On the home front:
So that "vacation" didn't turn out quite like I'd planned. I'd expected to be reveling in the joy of infrequent doctor appointments, and a fatter wallet from a couple if "co-pay-less" weeks, but our sweet kitty was attacked by a coyote on 6/13/2015. After multiple surgeries, two weeks of wearing the cone of shame, and the care of his angel Aunt Cathy - who has saved his life, and ours, multiple times and on multiple occasions these past couple of weeks - it looks like he is on the mend. Every day that he feels better, he's a little more of a tyrant - so by that formula he's been feeling really good for the past couple of days. Keith has been a saint, waking up with him in the middle of the night to take care of kitty cat bathroom emergencies, sitting perfectly still for hours while Bobby naps on his knees, and carrying him around the house like a taco - with his little cat bed folded in half around him. Meanwhile I dispense medications (down a reluctant cat's throat), wash countless loads of laundry, and sleep through his midnight meows.
On the cancer front:
Living with a chronic disease is not an easy thing. Every time I see the doctor, every time I have labs drawn, I'm hopeful that things will be better. Maybe I should reconsider my basic approach. In the words of Llyod Dobler from Say Anything, "If you start out depressed, everything's kind of a pleasant surprise." Maybe that's my mistake. Anticipating some great rebound; an amazing recovery - when the truth of the matter is that I have cancer. Not only do I have cancer, I have a chronic cancer - a cancer that can be treated, but cannot be cured. It's a tough pill to swallow - knowing that I will always have cancer. Even if it's only in a minuscule number of cells, it will always be there, insidious, lurking, waiting for an opportunity to gain the upper hand - if I let it. (Don't worry. I'm not going to let it.)
Not a lot of you know this, but I went and got a "second opinion" from another oncologist last month. It was a weird messed up situation, because it was in the same practice - the same office - as my current doctor, and I actually ran into him immediately following my consultation. I had the new doctor review my treatment, my status, and my concerns. He told me that the only thing that he would change about my current treatment was that he would run a Kinase Mutation test, in order to guide the selection of the medication that I am on. Oh, and don't worry, he'd let my oncologist know. (So much for keeping my concerns about the treatment that I was receiving on the down low.)
After much confusion about ordering the correct test from the lab, the results are in, and I do have a mutation. The mutation that I have is called an "insertion" mutation. This mutation indicates a resistance to imatinib (Gleevec) which makes sense, considering my prior Gleevec history. All research indicates that Sprycel (which I'm on) Tasigna, and newer TKI's will work well against this mutation.
And as far as I know, Sprycel is working well. Too well. Blood counts are low again. For those of you that are keeping track: As of 6/23/2015: Hemoglobin is at 8.7 (not too low, but consider, I did have 2 units of blood transfused on 6/6/15.) Platelets are at 35. Abysmal. And ANC is 700. Which is also concerning. Last week, I agreed to another shot of Procrit, and my doctor agreed to letting me go two weeks between appointments. Negotiation.
One of the hardest parts of having cancer, in this moment, is the fact that I never have any good news. I constantly have to give Keith, my family, our friends, and my co-workers bad news about my health. I try to down play it. "Aw well, don't worry. I'll do better next time." I've been using that line for too long now. The truth is I'm tired. I'm covered in bruises, and I live in constant fear of getting an infection. Right now, cancer-wise there is no good news. I'm sure that there will be again, someday. Just not today.
Maybe tomorrow.
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