The cyclical nature of chemo has taken me from the highs of a week ago, feeling good and lively, to the lows of the present, feeling tired and weak. It is part of the dance, a complicated choreography involving me, some cancer cells, and some drugs. I got in between one and two hours at work this morning, before retiring home for sessions of sleep interrupted by sessions of sitting. True to form, C will likely rally me for a short walk tonight, after which I'll go early to bed. Simple living with a foggy head.
It is the unfair burden of the caregiver that more of the household chores fall on C's shoulders during the lows (and probably during the highs, and the pre-cancer years too, but I'll pretend otherwise!). Luckily, we stumbled upon a time saving recipe in the original Joy of Cooking for soup. Recognizing that many are pressed for time, I thought I would share it here:
Cream of Asparagus Soup
Combine:
1 can condensed cream of asparagus soup
1 can condensed chicken broth
1 can condensed cream of mushroom soup
1 1/2 cups milk
Now there is some home cooking! The truly accomplished cooks among you will have recognized that the above recipe can serve as the blueprint for a whole week's worth of meals. Prefer a cream of broccoli soup? Simply substitute 1 can of condensed cream of broccoli soup for the asparagus soup! Cream of chicken? Substitute a can of cream of chicken! Cream of mushroom? Just cut the cream of asparagus altogether! I bet if you are really pressed for time you could leave out the chicken broth and cream of mushroom, scale back the milk, and still call it cream of asparagus soup.
In terms of a status report, my onc doc gave us a "your doing excellent" Wednesday at the last infusion. He can no longer feel the tumor in my abdomen at all. He pronounced that I've been handling chemo just fine. We'll schedule a PET scan following the last treatment, but he expects it will show everything in remission. I expect the same. So now it is just a matter of muscling through these last three treatments and laying the groundwork for a long, long remission period. In the meantime, soup's on.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Savor the Flavor
It would seem I am at risk of turning this blog into an online hiking photo album. Another weekend came and went, and we spent another Saturday out enjoying the sun. The morning was blanketed thick in Anchorage fog. Tired of the gloom, we drove up to Glen Alps, a near-town trail head up in the alpine. Part way up, we breached the low lying clouds and emerged into brilliant blue skies. C let out a squeal and clapped her hands. Just seeing the sky made it all better.
(House above the fog with Mt. Spur in the background.)
(Fog lapping up on the foothills of the Chugach range. That is what we lived in the whole of last week.)
We had no real destination to start with, but ultimately set our sights on Ship Lake Pass. The sun continued to shine, our feet continued to move one in front of the other, and the miles ran away like so many scattering mice. I did tire, and before long we picked a turn around spot not far from the pass itself.
(Standing where we decided to throw in the towel. The Peak on the left is the Ramp. The pass is, well, the pass pictured on the right.)
But we had already come so far! Our we really turning around? Yes. We should stick to our guns. But is it really that much further? Should we just soldier on? Yes. OK, then. To the pass it will be after all.
(At the pass, looking into the further reaches of the Chugach.)
(Looking down on Ship Lake in its fall finery.)
So the hike ended up being something over twelve miles, with something around 3,000 feet of vertical gain. It was a good day in the hills, and we were glad for the views. As we creep up on the end of the third chemo cycle, I've been feeling pretty good, and I'm thankful I could put in a good twelve miles. I've had more energy than at the end of the second cycle. I'm not sure what to credit for that, but I will not complain. C and I went for a run after work today, and the legs felt spry. I was able to push up to a 7:30 pace and hold it for about a mile. Not exactly pre-chemo levels, but it nevertheless felt good to pick up some speed and let the legs loose. And I couldn't have done so at the end of the second cycle.
Now to talk hair. Hair loss is the most obvious manifestation of chemo, and accordingly always a fun topic of conversation. Long time readers will recall a prior post with "then" and "now" photos comparing the bearded, full-head of hair version of Scott with the post clippers version. The truly observant will have noted all along the continued presence of a flavor saver, aka soul patch, aka pretentious patch of hair left behind on my lower lip. The flavor saver started as a joke, something I would wear to work for a few days and then shave off. But soon thereafter my hair started falling out, and I decided to save the saver until the bitter end. The other day, C and I were looking at pictures on the hard drive (remember when you had to do so in albums?) and noted a remarkable change in its appearance. See for yourself. Then (first in profile, second straight on):
And now (in a smaller crop):
The vast majority of my pretentious lower lip hair seems to have fallen out. I knew it had thinned, but didn't really appreciate the degree to which it had done so. At least I still have my eyebrows. With eyebrows, the general public is left wondering: Is he a racist neo-Nazi from Idaho? A straight-edged punk from D.C. circa 1986? Just a lazy guy who prefers low maintenance hair cuts? Once the eyebrows go you really take on the look of a chemo-patient, and all mystery disappears.
I start the fourth cycle tomorrow. Here's to the approaching 2/3 milepost.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
The Sun Will Come Out
It feels like it has been a busy two weeks since I last updated the blog. As previously noted, my parents came to visit. Concern about their baby's health will prompt even my parents to suffer through the rigors of air travel. In case you are wondering what became of the green chiles, we whipped up a quick sauce as evidenced by the following picture:
The sun was actually a very welcome treat. To those of you who have not been living Anchorage's weather on a daily basis, we have set records this summer for crap. So having made it through the worst parts of my third round of treatment and with sunny skies beckoning, we headed to the hills last weekend. On Saturday we walked for four miles or so on the Prospect Heights trials.
We forgot the hand made sign, but I'm holding up a 53 to signify 53 days of chemo. While those of you in warmer climes may not think it, fall is actually approaching fast:
Having decided that the warm weather and exercise were doing us good, we returned to the mountains on Sunday and made 3.5 miles and 2000 vertical feet up Wolverine peak before I turned us around. Unsurprisingly, it was turning to fall in the higher elevations too:
Near our high point, with Denali, Foraker, and the whole of the Alaska Range visible in the background:
At our high point, with vibrant yellow tundra countering the glare from my scalp:
And finally, over looking Anchorage with the airport, Mt. Spur, and another hiker all making an appearance:
The warm (meaning 60 degrees; warm is a relative concept) temperatures continued into Monday, but yesterday the fog rolled in. My best guess is that the sun continues to shine somewhere above the clouds, but visibility in our neighborhood has been cut to a couple of hundred feet. Its like a balmy January out there. But as they say, it is better to have sunned and lost than to have never sunned at all. And the way this summer had been going, we were squarely in the never sunned at all camped a few days ago. I'm glad the break in the weather came at the right time in my treatment cycle.
As far as I know, I know everyone who has ever laid eyes on this blog. But this being the information age, and information wanting to be free and all, there is the (slim) possibility that someone out there stumbled upon this page through the power of Google or by dumb luck. As a newly diagnosed NHL patient, I scoured the web for what information I could glean, and read other's experiences in blogs and forums as a way of getting a handle on what I was facing. If someone similar is reading this, I should note that notwithstanding pictures of sunny mountains and smiling Scotts, R-CHOP is not all daffodils and Belgian beer. I feel good this week, but chemo has had its fair share of "This Sucks" moments, perhaps captured by the following picture taken at my second treatment:
And yes, the picture is sideways. I like to think it is an artistic way of capturing the sideways feeling of bright orange liquid pumping into a valve on your chest, but really it is just that I'm too lazy to open the file in an editor and rotate it.
To wrap up this post (and get myself to bed), I'll just toss out a hello and thanks to T&A in Olivet, France for a CD that just arrived in the mail. Several years ago, C and I traveled through Europe and spent time with T&A in France and Switzerland. We spent a night (or two?) with A's family in a small town outside of Geneva. We spent the nights with A's grandparents with a window overlooking vineyards, and the days at A's parents house, a traditional looking alpine chalet, watching chickens run through the yard. One sunny, comfortable afternoon, C and I were sitting on the back porch. Upstairs, A's brother and a friend had picked up some instruments. The air smells clean, there was probably raclette in the oven, and guitar and accordion music spilling over the balcony. It is a nice memory, and the playing was very good. A's brother and band mates have now finished what is being referred to as a "pre-pre-production" version of a CD, and we just got a copy. Many thanks. The music is cheerful and will remind us of relaxing days in Switzerland.
(Stolen without permission from my Dad's Picasa page.)
In addition to the chiles, my folks brought with them more rain. In contrast, my inlaws came to visit last weekend and brought blueberries and sunshine. When push comes to shove, I like chiles better than berries, but sun better than rain. So, we will call it a wash and say C and I had a nice visit with both families.
The sun was actually a very welcome treat. To those of you who have not been living Anchorage's weather on a daily basis, we have set records this summer for crap. So having made it through the worst parts of my third round of treatment and with sunny skies beckoning, we headed to the hills last weekend. On Saturday we walked for four miles or so on the Prospect Heights trials.
We forgot the hand made sign, but I'm holding up a 53 to signify 53 days of chemo. While those of you in warmer climes may not think it, fall is actually approaching fast:
Having decided that the warm weather and exercise were doing us good, we returned to the mountains on Sunday and made 3.5 miles and 2000 vertical feet up Wolverine peak before I turned us around. Unsurprisingly, it was turning to fall in the higher elevations too:
Near our high point, with Denali, Foraker, and the whole of the Alaska Range visible in the background:
At our high point, with vibrant yellow tundra countering the glare from my scalp:
And finally, over looking Anchorage with the airport, Mt. Spur, and another hiker all making an appearance:
The warm (meaning 60 degrees; warm is a relative concept) temperatures continued into Monday, but yesterday the fog rolled in. My best guess is that the sun continues to shine somewhere above the clouds, but visibility in our neighborhood has been cut to a couple of hundred feet. Its like a balmy January out there. But as they say, it is better to have sunned and lost than to have never sunned at all. And the way this summer had been going, we were squarely in the never sunned at all camped a few days ago. I'm glad the break in the weather came at the right time in my treatment cycle.
As far as I know, I know everyone who has ever laid eyes on this blog. But this being the information age, and information wanting to be free and all, there is the (slim) possibility that someone out there stumbled upon this page through the power of Google or by dumb luck. As a newly diagnosed NHL patient, I scoured the web for what information I could glean, and read other's experiences in blogs and forums as a way of getting a handle on what I was facing. If someone similar is reading this, I should note that notwithstanding pictures of sunny mountains and smiling Scotts, R-CHOP is not all daffodils and Belgian beer. I feel good this week, but chemo has had its fair share of "This Sucks" moments, perhaps captured by the following picture taken at my second treatment:
And yes, the picture is sideways. I like to think it is an artistic way of capturing the sideways feeling of bright orange liquid pumping into a valve on your chest, but really it is just that I'm too lazy to open the file in an editor and rotate it.
To wrap up this post (and get myself to bed), I'll just toss out a hello and thanks to T&A in Olivet, France for a CD that just arrived in the mail. Several years ago, C and I traveled through Europe and spent time with T&A in France and Switzerland. We spent a night (or two?) with A's family in a small town outside of Geneva. We spent the nights with A's grandparents with a window overlooking vineyards, and the days at A's parents house, a traditional looking alpine chalet, watching chickens run through the yard. One sunny, comfortable afternoon, C and I were sitting on the back porch. Upstairs, A's brother and a friend had picked up some instruments. The air smells clean, there was probably raclette in the oven, and guitar and accordion music spilling over the balcony. It is a nice memory, and the playing was very good. A's brother and band mates have now finished what is being referred to as a "pre-pre-production" version of a CD, and we just got a copy. Many thanks. The music is cheerful and will remind us of relaxing days in Switzerland.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Three Down
I received my third treatment yesterday. That is the third of six. Depending on how you look at it, I'm half way through. The alternate view is I will not be at the half way point until I surface from this batch of side effects. Either way, we're that much closer to bidding adieu to the leather chairs (aside from occasional tuneups, which are limited to one of the 5 primary chemo drugs and should have limited side effects).
Luckily, the Vuelta de Espana (Tour of Spain) bike race is underway. It gives me something to relax to while shaking off the fogginess and leaden tongue.
Short post today. Just a celebratory nod to the passing of time. Some moments you want to last a life time and others can't expire fast enough. My last treatment is on November 3rd. I feel a little like a kid staring at December 25th on the calendar wondering if Christmas will ever really come.
But the really good news is that the chemo seems to be doing what it is designed to do. Previously swollen lymph nodes are undetectable. The other good news is that my blood counts were good this round. I have a blood draw every three weeks prior to a treatment to analyze various parameters of my red and white blood cells. Prior to the second treatment, my white cell counts were on the low side of borderline. As such, I've started getting a shot to boost production, and it seemed to work. Counts were good; treatment a go.
Luckily, the Vuelta de Espana (Tour of Spain) bike race is underway. It gives me something to relax to while shaking off the fogginess and leaden tongue.
Short post today. Just a celebratory nod to the passing of time. Some moments you want to last a life time and others can't expire fast enough. My last treatment is on November 3rd. I feel a little like a kid staring at December 25th on the calendar wondering if Christmas will ever really come.
But the really good news is that the chemo seems to be doing what it is designed to do. Previously swollen lymph nodes are undetectable. The other good news is that my blood counts were good this round. I have a blood draw every three weeks prior to a treatment to analyze various parameters of my red and white blood cells. Prior to the second treatment, my white cell counts were on the low side of borderline. As such, I've started getting a shot to boost production, and it seemed to work. Counts were good; treatment a go.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Cure What Ails You
Back between schooling, I spent a couple of years living and working as an environmental consultant in New Jersey. Those years were characterized by a continual down sizing of vehicles. I arrived in the Garden State, wild-eyed and green behind the ears, driving a Nissan 4wd pickup. I eventually traded the truck in for a Hyundai hatch back with gas mileage and handling better suited to Jersey's roads. And in the end, I sold the Hyundai and decided to live carless and carefree for my remaining months in Princeton.
I had a six mile commute to work, and daily shouldered clean work clothes on my back as I turned to my bike for day-to-day moving to and fro. One day on my way to work, I was cruising through a residential neighborhood and spotted another cyclist ahead of me, apparently also heading to work. He was on a too-small bike with an un-lubed chain, wearing work boots, and shouldering a lawn mower. As near as I could tell, every property owner in the greater Princeton area had an immaculate lawn and beautiful garden, and not a single owner ever tended to his or her own lawn care needs. Clearly the gentleman ahead of me played at least a small role in that care, and probably had a job that day at one of the houses up the street.
Of course I did what comes naturally. I shifted to a larger gear, increased my cadence, hunched lower over my handle bars, and started quickly closing the distance between me and my new "rabbit." It didn't take long, and after awhile I passed the other cyclist in great haste with a short wave and a "good morning," which may or may not have been audible over the great roar of wind I imagined my wake was kicking up. It wasn't too much longer before I (figuratively) stopped to think, "Geez! Do you really feel the need to race a guy hauling a friggin' lawn mower?"
And the answer? Well, not so much race, but yes, apparently I do feel compelled to chase down my rabbits. On reflection, I don't attribute this to an overblown sense of competition. I didn't feel like I had beat the other guy at anything, particularly since he didn't even know he was playing. But I do like the challenge of catching someone in front of me. It provides a focus to push harder than I otherwise might. Today in races, whether running or biking, where I comfortably cross the finish line in the middle to back of the pack and win nothing, I spend the entire time reeling in whoever is in front and push a little harder because of it.
All of this is just a lengthy lead in to the fact that now it is frustrating to go out for a run and feel like I'm incapable of reeling in anyone. The rabbits all bound away up the trail. As noted in a prior post, during the first treatment cycle I recovered and was able to put in a final run at a pace near my pre-chemo running pace. I didn't really reach that point this time. We went for a run last Sunday, and while I was glad to get out and glad to be running, I never felt like turning the legs over at a higher cadence. Nevertheless, I hope and plan to maintain some level of running in the weeks still remaining.
My folks are up and visiting in Alaska. I have said for years that New Mexico green chile will cure what ails you. Now I have a chance to try to prove it. Mom and Dad packed 14 pounds of frozen roasted green chile, and so long as my stomach continues to tolerate it, I plan to eat my fill. I'll see if it fixes any of my ailments and allows for rabbit chasing again.
I had a six mile commute to work, and daily shouldered clean work clothes on my back as I turned to my bike for day-to-day moving to and fro. One day on my way to work, I was cruising through a residential neighborhood and spotted another cyclist ahead of me, apparently also heading to work. He was on a too-small bike with an un-lubed chain, wearing work boots, and shouldering a lawn mower. As near as I could tell, every property owner in the greater Princeton area had an immaculate lawn and beautiful garden, and not a single owner ever tended to his or her own lawn care needs. Clearly the gentleman ahead of me played at least a small role in that care, and probably had a job that day at one of the houses up the street.
Of course I did what comes naturally. I shifted to a larger gear, increased my cadence, hunched lower over my handle bars, and started quickly closing the distance between me and my new "rabbit." It didn't take long, and after awhile I passed the other cyclist in great haste with a short wave and a "good morning," which may or may not have been audible over the great roar of wind I imagined my wake was kicking up. It wasn't too much longer before I (figuratively) stopped to think, "Geez! Do you really feel the need to race a guy hauling a friggin' lawn mower?"
And the answer? Well, not so much race, but yes, apparently I do feel compelled to chase down my rabbits. On reflection, I don't attribute this to an overblown sense of competition. I didn't feel like I had beat the other guy at anything, particularly since he didn't even know he was playing. But I do like the challenge of catching someone in front of me. It provides a focus to push harder than I otherwise might. Today in races, whether running or biking, where I comfortably cross the finish line in the middle to back of the pack and win nothing, I spend the entire time reeling in whoever is in front and push a little harder because of it.
All of this is just a lengthy lead in to the fact that now it is frustrating to go out for a run and feel like I'm incapable of reeling in anyone. The rabbits all bound away up the trail. As noted in a prior post, during the first treatment cycle I recovered and was able to put in a final run at a pace near my pre-chemo running pace. I didn't really reach that point this time. We went for a run last Sunday, and while I was glad to get out and glad to be running, I never felt like turning the legs over at a higher cadence. Nevertheless, I hope and plan to maintain some level of running in the weeks still remaining.
My folks are up and visiting in Alaska. I have said for years that New Mexico green chile will cure what ails you. Now I have a chance to try to prove it. Mom and Dad packed 14 pounds of frozen roasted green chile, and so long as my stomach continues to tolerate it, I plan to eat my fill. I'll see if it fixes any of my ailments and allows for rabbit chasing again.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Welcome Back
"Hey, Scott is back!" I may be paraphrasing a bit (albeit only a slight bit), but that quote more or less sums up C's reaction last Saturday. Saturday was the day I resurfaced from the dopey chemotherapy haze. By resurfacing, I mean my personality, sense of humor, and other components of our day to day reactions have come back into play. This was actually a day later than occurred during the first cycle. Last time it happened on Friday, and C was expecting and looking for "giggle Friday." Well, giggle Saturday will just have to do.
Resurfacing notwithstanding, I'm still a tired puppy. Sunday might illustrate the degree to which we have become, well, pretty boring. ("Become boring?" some might ask. "As if that is a new development!") Friends K, Big W, and Little W called up on the telephone to announce the imminent delivery of a smoked chicken. (As an aside, thanks for the smoked chicken! Delicious!) Big W got a smoker sometime back, and did what comes natural to any smoker owner: he smoked a load of ribs and four chickens. One of the chickens got directed our way. K calls at 7:30. Mind you, C spent the day feeling a little under the weather and planned an early bedtime. I seem to have an early bedtime regardless by virtue of getting tired early. C answered the phone, and while I can't be certain how the exchange went, I assume it went something like this:
K: "Hey, I'm going to bring you a chicken!"
C: "Tonight?"
K: "Yea, we'll be over pretty soon."
C: "Pretty soon? Like in fifteen minutes? I'll be asleep at 8:00. I mean your chicken sounds great and all..."
K: "What are you? Six?"
Embrace your early bedtime, I say! The revolution may not be televised, but had certainly better be over by dinner time.
In other news, the hair loss seems to have stabilized. I'll be interested to see what that means. Do I have the hairs that survived the first round of chemo, but are waiting to fall prey to the second? Or do I have the hairs that laugh in the face of poison and will ride out the whole circus? Are my eyebrows safe? I'm guessing no, but time will tell.
Resurfacing notwithstanding, I'm still a tired puppy. Sunday might illustrate the degree to which we have become, well, pretty boring. ("Become boring?" some might ask. "As if that is a new development!") Friends K, Big W, and Little W called up on the telephone to announce the imminent delivery of a smoked chicken. (As an aside, thanks for the smoked chicken! Delicious!) Big W got a smoker sometime back, and did what comes natural to any smoker owner: he smoked a load of ribs and four chickens. One of the chickens got directed our way. K calls at 7:30. Mind you, C spent the day feeling a little under the weather and planned an early bedtime. I seem to have an early bedtime regardless by virtue of getting tired early. C answered the phone, and while I can't be certain how the exchange went, I assume it went something like this:
K: "Hey, I'm going to bring you a chicken!"
C: "Tonight?"
K: "Yea, we'll be over pretty soon."
C: "Pretty soon? Like in fifteen minutes? I'll be asleep at 8:00. I mean your chicken sounds great and all..."
K: "What are you? Six?"
Embrace your early bedtime, I say! The revolution may not be televised, but had certainly better be over by dinner time.
In other news, the hair loss seems to have stabilized. I'll be interested to see what that means. Do I have the hairs that survived the first round of chemo, but are waiting to fall prey to the second? Or do I have the hairs that laugh in the face of poison and will ride out the whole circus? Are my eyebrows safe? I'm guessing no, but time will tell.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Blueberry Fields Forever
Today's distraction from chemotherapy came in the form of a lesson in micro-investing. A couple of years ago, I watched and enjoyed two documentaries about mountain biking: Off Road to Athens and 24 Solo. Last year I learned, probably as a result of putting my e-mail address on one too many spam lists, that the film makers were working on a new film project following Team Columbia at the 2009 Tour de France. The film makers were seeking micro investors. In short, the film makers requested a donation of $100. In exchange, an investor would receive a free DVD and repayment of the $100 once production was done and costs were recouped. I figured, why not? I liked the first two movies, was very interested in the new one, and wanted to see the film made. At best, I would get an approximate 30% return on the investment (cost of the DVD); at worst the project would fail, my money would disappear, and I would be staring in the face of a reckless expenditure.
Well, today the postal service delivered a copy of the film on DVD and a check for $100. Assuming the check clears, we've got a best case scenario. Anyway, I was glad to have played a (minor) role in helping the film along and look forward to the movie (which, by the by, has been well reviewed).
Slow days in the fighting lymphoma realm. If the first two cycles are any indication, the days following an infusion are characterized by a fair degree of listlessness, sprinkled with liberal doses of napping. Yesterday we broke routine to join Family C-T up at Glen Alps for some afternoon berry picking. Despite appearances at our house, the mountains captured the first sunshine Anchorage has seen since... April? It was a short walk and a good afternoon, although I again had to nap when we got back home. I spent a few hours at work today, and will spend a few more hours there tomorrow.
C and I went for a short walk in the rain this evening. As we were headed home, we passed two kids on bikes peddling around an alley. One kid coached the other, explaining: "As you peddle, do a pop-a-wheelie, or whatever." I thought I would include those words here now because I think each of us can learn a little something from his wisdom.
Well, today the postal service delivered a copy of the film on DVD and a check for $100. Assuming the check clears, we've got a best case scenario. Anyway, I was glad to have played a (minor) role in helping the film along and look forward to the movie (which, by the by, has been well reviewed).
Slow days in the fighting lymphoma realm. If the first two cycles are any indication, the days following an infusion are characterized by a fair degree of listlessness, sprinkled with liberal doses of napping. Yesterday we broke routine to join Family C-T up at Glen Alps for some afternoon berry picking. Despite appearances at our house, the mountains captured the first sunshine Anchorage has seen since... April? It was a short walk and a good afternoon, although I again had to nap when we got back home. I spent a few hours at work today, and will spend a few more hours there tomorrow.
C and I went for a short walk in the rain this evening. As we were headed home, we passed two kids on bikes peddling around an alley. One kid coached the other, explaining: "As you peddle, do a pop-a-wheelie, or whatever." I thought I would include those words here now because I think each of us can learn a little something from his wisdom.
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