Notes from the interim

My dad wanted me to post a quick update before the second round of chemo begins on Tuesday, April 2nd. He wrote:

I just want folks to know that all has gone well. During the 18 day interim period between treatments, I've worked 7 days. Not bad! When Round #1 started, I was so relieved to learn that the cancer is local to my bladder, that I experienced chemo as almost fascinating and the necessary beginning of the process to make me cancer free. I don't know how it will go this time, but I am hopeful the drugs will do their job , and I won't feel too depleted on the days immediately after this round is complete. 

I continue to be deeply grateful and energized by  the love and support of all of you along for this ride on "A Great Wagon."

He's headed up to the dacha tomorrow to spend the weekend with my mom, and then they'll both come back to the city for treatment next week. I'm including a screen shot from a recent FaceTime call with me and Tim. As you can see, he looks himself, happy and smiling.

Round One: Over

Round 1 of chemo is over, and our dad is feeling pretty alright. He's drinking lots of fluid to keep the chemo from settling in his kidneys ("the kids") and continues to report positively about the oncology nurses.

There are some side effects, such as incessant hiccuping, but he's getting that more under control. He's taking anti-nausea medication preventively, as well as a few other meds for the various side effects of the anti-nausea meds. So these things go. He's feeling well enough to continue tax prep paperwork and is planning to shoot on Sunday. The next round of chemo is scheduled to be on April 2, 3, and 4.

Today, the two of us FaceTime-d on our iPhones, which was great. I never feel too far away from my dad, because we are always in such close touch, but being in San Francisco while all this is happening in New York has, and will continue to be, very difficult. Being able to just lay eyes on him made me feel much better. We're both trying to be brave in the face of a great unknown.Your comments here, and your emails and phone calls, continue to give us all strength and courage. My dad calls them his elixir.

PET scan results

We had the best news we could hope for today: the PET scan results indicate the cancer is localized to the bladder. Strange, but essential, that one can feel happiness and relief while also having cancer.

After his meeting with the oncologist, Dr. Bajorin, our dad went in to chemo (our mom accompanied him). It sounds like it was pretty uneventful, which I think is what you want from your chemo appointments. Apparently the nurses and staff on the chemo unit are quite wonderful. My dad specifically wanted me to mention Cita, who brought clarity and humor to the appointment, which, when you consider the circumstances of her job, is really saying something. The MSK experience continues to help him feel better about how and what he is feeling. He was not even paid to say that.

Dad will have two more days of chemo, and then 18 days off. The plan is for four total rounds, which Dr. Bajorin seems to think, based on Dad's health and age, he will tolerate well.

We are all breathing a big sigh of relief. There is lots to come, we know, and much of it will be very difficult. But today's news is wonderful.

"Nice carpeting and well-appointed furniture"

Today was our dad's PET scan. This will reveal whether the cancer has metastasized anywhere else in his body. Here's what he wrote to me afterward:

This part of the hospital was like a posh conference center. Nice carpeting and well-appointed furniture. As Ilya met us in the lobby, they called to make sure I was indeed planning to come in for my PET Scan. I got injected with a radioactive isotope and then drank a watery raspberry drink to help make a good picture. This took about an hour. I read a Vanity Fair article about the man who wrote to novel "Lost Weekend," made into a multiple Oscar winner by Billy Wilder. Finally, they came and got me. I laid down on a palette and then the pretty girl warned me not to move. They slid me into the (space time) donut and proceeded to make images which Dr. Bajorin will interpret before my Tuesday morning appointment next week. Like I say, uneventful. I don't need / want drama EVERY day, now do I? Going crosstown on the M66 at the moment. Hana's up front, Ilya's standing a few feet away. I'm radioactive and not supposed to hug anyone too closely for the next 24 hours. Except Bruna.

So: waiting and more waiting. I'm glad the facilities at MSK are so nice; hospitals and treatment centers can be pretty depressing.

They go back up to the dacha tomorrow; chemo begins on Tuesday. We should have the PET scan results back by then. 

Knights Templar in the Waiting Room

Today we finally got some good news. After a brief procedure at Sloan Kettering that required twilight anesthesia (mild sedation), Dr. Dalbagni informed us that the exterior of the bladder has not attached to any tissue/organs. He then said, "On with Chemo." That was it. He is a man of few words (he is a surgeon).

My dad left the hospital today feeling pretty good. His opening line on the phone when we spoke was, "Twilight anesthesia is the BEST!"

It's small, yes. But it's the only piece of good news we've had this week, and we're all grateful for it.

This was after my mom and dad were delayed by over two hours because another operation went late. But two hours feels OK, retrospectively, when you get the news you were hoping for. My mom stayed with my dad and read to him about the Knights Templar to pass the time. As in previous visits, the MSK staff were unfailingly personable and polite. So much so that even my dad eventually wished they would just let him read in peace, another good sign. Next up is the PET scan on March 7th. My folks head up the dacha with Bruna tomorrow morning.

I am trying to actually take everything a day at a time, and not just fake it, which it what I normally do. This is something my parents have been counseling me to do for a long time, and it feels like it's finally taking. Although I am personally eager for answers and definitiveness, I'm focusing on the fact that my dad doesn't feel sick, he is himself, he always will be. We have another week and a half before chemo starts, and, since it's likely it will leave him feeling a bit fatigued, I want him and all of us to try to enjoy it.