Mr Koffman, I presume?

“Maybe it’s another cancer,” I offered. “Oh, no – I’m sure it’s not,” the nurse replied. I’ve been coughing quite a bit since about Christmas. So much that the guys at work agreed I should change my name to Koffman.

When I saw the doctor, my blood counts were very low. I may have a virus or infection. She prescribed antibiotics and a chest x-ray, and said to come back next week. Upon returning, still coughing, I was told to get a CAT scan.

There was a dense area on the chest x-ray the doctor wanted to learn more about, possibly a ball of cat hair that has reached critical mass (my probable diagnoses, not hers). What ever it is, we will soon find out, I will be adding a new doctor to my list of doctor friends next week when I visit the Pulmonary Associates.

*We get to do this every four or five years. This is where the spreader motor was giving us a little trouble.*

I thought My Transplant Failed

I called the doctor’s office. I had taken a week off work to go to Florida to meet my new-born first grand son. Instead, I was in misery and wondered if my transplant had failed.

I had sweats, chills, constant coughing, and an episode of explosive vomiting, which is ultimately better than trying to breath deep and hope you can “keep it down.”

I spoke to a nurse who determined I had the flu. She said don’t come coughing in here, we’re full and busy. She gave me a prescription for cough syrup with codeine. I had an appointment with my oncologist in about a week, so I just concentrated on resting and getting better.

*Diane and our grandson, Kellen. I hope to meet him in March*

When I did see my doctor, I asked if I was in remission. She said “partial remission.” I asked what is the difference between partial and full remission. “Very expensive and intrusive testing” was her answer, so, I think I can be happy with partial remission.

If this is partial remission, I could enjoy it the rest of my life.

I passed the 6 month mile marker since my transplant. The reward for that is to stop taking two horse pills daily (Acyclovir 800mg). They’re the size that when I put one in my mouth and take a couple swigs to wash it down it will often stick there like the start of a log jamb in the back of my throat.

Because of a low white blood count, I am also to temporarily quit taking my daily low dose of Revlimid.

A friend of mine, Jerry Wright, had cancer. His wife posted this on their site a couple weeks before he died on December 15th. Tami, I hope you don’t mind me reposting it here:

Written for Jerry Dec 2, 2013 8:32pm

I think it’s safe to say that Jerry’s happiest times and fondest memories are a result of time spent on the shores, and in the waters, of Suttle Lake where he delighted to camp since he was a toddler…..where he was determined he would teach me to waterski (NOPE), and where he was sure I would learn to love camping as much as he did (well…maybe).

Jerry commented last evening, as we prepared for the night, that he was ready to fold up….I think he meant for the night, but it reminded me of the process of “breaking camp” at Suttle Lake….a lengthy process that included folding up the tent; this folding took time…it was about the least fun of all the activities, and though it had quite a presence when it was erected, when the tent was folded you knew the camping trip was pretty much over.

Jerry’s tent is folding…he hasn’t eaten in nearly two weeks, sleeps most of the time, and is surviving on small sips of water and tea. I feel like we’re breaking camp; putting things in order…preparing for the trip home; one last stroll to the shore…reminiscing about what a great time it was….and this is what I read in 2 Corinthians 5:1 today:

“For we know that if the earthly tent which is our house is torn down, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.”

Tamara

New Meds

I started taking some new medicine. It’s for the nerve damage in my feet, the peripheral neuropathy. We tried a few non-prescription cures, but they made no noticeable difference.

When my Oncologist first recommended this medicine, I asked what the side effects are. Remember when you were a kid, and you got sick, and your mom gave you medicine and you got better? Side effects were an unknown concept. I miss that.

My doctor gave me a print out, “Patient Drug Information.” When I first read it, I said I would never take this medicine. Then I thought, maybe I should never say never, and try it only out of desperation if it came to that.

The print out listed all the standard possible side effects including signs of an allergic reaction, hives, itching, red, swollen, blistered or peeling skin (with or without fever), wheezing, tightness in the chest or throat, trouble breathing or talking, unusual hoarseness or swelling of the mouth, face, lips, tongue, or throat.

I highlighted some favorites on this full page of possible side effects, and I came to realize that I may not have the proper perspective on this . The doc didn’t hand me a list of side effects or Patient Drug Information,

she handed me

A FREE PASS.

Let me explain. Included in my favorite highlighted possible side effects is HOSTILITY. At first I thought, oh-no, will this make me hostile? But that’s the wrong way to look at it.

If I need to dispense some hostility, there’s no apology necessary, I would simply whip out the Patient Drug Information sheet and point to the highlighted lines. It’s a side effect!

PROBLEMS WITH HOW ONE ACTS, is another highlighted favorite. Yes, it actually says that. I suppose I can act how ever I want now, it’s a side effect.

CHANGE IN THINKING CLEARLY AND WITH LOGIC.

Who cares! Side effect!

Here’s another favorite, NOT ABLE TO CONTROL EYE MOVEMENTS. There was a term we used to hear more often, that a guy was, “Shifty Eyed.” It usually meant he was suspect, probably up to no good.

Now I can be shifty eyed, have a problem with how I act and think, I can even get hostile and if anyone has a problem with it, call my doctor, it’s all side effects!

There’s one more I highlighted, TWITCHING.

At first I thought this could be really bad, but, you know, I’ve never been a dancer. If I get this side effect, and the music is really loud, I could be a cool dancer beyond my dreams.

If anyone would suggest that my dancing is kind of stupid,

hey, it’s a side effect! Care to join me?

Something is missing……

A burden is gone, and I don’t know where it went, or exactly when it left. I just realized one day that it had disappeared.

When you’re diagnosed with cancer, it puts a sharper perspective on your mortality. Everyone knows they will one day die, but having cancer brings that “one day” into sharper focus. When your next diagnosis is an incurable cancer, that “one day” almost seems to be lurking near by.

The thought of death was constantly on my mind, it was always there. Always. It became exhausting. No matter where I went or what I did, the thought of impending death was involuntarily foremost in my thoughts.

It was not the fear of death, I know the one true God; it was the reality of my impending death. That notion monopolized my mind for months, and then one day I realized it was gone.

I’m not sure what changed. Maybe I just wore the idea out. Maybe the “hope” my treatments have brought has kicked that “one day” a little farther down the road.

*It was great to have Robin home for 10 days in October*

My medical insurance is now covering Revlimid, which I am taking daily as a low dose maintenance medicine. I mentioned in an earlier post that my insurance company refused prior authorization for Revlimid as part of my chemotherapy and suggested my doctor use something they determined to be a “better overall value.”

I got a little angry at that, thinking my life might end sooner because they wanted to use a cheaper drug. I would leave this earth, arrive in Heaven, and God would turn and ask me, Scott – what are you doing here so early? I had a couple more years planned for you but I guess that darn insurance company messed things up!

I realized again that God knows the exact number of my days. The anger went away.