Thursday Feb 14: St. Valentine Special
It’s an exciting day here at Crystal St. I have my chart of the 11 timed surgical prep things I need to do at various points in the day. We’ve got all of the clear liquids, the laxatives, the antibiotics, the steroids, the cleaning wipes for my chest and abdomen. All in all, very romantic.
I should get a call today from Rush with tomorrow’s surgery time, though the nurse who called yesterday to see if I had any questions said it looked (tentatively) like the surgery is scheduled for 9:30, which if true would mean the surgery would likely complete by 7:30 PM (!). By the way, I got official confirmation yesterday that I have no blood clots in my legs. Good to know.
We had a nice visit to the Garfield Park Conservatory this week. I love going there on a snowy, cold and grey winter day because inside it’s tropical-feeling, very humid and mostly warm. Also as you can see, so unlike the inside of our house visually.
I don’t have big life and death thoughts to share that I haven’t already. I’m so happy that Megan will be well supported tomorrow during the extremely long and emotional day. Amy’s thoughtful gifts for the hospital stay have already lifted my spirits. I’m grateful to live in an area where very good medical care exists and to have had such a positive experience (in context) with literally everyone I’ve interacted with at Rush. I’m grateful to have a surgeon who has performed this operation successfully hundreds of times. I’m thrilled to have our excellent son staying with us. It was truly great to see both (Chicago) sides of the family this week. Well wishes from friends are pouring in, and visitors in the 10-14 (or so) day recovery in the hospital are lined up. (Please coordinate that with Megan.) And the outcomes from the surgery are generally very good. I know I’ll be in rough shape tomorrow evening especially and also probably most of the weekend at least, but I know there are lots of options they have at the hospital to help me through that. I’m feeling ready, or as ready as I can be.
Saturday Feb 9: Onward
So I apparently passed both tests, clearing me for surgery. I say “apparently” because there’s nothing official from a physician in my record for the blood clot screening. However, the tech who did it say “no clots in either leg”, and since those kinds of scans are apparently easy to interpret, I’ll run with that one. The stress test yesterday was wildly comprehensive, featuring a nurse, a cardiologist and an ultrasound tech, 10 minutes on the treadmill and three separate echocardiograms, one before, one just after I got off the treadmill, and one after heart rate recovery. All results are normal, with a small and apparently not significant finding of “rare PVCs”. I got a score of 9 (I hope of 10) and an indication that I’m at low risk for a “cardiac event”.
I’ll confess that I was a bit cast down earlier in the week since there were so many question marks and opportunities for things to go wrong. There may also have been some of that “why me” mood. I feel I’ve worked hard so far and it has for sure been hard, but now I have the real challenges ahead. With positive test results a lot of that has cleared away and my mind moves toward getting ready.
A surprise extended visit from Gavin starting today also has lifted my spirits greatly. It will be so nice to have the nuclear family all together at home.
Now it’s on to the prep for the surgery, which is again comprehensive, and then Friday’s surgery.
Tuesday Feb 5: Let’s Get Real
Megan and I met with the surgeon and three of his minions today. Surgery is scheduled for a week from Friday, the 15th, which means I get to do a bowel prep as a romantic gesture on Valentine’s Day. It’s contingent on me passing a stress test, and I also have to have my legs checked for clots. Both of those are scheduled this week (Thu and Fri). I get to stay in the hospital for up to two weeks following surgery depending on progress in getting my digestive system back on track and “disease burden” (i.e., how much cancerous material they find). The good news is that instead of the two surgeries I had heard my oncologist mention, it’s only one. The bad news is that it’s very likely they’ll want me to do 6 more rounds of chemo once I’ve recovered from the surgery. All in all, it’s sobering but hey, if it makes me better I’m all for it.
Tuesday January 29: Hey Look, It Worked!
So I got two pieces of good news this week following the CT scan yesterday. The first one, from my oncologist, was that the pulmonary emboli from November (you remember, the ICU stay and all) were gone, and more importantly, that the nodules that had metastasized from the appendix were nearly gone. The second piece of good news came following a cross-disciplinary meeting with a radiologist, surgeon, GI doc, and my oncologist. The summary: “We just discussed your case. The recommendation is to meet with Dr. Pappas to discuss surgery since the cancer responded so well to chemotherapy.”
Meaning… less savory options like more of the same chemo or a different, more aggressive, kind of chemo are now off the table and we’re going straight to a finish line of sorts. Not that future chemo is off the table, but a great sign for the near future. That phrase “since the cancer responded so well to chemotherapy“ makes me very happy. I have a consultation with the surgeon in a week, on Tuesday 2/5, and will of course know more after that. I haven’t really processed all of this yet but for now, deep relief and gratitude are the prevailing emotions.
Wednesday January 16: Chemo 6
Just a quick note to say done with the hospital outpatient part of the sixth infusion. I once again have my ball of chemo now until early afternoon today Wiped out Monday but a little better Tuesday, now feeling it more on Wednesday. A CT scan is scheduled for 1/28 now, with a medical team consult on my case scheduled for 1/29. Next steps could be surgery, or more of this same chemo, or a different one. I can get up to 12 doses of it (or even more), it turns out.
Had some great visits and family time since the last time. I have to be careful sometimes to remember I’m fighting this illness. Shooting up blood thinners in the skanky bathroom of a Devon Ave Indian place was a fun experience.
Monday December 31: Chemo 5
Just a quick note to say done with the hospital outpatient part of the infusion. I have my little ball of chemo in a fanny pack now until early afternoon Wednesday. Deeply tired after coming back but I think that was mostly the (now) uncharacteristic early wakeup. We had to leave the house at 7:20, if you can imagine. (These days I set my alarm for 9:30 or so, entirely so I can inject myself in time, and usually sleep that long no matter when I go to sleep. Luxurious in one way but also a reminder that I apparently need the rest for the big fight happening inside me.)
The low days probably start in earnest tomorrow afternoon. I should be “back” (feeling more normal) by end of the weekend.
Sunday December 30: I Am Grateful
Breathing. Walking. Digesting food and enjoying eating it. Sleeping normally. Going out to a restaurant. Being able to lift more than 8 pounds. Not being nauseous. Seeing, hugging and talking with my wife, son, family, friends. (Speaking of which: the boy just left our house. Boo.)
Who knows which of those things will leave me when, or which of the thousand possible complications and side effects will show up. In the meantime I'm truly grateful for all of the things that make life amazing at times. Time with same family, extended family, friends. All of the support lots of people have shown for someone who's down (but not out by any means).
No matter that my situation isn't great. The strange fact is that there are plenty of people around the world who would trade lives with me in a second.
Kate Bowler in the NYT, 28 Dec 2018 wrote:
The terrible gift of a terrible illness is that it has in fact taught me to live in the moment. But when I look at these mementos, I realize that I am learning more than to seize the day. In losing my future, the mundane began to sparkle. The things I love — the things I should love — become clearer, brighter. This is transcendence, the past and the future experienced together in moments where I can see a flicker of eternity.
- How Cancer Changes Hope, https://nyti.ms/2GHHfjG
In the end, I'm not happy to be part of this terrible club, but am happy for the life lessons and all of the life too: all of the sometimes mundane things that somehow make us all happy. I want Gavin to be here all the time but the truth is that I’d mostly just look at him without much new to say.
The slog continues through end of January when, after six (double) chemo infusions, the medical team will assess my progress, and then we'll see what happens next. Chemo #5 tomorrow - we have to leave the house at 7:30 which will be a stretch for us.
Sunday December 9: You Look Great (vs. The Slog)
So getting real for a moment, chemo is not super fun, nor is having pulmonary embolism, not to mention, say, cancer. They all add up to cumulative worry, random pains, tiredness, wacky schedule full of doctor’s appointment and worse, medications, reminders to exercise, eat at certain times, needing to inject myself (did I mention it was twice daily?), and other random strange things happening in the body that you chalk up to one of the above, TBD, or not ever determined because something else comes along to think about. There you have it, the slog I’m (we’re) in now, halfway through at least the first round of chemo. The pattern, the weekly rhythm, is established and there’s a bad week and a better week (one hopes). Seven more weeks or so of this. It feels like walking on a snowy, un-shoveled and hard to navigate sidewalk, for a long time.
There is also, of course, or maybe not of course but still, the Zen bright side and genuine happiness from all angles: visits with family and friends, endless offers of support from, say, 50 people, and of course my beautiful, excellent and immensely supportive wife, who lives with me and knows so well how to take care of me. Plus it’s still an experience (horrific at times but at least interesting), it’s still life, and I can enjoy a bagel brunch, a sunny day, reading, laughing, a nice hot shower, being able to walk and drive and be a sort of normal human, with the best of ‘em. So even in the slog there are bright moments and in general my positivity (which you can bet I’m recording daily and charting) is at 4 out of 5.
One thing I’ve noticed (that I appreciate) is that many people who haven’t seen me in a while, or not since the diagnosis, mention that I look great. (Gratifyingly, these are almost always women.) I think this is because they’re not sure what to expect and they see someone who looks normal. Though family visits right after my ICU stay might not have fallen into that category. It surprises me sometimes because I feel normal (at least in the weeks when I’m seeing visitors), though I understand it’s a compliment and a positive thing.
Tomorrow is chemo round 4 of 6 (early, they want us there well before 9 if you can imagine the rudeness) and the slog will continue with a likely sinking into the low-energy, glazed eyes territory for a few days next week. Hoping to come back as usual during the weekend.
Thursday November 29: Long Time No See, Part 2
I think you all know this, but for the record…
Not the best week last week. That “not feeling so good” in the last post was probably a symptom I didn’t yet understand. Spent 2 days in the ICU following an episode of blood clots Monday that culminated in pulmonary embolism. Fortunately the 3 clots weren’t large enough to do what the ICU doc called a “crazy” procedure to “bust the clots”.
I couldn’t do the usual Thanksgiving, instead resting at home on doctors orders. On the plus side, had a surprise visit from the boy and nice visits from lovely family.
I’m now on blood thinners (twice a day self-injections, not super fun, probably will need to be on them for at least 6 months) and feeling better than last week for sure.
Though the chemo round I had Monday (see post-infusion shot walking to the parking garage) is making me very tired now — this is the typical bottom out day — and I’m sure the embolism doesn’t help anything. Slept almost 13 hours today.
I’ll update more later.
Wednesday November 14: Long Time No See
Hey there. I’m doing fine. Sorry I haven’t updated this in a while.
I decided to maintain this “private” blog for a smaller audience since I feel due to us handing out this link to many people that there are now too many people reading the other (original) blog to want to spill more embarrassingly transparent thoughts on cancer. ( I am a boy, after all, and a Crowell to boot.) So please don’t share this link with anyone; I want it to be only family and truly close friends. I’ll put everything I post on the other blog on this one too, so you can just use this link instead from now on.
Chemo round 2 was indeed rougher than round 1, and I can foresee that trend continuing, but oh well, the feeling that chemo’s not so bad after all couldn’t really have lasted. By “rougher” I mostly mean that I got more tired, the rebound took longer, and I’m pretty sure I’m not going to rebound as high this time, since I haven’t yet and it’s day 10. The good news is that I still have 12 days left before the next round to see what I can do.
Having said all that, I’m pretty good. We’re still learning and adapting (another key characteristic needed for this little journey). For example I now have an excellent (actually super dorky) pair of ski goggles that I bought because the wind was getting behind my sunglasses and was unpleasant at best to feel on a cold day. Funny (“funny”) when your eyes immediately hurt from being outside. I’ve been learning to wear a glove to touch anything cold: anything in or recently in the fridge, metal doorknobs, shampoo that was too close to the glass brick window. Well, I don’t wear a glove for that last one but I’ve moved them away from the glass brick.
No real peripheral neuropathy, so I’ve been playing more piano. Also I started back to work this week, which has been interesting and (probably no surprise to anyone else) more challenging that I thought. I get tired a lot more easily and can’t do anything sustained for more than an hour at best. So learning how to do that as well. Fortunately my boss is very understanding and supportive, and I can basically make up what I want to do.
In a shocking development, we are now owners of a small microwave. All these years without one, but prior to getting the microwave, if I wanted, say, milk on cereal, I had to let the milk warm up before using it, tedious at best. Now: zap! And I have some nice lukewarm milk. Entering the 21st (really 20th) century for real.
Had a great dinner on 11/11 (a favorite day of mine, as you might have guessed) of polenta and ratatouille cooked by JGC, and enjoyed JJG’s company.
That’s kind of it. Always love hearing from anyone on this list.