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As expected, my hair began to fall off such that Joan complained that I was worse than our old shaggy, long dead, and much beloved dog whose ashes we keep in a cedar box in the den. She was horrible dog, but we loved her dearly. My mind wanders.

Given the wifely complaints, I shaved the rest of my hair off. I am now as bald as Korey Reiman, a great young criminal defense lawyer who is bald (I hope) for reasons unrelated to ill-health.

I start the second cycle (round) of chemo on Tuesday. The first cycle (28 days) was pleasantly tolerable. The severe pain in my left leg is gone. I stress this point only to piss off the few crazoids who wish fervently for the cancer to eat me up. My mind wanders.

The worst part of the treatment is fatigue. While I work most everyday, I go home in the early afternoon when the fatigue rolls in like morning fog. A kindly nurse at the clinic told me that the fatigue caused by chemo drugs must be experienced to be understood. She is right. When the fatigue hits speaking out loud feels like lifting heavy weights. Walking seems like a death march. You put one foot forward but doubt that you can lift the second one to continue.

Five more months to go.




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