Category Archives: Cancer

Cancer, Elk Run, Fourth Phase, Health

Not Yet

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Spoke with my oncologist P.A., Christina. Gonna try one more treatment, Pluvicto. Another radioligand one, similar to actinium. Radioligand is “a specialized precision medicine molecule that combines a targeting compound (a ligand) with a radioactive isotope to locate and destroy cancer cells.” Gemini

Pluvicto, harsher than actinium, will require Shadow to be away from me for three days while I quarantine in my apartment. Radioactive. Six infusions, every six weeks. If the liver mets respond, my prognosis improves.

A long and winding road, cancer. Twelve years, almost. Colorado time and cancer time-the same. Weary from it. Not hopeless. Not despairing. But weary.

However. Three full meals a day. A kind and caring staff. Good friends. Family. No more grounds or house to care for. Someday long term care insurance paying my tab. Stress reduced. Life enhanced.

I’ll do what I can. My own life wants that. However. It does not want pain. Or fear. So there may come a point when continuing to live becomes unbearable. Not yet.

 

Cancer, Elk Run, Fourth Phase, Health

A Fork in the Road

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So. New PETscan shows liver metastases. Not a good result. A next treatment-whatever it might be-will determine a lot. Discussing that with oncologist today. A little shaken though not surprised. This might bring death closer. If so, so be it.

I’ve been wrestling with cancer and its treatments since May of 2015. Up and down. Down and back up. Grim findings began when my PSA jumped in 2016. A few months after clear margins from my prostatectomy. From cured to not cured.

I focus on today. On what I can do. What’s within my power. My agency. Most of the time. But. On occasion a future possibility becomes a present certainty. Like death from a damaged liver. Felt real after I read the petscan results.  My inside opened up, an emptiness below. Then. Maybe, maybe not. But not today. I came back to Shadow, to breakfast. To Ancientrails.

I made this move to Elk Run at the right moment. If I am going to get sicker, room 308 is far better than Shadow Mountain. It’s also better for the time when I’m not sicker. Less stress, more day-to-day joy.

Another branch of my Ancientrail.

Cancer, Dogs, Elk Run, Friends, Health, Shadow Mountain

The Dark

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A bit of a kerfuffle right now over Shadow. Nashay, the caregiver who described the dangers of the dark-bears, racoons, rabid foxes-with such quavery passion refused to take Shadow out. l protested. She said nobody would take her out. Devolved into her “calling her supervisor.” Who has not showed up. Gonna be a bigger issue as we move toward Samain, then the Winter Solstice.

Telehealth call has me a little anxious. How far has my cancer advanced? Could be minimal; could be a lot. Affects my longevity.

Lunch with Ginny and Janice and two of their friends from Milwaukee. One of them, Janice’s former student at the University of Illinois at Champagne-Urbana, has become a well-known costume designer. Looking forward to it.

Feeling a little down today. Nashay, whom I dislike. The only staff person here I don’t like. Since she’s my assigned caregiver on certain nights… Then, come to Jesus time about cancer. As well as selling my house and still in the midst of unpacking, settling in.  A lot. Glad I’m talking to Tom today and having lunch out.

 

Cancer, Health

Cancer

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Got up late yesterday.

Had a visit from my palliative care nurse sub, Claire. She brought along a nurse practitioner transitioning to palliative  care from the ICU.

Bless their pea-picking bureaucratic hearts the folks at Optum believe I’m doing so well I don’t need palliative care. Peculiar since I still have stage 4 metastatic prostate cancer. It’s not going away. Complimenting me while denying me benefits. Bad insurance company. Take a time out.

The nurse practitioner gave me a new formula for recovery from a hospitalization: a week for each day. Even discounting rehab a bit because I did get out of bed some, that formula suggest months of recovery. In addition she and Claire corroborated that recovery from the pneumonia itself takes months.

These comments were meant to reassure me that I was still on the upward arc of recovery. I appreciated them. I tend to focus on what’s still troublesome-weak legs, wonky balance-and forget where this journey started.

Had my petscan. It will tell the tale about my cancer status. Telehealth visit with Christina tomorrow  for the results.

Cancer, Elk Run, Shadow Mountain

Elk Run: Week 2

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Shadow got to play with Annie yesterday morning. Ginny came to pick her up. When she got home around 1 pm, she laid down and went to sleep.

Took two naps yesterday. A sleepy Sunday. Tried to watch a football game, but the buffering stopped that. When I went in for my second nap.

Got started on documents necessary to list my house. Colorado likes forms, lots of them. I’ll be on that today as well. The house sits empty, deep clean today, painting tomorrow. Staging follows. Showings. Then a contract. May it be soon.

With the house ready to go on the market and my Long Term Care claim underway, I’m moving closer to eliminating the two most complex issues I have right now. Well, cancer, too.

Pet scan this week, Wednesday, telehealth with Christina about  it on Friday. See where things are now. Decide on next steps.

A lot of change since July 1st. Here’s yet another shout out to Mary, Joseph, Melissa, Tom, Ginny and Janice and everyone else who has supported me. I’ve needed every bit of support.

assisted Living, Cancer, Family, Fourth Phase, Health

Tasks and Perennial Questions

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Organized money for the roof. Signing contract today. Work starts this week. Peak Window cleaning comes tomorrow AM. Getting the place in shape for listing this month.

Each day this month has tasks related to the Elk Run move. Yesterday and Friday address changes in addition to arranging the roof and the window cleaners.  Colorado DMV. Social Security/Medicare. Voter Registration. Fussy, often frustrating but so much easier online. Can you imagine doing this by snail mail or telephone?

More address changes and a first in a long time trip up to the loft today. Checking on the status of book pulling for volumes going to Elk Run.

 

Friday’s visit to the oncologist has me pondering existential questions. Death. Decline. Living fully. Where is my flourishing?

Philosophers talk about permanent questions. So do conservatives. “In philosophy and ethics, permanent questions (often called perennial questions) are the fundamental mysteries of human existence that never go away.” Gemini

These questions loom large during major transitions like moving to Elk Run. Getting a tough diagnosis. Death of a loved one.

Or when you enter your eighties. Charmingly known among some as the decade of death. Will be on my mind.

I miss talking with Mary over an early a.m. cup of coffee. She’s back in hot, humid Southeast Asia. In a week or so she’ll travel back to Melbourne where spring is springing.

 

Cancer, Dogs, Fourth Phase, Health

And you’re out

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Time for a Shadow report. Woke up last night and noticed that Shadow was up and, I thought, looking out the window. When I turned my head further I could see she was looking at me. Felt as if I’d intruded on a private moment.

Back to sleep. As I began to rouse for getting up I touched something. A paw. Shadow slept with her body tight against my pillow, her left hind leg splayed out upon it.

 

Back from then oncologist. I’m out of the trial. Too much time elapsed between today and my first (only) infusion of actinium. The irony. I went in six weeks or so ago, expecting to get my second infusion. My hemoglobin was too low at 9.5. Needed to be 10. Two weeks later I would have gone in for another potential infusion. Instead I spent 27 days getting over pneumonia. By then too much time had elapsed.

I’ll probably start on pluvicto sometime in the next month or so. It is similar to actinium but requires 72 hours of no human contact after an infusion.

Alan, a good friend, took me to the clinic.

 

 

Cancer, Health

Wrong Direction

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Petscan results: significant disease progression. After my first actinium dose in April. Wrong direction. Not sure where this leaves me. Actinium has an excellent record of killing cancer cells. Why I’m in the trial. Not in this body.

Disappointing. More when I know more.

 

 

Cancer, Fourth Phase, Health, Shadow Mountain

Touch better

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Spring and the Trial Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Mary. Tom. Ruth. Gabe. Shadow. Night sky. Back to the Moon. More sleep. Visiting Angels. Start today.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: New drugs

 

Kavannah: Contentment, Histakop. I have enough. Friends. Family. Money. Health. House. Help

Tarot: paused

One brief shining:  Dry mouth. Makes food taste like cardboard. And, not tasty cardboard. Told my oncologist. He said, “Sweet, wet, and cold foods retain their taste best.” An odd breakdown, but o.k. Wet? Ramen it was. Sweet? Hmmm. Cold? Shrimp cocktail. Watermelon chunks. How to put together?

 

How was last night different from all other nights? I had more sleep than wakefulness. Felt almost normal. Still over tired. A big sleep deficit. Not resolved in one night. Felt so good to realize I’d slept.

A blur. A sleepy haze. No way to spend a day. Reading. Nope! TV.  Making some food. Then, a nap. Or, two.

I let inner darkness, deep shadows taint my mood, my feelings, my thinking. Yesterday. Like a fever breaking. In a moment I recast all those melancholic ideas, feelings. They come from an extreme place. When the cancer rises. When sleep recedes. With extreme visions. Enough. Let’s coast toward the end. Your G.I. tract will never stabilize.

I saw them for what they were: my back against the wall solutions. Accept what they send as a message. Don’t be afraid to do something. Radical moments require radical responses.

Or. Do they? What if the slip into fearful solutions gets hijacked by a miserable guy, leading a not so happy life. For the last week. Could he, say choose hospice? Or drink more Miralax?

A week of disorientation, stomach/bowels upset only evokes a temporary setback. Just feels bad. Yet in the moment I had my melancholy blinker on. I would let in information or thoughts that confirmed my bias. A trap, a Chinese finger puzzle of the mind.

That moment of clarity I mentioned? Took off the blinkers, helped me see the whole wonderful world. Not just the parts of it causing pain. The note from Mary saying she might come and stay with me a while. That ramen. RJ and Michelle at Bond and Devick.

Disoriented? Yes. In psychic pain? Yes. Also companion to Shadow. Maker of ramen. Liking the cool weather.

Cancer, Fourth Phase, Health

A Sinking Ship

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Spring and the Trial Moon

Monday gratefuls: Some sleep. Joe. Shadow. Money. Visiting Angels. Katie. Samantha. Morning sun. Dog run. Orbit gum.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Alpha emitters

Kavannah: Contentment, Histakop. I have enough. Friends. Family. Money. Health. House. Help

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: The night time insult parade. Nope. Not sleepy. Where’s my duvet? This side, that side. Down. Up, the most comfortable. Get up. Go back to bed. Get up again. Moisten mouth. Back. No joy. That frustrated, purposeless moment when you realize: sleeps not coming.

 

My mind. Not shuttered, but turned way down. Thick liquid between its work and my reality. Lasts more or less all day. Hard to do anything except visit.

Sent word to RMCC. Sam. Asking for help.

Thoughts come and go, Michelangelo.

As with other moments, recent and faraway, when stressed my mind often shifts topics. In particular, considering the long term stress from over 11 years, wondering how much longer this sort of historic abomination I’ll put up with.

My body feels tired of it all. Would rather hole up in a cozy corner and read a book. Judy Sherman, my friend who chose death with dignity, told me: My body has had it. I now understand the depth of that short, simple statement.

This trial is my last stand. If it doesn’t produce bang up results–much lower PSA, tumors in retreat–I’ll look again at hospice. Weary.

Some of this is discomfort talking. Some of it comes from the bone weariness of piloting a sinking ship.

All I got for now.