CT scan

Angels Are Part of the Magic, and Today I Need the Magic

If you’ve never had cancer, you likely won’t be able to appreciate why this day in early February was so special for me. If you’re lucky, you get to live with cancer. And, if you’ve been one of the lucky ones, you’re living among angels, because angels are part of the magic, they make the stars align, they put you in front of just the right physicians and caregivers, maybe the only ones who know what to do to help you live.

Several weeks ago, Jill and I met one of our angels.

If you know us, you know our story. If you’re new to my blog, there are a couple hundred thousand words here going back to June 10, 2009 when I had my first encounter with renal cell carcinoma (kidney cancer or RCC). Very shortly after my diagnosis, Susan Poteat reached out to me after I posted a plea for help on an email LISTSERV named acor.org, now called smartpatients.com. I had done enough research to know this cancer was rare and dangerous and I desperately wanted information that might help me live.

Susan is a locum tenens medical physicist. Locum tenens means “to hold the place for, to substitute for.” So, she travels to a clinic or hospital that has a medical physicist shortage for one reason or another and fills in for them on a contract basis until the person returns or the job is filled. She works in radiation oncology, with oncologists, surgeons and technicians watching over the numbers, radiation dosages, the patients internal organs, metabolic rates and blood flow.

In addition to her sparkling intelligence, she has a servant’s heart for people with RCC because her medical physicist husband, Gary, is also a renal cell cancer patient. Susan has been there for me more times than I can count over the past eight years since cancer came. For eight years, we have talked on the phone, emailed and texted, with information flowing in only one direction — toward me. We have talked when I was afraid I was going to die and when I was flying high from a stint of “normal,” those days when cancer seemed to be leaving me alone. She has been a great listener, a steady source of good, useful information and a beacon of light during days that were sometimes so dark I couldn’t see the end of my nose.

I started writing this post a few weeks ago, the day after we met Susan and Gary for lunch here in Columbus during our visit. I put it aside, to come back to and information I just received today made me get this back out and finish the post. Because today, I found out that I have another metastasis in my spine. That is really all I know at this point. More questions than answers. Is the spine the only place where I have active disease? Is it is the same place as last time? What about my lungs? My brain? Are there mets there, too? Do I go back to systemic therapy? Is radiation alone going to do it, or can I even have more radiation at the site where there is active disease?

I’ll know the answers to all these questions and many more when I have definitive CT and bone scans. And, when I get those answers, I’ll be posting about what we found. I’ve known for eight years that there was a high probability that this day would come. Knowing the day has arrived is still just as shocking as I thought it might be. Not so much fear, at this point. Just anger, and that might not be a bad thing. I know all the prayers and support we’ve received have served us well these past eight years, and with this post, I’m looking you right in the eyes and asking for their continuance.

We will, once we know what we’re dealing with, run straight at it. That’s the way we roll around here. I’m expecting this to be another milestone which we’ll conquer. In the meantime, I’m going to be busy staying busy.

Local Interventional Radiologists Deliver Minimally-Invasive Solutions

From the very beginning of my new normal, which began on June 11, 2009 when Dr. Ken Ogan used a DaVinci robot to surgically remove my diseased left kidney and 12 lymph nodes, I was left with an incurable case of renal cell carcinoma (RCC) and the stark realization that my job was to seek out the very best medical care I, with my great medical insurance and the shallow pockets of a small business owner, could afford. I had to use whatever medical wisdom was in existence to stay alive long enough to be strong enough to endure a more meaningful treatment if and when it came along.

To date, an initial occurrence and six separate subsequent battles with RCC mets have not managed to take me out and one of those “more meaningful treatments” was available to me locally and I have been fortunate enough to have been rendered NED (No Evidence of Disease) for the 7th time.

Here is a brief recap of the procedures (except for listing all CT/MRI scans, which have continued to occur at about 3 – 6 month intervals, depending on what was going on) and decisions we’ve made that got us to the office of Dr. Nishant DeQuadros:

June 11, 2009: Dr. Ken Ogan at Emory University Hospital performed radical left nephrectomy + 12 lymph nodes (1 positive for RCC).

August, 2009: Started ASSURE clinical trial (Sutent/Nexavar/Placebo) and ultimately completed trial.

September, 2010: Discovered 2 cm tumor in spine at L-2, and was unblinded from placebo arm of clinical trial. Drawing the placebo arm of the trial turned out to be the good news, in that going forward I would be drug naive, allowing me more access to other therapies.

October 21, 2010: Biopsy of spine determined the lesion is metastatic RCC.

December 2, 2010: Stereotactic Radiosurgery (SRS) at Emory Midtown Hospital in Atlanta

March, 2010: Radiation oncologist says that I’m NED.

August, 2011: Medical oncologist says the tumor at L-2 wasn’t completely killed and it is growing again.

August 19, 2011: Lumbar fusion surgery and fixation with pedicle screws and fusion with bone morphogenic protein at L 1-3. Three weeks post surgery, developed severe (#10) back pain. Treated with time-released morphine and dilaudid for breakthrough pain. These weeks of pain and insomnia were the darkest days of my life. As I write this, I’m having trouble conjuring what the pain felt like. What it was like to be just aware enough to see the little hand of the clock find every click on its way around the dial, yet gladly not aware enough to be forced to remember some of the truly stupid television shows and movies I watched. Alone in a dark room with my ever-present plastic trash can, a box of tissues, a glass of water and a sack full of narcotics. The world looks very different from that room.

October 8, 2011: Some time before 5 a.m., I bent over to remove power plug from wall socket and experienced a dramatic loss of strength on my right side. I contacted my neurosurgeon, Dr. Michael Gorum, early Saturday morning. He instructed me to get to the emergency department immediately. His partner, Dr. Marc Goldman met me and we went immediately to surgery, where he performed a lumbar laminectomy (bilateral inferior L1, complete bilateral L2 and bilateral superior L3). Pain was immediately gone and according to physical therapist, the strength can be regained in legs with therapy. Two major spine surgeries within 8 weeks and a quickly-growing kidney cancer metastatic tumor trying its best to put me down.

October 10, 2011: I was moved by ambulance to the John B. Amos Cancer Center, where I was evaluated for stereotactic radiosurgery to attempt to kill the tumor in my back and returned to my room at the hospital. Got food poisoning (Yes, the day after my second back surgery in eight weeks! Can you believe it?) from a non-hospital meal I ate on Monday evening, so we delayed SRS until Thursday,

October 20, 2011: 16-greys of radiation in a single one-hour treatment aimed to kill the tumor in my spine.

October 26, 2011: Started monthly Xgeva injections to prevent further bone mets.

December 7, 2011: CT scans show NED.

March 15, 2012: CT scans show NED.

June 21, 2012: CT scan showed 3.9 cm tumor on left adrenal gland and slight enlargement of cyst in right kidney.

July 16, 2012: Decided to confer with specialists at M. D. Anderson in Houston, Tex. and met with genitourinary medical oncologist Dr. Lance Pagliaro there at M. D. Anderson.

July 17 – 18, 2012: Had bone scan, brain MRI, CT of chest, abdomen and pelvis with no contrast and a chest x-ray.

July 20, 2012: Met with interventional radiology to discuss needle biopsy of adrenal tumor.

July 25, 2012: Still at M. D. Anderson and needle biopsy of left adrenal tumor confirmed it was metastatic renal cell carcinoma.

September 3, 2012: Started HD-IL2 therapy at Duke University Hospital under care of Dr. Dan George and Dr. Michael Morse. Received 9 doses and creatinine spiked and didn’t come back to my baseline of 1.8, so I washed out. They wouldn’t allow me to finish part B of round one.

October 19, 2012: Had CT of chest, abdomen and pelvis W/O contrast, because of high creatinine.

October 26, 2012: Met with Dr. Pippas and found out adrenal tumor and nodules in kidney are stable. He recommends starting a TKI and plans to confer with Dr. George to determine which one they recommend.

November 13, 2012: Started with 800mg daily dose of Votrient. Took for 2 weeks and high blood pressure and other side effects caused oncologist to reduce daily dosage to 400mg. On 400mg dose for 3 weeks, increased to 600mg dose for 2 weeks and now on 800mg dose daily and dealing with side effects well.

July 11, 2013: CT scan of chest, abdomen and pelvis (W/O contrast) showed 90% reduction in adrenal tumor, no sign of two small right kidney lesions. Have lost 80 pounds due to GI complications with Votrient, but getting along fairly well. Have been able to stop taking Norvasc completely and have halved my daily Coreg dosage. Getting great blood pressure control, likely due to dramatic weight loss. Creatinine also looks good at about 1.5. So, might be able to get CT scans with contrast next time out.

November 1, 2013: CT scan with contrast of chest, abdomen and pelvis showed NED! Have lost 90 pounds due to GI complications of 800 daily mg of Votrient. Creatinine at 1.32 and other labs looks fantastic.

January 14, 2014: Have lost 100 pounds. Blood pressure is rising and with weight loss, this shouldn’t be the case. Hovering at around 180/115. So, went by to see Dr. Pippas to check blood pressure and they decided to triage me and work me in to see the doctor. Warned me that if I’m developing liver toxicity, we’ll have to make some changes. Had liver panel blood work done in lab. Dr. Pippas TOLD me to stop taking Votrient for 14 days and to take 20mg Prilosec every morning for next 14 days. Says he hopes my body will reset and that I can go back on Votrient after 2 weeks. Also, he added back 5mg of Norvasc to my daily meds to see if we can drive back the elevated blood pressure.

January 16, 2014: Got results of liver panel and we’re in normal range, so stopping I’m stopping Votrient for 14 days and taking Prilosec, carvedilol and Norvasc.

February 7, 2014: CT of chest, abdomen and pelvis shows completely stable and normal. Dr. Pippas says I’m NED again. Still tired, so he suggested I go back on nightly CPAP therapy and start some kind of exercise regimen. Also, wants me to maintain good immune system boosting diet and to not gain weight. At 155 pounds, about what I weighed when I left high school. Options presented to Jill and me:

A) stay off Votrient, scan every 3 months for a year
B) restart maintenance dose (either 200mg or 400mg) of Votrient

I asked Dr. Pippas to confer with Dr. Dan George at Duke, a colleague of his and someone who knows my case quite well. Also, I called Dena Battle, who knows this disease better than most doctors on the planet to ask her gut reaction to what doctor has advised. Made decision to stop taking Votrient.

July 22, 2014: CT scan with contrast shows 2.5cm metastasis on left adrenal. Same side as nephrectomy.

July 23, 2014: Discovered 2.5cm adrenal RCC metastasis and Dr. Pippas said surgery would be best option. We left the next day for a long weekend with friends in Destin, Fla.

August 6, 2014: Met with local surgeon Dr. Andy Roddenberry to discuss adrenalectomy procedure. Here’s an excerpt from my blog:

August 21, 2014: Excerpted blog post named “Eight Months:” There is considerable scar tissue left over from the massive nephrectomy that cost me my left kidney, twelve lymph nodes and a lot of digging around looking for cancer. Additionally, the organs in my body have recognized that there is some stuff missing now that used to be there and they’ve wiggled around and taken up that space in my abdomen. So, scarring, colon, pancreas and a mass of arteries and veins are all congregated in that area, as well as a vascular renal cell tumor that is very much like a 2cm bubble of blood inside the thinnest tissue paper you can imagine. The surgery has been described to me like a person trying to pick up a balloon full of blood with razor sharp pins. One prick of that bubble and I’ve got cancer cells released all over my body and my prognosis suddenly would take a big turn for the worse.

We left Dr. Roddenberry’s office feeling the dread of making a decision to opt for a surgery that, even if successful, would really take me down physically and could significantly compromise my immune system. This is where the story gets really interesting, if you believe in karma. If you believe in a god, or if you worship from the torn front seat of a 1960 rusted, formerly white Chevrolet pickup at the 2nd Dirt Road Church of What’s Happening Now — this was the perfect information for me to hear at exactly the right time….

My friend, Dr. Granville Batte, called me and suggested we might want to meet with new Interventional Radiologist Dr. Nishant DeQuadros. That contact from a friend helped us find clarity. I promise you this: If you are a cancer patient who doesn’t have full faith in your doctor, and/or if you can’t see your a clear view of your feet along the path you have chosen, you are surely miserable. It is bad enough to feel bad, but to feel bad and be weighted down by stress related to your treatments makes the journey that much more difficult.

Here’s what I did to find that sweet spot of clarity before a new therapy: We made an appointment to meet Nishant DeQuadros and my work began. My doctors are my business partners. They provide a service that determines what is wrong with me and the crystal-clear vision backed up with the talent, experience and will to deliver a treatment path that will, at the very least cripple and at the very best in my case, completely shut down the disease process. I, and my insurance company pay them, their professional assistants and clinicians, staffs, technicians, labs, bean counters and hospitals. Then, the real work starts — research.

I fill whatever amount of time I can carve out prior to the first meeting with a new doctor with finding out everything I can about them. Where they’re from. Where they went to school. I seek out their professional writings, look for any feedback I can get from ratings sites, inquire of them with every one of my trusted medical sources and see if they have any kind of social media paper trail I can follow. I also like to find out who their friends are and if I happen to know them, I can’t pick our mutual friends’ brains to find out if they would put their life in the hands of this doctor. Melissa and Jim Thomas are friends of the DeQuadroses. That was a great thing to hear, right at the start.

I got a sweet surprise when I started vetting Dr. Nishant DeQuadros. The more I learned about him and his company, Georgia Radiology Imaging Consultants, the more excited I got. The doctors in this practice are extremely well trained. They do the kinds of procedures that are hard to come by in a community hospital setting. Often these highly-specialized radiologists are doing these kinds of procedures in larger urban or university hospitals. I found out later, just how important it was that these superdocs were here and that one of them was able to take my case.

Jill and I walked into Dr. DeQuadros’ office and a young, handsome guy in a white coat greeted us. We sat down, looked at my scans and we talked about how the ablation would be done. He brings mad experience to the table. At the end of that visit, we had that clarity that is so important.

August 28, 2014: Interventional Radiologist Dr. DeQuadros and Anesthesiologist Dr. Mark Pinosky performed a microwave ablation of my left adrenal and its encapsulated RCC met. Complications during procedure caused Dr. DeQuadros to have to make four passes to get enough of a burn to completely finish the job. Disruption of my adrenal gland and the presence of the RCC metastasis caused a 300/200 blood pressure spike during the procedure. Because of the fear of cardiac damage from the BP spike, I spent the night in an intensive care room, so I could be monitored.

In my intensive care room the next morning after the procedure, I learned how serious the situation became during the minimally invasive operation. When they saw that I was having a major hypertensive reaction, Dr. DeQuadros ran a central line to my heart from behind me left knee, and, along with Dr. Pinosky, they monitored my blood pressure with every beat of my heart, utilizing drugs and procedures they had at their disposal to control wild blood pressure swings while still completing the procedure.

August 29, 2014: I was released with an appointment to see Dr. Shane Darrah to determine whether the high blood pressure had damaged my heart muscle.

September, 4, 2014: Saw Dr. Darrah and had stress test.

September 8, 2014: Had echocardiagram in Dr. Darrah’s office. It was determined that no heart damage resulted from blood pressure spike during microwave ablation.

October 2, 2014: CT scan with contrast (80% of dose). Still NED.

February 12, 2015: CT scan with contrast (80% of dose). Still NED.

The microwave ablation therapy I received here in Columbus was one of those cutting-edge treatments that can extend the life and protect the quality of life of a patient. In this process, I appreciated the candid advice given to me from Dr. Roddenberry that I should seek another, less invasive option that wouldn’t expose me to such a large, dangerous surgery that might negatively impact my compromised immune system. The incredible truth is that the huge surgery and the minimally-invasive microwave ablation should yield the same results (if perfectly executed). One would have cost me six days in the hospital and another six weeks of recovery. The other was performed on a Thursday and I was back in the office on Tuesday. I would have returned to work on Monday, had it not been the Labor Day holiday.

The list of vascular and interventional radiology treatments that are offered here by Drs. DeQuadros, Hart and Vo is quite long. If you receive a diagnosis that might be remedied by one of the treatments from this list like I did, you’d be wise to do a little Googleing to see if you might be better served by this type of care. Here’s the best part: When the therapy is finished, you can go home and sleep in your own bed. That is a mighty good thing.

Happy to Report Some Good News

I don’t know quite where to start. So, let’s do the uncharacteristic thing and just get right to the point and maybe that will spare those of you who’re not interested in my usual stories, incessant details and dramatic setups. After all, life is short and sometimes it just makes sense to eat the dessert first — especially if you’re suddenly able to taste it!

This past Thursday afternoon, Jill and I met with Dr. Andy Pippas at the John B. Amos Cancer Center here in Columbus, Ga. The previous week, I had submitted to yet another painless blood draw at the hands of the one of the fabulous phlebotomists in the lab there at JBACC. I was hydrated, also during that week, and had CT scans (with contrast) of my chest, abdomen and pelvis. Just two weeks before that, I met with Dr. Raj Alappan, my nephrologist. The point is that I had fresh labs, scans and updated reporting from the person who is helping us watch over Strainer, my only remaining kidney. All of my systems have been checked and the news we got on Thursday was current and as accurate as modern medicine can make it.

Dr. Pippas gave us the news that we’ve been hoping to hear after living through 15 months of raging hell. “Mike, at this moment you are cancer free.”

He said it, despite the fact you’ll not hear me say it. I prefer NED, no evidence of disease. Not sure why, other than NED seems less provocative. A little more humble as I stand in front of the open curtain staring up at the feet of the “All Powerful Cancer,” complete with flashing lights and smoke. I’m sure as hell not the Cowardly Lion. Despite my fears, I have not been any kind of a coward through this thing. But I’m a little superstitious and just not a fan of appearing too cocky in the presence of something that has the power to kill me or strike me down.

All that said, I appear to have been hugely and wonderfully responsive to Votrient, the powerful tyrosine kinase inhibitor drug I have been taking for the past 15 months. My adrenal tumor is gone. The apparent tumors in my right kidney are gone. The tumors in my spine are gone. I have no tumors in my lungs or in my brain (the places kidney cancer cells love to invade).

Looks like the loss of a hundred pounds, the loss of the cuticles around my fingernails, the loss of ALL the pigmentation in my body hair, the chronic daily diarrhea, the almost daily vomiting, the maddening itching of my skin, the inability to taste food, the ever-present brain fog and some peripheral neuropathy in my feet were all worth enduring to get the news we got from Dr. Pippas on Thursday. We are thrilled at this wonderful news and extremely grateful to our medical team, our prayer warriors, our friends, our church family, our family and all the legions of people who are concerned about us and who have found so many ways to let us know that they care. This is epic good news!

I asked Dr. Pippas, “What do we do now?” “The good news is you’ve got a couple of options,” he said. (This may get a little tedious, but this blog is about what it is like to LIVE with cancer, so I’m going to take some time to let you into my thought process. You’re welcome to read as much as you can stand.) Here are my options: Since I am now almost at a month off Votrient, we can go back on a “maintenance” dose of 200mg daily to try to extend the reprieve from actively growing cancer. That isn’t a great option, because as I tapered off the drug back in January, I was actually as sick on the 200mg dose as I had been on the full 800mg dosage. Why would I want to do that? Well, I don’t.

The next option is that I can stay off the Votrient and be extra vigilant with CT scans every three months for up to a year and reevaluate again at the end of the year. This is a better option, because the prevailing wisdom (although this wisdom is only anecdotal, as there isn’t any real data to support it) is that for people like me who are excellent responders to the medication, there is every reason to believe we’ll respond just as strongly when and if the medicine is restarted. Andy strongly cautioned me about a couple of things if we choose this option. Although my taste buds have blissfully re-awakened, I have to keep my weight down. My daily routine needs to embrace a spartan diet, mostly vegetarian, with an occasional splurge to keep from going crazy. He wants me to keep my weight at or near where it is today. He also wants me to add back as much exercise as I can stand. Bike riding is a definite. I also need to be lifting some light weights and walking. I’ll need to get myself motivated to get this done. Plus, I’m still really weak from the pounding my body has taken over the past 15 months.

Dr. Pippas is in communication with our medical oncologist at Duke, Dr. Dan George, who is familiar with my case. I’m also making contact with Dr. Hans Hammers (through a friend) at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore who is a world-class kidney cancer specialist. When we get those pieces of feedback, we’ll sit down with Dr. Pippas and make up our minds about what we want to do. My guess is that we’ll likely choose the second option and stay off the Votrient and remain hyper-vigilant going forward and hope and pray the cancer will leave me the hell alone.

I feel like a new man right now. I feel my strength coming back. Next time you see me, take a look at my eyebrows. My hair is beginning the process of growing back in with color. If I get to stay off the drug, the pigment will come back into my hair and it will grow back in some darker shade. Maybe it will be straighter, or curlier. We don’t really know what to expect. I’m just happy to begin to see some hope that my daily prayers of being able to get old with my Jill, see our sons find love and hold a grandchild or ten are looking better. Thanks be to God!

Thanks to all of you who are following our progress. If you know of anyone who is struggling with cancer, especially with a kidney cancer diagnosis, please forward a link to this blog to them. Those of us who are living with cancer need to see that the news doesn’t always have to be bad. Although, it damn sure feels like it sometime.

Tumors Continue to Shrink

The last time I posted was March 8, 2013. I’m sorry for that. That is one thing about cancer that no one can prepare you for — you are never really ever right in the head again. I know, “How can you tell?” I know many of you are asking that question right now. Because of my transparency (at least until March 8) my open-book life has left open for all to see that I am, on a good day, not that right.

He ain’t right.

I love that we live in a place where you can say that about someone (or yourself) and people know what you’re talking about. A hell of a lot of water has gone under our family’s collective bridge since March 8. We lost two dear members of our family animal pack. Our Golden Retriever, Dixie, was killed by a logging truck and I buried her badly ruined body. I cried a gallon of tears standing there with a bag of lime and a shovel. By myself, because I wanted no one else to have to see the carnage that was once a beloved member of our family. That same week, Azrael (Azzy), who lived on our farm for at least 15 years up and left. She likely want off to die. Cats will do that. They want to spare the ones they love the trauma of their departure.

If you’ve noticed a tender spot in our latest issue of Columbus and the Valley on our stance on rescuing animals, you’d be right. We have recently rescued a beautiful five-year-old Golden Retriever we named Izzy and a big orange male cat named Garth. These new guys have joined our other inside cat, Zoey, and our only remaining outside cat, Furry Football, and the pack is back whole again. I lost the battle of having indoor cats. I thought (I just thought) I didn’t want them living inside. Jill was of the other opinion. She won that battle, but oh, so did I! The delicious goodness of being able to hug a sweet cat and to have them purr and look at you just like you were the one who hung the moon is therapeutic beyond any possible measure. Physical pain can absolutely melt away and emotional pain is soothed as if real medicine just kicked in. There is real healing in the eyes of a pet. In case you didn’t know that, you know it now.

That animal has chosen you to be its human. They are all in. They’re job is to be your best cheerleader. They’re unfailingly in your corner. Well, at least the dog is that way. I’ve really confirmed over the past few months that we actually work for the cats. They used to rule the world and they’ve never forgotten it. But believe me, if you don’t want your heart invaded, if you don’t really want to fall completely in love with a purring pair of eyes (and the occasional claw) don’t give a cat an inch! They are incredible animals, easy to keep, and impossible not to love, if you get to know them. For those of you who either don’t like or don’t know cats, you’re not living to your full potential. I hope one day you’ll come around and know what the rest of us fully-evolved people know.

One more thing about rescue animals. During this sad time of loss and subsequent discovery, Jill and I had the opportunity to visit on several occasions our Columbus Animal Care and Control Center. Wow, is all I can say! The people there are dedicated, kind and attentive. The animals are well fed, well cared for, clean and loved. I can’t say enough good things about our experience in adopting Izzy. Please use them if you’re thinking about getting an animal. But be warned, sit on your hands for at least one trip out there on Milgen Road. There are some sweet faces out there and they’re all saying, “please take me home!”

Now, for what you came here for, here is my belated health update. My last post (March 8) I reported that the daily 800mg Votrient dose was working. The almost 4cm tumor on my left adrenal gland had shrunk by about 50%. And two small tumors in Strainer (my remaining right kidney) were less noticeable. During our visit with Dr. Andy Pippas at the John B. Amos Cancer Center, he let us know that my scans of last week showed continued, significant shrinkage of the lesions. The adrenal nodule is only about 5-10% of its original size and the two small spots on Strainer are almost entirely gone! So, the white hair, vomiting, lack of appetite, sensitivity to the sun, itchy skin and chronic diarrhea now seem to be a small price to pay for stabilizing this cancer, giving me more life to share with my family and friends and more time to make my mark on a place that I love.

I have lost a frightening amount of weight. About 70 pounds, representing over 26% of my body weight, has come off due to the lack of appetite and my inability to keep food down. I’m meeting with Beth Bussey, a wonderful nutritionist at the JBACC, and we’re plotting to find foods I can eat that I can properly digest. The big thing is my appetite. I would slap the smile off Jim Morpeth’s face for a Country’s barbecue sandwich! But, I wouldn’t be able to eat it without an almost immediate refund. Recently, we stopped by the new Meritage on First Avenue in UpTown for lunch. Chef Ashley Simmons Parsi-Graciani goes to great lengths to whip me up a vegetarian delight that hits my sweet spot (whatever that happens to be in that given moment). More often than not, when I finally sit down to eat, the nausea sets in and I just can’t bear the thought of putting something in my mouth. It is really frustrating, and the dramatic slide of my weight is becoming a concern to my caregivers.

It is a shame that marijuana is an illegal substance. I left my marijuana doctor office today with a prescription for Marinol (http://www.marinol.com/). This is a synthetic rendering of THC, the active ingredient in marijuana. It should banish nausea and also stimulate my appetite. We’ll see. It is shameful that there is a naturally growing herb that could bring relief to people who are suffering with cancer, aids, glaucoma and other serious chronic conditions, and that we can’t legally acquire it. Boy, I never thought I’d be putting myself out there to be an advocate for legalizing marijuana. But I’m there, folks. It just makes me angry that this good medicine is out there, but I can’t have it. I’m not expecting to see much public feedback on this one, but I’m curious about what people think about my comments here on this volatile subject.

I’m going to weigh in here on another volatile subject. At least, some of the local media and the nutbags — the regular 20 or so posters — who have tried and convicted MY DOCTOR, Dr. Andy Pippas for a alleged boatload of billing infractions. I know the media has a job to do. I do that same job every day. But, I really don’t like the tone that so many people have taken against a man who has lengthened lives and provided healing to thousands. I had him look me in the eye today and tell me exactly what I needed to hear to expend whatever personal energy I can to be a loud, proud member of Team Pippas. I am walking around today because of his great care and the care of the members of his John B. Amos Cancer Center team. I’ll be happy to talk to anyone about my experiences under his care. But if you want to engage me and just run him down, I’ll cut you off at the knees.

I hope to be able to keep a steady writing pace. There is much good going on in our lives and it makes me happy to be able to share it. I’ve said a lot in this post. There’s more where that came from.

Foiled Again

I’m so hungry. Like a desperate man roaming in the desert, I’m conjuring perfectly plated dishes of my favorite foods in hallucinatory flashes. Last night I stormed the kitchen. With pure love in my heart, I built a handcrafted fra diavolo sauce. Crushed garlic, San Marzano tomatoes, Vidalia onion, extra virgin olive oil, salt, pepper, red pepper flakes and the tiniest pinch of sugar, simmered just so. Al dente spaghetti noodles bathed in the sauce welcomed my fork, and as I twisted up a steaming bite I recalled the thousand or so other times I’ve had this dish and hoped this one would be no different.

Thankfully, I had only given myself a small portion. My memory will have to do, as the flavor I had expected — in fact, longed for — was cast aside by the shredded, slightly sweet aluminum foil taste that lurks at my every bite. Our Golden Retriever smiled at me. Her taste buds seem just right. In our meeting on Thursday with Dr. Pippas, when we were talking about my experience with Votrient, we discussed the departure of my sense of taste. He chuckled as he said, with my complete understanding and concurrence, that it wouldn’t be all bad if I were to lose 30 or 40 pounds. I get that. Not eating when you can’t taste is turning out to be easier than not eating when your taste is spot on. I’m a half-full glass kind of guy.

Our meeting with Dr. P was good. My labs looks good, especially the creatinine number. It has finally dropped back to very near the baseline that I had prior to the Duke HD-IL2 adventure. Still locked out of HD-IL2 as a treatment option, the door could be open again for CT scans with contrast if I’m in a life-threatening situation and we really need the sharper scan. He has kicked my Votrient dose up a notch to 600mg per day. When my next shipment of the meds arrive, I’ll go to three 200mg pills per day. As my body adjusts to the medication, I’m hopeful that side effects will remain tolerable.

The other news is that I spent parts of Wednesday, Thursday and Friday at West Georgia Eye Care Center. Christmas night I starting seeing flashes in my eyes and developed floaters in my left eye. Two trips to see an ophthalmologist there and then the third day to see retina specialist, Dr. Nicholas Mayfield, to thankfully rule out a retinal tear. I’ve had some bleeding in my eye, but unless something else drastic happens, the floaters should subside (or my brain will adjust so that they aren’t as annoying) and I should be fine. I had a good experience at WGECC and I feel like I received excellent care.

I hope you all had a great Christmas (or whatever else you celebrate at this time of the year) and that 2013 will be a good year for all of us. I could use a good year. What about you?