HERE we are, three weeks into the program. Did blood labs at the hospital this morning. I’ll be there tomorrow for day 4 of 12 on the Rituximab IV. On Friday I’ll finish the first 21-day cycle on the Lenalidomide. Then it’s seven days off, lather, rinse, repeat.
I won’t try to tell you it’s been a breeze but it’s been nowhere near as unpleasant as the nitrogen mustard in the arm, the Bendamustine I had in 2019-2020. Science marches on, if only we’ll allow it.
I rode to the hospital this morning. What a difference a week makes. For last Tuesday’s blood labs I got set to roll the iron piggy into the street but there was way too much accumulated ice in the driveway. I felt I would almost certainly drop the piggy onto her crash bars and then not have the footing to get her back up onto her wheels. Took Pam’s car to the hospital that day instead.
There was hardly any ice left this morning, but Pam said, I hate that you’re riding the bike. Keep your head on a swivel. Which I always do.
It was fine riding weather, 30 degrees warmer than a week ago, low-40s. It felt good to open her up on the highway and push into the sweepers at Thurbers Ave. I needed that.
Miriam Hospital’s Fain Building in the background, Cancer Center’s on the third floor.
By the time I get home 20 minutes later, the lab results are posted on my page. One thing I’ve noticed: when you go into chemo, things on your blood graphs start going straight up or straight down. Don’t ask me what it means, I just show up when they say to be there.
I’ll leave the bike home tomorrow, seeing as how I’m a little wobbly for a few hours after the IV. My head feels like a balloon on a string.
Climbed up on the roof yesterday to clean the chimney. Wouldn’t care to do that on an IV day, either.
Every day I make sure to get out in the air for a bit, if only to split enough wood for an afternoon, a night and a morning. It feels good to swing an ax. I’m just about through the well-seasoned maple. The oak burns well enough but could use another summer in the sun.
Other than that, I’m sleeping a lot. Not happy about that.
Not sleeping well, either. For the first week I had unusually vivid dreams that felt more like hallucinations. I was walking across the bottom of an ocean all night, then I was climbing Jack & The Beanstalk trees that never ended. Every time I grabbed a new handhold or foothold the tree would precariously crack and pitch and tip. A balancing act all the way up.
Sleep disturbances aren’t reported in the literature, so I have no idea what’s going on with that. What was going on. Lately I can’t remember anything at all upon waking but I know I’ve been around the world. My mind was racing, but racing where?
Sometimes it can be hard to sleep in the hours after the 9 p.m. Lenalidomide. It raises my resting heart rate. That has to be the body consciousness, I would think, the organism wondering what’s going on. This isn’t found in nature. What are you doing to me? It takes some time to drop off when all you can hear is your carotid artery thumping in the pillow.
The steroids have seriously spiked my appetite. I’m a hog wolfing down everything in sight, mixed metaphors, you name it.
Between the ears, I’m slower than usual on material that requires real engagement. It took me 3x as long to get through Crane Brinton’s The Shaping of Modern Thought, first published in 1950. My old friend the perfesser mentioned he was reading Brinton so I grabbed myself a copy. It’s a history of ideas, a philosophy of history, you might say. Reading Brinton made me want to reread (if maybe not just now) A.O. Lovejoy’s The Great Chain of Being and Isaiah Berlin’s The Crooked Timber of Humanity.
For a lighter read and pure pleasure, I’m about to finish up Michael Ondaatje’s The English Patient. He breaks all the rules of prose form and content, or what you thought were rules. Prose as only a poet can write it. It’s lovely language. Sometimes you think he wrote off in a single sentence a chapter you would happily read.
You won’t be surprised to hear the book is so much better than the movie. Though it’s not a bad movie.
The aforementioned perfesser, BTW, had a cameo as a cruise ship captain in Mandrake’s Bon Voyage, a Phantom Sunday story published in 2013. I was working then with Terry Beatty on the Sunday side of things. Wonderful artist and a fine human being.
Captain L.K. Stanley is hosting a costume party aboard ship when he runs into three gals dressed as WWII shore patrol. Little does he know, they’re not playing dress up. They mean to take him prisoner and hijack his ship. A tip of the hat here to the all-female criminal gangs Lee Falk created, starting with The Sky Band in 1936.
In December I agreed to be a guest on the Chronicle Chamber’s 300th podcast. Chemo intervened a few days before the scheduled recording date, so I asked the Aussie blokes to collect any questions fans might aim my way at the event, I would answer them in writing when I could, which I did. When they post the article, I’ll let you know.
The Chronicle Chamber has a few file photos of me, very dated, much less gray of reality, so I sent them a selfie they could run with the piece, or not. Held up my phone and aimed my big schnoz at it.
That’s Lee Falk on the wall. For Christmas, D2H1 gifted a Nebula projection TV to my lair.
Pam got a good laugh out of the selfie, me looking out through a chemo daze. She said, You look eager. You’re very pleased to be up there with Lee Falk, even if he does seem to be scowling at you.
Tony DePaul, February 25, 2025, Cranston, Rhode Island, USA
Checking in here this morning. Thanks so much again, all. Today’s a good day: day 1 of a 7-day break on the Lenalidomide.
A simple question, from a simple mind… Why are all the shore patrol gals left-handed? Or am I seeing a mirror image of the original?
Good eye, amigo. I would guess that was Terry solving composition issues. He wants you to see the gal’s face in panel 2 and that all three are wearing sidearms in panel 4.
You are a warrior, Tony. That is a fact. Best of luck on this leg of the journey.
Long time reader, haven’t chimed in for…a bit. Good on ya’ for the effort and keeping the positive attitude. Listen to Pam – if for no other reason than she’s probably worried about you more than she’s letting on. Here’s to another chapter of kicking (cancer’s) ass and taking names.
Thanks so much for reading and for the good word, all. I’ve been mostly sleeping and will likely sleep again before it’s time to shuffle off to bed. Groggy is not a good look.
I thought I was in for a 30-day break between IVs starting today but I’m told they want me back Wednesday of next week, so that’s where I’ll be.
Thanks for staying connected with your many fans. May this round of chemo do the trick. Watch out for potholes on your trips to Miriam.
Stay strong, Tony, you have too many blessing around you to allow fear, doubt or depression to affect treatment outcome for a beatable disease. Loving The Spark and also The Princess of the Songhai Sunday story line.
Looking good Tony…Sure you will come out of this stronger. Like our hero does often!
All the best.
Remember you have to make a visit to the mountains of India someday.
People who live east of Barstow are a different breed. Who rides a bike in 40-degree weather and calls it “good”? I’m freezing just thinking about it.
Still, I remain in awe of your grit and good humor. Even your dreams refuse to take it easy on you—walking the ocean floor and climbing endless trees? Your brain doesn’t mess around.
Hello Tony, as everyone else here has said, kudos to your strength of spirit for being able to muddle through the chemo. I’m glad you have the presence of mind to be careful about when and how you do things. It’s great you got some riding in; the last two days I managed to get in about 100 miles on two separate rides on the Kawasakis. I wired both bikes for the new Gerbing heated jacket, seems to be adequate. This is the first time I’ve been on them since the end of January, I think. It’s great that you feel up to writing even when your health is in the crapper, a real testimony to your character.
I’m happy to hear that the chemo isn’t so bad and that you’re tolerating it so well. I can’t believe you’re riding the Piggy and cleaning a chimney. Way to go, Tony.
I am a long-time admirer of your work, Tony. Now you are involved in your greatest work with this blog. It really encourages a lot of people, I am sure.
Thank you for taking the time.
Hi Tony. Writing this from a long way off where the spouse and I have landed and are trying to figure out how to be refugees, or at least expat writers. I’m so glad I got to see you and Pam before we left, but I still wish you and Josie could have jawed over A Serious Man together.
It’s lovely here. Makes you wonder why we don’t all live in Europe. When your chemo’s done, if you want to spend some time in the sun, we’ve got a spare room for you. Sending love.
I’m sure that Lee Falk’s spirit is very happy with you, and as glad as we are that things on the health side are going as well as they are. Hoping and praying that continues for a long time.
Can’t see a reference to “The English Patient” without thinking of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s joke when he and Tim Rice accepted their Best Song Oscars for “Evita,” the one that movie won the year that TEP swept all the major Oscars: “Well, thank heaven there wasn’t a song in ‘The English Patient,’ that’s all I have to say.”
Thanks for the update tony. Stay positive…
Hi Tony, glad to hear you’re on the path to wellness. Hang in there!
Tim Murphy
Wow, serious shit.
I’m glad to hear you are out for a ride every now and then. Good therapy for the mind and body.
The snow is melting like crazy here. My driveway is very icy. I am hoping that the middle of March I will get in the wind again.
Atta boy, getting out AND kicking cancer’s ass. Looking forward to seeing you this summer, so that’s one goal.
Since I’ve come to the Roaring Fork Valley from the swamp named Houston, I find being outdoors is good for the soul. Upped my game recently to a fat tire Class 3 e-bike…. I effing LOVE it because we have miles and miles of bike trails here. As snow melts I will go further and further. Not exactly what you do, but it’s in my comfort zone.
Sheesh. You’re out there doing more while having chemo than I do without any such excuse! Carry on.
Bravo to you, Tony, on your committed approach to beating this evil being cancer. Optimism is many times as important as the drugs they use to fight it. Stay committed. Be safe and above all be well when you can. John