Julius C-Section

Jacq has one stubborn uterus. She is not progressing and she and the baby are tired and it is that time.

So here we go.

We will have a baby soon. Can't wait. Holy crap!!!

4cm

Getting there.

Jacqui is a trooper.

Still 2cm But Almost 100% Effaced

Moving along nicely.

Jacqui had an epidural. The contractions from the pitocin were barely 30 seconds apart and very intense. Jacqui had really really wanted to have a "natural" childbirth, but under the circumstances, we'll call this a 100% natural childbirth in 100% unnatural circumstances.

She is now resting nicely and the doc is hopeful that the effacement will be followed by a widening cervix for Lester to jump through.

2cm & 70% Effaced

Getting there... slowly...

Cervix of Steel

Still only 1cm.

Anybody got a crowbar?

The Great Flood

At 12:36pm Jacqui's water broke (the doctor broke it with a very long device with a tiny poker at the end). And by broke, I mean Noah's-flood-like broke with animals lining up two-by-two outside the room to get on the ark. The waters poured forth, drenching Jacqui, the bed, her socks, the floor, the nurse, and the doctors on break eating lunch on the floor beneath us. The doctor and nurse said she hadn't seen water like that in years. Wow. Go Jacq and Lester!

The contractions are now getting more intense, and we are hoping to move things along...

Still Only Slightly Ajar

Jacqui is now having regular contractions, but is still not in labor as the door is still only slightly ajar.

She began receiving pitocin about an hour ago, which made the contractions a little more intense, but no head spinning, green slime spewing labor yet.

Right now mama-to-be is eating raspberry water ice, and resting in between contractions.

Hopefully things will speed up soon.

More later...

Early Labor Update

A quick morning update.

Jacqui's is having increasingly intense contractions, and we are waiting for the doctor to examine her.

In preparation for having a kid, Jacqui is about to eat a kid' s breakfast... Jello and water ice. Yum.

As soon as I know something, you all will too.

Zero Hour

Jacqui and her friend Kojak just before they left for the hospital last night.

It is a little after 10pm and we are now checked-in to Pennsylvania Hospital to bring Lester into this world, whether he or she likes or not. Today we decided with our doctor that it was time to induce labor, and tonight the process begins with a vaginal insert called Cervidil that will open up Jacqui's cervix in preparation for labor.

It is a little strange for me sitting here in Jacqui's hospital room, our having spent so much time in the hospital for me. But this is what we have all been waiting for, and by tomorrow afternoon we will have our first child in our arms. I and we could ask for nothing better.

Jacqui's nurse just tried to place an IV in her arm, and missed two times. Ouch! Jacq's forearm is now a bit swollen, and she asked that I, now an expert in IV placement, try to find a good vein. The nurse looked at us cross and quickly went to get another nurse to try to place the IV.

I've had mixed feelings about inducing Jacqui's labor. Because next week I begin a battery of tests in preparation for my stem cell transplant--the final step in the process of de-lymphomatization--and then get locked away for three weeks for the transplant itself, we wanted to maximize our time with the baby. And although there are no risks to birthing a baby at 39 weeks, and no risks to Jacq with the induction, I only wish we could have let nature take its course. But with our lives so crazy, we know that little Lester will understand, and we also know that he or she will someday look back on being evicted from their womb with understanding and love (and then have a womb eviction party at the house when he or she is 17 while Jacq and I are vacationing in the Caribbean).

So check back for periodic updates throughout the night (if anything happens) and all day tomorrow. And mark your calendars. If Lester is a boy the bris will be December 7th or 8th (depending on what time he pops out), and if she's a girl, the baby naming will be December 9th. See you all there.

Kick in the Butt

Just a quick post to let you all know that the bone marrow test wasn't all that bad (although my tush is pretty sore) and that Lester continues to be uncooperative. We just got back from Mexican food (Jacq had a spicy dish to try to drive Lester out), and we took a 3 mile walk before dinner to try to move things along.

Should Jacqui not give birth in the next 24 hours we are planning on inducing labor Thursday so that I am able to spend time with the kid before I have to go into the hospital for 3 weeks in late December for the final de-lymphomatization fest. But hopefully the kid pops out tonight and we don't have to worry about that.

Platelets

Today I was a patient again after more than a week of freedom. I am amazed at how quickly life returns to normal once I am not on or recovering from chemo. I was hoping that Lester would have come last night or today before my appointment so I could have a few more days without thinking about chemo, blood counts, or transfusions.

At today's visit with my doc, we discovered that my blood counts have returned to normal, which is a very good sign given the fact that just a week ago they were at rock bottom. I am getting my money's worth from each chemo blast, and the devastation that the chemo is wrecking on my immune system seems to be doing its job. Last week my platelets couldn't get above 10,000 without help from repeated transfusions. Today my platelets were at 260,000 and still rising. I have been given a green light to resume exercising, and with my platelets so robust, I even asked the doctor if I could take up boxing.

There will be a few more tests this week to confirm that de-lymphomatization is going as planned. On tomorrow's schedule is a bone marrow biopsy to confirm that my marrow is lymphoma-free. The biopsy involves our favorite nurse practitioner, some lidocane, and a medieval looking corkscrew-like instrument that is slowly and painstakingly turned into my lower back to take a sample of my marrow. It sounds painful, but it is more uncomfortable than anything else. Once the corkscrew penetrates into my marrow, it feels like someone has stuck a straw into my bone and is blowing bubbles. It is a strange sensation.

Now if Jacq has the baby tonight, we can put off the biopsy for a few days. Come on out, Lester, your daddy needs you.

The Water Has Broken (But not Jacqui's)

When it rains...

This morning, while making some yummy challah french toast for everyone (Jacq, me, her parents, and Jacq's cousin Anna) Jacqui's dad discovered that our basement had become the indoor pool I had always wanted. An inch of water lined the floor of our soon-to-be-formerly-finished basement, with no source of the water visible. I quickly checked with our neighbors. They were dry.

In the middle of my search for the source of our Nile, Jacqui went to the bathroom. Her flush solved the problem. I heard water pouring out of a pipe behind the wall, which I could see by removing a small crawl space door. Thankfully, no little turds floated by, but still a mess.

Now we are just waiting for a plumber to call us back. Good luck to us on a Sunday morning.

Hopefully this all is a harbinger for someone else's water breaking...

Get Out!

As far as the use of old wives tales go in initiating labor, we have been unsuccessful in coaxing Lester out into the world. She or he seems happy with the current room and board and doesn't seem in any rush to join us or to cooperate with my chemo schedule. The kid is already not listening to us. Ugh. Our first taste of parenthood.

So I think we are going to have to ratchet up the plan to get the baby out ASAP. Here's what I am thinking...

Off-Road Driving: Later today Jacqui and I are renting an SUV and heading to the mountains for a few hours of off-road driving. No more comfort for little Lester. Time to make the outside a more attractive option.

Hot, Hot, Hot: They say that spicy food can induce labor? Later today Jacqui and I are headed to "The Hot Tamale" to feed Jacqui red savina chile peppers, which, according to the Guinness Book of World Records, are the hottest chile peppers known to man. Take that Lester!

Military Psy-Ops: A tried and true way to drive crazed fallen dictators and hostage takers out of their bunkers, the nonstop playing of loud, horrible music may, we've been told, also be a way to drive Lester out of his uterine hiding place. Playlist includes Perry Como, Zamphir Master of the Pan Flute, Eminem, and Christina Aguilera.

If these radical efforts do not work, I guess we'll just have to resign ourselves to the fact that Lester is his or her own boss, that he or she won't be coming home until the next day on prom night, and that when during his or her trip around the world after college all we'll get is an occasional postcard.

Debbie Does...

A few weeks back, in between treatments, my mother-in-law and I descended upon the mess that was my office to help me get some good old-fashioned organization in my life. While we were busy at work one of my colleagues came into my office. When I introduced my mother-in-law and told him what we were doing, he laughed, and wondered who was crazier--the mother-in-law who would do such a thing, or the son-in-law who would ask?

The great thing about Debbie is that she is always ready, willing, and able. Not in a "nebbishy, in your face" kind of way, and not in an overwhelming "I gotta get out of the house my mother-in-law is here" kind of way, but rather in just a "what can I do to be as helpful as possible to Michael and Jacqui, especially in their time of need" kind of way. Everyone in the family has been helpful in their own unique ways--my dad is team leader food, my mom team leader house cleaning, Jacqui's dad team leader take care of Otis, and my sister team leader not-one-particular-thing, just helpful and loving in general. Debbie has emerged as team leader organization. When Debbie is in town Jacqui is always ready with a list, and Debbie is shopping, running errands, or organizing something that is a mess. She has been a great help to us during this crazy time.

But even more than "Team Leader Organization," Debbie has been loving and kind to Jacqui and I, offering emotional support and strength in our time of need. I am so appreciative and grateful for all that you have done for me; of the ways you and Alan have always made me feel loved, and especially for giving me the greatest gift of all...Jacqui.

So, thanks, Debbie. If you are willing to take your next assignment, they'll be a lot of organizing and love needed once baby Lester arrives... any time now.

Happy Turkey

Hope everyone out there is having a nice Thanksgiving holiday.

We are still hoping that little Lester is a Thanksgiving baby, although the clock is ticking...

Last night we had a false labor visit to the hospital at 3am. They sent us home and told us that the baby was still not ready, and needed to be cooked at 375 for at least another 12 hours.

Enjoy your holiday. Happy Turkey.

Holy Giant Belly!

"GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME NOW!!!"

The Door Is Now Open

Yesterday we visited Jacq's OB for a quick check up. Baby and mother are doing A-OK, and I am excited to report that "the door" is now open (for those of you who are a little slow on the uptake, Jacq is now dilating). It could still be a while (she is only 1cm), but at least we are moving in the right direction.

Today we met Lester's pediatrician, which was very exciting for us, especially since we both got lollipops at the end of the visit.

That's about all I got for you tonight. An early happy turkey to you all.

Chia Pet

Woke up after a nice nap this afternoon with a full head of hair (and several chins).

Quiet Time... Well, Sort Of

Not much to report other than a quiet weekend at home and our first date out alone together in a long time. Nothing too exciting, but it was great to be out with Jacq without falling asleep after 10 minutes, and no IVs, antibiotics or antiemetics to take. For us it was Chinese food and stadium seating to see The Departed, which was, overall, a disappointing flick. Great first 2/3s of a movie, and then it tanked the last 1/3. Scorcese fell asleep. Tonight, if I think my still hemoglobin depleted body can handle it, we are going to see Borat. I am afraid I'll laugh so hard I'll pass out.

A busy week coming up with teaching, writing, and we are hoping, a baby. We've still got a few weeks to go, but Lester could arrive any time and we are doing everything within our power to make that happen sooner rather than later, which, I should add, ain't easy when you're low on hemoglobin.

What a Difference a Day Makes

Boy is it good to be home!

While I am indebted to the docs and nurses at Penn for taking such good care of me during delymphomatization, there is nothing more therapeutic than being back at home with Jacqui and Otis.

Yesterday I spent half the day at work, but also ran some baby-related errands, picking up the stroller, car seat, and pack-and-play. For those of you who had kids a long time ago, as of yet do not have them, or are like the character at the end of each episode of Scooby Doo who says, "Damn you crazy kids!" the pack-and-play is one of those new baby items that I am told you just can't do without. It is a portable crib, or what in modern baby lingo is called a play yard, that folds up and fits into a carrying case that in the most advanced versions actually fits in your back pocket.

Shopping for baby stuff has been a learning experience for me. Call me old fashioned, but some of the gadgetry now mandatory for having a baby makes me wonder if my generation was brainwashed by all of those goofy "I don't want to grow up, I'm a toys-R-us kid" commercials; you know, the ones with the toys-R-us giraffe mascots that ran over and over again in the 1980s. There must have been subliminal messages hidden in those commercials: YOU MUST BUY A PACK-AND-PLAY, YOU MUST BUY AN OVERPRICED BABY MONITOR THAT PICKS UP COMMUNICATION FROM THE SPACE SHUTTLE, YOU MUST BUY AN SUV THAT FITS ALL OF YOUR BABY JUNK AND PUTS A HOLE IN THE OZONE LAYER. Yea, well now that we've grown up there are bills to pay and mouths to feed, thank you very much you stupid giraffe.

Kidding aside (mostly), the one thing that I found truly shocking in all of this, was that one salesperson actually tried to sell us a stroller for $900. Seriously, $900. We went into the store and I told her that I wanted the one that was rated as safest and most reliable by Consumer Reports. She looked at me as if I was a communist, poo-pooed that stroller, and told me that we needed the Bugaboo, the Rolls Royce of baby strollers. Out of pure curiosity, I let her show us the stroller, which pretty much looked like any other, except it must have been made from pure gold given its sticker price. She didn't laugh when I asked her at that price did the stroller also change the baby's diaper, toilet train it, and convert into my child's first car?

Despite the superstition of some of my faith, Jacqui and I have begun to set up the baby's room (furniture arrives Tuesday), and put together the stroller, car seat, and pack-and-play. Given what we have been through these past few months, it feels so good to focus purely on Lester. Last night, with our new video camera in hand, I had our first tape rolling and asked Jacqui what is the first thing she'd like to say to baby Lester (once he or she is old enough to watch the video). Her response took my breath away (which she often does): to our first born she said, "We are probably going to spend the rest of our lives trying to get you to understand what it has meant these last three months to have your birth up and coming, and that hopefully through the love and support we offer you as parents, you come to know a fraction of what we are actually feeling."

Home

Released at 1pm following a bag of platelets. Did you know that one small bag of platelets is culled from between three and five donors? So if you are not an eligible donor for me, please consider donating blood through your local Red Cross. It is a special gift. This week I received blood and platelets from anonymous donors in Philadelphia, Ohio, and New York.

From the hospital I went home, took a quick shower, and then went to teach for two hours. During break I went to the bathroom and noticed in the mirror that my eyebrows have thinned over the last few weeks. Not a good look, but with a nice break from chemo coming up, they should fill back in quickly. Any stopgap make-up suggestions from the ladies out there?

Otherwise, I am feeling pretty good, and looking forward to some R&R at home with Jacq and Otis.

Tomorrow Lester is 37 weeks and is good to go. Jacq had an appointment yesterday and "the door" is still closed, so we have a weekend of watching comedies and horror movies to try to induce labor and coax the little one out. At her appointment she told the doc that she thought the baby wasn't kicking as much, so the doc had her do a routine nonstress test. After drinking some cranberry juice, the baby was performing somersaults and karate kicks, given a black belt in karate, and given a clean bill of health. Unfortunately, yesterday was a rough day for me (hemoglobin at 5.4, which is just about in the danger zone, so they had to transfuse me) and I couldn't be with Jacq. So there she was at one UPenn hospital making sure baby was OK, and there I was at another UPenn hospital with doctors making sure I didn't stroke out from lack of oxygen to my brain. It was a pretty upsetting situation, but we are all now OK and resting at home. Hats off to all the doctors and nurses at Penn who were in overdrive while all this was going on, pumping me up with blood, and ready to ship me off to Jacq should she have needed to be induced. Thanks docs and nurses on Rhoads 6, you are taking great care of me, and I am always appreciative.

Paging Dr. Cheney, Dr. Cheney You Have A Patient...

I just received the news that my white cells have begun to replenish themselves, and I am now officially on the road to recovery. I have even begun to grow those creepy white hairs on my face that I spoke about in Monday's blog. Soon enough I'll be looking like the wolfman.

For a while there I was convinced that last Thursday's blog, "Morning in America," (http://www.baldmike.com/2006/11/morning-in-america.asp), in which I make reference to the sitting Vice President in a not so flattering way, had landed me in hot water with the Department of Homeland Security. I feared that as a result of my political statements I had been declared an "enemy combatant" under the terms of the innocuous sounding yet anti-American "Military Commissions Act" (you know, the one that stuck an arrow through the heart of our Constitution by suspending Habeas Corpus for "enemy combatants", who, in the new law, are defined very loosely and haphazardly and can include U.S. citizens).

As a result of my earlier statement, I feared that I might wake up at Guantanamo, or even worse, stuck with the Cheney's at their secret, undisclosed location being tortured by having to listen to readings of Lynne Cheney's non-fiction books and novels (for excerpts from her classic novel of female frontier love, which the NY Times calls "Hilariously tortuous," see: http://www.whitehouse.org/administration/sisters.asp). But I actually think the Emperor Cheney and his cronies at Homeland Security have instead been hacking into the computer system here at Penn and have been lowering my blood counts to extend my stay here, thereby driving me insane and keeping me from taking good care of Jacqui and Otis. I shared this theory last night with my doctor, and made sure he double encrypted the results from the lab. Sure enough, my counts have risen dramatically, and I should be out of here (that now being the psych ward) tomorrow.

So there you have it folks. Going home soon.

Still Stuck in Prison

Still stuck in prison. Blood counts not doing much of anything. Urg. No target date at this point. No concern for me other than my mental state. I am talking to my water bottle. Help.

A Slow Climb

With my marrow beaten and worn from four rounds of chemo, my counts have been slow to rebound, and I am stuck here until at least late tomorrow or more likely Wednesday. All normal for this course of chemo, the effect of which is cumulative, but absolutely no fun. I am, as Jacqui says, exceptionally bored and grumpy, and I have taken to throwing banana peels, trash, and shooting spit balls at the dopey resident who woke me up at 2:30am on Friday night to give me a full exam. When he offered me a digital exam for free I knew that I was in the wrong hands, and immediately called security.

I have shared with all of you my most personal emotions about what I have been through, but have only described in bits and pieces the physical nature of being on chemo--the puke-o-meter, the exhaustion following treatment, the loss of my mane. So if you don't mind the gory details, at least some of them, read on. Otherwise, you may want to skip ahead to the photo below of Otis as a puppy just after his first bath (boy did he smell. He was stuck in the pound for three weeks and barely got out for a walk. So if you are thinking about getting a dog, go rescue one at the pound).

Appetite and Weight
After the first treatment I dropped almost 15 pounds due to a combination of the vomiting and neutropenic diet. I have put back on almost 10 of those 15, but my weight varies by a few pounds after each treatment and neutropenic cycle. I generally have a normal appetite the first day of chemo, but the second two days I feel mildly nauseous, and don't eat much. During the week following chemo I am on a neutropenic diet, and eat Whole Foods waffles and a banana for breakfast, Wolfgang Puck's veggie soup and a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch, and grilled chicken, baked potato, and steamed broccoli for dinner. Sometimes I mix it up and go crazy with minestrone soup for lunch or dinner. That's living on the edge for me, otherwise I eat the same thing all week. Following the lifting of the neutropenic diet, I always go right to my neighborhood sushi bar for some raw fish, and then eat from a feed-bag pretty much for a week straight to replenish the lost stocks. And then it starts all over again...

Hair
It's not just my head hair that's gone. My body hair has thinned in most places and is completely gone in some others. When I look in the mirror, I look like a 12-year-old. Even my back hair is mostly gone (the one thing Jacqui is thankful for in all of this). Two strange things: on the outside of my legs and my knee caps, my hair is gone, but on the inside of my legs, from thigh to ankle, it remains thick; and, between cycles my hair comes back on my face, just around my mouth, at first white, and then thick and dark. I am told that once this is done my hair, already thick, will come back with a vengeance. I think I'll look like the wolfman for a while.

Smell, Taste, and Touch
For the first three or four days after chemo, my senses of smell and taste are dulled. Nothing tastes normal, and nothing smells right. And I smell funny too. The chemo gives me a strange ripeness that drives Otis away. For most of the remainder of the chemo period, my sense of smell becomes very intense, and smells that normally don't bother me are a little overwhelming. I can even smell fear, shoplifting, and my neighbor's upset stomach. Finally, right after chemo my skin is sensitive to the touch, something between a tickle and a pinch. That goes away pretty quickly though.

Neutropenia
During the neutropenic period when my counts bottom out, there are two things that feel weird--the exhaustion and heart pounding. The exhaustion comes from the chemo recovery and the fact that I have few red blood cells and barely any hemoglobin (the protein that delivers oxygen to tissue throughout the body). The heart pounding is the worst part. That is due to the fact that my heart has to work much harder, because of the low hemoglobin, to supply oxygen throughout my body. Sounds fun, huh?!

Chemo Brain
I've described in past entries the dulling effect of this whole thing on my mind. The first few days out of chemo are the worst, and then it gets bad again during the blood count crash. My hemoglobin starved brain is fuzzy during these periods, and sometimes I have trouble with my memory, especially with recalling names and simple facts (I knew my brain was a mess when I asked for a-write-in-ballot last Tuesday and tried to vote for Richard Nixon). Chemo brain is a strange sensation, one that goes away after a few days, but for a guy who allegedly relies on his noggin to make a living, it is not a good feeling.

So there you have it. Other than the fact that after each cycle my finger and toenails ache and I am severely constipated (thank you, Colace!), that's pretty much the extent of it so far. I've been spared the balance problems, mouth sores, skin rashes, and eye problems, so I feel pretty lucky.

And now for two cute photo of Otis to make you forget this blog...

Here is Otis after his first bath. Look how small he is. And so cute.

And here are Otis and his mama. Goodnight!

Trapped in My Own Private Neutropenic Prison: Day 3

Tonight my white count finally began to creep back up from a low of zero, zots, zilch. I had, for a few moments this morning, absolutely no white blood cells, leaving me with a bad case of...

Don't worry though, my face will regain its normal features by tomorrow afternoon.

Visiting us tonight are Jacqui's parents Debbie and Alan, and my oldest friend, Scott Jacoby, whom I have known since birth. Our fathers used to cruise Long Island's beaches together back in the 1960's, where Scott's father and mother met. Our mothers even went to summer camp together. There is A LOT of history between us. Our families yearly trips to the Jewish Borscht Belt, and later to Vermont, were filled with wonderful moments of laughter, good skiing, and watching our fathers eat too much food and tell early versions of what would later become dirty old man jokes. Good times were had by all.

Tonight in the hospital, we reminisced at little, I fell asleep from some Ativan they gave me to counter a reaction to a platelet transfusion, and we all laughed a lot. We also took these silly photos to celebrate this evening's rising white count (now at .3).

Here Debbie casts a spell on her husband which results in...

Yikes, Alan is magically transformed into identical twins stuck in craftmatic adjustable hell...

Meanwhile, Scott rejected the advances of a cute nurse in the hospital, who, in an act of revenge, injected him with head shrinking juice.

Finally, Jacqui is a mutant all on her own, no special effects necessary, seen here schleping around 8 1/2 months of my alien child.
My amazing nurse Charlotte had her own problems tonight, admitting to everyone on the floor that she was actually a cyclops. It remains uncertain how this will affect her career.

The Count Says, "One Bag of Blood..."

Still roughing it out on Rhoads 6 at Penn, hoping that my blood counts start heading north before my frustration requires a room with padded walls.

I am putting out another call for donor blood. I am all out of bags after yesterday's transfusion.

So, if you are either A or O type, have not had mono, Epstein-Barr, hepatitis, any strange STDs, or cooties, I want your blood.

Local Philly blood works best. If you are eligible, please email me and I will help set things up. The sooner, the better. Peace!

Here is the link to general Red Cross eligibility guidelines:

http://www.redcross.org/services/biomed/0,1082,0_557_,00.html

Neutropenic Prison

Time for a short, frustrated entry, following today's earlier happy blood blog.

Unfortunately, just after I got my blood today I spiked a low fever, and because I am neutropenic, I am back at Rhoads 6 at Penn. I'll be here until Sunday (hopefully that's my maximum sentence).

As you may remember from the last neutropenic fever almost two months ago, I am kept in the hospital as a precaution, given lots of antibiotics to prevent or kill infection, and massaged by Jacqui three times a day to literally rub the white blood cells back to life.

So come and visit as long as you don't have a cold, ebola, or leprosy. Room 6011 Rhoads.

Feed Me, Seymour!

This morning, with my blood counts dropping more quickly than the mood of Republicans on Capitol Hill (OK, I'll quit it for now with the political jabs), I received two pints of blood and a bag of platelets to soften the B-cycle chemo crash.

Today's gift of life comes from my Rabbi and friend Avi Winokur, and my friend and fellow Philadelphian Brian Rubenstein. Thanks, guys! Today your generosity of self and spirit literally made me a better man.

There are two temples in a Jewish man's world--shul and a baseball stadium. I look forward to the three of us spending some time together in both places soon, especially given that I now look like this...

Morning in America

For the first time in a few weeks, maybe even months, I slept soundly through the entire night without getting up to use the bathroom to drain off some chemo, wheel my I.V. line around the hall to get some exercise, have a late night snack to quell nausea, or check election punditry and/or results to curb my fear that I would wake up strapped to the bed in a mild, nicely packaged dictatorship where they refused to treat my lymphoma because of my political views.

It felt great waking up to the quiet city sounds of a car driving by and a few birds. Not bad for life in our (mostly) big city. In our old apartment revelry was usually courtesy of Philadelphia Sanitation Department trucks, and the anxiety-provoking sounds of their back-up beep... Beep-Beep-Beep.

The Zen-like state I awoke in this morning has two very different causes. The first, of course, is that we again finally live in a nation of checks and balances. Tuesday's elections addressed, for the moment, that problem.
A part of me still worried though that last night's episode of Lost, and all TV for that matter, would be interrupted by Dick Cheney dressed up as the Emperor from Star Wars, announcing that he was taking over things now, that George Bush was no longer in power, and that the Democratic leadership had been exiled to Artus Prime to mine the planets' crystal deposits (by the way, what kind of world do we live in where I can type "star wars planets" into google.com and get 5 million hits? Maybe that is why the country has been asleep at the wheel these last 6 years?! CUT TO:
THE WHITE HOUSE, PRESIDENT'S QUARTERS.
THE FIRST LADY: (suggestively) Now, now Georgie, you need to stop playing with the computer and come to bed. We can read the transcript from your appearance on Rush Limbaugh together?!
THE PRESIDENT: Just a few more moments on the google and I'll have this whole Iraq thing figured out.

The second cause for my good night's sleep is actually a few causes wrapped into one: de-lymphomatization is at least 50% complete, and based on preliminary lab work, seems to be doing its job of making me lymphoma free; as crazy and sometimes miserable as all of this has been, it has, to a small degree, become a "normal" part of my life (only, temporarily, of course); and the karate kicks of our soon-to-be-baby are always reminding me that despite all this nonsense, the kid's got good legs, and I can't wait to see him or her dance at their wedding. That final point especially gives me peace of mind that I can find nowhere else.

You may also have noticed, unless you are color blind, that baldmike.com has a shiny, colorful new format. The bland white background and black text was boring. Given my own dropping hemoglobin and red blood cell levels, I thought I could definitely "use a little color", as my late Grandma Sarah used to say. As in: when I was getting off a plane in Miami from NY mid-winter and she'd say in her old-time New York Jewish accent: "you could use a little color, here's some oil," (always Hawaiian tropic #2) as she pushed me out the door with a towel, saying "there's already a chaise lounge waiting for you downstairs by the pool." Thanks for the color, grandma! And to all the color obsessed Jewish grandma's out there, thanks for also encouraging us to get regular checkups for skin cancer.

Hope You Voted!

It is election day, and Jacqui and I exercised our democratic birthright just after lunch at the Russian Orthodox Church two blocks from our home.

It was a rough night and morning, and the puke-o-meter ticked up one notch to seven at around 6:30pm last night. It was not fun. When I vomit I look like a character out of The Omen, shooting green goo and Satan's lymphatic spawn across the room, hopefully aiming well into a toilet.

I did my best to sleep off the post-nausea sickies, so I could eat enough democracy-laden food to give me the strength to vote. A scrambled egg, wheat toast, and a banana did the trick, and at around noon Jacq and I headed down to the polling place. The person in charge of the polling site noted that I had changed my hair, as my ID showed me with a full doo. I told her, eliciting great guilt, that my chemo laden head was not by choice, but that I would be OK, and that I was glad to be able to vote, even though I was afraid I might puke on the machine at the sight of the name Santorum (I am, at this moment, watching Santorum give what is a surprisingly gracious concession speech).

The nausea returned later in the day, and I ended up back at Penn for some routine blood tests, some fluids to fill up the tank following last night's pukage, and anti-pukage medicine that has left me relaxing at home watching election returns come in (which, it is entirely possible, may also make me puke at some point, depending on the results).

Super Kidney

Once again, after a heavy dose of methotrexate, my super kidney has done its job and metabolized one ginourmous bag of yellow chemo. I was discharged at around 1:30pm, and now me and my tired kidney are at home resting.

The B cycle crash will probably come earlier this week as my counts already began to drop even before I left the hospital, so I suspect that by Wednesday or Thursday I'll be mushed into the pillows of our comfy red couch.

Special thanks to all of those who came to visit me in the hospital this week--my mom and sister, Rick, Vandana, Paul, Bette, Jaime, Renee, Bill, Ivy, Maya. Special thanks to our friend Matt who drove down from NYC for a visit and brought with him the good news that he starts his first job as a nurse at Mt. Sinai on Monday, and the yummyness of Zabar's in the form of fresh bagels, sturgeon, fresh cream cheese, and, most importantly, a pound of whitefish brought especially for my doctor who ate breakfast (and sometimes lunch) with me to chat about lymphoma, chemo, good Jewish food, and Jacqui's giant belly.

Given that Jacq will be busy taking care of me and Lester this week, and I will be short on hemoglobin and brain power, I am welcoming contributions for guest blogs. So if you feel like blogging, send 'em over to myudell@gmail.com. See you online!

So Far, So Good

The dreaded B cycle, which should knock my socks off some time late next week with very low blood counts, has been pretty easy going down so far. Right now I am getting an IV dose of a drug called leucovorin, a "recovery drug", which helps my body metabolize the 24-hour-straight chemo that I finished last night. I cannot leave the hospital until that chemo is well metabolized, which was not a problem last round, so I should be good to go home by about 3pm tomorrow just after my final dose.

I got a new roommate last night, who was here only briefly, was very nice, and had working ears. Last night was thus quiet night. Hopefully tonight is the same.

My nurse just told me a crazy story which proves that truth is much, much stranger than fiction. On Halloween night last week, one of the patients here on the lymphoma floor had their young son come to visit in full costume. Take a second to consider what the most offensive costume someone could choose to dress up as on an oncology floor? A zombie doctor? No. Dr. Jack Kevorkian? No. How about a four foot tall grim reaper going door to door on Rhoads 7 trick or treating? Yes! And how about the transplant patient who had to be medicated after opening her door and finding a miniature grim reaper, scythe and all, yelling trick or treat.

No grim reapers tonight. Hopefully one doesn't show up as my roommate for the evening.

Ninenty-Five

Checked into Rhoads 7 at HUP last night at around 6:30pm, only to discover that the private room they had promised me was now a shared room. This unfortunately means that Jacq can't stay with me, although the nursing and admissions office are doing their best to try to switch me given Jacq's size and status. There is, however, a high census of patients who need to be in isolation so it might not happen this round. I miss Jacq terribly at night, but given her size, I am glad that she is at home in comfort cuddling with Otis.

My roommate on the other side of the curtain is a ninety-five year old hip-fracture patient who I learned served in World War II and was shot in the butt. I've also learned that he is nearly deaf, so when any family member, nurse, or doctor enters the room, I generally stick my fingers in my ears or go for a walk. Thank God he is not a snorer. His ninety-something-year-old wife and two daughters were here with him last night, and there was nothing sweeter than watching them say good night to one another, telling each other in their very, very, very old person's voices (a slightly raised voice combined with what must be almost seventy years of love) to kiss the other's hand given one was immobilized in bed, and the other in a wheelchair. I look forward to the day when I am a crusty and cranky old man who, hopefully not with a cracked hip, does the same to my lovely wife. By then maybe hearing loss will be reversible and I won't have to yell or be yelled at to communicate with Jacq and others.

The chemo so far has been uneventful, and I expect to be out of here late afternoon Sunday. Monday will be my crash day, although I do hope to make an appearance at school for a few minutes to meet our new students who are taking a class I was supposed to teach.

Below is today's chemo hat in honor of Humphrey Bogart, who was not born on this day, but on December 25, 1899.

Round 4

Checked in a few hours ago. 7022 Rhoads Pavillion at UPenn.

Waiting for my drugs and dinner.

More later...

Holding Pattern

After being told that I had a bed and would begin treatment last night, a series of hospital emergencies combined with patients who did not check out kept my bed occupied and we instead went out for Italian. Delicious bruschetta, a ceasar salad, and breaded flounder. For the Philadelphians out there, a big thumbs up to D'Angelo's on 20th and Manning.

So, we are waiting for the call that there is a free bed. It could come today, or maybe tomorrow.

In the meantime, life goes on. Time for lunch and then a few hours in the office. Later.