Happy New Year!

As the hustle and bustle of the holiday season fades away in the rear-view mirror, I find myself entering the third year of my journey living with a diagnosis of multiple myeloma.

And as with many things in life, I have learned as much about what NOT to do, as what to do. Sometimes the lessons haven’t been easy.

Therefore, in 2011, I hereby resolve:

1. To stop referring to my pain medication as ‘Oxy-cotton-candy’. My pharmacist knows that I use the drug to control bone pain, but I swear that she often times mutters something under her breath about ‘my license’ and ‘jeopardy,’ or some such thing.

2. To never again show off by spouting tongue-twisters like ‘immunoglobulins’ within earshot of people not savvy to myeloma. Any six syllable word with ‘glob’ in the middle seems to be a surefire turn-off to the uninitiated.

3. To teach my wise-beyond-their-years daughters that second opinions aren’t necessarily the best course in all situations. ‘Go to bed!’ ‘I want a second opinion, Daddy!’ Sheesh…

4. To not be drawn into the intoxicating world of waiting room, myeloma war stories. You can’t win these one-upsmanship duels. There is always that one tough guy in the crowd who throws out ‘Oh, yeah? I’ve had fifty bone biopsies, and I enjoyed every stinking one of ‘em!’

5. To not have any misguided anger toward the UPS courier that delivers my monthly package of 21 Revlimid pills that cost $7,400. Or conversely, to not bear-hug the UPS courier for delivering the 21 Revlimid pills that are keeping me above the grass. I vow to leave the UPS drivers alone.

6. To not say, even in jest, that my treatment must be just about finished because my insurance coverage is, also, just about finished. The walls have ears.

7. To stop blaming all of my personal foibles on dexamethasone, although it is the truth.

8. To stop joking around during my weekly maintenance chemotherapy infusion sessions that leave both the Oncology nurses and me exhausted and wondering, thirty minutes later, if we’d remembered to administer the six second push of 2 mg of Velcade. I also realize that it is not appropriate for me to shout out, “The next round’s on me!”

9. To stop trying to convince my wife that during the maintenance phase of treatment that pepperoni pizza has significant anti-myeloma properties and that nachos are necessary for the efficient distribution of Zometa. She is on to me. So are the thirty-five pounds I lost during my first year of treatment.

10. To be more careful when telling others that I have myeloma’s C.R.A.B. symptoms. I shouldn’t have been so surprised when my first grade daughter told her teacher, “My dad is doing better even though he still has ‘CRABs simpletons.’” Embarrassing on many levels.

11. To stop wasting valuable time lobbying for warfarin to be given a kinder, gentler name: peace-farin.

12. To no longer insist that my daughters dress up like leukocytes and neutrophils for Halloween.

13. To more quickly recognize that glazed-over, let’s-get-outta-here look on my friends’ faces as I describe the differences between heavy chains and light chains or the process of placing a central port into a jugular vein.

And so on.

All silliness aside, I do resolve to adopt my good friend Dru Stowe’s simple, but wise approach to life: ‘No matter what, I decided a long time ago that today was going to be a great day!’

Even though times can be tough, sneak in a laugh or two when you feel like it. I am pulling for you. I wish a blessed, healthy, wonderful 2011 for each of you. And let’s keep connected out there in Myelomaville!