It’s inching closer, my cancerversary! Less than a week away, when this goes public. I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about my journey anymore, but most people don’t know all the crazy details, so I’m letting them be known for anyone who cares to read. Last week I recounted my first “round” of cancer and treatment. You can read the post here. All involved were hoping for a knockout punch that would last a lifetime, but it was not to be. After radiation to my lung and neck, and a year of targeted therapy, I noticed a small bump on my right flank. My oncologist sent me to a dermatologist in November of 2020. The skin guy did a biopsy in the office, and as I awaited results I headed down to South Carolina to see my niece. Surrounded by love from her and her three adorable dogs, we decorated her Christmas tree, went bowling, and shopped for homemade soap at a local farm. A huge celebration occurred when the results came through: No new cancer! The bump should go away. Life went on happily!
If the bump had gone away and life had gone on happily I probably wouldn’t be writing this post. The next month, just a few days after my 54th birthday, I went to Boston for a PET scan, with my fingers crossed that I would get the coveted news that I had No Evidence of Disease (NED), a designation that I had cut so close during the summer. I wasn’t feeling well, but I still had hope. Feeling crappy had become a way of life even before cancer, and after treatment it was even more so. Fatigue and exhaustion would hit me and stay for a week or more, but I’d keep pushing through to feeling better. By this time I had put my life back on track fully, I was on pace to shatter my yearly mileage record for walking and hiking, road trips were happening again, and I had great hopes for the future.
Which made the results of my PET scan all the more shattering: I had more cancer. That bump on my back meant something. It had not gone away, and was now lighting up as cancer on the scan. But there was worse news than that, as cancer had also infiltrated several other places, including both my hip muscles, my upper stomach, and worst of all, my pancreas. I won’t soon forget receiving this news in the cold of COVID19 December, all alone in Boston as the world got dark, and someone who is supposed to love me making it even darker. That last part is another story in and of itself, and at this point I’m over it. From here forward I’ll keep this post about cancer.
Now what? I was surely going to die, with cancer happily invading my space again. I would have to switch medications. My oncologist’s suggestion was a clinical trial for a brand new tyrosine kinase inhibitor, or TKI, like the one I was currently on, but considered a”next generation” drug, called Repotrectinib. Before I could go on it I had to endure a new series of scans and blood tests, and a fresh biopsy to be sure that the new metastasis was the same as the old one. I also went back to South Carolina to dog-sit my favorites canines while my niece went to Florida. Perhaps it would be my last trip there.
I had so much new cancer I was having trouble keeping track of it, so I made this fancy diagram:
Cute, isn’t it? Yeah, unless it’s you.
I waited a tense month for the drug company to accept me into the clinical trial. My cancer was growing, making the likelihood of death all the more certain if the new wonder pill didn’t work. The tumor on my back continued to grow and topped off at 3.3 x 3.0 centimeters before I started treatment. Not only was it disgusting to look at (this one was actually like a skin tumor and growing on the outside, unlike the tumors in my neck, which were under the skin,) but it was also bleeding and getting in the way of life, because if it rubbed against anything it would gush blood. I had to keep it covered 24/7 and couldn’t sleep on my right side. A few times I had to cancel plans with friends because I had to take care of my tumor. Yay, me! (Eye roll.)
By the time I started treatment in late January of 2021, all my tumors had grown. In centimeters, my pancreatic lesion was 2.1 x 2.0. Left hip: 3.2 x 1.9. Stomach: 2.7 x 2.1. And tipping the scales at 8.4 x 3.8, the right hip tumor. They had gained considerable steam in a matter of a month. And that bleeding tumor in my side? Any information that I found on lung cancer metastasis to soft tissue was extremely grim. I was literally dying for treatment. Again.
Somehow, I kept going. Shout outs to several friends and a few family members for sticking with me and helping me through. Remote learning saved my finances. I got an accommodation from my school system to teach from home until the end of the school year in June of 2021. The tumor on my back, as disgusting as it was, turned out to be a creepy blessing, as I was able to watch it shrink down to nearly nothing and knew the medication was working. Within six weeks I didn’t need to cover it any longer, and it stopped bleeding.
I kept hiking and walking. Went back to South Carolina in February, revisited my beloved Southern Utah in April, took two fantastic road trips this past summer.
I get scanned every eight weeks on the clinical trial. I don’t feel fabulous most of the time, and am currently sore as hell and have weakness in my legs, but hey, the bottom line is that I’m still able to do everything I love. As long as my luck holds out, I’ll be heading to Costa Rica for Christmas!
Let this sink in: Thus far, I have survived cancer in my lung, neck, hips, pancreas, flank, and stomach. Last scan, in early September, my hips and pancreas were clear, with the stomach and flank tumors significantly reduced. Still hoping for NED!
And what a two years it has been! Bring on the cancerversary!