Well, no-- not really.

Hilton faces criminal corporate spying charges

Hilton Worldwide, the American hotel behemoth, could face criminal charges of corporate spying, on top of a civil case brought by its rival Starwood Hotels & Resorts.

It emerged that a federal grand jury is investigating the company and several of its former executives over claims that they engaged in the “wholesale looting” of confidential documents in order to help it to launch a rival brand to Starwood’s W Hotels. The investigation is being conducted as part of a Department of Justice inquiry into the allegations made by Starwood in a civil case in April.

The grand jury will review the evidence from the investigation, which is being handled by the US attorney’s office in Manhattan, and will determine whether there is a criminal case to answer.

According to The Wall Street Journal, prosecutors are considering “an aggressive approach” to the case, which could involve bringing criminal charges against both the hotel chain and the executives involved.

Cycles 10-12, and a Miracle

My apologies for not making a blog entry in so long--things have been stressful and distracting. Poor excuses, but, there you have it.

Cycles 10-12 were pretty uneventful; there has been a rise in my blood pressure, which I attribute to the Avastin and the general effect of my veins shrinking. Benign hypertension, my GP called it. Another pill to swallow in the morning.

I had an..interesting...experience with the nurse at my GP's office; a reaction that I will have to explore more fully in the future.

A CT Scan followed Cycle 12, and showed no spread and no growth in my cancer. Then, this little gem gets slipped into the conversation while discussing the CT results: "You know, some of what I see here could just be scar tissue."

Now, this was something that had not been suggested before: I had been told, after my consult with the liver surgeon, that my cancer was chronic--that I would have to undergo chemotherapy for the rest of my life. I was resolved to that. I understood the odds: average life expectancy for stage 4 adennocarcinoma is two years post diagnosis, and that only 8% of those diagnosed live 5 years or longer after the cancer is discovered. I checked my skin every morning for jaundice, and got used to the fatigue and nausea. I was getting myself ready.

I had never considered being cured. Statistically, it's a remote possibility, but that "remote" is pretty remote--better to focus on keeping the monster at bay, than to waste time and energy focusing on the next-to impossible. So when my oncologist suggested that some of the cancer might be dead, I felt a little shocked. Then, I felt scared--I had had my hopes raised and dashed before, and I was none too eager to go down the same route again.

So, I asked for an MRI to find out how much cancer was left in my liver. The doctor was reluctant at first, and with good reason--the liver doesn't handle radiation all that well, particularly after an aggressive course of chemo. But not knowing is the worst thing, so I insisted.

The MRI was more uncomfortable than noisy--lying with my arms raised over my head aggravates my shoulder, which is still tight from the damage I did to it back in the 90's. 20 minutes in and out, and the most taxing part was trying to find a vein for the IV. Three days later, I get the phone call from the oncologist.

"I've looked at your films, and it's...interesting."

I hate pregnant pauses--especially on this subject. "Well, is it interesting good or is it interesting bad?"

"Well, the interesting thing is, I can't see any cancer in you liver."

That will bring you to a dead stop. A little too good to be true.

Time for a second opinion: the liver specialist, who had seen the lesions on both lobes of the liver and explained why I couldn't undergo surgery. I was supposed to see him today, but he was called away by an emergency operation. I was, though, able to talk with him this morning before he left for surgery. His conclusion: no visible cancer in the liver.

It's a miracle.

Of course, it's not over yet--I have a follow up with a new oncologist in August, when I'll undergo blood-work to check for cancer markers in my blood. After that, probably a PET scan a month or so down the road to confirm the diagnosis. But, as of right now, as far as medical technology can determine, I'm cancer free.

It's a miracle.

Edit: A tip o' the hat to sqt at Fantasy & Sci-Fi Lovin' News & Reviews for posting it first.

I had thought that I had written on Cycle 8, but given what happened yesterday I suppose that is just as well. Cycle 8 went as usual, with the exception of a blood pressure spike near the end of the course. At the time, both my oncologist and the R.N. attributed the spike to a combination of the Avastin that was added in this cycle and the narrowing of my veins and arteries by the over-all chemotherapy. I noticed the effects of the chemo lasted longer this round--usually they fade by the Saturday or Sunday after the clinic, but Cycle 8 kept the fatigue and neuropathy going up until this past Friday, with a couple of nosebleeds to keep me on my toes.

Yesterday, Cycle 9 started with a twist; about an hour into the procedure, I felt a wave of heat begin from the back of my head, sweep over and down to my chest and arms. My skin began to prickle and redden, like a bad sunburn, and I could feel my pulse start to race. I was so distracted by the itching of my skin that I didn't even think to pull the emergency cord next to my chair. By the time my nurse stopped by to check on me, my skin was breaking out in hives and I was beginning to have difficulty breathing.

"Are you feeling OK?"

"I think there's something wrong."

Five minutes later, after about 25ml of Benadryl and a steroid I don't remember the name of, I was breathing easier, and cooling down. The nurses told me my blood pressure had jumped to 153/96, and that I had suffered an allergic reaction to the oxaliplatin. Apparently, one can develop a sensitivity to the chemical if one is exposed long enough, and I apparently hit my threshold. Anaphylctic shock ensued.

The Benadryl pretty much wiped the floor with me--my head was swiveling like my neck was a bag of ball bearings. I mostly slept through the remainder of the chemo, waking up every half-hour or so. By rights I shouldn't have been able to sleep at all--my sleep apnea should have made it pretty difficult, and Benadryl makes my condition only worse. But the O2 supply they had me on must have provided enough force to keep air flowing through my airway, and keep me stable.

Where I go from here, I can guess--but I won't know for sure until my next meeting with my oncologist. The most likely course that I can think of is that the oxaliplatin will be discontinued. But I don't know how important the oxaliplatin is to the overall treatment, so that's just a guess. Perhaps the dosage can be changed, or staggered out over the next three cycles. I'll just have to wait and see.

I'm just about through the effects of my 7th round of chemo. Once again, the fatigue and nausea were the worst elements, with the neuropathy almost non-existent in my hands and feet ( possibly due to the increasing warmth of the late spring, but there were still enough cool days to note the neuropathy's absence ) and only minimal amounts in my throat ( what little I experienced was from drinking something cold tonight, and it was barely noticeable ). The "fast dose" of 4FU and Oxaliplatin seems to be doing as expected: 2-3 days of heavy symptoms, followed by rapid fall-off on days 5-7 and a week almost symptom-free. The effects are still cumulative, so I do not know if it will hold to this pattern; I imagine by cycle 11-12, I'll be very happy to get it all over with.

A frank discussion with my oncologist last week; my situation is, for the foreseeable future, chronic--I will not be eliminating Igor's leftovers through surgery, but through the full 12 cycles of chemotherapy. She knew that the odds of a surgical solution were poor, but chose to let the liver specialist make the final judgment. A bit passive on her part, and I would have accused her of passing the buck, were I not able to see the value of giving me the most optimistic outlook possible. Still, I'd like the hard truth to the hopeful possibilities--I need to know where the monster is strong as well as where it is weak if I am to destroy it. "Know thy enemy, know thyself, and you shall be victorious in every battle." ~Sun Tzu, The Art of War ( yes, I know I mangled that quote--give me a break, will ya? ).

For good or for ill, a ran across a self-help book entitled No More Mr. Nice Guy by Dr. Robert Glover, and found a rather dark reflection of myself in the doctor's of "Nice Guy Syndrome"--not a perfect reflection, mind you, but one close enough to shock and anger myself into some serious contemplation. I've said before that Igor had awakened myself to the fact that I had sleepwalked through most of my life; now, I have to wonder as to what effect that sleepwalking through life has had on my current predicament.

Consider: it is a well-established fact that one's mood can have and effect on one's well being--there's the placebo effect, the power of prayer, positive re-enforcement, and so on. Lord knows, my cancer had a definite impact on my emotional outlook--so much so that, prior to discovering that I had cancer, I was seriously convinced that I suffered from serious psychological dysfunctions. But what about the impact of years of negative emotions and dysfunctional beliefs upon my physical being? As anyone in my family can attest, my life has rarely been a happy one. Could the pent-up anger and rage over my failure to live my life have triggered a physiological response?

In short, could I have caused my own cancer? Is my cancer some wildly strange attempt by my subconscious to commit suicide? Can a person become so despondent that they could will themselves to death? Or is this some absurd attempt on my part to give some greater meaning to the incident of my illness, to give it some existential credence? If it can be caused by sheer force of will, can be destroyed the same way? Can changing my life now, to live as I have wanted to live my life, save my life?

Which segues back into No More Mr. Nice Guy; for the longest time, I have been a "Nice Guy"--it's what was expected of me, and--to believe Dr. Glover--what is expected of most men. But as the saying goes, "nice guys never win"--and that is so true that it hurts. A "Nice Guy" never gets what he wants, but what he is settles for. He always plays it safe, and suffers as a result. He appears honest and trustworthy, but he is deceptive and distrusted. In short ( there are a lot more characteristics I could list, but you get the idea), a "Nice Guy" is just a guy--he is never a man. And that's really my problem--I've lived my life as a guy, instead of living my life as I should have, as a man. I hated living my life as a guy--and I don't want to die the same way.

I guess it boils down to what Andy Dufresne said in The Shawshank Redemption: "Get busy living, or get busy dying." I know which one I'm going to be doing.

Something inspirational, for a change. With a tip o' the hat to The Art Of Manliness

The Quitter

By: Robert Service

When you’re lost in the Wild, and you’re scared as a child,
And Death looks you bang in the eye,
And you’re sore as a boil, it’s according to Hoyle
To cock your revolver and . . . die.
But the Code of a Man says: “Fight all you can,”
And self-dissolution is barred.
In hunger and woe, oh, it’s easy to blow . . .
It’s the hell-served-for-breakfast that’s hard.

“You’re sick of the game!” Well, now, that’s a shame.
You’re young and you’re brave and you’re bright.
“You’ve had a raw deal!” I know-but don’t squeal,
Buck up, do your damnedest, and fight.
It’s the plugging away that will win you the day,
So don’t be a piker, old pard!
Just draw on your grit; it’s so easy to quit:
It’s the keeping-your-chin-up that’s hard.

It’s easy to cry that you’re beaten-and die;
It’s easy to crawfish and crawl;
But to fight and to fight when hope’s out of sight-
Why, that’s the best game of them all!
And though you come out of each grueling bout,
All broken and beaten and scarred,
Just have one more try-it’s dead easy to die,
It’s the keeping-on-living that’s hard.

From the Wall Street Journal (4/18/09):

WASHINGTON -- Two Chinese-based firms shipped contaminated heparin to the U.S. between 2007 and 2008 and one company lied to federal health regulators about their role in the matter, according to the Food and Drug Administration.

The contaminated heparin, a widely used blood thinner, didn't reach any patients because the FDA stopped all the shipments at the border, according to FDA spokespeople.

I get a dose of Heparin at the end of each chemo cycle to insure that the catheter in my neck doesn't get blocked with coagulated blood. Nothing like these kinds of stories to re-affirm one's faith in modern medicine. :p

Bill Moyers interviews William K. Black

I think I speak for many when I express myself thusly:

(Again, hat tip Chaos Manor)

To urban hunter, next meal is scampering by

Beasley, a 69-year-old retired truck driver who modestly refers to himself as the Coon Man, supplements his Social Security check with the sale of raccoon carcasses that go for as much $12 and can serve up to four. The pelts, too, are good for coats and hats and fetch up to $10 a hide.

Link: http://www.ted.com/talks/view/id/463

(hat tip to Chaos Manor)

My only comment is that there is something that most people forget about evolution--it has nothing to do with progress. Mr. Enriquez makes a number of assumptions in the end of his lecture that are not scientifically derived, but are faith-based: that the universe exists for a purpose, that species evolve into better forms, that new species must necessarily supplant old species, and that evolution is good.

There is nothing wrong with having faith--it's an important part of our psychology and intellect, and because we hold certain things to be true on faith we have been able to accomplish amazing things, such as civilization and science. The problem arises when we want to believe things are true, even in the face to the contrary facts--we've seen this in such things as Young Earth Creationism and Global Warming, in Socialism and Eugenics. We lose our ability to be objective far to easily, and the words "What could it hurt?" are far too often followed by "How were we supposed to know?". Mr. Enriquez may believe that the Transhumanist wave of the future is inevitable, and he may be right--be neither he nor I nor anyone else knows that for a fact, and we all need to stop in our race to answer the question "Can we do this thing" to answer the more important question "Should we do this thing?".

The future is a choice we have to make--or the future will be chosen for us. Failure to think this through will lead us from dancing in the fire to tap dancing on landmines.

Well, I just spoke with the liver specialist--there's good news, and there's bad news. The good news is that I do not have to undergo surgery next week. The bad news is the why I don't have to undergo surgery next week: based on the results of the PET scan and CT scan that I underwent in January, the liver specialist has determined that the cancer is in both sides of my liver, and that surgery would not help me at this time. The plan now, after speaking to my oncologist, is to resume and complete my chemotherapy program, then see how the cancer has responded. I will probably have to undergo surgery at some later date, but it's best to let the chemo do its work first.

Igor is proving to be tenacious.

I have to confess, when the doctor told me that the cancer was in both sides of my liver, I felt a thrill of terror. I'd like to think that I can face this with some dignity and restraint, but I'm hearing those dry bones squeak by a little too often for my comfort. I'm not Randy Pausch, folks--I've got things to do yet, and the thought of not getting them done before it comes time to punch out the time clock fills me with a terrible sadness.

I also have to confess a certain level of anger; up until today, I was led to believe that the cancer was limited to only a portion of my liver, and that this ordeal might be over before the end of the year. Now I find out things are a bit more serious. Shouldn't the specialist been consulted before I was taken off chemo? Granted, all I've lost is a week or two, but given how hard it was to schedule the liver consult, why couldn't they complete the course first? And why hasn't there been any follow-up scans? Shouldn't the most recent data be available for the specialist to examine before surgery was scheduled?

Ah well--water under the bridge.

I suppose I should be thankful--at least I have health insurance. And a job--for now.

Bit of a hiccup there.

The Chinese are getting aggressive again: Chinese "harass" US Vessel. I remember the seizure of a US Surveillance plane after Bush the Younger was elected; perhaps this is Obama's "Chinese Test", or a prelude to it--one can hope that he will handle it better than his predecessor did.

Of course, if one is going to be confronting opponents, it would be wise to avoid offending friends; the President seems to be doing poorly in that regard.

Found this neat little website thanks to The Art Of Manliness--Joe's Goals; an on-line spreadsheet that allows you to keep track of how well you are meeting your personal goals. Easy to use, and it can be incorporated into your blog to show your readers how well (or poorly) you are doing. Very cool.

Created by Train Horns

I always knew I had good hearing--my real problem is sorting through the various noises in my environment. Between the 60-cycle hum of overhead florescent lights, the buzz of exterior traffic, the idling electrical motors of the elevator bank near my desk, it can get difficult to keep track of conversations and phone calls at work. I'm surprised I don't have the nickname "Mr. What".

Remember how I said that I thought something radical was due in my life (or, at least, words to that effect)?

Somebody said something very jarring to me tonight: "Shyness is learning to live in your comfort zone, and never move beyond it." That got to me--really got to me, because I've been shy most of my life; tonight, I learned that that was by my choice.

I kind of went and did something that, for me, is somewhat...radical. It's not something I can hide, so I'm definitely about to move outside my comfort zone. The crazy thing of it? I don't feel all that worried. Five years ago I would never have considered doing something like this--Hell's Bells, five months ago I wouldn't have considered it, because I would have been petrified by what everybody would have thought of me. Now, I don't even care.

Why did I have to wait until I was forty to discover that I have the nerve after all?

Chemo--round two

Tuesday was my second round of chemotherapy--four hours at the clinic, and then the diffusion pump for 46 hours. The clinic was busy, no doubt because of the holiday the day previous.

As per the first round, the noticeable impacts were delayed until I got home. The fatigue set in pretty slowly, coming to full force around just about quitting time Wednesday. By the time I got home, the only thing I wanted to do was sleep--which is why this is being written at 0100hrs. instead of some rational hour. My insomnia lost the battle around 1730, but I rarely sleep more than six hours at a stretch anymore, so the Dog Watch and I are familiar.

The nausea is mild right now. Finally figured out that my prescription for Lorazepram couldn't have been sent electronically: because the medication is a controlled substance (low doses reduce nausea, while higher doses remove anxiety). The hard-copy the doctor had handed me two weeks ago was the actual script that I needed to pick it up.

The neuropathy is stronger this time, and it is manifesting in my throat; when I drink something cold, I experience mild pain and constriction in my throat, just above the adam's apple. I would describe it as swallowing dull thumb-tacks, but it's a bit milder than that. I'm trying to stick to warm and room-temperature beverages for now. Makes taking my meds in the morning a little tough, but I manage.

Currently reading (or, trying to read) two books: Book in a Month: The Fool-Proof System for Writing a Novel in 30 Days by Victoria Lynn Schmidt, and Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus by John Gray. Ms. Schmidt includes an interesting chapter on goals, with a very useful (at least, to me it seems quite useful) motivational exercise which is to visualize one's life from it's far end--old age--and think about what one would feel not written the novel that you want to write now, and to use the emotional impact to help drive one to write the novel. I have seen this same exercise used elsewhere, and the idea of using that future pain to motivate oneself away from a course that leads to it. The trouble for me is holding onto the memory of that future pain, of remembering just how bad it will be if I don't make serious alterations to my life in the here and now. Laziness settles in very quick. So, sometimes, sudden, radical changes are needed to force me onto a new course of action, to jar me out of my complacency and get my as moving.

I think I'm about due for a radical change.

....so long as it's black." ~Henry Ford

I'm sorry for anybody offended by the following, but...

Remember When Motherhood Wasn't Controversial?

Parker probably figured the news would be non-controversial, given that the fresh-faced Los Angeles Sparks forward and Olympic gold medalist is happily married to Sacramento Kings forward Shelden Williams. Both earn more than enough to support a family: Parker alone reaps millions on and off the court as one of the most celebrated women athletes in the world.

But Parker’s pregnancy was not greeted with the same approval and tolerance that many of today’s child-bearing sexagenarians and single mothers by choice enjoy when they form their families. Instead, Parker was blasted by fans and pundits for becoming a mother at age 22. Critics bemoaned her selfishness in putting maternal ambitions ahead of her team’s 2009 season prospects. Others lamented her foolishness for starting a family when she should be living a strings-free existence oriented around her glamorous career.

What the fuck?

Who the hell tells a woman that she has to put her career ahead of her family? I mean, this is a married woman, who is--along with her husband--financially well off, with a home of her own; this is not Nadya Suleman by a long shot. Yet, she's getting shit for putting her "maternal ambitions ahead of her team’s 2009 season prospects."?

I thought that one of points of feminism was that women should have the choice to pursue a career or be a mother or any other thing they wanted--when did that change?

“My whole career has been trying to please people in basketball,” Parker, a 22-year-old newlywed, said Friday in a telephone interview. “Now it’s time to please myself.” She added, “For me, family has always come first.”...

W.N.B.A. Commissioner Donna Orender said her initial reaction to Parker’s pregnancy was a quiet sigh of resignation. Then she thought of all the women in the more traditional workplace struggling with the issue of when or if to start a family, and she realized that Parker’s pregnancy provided a perfect modeling moment.

What the fuck?

...how does it work, again?

Seriously, I am not all that savvy when it comes to these social networking sites. Beyond posting photos of oneself, I am at a loss to explain how Facebook works--and that's after putting my social ineptitude in the bin for a spell.

I did manage to import my LiveJournal postings into the thing--how, I could not say (the things I accomplish when I don't think about them). My ineptness continues to vex me, and I haven't even tried Twitter. But, if one wishes to connect with the "in crowd", that is the way to do it.

Good Lord, why do I have to be such an introvert?

Edit: And now, I do have a Twitter account. I'm going through my second puberty here.