Author: Michael

Today was opening day at Yankee Stadium and boy do I miss my dad. With my chemo almost behind me, and a healthy and hopeful future ahead, today marks the return of one of the wonderful ways my dad and I used to communicate for seven months of the year. And now I am left with a wife who is a Red Sox fan, a mother and sister who know not from baseball, and a daughter who my father, so overjoyed at finally having a grandchild, gave permission to be a Red Sox fan. Would it be wrong of me not to honor my father’s dying wish? Absolutely not! I am writing off this alleged dying wish to cancer-related delirium.

So on this opening day I find myself alone. Yes, there are millions of Yankees fans out there, but none out there to comfort me with a phone call about the Yankees pitching problems, none who shared with me the joy of watching Thurman Munson hustle out a triple as I spilled an entire large coke on myself in the blazing summer heat from the first row on the third base line at Yankee stadium, none to explain to me that not all the Yankees (and not most people in the world) were Jewish, none on whose shoulders I rested in the right field bleachers at Yankee stadium as Reggie Jackson hit his second of three home runs in game six of the 1977 World Series, and none with whom I could argue about how George Steinbrenner was the worst thing to happen to baseball since the 1919 Chicago Black Sox scandal. None who are my dad.

The Yankees won their home opener today.

With my marrow worn down from seven rounds of chemo, my platelets have unionized and gone on strike until further notice, so there will be no chemo today. Negotiations with my platelets began in good faith earlier today, and we have assured them only one more round of chemo. This cannot be guaranteed forever, but we have promised at least 5-10 years chemo free. I have the best lawyers representing me, but my marrow has also retained fine lawyers, and, frankly, has the upper hand in negotiations.

I am threatening to postpone our trip to the Caribbean as a negotiating ploy, and that seems to have got the platelets attention. They walked out of our meeting just thirty minutes ago. Talks are set to resume Wednesday.

Jacqui has made a last minute visit to Naples, Florida to say goodbye to her uncle Billy who has end-stage kidney cancer and has been given just days to live. Oye. First Jacqui’s Auntie Pam last June from lung cancer. My dad in February also from kidney cancer. And now Billy.

Quite a year. Quite a year. Mercy.

My platelets continue to be pesky, and chemo is now delayed until Monday. This is now four chemos in a row delayed due to either platelets, the flu, or me jumping into an icy river to save Otis.

I’ve been told to drink lot’s of platelet juice to boost my marrow’s platelet production so I can finish this damn chemo up starting Monday.

Recipe for Platelet Juice:

1 cup club soda
1 tbs grey poupon
1 cup cranberry juice (unsweetened)
1 kosher hot dog, blended into puree
1 slice of cheese pizza, blended into puree (NY Pizza preferred)
2 extra strength tylenol, finely chopped
pinch of garlic powder
1 bat’s claw, finely chopped

Stir. Do not shake.

Tomorrow morning I’ll head back to the clinic to check my pesky platelets. Hopefully they are above 100.

If so, I’ll be admitted for my final round of chemo, the dreaded B-cycle. If not, we’ll try again Friday.

Meanwhile, Sophia has begun working out.

Those pesky platelets are driving me nuts, still not having recovered to B-cycle safe territory.

As a result, my chemo admission scheduled for today is delayed until at least Wednesday.

I’ll keep you posted.

We have confirmed Saturday morning, May 5 as Sophia’s baby naming at our synagogue.

When we Red Sea pedestrians have babies, all sorts of crazy rituals go on from the snipping of foreskin to the eating of many pounds of pastrami and corned beef to grandparents saying things like “my grandchild _______ is able to ______ and is definitely a genius.” Thankfully there will be no snipping of the foreskin this child go around. Just a few simple prayers said by the Rabbi without the ritual sacrificing of the tip of anything, except maybe a good loaf of rye bread. I was at a bris a few years ago and the mohel, barely paying attention post-snip, almost let the foreskin roll off the table and onto the floor. Yikes!

So Sophia and the entire Rick/Yudell clan are looking forward to seeing you all here in Philly the morning of May 5.

Details to follow soon.

Today marks a month since the passing of my father.

Tonight Jacqui and I went to Tacconelli’s for some amazing thin crust, crispy pizza (his favorite) to honor my dad, who really would have loved their slice.

A friend who lost her father told me that every year on her father’s birthday she goes out for a steak–her dad’s favorite meal–as a way to remember him and share in one of his joys. I really like that idea, but since my dad loved so many foods, it will be hard to keep it to one type of restaurant. So I guess it will be a rotating dad food memorial. Definitely on the list are thin crust, crispy pizza, a good shrimp cocktail, lobster, a steak, good Chinese food, and so on and so forth.

Today is our second wedding anniversary, the “cotton anniversary,” and we are spending it quietly, thankful that I am no longer neutropenic and thus looking forward to going out to dinner tonight to celebrate.

I don’t need to tell you all how lucky I am to have Jacqui in my life. I joked with her earlier that for all she has given me these last two years, and especially for the ways she has taken care of me these last 7 months, I owe her thirty years of nonstop pampering, taking care of, endless love and devotion, etc. And while I’ve still got a few weeks of battering chemo left before I can begin that job in earnest, I am looking forward to it (taking care of Jacq) with great relish. There is nothing I want to do more than turn all of my attention to my amazing wife, whom I love in ways I never imagined possible, and with whom I share a passion for life, love, and family. How lucky can one guy be?