I am David Adrian, a thirty-one-year-old engineer living in Webster, Texas. In October 1998, I was diagnosed with non-Hodgkins intermediate/high-grade Stage 1 B-cell lymphoma and am currently undergoing chemotheraphy treatment to be followed up with radiation.

I have set up this web page to chronicle my road to (God-willing) conquering this disease. It is intended as an easy way to see what is going on with my treatment and to read what has happened so far. Everything is listed in reverse chronological order, so that the most recent stuff is at the top of the page for easy reference.

If you do not know me, I hope you can learn something by reading about what I have gone through. If you are going through something similar, I'd like to know so that I can pray for you.

Please feel free to e-mail me at dwadrian@hypercon.com. Of course, phone calls are always appreciated!

Special thanks to Mr. Wobbet for providing the web space for this page. Please visit his home page at http://www.wobbet.com/.

[ wobbet's note - some Remembrances from david's friends. If you have something you want people to know about david, send me email. his family and other friends can only be blessed by the stories we tell.] Wedding Photos from David's wedding.

Upcoming Events

06/18/99 (Approx) - Removal of my Port-a-Cath.

05/26/99 (Approx) - CT scan to see what all this work really did to the tumor.

The Story So Far

04/13/99 (Tue) - At work, a guy comes into my office and introduces himself. He asks about what I've been through, which I start talking about. Then he tells me that he was just diagnosed with non-Hodgkins lymphoma and asks what he can expect. I try not to scare him too much but still let him know some of the important things, like the fatigue of chemotherapy and the risk of infection. I hope I helped him. (It's amazing how many more cases of cancer I've noticed since all this has started. Then again, it's not so amazing when I think about it.)

04/12/99 (Mon) - I go see Dr. Chu for hopefully one of the last times, and he says that he wants me to have a CT scan the end of May to see how things look. I ask if there's any chance I'll have more chemotherapy after that, and he says "no." I then ask what are the chances of me getting this stuff again, and he says "50-50." Not what I wanted to hear, but at least with the regular follow-ups, we should catch it quicker next time.

04/09/99 (Fri) - Finally, I reach the last day of treatment. Afterwards, I say "goodbye" to folks and tell them I never want to go in this place ever again. They laugh understandingly. Fatigue has set in pretty severely, and my esophagus has become more tender. Dr. Walker wrote me a prescription for some viscous anesthetic and some great painkillers, but eating is still limited to thick soups that still hurt quite a bit. He tells me that I should get over it all in about 10 days.

People ask me if I feel relieved that it's over, and to some extent I do. However, all the news recently has been both good and not-so-good. (Radiation is over, but I'm still feeling the effects. Chemotherapy is over, but the mass stopped shrinking while still pretty big.) Once I get my Port-a-Cath out, it still isn't really over: I'll have to have periodic follow-ups to see if the lymphoma has come back. Honestly, the last piece of solely "good" treatment news came when we first found out that the tumor was shrinking, after the first round of chemotherapy. Everything since has been a mixture of good and bad. Not that I'm disappointed or sad or anything, but it's difficult to be elated when I know that I'll never be totally free from this. But in a sense, no one is free of the specter of debilitation. It's just that it's a little more real for me than for most folks my age. I do intend, though, to do my best to live life. I will not sit around waiting for the other shoe to drop; that would just make all the work we've done pointless.

04/06/99 (Tue) - When I go in for treatment, I'm told that Dr. Walker doesn't think that yesterday's mishap did any damage. It's just a small fraction of the total dose, and the shielding is pretty symmetrical. I wish I could put that technician on the table, reverse the shielding, and tell her that it's okay because the shielding is symmetrical.

04/05/99 (Mon) - I go in for my last week of treatment and find out that the radiation technicians have rotated their duties, so I have a different person zapping me. The first two shots go okay, but on the last one she accidentally reverses some of the shielding. (They always tell me to lie as still as possible on the table, so I can't turn my head to see if they're doing things right.) She says she'll ask Dr. Walker if this will cause any problems, and I tell her that would be a good idea.

03/29/99 (Mon) - My esophagus is starting to get tender. I can still eat, as long as I'm careful to chew well and not eat or drink anything real cold. The medical people tell me to try adult liquid Tylenol. It seems to help some. We'll see how it lasts.

03/22/99 (Mon) - Ramona tells me she's going to take x-rays of me during my treatment. She zaps me in one position, and then places a film behind me and zaps me again. I can hear a buzzing sound when the machine is running, so I decide to compare how long the beam is on between the actual treatment and the x-ray. The treatment zaps sound like "bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz." The x-ray film zaps sound like "bzz." I ask her if the beam is the same intensity, just shorter, for the films. She says they are because they don't have a dual-intensity machine that they can turn down for the films! I'm beginning to feel like a roast in a microwave oven.

03/21/99 (Sun) - The cold that I had has not gone away. I spend most of the weekend sleeping. Anne and I had planned, for her birthday, on going to see the Houston Ballet perform "The Sleeping Beauty," but Anne winds up going with her mother because I feel too bad. (And, yes, I am disappointed.) Apparently, my body is still not real strong in the germ-fighting department, yet. The rest, though, does a lot of good, and I'm feeling better by the end of the day.

03/18/99 (Thu) - I make it back to work, not totally recovered, but feeling better. I pick up Anne that afternoon to go for my daily dose of radiation. Every Thursday is my "Doctor Day," where I see Dr. Walker for a check-up after my treatment. Since I haven't been at this long enough for any of the side effects to kick in, the meeting is uneventful. I do ask if the scheduled twenty treatments is realistic, and he says yes. There may be two or three more, but that's all. Cool. The end is in sight, finally.

03/17/99 (Wed) - I miss work because of a sore throat, stuffy head, and fever. This is thankfully not related to the radiation treatments, but I still watch my temperature to make sure my body is fighting it off properly. The irony is that at one of my low points during chemotherapy, when I had to be so careful not to get sick out of fear of having to go to the hospital, I had said that I couldn't wait to get a cold and not worry about other things. Well, be careful what you wish for.

03/15/99 (Mon) - I go in for my first radiation treatment, apologizing for washing off the markings Nicole had made with a felt-tip marker on my chest. She tells me that the markings aren't needed, that the tattoos are enough. Great, I spent all that time carefully washing myself so as not erase the marks and then remarking myself when I erased them anyway for nothing. Anyway, Nichole works with the technician Ramona to get me set up on the treatment table. They've made up some acrylic plates with holes drilled in them to help "customize" the doses for my body. The physicist is also there (finally) to make sure things go as planned. Anne, who is off from teaching on spring break, is there to share in the fun. They shoot me three times: straight on, from the left side, and from the right side. I don't feel anything; I only hear a buzzing sound from the expensive-looking machinery. I'm tempted to jerk my body a little after the buzzing stops, but I figure that the humor would probably be lost on everyone. After the treatment, which takes less than ten minutes, Nicole, the physicist, Anne, and I go back to the simulation table to take some follow up contour measurements. We're done quickly, and the whole process takes less than twenty minutes. Anne tells me that she was told that I'm scheduled for twenty treatments total but that more could be added if needed.

03/10/99 (Wed) - I go in for the simulation at Dr. Walker's. I meet Nicole, the amiable radiation technician, who will do the nuts and bolts work. After I take off my shirt and put on a hospital gown in the dressing room, the first job is for her to make a foam cradle for my upper body to help keep me still during treatments. She fills a garbage bag with Insta-Foam and I have to lay down on it for 10 minutes. Way cool! Then I lay down in the cradle on the simulation table, and Nicole and Dr. Walker take lots of x-rays to determine the best locations to shoot the beams into me. Every once and a while Nicole comes out and marks my chest with a black Sharpie "permanent" marker. Somehow I'm not supposed to wash these marks off, but I can still take showers. Go figure. Then we wait for the hospital physicist to come do a contour of my body and figure out how the beams will disperse through me. However, she is stuck trying to retrieve a radioactive gold nugget that a patient accidentally "dropped" into a toilet. (Don't ask.) So Nicole does the measuring for her. Then, she gives me four tattoos. They're just small dots, but I'm still proud of them. Finally, I make a standing appointment for 3:45 every weekday, starting Monday, for radiation treatments.

03/08/99 (Mon) - I go see Dr. Walker, the radiation oncologist, to start the ball rolling down the radiation trail. His office is adjacent to Clear Lake Regional Medical Center, and he gives his patient the security code to park in the doctors' lot right next to his office. I feel special. The visit itself is fairly uneventful; the simulation equipment is booked up for the afternoon. However, he does show me my oldest and latest CT scans to compare the tumor size. The difference was dramatic, but the biggest difference was in my heart. Back in September, before treatment started, the tumor was large enough to move my heart back towards my spine and push two main arteries closer than they are supposed to be. Now, my heart is roughly back in place and not touching the mass. I guess the chemo really did some good. After the conference with Dr. Walker, I get signed up for the simulation on Wednesday.

03/04/99 (Thu) - Everything has its downside. The CT scan showed that the mass hasn't shrunk since the last CT scan after treatment #4. Dr. Chu and Dr. Walker both examine the pictures but can't tell if the remaining mass is cancerous or just scar tissue. The only firm conclusion is that chemotherapy isn't working anymore and that radiation is the best way to attack whatever's left. Without a biopsy, which isn't planned, no one can really say for sure what's still in there.

03/03/99 (Wed) - After pushing and prodding for two days, I finally get an answer out of Dr. Chu, by way of Mardi, about my fate. NO MORE CHEMO!!! No more Prednisone; no more IV bag; no more nausea; no more Neupogen injections; no more blood tests; no more quarantine! Mardi calls and sets up my next appointment with Dr. Walker for next Monday to start the ball rolling for radiation. (No rest for the weary.)

03/01/99 (Mon) - I go to Clear Lake Regional Medical Center bright and early and hungry for my all-important CT scan. Miraculously, all my paperwork is in order, and I breeze through Outpatient Admitting. I get to Radiology early enough to beat the crowds, so I quickly down the barium sulfate (lemonade-flavored, instead of vanilla, this time) and pose for my pictures. I'm in and out in less than an hour! Which leads to the laxative story, but I won't go into that...

02/20/99 (Sat) - Anne goes off to take her certification exams while I stay at my apartment resting. Afterwards she says she feels good about how she did, so I'm pretty certain she has passed. Thanks for all the e-mail y'all sent encouraging her; she's still interested in getting more at aeahern@aol.com. I've found that I recover faster if I just totally crash the second weekend after a treatment. This seems to allow my body to regenerate itself, and by Monday I'm ready to go at almost full strength.

02/19/99 (Fri) - Here are the results from yesterday's blood test: whites are at 2.6, reds 11.2, platelets 123. No big change from this time last treatment. Mardi says to continue the Neupogen injections through Sunday. Last night I had a slight fever, which put me in a panic over possibly going to the hospital. After staying home from work today, though, I feel better. Thankfully, I stay out of the cancer ward.

02/11/99 (Thu) - I go in for my sixth treatment. Daddy drives down to take care of me. Mardi tells me that even if I have to do more than six treatments, there won't be more that two more, which is encouraging. Things go normally, except that the nausea hits earlier than usual, but I have drugs to fix that. Daddy goes home Saturday, after doing my laundry and cleaning up my apartment for me.

02/08/99 (Mon) - I go see Dr. Chu to get cleared for my sixth treatment on Thursday. Things go routinely. He is noncommittal, as usual, when I ask if this will be my last one.

01/29/99 (Fri) - Here are the results from the post-chemo blood test yesterday. Whites are at 2.1; reds 11.6; platelets 136. The whites are not bad but not good. I have to continue the Neupogen until Sunday. The reds are better than expected. The platelets are normal. My energy level is cruddy; these treatments are getting worse and worse. It's hard to imagine going through three more. Maybe I'll only have one more. Please, God?!?

01/21/99 (Thu) - I start my fifth chemotherapy treatment. Mother meets me at Dr. Chu's to help me get through it. I don't experience any new side effects, but the nausea is a little worse and I'm more tired than before. I guess you can't regularly kill billions of your body's cells and expect it not to take its toll. Mom goes home on Saturday after helping me by doing a lot of the little things around the apartment that I can't easily do for myself. I sure hope I don't have to go through much more of this.

01/19/99 (Tue) - Before going to see the radiation oncologist Dr. Walker for the first time, I had to go by Memorial Southeast and check out my x-rays and CT scans and go by Dr. Chu's office and get a copy of my chart. I go by Southeast Monday evening and spend several hours that night trying to figure out what's what. About all I can figure out is that the fuzzy spot where my tumor probably is is smaller than it was a few months ago. I go by Dr. Chu's office a few minutes before my appointment on Tuesday to get my chart, and I run quickly over to Kinko's to make a copy for myself. (Hey, if they didn't want me to have a copy, they shouldn't have given it to me!) It's not all that interesting, except that Dr. Chu, in one of his write-ups, called me "a middle-aged, pale-looking, thin, white male in no acute distress." Thirty-one is not middle-aged!!! Anyway, the visit with Dr. Walker is reasonably painless. He explains that I'll have to get daily radiation treatments for three to six weeks. The side-effects won't be as bad as with chemotherapy, but they'll be very localized around my tumor. Unfortunately, depending on how he decides to aim his radiation beams, either my esophagus will be damaged temporarily, making eating difficult, or my lungs will be damaged permanently, reducing their capacity by about 10%. I'm rooting more for damaging my lungs, since very few of us use anywhere near all our lungs' capacity in the base case. Dr. Walker is very pleasant and funny. He says he'll talk with Dr. Chu to decide when the treatments should begin.

01/13/99 (Wed) - Dr. Chu has the report from my CT scan (by Dr. Lawrence, the best radiologist outside the Medical Center), and it says that my tumor has apparently shrunk 50% since my last scan. This is great news. Dr. Chu still won't tell me if I will have just two more treatments or if I'll have to endure more of this. My blood is also in good shape, so he clears for my next treatment. He also tells me to make an appointment with Dr. Walker, who will be doing the radiation portion of my treatment. It's time to start getting ready for that fun and frivolity, which means the end is in sight, I hope.

01/12/99 (Tue) - I don't want a repeat of my last CT scan when I was delayed for over an hour due to lack of clearance from my insurance company, so Monday I called Joy at Dr. Chu's office to make sure all the insurance paperwork was in order. When I get to Memorial SE in the morning to check in at Outpatient Admitting, everything goes smoothly. My first stop is the lab (where Crazy Marie works) where they draw a blood sample. Then it's off to Radiology where I get to drink the vanilla barium sulfate drink for breakfast. Yum! A woman in the waiting room who looks like she's is in bad shape asks me what I was there for. After hearing my answer, she says, "I thought I had problems." Surely I don't look that bad. The chest x-rays and CT scan go smoothly. Hopefully I will know something at my appointment with Dr. Chu tomorrow.

01/06/99 (Wed) - Blood test day. The week has been tough. I haven't had much energy at all. When I share this with Mardi, she tells me encouraging things like, "This weekend will not be as good as the last," and "I hope you don't need a transfusion." I walk out of the office walking on air. NOT.

01/03/99 (Sun) - This is my last day on Prednesone for this treatment. My energy level has been lower than during the last couple of treatments. Usually while taking Prednesone I get this incredible energy rush and then crash once I go off it. This time I don't have nearly the same amount of energy. I must rely on Anne to do a lot of the basics, like fix meals and drive me around. I have been taking Benadryl (or the generic equivalent) to help me sleep at night, so I'm reasonably well rested, but I'm curious to see if the post-Prednesone crash is better or worse than in the past.

12/30/98 (Wed) - I go back in to see Mardi to get the IV disconnected. Anne survives the worst part. I start taking the Neupogen again.

12/29/98 (Tue) - I go in for my fourth chemotherapy treatment. Anne, since she has the week off from teaching school, volunteers to be my caregiver this time around. I make the mistake of asking Mardi how long I can expect to go through radiation once the chemo treatments are over. I expect her to say from one to three weeks, so I'm quite disappointed when she says six to eight weeks, five days a week. It sounds like, though, that most of the time it will only take around half an hour and can be scheduled for late in the day, so I can still work. She also warns me that the radiation will probably mess up the lining of my esophagus, which may require that I be given nutrition (fed) through my Port-a-Cath. Oh well, we'll get through that when the time comes. One bonus is that the radiation folks will have to give me a small tattoo on my chest marking the location of my tumor so that they will know where to stick the radiation. Cool, my first tattoo! (The lengths kids today will go to defy their parents!)

12/24/98 (Thu) - Anne and I have lunch at Angelo's, where we had our first date back on July 3. After we are through eating, I ask her to marry me, and in a moment of weakness, she accepts. I become the happiest man in the world. We tentatively plan to wed in October, 1999. Here is a picture of us a few days afterward:

When this cancer stuff all started, I had briefly considered waiting until my treatment ended to propose, but then I realized that there was no reason that life should stop because of this "temporary inconvenience." I have to keep my mind focused on the truly important things.

12/21/98 (Mon) - Anne and I go to my appointment with Dr. Chu. She meets him for the first time. He clears me for my next treatment but is noncommittal about giving me drugs to boost my red blood cell count. He does say that I have enough white blood cells to play with my little nephews over the holidays.

12/19/98 (Sat) - I finally decide to lose the buzz cut (which with my blonde hair makes my fair-skinned head look rather fuzzy) and actually shave off the remaining hair on my head (except for the eyebrows, of course). Not that the short hair is any trouble, but I figure this is my best chance to experience total baldness and still expect it to eventually grow back. The shaving process is not easy, though, because of the funny angles and because that hair is not used to being cut that close. I kind of like the results, however.

12/18/98 (Fri) - I make my regular call to Mardi for the test results, and while my whites and platelets are good (5.1 & 165, respectively), she officially calls me anemic. My red blood cell count is 10.6, which isn't much lower than before, but last week she didn't use the "a" word so it seems much worse. This helps to explain why I'm continually tired. She says she will talk with Dr. Chu about me taking weekly injections of some sort to raise my red count. She also says that my blood chemistry (sodium, potassium, etc.) is normal. Cool. It sounds like things are good enough for me to begin #4 the week after Christmas.

12/17/98 (Thu) - I go in for another blood test. Dr. Chu will use this one to determine if my blood is healthy enough for me to go through the next course of chemotherapy as scheduled. I talk to Mardi about some of the things that are happening to my body. First off, my mood seems to swing quite a bit. I don't have a lot of energy. My shins hurt. My fingertips are numb. Also, my hair is continuing to slowly thin out. She reassures me that all of this is a normal side-effect of the Vincristine. Funny, I only get 2 mg of this stuff each treatment, but I still feel it at least two weeks afterwards.

12/11/98 (Fri) - I call Mardi about 10:15 am for my test results and things are pretty good. My white count is 3.9 (>2.0 is desirable), my red count is 11.0 (which is up over the same time last treatment), and my platelets are at 125, which isn't above the 130 that Mardi wants. I tell her that since my white count doesn't require me to inject myself with Neupogen for a while, we shouldn't worry about not having enough platelets for my blood to clot. These are all positive results, better than where I was last time around.

12/10/98 (Thu) - I wake up feeling extra tired, so I decide to burn a day of vacation from work and not push myself too much. I begin to realize what cancer survivors mean when they say that chemotherapy makes you tired all the time. My energy level always seems to be low, but I am getting signs that my body is devoting it's energy to killing cancer cells, which makes not being able to much physically worth while. I go in to see Mardi for my regular blood test around 12:30 pm. Nothing happens that is out of the ordinary.

12/05/98 (Sat) - I get a birthday present a day early. The Fightin' Texas Aggies upset Kansas State to win the Big 12 Championship 36-33 in double overtime, avenging a tragic loss to Nebraska in the champinship 364 days before. Whoop! This, plus the Prednesone, makes sleeping even more difficult, but it's a good kind of difficult.

12/04/98 (Fri) - I'm doing well enough that Daddy heads back home in the afternoon. I take a day off of work to save my energy for the evening. Anne and I attend my office's End-of-the-Year Party at the Park Plaza Warwick between downtown Houston and the Medical Center. We had a great time, except for some tragic news: we find out that a gentleman in the office in his late thirties had just passed away after battling stomach (or liver?) cancer. Slowly I am realizing that some people really don't make it as far as I have and that I'm blessed that we caught the disease this early. My boss takes me aside and asks me how I'm taking the news. I tell him I'm doing okay and am moved by his concern. Later on that evening, the Prednesone kicks into high gear and I don't sleep much. I guess catnaps will be the rule for the next few days.

12/03/98 (Thu) - I wake up with the typical Adriamycin/Vincristine "hangover." I take the anti-nausea drug Compazine as soon as I wake up, and this seems to help me eat some throughout the day. My trip to get the bag removed is routine.

12/02/98 (Wed) - I go in for my third chemotherapy treatment. Daddy comes down to shepherd through it. Everything goes smoothly in the doctor's office, but around 6 pm that evening my dad and I are talking when we hear this loud beeping sound. We ask each other what it is and I figure out that it's my IV pump. It has stopped because of air trapped in the line somewhere. After paging Mardi several times, I wind up taking part of the pump apart and banging it on a chair to get the bubble to clear. I knew the master's degree in mechanical engineering would come in handy one day!

11/30/98 (Mon) - I go into see Dr. Chu for my pre-chemo check-up, which is uneventful. He says that he has seem my most recent CT scan and x-rays and says that it appears that my tumor has shrunk by 40 to 50%. (Whoop!) I ask him how long I will have to continue chemo, and he tells me that I can "bet my mortgage" that I'll have a total of at least six courses. When I tell him I don't have a mortgage, he unfortunately doesn't change the number, which means that I might start my last course in February. That's not too bad. Mardi gives me a copy of the radiologist's report, which is quite positive and reads as follows:

"CT SCAN OF THE CHEST: Postcontrast enhanced CT scan of the chest reveals a large anterior mediastinal mass extending to an area overlying the right hilum. This mass is consistent with a lymphoma which is apparently a diagnosis this patient already carries. The mass is noted to be considerably smaller than on previous CT scans of the abdomen and pelvis which included portions of the chest. The trachea and major bronchi are patent. There is a linear area of atelectasis or scarring adjacent to the mass probably reflecting an element of compression atelectasis. There is a normal appearance to the great vessels of the mediastinum. The pericardium is unremarkable. Slices continued through the upper abdomen reveal a normal appearance to the liver, spleen, visualized portions of the kidneys, and the adrenal glands. The pancreas is unremarkable." (Sounds like everything is normal, including my heart, except that the tumor is still pressing on my right lung. I'm pretty sure this is good, except I hate having any part of me called "unremarkable.")

At night Anne and I listen to an oldies radio station, and I swear that I hear a song titled I Got the Rockin' Lymphoma and the Boogie-Woogie Flu. Or maybe not.

11/24/98 (Tue) - I call Mardi mid-morning for the test results. She says my blood is within the normal range (white count - 4.3, red count - 11.0), but she won't have the radiologist's report until the afternoon. (Apparently, people at hospitals think they should be able to take vacation at Thanksgiving like regular people, and those left are quite busy.) At the lunch table, my boss says that apparently another man at work in his thirties who has cancer is in a coma at M.D. Anderson and the prognosis is not good. I tell my coworkers to slap me if I ever complain about what I'm going through. When I reach Mardi in the afternoon, she quotes the radiologist as saying that the tumor is "significantly smaller" than when the x-rays were taken during my recent hospital stay for the infection. When I press her a little, saying that I get in trouble at work for using vague words like "significant," she says that some radiologist won't report using numbers. Go figure. She also quotes Dr. Chu as saying that this is "a good report." So the chemo is working and my body is working and I can have fun with friends and family during the holidays. Praise/thank God.

11/23/98 (Mon) - Anne is off Thanksgiving week, so she accompanies me to let Mardi draw blood for my latest test. This is her first time to meet Mardi and Joy (the receptionist), and Mardi thanks her for taking care of me so well. (I thank her often, as well.) I ask about the CT scan results, and she promises me to have something tomorrow when I call about the blood test. Joy apologizes for the insurance mix-up last week at the hospital. She had called Aetna but they never faxed the authorization. They even tried to claim she had never called, but she knew the name of who she talked to and when she called, so they backed down a little. Go, Joy!

11/19/98 (Thu) - I arrive early at 8:20 am at Memorial Southeast for my CT scan. I hope to zoom through Out-Patient Admitting, but they slam me back to reality by telling me that they don't have the authorization from Aetna and that they'll have to call Dr. Chu's office for them to get the authorization and that Dr. Chu's office doesn't open until 9 am, which is when my appointment is. Arrrrrgh! I don't get to Radiology until way after 9, and then I have to wait forever listening to Ken Starr "testify" before the congressional subcommittee. When I do get to the scanner, the technician messes up and sticks the iodine IV through the vein in my left arm, which is rather painful. He does better with my right arm. After the scan I have to wait more to get a chest x-ray. They have to redo one of the x-rays because they didn't allow for my "big lungs," whatever that means. I get out of there at 11 am, which is at least an hour later than than it should have been. I just loved managed health care!

11/17/98 (Tue) - I call Mardi for the test results, and I have gone from 0.6 to 26.8 K/mm3, almost 45 times higher. The normal range is 5.0 to 10.0, so I've overshot a bit and can definitely stop giving myself the Neupogen shots until next chemo treatment. I'm pretty excited - I can be around people again!

11/16/98 (Mon) - I wake up feeling quite well after being pretty listless all weekend. At work I go to Medical and tell them I am going to work full time instead of half days. The blood test is at 4 pm. Dr Chu is there and he expresses surprise (as much as he expresses surprise) that my white cells tested at 0.6 K/mm3 (units courtesy of cousin Joe Mitchell, DDS) even with Neupogen. I am pretty confident that I will be much better this time around. Mardi also writes the orders for my next CT scan. First she puts me down for both chest and abdomen, which would mean more barium drink (ack!), so I explain to her that since the tumor is in my chest that the abdomen is not interesting enough to go through the agony. She agrees. She then tries to send me back to Clear Lake Regional, and I convince her that Memorial Southeast would be better because it has a sane radiology department. I must be feeling better if I can be so difficult! The CT scan is scheduled for Thursday morning.

11/13/98 (Fri) - I can't get a hold of Mardi in the morning to find out how my blood test went, so I skip the foodfest/talent show at work, just in case someone in the crowd is sick and just in case I don't have enough white blood cells to fight off illnesses. When I do talk to Mardi in the afternoon, I find out that I made a 67, which won't cut it at my old high school. My red cells and platelets are okay but my white cells are at 0.6 (units?) when they should be 2.0. What this 2-out-of-3 day means is no crowds (church), no children, no sick people, another blood test Monday (must study harder!), and more Neupogen shots. If I'm careful and lucky, I won't get sick, get an infection, and wind up in the hospital. I do realize, though, that I feel better compared to this time last treatment when I was hospitalized - that's something.

11/12/98 (Thu) - Coming off the Prednesone the past few days has been tough. My energy level is low, but I'm still making it to work and generally taking care of myself. I just take a little longer in the morning to get ready. I go see Mardi at 3:30 pm for my blood test. She also weighs me and I seem to have gained some. This is a good sign, especially since she tells me that I may experience some nausea next week. Oh joy! As the day wears on, I'm moving slower and slower, so I'm not too optimistic about the test results.

11/08/98 (Sun) - I don't go to church because of fear that I might catch a bug from someone in the crowd. I continue to feel better. Mother heads home around 11 am. My goal today is to rest, update the web page, and answer e-mail. Tomorrow I will go back to work, still on 1/2 days for the next week or so.

11/07/98 (Sat) - I wake up feeling much better. I don't try to overdo things, but I can tell that my rebound time is much less this time around. I eat larger portions and don't sleep nearly as much.

11/06/98 (Fri) - I wake up feeling terrible. The red-devil cocktail of Vincristine and Adriamycin I've been taking since 3 pm yesterday is taking it's toll. Mom keeps telling me that I'm doing so much better than last treatment, which I am, but it's difficult to see anything other than the present. The nausea is pretty bad, but when I eat a little I feel better. (Mother says it sounds like when a woman is nauseated during pregnancy; this doesn't help me very much.) I wind up sleeping most of the day. We go back to Dr. Chu's at 3 pm to get disconnected, and Mardi gives me another anti-nausea drug called Compazine (Prochlorperazine Maleate) in pill form. This seems to help a bit. She also teaches me how to inject Neupogen (Filgrastim) once a day into my leg. This drug is genetically engineered to increase my white blood cells so that I don't wind up in the hospital like last time. I'm a little nervous about giving myself a shot, but with Mardi's expert advice, I screw my courage to the wall and do it. Getting the bag disconnected raises my spirits, but I still feel pretty lousy.

11/05/98 (Thu) - Second chemotherapy treatment is today. Mother arrives in the early afternoon. I feeling really pumped up because I feel so much healthier than before, but I'm also quite scared because I know that I won't feel so great for much longer. (Chemo does that to you - it's the nature of the beast.) We head over to Dr Chu's, and Mardi plugs into the Port-a-Cath and starts filling me up. Once we get to the big bag of joy that takes 24 hours to inject, I strap on my carrying bag and we head home. I still feel great, which means things are going better than before.

11/02/98 (Mon) - I start back at work again working half days. Not as big a scene when I return this time, but I still enjoy being around people. In the afternoon I have an appointment with Dr. Chu in advance of my next chemo treatment Thursday. He doesn't have anything new to say to me, which is not bad since all the news was good last time I saw him in the hospital. He does reiterate that he will reduce to dosage of the drugs that will decrease my white count and also give me injections to boost it. I'm hopeful that this treatment will go smoother than the first: my body is stronger, my spirits are better, and I know more what to expect.

11/01/98 (Sun) - I go to church with Anne and we have lunch afterward. Sitting on a slight incline at a stop light on the way home, my foot comes off the brake and I bump into a GMC Jimmy in front of me. Nobody hurt. Minor damage to his truck. A little less minor damage to mine. Small stuff, obviously, but I'm disappointed that I add some inconvenience to my life when things are starting to smooth out some. Oh well.

10/29/98 (Fri) - Dad goes home in the afternoon. I'm feeling better than I have in several weeks. I try not to push myself and send myself back to the hospital.

10/27/98 (Wed) - Unexpectedly, Dr. Chu comes in, says my white and red counts are normal, and tells me I can go home. My temperature is genuinely normal and I feel quite well. More hair in the shower. Mom and I get home shortly after noon, and Dad arrives to relieve her soon after that. Mom has bought me some hair clippers, and my main goal for the afternoon is to clip my hair so that it doesn't bother me so much when it falls out. With Dad's help, I give myself a pretty good buzz cut. I also shave my beard for what should be the last time for six months to a year. Maybe this chemo stuff won't be all bad!

10/26/98 (Tue) - Towards the end of the day, I start feeling much better. In the evening I have quite a bit of energy, enough to start annoying Mom and Anne. Dr. Chu seems to think that my infection is not in my blood but says that half the time they don't know where it is otherwise. My temperature drops below 101 degrees, which is the magic number for starting the 48-hour clock to go home. Lots more hair lost in the shower - I take it as another sign that the chemo is working.

10/26/98 (Mon) - Dr. Chu comes to visit in the morning, bringing the news that the x-rays showed that my tumor has shrunk! Otherwise, he basically echoes what the weekend doctor said about how to treat the infection. I feel weak all day long. They give me an injection to raise my white blood cell count, in addition to lots of antibiotics. They let me take a shower (much to the delight of Mom and Anne!), and I notice my hair coming out in large amounts. I don't go bald instantly, but I can tell that I was heading that way (pun intended).

10/25/98 (Sun) - The weekend oncologist comes to see me and says that what's happened is that I've developed some sort of infection because my white blood cell count is so low. This is a consequence of the chemotherapy drugs, which kill the fastest reproducing cells in the body, including some that are useful like blood cells and hair. He says that if the infection is in my blood, then I'll have to have an antibiotic IV for ten days, which could be administered at my apartment by a nurse. If the infection isn't in my blood, then I would have to stay in the hospital until my temperature stabilized for 48 hours. Mom came to stay with me until Wednesday.

10/24/98 (Sat) - Anne stays with me all day because I'm so weak and light-headed. I can't keep breakfast down and wind up sleeping most of the afternoon. Just before I go to bed, I lose the Ensure that I drank a few minutes before and get a serious case of the chills. Finally we decide to take my temperature, which is over 103 degrees. Anne calls the oncologist that's working the weekend and he says for us to go to the Emergency Room at Clear Lake Regional. There, after blood work and x-rays and lots of waiting, Dr. Fisher tells me I need to spend the night. They take us to the oncology ward and I start getting saline and glycerine through an IV. By now it's past 2 am, even allowing for daylight savings time, so we just try and rest some before morning.

10/23/98 (Fri) - I have the hardest time getting up to go to work. I get dizzy in the shower and have to sit down a few times. Eating is harder than it has been and I have to lay down for 20 minutes or so to get the strength to go in. But I do, because I look forward to seeing everyone and because I'm stubborn and a creature of habit. When I call Mardi mid-morning, she's not surprised that I was light-headed; she tells me the blood test shows that I'm anemic. She's not overly concerned, though. She just tells me to take it easy, move slowly, and come in Monday for another blood test. Again, I basically crash after work.

10/22/98 (Thu) - After my 1/2 day at work, I go visit Mardi and Dr. Chu's office to have a routine blood sample taken. She says call her sometime tomorrow for the results.

10/21/98 (Wed) - I feel good enough to go back to work, at least for 1/2 days. Everyone is happy to see me, and the change of scenery does me good. I have to go to the Medical Department to get approved to return to work, and they are pretty easy to work with. Everyone at Exxon is very understanding and concerned that I don't overdo it. I promise them that I won't. It's great being around so many people who aren't trying to stick me with a needle or cut me with a scalpel! I leave work just after lunch and come home and crash, but it's a good kind of crash. I'm starting to be more optimistic.

10/16/98 (Fri) - Mom and Dad and I go back to Dr. Chu's to get disconnected. Because of my trouble eating, Mardi gives me another bag of Anzemet to help with the nausea. I also get some pills to take for a few days: Zofran (Ondansetron HCL) for nausea and Prednesone, which is a steroid, to help the other chemo drugs work better. The next few days are kind of a blur to me. I know that Mom and Dad go home sometime during the weekend. I also have trouble eating but find that Slim Fast and Ensure help me keep my strength. I don't feel great during the weekend, but I can tell I'm getting a little better each day.

10/15/98 (Thu) - My first chemo treatment is scheduled for 1:30 pm at Dr. Chu's office. I am scared, mostly because I don't know what to expect. I am tired, because of all the stuff I've been through in the past month. I am also relieved, because something curative is finally about to happen. I go to Dr. Chu's with Mom and Dad, and Mardi has me sit in a comfortable recliner to receive the drugs. She injects the bags of medicine through the Port-a-Cath in my chest. I receive (in no particular order) Cyclophosphamide (Cytoxan), Vincristine (Oncovin), Doxorubicin (Adriamycin), and Anzemet for nausea. Injecting the Anzemet and Cytoxan takes about 1-1/2 hours. The Adriamycin and Vincristine mixture takes 24 hours, so I'm sent home with a backpack containing the bag full of medicine and an IV pump. We're supposed to go back to the office at 3 pm tomorrow to have the pump disconnected and the needle in the port removed. It feels weird carrying around the bag that's connected to a tube that goes into my chest, but I just remind myself it's better than the alternative of spending the night in the hospital with an IV in my arm. I find that I have trouble eating. It feels like the tumor is pressing on my esophagus, causing me to gag when I try to swallow. It's not the regular kind of nausea, but it still prevents me from eating regular food.

10/14/98 (Wed) - We all show up at Day Surgery (No Out-Patient registration. Yea!) at Clear Lake Regional at 8 am. They escort me to my recliner, where I wait until time for the procedure, which doesn't take long. The anesthesiologist gives me Diprivan (aka Propofol, which was once briefly made by Albemarle in Orangeburg, SC) instead of Demorol, which works much better. Dr. Nahas pops the Port-a-Cath in (I assume. I was asleep, of course), and I'm alive and kicking in the recovery room. It doesn't take me long to get my legs back and we're out of the hospital shortly after noon. (Diprivan is great stuff!) And somewhere along the way, Dr. Nahas decided to leave the needle in the Port-a-Cath. Great fortune.

10/13/98 (Tue) - Mother and I show up at Out-Patient at Clear Lake Regional bright and early at 7 am to get the chest x-ray in preparation for an afternoon appointment with Dr. Nahas. They tell us we need a referral from his office, which we don't have. So what begins as an early-bird special turns into a mid-morning fruit basket turnover. Finally, around 9 am, they get the referral and we head up to Radiology and wait. And wait. And wait. Fortunately, Dr. Nahas finds us up there and gets his physician's assistant to write-up the orders for the Port-a-Cath procedure tomorrow. This was so we can go do the Pre-Op stuff the day before the surgery, like it's supposed to be done, without another trip to the hospital. Mom and Dad and I see Dr. Nahas back at his office. Everything is normal with my wounds, and he seems nonchalant about the Port-a-Cath procedure. Dr. Chu has asked him to leave the needle to make chemo on Thursday easier to start, but he seems reluctant. Oh well.

10/09/98 (Fri) - We go to Out-Patient at Memorial Southeast and they don't know anything about me. I tell them I'm supposed to see "Marie at the lab," and this somehow works. The woman who admits me calls "Crazy Marie" and works a deal to get me in and get the orders later. Dr. Chu does a great job with the biopsy: I feel it but it doesn't hurt. Afterwards, he sits down with us and says that enough of the pathology is back that we can begin chemotherapy Thursday of next week, once Dr. Nahas installs a Port-a-Cath in my chest to make injecting me with stuff easier. Carole & Jimmy leave today or tomorrow (I don't remember), Anne takes the weekend, and Mom and Dad come down on Sunday (or maybe Monday).

10/08/98 (Thu) - Sister and brother-in-law Carole and Jimmy relieve Mother. Mardi from Dr. Chu's office calls and says I'm having a bone marrow biopsy tomorrow at Memorial Southeast to make sure the lymphoma (assuming that's what it is) is not in my bone marrow.

10/06/98 (Tue) - Dr. Nahas cuts me loose from the hospital. Pathology results should be in Friday or Monday (or Tuesday or...), and I'm supposed to see him in a week after getting a chest x-ray to check on my wounds. Mom and I go back to the apartment to play the waiting game once again.

10/05/98 (Mon) - We arrive bright and early at Clear Lake Regional to be admitted. Unfortunately, we forgot Dr. Nahas's orders, so Mom runs back to the apartment and brings them back. The Admitting folks seem very confused but check me in anyway. Then we head down to Out-Patient to begin Pre-Op check-out but sit there for 20 minutes before finding out that we should have gone directly to another window marked "Out-Patient." At this window, they say they're expecting me, which calms me a bit. I go in and they draw blood, weigh me, take my blood pressure, and ask me lots of questions. I also get a visit from the anesthesiologist so that I won't be so shocked when I get a bill from him later on, even though I don't recall ever seeing him again. We then go up to my room, and I put on another well-ventilated gown and wait. And wait. And wait. Turns out that Dr. Nahas had to schedule heart surgery ahead of me. Oh well. They finally wheel me off to surgery around 11:45 am, which wouldn't have been so bad except that I have had no fluids or liquids since midnight. I'm a little cranky. Again, I don't remember anything about the surgery, but when I get back to the room and wake up a little, I realize that I have two incisions instead of one. I expected the one above my breastbone, but the one beginning in the middle of my chest and extending 2-1/2" to the right is a surprise. Mom says that Dr. Nahas said that there was too much muscle being pushed up by the tumor, blocking access from above, so he had to go in from another angle. Anyway, he got the sample. As expected, I spend the night in the hospital.

10/04/98 (Sun) - Mother comes back to usher me through more fun and frivolity. I think she has a better grasp of what's in store.

10/02/98 (Fri) - Early in the morning, M.D. Anderson calls me to pre-admit me for some tests. This is the first I've heard that I might be going to M.D. Anderson. I tell the woman to check to make sure that the appointment is still scheduled. She doesn't call me back. Mom and I arrive at Dr. Chu's office at 10:30 and meet with him and his shiny-happy nurse Mardi. Best news is that the CT scan of my abdomen came back negative, so that things haven't spread to other places in my body. They tell me that my treatment will most likely consist of 6 months of chemotherapy treatments, scheduled once every three weeks, followed by a few radiation treatments to kill the last of the tumor. Unfortunately, my doctors have decided that the guided-needle biopsy didn't provide enough tissue for a proper diagnosis, so things can't begin until they get another sample. Dr. Chu refers me to Dr. Nahas, a thoracic surgeon, to schedule a mediastanoscopy. We set up an appointment to see him late that afternoon, even though he normally only sees patients in his office on Tuesdays and Thursdays. (Another indication of how serious this is, since doctors make time for me!) Mom decides to go home for the weekend, and Anne, who somehow has the afternoon off, goes with me to see Dr. Nahas. He's a nice guy. He tells us that he plans to make an incision above my breastbone, insert a boroscope into my chest to locate the tumor, and then grab a sample. I ask if he wouldn't mind grabbing more than just a sample, but he says this wouldn't be a good idea. Oh well. He schedules the surgery for Monday morning at Clear Lake Regional. Anne takes care of me over the weekend.

10/01/98 (Thu) - While I'm in the shower in the morning, Dr. Chandra comes by and tells Mother that my tumor is most likely lymphoma, even though they won't know for sure until the full pathology report is finished on Friday or Monday. When I get out of the bathroom, there's a wheelchair waiting to take me back to Radiology for a CT scan of my abdomen, searching for more lymphoma. Mom runs them out long enough to bring me back up to speed and shed a few tears and tell me I can go home after a few more tests. In Radiology, they make me drink two bottles of "vanilla"-flavored barium stuff to illuminate my insides. It is about the worst thing possible to drink. The goop is served chilled and the lab is cold and I'm still in my gown and boxers. Here I discover the joys of heated blankets. I also go back for another echocardiogram, just to be on the safe side. I'm also told to make an appointment to see an oncologist named Dr. Chu the next day to begin talking about treatment for the lymphoma.

09/30/98 (Wed) - I check into Memorial Southeast, sort of. The surgery will be out-patient, but they are nice enough to give me a private room to wait and recover in. (This is the way to run a hospital!) I go for the echocardiogram about 9 am, and I would imagine it's a lot like an ultrasound that a pregnant woman might go through. I can't tell anything, though; I just see this squishy thing moving around a lot on a TV screen. I go for the guided-needle biopsy around 11:30 am. Dr. Lawrence does it in the CT room, I guess using a fresh scan to guide him in injecting a needle into the tumor through my chest. I'm zonked out on anesthetic, so I don't know for sure. Once I get back to my room, I'm still pretty zonked on the Demorol, so much so that my blood pressure is a little low. The cardiologist Dr. Nathan drops by to tell me that I have some fluid in the sac around my heart, which is probably a defensive reaction to the tumor but nothing to worry about. He does say, though, that I should stay overnight until my blood pressure comes up some. The nurses are amazed that Dr. Lawrence is so good with the needle that we can't even tell where he inserted it.

09/29/98 (Tue) - Mon and I meet again with Dr. Chandra in the afternoon. He says that Dr. Lawrence can do a guided-needle biopsy the next day at Memorial Hospital Southeast on an out-patient basis. He said they will also do an echocardiogram to make sure my heart is not being damaged by what's inside.

09/28/98 (Mon) - I see Dr. Le (say "Lee") at Gulf Coast Medical Group in the morning. He reviews the ER report and quickly sets up a CT scan at Clear Lake Regional and refers me to Dr. Chandra, a pulmonologist. Out-Patient and Radiology at the hospital are zoo-like and don't take the idea of "working me in" too seriously. Dr. Chandra's office calls me in Radiology, telling me to please hurry because they want to see me right away, but it takes a while to get in for the CT scan. Funny, once the technician sees the pictures of my chest, I get much better service! Pictures in hand, Mom and I rush over to Dr. Chandra's office. He greatly reassures us when he seems to have a pretty good idea what it might be: either lymphoma, my thyroid, teratoma, or thyoma. He gives three different methods for getting samples, none of which sound fun: bronchioscopy, mediastanoscopy, and guided-needle biopsy. He says he'll consult with a radiologist named Dr. Lawrence (called by Dr. Chandra "the best radiologist outside the Medical Center") about doing the guided-needle biopsy and tells us to come back tomorrow when he'll have a better plan of action.

09/27/98 (Sun) - Mother arrives ready to shepherd me around through the health care maze. I don't think she knows what she's getting into.

09/25/98 (Fri) - I get back from New Jersey about 7 pm, feel half dead, and don't think that five days in New Jersey is the primary cause. I call my PCP's clinic and find out that they're closed until Monday, so Anne and I head off to the Emergency Room at Clear Lake Regional Medical Center. My temperature is okay but my pulse rate is 120 bpm at rest. They send me for a chest x-ray, and the results are so unexpected that the technician reshoots them just to be sure. Dr. Miller informs me that there is a large tumor in the right side of my chest. He gives me some anti-alergy drugs to help me breathe and tells me to follow up with my doctor on Monday.

09/21/98 (Mon) - I leave for five glorious days in suburban New Jersey. I feel like Newark looks.

09/19/98 (Sat) - While visiting Mother & Daddy in Atlanta with Anne, I see one of the doctors at the clinic where Mom works. (Open on Saturday - what a bargain!) He says it's still probably bronchitis and gives me a stronger antibiotic. With me leaving for a week-long trip to New Jersey on Monday, I really hope this knocks things out. I spend most of the weekend laying in a recliner sleeping and shivering.

09/14/98 (Mon) - First visit to a doctor about my respiratory problems. He listens to my chest and says it's probably bacterial bronchitis. I get some antibiotics and hope I'm on the road to getting better.

08/??/98 - I start having respiratory problems. Difficulty breathing, rapid heart rate, lack of energy. I don't worry too much about it, thinking that it's probably just a minor cold that will clear up in a couple of days, only it doesn't.

"Sometimes I get so afraid of life. (I'm not afraid of death - I'm scared of going through this thing twice.)"

"Complicated"

Poi Dog Pondering