Counts are... sideways with an uptick!

Just got back from Emory where they drew more blood and ran some tests. The white count is now 2.0, up from 1.7.

The upward direction is good news, but they are still low enough to watch a bit more closely. I will get word from the doctor on Monday regarding how he wants to approach things.

I am grateful for so much. I am saying that mostly to remind myself of this. How easy it is to be at '80%', and focus on all the things you're missing out on within that last remaining 20%. Why can't I focus on all the amazing improvements captured in that 80% and just let the 20% come when it will? I'll try to do so.

My wife is soooooo beautiful. I am a lucky man.

Counts are down...

My bloodwork this week revealed that my white blood cells, i.e. my immune system, is low. In fact, it's unfortunately in the 'critical' range (1.7 vs. 4.0 the last time I was tested). This isn't a good thing, especially since they were trending upward since chemo ended.

They suspect I have a virus of some sort, but are going to see if my body can fend for itself.

I am scheduled to go back in for more testing next Friday.

Getting this news, coincident with Richard dying, has left me a little numb. But I strive to lean even harder on the peace that is present, abundant, and available to all of us through the overwhelming love and tender care from God Himself.

A loss.

My friend Richard died today.

He and I met while we were getting the chemo at the same time from the same doctor for the same cancer at the same hospital. He and I shared stories... both good and bad... that only someone going through the same circumstance could appreciate. He and I are the same age, as well.

I was actually across the street at Emory getting blood work today when he died. His father called me right after he died and told me that Richard had been doing well, but all of the sudden, the cancer took over and consumed his bloodstream. It only took a couple of days for the wheels to fall completely off the situation.

While I knew all along that this cancer could and can kill me, it had not really hit home until today, right now. There is something impossible to explain about all of this. It's like going down in a plane crash, whereby one person lives and the person sitting in the seat right next to them doesn't make it. I really can't make sense of it.

On Day 99 of my blog (April 6), Richard left a very kind comment that I will cherish for years. His screen name is "BlackGTO" in case you care to go read it

He wrote, "Maybe at some time in the future we'll be in at the same time, and I'll be able to stop in and say hello, or walk a lap or two with you. Without your knowing it, you and your wife's faith have helped me beyond words, my friend."

I felt honored when he wrote this. Now that I see the wake of his death, I am even more honored to have met him and shared this part of our lives together.

Here are some photos of Richard. One right when his hair started to fall out, and the other showing off his brain port scar. God bless Richard's family. I take comfort in knowing that Richard loved the Lord and is in His arms this very moment.

Beach!

Follow-up lab work, and a taco testimony...

Went to Emory last week for some blood work, a port flush, and a chat with my hem/onc (Hematologist Onlcologist).

The lab work was good. No red flags. While my platelets are still low (110, vs a range of 150-400) and my white blood cells are 4.0 (vs a range of 4.2-9.1), the other key levels are fairly average. My Hematocrit and Hemoglobin are 43.1% and 15.5, respectively. This means I don't get winded walking up the stairs anymore!

While I still have the two pieces of hardware installed (one in my chest and one on my skull), I hardly notice they are there. I hope they let me keep my port after its removed so I can wear it on a chain around my neck. Oh, so cool. And gross.

Dr. Flowers told me that my lingering side effects are ok and not cause for concern. I am still congested daily, have severe 'foot pain' and numbness, and a lack of energy. He reminded me that some people don't feel normal even after 12 months after chemo, and for me it has been only 2-and-a-half.

This past Saturday, Candace and I were sitting at the bar of my favorite restaurant (Taqueria del Sol) eating lunch. As the bartender brought our bill, he paused, looked me in the eye sincerely, and said, "Man, you are looking so healthy with hair and everything. It was really great seeing you come in here during treatment and braving being in public. I mean, it must've been really hard getting that news and going through everything. I don't wanna sound all sappy or anything, but I guess just seeing you in here made me, I dunno, less... afraid. So thank you. I'm Andrew, by the way..."

We sat there, in awe, of the wonderful testimony that he had unknowingly just shared. The Lord does amazing things through us, even when we don't know it, eh?

It's a reminder to me that we don't have to be explicitly DOING anything in order to influence the lives of others and make changes in a positive direction. People are always observing, even when we are silent.

In the end, it's evidently a undisputable charge to all of us to be a living witness to the greatness of Christ and the love, grace and mercy that He is to everyone, whether they know it or not.

What He has done for me, He has done for you; He has done for us.

Back in the saddle at work...

Well today marks a formidable day in recovery, as I went back to work at my physical office location. My business casual clothes feel a little tight in the waist-- what's up with that?? As you know, my emlpoyer is going through a rocky time currently and so the future of my role here is uncertain. The few of us who are left in the office just stare at each other, shrug our shoulders, and say that time will tell. It's quiet... kind of like a library.

My side effects seem to want to continue to linger. I won't complain about them, lest I come across and ungrateful or naggy... BUT, the recovery process is slow and not always linear in direction. I find that I'll feel better, then worse, then better. Right now, I'm on the worse side of the curve. Feels like I've got a cold or flu. Achy all over, especially the legs. Congestion all day, every day. Coughing up yellow stuff pretty much every day since May. The fatigue is still palpable and makes me want to nap whenever I can.

Enough about me. My limitations are trivial compared to both how I was for most of this year, as well as the current condition of two of my close friends. These are the two I mentioned in my last post.

I don't know too much detail on either, but I do know that my friend here in Atlanta is hospitalized and not doing well. He is experiencing tumor lysis syndrome, whereby the breakdown of cancer tumors causes major problems in the kidneys and bladder. The uric acid gets too high. He had nine rounds of chemo, including some more toxic than hyperCVAD, and the Lymphoma is not responding. As a reminder, one must first get into remission before a stem cell transplant becomes an option.

This could've been me. It could still be me if I relapse. There's no logical differentiation between him and me. We are the same age, live in the same city, had the same rare cancer, and yet he is in the hospital still fighting on the front lines, and I am sitting at a cozy desk in a suburban office building. I don't get it. I am heartbroken for him. We need a miracle here.

Day ###: I quit counting...

So I am no longer tallying up the days since my first treatment commenced. I think that's a good sign. A lot has been happening over the past few weeks, but clearly blogging has not been one of them. My apologies for those who returned for a read!

Here is the rewind: beach, bankruptcy, and role reversal.

We did indeed head back to Destin for a few days... the beach where Candace and I met on August 14, 1998. It was a much better trip that time, as I was able to soak it all in and enjoy foods that were banned last time around. I started a new habit: reading books. I've never been much of a reader, but now it's time that shortcoming go away. I mean it. I *hope* to mean it. So I read a book by Ravi Zacharias, a well known Christian apologist of Indian ethnicity. I also read a book on human trafficking for the sex trade. This book was eye-opening and really fired me up. I am still trying to figure out a way I can go save some of these young girls myself. Grrrr. Other than reading, we did a lot of eating and relaxing. Just what the doctor ordered.

While at the beach, my employer, CIT, was on the ropes and within hours of filing bankruptcy. It was all over the news for about three days straight. We had an all-employee call where one person asked, "will we get paid next week?" The reply from leadership was, "We *think* so." Things are starting to get really exciting! Fresh off chemo, and now it's time to either find a new job, or new career, possibly. Fortunately the economy is strong and unemployment is very low right now, right? I've been under a rock, so I wouldn't know any better.

While we received a financial lifeline as a company, it may or may not last longer than a few weeks. This will be a fun one!

As for role reversal, Candace got an elective surgery last week and has been recuperating ever since. I got to play caretaker for a while. She says I make a great 'house husband'. I am glad I got to hone my skills a bit more. She is feeling better and better, so the roles aren't so reversed any more. It was fun while it lasted.

On a final note, there are two friends who also had Lymphoma who are not doing so well. One is here in Atlanta. He was one of the fellas I met at Emory while going through my treatment. His cancer has not responded to hyper-CVAD, and also did not appear to respond to another chemo, IVAC-R, either. They are now strongly suggesting he get a stem cell transplant. I am heartbroken for him. Why does chemo cure some and not others with the very same cancer?

The other friend is in Texas. She was diagnosed with Lymphoma about a year ago, and eventually went into remission. This past week, she had some throat soreness checked into, and they found a mass under her sternum that cannot easily be biopsied apart from a major procedure. There is also a growth on her voice box. They aren't calling it a relapse at this point, and we're all holding onto hope that it isn't.