100th Blog...A Week of Firsts

Solitude

     Almost every year I take a week off from work to attend an educational genetics conference.  I go to get continuing education units to keep my board certification current and to spend a few days with old friends.  This year our conference was in Salt Lake City.  If you've never been to Utah, consider putting it on your bucket list.  The mountains are so beautiful and there are interesting sites to see...the Mormon Temple and Tabernacle, as well as, the Family History Library.

       The mountains in the surrounding area have great ski resorts.  Earlier this season, Wynn and I went to Lake Tahoe hoping to get in a few days of downhill skiing, but when we got there, there was no snow.  None.  Nada.  Instead we hiked, worked out at a local rec center and took in a yoga class.  So...when I had the opportunity to get a couple days of skiing in before my conference, I

Vicki

couldn't pass it up.  My long-time friend, Vicki, and I made our way to Solitude, a scenic resort nestled in the Big Cottonwood Canyon about 40 minutes from downtown Salt Lake City.  When we got there the mid-mountain snow base was 56", but they hadn't had any new snow for a couple of weeks.  The next morning we awoke to a snowstorm which was expected to bring 4-6" of new snow.  It was beautiful coming down, but it wasn't cold enough so rather than powder, it was heavy slush.

     Although Wynn and I try to get in a week of downhill skiing a year, I've only improved to an intermediate skier.  I feel comfortable describing myself as a strong blue-run skier, when snow conditions are optimal.  I struggled at Solitude in the heavy, wet snow.
    
     On the second run of our first day, I took a fall.  It was an ordinary fall; nothing really spectacular.  I would tell you the details, but I got hurt and it's painful to relive, so I'm only going to give you the short version.  The snow

Bionic leg

conditions were harder than my ability to ski them and in my wipe-out, I twisted my knee.  Since then, I've had a long series of new experiences: 

• First time to ride down in a sled pulled by a ski patrol.
• First time getting evaluated in a slope-side medical clinic.
• First time in a brace that makes my leg look bionic.
• First time on crutches.
• First time riding in a wheelchair at the airport.
• First time boarding with passengers taking extra time or needing assistance.

      I'm home now and saw my orthopedist yesterday.  He thinks I have an ACL tear, injured or torn MCL, and a fracture of the segond, which is often seen with ACL tears.  I did a number on my poor knee.

     We will know exactly what my injuries are after an MRI, which is scheduled for next week, pending insurance approval.  After that, I'll learn what my options are, but I'm told, likely surgery.  I'll keep you posted. 

My pals, Laurie, Andrea, Vicki, Margie, Stef

CT Scans #9, Update and Dr. Paul Kalanithi

     This morning I had an appointment for CT scans of my chest, abdomen and pelvis.  Unexpectedly, I slept pretty well last night.  In the past, the night before my CT scans is usually sleepless.  I suppose I didn't chase sleep because I've been feeling more confident about my cancer status lately.  

A patient's perspective...I'm going in...

     Unlike my previous CT scans, which were ordered with IV contrast only, this time my oncologist added oral contract.  CT scans with IV contrast illuminate vessels and organs, within the abdominal cavity and pelvis region, with greater detail.  Since I have a PowerPort implanted in my chest, I don't need to do anything special prior to getting scanned because the contrast dye is injected directly into my port by the CT tech.  IV contrast is a fairly benign event, except that when it goes in, there's a distinct warming sensation that travels through my body.  The tech always warns me that, "it will feel like you've wet yourself, but you haven't. It's just the contrast."  They are correct.  It's a weird feeling.  

     Oral contrast uses a barium sulfate suspension to allow more detailed imaging of the stomach and intestinal tract.  My oncologist wants me to have CT scans with an oral contrast every-once-in-a-while to get a better look.  Every-once-in-a-while is good because the prep for this isn't fun.  Two hours before the scan, I had to drink, what felt like, a gallon of thick, white, chalky-ish barium sulfate suspension.  Mine was supposed to be berry-flavored.  In actuality, it was probably the amount of a Starbucks Grande drink.  It was really filling and I had trouble downing it all at one time.  Then, an hour later, I had to try to down another one.  

     My oncologist called me tonight to let me know that my CT scans continue to indicate that my cancer is stable, which means that Xalkori is still working for me.  So for now, I stay the course on my miracle medication. 






On another note...

     My relief today was tempered by the sad news that Dr. Paul Kalanithi passed away yesterday of metastatic lung cancer.  He was a neurosurgeon at Stanford University Medical Center.  He was 37 years old.  He had what I have.  He, too, never smoked.  He was well known among my lung cancer community because last year, a few months after he was diagnosed in 2013, he wrote a poignant NY Times article entitled "How Long Have I Got Left?  

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/01/25/opinion/sunday/how-long-have-i-got-left.html?_r=0 

       Each time I learn of another lung cancer patient's death, two thoughts race through my mind.  I am instantly reminded that I, too, will die of lung cancer.  Then I wobble through a wave of survivor's guilt.  Today I wondered why Dr. Kalanithi died less than two years from the time he was diagnosed and I'm still here 27 months later.  My heart breaks for his young wife and infant daughter. I got to live nearly 20 years longer before being strapped with lung cancer.  Dr. Kalanithi did not get to see his daughter grow to adulthood as I have with my children.  I cannot escape the reality of my diagnosis, even though my scans were good today.

Rest in Peace, Dr. Kalanithi. 

   

Life Goes On...again

 

     


     I've posted this photo before.  This sapling is growing out of an old stump and is my metaphor for the continuation of life.  I see a delicate young sapling with it's roots safely protected by the wood and deep roots of an old tree.  As corny as it is...I think the symbolism is beautiful. 

     This past week, our niece, Jayme, and her husband, Andy, had their first baby.   Meet Asher Reid! 

 Isn't he BEAUTIFUL!

     
     Well done, Jayme and Andy!  Mazel tov to Asher's grandparents, Bob, Eudice, Dick and Nancy.  Hearty congratulations to uncles and aunts, Larry, Leslie, Harold, Caitlin, Jenny and Jon.