Monday, July 22, 2013

Zero Growth - It's Not Just for Economies Anymore!

I hate Scan Results Day.
So does Marcie. 
It's nerve-racking. 

We've had good SRD's and bad SRD's. Today was a good one! Dr Z says the scans confirmed what he thought all along these last several weeks - that my lungs were better. In this case, better means free of fluid, and with no new lesions and no growth of the ones that have been there. In oncology terms, that's a win. 

In fact, Dr Z says "we've definitely changed the natural course of the disease in your body." That sounded very profound, so I thought I'd repeat it here for you and let you ponder what the hell he meant by that, just as I did. 

The plan is to do two more rounds of the current regimen, scan again, then, assuming all's still well, drop the 1/3 of the cocktail that gives me the worst side effects. That's the light at the end of the tunnel I needed in order to get through more of these treatments. 

The other good news is that he feels I'm now healthy enough to apply for the drug trials I've talked about before. For some crazy reason, the drug companies would rather test on the current me than the me from early June who just had 3 liters of malignant fluid drained from his pleural space. So we'll see what we can come up with at Hopkins, Memorial Sloan Kettering, Dana Farber, or MD Anderson. Let's hope somebody out there will pick me! 

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I received some sad news over the weekend. One of my mother's first friends when she moved to Atlanta in the early 1960's was named Sarah. Her older daughter, Marlene, was diagnosed with breast cancer in her 20's. She has been battling ever since - for over 25 years! She passed away on Saturday. I didn't know her at all, but was friendly with her younger sister in high school. I always held Marlene as an example of why the statistics don't dictate the results. I'm sure that circa 1990 life expectancy for a 20-something with breast cancer was measured in months, not decades. But for Marlene, those numbers were meaningless. 

I'm doing everything I can to make sure the stats they quoted to me back when all this started are just as irrelevant. 

May her memory serve as a blessing. 

Sunday, July 7, 2013

Walk a Mile in My Shoes

When you're facing some particular adversity which you can't quite explain, the trite phrase "walk a mile in my shoes" is an invitation to others to experience what you are up against first hand. It's a phrase that's been on my mind lately. 

Why? 

Because Dr. Z feels the chemo I'm now on is working well. Because I'm no longer using the oxygen tanks that stand in the corner of my bedroom, looking like tiny ICBM's from a Cold War long since ended. Because I haven't taken a pain pill in weeks, thanks in large part to Bobby, physical therapist to stars like James Hatfield and me. Because today I literally walked a mile in my own shoes, including a couple of one minute jogs in the middle of that 20 minute walk. I had not done that in a very long time.

So all of that is good, why the invitation? 

Because despite all those positives, I haven't been myself lately. For a good two or three weeks, I was in a funk, and not just on the days right after chemo. I can logically say to myself, "look at all these good things in your life," but my brain responded, "meh." Given the option, I'd rather be doing relatively well physically and struggling emotionally, but the real goal is to make this an "and" not an "or."

So I started talking to people who can help, listening to feedback from Marcie, exercising a little, and generally trying to get right. I'm better today than I was a few days ago, and hoping to be better still before episode 3 of Zaltrap and Friends this Wednesday. It helps to hear from friends near and far. There's a core group I know will call or text on a fairly predictable schedule. Trust me, folks, those check-ins mean a lot. Some of you reading this don't know me personally, but take that advice when it comes to dealing with people you do know facing cancer or some other situation that may take months or years to resolve. Let them know you care how they are doing. That does more good than a whole bottle of narcotics. Well, you knew what I meant. 

I hope you never do walk a mile in my shoes. First of all they're probably bigger than yours and they smell funky. But I'd welcome anyone to walk alongside me, even if you can't quite keep up with the middle-aged guy with cancer.