Well dear friends, I've started on Step 3 of the program described in the "Testing 1/2/3" posting earlier this month:
Yesterday, my chemo doc (who is also my blood chemistry doc) took me off Coumadin -- my blood thinning medication -- in preparation for in-depth blood testing to take place in roughly 10 days. He was very good about the decision, giving Deb and me a chance to continue on the meds for another month or so if either of us felt it would be a good idea. (Yes, he specifically asked "Mrs. Lyons" if she felt okay with the program!) Neither of us could figure out a reason why we should wait, so we agreed this was the right path to follow.
(I should mention here that the recent sonograms on my legs showed some residual clotting on my right leg -- the original clot -- but complete clearing of the left leg -- the clot that showed up in April of this year. Despite the residue from the first clot, testing also showed unrestricted blood flow in both legs. Yay!)
So the Coumadin has done its job of keeping new clots from forming, but it has to stop now to allow the blood to regain its normal chemistry.
So here's what's at stake: if the tests come back with good results, I may be off blood thinners forever -- or until another clot shows up. (Another clot at any time would mean that I would be on blood thinners for the rest of my life, no "if's," "and's." or "but's.")
And good test results would be A Very Good Thing, since there are hazards associated with being on blood thinners. Like any serious bleeding from an accident or whatever would be difficult to stop. And bleeding into an "internal cavity" like my stomach or lungs would be even worse than bad. (If it's blood thinners for the duration, I guess I get one of those Medic Alert thingys to wear...)
And if the tests come back with "uh-oh" results -- as you've probably guessed -- I'm back on blood thinners forever anyway.
So it's a big deal.
Deb and I were surprised to hear that the results of the tests wouldn't be available for four to six weeks. We're used to getting PT/INR test results in a couple of hours... But rest assured good people, that I'll post the results as soon as I can.
Late in the session, my doc suggested I continue living for a while, as there are some blood thinning meds in the drug pipeline that should be much easier to live with that Coumadin. Hard to argue with that, I guess...
And he ended the session by admonishing me thusly, saying: "Randy, I want you to know that I've worked very hard to get you through your cancer treatments and keep you alive. And if you were to die from a pulmonary embolism (i.e., a blood clot that breaks loose and hits the lungs, heart, or brain) and un-do all my efforts, I will be very upset with you! Very upset!"
And he sounded like he meant it.
Thank you for being with me on this journey. Sometimes, when it feels a little lonely in here, I think of you and all the support you've given me. And I feel strongly that I would not be doing this well without you and your thoughts and prayers and encouraging words.
And I'm sure that my chemo doc would thank you as well if he knew how much you've helped to keep me around. After all, he's worked so hard...
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
This Year's Skunk
Last year was the first year that we knew we had a skunk. We would see it in our back yard after dark, prowling across the lawn and in around the rose bushes.
(You may want to visit here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skunk before continuing. Among other things, there's a picture there of a baby skunk that you really shouldn't miss.)
My first encounter with it was when I felt called to go out into the back yard. I was walking through the house, from some now-forgotten Point A to some equally forgotten Point B for some reason I forget when I "heard a voice" telling me: "You need to go out into the back yard. Right now!" So I did. And there was the skunk -- fortunately, at a distance that was comfortable enough for both of us.
The skunk looked at me an began to twitch its tail, as if to say: "Hey, I'm armed and I know how to use this thing." I decided not to move and the skunk seemed to approve of my decision.
The coloration on the critter was somewhat deceiving: it was almost completely white from head to tail, all over its back and down to about its mid-line. Then it was coal black from there on down. I first thought it was a very fluffy cat, but the eloquent twitching of that ever-so-elegant tail was unmistakable. Even for a novice skunk spotter like me.
So we saw the skunk three or four times that year -- usually from inside the house. We have a floodlight over the back yard so we had a good clear view with minimal chance of interfering with the skunk's prowling. But on one occasion, Deb was sitting on the front porch early in the morning and the skunk walked past. On its way home, one might presume...
Anyway, the patterning on this year's skunk is quite different. He (or she) has a jaunty pair of stripes that start at the head and quickly part to the sides of the animal, terminating just in front of her/his back legs. Look more like racing stripes than anything else I can think of.
And we've seen this year's skunk much more often. He/she will stay in the back yard for thirty minutes or so, digging smallish holes in the lawn probably looking for worms or grubs or both. The holes are inconsequential and the avidity with which the animal hunts its dinner is a great deal of fun to watch. Sometimes, she/he jumps up slightly and pounces down on his/her prey.
So, have we had skunks in the back yard for years and years and just never noticed? Can't say.
Why does the skunk revisit us so often? Is there something about our turf that produces particularly tasty and abundant food? Dunno.
Does the skunk live nearby? Maybe.
Are we pleased to have such a visitor? Absolutely!
We've never noticed a skunk smell, so she/he seems to go about his/her business with minimal interference from cats, dogs, raccoons or other potential annoyances.
Deb and I are in the habit of giving names to things like flowers, birds, and other residents of God's kingdom, and are probably going to call the skunk "Francis" or "Frances" since we don't know the animal's gender, won't be able to find out easily, and will seldom if ever write out the name again. So the name works for an oral reference to either a boy or a girl skunk.
Now, Deb and I have taken some long trips to witness the wonders of nature, including the Galapagos and Costa Rica. And some not-so-long trips, including Cape May and Conowingo. And we have six or eight bird feeders set out to attract birds to us. But the skunks are the first mammals ever to come to 419 W. Union Street to visit us. (Other than the ubiquitous squirrels, but they don't count. And bunnies, which do count, but not nearly as much as skunks...) And the skunks do this totally on their own volition.
And we couldn't be more pleased.
(You may want to visit here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skunk before continuing. Among other things, there's a picture there of a baby skunk that you really shouldn't miss.)
My first encounter with it was when I felt called to go out into the back yard. I was walking through the house, from some now-forgotten Point A to some equally forgotten Point B for some reason I forget when I "heard a voice" telling me: "You need to go out into the back yard. Right now!" So I did. And there was the skunk -- fortunately, at a distance that was comfortable enough for both of us.
The skunk looked at me an began to twitch its tail, as if to say: "Hey, I'm armed and I know how to use this thing." I decided not to move and the skunk seemed to approve of my decision.
The coloration on the critter was somewhat deceiving: it was almost completely white from head to tail, all over its back and down to about its mid-line. Then it was coal black from there on down. I first thought it was a very fluffy cat, but the eloquent twitching of that ever-so-elegant tail was unmistakable. Even for a novice skunk spotter like me.
So we saw the skunk three or four times that year -- usually from inside the house. We have a floodlight over the back yard so we had a good clear view with minimal chance of interfering with the skunk's prowling. But on one occasion, Deb was sitting on the front porch early in the morning and the skunk walked past. On its way home, one might presume...
Anyway, the patterning on this year's skunk is quite different. He (or she) has a jaunty pair of stripes that start at the head and quickly part to the sides of the animal, terminating just in front of her/his back legs. Look more like racing stripes than anything else I can think of.
And we've seen this year's skunk much more often. He/she will stay in the back yard for thirty minutes or so, digging smallish holes in the lawn probably looking for worms or grubs or both. The holes are inconsequential and the avidity with which the animal hunts its dinner is a great deal of fun to watch. Sometimes, she/he jumps up slightly and pounces down on his/her prey.
So, have we had skunks in the back yard for years and years and just never noticed? Can't say.
Why does the skunk revisit us so often? Is there something about our turf that produces particularly tasty and abundant food? Dunno.
Does the skunk live nearby? Maybe.
Are we pleased to have such a visitor? Absolutely!
We've never noticed a skunk smell, so she/he seems to go about his/her business with minimal interference from cats, dogs, raccoons or other potential annoyances.
Deb and I are in the habit of giving names to things like flowers, birds, and other residents of God's kingdom, and are probably going to call the skunk "Francis" or "Frances" since we don't know the animal's gender, won't be able to find out easily, and will seldom if ever write out the name again. So the name works for an oral reference to either a boy or a girl skunk.
Now, Deb and I have taken some long trips to witness the wonders of nature, including the Galapagos and Costa Rica. And some not-so-long trips, including Cape May and Conowingo. And we have six or eight bird feeders set out to attract birds to us. But the skunks are the first mammals ever to come to 419 W. Union Street to visit us. (Other than the ubiquitous squirrels, but they don't count. And bunnies, which do count, but not nearly as much as skunks...) And the skunks do this totally on their own volition.
And we couldn't be more pleased.
Testing 1 / 2 / 3
This coming Thursday, I begin a series of tests aimed at determining how my blood clot issues will be handled -- quite possibly for the rest of my life. I'm pretty excited. In an anxious kind of way...
Testing #1: On Thursday, I will get a battery of blood tests that I've had before. Names for these tests include ONCOP/CP304062, CBC with dif and pit, and PT/INR. (Please don't ask: I don't know what any of that means.) But the idea is to get a comprehensive snapshot of my current blood chemistry.
(Hmmm... is that possible? A "comprehensive snapshot"? Well I think -- I hope -- you get the idea.) .
This is in preparation for "Testing #3." Please read on.
Testing #2: This also takes place on Thursday. It will be sonograms of both my right and left lower legs. These are the places where the serious blood clots, (AKA "deep vein thromboses," AKA "DVT's") were located earlier. My chemo/hematology doc wants some "baseline data" on the status of the clots: Are either or both of them still there? Or are they totally dissolved? Could either potentially re-form a blockage of a major vein (which, in case you missed this point, would be life-threatening)?
For the last eight or ten months or so, people have been asking me how this clot issue is coming along: am I healed yet? And I'm deeply grateful for their interest, but I never have a very satisfying answer to give them: I feel fine and have a "green light" from my doc to work out in the gym -- as long as I avoid lifting heavy weights. But "feeling fine" and "being healed/cured" are, of course, quite different things. For example, he doesn't like my driving to Meadville, which is a six-hour trip if you drive straight through. He doesn't like it even if I stop every two hours and walk around for a half hour or so.
The idea is that, if I encounter future clotting difficulties, the dual sonograms done on Thursday will allow docs to distinguish between brand new clots and re-formation of old ones.
This, too, is in preparation for "Testing #3." Please read on.
Testing #3: The final step in the plan looks like this: With all this new background data available, my doc will take me off blood thinners for a week or so in preparation for some in-depth blood chemistry testing (whose alphabet-soup names I don't know...). These new tests -- which will include genetic testing -- will be will attempt to determine the underlying causes of the clotting.
I mean, I lived the first sixty-odd years of my life without any concern about blood clots. And the notion of driving four or five days straight to Alberta (which is due north of Montana) was not only conceivable but perfectly do-able. I know this because I did it three times. But now, I have concerns about getting on an airplane for a two-hour flight. (The two hours in the air should not represent a problem, but if the plane is held on the tarmac for two additional hours or more, clotting becomes a very real possibility.)
At this point -- without this comprehensive testing -- my docs can't tell me what's okay to do and what's not. What's safe and what isn't.
One possible outcome of Testing #3 is a simple conclusion like, "No wonder you've had clots. You're not eating enough rutabagas." Or, "Just steer clear of Cheetos and you'll be fine." And wouldn't either of those be a wonderful thing to hear?
Another outcome might be, "Well, we've uncovered a genetic basis for your clotting. And the chemo treatments you had last year kicked the predilection for clotting into actual clotting. Tough on you. Stay on blood thinners forever and try to stay swathed in a thick cotton wrapping for the rest of your life." And wouldn't that be a bummer?
So this is shaping up to be one of those proverbial forks in the road that determine my activities for the forseeable future:
-- can I risk getting on a plane for a long trip? (If and when I can fly again, Deb and I have some wonderful plans!)
-- will I ever be able to go dinosaur hunting in Alberta again? (Would it be okay to drive again? Fly again? Hike the ridges and arroyos with the risk of falling and getting badly dinged up?)
-- is something as simple-but-wonderful as unicycling actually dangerous for me?
And your thoughts and prayers are hereby requested, as always, gratefully acknowledged.
Stay well.
Testing #1: On Thursday, I will get a battery of blood tests that I've had before. Names for these tests include ONCOP/CP304062, CBC with dif and pit, and PT/INR. (Please don't ask: I don't know what any of that means.) But the idea is to get a comprehensive snapshot of my current blood chemistry.
(Hmmm... is that possible? A "comprehensive snapshot"? Well I think -- I hope -- you get the idea.) .
This is in preparation for "Testing #3." Please read on.
Testing #2: This also takes place on Thursday. It will be sonograms of both my right and left lower legs. These are the places where the serious blood clots, (AKA "deep vein thromboses," AKA "DVT's") were located earlier. My chemo/hematology doc wants some "baseline data" on the status of the clots: Are either or both of them still there? Or are they totally dissolved? Could either potentially re-form a blockage of a major vein (which, in case you missed this point, would be life-threatening)?
For the last eight or ten months or so, people have been asking me how this clot issue is coming along: am I healed yet? And I'm deeply grateful for their interest, but I never have a very satisfying answer to give them: I feel fine and have a "green light" from my doc to work out in the gym -- as long as I avoid lifting heavy weights. But "feeling fine" and "being healed/cured" are, of course, quite different things. For example, he doesn't like my driving to Meadville, which is a six-hour trip if you drive straight through. He doesn't like it even if I stop every two hours and walk around for a half hour or so.
The idea is that, if I encounter future clotting difficulties, the dual sonograms done on Thursday will allow docs to distinguish between brand new clots and re-formation of old ones.
This, too, is in preparation for "Testing #3." Please read on.
Testing #3: The final step in the plan looks like this: With all this new background data available, my doc will take me off blood thinners for a week or so in preparation for some in-depth blood chemistry testing (whose alphabet-soup names I don't know...). These new tests -- which will include genetic testing -- will be will attempt to determine the underlying causes of the clotting.
I mean, I lived the first sixty-odd years of my life without any concern about blood clots. And the notion of driving four or five days straight to Alberta (which is due north of Montana) was not only conceivable but perfectly do-able. I know this because I did it three times. But now, I have concerns about getting on an airplane for a two-hour flight. (The two hours in the air should not represent a problem, but if the plane is held on the tarmac for two additional hours or more, clotting becomes a very real possibility.)
At this point -- without this comprehensive testing -- my docs can't tell me what's okay to do and what's not. What's safe and what isn't.
One possible outcome of Testing #3 is a simple conclusion like, "No wonder you've had clots. You're not eating enough rutabagas." Or, "Just steer clear of Cheetos and you'll be fine." And wouldn't either of those be a wonderful thing to hear?
Another outcome might be, "Well, we've uncovered a genetic basis for your clotting. And the chemo treatments you had last year kicked the predilection for clotting into actual clotting. Tough on you. Stay on blood thinners forever and try to stay swathed in a thick cotton wrapping for the rest of your life." And wouldn't that be a bummer?
So this is shaping up to be one of those proverbial forks in the road that determine my activities for the forseeable future:
-- can I risk getting on a plane for a long trip? (If and when I can fly again, Deb and I have some wonderful plans!)
-- will I ever be able to go dinosaur hunting in Alberta again? (Would it be okay to drive again? Fly again? Hike the ridges and arroyos with the risk of falling and getting badly dinged up?)
-- is something as simple-but-wonderful as unicycling actually dangerous for me?
And your thoughts and prayers are hereby requested, as always, gratefully acknowledged.
Stay well.
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