Chemo Round 43 (and Radiation Rounds 1 and 2)

I know it’s been a while since I posted last, and I apologize for that. As always, the reason was not health-related but schedule-related (you know your buddy WunderGlo is always on the move). I’m here now, though, and it’s time to let you know how chemo round 43 and my first two rounds of radiation went. Spoiler alert (since I've made you wait long enough to hear from me): everything went well. Chemo, as always, went smoothly. I am back on Oxaliplatin, which gave me a little bit of trouble around Chemo Round 7 (oh, the good old days of single digit chemo rounds!!) with a bit of an allergic reaction, but this time, I had no such reaction. I got hit with a little dose of Benadryl as one of my pre-meds (to make sure I didn’t have an allergic reaction to the Oxali) and slept through a good part of chemo this time around. Even though I had gotten my FOLFIRI infusions down to a science, I knew that wading back into the world of FOLFOX would take a little patience and more time to rest. I was absolutely cruising through my rounds of FOLFIRI – working, working out, hydrating, and bouncing back quickly – and now, I need to listen to my body, take my time, and figure out the best way to sail through my FOLFOX regimen. In general, the round went quite well. I felt great on Monday and Tuesday (which was a good thing, since we had an event for the upcoming Wunder Project at O’Melveny on Tuesday). On Wednesday, I felt fine in the morning and then fatigue and general grossness set in during the afternoon and evening. It wasn’t too bad, though – I just really didn’t want to eat or drink anything. So I slept. Like a rock. Thursday was better, and by yesterday, I was back to my old tricks. I always remembered that FOLFOX took its hit on Wednesday and Thursday, while FOLFIRI weighed on me on Tuesday and Wednesday. Either way, I’m 100% come Friday, and then I can’t be stopped on the days after that. Interesting things you learn when you’re a chemo veteran like me. And radiation. Man, radiation was a breeze. So far, I’ve had two rounds – on Thursday and Friday – and it’s been pretty fun. I just relax on this moving board thing, listen to the chilled out music the tech has on (Hawaiian music on Thursday, some relaxed pop music on Friday), and wait as the techs arrange my body correctly, write on my chest with multi-colored Sharpies, and skip out of the room just before the radiation machine gives me my dose. The actual dosage time takes 40 seconds – 20 seconds with the machine focusing its main laser beam on my chest, then 20 seconds with it shooting at me through my back. No pain, no discomfort, no side effects. I hear I might get a little fatigued as treatment goes on, but we all know that my fatigue is a normal person’s normal, so I’m not nervous. My new treatment regimen is going great. I’m feeling strong, keeping very busy with The Wunder Project, and quite sure that the cancer in my body had a very tough time this week. And that’s the way we like it.

Change is the Only Constant

Before I begin, please take a deep breath. Yes, this post is health-related. I remain the tough, strong, fit, and great-feeling WunderGlo. So don’t freak out, alright? Freaking out is not helpful and it’s also not necessary. Ok, here we go. Last Thursday, I had a CT scan. All went fine in terms of getting the scan itself – the tech found my vein immediately, the barium drink was chilled and as delicious as it could ever be, and I was in and out quickly and efficiently. Dr. Lenz got the results on Friday, and I found about them on Saturday (I found out on Saturday only because we were already planning on hanging out, not because things were that pressing and/or serious - don’t let your mind wander, ok?). All in all, it was a good scan -- the disease in my belly is more or less stable, there aren’t any tumors on any organs or anything like that, there is no spread of disease to the bones, and there’s no new primary cancer like breast or liver cancer or something like that. So that's all good news. And now, for the bad news (and, for the record, I don't consider any of this bad news). Despite my current chemo cocktail working very well for 15 months (which is a very long and successful run for a second line of treatment), a few cancer cells escaped from chemo's control and latched on to a lymph node that had not previously been diseased. Generally, we don't really freak out about a few diseased lymph nodes here and there (this is fairly small potatoes considering the circumstances of a Stage IV patient), but this lymph node is in an unfortunate location. It's right near a major blood vessel in my chest. Its location, combined with the fact that I'm on blood thinner medication (because I have some blood clots that we're monitoring) could lead to a bad result if the lymph node were to grow and damage or erode that vessel. If that happened, I could bleed to death. And nobody wants me to bleed to death. So here’s the plan. On or around the 28th, I will begin a very short-term, very focused stint of radiation to burn out that lymph node in my chest. I will get these radiation treatments every day for 10 days in a row (minus the weekends) and then, that'll be it. That lymph node will be a distant memory and the most pressing of my health issues will have been handled. At the same time (as in, on the 28th), I'll start a new chemo regimen that isn't actually that new -- I'll be back on FOLFOX, which was my first chemo drug (our testing shows conclusively that my tumors are still sensitive to FOLFOX). Word on the street is radiation and chemo at the same time makes chemo that much more effective, so we're really throwing both barrels at this disease. I've been assured that the radiation won't really make me sick and I’ll keep my hair, so that's all pretty cool. Chemo will continue to be bi-weekly, and I'm confident that we will get this sucker disease back under control so I can go about business as usual. If this chemo cocktail doesn't work as well as we'd like, I have another back-up option. If that back-up doesn't work, we have another back-up. And I'm sure that, if we were hard pressed, we could find some more back-ups. Please trust and believe that I am in the best hands possible with my beloved Dr. Lenz, and that he wants to save my life just as much as all of you want me to live. Together, we’ve got this. Bottom line: I'm not worried. I'm excited for this new treatment regimen, and I feel that this is going to not only keep my disease stable, but kill what little there is left of it in my body. My work with The WunderGlo Foundation and on The Wunder Project will not stop and none of my scheduled activities will change. I know now, more than ever, that I need to do this work. And I will do this work, no matter what challenges -- physical or otherwise -- I have to overcome to do it. Before I knew exactly what my scans said, I emailed Lenz and said "FYI, whatever this is, it's not going to stop me or our work with The Wunder Project." He agreed completely, saying that it only makes what we're doing more important. That couldn't be truer. So take heart, WunderGlo supporters, we are still on track and we are still beating the hell out of cancer. Dr. Lenz will do it with his brilliant mind, I will do it with my tough body and tougher mind, and you will all help me with your strength, support, and positivity. I almost feel bad for this lymph node. Almost. Oh, and instead of chemo today (since we're pushing it to the 28th), I'm going to Disneyland.

Chemo Round 42 (and a little bit of England and Ireland)

After 11 wonderful days of running around London, then Dublin, then London, then Bath, then London again, we landed at 1am at LAX on Monday morning. After taking the Super Shuttle back to my parents’ house, then loading up my car, I was in bed at 3am. And by 11:30am, I was back at Norris, ready to beat cancer’s ass after an invigorating, post-Christmas-and-just-in-time-for-New-Year’s-Eve, transatlantic adventure. You know I’m not a big fan of down time. Chemo Round 42 went very well. At first, I was a little bummed because Dr. Lenz was already at LAX awaiting his flight to Singapore by the time I got to Norris. You know I love to start off my cancer-killing chemo days with a powwow with my guy, so when he’s not around I’ve got a tiny little sad face. But I bucked up, had a great time with Taline (Dr. Lenz’s nurse practitioner), found that I didn’t gain one pound while on vacation, and also found that my blood work and vitals and everything else were looking solid. I rested in my bed for a bit, but spent most of my infusion time plotting and planning for my big project for 2013. I have been relentless with my pursuit of this goal and the preparation it takes to make our public launch that much more explosive and successful. So yes, after flying back from England and while guzzling up chemo, I worked. And then, the Dreamliner plane gave me a gift. After a myriad of travel-related issues, Dr. Lenz gave up on flying on Monday. And even though he told me he was going home from LAX, he actually came back to Norris first. Even though it was a pain in the neck and a travel nightmare for him, I got my wish – good times with Dr. Lenz on a chemo Monday. The rest of the round went well. Our little concoction of slightly different pre-meds and a liter of fluids on Monday and Wednesday has spelled success for me. I was up and running by Thursday and was out and about from 11am until 10pm. Christmas celebrations, the trip to Europe, and chemo round 42 combined for a whirlwind three weeks. But, as you know, that’s how I like it. Oh yeah, and my CEA is still stable. Cancer isn’t moving a muscle. Instead, I’m the one running wild…and loving every moment.

My New Year's Resolution

There’s no doubt about it: 2012 was a great year for me. Yet again, I overcame the odds and thrived in the face of cancer, even when the chips were stacked against me. I endured another surgery and about two dozen rounds of chemo without missing a beat. I grew The WunderGlo Foundation and began planning for a project that will change the face of cancer research and treatment. I made new friends and strengthened relationships with old ones. I moved into my first home. I bought my parents a dog (Oliver) that has brought total joy into our lives and has been a phenomenal little brother to my dog (Winston). I traveled to New York City, Washington D.C., San Francisco, Durham, Vegas, the Bahamas, England, and Ireland. I played basketball in front of Coach K (making some pretty tough shots and making sure I played the best defense of my life considering my audience). I worked full time at O’Melveny, hit the gym almost every day, and successfully grew tomatoes in my backyard (I’ve wanted to become a vegan farmer for a while now). I cage dived with Great White Sharks, was the co-chair of my 5 year law school reunion at Stanford, and got a tattoo of the word “Wunder” on my left rib. I helped a lot of cancer warriors and their families. My 2012 was rich and full, packed to the gills with love and fun and excitement. I did everything I set out to do in 2012. And now, it’s time to look forward to 2013. There’s only one thing on my mind, and it’s The Wunder Project, the official name for the endeavor Dr. Lenz and I are embarking on next year. “Wunder” means “miracle” in German, and this project, when successful, will bring a lot of miracles to a lot of people. And that is an understatement. My New Year’s resolution is to work hard, to stay focused, to never give up, and to fight the cancer not only in my body but on a much larger scale. My resolution in 2013 is to start a movement that will change the world. My resolution is to remember the beauty of life and living amidst all the work and activity. My resolution is to keep the memory of my dear departed friend close to my heart, to think of her every day, and to dedicate the fruits of my labor with The Wunder Project to her. My resolution is to keep doing what I’m doing, but to do it all even better. Alright, that’s more than one resolution. But I can handle them. Now that I've got my marching orders for 2013, I’m off to get ready for my evening, which will cap off with fireworks on the Thames River in London. A huge celebration, and a fitting way to start the biggest year of my life. Happy 2013 to all of you. Thank you for your support this year. May the upcoming year bring nothing but love, joy, gratitude, and happiness your way.

With a Heavy Heart

With a very heavy heart, I’m coming to grips with the fact that my best friend in this cancer world has passed away. She was too young, too tough, and too spirited. She fought with every ounce in her body, for herself and for her family. She wanted to live. And she’s not alive anymore.

It sickens me. It’s devastating to me. And I’m sad beyond measure. I knew that her health was declining, but I refused to give up. The last time we talked, I told her to not give up for a second. I told her to keep fighting. I told her she would make a comeback and that I believed in her.

But there was no comeback. And I’ve now entered a world in which I’ll never talk to my buddy again. Just thinking that thought makes tears well up in my eyes. I know it must be a million times worse for her family, and that pains me too.  She was such a force, a bright and optimistic and truly good person. And I miss her already. I miss her so much.

I know what she’d tell me if she could. She’d tell me two things. 1) To live my life to the fullest and 2) to beat the hell out of cancer.

I’m in Dublin right now, and I’ll be spending New Year’s Eve in London, my favorite city in the world. I’ve had an incredible couple of days here in Europe and I’ve got over a week of vacation ahead of me. I am living my life to the fullest and I’ll continue to do so with her memory in my heart at all times. Living my life to the fullest is well under control.

And now, more than ever, more than I could ever imagine, I am determined to beat this ugly, vicious disease with every drop of blood in my body. Obviously, I will continue to take good care of myself in my own battle with cancer, but my goals go far beyond my own survival. It’s important, but it’s only part of the ultimate goal.

In honor of my dear, sweet friend, I am more determined than ever to be a part of the force that really beats this disease. That beats it for all of us. That ENDS IT. My big project with Dr. Lenz kicks off next year, and not a moment too soon. With my friend’s memory in my heart and at the forefront of my mind, I will use every skill and talent that I have to make this project successful, which will spell the beginning of the end for cancer. I will not quit. I will not doubt myself. I will not stop working. I will not stop at all. Not until I’ve beaten the hell out of cancer in every sense of the word.

I will take the pain I feel and turn it into something good, something productive, something that will change the world and make it a better place for everyone and especially for cancer warriors. I miss my friend already, but I will think of her every single day. She’s not going anywhere in my heart and mind. And she will be a part of our project. She will be our guardian angel. With her help, we will succeed. Together, we will beat the hell out of cancer.

Rest in Peace to my rock star. I love you, warrior. I love you, friend.