The Gift That Never Gives Up

 

The Gift That Never Gives Up

In My Bloodstream: Lisinopril,  Amlodopine,  Omeprazole, Tamsulosin and Keytruda - and now Yervoy,  Anti-diarrhea and Steroids (Prednisone)

On The Stereo: If You Love Her: Forest Blakk

My gift of cancer digs in.  It has been tenacious.  Often without sympathy.  No remorse.  No guilt.  Selfish.  Unyielding.  Arrogant.  

The very medicines that are used to iradicate its fervor, it turns against me.  My melanoma intimidates by stages - now, and for the past too many years, a stage 4.  It remains smug, pressing past every barrier that the medical profession builds in its path.  It chews at my intestines and its gnaws at my mind.

I am the product of my genetics, most of which history has fallen behind me.  I have no comprehension of my family, its roots, or its strengths and weaknesses.  What I do know, is that I was born a Scot.  

There are definitely a number of Scottish traits, which have been sharpened and strengthened through the ages.  On the professional side, a strong penchant for business.  Witness the growth of the steel business in America. 

Undoubtably, within the clans, a ruggedness has built over time.  Harsh weather, adventure, the spirit of discovery and an overt willingness to argue and fight pervades the Scottish spirit.  (I see a head or two nodding.) 

A Scot can be beaten, but he will not submit.  He can appear so very tough, but a heart of a fawn beats inside him.

I am the recipient of much of the Scottish character.  Through no orchestration of my own.

If cancer wants to kill me, and I am sure that it does, this is what it must confront.  Good luck to it.

I promised Kath that I would deal with some of the medical issues wherein we play.  I guess it is about time.  Although my life around melanoma is much more interesting than the managing of the disease itself.  Or at least the attempts to do so.

The week of Aug. 24th

We met with Dr. Wuthrick, my new radiation oncologist, for the first time.  He was extremely upbeat and changed my mind about continuing with radiation.  I had closed the door on that option, as my past experiences were not at all satisfactory and caused me far too much grief.  He listened carefully and led me down a primrose path to his way of thinking.  I was taking candy from strangers.

Aug.31st

I spent over an hour with a team skilled in shaping a photo-sensitive mask to my face.  Lots of pressing and pulling, ensuring there were no wrinkles, bends or folds, unless they were duplicates of my own.  And, by the conclusion of the process, the mask was my face.  Poor thing.  My friend Peter Parker (Spiderman) and I are both mask-wearing fighters.  

And home we went.

Sept.7th

Several scans of my head and chest were taken.

Sept.9th

 We met with Dr. Eroglu.  All was not well.  In fact, the only mass that had shown any contrition was the lymph node in front of my left ear.  All the others were continuing their ascent.  They were bulking up to crowd my poor brain.  And new spots appeared to be forming.  One on each hip and one on T1, on my spine. Nothing major, and not confirmed.  Only by a pathology would we know for sure.  We were a long way from that yet.

Things then seemed to come to a grind - but were moving at the speed of light at the same time.  The Dr. had come into the room with pages and pages of options for us.  Each one took careful explanation, but were packed with detail and she outlined what might and what might not work for each.  And then she reviewed when they might be available, and whether I might qualify.  I was in the midst  of information overload.  My hearing is not the best.  Everyone wore masks and "doc-speak" permeated the room.  I was in grade school again.  And I was in need of special-ed.

What I did garner:  my oncologist had shifted from her position several months ago, at which time she believed my life had run its course.  She was now fully engaged in finding me help.  She was talking of trials several more months out and sending messages to other facilities and study groups asking them to include me in their work.

She believed there to be opportunity with a drug called Kadcyla, sometimes used to create antibodies in breast cancer treatment. However, she discovered that it would exclude my participation in another study.  This one does not directly target the melanoma , but attacks the mutation  found in all types of cancer.  This would be very cool for me, as I could become the first Elderly Mutant Ninja Mullen.  This has yet to be tested in any human subjects.  I am ready and waiting for my opportunity.  We can, at best, succeed, or at worst, help someone else in the next phase.  (Study BMC-5552)

Sept.17th

We made our trek to Tampa for my third radiation treatment, only to find that there had been a mix-up in my scheduling.  The list we had been given, and my portal, had been updated without our knowledge.  Lots of apologies.  But we were done for the day.  

We were asked to return on Tuesday, but we had already set our itinerary for Monday, with Kat taking another day off work and a car dealership visit, for maintenance.  The radiation schedulers told us they would continue to contact the doctor, who was out of the country.  Late in the day we received confirmation that Monday, our next previously planned original day, would be good.  On that day, we will have our new schedule confirmed.

Fatigue and stomach issues continue to plague me, but these are non-issues when compared to  the side-effects and pain which many others have faced.  I am a lucky man.

I hope this is enough to give some comfort to a number of you who have expressed direct and indirect concern regarding my future.  I am moving forward.  Have faith.  I am still making plans.  

Another apology is due, as I did have this post ready to send out last night.  I was overtaken with fatigue again, and simply could not trust my energy or concentration to finish the task.  I had my fourth radiation treatment and fell victim to its side effects.

Look forward to being with you next week.