Another cycle in the books

Today, March 10, I have a relatively inauspicious anniversary to celebrate -- and I use the word celebrate rather ambivalently. Three months ago, I received the phone call that turned my world upside down. Against a background of doctor talk, I heard "significant changes," "mass in your pancreas," and "spread to your liver." In many ways, this has been the longest three months of my life. If I were Dunbar, a character in the novel "Catch-22" who decided to live as long as possible by making time pass as slowly as possible, treasuring boredom and discomfort, this would be a good thing. However, I think I would trade a quicker passing of time for some certainty, or at least less uncertainty, about how much I had left on this lovely planet of ours. The good news is that three months have passed since I was told that I had an advanced case of cancer, and I'm not dying from it. The chemotherapy, while producing mixed results to date, as well as support from so many people on so many levels, has given me hope where little appeared on December 10. I continue to have good days -- this past Saturday was spent with family at a yard sale, laughing, chatting, playing with my grand daughter (what great therapy) -- and days that are harder to get through. Yesterday, even though I was able to get out with Jane and enjoy the beautiful day that it was, walking the Tiburon bike path and stopping for an early dinner at Pancho Villa's (yes, my appetite has improved), it was difficult to not focus on the cancer and my mortality.

This week is a welcome "rest" week from chemo. Last Wednesday was a fairly long one at the infusion center, four-plus hours, to finish the third and last infusion of the third chemotherapy cycle. It was a two-drug day, preceded by some anti-nausea meds given intravenously, so I had to spend a longer amount of time in the chair. There was benefit to doing so, though, since I really haven't experienced much nausea at all this time around. Other than the side effects of the two drugs, I feel pretty well physically. I continue to have some pain, which I haven't been managing too effectively at times. That leads to too much focus on the pain and what it might mean. Are the tumors growing? Are the drugs working and causing inflammation at the tumor sites? Is something else going on? That, in turn, leads to projecting outcomes with limited available information -- an exercise in frustration and, to a degree, futility. So, I continue to learn how to live life with cancer, maximizing opportunities for personal growth and connections to family and friends and the resulting enjoyment of life, while understanding that I can't be and won't be "up" all the time.

I read an article about Angie Evans, a woman in the trials that led to the recent approval by the FDA for Avastin, one of the drugs I'm receiving, for the treatment of metastatic breast cancer. Her philosophy was summed up in the quote, "Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass...It's about learning to dance in the rain!" I'm doing my best to become the Gene Kelly of cancer survivors.

Peace,

Don