Pretty Good News!
As mentioned before, the life of a cancer patient is a bit of a roller-coaster. We’re told we’re fine, then later diagnostics bring new treatments and concerns. We learn of new “lesions” and tackle them with new weaponry, giving ourselves more time to enjoy life before the next discovery that raises alarms. On my personal Journey, we commonly refer to various levels of artillery to battle the enemy.
It appears that these latest artillery shells have been successful in beating back the liver lesions. In conversations with both the radiologist who did the work and my oncologist, I’m told that some of the “veinous lesions” that resemble spider webs have disappeared. The others, though not gone, have not grown and appear to just be lying there, making no progress. “We’ll keep an eye on them with future MRI scans, but for now you should resume all normal activity.”
When I replied that I should neither jump for joy nor be depressed, Dr. Bauer suggested that I was wrong. “If you don’t jump for joy now, you apparently didn’t understand how serious the situation was in the fall when we began the latest round of chemo-embolizations.” “These five treatments have completely altered the situation in your liver.”
No, I guess I didn’t really grasp how challenging the situation was last October when we discovered the spider webs. Without treatment, they could have grown significantly by now, suggests Dr. Chang (my oncologist) and I wouldn’t be looking at a return to work on Monday.
So, then…YIPPEE!! I’m going to celebrate with an afternoon cocktail. Tomorrow, it is supposed to be sunny in Portland, 72 degrees, and I’m playing golf at Pumpkin Ridge (http://www.pumpkinridge.com) with a good friend to continue the celebration before I return to work on Monday the 4th. There is nothing to indicate that I’m “out of the woods” or “in complete remission.” If that was a goal for any readers, I suppose they’ll be a bit disappointed. Odds are good this will never “go away” from my life.
Since I’m the guy riding the roller-coaster, I’ll smile at the world as I pass by, and just wait for the next round of diagnostics in sixty days. We’ll remain hopeful that it will go well. If we find new challenges, we’ll tackle them with the appropriate artillery and continue chasing crappy cells from my system. I’m reminded by both specialists that there is a possibility of cancer cells expanding beyond the realm of my liver and into other areas and organs. That has not taken place, either, so I’m going to look at summer as a time of complete relaxation.
For now, though, TCTFO!
The best news, of all of this, is the impact it should have on “those great kids.” Nate has secured employment back in Colorado and is preparing to return in May. He’ll join a resort corporation that is stable and very positive, so he can quit worrying about me and the economy while he devotes himself to this new situation. Lizzy and Vickie have final tests and papers due. Rather than wondering “how’s Dad doing?” or “what are we going say about THESE results?” they can concentrate on their tasks at hand, relaxed in the knowledge that Daddy is doing well, having put this latest series of treatments to good use. Billy, with only ONE class remaining towards his Masters’ degree, can take a deep breath and just be a newlywed again, without having to be the amazingly supportive counselor that he’s been for Liz during all this.
The rest of us, we’ll just keep having fun.
Thirty...for a couple of us
Nate just turned thirty the same week I completed my thirtieth session with a chemotherapy infusion. As I’ve mentioned before, we're promised short sets because upon hearing that 30 are forthcoming, the odds are better that you’ll stop than continue. All in all, however, it went fairly smoothly.
Didn’t spend the night in Good Samaritan, went home feeling rather well. Had some upset overnight, followed by a relatively good second day. Fatigue was an issue, appetite was poor, but for the most part it went quickly. (Now that I’m awaiting a golf tournament and feeling really well, that’s easy enough to say. You’ll note that it took more than a week from the infusion for me to feel well enough to update The Journey…)
Big events during the week included Nate’s birthday, baseball’s Opening Day, and iPhone Day for Mark. Now the kids think I’m as goofy as the rest of we Appleseeds, texting more often and checking out phone software applications. Don’t we all need a level at our wrist, just because we can? Isn’t it important to be able to check on flight status while we’re in the line at a burger shop, rather than typing into the computer? My favorite, so far, is the ability to look at traffic cameras across the Portland metro area, and determine whether I’m avoiding or running into a traffic jam. Of course, since I’m on medical leave, I’m not commuting in the first place. It will be handy, though, when I go back. Now my favorite gearheads, Jon and Carrie Ellen, have nothing on me.
We shoot diagnostic pictures again at the end of the month. I’ll post information on results as soon as I have them. For now, I’m all scheduled for dental repair work and my visit with the oncologist before returning to work on May 4. It works out that I’ll have my teeth fixed in time for the big exhibit opportunities coming up in May…a good thing for work so that I won’t look like I’ve been hauled in from some freeway off-ramp to cover for “the sick guy.”
Should the diagnostics go according to plan, we’re done. If we find that there are remaining areas of concern, we wait ‘til fall and attack them again with more heavy artillery than this last five sessions involved. No one knows which ordnance will really work the best at this point, so I’m aiming at the diagnostics at month end…and not worrying about the alternatives too much. Better to look on the bright side!
Lately, either fortunately or unfortunately, I've been able to offer suggestions and listen to people who have relatives enduring chemotherapy, or starting their own cancer journeys. Certainly doesn’t make me an expert, to have run down this road, but perhaps I can provide insight that others find important or helpful. Oddly enough, hearing of the trials of others doesn’t really put me in a funk. It would be easy to think, “Oh, great…now I have that to anticipate.” What happens, though, is that I feel so badly for the family members, loved ones and supporters that I just offer up my thoughts freely. I know it is harder for all of them, as it has been for my support team.
One last thought before I go. A few months ago, I compared this effort to standing at the zoo and hopping into the lion’s den when a child needed help. This past week, you may have seen video of some gal hopping into a polar bear den…when there were no children involved. There is a significant difference, that was just plain nuts. Were we supposed to be surprised when the polar bear went after her? Idiocy takes all forms, I guess. When you think “lion’s den” think persistence, courage and concern for others. When you think “polar bear den” remember “idiot!”
Flying North....
I’ve now been on “medical sabbatical” for a month. Incredible that learning takes place when all I really have thought about is “what time is tomorrow’s tee time?” Most specifically, I’ve learned that working hard ‘til retiring well is a wonderful objective. No wonder others enjoy their retirement so. Having the funds to do so is quite another challenge for many of my generation. I look forward to solidifying my financial position over the next ten years, and heading off into retirement that will remind me of this sabbatical.
I’ve also learned from others. From the young man with only small stumps instead of hands, and prosthetic legs…that we can all sit in the sun to enjoy Spring Training, regardless of our challenges. From the darling Roberta Bratz, that younger people can have wisdom far beyond their years, and rise to meet the challenges that present themselves when they least want to tackle them. From Michael, that forgiveness is indeed possible, even when a brother has made choices that distance him from family and friends. From Nate, that persistence in the face of distress can overcome the most depressing sequence of events.
After a couple of weeks in California with friends and my parents, I’m now heading home for my FINAL chemotherapy treatment. On the one hand, this is a milestone worth celebrating. On the other, diagnostics may prove that further treatment is required, when we’ll step into the world of radiation pellets and possible surgical interventions. I remember how relieved I was in late July, 2006, when I thought I was done with chemotherapy forever. I thought, at the time, that 12 sessions was an immense total. Now, facing the 30th and a re-diagnosis that surprised us all, I think that 12 was a piece of cake, 25 fairly simple, and the 29th and 30th are those that deserve mention.
Dr. Chang thinks my body has seen enough. Recovery takes nearly ten days, at present, not the predictable week. I’ll spare everyone the messy details…let’s just say the inflow and outgo are the most difficult steps of the recovery. No appetite. No energy. A fear of colds, crowds and infections.
My goal is to overcome those fears, arrive in one piece in front of The Masters on television, and simply enjoy Easter Weekend with CBS and Magnolia Lane. Then I’ll return to California and the lap of my family, enjoying a great local tournament tournament that has become a fixture of many calendars. Many in Lompoc face the economic difficulty so pervasive in the US at present. As a fortunate middle-manager for a successful company, it feels as though I’m personally responsible for the recovery program in Lompoc. I’ll do what I can to assist the Athletic Department, reminding them that 10% unemployment still means that 90% of us still have jobs.
More next week, when recovery works itself to the head of the line. In the meantime, Nate and Jillian will look after me, shower me with their compassion and love, and remind me how very much there is to live for. As if Roberta, Michael, Stevie, Billy, Carrie Ellen & Steve, Donnie & Sonia, Mom and Dad…and everyone else I’ve seen in the last ten days weren’t wonderful reminders, too. Ken, Booby & Terry, Jon & Nancy, May, Patty & John, Toonie and Arlene, Dana Lynn, ‘Kenzee, Kim, Craig & Dalton. I’m a very fortunate guy when I’m able to connect with the people who’ve made such an impact…and I head towards treatment with my head high, so many people behind me, and the consistent “you look great” from all their voices…
