Tag Archives: ceritinib

Going in

So tomorrow is the big day; my fifth needle core biopsy.

Rather like a space probe, the purpose of this procedure is to look closer; to learn more about the nature of my cancer so that we may make informed treatment decisions. 

My very first biopsy was the most memorable. Four days earlier I had heard the word neoplasm for the first time. In the days hence, I had read up on lung cancer. The statistics were dismal but my differential diagnosis had left room for other conclusions–a recalcitrant pneumonia or a fungal infection.

When they wheeled me to the biopsy room, the patient before me was a prisoner; cuffed and accompanied by two officers. The physician who performed the procedure first marked the point of entry with a black dot–a dark star of a tattoo. As he guided the needle between my ribs he studied the image on the CT scanner and remarked ‘I am almost certain this is a fungal infection. There is no way a young non smoking woman such as yourself could have lung cancer.’

Post biopsy I was to lie still without speaking for several hours. This was made more difficult by the fact that one of the attendants recognized me–she had been a clerk in a store I patronized–and she, apparently unaware of my restriction, kept trying to engage me in conversation.

The next morning my world turned upside down, when I learned that the radiologist was so very mistaken. Young, non smoking women such as myself could get lung cancer.

My next biopsy was almost three years later. It confirmed metastatic spread and I, a IB at diagnosis, was restaged to IV. However, we would also learn that I was positive for an EMLK 4-ALK fusion gene; ALK+. Four months later I went from having no options to enrollment in my first phase I clinical trial, for crizotinib.

Three years later, prior to enrolling in a phase I trial for ceritinib, I was biopsied yet again, in order to better understand my mechanisms of resistance to crizotinib. An acquired secondary mutation, S1206Y, was identified.

After progressing on ceritinib, I had yet another biopsy. The hope was that I would be positive for PD-L1, making me eligible as an early participant in a clinical trial for immune checkpoint inhibitors. Disappointingly, I was not, however it was revealed that I had now acquired yet another secondary mutation, G1202R. This particular mutation was more problematic than S1206Y, as it conferred resistance to all available ALK inhibitors and it was at this point that I returned to chemotherapy, carboplatin and pemetrexed, until lorlatinib (which shows efficacy against G1202R) became available in trial. Some of the tissue from my biopsy was used to attempt to start a cell line as well as build a mouse model of my cancer, but neither proved successful.

So, here I am, once again at a crossroads and seeking direction. Tonight I will sleep at my friend Diane’s house and in the morning she will drive me to MGH. I look forward to the anesthesia (yeah, I’m kind of a sensory freak and I’m not gonna lie, I like going under 😉 ) but I dread the part where you wake up with a dry mouth and then have to lie there unmoving/not speaking. If the biopsy is uneventful, I will go back home with Diane. However, every other time I have suffered a partial pneumothorax (collapsed lung)–a ticket to one night’s stay in the big house.

It is what it is. I am a traveller who’s had a long run on a clear stretch of road; for that, I am exceptionally grateful. Now it’s time to get my bearings and to figure out the best path forward.

xo 


The downstream effect of two miracles of science

My friend Dr. Tom Marsilje wears a number of hats–devoted parent, dedicated scientist, cancer patient and absolutely amazing advocate/activist.

Tom holds a special place in my heart and personal history but sometimes I have to stop and remind him; we both suffer from chemo brain, a subject he recently covered in his column for the The Philadelphia Inquirer.

He was in town briefly last week so we met for lunch and a photo op in front of Miracle of Science in Cambridge. I mean, how could we not.

Linnea and Tom: two miracles of science

Linnea and Tom: two miracles of science

After snapping our selfie we headed down Mass Ave to Flour, one of my favorite little cafes. Lunch banter was about any number of things including Tom’s relatively new role as a writer, and he noted that it makes him feel good to be really making a difference. I just looked at him incredulously before exclaiming “Dude!”

At this point I should remind you that Tom codeveloped LDK-378, the second ALK inhibitor I was on trial for. Also known as ceritinib and now marketed as Zykadia.

I then used my finger to draw an imaginary line on the table. “This” I said, “is my lifeline. And this is where I started taking ceritinib. No ceritinib and my lifeline stops right there.” And then, for further emphasis: “I am alive because of you and don’t think I ever forget that, even for a moment.”

By this point I was getting a little weepy. I went on to say that if Tom were a war hero rather than a scientist who developed a lifesaving drug for a pharmaceutical company, than his role would not be so seemingly anonymous and that he would be celebrated. But that the lack of accolades in no way diminished what he had already accomplished, which was to extend the lives of so very many ALK positive cancer patients. Including yours truly. And that I was grateful to the moon and back.

Such a tight connection between the individuals who come up with these drugs and those of us who take them. A lot of cause and effect going on there and to think that Tom and I would have the opportunity to also develop a human connection is just way, way cool. This guy had my back long before he ever met me (but must of known of my existence as an ALK+ individual). Gotta say I’ve got his back now but sometimes that just feels like hanging onto contrails as he’s jetting around with astounding energy and putting his fine intellect and experience to work as an advocate/activist for patients with advanced cancers. I feel both honored and blessed (and damn fortunate) to have him in my life.

Which leads me to this closing thought: maybe we should nave a national hug a medical researcher day. Followed by a bunch of bang up fundraising.

xo

Where the heart and science intersect

Way back in 2008, when I enrolled in a clinical trial for crizotinib (Xalkori), it was the only ALK inhibitor in the world. That meant that once it stopped working (and my oncologist stressed from the get-go that this was not a cure, but rather a respite from cancer) it was the end of the road.

One year in I began to develop resistance to crizotinib but without further options, I stayed on trial and eked out almost two more years. Then, just in the nick of time, a phase I trial opened for a second ALK inhibitor–ceritinib (Zykadia).

Of course, in my universe the individuals who develop the therapies that have extended my life are absolute superstars and I the ultimate groupie. I was given the opportunity to meet Dr. Jean Cui, who formulated crizotinib, at the Xalkori Launch in 2011 and I became her number one fangirl.

I couldn’t tell you the exact moment in which Dr. Tom Marsilje and I entered the same orbit (and nor could he, as we both have chemo brain), but he codeveloped ceritinib (Zykadia). By the time I was introduced to Tom, he was battling his own cancer and suddenly our connection became a whole lot more personal.

My friend Tom is an absolute rockstar in every sense of the word and you’d be remiss not to read this profile of him in STAT–Cancer researcher races to find a cure–for his own incurable cancer. This article hits all the high points so I’ll just provide a few more personal details.

About six weeks ago Tom was in Boston and we got together for dinner (along with our mutual friend, John Novack, of INSPIRE) at the appropriately named Miracle of Science. Obviously we should have taken a selfie but neither of us thought of it (blame it on the chemo brain). We’ll just have to do a redux at a later date.

However, the first time Tom and I met in the flesh (like so many of my friendships, ours existed in the email/social media sphere), it was entirely by accident. We were both in DC this past spring, lobbying for our individual cancers (lung and colon). I was waiting for an elevator in the basement of the Russell Senate Building and noticed a man standing with his back to me and thought ‘he sort of looks like Tom Marsilje’. Well, that man turned around, saw me, started to shake a little (we were both gobsmacked), and then I rushed over to give him a big ol hug. The serendipity of our encounter was just sort of perfect.

Anyway, count me a huge fan. Even if he if wasn’t one of the reasons I’m still here, I’d be impressed by and with Dr. Tom Marsilje.

About time

Sort of ridiculous, but my About on this site was some 4 1/2 years out of date. Whoa, good problem to have, rewriting Abouts. So, it’s been freshened up a bit. About time I might say. Little preview here (to save you from having to push that About button):

Time for a new About! The last one had me six and 1/2 years out from diagnosis, on crizotinib (Xalkori) and happily married. So much water under the bridge since then, my friends!

So, updated version. I was Linnea Duff, but I’ve been divorced since 9/1/15 and have reclaimed my birth name, Linnea Olson. I am now 56 flipping years old–old enough to qualify for a senior’s discount at Salvation Army and Saver’s thrift stores. And I couldn’t be happier. Old age is not a problem, it’s the goal!

Crizotinib bought me close to three years, but in the time since I spent 18 months on trial for ceritinib (Zykadia—where do they get these names?), returned to chemotherapy (carboplatin and pemetrexed), took a breather, returned to crizotinib and then in May of 2014, started my third phase I clinical trial for lorlatinib. Despite having acquired some secondary mutations along the way–S1206Y and G1202R–I have had both a positive and sustained response to my third ALK inhibitor.

In April, it will have been eleven years since I was diagnosed. My three kids are all adults now, at ages 31, 30 and 18. The youngest, who is in the college application process, wants to be a cancer researcher. Mama couldn’t be prouder.

And me? Living in a renovated mill in Lowell Massachusetts in a community of artists. I am once again a practicing artist and also sell vintage clothing on the side (The House of Redemption). I continue to devote a fair amount of time to lung cancer advocacy and in addition to my blog here, I write for CUREtoday.

Best news of all? I feel great, absolutely fabulous.

And I think I’ll hang onto the video—even though it is out of date. It just makes me SO happy.