oh, there's no place like home from the hospital

from the hospital, you can't beat home sweet home

even though this is one of my favorite Christmas songs, I won't bore the reader with a fully written parody. Perry Como had enough troubles in his life.

score: BNP o, Scott 2.

with an explanation.

yes, with too detailed medical stuff. those with weak hearts should be forewarned, like at the beginning of Little Steven's Underground Garage or by the trailer for some 50's gore flick which ends up being more stomach turning aesthetically than by actual blood measurement.

I went "in hospital" as the Brits say Sunday with real trouble breathing. I knew it was Pleural Effusion mania, just roaring back at a rate no one had anticipated. I also knew no one in Interventional Radiology would be there to do a thoracentesis (draining), much less installing the permanent catheter, but that someone in the hospital would be able to do the former.

when some department is empty...they don't come out and say it. they say, we're waiting to hear back from IR.

Houdini as well.

but I've written many times about doctors who are quick to prescribe, quick to overprescribe, and how I did not appreciate their approach.

boy, did I get my own back. it took forever for anyone to do anything on Sunday. they need to hear back. they want to make sure.

they are on my side. they aren't doing this like musicians do, both to show off and because the process is such a kick. they are doing it because someone needs it.

I always say, sometimes, that if you fight against someone who is on your side...whom are you really fighting?

nevertheless, within a few short hours (sigh) I was checked into quite a nice room. and I had a team of doctors and nurses watching me and debating the best thing to do.

if I could wait til Monday, they could install the permanent catheter (which I hadn't welcomed, then had accepted, now was ready to beg for) then.

(they always have you sign these consent forms, when, by the time I get them, I'm ready to beg)

I think it was I who said to the head doc, well...can't we do one thoracentesis now and get some relief, and do the big one tomorrow?

the others made discouraging noises. but she said, I disagree, I think we need to do the draining now.

sure enough, once minds were made up and a plan agreed on, within a mere 4 1/2 hours, it was done.

and was the secondary headline after the BNP, #2.

lying as comfortably as I could, unnoticed by me, my heart rate shot up to the 190's.

six very serious faces.

someone put two large pads on my front and back, and explained to me about shocking the heart back into rhythm. said, we want to be able to go quickly, just in case.

(to go with the two dozen pads already welded to my chest hair)

but I changed position and it stopped.

Dr. Gore had seen the lung tumor pressing down on the upper chambers, the atria of my heart.

what we hadn't realized is that, in order to get enough blood to the body, my heart rate was up in the low 100's consistently. I mean, that's the good, in sinus rhythm stuff. sometimes it would become arrhythmic, shooting up and fluctuating wildly and as rhythmically inconsistent as "Heat of the Moment" by Asia.

this would happen a number of times a night. I've no idea how long it's been happening for. but I do find it ironic that the band I am in with Stewart Greisman is called "Sinus Rhythms"

the first approach to treating it was several injections of Metoprolol. nothing to LOL about. (I called it "Metropolis" just so I wouldn't forget it...) one pretty good result was gotten with injections and a small oral dose.

I am given to understand that Amiodorone does some of the same things, more gently, and without lowering blood pressure. both of which we like. at one point, the hospital prescribed a pretty big oral dose of it...and in an unusually consumer-oriented move, printed out and gave us some papers on the drug.

the first note on the paper was that it took two weeks for the oral version of the drug to have any effect. we quickly "asked a question about it"/ brought it to their attention.

that resulted in my having a slow Amiodorone drip for 24 hours, to get me going.

I loved Tommy. I loved Who's Next. maybe for impact and general Rock and Roll Godliness, they actually beat out The Who Sell Out.

but for sheer songwriting, lyrical, production, chromatic craft you can't beat The Who Sell Out.

the "Sell Out" concept is part manic whimsy and part barbed-wire in cheek. there are radio promos and The Who's one line ads between the songs, which theme works about as well as Sgt. Pepper's concept of "we're not us, we're another band entirely giving a show, so everything's going to be different, ok?"

neither works terribly well. you're not going to find a good manic goofy ad to introduce a song whose first line is, "you take away the breath I was saving for sunrise", just as you'd better put the Pepper reprise before "A Day In The Life" because pretty much nothing should come after. including, say I, the spiral out groove. (if you don't know about that, find out...we were spared it in America)

Bonnie Phipps and I used to do this song from The Who Sell Out, which I now use to remember Amiodorone, in a classical folk ensemble - guitar, autoharp, fiddle, 'cello:

She sang the best she'd
ever sang
She couldn't ever sing
any better
But Mister Davidson
never rang
She knew he would
forget her

She'd seen him there
And put herself to
ransom
He had stared
He really was quite
handsome

She had really looked
her best
She couldn't ever look
any better
But she knew she'd
failed the test
She knew he would
forget her

Triumphant was the way
she felt
As she acknowledged the
applause
Triumphant was the way
she'd felt
When she saw him at the
dressing room door

She was happier than
she'd ever been
As he praised her for
her grace
But his expression
changed, she had seen
As he leant to kiss her
face

It ended there
He claimed a late
appoinment
She quickly turned
To hide her
disappointment

She ripped her
glittering gown
Couldn't face another
show, no
Her deodorant had let
her down
She should have used
Odorono

and now, for anyone as into it as I am, the online lyrics incredibly sport another verse!!

Odorono could have
saved your day
Could have helped her
to get the part
Odorono and he would
have stay
To help her to save her
heart

Monday I had the Pleur-X catheter installed, so that drainage could be done at home. they recommended three drainages a day. with the rate I'd been filling up, I cheered.

but once they had gotten all of it out once...I started hurting during drainage. my theory was that I was not producing what I had been, and that the hurt was trying to get more than I had.

that theory is bearing out. I am told that the rate of drainage is totally to be determined by my comfort level.

I can hang with that.

anyway, I seem to be producing a looot less.

we have an order in for the kits to do these. they should come Monday. but the bottles are scarce in the hospital. we have two between now and then. but recent results indicate that waiting awhile, less frequent use, is the way to go.

Tuesday/ Wednesday was the Amiodorone drip. somewhere in Wednesday, they decided to include a very small oral dose of Metoprolol as well. and one aspirin.

I couldn't make this stuff up. take one aspirin. and don't call me in the morning.

the doc left it up to me whether or not to go home Thursday morning, BNP's 1 and 2 seemingly addressed. considering the patients lined up for the room, that was very generous. I voted to split, and sure enough, 6 1/2 hours later, I was home.

when the 6 or 7 people came in Thursday am, I asked if they had thirteen seconds to spare, and said there was a medical joke I wanted to tell. I had gotten it from Stewart Greisman, so I felt like I had a chance of it going over.

it killed. everyone loved it. the head doc said...can I use that?

only popular demand will yield its inclusion in these pixels. let Stewart tell it, I say.

and inside...compulsive, scared for my next breath, weakened, poked and prodded, desperate entertainer that I am, I felt...you've had me for five days. now, at the end, I have you.

he who laughs last...

the catheter developed a huge haematoma. that left a huge bruise when it went away. it always hurts. I'm hoping it will lessen as the bruise lessens...I used to call bruises "sleepy spots" as a child, because they just seemed slow and whiny about staying with the program...but sources tell me it will always hurt. and the dressing signals the end of my illustrious hot tub career.

my first night home, I got a pulse oximeter/ heart rate sensor for $40 from Walgreens. because I am now on oxygen...this is about day 9. Sunday at the hospital, I was a happy boy getting fifteen liters a minute. right now...about 6 liters keeps my O2 level at 94 or so.

going off the oxygen brings it down to 88, maybe lower. that may have been where it was before...I tested low for a long time.

but I have to reset my priorities. the most important thing right now is not a gig or a session or productiveness. it's healing, resting, sleeping...essentially, being comfortable.

as anyone in any walk of life will tell you, it's the hardest job there is.

I got my second shot of radiation to my shoulder tumor and the big lung tumor yesterday. the hope is that they will have arrested growth...though answers about how and when we will know if it worked remain sketchy. it is said that if I am fortunate enough to get actual shrinkage, it would happen over a couple of months.

nothing else, short of a cancer curing drug, will lessen the pressure from the tumor on my heart, lower my heart rate to normal, and eliminate the afibrillation.

afibrillation...afibrila-a-tion is making me late, keeping me wa-a-aitin'...

I have an appointment with Dr. Gore (back in town from her symposium) next Thursday. the Tuesday after that, I'll meet with Dr. Cavanaugh, the radiation guy.

this next week...other than being totally unable to do anything...I don't know. yesterday I slept. I think that's my most aggressive move right now. will I get stronger? stay the same? get worse? by the time I see Dr. Gore?

she'll want to see that BNP's #1 and #2 are stabilized. that there is no BNP #3. it may or may not be the time to talk about Chemo #4.

I hope this is ok. the primary purpose of the blog is to help me make sense of what I'm going through. that can mean more or less medical hard news. this week, it meant way more.

it's been months/ years I've been sleeping 5-6 hours, having hassly dreams, waking up and being sure I can't get back to sleep, then falling off and waking exhausted.

but it can't have been months/years since I've had pressure on the top of my heart from the tumor.

I'm not too brave to complain here for awhile. everyone should know...I'm a wheelchair ridin', O2 sucking, recovering guy. I hate to let people see me really struggle...even putting a PA together...but this week some did. I'm considering some short visitations this week, but right now no music at all. I haven't worked up enough nerve to take a shower.

but as I rode to the hospital Sunday, I took in the things on the highway, almost as if to say goodbye.

today is not that day.

is anything else at all important?

(it's lisa, taking dictation from the Big Guy.....)

I have developed some heart arrhythmia, that's the big new problem....BNP

It happens while I'm asleep or just resting or at any inexplicable time.

The doctors are managing the BNP drugs right now, still figuring out just what they want to do.

The permanent catheter is working and affording me a great deal of relief, which is the problem I checked in for. I still cough every time I move and the catheter hurts when I cough.

Whats scared me most about the letter I read from Chris Daniels was that he had five independent things to manage at the same time in order to have any hope. I am afraid thats where I'm heading.

I know I have all of your support, prayers and well wishes and it's a real blessing.

but don't come over unannounced.

It's just not time, I can't talk, can't move and I need to focus everything I have on healing. Don't come over unannounced. If I catch a break, I will dearly want to see all of you.

These are those days but this isn't the end of them, there is a lot more fighting to be done and right now it's all I can do.

I see you

that's where I ended up today. in the ICU.

and, man, let me tell you, was that care intensive! there must have been eight people in here, all staring at my vitals like a ticker tape.

today was the worst it's been. can't talk without coughing. can't turn over without coughing. no sleep. no comfortable position. real constant trouble breathing.

after much, much, much ado, they did another drainage, anticipating the permanent catheter to drain the fluid at home will go in tomorrow.

I was not in great shape to withstand the procedure.

but it brought immediate relief, from difficulty breathing. much better, again.

still feel lassooed by the other stuff. but it still feels like relief. maybe sleep tonight.

the fact that they have seen nothing that necessitates skipping steps...that they're going for the dare, before the double dog dare, and way before the triple dog, is vaguely encouraging. gives hope that some intermediate step will work.

I can stick with the thoroughly defeated feeling I had this morning...or start courting the ghosts of the gigs this week I didn't think there was any way I could do, silly as that would be...

I guess what I'm feeling right now is...."this ain't over until I say it's over!"

my Dear Hearts and Gentle Readers had much more courage and fight than I've had today.

til now.

I told you I would tell you

when those days are these days.

those days where things are serious. those days when it's really trouble.

I think those days are here.

I can't breathe. I have a machine that gives me ten liters of oxygen a minute. I still can't lay flat and breathe.

any movement makes me cough hard.

I can't sleep. I haven't trusted myself to stand up long enough to take a shower.

I'm checking myself into university of colorado hospital in aurora this morning.

the pleural effusion seems to help for a few hours. after that, things get back to bad quickly. even with a permanent catheter, I can't see it being the source of real relief. maybe, but hard to imagine.

there's supposedly an operation where they put talc in your lungs, to keep the fluid from being made. can it really help something on this order?

after that is the life threatening, full cut open, weeks in the hospital recovering removal of the tumor from the lung.

in any case, as of now, everything is cancelled. I can't do anything....gigs, sessions, anything. I'm checking in this morning.

I love life. but it has always been a part of life that it was never made to never end.

the rollercoasters at EuroDisney

were not my favorites, or lisa's.

I mean, in their attempt to make EuroDisney as thoroughly French as Disneyland is American, the Space Mountain dark indoor rollercoaster used retro graphics from From The Earth To The Moon, the thoroughly French Jules Verne novel. I still prefer the Disneyland Kubrick-influenced version, but it was pretty cool to see.

the ride itself had a lot of the backwards stuff, which is not my favorite. and upside-down.

and the worst part is, no seat belt or bar was enough for them. there was, in addition, a plastic head exoskeleton that stopped short of fitting snugly. so at every turn, instead of being thrown against the side of a car like in the American Indiana Jones ride, your head banged against this "protective" device.

yeah. less thrilling and scary than just mincemeat making.

that was yesterday at the hospital.

we didn't even talk about the new chemo with Dr. Gore.

fasten your head protective devices, Dear Readers.

the latest scan shows the largest of the lung tumors pressing against my heart. keeping it from filling and pumping to its capacity.

the dizziness, the low blood pressure, the difficulty breathing, maybe even some of the coughing...all due, it is thought, to that.

she wanted to deal with this problem before going on to chemo possibilities.

I get it.

Dr. Anne Leyba, caring but tough and pessimistic, prone to black and white conclusions, told us insurance would never approve home oxygen with my oxygen numbers. but I didn't even make it out of labs yesterday without oxygen.

it was time.

I told Dr. Gore that I wanted a chest X-ray yesterday, to see if the fluid was coming back. because the tap didn't help that much that long, as we hoped. every time I lay flat, I couldn't breathe, even after the tap.

she had already filled out the form.

she was different yesterday.

the question of whether she would be actively taking my case if I were no longer in the study was answered. she was Xena, Warrior Doctor. she moved mountains yesterday.

music overlay: Rolling Stones, "Pain in my Heart"

so what to do about the tumor pressing against the top of my heart?

an operation would be an entire chest cut open, major life threatening, weeks in the hospital affair. she had talked to a surgeon and found this out.

she had a plan B- stun the tumor with radiation. it would, we hope, shrink, and stop dragging my heart around.

a hundredth as invasive...and in the majority of cases, there is some relief.

she had arranged for a meeting with Radiation Oncology. everyone worked me in at the last minute. they were ready to give me the radiation yesterday.

we met with Michelle Steinauer...a prelude to Dr. Cavanaugh, who was the real guy.

the first thing Michelle did was, without notes, review every facet of my case history of the cancer, more succinctly and correctly than I could have.

damn that was impressive!

I explained to her that I had a concert scheduled for that evening. (we self aggrandizing musicians use the word "concert" or even "show" to describe a honky little gig, even if it's a garage geezer band playing "Henry the VIIIth I Am")

she said I would be fine to play the show. I felt anything but, even before the radiation.

I said, can we do the radiation tomorrow? she said, certainly. she and I both have Germanic heritage, but I could think outside the box at least that much.

Dr. Cavanaugh was vague and mumbly...he was either dull and unfocused or thinking three steps ahead of the present conversation. I think it was the latter. he seemed genius enough for me. impressive bunch.

they also talked about a little stunting radiation for my shoulder tumor. and some possible relief from it.

relief. no longer, as Speedy Alka-Seltzer used to say, just a swallow away. I would call Roto-Rooter, if they could make my troubles go down the drain.

because I'm not good. between coughing, shortness of breath, dizziness, general lack of body functionality...even though I guess I did ok at the "concert" night before last...I really didn't know if I would make it through last night's show or not.

an hour meeting turned into a shocking, busy, full hospital day. as Tuesday had turned into an uncharted hospital day.

the gig last night was in Aurora. yes, that Aurora I talked about previous. about two miles from the hospital. but all my stuff for the gig was in Golden.

we got out about 3:30pm...traffic was unbearable. got home about 4:30pm. found out the gig, which everyone had put at 7, actually started at 6:30.

left about 5. traffic was unbearable. Google map turned out to be quite wrong. but I managed to get there at 5 after 6 or so.

feeling like, ok, what's going to happen now?

somewhere between the magic in the music and three motrin...I did ok.

surprised the heck out of me.

I think the oxygen is going to help. it wasn't a great night's sleep, but leaps and bounds over the last two. wrestly, coughing...but with actual sleep in there somewhere, I think.

this was going to be a dose week, so I didn't schedule much. praise the Lord. I really don't know what overlay the radiation is going to put atop my already tentative state.

if there is no relief...I just don't know what I am going to be able to do. these are the more serious days, whose coming was foretold, in which my problems are not coming from the drugs administered to cure the cancer, but are the effect of the cancer itself.

but yesterday was the first time, in all of my treatments, that I have felt that someone really looked at me. not just their area of specialty, but really looked at me, what my troubles are, systemically, what to do about them. cross compared c-t, echo, X-ray, tea leaves, the Farmer's Almanac, and the Tarot to get a full picture of me.

one more warning...to ward off any compounding irritation caused by the radiation, I am to take Decadron this morning before I come in.

heaven help the Gentle Reader.

oh, that's bad...no, that's good; or, worst night of my life, best day in a long time; or, singular day, pleural effusion

did Archie Campbell and Roy Clark of Hee-Haw originate this joke, or appropriate it? either way, I heard it told many times:

Archie: Well I bought me an airplane and learned to fly
Roy: Well that's good
Archie: No that's bad
Roy: How come
Archie: Well I was flying upside down the other day and I fell outta the dern thing
Roy: Well that's bad.
Archie: No that's good
Roy: How come
Roy: Well when I looked down under me and there was a great big ole haystack.
Roy: Well that's good
Archie: No that's bad.
Roy: How come?
Archie: Well I got a little closer and I saw a pitchfork aimed right at me
Roy: Well that's bad
Archie: No that's good
Roy: How come
Archie: I missed the pitchfork
Roy: Well that's good
Archie: No that's bad

Roy: How come

Archie: I missed the haystack, too

methinreallyhappens.

yes, I'm giving you the fluff before I give you the mednews. I do that sometimes when the news is really, really good.

it's sadistic.

but not nearly as sadistic as introducing to 99% of you, and causing the other 1% to remember, this song by Sam the Sham and the Pharoahs:

Not long ago, I was walkin' down the street
When a woman in a car knocked me off my feet
(Oh, that's bad)
No, that's good

My insurance paid me a lot of dough
More money than I'd seen in a year's payroll
(Oh, that's good)
No, that's bad

On doctor bills is where my money went
And all I had left was a very bad limp
(Oh, that's bad)
No, that's good

'Cause the way I walked, it got me a role
As the Marshall's partner on a TV show
Pretty young actresses started hanging 'round
And every night we'd do the town

(Oh, that's good)
No, that's bad

I ended up back in a hospital bed
'Cause my horse fell on my bad leg
(Oh, that's bad)
No, that's good

'Cause just when I was feeling my worst
I fell in love with a beautiful nurse
(Oh, that's good)
No, that's bad

'Cause I found out she was the doctor's wife
Now I'll be in a wheelchair the rest of my life
'Cause no matter how I pleaded and begged
He operated on my good leg

(Oh, that's bad)
No, that's awful

Sunday night, I couldn't breathe.

I lay flat in my bed for hours, feeling like, this isn't getting it. I'm not asleep. and I can't breathe in enough to get enough air.

not a blocked passage...just not enough lung.

when I sat up, I was pretty much ok. around 3, I got up and sat on the couch.

sleeping has been tricky for awhile. the shoulder tumor keeps me from laying in any position but flat on my back. after too few hours, my body will just need to change position and wake me up. if I don't go back down, I have to get up.

this reminds me of the great debate in black music of the 70's, whether to Get Down or Get On Up.

on the couch, I kind of fell over against a pillow in a sideways sitting position and got a couple of hours of grade C sleep.

the next morning, which seemed a lot like the same morning, I was pretty down. so, this isn't a drug side effect. this was the cancer appropriating my lungs. and no relief of any kind could be anticipated before sufficient time had passed with THE miracle drug, if, if, if.

I couldn't go from room to room without a major coughing fit, and dizziness compelling me to sit down immediately. I had a red mark on my forehead the size and shape of the uncompleted (but fully operational) Death Star in Return of the Jedi. my shoulder tumor is unsightly and hurts. every time I sang, I was aware that my years of hiding and sneaking breaths was being put to full test...I couldn't hold a note.

and now, I can't breathe.

I try to focus on the hopes and not on the losses. I try not to whine much in here. but this was a morning where the breaks were beating the boys.

after calling a batch of numbers at the hospital, I ended up talking to Sarah, the wonderful and wonderfully pregnant study assistant overseer. she picked up the phone when I called...amazing. she said she would page Dr. Gore and get right back to me. while I was waiting, I called Stewart Greisman, who is not only someone to ask about all things medical, but seems to welcome it from anyone and indefatigably from me - and was in the midst of making arrangements to come into the studio with me-

the words "pleural effusion" had barely left his mouth when Sarah called back. I rudely switched calls.

what can never be forgotten about troubling situations in life, Dear Reader, is that you really never know which one is going to be one they have a trick for. lower a guitar song's key a step and a half? you're going to have to learn the song all over, with the brand new inversions. raise the song a step and a half? put a capo on the third fret and play it the exact same way.

the first time I heard Neil Young sing, "they give you this but you pay for that", I though it was less iconic than idiotic, something to fill a line.

but damned if it hasn't taken an amazing number of profound experiences under its umbrella.

Sarah spoke without hesitation of my considerable pleural effusion...described as follows:

I've spent a few happy times at Disneyland, waiting for the end of the night fireworks or the Main Street Electrical Parade, and seen those Mickey Mouse's head-shaped balloons, with a conventional spherical helium balloon totally enclosing it.

they looked magical, though I never knew what it would be like to take care of one after the parade, until it went flat...never indulged myself.

but if you turn it upside-down, Mickey's ears pointing towards the ground, it's a little like the chest and the lungs within.

some small amount of liquid is normally generated between the helium balloon and Mickey, to keep things sliding smoothly. but several things- pneumonia, tumors leaking through the lung lining- can lead to considerable deposits of liquid in that cavity, eventually putting pressure on the lung and pushing it in, lessening its capacity.

I had a little pushing on my left lung, a lot shrinking my right.

Sarah said there was indeed an answer, called thoracentesis. they use local anaesthetic, go in through your back, introduce a catheter, and drain the liquid. relief, she said, is immediate.

tell me if I'm just wrong, if I don't owe you Faithful Followers this stuff, if it's just too medical and gross. it always has been to me. I close my eyes when they draw blood.

I used to think of an airplane flight as a totally unnatural, synthetic experience...but this shit seems totally unimaginable. who thinks this stuff up?

til you can't breathe. then you're doing American Sign Language for fine, fine, whatever, just bring it on.

they got me into the hospital that day. the procedure was nothing. they took out a liter of fluid...all they dared.

relief was immediate.

I went to a rehearsal party that night. I felt like me singing again. which is to say, at my former level of suckiness, not my new, improved level of suckiness.

relief, where I had imagined none was immediately possible.

I'm going to try to sleep some more today. last night wasn't great. feel like I'm still getting used to the new/ old way.

I couldn't breathe. oh, that's bad. no, that's good...it led me to something that made me feel a lot better.

still not sure how much better than this I will come to feel...

(p.s. if you have a baritone guitar, which plays a fifth lower than a standard guitar, you can put a capo on the fourth fret and play the song the way you had learned it, in the correct key. you never know, Dear Reader, which troubling situations they are going to have a trick for.)

it was Bruce Springsteen

after a long hard gestation for "Born in the USA" that left him sapped and exhausted, who talked about the necessity of grueling world tours to follow its release.

he said, you don't cross the desert and then not climb the mountain.

I got the call from Dr. Gore while I was out gigging today. she said she would be at her desk at Children's Hospital for another two hours.

not only is she calling me on Sunday...but it's a full work day for her. does the woman ever have a selfish moment, not to say even rest?

she said we are going to need to change tactics.

the scan shows a combined growth of the shoulder and lung tumors of about 20 to 23%

dear readers of the blog who remember everything will recall Dr. Elias saying that 20% can be a clinical standard for labeling tumor growth "stabilized".

none of that for Dr. Gore. not working.

I am going to keep my scheduled appointment with her on Thursday, by which time she will have talked to Dr. Elias...as well as conference called with the other four institutions in the Nutlin study, maybe picking their brains as well, and gone over the results of the needle biopsy - remember that?...and have a plan of action, or a menu to choose from.

I try to keep a positive attitude. but the last weeks it's felt like, if this is getting better, what would getting worse be like?

I was ready for the news.

I'm way ready to try something different.

Dr. Gore says that since the cycles for Nutlin-3 are month cycles, I've already spent about enough time to clear out the drug and start another Phase-1 study.

she says there are 9 or 10 being done at University Hospital that might be applicable.

so I don't think...we know about predictions...that Thursday's blog will announce the news that I am taking an extended residence at Kuala Lumpur to check out a miracle drug. miracles aplenty just east on I-70.

but I need to be honest with you caring followers of the blog ("The Blog!!" starring Steve Mc Queen...) about the condition my condition is in, and what this means.

fatigue is fatigue. nausea is nausea. side effects are side effects.

the increasing coughing, and resultant dizziness, have been the real problem of these days.

was it irritation due to Nutlin-3 turning lung tumors necrotic and liquid, chafing my lungs? no.

was it a side effect of the study drug? no.

the growing coughing is the first felt effect of the sarcoma itself.

for some reason, playing music, performing or recording or rehearsing, sparks a lower level of coughing and dizziness. I'm still, so far, able to do everything I've needed to do. I played a four hour rock and roll gig last night...sitting down...and all accounts call it a successful one.

I got up at 3:30 in the morning to go to the bathroom, coughed a couple three times, passed out, and fell to the floor. have a scarlet letter red spot on my forehead.

took me totally by surprise. going to have to be more careful.

but there are times I cough a lot, and must sit. I move from room to room, cough, get dizzy, and need to sit.

it's been 9 months or so since the sarcoma diagnosis. 9, said the online article, of 11.4.

I don't feel 80% of the way to game over.

but I don't know what I will be able to do, for how long.

oh, I'm climbing the mountain, allright. try and stop me. whatever the next drug brings, I more than consent, I insist on it.

but some of my musical folks are scheduling things for September.

yes, scheduling things keeps me hopeful. gives me continuance. inspires me.

but I don't know what next week will be like, much less two months.

I have a party being planned for October 7th, the annoying-as-it-is, I'm-still-here-and-I'm-still- me party.

my part time job as patient may end up offering me more hours at any time. I'll invest anything I have to.

it's still business as usual in the music world.

and my affirmations are as positive as ever, and I still have a healthy disdain for prediction.

I'll climb the mountain. and one day look back on it all. but today, plans are trickier than yesterday.

easement

or, God bless Georg Willhelm Friedrich Hegel.

an expert on whom I am not. and particularly grateful for his contribution to Marxism...well, it's kind of neither here nor there for me.

but the most one dimensional model of prediction that exists is the practice of taking every trend that is observable in today's society and extrapolating it out linearly into the future.

thus, in 1976, we foresaw $5 a gallon gas by 1984...in the 1990's, it was seemly to envision a 20,000 point Dow by 2010. in the 80's, the last acoustic guitar would have become firewood by the year 2000.

etc. etc.

the third law of Hegel's dialectic (of course I'm sure...I googled it) stated that the course of historical events was dictated, not by linear progression, but by each principle being replaced by the espousal of its opposite, eventually resulting in some kind of synthesis.

I actually don't find this idea all that helpful, either. I think the only approach to prediction that has any chance at all of efficacy would follow not a linear or dialectic but a chaos theory model.

but today I am specifically offering a hosanna to Hegel.

my cough, instead of following a linearly increasing model daily, has backed way off since about 1pm yesterday.

easement.

I would have titled this entry "lessoning", but I sure don't know what lesson to take away from it all.

but I can go from the living room to the bedroom without blacking out. I can dream of watching The Monkees on Tuesday without being asked to leave for constant unseemly noise.

not to mention the two gigs Monday and Wednesday.

and I can hold the theory that it was all an extended side effect of the drug, one which will lessen every day over the next three weeks as normalcy tries hard to return.

as opposed to the first real effect of the cancer itself, destined to get worse each day until October 7. that thought had a little more airtime in the brain these days than I have chosen to previously give it.

now...that don't mean I'm ready for the President's Council on Physical Fitness test right now.

sleeping a lot, weak as can be, shoulder not great.

but it's the previous batch of shit. not a new one.

this, I can deal with.

easement. (?)

Stewart Saves His Family revolves around an easement as well.

"I'm Good Enough, I'm Smart Enough, and Doggone it, People Like Me!" that Stewart.

now, the reason I saw this movie was not that every movie based on a character or featuring a comic from Saturday Night Live has tenure for me. as I basically missed Elvis due to my age placement, I similarly kind of skipped out on Saturday Night Live. and I am ready to be told I missed something...that if the 60's were a golden age for music, the seventies were for comedy, and largely due to this show.

or I am as likely to side with Johnny Carson's joke, the last week he was on the air...that NBC was so pleased with the success of Saturday Night Live that next year, they were considering doing a comedy version of it.

and I can't claim to have sidestepped the impact of, or have only so much appreciation for, SNL having thoroughly enjoyed Animal House (yeah, Nat'l Lampoon, but with Belushi), Caddyshack, Ghostbusters, even dare I say it Beverly Hills Cop. and I remember happening by an original broadcast of The Wild and Crazy Guys that, honesty dictates I confess, I just screamed over. it was almost nonconsensual. I didn't want to like it. but I was a jello mold.

but seeing all related movies has seemed like a Mystery Science Theatre 3k experiment in endurance to me.

I liked Stewart Saves His Family.

I think first because it's a complete lie. he does no such thing. Luke Skywalker, maybe; Stewart, no. he makes a little therapeutic progress, and finds a relationship with his brother. and, God knows, that's close enough. but, no.

maybe second, because a right wing target is easy to draw a bead on for those guys...but I am a cynical enough apolitical hippie guy that somewhere on the far fringes of self help, there could indeed be some room for humor. Stewart is Flakey Foont...he's trying, like all of us...you have to give him his struggle...but no matter how well you understand where his family trauma comes from, he's as unlikely a psychological leader as anyone anonymous you might find at a meeting. when his show is cancelled, he goes to bed for six days with a bag of Chips Ahoy. or, I hope, multiple bags...one over six days wouldn't be a respectable tantrum, hardly even a snack.

I think third, though, is because the family imbrogio Stewart gets embroiled in isn't the first thing you'd see in a movie. it smack of real world discomfort, just the kind of thing that would stab into one's private world and point out one's inadeptness at dealing with Chamber of Commerce fatuousness.

an easement.

I cite the Wikipedia article on the movie, which carries the warning that it may be too wordy or detailed for some readers. thanks for watching out for me. I won't be writing for you anytime soon.

At a bar in Minneapolis, Stuart is playing pool with Donnie. He tells Stuart that part of Aunt Paula's house, which the Smalley family has inherited, was built onto the property of neighbor Orville Egeberg, so, in order to sell the house, the Smalleys have to pay a $3,000easement, which is more than they can afford. So Donnie wants Stuart to talk to the neighbor to try to get a more affordable price for the easement. Donnie has a beer with a couple of friends who want Stuart to drink with them. Donnie defends Stuart's desire not to drink. The friends decide to beat up Stuart, when Donnie steps in and brawls with the friends.

The next day Stuart goes to the home of Aunt Paula's grumpy unfriendly neighbor Orville Egeberg, but the meeting does not go well, and now Egeberg wants $10,000 for the easement. Stuart tells the family that he has consulted with a lawyer who told him that, by asking for a lower price for the easement, he essentially repudiated the original contract which in turn gave Egeberg the opportunity to set new terms (the $10,000). This of course angers the rest of the family despite their having put Stuart up to this stunt in the first place. But Donnie insists that, if Stuart were to lie and say that the conversation between Stuart and Egeberg never took place, they might get a chance at restoring the price to $3,000. But the ever-honest Stuart objects to the scam. Donnie distributes to the other family members photocopies of Stuart's journal where he has highlighted specific passages regarding Stuart's negative feelings about each member of his family ("I hate my mother," etc.).

dysfunctionality ensues. and you have to watch the movie, or, if you have more time to spend, read the Wikipedia entry to find out what happens next.

I just always thought it was an interesting turn of phrase..."negotiate an easement".

like money is thought of as an easing.

like dis-ease...finding a way to lessen your diseasement, which would be lessoning indeed.

I feel better. it backed off. many and no explanations. thank you, Stewart, for negotiating my easement. thank you, Hegel, for making space for the pendular when the linear was very frightening.

thank you, gentle reader, for disregarding the Wiki warning of wordiness for this blog.