November 6, 2006
Last Thursday afternoon we went back to the oncologist and I had the question written down. “If my blood is so good, and if I feel so fine, is it possible to hold off the Chemotherapy until the blood counts begin to sink again?” The conversation was lengthy and sobering. I was told that the blood counts are “peripheral”, meaning the blood which flows out the arm is a distance from the bone marrow, where the work is actually taking place, and other indicators show that the disease is active, but suppressed by the Vidaza. The direct action of the chemotherapy on the blood cells is not really known, only that it works for some people. I was told that if this had occurred before the advent of the treatment, I would not have lived this long; the doctor said that at this time, I was his only surviving patient who has had this form of cancer, though he added that the others had been older and sicker with other health issues. The eight week recurring therapy that he and the doctor at the Med Center in Omaha have developed for me is based on what they hope is the best course of treatment, not on actual data or experience. “Up until now, no one has lived long enough for studies,” he said, and “We are only guessing”. Since this has brought me to such happy remission so far, everything will go on just as before. He said there is a new, parallel drug that has just been released which can be given in five days, rather than in seven, through IV’s, but since Vidaza is working, he would not wish to “rock the boat”. Though I get sick from the chemotherapy, here again, from his perspective which is “You haven’t had to be hospitalized, have you?” it is not too bad. These present days will give me a good Thanksgiving and Christmas, because my next session will not take place until after the New Year.
On one level, the entire conversation seemed to be about someone else because I have felt so well. On another, it made the course of treatment more acceptable since the threat of losing the good days was so intense. As of this morning, I have gone through four days of injections with each day increasing the drug reactions. Now, fifth day, the aches, stomach cramps, exhaustion, mouth sores, and hot flashes have all checked in, and my disposition is growing unstable. For example, I got all teary-eyed because I couldn’t get my socks on as efficiently as I wished, and when Charles started to tell me that we had to be vigilent with Alphie because he sensed that Alphie was making some moves that were saying, “Ok, marshmallows, I think I’ll just make a grab for the cheese on the kitchen counters now, and don’t bother to try to catch me” I had to tell him I couldn’t deal with negative information. “Right” said dear Charles, eyeing me sobbing into the Kleenex, doubtless thinking his own thoughts and also counting the days.
In truth, our week with Alphie was excellent. He only failed once when I was walking him across the pasture at dawn on Saturday. He was off leash, running about, when he encountered our neighbor’s dog, also a chocolate lab, though one of the English strain, and therefore much smaller, which was also off leash. Alphie went after poor Spenser growling, leaping, and carrying on like a 100 pound bully. In the process, his pinch collar came off, and now I had zip control possibilities, though I did have a leash in my pocket. Spenser’s owner got hold of his dog and stood calmly while Alphie went after him right there at his feet and I sort of ran about helplessly saying, “Off, Alphie! Off!” which I assume he took to mean, “Go for it, big fellow!” I finally got the leash looped over his head and pulled him down the path apologizing profusely over my shoulder as we departed. In reflection, I think the situation was one for which our trainer would have said, “Avoid letting that happen at all costs” because the outcome is inevitable. Alas. It seems that in these matters, I am treading on the border of Utopia with any missteps taking me over to the “dark side” in a heartbeat.