Thursday, March 20, 2008
What a lovely way to spend an evening
Tubes coming out in every direction, some pumping in fluid, others draining it out. A hole in my stomach, and platitudes from an ostomy nurse that it won't be a big deal. Somehow, I suspect it will be a big deal. But I will get thru it. But it is still the pits. What else do you want me to say?
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Some Pictures?
Brave new world here. I'm actually going to try to post a few pictures of some of my outdoor adventures over the past year.
This first one is Chantal at the head of Honeycomb Fork up Big Cottonwood Canyon. The next is of Silver Glance Lake. See my post on this hike that I made last year. Finally, a shot from a snowshoe hike I took a few weeks ago, just to prove that Radiation/Chemo did not render me an invalid. Looks like they might have posted last to first, but you should be able to sort them out...
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Gutted like a fresh trout
My surgery will be on the 18th at LDS Hospital. With all the $$ that I and my insurance company have given IHC the last few years, I think that I will ask that they name a wing or at least an operating room in my honor.
I am feeling great right now. The radiation burns and symptoms are all gone, I have all the energy I could ever have, it is kind of surreal to think that in 8 days I will be flat on my back with a hole in my stomach and my poop flowing into a baggie. Kind of depressing to think about, so I try not to.
I did hear about a gadget called Ostomy Armor that is supposed to let you do anything you want and not have your "appliance" get dislodged. I'll have to check that out, since I still hope to get back into the hills as soon as I can after this is over.
I don't know if the second round of chemo will knock me back more than the first one did-which was not that much. If so, then life won't be too bad except of course, for that baggie. Yuck.
I'm not going to put many details on this out for public consumption, but I will mention that facing death in the short to mid term does do a wonderful job of focusing your mind on just what you would say if you were standing in front of God, and trying to get your ducks lined up in case it comes to that. And that's all I'm going to say about that.
I am feeling great right now. The radiation burns and symptoms are all gone, I have all the energy I could ever have, it is kind of surreal to think that in 8 days I will be flat on my back with a hole in my stomach and my poop flowing into a baggie. Kind of depressing to think about, so I try not to.
I did hear about a gadget called Ostomy Armor that is supposed to let you do anything you want and not have your "appliance" get dislodged. I'll have to check that out, since I still hope to get back into the hills as soon as I can after this is over.
I don't know if the second round of chemo will knock me back more than the first one did-which was not that much. If so, then life won't be too bad except of course, for that baggie. Yuck.
I'm not going to put many details on this out for public consumption, but I will mention that facing death in the short to mid term does do a wonderful job of focusing your mind on just what you would say if you were standing in front of God, and trying to get your ducks lined up in case it comes to that. And that's all I'm going to say about that.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Two and a half weeks in....
And my insides are going nuts. I've never popped so many gas/nausea/you name it/pills in my life. I guess it was too much to expect to get nuked for five weeks and not have any effects. My energy level is doing OK, sometimes I'm a bit foppish, but generally doing alright, I can at least go to work and do the things I need to do each day.
And what's with a drug named...5FU? Someone needs a new ad agency. I'm sure the chemo is doing what it is supposed to do, but talk about an unfortunate name. Might I suggest perhaps "Morcures" or TumorNuke" or anything but a name that brings a cuss word to mind.
And what's with a drug named...5FU? Someone needs a new ad agency. I'm sure the chemo is doing what it is supposed to do, but talk about an unfortunate name. Might I suggest perhaps "Morcures" or TumorNuke" or anything but a name that brings a cuss word to mind.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Chemo/Radiation-one week down
Everyone said that I was going to be dead tired, and maybe I will at some point, but so far, five days into my treatment, the only side effect has been a gassy tummy, easily taken care of with a few pills. I cannot decide if the catheter rig makes me more like Frankenstiens monster or a Borg. It is danged inconvienient having a tube come out of you 24/7 running to a fanny pack. When I take a shower I have to tape plastic wrap over the top of it.
The radiation will only be five weeks, not six. I do not know if that will move surgery up or not.
The radiation will only be five weeks, not six. I do not know if that will move surgery up or not.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Lots of news, not all of it good.
I have not updated this blog since September, not much of note was happening until a few weeks ago, then all H-E-double toothpicks broke loose. I was doing a routine followup with an MD to a very minor problem that had shown up a year earlier, and being a Uroligist, he wanted to check my prostate (yuck). Well, thank heavens that he did, becuase he felt what he thought was a polyp, I had a Colonoscopy the day after Christmas to remove the polyp. Well, it wasn't a polyp, it was a real, honest-to-goodness, would-have-been-fatal-in-a-few-more-months tumor.
As it is, the cancer was still fairly advanced, and I start chemo and radiation tomorrow. For all the gritty details, I am going to copy and paste a few of the posts that I made on the Yahoo group for colorectal cancer:
1/1/2008:
I am sure that over the years, there have been many messages similarto the one I am typing right now.A week and a half ago, when my MD was doing a checkup and checked myprostate, he told me he felt a polyp, and that I should have acolonoscopy to get it removed.Had the scope the day after Christmas, and no problems with thepolyp, but there is a fairly advanced tumor seperate from it in myrectum. I have had a X-ray, CT scan and ultrasound to look for mestasis and to stage the tumor, and I have a PET scan tomorrow tomake sure that there has been no mestasis. So far, barring any nastysurprises tomorrow, it looks like have joined the Stage 3 club. The tumor was staged as T4,N1,M0, which is I guess about as bad as it can be and still have a shot at a cure. What I do have going for me isthat I am fairly young at 49 and otherwise in great health. I fact,the followup appointment to my initial scan cancelled a planned snowshoeing trip. What feels so strange is that here I am, with a disease that stands agood chance of ending my life, and yet I feel fine-make that great.I should send a thank you to the MD who felt the polyp, since I was totally asymptomatic otherwise. I guess what I am wondering right now is mainly-how miserable do you get while going through the radiation/chemo/surgery/chemo again? I know that the surgery will take me off the grid for at least a fewdays, but I am self-employed and if I don't work, I don't have income. It strikes me as ironic that even if in a year I am totally disease-free, I might be financially destroyed.Were some of you able to work effectively during the chemo and radiation?How long did the surgery incapacitate you between the hospital andstaying at home? Were you able to preform things like yard work and recreational activities? I have always hiked and backpacked and enjoy fly fishing as well. I'm just not sure how those activities will fit in with the gauntlet I am getting ready to run.Of course, I will be asking these questions of my MD, but would liketo hear from those who have been through it firsthand.Thanks a lot in advance.
1/3/08:
Thnaks to all who responded both on the group and via email. I had a PET scan yesterday to confirm that there is no distant mestasis. I called the MD and said that I would see him Tuesday, and not to call me unless the scan had a nasty surprise, but to please call me if it didshow something. Kind of the no-news-is-good-news thing. Sometimes it almost seems as if I could handle whatever the news is rather thansitting around waiting for it. I'm not serious, of course. Being told I was stage 4 would not be a pleasant experience. On a side note, my Uroligist's office called today to let me know thatthe results on my Prostate exam came back normal. I told the nurse to be sure and thank the MD for deciding that I needed it checked, since another few months would have made a difference in my prognosis-and not for the better. I guess I will post more once I know more next Tuesday.
1/7/08
All my scans and scopes are done, I am meeting tomorrow with the MD. The news could be worse, but it certainly could be better. Both the CTand PET scans showed enlarged lymph nodes not in the immediate area ofthe tumor, but the PET did not show any actual tumor in the glands. If there would have been tumors, I would be stage IV, and that would not be good. However, the fact that they are enlarged means that there is a more than good chance that there are at least a few cancer cells thathave drained into those nodes, and if the chemo does not knock them out, then again, that would not be a good thing. But at present, it looks like I am a candidate for the chemo plus radiation/surgery/more chemo gauntlet, with at least a decent shot at a cure.It still seems surreal to be feeling great, but knowing that I am literally in a fight for my life. BTW, I see that some of you have talked about Xeloda oral chemo. The standard chemo at this Doctor is administered via a semi-permenant catheter. Any reason that I should bring up the possibility of using oral chemo? If there are some medical reports you could refer me to, I would appreciate it. Of course, I am going to run a Google search right after I finish typing.
And finally, on 1/12/08:
Both the radiation doc and the surgeon say they think I have a 60-80% chance of beating this on the first go round-as in "no reoccurence"at my present stage. The numbers would be even better except for those enlarged lymph nodes a few inches away from the tumor, which throws a wild card into the whole calculation. Chemo and radiation start Monday...Unfortunately, the surgeon is also of the opinion that there is onlyabout a 10% chance of my not needing an permanent colostomy, due to both the position of the tumor and the fact that it has probably spread to the anal muscle structure. He won't know for sure until he gets in there during surgery. He said all sorts of nice things abouthow living with a colostomy is not that bad, but I think he was just trying to make me feel better .Other than death, a colostomy is what I feared the most when I heard the news of my diagnosis. Some of it is fear of the unknown, but alot of it is because I have always craved to be in the outdoors. If I was a RV/ATV/Huntin' & fishin' kind of outdoorsman, maybe thiswould not be such a big deal, but I am more like the "Put 50 pounds on your back, start walking and disapear for a week" kind of outdoorsman, and have never cared much whether it was summmer or winter when I planned my adventures-that is why God made snowshoes! The possibility that I might not be able to do these types ofactivities is almost as depressing as the thought of not surviving. I have always been an adaptable kind of guy, and I will adjust my life to whatever new realities come my way, but that news was tough to take.
If you are a family member, I appreciate the fast that you all are undertaking in my behalf today. To get through the next few months and years, I will need to have all my strengh, the strenght of my friends and family, and the strenth of the "Man Upstairs".
Confronting your mortality in such a concrete and ominous way has a funny way of making you reexamine your priorities. I may -or may not- have more to say about that later.
As it is, the cancer was still fairly advanced, and I start chemo and radiation tomorrow. For all the gritty details, I am going to copy and paste a few of the posts that I made on the Yahoo group for colorectal cancer:
1/1/2008:
I am sure that over the years, there have been many messages similarto the one I am typing right now.A week and a half ago, when my MD was doing a checkup and checked myprostate, he told me he felt a polyp, and that I should have acolonoscopy to get it removed.Had the scope the day after Christmas, and no problems with thepolyp, but there is a fairly advanced tumor seperate from it in myrectum. I have had a X-ray, CT scan and ultrasound to look for mestasis and to stage the tumor, and I have a PET scan tomorrow tomake sure that there has been no mestasis. So far, barring any nastysurprises tomorrow, it looks like have joined the Stage 3 club. The tumor was staged as T4,N1,M0, which is I guess about as bad as it can be and still have a shot at a cure. What I do have going for me isthat I am fairly young at 49 and otherwise in great health. I fact,the followup appointment to my initial scan cancelled a planned snowshoeing trip. What feels so strange is that here I am, with a disease that stands agood chance of ending my life, and yet I feel fine-make that great.I should send a thank you to the MD who felt the polyp, since I was totally asymptomatic otherwise. I guess what I am wondering right now is mainly-how miserable do you get while going through the radiation/chemo/surgery/chemo again? I know that the surgery will take me off the grid for at least a fewdays, but I am self-employed and if I don't work, I don't have income. It strikes me as ironic that even if in a year I am totally disease-free, I might be financially destroyed.Were some of you able to work effectively during the chemo and radiation?How long did the surgery incapacitate you between the hospital andstaying at home? Were you able to preform things like yard work and recreational activities? I have always hiked and backpacked and enjoy fly fishing as well. I'm just not sure how those activities will fit in with the gauntlet I am getting ready to run.Of course, I will be asking these questions of my MD, but would liketo hear from those who have been through it firsthand.Thanks a lot in advance.
1/3/08:
Thnaks to all who responded both on the group and via email. I had a PET scan yesterday to confirm that there is no distant mestasis. I called the MD and said that I would see him Tuesday, and not to call me unless the scan had a nasty surprise, but to please call me if it didshow something. Kind of the no-news-is-good-news thing. Sometimes it almost seems as if I could handle whatever the news is rather thansitting around waiting for it. I'm not serious, of course. Being told I was stage 4 would not be a pleasant experience. On a side note, my Uroligist's office called today to let me know thatthe results on my Prostate exam came back normal. I told the nurse to be sure and thank the MD for deciding that I needed it checked, since another few months would have made a difference in my prognosis-and not for the better. I guess I will post more once I know more next Tuesday.
1/7/08
All my scans and scopes are done, I am meeting tomorrow with the MD. The news could be worse, but it certainly could be better. Both the CTand PET scans showed enlarged lymph nodes not in the immediate area ofthe tumor, but the PET did not show any actual tumor in the glands. If there would have been tumors, I would be stage IV, and that would not be good. However, the fact that they are enlarged means that there is a more than good chance that there are at least a few cancer cells thathave drained into those nodes, and if the chemo does not knock them out, then again, that would not be a good thing. But at present, it looks like I am a candidate for the chemo plus radiation/surgery/more chemo gauntlet, with at least a decent shot at a cure.It still seems surreal to be feeling great, but knowing that I am literally in a fight for my life. BTW, I see that some of you have talked about Xeloda oral chemo. The standard chemo at this Doctor is administered via a semi-permenant catheter. Any reason that I should bring up the possibility of using oral chemo? If there are some medical reports you could refer me to, I would appreciate it. Of course, I am going to run a Google search right after I finish typing.
And finally, on 1/12/08:
Both the radiation doc and the surgeon say they think I have a 60-80% chance of beating this on the first go round-as in "no reoccurence"at my present stage. The numbers would be even better except for those enlarged lymph nodes a few inches away from the tumor, which throws a wild card into the whole calculation. Chemo and radiation start Monday...Unfortunately, the surgeon is also of the opinion that there is onlyabout a 10% chance of my not needing an permanent colostomy, due to both the position of the tumor and the fact that it has probably spread to the anal muscle structure. He won't know for sure until he gets in there during surgery. He said all sorts of nice things abouthow living with a colostomy is not that bad, but I think he was just trying to make me feel better .Other than death, a colostomy is what I feared the most when I heard the news of my diagnosis. Some of it is fear of the unknown, but alot of it is because I have always craved to be in the outdoors. If I was a RV/ATV/Huntin' & fishin' kind of outdoorsman, maybe thiswould not be such a big deal, but I am more like the "Put 50 pounds on your back, start walking and disapear for a week" kind of outdoorsman, and have never cared much whether it was summmer or winter when I planned my adventures-that is why God made snowshoes! The possibility that I might not be able to do these types ofactivities is almost as depressing as the thought of not surviving. I have always been an adaptable kind of guy, and I will adjust my life to whatever new realities come my way, but that news was tough to take.
If you are a family member, I appreciate the fast that you all are undertaking in my behalf today. To get through the next few months and years, I will need to have all my strengh, the strenght of my friends and family, and the strenth of the "Man Upstairs".
Confronting your mortality in such a concrete and ominous way has a funny way of making you reexamine your priorities. I may -or may not- have more to say about that later.
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