Another week of treatments behind me

It has been about a month since my world imploded and I learned I have cancer. It truly is amazing how one can adapt in such a short time. Since my diagnosis, actually a few days earlier when I knew a biopsy had been pulled but unaware of its outcome, my life has changed in many ways.

Physically, I have a few new adornments to my body -- remember, I am Keith of Borg. I have this medi-port in my right shoulder-chest area. I have a stomach feeding tube for when that is necessary. And I have a small pump that injects small amounts of poisons into my blood each minute of each day to kill cancer cells.

Emotionally, I'm often fine but on occasion I become a wreck. I try to focus on the positive and look for such items to focus on. My wife, my kids, my friends, my colleagues, my career. There's a lot there, something for which I am thankful. But sometimes I just consider the enormity of the situation and just collapse into my chair. It's a tall order, like racing by foot up the Statue of Liberty, and I'm still just at the bottom of the base. I know I can do it. I think I can do it. I want to do it. I must do it.

But will I? That's one of the areas into which I ponder from time to time. I have a lot going for me. Even the doctors say this. But. But I have this tumor in my esophagus, and it's only going to disappear because these amazing men and women in white jackets with name tags and thermometers and the like are either injecting me, irradiating me or in the future using knives and extricating it from me.

Each day, I grow a bit more tired a bit earlier. I can't quite move as quickly as the day before. I type a few more errors into the blog and rely more on the spell-check program to catch them. But it's OK. Because in a few months, hopefully, I'll be back on my feet and back at work.