February 14th, 2016

Last Thursday I had the long-awaited scans that we hoped would show I have No Evidence of Disease (NED). I'm completely comfortable with that kind of language. No Evidence of Disease is a much more realistic phrase than pretty much anything with the word "cured" in it. At best, all anyone will ever be able to conclusively say is that currently I show no signs of cancer. With tricky, aggressive cancers like DSRCT, you really never know for sure that it's gone forever. You can only know for sure that it is there. It's kinda like aliens. We'll only be able to prove they exist when we run into them, but the fact that we haven't found them yet just means we haven't looked in the right place at the right time. OK, not a perfect example, but you get the basic idea.

That's all fine with me. I understand that a declaration of NED wouldn't be a guarantee of health. It would mean that I'd be able to go 3 months between scans though, and that I could start living life three months at a time, and dare to plan for the future, at least a little bit. So you see why I was hoping for NED results from my scans. I also remembered well that it was entirely possible the results would definitively show that the cancer had returned. It's happened to too many people we've gotten to know this last year of treatment. So my wife and I hoped for the best, remembered the possibility of the worst, and really just didn't think about it much, choosing instead to enjoy the time we had, rather than agonize over upcoming results. We were prepared for a clear answer either way; NED, or new tumor activity. We weren't expecting another vague scan result, warranting another follow-up scan in 6 short weeks.

Previously, my scans showed mysterious fluid in my abdomen, which they drained, and two identical spots on my lungs, likely inflammation. Thursday's scan showed no fluid (yay!), and the spots on my lungs were gone (yay again!). But there is a new spot that looks the same as the old spots (meh?). Hopefully it's just a bit of inflammation. That's what the other two, which looked the same, were. But we'll see in six weeks. For now, we make do with what we have. It's half the time we were hoping for before the next potentially life-altering scans, but it'll do. We're amending our planned "Grand Road Trip of Pretty Much Every National Park in the U.S. and Canada," making it more realistic for our shortened schedule. That and the fact that we're doing it in March, when the Rockies are still buried in snow. After we travel, it's scan time again. Maybe that scan at the end of March will finally give us the results we're hoping for. Or maybe it'll be another vague result, or a definitively bleak one. We'll see. The point is that my life makes obvious what is true for us all; none of us knows the future, and we could die at any time. There's no point whining about it. The best any of us can really do is not squander the time we have, and appreciate every minute for what it's worth.

Housekeeping Notes

Just a few quick housekeeping notes here!

No blog post tomorrow, due to time and travel constraints

Note the new URL for this blog - http://cancerousauthor.blogspot.com/

I am no longer using the pseudonym S. D. Gloria for my writing. I thought it would be fun to continue in the tradition of using some form of "Soli Deo Gloria" as a pseudonym, but it has proven too confusing and made it difficult for me and others to spread the word about my blog and books. It will take some time for everything to reflect these changes, but within a week or two everything on facebook, amazon, twitter, and goodreads should be up and running again with "Morgan Bolt" as the author name.

That is all!

January 31st, 2016

It's past time to talk about hair and cancer. 

Last year I lost my hair. Got it back. Lost it. Got it back. I think I lost it again? Now I have it back. Before my ordeal with cancer, I assumed that people undergoing cancer treatment did not have hair, and that their hair coming back meant they were cured. Now though I know there really is no such thing as "cured" with regards to cancer, and that you cannot judge someone's treatment progress by their (lack of) hair. Even so, it can be hard to remember.

For the first few rounds of chemo--now amazingly over a year ago--I kept my hair. I shaved it off preemptively, thinking that I'd lose it right away when treatment began. Then we arrived in NYC and found out it wouldn't go anywhere until later rounds of more intense chemo. So there I was with my hair buzzed short, but not even starting to fall out. When it did finally go, it was surprisingly quick to come back, often making valiant efforts between rounds of chemo. In July I had a full head of hair and a weirdly soft black beard. I looked pretty swarthy and dashing. People often assumed I was done with treatment, though in truth I had another surgery, chemo, and two kinds of radiation treatments yet to go. As annoying as it might have been to have people I assume I was done, I really couldn't blame them. It's terribly confusing.

I too have made assumptions on the progress of others' treatment based on their hair. I can clearly remember being so glad last spring to see that one of the young patients we had gotten to know had her hair again. She must just be back for a follow up appointment, I stupidly assumed. Sadly my assumption based on her appearance was horribly wrong. She was merely between treatments, and her cancer had in fact returned, and to a terrible extent. Her situation has been and continues to be for me the most heart-wrenching part of this past year. Please, please pray for D.

That experience highlighted for me just how shallow we too often are. Western culture at least emphasizes physical appearance so much that we quickly evaluate and make assumptions based on looks alone. Cancer provides a great example of this. We see someone bald and thin and assume they have cancer; when we see their hair has come back, we presume they're all better now. Without knowing a person well, and taking the time to really understand their situation, we can easily draw wrong conclusions, even if we have lived through the same situation as them, even if we have found ourselves on their end of those false assumptions. How great it is then to love and serve a God who knows us for who we are inside, and does not judge on outward appearances.