There goes Road Runner.   That’s what I’d hear the nurses say as I headed out for my daily walks.   There were other euphemisms as well, but Road Runner was the friendliest.   I soon learned that thirteen times around the nurse’s station was a mile.   During my 6-day hospital stay for each round of my chemotherapy, I would walk 6 miles a day, a mile before and after each meal.   On one of my walks, Dr. Barbara Horn, an Oncologist at Barnes-Jewish Hospital, and wife of my Oncologist, Dr. Peter Weiss asked me to please do fourteen times around the nurse’s station.   She apparently didn’t like the number thirteen, and felt I should do "one" for good luck.   So there I was, IV pole in hand, sneakers on, keeping my mental frame of mind in check.   In order for me not get bored, and so that I wouldn’t lose my count, I devised games involving the names of the patients which were posted on their rooms, and linked their names to various songs.   Each room was assigned a song and thus I could sing/hum to myself all the way around the nurse’s station.   By the time I was singing "I shot the Sheriff" as I passed by Marshall’s room, I was ready for my victory lap.  This lap was almost always dedicated to The Village People as I sang "Macho Man" changing the last lyric to "I’m going to be a survivor"

It’s been almost 2 years since my diagnosis of Angiosarcoma.   Without warning, I was tossed into a new chapter of my life, not unlike Dorothy, ripped from Kansas and landing in Oz still in her own bed.   I presented at 1:27 am on the morning of November 8, 2005 to Barnes-Jewish Emergency Room with an Acute Cardiac Tampanade.   By the time noon arrived, the news had gradually and continually gotten grimmer.   They had seen some lesions on my liver the night before. When the results of the biopsy came back, the expressions of the staff said it all.   Even with the worst of the worst, I couldn’t believe that I was allowed to survive that first night only to meet my demise a week, a month or three months later.   When my breathing tube was removed, I received a visit from the cardiologist who attended in the emergency room with about 16 of his students.   After the normal round of questions, he asked me how I was doing.   I told him that none of this made any sense.   Since there is no history of cancer in my family, I thought I was safe.   I believed I was from one of the lucky families.   I told him that my parents were close to eighty.   My grandparents lived into their nineties.   My great-grandparents lived into their nineties, and my great-great-grandmother died at age 96 after outliving six husbands.   I was only 47 years old; I was only half way there.   I told the cardiologist that he needed to "fix this".

I looked at this cancer as my "Martha Stewart" sentence.   I wanted to find out what my sentence was, serve my time and get on with my life.   I had too many things yet to do, and as it was, I didn’t have enough time in my calculated 88 to 96 year life span to achieve it all.   I had just begun painting again, a venture that I had given up at age 15.   I had too many paintings in me now to stop.   In fact, when I wasn’t walking the halls of Barnes-Jewish Hospitals Siteman Center, I was in my hospital room painting another landscape.

I now consider myself a survivor.   I still have my ports and I am still undergoing chemotherapy every Wednesday.   A PET scan in January revealed that my tumors are now all scar tissue, and there are no active lesions in my body.   We decided that we would continue chemo for an additional 6 months since this cancer is so aggressive and so very lethal.   My last treatment is scheduled for tomorrow, August 1.   I have been working out in the gym for 27 years.   If it were not for my good health going into this, I never would have survived my first night in the hospital.   My heart stayed strong as did my spirit.   I still go to the gym daily.   It is what has kept me strong enough to endure the poison my body gets on a weekly basis. I am no Lance Armstrong, but I am a survivor.

We will begin celebrating a new chapter on Wednesday August 1, my Prince Spaghetti Day.   I am not very knowledgeable about numerology, but someone once told me that the number "nine" was a very important number for me.   This is probably because I was born on the 27th of the month.   Two plus seven, was adding up to nine.   Ever since I moved to Missouri, my addresses have added up to nine.   First I lived at 1215 Mackay Place.   1 + 2 + 1 + 5.   Then I moved to 63 Kingsbury Place, 6 + 3.   Knowing this, Charlie was a bit disappointed when we moved to The Edison, and our apartment was 1015 until I pointed out that our "address" was 400 S. 14th Street.   4 + 1 + 4.   If you look at it that way, and play around with the numbers, I began this crisis at 1:27am Nov 8, 2005.   Looking at it strictly from the numbers, 1 + 2 + 7 + 11 + 8 + 2 + 5 = 36 and 3 + 6 = 9.   I will end my chemo on 1 Aug, 2007.   1 + 8 + 2 + 7 = 18 and 1 + 8 = 9.   My appointments for chemo have always been at 9:00am and it will be interesting to see exactly what time the chemo will end.   Normally it’s somewhere between 10:30 and 11:00am.   Again, it will be interesting to see if I end at say, 10:35 am or, 10:44 am or even 10:53 am.   Whenever it ends, it will still be my lucky day.

Our next step is a series of MRI’s and an echocardiogram scheduled for 6 September.   Of course these tests will confirm that the cancer is in remission and we will then devise a plan accordingly.   We will continue to stay on top of things, and keep you abreast of new developments.   I have been taking herbs recommended by an M.D. at Memorial Sloan Kettering who specializes in Alternative Medicine.   He recommended these herbs which have some proven anti-cancer effects and are compatible with my chemo regimen. I have also experimented with acupuncture which has actually decreased the already minimal side-effects I had previously incurred.   I will continue the herbs and the acupuncture indefinitely.   I will also be updating my website very soon, as I’ve painted at least a dozen paintings which to date have not been included. I will be attending another painting workshop by Mikel Wintermantel at the Copley Society in Boston Aug 10 – 12.   On the 18th of August Charlie and I will be flying to London and then on the 20th we will be cruising around the British Isles to celebrate yet another birthday.   I will actually be in Belfast Ireland for my 49th birthday and celebrating it in style with 35 members of Club Pegase, the wine club of Clos Pegase Winery.

Charlie and I are regrouping and getting life back in order.   As you know, music, art, wine and traveling are very important to both of us.   We are happy to be back in control of our lives, as life permits, but do not regret anything we have gone through.   We are thankful for each new day and for each new inspiration artistically and musically.   We are thankful for our family and friends who have shared laughter and tears with us and we are grateful to have each other.   In many ways over the course of the past 21 months, I have invited you to share in this experience though my many letters.   As most of you knew, I felt I would survive this, since the beginning, but nobody could have predicted the outcome.   I began writing my letters to make sure that the correct information was being disseminated.   I began writing my letters to try to say good-bye to all of you.   I felt this was indeed a special and rare opportunity, not too many are fortunate enough to have.   Instead, a new door has now opened up, and I’m here to say hello.

So to everyone out there, I send you a big hug and a big hello.

Much Love

Randy