Blog post #299

Well, tomorrow is The Big Day -- my first Rituxan treatment.


It's also my 2nd Diagnosaversary -- two years to the day that I was diagnosed with NHL.


A few weeks ago, I had the whole thing timed perfectly. I was planning on celebrating my two years by posting my 300th Lympho Bob blog entry. Seemed like two milestones worth celebrating together.


I hadn't quite figured out what, exactly, I was going to say for #300, but I had some rough plans. I had recently watched the movie 300, and that gave me a little inspiration. If you haven't seen 300, it's based on a graphic novel by Frank Miller that describes an event from ancient history. It's about King Leonidas of Sparta, who takes 299 of his men to stop King Xerxes of Persia and his 100,000 or so soldiers from coming to Sparta and taking over all of Greece. It's one of those movies that Isabel won't watch with me -- too much blood and gore from the battles, and everybody looks and talks like a professional wrestler.


One scene in particular was going to make it into the 300th blog entry. A messanger from Xerxes arrives at Sparta and announces to Leonidas that Xerxes is coming, and demands Leonidas bow down to him. The Spartan king takes offense, and forces the messanger and those accompanying him to the edge of a deep pit. "This is madness!" says the messenger. Leonidas responds, "THIS...IS...SPARTA!" and kicks him into the pit. (You can see the clip here.)


My plan was to somehow re-edit the clip to have the messenger say something like, "But I am lymphoma!" and then have Leonidas say something in response and kick him into the pit. I had planned to spend a few hours this past week figuring out what to say and how to dub it. Alas -- my mind has been elsewhere.


Still, I like the whole scenario, even if I'm not going to do it. It mirrors the kind of defiance I've been feeling lately.


Last year on January 15th, Isabel and I celebrated my first diagnosaversary by playing hooky and seeing a 12:00 noon movie. We even smuggled a couple of Subway sandwhiches into the theater, breaking the "no outside food" rule that's posted right on the front door.

A couple of rebels -- that's us.

We did it again yesterday. We were even more rebellious this time, though; last year, we got cold turkey subs so the theater goons couldn't smell them. This year, when the Subway people asked if we wanted them toasted, we said Yes.

We saw Up in the Air, which we really enjoyed....right up until the school nurse called with 20 minutes left in the movie. Catherine had slammed her nose into some kid's head at recess. It was bruised and bleeding just a bit, and the school nurse thought we should take her to the pediatrician. So we left the movie and ran to school and then the doctor's office. (Catherine is fine, by the way -- it wasn't nearly as bad as the nurse made it sound on the phone, and this morning, she has only a faint bruise on the side of her nose.)

So much for our Day of Rebellion.

As we were driving home from the pediatrician (after a stop at Dunkin' Donuts for a giant chocolate chip cookie for the little patient), something occured to me. I kind of figured out the meaning of that dream that involved treatment, my workplace, and a heroine-dealing, FBI informant Sopranos character.

Last Tuesday, after I found out that I'd be starting treatment, we went home, got the kids from school at 3:00, told the kids what was going on, got them started on homework, and then I wrote to my support group about the treatment decision. I had about 10 minutes before Catherine and I needed to head out to our music lessons at 4:00, so I made it a quick note to the group. That note turned out to be the 300th posting I had made to the group, according to the stats next to my name and picture. I described the doctor's visit, and then ended the post with "I'm off to a guitar lesson -- life goes on."

That's what the dream means. All of that stuff -- my satisfying work life, friends from various parts of my world, caring for children, the little things that give me pleasure -- all of that is mixed in with my being a cancer patient. It's a part of me -- but it isn't ALL of me. And if dreams mirror life, doesn't it make sense that my Grand Defiant Gesture gets interrupted by the real world? How could it have not ended that way?

I don't know what the day will bring tomorrow, or what things will be like in a month, but life does go on, and it will. And I plan on it being a long one.