For those of you who have been following my progress and all, I finally have the news you (and I) have been waiting for.
I went to the doctors' on Tues. March 4 for my assumably final check-up (while on chemo). After searching through my files, he just turned, smiled, and said, "Um... yeah. You're done. All finished. No more Leukemia in your system."
Since getting cancer around July 2005, and beating it in 30 days at that time (after having only two days left when they got the tests done)... I am completely finished with all my maintenance chemo. No more shots or pills. All done. Woo hoo!
BUT... I was reminded that I cannot use the word "cured" yet. They usually have a 5 year waiting out period before they feel sure enough that everything is safe. So for now, I have 2 1/2 years left where I will be monitored on occasion just to make sure everything is still good. But as of my last molecular blood test (and all the previous tests), I show NO signs at all of any Leukemia in my system.
As a reminder... I have (had) one of the rarest and deadliest forms of cancer, but it also happened to have the highest cure rate (if caught in time). So right now I am at at least 85 - 90% sure. Can't get better odds than that.
So? Where's the party? Where's the cake? hehehe...
Now I can finally get back to doing some travels.
:)
To note: During the hour while I waited for my doc appointment, I was musing about my last blood test. That's when a new script idea flooded my head. I began writing furiously for a new vampire concept - of one being "addicted" to blood, while being a "social vampire." Inspirations lie everywhere, but this one wouldn't stop. I had the complete idea and a good portion of dialogue completed in that one hour.
Showing posts with label blood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blood. Show all posts
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Tuesday, October 4, 2005
Bone Marrow Biopsies and Beating Imminent Doom
For those of you who have been following the story so far, keep reading...
For those of you who are new to this, read the (several) previous blogs about how I went from being on vacation in San Diego in July, to suddenly finding out I have two days left to live, to finding that I have one of the rarest forms of Leukemia, to now apparently having beat it in less than 60 days. hehehe...
Oh yeah, I just didn't feel like dying this year.
So... the story continues -
On Wed. Sept. 21, I went in for my second bone marrow biopsy - the next best thing to getting a spinal tap. My first was the day after I got into the hospital at the end of July. The difference here... I had this one done by a Dr. Diamante, the head of the department.
For those who don't know what's involved...
I have a couple of needles stuck into my back hip area to search and numb the area.
They find a good section of hip bone, near enough to the spine, and proceed to skewer a "core sampler" type of needle/rod into the flesh, and down into the bone. This involves cutting into the bone, removing the small knife, and then grinding a smaller needle into the bone using a T-handle.
Apparently with me, it took a bit of arm power and perspiration.
"You've got good bones.", the doctor told me a couple of times, a bit sarcastically.
Although I felt the pressure, it was relatively painless (or I'm just really used to pain by now). Actually it was numbed up enough.
OK... that aside, I was supposed to get my test results back in a couple of days. It took about 10.
On this past Fri. Sept. 30, I got a call from a Stanford lab doctor. He was basically talking to me as any old cancer patient, so I got the clue that he didn't really know much about me.
I asked, for my next chemo treatment (I have two shots left in Oct. and Nov.) if I would be admitted as an in-patient.
He said, "I'll be blunt. Most people don't handle this chemo very well. Some don't get through it. You will feel pretty bad during that time. So yes, you will be admitted."
As we talked, I definitely got the impression that he needed to read my records. He mentioned that he couldn't make out the oncologist's notes very well, but he started to read my charts, and other doctor notes as we spoke.
At this point the lab doc starts saying, "Wow! Wow! Unbelievable! This is not possible." I then told him that I already had the major chemo and not only gone through it without any issues, but enjoyed the whole experience. Also, I told him that I had gone to work just a few days out of my 30-day stay in the isolated hospital room. This doc just kept with the "No way! Wow!" commentary.
I had made mention that I wanted to know about being an in-patient, as I had a possible film production job later in Oct. He then told me what was going on.
The doc said flatly, "There is not one sign of any more cancer in your marrow or body, not in your marrow or blood tests. I was told what to look for in the tests. It took so long because we went over it with a fine tooth comb to sub-atomic levels. If I didn't know what was going on, I would say that you showed no signs of ever having had cancer, or ever going to have it."
When finding out how active I am normally, and especially right after the hospital, he just "wowed".
"We have a curve of what to expect from Leukemia patients and how they react to it, and the chemo. You have just thrown the curve out the window. What you have done is not humanly possible. You should still be in bed feeling horrible. Your body has been ripped apart by a very strong chemo and you show almost no signs of even having that. That's just not possible. This is something to check into. I feel very secure in saying that you will have a very long career ahead of you in anything that you do. I cannot see any cancer coming back. I don't know what you have done, but keep doing it."
So there you have it... the answer that everyone's been waiting to hear (so far), from the marrow tests. He said on a "molecular" and "physiological" level I could say I'm in remission, but he wanted to wait until at least after my next two (and final) in-house chemo treatments to "entertain the idea of saying that you are cured."
Woo hoo! Many people get cancer - and Leukemia is certainly one that shows no discrimination of who gets it - and less people make it through to be able to say that they are cured. But it would be a cool feat for me to look back and say that I beat Leukemia in 30 - 60 days.
A reminder, by the way, that this form that I have - from start to finish - reportedly kills within 2 to 4 weeks. Usually there is no real symptom. And then, your veins fill up with overproduction of immature white blood cells and burst. Not a pretty picture. I caught it two days before it happened, and here I am.
So... my next appointment is to see the oncologist in a week or so and get ready to chemo up again. Only this time I won't be quite so weakened, and I'll be able to hang out at home.
Then I have to wait 10 - 20 days for my body to heal up again, then one more treatment the following month... and then pills for a year. Yay!
In the meantime... I just got a new mountain bike. When I am on my "up" days (when I am allowed to leave the house without worry of infection of a chemo-weakened immune system), let me know if anyone wants to go riding. It's been quite a while for me, and I really miss going on trails and such.
Alrighty... that's the news for now. Sorry for the novel, but you know how I like to write and am a stickler for detail (as many of you have asked for).
Wishing everyone well!
PS... Now I'm a bit bored of the smooth, bald look. After the chemo, I'm thinking about growing it out and going punk spiky for a while. Will the long hair come back? Maybe. Maybe not. I like having more fashion options now and not looking like a hesher stoner. Is that a bash on long-hairs? hehehe... I never wore my hair as a fashion statement or esteem builder, so do the math. HA!!
For those of you who are new to this, read the (several) previous blogs about how I went from being on vacation in San Diego in July, to suddenly finding out I have two days left to live, to finding that I have one of the rarest forms of Leukemia, to now apparently having beat it in less than 60 days. hehehe...
Oh yeah, I just didn't feel like dying this year.
So... the story continues -
On Wed. Sept. 21, I went in for my second bone marrow biopsy - the next best thing to getting a spinal tap. My first was the day after I got into the hospital at the end of July. The difference here... I had this one done by a Dr. Diamante, the head of the department.
For those who don't know what's involved...
I have a couple of needles stuck into my back hip area to search and numb the area.
They find a good section of hip bone, near enough to the spine, and proceed to skewer a "core sampler" type of needle/rod into the flesh, and down into the bone. This involves cutting into the bone, removing the small knife, and then grinding a smaller needle into the bone using a T-handle.
Apparently with me, it took a bit of arm power and perspiration.
"You've got good bones.", the doctor told me a couple of times, a bit sarcastically.
Although I felt the pressure, it was relatively painless (or I'm just really used to pain by now). Actually it was numbed up enough.
OK... that aside, I was supposed to get my test results back in a couple of days. It took about 10.
On this past Fri. Sept. 30, I got a call from a Stanford lab doctor. He was basically talking to me as any old cancer patient, so I got the clue that he didn't really know much about me.
I asked, for my next chemo treatment (I have two shots left in Oct. and Nov.) if I would be admitted as an in-patient.
He said, "I'll be blunt. Most people don't handle this chemo very well. Some don't get through it. You will feel pretty bad during that time. So yes, you will be admitted."
As we talked, I definitely got the impression that he needed to read my records. He mentioned that he couldn't make out the oncologist's notes very well, but he started to read my charts, and other doctor notes as we spoke.
At this point the lab doc starts saying, "Wow! Wow! Unbelievable! This is not possible." I then told him that I already had the major chemo and not only gone through it without any issues, but enjoyed the whole experience. Also, I told him that I had gone to work just a few days out of my 30-day stay in the isolated hospital room. This doc just kept with the "No way! Wow!" commentary.
I had made mention that I wanted to know about being an in-patient, as I had a possible film production job later in Oct. He then told me what was going on.
The doc said flatly, "There is not one sign of any more cancer in your marrow or body, not in your marrow or blood tests. I was told what to look for in the tests. It took so long because we went over it with a fine tooth comb to sub-atomic levels. If I didn't know what was going on, I would say that you showed no signs of ever having had cancer, or ever going to have it."
When finding out how active I am normally, and especially right after the hospital, he just "wowed".
"We have a curve of what to expect from Leukemia patients and how they react to it, and the chemo. You have just thrown the curve out the window. What you have done is not humanly possible. You should still be in bed feeling horrible. Your body has been ripped apart by a very strong chemo and you show almost no signs of even having that. That's just not possible. This is something to check into. I feel very secure in saying that you will have a very long career ahead of you in anything that you do. I cannot see any cancer coming back. I don't know what you have done, but keep doing it."
So there you have it... the answer that everyone's been waiting to hear (so far), from the marrow tests. He said on a "molecular" and "physiological" level I could say I'm in remission, but he wanted to wait until at least after my next two (and final) in-house chemo treatments to "entertain the idea of saying that you are cured."
Woo hoo! Many people get cancer - and Leukemia is certainly one that shows no discrimination of who gets it - and less people make it through to be able to say that they are cured. But it would be a cool feat for me to look back and say that I beat Leukemia in 30 - 60 days.
A reminder, by the way, that this form that I have - from start to finish - reportedly kills within 2 to 4 weeks. Usually there is no real symptom. And then, your veins fill up with overproduction of immature white blood cells and burst. Not a pretty picture. I caught it two days before it happened, and here I am.
So... my next appointment is to see the oncologist in a week or so and get ready to chemo up again. Only this time I won't be quite so weakened, and I'll be able to hang out at home.
Then I have to wait 10 - 20 days for my body to heal up again, then one more treatment the following month... and then pills for a year. Yay!
In the meantime... I just got a new mountain bike. When I am on my "up" days (when I am allowed to leave the house without worry of infection of a chemo-weakened immune system), let me know if anyone wants to go riding. It's been quite a while for me, and I really miss going on trails and such.
Alrighty... that's the news for now. Sorry for the novel, but you know how I like to write and am a stickler for detail (as many of you have asked for).
Wishing everyone well!
PS... Now I'm a bit bored of the smooth, bald look. After the chemo, I'm thinking about growing it out and going punk spiky for a while. Will the long hair come back? Maybe. Maybe not. I like having more fashion options now and not looking like a hesher stoner. Is that a bash on long-hairs? hehehe... I never wore my hair as a fashion statement or esteem builder, so do the math. HA!!
Monday, August 29, 2005
I got paroled from the hospital finally
Howdy folks!
Just a quick note to let everyone know that I was paroled from the hospital.
The docs figured that I stood a better chance of catching everyone else's diseases from within the hospital, and that I would be safer at home. So... off I was to trot home.
Keith and my mom came by to help pick up my apartment's worth of crap that I had accumulated in my room. Since I was Neutropenic (susceptible to any infections, not having an immune system), I was not allowed to leave my room for one month. So, it was a strange sensation to finally leave.
Before I left, they had to unhook me from my Pic Line I.V. That was attractive. Keith sat across the room, cringing at the thought. The doctor who was there to release me unhooked the line from the I.V. machine. He asked if I was ready to have the line taken out of my arm. The option was slowly and deliberately, but that would just prolong any odd sensations, or yanking it out quickly (but not so fast that it would damage the veins). As I thought about it for a moment, and Keith happened to look over, the doc just gave a good tug and pulled out about 3 feet or so of white line from my arm, which now had dripping bright red blood all over it. I thought, “Wow! Cool.” as something from the Alien films. Keith, on the other hand, was not so thrilled by his vision. I asked if that was it, and made sure no remnants remained inside. It was over and done, a bandage put in place over the hole, and I was ready to go.
It was under cover of the night (10 pm on Sunday, Aug. 28), so it wasn't that bad, but still... knowing that I was back in the big world was weird. It took me a bit to get accustomed to being able to walk around a bigger area, but I'm all settled in now. Looking forward to sleeping in a bed more my size. (Hospitals are not equipped to sleep someone 6’6“.)
I have to really say a HUGE Thank You to everyone who supported me emotionally (although it appears that I apparently emotionally supported many others through my own good spirits)... and wrote emails, and posted comments, and everything. And even some of the phone calls that I got were great. You are all awesome! And know that I would do the same for you. Friends (real friends... even new ones) are not something that I take lightly, and I truly appreciate everyone one individually.
So for now, I am going to be seen in outpatient clinics and still have a few treatments to go in the next couple of months or so. They will finally be satisfied by next year. All in all, it looks very good that I will be cured. I'm healing a bit slowly for my liking, but it's apparently within normal range, so I won't complain. More info on my progress as it comes.
And to those of you who have cancer, or some other disease, or know someone who is sick... I really hope that I have given you something to think about and some inspiration. Attitude is everything. My being locked in a room for one month was NOTHING (even with four chemo treatments), compared to people who spend months and years doing chemo while suffering. You've got to look upon your situations in life and think them through, then do whatever you need to, but be productive. If it's going to save your life... don't complain. Blood draws, IVs, dealing with doctors, it's all part of the game... just like what we deal with in the outside world. Make your game plan, decide what you want out of it all, and just do it.
Again, as you have been there for me, I hope that I can be there for you too.
All the best to everyone for now... :)
Just a quick note to let everyone know that I was paroled from the hospital.
The docs figured that I stood a better chance of catching everyone else's diseases from within the hospital, and that I would be safer at home. So... off I was to trot home.
Keith and my mom came by to help pick up my apartment's worth of crap that I had accumulated in my room. Since I was Neutropenic (susceptible to any infections, not having an immune system), I was not allowed to leave my room for one month. So, it was a strange sensation to finally leave.
Before I left, they had to unhook me from my Pic Line I.V. That was attractive. Keith sat across the room, cringing at the thought. The doctor who was there to release me unhooked the line from the I.V. machine. He asked if I was ready to have the line taken out of my arm. The option was slowly and deliberately, but that would just prolong any odd sensations, or yanking it out quickly (but not so fast that it would damage the veins). As I thought about it for a moment, and Keith happened to look over, the doc just gave a good tug and pulled out about 3 feet or so of white line from my arm, which now had dripping bright red blood all over it. I thought, “Wow! Cool.” as something from the Alien films. Keith, on the other hand, was not so thrilled by his vision. I asked if that was it, and made sure no remnants remained inside. It was over and done, a bandage put in place over the hole, and I was ready to go.
It was under cover of the night (10 pm on Sunday, Aug. 28), so it wasn't that bad, but still... knowing that I was back in the big world was weird. It took me a bit to get accustomed to being able to walk around a bigger area, but I'm all settled in now. Looking forward to sleeping in a bed more my size. (Hospitals are not equipped to sleep someone 6’6“.)
I have to really say a HUGE Thank You to everyone who supported me emotionally (although it appears that I apparently emotionally supported many others through my own good spirits)... and wrote emails, and posted comments, and everything. And even some of the phone calls that I got were great. You are all awesome! And know that I would do the same for you. Friends (real friends... even new ones) are not something that I take lightly, and I truly appreciate everyone one individually.
So for now, I am going to be seen in outpatient clinics and still have a few treatments to go in the next couple of months or so. They will finally be satisfied by next year. All in all, it looks very good that I will be cured. I'm healing a bit slowly for my liking, but it's apparently within normal range, so I won't complain. More info on my progress as it comes.
And to those of you who have cancer, or some other disease, or know someone who is sick... I really hope that I have given you something to think about and some inspiration. Attitude is everything. My being locked in a room for one month was NOTHING (even with four chemo treatments), compared to people who spend months and years doing chemo while suffering. You've got to look upon your situations in life and think them through, then do whatever you need to, but be productive. If it's going to save your life... don't complain. Blood draws, IVs, dealing with doctors, it's all part of the game... just like what we deal with in the outside world. Make your game plan, decide what you want out of it all, and just do it.
Again, as you have been there for me, I hope that I can be there for you too.
All the best to everyone for now... :)
Wednesday, May 4, 2005
Art imitates life - My oral surgery... bloody hell!! I'm going to miss an "Angel" episode!
Another chapter in the Aventurous Life of Phil - April 2005:
The trip to the Dentist ending in a game of Slice & Dice -
On Monday, April 25th, I went to my dentist to finish the job of putting a crown in (actually two, apparently).
Simple enough, one might think (unless your squeamish).
But no, as she is poking and prodding around in my food-hole, she realizes that I have issues. No, not as in personal mental issues, but something more insidious (that means serious). I need some serious surgery, and, like, now! Before any infections can set in.
Presto! I am scheduled for Wednesday, April 27th - two days later.
No time like the present, they say.
Wednesday comes around, and I am watching an episode of "Angel" on TNT, the great drama re-run network.
"Angel" for those of you uninitiated, is about a vampire of the same name... who has a soul. Get it? Good.
This episode concerns a woman who wants to become like him. In a fit of outrage, Angel forces her to drink blood by pouring it down her throat. At this point, I have to leave to make my appointment time. (And if you know me, I'm almost never on time... except this time.)
I get to the dentist and it's wham-bam! Right down to it. I'm settled in, injected with foul-tasting anesthetic, and promptly started upon with the scalpel.
In no time, I am suddenly reliving the very scene I just left from "Angel".
I am now forced to drink an onslaught of blood... my own... right down my throat! Perhaps the "Angel" episode was a sick look into what was about to happen to me. Thrilling, to say the least.
But wait... there's more... Sensing my twitchy behavior within my chair, my dentist informs me, very non-chalantly, that, "There is nothing in your mouth that you cannot swallow. So go ahead."
At this point a thought came to mind, followed later by another...
1) What if I do not WANT to swallow the viscous red liquid flowing freely down into my gullet?
2) What about the surgical tools jammed into my yap? Are THEY OK to swallow? Technically, she did mention that anything within the confines of my jaws was "OK to swallow".
There is a further thought to this situation... The idea of someone suggesting that whatever is "in your mouth is OK to swallow", seems to be something that mostly guys are famous for saying to unsuspecting girls. Usually in high school, before common sense sets in.
Was this my doctor's way of getting back at me for being a male? Forcing me to swallow something, that was created by my own body, but that neither taste, nor texture, nor desire made me wish to do so. Interesting theorems. Yes, some of you do worry that I over-think too much. Perhaps I do. I like it. You should too. Someone has to ponder these odd problems out. Stay tuned for further adventures...
The trip to the Dentist ending in a game of Slice & Dice -
On Monday, April 25th, I went to my dentist to finish the job of putting a crown in (actually two, apparently).
Simple enough, one might think (unless your squeamish).
But no, as she is poking and prodding around in my food-hole, she realizes that I have issues. No, not as in personal mental issues, but something more insidious (that means serious). I need some serious surgery, and, like, now! Before any infections can set in.
Presto! I am scheduled for Wednesday, April 27th - two days later.
No time like the present, they say.
Wednesday comes around, and I am watching an episode of "Angel" on TNT, the great drama re-run network.
"Angel" for those of you uninitiated, is about a vampire of the same name... who has a soul. Get it? Good.
This episode concerns a woman who wants to become like him. In a fit of outrage, Angel forces her to drink blood by pouring it down her throat. At this point, I have to leave to make my appointment time. (And if you know me, I'm almost never on time... except this time.)
I get to the dentist and it's wham-bam! Right down to it. I'm settled in, injected with foul-tasting anesthetic, and promptly started upon with the scalpel.
In no time, I am suddenly reliving the very scene I just left from "Angel".
I am now forced to drink an onslaught of blood... my own... right down my throat! Perhaps the "Angel" episode was a sick look into what was about to happen to me. Thrilling, to say the least.
But wait... there's more... Sensing my twitchy behavior within my chair, my dentist informs me, very non-chalantly, that, "There is nothing in your mouth that you cannot swallow. So go ahead."
At this point a thought came to mind, followed later by another...
1) What if I do not WANT to swallow the viscous red liquid flowing freely down into my gullet?
2) What about the surgical tools jammed into my yap? Are THEY OK to swallow? Technically, she did mention that anything within the confines of my jaws was "OK to swallow".
There is a further thought to this situation... The idea of someone suggesting that whatever is "in your mouth is OK to swallow", seems to be something that mostly guys are famous for saying to unsuspecting girls. Usually in high school, before common sense sets in.
Was this my doctor's way of getting back at me for being a male? Forcing me to swallow something, that was created by my own body, but that neither taste, nor texture, nor desire made me wish to do so. Interesting theorems. Yes, some of you do worry that I over-think too much. Perhaps I do. I like it. You should too. Someone has to ponder these odd problems out. Stay tuned for further adventures...
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