It Might Get Messy

To paraphrase…perhaps more accurately desecrate…John Lennon, I offer this aphorism: “Whatever gets you through the tumor…that’s good humor…that’s good…”. OK, wait, that’s not gonna work. How about “Whatever gets you through the disease…do it please…do it please…”. OK, that’s not gonna work either. Let’s skip this forced fake literary crap and get to the point.


Which is that I’m not really a “Chicken Soup for the Soul” kind of guy. Don’t get me wrong. I love chicken soup (although I must admit it’s something I’ve never been able to make credibly in my own repertoire), and I’m very, very glad that the self-help industry cranks out X, Y, and Z’s for the souls of those constituted to benefit from same. Personally, I’m more comfortable with something akin to “Binge Drinking for the Soul”. Which does, of course, carry the unsurprising irony that a lifetime’s consumption of beverage alcohol contributed causally to my present medical difficulties.


One of major problems with cancer in general is nutrition. After all, you’re eating for billions (of cells), and the tumorous subculture is disproportionately ravenous. Plus, you feel generally like hell, chemotherapeutic drugs cause intense nausea, and it’s one time of your life that such niceties as good meals and svelte figures tend to slip down the priorities list. Maintaining adequate nutrition and body weight are ongoing problems in cancer treatment and management. Possibly magnified in my case by the fact that the tumors themselves erected their (large and distinctly uncomfortable) edifice at the gateway to my gastrointestinal infrastructure. 


Treatment practitioners are very practical about these things. My radiation oncologist and her staff, the neck surgeon and his intern, and our assigned team of counseling and psychiatric professionals all asked about my weight and fitness, congratulated me on fighting my weight down more than 40 pounds from its peak, and told me to forget anything and everything I had ever learned about healthy dieting and start eating anything and everything I could stomach. The oncologist said “40 pounds is good, but when I am done with you you are going to be missing another 40 pounds.” 


The National Institutes of Health National Cancer Institute guide “Eating Hints Before, During, and after Cancer Treatment” says (of course) “For most people, a healthy diet includes: lots of fruits and vegetables and whole grain products and cereals, modest amounts of meat and milk products, small amounts of fat, sugar, alcohol and salt”. Then it says “When you have cancer, you may need extra protein and calories…extra milk, cheese, and eggs…add sauces and gravies…eat low fiber foods…eat plenty of calories…eat when you have the biggest appetite”.


A liberating moment in my adolescence came one summer day when I was wandering around town with a couple bucks in my pocket and I had the revelation that instead of going to the Pompton Queen diner or Pompton Spa lunch counter for a cone or dish, I could go to the Washington Delicatessen and purchase and eat an entire pint of Breyer’s Coffee Ice Cream.


It took me more than 50 years to mature past that moment to where I can again control my body weight on my own volition. Never would have expected a reprieve from that level of necessary self-discipline, however temporary it might be. I leave you with this photograph of a typical food shopping trip from week 1 of my cancer treatment experience.

Hang in there, everyone. I love you all, friends old and new, acquaintances and colleagues, casual surfers, all of you, and I miss each and every one of you dearly. I’m still struggling to get my weblog empire under some kind of regular control, but new postings will soon be up at one or all of them, so check:


http://sustainablebiospheredotnet.blogspot.com/
http://docviper.livejournal.com/
http://theresaturtleinmysoup.blogspot.com/


if and when you can. 


Before I sign off, a quick update from Treatment Week 1. To be honest, I’m a hurtin’ dude. “Weak” and “painful” are deeply inadequate descriptors of my daily condition. However. The oncologist is pleased with progress. A couple of the tumors have shrunk and softened, and there is at least the possibility that the big one will not kill as much of my tongue as she thought it might. Just like real life—ya got some bad, ya got some good. 


Rock and roll, everyone!!!