The view from here

In this situation, the deal is that you drive down the road to bone marrow transplant, whether that's your destination or not. So we're on the road. On Wednesday, Vlad begins three days of intense tests at M.D. Anderson Cancer Center intended to get a detailed picture of his status and needs as a recipient. The worst of it, they say, would be another bone marrow biopsy, but at least that's the devil he knows.

He's taking three days off work, after being back for three weeks, missing days for a hurricane. During that time his boss got fired and they brought the new one in. They also have a new VP he's getting to know. ODS is pretty good people, as my dad would say, but I'm sure there's a limit, especially in this economy in freefall, and Vlad isn't happy about being out another three days. But he's going to work Saturdays to make up for it. I think he's doing fine at work, but you can understand his situation.

After this, I can only guess what will happen: We'll wait to see what his blood is going to do. If it doesn't behave, they'll try to match him. Then would come the transplant. I don't know how long, how easy or hard that would be. We just don't want to go there.

I signed up to be a bone marrow donor. They approved me initially despite my thalessemia. I was surprised. But I may get the boot once they see my blood sample.

I'm going to be with Vlad all three days at M.D. Anderson. I did something similar with my dad (pictured on top of Deer Mountain in Colorado in the '70s) when he was getting tested at M.D. Anderson before they did surgery to remove part of one of his lungs, where he had a cancerous tumor. It was several days of tests. You run from one doctor's office to another waiting and waiting.

Doctors in Dallas wouldn't do the surgery because Dad was already compromised by emphysema and taking out part of a lung would make breathing very difficult. But at M.D. Anderson, the surgeon took it on. At the time we were so happy that they would cut this bad thing out. But I remember the anesthesiologist kind of cringing in our pre-surgery meeting. He described the surgeon as a cowboy. I think he was trying to warn us. And things did pretty much go downhill from there. But that's another story.

I treasure one particular memory from that adventure. At the end of the second or third day of this process of being pushed and shoved around the hospital, we were spent. We're both scared to death worried if he's terminal or curable. Neither saying what we're thinking. After a few days of this act, life gets surreal.

We walked into a cardiologist's office. We're sitting in a consult room, waiting, waiting, waiting. Almost asleep. The door opens suddenly and we're startled. This nurse with a huge smile, bottle blonde hair and deep suntan comes in and practically shouts, "Well hello y'all! It's so good to see you! How are you today! You look so good! FanTAStic! Well, the doctor will be here any minute now, so y'all just sit here, OK? Great! Now, y'all take care, OK? All-righty!"

It was like an explosion of sickening phony creosote. Amid the surreal surroundings, she seemed hideously ridiculous. We looked at each other and immediately burst out laughing. We laughed for about five minutes. Our sides hurting. Tears coming down both our cheeks. It was a release of all the horror and pretense and bravery and fear. I was thankful for her entrance, but not for the reasons she would think.

A few things Ike took away

The Stingaree restaurant in Crystal Beach. The best seafood on Bolivar Peninsula. It's gone. UPDATE: Terry Turney was there and said it's still there, just heavily damaged.

Rollover Pass, aka "the cut," a popular fishing spot, is still there, but the bridge is damaged and the bait shop is gone. Terry and Linda's beachhouse. A birthday of mine in 2005.

The beachhouse and pickup in the miraculous Christmas snow of 2004.

This was one of our favorite spots along the Seawall. On a Sunday, we'd go down to Galveston and get some fresh seafood at Casey's or Fisherman's Wharf, and run by here for frozen pina coladas (the only time I drink them) and then head home. Something about the sound of the ocean and the briny air would clear our heads.

I believe this is the tail end of another gift shop below, which is next to this place. Where we were housed two gift shops. All the structures are gone, including the Balinese Room another few yards down.

Refugee camp

While we got our power restored Sunday evening, what we didn't expect is a side order of guilt. The power/water situation has made a city -- well a region, really -- of haves and have nots. If you have, and you were raised in a church, well, you have to share the riches. Vlad and I have hosted our friends Lana and John and their daughter, Anna, every night sharing our kitchen (they've supplied most of the food), air conditioning, refrigeration and a working stove. Occasionally, we've given them use of the washer/dryer. I don't know how they've stood the humidity and heat all this time.

Last night they got their power back. We asked them to come back over anyway, to finish off the food, clear out their food from our fridge, etc. It was a good change of pace and the best of it was getting to know Anna better.

I've been taking bags of ice to work in our coolers, giving them to people still without power. And food; all the nonperishables we got for the duration of the Ike madness. They're slowly disappearing. It's taken the Chef Boyardee a full week to disappear.

The big thing now is laundry. People seem to have found the water and ice and gasoline. Now they're looking for laundromats or friends with power and appliances.

It's a surreal Houston/Galveston right now. Hard to get your bearings on what constitutes reality. It depends on what part of town you live in. On the west side of Houston, almost normal one block, total darkness the next. Galveston: you're out of luck till after Halloween. Woodlands: similar; the down side of living in a wooded paradise in tropical climes. East Houston and Port Arthur/Orange/Bridge City: a nightmare.

And Bolivar Peninsula: Much of it is off the map. If it gets electricity this year it will be a miracle.

Our friends Linda and Terry lost their place in Gilchrist on Bolivar. Post-Ike satellite maps show their place is a slab now. We have a lot of memories of that place. It's devastating to them. I'll talk about it at another time. It's too much of an open wound right now. But they made it through the storm in Beaumont. They spent a few days in Dallas with a friend, but have power again and are back in Beaumont.

Hurricane Ike photos

Poker after the lights died Friday night.

Saturday morning. We put the shelves on the ground ahead of time.

Bougainvillea on the balcony. It barely survived the sewer job months ago and found new life upstairs only to do battle with Ike.

Garage and driveway covered with leaves and shingles.

Anole looks shell-shocked. This looks like a little lizard I saved from Keezee's grasp awhile back. Note missing tail.

Unlucky neighbors, above and below.

Bill and Ginny Carole and her passion

Ginny and Buster in her room

Evan playing "Spore"Vlad grabbing Internet time

Smitty's in Lockhart
Serious Texas barbecue

U.S. Air Force convoy heading to Houston on the way home Sunday.

Pickup loaded with flats of Kirkland's water.

Eastbound with plywood.

My favorite road picture. (Click for larger version)

Human again

We got back tonight and found our lights, water and phone restored. We danced for five minutes straight. We invited our electricity-challenged friends over to share the A/C and stove and ice. It was a very decadent party. Their 18-month-old didn't want to leave, I think, because of our A/C.

We cannot believe our luck. Our luck in having gracious family to put us up at the last minute and be so much fun. Luck that we were among the first 340,000 (of 2 million in Harris County) to get their electricity restored. Luck that I-10 eastbound was not the congestion monster we expected.

Today in Lockhart, Evan scratched off his Mom's lottery ticket and won $20. She said he is lucky. So I asked him if I could rub his head for luck. He obliged. So, hey, Evan: Thanks!

I'm going to bed tonight feeling charmed. I want to get to work early Monday. Good night and good luck.

Send ice

We're OK. I'm writing this from my sister-in-law's kitchen in Lockhart, TX. Most of you know Carole. She put us up last night. This morning Bill came with the kids, Ginny and Evan. We're getting ready to go to lunch and then to Wal-mart. Our shopping list looks like we're going camping.

Back in Houston, we lost power at 8:15 p.m. Friday, hours before Ike hit. We lost water Saturday afternoon and land-line phone on Saturday evening. The heat and humidity inside the house, even with every window and door open, is beyond description.

We're back to feeling human again, and are going back primarily because I have to work. I got out of hurricane duty this weekend and must report to work Monday. I just hope the roads are clear enough. It will be an adventure.

I think there are showers at work. We have friends who had their water restored, so Vlad can probably shower over there. We have other friends who couldn't take any more and this morning called us and said they were leaving for Austin, regardless of the work and school consequences.

There's not much time. We'll be taking battery- and propane-fueled items back with ice, as well as a cooler full of ice for us and our friends. We need to clean out the uber-smelly fridge tonight. We hope to get there before dark.

Thanks for all the calls. If you've e-mailed, I probably haven't seen it. What little battery-power we have goes quickly.

Love to all.

Stress levels

We went to visit Conlon today and the news was good, but less than celebratory.

The good news: His numbers are perfect.

The so-so news: The bone marrow "looks like it's in recovery," which means he's still recovering and maybe the biopsy was premature. Conlon wants another one in six weeks. What they see looks good, but his marrow hasn't settled down from all the chemo yet. Most of the cells are very young and the truth is not out there at the moment.

The scary news: If he goes into "2nd remission leukemia," which I think is a relapse that goes back into remission (really not sure what that means), they'd be talking bone marrow transplant possibilities. In any case, there would be no more chemo, even if he relapses. Conlon said more chemo would not help. The bone marrow option would only happen if the leukemia comes back, but they want Vlad to be ready if that happens. It's standard procedure.

Sidenote: Conlon said bone marrow transplants are controversial at the moment; with some hemotologists saying they pose too high a risk for leukemia patients. There's a 10% mortality rate for b.m. transplants, which I guess may be higher than the leukemia it's trying to cure. Conlon didn't say which way he goes, but I think he wants to keep all the doors open, which is the way to go, to my mind.

Maintenance: He'll need to go in to see Conlon every six weeks for at least a year. He also needs to get set up with the bone marrow people, be evaluated and, if it gets that far, matched. The only blood-family member he has in the U.S. is Alex, and maybe they'd test relatives first, I'm not sure. Conlon's office will send paperwork to bone marrow people, either at MDAnderson or Methodist, depending on insurance.

Vlad is reeling. It's a bad day here. It's too much reality and the idea of going back for more and more tests is just testing his limits. We talked about it over lunch after the appointment. Our discussion led to our postponed joint 50th birthday plan to go to Italy in 2008. We decided we'll postpone it yet another year. We talked of little cruises maybe.

Meanwhile, Hurricane Ike is bearing down on Freeport, southwest of Houston, which is the worst possible place for us. It puts us on the "dirty side" of the hurricane, which means we get the worst of the surge, winds and rain. Locals have finally decided to freak out. It took me more than an hour to get home from Sugar Land, where Conlon is. Normally it's a 20-minute drive.

We bought our water, gasoline, ice and food ahead of time.

Now I understand I'm working the hurricane from a hotel room in Conroe starting tomorrow. Can't wait for the that trip north in I-45 with all the evacuees. And Alex just called to warn us to board up our windows. I wasn't very nice. I just really don't need one more thing to stress about. Sorry, Alex. I really don't think we need to.

I just don't have room for all this in my head.

UPDATE: I don't have to work this weekend in Conroe or anywhere.

Losing my sense of humor

AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH

September 07, 2008
Ike, an intense hurricane, bound for Gulf. Updated.
1 p.m. UPDATE: This afternoon's model runs have started to come out and the hominally favored solution is a strike on the upper Texas coast. Be advised that computer models have five-day errors that regularly exceed 400 miles, so it's not time to panic. But within the next five to six days Texas could be facing a serious hurricane.

Pictures!

Labor Day cookout. Alex and Vlad; Vlad looks better than this. It's a bad photo.

Me, Alex and my friend Carol.

Lana, Alex, John and Anna.

New car in Fort Worth
Gee with Samantha, left, and Sarah in front of the new-to-Mom Cadillac DeVille DHS

She's a real Texan now with her Caddy.

Vlad plays paparazzo with the girls.

There are more chapters

Vlad had his bone marrow biopsy last week. He requested pathology results asap, so Conlon responded this week and told him he has too many young cells in his blood and that, although this is normal post-chemo, it still concerns him so he will do another bone marrow biopsy in two months.

Conlon never gives us good news, with the exception of the "remission." And now I'm wondering what that actually meant. He will never get anyone's hopes up. Perhaps he did it once and has sworn off optimism after a bad experience. But he's no drama addict either, thank God. The bottom line is, his best is a guess.

On Sept. 11 we'll have a sit-down with Conlon on the full results. I need to read up on what's typical at this stage so I'll have decent questions.

Like many things in life, there's no tidy ending with this situation. I hate being a grownup sometimes. I'm sure Vlad does, too; he goes back to work Monday.

While we were spared by Gustav, Ike is looking slightly annoying. They don't know where it's really going yet. But talk about drama addicts: weathercasters are the worst, at least during hurricane season. Also on the stress front, the Chronicle is having yet another round of buyouts/layoffs. I believe it's 6% of the workforce. I considered a buyout briefly, but it's probably not a good idea. Now if I get laid off, that's another blog.

The corner has been turned

Vlad is feeling much better. His blood tests on Tuesday revealed normal patterns. He went back this morning for his post-treatment biopsy. This is the big one. It was more painful this time; I think his body is not handling pain as well. But he's got loads of Vicodin. He rarely takes it, but today has been an exception.

He wants to return to work Sept. 8. But that's not official yet. He goes back to Conlon next week for some kind of followup with preliminary results and then he's supposed to get the full biopsy results Sept. 11. We're expecting good results. But there is the chance of a bad result. Conlon said he'd discuss further treatment options at that time if necessary; I guess there are a lot of variables.

I've ignored this final test all this time. Don't want to think about it. I've wanted to believe remission is remission. How could he be in remission and then go through all that chemo and not be in remission anymore? Not going there.

On top of this, Hurricane Gustav looks like another Katrina/Rita and could hit us early next week. I'm supposed to change caps to newsperson instead of gardeningperson next week if it hits here. Working those overnight shifts downtown, sleeping in a hotel room with other displaced Chronicle people, like we don't have our own storm problems at home. (I used to be such a gung-ho journalist). And TS Hannah could cruise into the Gulf after Gustav.

I don't know how we can wind things up any tighter around here this week. I picked a great time to stop drinking. Actually I've stopped ingesting most carbohydrates and all empty calories, which unfortunately for me, includes Rosemont Shiraz and Tecate cerveza.

Puttering along

Vlad is still crazy tired all the time. The bouts of nausea and sweats continue to a lesser extent, but overall he is improving, if by inches. He got cough meds for his hacking and that's improved. He's so ready to be well. I hope this week he'll find more strength.

We had a new fence put up in the backyard this week. It proved to be a fairly painless affair, except for writing the check. We came across a great fence builder. It poured for three days and he put the thing in in spite of it.

Now we gaze out the sliding glass door more to look at our new purchase and have noticed tons of hummingbirds hanging out in the hibiscus. Vlad camps out with his camera, but can never make it to the window before they fly off. They light for about 10 seconds and zip off. I think I'll buy a hummingbird feeder tomorrow, and hang it closer to the window.

Last weekend, Keezee came home all muddy and bleeding. I ran him to the emergency vet Saturday night and it seems the wounds were from a cat fight a day or two earlier. Why he was a muddy mess is anybody's guess. He had a 103-degree fever. He was prescribed antibiotics and some anti-inflammatories. Plus one of those anti-lick collars (see photo) that made him look Bozo-esque. (That lasted a day and a half. I looked up Monday and it was around his waist; he looked like a hairy ballerina). He stayed indoors for five days -- as prescribed -- and took all his meds, and we had, strangely, no major battles over going outside during that time. He was either hit hard by this or he's just getting older and lazier. He's doing OK now.

Anyway, Vlad will be going back to work one of these days soon. And I am planning a party at Kaneyama, a nice sushi place on Westheimer, sometime in September, when Vlad is out of the woods. He hasn't been able to eat sushi since March and it's something he really misses. Something to look forward to.

He goes back to Conlon this week. I doubt they'll do the biopsy; it hasn't been six weeks; only four since the last chemo. But maybe we'll get some more good news.

Crabby

Sarah, Sammie and Arnold the Hermit Crab.

Poor Vlad has been sick as a dog all week. He's had fever, been sweating through drawers of T-shirts and bed linens. Early this week nothing would stay down. Now, he either has no appetite or has a voracious one. The truth is, he doesn't really know when he's hungry. If I put something in front of him when he says he's not really hungry, he's likely to slowly devour the whole thing and surprise himself. He's kept everything down since Tuesday.

He saw Conlon Monday and all his numbers were on their way back up. He's not neutropenic and he's out of low-platelet danger. He goes back in two weeks and will discuss the post-chemo-hell biopsy. That will be close to 6 weeks after the last chemo, so I suppose they may do the biopsy then. We'll see.

I've been a real basket-case this week. I took Thursday-Friday off as "vacation," which turned out to be a joke, since I had no one to pick up my work. I've been working until I lose the fight against the urge to let out a primal scream. It's not all getting done, but I pity the fool who gives me any grief about it.

I want so desperately for Vlad to be well now. And like a child, I want it over now. Like at the appointed hour, this madness will end. Hurry up, get well, dammit. This, I'm devastated to say, has not been my finest hour. My frustration has been bursting at the seams. I've done a lot of apologizing this week, and asked Vlad to pay no attention to that woman beast who emerges from time to time.

We did manage to go to Galveston for a few hours to see my Mom, sister and nieces, who had rented a really cute house near the Seawall. We took them to Fisherman's Wharf restaurant, at the harbor. Amazingly good food. It's next to the cruise ship terminal, where Carnival's Ecstasy was in port, and we had a front-row view of the 1877 tall ship Elissa moored outside. The girls took the Elissa tour while Vlad and Mom and I got cool in the gift shop. (Cheapest and best souvenirs in all of Galveston). Then Vlad was fading, so I drove us home. It was so great to get out and do something fun. We both smiled for hours after.

Olympics mixed emotions

We love our Yao. It was hard watching Yao's team lose today, even though we rooted for the U.S. The Chinese team really fell apart.

The opening ceremonies were awe-inspiring. Truly amazing stuff. Loved it being capped off with Yao and the little earthquake survivor, Lin Hao.


I was appalled at George Bush slouching in his seat like an impatient 12-year-old at the basketball game. I can't find a photo of it yet. Why can't he sit in a dignified manner? Just don't go, if it's so difficult. He's embarrassing.

Looking ahead

As Vlad convalesces, we continue to weather more bickerfests over nothing -- I'm convinced it's a symptom of too much pent-up frustration, and the beginning of the release, the big exhale, as it were, after this long, scary journey. We can see the end of the road, but we dare not speak its name or hope too hard.

I deal with fear from a practical "Murphy's Law" point of view, instilled in me as a child. My father was an Eagle Scout. He believed in always being prepared for anything, theorizing that if he were, then nothing bad would happen. Once we were out fishing on his motorboat and he held up his battery cables and said to me, "This is my talisman." So, you know, I never worried about anything as a child.

My talisman for this journey was hope. And prayers.

Vlad's fears are more pronounced than mine, obviously. He also grew up in a different culture and in a family far from my experience, where the parents were the thing, and the children were, though loved, shipped off at most opportunities so the parents could get on with their important lives. They never took vacations together. And yet there was real affection. I just will never understand it.

So his fears manifest in a more organic way: He needs touch, presence and hovering. He'll call out, not out of need, but to make sure you're there. Maybe that's what we all need when we're looking down the mouth of the death beast. Vlad's not afraid to show his fear. It makes him seem stronger to me.

Anyway, I think yesterday he hit his nadir of nadirs. Last night the red spots of crazy-low platelets appeared all over his legs. He had fever all day yesterday. We've learned that the fever at nadir can mean the marrow is working overtime to produce new cells. The red spots are gone today and his fever has subsided slightly. He says he feels slightly better today, so I think he's turning the corner on this last chemo. Hallelujah!

He has an appointment in the morning. If his platelets aren't up significantly I'm sure he'll get a transfusion. Conlon last Thursday gave Vlad a choice of not getting the transfusion. Which of course Vlad didn't get, given that choice. But I know it's made this weekend worse.

Thursday his WBC was .6, his hemoglobin 9.2 (both increases), but platelets were 4.

I spoke to our ailing friends this week. Terry, who has the broken knees, seemed in good spirits. His next milestone is whether he'll need surgery after his bones heal.

And I talked with Peter, who is making great strides after his stroke. He can walk, use the computer and talk a little bit. He's in speech therapy, and it sounds like he'll come through really well.

The road looks bright for all of us.

Neutropenia on acid

Edouard was a polite little rainstorm for us in west Houston. Very pleased he's well on his way out of town, having left us a few inches of much needed rain.

Vlad is very tired. Conlon retested a couple of numbers today because they were remarkably low: WBC 0.4; hemoglobin 8.3; and platelets 20. He goes back Thursday, if he doesn't develop any bleeding or red spots and has to go back earlier. I'm sure he'll need a platelet transfusion Thursday, if not earlier.

I'm so relieved this storm was nothing, I can't tell you.

Edouard

Vlad is starting to get kind of poopy again. The beginning of the neutropenia. Some mouth sores developing. He's really tired. It's time to stay in the pajamas for about a week. He's got a big appetite and no nausea, which is comforting. But he's congested today. Suddenly again.

He has an appointment with Conlon tomorrow, but Tropical Storm/Hurricane Edouard popped up in the Gulf and is to make landfall near Galveston around lunchtime tomorrow. Edouard is supposed to drop in over Houston a little later on. A visit to Conlon's looks iffy. Everything but newspapers and police departments are shut down tomorrow (exaggeration, I hope). I picked up some extra water and ice tonight and both cars are full of gas. If we lose electricity, I want to move Vlad somewhere cooler. But we'll cross that bridge later.

This is a weird storm. It's moving along the coastline. Came out of nowhere. I'm feeling very uneasy. I think partly because it's so sudden. Usually you have a couple of days to get used to the idea you're going to go through this. Oh well, by all accounts it's a puny thing. But you absolutely never know.

So the water theme continues. Well, we need the rain.

All is well

Sorry for the delay. Vlad came home Monday morning. What little nausea he had has disappeared for the time being. There are minor problems, but mostly small potatoes. He is taking it easy, at least when I'm looking.

He saw Conlon today and his numbers have not fallen super low yet: WBC 1.8; hemoglobin 10; and platelets around 145. Next week the neutropenia will begin probably. Don't really know how bad it will be.

Vlad is really wondering about his hair now. Will it grow back? Will it grow back thicker? Will it be the same color? He has some dark hair on his head, but it's very thin and may fall out again before it grows back again.

Stay tuned.

Running errands

Vlad's been sleeping almost nonstop since I got there this morning. Poor guy couldn't eat anything he ordered from the home kitchen. He's nauseous off and on. When he's not, he's afraid to eat. I ducked out aroud 12:30 to do some much-needed grocery shopping and other small errands. I'm headed back in. He gets more chemo at 5 p.m. and 5 a.m. I just don't know how this is going to go.

More of the same

Vlad was very sick yesterday, off and on. The further away from chemo, the less nausea. Sometime after he started chemo at 5:20 p.m., a strong wave hit him. Food, or more accurately, the food tray, seems to trigger nausea attacks. He's eating very little and keeping less down. He had one temperature spike Saturday, but it was short-lived and came between shift changes so it wasn't on their radar.

The tests from last night showed nothing unusual. Lungs clear and blood normal for him.

Today it's a 24-hour break. He won't get more chemo till tonight. Then it's two in 12 hours. If things keep up, he'll be really sick tomorrow. I'm wondering if they'll even let him go home. I guess there's a chance they might keep him till Tuesday.

He had visits Saturday by Alex's girlfriend, Kelly, Saturday afternoon and by Lana, John & Anna a little later. Vlad was able to enjoy both visits. Alex called to wish me happy birthday and so did my mom. We called Karla and Peter; we haven't checked in in over a week. He's doing really well. He's able to speak some, which seems like really good progress less than 3 weeks after the stroke.

I'm going to make Vlad some chicken broth and head in today.

Rocky road

On Friday, Vlad's temperature spiked around 7 p.m. to over 101. He slept most of the day and ate almost nothing. When he was awake, he was nauseated. He also was congested and his oxygen levels were low (89), which is weird for him. The nurses grew pretty concerned around 9 p.m. and called the on-call doctor who ordered some blood tests, X-rays and such. He also got oxygen about 9 p.m. They didn't think it was anything major. His lungs appeared to be clear. But they couldn't put their finger on what was going on, so they jumped on it.

This morning his congestion is gone. He slept pretty well. He took pain meds (for the line) and sleeping meds last night, so no problems there. His fever was about 99 at 8 a.m. And he's not hungry. (Better than nauseous?). They're hesitant to give him Tylenol because of his nausea and because it tends to mask symptoms. He is getting nausea medication also.

Anyway, I'm headed over within the hour.

The last scheduled chemo

Vlad's in the hospital; checked in this morning. He's not feeling great. He's not happy about being back there and a little apprehensive of things post-chemo. He got his line installed, even though the doctor forgot to order it. (!??) Then blood work. White cells 5.4; hemoglobin 11.2; platelets 347. The chemo started around 5:10 p.m. Yay!

He's in Room 1015; the direct line is 713-778-7078.

I've worked at home all day. Feeling very anxious and surly. The hospital deja vu makes me crazy. As I sit here in Houston, where we were in deep drought until yesterday, I'm enjoying the rain (finally!) that has been sucked up from the Gulf courtesy of Hurricane Dolly. Yet, I am dumbfounded that, within the hour, another leak in the ceiling has presented itself. It's in the office. Precariously close to my PC. It's not a bad one, but if the rain keeps up, ya know. I don't want to think about it.

Didn't I say something about hurricane season earlier? I should know better than to tempt fate.

Doctor day

Vlad had his full appointment with the doc Thursday. Numbers are up. White count is over 10, hemoglobin still a bit low at 10.7 and platelets are high at 827,000. All totally normal.

He'll go back for his LAST consolidation chemo on Thursday July 24. Which means he'll be there on what would be my birthday if I were having one this year. His release date will be July 28.

I suspect it will take him at least a month to recover. There seems to be a cumulative effect to the chemo. Every round is worse than the last.

He's had the worst time yet from the 3rd consolidation chemo. He has little energy. The sweats come and go. He had the mouth sores two weeks after the chemo, the timing of which was contrary to his experience. Sleep is elusive some nights. Almost all his hair is gone, including his eyelashes.

But there's a lot to be thankful for, like no pain. We are handling it as best we can. Life is good, seriously.

Saw my friend Carol yesterday, the day after her birthday. We exchanged gifts. Ate at Empire Turkish Grill, one of our favorite restaurants. We had a great time.

Got updates from Karla today. Peter's moved to a rehab center now, where he'll get intensive therapy for about a week. He can shower and shave and read e-mails. He and Karla watched "Cash Cab" together and she said he knew most of the answers but couldn't say them. Despite the speech problem, it sounds like he's making pretty big strides. Yay.

Terry is still battling very bad cellulitis, which may be from a staph infection. He seems to be turning the corner on that. Talked to him by phone the other day and he seemed in decent spirits. Better than I would be I think. He said the doctor was happy with his progress. Here's to Terry and Linda.

We took Keezee to the vet today. It's been a couple of years. But he was healthy. And too fat. He's 16 pounds and should be like 12. So we have to cut back and we don't feed him that much. He spends 80% of his time outside, so we suspect someone else may be feeding him from time to time. Fat cat.

More bad news from friends

Vlad is finally getting out of the fever funk. He's still feeling pretty light-headed and things seem a little dream-like to him sometimes. I think he's just working through the poisons they put in him. He seems better today than yesterday.

But we got some bad news about our friend Peter, who had a stroke Thursday night in his home in Tennessee. (He's above with me and my friend Karla, his wife). He can't talk at the moment. His left side is impaired; but he's moving his arm and leg, so that's good. There's some concern about his left eye, Karla said. It will take them awhile (I'm assuming a couple of weeks or more) to assess his situation. But I don't really know. Nobody will give Karla any idea about what Peter's outcome may be. We'll just keep sending good thoughts.

With Vlad's diagnosis, our friend Terry's fall a couple of weeks ago and now Peter's stroke, we're ready to erase this year from the books. Everybody, be healthy and don't sweat the small stuff. Hey, sometimes life is a cliche.

Anyway, here are some more photos from when Vlad and I visited Karla and Peter last year in the Smokies:

Here's Karla on the porch of their cabin in the Smokies.
Here's a view of nearby Watauga Lake. It was October.

Fever roller coaster

At Vlad's appointment with Conlon yesterday, all his numbers were up. He's out of nadir and neutropenia with WBC at 1.3. Saturday he battled low fever, which by Sunday evening was creeping past 101. I was relieved he had a doctor's appointment Monday morning. By 10 a.m. Monday, no fever. By 2 p.m. Monday, fever was back. It went away Monday evening, but returned during the night. So I stayed home both days with the patient.

We've tried everything. His mouth sores are back, too. Weird though, since his numbers are better, why all the fever and sores now? Why not last week? I think it's possible it's not just minor infections, it's also body heat generated by the marrow working to replenish the cells. I don't know. I've heard that about my own anemia.

We're thrilled this is about as bad as it gets. Could be so much worse. But it still sucks, you know? I've decided to cancel my birthday this year. He'll be in the hospital on my 50th for the last chemo. The fact it's the last chemo is gift enough.

We're hoping he'll be strong enough to visit my sister & mom when they bring the girls to Galveston in August. It looks pretty iffy.

Hoping to get back to the office tomorrow. Cheers all.

Long time, no post

We did make it to San Antonio last weekend and had such a wonderful time. I had not seen Jeff and Cindy since they lived in Vegas. That was probably 6-7 years ago. They've got a beautiful house in SA now. We had a wonderful visit.

After we got back, Vlad started his fall in numbers. His white blood cells are down to .6. His hemoglobin is below 9. His platelets were at 4, so he had to get a transfusion on Friday. He didn't get home till 11 p.m.

I've been working 12-hour days for reasons that are too tedious to talk about. I'm hoping this work schedule will end soon.

Yesterday was Alex's birthday party (22!) at his mom's and stepdad's house (photo above). He invited some of his friends and it was really nice visiting with them. We never see his friends much. They're really much older and wiser now than they were in high school. And fun. They're developing into great adults.

We were only there a couple of hours. Vlad was fading. He's sleeping now. I hope he'll stay in bed most of the morning anyway.

In the bad news department, our friend Terry, (above with Vlad and Linda on Vlad's birthday in 2006), broke both of his knees when the staircase at his beachhouse collapsed. He and a friend were working on the staircase at the time. He was in the hospital briefly and has some hospital stories from hell; worse than Vlad's. But he's home now with braces, crutches, a hospital bed and other accoutrements. He's not supposed to put any weight on his legs for three months. Crushed tibia caps, torn ligaments and damaged tendons in both knees. Linda's got her hands full. At least Terry's in relatively good spirits.

Here are some of my (terrible-quality) photos from San Antonio last Sunday, June 29. We ate at La Hacienda de los Barrios, famous for its "puffy tacos," which I highly recommend:

Cindy, Jeff and Aunt Ella

Mom and Bill

Suzanne and Ginny. Click here to see the video of Ginny talking about her new "haunted" school.

Vlad and Alex.