Five Years

July 27, 2018 – Earlier this week I reached a personal milestone: it has been five (5) years since my stage IV cancer diagnosis. For me, it’s a bittersweet occasion this year. I’ve been fortunate to still be alive to experience wonderful times and happy memories, but at the same time, however, endure some very sad events and lasting heartache. Five years of the typical ups and downs of life.

Life goes on, even for someone living with stage IV cancer.

A Brief History

Note:  Before I go any further, I want to make certain that anyone new to this blog or new to my world receives a brief history lesson. On July 24, 2013 my oncologist informed me that a PET scan revealed several tiny malignant tumors in my lungs (primarily in my right lung). He told me that without treatment I had 9 to 12 months to live. A week or so later, a biopsy confirmed that the tumors were metastatic melanoma. While treatable, stage IV melanoma is typically not curable.

Lucky to have cancer?

I realize how lucky I am – “lucky” being an odd word to use for someone with late-stage cancer. While I’m not looking for sympathy, I sometimes get frustrated with those around me – family, friends, neighbors, et al – who act as though everything is okay with me. I know I’ve ranted about this previously, but I DO have cancer and – as far as I know – it’s not going away anytime soon.

In fact, “going away” – as in I may be going away sometime soon – is the key reason this year’s diagnosis anniversary is so emotional.

Survival Story

For most cancer patients, survival rates are measured in five-year increments. Living five years after a melanoma diagnosis is a significant milestone. Survival rates at the 5-year mark for a patient with Stage IV melanoma are typically 15% to 20%. At 10 years, the rates drop to between 10% to 15% (based on 2008 data). Those statistics continue to improve as new targeted therapies have proven to be successful, but it’s still a very small ratio of hope.

Again, I’m fortunate to be in that ten to twenty percent group (so far), yet I can’t help wondering if and when my luck will run out.

Considering the inevitable

It’s hard, dreadfully hard to consider the inevitable. We will all face death at some point, but there are times – like this past week – when I have trouble believing that I will live another 5 to 10 years. At certain times, I can’t see myself getting older with Vicki or watching our children continue into the next phases of adulthood. We don’t talk much about it because it’s not only depressing, it’s painful to even consider.

One of my favorite pictures: June 2015 – Quebec City, Quebec Canada.

One day at a time

We have a ways to go before our luck runs out, and, hopefully, by then, advances in cancer treatments – with a possibility of a cure – will become commonplace (and affordable). My goal is to continue to take it one day at a time and be there to enjoy – with my family and friends – every sunrise and sunset that I can.

Thanks, as always, for listening.


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Writer’s Note – I’ll continue to update my blog on a periodic basis.  No set schedule.  So, I want to thank everyone who continues to stop by and check out my blog. Please leave a comment or message; I’d love to hear from you.

Someone to Watch Over Me

Week Four
Tuesday, September 17, 2013

After four weeks of treatment, I’m actually feeling pretty good. I saw my doctor last week (on September 11th), and he said that it’s not unusual for patients to tolerate Gleevec  (my oral chemotherapy medicine) with only minimal side effects. Most of my initial side effects have seemed to wane, and I’m hoping that is a good sign. My blood and glucose levels were normal or, at least, in the acceptable range. Now, I will be on this medication for about another thirty days.

On October 9th, I will have a CT scan performed. We will immediately look at the results that day to determine if my tumors have grown or stayed the same. My doctor did tell me that it typically takes 3 to 4 months for tumors to shrink when treated with Gleevec. So, what we’re hoping to see is that my tumors have not changed or grown. I’m glad I have people much smarter than me monitoring my cancer. It’s a blessing to have some many folks “in my corner” as I continue my journey with melanoma, which brings me to today’s thoughts on being watched over.

***

Spending a lot of time at home has been both a blessing and a curse. Luckily, I have not had to endure being at home by myself. I have a shadow – literally – who follows my every move. Nixie, our six-year-old Border Collie has always been my constant companion. Now that I’m home more, it’s a given that I will be continually watched over or “guarded.”

Who’s watching over you?

If you know anything about Border Collies then you know that they are highly intelligent, extremely focused dogs who fixate on their work with the intensity of a sixteen-year-old video game fanatic. These dogs also have boundless energy and a fervor for completing a job that would make any office manager jealous. Prior to last month, Nixie’s “job” was to chase balls and catch Frisbees. As long as Nix – as we call her – was busy then everything was fine. If we didn’t keep her busy, or give her enough exercise, there was “heck to pay.”

Now, her job is to watch over me…at least that’s what she thinks she is supposed to do. Nix is almost always by my side while I’m at home or outside in the yard. When I return home from running errands or from an appointment, she greets me as though I’ve come back from a long journey. I know most dogs are like this, but Nixie’s intensity has seem to grow ever since my diagnosis. Does she sense that something is wrong? Is it true that dogs can tell when their owners are ailing? I don’t know, but I do know that I’ve got a four-legged family member in my corner as I deal with my cancer.

In fact, I would think that everyone would want to have someone or something watching out for them. Whether or not you’re a spiritual person, there’s something comforting knowing that you’re being watched over…even if it’s a sometimes neurotic, always attentive thirty-eight pound fluff-ball.

And the journey continues…..

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Week Two

Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Not much new to report this week. As I mentioned in an earlier post (see School Daze), we took Emily back to college this weekend, and the heat along with the meds took their toll on me. That’s been one of the more frustrating aspects of dealing with my cancer – I don’t know what is affecting me: the tumors or the medicine. I discussed in the Week One post that Gleevec has several side effects, which may manifest themselves in different ways. Unfortunately for me, I also have some other ailments that may or may not be “masked” by these side effects.  So, it gets frustrating trying to figure out which ailment is a side effect and which is something unrelated to my cancer.

Say “Hello” to my little friend


(Note: I find it interesting as this newest phase of my journey continues, that I am now able to say “my cancer.”  Prior to that I was saying that I was “very sick.” Perhaps that’s a sign that I’m acknowledging my situation and not running from it.)

The worst side effect so far has been the fatigue, which may impact my ability to volunteer and work outside of the house. I will continue taking Gleevec for the remainder of this month. On September 11th, the doctors will analyze my blood to see if my “counts” are in order and I’m not in danger of liver failure or internal bleeding. I also have occasional chest pains that, according to the nurse, may be the cancer or another side effect of the medicine.

As always, thanks for listening.

Note:  If you want to leave a comment, just choose “Anonymous” from the Profile Selection drop down bar right below the Comment box. (It’s the very last choice.)  Sorry for any confusion.

Writer’s note: I’ve been on a brief hiatus since before Labor Day.  You’ll see several posts today and tomorrow as I play catch-up.

School Daze

Writer’s note: I’ve been on a brief hiatus since before Labor Day. You’ll see several posts today and tomorrow as I play catch-up.

Back to School

The end of August brought another change to our household. Emily, our oldest, went back to school to start her sophomore year at the University of Maryland. For those of you who follow me on Facebook, I posted a few pictures of Emily’s new dorm. While moving Emily back in was almost a non-event, for me, being on a college campus – once again – brought back memories that were both good and, unfortunately, somewhat sad.

College Memories – Dorm Life

I have always enjoyed being on a college campus. It doesn’t matter if I attended the university, or not. Or even if I’m just visiting a school for a tour. There is something about college life – the energy or the vibe that campus life radiates – which I feed off of and makes me feel a bit younger at the same time. I certainly felt that energy, initially, when we got reacquainted with Maryland and its beautiful campus.

The campus is spread out, but still very walkable, and I love the architecture of its buildings. As I said in my Facebook post, Emily is now living in one of the newest dorms on the north side of the school’s campus. On each floor or her new dorm is a laundry room, four separate lounges, and several study rooms. Best of all, this dorm has central AC.

Emily’s new dorm is nice. Very nice. Reflecting on our dorm experiences, Vicki and I were jealous.

College Memories – Arrogance of Youth

My energy level faded a bit as our visit wore on. Maybe it was the heat (mid 90s with no breeze) or the medicine (Gleevec causes fatigue) or a combination of the two. Perhaps, however, it was the sight – in the student union just outside the main bookstore – of all those college kids in their prime, beginning another year of school. I remember those days: the arrogance, the cockiness, the insecurities, the hope, the craving to find out who you really are. And none of it with any thought about how your present actions may impact your long term future. At that age, you’re going to live forever!
The “arrogance” of youth?
Then I saw it. Right outside a meeting room where they were selling wall posters. Posters that would go in dorm rooms all over campus. A poster just sitting there, labelled “Timeless Classic,” propped up next to other wall posters with more current themes: Breaking Bad, Dr. Who, The Avengers, even Kim Kardashian (whatever?). An “old school” poster with the message, “Who cares about the future?  I’m living for right now!”

College Memories – Back to the Future

I couldn’t believe that in 2013 the “Animal House” mentality so many of old timers emulated back in the day is still alive and well on many college campuses. It brought back those college memories – good times and bad times. The sadness, I mentioned earlier, also began to envelope me.

My life may soon be over!

Sitting by myself (Emily was in the bookstore getting her text books), I watched all the action around me. It was as if I wasn’t even there. I wanted to shout out, “I’m sick, I have cancer! My life may soon be over. Think about what you’re doing now. Make smart choices. Be safe and be a good person. Listen to me…I’ve made thousands of mistakes. I know it sounds crazy, but you’ve got to do more with your life. Don’t waste it on being wasted!”

What you do with your life is the hard part.

Then I realized…You only learn by trial and error. And the only way you experience life is by doing, not just sitting on the sidelines watching. Hopefully, you’ll make good choices at every point in your journey, but sometimes you’ll make the wrong decision – which is better than making no decision at all. We’ve all just got to live, and – we hope – live a long and productive life. (Or, as Mr. Spock would say, “Live long and prosper.”)
I think there’s a quote that goes, “Living is easy, it’s what you do with your life that’s the hard part.”

And so the journey continues…..

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