For the past several weeks I’ve been on the chemo loop — working my bone marrow up just to poison it back down. I had scans this week to check on my progress. Unfortunately it’s my liver tumors that are making the progress. They have increased in both size and number. We’re still waiting for the results of the MRI of my head, but we do know that the chemo isn’t working for the metastatic carcinoma, and my bone marrow really can’t handle chemo anyway. My blood counts are still bottomed out from chemo I had a full two weeks ago.
So, on to plan B. My doctors are in cahoots right now to determine what “plan B” exactly looks like, but so far we know it involves genetically sequencing my tumors to hopefully identify a mutation that we can target with a non-chemo oral cancer drug (phew, says my bone marrow). The sequencing takes three weeks. We’ll see what else the good docs have up their sleeve at my next appointment Tuesday. Regardless, we can’t do anything until my blood counts swing back.
Needless to say, this definitely wasn’t the news I was hoping for or even expecting. That’s probably because I have been trying to push forward with life as if my future were a sure thing. That’s what I have learned in the past 11 years that I have to do. Keep my momentum.
It can be difficult to convince yourself of momentum when on disability, especially when you thrive on work like I do. When your life becomes a waiting room, it’s easy to cave in to tuning out the conversations around you and to letting the lady over the intercom dictate when it’s your turn. There’s definitely no way I can keep the pace at which I used to work, but I can do something other than wait (and devise expensive hobbies like redecorating my living room).
So I am moving forward by taking a few hours a week of graduate courses at the University of Iowa College of Public Health that one day will count towards a Masters in Public Health in Policy. It’s stimulating to surround myself with health policy nerds who want to talk about Obamacare’s effects on Medicaid enrollment just as much as I do. It’s good to write papers. It’s good to make plans.
Jimmy and I also adopted a dog, Herman. He’s my company and my couch buddy, a wagging tail when we walk in the door. We’ll have him for many years to come.
This isn’t the first time I have been told that a treatment isn’t working and that we have to wait to figure out something else. These times of waiting are the most trying. It’s human nature to want to move forward as quickly as possible. But I’ve learned that when parts of my life demand that I wait, I should drive on with the parts I can control. It’s all about keeping momentum and looking forward.
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