Monthly blogging? That is kinda pathetic,really. So there is nothing to say for a month? From Ed??
OK - so the drama of chemotherapy has wound down, and the time pressure of work deadlines has eased enough to take some time off. We decided (with the financial help of familial generosity) to spend this holiday season someplace warm and near a beach. Between work and vacation planning, I have been a little bit preoccupied, but in a good way..
Yesterday, we walked the half-mile to the beach, paraded (gracelessly in flippers) into the Pacific Ocean, and cavorted with colorful fish for a few hours. Then, as a kind of dessert we watched six sea turtles haul themselves onto the sand and rocks to warm their bodies in the tropical sun. There appear to be competing explanations for this beaching action, according to a decidely unscientific poll of observers. Theory one (sounding plausible, since it was delivered authoritatively by someone that claimed to witness these actions for a month each year) has that they need to get into the sun so that the UV rays from the sun will eliminate the algae that grows on their shells. Theory two (sounding better to me since it was delivered by a biology professor) explained that the sun warms the turtles and helps them with digestion - under water they can only get to the temperature of the sea, whereas on land they can get much warmer! And we all know how nice it is to curl up for a nap after a big lunch, don't we?
There is so much that we don't really know about our biology, or even our mental capacity. For as long as I have walked this wee planet, I have thought that there were true answers and false ones - that we could figure out the right and the wrong. I learned (initially through a study of mathematics and then again through a practical study of cancer) that there are many right answers, and an awful lot of questions for which the best answer is that we don't know. And I have also learned about warmth, and how it helps with digestion, but more about how it can mean a world of difference in how we interact with other people and our world.
So, rose-colored glasses are a choice we can make each day - put them on! What is the harm in seeing things as positively as possible?
Namaste.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Fitness - conceptually speaking, that is...
OK - as I noted in my last post, things are looking more and more normal. And they are feeling pretty normal too. I will admit to several second thoughts when it comes to a beer or a glass of wine, and my weight is at a place where I need to think about saying "no" to a second helping (or two). But all-in-all I am ready to think and act like 2011 just didn't exist.
As you will all remember, I have made a point of exercising throughout the whole non-existent 2011 cancer odyssey (redux). I highly recommend to any cancer patient/survivor that they explore the possibility of regular group exercise before, during, and after surgery/chemo. Even though there were (and will be) occasions when you just feel too fatigued to pull off any repetitions, I encourage you to stay with it. In the group setting, with other cancer patients/survivors, I gained a lot of energy and solid support. I cannot say enough about how good that ultimately made me feel. Having a trainer that is aware of cancer and its limitations was an unbelievable experience, and I think I am a better (and stronger) person for that.
Alas, stronger does not mean strong. A couple weeks ago I was chatting with the trainer, wondering if maybe I was ready to "graduate" since I was done with treatment. She simply asked me what my exercise plan was, and when I said I didn't have one she said I had to stay until I did. Wow. Sooooo.... I decided to try out the exercise class/trainer that my wife has been using, in a very basic "CrossFit" program that he was hosting on Thanksgiving Day. Now let me say that he is a great guy, and was very accommodating with my revealed weaknesses, but that class kicked my proverbial butt (and I was using only 15 pound barbells). For context, I have been benching 40+ pound barbells in each hand for a couple of weeks now. As it turns out, my core muscles are terribly weak.
Several "duhs" later - I now realize that I am in no condition for long cycling yet. Apparently have someone slice across your abdomen weakens your core incredibly, and sometimes it takes years to recover strength "down there." My lower back muscles are proportionately over-strong, and they are quick to cramp. I have a lot to learn, and lots of muscle to restore... but I plan several long rides in 2012 - maybe an STP and a Cycle Oregon? Anyone interested in joining me?
Namaste.
As you will all remember, I have made a point of exercising throughout the whole non-existent 2011 cancer odyssey (redux). I highly recommend to any cancer patient/survivor that they explore the possibility of regular group exercise before, during, and after surgery/chemo. Even though there were (and will be) occasions when you just feel too fatigued to pull off any repetitions, I encourage you to stay with it. In the group setting, with other cancer patients/survivors, I gained a lot of energy and solid support. I cannot say enough about how good that ultimately made me feel. Having a trainer that is aware of cancer and its limitations was an unbelievable experience, and I think I am a better (and stronger) person for that.
Alas, stronger does not mean strong. A couple weeks ago I was chatting with the trainer, wondering if maybe I was ready to "graduate" since I was done with treatment. She simply asked me what my exercise plan was, and when I said I didn't have one she said I had to stay until I did. Wow. Sooooo.... I decided to try out the exercise class/trainer that my wife has been using, in a very basic "CrossFit" program that he was hosting on Thanksgiving Day. Now let me say that he is a great guy, and was very accommodating with my revealed weaknesses, but that class kicked my proverbial butt (and I was using only 15 pound barbells). For context, I have been benching 40+ pound barbells in each hand for a couple of weeks now. As it turns out, my core muscles are terribly weak.
Several "duhs" later - I now realize that I am in no condition for long cycling yet. Apparently have someone slice across your abdomen weakens your core incredibly, and sometimes it takes years to recover strength "down there." My lower back muscles are proportionately over-strong, and they are quick to cramp. I have a lot to learn, and lots of muscle to restore... but I plan several long rides in 2012 - maybe an STP and a Cycle Oregon? Anyone interested in joining me?
Namaste.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Seven weeks later...
My last chemotherapy treatment was on October 3rd. It feels like a lifetime ago, and yesterday at the same time. I am well into the "normal" catching-up that needs to be done - had a major dental review (full mouth x-rays, which led the dentist and I to conclude that (1) 18 months is long enough for a cavity to form - but just one, (2) two composite fillings have ungainly shadows below them - meaning that I need to have them replaced, and (3) three of my crowns were not correctly seated when they were put in - and they need to be watched/fixed so that the little spurs do not trap food and become cavities or worse. I have two more appointments scheduled for teeth cleaning and dental work to be done on items (1) and (2).
We are also tracking down some of the other (seemingly random) small stuff that has been noticed over the past year. Back in January, one of the things that my oncologist noted - slightly elevated calcium levels - is being checked out by my new endocrinologist. To date, it appears that I may have a slightly hyperactive parathyroid, which may be causing calcium to leach out of my bones slowly. About two weeks ago I had 9 vials of blood drawn for a complete battery of tests and a bone densitometry scan, and I find out about what all that means on Monday. Should be interesting... And then there is the toenail fungus that is being treated by the daily application of anti-fungal toe polish. Turns out that it takes about 6 months for your toenails to completely grow out - and that is how long I have to polish (and un-polish) my toenails twice each day.
My hair has decided to start growing again, but have no fear - the male pattern baldness has been unaffected so far. No one need fear that I will turn into a 2011 version of Grizzly Adams! I am sleeping well enough (though I am told that I regularly snore).
Perhaps most importantly, my energy is back. I am working out twice a week with a trainer at the hospital - but figure that starting in January I will be ready to be on my own. I need to get onto my bike. We are planning a warm, relaxing trip in the near future - I wonder if they rent bikes in Hawaii?
Namaste!
We are also tracking down some of the other (seemingly random) small stuff that has been noticed over the past year. Back in January, one of the things that my oncologist noted - slightly elevated calcium levels - is being checked out by my new endocrinologist. To date, it appears that I may have a slightly hyperactive parathyroid, which may be causing calcium to leach out of my bones slowly. About two weeks ago I had 9 vials of blood drawn for a complete battery of tests and a bone densitometry scan, and I find out about what all that means on Monday. Should be interesting... And then there is the toenail fungus that is being treated by the daily application of anti-fungal toe polish. Turns out that it takes about 6 months for your toenails to completely grow out - and that is how long I have to polish (and un-polish) my toenails twice each day.
My hair has decided to start growing again, but have no fear - the male pattern baldness has been unaffected so far. No one need fear that I will turn into a 2011 version of Grizzly Adams! I am sleeping well enough (though I am told that I regularly snore).
Perhaps most importantly, my energy is back. I am working out twice a week with a trainer at the hospital - but figure that starting in January I will be ready to be on my own. I need to get onto my bike. We are planning a warm, relaxing trip in the near future - I wonder if they rent bikes in Hawaii?
Namaste!
Friday, October 28, 2011
Unremarkable
Adjective. "Not worthy of note or attention; found in the ordinary course of events; not exceptional in any way especially in quality or ability or size or degree."
This may be my new favorite word. Way back in 2007, I was very happy to hear "no evidence of disease (NED, for short)"... but now my watchword is unremarkable. This is what the professional readers-of-CT-scans (aka radiologists) write down when they do not see anything worth talking about relative to the many organs that a CT scan makes "visible." So, the bottom line is that nothing was noticed (by folks who are trained to notice things) in the CT imagery that we gathered on Tuesday. My oncologist was happy - and that is another reason for me to be happy. Stuff in the square brackets below is color commentary from [Yours Truly].
To wit:
PROCEDURE:
Following the administration of both oral and IV contrast, volumetric CT imaging was performed from the lower neck to the upper thighs, with reconstruction of planar images [requires an hour of drinking barium contrast, a pressurized IV contrast delivery through my port, and a certain level of no-clothing-ness - just thought you would like to know...].
FINDINGS: The lungs remain clear, and no developing nodular mass is seen in either lung. ... No areas of airspace consolidation are seen in either lung. No pleural effusion [buildup of fluid between the layers of tissue that line the lungs and chest cavity] is present bilaterally. No developing adenopathy [swelling or abnormal enlargement of the lymph nodes] is seen throughout the chest. Heart size is normal. [WHEW!] A central venous port is implanted in the upper left chest wall, with its catheter entering the subclavian vein. [Yup... I have a PowerPort there for easy blood draws, chemotherapy transfusions, and CT scan contrast infusions.]
When compared with prior exams [4/7/2011 and 5/22/2011], laparotomy [a surgical procedure involving a large incision through the abdominal wall to gain access into the abdominal cavity] has been performed with resection of two metastatic lesions of the liver. A portion of the left lobe has been resected, and additionally [a little redundancy there, eh?], a portion of the right lobe has been resected. Several small cysts are seen within the remaining liver [perfectly normal, I am told], stable in appearance when compared with prior exams. No new lesion is seen within the remaining liver parenchyma [tissue that is characteristic of an organ]. Pancreas, spleen, adrenal glands, and kidneys all appear UNREMARKABLE. Collecting systems are not dilated.
There are postsurgical changes also identified related to distal colon resection [the surgical procedure I had in 2007]. A suture anastomosis line is seen at the rectosigmoid junction. GI tract appears UNREMARKABLE without areas of wall thickening or dilatation [same as dilation]. No developing adenopathy is seen throughout the abdomen and pelvis. No ascites [excess fluid in the space between the tissues lining the abdomen and abdominal organs] is present. Bladder appears UNREMARKABLE.
IMPRESSION:
(1) When compared with prior imaging studies, there are new postsurgical changes related to resection of two metastatic lesions previously seen within the left and right lobes of the liver. No new lesions are identified within the remaining liver parenchyma. Several hepatic [related to the liver] cysts appear stable.
(2) Postsurgical changes related to distal colonic resection.
(3) At this time, there are no findings of metastatic disease within the chest, abdomen, and pelvis.
Sooooo..... can we have a collective woot-woot and a huge sigh of relief? Thank you, thank you very much. My weight is recovering (now at a nice 172 lbs...) and my energy is returning as well. I worked full-time for the past two weeks, and did not even once feel too fatigued during the day to remain at my desk. November is going to FLY by, with trips planned to New Hampshire, Seattle, Manzanita (OR), and Portland, and a huge gathering for Thanksgiving.
Thank you all for your attention - you will now be returned to your regularly scheduled program.
Namaste.
This may be my new favorite word. Way back in 2007, I was very happy to hear "no evidence of disease (NED, for short)"... but now my watchword is unremarkable. This is what the professional readers-of-CT-scans (aka radiologists) write down when they do not see anything worth talking about relative to the many organs that a CT scan makes "visible." So, the bottom line is that nothing was noticed (by folks who are trained to notice things) in the CT imagery that we gathered on Tuesday. My oncologist was happy - and that is another reason for me to be happy. Stuff in the square brackets below is color commentary from [Yours Truly].
To wit:
PROCEDURE:
Following the administration of both oral and IV contrast, volumetric CT imaging was performed from the lower neck to the upper thighs, with reconstruction of planar images [requires an hour of drinking barium contrast, a pressurized IV contrast delivery through my port, and a certain level of no-clothing-ness - just thought you would like to know...].
FINDINGS: The lungs remain clear, and no developing nodular mass is seen in either lung. ... No areas of airspace consolidation are seen in either lung. No pleural effusion [buildup of fluid between the layers of tissue that line the lungs and chest cavity] is present bilaterally. No developing adenopathy [swelling or abnormal enlargement of the lymph nodes] is seen throughout the chest. Heart size is normal. [WHEW!] A central venous port is implanted in the upper left chest wall, with its catheter entering the subclavian vein. [Yup... I have a PowerPort there for easy blood draws, chemotherapy transfusions, and CT scan contrast infusions.]
When compared with prior exams [4/7/2011 and 5/22/2011], laparotomy [a surgical procedure involving a large incision through the abdominal wall to gain access into the abdominal cavity] has been performed with resection of two metastatic lesions of the liver. A portion of the left lobe has been resected, and additionally [a little redundancy there, eh?], a portion of the right lobe has been resected. Several small cysts are seen within the remaining liver [perfectly normal, I am told], stable in appearance when compared with prior exams. No new lesion is seen within the remaining liver parenchyma [tissue that is characteristic of an organ]. Pancreas, spleen, adrenal glands, and kidneys all appear UNREMARKABLE. Collecting systems are not dilated.
There are postsurgical changes also identified related to distal colon resection [the surgical procedure I had in 2007]. A suture anastomosis line is seen at the rectosigmoid junction. GI tract appears UNREMARKABLE without areas of wall thickening or dilatation [same as dilation]. No developing adenopathy is seen throughout the abdomen and pelvis. No ascites [excess fluid in the space between the tissues lining the abdomen and abdominal organs] is present. Bladder appears UNREMARKABLE.
IMPRESSION:
(1) When compared with prior imaging studies, there are new postsurgical changes related to resection of two metastatic lesions previously seen within the left and right lobes of the liver. No new lesions are identified within the remaining liver parenchyma. Several hepatic [related to the liver] cysts appear stable.
(2) Postsurgical changes related to distal colonic resection.
(3) At this time, there are no findings of metastatic disease within the chest, abdomen, and pelvis.
Sooooo..... can we have a collective woot-woot and a huge sigh of relief? Thank you, thank you very much. My weight is recovering (now at a nice 172 lbs...) and my energy is returning as well. I worked full-time for the past two weeks, and did not even once feel too fatigued during the day to remain at my desk. November is going to FLY by, with trips planned to New Hampshire, Seattle, Manzanita (OR), and Portland, and a huge gathering for Thanksgiving.
Thank you all for your attention - you will now be returned to your regularly scheduled program.
Namaste.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Stepping forward (and back)
The 2011 treatment regimen is officially complete. May we (please) have seen the last chemical infusion pump...
This second lost year is harder to reflect on than 2007. Then, it seemed like I could just put the whole cancer business behind me, and go on living. I upped my exercise (some might say manically, especially in the cycling department). I remained moderate in drinking alcohol, and backed off on the consumption of red meats (though that too was not high to begin with). I threw myself into work and projects. And we all grew older together. Regular checkups were positive and unremarkable. Unremarkable became a favorite word.
But 2011 feels qualitatively different. The pre-surgery biochemical therapy, the major liver surgery, the post-surgical chemo... all were harder than last time, and there has been a significant jolt to my thinking about life, the universe, and everything. Two steps forward, one step back? Or is it two steps back? I guess I would like to think that some progress has been made, but I am already loathing the CT scan that I have in two weeks. "We are establishing a new baseline" sounds so practical and ominous... but metastases are now no longer hypothetical for me. I fear another crushing blow to my spirit.
But I am working to remember that chemo is done, for now. I am slowly restoring my internal organic activities to some semblance of normal. I still have a few side effects to deal with, but each day is getting better in terms of appetite and energy. We have a lot of fun planned for the next couple of months, and are making firm plans to find someplace warm for a vacation during the cold and rainy period that we call the "holiday season" up here in the Pacific Northwet. Being done with the bi-weekly chemotherapy is a great physical burden lifted from my shoulders. This is a very good thing, and something that I am glad of.
Namasté, my friends!
This second lost year is harder to reflect on than 2007. Then, it seemed like I could just put the whole cancer business behind me, and go on living. I upped my exercise (some might say manically, especially in the cycling department). I remained moderate in drinking alcohol, and backed off on the consumption of red meats (though that too was not high to begin with). I threw myself into work and projects. And we all grew older together. Regular checkups were positive and unremarkable. Unremarkable became a favorite word.
But 2011 feels qualitatively different. The pre-surgery biochemical therapy, the major liver surgery, the post-surgical chemo... all were harder than last time, and there has been a significant jolt to my thinking about life, the universe, and everything. Two steps forward, one step back? Or is it two steps back? I guess I would like to think that some progress has been made, but I am already loathing the CT scan that I have in two weeks. "We are establishing a new baseline" sounds so practical and ominous... but metastases are now no longer hypothetical for me. I fear another crushing blow to my spirit.
But I am working to remember that chemo is done, for now. I am slowly restoring my internal organic activities to some semblance of normal. I still have a few side effects to deal with, but each day is getting better in terms of appetite and energy. We have a lot of fun planned for the next couple of months, and are making firm plans to find someplace warm for a vacation during the cold and rainy period that we call the "holiday season" up here in the Pacific Northwet. Being done with the bi-weekly chemotherapy is a great physical burden lifted from my shoulders. This is a very good thing, and something that I am glad of.
Namasté, my friends!
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Weirdest ride thus far...
So, yesterday was not easy. For those of you playing along at home, my chemo treatments for the past three months have looked something like this - treatment day 1: 2.5 hours of chemical infusions followed by aches and bed rest, but not much sleep due to steroids; treatment day 2: slightly better than day 1, but still receiving 5-FU via portable pump that goes whirrrr-click every couple of minutes and sleep is still evasive; day 3: pump is removed but I receive an injection to stimulate white cell production (which adds to fatigue for the subsequent two days). But by day 5 things are feeling almost normalish.
Yesterday, day 3 of this last cycle, I was "awakened" by my pump beeping like crazy. I was barely asleep anyways, so that was not a big deal, but the pump indicated that there was an "upstream occlusion" and would not be whirrrr-clicking anytime soon. So I managed to silence the incessant beeps, and called the clinic. They said to bring myself in and they would manually pump the remaining chemo (9 mg in solution) into me and disconnect the pump. That is about half of the infusion that I receive at the very end of every day 1 prior to hooking up the pump, and it really knocked me back. To say that this led to a sub-normal day 3 is an understatement... and I did not even have the injection to stimulate my white cell production!
Exercise class ended with me sitting in a chair with my head down, trying to stay conscious. After ten minutes, I regained enough color that my instructor allowed mr to leave. I had a scrambled egg, slept for an hour, then went to a reiki appointment... which usually energizes me. Unfortunately, not this time. It was a busy day, and perhaps I should have slowed down. But with the sad announcement of Steve Jobs' death, I really wanted to seize my day. And every day.
This morning feels pretty good, relatively speaking. I may even try to catch up on some of my workload - which unfortunately does not seem to realize that I am not there! Best part of the morning so far is that I am hungry.
Namasté.
Yesterday, day 3 of this last cycle, I was "awakened" by my pump beeping like crazy. I was barely asleep anyways, so that was not a big deal, but the pump indicated that there was an "upstream occlusion" and would not be whirrrr-clicking anytime soon. So I managed to silence the incessant beeps, and called the clinic. They said to bring myself in and they would manually pump the remaining chemo (9 mg in solution) into me and disconnect the pump. That is about half of the infusion that I receive at the very end of every day 1 prior to hooking up the pump, and it really knocked me back. To say that this led to a sub-normal day 3 is an understatement... and I did not even have the injection to stimulate my white cell production!
Exercise class ended with me sitting in a chair with my head down, trying to stay conscious. After ten minutes, I regained enough color that my instructor allowed mr to leave. I had a scrambled egg, slept for an hour, then went to a reiki appointment... which usually energizes me. Unfortunately, not this time. It was a busy day, and perhaps I should have slowed down. But with the sad announcement of Steve Jobs' death, I really wanted to seize my day. And every day.
This morning feels pretty good, relatively speaking. I may even try to catch up on some of my workload - which unfortunately does not seem to realize that I am not there! Best part of the morning so far is that I am hungry.
Namasté.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Energy expended, now what?
Number six is now coursing through my veins, with a little boost of 5-FU every few seconds for the next two days. Fatigue, but not sleepiness,idead and gut aches, warm flashes and dry mouth. No appetite to speak of, and way too much time to think. No googling info on side effects anymore - they are all too familiar.
Called some medical providers today - one to straighten out a toenail fungus cream (leftover from the ingrown toenail treatments in May, I think) and the other to straighten out billing for lab work done in January. Insurance companies are a bane and a boon. Given my extensive treatments over the years, I am happy to have their support. But sometimes things go awry. Alas.
Going to turn out the light now (it's almost 1am) to try sleeping. Wish me luck!
Called some medical providers today - one to straighten out a toenail fungus cream (leftover from the ingrown toenail treatments in May, I think) and the other to straighten out billing for lab work done in January. Insurance companies are a bane and a boon. Given my extensive treatments over the years, I am happy to have their support. But sometimes things go awry. Alas.
Going to turn out the light now (it's almost 1am) to try sleeping. Wish me luck!
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