Tag Archives: lorlatinib

When you can’t remember shit

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Perhaps the best greeting card ever.

First, a blanket apology to anyone whose birthday I have forgotten this year. Same goes for all those unanswered emails, texts, phone calls, missed appointments and other no-shows.

Once upon a time I and my ability to recollect were reliable. As a child, I possessed an eidetic memory and when I wished to retrieve an event it was almost as if I were watching a movie of the past in my brain. According to literature the ability to remember things in an almost photographic sense disappears in adulthood, but I am a highly visual person and always utilized a sort of Hansel and Gretel bread crumb approach; when trying to remember something I would visually retrace footsteps in my mind until I came back to the thing I was searching for.

That is, until I started my current therapy, lorlatinib. A small molecule designed specifically to cross the blood brain barrier, lorlatinib is able to deliver drug to tumors within the central nervous system. This is great news for individuals with brain mets but it also means that there may be accordant cognitive side effects. I started early in the trial during dose escalation and at a previously higher dose than I am now taking, and those cognitive side effects were so pronounced that a few weeks into the trial I felt as if I could no longer process or reason. Fortunately lowering my dose improved that scenario but I still felt as if my memory had been completely wiped and that I had suffered something akin to a brain injury.

Because I was also in the midst of a nasty divorce it was hard to parse the stress from the effects of therapy, but suffice it to say that life was challenging.

Two years out I am not only still alive, I feel almost as smart as I used to be. However, my memory is still completely shot. Add advancing age into the mix, and I think it’s fair to assume that I will continue to do things like purchase airline tickets to the wrong city (last summer) or for the wrong day (upcoming trip). It’s a little unnerving and yet you know I like to look on the bright side (cue Life of Brian). Historically I was a mental ruminator, and often made myself miserable by reviewing unpleasant situations over and over. Well guess what! Not being able to remember shit sometimes comes in handy, and I no longer dwell on much of anything.

Although my memory challenges make life less predictable, I am learning a lot about flexibility, personal forgiveness, and a whole lot of scrappy. In the case of the flight to the wrong city, I rented a car (first time ever, alone) and drove the additional 400 miles to my intended destination.

So even if I miss the boat entirely (wink wink–see above), I know I’ll still get there. I just might not remember how.

It was good while it lasted.

Stability, that is.

As any metastatic cancer patient understands only too well, what doesn’t kill you often just keeps trying.

I’ve been in this battle for so long now–more than eleven years–and most of that time has involved active combat with an ever advancing foe. But thanks to lorlatinib, my disease has been stable since June of 2014; my most sustained period of response yet. As a bonus, I’ve felt so damn good it’s been easy to imagine myself cancer free.

However, my scans have always told a slightly different story, with remaining nodules and opacities scattered here and there.

Lungs and Airways: The patient is status post left lower lobectomy for lung
cancer. There is a left lower lobe solid nodule on image 41 series 201 measuring
5 mm unchanged dating back to 5/14/2015. There is also subpleural patchy opacity in the left lower lobe image 63 series 201 that remains stable compared to 5/14/2015. There are small centrilobular groundglass nodules in the left lower lobe image 51 series 201 also stable compared to 5/14/2015 the largest of which measures 9 mm. There is a stable 2 mm right upper lobe nodule image 32 series 201. There is a stable subpleural groundglass nodule in the right upper lobe image 48 series 201 measuring 5 mm. A second groundglass right upper lobe nodule measuring 5 mm but is essentially unchanged from 12/10/2015 and 4/14/2016. A 4 mm solid nodule along the right minor fissure is stable. There are no new nodulesPleura: There is a small left basilar postoperative pleural effusion that remains essentially stable.

The words unchanged and stable are absolutely key here.

However, on my scan report today it was noted that one nodule had in fact changed size: There is a 5mm nodule on image 52 that appears to have grown since 5/14/2015 when it measured 3 mm but is unchanged compared to 3/6/2016.

Obviously it had escaped the notice of previous radiologists. However, upon reading today’s report, my oncologist Dr. Shaw reviewed the scans and agreed that this particular nodule had in fact enlarged and likely represented progression.

Nothing to panic about but a potent reminder that shit is still real.

Dr. Shaw is already talking game plan. We will scan again in three months. If the nodule continues to grow, we might biopsy in an effort to determine what the mechanism of resistance is. If it can be identified, I might be a candidate for a combination therapy of ALK inhibitors. As this is a solitary nodule and in my right lung this time, surgery is a possibility. So is radiation.

Stability may have been rattled but I’ve still got options.

And honestly, that’s the most important thing.

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.

Linnea live (I like the sound of that)

This video was recorded at the annual LUNGevity Hope Summit in 2014 and fits in perfectly with the theme of clinical trials. When I refer to starting a new trial, it is for PF-06463922 or lorlatanib (which has kept my cancer stable for 18 months now–woohoo!). I’m a little breathless and hoarse as my cancer was advancing again. I noticed immediately how fast I am speaking– markedly slowed speech has been a side effect of PF-06463922.

Slow, fast, hoarse or not, the most important message here is one of hope (thank you LUNGevity). When I mention going from cure to living longer I am talking about accepting the fact that I would never be cured. That’s a difficult concept to embrace but in order to make it even remotely acceptable I found I needed to replace cure with a potentially obtainable goal—becoming an outlier. At ten plus years (eleven, in April) I am there.

Secondly, the importance of options. When diagnosed in 2005, the first hurdle I hoped to jump was qualifying for surgery. I had nineteen lymph nodes and most of my left lung removed followed by four rounds of adjuvant chemo and yet my cancer returned almost immediately. Two strikes, and I’d been informed that treating lung cancer was basically three strikes and you’re out. My first clinical trial in 2008 was a long shot. I was thrilled beyond belief when I responded to crizotinib, but also understood that it represented a temporary fix and that there was nothing else out there once it stopped working.

Thankfully, that’s no longer true. Sadly, there aren’t viable options for everyone with lung cancer. Medical research got me to where I am today (alive!) but we can’t stop now.