When one participates in a clinical trial one is placed in one of several groups. In my case there are three of these groups. One group receives the standard chemotherapy (gemcidabine) with none of the trial drug (TH302), another group receives the chemo along with a dosage of the trial drug, and the third receives the standard chemo followed by an even larger dosage of the trial drug. This process of assigning one to a group is supposed to be completely at random. It's kind of like throwing all the names of the lab rats, I mean patients, in a hat, and drawing them out at random without looking, then placing them in one of the three groups, in equal numbers. This process should be fairly straightforward except that it appears to me that Mayo chose to rent time on the Cray Supercomputer to make this randomization process completely random.
I was placed in group two--the group that got chemo and the lower dose of the TH302. This was good as the reason for my going to Mayo was to be able to participate in the clinical trail of this new therapy. Things were going along good for the first two cycles. The side effects mere minimal and I felt so good most of the time that I would joke with those in charge of following the participants, asking them if they were really giving me anything.
This sense of chemo invulnerability was to end very shortly. At the start of cycle three I was informed that the interpretation of the results of the Cray Supercomputer randomization was in error, that I was actually randomized into the group with the highest dose of the trial drug, and starting on that day I was going to receive this new dosage. My first thought was, "How can this be...this is Mayo, they can't make mistakes with a process that is at the level of drawing names out of a hat." Followed shortly by the thought, "This is great, if the lower dosage was good, then the mega dose will do mega better."
Whether or not this regimen will do better is uncertain at the time of this writing. One thing is for sure--it is kicking my arse (as they say in Scotland). The side effects that were relatively unknown by me before, have now made their presence known, and how! Fatigue, especially on the second through the fourth days following treatment, is the most prominent of these side effects. Nausea, fevers, headaches and dry skin/sores are other symptoms resulting from the strong chemicals that course through my body. The blood cell, hemoglobin, platelet counts are showing the effects of the "re-randomization."
So, this then is where I am now. This all makes me more "irritable," but Vanessa doesn't let me get away with too much. How did I get so lucky to have God put her in my life? You know the saying--"I married much better than my wife."
I write this from Mayo as I wait between treatments. I am so looking forward to finishing up (about an hour) and going home. May the peace of God guard your hearts as well as mine.
Grace and Peace,
EL
Philippians 4:8
"do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."
Lindau, Germany
Vanessa and I at the Bodensee in Lindau, Germany
Monday, February 28, 2011
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Markers on the calendar of my life.
There are certain dates that have become markers on the calendar of my life, whereby events in the chronology of life are recalled in relation to these important days. In other words, as I look back, in my minds eye, at periods or single events of my past, they are remembered in relation to these seminal events. "Oh yes, that happened before ______, or that season of my past occurred after, and perhaps in response to ______," I might think to myself. My past is ordered according to these dates. They are few, but life changing.
One such date was the day of my mother's death, December 12, 1978. I had never experienced a day like this before, nor have I since. My emotions were brutally ravaged that day, and for many days after, as I witnessed the closest example of Christ literally living in human flesh being taken out of my life. This began a several year period of troubled questioning of everything she taught me about my Heavenly Father, and His goodness and love. A period of which I came out of with an even stronger faith and certainty of His providential will being forged out of the unexplainable sadness of the reality of death. This is a story that deserves its own time, and perhaps I will give it that in the future.
Another marker is the day I got married. God blessed me with His best in the person of my wife, Vanessa. She has truly shown me the meaning of unconditional love both for me and the children. This date, June 4, 1993, certainly is a life changing one. Again, like the story of the redemption of my faith through the tragedy of my mother's death, I must tell this story, but in another blog.
The most recent of these dates, and the point of this writing, is the date of October 3, 2010. This is the day that the doctors told me, and Vanessa, that I had (what they call) a terminal disease, specifically pancreatic cancer. I cannot adequately put into words how this diagnosis affected me and my family over the next 24 hours or so. For me, it was like taking all my emotions, the hopes of the future, the desires of growing old with the ones I love, and putting them in a blender, on high speed, and then handing it back to me and saying "Here, do something with this."
Well, by golly, I have done something with this. I decided first that the doctors don't always know everything. I decided that I was going to live according to the reality that I wasn't going anywhere until God says so. I decided that living with the ever present knowledge of the reality of my mortality is a good way to live. I decided to live!
Now, don't get me wrong. I all too well realize the severity of my disease and the statistical prognosis of those who suffer with it. It has perhaps the worst survivability of all the cancers, mainly due to the typical late diagnosis, and therefore a late stage in the progression of the cancer.
Mine is a stage III, non-resectable (couldn't be removed surgically), localized, adenocarcenoma of the pancreas. The tumor had completely blocked the duodenum, so I couldn't pass food through the stomach to the intestines. Since living without being able to eat is not a pleasant thought, I underwent a complex bypass surgery within a week of the diagnosis. Though recovery was not free from difficulty, it was well worth it as I can now eat anything I want, even that which I shouldn't.
I am on a relatively strict diet of which I constantly, according to Vanessa, whine about. It is a simple food plan; everything that tastes good I cannot have, and anything that is green, leafy, has no calories, and actually consumes more calories in the eating than provides in its substance, I should eat--in abundance. Now, I am a pizza boy. I love pizza. I used to be able to consume vast quantities of pizza in one sitting, like 15-20 pieces. Come to think of it, maybe that is why I have cancer now. Anyway, pizza is no longer on the menu. Although, I have cheated. It felt so good to cheat. It was on Super Bowl Sunday, and I had three pieces of the forbidden. I must admit that the anticipation of the eating was very powerful, but the actual eating was rather unspectacular, especially for a pizza boy.
Getting back to the disease, after recovery from the surgery, I heard of a clinical study being done by the Mayo Clinic regarding specifically pancreatic cancer. After a series of tests I was found to be eligible to participate. This treatment entails two infusions per visit. One drug (the first) is the study drug, followed two hours later by the standard gemcitabine chemotherapy. I have completed 3 series of this treatment at this point, and will begin the fourth on Monday the 21st. A series consists of three weeks of treatment (Monday infusions), followed by one week of rest. I have seen positive results from this regimen with shrinkage of the tumor along with cell death within the center of the tumor.
I would like to acknowledge all those who have loved me and my family over these last few months. You have done it so well in so many ways. Thank you.
So, this is the latest, and perhaps most profound marker on my life's calendar. I will continue, with great joy, on the path that my Father has set my feet on, not one of my choosing, but of His.
Grace and Peace,
Eddie
Romans 8:18; For I consider that the sufferings if this present time are not worth comparing with the glory this is to be revealed in us.
Romans 8:38-39; For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
One such date was the day of my mother's death, December 12, 1978. I had never experienced a day like this before, nor have I since. My emotions were brutally ravaged that day, and for many days after, as I witnessed the closest example of Christ literally living in human flesh being taken out of my life. This began a several year period of troubled questioning of everything she taught me about my Heavenly Father, and His goodness and love. A period of which I came out of with an even stronger faith and certainty of His providential will being forged out of the unexplainable sadness of the reality of death. This is a story that deserves its own time, and perhaps I will give it that in the future.
Another marker is the day I got married. God blessed me with His best in the person of my wife, Vanessa. She has truly shown me the meaning of unconditional love both for me and the children. This date, June 4, 1993, certainly is a life changing one. Again, like the story of the redemption of my faith through the tragedy of my mother's death, I must tell this story, but in another blog.
The most recent of these dates, and the point of this writing, is the date of October 3, 2010. This is the day that the doctors told me, and Vanessa, that I had (what they call) a terminal disease, specifically pancreatic cancer. I cannot adequately put into words how this diagnosis affected me and my family over the next 24 hours or so. For me, it was like taking all my emotions, the hopes of the future, the desires of growing old with the ones I love, and putting them in a blender, on high speed, and then handing it back to me and saying "Here, do something with this."
Well, by golly, I have done something with this. I decided first that the doctors don't always know everything. I decided that I was going to live according to the reality that I wasn't going anywhere until God says so. I decided that living with the ever present knowledge of the reality of my mortality is a good way to live. I decided to live!
Now, don't get me wrong. I all too well realize the severity of my disease and the statistical prognosis of those who suffer with it. It has perhaps the worst survivability of all the cancers, mainly due to the typical late diagnosis, and therefore a late stage in the progression of the cancer.
Mine is a stage III, non-resectable (couldn't be removed surgically), localized, adenocarcenoma of the pancreas. The tumor had completely blocked the duodenum, so I couldn't pass food through the stomach to the intestines. Since living without being able to eat is not a pleasant thought, I underwent a complex bypass surgery within a week of the diagnosis. Though recovery was not free from difficulty, it was well worth it as I can now eat anything I want, even that which I shouldn't.
I am on a relatively strict diet of which I constantly, according to Vanessa, whine about. It is a simple food plan; everything that tastes good I cannot have, and anything that is green, leafy, has no calories, and actually consumes more calories in the eating than provides in its substance, I should eat--in abundance. Now, I am a pizza boy. I love pizza. I used to be able to consume vast quantities of pizza in one sitting, like 15-20 pieces. Come to think of it, maybe that is why I have cancer now. Anyway, pizza is no longer on the menu. Although, I have cheated. It felt so good to cheat. It was on Super Bowl Sunday, and I had three pieces of the forbidden. I must admit that the anticipation of the eating was very powerful, but the actual eating was rather unspectacular, especially for a pizza boy.
Getting back to the disease, after recovery from the surgery, I heard of a clinical study being done by the Mayo Clinic regarding specifically pancreatic cancer. After a series of tests I was found to be eligible to participate. This treatment entails two infusions per visit. One drug (the first) is the study drug, followed two hours later by the standard gemcitabine chemotherapy. I have completed 3 series of this treatment at this point, and will begin the fourth on Monday the 21st. A series consists of three weeks of treatment (Monday infusions), followed by one week of rest. I have seen positive results from this regimen with shrinkage of the tumor along with cell death within the center of the tumor.
I would like to acknowledge all those who have loved me and my family over these last few months. You have done it so well in so many ways. Thank you.
So, this is the latest, and perhaps most profound marker on my life's calendar. I will continue, with great joy, on the path that my Father has set my feet on, not one of my choosing, but of His.
Grace and Peace,
Eddie
Romans 8:18; For I consider that the sufferings if this present time are not worth comparing with the glory this is to be revealed in us.
Romans 8:38-39; For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Why himmelblick?
Himmelblick means sky view or, more to the point of my choice of this name, heaven view. I find myself seeing this world with a view toward heaven a lot these days. Let me explain. A few months ago, after some six weeks of not feeling quite right physically, I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. This really rocked my world, but as I came to a resolution of this new reality, I started to operate in this world with a real sense of what comes next--thus a himmelblick. Now I don't plan on leaving this world soon, but my perspective of the brevity of our current physical life on planet Earth, whether it is 25 or 125 years, and the eternal nature of the next world is constantly at the forefront of my thinking and decision making. For this blessing in perspective I am grateful.
This all means that I now want to live my life in a fashion that has eternal impact and meaning, a heavenly viewpoint; not storing for me treasures in this life, but laying up for myself treasures in heaven for there is where my heart will be also, as Jesus said. So thus my heart is now set. I desire to love better, to listen with intent, and to look with wonderment. Wishing to engage those that God places in the path of my life not so much with a temporal disposition, but with an eternal one is my desire.
So--himmelblick. Maybe this short rambling is somewhat explicative of the reason for my choosing this word. I feel like a ship that is sailing on current that is not of its choosing, that has steered it off its intended course. I am choosing to engage in this adventure fully and with joy, knowing where it is taking me ultimately, whether that is in a couple of years or 30 years.
This blog is intended to update, for my family and friends, this adventure. So I say bon voyage Eddie.
This all means that I now want to live my life in a fashion that has eternal impact and meaning, a heavenly viewpoint; not storing for me treasures in this life, but laying up for myself treasures in heaven for there is where my heart will be also, as Jesus said. So thus my heart is now set. I desire to love better, to listen with intent, and to look with wonderment. Wishing to engage those that God places in the path of my life not so much with a temporal disposition, but with an eternal one is my desire.
So--himmelblick. Maybe this short rambling is somewhat explicative of the reason for my choosing this word. I feel like a ship that is sailing on current that is not of its choosing, that has steered it off its intended course. I am choosing to engage in this adventure fully and with joy, knowing where it is taking me ultimately, whether that is in a couple of years or 30 years.
This blog is intended to update, for my family and friends, this adventure. So I say bon voyage Eddie.
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