Action stations

All go this morning... as of an hour ago I have a PET scan Tuesday, a CAT scan Thurs and my first Chemo session pencilledin for Friday.

It may seem strange but I'm actually looking forward to the chemo... people keep asking about fear, trepidation, apprehension and I have to keep telling them "erm, no". This of course adds to the current 'brave face' therory.. the theory that I'm showing a sunny side to the world whilst crumbling within. Alas not (I should be so Judy Garland). Truth is I'm done with the coughing, the wheezing, the pulling of muscles as I gasp for air, the occasional day spent spitting blood into mounting piles of tissue - it's time to put this thing to bed and chemo is the way to do that.

So I've picked out the Chemo DVD series ('Deadwood : Season One'); loaded up the i-pod and am ready to go with this thing. Genuine, positive anticipation.

Still talking to various sperm banks. Well to two of them actually. There's a 30% chance that the chemo will make me infertile. Sperm banking is recommended but then at $650 a 'pop', a minimum of three 'pops' and 'storage rental charges' it all adds up and I'm left thinking - do I want kids more than I do a new sofa?

My instinct is to take my chances - if I can't have kids after this then so be it; we're hardly in the first flush of youth anyway. And besides I've always secretly wanted to adopt a Vietnamese piano prodigy who'd look like Maddox Jolie aqnd play like... erm... well... a really good piano player.

Cool idea of the week comes from Men's Health - a wallet sized card that has my blood type, meds taken, allergies, medical insurance and contact details on it. Everyone should carry one - if you get hit by a car it'll help the ambulance guys.

Premonition time... I see myself in week 17 of treatment. Bald, moon faced and with steroid induced anger management issues; about to be given the all clear and heading home via the subway when somene bumps me; the steroids kick in; I give my best Travis Bickle; he takes offence and beats me to death there and then. Don't know why that scenario keeps coming into my (admittedly over-medicated) head but it does. Needless to say I shall be avoiding subways.

Last bit... woke up last night with an idea for my ashes that I want to get down before I forget it. When Velcro was a puppy and we lived in upstate New York I used to walk her in Bowdoin Park. She loved it and so did I. Even when she tugged so hard she sent me rolling down the steepest of hills towards a duck pond. That hill was nearly the death of me... and should I fall victim to subway rage attackers, stray ambulance or chemo infusion reaction then I think it's as good a place as any for my ashes; just make sure that the dog doesn't eat / roll in them... that may cause the most tragic grooming of all time as jude tries to get bits of me out from between the dog's toes.

Okay - too long a posting... time for some Dr Phil.