Chronicles of a
Cancer Patient

Chemo Rookie

Hi friends,

A few of you wanted me to let you know how things went today, on my first day of chemo. I appreciate your support more than I can explain. I thought I’d let you know how things are going.

It was long. 6 hours. But most of that was just sitting and waiting. There are a lot of paperwork and procedures on the first day, and it certainly wasn’t the hospitals fault. I expected it to be long, and I brought some entertainment. And anyway, it’s certainly not like I had anything better to do.

The Cancer Center at Sherman Hospital was really great. Because it was my first time, they put me in a private room with one of those snazzy hospital beds and spent a lot of time explaining things to me. I received 9 kinds of drugs today, and the oncology nurse sat with me and my parents for the whole process, which I felt was really extraordinary, even if it might be standard.

The only thing I had trouble with was the one drug that was probably the least of my worries. They gave me some regular ol’ Benedryl to compensate for any allergic reactions I might have had to the chemo and the stuff couldn’t have been more annoying. Maybe it was an extra high dose or the fact that it was an IV drip. My head couldn’t stay awake, but my legs couldn’t stop moving. Picture Sleeping Beauty as a sprinter, or a cross between the Tryptophan-like tactics of poor John Kerry’s speech writers and the body of a dancing Napoleon Dynamite.

I came home drowsy and slept it off. A friend brought us a fantastic dinner, and since then I’ve felt – to my sincere surprise – really well. The nurse said that this would happen, that the steroids would make me feel spunky for awhile, but that I would drop after a day or two (so I figure I better get this e-mail out while I still got some spunk! Note: for evidence of “spunk,” see John Kerry joke, paragraph 4, line 4.).

The best news of the day is that the bone marrow test came back today and it showed that my bone marrow is completely clear of cancer. Had the cancer spread to my bone marrow, my chances of survival would have considerably dropped, so I can’t tell you what a relief it is to know that these bones of mine are clean.

To be honest, I was really anxious about today. There’s a lot of discordant information about chemo therapy – how it’s terrible, or how it’s not-so-bad, etc., etc. – and especially about the first day. I believe this dissonance is due to the fact that chemo therapy is a distinctly individual experience, and that each person is effected mentally and physically in decidedly different ways, even by the same drugs. As it turns out, today was a relieving, giant step toward getting rid of this dumb thing.

That being said, I understand the more difficult parts of chemo therapy are still to come, so I’m not counting my chickens quite yet. Nevertheless, I’m indescribably consoled by having experienced the chemo process firsthand and to have seen the immediate reaction my body takes to the drugs. I also feel very confident that I’m in good hands at the Cancer Center at Sherman, and that comfort, you can imagine, feels priceless.

Thank you again to all of you for helping me through this. Being the social person that I am, I’ve found that it has been the concern, affection and humor of my friends and family that has given me the most strength during the past weeks.

Future Cancer Survivor,
Dave Hahn

Dave 3, Cancer 0

See, what cancer doesn’t understand is that I’m the home team, and I’m undefeated. Furthermore, I’ve got the best oncologist in town pitching, and the best chemo nurse anywhere who’s catching. My brother is at first, my other brother at third, my parents are sharing shortstop and second, and the WHOLE rest of the family is covering the outfield like a volleyball team. I’ve got friends in the stands, friends in the dugout, friends on the street, friends on the rooftops. I’m kicking the crap out of this cancer. It doesn’t even have a chance.

Tito has got to be so sorry he climbed in me. He’s getting one express ticket to Tumor Heaven. The loser better enjoy the ride, too, because the ticket set me back more than he’s worth.

It just goes to show, you can’t be friends with a tumor. You invite him over to dinner and before you know it – the guy’s living with you, eating your food and using your hemoglobin without asking. Sooner or later you’re paying some professional to evict this pathetic excuse for an organism. And it’s sad, ’cause the guy can’t even live on his own, he’s just totally dependent on other people. But you can’t blame yourself, you can’t take responsibility for his inadequacies. You just gotta let him go. I mean, what a loser, right?

Treatment #3 was good. They even gave me my own private room – how sweet is that? Like I was Liza Manelli looking for the VIP seating or something. The nurse is still cute, and again, I had no complications. They took my blood, and then I even went out for lunch while they did the labs.

The results of my blood test are miraculous. I have better results on my blood test now, after 4 weeks of chemo, than I did before I started. I’m happy to announce that I am no longer anemic. Before chemo, I had enough platelets for two people, but no longer. My white and red blood cells are right where they are supposed to be. Plus, I’ve gained 14 pounds since the beginning of treatment.

I guess its starting to be clear how sick I was. Man.

The nurse sort of squints and pauses for a minute…looks at me again…smiles, “You know, I’m sort of surprised you’re doing so well, too.”

I’m the HOME TEAM, baby! Bring it on!

I’ve found out something about myself during all this – well, I’ve found out many things, but this in particular: I am awesome in adversity, it’s monotony that kills me. Strap me up to the chemo IV, I’ll take the pain and the fatigue and I’ll keep smiling, but put me in a cubicle with a pile of paperwork and I’ll never live.

I slept through the Benedryl this time, and surfed through my classical music when I awoke. My parents came and read the news. News about people on the Gulf Coast that are so much worse off than me.

I was out of the Center by 4 and off to play piano by 5. Now, in all honesty, while I may be feeling particularly cocky tonight, I am not feeling particularly good. Chemotherapy is exhausting, and as I’ve said before, I feel like a truck ran over my soul. But I went to two rehearsals tonight anyway. And it’s probably because of the steroids, but my mind is blaring out of my mouth at Michael Schumaker speeds. I’m like a revved up little boy before bedtime. I don’t want to go to bed! Just ten more minutes!

I had a fantastic talk with a fellow member of the Cancer Club tonight, someone who is clearly a kindred spirit – someone who is totally on the same page as me. It was energizing to talk with her. She had an rare form of cancer, and the docs gave her 8 months to live. A year ago. This woman has some fire in her, and she blazed down her treatments. She says the chemo tore her apart, and she adds, quietly – so that, I imagine, other people won’t think she’s a nut – that cancer might be the best thing that ever happened to her. (Might be.) Amen. The air smells sweeter, the the sun shines brighter, etc., etc. I’m so glad to be alive.

So, I don’t expect to be feeling well on Thursday, Friday or Saturday. And part of me hopes that I lose my hair this time so I can just get it over with. I expect bone pain by Monday, and my immune system should fall by next Saturday. I’m ready to tank if that’s what happens. My head’s in the right place.