11.23.11

I believe I've put my finger on the thing that aggravates me the most about the whole cancer thing; the lack of control I have to affect and/or master something going on within my own body.

About 10-11 years ago I lost a lot of weight that I had put on over the preceding decade or so, roughly 120 lbs. It took effort, it took time, but by my consistently maintaining an eating regimen that worked for me (higher protein/lower carbs, if anyone is interested) and consistency in (and increasing as I became more fit again) an exercise regimen I was able to do it. I mastered my weight; my weight didn't master me. Similarly, if I wish to increase my muscle mass and strength, increase my speed running, etc... through my efforts I can do those things. If I suffer an injury- a torn ligament, broken bone, or something else- through my efforts (along with medical help as needed) I could rehab and recover from that injury, my efforts would play a significant role in recovering. I would be able to recover. Unlike some things in life our bodies ought to be something that we can exert control, exert discipline, over.

But the cancer... it's not as if I can tweak my diet, step up my workout regimen, rehab my colon or liver and eventually overcome it. Diet and exercise are good things in keeping me healthy and stable, in hopefully prolonging my life or at least the quality of it for as long as possible. Even sitting in a Barcolounger every two weeks and getting pumped full of poisons for 5 or so hours won't allow me to overcome, master, and defeat it; at best it will keep it at bay for as long as it is effective. And that is what is frustrating, what pisses me off; that there is nothing I can do to master and control something going on within me. I guess I'm more of a control freak than I thought.

Nevertheless, on this day before Thanksgiving I do have much to be thankful for. I feel a helluva lot better than I ever imagined I would be feeling six months ago; I feel perfectly fine. Feeling good enables me to maintain a normal life, the life I was leading before I was diagnosed. Those are good things. I'm thankful for the medical care that I am receiving; I have some great, and very talented, people working on my behalf. And I'm thankful for- and still humbled by- the interest and concern and compassion I've received from so many good people whom I'm blessed to call family and friends. So Happy Thanksgiving- and Beat Sharon!

11.14.11

It was six months ago this evening that I found out I had cancer and underwent surgery to remove a cancerous growth and have a piece of my liver biopsied. It would be a few days later that I was told the extent of the cancer, and a week after that when I got the full diagnosis, recommended course of treatment, and typical prognosis. Many of the particulars of that day and night are still a blur; I remember undergoing the CT scan that discovered the growth as well as the lesions on my liver (I also remember throwing up the contrast solution afterward) I remember a nurse coming back to tell me the results, that they were likely cancer and that the obstruction in my colon needed to be removed, that evening (I only found out recently that I was also a lot closer to, well, not making it than I knew at the time) I remember receiving the Anointing of the Sick (ie, Last Rites) and I vaguely remember being wheeled into what seemed a very dark operating room. And I remember thinking this all wasn't too good.

The first month was the worst. I still wasn't quite sure of how things were going to turn out, I still had an ileostomy pouch (a result of the colon surgery), and I was facing the prospect of chemotherapy and all that that might entail. I underwent a second surgery toward the end of June (to reverse the ileostomy, and to install a port-a-cath device in my chest through which to administer the chemo drugs once I commenced treatment.) July was better, as I began to regain some stamina and strength (and weight.) The beginning of August I underwent another CT scan (without throwing up!) as well as blood work to determine the extent of my cancer just prior to beginning treatment. It had advanced since May.

Six months out, and a little over three months of treatment, I feel pretty good. Apparently I've been able to tolerate the chemo very well thus far, with minimal adverse side effects (mostly the sensitivity to cold that I've mentioned previously) and the treatments have had the desired effects, no new growths and the existing tumors have shrunk appreciably in size. Physically I feel fine- as I tell anyone who'll listen, if I didn't know that I was sick I wouldn't know I was sick. No pain, no fatigue. Last week I finally got back up to a little over 7 miles on my morning runs, back up to 40-45 mins of cardio at the same levels I was doing prior to May. I'm still a little weaker lifting but getting stronger nonetheless. My energy level and appetite are both good. I feel pretty damn good, a credit to my medical team, and maybe a bit to myself. If you had asked me six months ago if I thought I'd be feeling this good, this well, this normal I'd have said no.

It still seems unreal to me at times; you know these things can occur but you always tend to think they will happen to the other guy or gal, not you. It does give one pause to ponder things. More than anything else these last six months have given me such a greater appreciation of people. The genuine interest and concern I've received from so many people has been humbling; I still feel as if I'm undeserving of such kindness from so many. I've come to appreciate and care about people far more than I ever have in my life, with far less cynicism than I've often had in the past- there really are a lot of very good people in this world. In that regard I'm blessed.

I realize that I'm on the clock; hopefully it won't wind down too quickly. But six months out from a truly horrible day I'm feeling a helluva lot better, physically and emotionally, than I ever thought I would be feeling.

11.03.11

I've had a few people recently suggest that I look at my illness and all as "living with cancer" vs. "dying from cancer." Granted, while in some ways it is simply semantics there is also a significant difference between the two; moving on and forward with and continuing one's life as fully as possible as opposed to resigning oneself to one's fate and simply awaiting it's arrival. Ultimately the end result will be the same (as it will be for everyone, whether they have a serious illness or not) so it would seem better to, as much as possible, making that time more enjoyable, more rewarding, more fulfilling, to try and live as full and normal a life as one can. It's not about throwing all cautions to the winds or being a "free spirit" (two things I've never been accused of!) but trying to get as much out of and just appreciating each day and the people in it as possible, what some refer to as "living in the moment."

Apparently I'm doing well, considering. Before my most recent treatment session a key blood marker that the oncologists check (CEA; it gives them a decent idea of, take your pick, the progression of the cancer and/or the efficacy of treatment without having to do a CT or other scan) was 62. Just prior to starting treatment back the beginning of August it was 960, so it's currently about 16 times less than it was three months ago. (Ideally, in a healthy adult it should be at/near zero, but... ) And again, as importantly I feel well, healthy, and energetic and don't seem to be suffering any seriously adverse side effects from the treatment thus far (apart from the sensitivity to cold that I've mentioned... and it's frustrating because I've never been sensitive to cold in the past- hell, I lived in this lovely condemned building while in college-

but the recent colder weather has been uncomfortable for my early morning runs. Whaddya gonna do...)  My doctors seem pleased with the results, as have I.