Hodgkin's Lymphoma and Life With Cancer

Dan Gennari's journey through life with an unwelcome guest


I am mostly going to skip over my review of day’s 5 and 6 because they were almost identical to 3 and 4.  Wake up, take lots of pills, walk laps around the floor, get chemo at 10AM, take a little nap, go outside, have dinner, take more meds, get chemo again at 9PM, try to sleep, do it again the next day.

Tuesday was my last day of chemotherapy, hopefully forever.  It will take a complete relapse to get me back into a chemo drip again because we are moving onto the recovery phase.  I woke up early this morning for transplant day, September 1, and got myself showered, shaved, dressed in fresh clothes and went straight to work.  I was busy on the computer all morning until Angela arrived at about 10:45 AM.  We chatted for a few minutes before the nurse came in and gave me intravenous injections of liquid Benadryl and Ativan and that brought the efficiency of my morning to a screaching halt.  The first thing I noticed was a cool and calm sensation running down my arms, and then the room twirled around a few times, and when a knock came at the door, I was pretty certain it was going to be Willy Wonka (Gene Wilder, not the newer stupid version), strolling in with his purple velvet smoking jacket and walking stick offering me a big slab of chocolate mushroom.  But it was just my nurse du jour, Mitzi, who is pretty cool in her own right and almost certainly more experienced at transplants than Willy Wonka.

I moved to the bed at that point because it seemed like the safest place and that is where my video begins.  I’m sorry the audio is not any better.  I was sort of mumbling and talking a little incoherently.  The heavy drugs have nothing to do with the procedure itself which is 100% painless.  You might here it discussed briefly in the video that there are preservatives added to the stem cells during it’s storage that can cause allergic reactions.  So, the recipient is given a heavy shot of the benadryl and ativan right before receiving the cells to counter act any reactions.

Another problem with the audio is a repeated gasping sound.  Watch closely and you will see that the noise is my pathetic little hiccups.  Chemo always makes me hiccup, but it is a delayed reaction.  I get it a few days after the dose, so I guess today was the day.

The whole process lasted about 20 minutes to infuse two bags of stem cells.  I remained pretty sleepy and groggy the rest of the afternoon and did a really dumb thing all by myself, but to which I will disclose here for the hilarity of all who take amusement from my misfortunes.  One of the nurses brought me a juice drink that is high in proteins and calories because she knows I am having trouble eating most foods.  Well, I sat in bed with this drink which she poured into a styrofoam cup full of ice.  I drank about half of it, and then started to doze off again and the cup slipped out of my hand and soaked the entire bed and my pants in red juice and ice chips.  Good thing these are vinyl mattresses.

At the end of the transplant, all the nurses from the floor brought me balloons and sang a special stem cell birthday song.  From now on I have two birthdays, my original one in November and now September 1.  And Mitzi told me it is perfectly acceptable to insist on gifts, parties and cake for both of them.  Tomorrow officially begins Day 1.  I have been counting wrong on the blog.  These days of chemo were considered Day -5, -4, -3, -2, -1 and today is Day 0.  Tomorrow I start counting up to the rest of my life.  Can’t wait!

Saturday and Sunday in the hospital.  Not my first choice on how to spend the weekend, but at this point in time, I am happy to be here.  It is 9PM on Sunday night and the nurse should be here with my chemo any minute.  There have not been any surprises since the last time I wrote.  The highlight of the weekend was when Angela and Dominic came to visit yesterday.  I was able to get off my fluid drip for a little while and they took me to a frozen yogurt place in Emory Village.  I am not normally a yogurt fan (regular or frozen) but this stuff was pretty good and especially satisfying to my increasingly picky palate.  Today I could not eat any food.  I had a few little nibbles of the slice of baked ham that was sent up for dinner, but my real dinner consisted of a strawberry banana smoothie that my parents brought for me from the outside.

All is good for now and Monday will be my last day of getting lots of chemo.  I get two bags in the morning and two more in the evening.  Tuesday will just be one quick shot of some really potent stuff, and then I get my stem cells on Wednesday!  September 1 will become my new birthday!

I told Angela I would write every day to keep a log of what happens during this process, and I screwed that up on the very first day.  Oh well, I am here now so calm down.  I am also including a disclaimer right here.  At the end of this post, there is a photo of my chest right after I came back from the line placement procedure.  It shows my port accessed and bandaged on the right side of my chest (this is the one I have had since the beginning) and on the left is the brand new tri-fusion catheter.  This does the same job as the port except it does not require a needle and it has three valves, hence the tri-fusion name.  The hold in my chest had not stopped bleeding yet and a nurse had not been by to bandage it, so it’s a little gross.

Yesterday started out in fairly typical fashion.  Here is a synopsis of how my communications with the hospital have gone this week up through yesterday morning.

MONDAY – phone rings, it’s someone from Emory calling to confirm my appointment on Thursday.

Emory Rep:  Mr. Gennari, we are just calling to remind you about your appointment with Interventional Radiology on Thursday August 26.  You will need to report to IR at 9:30 in the morning and your procedure will take place at 11:00 AM.

Me: Okay great, I will be there.  Any special instructions?  Do I need to fast after a certain time?

Emory Rep:  No sir, it looks like you will receive a local anesthetic and therefore you have no diet restrictions and you will be free to leave as soon as the procedure is complete.

Me:  Okay, thanks.  See you Thursday.

THURSDAY – I eat my favorite breakfast of a bagel with some lox salmon, tomato, cream cheese, capers and other stuff to make my breath smell terrible.  Then I ate a whole banana and we stopped at Starbucks and got some coffee.  Forty-five minutes later, I am in the prep room at interventional radiology and it goes something like this.

Nurse:  This is a really simple procedure where we just make a small knick in your neck and then tunnel a line down into your biggest artery.  You won’t feel anything because we use a local anesthetic and we give you some medication that makes you really carefree for awhile.  You haven’t had anything to eat or drink since midnight right?

Me:  No, I had a toasted bagel with a disturbingly large shmear of cream cheese, onions, tomatoes, capers, a banana, a glass of orange juice and a caramel machiatto.

Nurse:  (After a silence) How long ago was that?

Me:  I finished the coffee about 15 minutes ago and had the rest a little over an hour ago.

Nurse: (More silence) Well, we can’t give you the medication if you have eaten in the past six hours, and this would not be a humane procedure without the medication.

That was all I needed to hear.  I am not into verifiable in-humane surgical experiences.  So, we waited.  I was sent upstairs to check into my room and not touch any food.  But just to mess with them when I came back later that afternoon, I told the same nurse that I had gone out to Golden Corral for lunch and feasted.  But eventually the procedure happened and it was very simple…and humane.  I was awake, but not really in tune with what was happening and

Tri-fusion catheter

Tri-fusion catheter and port

before I knew it, the whole thing was over.

My chemo started around 9:30PM and lasted for one hour.  I have never had this particular chemo before and it had an instant effect on me.  I started getting a really bizarre tingling and swollen feeling through my face and arms.  Then I got extra queezy and I didn’t even make it to the bathroom.  I threw up in the sink next to the bed, and then did it again…and then again.  It was pretty gross, but I started feeling better after that and slept all night.  That was the first time a chemo had caused an instant sickness.

Today has been pretty easy.  Uneventful really.  I could still eat and I got out for some walks.  Chemo started again at 9PM and tonight I have two bags.  I will be done soon, and it is time to go to sleep.  So far, the effects aren’t really kicking in full gear yet.  I will let you know what happens tomorrow.

Today is my last day at home.  It is Wednesday August 25 and it is early in the morning.  The sun is not up yet.  I snuck out of bed and have been quietly getting things ready for the day and my quietest activity is writing a blog post, so here I am.

Tomorrow I will check into the hospital at 9:30 AM and the first order of business is to have a central line placed.  Some people have called it a chicken foot, others call it udders, the nurses all just call it a line.  It is a rubber hose that hangs out of my chest and has three valves on the exposed end.  The other end goes right into a main artery so drugs can be fast tracked into my system.  When that is complete, I will be sent up to the 8th floor to check into my home for the next few weeks and will start getting the hi-dose chemo sometime late tomorrow.

I have been receiving many questions about visiting the hospital.  Here is the “official” response.  There are no particular visiting hours, so if you want to visit me, you can do it at any time.  However, there are exceptions.  8E (Eighth floor, E Wing), is specifically the bone marrow transplant neighborhood of the hospital.  All the patients in that section of the hospital are lacking fully functioning immune systems.  So, it is asked that if you feel even the slightest bit of a cold, flu, infection, whatever, that you don’t visit until you have recovered.  Even if you have allergies that are causing you to cough or sneeze, me and my new neighbors don’t want little sneezy microbes going airborne.  For this reason, standard procedure on 8E is that everyone entering the floor gets a glob of hand sanitizer and a little paper mask at the nurses desk.  The mask is not to protect you, it is to keep your personal germs from entering the common airspace.

This does not mean that everyone should stay away though.  I would like visitors and will need the break from the monotony of being in that bland environment.  So you can definitely come and visit.  I would like it if you could call or email me or Angela either the day before you would like to visit or the day of if possible and just check on the “current conditions.”  We will let you know if I am feeling well enough for visitors.

So here are the guidelines for visiting:

  1. Call or email me or Angela either the day of, or day before you want to visit to make sure I am okay
  2. Don’t come if you are not feeling well, sick, sneezing or have any condition that might possibly spread
  3. Children under 12 years old are not allowed on 8E
  4. No live plants or flowers are allowed on 8E

I will write more as things get under way

Because I am ready to enter the next and FINAL phase of my cancer treatment.  That’s right, I am not due back to the hospital at Emory Winship for any reason at all for the next 10 days, and when I do go back, I will have my bag packed and be checking in for the long 3 week visit to complete my bone marrow transplant.  There is some irony here though.  Exactly one year ago, I was feeling all giddy and excited because on August 26, 2009, I was scheduled to receive my FINAL dose of chemotherapy to treat my Hodgkins Lymphoma.  I got that dose, I celebrated and I prepared to move on with a cancer free life.  The cancer had different plans though, and came stomping back into my life a few months later.  Now, here I am preparing to begin my next FINAL step in beating cancer on none other than August 26, 2010.  Ironic, I know.  A bit of a slap in the face from old Mr. Fate too.

For those of you who have not seen or talked to me recently, I have made huge steps in the past two weeks.  In mid-July, I was still feeling pretty bad.  Lots of fatigue, it was hard to breathe, dizziness, plumbing (gastro-intestinal) problems, and a list of other issues.  Just a few weeks later, my energy is higher, I can walk up stairs without nearly collapsing, I eat anything I want to and don’t have any physical reminders of cancer right now…except for Dominic’s favorite game of telling me, “Daddy, you don’t have any hair!”  So if you are wondering how I am doing, the answer right now and for the next 10 days is, I am feeling great.

So, what is next?  On August 26, I will check in at Emory and have a catheter line placed in my chest.  This is the same concept as an IV, except a little more permanent, and with a thicker line that is capable of handling more volume.  The nurses will use it for drawing blood out for testing, and also for pumping in chemo, medication, stem cells, blood transfusions, extra fluids and possibly liquid nourishment if I cannot eat.

Later in that day I will start a 6 day regimen of high dose chemo that my doctor referred to today as, “…about the strongest stuff we have.”  It is called BEAM.  I am not going to get into what that means now.  Maybe later when I am in the hospital.

A few lines up, I wrote that I don’t have any physical reminders of cancer right now.  That is not entirely true.  I am still a little overprotective of the upper right portion of my chest where I have a port and don’t want to get it squished.  Much of my hair has fallen out, which is really not a problem at all because it makes shower time so much quicker, but it is still startling to see my head this way.  But the physical reminders are not terribly strong.  Now, this does not mean that I don’t think about the cancer.  Now more than ever, I feel a connection to the disease and a responsibility to do something.  I have become more involved in the larger community of young adult cancer survivors and connecting with survivors and their stories both across the country and right here in town has been a remarkably positive experience.

Lance Armstrong’s book, It’s Not About the Bike, opened up many lines of thought for me.  At one point in the story, way back in 1996 when he was also at the tail end of his treatment, his oncologist came to him and talked to him about what he called, “The Obligation of the Cured.”  Lance took the idea seriously and started the Lance Armstrong Foundation which eventually led to the development of the Livestrong movement.  Now, I don’t expect to go out and start a foundation after this, despite my entrepreneurial tendencies!  But, I do know that I have to stay involved with the fight.  Right now, I don’t have a crystal clear idea of what I want to do, but I can see two orbs, lighting the path of direction for me.  One path involves getting social and emotional help directly to the patients.  They have to have hope.  I see so much fear, worry and anxiety among those being treated, and especially in their close family, that I want to do something to help them cope.  I can’t say I want them to know it’s going to be alright, because this disease does not turn out alright for everyone.   Many people fight courageously, and they die anyway.  I will obviously leave the serious disease fighting to the doctors.  But I want to help people feel as positive and fearless as they can during their fight so that their mind stays healthy no matter what.

The second path I can see is spreading awareness among the general public, especially the younger population about what cancer really is and what it means to be in a fight against it.  I think people need to be more aware of what the disease really is.  I feel like many people who have not been through it themselves or been right alongside someone who has dealt with cancer don’t realize what the effects are.  I need to spend some more time thinking about this idea and formulating my thoughts.

To wrap this up, please know that all is good right now and I am really looking forward to getting started with the transplant.  I have been living with this thing over my head and directly intertwined with every part of my life for nearly two years and I am now only 4 weeks away from what could very likely be the end of my cancer!

I started this blog because of cancer, and for the most part it has really been all about my treatment and experiences, but I wish that was not the case.  I wish I had more I wanted to write about than just cancer.  But, I guess until cancer is no longer the dominating subject of my day to day activities, I probably won’t have much else to write about.

I have not written in over a week so this post is a recap of what has been happening.

1. The Party – Sonya, Angela and my Mom pulled off an excellent party at Champps last Saturday.  I honestly don’t know how many people were there, but that room was pretty full and I think everyone had a really good time winning prizes.  I know for sure they had a good time buying tickets to “bid” on raffle items, and to compete for the silent auction items.  Everyone who participated was far more generous than I had anticipated and we raised enough money to pay off the remaining medical and doctor bills from 2009, and get a good start on the bills for 2010.  It is a tremendous relief for me to settle many of these very old and past due bills.  I rarely answer my house phone anymore because at least 2 out of 3 calls are from someone wanting to know when this bill or that bill will be paid.  Some of you may wonder why I have so many bills and be asking, “Doesn’t he have insurance?”  And since a high proportion of this websites readers have contributed to my financial plight, I feel a responsibility to share some details about where your money is going.

We do have health insurance for our family.  As you know, Angela and I are self employed.  I love working for myself and wouldn’t want it any other way.  However, there are a few disadvantages.  One of them is that health insurance is not something that just happens automatically as a condition of our employment.  We are our own Benefits Manager.  The advantageous counter point to this, is that we have our choice of any plan in existence, not just the one or two plans and insurance providers offered by our company.  For many years, we had a very traditional HMO plan, where we paid a monthly premium, had a network of providers and doctors to choose from, paid a $20 co-pay at each visit and had a very typical annual deductible.  In September 2009, after yet another annual increase to the premium, I started shopping around for new plans and talking to a lot of people.  The type of plan that was recommended by several people for self employed families was called a high deductible HSA.  Under this type of plan, you trade a $500 or $1000 annual family deductible for a deductible in the 5 digit range, and in return, your monthly premium is lowered by hundreds of dollars.  In our case, we went from a monthly premium of $445 for three people, to only $198.00.  The theory behind the lowered premium is that an individual will take that money they save each month, and deposit it to an HSA, or Health Savings Account.  This is a checking account you can open at almost any bank and it works just like a standard checking account with printed checks and a debit card.  However, the only caveat is that you can only take money out to pay medical related expenses.  The account works like an IRA, in which all deposits can be deducted from your taxable income…but, you cannot access the money without a steep IRS penalty, unless you are writing a check to a pharmacist, doctor, hospital, optometrist, etc.  Over time, the balance in the HSA is theorized to build up to a high level and even if something catastrophic like a car accident or major illness occurs, you will have the money in the HSA (which can’t be used for anything else) to pay that $10,000 – $15,000 deductible.  We were young, healthy, and had not incurred more than a few hundred dollars in healthcare expenses during any year of our life, so we signed up for this type of plan.  Three months later, I was diagnosed with a disease that would eventually rack up close to $200,000 in healthcare expenses in it’s first year, and although the meter is still running on this year, I suspect that the final bill will for 2010 will run far above last years bill.  So, the short version of the answer is…yes I have insurance, but I have a plan with a huge deductible which I have now maxed out two years in a row.  And in all likelihood, I will max it out or come close to doing so for each of the next several years.  After I am done with treatment I will still require 3-4 PET scans per year to monitor my cancer and those tests cost about $1500 – $2000 each, all of which will come out of my pocket.  Obviously, this all comes on top of all the regular financial responsibilities that every family faces, mortgages, car payments, childcare, groceries, utilities, savings, etc.   So, I thank each and every one of you who have contributed to my medical expenses.  You have helped to shave a good portion of my debt away and in doing so, relieve much of my finance focused stress and anxiety.

2. Radiation – I have officially entered the radiation phase of my treatment.  I started on Monday and have had three treatments so far.  For those of you who get the email notices of my new blog posts early in the morning (if not, subscribe here), I will probably be lying in the Linear Accelerator on Thursday morning while you read this.  I go in at 7:45 each morning and they strap my head to a long skinny table and line up the alignment beams with several marks all over my arms and torso.  Then the staff exits the room and closes a HUGE leaded door (no joke, this door is over 12″ thick) and the machine starts moving around and radiating the Dirty Bastard.  It only takes about a minute or two, and then the technicians come back in and release me.  So far, I feel nothing.  No pain, no side effects, no reaction at all.  While the machine is buzzing, I do get this sensation that I can smell something burning, but I am pretty sure that is just my imagination.  I am planning to make a little video of the experience if the technicians will let me.

The worst part of radiation so far is that I have learned that cancer patients from the Children’s Hospital at Emory (which is right next door to the Cancer Center), also get treated in the radiation oncology department.  This has not been the case with any of my other treatments.  I have never seen kids at my former oncologist in Duluth, or at Winship’s infusion center, or in the hospital.  But they are in the radiation unit.  I have seen a few little ones facing their own Dirty Bastard.  One boy in particular is probably just a little older than Dominic and I see him there with his Dad.  The boy has just the tiniest little bit of fuzz on his head, so he must be ahead of me in the treatment schedule.  Like I said a few months ago, I named this disease the Dirty Bastard because it picks on little kids.  Not fair.

3. Tour de France and Cancer Awareness – If you happened to watch any of the Tour de France you may have noticed or heard about the Nike Chalk-Bot.  Nike has sponsored a device that writes personal messages on the roads over which the Tour de France riders travel.  Anyone who was so inclined, could submit their message to the Livestrong group and some of them got printed.  My friend Joe submitted one for me wishing me well in my fight, and that prompted me to create one of my own.  Joe’s never got printed unfortunately, but I got a notice from Nike last week that mine got printed on July 19, on a road in southwestern France inside the Pyrenee’s National Park.  I enjoyed watching the Tour this year and appreciate everything Lance Armstrong, Livestrong, Radio Shack and the Tour organizers have done during the course of the three weeks to raise awareness for the fight against cancer.  If you didn’t catch the highlights, on the final day of the race, Lance and all of his 9 other team members wore a special jersey, each one with the number 28 on the back, referencing that there are 28 million people in the world currently living with cancer.  The jerseys were not race approved and about 3 minutes into the start, the organizers made all the riders stop, and forced the entire team to change into their regular jerseys in the middle of the street.  For anyone watching, I think this complication did a better job of bringing attention to their mission, than if the organizers had let them go, because it took several minutes to get jerseys to each of them and for them to organize their pinned on numbers and headsets.  All the while, the TV announcers were just talking on and on about why they were wearing those un-approved jerseys in the first place.  Good publicity stunt!

So, to wrap this up I will tell you all that I feel pretty good.  I don’t feel the excessive weakness and fatigue I have in the previous weeks, so that must mean my body is rebuilding itself a little after having so many cells wiped out by the last chemo.  The only effect I can still feel is the mixup of nerves in my tongue.  I seem to be missing one particular taste sensation.  Not sure if it is bitter, or sweet or maybe a combination, but something is still not quite right in there.  But I am eating well anyway.  I am going to take my bike out for a gentle ride tonight to try and get some exercise.  It will be the first time I have ridden in weeks.  I am more concerned about this ridiculous heat melting me, than I am about my body being weak.  That’s why I will wait until about 7PM.  I hope everyone has a great day.

If you have been reading my posts for awhile, you know the Dirty Bastard is cancer.  For eighteen months I have been fighting against the Dirty Bastard and recently I have been getting annoyed that I don’t seem to be doing as well in the fight as I would like to.  I have complained that every PET scan along this journey, while reporting that I am moving in the right direction, has also revealed that I have not progressed as quickly or as much as my doctors would like.  The tumor created by my Hodgkins Lymphoma is usually shrinking, but not enough.  Biopsy results reveal some information, but not enough.  Analysis on whether to radiate the tumor have determined that radiation treatment might help, but might do more harm than good.  Every step has been just “okay”, and never “good” or “excellent.”  That changed this weekend!

On Friday, I was notified that my test results indicated that the time to collect the stem cells for my autologous bone marrow transplant had arrived and we could not wait until Monday.  So Saturday morning, I checked into the hospital and a specialist from the Hemapheresis Department was called in.  They hooked me up to a series of machines that pulled blood out of my body, separated the stem cells from the blood and stored them in a little bag, and then returned the blood back to me.  It was a painful and miserable process that lasted for four hours.  The goal was to gather at least 5 million stem cells, but they really were hoping for closer to 7 million cells, to increase the success rate of the bone marrow transplant.  At the end of the day, the machine was turned off, the huge needles removed from my arms and when the stem cells in the bag were counted, they had 17 million stem cells!!!!

I am still smiling and get a little chill when I think about how good it feels to have delivered such outstanding results.  I consider this a definitive victory on my part and a trouncing of my opponent in this particular stage of the war.  And it has done wonders to restore my confidence in this process and what I am going through this summer.  I am shedding those negative thoughts about the cancer staying a step ahead of expected results and I am resuming my ownership of this process.  Cancer is still a dirty bastard, but I’ve got the power of hope being delivered by dozens if not hundreds of family, friends and supporters.  And as Christopher Reeve once stated, “Once you choose hope, anything’s possible.”

If the current phase of my life were a prison, I would be my body’s bitch.  In a normal world…not a world where you compare your life in general to prison politics…a body is a pretty reliable thing.  You give it food, fluids, rest, and stretch it out with a little activity and exercise everyday and it will do nearly anything you want.  In fact, I would even say that the mind and the will of the person are in charge most of the time.  The person decides, “I want to go for a walk,” and the body gets to work doing what it’s told.  Sometimes, the decisions are even potentially harmful to the body, but it goes along anyway like any really good friend would do.  ”Hey, let’s do another round of Tequila shots!”  The body knows it is not going to like this, but it leaves you in control of the arm to lift that shot and, and it begrudgingly concedes control of the mouth and throat to make sure your dumb self gets that little glass of Cuervo you think you want.

But this week, and I think last week too (it feels so long ago, I forget what last week was like), my body is having a grand old time being in charge of everyone.  You see, I get blood drawn everyday, usually several vials at a time which are used for various tests.  And these tests lead to sheets of paper with lots of little names and abbreviations, each one with a number next to it.  Everything about this week…my schedule, my families schedule, doctors and nurses schedule, the demand on the local blood bank…everything has been slave to these reports.  Every decision is heavily influenced by these reports.  The reports have been given a general name, the counts.  If my counts are good, my doctor can proceed with treatment, I can live a pretty normal life and everything remains somewhat predictable.

But, like every other measure of progress on this crazy journey, the counts have not been good this week and that has thrown everything into chaos.  I am going to compliment myself on my patience and flexibility during this chaos, up until yesterday.  For example, on Monday, when I was expecting to go to the lab nice and early, finish my blood test, get a shot of neupogen and go home, I did not get upset when instead they told me my counts were really low and I needed blood product transfusions.  I made the best of it, even though “it” was the fact that I had to stay in their noisy miserable ward the entire day hooked up to an IV machine and having some strangers blood pumped into me.  I wound up getting some type of blood product, either red blood or platelets, infused every day this week because the counts continued to be uncooperative.  I also lost my appointment to start stem cell collection on Wednesday and get measured and setup for radiation treatments.

Finally, on Friday morning, my white blood cell count was 5.8!  The range of normal for white blood cells is roughly 4.2 – 8.0.   For all of the past ten days, mine has been between 0.6 and 1.0.  We were all happy.  Then more news came…my CB34 count, which is a measure of how many stem cells are in the bloodstream had also risen sharply and it was at an ideal point for collecting the stem cells.  I had just come home from Emory, all 40 minutes driving and had been at the house for 5 minutes, when they called and said, “You have to come back right now, and you will probably stay overnight for collection.”  Normally I would be really happy that my body had finally conceded and done something it was supposed to do, but this was the worst timing.  You see, first thing Saturday morning, I am supposed to go pick up my sister and her husband at the airport because they are coming to visit me this weekend.  I don’t get to see her much and I was really REALLY looking forward to a weekend with a little sliver of normalcy.  The doctors had explained before that harvesting stem cells usually takes 2-3 days, and now they were talking about doing it as an inpatient procedure starting Friday night, when I have guests coming in on Saturday morning.  I was crushed at the timing of all this.

Well, I will wrap this up so you can get back to your Saturday activities.  When the nurses and doctor saw how disappointed I was, they instantly changed their story to, “Well…your counts are so good that you will probably finish your collection in one day, and then you can spend Sunday with your sister.”  And the other thing grinding  on me is that because I am being quickly ushered into collection, there is no time to get on the schedule to have the temporary central line placed.  So they are going to do the collection with the arm needles that the collection nurse showed me two weeks ago and really tried to convince me that I did not want to use that method if possible.  She went on and on about how big the needles are, and how uncomfortable the process can be with these needles.  My personal nurse coordinator agreed completely and has been working with me to try and get the timing of when to install the line in my neck nailed down.  Now that it is no longer an option, they are all telling me, “Oh the needles aren’t that bad.”  The BS was getting deep in our meeting yesterday.

I am not going inpatient after all.  The plan is to arrive at the hospital nice and early this morning (Saturday) and get the barbarically huge needles placed and start the collection.  Hopefully they are right about the one day thing and I will be done by 3 or 4 PM today.  I really don’t want to go back and get those needles again tomorrow.

If you are coming to the party at Champps tonight, I look forward to seeing you there.  Hope all is well.

I don’t take myself very seriously and live what I believe is a pretty laid back lifestyle.  I suppose that is why I was a little bit apprehensive when our friend Sonya first offered to organize a fundraising event for me.   I mean, I am not a non-profit, I am not a research facility, I am just a regular guy who happened to get cancer.  But, I went along with it because I know I need the help, and if anything, this disease has taught me to be humble.  This is the most challenging thing I have ever done and if people who care are offering to help, then I have no business telling them not to.

With the big party only three days away now, I am more excited than ever.  And not because it appears that we will raise enough money to pay an hour of my Oncologist’s wage.  I am excited because I know the good people who come to my party are going to walk away with some truly incredible raffle prizes for their efforts.   During the party, which will happen at Champps Americana on North Point Parkway from 6PM – 10PM this Saturday, we will be hosting a raffle and silent auction in which the guests can either win, or bid for really valuable travel experiences and a variety of gift baskets.  Here is a sneak peak at the travel experiences that will be up for grabs this Saturday:

Hotel del Coronado

Hotel del Coronado

2 night stay in resort accommodations at the spectacular, world renowned, beachfront resort – The Hotel del Coronado in San Diego, California.  This silent auction item is courtesy of our friend and colleague Kathi Kelly of KSL Resorts.  If you golf, play tennis, ski or just enjoy fabulous resorts in idyllic settings you need to know about KSL Resorts.  The Hotel Del is located on Coronado Island, across the bay from San Diego and has been a southern California beachfront landmark since 1888.  This luxury resort has been the vacation choice of 11 U.S. Presidents, plus innumerable Hollywood celebrities from Humphrey Bogart and Charlie Chaplin to Brad Pitt and Madonna.  In recent years, the Hotel Del has been rated the #1 wedding destination in the country by The Travel Channel, and it’s sandy expanse out front has been rated the #1 beach in the United States by The Travel Channel.  You definitely want to bid aggresively on this one.

Set of 4, two-day, two-park admission tickets to visit Universal Studio’s in Orlando, FloridaThese tickets have been graciously donated by our friend Michelle at Universal Studio’s Resorts and Loew’s Hotels .  With these tickets, your family or you and your friends will have two days to explore your choice of Universal Studio’s and Islands of Adventure theme parks in Orlando.  These package of park tickets would sell at the gate for $580, but they will go home with someone on Saturday for a bargain.  You are probably going to Orlando for some kind of work conference in the next 12 months, so bid on these tickets and bring your kids down after the conference to explore the new Wizarding World of Harry Potter, plus some world class rides and shows.

Another Florida silent auction item offers a 2 week vacation rental in a private home located in a golf community near Tampa, Florida.  The Tampa Bay Golf & Country Club features two golf courses, a resort style pool, active clubhouse and pro shop, gated entry and is located minutes off of I-75.  Your private vacation home has two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a complete kitchen and a deluxe screened lanai with views of a large marsh area where you can watch the wading birds, turtles and occassional deer enjoying their own tropical paradise.

The great prizes don’t stop with the silent auction though.  Sonya, Angela and my mom Barb have been busy gathering items for the raffle too.  Lucky winners will be drawn to win some great experiences including:

So, if you are in the Atlanta area, and you would like to come out to Champps on Saturday evening for some excellent food (compliments of our host), hanging out with some really genuinely good people, and supporting my cancer recovery by bidding on our silent auction items or buying raffle tickets, we would love to have you.  Anyone is welcome and tickets are $20 per adult and $5 for kids.  All guests will receive a Livestrong wristband from the Lance Armstrong Foundation.  And live entertainment will be provided by Lee Gamble who will play acoustic guitar and perform songs from the 70′s through today.  Please RSVP to Sonya at  simonsez11@msn.com.  Can’t wait to see you on Saturday.

In other news from my life…I am finally feeling well enough to live normal days.  Up until yesterday, I was still really weak from my last chemotherapy treatment.  Anyone who ever said Hodgkins Lymphoma is one of the “good” cancers to get, never heard of my stubborn case.  I went into Emory on Monday morning to get my daily shot of Neupogen and my bloodwork (which had not been run in over 5 days), showed critically low levels of all relevent measures, white blood cells, red blood cells, hematocrit, platelets, etc.  So, instead of the 30 minute appointment I had gone in for, I was detained literally all day at the hospital to receive blood and platelet transfusions.  It was a little alarming to be unexpectedly told I needed a blood transfusion right then and there, but the good news is that my excessive fatigue and weakness is a direct result of the low cell counts.  So, the new blood I received is working to make me a little stronger, a little faster.  I was just informed that I will get more transfusions on Wednesday morning, plus I am going in to have my central line placed in a short surgical procedure.   I still cannot taste anything.  All food tastes about the same, very bland and dry.  This is from the damage the chemo causes to nerves in my tongue and mouth.  Hopefully that will only last a few more days.

Have you ever wondered what VTEPA chemotherapy would be like?  No, probably not.  Here are a few interesting facts about this regimen.  It was developed by the Bone Marrow Transplant team of physicians, oncologists, hematologists and super brains at Emory University and Winship Cancer Institute.  In one of its first trials, it was so strong that it killed two of the 16 people it was used on.  Out of the 300+ bone marrow transplant patients that Emory facilitates each year, this drug regimen is still only used about once per month.  And they tell me that approximately half of the patients who receive it, have to be re-admitted to the hospital within a few days after discharge because of the intense side effects.  Now, considering all that, I think I am doing pretty well.  For starters, I am writing this, so it has not killed me.  And I am at home three days after discharge, and while I still feel mere moments from throwing up at any time, I have not needed to get re-admitted.

Don’t get me wrong though, this was serious chemo.  This was payback for something I did in another life that was very very bad.  I don’t know what it was, but I certainly hope the score is settled now.  I started feeling bad when I woke up Sunday morning.  As of Saturday, I was still leaving my hospital room and going for walks outside and trying to be productive with my time.  Sunday, I got up, brushed my teeth, and went back to bed.  And I stayed there, nearly all day.  Monday was more of the same.  I even told Angela not to come visit and to pass the message to my parents.  I did not want to see anybody or talk to anybody or do anything.  Tuesday was much of the same although I was finally at home.  Wednesday I got to spend a little bit of time pretending to be a normal person, but it was only pretending.  I spent a few hours in my new recliner Wednesday afternoon.  By the way, thank you to everyone who contributed to make that happen.  My mom has worked really hard pulling it all together and I am really looking forward to using it.  I could not get totally comfortable in it yesterday because of my stomach.  Lying flat out in bed is the only place that I can really count on for comfort right now.  I suppose it is telling of the whole situation that if a big soft cushy recliner can’t make me comfortable, I must be in a bad way.  There is a big basket of cards right next to it along with some other gifts that I have not delved into yet.  I am waiting until I am a bit more conscious of what is going on.  Now would have been a good time, but nobody else is here.

The frustrating part is that the symptoms and side effects come in waves and are  not predictable.  One moment, I will think I am starting to feel okay, so I climb out of bed, and then within 4 or 5 steps I am clutching at the wall because I am so dizzy.  And I know I am supposed to consume some protein to help with the fatigue and I am really trying to eat, but everything makes me want to throw up.  Last night, I threw up while trying to put a pill in my mouth.  It had not even crossed my lips yet, but my body knew that combination of 1.) Open the mouth, 2.) Pick something up with the left hand, 3.) Raise said thing toward the open mouth.  And my whole body reacted.  My throat closed up, I gagged, and ran off to the bathroom where I lost what little chicken soup I had managed to get down an hour before.  Not fair.  How am I supposed to build any strength back with my body not cooperating.  It knows it is full of hideous toxins and it wants them out.  That is obviously job number one right now.  It’s like a really bad hangover that lasts for days, and days, and days.  But it is amazing that the body is smart enough to know that it has to get rid of these nasty platinum and metal based toxins and chemicals before it can focus on getting nourishment from real food and real stimuli.  So, I will just keep helping it along by flushing with water and gatorade…and sleeping.