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Update, and a funny story

This update is long overdue, but if you hang on, I’ll get to what I think is a funny story.

I’ve typed out a lot of copy about platelets and how my inability to generate enough of those blood-cutting devils has sort of derailed my chemotherapy.

According to my oncologist, Dr. Dena Green, we had been shooting for a number near 75,000 platelets to resume chemo. An average person has well in excess of 140,000.

Anyway, despite multiple platelet transfusions, we have not been able to push that number beyond 39,000. In fact, I’ve had counts as low as 6,000. My blood is about as thin as water.

Well, here is the next plan of attack.

To steal from David Farragut, a Civil War admiral, it’s time to “Damn the platelets. Full speed ahead.” History buffs, of course, know that Farragut bellowed, “Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead!” during the battle of Mobile Bay, Alabama, in August 1864.

Dr. Green and I have decided that trying to maintain a certain statistical standard for the platelets won’t have much impact on me. She has seen me at my physical worst, and we agree that throwing protocol out the window is our best bet.

Despite the low numbers, I’m still able to work, so this week we’re going to try an oral chemotherapy drug called Xeloda.

Xeloda is normally used for metastatic colon or rectal cancer and metastatic breast cancer.

If a drug has been approved for one use, physicians may elect to use this same drug for other problems if they believe it may be helpful.

One of the drug’s side effects is low platelet count. As if that matters at this point.

Dr. Green and I are taking this course of action because it’s been a couple months since I took any chemo for the tumor on my liver. From a high of 4.1 centimeters, we had it reduced to 1.6 centimeters in width. Being ignored, the tumor has now grown to about 2.5 centimeters wide (1 inch). By the way, in my last post, I mentioned that my brother had suffered a stroke just a few days after being declared cancer-free for the second time in his life. Jim is improving by leaps and bounds. He's a former Marine, and we know that’s why he’s been making improvement.

OK, now for a slightly funny story.

My brother Bob and I took a trip to Richmond, Va., last weekend to watch the NASCAR races. I would have loved to been able to check out some of the Civil War battlefields, but time didn’t allow it.

Anyhow, family, friends and even my doctor were concerned about my health prior to the trip and my ability to survive the weekend.

Well, with a big tip of the hat to my brother, who became an honorary Sherpa during the weekend, I survived—almost.

Sunday morning on the return trip, I stumbled over my rollaway suitcase at the virtually vacant Richmond International Airport. My brother had walked ahead to deal with our rental car and a balky GPS that didn’t work the entire weekend.

When I fell, I was unable to get my hands out to brace myself for the impact. All of my force came down on my teeth.

The next thing you know, I’ve got a security guard—who I think was snoozing until he heard me bellow—and three EMS personnel on the scene. And a hideous pool of blood streaming from my nose. And a giant Chicklet that used to be a front tooth lying next to my hand. And my brother—who gets props for having the restraint to not take a picture of the incident with his cell phone camera.

Realizing I didn’t have any broken bones, just a lot of blood all over my khaki shorts, I convinced the AirTran people to let me board the flight and get back to the sanctuary of the Midwest.

Bad news: The chunk of tooth could not be saved. That fall ended my perfect dental history. Prior to the incident, I had never had a cap, a cavity, a filling or a drilling. Even my wisdom teeth fit perfectly when they came in. Fear the dentist? Not me.

Good news: Dr. Richardson at Agar & Lipker had the damaged tooth repaired Monday in less than one hour.

The really bad news?

I got passed over by the tooth fairy Sunday night.

Everybody keep fighting.

We’ll see you soon.