Profiles in Lung Cancer – Day 12: Karen Loss – “I am living with lung cancer, not dying from it.”

As you all know, November is Lung Cancer Awareness Month. A bunch of us bloggers have gotten together and are profiling a cancer survivor, caregiver, advocate, or health care professional each day this month.

Today it is my distinct pleasure to introduce you to Karen Loss, a lung cancer patient and advocate who was diagnosed in late November of 2012 with stage 4 carcinoma NSCLC. Here is her story in her own words.

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What is your connection to lung cancer?
I will celebrate my 3^rd anniversary since my lung cancer diagnosis on Thanksgiving this year.  When I was originally diagnosed, I was already a nearly 16-year survivor of concurrent primary cancers of the uterus and ovaries.  In January, I will celebrate my 19^th anniversary after those diagnoses.  I am currently undergoing my 3^rd treatment regimen.  First, I had a combination chemotherapy comprised of Taxol, Carboplatin and Avastin.  That was followed for about 6 months by Avastin maintenance therapy. When progression began again, I was put on my second tier treatment of Taxotere.  After that shrunk my tumors once more, I went off all cancer treatments and stayed off for about 15 months, though I still received CT scans every three months.  The last three scans showed ongoing slow growth in both tumors, but especially in the one on my hepatic dome.  The trend was undeniable, so my medical team and I felt it was time to resume treatment and with a few different potential alternatives to consider, I chose to try Opdivo/Nivolumab.  I have now had four infusions of this drug and have not yet had my first CT scan since beginning this new therapy.  That will happen in the week following Thanksgiving, and I am already looking forward to seeing what it will tell me.  During these past three years, I have never reached NED status, but the treatments I have been given have shrunk my tumors, keeping things well in hand so far.

Describe a typical day
I work full-time at The MITRE Corporation, a large research and development company in the Global Security Services division. In addition to that, I research and review new articles, videos and blog postings coming out each day about lung cancer in order to provide daily updates to my Trekking Through Cancerland Facebook page. I also tweet or re-tweet (Twitter handle: @CancerTrek) information about lung cancer on most days as another way to continue efforts at providing increased education and awareness.

Tell us something we’d be surprised to know about you
I published a book of letters about the first nine months of my lung cancer journey as a way to try and provide a personal perspective and hopefully inspiration to those who choose to read it. So far I have distributed approximately 2,300 copies through Amazon.com and its affiliates. Unrelated to lung cancer, I have been sponsoring children in foreign lands through Compassion International for nearly 16 years and have traveled to meet them and learn about their lives, the things they are receiving through the Compassion program, the culture of their countries (Haiti, Colombia and Ethiopia) and simply to love on my kids.

What do want us to know about lung cancer?
I want people to know that everyone with lungs (thus EVERYONE) is vulnerable to lung cancer, but that no matter what may have caused the disease, every person deserves care and compassion. Plus…the great strides in lung cancer research are providing greater hope for patients with each passing day.

What brings you hope?
Seeing stage 4 lung cancer patients on TV commercials and interviews, in documentaries, in magazine articles and blog postings, at conferences, really anywhere they have the opportunity to share with others that they are living their lives. My motto is that I am living with lung cancer, not dying from it. One day, hopefully in the foreseeable future, may we be able to consider this a chronic disease rather than a terminal one…

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Thank you Karen!

Read yesterday’s profile by blogger Samantha Mixon of Kelly Shannon here. Tomorrow’s profile of Diane Legg by Linnea Olson will be available here.

All profiles can be found the day after posting on the #LCSM Chat blog at http://lcsmchat.com/. A list of links to all the profiles on the original bloggers’ pages can be found at on the #LCSM Chat site on the Profiles in Lung Cancer page.

Business as usual. Day at a time.

November 3, 2015 (Tue) – Time to Get Naked

OK, I know I have your attention right now. Either one of curiosity to see where I take this or one of revulsion wondering what personal picture I might post. Well, getting naked may mean lots of things. But we will address (or undress) these a bit later in the post. That, of course, is assuming the internet and WordPress police did not nix my post because of the title.

But first things first. November is Lung Cancer Awareness Month. Oh no, not another cancer awareness month! Well, actually November should be the biggest month because, unbeknownst to most of the public, lung cancer kills more people each year than the other top three cancers (including breast) combined. And each cancer has its own color used in support. White is often used for lung cancer. So anytime you see something white this month, think of the survivors like myself that are battling to stay ahead of that curve. I’m not much of a political activist and luckily we have several other members of our “club” that do a wonderful job at bringing awareness to much larger groups. But please keep this in mind over the course of the month. You only have to have lungs to get lung cancer.

As I mentioned in my last post, we were getting ready to head out for a vacation extraordinaire to Carmel and Pebble Beach about 8 hours up the coast of California. Extraordinaire does not come close to describing this trip. If I had a bucket list, which I don’t, this would definitely have been on it. Courtesy of my very generous brother and his wife, we stayed in the most amazing place(s) imaginable. Here’s a picture looking up from the backyard from our first stay-over of 5 nights. And a link if you want some more detailed pics and info about this place. Yowza Yowza. Click on it for the full effect.

Oh, but the trip was not over. Six of us (the “golfers”) moved down to Casa Palmero for the last two nights which made us eligible to play at
Spyglass and Pebble Beach, some of the most awesome courses in the world. Now, I won’t reveal my golf scores because they approximate the thermometer reading in Palm Springs in late summer. But the score did not matter. The courses were what mattered. And being with family. Just amazing. As for the accommodations, they were just absolutely top notch. We had a continental breakfast each morning delivered and set up as evidenced here. And we even had our own private backyard (with 9′ wall) with Jacuzzi. Perhaps that is where one of the references from this blog title comes in. I’m not telling. Suffice it to say, it was a trip of a lifetime.

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Now, on to more serious biz-wax.

This past Friday I had my double-your-pleasure combo of a brain MRI scan and PET scan. Got the results late in the day. The good news is that my brain MRI seems to indicate a fairly stable situation. Ta da. And the tumors in/around my lung continued to progress at a slow rate. So, that’s sorta OK news. But this is where the other shoe dropped. And dropped like a size 20. The lesion (tumor) on my pancreas skyrocketed to over 7cm. That’s centimeters, not millimeters. The official write-up has it as “dramatic increase in size and metabolic activity of 7 cm pancreatic/peripancreatic mass.” No cancer patient likes to read the words dramatic increase. That equates to about 2.75″ for those of us not on the metric system – not quite the diameter of a baseball but coming close. Plus there is another “new nodal metastases lateral to the left psoas muscle in the upper pelvis, measuring 4-5 cm.” That came out of nowhere since it hadn’t shown up before. Needless to say this report was a bit of a sucker punch in the gut. And it explains the increasing pain I’ve been seeing in my upper gut that is currently only held at bay with increasing doses of Vicodin.

Knowing that we would have the results in time, I had scheduled a meeting with the lung-onc specialist at Moores yesterday so that we could go over the results and chat about options. Bottom line: I will be leaving the AZD9291 trial shortly. First, they are scheduling a new biopsy to do all of the genetic testing for markers and “expressions.” And immediately followed by, yes, more radiation treatment, this time to my pancreas and left psoas muscle. The day before radiation treatment begins, I will chug my last A-team pill. So “going naked” means, for one, going without any oral cancer medication for the duration of the radiation. It also refers to my
state of dress, or undress, during said radiation treatments. As I’ve indicated before, I lost my modesty long ago.

As for what follows the radiation treatment, that is up in the air a little since there really are several options. There is another clinical trial (EGF816) going on in Boston and NY which we are seeing if I qualify for. There is also a combination of Opdivo (nivolumab) and Tarceva (erlotinib) which may work, but the chances of expressing the PD-1 marker is fairly low in a non-smoker and Opdivo works much better in smokers/former smokers. And choosing one of the drug options will eliminate my possible entry into one or more clinical trials. It gets pretty complicated trying to lay all of this out. Although I am in search of a second opinion, right now I still have confidence in my doc. As she indicated, my first two courses of treatment (Tarceva and AZD9291) were slam dunks as the right option at the time. We are now in somewhat of uncharted territory and there is no absolute right answer. My onc still is leaning towards starting off with chemo (carboplaxin and pemetrexed) which is given once every three weeks in a 2-hour infusion. If that fails to help, we can always come off that and try one of the other options. But things may change over the next 10 days – stay tuned.

So I’ve been on two trips recently. One from a bucket list and the other just about the opposite. Perhaps it rhymes with bucket? 🙂

But I still have options and new drugs are coming out fast and furiously. Just doing my best to stay ahead of that tsunami.

And, as always, my wife has been right by my side the whole way. I just have to end on this picture.

Business as usual. Day at a time.

October 4, 2015 (Sun) – Road, Meet Firestone

For those loyal readers that have been with me a while, you may recall my blog post last Spring about chameleons. Well, today we diverge from lizards, itsy bitsy spiders, elephants and any other animals/insects I may have used in the past. Yes, I know a spider is not an insect. But technically it is an animal. I do work in a science museum dontcha know.  No today, boys and girls, we learn about rubber. And by rubber, I do not mean that we are having the “talk.”

The rubber I’m referring to is that the material that covers wheels and comes in contact with pavement. One of the online dictionaries defines rubber meeting the road as “at the point in a process where there are challenges, issues, or problems.” When push comes to shove. When the petal hits the metal. I’m sure there are other metaphors but that should suffice. Unless you are not from the US and don’t understand our crazy idioms.

After meeting with my lung-onc-doc to discuss my glow-in-the-dark PET scan results, here is where we stand. Since my right hip was the only area of my body that was giving me any physical grief, it was decided that I should start a radiation series to take care of the two spots that popped up there. Problem being, one of those spots is the same one that I had zapped almost two years ago. So they need to tread lightly and spread out the treatments over 3 weeks with a lower dose to lessen the risk of permanent damage to the bone in that area. They opted not to nail my left hip since it was not bothering me at the time and it would increase the risk of anemia. So this past Thursday, I began my first of 15 (actually 14 – more on that later) zappings to fry the fuzzies in that area. I’d include a picture but it would be r-rated. So I’ve included a generic one that is pretty close. I was disappointed that I didn’t get any new tattoos as they were able to use the old ones that were still there. The plan, since I had no other symptoms, is to remain on my A-team (AZD9291) drug until the end of this month when I have another set of PET/MRI scans. Hey, I have an idea. Perhaps I can hire the VW software engineers to tweak the PET software so that my scans come up clean. Whaddaya say?

Backing up (that’s a pun, but you won’t get it for a few sentences), I have never felt well ever since returning from SF with that nasty cold. The doc prescribed some Amoxicillin (yes, the pink stuff you gave your kids for ear infections) since I was experiencing symptoms of a sinus infection. This past Wednesday, I had to leave work early because I was feeling so, er, here we go again: crappy. On top of it I was developing some stomach discomfort. Aaah! Could it be cancer that showed up in my pancreas giving me a wake-up call? Could it be an ulcer? Could it be a side effect of the Amoxicillin? Could it be constipation? Could it just be a friggin’ stomach ache?

So, I know several co-workers and even a couple board members read my blog, so if you prefer not to feel awkward the next time you see me, you may want to skip the next paragraph. Fair warning.

I took Thursday and Friday off work as I couldn’t get off my recliner. As the stomach issue seemed to be getting worse, my doc prescribed some laxatives to help, er, eliminate, one of the potential causes listed above. Now you get my pun about “backing up.”  And yet the stomach discomfort never really went away. And of course, now my left hip is giving me some discomfort so I am limping like an old man with two bad hips. I know, I know. I am an old man. But some of the pain could be from just sitting on my rear end now for 4 full days. I’m surprised I don’t have bed sores. I tried getting off my duff to walk around our culdesac but I barely made it one loop and had to quit due to fatigue. Now that is feeling old. I find myself getting jealous of anyone doing anything even slightly athletic.

Oh, and I must have rubbed off on our 19-year-old washing machine as it crapped out over the weekend as well. OK, cue the violins. However, getting you to feel sorry for me was not the intent of this blog. Just keeping you up-to-date. And notice I didn’t say cue the harps. We are a long ways away from even thinking about that.

Unfortunately, (oops one more whine – bear with me), because of the radiation treatments, I will have to forego my trip to Chicago next weekend for the LVNG With Ambassador training. Bummer. Don’t think I’d be up to it in any case. Right now I’m more concerned about being able to make our upcoming vacation to Carmel/Pebble Beach. My radio-doc is cutting down my radiation treatments by one day so I can head out on this road trip the day after my last zapping.

In the midst of all this, I have totally lost my appetite. In fact I have an anti-appetite where just the sight of food makes me gag. Hey, maybe I’m pregnant. So my wifey, my wonderful wifey, brings home KFC (Kentucky Fried Chicken) figuring that if I will eat anything, I’d eat that. Having her sacrifice to stop by such a verboten place is like asking a vegan to stop by the meat market for some fresh steaks. Of course, I couldn’t even take a bite the night she got home. Me not being tempted to eat fried chicken is like Trump avoiding cameras. Never happens. I was able to force myself to make a decent dent in it the next day but overall I’ve lost 5 lbs in a week. My doc is not going to be happy. But my pants thank me.

I was also asked to tell my story for the CancerCommons website so if you are somewhat new to my blog, here is a decent short summary of my journey up until recently.

Stay tuned as things could be changing in the next few weeks.

Business as usual. Day at a time.

July 27, 2015 (Mon) – A Triple Decker of Tasty and Not-So-Tasty Morsels

My wife knows I love club sandwiches. She will invariably guess correctly when we go out to eat at a casual restaurant if a club sandwich is on the menu. What can I say? I like predictability and knowledge that I will enjoy all ingredients included in said sandwich. Call it comfort food. Or call it a boring husband.

Yet, my journey to date has been anything but predicable. Hopeful yes. Predictable? Not usually.

Thus begins my quickie (don’t go there) summary of my most recent triple decker sandwich, aka my set of 3 scans last Friday. Unfortunately not all ingredients were mouth watering. Smacking my lips and gagging at the same time – now that’s a lunch entree that would result in a nasty Yelp review.

Let’s start with the bacon: My brain MRI came back, once you got through all of the medical gobbledygook, as “No significant change right cerebellar metastatic focus when compared with most recent exam...” Obviously not written with proper grammar in mind but I will forgive the transgression this time. Bottom line: upstairs fuzzy is hibernating, hopefully like Rip Van Winkle. Yea!

Now mix some castor oil with pureed Brussels sprouts. I had no idea there was an “s” on the end of Brussel, did you? Squirrel!  In any case, make a nice paste with those two ingredients, perhaps add some Vegemite for texture and spread on your sandwich. That would be my kitty-cat (CT) scan of everything else. Again, skipping over the impossible-to-decipher technical jargon, here is what you get: “Progressive malignancy in the lungs and mediastinum. Suspect enlarging renal metastasis.” That’s where the gagging kicked in. But I was mentally prepared based on recent history and had my virtual barf bag handy. So no cookies were actually lost in the process. Bottom line: same ‘ol, same ‘ol story when compared to the scan results for the last 3-4 scans. Continued growth in the fuzzy boys below my noggin.

Finally, layer some Limburger cheese with anchovies and sprinkle some ground up ghost peppers (those that know, know) for good measure and you have completed my meal. Some of you might actually like this. Yeech. This last set of ingredients comprised my third scan – my shoulder MRI which, when chewed up and digested down to words I could understand, came out like this: “Magnetic resonance imaging of right shoulder demonstrates features (‘features?’ Really?) of an active inflammatory phase of adhesive capsulitis. Nonspecific focus of signal hyperintensity and replacement of fatty marrow within the coracoid process possibly reflecting a metastatic focus given the patient’s history of lung cancer. This focus may be mildly sclerotic on CT. Stress remodeling of the coracoid process is thought to be less likely.” Bottom line: Looks like I have a case of “frozen shoulder” which will probably be treated by an ultrasound guided injection of steroids directly into the achy area. Then most likely continued home PT rehab. Problem being that this may not be allowed under my current AZD9291 (A-team) trial. We shall see.

And if you nuke this sandwich to just charred remains, as I would suggest you do in any case, you may get what is alluded to in the last paragraph as “reflecting a metastatic focus…” So there is a possibility that not only do I have a frozen shoulder, but a fuzzy with a parka is hanging out in the tundra. The plan is to keep an eye on it and perhaps do another MRI on my shoulder after having received the steroid stab. Maybe it’s just an empty igloo. Stay tuned.

Had my regular lung-onc visit today but was seen by a sub since my regular onc was out of town. So, although he was not in a position to prescribe any specific course of action, he was pretty certain that we will be staying on the same route for at least another 6 weeks. He was especially happy that all of the parts he checked out seemed to be in fine operating condition. Obviously he did not check out all of my parts…

Business as usual. Day at a time.

July 18, 2015 (Sat) – Why Me? If Only. And Other Time Wasters

Early in a cancer patient’s diagnosis, the “why me” pops its ugly head. I say ugly because no good comes from asking that question. Some of us quickly get past that futile endeavor while others have a tough time shaking it off. Certainly lung cancer can have some obvious direct causation connections: smoking, long term asbestos exposure, even living in an area with high levels of naturally occurring radon gas. Yet many of us without any obvious causes have to accept the fact that life can be random. Roll of the dice. Luck of the draw. Turn of the wheel. Mutant gene. Who knows? And more importantly, should I care? No. It is what it is and stressing over what might have caused it just takes energy you need to weather the storm.

If only is not any better.

If only I had built a better wall with my cereal boxes when I was a kid sitting at the breakfast table with my smoking parents. I would surround my bowl and duck my head into the enclosure with boxes of Sugar Pops, Sugar Frosted Flakes and Sugar Jets forming a barrier. Now that I think about it, it’s more surprising that I don’t have diabetes with that diet. Yes, those were the actual names of the cereals back then when they weren’t so PC health conscious. I can almost guarantee they have just as much sugar these days but that is a bad word now. But perhaps second-hand smoke from 50 years ago was the culprit.

If only I hadn’t partaken in college. Could that have caused the bad boy fuzzy that sat around for 40+ years and just now decided to rear its ugly head? Would have enjoyed eating the brownie version more anyway.

If only I hadn’t scraped the asbestos-laden popcorn off all of our ceilings in our house. Although I wore a good respirator, maybe something slipped past. Could one of those minuscule fibers that I possibly inhaled been the snowball that got the avalanche started many years later?

But once again, do any of these “if only’s” have any proactive benefit in the healing process? Of course not. So why waste what valuable time I have in doing something so detrimental? Not gonna.

Now “what if,” “if only’s” cousin, can play both sides of the fence. If used looking backwards, it takes the same shape as “if only” since wondering what might have been is wasted breath. And trust me, wasting breath is the last thing you want to do as a lung cancer survivor. But if you use “what if” looking forward, it can have a positive benefit, as long as what follows that phrase are actual steps taken. What if I am able to get into that clinical trial? What if I spend more time Googling new treatment options and bring them to my oncologist? What if I connect with other NSCLC survivors to compare notes and exchange info? What if I win the lottery? OK, maybe that last one is a bit out of my control but hey, hope is a good thing too. And I have to pay for our bathroom remodel somehow.

How’s that for a segue? Yes, we are biting the bullet once again and are currently remodeling our master bathroom. Only a couple months after redoing our guest bath. And only two years after our total kitchen transformation. I figure if I let my wife keep changing things in the house, she might lay off changing her husband. Or changing him out. So far so good. We were what-iffing whether we should do this remodel, just as we asked that same question two years ago before doing the kitchen. But now, like then, we are looking toward the future and I plan on getting many years of magazine reading time on the new throne. OK, these days it would be iPad reading time, but I think you get the picture, even though you may not want to.

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I’m going to cheat and use a “what if” in the past. What if I hadn’t joined Rotary almost 10 years ago? That is not something I want to think about as it was one of the more important, and rewarding, decisions in my life.

Recently I was asked by our incoming Rotary President (Peter) to provide the beginning-of-the-meeting 2-minute inspirational message. It was truly an honor to be asked, especially for Peter’s inaugural meeting. Our club always has the Mayor of San Diego do the swearing-in ceremony so I was sitting next to him at the front table. So how about the Chargers, Mr. Mayor? Nah, we only chit chatted about nothing in particular. But as for my message, the last time I gave one at this club was just after being diagnosed a little over two years ago. It was my coming-out party, so to speak, although I had already started up my blog.

So this time around it was a similar message. If interested in reading the text, you can click on the graphic.

But the major surprise at Rotary was something I never saw coming. My wife had told me she wanted to come to the luncheon and I had assumed it was to hear me give the inspirational message. Yeah, right. Little did I know the true reason.

Here’s the background: many of you know that I have volunteered as a Rotarian “reader” to one of our elementary schools we have partnered with. However, instead of reading, I found I was much better able to keep the 1st grader’s attention by doing simple science experiments. If the students were any older the science would have gotten over my head. There is another Rotarian, Doug, that has been teaching science as a volunteer for many years at another school. So, that sets the stage. Speaking of stage, Doug was sitting next to me at the head table but he did not have a clue as to why. They just asked him to.

The incoming President always has their own agenda for the year and typically has one or two new programs they are introducing. So as Peter was introducing his plan, he mentioned a new science scholarship that they were creating and began discussing what it would be named and in whose honor. So I thought thought “Cool, that’s why Doug is up here. They are going to honor him by naming the scholarship after him. Awesome.” Yet when I turned to see the PowerPoint slide behind me, I saw both my picture and Doug’s. Turned out the scholarship was in honor of both of us, and in a nod to Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure movie, it was named “Craig and Doug’s Excellent Science (CADES) Scholarship.” It was jump started by a very generous $30K donation by another Rotarian and is intended to be perpetual. I was absolutely humbled and I must say, wiped a drought-breaking drop or two off my face. Very cool. The scholarship(s) will be given to students that are entering the science field in college.

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On the medical front, next Friday I will be enjoying a 3-way. OK, get your minds out of the gutter. I’m talking scans here. Of course there will be the usual CT scan of my chest area and the MRI of my brain to check on fuzzies in those locales. But since I have had an ongoing shoulder issue that has prevented me from playing softball, I asked if they could “throw in” a third MRI of my shoulder to at least determine what is going on there. I have done PT, and then I’ve rested it for months, to no avail. So we shall see what my options are. I may have the results of the scans by the end of the day on Friday. Stay tuned. And yesterday was my one-year anniversary from entering the A-Team (AZD9291) clinical trial. Yes, I’ve been popping that magic pill for 12 months and I will continue to see how long I can milk this puppy. Although I cannot imagine anyone wanting to milk a puppy…

Business as usual. Day at a time.

June 19, 2015 (Fri) – Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall

If you haven’t read my prior blog, this won’t make much sense.

I’ve heard this saying before but never really knew where it came from. It actually originated with Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in his poem “The Rainy Day.” But that is kind of a dark and dreary poem, and thus not appropriate, so I will only steal the one sentence.

About that California drought I was hoping would continue? Well, this spider got a little dose of El Nino this past week. Down the spout I washed. Not all the way to the drain but enough to put a damper (oops) on my climbing ability. Essentially, and honestly no surprise to moi, my scans showed continued growth in the various areas (9 locations to be exact) previously showing progression, typically in the neighborhood of 3-4 mm increases. However, my onc-doc was more positive in indicating this growth is still pretty small.

I have been working on budgets at work for the past couple of months and even a few percentage points change could be huge. So when I look at the growth in my cancer, I calculate a 30-40% increase in size and that seems gargantuan. However, when you really crunch the numbers, it only equates to 1/10 of an inch or so, thus pretty minimal in the scheme of things. But it’s the trend that is of concern. Each of the last three scans essentially showed this similar pattern. Here’s a cut and paste from the official write-up: “appearance of slight-mild interval worsening of pulmonary metastases and mediastinal metastases.” Whatever happened to the terms stable or resolving? I know, I know. That’s life on the spout.

The upstairs brain fuzzy showed “interval slight increase in size of right cerebellar enhancing lesion now measuring up to 11.1 mm.” Thus, it appears that, as Dr. Frankenstein said, “It’s alive!” Still some question because they apparently used the higher res, or stronger magnet, scan that could account for some of the measurement differential. Rumor has it (since I’m still waiting to hear from my radio-doc) that we will wait until the next scan in six weeks where they will be sure to use the same scan settings. That way we can actually compare fuzzies to fuzzies (ie. apples to apples) to make a better judgement on what might or might not be changing. So, it looks like it will be business as usual until the end of July or so.

But you know what? Right now I’m spider-dancing in the rain because I am still doing really well. I have no difficulties doing day to day stuff including my volunteer gigs, working 40 hours per week (quit laughing Kim) and golf. I’m not playing softball because of my current shoulder issues but that is unrelated (I hope).

In terms of what is on the horizon, my lung-onc-doc says there really isn’t another magical pill for me in the near future. Apparently the new whiz-bang immunotherapy treatments are not quite there in terms of matching up with my particular situation. If any of my lung cancer peeps out there have more current info, please let me know. As it stands now my next option would be chemo-therapy. And that has me concerned. I know some of you with chemo experience would say, yup, not something easy to deal with, while others would say, eh, it’s no big deal. Everyone reacts differently and it all depends what cocktail you get. I prefer margaritas myself.

Recently a friend from our Rotary club presented me with a prayer blanket that her church friends had quilted. Now how cool is that? Thanks Diana. You know, the support I have had over these past 2+ years from every facet of my life has been incredibly amazing. I really think, no, I know, that is why I am doing as well as I am today. Thank you.

And speaking of Rotary, yesterday I had the privilege, as Chair of the Day, of introducing our guest speaker, Karen Possemato, the Chief of Staff at Illumina, here in town. Illumina is all about genomics and how that new cutting edge technology is coming into play in so many areas of our life, especially health care. It was a timely and appropriate talk, especially as it relates to my past and future journey. All very interesting, and encouraging, stuff.

Back to my spout climbing.

Business as usual. Day at a time.

 

June 7, 2015 (Sun) – I’m Just an Itsy, Bitsy Spider

I’ll be the first one to admit that I’m not the biggest fan of spiders. Right now my wife is reading this and going “Not a big fan? You hate them!” Well, let’s not exaggerate. Hate them? Nah. Afraid of them? Not as long as they keep their distance. But walking through a spider web would definitely send me into muscle-pulling, swatting gyrations wondering where the little bugger was.

Unfortunately what my father passed down to me and my brothers (let’s call it respect for spiders), my son inherited as well. Yet he had the ultimate scare that sends tingles down my spine. See the picture on the right? That is a brown widow spider, something I did not know existed until that fateful day a few years back. If you tap on the picture to get the bigger version, you will not only get a better view of its hourglass signature, you will also notice the white round edge on the perimeter. And that, my friends, is the edge of a toilet bowl. Getting the picture? My son discovered this 8-legger after making use of the facilities in a sit down mode. Now that will give you the heebie-jeebies.

But where does the itsy-bitsy (aka incy wincy) version come in? Not sure if this is a universal nursery rhyme so I will repeat the verse here:

The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout.
Down came the rain
and washed the spider out.
Out came the sun
and dried up all the rain
and the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again

Now if that does not describe a cancer journey, I’m not sure what does. Each time I feel like I am near the top of the drain spout, along comes a rainstorm (eg. bad scans) that knocks me back. Then a new treatment comes along, whether it’s Tarceva or AZD9291, which dries up all the rain and allows me to climb back up. Now with my new set of scans coming up this Friday the 12th, I am hoping this California drought keeps up.

Business as usual. Day at a time.

April 19, 2015 (Sun) – Wow, All I Can Say is Wow

You had to be there.

Today was one of the most inspirational days I have ever been a part of. A group of about 65 individuals, consisting of family members, friends, friends of friends, colleagues, fellow Rotarians, fellow Camp Ronald McDonald for Good Times counselors, and even a couple of high school buds (from 45 years ago – yikes) made up Team Craig – Get Fuzzy at the Breath of Hope Lung Cancer Walk. As you know, I’ve been shilling for this program for the past 6 weeks or so and it culminated in this morning’s event.

Our team was by far the biggest fundraising group, raising more than $11,000. The 2nd place team was less than half of that. But as my wife properly reminded me, it really was not about competition. It was about raising funds for Moores Cancer Center. You know, that place that has helped keep me alive for the past two years. And while I do not know what the final result was in terms of overall funds raised, I do know that our team provided a big chunk of that. Did I mention we came in first? Oops, sorry Kim. Those dang competitive juices again. But it was all for a very good cause. They even asked me to say a few words (gulp) as the top team. Click on the photo for the full effect.

But the inspirational part came from all of the supporters we had. While we were fortunate to have a few very generous donors making large gifts, we had more than a hundred others that contributed to our team, and thus to the Moores Cancer Center’s, success. But even though the goal was to raise funds, it wasn’t about the money. On a larger scale, it was about raising awareness for lung cancer research and treatments. Lung cancer still gets the short shrift in terms of research funding because of the stigma associated with the disease. The perception is that lung cancer patients are smokers and have done this to themselves. Heck, I probably had that opinion before I became an active, if unwilling, participant. So getting the word out to clarify that misconception is a constant battle.

On a more personal note, and thus the title of this blog, I was just floored at the support given me from all walks of my life. There was so many positive vibes flowing that, even though the event was about lung cancer, I forgot I had it for 3 hours or so. I am still in awe 12 hours later as I finger poke this blog. It’s kinda difficult to put it into words, and as a follower of my blog, you know that is unusual for me. Suffice it to say I was, and am, very humbled by the outpouring of love and support I witnessed first hand. For those that participated in one fashion or another, I cannot thank all of you enough. Just wow.

On the medical front, nothing has happened since I returned from Hawaii except for the reading on the bathroom scale. Reading as in 5 pounds heavier. Once again, my onc-doc will be very proud of me and happy at that result. Unless of course he hears how I gained it (Mai Tais, Rombauer, steak dinners etc.). I know when to keep my trap shut.

Since I have my next set of scans a week from tomorrow on the 27th, I will await the results of those tests to determine my next course of action. I am trying to get a second opinion from the brain oncologist at Moores to confirm (or not) the reading of my next brain MRI. Unfortunately because he is outside my health plan, it most likely will come out of my pocket for the 1-hour consultation, to the tune of $550. I guess we’ve been spoiled since we have such awesome health insurance and have had to pay next-to-nothing. I will be requesting a waiver for our insurance to cover this appointment but I’ve been forewarned not to expect it to happen. But I think I need confirmation that re-zapping that apparent fuzzy in my noggin is the proper course of action since it will be riskier than the first go-round.

We will also be doing the regular kitty-cat scan of my lungs to see how those troublesome fuzzies are behaving. Hopefully they are taking a little break with little to no progression from the last tests. Gotta stay in the trial long enough for the next new thing to come around. After hearing about some upcoming clinical trials at today’s walk, there may be something else for me in a few months. Maybe. We shall see.

Next Saturday, thanks to the generosity of one of the members on the Moores Cancer Center board of directors, my wife and I will be attending the big Spark Gala fund raiser. Here we will get to meet all of the major players in cancer research at this world renowned institution. Plus I’m sure we will drop a few more bucks in support of this wonderful establishment. Can’t wait.

On May 1st I will also have the pleasure and opportunity to jet off to DC to attend the 3-day Lungevity National Hope Summit. Hard not to notice the similarity in their group photo (if you click on the link) when compared to the team shot we took today. This is another “can’t wait” opportunity as I will finally get to meet a bunch of other survivors/bloggers who I’ve only met electronically.

Stay tuned for another update after my next set of scans.

Business as usual. Day at a time.

March 29, 2015 (Sun) – A Chameleon by any Other Color

When I was a kid, way too many years ago, my friends (and brother) and I spent many a day hunting lizards up in the hills above our homes. Our favorite spots were called “the car” and “Kim’s Canyon,” named respectively for an old car someone had dumped in the hills and for the canyon behind Kim’s (one of our friends) house. We loved snagging one of the rare alligator lizards we encountered because they were relatively slow and easy to catch. But you had to watch out for their bite as they had a nasty one. Just ask my thumb. Lately I’ve been reminiscing a bit remembering my childhood and some of the things we used to do. This was one experience I recall fondly.

Bluebelly! There’s one!

OK, maybe only my brother will get that one but that was our call-out when one of us discovered a stash of lizards that included a common blue-bellied one. Great times.

But chameleons? Nah, never on our radar. In fact I have no idea if they are even common in Southern California. But it’s a moot point since this blog is not about lizards, believe it or not. Or even lizards with cancer. It’s about dealing with lung cancer on a day-to-day basis.

So where do chameleons come in? I’m concerned that as I travel down this road and encounter tougher times that my attitude may match my surroundings. This may not be a new revelation blog-wise but it is constantly hovering over my shoulder whispering to me. For the past two years I have felt that I have had a relatively easy time with my journey. Emphasis on relatively. Thus you have rarely seen downer blogs like my Chi-Town meltdown or my more recent skirt-laced post.

So what happens if/when the rubber meets the road and I am having a much tougher time physically? On the days that I don’t feel well, I can’t say my attitude is stellar, although unless you are a close friend or family, you would not see it because I rarely write a blog when I’m feeling crappy. Will I be able to rise to the occasion and still maintain my positive approach to this journey? I’m still learning a lot about myself and I may not know the true answer to that question until I’m in the middle of it.

**********************

Medical update:

Based on the high-def scans my radio-doc showed me last Monday, it does appear my little brain fart, er, fuzzy, is indeed expanding his horizons. Although still only in the 7-9mm range, getting bigger, no matter how slight, is not a good thing, unless of course I’m referring to, well, never-mind. The picture is an old one but essentially shows the same fuzzy on his return engagement. The doc definitely feels we should zap the sucker (again) now as there is really no reason to wait while it gobbles up additional brain-cell landscape. However, this image was shown to me two days before we left for Hawaii (where we are currently as I peck this out). So nothing will happen until I get back. In the meantime, I have some soul searching to do. Gotta figure out the timing so it doesn’t interfere with any out of town trips. Or fun for that matter. There are priorities ya know.

My lung-onc specialist at Moores will be contacting the drug trial company to hopefully get permission for me to receive the radiation treatment without it kicking me out of the trial. By the way, I guess I left you all hanging from the last blog: I am still in the trial. Apparently not enough progression yet, plus it is still the best course of action right now as there is not a better treatment option at the moment.

However, assuming I get the permission to have the radiation, and stay in the trial, it means I have to go off the AZD9291 (A-Team) drug for the duration of the radiation treatments. That would be about 3 weeks since my doc would be prescribing 15 straight (weekday) days whereupon I reprise my role as Hannibal Lecter. Stopping the drug for that length of time is very concerning. Very concerning?  Who am I kidding? It scares the crap out of me as I am already seeing some new fuzzies in/around my lung. Taking away their poison pill, in my mind, could result in a “party on, Garth!” scenario. Not the kind of party I would be looking for.

Speaking of Moores Cancer Center, I was in the waiting room a week ago awaiting my appointment with my lung-onc specialist. To while away the time I was trying to get a 50 point word against my wife in a rousing game of Words with Friends on my smart phone. Like too many people these days, I was oblivious to my surroundings while attached to my electronic device. Finally I noticed a presence standing next to me and I could hear (through my limited hearing) a very soft, polite voice ask me “are you Craig Blower?” After responding affirmatively to this lady, she explained that she was there with her husband who was suffering from lung cancer after being diagnosed only a month or two after me. She recognized my face from some of my various blogs where I posted a picture of my mug. She was referred to my postings by a common friend, Michele Hall, a world renowned underwater film producer I know from the IMAX biz. Unfortunately this woman’s husband was at the stage he was now receiving palliative care. But she told me she has been following my blog and got some good out of it. It helped start my day off on a positive note.

But you know what? Right now nothing above this line has any hold on me. Why? Because I am in Oahu having the time of my life. Just look at the view (left) from our back porch. I read a whole book in the first two days. And better yet, I did not feel an ounce of guilt in taking the time to do so. Two days ago I played a round of golf at a course we affectionately called Jurassic Park, as you can see why. Between the four of us we lost 31 balls. Zoom into the par 3 picture on the right and you will understand. And yesterday my bro and I went on a 3-mile walk chasing a couple local geo-caches. Saw nary a blue-belly however. Felt a tad guilty walking down the Hawaiian shoreline staring at my smart phone for the geo-location of the stash. But hey, we were outside getting exercise, still in touch with our natural surroundings, and having a blast. Neighbor Richard, are you reading this?

Today we did the touristy thing: Pearl Harbor, the Arizona Memorial, a drive around Honolulu and Waikiki. Here’s a picture of me getting ready to blast away at my fuzzies. Then more golf tomorrow, yadda yadda. And of course some Rombauer thrown in for good measure. Doesn’t get much better than this.

Speaking of trips, I can’t wait to head off to my first Lungevity Hope Summit in DC at the beginning of May. Lots of fellow lung cancer bloggers and other survivors there. It will be the first time, other than with my buddy Dann, that I meet other similar journey-takers in person. Very cool.

And, of course, I could not let you leave without another shilling of the upcoming Breathe of Hope Lung Cancer Walk on Sunday the 19th. I am still looking for additional walkers/doners to fill/support our team. Click here to join us or to help our (Moores Cancer Center) cause. Be sure to select “Team – Craig” in the “additional information” section. Hope you can make it!

Aloha.

Business as usual. Day at a time.

March 20, 2015 (Fri) – Forty Shades of Gray

Didn’t want the Internet police to nix my blog title for copyright reasons. Plus I can’t say that this situation rises quite to the level of fifty. No soft-porn scenes being described below. No black and white checkerboard to describe my current state of affairs. And no, I’m not having one. Affair that is.

This morning I had my double-your-pleasure CT and MRI scans back-to-back. The fact that it took the nurse four sticks to get an IV in place should have given me a clue as to the eventual outcome.

This afternoon I had my follow-up regular onc-doc appointment and he already had the scan results. Not one for wasting time, particularly since he was already running more than an hour behind, his first words were something along the lines of “some additional growth is evidenced.”  I have a variety of locations in and around my lungs that show various levels of nastiness but most of them have remained stable. But apparently the ones that popped (not pooped) up recently have been eating some Wheaties or something and have “progressed” somewhat. How big somewhat is remains to be seen. I’ll have to do some line by line comparisons with the last scan write up.

As for the brain MRI, there may possibly, perhaps, maybe, perchance, could, be slight growth in the fuzzy in my brain. But it appears to be within the realm of measurement error so it’s not something that has me overly concerned at this point. I know my overeager radio-doc will want to zap it anyway and has already set up a meeting on Monday to discuss frying the bugger. I will not go down that path, however, unless fuzzy gains some significant weight.

So things are definitely in somewhat of a gray area. I’m not sure if the progression is enough to get me kicked out of the AZD9291 (A-Team) drug trial. I should find out more when I chat up my lung-onc-doc on Monday. And if it is enough to cut me from the team, I’ll find out if I have any options other than chemo.

Later this afternoon, after my onc appointment, I had my monthly Zometa infusion. It took them 3 tries to get it right. I feel like a dartboard. Brings a whole new meaning to the phrase “stick it to me.” Tricky valves is what I understand to be the challenge.

Eh, small stuff. Heck, I’m still sticking myself once a day with my Lovely-nox injections so what’s a few more?

Well, whatever the next phase is in my treatment, if there is a change, it will have to wait until we return from our Hawaiian vacation. Yup, once again off to hula-hula town. Can’t wait.

Several of you have been very generous in joining and/or donating to Team Craig – Get Fuzzy. The Breathe of Hope Walk is on April 19th, only a month away. I would love to have an avalanche of walkers in support of Moores Cancer Center and myself. Please consider joining us. Or if that is not possible, a contribution to support lung cancer research and treatment would be very much appreciated. Click here to either join the walk or make a donation. Be sure to select Team Craig under “additional information.” Thank you for your consideration.

Business as usual. Day at a time. Aloha.

March 3, 2015 (Tues) – To the Dark Side and Back

No, Darth Vader is not my father. But I will be the first to admit that I dipped my toes into the dark side pool this past week. Normally The Force has worked to keep me away from the temptation of sliding into the choke grip of dismay. Yes, last week was a tough one mentally. Tougher for the families that lost loved ones. Unfortunately that is the world I share right now. Life isn’t fair.

But as Randy Quaid said in Independence Day, Hello, boys! I’m BAAAAAACK! 

Sorry, I know many of you are “girls,” but the quote is the quote. In any case, as a result of my Force, and that would be all of you, I’ve slid very quickly back into the yellow scale of my chart. From personal e-mails (thank you Carol), to blog comments (many of you), to a bottle of Rombauer (thank you Pam), to a phone call from Portland (thanks Dann), to a comfort hug (thanks Mike), my foray into the blue zone was short lived. And once again, my rock, aka Kim, kept me sane. So yes, back to business as usual telling lame jokes and offering up dreadful puns. Hmm, you might have preferred that I stayed a bit right.

Nah. I know better.

So, a short blog. But I did want to let you know that I’ve seen the dark side and never want to return. Something tells me my peeps won’t let that happen. Thank you peeps.

Just a quick reminder if you are able to walk and/or support Team Craig – Get Fuzzy in the Breath of Hope Walk, click here to make that happen. There has been some confusion if you just wanted to make a donation. I’ve updated the links to take you directly to the registration page where you make that happen, and/or register to walk. Clicking on “Donate Now” from the original link I provided does not allow you to specify a team to support. You have to be on the registration page. On the 4th row down you can make your donation. Then the section below that allows you to select the team. If any of you have made a donation via the “donate now” link, please let me know and I can get them credited to our team. A couple of you indicated you’ve made donations but they are not showing up so perhaps that is what happened.

Several of you have already signed up and made additional donations. And some very good friends and my brother made large lead donations for the team. Did I tell you I have awesome friends and family?

Business as usual. Day at a time.

March 1, 2015 (Sun) – What Color is my Dress?

By now, everyone has seen the dress picture that has gone viral. Almost as hot as the ice bucket challenge but without the staying power. It’s obviously white and gold. “Yeah, right,” some of you black-and-bluers are saying. But the true color is not all that important.

You’ll notice that I titled this blog using the possessive determiner “my.” Possessive determiner? I had to grammar-Google that for the benefit of, well, you know who you are. My close friends from work or Camp Ronald McDonald will suspect I’m actually talking about some of my excursions into the less-than-macho skirt world. Yes, the evidence is clear. But these all have really good explanations. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

But once again, I am really delving into more of a metaphor instead of any estrogen leanings. As it relates to my journey, I can’t say that a full box of Crayolas would come into play. Instead, a better descriptor would be a range from white to black, with fifty shades of gray in
between. Boy, I bet those soft-porn Googlers will be surprised when my blog pops up as they search that movie/book title.

So white would be BC (before cancer) and black would be, well, I really would find my name in the obits. I’ve been up and down that scale but staying mostly in the first, leftmost half. As my scans come back clean, I drift left. But news of progression, or blood clots, or other challenges, slides it back to Rush Limbaugh territory. And since I’m a Democrat, I prefer keeping it in blue state territory. At the moment, I’d say I’m an independent around midpoint with some recent scans, as you know, coming back with some new fuzzies apparently. I’ll know more when I have my next set on March 20th.

The white-black scale is more of a how-I’m-doing-physically one. But there is another scale of equal importance (in my opinion). That would be the yellow-blue scale describing my current frame of mind. Heading off to Hawaii after clean scans would put me in Pollyanna yellow territory. News of other cancer blogger deaths slides me right into funkdom. And that is where I am at today. Just this past week, we lost two cancer bloggers with a third probably soon to follow. One of them only 9 months after diagnosis. After having my head pulled out of the sand with my last scan results, this was a 2×4 broadside that has funked me out. Still trying to stay ahead of the wave, and so far managing. But news that it has swallowed up a couple blogger brethren and is currently holding one down brings the whole mortality issue right in front of my face where I can no longer ignore it. Scary stuff. It’s pushing me right on that funk meter but you all have done a great job at not letting me venture too far in that direction. Keep it up.

Once again, I will be reprising my role as a marathoner at the upcoming Breath of Hope Walk on Sunday, April 19th. OK, maybe a 5K slow walker. This walk is to support Moores Cancer Center where I am currently receiving my treatment as part of the AZD9291 (A-Team) drug trial. Last year we had by far the largest team in number of walkers. This year my goal is 100 of you out there wearing red Team Craig – Get Fuzzy shirts. I know we can do it. Will you join me? We also had the 2nd highest donation level. Not bad for a first-year team, eh? I hope all of you that were able to join me last year will consider digging out your red shirts to help support Moores and me. I will be getting more red shirts so not finding, or having tossed, yours is no excuse. For the newbies, please consider an early morning Sunday stroll. But even if you can’t be there in person, I’d like our team to come out on top in the fundraising category as well. Click here to join the walk or make a donation. Follow the prompts. You can make a donation on that same page without registering to walk. Be sure you are showing Team Craig – Get Fuzzy in your selection. Thanks for everyone’s support.

Business as usual. Day at a time.

February 13, 2015 (Fri) – Lucky Friday the 13th

We all have our superstitions, right? Mine are more on the order of OCD gotta-do’s. Being sure all of the bathroom cabinets are closed when I leave. When I read the paper (yes, we are still papyrus reading dinosaurs), I always read it front to back, never out of sequence. Making sure my checkbook (yes, I still have one of those too) is balanced to the penny. OK, I actually gave up on that several years ago but I used to spend an hour looking for the 26¢ I was off. But today we are not here to discuss my bookkeeping quirks.

So when did Friday the 13th turn lucky? After all, it was 17 years ago today that I had my spinal fusion surgery, and it just so happened to be on Friday the 13th as well. Totally lost my voice for ten weeks after they nicked one of my vocal cords. Lucky? I’m thinking not.

But as you know, today is my two-year anniversary from the date I was given my initial lung cancer diagnosis. As you also know, I try and avoid statistics, but I do know the odds were against me even being here to type this blog two years later. So, the fact that I’m still around to 2-digit finger poke is lucky indeed. But luck mixed with a whole bunch of other stuff.

So today I give thanks where thanks are due:

Medical Staff (onc, lung-onc, radio-doc, GP etc.)
Yes, I’ve had an occasional issue here and there with a misdiagnosis or forgotten drug interaction. But over all I have had excellent treatment. Over at Moores Cancer Center, all the staff in the infusion center know me and my oddball sense of humor. We all joke about the likelihood of getting stabbed more than once to draw blood. OK, I’m sorta joking. And my urine specimen is my special “gift” that I provide to whoever drew the short straw and had to deal with me. All of the staff who have assisted in my numerous CT scans, MRI’s, xrays, bloodletting excursions, radiation treatments, EKG’s, echocardiograms, Zometa infusions, and yes, even my lung-suck thoracentesisessessesses (thoracentesi?), have been very pleasant, and in many cases, downright friendly. Well, maybe that first knuckle-noogie echo-tech is not on this list. But how many docs do you know will high-five you on a good scan result?

Even though I won’t give it its own paragraph, I also want to thank my wife’s insurance company. We are very fortunate to have a wonderful plan through my wife’s job as a teacher. After two years, I’d venture to guess that my medical bills would have approached the $1/2 mil threshold. All in all, I doubt seriously if I’ve been out of pocket $1000. Definitely feel lucky in that regard.

Bio-Technology
Even if I was diagnosed only 5 years earlier, I’d be singing a different tune. If I was even alive to sing. Even if you wanted me to sing. Which you don’t. Biotech advances, especially genomics research, have grown exponentially and are bringing new drugs and treatment options to bear quickly. Two years ago I had never heard of EGFR or T790, but those two acronyms or abbreviations, along with the designer drugs associated with each, Tarceva and AZD9291, have played an extremely important role in my survivorship to this day. Nobody knows what tomorrow will bring but I raise a toast to the pharma companies out there working on the next new thing. After last week’s news, I encourage you to work even a little faster…

Fellow Bloggers, Tweeters and Support Sites
I met some of you through your own blog or through websites that deal specifically with the type of cancer I have. Unless you’ve been there, doing that, it’s hard to relate exactly to what is going on in my life and my not-always-there mind. Having other survivors to chat with that are going through what I have, or have already gone through a particular treatment, is a blessing. Nobody likes surprises and I’ve been able to avoid most of them with your help. Of course there is still a lot of unpredictability in my life, but at least I know, for the most part, what my options are because there is a village out there lending advice and support.

Friends
That would be you. You have no idea how much your support, good wishes, prayers, bottles of Rombauer, Facebook and blog comments and get well cards have meant to me.  I have only been able to maintain a semblance of sanity and keep a semi-positive outlook because of you all and my family. I may not respond to each comment on my blog, but trust me on this, I read every single one. And I’ve even shed a tear over a few that really hit home to me at the time.

Family
Of course my family is my rock. They have had to ride this roller coaster right along beside me, and try and not scream during the scary twists and turns through tunnels etc. None of us bought a ticket for this journey but there they are, in lock-step with me every day, ensuring that I keep placing that next step right in line with the last one. Business as usual? It would absolutely not be possible without them.

So Friday the 13th is lucky? Damn straight, even with last week’s less-than-stellar scan results. I am still here, I feel great, you all say I look great, I have an incredible support network to tap into, and I still have a few bottles of Rombauer left. Lucky indeed.

OK, don’t forget, if you are available this evening (Friday the 13th) at 7pm PST, join us on the Cancerversary page and drop in comments, pictures holding wine glasses, anything you want. I’ll be on the site from about 7-8pm or so responding to comments, pictures, or even any questions you might have. Never could figure out how to do a really techie virtual celebration so we will have to use this somewhat lame-o method. But hey, the bottom line is I get to celebrate. And here Kim and I are getting ready. I’m modeling the “Life is Good” sweatshirt she bought me. You can click on the picture for a better look. Check out the wine glasses as well.

Business as usual. Day at a time.

February 9, 2015 (Mon) – Life’s a Beach

It’s certainly not difficult to find beaches here in San Diego. From my house, sand is only 20 minutes away. The operative word here is sand. In many cases, life described as a “beach” is a good thing. It certainly is when describing our annual visits to Hawaii. Not so much when your T-shot lands in the granular stuff on the golf course. 3 times in a row. Like this past weekend.

But I am alluding to a more metaphorical use of beach. Or sand.

Since last July when I began the A-team (AZD9291) treatments, I saw huge benefits right out of the chute. Other than the brief detour with blood clots, I have felt very healthy and recently have rejoined my softball team in an active role. Yes, I had a questionable brain MRI pop up, but since then it has remained stable and I had/have no reason to believe that will change. So my wife and I have been in, what she calls, La-La-Land. Definitely business as usual, virtually as normal as can be. This is where the beach, or sand, comes into play.

Today I had my head very abruptly yanked from where I had firmly placed it into the sand. Although my recent brain MRI came back unchanged, and stable (now for the past 5 months), the CT scan did not play so nicey-nicey. To quote: “Enlarging bilateral pulmonary nodules, measuring up to 12 mm in diameter, suspicious for malignancy.” Glad I did not get these results before this past birthday weekend where my wife and I enjoyed two days of golf with my brother and his wife. This news would definitely have had a dampening effect on the weekend. My daughter put it in perspective, however. She mentioned the old joke: “What do you call a doctor that got ‘C’s’ in biology? …Doctor.” So she says I ended up with a B- since I had an A on the MRI and a D on the CT scan. Heck, it’s a pass/fail course anyway so all I have to do is pass, right?

My lung-onc was not overly concerned, yet, and for now these results pose no risk of getting me kicked out of the trial. For now. So the next scan in 6 weeks will be very interesting, and majorly scanxiety inducing. And this next set of scans would be about 5 days before we leave for Hawaii. Hmmm.

Per my lung-onc, when I asked her if there were any magic designer drugs following on the heals of AZD9291, she said no. There might be a new EGFR specific drug trial in 3-4 months, but she didn’t have a lot of info and indicated it could be fairly dangerous. So it is another wait and see game, a game I’m not overly enthused about playing.

OK, that was the update. But this week it’s all about celebration. Friday, as you know, will be my two-year anniversary from my initial diagnosis. Alluded to above, my wife and I started the celebration early with a 2-day trip to a local golf course resort with my brother and his wife. And for my birthday, my brother bought a magnum of Rombauer chardonnay directly from the winery and convinced the owner of the winery (Mr. Rombauer doncha know) to sign it and ship it down for the celebration. How cool was that?

If you care to tag along on Friday, at 7pm PST, for the virtual party, I will be monitoring this celebration site.

Feel free join us if you can, post pictures in celebration or just make comments. I will be monitoring that site and responding accordingly. I’ll be sending out one more short blog on Friday morning as a reminder. If not, anything you want to add before then would be great.

See you then.

Business as usual. Day at a time.

February 3, 2015 (Tues) – You’ll Never Believe What Happens Next…

How many of you are absolutely sick of this lead-in teaser, or some similar variation, that has totally infiltrated Facebook? And how many of you often click anyway? How can you not, right? Some of them are just too good to pass up, whether it is some cutesy dog video or an impossible science experiment. Plus I often look to see who has posted it to determine if I respect their judgement in posting.

But what does this have to do with this, my 100th blog posting, you ask? Well, this phrase could have been said to me on the day of my diagnosis almost two years ago. No, I had no idea what I, and my family and friends, were in for. So if I could go back in time and prep myself for this journey, kinda like one of the Terminator movies, here is what I would tell me. Minus the “I’ll be Baack” Arnold impressions.

1. Be ready for the roller coaster ride of your life. Magic Mountain (a Six Flags amusement park) has nothing on this journey. OK, the Superman Escape from Krypton ride might come close.
2. Plan on becoming a pincushion extraordinaire. Getting poked, re-poked, and poked again will become second nature. And third, and fourth. Good thing your body replenishes your blood. Otherwise I would have turned into a prune long ago.
3. Don’t assume your docs know everything. Whether it is your onc-doc, lung-onc-doc, pulmon-doc, or a radio-doc, they cannot stay on top of everything. Be your own advocate and grow some big ones. Do not hesitate to call your doc out if you disagree with a treatment plan. You gotta stand up. Nobody knows you better than you. In more than one instance I was prescribed treatments that would have conflicted with other treatments I was undergoing. If I hadn’t said something, well, let’s not go there.
4. Insist on having them test for mutations in your tumor(s). I had no idea what that meant. When my pulmon-doc called to give me the bad news about my diagnosis, I failed to understand how important the news was that I was EGFR positive. And later on my T790 positive test.
5. Stay ahead of the curve. This means immediately bringing Google to its knees with your research. Find some good lung cancer survivor groups in a place like Inspire.com and chat away. You will learn a ton in a short period of time. Just avoid statistics. I know that will be impossible at first but they are always several years out of date and are essentially meaningless. With the exponential growth in genomic testing and specialized treatments, nobody can predict where you will be in one, two or even ten years from now.
6. Go public immediately. Or as soon as you have recovered from the initial beat down. The more people know what is going on with you, the sooner the positive thoughts and prayers can help you with your mental outlook. And I’m a firm believer in a positive frame of mind helping the physical healing process. Getting the word out quickly will also help prevent those awkward moments where you run into someone at the store and they ask how you are doing. Do they know you have cancer or are they just being polite? Yes, you will get some off-the-wall treatment recommendations from some well meaning friends, but you will also get articles and links to publications about upcoming treatment options you did not know about. Just be bold.
7. Start a blog. It’s a great way to get out what is going on with you and keeping family and friends informed. They are anxious to know what’s happening but feel like they’d be bugging you by calling. And you’ll never know when someone else gets some side benefits of your personal experience in their own journey.
8. Be sure your caregivers get some attention. I have not been very good at that aspect. They are often having just as tough of a time as you, maybe even more so since they do not feel they can let down their guard. If you go into a momentary hole, it’s easily forgiven. If they do, they feel like they are letting you down.
9. Be ready for side effects up the wazoo. Or maybe out the wazoo. Oops, TMI. Sorry. Yes, it’s mostly all small stuff in the ultimate scheme of things, at least in my case to date, but stay in touch with others that have gone through that treatment to get an idea of what you are in for.
10. Be wary of leg pain/swelling. I was never told, or at least I did not remember, that lung cancer patients have a much higher risk of developing deep vein thrombosis (DVT’s) in their legs. These blood clots can then break off and travel north into your lung and cause some very serious issues. Had I been aware (or remembered) this was a possibility, I might have gotten in sooner when I began experiencing leg pain and might have avoided the pulmonary embolisms (PE’s) I suffered as a result. Be always listening to your body.
11. Don’t cut back on normal activities if you can avoid it. I found the more I maintained my regular day-to-day activities, the more I was able to handle what got thrown at me.
12. Get ready for a new normal. And a normal that gets redefined continuously throughout your journey. It is what it is. Do not look back or try and zip directly to “go” and collect $200. Day at a time as you all know.

OK, that’s a quick dozen of things I wish I had known earlier on. Some of which I jumped on right away such as going public and starting a blog. But other stuff I learned as I went. And that’s a bit tougher road to travel.

As you know, I am approaching my two-year anniversary of my diagnosis. I will be celebrating on lucky Friday the 13th. In honor of that momentous occasion, I am throwing a virtual party and would like all of you to join me. And your friends. And your friends’ friends. Really all it means that you are “attending” my party by electronic proxy. Some of you have already signed up via my earlier Facebook post. So click here to join the fun. Click on “going” and then invite all of your friends. All it means is that you are supporting me at my two-year mark. Nothing to do other than that. You don’t have to be anywhere at a set time or anything. I’d love to see this number get up to 500 but it will take a lot of inviting/sharing to make that happen.

But I am going to offer an additional option for those of you that are looking for perhaps an even deeper involvement. I will be on that web page at 7pm (PST) on Friday the 13th monitoring and responding to any comments. I think it would also be very cool to post pictures of you toasting to the celebration. I will start it off with my own picture that morning. Whatdaya think? Here is a picture of a glass (one of two) that some good friends gave me. They made a special trip to the Rombauer winery to pick these up. How cool is that?

I just started my own Twitter account. I could use some lessons from those of you that have been tweeting a while. But if you want quicker updates on where I stand, you can follow me @Getfuzzies. 

Last but not least, I go in this Thursday morning for my six-week double-your-trouble twin scans (brain MRI and CT scan). If you follow me on Twitter, I may have the results out by Friday, even tho I am taking the day off. My wife and I are joining my brother and his wife at Rancho Bernardo Inn. So probably the most I would be able to get out would be less than 140 characters anyway. Probably similar to what my golf score will be. Hopefully I’ll be getting a nice birthday present.

Business as usual. Day at a time.

January 19, 2015 (Mon) – A Musical Guide to My Lung Cancer Journey

Considering this is my 99th blog post since beginning this crazy journey, I was tempted to use a different song to lead off with. However, I don’t think any well-known artists ever hit the top 20 with 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall. How many of us used this song to pass the time while driving long distances before there were books on tape or even 8-track tapes? Or just to drive someone crazy? Guilty.

But as always, I digress before even getting started.

You haven’t heard from me in several weeks. Lots of excu, er, valid reasons for that. But the bottom line is, I had writer’s block. You already knew of the latest scan results with a new set not due until the second week in February. And no new side effects of my A-team drug, and I know how much you look forward to hearing about those. So no news = good news. But not necessarily = creative blog material. So I began thinking about how certain song titles could directly match up with various aspects of my journey. So here’s your ticket to ride…

Almost two years ago, life as we knew it changed forever. I was like a candle in the wind. But with a little help from my friends (and family), I realized that you’ll never walk alone. While my situation is always on my mind, I’ve got a lot of living to do. Of course, if I could put time in a bottle, I’d love to go back and for once in my life, change the course of my journey. But do you want to know a secret? I’m walking away a winner after everything I’ve learned in the past 23 months. But I’m definitely not walking away. Had to make the song title fit, ya know.

Yesterday I was oblivious to the possibility of ending up with lung cancer. Today I’m a believer. And much more knowledgeable. More than I want sometimes. It has occasionally been a hard day’s night. I wanted someone, anyone, to tell me why I was “selected” for this challenge. I was a nowhere man. But after being a day tripper for a short period of time, and fretting for eight days a week, I came to accept my new “normal” and let it be. Wow, that was almost an exclusively Beatles paragraph.

But almost two years later, I’m surviving, thriving and stayin’ alive. In my life, I’ve never seen such support. You raise me up, stand by me and come rain or come shine, you are always there. And that makes me happy. You’ve never let me consider quittin’ time. That’s just the way you are. And by “you,” I mean all of you: family, friends, blog commenters and just those that read my blog but stay in the background. When I’m 64, a little more than two years from now, I know we’ll be having a celebration with my fourth survivor year approaching.

As of right now, all I can say is how sweet it is. What a wonderful life. But that’s the way you make me feel. Lots of challenges coming up but all you need is love to break past them. And I’ve got gobs of that from you all. Plus I haven’t got time for the pain. We’re gonna beat it. We just have to walk this way.

Don’t stop believing.

Business as usual. Day at a time.

December 26, 2014 (Fri) – What, Me Worry?

Well, yeah. The past week or so has been a tough lead-up to my tests this morning. I have to admit I was more than a little concerned about what the findings might be. A lot of this stems from how crummy I’ve been feeling from my stupid cold/sinus infection. The symptoms mimicked those I had at the very start of my  journey two years ago. So my head was playing games with me. The other concern was about that amorphous non-specific area of my cerebellum that has been apparent the past two scans. So yeah, definitely some major scanxiety this time around.

I had no hopes that the results would be so quickly obtained. But this afternoon I went in for my monthly onc-doc appointment, and reminded the doc that I had the tests this morning. He said “well, let’s see if the results are posted yet” as he logged onto his computer. The next thing I saw were his arms raised a-la-Rocky as he read the CT results. Yes, there is still some “stuff” in and around my lungs but there was no progression from the last scan 6 weeks ago. Or from the one 6 weeks before that. Once again, words like stable, unchanged, and unremarkable jumped off the screen. OK, that was extremely good news, but what about the MRI which has previously displayed that undefined something?

His arms remained in the air as he read that report next. The little 5-6mm brain fuzzy/dead fuzzy is still there but not having grown in the past 3 months. More phrases like “there is no abnormal…” and “stable” might have well been in 20 point font as they again jumped off the monitor. However, I did note the phase that contained “mucosal thickening” and wondered about that mucus thing again. Hmmm.

But overall wonderful news and I am good to go for another 6 weeks. This A-team stuff (AZD9291) is my current hero. Keep staying ahead of the wave – that is the plan.

To break the tension last weekend while we were reading the morning paper, my wife says “well, I have some good news for you.” Little mopy me says, “what?”

“You’re not in today’s obituaries.”

OK, that helped put things back into perspective. Gotta love her. And I do.

Starting the year off right. I thank all of you once again for your positive comments, thoughts and prayers. May be celebrating with some Rombauer tomorrow night. OK, OK. No maybe about it.

Business as usual. Day at a time.

December 22, 2014 (Mon) – I’m Just a Wuss

OK, I admit it. In many ways I do fit the definition to the left. OK, I know some of you will be saying, “but Craig, you’re being too hard on yourself.”

Not necessarily. Hear me out.

So we’ll start off with a simple example. My wife and I no longer give each other Christmas presents. We determined long ago that we already have everything we want or need. No, I realize that is not so unusual. And typically we will have some major household expense, whether it be a $75K kitchen remodel or a dozen bottles of Rombauer (yeah right) that we then consider as our gifts to one another. OK, so far so good. But here is where it gets a bit wussy. I do not buy any Christmas presents anymore. My wife covers all the bases, including my boss and our kids. Now you have to admit, that’s a bit selfish, if not quite reaching the wuss level. But here’s the kicker: the only thing I buy is my wife’s stocking stuffers. And since I put forward such a D- effort, she has had to resort to buying some of her own stocking stuff and giving it to me to add to her stocking. Now I feel downright wussy.

But this is a cancer blog – not a blog of Christmas fail.

So how can someone, who’s had to deal with some of the medical issues I have this past year, be considered a wuss? Well, this past week I came down with a nasty sinus infection and terrible sore throat. It is actually the first time I have been “sick” in many years. I’m not used to it. And it knocked me flat. But at least I knew that is all it was.

Yet, it really made me wonder about how I might react to medical challenges down the road. I’ve been complimented on my positive attitude and ability to persevere. Hah. This past week I had none of the above working for me. Yeah, I felt like crap but the true sign of strength is to be able to remain positive under trying circumstances. I couldn’t muster up a whole lot of plus symbols to orbit my psyche this past week. And this was just a friggin’ bad cold. So thus a wuss. We will see how things go if/when the rubber hits the road. Let’s hope I don’t need to test that theory for a long time.

Off on another tangent: I was just reading the label of one of my Lovely-nox syringes after jabbing myself for probably the 250th time in 4 months. Funny it took me this long to notice. I was taken aback when I read that Lovenox is “derived from porcine intestinal mucosa.” So I’ve been injecting myself with pig mucous? Uh….how do I get that out of my brain now?

Not sure if this fits in the wuss category, a crazy category, or just-gotta-be-kidding-me category. But for the 7th or 8th year straight, I borrowed an elf (although it looks a bit more like a jester to me) costume courtesy of the local Old Globe Theater (thank you Maureen) and wore it to my Rotary holiday party. It would be one thing if our club had 20 people in it. But it has 500 members comprised of the movers and shakers in town including ex-mayors, city council members and heads of many companies in town. Not sure how I fit in, especially with an outfit like this. But they haven’t kicked me out yet and I think they have even come to expect me making a fool (literally) of myself every year. Plus the seniors they invite every year get a kick out of it. Heck, at this stage nothing can embarrass me.

Finally, a medical update. This Friday, the day after Christmas, I go in for my every-six-week brain MRI and upper body CT scan. Should have the results sometime early next week. Stay tuned and keep your fingers crossed.

That’s it from the home front. Overall, other than this obnoxious cold, I still feel great. And I plan on keeping it that way.

And I could not avoid dropping in a great shot of our family. This is from my daughter’s wedding back in May.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Business as usual. Day at a time.

December 6, 2014 (Sat) – Gettin’ a Little Scary

No, I am not chronologically challenged. Challenged in many other ways, as several of you might attest, but not as it relates to dates. I’m actually one of those guys who remembers my wife’s birthday and our anniversary. Right honey? Right?!

So no, I am not confused as to what holiday is coming up. I know it is not Halloween although the picture to the left might give you pause. Actually that is me and my two older brothers, getting ready to roam the neighborhood in circa 1977. I’m the artificially tall one in the back right.

But why am I referring to a time-frame from 6 weeks ago? Well, it truly is getting scary.

Scary good.

Uh, what the hell does that mean Craig?

Physically I am feeling great. About as good as I have felt since this whole journey began 21 months ago. And that is a little scary because I know that at any moment the other shoe could drop and I’d  be singing a whole different tune. OK, I am challenged in singing so you won’t hear that from me. But I have been extraordinarily lucky. Initially Tarceva took care of business and knocked the fuzzies on their butts. Hmm, I know from my last post they had wings, but butts? Interesting visual. Then a short break before I was once again fortunate enough to qualify for a drug trial right in my backyard. As much as I avoid statistics, a back-of-the-envelope number crunching says I had about a 7.5% chance of being in the situation I am in once I was diagnosed. That means a 92.5% chance I would not be where I am. Fortunate indeed.

If you’ve read my blog all along, this theme will seem highly similar to my “guilty as charged” post back in February. And it is. But when you are on a momentary high, you sometimes gotta shout out, even if it seems a bit redundant. I seriously hesitated writing this post since, as before, I am very cognizant of the fact that there are many blog buddies, and most likely some of you, that are going through some tough times. I certainly don’t want to seem like I am insensitive to the challenges everyone else might be facing. And I could be in those shoes in 6 months. Who knows? But you are going to be privy to my highs and lows if you stick with me and right now I am certainly on the upward swing.

Oops, gotta break for a Lovey shot……………………………….OK, back.

Uh Craig, did you forget about that little fuzzy that popped up in the noggin as shown in the last two scans? Nah. I suppose it should have me worried but for some reason I think it will prove out to be nothing. My next double-your-pleasure scan on the 26th will perhaps shed some light on that issue. My radio-doc is assuming it will be something that needs to get zapped and wants me to come in shortly after the scan to get CT-mapped so that the zapper knows exactly where to aim its blaster. Yet, if nothing has progressed (I hate the use of that word), there is no way I am donning that cage mask to zap something that may not need zapping. Stay tuned.

Another reason I might be a bit on the upswing is that this past week I have finally returned to daily workouts at the gym. OK, I lied. I only went 4 days. And “returned” is a huge stretch since I never really was consistent in my sweaty endeavors and it has been 2 years since I really worked out with any regularity. But near the end of this past week I was really feeling healthy. I know healthy has a new definition but I’ll take my new version and run with it. Now I will need all of you to lay on the peer pressure to keep me going. So easy to skip a day. Then another. And before you know it, it’s beer and pita chips while sitting on my recliner. Ooh, that is sounding pretty damn good.

I also got the green light to resume my weekly drinking, er, softball games after the first of the year. I haven’t thrown a ball or even jogged in several months so this shall be interesting. Just have to avoid getting nailed in the noggin or colliding with anything larger than a can of beer.

In other good news, my buddy Dann from Portland, who has been traipsing to San Diego every couple of weeks as a participant in the same trial I’m in, just got the results of his first scan after he started quaffing AZD9291. Quote: “Massive Shrinkage!” Now, if you were a porn star, that phrase would not engender positive thoughts and you could be out of a job. But in our business, those two words are music to our ears. Congrats to Dann. We went out for a pre-celebratory dinner the night before he got his results, and we were so sure of the outcome, we popped a bottle of, you guessed it, Rombauer. Glad to find out the celebration was not wasted. 🙂

Had a Chinese dinner recently and, since I am aiming to please my onc-doc by maintaining my weight, powered down two fortune cookies. Couldn’t complain with the outcomes.

And we broke in our newly re-tiled living room floor with 18 people for Thanksgiving. Even my son was able to get away from his cheffing duties at his restaurant to make it just in time. Had to carve the turkey myself for the first time in many years. Just like riding a bike. Yeah, a bike with bent a bent rim and two flat tires. But it still tasted OK.

Next set of scans on the day after Christmas. I think I’ll be getting a late Christmas present.

Business as usual. Day at a time.

November 23, 2014 (Sun) – The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

Actually I’m more of a Star Trek nerd than I am an aficionado of old westerns. Although I never missed an episode of Gunsmoke when I was a kid. But only the Dennis Weaver as Chester version. Just call me a purist. However, I’m not as much of a Trekkie as my wife thought when, years ago, she bought me a Star Trek Murder Mystery party kit where all of the attendees were supposed to dress up in in full Shatner-like regalia. Uh, I wasn’t ready to come out of the beam-me-up-Scotty closet to that degree. My wife thought for sure this would be the ultimate gift and was sorely disappointed when I rejected it.

So why I am using an old spaghetti western movie title for my blog? And how the heck did the word spaghetti get mixed in with a macho western with Clint Eastwood? You might as well have a rigatoni SciFi flick. But all these questions and more will be answered in due time below.

The Good: I’m not sure anyone that talks to an empty chair should be the icon of this section. But Clint played the part in the movie so I need to remain true to the craft.

Friday I got back the results of my CT and MRI scans I had this past Wednesday. In short, neither scan showed any change from the prior ones done 6 weeks ago. I especially like terms used like unremarkable, normal, no evidence, unchanged and stable. All of these phrases were used in the written synopsis I got. In my world that means no progression, which is 2nd in favorable results only to “additional shrinkage” which unfortunately was not a term used. But I’ll take it. That keeps me in the trial.

The Bad: Note the italicized phrase above where the results indicated no change from the prior ones done 6 weeks ago. Therein lies the rub. Remember there was some disagreement on whether my last brain MRI showed anything or not. Well, the latest higher def version did verify that there is something there. Exactly in the same place it was a year and a half ago when I had radiation zapping to nail the sucker. In fact the write-up calls it worrisome. Worrisome for who?! Certainly not the guy writing up the report. My radio-doc is certain that it is a fuzzy bugger coming back since it did not appear on the scans until recently. Fuzzy bugger? Sorry, hope you weren’t eating. But he gave me two options: reprise my role as a zapee and don the silence of the lambs mask again and blast the bad guy. Or wait until my next scheduled scan at the end of December (New Year’s Eve to be exact) and see where it stands then since it did not appear to grow since the last scan.

Ah, but there is a catch. Since this would be radiating the exact same spot as before, there is the risk of permanently damaging already battered tissue in that area. Supposedly, if memory serves (which it hasn’t lately), that part of my brain controls various motor skills. Which one(s) though I’m not entirely suretsdgvklrewjk. Oops.

So I chose door #2. While thinking that this little fuzzy might be spreading its wings for the next 6 weeks is a little disconcerting, since it hasn’t apparently grown for the past 6 weeks, the chance of it becoming ginormous in that short period of time is not really a concern. Wait a minute. Fuzzies have wings? Hmm. But there still is the slim chance that this little bit of nastiness could be an artifact from the first radiation that is now dying off and showing up. My wife, concerned about waiting while some alien was growing in me, asked me to call back the radio-doc and ask him what he would recommend if it was his brother who had to make a choice. He concurred with my decision. In any case, I may be getting a 2nd opinion from USCD.

The Ugly? That would be me. Not sure if the A-Team (my trial drug AZD9291) causes any hair issues or whether my follicle challenges are left over from Tarceva. But I have to essentially glue down my hair in the morning in order for it to have any semblance of control the rest of the day. That usually lasts to about noon and then it goes all Don King/Lyle Lovett on me. I know some of you are going “yeah, at least you have your hair.” Point taken. But I will be having the last laugh on Wednesday when it hits the chopping block. Take that gray boys. The picture to the right is obviously not real since it has the wrong hair color…

As for the trial, I am now in the next phase of my treatment where I only have to go in every 6 weeks. At my next checkup at the end of December I will also have all of my scans, and, wait for it, another knuckle-noogie echocardiogram. Can’t wait. Not.

No, these are not all Rombauer corks. Don’t I wish. Actually this is just a collection since I had my scan results last week. OK, more likely since my diagnosis 20 months ago. Alcohol is a disinfectant, right? Kills germs? But we (OK, my wife) just invested in a new toy that should help us populate this giant glass vial even quicker than we already are. Holds 21 bottles. Notice the blue caps on the end of the three bottles near the top? Yup. Rombauer. You know, I should send my blog off to Rombauer Vineyards. Maybe they’d send me a case for all of the free advertising I’ve given them in the past year and a half. Hmmm.

If you’ve been following along, you know that I appreciate fun humor when it comes to my situation. So recently I received this unique writing implement from someone at work. With my 2x daily Love-shots and regular blood tests, this device is way too familiar. Haven’t brought myself to drain any of its liquid yet. Seems a little perverse. But I’ll get there.

I know I’m supposed to be trying to reduce my overall stress level. Yet, if anything, it is going up. Lots going on at work right now and I still maintain my weekly volunteer trips to Rady Children’s Hospital and a south-bay elementary school for my first grade science experiments as part of my Rotary involvement. Those second two items actually work to reduce the stress tho. And I’m on the board of two non-profits. In fact, I haven’t really had any time to catch up on my own pile of paperwork at home. So dialing it back is not much of an option at the moment although I do see some light sneaking over the horizon. And perhaps I artificially ensure I am kept very busy so that it takes my mind off possible fuzzies and self-convinces me that is truly is business as usual. Only Freud knows. Nobody said I was a brain trust.

 

 

 

Live long and prosper. Yup, that’s the game-plan.

Business as usual. Day at a time.