When it Rains... It Keeps on Raining?

Jacqui has made a last minute visit to Naples, Florida to say goodbye to her uncle Billy who has end-stage kidney cancer and has been given just days to live. Oye. First Jacqui's Auntie Pam last June from lung cancer. My dad in February also from kidney cancer. And now Billy.

Quite a year. Quite a year. Mercy.

Platelet Aggravation

My platelets continue to be pesky, and chemo is now delayed until Monday. This is now four chemos in a row delayed due to either platelets, the flu, or me jumping into an icy river to save Otis.

I've been told to drink lot's of platelet juice to boost my marrow's platelet production so I can finish this damn chemo up starting Monday.

Recipe for Platelet Juice:

1 cup club soda
1 tbs grey poupon
1 cup cranberry juice (unsweetened)
1 kosher hot dog, blended into puree
1 slice of cheese pizza, blended into puree (NY Pizza preferred)
2 extra strength tylenol, finely chopped
pinch of garlic powder
1 bat's claw, finely chopped

Stir. Do not shake.

Trying Again Tomorrow

Tomorrow morning I'll head back to the clinic to check my pesky platelets. Hopefully they are above 100.

If so, I'll be admitted for my final round of chemo, the dreaded B-cycle. If not, we'll try again Friday.

Meanwhile, Sophia has begun working out.

Delayed Again

Those pesky platelets are driving me nuts, still not having recovered to B-cycle safe territory.

As a result, my chemo admission scheduled for today is delayed until at least Wednesday.

I'll keep you posted.

Mark Your Calendars for May 5

We have confirmed Saturday morning, May 5 as Sophia's baby naming at our synagogue.

When we Red Sea pedestrians have babies, all sorts of crazy rituals go on from the snipping of foreskin to the eating of many pounds of pastrami and corned beef to grandparents saying things like "my grandchild _______ is able to ______ and is definitely a genius." Thankfully there will be no snipping of the foreskin this child go around. Just a few simple prayers said by the Rabbi without the ritual sacrificing of the tip of anything, except maybe a good loaf of rye bread. I was at a bris a few years ago and the mohel, barely paying attention post-snip, almost let the foreskin roll off the table and onto the floor. Yikes!

So Sophia and the entire Rick/Yudell clan are looking forward to seeing you all here in Philly the morning of May 5.

Details to follow soon.

One Month

Today marks a month since the passing of my father.

Tonight Jacqui and I went to Tacconelli's for some amazing thin crust, crispy pizza (his favorite) to honor my dad, who really would have loved their slice.

A friend who lost her father told me that every year on her father's birthday she goes out for a steak--her dad's favorite meal--as a way to remember him and share in one of his joys. I really like that idea, but since my dad loved so many foods, it will be hard to keep it to one type of restaurant. So I guess it will be a rotating dad food memorial. Definitely on the list are thin crust, crispy pizza, a good shrimp cocktail, lobster, a steak, good Chinese food, and so on and so forth.

A Lucky Man

Today is our second wedding anniversary, the "cotton anniversary," and we are spending it quietly, thankful that I am no longer neutropenic and thus looking forward to going out to dinner tonight to celebrate.

I don't need to tell you all how lucky I am to have Jacqui in my life. I joked with her earlier that for all she has given me these last two years, and especially for the ways she has taken care of me these last 7 months, I owe her thirty years of nonstop pampering, taking care of, endless love and devotion, etc. And while I've still got a few weeks of battering chemo left before I can begin that job in earnest, I am looking forward to it (taking care of Jacq) with great relish. There is nothing I want to do more than turn all of my attention to my amazing wife, whom I love in ways I never imagined possible, and with whom I share a passion for life, love, and family. How lucky can one guy be?

My Dad, Jedi Master?

Today marks three weeks since we buried my father, and it seems no less surreal today than it did on that day.

The finality of death is unsettling in myriad ways, and I have spent most of my time thinking about his loss in two very different veins. On the one hand, his death feels acutely like the word I just used to describe his passing--loss--so much so that it actually feels like I have lost him, left him behind, and that if I searched for him I would find him somewhere. I guess that is why they call it "loss."

On the other hand, my father, who was such a presence in all of our lives, seems to be everywhere still, in sort of like an Obi Wan Kenobi-after-he-is-killed-by Darth Vader-glow-in-the-dark-Jedi Master-sort-of-way. Everywhere I turn I see him and I am comforted by knowing he will be with me always. In this sense, I am always finding him.

These are the twin currents of facing life without a loved one. The pain and the comfort. And I don't expect either will ever go away, new companions, both wanted and unwanted, as life marches on.

On the Upswing

Last night was probably my neutropenic low-point, and I am feeling a wee bit better this afternoon with an unfortunate weekend of chicken and potatoes ahead.

With the end of delymphomatization firmly in our sights, Jacqui and I are beginning to plan for our post-chemo life: events which include a much needed vacation, a baby naming for Sophia, and, of course, the first annual Mike Yudell Lymphoma-Free 5k run/walk/barbecue. As of now, we are tentatively planning the baby naming the first weekend in May and the lymphoma-free celebration the weekend of June 23rd. More information to follow soon. Hope to see you all there!

A, Final, Neutropenia

Today marked the beginning of my final A cycle neutropenia with my white count hovering at around .4, my hemoglobin at 8.7, and my platelets at 60. Still unclear if I'll need a transfusion later in the week or early next from this crash. Any predictions?

The A crash isn't so bad, so I'll just lay low on my limited brain power. Waiting anxiously for tomorrow's delivery of the new James Bond movie Casino Royale.

But we've still got one last B cycle neutropenia hump to get over in a few weeks time. Almost there. Stay on target!

On Her Belly

Sophia is now playing on her belly, laughing, and, of all things, teething early. Yay!

In chemo related news, I am still not neutropenic from the A cycle. That should happen on Thursday. The gentle A crash is not so bad. Just means chilling out. Because my white count is still robust, we have tonight to go out for dinner before I am shackled to potatoes and chicken at home starting Thursday. Last night we had a great meal at Lolita, one of Philly's finest restaurants. Mmmmm, yummy steak to keep the hemoglobin up with baked yucca. So delicious.

Neither Sorrow Nor the Pity

There have been very few comments on the blog lately, and I suspect that many of you are sitting out there in front of your computers with your jaws hanging onto the keyboard in disbelief. New baby. My dad's death. Finishing chemo. Neutropenic fevers. Ouch. That's gotta hurt.

I've even heard from a few of you who have wondered aloud if I am now feeling like Job, or that Jacqui and I must be crazy to maintain such an optimistic world view in the wake of all that is in our life.

Well, I don't feel like Job, and I certainly don't think I am crazy.

I am clearly not shy in sharing my deepest emotions on all that has gone on in my life these last six months. You all know exactly how I feel. You know exactly what I am going through and what lies ahead. And I am ashamed of nothing and glad that I have held nothing back from you. It has been cleansing to share all that I have gone through, and I am looking forward to turning this all into a book someday so that others who have faced tragedy and difficulty can perhaps take something from this.

But please don't feel sorry for me. Don't feel pity for us. Life can be rough sometimes. It can be messy. It can hurt. But it is still life. And I have an amazing wife and daughter and family. And the promise of a healthy life ahead, albeit with some potential speed bumps down the line, both as a lymphoma survivor and all that entails, and just by being a human being and all that entails.

So I am glad you are along for the ride. It is getting easier now, at least in terms of my health. Time will never completely heal the loss of my dad, but he is with me, in my heart and my mind always, and one day I will know just how lucky I am for that.

The Best Medicine

Recovery

Hanging in there post-chemo.

Slept a lot today.

Tomorrow I should start bouncing back as the nausea and exhaustion start to dissipate.

Thankful for small things.

Goodbye AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Just received the final chemos for my A cycle. Yay, no more A cycle.

We are out of here.

Time to go home and sleep it off.

B cycle in a few weeks and then sayonara chemo.

Coming home, however, was rough. Not physically, but emotionally. My father always called or I called him at the end of a chemo. I still talk to him all the time, and I hear his voice in my head, see his face in my mind, and feel his presence in my heart, but I want to reach and and touch him, tell him I love him, that I'll be OK, and that I miss him terribly.

Home Tomorrow

It has been a boring and uneventful stay here on Rhodes 6 for my final A cycle.

Hurray!

Not much to report. Just tired and cranky and I miss my dad.

Last week was my birthday. Not a particularly happy one, but Sophia and I did manage to have a nice moment together to celebrate.

Full Circle

Last night I checked back into Rhodes 6 for my final A cycle, number 4A, to be followed in three week's time by 4B. And then that's all folks. Chemo complete after that, although I expect a neutropenic hospitalization following 4B. Just par for the course.

I am again in room 6014, the room where I started this nonsense six months ago, but everything feels different now, in both a good and bad way.

The bad, I suppose, is fairly obvious. With the arrival of Sophia, hospital stays are much different. I spend most of the day alone (well, if truth be told, with Magnum season 5 or now the Office season 2), and I miss my nights here with Jacq staying over with her big pregnant belly. But I much more miss just being at home with Sophia, getting up to change her diaper and give her to Jacq for a nursing, and just holding her tight. And I miss when she wakes up smiling in the morning and we sing her favorite songs until she gets cranky and wants to eat.

I also miss the phone calls with my dad that were daily under normal circumstances, but happened several times a day when the chemo flowed. Even when he was getting sicker, the calls didn't stop until he was too out of it to pick up the phone himself. The urge to pick up the phone to call him hasn't gone away, and sometimes I just stare at my cell and wait for it to ring. I guess it would be really weird if it did.

Finally, despite being a trooper and making it through this crap relatively unscathed, save the strange side effect following the last B cycle that involved what I'll call a painful "crack within a crack", I am more worn down now than I was after earlier cycles. I know there is an end to this in sight, but it can't come soon enough!

The good, of course, is that I am lymphoma free, and that the chemo now feels more like process than anything else. My doctor remains positive about a bright and long future for me, and his optimism makes me believe that I will, without a doubt, dance at my daughter's wedding.

So here I lie, bored, but content; sad for what my family has been though, but confident in my future; and just glad that I can sit comfortably again now that the "crack" has healed.

7 of 8

Chemo starts again today, the final A cycle, to be followed by the final B in three weeks time.

By the end of this week I will have completed 7 chemos, and by the end of the month, we'll be all done.

Hurray for something, right?!

Yesterday, while hiking with Otis and a friend, I was recounting the events of the last few weeks, and said to my friend that some day I'll look back on this time and all I'll be able to say is "holy shit."

Nice Track Suit, Kiddo!

She is not, I repeat, is not from Long Island! Thanks for the awesome satin suit, Stu and Ruthie!

Thanks for the awesome wagon Seth, Jen, and Juliet!

Tomorrow's Mourning

Today was a little less painful, although I suspect as we head into the weekend, marking a week since we buried my dad, things are going to get rough again with lots of ups and downs to come.

At shiva on Wednesday night my Rabbi, who officiated at my dad's funeral ("my dad's funeral"--now there's a phrase I didn't think I'd write or utter for a long time to come), was explaining to me some of the Jewish mourning rituals. I am supposed to wear a torn ribbon over my heart to symbolize the loss of a loved one, literally a representation of the tearing away of the deceased and the tearing that goes on inside you. I am not supposed to take part in festivities or celebrations for at least the next thirty days, although more religious Jews do this for eleven months. And I am supposed to say kaddish--the Jewish prayer of mourning--for the next eleven months.

So far as forsaking celebration and festivity, I asked him if my final two rounds of chemo over the next 30 days would suffice?

Oye!

A Big Girl