The One Percent (November 2020 Scan Results)

 In mid-October, Anne-Marie started to lose feeling in her legs.  Numbness and pain was radiating up one leg and then the other off and on, progressively getting worse.  By the time November arrived, she was having trouble walking.  We believed it was a neurological side effect caused by the whole-brain radiation.

Anne-Marie didn't have a bone scan during the August series of scans, so we scheduled that for the last week of October.  Because the scan was performed during the chemo "off week", we didn't get results for a week.  On November 4, Anne-Marie had the consult with Dr. Solti who told her that a new tumor had been discovered in the the L4 vertebrae of Anne-Marie's spine.  Unless around the same time, Anne-Marie herniated a disc in this same area of her back, the doctors believed this was the cause of the mobility issues, not the whole-brain radiation.  It was a 99% certainty.  We scheduled an MRI to be sure.

The MRI was performed on Thursday, November 12 and results were revealed the next day.  The doctors were wrong.  The cancer that showed up on the bone scan was not a tumor in the L4 vertebrae; the MRI revealed that it really was several tumors that were in the lower part of the spinal cord.

The dozen tumors that were in Anne-Marie's brain have spread into the spinal cord and formed six to eight more tumors in the lower back area. These tumors are inside the spinal cord itself and are pressing against the nerves and axons in the lower spine that control lower body function.

Spine MRI with tumors circled

Dr. Solti has informed us that this is a much more serious and complicated situation than it would be if the cancer was located in the bone.  The implications of the mobility and brain function threat is enough to make anyone completely freak out. 

Currently, Anne-Marie is having extreme difficulty walking (not enough to keep her from doing basic things around our home) and needs a wheelchair any time she leaves the house.  Because of the urgency of the situation, we are being rushed into radiation treatment starting today.  Dr. Siddiqui, the radiologist, believes the treatments could offer relief as soon as the end of this week.

This does not, however, impact the long-term situation.  We need options for chemo treatment that will help Anne-Marie's brain.  We are scheduled for a consult with Dr. Modha, the neurosurgeon, to discuss solutions this Thursday, November 19.

We've been on the right side of the percentages before and know what it's like to celebrate those victories.  We would never fault ourselves for the celebrating. 

This time of wrong percentages is one for weeping.  There is no shame in that.

The End of the 6th Week (August 2020 Scan Results)

There were three ways this could have went:

1. Both the brain and lung scans coming back worse because the wrong treatment plan was chosen in the first place.
2. The lung scan coming back better due to the current chemo treatment being effective for the lungs but the brain scan coming back worse due to the current chemo treatment being ineffective for the brain.
3. Both the brain and lung scans coming back clear or improved allowing us to move toward minimal treatment for maintenance.

Of course we wanted the third option.  A treatment plan that we were told would not work for the tumors in Anne-Marie's brain that actually ended up working in the brain would be a bonus.  A miracle really.

The first option was news we couldn't have.  Finding out that neither the cancer in Anne-Marie's lungs nor the cancer in the brain was being reduced would have placed us in a trap.  The struggle Anne-Marie faced trying to breathe earlier this summer was so intense and frightening that abandoning treatment of the lungs would not be viable.  But the doctors did not intend to wait to treat the brain (unless the option three miracle happened).

The results of the scan showed that we are facing option two.  The tumors in the lungs have shrunk by 25%.  We were pretty sure something good was happening because the coughing and breathing problems started going away a month ago.  Going back on Taxol treatments was a strange transition after two failed treatment plans, but we can't hate the results.  Life has been much more livable since Taxol and the treatment side effects are much more mild than what we remember from when Anne-Marie took it in 2006.

But along with the 25% reduction, we got the expected news that the brain tumors have progressed.  The number of tumors has increased from 10 to 12.  Actually that's just my count.  The radiologist isn't even attempting a count at this point.  There's a lot.

Example of Whole-Brain Radiation

With the largest of the brain tumors being one quarter inch in diameter, they aren't causing symptoms at this point.  Even still, Dr. Siddiqui, the radiologist believes we should act soon and wants to move forward with a two-week series of whole-brain radiation treatments.

These treatments are exactly what they sound like: radiating all of the cells in the entire brain.  The treatments are known to cause fatigue and short-term memory loss.  Because of this, the radiologist prescribed medication normally used for Alzheimer's starting today to help with memory loss issues.

This is a "one time shot" treatment (meaning that it's only intended to ever be attempted once in a lifetime) that will take 10 minutes, five days a week, until 10 treatments are complete.  Dr. Siddiqui believes he can eliminate all of the tumors using this treatment, which is great to hear.

So is this good news or bad? I think you could take it many ways, but it's really just an entirely bad situation that could have been made much worse had the news been different this morning.  We thank God for this receiving this small piece of a much larger picture.  

Sometimes life has "option twos".  Utopianism screams for option threes while fatalism shouts for option ones.  In reality, we often end up walking the middle road wishing we could see the solid edges.  Dr. Solti and Dr. Siddiqui feel like this is THE plan that will get our best results, so we are moving forward.  

As soon as we finish that 19th anniversary vacation.  Radiation treatment starts the week after we get back on Tuesday, September 15.

New Chemo Now

Today is Anne-Marie's 41st birthday. She has been a lot of pain today, sleeping off and on. We kept things pretty quiet around the house, with Anne-Marie requesting her favorite Thai food via DoorDash.

Last Thursday was the end of the initial phase of the Tucatinib clinical trial.  Dr. Solti informed us that the trial was successful to the extent of what was reasonably expected.  The latest set of scans showed us that the trial drug did indeed stabilize (prevent growth and spread) of the cancer in the brain.  At the same time, the use of the drug combined with the reaction of the cancer in Anne-Marie's lungs confirmed what was has only been speculation for the past two years.  The scans revealed that the cancer in the lungs is a different cancer than all the other cancer in her body.  It's likely a mutation of the original breast cancer.  

This means that the treatment was not effective on the cancer in her lungs.  We learned instead that the cancer has been spreading for the past few months and is now in one of her kidneys.  For these reasons, Anne-Marie cannot stay on the clinical trial.

Instead she begins a conventional chemo on Thursday morning.  This has always been an option, just not a desirable one.  We are bracing ourselves for several very intense weeks.

All that said, I hate cancer.  I hate it.  It's like an unsatisfied fire.  A greedy animal that destroys just to enjoy destruction.  It's the playground bully that tells you he'll beat you up if you refuse to fight him. 

And I would do anything to make it better.  Give it what it demands.  I'd negotiate for a truce. 

But so far it's broken every treaty.  This month marks 14 years and the hopes of 2006, 2012, 2016 and 2018 are no longer on the table.  We fight for our now.

Anne-Marie at 40

I think when we were in that ER hallway in 2016, forty seemed very far away. No one should live their life consumed by fear, but I think we always did feel the need to be vigilant about making sure Anne-Marie's health was in a good place after her diagnosis in 2006 and recurrence diagnosis in 2012. Sometimes that came out as fear or anxiety or anything else you can imagine, but a lot of times it was just a concern and a point of reference for why life was more complicated for Anne-Marie than for the average then-36-year-old.

We all have questions when life comes to this, and--if you're like me--I prefer to lob those questions at the doctors to get satisfactory answers so I can sleep at night.  How long will this treatment be effective?  How long until we get results?  When will the pain go away?  Or if you take it to the absolute extremity of your situation: How long do I have?

If you look up the statistics, Anne-Marie has beaten nearly all of them.  But the actual life you live is not in the odds.  God is not a mathematician.  The challenge is to find Him, not among the numbers, but among the moments.  And that may be hardest thing we've ever tried to do.

We celebrated Anne-Marie's special day with brunch and celebrated again with the family once we could all get it scheduled.  Anne-Marie finally got that master bedroom I've been talking about for 2 years and the remodel work is nearly completed.  I guess we've been partying a lot, but it's a celebration that deserves to happen.

Happy 40th!

But the surprise party actually happened 13 days after Anne-Marie's birthday when the oncologist told us that Anne-Marie's current treatment has been so effective that her blood tumor count is now at the level of a person in normal health.  Because of this, quarterly scans are canceled for the first time ever.

We don't know what this means long term or next quarter or anything.  We're not looking back and we're not even looking forward a whole lot.  

But ask us today and right now we are so grateful to the doctors, to the lab geniuses that developed a way to put the PARP enzyme in jail and to God.  We've found Him in this moment and in so many places in between.

What you can do to help

I'm gonna just bury this post in the weekend so people don't read it unless they really want to.  

People have been e-mailing, Facebooking, texting me asking how they can help. They're actually getting kind of pushy, so in order to satisfy you people, I'm writing this post for you.  You pushy, pushy people.

First off let me say that overall, we're fine on the basics.  We have eaten every day that we've wanted to eat.  The kids are struggling to understand, but still growing up like kids.  We still have the house.  And Safeway still delivers groceries.

Thankfully our family and friends are mostly local and we have people that have worked hard to organize all kinds of help. So don't think that we're penniless, friendless, hapless and hopeless when you act on any of the suggestions below:

Cook a Meal After Surgery #14: Surgery 14--to remove the 2nd brain tumor--is pending right now, but is expected to happen sometime in April or early May.  After we come back home from the hospital, Anne-Marie will be mostly resting in bed for a month.  It's been a pretty helpful thing for people to bring meals.  Sometimes Anne-Marie is on a non-solid diet due to treatments and sometimes not.  We have a good friend that has helped us organize all the details.  Email me here or contact me a different way if you have my info (especially once you hear that the surgery is scheduled) and I can connect you with the meal coordination.  (One note: we are non-dairy.  I think mostly because we're getting old, not because of some nutritional revelation.)  (One more note: I would ask visitors to coordinate in the same way. It's special to have a surprise visit, but now is not a good time for that.  Please let us know somehow.)

Send a Meal After Surgery #14: Same thing, but for people like me who don't cook.  Send a restaurant gift card or organize a delivery of food.  I guess Uber, Grubhub and eat24 deliver food from a ton of places now.  Once again: non-dairy; email me.

Pray for Us: I know not all of my readers are religious folks. But if you are, I would ask for your prayers. Read the things that I write here so you can know what to pray for.  If there was ever a time we needed divine intervention, it is now.
If you don't believe in God or don't believe God answers prayers, then I will pray for you instead. No. Just kidding. (Kinda.) But in that I will offer this greater point: We are not insulted at all by people that send us "positive thoughts" or offer similar encouragement.

Give to This Thing My Aunt Started: I am very hesitant to put this one on here, but my aunt started a GoFundMe account for us about a month ago.  It's been kept relatively quiet, but I thought I would mention it here.  Yes, we have pretty good insurance, but the whole truth is that co-pays are a bit of money. 
That's about as far as I'm gonna go with that.  If you have already given to your church, your favorite charity, your kid's band's bake sale, your whatever, you could think about it.  (don't even think about it otherwise)  This is GoFundMe page is 100% legit and was 100% not our doing (and 100% NOT tax-deductible as we are just private citizens).

Give to a Charity That's Dedicated to Fighting Cancer: Give to Fred Hutch or to Komen, both of which have had an impact on Anne-Marie's personal fight against this disease.  Or give to one of hundreds of other good, responsible non-profits that hate cancer even more than we do.  Many allow donations "in honor of".  Put Anne-Marie's name in there.  It's like giving us a high five from a distance.  It's tax deductible and you'll feel awesome.

Any of these things are super appreciated.  And our needs will likely change as time goes on and I'll write another post, but for now: We have been blessed with far more than we'll ever deserve.  Thank you all.  We love you.

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P.S.: Some have sent cards (thank you) or are maybe still wanting to.  Email me by clicking here for our home address.

Where we find ourselves, part one

After identifying a tumor at the base of Anne-Marie's neck in January, she was prescribed an indefinite regimen of the IV antibody treatment Herceptin combined with Perjeta. While we were hoping for that 2nd treatment breakthrough, but instead our next appointment with the oncologist revealed that--for the first time in 12 years--Anne-Marie's cancer has mutated.  It is no longer feeding on the same type of hormones and the things we've been doing since 2006 will no longer work.  The Herceptin treatment was ended after just one treatment.

The first step in attacking this new cancer was with Ibrance, an oral chemotherapy.  Anne-Marie once again pushed for more and requested local radiation on the tumor, if for no other reason to relieve her of some of the pain the tumor is causing her.  Although it wouldn't technically "cure" anything, the oncologist agreed that it would likely help the pain and gave Anne-Marie a referral for radiation along with the first month of chemo pills.

The radiation consult a week later took forever.  The radiologist talked for too long about what the process was and how it happens. We've done it before and I was ready to move on.  From there, the tech took Anne-Marie back to create a guide mask to more accurately direct the radiation beam to the tumor site.  Part of this process was doing a CT scan in that area since January's biopsy was located visually (the tumor is visible/can be felt with Anne-Marie's direction).  The CT would help map out the tissue in the area around the tumor.

After more than an hour waiting for the scans and molds to complete Anne-Marie came back to the waiting room, but the scheduler told us not to leave. The radiologist wanted to do a second consult with us. At this point I was getting irritated. It seemed like they were dragging out this process on purpose. We were waiting for the third time in the same appointment and after ten minutes, Anne-Marie went down the hall to get some answers.  The medical assistant was coming the opposite direction down the same hall to get us and nearly ran into her.

We were brought back to the exam room again and were only given a few minutes to sit in confusion before the doctor came in.  She informed us that the mapping CT they just performed had found cancer in Anne-Marie's brain.

By morning Anne-Marie's oncologist and pulmonologist added their opinions.  Cancer.

(This post will be followed soon with the second half of the story.  For now I need to go to bed.)

Into Your keeping

Today was my daughter's 9th birthday.  This day was different because her birthday wasn't the biggest event in her life.  Today Mariah started at a new school.

A week ago, I had to tell Mariah that Mommy was too sick to continue homeschooling.  She cried and asked what we were going to do.  I promised her that we would find her a different school that would still be a Christian school, because that was important to her.  We talked a while about it, then she ended the conversation by saying, "It's OK.  Whatever is best for Mommy."

This has been a devastating thing for us.  We put Mariah in homeschool because we believed it was the best thing for her.  After two years of distractions, our primary focus last summer was to put our children in a place where they could thrive.

But things change.  Over the course of the fall, Anne-Marie began feeling progressively worse.  We didn't initially think that it would come to this, but after two weeks trying to make a decision, it was the right thing to give Mariah a consistent education plan.  Thankfully, after a couple of days of arm-twisting and begging, a spot opened up at Elisha's school.  Our experience at his "big Christian school" so far has been good and we hope that this will end up being an accidental fit for Mariah.

The night of our talk, Mariah went up to her room and played the same song for the next hour from an old CD she found in our basement:

Lead me on, lead me on
To a place where the river runs into Your keeping
Lead me on, lead me on
The awaited deliverance comforts the seeking
Lead on

Amen

I'm not sure how to say this

Two weeks ago, after a long interview process and getting all kinds of counsel and advice from people I trust, I resigned my position as Project Manager at Centerline and accepted a job offer at Acom Consulting. That's what this blog post was supposed to be about.

In the week leading up to my departure from the company, Anne-Marie was scheduled for a biopsy at PeaceHealth Southwest Medical Center here in Vancouver to take a look at another swollen lymph node. 

You may remember that we went through a nearly-identical process early last year which resulted in us discovering sarcoidosis (benign granuloma tumors) throughout Anne-Marie's body.  The treatment for that—while successful—has been incredibly difficult and is a lot of the reason why you haven't heard much from me since last summer, either in person or online.

The location of the new area of concern was about an inch away from the one from the one I just mentioned and was causing Anne-Marie pain off and on.  Anne-Marie brought the issue up to the doctors in April, but her concerns were mostly brushed aside since the nearby area from last January was resolved as a non-threatening situation and was being treated. 

The coverage of the quarterly CT scans fell just short of this area, so it was considered unknown.  Nothing could be proven either way, yet Anne-Marie persisted for eight months with her concern and that's how we got last week's biopsy scheduled. 

The oncologist and surgeon opted to biopsy rather than altogether remove the "inflamed lymph node".  Tuesday the biopsy was performed; Friday we found out that it wasn't another lymph node.  It was a tumor.

A malignant tumor just under an inch in diameter was found at the base of Anne-Marie's neck.  It has tested as a positive match with the other cancer, which means it has spread.  It is inoperable.

Now that that's been said: we all try to put a positive spin on this kind of news to make it more palatable for people, right?  Well, I'm having a pretty hard time with this one.

The battle lines have been drawn.  Treatment starts next week.  In God we trust.

Happy 9th birthday!

You're growing up so fast.

The Summer of 2017

We entered the summer of 2017 with almost everything unresolved.

Here is what we did know:

1. We would be moving to a new house (which we closed on in May)
2. Elisha would be changing schools from the local public school to private school
3. Mariah would be changing schools from the local public school to a home school
4. I would officially begin my new position as a manager at my job
5. Anne-Marie would try to figure out what in the world is going on with all the conflicting reports from the doctors

The list points out the obvious: Our family as a whole was facing a major change in buying a house and moving into it.  At the same time, all four of us were facing individual challenges.  This is the story of our attempt to connect all these dots.

The big move day.  We had a whole new crew!  Thanks everyone.

1.  The House

The property market in Portland is absolutely bananas.  By the time we would find a house we were interested in, the house would already be pending.  With the help of Richard at Portland Digs, we found a house we wanted, put together a very strong offer and won a very short war for possession.  The house went on the market on Friday.  We found out it was ours by Monday.  We were picking out decor by the time most people saw it on Zillow.

The move thing is always intimidating, but we had huge help from friends.  The amazing thing about it is that it was a completely different group of friends we tortured with moving last time.  I'm so grateful for all those poor people who helped us come back home in 2014 and am forever indebted to the people who helped us this June.  Gatorade Flow on me any time, guys.

The kids love the house and the new neighborhood.  I have all kinds of work to do making the 2 bed / 1 bath into something like a 4 bed / 2 bath with an office.  I'm giving myself a decade.

New neighbors

The sun vanished

2.  Elisha's new school

We tried for 3 years to do our best with Elisha in the local public school.  He learned a lot there and was succeeding academically.  We are grateful to the exceptional teachers he had for his success.

Yet there was nothing they could do to stop the bullying.  I don't want to say a whole lot about it because I know Buddy might be reading this blog himself sometime in the next five years.  Let's just say, the problem was so bad that early in the 2016-17 school year we decided it would be his last at the public school.  Ultimately, it is our responsibility as parents to put our child in a healthy environment, not the government's.  

First day at the new school

The good news is that Elisha is now a student at Cornerstone Christian Academy.  This doesn't guarantee a school year without issues, but it does put Elisha in an academic setting with similar values as he's taught at home and place him in the position where his education is a privilege and not a right.

3.  Mariah's new school

This one was even more challenging.  Mariah wasn't doing so well at school either, but her problems were just plan ol' academic.  Whether it was the system not working or whatever, something needed to change in order for her to progress, so while we were changing everything, we came up with the solution to homeschool Mariah for at least one year.

We signed her up with the online version of a local Christian school with curriculum by Alpha Omega.  In a totally different way, we are heading toward the same goals as we had for Elisha: values and accountability.

Starting out with the new setup has been a bit rough, but we are getting it figured out.  Our hope is that each of our kids is a little jealous of the other for how cool their new school is.  That is, until the day (hopefully) comes where they're back together in the same place on school days.

4.  Eli's new position

After a month of negotiating in March/April of this year, I decided (agreed to if I'm honest) apply for the vacant Project Manager position at work.  I've been a drafter my entire career and the opportunity to manage other drafters and represent our department to the client seemed a bit intimidating.  But it was a salary increase and we needed the above three points to work, so--after counsel with a bunch of people--I applied and easily got the position.

Then our most experienced drafter died in a tragic accident.  Then the head of our department resigned.  Then the senior project manager (my trainer) resigned.  Now, with five months experience, I have become the most junior senior project manager in the history of the industry.  The first 3 weeks was really, really hard, but this week we started to turn stuff around a bit.  I know that God knows and understands the entire situation and that something good can still come of it.

5.  Anne-Marie's jumbled medical news

The last four were complicated.  This one is so confusing, I can't even remember how everything happened over the last few months.  Remember this?  The oncologist cut us loose from the harsher treatments and put Anne-Marie on an injection every four weeks with periodic CT scans to check on anything concerning.

After a three months of treatment with the injections, Anne-Marie's scans came back with concerning areas near her sternum.  We spent a day at the hospital waiting for the doctor's to get a tissue sample with a laparoscopic biopsy.  They couldn't reach the area.

Rather than rushing to an "open heart" style situation, we elected to allow the pulmonologist to prescribe a series of antibiotics and steroids to see how the unwelcome growth responds.  This may tell us what the growth is.

Last Friday, Anne-Marie went in for her follow-up CT scan to see what's changed under the antibiotic/steroid treatment.  We expect results in the next couple of days and we're believing in faith that the results will be completely boring.

16 years

This Friday, Anne-Marie and I have been married for 16 years and we celebrated the accomplishment last weekend with a trip to Central Oregon.  We know there's craziness going on all around us, but it doesn't keep us from celebrating the special days.  And from celebrating every day, really.  Not that it's all positive and happy, but whatever it is, we're thankful for this last three months and believe we'll read this in 10 years and laugh about how crazy everything was.

38

Sydney Wydney Garcia 3/7/02-6/29/17

In the past year or so, our cat's health started failing. We waited to see if small changes would make it better, but eventually we knew we needed to bring her in to see the veterinarian.

The vet said she had thyroid problems and put her on a twice-daily prescription that was moderately expensive.

Sydney showed a little improvement, but still was struggling physically quite a bit. Getting her to take her medicine was challenging.

We were weeks away from a (nother) move and Sydney responds horribly to change. Every time we've moved, it's been very hard on her and taken her months to adjust.

We knew she wasn't coming to the new house. So after 15 years of her companionship, we brought her in to the vet for the last time. It was a very sad time.

Many nights in the new house--after everyone else is in bed--I think I see her shadow sneaking through the hallway, but then I remember that this latest adventure is our first without her.

Stages

This marks one year.  The doctor called Anne-Marie a year ago today and told her she had stage IV cancer.

We held on to every shred of hope for weeks waiting for the final test but the report only became more concise.  The news was stated simply by Dr. Korde:

Your cancer has metastasized.  As a result of this, you will lose your life.

If there is any true preparation for a moment like this, I am not aware of it.  If anything should have helped, I guess it would be that Anne-Marie had, in a sense, been cheating death for years.  To be a two-time cancer survivor in a family with less survivors than, well, non-survivors comes with its own type of gravity.  We've had many good times.  We've seen amazing miracles.  Yet we know what this disease can do to a person.

King Solomon was wise in saying that the increase of knowledge is the increase of sorrow.  We could see it coming and it was coming fast.

Treatments, biopsies, scans.  Treatments, biopsies, scans.  Treatments, scans, confusion, biopsy, confusion, biopsy, biopsy.  Nothing.  

After ten months of pandemonium, now Anne-Marie goes in every four weeks for an injection.  It takes two hours if you count the drive time into Portland.  She's feeling great.

May 12 was eleven years since first diagnosis.  May 10 was five years since recurrence.  Today marks one year since stage IV.  (And they don't make any more stages after that one.)

Last week, we bought a house.

This week--after 15 years as a drafter--I accepted a promotion to become a project manager.

The past eleven years has taught me well that it's just a house and it's just a job.  But, obviously, none of this should be happening.  We're supposed to be in a corner somewhere crying.

But by the grace of God, here we stand.  We're ready for the next stage.

Everything just changed, Part 2

Remember this post?  That was from less than two months ago.

At the time the cancer had spread to who knows how many new locations and a bunch of other scary stuff like that.

Then there was this post.

That day we learned that the cancer wasn't near Anne-Marie's collarbone and hadn't spread any further than the chest cavity.  We knew that the team at Compass would push us to investigate further, most likely with a biopsy in the chest area.

However, Dr. Smith had mercy on us and honored our request to not be scheduled for anything in late January/early February so we could go to Disneyland.  By the time Compass figured out we were back from California, they considered everything urgent and immediately scheduled us for a consult with a pulmonologist (respiratory specialist) which led to being scheduled for a biopsy.  Dr. Smith told us the biopsy was being performed in order to "molecularly analyze" the cancer.  Getting a look at the cell structure of the cancer cells in the newly-enlarged lymph nodes was the best way to find a more effective treatment.  (Whatever you say, doc.)

The biopsy was to be surgical in nature in that we would be at Legacy Salmon Creek Hospital, have an anesthesiologist and be in a short stay room.  The procedure would be camera-guided through Anne-Marie's airway to the target location near the sternum.  The tissue samples would then be extracted with a needle and immediately analyzed on site by the pathologist.

On Thursday, February 16, we went in for the chest biopsy ordered by Dr. Smith and The Vancouver Clinic.  I don't think I've ever been less nervous on hospital day.  The morning was boring for the most part.  We did the paperwork, waited the normal two hours, said a simple prayer and they wheeled her back to the OR.

---

Cafeteria, staring out the window, waiting room.  I have a routine.  It's not superstition, but it is methodical.  I know how to distract myself just enough but not cause any unnecessary stress.  I want to be relaxed enough for the doctor to come into the waiting room and tell me anything.

I also know how long the procedures are supposed to take.  This time the doctor was a little late.  Not enough to be worried, but late.  He came quickly into the waiting room.

"Is it all right if we talk here?"
"Sure.  That's fine."
"I'm sorry I'm late.  We tried and tried but we took a bunch of samples from different areas and we couldn't find any cancer."
"Really?" (Relaxation regimen had not prepared me for this type of news.)
"Yes.  The results are preliminary, but were so clearly some kind of benign granuloma that after that many tries we decided to stop."
"OK.  Doctor, this is very unexpected.  We're here because of the cancer."
"It is apparently some other type of inflammation on the scans."
"Well, can I go see her?" (I start to get up.)
"No. I just finished five minutes ago, cleaned up and walked here.  She's in recovery now.  They will call you back within the next hour."

Granuloma. It's what they found near the collarbone, too.

And so I sat surrounded by a fog of shock for the next hour.  I used the time to text a few close friends and family before the nurse called me back to see Anne-Marie.

When I got back to the room Anne-Marie was awake.  I waited until the nurse left before I asked, "Has the doctor talked to you yet?"

I won't share it here, but you can imagine the conversation and the joy that followed.  We were back home before the kids even got out of school.

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Fast-forward a week to Friday, February 24.  Post-op with Dr. Smith.  It was planned even before we went in for the procedure, but for a totally different purpose.  This was the day we were to learn the new treatment plan developed from the molecular analysis of the cancer.

They had nothing to analyze.  And Dr. Smith told us the obvious: the result of last week's biopsy was very good news.  No presence of cancer in Anne-Marie's lymph nodes did put us on a brand new treatment plan.  The new plan is to maintain and resist against the one place where they believe cancer is still located in the upper left lung.

Anne-Marie is now required to get a shot every two to four weeks to help keep any rogue cells at bay.  The injection has few side effects and will combine with the quarterly CT and bone scans to make sure everything is still OK.  No chemo.  No harsh hormonal treatments.  That's all.  Seeya in a couple weeks.

So since everything changed back in December, everything changed.  And it just keeps getting better.

We are thankful to God for His mercy and know these are miraculous results.  The doctors have worked very diligently to make sure this wasn't what they thought it was and believe they have provided us with a thoroughly-sought-out solution and we appreciate that.  We're also thankful for all of you and your prayers, kind words, text messages, gifts.  It's meant so much more than you'll ever know.  We don't know exactly what's next, but believe that we can see this last tumor killed off, too.

To God be the glory for the things He's done thus far.

Now maybe we can move on and talk about Disneyland.

Happy 37th Birthday, Anne-Marie!

(this is just a sneak peak of upcoming portraits from Little LouLou)

Diagnosis Day 3

On Wednesday, May 18, 2016, the team at Seattle Cancer Care Alliance diagnosed Anne-Marie with stage IV cancer that, while treatable, is incurable.

Treatment plan is pending, but will begin soon under the care of Compass Oncology here in Portland.

5-Year Anniversary of Gotcha Day

It's been five years since this special day!

Happy 13th Anniversary

Today is our 13th anniversary!  I can remember so many things about that day and this outtake from our wedding photo shoot tells some of it.  I was really young, I had lots o' hair and I was probably ignorant about a lot of things.  But young love is beautiful in so many ways.

 

35: The Second Side of 70

I don't usually post stuff on my own birthday, but today I hit the middle of 70, so it seems appropriate.  It's a big day for me because today both of our kids start kindergarten.  I think it's all very terrifying, but I know making it through this day not only means I've learned to let go a little but that I get to see the second side of 70.

So hit the reverse button on your dual cassette deck: we've got more.

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