DAY 65: Kick-off of Round 4... here we go again...

Well I just had my port accessed and am ready to get hopped up on round 4 drugs. This round is the 'B' round, which will involve Rituxan, Methotrexate, and Cytarabine. I will also get the latter of those two drugs in my brain-port (again). The B-round was rougher on me last time around, but maybe this time there will be a learning curve and my body will handle the drugs a little better. Hey, nothing wrong with optimism, right? I expect to be here through the weekend, until Sunday. But plans are always subject to change.

This morning, instead of getting here at the crack of dawn like I normally do, I decided to take my time. (Rationale: the chemo orders take until late afternoon to get completed anyway, and so what's the rush?) It ended up being a smart move, as the hosptial admissions process was jammed like never before and patients were practically backstabbing staff to try to get room assignments. I even got to sneak out to my favorite restaurant for lunch while I was waiting (Taqueria del Sol). Mmmmm. Fish tacos and cheese dip from Taqueria are, in fact, the same meal I'd request as a last meal on death row. That's a little melodramatic, I recognize, and am not implying I'm anywhere near death row this week. It's bad, but not *that* bad!

Luckily, Dr. Flowers ('my' doctor, the Tiger Woods one) is making rounds this week, which means I got to see him once a day. I grilled him on the 6 vs. 8 question just now. He told me that he had not decided yet and that he wanted to wait until my next PET/CT scan (which will be sometime in the next few weeks.) I get a feeling that he is leaning toward recommending 8 rounds... but he is going to reserve his thoughts until later. Geeee! Come on, people! Puh-leeease! There have been studies on the effectiveness of this chemo for Burkitt's Lymphoma, but most have involved 8 cycles. That's what we're up against...

I'm in a great room with a great view - again. The sunsets are great and they feed my soul tremendously. I can even see the skyline from my bed this time. Wow.


A new creature comfort I brought with me this time was a radio. I am listening to the news right now, and keeping in touch with the outside world a little better. It's nice to have some classical music in the background, too. Maybe we can use the radio to drown out some of the drone of the infusion pump clicking. One of our close friends has let us borrow her sound machine. It has been a life-saver. I need to return it and get one for our own! I won't be able to do without.

Lest I waste hours and hours of time, I've committed to really laying off computer/internet use for the season of Lent, but I will do my best to keep things updated this week - as it will probably be a fun one. (Thought to self: is it ok to watch Celebrity Apprentice and American Idol, still??? Geesh. Drivel.)

DAY 60: Ach-ew...

Sorry for the slow week on the update front: I got me-self a little cold and am just blowing my nose all day long, it seems. I guess 'tis the season for these little deviations, but am glad that I happened to get it on my 'strongest' week of the cycle.

Having never really battled anything like this cancer, I am experiencing a new side-effect: an empty tank. I've got no real energy to pour into relationships or people right now, emotionally or physically. While I don't like it, I have to just ride it out and ask for a free pass for a few more weeks!

Back to the hospital come Tuesday for my next round. I still haven't heard from my primary doctor about 6 vs. 8 rounds, but will keep you posted.

Back to the tissue...

DAY 56: Henri Nouwen and A-Rod...

Well like A-Rod, I, too, am a steroid user. I am on day 3 of my 4-day Dexamethosone stint and I will say it surely has an effect on the body. (I am hitting the ball much futher. Ha!) I take these 10 little bitter green pills every day (in addition to the plethora of others I already take), but these little buggers amp me up... and unfortunately at all hours of they day, irrespective of the position of the sun. Lots of lying in bed at 3:45am -- just thinking.

This morning, I woke early and took a short walk in the brisk morning air. It is an amazing realization to see, physically, that each and every day really is a NEW creation in itself -- literally. The sun peeking over the trees with its myriad of changing colors... no two alike. The birds out circling for their first meal of the day. The wind, blowing where it desires, with no beginning and no end. And little ol' me, taking it all in, one labored breath at a time. It was one of those moments, that I'm sure we've all had at one point or another, where we say something to ourselves along the lines of, "Gee, wouldn't life be a little easier and smoother if I could just start *every* day like this?". But life happens and speeds up and many legitimate demands tug us into our daily rigors that thwart that pure, seemingly modest, intent. Well today, I got to start things off right and I'm grateful.

So I came back from this stroll and read the next chapter in a really good but really brief book by a fella named Henri Nouwen called "Life of the Beloved". He touched on something that was right on time for what I am learning that warrants a brief share. He wrote of the linkages between pain in our lives and communion with the divine -- i.e. our Creator... i.e. God. From this position of total love by our Creator (and getting our heads around this part is surely a prerequisite, so don't take it lightly), there is no such thing as death conquering life: as BOTH joy and suffering alike lead to spiritual fulfillment. He alludes to a letter of Julien Green where he posits "whether joy and suffering aren't aspects of the same phenomenon on a very high level. An anology, crazy for sure, comes to [his] mind: Extreme cold burns. It seems nearly certain, no, it is certain, that WE CAN ONLY GO TO GOD THROUGH SUFFERING and that this SUFFERING BECOMES JOY BECAUSE IT FINALLY IS THE SAME THING."

I want to share encouragement to any of you who may be encountering uncertainty or even outright pain in your life. I know I am. But what amazes me, time and again, is how the more intense the hurt I experience, the deeper into the love of our God I am able to enter. That cold gets so very cold that it does indeed turn to warmth.

Nouwen contends that, even tough he gives in (like all of us) to the many fears and warning of the world, our few years on this earth are simply part of a much larger event that stretches out far beyond the boundaries of our birth and death. If we can hold on to even a small realization of this perspective, combined with the peace of being LOVED UNCONDITIONALLY BY GOD, then pain, in a confounding way, loses some of its power and starts to look really sweet... almost desirable.

I say we embrace it when we can and see where that leads us, because I firmly believe that it's a place we all want to be.

DAY 52: Smooth sailing...

I had an early wake-up today to get to Emory for a little brain chemo and some lab work. My labs looked good... meaning that most of my levels were all high enough to not need any blood products. While I was mentally prepped for a negative side-effects from the brain-poke, it went surprisingly well. I think that when I am well-hydrated, the cards are in my favor. And so it was a good day.

We will head back Friday for another chemo infusion called Vincristine, which is a pretty quick one.

So for a guy who really never took any pills to speak of for thirty years (I would just put up with headaches and any annoyances rather than take anything for it), I sure have had my eyes opened to a whole new world of pharmaceutical living. Here's what I'm on these days:

Neupogen (self-administered shots of E Coli-derived white-blood cell growth factor)
Zofran (for nausea)
Ativan (as needed, for nausea)
Compazine (as needed, for nausea)
Metoprolol (a beta blocker for my heart)
Pepcid (for reflux and stomach issues)
Colace (for constipation)
Acyclovir (profylactic for infection)
Fluconazole (profylactic for infection)
Penicillin (profylactic for infection)
Diflucan (profylactic for infection)

Dang it, y'all - that's a lot to swallow. And most are twice a day indications.

Ok- just a little taste of the fun that we get in the off-season from being in the hospital.

My spirits and optimism are strong as ever. Still no word on six versus eight cycles, but I am holding out hope for the lower end of that range.

Be well, all of you, and thank you for hanging on--

DAY 48: Valentine's Day as an impatient...

Well I guess to use a baseball analogy for this stay, we're rounding third and have our eyes on home. I am hoping to be discharged tomorrow. I'm on my Orange Gatorage chemo today for 24hrs straight.

I've learned that lavender oil is a great antidote to nausea, so whenever a wave comes over me, I grab Candace's bottle and breathe like there's no tomorrow. So far, seems to work pretty well -- so I'll stick with it.

While I didn't leave my room for the last two days, as I've been feeling pretty darn puny and weak, I did just poke my head into the hallway for a few laps. Felt good to get things moving a little. I guess this is these visits go: I start out feeling somewhat well, and then it takes a few days to saturate my systems with all these cocktails. Then the 'blah' phase takes over.

I got some brain chemo on Wednesday and below are some photos to show how just downright awkward it looks to have a needle in a bald head with some chemicals being sqirt in.





Thanks for all the kind comments from the last post. Thinking that we've accomplished much healing in a relatively short period of time gives me courage to push ahead and is building faith within me at just how powerful our Creator is. There is nothing that is too great for Him in our sight. What a hard thought to get our little heads around... but if we only ask, we may be stunned where He meets us.

Since He loves us unconditionally, He will certainly never abandon us.

Tell someone you love them today... even if you want to claim Hallmark made you do it!

DAY 44: REMISSION?!?

I didn't know you couldn't chew gum, ok!? I was driving to Emory at about 7:15am today when I suddenly started to dry heave (gag) in the car. I think it was a combination of a completely empty stomach and the visceral reaction to another week of inpatient chemo on the horizon. So what did I do? I fumbled for a piece of gum, thinking surely it would be permissible, since it wasn't food and it wasn't going in my stomach.

When I was walking back to get prepped for the scan, the nurse asked casually, "So what's that in your mouth?"

"It's a piece of gum... I was dry heaving on the drive over and this helped."

"Ooohhhh. So sorry, but that messes up the PET scan. Your body starts it's insulin cycle when you chew gum, and that will compromise the reading. You'll have to reschedule."

"Noooooooo! But I am checking in today as an inpatient, and we need this scan before we start my next round!"

"I'll see if I can get you scheduled for this afternoon. Sorry, still no food between now and then. And take that gum out!!"

Deflated, I moped over to the admissions office and checked myself in for another week. I was assigned to room E716, which has a great westerly view of sunsets and the skyline. Score one for the good guys! I came up to the floor and told my nurse what had happened - and that I needed at some point to run home and pick up my wife and our bags for the week. They asked the normal battery of intake questions, got my port accessed, and then let me run home quickly.

Mr. stomach was not happy about the ever-prolonging fast. We got back and waited until 3pm, at which point they took me down to prep for the PET/CT. If you have never before downed two containers of the barium contrast, you're missing out. Mmmm. Chalk!

I waited an hour for the radioactive sugar to permeate my abdomen. All the while... I was surrendering to God in silence the outcome of the scan. What will be, will be. We'll take it as it comes. Ah! The pride! As if we have a choice otherwise, right?!

So I was called back to 'the tube'. I laid there, supine, with my arms over my head. Thirty-five minutes later, we were finished. I was wheeled back up to my room in the fancy wheelchair. Oh, the perks.

Dr. Kaufman came in, who is the attending physician making rounds this week. He said, "I've got good news and bad news. The bad news is, you can't chew gum before a PET/CT scan. Who knew! The good news is... your scan looks clean. You're in remission."

Wow. God, thank you so very much for having me in the palm of your hand every step of the way. I was ecstatic. To Him be all the glory.

He said that this is good for two main reasons. One, we know the chemo regimen is working, and therefore we'll continue it. He said that his opinion is to continue through all 8 cycles, assuming I can handle it. If what we're doing it working, then it's best to do as much of it as you can stand, to help your odds of a complete cure.

Second, I am an early responder. The odds of beating this cancer (like a drum, I might add) is very high. YES!

Lord, you are so good to me. That I might live a long life as your humble servant.

DAY 43: The eve of Round 3... go Team Stu!

Tomorrow morning at 7:45, I get a PET/CT scan to make sure what we're doing is working and the cancer is not getting worse. Who knows, could it already be completely gone? I am open to that option. The preliminary plan is to do two rounds of chemo AFTER a scan shows no evidence of the disease. If that comes after 4, we'll do a total of 6 rounds. If it comes after 6, we'll do 8. If it comes after 8, we'll have to stop chemo and look to a plan B... but I am not currently entertaining this option!

After the scan tomorrow, I will walk upstairs in the hospital and check myself back in for the week. I expect to be there another 6 days like the last two times.

I pray this week will be as uneventful as possible... no surgeries, no heart problems, no unmanageable side effects.

My dear friend for the past 20+ years in Nashville got together with some family and other close friends and commissioned a Team Stu t-shirt run! They look great! Thank you, thank you so much!