Christmas memories from childhood creep into my awareness and I swear right now I can smell the aroma of a mince pie cooking despite an empty oven. I relive the agonizing anticipation that built in me during that last half hour on Christmas morning before the household started stirring and we could inspect the goodies in our bulging Christmas stockings. Magically, during the night while we slept, they were tucked next to our beds so that they would be the first thing we saw when we awoke in the morning.
The stocking experience is the quintessential spirit of Christmas for me. Our family is large (10 of us kids), so the production of the elf squad was severely taxed to meet the Christmas Eve deadline. The stocking contents varied each year, but as the years rolled along, a collection of essentials became mandatory. Especially memorable are the wind-up toys: drum-beating marching musicians, dinosaurs stomping, race cars clattering, every creative incarnation imaginable.
Nuts, fruits and sweets filled the smaller spaces, with a Clementine in each toe. Exotica included tinned smoked oysters, clams and mussels. A yearly set of jacks or paddle balls were expected. All the edibles were consumed willy-nilly before breakfast: smoked oysters on top of marzipan on top of freshly cracked walnuts.
The stocking tradition has become one of our most treasured family memories. All year long we remained on shopping alert collecting oddities, squirreling them away for the Christmas Eve wrapping and stocking stuffing marathon. One year two of my sisters in adjacent beds shared real stockings: ready-to-be-discarded panty hose; they each got one stuffed leg.
Michael and I wish each of you a warm Christmas season filled with treasured memories: those of the past as well as those yet to be generated.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted December 26, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
A Nice Boring Life
As a fifteen-year-old I dreamed of having an exciting life. I’m not sure I had a clear idea of what that entailed, but I was sure I would recognize it if I saw it. Countless exciting opportunities flung themselves across my path through life and rarely did one go by without my investigating if not actually acting on it. Curiosity urged me on to many adventures. (See http://www.flickr.com/photos/lee_guilfoyle/2739015404 for one example.)
Ultimately, over time and with a developing sense of self-preservation, I balanced unbridled curiosity with an ever-improving skill in risk analysis. There eventually came a tipping point at which the discarded opportunities began to outnumber the presenting possibilities. Life by Chance was beginning to pall. I yearned for a “nice boring life.”
It has taken me years to craft a Life by Choice rather than awaiting the capricious appearance of opportunities. Now I seek miniature wonders in the world around me. A plethora of corn and soybean fields nearby comfort me with their verdant textures fluctuating through seasonal changes. Morning walks take me past telephone wires laden with societies of song birds that, alarmed, rise in concert to flee my approach. As spring nears, we look forward to welcoming the return of nest-building ospreys and the appearance of their fledglings.
I am thankful for a rich life crammed with many diverse experiences and fascinating people eager to share their zest for life with a kindred soul. Fortunately, many are still in my life, including my beloved mate with his endless forbearance and leavening influence on my most ambitious enthusiasms. Thank all of you for being there with me over the long haul and advance thanks to those of you who have yet to appear.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted December 18, 2008
Ultimately, over time and with a developing sense of self-preservation, I balanced unbridled curiosity with an ever-improving skill in risk analysis. There eventually came a tipping point at which the discarded opportunities began to outnumber the presenting possibilities. Life by Chance was beginning to pall. I yearned for a “nice boring life.”
It has taken me years to craft a Life by Choice rather than awaiting the capricious appearance of opportunities. Now I seek miniature wonders in the world around me. A plethora of corn and soybean fields nearby comfort me with their verdant textures fluctuating through seasonal changes. Morning walks take me past telephone wires laden with societies of song birds that, alarmed, rise in concert to flee my approach. As spring nears, we look forward to welcoming the return of nest-building ospreys and the appearance of their fledglings.
I am thankful for a rich life crammed with many diverse experiences and fascinating people eager to share their zest for life with a kindred soul. Fortunately, many are still in my life, including my beloved mate with his endless forbearance and leavening influence on my most ambitious enthusiasms. Thank all of you for being there with me over the long haul and advance thanks to those of you who have yet to appear.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted December 18, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Windows on our World
The first thing I notice about getting better is my energy level. Stretches of time stitch themselves along when suddenly I notice that I am doing significantly more than I was able to do a few months previously. A window opens and the fresh air of awareness arouses my senses to an appreciation of returning health.
Despite the onset of winter, the days seem longer because we are living each day more fully. As the sun sets, I can look at a list of minor accomplishments and extract a sense of achievement for having crossed them off the “to do” list. Before Diagnosis Day two years ago, the approach of dusk typically ignited in me a flair of frustration at the list of chores undone.
My criteria for finding daily satisfaction from accomplishments was high and inching ever higher back in my “normal” days. Instead of savoring the past or anticipating the future, I now find more time for smelling flowers, for tending to the moment, for throwing open windows.
What is different now is the magnitude of energy required to complete each task. As recently as two months ago completing every tiny little task required totally exhausting my energy reserves. Now I can string together several tasks before crumpling. Discovering fresh energy is like throwing a log on a dimming fire: Sparks fly celebrating their liberation. Flames dance with renewed vigor hungrily devouring fresh fuel. Embers glow, radiating intense contentment. All is well with our world.
As the year draws to an end, we wish the same renewal for you and your family in the minutes, months and years of your lives to come.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted December 11, 2008
Despite the onset of winter, the days seem longer because we are living each day more fully. As the sun sets, I can look at a list of minor accomplishments and extract a sense of achievement for having crossed them off the “to do” list. Before Diagnosis Day two years ago, the approach of dusk typically ignited in me a flair of frustration at the list of chores undone.
My criteria for finding daily satisfaction from accomplishments was high and inching ever higher back in my “normal” days. Instead of savoring the past or anticipating the future, I now find more time for smelling flowers, for tending to the moment, for throwing open windows.
What is different now is the magnitude of energy required to complete each task. As recently as two months ago completing every tiny little task required totally exhausting my energy reserves. Now I can string together several tasks before crumpling. Discovering fresh energy is like throwing a log on a dimming fire: Sparks fly celebrating their liberation. Flames dance with renewed vigor hungrily devouring fresh fuel. Embers glow, radiating intense contentment. All is well with our world.
As the year draws to an end, we wish the same renewal for you and your family in the minutes, months and years of your lives to come.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted December 11, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Thanksgiving
Today is our third Thanksgiving observance since Diagnosis Day. Considering how grim the picture was at that time (2006), it is a miracle that I’m even here, and THAT is worthy of celebration!
We are thankful for all the nausea; it signals that the chemotherapy is at work. That side effect is now mostly gone so we celebrate the strengthening of basic health. One signal of health is the “WNL” results on the quarterly blood analysis. Within Normal Limits means that, except for the cancer markers, my blood looks just like any normally healthy person’s blood. Let’s celebrate!
The cancer markers are less consistent. The overall trend since starting with the AstraZeneca chemotherapy (8-13-07) is down to within celebratory levels: The general cancer activity marker, CEA, is down 66% since then; the specific thyroid cancer marker (Calcitonin) is down 71% in the same time frame. Down is good because it means a lowered level of cancer cell activity. Let’s celebrate!
Your support, prayers and affirmations have been a wave bearing us up through scary, uncertain times. There aren’t Thanks enough in all the world to adequately express our gratitude for your staying the course with us. Our constant love goes to you and your family with wishes that your Thanksgiving is as bright as you have made ours.
So let’s go directly to the bottom line and serve the turkey!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted November 25, 200
We are thankful for all the nausea; it signals that the chemotherapy is at work. That side effect is now mostly gone so we celebrate the strengthening of basic health. One signal of health is the “WNL” results on the quarterly blood analysis. Within Normal Limits means that, except for the cancer markers, my blood looks just like any normally healthy person’s blood. Let’s celebrate!
The cancer markers are less consistent. The overall trend since starting with the AstraZeneca chemotherapy (8-13-07) is down to within celebratory levels: The general cancer activity marker, CEA, is down 66% since then; the specific thyroid cancer marker (Calcitonin) is down 71% in the same time frame. Down is good because it means a lowered level of cancer cell activity. Let’s celebrate!
Your support, prayers and affirmations have been a wave bearing us up through scary, uncertain times. There aren’t Thanks enough in all the world to adequately express our gratitude for your staying the course with us. Our constant love goes to you and your family with wishes that your Thanksgiving is as bright as you have made ours.
So let’s go directly to the bottom line and serve the turkey!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted November 25, 200
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Down Days
At this time of year my spirits droop, weighed down by added hours of darkness, the preponderance of days with anemic daylight and chill breezes. Too few are the days that elevate my spirit with the joy of being alive: crisp, clear skies, bracing gusts and sunlight warming my face. It is time for a seasonal inventory of my arsenal of weapons to combat weather- and spirit-weariness.
My criteria for inventory assessment: Antidotes must be able to be started within hours if not minutes, completed in less than three days, and have a lasting effect. Bingeing on antidotes is not the answer; the point is to savor the process and extend the enjoyment of the outcome. For fellow seasonal sufferers here are some pre-tested suggestions that have worked for me.
Bake cookies for a neighbor. (Choose a different culinary strategy if your neighbor happens to be a dentist.)
Simmer up a pot of soup for a shut-in (and save some for yourself). The chicken soup “myth” is actually true!
Find out about light visors to compensate for fewer hours of natural daylight. The one I use is Bio-Brite (www.biobrite.com)
Find an interactive blog site and post an opinion. Someone is reading responses.
Visit a resident of an assisted living facility. Everyone has a history; some are spellbinding.
Telephone a classmate you haven’t seen since high school. Have they lived their dreams?
Invite a sister/brother/cousin/friend to visit for a few days. (Specify length of stay.)
Write a Letter to the Editor of your hometown newspaper. Find a forum for your (printable) opinions.
Read some Ogden Nash poems.
This is only a partial list to get the creative juices flowing. Add more from your own experience. Pick one, mix with a dash of sunlight and let a smile break through.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted November 20, 2008
My criteria for inventory assessment: Antidotes must be able to be started within hours if not minutes, completed in less than three days, and have a lasting effect. Bingeing on antidotes is not the answer; the point is to savor the process and extend the enjoyment of the outcome. For fellow seasonal sufferers here are some pre-tested suggestions that have worked for me.
Bake cookies for a neighbor. (Choose a different culinary strategy if your neighbor happens to be a dentist.)
Simmer up a pot of soup for a shut-in (and save some for yourself). The chicken soup “myth” is actually true!
Find out about light visors to compensate for fewer hours of natural daylight. The one I use is Bio-Brite (www.biobrite.com)
Find an interactive blog site and post an opinion. Someone is reading responses.
Visit a resident of an assisted living facility. Everyone has a history; some are spellbinding.
Telephone a classmate you haven’t seen since high school. Have they lived their dreams?
Invite a sister/brother/cousin/friend to visit for a few days. (Specify length of stay.)
Write a Letter to the Editor of your hometown newspaper. Find a forum for your (printable) opinions.
Read some Ogden Nash poems.
This is only a partial list to get the creative juices flowing. Add more from your own experience. Pick one, mix with a dash of sunlight and let a smile break through.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted November 20, 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Exercise Evolution
My exercise plans evolved in halts and starts through the years starting before the fitness revolution was a gleam in Jane Fonda’s eye. After graduation ended my high school sports programs, and feeling fidgety without regular exercise, I took up jogging.
While living near San Jose, California in my mid-thirties, my friend Judy and I decided to train together to prepare for the Bay to Breakers race, a 7.46 mile (12K) cross-San Francisco route from the eastern waterfront ending at the Pacific Ocean in the west. We trained for months at a local high school track, gradually extending our distance and endurance.
The event attracted about 7,000 runners that year with thousands more lining the route to cheer us. Even though we trained on a flat track, Judy and I finished in respectable time for amateur runners facing San Francisco’s daunting landscape. While many runners walked Hayes Street Hill, I am proud to say that Judy and I held to a jogging pace throughout. It may seem a modest achievement to more accomplished runners. But then challenges are relative and this one is the longest run I have ever tackled (or hope to).
The evolution of my personal plan of exercise is apparent in scanning the titles of my collection of fitness VCRs and DVDs starting with Jane Fonda and continuing with Callanetics, Kathy Smith, Richard Simmons, QiGong, Dancing Grannies and Kripalu Yoga, each of which offers it’s own special benefits. A few are catching dust; many find themselves back in favor as I search for variety in my current exercise plan.
Stay well as faithfully as you have stayed the course with us … and keep moving!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted November 13, 2008
While living near San Jose, California in my mid-thirties, my friend Judy and I decided to train together to prepare for the Bay to Breakers race, a 7.46 mile (12K) cross-San Francisco route from the eastern waterfront ending at the Pacific Ocean in the west. We trained for months at a local high school track, gradually extending our distance and endurance.
The event attracted about 7,000 runners that year with thousands more lining the route to cheer us. Even though we trained on a flat track, Judy and I finished in respectable time for amateur runners facing San Francisco’s daunting landscape. While many runners walked Hayes Street Hill, I am proud to say that Judy and I held to a jogging pace throughout. It may seem a modest achievement to more accomplished runners. But then challenges are relative and this one is the longest run I have ever tackled (or hope to).
The evolution of my personal plan of exercise is apparent in scanning the titles of my collection of fitness VCRs and DVDs starting with Jane Fonda and continuing with Callanetics, Kathy Smith, Richard Simmons, QiGong, Dancing Grannies and Kripalu Yoga, each of which offers it’s own special benefits. A few are catching dust; many find themselves back in favor as I search for variety in my current exercise plan.
Stay well as faithfully as you have stayed the course with us … and keep moving!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted November 13, 2008
Friday, November 7, 2008
Renovation Project
As I become stronger, I am reclaiming bits of my former self by pondering how to rebuild my life and label the process: Recovery, Reconstruction, Remodeling, or Renovation.
Many think of my journey with cancer as a path to recovery. Recovery has come to bear connotations associated with overcoming addictions. My situation differs. I used to believe recovery was a passive process that occurs while lying in bed waiting until health magically returns to its former state.
Reconstruction connotes restoring as perfectly as possible to the previous condition. I emerge from the episode of illness the same as before the onset.
Remodeling constitutes reshaping the original using same or similar materials, a bit of polishing and some rearrangements resulting in a more convenient or agreeable environment.
Renovation differs from the above in not simply returning to a former condition, but rather by “making new” being actively involved in the process. This means thinking myself back to before this illness, examining each component of my persona for aptness to a new vision of “me” including “keepers” and discarding unwanted or unnecessary parts, re-creating each facet of my health, physical and spiritual being. The Katrina survivors of New Orleans’s 9th ward know a lot about this process.
One big “keeper” is my experience of your overwhelming support and expressions of caring concern that will be part of me always.
NOTE: Future blog postings will occur weekly on either Thursday or Friday unless events dictate an “extra edition.”
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted November 7, 2008
Many think of my journey with cancer as a path to recovery. Recovery has come to bear connotations associated with overcoming addictions. My situation differs. I used to believe recovery was a passive process that occurs while lying in bed waiting until health magically returns to its former state.
Reconstruction connotes restoring as perfectly as possible to the previous condition. I emerge from the episode of illness the same as before the onset.
Remodeling constitutes reshaping the original using same or similar materials, a bit of polishing and some rearrangements resulting in a more convenient or agreeable environment.
Renovation differs from the above in not simply returning to a former condition, but rather by “making new” being actively involved in the process. This means thinking myself back to before this illness, examining each component of my persona for aptness to a new vision of “me” including “keepers” and discarding unwanted or unnecessary parts, re-creating each facet of my health, physical and spiritual being. The Katrina survivors of New Orleans’s 9th ward know a lot about this process.
One big “keeper” is my experience of your overwhelming support and expressions of caring concern that will be part of me always.
NOTE: Future blog postings will occur weekly on either Thursday or Friday unless events dictate an “extra edition.”
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted November 7, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Sleepy Head
Poets have lauded sleep with fancy images and mythologized its restorative qualities. When sleep is elusive, it is worth whatever the soul is willing to pay to recapture it. Its gates cannot be breached, only persuaded to part briefly to admit the sleep-seeker for a limited sojourn.
To help reach this temporary nirvana I have successfully in the past taken herbal teas like Celestial Seasonings SleepyTime Extra. The ceremony of heating the water, pouring it over the tea bag and watching the steam rise inspires reflection and welcomes drowsiness, ushering me into sleep’s anteroom. My family doctor frowns on herbal remedies, citing negative interactions with other of my medications. He is a conservative guardian of my health, so I toe the line and seek alternative ways to encourage the companionship of sleep.
Most nights, sleep holds the gremlins at bay. When their presence becomes too overbearing, I topple over into vicious wakefulness, the gremlins plucking at the remnants of sleep.
My first defensive maneuver against the worry gremlins is to remind myself that little decided in the middle of the night has value after the sun rises. The fun house of Morpheus distorts reality so cunningly and subtly that I can’t rely on decisions or perceptions stumbled upon in the depths of the night. Any dream-thoughts that bear a hint of brilliance I scribble down on a notepad by my bed and re-evaluate in the cold light of morning.
The remembrance gremlins are more tenacious. Their carping reminds me of all the roads not taken, poor decisions and flat-out mistakes I have made throughout my life.
To close the gates on these persistent gremlins, I borrow from my yoga practice by focusing my awareness on the breath moving in and out of my lungs. The effect is like a cradle rocking me closer to restful sleep, a miraculous escape!
Until morning … sweet dreams!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted October 29, 2008
To help reach this temporary nirvana I have successfully in the past taken herbal teas like Celestial Seasonings SleepyTime Extra. The ceremony of heating the water, pouring it over the tea bag and watching the steam rise inspires reflection and welcomes drowsiness, ushering me into sleep’s anteroom. My family doctor frowns on herbal remedies, citing negative interactions with other of my medications. He is a conservative guardian of my health, so I toe the line and seek alternative ways to encourage the companionship of sleep.
Most nights, sleep holds the gremlins at bay. When their presence becomes too overbearing, I topple over into vicious wakefulness, the gremlins plucking at the remnants of sleep.
My first defensive maneuver against the worry gremlins is to remind myself that little decided in the middle of the night has value after the sun rises. The fun house of Morpheus distorts reality so cunningly and subtly that I can’t rely on decisions or perceptions stumbled upon in the depths of the night. Any dream-thoughts that bear a hint of brilliance I scribble down on a notepad by my bed and re-evaluate in the cold light of morning.
The remembrance gremlins are more tenacious. Their carping reminds me of all the roads not taken, poor decisions and flat-out mistakes I have made throughout my life.
To close the gates on these persistent gremlins, I borrow from my yoga practice by focusing my awareness on the breath moving in and out of my lungs. The effect is like a cradle rocking me closer to restful sleep, a miraculous escape!
Until morning … sweet dreams!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted October 29, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
MUSC
With our last visit to Charleston, South Carolina still fresh in our minds, we will try to give you a flavor of Medical University of South Carolina, the institution, and what it means to us to return every three months.
The Hollings Cancer Center is well-recognized nationally as a major cancer treatment center and especially for its expert head and neck oncology medical staff.
Basic reference information is at the website: http://hcc.musc.edu/ .
The best part of each visit is the people. The hospital staff greets us with genuine welcome. Most recognize our faces by now if not our names. The lab technicians draw my blood (seven vials full!) and bring me up to date with local goings-on, upcoming weather and how the River Dogs (Tampa Devil Rays’ minor league) are doing at their nearby arena.
The imaging lab technicians talk me through each scan with smiles as if this were their first day on the job; no monotones bred from hundreds of repetitions. They maintain caring eye contact, a gentle demeanor, an apology with each double dose of super-sized contrast liquid, and never a pinch with the dye injection.
The clinic staff is equally attentive and alert to any discomfort I may be feeling. One time I happened to mention that I was feeling nauseated. Within minutes they delivered an appropriate dose of a prescription medication along with a cup of water to drink it down. The doctor and his nursing assistant really listen, not only to our words but also to the tone of worry in our voices. They are never rushed; I feel as if they have no other patients to be seen that day. This is the doctor that caught the Deep Vein Thrombosis development back in August 2007 and called ahead to the Emergency Room so that they were ready for me when I arrived a few minutes later.
We are discovering a home community away from home!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted October 24, 2008
The Hollings Cancer Center is well-recognized nationally as a major cancer treatment center and especially for its expert head and neck oncology medical staff.
Basic reference information is at the website: http://hcc.musc.edu/ .
The best part of each visit is the people. The hospital staff greets us with genuine welcome. Most recognize our faces by now if not our names. The lab technicians draw my blood (seven vials full!) and bring me up to date with local goings-on, upcoming weather and how the River Dogs (Tampa Devil Rays’ minor league) are doing at their nearby arena.
The imaging lab technicians talk me through each scan with smiles as if this were their first day on the job; no monotones bred from hundreds of repetitions. They maintain caring eye contact, a gentle demeanor, an apology with each double dose of super-sized contrast liquid, and never a pinch with the dye injection.
The clinic staff is equally attentive and alert to any discomfort I may be feeling. One time I happened to mention that I was feeling nauseated. Within minutes they delivered an appropriate dose of a prescription medication along with a cup of water to drink it down. The doctor and his nursing assistant really listen, not only to our words but also to the tone of worry in our voices. They are never rushed; I feel as if they have no other patients to be seen that day. This is the doctor that caught the Deep Vein Thrombosis development back in August 2007 and called ahead to the Emergency Room so that they were ready for me when I arrived a few minutes later.
We are discovering a home community away from home!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted October 24, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
Better and Better
I know I’m getting better because …
… I’m driving a car again … even alone. And better yet, occasionally even with Michael kibitzing from the passenger’s seat. Very few events in my life have the significance of this freedom reclaimed. I feel like a whole person again, a fine commentary on our society’s assumption of one person = one car. I’m grateful knowing that I can get myself to my own appointments, or can go off on my own for a latte and a good read or to meet a friend for a cuppa and a good chat. The burden of knowing that my needs or wishes have been diverting Michael from activities he would rather be doing in order to cart me around has overshadowed my days, but not nearly as much as I imagine it has curtailed Michael’s planning and doing for his own life.
… I have gained weight. Partly because of side effects of a new medicine, partly because the terrible tastes in my mouth have abated. Currently I am super sensitive to pepper; eating something with pepper in it, together with the taste aberration, leaves me panting and my mouth tingling. Compared with a year ago, though, it is quite tolerable.
… I wear makeup more often, dress more carefully, trim my nails and have my hairdo shaped more frequently. I like the way I look now. Apparently others do also judging by the number of genuine compliments that accompany hugs of greeting.
… I have attended to my need for exercise and have come to enjoy my daily walks as much for the elevated heart rate as for the endorphin rush that plumps up my ego and keeps me motivated to continue regardless of weather or lassitude.
… I have been true to your faith in me through the writing of this blog and posting it regularly to keep company with each of you. Thank you for joining me on this incredible journey.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted October 17, 2008
… I’m driving a car again … even alone. And better yet, occasionally even with Michael kibitzing from the passenger’s seat. Very few events in my life have the significance of this freedom reclaimed. I feel like a whole person again, a fine commentary on our society’s assumption of one person = one car. I’m grateful knowing that I can get myself to my own appointments, or can go off on my own for a latte and a good read or to meet a friend for a cuppa and a good chat. The burden of knowing that my needs or wishes have been diverting Michael from activities he would rather be doing in order to cart me around has overshadowed my days, but not nearly as much as I imagine it has curtailed Michael’s planning and doing for his own life.
… I have gained weight. Partly because of side effects of a new medicine, partly because the terrible tastes in my mouth have abated. Currently I am super sensitive to pepper; eating something with pepper in it, together with the taste aberration, leaves me panting and my mouth tingling. Compared with a year ago, though, it is quite tolerable.
… I wear makeup more often, dress more carefully, trim my nails and have my hairdo shaped more frequently. I like the way I look now. Apparently others do also judging by the number of genuine compliments that accompany hugs of greeting.
… I have attended to my need for exercise and have come to enjoy my daily walks as much for the elevated heart rate as for the endorphin rush that plumps up my ego and keeps me motivated to continue regardless of weather or lassitude.
… I have been true to your faith in me through the writing of this blog and posting it regularly to keep company with each of you. Thank you for joining me on this incredible journey.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted October 17, 2008
Monday, October 13, 2008
UNREMARKABLE
Love that word!
We just returned from the Medical University of South Carolina Hollings Cancer Center in Charleston where good news awaited our arrival this morning.The CT scans from last Thursday (thyroid) and Friday (Chest, Abdomen and Pelvis) have been interpreted and compared with those taken in July to determine what changes have taken place.
The changes are small this time, but they also show a distinct improvement, meaning a shrinking tumor. This is the first time the word improvement has been used since we began participation in the study. All other observations are labeled "unremarkable." We find that exhilarating!
The next finding will be the blood work results, hopefully available by the end of the week. These numbers will reveal the cancer activity on a cellular level. We will post these results as soon as we have them.
Thank you for your ongoing support and loving caring.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted October 13, 2008
We just returned from the Medical University of South Carolina Hollings Cancer Center in Charleston where good news awaited our arrival this morning.The CT scans from last Thursday (thyroid) and Friday (Chest, Abdomen and Pelvis) have been interpreted and compared with those taken in July to determine what changes have taken place.
The changes are small this time, but they also show a distinct improvement, meaning a shrinking tumor. This is the first time the word improvement has been used since we began participation in the study. All other observations are labeled "unremarkable." We find that exhilarating!
The next finding will be the blood work results, hopefully available by the end of the week. These numbers will reveal the cancer activity on a cellular level. We will post these results as soon as we have them.
Thank you for your ongoing support and loving caring.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted October 13, 2008
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Going to Charleston
Last year, we tried three courses of treatment that failed to halt the growth of cancer tumors in my liver. As Autumn approached, our oncologist learned that a new drug in clinical trials was having above average positive results in treating persons with the type of cancer I have. The drug is Zactima, made by AstraZeneca. The double blind protocol assures that no one involved in the study knows whether the participant receives a placebo or the actual drug. The study site is in Charleston, South Carolina.
Here are elements of the decision:
1 - Do we travel to Charleston, a round trip of 850 miles, for an initial interview to see if I qualify?
2 - If I qualify, are we willing to be there for seven appointments in the first three months?
3 - How will we know if I get the placebo or the Zactima? If I get the placebo, I will have received no treatment for three months while the cancer tumors grow unchecked.
4 - If I receive the Zactima, are we willing to make regular return visits every 3 months for check ups and to receive another supply of the oral one-a-day tablets?
5 - Are we willing to give the time involved? Driving requires a two day trip each way.
6 - How about other typical travel expenses: meals, lodging, transportation?
7 - Will Michael be willing to take on the additional tasks associated with such a strict schedule?
Each element required thoughtful consideration and discussion with each other about the further implications of each decision. Here’s what we decided each point and the results of each decision.
1 – Yes. A preliminary telephone screening was hopeful. Other than the cancer, I have a long history of robust health. The risk of being turned down seemed minimal.
2 – Difficult, but do-able. Much tiring travel and a long time away from the comforts of home, family and friends for support. Telephones and email minimized the isolation we felt.
3 – A risk, but a moderate one. One of the three months is necessary anyway to “wash out” traces of all previous medications before I could start the trial drug.
4 – Yes. If we see positive results in blood work lab values, imaging to compare the status of the tumors versus the previous images, and the appearance of expected side effects the contribution to improved health trumps all other considerations.
5 – Yes. In the event, we chose to travel by Amtrak from Richmond. The costs averaged out to be almost the same, and we saved two full days of travel time on each trip.
6 – Some are reimbursed. That helps.
7 – He has been by my side throughout this journey. He understands what is needed and says “Bring it on!”
When we say “Next week we are going to Charleston,” we have paved the way with all these decisions and look forward to returning on that yellow brick road of hope and glad tidings.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted October 4, 2008
Here are elements of the decision:
1 - Do we travel to Charleston, a round trip of 850 miles, for an initial interview to see if I qualify?
2 - If I qualify, are we willing to be there for seven appointments in the first three months?
3 - How will we know if I get the placebo or the Zactima? If I get the placebo, I will have received no treatment for three months while the cancer tumors grow unchecked.
4 - If I receive the Zactima, are we willing to make regular return visits every 3 months for check ups and to receive another supply of the oral one-a-day tablets?
5 - Are we willing to give the time involved? Driving requires a two day trip each way.
6 - How about other typical travel expenses: meals, lodging, transportation?
7 - Will Michael be willing to take on the additional tasks associated with such a strict schedule?
Each element required thoughtful consideration and discussion with each other about the further implications of each decision. Here’s what we decided each point and the results of each decision.
1 – Yes. A preliminary telephone screening was hopeful. Other than the cancer, I have a long history of robust health. The risk of being turned down seemed minimal.
2 – Difficult, but do-able. Much tiring travel and a long time away from the comforts of home, family and friends for support. Telephones and email minimized the isolation we felt.
3 – A risk, but a moderate one. One of the three months is necessary anyway to “wash out” traces of all previous medications before I could start the trial drug.
4 – Yes. If we see positive results in blood work lab values, imaging to compare the status of the tumors versus the previous images, and the appearance of expected side effects the contribution to improved health trumps all other considerations.
5 – Yes. In the event, we chose to travel by Amtrak from Richmond. The costs averaged out to be almost the same, and we saved two full days of travel time on each trip.
6 – Some are reimbursed. That helps.
7 – He has been by my side throughout this journey. He understands what is needed and says “Bring it on!”
When we say “Next week we are going to Charleston,” we have paved the way with all these decisions and look forward to returning on that yellow brick road of hope and glad tidings.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted October 4, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
Circling, Waiting to Land
In ten days, we leave for the next round of imaging, blood work and physical exams at MUSC in Charleston, South Carolina. I live in limbo, anticipating improvement, dreading reversal. Doubts most often plague me during these pre-trip days. Subjectively, I feel better now than I did prior to the last trip in July, almost too well. I ask myself: Do I really feel better, or is what I am feeling merely hope coloring my perceptions. For the most part, the numbers on the lab values show favorable trends to which I credit belief that a return to health is underway.
The pace of treatment has slowed to a steady repetition of the same pattern of treatment: Take a Zactima tablet once a day to treat the cancer lesions in my liver; take Warfarin (the generic version of Coumadin) to treat Deep Vein Thrombosis, a side condition often brought on by cancer.
One by one we find ways to reduce the side effects of chemotherapy and incorporate them into my treatment plan. The collective effect of these minute changes becomes the reality of sustained improvement. I see a favorable progression of hope to belief to reality taking shape, and it encourages me as I face the uncertainty preceding another round of testing.
As I wait for action, I am set on edge as by a continuous screech of fingernails on a blackboard. Distracted and unable to concentrate, I feel like Elizabeth Taylor’s portrayal of “Maggie the Cat” in Tennessee Williams’ film classic Cat on a Hot Tin Roof without the solace of playing opposite Paul Newman.
Yours from Fantasy Land.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted September 29, 2008
The pace of treatment has slowed to a steady repetition of the same pattern of treatment: Take a Zactima tablet once a day to treat the cancer lesions in my liver; take Warfarin (the generic version of Coumadin) to treat Deep Vein Thrombosis, a side condition often brought on by cancer.
One by one we find ways to reduce the side effects of chemotherapy and incorporate them into my treatment plan. The collective effect of these minute changes becomes the reality of sustained improvement. I see a favorable progression of hope to belief to reality taking shape, and it encourages me as I face the uncertainty preceding another round of testing.
As I wait for action, I am set on edge as by a continuous screech of fingernails on a blackboard. Distracted and unable to concentrate, I feel like Elizabeth Taylor’s portrayal of “Maggie the Cat” in Tennessee Williams’ film classic Cat on a Hot Tin Roof without the solace of playing opposite Paul Newman.
Yours from Fantasy Land.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted September 29, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
Crossing the Threshold: Growing Up
On D-Day (October 26, 2006) the doctor diagnosed my collection of complaints as cancer. I had crossed the threshold. Looking back, I now recognize the true significance of that event; though the truth has been slow in dawning. No thunderbolt tore the skies; no scales fell from my eyes; no sudden clarifying vision overtook me. I had to live the consequences before I could recognize them.
The passage was rather like emerging from adolescence and realizing suddenly that adulthood was upon me. I was disoriented, with few reference points. I still looked and sounded the same. But inside something had shifted; my mind had stepped slightly to one side while my body remained where it was.
The old habits of thinking, of expectations, the routine that carried me through the day had dissolved, and no amount of clutching could stanch the dribbling away of the familiar. It is rather like crossing a stream on stepping stones, losing sight midway, leaving only the mind’s eye to reconstruct the pathway to safety.
Gradually I became aware of subconsciously reframing my definition of adulthood, given a new set of circumstances. I dropped old ways that were no longer useful to me, and began to investigate ideas and practices that had long been dormant or unknown to me. For example, humor. Formerly I thought of it as a weapon, aimed by me or at me. Now I more often think of it as a hot air balloon, easing life’s burdens especially when I climb into the basket and light the burner. With each reinterpretation of life’s building blocks, I perceive others more sympathetically, and feel more human.
Have I grown up yet? No, but I like the path I’m traveling. Please join me in this journey of discovery.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: September 26, 2008
The passage was rather like emerging from adolescence and realizing suddenly that adulthood was upon me. I was disoriented, with few reference points. I still looked and sounded the same. But inside something had shifted; my mind had stepped slightly to one side while my body remained where it was.
The old habits of thinking, of expectations, the routine that carried me through the day had dissolved, and no amount of clutching could stanch the dribbling away of the familiar. It is rather like crossing a stream on stepping stones, losing sight midway, leaving only the mind’s eye to reconstruct the pathway to safety.
Gradually I became aware of subconsciously reframing my definition of adulthood, given a new set of circumstances. I dropped old ways that were no longer useful to me, and began to investigate ideas and practices that had long been dormant or unknown to me. For example, humor. Formerly I thought of it as a weapon, aimed by me or at me. Now I more often think of it as a hot air balloon, easing life’s burdens especially when I climb into the basket and light the burner. With each reinterpretation of life’s building blocks, I perceive others more sympathetically, and feel more human.
Have I grown up yet? No, but I like the path I’m traveling. Please join me in this journey of discovery.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: September 26, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Sampson Syndrome
Throughout my youth, Dad-built gymnasiums appeared in our backyards shortly after each family move: trapeze, swing, slide and horizontal bar. They kept us kids at home, occupied and growing up with healthy habits. Even the neighborhood boys admired the Chapman girls’ athleticism. Enduring physical strength was the legacy for our young growing bodies.
As a result, my muscle memory still hungers for satiation. It goads me into regular, physically challenging activities. My body doesn’t feel comfortable until it has achieved a balance between activity and rest.
For this gift, I thank my father for providing and my mother for fostering an active, healthy attitude about sports. I draw on this memory daily to help me rebuild the strength I lack right now.
From the early days of this illness, strength has been a crucial indicator of health. My gauge is the Lift Own Weight (LOW) scale. This came about because, being sailors, we plan Man Overboard Recovery routines. One of them, for able persons, is to bring the boat alongside so the individual can climb aboard using a ladder. During a rehearsal ashore, I realized that I could not Lift my Own Weight to make such a climb. My LOW number was ten, scaling zero as “perfectly able” and 10 as “totally unable.” That frightened me; a patina of anxiety overlay each sailing excursion.
Now, two years later, I happily report that I have regained enough strength to lift 40% of my body weight. I have yet to figure out which combination of body parts will allow me to hoist the remaining 60% of me aboard. Ahoy to progress!
Thank you for your support of returning health.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: September 23, 2008
As a result, my muscle memory still hungers for satiation. It goads me into regular, physically challenging activities. My body doesn’t feel comfortable until it has achieved a balance between activity and rest.
For this gift, I thank my father for providing and my mother for fostering an active, healthy attitude about sports. I draw on this memory daily to help me rebuild the strength I lack right now.
From the early days of this illness, strength has been a crucial indicator of health. My gauge is the Lift Own Weight (LOW) scale. This came about because, being sailors, we plan Man Overboard Recovery routines. One of them, for able persons, is to bring the boat alongside so the individual can climb aboard using a ladder. During a rehearsal ashore, I realized that I could not Lift my Own Weight to make such a climb. My LOW number was ten, scaling zero as “perfectly able” and 10 as “totally unable.” That frightened me; a patina of anxiety overlay each sailing excursion.
Now, two years later, I happily report that I have regained enough strength to lift 40% of my body weight. I have yet to figure out which combination of body parts will allow me to hoist the remaining 60% of me aboard. Ahoy to progress!
Thank you for your support of returning health.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: September 23, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
Weight
For most persons with cancer, weight is a critical issue. Every doctor’s visit starts with the routine of “checking vitals” to spot trends (up, down or stable) as early as possible and start appropriate treatment.
A year ago, I weighed in at 90 pounds after having lost 24% of my pre-illness weight of 118 pounds. That was the lowest point to date. My normally muscular legs couldn’t even be called slender. They were stringy. Twenty-eight pounds on a person of my size (just over 4 feet 11 inches) is a ton of chubbiness!
Very soon thereafter, however, I climbed back up to 95 pounds with the assistance of an ice cream diet recommended by my doctor. (Such a hardship!) After a few months of adding several ounces a day, I now hover in the vicinity of 100 pounds. My fervent desire is to stay there permanently. My only regret is having done it with the unwelcome assistance of a very scary illness.
The gremlin of thwarted goals, however, has reared its ugly head. A new medication, begun a week ago to treat side effects of the chemotherapy, has its own side effect of weight gain, and today, the first extra pound appeared. A close watch now will tell me whether or not I have slid back into the old habit of see-sawing weight. I welcome this if it signals a return to health.
Any breakthrough inspirations on managing the cold war of weight management will be bulletined out at once. Stay tuned.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted September 19, 2008
A year ago, I weighed in at 90 pounds after having lost 24% of my pre-illness weight of 118 pounds. That was the lowest point to date. My normally muscular legs couldn’t even be called slender. They were stringy. Twenty-eight pounds on a person of my size (just over 4 feet 11 inches) is a ton of chubbiness!
Very soon thereafter, however, I climbed back up to 95 pounds with the assistance of an ice cream diet recommended by my doctor. (Such a hardship!) After a few months of adding several ounces a day, I now hover in the vicinity of 100 pounds. My fervent desire is to stay there permanently. My only regret is having done it with the unwelcome assistance of a very scary illness.
The gremlin of thwarted goals, however, has reared its ugly head. A new medication, begun a week ago to treat side effects of the chemotherapy, has its own side effect of weight gain, and today, the first extra pound appeared. A close watch now will tell me whether or not I have slid back into the old habit of see-sawing weight. I welcome this if it signals a return to health.
Any breakthrough inspirations on managing the cold war of weight management will be bulletined out at once. Stay tuned.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted September 19, 2008
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
To Sleep, Perchance to Dream
Dreams have always been a form of entertainment for me, like watching movies in the ultimate home theater. The impact of a film, can be measured by the degree to which viewers are drawn into the story. Think “Psycho”, for example, and the shower scene immediately comes to mind. One dream frightened me so when I was a child that I shiver now when I recall it. I can still clearly see the awful terror on the face of a Pilgrim girl, having dipped a bucket of water from the common well, being chased up a hill by a loud, terrifying tribe of angry Indians brandishing tomahawks.
Before now, I have had few dreams of paralyzing fright. The usual assortment of mildly disturbing dreams have played on my mind’s marquee: the embarrassment of appearing naked in public, or the anxiety of being unable to deliver a critical message. Occasionally I have awakened myself to laughter caused by the antics of my mind’s imagination. Lately, however, I have begun to have dreams of violence in which I am threatened with bodily harm by knife-wielding assailants or lurking shadowy figures.
My personal film producer has been working double time over recent months concocting situations that carry me to the extremes of fear. One recurring theme places me on the roof of a ten story building, crouched on slate with my toes desperately gripping the tiles closest to the gutter, perspective magnifying the height and paralyzed with fear. I cry out in terror, awakening myself before the predicament becomes more critical or resolves itself. Michael gives me a gentle shake and a few comforting pats, and I return to a sound sleep.
I would rather awake laughing, so these days I more often read humorous books before sleeping rather then the absorbing mysteries I usually favor.
Sweet dreams!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted September 16, 2008
Before now, I have had few dreams of paralyzing fright. The usual assortment of mildly disturbing dreams have played on my mind’s marquee: the embarrassment of appearing naked in public, or the anxiety of being unable to deliver a critical message. Occasionally I have awakened myself to laughter caused by the antics of my mind’s imagination. Lately, however, I have begun to have dreams of violence in which I am threatened with bodily harm by knife-wielding assailants or lurking shadowy figures.
My personal film producer has been working double time over recent months concocting situations that carry me to the extremes of fear. One recurring theme places me on the roof of a ten story building, crouched on slate with my toes desperately gripping the tiles closest to the gutter, perspective magnifying the height and paralyzed with fear. I cry out in terror, awakening myself before the predicament becomes more critical or resolves itself. Michael gives me a gentle shake and a few comforting pats, and I return to a sound sleep.
I would rather awake laughing, so these days I more often read humorous books before sleeping rather then the absorbing mysteries I usually favor.
Sweet dreams!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted September 16, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Walking
“Walking is good for you.” All my life I have heard that ad nauseum. Repetition, however, has not deterred me from periodically slipping away from the habit. The worst part about walking is getting started again after a lapse.
If I miss a day or, worse yet, two or three days, the guilt begins to pile up, making it even more difficult to get back on track. When I finally do, the payoff is relief from guilt and an intense rush of virtue that somehow brings everything back into balance. Walking is great exercise, but for me the emotional benefits, in terms of self-regard, outweigh the physical benefits.
Time of day for walking is important; mine is the morning. Aside from waking and taking my medications, walking is the next highest priority of my daily “To Do.” The only way I can insure that it happens is to walk before anything else intrudes. All else waits.
If Michael joins me, as he often does, the walk time is spent in amiable companionship: comfortable silences interspersed with long and short term plans, items for the grocery list, menus, the calendar, and current events. It is a challenge after all these years to come up with entertaining topics to keep the conversation going.
We walk 1.4 miles total, usually in about 30 minutes. If the weather is inclement, we hop into the car and head for the YMCA treadmill machines. The environment there isn’t as scenic as our local walk but it keeps guilt at bay with an unbroken string of walking days.
Remember: “Walking is good for you!”
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted September 11, 2008
If I miss a day or, worse yet, two or three days, the guilt begins to pile up, making it even more difficult to get back on track. When I finally do, the payoff is relief from guilt and an intense rush of virtue that somehow brings everything back into balance. Walking is great exercise, but for me the emotional benefits, in terms of self-regard, outweigh the physical benefits.
Time of day for walking is important; mine is the morning. Aside from waking and taking my medications, walking is the next highest priority of my daily “To Do.” The only way I can insure that it happens is to walk before anything else intrudes. All else waits.
If Michael joins me, as he often does, the walk time is spent in amiable companionship: comfortable silences interspersed with long and short term plans, items for the grocery list, menus, the calendar, and current events. It is a challenge after all these years to come up with entertaining topics to keep the conversation going.
We walk 1.4 miles total, usually in about 30 minutes. If the weather is inclement, we hop into the car and head for the YMCA treadmill machines. The environment there isn’t as scenic as our local walk but it keeps guilt at bay with an unbroken string of walking days.
Remember: “Walking is good for you!”
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted September 11, 2008
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Progress in Perspective
Progress is blindingly fast when viewed in a nano-blink of a geological eye. But, lived day to day, progress seems interminably slow, especially when looking for change. Looking back from now, I am appalled to realize how sick I was in the final days of 2006 without being aware of it at the time. The illness was gaining momentum, entrenching itself more firmly while we searched for an understanding of what was happening and what to do about it. We worried about not having enough information to decide whether or not to worry!
Many factors blocked what we defined as “progress” toward therapeutic interventions. The death of my oncologist with attendant grief and memorial events, reassignment to another oncologist, seasonal delays due to holiday time off for medical professionals critical to the diagnostic process and, finally, the need to enlist a second opinion to clarify the diagnosis. There was no foot-dragging, just unavoidable delay due to immutable obstacles.
Now my status is “stable.” The changes in the most recent 6 month period marked by three measures are minimal as measured by imaging and palpation of my liver. CEA blood analyses continue to decline (good) and Calcitonin, equivocal at best, is actually fluctuating within a fairly narrow range, trending downward (also good). These are hard won positive benchmarks. I should appreciate them more. But being a creature more prone to action that reflection, it seems to me the improvements are taking an inordinately long time to show themselves. I must tone down my “hare” instincts and take to heart the lessons in patience and persistence demonstrated by Aesop’s turtle barely a geological blink ago in ancient Greece.
I’m counting on you for turtle company!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
September 7, 2008
Many factors blocked what we defined as “progress” toward therapeutic interventions. The death of my oncologist with attendant grief and memorial events, reassignment to another oncologist, seasonal delays due to holiday time off for medical professionals critical to the diagnostic process and, finally, the need to enlist a second opinion to clarify the diagnosis. There was no foot-dragging, just unavoidable delay due to immutable obstacles.
Now my status is “stable.” The changes in the most recent 6 month period marked by three measures are minimal as measured by imaging and palpation of my liver. CEA blood analyses continue to decline (good) and Calcitonin, equivocal at best, is actually fluctuating within a fairly narrow range, trending downward (also good). These are hard won positive benchmarks. I should appreciate them more. But being a creature more prone to action that reflection, it seems to me the improvements are taking an inordinately long time to show themselves. I must tone down my “hare” instincts and take to heart the lessons in patience and persistence demonstrated by Aesop’s turtle barely a geological blink ago in ancient Greece.
I’m counting on you for turtle company!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
September 7, 2008
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Same Time Next Quarter
Our oncologist greeted us yesterday for our 3-month visit with polite handshakes and an open, receptive manner. His first words are always: “How do you feel?” The inquiry probes well beyond a polite cliché. He really wants to know. And so we launch into a recital of observations meant to track changes between appointments.
We read from our log, in which we record symptoms, side effects and medications in hopes of correlating one with another to get a tighter grip on effective treatment. So far, the observed changes don’t track with any change in medication or behavior. Symptoms waft into and out of my awareness, some with punch, and others with subtle shifts toward or away from discomfort. Nausea, for example, is the most creative and persistent of all side effects, sometimes hanging around for hours or days and other times departing as quickly as five minutes after manifesting itself.
Both oncologist and nurse diligently searched for something to counteract nausea, prescription or not, that would not interfere with other medications I take. It is so constantly with me that I am almost convinced it is “normal” at least for the course of this illness. Its presence takes the edge off my pleasure with life, living and friends and erodes a positive attitude, a vital component in fighting the challenge of this illness.
A liver and thyroid palpation complete the visit by checking the size and location of tumors shown on the most recent CT scans. When asked what the palpation indicated, the doctor shrugged like someone saying “What can I say? Nothing new to report.” This confirms the findings of the imaging, that is, conditions are stable. The MUSC head and neck oncologist found exactly the same condition and expressed his reaction with an identical gesture. How encouraging to have consensus!
Thank you for being with us.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: September 4, 2008
We read from our log, in which we record symptoms, side effects and medications in hopes of correlating one with another to get a tighter grip on effective treatment. So far, the observed changes don’t track with any change in medication or behavior. Symptoms waft into and out of my awareness, some with punch, and others with subtle shifts toward or away from discomfort. Nausea, for example, is the most creative and persistent of all side effects, sometimes hanging around for hours or days and other times departing as quickly as five minutes after manifesting itself.
Both oncologist and nurse diligently searched for something to counteract nausea, prescription or not, that would not interfere with other medications I take. It is so constantly with me that I am almost convinced it is “normal” at least for the course of this illness. Its presence takes the edge off my pleasure with life, living and friends and erodes a positive attitude, a vital component in fighting the challenge of this illness.
A liver and thyroid palpation complete the visit by checking the size and location of tumors shown on the most recent CT scans. When asked what the palpation indicated, the doctor shrugged like someone saying “What can I say? Nothing new to report.” This confirms the findings of the imaging, that is, conditions are stable. The MUSC head and neck oncologist found exactly the same condition and expressed his reaction with an identical gesture. How encouraging to have consensus!
Thank you for being with us.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: September 4, 2008
Monday, September 1, 2008
Segue to Blog
November, 2006. The liver biopsy procedure was finished in less than 45 minutes. With gritted teeth we waited the promised 3-4 days; a week later we still had heard nothing. The reply, when it arrived, was ambiguous: metastatic carcinoma with neuro-endocrine features and an unknown primary, the source of the cancerous cells. Another two months would pass before enough diagnostic clues accumulated to suggest a treatment plan.
Meanwhile, we kept our own counsel and awaited more accurate information or, at the very least, an informed prognosis. Withholding news of this magnitude was agonizing. We yearned for, and needed, the support of loved ones but felt we could not saddle them with the weight of the news without also passing along information, however tenuous, that would help them understand what we were going through and faced in the future. After six weeks all we had learned was: I have cancer but we don’t know what kind or the source of the malignant cells spewing throughout my body. Imagine a general receiving the message to attack without an identified enemy or a direction in which to aim weapons!
With Thanksgiving looming and a family trip scheduled, we were obligated to notify the family. The task was daunting, and the prospect of repeating the devastating news over and over was exhausting even before beginning. Starting a blog seemed the most efficient means, staying in touch while preserving our resources for the enormous task of self-education ahead.
At this point, the narrative is taken up by the November 19, 2006 blog posting. It was quite a roller coaster ride before finding a measure of stability with the Astra-Zeneca Zactima experimental drug, started August 2007. Your support has been invaluable in sustaining our spirits, and a positive outlook does indeed make the medicine work better, just like our parents told us.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: September 1, 2008
Meanwhile, we kept our own counsel and awaited more accurate information or, at the very least, an informed prognosis. Withholding news of this magnitude was agonizing. We yearned for, and needed, the support of loved ones but felt we could not saddle them with the weight of the news without also passing along information, however tenuous, that would help them understand what we were going through and faced in the future. After six weeks all we had learned was: I have cancer but we don’t know what kind or the source of the malignant cells spewing throughout my body. Imagine a general receiving the message to attack without an identified enemy or a direction in which to aim weapons!
With Thanksgiving looming and a family trip scheduled, we were obligated to notify the family. The task was daunting, and the prospect of repeating the devastating news over and over was exhausting even before beginning. Starting a blog seemed the most efficient means, staying in touch while preserving our resources for the enormous task of self-education ahead.
At this point, the narrative is taken up by the November 19, 2006 blog posting. It was quite a roller coaster ride before finding a measure of stability with the Astra-Zeneca Zactima experimental drug, started August 2007. Your support has been invaluable in sustaining our spirits, and a positive outlook does indeed make the medicine work better, just like our parents told us.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: September 1, 2008
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Through the Diagnostic Wringer
The presence of cancer cannot be verified except by biopsy, a microscopic look at cancerous cells taken from the suspicious tumor. Any opinions prior to that analysis are merely suppositions. To collect a sample tissue from a tumor on my liver, the procedure applied was an “UltraSound guided needle biopsy,” a minimally invasive surgical procedure, conducted in early November, 2006.
The surgeon introduced himself, and, not waiting for my response, leapt into legally required disclosures for which I had already signed an agreement printed in three point type. First item he mentioned was that the procedure he was about to perform could result in my death. He then recited a lengthy list of successively less dire possibilities until he ran out of doom and gloom.
With a considerably subdued patient and having finished his legal duty to the hospital and his practice, he brought my insides into focus on the monitor. How many of us get a chance to see our insides while they are functioning? I wasn’t going to miss this show especially since the surgeon had pointed out that I might not survive, so I declined a sedative.
Surgeon, pathologist, nurse anesthetist, and UltraSound technician, each armed with specialized equipment, squeezed around me in a closet-sized room. We watched the careful progress of the needle through my skin, into my liver and positioned to suck up a tissue sample from the tumor. The surgeon passed the first extraction over to the pathologist for approval. Thumbs down; a second pass at my liver produced a sample that satisfied him.
Next: segue to treatment.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted August 30, 2008
The surgeon introduced himself, and, not waiting for my response, leapt into legally required disclosures for which I had already signed an agreement printed in three point type. First item he mentioned was that the procedure he was about to perform could result in my death. He then recited a lengthy list of successively less dire possibilities until he ran out of doom and gloom.
With a considerably subdued patient and having finished his legal duty to the hospital and his practice, he brought my insides into focus on the monitor. How many of us get a chance to see our insides while they are functioning? I wasn’t going to miss this show especially since the surgeon had pointed out that I might not survive, so I declined a sedative.
Surgeon, pathologist, nurse anesthetist, and UltraSound technician, each armed with specialized equipment, squeezed around me in a closet-sized room. We watched the careful progress of the needle through my skin, into my liver and positioned to suck up a tissue sample from the tumor. The surgeon passed the first extraction over to the pathologist for approval. Thumbs down; a second pass at my liver produced a sample that satisfied him.
Next: segue to treatment.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted August 30, 2008
Monday, August 25, 2008
Diagnostic Whirlwind
This blog was born to keep family and friends informed of new developments in diagnosis and treatment of this cancer. Now, almost two years later we return to look at that time to better understand the flurry of events and emotions between the first whisperings of illness and November 19, 2006, the date we started the postings.
Our family doctor reviewed my complaints in early October: diarrhea, fatigue and leg pain. The series of tests he ordered would help us, he said, eliminate possibilities and zero in on a single likelihood. The ultra sound was to investigate complaints of persistent leg pain over a long period. It came up clean, no anomalies. Next, a chest CT to check the condition of my lungs. The results of this suggested a CT of the abdomen/pelvic area. Next was an extensive array of blood analyses. After a thorough review, the doctor called me into his office three weeks later on October 26, 2006 at 4:30pm. I went alone. The first words out of his mouth: “The results of these tests indicate cancer.”
That is what I appreciate so much about this doctor. He is unfailingly direct, leaving no room for misunderstanding or misinterpretation. He showed me the CT scan which revealed a 1” diameter tumor on my pancreas and numerous shadows showing more tumors piercing the smooth grain of my liver like potholes in macadam. My reaction split at once: I set aside the impact of his words in order to clearly hear the information. I gazed at the shadows on my liver, willing them to disappear, yearning for a rewind and revision of the scene, wanting to defer acceptance just a little longer.
Next: Refining the diagnosis.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted August 25, 2008
Our family doctor reviewed my complaints in early October: diarrhea, fatigue and leg pain. The series of tests he ordered would help us, he said, eliminate possibilities and zero in on a single likelihood. The ultra sound was to investigate complaints of persistent leg pain over a long period. It came up clean, no anomalies. Next, a chest CT to check the condition of my lungs. The results of this suggested a CT of the abdomen/pelvic area. Next was an extensive array of blood analyses. After a thorough review, the doctor called me into his office three weeks later on October 26, 2006 at 4:30pm. I went alone. The first words out of his mouth: “The results of these tests indicate cancer.”
That is what I appreciate so much about this doctor. He is unfailingly direct, leaving no room for misunderstanding or misinterpretation. He showed me the CT scan which revealed a 1” diameter tumor on my pancreas and numerous shadows showing more tumors piercing the smooth grain of my liver like potholes in macadam. My reaction split at once: I set aside the impact of his words in order to clearly hear the information. I gazed at the shadows on my liver, willing them to disappear, yearning for a rewind and revision of the scene, wanting to defer acceptance just a little longer.
Next: Refining the diagnosis.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted August 25, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
On the Brink
August 2006: Two weeks in New York City: a dream vacation made possible by a house swap. We walked the riverfront each morning, feasted on ethnic delicacies, and stoked ourselves on the unique flavors and aromas of New York. We shopped the farmers’ market, applauded park concerts and reveled in the end-of-summer giddiness before returning to the “real world.” It was a magic time.
September 8, 2006 we drove from The City to visit friends and attend two reunions. This day marked the first appearance of a common symptom of this illness: diarrhea.
During the next three weeks, I developed skills I never guessed I would have to learn. Each stop tested my ability to identify with all due speed the location of a public rest room. Courtesy gave way to urgency in ladies’ room lines. Hasty excuses presaged a flight to a loo. There was no time for witty euphemisms or demure excuses. My body felt dissociated, acting independently without forethought, and failing to give me sufficient advance notice to gracefully tend to excruciatingly private urgencies.
During the remainder of the trip, other symptoms appeared. Daily walks took longer to cover the same distance. My ankles and feet became chubby with edema. Any sparkle I might have brought to the events dimmed, replaced by anxiety.
Back home at last, I delayed calling for a doctor’s appointment. A tinge of dread replaced the uneasiness I had been feeling in July. Then the pictures from the two reunions began to arrive and I saw myself not as in a mirror but as others saw me. I was stunned: “That is a sick woman!” my mind shrieked. I picked up the telephone immediately and arranged to see my doctor the very next day.
Next time: Diagnostic tests.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted August 21, 2008
September 8, 2006 we drove from The City to visit friends and attend two reunions. This day marked the first appearance of a common symptom of this illness: diarrhea.
During the next three weeks, I developed skills I never guessed I would have to learn. Each stop tested my ability to identify with all due speed the location of a public rest room. Courtesy gave way to urgency in ladies’ room lines. Hasty excuses presaged a flight to a loo. There was no time for witty euphemisms or demure excuses. My body felt dissociated, acting independently without forethought, and failing to give me sufficient advance notice to gracefully tend to excruciatingly private urgencies.
During the remainder of the trip, other symptoms appeared. Daily walks took longer to cover the same distance. My ankles and feet became chubby with edema. Any sparkle I might have brought to the events dimmed, replaced by anxiety.
Back home at last, I delayed calling for a doctor’s appointment. A tinge of dread replaced the uneasiness I had been feeling in July. Then the pictures from the two reunions began to arrive and I saw myself not as in a mirror but as others saw me. I was stunned: “That is a sick woman!” my mind shrieked. I picked up the telephone immediately and arranged to see my doctor the very next day.
Next time: Diagnostic tests.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted August 21, 2008
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Analyze This *
Bloodwork results from the last trip to Charleston are mixed. CEA measures my body’s response to general cancer cell activity. That is down 23% from the last measure in April. (Down is good.) Calcitonin measures the activity level of cancer cells specific to the thyroid. Now it is up 8% versus April’s measure. (Up is not good; we want it to go down.)
The last seven months summarized:
2-4-08 vs 12-27-07 CEA ↓15% Calcitonin ↑11%
3-28-08 vs 2-4-08 CEA ↑ 13% Calcitonin ↓ 32%
4-25-08 vs 1-31-08 CEA ↓ 12% Calcitonin ↓ 50%
7-21-08 vs 4-25-08 CEA ↓ 23% Calcitonin ↑ 8%
Analysis: CEA is trending downward. Results fall within a range of 11 percentage points for each of the last three periods framed by four measurements over a span of seven months. Three (75%) were down.
Calcitonin, conversely, is moving laterally: two up, two down in a range of 42 points. The two measures showing the greatest change (32 and 50%) are both down, a total of 82 percentage points during a six month period. By comparison, an 8% rise in the most recent three month measure is only 10% of the previous 6 month decline. This view puts the current increase relative to the historic changes in perspective. The momentum of the trend is still favorable despite a small “adjustment” as the Wall Street analysts are fond of saying in a different context.
Applying financial analysis tools to interpret results of a blood test may be a stretch. My training in financial analysis assists (warps, some might say) me to look at an imminently threatening situation more objectively. The interpretation: the illness continues in retreat.
Let’s cheer retreat and focus on continued positive trends! Thank you for your invaluable support and good cheer.
*Copyright 1999 Warner Bros.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted August 17, 2008
The last seven months summarized:
2-4-08 vs 12-27-07 CEA ↓15% Calcitonin ↑11%
3-28-08 vs 2-4-08 CEA ↑ 13% Calcitonin ↓ 32%
4-25-08 vs 1-31-08 CEA ↓ 12% Calcitonin ↓ 50%
7-21-08 vs 4-25-08 CEA ↓ 23% Calcitonin ↑ 8%
Analysis: CEA is trending downward. Results fall within a range of 11 percentage points for each of the last three periods framed by four measurements over a span of seven months. Three (75%) were down.
Calcitonin, conversely, is moving laterally: two up, two down in a range of 42 points. The two measures showing the greatest change (32 and 50%) are both down, a total of 82 percentage points during a six month period. By comparison, an 8% rise in the most recent three month measure is only 10% of the previous 6 month decline. This view puts the current increase relative to the historic changes in perspective. The momentum of the trend is still favorable despite a small “adjustment” as the Wall Street analysts are fond of saying in a different context.
Applying financial analysis tools to interpret results of a blood test may be a stretch. My training in financial analysis assists (warps, some might say) me to look at an imminently threatening situation more objectively. The interpretation: the illness continues in retreat.
Let’s cheer retreat and focus on continued positive trends! Thank you for your invaluable support and good cheer.
*Copyright 1999 Warner Bros.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted August 17, 2008
Thursday, August 14, 2008
This is Retirement ! (?)
Late Summer, 2006. My thoughts hovered over a lifetime “to do” list reviewing what I wanted to check off before I checked out. We had sold our business importing feathering and folding sailboat propellers from Europe a few months earlier. (Check one off the list!) By July we had returned from an extended cruise on Chesapeake Bay in our own sailboat. (Check another off the list!)
We were preparing for a six-week auto tour of our favorite haunts in New England visiting family and friends and attending two reunions: one gathered my parachuting buddies from 40 years earlier and another celebrated the 50th (!) anniversary of high school graduation. It was an exciting, happy time, not one to brood about the fragility of life and its ultimate destination.
And yet, I felt rather than heard a distant bass vibration sifting through to my bones leaving a trace of uneasiness. I brushed the sensation aside.
Being an intensely visual person, I often translate feelings into mental images, sometimes abstract, other times realistic. They reside with me for a time, then dissolve to reappear later or never again. As the summer wore on, an image was evolving, strong and implacable. Negative thoughts whirled, melding at the center of a vortex into an immovable form, a stainless steel column at the core of my being. Worn thoughts clustered, coalescing into an unassailable object as if compressing all the dust, out of place objects and dirty windows in a fury of house cleaning. (Freud would have a field day with this!)
Carrying this image around in my head was exhausting, a burden added to my flagging energies. Pre-diagnosis recollections continue in future blogs.
Keep well, dear ones. Guard your health fiercely!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: August 14, 2008
We were preparing for a six-week auto tour of our favorite haunts in New England visiting family and friends and attending two reunions: one gathered my parachuting buddies from 40 years earlier and another celebrated the 50th (!) anniversary of high school graduation. It was an exciting, happy time, not one to brood about the fragility of life and its ultimate destination.
And yet, I felt rather than heard a distant bass vibration sifting through to my bones leaving a trace of uneasiness. I brushed the sensation aside.
Being an intensely visual person, I often translate feelings into mental images, sometimes abstract, other times realistic. They reside with me for a time, then dissolve to reappear later or never again. As the summer wore on, an image was evolving, strong and implacable. Negative thoughts whirled, melding at the center of a vortex into an immovable form, a stainless steel column at the core of my being. Worn thoughts clustered, coalescing into an unassailable object as if compressing all the dust, out of place objects and dirty windows in a fury of house cleaning. (Freud would have a field day with this!)
Carrying this image around in my head was exhausting, a burden added to my flagging energies. Pre-diagnosis recollections continue in future blogs.
Keep well, dear ones. Guard your health fiercely!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: August 14, 2008
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Early Days
Sometimes delaying reflection brings events into sharper focus and promotes a clearer understanding of their meaning in the context of our lives. As the approach of the second anniversary of survival nears, events at the onset of this illness have been on my mind. I can identify stirrings of awareness of something seriously wrong as early as three months prior to Diagnosis Day (October 26, 2006).
For example, in July 2006 I found myself telling Michael, out of the blue in a lull in dinner preparations that I hoped he would remarry after my death, surprising myself as well as him. Where did that come from? We discussed it briefly, mostly along the lines of “what are you thinking of?” and “what brought this up now?”
In the months that followed other similar non-sequiturs burst without bidding from my lips. There had been no recent deaths of family or close friends that might cause me to reflect on my mortality. No physical cues appeared to alert me that illness lurked in the near future. At that time I felt the same as ever.
I tried to puzzle out the meaning of these thoughts. They didn’t alarm me but their appearance gave me a vague sense of uneasiness. I was curious about why they popped up. Looking back, some might say they revealed unconscious premonitions. Perhaps it was simply a natural cluster of thoughts about “putting my affairs in order” appropriate to that time of my life. At no time did I share these thoughts with Michael. More about pre-diagnosis days in a future blog.
We are grateful to have had these two years to find an effective chemotherapy treatment that has extended my life and to all of you who have so actively given your time and prayers on our behalf.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: August 10, 2008
For example, in July 2006 I found myself telling Michael, out of the blue in a lull in dinner preparations that I hoped he would remarry after my death, surprising myself as well as him. Where did that come from? We discussed it briefly, mostly along the lines of “what are you thinking of?” and “what brought this up now?”
In the months that followed other similar non-sequiturs burst without bidding from my lips. There had been no recent deaths of family or close friends that might cause me to reflect on my mortality. No physical cues appeared to alert me that illness lurked in the near future. At that time I felt the same as ever.
I tried to puzzle out the meaning of these thoughts. They didn’t alarm me but their appearance gave me a vague sense of uneasiness. I was curious about why they popped up. Looking back, some might say they revealed unconscious premonitions. Perhaps it was simply a natural cluster of thoughts about “putting my affairs in order” appropriate to that time of my life. At no time did I share these thoughts with Michael. More about pre-diagnosis days in a future blog.
We are grateful to have had these two years to find an effective chemotherapy treatment that has extended my life and to all of you who have so actively given your time and prayers on our behalf.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: August 10, 2008
Friday, August 8, 2008
Credibility Gap
You look great! they say. Or on the telephone: You sound wonderful! So strong and healthy! I don’t argue because hearing that gives me a lift, an especially beneficial remedy. The surprise in their voices reveals their expectation of seeing an emaciated, tottering, critically ill patient, the stereotype of a person with cancer. Or, it may be due to a comparison with a remembered version of me earlier in this illness. Then I wonder: How did I sound or look before?
The fact is that I am feeling somewhat better, though not as much better as I would like to feel, nor as well as others perceive. Right now I feel fundamentally stronger than I did a year ago, while simultaneously experiencing a wave of momentarily (meaning days or weeks) more intense side effects or symptoms, especially nausea.
We briefly glimpsed what feeling better means a few months ago when I was experiencing exuberant strength and gleeful good spirits. I immediately started planning a Fall full of enticing travel plans which we have had to cancel one by one as strength and spirit have eroded. A small step back even as the imaging and bloodwork numbers improve.
So a credibility gap has developed between appearance and reality. One reason is the carryover effect of my previous persona. I have spent a goodly portion of my life in public “on stage” as a presenter and a marketing person, promoting the best aspects of a product or service as well as myself. Furthermore, I am an unabashed Pollyanna, always looking for the positive in any situation even in the shadow of a daunting reality.
Here’s to bringing reality closer to perception! Thank you for being here and living this time with us.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: August 8, 2008
The fact is that I am feeling somewhat better, though not as much better as I would like to feel, nor as well as others perceive. Right now I feel fundamentally stronger than I did a year ago, while simultaneously experiencing a wave of momentarily (meaning days or weeks) more intense side effects or symptoms, especially nausea.
We briefly glimpsed what feeling better means a few months ago when I was experiencing exuberant strength and gleeful good spirits. I immediately started planning a Fall full of enticing travel plans which we have had to cancel one by one as strength and spirit have eroded. A small step back even as the imaging and bloodwork numbers improve.
So a credibility gap has developed between appearance and reality. One reason is the carryover effect of my previous persona. I have spent a goodly portion of my life in public “on stage” as a presenter and a marketing person, promoting the best aspects of a product or service as well as myself. Furthermore, I am an unabashed Pollyanna, always looking for the positive in any situation even in the shadow of a daunting reality.
Here’s to bringing reality closer to perception! Thank you for being here and living this time with us.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: August 8, 2008
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Linda by the Numbers
Last Fall, we developed a rating scale to rank the relative impact of the side effects of the Zactima chemotherapy trial (see blog October 28, 2007). A subjective evaluation of each category would provide a base for future comparisons. I ranked each side effect/symptom on a scale of 1-10 (10 is most severe, 1 is hardly noticeable). Now, 10 months later, I have again ranked each side effect/symptom according to how I feel now. Here are the results, showing changes up or down.
NAUSEA=5 (↑ 1)
FATIGUE=5 (↑ 2)
DIARRHEA=8 (↑ 1)
RASH=2 (↓ 3)
ANXIETY=4 (↑ 1)
DEPRESSION=4 (↑ 2)
EDEMA=2 (↓ 1)
SKIN SENSITIVITY=6 (extreme dryness has replaced bruising) (↑ 1)
SIGNATURE=2 (↔)
Disclaimer: These are subjective evaluations based purely on my “sense” of my status compared with a theoretical personal “norm.” I certainly wouldn’t expect “norm” to describe everyone equally. Precise category definitions exist in my head. The abbreviated definitions above are self-evident. The descriptive strength of this profile is that the subject remains the same; the weakness is that the state of mind of the subject may vary from one evaluation to the next leading to non-comparable results.
This is only the roughest of profiles meant to give me a semblance of progress or lack thereof in the course of an illness that defies definition and confounds prognosis. In my experience, the illness appears to be “custom designed” for each individual, making it difficult to compare notes with others diagnosed similarly or even with professionals having broad experience.
Until next time … yours, as ever.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: August 5, 2008
NAUSEA=5 (↑ 1)
FATIGUE=5 (↑ 2)
DIARRHEA=8 (↑ 1)
RASH=2 (↓ 3)
ANXIETY=4 (↑ 1)
DEPRESSION=4 (↑ 2)
EDEMA=2 (↓ 1)
SKIN SENSITIVITY=6 (extreme dryness has replaced bruising) (↑ 1)
SIGNATURE=2 (↔)
Disclaimer: These are subjective evaluations based purely on my “sense” of my status compared with a theoretical personal “norm.” I certainly wouldn’t expect “norm” to describe everyone equally. Precise category definitions exist in my head. The abbreviated definitions above are self-evident. The descriptive strength of this profile is that the subject remains the same; the weakness is that the state of mind of the subject may vary from one evaluation to the next leading to non-comparable results.
This is only the roughest of profiles meant to give me a semblance of progress or lack thereof in the course of an illness that defies definition and confounds prognosis. In my experience, the illness appears to be “custom designed” for each individual, making it difficult to compare notes with others diagnosed similarly or even with professionals having broad experience.
Until next time … yours, as ever.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: August 5, 2008
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Crossing the Threshold: Goal Setting
This series of musings focuses on my experience of learning that I have an incurable illness and the significant ways in which that knowledge irreversibly changed my world view and actions. The change was instantaneous (Diagnosis Day October 26, 2006), while my awareness of the implications has been slow to evolve. An occasional epiphany helps to clarify my current view and further an altered understanding of myself.
All my life I have been an inveterate goal-setter, working in reverse linear, that is, to identify a goal and work backward, mapping a route to fulfillment. Ultimately, I find myself at the starting point: what can I do to take the first step now. In my post-diagnosis world, I am far slower to set goals. I ask myself: Can I really count on having the energy to carry me through to completion? Are others counting on me to meet my commitment? So I have cut back on the number of goals I have at any given moment and concentrate only on the quality of those I commit to. That way, I unburden myself of half-hearted efforts and savor the true delight of a worthwhile accomplishment.
Some goals may seem trivial, disguising their true value. For example, my “Therapy Afghan,” which I crocheted during a stressful period of my life bringing me great comfort and calm. With deliberation and care, I selected the mohair yarn, warm, strong and exceedingly light, in my favorite colors. For months I experimented until evolving a pattern that appealed to me. It took several starts and a few unravelings before, two years later, I finished. A bonus was the loving companionship of our cat Felix who blissed out on the luxurious mohair whenever I took up my yarn and hook.
Other musings will follow as they present themselves to me. Thank you for being with us; your support is our strength and comfort.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: August 2, 2008
All my life I have been an inveterate goal-setter, working in reverse linear, that is, to identify a goal and work backward, mapping a route to fulfillment. Ultimately, I find myself at the starting point: what can I do to take the first step now. In my post-diagnosis world, I am far slower to set goals. I ask myself: Can I really count on having the energy to carry me through to completion? Are others counting on me to meet my commitment? So I have cut back on the number of goals I have at any given moment and concentrate only on the quality of those I commit to. That way, I unburden myself of half-hearted efforts and savor the true delight of a worthwhile accomplishment.
Some goals may seem trivial, disguising their true value. For example, my “Therapy Afghan,” which I crocheted during a stressful period of my life bringing me great comfort and calm. With deliberation and care, I selected the mohair yarn, warm, strong and exceedingly light, in my favorite colors. For months I experimented until evolving a pattern that appealed to me. It took several starts and a few unravelings before, two years later, I finished. A bonus was the loving companionship of our cat Felix who blissed out on the luxurious mohair whenever I took up my yarn and hook.
Other musings will follow as they present themselves to me. Thank you for being with us; your support is our strength and comfort.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: August 2, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
The Curious Case of a List to Port
Last Fall curious symptoms began to present themselves. I found myself unable to maintain a normal posture, either seated or standing. Rather, I slumped to my left, somewhat like a sailor’s list to port. The shift occurred so slowly that I wasn’t aware of it until I suddenly discovered my left shoulder drooping to the left and forward, my left elbow jabbing into my belly.
Other times this syndrome presented itself as my being unable to walk a straight line, but drifting, crab-like, to my left. (Without even a whiff of alcohol to blame the unsteadiness on!) To support myself in an upright, sitting posture required an intense focus and effort, something one doesn’t normally even have to pay attention to.
These symptoms sound to me like lingering effects of a stroke, but no other evidence presented itself to confirm such a diagnosis. And so, with more urgent and critical issues to address, this condition remained unidentified and untreated. It is hard to know if this is a weird manifestation of cancer or something else entirely. Like so many other symptoms and side effects I’ve experienced during the course of this illness, the appearances are ephemeral with minimal disability.
Recently, Michael and I were out walking. He trailed behind a few steps and noticed that I was walking a straight line and that my posture no longer tilted to the left. This must be the fabled straight and narrow path! Again, the improvement was so gradual that I was barely aware of it.
A medical mystery remains unresolved. We are inching forward towards “better” slowly but surely. Thanks for the companionship on this, occasionally weird, journey.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted July 28, 2008
Other times this syndrome presented itself as my being unable to walk a straight line, but drifting, crab-like, to my left. (Without even a whiff of alcohol to blame the unsteadiness on!) To support myself in an upright, sitting posture required an intense focus and effort, something one doesn’t normally even have to pay attention to.
These symptoms sound to me like lingering effects of a stroke, but no other evidence presented itself to confirm such a diagnosis. And so, with more urgent and critical issues to address, this condition remained unidentified and untreated. It is hard to know if this is a weird manifestation of cancer or something else entirely. Like so many other symptoms and side effects I’ve experienced during the course of this illness, the appearances are ephemeral with minimal disability.
Recently, Michael and I were out walking. He trailed behind a few steps and noticed that I was walking a straight line and that my posture no longer tilted to the left. This must be the fabled straight and narrow path! Again, the improvement was so gradual that I was barely aware of it.
A medical mystery remains unresolved. We are inching forward towards “better” slowly but surely. Thanks for the companionship on this, occasionally weird, journey.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted July 28, 2008
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Food
The aroma of salmon on the grill tickles my nose, my mouth waters in anticipation of a fine dinner to come. When served, my eyes hungrily take in the moist pinkness striped by a hot grill, the flakiness revealed as I separate the first bite from the serving. Then I close my lips over my fork and tenderly munch on the succulent treat.
But the salmon taste I remember so well is not there. Replacing it is a peculiar flavor bearing only a distant relationship to what I expected seconds earlier. A blanket of disappointment settles over me as anticipation gives way to the startling reality of yet another unexpected taste.
These sensory tricks began shortly after Diagnosis Day. My “mouth tastes” change from time to time without correlation to other changes such as medication, amount of sleep or diet changes. An early “mouth taste” was salt. Food and drink did not dissipate or mask the extreme saltiness of everything I ate. This effect gradually disappeared, to be replaced with another “flavor.” Several cycles of taste distortion have come and gone since then, each one unique.
Previously, food was a major pleasure for me. My appetite was robust, my imagination fired by recollections of superb meals. Now the idea of food is often repellant, or triggers nausea. Nevertheless, I eat more, searching for a flavor that matches my expectations and memory. To date, I have avoided weight gain. As food begins to taste better, that may become a problem, but for now, the search continues.
Until next time, bon appétit!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogpost.com
Posted July 24, 2008
But the salmon taste I remember so well is not there. Replacing it is a peculiar flavor bearing only a distant relationship to what I expected seconds earlier. A blanket of disappointment settles over me as anticipation gives way to the startling reality of yet another unexpected taste.
These sensory tricks began shortly after Diagnosis Day. My “mouth tastes” change from time to time without correlation to other changes such as medication, amount of sleep or diet changes. An early “mouth taste” was salt. Food and drink did not dissipate or mask the extreme saltiness of everything I ate. This effect gradually disappeared, to be replaced with another “flavor.” Several cycles of taste distortion have come and gone since then, each one unique.
Previously, food was a major pleasure for me. My appetite was robust, my imagination fired by recollections of superb meals. Now the idea of food is often repellant, or triggers nausea. Nevertheless, I eat more, searching for a flavor that matches my expectations and memory. To date, I have avoided weight gain. As food begins to taste better, that may become a problem, but for now, the search continues.
Until next time, bon appétit!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogpost.com
Posted July 24, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
Sweet Words
Our oncologist here at the Medical University of South Carolina in Charleston examined me today and read the radiologists' reports of the CT scans taken last Thursday of my neck and Friday of my chest, abdomen and pelvis. He compared these with the CTs taken of the same areas on April 24 and 25,2008 and finds "virtually no change."
Specifically: CT Neck: The radiologists are tracking four lesions in four different locations in my thyroid. All are unchanged since April's images of the same areas. In sum, the neck CT shows "no evidence of disease progression." HOORAY!
CT Chest: A substernal anomaly noted on previous CT scans has small adjustments in size, essentially remaining "stable." HOORAY!!
CT Abdomen (Liver protocol): "Multiple hepatic metastases without significant interval change." Other organs reviewed are normal, unremarkable and without abnormalities; no lymphoadenopathy, no vascular abnormalities; no bony lesions. HOORAY!!!
CT Pelvis: "No evidence of metastatic disease to the pelvis." HOORAY!!!!
And let us not forget the human aspect of this visit. A palpation by the oncologist of my liver was found to be normal. Another HOORAY!!!!!
I love those sweet words: unchanged, unremarkable, stable, no evidence, normal. Other than that noted above, all the rest of my innards are boring, thanks to all your prayers and positive messages of wellbeing. I'll stick with boring. HOORAY!!!!!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted July 21, 2008
Specifically: CT Neck: The radiologists are tracking four lesions in four different locations in my thyroid. All are unchanged since April's images of the same areas. In sum, the neck CT shows "no evidence of disease progression." HOORAY!
CT Chest: A substernal anomaly noted on previous CT scans has small adjustments in size, essentially remaining "stable." HOORAY!!
CT Abdomen (Liver protocol): "Multiple hepatic metastases without significant interval change." Other organs reviewed are normal, unremarkable and without abnormalities; no lymphoadenopathy, no vascular abnormalities; no bony lesions. HOORAY!!!
CT Pelvis: "No evidence of metastatic disease to the pelvis." HOORAY!!!!
And let us not forget the human aspect of this visit. A palpation by the oncologist of my liver was found to be normal. Another HOORAY!!!!!
I love those sweet words: unchanged, unremarkable, stable, no evidence, normal. Other than that noted above, all the rest of my innards are boring, thanks to all your prayers and positive messages of wellbeing. I'll stick with boring. HOORAY!!!!!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted July 21, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Instant Old
Overnight, I became old. A year and a half ago, I learned that the persistent symptoms I was having were actually an advanced case of cancer. After considerable pondering, I came to the view that I had acquired a surrogate to take the blame for the gradual appearance of minor infirmities suspiciously like those I had observed among the previous generation as they aged.
Very convenient to have a serious illness to cloak the signals of the aging process. Take forgetfulness (please!). This side effect of some medications is also a sign of advancing age. Note the participle which obscures the state of the process. i.e.: "--ing" indicating an unidentifiable stage of progress. I could have written "advanced," a state closer to the end of the process. But I assure you, I have a long way to go before achieving that distinction!
Needing more sleep is commonly considered another sign of "aging," e.g. early to bed, or daytime napping. My claim is that the ravages of a severe illness steals away my endurance. I consider sleep a form of treatment, not a sign of "aging," and therefore I indulge myself.
Shaky, wobbly handwriting is another manifestation of aging, one I noticed especially in my grandmother's letters. These days, evidence of this is harder to find, what with emails and instant messaging so universally used for communication and so optimally legible. Now I use my signature as a key indicator of the status of this illness, swinging from spiked, awkward letters during peaks of illness to free-flowing, vigorous characters when I'm feeling better. A diagnostic aid, surely NOT aging!
The question boils down to this: Would I trade a symptom of illness for a milepost of my journey through life? You bet! The signs of aging are proof positive of the continued existence of life. I think I've just talked myself into embracing aging and abandoning symptoms of illness as a validation of my drive to fully realize the remainder of my life.
Join me in an enlightened salute: Le chaim!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted July 17, 2008
Very convenient to have a serious illness to cloak the signals of the aging process. Take forgetfulness (please!). This side effect of some medications is also a sign of advancing age. Note the participle which obscures the state of the process. i.e.: "--ing" indicating an unidentifiable stage of progress. I could have written "advanced," a state closer to the end of the process. But I assure you, I have a long way to go before achieving that distinction!
Needing more sleep is commonly considered another sign of "aging," e.g. early to bed, or daytime napping. My claim is that the ravages of a severe illness steals away my endurance. I consider sleep a form of treatment, not a sign of "aging," and therefore I indulge myself.
Shaky, wobbly handwriting is another manifestation of aging, one I noticed especially in my grandmother's letters. These days, evidence of this is harder to find, what with emails and instant messaging so universally used for communication and so optimally legible. Now I use my signature as a key indicator of the status of this illness, swinging from spiked, awkward letters during peaks of illness to free-flowing, vigorous characters when I'm feeling better. A diagnostic aid, surely NOT aging!
The question boils down to this: Would I trade a symptom of illness for a milepost of my journey through life? You bet! The signs of aging are proof positive of the continued existence of life. I think I've just talked myself into embracing aging and abandoning symptoms of illness as a validation of my drive to fully realize the remainder of my life.
Join me in an enlightened salute: Le chaim!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted July 17, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
Jitters
With fingers drumming, I wait. Next imaging and blood tests are scheduled in Charleston, South Carolina for Thursday, Friday and the following Monday. Tension builds daily.
I become jittery: restless, distracted. Not fully engaged with what I’m doing, I repeat myself. I initiate a task only to realize that I had finished it earlier. My lists are my salvation. Remembering to cross “done” items off when completed is another memory hurdle.
Repetition plagues my conversation. Ever-patient family and friends disregard these lapses, a true sign of love and caring. Telephonic customer service personnel attend to my needs professionally without impatient sighs or expressing exasperation with an audio equivalent of rolling their eyes.
Tuning out of conversation is another distraction. I appear to be listening attentively until someone says “So what do you think of that?” and I haven’t the faintest idea of what I should be forming an opinion. My mind is preoccupied. Tension sneaks up on me, insidiously blocking awareness of the present. My mind must be napping while my body carries on, half dozing.
The most taxing “jitter” is what I call sleeping “uptight.” I awake to discover my muscles stiff with tension, my fists clenched. How can anyone sleep that way?!
Time to renew meditation, calm my mind, slow responses and focus on resolving the turmoil of ambiguity and uncertainty that storms through my mind. Time to step up my yoga practice and clear the small still space within that keeps me centered and in balance.
Jitters will resolve in their slowly unfolding fashion next week. Thank you for being with us.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted July 14, 2008
I become jittery: restless, distracted. Not fully engaged with what I’m doing, I repeat myself. I initiate a task only to realize that I had finished it earlier. My lists are my salvation. Remembering to cross “done” items off when completed is another memory hurdle.
Repetition plagues my conversation. Ever-patient family and friends disregard these lapses, a true sign of love and caring. Telephonic customer service personnel attend to my needs professionally without impatient sighs or expressing exasperation with an audio equivalent of rolling their eyes.
Tuning out of conversation is another distraction. I appear to be listening attentively until someone says “So what do you think of that?” and I haven’t the faintest idea of what I should be forming an opinion. My mind is preoccupied. Tension sneaks up on me, insidiously blocking awareness of the present. My mind must be napping while my body carries on, half dozing.
The most taxing “jitter” is what I call sleeping “uptight.” I awake to discover my muscles stiff with tension, my fists clenched. How can anyone sleep that way?!
Time to renew meditation, calm my mind, slow responses and focus on resolving the turmoil of ambiguity and uncertainty that storms through my mind. Time to step up my yoga practice and clear the small still space within that keeps me centered and in balance.
Jitters will resolve in their slowly unfolding fashion next week. Thank you for being with us.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted July 14, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Saint Michael
In my view, Michael has achieved sainthood. A secular saint, perhaps, but a saint nonetheless. Here’s why.
Michael has endurance: 25 years with me, a remarkable achievement given my independent nature, and the catastrophic events of the past two years. We know several couples whose marriages succumbed to unexpected stresses of medical origin. Each partner is a good person. The situation just wasn’t part of the dream they signed on for. And, in the end, they found themselves overwhelmed by circumstances.
Michael can shift focus on a dime. He jumped into our situation at once, educating us about cancer and the resources needed to assess and acquire superior quality medical care. As a result, he developed excellent Internet skills that continue to serve us well.
He is stalwart. He has accompanied me to every meeting with medical professionals, questioning and probing their knowledge and its applicability to our situation. To their credit, they continue to bear up under his inexhaustible questioning. And let us not forget the countless hours he has spent in medical waiting rooms acquainting himself with the contents of current periodicals.
Michael is steadfast in the face of the mundane and boring. He assumed responsibility for keeping our lives in order. Financial tasks that I formerly managed, are now shared. He also pitches in with the housework even more than previously, tackling necessary daily chores that make life bearable. So he sweeps, launders and tidies the yard when I am unable to do so.
Virtually every aspect of our lives has been adjusted so that my energy is conserved for the physical challenges of this illness. Most notable, and a skill that delights us both, is his evolution as a creative, efficient chef.
There is much more, but how much sugar can you stand? Bravo for Michael!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted July 10, 2008
Michael has endurance: 25 years with me, a remarkable achievement given my independent nature, and the catastrophic events of the past two years. We know several couples whose marriages succumbed to unexpected stresses of medical origin. Each partner is a good person. The situation just wasn’t part of the dream they signed on for. And, in the end, they found themselves overwhelmed by circumstances.
Michael can shift focus on a dime. He jumped into our situation at once, educating us about cancer and the resources needed to assess and acquire superior quality medical care. As a result, he developed excellent Internet skills that continue to serve us well.
He is stalwart. He has accompanied me to every meeting with medical professionals, questioning and probing their knowledge and its applicability to our situation. To their credit, they continue to bear up under his inexhaustible questioning. And let us not forget the countless hours he has spent in medical waiting rooms acquainting himself with the contents of current periodicals.
Michael is steadfast in the face of the mundane and boring. He assumed responsibility for keeping our lives in order. Financial tasks that I formerly managed, are now shared. He also pitches in with the housework even more than previously, tackling necessary daily chores that make life bearable. So he sweeps, launders and tidies the yard when I am unable to do so.
Virtually every aspect of our lives has been adjusted so that my energy is conserved for the physical challenges of this illness. Most notable, and a skill that delights us both, is his evolution as a creative, efficient chef.
There is much more, but how much sugar can you stand? Bravo for Michael!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted July 10, 2008
Monday, July 7, 2008
Now & Then
Time moves slowly because changes happen in small increments over a long period of time. Individually, they seem unworthy of note. Looking back collectively and comparing what is true for today versus what was yesterday’s reality helps me to be more aware of progress. A steady increase in ability over time is NOW my personal measure of the course of this illness. Here’s a sampling of changes.
I continue to observe the cancer chemotherapy: one tablet each afternoon. Add to that, Coumadin for DVT (Deep Vein Thrombosis), a side effect itself of cancer, painkillers and Over The Counter relief for nausea. So NOW there are, blessedly, fewer primary medications and far fewer meds for side effects, versus THEN, a year ago, when I was taking handfuls of pills daily. Less tracking, less stress, no slowing of improvement.
NOW I weigh in at 102. THEN, 6 months ago, I was struggling to maintain a high of 95 pounds. NOW my blood pressure is close to pre-illness levels at roughly 130/85. THEN, a year ago, I regularly measured above 160/100. Best of all, now the great swings are gone, and I see consistent readings virtually every day. NOW, no edema; THEN it came and went without explanation. NOW, no dry mouth; THEN, just a few weeks ago, I awoke with all my mouth surfaces glued together, barely able to take a sip to get the juices flowing again. NOW, after being in the sun, I can tolerate some tender, pink skin that disappears in a few days leaving a light tan behind. THEN, a year ago, sunshine caused a severe burn that required almost a month of painful itchiness to clear (and no tan).
NOW I’m back in the yard, pruning roses and pulling weeds; THEN, last Fall, I could not even lean over to pull a weed without fear of losing my balance and crashing to earth, unable to thwart the fall. NOW my stamina is improved so that we can welcome guests occasionally and I don’t have to excuse myself early for need of sleep; THEN, for over a year, we had virtually no social life. NOW I prepare meals faster and I enjoy it; THEN Michael went hungry (or stepped in to speed things up) until the food hit the table.
There is much more. Overall, however, my life has improved substantially. So much so that our oncologist has said that if I continue on this track, we may have to start discussing longer term results, even the possibility of Remission(!). These are the happiest words we have heard in a long time. What energy you all have put into helping to bring this scenario into view. Thank you for your patience and persistence.
We will return to Charleston in a week for our regular periodic imaging and blood tests for the experimental drug (Zactima) clinical study. Some results will be available the following week and others the week after that. As soon as we have them we will post them. We’ll see you at the beach … soon!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted July 7, 2008
I continue to observe the cancer chemotherapy: one tablet each afternoon. Add to that, Coumadin for DVT (Deep Vein Thrombosis), a side effect itself of cancer, painkillers and Over The Counter relief for nausea. So NOW there are, blessedly, fewer primary medications and far fewer meds for side effects, versus THEN, a year ago, when I was taking handfuls of pills daily. Less tracking, less stress, no slowing of improvement.
NOW I weigh in at 102. THEN, 6 months ago, I was struggling to maintain a high of 95 pounds. NOW my blood pressure is close to pre-illness levels at roughly 130/85. THEN, a year ago, I regularly measured above 160/100. Best of all, now the great swings are gone, and I see consistent readings virtually every day. NOW, no edema; THEN it came and went without explanation. NOW, no dry mouth; THEN, just a few weeks ago, I awoke with all my mouth surfaces glued together, barely able to take a sip to get the juices flowing again. NOW, after being in the sun, I can tolerate some tender, pink skin that disappears in a few days leaving a light tan behind. THEN, a year ago, sunshine caused a severe burn that required almost a month of painful itchiness to clear (and no tan).
NOW I’m back in the yard, pruning roses and pulling weeds; THEN, last Fall, I could not even lean over to pull a weed without fear of losing my balance and crashing to earth, unable to thwart the fall. NOW my stamina is improved so that we can welcome guests occasionally and I don’t have to excuse myself early for need of sleep; THEN, for over a year, we had virtually no social life. NOW I prepare meals faster and I enjoy it; THEN Michael went hungry (or stepped in to speed things up) until the food hit the table.
There is much more. Overall, however, my life has improved substantially. So much so that our oncologist has said that if I continue on this track, we may have to start discussing longer term results, even the possibility of Remission(!). These are the happiest words we have heard in a long time. What energy you all have put into helping to bring this scenario into view. Thank you for your patience and persistence.
We will return to Charleston in a week for our regular periodic imaging and blood tests for the experimental drug (Zactima) clinical study. Some results will be available the following week and others the week after that. As soon as we have them we will post them. We’ll see you at the beach … soon!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted July 7, 2008
Friday, May 9, 2008
Bulletin
Final results of the bloodwork are in: both CEA and Calcitonin are down substantially, heading in the right direction.
CEA measures general cancer cell activity. January 31 was 5567, April 25 is 4926, a decline of 12 percent. Calcitonin, the specific measure for thyroid cancer was 8105 on January 31 and now is 4036, a drop of 50%! Since the beginning of the Zactima experimental drug trial in August 2007 the CEA has dropped 45% and the Calcitonin is down 79%. These are very positive changes, so we are optimistic. However, we still have quite a way to go to get to a level that indicates “cured.”
All other lab values, such as hemoglobin, potassium and such are within normal limits. These results reinforce a perception of a “stable” condition, meaning my body is successfully rallying to return to good health.
Thank you all for the support and reassurance that keeps us resolute in spirit and effort.
Copyright 2008
http://lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted May 9, 2008
CEA measures general cancer cell activity. January 31 was 5567, April 25 is 4926, a decline of 12 percent. Calcitonin, the specific measure for thyroid cancer was 8105 on January 31 and now is 4036, a drop of 50%! Since the beginning of the Zactima experimental drug trial in August 2007 the CEA has dropped 45% and the Calcitonin is down 79%. These are very positive changes, so we are optimistic. However, we still have quite a way to go to get to a level that indicates “cured.”
All other lab values, such as hemoglobin, potassium and such are within normal limits. These results reinforce a perception of a “stable” condition, meaning my body is successfully rallying to return to good health.
Thank you all for the support and reassurance that keeps us resolute in spirit and effort.
Copyright 2008
http://lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted May 9, 2008
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Charleston Findings
We are back from South Carolina with the verbal report on the CT scans taken last Thursday and Friday at the Medical University of South Carolina where the Zactima clinical experimental drug trial is taking place. These show virtually no change in the size of the tumors in my liver compared with the previous scans taken January 31st and February 1st. This is the third set of images with comparable results. We may conclude that my condition is “stable” at the moment.
One more set of results are due soon from the bloodwork accomplished during the visit. These results will either reinforce the “stable” pronouncement or present conflicting information. We rely on these measures to track the activity of the cancer cells and to keep an eye on other health indicators, especially those relating to liver function and the oxygen-carrying capability of the red blood cells.
These results could become a habit! I have found the news so hopeful that I have taken the bold step of renewing my AARP membership for five years. How’s that for confidence in the future! Although these results are encouraging, I am resisting the urge to jump to conclusions from three consecutive hopeful reports. The overall diagnosis of Stage 4 metastatic cancer of the thyroid remains, nonetheless.
As soon as the bloodwork results are in, I will post them. In the meantime, we thank you for your support and faith in a positive outcome. Knowing you are there means a lot to us.
Copyright 2008
http://lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted April 30, 2008
One more set of results are due soon from the bloodwork accomplished during the visit. These results will either reinforce the “stable” pronouncement or present conflicting information. We rely on these measures to track the activity of the cancer cells and to keep an eye on other health indicators, especially those relating to liver function and the oxygen-carrying capability of the red blood cells.
These results could become a habit! I have found the news so hopeful that I have taken the bold step of renewing my AARP membership for five years. How’s that for confidence in the future! Although these results are encouraging, I am resisting the urge to jump to conclusions from three consecutive hopeful reports. The overall diagnosis of Stage 4 metastatic cancer of the thyroid remains, nonetheless.
As soon as the bloodwork results are in, I will post them. In the meantime, we thank you for your support and faith in a positive outcome. Knowing you are there means a lot to us.
Copyright 2008
http://lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted April 30, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Hair
Mine is still with me, clinging tenaciously more than a year after the start of chemotherapy. Three times we have prepared ourselves for this most significant side effect of cancer treatment with three different types of medication; I have no explanation for the hardiness of my top mop, Pure orneriness, I guess.
Some hair loss is evident though minimal. Evidence: the appearance of naturally curly regrowth where before were limp strands with barely a wave. New growth is stubbornly independent. It goes where it wants, resisting all sprays, creams, gels, ointments and exotic hair treatments.
My hair is shaped by an expert hair stylist into what might be called a “Pixie” if it appeared on someone thirty years younger than me. At my age, nothing is going to make me appear pixie-like, so I’ll have to come up with another descriptive adjective.
Every time I see myself in a mirror, I am reminded of Judy, a high school friend. She frequently expressed frustration with her “naturally curly” hair. After the briefest contact with a comb her topknot appeared perfectly coiffed ready for a prom, a hike, a game of volleyball or the classroom, the envy of the rest of us.
We are, however, prepared due to the kindness of a craft-y dear friend. Thank you, Kristen, for the crocheted beret, made of the colors most flattering for me and ornamented with a silk ribbon in rainbow shades of blue. Just charming! and not at all pixie-like. With luck, it may be pressed into service only as an ornament, not an item of attire.
We heard of one family’s demonstration of solidarity with a child experiencing chemotherapy and resulting hair loss. Every family member had their heads shaved!
Dear ones, we treasure and feel all the positive energy headed our way. Thank you for being with us. Please forgive the delay getting this message to you. Google swallowed Blogspot; they had me jumping through hoops getting reconnected! Next stop: Charleston, SC and more CT scans. We'll be in touch soon.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Mine is still with me, clinging tenaciously more than a year after the start of chemotherapy. Three times we have prepared ourselves for this most significant side effect of cancer treatment with three different types of medication; I have no explanation for the hardiness of my top mop, Pure orneriness, I guess.
Some hair loss is evident though minimal. Evidence: the appearance of naturally curly regrowth where before were limp strands with barely a wave. New growth is stubbornly independent. It goes where it wants, resisting all sprays, creams, gels, ointments and exotic hair treatments.
My hair is shaped by an expert hair stylist into what might be called a “Pixie” if it appeared on someone thirty years younger than me. At my age, nothing is going to make me appear pixie-like, so I’ll have to come up with another descriptive adjective.
Every time I see myself in a mirror, I am reminded of Judy, a high school friend. She frequently expressed frustration with her “naturally curly” hair. After the briefest contact with a comb her topknot appeared perfectly coiffed ready for a prom, a hike, a game of volleyball or the classroom, the envy of the rest of us.
We are, however, prepared due to the kindness of a craft-y dear friend. Thank you, Kristen, for the crocheted beret, made of the colors most flattering for me and ornamented with a silk ribbon in rainbow shades of blue. Just charming! and not at all pixie-like. With luck, it may be pressed into service only as an ornament, not an item of attire.
We heard of one family’s demonstration of solidarity with a child experiencing chemotherapy and resulting hair loss. Every family member had their heads shaved!
Dear ones, we treasure and feel all the positive energy headed our way. Thank you for being with us. Please forgive the delay getting this message to you. Google swallowed Blogspot; they had me jumping through hoops getting reconnected! Next stop: Charleston, SC and more CT scans. We'll be in touch soon.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Close Call
It was a regular doctor’s visit scheduled a month earlier to check on INR blood levels because I am on Coumadin, a blood thinner, to prevent clot formation. These reflect relative thin-ness of my blood, ideally in the 2.5 to 3.5 range, the higher the number, the thinner my blood. Levels below 2.5 indicate thicker blood, and associated risk of clots forming; higher than 3.5 and the risk of internal bleeding increases. The blood literally oozes out of the capillaries under the skin forming the appearance of a bruise, or deeper internally where bleeding is harder to detect.
The finger prick yielded a print-out seconds later on the digital blood analyzer of 8.0. I’ve heard of higher INR readings, but not often. After the “how are you?s”, the doctor asked me if I was aware that my nose was bleeding. Other than a tiny sniffle, I was not. What I had first on my question list was my black, swollen tongue first noted two days earlier. I brought this to my dentist’s attention, fearing a metastatic appearance of a new cancer tumor. My dentist put my fears to rest, but was more concerned about the fact that I had no idea how the bruise had come about: no accidental bite or blow to my face.
Putting this evidence together with a urinalysis that proved to be almost pure blood left only one course of action: immediate hospitalization. Half an hour later I was lying in an Intensive Care Unit bed being hooked up to an IV of Fresh Frozen Plasma plus two shots of Vitamin K. (The tongue was black from bleeding inside.)
The next morning I went home with the doctor’s words echoing in my mind: “You were only hours from departing this life entirely”. I always thought dying was preceded by accumulating pain and suffering. The truly scary part of this experience is that I had no symptoms to warn me that I was in peril. Now I have an even keener awareness of what I take in and how it interacts with other medications I need for maintenance of a stable condition. The effects of Coumadin are powerful and far reaching. It needs close, careful attention.
Once again I am happy to be able to sign off for both Michael and me. Bless you for standing by us so faithfully.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted March 13, 2008
The finger prick yielded a print-out seconds later on the digital blood analyzer of 8.0. I’ve heard of higher INR readings, but not often. After the “how are you?s”, the doctor asked me if I was aware that my nose was bleeding. Other than a tiny sniffle, I was not. What I had first on my question list was my black, swollen tongue first noted two days earlier. I brought this to my dentist’s attention, fearing a metastatic appearance of a new cancer tumor. My dentist put my fears to rest, but was more concerned about the fact that I had no idea how the bruise had come about: no accidental bite or blow to my face.
Putting this evidence together with a urinalysis that proved to be almost pure blood left only one course of action: immediate hospitalization. Half an hour later I was lying in an Intensive Care Unit bed being hooked up to an IV of Fresh Frozen Plasma plus two shots of Vitamin K. (The tongue was black from bleeding inside.)
The next morning I went home with the doctor’s words echoing in my mind: “You were only hours from departing this life entirely”. I always thought dying was preceded by accumulating pain and suffering. The truly scary part of this experience is that I had no symptoms to warn me that I was in peril. Now I have an even keener awareness of what I take in and how it interacts with other medications I need for maintenance of a stable condition. The effects of Coumadin are powerful and far reaching. It needs close, careful attention.
Once again I am happy to be able to sign off for both Michael and me. Bless you for standing by us so faithfully.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted March 13, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Walk on the Wild Side
Walk on the Wild Side
Between our arrival home from Charleston and meeting with our oncologist last week, a new symptom introduced itself. I don’t know what to call it so I’ll describe what happened.
Part of my regimen is exercise. Typically I’ll walk for a half hour: 15 minutes out and 15 minutes back at a comfortable brisk pace. Until recently, I walked alone, but lately Michael has joined me for companionship, conversation and his own exercise. Three weeks ago, Michael was not available, so I set out by myself and completed three quarters of our regular walking route in cheerful sunshine and a mild balmy breeze.
As was my habit, I walked in the middle of the road, atop the crown of the roadbed to avoid the graded slopes to either side of the yellow line. Then, involuntarily, my pace slowed, little by little, like the Energizer bunny finally running out of battery power, and I collapsed slowly to the pavement. I could no longer support my body weight.
I had fallen to my hands and knees. Wanting to get out of the roadway as rapidly as possible for obvious reasons, I crawled to the edge of the road to a driveway entrance marked by two brick pillars. Thinking a crumpled body by the side of the road might be cause for alarm for some unsuspecting passing motorist, I pulled myself to an upright position using a brick pillar for support. For 10 minutes I twiddled my thumbs, gathering strength. Finally I felt strong enough to complete the journey home at a much reduced pace. Fortunately the road is very lightly traveled, runs arrow straight between the corn fields with visibility of a half mile left and right of our lane.
The medical professionals are still scratching their heads about this. In the meantime, we are treating it as an episode of dehydration. And for now and the near future, I won’t be walking alone!
Copyright 2008
http://lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: February 26, 2008
Between our arrival home from Charleston and meeting with our oncologist last week, a new symptom introduced itself. I don’t know what to call it so I’ll describe what happened.
Part of my regimen is exercise. Typically I’ll walk for a half hour: 15 minutes out and 15 minutes back at a comfortable brisk pace. Until recently, I walked alone, but lately Michael has joined me for companionship, conversation and his own exercise. Three weeks ago, Michael was not available, so I set out by myself and completed three quarters of our regular walking route in cheerful sunshine and a mild balmy breeze.
As was my habit, I walked in the middle of the road, atop the crown of the roadbed to avoid the graded slopes to either side of the yellow line. Then, involuntarily, my pace slowed, little by little, like the Energizer bunny finally running out of battery power, and I collapsed slowly to the pavement. I could no longer support my body weight.
I had fallen to my hands and knees. Wanting to get out of the roadway as rapidly as possible for obvious reasons, I crawled to the edge of the road to a driveway entrance marked by two brick pillars. Thinking a crumpled body by the side of the road might be cause for alarm for some unsuspecting passing motorist, I pulled myself to an upright position using a brick pillar for support. For 10 minutes I twiddled my thumbs, gathering strength. Finally I felt strong enough to complete the journey home at a much reduced pace. Fortunately the road is very lightly traveled, runs arrow straight between the corn fields with visibility of a half mile left and right of our lane.
The medical professionals are still scratching their heads about this. In the meantime, we are treating it as an episode of dehydration. And for now and the near future, I won’t be walking alone!
Copyright 2008
http://lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: February 26, 2008
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Up and Down Test Results
Most recent blood test results are “mixed” showing changes within a narrow range in both directions as follows:
CEA on 2-4-08 is a 15% drop compared with 12-22-07 to 5567 from 6569 respectively. The Calcitonin levels are up slightly from 7313 to 8105. The objective is to lower the numbers as far as possible. Zero would be just fine, thank you very much. We are definitely headed in the right direction. And, like political candidates, we hope to keep the momentum going!
More results will be out to you as they arrive. In the meantime, look for various reflections on life with (and sometimes without) cancer.
Our steadfast gratitude for your reassurances and shared joy.
With heartfelt feelings on this Valentine’s Day!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: February 14, 2008
CEA on 2-4-08 is a 15% drop compared with 12-22-07 to 5567 from 6569 respectively. The Calcitonin levels are up slightly from 7313 to 8105. The objective is to lower the numbers as far as possible. Zero would be just fine, thank you very much. We are definitely headed in the right direction. And, like political candidates, we hope to keep the momentum going!
More results will be out to you as they arrive. In the meantime, look for various reflections on life with (and sometimes without) cancer.
Our steadfast gratitude for your reassurances and shared joy.
With heartfelt feelings on this Valentine’s Day!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: February 14, 2008
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Steady As She Goes
We met with our MUSC (Charleston SC) Head/Neck oncologist on Monday afternoon (2-4-08). The CT scan of my chest and abdomen revealed essentially no change in size of the tumors in my liver and thyroid. The results are within a “margin of error” that could be accounted for by the slight differences in the number of millimeters between comparable November and February image slices. This is good news in that it signals a stable status of the illness. Now that we have two measurements to compare, the February results confirm the hopeful figures from November. This warrants optimism!
As yet, I don’t have the results of the lab analysis on the blood draw also taken Monday. All the numbers will be in by next week at which time I will pass them along, comparing these results with the previous analysis taken at MUSC in November.
Two subjective small improvements in the way my body works have appeared during the past two months that I consider significant to returning health. During this time I have gained 8 pounds. Never in my life have I rejoiced about GAINING weight!
The other is that my skin is no longer as fragile as it was as recently as December. Back then small cuts, scrapes, skin tears or abrasions required up to three weeks to completely heal. Now similar cuts heal in one quarter of that time. I imagine my immune system flexing its figurative muscles as it grows stronger!
We thank you for your prayers and an almost palpable flow of positive energy.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted February 6, 2008
As yet, I don’t have the results of the lab analysis on the blood draw also taken Monday. All the numbers will be in by next week at which time I will pass them along, comparing these results with the previous analysis taken at MUSC in November.
Two subjective small improvements in the way my body works have appeared during the past two months that I consider significant to returning health. During this time I have gained 8 pounds. Never in my life have I rejoiced about GAINING weight!
The other is that my skin is no longer as fragile as it was as recently as December. Back then small cuts, scrapes, skin tears or abrasions required up to three weeks to completely heal. Now similar cuts heal in one quarter of that time. I imagine my immune system flexing its figurative muscles as it grows stronger!
We thank you for your prayers and an almost palpable flow of positive energy.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted February 6, 2008
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Catch Up
Catch Up
Thank you, thank you, each and all, for keeping in touch, for your cards, notes, emails, letters and calls, especially during what I call the “dark days.” These were the days between the recent holidays that were especially difficult for me: constant nausea overshadowed with the gloom of depression, probably due to the anniversary of D-Day (Diagnosis Day). As the days become colder and the hours of daily sunshine decreased, I spent more time mourning the fading days of a summertime filled with a light heart and optimism.
But now that I’ve had a couple of weeks with frequent strings of “good days”, and am managing the nausea a bit better, I find my spirits lightening. The beginning of a new year always has brought me renewed optimism. Now I’m celebrating just being here to write ANY date in 2008.
Recent highlights:
Laser-blasting a kidney stone on the day after Thanksgiving (out-patient surgery at Medical College of Virginia in Richmond).
A meeting with our oncologist on January 2. He confirmed the improvement shown by the imaging done in Charleston in early November. The cancer marker blood tests showed a decline in one marker of 57%, and the other marker of 44% (lower numbers are better). Furthermore, the physical exam of my liver, in the oncologist’s estimation showed “softening” of the liver area that had been hard and distended due to the size and mass of the tumor. We are all thrilled by the test results.
Dancing however briefly on New Year’s Eve (to Credence Clearwater).
Now we are back in Charleston for more CT imaging: chest & abdomen today and neck tomorrow, blood work on Monday and an appointment with the study’s principal oncologist to review imaging results and plan the next phase of the study participation. It is hard to imagine better results than those noted above, but we shall see. And I will pass along the news either way promptly.
A special thanks to Michael and his amazing endurance. I don’t know how he puts up with my recalcitrance and oftentimes difficult behavior. You can choose when and how you communicate with me. He’s stuck with me!
Copyright 2008
http://lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted January 31, 2008
Thank you, thank you, each and all, for keeping in touch, for your cards, notes, emails, letters and calls, especially during what I call the “dark days.” These were the days between the recent holidays that were especially difficult for me: constant nausea overshadowed with the gloom of depression, probably due to the anniversary of D-Day (Diagnosis Day). As the days become colder and the hours of daily sunshine decreased, I spent more time mourning the fading days of a summertime filled with a light heart and optimism.
But now that I’ve had a couple of weeks with frequent strings of “good days”, and am managing the nausea a bit better, I find my spirits lightening. The beginning of a new year always has brought me renewed optimism. Now I’m celebrating just being here to write ANY date in 2008.
Recent highlights:
Laser-blasting a kidney stone on the day after Thanksgiving (out-patient surgery at Medical College of Virginia in Richmond).
A meeting with our oncologist on January 2. He confirmed the improvement shown by the imaging done in Charleston in early November. The cancer marker blood tests showed a decline in one marker of 57%, and the other marker of 44% (lower numbers are better). Furthermore, the physical exam of my liver, in the oncologist’s estimation showed “softening” of the liver area that had been hard and distended due to the size and mass of the tumor. We are all thrilled by the test results.
Dancing however briefly on New Year’s Eve (to Credence Clearwater).
Now we are back in Charleston for more CT imaging: chest & abdomen today and neck tomorrow, blood work on Monday and an appointment with the study’s principal oncologist to review imaging results and plan the next phase of the study participation. It is hard to imagine better results than those noted above, but we shall see. And I will pass along the news either way promptly.
A special thanks to Michael and his amazing endurance. I don’t know how he puts up with my recalcitrance and oftentimes difficult behavior. You can choose when and how you communicate with me. He’s stuck with me!
Copyright 2008
http://lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted January 31, 2008
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