“Today is the first day of the rest of your life!”

“No kidding," I mutter under my breath every time I see that saying on a card or in an advertisement. It is such an obviously true statement, why does it have to be said? What makes it so profound?

For some reason, that saying came repeatedly to mind on Wednesday, October 30, 2013, as I took my first dose of dexamethasone ^[1] (Decadron) at 6 a.m. and my first dose of Revlimid ^[2] (lenalidomide) 12 hours later. And while I think the saying would be more accurate for those of us battling multiple myeloma if it said, "Today is the first day of the rest of your NEW life," the saying took on a relevancy for me that had previously not existed.

Everything has changed now that I have started treatment. For the first time since my diagnosis in April 2012, I feel like a cancer patient.

For 16 months, I was an exception to the rules of myeloma treatment (if such a thing exists), as my doctor and I agreed to watch and wait, even though the disease was steadily progressing. I actually felt guilty sitting in the waiting room at my three-month check-ups because I couldn't help but notice that most of the other patients there were obviously more impacted by the disease than I was.

The dex has induced insomnia, and the peripheral neuropathy that is settling in and intensifying with each treatment cycle, alternating bouts of constipation and diarrhea, and battles with fatigue that come and go without warning all confirm one thing: I am no longer an exception to the rule.

A new, harsh reality, with experiences shared by thousands of others, will now become the norm: I am no longer part-time. In fact, I am full-time now. I punch the clock every day when I take my Revlimid dose, and I work overtime once a week when I take my dex.

So want does this new reality require of me?

First, I must have a stronger yearning for knowledge about this disease. The stakes are so much higher now. As an educator (36 years, 8 years as a school superintendent), I believe, and I have preached, that “Knowledge is power.” Yet over 16 months, I chose to be guided by the opposite belief of “Ignorance is bliss.”

As I indicated in my first column ^[3], I had little interest in learning more than the rudimentary details of the disease. In hindsight, there were positives and negatives in this approach.

I didn't agonize over every decision that had to be made. There was no "paralysis by analysis" on my part. I paid little attention to all the data that was given to me from the myriad of tests. If my doctor thought that we should watch and wait, that was good enough for me.

Some might argue that this is a far too simplistic approach in dealing with such a complicated disease, and I respect that opinion. A more serious, curious approach on my part from the outset would have certainly provided better, more substantive information for my family and friends. They deserved better than what I provided and had a difficult time understanding the watching and waiting process. It might have also resulted in a different course of action.

Secondly, this new reality will require a much higher level of trust. It has been easy to trust my doctor from the outset. He has not been afraid to say "I don't know" when he doesn't have an answer to a question. I admire that trait in people, especially those who are considered experts in their field.

He has been completely honest in sharing the pros and cons of the course we pursued in watching and waiting for as long as we did. He has answered every email I have sent him, in a timely manner and patiently, regardless of the hour they were sent.

Continuing to trust my doctor will not be difficult.

Putting my newfound desire to become knowledgeable about this disease to the test, I actually read every line of the highlights of the prescribing information that came with the first Revlimid prescription. The information and data is overwhelming. However, I trust that Revlimid is safe if used and monitored correctly.

I hope that I will have the patience to trust that it will have its desired effect, even if things may initially go slow. Patience is not one of my virtues.

As a man of faith, a part of me struggles to say this. However, fate has a say in most things and I must resign myself to those things that can't be explained, good and bad.

How else can I explain why my family doctor decided to send me on to the James Cancer Center when my lesion that had been present for several years had not grown? What caused my oncologist to call me weeks after seeing me and determining there was nothing to worry about, only to recommend a bone marrow biopsy?

Fate treated me well in those two situations but what kind of cruel joke was it playing at the end of June 2012 when, just two weeks after I had completed my last radiation treatment, our family was on vacation attempting to get our life back to normal after that initial round of treatment and we received word that my wife had been diagnosed with melanoma?

Finally, I need to continue to be appreciative of my situation. I am convinced that adopting an appreciative attitude to my doctors, my treatment center, family, friends, and my church has served me well through this journey and has played a big part in my keeping a positive, forward-looking attitude.

The technical game plan for treating this disease has been plotted by the experts: 15 mg of Revlimid daily for 21 days followed by 7 days off, 20 mg of dex once a week, and a Zometa (zoledronic acid) infusion once every five weeks, followed by a stem cell transplant in June.

My journey so far has not been difficult when I compare it to the battles others have been fighting, even with the side effects and loss of quality of life I have experienced so far during the first three cycles of treatment.

I nevertheless suspect there will be tough times ahead. I have no control over the success of the technical game plan. The success of the technical game plan will be measured by the tests that all of us in the multiple myeloma universe are so familiar with.

Knowledge, trust, an acceptance of fate, and an appreciative attitude are all things I have control over. They will be my personal game plan to complement the technical game plan.

While these traits and their impact on my condition and the challenges I will face cannot be measured in a tangible way like the technical game plan can be, I am convinced they will serve me well as I move forward with treatment.

The ultimate goal is to battle whatever lies ahead.