The Promising Points of Greed

February 24, 2011

It's been some time, hasn't it?

We've lost the other blog, which got me thinking about this one. It's still here, as am I. So, I will announce a rebirth of this blogger site. I took too much time off, I know, but with good reason. I'll get to that shortly through a series of winding, overly authoritative points which, presumably, I will espouse with an unnerving amount of omniscience and heavy-handed didacticism. Bare with me, please.

So here I am. Now, with each firmly placed X on the calendar, I measure the distance to my future goal, vague and uncertain, as well as the time elapsed from my past skirmishes. In a few days, it will be one year since my stay at Shadyside ended. Needless to say, this fills me with an unending number of thoughts, emotions, and concerns. Certainly, I'm able to relish that I'm no longer in need of constant tubing; the medicinal plumbing that kept me alive for days. I'm grateful that, with every day, my Leukemia becomes less an insurmountable wall, garnished with razor-wire, encased feverishly by a garden of mines. Rather, it slowly devolves into a deviously hidden pothole, lurking in my past.

I am slow to recount what I've "learned" over the past year. This is because of two reasons: I'm still quite in the midst of what is happening/has happened, and I'm no more qualified to share it with you than a giraffe is qualified to pilot a zeppelin. But, for the sake of my spare time, the ease of internet publication, and my selfish interest in what will come out, I'm going to cover what I think I've learned. Sufficient? I hope so.

I'm aware that perspectives shift during a lifetime. Not once or twice, but rather continually and with great uncertainty. Obviously, the monikers of "make the best with the time you have," and "live everyday as if it were your last," apply, but these old cliches don't cover IT entirely. It? What is IT, really? An indefinable, unmanageable article that says everything without properly saying anything at all.

So here IT is. A recognizable greed that I'm sure didn't exist before all this came rushing down the pike. Before the diagnosis, before the hanging bags of blood, before the nights in the hospital, before the snow and frost that clouded my window, there was no sense of IT. Or, perhaps, this greed was uninspired, if not altogether misdirected from the beginning. Just because I didn't see it, doesn't mean it wasn't floating somewhere beneath my subconscious.

Yet, I've found that my greed is not in any sense avaricious or material; but rather a nagging greed for what was stripped in my disease. It's an odd little bird, chirping at my eardrum. It's constant, but not always noticeable, relinquishing when it wants and vanishing when convenient. Yet, it isn't an unlikable greed. If nothing else, it reminds me of where I've been. However, it moves from docile to delinquent if provoked. I find myself ill at ease, amongst other things, because of being hospital-bound for a month. My greed asserts itself in odd ways, reminding me that though I've made it through a small leg of my journey, my life is still a tangled bushel of thorns and vines.

But, I'm not here to worry. Worrying never yielded anything discernibly great or worthwhile. Not for me, anyway. No. I'm here to celebrate my Greed. I'm here to refuse the idea of "ambition," "drive," "motivation," or "want." I'm here to call it what it is. Greed. Wonderful, beautiful greed. Because, it's this greed that got me out of that bed. It's Greed that moved me to Meadville to finish school. It's this Greed that reinforced my confidence when I proposed. And it will be this Greed, pushing at times like a breeze (and at others like a Mac truck), that will spur me towards whatever is next.

Here's to Greed, at least for today.

I hope this post finds everyone well. Rest assured that time can't get past me without whispering memories of the well-wishing, hope-raising, and inspiring people who have backed me throughout this struggle.

All my love,

Chris

Leaves and Autumn Aphorisms

It's Monday February 15th, 9:42 am

Good morning to all! I hope everyone enjoyed their weekend (and Valentine's Day). In lieu of starting my second round of chemo injections yesterday, I took the day off to watch some flicks and do a bit of reading. It was a weekend of mental weaving, racing, and erasing in some instances. More of that later, I'm sure.

I'm scheduled for another bone marrow biopsy this morning/afternoon. We're going to be able to see how the first round of chemo has done. Our fingers are crossed, but even at such an early stage we can't expect to see much. Also, I doubt I'll be home until my platelets stabilize for good. Results are results. Knowing is better than groping in the dark for the ceiling's drifting light string.

The platelets have been coming back at/around 16,000 in the morning, which usually bounces to around 30,000 after a transfusion. As long as we're above 10,000, I'm happy. My mom asked me what I'll do when they return to normal. I hadn't thought about it. Jumping jacks with razors wrapped in my hands? Testing fate and all. More likely than not, I'll take a shower and a walk. Then jumping jacks.

-Oh, and since it was Valentine's Day yesterday, and all is red and reminding me: Donate Blood. I hate to sound didactic, or altogether preachy, but I've used so much blood (platelets, really) that I'll never be able to replace it on my own. I need your help! I'm simply a concerned citizen that has had his hand in the Blood Bank's coffer for a while now. I'm not here to preach, just to throw it out there. Enough with the causes, it's not my thing to push an agenda.

A lot of reading this weekend. Nothing sustained like a novel, yet. I've been rooting through poems, stretching their words apart like maple syrup between fingers. Even to the microscopic level, I have the torsion maxed on the knobs. I am looking for the sparks behind the lens. They're there. Some days it looks like a purple lightning storm settling over the breathing Atlantic sea; others are fields of white wheat that sparkle like whiskey after cold Midwestern rain; others look like the crooked veins of streets, scabbed by crumbling curbs and soiled in spots of leaking oil. I am keeping my faith in these words, the people in my world, and the strength that all of this (and you!) has instilled in me.

Franz Kafka (who's book of aphorisms was majestically bestowed on me. Thank you, Mr. Brock and Dr. Bakken) wrote, "Like a path in autumn: no sooner is it cleared than it is once again littered with fallen leaves."

So here it is. The path, clear for a moment. The wind will still breathe, detaching stems and leaves against drifting air; but for today, it's clear. Time to proceed with strength, love and endurance.

All my love,
Chris

Saturday Afternoon Insulin Shots

It's Saturday February 13th, 4:43 pm

Sausage Egg McMuffin with Cheese x2 and a Hashbrown. It doesn't get more processed than McDonald's breakfast, but by God did I enjoy it! There's something about congesting arteries in a hospital bed that feels so deviously fun. Thanks to my Uncle Fred for the food; he's been a huge help and a great source of conversation since coming to Pittsburgh.

Last night the doctors took a window of 28,000 platelets (gnarly) to insert a PICC line, which is a slightly more central port for my chemo and blood draws. Though not an unpleasant procedure, it involves running a tube through a vein in my arm to my neck. The process was weird, but nothing I can't live with. The advantage of having the PICC line allows them to draw blood from it rather than from my left arm. Looks like I'm going to lose my clout in the New York Underground heroine scene. You know what they say, "No tracks, no cred." So, here's to the left arm's slow, but exciting recovery! It should look less like a Civil War captain's gangrene leg and more like my dominant arm in no time! Huzzah!

The platelet battle still rages on, but we're collecting more ground as we can. Yesterday morning it was 12,000. Yesterday night: 28,000. This morning: 16,000. This evening (circa 4:00pm): 30,000. Awesome news to me. Each morning is a dip, only to find a bounce in the evening. It's like loosing the cusp of a balloon, only to breathe deeper for a greater charge. I can take that.

Some of the side effects of chemo (or the steroids, really) are beginning to show. My hair might be thinning, but also, it's pretty greasy right now. We'll see on that one. I've never had the courage shave my head, but we might find out! Patrick Stewart, anyone? The steroids have blurred my distant vision, but the prescribed glasses from over Christmas correct this (for the most part). That worked out well. There are also small issues with my blood-sugar levels, because of the 'roids. I'm practically a diabetic now. They are monitoring my blood-sugar and giving insulin shots. This will subside as my body molds to the treatment, though. None of these are permanent effects, but a nice walk through the world of people living with these afflictions. Trying on other's shoes, I suppose.

I hope everyone is enjoying their weekend. Get out there, get cold, get snowy, get drunk, get into trouble, but be safe for me. I need everyone around for when I get back. I have hugs and conversations, high fives and mental picking that I intend to do. So, keep well!

All my love,

Chris

City by the Lake

It's Friday Febraury 12, 9:12 am.

Preliminary thoughts: I'm sorry that I didn't write yesterday, but time drizzled from the clock faster than usual. The two nights prior didn't afford much sleep due to transfusions and blood draws. I can't complain for lack of sleep, it certainly makes the flood of doctor lingo more humorous.

Anyhow, we've got some updates! Let's start with the bones of the matter. I've been moved to another room! (UPMC Shady Side Room 710) This one is quite a bit larger and more accommodating to my ever-amassing pile of goodies. Being from out of town, it seems that my visitors come in groups rather than one by one, which has always been amazing for me, but previously uncomfortable for them. No longer! Chairs for all, I say! We seem to have plenty. It's encouraging to see them, knowing that there are beautiful people to fill their spaces.

Yesterday, we tried a new procedure to help with the platelet matter. It's called IVIG (Intravenous Immunoglobulin). I might have mentioned it. It's supposed to bolster my immune system in a big way, and in doing so will slow the decay (or destruction) of my platelets. Hmm, let's shoot for a for instance. For instance, I was getting platelets transfused in a big way for the last few days, but even when my platelets ascended beyond 10,000, they would drop rapidly (within a few hours) back to 5,000. After the IVIG and some quick moving platelets last night, they bumped to 15,000. After some sleep and a hearty breakfast of Honey Nut Cheerios, my platelets have only dropped to 12,000. This is pretty big, at least for me. It doesn't mean that my platelets aren't dropping, but not like before.

We'll see where this treatment goes, but we go on as usual: building our ground before we take our steps.

I was wheeled off from my room for a while; a nice break in the monotony of white sheets and re-run TV. I tried to take stock of everything: the carpet's burgundy blaze like tipped red wine from a dinner table; the fluorescent lights as they popped in a slow hiss of decay and degradation; the floral wallpaper's pastel smear (the same I've seen since birth in dentist's and doctor's offices, but altogether unique for me here). I could feel the right-hand pull from the gurney's gray and white wheels, like a crooked shopping cart that squiggles down each aisle, fighting your forearm's strain to keep it in line.

The point being, each of these lightning images took me miles from this hospital bed, these needles, tubes and tape. I wanted to run my fingers from the gurney to the fibers of the carpet, to feel if they were still wet from wine. I wanted that forearm sting, the tight struggle from black wheels grating against linoleum. Even the smallest inconveniences seem so vivid in my memory. They're the moments of outside life that I miss the most today, among others.

I'm not trying to suggest that everyone embrace the little inconveniences in life, because of their supposed beauty. That's ridiculous. I just know that my memory is what keeps me beyond these walls and the windows. I don't want to forget anything, most importantly the least important things. Don't forget the bending birch peppered in black birds, or the blinking lights of a wheezing city by the lake. I'll be back soon enough. Soon enough.

All my hope, love and patience,

Chris

***A Rapid and Triumphant Update***

My platelets have bounced up to 28,000 from their previous 12,000 this morning. This is another one of those victories. I'll be sucking the marrow (har har) from this success for a while. We are going to put a PICC line in tonight, which will give them a port for chemo and blood, without having to stick me with needles. Like I said, victory indeed. We aren't through this wood yet, but are pressing on through the braids of branches and vines until we find our next spot of camp. Thank you, everyone, thank you for keeping me in this fight. All paths eventually clear for a moment. This is ours, for now! Happy Friday, Happy Weekend!

All my deepest love,

Chris

Burgeoning Cups and the Timid Drinker

It's Wednesday February 1oth, 7:00 pm

It's been another slow day struggle. We continue to receive news concerning how low my platelets are. This being the case, we're dialoguing some options to boost the count. That being said, I am hoping that some of these other options do the trick and we can move forward. At this point, I'm struggling to divide the worry I have between two burgeoning cups of uncertainty: leukemia and the bleeding. I realized that I can't feed both of these vague concepts with my tense time and dissipating energy. I have to focus on one, while sidelining the other. Bleeding is the most imminent concern. So, my positive energy is reserved for that.

With so much time on my mind, I think about these issues in literary terms and analogies. I suppose my mind has been molded that way through class, writing/reading, or maybe genetic predisposition. I'm not sure. At any rate, I remembered the punishment of King Sisyphus. The Greek king, destined to roll a rock up a hill in Tartarus only to watch it roll back down as soon he reached the zenith. Much of my process shares this motif. To that end, I thought of a song by Wilco:

I was maimed by rock and roll.
I was tamed by rock and roll.
I got my name from rock and roll.

I appreciate a dash of irony and a good pun every now and again. If there was something I needed today, it was this. It's hokey, but for those of you who know me, this isn't the first instance in which this phrase applies. I have to take this in stride, uncover patience for whatever my vague and distant future will hold.

I have to stick with what I know:
1.) I will beat this
2.) I have an amazing support group
3.) Reading and writing are helping
4.) Hope isn't something I can lose, just misplace.
5.) If looking heroine chic is still cool, than my left arm is the king of the scene.

So, we stick to the certainties, because they'll grow everyday. I need to plant this in my mind, keep this rooted and remember it's the things that I've set in stone that will be the landmarks on this adventure.

Today's weary amble through uncertainties and vagueness made one thing clear: it has been a day, for good or ill. They all can't be good ones, and I have to salvage what I can from the bad. I have to realize that there's a reason we must endure the darkness, if only to realize what it means to be within the light.

All my love,

Chris

A Patient Understanding Patience

It's Tuesday February 9th, 8:57 pm

Today has been a day of patience. I think that is certainly one word for it. Yesterday was a peak in my attitude toward taking the first step. However, as we discovered this morning, my platelets, which rose to 12,000 yesterday, were only at 4,000 when our attending doctor arrived today. This isn't what we're looking for. It seems like whatever we do to raise the count seems to end in them dissipating over the next several hours. It's too earlier to expect the chemo to really fix the platelet problem, because at this point it's still killing everything. Yet, 4,000 platelets are nothing compared to healthy adult (150,000 is low for most). It's good that I'm not 100 years old and I retain an equilibrium (though some may disagree). I have faith in my balance and reflexes, but one can't be too careful when bleeding can be a serious concern. Not to cause worry, folks. I'm doing everything to monitor myself. And let's face it, my world at this point exists between the pages of books, reels of film, and lines of digital internet code. Not much to hurt myself on, physically, but it's still something I will attend to.

My doctors are doing everything to make sure this is getting fixed. When worry set into my mind this morning, I simply had to ask, "Will my platelets ever go up?" It occurs to me now this sounds like such a simple, naive question, but no one had said it yet. No one proved to me that this could be remedied. Again, I was lost in my woods. Yet, a sweet doctor, who has been with me since I was admitted, brushed her coiled red hair behind her aging ear and said, "Yes." That was it. Someone had to say it.

The possibility of sneezing and bleeding from my nose for 3 hours was startling enough for me to understand. I needed someone to speak definitively, directly and assuredly. I didn't need speculation, caution or theorizing. I needed a statement. I don't want to start naming doctors here, but she made top spot on my list this morning. Not that she'll read this, but thank you.

A medical morning, indeed. My day wound down after that. I feel healthy. I feel energetic, almost. I spent time looking out the window this afternoon, as the snow coated Pittsburgh. I haven't felt that air in days. It's a simple thing to miss. The breeze. The sting and sensation of scurrying across a cold lawn to a warm room. It reminded me of frozen hands tucked under the shirt of the beautiful girl beside me. Her body serpentine on two feet, rolling like a wave at high tide.

My white shoes have molded to linoleum of this room, but they have their patience. My jeans dangle in a closet 200 miles away, swaying with lint and linens, but have their patience. My scarf and my coat, my "trademark" hoodies all reside in dangling darkness. Yet, they don't scuffle in their silence. They have their patience. I must have mine too.

Oh, I can think of more than one cliche about maintaining patience. I am sure I dawdle all along the lines of the cliche, but I don't intend to. I intend to enact active patience. I am going to learn as much as I can from the people here. I'm no scientist, but I took biology in high school. That qualifies me, right? Well, it has to for now. I won't let this thing take from me, repeatedly. I'm going to take what I can from it, while I can. For as much as it drains and cinches, shears and tears at my blood cells, I'll absorb every dot of information I dare to glean.

The thing about dots is that they eventually connect.

Outside of the 7th story hospital window, I've noticed a distant tree draped in snow. It isn't a birch tree -- except for today. With that in mind, I think of the great Robert Frost.

One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

All my love, thoughts, and hopes,

Chris

P.S. some pictures of my new abode.



This is C-3p0. He's fluent in several different blood types.



This is my dinner. It was pasta tonight. Egg Noodles and Ketchup.

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This is Rachael. She's been the reason for a lot of those things (smiles) on my face.

A Quick Hello

It's Tuesday February 9th, 1:46 am

This is my first attempt at a video cast, don't judge me. Haha, it's late.

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