Hello 2014
In My Bloodstream: Same Old Stuff
On The Stereo: Waiting For My Real Life To Begin, Mark Knoffler
Update, Monday, Veterans Day, 2018
Gratitude to our veterans and all those who have served to give us this wonderful and blessed life. Having had the opportunity to travel, and being the citizen of three countries, I cannot express satisfactorily, the good fortune that we all share, just by being here. Those who have served to earn our gift of freedom, deserve our ongoing thanks. There are many in this world who would gladly give up everything to live in a free society like ours.
Go out of your way, whenever you can, to thank a vet, not just special days like yesterday or today, but every day. I promise, you will find it rewarding to connect with another human being. Respect and gratitude go a long way to helping veterans know that their commitment to this country was not in vain. I realize many of you would never miss that opportunity, and already have made a difference. If you have never done so, can you imagine what it must be like to have someone you don't know, walk up to you and say "Thank you for your service." You, too, will feel better.
I did not discuss current issues last week, as I was still waiting for pathology results from my surgeon, who was donating a week of his time and skill at a hospital in Panama. A good man.
Melanoma reparation to my scalp.
This past week, I visited, reluctantly, my new dermatologist at Moffitt. I was in a foul mood. I was, and am still healing from my last scalp operation, and did not want to absorb more cutting and scraping and burning. Kath was with me and she was sympathetic to my situation, but a little uncomfortable, being caught in the middle of a dialog going nowhere good. In the midst of our meeting with this new doctor, several other nurses and assistants joined us. They were all familiar with my case and began examining my wound and teaching Kath how to keep trimming the silicone covering, which was raggedy in the back. My new dermatologist had lost all control. In fact, in retrospect, he never did quite have it. In the end, we left, with not much accomplished other than marking the sites for biopsy, taking some pictures and setting a date for our next appointment. I have been known to be belligerent once in a while, and the poor man, I am sure, would not consider me to be a star patient after my mini tirade. I wanted my scalp biopsy information before I agreed to any more work on the rest of me. I have been unable to go anywhere in public, without a hat; and one open wound right now is enough for me. The doctor thought I should move forward anyway. I did not.
I did not discuss current issues last week, as I was still waiting for pathology results from my surgeon, who was donating a week of his time and skill at a hospital in Panama. A good man.
This past week, I visited, reluctantly, my new dermatologist at Moffitt. I was in a foul mood. I was, and am still healing from my last scalp operation, and did not want to absorb more cutting and scraping and burning. Kath was with me and she was sympathetic to my situation, but a little uncomfortable, being caught in the middle of a dialog going nowhere good. In the midst of our meeting with this new doctor, several other nurses and assistants joined us. They were all familiar with my case and began examining my wound and teaching Kath how to keep trimming the silicone covering, which was raggedy in the back. My new dermatologist had lost all control. In fact, in retrospect, he never did quite have it. In the end, we left, with not much accomplished other than marking the sites for biopsy, taking some pictures and setting a date for our next appointment. I have been known to be belligerent once in a while, and the poor man, I am sure, would not consider me to be a star patient after my mini tirade. I wanted my scalp biopsy information before I agreed to any more work on the rest of me. I have been unable to go anywhere in public, without a hat; and one open wound right now is enough for me. The doctor thought I should move forward anyway. I did not.
Two days later, I talked to Dr. Harrington, who confirmed what I had suspected. The margins of the scalp removed during my last operation still contained in situ melanoma. There was also a more serious melanoma found within the removed scalp. He said he could see no evidence of it with his naked eye, while he was cutting. After some discussion about what all this meant, we agreed to a further operation, to remove another section of my head, adjacent to the last wound. I am not sure if this will ever end.
Back in time to January 8th, 2014. Kristin, Doug, Avet and Eli, were living very near us, in Fort Myers. That situation was not intended to last forever, by any means, but, ostensibly, they were staying for a while to be near us while I was in ill health. Kath and I were grateful to have the chance to be with our kids and their kids. We had lots of time together and we were able to be involved in our grandchildren's upbringing. Since our girls had been of working age, we had lost them to boys and to distance. That is life, I know. But I still so envy those friends of ours, whose families live near them, and family meals and get-togethers are the norm. As is sharing time with the young. To have Doug and Kristin stay near us, before they moved on from San Jose to Raleigh, was as good a gift as we could ever imagine. They made our life joyous and more rich for those six months.
We visited Dr. Hart, in Fort Myers, for a follow up appointment, mostly for him to keep track of my progress with the clinical trial. We explained to him that I was unable to complete the fourth Yervoy infusion and the hopes of finishing the trial were most likely over. He commiserated and told us that he would continue to monitor my cancer and do everything he could to keep me going. I was glad to have an ally.
The next day we returned to Moffitt to learn our fate. Dr. Weber was charming, as always. We talked about the miserable side effects I had endured, zeroing in on the pancreatitis. He explained that he was sorry for the pain and that a further dosage of Yervoy may well prove fatal. I would not be given any more.
At this point, I was crushed. He was polite, caring and soft spoken. I was sure the end was here. He congratulated me on my commitment and stamina and explained that we were scheduled for the new drug the next morning at 7 AM. I was in absolute shock. I could not understand. I asked why I was allowed to receive the nivolumab when I had not finished Stage 1. The doctor explained that four dosages were the target, but I had tolerated the drug well, considering the volumes I had been given. I was still healthy and motivated. We were going on to Stage 2. I still had a chance. It was all I could do not to cry. We came, fully expecting to be released from the program, and now this. I was exploding with joy. I could feel the adrenaline pounding in me. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I was overcome. Thank you.
We checked in the next morning. Blood work. Weight. Blood pressure. CT scan. Infusion with nivolumab. Kath and I could not stop talking through the ninety minute infusion. We were giddy. Overjoyed. We were home late afternoon. That day was so good. Our gift. We had been given so much for which we were thankful. Bring on the side effects. We were ready. Now, under the new schedule, we would make the trip to Tampa every two weeks.
This year, 2014, had to be a better year.
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