CT-Scan and Procedures

It's been about 9-weeks since I made an entry here. After spending 7-months beating cancer, I escaped the New York City winter and lived between Miami and Los Angeles. I've returned to a regular yoga practice, been exercising a lot, eating healthy, I'm deep in my daily spiritual practice, and over all feeling highly charged and alive. I know to the core of my being that I am cancer free, there is not an hint of disease anywhere in this body.

Still, procedures need to be adhered to… I had a hospital visit yesterday, my first time walking in to Mt. Sinai Medical since my last round of chemo in February. In previous visits my body would convulse and my head would start spinning just by placing my feet on the concrete steps outside the hospital doors; that reaction is no longer activated; it's a bit of a big deal…

I went to the hospital to have the port 'flushed' and a CT scan. I had to consume a thick chemical infused smoothie, and 20-minutes later I was in a robe, laying back being swallowed by a machine. As the CT-scan was proceeding I was injected with ISOVUE, a solution that allows the machine to reach my body. The nurse said, 'your whole body will feel like you are getting a hot-flash, try not to panic'. Fortunately, it was no big thing, I just visualized turning into light and breathed easily. When the procedure was done the nurse said, 'just drink a lot of water and the chemicals will be out of your body in a few days, you need to get them out of your kidney's'!!! I asked 'can i go and sweat it out in steam and sauna', they replied 'that would be much faster'. i rushed from the hospital to the Russian Baths and detoxed for three hours, it was a profound experience between the heat, the bathroom, the heat, the cold, the bathroom... the chemicals took the express train out of my body.

I have a few birthdays in my life, anniversaries of major events that have initiated me though this life. i have a new one coming up next thursday april 22nd as at 8am that morning i will be at the hospital going through the surgery to extract the metal implant in my chest from which the chemo was administered. it will officially mark the conclusion of what has been the darkest chapter in my life. It's almost over… Following the surgery I intend to do a liver/kidney/heavy metal detox to rejuvenate my blood.

Phoenix Rising

Into The Next

Today is a birthday of sorts. It marks the first time in 6-months that my 14-day cycle of death and rebirth is over. My affair with chemotherapy is really over. It is the first time in two weeks that my blood is feeling a deeper sense of chemical absence. It's the first time in two weeks that my mouth feels far from chemo mouth. It's the first time my body is not craving meat and wine combat all the chemicals. It's much easier, and enjoyable to drink green juices and eat salads. Each day I go to the gym, I feel my strength and energy returning to me. The chemicals are fading, I'm beating them out. I've been in Miami for a week. The weather has been far from ideal with the temperature dancing between the mid-50's and upper 60's, far from the skin penetrating heat I've been longing for. Hopefully my body will engage in that sensation when I reach LA on Sunday for my 1-month there. I shaved of all my hair since I arrived here. I've buried some of it, offered some to the ocean, burned a handful with some cloths I regularly wore during chemo, and gave some to the wind to play with. Little rituals help in activating intentions, and allow me to connect with my spirit guides, my orishas, my angels, whatever name we give to the unseen - I feel I'm being witnessed by the other side as I transition into The Next.

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.