Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
- Robert Frost
This quote hangs in one of the examination rooms in the Hamilton cancer centre. It aptly describes my situation. As one participating in clinical trial(s), I join the minority who take a less-than-conventional approach to cancer treatment. I consider myself lucky to have the option.
Let's hope it makes all the difference.
But this path, this journey with cancer isn't smooth. The road I'm currently traversing dropped suddenly with the reoccurence news and I'm now looking at a steep climb - and the road looks bumpy. But I sense this ascent, with it's slippery twists and hairpin turns may be shorter than those I've navigated in the past. Once I reach the peak, I hope to find a long, gradual, smooth road with some beautiful scenery and temperate weather.
Yes, I'm still experiencing the negative emotions of disappointment, anger, disillusion and annoyance. I have every right to focus on these bad emotions because the cancer is coming back.
But this morning, my thoughts are turning to the ways I'm fortunate. The Olaparib worked and shrunk my tumours. The cancer hasn't spread to any other organ or into my lymphatic system. I have a good chance of qualifying to get this clinical trial drug with its ascities drying and tumour stabilizing benefits. I still have options and I feel pretty good. I have an amazing husband, family and friends.
Sure, I'm tired. Yes, I feel bloated and my back is sore (even more so now that my mind registers every little discomfort as cancer side effects). But it's the Canada Day long weekend, the sun is shining and we're alive to enjoy it.
Make the most of it.
Tina
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
More details
I know I've been conspicuously quiet since the brief update yesterday. Usually, I post the night of my appointments with the nitty gritty details. But I couldn't do it last night. I was physically and emotionally exhausted, and quite honestly, I didn't know what to say. I still don't, but I'll give it my best shot.
I have so many emotions flitting through my head and heart - some good and some bad. In the end, I feel neutral; maybe even cautiously hopeful.
I honestly thought (in the back of my head) I'd walk out of my appointment yesterday with a date to start the next round of chemotherapy. I'd have to drop out of my life (again) and be thrown back into the deep, dark chaos of treatment. To be honest, that thought made me hyperventilate and tear up. I didn't know where I was going to find the strength to do it.
While chemo is an option now and one I'll probably need to comtemplate in the future, it's not the recommendation Dr. H is making now. He says my cancer responds well to chemo and there are lots of cocktail combinations we can try to control this stupid disease, but he's suggesting a new clinical trial. To me it doesn't feel right to jump to chemo at this point.
Medical details
Since my ascities, which is the accumulation of fluid in the abdominal cavity, is increasing and my CA-125 blood level is 514, doubling three times over the course of the last three months, the cancer is coming back. That means the Olaparib worked, but it isn't working any more. So I'm no longer an Olaparib girl. I had my exit EEG yesterday to ensure my heart function wasn't affected (it was fine) and I went home without the big, white capsules. The good news is I don't have to fast for three hours around their consumption any more.
In a way, it feels like I got kicked off the study and I was a failure - and that bugs me - but according to the latest research, I'm actually a success story since I had eight to nine months in remission. It doesn't feel like success to me, but I guess I had higher expectations of the "wonder drug" than the researchers. To be honest, the whole experience has me a bit disillusioned about clinical trials; but not enough to opt out of them. Maybe I'm a little more realistic in my expectations of what they can achieve.
The CT scan showed my tumour shrunk from 9 mm to 7 mm. Yay! The Olaparib obviously worked on those "older" cancer cells (as far as I understand it, the ascities would be from newer cancer cells that have developed a resistance to the drug and are growing). The cancer hasn't spread to any other organs, the deposits on my omentum are stable. The density on my liver, which has been there since 2010 and may be a cyst, is stable. All other organs are unremarkable. So that's all good. It's just the darn ascities that's building.
Clinical trial
Dr. H was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement when he recommended a new clinical trial. He thinks this is the best option for me at this time - and I honestly believe he has my best interests at heart. I have confidence in him and he was very straightforward with me yesterday. He researched various clinical trials going on in Toronto and London, yet thinks this one, which will be happening in Hamilton, may be my best choice.
The study is currently being considered by the ethics committee of the hospital and Dr. H expects it to open to participants in mid July. I don't have all the details, but it involves a new antianglogenic inhibitor, which cuts off the flow of blood and nutrients to new blood vessels. Because tumors cannot grow or spread without the formation of new blood vessels, researchers hope these chemicals will prevent or slow down the growth of cancer by blocking the formation of new blood vessels.
This phase I clinical trial study involves this antianglogenic inhibitor in combination with other drugs (to see if the additional medications increase the effectiveness and assess the interaction of the drugs) versus on its own. Twenty women will be admitted into each arm of the study and I'm now on the list of potential participants.
According to research I did this morning, angiogenesis inhibitors usually have only mild side effects and are not toxic to most healthy cells. Tumors do not seem to develop a resistance to angiogenesis inhibitors, even when given over a long period of time, unlike the resistance seen when chemotherapy drugs are used. The side effects Dr. H mentioned are increased blood pressure, a rash on hands, protein in the urine (which apparently can cause kidney damage over time if the protein is too concentrated) and tiredness.
My research revealed the following limitations: Angiogenesis inhibitor therapy may not necessarily kill tumors, but instead may keep tumors stable. Therefore, this type of therapy may need to be administered over a long period. Because angiogenesis is important in wound healing and in reproduction, long-term treatment with antiangiogenic agents could cause problems with bleeding, blood clotting, heart function, the immune system, and the reproductive system (which I no longer have anyway). I'm sure I'd be monitored very closely to watch for these.
The drugs are taken orally and not in conjunction with chemo. I would have several appointments initially to sign me up for the study, get the appropriate tests and then be monitored, but then they'd taper off. Best of all, if I tolerate the drug(s) well, I'll still be able to work and do normal life things.
The hitch
While I am celebrating the 2 mm shrinkage in my tumour, that great news may ironically end up being bad news for participation in the new study. I need a measurable tumour of at least 1 cm to qualify for the clinical trial. So, it seems wrong, but I almost need to wish my tumour will grow to the appropriate size.
But I believe God put me here now for a reason and I will qualify. I need to have a "wash out" period of four weeks with no Olaparib in my system. Only 40 women can be part of this clinical trial so my reoccurence timing is ideal because Dr. H expects it will fill up quickly. And as I said, I'm on the list. It's as if all the stars are aligning to position me for this next path on my cancer journey.
My next appointment to talk about my situation is on July 26. Until then I get to go to the beach, spend some time at a cottage, go swimming, visit with friends, work - basically live life and enjoy my time. Of course, right now, I'm still feeling a bit perplexed and bombarded by the information and the hurricane of emotions I'm feeling.
My one big fear is the acities will grow out of proportion in the next month and swell my abdomen like a balloon. That would inhibit my enjoyment of the summer and the activities I have planned. It would also mean trips to the doc to get the fluid drained. I feel slightly swollen now, but I still feel good. Fingers crossed, I'll stay that way. The new drug is supposed to be very good at drying up ascities. (Another good omen I'm supposed to be on this clinical trial since that fluid seems to be my nemisis).
So those are the details as I understand and have processed them. I'm sure I'll have lots more information and thoughts to share over the coming days.
I also want to say thank you to everyone for being supportive and patient with me (and I love the hugs). My apologies if I didn't respond to you. I appreciate all the messages, but I'm a bit overwhelmed right now. Sometimes I don't even know what to say. But I do appreciate the open arms and understanding. I may need the listening ears when I am ready.
You're all amazing.
Tina
I have so many emotions flitting through my head and heart - some good and some bad. In the end, I feel neutral; maybe even cautiously hopeful.
I honestly thought (in the back of my head) I'd walk out of my appointment yesterday with a date to start the next round of chemotherapy. I'd have to drop out of my life (again) and be thrown back into the deep, dark chaos of treatment. To be honest, that thought made me hyperventilate and tear up. I didn't know where I was going to find the strength to do it.
While chemo is an option now and one I'll probably need to comtemplate in the future, it's not the recommendation Dr. H is making now. He says my cancer responds well to chemo and there are lots of cocktail combinations we can try to control this stupid disease, but he's suggesting a new clinical trial. To me it doesn't feel right to jump to chemo at this point.
Medical details
Since my ascities, which is the accumulation of fluid in the abdominal cavity, is increasing and my CA-125 blood level is 514, doubling three times over the course of the last three months, the cancer is coming back. That means the Olaparib worked, but it isn't working any more. So I'm no longer an Olaparib girl. I had my exit EEG yesterday to ensure my heart function wasn't affected (it was fine) and I went home without the big, white capsules. The good news is I don't have to fast for three hours around their consumption any more.
In a way, it feels like I got kicked off the study and I was a failure - and that bugs me - but according to the latest research, I'm actually a success story since I had eight to nine months in remission. It doesn't feel like success to me, but I guess I had higher expectations of the "wonder drug" than the researchers. To be honest, the whole experience has me a bit disillusioned about clinical trials; but not enough to opt out of them. Maybe I'm a little more realistic in my expectations of what they can achieve.
The CT scan showed my tumour shrunk from 9 mm to 7 mm. Yay! The Olaparib obviously worked on those "older" cancer cells (as far as I understand it, the ascities would be from newer cancer cells that have developed a resistance to the drug and are growing). The cancer hasn't spread to any other organs, the deposits on my omentum are stable. The density on my liver, which has been there since 2010 and may be a cyst, is stable. All other organs are unremarkable. So that's all good. It's just the darn ascities that's building.
Clinical trial
Dr. H was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement when he recommended a new clinical trial. He thinks this is the best option for me at this time - and I honestly believe he has my best interests at heart. I have confidence in him and he was very straightforward with me yesterday. He researched various clinical trials going on in Toronto and London, yet thinks this one, which will be happening in Hamilton, may be my best choice.
The study is currently being considered by the ethics committee of the hospital and Dr. H expects it to open to participants in mid July. I don't have all the details, but it involves a new antianglogenic inhibitor, which cuts off the flow of blood and nutrients to new blood vessels. Because tumors cannot grow or spread without the formation of new blood vessels, researchers hope these chemicals will prevent or slow down the growth of cancer by blocking the formation of new blood vessels.
This phase I clinical trial study involves this antianglogenic inhibitor in combination with other drugs (to see if the additional medications increase the effectiveness and assess the interaction of the drugs) versus on its own. Twenty women will be admitted into each arm of the study and I'm now on the list of potential participants.
According to research I did this morning, angiogenesis inhibitors usually have only mild side effects and are not toxic to most healthy cells. Tumors do not seem to develop a resistance to angiogenesis inhibitors, even when given over a long period of time, unlike the resistance seen when chemotherapy drugs are used. The side effects Dr. H mentioned are increased blood pressure, a rash on hands, protein in the urine (which apparently can cause kidney damage over time if the protein is too concentrated) and tiredness.
My research revealed the following limitations: Angiogenesis inhibitor therapy may not necessarily kill tumors, but instead may keep tumors stable. Therefore, this type of therapy may need to be administered over a long period. Because angiogenesis is important in wound healing and in reproduction, long-term treatment with antiangiogenic agents could cause problems with bleeding, blood clotting, heart function, the immune system, and the reproductive system (which I no longer have anyway). I'm sure I'd be monitored very closely to watch for these.
The drugs are taken orally and not in conjunction with chemo. I would have several appointments initially to sign me up for the study, get the appropriate tests and then be monitored, but then they'd taper off. Best of all, if I tolerate the drug(s) well, I'll still be able to work and do normal life things.
The hitch
While I am celebrating the 2 mm shrinkage in my tumour, that great news may ironically end up being bad news for participation in the new study. I need a measurable tumour of at least 1 cm to qualify for the clinical trial. So, it seems wrong, but I almost need to wish my tumour will grow to the appropriate size.
But I believe God put me here now for a reason and I will qualify. I need to have a "wash out" period of four weeks with no Olaparib in my system. Only 40 women can be part of this clinical trial so my reoccurence timing is ideal because Dr. H expects it will fill up quickly. And as I said, I'm on the list. It's as if all the stars are aligning to position me for this next path on my cancer journey.
My next appointment to talk about my situation is on July 26. Until then I get to go to the beach, spend some time at a cottage, go swimming, visit with friends, work - basically live life and enjoy my time. Of course, right now, I'm still feeling a bit perplexed and bombarded by the information and the hurricane of emotions I'm feeling.
My one big fear is the acities will grow out of proportion in the next month and swell my abdomen like a balloon. That would inhibit my enjoyment of the summer and the activities I have planned. It would also mean trips to the doc to get the fluid drained. I feel slightly swollen now, but I still feel good. Fingers crossed, I'll stay that way. The new drug is supposed to be very good at drying up ascities. (Another good omen I'm supposed to be on this clinical trial since that fluid seems to be my nemisis).
So those are the details as I understand and have processed them. I'm sure I'll have lots more information and thoughts to share over the coming days.
I also want to say thank you to everyone for being supportive and patient with me (and I love the hugs). My apologies if I didn't respond to you. I appreciate all the messages, but I'm a bit overwhelmed right now. Sometimes I don't even know what to say. But I do appreciate the open arms and understanding. I may need the listening ears when I am ready.
You're all amazing.
Tina
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Mixed results
"Good news doesn't necessarily always come in pretty packaging," says my sister, Angie.
Good news - Tumours shrunk more, physical exam was good. I feel good.
Bad news - More ascities present, Olaparib isn't working any more. In other words, cancer's coming back.
Good news - There's another clinical trial coming up in July that may be ideal for me. It's just going through ethics committee. It's a drug only, which means I should have minimal side effects and be able to continue to live my life.
I'll post more details later but those are the highlights.
Thanks for all your prayers and messages of support. You guys are amazing.
Tina
Good news - Tumours shrunk more, physical exam was good. I feel good.
Bad news - More ascities present, Olaparib isn't working any more. In other words, cancer's coming back.
Good news - There's another clinical trial coming up in July that may be ideal for me. It's just going through ethics committee. It's a drug only, which means I should have minimal side effects and be able to continue to live my life.
I'll post more details later but those are the highlights.
Thanks for all your prayers and messages of support. You guys are amazing.
Tina
Monday, June 27, 2011
Discombobulated
The countdown is on. In 24 hours, I'll be in the Hamilton cancer centre with radioactive juice in my system and sporting an I.V. to push even more into my veins during the CT scan. That test and the subsequent blood work will give Dr. H. the data he needs to present my options.
I have to admit, I'm feeling anxious this morning and as a result, my mind is rather scattered. The giant boa constrictor of worry wrapped itself around me about 20 minutes ago and I'm finding it difficult to breathe. My right eye is twitching too.
But I have an over-abundance of meetings today. That'll either be a good distraction or something that drives me right round the bend. My good friend also brought me a pink rose from the bush she planted for me when I was diagnosed. It's just about to open and it's beautiful. Perhaps that's a sign for good news tomorrow.
Luckily, I have the enjoyable distraction of my son's grade 8 graduation tonight. Being actively present to celebrate will help me from crawling the walls at home tonight.
As for my weekend, it was okay. Nothing spectacular, but not bad either. Michael and I went to the International Food Festival in downtown London and our family watched a couple of movies.
We cleaned the house (yuck) yesterday, so I feel better about its state. Anxiety and the feeling I should be doing something spectacular hung like a cloud over the entire two days, but what's done is done. It was quite normal. God willing, I'll continue to be able to experience normal.
Tomorrow I'll have answers. I'll let you know as soon as I know the direction of my path.
Wish me luck and maybe even a few prayers,
Tina
I have to admit, I'm feeling anxious this morning and as a result, my mind is rather scattered. The giant boa constrictor of worry wrapped itself around me about 20 minutes ago and I'm finding it difficult to breathe. My right eye is twitching too.
But I have an over-abundance of meetings today. That'll either be a good distraction or something that drives me right round the bend. My good friend also brought me a pink rose from the bush she planted for me when I was diagnosed. It's just about to open and it's beautiful. Perhaps that's a sign for good news tomorrow.
Luckily, I have the enjoyable distraction of my son's grade 8 graduation tonight. Being actively present to celebrate will help me from crawling the walls at home tonight.
As for my weekend, it was okay. Nothing spectacular, but not bad either. Michael and I went to the International Food Festival in downtown London and our family watched a couple of movies.
We cleaned the house (yuck) yesterday, so I feel better about its state. Anxiety and the feeling I should be doing something spectacular hung like a cloud over the entire two days, but what's done is done. It was quite normal. God willing, I'll continue to be able to experience normal.
Tomorrow I'll have answers. I'll let you know as soon as I know the direction of my path.
Wish me luck and maybe even a few prayers,
Tina
Thursday, June 23, 2011
The clock keeps ticking
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
It's 146 hours until I'll be scanned and probed. The clock keeps measuring the seconds, minutes and hours until I learn my fate. I'm trying to be calm and casual, carrying on with normal life, but inside the pressure's building as the internal ticking continues.
I feel like this my last weekend and I have to cram stuff into it. But that expectation has also immobilized me into planning nothing. At the beginning of June, I thought I'd try to go whitewater rafting in Ottawa this weekend, but I didn't plan anything for fear I'd be bloated with ascities by ths time. Now it's too late.
Overall I still feel good. I'm tired, but everyone around me seems to be exhausted. However, it does erect a hurdle, because planning seems like too much effort. But of course, if I did schedule something fun, I'd get excited about the event and experience a burst of energy. How ironic.
Tara's friend's family embarks on an adventurous road trip next week after school finishes. Michael and I talked to her dad at soccer last night. We perused the atlas and discussed interesting locales we've visited. He gave us some good tips if we ever want to venture into the northeastern U.S.
The discussion made me yearn for a road trip. I'd love to just hop in the car and take off for parts unexplored. But my leash to reality yanked me back - work, school, graduation, soccer, riding lessons, medical appointments, chores, etc.
And while I feel this is my last weekend, it's not. I have many, many more to enjoy, even if I'm undergoing treatment. I will have time when I feel good. But this is the last weekend I can plan without knowing what my future entails. That's both a blessing and a curse. Fingers crossed, the expectation the cancer's back is wrong, and I'll be released to plan adventures (or not) until my heart's content. At least that'd be a choice. Undergoing treatment for cancer isn't something I'd willingly choose to do.
Oh, I know I have the choice to opt out of treatment, but medical interventions are still my best hope for survival. And I want to live as long as I can.
As for this weekend, I've now consented to a sleepover at our house on Friday night. I should clean the house (it's starting to bug me and cause stress too). Otherwise, I'm wide open. Any suggestions?
Tick, tick, tick, tick. Let's hope that's not the sound of a bomb, but a countdown to a benign reason for my rising CA-125 and an awesome summer.
Tina
It's 146 hours until I'll be scanned and probed. The clock keeps measuring the seconds, minutes and hours until I learn my fate. I'm trying to be calm and casual, carrying on with normal life, but inside the pressure's building as the internal ticking continues.
I feel like this my last weekend and I have to cram stuff into it. But that expectation has also immobilized me into planning nothing. At the beginning of June, I thought I'd try to go whitewater rafting in Ottawa this weekend, but I didn't plan anything for fear I'd be bloated with ascities by ths time. Now it's too late.
Overall I still feel good. I'm tired, but everyone around me seems to be exhausted. However, it does erect a hurdle, because planning seems like too much effort. But of course, if I did schedule something fun, I'd get excited about the event and experience a burst of energy. How ironic.
Tara's friend's family embarks on an adventurous road trip next week after school finishes. Michael and I talked to her dad at soccer last night. We perused the atlas and discussed interesting locales we've visited. He gave us some good tips if we ever want to venture into the northeastern U.S.
The discussion made me yearn for a road trip. I'd love to just hop in the car and take off for parts unexplored. But my leash to reality yanked me back - work, school, graduation, soccer, riding lessons, medical appointments, chores, etc.
And while I feel this is my last weekend, it's not. I have many, many more to enjoy, even if I'm undergoing treatment. I will have time when I feel good. But this is the last weekend I can plan without knowing what my future entails. That's both a blessing and a curse. Fingers crossed, the expectation the cancer's back is wrong, and I'll be released to plan adventures (or not) until my heart's content. At least that'd be a choice. Undergoing treatment for cancer isn't something I'd willingly choose to do.
Oh, I know I have the choice to opt out of treatment, but medical interventions are still my best hope for survival. And I want to live as long as I can.
As for this weekend, I've now consented to a sleepover at our house on Friday night. I should clean the house (it's starting to bug me and cause stress too). Otherwise, I'm wide open. Any suggestions?
Tick, tick, tick, tick. Let's hope that's not the sound of a bomb, but a countdown to a benign reason for my rising CA-125 and an awesome summer.
Tina
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
The little things
Sometimes, it's the little things people do that mean a lot to me. I've experienced a lot of demonstrations of love and support over this cancer journey, but I want to call attention to a couple of the recent ones for which I'm thankful.
How ya doin'?
I have a good friend in my department who pops into my cube every morning to ask how I'm doing. It doesn't take long and it's a small gesture, but one I really appreciate. The best part - I can be completely honest with her and it's okay. I can tell her I'm sad, worried or perfectly fine. It's okay when I'm not having a great day.
Yesterday morning I talked to her about feeling anxious about my CT scan next week. Although I can't do anything about it and I'm trying to push it to the back of my head, I can feel the tightness beginning in the core of my being in anticipation of what will happen next Tuesday.
Preparation and hope
About 99 per cent of me is preparing for (the damn) treatment again and one per cent is hopeful my rising CA-125 is due to an infection or some other semi-normal occurence. I actually read on a message board about an ovarian cancer survivor whose rising CA-125 was due to a small bowel obstruction caused by a hernia. Her small intenstine was sticking through the wall of the abdomen.
"I talked with my oncologist and a friend who is an OB/GYN. Both said the CA 125 will rise or fluctuate if there are any changes to the chest or abdomen, particularly if there is damage to the primary peritoneum. I went online and found the same info at the National Cancer Institute site," she wrote.
I have a hernia with a portion of my small bowel sticking through it. I have damage to my primary peritoneum through my debulking surgery two years ago, when they scraped the cancer deposits off my omentum. As well, I'm sure the chemo didn't exactly baby the area. Perhaps (hopefully) that's the cause of my rising CA-125. It's fixable with surgery and it isn't cancer.
My rising anxiety is due to the anticipation my life will change dramatically again next week - and I have no control over it.
Best case scenario, my CA-125 drops, the whole thing was a fluke and I carry on with life. Or the hernia is the culprit and surgery is the cure. (They can remove my gallbladder at the same time and do a little scouting trip to root out any visible, remaining cancer.) Then I can plan and my mind can rest easier. I'm not counting on this, but I'm a teeny tiny bit hopeful.
A cuppa joe
The second gesture for which I'm thankful is when another friend regularly invites me to join him for coffee. We may spend 15 minutes talking during this java break. Sometimes it's about work and other times it's not. But he's person who asks how I'm doing and wants to hear the real answer. I like that. And being invited to coffee is fun too. I like coffee.
Someone made an interesting comment to me yesterday morning, which I've been thinking about ever since. He wondered how I can even function at work with all that's going on. I told him some days I wonder too. One day last week, I seriously thought I couldn't stand another minute focusing on tasks that won't mean anything in the long run, while my body could be growing millions and millions of cancer cells. I started hyperventilating, crying and I wanted to run screaming out of the building. But then I went to a meeting, transferred my attention to something else and moved forward.
In the end, it's all I can do. That and share my experience with others via this blog. Maybe my insights will help them too. Even though I was quite private before I got cancer, I've turned into an open book, sharing emotions, experiences and gory, medical details. But if my experience can help someone else, I'm doing some good.
As for moving forward, while it would be lovely to freeze a great moment in time and stay there, that would be boring. Experiences change who we are and help us learn.
Life is for living, changing and enjoying. Remember to grab a few moments and relish the enjoyment in yours.
Tina
How ya doin'?
I have a good friend in my department who pops into my cube every morning to ask how I'm doing. It doesn't take long and it's a small gesture, but one I really appreciate. The best part - I can be completely honest with her and it's okay. I can tell her I'm sad, worried or perfectly fine. It's okay when I'm not having a great day.
Yesterday morning I talked to her about feeling anxious about my CT scan next week. Although I can't do anything about it and I'm trying to push it to the back of my head, I can feel the tightness beginning in the core of my being in anticipation of what will happen next Tuesday.
Preparation and hope
About 99 per cent of me is preparing for (the damn) treatment again and one per cent is hopeful my rising CA-125 is due to an infection or some other semi-normal occurence. I actually read on a message board about an ovarian cancer survivor whose rising CA-125 was due to a small bowel obstruction caused by a hernia. Her small intenstine was sticking through the wall of the abdomen.
"I talked with my oncologist and a friend who is an OB/GYN. Both said the CA 125 will rise or fluctuate if there are any changes to the chest or abdomen, particularly if there is damage to the primary peritoneum. I went online and found the same info at the National Cancer Institute site," she wrote.
I have a hernia with a portion of my small bowel sticking through it. I have damage to my primary peritoneum through my debulking surgery two years ago, when they scraped the cancer deposits off my omentum. As well, I'm sure the chemo didn't exactly baby the area. Perhaps (hopefully) that's the cause of my rising CA-125. It's fixable with surgery and it isn't cancer.
My rising anxiety is due to the anticipation my life will change dramatically again next week - and I have no control over it.
Best case scenario, my CA-125 drops, the whole thing was a fluke and I carry on with life. Or the hernia is the culprit and surgery is the cure. (They can remove my gallbladder at the same time and do a little scouting trip to root out any visible, remaining cancer.) Then I can plan and my mind can rest easier. I'm not counting on this, but I'm a teeny tiny bit hopeful.
A cuppa joe
The second gesture for which I'm thankful is when another friend regularly invites me to join him for coffee. We may spend 15 minutes talking during this java break. Sometimes it's about work and other times it's not. But he's person who asks how I'm doing and wants to hear the real answer. I like that. And being invited to coffee is fun too. I like coffee.
Someone made an interesting comment to me yesterday morning, which I've been thinking about ever since. He wondered how I can even function at work with all that's going on. I told him some days I wonder too. One day last week, I seriously thought I couldn't stand another minute focusing on tasks that won't mean anything in the long run, while my body could be growing millions and millions of cancer cells. I started hyperventilating, crying and I wanted to run screaming out of the building. But then I went to a meeting, transferred my attention to something else and moved forward.
In the end, it's all I can do. That and share my experience with others via this blog. Maybe my insights will help them too. Even though I was quite private before I got cancer, I've turned into an open book, sharing emotions, experiences and gory, medical details. But if my experience can help someone else, I'm doing some good.
As for moving forward, while it would be lovely to freeze a great moment in time and stay there, that would be boring. Experiences change who we are and help us learn.
Life is for living, changing and enjoying. Remember to grab a few moments and relish the enjoyment in yours.
Tina
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Technical experiment
I'll be the first to admit I'm not technologically saavy. I can perform basic computer functions: I can manoeuver my way around Microsoft Word fairly well, understand the basics of other programs like Excel and PowerPoint, can connect a printer or new device (because the set up instructions appear automatically) and even map to a drive at work. But beyond that, I'm sadly deficient in skills.
In fact, when I accidentally perform a strange action, increasing the font on my computer screen or losing a tool bar, I need help to fix it. The fact I'm blogging is a small miracle (again, the program makes it quite easy).
So when friends mentioned they couldn't post on my blog, I didn't know what solution to suggest. Even after my test yesterday, I'm stumped.
I'm thankful for those who were able and did post a reply. I'm thrilled to know I have readers who are familiar to me and those I don't know. I'm touched people read regularly. I love the global reach of the internet, allowing me to connect with individuals in Iceland and Germany. Thank you all.
I also got emails from folks, telling me they couldn't post (including my husband). One technologically educated friend said, "I think it's a browser problem. I was using IE7. If anyone is trying to comment, they might be using IE6, which isn't supported." She then successfully posted with Firefox.
I wish I knew what that means.
I desperately wish I could help so everyone could comment, because I adore hearing from you. But I don't know what to do. I even scanned the various settings on my blog this morning, but to no avail.
So, like many people who either don't want to comment publicly, aren't set up to comment or simply can't due to technology problems, I offer the option of emailing me at: mtbrats@rogers.com.
I'm deeply touched by all you who read my blog regularly and provide me with verbal/written love and support. It truly means the world to me to know I'm not alone on this scary, emotional, enlightening, rollercoaster ride called cancer.
Tina
In fact, when I accidentally perform a strange action, increasing the font on my computer screen or losing a tool bar, I need help to fix it. The fact I'm blogging is a small miracle (again, the program makes it quite easy).
So when friends mentioned they couldn't post on my blog, I didn't know what solution to suggest. Even after my test yesterday, I'm stumped.
I'm thankful for those who were able and did post a reply. I'm thrilled to know I have readers who are familiar to me and those I don't know. I'm touched people read regularly. I love the global reach of the internet, allowing me to connect with individuals in Iceland and Germany. Thank you all.
I also got emails from folks, telling me they couldn't post (including my husband). One technologically educated friend said, "I think it's a browser problem. I was using IE7. If anyone is trying to comment, they might be using IE6, which isn't supported." She then successfully posted with Firefox.
I wish I knew what that means.
I desperately wish I could help so everyone could comment, because I adore hearing from you. But I don't know what to do. I even scanned the various settings on my blog this morning, but to no avail.
So, like many people who either don't want to comment publicly, aren't set up to comment or simply can't due to technology problems, I offer the option of emailing me at: mtbrats@rogers.com.
I'm deeply touched by all you who read my blog regularly and provide me with verbal/written love and support. It truly means the world to me to know I'm not alone on this scary, emotional, enlightening, rollercoaster ride called cancer.
Tina
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