A Moment of Silence

Rather than the post I intended for today, I feel compelled to update you on our situation, which will expound in personal detail the scenarios.

The Day of Truth

As I revealed, today was the day for a computed tomography (CT) scan. The results from today were compared to the results I posted on March 25, 2010. Do note, the first chemotherapy treatment was administered on January 19, 2010, thus marking three months since the first treatment.

As of today, the mesothelioma has failed to be curbed by the chemotherapy. Its resistance has resulted in further thickening of the pleura and advancement to nearly 90% encasement of his right lung.

The adenocarcinoma (tumor under his scapula-shoulder blade) has continued to grow. It now has broken the fifth rib, bringing a total of three destroyed ribs. It has advanced along the bone and has begun destroying the right side of both the T3 and T4 vertebrae. These are the thoracic (chest) vertebrae or the tenth and eleventh from the skull. They are opposite the sternum (breastbone).

No mention was made of affected lymph nodes, and no other major organs have been affected.

The Hard Place

With an unresponsive type of cancer which is neither operable nor a candidate for radiation, the choices are limited to two:

1. A different blend of chemotherapy drugs with pain management
2. A pain management only therapy

Yes, the second choice is not fighting the cancer with traditional medicine.

The Rock

Russell is on a chemotherapy regimen which is the industry premium for treating lung and bone cancers, among many others. The chemotherapy has depleted his body. He has lost more than 30 pounds in the last 60 days. Chemotherapy causes nausea, dehydration, mineral deficiencies and other similarly appetizing side effects.

His blood levels are dangerously unbalanced. The comprehensive metabolic panel (CMP) blood test reveals the chemicals have damaged the vessels going to and from his liver, pancreas and kidneys. This type of damage is irreversible and causes the organs to function improperly.

The Question

Is it better to live with the pain associated with the cancer and the chemotherapy or simply live as well as you can managing the pain of the cancer?

This is not a choice I may make for him. Russell must decide for himself how he will live.

Holding on,
Ann Marie

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What a month can mean!

January brought a PET scan to see the cancer activity in Russell's body.

Excuse me, I needed a break after that last sentence. The results were what most people commonly refer to as "devastating".

The four spots of mesothelioma had grown together and were encasing 80% of his right lung. This is a point from which there is no return. The pleura thickening was at nearly an inch. His right lung was at less than 30% capacity.

The adenocarinoma (frequently hereinafter called "the tumor") has destroyed another rib and was headed for a third in short order. This meant the cancer was leeching into the bone marrow. Another point from which there is no return.

Russell made the choice to undertake chemotherapy. He asked the doctor, "Are we talking months or years?"

With pain in his expression, our friend had to reply, "Months are closer." The tacit portion of that sentence was "to the weeks which are the appropriate answer to the question".

Immediately, we schedule the surgery to insert a port into his chest. Arm veins are not prepared for large amounts of poison. Routine outpatient surgery...oh, yeah, right.

Even this did not go as expected. He lack of oxygen provided recovery complications. His will prevailed. He kept his eye on the prize: A trip to New York to see his sister and his children.

Less than 48 hours later, I drove him to North Carolina to face his fear of flying. Practicing better living through pharmacology, he made the flight to NY. When he called me from the car on his way to his sister's home, he sounded like a little boy with a new toy. Family is the best holistic medicine.

The whole week was filled with family dinners and a little dining out. Loads of telephone calls and a lot of air cleared. Eyes wide open, he told me, "I hate that I have only come home to say, "Goodbye."

Let the chastising begin. "No, you are there to enjoy your family and make wonderful memories. Enjoy yourself or when you come home, I will beat you until I feel better." Knowing full well what my stress level was, he knew the beating would likely not be survivable, even for a healthy boxer.

As much fun as he had, he was glad to be home. I had stipulated he be home for my birthday. (Refer to last post for the reason why.)

Next, we will talk about how I spent the time he was in NY.

Until then,
Ann Marie

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Christmas Cancer?

December is normally filled with Christmas decorating, indulgent baking, wrapping paper flurries and the occasional snowflake. Not this past December.

Russell was complaining of chest pain. Not the usual, "OMG, we HAVE TO go to the hospital," kind of chest pain...a dull, nagging pain. So, the battle of wills began. On a Friday, I told him: You have until tomorrow to get out of the bed and do something around the house or you are going to the hospital."

So, what do you think happened? That's right. He did not get up. On Saturday, he said (again), "I don't feel good enough to do anything;" to which I replied, "Then get in the car so I can take you to the hospital."

"I don't need you to take me anywhere. I'm a big boy;" (Let that sink in for a second...it only took me 2.4 nanoseconds.)

"Then, get in the truck and go to the hospital. If you cannot take care of yourself, I have to do it."

Now that he was painted into a man-ego corner, you guessed it...He went to the hospital. It was December 11th.

Six hours, two chest x-rays and a thoracic CT later, he came home with a pending diagnosis of mesothelioma (He was admitted as COPD.)

I went to the doctor alone to get the CT results. We got the oncology referral and set a date for needle biospy for the apparent adenocarcinoma (of the lung). The tumor had broken one rib under his shoulder blade. The pain he thought was in his chest was actually the tumor pushing his lung forward. The broken rib was destroyed along with most of the nerves.

Four growths of mesothelioma were present on his right lung. His pleura was thickened in all four places. Some places as thick as 1/2 inch. There were 8 affected lymph nodes. This was the pain he felt under his arm.

It was December 21st. I made the decision NOT to schedule the oncology appointment before Christmas. I chose December 29th instead. Russell speculated the reason the appointment was so far away was this would be his last Christmas, and the doctor (a close personal friend of ours) did not want to spoil our holiday. To a large degree, his speculation was warranted. I had told the doctor I was going to have a good Christmas with my family. Cancer be damned.

If I had it to do again, I would not change my behavior.

With the speculation in his hypochondriac mind, he focused on the little ones and the presents under the tree. He watched with childlike wonder as the piles of paper stacked up. He was busy extricating toys from adult-proof wrappers. He was in charge of battery placement. He learned to operate my new digital camera. He even enjoyed the dogs fascination with the whole affair. Russell enjoyed Christmas.

All I asked the prayer chain to pray for...peace in our house. The Lord listened. It was a joyous holiday like no other we have had.

Next time, we are going to discuss the whirlwind which can happen in thirty days.

Carrying on,
Ann Marie

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I am not lost...yet!

My absence has been noted by many. Thank you for the emails and cards. For those who are new or may not have heard, my husband Russell has been diagnosed with cancer. Once this journey is complete, we will return to the investigation of schools for special needs children.

Russell is quite the anomaly. He is only 45, has never worked in a typically high risk field and has been diagnosed with mesothelioma. Additionally, he has an adenocarcinoma tumor on the back of his right lung.

This tumor has broken through two of his ribs. The cancers have spread to more than 15 surrounding lymph nodes.

As most of you do know, we have two autistic toddlers (four and five) at home. This has been particularly difficult for them to understand. Daddy cannot do things with them any more. He has an oxygen tube connecting him to the machine.

They understand not to play with Daddy's new things. I consider this quite a victory.

Over the next few posts, we will travel down the understanding of living with a diagnosis of death. While the prayer chain continues to deliver, the prognosis is grim shy an intervention from God.

I want to delve the physical, mental, familial and spiritual levels to living day-to-day with a devastating, white elephant in the living room.

Until next time,
Ann Marie

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