L'chaim

 June, 2022:

An American, a Russian, and a Mexican are stranded on an island after a ship wreck. The next day, a crate-full of expensive liqueur washes up on the beach and the castaways decide to play lots to claim its full ownership. The American & the Russian decide to measure their dicks to decide who wins. Meanwhile, the Mexican drinks up the contents of the crate as both idiots waste time discussing foreskin rules.

The lesson? Focus.

This month marks the 6th anniversary on my cancer diagnosis. 4th stage, if it matters. Meaning, that this bitch has been coursing thru my veins since 2016, like a banshee out of hell. Yet, I've been lucky to of tamed the shit out of it thanks to not only science, but my cheery disposition. I'm going on cycle 34 (30 months) of the Repotrectinib trail which has been a life saver and a fucking curse. This first half of 2022 I was told I progressed again (5th time) and almost bumped off the trail. But thanks to ongoing 2nd & 3rd opinions from a Neurosurgeon & Radiation Oncologist, I'm back in the game like a god-damned Phoenix with a weak spark. 

My attitude taste like burning.

Focus has the main contributor to my well being. Sure, the Avant guard meds too, but there is much to be said about placebos and happy thoughts. Often, my mind & spirit was poisoned with greed, envy & jealousy. Like a fucking viper that bit itself to prove something. In the end, I didn't gain much other than a weak disposition that was threatened by things I've never accomplished, Meaning, my grass was never as green as the Jones'.

That's what cancer does. It fucks with your mind into thinking how you've wasted your life. 

But you can learn to lift yourself from that. Cancer makes you slow down and appreciate the small things in life. Sounds cliché, sure. But fuck if it isn't true.

I'm grateful for cancer, in that it helped surface a side in me I never knew existed. It's nice to be conscious of this and still stop to smell the roses, or see my daughters grow.

Life is indeed a blessing.

Perpetual Blessing

And there is always this:

Cancer who?

Holy fark!, It's been a minute since my last post, but I do hope you lovely readers are at the tail end of the pandemic. In my case, it's masks galore for obvious reasons. Still, it's nice that I can have my Old Fashions in company of the same regular bar-flies I would interact with two years ago. Nonetheless, the proverbial cancer Sword of Democles continues to sway above my head like a goddamn E A Poe Raven. Glory be.

'sup bitch

Yet here we are. Almost six years since I was originally diagnosed. Seven years since I first felt symptoms. Add the genius and ingenuity of scientists who have researched ways to mitigate and extend not only life, but livelihood for anyone diagnosed with cancer. It's amazing to be a part of this trend: 5+ years survival rate, with ongoing study and exploration on how to help folks beat this horrible disease. It's truly amazing! I feel honored to have contributed to this research by participating in three clinical trials. And really, all I am is a case number in all of those studies, but I am also the same ol' MexiCAN, imbibed with furor, beating the odds that were unimagined 5-10-20 years ago. It makes me proud.

Cancer ain't shit, vato

Still, the road has been quite bumpy. One day things are stable, the next day you're at death's door. Really, I've been told I've progressed 4 fucking times. Yet, all these times it's been a misreading: Mostly, by UCI radiologists (who seem to be in their senior year of med-school), or an Oncologist that has no fucking idea on how to accurately read scans. It's taken 2nd & 3rd opinions to get accurate results, and even then, you have to listen/trust your own body. Now, I'm experiencing "exposure syndrome", in that I've developed a scab that's made me immune to receiving bad news. It's a sweet & sour spot to be in, and lately I've been taking this cancer-thing all in stride. Cancer has become my own private Idaho.

Hey!

I'm 27 months into the Repotrectinib trail, and things are stable. I'm a healthy 55 year old, post pandemic, daddy-bod, father of two glorious Indigenous American/Bulgarian girls with fire in their blood. I'm echoing Prometheus in his quest for knowledge, while risking everything in the hopes that, someday, clinical patient #2101-2005 will have made a difference.

I am Alejandro. I am Duke.