Battling cancer ... and staying upbeat about it

I'm at work, and probably shouldn't be trying to sneak in this post, but ... given the subject matter, and the the fact that it's fresh on the brain (no jokes solicited), I thought I'd do it anyway.

A work colleague, Carl Sygiel (pictured), has been undergoing treatment for prostate cancer for about a year now. He did the prostate removal surgery, went through a battery of chemotherapy and now is in the final stretch of a seven-week radiation treatment. Even though tests and image screens indicated his cancer had barely entered nodes and spread marginally outside the prostate, his doctors recommended the maximum treatment to avoid taking any chances.

Carl has held up remarkably well; he lost what little hair he had (he's mostly bald) during chemo, but that little bit is coming back now, and the only real "change" is that he's gained weight. Odd thing about that, too, is that his doctors don't want his weight to fluctuate during the radiation treatment. So Carl, who was pretty active in the years before he began tackling the prostate cancer (he's participated in several bike tours in recent years, including at least three or four annual 72-mile America's Most Beautiful Bike Ride in Lake Tahoe, Nev., to benefit the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society). I'm sure Carl is not too thrilled about the weight gain thing, but he realizes it's a small price to pay to ensure he bounces back from this.

The reason I'm posting this is that Carl, who turned 60 last December, has taken an unusual step through all this: keeping friends and family informed with periodic -- and upbeat -- notes about his treatment and progress. His latest arrived today, and it was such a fun read, I thought I'd share it with any of you who might be interested. The accompanying picture is a bit dated; it's probably eight years old.

Here's Carl's update today:

Greetings all:

We are nearly two months into 2010, we've buried the Colts, the snow has buried us, the Olympics are in full swing, Tiger Woods has confessed his sins, and I hope by now everyone has decided how they are pronouncing the new year. Do you say two-thousand ten, or do you say twenty-ten? I don't know that it qualifies as the burning question of the day, but I guess some people do get worked up over things like that. But once again, I digress.

Whatever year this is, it has ushered in the final phase of my three-pronged prostate cancer treatment. I began radiation treatments in mid-January and am cruising down the home stretch. The schedule called for 37 treatments, and I've done 27 so far. It's every day, Monday through Friday, with weekends off for good behavior. The first few weeks, the treatment times were all over the map, but now I've settled in at 8 a.m. It means getting up early, but at least it doesn't interrupt my workday.

I had no idea how all this worked, but I've since learned, and actually, it's pretty fascinating stuff. Radiation beams are like powerful x-rays and they kill cancer cells. Unfortunately, they can also damage good stuff that gets in the way. Things like kidneys and colons and bladders and other, uh.... kinda important organs in the area. Radiation used to be doled out in sort of a one-size-fits all approach. The latest technology is called IMRT or intensity-modulated radiation therapy. The rays are delivered in varying doses and shapes from different directions by this enormous piece of equipment called a linear accelerator or more formally, something that looks like a giant water faucet.

In my case, the faucet head turns around counterclockwise and zaps me from seven different positions. There are 71 zappings each day. Trust me, I've counted them: 13-14-3-7-14-12-8. I've even gone so far as to play those numbers in the lottery. Hey, winning that would be one of those side effects everyone could like.

The rays come through tiny different shaped openings formed by small, lead Venetian-blind-like shades. Imagine putting a stencil on a paper and then scribbling over the top with a pencil. You lift the stencil and the shape is left on the paper below. It could be a circle, or a box or maybe even the state of Oklahoma. The rays race through like Danica Patrick and then crash into the area being treated --- come to think of it, also like Danica Patrick. Most of the radiation is absorbed, some is diffused, which is why all the techs scurry out behind a door that's about 8 feet thick.

The New York Times recently ran a frightening story on what can happen if radiation treatments go awry. Once the oncologist maps out a plan, the machine is programmed and pretty much runs on its own. The therapist is supposed to keep an eye on everything on their own computer screen and as long they aren't asleep at the wheel or sexting somebody, it all runs like clockwork. I brought the article in, however, just to keep everybody on their toes.

Remember the tattoos I wrote about? I've got 'em now. Three specks, one on each hip and a third in the groin. Laser beams come from the ceiling and the walls, hit the tattoos and line you up precisely on the table. I've been told not to lose weight or gain weight during the seven week process because it will throw off the dimensions. Like they don't want you eating a whole pizza before your treatment because your stomach will be bigger and closer to the machine, and they will have to adjust the table. Seriously.

They say radiation is supposed to make you tired and make your skin red. I've experienced a little of both, but for the most part, it's been pretty tolerable. The whole daily process takes about 25 minutes. I've done the math and at the end of the 37 days, I will have been zapped 2,627 times. If I've been glowing with excitement lately, you know why. I meet with the doctor every Wednesday, and when you go to the same place 37 times, you get to know the techs, the nurses, even the women in the office. I brought 'em all doughnuts for Valentine's Day, figuring they didn't have to worry if their stomachs got bigger.

Meanwhile, I'm still making monthly trips to Methodist Hospital for a Lupron shot and a Zometa infusion. That will eventually space out to every three months with a target date to finish of 11/11/11, about a year and a half from now. And of course, there are the daily pills (Casodex, Avodart, calcum, etc). I take about seven a day. It really is a long process, but they run blood tests every month and so far each time, the numbers are good: negligible PSA, good white and red blood cell counts, and whatever else they stick you for.

It's amazing how fast time flies. It's been just about a year since I first went to the doctor and got the news that started this ball rolling. I've been asked hundreds of times by friends, "So how are you feeling?" The answer is "Great," and to be honest, it's a question I never get tired of answering.

carl

A whistle out to Mozart ... and those like him

S o it’s a Saturday morning, and I’m sitting here typing this ... while whistling Mozart.

The great composer is my current obsession, and it isn’t the first time. I’d written a draft of a post for this blog in October that I never finished and, consequently, never posted, that was about the motion picture Amadeus. Which is about, of course, Mozart.

And a little over year before that, I went a solid nine months without listening to any music except Mozart  — not on my car CD player or at home on my computer media player or living room stereo. And to think that when I was a child, taking piano lessons that I absolutely detested, I had to play ... and practice ... so much Mozart. Such began my hate-love relationship with this fascinating composer.

Before I go further, in case you’d like to get in sync with me musically, the music I’m listening to while whistling is “Mozart: The Piano Quartets,” featuring instrumentalists Emmanuel Ax (on piano), Jaime Laredo (on viola), Isaac Stern (on violin) and Yo-Yo Ma (on cello). 

An acquaintance from a classical music discussion group at the business networking site LinkedIn pointed me to this recording about a month ago, and it’s been difficult for me to listen to anything else since. I absolutely adore it, which I’m sure explains why I’m whistling along right now.

Which gets me back to the point: love-hate relationships, or hate-love relationships. 

Most people, when they use or grasp that phrase, think of things that are simultaneous. You know, there’s someone you really love ... for reasons that developed over time in your interaction with him/her/them, but these also are people who tend to hurt you in ways they (and possibly even you) don’t fully understand or appreciate, so ... you keep distance between you and them, whether that distance is physical or emotional.

With me, and in the context of this post, the phrase refers to a “former/current” thing, and hence why I call it hate-love instead of love-hate:

** I used to hate Mozart, but now ... I adore him.

** I used to hate the Electric Light Orchestra’s song “Evil Woman” (and yes, there’s a bit of a story there, too); now I really like it ... and a lot of what ELO has done.

** I detested hip-hop music when it first hit the scene; now, I can abide some of it ... most of it, even. Recently, I even spent an hour plus watching a cable channel documentary on Tupac Shakur and another on one of the HBO channels, the 2009 motion picture “Notorious,” a biopic about the late Notorious B.I.G. (aka Biggie Smalls, real name Christopher Wallace). B.I.G. and Shakur were the coastal focal-point stars of the much-written-about East Coast/West Coast hip-hop feud/war.

** I used to think gardening was something for people who had nothing better to do; for the past five years, however, I indulge the activity quite earnestly in warm weather months.

** I used to detest spicy foods, but now I put black pepper on lots of things, I season my frozen pizzas with hot pepper flakes, love cajun spicing and put hot mustard (if I have it) on my Chinese meals. I will note that despite this turn-around, I still cannot stomach foods prepared with or containing very strong or high concentrations of garlic (e.g., garlic bread) or raw onions. At all.

** I used to think reading fiction was a waste of time. You know — it’s fake, so why bother? So whenever I’d look to find reading material, the books I’d line up would be only non-fiction — history, biographies and such. Alas, for the past 15 years, it’s been largely the other way around, and it opened my door to John Grisham, Patricia Cornwell, Clive Cussler, Lawrence Sanders, Daniel Brown and their ilk. In that 15-year period, I've probably read fiction to non-fiction in a 15:1 ratio ... a ratio that might have to slip a bit because of my reading material of late. The last two books I finished — and the one I'm reading right now (“Open,” retired professional tennis player Andre Agassi's autobiography) — are non-fiction.

You get the idea. I’m sure there are others. Again, characteristic of each item on the list above is that they are all hate-love situations — things I once disliked but I now like a lot. Are there any love-hates I can site, you might ask? Sure.

Foremost are professional sports, with baseball, football and basketball right up there at the top ... primarily because of how the business and commercialization sides of them have transformed the importance and relevance of each into something astronomically beyond what they deserve and, as a result, have warped the reality of so much of our populace.

The sad part is that the vast majority of people can’t and don’t see it. Collectively, these sports-as-a-business have sucked valuable community resources from areas where such resources are far more deserving and needy — education, welfare, education, infrastructure, education, public safety, education, and the arts, to name a few. Oh, wait. Did I mention education? If not, I apologize. Please add that to the list, and send it to the top with a bullet.

Which kind of gets me again back to point (yeah!). Mozart struggled financially in his short life (35 years and 11 months) on this earth. And yet, he amassed a voluminous, and quite stunning, body of work in operas, symphonies, concertos, minuets, quartets, sonatas and liturgical works. Unfortunately, he never enjoyed the wealth that should have come with such profoundly meaningful art; tragically, he was buried in a pauper’s grave. But I bet he would be pleased to know that there are people like me — some 200+ years later — sitting at a fancy, high-tech piece of equipment like a computer and listening to his works on a media player.

Obsessing, enjoying his music ... and whistling while they work.

Note: All of the images in this post are in the public domain and can be found at Wikipedia’s entry for Mozart.