I subscribe to an EC Group message board, and this was posted tonight by the wife of a EC survivor. Basically, in non-cancer speak, her husband Dick was diagnosed with the worst possible stage of this cancer. It was stage IV and had spread to lymph nodes, both lungs, and his liver. Because the cancer is so advanced at this point, his "survival rate" was less than 5%. They initially couldn't even get some doctors to agree to try and treat him. But today he is at the hospital to have his port removed- the final step after a successful cancer treatment. The doctors would never remove his port unless they were ready to call him a success, and trust me in this line of business the docs tend to err on the side of caution. Even when I was considered cancer free last summer, they never took my port out. It was too soon and I'm so glad they didn't. Anyway, this is the most inspirational story I have come across since this whole fun adventure began. Everyone always talks about how statistics are bullshit and you can never pay attention to them, and I know that. But to hear about an actual physical success story of someone beating this mthrfckr into the ground- yes! I'm going to email her to congratulate them and to ask for some words of wisdom.
2008 is the best year yet. yeay for life. YEAY!
Chemo was fine, my levels are all high and good to go. I lost a few lbs. this week but I kind of knew that and plan to make up for it in Mexico. Dr. Sun wasn't concerned. And spending 6 hours talking to Erin was divine. Even though it's chemo it's kind of a great way to catch up.
Now I'm in bed with my shockingly increasing internet addiction and Charlie. Boss was demoted to the crate. xo- E
Now I'm in bed with my shockingly increasing internet addiction and Charlie. Boss was demoted to the crate. xo- E
read below for full email:
Date: Tue, 29 Jan 2008 04:34:10 +0000
From: xxxxx
Subject: Leap of Faith
Today marked a milestone, the end of the beginning, and a giant leap of faith that we can put one more reminder of esophageal cancer behind us. We spent the day at the brand new inpatient interventional radiology facility at U. of Colorado so that Dick could have his port removed.
The port was the first tangible sign that he was given the opportunity to fight his Stage IVb EC diagnosis with metastases to lymph nodes, lungs and liver after being told by another oncologist he had no chance of survival. And today, after more than 38 months in his chest, 19 months of not being used. and approximately 7-8 PET/CT scans that have shown no clinical signs of recurrence, all of us, Dick and I, his physicians, his nurses, and the rest of his support team, have concurred - the port could come out. No more safety net, no more monthly flushing and no more lurking thoughts in the back of the mind that it might be needed again! For now we have freedom from the tangible reminder of months of chemotherapy and ancillary treatments and freedom to focus on the fact that the port had become obselete for him..
As I waited outside for Dick to have the port removed, delayed more than 3 1/2 hours because of the massive number of patients in the interventional radiology treatment area, I replayed the memories and feelings that I had more than 3 years ago, when it was inserted the day before Dick began his first round of chemotherapy. We both were in a dark and desperate place then, having spent almost 3 weeks to find a physician that would at least consider treating Dick and giving him a chance. It was a strange emotional turmoil that I went through that day, with gratitude that, at last, the first step in treatment was to begin, balanced against the overwhelming weight of the knowledge that this step was likely to be futile.
The senior interventional radiology fellow removed Dick's port today, and he remembers when Dick first was discussed among the oncology teams at Anschutz, Univ. of Colorado, during his first year of training. He said today that Dick's name keeps coming up when they are discussing other cases and that Dick's responses are reviewed when others with similar problems and degrees of malignancy are being treated. And he told us the sad fact that many patients now cannot have the SIRspheres that eliminated Dick's liver tumors, for insurance companies are simply not paying for them. Dick was in the initial clinical trial and the cost of the spheres was covered by the clinical trial protocol, and his insurance paid for all of the ancillary charges. What a catch-22 when insurance companies say there are not sufficient numbers of patients to prove the efficacy and will not approve a new treatment, and more patients cannot be given the treatments because of the expense!
Tonight we are home again, watching the snow fall gently on the evergreens and rocks around our mountain home, realizing that one more bridge has been crossed and that one more day has been a gift.
The last tangible reminder of those dark early days beginning chemotherapy is now a memory.
Lois and Dick (dx Nov. 2004 Stage IVb esophageal adenocarcinoma with mets to lymph nodes, lungs and liver. No discernible tumors by PET/CT since July, 2006.)
The port was the first tangible sign that he was given the opportunity to fight his Stage IVb EC diagnosis with metastases to lymph nodes, lungs and liver after being told by another oncologist he had no chance of survival. And today, after more than 38 months in his chest, 19 months of not being used. and approximately 7-8 PET/CT scans that have shown no clinical signs of recurrence, all of us, Dick and I, his physicians, his nurses, and the rest of his support team, have concurred - the port could come out. No more safety net, no more monthly flushing and no more lurking thoughts in the back of the mind that it might be needed again! For now we have freedom from the tangible reminder of months of chemotherapy and ancillary treatments and freedom to focus on the fact that the port had become obselete for him..
As I waited outside for Dick to have the port removed, delayed more than 3 1/2 hours because of the massive number of patients in the interventional radiology treatment area, I replayed the memories and feelings that I had more than 3 years ago, when it was inserted the day before Dick began his first round of chemotherapy. We both were in a dark and desperate place then, having spent almost 3 weeks to find a physician that would at least consider treating Dick and giving him a chance. It was a strange emotional turmoil that I went through that day, with gratitude that, at last, the first step in treatment was to begin, balanced against the overwhelming weight of the knowledge that this step was likely to be futile.
The senior interventional radiology fellow removed Dick's port today, and he remembers when Dick first was discussed among the oncology teams at Anschutz, Univ. of Colorado, during his first year of training. He said today that Dick's name keeps coming up when they are discussing other cases and that Dick's responses are reviewed when others with similar problems and degrees of malignancy are being treated. And he told us the sad fact that many patients now cannot have the SIRspheres that eliminated Dick's liver tumors, for insurance companies are simply not paying for them. Dick was in the initial clinical trial and the cost of the spheres was covered by the clinical trial protocol, and his insurance paid for all of the ancillary charges. What a catch-22 when insurance companies say there are not sufficient numbers of patients to prove the efficacy and will not approve a new treatment, and more patients cannot be given the treatments because of the expense!
Tonight we are home again, watching the snow fall gently on the evergreens and rocks around our mountain home, realizing that one more bridge has been crossed and that one more day has been a gift.
The last tangible reminder of those dark early days beginning chemotherapy is now a memory.
Lois and Dick (dx Nov. 2004 Stage IVb esophageal adenocarcinoma with mets to lymph nodes, lungs and liver. No discernible tumors by PET/CT since July, 2006.)
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2 comments:
so inspiring. take that cancer!
Not the first time or last time i'm writing Big things in '08.
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