The End of Cycle 7 & No More Mr. Nice Guy

I'm just about through the effects of my 7th round of chemo. Once again, the fatigue and nausea were the worst elements, with the neuropathy almost non-existent in my hands and feet ( possibly due to the increasing warmth of the late spring, but there were still enough cool days to note the neuropathy's absence ) and only minimal amounts in my throat ( what little I experienced was from drinking something cold tonight, and it was barely noticeable ). The "fast dose" of 4FU and Oxaliplatin seems to be doing as expected: 2-3 days of heavy symptoms, followed by rapid fall-off on days 5-7 and a week almost symptom-free. The effects are still cumulative, so I do not know if it will hold to this pattern; I imagine by cycle 11-12, I'll be very happy to get it all over with.

A frank discussion with my oncologist last week; my situation is, for the foreseeable future, chronic--I will not be eliminating Igor's leftovers through surgery, but through the full 12 cycles of chemotherapy. She knew that the odds of a surgical solution were poor, but chose to let the liver specialist make the final judgment. A bit passive on her part, and I would have accused her of passing the buck, were I not able to see the value of giving me the most optimistic outlook possible. Still, I'd like the hard truth to the hopeful possibilities--I need to know where the monster is strong as well as where it is weak if I am to destroy it. "Know thy enemy, know thyself, and you shall be victorious in every battle." ~Sun Tzu, The Art of War ( yes, I know I mangled that quote--give me a break, will ya? ).

For good or for ill, a ran across a self-help book entitled No More Mr. Nice Guy by Dr. Robert Glover, and found a rather dark reflection of myself in the doctor's of "Nice Guy Syndrome"--not a perfect reflection, mind you, but one close enough to shock and anger myself into some serious contemplation. I've said before that Igor had awakened myself to the fact that I had sleepwalked through most of my life; now, I have to wonder as to what effect that sleepwalking through life has had on my current predicament.

Consider: it is a well-established fact that one's mood can have and effect on one's well being--there's the placebo effect, the power of prayer, positive re-enforcement, and so on. Lord knows, my cancer had a definite impact on my emotional outlook--so much so that, prior to discovering that I had cancer, I was seriously convinced that I suffered from serious psychological dysfunctions. But what about the impact of years of negative emotions and dysfunctional beliefs upon my physical being? As anyone in my family can attest, my life has rarely been a happy one. Could the pent-up anger and rage over my failure to live my life have triggered a physiological response?

In short, could I have caused my own cancer? Is my cancer some wildly strange attempt by my subconscious to commit suicide? Can a person become so despondent that they could will themselves to death? Or is this some absurd attempt on my part to give some greater meaning to the incident of my illness, to give it some existential credence? If it can be caused by sheer force of will, can be destroyed the same way? Can changing my life now, to live as I have wanted to live my life, save my life?

Which segues back into No More Mr. Nice Guy; for the longest time, I have been a "Nice Guy"--it's what was expected of me, and--to believe Dr. Glover--what is expected of most men. But as the saying goes, "nice guys never win"--and that is so true that it hurts. A "Nice Guy" never gets what he wants, but what he is settles for. He always plays it safe, and suffers as a result. He appears honest and trustworthy, but he is deceptive and distrusted. In short ( there are a lot more characteristics I could list, but you get the idea), a "Nice Guy" is just a guy--he is never a man. And that's really my problem--I've lived my life as a guy, instead of living my life as I should have, as a man. I hated living my life as a guy--and I don't want to die the same way.

I guess it boils down to what Andy Dufresne said in The Shawshank Redemption: "Get busy living, or get busy dying." I know which one I'm going to be doing.