chemo #3

My third chemo treatment has come and gone and now I'm just sitting in this chair, waiting to feel like crap. Chemo is not nearly the fountain of everlasting joy I thought it would be. Here is an abridged list of things I'd rather do than chemotherapy:

• Watch any show that Cindy or Sara DVRs. I know more about wedding dresses now than Vera Wang
• Remove any finger from my left hand
• Moderate a 5-minute debate between a Tea Partier and an Occupier

On the plus side, this was the third of four scheduled chemo sessions, at least for this initial phase. After the fourth session, we'll do new CAT and PET scans to see if things have shrunk enough for surgery. That's about it for the medical update. Here are some random thoughts I've put in the drawer since the last blog:

• When I pass a speed trap and I'm NOT speeding, I always wonder if the policeman is proud of me. That's normal, right?
• At this point, I have to go to the Cancer Center just about every day, even if it's just for five minutes (to check vitals, to give me a shot, etc.). I've started bringing Sam to these appointments, and he's already become the Mayor of the Cancer Center. This happens everywhere he goes - school, church, the grocery store, etc. Sometimes I worry about his future, about how he'll cope with a cruel world when, eventually, he's on his own. Then I remember this secret power he has to endear everyone in his proximity to him, and I don't worry so much. 
• What would happen if the man who inspired Adele's breakup record started dating the woman who inspired Bon Iver's breakup record? Billion dollar reality TV idea.

[What follows is all music related. No one would blame you if you stopped reading now.]

Chemotherapy music reviews

As always, please note that all of these albums were listend to while I was being slowly poisoned.

MARK KNOPFLER - PRIVATEERING:

Immaculate guitar playing. Soulful vocals. Zero goosebumps

I give it 2.5 doses of chemotherapy: 

GRIZZLY BEAR - SHIELDS:

My music-loving life if cursed. Every time I discover a band whose music I love, their next album inevitably disappoints (I'm looking at you, Badly Drawn Boy). Shields isn't as accessible as their breakout, but it's still pretty damn good.

3 doses: 

BOB DYLAN - TEMPEST:

No artist confuses me more than Bob Dylan. Every time I listen to one of his universally acclaimed late-career albums, it fails to move me. But it's Bob Dylan...I must not be getting it, right? It reminds me of this story my father told me once: he went to see this abstract play which left him conflicted and confused. He then noticed that the author John Updike was sitting in front of him, so, when the play was over, he tapped the author on the shoulder and said, "Mr. Updike, did I like that?"

That's how I feel after listening to Dylan. So, instead of rating this record, I've decided to embark on a project. I'm listing to his entire catalog, in order, so that I can try to unravel this guy. I started with:

BOB DYLAN - BOB DYLAN
Two things are noteworthy about this album of mostly covers of folk and blues songs:

1. His singing, at times, is absolutely fierce. This is ironic, given the reputation of his vocals later in his career. He sounds like a man exploding with ideas faster than he can get them down on tape.
2. I read some research about the record and learned that Dylan copped most of his arrangements on the covers directly from a contemporary folk singer, Dave Van Ronk. One can't help but wonder if Van Ronk would have become the household name that Dylan became if he had Zimmerman's wherewithal to adopt a snazzier stage name. Dave Van Halen, perhaps, or maybe Dave Van Gogh. Reminds me of the passage in The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, where it's pointed out that Hitler's original last name was Schicklgruber. To paraphrase that book, can you imagine the world being conquered by a man named Van Ronk?

Mistakes...I've made a few

If there's one thing I learned during this process, it's that things change very quickly. I went from feeling the best I've felt in months last week to spending yet another night in the hospital this weekend. For me, it seems hydration is everything and when I get even a little dehydrated, I end up with another addition to my bizzarre hospital roommates collection (roommate number 4, heretofore known as "Guy who looked like Charles Manson", was repeatedly scolded by hospital staff for stealing ice cream).

You can't see it, but Cindy is reading this and shaking her head. She, in addition to being an incredible wife and friend through all of this (not to mention de facto single parent of two kids), has also gladly taken it upon herself to become my own personal Nurse Ratched:

And her constant refrain is "drink!" As such, when I end up back in the hospital because of dehydration, there is a period of "I told you so" finger wagging from Nurse Cindy. I can't blame her. It is, in many ways, far more difficult to be in her shoes than it is to be in mine. She sees things that I can't see, like "You're not drinking enough" or "There's a huge stain on that shirt."

So I'm trying to be better about it, drinking more Gatorade than should be allowed by law. 

Context

I've been thinking about context lately. As we recently saw at the RNC, the GOP basically took an out-of-context fragment of Obama's "You didn't build that" statement and made it the platform of their entire convention. Even Karl Rove must've thought that was a stretch.

You see, context means everything. See, for example, these two ways that you could interpret my meeting with my oncologist this morning:

INTERPRETATION A: A German doctor yelled at a Jew, then sent him to be poisoned.

or

INTERPRETATION B: Dr. F. gently admonished me for not drinking enough fluids, then escorted me to my chemotherapy session.

You see? It's all about context.

Hospital movie reviews

We've previously discussed the hell that is hospital room television. I've decided to make lemons from that lemonade and start issuing capsule reviews of the movies I am subjected to during my visit.

J. EDGAR: Not bad, considering it was directed by a man who just lost an argument with an empty chair. The fact that such a bloated lunatic (Hoover, not Eastwood) had so much power in this country would seem laughably impossible if not for the existence of Newt Gingrich.

TRANSFORMERS: DARK OF THE MOON: Not to put too fine a point on it, but 30 minutes into watching this movie, I was praying for a meteor the size of a Buick to land on my head. No God that I believe in would ever have allowed this movie to happen. My faith is shaken.

Chemotherapy music reviews

Hey, why not. I'm sitting there listing to this crap, I might as well bore you with my opinions on it. Some of what I listen to is old, some is new. Please note that all of these albums were listend to while I was being slowly poisoned.

REDD KROSS - RESEARCHING THE BLUES:

Not bad for a crunchy rock record. My only recommendation is that they should stop researching the blues and start researching the Replacements. OOOOH BURN!

I give it 2.5 doses of chemotherapy: 

ARIEL PINK'S HAUNTED GRAFFITI - MATURE THEMES:

I can appreciate something that's weird, interesting, and original. But that doesn't mean I want to listen to it again. That sums up this record for me.

2 doses:

WYE OAK - CIVILIAN:

Amazing. Best record I've heard in ages. Unique instrumentation, a fascinating voice. Terrific record.

4 doses:

Here's my favorite song from the record, "Two Small Deaths":

That's all for now. Let's hoist a Gatorade together sometime!