So how do you pull yourself up by your bootstrap?  It is daunting from the perspective of the bottom of the boot.

My friends Mr. T, Mr. B and Mr. S cornered me at the Bellevue Club today, and their messages can be summarized:

• OK, your funkfest is now officially over
• You owe it to your supporters to write something (really?)
• It would be good to hear from you (I think this was the 'being nice' part)
• Whatever this life is, it is much bigger than you (so out of your funk already)
• Time to rejoin the human race (my artistic license) 

Another step in funk removal (a funkectomy-sounds scary) was volunteering with the 'Lymphoma Support Network' and trying to help another patient who has had a relapse of Mantle Cell Lymphoma deal with their demons.  It is true that reaching out to someone else returns more than you give.

Anyway with 4 of a planned 6 chemotherapy sessions of Bendamustine/Rituximab down, it is time to move on.

I wish you all a wonderful holiday season with family and friends and hope 2014 is good to you.

Best wishes

 

Cancer Relapse and Falling Off

This happens to be Prince Harry, but I can certainly relate to his lament.  Cancer relapse is a major bummer-you feel like the horse just threw you for all it was worth,  and it required no justification or explanation for its action.  One day it just decided you were not riding. Period.  Full stop.

After enduring much cancer therapy with all its attendant unpleasantries, you're starting out not just from scratch, but a couple of notches lower.  Less than 2 years after much chemo and a stem cell transplant, you're off the remission wagon.

Not only that, but going forward, what they give you is called 'salvage therapy'.  That lovely moniker creates a surge of apathy for more treatment, I assure you.  You become angry, frustrated, and even lash out at those who are closest and trying their best to help and support you. Many wonder who replaced a reasonably stable and at times thoughtful person with a raving cancer lunatic.  Trust me, it isn't just the phase of the moon.

Many of you have made the subtle and deferentially non-judgmental reference to my avoidance of writing about this relapse.  Guilty as charged is all I can say.  Somehow when you are sitting on the ground licking your wounds, it can be just a little too challenging to write something that sounds half way inspired, positive, or even interesting for that matter. As if anybody needs more misery to deal with in their lives...

Having said that, guilt and shame are powerful emotions, and I have officially caved to them.  Life goes on, and either you get back up on the horse or continue to stare at the ground.  Like Harry,  I tired of the view.

Bear with me while awaiting inspiration.  Nothing worth doing is ever easy, and I suppose the same can be said for coming to terms with major league health disappointment.

So with a foot in the stirrups,  it's time to get back on the horse for another ride.

Thanks for indulging this emotional nadir and for your continued and unwavering suppport.

Warm wishes as always.

GREGORIAN CALENDAR 12-12-12

So the follow-up appointment for a CT scan, blood work, and Oncologist visit was set to occur on 12-12-12;  and attentive readers will note that would be today.


As an aside, there was a date 01-01-01, 02-02-02, etc. all the way up to 12-12-12, but, being the astute reader you are, will realize there won't ever be a 13-13-13 (unless we give up our Gregorian calendar and create more than 12 months in the year).  We seem to have great difficulty in just navigating past this 'fiscal cliff', so don't expect there to be a month change anytime soon...

The reason for the rambling is that the news today was all negative, which in medical speak means you are fine and hence there thankfully isn't much to write.  YES!!!  CT, blood work, and Oncologist all OK-the best three-fer I could ask for in time for the holidays!!!

Thanks to all for your continued support,  have a great holiday, and best wishes for a happy and healthy 2013!

Cancer Birthday #1

Just passed the one year milestone after stem cell transplantation, and the most common question asked by friends and family is: 'How are you feeling now?'

I've told many of you this, but if you missed the sermon, the answer is: (somewhat surprising to me) normal.

Not sure how much of feeling normal is simply deciding you have been sick for a while (the cancer probably started about 2 years ago) and you desperately want to be normal, or if you really are normal.

According to blood tests, CT scans, bone marrow biopsies, and above all my Oncologist, I am medically normal.  Physicians reading this will detect the reason for the italics-all docs view their patients through a certain filter, and frankly there is a tendency to see patients in an objective, clinical, and somewhat sterile sense.  I suspect most patients view normality through a much wider lens, and a pronouncement of 'normal' from the doc may not translate quite so well in the gestalt of their entire being.

OK, enough philosophical rambling-many thanks to all for continued support and encouragement.  It makes up a significant piece of the normal pie (or cake :-).

Kindest wishes

117

117 has no special meaning in the Aztec calendar.  It is simply the number of days since my last Neulasta injection, and it is great to be in the DWN triple digits (days without neulasta).  Blood counts are all straddling the lower end of the normal range, so maybe the picture should be somebody on both sides of a goal line.  Whatever-you get the drift.

Pretty soon it will be 4 months without Neulasta.  Sounds a little like an AA abstinence program...will just keep showing up (often the most important component of success) and hope for continued slow but steady improvement.

Happy Labor Day Weekend to you all!

Closer, closer...

All right, all right-that's not me touching the hand of God, but you get the idea-getting closer to a normal bone marrow.  Let's see: in the low normal range for hematocrit and platelets; still a little below the normal range in the white blood cell department, but good enough to avoid another Neulasta injection.  Think it is now 11 weeks since the last injection-how many of the Olympians can claim that, huh?

Anyway staying positive and having your kind wishes, encouragement, and support has delivered me to this point and I am very grateful.

Thanks to you all for reading these missives-clearly they are done as a form of therapy-and you have all not only tolerated them, but above and beyond the call of duty, have sent many, many warm wishes and kind thoughts.  A few have even encouraged me to start writing, but that is kinda daunting still, but I am considering.  Maybe I'll have an epiphany...

Have a great summer all!

'Almost there'

No that isn't me, but I do sometimes feel stem cell transplant recovery is a long ascent. Kinda like climberdude above. Today however there was good news at the Oncologist visit-white and red blood cell counts almost normal,  so no Neulasta injection-haven't had one for 7 weeks now (a new record).

Will try to keep s t r e t c h i n g intervals between injections and hopefully not require them at all some time soon!

Have a great summer and thanks again for your support!

Best wishes