Finding Joy in the Everyday

Sometimes I know people think it isn’t possible to find something to be joyful about every day.  And it’s likely some think that even more impossible for people living with Stage IV Lung (or any) cancer or with a serious, chronic condition.

I’m here to show you that’s just not so.  My belief is that everyone can find or make some joy in their day.  I hope to help others believe this is so.

Here’s some  info from my latest stable (since being on Lorlatinib 26 months) scans and MRI.  You can see I do have some challenges (not to mention side effect challenges), but also so very much to be grateful for:

In my lung from radiation: Unchanged left paramediastinal radiation fibrosis with ground glass opacity, bronchiectasis and architectural distortion.  No new or enlarging pulmonary nodule.
In my meninges (brain lining): Small posterior foci enhancement in the left occipital lobe with associated SWI foci again noted unchanged.
In my liver: Stable treated metastasis in segment 5
Okay, enough of that! My point is that it does not get in the way of finding and making joy in my day  Now here’s a look at my morning, just an hour of my morning yesterday.
 An hour filled with just a few of things I find such joy in.

“Scans look good!”

“Stay,” commanded Lady Lorlatinib.  And cancer stayed.  She is mighty, that Lady Lorlatinib.  Once again, after a day of tests and appointments (my sixteenth with Lady Lorlatinib) with the experts at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, we learned that this miracle med continues to hold her hand (or foot or bum perhaps) over, clamped down on perhaps, the Switch so little ROS1 cancer cannot turn on and hop back into the driver’s seat, racing crazily throughout my body.  She is fearless, Lady Lorlatinib.  She does her job tirelessly, never angrily, but quietly determined as she continuously moves throughout my body to keep cancer in check.  

After 25 months we work well together, my team. I’m referring now to my immediate home team of Dan, Lady Lorlatinib, and me.  Lady Lorlatinib’s job is ever so important.  She meets her goals each day, making her rounds tracking down cancer, saying “No no, not today little ROS1.  Every day is more time for the researchers working to develop and test her successor.  My job of keeping my body healthy so she may do her job seems easy compared to hers.  Instead of being irritated or scared by the sometimes painful sensation of Lady Lorlatinib making her rounds, I can now smile and say, “ Oh, that’s my med doing its job.”  Trade-offs you know.  What price can you put on saving one’s life?  My side effects are definitely manageable. And Dan, he’s the one that gets affected by those side effects the most sometimes I think.  Like the mood swing side effect that perhaps we won’t highlight.  That’s when Dan says, “Must be the medicine working.”  But through it all, I feel loved.  Just because, because we love each other (or is it one another?), never taking the other for granted, always grateful for the gift of time to be together. 

Living scan to scan never gets easy for us.  Even when the clinical trial appointments have stretched from 3 weeks to six, then 9, and now are 12 weeks apart (with labs midway) as mine are.  In reality, cancer is with us all the time.  Because it actually is.  There is no way of knowing  when the cancer that’s a part of me now may overpower Lady Lorlatinib, mighty as she may be. Her special power is not to kill, only to control ROS1 cancer so my cells may live on happily and free. But like any caged animal, little ROS1 seeks to be free.  And little ROS1, he’s a fast driver once he hops in the seat.  The times he has been let loose have been most unpleasant.  So yes, I too must stay vigilant.   

Our trip to Boston Thursday was uneventful – that’s a good thing! Something we do not take for granted.  My appointments began with a blood draw (2 small tubes for my labs and 2 big tubes for the study) and IV put in at Dana-Farber at 8:00 AM.  Then it was over to Brigham and Women’s for CTscans and brain MRI.  Strange thing – at DFCI I only have one bottle of nasty drink before scans, but at Brigham I have two.  Hmm…  After the MRI and IV out, it was back to Dana-Farber for a quick lunch before heading to floor 10.  There I had vitals done (weight, blood pressure, temperature, oxygen saturation), an EKG, and my appointment with the oncologist and clinical trial nurse.  We love them both.  They are caring and competent, two of the best in their professions.  “Scans look good.”  And on we go from there.  The final part of our day at DFCI is to wait for my 12 weeks of my medication.  My prescription cannot be ordered until the scans and MRI are seen, so there is always a bit of a wait.  My backpack filled, we leave the parking garage at 2:30 PM, headed NORTH.  Weary from the physical and emotional work of the day, but relieved and ever so grateful.

Thanks to my sister who took care of the dachshunds and goats this trip, I even got to see my morning sunrise with a little dachshund (depositing some doodoo) in the photo. (I’ll share a different one.)  It’s the only time I’ve left them overnight since my last Dana-Farber appointment, so we’re all getting quite used to Mama being home 24/7.  Spoiled we are, in the best of ways!

Thank you for your prayers and positive thoughts for this journey.  We are grateful for the time we’ve been given and the time we have ahead of us.  And now it is time to pick the tomatoes.  There’s salsa to be made!  Finding joy in the everyday every day.

This wonderful t-shirt was designed by one of our grandsons. The front has two hearts, one with my name and one with my mom’s.  He is our heart hero and understands what it is like to undergo tests, procedures, surgeries, and to work with experts in Boston (next door to my experts).  Beulah’s Babies is the name of our large family team that participated annually in the Komen race (raising funds for breast cancer research) in memory of my mom.  polepolebreathe.blog  – well, you’re here.  And I just love the lungs for me with the pink ribbon for Mama.  Very thoughtful.  Thank you to him.fullsizeoutput_1626

Hope for the Journey

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I talk a lot about hope. I often suggest it is something really important, essential even, to have when living in any type of difficult or troubling times.  (And I’m sorry to say that when you think about it, we are all living in troubling times.)  But while I know hope’s importance to me (and I think to everyone) and I can give examples of hope, I’m not really sure how to explain it.

The definition of hope doesn’t even hint at its potential power to give one something to look toward, work toward, plan for.  Oxford: a feeling of expectation or desire for a certain thing to happen  Ho hum. Cambridge English adds to that and usually have a good reason to think it might. Better.  A google search does a little better than that – huffpost.com says “Hope is an optimistic attitude  of mind based on an expectation or desire.”  Okay, good.  Get the idea of an optimistic attitude in there.  Much more than just a feeling.  Attitude is something one has some control over.

Here’s what I think. Hope is what gives one courage.  Courage to forge ahead in the face of adversity, courage to “brave the storm”, whatever one’s storm may be.  It is believing that a positive outcome is a viable possibility, a possibility worthy of reaching, of striving for.

Okay, now for a concrete indicator of hope.  In the clinical trial I’m currently in I have to have lab work done every six weeks, both at and in between my check-ups at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute.  Recently I got a standing order from my oncologist at Dana-Farber for this blood work.  When I saw that it was a standing order and knew I just did the first of 30 times in the order, hope flooded my mind, body and soul.  Forty-five months ago I statistically had just a few months to live. Dana-Farber gave me hope at that time for greater possibilities. Now I have a standing order for over three years.  Now, maybe all standing orders have that number, but I’ve never had a standing order on this journey because things haven’t been stable enough to think longterm for the same lab work.  It doesn’t really matter even if the standing order was for someone else’s convenience – it gives me HOPE! Hope that I’ll be here for another “whatever”.  Hope that my participation in this trial will help doctors and researchers better understand how to treat ROS1 lung cancer, especially when it has metastasized to the lining of one’s brain, or maybe how to prevent it from metastasizing at all.  Hope to have the courage to brave the storm with an optimistic, joyful attittude.  Hope.

I made the “coins” in the photo above to take with me this week when I travel for my check-up at Dana-Farber.  Playing with art materials is one of the many  “gifts of time” I’ve found joy in.  My pursuit of find joy in the everyday every day is quite easy.  I know this isn’t so for everyone.  So, in this small way, I hope to bring joy, hope, and courage to others.

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