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braindamageforbeginners · 7 years ago

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Day 41, Radiation 28

I believe I’ve written about how the worstest part of cancer is that almost every single aspect of existence gets about 10-15% harder than it needs to be. Even when you think you’r e on an upswing. Folks, I’ve griped about the weird, werewolf-like sleep patterns imposed on me by that dreadful, Kraken-forsaken temodar. Well, tonight is the final night, so, last night, I thought I’d finally do it; I’d be a real boy and get myself onto some sort of near-human schedule, as opposed to the random possum-like patterns where I go to bed at googly-moogly and wake up at sometime (oh, you think I’m joking; it’s really weird and unpredicable). So, last night, I was tired, I went to bed - and fell asleep - at 11 pm. Which isn’t terribly early, but it’s closer to “human” than “sometime between 9 pm and 4 am.” Like Daedalus, I flew too close to the sun and my wings burned off; I woke up at 3 am. And temodar gives you a weird, anxious-twitchy sensation (I don’t mean physically, I mean you’re gonna go full-frontal Woody Allen and not be able to sit still even when you’re dead-tired), which I thought I’d put to use - I’d double-check all my assorted physician/insurance/research/administrative contacts on the speed-dial (yes, they’re on the speed dial, but more on that later). Then I’d get an hour or two of sleep. Then wake up early and make some useful morning phone calls. My hateful, spiteful body decided - without consulting me - just to sleep until eight. I guess I should just be grateful I got something like a full-night’s sleep, but it still rankles that I can’t even really plan more than 12 hours ahead at any given time. Sometimes, my fellow squid, in the darkness of the abyssal plains, you just have to stop and be grateful that you’re still smart enough to realize how utterly dumb your operating conditions have become.

But I did get a few things done today. One question i get asked - a lot - is, “How do you fill up your time?” And my answer is, “I’m a cancer patient with a pulse. That fills up the days.” So, full itinerary - I took my morning meds, made (and ate) breakfast (and coffee)(lots and lots of coffee, because of the temodar), organized and refilled my meds, called several billing departments, called Research Coordinator about travel/scheduling issues, subsequently called Boston PA about the paperwork to reinstate the driver’s license,called the insurance company with a billing question (and subsequently called another phone number), went to the gym (I go to the gym daily)(that’s critical to neurosurgery recovery, fellow squid, and it’s also worth noting that I’m doing all this while still in recovery), got a better answer from Boston PA about being a real boy (I can submit a licence renewal in two weeks), refilled prescriptions, picked up prescriptions, and got a few groceries. That took from 9-5. For those of you wanting the condensed description, here’s my day, today: 1. Breakfast 2. Organize and refill prescriptions 3. Make assorted bureaucratic phone calls 4. Radiation therapy 5. Gym 6. Picked up prescriptions (and scheduled/negotiated the next pick-up, which will be ready in... let me think... a few days). 7. Bought a cheap, pre-cooked chicken and toilet paper Again, that was a full eight hours. I’m not sitting around pining about my grisly, inevitable demise; I am working my ass off to avert it. Now, should you find yourself at the bottom of the ocean, you need to recognize that you are no longer able to save yourself. BUT, you mustn’t lose faith that somewhere in the depths, there exists another squid who can help you - or a squid who knows a squid. Your full-time job becomes tracking down someone who can help you, and then convincing them to help you. Then the real work starts. Then you get to start taking care of yourself, and anticipating and solving future problems. That’s the one thing that’s identical to surface-dweller existence; the more problems you can foresee and solve right now, the better the long-term outcome. Like, an order-of-magnitude better outcome (which is why you start paying attention to those ones). My hand is feeling a little numb at the moment - could be nothing; it’s been a long-ish day, but I went got that stupid walker out of the closet in case I need it tomorrow morning. And the end reward for all this fast-on-your-tentacles thinking and acting, is, maybe, perhaps, more time in the abyss. Again, that’s all the reward you get, if that’s not enough, well, I don’t know what to say.

Still, I suppose I should remain positive. I have family and friends who support me (read: I mooch like a lamprey)(a cancerous lamprey)(a cancerous lamprey with severe insomnia), and that allows me the sort of time required to give this whole survival-thing my undivided focus. And, all of the phone calls I made today are for things that shouldn’t be an issue for a few weeks or months, so, it seems like the Warlocks are the folks best-set to solve my whole brain-cancer problem (even if it requires more paperwork and coordination than the D-Day invasion)(I mean, come on, people; they’re necromancers; Voldemort didn’t require insurance double-verification to experiment on muggles). And my work-outs are still the most-intense I’ve ever done, so, kudos to Radiation Oncologist. And I wrote the radiation team a lovely thank-you note for when I finish up later this week. And I did get a few concrete answers about a few questions - even if those questions were, “Go ask the DMV.” Still, four-ish damned hours on the phone to coordinate prescriptions and insurance payments as well as other stuff; I could be watching TV. And, hey, tonight’s the last night of hateful, hateful temodar (for a while, anyway), so, hey. Still, I do kind of miss the crazy Captain America serum dreams.

And I found out a few things while in the microwave this afternoon. One of the techs said that cool, hyper-blue shiny light you see in the tube (you’ll see it, too, when you get there), and that weird, burnt-dog-hair smell don’t actually exist. Those are just side effects of sending streams of dangerous, ionizing radiation across the olfactory and optic nerves (the parts of the brain responsible for smell and sight, respectively). Which is the least-comforting thing I have ever learned, but I do appreciate their candor.

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hetstiel · 5 years ago

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i love philippa and i love dijkstra and i wouldn't say i Ship them exactly (i think at least on philippas end that she is a lesbian) but like thinking about them as a unit and like the circumstances that led to.. all that....... idk like both of them as characters rly Interest me, and their relationship such as it is also really like. i think about it a lot. like those two ppl coming together for all the most worstest reasons and the way it all falls apart and the CONSEQUENCES...... chef kiss

#witcher

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oldguardaudio · 8 years ago

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PowerLine -> From the Carlos Danger files + Power Line’s Top Posts of 2017

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Daily Digest

From the Carlos Danger files

A New Year’s Eve Miscellany

The Times diversion

Power Line’s Top Posts of 2017

Papadopoulos or the dossier?

From the Carlos Danger files

Posted: 31 Dec 2017 02:17 PM PST

(Paul Mirengoff)The indispensable Judicial Watch, after protracted litigation in federal court, has forced the State Department to begin releasing Huma Abedin’s work-related documents that were found on Anthony Weiner’s personal computer. The documents were provided to the State Department by the FBI, which reviewed them as part of its investigation of the Hillary Clinton email server scandal. The first public release of these documents came on Friday, December 31.

Judicial Watch confirms that the documents include classified information from Hillary Clinton’s email server. Not only that, but at least four of these documents were marked “classified.”

You probably recall that Team Clinton tried to defend Hillary’s mishandling of classified information by arguing that the information was not marked classified at the time the document was produced and when it was sent or received. But this argument, never a strong one, doesn’t apply to at least four of the documents that Abedin shuffled over to her husband’s computer. In addition, as Jazz Shaw points out, by sending this material to Weiner, Abedin put it outside the reach of the government.

Shaw also raises the question of whether Abedin lied to the FBI during its investigation:

[B]oth Abedin and Cheryl Mills were called in by the FBI and told them that they didn’t even know about the existence of the secret server. And that was in 2016. But here we have evidence from 2010 of Abedin forwarding classified documents from the secret server to an account called “Anthony Campaign” which is presumably the email account on her husband’s laptop. So doesn’t that mean that she (and possibly Mills) lied to the Federal Bureau of Investigation during their probe of the case?

He adds:

I’ve been hearing a lot lately about how people who lie to the FBI are in a lot of trouble and could face jail time, even if the subject of the conversation they lied about wasn’t illegal. In this instance we’re talking about a clearly illegal act, specifically sending obviously marked classified State Department documents to a private laptop controlled by someone without a security clearance.

If lying to the FBI is such a big deal, aren’t we being a bit selective in prosecution if somebody isn’t indicted over this? Or does the fact that Clinton and Abedin are no longer in the mix for a national political office mean that we simply don’t bother?

I think the answers to the two questions are “yes” and “yes.”

A New Year’s Eve Miscellany

Posted: 31 Dec 2017 09:59 AM PST

(Steven Hayward)A few closeout observations before the first bottle of champagne:

• The top story of the year: Trump is still President! Lots of folks on the left and in the media were certain he’d be gone by June. Worse news for the left: he’s gaining strength. Worstest news for the left: The Russia collusion angle is coming up dry, and he isn’t going to be impeached.

Related, from CNN no less:

Gallup: Hillary Clinton’s favorability rating hits new low

(CNN)More than a year after the 2016 presidential election, former Democratic nominee Hillary Clinton’s favorability rating has dropped to a new low, according to a Gallup poll released Tuesday.

The poll showed 36% of respondents rated Clinton favorably compared to 61% who rated her unfavorably, which is a new high for that measure. Gallup said this beat out her previous low of 38% at the outset of the general election last year and in 1992 when she was not yet a household name.

Gallup’s poll marked a five-point drop in the former secretary of state’s favorability rating since June, when a poll of national adults showed 41% rated her favorably.

Still not tired of winning? Okay, then take this, from the Washington Post:

How the Trump era is changing the federal bureaucracy

Nearly a year into his takeover of Washington, President Trump has made a significant down payment on his campaign pledge to shrink the federal bureaucracy, a shift long sought by conservatives that could eventually bring the workforce down to levels not seen in decades. . .

“Morale has never been lower,” said Tony Reardon, president of the National Treasury Employees Union, which represents 150,000 federal workers at more than 30 agencies. “Government is making itself a lot less attractive as an employer.”

Sometimes you just have to take the sweet with the sweet.

• A sign of the times?

The new security measures planned for the Brandenburg Gate party come amid concerns about sexual assaults. . .

Hundreds of thousands of people are expected to attend the New Year’s Eve party in Berlin on Sunday and security will be strict. Large bags, such as rucksacks, and alcoholic drinks will be banned at the Brandenburg Gate.

Gosh, from the sound of this headline Berlin must be like New York City back in the pre-Guiliani era. What’s behind this? The BBC semi-explains:

A large number of assaults and robberies targeting women at Cologne’s New Year’s Eve celebrations two years ago horrified Germany. Hundreds of women reported being attacked by gangs of men with migrant backgrounds.

What kind of “migrant backgrounds” I wonder?

Sweden’s Socialist minister admits: We made a mistake accepting so many refugees

The Swedish finance minister, Magdalena Andersson, in a Friday interview for the newspaper Dagens Nyheter said that Sweden made a mistake by accepting thousands of asylum seekers in 2015. It is the first such statement of the politician from the ruling Sweden’s Socialist Working Party, whose coalition government together with the Green Party, welcomed over 163,000 asylum seekers in 2015.

Chaser:

• Winston Churchill describing bitcoin perhaps:

I know those people who think they can coin the moonlight into silver and mint the sunshine into gold, are always running about with some of these plans for getting rich quickly and securing wealth without having to work for it. (From his 1909 campaign book, The People’s Rights.)

• Woo-hoo! We’re number 29! Power Line came in ranked 29th in the PJ Media ranking of the Top 50 Conservative Websites for 2017.

• Isn’t this a clear violation of the 8th Amendment’s “cruel and unusual punishment” clause:

The Times diversion

Posted: 31 Dec 2017 08:07 AM PST

(Scott Johnson)In collusion news today, the New York Times has devoted six reporters to producing the “news” that the previously obscure Trump campaign aide George Papadopoulos lies at the heart of the putative case. Their story is “How the Russia inquiry began: A campaign aide, drinks and talk of political dirt.” Paul wrote about it last night here.

I think the story is ludicrous on its face. The Times has served as a prime purveyor of the Trump/Russia hysteria. Yet reality has deflated it. Now the Times returns to pump it up. The names have changed, but the song remains the same.

The Times has lost the thread on its preferred narrative. Indeed, attention has turned to the Steele/Trump dossier and the apparent wrongdoing related to it. The authorities inside the Obama administration who took advantage of it seek to cover their tracks. The deeply felt needs of the Times and its collaborators are consummated in today’s big story.

Who helped the Times concoct its story today? We have come to expect the usually guarded law enforcement and intelligence sources who cannot be identified because the information is classified and they weren’t authorized to talk about it.

Today’s story is not quite so forthcoming. The six Times reporters disclose only that they relied on “interviews.” Well, not just interviews. Late in the story “current and former officials familiar with the debate” appear. The Times story also relies on “previously undisclosed documents.”

The Times story states: “A team of F.B.I. agents traveled to Europe to interview Mr. Steele in early October 2016. Mr. Steele had shown some of his findings to an F.B.I. agent in Rome three months earlier [coincidentally, at the time the investigation started], but that information was not part of the justification to start a counterintelligence inquiry, American officials said.”

With whom did the Times conduct the interviews? What were the circumstances? Who contacted whom? How can this story have remained dormant until today? The Times doesn’t say.

What are the “previously undisclosed documents”? The Times doesn’t say it directly, but the documents do not demonstrate how the counterintelligence investigation started. They do not establish the story’s thesis.

How can any informed observer take this seriously? We await the disclosure of genuine evidence rather than obvious spin. We don’t have nearly enough information to arrive at a definitive judgment. We must keep our minds open until we are privy to it. In time I may be proved wrong. Yet I don’t think it is rash to say that this Times story is some kind of a joke.

Wall Street Journal columnist Kim Strassel puts it this way in response to Obama hack Tommy Vietor’s demand that she correct her column on the Steele dossier (“one of the dirtiest tricks in U.S. political history”). To borrow the Clinton campaign slogan, I’m with her.

Sure–when the NYT provides any proof (or names, or sources or anything other than anonymous assertion) for its claims. Funny that the FBI cooks up this story right at the point that the House is demanding to see the documents that will show what really happened. https://t.co/cR8iT1XVDP

— Kimberley Strassel (@KimStrassel) December 30, 2017

Power Line’s Top Posts of 2017

Posted: 31 Dec 2017 07:42 AM PST

(John Hinderaker)“Top” means most widely read, of course, not best or most influential. Still, it is fun to look back and see what posts got the most attention from our readers in 2017.

The year’s most-read post, with 150,933 views, was Proof that James Comey Misled the Senate Intelligence Committee, which I wrote on June 10. It was inevitable, I suppose, that many of our top posts related to the storm of controversy surrounding the 2016 election, the Clinton campaign’s collusion with Russia and the FBI via Fusion GPS, the firing of James Comey, Bob Mueller’s investigation, and so on. This post exposed James Comey as a liar.

You should read (or re-read) the whole thing, but briefly, Comey told the Intelligence Committee that his relationship with President Trump was different from his relationships with prior presidents, because Trump is uniquely dishonest. Comey told the committee:

COMEY: … When I was deputy attorney general, I had one one-on-one meeting with President Bush about a very important and difficult national security matter.

I didn’t write a memo documenting that conversation either — sent a quick e-mail to my staff to let them know there was something going on, but I didn’t feel, with President Bush, the need to document it in that way, again (ph), because of — the combination of those factors just wasn’t present with either President Bush or President Obama.

WARNER: I — I think that is very significant.

Significant? Maybe, but it was a lie. A sharp-eyed reader pointed us to the book Angler, an attack on Dick Cheney, which revealed that Comey actually documented his rather famous conversation with President Bush with a memo that included pages of supposedly verbatim dialogue. When it comes to covering his rear end, Comey is a consummate denizen of the Washington swamp. Likewise when it comes to lying to Congress.

Collectively, Steve’s most popular posts are no doubt The Week In Pictures series, which probably garnered a total of around 1,500,000 views in 2017. But his most-read individual post this year was The Millenial Job Interview, a hilarious but all too true video, which Steve posted on November 27. It continues to get views via social media. Here it is, once more:

Paul’s top post was also a recent one, Panic at the Washington Post, published on Christmas Day. The post documents WaPo’s growing hysteria over the fact that Mueller’s investigation is falling apart, and instead, attention is increasingly focused on the real scandal, which implicates, among others, the FBI.

The Washington Post is worried. The lead headline in today’s paper edition reads: “Mueller criticism grows to a clamor — FBI Conspiracy Claim Takes Hold — Driven by activists, GOP lawmakers, Trump tweets.”

Turnabout is fair play. Last year around this time, an honest newspaper could easily have written: “Trump criticism grows to a clamor — Russia Collusion Takes Hold — Driven by activists, Democratic lawmakers, leaks.” *** The FBI reportedly offered money to Christoper Steele to continue his work on the anti-Trump dossier (in testimony before Congress Rod Rosenstein refused to say whether the FBI paid or offered to pay for the dossier). The FBI may well have used information in the dossier to secure approval of surveillance efforts from the FISA court.

The FBI also helped push the dossier into the public’s consciousness. Its general counsel, James Baker, reportedly told reporter David Corn about the dossier, thus enabling Corn to write about it just before the election. And FBI director Comey briefed president-elect Trump on the dossier, which led to publication of its contents by BuzzFeed.

We also know about the quest of Peter Strzok, a high-level FBI man, for an “insurance policy” against a Trump presidency.

But let’s return to the Washington Post’s story about growing criticism of Mueller. The three distressed Post writers are less than fully open when it comes to informing readers what — other than activists, GOP lawmakers, and Trump tweets — is causing criticism of Mueller to grow to a clamor.

They acknowledge that it has something to do with Strzok’s role as Mueller’s former top investigator. However, they do their best to make Strzok seem innocuous.

Read the whole thing, please.

Scott’s most-read 2017 post was Six Seconds to Live, published on October 26. The post includes an excerpt from a 2010 speech by General John Kelly in which he pays tribute to the heroism of two Marines who were killed in a suicide attack in Afghanistan:

What we didn’t know at the time, and only learned a couple of days later after I wrote a summary and submitted both Yale and Haerter for posthumous Navy Crosses, was that one of our security cameras, damaged initially in the blast, recorded some of the suicide attack. It happened exactly as the Iraqis had described it. It took exactly six seconds from when the truck entered the alley until it detonated.

You can watch the last six seconds of their young lives. Putting myself in their heads I supposed it took about a second for the two Marines to separately come to the same conclusion about what was going on once the truck came into their view at the far end of the alley. Exactly no time to talk it over, or call the sergeant to ask what they should do. Only enough time to take half an instant and think about what the sergeant told them to do only a few minutes before: “let no unauthorized personnel or vehicles pass.” The two Marines had about five seconds left to live. *** [T]he recording shows a number of Iraqi police, some of whom had fired their AKs, now scattering like the normal and rational men they were—some running right past the Marines. They had three seconds left to live. *** For about two seconds more, the recording shows the Marines’ weapons firing nonstop, the truck’s windshield exploding into shards of glass as their rounds take it apart and tore in to the body of the son-of-a-bitch who is trying to get past them to kill their brothers—American and Iraqi—bedded down in the barracks totally unaware of the fact that their lives at that moment depended entirely on two Marines standing their ground. *** The truck explodes. The camera goes blank. Two young men go to their God. Six seconds. Not enough time to think about their families, their country, their flag, or about their lives or their deaths, but more than enough time for two very brave young men to do their duty—into eternity. That is the kind of people who are on watch all over the world tonight—for you.

As it happens, these four posts offer a pretty good cross-section of what we do here at Power Line–and have done, every day, since May 2002. It may not be amiss to mention that our traffic hit an all-time high in 2017, with more visits and page views than at any time in the past. That is a sign, of course, of the level of interest in the Trump administration and events of the day among our readers.

So: Happy New Year, and may 2018 be even bigger.

Papadopoulos or the dossier?

Posted: 30 Dec 2017 05:09 PM PST

(Paul Mirengoff)The New York Times reports that the impetus for the FBI’s investigation of suspected collusion between the Trump campaign and Russia was not the anti-Trump dossier, but rather statements made by George Papadopoulos. He was the young Trump campaign staffer who later pleaded guilty to lying to the FBI.

According to the Times, after a heavy night of drinking, Papadopoulos told Australia’s top diplomat in Britain that Russia had political dirt on Hillary Clinton. Two months later, when leaked Democratic emails began appearing online (none of which, by the way, rose to the level of “dirt” on Hillary), Australian officials passed the information about Papadopoulos to their American officials. This information supposedly led the FBI to open an investigation in July 2016 into Russia’s attempts to disrupt the election and whether any of President Trump’s associates conspired.

I assume the Times’ report was fed to it by current and/or former FBI officials and/or others in the Obama administration with an interest in dismissing the role of the dossier. This doesn’t mean the story is false. It may well be true.

However, Byron York raises some important questions:

(1) If Papadopoulos actions drove FBI probe, why wait til nearly Feb 2017 to interview him? If done to keep probe quiet before election, why wait more than two months after vote?

(2) When did officials brief Congress about Papadopoulos? They briefed Congress about Carter Page in late summer 2016.

(3) Did officials seek a surveillance warrant on Papadopoulos? They reportedly got one on Carter Page in summer 2016. Did they try to get one on Papadopoulos? If not, why not?

Byron adds that he’s not saying Papadopoulos played no role in the FBI’s decision to investigate. However, he questions whether the aide’s role was as central in starting FBI probe in July 2016 as the Times and its sources want us to believe.

It’s also important to remember that the question of whether the dossier prompted, or helped lead to, the FBI investigation is separate from the question of what role the dossier played when the Justice Department obtained a warrant from the FISA court to engage in electronic surveillance of members of Trump’s team.

PowerLine -> From the Carlos Danger files + Power Line’s Top Posts of 2017 PowerLine -> From the Carlos Danger files + Power Line’s Top Posts of 2017 Daily Digest…

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braindamageforbeginners · 7 years ago

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Cycle 5, Day 1

A friend recently asked me why I wasn’t writing a novel based on my experiences, and I could only say I didn’t really know how it would end. She pointed out that I was a reasonably imaginative person; but the reason why I’m writing this is because so much of what happens is beyond comprehension, let alone imagination, that just trying to imagine it would be disingenuous and/or a disservice to anyone else trying to figure out how to do it (in this case, it’s a couple of comments that I never would have expected myself to make; albeit in a “Good God, I never realized I was that witty” way). We’ll get there shortly. AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am presenting this particular reminiscence in the logical order, not the actual temporal order in which they occurred, because the way it actually happened is almost too chaotic for me to keep track of, let alone make fun (basically, I spent a lot of the day retracing steps because there was a hold-up getting lab results, and the chemo nurses and pharmacy don’t do anything without those labs).

The first day of every cycle is, scheduling and logistics-wise, a bit difficult (I’m refraining from using a certain synonym for “disaster” that involves four-letter words out of respect for some of my religious friends who may be reading), since everyone wants a piece of you, almost literally. I get blood-draws, a consult with one of the Warlocks (or their legal representative, as it were), and an infusion (which takes two hours in and of itself). Today was made a little harder because Senior Warlock is usually the one who oversees me, but he was out for the day, and he is old-school in a lot of ways (there was a line in the immortal neurosurgery memoir, “When the Air Hits Your Brain” that “the most incompetent bedside disaster [on behalf of a physician] is better-received than the most expert-managed care by phone”); definitely in that he wants to lay hands on me directly before clearing me for another round of chemo. Although I’d say that Junior Warlock is probably equal in terms of competence, he actually tends to read what various nurses, tests, PAS, etc. tell him before actually coming in the room. Which means there’s a lot of people who I see before Junior Warlock is ever on-scene, and there’s not a whole lot left for him to do/test by the time he arrives (unless something’s wrong), apart from a quick once-over. Don’t get me wrong, if there’s a problem or question or complaint, he’ll move on it, but if I’m just showing up to get medical clearance and everything’s going well, I only see him for ten minutes. Which is fine, but it’s kind of a let-down after 40-some minutes of assorted technical staff and assistants filter through to get a quick once-over for medical clearance.

At the joint blood-draw/IV installation, the nurse found my radial vein (that’s twice in a six-month period; that’s pretty good) on the first try. Which is great news for me; the farther from my shoulder and neck they go, the better time I seem to have the next day, side-effects-wise. I guess there’s a reason nurses don’t go for it more often, though: NURSE: I think I can get that vein, but are you sure? We’re going to rip out a lot of [arm] hair when we take the tape off, SELF (unexpected line #1): Given what I’m paying for this, I’d say that you guys can throw in a free Brazilian wax. I realize that cancer wards aren’t exactly comedy clubs, but I almost feel bad for making that poor woman laugh that much over a vaguely-dirty joke. Come on, cancer patients, I can not be the only one in there trying to use humor as a defense/coping mechanism. Then I got handed off to another nurse: OTHER NURSE: Is there anything I can get you? SELF: I always ask you guys for a steak and a carton of cigarettes, I’m already paying the price for that lifestyle, I might as well enjoy it. OTHER NURSE: I think we have juice and some crackers around here. I suppose that’s sort of like steak. SELF (unexpected line #2): Yeah, if you have never seen or heard of steak. Apart from that, the perfusion was unremarkable.

What is worth note is that, due to an odd schedule glitch, I didn’t have to be in the hospital until 12 pm, which enabled me to get a good nights’ sleep. Or it would’ve, if not for the nasty tendency of the sun in SoCal to come up at 4 am and start burning a hole through my eye sockets. I’m exaggerating that, but it’s kind of what it feels like, especially since I have have a weird, glitchy diurnal pattern thanks to the chemo. Also, getting injection that late means I might sleep through the worstest/weirdest side-effects, although I’ll be waking up tomorrow with Temodar in my veins (for those of you wondering, standard chemo for brain cancer comes in massive horse pills that you choke down ten minutes before bed, so you wake up all lemony-fresh and not severely-possibly-fatally hungover at all)(this effect gets worse as the week wears on, because you take Temodar for the first five nights of each treatment cycle).

Anyway, since I’m staying up a few extra hours tonight, let’s celebrate my almost-functioning brain by doing some math. Depending on whose data you use, brain tumors/cancer have an occurrence rate of 1-5 per one hundred thousand patients. We’ll use the upper-end of that (which, I think, is the CDC’s 2014 data), which, as a decimal, is 0.00005. Now, in the last few weeks, I’ve been contacted by a few folks with parents getting brain tumors/cancer (they weren’t always specific), and I know of at least another friend with a brain cancer-plagued mother. Including me, that’s four people I know of or have heard of. with brain cancer. I realize we’re jumping way over Dunbar’s number (the hypothetical upper limit of “maintainable relationships” - or, in practice, “people you know”), but rounding my social media friends up to 500 (the folks in question contacted me that way, but I have personally met all of them, so I figure the math might sort of even out) and assuming everyone has two parents gives me a rate of 4/1500, or, a brain cancer rate of 0.00267 in my immediate sphere of influence (I like to call it the Splash Zone, but that’s just me). That’s over 50 times the upper CDC estimates. Admittedly, this is all self-selecting, and I’m a statistical outlier already, but it does make me suspect that we’ve either been dramatically low-balling prior estimates of brain cancer, or there’s something new in the water (lead, if you live in Michigan). Or, as I suggested, the Baby Boomers are just getting into their carcinogenic prime; but it does offer a glimmer of hope (in a weird, almost-parasitic way, I’ll admit) that there’s going to be a massive influx of GBM patients. Which is good for current brain cancer patients (sort of), because it might mean more political and economic incentive to do something about this accursed disease. Certainly there’ll be enough patients to provide better statistical data than we’re seeing. Of course, that could just be the experimental chemo finally catching up to me.

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braindamageforbeginners · 7 years ago

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Week 4, day 30, radiation dose 20

I am now two-thirds of the way through the initial treatment, without any severely debilitating symptoms (knock on wood). I still feel like some poor creature that was killed and then reanimated by black magic, but if feeling like a 900-year-old man is the worst of it, I’ll take it, for now. Ideally, of course, I’d be a multibillionaire with telekinesis, or even, y’know, just healthy, but you have to pace yourself, and, compared to the truly awful possibilities out there, sometimes you just have to celebrate that they haven’t come to pass. I’m still losing my hair, though, so there’s definitely a lot of room for improvement. And I’m still tired. And successfully navigating the medical industrial complex is still pretty much a full-time job - make note of that one, future cancer patients, you’re going to want some sort of administrative assistant or the ability to devote all your time and energy to staying healthy, or there’s a good chance you won’t make it. However, in the case of today, all major bureaucratic problems until Tuesday-ish have been solved, which freed up some time to work on... other bureaucratic medical problems. Namely, scheduling appointments, consultations, etc. over the next couple of months. BUT, everyone was quite agreeable, no decisions were set in stone, and, as everyone pointed out, I had time to change my mind and/or rearrange things, should it come to that (it also helped that I spent all my time talking to humans, and not billing personnel). The Italian journalist Beppe Severgnini once wrote that the favorite past-time of Italians living in America was dealing with American bureaucracy - he compare it to turning a matador loose on a milk cow, and, after months of double-crossing, gnashing of teeth, and instant-death decisions, I understand the appeal (for the Italians) for dealing with calm, reasonable people toward a mutually-shared goal without any ulterior (read: profit) motives. It was unbelievably boring.

Reader, you can not even begin to imagine how much I miss feeling bored. My life has been a non-stop hellscape of decisions, crises, interruptions, negotiations, etc. for the last three months. I’ve been pretty good about being able to find time to get to the gym and shower and attend to the basic matters of life, but that was always just a brief break in the festivities. Now, I’m under no illusions - I’m well aware that the train will get moving again all too soon, and my continued existence will once again depend on my ability to get forms filled out in a timely manner.and/or lie to billing agents. Which sucks, but, for a few hours today, I didn’t have to worry at all about it. It was amazing. Make no mistake, I still have greater ambitions (or did, anyway) than merely feeling like death isn’t imminent, but I’ll take that sensation, for now (of course, writing that gives me the rather distinct sensation that there’s a meteor about to strike me, but one day at a time).

A large part of that has to do with the fact that, for the moment, I am completely locked-in and unable to make any real course adjustments one way or another, for next couple of weeks (again, knock on wood). And that kind of sucks, but it did make me realize why we’re such unrepentant jerks all the time (people, I mean). It feels so much better to do stuff than think. I realize that’s hardly an original thought, but most people don’t have the weird perspective of going from Hamlet to Macbeth in the space of a month (those were the two characters one of my English teachers used to describe the extremes at Shakespeare’s continuum between thinking and acting). It’s definitely easier and less straining on the little gray cells to do things mindlessly. You will definitely have a happier life if that’s your primary response to challenges (to act without forethought). Now, whether you live a longer life with that sort of response, well; I don’t have any particular insight into that, yet. But, rest assured, folks, when I figure that out, I’ll let you know, too. Still, it felt good to just sit for an hour or two this afternoon.

Oh, yeah, other good news; Research Coordinator told me that he (or his lackeys) can get started on the paperwork to reinstate my license in a week or so, which is the fist step to becoming a real boy. AND, he implied that I might be responsible for the warning on the drug “may cause muscle pain and soreness near injection site.” So, I will have some sort of lasting legacy.

Anyway... WEIGHT: 100 kilos CONCENTRATION: Pretty good. I navigated today’s challenges without any major set-backs, but, I’ll be the first to admit, today wasn’t terribly challenging. MEMORY: Pretty good, but, again, there wasn’t any good way to assess that. APPETITE: Good. I’m not eating as much as I did yesterday, but I’m hardly wasting away. ACTIVITY LEVEL: Lousy. I spent most of today sitting. I probably could’ve gotten to the gym, but I had another nasty chemo hang-over that made me think twice (and I’ve gone every other day this week). And I’m still moving like a tortoise in a snow-storm (I mean, I probably could move faster, but it’s not like you get points for speed at this point in my life). Still, all the nurses and techs at the radiation center (where I go for treatment on a daily basis) know me as “that gym guy,” so I guess I’m doing alright overall. “The gym guy” beats the hell out of “the guy with the freaky mange haircut” as far as reps go. SLEEP QUALITY: Weird. I got to bed at 11 last night, slept for a few hours, then got up to use the bathroom and get some water (again, constant hydration is crucial to keeping the worstest side effects of temodar at bay), except I didn’t get back to sleep until 5 am. Then I slept until 9. I got a full-night’s sleep, but in a very disjointed, inefficient fashion. Still, it beats flat-out insomnia. COORDINATION/DEXTERITY: Very good, but I didn’t even have to deal with anything more taxing than shoelaces PHYSICAL: I still have nasty hangover symptoms and fatigue, and my right arm feels nasty. And the right side of my scalp feels nuclear-y and itchy; BUT, the radiation staff sent me home with some Aquaphor samples (there’s a 92-page instruction manual that they send you home with on day 1 of radiation - I am not making this up, and I’m only slightly exaggerating its length or uselessness - that has a very, very long list of things you can and can not put on your head; I just figured it would be easier, faster, and healthier for all parties to simply ask the radiation techs for advice). So, I’ll let everyone know if that works SIDE EFFECTS: I’m still losing hair. And I still feel lousy. And my right arm feels like it got caught in a car door recently. But apart from all that, I’m more or less my usual self.

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braindamageforbeginners · 8 years ago

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Hangover Cures

Week 2, Day 11

In a conversation with a friend last night, I discovered that I might come off as somewhat negative (or, excessively negative, to be more precise). Also, in her defense, this wasn’t anything she accused me of, it was just something that struck me after the conversation. Anyway, even though I’ve been somewhat gloomy as of late, and even though no one would ever accuse me of being a cheerful, happy individual - at any point in my life - I’m not wallowing in self-pity to the extent that these little records might indicate. I’m not happy or well-adjusted, but I’m not walking around spreading gloom. It’s possible I’ve unintentionally endorsed that idea by focusing on what I’ve lost, or what’s on the way out the door, rather than what I’ve gained.

First of all, this whole Morrie Shwartz, “I lost a normal, independent existence, but I gained friendship” BS isn’t really me, and, in cancer, you don’t want to gain stuff - that’s the entire point of cutting, burning, and poisoning yourself (or bits of yourself). BUT - and, future generations hoping to triumph over brain diseases, this bit’s absolutely critical - brain damage (and its effects) is usually way too subtle for someone to notice on their own. I’ve done this two times before; I will absolutely stand by this. The first time I got neurosurgery, it took me almost ten years just to figure out what was missing from me, cognitively speaking. The second time, it took less than a month, because I went in before the surgery for a complete series of various tests and scans to record a base-line. This time, because the disease has moved far faster than I can, I didn’t have that luxury, but, because the worstest damage is predicted to occur slowly over weeks and months, I have to be hyper-vigilant, and get some documentation on each deficit as it occurs, while it’s occurring. Think of it like tax returns, or any other legal document (which is also important in dealing with insurance companies) - you want to be able to tell your doctor exactly what you’re having trouble with, how frequently, and with as much detail as you can. That’s important for any medical ailment - if you go in and complain that your leg hurts, they can’t really do much until they get more details. Same goes with brain damage - the better, and more-accurate documentation you have of various problems, the better the chance you have of making it back from the edge. Like I wrote previously, this is just as much a tool to help me save myself as it is a reference for everyone else in a similar situation. Who’s the pessimist now?

Speaking of providing guidance to future generations, I will be exploring various hangover cures at various points in these dispatches, since I’m waking with a four-star hangover pretty much every day, as you would expect when a body is exposed to dangerous amounts of radiation and toxins on a regular basis. A brief word; although I am open to most suggestions in this area, I will absolutely not be trying the “Hair of the Dog” cure; I’m already at full-capacity with regard to my toxin/radiation intake, and I’m absolutely not going to increase that unless my life depends on it (even then, there’s a solid chance I’d refuse and just die instead of reenact Benjamin Button). The good news is, with a significant amount of water and coffee (more water than coffee, but I’m not going to judge anyone’s preferences), I can (you, too, probably) live a somewhat-normal existence.

This morning, however, I woke up and immediately regretted it. I’m pretty sure that’s the experimental chemo drug I’m taking; it makes life extra-unpleasant for two or three days after each dose. However, I do know that, sometimes, it takes a little extra something to go from whimpering in a supine position to upright and functioning. Fortunately, lots of zofran and Tylenol do wonders, especially with some grease and protein. Just as fortunately, my younger brother was only too happy to indulge this request, and took me to a local, German-owned (and German-themed) butcher’s shop/restaurant. A brief aside; this development may come as a bit of a surprise to anyone who knows me personally, as I’ve been a vegetarian for the last eleven years. I, uh, “converted” back in 2006 after deciding that heart disease was no way to die; I fell off the wagon shortly after surgery #3, after realizing that diet doesn’t do anything, you don’t get any bonus points for maintaining a healthy diet if you die of cancer before forty, and, perhaps most importantly, if I’m going to meet the reaper, I want to do it with a Porterhouse in one hand an a beer in the other (since that realization, I’ve been trying to atone for eleven misspent years), and a trip to a European butcher’s shop seemed like both a good place for breakfast, and a way to make a solid dent in that pile of bacon I was owed for good behavior. You might want to know the difference between a “European-style” butcher’s, and... well, we don’t have much in the way of specialty stores in today’s box-store-obsessed world, but you can find Norman Rockwell paintings of what American butchers’ stores were like (there was also a lot of sexism, racism, classism, and xenophobia that’s not accurately portrayed in those paintings, but, thankfully, those are no longer issues we have to deal with). Folks, I want you to imagine a place where every imaginable cut of meat - and several unimaginable ones - is on display, alongside Swiss chocolate, and British beer. It was like that scene in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, where Gene Wilder lets everyone into that room where everything is made of sugar; I was frolicking. Until my brother pointed out that the other customers were going to have us arrested for inappropriate behavior, so we made our way to the restaurant section. I do not know how I reached 33 years without any solid memories of eating steak and eggs for breakfast, but I would heartily recommend it for any and all occasions (especially if you’ve recently crunched the numbers and realized you’re going to have to fit 30-40 years’ of vices into a 10-year life-expectancy), but it does do wonders for a chemo hangover. Unfortunately, the coffee was not up to my high standards, and that’s an important aspect in one’s quality of life. Fortunately, I’m in a large metropolis, and finding good coffee is but the work of a Google search on the smart phone, so I was more or less my usual misanthropic-but-witty self in short order. By that point, I had to return home to lie on a hot rock and digest for a few hours (also, my father and step-mother ditched us and went to the gym without giving anyone time to grab their gym shorts and shoes, which, now that I think on it, is a brilliant way to get some time away from your spawn). Fortunately, they threw a few steaks into my pit for dinner, so all is well. And, thanks to the new year’s holidays, I don’t have any more treatments until Wednesday (I got the radioactive spa treatment today, however).

Anyway... WEIGHT: No idea; I haven’t been weighed in a few days. However, based on today’s shenanigans, I’ve probably gained five or six pounds (about two or three kilos). CONCENTRATION: Pretty good.. MEMORY: Not bad, although I have misplaced a few items in the past 24 hours, which I tend to do a fair amount of the time. APPETITE: Excellent. Although I might be eating to shift my focus away from other discomforts. But I think that just makes me American. ACTIVITY LEVEL: Not great, but not bad. I mean, I did spend a fair chunk of the day racing around and eating stuff, which puts me on the same level as the Tasmanian Devil. SLEEP QUALITY: Extremely poor. The experimental serum tends to amplify the side-effects of all my other treatments, and, in the case of temodar, that means I spent an hour last night holding my sides and feeling like John Hurt’s character in the noted rom-com, Alien. I didn’t puke though, so, go zofran. COORDINATION/DEXTERITY: Pretty good, but my left hand has definitely been underperforming all day. PHYSICAL: Nothing’s falling off, but I am now very photophobic, and I have a nasty splitting headache along the suture lines of surgery #3 - it’s almost as bad as immediately after the surgery. Fortunately, double-doses of Tylenol makes it bearable, but I am acutely aware the minute that wears off. SIDE EFFECTS: Apart from the hangover-symptoms, insomnia, headache, general mental sluggishness (which might be due to insomnia and hangovers), and the growing body of seemingly-innocent mental errors and incidents that are insidiously growing, I’m in top form.

Also, on a personal note, best of luck to my brother, who came down from the Pacific Northwest to hold my hand for a week. And thanks to a friend from my undergrad days who made a donation in my name to a cancer center. Thank you, ma’am.

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braindamageforbeginners · 8 years ago

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One Week Down

Sort of. Kind of. I started treatment on Tuesday, but that’s going to be hard to keep track of, especially since most of the side-effects, hazards, and treatment timelines are, shall we say, rather vague. The worstest side effects are predicted to show up between weeks two and three (huh?), and the predicted side effects range from “stubbed toe” to “struck dead by lightning” (you only think I’m joking; if you actually read the waivers you sign before you’re admitted to a clinical trial, they’re unnerving, to say the least). And there’s the greater issue of the whole year of intermittent chemo before I get any solid results. Which marks the start of a five-year period before I can be considered “cured,” so, y’know, anywhere between, oh, 1-317 weeks (that calculation includes the nasty possibility that my parole doesn’t start until the initial six week period is finished). Children can go from conception to literacy in less time. But, one day at a time and all that.

Speaking of which, the first week went fairly well. Apart from being lethargic and hung over all the time, I mean (which really irritates me; if I have a hang-over, I at least want to feel like I’ve earned it)(with the way I feel when I wake up, I’d have to dip into heroin before I felt like this in civilian life). It also occurred to me that a fair amount of the side-effects of brain cancer treatment might just be racked up to the patient suffering the symptoms of influenza for several months. Yeah, we usually have neurological/psychological symptoms like personality changes and problems with memory and focus, but wouldn’t anyone, after six weeks of poor sleep and suffering flu-like symptoms constantly? Now, to be fair, my doctors have been consistent in asking me how I’m feeling, but they only saw me on Tuesday, and I’m not scheduled to see them until after Christmas, and they’ve made their after-hours numbers and staff available to me, but I’m not the sort of person who’d call for a general, low-grade crappy-feeling (an additional benefit of my proposed “You have cancer, help yourself to a vicodin prescription” is that it would stop these minor-but-still-unpleasant symptoms before they occurred). Another bonus of being in clinical trials is that the doctors and/or the pharmaceutical companies have an incentive to monitor you much more carefully than the average steak slab; I was actually interrogating Cute Radiation Tech (again, I’m going to preserve everyone’s anonymity as long as I can) about the radiation/cancer treatment overlap (”headache and nausea” are symptoms both of brain cancer growing, and aggressive radiation treatment)(try not to think about that particular zen koan too long or your nose will bleed). She told me not to worry too much about it, as physicians pay very close attention to clinical trial patients. Good news; I’ve figured out how to curtail the worst hang-over symptoms. Bad news is, it involves drinking so much water that you’ll go to the bathroom 10 times in the middle of the night. Good news is, that means less time for nightmares, which have been frequent and intense (I know that’s shocking). Anyway, if things go as well as they did this week, I’d say I can do it; the caveat is, there was a noticeable decline in my well-being as the week progressed, and that’s likely to increase (or decrease, I’m not sure which is grammatically appropriate) until I hit Week 6. Thanks to the holidays, I have four days off before the next radiation series starts (I didn’t factor that into my calculations), so I may or may not update this blog on those days. We’ll see.

Anyway...

WEIGHT: No clue; I didn’t have a chance to weigh myself. CONCENTRATION: Meh. I completed writing this, but other tasks are much harder. MEMORY: Not too bad. I remembered Cute Radiation Tech’s name, so, it comes and goes (I am very aware that the description of “it comes and goes” describes the mental abilities of patients with dementia). APPETITE: Good. ACTIVITY LEVEL: Not bad; I went on some brief walks. I could’ve gone to the gym, but it was too inconvenient (family members are visiting for the holidays). SLEEP QUALITY: Apart from the nightmares and constant trips to the bathroom, not bad at all. COORDINATION/DEXTERITY: I’ve noticed some difficulty with tasks requiring fine motor coordination, and I’ve slipped once or twice. PHYSICAL: I feel like I have a hang-over and the flu, so I’m somewhat diminished in this regard. SIDE EFFECTS: The zofran and constant hydration took care of the worstest chemo side effects. I got that nasty, muscle-cramp sensation in my shoulders this afternoon, and it’s subsided to a very minor ache-y sensation, but it’s easily ignored.

#brain cancer #brain tumor

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braindamageforbeginners · 8 years ago

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Week 1, Day 1, Treatment 1

I’m back home, after a day at the hospital. If things continue at the current rate, well, I’ll probably be dead in the near-future (median life-expectancy of GBM patients is 14 months), but at least I’ll make a dent in the reading list.

I began my day with a potentially dangerous, experimental drug. I’m going to focus on the positive and think that this is a step closer to being Hunter S. Thompson, and try to forget the fact that the nurse had to put on protective laboratory gear before handling something that she then injected into my veins. Also, because I’d been warned about keeping super-hydrated throughout this process (and because I have hard-to-find veins), I’d been chugging Gatorade since I rolled out of bed, so hooking me up to an IV to hydrate me was just gilding the lily. Or over-filling the water balloon, to be more accurate. Anyway, apart from spending a disturbing amount of time, uh, let’s say, “discarding” all that excess fluid, there aren’t too many side-effects worth reporting (we’ll get to that shortly). Admittedly, spending about ten minutes peeing after 18 hours being pumped full of an unknown substance is disturbing, but if that’s the worst I suffer today, I’ll count it as a victory. However, the day is not over, and I have not taken my bed-time chemo drugs, and, as Herodotus wrote, “Judge no man fortunate until he is dead.”

However, as far as side-effects, I’m not too worried about vomiting any more. The nameless anti-nausea drug is amazingly effective; like, I could easily see myself becoming addicted to this stuff. Not because there’s any sort of fun, psychedelic effect, but because I hate puking, and this medication is so effective that I think I could wolf down a rotting raccoon carcass without any side effects (other than contracting rabies, I mean). Obviously, I’ll be putting that to the test over the coming weeks, but life would seem to have improved significantly in that regard (and, I’ve been told the chemo side-effects should be further lessened if I continue my extreme hydration-regimen).

I am, however, experiencing some side-effects; I feel bad, but not horrible. Specifically, my muscles feel sore and cramp-y, which, while unpleasant, isn’t the worst I was fearing. And, according my mad scientist oncologist (specifically, my Southern California Mad Scientist Oncologist), side-effects are indicative that the miracle drug is working well. And, based on how my muscles feel, it’s working. The major complaint, apart from lethargy, is, I shit you not, hallucinations. So, I plan to spend tomorrow lying on the couch, being tormented by my subconscious. This is different from normal because now there will be a visual component, and I’ll have a note from my doctor (also, I’ll eventually have to pry myself off the couch and get irradiated). Also, the worstest side-effects aren’t predicted to show up until week 2 or week 3; bad news is, they don’t think I’ll start recovering until week 10. Worse news - much, much worse news - is, after the six-ish weeks of radiation (for those of you keeping count, I have 30 radiation appointments, but since they don’t work on weekends, that works out to six weeks; and chemo every single day throughout), assuming that’s successful, I’ll get on a chemotherapy rotation, which means I’ll get three weeks off, and one week of chemo, for a whole year. FOR. ONE. WHOLE. YEAR. Which means, at my current life expectancy, I’ll be on some sort of unpleasant drugs for the rest of my life. Still, as I’m very aware, the phrase, “we’re extending treatment” is vastly preferable to the phrase, “we’re stopping treatment because it’s not working.” Also, if I do lose any hair, the clinicians think it’ll be in a very small, specific spot. Still, adding even another unpleasant side-effect seems excessively cruel.

And, I got some very reassuring signs today regarding my physicians. I never had any reason to doubt their competence, but, I have survived three tumors (so far) for fifteen years (the breakdown is; I got tumor #1 removed fifteen years ago, since then, I’ve had two more tumors), but it’s always good to have that confidence affirmed. Before I get there, a brief restatement to all future cancer patients (and humans in general); I’ve said it before, the crucial difference between a fatal disease and a dangerous disease is your medical team. Do not screw around with this, your life will depend upon it; do some research (Yelp does not count), and go straight to the best (the actual best, not the “Trump Steak” best). We now continue with the anecdote currently in progress.

During one of my many, many administrative/clerical intake interviews/vital signs monitoring sessions, an aide asked who my oncologists were, and I said, “Drs. X and Y,” and she, “Oh, they’re the best.” Now, it’s always possible - especially since we have a commander-in-chief who is hell-bent on destroying superlatives - that she was exaggerating, or just saying it because they bought her coffee or something, but, I know from fifteen years on the receiving end of modern medicine, that the nurses and administrative staff are usually where the buck stops, and they know a lot more than they let on, so their endorsements are usually reliable. Also, immediately prior to my serum injection, I was visited by Research Coordinator (and, to preserve everyone’s anonymity, I’m going to be extremely vague), who assured me that they only test drugs that are extremely promising. Which seemed like a regurgitation of Bioethics 101, until he also admitted that my oncology team will occasionally accept money to test drugs they know won’t work, then weasel out of that commitment through various medicolegal means and just keep the money. That might be some sort of standard, cancer research hack, but it’s still brilliant. And, even if they weren’t acting within the bounds of the law, there’s not a jury that would ever convict them.

As far as the radiation treatment, it went mostly-fine. To dwell on the negative (or to forewarn all future brain cancer patients), the weird plastic-mask thing is the most disturbingly claustrophobic thing I’ve ever encountered. I thought it was freaked out about it when they were fitting me for it, and it felt like some sort of weird fetish. Now, it feels like being smothered. The good news is, if you can resist the impulse to panic, and just remember to breathe, it’s not too bad after the initial shock (hopefully, that’s applicable to all my experiences over the next year). So, if you have claustrophobia or a fear of being smothered (a greater-than-average fear of being smothered, let us say), I’d definitely recommend asking about sedation beforehand. Hell, I’d ask about sedation the minute you get a cancer diagnosis, but especially look into it if you have claustrophobia and you’re getting radiation treatment and/or MRIs.

Anyway...

WEIGHT: about 210 lb (95-ish kilos). There were some fluctuations throughout the day (I got weighed several times throughout the day) between 209 lb to 217 lb, but that’s explained by both the incredible amount of fluids I’ve consumed throughout the day and whether I remembered to remove my shoes. CONCENTRATION: Pretty good; I made some decent headway in the Wodehouse novel I’m reading, even while being pumped full of saline and super-soldier serum (which is really saying something, because I really needed to use the restroom during that whole process). MEMORY: Not bad. I’m still missing or forgetting occasional stuff, which is a little upsetting, but I can still quote pertinent studies I read a few years ago. APPETITE: Decreased, but I’m still eating. I’ve also been drinking way too much water and/or Gatorade, and I started the day with a large, bacon-egg sandwich (heart disease be damned), and all that would chip away at the appetite even before factoring stress and experimental drugs in. ACTIVITY LEVEL: Normal. Normal-ish. I’m feeling sluggish now, at 9 pm, after a long day spent in waiting rooms, so it’s not like I turned down the opportunity to go jogging because I was feeling poorly (spoilers: I only ever run when being chased, or when I’m late for a plane). SLEEP QUALITY: Pretty good, for me. I got eight-ish hours of sleep last night, which is great for someone about to start cancer treatments, but I still have a big sleep debt. COORDINATION/DEXTERITY: Not bad, but I’m very slightly wobbly when finishing tasks/movements that require coordination. Starting them and the middle, I’m fine with, for some reason. PHYSICAL: Very much the same as yesterday, which is good. No new headaches or body-based symptoms, and the eternal suture-headache is quite tolerable. SIDE EFFECTS: The muscles in my upper body hurt. A lot. But it’s no worse than if I’d gone to the gym with someone named “Biff,” so I suppose I shouldn’t gripe too much, but it still hurts. And I can’t take aspirin, because I’m already at risk for bleeding thanks to the damned chemo drugs (I guess that’s my pain level - “Needs aspirin and will complain bitterly if deprived, but will survive without”). I’m peeing a lot - an awful lot - but I’m also keeping extremely hydrated, so I’m not sure that’s a side-effect. I feel oddly alert - like I’ve had half an espresso - but my body isn’t moving fast enough to keep up with my mind. It might seem excessively negative to keep track like this, but I actually intend to take careful notes in this area and send them all to my researchers at the end of all this.

#cancer #brain tumor #brain cancer

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