize that concept, although the food stores do a good job in marketing and selling the "Thanksgiving feast" foodings. And yet it is the point of this day that needs to be emphasized.

I have not spent a Thanksgiving with my family in three years. As I mentioned, it isn't very important to me. I am thankful every single day for what I have and for who I am. I don't need an excuse to eat turkey or nap for two hours after sleeping eleven hours last night. The point of Thanksgiving, to me at least, shouldn't be a day to indulge yourself without feeling guilty. For the past three years, I have spent today just enjoying being me. Last year I went to Starbucks and a movie by myself. This year I worked on a photo project, napped, and relaxed. The absolute best part of this is that I am on my own, in my own apartment, spending the day how I want. As much as I am stressed out or anxious about school, I am content with my life right now.

One year ago I was working myself ragged. I remember last Thanksgiving break: on Wednesday, I worked at the gym from 6-10 am, and then I went to Borders to work from 11-8. I was sick, I was exhausted, and my cancer had just kicked in for real. I couldn't walk up stairs without blacking out from the lack of oxygen to my brain. I was taking Nyquil to help me sleep because I was dead tired but not sleeping well. I looked terrible. Two weeks later, I was in a hospital. The funny thing is, if you had asked me, I would have said I was happy. I would have said I was thankful for being able to live my life how I wanted.

So much has changed, and yet not a whole lot has, really. I am thankful for the same things and more. I am healthy, ish. At least, I won't be dying any time soon. I am having a tough semester, but I am surviving, and I am Here. I am in this semester. I can't think of anything better than that. No, I am not with my family, but they have probably had enough of me for a bit. I don't need one day of gorging myself on stuffing to remind me that I have So much to be thankful for. We all have so much to be thankful for, regardless of what day it is or how much pie is on the table. So I hope everyone is having a good day. I hope everyone can realize they can eat turkey whenever they want because it is delicious. And I hope and pray everyone is healthy and thankful for it. Thank you all for being there for me for this past year. Pax.

It is snowing!

November 20th, and it is snowing hardcore in Boston. I was so excited when I left work this morning and found myself surrounded by falling, white wetnesses.

I really haven't had that much to report since my last report, which is why I haven't reported anything. Last Wednesday I met with my doctor to discuss what comes next for me. He took me off most of my pills, so I am now only taking two types of pills in the morning, and I will be reducing it to one within the next few days. I love not having to take pills; they were one of the worst parts of treatment. So much to remember. I will, however, start taking more pills once I resume my follow-up treatment. I am finished with the main chemo, but I still have a year to go until I am finished with everything, officially. I am giving myself a two week break right now though. Next Wednesday, one week from tomorrow, I get another bone-marrrow biopsy, and then I start the remaining treatments. Those will include three types of low-grade chemo: mercaptopurine pills once a day, methotrexate pills once a week (17!), and an IV push of vincristine once a month. This means that my white blood counts will still be low for the next year, but they shouldn't be dangerously so. I will also probably be getting intermittent labs and a bone-marrow procedure every six months. This race isn't over yet, but the worst of it is behind me.

My hair is getting long; I think I may need a haircut. I have started running, although slowly and not frequently. I actually desperately need new running shoes. I am starting to have knee trouble, and I would rather not exacerbate that. Hopefully the Boston Globe will run my story this coming weekend. It has been delayed a few times, but we should be on schedule now. I am anxious to see how it goes, although I'm sure it will be great. It's funny because I wonder if people will recognize me or realize that they cut me off at the T or bumped into me on the street. I doubt it, as I don't think most people are that observant, but you never know.

Otherwise, I am just getting along. Final exams and final project deadlines are rapidly approaching, and I have no time to think about anything other than school. Thanksgiving will be nice because I have no chemo or blood counts or procedures to worry about. I am looking forward to relaxing a bit, just chilling out in my apartment. So hopefully I will be able to.

Enjoy Thanksgiving, and I hope everyone is safe and well-fed and warm. Peace.

Every so often, reality kicks in.

Reality says that every living thing must die. I found out a few hours ago that one of the guys I know from group, back in Chicago, passed away yesterday. I don't remember what his primary cancer was, but it had spread to most of his internal organs, I think. He had been struggling for a while, but he was struggling hard. I am upset because Greg was a good man. He was kind; he was funny; he seemed to love life. And he gave his cancer a damn hard time. So while we all knew, deep down, that he would eventually die, it is still hard. Reality is still hard. I didn't know him well, but I still knew him. We still casually chatted, and we still knew about each others ups and downs. He didn't deserve to die; very few people do. I can only hope that he is in a good place now, that his pain is finally gone, that there are no more tubes coming out of his stomach. I am praying for his family, and I am praying for everyone I know, and everyone I will never know, who is just as brave as Greg. Life should be fought for, even to the very end. Thank you Greg; I am honored to have known you.

And so we find ourselves at November 8, 2007.

It is cold and partly sunny today in Boston. Yesterday was cool and bright. Tomorrow will be more of the same. Life in the city has calmed down some since the World Series, and I have noticed fewer birds around. The mice in my apartment are gradually disappearing, and I covertly played the "C" card to my landlord in order to get a new stove and new tiling for our floor. Oh yeah, and yesterday was my last day of chemo.

Wait, what? That's right. Yesterday, November 7th, 2007, one day before the 11th month anniversary of my diagnosis with acute lymphocytic leukemia, I finally finished chemotherapy for this dastardly disease. Three months later than I would have liked, but it is finished. And boy, what a day was yesterday. I'll start with the good part: my hematocrit, the percentage of red blood cells in blood, was 40.5, with healthy being between 34.8 and 43.6. When I was diagnosed almost a year ago, I think it was 14 or 15. This is probably the highest that number has been in over a year and a half. So much red blood! So exciting! My white cell count was 2.1, and it should be above 3.5 to be in the normal range, but that will eventually come back. So my body is finally starting to work again.

Of course, however, there is always a bad part. Yesterday, there were a few bad parts. Part one: my left arm exploded. Kind of. Well, it blew up. By blew up, I mean it expanded. Let me explain: One of the drugs I received yesterday and have received before, methotrexate, infuses over three hours. I no longer have my catheter, so every time I need an infusion, I get to have an IV put in my arm. Now, I have bad veins in general. I have had a lot of trouble with getting IVs to work. So, I was stuck twice yesterday before my blood was flowing properly. Here's where it gets gross. At one point, about forty-five minutes to an hour into the infusion, somehow, the needle came out of my vein. It didn't come out of my arm, just found its way out of the vein. What this meant was that chemotherapy was infusing, not into my bloodstream, but directly into my arm tissue and such. Let's not ignore the fact that I decided it was necessary to take a nap, having not realized what was going on with the needle. I woke up thirty minutes later to a forearm about four times its normal size. My left hand felt like it was asleep, and I couldn't really feel my forearm. I think it is fair to say I freaked out. I mean, there was a whole lot of chemo where it shouldn't be. A nurse came, took out the needle, and gave me a hot pack to help the swelling go down. They assured me that this wasn't uncommon, and it wouldn't affect the levels or toxicity of the drug. The nurse then stuck me (again) in my right arm, and they finished the transfusion. My arm and hand are still slightly swollen, but nothing has turned a funky color yet, so I guess it will be okay. No gangrene so far. What an adventure.

That was part one. Part two was my spinal tap. It did not go so well. Last time, my spinal tap took around 15 minutes. This one took between 30 and 45. In that time, I was repeatedly numbed, stuck in the spine, and numbed and stuck again, to no avail. My spinal fluid was just not flowing. The idea is that the doctor sticks the needle between the vertebrae into your spinal fluid, and they withdraw 3 cc's of spinal fluid, which is replaced with 3 cc's of chemo. After much grimacing and joking that my spinal fluid was Gone!, the woman doing the procedure finally found a good spot, although not without hitting one of the main nerves that controls my right leg. That was a freaky feeling. It felt like a bunch of needles were poking my whole leg from the inside out. But it was over quickly. So that was the spinal tap. Good times. Good times with needles.

I am pretty sure my body was rejecting everything that the doctors and nurses were trying to put into it yesterday. It was saying to them, "Enough. I have had enough. No more." Sadly, that was not to be. But I made it! I still have to go back this evening to receive more fluids, as well as the flush for the chemo, so one more major IV poke. Hopefully this one will actually work. I am not that excited right now because I still have to be stuck tonight, and I don't feel all that great. I feel fine, actually, but next week, I will feel even better. Give me a few days for this to sink in and for my multiple holes to heal up. Then, call me, and we'll celebrate. Hokey doke, take care on this fine fall day, and enjoy the long weekend! Pax.

The "vicissitudes of fortune...

...and other disappointments connected with worldly circumstances...are principally the effect either of gross imprudence, of ill-regulated desires, or of bad or imperfect social institutions" (John Stuart Mill Utilitarianism, 106). I interpret this sentence to mean that change in fortune, specifically regarding ill fortune, is dependent on human action. I could certainly be wrong here, but it seems Mill is saying that we control our own fortunes. He notes a few lines earlier that "even that most intractable of enemies, disease, may be indefinitely reduced in dimensions by good physical and moral education and proper control of noxious influences, while the progress of science holds out a promise for the future of still more direct conquests over this detestable foe."

Mill's phrase the "vicissitudes of fortune" has been nagging me all day. I wish I could believe if society pulled together and started actually caring about change, most, if not all, ill fortune and "other disappointments" would disappear. I know, however, that it won't. We can treat cancer; we can't cure it. I believe that no matter how pleasant we can make our circumstances and surroundings, there will always be an unspoken and indescribable unhappy feeling creeping around. There is something inherent in us that allows for us to not be happy all the time. But this something is not under our control, and social change, however good, will not take it away.

I have been struggling to push this darkness to the back of my mind. The honeymoon is over, and I have been reminded just how hard it is to be a college student, what with the late nights, studying, incomprehensible philosophers, or just trying to keep days straight. I have always had to work to keep my life organized, and now I have a whole new dimension to consider: chemo, my white blood cell counts, whether or not my temperature is rising. I am mostly successful in keeping cancer in the background. There are some days, however, when I just want to not think about anything. Yesterday, for example, I had work at the gym. I love working there in the mornings during the week, but the weekend is a different story. I worked from 8-2 yesterday, and by the end, I was exhausted. There had been too many people, too many children running around, too many customers projecting their angriness and unhappiness towards me. It was too much for me, when I have been going almost nonstop for over a month now. I broke down when I left the gym; I started crying so hard I couldn't breathe. And then I got on the train and came back to my apartment. I baked some cookies and got caught up on my Grey's Anatomy. And then I went to Barnes and Noble and bought a few new, beautiful books, and I felt better. I feel better.

Everything is different for me now. I can't handle the same type of stress or activity that I could a year ago. My tolerance has been adapted for hospitals and needles and pills. I am very slowly relearning how to be busy me. I am going through some tough times, but they are moderated by the good things that do keep happening and the good people I have around me. Today was better than yesterday. Tomorrow may or may not go well. I just have to wait and see what Fortune drops on my lap. Hopefully good things. Good luck to everyone else struggling this week. Life will necessarily get better. Peace.