Prognosis - 62 Months

"Your medical outlook is unclear."

That sort of statement usually takes on a negative connotation. It's as if it's immediately about a time limit, some sort of finite period.

Happily, for me, it also allows for interpretation. I titled this Blog "62 Months" because that's the median life span of someone with my stage of my cancer. And that's the beauty of a median. Basically, it means that half the group lived less time than that, and half lived longer. I'm going to take the latter here.

I like that there is no definitive course this cancer is going to take. I like that there are no defined risk factors that led to this disease. I can eliminate all the second guesses that way. I didn't cause it, it happened, and that's that.

I'd like to set some sort of record, maybe. Be the longest-lived multiple myeloma patient. That would annoy some very select people, and I'd be only too happy to accommodate.

But now it's time to start getting my head around working my way back into the real world. My body is adjusting to all the medicines they're giving me, I'm not as sickly as I was.

And my appetite is just fine. Too fine. See, I'm losing weight. The doctor wants me to eat. And eat. And get the weight on. That doesn't suck.

Bon appetit .

62 Months - Day 44

I'm having good days and bad. Mostly good.

Wednesday I spent the evening with my daughter and her boyfriend. We ate a nice dinner and then took a walk on the beach with the dogs. My dog had never been on sand before, so it was a blast watching him go crazy, running, digging, even eating some. The other dog was basically looking at him as if to say, "What is wrong with you?"

The medicines are tough at first. They beat up your system a little bit, upset stomach, that sort of stuff. I was dehydrated the other day when I went in for my treatment so they loaded me up with a couple of bottles of saline IV. I was a little surprised because I've been very conscientious in my attempts to stay hydrated. I've been drinking Gatorade like it's my job. Well, I guess it could have been worse if I hadn't, right?

I've had some pain in my right leg. While there are 4 lesions in my right femur, the Doc thinks that there is some involvement in my back now too. He's sending me for an MRI on Monday to see if there are any lesions there. If so, he might have to go with radiation therapy as well as the medicines. Just a bump in the road.

I have got to work on making this blog a whole lot less boring! I'll get on that.

Minor league

Got a small setback today. My doctor ordered an MRI because he suspects there are lesions in my back. I also learned that, for my purposes, lesions and tumors mean the same thing. Just semantics.

Anyway, it's not really a setback, more like a minor inconvenience. If there are more lesions, they'll probably include radiation in my treatment plan.

So we can use me as a flashlight.

Day 29

I've decided I'm going to start a collection of cancer awareness hats. The baseball caps with logos and such on them. I ordered and received my first one this week, the burgundy ribbon for Myeloma awareness. It's a plain khaki cap. I'm not sure I want to overdo it with t-shirts and stuff. I think the caps will do it.

I have now taken at least one dose of all the medicines this week. We're going full-blast this coming week. Two appointments on Monday, two on Tuesday and one on Thursday. I got the newest capsules on Friday. It's pretty potent stuff I guess; I had to get it shipped to me directly from the manufacturer. This medicine came with a whole lot of literature, handling instructions, dosage, side effects, etc. Maybe I'll start glowing in the dark!

Onward and upward and sideways.

Here We Go!

I'll be going to the oncologist's at 12:30 today. We're going to start Velcade and Zometa. Tomorrow I'll receive my prescription for Revlimid and we'll get that going too.

This is one time in my life where I'm going to get it done. There's no way I'm going to let cancer win. I normally don't like fighting, but I am ready for this one. Might get a few bumps and bruises along the way. I can deal.

Another Starting Line

I'm probably the only one in town who was glad to get a cancer diagnosis. For the last 5 months or so, things really started to go wrong with my body. Things were hurting where they once were fine. I was losing weight like crazy, which was really odd, because I'd begun eating as though it were my job. But mostly I was sleeping way too much. And I like to sleep, believe me.

So many times, things go undiagnosed for people. Things go wrong, and no one can tell them why. I've always felt like that was the worst thing. Something hurts, and no one can fix it.

But I got a solid diagnosis. And for me, that's a good thing. I feel like I was getting my ass kicked in an alley, but now someone has taken my blindfold off and I can see who I'm fighting. The odds just got a whole lot better.

On August 9th, 2012, I'm going to get my first round of two drugs, Zometa and Velcade. Friday I should be getting a delivery of another medicine called Revlimid. That one's heavily regulated and controlled. I can only get that one shipped directly from the manufacturer. I've been doing a little reading from the literature the doc gave me on these drugs, and I might be a little sick for now. But what the hell, anything worth having is worth fighting for, right?

Onward and upward. Or some other cliché!

Small World!

The world gets a little smaller when you get sick. I have always liked the "little things" in life, but when they are all you have, they're that much more special.

I am not a candidate for bone marrow transplants. I have Multiple Myeloma, and that's not the way my blood cancer is treated. I'll be going through a stem cell transplant sometime in 2013. If that happens, my situation is a little different than someone with leukemia, who needs a bone marrow donor. But it sure was nice today to see people signing up to be potential donors. Leukemia and lymphoma are nasty cancers. Leukemia hurts a lot of kids, while myeloma rarely affects people under 45 years old.

Today, the NY Yankees and DKMS held a blood cancer awareness campaign to get people to sign up to become bone marrow donors. Seeing the word spread on Twitter and other social media, I felt like I was part of a community for the day. It made me smile to see those red Yankee's caps. An actress named Leighton Meester is one of the spokespersons heading up the campaign. Sort of makes me feel as though these people have my back. It's a nice feeling when you see people caring about something you care about. It makes it feel as though the world is a little smaller, closer to you.

I like that.

62 Months...The Beginning

"62 Months" is an odd name for a blog. But for me, it's an inspirational title, and here is why:

On Friday, July 13th, 2012, (yes, Friday the 13th) I was diagnosed with a form of cancer called Multiple Myeloma. According to the Mayo Clinic, Multiple myeloma is a cancer of your plasma cells, a type of white blood cell present in your bone marrow.

I was pretty much asymptomatic in the months prior to the diagnosis. I did, however, experience a significant weight loss that began to concern people around me, in particular my oldest daughter. Without being precise, I'd lost about 50 pounds. I was attributing it to a new job that I'd taken. The new job is very physical, which is new ground for me, having been a Wall Street stockbroker for years.

My daughter persisted in her requests for me to get a physical. I happened upon a walk-in medical practice one afternoon and decided to give my daughter her wish. During the physical, I did mention that I'd lost a lot of weight without dieting. My new doctor was not satisfied with the explanation of why I'd lost the weight, and thankfully she decided to run a complete battery of tests.

Long story short, the tests came back with a couple of red flags, one being something called a "globulin gap." This prompted more specific testing. Those results told my doctor that it was time for me to see a specialist, and I was referred to a wonderful Hematologist/Oncologist. His conclusion was that I had this multiple myeloma. He ordered a bone marrow biopsy to confirm the diagnosis, and that came back positive. My cancer was set at stage I.

So that brings us to "62 months." As word spread about my illness, people naturally began to offer encouragement and information. One kindly gentleman, who shall remain ever nameless, sent me a link to a website ( http://www.cancer.org/Cancer/MultipleMyeloma/OverviewGuide/multiple-myeloma-overview-survival-rates ) I'm sure his intentions were good. But when I opened the link I saw it was a list of survival rates for my type of cancer. Thanks so much!

Well, I looked at Stage I and the median survival rate was listed at 62 months.That's a little over 5 years, if my math is correct. That's not a long time, is it?

I didn't look at this number and think, "OK, I'm dead in 5 years." What I'm thinking right now is, this is a challenge. I'm going to beat this median. I'm going to haunt the world for a lot longer than that. I'm not naive, and I'm not thinking that this is going to be some stroll in the park. My doctor has told me that this disease isn't curable, but it is treatable. I'm going with that.

His plan is to attack this aggressively and get me into remission by December of 2012. When that happens, the next step will be a stem-cell transplant in early 2013.

So that's what we're gonna do. That sounds like an awesome plan to me.

And then I can say, "The hell with 62 months."