This year at church, when the choir started up again after their summer break, Holly and I both decided to join. It has been a long, long time since either of us sang in a choir and we are really enjoying it, even though the voices aren't quite what they used to be. We are hoping that with some time and some practice, the voices may respond and improve.
This morning the anthem was a song titled "Hiding in the Shadow of God (Send the Rain)". Even though we have been rehearsing it for several weeks, today the words just came alive for me. I could see the mighty wings of God covering me as the rains come down. Towards the end it says "And in this test I know that I am blessed, I can rest, my God is here!"
There's a safety on this journey;
there are wings to break my fall.
And when there's harm
I'm folded in God's arms,
I am held before I call.
There is shelter from the evil,
there's still light on days of gray.
And in the storm God's presence keeps me warm,
giving faith so I can say,
"Send the rain, let the wind blow.
I am covered by the mighty wings of love.
I will not fear, I've stopped running.
I'm hiding in the shadow of God."
Walk before me in the darkness,
and hold me up when others fall.
Give me the grace to seek and know Your face
and to recognize your call.
Send the rain, let the wind blow.
I am covered by the mighty wings of love.
I will not fear, I've stopped running
I'm hiding in the shadow of God.
In the shadow there is refuge,
I will not be conquered by my fear.
And in this test I know that I am blessed.
I can rest, my God is here!
Send the rain, let the wind blow.
I am covered by the mighty wings of love.
I will not fear, I've stopped running.
I'm hiding in the shadow; there's peace within the shadow.
I'm hiding in the shadow of God.
There's a safety on this journey
hiding in the shadow of God.
I had to lip sync most of the song. Because when I opened my mouth to sing, my voice broke so badly it was pointless to continue to try. So the rains may come, and the winds may blow, but I know that I am covered by the mighty wings of love.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
One cycle left.
Yesterday, we were at Duke for the final treatment in my 3rd Cycle. And this morning I went to my local Oncologist to get a Neulasta shot to help boost my white cell count. Thank God for medical insurance - that Neulasta shot costs somewhere between $ 8,000 and $ 9,000 each. Unbelievable.
Now I have a break for 2 weeks before starting Cycle 4, which hopefully is my last chemotherapy cycle. I will get tested and reassessed in the latter part of December, and assuming the tests show the one persistent lymph node in my abdomen has disappeared, I should be ready to start the bone marrow transplant sometime in January. As I was singing to Holly the other day, "All I want for Christmas is a clean PET scan, a clean PET scan, yes a clean PET scan."
We have been traveling to Duke for treatments for about the last 20 weeks. Add to that 2 or 3 more weeks waiting for the biopsy and the pathology results, and we have been living with this cancer thing for the last 5 1/2 or 6 months. In some respects the time seems to have gone by quickly. But in other ways we are ready to get this phase behind us. Even though I am extremely fortunate and blessed to not be reacting badly to the treatments, it is none the less beginning to wear thin. It is time to move on.
Now I have a break for 2 weeks before starting Cycle 4, which hopefully is my last chemotherapy cycle. I will get tested and reassessed in the latter part of December, and assuming the tests show the one persistent lymph node in my abdomen has disappeared, I should be ready to start the bone marrow transplant sometime in January. As I was singing to Holly the other day, "All I want for Christmas is a clean PET scan, a clean PET scan, yes a clean PET scan."
We have been traveling to Duke for treatments for about the last 20 weeks. Add to that 2 or 3 more weeks waiting for the biopsy and the pathology results, and we have been living with this cancer thing for the last 5 1/2 or 6 months. In some respects the time seems to have gone by quickly. But in other ways we are ready to get this phase behind us. Even though I am extremely fortunate and blessed to not be reacting badly to the treatments, it is none the less beginning to wear thin. It is time to move on.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Sun and fun.
We spent this past weekend down on the coast at Ocean Isle with some friends. We have attended the annual Oyster Festival there for several years and it is always such great fun (and I don't even like oysters). That makes our third trip to the beach this summer. Considering that I started my chemotherapy treatments on June 20, and have had 16 infusions so far, I think being able to make 3 trips to the beach along with several others to visit the kids and grand kids (4 hours each way) is pretty darn good for an old dog with cancer. The Lord has blessed me in so many ways and enabled me to stay active and busy. What a mighty God we serve.
Back when I was first starting treatments, daughter Jill said she was picturing the chemo like lots of little pacman heads running around gobbling up those cancer cells. And that must be just about the way it worked, since my interim test results a few weeks ago were just excellent. The main object now is that one, large, more persistent lymph node in my abdomen, and I am picturing those same pacman heads crowded around that one node and munching away, sort of like ants gathered around a piece of food dropped on the ground.
Won't you join me in a little mental imagery?
Back when I was first starting treatments, daughter Jill said she was picturing the chemo like lots of little pacman heads running around gobbling up those cancer cells. And that must be just about the way it worked, since my interim test results a few weeks ago were just excellent. The main object now is that one, large, more persistent lymph node in my abdomen, and I am picturing those same pacman heads crowded around that one node and munching away, sort of like ants gathered around a piece of food dropped on the ground.
Won't you join me in a little mental imagery?
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Pray for Eliza
Yesterday was another treatment day at Duke, and things went very smoothly. Without question, the prayers of many, many people have played a big role in my amazing ability to avoid the side effects normally associated with chemotherapy. My recent test results indicated a very significant reduction in the amount of cancer present throughout my body, an almost unbelievable achievement after only 14 weeks of treatment. A couple of Dr. Beaven's comments yesterday indicated that she too is impressed. The power of prayer has been evident since the beginning of this battle with lymphoma. And I thank all of you for lifting me up to our Heavenly Father.
I would ask that you continue your prayers on my behalf. But I have another prayer request that I am asking be added to your list. Our 10 year old granddaughter, Eliza Davis, is scheduled to undergo brain surgery at Duke Children's Hospital on November 12. After several years of testing and evaluation, the doctors have determined that she has a Chiari Malformation, and major surgery is needed to correct the problem. We all have a high degree of faith and confidence that the surgery will go well, and Eliza will come through it just fine. All of our thoughts and prayers will place her in the powerful and loving care of The Great Physician.
I would ask that you continue your prayers on my behalf. But I have another prayer request that I am asking be added to your list. Our 10 year old granddaughter, Eliza Davis, is scheduled to undergo brain surgery at Duke Children's Hospital on November 12. After several years of testing and evaluation, the doctors have determined that she has a Chiari Malformation, and major surgery is needed to correct the problem. We all have a high degree of faith and confidence that the surgery will go well, and Eliza will come through it just fine. All of our thoughts and prayers will place her in the powerful and loving care of The Great Physician.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
A shining beacon.
Yesterday was another Duke day, an opportunity to spend a few hours in those impressive facilities, meet with my equally impressive medical team, and then go have someone infuse some poison into my bloodstream. It was indeed and lovely Tuesday. This begins the second phase of my Cycle 3 treatments, and if past history is any indication, I do not expect to have any adverse reaction to the drug that I am receiving, which is called Pralatrexate. The main possible side effect of this particular tonic is sores in the mouth and/or throat. It takes 4 or 5 days for any sores to begin to show up, so we won't know for sure until about this time next week. But good oral care has kept me pretty clear of any past problems and hopefully will work again this time.
I have commented in the past about some of the people that we see in and around the cancer center, and how their cancer, and the related treatments, has caused them such obvious pain and suffering. But yesterday my attention was drawn to a woman seated in a wheel chair, waiting to have some blood drawn. She was probably in her 50's, a petite lady, and her hair was completely gone. In my reading I have learned that while most women have significant difficulty dealing with the loss of their hair, and immediately begin wearing wigs or some other head covering, some women reject such measures and proudly display their bald heads. This was one such woman. She was neatly and comfortably dressed and her smile just lit up the room. She was chatting with her companion about various topics, none of which had anything to do with her cancer or her resultant condition. It was a joy to observe how she able to be such a positive beacon to all those around her.
Being treated for cancer does not have to be a physically debilitating process. In recent years, the advancements in treatment medications and techniques have been significant. And those advances have enabled patients to better withstand the rigors of those lifesaving procedures. So while our eyes may naturally be drawn to those who are struggling so greatly to get through, there are also many who are able to live fairly full and active lives while contesting their disease. I am blessed to be included in that latter group and I praise the Lord for it.
I have commented in the past about some of the people that we see in and around the cancer center, and how their cancer, and the related treatments, has caused them such obvious pain and suffering. But yesterday my attention was drawn to a woman seated in a wheel chair, waiting to have some blood drawn. She was probably in her 50's, a petite lady, and her hair was completely gone. In my reading I have learned that while most women have significant difficulty dealing with the loss of their hair, and immediately begin wearing wigs or some other head covering, some women reject such measures and proudly display their bald heads. This was one such woman. She was neatly and comfortably dressed and her smile just lit up the room. She was chatting with her companion about various topics, none of which had anything to do with her cancer or her resultant condition. It was a joy to observe how she able to be such a positive beacon to all those around her.
Being treated for cancer does not have to be a physically debilitating process. In recent years, the advancements in treatment medications and techniques have been significant. And those advances have enabled patients to better withstand the rigors of those lifesaving procedures. So while our eyes may naturally be drawn to those who are struggling so greatly to get through, there are also many who are able to live fairly full and active lives while contesting their disease. I am blessed to be included in that latter group and I praise the Lord for it.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Current status.
It has been 2 weeks since I had the PET scan and the bone marrow biopsy. As reported earlier, the test results were most encouraging and uplifting. Since the time we received those results, we have been exchanging a few emails with one of the main nurses at Dr. Beaven's office, trying to get a better handle on what the phrase "significant resolution" really means. Based on what we have heard, I believe it would be safe to characterize my current condition as follows. The bone marrow, which initially indicated a 30% cancer involvement, is now clear and cancer free. No evidence of cancer in the marrow was found. As for the PET scan, which can detect cancer throughout the body, her phrase was "From the capability of the scan, it appears the cancer is not detectable. It is the microscopic piece that is not evaluable." In my terms that means there is no detectable evidence of cancer in either the marrow or the lymphatic system throughout the body. The lone exception to all of this is one large lymph node in my abdomen, that thus far has seemingly resisted the effects of treatment and has remained somewhat stable in size.
So in a period of just 14 weeks, I have gone from Stage 4 lymphoma (4 being the highest or worst stage) to being essentially cancer free, with the one exception. That is pretty impressive and those chemotherapy treatments, unpleasant as they may be, are really working well. Praise the Lord!!! I have gone from a prognosis that was alarming and decidedly negative, to a situation where things are looking quite bright and positive. All in all it has been a pretty darn good 14 weeks.
But I 'm not completely out of the woods yet. That remaining node has to start responding, and I am confident that it is only a matter of time before it also disappears. Then there is the issue of "microscopic pieces". Certain cancers, mine included, can be almost completely eliminated through treatment, but still have a few cells remain to come back later and start the cancer growing all over again. You can be 99.99999% cured, but that last .00001% can come back to haunt you. And that small of an amount is totally undetectable with current testing technology. It is for that reason that I will undergo a bone marrow transplant, probably starting sometime in January. The transplant, which is like going after the last fly in the house with a guided missile, will hopefully destroy the few remaining cancer cells, or at least get us up to 99.99999999999999999999%. It is not a procedure I am particularly looking forward to but it is necessary to improving my longer term prognosis.
I was reading something this week, which indicated that the initial response to a cancer diagnosis is often shock and disbelief, followed by a period of distress....... Been there, done that. We have come so far in such a short period. Many thanks to all of those who have been so supportive in so many ways. Your many expressions of love and caring have meant so much, and we especially appreciate the many prayers that have been lifted up on our behalf. The Lord is good, and His presence in this situation has been so evident and so obvious. We just ask that you continue to keep us on your prayer lists. When measured in days or weeks, most of our journey still lies ahead. But we will continue on, with confidence and joy, knowing that our every step is being watched by our Heavenly Father.
So in a period of just 14 weeks, I have gone from Stage 4 lymphoma (4 being the highest or worst stage) to being essentially cancer free, with the one exception. That is pretty impressive and those chemotherapy treatments, unpleasant as they may be, are really working well. Praise the Lord!!! I have gone from a prognosis that was alarming and decidedly negative, to a situation where things are looking quite bright and positive. All in all it has been a pretty darn good 14 weeks.
But I 'm not completely out of the woods yet. That remaining node has to start responding, and I am confident that it is only a matter of time before it also disappears. Then there is the issue of "microscopic pieces". Certain cancers, mine included, can be almost completely eliminated through treatment, but still have a few cells remain to come back later and start the cancer growing all over again. You can be 99.99999% cured, but that last .00001% can come back to haunt you. And that small of an amount is totally undetectable with current testing technology. It is for that reason that I will undergo a bone marrow transplant, probably starting sometime in January. The transplant, which is like going after the last fly in the house with a guided missile, will hopefully destroy the few remaining cancer cells, or at least get us up to 99.99999999999999999999%. It is not a procedure I am particularly looking forward to but it is necessary to improving my longer term prognosis.
I was reading something this week, which indicated that the initial response to a cancer diagnosis is often shock and disbelief, followed by a period of distress....... Been there, done that. We have come so far in such a short period. Many thanks to all of those who have been so supportive in so many ways. Your many expressions of love and caring have meant so much, and we especially appreciate the many prayers that have been lifted up on our behalf. The Lord is good, and His presence in this situation has been so evident and so obvious. We just ask that you continue to keep us on your prayer lists. When measured in days or weeks, most of our journey still lies ahead. But we will continue on, with confidence and joy, knowing that our every step is being watched by our Heavenly Father.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Pretty good.
Last week was what I have come to refer to as my "heavy week". Three consecutive days of chemotherapy could probably be called a lot of things, but when I finish the week I just feel beat. In addition to the chemo, I take very large doses of Prednisone for 4 straight days. I think it is the Prednisone, but something that I get during that period keeps me from getting much more than about 3 or 4 hours of sleep at night. That will get your tail dragging in no time. We have also found that towards the end of that week, my voice gets very weak and strained. The doctor says it is just one of the ways my body expresses fatigue. Add in some long drives, and the week just doesn't rank up there very high in my idea of what is ideal.
As I have said many times before, I am so blessed to be experiencing only a few side effects, and those are quite mild. I know that there are many, many people out there who go through great pain and suffering while receiving chemo, and it remains with them for days if not weeks. I saw a lady last week in a wheelchair, being pushed into the waiting area for the treatment center. She was all hunched over a dish pan sitting in her lap, and I'm sure it was not there to hold dishes. I am so fortunate.
The weekend and the first few days of this week have been just heavenly. Aside from going to church on Sunday, there was no place we had to go to. No appointments, no doctors' visits, no chemo treatments this week, so all we had to do was stay home and rest. And we have been getting a lot of practice at our resting. It is Tuesday evening now and I think I am getting pretty close back to "normal". The voice is still a little weak and I'm not ready to start painting the house, but I am feeling pretty good. Feeling pretty good is nice, when you haven't been there for a while. Praise the Lord, for feeling good!
As I have said many times before, I am so blessed to be experiencing only a few side effects, and those are quite mild. I know that there are many, many people out there who go through great pain and suffering while receiving chemo, and it remains with them for days if not weeks. I saw a lady last week in a wheelchair, being pushed into the waiting area for the treatment center. She was all hunched over a dish pan sitting in her lap, and I'm sure it was not there to hold dishes. I am so fortunate.
The weekend and the first few days of this week have been just heavenly. Aside from going to church on Sunday, there was no place we had to go to. No appointments, no doctors' visits, no chemo treatments this week, so all we had to do was stay home and rest. And we have been getting a lot of practice at our resting. It is Tuesday evening now and I think I am getting pretty close back to "normal". The voice is still a little weak and I'm not ready to start painting the house, but I am feeling pretty good. Feeling pretty good is nice, when you haven't been there for a while. Praise the Lord, for feeling good!
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