I can tell you the first time that Sophia smiled at Jacq and I. It was two weeks ago when we were in Miami for some quick R&R. It wasn’t just one of those looks babies give when they have a little gas. It was her first full faced smile. Mouth, cheeks, eyes, forehead. It was quick. It melted our hearts.

I have quickly discovered that the milestone moments of parenthood–your child staring at you for the first time, their first smile, etc.–are life changing moments, made all the more powerful and lovely by our crazy situation.

We wait for these moments, knowing that they will come. We anticipate them impatiently. And when they come they are permanently etched in our hearts and minds, never to be forgotten and always cherished. They are moments taken out of time, especially when my time has been spent these last 5 months recovering from round after round of chemotherapy. They are for me, not simply moments to help me get through the nausea, the exhaustion, and the discomfort, but they are beacons of the future, knowing that I should get to enjoy a lifetime of these milestones, from a simple smile, to a first step, to her first words and onward.

Home.

Sleeping it off.

Goodnight.

With another chemo just about behind me, I am excited to get home to my lovely family and the comfortable confines of my couch. While this has been an easy stay–barely any nausea, plenty of good sleep, and the knowledge that I am lying here lymphoma-free–it has sucked to be away from Jacq and Sophia. Sophia seems to change a little bit every day. And while I’ve gotten to see her each day, I want to be with her all the time, literally watching her grow, coo, and play all day.

Home today means a few days of nausea, then a brief respite before the mild neutropenia of the A cycle. I can’t say that I am looking forward to three more chemos, but each stay here means having this process closer to being behind us. And that, my friends, is a great thing to be looking forward to.

We are currently in the planning stages of a huge lymphoma free celebration in late May or early June. We are planning to do a 5k run/walk in Philly and then having a big bash at the house. More details to come.

It has been an uneventful stay for the A cycle thus far. The most excitement was the 9 hours of continuous sleep I got last night. Ah, the irony of checking into the hospital for chemo to get a good nights sleep. On the other hand, Sophia must miss me terribly because she has been sleeping poorly since I left on Monday, which means that Jacq too has not been getting much sleep. Urg.

Otherwise just been doing some work this morning while waiting for the crew to show up. Can’t wait to see Sophia’s smiling face.

On Sunday night, Manny Poppins (aka one of my closest friends, Bill Shein), blew in with the north wind from the Berkshires, umbrella and all. Bill will be staying with us for the next few weeks, helping out with the baby, sitting with me in the hospital having heated political discussions until I fall asleep, and walking Otis and his sweet dog Ella until they are so tired they too fall asleep.

Bill has been an incredible friend through all of this lymphoma-related nonsense. He has called every day, been in Philadelphia for each of my treatments, and helped me put together baldmike.com with his nerdy web skills. He is also single, so for all you ladies out there looking for a great guy, he fits the bill, literally. I am screening potential suitors, so if you are interested, please send me an email and photo and I will let you know if you are up to snuff.

When Bill was not much older than Sophia, he lost his father to leukemia, so I know that it must feel good for him to be able to see me get through this, and be such an integral and essential part of the process. I can only hope that the long life I will live and calling him Manny Poppins for the rest of our days, let’s him know how I feel about his friendship, his dedication, and his love for Jacqui, Sophia, Otis and I. We all love you too Manny.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!!!

It was a rainy Monday in Philadelphia and I waited all day for the call from the hospital, which came late, and we didn’t get to my room until 7pm. Because it takes several hours to prepare the drugs once I am checked in, Jacqui, Sophia, Bill and I were able to go out for a few hours to a nice dinner. I ate some sushi in anticipation of the neutropenic diet that will begin over the weekend and last into next week.

Several things struck me at dinner: the first, that even though I knew what was coming later that night, I was able to put it aside, relax, and enjoy the company and food, that is, until the hospital wrist band popped out from under my sweatshirt to remind me what was about to begin; and second, that when eating dinner in a restaurant full of stodgy, awkward academics, nobody cares about a baby. One of the most incredible things these last (almost) six weeks is how Sophia attracts (generally positive) attention wherever she goes. The attention isn’t always wanted. It is amazing how people are so quick to say inappropriate things or offer unwanted and obnoxious advice. And it isn’t as if I want Sophia to constantly be poked at and talked about. I don’t. But last night was narcissism night in West Philly and there was barely a peep out of a soul as they smugly chomped on their Asian fusion. Heartless academics.

The one person in the restaurant who was excited about the baby was the estrogened-half of a youngish couple sitting at the table behind us. They actually looked completely out of place even for a relatively trendy Philly restaurant, instead looking like they belonged at a skanky club on South Beach–he with a bad tan and goofy shirt, and she wearing a potato-sacky looking dress that barely made it down past her butt cheeks. And I mean barely. Concerned for her well being, Bill even offered her his pants, but she politely rejected him, noting that he had a size 36 waist, and she was at best a 0. The no pants thing kept us laughing all night, but as we walked out, she reminded me that some humans do actually have hearts (even if they don’t wear pants), and we stopped at their table for a second so she could gush over the baby. What shocked me was her boyfriend’s reaction. Dude, if you are out with a girl who is not wearing pants and who’s foot is under the table rubbing your nuts all night, try not to scowl at us for stopping at your table for a second so your girlfriend can look at our baby. Definitely not the way to keep her doing the Paris Hilton-esque thing at dinner with you, if that is what you are into, of course.

I have decidedly mixed feelings about these next four rounds. On the one hand I am the first guy who my nurse practitioner has seen excited to be admitted to the hospital for chemo to both begin this final stage of delymphomatization and get a good night’s sleep. On the other hand, my place is at home with Jacqui and Sophia, and it breaks my heart even to be away from them for a few nights. Jacqui and I have been so lucky to be at home with Sophia these last six weeks. It has been an extraordinary time and I wouldn’t trade it for a thing in this world. I’ve even begun playing the lottery, going to Atlantic City to play craps, betting on football, etc., in the hope of hitting it big so I never have to work another day and can just hang with my baby and wife.

Checked into 6th floor Rhodes to begin the final stage of delymphomatization earlier this evening.

I just received an IV of benadryl (part of the prep for Rituxan) and can barely keep my fingers awake to type this.

So I will update tomorrow.

Please come and visit. I am in 6020 Rhodes. Goodnight!

Summer came early in winter today. It’s January 6, and it was in the 70s here in Philly. We took advantage of the beautiful weather and took Sophia and Otis for a summer’s stroll, a swim in the Skuykill River, and tried to figure out if our townhouse would be beach front property in the post-global warming era.

Jacqui and I had our first night out alone since Sophia joined us, going out for a great dinner, looking back fondly on the last 5 weeks, talking about the craziness of the last 4 months, and looking forward to having the next 2+ months behind us. We spoke about our fears while we waited to see if the chemo worked, and wondered what tonight’s date would have been like had I instead been going in for a month long hospital stay and transplant. We ordered an extra bottle of wine and three desserts to celebrate all that has gone right. Special thanks to our friends Avi and Ivy, their daughter Maya, and Ivy’s grandparents Mitzi and David Einstein who all babysat for little Sophia tonight.

Chemo begins again on Monday so regular blogging shall return then. Until then, enjoy summer.

Sophia and her new friend Maya