My Big Fat Greek Cancer: Part Fifteen

This week, I got more familiar with the roller-coaster ride that all victims of the heinous Big C eventually get to know. In my last blog, I was all upbeat with the news from my latest scans, announcing that the scare from the MRI’s was nothing but what my doctors tagged “pseudo-progression.” Meeting with them this week, however, their tune had changed to more somber notes.

Before I continue, please allow a detour for another tidbit of Steve Bliss health news. On a Friday a couple of weeks ago, I started to notice what felt like an itchy rash on the left side of my face. By Monday, my puss was an ugly landscape of bumps and blotches and my left eye was almost swollen shut. By some miracle, I managed to get in to see my GP, who took one look at this mess, asked a few questions, and immediately pronounced: Shingles!

Thus began the latest course in my post-grad education about heath calamities that affect old-timers, of one whom I did not realize I had suddenly become. Seems most of us have chicken pox when we’re kids, and we were all led to believe that’s the end of it. Unfortunately, the virus that causes chicken pox takes up vacation residence in your system forever, and certain things – say, an immune system compromised by a bombardment of chemo drugs, among other things – can cause it to re-emerge in the form of the shingles virus. This long-forgotten family member moves back in for weeks and you can’t get rid of him. In my case, the real hideous stuff on my face subsided after a week, but I still have throbbing pain around my left eye and in the whole left side of my head. The doc gave me some anti-virals and a mild painkiller (Hydrocodone) but after a week of me bugging him for something more effective, he finally forked over a script for something called Gabapentin, a drug more commonly used to treat the effects of shingles. Unfortunately, the tiny 100mg dose he prescribed was pretty useless, but bumping that up to three or four at a pop seemed to do the trick.

LESSON: If you’re over 50, run out and get a shingles vaccination! It is fairly new, so of course check with your doc first, but I recommend it highly. Unless Halloween is coming up and you’re planning to go as The Elephant Man.

Shingles!

Thanks for your indulgence in that little sidebar. Back to our headline story, in my oncologist’s office. Dr. Lee is not his usual chipper self as he hands me copies of my latest scans in a very businesslike manner. Unlike in our meeting four weeks ago, the news is decidedly not good today. I look at scan after scan showing the ominous blob progressing forward from the back of my skull. A 180-degree turnaround from our last meeting, but before I can open my mouth to ask a question about what these new scans mean, Dr. Lee tells me I have an appointment upstairs with the infusion specialist, darts out of the room and is not seen again.

A few words about my oncologist, whose name is Dr. Fa-Chyi Lee. He is from Taiwan, has degrees from St. Louis U and UCLA and all the cred you would want. He is a squirrelly little fellow, friendly enough, speaks very rapidly, but not exactly the warm and fuzzy Dr. Wilson (Robert Sean Leonard) from TV’s House type. This is not the kind of guy I expect to hold my hand and comfort me after telling me the creature coming to murder me is making expansion plans in his penthouse apartment in my head. I don’t think a minute or two to provide a few details to my wife and me after delivering fairly devastating news is not too much to expect, do you? Dr. Lee and I may be due for a little chat. Or perhaps an email to his boss is in order. You may recall I am in direct correspondence with the director of the entire UNM Cancer Center, following my less-than-ideal intro to the facility several months ago.

Back at the Cancer Center, I finally figure out where to go next after being abruptly abandoned by Dr. Lee. It’s up to the fourth floor to begin the next episode in the battle with Moloch the Destroyer. Goodbye Temodar, hello Avastin. I included some info about Avastin a few blogs ago but I have repeated the link again below. Avastin works by cutting off the blood supply of tumors. This may slow the growth and spread of tumors. It is a new treatment which has seen some good results.

AVASTIN (click for more info)

Upstairs, I settle into a comfy recliner with a glorious view of the Sandia mountains in front of me. I’m hooked up to an IV with a saline drip for about a half hour, to prep my veins and make sure my system won’t have a problem with whatever they’re going to pump into me. Then the treatment begins, which lasts about 45 minutes. I have to be back for this every two weeks. The list of side effects from Avastin reads like one of those erectile dysfunction ads on TV, but so far, so good on that stuff.

Sitting here in my comfy hospital recliner, gazing at the Sandias, I have time to ponder what it all means. Have I just made the next step in an inexorable progress towards an inevitable destination at which all but 5% of people who begin this journey arrive? If I have, I guess there ain’t really much I can do about it. I am thankful for wonderful friends who provide mucho love and support. Some of these friends have gone so far as to urge the help of mystic “healers” who have promised to wipe out the cancer by thinking about it from 1000 miles away. Well, people believe what they gotta believe, and it all comes from love, which hopefully everyone believes in. I am happy for anyone who is upheld by some kind of faith, even if embracing that faith does not come easily to me. I believe in the power of love, and I feel that in abundance.

GOODBYE AMIGOS! SEE YOU SOON! HAHA!!