Good Morning All:

This is the post that kept me awake last night. I hope it reads as good as it sounded as I tried to ignore it and fall back asleep . . .

We've all seen plenty of 'very special episodes of ___________' where we see the drama play out on our televisions. The patient moves through phases of emotion ranging from profound sadness to anger. It is presented as predictable and, having seen more than one of these dramas, we all nod our head and say 'ah, yes, the anger . . . here it comes.'

I've been asked several times directly, or indirectly, about my emotions or feelings surrounding this newest detour. It has been slightly over a week now and I think they would be fairly easy to catalogue and, for those who really like those 'very special episodes', perhaps a little surprising.

I have never felt angry, or at least I don't recall it. Not the first time around. Not now. I don't get angry easily and perhaps that is a part of it, but frankly I don't see the point. Anger as I've ever experienced it has a target. Try as I might, I can't figure out the cause of my cancer and therefore I have no logical target. I suppose if that changed somehow, and I came to know the likely source of my cancer maybe I could find my way to anger.

So what are the emotions? Two come to mind as the predominant ones. I feel frustration every day. It comes in the form of the wheeled pole (affectionately named Twiggy) that holds chemo, fluids, anything I 'need'. It is attached to me by tubes that currently run into a line that has been inserted into my neck. I have a leash, and sometimes that leash feels very, very short. But far beyond that is the frustration that I feel for the things I am not able to do--my professional life and personal life are both effected and these are the frustrations that take the greatest toll. Fortunately, it seems I'll be able to stay in touch with work during the short term leading up to the transplant. But I had to give up coaching Nolan's baseball team this year. I will miss that--it had become a big part of who I was each spring.

Fortunately, lessons learned from the first time around mitigate this frustration somewhat. I now have a sense of how limited I am by this current process from having gone through it before, and I can game the system. I'm in touch with work and helping to ease transitions and continue projects that were in process when I got the news.

By far, the dominant emotion is guilt. And before you raise 'very special episode'-type protests I think its important that you keep reading.

I recognize that the big stone was thrown right in the middle of my pond. Big splash, lots of drama. But to continue the analogy there is little more for me to do than to deal with that stone--let it sink to the bottom, cover it up with algae, crush it into sand (hopefully). I have a very clear focus and a team far more experienced in this than I dedicated to helping me carry it out.

So while that is going on, the waves are washing up on everyone else's shore. The effects on my immediate family are easy to imagine. Marla is immediately thrust into single parenthood (just as crazy baseball season begins). The kids (ages 5 and 9) aren't equipped to deal with this. It isn't fair to them to have to cope with this yet again during these formative years. Regardless of the cause, that is because of me.

Carry it further. My parents are currently culling responsibilities that they happily took on in their retirement so that they can help my family and I out.

And further. Marla's parents are beside themselves looking for ways to help, friends are doing things outside of their normal routines in an effort to pick up the slack or to help in some way.

And further. My sharp, forced absence from work makes potential difficulties all over. Perhaps I was the bottleneck, in which case I'm all wet, but I like to think that things were pretty smooth at work. I can only assume that they are less so now. And that means that the people I work with and respect greatly are having to carry part of load I was carrying.

I know that while I focus on my family they focus on me. I know that those who help do so willingly, out of a desire to help me or my family, or both. I know that my co-workers probably think, 'wow, what do I have to complain about.' And I am thankful for that support every day (whaddaya know, a third emotion).

From where I stand absorbing the stone thrown into my pond, however, it looks like everyone else is on the shore getting repeatedly battered by the waves. And these waves are assuredly not of their own making. I cannot necessarily say the same thing--and that takes me to the last 'kernel' of my guilt exploration.

After going through Hyper CVAD and returning to my normal life, I made a fair number of very conscious choices about how certain priorities and behaviors would change with the specific aim of avoiding relapse. Some of you may have heard one or two, been present for the catharsis that yielded one, or can even guess at some by having witnessed changes in my demeanor or behavior. Perhaps Marla is the only one that might be able to list a good portion of them. I will not list them out here--some are very innocuous, but I view the list in its entirety as private and beyond the reach of my open book-ness. But I can tell you that I violated at least two of the items that would appear on that list in the months before my relapse and I worried about the ramifications as I violated them.

And here I am. Did I let myself down? Did I somehow cause my own relapse? Are you all being pounded by the waves from the stone that I threw into my own pond? I can't know. If I asked the doctors they would tell me that they can't know, but probably not. And so none of us will likely ever know for certain. But the guilt is there. It is a predominant emotion, when I allow emotion to be part of the equation.

So, if you ever feel like you are being pounded by the waves from the stone tossed into my pond, let me be the first to say that I'm sorry--whether its my fault or not. By reading this, and accepting that apology, you are helping me immeasurably by helping me cope with the guilt.

As always, thank you for reading. Comments, thoughts, heck, even protests, are welcome.

--Russ.