About 70% of my hair fell out in just a few days during the second week. It was like watching a time-lapse film of what happens to most men over 30 years. Now all that is left is the grey, and it seems to be more resistant to going. Frankly, I’m thinking about going ahead and shaving it if something doesn’t happen soon, because it’s just this wisp of a covering. Also after probably 13 years of having a beard I finally had to shave that, because it was drying out (and also falling out) and it actually hurt whenever I touched my face or, say, lay on a pillow. Days later it still freaks me out to feel that smooth skin on my chin. My doctor says that eventually even my eyelashes and eyebrows will go, but Edna has promised to crochet me some brows when they do. Also during this time I’ve had a fair amount of company. My brother John took several days and came over from London to hang out. Much of what we did was sit around and talk, but that was very nice. And then my son came out for the weekend from college in Indiana, and we had a lot of fun together. It was great seeing them both. For all of you local folk, I encourage you to give me a call and stop by sometime. Chances are I might be awake from my nap. My other brother, Frank, had a business trip in DC on my birthday and came up for dinner afterward, which was fun. These visits also spurred me to set up and gradually refine the “basement studio” that I’ve created, which has a lot of potential to yield fun photos of future visitors. Watch for those photos in a gallery coming soon! No, really. Soon. Chemotherapy itself was a little easier and quicker this time (by about an hour) and again that’s partly because I knew what was coming. Each time that I’ve gone in I’ve met up with Chris from Baltimore and her dad Ray, who is nice enough to come with her and stay while she gets her treatment. They also stop at a local bakery each time and bring in goodies for everybody, so I have to figure out a way to make my schedule coincide with theirs. Nothing like a fresh cheese danish while you’re watching Rituxan® drip through the line into your arm. But the other patients who are there are also nice, and each time we’ve all gotten into conversation at some point. Frankly, the brightest part of the chemotherapy sessions is Anna and Jacqueline, the two oncology nurses that I’ve dealt with so far. They are amazingly caring and considerate and friendly and patient and did a lot to ease my fears about going through this. Ray said it best in my last session when he told Anna, “what I would hope for you is that if you ever get sick you have someone as nice as you taking care of you.” That's true for both of them. There are little stuffed angels hanging on each rack with the chemo drugs when they’re being given to you, but the real angels are the ones checking the drip-rate and taking temperatures. So, what is my day-to-day routine like? Frankly, I don’t have one. Every day is different, and my level of energy varies even from hour to hour sometimes. One moment I’ll feel like I could paint the house, the next I’ll feel like if I don’t lay down I’ll collapse. But a few things do overlap each day. For instance, I take a lot of pills. Some days I have to take as many as 15, not counting stuff like Tylenol. Other days it is as few as 5 or 6. Edna made a little chart that hangs on the cabinet door in the bathroom so I remember what to take when. She’s good at stuff like that. Even with that it helps me to inform her when I’ve taken something, especially the ones that I have to take a couple times a day. I try to get a little work done each day, and I do have stuff to do even though I’m not shooting any new assignments or events. One thing I’m trying to do is to keep up with everyone who is calling and emailing me, and I’m hearing from old friends and colleagues that I haven’t talked with in years. So if you’re one of those people that I haven’t gotten back to, I probably will when I get up from my next nap.