Slogging

Slog: To plod (one's way) perseveringly especially against difficulty.  

That sounds about right these days.  When I compare how I'm feeling at the end of week 2 of the treatment cycle now relative to earlier cycles, I definitely feel a deeper head-to-toe fatigue than before. Everyone predicted there would be a cumulative effect and I guess that's what it must be.  Sure hit me hard on the tennis court this morning, as I struggled to move my feet to where they needed to be to hit the ball.  

It reminds me of the effect of higher and higher altitude pressing down on the head, the lungs and the body, and just making it harder to function with precision and the normal 'bounce'.  I've been thinking back to the Jones Boys' trek up Kilimanjaro (December 2000-January 2001) lately and how much of a grind the latter days of it were.  Our motto was 'Pole, Pole', Swahili for 'Slowly, Slowly', which served us really well when the going got tough.  

As much as it all feels more and more like slogging, I'm reminded that I have so much to be thankful for - the fact that we have such an incredible network of friends and family around us and lifting us up in so many ways, and that my new job and workplace have given me such a rewarding cause to invest in and amazing team of colleagues to come alongside.  Life is so good!  It's just that I have to embrace a slower pace than usual these days.  Pole, pole.  One step at a time.

They are right! It is a Marathon!

Everyone warned us: chemo isn't a quick fix; it's a marathon.  We knew that, but now - in the midst of round 4 (of 6) - we are living it and it isn't fun.  While Andrew still goes to work, helps with coaching and homework, he just feels "blah."  He's tired, he's lost his taste for many foods and drinks, and he cannot seem to shake the cough from last week's cold.
Mind you, neither of us has ever run a marathon.  I (CJ) ran a half marathon once - in Kigali.  Those of you who have been to Africa may not be surprised to know that organized races on that continent can be notorious for starting late.  Speeches by dignitaries there to open the event are often late and long winded, meaning the runners hit the pavement (or red clay in my case) long after the sun has burned away any cool morning air.  By mile 9 it was clear I was not going to be able to stand the heat much longer.  My only hope was to speed up and finish before my body failed me.
With chemo, we cannot speed this up to get to the finish line before April.  We have to face this one long day at a time.  Next week once AJ starts to feel more "normal", the days will speed up.  Until then we're counting the moments until his chemo pack comes off (19hrs!)
Sorry for the downer post.... despite the "blahs" we do try to cling to the great things we are seeing during these times: friends who drive by our house and pray for us, send encouraging texts or emails, drop off a meal or offer a ride, send us (out of the blue!) gift boxes of spices or gift cards to swanky restaurants. We feel more connected than ever to our friends and family all across the globe.  We just need to remember this at the 9 mile mark!  Thanks for helping us remember.

On Pins and Needles

According to the dictionary: "Being 'on pins and needles' means feeling sharp anticipation or anxiety; in a state of suspense. Someone who is 'on pins and needles' is very anxious and nervous." No doubt we were on pins and needles last week while waiting for the results from the PET scan. I (AJ) like to think I do pretty well at keeping the nerves in check but I must say, last week was a tall order.  When the good news came to us Friday morning, I couldn't believe how much weight was lifted from my shoulders! It must have been building, without my being fully aware of it, over the 72 hours we waited, and what a relief it was to get out from under that weight.   

The whole experience made me think of other times in my life when I've felt similar tension around uncertain outcomes. I thought of when I went to live with a family overseas for the first time or, more poignantly, when our two older children were carjacked in Rwanda and how, gripped by fear, I couldn't focus on anything else until we learned that they were safe and unharmed. In the more recent past, I thought about one more pronounced valley in my journey as a freelance consultant, wondering whether I would secure enough work to pay the bills. All of these were situations that I couldn't control, where I felt somewhere between uncomfortable and panicked.  

Yet these were also times when I grew, perhaps counter-intuitively, in my faith. The only response I found was to say something along the lines of, "God, it's in your hands. Show me the way. I know that you will protect and provide for me and my family - thank you! - and trust in your ultimate goodness."  I'm thankful that, in my own experience, God often uses times of vulnerability and uncertainty to weave us into deeper relationships and mold us for the better, strengthening our courage, patience and determination in the process. I’m sensing that that’s what’s happening now and it’s giving me real strength heading into the second half of therapy.  And even as I brace myself for treatment week 4, it's awesome to know the drugs are working about as well as could be expected and that the prognosis remains very good.  Thanks to all of you for ongoing well wishes, prayers, and support.  We wouldn't be trekking along at such a clip without you!

More Forest Bathing

It was COLD out there today!

It was great to get the good news that the treatment is working!  Unfortunately Andrew still has three more treatments to go.... Today we took advantage of the fact that Andrew's cold is waning to go for a winter hike - all five of us.  A bit of wind chill, a bit of bushwhacking and a bunch of complaining made it interesting.  But the view of the Potomac river through the bare trees was stunning! Hopefully this will keep AJ's blood counts up and keep him strong for the week ahead!

Back on Track!

Phew!  After bouncing around the rim, the ball has dropped in!  Just in the nick of time, too (to order the chemo drugs for Monday that will keep AJ's treatment on schedule.)  Andrew's pet scan has been declared "negative." This means the treatment is working and should be continued!  Hallelujah! 
For those of you who like numbers: Andrew's pet scan came back with an SUV ("something uptake value") of 2.1 on the scale of 1-15. The SUV measures how much "cancer" is in the system based on how "lit up" the pet scan is.  For comparison, back in December, AJ's SUV was >23! Normally a 1 or a 2 is considered cancer-free.  On Tuesday, AJ formally signed on to a Johns Hopkins trial that would change his treatment to a more intense chemo - if the pet scan was above 2.  Since 2.1 is just a hair above 2.0, we needed to hear from the Hopkins doctor that he believes that the current treatment is working and should not be intensified.  This morning we learned that everyone involved votes for continuing the existing treatment plan.  (If you are confused by this last paragraph, don't worry, you are not alone.)

So the bottom line is that AJ is well on his way to being cancer free!  Round four will seem so much easier knowing that there are significant results already.  And each time we can prepare a bit better - the doctor practically ordered Andrew to work from home today (he's still battling a nasty cold) and to take as much Tylenol PM next week to insure that he sleeps well.  In the meantime Andrew will spend the weekend doing what he loves - coaching basketball, playing tennis, and convincing me to hike on Sunday despite a cold & windy forecast.

Not exactly "Nothing but net!"

Well, Andrew talked to our contact at Hopkins and while the tumor has shrunk an incredible amount (it is 1/10th of its original size!), this is not the indisputable "nothing but net" result the doctors were hoping for.  Unlike Austin Rivers' final shot last night, this is a more of a "bounce around the rim" shot and we're still waiting to see if the ball drops in or not.  The doctors and radiologists at Hopkins are conferring and we'll know more tomorrow at our scheduled appointment with the Virginia Hospital oncologist.  Of course we wish this were more clear cut; again, we'll know more tomorrow.  Til then, stay tuned.  No reason to panic (yet) and I'm going off to work while Andrew and the family enjoy no less than TWO soups which have been dropped off in the last 24 hrs!  As always, we'll keep you posted.  Please continue to pray for AJ's complete healing.

No news yet...

Don't worry that you haven't heard anything yet.  We haven't either. It's 11am and we are still waiting to hear from the Radiologist at Hopkins. Last night Duke beat Carolina in a miraculous comeback - by 1 point in a buzzer beating shot from the three point line - surely a harbinger (I always wanted to use this word!) for today's anticipated news.  Meanwhile, this morning the surgical veterinarian told us Rocko has healed on his own and doesn't need surgery. (Proof that the prayers of 4th grade boys work!)  Andrew & I like this trend and are eagerly hoping the doctor's report completes this trifecta of great news. Thanks for your concern, emails, calls, etc.  We will keep you posted.

Being still

"The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still." Exodus 14:13-15.

Through the pet scan, God is fighting for Andrew.  And AJ had to be pretty darn still to have it happen. No wife, no TV, no reading during the "intake" hour.  We got quite the science lesson  from the radiologists. I now know why the radioactive glucose reacts with AJ's cancer cells and why it was important for him to be calm & still - in case we weren't listening to the Exodus verses.
And, in answer to prayers, we were back on I-95 just after noon and Andrew was at his desk at Discovery by 12:45.  (The guy is still working; amazing!) While the set up wasn't as comfortable as the last pet scan in Arlington (AJ can blog about this), the time seemed to go faster for me.  The Bonhoeffer biography I'm reading seems a bit heavy this week so I switched to One on One by John Feinstein and cannot put it down.  [Nate to AJ: "Why is Mom reading a sports book?"] The crazy world of sport reporting is a perfect diversion; Andrew was back at my side before I knew it.
So what's next?  We wait.  I wish I could say we'll be still, but there are music lessons and basketball games to attend. Two radiologists will be reading this scan.  Besides the "regular" radiologist, the head of the department, who is also the head of the clinical trial AJ agreed to join this morning, must read it and write his report.  This may take a day or so.  But we will keep you posted.  Til then, please pray that the pet scan comes back "negative" (which is positive news for us) and that we don't need to pursue more intense chemo.

Tomorrow's a big day

Well, tomorrow is The Big Mid-Treatment Pet Scan.  Ideally this will show that the tumor is responding to (i.e. being wiped out by) the R-EPOCH chemo treatment that Andrew's been following.  We fully expect to get great results, but we'll be sleeping much better once the radiologist's (positive) report is in!  While we are scheduled to meet with AJ's oncologist on Friday, we may well hear the results of the scan by Wed or Thurs. 
So tomorrow morning we check in at Johns Hopkins at 7:30am. The "prep" for this is extensive including fasting and no extreme athletic activity prior to the scan.  They want AJ as calm as possible.  (Good thing there's no Duke game tonight!) We appreciate prayers for a smooth trip to Baltimore in the am, an efficient process once we are there, and the chance to return to DC before rush hour! (Heck, since we're asking for prayers, we might as well ask for it all, right?) Thanks for following, everyone!

A Normal Week

Darcy and her cousins in MA

Well, with a ton of help from friends (thank you!), we made it through our tough week last week.  Barely. Wow!  It is so nice to be in the middle of these days between rounds of chemo when Andrew is feeling strong and when he can be active. We all found the third round of chemo harder - AJ was more fatigued and annoyed by the pack of drugs he carried around. But maybe it was the confluence of work events, high school exams, the dog's health issues, and 4th grade Colonial Day that sent us over the edge.  Anyway, we're back now to a "normal" week - although normal this week includes a visit to the vet to rule out surgery, to the the orthopedist to check on Darcy's broken wrists (from snowboarding last weekend), and to the memorial service for a 34 yr old who passed away last weekend from (a very different form of) lymphoma.  Even as we see daily how life here on earth can be so hard, I'm reminded to keep a broader perspective by my office mate who today exclaimed out of (almost) nowhere, "I'm so happy! I love my life!" May we all say the same thing no matter what our "normal" week looks like.