Every year Genevieve and I celebrate my cancerversary, and this July we were thrilled to celebrate my sixteenth. But this year Genevieve and I are celebrating a second kind of cancerversary.
By this time last year, cancer had progressed to my brain, liver, two-thirds of my spine, and the lining in my lungs. I was on oxygen, Genevieve had to wheel me around the hospital because I couldn’t get enough air to walk that far. I slept in a chair for three months because I couldn’t get enough air lying down. I had PleurX drains placed in both lungs so that every other day Genevieve and I could drain the fluid. I was on massive doses of oxycodone and oxycontin for the cancer pain in my spine. Because of the meds, I could barely think.
The first step out of this pit was a “one and done” radiation to most of my spine. Since the radiation travels non-stop in a straight line after it hit the spine, it also nuked my intestines, and I had severe nausea for two weeks. I lost eighteen pounds, and I looked skeletal. My platelet count was so low I couldn’t start chemo. I was sent home with the hope the count would improve by the following week. Instead, my platelets dropped further. That’s when my oncologist had a moment-of-truth conversation with us: I could take a lower dose of chemo and hope the chemo itself wouldn’t kill me, or go home and wait to die.
Of course, I chose to go ahead with chemo (carboplatin + Alimta) plus daily Tagrisso tablets. At that time I thought I had weeks at most to live. Within days I was feeling good enough to ask Genevieve to take me to an indoor mall that was itself on life support, so I could walk a lap. My brother-in-law Lorin stepped in to walk with me as I gradually I increased to two laps around the mall, and then three.
I started tapering off on the pain killers and putting back on the weight. By the time Omicron popped up and made it unsafe to walk indoors the worst of winter had passed and I was feeling just strong enough that Genevieve and I started walking up and down the hills in our neighborhood again every day.
All was going smoothly until a hernia popped up – probably from all that coughing. The surgery pushed back the walking and other exercise another six weeks. Meanwhile, I kept gaining weight and detoxing myself from the oxycodone and oxycontin. It took months, but I was finally free of pain and free of the drugs. When I was also free to exercise, I went back to yardwork and golf along with the daily walks.
Fast forward to last week, when Genevieve and I were in Hawaii for her birthday. It was on her birthday last year that I started chemo. At the time she said she was happy that it was her birthday since it was a gift to her, which should tell you how special she is. This year, we celebrated her birthday and we celebrated my new cancerversary on the same day by walking four-and-a-half-miles on the beach, swimming and body surfing.
Maybe they weren’t this big.
My latest MRI results showed that the brain mets that disappeared six months ago are still gone. My latest CT scan showed the cancer is stable, and the shadows on the liver are behaving themselves. I love seeing my oncologist look so happy because it can only mean I’m doing as well as I feel.
It’s been an incredible year. What a joy it’s been to climb back out, reclaim my health, and celebrate with the love of my life. This isn’t the end of the story, but it’s a pretty good place to stop for now, don’t you think?
Love,
Dann