Ken Billett – Writer

Lucky Number 13

June 11, 2021— For centuries, the number thirteen (13) has been considered unlucky, which developed an irrational fear of the number and anything associated with it. Some historians trace the stigma of “13” back to Judas Iscariot—think Last Supper—the biblical betrayer of Christ. Others note the fear may be attributed to October 13, 1307 when the Knights Templar were rounded up and imprisoned—or worse.

That date fell on a Friday, leading to the Friday the 13th superstition, along with a series of really terrible horror movies in the 1980s and 90s.

Lucky Number 13

On Thursday, June 10th, the date of my 13th infusion, we received some good news—some really good news: my tumors have shrunk anywhere from 10% (in my lungs) to 20% in and around my right adrenal gland.

Vicki and I were ecstatic. Now, after almost nine (9) months of treatment, Keytruda (my immunotherapy medicine) was beginning to turn-the-tide in the battle against my metastatic melanoma.

In addition, my oncologist told us that my lab work looked fantastic. The results, in his words, were like a “normal person’s.” I assumed he meant someone not undergoing cancer treatment. 

A Long Way to Go

While this is great news, we still have a long way to go. Thursday’s CT scan was the first one I’ve had since February (which showed no change), so, for now, we’ll continue immunotherapy treatments and monitor my blood work.

Bittersweet Morning

Even with all that good news, it was a bittersweet morning. My oncologist announced that he’d taken a new position—heading up a cancer center in Reno, Nevada—and would soon leave the West Cancer Center. While we’re sad to see him go, we know we’ll be in good hands with a new oncologist.

Sharing My Journey Story

In a weird coincidental twist, on Wednesday (June 9th), the West Center posted my melanoma journey story to their Facebook feed and on their website.

I received several FB comments of encouragement and support from strangers who are either West Center patients or their loved ones. As I wrote in a recent essay (see below), my goal with continuing to share my story is to provide hope and/or inspiration for others fighting cancer.

With Good Fortune Comes Greater Responsibility

So, after Thursday’s good news, my good fortune continues. I write that not with glee or contentment. I write it (repeatedly) to remind myself that there is so much more work to be done. So many goals I want to accomplish. So many people I want to help—directly and indirectly.

On June 4th, StoryBoard Memphis published my latest personal essay, Happy Birthday, Spiderman.  While the initial focus of the essay was about my birthday and the joy I feel celebrating another trip around the sun with my family and friends, it was also much more about the burden I carry—like many other cancer survivors—to never forget those who were less fortunate. Here’s a quote:

Sharing my journey story is both cathartic and purposeful. Those of us who are still in this fight remember all those who were less fortunate. Our grief and frustration are channeled into meaningful causes and activities. Ultimately, we want to change current behaviors, raise awareness, and stem the tide of suffering and pain.

I use my good fortune to help others whom, like me, have been saddled with this dreadful diagnosis. An advocate for skin cancer prevention and melanoma research, I volunteer with non-profit organizations by fundraising, lending my voice through personal testimonials and op-ed columns, mentoring other late-stage melanoma patients, engaging congressional staffers on the merits of upcoming appropriation bills (to fund more research), and, finally, by analyzing research proposals as a patient member of scientific review panels.

In my own words? With good fortune comes greater responsibility.

When you get the opportunity, go back and the read my story—either on Facebook or on StoryBoard Memphis. Thanks.

And, 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.

Also, please make sure you leave your name or sign-in somewhere in your comment. Thanks.

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. 

Doctor Doctor, Gimme the News

July 6, 2020 – I finished the last of my scheduled doctor’s appointment this afternoon – annual physical. Everything was fine according to my internist. I’ve been with this same doctor for perhaps 25 years. He knows as much about my health as I do. After last year’s physical he joked, “You’re the healthiest guy with cancer, who had a heart attack, I’ve ever seen.”

Based on the numbers from this year’s blood tests and urinalysis, I hope that comment remains true.

Appointments, Appointments, Appointments

At least it’s clean.

Because of COVID-19, I waited until June to follow-up with most of my doctors. In the past thirty days, I saw just about everyone: cardiologist, urologist, orthopedist, dermatologist, oncologist (we’ll get to that in a moment), and even the dentist (no cavities!). All of these visits we’re either annual checkups, routine appointments, or quickly scheduled due to an issue that came up. I saw my orthopedist after I over did it with exercise, yard work, and pressure washing the back patio.

Note: The patio’s now clean, but I was in some serious back and muscle pain for about a week.

Metastatic Melanoma
In early June I had my scheduled CT scan and doctor’s appointment at the West Cancer Center. As I mentioned previously (see Status Quo and An Early Christmas Gift), I am now scanned about every six (6) months because my tumors remain stable and (for the most part) unchanged. June’s CT results were pretty much the same. Nothing – in my lungs – has changed.

Now For Something Completely Different
There was, however, something completely unexpected on the scan results. A fairly large mass – about 2 1/2 inches – on or around my right adrenal gland. The adrenal gland sits on top of each kidney. The radiology oncologist called it a heterogeneous mainly low density mass. Basically, it looks like I had some internal bleeding either in or around my adrenal gland.

Between chemotherapy meds, blood thinners (to help keep the stent in my heart working), and everything else I’ve been through, it’s hard to know what caused this mass.

Modern-day Torture Device

You never know what’s
lurking inside.

My oncologist scheduled an MRI to get a better look. If you’ve never had an MRI, it’s very strange and a bit nerve-racking. The MRI machine is claustrophobic and loud. And weird…I swear I could feel the magnetic force going through my midsection. Yuck!

Unfortunately, the MRI didn’t provide any new clues as to what’s going on inside me. The concern is that this blood mass may be hiding a cancerous tumor (or, the mass was caused by a cancerous tumor). The size has not changed, and I’m not in any pain.

At the end of July, I’ll have another CT scan to see if anything’s changed. Then, the doctors and I will figure out what the next steps will be.

Possibly another twist in my melanoma journey. More to come…

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.


Also, please make sure you leave your name or sign-in somewhere in your comment. Thanks.

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.

An Early Christmas Gift

December 4, 2019 – My sister-in-law said it best (via text): Woohoo! Early Christmas Present.

She was exactly right. My six-month oncology appointment at the West Cancer Center ended not with a bang but not with a whimper, either. That’s just how I like it. I initially wanted to title this post – Another Day, Another Scan. But I liked my sister-in-law’s text message better.

My cancer (metastatic melanoma) stays unchanged. The few remaining tumors have not grown – or shrunk – in size for nearly three years. That IS good news and something to celebrate. Hence the picture of Jack and Coke that accompanies this post.

‘Tis the season

Like any other child on Christmas morning, I still get excited opening a present – even if I’m pretty sure I know what’s inside. My family doesn’t know this – until they read this post – but I love to come downstairs early on Christmas morning, with the sun peeking through the living room blinds, and stare at the Christmas tree, now surrounded by gifts. For me, that moment is a perfect gift. One that I hope to continue to receive.

I still have cancer. That’s obviously a bummer, but as I’ve said many times before, I live my life and enjoy what’s here to greet me every day. Not everyone with cancer can do that. So, I’m thankful and fortunate. For me, that is also a definite gift…and one that I will never take for granted.

As always, thanks for listening. Happy Holidays!

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.


Also, please make sure you leave your name or sign-in somewhere in your comment.  Thanks.

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.

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.


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.


Also, please make sure you leave your name or sign-in somewhere in your comment.  Thanks.

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.

Welcome!

Greetings…if you’ve made it this far then you have found my blog. Let me give you a quick introduction to the post page and an explanation for the blog’s name.

First, the title: In Difficulty Lies Opportunity

The title comes from an Albert Einstein quote – “Out of clutter, find simplicity. From discord, find harmony. In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.” I believe that last line of Einstein’s quote hit home with me as I continue to deal with the reality of my most recent cancer diagnosis.

My Journey with Melanoma

You’ll also notice that my sub-title is “My Journey with Melanoma…”

There are two things to note here: First, I don’t want to use “battle” or “fight” which have both been used too many times to describe dealing with cancer. Not that I am not a fighter. But my current situation is part of a life-long journey that we all take. Using the word “journey” is much more in-line with my philosophy of using my difficulty as an opportunity. What type of opportunity? Well, that’s what makes life a journey.

Metastatic Melanoma

Second, it’s also important to note that I have metastatic melanoma. Unlike other forms of cancer, melanoma – once it finds it way inside your body – is not curable. Treatable? Definitely. Livable or sustainable? Certainly. But – technically – it is not curable. Yes, it could be removed. But the reality is that the cancer may return to another area of the body.

That’s a lot to process when you’re sitting in an examination room thinking you were going to get another “good report” from your oncologist, like I was doing about a month ago. Needless to say, this has been the ultimate emotional “roller coaster” for my family and me. As I continue to add posts – the plan is to do so on a daily or weekly basis – I will include more of the technical details to help everyone understand my situation.

My Blog

Finally, I continue to tweak this blog layout and “appearance” to make it more appealing. If something doesn’t look right to you or you have trouble accessing the blog, just send me an email. Also, I will include some prior notes from my own journal to this blog (so don’t get confused by the dates).

Thanks for your love and your support.

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Ken Billett – Grumpy Bear Writing © 2021