Following my May surgery, I chose the recommended path of post-testicular cancer treatment, called surveillance. This simply means regular (monthly) checkups with blood tests, occasional CT scans, and occasional chest X-rays. Until today, everything looked great: CT scans normal, X-rays normal, blood levels for the three TC markers (AFP, or alpha fetoprotein; HCG, or human chorionic gonadotrophin; and LDH, or lactate dehydrogenase) were steady and normal.
However, today when my urologist walked into the examination room, my eye went straight to a figure on the piece of paper he was holding. My AFP had gone from 2.7 to 4.1. It was still within normal range, but the trend was bad. Something was wrong.
My doctor explained that the CT scan had found an enlarged lymph node about 2.5cm in diameter. In other words, in the 10 weeks or so between my last CT scan in May and today, this lymph node grew from basically nothing to about an inch across. Unfortunately, the kind of cancer I have (EC, or embryonal carcinoma) does grow quickly, and it likes to spread, so while this wasn’t expected, it wasn’t a surprise, either.
Because this tumor is outside the original location and is larger than 2 centimeters, I’m now “staged” II-B, having previously been at stage I-A. I’m still waiting for a referral to an oncologist, but this probably means that I’ll soon begin chemotherapy. The kind of chemotherapy I’ll likely undergo is called 3xBEP (three cycles of bleomycin, etoposide, and cisplatin), and the success rate is very high, in fact so high that some medical personnel call it “essentially a cure” for this kind of testicular cancer.
That pretty much brings us to now. I might publish a few more posts describing past experiences (recovery from the orchiectomy, my consultation with Dr. Craig Nichols, and how I managed to have most of a happy summer with my family in spite of this possibility hanging over my head), but for the most part I’ll now switch my writing from narrative form to status reports and mental meandering.
Obviously, today’s a bad day. I wonder why I had to be one of the only 8,000 men in the U.S. who are diagnosed with TC each year. I wonder why mine couldn’t have been a less aggressive kind like seminoma. I wonder why I had to be in the smaller-than-20% group of men in my situation who deteriorate from a clean Stage I-A to Stage II. Today is a perfectly good day to whine and feel sorry for myself.
But on the other hand, I’m still alive, I feel fine, and it’s a beautiful day. When I look at it that way, actually nothing has changed.
Mike, sorry to learn the news. We’re praying that the chemo is completed successfully.
Mike and Mary, We are praying mightily and sending loads of positive energy towards you, for complete recovery.
Mike, even though I’m sure that you must be wondering why this is happening to you, it sounds like you are approaching this whole thing with a good attitude, which will no doubt help you to fight this thing with strength and courage. I think that the blogging is a great way to keep your mind focussed. Thanks for sending the family the link.
Love, from Mary and Jim and All the Woodstock Ivers
Mike,
You and your family are in our thoughts and prayers. Thank you for keeping in touch, I look forward to the time we receive a positive update.
‘essentially a cure’ – stick to that good thinking
Andrea, Gary, Benjamin, Theo Abernathy
Hi Mike,
Life can be very strange. I remember the 3 years I spent with the never-ending flu, fever, muscle aches and deep, unquenchable fatigue, all while being a single parent of a child with the same illness. I wondered if I was ever going to recover.
At some point, I picked up the book “Biology of Belief”. And began to look only at recovery. While I didn’t know when, I began to belief THAT I would recover. I don’t know if that is what cured me, or if it was just time, but I do know that on the days I believed I would recover, my whole day was happier, and that can’t be a bad thing. (Of course you know Lance Armstrong wrote a book about his experiences. And he made it!)
You are a brave and capable couple. That cute, sweet baby is pure joy. You have lots of reasons to be happy.
I appreciate that you put me on your blog list. I will pray for you and your family.
Warm regards,
Cynthia Beck
I love you, hon, and I know you’re going to get better.
Mike,
Thank you for the updates. The ‘essentially a cure’ part does sound very hopeful. Your strength and resolve will see you through this!
Osborne
Mike-
Jarring news. Although I see it every day, I can’t imagine what it’s like to go through. With your humor, intelligence, and positive attitude, as well as the love of your family and friends, you are well-armed for the future. All my best, Keith
Mike and Mary,
You 2 have created such a beautiful, amazing family! It is that same loving, nurturing, calm aura that will bring you through anything that life offers you, together…
As Grammie Rose used to say “every knock, a boost!” I am sure that Grammie and Paula are watching over you!
I love you all and will continue to keep you close in my heart,
Davida XO XO xo xo xo