It was in December of 2008, six short years ago, that I first began infusion treatments in my madcap battle against multiple myeloma.

Diagnosed at Thanksgiving, I spent Christmas and the better part of the next nine months in Arkansas, several hours away from my home, wife, and young children.

In the spirit of the holidays, and with my sincere – for the most part – apologies to Clement Clarke Moore, author of ‘The Night Before Christ­mas,’ I offer the following silliness:

‘Twas The First Day Of Chemo

‘Twas my first day of chemo
And I and my spouse
Were waiting for drugs
Supposedly used on a mouse

My m-spike was high
But with quality care
We had hopes that remission
Soon would be there

I comfortably nestled
On an overstuffed recliner
Putting on a brave face
I shushed my inner-whiner

While my wife played Sudoku
I was in deep thought
Contemplating what could come next
In this mysterious medical plot

When out on the clinic floor
There arose such a clatter
I peeked ‘cross the room
To see what the heck was the matter

It was then that I witnessed
The most curious effects
Of a group full of people
Hyped up on dex

Their voices were LOUD
Their manners aggressive
They were dexterously corralled
By a staff most impressive

When the ruckus finally settled
My head turned around
As a striking young nurse
Marched in with a bound

She was dressed all in red
From her head to her shoes
Her comrades-in-arms
Modeled pinks, greens, and blues

On the cart which she pushed
I spied needles and vials
Conjuring visions of woozy Seans
Fainting in aisles

Her eyes how they twinkled
But in mine she saw worry
‘Now don’t be afraid’
‘I got your back, Mr. Murray’

She went on to describe
Just how long she had nursed
As an oncology professional
She was myelomically well-versed

Then what to my wondering
Peepers should appear
A miniature list of eight drugs
Their pronunciations unclear

It was held by a man
A name sewn on his smock
I knew in an instant
That he must be the Doc

His tongue-twisting words
From practiced lips came
He spittled and sputtered
And called them by name:

‘Now melphalan, now Velcade,
now dex and thalidomide
On cisplatin, on doxorubicin,
Cytoxan and etoposide’

He cursed my myeloma
Saying it stubbornly resides
And promised that therapy
Will totally attack where it hides

‘So push on blood sailors
Fight hard soldiering pills
Let’s vanquish this beast
We shall ease this man’s ills’

After hearing his passion
I would confidently wager
That along with Medicine
He had a Theatre double-major

And then in a twinkling
With a less dramatic flair
He looked at my head saying
'Don’t get attached to your hair'

'Lament not your lost locks
Don’t look so appalled
A kerchief or a winter’s cap
Is my prescription for bald'

'I know that your bones break
That your energy is low
The MRIs show lesions
Your PET scan’s aglow'

'We’ve looked at your blood work
And biopsied your hip
There’s no time like the present
To begin your first drip'

With a nod to the nurse
And a wink of his eye
My treatment commenced
He waved his goodbye

I heard him exclaim
As he dashed out of sight
'Happy Holidays to all
Keep up the Good Fight!'

Well, maybe it didn’t happen exactly that way, but my nurses are like angels on Earth and my doctors are passionate and bigger-than-life and, boy, can they rattle off a fancy list of drugs and diseases like nobody’s business.

But one of the most endearing qualities that they share with me is that they hate multiple myeloma.

Wherever you are in your myeloma journey, I pray that you are with loved ones and that you have found a medical team committed to leaving no stone unturned in the pursuit of making you well.

Warm wishes to all of you out in Myelomaville for Peace, and Happy Holidays, and for a Healthy year ahead!