Yondelis: The Chemo that Keeps On Giving

Yes, I realize it's been nearly 2 weeks since I posted my last update.  My only excuse is Yondelis.  And it's a good excuse too!  Yup, it pretty much kicked my ass (figuratively for sure, literally I hope).  Not that I ever thought this was going to be easy, but clearly Yondelis is not the "kinder, gentler chemo" I had hoped for.

I was doing just fine up through mid-afternoon Wednesday, 02/13, when it started to hit me.  The initial symptom was extreme fatigue.  I had to make myself lie down for about 2 hours that afternoon and ended up going to bed early that evening.

The following morning (Valentine's Day), I was hit by the full force of Yondelis.  Symptoms included:

• Debilitating nausea (note: usually this has the distinct advantage of causing you to lose weight.  Not with Yondelis!  I gained 10 lbs of fluid weight in my gut!)
• Extreme fatigue
• Body aches
• Weakness
• Shortness of breath
• Total and complete inability to comprehend technical problems (i.e., chemo brain)
• Trouble speaking clearly (also chemo brain)
• Headaches
• Bloated feeling (even though I was eating/drinking very little)
• Don't feel like eating/drinking (because of being so bloated)
• Ins and Outs not matching (because I was retaining fluid)
• Generally miserable

Thankfully I had a follow-up appointment scheduled that morning at my Oncologist's office (Holly had to drive).  They drew several blood samples from my port and hooked me up for fluids.  Of all the counts, the one that really stood out was my Liver Enzymes.  The normal range for this is below 50; my number came in at a whopping 2252 (over 40x out of range)!  The doctor also indicated that elevated liver enzymes is known to contribute towards nausea, fatigue, and loss of appetite.

I was told though that this is just something that Yondelis does and that, in time, my Liver Enzymes should return to normal.  Based on my latest labs, the number is still around 778 (from 02/20), but another lab will be taken on Monday (02/25).  At this rate, I seriously doubt that it will be < 50 by the time Round #2 is scheduled to begin (on 03/04).

My life these past 10 days has consisted of 6 long trips to the Oncologist's office and basically feeling crappy.  It feels kind of like having the flu, where you feel miserable, sometimes wish you were dead (so the misery will stop), but know in the back of your mind that this is (or at least should be) temporary.  Combine that with the rainy, dreary, and cold weather we've had for about the same amount of time and you'll find yourself dreaming of being healthy and living in Florida!

Things are not all bad though:

• I found the right combination of meds that kept the nausea under control.
• No problem with neutropenia (low neutrophil count), a problem that plagued me 10 1/2 years ago.
• Thus far, my kidneys do not seem to be impacted by the treatment.  Fingers crossed!
• The fluid weight gain has reverted back to net-zero lbs gained this round.
• We will save even more money on our cruise now since I am medically banned from drinking any alcoholic beverages during my Yondelis treatment (due to my elevated Liver Enzymes).

I think the thing that's been most baffling to me is that I just don't know when these symptoms will end.  For example, when I woke up Friday morning (02/22) I felt almost like I had been reborn.  I drove myself to my Oncology appointment that day with a smile and a spring in my step.  But by the time I got home (mid-afternoon), I was completely exhausted and ready for a nap.  Come the next morning (02/23), I felt like crap again, with virtually zero energy.  The best I could do was to move from couch to couch all day.

Contrast this with the AIM regimen which, despite the extreme lows, I could clearly tell when my body hit the reset button.  And once I was on the way back up, each new day was consistently better than the last.  With Yondelis, I still haven't figured it out.  Maybe it's because my Liver Enzymes are still so elevated, I just don't know.  All I can do is take things one day at a time.

That brings us to today.  This morning felt like Friday morning.  I felt stronger and better and was motivated by the (rare) orange ball in the sky to get out and get moving.  Holly and I walked a slow 3 miles at our favorite park today, which is quite an accomplishment for me right now.

In closing, I wish to thank everyone for their name submissions for my chemo bag.  I promise to review those in the coming week and declare a winner.  I also wish to thank friends and neighbors for all of the cards, gifts, meals, songs, encouraging words, etc.  The graciousness shown our family will not be forgotten!

Round #1, Day #2: Unpack Day

Today I go in back to get my "man purse" detached.  Of course, there's no way I'm going to let that name stick; I need your help with a hipper, more trendy name for this "pack".  Here's a few pictures so we all know what I'm talking about:

Close Up showing pump window

The "Secret Sauce" on the inside

What do you call this 'pack'?

So far in the running I've heard:

• Manny Pack
• Man Bag
• Satchel
• Rucksack

None are very clever.  Whatever you want to call it, "purse" anywhere in the name is not acceptable.  And calling it a "backpack" is a real misnomer too as it has a single strap.

They made me watch a 9 minute "safety video" about the pump, which included helpful information such as "Do not take a bath with the pump".  I guess there's a lot of stupid out there, and if you don't explicitly call it out, someone's bound to try it.

You also don't want to cut or detach the line from your port to the pump.  The nurse mentioned that some guy recently decided to trim his hedges while hooked up and inadvertently cut his line in the process.  Who would have thought such a thing were even possible?!?  I'm sticking with my original statement!

I was actually getting a little concerned about doing something stupid myself while I was sleeping.  At least once last night the port area on my chest was feeling scratchy and I was ready to scratch hard and rip that thing out without even thinking.  Luckily I woke up just enough to come to my senses before I did anything I was sure to regret.

But even if that were to happen, have been equipped with an Emergency Spill Kit that I have been assured is capable of handling even the worst toxic spills:

Chemotherapy Emergency Spill Kit

Yes, it's a paper towel, a pair of vinyl gloves, and a zip-lock bag.  The nurse was actually shocked that it was so minimal.  Apparently it used to be much better (2 paper towels?), but with cost-cutting and all, this is what we have today.  Progress indeed . . . kind of along the lines of the Duck and Cover drills from the 1950s, which promised protection, but ultimately only provided the illusion of being safe!  Keep in mind that these chemo nurses wear a hazmat-approved full gown and face mask with working with stuff.  So best to avoid any accidents at home!

As I'm writing this post, it is Tuesday morning and I'm just about to head to the Dr's office.  Overall, I'm feeling much better than I was 10 1/2 years ago going through the AIM regimen.  It's really too early though to make any judgement quite yet, but I'm cautiously optimistic.  I will say that I think I'm already feeling a little "chemo brain" as this post has been considerably more difficult to write than others.  I guess this is to be expected.

Part of what I get when I go in today is a 2-hour hydration IV plus more anti-nausea meds.

I've been told that the "danger zone" with Yondelis is typically between day 7 - 10.  Today is Day #2 in my cycle, so still a good ways to go before I know if Yondelis and I can become good friends.

Round #1 Starts Now!

By the time you read this, I should already be hooked up and zoned out with Round #1 of Yondelis!

Yup, just another reason to hate Mondays . . . at least every third Monday starting from today, Monday, February 11, 2019!  Having gone through chemotherapy before,  I know just how much it can suck the very life out of you.  I had sworn I would never do this again, yet here I am, I've signed up for more.  It's really quite surprising what people are willing to sacrifice for the promise of better health and a longer life!

In fairness though to Yondelis, which has been marketed as the "kinder, gentler chemo", perhaps the better way for me to look at this is: "the enemy of my enemy is my friend".  I've been told that Yondelis has an absolute hatred for Myxoid Liposarcoma, so my focus right now should be on this common ground, where we can both agree.  It's really not fair for me to be prejudging her, just because of some bad breakup I had with another chemo years ago.  I need to hear her out and give her a chance.

But for this relationship to work, there are certain rules/conditions that must be followed:

1. I've got to eat!  No more starvation diets just to try to get along!  Please don't make me feel bad if I do a little light snacking every now and again!
2. You can't have all of my white blood cells!  Yes, I'm sure they are quite tasty mixed in with the Myxoid, but I'm just not ready for that level of commitment.  
3. Leave my kidneys alone, period!  The last chemo I had took advantage of me while was I doped up and sleeping.  Never again!

If these boundaries can be respected, I think we'll get along just fine . . . and we'll each get what we want!  Kill those damned Myxoid Liposarcoma invaders!

Countdown to Chemo!

I know this post is long, and long overdue, but this sort of publishing slippage is exactly what happens when work deadlines, medical appointments, personal deadlines, and the Super Bowl all collide!  You frantically go from one thing to the next, hoping that you have not overlooked some significant detail.  Thank God I made myself relax last night so that I could watch what turned out to be one of the most boring Super Bowls in recent memory.  Well, at least the Game of Thrones commercial was cool!  No spoilers, but it's always shocking the characters they decide to kill off!

Rewind to Last Wednesday (1/30/2019), Meet the Oncologist

I had my first Medical Oncology appointment this past Wednesday afternoon with Dr. Kamal N. Ummed of Georgia Cancer Specialists (affiliated with Northside Hospital Cancer Institute), in Alpharetta. 

Dr. Ummed has over 15 years of experience as a medical oncologist and has recently taken over treating all sarcoma patients (previously under the care of Dr. Gina D'Amato, who has since moved on to a hospital in Miami).  In addition to having an amazing haircut, Dr. Ummed stuck me as extremely caring, compassionate, meticulous, and thorough.  I kid you not, he spent over an hour with me discussing my history with Liposarcoma, my current situation, and the proposed treatment plan.  I made it clear to Dr. Ummed that I had a very specific schedule in mind with my treatment plan and he had no problems whatsoever getting me set up on my preferred dates.

Another really great thing about seeing Dr. Ummed is that he stays in close contact with Dr. Gina D'Amato (my Oncologist from 10 years ago).  Much of the direction and key decision making will come with her input.  What more could one possibly ask for?  I get to be treated by an amazingly cool and experienced medical oncologist locally who works with a team that includes a world-class sarcoma specialist.  Safe to say, I'm in good hands!

Here's a Summary of the Treatment Plan

• Prior to starting chemotherapy, I must first complete the following prerequisites:
• Baseline Echocardiogram (for monitoring heart health during treatment).
• Baseline pelvic MRI (if the one from 01/15/2019 is not considered "current" enough).
• Port placement surgery.  This port will be my main hookup for the chemo.
• All of these will be handled on Wednesday, February 6, 2019.
• The plan calls for 6 rounds of high-dose Yondelis (pronounced yon-DEH-lis), given as a 24-hour backpack infusion.
• Round #1 will start on Monday, February 11, 2019, just one week from today!
• Each round (or cycle) is 3 weeks in total duration.
• Similar to my treatment 10 years ago, I would expect the first 2 weeks of each cycle to be fairly rough, with recovery coming the 3rd week.  But more on that later.
• After 2 rounds, another MRI will be done to verify that the chemo is working as expected.  If shrinkage is not seen after 2 rounds, alternative treatments will have to be evaluated.
• Other checkpoints will be after rounds 4 and 6.

This schedule put me well into June before I move on to the "next phase", which quite honestly is undecided at this time.  Surgery still scares me to death and does not guarantee a cancer-free future.  My preference at the moment is to seek Proton Therapy as the next step and forgo the surgery altogether.  In reality though, I think my best option come June is to seek out an expert 2nd opinion on the matter.  Certainly somebody at MD Anderson (in Houston, Texas), the Mayo Clinic (in Jacksonville, Florida), or even Sloan Kettering (in NYC) would have something definitive to say.

Outpouring of Support

Both Holly and I have been absolutely blown away with the outpouring of support we've received in these past few weeks.  We've received a number of calls, letters, emails, and gifts from longtime friends, acquaintances, current and former colleagues, neighbors, etc.  It's an entire community of people, spread all across the country and even along our very own cul-de-sac, that are actively rallying behind us.  The enthusiasm is contagious and emboldens my resolve to face what is ahead.  It's so good to know that I am not doing this alone!

Also with me every step of the way are the following "battle buddies":

Click to Enlarge

The Care Bear Story

As you may recall, it was nearly 10 years ago that my wife Holly went through Breast Cancer treatment.  Yes, just as I was finishing up my sarcoma treatment, we got the news about her diagnosis.  That summer of 2009 during her treatment, we sent our boys to a day camp at the nearby Cannon United Methodist church.  It turns out that they have an active cancer support group and when they found out about Holly's condition, the group gave her a pink Care Bear.  This was no off-the-shelve Care Bear, it was custom made.  At the time though, Holly had no idea who actually made these.

Fast-forward another 9 years, to the summer of 2018, and Holly finds herself at a new job with a coworker named Jan.  After being there for a little while, they discovered that they had something in common: Jan was the person who made the pink Care Bear all those years prior.  What an incredible "coincidence"!  After hearing about my diagnosis, Jan put together this super cool part Florida Gator, part Tennessee Volunteer Care Bear.  To me this symbolizes not only that that have we both been through this before, but that we are inseparably sewn together in this journey and that the role of caregiver is every bit as significant (and burdensome) as the role of patient.  What amazing handiwork to pull this off.  Thank you Jan!

Dammit Doll

This thoughtful and funny gift is from one of Holly's cousin Lisa in Colorado.  Not sure that you can read the inscription, but it says:

Whenever things don't go so well, and you want to hit the wall and yell, here's a little Dammit Doll, that you can't do without.  Just grasp it firmly by the legs and find a place to slam it.  And as you whack the stuffing out yell "Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!"

Given that this package is from the cannabis-friendly state of Colorado, I suspect there's more than just "stuffing" inside.  Oh wait, I just checked, and it's just stuffing.  Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!  :)

"Bucket List" Trip Planned

In order to make it through difficult times, I find that it's best to have distractions and something to look forward to.  Work keeps me busy, which I'm convinced is far better than being idle and letting your mind wonder to dangerous "what if . . ." questions.  As to something to look forward to, how about a 7-Night Mediterranean Cruise on the Disney Magic with the family!

Click to Enlarge

I realize that this may sound like some high-priced, extravagant trip, but I assure you it is being done on a budget.  By cancelling (with full refund) a planned anniversary cruise for this October and putting all of our Disney Vacation Club points towards this trip, it is currently costing us $0.00.  The only real cost will be the round-trip airfare to Barcelona (which is currently "sky high") and any miscellaneous excursions/incidentals.  I'm keeping a close eye now on Google Flights and Priceline.com for deals.

Prior to booking this trip, I looked at the calendar and saw that this cruise perfectly aligned with the "good week" of my 5th round of chemo.  Yes, it would mean that the 6th round would be delayed by a week, but so be it!  This is something that Holly and I always wanted to do and it doubles as a great "senior trip" for our younger boy Kyle, who graduates High School just days before we sail.

The way I justified this expenditure to Holly was as follows:

Before I "sail off into the sunset", I want to "sail, off into the sunset"!

Thankfully she understood my (attempt at) humor and agreed that this was a good thing for the family.

We can't wait!

Waiting for the other shoe to drop . . .

As you may recall, it was exactly 2 weeks ago today that I met with my Orthopedic Oncologist for my 10-year CT scans.  It was then that they first identified my pelvic tumor.  At the time, my doctor thought that treatment would likely involve chemo, radiation, and surgery, but that I should be able to retain a fairly "functional" right leg.  An MRI was then ordered to get a closer look.

Having had this closer look, however, my Orthopedic Oncologist laid out the following 3 primary determinants of surgery type:

1. Sciatic nerve
2. Femoral nerve
3. Hip stability

One must have 2 out of these 3 to make the leg worth saving.  For me, the ruling is as follows:

1. Sciatic nerve -- not OK, as it is totally involved with the tumor
2. Femoral nerve -- OK
3. Hip stability -- could go either way, but leaning to not OK since tumor approaches the hip.  Final judgement awaits chemo results.

If indeed there are 2 or more "strikes", surgery would involve a Hemipelvectomy (extended) through the sacrum.  Now that's literally the "other shoe dropping"!

Yes, a lot can change in 2 weeks . . . and I'm still trying to wrap my head around this latest news.  For now though, life goes on and I must find the mental fortitude to focus on the here and now rather than the "what ifs" down the road.

Hope on the Horizon: An Unofficial Treatment Plan

Having not heard anything yet from Emory Oncology by Friday afternoon (and growing more nervous by the minute), I thought I might attempt to reach out to my former Oncologist from 10 1/2 years ago.  Since we are friends on Facebook, I figured what the heck, why not let her know my latest status.  When she was my doctor, she actively encouraged such correspondence.  I never abused the privilege.

I contacted her through FB Messenger, informing her that I was seeking a second opinion regarding treatment for recurrence of High Grade Myxoid Liposarcoma in my pelvic area.  She was so kind and gave me her phone number and asked me to call her that evening.

Based upon that conversation, here's the treatment plan that she laid out:

1) Start with chemotherapy (mid February - June) -- 6 rounds (3 week cycles) of high dose Yondelis (a relatively new chemo agent approved by the FDA back in 2015).  Apparently Yondelis does a good job of shrinking Myxoid Liposarcomas.  Unlike 10 1/2 years ago when I was in the hospital for 5 days being infused, Yondelis is given over 24 hours via chemo backpack.  This means you get "hooked up" one day, watched for a few hours, sent home, and then return the next day for IV removal and Neulasta treatment (to better help your body make white blood cells).  Overall, the toxicity of Yondelis vs. what I had a decade ago is far less.  I should be able to (hope to be able to) work during this time.  The only unfortunate thing about Yondelis is that, because of its lower toxicity, it does not cause hair loss . . . and I was kind of hoping for that "full body Brazilian wax" look that my AIM regimen (Adriamycin + Ifosfamide + Mesna) gave me.

2) Radiation (mid June - end of August) -- She thought I would be a good candidate for Proton Radiation, though I have yet to learn from Emory if they have the bandwidth yet to treat me in the new Atlanta facility.  From what I've read, they are focused on brain and neck tumors currently, though in 6 months from now they might have room for me and my rare pelvic sarcoma.  Proton radiation would hopefully be fairly non-invasive . . . even in the pelvis area.  Note: regular radiation therapy is like a shotgun, proton therapy is like a rifle.  I do not want "old school" radiation therapy down there!

3) Surgery (October) -- Honestly, this part scares the hell out of me!  I've read just horror stories about this type of surgery, with recovery taking several months or even longer.  Wound complications are anticipated, there is a high risk of permanent sacral nerve root dysfunction, and also a high risk of recurrence as it is nearly impossible to get negative margins.  But it you don't remove it, it may continue to grow and metastasize.  Talk about a Catch-22!  Even so, my (former) Oncologist thinks very highly of my Orthopedic Oncologist and said "He wouldn't want to do that surgery if he thought it would put you in a worse place".  Furthermore, she said, "there's at least some chance that surgery might not even be necessary if the chemo and radiation do a good enough job shrinking and stopping the tumor."  I certainly hope this is case as I would rather opt out of this life-changing surgery.

Years ago, during my first ever consult with this doctor, I asked her "What is my prognosis?  What are my chances to survive?"  Her response was beautiful: "Rather than give percentages, I prefer to categorize cases as either treatable or not treatable.  And your case is treatable."  So, while I had her on the phone, I reminded her of that story and asked her the same question again.  Her response was the same: treatable.

To be clear, this was all stated over the phone and unofficially.  I am certainly not holding her to any of this.  She took the time to speak with me because she has a great heart and because she has some very specialized knowledge that may help to save (or at least extend) my life.  Both Holly and I are grateful for her encouraging and insightful words.

My next appointment at Emory is this coming Tuesday morning, where I'll meet with my Orthopedic Oncologist (Dr. Monson) and find out how the Emory plan matches up with the "unofficial" plan above.  One way or another, I'm going to get my damn Yondelis and Proton Therapy!  Dr. Monson should have the lowdown on the nasty surgery details.  He is an amazing surgeon, but it's going to take some convincing to get me to sign up.

Diagnosis Confirmed: Myxoid Liposarcoma

I received the call this morning from the PA my Orthopedic Oncologist's office confirming the pathology: I have a recurrence of  Myxoid Liposarcoma.  I would assume this is High Grade (as it was 10 1/2 years ago), but I forgot to ask that question.

Next steps: I will meet with an Oncologist at Emory Midtown to discuss a treatment plan.  My Orthopedic Oncologist also wants a meeting.  The timing of these meetings is TBD, though I would suspect that it would be after Thursday of this week as their Tumor Board (i.e., a group of oncologists, pathologists, and doctors who discuss new cancer cases) meets that evening.

Back to the waiting game . . . .



UPDATE: I just was faxed a copy of the pathology report.  Indeed it is High Grade Myxoid Liposarcoma, consisting of "more than 50% round cell component".

Humor not lost, but emotions/reality sinking in . . .

WARNING: Adult themes/emotions/language ahead.  Viewer discretion is advised.

On Tuesday, when the doctor first reported this tumor, he mentioned to me that treatment may involve radiation, surgery, and possibly even chemotherapy.  But that all was contingent upon the biopsy results and, furthermore, I may have already reached my lifetime limit of chemotherapy.  My response: "Well good, I didn't want to go through chemo anyway; I couldn't handle losing my hair again!"  TuesDave

When I got home, Holly had a great one: "Let's kick cancer in the butt!"  We both laughed.  Unfortunately though, that's my butt too!  And right now it looks like it's kicking my ass!

For those who have read my blog in previous years, you may think of me as a very positive-thinking person.  Though I certainly have and can be that person, I tend to rather think of myself as the kind of person who wants to make the best of a bad situation.  For me, everything is not rainbows and butterflies; it simply is what it is.  And from there we, as individuals, decide how to interpret the data presented to us.

For example, when I was first diagnosed 10 1/2 years ago, initially I was kind of sad/depressed and wondered "why me?"  But after my first round of chemotherapy, all such thoughts evaporated.  No, the chemo did not dissolve those thoughts, I just came to realize (through additional data) that I was actually pretty fortunate.  As I walked the 7th floor there at Emory Midtown Hospital (then Crawford Long), I met many other sarcoma patients who had cases far more difficult/complex than mine.  Yet, somehow, every one of them found a way to be positive and optimistic.  So certainly if they could be happy/positive/optimistic, so could I!  I maintained that attitude throughout the following weeks, months, and years.  The reality now, however, is I am that other person, my situation is now this difficult/complex case.

Though the jury is still out (in that a diagnosis has not yet been delivered), I'm fairly certain that my case is somewhere between fucked and totally screwed!  Short of some miracle cure, such as targeted cancer therapy, I think the best I can do is to buy time.  Possibly the newly open Emory Proton Therapy Center might be able to slow or possibly even stop the growth of this tumor.  We shall see.

More than anything, I just want to live!  I want to (eventually) retire from my job, move to Florida, and grow old with Holly.  Just this past month Holly and I visited a master-planned community there in Florida called Nocatee (just south of Jacksonville and north of St. Augustine).  It's a beautiful area and we fit right in.  It was our goal to move there in 5 years, right after our youngest boy Kyle, now a high school senior, graduates from college.  Now, literally, only God knows . . . and He has yet to share the news.

So, I'm wide open for any devine intervention and/or medical miracles!

Pro Tip: It really is hard to keep your emotions in check while waiting for a diagnosis!

CT-Guided "Deep Bone" Biopsy

I have to admit that I am far from over the initial shock of having some sort of yet-to-be-defined tumor in my body.  Honestly, the location absolutely sucks!  And as we all know, it's all about location, location, location!

Just do a little Googling of pelvis anatomy and you'll quickly see that this is a veritable junction box for everything waist down.

Now I'm no doctor, but other than your brain, I can't really thing of a worse place for a tumor!  And my particular tumor seems to be involved with many of these major nerves, arteries, and veins.

The real "wake up" call came when I went in for my biopsy.  I really had no idea at all as to how they were going to do this biopsy, just that they needed to do a biopsy.  Once I was there, however, I was told that this was going to be a "deep bone" biopsy.  "Why are you taking something from my bone when the tumor is soft tissue?", I asked.  Their reply was twofold:

1. It is too risky to reach for the soft tissue under only CT-scan guidance.  According to the doctors doing the biopsy, it is not possible to distinguish between nerves, vessels, and soft tissue with just a CT.  I would need an MRI guidance to do that, which takes a very long time.  This, of course, is just more confirmation of how risky it is to operate on that area.
2. "The tumor is involved with your sacrum", says the doctor.  Therefore, we should be able to get tumor cells by taking deep bone samples from your sacrum.  My (unspoken) reaction: "Oh shit, it's in the bone?!?"

Just before they got going with the procedure, they went through their standard "safety checks" (programmers call these "sanity checks") where they confirm who you are and what procedure you are asking them to perform today.  I told them that "they are going to do a very soft and shallow bone biopsy in my right hip area using a tiny needle and that they were going to load me up with plenty of really fun drugs so that I could laugh a lot during the procedure."  They all got a good chuckle out of that one.  ThursDave (inside joke).

I was awake throughout the procedure, having been given only a mild sedative and localized pain killers.  The procedure itself was really quite interesting, especially the conversation between the attending physician (who supervised) and the resident physician (who did the actual work).  There was some drilling, some checking of the scan, some more drilling, some tapping (like with a hammer type instrument), some more verification, a little bit of pain (followed immediately by more scan verification), followed by more careful drilling, tapping, scanning, and finally sample collection.  There was no immediate diagnosis from the pathologist in that room looking at the samples.  I was told it could take a week or more for those results.  My hunch though is I'll know something by Tuesday, 01/22/2019.

I was also told that there was always the chance that they may not have collected any relevant material!  In that case, they would likely follow up with a MRI guided biopsy.

I really love all of the doctors and nurses there at Emory.  They are all so very kind and professional.

Now we play the waiting game to find out what this really is!

10-Year Scan Results

I know it's been a while since I've posted an update, but everything has been going so well that it just seemed boring to continue writing "n+1 Years NED!".  But then again, a 10-year anniversary is a really big deal so I've been looking forward to writing this post for quite some time.  If nothing else, I wanted everyone to know that I was still alive and doing well.

Unfortunately, however, what I have to report is *NOT* good news.  And after so many months and years of hearing nothing but good news, I've become a bit complacent about this sarcoma thing.  That was something that happened to me many years ago and I had long since lost any emotional connection to the disease.  I had even stopped going to the local Relay for Life and other cancer/sarcoma events.  From my perspective, if I wasn't really "feeling it", there was no point in me going and "faking it".  Well, virtually overnight, that all has changed.  I'm definitely "feeling it" now!

So this time, instead of hearing the customary "scans all clear", I was initially told by the PA that:

1. A small nodule in my right lung (unchanged for years) is apparently bigger than it was in previous scans.  But it is still "tiny".
2. We found something in your right pelvis area.  The doctor will provide you with more details.

Later, my doctor (an orthopedic oncologist and sarcoma specialist) came in and shows me CT-Scan images of my right pelvis region.  This thing was big!  Shockingly big!  He then proceeded to ask "Are you feeling any numbness in your right foot, weakness in your right leg, or having any sciatica pain?"  I immediately responded "Yes, yes, and yes!"  "How long has this been going on?" he asked.  "At least 6 to 9 months", I replied, "I just figured this was nothing more than classic 'old man' sciatica.  Guess I know now what the source of this all really is!"

In fairness to me, the symptoms I had were all classic sciatica.  I had never experienced this sort of pain before, but I figured this was just all part of getting older.  Many people far younger than I have reported similar pain.  Not once did I think: could this be the rebirth of my sarcoma?  Call me naive, but long ago (after several false alarms) I made a point of not jumping to sarcoma as the source of whatever was ailing me.

My doctor immediately ordered an MRI of that area to get a closer look as well as a biopsy.  Below are some pictures from that MRI:

Now it's time to get technical.  Here are several quotes from my CT scan radiology report (I do not yet have my MRI radiology report):

• A couple of punctate nodules in both lungs without dominant nodule.  Most of these pre-existing nodules are unchanged from prior study, however a 4 mm right apical nodule is more conspicuous when compare to the exam dated 9/6/2017 and 8/30/2016.  Preevaluation per oncology protocol.  A short-term follow-up is needed given the patient underlying cancer since metastatic disease cannot be excluded.
• A new soft tissue mass is seen within the right pelvis intimately associated with the right internal iliac vasculature, the peripheral portion of which extends into the right sciatic foramen and is inseparable from the right pelvic sidewall and ventral aspect of the right sacrum through without evidence of obvious bony erosion -there is evidence of invasion of this soft tissue into the right S1 and right S2 neuroforamen surrounding the nerve roots at these levels.  This mass overall measures approximately 7.6 x 6.5 axially by approximately 7.7 in craniocaudal extent.
• Slight increase in size of single retroperitoneal lymph node as seen on previous CT in upper abdomen.

Next up -- the biopsy!

5 Years NED!

Great news: my CT results from a couple weeks back were 'all clear' and today marks 5 years ago to the day that I had my liposarcoma tumor excised from my left leg.  Given that was the last step in the treatment process, I've made it 5 years (and still counting) with No Evidence of Disease.  This is a big milestone for any cancer patient, and I'm happy to have hit it.

While I was in the thick of my treatment, there were literally dozens of people who were supporting me and my family in so many different ways.  Friends and neighbors dropped by to wish me well and bring us meals; that was a godsend!  Family came from near and far to support me, and were always there when I needed them most.  Coworkers (both past and present) posted humorous and supporting comments on this blog, which encouraged me daily.  Bosses gave me every type of flexibility I needed with my job and made it abundantly clear that they expected me back.  It's hard to express how important that feeling of being wanted, appreciated, and cared for means to a new cancer patient, but my friends, family, and coworkers all instinctively knew how to deliver, and I am forever grateful!

Perhaps the biggest surprise was how much encouragement I would receive from people I didn't even know.  A number of 'total strangers' (many of whom were sarcoma survivors) posted the kindest words of encouragement on this blog.  No doubt those words got me through some very difficult times.  Also a surprise was the camaraderie and words of wisdom I received from my "chemo buddies" in the Sarcoma ward.  They, being ahead of me in the treatment schedule, were able to speak as veterans and let me know first-hand the sorts of side-effects and complications they had experienced.  This helped me immensely as my chemotherapy was fraught with complications.

And finally, I must thank the wonderful and caring Emory doctors and nurses who took such great care of me.  Dr. Gina D'Amato (my main oncologist) always lit up the room with her bright smile.  The chemo was indeed "tough love" (as she described it), but she monitored the results carefully, showed me that the treatment was working, and gave me the courage to keep going. Of course she was supported by the many great nurses there at Emory Midtown (formerly Crawford Long), who I got to know well during those 5 months.  Dr. Karen Godette was my radiation oncologist, and I just loved her crew of nurses and radiation techs who I saw nearly every day for 5 weeks.  Last but not least is Dr. David Monson, my orthopedic oncologist and all-around great guy.  He was the doctor responsible for my initial biopsy, later the surgery, and now my routine scans.  His calm demeanor and straight talk are hallmarks of his practice.  Thank you all!

Speaking of scans, the cool thing about hitting the 5-year mark is that my scan schedule drops to just once a year.  However, since my last scan was just a chest CT, Dr. Monson has scheduled me for a complete set of scans (CAP CT and MRI of left leg) on August 26th.  That will become my new 'baseline' and I will switch to annual scans thereafter.

Thanks for taking the time to read this.  We'll talk again in about 5 months!

August Scans "All Clear"

My apologies for this late posting, but my 6-month CAP CT-scans from back on August 21 were indeed 'All Clear'.  My next set of scans will be a chest-only CT on February 25, 2014.  That scan date is very close to my 5-year NED anniversary, which will be March 18, 2014.  My how time flies!

My apologies as well for not publishing recent reader comments until today.  A while back I had to disable auto-publishing of comments as my blog was filling with spam.  Yet there still are active readers and those that would like to publish useful and positive comments.  Going forward, I'll try to do better at publishing and/or responding to such comments in a timely manner, which shouldn't be hard since I just now figured out how trigger email notifications when there are comments awaiting moderation.  That said, should you ever wish to contact me directly, you can find my email address by scrolling down to Contributors, clicking on Dave Novak, and selecting the Email link under Contact me.

Thanks for reading and staying in touch!

6-month chest CT "all Clear"

I had my 6-month follow-up scans this morning (chest-only CT) and my Orthopedic Oncologist (Dr. David Monson) just gave me the "all clear".  Yeah!

I'll be back on August 21 for the full Chest, Abdomen, and Pelvis CT (i.e., the one where I have to drinks that 'awesome' contrast).

Oh, and Happy Birthday Holly!  :)

Follow-Up MRI is clean!

Just got the call this morning from my Orthopedic Oncologist: "the MRI [from 9/28] revealed no suspicious lesions".  They did note that the MRI showed "a benign liver hemangiomas", but expressed no concern for it.  Bottom line is I'm still NED, and I'm very happy to stay that way.  Yeah!

Now, back to work and my 'normal' life!  :)

Double Take!

I got an interesting phone call the other day that I should to let you-all know about: it was from my Orthopedic Oncologist's Physician Assistant (i.e., the group that is responsible for my ongoing care and scanning). It went something like this:

• PA: Mr. Novak, how are you doing?
• Me: Ummm . . . fine??? You tell me! I can't help but be a little nervous whenever I get a call from you guys!
• PA: Well, we were reviewing your latest CT-Scan and the official radiology report and have just a few concerns about that bump we saw on your kidney [something I, Dave Novak, never mentioned to anyone]. We really don't think it's anything more than a cyst like we said when we saw you last, but given that we don't do the CT-Scan with contrast and that it's been 4 years since we've had a detailed MRI done of your abdomen, we thought it best to get you set up for an MRI. Again, we don't think this is anything to be concerned about, but we'd like to take a closer look just to rule out any issues. 

Well, I have the MRI for this later today, at 5:00pm at Emory Midtown to be exact. And honestly, I'm dreading the drive far more than the results! I mean really, that drive from Cumming to downtown Atlanta during Friday rush-hour traffic is a real pain. But I'll be happy to just get it (the scan, that is) out of the way.

Hopefully I have the results next week, so expect more updates then. In the meantime, I'm not too concerned.  Why should I worry?  That won't change anything about what is or is not happening.

Until then . . .

 --Dave

August Scans . . . August Memories

Just a quick update to say that my 6-month CAP CT-scans were all clear. Yeah! Next scan will be chest CT only on February 21, 2013, which happens to be Holly's birthday (so it has to be good news, right?).

It's hard to believe that just over 4 years ago (on August 4, 2008) I started my first chemotherapy. Seems like forever ago . . . and almost like a different person. Did that really happen to me?!? I kid you not, I often have to read old posts just to remember 'Yeah, that really did happen!' I guess a significant part of me just doesn't even care to remember. And that's fine, because life goes on . . . and normalcy is a good thing. :)

And speaking of August 4, it was that date 3 years ago that Holly had her last chemotherapy treatment for breast cancer. She's doing just fine now, thankfully.

Next update in another 6 months!

All the best,

--Dave

Scans all clear!

My chest-only CT-scan was clear . . . as expected. But the best part is that because I'm just about to hit my 3-year NED mark, the doctor says that my scan schedule can shift to every 6 months. Yeah!

My doctor also tells me that 3 years NED is really a big milestone for high-grade sarcoma patients, as 90% of all recurrence would have revealed itself by now. Such recurrence (should it happen) would very likely show up in the chest, abdomen, or pelvis, and sometimes (but rarely) in the origin (my left thigh).

Talk to you in another 6 months!

Once again -- Scans All Clear!

Had CAP-CT scans yesterday and got the word that all was [still] clear. Yeah! Next set of scans is scheduled for February 21, 2012.

Until then . . .

Scans all clear!

Just a quick update to let you-all know that my 4-month scans (chest CT & thigh MRI) today were both all clear! Yeah! Next scans (CAP CT) will be on October 18. Talk to you then.

2 Years, 2 Months, 3 Songs

Note: Some email clients block pictures/videos, so if no picture/video is present, you can click on the Bold Blue Title in the email and that will take you directly to this post at my blog site.

Well, it looks as though I missed an important blog update back on March 18, which was my 2-year NED (No Evidence of Disease) Anniversary.  Yes, it is a milestone and indeed I did celebrate, but nowadays I'm (publicly) just a bit more low-keyed about such anniversaries and my experience as a Sarcoma survivor (except perhaps when in the company of other survivors or patients).  With life and work back to "normal" (and with no pending surgeries and the like), I suppose this is a natural progression.

Things have certainly gone smoothly for me (as obviously the treatment worked and I've had virtually no known long-term complications from either the chemo or the radiation).  Almost too well . . . like a part of me is waiting and wondering when the next shoe will drop.  But I don't really worry about that (not actively at least).  Instead, my attitude (for the time being) is best described the by this song:

Lee Dewyze - Sweet Serendipity

My favorite lyrics from this song include:

...

[chorus]
And I’m doing just fine
I’m always landing on my feet
In the nic of time
And by the skin of my teeth
I ain’t gonna stress
Cause the worst ain’t happened yet
Somethings watching over me
Like Sweet Serendipity
Sweet Serendipity

I don’t ask for a lot
No nothing more than I need
Because I love what I got
Don’t need to play the lottery
I just want to be strong
At the end of the road
I don’t want to hold on
I want the strength to let go

[chorus]

Don’t look fate can only find you
You can’t choose for something to surprise you
Set sail without a destination
Just see where the wind will take you
You never know when you're gonna fall
But I'm not worried
No I'm not worried at all

[chorus]

Having said that, I'm well aware that others fighting cancer are not always as fortunate.  I was reminded of this fact just a few days ago when I found out that an old friend of mine died of ovarian cancer back on February 13, exactly two months ago today.  Her story is certainly a sad one and she went very quickly.  My sincere condolences to her husband and her family.  In her memory, and for her husband and family, I dedicate the following song:

Coldplay - Fix You

My favorite lyrics from this song include:

...

And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone, but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?

[chorus]
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

...

Tears stream down on your face
When you lose something you cannot replace
Tears stream down on your face
And on your face I... 

Tears stream down on your face
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes
Tears stream down on your face
And on your face I...

[chorus]

Yes, I know that song's a real tear-jerker, but it seemed to be appropriate.  Even so, let me try to pull you out of that potential depression you might find yourself in after hearing "Fix You" with the following upbeat song that I just love:

Andy Grammer - Keep Your Head Up

My favorite lyrics here include:

...

[chorus]
But you gotta keep your head up, oh,
And you can let your hair down, eh.
You gotta keep your head up, oh,
And you can let your hair down, eh.
I know it's hard, know it's hard,
To remember sometimes,
But you gotta keep your head up, oh,
And you can let your hair down, eh.

...

I'm seeing all the angles,
Starts to get tangled
I start to compromise
My life and the purpose.
Is it all worth it,
Am I gonna turn out fine?
Oh, you'll turn out fine.
Fine, oh, you'll turn out fine.

[chorus]

Only rainbows after rain
The sun will always come again.
It's a circle, circling,
Around again, it comes around again.
I say only rainbows after rain
The sun will always come again.
It's a circle, circling,
Around again, it comes around

[chorus]

I hope that you've enjoyed these songs and find encouragement from them.

You'll hear from me again mid-June with my next set of scans.  Take care!

"I am a Survivor" (or at least that's what they tell me)

Hey Everyone --

I had my quarterly scans today (CAP CT-Scan only this time) and all was clear.  Yeah!  Perhaps even better yet is the fact that, now that I'm nearly 2 years NED*, my scan schedule will drop to every 4 months going forward.  To help mark this anniversary, my Orthopedic Oncologist presented me with this hard-earned T-shirt:

Yes, I "doctored" the photo  :)

More outrageous celebration to follow on March 18, which is my "official" 2-year anniversary.  Until then, enjoy the rest of your week and always be thankful for good health!

* NED = No Evidence of Disease

Totally Free DNA Testing for Sarcoma Patients / Survivors

23andMe.com, a DNA research company, is now offering FREE DNA testing for those who have been diagnosed with Sarcoma. Their goal is to find at least 1,000 qualified individuals who have or have had sarcoma and to collect information regarding their experiences, environments, and responses to different therapies. They then will combine this information with the genetic data to find patterns that will help them better understand the biology of sarcoma. See https://www.23andme.com/sarcoma/ for the details.

According to one Sarcoma Oncologist that they quote: "There are clues that there are factors in our DNA that can contribute to the development of sarcomas of bone and soft tissues, but we still don't understand them very well. Now, through the novel 23andMe Sarcoma Community initiative, patients can take direct action to help make strides against their disease."

By all accounts this is a totally legit operation with a good reputation in the sarcoma community.  Thus far, over 500 sarcoma patients/survivors have already gotten involved with this initiative.  For that reason, I signed up for this the other day, a process which involved answering about a half dozen questions about my diagnosis, providing my contact information, and then going through an online confirmation process to order the DNA kit.  Since then, I've received an email response from 23andMe indicating that "you qualify to join the community and receive the 23andMe Personal Genome Service for free instead of the standard $199 plus a monthly subscription".

My correspondence with 23andMe.com also pointed me to the following FAQs about research at 23andMe:

How does the research work? 

The kind of research 23andMe does requires both genetic and non-genetic information from participants. The genetic information comes from analysis of the DNA extracted from a saliva sample. The non-genetic information - which includes physical traits, health history, behaviors and environmental exposures - is collected through easy online surveys.

By collecting and analyzing vast amounts of data, we hope to make breakthrough discoveries that will fundamentally improve how we diagnose, treat and prevent sarcoma.

How long will the research take?

It's important to remember that research can be a long process, but by taking charge and participating you can help drive research forward. Every person with sarcoma who lends his or her data gives scientists the opportunity to better understand this disease - and a shot at significantly improving its outcome.

What results will I get back?

By participating in the Sarcoma Research Community you get free access to the 23andMe Personal Genome Service™. While very little is known about the genetics of sarcoma, you can see how your genes may influence your risk for over 140 other diseases and conditions.

How is my personal information protected?

23andMe respects your privacy. 23andMe will not release your individual information to any outside company without your explicit consent. To prevent unauthorized access or disclosure of your data, 23andMe uses a range of physical, technical, and administrative procedures to safeguard the information we collect.

Will it affect my health insurance?

The Genetic Information Nondiscrimination Act (GINA) was signed into law in 2008. While this law is new, it was enacted to protect individuals against discrimination based on their genetics by health insurance companies or employers. Various states also have enacted protections against genetic discrimination for health insurance. Life insurance or disability providers are not covered under GINA.

What if I need help understanding my information?

23andMe can help provide access to board-certified genetic counselors trained to provide assistance with our service, but who are not 23andMe employees.

Just wanted to pass this information along to my readers as I'd like to see other sarcoma patients/survivors get involved.  You can sign up for this by going to https://www.23andme.com/sarcoma/ and clicking on the Get Involved button.  I think there's a lot of potential here.

Thanks!

Quarterly scans (from yesterday) "all clear"

Just a chest CT-scan this time, and it was clear.  Yeah!  In 3 months (Feb 15), I go back for a Chest-Abdomen-Pelvis CT-Scan (you know, the one where I have to drink that flavored oral contrast).  Mmm-mmm -- I do love my "mochachino" in the morning!

The really good news is that I'll be hitting my 2-year NED anniversary in March, and starting then, my scan schedule will change to every 4 months.

I hope that everyone has a great Thanksgiving and Christmas break.  I'll talk to you in another 3 months!

Scans All Clear . . . Again!

Just a quick update to let you know that I had my quarterly scans today (Chest-Abdomen-Pelvis CT-Scan only) and, once again, I've been given the "all clear" by Dr. Monson!  So I'm good for the next 3 months.  Yeah!

The only odd thing is that I've noticed I'm developing a certain sense of complacency about what I've gone through and where I'm at.  It's like I told a friend of my recently: when you're diagnosed, you immediately go into denial since "this sort of thing can't happen to me".  Of course, that eventually turns to acceptance (the chemo will surely bring that realization).  But then, after your treatment is complete and life returns to "normal", you eventually start to shift back into denial as to whether or not you actually went through what you went through (and hence the complacency).  I've by no means forgotten where I've come from, but believe me, denial happens both at the time of diagnosis and some number of months after treatment and full recovery.

I'm just thankful that people are reading this blog as it forces me (in a good way) to remember what I've been through, talk about where I'm at, and think about the long-term, which I approach with cautious optimism . . . mixed with a pinch of denial that everything is perfectly fine (and nothing was ever wrong).  It's hard to explain, but I think you get the picture.

Well, time to call it a night here.  Talk to you-all again in another 3 months!

International Sarcoma Awareness Week

My apologies for being a little late with this announcement, but July 17 – 25 is International Sarcoma Awareness Week.  Across the country and around the world, this event is being promoted/celebrated by dozens of organizations, each hosting their own unique event, all for the purpose of raising the level of sarcoma awareness.  There may even be an event in your area (see http://www.team-sarcoma.net/2010-teams for all of the details).  And if you’re unable to attend such an event, there’s a "Sarcoma Knows No Borders" Facebook Event going on now that’s open to participation in many different ways.  Spreading the word about this forgotten cancer is what it’s all about.

Locally (here in the Atlanta area), the Southeastern Sarcoma Foundation is sponsoring a Walk for Sarcoma Awareness event this coming Saturday at the Meadow in Piedmont park.  Last year’s event was awesome and I expect to have a great time again this year.  Anyone is welcome to attend.

Oh, and one last thing: I forgot about my anniversary!  But after 22 years of marriage, Holly is neither upset nor surprised.  Why not?  Well, the “anniversary” of which I speak was my date-of-diagnosis anniversary (July 15, 2008), not my wedding anniversary.  I suppose that makes me a 2-year survivor of Liposarcoma (that’s apparently the way most doctors count it).  My apologies if I don’t sound too excited about that, it’s just that:

1. My date-of-diagnosis was not a very “fun” day in my life (memorable yes, fun no)
2. I personally prefer to measure survivorship from the date I was NED (No Evidence of Disease), which is March 18, 2009.  For me, that’s my big anniversary.  J

I challenge all of my readers (both of you!) to find a way to participate in International Sarcoma Awareness Week.  If you’re a Facebook user, please see the event mentioned above and decide on a way that you can participate.

Thanks!

It's Benign!

Just a quick update to let you know that, as of this morning, the biopsy results are in and the tumor removed last week has been confirmed to be a benign Lipoma.  Apparently Dr. Monson removed a small amount of fat and a lymph node sample as well from that area, both of which also came back clean.  Yeah!

On a recovery note, I went back to work on Monday (a little earlier than originally planned) and have been doing fairly well.  However, over the last day or so, I've definitely noticed much more pain and swelling in that area.  I'll try keeping an ice pack on it today as Holly swears that will help more than anything.

And man do I ever need a full shower!

Colonel Mustard, in the Dining Room, with a Camera*

This is a picture** of my right arm & shoulder area from yesterday, prior to quite a bit of scrubbing to remove the Betadine.  I was covered with this stuff from my chest all the way up my right arm and getting it off was quite the trick.  Simple soap and water couldn't "cut the mustard" (so to speak).  It took rubbing alcohol and a few dozen cotton balls just to tone down the stain.

The good news though is that I'm doing just fine.  I've had no problems with bleeding and the pain has been manageable.  What pain I do feel can best be described as dull, achy, and sore; it kind of feels like someone punched me in the armpit repeatedly (not that this has ever happened before or anything, but I can only imagine it must be similar).

My mobility with my right arm is somewhat limited, though mostly by choice at this time.  I'm purposely not trying to do too much with it as I don't want to risk disturbing the incision area.  But after the bandage comes off (Saturday afternoon), I'll likely start doing more.  Even so, I need to keep that area clean and dry, which means avoiding outside work (especially in our Hotlanta 90+ degree weather) and not washing that area for the next couple of weeks.  I'm sure the guys in the office are gonna just love that when I return next week!

Overall, I've got no complaints and I'm quite relieved that this all went so smoothly.  And I promise to post updates in conjunction with my pathology results and my follow-up appointment in 2 weeks (Mom!), though I don't expect either to be eventful.

Have a great weekend!

------------------------------------------------
* For those who don't have a clue about this title, it was supposed to be a reference to the Clue Game, where Colonel Mustard is one of the characters in this murder mystery.  And given my mustard colored arm and the fact that I'm in my dining room . . . well I think you see what I was shooting for.  And yes, I know: if I have to explain it, then it must not be very funny.  :)

** Some email clients block pictures, so if no picture is present, you can click on the Bold Blue Title in the email and that will take you directly to this post at my blog site, where all will be revealed.

A little off the top, please

All indications are that the surgery was a complete success!  So far, my pain is quite manageable, though I suspect it will likely go up a few notches by tomorrow.  My marching orders (post-op) are:

1. Take the dressing off after 3 days.
2. Follow-up with the doctor on Friday, July 9.
3. Do not drive or operate heavy equipment in the next 24 hours.
4. No alcohol for the next 24 hours.

I’m good with most all of these instructions, though I did make it clear “no promises” regarding the 24-hour moratorium on alcohol.  J  The Lipoma itself was approximately 4cm x 6cm and I'm told that the pathology results should be available within 7 - 10 days (though nobody is really expecting this to be anything other than Lipoma, which is benign).

Prior to the surgery, I got a little bit nervous when Dr. Monson mentioned, “Yeah, that thing’s in there really deep.  Removing that huge Liposarcoma on your leg was easy given where it was at; this will be a bit more complicated.”  Moments later, the Anesthesiologist followed up with the comment, “Wow – that really is an unusual location.  Surgery there can really be painful.”  All I can say is I’m just glad that I’m the kind of guy that really likes to hear people tell it to me straight!  Otherwise, a “panic attack” might have been in order.

Seriously though, this medical team is incredible!  I’ve got one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the southeast operating on me, awesome nurses, and an Anesthesiologist (named Heather) who really listened to my history of getting sick after surgery.  She described this as PONV (Postoperative Nausea and Vomiting) and told me she had it covered.  And sure enough, for the first time I didn’t get sick following surgery!  Yeah!

I’ve rented 2 movies and plan to start watching them as soon as I get something to eat.  Plus I plan on playing with my new iPhone 4, which was delivered today (perfect timing I might add).  I'm such a technogeek!

Thanks to all for your support, comments, emails, etc.  You-all are awesome!

A Cut Above

Yes, the time has finally come to get a new scar “tattooed” to my body.  At high-noon today, I will go in for that lipoma surgery that I mentioned in previous posts.  And this isn’t just any run-of-the-mill, dime-sized lipoma either (I have several of those); this one is much bigger and buried deep within my right armpit.  The main reason it’s coming out is because the location makes it difficult to monitor and we don’t want it to grow unchecked and become a problem.

I’m not really expecting this to be a big deal or anything, but I do think this is gonna hurt!  I just remember the pain that Holly was in after she had her right axillary node dissection (15 months ago) and I think this operation will be very similar.  I’m just glad I’m in the capable hands of Dr. Monson, who did such spectacular work on my leg 15 months ago.  Don’t know if I’m going to need any drains yet for this procedure (I’m hoping I won’t).  The surgery itself will be taking place at the Emory Spine Center (Executive Park) on an outpatient basis.

Once this is behind me, the exciting thing is that Holly and I will now have matching scars under our right armpits!  Now how cool is that?!?  I know that some couples like to get tattoos and all, but we (apparently) do things a little more “out of the ordinary”.  And trust me, the experience we’ve been through is just as permanently etched into our bodies, hearts, and minds as any real tattoo.  I’d say we’re a match made in Heaven!

Well, here’s to careful cutting, a speedy recovering, and a scar that’s just slightly bigger than Holly’s (for bragging rights, of course)!   J

Recent CT-Scan.  The area circled in red is the Lipoma that will be removed today.

Gwinnett Relay for Life – What’s it all about?

Though the actual 2010 Gwinnett Relay for Life wrapped up a week and a half ago, a lot of people still have questions as to what Relay is and what makes Gwinnett Relay the #1 relay event in the world.  If you’ve never been, it’s actually difficult to describe what all goes on, but I found something that might help.  Please check out this 4-minute video that summarizes the happenings of that evening:

http://v1.as48.com/hxpp1_hd2.asp?MSGID=B2D7DF9C-DF46-4A64-99E6-2470FF8BAC8B

Enjoy!

Quarterly scans “all clear”

Just a quick update to let you know that I had scans this morning (MRI on my left thigh and a Chest CT-Scan) and both were clear.  Yeah!  It’s always such a relief to get that kind of good news, even though I typically don’t worry about it (except sometimes the night before a scan).  My next scans (CAP) have already been scheduled for August 12th.

Still to be arranged is a date for removing the rather large lipoma under my right armpit. Dr. Monson will be doing that surgery likely sometime mid to late June timeframe. I just need to sit down and look at my calendar, Holly’s calendar, the kid’s summer schedule, and then make that fit with Dr. Monson’s surgical schedule.  I’m told that the surgery will be done on an outpatient basis and that I will be out of commission for about a week recovering at home.  Holly’s axillary node dissection surgery was similar to this both in terms of complexity and location, and I know it took her a while to bounce back from that.  Dr. Monson also said that a full pathology would be ordered on what they remove (to rule out cancer).

The other thing I wanted to mention is our Gwinnett Relay for Life results this year.  Thanks to contributions from many generous friends and family members, Holly and I together raised around $3,500.  That is really awesome and it’s all for such a good cause too.  I would encourage each of you to participate in the Relay for Life event in your area.  It’s really quite an uplifting experience.

More updates in another month or so . . . once this lipoma-gone-wrong gets the hatchet treatment!

Kyle, Bryce, Holly, and Dave about to share their story at Gwinnett Relay for Life last Friday (click to enlarge).  


You might notice that I'm wearing last year's shirt.  I like purple better.  :)