Last time I updated, we'd found out that Eugene was a jerk (which we actually already knew)--but we found out he was an intelligent jerk that had figured out a way to survive and grow in spite of the treatment that was previously killing him. We were looking at starting a new treatment regimen/drug cocktail, and hoping for the best. Which is what you do when you have cancer, because if you don't then you begin your descent into an endless spiral of depression and despair--not a place I want to go.
Well--go figure...smart little Eugene wasn't thwarted by the new cocktail, and we've since found out that he's managed to grow even more! I know--bastard. So we did the crying in the doctor's office thing again where I repeatedly assure the oncologist that I'm okay while simultaneously suppressing the urge to scream as loud as I can. Because I'm not sad--I'm angry. Angry that this little asshole of an invader keeps trying to change my plans and affect my life in ways that I'm not okay with. The little middle eastern oncologist guy continues to look at me with the really annoying stare of pity--which I hate--and starts talking through our options. I don't want "options"...I want "solutions", and I want them now. Unfortunately, that's not on the agenda. Oh, there are clinical trials, we can't do radiation, there are some random chemotherapy regimens that we could try at reduced dosages...we can call and see what MD Anderson has available (this is the perfect time to mention that we asked him to do that two months ago), or there's this thing called cryoablation that we can try.
Cryoablation--sounds kinda sci-fi-ish and exciting, right? Apparently some doctor had come and given a seminar to the oncology department about this procedure where he inserts probes and uses directed therapy to freeze away portions of whatever the target structure happens to be--in this case it would be Eugene. It wasn't a guaranteed deal, and it's not technically an approved treatment for my condition, but it sounds like a good idea and we decided it was worth a shot. So the good doctor made some calls, and after a nice little romp with the medical records department (more on that later), I had a call from the other doctor (we'll call him Mr. Freeze) to schedule a consultation as we were walking out of the clinic--quick turnaround...this was promising. We got the appointment set up, and I felt like progress had been made. It still wasn't a sure thing, but I was exceedingly optimistic. It won't be curative, and it won't completely get rid of Eugene, but it'll cut him down to size and buy us some time to get to Houston and start treatment at MDA.
Before I go on with my tales of meeting Mr. Freeze, just a quick note regarding the individuals in charge of medical records--you all suck. And you're mean. Maybe not all medical records departments are like this, but these ladies were seriously mean and not helpful in the least--until I started crying and Chris got really mad. At that point, the first lady decided that she was actually capable of doing her job...then we had to go back up to radiology to get copies of all my scans put onto a disc--a task that is apparently far more challenging than I previously understood. It was taking forever, so I went back up to check on the progress and found the lady that was supposed to be doing it stuffing her face with fried egg rolls as she dropped food on my chart. Thanks...big help. Eventually we got everything we needed and left that place for what we hope will be the last time.
While I was coordinating things with Mr. Freeze's office, I also got a call from the folks at MD Anderson! Turns out my doctor had finally done what he told us he would do two months previous, and actually called them to have my case transferred over. So we're currently in the MDA system and on the verge of scheduling my first appointment with the doctors in Houston. Oh, Texas--how I cannot wait to return to thee...
So it's been a busy couple of weeks--movers came last week and took all but the essentials, which are currently en route to the homeland. Our lease was up on the house we were living in this morning, so I'm officially homeless for the next 9 days--fortunately we have a guesthouse here at the lab that I can stay in free of charge. I had my appointment with Mr. Freeze this morning, and he agreed to do the procedure...this Thursday (yay!). I'm still working on wrapping up all the loose ends in Athens, preparing for my grown up job, arranging things for our move back to Texas, and trying to make sure everything is in order for this conference I have to go to next weekend. No big deal.
Fortunately I have an incredible support system--here in Athens and back home--and I have all of my Facebook friends to keep me entertained and keep my spirits up in the meantime. We're still staying positive, keeping the faith, and focusing on moving forward at whatever rate we can. A rougher road means a more rewarding destination, right? That's what I'm telling myself. We'll see what Mr. Freeze can do, and then we'll be on our way to TX!
As always, thank you all for reading, for caring, and for your unending support and prayers!
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
My one year "chemo-versary"
I've been meaning to update for quite a while (anyone noticing a trend here?), but as usual, intentions don't always equal actions.
Thanks to our good friend, social media, I've been notified that tomorrow will be the official one year anniversary of my introduction to my good friend, chemotherapy. And since I'm currently sitting through one of the most frustratingly irrelevant presentations on air flow ratios and ventilation fan wattage, I thought that I'd take advantage of the opportunity to update you all on what's been going on over the past few months.
So, last you all heard, Eugene was about the size of one of those big gumballs, we were proceeding with another round of chemotherapy, and going to meet with the surgeon about the potential for cutting him out of my life (Eugene, not the surgeon--I like the surgeon). Well our meeting with the surgeon was pretty disappointing, despite the fact that we already knew what he was telling us--for some reason actually hearing the words "there's nothing else we can do right now" always stings a little more than just having the notion boxed up in that tiny back corner of my brain that I've reserved for all of the negative thoughts associated with Eugene. So we had a rough couple of days following that meeting, decided it was far from the end of the world, and continued on with the chemo as we had been for the previous four months.
All in all, chemo hasn't been so terrible. We somewhat accepted it as a "new normal"--because doesn't everyone have to routinely be willingly poisoned--with the thought that "it's still working and we've gotta do what we've gotta do". I've been able to continue on with school/work aside from the days I have to miss for treatment and the occasional weekend being spent sleeping until the early afternoon to compensate for my ol' buddy Chemotherapy Fatigue. Honestly, I sometimes think that the people in my daily life suffer just as much, if not more than I do, simply due to the fact that I become a little tough to deal with when I'm tired--and I'm tired a lot. So Chris catches a bit of a hard time on the regular, but he handles it like the kickass companion that he is, and just smiles while helping me focus on all of the positives that we have to be thankful for right now. My guys/gals at work/school are incredible and provide an endless supply of support, encouragement, and understanding. I don't think a single day goes by where someone doesn't ask me how I'm doing or if there's anything I need. But they don't treat me like I'm sick--and that is one of the things that I'm eternally grateful for. The only other issue that has been persistently troubling--and yes, I realize that this may sound uncharacteristically (at least I hope) superficial of me--has been the constant, gradual loss of my hair. I'm pretty sure I mentioned it before, but Alex chopped it off back in October after the nurses told me that I was going to lose it with chemo...and then it didn't fall out--at least until recently. Now don't get me wrong--pretty much everyone has told me that they LOVE my short hair, and I think my Aunt Penny went so far as to tell me that I should never grow it back out. And I realize that "it's only hair", but I think the deeper issue is that it's a part of the battle...and at the moment, it's become a battle that I'm losing--literally and figuratively. It started pretty slow--I woke up Christmas Eve morning to a small collection of short hairs on my pillowcase, and it's come in waves since. Usually following each treatment I would notice a little more hair coming out in the shower for a few days and it would taper off. But in the last few weeks, it's been constant--I'm like a dog shedding its winter coat. Chris still says it looks great, and he wouldn't care if it all fell out...but I would. I'm trying to look at it like my sweet sister said, "you may lose this battle, but it's about winning the war." Of course she's right--and I'll admit I don't say that often...to anyone--but it still serves as a daily reminder of this roller coaster ride.
We've since completed another round of chemo--four treatments and a follow up scan. This time the results weren't so great. Eugene grew. Not much, but enough to indicate treatment failure. Basically, the little jerk figured out a way to grow in spite of the poison that was getting pumped in every other week. So, another set back, another bad day, some more crying in the doctor's office, and (most importantly) a new plan. As I type this, I'm playing the game called "who screwed up and how do we fix it in time?" trying to figure out who dropped the ball on getting the new drug prescription to the pharmacy, and if/how I'm going to be able to start the new treatment regimen when I'm supposed to. These sorts of things are the ones that people don't think about when they think about people battling cancer--or other diseases, for that matter. In my opinion, it really shouldn't be that difficult--doctor writes prescription, prescription is sent/delivered to pharmacy, pharmacy calls insurance company, insurance company does whatever they do, prescription gets filled, customer/patient gets drugs. Seems simple, right?...WRONG. Apparently, there are a range of pitfalls at every step. Now don't get me wrong--I realize I'm not the only patient the doctor's treating, the insurance company is insuring, or that the pharmacy is serving--but am I wrong in assuming that these people have a job to do, and that they should be capable of doing it? One of my favorite professors cracks me up when he talks about the weatherman and how that's the only profession where they can screw up 75% of the time and still get a paycheck...I'm beginning to think that applies to more than just the weatherman. I mean come on people...we've got enough issues to deal with without having to check up on you at each step of the process to make sure you're doing your friggin' job! Am I right? I, unlike these jokers, spend my days doing my job (quite well, I like to think)--and I'm not employed as a babysitter last time I checked. But I digress...everything will work out eventually.
That's where we stand right now. Starting a new set of drugs with the hope and faith that it will work, and Eugene will be defeated. We're also looking forward to starting the next chapter of our life in spite of Eugene's attempts at thwarting our plans. I've accepted a job that will allow us to move back to Texas, and we'll be transitioning all of my treatment to MD Anderson with high hopes for the future. More details on that to come...
In the meantime, all of the support and encouragement from all of you does not go unnoticed. I know I've become a bit of a failure with regard to thank you notes and whatnot, but every Facebook comment/message, each card/note/email/care package I receive, and every phone call/text message is a bright spot and a reminder that we aren't in this alone. I'm not sure who's orchestrated the letter writing campaign over at TAMU-CVM, but I can't tell you how much I love receiving those postcards on a regular basis. I look forward to checking the mail every day and getting those constant words of encouragement. You all are a blessing that I could not be more grateful for, and I truly believe that I wouldn't be where I am without all of your prayers and continued support.
I'm going to leave it at that for today and try to update on a more frequent basis...the operative word there being "try". Thank you all, as always, for reading. Please feel free to share with friends and spread awareness at every opportunity. Find doctors you trust and are comfortable with, get checked out on a regular basis--early detection is the best prevention (although if you think about that statement, it doesn't make a lot of sense), take care of yourselves and your loved ones, PRIORITIZE YOUR HEALTH, and hopefully we can collectively beat this monster that adversely affects so many lives.
Thanks to our good friend, social media, I've been notified that tomorrow will be the official one year anniversary of my introduction to my good friend, chemotherapy. And since I'm currently sitting through one of the most frustratingly irrelevant presentations on air flow ratios and ventilation fan wattage, I thought that I'd take advantage of the opportunity to update you all on what's been going on over the past few months.
So, last you all heard, Eugene was about the size of one of those big gumballs, we were proceeding with another round of chemotherapy, and going to meet with the surgeon about the potential for cutting him out of my life (Eugene, not the surgeon--I like the surgeon). Well our meeting with the surgeon was pretty disappointing, despite the fact that we already knew what he was telling us--for some reason actually hearing the words "there's nothing else we can do right now" always stings a little more than just having the notion boxed up in that tiny back corner of my brain that I've reserved for all of the negative thoughts associated with Eugene. So we had a rough couple of days following that meeting, decided it was far from the end of the world, and continued on with the chemo as we had been for the previous four months.
All in all, chemo hasn't been so terrible. We somewhat accepted it as a "new normal"--because doesn't everyone have to routinely be willingly poisoned--with the thought that "it's still working and we've gotta do what we've gotta do". I've been able to continue on with school/work aside from the days I have to miss for treatment and the occasional weekend being spent sleeping until the early afternoon to compensate for my ol' buddy Chemotherapy Fatigue. Honestly, I sometimes think that the people in my daily life suffer just as much, if not more than I do, simply due to the fact that I become a little tough to deal with when I'm tired--and I'm tired a lot. So Chris catches a bit of a hard time on the regular, but he handles it like the kickass companion that he is, and just smiles while helping me focus on all of the positives that we have to be thankful for right now. My guys/gals at work/school are incredible and provide an endless supply of support, encouragement, and understanding. I don't think a single day goes by where someone doesn't ask me how I'm doing or if there's anything I need. But they don't treat me like I'm sick--and that is one of the things that I'm eternally grateful for. The only other issue that has been persistently troubling--and yes, I realize that this may sound uncharacteristically (at least I hope) superficial of me--has been the constant, gradual loss of my hair. I'm pretty sure I mentioned it before, but Alex chopped it off back in October after the nurses told me that I was going to lose it with chemo...and then it didn't fall out--at least until recently. Now don't get me wrong--pretty much everyone has told me that they LOVE my short hair, and I think my Aunt Penny went so far as to tell me that I should never grow it back out. And I realize that "it's only hair", but I think the deeper issue is that it's a part of the battle...and at the moment, it's become a battle that I'm losing--literally and figuratively. It started pretty slow--I woke up Christmas Eve morning to a small collection of short hairs on my pillowcase, and it's come in waves since. Usually following each treatment I would notice a little more hair coming out in the shower for a few days and it would taper off. But in the last few weeks, it's been constant--I'm like a dog shedding its winter coat. Chris still says it looks great, and he wouldn't care if it all fell out...but I would. I'm trying to look at it like my sweet sister said, "you may lose this battle, but it's about winning the war." Of course she's right--and I'll admit I don't say that often...to anyone--but it still serves as a daily reminder of this roller coaster ride.
We've since completed another round of chemo--four treatments and a follow up scan. This time the results weren't so great. Eugene grew. Not much, but enough to indicate treatment failure. Basically, the little jerk figured out a way to grow in spite of the poison that was getting pumped in every other week. So, another set back, another bad day, some more crying in the doctor's office, and (most importantly) a new plan. As I type this, I'm playing the game called "who screwed up and how do we fix it in time?" trying to figure out who dropped the ball on getting the new drug prescription to the pharmacy, and if/how I'm going to be able to start the new treatment regimen when I'm supposed to. These sorts of things are the ones that people don't think about when they think about people battling cancer--or other diseases, for that matter. In my opinion, it really shouldn't be that difficult--doctor writes prescription, prescription is sent/delivered to pharmacy, pharmacy calls insurance company, insurance company does whatever they do, prescription gets filled, customer/patient gets drugs. Seems simple, right?...WRONG. Apparently, there are a range of pitfalls at every step. Now don't get me wrong--I realize I'm not the only patient the doctor's treating, the insurance company is insuring, or that the pharmacy is serving--but am I wrong in assuming that these people have a job to do, and that they should be capable of doing it? One of my favorite professors cracks me up when he talks about the weatherman and how that's the only profession where they can screw up 75% of the time and still get a paycheck...I'm beginning to think that applies to more than just the weatherman. I mean come on people...we've got enough issues to deal with without having to check up on you at each step of the process to make sure you're doing your friggin' job! Am I right? I, unlike these jokers, spend my days doing my job (quite well, I like to think)--and I'm not employed as a babysitter last time I checked. But I digress...everything will work out eventually.
That's where we stand right now. Starting a new set of drugs with the hope and faith that it will work, and Eugene will be defeated. We're also looking forward to starting the next chapter of our life in spite of Eugene's attempts at thwarting our plans. I've accepted a job that will allow us to move back to Texas, and we'll be transitioning all of my treatment to MD Anderson with high hopes for the future. More details on that to come...
In the meantime, all of the support and encouragement from all of you does not go unnoticed. I know I've become a bit of a failure with regard to thank you notes and whatnot, but every Facebook comment/message, each card/note/email/care package I receive, and every phone call/text message is a bright spot and a reminder that we aren't in this alone. I'm not sure who's orchestrated the letter writing campaign over at TAMU-CVM, but I can't tell you how much I love receiving those postcards on a regular basis. I look forward to checking the mail every day and getting those constant words of encouragement. You all are a blessing that I could not be more grateful for, and I truly believe that I wouldn't be where I am without all of your prayers and continued support.
I'm going to leave it at that for today and try to update on a more frequent basis...the operative word there being "try". Thank you all, as always, for reading. Please feel free to share with friends and spread awareness at every opportunity. Find doctors you trust and are comfortable with, get checked out on a regular basis--early detection is the best prevention (although if you think about that statement, it doesn't make a lot of sense), take care of yourselves and your loved ones, PRIORITIZE YOUR HEALTH, and hopefully we can collectively beat this monster that adversely affects so many lives.
Thursday, February 12, 2015
It's Been a While...
So I've realized that it's been over three months since I've written an update, and I apologize to all my faithful and diligent readers (all 5 or so of you, I'm sure). But seriously, a big part of why I'm writing today is to thank you all for your continued prayers and support through this whole process, and to let you know that your prayers and happy thoughts are being heard by someone with a higher power than mine. I should have updated after the scan I had back in November, but the holidays happened--and with the holidays came delicious eating opportunities (a guaranteed distraction) and a lot of cross-country traveling to spend time with family. Then the new semester got started, and my workload exploded--I literally get a new stack of research articles about four inches high to read at the beginning of each week on top of whatever other school type "stuff" that needs to be done. Anyways, I could make excuses for why I haven't written all day long, but what it really comes down to is the fact that I like sleep...like reallllllly like it...and when I have a chance to get it, I take full advantage. Netflix may also play a semi-significant role in this situation, but we don't have to get into that.
Actual update time--I'll go ahead and take it back to November: I finished my last treatment and had a follow up CT scan to get a good photo of ol' Eugene, the results of which we got like the week before Thanksgiving or so. At that point we (my parents made the trip east for the occasion, and Chris was with us of course) were told that Eugene had shrunken by a little over 30%. As you can potentially imagine--and if you can't, don't worry, because I'm about to describe it for you in excruciating detail--that incited a roller coaster of emotions for everyone in the room. I'm pretty sure we all cried, although each of us for a little different reason. I can't speak for the others (although I'm pretty sure they were "happy" crying), but I was angry--like flat out pissed off. I mean, I did everything right. I went to all the crappy chemotherapy treatments, I maintained a positive attitude throughout the whole ordeal, said my prayers each day, ate all my vegetables at dinner, smiled at strangers in the grocery store, did my chores, and cleaned behind my ears--okay, maybe I didn't eat ALL my vegetables...but still. I cooperated, but freaking Eugene was still there--alive and kicking. And the doctor's smiling as he's telling me that I'm going to go through another round of chemo. Meanwhile, I was fighting off the urge to smack him in the mouth and tell him that it was NOT a time for smiling. I didn't WANT to go through chemo anymore. I wanted Eugene gone, and I wanted him gone RIGHT THEN. As all of this was going through my mind, Chris was playing the role of the level headed question asker (because somebody had to be an adult while I was busy being a spoiled brat), and getting my future treatments scheduled. It wasn't until we were waiting in line to check out of the office that I regained perspective. As Chris tried repeatedly to convince me that this was all good news (turns out he was right) while I insisted on just being mad and upset, I happened to look up and around me. That's when I saw the woman there who had obviously received news that she didn't view as having been good--and she was there alone while the people I loved most in the world were right beside me and on the other side of a wall; I saw an elderly couple, the man in a wheelchair--weakened from his therapy and the cancer deteriorating his body--as I stood under my own power with plenty of energy to be angry; I saw another young couple, nearly paralyzed with fear and uncertainty, while I stood knowing my diagnosis/treatment plan and the fact that I had the infinite support of everyone I know. As I was taking this all in, Chris was reminding me that my parents were there, that we were heading home to Texas in a week and going to get to see my family, that the semester was almost over, and Christmas break was near--with another opportunity to see family, that he was going to be there with me each day, no matter what, and that--most importantly--I was going to have the opportunity to eat REAL MEXICAN FOOD AND BARBECUE IN TEXAS...also that Eugene was SMALLER and no new tumors had developed (which, in reality, was a big deal). And then it all sank in. I sent up a little 'thank you' to the man upstairs for giving me the strength to endure, the good humor to put up with it, and the incredible support system to get me through it all--and I decided to suck it up and move on. We got checked out of there, headed north for the first treatment of my new round of chemo, got through with that, had a nice dinner with my parents, and headed home.
From there I took it one day at a time, as best I could. Sometimes advanced planning is required, and the future has to be taken into consideration, but for the most part I try to live in the moment. I savored every moment of the holidays with my family--hugged everyone a little tighter than usual--and left with every intention of seeing them all again soon. Since school has started back up, I've thrown myself into everything I can handle, and done my best to stay on track. It makes things easier to stay busy--the days when I have treatments or scans are always a little tougher, because it forces me to focus on the fact that Eugene is still around instead of distracting myself with writing field reports and reading articles about chicken diseases. But I try to maintain perspective, and remember the fact that it could always be worse. Reality is, I'm in an incredible place in my life with so much to look forward to, I work with awesome people each and every day in an industry that I love, I have an inconceivably amazing support system thanks to all of you and many others, and...I'm kind of a big deal if we're really being honest with ourselves.
That brings us to today: I finished my last round of chemo two weeks ago, and had the follow up scan last Friday. Today we got the results of that scan, and Eugene is still shrinking, although not enough to actually cut him out right now. I went in this morning with a more realistic perspective I think. Not being a pessimist or having a negative attitude, but being practical yet positive. I decided that I was going to take any news of him having gotten smaller as good news and just proceed as necessary, which is what I've done. He's about the size of one of those bigger gumballs you get out of the quarter machines--a little over an inch in diameter--so smaller than a ping pong ball, but still big enough to be a problem. The doctors have decided to proceed with another round of chemo treatments, which entails another two months of treatment every other week (4 total), and we're going to meet with the surgeon just to touch base since we haven't seen him since sometime in like October. I'm having my first of the four treatments right now (all hooked up and the poison is flowing), we'll meet with the surgeon next Friday, and the oncologist again in a month. Until then, I'm going to live my life as normal as possible--save for the occasional bouts of nausea and anxiety that come with the chemo treatments. But at least I can eat what I want without having to worry about my jeans getting too snug :-)
As always, thank you all for reading alllllllll the way to the end. Bless you all for your support, and if you could say a little prayer or two for all my friends and loved ones fighting the ol' cancer monster, all of them would appreciate it just as much as I would. Love and happy thoughts to all!
Actual update time--I'll go ahead and take it back to November: I finished my last treatment and had a follow up CT scan to get a good photo of ol' Eugene, the results of which we got like the week before Thanksgiving or so. At that point we (my parents made the trip east for the occasion, and Chris was with us of course) were told that Eugene had shrunken by a little over 30%. As you can potentially imagine--and if you can't, don't worry, because I'm about to describe it for you in excruciating detail--that incited a roller coaster of emotions for everyone in the room. I'm pretty sure we all cried, although each of us for a little different reason. I can't speak for the others (although I'm pretty sure they were "happy" crying), but I was angry--like flat out pissed off. I mean, I did everything right. I went to all the crappy chemotherapy treatments, I maintained a positive attitude throughout the whole ordeal, said my prayers each day, ate all my vegetables at dinner, smiled at strangers in the grocery store, did my chores, and cleaned behind my ears--okay, maybe I didn't eat ALL my vegetables...but still. I cooperated, but freaking Eugene was still there--alive and kicking. And the doctor's smiling as he's telling me that I'm going to go through another round of chemo. Meanwhile, I was fighting off the urge to smack him in the mouth and tell him that it was NOT a time for smiling. I didn't WANT to go through chemo anymore. I wanted Eugene gone, and I wanted him gone RIGHT THEN. As all of this was going through my mind, Chris was playing the role of the level headed question asker (because somebody had to be an adult while I was busy being a spoiled brat), and getting my future treatments scheduled. It wasn't until we were waiting in line to check out of the office that I regained perspective. As Chris tried repeatedly to convince me that this was all good news (turns out he was right) while I insisted on just being mad and upset, I happened to look up and around me. That's when I saw the woman there who had obviously received news that she didn't view as having been good--and she was there alone while the people I loved most in the world were right beside me and on the other side of a wall; I saw an elderly couple, the man in a wheelchair--weakened from his therapy and the cancer deteriorating his body--as I stood under my own power with plenty of energy to be angry; I saw another young couple, nearly paralyzed with fear and uncertainty, while I stood knowing my diagnosis/treatment plan and the fact that I had the infinite support of everyone I know. As I was taking this all in, Chris was reminding me that my parents were there, that we were heading home to Texas in a week and going to get to see my family, that the semester was almost over, and Christmas break was near--with another opportunity to see family, that he was going to be there with me each day, no matter what, and that--most importantly--I was going to have the opportunity to eat REAL MEXICAN FOOD AND BARBECUE IN TEXAS...also that Eugene was SMALLER and no new tumors had developed (which, in reality, was a big deal). And then it all sank in. I sent up a little 'thank you' to the man upstairs for giving me the strength to endure, the good humor to put up with it, and the incredible support system to get me through it all--and I decided to suck it up and move on. We got checked out of there, headed north for the first treatment of my new round of chemo, got through with that, had a nice dinner with my parents, and headed home.
From there I took it one day at a time, as best I could. Sometimes advanced planning is required, and the future has to be taken into consideration, but for the most part I try to live in the moment. I savored every moment of the holidays with my family--hugged everyone a little tighter than usual--and left with every intention of seeing them all again soon. Since school has started back up, I've thrown myself into everything I can handle, and done my best to stay on track. It makes things easier to stay busy--the days when I have treatments or scans are always a little tougher, because it forces me to focus on the fact that Eugene is still around instead of distracting myself with writing field reports and reading articles about chicken diseases. But I try to maintain perspective, and remember the fact that it could always be worse. Reality is, I'm in an incredible place in my life with so much to look forward to, I work with awesome people each and every day in an industry that I love, I have an inconceivably amazing support system thanks to all of you and many others, and...I'm kind of a big deal if we're really being honest with ourselves.
That brings us to today: I finished my last round of chemo two weeks ago, and had the follow up scan last Friday. Today we got the results of that scan, and Eugene is still shrinking, although not enough to actually cut him out right now. I went in this morning with a more realistic perspective I think. Not being a pessimist or having a negative attitude, but being practical yet positive. I decided that I was going to take any news of him having gotten smaller as good news and just proceed as necessary, which is what I've done. He's about the size of one of those bigger gumballs you get out of the quarter machines--a little over an inch in diameter--so smaller than a ping pong ball, but still big enough to be a problem. The doctors have decided to proceed with another round of chemo treatments, which entails another two months of treatment every other week (4 total), and we're going to meet with the surgeon just to touch base since we haven't seen him since sometime in like October. I'm having my first of the four treatments right now (all hooked up and the poison is flowing), we'll meet with the surgeon next Friday, and the oncologist again in a month. Until then, I'm going to live my life as normal as possible--save for the occasional bouts of nausea and anxiety that come with the chemo treatments. But at least I can eat what I want without having to worry about my jeans getting too snug :-)
As always, thank you all for reading alllllllll the way to the end. Bless you all for your support, and if you could say a little prayer or two for all my friends and loved ones fighting the ol' cancer monster, all of them would appreciate it just as much as I would. Love and happy thoughts to all!
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