There’s only one photo here that needs an explanation.

The last photo. It shows Kali in one of her favorite places, the top of our car while parked in our garage. It’s Kali’s little quirk.

When she is in the house, Kali often lurks at the door that opens into the garage. For some reason, she just loves to go out there and spend time. She does an obligatory pass or two around the interior perimeter of the garage, and then lounges on the top of the car. The windshield is usually full of cat footprints. At certain times of day, sun comes in and she gets toasty warm. Other times, not so much. But she loves it nonetheless! She wants to come in at mealtimes, but otherwise I have to entice her back inside. Sometimes I have to turn to direct action and just pick her up and carry her back in.

She has been stuck out there for 5 or 6 hours on at least a couple of occasions, but it doesn’t seem to be a deterrent.

Kinikini started this garage routine. He was actually more insistent on getting out that Kali is now. But then I forgot he was in the garage a few times and he was trapped there for what was apparently an uncomfortable period. Now he rushes to the door, peeks out, but backs away and stays in the house. Kali, meanwhile, has assumed the mantle of escapee-in-chief.

Go figure!

“Welcome to Air Infusion Flight #2. Our scheduled departure today is 8:30 a.m. from the Queen’s Cancer Clinic in room 412 of the Kuakina Medical Plaza. If you’ll just take your seat, there’s no need to fasten your seat belt. Just make yourself comfortable. We should reach our destination in only 4-1/2 hours, an hour less than on your first trip because there’s no stop today for immunotherapy.”

My first session of chemotherapy and immunotherapy on June 29 was estimated to last 5-1/2 hours. That sounded like a very long time to sit in a chair finding ways to pass the time until I realized it was about the same length of time it takes to fly from Honolulu to San Francisco. That’s a flight Meda and I took a number of times since the beginning of March while commuting to the University of California San Francisco Cancer Center for diagnosis and initial treatment. There’s a rhythm to a flight like that and, if you can get your mind into it, the time passes quickly.

Framing of my second chemotherapy session this morning as just another flight from here to there avoids having to dwell on that pesky cancer that necessitates this excursion.

I’m carrying a small travel bag with me this morning. It contains a fully-charged iPad with keyboard case, a Kindle e-reader, iPhone, battery and cable in case a device needs recharging, a couple of snacks, a medium-weight sweatshirt and a pair of nice fuzzy socks for warmth, and a travel pillow in case I want to lean back and nap. I’m also carrying my health insurance cards and driver’s license, although I probably won’t need them this morning.

I’m wearing a mask as I make my way to the treatment area, although I’ll probably take it off after that. I’m dressed for the occasion. Long khaki pants, slippers (so that it’s easy to put on those fuzzy socks), and a button-down aloha shirt so that it’s easy for Nurse Patti to reach the IV port implanted high on the right side of my chest. Although the description of its insertion was daunting, it’s a little gizmo that makes the repeated IV treatments tolerable for those who, like myself, have veins that shy away from approaching needles.

The IV feed started at 8:30, and I should be out of here shortly before 1 p.m.

I’m writing this from a hospital bed at Queens. Here’s the tale.

On Tuesday the first day following my initial chemotherapy session, I felt fine. Although the tiredness, I didn’t feel any side effects.

That ended Wednesday when I hit a wall and the floor.

The day started fine. I was up a little before six, ate a banana, drank a glass of Gatorade, then decided to go back to bed. Put an hour later I was hit with chills that lasted a full hour. My temperature taking shortly afterwards was up around 102.

Both those things are red flags, but they got worse. I got up to go to the bathroom, found myself, dizzier than I thought, and fell to the bathroom floor. I wasn’t hurt, just surprised and embarrassed I guess. What’s worse than found? I couldn’t get up off the floor. Meda tried to help me and even working together, I remain on the floor. I’ve tried various things to get up and none worked.

I finally called by oncology team at Queens and was advised to call 911 and go to the Queens ER. The problem is that while these symptoms could have been expected side effects, they could also represent a dangerous infection.

So I spent the afternoon in the Queen’s ER, was admitted to the hospital in the early evening, and will probably be here at least one more night.

It turns out not to be a very auspicious beginning to my chemotherapy regimen.

I have a CT scan yesterday and an MRI very early this morning. There is concern that a stent inserted during my surgery in May has wandered and maybe causing a problem. The MRI is supposed to give enough information for the gastroenterology team to make a determination of what to do next, if anything.

I’m writing this using Siri on my phone so I’ll keep it brief.

I’ve been receiving IV fluids and antibiotics since arriving at the ER.

Las Vegas, February 1987.

Given the date, I believe we were in Las Vegas for the annual meetings of the Western Society of Criminology. Vegas was a favorite spot of conference organizers at that time because hotel rooms and meals were inexpensive, as the prime rib meal advertised on the billboard for $3.99 shows.

That was about the time Meda started collaborating with Professor Randy Shelden at the University of Nevada Las Vegas. A few years later, they co-authored a book that has become known as a “foundational text” in the scholarly literature around juvenile justice (Girls, delinquency, and juvenile justice). It won the American Society of Criminology’s Michael J. Hindelang Award in 1992, only the second year the award was given, for its contribution to the field of criminology. It was just one of the publications that emerged from their collaboration over a period of years.

Randy retired just last year. He passed away on June 19th after suffering a stroke. Randy had a long teaching career at UNLV and was a prolific author of many books and scholarly articles.