Guest Post - At Tim's request

Hey all,

Tim asked me to post an update on the blog for him today - mainly because he's tired and the combination of chemo, a cold followed by a stomach virus, and job stress (there is a critical phase of the NAVAIR engineering staffing that is in process right now) has been difficult. So Tim's energy is low, but he's still maintaining his positive outlook.

Some good news: Tim's last chemo cycle is scheduled for next week. The chemo is scheduled once a month for six months and despite his little incident in June, he's still on schedule and still in the clinical trial. The chemo has taken a bit of a toll on him, Tim is looking a bit gaunt and drawn and he's down to around 185 lbs. However, he is heading toward the last stretch so we think that all will be well and a break from the chemo will bring him back to more of his old self.

Note: he did say to me today, "hey, I'm finally down to the weight that all the Navy flight surgeons thought I should be!!! Now I just need to work on the muscle mass and I'll be a babe magnet!!" ( I didn't reply but he does look lean and mean)

We spent Labor Day in Virginia Beach, taking Robbie to the beach for the first time (he loved it). It felt good to get away, even just for a couple of nights. I ran a half marathon on Sunday, then we headed home with a stop at Wilson and Jennifer's for a wonderful visit. Nate and Jessica, Tim's nephew and his wife, were there with their two beautiful kids, Trent and Emmy. Robbie and Trent had a great time visiting together and we definitely need to get the kids together more - the pool at Wilson's house is great!! I got in the pool with the kids to keep an eye on them and I'm convinced that kids somehow don't feel cold water like their elders do. The pool was COLD!!! Robbie and Trent didn't seem to have much problem with it though....

I am trying to cut down my travel schedule but it's tough right now. Right up through November I could be in Waco, Korea, Seattle, San Diego, or Jacksonville every week. Between Tim and I we'll prioritize, the goal is to keep him healthy and fighting through the chemo.

I appreciate everyone looking in, I've include some Robbie pictures. The first is of Robbie and the claw from the 16lb lobster I caught scuba diving when I was 19. The second is of Robbie and Tim in Virginia Beach this weekend. Everyone have a great night.


Liz

When it Rains...

Robbie apparently broke a bone in his foot (a metatarsal) while playing last Thursday at a local amusement spot called the "Jump Place" on a school field trip [see barely visible red circle in adjoining picture]. This place is filled with big inflatable slides and such. While jumping down one of the aforementioned slides, he got his right foot turned under and cracked the bone. We watched it overnight and when it was more swollen and painful the next morning, Liz took him to St. Mary's Hospital (yikes!) where he was x-rayed and diagnosed. St. Mary's put a soft cast on him and gave us a referral. I'm taking him tomorrow to an orthodpod for a more definitive treatment. Poor guy--looks like no swimming or biking for the next couple of weeks anyway.

I'm OK, but I have noticed that the growth factor shots do take the wind out of my sails. I got my most recent shot on Friday, following four days of chemotherapy. Hopefully yesterday was the worst day. I also have a residual, non-productive, hacking cough left over from my "real" chest cold a few weeks ago.

Sunshine (our bulldog) is worrying me, as she not only is drinking (and excreting) lots of water, but since yesterday she hasn't been able to keep down a meal. Joy.

Liz left on travel early this morning and gets home late Thursday night, so this could be a long week. I'll try and keep you posted if energy allows.


UPDATE/UPDATE: Foot's not broken, only strained. Robbie's back in street shoes and can swim, though running around and biking are off the menu for a while. And Sunshine kept down two meals of rice. Things are looking up!

Hauling Hay

It's 11:00 a.m. Tuesday morning, and I'm back in my favorite (and my brother Wilson's favorite) blue reclining chair, waiting for my Fludarabine to come from the pharmacy.

On the parking garage elevator this morning, coming up from the bowels of parking level 9 (where dwarves toil in the corners looking for jewels and precious metals), I met a harried young mother and her precious daughter--maybe four years old. The mom had scored a parking place on level 5, and was trying to manuever her daughter's stroller into the elevator. I held the door ('cause Mom raised me that way) and helped them in. The daughter was lovely, dressed all in pink, with what I think is blond hair. I say "what I think" because her hair wasn't really there. I didn't ask her mom about her condition, but was pretty sure I could guess. My guess was confirmed when they rode the hospital elevator to the fifth floor, home of the general oncology department. That's why I can't complain. Under the "God Forbid" category, ask me if I'd rather have this disease or have Robbie have this disease. I'll pray for that mother and that child tonight.

Yesterday, on the seventh floor, I had a delightful conversation with a man--call him Alan--with lung cancer. It has been my experience that people in here for treatment are either very outgoing or very insular. Alan was tremendously outgoing. The son of Northern Maryland minister, he is 57 years old, has a graduate degree from an unmentioned educational institution, and came out of grad school to work for many years as a carpenter. He has a small but aggressive tumor that seems to be responding well to chemo. It seems the aggressive cells, the fast movers, sacrifice protection for speed--much like the Mitsubishi Zero fighter of WWII. As a result, they are very open to attack.

Alan was raised in dairy country, and says he still marvels thinking back to his days when he helped neighbors bring in the hay. Watching from the back of the hay wagon as the people on the ground ran in the hot sun from bale to bale, throwing the 90 pound bales up to where he waited to stack them on the cart, stopping only when the wagon was full, and stopping only until the tractor reached the barn. Then off the cart and back to throwing bales. Alan said that thinking back on this non-stop machine-like performance still leaves him in awe. I told him that I could relate.

I think sometimes (and have probably related in a previous post) that growing up on a farm in some ways prepared me for the battle in which I am currently engaged. Look--if you are gazing out over three different fields, covered by a couple of thousand bales, knowing the temperature and the humidity are both going to break the 95 mark, it can be downright overwhelming. So you learn not to look at the whole field. You look at the next bale. You pick it, you throw it on the cart, you roll up your sleeves (for the city folk, only a fool hauls hay in anything but long pants and long sleeves) and brush off any fire ants that you picked up, then run to the next available bale. You do this until the wagon is full or there are no more bales. There's a break for lunch. There's a break for dinner. There's a break each time you ride the wagon to or from the barn. Other than that, you work. Sometimes we hauled hay until eleven o'clock at night, gathering "straggler" bales by the headlights of the tractor, with hands so sore you had to lift the bales onto the back of the wagon by your fingertips. But eventually, you finished.

I'm viewing my ongoing chemotherapy this way. I don't worry about the end state. I focus on the next treatment, the next thermometer reading, the next set of pills. I have faith that some day someone will say "You're in remission". Hauling hay got me ready for this. And I always wondered, "What good is this going to do me?" Who knew?

Starting Down the Back Stretch

SO here I am, Monday moring at 10:40, waiting for my Fludarabine. I got a late start this morning, due largely because Robbie was in such a great mood and I hadn't talked to Elena for a while. I was up in plenty of time, just didn't get out the door when I should have. Now I'm paying the price.

Robbie was absolutely great yesterday, though he was really spun up prior to falling asleep. He slept until 7:00 a.m., lay in bed chatting with me until 7:20 or so, then we both headed to the kitchen when we heard Elena rattling around. God bless Elena--she is not a morning person, but she was a trooper today.

Where I normally reach Georgetown by 8:15, I stumbled in around 9:00, and became part of the Monday morning 7th Floor crush that I usually avoid by getting here early. I've given the normal 2 1/2 pints of blood for the bloodwork, and am now waiting for my drugs.

Still not complaining, but this is getting old. On the other hand, in as much I plan on getting old, I guess I should hush up and take my medicine.

If the Benedryl doesn't wipe me out, I'll log on again later.

Rob & I are waiting outside Jim & Elena's. I have a key, but it's on the Mini's keychain, which is in Seattle with Liz..

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Wednesday's Visit

Well, I'm officially certified "ready for more chemo". Went in Wed. for my pre-chemo check. Dr. Cheson was out of town, but I saw my trials coordinator, Jenny, and Dr. C's nurse practitioner, Katherine. I don't know if it was because Dr. C was not there, but I got in almost a half hour before my appointment time (I got there early for parking reasons).

My blood work all looks good, and my creatinine levels are still going down. Kidneys are still getting better. My heart rate is still a little high and more so than ever I think I'm feeling the fatigue that made chemotherapy famous. Still not complaining though--I still have my hair.

Liz will be out of town from tomorrow until next Tuesday, so I will once again be throwing myself (and Robbie) on the tender sympathies of our friends Jim and Elena (and their daughter Taryn). I've got to get Sunshine in the kennel on Sunday. Still not complaining.

Anywho, that's where things stand. Let's all hope they don't get exciting again.

Have a great weekend.

Tim

In rm 315 @ Lombardi, where I first met Dr. C, and I'm in 45 min ahead of my appt. This is unprecedented.

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