It's been three weeks now since my last chemotherapy treatment and I'm starting to feel a little bit normal again. As most of you are aware, I had a bone marrow biopsy and it came back showing no more cancer. It also showed that my bone marrow was at about 30% cellularity, which basically means that the chemo I've had so far has killed its ability to produce new cells to a point at which further treatments would be potentially too damaging to my body. My doctor, in the interest of not 'overtreating' me, has decided to suspend further chemo in light of these results. That of course means that I'm done with chemo, and that my cancer is effectively gone. However, my path to full recovery is far from over.
I have an appointment with my doctor this week to find out what will happen with the maintenance chemotherapy I'll be on for the next year and a half or so. This will be very low dose treatments that I'll take, mostly in pill form. They will be nothing like the chemo I've received so far. I will be able to take most of them as an outpatient. This is a huge relief to me, since I think that one more hospital stay at this point may have pushed me over the edge. I'd had enough, to be sure. My body is severely compromised. Psychologically I was getting close to what I could handle. There's only so much 'survival mode' a person can deal with. And I was just about ready to break. I'm incredibly relieved and thankful that I can move on to the next stage of things and begin to heal. I am excited to get back to work, to get back to my normal daily life. I'm so excited to get my body back and to be able to play again.
This stage of the process has its challenges. Yes I'm done with chemo now, but that doesn't mean I'm automatically better. It will take months for my body to detoxify from all of the chemicals its been subjected to. It will take months for me to regain a normal level of energy. I will do the best I can to rehabilitate myself. But it's not a fast process. I want this to be over, but it just isn't, and won't be for a long time. That isn't any reason to dispair, however. It's just the reality of where I'm at. The other tough thing for me at this point is to taper off the pain medication I've been taking. I probably experience as many negative side effects from the pain meds as I do from the chemo. And I can't just stop taking them all at once. I have to slowly decrease the amount I take each day so I don't have really awful withdrawal symptoms. It's not easy, still. But I'm so happy to be here, and not still in the midst of chemotherapy and the daily nausea. That's something that seems to be fading away a little more each day. Pretty soon I won't be sick to my stomach at all, and I am thrilled for that to come.
I feel like I've escaped from jail. I have this sense of freedom that I'd been dreaming about for months. And now that I'm finally feeling this way, I'm wondering what to do with it, what to do with myself. One of the things that has been on my mind quite a bit is that I want to be a resource for people going through cancer. I think that the most significant thing I wish I'd had more of is access to other people who had gone through a similar experience. Sure, I talked with people who had had cancer and gone through chemo themselves. But I think I would have liked to have someone who I could rely on more like a counselor. That's a lot to ask of somebody, but it's something I'd like to do for others if possible. The thing is, it's hard to relate to something so extreme if you haven't gone through it yourself. And one of the most difficult things for me to deal with was feeling alone a lot of the time. I wasn't literally alone, but I did feel isolated in my experience. So I want to be able to help someone else not feel that way. To answer their questions, listen to their complaints, be there for them to express their fears and concerns. Like I've said before, I had incredible support from my friends and family. But I honestly didn't want to burden them with any anxiety I was feeling. I know I could have, and I did at times. But you don't want your loved ones to worry about you, or to think you're not doing ok. They are scared enough as it is.
I don't think I'll ever be able to express enough gratitude for the support I've received from so many of you. Going through something like this is a huge emotional burden. And so many of you helped to lift that from me on so many different occasions. I really can't count the number of times I cried, feeling overwhelmed by someone's expression of concern, or just by the very fact that they were thinking of me. Those gestures of support are what carried me through this. I really never felt like I was facing the end of my life. But I certainly felt really really far away from the reality I'd known, and it was pretty scary at times. So having someone reach out would help bring me back from that far away scary place.
So, there's a long way to go. But that isn't much different than the normal reality of life. There's always more to do, more to experience. And even if some of it is difficult or unpleasant, it's better than the alternative of no experience at all. I'm so grateful to get to move on to this next phase. To begin to really heal. I'm so grateful to all of you who've been following my experience with cancer, it means a lot to me. Thank you. I will keep on going, and I know you will too. It's what we do. And hopefully this crazy bump in the road will provide us all with a little more meaning.
Love,
Chris
Monday, November 12, 2012
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Round 6 Update
It's been a while since I've written a post, so I wanted to fill you all in on the latest news. Recovery from Round 6 has been fairly rough thus far. I've had more pain in general with this round than with any other by a long shot. I had a blood transfusion this past Tuesday, which helped how I was feeling. But then by Thursday I was starting to get sick. So on Thursday evening I was admitted to the hospital with a fever and I've been there ever since.
There are a couple of important developments with my situation that I want to share with you. First off, my body has been getting progressively weaker with each round. This is normal with chemotherapy. One of the things that is affected most is my bone marrow's ability to produce new blood cells. So my blood counts, which get knocked out with each round of chemo, are bouncing back more slowly each time. Before I started the sixth round my blood platelets were low enough that I had to wait an extra week to start. After having received the sixth round, my counts are similarly low. So, there is a question around this issue. If my body isn't producing platelets and other blood cells, then it is possible that I've reached the limit of the amount of chemotherapy I can receive. The goal is to kill cancer cells, but not to completely decimate my bone marrow. One other possibility is that my disease is causing this issue. In other words, it's possible that there is cancer in my bone marrow and that's why it's not working like it should.
Now, based on my understanding of chemotherapy, combined with my experience undergoing chemotherapy, and keeping in mind the positive progress I've made so far with treatment, I believe that my weakened bone marrow is the result of the chemo. We will find out one way or the other this week. My doctor has scheduled a bone marrow biopsy that will determine just what is going on in there, and why I'm not producing blood like a normal person any more. This has some pretty big implications. It could mean I'm done with chemo, and can move on to the maintenance treatment. It could mean that the treatment I've received hasn't worked and that I'll have to try something else. Or it may indicate that I do need the last couple of rounds to finish off what I've started here.
I'm excited about this biopsy, being the optimistic person that I am. But there are certainly some scary potential outcomes. Mostly I just want what I'm going through to change, because it's getting close to the point of ridiculously difficult to endure. For now, I'll be in the hospital for another few days at the most. I'll get some more blood, and when my white counts come up either tomorrow or the day after I'll be able to head home. There's so much going on right now, so many things feel dynamic to me. We have the end of October, which to me has always represented the beginning of the end. We have the election looming next week. We're fast approaching the end of what has been an absolutely insane year. I am so ready to take this year's worth of experiences and apply them to my renewed life.
I'll post again when I get the bone marrow biopsy results. Wish me luck. Love you all!
cd
There are a couple of important developments with my situation that I want to share with you. First off, my body has been getting progressively weaker with each round. This is normal with chemotherapy. One of the things that is affected most is my bone marrow's ability to produce new blood cells. So my blood counts, which get knocked out with each round of chemo, are bouncing back more slowly each time. Before I started the sixth round my blood platelets were low enough that I had to wait an extra week to start. After having received the sixth round, my counts are similarly low. So, there is a question around this issue. If my body isn't producing platelets and other blood cells, then it is possible that I've reached the limit of the amount of chemotherapy I can receive. The goal is to kill cancer cells, but not to completely decimate my bone marrow. One other possibility is that my disease is causing this issue. In other words, it's possible that there is cancer in my bone marrow and that's why it's not working like it should.
Now, based on my understanding of chemotherapy, combined with my experience undergoing chemotherapy, and keeping in mind the positive progress I've made so far with treatment, I believe that my weakened bone marrow is the result of the chemo. We will find out one way or the other this week. My doctor has scheduled a bone marrow biopsy that will determine just what is going on in there, and why I'm not producing blood like a normal person any more. This has some pretty big implications. It could mean I'm done with chemo, and can move on to the maintenance treatment. It could mean that the treatment I've received hasn't worked and that I'll have to try something else. Or it may indicate that I do need the last couple of rounds to finish off what I've started here.
I'm excited about this biopsy, being the optimistic person that I am. But there are certainly some scary potential outcomes. Mostly I just want what I'm going through to change, because it's getting close to the point of ridiculously difficult to endure. For now, I'll be in the hospital for another few days at the most. I'll get some more blood, and when my white counts come up either tomorrow or the day after I'll be able to head home. There's so much going on right now, so many things feel dynamic to me. We have the end of October, which to me has always represented the beginning of the end. We have the election looming next week. We're fast approaching the end of what has been an absolutely insane year. I am so ready to take this year's worth of experiences and apply them to my renewed life.
I'll post again when I get the bone marrow biopsy results. Wish me luck. Love you all!
cd
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Reinvention
Every day I think about what I'm going to do, what life will be like when I'm finished with chemotherapy. In a lot of ways I have a blank canvas to work with. And so it's fun to consider all the different ways in which I could fill it in. The life I had before I was diagnosed is effectively gone. My apartment is gone, my old lifestyle is gone, my old body is gone. I will need to recreate all of those things for myself. It's exciting to think about. And it provides me with a lot of motivation. It feels both very close and very far away. Time is crawling by, and is flying by at the same time.
I've had a few opportunities in my life to sort of reinvent myself. A chance to choose a new place to live, and to make decisions about my lifestyle or the ways in which I will spend my time that can be a little more difficult to make when you're in a routine. They have always been times of significant change and growth for me. Because when these fresh starts have been made, they've represented internal change as much as external. That's definitely the case now. It's safe to say that being diagnosed with cancer and going through chemotherapy treatment is the most significant and most challenging thing I've ever experienced, by a long shot. I feel like my entire life was erased, wiped away. And for a while it was pretty scary, because I wasn't really sure whether I would ever get it back again. There are still plenty of things up in the air, but I feel really confident that I will get a chance to live a healthy life again soon. As I move closer to the end of my treatment I can taste the freedom that comes with this opportunity to start fresh again. And it's delicious.
Imagine if everything you had was taken away, and you could decide what to replace it with. Some things you would want to keep of course. And thankfully I have the good fate to be able to keep some of my favorite things in my life. But really take a moment some time and consider what is pleasing and fulfilling about your day to day existence, and what isn't. Take a moment to imagine what you might change if you could. I'm willing to bet that if there is anything you would change, you could probably change it. Some things we feel stuck with, and we decide to keep or to commit to even though we're not thrilled about them. But other things are simply there and become sort of invisible. Things that we really don't like, or wouldn't like if we had a chance to really examine them. It's not easy to do this, because it's hard to step back out of your self far enough to see these things. But for me, there were some ways in which I was thinking about my life, and some behaviors that were inspired by that thinking, that I am extremely glad to have lost. And I know that I will be a happier person for it going forward.
Being sick or unwell is a psychological challenge. It's a constant battle for me. I feel up, then I feel down, and when I feel down it can feel like the deepest hole, impossible to climb out of. But this shining future that I can see sitting on the horizon keeps me going forward. I know I'll make it there, even when it seems really really far away. And the moments in which I get a chance to connect with someone, or feel a little bit normal, and the moments in which someone shares something from their heart with me, those things keep me going. And the encouragement I've received from so many of you. The words of reinforcement and strength and love that so many of you have shared. Those things keep me going. Like I said, this is the hardest thing I've ever done. I'm not sure I could have done it without you. Thank you, I love you all, and I will definitely see you on the other side.
I've had a few opportunities in my life to sort of reinvent myself. A chance to choose a new place to live, and to make decisions about my lifestyle or the ways in which I will spend my time that can be a little more difficult to make when you're in a routine. They have always been times of significant change and growth for me. Because when these fresh starts have been made, they've represented internal change as much as external. That's definitely the case now. It's safe to say that being diagnosed with cancer and going through chemotherapy treatment is the most significant and most challenging thing I've ever experienced, by a long shot. I feel like my entire life was erased, wiped away. And for a while it was pretty scary, because I wasn't really sure whether I would ever get it back again. There are still plenty of things up in the air, but I feel really confident that I will get a chance to live a healthy life again soon. As I move closer to the end of my treatment I can taste the freedom that comes with this opportunity to start fresh again. And it's delicious.
Imagine if everything you had was taken away, and you could decide what to replace it with. Some things you would want to keep of course. And thankfully I have the good fate to be able to keep some of my favorite things in my life. But really take a moment some time and consider what is pleasing and fulfilling about your day to day existence, and what isn't. Take a moment to imagine what you might change if you could. I'm willing to bet that if there is anything you would change, you could probably change it. Some things we feel stuck with, and we decide to keep or to commit to even though we're not thrilled about them. But other things are simply there and become sort of invisible. Things that we really don't like, or wouldn't like if we had a chance to really examine them. It's not easy to do this, because it's hard to step back out of your self far enough to see these things. But for me, there were some ways in which I was thinking about my life, and some behaviors that were inspired by that thinking, that I am extremely glad to have lost. And I know that I will be a happier person for it going forward.
Being sick or unwell is a psychological challenge. It's a constant battle for me. I feel up, then I feel down, and when I feel down it can feel like the deepest hole, impossible to climb out of. But this shining future that I can see sitting on the horizon keeps me going forward. I know I'll make it there, even when it seems really really far away. And the moments in which I get a chance to connect with someone, or feel a little bit normal, and the moments in which someone shares something from their heart with me, those things keep me going. And the encouragement I've received from so many of you. The words of reinforcement and strength and love that so many of you have shared. Those things keep me going. Like I said, this is the hardest thing I've ever done. I'm not sure I could have done it without you. Thank you, I love you all, and I will definitely see you on the other side.
Monday, October 1, 2012
Rare Earth
Whoa, it hit me kind of hard this morning. I stepped into the shower and that song, 'I Just Want To Celebrate' was in my head. You know, the 1971 smash hit by Rare Earth. And as I started paying attention to the words I realized that I haven't been celebrating each day. I haven't been enjoying each day of my life. I haven't even been appreciating them.
It was another difficult week in chemotherapy land. I managed to make it through the blood count nadir this time without having to spend a night in the hospital, which is fantastic. But almost every day for the past week has been really unpleasant. I've had this intense stomach pain and nausea which have eliminated my appetite, caused me to throw up, and basically killed any and all joy I may otherwise have been experiencing.
On Saturday I went over to the hospital and they gave me a blood transfusion. And now, a couple of days later, I'm feeling much better than I had been. I'm still a bit queasy, but nothing like before. So I guess when I 'heard' that song in my head this morning I was a little more receptive to the message. What struck me right away was this emotional pang of sadness that I would spend my days in this beautiful world without appreciating them. I immediately thought of my family and the huge amount of love we feel for each other. And I couldn't imagine how I could possibly not appreciate every single moment I get to share with them.
The other thought I had was about having cancer. There are a couple of things here. First, if there's any lesson that someone with cancer, or any other potentially fatal illness, ought to learn, you would think it would be to appreciate each day, right? I mean, what could possibly create a clearer perspective on how valuable each day is than the possibility of having them taken away? And the truth is, I do feel this way. I am indeed more grateful than I can express to still be alive and breathing, and to be connected in any way to all of you. Because the second part of this of course is the reality that this might be it for me. I could realistically spend the rest of my life in treatment, physically miserable, and then die, never having regained my full health. I'm not saying I think that will happen, I don't. But it is a possible outcome, and so I thought about it. And that idea made me feel pretty sad as well. Not sad that I could die, but sad that I could spend the rest of my life unhappy.
It's pretty hard to be happy when you feel like crap. I'm not sure what it is, and maybe it's just me, but there just isn't much joy in feeling physical pain and discomfort all day and night. It's hard to step out of it, is the problem. It draws you in and sort of envelopes you in a dark and foggy haze, and you just have to wait it out. I often find myself literally curled up in a ball, breathing my way through that fog, just letting the time pass until it's gone. But the thing is, I'd rather live out each day, even if it happens to include experiencing that kind of pain, than to not be alive at all. Part of that has to do with me believing that I won't feel this way for much longer, and I'll be able to return to a pretty normal life. But part of it is simply my appreciation for the opportunity to experience life, no matter what it contains. Any experience is better than no experience at all. And that is the underlying concept that I can return to that allows me to appreciate each and every day, for exactly whatever it happens to be. After all, it's a day that I get to live. It's full of moments that I get to experience. All of those moments provide me with the opportunity to learn, to grow as a person, or simply to take them in and let them inform who I am.
I may not feel like celebrating each day. And frankly, for a lot of days, celebration would be a little much, don't you think? Some days are just barely survivable. But every single day is worth appreciating. It's another gift, another chance to feel, to express, to be. And so, I appreciate today. I appreciate that I am here to experience it. And that I can share that with you.
Love,
Chris
It was another difficult week in chemotherapy land. I managed to make it through the blood count nadir this time without having to spend a night in the hospital, which is fantastic. But almost every day for the past week has been really unpleasant. I've had this intense stomach pain and nausea which have eliminated my appetite, caused me to throw up, and basically killed any and all joy I may otherwise have been experiencing.
On Saturday I went over to the hospital and they gave me a blood transfusion. And now, a couple of days later, I'm feeling much better than I had been. I'm still a bit queasy, but nothing like before. So I guess when I 'heard' that song in my head this morning I was a little more receptive to the message. What struck me right away was this emotional pang of sadness that I would spend my days in this beautiful world without appreciating them. I immediately thought of my family and the huge amount of love we feel for each other. And I couldn't imagine how I could possibly not appreciate every single moment I get to share with them.
The other thought I had was about having cancer. There are a couple of things here. First, if there's any lesson that someone with cancer, or any other potentially fatal illness, ought to learn, you would think it would be to appreciate each day, right? I mean, what could possibly create a clearer perspective on how valuable each day is than the possibility of having them taken away? And the truth is, I do feel this way. I am indeed more grateful than I can express to still be alive and breathing, and to be connected in any way to all of you. Because the second part of this of course is the reality that this might be it for me. I could realistically spend the rest of my life in treatment, physically miserable, and then die, never having regained my full health. I'm not saying I think that will happen, I don't. But it is a possible outcome, and so I thought about it. And that idea made me feel pretty sad as well. Not sad that I could die, but sad that I could spend the rest of my life unhappy.
It's pretty hard to be happy when you feel like crap. I'm not sure what it is, and maybe it's just me, but there just isn't much joy in feeling physical pain and discomfort all day and night. It's hard to step out of it, is the problem. It draws you in and sort of envelopes you in a dark and foggy haze, and you just have to wait it out. I often find myself literally curled up in a ball, breathing my way through that fog, just letting the time pass until it's gone. But the thing is, I'd rather live out each day, even if it happens to include experiencing that kind of pain, than to not be alive at all. Part of that has to do with me believing that I won't feel this way for much longer, and I'll be able to return to a pretty normal life. But part of it is simply my appreciation for the opportunity to experience life, no matter what it contains. Any experience is better than no experience at all. And that is the underlying concept that I can return to that allows me to appreciate each and every day, for exactly whatever it happens to be. After all, it's a day that I get to live. It's full of moments that I get to experience. All of those moments provide me with the opportunity to learn, to grow as a person, or simply to take them in and let them inform who I am.
I may not feel like celebrating each day. And frankly, for a lot of days, celebration would be a little much, don't you think? Some days are just barely survivable. But every single day is worth appreciating. It's another gift, another chance to feel, to express, to be. And so, I appreciate today. I appreciate that I am here to experience it. And that I can share that with you.
Love,
Chris
Monday, September 24, 2012
Just Keep Going
Hello again. It's been a long past week. I spent about six days in the hospital receiving round 5 of my chemotherapy treatment. Each of the rounds alternate between two different regimens of drugs. So that means I only have to do this particular regimen one more time before I'm done, in round 7. The typical pattern I've experienced is that it takes me a couple of days to recover from a round of treatment. So when I return home from the hospital I'll have two to three days of feeling pretty rough, and things ease gradually until I'm back to a more normal state. In the past I've gone through this short recovery period and then had to undergo more treatment the following week. So just when I was feeling good again I would get knocked back down by a nice dose of poison to the brain. This round is the first time I don't have those follow up treatments. I'm extremely happy about this. Right now I'm at my most vulnerable. My blood counts are low and my immune system is on the fritz. I'm finally recovering from what was a fairly uncomfortable and challenging round of treatment physically. And so to be allowed to continue to rest and feel better each day is a huge deal.
I've been living this reality of having cancer for about three months now, but I'm still adjusting to the idea of it. It's just so foreign to me that I would be this sick, this far from healthy and functional. I go to the cancer clinic for my appointments with my oncologist and I'm almost always the youngest person there. Everyone else is old and sick and looks terrible. I'm exaggerating a little, but it's kind of bizarre to be there. I don't feel like I belong. My point is, I am still wrapping my head around this, on a daily basis. Even though I'm immersed in it and just getting pummeled by the reality of it, it just hasn't quite sunk in. Part of me feels like it's a good thing. After all, who wants to be comfortable with the idea of having cancer? I don't intend to ever settle into this. I intend to survive this treatment and move on with my life, healthy and happy as ever. But I have to accept where I'm at. I have to embrace the reality of it, because it takes a lot of will power and resolve to survive cancer, to rebuild your body, and to thrive afterward. So I have to be identified with it, while keeping it at arm's length. At least, that's how I'm thinking about it today. I'm not sure how other people deal with this same dilemma. I do think it would be really helpful for me to talk with others who are in my situation and find out.
I have continued to feel bolstered by the renewed resolve that I experienced before going back to the hospital last week. Accompanying my recommitment to undergoing chemotherapy has been a commitment to surviving chemotherapy, and surviving it well. I don't want to suffer through each day, even if I don't feel good. I want to kick ass. I don't want to crawl around feeling beaten down and defeated. I want to be a rock. I want to be solid and strong. And more and more I'm feeling that way. It's encouraging. And I think it's a huge component of what cancer is all about. Maybe it's the fact that there's nothing I can point to physically in terms of a root cause for my disease. Nothing that I've done that I can say, ok that's why I have this, that's why this has happened. But I just feel that there is a really big psychological factor in cancer. In having it, in beating it. I know there are physical things that caused it to happen. But because I don't know exactly what they are I can only really focus on what I can control. And the biggest thing is my state of mind. It's like the guy who was given a month to live with lung cancer and decided that he would survive. And he did. There's definitely something to that.
Another subtlety of this mental shift of mine has to do with not fighting against the idea that I have cancer. I have it. I have to deal with it. I have to go through this experience. And that's ok. It is what it is anyway. Before I was feeling strongly that I wanted to be doing more during this time. I wanted to be working part time, I wanted to be more productive, I wanted to be doing. Anything. But now I've been able to accept the fact that what I'm going through is intense enough. I don't need to be doing more. What I'm doing is pretty darn tough. So I'm going to put my focus on doing it well. Surviving this so I can really get back to doing the things I love and am excited about when it's all over. And not worrying about the fact that I can't do those things right this minute. Sure, I'm bored at times. And it's part of the challenge for me to be inactive. I find fulfillment in doing things, especially physically active things. So it's really difficult to have to sit out, so to speak, for six months. But right now this is my job. Making it through each day so that I can give back when this is over. That's what motivates me, keeps me going. I am excited thinking about it. And it feels so much better to just take care of what's in front of me, and not to worry about what else I 'should' be doing. This is it right now, and I'm finally feeling ok with that. That's a weight off my shoulders for sure.
I don't know what the next several weeks will bring. It seems like each round of treatment is getting harder for my body to deal with. But there are other things that are getting easier. And I only have three more to go now. Three more weeks of sitting in a hospital bed while the second hand of the clock ticks around. Some days it's all I can do just to let time pass by without losing my cool. But I'm doing it. I'm surviving. I'm outlasting this process. Soon it will be over and the horribleness will fade. The sharpness of my discomfort will fade. I will be able to think clearly, see clearly, hopefully use my voice clearly again. One of the things that clicked for me last year when I was rock climbing all the time was that to succeed you just have to keep going. To persevere. I learned how to make that shift mentally when I was getting close to falling or to feeling like I wouldn't make it. To choose to keep going. Just keep going, I would tell myself. So far that's worked pretty well.
I've been living this reality of having cancer for about three months now, but I'm still adjusting to the idea of it. It's just so foreign to me that I would be this sick, this far from healthy and functional. I go to the cancer clinic for my appointments with my oncologist and I'm almost always the youngest person there. Everyone else is old and sick and looks terrible. I'm exaggerating a little, but it's kind of bizarre to be there. I don't feel like I belong. My point is, I am still wrapping my head around this, on a daily basis. Even though I'm immersed in it and just getting pummeled by the reality of it, it just hasn't quite sunk in. Part of me feels like it's a good thing. After all, who wants to be comfortable with the idea of having cancer? I don't intend to ever settle into this. I intend to survive this treatment and move on with my life, healthy and happy as ever. But I have to accept where I'm at. I have to embrace the reality of it, because it takes a lot of will power and resolve to survive cancer, to rebuild your body, and to thrive afterward. So I have to be identified with it, while keeping it at arm's length. At least, that's how I'm thinking about it today. I'm not sure how other people deal with this same dilemma. I do think it would be really helpful for me to talk with others who are in my situation and find out.
I have continued to feel bolstered by the renewed resolve that I experienced before going back to the hospital last week. Accompanying my recommitment to undergoing chemotherapy has been a commitment to surviving chemotherapy, and surviving it well. I don't want to suffer through each day, even if I don't feel good. I want to kick ass. I don't want to crawl around feeling beaten down and defeated. I want to be a rock. I want to be solid and strong. And more and more I'm feeling that way. It's encouraging. And I think it's a huge component of what cancer is all about. Maybe it's the fact that there's nothing I can point to physically in terms of a root cause for my disease. Nothing that I've done that I can say, ok that's why I have this, that's why this has happened. But I just feel that there is a really big psychological factor in cancer. In having it, in beating it. I know there are physical things that caused it to happen. But because I don't know exactly what they are I can only really focus on what I can control. And the biggest thing is my state of mind. It's like the guy who was given a month to live with lung cancer and decided that he would survive. And he did. There's definitely something to that.
Another subtlety of this mental shift of mine has to do with not fighting against the idea that I have cancer. I have it. I have to deal with it. I have to go through this experience. And that's ok. It is what it is anyway. Before I was feeling strongly that I wanted to be doing more during this time. I wanted to be working part time, I wanted to be more productive, I wanted to be doing. Anything. But now I've been able to accept the fact that what I'm going through is intense enough. I don't need to be doing more. What I'm doing is pretty darn tough. So I'm going to put my focus on doing it well. Surviving this so I can really get back to doing the things I love and am excited about when it's all over. And not worrying about the fact that I can't do those things right this minute. Sure, I'm bored at times. And it's part of the challenge for me to be inactive. I find fulfillment in doing things, especially physically active things. So it's really difficult to have to sit out, so to speak, for six months. But right now this is my job. Making it through each day so that I can give back when this is over. That's what motivates me, keeps me going. I am excited thinking about it. And it feels so much better to just take care of what's in front of me, and not to worry about what else I 'should' be doing. This is it right now, and I'm finally feeling ok with that. That's a weight off my shoulders for sure.
I don't know what the next several weeks will bring. It seems like each round of treatment is getting harder for my body to deal with. But there are other things that are getting easier. And I only have three more to go now. Three more weeks of sitting in a hospital bed while the second hand of the clock ticks around. Some days it's all I can do just to let time pass by without losing my cool. But I'm doing it. I'm surviving. I'm outlasting this process. Soon it will be over and the horribleness will fade. The sharpness of my discomfort will fade. I will be able to think clearly, see clearly, hopefully use my voice clearly again. One of the things that clicked for me last year when I was rock climbing all the time was that to succeed you just have to keep going. To persevere. I learned how to make that shift mentally when I was getting close to falling or to feeling like I wouldn't make it. To choose to keep going. Just keep going, I would tell myself. So far that's worked pretty well.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Committment
With each round of chemotherapy I find myself having to recommit to the process of treatment. This past week, for the first time since I was diagnosed, I began to feel like the cancer I had is gone. Obviously I have no way of knowing whether that's true or not. But intuitively I just feel like it's gone, like I don't have cancer anymore. Even if that's true, the remaining three months of chemotherapy will give me the best chance of avoiding a relapse. And if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that I never want to go through this again. So I find myself recommitting to chemotherapy. Considering the prospect of spending another week in the hospital getting pumped full of drugs, and then dealing with the subsequent side effects.
After this past round and the challenging experience I had with a neutrapenic fever, this recommitment is a challenge. I desperately want to be done with this process. I desperately want my life back, my body back. I want to play outside and spend time with my friends, and to have days during which I don't feel nauseous or exhausted. And I know that I will have those things. When I finish chemotherapy I will be able to return to a normal day to day existence. The problem is that I don't want to live in the future, waiting, on hold. I don't want to spend the next three months thinking that things will only be better when, and so forth. I want to be happy now. I want to feel ok now.
This illustrates the psychological battle of having cancer. Part of it, anyway. The other part being that there are certain things that will never be the same. And there will always be the possibility that it will come back, or that I'll have some kind of long term complications from the chemotherapy, or something else along those lines. I'm not as worried about those things, however. It never helps to worry about something you have absolutely no control over. I can only move forward and try to believe that things will be ok. But this day to day process of waiting out my treatment is taking its toll on me. It's a challenge to stay present and to stay positive, knowing that this will all be over at some point but having to wait for that day to come. I'm hanging in there with it. I'm doing my best. I'm trying as hard as I can to take care of myself.
Yesterday I decided to stop taking pain medication, which I've been taking for the past couple of months every day. So my body is in a bit of turmoil, but it's not as bad as I thought it would be. It got to the point where I was wondering whether the meds were causing me more problems than they were fixing. We'll see how it goes. I may have to take them again. But I think I just needed to know that I didn't need them. The same way I needed to know that undergoing this treatment is a choice I'm making. Not something that was just forced upon my by circumstance.
So I've recommitted to chemotherapy. I've recommitted to the fight. I've recommitted to giving this my all. The same way I do every day. Tomorrow begins round 5 of my treatment. I've officially reached the halfway point. Three months from now I'll be done and I'll be recovering and focusing on healing my body as best I can. For now I will just do my best to survive and to persevere. I will meet each challenge head on, and will face each day with as much courage and strength as I can muster. The support of those around me helps significantly with this. Knowing I'm not alone, and that there are others out there pulling for me makes a huge difference. Thank you for your continued support and love. Round 5, here we come.
After this past round and the challenging experience I had with a neutrapenic fever, this recommitment is a challenge. I desperately want to be done with this process. I desperately want my life back, my body back. I want to play outside and spend time with my friends, and to have days during which I don't feel nauseous or exhausted. And I know that I will have those things. When I finish chemotherapy I will be able to return to a normal day to day existence. The problem is that I don't want to live in the future, waiting, on hold. I don't want to spend the next three months thinking that things will only be better when, and so forth. I want to be happy now. I want to feel ok now.
This illustrates the psychological battle of having cancer. Part of it, anyway. The other part being that there are certain things that will never be the same. And there will always be the possibility that it will come back, or that I'll have some kind of long term complications from the chemotherapy, or something else along those lines. I'm not as worried about those things, however. It never helps to worry about something you have absolutely no control over. I can only move forward and try to believe that things will be ok. But this day to day process of waiting out my treatment is taking its toll on me. It's a challenge to stay present and to stay positive, knowing that this will all be over at some point but having to wait for that day to come. I'm hanging in there with it. I'm doing my best. I'm trying as hard as I can to take care of myself.
Yesterday I decided to stop taking pain medication, which I've been taking for the past couple of months every day. So my body is in a bit of turmoil, but it's not as bad as I thought it would be. It got to the point where I was wondering whether the meds were causing me more problems than they were fixing. We'll see how it goes. I may have to take them again. But I think I just needed to know that I didn't need them. The same way I needed to know that undergoing this treatment is a choice I'm making. Not something that was just forced upon my by circumstance.
So I've recommitted to chemotherapy. I've recommitted to the fight. I've recommitted to giving this my all. The same way I do every day. Tomorrow begins round 5 of my treatment. I've officially reached the halfway point. Three months from now I'll be done and I'll be recovering and focusing on healing my body as best I can. For now I will just do my best to survive and to persevere. I will meet each challenge head on, and will face each day with as much courage and strength as I can muster. The support of those around me helps significantly with this. Knowing I'm not alone, and that there are others out there pulling for me makes a huge difference. Thank you for your continued support and love. Round 5, here we come.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Frying Pans And Fire
I just arrived home this afternoon after spending five days in the hospital. I had checked in this past Thursday morning with a fever, knowing I would probably need a blood transfusion and would be in a neutrapenic state (have low or no white blood cells). So far, with each of the four rounds of treatment I've undergone, I've experienced a need for a blood transfusion, due to being anemic, and I've been neutrapenic. This means that my immune system is pretty severely compromised and that my ability to fight off infections, even small ones, is more or less non-existent. Well this was perhaps the worst infection I've had yet in this process. My fever was fairly high at times, just below 103 or so, and lasted for a few days. I expected to check in, get some antibiotics and some blood, and be home in two or three days at the most. Instead I spent five days in the hospital, sweating and feverish, and in just about the most pain I can remember. There were definitely times during my stay at which I had to intentionally remind myself that I would survive the infection and that I would be healthy again, and would eventually get to go home. It's like that I suppose, having a fever. It can be disorienting. Time stretches out and gets a bit fuzzy and dreamlike. And when I woke up Monday morning and the doctor came in to see me, shared the news that my blood work looked good and I could go home, well I can't tell you how happy I was.
I knew that this past week would be a difficult one, and it was. I had received my sixth and final intrathecal chemotherapy dose (injected directly into my cerebral spinal fluid). And I knew that it would hit me hard. It definitely did. I felt the effects of that dose almost immediately, and by that evening I was already laid out, exhausted and feeling ill. I did not know I would get such an intense infection.
Hard is an understatement. The problem, for me at least, is that I had to try to figure out what to do to deal with the discomfort I was in, medication-wise. I already take pain medication to deal with the stomach discomfort caused by chemotherapy. This allows me to maintain a pretty reasonable level of energy and appetite and to function well enough that I'm not miserable or in bed all the time. So when I get really sick and the level of pain I'm experiencing kicks way up like that, I'm not sure exactly what to do. I don't want to take IV pain drugs, like morphine or dilaudid, because they don't last very long and they are really strong, which means they make me feel disoriented and just plain bad over time. Dilaudid actually makes me throw up, like immediately, and the other ones are almost as creepy. So I'm having this intense pain, and I'm taking narcotics already, and what the heck does one do? Well I remembered that I had previously taken two different oral pain meds, alternating them so I could take medicine more often than if I was taking just one type. And that's what I ended up doing while in the hospital over the weekend. I suggested my previous concoction to the doctors and they agreed to serve it up. It eased the pain enough that I was able to survive the worst of the infection without writhing in my bed all night, and was finally able to break through the fever to see the light of day again.
I did have a few moments while in that bed that were pretty crucial, psychologically. Those moments I've been talking about where a bad situation is reinterpreted as just a situation, and a breakthrough is made. It was a good experience to have a huge challenge and to shift through it and overcome. It was a good experience to face a mountain of anxiety and to watch it dissolve into thin air as I realized that it wasn't reality, it was just my interpretation thereof. I guess if nothing else, this whole thing is really good practice for that, again and again, over and over, week after week.
I ended up getting two separate blood transfusions during this hospital stay, two platelet transfusions, three or four different antibiotics, and definitely a whole bunch of narcotics. It was like stepping into what you expect to be a wading pool and dropping in over your head. I think that was why it seemed so unusually challenging. I was certainly not expecting the Spanish Inquisition. Needless to say, I'm converted. Or at least my body is.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Halfway There
I had my sixth and final intrathecal chemotherapy treatment today. This was the last piece of the fourth round of treatment for me, which means I am now officially halfway there!
So far the lumbar puncture treatments have been the most intense in terms of side effects, so I'm extremely happy to have had the last one. I'll need to ride out the next week or so of feeling less than hot due to the chemo and my low blood counts. But man do I feel good to be done with those.
I'll have four more rounds of the IV chemo I've been getting every three weeks. So four more week long stays in the hospital, and four more sessions of recovering. And then I'm done with chemotherapy and on to the maintenance period and I can get back to "normal" life. I'm over the hump.
I still recoil sometimes when I look in the mirror at my pale bald face. It just doesn't look quite like me. But I'm in there (if I focus on my eyes I can see me). I haven't gone anywhere. I'm still fighting and I'm still Chris. A survivor.
So far the lumbar puncture treatments have been the most intense in terms of side effects, so I'm extremely happy to have had the last one. I'll need to ride out the next week or so of feeling less than hot due to the chemo and my low blood counts. But man do I feel good to be done with those.
I'll have four more rounds of the IV chemo I've been getting every three weeks. So four more week long stays in the hospital, and four more sessions of recovering. And then I'm done with chemotherapy and on to the maintenance period and I can get back to "normal" life. I'm over the hump.
I still recoil sometimes when I look in the mirror at my pale bald face. It just doesn't look quite like me. But I'm in there (if I focus on my eyes I can see me). I haven't gone anywhere. I'm still fighting and I'm still Chris. A survivor.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Wellness
I've been reading this book, Cancer: 50 Essential Things To Do, written by a guy who was diagnosed with stage VI lung cancer and given a month to live back in 1984. The story is that he ended up surviving his diagnosis, and was inspired to learn from other cancer survivors. What do people do, how do they approach their situation that makes the difference between life and death? The book is great. It's encouraging and informative. It includes a bunch of stories about people who have overcome cancer and are thriving in their lives. It's uplifting. And that is really the point of the book. To uplift.
In terms of my physical lifestyle, before I was diagnosed with cancer I lived an extremely healthy life. I ate a ridiculously clean diet, free of sugar, wheat, dairy, and processed foods in general. I didn't drink or do any drugs, I got adequate sleep, I didn't even go out late. The problem was, I didn't have any fun either. I was so fixated on being 'healthy' that I completely missed really being healthy. What I mean by that, and what this book suggests, is that there is far more to one's health than the physical well-being of our bodies. Or, rather, that physical health is closely related to mental and emotional health. This is something that most of us understand instinctively. We can relate to the idea that when we feel good about ourselves we feel better physically. And it's something I've talked about quite a bit around this experience of having cancer.
What I've found, in enduring the physical challenges of chemotherapy treatment, is that the psychological challenges I face are actually greater than the physical ones. I may feel like crap on a daily basis, be sick to my stomach, or completely exhausted, or even be anemic or have some kind of infection, but the main thing that determines my overall experience is my emotional state. It's a matter of perspective. One person may interpret an experience one way, and feel bad about it, and another person may take the same circumstances and find joy or hope or some kind of fulfillment.
I think this is something, as I've said, that most of us understand. The problem is that it's difficult to put into practice the art of interpreting what's happening in a positive way. The reason I'm so interested in this subject, is that through my experience in developing and fighting cancer I believe that the psychological component(s) of my health have been just as influential as the physical ones. To put it simply, when I got cancer I had never been more physically healthy (in theory), and I had never been so emotionally unwell. Does that mean that my emotional state 'caused' me to get cancer? Who knows. I don't believe there is one single factor at fault. And I'm not sure that it matters in the end exactly what caused the cancer. It happened, and I have it. But what does matter is that I learn from what I'm going through, and that I use the experience to help me live my life in a more effective way.
The point of this book is to understand that surviving cancer is about creating wellness, which is about taking responsibility for one's health in all areas. The idea that I have significant influence over my wellbeing, through the things I do, think, and feel, is empowering. It gives me a goal to move toward, and the author provides some ideas for ways to achieve that goal. The book has been helpful, and encouraging. But most important it's served as a reminder that I'm not a victim, nor am I a passive bystander just along for a ride. I may not be in control of what happens, but I am in control of how I feel about it, and how I think about it. And that may be the most important factor in my health overall.
Today I think there is hope for me. That thought makes me feel good about my situation and about myself. It helps me to let go of the anxiety that I feel about my physical health. It helps me to feel the love and support that is there all the time, from myself and from the world around me. That's a beautiful feeling. The world isn't out to get me, it wants me to succeed. I'm not sure if that's literally true, but that's how it feels. And that feels pretty darn good.
In terms of my physical lifestyle, before I was diagnosed with cancer I lived an extremely healthy life. I ate a ridiculously clean diet, free of sugar, wheat, dairy, and processed foods in general. I didn't drink or do any drugs, I got adequate sleep, I didn't even go out late. The problem was, I didn't have any fun either. I was so fixated on being 'healthy' that I completely missed really being healthy. What I mean by that, and what this book suggests, is that there is far more to one's health than the physical well-being of our bodies. Or, rather, that physical health is closely related to mental and emotional health. This is something that most of us understand instinctively. We can relate to the idea that when we feel good about ourselves we feel better physically. And it's something I've talked about quite a bit around this experience of having cancer.
What I've found, in enduring the physical challenges of chemotherapy treatment, is that the psychological challenges I face are actually greater than the physical ones. I may feel like crap on a daily basis, be sick to my stomach, or completely exhausted, or even be anemic or have some kind of infection, but the main thing that determines my overall experience is my emotional state. It's a matter of perspective. One person may interpret an experience one way, and feel bad about it, and another person may take the same circumstances and find joy or hope or some kind of fulfillment.
I think this is something, as I've said, that most of us understand. The problem is that it's difficult to put into practice the art of interpreting what's happening in a positive way. The reason I'm so interested in this subject, is that through my experience in developing and fighting cancer I believe that the psychological component(s) of my health have been just as influential as the physical ones. To put it simply, when I got cancer I had never been more physically healthy (in theory), and I had never been so emotionally unwell. Does that mean that my emotional state 'caused' me to get cancer? Who knows. I don't believe there is one single factor at fault. And I'm not sure that it matters in the end exactly what caused the cancer. It happened, and I have it. But what does matter is that I learn from what I'm going through, and that I use the experience to help me live my life in a more effective way.
The point of this book is to understand that surviving cancer is about creating wellness, which is about taking responsibility for one's health in all areas. The idea that I have significant influence over my wellbeing, through the things I do, think, and feel, is empowering. It gives me a goal to move toward, and the author provides some ideas for ways to achieve that goal. The book has been helpful, and encouraging. But most important it's served as a reminder that I'm not a victim, nor am I a passive bystander just along for a ride. I may not be in control of what happens, but I am in control of how I feel about it, and how I think about it. And that may be the most important factor in my health overall.
Today I think there is hope for me. That thought makes me feel good about my situation and about myself. It helps me to let go of the anxiety that I feel about my physical health. It helps me to feel the love and support that is there all the time, from myself and from the world around me. That's a beautiful feeling. The world isn't out to get me, it wants me to succeed. I'm not sure if that's literally true, but that's how it feels. And that feels pretty darn good.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Courage
Tonight I check back in to the hospital to start round 4 of my chemotherapy treatment. The goal with the early check-in is to get started with the actual treatment first thing Monday morning, and to hopefully wrap up the treatment and be able to check out earlier. Everything takes time at the hospital. Tests need to be run, physicians consulted, orders written, medications delivered from the pharmacy and administered by the nurse, who has several other patients and is incredibly busy.
I've spent most of the past couple of weeks dreading the continuation of this chemotherapy process. Things are going well so far, and the treatment has been very effective. But day to day it is not fun, to say the least. I have been feeling isolated and paralyzed, unable to leave the house or enjoy most of the activities I usually do. More than anything else I think I've just been afraid of being in more pain and discomfort. I know this won't last forever, and I feel confident that I will be able to overcome the cancer. But I've been overwhelmed by these emotions and fears and it's been quite a challenge for me lately.
I was sharing some of these thoughts and feelings with my family the other night. I've always benefitted from being able to talk about things that are bothering me, and I'd been keeping these feelings bottled up. The people around me have enough stress to deal with, and I didn't want to burden them with mine. Also I didn't want others to worry about me, or to doubt my ability to persevere. But I realized I needed to talk about what was bothering me; to have it reflected back to me from someone else's perspective. My dad made a comment about courage. He was referring to the idea that courage is overcoming fear. And something about that comment triggered a shift in my thinking about my current situation. I'd been pitying myself, feeling sorry for myself for being stuck and somewhat incapacitated. I'd been afraid of going back to the hospital, being in more pain and discomfort there, and dealing with the effects of further chemotherapy. I realized that early on in this process I'd responded with courage, certainly more than I had been demonstrating lately. And I remembered that one of the most important factors in overcoming cancer is having a positive attitude; responding to the fear and the challenge with courage and determination. Somehow I was able to get back to that place of strength during that conversation. And since then I've been able to settle into that place, to remain determined to face and overcome the fears that come up, rather consistently, in this experience.
It's not easy, as I expressed in my last post. But it's not supposed to be. As we all know, life is full of challenges. Cancer seems to be one of the more challenging things people go through. But there are many many people who deal with cancer, and there are many who survive and thrive having dealt with it. In my experience, through what I've heard and read from those survivors, they are often much better for it. Such is the nature of challenging experiences in life. They provoke the most growth, the most learning. And therefore, in my opinion, they are to be embraced. Recoiling in fear from the prospect of continuing chemotherapy is the opposite of embracing this challenge. I'm not trying to chastise myself, but to remind myself to turn towards what scares me. To embrace the challenge before me. It's the most effective way to learn from it. And it's definitely the most effective way to move through the challenge successfully. In the case of cancer, where one's life hangs in the balance, success is an important outcome.
I've spent most of the past couple of weeks dreading the continuation of this chemotherapy process. Things are going well so far, and the treatment has been very effective. But day to day it is not fun, to say the least. I have been feeling isolated and paralyzed, unable to leave the house or enjoy most of the activities I usually do. More than anything else I think I've just been afraid of being in more pain and discomfort. I know this won't last forever, and I feel confident that I will be able to overcome the cancer. But I've been overwhelmed by these emotions and fears and it's been quite a challenge for me lately.
I was sharing some of these thoughts and feelings with my family the other night. I've always benefitted from being able to talk about things that are bothering me, and I'd been keeping these feelings bottled up. The people around me have enough stress to deal with, and I didn't want to burden them with mine. Also I didn't want others to worry about me, or to doubt my ability to persevere. But I realized I needed to talk about what was bothering me; to have it reflected back to me from someone else's perspective. My dad made a comment about courage. He was referring to the idea that courage is overcoming fear. And something about that comment triggered a shift in my thinking about my current situation. I'd been pitying myself, feeling sorry for myself for being stuck and somewhat incapacitated. I'd been afraid of going back to the hospital, being in more pain and discomfort there, and dealing with the effects of further chemotherapy. I realized that early on in this process I'd responded with courage, certainly more than I had been demonstrating lately. And I remembered that one of the most important factors in overcoming cancer is having a positive attitude; responding to the fear and the challenge with courage and determination. Somehow I was able to get back to that place of strength during that conversation. And since then I've been able to settle into that place, to remain determined to face and overcome the fears that come up, rather consistently, in this experience.
It's not easy, as I expressed in my last post. But it's not supposed to be. As we all know, life is full of challenges. Cancer seems to be one of the more challenging things people go through. But there are many many people who deal with cancer, and there are many who survive and thrive having dealt with it. In my experience, through what I've heard and read from those survivors, they are often much better for it. Such is the nature of challenging experiences in life. They provoke the most growth, the most learning. And therefore, in my opinion, they are to be embraced. Recoiling in fear from the prospect of continuing chemotherapy is the opposite of embracing this challenge. I'm not trying to chastise myself, but to remind myself to turn towards what scares me. To embrace the challenge before me. It's the most effective way to learn from it. And it's definitely the most effective way to move through the challenge successfully. In the case of cancer, where one's life hangs in the balance, success is an important outcome.
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