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.

“Adult Stuff”

May 23, 2018 – I’m calling my son, Zach, while standing outside the main entrance to the West Cancer Center’s primary location. I had just finished a scheduled CT scan when he texted me with great news – he got a job offer! Our conversation went something like this:

              Me: Congratulations!
              Zach: Thanks.
              Me: So, you’re still meeting up with your friends later today, right?
              Zach: Well, don’t we have to do adult stuff?
Yep, we now had to do “adult stuff.” As a parent, you look forward to the day your child begins his own career and moves another step towards adulthood. (Obviously all parents want their children to be truly self-sufficient. It’s still nice, however, to be wanted or needed.) For any young person who just graduated college (see Congratulations, Zach!), the adult world may appear as intimidating as when they first stepped onto a university campus.

It’s certainly understandable. “Old folks,” like myself, tend to forget about all the trials and errors, missteps, and miscues navigating the adult world. We’ve learned – hopefully – from our mistakes. Nothing, at first, seems easy. Then you begin to find yourself and your place in the world, and, before too long, you’ve become a “grown-up.” Or, for many of us – again, myself included – you play the part of an adult even though you’ve never truly grown up.

Making a new place into your own home.

We spent the next three weeks helping Zach move back to Atlanta and get situated into a new apartment. It was as exhausting and, at times, frustrating for us as it was for him. The “young adult world” has significantly changed since I was in my twenties. It was a learning experience for all of us.

As parents, we know that Zach has the confidence and common sense to make good “adult” decisions. We just hope he continues to lean on us when those inevitable “bumps in the road” occur. (It’s still nice to be needed every so often.)

Now comes the next phase in Zach’s journey to adulthood.    

Health Update – So, about that CT scan and my oncologist visit. Well, I had really good news twice in one day! My cancer tumors continue to either shrink or remain stable. My oncologist was so pleased that I don’t have to see him for another six months. Like I said, it was a great day!

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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.

Nixie

May 19, 2018 – It’s been four weeks since we lost Nixie, and I’m still terribly sad. I miss our four-legged daughter so much. My heart still aches. The bond the two of us formed was just like a parent and child. Nixie was indeed a member of our family and her entire two-legged family is heartbroken. 


I don’t want to replay the circumstances of Nixie’s death – it’s still too gut-wrenching – but she died suddenly, and, unfortunately, not peacefully. The vets confirmed that Nix had cancer in one area, but apparently the cancer had already spread to other parts of her body. Her diagnosis and death all happened so quickly that we were in shock for the next several weeks.


I’ve mentioned Nixie in several prior posts (see Someone to Watch Over Me), and anyone who follows me on Facebook knows that I frequently post pictures of Nixie. She was a six- to eight-month-old rescue from the West Tennessee Border Collie Rescue Group  who came into our home a little over ten years ago. When Nixie entered our lives, Vicki had lost her father and the year before we lost our first dog, Bailey. It was a difficult time for us back then, and Vicki referred to Nix as her “therapy dog.”


She brightened our world, and we’re glad we gave Nixie a home full of love. Emily and Zach grew up with Nixie, and Zach was the one who taught her to 
leap up and catch Frisbees. (She was very good at it.) I feel sad that neither 
Emily or Zach got to say goodbye to Nixie.

Losing Nix still hurts, but my anger has subsided (somewhat). I don’t want to feel sorry for myself and my family, but we have endured so much stress and strain the past few years that it’s just depressing.

I will miss my “shadow.” 

And so the journey continues….

  


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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.










Congratulations, Zach!

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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.


May 5, 2018 – My son, Zach, graduated today from the Georgia Institute of Technology, or more commonly known as Georgia Tech. He graduated with Highest Honor and a terrific overall GPA (3.89) in Mechanical Engineering, and he is now “A helluva, helluva…hell of an engineer.” 

We’re obviously very proud of Zach and his accomplishments. It’s incredible how quickly four years have gone by (see I’m a Ramblin Wreck) and how grown up Zach has become. It was a wonderful weekend – as I posted to friends and family on Facebook – and a chance for all four of us to be together. Of course, my dad was there – once again – to see another grandchild graduate college.

So proud of our engineer.

With all of the emotion and a hectic schedule, it was nice to have to time to reflect and decompress. I spent several early mornings sitting on the back deck of our rental home (which was a cool little house with all the latest updates) to think back to my time as a college graduate. I honestly don’t remember much except bits and pieces of graduation day and the ceremony. I remember more about the family gathering my parents organized later that day. I do remember, however, a feeling of anticipation – along with nerves – at the idea of finally being out of school.

I think Zach has some of those same feelings, but he is such a stoic that he doesn’t really express himself. He just seems to move right along. I wonder if everything that our family endured over the past 5+ years – especially the last two years – including the sudden death of our family dog, Nixie, has caused Zach to remain inside of himself emotionally. It’s hard to know and, of course, he won’t talk about it. I do know that Nixie’s death hurt him as much as the rest of us.

So, the beginning of “graduation weekend” was somewhat bittersweet. As we arrived at McCamish Pavilion for the Saturday afternoon ceremony, everyone – including Zach – seemed to be caught up in the moment. It was a great, and quick, graduation ceremony, and a lot of fun to watch the jumbotron flash Zach’s name and his honors while his name was read out loud.

We’re so proud of everything our son has accomplished, and we know he’ll accomplish so much more as a “Hell of an Engineer!”


– – –

Health Update – My condition remains relatively the same. The only major issue I dealt with in the past six months was moving back to the branded chemotherapy drug (Gleevec). We had to argue with the insurance company about side-effects from the generic version that I had not had in more than three (3) years with the branded drug. The insurance company relented earlier this spring. I see my oncologist later in May for a three-month scan and check up. 

– – –

Emily Update – Many of you have asked how Emily is doing, and we appreciate the concern. As previously discussed, her cancer appears to be gone and she finished chemotherapy almost one year ago. She continues to deal with the ups and downs of recovery. Vicki and I remain patient and diligent as we help Emily regain her old “strength” – physically, mentally, and emotionally. It’s been a long process and we’ll be with Emily every step of the way.

Another proud day for the Billett Family.

…When September Ends (Part 2)

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Writer’s Note – I’m back in business.  Finally.  So, once again, I want to thank everyone who continues to stop by and check out my blog. 
September 24, 2016 – I watch my daughter lying in a hospital bed…the sounds of the machines hum and ding in a monotonous melody.  Tubes run in and out of her arm and her nose.  The smell of a hospital room permeates everything.  That antiseptic smell that anyone who’s ever been in a hospital or clinic knows so well.  I’m watching her and flashing back almost twenty-two years.  This same child was only five days old when she had open heart surgery, and then spent the next two weeks in an IC ward (see February 19th).
It’s almost unbelievable, and I think I wouldn’t believe it was true if the sounds and smells weren’t here to remind me.  Once again, we’re dealing with keeping Emily alive and healthy.  I can’t even explain both the shock and dread that Vicki and I are feeling right now.  It’s enough to make you wonder, “When is enough enough?”  We simply don’t know where to turn, who to ask, and what to expect.

– – –

Yesterday Emily had surgery to remove a cyst from her ovary and part of her fallopian tube.  The surgery itself was successful, although due to the large size of the cyst, Emily would lose one of her ovaries and its fallopian tube. During the last part of the surgery, her doctor came to see us in the waiting area.  We had been told that either a nurse would come find us as the surgery was winding down, or we would get a call on the in-house phone in the waiting area.  As soon as I saw her doctor, I had that feeling – that feeling you get that sets off all those alarms inside your brain – that something was wrong.

My beautiful, young woman!

While examining the cyst, the surgical pathologist noted a tumor that appeared to be malignant.  Cancer!  Oh, God! Cancer!  We both went numb.  I’m not sure we were even listening at that point.  Our world was suddenly and cruelly spinning out-of-control.  Our daughter, age 22, has a form of ovarian cancer.

For now, this is all I want to say regarding Emily’s situation.  It’s been more that just difficult to handle – it’s been surreal and heart-wrenching.  I’m just not sure where this road is going to lead us.

Note:  I borrowed the title of a previous blog entry – …When September Ends – to help frame how I feel about another crisis in my family.