Pain is swallowing my body. Walking 250 steps or more brings extreme tightness in the groins both of both legs and lower calves. To that, former WGN radio host Al Lerner would commically retort, ‘a groin is a terrible thing to pull.’ Spasms crept into my right bicep, forearm, through to my fingers, and radiates significant pain when lifting anything above the shoulder. Through it all, I keep reading previous posts on ‘What’s a good life’ and asking myself, “Am I living it?” That exchange is often followed by remembering something from my past, usually negative, and trying to mentally reconcile that person looking back through the mirror.
Tag Archive: Cancer
A friend knocked at my door and dropped off a bottle of seaweed pills. “It will fix metabolism and fight cancer.” Of course, I accepted the offer unconditionally. After some small talk, I shut the door and tossed them on the counter behind my toaster with the other worthless crap I received. I don’t take ‘magic’ supplements because they don’t work. And technically, it’s hard to do something when there’s a lack of faith. Supplements do not make you invincible.
New rule: Never go to a Cancer Doctor at the doctor’s request on Good Friday. Why? The news is unlikely to be ‘good news.’ During my April 4th clinical appointment, my Primary Care Physician recommended a friend whose a Cancer Orthopedic Surgeon. “His office will likely call to schedule you in a couple of weeks. He might be able to assist with pain management. I will forward his office your records this afternoon.” Several weeks later never happened; I received the call April 5th.
There’s a moment in everyone’s life when the morning alarm sounds, and you smack the ‘snooze button.’ “Oh God,” we whisper, “Just five minutes more.” That very moment begins another day of weirdness. For instance, I chose to drive to work yesterday. And there’s that weird moment when a white Toyota confused me. At that moment, I lost orientation. Where am I? What am I doing? Where am I going? Why am I here at this spot? What the hell is a white Toyota out here? I couldn’t place my finger on it. Ten minutes later, my brain operated flawlessly. It was weird.
Bone ache has increased its presence since the last blog post in early February. It makes one weary, and the angel of death suddenly feels more present than ever. It’s not that I am on death’s door. At least not yet. But it’s gnawing its way closer. (At least, that’s how I feel.)
My energy is decreasing. By 7 PM, the bed looks wonderfully beautiful and seduces me with potential dreams of another world. I want to eat, but I cannot. And I hunger for sustenance, but eating makes me nauseous. “Forty-one pounds,” I muttered to myself. “Wow. Forty-one pounds lost since mid-October 2022.”
When people receive a cancer diagnosis, they are stunned. I wasn’t. The clinician was direct and matter-of-fact. “We suspect cancer.” The calmness was amazing. Not my calmness. His. Thinking back on the exchange, I wish the clinician had hyped it a little more, like that old Dell commercial. “Dude. You’re getting a Dell.” Fist bump and smack, smack. Instead, just the standard textbook delivery that they suspect cancer, followed by a wave of the hand as if to say, “Now get the hell out of here. I am late for lunch.”
Sorry, it’s been a while since my last post. Life has been somewhat challenging. In 2019, I was informed of a benign tumor partly in the spine and outside the spine. (Somewhere in-between Intradural and Extradural). So on February 6, 2020, I opted for limited excision of the tumor outside the spine and received a shitload of steroids and limited radiation intended to beat down the remainder. Or, if it weren’t going to get beaten down, maybe, just maybe, the rest would stay in check.
Twenty months later, I could feel a modestly small lump on my neck. After poking, prodding, massaging, and gliding my fingers over the node, I just knew: The tumor started to regrow. When tumors return, uncertainties return as well. Tumors can grow in any part of the body or regrow in the original place. So, like a traveling’ snowbird,’ mine decided to open residency in the location previously vacated. All of this means that for now, the tumor could be a ‘local recurrence.’
“It’s unusual for a person at your age,” the radiologist said. Hint. When a clinician claims you’re ‘unusual,’ that version of ‘unusual’ can infer many things, from good, bad, funny, ugly, or any combination thereof. “During your last scan, we detected something that requires a second look. Scans detected a 3-millimeter section under the left ulnar styloid bone. It could be nothing, could be something. Regardless, we’ll need to perform a Cat Scan or MRI, depending on your doctor’s request.”
Many cancer patients claimed to have experienced weight loss. Weight loss may even be the first notable symptom of the disease. Forty (40%) percent of cancer patients claim to have experienced unexplained weight loss. Clinicians will tell you weight loss from cancer is different from other types of weight loss. Doctors refer to it as “cachexia” (wasting of the body). Cachexia causes increased metabolism, muscle loss, fatigue, and decreased quality of life.
For months I experienced fatigue. Then all of a sudden, nothing. Little or no back pain. No neck pain. Little or no knee pain. Little or no muscle cramps. However, somewhere between last week and this morning, I lost 12 pounds. This loss was not a matter of choice, as in I decided some fancy-schmancy diet. Neither did I embark on a 200-mile hike, bike 50 miles each day, or train for an Olympic marathon. Instead, I did what I always did, I came home, made dinner, and watched the Cubs. (Last night’s destruction came courtesy of the Cleveland Indians.) I suppose I could have looked for my 12 pounds. Then again, maybe I lost 1.7 pounds per day, and I failed to notice. Either way, they were gone.