The Eve

I'm anxious. The thought of chemo running through my veins frightens me. Nothing can make you second guess a decision moreso than when your doctor is letting you know each of the four drugs you're about to consume can be toxic to your heart, lungs, and nervous system. Well, now that we have all of the important stuff covered...

Everyone has their own story, whether it be personal or through tales of tales. In the end, and I think anyone who has gone through something like this will agree, it doesn't matter. Sure, you can tell me one person you knew had cancer went through chemo and now wrestles lions on a daily basis. While it fills the need to talk about something I can't say it makes me feel any better about poison flowing through my viens. Yeah yeah I know every rose has its thorn - and it looks like I've been pricked.

I hope to conquer this disease through strength of mind and body. I think it is equally as important to have a strong body as it is to have a positive mind. One can't run as smoothly without the other. So, I hope to obtain that perfect balance I need to make this cancer disappear and disappear forever - at least that's what I keep telling myself. :)

I have 10/19/96 on in the background. I'm rambling now.... I initially put in 12/14/95 because it was sitting on my desk and I was thinking Phish makes me smile so lets throw them in. Then I figured I should find 10/19/96 because it was my first show and I love the memories associated with that night. As I sit here and listen to Page finger through Slave I'm feeling this weird association to the 8 year journey I had no idea I was about to get myself into that night to the unknown journey I'm about to climb into tomorrow. The former had it's ups and downs, it's pains and pleasures, so will the latter. The trials and tribulations I went through during 8 years of traveling with Phish only brought me closer to an unbelievable amount of people; so will my battle with cancer.

Unlike Phish, there'll be no hiatus, no last weekend retreat for me. This is going to be a life long battle which could end me back up in the knee-high mud pits of Vermont if I take my eye off of it. Damn this Slave is ripping.

So, while you're sipping on your coffee tomorrow morning give a thought to Medical Record # 43-19-89. It's going to be an interesting day to say the least. It's the coolest thing in the world to know I have so many people behind me.

Thanks y'all.

T

It's tiresome

all the tests and the talking. I was up at 8:00 this morning shadowing my eyes as Candace got ready for work. I knew staying up late to watch Dennis Rodman win the Celebrity Poker Tournament wasn't going to help me out this morning. It's about an hour commute from the Upper East Side to Hoboken, a quick hour considering I've done it so many times. Don't you find it funny that we can view an hour as fast or slow all the while the clock stares at us with the same consistency every time. Like Gamehedge, it's a state of mind. I had Lance Armstrong's book Every Second Counts to keep me company thanks to Jimmy's recommendation. It was helpful because I was on my way to meet Dr. Damle who is my oncologist in Hoboken.

Dr. Damle is the fifth doctor I've seen about my cancer. While each doctor has echoed the same sentiments about treatment and outcome, Dr. Damle is the first to break down the details of exactly what and how everything will happen. She's been an oncologist studying Hodgkin's for 25 years, back before CT Scans were even available. I found it comforting. It's kind of like hiring a mechanic who knew how to fix your car before all the fancy machines could read what was wrong with it. After all, my body is a machine.

She spoke and I asked questions and for over an hour my brain was digesting more information than it had during one semester of Authors of the Dark Ages (albeit a fun class filled with Poe and the like). Actually, talking about it isn't tiresome. It's not like I breathe the words "chemo" and feel like falling asleep. But it's like after trying to cram for a test the afternoon before it's given - you just want to put your head on the desk and not think about anything for a while.

From the doctors office I headed to the hospital for more testing. I remember when I was at Saint Barnabus with Jimmy and Jennie thinking to myself 'I hope I never have to spend this much time in a hospital again.' I was there so often I started to get comfortable which frightened me. Now Saint Mary's is starting to feel all too familiar. The rotating door leads me to the security guard waiting to give me my pass and I almost feel like saying, "You know the drill." What it does is it builds tolerance.

I'll never be able to stare a needle in the face and watch it penetrate my skin but I can turn my head and easily bite my lip through the pinch until the doctor tells me to unclench my fist. I can breathe in and out of a machine for 40 minutes with a rubber clip around my nose and laugh while I'm doing it, making a game out of it as I read the screen and watch the lines go up and down with each inhale and exhale. I can lay on the tissue paper covered seat-bed and stay still for 30 minutes as a 3 foot in circumference machine hovers 4 inches from my body monitoring my heart movements. My only worry at that point was that I'd fall asleep and wake up with a knee jerk reaction and bang myself into the machine. Funny little thoughts can creep into your mind while you're laying there though. I started wondering how someone who was extremely closterphobic would be able to sit through a test like that without completely freaking out. I also figured that I could probably slide myself up and out if I needed to. Not because I wanted to or was frightened I might have to. No, just because I was laying there with nothing else to think about so why think about an escape route.

I walked into my apartment at 2:45 this afternoon with a bagel in my stomach I grabbed on the walk over to the hospital. I sit typing with a band aid in the fold of each arm where the needles attacked me. My right wrist holds the hospital bracelet which reads

Cohen, Thomas
Medical Record # 43-19-89

I'm a patient. It's something I'm trying to condition myself to get used to. Sometimes that's the toughest part. Maybe I'll hit the lottery one day with those numbers - that would be nice.

Live Strong

On Sunday morning, July 11th I picked up Candace from the Upper East Side to go to my sister's engagement party in central Jersey. She really wanted to stop by Nike Town on the way out to pick up a bracelet. A bracelet? Knowing how traffic can be cutting through Midtown, I just wanted to get on the road and pick up whatever this bracelet was another time. And on the road we went.

When the engagement party ended, I started making calls to different sneaker stores around the area to see if they had what I'd later found out was the “Lance Armstrong bracelet”. Footlocker in Jersey City carried them - perfect. When Candace came out of the store with this yellow rubbery bracelet with the words "Live Strong" embroidered on it I look at her like "This is what you've been having us run around for?" "It was a dollar," she explained to me "and all of the proceeds go to Lance Armstrong's cancer foundation." Okay, I could buy into it. So I put it on.

As the immediate days ensued, I was often asked what the bracelet was all about. I'd give the best short answer I knew, "Candace bought it for me." Then, I started to notice more people and athletes with this yellow bracelet around their wrists and I started to have more understanding. No more understanding than when I saw Lance on a T.V. show talking about his cause. When asked about the bracelets and raising millions towards his cancer foundation Lance was amazed by the national support. He said the great thing about it is that someone chooses to put the bracelet on, it's not something forced upon them. They choose to show their support and he was amazed by it. Those words rang strongly through me as I thought 'You're right'. I may have initially thought this rubber yellow bracelet was just something Candace bought me because she wanted one but I slowly began to realize what she and others around the nation have known all along. This bracelet is a symbol of my support of a man who has battled through cancer. The bracelet is a symbol of support to all those who currently or who one day may have to fight cancer and Live Strong! they should.

It's crazy to think after all of that, exactly three months after my sister's engagement party, I would be diagnosed with cancer myself. Classical Hodgkins Lymphoma. Yeah, that's a tough sentence to read, equally as tough to type. It happened quickly. I started to notice a lump building on the left side of my neck above my collar bone. There was also a little something on the right side of my neck but not as big. I figured if it's on both sides, it can't be all that bad. Maybe it's just something swollen. I thought it was something that would eventually go away. Two weeks and five Phish shows later, I looked at myself in the mirror and knew this wasn't going anywhere. A week later I was in the doctor's office having it checked out.

And so on August 26th the adventure began. I've since had two CT scans, lots of blood work, and a biopsy done. The CT scan on my chest and neck revealed the two masses I had already felt but also something unseen hidden beneath my chest. It appears to be about 4 cm in width and extends from below my sternum (base of my neck) to the base of my heart. The CT scan on my stomach and pelvis has come back clear of any masses which is good because it’s only on one side of my diaphragm. The next step is treatment which is still in discussion.

Many of you who I speak with regularly and are reading this have to be wondering so many things including why you are just learning about this for the first time. For one, I wanted to fully understand what I was dealing first before passing the information along to everyone. Secondly, it's not the easiest thing in the world to talk about. But, it is what it is. I have cancer.

I now look down at the bracelet I wear around my left wrist with a whole new meaning to Live Strong. I ask for your support and your prayers. I truly have faith that everything will be all right. Please keep me in your hearts. Thanks for listening.

With Love,

Tom

p.s. I'll be fine :)