The Ypsilanti Era

It's been an exciting June! Galarraga, Griffey, Strasburg, R.A. Dickey... I can go on and on. After last week, it might be time to add Mazzola to the list.

I already detailed my ascencion into the 600 club in February. We all knew I'd pass that druggie freak Sammy Sosa, which I did on my Mom's birthday in April with a well-placed jab to my right thigh. When Ken Griffey Jr. retired earlier this month, I thought I was a lock for the coveted #5 slot. I wish I could say A-Rod was right on my tail, but I'm a lot more concerned with his groin at the moment.
Anyway, looks like I'm joining Junior in retirement. I performed what appears to be my last A****x injection two weeks ago, freezing my career stats at 622. Not that my legs could take much more abuse-- I'm walking around on a couple of voodoo dolls at this point.

You know what they say... when one recombinant humanized glycoprotein door closes, another recombinant humanized monoclonal antibody door opens. I began the Ypsilanti treatment eleven days ago, and boy are my leukocytes tired! I was infused with a steroid/Ypsilanti cocktail at around 6pm, and was out the door by 8. Save some minor itchiness and the metallic taste of pocket change in my mouth, I felt OK.

The first wave of side effects kicked in about two hours after I got home: moderate-to-intense itching on my legs, nausea, dizziness, headache, and some chills. In fact, the only list items I seemed to be missing were depression and vaginitis. I figured these two would come together or not at all.

Not much else to tell so far... I'm still alive and regenerating cell tissue in my thighs by the minute. I might even be able to wear a swimsuit this July! Joy, joy!!!