Jimmy, Judy & Mark visit Manassas

What a lovely Fathers' Day present! After several months of planning and anticipation, Jillian and I traveled east this week to visit Billy & Liz over the holiday weekend. Vickie, just one week into her school year, joined us so that we could all stand with Jimmy Buffett and sing to our heart's desire. We are the "grass people" our parents warned us about.

We discovered many things. Humidity makes 83 degrees much hotter than we'd imagined. People who attend Buffett concerts away from Portland have a special advantage, they can tailgate and begin their cocktail hours several hours before the concert itself. In this case, we'd targeted our arrival at 2:30 for an 8:00 concert, in hopes that we'd get special parking in the VIP lot. Not only did people arrive at noon for that parking lot, it was badly oversold by the time we arrived. Pirates, adorable women in grass skirts, pick-up trucks converted to hot tubs demonstrated that Portland has a long ways to travel to move into the big leagues of Buffett concerts.

We had nearly five hours to establish our good time, and succeeded quite nicely. It was a cute demonstration of subliminal instruction...the girls have clearly learned, through subliminal instruction as Dad drove around in his car, most of the words to most of the Buffett catalogue. Twenty thousand smiling fans of all ages showed off their pirate attire and sang along with Jimmy.

More important than the lyrics, or the crowd, was the delightful time with three of the most important women in my life. Having Billy do all the driving and manage our times, directions and tickets was a bonus. He seemed to enjoy himself, as well, though I'm not convinced his parents put him through the subliminal training that the Chambers Children endured. He's a great addition to the "Chambers Children" even though he doesn't see it quite that way!

As this cancer journey progresses, with reasonable prognosis at present, I realize that every moment is precious, and that every smile is a bonus. I've put so much stress into the lives of so many people that getting the chance to see them smile in that One Particular Harbour we enjoy together gives me pride, great joy, and energy to continue forward.

Keep smiling with us, and enjoy your Labor Day weekend!

Nice and Relaxing

I was able to chat with Dr. Chang last Thursday, visit with friends and family, and get the latest news posted. Believe it or not, some work actually got done, as well. Then it was off to Central Oregon for the annual Moral Compass golf outing. A good time was had by all, and aside from a wayward driver in my hands, the scores were really wonderful. Weather could not have been more perfect. I suppose relaxing after the test results was the real reason to go, but that wouldn't be honest. The real reason was to talk politics with Jon Egge and find new ways to serve the challenged community with Ken Fosheim. Golf was extra, relaxation takes a back seat to political discourse.

Whether I was admiring the lovely Crooked River Gorge, or smiling at the Three Sisters in the distance, it was easy to think a week ahead when we'll be in completely different scenery...the urban sprawl of Baltimore. Life is treating me pretty nicely these days. We're off, tomorrow, for five days with the newlyweds back east. We even have to fly Vickie in from Valpo so that she can serve as the designated driver for the Jimmy Buffett concert. Saturday night, we all turn into Parrotheads...

Vickie says "I'll wear the same goofy t-shirts as everyone else, but do NOT make me wear a shark visor or idiot hat." And Lizzie just thinks she and Billy have been to concerts before. Of course, even those of us with experience have never experienced the East Coast approach to Buffett-mania, so we're in for a treat, too.

Fins UP!!

Medicine is Art, not always Science

Here's the scoop from this morning. The real answer is that I'm "inconclusive." We know that I have recovered from the "rib trauma" very nicely. There are no areas of concern in lymph nodes, the spinal track, my kidneys, lungs or bones. Things could happen anywhere in that list, and I'm clean there. Phew....!

There is a probability of a small lesion on the outside of my liver. We can't tell from this test and have scheduled another early September. Nothing is life-threatening, time is not of the essence. That test will confirm or deny that it is a cancerous area. Right now, the docs simply can't tell. If it proves to be cancerous, the remedy is simpler than chemotherapy. Somehow a probe is inserted and microwaves cook the cancerous area. Once upon a time, this was done cryogenically, meaning they froze it off. Apparently the microwave technology is less damaging to the surrounding healthy cells, and not as taxing on the overall liver.

I'm in a positive mood, though a clean slate would have been nicer. For now, I feel great, we don't know for sure, and we have a relatively simple fix. Had there been more of these "ill-defined" areas, or something that was more visible like last fall, chemotherapy would have been the answer.

My body isn't responding perfectly, but it isn't just giving up, either.

I'll be fine...with everyone's help making such a terrific difference in my mood. I'm a very lucky boy...

Oh, really??

I’ve had a delightful summer. Great golf with good friends. Wine tasting that explores new "terroir." Connecting with people I haven’t seen in awhile. Sharing effort at work with a supportive team and challenging ourselves to make changes. Working hard when I'm working, yet remembering that we don’t have very long summers in Oregon . Getting my voice back. Has anyone else noticed that I'm a bit more contemplative than before, and where has this story been all summer?

I will be honest. It has been an incredibly difficult, emotional season for two reasons. I happened, through random chance, to be driving around one afternoon when Leroy Sievers was interviewed on National Public Radio by one of his best friends, Ted Koppel. “Hey,” said I, “this might help me understand what is going on emotionally.” “How perfect.”

Well, it turns out that Leroy’s diagnosis was initially much like mine. You’re welcome to check his blog at:

http://www.npr.org/blogs/mycancer/

But I can’t take it any more. Between the time I started this post on the weekend and tonight, he's passed away. Gut wrenching. Even though his attitude was great, and people across the country cheered him on. Some of them have similar dire circumstances; others are did their best to support his wife and good friends. They were all doing the right thing, I’m thinking, but I really didn't want to walk down this pathway with him…he had enough people helping him along.

And then, about the time I wised up and decided to stop reading that blog, I turned on the news and heard that Tony Snow had passed away. Not really expert at talking heads on cable news, “From what?” I wondered. So I checked the web….

“Snow had his colon removed and underwent six months of chemotherapy after he was diagnosed with colon cancer in 2005. In 2007 he announced his cancer had recurred and spread to his liver, and he had a malignant growth removed from his abdominal area.”

There go I but for the grace of God, my physicians, and that lovely drug called “erbitux.” I’m sure that Tony took some, for although we didn’t see him with pimples, we saw him lose his hair and fight the malignancies as they spread.

When I get up every morning with a little question mark in my mind, wondering what is going on inside of me, I don’t really need to be reminded of the bad stuff can happen. It is physically painful, and emotionally damaging, to read about others walking the same path as I and being battered about on their personal journeys.

I choose to look into the lions’ den on my own, with a positive, hopeful attitude. I know that each of these guys did the same. Their colleagues were impressed with their courage and bravery, an entire nation watched their travels. I know that their families, their buddies, and their co-workers faced gut-wrenching conversations and decisions, because I’ve watched each of you do the same. So I pray for all of them, and also all of you, because when we get the news over the next couple of days it may be difficult.

But I’ll leap over the edge of the cage, swoop up that little child, and hope for the best. Even if the news is not good. I’ll do my best to be honest with everyone, to share as I have before, and yet also reach out to the people I love the most and let you know that I’ll be ok. The hardest part for us all, unfortunately, is now that I’ve joined this metastatic club, we’ll be living our lives in 90 day increments, waiting for the next PET scan. I’m confident this week will go well, and that we’ll have a neat autumn with good friends and more fun. Take care, and I’ll do the same…look for my next post on Thursday.

And thanks. Before we even know what’s next. You've all been wonderful, all summer long.

What happens next??

Although this is pretty normal for me, I got to thinking that most people haven't ever had a PET scan. So if you're with that crowd, perhaps you’d like to step inside. It is, actually, pretty fun. You are not really required to restrict your diet much, or gulp offending liquids. You needn’t cleanse any body parts or functions, any more than when you take a shower in the morning. One avoids eating in the six hours leading up to the test, as a way to avoid little surprises in your gastric system….air pockets, seeds, other non-descript little bubbles. It is also important to avoid "white noise" that might accompany yogurt, or milk, or salad dressing.

If your appointment is at nine am, you arrive an hour early. You remove all metal objects, but those of us with experience don’t bring any in the first place. The goal of the next hour is to settle your body and muscles to a state of high relaxation, because the nuclear sugar that they use in the test will be attracted to muscles or other areas that have an interest in feeding themselves.

Of course, cancer cells are the most interested in feeding themselves fast food. One’s body needs to be fairly relaxed in order that any possible cancer cells grab the nuclear sugar and the other, healthy muscles leave it alone. Experienced test takers drag their iPods with them, set on the earphones, and become vegetables. The nice technician won’t let you even read the paper, because holding it steady uses muscle tone.

After relaxing an hour or so, I’m escorted into the procedure room. A giant doughnut awaits. They lie me down, with my relaxed muscles and organs at the ready, and pass me through the doughnut a couple of times. A gentle voice reminds me to breathe at the right time, and hold my breath at the right time(s). Faster than I can imagine, the same voice suggests, “OK, we’re done.”

It takes five to ten minutes to actually DO the work, and nearly an hour to prepare. I suppose that’s a lot like a great meal for those of us who enjoy cooking.

Easy. The hard part is waiting for the results.

Wordplay...for Sunday

I recently attended a “Cancer Summit” held in Portland, sponsored by my oncology clinic in concert with several others. I heard several terms tossed about during the many different sessions, but the most important segment of the conference was where we were asked to define, by and for ourselves, some important concepts. Here’s where that session took me. I’m a little anxious to share such private thoughts in a public way, because people are so kind when they commend all of us. I ask only that you read this through to the end…

Courage: Several years ago, Oregon’s Senator Gordon Smith described his son’s mental illness and eventual suicide. He delivered a moving, compassionate speech on the Senate floor, and later detailed his family’s efforts and anguish in The Oregonian. There was no requirement that he do so. To me, this is the definition of courage. Often, a moral choice is involved. Stepping into an arena when no one expects you to, where your only motivation comes from within: offering special insight, thoughts or support to others when little is required.

Bravery: This is when a person, man or woman, takes action when they know that extreme personal danger is imminent. Think of the young people we have stationed in Iraq or Afghanistan. “Grave danger?” asked Tom Cruise in A Few Good Men…”Is there any other kind?” answered Jack Nicholson. Those of us from the Vietnam era heard countless stories of lowly privates bravely heaving themselves onto booby traps or grenades to save the lives of their buddies.

Compare either of these with the parent who sees their child…or anyone’s child, for that matter, climb over the rim of an exhibit at the zoo to get a better look at an adorable, playful pair of (always hungry) lions. Would we stand idly by and “muster up” our courage? Would we look around for others to help? Reach for a cellphone? Perhaps some would. Most of us, however, would hop right over the edge. We wouldn’t waste time struggling over definitions. We’d think of neither courage nor bravery. We’d think of getting the right thing done, hoping we could bring the child to safety. It may turn out later to have been a really poor decision for both the child and ourselves, but hope told us otherwise.

A cancer diagnosis, in my mind, is much more like a child in the zoo than a live grenade or a difficult emotional loss. We could, certainly, stand idly by and wait for the end to come. We could look around and blame others, blame ourselves, and simply hope it goes away. In my mind, though, the best cancer survivors hop over the edge of the lions' den. They listen to the advice of their doctors, they make plans that will assist others, and they adjust their lives if they need to. But stand on the rim and ask “why?” Not much chance of that. They do the right thing. They may be fearful, in my case more for the effect that this whole journey has on others. They may take strength from the courageous label. Most of us, I believe, choose hope.

Certainly, we all define these concepts for ourselves, and just last night I was given the ultimate compliment of being called "brave." I think it is harder to watch the people we love face challenges than it is to hop into the lions' den. I ache when others lose family members, or hear that a child gets in trouble with the law. I worry about my kids driving to work every day. The loving people who watch me go in for diagnostic tests and wait for messages and phone calls must be much more courageous than I. I just jump over the edge, swoop up the child, and do my best to get back before the lions notice. That doesn’t mean I’ve denied the grave danger, it means I’ve made a choice to be hopeful.