Notes From The Cancer Wars

Whoever crafted the phrase "Time Means Money" ought to be horse-whipped in public -- metaphorically speaking, of course.

I was thinking about how B-S that phrase is the other day while I sat in my oncologist's office awaiting the latest update on my battle with non-hotchkins lymphoma.

I like to schedule myself first in line to see Dr. Mike when he conducts office hours because I know, from experience, that he likes to spend alot of time with his patients. It's not unusual for him to sit with a very sick, terrified soul for over an hour, as his medical skill and bed-side manners might require.

Believe me, he sees alot of them in the course of a week.

Book a mid-afternoon appointment with him and, good luck if you get to leave his office before 6 PM.

Anyway, on the occasion of this 8 AM visit, my time with Dr. Mike lasted a little under thirty minutes. Yes, he explained, the short-term and intermediate prognoses look good. Yes, he agreed, the first rounds of chemo flattened my blood counts and they might have compromised my endocrinology.

He insisted, that I maintain a diet consisting of tons of high in Iron veggies such as Brussels sprouts and broccoli in order to improve my blood counts -- despite the fact that my platelets, white cells and red cell counts have been trending flat for months now.

Patience, he preached: beating NHL takes time.

Chronic fatigue is a common side-effect when most people undergo chemotherapy. Yes, he granted, it will take me much longer to whip common cold symptoms; and if at all possible, avoid getting cuts -- even when shaving -- as they will take much longer to clot.

Take naps when you feel the need. Get rid of as much stress as you can in your life.

Try to exercise more. Try some home-made chicken soup.

Medicine knows how to keep it under control so long as the patient doesn't quit on the protocols.

Even though progress is slow, the good news, he said, is that I can continue to brag about having the cleanest colon in town.

So we spent a few more minutes chatting while he updated my chart on his laptop computer. He recommends one more round of treatment with Rituxan -- a concoction of titrated and synthesized rat spleen, and I do not make this up  -- to keep the NHL in check.

According to Dr. Mike, here's how Rituxan works: it "marks" cancerous lymphatic cells floating around in the lymph system and in bone marrow and then targets them for destruction by the body's natural immunity mechanisms.

"It's a bit like spray-painting a handful of terrorists, mingled among thousands of commuters in Grand Central Station, with day-glo orange so that the cops can take them out," Dr. Mike said.

Yes, indeed.

I'll let Dr. Mike and his wonderful nurses drip Rituxan into my veins for as long as it takes to help me stay alive.

I like money. But time has ceased to be a "commodity" carrying a price tag.