Bing Bong

There's a scene in the Pixar movie Inside-Out where an imaginary character that existed in the mind of a child fades away from existence that seems to signify the transition from childhood mystery to pre-teen angst. It's fucking sad, but Goddamn if it isn't prophetic.

Screw u Pixar for breaking me

Since the last time I wrote in this blog, there has been some significant improvements to my health, yet I've seen a serious change in my family that I was not prepared for. 

You ID as what?

First off, I am grateful to see my daughters blossoming into lovely adolescent PITA creatures, yet I would never live this down. Their fiery demeanor means I'm doing something good, like a controlled wildfire. Trying to harness that MEZA energy into a steel sword with which they can carve out their life.

This x2

Nonetheless, when something gives, something takes: at this same time my mother has been battling acute illness throughout her life which has build up and emerged when she turned 90 (NINETY YEARS OLD)! Yet, that fire in her belly keeps churning, but the illnesses are creeping up like zombies in a bad episode of Walking Dead, and this, for me, has been hard to witness. 

you got WHO pregnant?

She fell down the staircase in her home last week and fractured a vertebrae which landed her in the hospital. Only R & R would be the healing solution, along with a shit-ton of PT. HOWEVER, her sodium levels got extremely low (death levels) which need to be mitigated before she can land at a rehab place. BUT, her nutrition is fucking finicky as shit, and she refuses to eat. So, she was prescribed sodium tablets, which, in tune cause dysentery, which weakens her, which causes stress, which reduces her sodium, which makes her have to take salts tablets, which gives her disse..... IT'S ALL A FUCKING CIRCLE OF BS. 

I think I see Jesus

On top of that, my uncle Manuel passed away this morning which is a marked moment for me. I idolized him and was an avatar of which I defined my adulthood. Hard working motherfucker with zero tolerance for excuses and bullshit. I remember going on a two-month fishing trip with him in open seas near Acapulco and the Bay of Cortez. Thinking I was going to to enjoy a privileged trip as his nephew. But he made me bust my ass from dawn to dusk, and then scrub the toilets before I clocked off to bed. I never knew physical hard labor as a teen and he beat it into me. I learned a lot about life from him and learned to appreciate the wealthier side of life, as well as the seedy. I loved him, but more than that, I respected him and will carry his lessons forever.

2026 has been brutal.

RIP Uncle Meño. Godspeed Morza 3.

9 years as a Stager IV or: I didn't expect to live this long.

Holy Fuck. Here it is: NINE YEARS after my original diagnosis and I'm still fucking alive.

Excuse me if I don't seem more grateful as opposed to suprised, but after living under the Sword of Damocles for so long one would expect to understand the fucking burden of this concept. The last nine years have been a constant russian-roulette epitome that I've lost sight of what's "normal life" vs "cancer life expectations". But yeah, I'll agree I'm a lucky mother-fucker.

I've witnessed a few "cancer-warriors" in social media fade off & die, including one that was considering brain surgery vs radiation, at the same time as I was back in 2023. She chose surgery and died. Holy fuck.

Yet, here I am. Having had brain radiation three times in a row since 2022. What does this mean? I choose correctly and she didn't? It's a hard pill to swallow. Guilt is a bitch.

I'm just rambling. Honestly, I have zero goals. Zero vision. I'm lost my own creative desert, expecting the muses to awaken my artistic spirit. But it's not there. I'm already dead, based on my original diagnosis. Waiting for the Grim Reaper to show his ass and take me to the land of milk & honey. But, funny enough, that bitch won't show up...

Why? 

Oh, I still have something I need to do? Contribute? GODDAMN!!!

False

Who the fuck knows. So I drink. I toke. I fuck, in the hopes that I reignite that artistic passion I had before cancer. That motherfucking tumor that defined my longevity nine years ago, only to realize I was already dead and had nothing to fear about.

If I wasted 9 years, it was only to realize that being blind to the fact that nothing defines your contribution to the selfless act of self-deprecation. As an artist I'm already dead. There is no lesson here, other than to ENJOY YOUR YOUTH, ENJOY YOUR LIFE! 

'nuff said

Last Chapter: Final Chapter: Whatever...

It's been a long ride dear Reader. Your MexiCAN friend is exhausted in many ways, yet I wonder if this is just the meds, post radiation s/e, or just growing old & bitter.

Aging like a fine vinegar

It's hard not to look back and wonder "what-if". Especially as I stretch into the golden years, better known as AARP lunch-meat. Nonetheless, here I am. Heading into 2025 with zero resolutions, other than to just enjoy the present and realize that I'm alive. It's been a while reconciling that fact. I feel a constant anger in my basement. Something that I quite haven't brought to surface for fear of exposing my family to the lingering resentment I quite can't really define. Resentment to living? Or feeling the obligation to live on so that others can continue living up to their status-quo? 

similar fire, but not quite this prophetic

It's especially hard when you see other cancer patients living their "journey" by contributing to humanity by feeding the homeless or climbing Machu Picchu, expecting to find God thru Instagram posts. Me? I don't give a fuck at all about any of that shit. But I highly feel a sense of obligation in making sure my family is covered as much as possible after my demise. And that's certainly defined my cancer journey. 

Yay Cancer!!! #machupichufeedingtribessnickers

I've been at this for almost eight years: Chemo, radiation, immunotherapy, hip replacement and 5 clinical trials. Yet, the biggest issue has been keeping myself mentally stable to ensure the welfare of my family. Trying to keep the norms has been the biggest fucking burden on me. But recently my daughters have noticed the chinks in my armor, and weirdly enough I'm embarrassed by that. They're realizing that their Superman is mortal, and has anger.

Best comic EVAR, I might add

It's tough, especially as my oldest is reaching her teens. She's coming into her own persona, and the last thing I want to be is an weak/unsuitable father. I know, seems extreme. But I want the best for both of them, and I often wonder if it's best to fade away as opposed to continually expose them to this resentment.The unnatural resentment for being forced to live so they can be OK. 

Jesus, what a concept. 

Holy Toast!!!

Maybe I'm just rambling after taking 3 shots of Don Julio Reserva. It's already 2 am and have nothing better to do other than to put my thoughts into writing as I listen to the Xanadu soundtrack.

Happy 2025, I guess...

Last Chapter, part lll (or Act Four.5 1/2)

This Post was written in Spring 2024 and sat on the burner, so the sentiments are from then (paper planes). I'll have a conclusion of this story on New Year's Day 2025.

Every book has its ending. My last two posts (found here & here) are titled "Last Chapter" since, in all honesty, I feel this might be it. The last 18 months have been a fucking bear since being diagnosed with Lung Cancer in 2016. I know, sounds dramatic. But check out the fun activities I did:

Duke's Funland 2023

• April 2023: Radiation to 2 new spots in the brain, bouncing me off the Repo trial.
• May 2023: I agree to join the Taletectrinib trial, so I begin the one week wash-out.
• June 2023: I experience severe seizures that paralyze the whole right side of my body.
• July 2023: I begin PT to recover mobility in my right leg & arm.
• August 2023: Excruciating pain develops in my R hip. PT stops.
• September 2023: Right Hip Surgery (total hip replacement).
• October 2023: I begin PT (again), but now with the added accomodations for hip replacement.
• November 2023: Brain MRI show tumor progression.

WTF?!!! Again?

again...

Brief Backstory: Before starting the Taletrectnib trail in May 2023 several tests and scans are done to map a Target tumor reference, a "square-one" of sorts from where measurable sizes of existing tumors are targeted and used as a barometer during the trial to determine whether the med is working or not. A cancer canary in the coal mine. 

tweet you healthy bastard

While on the trial these are the only tumors observed. If these targeted tumors shrink then the med is working. If they grow, it's progression. Capiche?

A simple formula to follow. But herein lies the fucking issue: This fosters TUNNEL VISION.

As I continued on the trail my medical team kept telling me that Taletrectinib was working and keeping thing stable. In spite of all the extracurricular health issues, it seemed I was beating cancer. However, the November 2023 brain MRI had an urgent note from the radiologist where it was noted that there were some concerning issues related outside of the "target tumors". 

Huh?

I only see one

A newly discovered tumor that measured 20 mm directly over my primary motor cortex (the size of a nickel). And another one measuring about 10 mm on my right brain hemisphere that had not been observed in the last reports.

the least of my problems

My med team was aghast as they realized that their lack of attention led to some aggressive tumor growth the last 6 months. Potentially blinded by their enthusiasm over the success rate of Taletrectinib.

I was appalled. I lost total confidence in the UCI staff, but I was stuck to this never-ending cycle of trial commitments expecting things to get better. However, by December 2023 I consulted with my Neurologist at Cedars-Sinai who concurred with the findings and said that these 2 new tumors needed to be, as the kids say, yeeted, and gave me a choice: brain surgery or radiation. 

as if?

Luckily, the tumors were close to the surface of my scalp. Brain surgery seemed pretty scary. But, to do brain radiation again? I just had it done 8 months ago...

 

I said "FUCK NO" to both. I was tired and angry of not getting any solid feedback on my overall health. I expected much better medical service, especially being the one & only Taletrectinib trial participant at UCI. Yet, they fucked me up by not noting that I had two fucking extra tumors growing all this time.

Unfortunately, I started experiencing the dreadful seizures again. Not as severe, but nonetheless concerning. It seemed the larger tumor was progressing rapidly and, once again, needed to make a life changing choice.

By January 2024 I was getting CT Sims of my brain, where they measure the precise locations of these fucking tumors. By now the large one was 27 mm and the other 14 mm. They were growing. Fast.

Dealer's choice

Opting for Radiation, I got beamed up and energized in February 2024, resulting in my second Gamma Knife treatment to the brain in less than 10 months. I'm surprised I'm not glowing after all of this, but brain surgery sounded to risky. Especially with the larger tumor bolted into my left motor cortex.

 

Plus, I figured I'd seizure like Elvis

I was permitted to continue on the Taletrectinib, but I told them to Fuck Off. I was done with this shitty trial that was as useful as tits on a boar. At this point, I figured I'd get back on chemo and stay on it until I drifted into Lay-Z Boy at hospice. I mean, what else do I have to hope for?

you have your Valhalla, I have mine 

And yet again: God, the Universe, or the fucking Secret has another Ace up their sleeve: I was able to land on the last frontier of Lung Cancer ROS-1 + clinical trials. A trial with great track record, but very limited slots. The much coveted, superstar trial that everyone is craving: Nuvalent.

Lucky Mother Fucker once again.

why me? why not me?

I've earned my millions, and yet surpassed the greatest odds this Mexican can count. Do you believe in fate or miracles? Or can one man navigate the turmoils of life and rise to his own purpose?

To be concluded soon.

Last Chapter, part II (or Act Four.5)

Continuing from my previous post, July 2023 was a month full of hope after being discharged from the hospital and starting the Taletrectinib trial. I was immediately referred to an at-home physical therapy group that would visit twice a week to get my ass back in gear and regain the mobility of my right leg. But, boy was this NOT a walk-in-the-park (pun intended). 

Let's go fly a kite!

I pretty much had to learn to walk again and balance myself as best as possible during any activities involving my legs. Driving was out of the question. Going to the bathroom was no fun, and showering became my own Private Idaho. Eventually, I needed to redo my bathroom and install a walk-in shower, raised toilet, and bars (not the drinking kind, unfortunately). However, seeing this gave me a huge reality-check noting how I needed disability equipment in my home. Not that it's bad, but in a matter of months I saw myself go from a Happy-go-Lucky Adult to Disabled Senior, and this concept severely affected my self-esteem. My mood deteriorated rapidly, especially with the side effects of the Keppra (anti-seizure med) that only compounded the gremlins in my head. Yet, I kept the drudging on. Doing the PT routine as instructed and pushing myself in the hopes of a quick recovery. But then the grind got on me...

Slivered

An immense sharp pain began festering on my right hip accompanied by a weird "clicking" sound. Like a Psycho Woody Woodpecker, jabbing at my bone. Especially noted during the PT sessions, the therapist felt it was arthritis brought on by previous radiation treatment received back in 2016. He taught me stretches that helped relieve the pain slightly, but as we neared the end of the month the pain was too excruciating. I was popping Norco pills like tic-tacs in an effort to relieve the pain.

delicious rainbow drugs!

My Oncologist didn't feel this issue was due to the clinical trial. In fact, she was hoping Taletrectinib would help resolve it. But when the pain would not subside I was finally referred to an Orthopedic Oncologist, who amusing enough told me that my right hip was completely "fucked" (a technical term, apparently), and that I was in a dire need of a total hip arthroplasty. Better known as Hip Replacement.

Oh fuck, can't I get a break?

Mind you, this was late August. The scent of Purell & sickness was still permeating thru my mind from the previous hospital stay in June. And now I needed to be admitted again for hip surgery? I pushed back, saying this could bump me off the clinical trial. Would insurance even approve it? Was it even worth doing seeing everything that has happened the past two months? I mean, would you put brand new tires of a junker? Fuck...

Hmmm. I guess it could work out!

Plus, the added recovery time came into question (about 3 months). This would essentially null all of the PT work I did the previous 8 weeks. Pretty much starting over from square one. But, the Ortho-surgeon deemed this procedure as an emergency, noting that the head of my femur was fusing against my hip bone, which would eventually lead to a complete failure. 

This, but in my underoos

Things were moving fast. I needed to make a quick decision while weighing all the pros & cons in a relative short amount of time. By the end of this first visit they were already giving me surgery instructions, antibacterial body wash and a cute luffy where I had to scrub every crevasse. Once we got approval from the clinical trial people the surgery was scheduled one week later on September 1st, 2023 at UCI, where I would become the first bionic member of my family.

or Mexican Terminator

Boy, oh boy that was not fun. Aside from the hypodermic nerve blocker they used on my leg, I was also given an epidural to help mitigate surgery pain. Pretty much numbing the whole lower part of my body. I don't remember much after that, dozing off just as I was asking if I would ever recover the feeling in my Frank & Beans...

moist

Gratefully, I woke up a few hours later with a huge thick sponge between my legs to prevent them from criss-crossing each on other. That familiar paralyzed feeling was there, juxtaposed to the huge fucking pain in my right hip. I couldn't do much, aside from laying there enjoying the opiods and watching reruns of Shark Tank. Eventually, PT & OT folks started doing the rounds to make sure my body got some movement, even slightly. But that first day was excruciating. Barely making a few steps with the help of a walker and a belt around my belly to prevent me from falling.

It's not a Cadillac, but it ain't no Bug either

By Day 2, I started with my zen-training to will my feet/legs to move again, but now with much more restrictions since there were some requirements to keep excess movements very limited. But I kept at it, and by Day 4 I was able to sit solo, take a few small steps (with the walker), and drop kids in the pool.

Success! I was discharged that same day. Then the fun began.

Part lll soon...