Writing this blog has always therapeutic for me. Unfortunately, we've needed that kind of outlet a few times.
Cancer is back. Fifth time since the original diagnosis 2010. Chemo started last Monday and I've felt felt worse. I've also felt better.
Been diagnosed with multiple myeloma. Tumours in multiple spots. In the process, we've switched from our longtime oncologist Dr. Kerry Savage to Dr. Christopher Venner, who's a multiple myeloma specialist.
Dr. Savage diagnosed the original solitary plasmacytoma cancer 15-plus years ago and had been our point person since Cancer No. 2 and the stem cell transplant that followed in February 2017. Feel very connected to her -- she emailed at Christmas time even. It's early days with Dr. Venner, but he seems very sharp and we like him and his team.
The initial plan was to try to get into a Car T-Cell trial, but Dr. Venner made it clear that it was a lengthy process and my body may not hold up to get us to the finish line. I started getting pain in my ribs three weeks ago, and did as I was told, calling the nurse hotline to get it on the books with Venner and Co.
The pain went away after a couple of days, but it came back two weeks ago, and I called once again. They called me into B.C. Cancer the next day, and was told "You don't look comfortable...we're done chasing the trial...we're not doing this to you...we're starting chemo next week." We likely weren't going to hear about the trial for another six weeks at least.
There was no messing around. I fully expected to be put on an exam team and get the once over, but they didn't bother. I appreciated that. Felt trusted and heard.
They're already talking about how they'll handle Cancer No. 6 and how the T-Cell will be more advanced by then and remains an option. That's a positive feeling.
The protocol comes with a fist full of steroids once a week. That's the worst part. Makes me feel bloated, and the last time it had my skin feeling greasy. I'm in full on dread about the steroids already.
The steroids also make you hyper and since Monday's appointment was 4:15 p.m. I slept about two hours that night. I've been worse -- there was a night in 2017 that I think I slept 27 minutes. I got a bag of chips and watched Wrestlemania X on the WWE network. My 12-year-old inner self was elated.
My plan for now is to try to work through this -- sports editor Paul Chapman has been awesome, saying if writing and reporting is a positive we'll find a way -- and Tuesday marked the announcement of Jim Robson's death. I'm such a massive Jim Robson fanboy that I was going to fight to do that one. I was lucky to get calls back and massive anecdotes from Don Taylor, John Shorthouse, Brendan Batchelor, Dave Randorf and Greg Douglas, and somehow I got it written in time for print deadline.
By the end of the day, I was so exhausted that I had trouble talking. My throat wasn't sore. I just out of juice.
It's pills every day, a shot in the stomach every Monday. We'll see what tomorrow brings with our second shot.
Stay tuned.
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