Rounds 9 and 10

Two chemo cycles have snaked their way through my body since my last post. And I’m really pleased to report that I’m tolerating the reduced dosage much better than the maximum allowable dosage that I received during the first eight cycles.

You see, the thing to remember here is that I am enrolled in a clinical trial. And that means that while some preliminary research has been conducted, the majority of it is still ongoing. This in turn means that when you sign on the dotted line you have no guarantees whatsoever. Only a vague understanding that the drug might help your situation and probably won’t kill you. At least not while you’re within spitting distance of the doctor.

You may recall that I had some trouble during the prior few rounds with muscle soreness and elevated CPK levels. So my dosage was reduced by 20% (from 2.80 to 2.25 mg Trabectedin). And this seems to have done the trick. Minimal muscle soreness and CPK levels as low as 42 (contrast that to the prior 3,850 level that won me a two-night stay at the hospital).

My belly continues to slowly reduce in size – I kinda feel like I’m living through a reverse pregnancy. And I continue to feel better with every passing day. It’s easier to do ordinary household chores again, simply because I’m able to bend over. (Not that I’ve ever been a whirling dervish when it comes to household chores.) And I’m beginning to venture out more and more.

A buddy and I went to a Dodger game immediately prior to Chemo Round 10. We got there right when the stadium opened. We both had to pee after the long drive so we made a beeline to the restroom. It was empty. For those that haven’t had the pleasure of peeing at Dodger stadium, the facility consists of a 20-ft long cattle trough. We assumed stations at opposite ends of the trough and peed – me a stream of blood.

Not this again. No pain, just blood. Hmmm . . . this was going to be a problem for the rest of the evening when the trough was occupied elbow-to-elbow. On the way out I noted where the trough drains were so that upon a return trip I could pee directly into one and spare fellow Dodger fans having to watch a stream of blood make its way downhill. I mean, what the hell do you say in that situation? There’s really no such thing as a satisfactory explanation.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to use the restroom again for the remainder of the game so I avoided the inevitable freak show. But we did have to rendezvous with Cecily who was scheduled to pick me up after the game. That’s a near impossible task in the traffic jam that is Dodger Stadium and vicinity as a sellout crowd departs. Anyway, after many frustrating attempts to reach the same coordinates at the same time, we just got on a freeway at about 11PM and exited at one of the first off-ramps, which put us in an undesirable area of LA known as Filipinotown.

We pulled off the main drag into the parking lot of a McDonald’s. It was closed. But we could see one employee through the window. He was vacuuming the light bulbs. You know you’re in a bad neighborhood when the light bulbs require vacuuming.

My buddy got out of the car to walk around to the front of the McDonald’s to determine the cross street so that I could phone it in to Cec. You know you’re with a good friend when he says “I hope I don’t get shot”. As for me, I had to pee again. And of course, that meant more blood. As I expressed regret that I had left a puddle of blood in the bushes at the drive-thru, my buddy assured me not to worry, that it was a nightly occurrence in that neighborhood.

The bleeding resolved the next day and hasn’t returned since. You may remember that I gave the doctors a shot at me on this subject. The urologist that I saw indicated that because the kidney stents looked good on x-ray and an infection wasn’t present there was no cause for concern. I certainly don’t plan to give him another shot at me on this.

Anyway, despite the occasional blood in the urine I seem to be thriving. So much so that I’ve agreed to my first business trip in more than a year. It was too good a consulting gig to pass up, so there I’ll be – at over 7,000 feet elevation with a golf-ball sized tumor in my heart and numerous lesions in my lungs. Talk about climbing a mountain!

Before some of you get too excited about this, I did confer with my cardiologist. He spoke with the usual forked tongue, saying that although he could not “sanction” the trip my heart is functioning normally. His biggest concern seemed to be that if I experienced altitude sickness that it would take me longer to recover from it. Whatever. What am I supposed to do, spend the rest of my life at sea level?

I’ll post an update over the Labor Day weekend regarding how the trip went. Until then . . .