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
Friday, 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
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