VAXED Poderoso

I've been reflecting on a lot of old memories while under quarantine. It's funny how all the dust that can settle has settled these last 15 months, only to help unearth old fears & circumstances that are woven into the fabric of my adulthood. I finally realized (accepted) this past year that I am an adult. A grown ass man with a dad bod, creaky joints and thicker reading glasses. I wear PJs with dress shoes when going to the store; wear compression socks with sandals; pull a muscle getting jeans on. It's depressing.

Long gone are the days when the party would start at 10 pm (12 am in Vegas), or Bar hoping at joints located 20 miles away (hello Dresden). Even the mirror ball tends to get too bright. Sigh.

All that said I still consider myself fortunate to be around. Honestly, I didn't think I would last beyond 2020 and in many ways never planned goals for myself other than surviving. Now, I find myself in an amusing 2nd midlife crisis where I am trying to define what I should do in the next couple of years: personally & professionally. Since my original diagnosis in 2016 I sort of "gave up" on many goals and focused only on what was to help extend my life. Cancer has a way to help a person define priorities, so that Austin Martin & Career as a Jewel Thief had to go. Nonetheless, I look back with irreverent fondness at the path I've traversed the last five years and humbly pat myself in the back.

The TPX-0005 clinical trial, or Repotrectinib for you dandys, seems to be working wonders on my cancer-guest. As if I needed more of an excuse to go on. But seriously, I am very lucky that my physique has responded good to this particular drug and has given me an outlook beyond an annual goal. I've regained the same stresses as a regular "American Male" would have at the age of 54. Now I’m planning all kinds of shit that are really circumstantial to a man my age, but it's nice to not have to live week-by-week, or month-by-month as I did last year.

Time has certainly flown by as has slowed down these last 5 years. Kind of like the flu: cold & hot at the same time. A perpetual cold sweat, or hangover. It sucked. But, at the same time it rocked, in that I was able to face my demon and live another day.

I found a strength I never knew I had (nor deserved). But it's sweet to be able to recognize that.

I am good.

Salud!

The LOLs of 2020

For those keeping track of my adventures in Cancerland you've pretty much heard me yelp again & again about being misdiagnosed with apparent progession. Not withstanding my ST IV diagnosis which, pretty much, is a death sentance for anyone who has cancer cells traveling thru their body like a bloody British soldier. It is quite a fact that those with the dreaded Stage 4 lung cancer diagnosis have a 25% survival rate of 6 months. 5% for those beyond that, yet here I am: 5 years, and stable. But God-damn it's been a ride.

My previous post outlined my experiences in this journey undergoing a clinical trail that set me in a course of uncertainty, yet I was willing to face the rocky experience and was determined to complete the study. What the hell, I had nothing to lose. Really. In my mind I was already "dead", and I figured that any legacy I had left would be by undergoing this study to help others. I realize that I had a young family to take care of, but ever since I was diagnosed I seemed to of reverted myself into a protective shell. A place where I can hunker down while I dealt with this matter alone. Unfortunately, this feeling became compounded by the drugs I was taking and steadily lead me to a very dark place.

TPX-0005, or Repotrectinib, is the strongest cancer drug I've been prescribed. It's designed to work for a very aggresive mutation called ROS-1 which affects 1%-2% of lung cancer patients, of which yours truly is. I almost wish there was a patch (biker vest) that was awarded to person with such a rare dreaded disease, yet this would not necesarilly be something to be proud about.

In Spring of 2020 my Oncologist mentioned that the scans demostrated significant growth in both my lungs and brain, yet experienced consultants in Pulmonolgy & Neurogoly disagreed. Eventually, the Lung was ruled out and deemed stable, but the brain had marked issues that needed to be addressed. There was increased edema (swelling) in my brain that was caused by the radiation treatment received in 2017. This caused necrosis (dead tissue) which unfortunately can be mis-dianosed as tumor progression. Not a big deal since this is always mistaken as such, but the issue was whether to have brain surgery to verify the matter and scoop out any dead cells from my noogin.

Worse, this dead tumor was deep in my motor-skills area which was affecting me physically: the right side of my body was much weaker, especially my leg. I needed to use a cane for most of the Summer and required the consultation of a Physichal Therapist. In a matter of weeks I became a frail old-guy, hunched and dragging my feet. Hard to fathom seeing as I always considered myself a stud-muffin. Yet, this really affected my psyche. I had to resume the dreaded Dexamethasone steroid to reduce the brain swelling, plus a plethora of other meds with their own side effects. It was bad. Just ask my wife/kids.

In time, the brain swelling went down and I improved significantly, much to the chagrin of my oncoligist who was ready to sign me off as a failure in the Repotrectinib trail. But, here I am, celebrating Cycle 13 of the study, or 1 full year enduring this drug. Plus, I had a follow up CT & Brain MRI last week. Results: All Stable.

Lesson learned: It ain't over til it's fucking over. And then some.

Fuck Cancer. Fuck COVID. Fuck Rasists Pieces of Shit.


Here I am 2021.