Many of you have been calling, emailing, texting, looking for the details beyond my analogies, or as I like to refer to them, "cancer parables". So I'll save the super cool story I had for you today and drop it into tomorrow's blog.
At the halfway point in my treatment plan - 60% done w/ chemotherapy & 40% done w/ radiation therapy (for some reason spa therapy wasn't part of the package??) - I am still feeling great! The body does seem to fade a little earlier in the evening, but I'm still up every morning no later than 5:30. I'm writing this now at 3am, as the body told me to get up and go do something. I have plenty of energy during the day, have been working full days and even manage to fit a bike ride in on all days except chemotherapy days, which simply don't allow the time. Yesterday after chemo, I came home, finished up work, went grocery shopping, grilled dinner for Rose and walked the dogs. Energy was there despite 6 hours at City of Hope - at least 4 of those spent working while getting therapy :)
My blood markers remain positive, above their projections, but slightly lower than the normal range for important markers like white blood cell count, ANC - absolute neutrophil count and BUN - blood urea nitrogen. I'm still within normal range with my Creatinine level. While these markers are trending south, that is the expectation with the treatment plan, especially with this combination of chemotherapy drugs. With only 2 more infusions remaining on the schedule, my medical team feels positive about the results to date.
After replacing Benadryl with Claritin to manage any allergic reaction during the infusion of chemo, yesterday's session was smooth, albeit still 3 hours long. I've had no side effects at all - no hair loss (read that as "additional" - see my priority here!), no nausea, no loss of appetite, no muscle soreness and insignificant fatigue. Radiation, other than one bad episode that I believe was "technician-induced", has gone smoothly. A light burning sensation every now and then, but not even worth mentioning.
So there you have them - all the details. Robotic surgery (Dr. R2D2 is the attending physician) will follow chemo/radiation and should take place right around the end of March. In the meantime, I have a job to do, trails to ride and with any luck, a few runs down the mountain this Saturday. Cancer has yet to bring a tear to my eye, but I must admit to having a few while reading the support offered by many of you. My positive attitude is being driven by each of you - can't thank you enough!
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
The Call
I've been a big basketball fan all my life, back to the days when my Dad put the hoop up on the garage roof, to give his 4 boys something to do outside (so he and Mom could have peace inside - we're talking FOUR boys!) I played basketball in high school before donning stripes and a whistle to referee the game for 19 years. I spent all but 2 seasons at the college level, where the game was fluid and the players skills made the game much easier to officiate. In most games, you don't notice the officials at all, as you watch Kobe, Lebron, Durant and others display their talent and the ball moves quickly from end to end.
Until that one whistle, that one call, that brings the game to an abrupt halt. The flow of the game is interrupted for the players, and even the fans, and can have a dramatic impact on the outcome. It doesn't happen in every game, it doesn't always change the results, but as a fan, you know when that moment happens. As the referee who just blew air into that whistle, you feel it as the whistle goes off. It's all part of the game, a lonely part no doubt, but a piece of the game in total.
The whistle stopped play on Dec. 24th, when my Doctor made his call - you have cancer. I didn't argue the call (those who played ball w/ me won't believe that & will look for the replay on ESPN!), didn't ask for a timeout and didn't let the call change my game. I knew the game had a great flow for 51 years, and I wasn't going to let one call negatively affect that. There is still a lot of time left on that game clock, and I plan to play hard through the second half. While it was a big call, it's not bigger than the game itself.
You see, from an referee's point of view, it's not "the call", it's how the players and fans choose to respond to it. It's one call in a long game, and if you've been playing well up to that point, there is no reason you can't regain that performance, or perhaps rise to the occasion and take your game to the next level in response. In this game, I have the ball, not the whistle, and I'm still ready to play. I know there are many "fans" who have also gotten past "the call" and are now cheering me. I was having a great game up until "the call", so I'm committed to continue that performance and use it to make me stronger.
Today is halftime - the mid-point of my treatment plan. It's amazing how well I still feel and that makes it so much easier to keep a positive outlook on all of this. I feel so blessed that my body has responded so well to the treatment. Had dinner with a very good friend last night and look forward to a ride and dinner with another good friend on Thursday evening. With any luck, and better weather, I'll make it up the mountain to ski on Sat. How many people going through chemo/radiation get that opportunity? Blessed for sure.
Until that one whistle, that one call, that brings the game to an abrupt halt. The flow of the game is interrupted for the players, and even the fans, and can have a dramatic impact on the outcome. It doesn't happen in every game, it doesn't always change the results, but as a fan, you know when that moment happens. As the referee who just blew air into that whistle, you feel it as the whistle goes off. It's all part of the game, a lonely part no doubt, but a piece of the game in total.
The whistle stopped play on Dec. 24th, when my Doctor made his call - you have cancer. I didn't argue the call (those who played ball w/ me won't believe that & will look for the replay on ESPN!), didn't ask for a timeout and didn't let the call change my game. I knew the game had a great flow for 51 years, and I wasn't going to let one call negatively affect that. There is still a lot of time left on that game clock, and I plan to play hard through the second half. While it was a big call, it's not bigger than the game itself.
You see, from an referee's point of view, it's not "the call", it's how the players and fans choose to respond to it. It's one call in a long game, and if you've been playing well up to that point, there is no reason you can't regain that performance, or perhaps rise to the occasion and take your game to the next level in response. In this game, I have the ball, not the whistle, and I'm still ready to play. I know there are many "fans" who have also gotten past "the call" and are now cheering me. I was having a great game up until "the call", so I'm committed to continue that performance and use it to make me stronger.
Today is halftime - the mid-point of my treatment plan. It's amazing how well I still feel and that makes it so much easier to keep a positive outlook on all of this. I feel so blessed that my body has responded so well to the treatment. Had dinner with a very good friend last night and look forward to a ride and dinner with another good friend on Thursday evening. With any luck, and better weather, I'll make it up the mountain to ski on Sat. How many people going through chemo/radiation get that opportunity? Blessed for sure.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Set Back
I suffered my first set back since starting treatment on Friday night. I couldn't understand what happened to me. At lunch time, a group of us went out for a good mtn bike ride in the drizzling rain. No issues - felt great, had fun, good ride! At 5pm, I went for my radiation treatment at City of Hope. I felt great going in, not so well coming out.
Friday night, I was having minor difficulty breathing. As I breathed, I had a burnt taste in my mouth. I went to bed intent on skiing on Saturday at Bear Mtn, but after listening to the rain come down since 3am, I decided to take a real "rain" check. Turns out to be a good decision, since it rained throughout the day in Big Bear and my breathing worsened. I had labored breathing all day and couldn't get rid of the burnt taste. Wierd.
Sunday brought much of an improvement and I was able to get out despite the cold weather and threat of more rain. This morning, I shared the situation with my radiation Oncologist. All I can surmise, though no one will confirm, is that my lungs were singed by the radiation on Friday evening. The good news is that today's radiation treatment did not have the same effect, so things have returned to my new normal.
I'll be back on the bike tomorrow and take a little more time on the blog. I do require 8 hours of sleep now versus 6 1/2, but still making it to my desk by 5:30 each morning. Since this journey began just over a month ago, I've constantly reminded myself of a quote from the insightful Robert Schuller, who said "a setback is set up for a great comeback". Very appropriate here.
Friday night, I was having minor difficulty breathing. As I breathed, I had a burnt taste in my mouth. I went to bed intent on skiing on Saturday at Bear Mtn, but after listening to the rain come down since 3am, I decided to take a real "rain" check. Turns out to be a good decision, since it rained throughout the day in Big Bear and my breathing worsened. I had labored breathing all day and couldn't get rid of the burnt taste. Wierd.
Sunday brought much of an improvement and I was able to get out despite the cold weather and threat of more rain. This morning, I shared the situation with my radiation Oncologist. All I can surmise, though no one will confirm, is that my lungs were singed by the radiation on Friday evening. The good news is that today's radiation treatment did not have the same effect, so things have returned to my new normal.
I'll be back on the bike tomorrow and take a little more time on the blog. I do require 8 hours of sleep now versus 6 1/2, but still making it to my desk by 5:30 each morning. Since this journey began just over a month ago, I've constantly reminded myself of a quote from the insightful Robert Schuller, who said "a setback is set up for a great comeback". Very appropriate here.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Have Faith!
All signs continue positive through my treatment with 1/3 of it behind me now. The support has continued to lift me through this, however, I've just started to hear the questions of whether I'm simply putting up a good front or actually feel this good? Really? Even my brothers had to call, suspicious of my blog updates, to hear for themselves. Sorry boys, I hope our conversation renewed your faith! This picture (if proof is required) is from yesterday's "lunch ride" in light drizzle in the hills above Glendora. Five of my good friends braved the elements with me on an ambitious pedal through the mud and full creek crossings up Lower Monroe trail. Ask them how I did!!
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I was hoping to get up and ski Bear Mountain today, but the weather forecast of scattered rain showers discouraged me from making the trek - can't afford to get sick and suffer a setback in my treatment plan. So we'll see how things progress through next weekend.
One of my dear ski patrol friends connected me with his father, a board-certified Oncologist from AZ, who spent time reviewing my treatment plan and options that I had not considered reviewing with my medical team. What a tremendous opportunity to confirm my care with such an experienced specialist. His strong faith and reassurances were exactly what I needed. Thanks, Dr. G - your son is an amazing man as well, and I thank him for connecting us!
I have faith that God will provide and that everything will work out according to His plan. I have faith in my AMAZING support group - my "ultrastrong" Rose (I think she eats nails!) who keeps me so positive, my medical team who has reacted so quickly to my needs (incl my advisers Dr. G and GP), my Peloton who keeps me riding each week, my family and friends who say exactly what I need to hear each and every day. More than words, let's have faith in one another - I'll always give it to you straight, do the same for me!
Live by faith, not by sight...
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I was hoping to get up and ski Bear Mountain today, but the weather forecast of scattered rain showers discouraged me from making the trek - can't afford to get sick and suffer a setback in my treatment plan. So we'll see how things progress through next weekend.
One of my dear ski patrol friends connected me with his father, a board-certified Oncologist from AZ, who spent time reviewing my treatment plan and options that I had not considered reviewing with my medical team. What a tremendous opportunity to confirm my care with such an experienced specialist. His strong faith and reassurances were exactly what I needed. Thanks, Dr. G - your son is an amazing man as well, and I thank him for connecting us!
I have faith that God will provide and that everything will work out according to His plan. I have faith in my AMAZING support group - my "ultrastrong" Rose (I think she eats nails!) who keeps me so positive, my medical team who has reacted so quickly to my needs (incl my advisers Dr. G and GP), my Peloton who keeps me riding each week, my family and friends who say exactly what I need to hear each and every day. More than words, let's have faith in one another - I'll always give it to you straight, do the same for me!
Live by faith, not by sight...
Friday, January 25, 2013
Face of Cancer
When I think of cancer, I picture bald heads, emaciated facial features and overly dejected appearance. Face it, cancer racks the body as does the treatment that is supposed to fight the cancer. The disease and medicine wage a brutal war and your body is the battlefield.
We just lost a very dear friend to cancer after an amazing battle where she continued to defy all odds. Her will was clearly stronger than the cancer for a much longer time than her doctors had predicted. Her positive attitude and strength through this fight was an inspiration to me, and while I never expected to draw on her experience, I find myself looking deep to find the warrior in me. I think she'd be proud, as I've done well so far.
In her memory, I want to be the "face of cancer" that others can draw strength from. This is NOT a death sentence, its a disease. Millions of people are in remission. Millions more are fighting successfully with the major medical advances on almost every form of cancer. You are certain to know or meet many people like me who have been given that dreaded news, "you have cancer". Don't say "sorry", prop them up. Let them know that cancer isn't just bald and drawn-in, it can also look normal. It can have a winner. Set their mind the right direction, give them the right spirit - just don't say "sorry". We don't feel that way, why should you??
Here is my "face of cancer" - today I get to do a lunch ride with several of my dear friends from Ski Patrol and my Pastor - it's supposed to rain, but he will take care of that! Tomorrow, I'm going back to ski the mountain that I left 3 weeks ago to start treatment. Thought my season was over then, but doctors gave me a hall pass as I'm responding so well to treatment - they were shaking their heads when I told them I was headed back to ski patrol duty. THAT my friends, is the side of cancer you need to see - a disease, not a death sentence. Life is good, God is better! Let's ride!
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We just lost a very dear friend to cancer after an amazing battle where she continued to defy all odds. Her will was clearly stronger than the cancer for a much longer time than her doctors had predicted. Her positive attitude and strength through this fight was an inspiration to me, and while I never expected to draw on her experience, I find myself looking deep to find the warrior in me. I think she'd be proud, as I've done well so far.
In her memory, I want to be the "face of cancer" that others can draw strength from. This is NOT a death sentence, its a disease. Millions of people are in remission. Millions more are fighting successfully with the major medical advances on almost every form of cancer. You are certain to know or meet many people like me who have been given that dreaded news, "you have cancer". Don't say "sorry", prop them up. Let them know that cancer isn't just bald and drawn-in, it can also look normal. It can have a winner. Set their mind the right direction, give them the right spirit - just don't say "sorry". We don't feel that way, why should you??
Here is my "face of cancer" - today I get to do a lunch ride with several of my dear friends from Ski Patrol and my Pastor - it's supposed to rain, but he will take care of that! Tomorrow, I'm going back to ski the mountain that I left 3 weeks ago to start treatment. Thought my season was over then, but doctors gave me a hall pass as I'm responding so well to treatment - they were shaking their heads when I told them I was headed back to ski patrol duty. THAT my friends, is the side of cancer you need to see - a disease, not a death sentence. Life is good, God is better! Let's ride!
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Thursday, January 24, 2013
Don't Let 'em Know You're Coming
The common response I get from so many well-wishers is "if anyone can beat this thing...", "go kick cancer's a_ _", "cancer has no idea who it's messin' with". It probably goes without saying, but I'm a very competitive guy. I'm the guy who rides solo on the trail and trash talks himself into riding faster, climbing harder or dropping a new personal-best time for a particular ride. I sometimes laugh at myself when I pick the wrong line or just have a poor ride, goading myself into repeating the same ride the following day just to prove I'm better - prove to who? Me, looking for approval from myself. Who does that?? OK, I do know a few of you!
But with cancer, I've taken a different trail. I'm not repeating those statements above or setting out to beat cancer. I respect what cancer has done to so many and can do to me, so I'm not calling it out, not going to trash talk it into submission, don't want it to know who it's messin' with...I simply want to do everything possible to remove it from my body. End of story. As uncompetitive as that is for me. Why, you ask? I've heard too many people boldly put their heads up and scream out their battle cry against cancer, only to lose a battle based mainly on bravado - If I say I'm going to beat it, I'll beat it. They let cancer know they're coming, so their focus is on battle, not the fight. I'm following my treatment plan to the letter, staying within my diet, researching additional things that can deliver the best result and most important, I'm living as normal a life as possible.
As I started to pen this this morning, I'm reminded of one of my favorite business stories. Our small beverage company had just purchased a very popular brand that had eroded over 3 years while owned by a very large global consumer products co. We now had clout with our retailers and were ready to beat our chests and return this brand to the market leader it once was. Our CEO was too smart to allow that to happen and shared a video with us - two moose in the doorway of a post office (in his analogy - beverage giants Coke & Pepsi) with a man (us) trying to gain access. The man looks for ways to get around them and eventually bull-rushes toward the door between the moose. They proceed to stomp him senseless for his act of stupidity - raising his head and declaring his battle against more-than-formidable competitors (video states no animals were hurt in the making of this video - but no mention about the rag doll!). Our CEO employed a very effective strategy - don't raise the attention of your adversary, put your head down and go about your business. I've embraced his strategy as part of my plan.
My life is about as normal as it can be. Chemotherapy is now 40% complete and Radiation is almost 25% done, and I have ZERO side effects!! I continue to ride, ski, workout and the best news to my amazing colleagues at PNC - I'm at work every day at 5:30am (taking a few minutes out to write this blog - sorry, consider it a union break!) All of the critical indicators - blood count, platelet count and other measures - are ALL within NORMAL range! Praise the Lord and pray I continue down that road!!
But with cancer, I've taken a different trail. I'm not repeating those statements above or setting out to beat cancer. I respect what cancer has done to so many and can do to me, so I'm not calling it out, not going to trash talk it into submission, don't want it to know who it's messin' with...I simply want to do everything possible to remove it from my body. End of story. As uncompetitive as that is for me. Why, you ask? I've heard too many people boldly put their heads up and scream out their battle cry against cancer, only to lose a battle based mainly on bravado - If I say I'm going to beat it, I'll beat it. They let cancer know they're coming, so their focus is on battle, not the fight. I'm following my treatment plan to the letter, staying within my diet, researching additional things that can deliver the best result and most important, I'm living as normal a life as possible.
As I started to pen this this morning, I'm reminded of one of my favorite business stories. Our small beverage company had just purchased a very popular brand that had eroded over 3 years while owned by a very large global consumer products co. We now had clout with our retailers and were ready to beat our chests and return this brand to the market leader it once was. Our CEO was too smart to allow that to happen and shared a video with us - two moose in the doorway of a post office (in his analogy - beverage giants Coke & Pepsi) with a man (us) trying to gain access. The man looks for ways to get around them and eventually bull-rushes toward the door between the moose. They proceed to stomp him senseless for his act of stupidity - raising his head and declaring his battle against more-than-formidable competitors (video states no animals were hurt in the making of this video - but no mention about the rag doll!). Our CEO employed a very effective strategy - don't raise the attention of your adversary, put your head down and go about your business. I've embraced his strategy as part of my plan.
My life is about as normal as it can be. Chemotherapy is now 40% complete and Radiation is almost 25% done, and I have ZERO side effects!! I continue to ride, ski, workout and the best news to my amazing colleagues at PNC - I'm at work every day at 5:30am (taking a few minutes out to write this blog - sorry, consider it a union break!) All of the critical indicators - blood count, platelet count and other measures - are ALL within NORMAL range! Praise the Lord and pray I continue down that road!!
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Not Lost w/o a Map
Growing up in a one-income family, our vacation adventures were centered around "road trips" within a 6-8 hour drive from home. My parents would select the destination and my Dad would roll down to the local AAA office to get his detailed trip planner, intent on never missing any worthy point of interest. We made frequent stops and added unique memories along our route - historical landmarks, natural wonders, unique sights - we saw them all. After each stop, we would turn back to the map to see what was coming next - we always knew where we were going and what was coming next.
Fast-forward June 2002, to a small airport 35 miles east of downtown Los Angeles, where I spent the morning packing my airplane for a very different type of adventure. A very dear friend and colleague of mine had decided to set off on an unusual type of trip with me, one requiring only visual recognition to our destination - Ketchikan, Alaska via a stop in Victoria, Canada. Both being very anal about flight planning and navigation, we decided this time to follow God's natural wonder, the entire western coastline, to our destination. We left with only a plan to stop overnight at an old USAF blimp hangar converted to a hotel. Other than that, it was look out the window and follow the beach - Hearst Castle, Pebble Beach, Golden Gate Bridge, Coos Bay, Columbia River, Seattle, San Juan Islands, Vancouver Island and finally the rugged coast of Alaska and our final destination of Ketchikan. All without a flight plan, trusting our piloting skills and dead-reckoning (that never sounded right in pilot-speak??). It was an incredible journey, the best flight I've ever taken.
These two memories flashed back to me when I read my daily devotional the other day (written in first person by God), which said "I know exactly what this day will contain, whereas you have only vague ideas about it. You would like to see a map, showing all the twists and turns of your journey. You'd feel more prepared if you could somehow visualize what is on the road ahead. However, there is a better way to prepare for whatever you will encounter today - spend quality time with me. I will not show you what is on the road ahead, but I will thoroughly equip you for the journey."
I had absolute trust in my Dad on those trips and unwavering confidence in my copilot enroute to Alaska, so I now turn to God to guide me through this trip with a faith that that is deeper than I'll allow you to see. I truly can do all things through him that strengthens me. Cancer is showing me how to be more open about my relationship with God and how to tell my dear friends that I love them. In some sense, these are more challenging to me than dealing with cancer. But I'll get there....on all fronts. Thanks for joining me on the ride!
Fast-forward June 2002, to a small airport 35 miles east of downtown Los Angeles, where I spent the morning packing my airplane for a very different type of adventure. A very dear friend and colleague of mine had decided to set off on an unusual type of trip with me, one requiring only visual recognition to our destination - Ketchikan, Alaska via a stop in Victoria, Canada. Both being very anal about flight planning and navigation, we decided this time to follow God's natural wonder, the entire western coastline, to our destination. We left with only a plan to stop overnight at an old USAF blimp hangar converted to a hotel. Other than that, it was look out the window and follow the beach - Hearst Castle, Pebble Beach, Golden Gate Bridge, Coos Bay, Columbia River, Seattle, San Juan Islands, Vancouver Island and finally the rugged coast of Alaska and our final destination of Ketchikan. All without a flight plan, trusting our piloting skills and dead-reckoning (that never sounded right in pilot-speak??). It was an incredible journey, the best flight I've ever taken.
These two memories flashed back to me when I read my daily devotional the other day (written in first person by God), which said "I know exactly what this day will contain, whereas you have only vague ideas about it. You would like to see a map, showing all the twists and turns of your journey. You'd feel more prepared if you could somehow visualize what is on the road ahead. However, there is a better way to prepare for whatever you will encounter today - spend quality time with me. I will not show you what is on the road ahead, but I will thoroughly equip you for the journey."
I had absolute trust in my Dad on those trips and unwavering confidence in my copilot enroute to Alaska, so I now turn to God to guide me through this trip with a faith that that is deeper than I'll allow you to see. I truly can do all things through him that strengthens me. Cancer is showing me how to be more open about my relationship with God and how to tell my dear friends that I love them. In some sense, these are more challenging to me than dealing with cancer. But I'll get there....on all fronts. Thanks for joining me on the ride!
Monday, January 21, 2013
Scarred for Life
I enter week #2 feeling fantastic - not a single side effect yet, no fatigue and most importantly, no worries (cancer-related, anyway). One of the daily devotionals I'm reading ended with this quote in today's entry "I have a plan for you, and it is a good one". God is good, so why worry?
In 2nd grade, I collided with a car on my bicycle and was sent over the bars with a broken arm and clean laceration through my right cheek. The 23 stitches inside and 24 outside left a souvenir on my face that I've carried around for over 40 years. Early on, I was constantly reminded of it and self-conscious, but that faded over the years and I don't even notice it in the mirror now. But that scar remains as a reminder of my past.
Recently, I was "branded" with more permanent markings by my radiation oncology team. They offer free "tats" to all customers - small black dots on your chest and sides - to align your body for precise delivery of radiation. These signs will serve as reminders of my radiation treatment for the rest of my life, but as with the scar on my cheek, their prominence will fade with time. And rather than being self-conscious about them, I will wear them proudly, having successfully completed my radiation treatment (a little blue ribbon or small trophy would have sufficed!).
We all have permanent scars, both physical and emotional, that we carry through life. We can reflect on them each time we look in the mirror, or we can choose to place them in the background and reduce their importance of who we are. Life is precious, live it that way!
In 2nd grade, I collided with a car on my bicycle and was sent over the bars with a broken arm and clean laceration through my right cheek. The 23 stitches inside and 24 outside left a souvenir on my face that I've carried around for over 40 years. Early on, I was constantly reminded of it and self-conscious, but that faded over the years and I don't even notice it in the mirror now. But that scar remains as a reminder of my past.
Recently, I was "branded" with more permanent markings by my radiation oncology team. They offer free "tats" to all customers - small black dots on your chest and sides - to align your body for precise delivery of radiation. These signs will serve as reminders of my radiation treatment for the rest of my life, but as with the scar on my cheek, their prominence will fade with time. And rather than being self-conscious about them, I will wear them proudly, having successfully completed my radiation treatment (a little blue ribbon or small trophy would have sufficed!).
We all have permanent scars, both physical and emotional, that we carry through life. We can reflect on them each time we look in the mirror, or we can choose to place them in the background and reduce their importance of who we are. Life is precious, live it that way!
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Extra Lift
As a pilot, extra lift is a welcome aspect on almost all flights, helping to quickly reach cruise altitude or to clear climbing terrain. When mtn biking or skiing, access to the mountain via chairlift helps cover more terrain and in my opinion, makes the experience more enjoyable.
I left our local mountain 2 weeks ago to focus on my treatment. Hanging up my skis and gear in mid-January just felt wrong, but as I've written, I'm committed to attack the cancer that chose to attack me. It would be another 10 months before I'd be back on snow - tough to accept, but so small in the overall scheme. Those 10 months turned into just over 10 days, as I got my "extra lift" today at Mt. Baldy!
After 2 sessions of radiation and 1 loooong session of chemotherapy, my energy levels are actually HIGHER than pre-treatment. Placebo-effect, maybe, but who cares? I was able to get back on skis and participate in a field avalanche course today (and tomorrow)! Wasn't in the cards two weeks ago, but 4 weeks ago, neither was cancer. So life right now is a daily evaluation, under the watchful eye of my Chief Medical Observer - CMO Rose. I felt great on the slopes of Mt Baldy and had the energy to dig snow pits, track beacons and of course take several runs.
The other source of "extra lift" that I have received in abundance has been the prayer support that I have received from so many of you, including the supportive congregation at our new church in La Verne. Our Pastor has been so involved with Rose and I and continues to lift us both up in prayer. It doesn't hurt to have a brother, who will be a priest soon, pulling for you either. God's hand has been in all of this - from discovery to diagnosis to prognosis. I can say with with complete honesty that I have NO fear of cancer or the outcome I face, despite how that might sound. It is all part of His plan, though I pledge to do my part. I don't talk often about my religious beliefs - never have. That's my relationship with God and it's personal to me. But it became apparent that I was thanking family, friends, doctors, medicine - without giving thanks to God. He will provide the "extra lift" needed to get me through this.
I left our local mountain 2 weeks ago to focus on my treatment. Hanging up my skis and gear in mid-January just felt wrong, but as I've written, I'm committed to attack the cancer that chose to attack me. It would be another 10 months before I'd be back on snow - tough to accept, but so small in the overall scheme. Those 10 months turned into just over 10 days, as I got my "extra lift" today at Mt. Baldy!
After 2 sessions of radiation and 1 loooong session of chemotherapy, my energy levels are actually HIGHER than pre-treatment. Placebo-effect, maybe, but who cares? I was able to get back on skis and participate in a field avalanche course today (and tomorrow)! Wasn't in the cards two weeks ago, but 4 weeks ago, neither was cancer. So life right now is a daily evaluation, under the watchful eye of my Chief Medical Observer - CMO Rose. I felt great on the slopes of Mt Baldy and had the energy to dig snow pits, track beacons and of course take several runs.
The other source of "extra lift" that I have received in abundance has been the prayer support that I have received from so many of you, including the supportive congregation at our new church in La Verne. Our Pastor has been so involved with Rose and I and continues to lift us both up in prayer. It doesn't hurt to have a brother, who will be a priest soon, pulling for you either. God's hand has been in all of this - from discovery to diagnosis to prognosis. I can say with with complete honesty that I have NO fear of cancer or the outcome I face, despite how that might sound. It is all part of His plan, though I pledge to do my part. I don't talk often about my religious beliefs - never have. That's my relationship with God and it's personal to me. But it became apparent that I was thanking family, friends, doctors, medicine - without giving thanks to God. He will provide the "extra lift" needed to get me through this.
Friday, January 18, 2013
Beginner's Luck
Day one of my treatment plan is in the books. Only 24 more radiation treatments and 4 chemotherapy sessions - yes, I AM counting! But that wasn't so bad. The chemotherapy was supposed to be harder in the beginning, while radiation was supposed to be easy early on. But wait:
Hair - check, just like before, half of my head is still covered
Nausea - nope, in fact I snacked on a sandwich while being infused
Fatigue - kidding? I worked through the 4 hours of chemo, went to an Avalanche class until 10:15pm and now I'm writing this blog at 3am. I could actually use a little fatigue!
So far so good! Wasn't thrilled with the 5.5 hours I was at City of Hope, but they say virgins take longer. Should be down to 2.5 hours by next Wed. And at least the longest part, chemotherapy, is only 1 day per week. The radiation is only a short 20 minutes - they should actually consider putting in a drive-through! Radiation is pretty cool - the sound it emits reminds me of an idling Harley. I'm thinking about wearing a helmet and chaps for my next session to get more from the experience!
So where am I after day one? Well, I've got a couple of close friends coming by early this morning to catch a quick bike ride before work and this weekend I'll be finishing my Avalanche class at Mt. Baldy. It's early, no doubt, but I'm cautiously resuming an active schedule until my body calls a timeout. My chief medical officer, Rose, is keeping tabs on just about everything I do, so I've got a short leash as long as I can prove I'm up to it.
Let's see if I can catch a few hours of shuteye before hitting the early morning trails.
Hair - check, just like before, half of my head is still covered
Nausea - nope, in fact I snacked on a sandwich while being infused
Fatigue - kidding? I worked through the 4 hours of chemo, went to an Avalanche class until 10:15pm and now I'm writing this blog at 3am. I could actually use a little fatigue!
So far so good! Wasn't thrilled with the 5.5 hours I was at City of Hope, but they say virgins take longer. Should be down to 2.5 hours by next Wed. And at least the longest part, chemotherapy, is only 1 day per week. The radiation is only a short 20 minutes - they should actually consider putting in a drive-through! Radiation is pretty cool - the sound it emits reminds me of an idling Harley. I'm thinking about wearing a helmet and chaps for my next session to get more from the experience!
So where am I after day one? Well, I've got a couple of close friends coming by early this morning to catch a quick bike ride before work and this weekend I'll be finishing my Avalanche class at Mt. Baldy. It's early, no doubt, but I'm cautiously resuming an active schedule until my body calls a timeout. My chief medical officer, Rose, is keeping tabs on just about everything I do, so I've got a short leash as long as I can prove I'm up to it.
Let's see if I can catch a few hours of shuteye before hitting the early morning trails.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
'twas the night before....
Q: How do you prepare for the start of 5 weeks of radiation and chemotherapy?
A: Grab a great friend and go rip the local trails on your bike!
With treatment starting at 9am tomorrow morning, it was either cram a ride into the early morning (too cold lately) and be rushed, or don the night lights and get the ride in tonight. My great friend, who underwent serious back surgery less than 10 months ago, came up to my local trail to take the ride with me. We got to a long steep section that I usually hit on the way back down the mountain, and this guy starts CLIMBING it! Haven't ridden up that trail in about 5 years, but it was "time to climb" and he knew it. I was smiling to the top, knowing full well that this trail, like cancer treatment, is just part of the ride. Sometimes you need to be uncomfortable to have true appreciation of life.
We both got back to the trailhead with big smiles - I was happy to be out on the trail knowing what I have to do in 12 hours, while he was reflecting on how well his riding has progressed since his surgery. This guy is a true inspiration to me - less than 4 months after his invasive back surgery, we were mtn biking, kayaking and even skied a few days this season before my ski season ended two weeks ago. He has amazing resolve to return to normal life - that must be where I get it!
My brother's family up in Reno sent me a care package today - you know, the standard cookies, cards, and an X Box! OK, not so standard - pretty amazing actually! I keep asking friends to come by and kick me off the couch if I wilt under the treatment, so they decided an electronic intervention was in order. Now I have my TRX and X Box to stay in shape - one more X and I might not be able to post on this site! I've got great fans up in Reno that I won't let down through this!
Big day tomorrow - work from 5-8a, City of Hope from 9-1 for radiation and chemo and then back to work before my Avalanche Class from 6-10p. What will kick my butt more, that schedule or the cancer treatment? Wish me well - I have too many following my progress to have anything less than a stellar day! Thanks to all of you for your prayers, messages and calls - you are amazing friends and your strength will carry me through.
A: Grab a great friend and go rip the local trails on your bike!
With treatment starting at 9am tomorrow morning, it was either cram a ride into the early morning (too cold lately) and be rushed, or don the night lights and get the ride in tonight. My great friend, who underwent serious back surgery less than 10 months ago, came up to my local trail to take the ride with me. We got to a long steep section that I usually hit on the way back down the mountain, and this guy starts CLIMBING it! Haven't ridden up that trail in about 5 years, but it was "time to climb" and he knew it. I was smiling to the top, knowing full well that this trail, like cancer treatment, is just part of the ride. Sometimes you need to be uncomfortable to have true appreciation of life.
We both got back to the trailhead with big smiles - I was happy to be out on the trail knowing what I have to do in 12 hours, while he was reflecting on how well his riding has progressed since his surgery. This guy is a true inspiration to me - less than 4 months after his invasive back surgery, we were mtn biking, kayaking and even skied a few days this season before my ski season ended two weeks ago. He has amazing resolve to return to normal life - that must be where I get it!
My brother's family up in Reno sent me a care package today - you know, the standard cookies, cards, and an X Box! OK, not so standard - pretty amazing actually! I keep asking friends to come by and kick me off the couch if I wilt under the treatment, so they decided an electronic intervention was in order. Now I have my TRX and X Box to stay in shape - one more X and I might not be able to post on this site! I've got great fans up in Reno that I won't let down through this!
Big day tomorrow - work from 5-8a, City of Hope from 9-1 for radiation and chemo and then back to work before my Avalanche Class from 6-10p. What will kick my butt more, that schedule or the cancer treatment? Wish me well - I have too many following my progress to have anything less than a stellar day! Thanks to all of you for your prayers, messages and calls - you are amazing friends and your strength will carry me through.
Amazing Offers
I'm amazed by the outpouring of love, concern and prayer that so many of you are sending my way. Long-ago relationships have reopened as if there were no years in between our last contact. Memories of so many good times are brought back as though it was just yesterday. But the offers of support have really been special!
I was challenged yesterday to get well so I could do Crossfit with my ol' buddy who used to go 350lbs when we worked together! He traded in his helmet and shoulder pads for a thin suit and is down 70lbs. Crossfit was intimidating before, but he's taken it to a new level for me. Last time I saw him, he was flying over the bars on a trail in Alaska. He's traded one adventure for another and wants me to jump in too...that's what life is all about. We shared a very emotional, but spirited call, and I love him for it.
Another friend took my first post to heart, and since she had no mtn bike to take me out riding, offered to hit the trails with me on her two modes of transport - a beach cruiser or surf board! I've never used the acronym LMAO - too Jr High for me - but her note had me doing just that. I need to ride more technical trails if she can keep up on a surf board! We haven't talked for years, but the note seemed to pick up where we last left off.
Many of the leadership team that I was privileged to work with at Red Bull have reached out with amazing support. Despite their busy lives, they are willing to drop what they are doing to help in any way. I've always been blessed to work for good friends throughout my career, and these two guys made the experience there exceptional. How many people can call their job one of the best adventures of their lives? Use one hand to count.
Last night I started a 4-day class in Avalanche training for Ski Patrol. Since my radiation and chemotherapy starts tomorrow, 3 of those sessions, including 2 days on the steep slopes of Mt. Baldy, will take place during my treatment. I've committed to be smart about how I approach it based on my energy levels at the time, but a very good friend and fellow patroller offered to take the class with me, driving 1.5 each way just to lend support - sitting through snow science just to make sure I survived the training (chemo will be easy compared to this!! jk).
I hope I've done something for each of these people in my life, as their offers are overwhelming and their support amazing! As I mentioned in my last blog, cancer is ugly, vicious and tragic, but it also presents so many unique gifts. Thanks to all - I feel very lucky and I welcome tomorrow's treatment as I ponder these amazing offers....
I was challenged yesterday to get well so I could do Crossfit with my ol' buddy who used to go 350lbs when we worked together! He traded in his helmet and shoulder pads for a thin suit and is down 70lbs. Crossfit was intimidating before, but he's taken it to a new level for me. Last time I saw him, he was flying over the bars on a trail in Alaska. He's traded one adventure for another and wants me to jump in too...that's what life is all about. We shared a very emotional, but spirited call, and I love him for it.
Another friend took my first post to heart, and since she had no mtn bike to take me out riding, offered to hit the trails with me on her two modes of transport - a beach cruiser or surf board! I've never used the acronym LMAO - too Jr High for me - but her note had me doing just that. I need to ride more technical trails if she can keep up on a surf board! We haven't talked for years, but the note seemed to pick up where we last left off.
Many of the leadership team that I was privileged to work with at Red Bull have reached out with amazing support. Despite their busy lives, they are willing to drop what they are doing to help in any way. I've always been blessed to work for good friends throughout my career, and these two guys made the experience there exceptional. How many people can call their job one of the best adventures of their lives? Use one hand to count.
Last night I started a 4-day class in Avalanche training for Ski Patrol. Since my radiation and chemotherapy starts tomorrow, 3 of those sessions, including 2 days on the steep slopes of Mt. Baldy, will take place during my treatment. I've committed to be smart about how I approach it based on my energy levels at the time, but a very good friend and fellow patroller offered to take the class with me, driving 1.5 each way just to lend support - sitting through snow science just to make sure I survived the training (chemo will be easy compared to this!! jk).
I hope I've done something for each of these people in my life, as their offers are overwhelming and their support amazing! As I mentioned in my last blog, cancer is ugly, vicious and tragic, but it also presents so many unique gifts. Thanks to all - I feel very lucky and I welcome tomorrow's treatment as I ponder these amazing offers....
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Cancer's gifts
It's been repeated in almost every conversation I've had with my friends since my diagnosis on 12/24, "I'm so sorry". I need to remind myself that this is how we voice our concern, as deep down I know that sympathy won't remove the cancer from my body. I'm amazed by the "gifts" that cancer provides, as we only hear the tragedy of cancer.
Last night, we had dinner with our good friends, which provided the opportunity to tap into the experience of a true cancer survivor who started his battle with the same type of cancer 10 years ago. First-hand knowledge of the same doctors, hospital and treatment - it was like getting the answers before the exam. What a gift!
In the mail yesterday I received the most inspirational card from our dear friends in Austin. It was filled with pictures of the many trips and adventures that have been so important to me - many memories that I plan to duplicate immediately after recovery! This gift will remain on my desk to remind me of those great times!
I've found great depth and understanding through a daily devotional that was served in the same capacity for another friend of ours. While a fairly new friend through Ski Patrol, her expression of support is keeping me grounded each day in those things that are important. I'm reminded that I don't take this journey alone.
I received an email from my cousin, who I haven't seen or spoken to in almost 40 years - cancer has reconnected us. The many stories of cancer survivors that have been shared with me don't make my journey easier, but they offer the optimism that keeps this journey positive.
Many gifts have been presented to me since the word cancer became personal. So you can see, there is no need to "be sorry".
Last night, we had dinner with our good friends, which provided the opportunity to tap into the experience of a true cancer survivor who started his battle with the same type of cancer 10 years ago. First-hand knowledge of the same doctors, hospital and treatment - it was like getting the answers before the exam. What a gift!
In the mail yesterday I received the most inspirational card from our dear friends in Austin. It was filled with pictures of the many trips and adventures that have been so important to me - many memories that I plan to duplicate immediately after recovery! This gift will remain on my desk to remind me of those great times!
I've found great depth and understanding through a daily devotional that was served in the same capacity for another friend of ours. While a fairly new friend through Ski Patrol, her expression of support is keeping me grounded each day in those things that are important. I'm reminded that I don't take this journey alone.
I received an email from my cousin, who I haven't seen or spoken to in almost 40 years - cancer has reconnected us. The many stories of cancer survivors that have been shared with me don't make my journey easier, but they offer the optimism that keeps this journey positive.
Many gifts have been presented to me since the word cancer became personal. So you can see, there is no need to "be sorry".
Saturday, January 12, 2013
The beginning
Thanks for joining me on my new (and first) blog - Time to Climb. As an avid pilot and mountain biker, there is one thing I know very well - climbing is inevitable. When I received news on Christmas Eve that I would be facing a battle with esophageal cancer, it signaled my next "time to climb". I have a very good co-pilot and riding partner in Rose, and she will be my anchor through all of this, but many of you have offer to jump in the saddle or slip behind the yoke with me on this journey. For that I thank you.
The diagnosis is cancer of the esophagus, one of the most serious forms of cancer in that it is usually doesn't present itself until it is too late to cure. Score one for me - while it is at an advanced stage 3, it is in a position to treat and eradicate. Based on its location, it usually spreads to lymph nodes, liver, lungs, stomach, etc. Score two for me - this is localized in the esophagus and is moderately differentiated. The 3rd thing I have going for me is the world-class, state-of-the-art facility treating me at City of Hope, only 12 miles from home. Yes, I have a lot of positive things going for me in this battle! But most of all, is my network of family and friends who are sending me prayers and positive thoughts that really make the biggest difference in all of this. (BTW - keep your tears, none here. And never say "sorry" - I'm glad I have it and not you)
My first visit to City of Hope was Jan 3rd. As positive as I've been through the diagnosis and my own research (fairly extensive for me!), I have to admit to being sucker-punched by my surgeon yesterday when he outlined my treatment plan. It was significantly more aggressive than I had planned in my head and I wasn't prepared for it. Everything I read pointed to surgery alone, but that wasn't to be. I'll start with 5 week plan of tomotherapy radiation 5 days/week, along with low-dose chemotherapy once per week. Their objective to reduce the size of the tumor (8-9cm)and kill any cancer cells that may not present as tumors at the present time. Radiation/Chemo treatment will be followed about 6 weeks later by surgery to remove the tumor, surrounding esophagus and small part of the stomach where the esophagus enters.
Surgery will be performed robotically, which is the least invasive method currently practiced for this type of procedure. Recovery will land me in the hospital for about a week (7 days in bed - that's worse than the surgery!) and then on the road to recovery in about 2-4 months. Prognosis is good based on my health, age and condition. I have no doubt that I will be cancer-free following this treatment plan. If you care to visit, here is where I need your help - but bring your bike, kayak, etc. I'll need a push to get back into physical shape and should be about 15 pounds lighter (see that, REAL benefits!).
The outpouring of love, thoughts and prayers has been overwhelming. I can't tell you how much your support has made a difference in my attitude, which has been positive from the moment that I received the news. "Why?", "Why me?", "I can't believe it" have never crossed my lips or my mind. The challenge is best conquered with a strong and clear outlook - I have that. I accept it for what it is and will follow the recommended treatment plan to the letter to give myself the best possible results. Many of you have stated what I feel - I am a fighter and won't attack this challenge with anything less than my best effort. I'm not fighting cancer, I'm simply working to remove it from my body. It's a vicious disease and I have respect for the damage and tragedy that is associated with it. But I have an unwavering dedication to work with my medical team on its eradication. Simple as that.
I've created this blog to keep my friends updated on my progress. I'm sorry that I can't return each call, email or text - there are simply too many of you (I'm so fortunate). I do humbly appreciate each and every one of those calls, emails, texts, and especially your prayers. I will find out a way to make it up to you once this process is over.
Stay tuned for frequent updates. Treatment starts Thursday 1/17 and I'll be posting my status often so you can can follow along with me. Thanks again for your loving concern and support.
The diagnosis is cancer of the esophagus, one of the most serious forms of cancer in that it is usually doesn't present itself until it is too late to cure. Score one for me - while it is at an advanced stage 3, it is in a position to treat and eradicate. Based on its location, it usually spreads to lymph nodes, liver, lungs, stomach, etc. Score two for me - this is localized in the esophagus and is moderately differentiated. The 3rd thing I have going for me is the world-class, state-of-the-art facility treating me at City of Hope, only 12 miles from home. Yes, I have a lot of positive things going for me in this battle! But most of all, is my network of family and friends who are sending me prayers and positive thoughts that really make the biggest difference in all of this. (BTW - keep your tears, none here. And never say "sorry" - I'm glad I have it and not you)
My first visit to City of Hope was Jan 3rd. As positive as I've been through the diagnosis and my own research (fairly extensive for me!), I have to admit to being sucker-punched by my surgeon yesterday when he outlined my treatment plan. It was significantly more aggressive than I had planned in my head and I wasn't prepared for it. Everything I read pointed to surgery alone, but that wasn't to be. I'll start with 5 week plan of tomotherapy radiation 5 days/week, along with low-dose chemotherapy once per week. Their objective to reduce the size of the tumor (8-9cm)and kill any cancer cells that may not present as tumors at the present time. Radiation/Chemo treatment will be followed about 6 weeks later by surgery to remove the tumor, surrounding esophagus and small part of the stomach where the esophagus enters.
Surgery will be performed robotically, which is the least invasive method currently practiced for this type of procedure. Recovery will land me in the hospital for about a week (7 days in bed - that's worse than the surgery!) and then on the road to recovery in about 2-4 months. Prognosis is good based on my health, age and condition. I have no doubt that I will be cancer-free following this treatment plan. If you care to visit, here is where I need your help - but bring your bike, kayak, etc. I'll need a push to get back into physical shape and should be about 15 pounds lighter (see that, REAL benefits!).
The outpouring of love, thoughts and prayers has been overwhelming. I can't tell you how much your support has made a difference in my attitude, which has been positive from the moment that I received the news. "Why?", "Why me?", "I can't believe it" have never crossed my lips or my mind. The challenge is best conquered with a strong and clear outlook - I have that. I accept it for what it is and will follow the recommended treatment plan to the letter to give myself the best possible results. Many of you have stated what I feel - I am a fighter and won't attack this challenge with anything less than my best effort. I'm not fighting cancer, I'm simply working to remove it from my body. It's a vicious disease and I have respect for the damage and tragedy that is associated with it. But I have an unwavering dedication to work with my medical team on its eradication. Simple as that.
I've created this blog to keep my friends updated on my progress. I'm sorry that I can't return each call, email or text - there are simply too many of you (I'm so fortunate). I do humbly appreciate each and every one of those calls, emails, texts, and especially your prayers. I will find out a way to make it up to you once this process is over.
Stay tuned for frequent updates. Treatment starts Thursday 1/17 and I'll be posting my status often so you can can follow along with me. Thanks again for your loving concern and support.
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