Cancer is gonna have to wait. After two and a half years of fighting and 1.05 million dollars in medical expenses this year alone, I have swung a deal to leave the front and go home for Christmas.
Today I write to you as a man officially on a treatment break until the first of the year (at least!).
No more chemo, no more Xgeva, no more side effects and yes, NO MORE LUPRON (the anti-man drug they give me to starve my cancer that has as its only minor side-effect that of making me a menopausal woman).
Already, I feel the chemical laboratory that has been my body beginning to sort itself out. Understand the joy: all drugs have been banished from my body. Side effects are fading. I am feeling better and better each day (except I sleep like Rip Van Winkle).
I also feel, dare I say, a resurgence of masculinity flowing back into me. This makes me cry for joy, but I’m sure the crying will pass as soon as my testosterone level goes up a little more.
Last Monday when I went in for my appointment, Haley, who rules with an iron fist, tipped me off, saying, “You’re not going to be happy when you leave today. They have an injection waiting for you.” My eyes narrowed and my nostrils flared. I was ready for battle.
After appealing to my oncologist calmly for several minutes (Betsy kept kicking me), he concluded gruffly, “We don’t take guys like you off Lupron. Hand me your co-pay and drop your pants.”
End of discussion.
But I was just getting warmed up. Rumor has it, I can be quite stubborn and obstinate myself. I suggested my oncologist take the injection instead of me, explaining it would make him more empathetic with his male patients.
Betsy kicked me again and he declined my kind offer.
So I pulled out my big gun and simply had this woman glare intensely at him:
He quickly folded.
Betsy then moved in for the kill, suggesting that I be given the rest of the month off from all treatments to recover from the chemo overdose I received that almost killed me. With the deal sealed, we were at the front desk checking out, without ever seeing a needle.
Pointing to Betsy, I smiled and told Haley, “Instead of an injection of Lupron, look what I got instead!”
I was whistling when we left the office. I may have even been dancing a little, as well. Dinner was at Kool Beanz to celebrate.
By the way, if you didn’t see it on Facebook, here’s a photo of us when we were 24 years old:
Jessica (who used to be my friend on Facebook) inquired, “How did that nerd score that hot blonde chick?” Gentlemen, if you will send me $100/month for the next twelve months, I will reveal my twelve secrets to you (#7 will blow your mind!).
Also, $50 will get you instructions on how to tie a tie like a real man. $25 will get you my pamphlet on how to grow a Tom Selleck mustache that looks like a furry caterpillar on your lip.
I am also auctioning my glasses off to the highest bidder. Note: there is room for two people to see out of them – at the same time.
Betsy is not available; don’t even think of bidding on her.
So here we are – Christmas break. Time to sit back, relax a little, avoid all doctors (especially if they come bearing needles) and remember how one night many years ago, the blackness of the sky was pierced with a multitude of the heavenly host, with one angel proclaiming,
“Do not be afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of great joy
which will be for all the people;
for today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior,
who is Christ the Lord.”
A diagnosis of terminal cancer? That’s like a splash in a bathtub compared to this tsunami of good news. We are unconditionally loved, provided for, and forgiven forever when we place our trust in Christ alone. In the midst of great darkness, heaven has opened and hope has arrived.
As if to top it off, a friend and I were at Chic-fil-A today for lunch. I ordered a large chocolate shake (I’m still trying to put on some weight – diabetes be damned) and a spicy chicken sandwich.
Michelle recognized me from this blog and gave me my shake for free, saying I was a “local celebrity.”
Thanks, Michelle. You are indeed awesome – and so was the milkshake.
Finally, I know some of you may be concerned about my transition from no testosterone to being a man again. I believe the process is called puberty, an often clumsy, awkward time – at any age.
I’ll try to keep my wits about me, and, no, I don’t think I’ll need adult supervision. Still – this guy is my new hero, even though it all went so wrong – twice!
Dutchman tries to pop question, destroys house, goes on holiday
An over-amorous Dutchman became a home wrecker – literally – when a crane he was using to have himself lowered into his girlfriend’s garden for a marriage proposal fell through the neighbour’s roof.
The unnamed man hired a crane in the central town of Ijsselstein to lower him over his girlfriend’s house and into her garden for the surprise proposal early on Saturday morning.
“The crane the man wanted to use to propose fell on a house,” emergency services spokesman Jelle Mulder said.
“During the attempt to right it, the crane unfortunately slipped and fell on the house again.”
Neighbouring houses have been evacuated and the huge crane is still on top of the house.
“We’re looking at the best way to lift the crane without it falling again,” Mr Mulder said.
The would-be fiance jumped to safety and no-one else was hurt.
“The people in the house the crane fell on are deeply shocked,” he said.
The authorities will decide if the house needs to be demolished after the crane is lifted.
Despite the fiasco, the girlfriend accepted the marriage proposal, Dutch media reported, and the couple has now gone on holiday.
“They had a trip to Paris planned and the police told them that there was no reason to cancel,” Mr Mulder said.
“I don’t know if they’ve gone.”
Sometimes you’re the windshield
Sometimes you’re the bug
Sometimes it all comes together baby
Sometimes you’re just a fool in love
– Mary Chapin Carpenter
Anyone know where I can rent a crane?