Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Myeloma waits for no man...

Boy did I have plans. My band was going to headline a festival in late March, my annual Las Vegas trip for the Final Four (watch this be the year UCLA pulls it out), plus some doctor appointments I really wanted to keep. And then there are the projects at work that I'm very invested in that I wanted to see through to fruition.

Alas, not to be. Based on the progression of my M-Spike (to say nothing of the ribs, which I'll have X-rayed tomorrow) Dr. SF thinks I will need to start treatment shortly after returning from Dr. BB's joint at the end of this month (I am certainly Stage II now and probably on my way to Stage III, depending on how many lesions I have on my bones). February is a big month -- Jill has a birthday and there are some things I want to do, people I want to see, etc. before I take myself out of commission for an extended period of time. So I'm hoping I can at least put things off to the beginning of March. Like my father used to say, "we shall see what we shall see."

But what I won't be able to do is put it off until mid-April. Which is a pity.

On the other hand, the sooner I start, the sooner I'll be done.

Unless Dr. KA talks me out of it during my consult with him on Monday, I'll be opting for Dr. BB's protocol...the only question is how much to do out of state versus at City of Hope. I really don't want to disrupt Parker's school, so moving the family to a different state and a different school is out of the question. We have to consider that.

Speaking of Parker, we told her last night. I hadn't planned on it, but my ribs hurt so much and she saw me wincing and moving very slowly. She asked me what was wrong, and rather than give her a half answer about the ribs, I figured now was time. I told her daddy had something wrong with his blood (isn't that weird, Parker???) and that the doctors were going to make me better, but I had to take lots of silly medicine and it was going to make all my hair fall out! No hair on my head, or my arms, or my feet, or my legs, or my hair at all.

She laughed. She told me to take medicine now so she can see me bald.

It went as well as could have been hoped for. Thank God she's only six and not old enough to ask frightening questions or draw connections.

In other news, got the golf club to at least reduce my membership fees for six months (it's better than nothing). Still have to solve long-term disability insurance issues somehow.

Now drinking: 1982 Chateau Leoville Las Cases. Yum!