Mr. Cancer Fitness USA

As a long time proponent of yo-yo dieting (I like to keep my body guessing, will he be fat this month or will he be thin?), I've always hoped that one day I would create my own borderline un-healthy crash diet that would sweep across the nation via trashy supermarket rags and poorly interpreted word of mouth. Something like - The Charelston Chew Diet! Apparently, the energy burned in your jaw makes up for all the empty calories?!

When I started to read about all the side effects of Chemo I thought - "A last! I've found the perfect crash diet." Can't you just imagine it? Glossy covers of People, US and Star touting the newest diet of Hollywood's Hotties. The Chemo Diet. Audrina Patridge lost all her baby weight in just three sessions! Pam Anderson stays slim thanks to it! Jessica Biel got ready for her Oscar Winning Night with it! I guess that's how you know it's just a fantasy. Jessica Biel's not ever winning an Oscar.

But Miss Biel's horrible acting ability is beside the point. All the literature supports my theory, chemotherapy is a fantastic way to shed those unwanted pounds.

So why is it that when I look in the mirror I am undoubtedly doughy-er? I'd go back to my P90X workouts but as we already covered, it probably causes cancer. I've been told to eat as much protein as I can while on chemo and get lots of rest. I thought for sure that the combination of an Atkins diet (one of my favorites to yo-yo diet with), toxic chemicals coursing through my body and extended time spent on the couch would be a sure fire ab-ripper. Instead I am getting as squishy as the swollen glands that lead me to this.

So what happened to the Chemo Diet I was so anxious to champion? Not only am I not losing weight, I'm packing on the pounds! How many people in this world manage to have both a weight problem and a cancer problem? My only conclusion can be that I am simultaneously beating cancer and chemo at the same time!!

Take that, Historical Experts that say no one has ever prevailed in a war with two fronts!

You Know That One Guy in Vegas?

The one that looks like he just got off the table of a triple-bypass operation and still managed to make it to the sports book? The guy that sucks from the oxygen tube in between raises at the daily poker tourney? You know That Guy?

I was just That Guy! PICC line hanging from my arm, biopsy scar proudly on display while playing the ponies. Had a winner even.

Accompanied by some admiring glances from some Life Long Gamblers that understand that nothing gets in the way of a day at the OTB.

Okay, just a quick post while on the Cancer Roadtrip. Now back to the tables.

Only the Echo's of My Mind

I am about to embark on my first Cancer Roadtrip! An old friend of mine, who shall remain nameless but he's the youngest ever Lieutenant Colonel in the history of the Air Force, is taking me to NYC. We will be stopping in Manchester, NH to take in a minor league game and at Mohegan Sun Casino in Connecticut to do a little gambling on our way.

As a great lover of movies I immediately recognize my amazing chance to fulfil a number of "take a sick kid on one last road trip" cliches over the next couple of days!

Should I go to some kind of barn dance and meet a simple country girl that accepts me for who I am? Will I drive a sports car at breakneck speeds then talk my way out of the ticket because - "you see officer, I may never have this chance again?" And in the end can he say the words - "I thought we were teaching Jules and all along he was teaching us?"

Okay, so that last one is from Radio but either way there's some real potential here.

Right now my plan is to pull the Cancer Card at the Manchester FisherCats game in an effort to get on the field. Maybe try and throw out the first pitch or perhaps suit up and take some hacks once the game is out of hand (hey, it's the movies, you never know). Then, while in the stands, I will teach some group of kids/hillbillies how precious life is. Afterwards, at the town social some girl next door type will ask me to dance with her. Since I've never danced before due to my condition I will be hesitant at first and then, surprise surprise, it turns out I'm a great dancer! Also, I will dance like no one is watching.

In Mohegan Sun I will break out my amazing ability to count cards/read pro poker players and win gobs of money. Money that could go to my further treatments but instead I will give it to either a friend who's trying to save his families farm or a younger and sicker version of myself. Either way, everyone around me will learn that material possessions don't matter and to live life to the fullest. This is very moving stuff.

On the final leg of my journey I will start to feel weak. I'm thinking about coughing up some blood here but it might be more cinematic if my buddy notices it dripping out of my ears. It will be the art directors call. I'll crawl into the back seat, cover myself in a blanket and some kind of inspirational song will come on the radio. My best guess is it will be Solsbury Hill by Peter Gabriel but it could be Everybody's Talkin' in a nod to Midnight Cowboy. We will drive into NYC (without any real traffic, amazingly) as the sun sets through the skyline.

I don't know about you but I've got goosebumps.

Okay, got to go. Need to shave my head before we hit the road.

You Wouldn't Like Me When I'm Angry

As a kid I was an enormous fan of comic books. Captain America was my favorite but basically any and all comic super heroes were fair game for my rather enormous comic book collection. I no longer read comic books (because I'm a man and not some kind of weird full grown adolescent that you shouldn't trust around kids) but the idea of having super powers still appeals to me.

Today I found out that chemo therapy changes my cells on a molecular level. You may be asking yourself, why didn't they tell you this before you started taking chemo? I'm sure they did. I'm also certain it's mentioned in one of the fifty-three pamphlets collecting dust in my room. I tend to zone out when the nurses start talking about support groups or logging all my meals and resulting bathroom needs (wouldn't that be a fun addition to the blog?!) or how to stay hydrated (drinking water would be my first guess but I'm new to this whole cancer thing). The list goes on and on so I'm certain they mentioned chemo therapy changes my cells on a molecular lever at some point and I failed to pick up on it.

Wow! Awesome! You know who else got their cells changed on a molecular level? Spiderman! The Hulk!! Captain Fuckin America!!!

I could have a cornucopia of powers just waiting to be discovered! I could be faster, stronger, smarter, sexier then ever before!

Say hello to Cancer Boy! or maybe - Hodgkin's Man!! perhaps... Captain Lymphoma!!!

Everyone will be there!

Last night I went to the Bangor State Fair. For those of you that don't already know, the fair circuit is HUGE in Maine in the summertime. I don't know if when coming up with Maine's slogan "The Way Life Should Be" they were thinking of fried dough and poorly constructed/barely supervised high speed rides of death but whenever I think of Maine it's high on my list.

As much as I love Maine there has always been a severe deficit of things to do once the sun goes down - besides sitting in a field getting hammered on Allen's Coffee Brandy (sadly, the un-official adult beverage of Maine). I'm not judging. It's something I've indulged in too many times to count (for the record, Jim Beam is the official adult beverage of Jules) but since I'm not supposed to drink while on chemo and am no longer nineteen my entertainment needs had to be satiated elsewhere.

I was there for approximately four hours. This was about three hours and forty-five minutes too long. All I can say about the Bangor State Fair is if you can walk from one end to the other and not come out the other side feeling a whole lot better about yourself, you are incapable of positive thought.

I left the fair saying to myself - Thank God the only thing wrong with me is I have cancer!

Ozzy Ozbourne concerts have a smaller collection of Ozzy Ozbourne t-shirts then the fair. Actual homeless people are more presentable then most of the attendees at the fair. There could not possibly be enough Acid Wash in the world to properly care for all the Acid Washed Jeans at the fair. Mulletts - back in style. Neglecting your Children - also in style, at the fair.

I am already the count your blessings type. After a walk through the midway I was a count your brain cells type.

The Bangor State Fair! Everyone will be there!

Take it to the Bank.

Ever have a recurring stress dream? The one where you're at work with only one shoe and you forgot the big presentation for Mr. Sakamoto? Perhaps you've got a big event coming up that you feel ill prepared for or perhaps a few too many viewings of Gung Ho are to blame? Either way, we all get them in some form or another - Mr. Sakamoto notwithstanding.

Last week I was troubled by one. Four solid sleepless nights leading up to Friday (the presentation) and then again over the weekend until Monday (the encore performance). I know what you're saying - Jules, you're a rock, what could possibly get to you? You've got cancer, what else do you have to worry about? How can I get tickets to your gun show?

The answer is a humbling one. I had an appointment at a Sperm Bank.

Yes, an extra curricular activity that I've engaged in hundreds of... make that thousands of... okay, make that hundreds of thousands of times was stressing me out. Much like Lucille Ball at the candy factory all I could envision was a conveyor belt of empty cups passing by and a frantic effort to, um, fill them.

The day finally arrived and let me tell you, it was not half as sexy as any Poorly Crafted Adult Film Plotlines have ever made it out to be. There were no slutty candy stripers or hot female doctors or even naughty secretaries. There was a Slightly Bitchy Tech in ultra baggy scrubs (thanks for the non-visual, you tease) that seemed intent on describing to me how this all worked. Lady, I still vividly remember watching the J. Geils Centerfold video at seven years old. How much instruction do you think I need?

Anyway, the door was closed and I was alone. Closer inspection of the magazine rack, that the Slightly Bitchy Tech had waved at a'la Vanna White, revealed a years supply of Playboys. Now I like to look at beautiful naked women as much as the next guy but with the pressure on I would have liked a little, you know, degradation.

She had also pointed out the TV in the room and said if I turned it on a video should be underway. I flicked it on and was visually assaulted almost as badly as the girl on the screen that seemed to be fighting off a five man full court press all on her lonesome. I had found were they kept the degradation. Not wanting to see quite so many hairy backsides in 720pHD, I flipped off the set and realized I was On My Own.

I have always considered myself a crunch-time player and that day was no exception. Three minutes later I was proudly presenting my hard work to Slightly Bitchy Tech with a smile and a wink that she did not seem to appreciate.

So how did I do it? Saving all the gritty details I envisioned my beautiful and sexy girlfriend and eventual mother of my children -- with another chick.

Love you, Darlin.

A Side Effect or a Sign?

I am now at Chemo Day +4 (WWII buffs should enjoy that reference, the rest of you need to pick up a book.) and I am constantly going through a mental checklist of possible chemo side effects. Sometimes I spend hours looking at myself in the mirror. Granted, I did that before I was diagnosed but now I'm not just admiring my chiseled features, I'm, GASP!, looking for imperfections.

No fatigue, no nausea, no... the other kind of nausea, no rashes, no night sweats, no hair loss (once that begins I'm cutting my hair into a Costanza and once it's all gone - really bad toupees) and no bleeding. Mental checklist complete. So far so good.

Then clean out of the blue this morning I wake up with... STIGMATA. You can imagine my surprise. Hanging onto my pills this morning was a near impossibility. The crown of thorns is not nearly as comfortable as it is stylish. None of these symptoms are in the Chemo and You work booklet. Not even in the Chemo Coloring Book!

I tell ya, if I've got to go through with being The Chosen One on top of beating Hodgkin's this is going to get really hectic.

In the mean time, you are all forgiven.