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
Monday, 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
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