Are most of you old enough to recall the Steppenwolf tune called The Pusherman? I've borrowed the title for this post from their tune, which I used to love. That was one gritty band.
Sat through the regular 6 hours of infusion today to start Round 5. We were a day late given the celebration of Dec. 26 in the USA as a holiday. The British and their ilk (read: Canucks et al), in more civilized fashion, celebrate Dec. 26 every year. It is called Boxing Day and it is a day of partying and traveling to see, and to celebrate, and to exchange gifts with, those who are good friends, but not necessarily family. Quite a lot of alcohol is imbibed on this day. I will never forget my father inviting in the milkman who proceeded to get quite drunk (in the morning!) before he tottered on down the road after several drinks at our house in Vancouver on a Boxing Day long ago. (He was the same good guy who let me--under his close supervision--drive his Divco Twin truck down our street at the ripe old age of 10. Things were different in those days.) Anyhow, I have mixed feelings about this round because I have been feeling good--still no stamina--but all systems go for the last week, because of the prior low blood pressure experience in Round 4. So good, in fact, we even stepped out for some Mexican food in SLC (Frieda's Bistro: highly recommended) and the night before Christmas eve to Franck's which we love at that time of the year. (I had a dynamite meatloaf--their signature dish). But this week will be sobering. I am cruising right now from all the chemicals today. The benadryl infusion to begin with (anti-allergenic) puts me right out and I slept for several hours. (That will mean spotty sleep tonight.) They were very busy as they were trying to accommodate the Monday people (me) as well as their regular Tuesday crowd. Therefore, we were asked to show at 8 a.m., which we did.
Dr. E Tolman had it right. He was the behavioral psychologist, who, blasphemously (according to Skinnerians), emphasized that the effect of reinforcement was on the future in the form of what he called expectations. Here is the classic example: The Russians trained dogs during WWII to disable German tanks. They strapped a magnetic mine to the dog's back and reinforced the dog for getting close enough to the tank to explode the mine. Of course, the dog had to be replaced. Now one can conclude each of two things: 1. the dog ran out to the tank, because, in the past, he was reinforced (given a goodie) for doing so; and 2. the dog expected, given past experience, to be fed--not to be blown up. The same is true for the advent of punishing experiences. After the wonderful Mexican meal at Frieda's on Sunday, I had no appetite for food Sunday night and I had no appetite for food this morning because my bod knows (expects!) clearly what is coming this week. (Some of you under better control than me will be saying: the damn fool shouldn't have had any appetite on Sunday night after cheese enchiladas and several thousand calories (flan!) at lunch that day. To those I say: bugger off, a well known Boxing Day expression.) On an ordinary day, I would have had that appetite. In fact I noticed a slow down in appetite a few days earlier but ignored it in the holiday spirit. Speaking of which, spirits, that is, I have had none since I started chemo, probably the longest without since I was young (don't go there). My wife and my daughter are sucking up all the great gift wines we have received lately, and I am aggrieved. I would not even have noticed the onset of early satiety had I been drinking. Probably something to be learned there. But I am looking forward to a taste of wine (and even bourbon) down the road a piece.
So stay tuned here and we'll parse our way through Round 5.
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