Stable - that's the latest word from my oncologist on my condition. No change in the marker numbers, and nothing new to report on last week's CT scan - no new growth, no shrinkage (and no unusual objects like Jack O'Lanterns, Christmas trees, menorahs, or Valentines that have mysteriously appeared in previous scans). Or as indicated by the good doctor with what must be the international hand signal between oncologists as a horizontal slicing motion with the hands (like the communication between catcher and pitcher in baseball) - to indicate no movement, stay on base. OK, I guess. Better than an increase in marker numbers and new spots on the scans, but not as good as seeing improvement. I have high hopes for this week's set of marker numbers because I'm having a pretty good response from last week's dose of Erbitux - a rash like I haven't seen in a month that maybe will translate into a lower marker number.
This week's opportunity for me to share my experiences as a cancer patient/survivor will be something of a challenge that I'm not quite sure how to handle. I've been asked to speak to a class of ninth graders at a local high school on what it's like to have cancer. It's a favor for a coworker who has a child in the class as part of a term project. I have a relatively short amount of time to offer my viewpoint, and I have to consider the age of my audience and the school setting where I'm presenting this. I can't simply say "It sucks really bad", nor do I want to scare them with the physical and mental drain that treatment offers as an alternative to an early and traumatic death from the disease. Since I haven't prepared a formal presentation, I'm going to wing it - the presentation is tomorrow. It's not like I haven't devoted the time to think about it - I'm just not sure what to say in 5-10 minutes. I'm hoping to rise to the occasion like Elizabeth Edwards and be straightforward and honest, but not scary or maudlin. I guess that it will go something like this: While the treatment does "suck" (OK - maybe not use the word "suck" in school - show some class for crying out loud), I'm pretty happy to be here to even share this. Without the advances in medical research made in just the past few years, I wouldn't be here now. It's the worst thing I can think of to happen to someone, but at least there's more hope everyday that folks like me have a chance. I'll let you know what comes out of my mouth and whether I think I said the right things.
This week's picture is from Pike Place Market in Seattle. I spent most of Saturday at the market while my daughter spent the morning in Seattle taking a college admissions exam. While she toiled away, I browsed the produce (scored some of the first of the Washington cherry crop), local seafood, and assorted crafts. I've always thought the strings of peppers were a wonderful visual treat, and I'm sharing it today.
More to come in a few days when I have new numbers to report, and a reflection on having the first anniversary of my diagnosis - this Friday marks the one year point in starting this journey.
