Phoenix Rising

I should be ecstatic and bouncing off the walls today as I've crossed the finish line and completed my 12th and final round of chemo therapy. 7-months of hell is over. I'm happy, exhausted, and so deeply relieved that this chapter of my life will soon be past me. Over the next 12-months I will be having to visit the hospital for check-ups and to 'flush' the port implanted in my chest. The implant will remain with me for one more year 'just in case'. I feel I am cancer free. I have spoken to my blood, my cells, my DNA, my skeletal and molecular composition. In every vomiting occurrence I did my best to consciously focus and purge the cancer, purge old stories, burn away illusions, and burn out any old karmic baggage that no longer serves any purpose. It's been era - very, very real. As my poisoned blood has swirled through my body I feel as though it has etched into my bones my life story thus far like the carvings on some ancient walls. I'm very clear on where I'm standing, and I'm psyched to reengage and rewrite the next phase of my life.

Thank you for all the prayers and well wishes, it fueled the process.

Phoenix Rising

Round 11 - on the 15th purge

It's been 6-days since I was last in front of my computer. I wish I could say it was because I was on retreat deep in the Peruvian Amazon making a profound connection with nature, or recuperating on a sun drenched sandy beach in the Caribbean, or detoxing with my wife in Costa Rica at a yoga intensive; but no, this was a chemo week - round 11. I'm finally climbing out of it's shadow. I'm not one with a habit of complaining, and I've expressed in previous blogs the reasons I write this; but more than anything, I write this for myself and others that might benefit from my experiences through chemo.

Because of my age, and because I am approaching the conclusion of these treatments, the chemo has gotten more aggressive. This past round was by far the most hellish of them all. Thinking about it makes me sick. Simply put, 5-days in bed, absolute weakness, 5-days of continual vomiting, total nausea, inability to hold anything in my system, not even water or the anti-nausea meds. The chemo squeezed itself deeply into my blood and bones. I vomited so much I stopped counting on the 15th purge. My old friend Vishal had me on the phone as I was having a meltdown on Friday night. His trusted diagnosis lead me to the ER.

I had to spend my Saturday in the emergency room at Mt. Sinai with my devoted mom. My dehydrated body got pumped with 5-litters of fluid, two smaller bags of potassium and two hits of anti-nausea medication. I had vomited so much that small ulcers have formed at the back of my throat. The simple act of swallowing my slimy medicated saliva currently provides an excruciatingly painful experience; as if when the opposite walls of my throat compress together to swallow they stab each other with tiny sharp blades instead of kissing and giving thanks for the yumminess entering the body. Sipping warm tea, broth, some pita and hummus, letting some chocolate melt in my mouth - insane pain. My larynx and esophagus are on fire. My tongue is chalk white. The doctors say that if I were not on chemo it would heal quickly as the throat regenerates new cells continually, but since chemo kills all the good and bad cells, it will take longer. I've never moaned and groaned more in my life. Add to the mix my hair has been thinning and slowly falling off. Thank God, this hell is almost over, Feb 1st is the 12th and final chemo session. I'm almost there…

The Support of Friends & Community - Sat Jan 30th

I'm deeply touched and moved to post the flier above. Months ago when this cancer entered my world, my friend Damon Banks reached out wanting to put together an event to help me. With great gratitude I had said no. More of my music community reached out. I'm not sure how this all came together as I have not been involved, but I see many of my community have come together and given birth to this event. I'm looking forward to seeing many of my friends and favorite musicians on stage together, helping me, and helping the efforts of Doctors Without Boarders in Haiti. This happening is coming together less than 48-hours before my 12th and final chemo session!

Barry White meets Don Corleone: Recipe for Laryngitis

This past week I attended APAP, a music and arts conference I've been attending now for 10-years. Fortunately the conference started as I got out of the shadow of chemo session #10 and I got to reconnect with my peoples and make some new friends. I love these conferences as I'm back in with my world music tribe. As the conference has concluded I have officially lost my voice and have been officially diagnosed with laryngitis. My voice has been reduced to a whisper. My throat feels like there is a five pound donut pushing the bones and nerves of my throat outwards. I cough and my adams apple explodes (read earlier posts about exploding throat). My throat is raw. I'm praying that this initiation will find me waking up one morning with the singing voice I've always dreamed of!

So, here is a recipe for laryngitis.

Sunday Night (1/3): The heat didn't work well, woke up Monday morning with a cough.

Monday - Wednesday (1/4 - 6) : It's Chemo week, treatment #10. Chemotherapy causes immune system to breakdown, cough develops minor chest cold, regular chemo side-effect of vomiting induces acid burning in throat coupled with the pressure of exploding throat.

Thursday - Monday (1/7 - 11): I'm out of the shadow of chemo. Attend APAP conference, lots and lots of conversations, attended over 25-concerts, participated in fun series of late nights at clubs and restaurants with the world music tribe. Breathing in frigid 20-degree air is like small daggers ripping my throat. What was once the burning throat metamorphosises into brittle dry throat and lungs feeling like a very dry tree. Five nights of half-sleep and exorcist like coughing epidemics permits a mere 4-5 hours of sleep a night. As the days pass I'm forced to speak slowly and deeply. Voice changes into that of Barry White meets Don Corleone from The Godfather.

Tuesday Morning (1/12): Voice reduced to a whisper. Only able to consume hot lemon and honey. Messages sent to my medical team. It's Laryngitis. New codeine-infused medicine enters my system, now I'm able to sleep for the first time in days.

Sounds pretty bad, but I'm feeling remarkably content…

Session #10 - light at the end of the tunnel

I'm slowly crawling out of the shadow of chemo session #10. On my last entry I was considering the addition of a new medication. My last two sessions #9 & #10 have been fueled with irinotecan. It's been nothing short of debilitating. I know it's been working as intense side effects from extreme vomiting to feeling heavily medicated and supremely weak all while feeling a tingling, almost sparkling colon while the chemo is doing it's work. It's been hell, but it's almost over - TWO MORE sessions to go!!! I can see the light at the end of the tunnel!

Over the first four days of chemo I'm a dreadfully weak sight. Yesterday evening (day #4), I finally got out of my house and made it to the Russian Baths where I only had the stamina for 25-minutes (I'm usually there for 2-hours). I followed the baths with a 90-minute massage which I believe helped get my blood moving again and restore some of my chi. Most everyone who sees me these days share compliments on how good I look. Internally I feel like my muscles are melting, my blood is poisoned, my mouth is medicated, and my life force is taking a beating. The hospital infuse my blood with strong dosages because of my youth and that I can rebound quickly. In their eyes I should never be hit with cancer again as the chemo has been having it's full effects. In my mind, I'm getting all future severe sicknesses out of the way now. In one month this nightmare will be over. I will most likely spend February in Florida where I will do a 3-week heavy metal liver-gall bladder flush to detoxify my blood, and spend the month in physical training to revitalize my body. It's the next chapter on this path of transformation.

flora and fauna

One of the many unpleasantries the doctors don't tell you about before beginning chemo is the length of time the chemicals remain present in your body. Friends regularly ask 'how was the last chemo session', thinking after a 4-our hospital visit and 48-hours of being connected directly to a chemo box that it's over. Simply put, it's not. The chemo keeps work as it's swimming in the blood. My time and focus in between chemo sessions is getting it out of my body. I've documents in many of my previous posts the various side-effects and the process of conquering them; and the general time it's taken me to restore my body back to full vitality (especially since the removal of the ferociously nasty oxaliplatin). Since completing chemo session 8 of 12, I took a trip to Miami with my parents to get some sun and silence. I've been on a steady in-take of green juices here, and I hired a physical trainer and been visiting the gym and ocean daily. My first day at the gym was profound. It was a stead 60-min of cardio, running, and general muscle strengthening. Within the first ten minutes of running my salavia started to generate the medicated chemo mouth. As I lifted weighths my muscels squeezed the chemo and the scent started to push through my pours. The lifting and the running really squeezed out a whole level of toxicity that neither yoga or the sweats at the Russian Baths had accomplished. I knew what my body was climaxing towards as I worked through my program with my trainer, for 2-minutes after my workout was complete I approached the first setting of flora and fauna and gave all the contents of my stomach to the earth.

Monday I return to the hospital for chemo #9. I am two thirds complete. For the final third I've been asked to add a new medication to my 'cocktail' - irinotecan. I haven't made a decision yet. I feel I've suffered enough, yet at this moment - after all the running, swimming, and lifting I feel stronger than ever. I will continue meditating on it until I reach the hospital.

Almost there.....

Round VII - crossing the midway point

It's been almost a month since my last entry. It's been an easy way to communicate to many of my friends about this ordeal as the process has found me on a self imposed exile from everyone. From being in touch with a vast network of friends, colleges, partners and prospective collaborators; my accessibility is limited to a a handful of dear ones. My beak was dipped into countless pools reaping rewards as 'fixer' or 'manager' or 'adviser' to many. This current moment in my life is the first time in well over a decade that I'm focusing on myself and waking up in the mornings thinking about my own creative projects, and not the means by which to solve the issues surrounding the creations of others. It's a significantly different reality...

Since my last entry I've crossed the midway point of chemotherapy. I do this blog for myself, for my friends, and to leave information behind for others that might have to walk down a similar path. At this moment I'm connected to my chemo, it's the middle of round seven out of the prescribed twelve. I can finally sense the finish line, it's distance is closer than ever. It's been hell to get here. The game changer was removing the platinum from my 'cocktail'. No longer am I stabbed in the jaw when I eat, no longer am I experiencing the neuropathic electrocutions, no longer is the volume of suffering turned up to eleven.... it's now somewhere around four. Every person, every body, every blood, every spirit is different in how it handles disease and the treatments created to cure/heal/prevent the shituation. I believe the suffering I experienced by the platinum gave me the endurance I have to complete the process. What remains in my world of side effects:

1) Chemo Mouth: By morning my tongue will be covered in a disgusting yellow-grey coat that alters my sense of taste and infuses my saliva with the vile taste of medication. Regular tongue scraping and mouth washing helps eradicate some of the symptoms. Last week, or the first time since this journey began I had 6-days of no-hint of chemo mouth. This is obviously due the lack of platinum, standard mouth maintenance, and a steady regular intake of red wine. (Love and respect to my friend Rene Goiffon who sent me 8-bottles of wine and some great classical music). Red wine has been a HUGE help. It helps kill the chemo mouth, and helps my blood.

2) Vitality: Anyway we look at it, chemo is poison. The reality is that this chemical is killing my immune system on a regular basis in hopes that any cancerous cells that may be lingering in my body will be killed. One thing that this does is cause serious fatigue. On Wednesday, as soon as I'm disconnected from my chemo pack I go through a routine process of squeezing it all out of my body through regular sweats at the Russian Baths, yoga, my trampoline (to stimulate the lymph nodes), massage, acupuncture, and loads of green juice.... and writing songs.

If anything is reactivating my aliveness and tasting the nectar of life is the riding spirit of writing a song, it's through music that my vitality is reborn.