How Not to Decorate a Christmas Tree.

Before I get into this post I'd like to make a request.  If you read this thing regularly, please click the link on the right side of the page to become a follower.  I know, I know who wants to be a follower?  Just think of yourself as a private detective or something...anyhow it would be cool for me to see who's reading this, and I don't want to bore people with stories they've heard a million times.

So here we are at Dana Farber and things are running smoothy.  I've finished my two rounds of chemo and four of the seven total body radiation (TBI) treatments.   My main issues are nausea and puking.  Not a big deal. I've been there before.  Also my cheekbones and the lymph nodes in my neck are swollen and painful to the point where I couldn't eat last night...which was somewhat of a relief, because I didn't feel like eating anyhow.  I have 3 more radiation sessions and then its transplant time.

The radiation room was a surprise and not what I expected coming to this world renowned cancer treatment center.  As one walks, or in my case, is wheeled down the hall to the radiation therapy room things actually look pretty cozy and stimulating for the idle mind of a 5-year old.    The walls are painted pink and blue and there are pictures of fairies and other happy characters on the wall.  There's a pink crib in the corner with a unicorn in it.  Then you turn the corner and realize you must be part of some elaborate seduction.  This is not a happy place with Goofy and Pluto jumping over rainbows on the walls, this is the room Des Carte preformed his 17th century experiments on animals trying to prove that they could not feel pain.  The table appears to be held together with an intricate web of twine.  There is a large bicycle-type chain wrapping around the perimeter of the table for god knows what...I hope its just for looks, and not some kind of stretching device. A large metal crank that makes noises is used to raise and lower the table.  The top of the table, the part a patient or subject lays on, is a thin layer of canvas, or more likely animal skin, stretched tightly over the frame.   There is a large opening in the ceiling that apparently emits the radiation.  Its covered with clear plexiglass which is velcro-ed and duck taped at random, to medium effect.  Some of the plexiglass still sags away from its velcro, and hangs down waiting for gravity to finally swallow it.  There is a similar gaping hole in the floor, also halfheartedly covered in plexiglass.  This too emits radiation.  Thankfully there is one modern amenity in the room...an ipod dock.  I'm thinking of making my next playlist all medieval chamber music or funeral dirges, to really set the mood.

The radiation treatment itself is pretty uneventful.  They made me lung blocks sized to match my lung size, and they put those on me before each treatment.  The blocks only allow a small amount of radiation into my lungs, as lungs are especially fond of radiation, and tend to absorb it with more voracity than the rest of the body.  So when they tell me its time, i drop my drawers, and hop up onto the table.   Then they put the lung blocks on my chest and back, have me lay down.  The technician kicks on the ipod and I'm left alone for 20 minutes.  My mind immediately begins to wander....

One of the most prominent side effects of total body radiation is nausea, and i've been having my fair share.  Today I was thinking about puking as I was lying there listening to my ipod blaring "Ship of Fools" by the Dead. Certain choice moments of puking i've had in my life swirled through my mind.  There was the green bean stuck to the ceiling, and the small hole in my grade school desk, just big enough to fit my mouth around, but the one that really stands out happened just a few years ago in New York City.

I was granted a "kitchen pass" by my wife to go see my best friend Chad for the weekend in New York city.   Furthermore it appeared (at first) the pass was given stipulation free, but I should have seen it coming.  Missy and I have been together almost 20 years now, there's always a stipulation.  This time it was that I had to take the train into the city.  Not so bad I thought, until I learned it would take 9 hours.  But I figured, at least I can go, and maybe I can catch up on work.  Or I could get drunk in the bar car listening to cabaret music and playing poker with some rough looking characters.  Then there was always the remote chance I would win big and have to escape by climbing on top of the train to fight some sour loser over my winnings.  Probably not, but I'd never taken a long train ride and I began to think it might be fun, so I didn't even make a face or roll my eyes. I just showed up on time at the train station and bought my ticket.  The train ride ended up being 11 hours.  I never found the bar car.  Instead I sat in my chair nearly the entire ride, vacating once to visit the snack car where I ate a microwaved cheeseburger that made ungodly noises in my belly the whole way.  I returned to my seat and tried to work, but my stomach was just too loud, so I just sat there and listened to it.

Finally I arrived in the city exhausted but eager to make up for lost time.  Chad met me at the station and we went back to his apt where he treated us to a wonderful assortment of cheeses and meats, jams, spreads, and jellies and good beer.  I may have been somewhat over indulgent here, but I thought after the long train ride it was well deserved.  Then he took me to a fancy bar that served martini's with Quail eggs.  The eggs were surprisingly good.  It made me sad to have just one.  I'm not much of a martini drinker, but I figured when they have quail eggs in them its polite to have two.  So I proudly bought the next round.  After we left this bar I began to realize that somewhere along the line I'd definitely overdone it.   Then we got into a cab.  As you can imagine or even attest, cabs are a deathtrap for all those who might be on the verge of puking but probably could overcome it with some sensible walking, a cold shower, or water to drink.  However, there was no time for that, Chad had a very busy agenda, so I fought for a window seat and got in.  It seemed like the longest ride ever.  Soon I was seeing quadrouple, and I knew it was only a matter of time.  I refused to be that guy so I clenched my mouth closed as tightly as possible and prayed for a short ride.  Finally we rolled to a stop, and to my surprise we appeared to have wound up in the country, or at least the suburbs.  We were stopped next to a nice big stand of pine trees.  My prayers were answered and then some.  This place seemed like heaven to me.  I didn't want to puke in front of everyone, so I simply jumped in the middle of those beautiful trees and let it fly.  It was a huge relief and I was so happy at my good fortune that I stepped out of the trees exclaiming "what a perfect place to puke."  And then I saw their eyes.  They looked like a nice family.  Probably out christmas shopping.  Mom, dad, a couple kids, packages in their hands, all staring at me.  The look they gave me was not one of anger or sadness, but more disappointment.  The kind of look you give a puppy when he shits on the carpet.  As I darted my eyes to avoid their judgment, I noticed a sign.  "Christmas Trees for Sale".