I cannot do cancer all the time. Given the fact that I never intended to spend a moment with the big C, this is not so remarkable.
However, cancer has a way of screaming ME ME ME.
Ignoring it is not an option. Seeing it lurking over in the corner but carrying on as if it is not in the room is.
Two weeks after my second vaccine I began to get a taste of life as I remembered it. Suddenly I could hang out with friends who were also post vaccine. Cooking dinner for Jim. Fried clams at Woodman’s in Essex with Bill. A weekend in Maine with Annie. Aperol Spritz’, oysters, great wine and lemon linguine at Marc’s. Dinner, dog walks and blood draws (really) with Diane. And a visit from my friend Bradshaw–who drove eight hours to get here–along with his pooch Lulu.
Balm for an extrovert’s soul.
In the meantime, the Linnea hackathon continues; I’ve submitted plasma for genetic sequencing and on Friday I presented my medical history.
Interesting times, these. I am grateful that I feel better sans side effects and that I can now interact with a select few of my fellow humans. And that spring is coming at us. Which will soon be followed by summer.
The photo is from an event Diane and I did a couple of years ago for Blueprint Medicines. Back in the day, when we could still do events.
I moved to Amesbury, MA in December of 2019. I was escaping a bad housing situation (landlords, oh landlords) and also moving across the street from one of my best friends (Diane) at a time when I could use a best friend close by.
And then the bloody pandemic struck. Diane, who is also living with stage IV lung cancer, made the decision to relocate to her home in Maine, where she would be more isolated/protected. I totally understood but was also heartbroken.
Truth is, even if she had still been across the street, we would not have been able to interact.
Diane is the reason I was able to get vaccinated when I did–as she got me on a list for end of the day (no shows). It would take weeks longer to find a similar situation for herself.
Anyway, last Monday she was two weeks out from the second vaccine and moved back across the street. And my happiness quotient immediately went way up.
My bubble remains a small one but damn–after a year of near total isolation, hugs are golden. And now my three kids have all gotten their first vaccine. When he is two weeks out from his second, my oldest son will be flying in for a much overdue visit.
The bleakness of the past year is slowly leaching away. In its place, buds, birds and blooms. Spring. And hope for a slow and measured return to something akin to normal.
So this is exciting. In the spirit of trying new (and sometimes groundbreaking) things, there is going to be a Linnea Olson Hackathon.
What’s this, you ask? Well, a novel approach to coming up with treatment options. Suggested to me by my friend Bryce Olson, engineered by my (new) friend Brad Power and CancerHacker Lab, it will involve a release of all my data, an attempt to refine what we already know (blood biopsies) and a major crowdsourcing effort.
Invitations are going out but anyone is welcome—I would love to have some patients onboard. There is a launch tomorrow (4/9) in the form of a zoom meeting at noon EST. If you would like to join, indicate so here or shoot me a message and I shall send you the link (we are doing it this way for logistical purposes; I apologize for making you jump through a hoop). If you can’t make it tomorrow but still want to be involved, follow the link and sign up—this is not a one off.
And if you simply want to watch, that’s fine too. I shall be posting developments here and hopefully we all will learn something new.
Last week–on Monday–I saw Jessica. She told me to enjoy this time. And I am.
What I no longer have: pustular acne, split fingertips, blisters on my retinas. Unrelenting fatigue. Alopecia. Intermittent nausea.
What I do have: hair. Eyebrows, eyelashes, and freakishly straight, platinum blonde locks. I will take them.
I am in the in between. Lorlatinib shall not serve as more than an intermittent treatment. At this point, it feels like an old friend. Imperfect, but reassuringly familiar.
Before too very long, I shall need to go down some other path. But, in the meantime, I am feeling hella like myself.
This weekend Kumo and I headed north, to my friend Annie’s home. We had a frickin blast. Cooking, traipsing, drinking, getting high. Looking at the stars. Talking about art. And life. Toasting Easter with champagne drunk from the headless carcass of a chocolate bunny. Living. Large. And light.
Before too long I shall be returning to business. The business of staying alive. But in the meantime, I am–with all due respect–simply alive.