A Quick Note

I finished treatment today. They took my PICC line out and sent me home.

It feels good to not be a cancer patient.

Death to Cancer
Cancer is Dead

Getting Ready to Jump Back On

Hola Mi Familia! Things have been going well here, but it has been quite hectic. The miracle that has happened with my health still has me dumbfounded. It is a good emotion though. I still cry every now and then thinking about it. Almost done, one more step. Life is a merry-go-round, and I have been watching it from the sidelines.

I did another round of High-Dose IL-2 last weekend. I won’t get into the gory details, since I have described this treatment in previous posts. Suffice it to say though, that this was the toughest one yet. My body did not react well, and I came out of it looking and feeling bad. I got out on Sunday, and I still feel like I am recuperating. I have this new condition in my shoulders that is similar to arthritis, but caused by the drugs. Thankfully, it is not permanent, but may last awhile. Ugggghhhhh…..

Most of my time is spent finding my perfect internship for the summer. Because of the timing of my illness, I did not get to do an internship after my first year of school. So, before I start my second, I am going to do one this summer. The decision of what to do is a hard one; compounded by the fact that I am not sure what my long-term goals are. I am a bit tortured right now, and I feel like I am deciding my future. The good news is that all the possible opportunities are amazing. How do you decide between awesome opportunities? I don’t know yet. It will be resolved soon.

The party is coming along, and I am glad that some people have already RSVP’d. It is turning out bigger that originally planned; but what the hell? Just like too many job opportunities, having too big of a party is a great problem to have.

One more treatment. I go in a week from Monday (the 9th) for my last chemo treatment. After that, I will officially be in recovery. I am scared of returning to life and work, but so ready. Physically, I have a lot of work to do. I have been doing nothing for a year, and I need to be able to work 8-10 hours per day. If anyone can recommend a personal trainer, please let me know. I will have about a month from my lat treatment until I start work.

With my eyes closed, I can see it. The merry-go-round is slowing down and I can get back on. All my friends are on it, and I want to ride badly. Soon. Very soon.

Death to Cancer
Cancer is Dead

Time to Party!

Hey everybody,

I said I would be throwing a party when I beat cancer. Well, it’s been beat and it’s time to party. Jen and I would like to thank you for your support by inviting you to the Fighting in Texas Cinco de Mayo Party!

Click the link below for party details. I don’t have everybody’s email address, so please feel free to forward this to anyone that may be interested, all are invited. I ask only that people R.S.V.P. on Evite so that I know how many people are coming.

Come celebrate with us!

http://www.evite.com/pages/invite/viewInvite.jsp?event=UQRPDTNUOHEFEFULQLLG&unknownUser=true

Death to Cancer
Cancer is Dead

Sinking In

For a couple of days after getting my good news (see link opt the left), I actually felt depressed. Can you believe that? I know it doesn’t make any sense, but that’s what happened. More than anything, I felt alone. I think that is how you feel when your world changes in an instant.

When I was first diagnosed, I felt the same. Obviously, the news was bad that time; but the feeling of the world changing under my feet was the same. It took some time to sink in and settle in.

I feel great now. I spent the last week in California with my brother, and we had a perfect time. I am moving forward on finding a job for the summer. I feel like I have never been closer to my son, and we are having a good time together.

I is still hard to believe that we (you too) did it! I have read through my blog posts. This is the last paragraph from my first post.

“Thank you for you prayers and thoughts.. I plan on getting through this and ending up in full remission. The is no other alternative I will accept.”

Isn’t that crazy? I am now, almost a year later, in full remission. Awesome.

Going forward, I have 2 more treatments to do. I go in on Monday (19^th), and I should be there a week. I will have 2 weeks off, and then back in on April 9^th. I’ll be out by April 15^th, and they will take my PICC line out before I leave the hospital. I’ll go back in 2 or 3 months for scans, but no plans for more treatments!

Look for the big party to happen the weekend of the 21^st or 28^th or April. More on that later.

Death to Cancer
Cancer is Dead

Bang! Bang! Bang!

It’s true, it’s true! The cancer is still gone! The doctor did not call me and say he got my results mixed up with someone else’s. The cancer is gone. In the words of Reverend Martin Luther King Jr., “Free at Last! Free At last. Free at Last. Thank God Almighty, I am Free At Last.”

Well, not quite.

As it turns out, I’m not done. I just happen to have one of those doctors that don’t consider every test they can perform enough, he wants more. He wants me to do 2 more treatments of the High-Dose IL-2 before going on a monitoring program. 2 more treatments. Can I do it?

Hell Yes!

I can do 2 treatments. I can do more than that if I have to (don’t tell my doctor). Anyone who has played a shooting video game knows that there is no greater pleasure than standing over your defeated enemy, and firing a couple shots into his now-dead corpse. Bang! Bang! Bang!. Take that, Cancer.

It won’t be easy. My treatments have gotten harder with every step. Vomiting, shaking, fevers, chills, you name it. 7 days of hell followed by 14 days of recovery.

Bring it on.

Death to Cancer

Cancer is Dead

Wow

I read somewhere that the first rule of journalism is not to bury the meat of a story deep in the text so here it is:

They found no evidence of cancer in my belly.

That’s right. No evidence of cancer. During my surgery on Friday, the surgeon took many small biopsies of what looked like cancerous tissue. It was sent to the lab and there was no cancer in the samples. Diagnosis: negative for cancer.

Wow.

I have to admit, I am more than a little freaked out. When the nurse called, I started sobbing uncontrollably. Jacob came up and said “why are you crying daddy?”. I told him “because I am so happy.” He gave me a hug and a kiss and asked why I was happy. I told him “cause daddy isn’t sick anymore.”

Not sick anymore. Wow.

My aunt made a good point, saying sometimes good news is hard to take. It is very true.

I will have more information later, after I talk to the doctor. Thank you for your prayers, there could be no better evidence of them working.

Death to Cancer

Cancer is Dead

Back From Surgery

Just a short note. I had my surgery yesterday and everything went fine. The doctor poked two holes in me and looked around, took a couple biopsies, and sewed me back up. I had some trouble getting out of the hospital, but I am home and in a relatively small amount of pain (thank you Oxycodone!).

My surgeon saw improvement in my cancer since the last time he looked (October). There appears to be less cancer than before, and the doctor is happy with that. He biopsied (took samples) of the cancer he saw, and sent it to the lab. The lab will determine if the cells are viable (alive) or dead. There is a chance that the cancer has been killed by the chemotherapy, but still sits in my belly as a dead mass of tissue.

I should get the lab results on Wednesday, so look for news then.

Thank you for your thoughts and prayers, they seem to be working! I love you all.

Death to Cancer

What Am I Going To Do?

Sorry I haven’t written in a while. It seems that the more nervous I am, the less I write. Right now, I am very nervous. I have completed 4 rounds of IL-2 treatment, and responded well. I had my re-staging scans yesterday, and the doctor says they don’t look any worse than before. It is very hard to tell if there is cancer in my belly from CT scans, so we are going to do another diagnostic laparoscopy on Friday.

If they find don’t more cancer in my belly during the surgery, I plan to do 2 more rounds of IL-2, and then I’ll be done. I’ll come back every three months for scans, but no more treatments for now.

If they find cancer, I will probably switch treatments to something else. As you can imagine, a lot is riding on the outcome of this surgery, and I am very nervous about it. So, rather than drone on and on about my state of mind, I decided to take the positive route and list all the things I am going to do after I am proclaimed free of cancer.

- Throw a big party. Everyone and anyone will be invited., If you are reading this, you are invited.
- Get a tattoo. This is something I have always wanted, but I have never been sure what to get. Now I know. More on this later.
- Go skydiving with my wife, Jennifer. What better affirmation of life is there than risking it for sheer pleasure. I figure, if God let me beat cancer, he isn’t going to make my chute fail a week later.
- Play a round of golf. I haven’t played in a year, and I am ready to get out there.
- Take a bath and go swimming. I can’t do either until I get my PICC line out. I missed swimming all summer.
- Personally thank everyone that sent me a card / note / gift/ prayer card. I have saved everything. You all can expect to be hearing from me.
- Take a deep breath, cry, kiss my wife and my son. Enough said.
- Get back to life. Get an internship, finish school, and try to live up to my wife’s high opinion of me.

Any other suggestions?

Death to Cancer

Here We Go Again

One question I got last week from a reader is “How do you get ready to go into the hospital, and what do you bring with you?”

I go in tonight, so I think this is a good time to go through my routine. All last week and this weekend I have been making sure that the fridge and freezer is stocked for Jen and Jake. The last thing she needs to do is go to the grocery store. I also made a meatloaf and a lasagna that I left in the fridge.

The morning of my admitting I call to get a password to the wireless ineternet at the hosipital. I don't get admitted until after 7pm, so I get this taken care of early.

I bring the same things to the hospital every time. Here is my packing list:

• Pajamas, Tee-Shirts, Slippers: I refuse to wear hospital gowns, so I wear jammies all the time in the hospital.
  
• My X-Box 360 and Games: I bought this after my second trip to the hospital. I have brought it with me ever since, and it helps relieve the boredom.
  
• My Laptop: to read email and sometimes even get some work done. The hospital has wireless internet, which is very helpful.
  
• Candy Candy Candy: I bring candy to eat when I can’t eat anything else. I also like to have it to give to the army of nurses and doctors that I see on a daily basis.
  
• My Pillow and Blanket: A little touch of home away from home.
  
• Decorations: Cards from Jake, pictures of my family, and a bunch of signs Kelleye made for me.
  
• Books and Magazines: I am bringing The Long Tail to finish up, and I usually bring a Business Week or 2.
  
• Me: I wish I could leave this at home!
  

I’ll be in for a week. Wish me luck!
Peace, Love, and Hershey’s

Don't Say It!

In the movie “Brighton Beach Memoirs”, the lead character monologues about diseases. Hey says that when you say the name of a bad disease, you have to whisper it, or you will get it yourself. “My uncle has pancreititis” or “My brother died of cancer”. Especially cancer. That word is the worst possible thing. Nobody says it except doctors and patients.

When I see people I know, they never say cancer. It is “how are you feeling?” and “how are you doing?”, “how did it go last time”, and “I am proud of you for how you are handling this.” Here is a list of things people don’t say:

“How is your cancer?”
“Beat that cancer yet?”
“Has your cancer gotten worse?”
“How is the cancer fight going?”
“You look great for a cancer patient.”

Don’t get me wrong, people are truly concerned and their support is awesome. But it is interesting how cancer provokes such caution with people’s words. Maybe other patients are different, but I am not ashamed or embarrassed about my cancer. I have no problem talking about it or answering questions.

I am doing well. My cancer is going (or gone) away, and the treatments seem to be the reason. I have the best doctor in the world, and I am at the best hospital in the world. My wife and son brighten every day of my life. I guess if things weren’t going so well, I might not be as happy to talk about it. Maybe.

Peace and Love.
Double Goose in Your Eye.

Jumping Back On

Since starting treatment for malignant melanoma last May, sometimes I feel like the world is a merry-go-round. Things seem to move quite fast, and every couple of weeks, I take a step off and do another treatment. The world spins on, oblivious (maybe), of the temporary loss of one of its inhabitants. A few days after I get home from the hospital, I get a little run going, and hop back onto the merry-go-round.

My last treatment went well, although it was one of my worst eating-wise. I went in last Monday, and Tuesday Jen brought me a sandwich from Schlotzsky’s (after this, I am going to do a commercial for these guys: “Your turkey-bacon-club got me through chemotherapy”). It was the last thing I ate until Saturday morning.

The treatments are definitely having a cumulative effect. After the second dose of IL-2, I felt like I did at the end of the last treatment. I did 6 doses (yeah), and the doctor called it quits (wimp). Actually, I was determined not to cry uncle.

On the plus side, it was my shortest hospital stay ever (4 nights ICU, 1 recovery). It isn’t that I responded so well, or recovered so quickly. I think they just trust me to take care of myself and follow instructions when I get home. I say that’s good. I go home where I am more comfortable, and someone needier gets my bed at the hospital.

For the next post, I am taking questions from the audience. Email me or post a comment on the blog with your question and I will try to answer it. Feel free to ask me anything related to my cancer, treatment, state-of-mind, family, etc. No holds barred.

Well, until then, it is time to get back to the business of living, and business is good.

No News is Good News

Hello Constant Reader (a phrase borrowed from Stephen King):

Yesterday I went to the hospital to get the results of the tests I had last week. As it turns out, they show nothing. This is good news. Last time, they showed nothing, so showing something would be bad news.

I have mentioned before that my cancer doesn’t really show up on scans. I can explain that a bit more. To understand why scans don’t work for me very well, you have to understand the concept of resolution.

A viewing machine can only see details as fine as its resolution, details smaller than that are lost. Imagine a large (say 10 feet wide) map of the United States. You can identify (resolve) different states, mountain ranges, maybe counties, rivers, maybe some large lakes. Maps like this usually have dots for the cities, even large ones. What about the neighborhood you live in? You can’t see (resolve) that on a map of the United States. It is just too small. If someone were to try to draw your neighborhood on the map, they would find they need a very small pen. In fact, the size of the pen you can use determines the resolution.

Even if the person were to draw your neighborhood, it would be wrong, because just putting a dot on the map would cover many neighborhoods. In other words, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between one neighborhood and another.

This is the problem with my scans. Although my cancer spread around my abdomen, it was thinner than the resolution of the scanning machines (CT scanner). If the resolution of a CT Scan is 1 millimeter, then the machine cannot see anything smaller than that. The only way to see something smaller, is to open me up and look. The human eye can see much better than a CT scanner (in some ways).

So, why do we do these scans, especially considering that they are so uncomfortable? Well, if the cancer grows, we need to know right away. They scan my brain with MRI to see if the cancer has spread there. All my scans come up negative for cancer.

My next post is going to explain some cancer treatments, and why they work (or don’t)

Cancer Sucks

Poked and Prodded

Hello everybody. I hope you had as good a Christmas as I had. We had everyone over for Christmas Eve, about 17 people. It went very well. I gotta tell you, I love Eggnog. I put a shot of Southern Comfort in it and dust the top with nutmeg. Boo-Yah!

So yesterday I went to the hospital for re-staging. Basically, they re-evaluate where my cancer is, and how effective the treatment has been. I don’t have results yet, but I did get to have these tests:
- Chest and Neck X-Ray
- Brain MRI with and without contrast
- Blood tests (lots of these)
- CT Scan of the abdomen and pelvis (with and without contrast).

The worst is the CT scan because
a) They can’t use my PICC line to inject the contrast so they have to give me an IV. IVs hurt like living hell.
b) I have to drink barium (liquid poop) for an hour and a half before the procedure.
c) I get to have a barium enema during the test (I know, I know, TMI).

On the plus side, the actual CT scan only takes about 10 minutes.

The easiest test is the chest x-ray. Stand up, turn to the side, breathe in, and hold it, you're done. I get the results on Wednesday. I am not expecting any big revelation, and will probably continue with my IL-2 treatments on the following Monday.

How was your holiday?

P.S. You don’t have to be registered to comment anymore.

Looking Back

Well everyone, it has been a tough year. As a matter of fact, besides the year I was born (boy was that traumatic); it has been one of the toughest. I wanted to use this post to look back and thank the people that have helped me so much this year. I couldn’t have done it alone. So without further ado, here is my list of shout-outs:

Dr. Patrick Hwu, Dr. Paul Mansfield
I don’t have much faith in miracles, I have faith in doctors. I credit 99% of my recovery to these two guys.

Jennifer
The only way to test the strength of a chain is to pull it until it breaks. My wife is titanium steel.

Jacob
I may not have always acted like I wanted to see him; but from the first time he came to see me in the hospital, he made it like home. He can ride on daddy’s magic chair anytime.

Jordan
How my brother worked nights, spent his days with me, and still managed to sleep is a wonder of human endurance. He actually created hours in the day! Nobody has been more willing to help at any hour for any reason.

Dad
Driving me to the hospital, coming to visit me every other day like clockwork. He has been there for me like only a dad can.

Aunt Jan (Nanny)
She is so special to me. Why do I cry every time she visits me in the hospital?

Carol Lacey, Physician’s Assistant
Everything I know about cancer I from Carol. She is ne of the busiest people in the hospital, but never failed to answer a question for me or my family.

The other doctors and PAs in the Melanoma Clinic (Hwu, Bedikian, Papadapolous, and Kim)
When I go into the hospital for a treatment round, I never know which doctor will be taking care of me for the week. Because these doctors are so awesome, I never worried about it.

The nurses at MD Anderson, especially Ida, Lauren, Joseph, Grace, and Effie
Nursing has got to be one of the hardest jobs in the world. These are the ones that take care of me in every way you can take care of a person.

Claire, Mike, and Eric
My friends from school worked very hard to make me feel like I wasn’t even away.

My friends at SalvageSale but especially Scott, Ken, and Kim
These guys made me feel normal when I was out of the hospital. Thanks for treating me like a human.

The MD Anderson Cancer Center
What an amazing place! Truly a place of healing. I owe them alot.

Most of All: You!
You read my blog, comment, tell your friends. I love you guys.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Happy New Year!

Who are the lucky ones?

So, I have tried to stay away from overt reminders of my condition like movies about people dying of cancer. But, today I was flipping through the channels and “My Life” came on. I couldn't turn it off.

It is about a man with terminal cancer who uses a video camera to leave messages for his unborn son. Michael Keaton is awesome as the cancer patient, and Nicole Kidman plays the wife well.

The movie got me thinking, is it possible that the people that are told by the doctor “you have so many months to live” are the lucky ones? Ok, ok, I would rather die later than sooner. But given that everyone dies, is it better to know when in advance?

In the movie, Michael Keaton starts out as an “unexamined life.” He does not talk to his parents or his brother, and he has grown distant from his wife. He doesn’t share in the pregnancy by going to ultrasounds, etc… Over the course of the film (about 10 months I think), he is able to sort through his issues with his family, and reignites the love and passion with his wife. By telling his son about his life (via the videotapes), he examines and betters himself.

If he had never had cancer but died the same day as he does in the movie, would he have lived as good a life? He would not have had the chance to tell his son so much about himself. He would have died still mad at his family, still distant from his wife, and not really knowing himself.

Personally, I would want to know. I am a “planner,” and I would want to “put my house in order.”

What would you want? The comment board is open.

Double-goose in your eye

Cancer 101 Part 2 - What Causes Skin Cancer?

In the last post we looked at what cancer is. We know cancer is basically cells that refuse to stop dividing (gone crazy). In this post, I will try to explain what causes cancer. Please note: I am neither a doctor or cancer expert. If anything that I say is misleading or wrong, please let me know and I will change it immediately. What I put here I have learned from my doctors over the last 9 months fighting cancer.

So, there are these crazy cells that won’t stop dividing right? What causes that? Don’t they know when to stop, and why doesn’t the problem just fix itself?

It starts with DNA. DNA is the “user manual” for a cell. It tells the cell what kind of cell to be, and how to be that kind cell. It also governs the cells lifecycle by telling it how to divide and when to stop dividing. OK, it is actually much more complicated than that, but one can think of DNA as a cell’s brains. Unfortunately, DNA can be damaged, and that is what causes cancer.

A common cause of cancer is radiation exposure (think nuclear bomb or power plant meltdown). Radiation causes damage to DNA, changing it slightly or damaging it just a bit. Usually, small bits if damage to DNA have no effect. All they really do is make the cell unable to function or reproduce. Imaging if you took the instruction manual to your oven and randomly changed 1000 letters in the book. The odds are good that the book wouldn’t make any sense anymore. However, what if you just happened to change the first sentence to say “put your head in the oven and turn it on.” Those random changes just made a big mess.

When DNA damage causes cancer, it means that the cell’s “user manual” no longer contains the instructions on how to stop dividing. There are many things that can change the “words” of a cell’s DNA. Radiation (nukes) and chemical toxins (chemicals in cigarettes) are two of the most common.

There are also genetic traits that can predispose you to getting certain kinds of cancer. This doesn’t mean that my son will get cancer because I did, but it does mean that he is more likely to get it than someone whose dad did not have skin cancer.

So what causes skin cancer? If we only knew… Current conventional wisdom points to UV Radiation. The sun’s light is composed of many colors (ever see a rainbow). Some of those colors we can’t even see. One of those colors us ultraviolet. If you could see ultraviolet colors through a prism, they would be just beyond purple in the rainbow. As it turns out, exposure to this UV light damages the DNA of melanocytes, the cells responsible for the color of your skin. If they are damaged enough, they can go crazy and become cancer.

Skin cancer is the most common type of cancer in the United States with 1 million new cases diagnosed every year. The best way to protect yourself from getting skin cancer is to wear sun block when outdoors ALL THE TIME and do not tan. If you do tan, you run the risk of being a great looking corpse, because you died of skin cancer.

Next in this series we will look at the current treatments for cancer, how they work, and what is on the horizon.

Death to Cancer

Cancer 101 Part 1 - What is Cancer?

As most of you know, in late April of this year I was diagnosed with Metastatic Melanoma (cancer). I don't think I have ever taken the time to fully explain what this disease is, what its symptoms are, and how my treatments fight it. So, I now begin the first of a 3 part series. This post will explain what Metastatic Melanoma is (I hope).

Everybody has skin (some have more of it than others). Melanoma is a form of cancer of the skin. You can get cancer of almost any organ, and your skin is your largest organ. So what is cancer? According to Wikipedia, cancer is the uncontrolled division of cells that has the ability to move throughout your body.

Your body makes new cells by dividing existing cells. When you get cancer somewhere, your cells basically go crazy. They keep dividing and dividing and they don't stop. That is why people develop tumors; uncontrolled cell division creates growth in that type of tissue. For example: Somebody gets liver cancer so their liver cells keep dividing and dividing, creating a lump of liver tissue where there shouldn't be one.

Melanoma is cancer of the skin cells that cause pigmentation (melanocytes). These cells are responsible for the color for your skin. These cells go crazy and won't stop dividing. Since they are dark colored cells, when they form a mass on the skin it looks like a mole.

So, why do people die of extra skin cells? Well, they key is in a process called metastasis. When cancer moves into an area that can transport it somewhere else, it hitches a ride and then implants itself somewhere else. For example: someone has skin cancer and the cancer cells get into the blood. They hitch a ride on the blood all the way to the person's brain. They then implant in the brain and start growing there. The cancer is said to have metastasized.

While a mass of uncontrolled growth on your skin might be annoying, that same mass growing inside your brain can be downright problematic. Without treatment, it can (and probably will) kill you. Once cancer metastasizes, it becomes a very serious situation.

Cancer is broadly characterized by the type of cells that it affects (skin, liver, blood, brain, lung, breast, etc…) and the stage of the cancer. Cancer comes in four stages:

• Stage I – the cancer is still where it started (in situ). It hasn’t moved or grown much.
• Stage II and Stage III – these cancers have stared to invade or move. In the case of Melanoma, stage III means the cancer has spread locally to a nearby lymph node.
• Stage IV – this means that the cancer has spread into the rest of the body (metastasized).

My cancer is stage IV Malignant Melanoma with metastasis on the peritoneum. My primary tumor (where it started) was on my back and was removed surgically 6 years ago. So, my cancer started as crazy cells on my back, that burrowed down to the blood or lymph system. They then used that system to hitch a ride to my gut, where they implanted on my peritoneum.

So that is cancer. The next post will explain how cancer causes problems (symptoms).

Peace and Love.

Getting Ready for Christmas

Happy Holidays Family and Friends!

I hope the holiday season is going well for everyone. I am having a great time so far.

For Thanksgiving, Jen's parents came over for dinner. I cooked the turkey, as I always do, and it turned out great. I added breakfast sausage to my mom's stuffing recipe (actually my Grandma Connelly's recipe), the first change I have ever dared . I was happy with the result. Lots of people ask me for my turkey recipe, but it is one of those "a little of this, a little of that" recipes. This year, I took careful notes and pictures. I hope to release the recipe soon, in time for Christmas.

Jen and I saw Borat last weekend. It was hilarious but be careful if you plan to see it. If you are easily offended by anything, don't see it. The movie manages to try to offend everyone at one point or another. It rocked!

I am feeling fine, and have been living pretty normally (see previous post). I go back to the doctor December 28th for re-staging. They will give me X-Rays, CT Scans, blood work, and a MRI to decide what to do next. For me, it is just really a formality. The doctor is already planning on 2 more cycles before we quit. I plan to start the next cycle on January 8th.

Thanks for reading.

Death to Cancer

Everything is Normal

Given the situation, "everything is normal" is not a phrase that seems to apply. However, that is how I have felt. Going to the hospital every three weeks or so and staying for 6-9 days is normal. Flushing my permanent IV every night with blood thinner to prevent clots is normal. Being stuck in the house, unable to drive for up to a week at a time is normal. Re-acquainting myself with my family when I get home from a treatment is normal. Forcing myself to eat and a few days later eating all day is normal. In short, I live a normal life.

Jen and I are getting to be pros at fighting cancer.

People have been asking about the new treatments. If you recall, I have been switched to the "High -Dose Interleukin II" treatments, which require me to be in the ICU.

Basically, I go into the hospital on Monday, and get admitted to the ICU. There, they hook me up to all sorts of machines. These machines monitor my heart rate, heart activity, oxygen absorption, breathing, blood pressure, etc... For about 24 hours they hydrate me with fluids, then on Tuesday the fun begins.

Starting on Tuesday, they give me a dose of Interleukin-II every 8 hours until my body gives out or I crack. The drugs don't have an immediate effect, I can't tell when they go in except that the nurse tells me they are starting a dose. The doctor has to approve each dose. They even call him to wake him up in the middle of the night to ask him about my 1 am dose.

About 2 hours after the dose gets into me, I get cold and start to shiver. It happens very quickly, going from normal to flapping like a fish on the docks in about 5 minutes. The nurses come and wrap me in these nice heated blankets and give me a dose of Demerol. The shivering can last up to an hour. Then I throw up. Dose complete. Repeat.

The first time I had this treatment it wasn't very bad. My resting heart rate tripled after 8 doses and the doctor quit. The second time, I was able to go 7 doses, and I cried uncle. It was the first time I asked the doctors to stop giving me cancer drugs, and I regret it somewhat. Even though the doctor said he was ready to stop them on me anyway, the fact that I was going to quit represents a failure of will that I didn't like. I guess I am not Superman (note: I really am Superman).

I am home now, recovering. I am out of the hospital until the new year (yippee!) and am going to try to stay busy. I have been doing alot of cooking and plan to take a few 1 day cooking classes soon.

I hope everybody is having a great holiday season!

A Light at the End of a Long Tunnel

Howdy everyone! I thought I would update you on my progress and go-forward plan, as of yesterday…

My laparascopic surgery on Friday went about as well as can be expected. I went in, they knocked me out, and then they looked inside of me. When I woke up, I spent about 2 hours recovering and then went home. By Monday, I was off the pain medication and I feel fine. My surgeon was the same guy that found the cancer in me in May and so he was the perfect person to look again. According to him, my cancer is 99.5% gone.

That is mixed news. 99.5% is a lot of cancer to kill, but any cancer is still cancer. We have to do something about the last 0.5%. So I went to my clinical doctor yesterday to talk about options. These are my options.

• Option 1: Continue with the treatments that I have been getting (biochemotherapy). Obviously something is working, why stop now? The disadvantage is that this treatment has some bad permanent side effects that have already started appearing in me. Loss of hearing and loss of feeling in my feet (neuropathy). This treatment also wreaks havoc on my bone marrow, a potentially dangerous side effect.

• Option 2: Switch to a new treatment, High-Dose Interkeukin-2. I have already been getting Interleukin (IL-2, Proleukin) in my biochemotherapy. This treatment would only give me this drug, but would increase the dose to about 10 times what I have been receiving. The advantage of this treatment is that its effects (the good ones) can be permanent. The doctor likened it to the polio vaccine I had when I was a baby. I still haven’t gotten polio, even though I got the vaccine 31 years ago. The disadvantage of this treatment is that it is very rough. I have to be in the ICU and there is a real risk of heart attack. However, once the drugs are gone out of my system, all the side effects go away. No permanent side effects.

So, we decided on option 2. I go back into the hospital on Monday, and will probably be there 10 days or so. I have to get a new PICC line, so I will be back to “real cancer patient” for a while. The really bad news is that the doctor wants to do at least 4 cycles of this new treatment. That will last at least until the end of January. That takes school next semester off the table. I have to admit, I am really bummed about that.

So, what do I think about this? I felt like I was losing my steam during the last two treatments, and I was looking forward to being done (understatement). I didn’t think I would still be doing therapy in January. I feel reenergized from the good report (great report, actually), but I worry that I don’t have the stamina for 3.5 – 4 months of treatment. It really doesn’t matter anyway, not doing the therapy is not an option, and neither is failing. My job for the last 6 months has been “Cancer Warrior”.

I guess it is time to get back to work.