Fruits of My Labor


After hitting the publish button I let my thoughts float into space and out of my life.  They served a purpose; a bit of therapy for me and info for my people.  I randomly decided to reread and edit some of my blog posts.  They read like a Hemingway lamentation for the ages.  Woe is me!  Cancer Chic, more like Cancer Dirge.  I briefly pondered deleting them.  I thought about deleting this blog entirely.  Instead, I made a few minor adjustments and opted to keep the posts as a reminder of where I've been.  Mentally and physically.  Phrases like, "I know this will come back" and "these tumors are expected to return" got the boot.  Interesting I'd written that because it's exactly what happened.  I can't have expectations or beliefs of that nature wafting about.  


Out with the old and in with the new.  New treatment options, new hope, new healing, new oncologist, new faith, new ideas, new new new.  I have cleaned out old ways of thinking and being.   New spirit is flowing throughout my life.  I've purged my home, work space/classroom, heart, mind, body.  Time to purge tumors.  It is time for fresh energy. 


Following my surgery my brain took the stance I was cured and done with cancer.  You can find my picture smack-dab under the word denial.  I will be smiling.  Physically I felt amazing.  I checked out of cancer-patient mode and checked into LIFE.  In my defense I was told this surgery was going to give me decades of life and basically “fix” things.  It didn’t.  But I digress.  LIFE was beautiful.  It was fun.  During my surgery at Mayo they ablated the tumors left in the part of my liver they didn't cut out.  I got to pondering why couldn't this happen again.  Lindsey, MD.  Mayo and Kaiser only offered me chemo, which would hinder the reconstruction of my body.  There is no treatment protocol for my type of cancer so I'm making it up as I go.  Dr. Eadens (Kiaser oncologist in case this is getting confusing) said ablations are a temporary solution, putting the proverbial "bandaid on the problem" and we should try a few more chemoemobliztion procedures.  (You can read about this procedure in one my previous, bemoaning posts.)  Dr. Rubin of Mayo, the man at the helm of my catastrophic meltdown last month, told me chemoembolizations are a temporary solution, putting the proverbial "bandaid on the problem."  I'm thoroughly entertained.  These two know each other!  Eadens' fellowship at Mayo was with Rubin and supposedly they have been conferring about my treatment.  They are the culprits for my current we have to get these tumors under control and I'm the only one who is doing anything about it situation.  That will be all gentlemen, you're dismissed.  But thank you.  I felt lost and hopeless and sought answers from outside of myself.  Now, my power is coming alive.  I am looking inward, feeling dynamic and forceful again.
  
This week the University of Colorado Hospital got another crack at me.  There is a bitter, slightly humorous post about my first trip to UCH.  I found Dr. Messersmith, the oncologist I meet when I got a second opinion at UCH last year, once again when I was calling every doctor I know last month.  I searched my inbox and located his emails.  He informed me there is now a liver-specific interdisciplinary team at UCH.  This team of doctors of different specialities meet and discuss treatment options.  I made the appointment thinking, "eh, why not, I've got nothing else to do and my insurance will cover it."  This go 'round went swimmingly.  Kismit struck when part of the team, a young oncologist, stepped into my room.  This was Dr. Lindsey Davis.  I have literally found Lindsey, MD!!!!  Her energy is magnetic, her aura delightful, laugh chipper, and voice honest.  I love her.  Nervously, I called the next day and proposed that she become my oncologist.  She said YES! The appointment continued to go well when the team told me exactly what I wanted to hear.  They are not going to ablate the tumors, but perform a procedure similar to the chemoemblizations with radiation.   This minimally effects other parts of the body and directly targets the tumors.  Chemo averted!  I do NOT have to take any more chemo pills.  My body-temple is healing.  I feel great and grateful. 


When discussing my treatment options with Dr. Smith at the University of Colorado Hospital, he concluded with, “With these treatments most people can live 5 years.”  I stopped him right there, “Whoa!  Don’t talk like that.  I plan on living for 50 years.”  I will not have anyone predicting my future.  You are not time traveler and I would venture to say you do not have a crystal ball.  We are here now and no one knows what will happen tomorrow let alone in 5 years.    

Love is bright light, Batman-signal shinning into the night, making its way from my heart into the universe.  God is making its way from the universe to my heart.  This is quite a shift from where I have been.  And where I still may go.  I will stumble and have bad days but my mind needed an overhaul and overhaul I have.  There are new healers in my life.  New spiritual group I attend on Sundays.  New plans for the next fifty years of my life. 

Raise your glass or fold your hands or lift your arms.  Here's to an outrageous amount of fortune, love, and solutions.   




Going Bananas


I have referred to my people as my army and I must summon you all to my side again.  I fully recognize you have already given so much and I simply refuse to burden anyone.   My appeal is minuscule as everyone is undoubtedly over hearing about all of this.  I ask just for a thought.  One thought/prayer/request/wish.  You may call it as you choose.

Please tell the Universe/God/Love:  these tumors are done.

Together we can blast these things into powder and watch them drift away on a faint breeze. 



September was..... interesting.

It all began at the end of July.  It was a beautiful Denver summer and I was loving my life.  Days were filled with bike rides to yoga, sun-lapped skin as I sat in the park reading books, and bathing in the love of my friends.  I felt strong and healthy and happy.  The time came for my monthly blood work.  I'm knew there had been some growth with the tumors but who could think about that when you live nestled up to the beauty of the mountains and feel like a million bucks.

I was abruptly thrust back into cancer world when my blood work came back off the charts.  August came.  In addition to the collapse of my cheerful world, I started feeling odd.  My belly was constantly swollen and I didn't feel well for hours after eating.  I lost my appetite.  I gained about 10 pounds in 3 weeks.  My legs and joints felt stiff and could no longer go to yoga.  I chalked it up to finally putting on some weight after my surgery and cancer stuff and went about my days making the best of things.  It was time to return to work after all.

School started.  At the end of August, I began an oral, systemic chemotherapy.  (Chemo pills.)  During my meeting with the oncology pharmacist about said chemo pills, he was adamant I'm to be careful while handling them.  I slowly raised my eyes from my notes and deadpan replied, "You mean you don't want me to poison myself while I'm poisoning myself?"  My regimen is two weeks on the drugs, two weeks off.  Rinse, wash, repeat.

Fine.  My I am a Warrior Goddess and this going to no big deal because it's time to blast these tumors attitude thundered from atop a snow-tipped peak and I started popping pills.

That lasted a week.

Alarmingly, my heart was beating hard and strangely.  I had horrible headaches.  I couldn't think.  How do you live if you can't think?  My mind was blocked.  I couldn't read or write.  I wasn't myself.  How do you put something in your body that makes you not you?  I could barely walk at times due to the pain and stiffness in my legs.  My feet and ankles were swollen.  I felt shaky and extremely on edge.  I had sores on my throat and tongue.  I powered through work each day to go home, sleep 7 hours on the couch, and awake to an eyes-peeled-open night of angst.  I was certain all my body systems were failing.

I stopped taking the pills.  The problems persisted so I got on the phone to all the doctors I know.  

My oncologist at Mayo dismally altered my life in thirteen minutes.  A cloud of doom settled in and I became absolutely frantic.  One thirteen minute phone conversation brought on a darkness of proportions I had yet to experience.  For thirteen minutes I was a senseless, infinitesimal human who had the gall to ask Dr. God to come down from his rein on Mt. Olympus and speak with me.  The fact  I wasn't tolerating the chemo was remotely fathomable as he barked that it was the best they have.  And his tone was not "this is the gold medal of chemo" best they have.  It was the "it's all they got" so we'll throw it at you, measly pauper, as a last resort.  I tried to ask about other treatment options to be abruptly cut off and given sharp, extremely bleak answers.  It seemed there was no hope.  I was wrecked.

Following that conversation the first week of September was spent in sheer terror.  Crippled by anxiety, my fear was so heightened I could barely breathe.  Grim thoughts invaded.  I wondered if I had even a year left.  My focus became all the things I haven't experienced yet.  Watching a game in all the baseball stadiums in the US.  Dancing on the beaches of Thailand.  Surfing in Australia.  Learning Spanish.  My brute instincts in times like this are to hide away where I can contain the spread of this black temperament.  Wrapped in darkness, envy saw it's chance and crept in.  Every person I saw performing the simple act of walking created an overwhelming feeling of jealousy as they possessed a functioning body.

This is not me.  I continued to feel that something is really wrong - this is not just chemo side-effects.

Calls to doctors continued.  The gastroenternologist who diagnosed my case had the pleasure of hearing from me again because of my swollen belly.  I told her to humor me because I thought I'd picked up a bug in Nepal when, to be polite, I ate the meat served at a wedding I attended.  She thought that actually isn't too crazy.  She ordered a bunch of blood work and stool sample.  It is now confirmed I do not have parasites.  My endocrinologist also made the list because, as I was researching, I found that my symptoms are text book for an under-functioning thyroid.  More on this in a bit.  

After my agonizing week, I woke up at 5 am on a Sunday morning and drove to the ER.  I was armed and ready with my latest editions of NatGeo, Yoga Journal and a new book.  Since it was so early, I walked in and was shown directly to a room.  The doctor was in about 5 seconds later.  Super duper!  So far so good.  I told 90's George Clooney ER Doc all my symptoms and the tests began.  Again - super duper!  They took lots of blood and I got a CT scan.  The health care system is a game.  You want results, you gotta play.  If I'd tried to get all of these things done one by one, it would have taken many phone calls to doctors, many phone calls for scheduling, and multiple visits to the hospital.  The suffering would have continued as I awaited the results of each test.  In the ER they run all the tests, you get results quickly, and I didn't have to miss work using my much coveted sick days.  It turns out, my potassium levels were basically bottomed out.  It also turns out, potassium is crazy important!!!  You learn something new everyday.  Sorry Chiquita, bananas are not enough in my case and I'm now functioning a bit better on potassium supplements.  


"I told her she must be able to smile to her sorrow because we are more than our sorrow."
-Thich Nhat Hahn

I've got a Cheshire Cat sized grin for you Thich.  The "treatment" I've received since my surgery to stop the growth of the remaining tumors is a medication called Sandostatin.  Here's why I'm smiling.....  I just read in multiple places Sandostatin does nothing to prevent the growth of tumors in cases like mine.  Essentially, the tumors in my liver have been left to their own will, virtually untouched over the past 8 months.  Each scan I've had has shown growth, and now there are new tumors.

Pause to smile more.

I was being injected with this drug on a monthly basis to stop the growth of my cancer on the guidance of my oncologists at Kaiser and Mayo - the renowned cancer clinic.  I trusted that was exactly what was happening.  The emphasis can be placed on was.  At first, I was receiving one injection but then it became two because the tumors were growing according to scans I had in the spring versus summer.  BUT, as I just read, there is no viable research on this.  I should have done my homework.  I failed but it will not happen again.  Smiling.  As I continued reading I found that this drug is used to treat diarrhea and flushing.   SO, I was being injected with something that stops me from getting red in the face, which is the definition of flushing (yeah I had to google that).  Grinning.  IN ADDITION, one of the side effects are symptoms of an an under-functioning thyroid - all of which are terrible.  The massive anxiety and fear I've been having is finally explained.  My hormones are all out of whack, another reason for the extreme terror and feelings of unease.  My puffy face.  Smile at my smile.  Because my face is so swollen, it's actually a bit painful to smile.  Also explained by the Sando side-effects:  my hair loss, irregular heart beats, and inability to think clearly.  Worst of all, the stiffness and swelling in my legs and joints - stripping me of my active life and the great love/guidance/therapy of yoga.  This medication also hinders the absorption of nutrients... my low levels of potassium maybe? 

BUT, I cannot be mad at doctors.   I refuse to sit around in huff while they are out driving their expensive cars and living in their mansions, courtesy of the pharmaceutical companies that charged me $5,000 for each shot I was given.  I will give no credence to the words of Dr. Mayo God,  evaporating them from my mind.  Instead it's go time.....  once again.   

I create my own reality.  My reality is these tumors are done.  Mid-September I made it through a full round of chemo and countdown to the next is one week.  Until then, it's living present in every moment of non-chemo days.

As I sit here in my I Heart October t-shirt, the tenth month of the year is looking pretty amazing.  I kinda want to sneak it a little kiss.  Life will be much more comfortable with the end of Sandostain, my paycheck restored to normal after months of deductions from the work I missed during surgery recovery, a new round of chemo blasts (this is not exactly exciting but if it shrinks tumors then it is what it is and I am powerful - plus I smile when I think of the chemo as a Care Bear Stare blasting the villain into oblivion, what can I say, I'm a child of the 80's), and maybe throw in a little fun too.  September, we're through.  Don't call.  Don't write.  I've got a hot date with October and its going to be goooooooood.












This post is for three of the lady loves of my life, who are undeservedly and unconditionally looking out for me:  the timeless Betsy, wonder-woman Sarah, and my wifey Shell.  I'm grateful for your acute power, dynamic laughter, untamed beauty, and astonishing wisdom.  You save me time and time again even when you don't know you are saving me.