Category: Surviving Two Cancers

Crossing The Border

At my appointment today, my Oncologist said the bone marrow biopsy and the elevated protein in my urine place me directly on the boarder line between smoldering Myeloma and full on Multiple Myeloma, and with the rate of progress the disease is making, we should waste no time starting treatment.

The biopsy shows my plasma cells are now at 40% (normal is 5%) and it again confirmed my 17P deletion, a very unhappy component with MM. I had another full skeletal survey. If it shows any bone lesions or tumors, I will have radiation treatments and delay chemo. Without that delay, I’m scheduled to start chemo in about two weeks.

The chemicals that will be injected are names I have read many times on Myeloma blogs and forums, Bortezomib (Velcade) and Revlimid. I was awarded a bonus catalog with my new membership in the chemo club; I’m told it will be an interesting read.

The therapy is a series of injections, two weeks on and one week off, that runs for three months. I hope to keep working; doc says there will be good days and bad.

At the end of the chemo therapy, if my improvement ranks anywhere between slightly favorable and good, I will then prepare for a stem cell transplant, which involves a month stay in the hospital. The options for one who does not respond favorably are fewer and even less attractive.

I guess we’re getting stronger. When we left the doctor’s office, Diane and I walked right past the bench where we sat and cried after receiving my “incurable cancer” diagnosis a year and a half ago. I’m not looking forward to this, but I’m told it will extend my life.

A feeling of sadness wants to take over now and then, but its crazy how I keep thinking about how many sick or hurting people would gladly trade their malady for mine. On the bright side, this may be a good opportunity to lose a few of those pesky pounds I have gained back, and I may not have to worry about combing or trimming my hair for a while.

A favorite shot from above Detroit Lake, Oregon

Kerry, thanks again for the breakfast, I hope you have a great birthday; Betsy, sorry I had to bail on you from Face Book; Bobby, thanks for driving out for lunch, it was nice to have a little time to visit with you; Loren, I don’t know if I’ll make it down to your house this spring like I usually do.

Diane and I thank God every day for filling our lives with blessings. Each of you are counted as at least one of those blessings. I love this Peace that is from God, and your prayers magnify it.

Put Some Ice On It?

Diane picked me up about 3:pm and took me to the doctor’s office. I think they schedule the Bone Marrow Biopsy patients at the end of the day as not to frighten other patients with any screaming.

A nurse installed the IV and gave me some morphine and Ativan. The doc came in and I told her I was under the impression I was going to get more drugs than last time, but here and now, we were looking at the same dose as before. I reminded her I felt the bone marrow Bolt of Lightning pretty strong last time we did this.

She and the Nurse explained it was much preferred for my safety to give too little rather than too much, they didn’t want me to “Code” right here in the exam room. I pointed out that they had a, “Crash Cart” right outside the door, how dangerous could it be?

Then came the moment I’d been dreading, I laid face down on the table. The doc found the target spot in my exposed hip and began injecting something to numb the area. She then confessed she would not really be able to numb the pain we affectionately refer to as, “The Lightning Bolt” when she breaks through the bone, but she would count it out as she did last time and it would soon be over.

I was a little disappointed at that news, but no turning back now. She asked if I could feel her tapping on my skin, I said yes, I could feel it plainly. I think that got me another injection because as she continued to poke and push there, I felt only pressure. She said, “Here we go,” and I heard something hit the floor and roll, probably that big, marrow extracting, bone biting, spike needle tool.

One of them began counting slowly, professionally, “One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three,” as the other lunged quickly to snatch it from the floor in accordance with the Five Second Rule.

I felt a small pain which I understand was the aspiration, and another strange but tolerable pain and shaking, which I understand was taking a chunk of bone. “One thousand five, that’s it.”

Okay, maybe they weren’t chasing the big needle thing across the floor in those five seconds. Maybe they were actually counting as promised – for my benefit, not like at work where we count to annotate that grace period before food that has fallen on the floor should no longer be eaten.

CLARIFICATION: I work at the Public Works Department and our motto is, “Come for the job – Stay for the humor.” It’s the Waste Water Treatment Plant whose motto is, “We don’t have a five second rule!”

I took this picture in Troutdale, Oregon, picking up a truck load of insulation

The bone marrow biopsy results will be back in about a week.

It’s funny, the commotion a little number can cause

The first time I was told I had cancer; I thought it might be the beginning of the end of my life.

I remember thinking, I can’t die now, I have unfinished projects everywhere I look, who will finish them? And I had always assumed I would be here to take care of my wife when we got older. Who will do that if I’m not here?

After prayer and consideration, I came to realize that there isn’t really anything that won’t get by without me.

I was mentally preparing my self for the end. You reluctantly try the notion on for size, wear it around for a while, and with God you can say, “If I must, I can do this.”

I had surgery and recovery, and after a while I thought my life might continue.

Time passes and you start thinking, “Maybe I will be around a while, maybe even a long time.” So you wear that around and get used to it.

Then came the second cancer, this one incurable. Those words are devastating, but good or bad (bad or worse), I have God’s peace.  I remember the moment it hit me, the peace that passes all understanding.  You can learn about it here – Philippians 4:7.  

Certainly, I’d rather not have cancer; I’m in no hurry to die, but here on earth, the mortality rate is 100%.

I’m tested every three months. After stable, stable, and continuing stable, it’s easy to cast your focus a little farther out and think again, “Maybe I will be around for years.”

The difference between 1.2 and 1.8 is such a small number, but enough to bring a (Smoldering) Multiple Myeloma patient back for more testing, x-rays, waiting for the next answer (and the next question), and realizing again that this is could well be the beginning of the end.

I feel like such a wimp when I read the blogs and posts of other Multiple Myeloma cancer victims, they’ve been through so much. I’ve been enjoying a fairly normal life, quietly smoldering a year and a half; that’s easy.

These MMr’s are experienced and decorated medical combat veterans. Most have had serious medications, agonizing treatments, terrible side-effects, lives completely upended, and eventually – finally, death.

I read one Multiple Myeloma blogger’s list of stages he predicts most of us will go through.  There was not one mention of Jesus, no peace from God. 

How sad for him to face this (and eternity) without joy. His only hope was in doctors and medicine. I love doctors and medicine (and insurance!), but even with the very best, one day I will die.

I remember hearing it said of someone who survived a great tragedy, “God was surely with them!”  But, then I wondered about those who didn’t survive, was God not with them?  If they were believers, God was with them. 

I realize that because he is always with me.  Going in or out of the hospital, going in or out of cancer, going in or out of life, His presence is undeniable. 

This cancer experience hasn’t been any fun, but through it, I’ve enjoyed the strength and comfort from God’s Peace.  Thank you for your prayers for Diane and me.

Monday, I go for another bone marrow biopsy. This is where the roller-coaster starts to get exciting!

I love this shot of my brother, Loren, and I. Thanks, Diane