Good news? Bad news? Sometimes in the cancer business, it's hard to know.
What's for certain is that the circumstances surrounding Big MRI 2 (the sequel to last month's mostly positive/slightly ambiguous brain X-ray) were nothing short of frustrating. On Tuesday morning, around 3 AM, Amy woke up with a partial seizure—the same kind of seizure that she had throughout February following the surgery, the same kind of seizure that she hasn't had in over three months. If you recall, these unsettling tremors last about one minute and involve lots of muscle spasms in the face, much drooling, and slurred speech for several minutes after they pass. To have one now, after three months of not having any, left us both rather dismayed. What happened? What could be causing this? A question for our doctor. And fortunately for us, we were seeing our neurologist later in the day. Seizures are unwanted visitors, but at least this one had good timing.
The MRI later that morning was uneventful. Aftesaw our neurologist, who explained that this new seizure was pretty much nothing to worry about. What could have caused it? Most likely, he said, something happened that diluted the potency of Amy's anti-seizure medication, a drug called Keppra, which she takes every day. What could have impacted the drug? A change in diet—and as it turns out, Amy hadn't had much to eat or drink that day. But stress can do the trick, too, and the doctor suggested that Amy's recent struggles with mild depression could have produced the kind of anxiety that could have undermined Keppra's effectiveness. Finally, our doctor pointed out that Amy has always been on a rather low dosage, so he advised her to take some more.
That was yesterday. Today, we again trekked up to Los Angeles—a 30 plus mile drive each way, an hour up and an hour back—to meet with our neurosurgeon to discuss the results of the MRI. When we got there, we learned that… we didn't have an appointment! Apparently, the scheduler screwed up. She never inputted our appointment in the computer. Oh, well. It happens. But the appointment most definitely wasn't: our doctor was in surgery. We had come all that way for this big news, only to learn that our newscaster was in the field on assignment. We were pretty irked. And all we could do was trek back home and wait on the good doctor to call.
Which he did. The big news: No news. As it turns out, Big MRI 2 looks EXACTLY like Big MRI 1—a healthy looking brain, no new tumor growth, but an small ring-shaped spot on the perimeter of where they removed Amy's original cancer mass. This ring-shaped spot—exact same location, exact same size. Now, based on what we were told last month, we were expecting that spot to be gone, or at least smaller; our doctor suspected the spot to merely be the result of inflammation caused by radiation. Now, there are three theories:
1. We're stilll looking at radiation damage—which is fine. No worries.
2. We're looking at a pool of contrast—the dye used to take the MRI photo. Fine. No worries.
3. We're looking at one weirdly shaped tumor. Worrisome.
Our doctor was "very pleased" with this MRI. In his book, as long as that ring doesn't grow, Amy is "healthy." Moreover, as long as that ring stays exactly the size and shape that it is at present, then Amy will live a very long life. Still, this wasn't the news we wanted to hear today. We wanted to enter this new phase of Life With Cancer with a clean picture. The ambiguity of Amy's condition is challenging enough as it is. To have this ring—well, it's like someone decided to underline the "ambiguity" part of this whole business, like, 50 times, just in case we had missed the point--which we hadn't, by the way. And so it goes that Amy will have another MRI next month. It would be cool if you guys would ask the big guy upstairs if he could use his magic eraser and wipe that spot out of Amy's head. And if He could buck up our spirits, and teach us how to live graciously, thankfully, and wisely in this protracted state of Not Knowing, well, that would be even better.
And so, life goes on. Lauren is sitting next to me, flipping through baby photo albums and recounting today's episode of "Dora The Explorer." Ben is building a spaceship with his Legos and fighting the Clone Wars. Amy just left to go see a movie with some friends.
Could life be a lot worse ? Hell yes.
But right now, I wish it was just a little better.
We are thankful for your love and support. All of you are truly blessings from God. Thank you—for taking care of us, and for listening.
Much love,
Jeff, Amy, Ben and Lauren
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Sent via blackberry
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Continued prayers for Amy
As I finished my last post, this just came to my blackberry. I'll let you know if they toss me in jail for using my electronic device while the doors were closed......shhh, don't tell.
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Dear friends and family,
We hope this finds letter finds you all well.
In the time since our last update--in which we joyfully informed you that Amy has responded well to treatment and that an MRI showed there has been no new tumor growth—we have been coming to grips with the fact that life with cancer is more complicated than we first thought. Naively, we kinda assumed that once we reached the MRI and got a thumb's up from the doctors, The Jensens of Lakewood, California would be allowed to return to "the way things used to be." But that has turned out to be a case of wishful thinking.
First of all, Amy has begun her year of monthly chemo treatments. For five consecutive days every month, she takes a pill that's not quite double the dosage of what she was taking when she was on the daily regimen of chemo after her surgery. This new treatment leaves her totally wiped out. By the third day, she startreally worn down. And after the last day of pill popping, she needs 2-3 days to recover. I'm helping out by working from home during these treatment windows. Please keep Amy in her prayers; the physical ordeal of her experience is not yet over.
And then, there is the emotional aspect of her experience. Over the past two weeks, Amy has struggled with emotional weariness and something that someone like me might imprecisely call depression. The old, ordinary things feel daunting, even getting ready for bed, which ironic, considering that her overwhelming desire right now is to just lay down and sleep. Amy also finds herself thinking about her mortality and worrying about new tumors growing in her brain. The nature of her cancer is such that the only guarantee of never getting a brain tumor again is… never getting another brain tumor. We know the cancer cells are in her head. They may be irreparably "injured," or they may be only stunned—there's just no way of knowing for certain unless they start doing something. Something bad. And so, what Amy has realized is that she's stuck in a state of scary ambiguity—like living life waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The good news is that our family is doing well amid this trial, and overall, Amy's will and sense of humor remain strong. She's getting the help she needs and has the support of her friends and family. Still, we ask for a renewed round of directed prayer for her. (If you can also toss in a request for extra energy for me and extra patience for the kids, that would be awesome). Specifically, we ask for God's blessing on her the morning of Tuesday, June 5, when she goes in for a follow-up MRI. We hope to see a clean picture—no new tumors, no residual swelling from the radiation, no strange "blips" that leave our doctors going "Huh. I have no idea what that is." We will learn the results of this new MRI the next day, and I will post a new update at that time letting you know what we know.
We thank you all for your love and support. For our friends and family in Portland and Seattle, we look forward to seeing all of you in a few short weeks, when we make our annual summertime swing through the Pacific Northwest.
Love to all,
Jeff, Amy, Ben and Lauren
--------------------
Sent via blackberry
------
Dear friends and family,
We hope this finds letter finds you all well.
In the time since our last update--in which we joyfully informed you that Amy has responded well to treatment and that an MRI showed there has been no new tumor growth—we have been coming to grips with the fact that life with cancer is more complicated than we first thought. Naively, we kinda assumed that once we reached the MRI and got a thumb's up from the doctors, The Jensens of Lakewood, California would be allowed to return to "the way things used to be." But that has turned out to be a case of wishful thinking.
First of all, Amy has begun her year of monthly chemo treatments. For five consecutive days every month, she takes a pill that's not quite double the dosage of what she was taking when she was on the daily regimen of chemo after her surgery. This new treatment leaves her totally wiped out. By the third day, she startreally worn down. And after the last day of pill popping, she needs 2-3 days to recover. I'm helping out by working from home during these treatment windows. Please keep Amy in her prayers; the physical ordeal of her experience is not yet over.
And then, there is the emotional aspect of her experience. Over the past two weeks, Amy has struggled with emotional weariness and something that someone like me might imprecisely call depression. The old, ordinary things feel daunting, even getting ready for bed, which ironic, considering that her overwhelming desire right now is to just lay down and sleep. Amy also finds herself thinking about her mortality and worrying about new tumors growing in her brain. The nature of her cancer is such that the only guarantee of never getting a brain tumor again is… never getting another brain tumor. We know the cancer cells are in her head. They may be irreparably "injured," or they may be only stunned—there's just no way of knowing for certain unless they start doing something. Something bad. And so, what Amy has realized is that she's stuck in a state of scary ambiguity—like living life waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The good news is that our family is doing well amid this trial, and overall, Amy's will and sense of humor remain strong. She's getting the help she needs and has the support of her friends and family. Still, we ask for a renewed round of directed prayer for her. (If you can also toss in a request for extra energy for me and extra patience for the kids, that would be awesome). Specifically, we ask for God's blessing on her the morning of Tuesday, June 5, when she goes in for a follow-up MRI. We hope to see a clean picture—no new tumors, no residual swelling from the radiation, no strange "blips" that leave our doctors going "Huh. I have no idea what that is." We will learn the results of this new MRI the next day, and I will post a new update at that time letting you know what we know.
We thank you all for your love and support. For our friends and family in Portland and Seattle, we look forward to seeing all of you in a few short weeks, when we make our annual summertime swing through the Pacific Northwest.
Love to all,
Jeff, Amy, Ben and Lauren
--------------------
Sent via blackberry
On the road
Today I headed out on the road for a quick 3 day trip to KC. I am traveling with a co-worker for some customer visits. I enjoy seeing and talking with our customers, but it is hard leaving steph and the kids, even for a couple days. On top of that with a bunch of Monday meetings, I had to leave on Sunday.
I am currently sitting in the plane in denver waiting to pull away from the gate. The Seattle to Denver leg may have been the most uncomfortable flight I have ever been on. The only good thing was that I had an asile seat. Everything else was bad. I had about 1 cm....yes cm of legroom. I think I might have permanent "dents" in my knees from the seat in front of me. It was totally full....not a single empty seat, and I was in the 2nd to last row. Meanwhile my travel mate, who has been a road warrior and accumulated thousands of miles upgraded to first class.....wine, cheese, pillows. I'm not really bitter....really.
Oh well....gotta remember that they just don't give you those miles, you have to travel a ton to have them. That means more time away from steph and the kids. I'll take the knees in my face, and permanent dents for their three big smiles any day :-)
Well better go, all electronics need to be off, so I don't want my blog post messing up the communication system.
--------------------
Sent via blackberry
I am currently sitting in the plane in denver waiting to pull away from the gate. The Seattle to Denver leg may have been the most uncomfortable flight I have ever been on. The only good thing was that I had an asile seat. Everything else was bad. I had about 1 cm....yes cm of legroom. I think I might have permanent "dents" in my knees from the seat in front of me. It was totally full....not a single empty seat, and I was in the 2nd to last row. Meanwhile my travel mate, who has been a road warrior and accumulated thousands of miles upgraded to first class.....wine, cheese, pillows. I'm not really bitter....really.
Oh well....gotta remember that they just don't give you those miles, you have to travel a ton to have them. That means more time away from steph and the kids. I'll take the knees in my face, and permanent dents for their three big smiles any day :-)
Well better go, all electronics need to be off, so I don't want my blog post messing up the communication system.
--------------------
Sent via blackberry
Saturday, June 2, 2007
Husky Deli T-Ball
Team photos are in! Here is the 2007 Husky Deli T-Ball Team. We had another great game today...A solid tie against the intimidating Menashe & Sons Team :-) The weather was nothing short of awesome today for the game..Sunny and 70...at 9am!! Maddie hit 2 coach pitches, and the one from the tee went all the way to the outfield. The kids are doing great and continue to get better every game.
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