The last time I wrote I had just started carboplatin, a chemotherapy based on platinum. I have now weathered two cycles. The first cycle's dose was high enough to suppress my blood counts, particularly for platelets, more than desired (carboplatin is particularly hard on the marrow); as Debbie put it, I was an artificial hemophiliac. During this first cycle I had to stop into my oncologist's office a few times a week (usually on my way to work) for shots of the various drugs that stimulate the various blood components, and I ended up getting a transfusion. Consequently, the dose was reduced for the second cycle, which resulted in a much smaller drop in my blood counts.

The other side-effects have been relatively mild. While the tumors are causing numbness over my lower half, there is no total loss of sensation, and no loss of function. I had a physical last week (to cover everything else), and other than not getting enough exercise (which I am starting to remedy by swimming), my body other than my central nervous system is doing well.

Today we met with Dr. Fine at NIH. We had to wait only six and a half hours; we were running out of the food we brought, and Debbie had to make a foraging raid to the cafeteria. The MRIs show no change in the tumors. The absence of a progression in my symptoms is consistent with this. Thus there is no evidence that the carboplatin is not working, and I will continue with the treatment for another few cycles.

I regard every NIH visit (MRIs and a meeting with Dr. Fine) as a crossroads forking to many probable roads-no change, new tumors, same treatment, another operation, more radiation. Since there is nothing I can do about which fork is chosen, I prepare myself by imaging how I will react to the news I will receive. Today the treatments and my tumors, Debbie's nutritious cooking and my genes (some will add other factors) conspired to chose the best probable fork.

Therefore, tomorrow morning I get to watch poison dripping into my veins. And I will drink like a fish to flush the platinum out of my kidneys.

I experience a bizarre disconnect between how I feel (pretty good), on the one hand, and the objective effect of the carboplatin (hammering my blood) and my chronic condition, on the other hand. Psychologically I oscillate between regarding all my visits to the oncologist's office as a nuisance disrupting normal life, and the import of all the treatments. With all the blood tests, injections, and IVs I am starting to feel like a pin-cushion.