Tag Archives: chemotherapy

Scott’s good cancer news

Valentine’s was an especially nice day for my old blog buddy and Web master Scott Chaffin of San Antonio:

“The docs say that the chemo has achieved it’s goal and stabilized the tumor, so it’s shrunk “a considerable amount” and isn’t growing any more. There’s been no spread of cancer (or metastasis) to other parts of my beat-to-hell body.

“And a rib, what was broken about a year ago, and was a spot of concern — the lesion there has shrunk, which could be normal healing or the chemo killing cancer…don’t know, can’t know really. So, I am getting a 90 day stay from more treatment, [while] hopefully, I can start regaining strength and some capacity for doing something besides sitting on my tukus.”

Meanwhile, he’s looking forward to seeing whether the Rangers’ new $107.7 million Japanese pitcher, Yu Darvish, will be able to help get them back in the World Series—where third time just may be the charm for the boys from Arlington. Unless Darvish sucks, as most transitioning Japanese players have.


Mrs. Charm’s good friend is set to begin a round of chemotherapy and radiation next week in her struggle with an unexpected cancer. I suppose cancer is always unexpected. So, too, was the cost of the chemo, alone, the poison that goes along with the burning radiation, to try to kill the tumors without killing the hosts, though it generally debilitates them awfully. So why are these people smiling?

Maybe because they’re getting paid. Six thousand dollars for the first round of chemo, at about a hundred dollars a pill. Luckily Mrs. C.’s friend can afford whatever her insurance doesn’t pay. I suppose this is a good argument for socialized medicine, though I doubt there’ll be as many choices once Barry and his cronies take us in that direction. But with cancer there’s not much choice, anyhow. You try to live a while longer, and some do succeed. Or you accept your dying sooner instead of later and at least depart in as near the condition of your old self as possible. For whatever that might be worth. I suppose it wouldn’t frighten your children as much as the husk you become from the treatments.