Merry Christmas

We are in Seattle for Christmas.
I'm sure this will be, like most of them, one to remember.  Our daughter, Katie, and her family will join us at the hotel for the week and that will be the best present of all.  The original plan had been for them to be with us in Coeur D' Alene so that seven year-old Daniel could experience a Christmas with snow.  There is plenty of the white stuff in northern Idaho this season and I'm certain that he would have had plenty of opportunity to do what kids do in the snow.  Being a native San Diegan he knows little of life outside of the zone of 70 degrees featuring toasty sunshine and, unlike his grandparents, he is thrilled with the idea of a frozen outdoors.

This week Linda received the first of six infusions of Nivolumab, a form of immunotherapy designed to kick start cancer fighting T cells that we hope will finish off her lymphoma.  Cancer is a stubborn adversary that is adept at hiding and more than a little reluctant to die.  We fight on.

For obvious reasons this blog has lately fallen off my radar.  I will do my best to contribute on a more regular basis when we return home in a week or two.  It's therapy for me and, I hope, occasionally entertaining to readers.

Here is to a very Merry Christmas to each of you and a bright and shining brand new 2017.

Shut Up!

When did restaurants get so damn noisy?

Hotel living for a couple of months while my wife is treated at Seattle Cancer Care Alliance means lots of visits to local restaurants.  I'm seriously thinking of publishing a guide for joints all the way from Pike Place Market to as far north as University Village for anyone planning a trip to this seriously damp and cold corner of the country.  The food, especially the seafood, is excellent, the wait staff almost always friendly but the NOISE IS LOUD.  I know this phenomenon isn't exclusive to the Northwest; I've long noted it in Southern California and, of course, New York City.  What I can't figure out is why.  What memo went out to restaurateurs requiring that all ceilings be raised, beams and duct work exposed and music cranked up to "can you hear me now?"  It's nuts.

Think about it.  Can you name a single dining establishment in your neck of the woods that currently features low lights, a low ceiling and is quiet enough to allow for intimate non shouted conversation? If so, make sure you order something from the bar to insure they don't go out of business.   

I suppose, as so often is the case, this ambiance, like spiked hair, will be looked upon with laughter and derision in a few years. At least I hope so.  It's no fun to yell in order to rise above the din and the crappy music.  Isn't dining out supposed to be a relaxing break from the grind of the rest of the day, or am I mistaken?  I'm almost certain that any entrepreneur willing to open an eatery that is lit like a 1940's film noir feature and is as quiet as a library could make some serious bank from those of us seeking sustenance and a sea of calm.

In the meantime, check please.

Waiting

My wife, Linda, is out of the hospital and feeling much better every day.  The T cells taken from her and genetically modified to seek out and kill her lymphoma seem to be doing their job.  Her hair has gone AWOL for the third time in three years but she knows it's a small price to pay if this regimen works. The lymph glands in her neck have nearly returned to normal, her skin tone is far better and food is beginning to appeal once again.  These are all positive signs that this yet to be FDA approved procedure is the real deal.  Now we wait.

Other than blood tests every few days at Seattle Cancer Care Alliance there is little for us to do as we wait for another two weeks to pass.  The doctors who are the heart and soul of this new treatment have determined that it takes approximately one month to say with certainty that a CAR T cell patient has put their cancer in remission.  A petscan and bone marrow test will provide the report card.  Linda has fourteen days to go.  If her cancer has been defeated we go home.  If not, we go home and maybe come back in a couple of months to try again.  At this point, with only about 180 subjects having participated, the program has roughly an 80% success rate.  If this is sustained, it will be considered a major breakthrough in cancer treatment.  Both of us are excited, yet nervous, to be a part of what may well be substantial medical history.  Mostly we just want to get on with our lives.

This is dicey business.  Two days ago the leukemia section of the program was shut down after two patients died.  The lymphoma study continues as it involves entirely different gene modification and has produced more successful outcomes.  Nonetheless, this is all a delicate tap dance that may yet experience some unforeseen trips and falls.  We simply hope and pray that Linda is ready to dance her way into a cancer free life.  She is excited to be among the 80%.

Making Way For A Junior Reporter

With my wife in the hospital this blog has suffered from neglect.

Daughter Katie has been in Seattle helping me with all things necessary for her mom's recovery.  She left today to return to San Diego and her husband Doug and seven year-old son, Dan.  They have missed her tremendously but have been more than understanding through it all.   As a consequence of her absence Katie missed Dan's "Back to School Night" report created to edify us all about bugs.  Because of this I thought it only appropriate to publish it here as a show of appreciation.  Call me a prejudiced grandpa but I think this puts him on track for a job at 60 Minutes or 48 Hours.

Here it is...

Dan pauses to refresh himself  using a straw that doubles as glasses.

Like Gingko Biloba

The ginko biloba tree in Autumn

We both joked about it.  What else can you do?

They removed the tap from my wife's neck on Tuesday.  The Mahurkar hemodialysis catheter installed to grab the hardiest of her T cells was reminiscent of the spikes pounded into Michigan sugar maples in the springtime of my youth.  It was no fun to look at and miserable for her to wear during the four days required to do the job.  Our grandson thought it was cool and wanted something similar for his Halloween costume.  He's seven and hasn't a clue.  The contraption did what it was designed to do and now Linda's T cells are in a lab at the Hutchinson Cancer Center being genetically modified to attack the blood cancer that is trying to kill her.

After nearly four months here last year for a stem cell transplant, neither of us was ready to reprise an extended stay in the Emerald City for yet another campaign against this insidious large B cell lymphoma raging inside my wife's body.  Yet, here we are.  Daily we are thankful for the unwavering support of faithful friends and family.  We also count ourselves lucky to be retired and comfortable enough to withstand the obvious financial strains of this battle.  Daily we see others who have young children and jobs to worry about and are amazed that they persevere.

 Magnificent ginkgo biloba trees, now golden in Autumn, line Aloha street for the block we walk from our hotel to Seattle Cancer Care Alliance each day.  A Google search of these beauties offers the information that they are some of nature's hardiest and disease resistant deciduous trees;  the only plant life to survive 1945's atomic bombing of Hiroshima.  Their presence here is obviously no accident.

The pleasant distraction of a World Series lifts our spirits.  We both love the game of baseball and are delighted to find the Cubs flirting with the chance to win it all for the first time in our 68 years of life and, like all Cub fans, hope and pray that 2016 truly is the year of miracles.

The ginkgo biloba endures

Taking a Cruise

That's what we've decided to call it.  A "cruise" sounds a ton better than going back to the hospital, but that's where we're headed.  

Linda's cancer returned in August and has proven itself both resilient and deceptive.  Even after last year's stem cell transplant the lymphoma that has tried to mess with her for the past three years keeps coming back for more.  This ugly bastard should have talked to me.  This woman is the definition of relentless and indefatigable!  For forty-eight years she has put up with my seemingly inexhaustible supply of bullshit and won't quit until I've been fixed.  (Those who know me realize this is a fool's errand that demands at least another fifty years.  Please don't tell her.)

Beginning next week we return to Seattle Cancer Care Alliance where Linda will be a patient in their CAR-T cell program.  It is a new form of therapy involving the body's immune system that you're welcome to Google for a more detailed explanation.  Simply put, it is a program that withdraws T cells from the body and "re-educates" them to attack cancer cells.  It's very new but so far has proven quite successful in fighting leukemia, so much so that doctors feel comfortable in its ability to be equally effective on lymphoma, especially the large B cell variety that has chosen to go after Linda.  We have high hopes.

It dawned on me a couple of weeks back that what began as a feeble attempt to sweep some of the snakes from the attic of my mind--this blog--has gone on for nearly ten years.  When radio jobs went away there was no place to go with this nonsense except right here.  The web was free and it stopped me from talking to myself in the driveway for four hours every morning.  Actually, I would have kept on doing that but the neighbors called the cops.  So here I am.  Just about the time I think I should quit inflicting this on the unsuspecting I hear from an old friend or former radio reprobate reminding me of a tale or two that can now stand the light of day and I decide to just keep typing.  So, for now, I will.  I'll try to be diligent in filing these usually light-hearted ramblings during the next few weeks but, if they become sporadic, you'll know it's only because we're on a cruise.

Linda resting and wishing I wasn't taking her picture during a recent walk..

I'm My Own Grandpa

The country comedy team of Homer & Jethro recorded a novelty ditty entitled "I'm My Own Grandpa" that has been rattling around my aging gourd lately.  I'm fairly certain it's because I have been finding myself slipping into codger speak a little more every day.  You know, stuff like: "I remember when Halloween pumpkins were 10, 25 and 50 cents; not EIGHT BUCKS!"  "Damn kids are playing that rap crap again!"  And, of course, my wife's favorite:  "How come they're hiring high schools kids as television news anchors?"

Going grocery shopping is excruciating for me.  Working as a bag boy for Oscar "The Watermelon King" Swanson at Swanson's Super Store during my high school days in the early 1960's left that era's prices etched forever in my mind.  The other carry out guys and I used to be able to come within a few cents of a customer's final bill just by eyeing their baskets as they pulled up to the check stand.  A $50 order would fill a typical grocery cart to overflowing and someone spending $100 invariably had at least two carts and required two of us to help them to their car.  These days, when forced to hit the supermarket, I look at what I have to purchase and simply give it a multiple of ten to estimate how bad the hit will be.  The same formula works for cars too.  A ride that was $5000 in the 60's is easily $50k today.  Houses need at least a ten multiple to make the price leap from the 60's to today.  Whoda thunk??

What got me thinking about all this was a recent study an expert on aging, Dr. Jan Vijg of Albert Einstein College of Medicine, who says that 115 years of age is just about the maximum limit of human longevity.  Of course some folks have exceeded that but Dr. Vijg seems to think that after 115 we're all pretty much competing with cabbages when it comes to being useful.  I tend to agree, although it could be a real challenge to see if my heart could absorb the amount of change and inflation a person would have to contend with to make it that far.  And, isn't that maybe why we are allowed the fairly standard three score and ten years most of us are dealt?  How much change is good for you?  Shouldn't there be some benchmarks that are immune to change?

Mark Twain said, "The two most important days in life are the day you are born and the day you discover the reason why."  Possibly it takes some of us as much as 115 years to come up with the why.

Now, what was I talking about?
Eight bucks for a pumpkin?!!
Now, when I was a lad that pumpkin would have been 50 cents and the farmer would have given you a ride home!