Well, it looks like I get another chance to become a superhero. Tomorrow I will be down at MD Anderson again to receive an injection of radioactive isotopes if all goes according to plan. Since the beam radiation turned out to be a "no-go" for my pelvic region, the doc and his buddies decided that this was the next course of action.
My understanding of how these things work is that I am receive an IV infusion of these radioactive isotopes that will then course through my body seeking out the metastisized bone tumors. Upon finding them they park themselves by the tumors and thereby subject them to doses of radiation. How effective is it? Is it going to help me out and kill or wound some of these tumors growing in my hips? Will it give me superhuman powers? I don't know. I just don't know.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Acceptance
In one of my earlier blog posts, I made reference to the stages in the Kubler-Ross model grief cycle in which the last stage is acceptance. At what point can a person look their own mortality in the face and accept it? At what point can they reach an inner peace with the fact that their days on this earth are near an end?
In movies I have seen characters that are about to enter into a situation/battle/conflict that they know is sure to spell their demise and they have a look of panic on their face. Just a few mere moments later, a sense of calm replaces that panic and they muster up the courage to go face their death. What happens in that instant where one moment they are trying everything to avoid death, and the next they are at peace with the fact that they are going to die? I realize that this is Hollywood and a gross oversimplification of the whole ordeal, but how does one make that final transition to acceptance? Even Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane asks the question. "My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me." Even though he would go on to accept his death, Jesus doesn't want to die.
Things didn't go as well as I had hoped this past week down at MD Anderson. What I thought was bony pain of an arthritic nature was revealed by the scans to be many different metastatic bony tumors. My pain was not being caused by the old tumors healing but by new tumors growing. The radiation oncologist basically said there isn't anything he can do for me. There are simply too many spots to treat. Even if he did treat them, all it would do is knock them back a bit and alleviate some pain. It wouldn't kill the cancer there and it would inevitably grow back. And the radiation is a one shot deal.
I am trying like hell not to give up, but at what point do you start working on the acceptance thing?
In movies I have seen characters that are about to enter into a situation/battle/conflict that they know is sure to spell their demise and they have a look of panic on their face. Just a few mere moments later, a sense of calm replaces that panic and they muster up the courage to go face their death. What happens in that instant where one moment they are trying everything to avoid death, and the next they are at peace with the fact that they are going to die? I realize that this is Hollywood and a gross oversimplification of the whole ordeal, but how does one make that final transition to acceptance? Even Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane asks the question. "My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me." Even though he would go on to accept his death, Jesus doesn't want to die.
Things didn't go as well as I had hoped this past week down at MD Anderson. What I thought was bony pain of an arthritic nature was revealed by the scans to be many different metastatic bony tumors. My pain was not being caused by the old tumors healing but by new tumors growing. The radiation oncologist basically said there isn't anything he can do for me. There are simply too many spots to treat. Even if he did treat them, all it would do is knock them back a bit and alleviate some pain. It wouldn't kill the cancer there and it would inevitably grow back. And the radiation is a one shot deal.
I am trying like hell not to give up, but at what point do you start working on the acceptance thing?
Friday, November 12, 2010
More learnings
Here's an update on what we learned at our appointments today.
Shoulder. The scans on the right shoulder show a small tear that they don't typically perform surgery on to fix. But they also show tumor growth in the head of the humerus (arm bone that butts up into the shoulder) and down it a bit of the arm. Good news is that the tough outer part of the bone looks really strong so there is no immediate concern for a fracture in that area. The PET scan does show (likely) the same in the left shoulder although we don't have the MRI on that shoulder/arm to confirm. The mid-level physician who met with us (the main doctor was still in the OR) said that he recommends radiation on that area along with all the other radiation that the radiation oncologist will likely recommended.
Neuropathy. Josh went through a series of tests within physical therapy to measure his endurance, physical capabilities, etc., including a walk around the exercise area for 6 minutes as a therapist walked next to him pushing a wheeled stick that measured how far he walked. He was clearly the person least debilitated in the entire room. The therapist gave him techniques that should help reduce the neuropathy:
Shoulder. The scans on the right shoulder show a small tear that they don't typically perform surgery on to fix. But they also show tumor growth in the head of the humerus (arm bone that butts up into the shoulder) and down it a bit of the arm. Good news is that the tough outer part of the bone looks really strong so there is no immediate concern for a fracture in that area. The PET scan does show (likely) the same in the left shoulder although we don't have the MRI on that shoulder/arm to confirm. The mid-level physician who met with us (the main doctor was still in the OR) said that he recommends radiation on that area along with all the other radiation that the radiation oncologist will likely recommended.
Neuropathy. Josh went through a series of tests within physical therapy to measure his endurance, physical capabilities, etc., including a walk around the exercise area for 6 minutes as a therapist walked next to him pushing a wheeled stick that measured how far he walked. He was clearly the person least debilitated in the entire room. The therapist gave him techniques that should help reduce the neuropathy:
- Foot massages (self given since he's extremely ticklish)
- Move foot around in a bowl of rice to stimulate the senses
- Wear fuzzy socks occasionally to change up the sensory routine
- Wear looser, more cushioning shoes
No more jumping rope...at least right now
Josh has, despite the additional pain he's been feeling over the last 5-6 weeks, been continuing to try to work out 3 times a week, including jumping rope, bench press, step-ups and the like. Yesterday, the doctor told Josh that he's not to jump rope or do anything more physically demanding than walking for the near future because of the risk of fractures.
We learned yesterday that:
Neuropathy. Josh is trying a medicine that will hopefully help him deal better with the neuropathy in his feet. We may try an aggressive acupuncture regime as well to see what that can do. And he meets with a specialist here today to see what strategies they suggest.
Next Steps. Josh's biopsy taken many months back is being tested to see if he's one of only 3 to 4% of the population that has a particular gene so that he qualifies for a clinical trial for a chemotherapy that has shown tremendous effectiveness. We'll know in about a month. If he doesn't qualify for that one, there are other clinical trials either open now or upcoming that he'll participate in. But the next chemo round won't be until after the radiation therapy is complete.
Sounds like Josh will be quite busy between now and Christmas. But not with jumping rope.
We learned yesterday that:
- The primary tumors in his chest are still stable (after their considerable reduction with chemo).
- He has a very small mass growing next to the two primary tumors, but the doctor isn't worried about that yet.
- The cancer in his bones (particularly his hip area) has surged since last time...hence his increased pain.
- The radiation he had to his L5 vertebrae in his back did great things to beat the cancer back in that location. The doctor is very excited about this result.
Neuropathy. Josh is trying a medicine that will hopefully help him deal better with the neuropathy in his feet. We may try an aggressive acupuncture regime as well to see what that can do. And he meets with a specialist here today to see what strategies they suggest.
Next Steps. Josh's biopsy taken many months back is being tested to see if he's one of only 3 to 4% of the population that has a particular gene so that he qualifies for a clinical trial for a chemotherapy that has shown tremendous effectiveness. We'll know in about a month. If he doesn't qualify for that one, there are other clinical trials either open now or upcoming that he'll participate in. But the next chemo round won't be until after the radiation therapy is complete.
Sounds like Josh will be quite busy between now and Christmas. But not with jumping rope.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Test Week
This is the week my wife and I head back down to MD Anderson for the next set of two-month scans. My last day of chemo was July 15th, so this will be the second round of scans post chemo to check to see if the tumors are stable or progressing. I have CT scans and MRIs and X-rays set up for Wednesday and then meet with the doc on Thursday to go over the results. My gut instinct tells me they are stable. Don't ask me why I think that...I just have a feeling. The rest of my body: that's another story.
I have been plagued by bouts of pain mainly in my hips and knees. Some days it is so bad that I have trouble standing and walking. Not really sure what the origin of this pain is, but maybe we can get some answers this week. The neuropathy in my feet has progressed also. This has greatly affected my ability to work since I now need to get off my feet for a significant time period at least every hour or two. Standing on concrete and neuropathy of the feet don't mix well. I have set up an appointment with a Baylor pain management clinic for next week in hopes of developing a plan to deal with all this pain.
I have been plagued by bouts of pain mainly in my hips and knees. Some days it is so bad that I have trouble standing and walking. Not really sure what the origin of this pain is, but maybe we can get some answers this week. The neuropathy in my feet has progressed also. This has greatly affected my ability to work since I now need to get off my feet for a significant time period at least every hour or two. Standing on concrete and neuropathy of the feet don't mix well. I have set up an appointment with a Baylor pain management clinic for next week in hopes of developing a plan to deal with all this pain.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Atypical diet
At 39 years of age I have to admit there were times I wished I had the physique of my high school days. I have never really been overweight, but looking in the mirror I sure would have liked to make that stomach bulge I see go away. Mission accomplished.
Except I think I shot a little too far. My cancer diet consisting of 6 rounds of chemo, a tonsillectomy, and 15 rounds of radiation have not only gotten rid of the stomach bulge, it has been so effective that I appear to be wasting away. I am down to 165 pounds as of the other night. That is coming off a high of 205 late in the chemo rounds. Forty pounds lost!! In most cases people would be jumping up and down for joy with that. Hey, my pants and shorts no longer fit me! I have to wear a belt with everything!
Except in this case, it isn't good. I am really struggling with the whole pain management, remaining active, staying healthy gig. It is really a downward spiral:
My stomach feels so small and there are various things affecting my appetite. Some foods still taste a little off, I fill up faster when I do eat, and I don't feel like eating as often as I used to. All of these cause my caloric intake to diminish to that of 5-year-old. Add to that the fact that many of the foods in my new diet just don't have that much in them when it comes to calories, it makes it even harder.
I joked about becoming a superhero like Spiderman when I was receiving my radiation treatments. This would have been the best Halloween if it had come true. But when I now look in the mirror and see the bones protruding, perhaps with the help of a little makeup, I should have gone as a skeleton.
Except I think I shot a little too far. My cancer diet consisting of 6 rounds of chemo, a tonsillectomy, and 15 rounds of radiation have not only gotten rid of the stomach bulge, it has been so effective that I appear to be wasting away. I am down to 165 pounds as of the other night. That is coming off a high of 205 late in the chemo rounds. Forty pounds lost!! In most cases people would be jumping up and down for joy with that. Hey, my pants and shorts no longer fit me! I have to wear a belt with everything!
Except in this case, it isn't good. I am really struggling with the whole pain management, remaining active, staying healthy gig. It is really a downward spiral:
- I don't feel good.
- I rest to take it easy.
- I become inactive.
- I don't eat.
- I lose weight.
- I get weaker.
- And back to #1: I don't feel good...
My stomach feels so small and there are various things affecting my appetite. Some foods still taste a little off, I fill up faster when I do eat, and I don't feel like eating as often as I used to. All of these cause my caloric intake to diminish to that of 5-year-old. Add to that the fact that many of the foods in my new diet just don't have that much in them when it comes to calories, it makes it even harder.
I joked about becoming a superhero like Spiderman when I was receiving my radiation treatments. This would have been the best Halloween if it had come true. But when I now look in the mirror and see the bones protruding, perhaps with the help of a little makeup, I should have gone as a skeleton.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Family
Not too far back my mom gave me a picture frame with the caption "The love of a family is life's greatest blessing." In it she put a picture of my wife and I with our kids when they were about five or six years old. There is something about looking at the faces of my kids when they were younger that just pulls on the ole heart. Not that I don't love them to death now and think they are beautiful kids, there is just something about the images of when they were younger that gets to me. Perhaps it is because it automatically triggers a flood of great memories that we have shared. Anyway, I have placed that picture where I can see when I wake up to remind me that in that family category I am truly blessed.
I feel I could speak volumes about just my wife and kids and how wonderful they are if I possessed the soul of a writer. Then maybe I would be able to articulate my love for this woman who agreed to be my wife and share her life with me. I wish I could write poetically about her strength and beauty and how she has been a rock for me in these difficult times. To thank her for giving me these two wonderful works of art, so beautiful and smart. Just looking at my kids brings me so much joy.
But my blessings extend past my immediate family. It extends to my father who, being far more advanced in years then me and having mowed 20 billion lawns that day, still feels the need to help me carry my luggage down the stairs because he is concerned about my physical state. It extends to my mother, who happens to be 1500 miles away right now but still remembers to call for a status update because I happened to see the doctor today. To my little brother who has given up countless hours of personal time in order to research my disease and accompany me down to MD Anderson and literally sit for hours waiting on doctors. To my grandma who apparently has all of Newaygo County, Michigan praying for me. To my older brother, whom upon hearing my diagnosis, travels thousands of miles to be with me even though he is going through a rough spell himself. To my sister-in-law who hand knits me a scarf to keep me warm when we traveled to Michigan. To my other sister-in-law who buys me a year's subscription to Netflix to give me something to do while being down and out from the chemo. To my father-in-law who calls on a whim just to discuss one of my favorite topics: college football. To my mother-in-law who gives us a large sum of money to help with the medical costs. To my nephew, who upon hearing my diagnosis, shaves his head as a sign of support. To all my relatives on my dad's side of the family that welcomed us with open arms and love and support this past summer at a family reunion. And so many others.
Whatever the outcome of my journey with this noma ends up being, I travel this road knowing that I am truly blessed.
I feel I could speak volumes about just my wife and kids and how wonderful they are if I possessed the soul of a writer. Then maybe I would be able to articulate my love for this woman who agreed to be my wife and share her life with me. I wish I could write poetically about her strength and beauty and how she has been a rock for me in these difficult times. To thank her for giving me these two wonderful works of art, so beautiful and smart. Just looking at my kids brings me so much joy.
But my blessings extend past my immediate family. It extends to my father who, being far more advanced in years then me and having mowed 20 billion lawns that day, still feels the need to help me carry my luggage down the stairs because he is concerned about my physical state. It extends to my mother, who happens to be 1500 miles away right now but still remembers to call for a status update because I happened to see the doctor today. To my little brother who has given up countless hours of personal time in order to research my disease and accompany me down to MD Anderson and literally sit for hours waiting on doctors. To my grandma who apparently has all of Newaygo County, Michigan praying for me. To my older brother, whom upon hearing my diagnosis, travels thousands of miles to be with me even though he is going through a rough spell himself. To my sister-in-law who hand knits me a scarf to keep me warm when we traveled to Michigan. To my other sister-in-law who buys me a year's subscription to Netflix to give me something to do while being down and out from the chemo. To my father-in-law who calls on a whim just to discuss one of my favorite topics: college football. To my mother-in-law who gives us a large sum of money to help with the medical costs. To my nephew, who upon hearing my diagnosis, shaves his head as a sign of support. To all my relatives on my dad's side of the family that welcomed us with open arms and love and support this past summer at a family reunion. And so many others.
Whatever the outcome of my journey with this noma ends up being, I travel this road knowing that I am truly blessed.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Ups and Downs
We have all heard the metaphor that life is like a roller coaster. It has its ups and downs. But really, lately I feel like my life takes Run Away Mountain at Six Flags and kicks its butt (that is an amusement park here in Dallas for you non-Texas readers). I have been happy, I have been sad. I have been feeling good, I have been wallowing in pain. I have been optimistic, I have been beaten down. Keep in mind that these changes sometimes don't happen over weeks but happen in the same day. "What do you expect considering what you are going through?" I have been told many times. I don't know. I have never been through anything like this before.
A week and half ago I went to my daughter's soccer game at 9am on a beautiful Saturday morning. I started to feel some pain come on. I took some pain meds and did my best to grin and bear it. However, by lunch time I was lying flat on my back on the couch unable to really get up. I had extreme pain in both knees, both hips, both shoulders, and both elbows. Strangely, my back really wasn't bothering me. Where was this pain coming from? Earlier that week I had my monthly massage and left there feeling really good. Now here I am unable to get off the couch. Talk about roller coaster. I ended up spending that whole day, literally until I went to bed, lying flat on that couch. I loaded up on the pain meds and tried to ride it out. Fortunately, college football was on to keep me entertained.
Given my current health condition I am trying really hard to listen to my body. I am keeping a pain log so that I have a record of what hurts and when and what I may have done to cause it, and how I treated it. Just looking for any pattern or trends that may help in my battle. But I couldn't make any real sense of this latest pain outbreak. It had these characteristics, but not those. It felt like this, but a little different. The best I can figure at this point is that I had a small reaction to a cold. I ran a low fever at one confirmed point and probably had at another also if I had taken my temperature. Pain meds that help with fevers seemed to give me more relief than others. That all seemed to indicate the cold scenario. But it wasn't conclusive. And one thing I hate is loose ends.
Then my mind goes down that dark path. What if this is my body shutting down? What if this the cancer taking over and I am on the start of the end? When I first met with the doc down at MD Anderson he felt it necessary to give me the prognosis of somebody with stage 4 lung cancer as I have. The typical patient lasts about 7 months. Here I am at about 8 months from the initial diagnosis. (Everybody join in and sing "Happy you lasted longer than the typical cancer patient with stage 4 lung cancer to you" to the tune of "Happy Birthday") Granted, he also said I am not the typical cancer patient. The next date he threw out there was 2 years. Is that how much I can expect? The last number he threw out was that some live 5-7 years. Better, but still not good enough. If the end is now about 4-6 years away then I am still missing way too much of my life.
How do I get my body back on top of this again? Is it even possible? I have lost about 30 pounds from my peak weight during chemo. I know it is strange that I actually gained weight during chemo, but I did. My bones are showing when I look in the mirror. My mind seems to still be good. I still have a belief that I can get back to where I was pre-noma. Just hope I am not fooling myself.
A week and half ago I went to my daughter's soccer game at 9am on a beautiful Saturday morning. I started to feel some pain come on. I took some pain meds and did my best to grin and bear it. However, by lunch time I was lying flat on my back on the couch unable to really get up. I had extreme pain in both knees, both hips, both shoulders, and both elbows. Strangely, my back really wasn't bothering me. Where was this pain coming from? Earlier that week I had my monthly massage and left there feeling really good. Now here I am unable to get off the couch. Talk about roller coaster. I ended up spending that whole day, literally until I went to bed, lying flat on that couch. I loaded up on the pain meds and tried to ride it out. Fortunately, college football was on to keep me entertained.
Given my current health condition I am trying really hard to listen to my body. I am keeping a pain log so that I have a record of what hurts and when and what I may have done to cause it, and how I treated it. Just looking for any pattern or trends that may help in my battle. But I couldn't make any real sense of this latest pain outbreak. It had these characteristics, but not those. It felt like this, but a little different. The best I can figure at this point is that I had a small reaction to a cold. I ran a low fever at one confirmed point and probably had at another also if I had taken my temperature. Pain meds that help with fevers seemed to give me more relief than others. That all seemed to indicate the cold scenario. But it wasn't conclusive. And one thing I hate is loose ends.
Then my mind goes down that dark path. What if this is my body shutting down? What if this the cancer taking over and I am on the start of the end? When I first met with the doc down at MD Anderson he felt it necessary to give me the prognosis of somebody with stage 4 lung cancer as I have. The typical patient lasts about 7 months. Here I am at about 8 months from the initial diagnosis. (Everybody join in and sing "Happy you lasted longer than the typical cancer patient with stage 4 lung cancer to you" to the tune of "Happy Birthday") Granted, he also said I am not the typical cancer patient. The next date he threw out there was 2 years. Is that how much I can expect? The last number he threw out was that some live 5-7 years. Better, but still not good enough. If the end is now about 4-6 years away then I am still missing way too much of my life.
How do I get my body back on top of this again? Is it even possible? I have lost about 30 pounds from my peak weight during chemo. I know it is strange that I actually gained weight during chemo, but I did. My bones are showing when I look in the mirror. My mind seems to still be good. I still have a belief that I can get back to where I was pre-noma. Just hope I am not fooling myself.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Happiness: A Better Perspective
In a recent blog on Harvard Business Review, a blogger astutely observes:
What makes Josh a beautiful human being is *all* the emotions he exhibits, even when happiness isn't anywhere within his grasp. A while ago, when asked what attracted me most to Josh (enough to marry and stay married for 17 years), my reply was that Josh loves me for who I am, not who he wants me to be. He accepts all the crazy emotions, obstinance on certain topics, irrational arguments, overly cheery demeanor in attempts to bring everyone in the household up, slave driver tendencies...I could go on and on, but I'll spare you.
Josh has good reasons to not be happy right now. He's hurting most of the time unless he's taken enough pain medications to dull the aches. He's tired because he doesn't sleep well. He worries about why the pain is back after the "reprieve" during chemotherapy. The neuropathy in his hands and feet seems to be getting worse. Radiation has only slightly lessened the pain in his lower back and somehow just a few minutes under the beams doesn't seem at all adequate. Time without a visit to MD Anderson feels strange (the next trip isn't until November) and somehow out-of-routine.
But despite all this, he gets excited about working on the conversion of our back patio into dining room, pauses a TV show to really look at the nice living room and cabinets to gather ideas for that next project, and details out all the mistakes made in the construction of any cabinet. He challenges others with good questions and his own ponderings about the meaning of life. He throws the football with his son. He goes faithfully to his daughter's every soccer game and even helps out at practices more often than he really feels like doing. He smiles at and with me, encourages me.
I was talking with Josh this week and let him know that I wished I could switch places with him. For two reasons, really. One to take away the pain from him and bear it myself instead. Two to see how I would handle the situation as the fighter not the cheerer.
We're still on the long journey, the marathon with no known finish line. The quote from a Vietnam POW included in the aforementioned blog post provides great perspective: "You must never confuse faith that you will prevail in the end — which you can never afford to lose — with the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they might be."
"Happy" people are some of the dullest people I know. And yet happiness is the state to which so many of us doggedly aspire.I have often talked (both here on the blog and within in-person conversations) about enjoying the "Happy Josh" and enjoying when Josh is in his "happy place." While maybe aspirational, how limiting.
What makes Josh a beautiful human being is *all* the emotions he exhibits, even when happiness isn't anywhere within his grasp. A while ago, when asked what attracted me most to Josh (enough to marry and stay married for 17 years), my reply was that Josh loves me for who I am, not who he wants me to be. He accepts all the crazy emotions, obstinance on certain topics, irrational arguments, overly cheery demeanor in attempts to bring everyone in the household up, slave driver tendencies...I could go on and on, but I'll spare you.
Josh has good reasons to not be happy right now. He's hurting most of the time unless he's taken enough pain medications to dull the aches. He's tired because he doesn't sleep well. He worries about why the pain is back after the "reprieve" during chemotherapy. The neuropathy in his hands and feet seems to be getting worse. Radiation has only slightly lessened the pain in his lower back and somehow just a few minutes under the beams doesn't seem at all adequate. Time without a visit to MD Anderson feels strange (the next trip isn't until November) and somehow out-of-routine.
But despite all this, he gets excited about working on the conversion of our back patio into dining room, pauses a TV show to really look at the nice living room and cabinets to gather ideas for that next project, and details out all the mistakes made in the construction of any cabinet. He challenges others with good questions and his own ponderings about the meaning of life. He throws the football with his son. He goes faithfully to his daughter's every soccer game and even helps out at practices more often than he really feels like doing. He smiles at and with me, encourages me.
I was talking with Josh this week and let him know that I wished I could switch places with him. For two reasons, really. One to take away the pain from him and bear it myself instead. Two to see how I would handle the situation as the fighter not the cheerer.
We're still on the long journey, the marathon with no known finish line. The quote from a Vietnam POW included in the aforementioned blog post provides great perspective: "You must never confuse faith that you will prevail in the end — which you can never afford to lose — with the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they might be."
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
You've got to love morphine
Thanks to the proper dosage of pain meds I have been able to find, as Anna calls it, my happy place. Unfortunately, I had to bump it up to some of the big boys. But between the morphine and the Celebrex, I am now for the most part pain-free. And that allows me to be happy.
I finished my sixth session of radiation today and the doc seems to think that the relief should start coming anywhere from the seventh to the tenth round. I just hope it comes. I haven't had any side effects as of yet and that is good. I will start trying to wean myself off the pain meds to test the waters sometime between the 8th and 10th session.
Not much else to report. I don't have another appointment down at MD Anderson until November 10th and that allows for an uninterrupted string of weeks at home. Feels kind of weird. Not complaining though. Hopefully the tumors are behaving themselves and that will lead to many more weeks at home.
I finished my sixth session of radiation today and the doc seems to think that the relief should start coming anywhere from the seventh to the tenth round. I just hope it comes. I haven't had any side effects as of yet and that is good. I will start trying to wean myself off the pain meds to test the waters sometime between the 8th and 10th session.
Not much else to report. I don't have another appointment down at MD Anderson until November 10th and that allows for an uninterrupted string of weeks at home. Feels kind of weird. Not complaining though. Hopefully the tumors are behaving themselves and that will lead to many more weeks at home.
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