Where I Visit the Hospital (Again)

The pity party is over and we’re back to business as usual on the cancer front – we will continue to look for new solutions and will not give up the fight. I don’t intend to die any time soon.

While visiting my oncologist for our weekly checkup, we talked more about pain management. I have recently been increasing my dosages of intermittent pain meds because the breakthrough pain has been increasing steadily. This, evidently, is a result of my new vertebral cancer spots. I got some new IV meds, which took away the pain very well, which they then recalculated into pill format. New breakthrough meds were all set and I went home. The new stuff worked at 7pm and at 1am.

Then I woke up uncomfortable at about 3:30, which progressed to pain by 4. My next dose of breakthrough meds wasn’t scheduled until 7, so I was concerned. I tried a hot shower and heating pads, different chairs, nothing worked. Finally, I broke down and took more meds an hour early at 5:00. By 5:30, they should have kicked in. Should have. So at 7:30, we ditched the youngest at a neighbor and headed down to the hospital. I called my oncologist on her mobile and told her the situation and she said she’d meet me at the cancer center ASAP. When I arrived, I got a chair and an IV and we started the Pain Management Process. Eventually, I checked into the hospital for another overnight stay.

On the plus side, my pain is down to nothing. On the minus side, I don’t know which of the drugs is working or when I’ll be leaving. I kind of need to know because I have an MRI scheduled for this evening. And I need to reschedule a second opinion with Dana Farber, which I missed yesterday.

At least things are moving forward, which is a Good Thing. The Next Steps: keeping the pain down to zero, getting back to work (aka Normalcy), choosing my next treatment, oh, and killing my cancer.

Advertisements

Bad News Seems to Follow Me Around

And here I was thinking things were going well: I did my fourth dose of ipilimumab, my second dose of Zometa and I had an appointment to deal with my back pain. I had a spinal MRI on Monday morning, with a call back for a consult for a vertebroplasty of my T7. On Tuesday, I had another PET scan. On Wednesday, I went in for a vertebroplasty – basically, they injected lucite into my fractured vertebra to stop the pain. Thursday was a nice day to sleep and recover from a crazy week. Then came Friday.

When your oncologist asks if any of the other doctors who’ve seen you over the week has said anything about your MRI or PET scan, you know it’s a bad day. Evidently, during my ten weeks of treatment, my cancer spread like wildfire up and down my spine. Ipilimumab didn’t have any effect on my cancer.

So where am I now? I believe my life is now measured in months (no one has said how many, but there are no more approved treatments). I’m trying to get into an NIH study and I’m getting more radiation to alleviate the back pain. I’m maintaining my positive attitude until the bitter end, which I hope will be 40 years from now. We won’t tell the kids until after Christmas; no sense in ruining a last, happy memory.

Right now, all I want to do is crawl in a hole and cry. But I won’t. I can’t. The past two days have truly sucked, but I’ll be better by Monday. Then I can go back to having hopes and dreams.

Having a Hero

So for the past week, every day I go to my radiation treatment I’ve seen a little boy coming out of his treatment. Today, I spent a few minutes talking to his mom, as she was waiting to end and I was waiting to start.

He’s four. He has a very aggressive cancer. He’s had an eight-inch tumor removed from his leg. He’s doing radiation and chemotherapy. He’s aware of his blood counts. He still has active cells on his margins. His treatments seem to be working well right now. He had at least four different appointments today for different tests and treatments.

No kid should ever have to know about cancer. No kid should ever feel that much pain and suffering. And I wish I was half as strong as he is.

He’s brave and strong and positive. And he’s in my head constantly. He’s my hero.

Ipilimumab, Dose 2

Today was a busy medical day for me, and went longer than I had anticipated.

My parents are in town, not only to lend a helping hand, but they wanted to be here for support though at least a part of my treatment. I’m very glad they came to visit and I’m appreciative of the help and support, but regardless of who they are, more people just makes the day feel longer.

We headed down to the hospital early because I wanted to get my labs knocked out quickly. Only two vials of blood this time, so that was quick and painless. We then ran downstairs to the radiology department for my daily radiation regimen. In addition to the treatment, I also had a few x-rays so they could evaluate the progress of the treatment. The extra minutes on the table left me a little stiff. Stiff, but not in pain. The nurses are dressing up as superheroes for Halloween, but said patient’s costumes are optional. Nice of them.

As much as I like the fact that the radiation has eliminated my pain, I’m feeling frustrated that I still can’t sleep in my bed. I know that’s the least of my problems, but I hate sleeping in the damned recliner. I had to do it after both surgeries (two weeks each time) and I’ve been back in for the last two weeks. And I still feel like I need another two weeks. Getting off the radiation table is awkward and uncomfortable, and that’s only with five to ten minutes lying flat. I can’t imagine lying flat for eight hours and being able to get up and function. Maybe I’m just afraid of the pain now. I don’t want pain, especially at the Ten-level.

But back to the day. After finishing radiation, we headed back upstairs for my second dose of ipilimumab. We went right back to the treatment pods and waited for my pharmacy to send up my cocktail. Which took about thirty minutes. Not a long wait, per se, but I was hoping for quicker. I guess they can’t actually order the drugs until you get up there. It makes sense because if I bailed or had another pain management crisis, the mixed drug would have been a wasted dose. I understand, but I also don’t want to be rational. I feel almost petulant about it, but I need to man up and get on with things. Anyhoo, the drugs came and flowed freely. And I sat in a 12×12 room with my parents for over two hours. By the end of the drip, I felt a little tired, but I chalk that up to the fact that I’m socially (and conversationally) weak and having to chat for two hours is a veritable trial for me.

After I finished my ipilimumab, I sat with my oncologist. She was very pleased by the improvement in my pain. We also spent a good amount of time talking about dosing and side effects and the efficacy of two v. three v. four doses and maintenance doses and scanning frequency. I had to reiterate in my own words what I need to remember about side effects and the need to lose pride for the sake of getting early treatment and more effective results.

It turns out that I’m tracking on the major side effects and I’m ready to make a call, regardless of how I’m feeling. Coincidentally, that’s how I had the non-medical stressors flying about the room. With the impending arrival of Hurricane Sandy, the National Guard all along the Eastern Seaboard are already looking at how to best support whatever the Governor needs to support. I missed a mandatory conference call with the Chief of Staff, so I start in the hole before I can even open my mouth. I dread these State Active Duty call ups because I think we can do better, rather than essentially shutting down “normal” mission accomplishment. I didn’t get yelled at, but I have a funny feeling I’m going to get more hands-on leadership for this storm cycle. I know I have about two or three hours on the computer tomorrow morning to prepare for the next conference call. And I’m mentally tired now.

So far, I’m not showing any side effects, which can be good news. Unless its bad news. Or no news. While its good I’m not feeling crappy, I’d kind of like to know something is working in my body to murder the melanoma cells.

Ah, well, I’m exhausted, but physically and mentally. I need to sleep, but I’m spun up on work and can’t drop off and go to sleep. At least there’s nothing I can do tonight. I need to sleep. Thank goodness I don’t have to go man a shift at the Joint Operations Center tomorrow morning!

Back on the Right Path

And after a trying ten days, I now feel like I’m getting back to normal. Whatever that is.

I’ve got six radiation treatments under my belt now and I feel like a new man. I was talking to one of my Saintly Nurses (who volunteered to start my treatment immediately) this morning and I feel even better psychologically. I asked if there was some point where patients generally said they felt “normal.” she said some people do the entire course of treatment with little effect; some lucky people feel a benefit almost immediately. I was renewed by my first two treatments, and I feel better and stronger after each successive dose. In fact, I end up feeling worse by Sunday night, since I get no treatments over the weekend.

I’ve even cut down on my medication. While I still take everything they mandated, I didn’t need to take any supplemental Vicodin for pain today. If things continue, I’d like to see them cut my OxyContin by half. On one hand, I want to reduce meds because I don’t want to be reliant on pain killers, but, more importantly, I want to drive. Now, I am in no way, shape or form a Car Guy, but I despise having to ask others to give me a ride. I want to have my independence!

Right now, I’m down to having a constant, nagging ache under my shoulder blade on the left side. It’s almost like someone poking me with their finger all day long. Still no side effects from the ipilimumab, but most people don’t react to the first one.

Today’s radiation was a little different – I felt more pain than usual, but only for a little while. I think it was more my behavior than anything else: I stretched my arms farther out or shifted my weight too quickly. That’s my problem, I think. I know I’m feeling better, so I act like I’m feeling better. And I really need to pace myself.

I saw the Radiologist today and he was very pleased with my progress. He thought I was showing a little redness at the radiation site, so I’m doing a little bit of moisturizing lotion on my back. If that’s all it takes to keep moving forward, I’m good with that. It’s not like I’m not using moisturizers on my legs and scars on a daily basis anyway.

Taking Small Steps

This morning, my father-in-law drove me down for my next radiation treatment. I’m glad I’m doing the treatments now because they seem to work well. I knew radiation would kill the melanoma on my T7 vertebrae, but I didn’t believe when they told me I’d see almost immediate results. Well, on Friday afternoon I discovered what a 10 feels like on the pain scale. In my semi-learned opinion, bone pain is significantly worse than muscle pain. After two treatments (Friday evening and Saturday morning), I was down to a 1, with peak pain about a 2. Monday went back up to a 2-3, with peak pain around 4. And today was probably a 4. And then I got my radiation fix and I’m back down to a 2. My next appointment is for Thursday and, hopefully, I’ll have daily treatments for the next few weeks. I’d love to have a day with no pain.

The downside to killing the melanoma is now it’s harder to see if the ipilimumab is working. I still have a small spot on my T1 vertebrae, but it might be too small to get a good reading. Heck, I’m all for just having no additional spots show up!

I’d also like to get off all the additional medicines. Not that oxy and vicodin aren’t good, but I’d rather not have to use them. And I don’t like the fact that I need a spreadsheet to track all my mess, by dose, by time. Especially since ipilimumab has its own set of side effects, which can potentially add even more meds. I’m turning into an old man with a pill case! And I need a cool, new watch with multiple alarms so I know when to dose myself. Or it would be cheaper and less annoying if my melanoma just went away with no fuss.

I’m really not enjoying sitting at home all day. I want to get back to work because I feel like my brain is atrophying as I sit here. There’s only so much time I can sit here reading different news sites or looking at Facebook.

Because Knowing is Half the Battle

This afternoon, my wife and I went to our teaching session for Ipiliumumab down at Rhode Island Hospital.

Oh, yeah, we decided we would move ahead with the Ipiliumumab right now and keep the spot radiation on hold for now. Given that I’ve “only got a little cancer,” there’s no point in killing the cancer right now. After all, without a tumor, there’s no way to see if the medicine is working. And if the Ipiliumumab doesn’t work, we can always do the spot radiation.

So we went down to the hospital and met with one of the nurses and got even more information. We didn’t get one of our favorite nurses because she left early not feeling well. I’m very satisfied with the other nurses, but there are two who have been especially amazing. It makes me feel much better that one of the two will be administering my drugs. I also got a handy wallet card that I need to have with me at all times, should I have serious side effects.

So, basically, my timeline is four doses of Ipiliumumab over the course of ten weeks. I then do a whole bunch of PET scans to watch the tumors. They might get bigger, or smaller, or not change, or get bigger then smaller, or get smaller then bigger, or any other combination of bigger, smaller and no change. If I can tolerate the four doses, there’s a reasonable chance the drug will do something good for me.

As usual, there’s a catch. I could get a rash or have liver failure or nerve damage to the point of paralysis or colitis or massive glandular problems or eye problems. Or I could die. But it’s not all that likely. There’s nothing quite as exhilarating as reading medical documentation!

At some point I think I should have some sort of emotional response. I’m starting to get upset that I’m not upset. Hell, it’s more troublesome than the cancer. Maybe because I’ve been so good at only focusing on the next step and I can’t see the bigger picture. Maybe I do need to join a support group or talk to a counsellor after all.