Ass cancer of the head?!?

This should go in the "News of the Weird" column of the paper. The PET scan came back totally negative for everywhere in my body except the bump on my head. Therefore, the cancer must have taken up residence there. It's not impossible for a traumatic event to trigger such things, it seems. Does this mean that my colo-rectal cancer is now cranial-colo-rectal cancer? What does that say about me?

Let's not go there, then, whaddya say?

The CEA test came back. Indeed, it wasn't 50 at all this time. It was 80. It seems their machine is working just fine.

If it had to come back, this seems to be the best possible place for it to happen. It's in a place that looks like it should be easily operable (though we'll know more after talking with the neurosurgeon on Monday.) It's outside the brain, and encased in a bony knot on the back of my head. It's not big at all, maybe the size of a marble. My hair stylist didn't comment on it when she buzzed my hair the other day. Hmmm, after all this time of keeping my hair, even through the chemo, this may be when I get to shave it off after all. Maybe I'll look like Vin Diesel!

The big question is: how close to "done" am I? If this knot comes off clean, and my CEAs go back down toward zero where they belong, what is the next step? Will any little bump turn cancerous or is this a one-off event? No answers yet. There are many possible next steps, though. There is a mutation called KRAS (kay-wrass) that is resistant to the ordinary chemotherapy regimen. They are testing for that mutation now. (Since I was originally VERY responsive to the therapy, does that mean I might still have it? No idea.) If the KRAS test comes back positive, then there are other treatments available, including the one-time injection that we went to New York to investigate at the outset of my treatment last year. There is a virus that's in the final stages of testing that infects only cancer cells--it seems that I'm a good candidate for that trial, too.

What I'm looking for is to have this bump gone and then be done with the whole mess. It's been a full year now, and we're all tired of this thing. At some point, I'm going to get fed up and just move along with my life and get back to being too busy to be sick. There's a doctor who does a lot of cancer work who says there is a genuine benefit to such an attitude; that it can make the difference between someone who lives far beyond expectations and the other person who dies "on schedule" when told he has x months to live. Not me, man.

This weekend we're planning on taking that camping trip that we missed, relaxing in the warm southern humidity of late summer. We're pretty tightly focused on keeping a good attitude, supporting each other, and making further progress toward that light at the end of this long tunnel.

Cheers,

Clem

Through the minefield, one step at a time

Spoke with the doc today. The verdict was--no surprise--need more tests. The CT scans all came back with no visible signs of cancer in my pelvis, abdomen, or chest. One step through the mine field, and so far, so good. That's good news! Still, it doesn't explain the rise in CEA numbers.

He seriously doubted that their CEA machine had made a mistake, but it was "down" the day that they ran mine so I leaned on him to run another test. We'll have the results of that test tomorrow. Wouldn't it be nice to hear that their machine had "burped" and the number was really 5.0, or 0.50, rather than 50? A long shot, but worth checking.

On Thursday, we'll do a PET scan. Cancer cells love the antimatter-enhanced flourine dye, so it goes there and stays there while they do the imaging, yielding a good photo of even small cancerous areas. With luck, it will show nothing in my abdomen as well. I'm really tired of them hacking chunks out of my guts.

A few months ago I bumped my head, which raised a little "goose bump." It's still there, and is still hurting a little bit. The doc was quite interested in it, so he had me do a CT scan of it today, and it will be included in the PET scan. Maybe I have a brain tumor! Nah, this would be just an abnormal growth in the skull bone, and (I hope) outside the brain entirely. I was blaming its slow healing on the odd blood chemistry that the chemo is causing. Pam did not appreciate my "self-diagnosis" and was quick to tell anyone who would listen all the gory details of my phrenology. We'll see what that's all about soon.

In the meantime, we're trying not to worry too much. Mostly we're just tired of this whole mess. We'd rather be blogging about traveling the continent! A serious week of retail therapy has helped our moods considerably, as you might imagine. At left is our new home: Ford F-150 truck and Airstream Bambi trailer. Y'all come and visit any time, if you can catch up!

I'll post some more later on this week when we know the results of the PET scan, or earlier if we get significant news.

Cheers,

Clem

Two steps forward, one step...?

It's hard to believe it has been almost a month since I posted here. That's because nothing was happening. I've been doing the final, preventive few rounds of chemo, which were diluted down a bit to allow my blood to recover better in the off weeks. That meant relatively few side effects, and thus not much to read about.

On Monday of this week I went in for another round, and gave blood for another CEA test. This is the test for tumor markers, which can indicate cancer activity. It takes them a while to get the results of the test, but this time it took 3 days, as their machine was broken. Wednesday, when I went in to get "de-pumped" (have my chemo pump removed) they finally had the results.

As you may recall, I started off with more than 8,000, after treatment it dropped to the 200's, and after this last surgery was down to 12. Our goal is a number less than 5. As I was waiting for the de-pumping, Pam asked the nurse for the results. She had it, but didn't share with her. Then my phone rang, and it was my oncologist (who wasn't in the office that day.) It was his job to break the news: CEA marker was at 50.

It's not clear at all what that means--maybe nothing. To shed a little light on it, he ordered a CT scan, which I took yesterday. That blueberry taste they put in the barium contrast solution is one that I will never forget, and always associate with some nasty process. We'll have the images on Monday, when I go back in for lab testing and (hopefully) to see the doc.

I've been making grim jokes, but Pam doesn't seem to think they are very funny. We've been here before, and we can deal with being here again. Somehow.

In the meantime, we plan on taking a short trip this weekend to break in our little Bambi trailer and take our minds away from our routine for a while. Watch for something more early next week, as I find out the news myself.

Cheers,

Clem