Subject: round 2 (Ed wrote this March 11) For someone with a near-insatiable curiosity about anything and everything, I find it interesting that I have absolutely no desire to learn anything about colon cancer. Several people have told me, however, that in the pantheon of cancer curability, mine is front and center, with only prostate cancer ahead of it. I knew that several friends of mine were cancer survivors, but since the onset of this thing, several more that I never knew about have come forward to share stories with me, which have been encouraging, to say the least. I might even say inspirational. Today begins the second course of chemo. It almost didn't happen (again.) The Sloan-Kettering people don't like to do chemo unless you have a hemoglobin above 9. On the other hand, Phelps, the medical center they're attached to in Sleepy Hollow, has a policy of not transfusing anyone unless their hemoglobin is below 8. So what was mine? 8.5 So a compromise was reached where they'll dump some sucrose and iron into me along with the chemo. Actually, I thought the 8.5 was quite encouraging. Chemo itself decreases hemoglobin. This decrease was so low that it might - just might - mean that the bleeding is slowing. Actually, in a bizarre way the bleeding was good - they never would've looked for a tumour if I wasn't bleeding. It could turn ugly, though. There are two problems with this particular tumour. First, it's vascularized (An abnormal or pathological formation of blood vessels.) If, in reacting to therapy, the tumour tears apart some of the blood vessels feeding it, I could have a bleed-out. In that case, I'll be outta here before I realize what's going on. Secondly, the other day I asked the doc if there were any positive signs I should watch for. Without skipping a beat, he asked if I was having bowel movements.When he eye-balled the tumour through his 'scope, it was nearly blocking the large intestine. So as long as my food is getting past the obstruction to be expelled, that's a good sign. I never thought I'd get so old that a bowel movement would be a major life event, but apparently I have. Last week, I went to the big mall in White Plains, where there is a Brookstone store. I blew a gazillion bucks on a chair that will massage me, vibrate me, heat me, and a bunch of other stuff, including playing mp3 files. I figured that I really haven't the faintest idea whether I'm dying or not dying, but I'll be damned if I'm going to stop living.