Pre test results, pre the Grande Boucle

Ann and I are heading off to Houston, Texas, tomorrow for CT and MRI scans on Thursday.  The scans will show if there has been any progress made in fighting the cancer, or if cancer has made any progress on me by growing and infiltrating more of my body.  The main focus will be on the tumor in my lung, which is kind of floating there and easy to measure and compare from the March PET scans.  On Friday, my case will be reviewed and we’ll meet with Dr. Patel to review the results and make a battle plan.  If biochemo therapy is working then we’ll continue with a third round of biochemo starting next Friday. If it is not working, we’ll likely switch it up and I’ll enter the TIL (tumor infiltrating lymphocyte) clinical trial at MD Anderson next Friday.  Not sure what we’ll do if there is no result at all.  I recently read a blog called Melanoma Mom of a young woman with a very similar case to mine where her two treatments prior to entering the TIL study actually shrunk her tumors enough to avert the need for anything else, so there’s as much chance of great news as of bad.  Needless to say we are on pins and needles awaiting the results.  All I can say is that I feel great now, two weeks after my last biochemo treatment, and I know my body has been busy kicking cancer’s ass.  I’ll let you know the results over the weekend.

Also this weekend is, much to my wife’s dismay, the start of the 98th Tour de France.  Being a cyclist and pro cycling fan this means 23 days of the most amazing performances of individuals and teams, epic battles steeped in a hundred years of tradition across 2,131 miles of the beautiful fields and mountains of France.  And very dear to my heart is the greatest cyclist in the history of le Tour, seven-time winner Lance Armstrong.  Especially so this week, pre-results, as I consider what my cancer diagnosis means to me.  I believe in the bottom of my heart that we ultimately determine what things mean to us and that in turn determines our future.  Life’s roadblocks, setbacks and failures have more of an impact on our lives than successes and bouts of contentment.  This setback in my health has the potential to have an enormous effect on my life, and that can be a negative or positive.  I’ve determined, and am committed, that it will be positive.  I will come out the other end of this fight a better man, a stronger father and more loving husband.  I'll come out a more complete human being with a new fire burning in my gut to try to prevent this from happening to others.  In short, this will be a turning point for me, a lesson in life that I’ll take to heart to make my life – and hopefully that of others – better and more complete.  And I’m not alone, studies show that most cancer survivors come away from cancer with a sense of blessing.  Lance Armstrong was crystal clear on what cancer meant to him.  He said:

     “Without cancer I would have never won a single Tour de France.  Cancer taught me a plan for purposeful living, even that in turn taught me how to train and win purposefully.  It taught me that pain has a reason, and that sometimes the experience of losing things – whether health or a car or an old sense of self – has its own value in the scheme of life.  Pain and loss are great enhancers.”

     Whatever the results on Friday, I know – beyond a shadow of a doubt – that having cancer is going to make me a better person.  Take that cancer, and stick it where the sun don’t shine. 

Downtime

In a war, troops are not always engaged in combat, but they are always fighting.  Time spent behind the lines is a weird kind of limbo, knowing that a life and death battle rages on just over the horizon but spending a lot of time just hanging out.  I guess many of you are wondering what I do with myself in between treatments.  Well, spending time at home has been an interesting exercise in both trying to get stuff done as well as filling up the time of the day. This is made all the more complicated by a combination of lack of ability to do things you could, and wanted, to do before and all the time off from work to get treatment.  I used to budget out every minute of my time, planning out my schedule three months in advance in thirty minute increments with color coded graphics and synchronized calendar files.  Now, for the first time since I was in college, I find each day between treatments a relatively blank slate. I'm not going to work, not riding my bike, not going out and that frees up about 99.6% of my non-family time.  If you think that what you do does not define who you are then you should try taking some serious time off from all that you do, it’s an eye opener.  Now I'm not a finance executive, not a cyclist, not a not a stranger to a glass in my hand (at least for now).  I wonder if I met someone new how I would describe myself?  To help answer that question I’ve been spending some serious time developing an attitude of gratitude, and defining who I am by all that I am blessed with instead of all that I do.  For all I've lost so far I am still a seriously lucky dude.  Two healthy, perfect girls and a wonderful wife would make it all worthwhile but I have so much more - including the relative good health to fight this cancer.   To whit, I've started a morning routine of walking the dogs one mile followed by yoga and core exercise (balance board, etc.).  I started setting my alarm clock and taking showers on a regular basis and trying to maintain some discipline while in the rear with the gear.  Chemo brain still makes anything intellectual a challenge, but I can fight cancer every day between treatments with push-ups and sit-ups.  I am still watching massive amounts of the Military Channel and Versus Cycling TV as well as afternoon napping with the dogs, but working on speeding my recovery is going to help me beat this thing. So in between treatments I'm spending my time continuing the fight.  I'm rebuilding reserves, continuing to research treatment options and tactics, licking my wounds and readying for the next attack.

Dad Day

Well, round 2 done.  OK, I may not have been doing pushups in the corner but I made it through the entire decrescendo course of biochemo without missing any of the drugs (last time they pulled me short of the last vinplastin and Interferon doses because of low blood counts).  I insisted on every drop this time.  It was rough but I think I came out of it in better shape than last round.  I’m weak, my skin is peeling like an Ohio tourist on their first spring break to Panama City, but I’m overall in good shape.  I had my PICC line removed, so no cyborg plugs.  I have two weeks at home to enjoy being a husband and father.  Thanks for all the good wishes during my hospital stay; I wish I could respond to all of you but for some I don’t have e-mails.  But remember that each and every message means so very much to me.

   So, the good news.  My t-cells grew in sufficient quantities to enter the TIL study (detailed below, link on the right), yeah!  They have been frozen and await further instructions.  On June 30^th Ann and I return to MD Anderson for imaging, CT scans of the whole body, to see if we’ve made any progress against the cancer or if cancer has made any progress against me.  If the biochemo shows progress we may stick to it, starting a third round on July 8^th.  If no progress, or negative progress, than we’ll likely plan to enter the TIL study at about the same time.  Either way, cancer gets some more ass kicking but this could be the beginning of the end or just the end of the beginning.  July 1^st will tell, and boy is that going to be an ominous meeting with Dr. Patel.

   Today is Father’s Day and the topic has been weighing on me the past weeks.  As I lay in the hospital the duties of fatherhood went on untended except by my overburdened wife.  The pool pump broke, the insurance check was not right, the kids toy castle needed rebuilding.  Cancer has taken away much of my functionality of what the role of father and provider means to me, at least temporarily.  Any guy will tell you how this cuts deep, how the inadequacy weighs down on you like a ton of soft bricks.  Husband is bad but falling down on father duties seems all the more difficult to swallow.  All I can do is contribute where I can, support those supporting me, and vow to come back as a better father and provider when this battle is finally drawn to a close.  I relish this bit of shame, and use it as fuel for the fight when I ever lack some spark.  But today, on father’s day, when I see the unbridled joy in Gwen and Sabrina’s eyes when they play with me, I remember that what I may temporarily lack in being a father is not the entirety of the role.  Any man can be a Father but it takes someone special to be a Dad, and cancer cannot take that away from me.