Good afternoon all:
I'm writing today from Hopkins. My role as patient hasn't ended, just changed. I'm here to meet with Dr. Connolly about my transition into the maintenance therapy phase that should last the next two years. In addition, I will have my first radiation treatment before I go. This is the first time that I will have spent a significant portion of a day at Hopkins since my last outpatient visit to the hematology clinic and I'm having a sensation/realization that needs to be shared.
This morning I was hearing more about the soldier in Afghanistan that opened fire in a military hospital. I believe it was a parent that was proclaiming that the military had 'broken his son'. This was said in the same way that you often see in the movies where the drill seargent 'breaks down' the soldiers so they can be built up again into a fighting machine but clearly the connotation was not at all positive the way it is in the movies. Instead it was more to say that the soldier that shot 5 fellow soldiers was less the son that the man raised and more the product of a military training system that was somehow flawed or incomplete.
For seven months I dealt with a loss of control that concerned me enough to be the subject of one of my earliest blog posts. Dealing with this loss required acquiescence, flexibility, humor, determination. I needed a separate Russ from "Work Russ" and "Home Russ" so a new role was created: "Patient Russ". I spent many days leading up to my return to work wondering if I would be able to regain the "Work Russ" and, to some degree, the "Home Russ". Now I have returned to Hopkins after working for several weeks and assuming old roles and responsibilities. I have regained much of the control that had been missing for many months in a very quick and quiet fashion. Returning today has felt different to me. I don't feel out-of-control here as I had for quite some time. It feels good to know that my temporary role as chemotherapy patient didn't wipe clean my memory of and capability for being in control of my life at work and at home. Neither cancer nor Hopkins broke me during my chemotherapy. It feels good to realize that today as I sit and smugly type away . . .
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Milestones
Good Evening all:
The kids are in bed and I figured I'd take a few minutes to let those who are still keeping up with me know what has happened over the past week and what lies just ahead . . .
I learned on Tuesday that my bone marrow biopsy and the PET scan came back absolutely clean. In the words of one doctor I am now considered to be "clinically cancer-free". Note that I have not been told that I am in remission. I believe this will only happen following the the two years of maintenance therapy where I will take a daily dose of oral chemotherapy. In any event it feels good to have confirmation that the therapy that has taken the majority of a year to complete has done the job it was intended to do.
Additionally, this week I met with the radiation oncologist to discuss the potential therapy as a follow-up to my chemotherapy. The radiation therapy would center on my mediastinum (read: chest) in an effort to try and prevent a relapse in that region. After my meeting with the doctor and talking it over with Marla we have decided to undergo the radiation therapy. The benefits are obvious but there are drawbacks in the form of possible cancers stemming from the treatment that could arise 10-15 years down the road.
Finally, I am poised on the brink of a physical improvement to the quality of life. Tomorrow morning I will go 'under the knife' to get my hickman catheter out. Once that happens the physical limitations that I have been operating under for 7 months will be over--I can lift heavy objects, not worry about repetitive motions, go swimming, and take a normal shower. Marla, of course, is thrilled to not have to play nurse any longer. All this time the catheter has required a daily flushing and weekly dressing changes--all of which Marla has done will patience and acquired skill. But just as my trips to Hopkins became a chore so did these tasks. Marla is ready to retire from nursing and I'm eager to no longer be her patient.
In fairly short order things are returning to normal and the quality of life is returning as well. It feels very good to have finally gotten to this point. Thank you to everyone for your support, thoughts, and prayers.
--Russ.
The kids are in bed and I figured I'd take a few minutes to let those who are still keeping up with me know what has happened over the past week and what lies just ahead . . .
I learned on Tuesday that my bone marrow biopsy and the PET scan came back absolutely clean. In the words of one doctor I am now considered to be "clinically cancer-free". Note that I have not been told that I am in remission. I believe this will only happen following the the two years of maintenance therapy where I will take a daily dose of oral chemotherapy. In any event it feels good to have confirmation that the therapy that has taken the majority of a year to complete has done the job it was intended to do.
Additionally, this week I met with the radiation oncologist to discuss the potential therapy as a follow-up to my chemotherapy. The radiation therapy would center on my mediastinum (read: chest) in an effort to try and prevent a relapse in that region. After my meeting with the doctor and talking it over with Marla we have decided to undergo the radiation therapy. The benefits are obvious but there are drawbacks in the form of possible cancers stemming from the treatment that could arise 10-15 years down the road.
Finally, I am poised on the brink of a physical improvement to the quality of life. Tomorrow morning I will go 'under the knife' to get my hickman catheter out. Once that happens the physical limitations that I have been operating under for 7 months will be over--I can lift heavy objects, not worry about repetitive motions, go swimming, and take a normal shower. Marla, of course, is thrilled to not have to play nurse any longer. All this time the catheter has required a daily flushing and weekly dressing changes--all of which Marla has done will patience and acquired skill. But just as my trips to Hopkins became a chore so did these tasks. Marla is ready to retire from nursing and I'm eager to no longer be her patient.
In fairly short order things are returning to normal and the quality of life is returning as well. It feels very good to have finally gotten to this point. Thank you to everyone for your support, thoughts, and prayers.
--Russ.
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