Zephyr

 

Zephyr

In My Bloodstream: Lisinopril,  Amlodopine,  Omeprazole, Tamsulosin
On The Stereo: If I were Brave: Shawn Colvin

Kath joined me on Tuesday's visit to Moffitt.  Normally, I have refused to let her come with me.  It makes no sense to me that she would sit by herself, for hours, in an uncomfortable hospital waiting room, while I am being looked after, or waiting for doctors in another treatment room.  Furthermore, under covid protocol, visitors were not even allowed in the hospital.  Thankfully, that has changed. 

This time the visit was different.

We were there to meet my oncologist, to discuss what, if anything, we might do to manage this new metastatic melanoma.  Kat did not want me to be alone for this meeting.  And I was in absolute agreement.  My bride had better hear, herself, whatever the news might be.

 I arrived on schedule for my first appointment with the blood draw people.  When they had finished with me, we had to wait an hour for the results, and then get ready for "the big show".  Eventually, I was called for a check on my vitals.  My blood pressure was 119/ 74 and my heart rate was 64 beats per minute.   My temperature was normal.  The traffic on the drive down and the concern over my cancer issues had apparently failed to wreak havoc with my system.

Kimberly, Dr. Eroglu's P.A., was the first to see us.  She explained that the doctor would see us shortly.  She reviewed some information with us and told us we would be meeting several people, new to me.  And so it began.

We met with an army of melanoma specialists.  Surgeons, schedulers, oncologists and researchers.  Our meeting room had a revolving door - or so it seemed.  They measured the cancer on my head and they all appeared to want me on the trial.

The fly in the ointment was a small hole in my skull, where my cancer had burrowed its way through, and the proximity of the melanoma to my brain.  There was a fear of bleeding.  A side effect of the new drug.  There would be serious consequences if blood collected and pressured a large vein which sits directly on my brain.  The surgeon believed the risk of death too great.

However, many of the people who we were with, would be attending a melanoma meeting the next day, and a commitment was made that I would be on the agenda, and the experts would discuss all of the available possibilities.  Several of the interviewers commented on my attitude, noting that I had a "beautiful outlook", and I would be perfect for their study.  Well, I hope that means something when it comes time for them to make their decision.

To conserve time, we completed all the consent documents required for the new research study, and also the papers for Keytruda infusions, on their own, should I not be approved for the trial.  

I finally thought that we may be able to escape the doldrums.  At last.  A zephyr was on the horizon.  Not here yet, but we just might be afforded some direction.  There was a consensus of hope.  Treatment would come.   In one form or another.

The trial opportunity still had breath.  It was not yet dead.  I was forewarned of the side effects again.  And one more, that had not been previously mentioned.  The injection chemical, in addition to the possibility of severe pain, would cause a violent reaction if I was exposed to the sun.  So much so, that I would not be able to even sit near a window.  I would basically be held hostage inside our house for months.

I would become Jean Valjean.  And I am thinking this is the solution I am looking for?

And some 41/2 hours later, we got into our car and drove home.  We had finished the kind of meeting I hate.  Lots of dialogue and no decisions.  But at least Kath was included and was able to witness the  grueling process in which I have been so long involved.

Thursday brought news.  But not at all what I expected.  The surgeon wants to see me one more time prior to allowing me into the study.  He had been reticent and the most vocal about not proceeding.  But now, he wants another inspection.  On the 20th.  I can feel the boat sloshing and settling deeper into the water.  We will continue to wait for the air to move.