Speck of an update…

I am lying in bed in my sister Laura’s guest room in Austin, Texas. My nephew Eli just awakened me with a cup of coffee (room service!). Then his brother Hale came in to show me a boat that he constructed out of a cereal box—once I haul myself out of bed he wants to launch it in their pool out back.

I can hear my brother-in-law Andy and my nephew Max going over some last minute preparations—in a couple of hours we will be attending Max’s Bar Mitzvah ceremony.

This dose of family is just what my spirit needed. It has been a jam-packed and somewhat crazy few weeks: the trip to San Francisco with my gang of friends from high school–back home for two days and dinner with Peter Duff at Exeter–a weekend in Santa Monica for the first GRACE conference for ALK-ers (those of us with ALK mutations)–two more quick days home and the beginning of treatment (Xalkori) and now, Austin.

Photos and more complete updates are forthcoming, but in the meantime I’ve barely had time to catch my breath. It’s all good though—each inhale and exhale both.

On my way back home…

The approach to SFO

The approach to SFO

I’m in the San Francisco International Airport waiting to board a flight back to Boston. Waiting; because flights to Boston are experiencing significant delays due to yet another snow storm. What a winter this has been! And how greatly I have been cheered by a bit of a break from it all!

 

Downs and ups

I’m going to begin with another blanket apology. Not only have I been a poor communicator when it comes to blogging, I’ve also not been very consistent about returning personal emails, texts and phone messages. Somehow I lost my date book (in a snow drift somewhere, I betcha) and chances are excellent that if I’ve not done so already, I will miss some appointments.

This galls me because I don’t like being a no-show. In a world rife with promises and proposals, showing up is the only real currency, and I’m afraid I’ve fallen behind in my accounts.

There. Now I’ve at least acknowledged my shortcomings and offered an apology (perhaps preemptively in the case of upcoming appointments).

On the home front, I’ve been back in my apartment for a week and a half now. Servpro did a wonderful job and once again my landlords are to be commended for their quick attention to the mold situation. My eyes are no longer red each morning and my rash has disappeared as well. The only thing that has lingered is my cough, and that, unfortunately, is due to the progression of my cancer.

Yes, when progress is anything but. I saw Alice last week to review my latest scans. Compared to the previous CT scan (six weeks earlier) my cancer is picking up its pace. The largest area of tumor in my upper left lobe increased in size  from 4.0 cm x 1.9 cm to 4.2 cm x 2.5 cm. Noted on the radiology report (and quite obvious when viewing the earlier scan side by the side with the most recent one) is increased prominence of the ground glass opacity. And of course there are numerous little nodules in my right upper lobe as well.

The plan is to start back on Xalkori (crizotinib) asap. First, however, my insurance company has to approve the prescription. To that end I’ve received an automated phone call making certain I was me (social security number? mother’s maiden name?) but no other word and certainly no drug showing up in my mailbox. In the meantime, I’m continuing to enjoy grapefruit, which will soon be verboten.

How am I feeling? Overwhelmed. Sad and occasionally very frustrated. Tired and weaker; both of which I attribute to the progression of my cancer. Sore—I’ve screwed up my back something wicked. I was carrying my easel across the parking lot and slipped on some black ice and fell down hard. Unfortunately I think it was the last straw for my back. So, now I’m sporting a brace, sucking down advil and just hoping that time (and, finally, some respect!) will heal.

Of course, in addition to the trials and tribulations there is the wonder and not some small sense of pride at this fresh chapter. I’ve made fantastic new friends and gone to parties, potlucks and art openings galore. In a further sign of my commitment to the future (rsvp-ing, if you will), I have rented some additional studio space at the mill next door. It is where I shall paint but also set up shop—soon I hope to be offering for sale not only my photos and paintings, but a slew of vintage clothing.

Yes, in those months when I was getting chemo I was busy. Shopping. Hanging out at thrift stores and buying up a rather impressive array of clothes, shoes, hats, scarves, bags, ties and jewelry. In April the doors will open to The House of Redemption: Second Chance Clothing.

So you see, as I said to Alice, I’ve got plans. Big plans. And although cancer may mess with them a little, it’ll just be a temporary setback. All this stuff I’m hoping to do is a form of positive visualization; my rich fantasy life put to therapeutic use. And I am certain it can be realized. To wit: after my appointment with Alice last week I placed a phone call to a woman who was selling some inexpensive teak storage units on Craig’s List. I liked the sound of her voice and as I drove to her house I fantasized that she would be really great, we’d become fast friends, and she would invite me for dinner.

Well, when she opened her front door I was enveloped by the smell of curry. We began to chat about this and that. I agreed to purchase the shelving and went out to my car to get it ready for loading. When I came back inside, this very nice woman said that she had just spoken to her husband on the phone and if I waited twenty minutes, he would be able to assist me. And then she asked me if I would like to stay for dinner.

I laughed and told her that I was almost embarrassed as I had in fact imagined this particular scenario. I suppose some people might have been alarmed at this point, but as it turned out, we were two peas in a pod. Her husband came home, we (well, mostly he) loaded my purchases, and then the three of us sat down for a delicious meal. It was a magical experience and, I am certain, quite out of the ordinary for a Craig’s List transaction.

Moral of the story—go ahead and hope. You never know where your imagination may lead you.

Straw houses: feeling a bit blown away…

I’m in a funk. The kind of piss poor and discouraged frame of mind that has left me wondering just how much more I can handle.

Of course, I know exactly how much—whatever life throws at me. In fact, I’ll borrow a quote from an article in yesterday’s NY Times (and originally quoted from Samuel Beckett): ‘I can’t go on. I’ll go on.’ The beautifully written opinion piece from which I snagged the Beckett quote was composed by Dr. Paul Kalanithi, chief resident in neurological surgery at Stanford University. Diagnosed with advanced lung cancer at the age of thirty six, Dr. Kalanithi has been learning how to navigate the tangible (statistics) versus the intangible; hope. You can read his thoughtful and moving commentary at this link: How Long Have I Got Left?

It’s cold, windy and dreary outside. At times like this it is my habit to note how happy I am to have a home. Only, right now I kind of don’t. Which is not to say I’m homeless. I’ve been temporarily evicted–make that evacuated–from my own apartment. A week ago I traced an unsettling dirty foot smell to the utility closet. There was standing water on the floor all around the hot water tank. I sent an email to Mark, the wonderful maintenance man by day/sometime drag queen by night. He called me within an hour (leaks are the chest pains of the world when it comes to apartment triage). His thinking was that it might be a loose gasket in the garbage disposal, as the sink was directly adjacent to the utility closet. He said he’d come by in the morning.

The next day the floor of the closet was dry. I ran the disposal, but no water appeared. I took a shower–to test the water heater. Again, no dampness. And then, just to be thorough, I started the dishwasher. Bingo!

Long story short, the dishwasher had a cracked drum which had obviously happened prior to or during installation. What may have started as a slow leak (clearly unnoticed by prior tenants) was now a gush. And bleeding up the drywall behind the dishwasher was mold—the black, nasty kind.

I was calm at first. Took myself to Five Guys and had a burger and a think. I followed that up with some internet research on black mold; some of it quite alarmist. The most reasonable source of information was from the EPA and CDC. I have a known allergy to mold and after a bit of reading I concluded that I was showing signs of acute exposure, as my eyes had been red and irritated for weeks and there was a rash on my wrists as well. And, of course, I’d been coughing. Clearly my lungs were at risk. Everyone involved quickly came to the same conclusion–I’d need to vacate my unit while the mold was remediated.

Fortunately there is an empty apartment in the lofts; a showroom of sorts and it is equipped with an airbed. I went back to my place and grabbed some clothes, sheets, a towel, a plate, a cup, glass, fork, knife and spoon. My teakettle and my laptop. Medication. I turned the forced air heat off and Mark and I plugged in some electric heaters. Jim from Servpro came by. He assessed the situation making use of a cool little device that picks up the temperature differences in moisture, and then he made his recommendations. The area around the mold would have to be contained within a ‘tent’ constructed from strapping and plastic sheeting. Servpro employees would then suit up before removing the kitchen cabinets and replacing two sections of drywall. Two big air scrubbers were plugged in and I said goodbye to my stuff and decamped down the hall.

That was a week ago. The air intake for the furnace is located just behind the moldy wall and as indicated by air quality testing, the heating vents were pressure cleaned. A natural product made from botanicals (Benefect) was fogged throughout the unit. Today, the drywall was replaced and the wall repainted. New cupboards and a dishwasher have been order and will be installed as soon as they arrive. I hope to be back home within a couple of days. 

Of course, I’ve got more on my plate/mind than housing. Tomorrow I have a chest CT scan as a follow-up to an appointment with Dr. Shaw two weeks ago. At that time I learned that I do not qualify for the trial of the new ALK inhibitor, PF-06463922. There is a requirement that your last treatment was an ALK inhibitor and you showed measurable progression while on it. The fact that I had chemotherapy after coming off of LDK378 means that I am ineligible.

As a patient, I struggle sometimes with the rigor that is part of a clinical trial. The need for clean data (intrinsically related to FDA regulations) mandates a strict protocol for drug trials. That doesn’t always leave a lot of wiggle room for what might seem like compassionate and humane clinical decisions.

I have a friend who is also unable to qualify for the PF-06463922 trial because the tumors in her lungs have responded so well to treatment. However, she has numerous brain metastases and PF-06463922 is rumored to be effective at treating brain mets. In the strangest of catch-22′s—the current lack of cancer in her lungs means that there is no way to measure the effectiveness of the trial drug on thoracic neoplasms and therefore she is not a suitable subject.

There is a required two week washout period (again in the interest of clean data). This is tough, as many if not most patients with ALK mutations experience a flare of disease when coming off of ALK inhibitors. Again, I feel torn between the future (FDA approval) and the present, the urgent need of patients with ALK (and ROS-1) mutations for effective inhibitors.

In my case I will likely go back on Crizotinib, now marketed as Xalkori and available by prescription (so this time I, or my insurance, will have to pay for it!). Once I’ve shown progression, than I can get back in line for PF-06463922. So, it’s a toss-up. I hope the Xalkori is again effective for a sustained period of time, but I also don’t want to lose a chance to get on trial.

I’m feeling frustrated, for certain. On so many levels. I have been living an unsettled life for some time now. But, I continue to have much to be grateful for. A caring and responsive landlord. My amazing oncologist. And my innate tendency to persevere.

Blow my house down.

Thought bubble: stuff on my mind

...

I’ve got a lot of catching up to do and the longer I wait, the more daunting the task becomes. As my one and only resolution for this year is to not procrastinate (an utterly self defeating behavior), I best get started.

Oh, man. Where though, how? Maybe with the fact that my sister Binky pointed out to me that this is the first time in my entire life that I have lived alone. I’ve always had parents, brothers and sisters, roommates, partners or even my own small children as a hedge between me and loneliness. Now, it’s me, myself and I.

Fortunately, there have been only a handful of days where my newly solitary lifestyle has felt like a negative. For the most part, I am reveling in me-ness. But separating me from the mess; me-ness, messiness, has been quite the project.

You see, I love stuff. Books, beach glass, buttons (and that’s just some of the B’s). In my 54 years I’ve amassed a fair amount of treasure. Thank goodness I’ve moved into a space large enough to contain it all, but I also need to wrestle these stacks into submission. Go through it all, assess what I really want/need, and then find good homes for the rest.

A peaceful environment is enormously important to my sense of well-being. My life has been disordered for some months now, and some healthy routines have fallen by the wayside. Eating well, exercise (yoga!), catching up on email and yes, writing. However, I’ve got to stop using the chaos (however compelling) as an excuse.

It’s been far too long, and I apologize. To you, and to myself. This blog is enormously important to me, and the ability to maintain it a privilege that I never wish to take for granted. Me, myself and I; we are honored to be able to share our life with you. Even the messy parts.

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Rat race

I would imagine all three of my children remember the time when I, riding the down escalator, got a particular gleam in my eye, said “I can do this” and started to run up the down escalator to where they were all standing. I made it to the top, where I tripped/sprawled forward, packages et al. In one of my proudest mama-moments, none of my children reacted by pretending that they did not know me. In fact, they all came running to make sure I was okay.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xK5b3IYZStM

I posted this observation and video on Facebook the other day, knowing my kids would get a kick out of it. I have always had a ‘can-do‘ attitude. However, sometimes can-do and my knack for risk taking pair up and invite poor judgement along for the ride as well, generally to the detriment of my health.

Per wit: this morning I had a dust-up with a dresser, and the dresser won. It began innocently enough, as I made the decision to relocate a lamp. En route to its final resting spot, I saw that my path was blocked by an assortment of boxes, scattered clothes hangers and loose papers. At that moment, I should have turned back. But no

My left foot caught in the hem of my bathrobe, and I  stepped right onto the slippery pile of papers. Disaster. Focussed on not dropping/breaking the lamp, I pitched face first into the corner of the dresser. The lamp was fine, and (miraculously) only the glass vitrine that crashed to the floor was broken. Truly, I could have done so much more damage.

The area around my left eye is a bit scratched up and may yet develop into a shiner. Hopefully I learned something though. The willingness to surmount obstacles is undoubtedly a useful quality, but not when undermined by foolhardy impulsivity. First, do no harm.

Digging out

What's not caked in snow is coated in ice…

What’s not caked in snow is coated in ice…

I am rather certain I’ve used that particular title before, but it really can be so apt. My trip to Baltimore came to a conclusion on Sunday, just after the storm that passed through. The back of my car was nothing compared to the front (although I had only a CD case with which to scrape off the layer of ice):

There's a car under there somewhere…

There’s a car under there somewhere…

A plastic coat hanger filled in for a shovel and a mere twenty minutes later, I pulled out of the airport parking lot (thank goodness for four wheel drive).

That was forty-eight hours ago and I’ve squeezed more excitement in since. However, real life beckons as do the looming pile of boxes. So—tonight, I will begin recounting the events of the past few weeks. Hasta la vista…