Today I got back my results from yesterday’s tests, and they’re mostly good. CXR normal. LDH normal. bHCG not yet complete but sure to be normal.

The “mostly” is AFP. It’s 4.1, which is still well within my lab’s normal 0-15 range, but it continues a trend for the last three tests of rising results:

• 2009-11-04: 5.3
• 2009-11-30: 4.4 DOWN
• 2010-04-13: 3.3 DOWN
• 2010-06-29: 3.1 DOWN
• 2010-10-04: 3.7 UP
• 2011-02-23: 3.8 UP
• 2011-09-13: 4.1 UP

It’s easy to see patterns in noisy data. In all likelihood everything’s fine. But I’ve sent a message to Dr. Nichols to gauge his level of concern (update 9/16: yes, he agrees it’s just noise), and I’ll of course raise the issue with my local oncologist at our next appointment.

As always, I’ll try not to worry, and either way, I won’t let tomorrow interfere with my enjoyment of being alive today.

I’ll have my chest x-ray in a couple weeks.

CT scan of the abdomen: The liver, spleen, pancreas, adrenal glands, and kidneys are unremarkable. There is no evidence of retrocrural, retroperitoneal, iliac, or mesenteric adenopathy.

Ct scan of the pelvis: No pelvic masses are seen.

The visualized portions of the lungs are clear. The visualized portion of the axial skeleton demonstrates no evidence of metastatic disease.

Unremarkable exam. No evidence of residual or recurrent neoplasm.

So it looks like the 6mm mass from a year ago was just “residual goop,” as I’d hoped. Great news. I still haven’t gotten back AFP or HCG (LDH was normal), but it seems that odds are very low of their being abnormal.

Incidentally, the radiologist did note “degenerative change of the sacroiliac joints.” Those are some of the joints that connect the spine to the hips. If this is related to the back pain I’ve had since college, then it’s probably nothing new. But if it really is new, then, well, I’m getting old. (And I’m happy to have the chance to do so!)

Update: HCG zero, AFP 3.7 (up from 3.1 but still within normal). Let’s hope that’s just noise and not a trend.

• HCG zero (as always);
• LDH normal (as always);
• AFP lower than my last measurement (3.1);
• CT scan shows “interval resolution” of the enlarged node at 6mm or less. An A+ result would be that it’s completely gone, but 6mm or less means it’s just scar tissue.

From a previous post, I indicated that there was a 45% chance of dead tissue (good), 45% chance of teratoma (very inconvenient surgery but not life-threatening), and 10% chance of active cancer (bad). In the year since then, my AFP has remained low and my chest x-rays have been clear, which suggests that it’s not active cancer. My tumor was pure embryonal carcinoma, which I feel makes it unlikely to be teratoma. That leaves dead tissue as the most likely candidate.

At any rate, I’ve gotten nothing but good news since starting chemo, so I hope today turns out the same.

It’s been a very long year since then, and I mean that in a good way. Three months of the year were spent in chemotherapy, and it took another three or so before I felt well enough to work again. But since then I’ve accomplished a lot. I have shipped three software products and started a fourth. I switched to what I believe is a cancer-preventing low-carbohydrate diet, and happy side effects are that I’ve returned to my high-school weight and energy level. Other than what’s required by work, I’ve tried to avoid lazy, repetitive experiences (watching Simpsons reruns, for example, or watching movies I’ve already seen just because they happen to be on TV). I browse the web much less than I used to. I’ve spent quality time with my family and made more of an effort to be friends with them rather than just a good relative.

And lately, for no reason at all, I’ve experienced momentary euphoria at simply being well enough to appreciate being alive. Being alive and being healthy is totally, totally awesome. Lately, I’ve had all sorts of unexpected things happen to me: an anthill growing in a corner of my home; a discovery that termites have done tens of thousands of damage to my home; breathtaking swings in the stock market; and even a bear attack (yes, that last one is literal and true. Ask me if you know me in person). But my first reaction to these events is pure gratitude that I’m alive to experience them. Even if the rest of my life is nothing but bear, ant, and termite attacks, that’s way better than being sick.

I’m still sticking to my story that cancer hasn’t changed me. I haven’t changed my calling in life. I haven’t become a different person. But I have learned to appreciate health in a deep way that permeates and brightens every aspect of my consciousness. I’m still the same Mike as always, but you don’t have to hope that you’ll catch me on a good day. For me, every day I’m healthy is a good day.

I’ll have another checkup in three months. If that one turns out well, then I’ll have reached the one-year mark (which started August 24, 2009, the first day of my chemotherapy), and I can breathe a little easier about relapses. The relapse risk isn’t a step function, of course; every moment I’m clear increases the likelihood I’m cured. But the one-year milestone is cause for celebration among TC survivors, so I’m cautiously and optimistically… knocking on wood. That’s all I’m willing to say before August 24.

First, yes, I did see the South Park episode about testicular cancer. There were so many factual errors in that storyline. For example, the wheelbarrows they give you are green.

Second, my facial hair is now approximately the opposite of what I last reported. The formerly missing hair has returned, but the little bit that stayed along the upper lip and philtrum has now fallen out. This suggests that all my facial hair is going through a cycle of loss, and since the first-affected is back, I expect it’ll all eventually return to normal. Everyone said that my body would be weird for a while after chemo, and if they meant a little ear-ringing and a funny mustache, I’m quite happy with that.

It’s been quite a year since then. I still have moments where I think to myself, “I can’t (expletive deleted) believe that happened to me,” and I expect to wake up from a bad dream. I’m not yet at the point where I can serenely say that I’m a better person for having gone through the experience of cancer.

But today I am happy. It’s not wisdom; it’s not serenity. It’s just ordinary, everyday happiness. But it’s a start.