Well, shit. MRI last Thursday shows something that ought not to be there. So we'll wait about 5 weeks and look at it again to see if it's progression or what they term psuedoprogression.
It's possible that what they're seeing is an effect of the treatments, and that could be a good thing: it may be that my own leukocytes are attacking bad cells. Hope so.
I reckon we will know more after the next scan.
Tuesday, June 27, 2017
Tuesday, March 28, 2017
Well....
Okay.
So.
Soon I will die.
But fuck that.
When i go, I want a party. I want all my friends to come over , bring booze and musical instruments, and have fucking good time.
If you do, I will. And that'a what I want. When it's time for folks to leave, come kiss me goodbye.
And I will be happy. I wil be content. I will be ready.
Wish me adieu, my friends. Thtat's what I want.
If there be one, I will see you on the other side.
But I really do want to have a goodbye kiss. I will be a mess, but I will know you. And I will carry your goodwill will with me whereever there is after this life.
So.
Soon I will die.
But fuck that.
When i go, I want a party. I want all my friends to come over , bring booze and musical instruments, and have fucking good time.
If you do, I will. And that'a what I want. When it's time for folks to leave, come kiss me goodbye.
And I will be happy. I wil be content. I will be ready.
Wish me adieu, my friends. Thtat's what I want.
If there be one, I will see you on the other side.
But I really do want to have a goodbye kiss. I will be a mess, but I will know you. And I will carry your goodwill will with me whereever there is after this life.
Well, shit
My doctor recently called to tell me he had an astrocytoma, but it was bilateral and was involving his corpus callous,. His balance was shot, so falling was a constant worry.
He was doing okay, but I reckon his reduced mobility led to the development of clots, one of which found its way to his lung, and a couple mornings ago, he died. He was really an exceptional physician, and I'll miss him a lot. He was patient, kind, comprehensive. When I was diagnosed with my cancer, he spent a lot of time in the evening schooling himself on gliomas and following my case.
I was very flattered he called to talk to me about it, and I got to visit him several times before he died. I think he had become more my friend who happened also to be my doctor than the reverse. He was a bit of a renaissance man: interested in art and philosophy as well as medicine. He was well-known around the community.
He was one of 3 physicians I've known (and I've known more than a few) who made me feel that he was treating me, not just my illness. He would sit and chat and ask me about pretty much everything going on with me. I got to meet his wife, a perfectly wonderful woman, and I can't stop thinking about her and what she must be feeling. I'll call her tomorrow and see how she's getting on. They had a fairly large group of friends, so I can know that at least she won't be alone any more than usual, for the most part.
But it's so damned odd, and sad, that my doc would come down the the same sort of rare cancer that I had, and remarkably touching that he reached out to me for support. I hope I gave him some. He called me his "hero" because the cancer didn't get me. And in the end, it only got him indirectly.
It's a great loss, personally as well as collectively and professionally.
He was doing okay, but I reckon his reduced mobility led to the development of clots, one of which found its way to his lung, and a couple mornings ago, he died. He was really an exceptional physician, and I'll miss him a lot. He was patient, kind, comprehensive. When I was diagnosed with my cancer, he spent a lot of time in the evening schooling himself on gliomas and following my case.
I was very flattered he called to talk to me about it, and I got to visit him several times before he died. I think he had become more my friend who happened also to be my doctor than the reverse. He was a bit of a renaissance man: interested in art and philosophy as well as medicine. He was well-known around the community.
He was one of 3 physicians I've known (and I've known more than a few) who made me feel that he was treating me, not just my illness. He would sit and chat and ask me about pretty much everything going on with me. I got to meet his wife, a perfectly wonderful woman, and I can't stop thinking about her and what she must be feeling. I'll call her tomorrow and see how she's getting on. They had a fairly large group of friends, so I can know that at least she won't be alone any more than usual, for the most part.
But it's so damned odd, and sad, that my doc would come down the the same sort of rare cancer that I had, and remarkably touching that he reached out to me for support. I hope I gave him some. He called me his "hero" because the cancer didn't get me. And in the end, it only got him indirectly.
It's a great loss, personally as well as collectively and professionally.
Friday, February 10, 2017
Well, hell.
so now, it's over 3 years, and so far, still no cancer. I'm alive twice as long as they forecast (or endcast?), and it's strange.
I'm technically "cured," but 30 months of chemotherapy isn't nothing. It changes you. My energy level is crazy, sometimes okay, sometimes I can hardly get up stairs. If I go out with friends to a noisy restauarant, it's physically taxing -- the next day I'm likely to run a big energy debt, a hangover from noise and trying to talk loudly.
Other thing is memory. Short-term memory is shot (I have to write everything down), and I have some lacunae for things is knew long ago. It's weird.
Biggest pain in the ass is that I spend most of my time looking for things. That gets tiresome. Seems like every time I go to get something from one room, I get distracted and forget why. Then when I go back to where I came from, I recall what I went after the first time. Sometimes it seems that I have to do everything twice, and that turns out to be especially frustrating for the spouse. She has been such a rock, I really hate to put her through more crap.
So, on the one hand, I'm doing far better than I've a right to.
But if you know a cancer survivor, don't expect him or her to be the same person that he or she was before the cancer. The treatments leave lasting effects. One person I read said chemo-brain is like wearing a hat of fog. I'm trying to resurrect some of what I learned when studying philosophy, and man, is it tough to remember things. But I keep trying!
I'm technically "cured," but 30 months of chemotherapy isn't nothing. It changes you. My energy level is crazy, sometimes okay, sometimes I can hardly get up stairs. If I go out with friends to a noisy restauarant, it's physically taxing -- the next day I'm likely to run a big energy debt, a hangover from noise and trying to talk loudly.
Other thing is memory. Short-term memory is shot (I have to write everything down), and I have some lacunae for things is knew long ago. It's weird.
Biggest pain in the ass is that I spend most of my time looking for things. That gets tiresome. Seems like every time I go to get something from one room, I get distracted and forget why. Then when I go back to where I came from, I recall what I went after the first time. Sometimes it seems that I have to do everything twice, and that turns out to be especially frustrating for the spouse. She has been such a rock, I really hate to put her through more crap.
So, on the one hand, I'm doing far better than I've a right to.
But if you know a cancer survivor, don't expect him or her to be the same person that he or she was before the cancer. The treatments leave lasting effects. One person I read said chemo-brain is like wearing a hat of fog. I'm trying to resurrect some of what I learned when studying philosophy, and man, is it tough to remember things. But I keep trying!
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