6 month report

Every time this package comes I get sad. My Super Dangerous but Absolutely Necessary chemotherapy pills arrived again this week.

My Super Dangerous but Absolutely Necessary medicine.

I need to get used to it. I'll probably be taking them for the rest of my life. 

There are some clinical trials right now where CML patients who are doing amazing are being taken off their meds. It will be exciting to see what happens for them. Will the cancer come back? Will it mutate?  We don't know yet. 

What we do know is Tasigna, my Super Dangerous but Absolutely Necessary chemotherapy pills, WORKS. 

I got my 6-month labs back.

When I was diagnosed in October,  labs were drawn every week. My oncologist checked my counts - white blood cells, red blood cells, platelets, etc.
My counts reached normal values (values for people without leukemia) within 3 months. Great results. My medicine was working. And even though I didn't feel normal, my lab results said I was on my way.
Tasigna works by searching for a protein in my blood (a protein created by the blood cancer) and zaps it. Well, it's WAY more complicated than that. But that's how I can wrap my brain around how it works.
The American Cancer Society has a good scientific explanation of how Tasigna works.
At diagnosis, my oncologist measured how much of the BCR-ABL fusion gene is in my blood. It's measured again at 3 months, 6 months, 9 months, so on. The goal, my doctor said, was to reach a BCR-ABL value of 0.073 at the 1-year mark.
I'm at the 6-month mark and I'm already at 0.022.
I can't believe it!

Actually, I didn't believe it. I called my doctor's office to get it confirmed.
Boom! Just call me The Giant Slayer.
Everyone has giants they are fighting. Leukemia is but one of the giants I face. My pastor, Stu Hodges, at Waters Edge Church said Sunday we already have everything we need to fight the battle and win the war.
Focus on God, not the giants.
Max Lucado says it like this:

Focus on giants - you stumble.
Focus on God - your giants tumble. 

For now, I continue taking Tasigna, managing side effects, praising God and slaying giants.

Doctor Day

He burst through the door like he was Kramer from Seinfeld. His smile was huge. He wasn't acting very doctor-like. 

"You've GOT to be feeling better?" 

I paused. I was afraid this was going to happen. The question hung there, screaming at me. Mocking me. 

"Your labs are the best since I've been treating you."

It's true. Amazing, awesome, fantastic, breathtaking news.  My labs are the best they have been since at least May. That's 8 months. If you've been pregnant (5 times, thank you very much) or know someone who has been pregnant, you know that's a lifetime. Well, I gotta tell ya, I loved being pregnant. I'm fortunate. I actually felt great pregnant. The past 8 months felt nothing like that. 

"You feel a little better, right?"

I couldn't look at my husband. He's amazing. He has been next to me every step, every procedure, every Doctor Day. It's not his first time being the Caregiver. He and I both know how grueling it is being the Caregiver. We both stood by our spouses, weapons tirelessly drawn, ready to attack whatever cancer popped up with next. I used to tell my First Mike, "No worries! It's just like shooting ducks." I was wrong.  Fighting esophageal cancer is like betting against the House. New Mike's wife (yes, both my husbands are Mikes ... and both of us wives are Patricias ... that's a little God Nod) lost to breast cancer. We didn't know each other as my husband and his wife were dying. I'm not sure we could have seen past what was right in front of us. 

We both have been to Caregiver's Abyss and come out on the other side. And now, he's Caregiver again. My heart breaks for him. 

This time will be different. This time his wife won't die.

"Right?""Yes. I think I feel a little better? I think I have a bit more energy?"

Confetti and balloons fall from the ceiling along with my face.

I demanded ... "Dammit, stop being so happy. I still feel like crap. This fight isn't over." But what came out was ... "If my numbers are so good why do I still feel SO bad?" 

I'm not even sure my oncologist heard me. He says we'll know more in a week when the Big Results come in. Tells me I don't need to get labs drawn for 3 months.

Three months? How am I going to track my progress? How am I going to know I'm getting better? He agrees "just because it's you" to 6-week labs. Yay.

On the ride home, Caregiver gently smiles at me and asks if I'm OK. I start to cry. 

I'm trying to be happy, I am. I'm trying so hard. But my labs say one thing and my body says something else. 

We'll get there, he says, and takes my hand.