It's 11:30 pm and I feel much better. I guess all it takes is a long, hot shower and a simple plate of food to breathe some life back into me when my nausea goes away. Tonight's meal is peas, corn and some sous-plis (sp?), Julio's specialty. I won't give away what they are because it is my understanding that he is trying to sell the recipe. Trust me when I say that I would rather eat Julio's sous-plis than any of the best Swiss chocolate. If you had them, you'd understand what I'm talking about.
Anyway, once again I am bothered by the fact that I missed something in my last entry. Maybe it's because I felt like hell when I was writing it, maybe it was the lack of flow the entry had in my eyes, I'm not sure. The only thing I know is that there is a desire to write, and I'm not ready for bed.
Tomorrow's chemo will be day four in the seven day protocol. Guess what folks, that means that tomorrow is HUMP DAY. After all is said and done tomorrow, I will have finished more days of chemo than I have left. The only problem is that Sunday, Monday and Tuesday I get ATG, the most feared chemo for someone with my type of cancer. ATG is the clean-up hitter to use a baseball analogy. The proper name is Anti-thymocyte Globulin, but all the nursing staff call it the terrible bunny juice, since they make it using rabbit parts. I wish I knew how they make it or what part of the rabbit they use, but unfortunately they told be when I was deep in the trenches today.
The basic fear behind ATG is the fact that it is almost guaranteed to illicit severe reactions in almost everyone who gets it. It also comes at the end of one hour of Fludarabine, and three hours of Busulfin which is historically my worst time of the day. It's also a four to eight hour drip, meaning that on Sunday, Monday and Tuesday my daily chemo time will be eight to twelve hours long. I actually didn't do the math on this one until about 5 minutes ago so I'm actually a little nervous right now.
Fuck it.
I've had a topic in my head for a while now that's being dying to get out. It's something that has been bugging me for a while but I haven't had the desire to talk about it. I have a problem with one word in the English language that has been used to describe me on more than one occasion.
HERO
I hate this word. I was called it at the Lance Armstrong charity dinner I attended, I've been called that several times by several well-meaning people, but I am very uncomfortable with the notions that it implies. I'm going to use an analogy here so bear with me as I set it up.
There's a burning house down the street at the end of your block. You can hear the screams from someone inside. If you run into the burning building and rescue the other person YOU are the hero. I, my friends am the guy inside the house. Through no fault of my own my house is burning and it's my shitty luck that it happened to me. I am being rescued by the amazing doctors and nurses at the Tom Baker Cancer Centre and the Foothills Medical Centre. THEY are your heroes people, not me. I'm just the poor bastard who's got to rebuild his house. Call me a fighter, call me a survivor, call me a cab (ha ha) but don't call me hero.
On a similar note, I would like to give a mention to someone who inspires me. This may be surprising to most people, but it's not Lance Armstrong. The person I'm thinking of has achieved more and suffered more than Lance ever will. This person will forever in my eyes be my inspiration. I'm just lucky enough to be married to her.
Caitlin has seen my highest highs and my lowest lows. She has been stronger than a rock when it has come to my cancer. In the last month alone, she has given birth to twins, moved into a new house and had to wake up everyday with the possibility that she might have to raise our children by herself. She has provided me with the luxury of getting a full night's sleep for the past week, and has allowed me to absorb myself in my healing while she handles everything from the groceries, to dealing with my case manager regarding disability payments. I look at what she goes through everyday and think to myself "I'm glad I'm not in her shoes". You say that I'm strong? I dare you to spend one day in her shoes, because I doubt that there are many people out there who could do what she does.
I am the luckiest man on earth. I would gladly take on the hardest chemotherapy if it meant that I could spend just one more day with her.
I love you Caitlin Marie Price, with every fiber of my being.
We'll get through this.
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