First post-treatment exam today...
Dr. probed base of tongue with finger, found all normal feeling tissue, no tumor tissue. Then scoped the area and saw absolutely normal tissue. No sign of cancer at all. All the area looks good.
I may have to have a "functional dissection" of the left lymph area on the side of the neck, he's going to talk with a colleague at UCLA he's worked with for a number of years. This is a non-major surgery where they go in and do a base-of-tongue biopsy first, a pathologist examines the tissue in the OR, then if they find nothing on the original tumor site, they "strip out" the lymph system on one side of the neck. This ensures they get any microscopic cancer cells that may be in the lymph system. Because my secondary tumor was a lymph node at six centimeters, my Dr. feels that this procedure should be considered. I should know more about this in a week or so.
That's the news, pretty much all good.
Yea!
-mark
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Thursday, December 28, 2006
My Thanks to All of You
My two oncologists and my nurse practitioner told me they have never had anyone go through this level of treatment with as much strength and health.
While it helps that I was fit and healthy, I believe that this was due to your love and support—your energy, prayers, and pure healing love.
This is a thank you note, really a love note, to all of you. Blessed Be.
While it helps that I was fit and healthy, I believe that this was due to your love and support—your energy, prayers, and pure healing love.
This is a thank you note, really a love note, to all of you. Blessed Be.
Done!
12-28-06
Well, I got it done. I finished my treatment with a second radiation session this afternoon, a talk with my oncologist, and out the door. Santa Barbara Cancer Center gave me my head mask and a cute little diploma.
Just a word about the staff at SB Cancer Center… Amazing! Everyone in the office and labs and treatment areas were as good as you can get. They are friendly, resourceful, helpful, compassionate—and completely professional. I rarely find a group of people who are so dedicated and yet so nice. It was a pleasure each day to go in to their office and get treatment (can you imagine looking forward to cancer treatment because of the people involved?)
Now I have to wait for ten to twelve weeks for my follow-up PET scan. The ‘old’ way was to perform a “functional neck dissection” which is stripping out the nodes from one side of my neck, but recent research data is pointing away from that procedure. Both of my oncologists are questioning the procedure, so we shall see. If I were to guess, unless something shows up in the scan, we will decide not to do further surgery.
The next step is simple: heal. I’ve got a terrible sore throat, just raw and painful from the top of the mouth down to way below the base of the tongue, deep in the pharynx toward the larynx. That’s hell, I’ve got to tell you, since the sores down there create secretions (nice word for nasty yellow gunk) that I have to cough up. Ugh. Sometimes it’s very difficult to do this little task without triggering the gag reflex and (sigh) Sudden Throw Up Syndrome (STUS—I just made that up.)
I expect it’ll be weeks before I can swallow again, let alone start to run. However, this last weekend was amazing. Shirley suggested we go for a walk on Sunday, an absolutely stunning day (sorry if you’re reading from where there’s Winter). We parked up across the street from Lazy Acres and walked down to the bottom of Shoreline Park and back. Wow. That was around two miles at a fairly brisk pace and while the last half mile was tough, I “finished”. You may laugh at that, but when we came around the corner by the Coast Guard lighthouse, I was looking for our car like I’ve looked for the finish line on tough runs. Ouch! Monday (Christmas) was, if possible, an even more a amazing day, so we went up to Nancy Gunzberg’s house and walked the hills from there. That was a tougher walk, again about two miles, but frankly too many hills. I was pretty much done in by the end…but it felt so good to walk with strength again!
One thing that’s enabling my healing is that I finally started taking pain meds. I take Roxicodone every few hours, just a few drops, but it’s enough to take the edge off the pain and allow me to sleep in the night, and with less, keep going during the day. This is a serious narcotic, so I’ll only be using it for another week or so, and I only use less than 5mg, about the lowest quantity. (By the way, this is the pain medication that Rush Limbaugh was (is?) addicted to and was busted for doctor shopping to obtain huge amounts of illicit meds.)
Well, I got it done. I finished my treatment with a second radiation session this afternoon, a talk with my oncologist, and out the door. Santa Barbara Cancer Center gave me my head mask and a cute little diploma.
Just a word about the staff at SB Cancer Center… Amazing! Everyone in the office and labs and treatment areas were as good as you can get. They are friendly, resourceful, helpful, compassionate—and completely professional. I rarely find a group of people who are so dedicated and yet so nice. It was a pleasure each day to go in to their office and get treatment (can you imagine looking forward to cancer treatment because of the people involved?)
Now I have to wait for ten to twelve weeks for my follow-up PET scan. The ‘old’ way was to perform a “functional neck dissection” which is stripping out the nodes from one side of my neck, but recent research data is pointing away from that procedure. Both of my oncologists are questioning the procedure, so we shall see. If I were to guess, unless something shows up in the scan, we will decide not to do further surgery.
The next step is simple: heal. I’ve got a terrible sore throat, just raw and painful from the top of the mouth down to way below the base of the tongue, deep in the pharynx toward the larynx. That’s hell, I’ve got to tell you, since the sores down there create secretions (nice word for nasty yellow gunk) that I have to cough up. Ugh. Sometimes it’s very difficult to do this little task without triggering the gag reflex and (sigh) Sudden Throw Up Syndrome (STUS—I just made that up.)
I expect it’ll be weeks before I can swallow again, let alone start to run. However, this last weekend was amazing. Shirley suggested we go for a walk on Sunday, an absolutely stunning day (sorry if you’re reading from where there’s Winter). We parked up across the street from Lazy Acres and walked down to the bottom of Shoreline Park and back. Wow. That was around two miles at a fairly brisk pace and while the last half mile was tough, I “finished”. You may laugh at that, but when we came around the corner by the Coast Guard lighthouse, I was looking for our car like I’ve looked for the finish line on tough runs. Ouch! Monday (Christmas) was, if possible, an even more a amazing day, so we went up to Nancy Gunzberg’s house and walked the hills from there. That was a tougher walk, again about two miles, but frankly too many hills. I was pretty much done in by the end…but it felt so good to walk with strength again!
One thing that’s enabling my healing is that I finally started taking pain meds. I take Roxicodone every few hours, just a few drops, but it’s enough to take the edge off the pain and allow me to sleep in the night, and with less, keep going during the day. This is a serious narcotic, so I’ll only be using it for another week or so, and I only use less than 5mg, about the lowest quantity. (By the way, this is the pain medication that Rush Limbaugh was (is?) addicted to and was busted for doctor shopping to obtain huge amounts of illicit meds.)
The Essay
Here's the essay I wrote to try to win the car. The folks putting it on can be found at http://www.egac.net/. The theme was "On the Road to Survival, What Keeps Me Moving Forward". I didn't win the car, but I was in the "top five", and I met some lovely people.
-------
Living For Love
I was diagnosed with cancer of the throat on October 3, 2006 and am now two weeks from the completion of my treatment. It was devastating to discover that the lump removed from my neck was cancer and that the cancer was somewhere in my throat. I’m a non-smoker, non-drinker, a runner, and a health food nut. At fifty-four, is my life over?
Walking down the hallway at Pueblo Radiology, I came face-to-face with one of Lance Armstrong’s yellow jerseys from the Tour de France. Wow! Lance beat this. Cancer gave him not only a new way of living, but also a reason to live. Cancer showed Lance how to be strong.
I realized that I was alive, I was strong, and I can face my cancer with this strength and survive. But if strength is the engine of my surviving, what is the fuel? What makes me want to survive?
Over the next week I stepped back to the basics we all learn in our childhood: I decided to count my blessings.
In August, just as the original lump started growing, we dropped my daughter Angelika off in Indiana to attend her first year of college. She is so exited to be on her own, learning and growing and blossoming into a compassionate and independent adult. She calls or texts me every day during my treatment to let me know that she loves me.
My eight-year old daughter Jade almost beat me at chess the other night. She snuck up and took my queen and it was only by hard work on my part, and her lack of experience, that I managed to corner her king and save the game. But she’s tasted blood; I know it’s only a matter of time before she beats me. She’s discovered piano and loves it, and keeps the binoculars by the back window for the red-tail hawks behind our house. She helps me with my feeding tube and fetches things when I am in bed after chemo, always with a smile and a laugh, a kiss and a hug.
My wife Shirley, recovering from the initial shock of diagnosis, has become the strongest, most supportive partner I could ever desire. What she offers is beyond day-to-day support. Shirley loves me, without question, and I can feel her love. Unspoken, unremarked, her love is like sunlight in the air, tangible and live-giving.
I am surrounded by love. Pure love, unconditional love. It’s easy to use the words, but to actually feel unconditional love every moment of every day—it’s almost too much. In fact, one of my main challenges has been to learn to receive. From my family, from my loving friends and my dedicated employees, from my doctors and caregivers, love seems to stream over and through me during my treatment, giving me strength, hope, and life. Every day, this love nurtures me, supports me, and allows me to face my challenges and to live—strongly—into the future.
-------
Living For Love
I was diagnosed with cancer of the throat on October 3, 2006 and am now two weeks from the completion of my treatment. It was devastating to discover that the lump removed from my neck was cancer and that the cancer was somewhere in my throat. I’m a non-smoker, non-drinker, a runner, and a health food nut. At fifty-four, is my life over?
Walking down the hallway at Pueblo Radiology, I came face-to-face with one of Lance Armstrong’s yellow jerseys from the Tour de France. Wow! Lance beat this. Cancer gave him not only a new way of living, but also a reason to live. Cancer showed Lance how to be strong.
I realized that I was alive, I was strong, and I can face my cancer with this strength and survive. But if strength is the engine of my surviving, what is the fuel? What makes me want to survive?
Over the next week I stepped back to the basics we all learn in our childhood: I decided to count my blessings.
In August, just as the original lump started growing, we dropped my daughter Angelika off in Indiana to attend her first year of college. She is so exited to be on her own, learning and growing and blossoming into a compassionate and independent adult. She calls or texts me every day during my treatment to let me know that she loves me.
My eight-year old daughter Jade almost beat me at chess the other night. She snuck up and took my queen and it was only by hard work on my part, and her lack of experience, that I managed to corner her king and save the game. But she’s tasted blood; I know it’s only a matter of time before she beats me. She’s discovered piano and loves it, and keeps the binoculars by the back window for the red-tail hawks behind our house. She helps me with my feeding tube and fetches things when I am in bed after chemo, always with a smile and a laugh, a kiss and a hug.
My wife Shirley, recovering from the initial shock of diagnosis, has become the strongest, most supportive partner I could ever desire. What she offers is beyond day-to-day support. Shirley loves me, without question, and I can feel her love. Unspoken, unremarked, her love is like sunlight in the air, tangible and live-giving.
I am surrounded by love. Pure love, unconditional love. It’s easy to use the words, but to actually feel unconditional love every moment of every day—it’s almost too much. In fact, one of my main challenges has been to learn to receive. From my family, from my loving friends and my dedicated employees, from my doctors and caregivers, love seems to stream over and through me during my treatment, giving me strength, hope, and life. Every day, this love nurtures me, supports me, and allows me to face my challenges and to live—strongly—into the future.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
A Rough Week, but Nearly Done
12-18-06
Short update this week. This chemo is nasty stuff and I was sick a lot of the week. Just off. As I mentioned, the chemo drug messes with my DNA and I feel sick, fuzzy, stupid, and completely ‘off’. It’s challenging.
On top of the chemo sickness, my throat is raw and sore from the radiation so I have a weird system of feedback between coughing gunk up from deep in my throat, stimulating the gag reflex, and hitting the urge to throw up that the chemo brings. Not a positive feedback loop let me tell you.
BUT when you are busy feeling sorry for yourself, the Universe will sometimes slap you up the side of your head. This week was the presentation for cancer survivor essay contest at a German car repair place in Carp. I wrote a nice little essay and went to see if I got to drive home in a late-model Mercedes. My essay was read fifth out of 30-some, and I was pleased to hear it read from someone else. But while waiting in the cold I met a family from Santa Maria—a young man of eighteen who had an appointment to attend the fire academy and join the SB Co fire department, but turned up with leukemia during the summer. This young man has been through a system-wide treatment regime for five months now, totally bald, skinny as a rail, with a big smile on his beautiful face. I got that while my treatment isn’t fun, it’s a world better than some. I knew this from talking and remembering Nancy’s treatment a few years back, but to meet this brave man…
I have only one more chemo treatment left, Tuesday, so I’ll be out of action through about Thursday. I have begun twice-a-day radiation until the last day, December 28. The radiotherapy has increased about 20% and is point-focused on the specific tumor area. And it hurts. Still, we’re on the homeward stretch here, so I can grit it out.
Short update this week. This chemo is nasty stuff and I was sick a lot of the week. Just off. As I mentioned, the chemo drug messes with my DNA and I feel sick, fuzzy, stupid, and completely ‘off’. It’s challenging.
On top of the chemo sickness, my throat is raw and sore from the radiation so I have a weird system of feedback between coughing gunk up from deep in my throat, stimulating the gag reflex, and hitting the urge to throw up that the chemo brings. Not a positive feedback loop let me tell you.
BUT when you are busy feeling sorry for yourself, the Universe will sometimes slap you up the side of your head. This week was the presentation for cancer survivor essay contest at a German car repair place in Carp. I wrote a nice little essay and went to see if I got to drive home in a late-model Mercedes. My essay was read fifth out of 30-some, and I was pleased to hear it read from someone else. But while waiting in the cold I met a family from Santa Maria—a young man of eighteen who had an appointment to attend the fire academy and join the SB Co fire department, but turned up with leukemia during the summer. This young man has been through a system-wide treatment regime for five months now, totally bald, skinny as a rail, with a big smile on his beautiful face. I got that while my treatment isn’t fun, it’s a world better than some. I knew this from talking and remembering Nancy’s treatment a few years back, but to meet this brave man…
I have only one more chemo treatment left, Tuesday, so I’ll be out of action through about Thursday. I have begun twice-a-day radiation until the last day, December 28. The radiotherapy has increased about 20% and is point-focused on the specific tumor area. And it hurts. Still, we’re on the homeward stretch here, so I can grit it out.
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