We have taken a breather and had a chance to absorb unwelcome news. During the three months of uncertainty as to appropriate treatment, we prepared for the next step by exploring options for each likely treatment outcome. We didn’t hope for this, but at least we are prepared to make an informed choice.
We are moving forward with what we believe to be the most sensible, productive and safest plan: to proceed with complementary treatments concurrently. We will initiate the oncologist-recommended chemotherapy as scheduled next week. Starting the same day, I will receive a 4-week program of in-patient care at the Issels Clinic across the border from San Diego in Mexico: www.issels.com .
This treatment program was first offered by an MD in the late 1940s in Europe and continues to be practiced at a clinic there as well as in Mexico. As science advances, new treatments have been added, including the production of an anti-cancer cell vaccine from my own blood, a method now being studied by several government agencies including the National Cancer Institute.
The Tijuana clinic is located in a hospital, a benefit for me since the current chemotherapy plan has harsh side effects at a time when my liver function is becoming increasingly stressed. I will feel very much better having emergency care available within seconds and Michael close by my side.
Meanwhile, I continue my own integrated program: prancing around the living room led by a Richard Simmons video, meditating (really works!!), eating my vegetables, thinking pure thoughts and happy to wake up to your greetings each day.
Copyright 2007
Friday, February 23, 2007
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Not Good
The largest liver tumor has grown from 5.7cm to 8.3cm, a 46% increase in size. Therefore we are stopping the current protocol of Cisplatin and Irinotecan.
We will resume chemotherapy on March 1 with Temozolomide (Temodar) and Capecitabine (Xeloda), a self-administered treatment in pill form.
Of 17 patients monitored on this treatment with conditions similar to mine:
1 had a complete remission
9 had a partial response surviving for 9 months
6 had a greater than 50% decline in tumor markers (blood test results)
1 had a less than 50% decline in tumor markers
More later.
Copyright 2007
We will resume chemotherapy on March 1 with Temozolomide (Temodar) and Capecitabine (Xeloda), a self-administered treatment in pill form.
Of 17 patients monitored on this treatment with conditions similar to mine:
1 had a complete remission
9 had a partial response surviving for 9 months
6 had a greater than 50% decline in tumor markers (blood test results)
1 had a less than 50% decline in tumor markers
More later.
Copyright 2007
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Crossing the Threshold: Independence
As first-born of ten I was expected to be independent.
Mother loved telling the story of how I learned to walk at the age of 8 months. One day she peeked into the nursery to see if I was still napping. She saw baby Linda, balanced upright, intensely concentrated, stepping hands-free from one side of the crib to the other. I had mastered this adult activity while no one was looking, assisting or encouraging. Fiercely and aggressively independent from the beginning!
Being a burden or bother to others has always been anathema to me, to ask for help, a sign of my incompetence and poor planning. Fortunately, those who don’t learn life’s lessons until later can learn them quickly! On Diagnosis Day, October 2006, I was alone and baldly inadequate to confront a stealth opponent that commanded the very resources essential for life.
I was back in that crib making the alternate choice. For help, I turned first to my stalwart companion of 26 years, my loving husband. He urged me to take the next step: to reach out for support and encouragement from others. The clincher was to take a step yet farther: to accept the aid of family, friends and an army of unknowns volunteering their caring and prayers for the strength to separate myself from the greedy appetite of this illness.
As we approach the first treatment benchmark, I take great comfort in feeling your presence at my side. You have been patient teachers of a most recalcitrant student who thanks you with unbounded gratitude.
Copyright 2007
Mother loved telling the story of how I learned to walk at the age of 8 months. One day she peeked into the nursery to see if I was still napping. She saw baby Linda, balanced upright, intensely concentrated, stepping hands-free from one side of the crib to the other. I had mastered this adult activity while no one was looking, assisting or encouraging. Fiercely and aggressively independent from the beginning!
Being a burden or bother to others has always been anathema to me, to ask for help, a sign of my incompetence and poor planning. Fortunately, those who don’t learn life’s lessons until later can learn them quickly! On Diagnosis Day, October 2006, I was alone and baldly inadequate to confront a stealth opponent that commanded the very resources essential for life.
I was back in that crib making the alternate choice. For help, I turned first to my stalwart companion of 26 years, my loving husband. He urged me to take the next step: to reach out for support and encouragement from others. The clincher was to take a step yet farther: to accept the aid of family, friends and an army of unknowns volunteering their caring and prayers for the strength to separate myself from the greedy appetite of this illness.
As we approach the first treatment benchmark, I take great comfort in feeling your presence at my side. You have been patient teachers of a most recalcitrant student who thanks you with unbounded gratitude.
Copyright 2007
Friday, February 16, 2007
from MICHAEL
A note from me to everyone who has written, phoned, messaged, or faxed to Lynn:
Words cannot suffice to express my thanks to you all. Your messages of hope, support, humor, warmth and- yes, Love- are invaluable. Lynn is enormously buoyed up by the surety that out there in the great world beyond pain and anxiety there are so many folks who hold her in their thoughts with such great affection. Please keep the good feelings flowing to this valiant lady!
Michael
Composed 02 14 07
Copyright 2007
Words cannot suffice to express my thanks to you all. Your messages of hope, support, humor, warmth and- yes, Love- are invaluable. Lynn is enormously buoyed up by the surety that out there in the great world beyond pain and anxiety there are so many folks who hold her in their thoughts with such great affection. Please keep the good feelings flowing to this valiant lady!
Michael
Composed 02 14 07
Copyright 2007
Sunday, February 4, 2007
Anthem
With treatment underway, the new waiting game is checkpoint test results. While waiting, my busy little mind searches for ways to improve this situation: perhaps add a component that will contribute to a positive outcome. So far, the search has been for substances to put into my body to improve the physical condition, and into my mind to improve the mental state in which the physical operates.
For straight to-the-heart sustenance, however, music has fed my soul in a deep and complete way leaving me more whole than other artistic media. As I reflect on inspiring music, Schumann’s Symphony #4 in D Minor springs to mind. Right from the start, it is triumphant! I favor the version by Paul Paray conducting the Detroit Symphony Orchestra for its vibrant intensity and architectural robustness, qualities that add a supportive dimension to my healing effort.
This choice represents a special legacy for me. Long ago, my sister bought it for her record collection and left me the original LP when she moved out as my roommate and married. A few years later she died, and the record became mine. I played that LP until the ridges and valleys in each groove wore down to a white hiss. Then I bought a tape cassette and played that to a howling whine. Now this music is on a CD, ready to serve as anthem for this journey, almost as if sent ahead by my sister’s spirit to help me through this time.
As the angst of waiting builds, I’ll keep cool with Schumann. So pass the ipod, and play on, Paray!
Copyright 2007
For straight to-the-heart sustenance, however, music has fed my soul in a deep and complete way leaving me more whole than other artistic media. As I reflect on inspiring music, Schumann’s Symphony #4 in D Minor springs to mind. Right from the start, it is triumphant! I favor the version by Paul Paray conducting the Detroit Symphony Orchestra for its vibrant intensity and architectural robustness, qualities that add a supportive dimension to my healing effort.
This choice represents a special legacy for me. Long ago, my sister bought it for her record collection and left me the original LP when she moved out as my roommate and married. A few years later she died, and the record became mine. I played that LP until the ridges and valleys in each groove wore down to a white hiss. Then I bought a tape cassette and played that to a howling whine. Now this music is on a CD, ready to serve as anthem for this journey, almost as if sent ahead by my sister’s spirit to help me through this time.
As the angst of waiting builds, I’ll keep cool with Schumann. So pass the ipod, and play on, Paray!
Copyright 2007
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