11 Weeks

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

My dad gave me a collection of Robert Frost poems for my birthday this year.    I’ve read through maybe half of them so far, but Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Eve seems too good an inspiration to pass by without comment.   This comes as no surprise, seeing as I’ve grown up with this poem in many ways (my teddy bear is named Miles because of this poem, and both my mother and I share a love of the sights and sounds of the year’s first true snowfall).

Today marks the eleven week anniversary of my transplant, and 190 days since I was diagnosed back in February.   All indications are that I’m well along the path back to normal life.   And I know I must keep climbing that path, because I have too many promises to keep – both to myself and to others.   And Lord knows the road will rise up to meet me for many miles yet.

These past 6 months have been, in some ways, like the darkest evening of the year.   But even in the heart of winter, through the cold and wind, there is still beauty to be found.   If one can get past the bone-chilling cold of chemotherapy and occasional biting wind of neutropenia, then the beauty of falling snow begins to shine through.

Sure, I’m halfway through college.   Not exactly anywhere near any of the usual farmhouses that mark the usual turning points in our lives – points at which we can take a quick break from life without missing a beat – but if I stop at a farmhouse, I gain the warmth of a fire at the expense of experiencing the magical snowfall.

For me, these past months have brought the cold and the wind, but also the peaceful sound of easy wind and downy flake.   That sound – in the form of love from all sides – has made this unexpected stop more enriching than any of the farmhouses I’ve stopped at so far.

As I resume my journey, counting the miles behind me, I hope to find the beauty in any situation.   I believe it can be found, as long as the cold can be ignored.   Though I pray my life is free from metaphorical stops like this, I look forward to enjoying as many (literal) peaceful snowfalls as I can before my journey’s end.

On a side note – I’m doing better now (at least in terms of the leg and the headaches) than I have been in past days.   I’m not sure if this is due to me actually getting better, or if I discovered a magical cure last night in the form of 16oz cans of AMP (Mountain Dew’s energy drink).   I’ll try the AMP again today, but this time I’ll have it around 4pm, rather than 9.   Sleepless nights aren’t much fun, even when you’re not woken up by your brother’s alarm at 5:45am.   Really, Keerti?   School doesn’t start til 7:45.   What would possess you to get up that early?

I discovered the medical name for a pinched sciatic nerve a few days ago.   And it’s actually quite amusing, since it’s probably more likely to pass as a science fiction movie title than a medical condition.

Sciatica.   Really.   I wonder if Arthur C. Clarke had anything to do with thinking up that name.

Websites: Lost in Translation

Building websites is fun, and so is learning new things.

But what I’m doing right now is beyond learning new things.   I’m currently in the process of creating an edit page for the drumline’s website (percussion.bigredbands.org).   In the three days I’ve been working on it, I’ve gotten maybe half of what I want done.   I’ve learned parts of two new programming languages, and new applications for a third I already knew.   I think that’s the equivalent of at least four weeks of web design class.

So far, the only way to do what I want is to use all of the different languages at the same time.   This leads to (for those who understand) using PHP to access a MySQL database, take that data, and build a custom Javascript to modify an existing HTML page.   For those who are lost, that’s like me trying to translate something into spanish, then spanish to german, then finally another translation back to english – oh, and I have to make sure that the same thing I intend to say is what comes out at the end.   Not the general idea, but the exact idea.

Frustrating, but for me (a nerd of sorts) it’s been quite a fun experience.

In other news – the doctors continue to say how well I’m doing, despite a few minor setbacks, and I’m heading home to DeKalb for the day tomorrow.   If all continues to go well, I may actually be able to go home at the end of August, rather than September 20th (which is the standard 100 days, and conveniently enough – the same day our lease expires on this wonderful apartment).

It’s been a while since I put an update on here, but there’s not much else to report.   I’ve had some visitors, and enjoyed the apartment immensely.   For all those involved in the Netflix gift – thank you!   I’ve upgraded to 3 at a time, which means I’ll always have one here and one in the mail each way (since it’s one day shipping).   One movie a night seems like the perfect amount when you’re essentially on vacation.

I’ve finished an application for visiting student status at NIU for the fall, and should hear back within a week or so about that.   I’m hoping to take two classes, so I’m not overexerting myself and I also have plenty of time to spend with my family (I’m sure Mom wouldn’t mind a break, but Dad and the kids only see me once every week or two).

As I approach my 21st birthday, and tiptoe nearer to the final line that separates me from adulthood, there’s much to think about.   These past 21 years (or what I remember of them) have been all I have to draw on, and I think some reflecting is in order.

Later.

Right now I’d be too distracted by the website.   I’ll finish that first.   Enjoy the fine summer weather, wherever you are!

A Waste of My Time

I feel that, while the government is considering regulating the insurance industry (and seems to already have done so for the banking sector), another industry ought to be regulated as well.

And that industry would be the film industry.

I saw “Paul Blart: Mall Cop” today, and must say I was not impressed in the slightest.   Indeed, it was so bad that I had to redeem my afternoon by watching the original Harold and Kumar.

Some movies are so bad that they’re good, in the sense that they’re amusing in their failure.    Then there are movies that are so bad they’re terrible.   The only laughs you get out of them are the awkward laughs at the cheesy lines, or the laughter as you ask yourself – “Am I really watching this?”.   Unfortunately, “Mall Cop” falls into the latter category.

The story follows an overweight, hypoglycemic single father named Paul Blart.   Paul works as a security guard at the local mall, since he has repeatedly failed his attempts to be admitted into the New Jersey State Police training course.   His mother and daughter are in the process of attempting to find him a girlfriend, a path that (daydream as he might) he doesn’t really seem anxious to follow.

Of course, as with all movies, there’s a love story.   Paul does find an interest in Amy, a pretty “strawberry-blonde” kiosk attendant.   And of course, he is thwarted most of the time by another man who seems to be eying Amy as well.   All the makings of a typical movie.

The first half of the movie is almost painfully slow, and when not slow – the awkwardness fills up the rest of the pain quota.   And then, halfway through, the plot thickens.   Without giving away too much (since the trailers reveal this much), the mall is taken over by bank robbers on the eve of Black Friday.   Bank robbers whose primary mode of transportation throughout the mall is one of the following: skateboard, BMX bike, or ninja-style flips off of every ledge imaginable.

Really, let’s pile on the cheese.

I see a decent amount of potential in this idea, potential that is unfortunately spoiled by overzealous attempts to make the audience laugh – perhaps because the vast majority of these attempts are simple slapstick humor or making fun of Paul’s weight.  Many of those attempts seem to make me more uncomfortable than amused.

I can see that this movie is probably targeted towards a much younger audience than myself, but really – are we intentionally exposing our children to this nonsense?   We’re made to laugh at other’s shortcomings, both of weight and social grace.   And then we’re supposed to believe that (SPOILER ALERT, as if you didn’t see if coming) Paul Blart gets the girl after knowing her for all of 3 days?   I’m pretty sure any of my pre-teen cousins could smell the massive amounts of cheese (and improbability) present in that plot point.

So what message are we trying to send the younger kids anyway?

If it’s this – that it’s ok to waste 2 hours of your time watching a ridiculously cheesy and awkward film – count me out.   The only laughs I have, when looking back, are the embarrassed kind that friends share after doing something incredibly stupid and not getting hurt in the process.

Of course, like I said, I redeemed myself by watching Harold and Kumar.   That is quite obviously targeted for my specific demographic – and my parents (or at least my mother) would probably view it the same way I view “Mall Cop”.

Live and learn, I guess.

A Disappearance and an Escape

I’ve been absent from the blogging world for quite some time, and I feel I owe you all an apology – or at least an explanation of some kind.

One – I haven’t had much to report on.   Or at least, I didn’t until about a week ago.   I’d been in here about 15 days, and nothing out of the ordinary had happened (if you don’t count the transplant, which was strangely anticlimactic but still satisfying).   Days consisted of spending time with people, playing cards, watching movies, reading, and other relatively begign activities.

Two – About two days after the transplant, I got sucked into Harry Potter.    This is a huge undertaking for anyone, and I have a tendency to lose myself in book series as soon as I start one.   This time was no different, despite the fact that I’ve read the series numerous times already.    I went through seven books – and around 4500 pages – in about 9 days.   One way to truly escape any worries you might have is to lose yourself in a fantasy world.   The only problem is when you come back out.   Especially when you come out of one that involves magic.   The urge to use magic seems to pop into your head as if it were completely normal (and no, I’m not going insane – try it sometime).

(I’d gotten this far, and then stopped using my computer because I wasn’t feeling too well.   Now I’m out of the hospital completely, and have plenty of time and a little bit of energy).

The apartment is amazing.   The space is truly a blessing that can only be appreciated after 27 days (yes, that was the final count) of confinement in a 12×18 foot room.   And the view is absolutely breathtaking.   I spent a good 10 minutes last night sitting at my desk in the corner bedroom and watched night fall over Lake Michigan (which is, in fact, 100 or so yards from the highrise I’m in now).

However – I don’t think I could ever live in the city.   I woke up at 5:30, thanks to the sun, but put on a sleeping mask and went back to sleep.   Around 8:30 I was awakened by the sounds of traffic on Lake Shore Drive.

I spent 18 years living in a house on a quiet street in a quait neighborhood.   It was as silent at 11am as it was at 7am, so there was never any impediment to my somewhat odd sleeping patterns.   Not here.   I guess between the sun rising directly into my room and the traffic every morning, I’m just going to have to adjust.

But I’m completely willing to do so, since this place is so wonderful.   Once I get more energy, I’m going to have to start running along the lake shore.   Baby steps, but I’m getting there.

The Tree of Uncertainty

With this transplant and subsequent new immune system, I find myself at the base of a tree.

Metaphorically, of course, since I’m still stuck in the hospital until further notice.    I had a discussion with one of the transplant nurses today about what the future holds in terms of  medications and adverse reactions.   I had known there was a chance of long-term effects, but hadn’t really known details.   Apparently the medication I started today (ProGraf) is something I’ll be on for anywhere from 4 weeks to 6 months or beyond.   I may be on steriods to help with rashes, or have gastro-intestinal problems.   But as of right now, in this moment, nothing is certain.   I just have to blindly climb up that tree as far as I can.    

And I’m ok with that

Looking back, it’s interesting that I chose this particular visual theme for my blog.   No matter what, I had to climb that hill as my first step.   I’ve made it to the top, only to find the ultimate destination is the top of the tree.   How appropriate.

Hospital Veterans

How many nights must I spend in a hospital bed before I can consider myself a veteran?

It’s gotten to the point where this room feels completely normal.   Not the way home feels, but in that sort of “this is my space, so I’m going to do what I want with it” thing.   

UChicago Hospital presented me (initially) with a room that was on par with the size of the one in Wisconsin.   When it came to entertainment – most people stood.   After one night in the UChicago room, I decided to ask if I could rearrange the furniture to maximize the living space.   

Thank God I asked.   

There was a room available across the hall that is literally twice the size of my old room.   So I’ve since set up shop, have two beds, four chairs, and a computer all to myself.   

25 days in a hospital?   Psh.   It won’t be that bad.

On the flip side, I’m beginning to feel the side effects of the chemo (though I only have one more dose left).   My appetite is starting to wane (though there might be a correlation between that and the quality of the hospital food).

And of course there’s the side effects of the clonazepam.  

Imagine taking 4 different colors of playdough and smushing them together.   Now imagine trying to pick the colors apart again.   (Oh – and the dog snuck in and ate some of the playdough too).  That’s what my memory’s been like the past 4 days (or was it more?).    Everything feels like one big blur, but yet all so ordinary at the same time.   I think having family, entertainment, and other distractions around is the reason everything still feels normal.  

Like I said, the side effects are inevitably coming, butI’ll face that demon when it dares challenge me.

I’m Back!

I’m not entirely sure what happened to me these past three weeks.

I mean that in a somewhat literal sense, but I’ll get to that later.   I’ve completely dropped off the face of the electronic world recently, but since I’m now back in the hospital I figure it’s time to resume life as a blogger.   Being a former computer addict, it really took a lot for me to leave it alone and enjoy life without the computer.   A few people asked me when I’d be writing a new blog, and I always responded with “sometime soon” – but never got around to it.   It took me a while to figure out why, but once I did it all made sense.

Life was normal.   Really, up until this morning it felt almost as if nothing had ever happened.   Almost.   Sure, I’m bald (which reminds me of another amusing story, but that’ll come later), and I’ve got three scars from the PICC lines I’ve had so far.   But other than that, everything was as it should be.   The weather was beautiful, I was living with my family, and spending some quality time with my brother and sister, and enjoying life.

Enjoying life without leukemia, hospital gowns, nurses taking vital signs at all hours of the night.

And the blog essentially embodies all those memories.   So why bring them back?   If I’m cancer-free (which I currently am, by all medical accounts), then why remind myself of what’s ahead?   Facing 100+ days at least of relative abnormality, I think I was subconsciously avoiding that reminder.

But here I am, back in the hospital.   So now I can’t avoid the memories, and might as well share them with all of you.

About two weeks ago, I had to have a test run using one of the chemo drugs (that start tomorrow, in case you were curious).   The point was to determine how fast my body processed it so that I coul dbe given the right amount.   However – the chemical itself can induce seizures, so naturally I was put on anti-seizure medication – one with short-term memory loss as a side effect.   I took the medication Sunday night through Tuesday morning, and remember a total of 15 minutes from that entire 2 day ordeal.   I read half of The Kite Runner, only to discover on Wednesday that I remember two plot points from the entire 150 pages.    But that’s not what really cracks me up.

I woke up Wednesday morning, rolled out of bed, and noticed a pair of shoes next to my bed – ones that I had never seen before.   My first thought was “Where the heck did those come from?”, followed by “wait a second – I went shoe shopping yesterday?”   Apparently I bought a pair of shoes at Famous Footwear, and still don’t remember more than 30 seconds of that entire shopping venture.   Oh well – they’re comfortable and look pretty cool, and I apparently found them on the clearance rack.   However, I’m not too interested in trying my luck a second time.   No more drug-induced shopping sprees for me.

Apart from being in the market for a new pair of shoes, I’m also looking for a car.   I took a trip over to Mike Mooney’s on 4th street a few days ago to test drive an ‘04 Pontiac Vibe.   As per the usual test driving routine, the salesman had to photocopy my driver’s license.   As he was returning me my license, he made a very unfortunate comment – “I see your hair is gone, did you lose a bet?”.   I felt so bad for the poor guy.   The chances are so slim that I didn’t lose a bet, considering I’m of college age and went from long curly hair to bald.   But that’s unfortunately not what happened.   I told him the truth, but I think if that happens again I’m just going to play along – I can’t justify people feel guilty for something that I routinely laugh about (not that I tried to guilt-trip him anyway).   And I’m not completely bald anyway, my hair is actually growing back.   Lovely timing, really.   I’ll only get to enjoy it for another two weeks or so.

I think it’s about time to unpack my first suitcase.   I say first, because I packed two suitcases (to be opened at very different times).   I have one suitcase with videogames, DVDs, the Harry Potter series, and of course the necessity – clothing.   Essentially everything I need to keep myself entertained without having to worry about remembering what I’ve done.   My other suitcase is to be delivered to me on one condition – I’m coherent enough to remember what I’ve done the past few days.   If I’m not, then the contents of the second suitcase would  be wasted, seeing as they’re all books I haven’t read – some of which pertain to the homework I still have left to do.   

I’m sure there’s someone out there who loves reading ancient Greek philosophy enough to enjoy Aristotle twice.   However, I don’t fit that mold in any way.   Once is enough for me.

My Guide to Country Music

Country music is a strange entity.   You either love it or hate it.   There is no in between.

I used to hate country music.   There was something about the sound of certain songs that set me off, so I refused to listen to it.   That and the lyrics of the songs bothered me.   Well, moreso one song.

“She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy”.

There’s something about that song that still drives me nuts, but I avoid it, and life is good.

My affair with country music started my sophomore year in high school, when my roommate was a fan of Rascal Flatts.   Believe me, if there’s a gateway drug to country – it’s Rascal Flatts.  I’m still far from being a huge country fan, and have no intentions of ever going to Country Thunder, but it’s growing on me.

And honestly, if you really listen to some country songs, the lyrics actually have meaning.   Some are pretty damn funny (“Online”, by Brad Paisley, “Backwards” by Rascal Flatts), and others are quite thought-provoking (“Letter to Me”, Brad Paisley”).   I used to love Red Hot Chili Peppers, but recently I’ve lost interest.   This is in part due to the fact that I actually started listening to their lyrics.   Some of them really don’t make much sense at all.   It’s hard to really enjoy a song when the lyrics are just meaningless (and yes, I’m sure there’s probably some meaning behind them, but I’ve been unsuccessful so far at discerning any possible meaning).

To all you out there who say you hate country – have an open mind for 15 minutes.   I’ll personally recommend a few songs to start with – ones that’ll fit your mood or personality – and I’d be willing to bet that you might be surprised by what you hear.

Disclaimer – I don’t have that much of a country music repertoire.   I also am not a big fan of real twangy old school country.   And no.   Barn dances are not my thing.

Procrastination?

Well, so much for posting once a day.

I finished my Chem exam Monday morning.   The last time I posted a blog was Sunday night.   I was, of course, planning on posting every day.   Hmmm.

Can’t be a coincidence.

All I have to worry about now is getting my French homework, quizzes and tests, and my Political Philosophy quizzes and essays done in the next 200 days.   Since the final, I’ve essentially taken a break from responsibility, and have done virtually nothing productive.   I’ve had no routine whatsoever, and it’s been quite lovely.

But when I have no routine, I tend to forget about things.   In this case, I forgot to blog.   I know, such a terrible thing.   I swear, I’m going to get into a routine of writing once a night if it’s the last thing I do.

Anyway.   Larry King just said that (after a commercial break) they’ll be hearing “tweets from twitterers”.   I’m not sure if it’s because that line is hilarious, or the fact that it’s almost midnight, but I definitely started laughing.   I’m not sure what to make of the whole Twitter fad, though I have joined the ranks of those who … tweet?   So far, it’s just been used (by me, at least) to post random things I’m thinking about – but really, why am I posting these things where anyone can see them?

I don’t think I’ll ever understand how Twitter got to be so huge, but at least I can use it to keep tabs on John McCain.

And now they’re into abstinence-only education.   I’m not even going to start on that one, though it has yielded a very amusing quotation – “Screw as I say, not as I screw.”

That’s quite priceless.

What’s mine is mine…

I love my little brother quite a bit, but he’s been getting on my nerves a bit lately.

Of course, that’s not really his fault.   When moving back in with your family, there’s always the potential to create drama, and so far I’ve been enjoying a pretty drama-free stay (not counting my interactions with my sister, which are purely natural for an older brother – younger sister relationship).   Yet recently, there’s been some issues arising over certain items of mine and his that seem to end up in the wrong hands.

Clothes.

Like I said, I love my brother.   But damn it, now he’s taller than me by an inch.   And wears the same size pants, and boxers, and shirts.   And with all the clothing he buys plus all the clothing of mine that my poor mother hasn’t seen in her dryer in years, there’s bound to be some confusion.   And of course, confusion leads to problems, which inevitably lead to some sort of solution.

I’ve now been marked with a terrible brand.   We have the same first initial, so my mother has decided to write our middle initials on the tags – his being C for Conner, mine is W for William (my grandfather’s name).   I love my grandfather very much, but I suspect that I’m not the only one who sees the letter W and thinks of one thing.

Dubya.

Spare me the burden of being connected to that man.   I can’t blame him for doing what he thought was best for the country, but part of being an elected leader is doing what the masses want to see done (provided the masses have some idea of what they’re talking about).  I could go on for a while, but I’ll spare you the political rant – provided you don’t ever call me Dubya.

Sound like a deal?