And so it begins . . .

John Milton was a 17th Century British writer and a Cambridge man. He was a very interesting guy who was both a Puritan Republican civil servant and pamphleteer, but railed against censorship and state religion. He's best known for his book Paradise Lost.

"The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven."

- John Milton, Paradise Lost

Today I went in for my first chemo and radiation treatments. I move forward into battle knowing full well the risks and hardships that are coming. Honestly, they mean nothing compared to the fair chance that I will be able to shake this disease.

Focusing on the nasty temporary and permanent side effects coming my way the next few months does nothing for me. For one thing, everyone reacts differently to the treatments. I'm hoping with my age and fitness, as well as good diet and watchful chemo and radiation docs that I'll have an easier time than most with the treatments. And what if I don't? It still does me no good to dread or bemoan what's going on? No, the only sensible and helpful way to approach this is to be positive, look for and enjoy successes during treatment, and to stay faithful that good things (including a total cure) could come to me.

God forbid, I lose this fight. If I do, why go out depressed and as someone who gave up on life? With all due respect, fuck that. I hope and expect to live, but even if I don't . . . I want to go out as someone who kept the faith, enjoyed the people and experiences he had left, and choose not to dwell on suffering.

Enough philosophy, here are some practical details.

Chemo Therapy

My chemo was at 7.30am, so Shelly, Mikey, and my folks left at 6am to be there. We started our day tired, and we ended it that way. The chemo experience was totally positive. I cannot think of a reasonable way it could have been better. Unreasonable ways? Sure, instant an immediate cure for example. Seriously though, the chemo was great.

I arrived and was quickly taken back to have blood drawn for lab tests. I thought I'd be getting this all done from one IV, but apparently I was going to get stuck twice today: once for blood, once for chemo. In all honesty, I hate needles and would have made a lousy heroin addict. It didn't matter, the lab assistant stuck that IV in my hand to take blood and I did not feel a thing. She was funny and kind and efficient. Perfect experience.

Next, my whole entourage and I rolled into my chemo room. Lucky #7 was our room. The nurses loved seeing such a big crowd come along, especially when some wore Team Dave t-shirts Kristina had made and the "Dave Rocks!!!" banner was hung at the window. Our veteran nurse Deborah got a little misty when she saw that. She knew she was caring for someone who was very loved.

So, Debbie needed to sink my IV needle into my forearm. Again, it was almost imperceptible. Two for two. I'm very lucky to have good and very visible veins. Maybe I should rethink that heroin addict thing . . . nah, I'd have to change my taste in music and everything. Too much bother.

My chemo treatment was a lot briefer than I thought. I'd heard 5 - 9 hour numbers from survivors and my doctors. My session was only 3.5 hours. Frankly, it was a bit of a let down too. No pain, no unpleasant reactions. The only side effects I felt was the need to urinate 6-7 times in that short time, and a passing ache in my kidneys. I imagined they were being wrung like a sponge to get me to urinate and flush out my system.

Our team spent the 3.5 hours in the room watching the silly comedy Saving Silverman on DVD, meeting with our hospital-appointed nutritionist and social worker. Both were helpful, but the nutritionist had more information that I needed.

I'm feeling sorta rundown, but no nausea yet. They say it usually hits around day 3 or 4 and lasts 3-4 days. I'm already taking 2 different meds to control the nausea, and I have 3 other prescriptions to do the same.

Radiation (by IMRT)

The radiation treatment was great, too. Marshall and Dr. Bar Ad met Shelly and my parents for the first time which was nice. He's such a fantastic, positive and committed guy. Having him as our lead Radiation Oncology nurse and technician is a blessing. I've already told you about Dr. Bar Ad, who I absolutely love.

They strapped me into the mask and on to the table, and I felt a bit like an Egyptian pharoah there on the table. The mask was tight, but I closed my eyes and was instantly comfortable. They took some simulation photos real quick, did some alignment to ensure that the radiation beams were correct aimed and then they beamed the rays to my affected nasopharynx, my right side neck lymph nodes, and then to my left side neck lymph nodes (as a precaution). I felt nothing at all.

I was in a relaxed, nearly sleeping state the whole time. Late '90s/'00s Elton John music was playing. Not normally my kind of thing, but it actually helped me relax. I'll have to burn my own disks for future treatments. They are only 20-25 minutes long.

So, I would say my day went about as perfectly as I could hope. A great way to start the fight.