Results after 2nd chemo cycle:
After a long exhausting day of waiting (on an empty stomach) for the PET and CT scans last Tuesday we received promising results from the oncologist at Wednesday’s consultation. The radiologist detected “numerous tumors in both lungs”, all cavitating. (That's my new favorite word.) It means the same as “shelling” but simply put, the tumors are hollowing out from the center. They all appear smaller as well. My doctor was actually visibly excited. He immediately called the Protocol Investigator of the study to get permission to reduce my dosage and hopefully lessen the toxicity—the harsh side effects I’m experiencing. The PI was also very excited. This is exactly what they want to see.
So I’m taking 10 mg. less each day and adjusting other medications to deal with the sickness, pain, and fatigue. It takes a while to find the right combination, but I’m beginning to feel better than I had before and, little bits at a time, regaining some energy.
I was reminded of reality though when I asked about the timeline and how much longer I had to be on the chemo. The oncologist said that we need to treat this as a chronic illness. There's really no timeline until enough of the tumors have shrunk to nothing to go in and surgically remove the few remaining—and I'm not there yet—and then maintain that. So the reality of never being "cured" (medically speaking) has to be repeated to me. But Kathleen and I had big grins when we left.
I must confess to a certain disgust that makes me all the more interested in patient advocacy. The overwhelming majority of people with whom I have contact have shown me compassion and kindness—or at least honest interest. But this last trip reminded me that all are not so and that patients who feel even more ill than I are less capable of self-advocating and need it all the more. Two incidents stand out that reinforce the need each patient has of support and companionship for every procedure and consultation, every stressful situation.
· It’s bound to happen in any teaching hospital. I got stuck (again) with a certain “Practice Nurse” who is seeking advancement/approval, I’m sure very clinically competent, but also competitive and lacking in appropriate people skills. She duplicates everything the oncologist does and says (as if I’ve flown to Houston to seek her “authoritative” opinion) and interrupts or talks over me when the oncologist addresses me or asks me a question of which she’s sure she knows the answer.
· I’ve flown so much in the past 2½ years since I’ve had my stomach tube that I have a security-check routine I obtained by thoroughly checking the TSA regulations for people with disabilities and medical conditions. The flight home turned to chaos when the agents on duty treated me with more rudeness than I thought possible: harassing me and even making a big show of dumping my water bottles (required to dilute my liquid nutrition for my stomach tube) in the garbage can and publicly shaming me. (Yes—I’m writing a letter.)
So why do I bring all that up on the heels of happy news? So that I can remember and acknowledge that God isn’t done with me. These things try my sanctification process even more than cancer. Our adversary still tries to trip us up! And just because I’m physically compromised, doesn’t mean I’m free from temptation and spiritual testing on other fronts. And for the sparing of His shame and the glory of His name, pray for me that I might trust Him more.
And someday “when I awake, I shall be satisfied with Your likeness.” Psalm 17:15
Grace and peace,
Ruth
