Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Today's the day I find out what options I have. I'm sitting in the treatment room nervously twiddling my thumbs and swinging my feet as I wait for my cancer doctor. In walks my physician's assistant holding a small sheaf of papers. Holding out his right hand, he offers me the printed CT scan results.
"Kristy, I assume you already read the results?"
"Yup. I know my cancer is worse and the tumors are significantly larger. No more Eribulin for my chemotherapy treatment."
"Yes. As of now, all we have to offer you is either palliative care or application to clinical trials. First, palliative care is not hospice; it is access to an interdisciplinary team of medical staff who can assist you with relief from the cancer symptoms so that you can maximize your quality of life. Second, know that since you have tried 7 types of chemotherapy and none have worked, any clinical trial you participate in will likely have less than 5% chance of shrinking your tumors. Those who choose to receive experimental treatments outside of their geographical area temporarily move to the clinical trial host site. Are you willing to travel?"
Instantly, my mind flashes me a picture of living elsewhere: no family support, no friends to drop by, can't eat restaurant food, trying to grocery shop and cook while on chemo, stress of an unfamiliar location, additional living costs... the list goes on and on. The instability of my body makes me scoff at the very idea of trying to travel long distance. "Nope. Can't to do it. There's no way I'm willing or able to travel for clinical trials. Traveling from Milpitas to Stanford Hospital already pushes my limits when I'm tired. Living elsewhere, I don't believe I can manage my needs away from home."
The door closes softly as the physician's assistant steps out to speak to my cancer doctor. I snuggle my head against Noel's neck. Tears leak from my eyes. Why am I crying? The conversation went exactly as I expected. My options? Limited. I furtively inch my right hand under my right cheek in an attempt to wipe away the moisture dripping down my face. Doesn't work. Noel's shirt is already damp. Clenching my teeth, I endeavor to speak in a cheerful tone, "Noel, whatcha think?" Tilting my chin up, I glance into Noel's eyes. He's crying too.
Deep breath in... Dang it! I didn't want to cry. Now my tears are just coming faster. Noel wraps his arm around me tight. I can feel my head getting wet. I'm sure Noel's shirt is damp too. Together, we silently comfort each other.
Time passes.
Shoot, the doctor will come in any moment! Yanking tissue from the box on the table, I hand Noel some tissue, then stuff the rest against my face. It's miraculous that not wanting someone else to see me cry can stop my tears just like that. *sheepish grin* Making my face presentable, I lean my right shoulder heavily into Noel's left shoulder. My hand creeps in to tightly clasp Noel's hand. We wait.
My cancer doctor sweeps into the room with the physician's assistant quietly following. Getting right to the point, my doctor states, "There's a clinical trial you can apply for. It's a phase I trial combining a chemotherapy drug and another drug targeted to stop blood vessel formation. I'm hoping that this will shrink your tumors. Do you want to try it?"
Honestly? No. I'm tired of chemotherapy failing and leaving my body weaker. I'm tired of getting my body broken over and over again while my cancer continues to run rampant. Since April of 2007, I've gone through 3 abdominal surgeries. From January 2012, I started my first round of chemotherapy and have failed every single one. Now in August 2015, all that's left for me in the medical field is the proud opportunity to be a guinea pig through uncharted experimental drugs. Lovely.
Taking a deep breath, I reply, "Sure, let's do this. I'll sign the papers today."
Ah, Father God, Jesus Christ, Holy Spirit... help me! I so don't want to do anymore chemotherapy. I'm tired of breaking, getting weaker, increasing my dependence on all those around me. Lord, I honestly don't care if I die. Death means rest from pain, the dysfunctions of my body, and I believe that I'll get to be with you. There's nothing wrong with that right?
Yeah, I know it's not yet time to leave this earth or else I'd already be gone. *wide grin* I'm not waiting to die. I refuse to sit back and let my life, however long or short, slip by. But I'm tired. Cancer may limit my activities, my abilities, my energy; but Lord, don't let hopelessness or despair ever crush my spirt.
This is my battle cry. This is my declaration of intent to fight.
I will fight with every fiber of my being to live and live well. But what does it mean to live? For me, living is not just an existence where I eat, breathe, sleep, play. No. Living requires purpose, a goal, direction.
Lord God, I made serving you, loving you, emulating you as my first priority in this life. Because this life is yours, I am willing to walk through any path you call me to live so that in this life, you are truly Lord. I will continue to trust you with the journey of my medical care. My acupuncturist believes that this body you've given me is strong. He says not to do chemotherapy because the poisons weaken my body and allow the cancer cells to replicate faster. I believe him; I see my tumors rapidly increase in size the weaker my body gets. Lord, I continue to choose any chemotherapy experiment that comes my way knowing that if you don't call me to walk that path, one way or another, you will cancel or invalidate my application.
I surrender to your will so that you alone will shine as first in all choices. I will live until you choose to call me to rest. I will not surrender to my own wants, but will struggle and fight because you are my everything. Lord, you are the love of my life. In you, I have complete trust in your goodness. I blindly follow whatever path you call me to walk so that I can personally know you more. You are my Father in heaven who hurts when I hurt, loves me unconditionally, shapes me so that I can grow ever closer to you... I will not waste this life to satisfy my own desires unless I can match it to yours. Help me, Lord, live this life so completely for you that all the pain and affliction means nothing compared to being with you... For, God, you are my reward in this life and the next.
In Jesus' name I pray, amen.
Thursday, August 27, 2015
Praise God! My application to the chemotherapy experiment is canceled due to the drug containing gluten and alcohol which gives me severe allergic reactions. Yay!!! Until my doctor can find another experimental drug appropriate for my type of cancer, I am free to get stronger, to recover from years of infusing poison into my system, and wait to see what God chooses to do with my fast-growing tumors.
God, please stabilize my body and heal me like no one else can. In Jesus' name I pray, amen.
Saw this octopus tree with a knitted body in San Mateo:
I will pray for you.
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