I'm writing after returning from the lab and my every-other-week blood draws. The blood testing is required before each chemotherapy treatment in order to be sure that blood counts and kidney and liver function are within tolerable ranges; an infusion can't proceed if there's evidence that the chemotherapeutic agents are wreaking excessive havoc on my body. So far, these tests have always shown that while there have been changes in several factors, they have fallen within safe ranges and I've been able to keep to my treatment schedule. That's not to say that they don't effect me and how I feel. The chronic anemia has been ever present, and the fatigue accompanying it has been the most significant side effect I've dealt with. I've written about that before as well as the increases in blood pressure caused by the avastin and the attempts to keep that under control. That problem continues, and yet another drug has been added to the regimen of pills and injections I take each day to deal with blood pressure, anxiety, pain, nausea, formation of blood clots. This latest addition to the pharmacopia seems to have had an impact on lowering my blood pressure which had been pushing higher again, but not to the degree I or my doctor would like to see. It may mean that my chemotherapy treatments need to be changed and the avastin held back -- whether temporarily or permanently I'm not sure. I'll find out more Wednesday when I see Dr. Tempero. I am reaching the end of the one-year trial in which I've been participating, and she has talked about the possibility of a "chemo holiday" at some point. Perhaps it will come a bit sooner than later.
It seems weird, for lack of a better word, to consider the fact that I'm reaching anniversaries, in many ways of dubious sorts. It was over a year ago that I first began experiencing the symptoms that eventually led to my diagnosis. Just a year ago yesterday, I had my first CT scan ever. I remember waiting several days for the results and breathing a sigh of relief when they didn't show anything in the way of "masses" or tumors. It seemed then that the really "bad stuff" had been ruled out. Little did I know that the findings, in retrospect, showed that the cancer had already spread to my liver, even though the primary tumor had failed to appear on the scan. Pancreatic cancer is not only aggressive and resistant to most chemotherapeutic agents, it's sneaky! Ten months ago, two days after Christmas and 17 days after my diagnosis, I began the treatments that will continue this Wednesday and which have so far proved effective in stabilizing the disease. While I would just as soon not have to deal with these anniversaries -- I prefer those associated with weddings and other significant life events -- they are part of my reality, a reality that leaves me with mixed feelings. On one hand, call it the silver lining point of view, I am filled with gratitude for being alive and feeling fairly well ten and a half months after receiving my diagnosis, enjoying the time I've spent with family and friends and the support I've received from so many. On the other hand, call it the borrowed time point of view, it's difficult at times to escape the feeling that at some indeterminate time in the future, I will have played the string out.
Whatever the outcome, I'm doing my best to make the most of my time. Jane and I, courtesy of a retirement gift from MC, spent this past weekend with the hoi polloi at the Harvest Inn in St. Helena. We visited some of my old haunts -- Conn Dam where we first camped as a family and where I learned to swim, a swimming hole on the Napa River we'd walk to from my cousins' house. I was able to spend time with my cousins and my brother Jim and his family and took a number of walks down a multi-branched memory lane. The week before, I got to babysit Violet a couple of days and join her and Jessie on a walk out Tennessee Valley to the beach. I managed to work in acupuncture and a massage as well. The weekend before that, I made it to the class of 1978's reunion and saw many people I had taught and coached -- again more of those strolls reminiscing through the past. I think many of the stories have been embellished over time; regardless, I laughed a lot, and is there better medicine than laughter?
And, finally, the weekend before that, my brother Bob and I headed up to the mountains for four days. The plan was to stay at June Lake near Mammoth on the east side of the Sierra and use what I expected to be warm and sunny days to explore Mono lake and its environs and then head up to Tuolumne Meadows in Yosemite for some hiking. Wouldn't you know that we picked the one weekend when temperatures plummeted and blizzard-like conditions hammered the Eastern Sierra. We had planned on taking the shortest route to our destination, a beautiful drive through Yosemite's high country up to and over Tioga pass and then another 22 miles to our cabin. Unfortunately, we got only as far as the meadows, 250 miles from home, 8 miles from the pass, 30 miles from the cabin; a ranger turned us around 45 minutes from our destination. We had to retreat, and based on sketchy evidence that Sonora Pass might still be open, raced out of the park and through Sonora only to discover near Twain Harte a sign indicating it had also been closed by the storm. Some checking with Caltrans showed that all of the trans-Sierra passes south of highway 88 were closed. We spent the night in Twain Harte, and then drove back into the park the next morning hoping that Tioga Pass would open some time during the day. We did two short hikes while we waited near the road closure in Crane Flat to hear the news we had hoped to hear. We got anything but that. About 1:30 in the afternoon when it became clear the pass wasn't going to be opened, we left the park once again, this time on a tour of the Gold Country via highway 49 up to Jackson and then over highway 88 and down to highway 395 to June Lake -- a six-hour tour (twice that of the Minnow and nearly with the results of the Donner party) with it's own share of stories. But we made it and spent two days birding and hiking at Mono Lake and in the park (the pass had opened the day we headed home). We took a nice walk out to North Dome, a place I had never visited.
Life goes on even though at times it's on pins and needles. I turn 62 this coming Saturday; my birthday wish is that I celebrate my 63rd. I hope to continue to receive the gifts of prayers, support, conversation, shared meals, walks and talks, and time -- the most wonderful gift of all. Make every day matter; tell someone you love him or her.
Peace,
Don
