Author: Michael

Yesterday was a rough day.

When I am admitted with a neutropenic fever there is usually one day of high fevers. For most of the day yesterday my temp was in the 101 range. But by nightfall my temp hit 102. From that point on, the sky was the limit. Well, almost. Because my blood counts are so low at this stage of chemo recovery, I needed both platelet and blood transfusions yesterday. But those could not happen until my fever got below 101.

It was a long wait.

After dinner my fever spiked to 102 and change. By 10pm is was at 103. And by 11 it reached a high of 103.6. Yikes. That did not feel good. But by midnight the fever broke and I woke up in a giant and smelly pool of sweat. The transfusions came soon there after.

What a long and miserable day waiting for my body to come to terms with its forced neutropenic state. But I feel so much better today. No fever. Just chilling with Sophia, who is cracking up right now. She started laughing this week. What an amazing thing.

Britney Spears called early this morning, waking me from a post-neutropenic fever slumber that had left me sweaty and exhausted. I had not seen the morning’s news yet, and was surprised to hear from her so early in the day…

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/17197876/

Britney: Good morning, Bald Mike, B.S. here (B.S. is what she likes me to call her).

Me: (interrupting her) Britney, it’s 8am here and you know I am in the hospital with a neutropenic fever. What’s going on?

I figured it was going to be the tale of another one of her wacky escapades. Getting drunk with Paris. Meeting some sleazy guy at a club. Waking up hog-tied next to Condi. Ever since she had found baldmike.com and tracked me down she’s called every day. She really is a sweetheart. Just a poor, lost girl who can’t help but be taken advantage of.

Britney: (Ignoring me, like she always does) I just wanted you to know that I finally did it. They may say I am crazy, on drugs, and that I ran out of rehab, but I wanted you to know that I did it for you.

Me: (barely able to stay awake) Did what? Jeez, B.S. what did you do?

Britney: I shaved it all off… All of it.

Me: I thought you did THAT for Justin or Kevin or whoever?

Britney: (shocked and laughing) No, not there… My head. Bald Mike, I shaved my head, and I did it for you.

I couldn’t believe it. I had read stories about family members and friends shaving their heads in solidarity while a loved one went through chemo, but B.S. shaving her head for me. Come on. No way.

Me: (speechless)

Britney: Listen Bald Mike, I know this might come as a shock to you, but get over yourself, the bigger shock is going to be the look on my manager’s face when he gets wind of this. But don’t worry, we’ll both be fine. I just wanted to do something for you knowing what a rough time you are having.

Me: Well, thanks Britney, I don’t really know what to say.

Britney: Just say thanks. And pray that this doesn’t ruin my career.

Me: Well, thanks, B.S. You continue to surprise me.

Britney: Don’t mention it. Just looking forward to April when your hair comes back so I don’t have to look like Sinead O’Conner any more.

Me: Me too, Britney. Me too.

Britney: Get better soon, Bald Mike. You are almost through this. You’ve done great. Just two more rounds.

Me: Thanks Britney. I won’t forget this. But let me go back to sleep now. I am exhausted.

Britney: No, problem. Time for me to hit the tattoo parlour. There is a 12-year-old kid in Cleveland with hypertrichosis who I promised a very special tatoo. Gotta run. Rest up, Bald Mike. Bye.

As I drifted back to sleep I worried about how the press and paparazzi would now stalk Britney, not believing that the real reason for her head shaving was a generous one. I felt sorry for her and only wished she would take better care of herself and her career, and that she could be better known for her good deeds. Celebrity is rough. Hopefully she’ll get her act together. Hopefully.

After two bags of blood and some IV antibiotics, I am now checked back in to Rhoads 6 for the neutropenic fever waitfest. I spiked a fever of 102.2 this morning and that means that I am locked up with the key thrown away until my counts rebound, likely mid-week next.

This admission is with a heavy heart as my father continues to have a rough time. We are able to speak a few times a day, and he is comfortable, but he is not getting a break. I only wish that I could get on a plane and be there with him to cheer him up. But because of my situation I cannot go anywhere. This whole thing is horrible. A whole lotta life around these parts. Yes, my lymphoma is gone, but to watch my dad decline and to be helpless and far away is breaking my heart. I know that I must get better quickly so I can get down to see him. That is all that matters now. Please keep your prayers coming.

With my counts quickly heading south, not even a good episode of Magnum can keep me awake. My white counts were still out of the neutropenic pooper yesterday afternoon, but my hemoglobin was already 9.3 and declining. Tomorrow should brighten me up a bit though with a few bags of blood and platelets.

For now though, sleepy time.

There are a few things that have become routine after each round of chemo–I sleep off the post-treatment nausea for two days, I eat buckets of Jacqui’s vegetarian Matzo ball soup to build up my strength and my inner culinary Jew, and in between bowls of soup when I am too tired to do anything, I pass the time watching a season or two of a favorite old TV show.

I’ve watched Quincy save the day with his genius pathologist skills, I’ve laughed at Lt. Parmenter and his fellow soldiers guarding Fort Courage in the goofball comedy F-Troop, I’ve been to Cicely, Alaska with Dr. Joel Fleishman and his quirky pals in Northern Exposure, and I’ve even traveled through time “setting right what once went wrong” with Dr. Sam Beckett in Quantum Leap. But best of all, I’ve watched almost three seasons of one of the greatest television shows ever… Tom Selleck as Magnum, P.I. (DVDs provided by the generous and healing hand of old family friend Steve Kandel. Thanks, Steve!).

Now you might be shocked to learn that Magnum is one of my favorite shows. Right now, in fact, you are probably looking up the side effects of chemo-brain on the internet, convinced that the toxic chemicals flowing through me must do much more than affect memory, they must alter that little know region of the brain known as the N.R.R. (Neilsen’s Rating Region), a tiny television shaped area of our onboard computer that can judge one good television show from another.

But if the ingredients of good television are a pinch of entertainment, combined with a smidgen of good writing, a taste of bikini clad women on Hawaiian beaches, and a red Ferrari thrown in for good measure, then Magnum P.I. rarely missed its mark. In an age where television seems to be either pre-packaged reality show garbage (American Idol, etc.) or dark and manipulative serial thriller junk (Lost), Magnum seems almost quaint and sweet by comparison. Magnum might have been a mystery and detective series, but it was really about friendship, the darkness of war, coping with one’s sometimes difficult past and being hopeful about the future, and always about laughing at one’s self and with and at one’s friends. Yea, the plots could occasionally be as overstated as Magnum’s overexposed chest hair, but the show was almost always fun, and even when it did take itself seriously it was never haughty (how could a show with the lead character sporting a thick goofy moustache who wore ridiculously short shorts be haughty?).

So I thank you Magnum, Higgins, T.C., and Rick for getting me through another round of chemo. Your wit, silliness, and fine private investigatory skills have made the chemo go down smoothly and the healing almost complete.

As I’ve mentioned several times in the blog over the last few months, my dad has been having a rough health time as of late. His health struggles, coinciding with my chemo, has made life in the Yudell orbit sad, strange, and very heavy hearted. While the news on my end has been all positive (no more lymphoma, chemo working nicely despite its travails), he seems to be having trouble catching a break. We are hoping that he turns the corner soon so he can be back at his favorite Sunday brunch scouting out the blintzes, pancakes, egg white omelets, etc., etc., etc. and, if you know his appetite, several more etc’s.

There is nothing more frustrating for me than to be stuck here recovering, having no choice but to take care of myself, and not being able to do anything other than to lend support and love over the phone. My mother has been a rock–taking care of him and offering me and Jacqui love from afar (and, of course, coming up here when she can), and my sister is down there now on a long weekend being the wonderful daughter she is.

I am not a praying man, although I must admit to having had my own conversations with a higher power fairly often these past few years. Needless to say, those conversations have been on the increase as of late. So if you are out there and have a moment, some hopeful and kind thoughts for my dad and my family would be greatly appreciated.

We were happy to have some old friends (Stu Z. and his lovely wife Ruthie V.) come in from NYC yesterday to check in on me and, of course, visit little Sophia. It was a nice afternoon of conversation, baby-time, and fresh NYC bagels. Thanks for the visit guys.

At around 6am this morning my fever spiked, which meant an early morning visit to the clinic to make sure my white count was still in healthy territory. Thankfully, it was, and I am now home chilling on the couch about to have some yummy challah french toast.

I should rebound tomorrow before the big crash comes on Friday… something to look forward to. Yay!

Round six is officially done and I am just waiting for my discharge papers to get the hell out of here.

I should have a couple of peaceful days at home before my counts drop. Because my reaction to this round is so extreme, we are discussing spending next weekend in the hospital so I don’t have to have transfusions in the emergency room.

Can’t wait to get home. Only two more rounds to go!!!

Not much to report from chemo-land today.

Life for me in the hospital is boring. Other than the drugged state I was in last night from 50mg of benadryl to prevent a reaction from the Rituximab, I’ve pretty much just been sitting around picking my nose.

Today was Sophia’s 2 month check-up (even though she’s 10 weeks) and the doctor says she is thriving (she’s in the 95th percentile for height and weight–13lbs. 6oz., 24 1/2 inches). She also had several shots today so she’s a bit of a crankster, but we are just happy that she’s happy and healthy and adorable. I couldn’t be there in person, so I was speaker phoned in, and heard all of the post-shot screaming which I’ve filed away in my brain as sounds that make me cringe that I never want to hear again.

Just two more nights here, then a few days at home, and then the B cycle fun begins as my counts drop into the crapper. Should be fun.

Counts are back to normal and the flu has cleared my system.

So I am good to go for chemo. I am checked in and waiting for a room.

Sophia is sooooo happy her Daddy’s blood counts are back to normal…

But all she could do was drool when I told her that that meant that I had to be in the hospital for three nights…