Shucky Darn!

Those of you who know my husband know that he is an avid outdoorsman.  Hiking, skiing, surfing, biking, bouldering, rock climbing, mountaineering, you name it. He’s out there doing one of them.   I support him in these activities even when he comes home with scrapes and cuts.   I usually ask him to cover his wounds so that he doesn’t bleed on the sheets.  I’ve gotten pretty good at getting bloodstains out of fabric.  Hydrogen peroxide combined with OxiClean does wonders.

When he’s not outside participating in his sport of the day, he enjoys watching them on his computer.  I’ll often glance over and see him watching surfing competitions in Hawaii or Costa Rica, bicycle races in France or Italy, or skiing videos with the latest and greatest techniques for improving one’s form. 

There is a series of climbing and mountaineering movies called “Reel Rock.”  The series features climbers from all over the world and chronicles their adventures in short segments.  Some segments are nail biters, some are funny, and some are “you-are-never-EVER-going-to-do-that!” 

One of my favorite short segments is about a group of climbers who descend on a tiny town in the middle of Utah. This small, tightknit community of mostly LDS/Mormons is, at first, put off by these scruffy looking, smelly guys—until they get to know them.  When the climbers offer to teach the townsfolk how to climb boulders, many of them accept.  The difference between the language of the climbers (when the conservative locals aren’t around) and the clean-cut Mormons is striking.  One of the best expressions I heard was “shucky darn.”  It’s become my new favorite expression.  I’ve been using it a lot lately.

Tests late last year showed the cancer was continuing to spread, so in January, I switched to a new drug.  A PET scan in March showed stable metastatic disease, but no progression.  Yay, drug #2  was working, although the side effects were miserable.  Then, shucky darn, the scan in June showed new progression. So much for the new drug.

My scan was at 10 am and my oncologist called me at around 4 pm.  It’s rarely a good thing when you get a call so quickly after a test and even though I kind of knew something new was “brewing,” I still felt a little shell shocked.  My tumor markers had been climbing which was an indicator that all might not be well. 

The report read, “Interval progression of omental caking/mesenteric carcinomatosis.”  Now, there’s a mouthful. I didn’t even know what the “omentum” was; my anatomy and physiology classes were limited to the head, neck and throat.  The good news was the skeletal metastatic disease was stable.  I like to see the word “stable” in my reports.

My doctor ordered a test called a liquid biopsy.  It’s an easy one since it requires just two vials of blood.  The test looks for mutations or biomarkers that can be targeted with specific drugs.  The tricky part is figuring out which is the best drug to treat that mutation with the fewest side effects.  Since two drugs have failed to stop the cancer from growing, we’re on to the third one. Our options are dwindling, but we’re not without hope.

The next step is another biopsy, this one through interventional radiology (IR.)  Because the procedure is more invasive it will be done under twilight sedation.  The goal is to locate the tumors, determine their extent and their hormone receptor status.  Breast cancer (and mine is still considered breast cancer) is tested for estrogen receptors, progesterone receptors, and HER2 status. My cancer, so far, has been estrogen positive so the drugs that are available to me are specific to that.  Receptors can change so new progressions are checked to make sure we’re still using the best treatment protocol.

I’m a wee bit discouraged with this newest development, but we’ll just keep moving forward with the treatment plan.  I’m looking into clinical trials but won’t know which trials I’d be eligible for until after the biopsy.  I’m hoping that my current treatment has fewer side effects than the last one.  I developed a rash that was crazy.  I was afraid to go outside for fear my neighbors would see me madly scratching and think that I had fleas.  (Please, God, don’t give me fleas.  That would totally undo me.)

Carol

Cancer has progressed to my bones.  I pray that it never enters my soul.