I wasn't going to post this, but I thought the concept was funny when it came to me, and I hope nobody is offended by it. Let me be right up front - the above message is not endorsed by the American Cancer Society, and I'm sure they'd be horrified at this approach to fundraising, but I thought there was some humor to be had in this. Those of you who know me know that I have been avid homebrewer for 27 years, and have actually made some very drinkable ales. Intake of my favorite malty beverage is now limited to one beer every two weeks because of the metastasized tumors that have taken up residence in my liver. We've decided to try to take it easy on this poor overworked organ and cut back on things that stress it, like alcohol. OK, maybe your contribution won't really let me have another beer, but the money spent on research by the American Cancer Society might keep someone else from making such a cheesy attempt at fundraising in the future. Just so you know, I did print this out and hung it outside my office cubicle and it's brought in over $100 in donations....I had some difficulty writing this - it's easy to pass on positive news and progress, but it's not quite as easy to report news that isn't as positive. I did not receive treatment last Thursday - both my nurse and oncologist thought that it would be better for me to skip the treatment and treat an infection that developed from my rash. The antibiotic treatment has done a great job in knocking back the infection, and combined with the skipped Erbitux treatment, my face has cleared up and the rash has started to ease up a bit. While I'm enjoying the break from side effects, I sure hate to lose any ground by missing a treatment. Nobody said that this was going to be easy, and there are going to be ups and downs along the way. Let's call this a little dip on the ride.
The big Relay is Friday. I've got my official "Survivor" T-shirt and get to sit in the "Survivor's Bullpen" before we get to do the first lap on the track - the "Survivor's Lap" - this "Survivor" stuff is a lot of work. For those of you who aren't familiar with how Relay operates, there is a pretty moving opening presentation, followed by a lap for all the survivors, and then teams keep a member on the track throughout the entire event until noon the following day. My "shift" on the track is from 7-8:00 PM. The opening presentation gets me teary-eyed when they go over the symbolism of the relay representing the diagnosis and treatment that a cancer patient receives. The relay starts at dusk, representing the diagnosis and the beginning of treatment and there are lots of people on the track. As the night goes on, there are fewer and fewer people on the track and the darkest of night represents the fear and loneliness that we patients experience as we go through the rigors of treatment. As the sun comes up and day breaks, the track comes alive again, representing a a positive outcome from successful treatment. Dang - that's the second time that cancer has made me cry today. Anyway, it's pretty uplifting - thank you again for all your support. I'll try to get lots of pictures to post.
And if you need a good cry, read Leroy Sievers' blog today. The comments from Michael Lewis of Seattle, describing a meeting with a child at the treatment clinic he goes to, turned me into a blubbering mess. Here's the link to today's post:
http://www.npr.org/blogs/mycancer/2007/05/the_burdens_we_can_bear_1.html#commentSection
Michael's comments are about half-way down the list of posted comments. I don't know Michael, but I'd sure like to meet him.
Wish me luck on Friday.
-bob
