Life's little detours.

One of the horrors of doctor visits are the routine check ups that produce... unexpected results.
For instance,  I go for a normal blood lab/check up and am told that my white cell count is at 280,000.  It's supposed to be no higher than 20,000.  I am then immediately sent to a Hemotologist/Oncologist.  This is also told to me at 7:45 in the morning.  Hearing both, "I don't know" and "...Oncologist" at Dawn Thirty dwindles the day's normal pursuits to nil.

After a bone marrow biopsy--in which they corkscrew a 20-gauge needle into my rear right pelvic bone and yank out a 1/8" thick piece of bone with marrow attached, it is then sent off to Yale Hospital and biopsied. 
Yep... My ass went to Yale.

Sure enough, I have Chronic Myeloid Leukemia.
When the doctor said these words, I'm sure my outward appearance didn't change, but the panoply inside my brain was more or less:  "You have Cronic Myeloid Leukemia and....".  My hearing  ceased at "Leukemia" and that word repeated itself on continuous loop--sounding more and more like Charlie Brown's teacher, Miss Othmar.  The Doctor's lips were still moving, but I wasn't actually hearing anything.  Memory waxes poetic, I'm sure, but this is my recollection of hearing The News.

In 24 hours, I became a layman's expert on this disease. 
Prior to 1991, it was more or less a death sentence, but due to the invention of a medication called "Gleevek"... and now it's second generation, "Sprycell" (interesting name.... as if my cells are about to skip off to a Jazzercise class), it is now possible to send this into a very long remission.  How long?  No one knows, but everyone in the chronic stage in 1991 who began this drug is still asymptomatic and doing well.

Sprycell is an oral chemotherapy that I will apparently be on for the rest of my life, long or short, until I have a bone marrow transplant.  This all sounds rather Grand Guignol, but I apparently a good candidate.   I am seemingly "Young and in good health".  When I was told this, I wanted to look behind me to see if the Doc was addressing some stallion with perfect teeth, giant biceps and a tan, standing just up right.  Apparently the criteria is low.

Today, the meds arrived FedEx.
I have good insurance, thank you Cigna/Actors' Equity... as this crap is TWELVE THOUSAND DOLLARS A MONTH.  Due to the work of the Social Worker assigned to this (my) case, I only pay a co-payment of 25 a month.  Less than a gym membership. 
To a bad gym. 
...On the wrong side of town.

So...
Today begins the "Journey", as friends are calling it.  Frankly, that sounds a bit too Hallmark-y.  How about...
Today I started chemo.
Let's call this what it is.
I have cancer.
Cancer.
It is treatable, manageable and ostensibly the Monaco of cancers, but I hate sugar coating things.   Tell me the truth, be direct and then let me know what I can do to kick this sorry, invasive bitch into the dirt where it belongs.

The good thing is, I have this little reminder in my brain to be aware that life is short.
To that I say--Life is short, but it is wide. (Borrowing a quote from Rebecca Wells).  I have no symptoms, I feel fine and I plan on continuing that paradigm!

In the meantime folks-- eat well, buy good wine, don't sweat the petite ca ca, make up with your family members and fr-amily members, take your vitamins, call your mother and come by my place for dinner.