I've always felt blessed at the good fortune of my senior years. A wonderful wife of thirty-three years. Financial security. Good health. Matinée-idol good looks. (O.K., maybe not that, heh.) I've been particularly smug over my good health. SInce I got my arthritic knees replaced, I've been pain-free and more active than I've been in years. I feel absolutely great. And I blithely assumed that I would be that way always.
That was hubris.
You see, gang, I just had it confirmed . . . I've got liver cancer.
The thing of it is . . . I still feel absolutely great. It was through a stroke of luck---and my regular physician of thirty years---that I discovered that I had a problem. For decades, I've gotten a check-up every three months and my annual physical every December. The numbers have always been in the green. I do have essential hypertension, but that's been under control for decades. Every three months, I've gotten lab work done, and every three months, I've gotten a clean bill of health. Including my liver functions, which always showed normal.
And that's how the numbers came out at my last physical this past December. In fact, my doctor joked, saying maybe on my visits, he should just bring a six-pack, and we sit around and swap war stories for thirty minutes. Then, at the end of the session, he mentioned that there is a new test, a blood test that checks one's DNA for cancer markers. He asked if I was interested in taking it. "Sure," I said. "Why not?" With TRICARE, it wasn't going to cost me anything, and I didn't expect it to find anything significant.
Again, hubris. The test came back at the end of the month, indicating that I had a 60% chance of having some form of liver cancer. My doctor ordered an MRI for me. The MRI results indicated a suspicious lesion on my liver. After giving me the news, my doctor picked up the phone and called the head oncologist at the city's leading clinic for oncology, and said, "I have a friend in trouble . . . "
The next day, I'm having a consultation with this oncologist. He ordered a PET scan for me, and the results confirmed the MRI's indications: I have a large malignant tumour across the breadth of my liver. Things have moved fast after that. In the past week, I've spoken with my oncologist again, and with a surgeon who specialises in both liver surgery and oncology surgery, and with a oncology radiolgist, and I consult with the leading radiologist in the area in a couple of days.
Now, before you folks get all weepy-eyed, there's significant good news with this diagnosis.
One, I am completely asymptomatic. I still feel great. My numbers are still within normal range. If all of this hadn't happened, I'd never know I had a problem. Two, the tumour, while large, shows very little activity. It's mild---that's why my liver functions are still completely normal. (In fact, there's a 5% chance still that it isn't malignant, at all. But I told my doctors to go with the odds and not waste time with a biopsy; they agreed.) Three, and most important, the cancer hasn't spread; it's localised to that tumour alone.
The only unfortunate aspect is the size and placement of the tumour. The liver is remarkable in that it can regenerate after a resection. The problem with my tumour is that it spreads across the very centre mass of my liver. Surgical resection is not practical---it would take 80% of my liver. Doable, but very radical. Only one slight step above a liver transplant.
Therefore, radiation is the most recommended approach to treatment. There's a technique in which radioactive beads can be inserted directly into the tumour which will shrink and ultimately, destroy the tumour. This is the preferred approach. After I see the radiologist next week, I'll be scheduled for a "mapping" operation, which will determine the precise locations where the Y-90 beads should be inserted. The one concern is if the tumour has spread across too many different segments of my liver. If so, then the radioactive beads are out, and they'll use computer-directed bursts of radiation to kill the tumour. I'm hoping the beads are useable; statistically, 70% of patients who undergo the bead technique see total destruction of the liver tumour.
But, even if we have to go with the computer-directed radiation approach, my odds are still excellent. Because the tumour is showing so little activity, because it hasn't spread, and because my overall health is strong and vital enough to endure a harsher approach.
The time line is, sometime next week, I'll undergo the mapping procudure, then have the actual radiation treatment within the next three weeks.
Aye, it sounds like I've had a bad break. But I don't view it that way. At my advanced age, something was bound to hit me, sooner or later. I'm lucky: I have a physician who is thorough to the Nth degree. If he hadn't mentioned, "by the way", that DNA test for cancer markers, a year from now we would've been having a much grimmer conversation. Because we caught it now, the doctors are able to deal with a cancer that is only mildly active and hasn't spread. If one has to have liver cancer, I've got it under just about the best conditions possible.
Cheryl and I waited until yesterday to inform our family of the news. I wanted to wait until I had a definite diagnosis and a plan for attack. To-day, I am giving you folks the news, for you are as much a family to me as my blood relations are. The thing to keep in mind is that I'm confident in my chances. Not in some cheerleading-type "Rah rah!" sense. But in the knowledge that the odds are strong on my side. It's a calculated confidence.
So, what's new with you guys?
Replies
That is a lot to process, hang in there my friend. I'll be praying for you.
Commander, this is going to souind callous, but if this had to happen, you're lucky it happened in this day and age. We are in an era of such advances in medicine and technology that you will be sure of appropriate and prompt treatment. It sounds like they'll take good care of you (and the GMB - this is happening to both of you) and your chances are excellent for a recovery and even remission.
May the gods of healing visit fully upon you, and as I know you will, may you be a shining example for the Guardians of the Universe. If I can be of any assistance, don't hesitate to call upon me, my friend.
ELS
SAF
x<]:o){
Gentlemen---and ladies, for Tracy has been particularly supportive---thank you for your well wishes. I take them all very kindly. I've commented in the past, usually at someone else's misfoturne, that the members of this board are as much a family as any blood relations, and it's true. You folks have all taken my situation to heart.
The incongruity of the thing still strikes me. Cheryl has often commented that I'm much more vital than others of my age. I never noticed until the first time that she said that, and then I looked around and noted that she was right. I see other men in their seventieth decade, or younger, and they seem frail and doddering, unaware of life. And I realised how fortunate I was. To be sure, I could, and should, get back to a regular exercise regimen. Last month, while preparing for the major ice storm, I went out with a chainsaw to cut down some limbs, to break up into firewood, should we lose power. That simple act was harder than it should've been, but also, it's not like it totally drained me, either. I wasn't huffing and puffing in desperation, and I recovered the minute I stopped. That told me I should get back to exercising, and nothing more.
I get out of bed in the mornings, feeling well rested, energetic, and not an ache or pain, anywhere. It's almost a surprise when I remind myself that I have cancer. On the other hand, it's part of the reason for my confidence that I'll beat this thing. My appetite is intact; I have no inexplicable weight loss. (A month ago, I stepped on a scale and discovered that I'd gained ten pounds over the weight I try to maintain. Too many potato chips and slices of pizza. I cut back, and in that time, I dropped those ten pounds---the scale still goes up and down a pound or two, but that's my fault, not the cancer's..) If I had any of these things, or felt bad, then I'd know that I crossed a red line.
So far, the worst development is that I have to give up drinking. There's some slight cirrhosis of my liver---a consequence of having a non-alcoholic fatty liver. Nothing major, but drinking would increase it. That's not a major loss. I might have a cocktail or a glass of Blue Moon once or twice a month, so abstinence isn't a problem. (The only dismay is, last month, I finally found a particular expensive dessert wine that I'd been looking for over the last three years. I haven't opened it, yet, and I can't touch it, now. But I've promised myself that, once I get a clean bill of health, I'll have one glass of it to celebrate. The rest goes down the drain.)
I'll admit, impatience is starting to settle in. I told my oncologist last week, I've been taking hit after hit for the past month, and it's time for me to start punching back. I want to see things move after my consultation with the radiologist this Wednesday.
For you folks who were following the men's attire thread I posted last year, I've made myself another promise. I prefer the vintage double-breasted suits of the late 1930's. So I've had to get my suits tailored. I've got four in my closet, now. But, for about a year, I've had my eye on another suit, one I saw in a 1931 movie . . . this one here:
I've kept demurring on having one like it tailored for me, as I can't justify it. I don't get to wear a suit all that often, so it would be an indulgence. But I told Cheryl that, once I've beaten this thing, I'm having my tailor whip it up for me, as a present to myself. So, surviving cancer is going to cost me three grand, heh.
I trust that I'm not sounding like a cock-eyed optimist here. I know what I'm facing. Liver cancer isn't one of the better ones to have. But the odds of beating it are in my favour, and that's what I'm dwelling upon. (Every day, I thank God that my physician said, "By the way, there's this new test . . . " That's why I'm in such a good position to beat it.)
Again, thank you all, from both Cheryl and me, for your kind thoughts and encouragements. They mean more than I can say. And I'll keep all of you updated as things progress.
Follow the doctors' instructions. Take time for yourself and Cheryl now too. It doesn't have to be fancy, just real. I am sure you will beat this completely and get your new suit. Once you win this fight, Jeff and I will come out to celebrate.
I finally found a particular expensive dessert wine that I'd been looking for over the last three years.
I've promised myself that, once I get a clean bill of health, I'll have one glass of it to celebrate.
When that happy day arrives, let us know the wine and Tracy and I will split a bottle in celebration.
Commander, know you are better than the diagnosise. About 2 1/2 years ago my father who will be 85 at the end of this month, had tumors in both his lungs and brain that were actually skin cancer that had spread, he was given 6 months to live. He is is now offically in remission. I truly believe you got this, Sir.
Commander,
Hoping for the best. Been on this journey with close family members. It's not easy but you are approaching it with strength.
Dave
"...But I've promised myself that, once I get a clean bill of health, I'll have one glass of it to celebrate..."
Sir, I don't know where you reside - do I recall it's Baltimore? But if it's close enough to Greater Cleveland, I will join you in that drink. If not, I'll drink to you anyhow. So you let us know when (not if) you are recovered and I shall lift one to your continuing good health! As I do today to your complete remission and recovery.
ELS
SAF
x<]:o){
I was out of pocket for the original announcement, and everyone already beat me to the encouragement and well-wishes I would have expressed. But I'll add them anyway, two-fold. It's a brual blow by cruel gods, by any measure. But you're a results-oriented guy with a clear-cut mission, a plan, and the resources necessary to succeed. Not to belittle the battle, but I alraeady anticipated the outcome: Adam 1, cancer 0.
This really doesn't count as an update, because he isn't directly involved with my treatment, but I saw my regular physician to-day. He's an info addee on everything that's been generated about my situation. He agrees with all of the other doctors, in that we caught this early, that almost all of the factors are in my favour, and that it's reasonable to expect a good result. He states the fact that I'm asymptomatic, that my liver functions have not been affected, and that my overall strength and vitality put me well ahead of the curve.
Now, I just want to get started fighting back. I'll know more about that after I see the radiologist Wednesday.
For Jeff and Tracy, the dessert wine is Rinaldi Brachetto d'Acqui. Runs roughly about $30-$40 a bottle. For Eric, I live in Charlotte (but I grew up in the small towns outside of Cleveland---Elyria, Amherst, Lorain), so that toast will have to be remote in distance, but together in spirit.
Cap, your encouragement means a lot. You've described it perfectly: I'm focused on results and have a plan and the resources to obtain them.
Again, my deepest thanks to all of you for your well wishes.
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