The LA Freeway

The LA freeway is not a single highway but a vast network of multi-lane arteries, flyovers, and interchanges. It's both a marvel of engineering and a curse of living in the Southland. Repeating yesterday's trek, I fought my way this morning up the 405 to the clinic in Santa Monica. Travel time vastly exceeded clinic time. The drive itself was maddening. The whole concept of a freeway is to go fast, but crawling traffic ironically hems in drivers in a hurry (which is everyone). Even the name, free + way, is a bit of a mockery, much like McDonalds "McCafe" expresso drinks, which are laughably touted to be hand-crafted coffeehouse beverages. Slow progress is not really the worst part. It's actually the constant gas/brake/gas/brake mile after tense mile. Caution is needed. Each driver steers a ton or so of metal and glass with low tolerances front and back, side to side. Nobody wants a fender-bender, as much to avoid the headaches of body shop repairs, insurance claims, and rising premiums as bodily injury. Am I just in a bad mood? Not really--the day was good despite the northward leg. With a U2 CD playing loud enough to risk cochlear damage, the return trip was close to sublime.

Santa Monica Boulevard

I'm looking toward the ocean, down Santa Monica Boulevard from the 6th floor suite of Premiere Oncology. The ocean, a mile or two away, is visible though obscured by fog. Next to me, the IV pump has just finished infusing my first dose of Heat Shock Protein Inhibitor (HSP90), the anti-cancer drug now being tested for efficacy, side effects, and proper dosing. I am thankful to be in the clinical trial. For different reasons, rocker Sheryl Crow was pleased, too, when she saw the sun coming up over Santa Monica Boulevard. She just wanted to "have some fun," presumably assisted by a "beer buzz" in the morning. My joy is chemically-assisted in a way, not by alcohol but by the HSP90 inhibitor. It's anticipatory, not immediate. As the drug courses through my vasculature, I can't predict its effects with any certainty, but I'm told the clinic has been getting good results. That is a happy prospect. Meanwhile, there is plenty of work to do before the next scan. And like Sheryl Crow, I am not opposed to having some fun, too. Not opposed in the least.

When the Day Arrives

Days we anticipate from afar seem like they're never going to arrive. Whether it's a wedding day, a graduation, or a retirement, long-awaited events feel like fantasies. It's a little like that today. Today is exam day for certified lactation consultants. Stephanie is reviewing her notes at the dining room table and will leave for the Irvine Hilton in half an hour with sharpened pencils, back-up ID, and lunch money. I'm trying to be quiet as I sit on the floor typing and sipping coffee. The exam is offered only once a year all over the world: Stephanie says they "lock the doors" at 9 am. This is serious! It's important, obviously, but it also has the quality of unreality. I suppose it's a credit to the human imagination that we latch on to events even though they feel like make-believe. It's what happens when we sign up for a half-marathon or book travel for a special vacation. We organize our efforts so that when the day finally arrives we are ready, but also a little surprised that the day has indeed come. Those special days become mileposts for our lives, but in anticipation they seem more like mirages.

Believing the Impossible

Karl Clauson, a visiting speaker at our church, raced the 1000 mile Iditarod when he was only a teenager in the 1970s. Just before race start in Anchorage, when the dog teams were frenzied with excitement, Karl's father pulled him aside for some parting words. The father said that he had purchased his airline ticket to Nome, the race terminus, and would meet Karl at the finish line in 15 days. Karl took the statement more as a plan than an affirmation of confidence. Not until two years after the race, which he completed, did he realize that there was a significant chance he might not have finished. Karl then tied into a familiar verse from Genesis, "Abraham believe God, and it was credited to him as righteousness." What Abraham believed was God's promise that he would be "Father of a Multitude," which is what "Abraham" means. This is extraordinary enough, but it becomes rationally incredible when compared against the facts of Abraham's and Sarah's advanced age. Abraham believed anyway. His belief was not only in God's truthfulness and power, but in what God would do for him, personally—namely, the fulfillment of dreams that go way beyond what is conceivable. The impossible was, for Abraham and Sarah, impossibly good.

Is a Clean Car Progress?

It's probably a good thing that mundane chores, which are so obviously mere maintenance, can produce what feels like real progress. In this universe, the second law of thermodynamics applies. Entropy happens, which means that whatever was clean and functional will inevitably sully and break down. My car is really dirty now—embarrassingly so. For some funny reason, the application of soap suds, rinse water, and a chamois cloth can, through their effects, make me happy. Granted, it's all Sisyphean. Sisyphus is the guy who rolled the big rock up the hill only to watch it roll back down again. His efforts are the emblem of futility. It's like making your bed, which some people say is pointless because you'll just wreck it again in a few hours. Logical, maybe, but everyone who has had the pleasure of climbing into a made bed (especially with clean sheets) knows that the excuse doesn't work. Maybe Sisyphus himself took pride in getting the rock to the hilltop even though the accomplishment would soon be nullified. That's why on this sunny California Saturday, I will fill the wash bucket with warm soapy water in anticipation of driving a clean car again. The pleasure, however temporary, is real.

Right On The Century

Today is my 100th post. This morning also marked the attainment of a major goal for the year: To bring my weight down to 160, a drop of close to 20 pounds. It took a while. Reaching 160, my high school weight, was not accomplished in the first couple of tries. It took longer than I want to admit. But this time a determined push, combined with daily runs that have now totaled 100 straight days, brought success. I'm celebrating with a carbohydrate-packed scone! It's amazing to me that I reached this point exactly on the century mark, the hundredth posting of Century Hypothesis. Honestly, I did not realize that today is day 100 until I logged on. So, prima facie, we have confirmation of the hypothesis: That 100 instances of commitment to a difficult goal, while never making us expert or world class, can bring significant success. The hypothesis implies that getting good (though not great) is easier than we think (though not easy). That's the formula: 100 instances, 100 assertions of commitment. That's not asking too much, and the possible rewards are worth every installment of effort.

Less Sick

It's amazing to feel the resurgence of health after a miserable dip of illness. This time it was just a cold--or I should say is a cold, because it's there still. But yesterday was worse than today, which is good. The body somehow knows its enemy and fights back with antibodies, neutrophils, and macrophages--or whatever the multi-taxonomic legions of fighter cells and molecules are called. It's all crazily cool, and I am thankful. Being sick makes the body ache, rasp, gag, and swoon; almost inevitably, emotions tank, too. Plus sometimes you get an irrational sense that the state of illness is permanent. But after you hit bottom and the upswing begins, life is pretty chill again. The pleasures of music, food, and company seem richer than you remember them. In college, I studied biology and so I know about codons, transcription, and protein folding, but when it comes to the body's ability to confront bacteria, viruses, and whatnot—and to fight back smartly—the chain of micro-events seems mostly mysterious and not a little miraculous. Yes, miraculous. Some might chafe, but I think the descriptor is not at all misplaced.