“David Foster's Kicking Kidney Cancer’s Arse”

Is It Me or the Decadron, Sutent, et al?

Sherry just called. Said she had spoken to Dr. Shlaer, told him I feel like crap and we (he) needs to do something about it. I listened as she gave me the details, as if I didn't know them: lethargy, continued swollen legs and feet, no appetite, etc., etc. And I am thinking: What do you want him to do, wave a magic wand? We are dealing with cancer and very serious drugs here and I am not the only Warrior dealing with this, and for many what I am dealing with is a non-starter. Just getting along with Decadron has been a challenge, not to mention whatever Sutent might be doing. And that doesn't even mention my own laziness in seeing to it that I take as good a care of myself as possible.

In other words, if there is a culprit, I think it is David.

Sherry worries that a I nap too much. And I agree with her. Especially after a morning's work. Just staying awake for three or four hours makes me very sleepy. Then I think about before cancer. I never wanted to sleep in the mornings, but boy could I pass out after lunch. One of the reasons I always went home to eat. Instead of soup and sandwich I would have a sandwich and forty winks. But these naps are different. Hard to explain but they demand you lay down, close your eyes and go the land of nod. If I don't, but dinner time I am a bear and almost falling asleep in my plate. So I divide my work day up by threes: Morning, afternoon and night. Oddly, I sometimes feel my very best at night. Then comes ten and David is ready for bed.

I do not drink water as should. Especially the last two weeks. Before that I was a killer on water, but since cutting back on the Decadron, despite my swollen legs, I just have not had the interest. Odd, odd, odd.

As for the lack of muscle development, he sh9uld be real. David Foster could do something about that, even it is just minor exercise. And I know that. Oh so well do I know that. Three years ago I rode a bicycle almost 5,000 miles in one year--outside and on the streets. Now I am repulsed at doing leg lifts. I think it is the medicine, but know the will power is lacking--and that upsets me too. And I wonder why it is lacking, yet I still don't do the exercizes. That's why I am glad I am in physical therapy. They will "make" me do them and that  is going to help a lot.

But the effects of these medicines are real. Read any cancer blog and you will come to that realization fast. Sutent alone is a very hard drug to deal with. Throw in Decadron and Dilantin and an anti-depressent and you are doped up pretty well. So well that a  healthy person might have no concept of what is really going on inside your body.

But Sherry is right. This is no way to live. I don't want to think that the rest of my life I will have this weird apathy, that I will work from a chair on the back porch, that even a stand-up cocktail party will wear me out. Oh, how I hope Dr. Shlaer has some magic in his wand. But I don't think he does. In the end it is all up to me. For almost 30 months I kicked cancer's arse pretty well. It is time I get back to it. Denial and blaming drugs is one thing; getting past all that as well as possible is my job.

I Gotta Get Hip All Over Again

(OK, here's the story. I did not blog yesterday because I had absolutely nothing to say. Wouldn't it be nice if the real media did that from time to time? Lord the noise. I wonder sometimes, as I reach the reflection point in my life, how much folderol we really need. But that's just me.)--DCF

Whipped into the physical therapist's office today for an evaluation. A very nice lady named Kay made me push and pull and twist myself into something like a deviant tree limb. Every time she got done with this or that maneuver she would go "uh, huh" and write something on her clip board. She would also tell me after two or three routines that I was "doing great." There is not a medical person in the world I trust with those two words if I don't know exactly what they mean.

I went into that room thinking I was weaker than a new born pup, but found, surprisingly, that I could do, to some degree, most every thing she asked. Even twist my self into a deviant tree limb. She pushed against this or that and I pushed something or the other against her hand and she would say "uh, huh" some more and remind me one more time that I was doing great. Since George Washington was great and they do not have a monument for me in Washington, I figured she was stretching all that a little bit. OK, a lot.

Finally she gets all done and says, to my complete surprise, most of my physical issues are in the hip. Arms, legs, hands, etc. all about normal for a man my age. Now, you may remember that a few weeks ago I got down on one knee to take a photograph and could not get up. I assumed that was from a lack of leg strength. Nope, she says, it is all in the hip. And she said in 8 weeks she will have that all fixed up. I will be able to get down on my knees good as anybody and get up again without help. I ain't planning to ask anybody to marry me anything soon, so maybe she only needs to fix one hip. And she said you never know. I asked her about my swollen legs (which she agreed were swollen) and she pretty much shrugged like every other expert and told me to keep them up. Uh, huh. She did say I should not fight the naps, but take them in one-hour increments if possible. So I came home and slept for two with Sadie snoring right next to ear. Much better than PT.

And all of this hip business because of my laziness? Apathy? Fatigue? Nope (though Sherry does not believe that). Instead I bow to Decadron, that wicked little steroid they put me on after the last gamma knife.  I still shake my head in wonder at that one. Like I  said I sort  consider things by their size. For example, getting whacked by a sledge hammer is much more damaging than a regular hammer. So I figured Sutent (50 mg) was the really tough stuff while Decadron (4 mg) was kinda like a salve on dry skin. Wrongo. Now they are weaning me off Dec and I am happy to see it go. On the other hand, if I start getting headaches they will most likely put me right back on it. From my point of view I have a 30% chance  of being rid of it and start feeling like a real person again.

And then drops a small-size shoe: as I am weaning off I will most likely feel worse before I feel better. Thank you sir, may I have another. But I will tell you this, from the perspective of this poor warrior, I know I can whip cancer's arse, but Decadron brought me down to size. Who woulda thunk?

So there you go. The old DCFer goes into another therapy about the time the shotguns are coming out of the safe for real.  Somethings going to pay for this and pay for it covered with gravy. And it ain't gonna be me.

When the Day Ends Nicely

This morning I thought Sherry would have to call in a crane to get me out of bed. Not that I felt so bad or anything, just I was snuggled down like a newborn after its first meal. We have been having pretty cool weather down here lately (lows in the low 30s) and it creeps into the house during the night. When it does I creep into the covers. Nothing better to be warm as toast on a cold night, nothing at all (but to whom is that news?). Speaks to the very essence of the soul. Also makes you lazy as a slug.

So I finally rise and the heels of the tootsies hurt terribly, all from Sutent (please see "Damn Sutent") but after a few minutes of hobbling they get a lot better. The legs are still swollen, but nothing like yesterday. Sadie thinks this a sign she can bite them again and attacked from a blind corner. Bite, bite, nibble, nibble. I hobble around akimbo while telling her (no, yelling at her)  down and no and all that stuff while at the same time heading for a chair, not to sit in, but get off the floor. She actually looked disappointed as she sat in front of me, head cocked with those sad puppy eyes and seemed to say, "you're no fun." Imagine Sherry's face when she comes in to say good-bye and I am standing in a chair, Gracie now looking up at me like a hawk ready to pounce. Mice don't scare me, but a teething puppy. Now that is a terrorist.

Gracie finds herself outside (go bite on some wood) and I make a vector for some breakfast. Sherry bought me some Leggos over the weekend and I wolfed down three, covered with old fashioned Southern sugarcane syrup. I may be the last person in the world who still eats that stuff. It is thick and sweet and a little sulphery. My dad got me hooked on it when I was a child. He would mash a patty of butter up in it and then sop it with a hot biscuit. Mmmmm, man, that was eating.

By now I could move OK and had some shoes on and let Sadie back inside. She looked dreadfully disappointed that the bare feet had been replaced by shoes, so she attacked Jeb instead. Now he had the "save me" look, but I just said go for yourself dog. He has never bitten Sadie for her attacks. However, if i were Jeb she would have felt my teeth a couple of weeks ago. Job would have been jealous of Jeb's patience.

Soon we are all three on the back porch, Sadie worn down to a frazzle, so she curled up with Jeb and took a long nap while I got some business done. Then we went into the back yard and played around a while, not so much to amuse the dog but to move my legs.

Sherry thinks I am also the only person in the world who eats mushroom soup in something other than a casserole. I know the dogs don't like it because when I let them have at the remains in the pot both turned up their noses. I, on the other hand love it. When I saw the can in the pantry I knew I was living right.

After a bowl of bland soup, we went back to the porch where I did more business and they continued their activities of the morning (her biting, him growling), until about ten minutes ago when Sadie snuggled up next to Jeb to take a nap. It is well after five now and darkness is already falling across the backyard and my work for the day is caught up. The dogs are down for a nap and I have some 45 minutes before time to feed them. Just time. Nothing else. A yellowish fall light is falling on the yard through what last week were leafy trees, now bare from weekend rains. As I think back on the day, except for the tootsie attack, nothing special at all. Far as I am concerned, all is right with the world.

So I will let my mind fly to other things. Maybe a bird hunt or what to get the family for Christmas or maybe just enjoy the cardinals as they wrap up the bird day with their songs and whistles. And ponder on what a blessing it is that even with my medical challenges, I can still think forward if I wish or reflect happily on life. Ah yes, what better blessing than a day that ends nicely.

I hope yours ended nicely as well.

Lower Legs Swollen Hard as Tree Trunks

Hopped in the ever aging Land Cruiser yesterday and headed over my friend Tom's house to watch a movie. Now Tom lives two-and-a-half hours away so I made the decision to just enjoy the ride. Never did the old car get over 70 and most of the time only 65. As we plodded along other cars zipped on by, all of them headed for Atlanta at the end of the T-day weekend. Zoom, zoom, they went. Just flashes of metal and paint on the wet highway. I would normally be one of them, whipping and riding like a Flash Gordon with only one thing in mind. GET THERE. Though when I got there I would only watch a movie a go to bed. Decided that just wasn't worth a visit with state trooper and especially not a deputy sheriff.

Did you know there are some very pretty forests on the sides of our highways? I vaguely remembered something like that, but as I limped along at the speed limit I got into looking right and left. Even spotted a couple of coverts I plan to research for woodcock hunting come December. Since I had never before driven the speed limit, imagine my surprise at the people who were passing and giving me the finger at the same time. Ah, I just gave 'em the finger back. Few things better than a nice ride with a little meaningless combat thrown in.

Then I get to Tom's and get out of the car. My legs felt tighter than a new spring. I could walk, but each step seemed to pull skin tighter and tighter. What the hell (or heck, depending on your preference for words)? I reached down and grasped my left leg with two hands. It was literally the size of a small oak trunk. And hard. If it hadn't been limp as a wet cookie that morning, I woulda thought it was some magic cure for my atrophy. But no, just more swelling. The right leg, which wasn't swollen as badly, was not far behind. As Tom's family ate dinner I lay on a small couch with my legs propped.

Now I know I shoulda known, but swollen feet have never been an issue for me and besides, I just had to get the hell out of the house, hang out with one of my very best pals. And that was terrific. He's got one of those televisions the size of an outdoor drive-in movie screen and a sound system that makes you think you just got shot. We watched "Blood Diamond" and there was enough killing in it to last the rest of my life. Way over done.

Interesting thing about swollen feet and legs, seems the only real cure is time, putting your feet up and walking around, which is tough stuff when you are in an automobile. Tom's wife is a physician and I figured I would get some cool second opinion from her, but she just said put them up. So I did. And kept them up through the movie as well as through the night. Since this kind of thing, in my case anyway, comes from water retention, it wasn't so bad through the night. I only went potty once (a blessing) and slept better than I had in weeks. I may have only one kidney, but it is an active little sucker...unless my legs are swollen large enough for saw timber.

Overnight the legs returned to normal but still I contemplated on which was better: Peeing every hour or so with regular legs, or only once with with swollen ones. I decided the latter...but hey, that's just me. Especially since they didn't hurt or anything.

Well, may the Lord bless and keep me, I had to repeat that drive this morning. In a driving rain. This time I could almost feel my legs beginning to bloat. By the time I got home the tree trunks had returned. So I went in and put them up and took a good long nap, Sadie draped along my side. Bless her.

I got up about an hour ago and everything seemed normal again. Now I am pondering the evening. Maybe just a couple of hours of driving around getting them all swollen up and once more going to bed without a worry of rising before the dawn. Just kidding, but damn if that ain't tempting. If you gotta have RCC and all these niggling side effects might was well figure out a way to use them. And an uninterrupted night's sleep is as good as any...maybe better.

Would I Do For Her What She Has Done For Me?

Ah, Saturday after Thanksgiving. Plans? None. Well, maybe to whack back a couple of turkey sandwiches and some warmed up gravy. For me that is a banquet. And plenty of napping. I have three areas for napping. The chair in front of the TV (like many middle aged--OK, upper middle aged) men I can put the History Channel on and just let the day roll away), the sofa in the living room (put my feet up) and, of course, the bed. Yesterday, I hit all three of them and timed each one perfectly. Sadie was tired from running around outside so she snuggled right down with me. Puppy nap warning: extends your nap by at least an hour, minimum.

During all this time Sherry is moving around the house like a automaton. And when she's not cooking, cleaning or asking me how I am doing, she is off to Target (was there ever another department store before Target?). She says it is pick up this thing or the other we really need, but I think it is just for a shiny floor fix. When she leaves for Target she always asks "Do you need anything from Target?" Since I am always half asleep weekends, visiting a department store in my mind is almost as bad as visiting one in person. So I say "no" and off she goes.  And then think of several and decide maybe not a good idea to call with one more change of mind.

In the afternoon, she made sure my bed was nice and clean and then drove to Aiken to watch my daughter ride. I'm still honking around on the couch waiting for the Tech/Georgia  game to start, which will require moving the base of operations (sleeping puppy, half-asleep Dave, Jeb and snacks) into the television room.

Finally the game ends, Sherry builds a fire and we spend almost three pleasant hours watching flames and just chatting. To be fair, she chatted and I mostly listened.

Today I got a comment from Debbie about my post on Knights Thanksgiving Day and how she feels sure if the tables were reversed I would be as good a Knight to Sherry as she has been to me. So I have spent some Sunday time thinking about that. When I am well and at the top of my game I don't have an iota of Sherry's energy and damn sure not her patience. She is fastidious. I am not. She worries about my nutrition and all that, up to and including some holistic meds. I too often don't much want to eat, but seldom do I worry about my nutrition. She takes care of this puppy in ways I would never conceive, like taking it out on a cold morning in her PJ's and waiting for it to piddle. My approach is more like: "Out the door little dog, when you are ready for a nap, just give it a scratch."

I have never understood the need to make a bed every day. Maybe when you have company, that sounds reasonable, but what the hell would they being doing in your bedroom anyway? Maybe that doesn't sound so reasonable after all. Regardless, the bed gets made, every day, with all the appropriate pillows fluffed and placed (which is something of an obstacle for a man looking for a place to goldbrick).

As for meals. I like to cook a few things, but not on a daily basis. Sherry prepares a real dinner almost every night, making sure there is plenty of protein to give me Warrior strength (but maybe in reality give her Knight strength).

So I asked my self today: Could you do that? Half that? A quarter that? if the tables were turned. Five years ago, I think not. Today, I would try my best (except for making the bed every day and running to Target. Just not genetically qualified).

You see, cancer has matured me in many ways. I no longer consider a helping hand a birthright. Instead, I have learned that when it comes to crisis, hands grasp one another across the table, each doing its best to support the other. Sometimes I am better at it than others, but the motivation, yes, even the desire, is always there.

My father told me when I was a child that one never stops maturing...if you allow yourself to grow into it. I have learned some sixty years later exactly what he meant. If Sherry ever needed a Knight I would do my best.  I am sure not as well as she has done, but my best. A helping hand is not a birthright, but Sherry has certainly earned hers...in spades.

And The Electronic Cancer World Goes Quiet

A moment ago I was reviewing the overnight statistics for the blog. Big drop off. Which is normal for holidays. In my mind's eye I see folks with things to do other than worry about cancer, or certainly my take on it. Visiting children and grandchildren, taking in a game, napping like a puppy from too much turkey and dressing, swapping lies on the front porch, all those things families do when they come together for a special event. Men doing men things, ladies doing lady things. Kids, well, kids being loud and bored. What a treasure. This rendevous  is something of which we never tire, no matter how fast time flies.

For many of us this is the best therapy day of the year. Just to be surrounded by the people who mean so much to us, from distant cousins to brothers and sisters we might not have seen since last year. For all the complaining about the "horrors" of the transportation system, somehow the vicissitudes of getting home are forgotten once we get there. For two or three days it is often a cacophony of human voices saying nothing of importance to anybody, but every word spoken has an importance for all of us. We are among our clan and nothing makes us happier no matter how much some folks may complain about going through it all...again. While we call it a holiday, anthropolgists will tell you these kinds of reunions are as old as mankind.

Many of us  just couldn't make the trip for one reason or the other, therefore the telephone lines on Thanksgiving are the second most busy of the year. We have an inherent need, not just a desire, to reach out and touch our love ones. Some calls seem to go on forever: "May I speak to Aunt Sue?" "Uncle Charlie's there? May I speak to him as well." And the beat goes on.

It becomes a day of not only personal hugs and kisses, but telephone hugs and kisses as well. And when folks finally leave to go home the words "I love you" are probably spoken more often than at any other time of the year. Maybe even meant more.

On these hectic days, we are just too busy to sit around playing with a computer. Well, that's not true, but using one to read message boards and blogs about cancer seems a little meaningless. For Warriors and Knights, these days are more special than to many others because we are here (meant in the largest of definitions) to celebrate them. What a thrill to see the new grandchild you might have thought you would never see. Yes, Warriors and Knights, regardless of the disease they are fighting, should have a real appreciation for Thanksgiving--every day, but this day most of all.

And so the electronic cancer world goes quiet while the human to human world grows louder. Good for it. Good for all of us.

Thanksgiving Means "Knight's" Day

My personal Thanksgiving is for Sherry, my Knight and mate, as well as for every other Knight. How Sherry tolerated me without cancer was a conundrum (yes, I do love that word) but with cancer, well, she's not exactly at sainthood, but still it's pretty damn amazing. I woulda been up and gone from my whiny self months ago.

Oh, I'm thankful for all the usual things such as my children, grandchildren, employer, even my health, which isn't so good, but it ain't so terrible either, circumstances considered. But Sherry is a whole nother story. She gets as tired of cancer as I do. I think more so. You see, I can take a nap a couple of times a day and forget the whole thing. Sherry has her day job and her cancer job. And she never stops. More interesting, she never seems tired, but there is no way she couldn't be just exhausted. While I might complain about side effects or this or that, she complains about nothing, except my complaining. And you know, that kinda keeps me on the up and up.

Without that Warden's attitude, I think I would be oh so much sicker, not physically, but certainly psychologically. She has, in so many ways, become the "backbone" of my life.

After Gracie left us I was surprised that Sherry was first to say let's get another dog--now. As you know, puppies can be time consuming to a fault, but she knew a puppy would fill a hole in both our lives, but reckoned mainly mine. She was right. Still, adding poop patrol to all her other Knightly duties seemed pretty extreme. And sweet. She doesn't like for me to say she is "sweet." But she is and her every act proves it.

For example, she just called home to tell me a protein drink she prepared is in the fridge. I had no idea. Yeah, that's just "sweet."

There are so many other Sherries in this world. There is Mary and Robbie and Sandi and Debbie and, well, the list goes on. Women dedicated to the care of their loved ones while at the same time working a job and running a household. And I hear from warriors  who tell me with great pride about the sacrifices their Knights make for them, how it transcends into a love-bond they could not imagine when they asked "will you marry me?" And puts the exclamation point on "for better or worse."

So I am Thankful for Sherry today, more than she could ever know. And for every other Knight who puts his or her personal fears and needs aside to do the best they can for their warriors.  The  complete lack of selfishness is beyond  amazing.  How could we, all us Warriors, not be most  thankful  for them?

Thanksgiving is not celebrated around the world, but this blog does have readers around the world. So I wish every Knight a wonderful Thanksgiving tomorrow. I would like for you to think of this day as your own.
And I hope every Warrior thanks his Lord for you. Sweet or not.

Decadron is One Arse Kicking Little Pill

So I went to the doctor today. Felt terrible. In fact had to sit down about halfway from the parking lot to his office. No pain or anything. Just burning tired muscles in the legs. What a way to greet the day. Fellow stopped by to speak. Asked why I was sitting there. Told him. He said I needed to keep moving. I said, "tell you what, you take the legs, keep them moving and when they are in good shape bring them back." Jeez, everybody is a health expert, especially if they are wearing jogging clothes in a hospital. We chatted a bit more and then he said his knees weren't so good. I told him if he sat down more he wouldn't have that problem. Touche.

So I finally get to the doc's office and meet and greet all the folks in the waiting room and then Briently calls me in to take my vitals. Now, hold your horses. Hemo: 11.5; WBC: perfect; RBC: Ditto. Sugar level: abso-damn-lutely fine. Blood/Oxygen Transfer: 100 on a scale of 100. BP? You wish you had my BP. Eighteen year olds wish they had my BP. Temperature: A little raised because Briently is so good looking, but otherwise normal.

So I say somebody needs to call Guinness. Tell them the Healthiest Man in the World (proven so) is about to die from...nothing. I was the only one who thought that funny.

So the doc comes into the examining room and lays the bad news on me. "Decadron." I sit up. "I am dying of Decadron?" He smiles, "No, but I am pretty sure that is what is stealing your strength and swelling your legs. Decadron."

Now I ain't too much into medicines. Doc says take this or that and I do. Sherry says take this or that other thing and I do. That's my medical knowledge. But I do have an ordinal gauge about the power of certain drugs. For example, Sutent is 50 mg. Kick your arse. Decatron, a steroid to help edemas from swelling,  is 2 mg, twice a day. Until today I thought, "wimpy sumbitch" of a pill. Turns out that that wimpy sumbitch packs some power. As in really doing a job on your thighs. Which is why I have such difficulty getting up sometimes. Which is why I was at the doc's today.

So what are we gonna do? The doc shrugs. "We are going to cut it back again and put you on physical therapy for a while." "Ha," I said, "i can administer my own physical therapy, no need for professionals."
He shrugs. "Really?" "Shootin' straight." "And you have been dealing with this for how long?" "About two months." "And how consistent are you with your exercise?" He had me on that one. OK, PT for me.

So they wheel me to my car and home I go, a new respect for the 90-pound weakling in my medicine cabinet. Sutent may make me sick; Dec  brought me to my knees, literally.

Sadie and I take a good long nap on the sofa and I feel immensely better when we get up, until she piddled on the throw rug. I need to learn to get up faster.  Now I have a truly practical reason for PT. Sherry is not happy to hear about puppy piddle on her rugs. I will match her up with Decadron any day.

Just Dang to Heck Those Little Worries

Come tomorrow, nine a.m, this writer will be down at Dr.Shlaer's one more time. Talk about the swollen feet that are now swollen legs. Figured they would just upgrade some medicine or the other, call it in and that would be that. But nooooooo, come on down, let's take a look. Seems like since the end of August I have spent a lot of time in that office, some of it my fault (especially when Gracie and I went for a little therapy dog work. Can't wait for Sadie to get old enough). But the truth of the matter is some days (or at least part of days) I couldn't feel any worse, especially since my ill-fated fishing trip back in August. It is not just the legs, they just look like aspen stumps, no pain or anything. And I don't feel overall poorly every day, but boy, when it hits, it is a sunami.

Even I would agree that I am just whining, but when I went up to that mountain my body worked just fine. I could wade in the current, negotiate rocks, cast with a precision that would make you cry with envy (yeah, that's bragging). By the time I got back to Augusta the next day all my energy had been expended. ALL of it. I could (and still can't) climb a full flight of stairs without burning leg muscles and momentary loss of breath. This has now gone on for almost three months. The odd thing is: According to the machines that test these kind of things, I am doing just fine. And that includes the tumors. When I exercise I build strength then it just seems to bleed away. And I am no less ambulatory than anyone working in a day to day office job. Curious indeed.

When Sherry and I noticed yesterday that my legs were swollen as well, she suggested I call the doc and not just ask about anything. Instead, "you need three months off of Sutent." My attitude is little less rebellious. Let's just see what the doctor says before we make demands. But truth be known, he is not going to have much to say. There is no physical reason why I should feel so poorly so often, except Sutent or maybe the Decadron (a steroid), and we have already cut the latter back by half-a-dose. Nor do I think it is diet as while I sometimes have to tough it out, I eat a pretty well, might even be gaining a pound or two. When I am working (sitting down), I feel just fine, but do need a short nap or two most everyday. Especially if I do anything physical.

I just don't get it.

And that brings me back to the doctor and tomorrow's visit. I do not want to waste his time. Folks with a lot greater needs than mine need that time. And I am concerned he might order a whole regimen of tests. And I am concerned I am just being a big baby. Since I have been off Sutent for as long as six weeks, I don't think an extended vacation is going to do much. However, one little clue niggles me. I went to the mountain just three days after they zapped five brain tumors with a gamma knife. Could it be possible that procedure damaged something in the old thinker that affects my physical state. If that is the case (not a happy thought a bit), not much we can do about it. But it could mean physical therapy.

So, like most Warriors, it is back to the doc again, with some real doc anxiety working on my head. And again with a list of worries I could do without. Most likely all of this is in my mind (does that sound familiar?). And the mind can trigger anything. As I type, I think about the great day I had Saturday down at the Plantation, most all things cancer forgotten. What a blessing.

Boy, wouldn't so many of us love to have that blessing every day. Now I gotta go put out the trash. Oh, and feed the dogs. And clean up some Sadie piddle. It is also a blessing that worry can take a back seat to practical. At least for a while.

We Need a Cure for Sutent

A friend asked last week: "You still have cancer? I thought you were over that. How long is this going to take?"

After 30-something months dealing with RCC and its ever present side effects my friend had asked the question of the month. Answer: Damn if I know. Theoretically we are on the meds until we are No Evidence of Disease (NED) or until they quit working or until, well, you know. The bad/good news is that if one drug stops working, say Sutent, they have two more waiting in the wings and more on the way. Since I have already done Nexavar I am not looking forward to going back to it. I know nothing about Torisel from a practical point of view, but do know it is no fun at all. And about a month ago I realized that I (and you) could be on these things "forever." Made sick to some degree in our daily lives so much that we can beat cancer, but just live with it.

That sounds cynical. Hell, it is cynical, but for me it is becoming the truth. As my doc calls it, "Sutent fatigue" is robbing much of the quality of my life. The digestive issues, the sheer physical weariness and any number of 0ther more minor side effects (back pain, dry skin, swollen feet, etc.) sometimes seem as bad as anything untreated cancer could throw at you. And worse, after a while everybody around you wants this stuff (the side effects) gone. They grow weary as well.  You might actually find yourself thinking, "you know, cancer is terrible, but this stuff is keeping me from living the life I am fighting to keep. What's the point?" That may be why so many of us are on antidepressants. Thank goodness for them.

Not a happy thought. Especially when you consider this could  go on for years, perhaps decades. I have been on Sutent for almost two years now and I think the doc has it right. After awhile you do get Sutent fatigue, some kind of cumulation of side effects that just don't go away, no matter the two weeks off.

Frankly, Mr. Pfizer, I am ready for a cure for Sutent. I want to eat again. I want my strength of only six months ago back. I want my feet to not hurt, my back to feel normal ALL the time--OK, most of the time. You would figure for eight grand a month they could come up with a medicine to save your life without half killing you.

But wait, Dave, you don't understand. You are a pioneer. These are new medicines and you should be happy beyond belief to have them. And they might have the real wonder drug tomorrow. Where is the good attitude man?

I have a great attitude. I am happy, but a leetle better life to go with all the life-saving would be nice. It ain't like I'm gonna quit Sutent or anything. But it would be nice for the folks at Pfizer to see if they could use a little of our money for some side effects treatments. Or some other company. There would be one hell of market.

Now that would be one way to really kick RCC arse. Personally, I can't wait. Boy, what a Christmas present. One additional pill to fight all these things.Maybe not get rid of them, but at least make them just a tad easier. A cure for Sutent. I get excited just thinking about it. Now, I gotta go in and take my nausea pill.