Well, it's been one year since I took up a short term residence at my hospitdal of choice, Beth Isreal in Boston. When I went in last year just about now...I was going in for IL-2 treatments for renal cancer. The idea was that the IL-2 would be the silver bullet to kill the disease. Only about 10-12 per cent of patients receive a positive outcome from this treatment.
For the past year I have been radiated, magnetized, and otherwise watched like a child waiting to say its first word. I have seen medical fellows come and go, and I have encountered the human element in this rather extensive medical inquiry into cancer treatments and the thrist of a cure. My last tests three months ago, they gave me a positive reading of my scans, only to find that they hadn't read them correctly.
Some of these experiences have given me greater clarity about the industry of politics and science of cancer in America, if not in the world, and how they form a troika that interacts to serve up treatment, or not to serve up treatment, mostly because of cost metrics.
Metrics control a great deal of our world today...those numbers that point this way and then that way, depending upon who is coloring the wall upon which they are projected. As our local football coach has said, "statistics are for losers." And, as each cancer is an individual journey, trying to round out the patients into a generic fold that somehow shapes our treatment is not a positive step for for the patient. Because, in the end, it is our cancer that we are most worried about and the larger existential role it is now playing in our lives. As a patient I am a little more self-interested than a non-patient.
So, fuck you metrics.
OK, I promised myself I would make this a short piece, so let me wrap up now by saying that last week I had all my magnetized, radiated, and vein popping experiences - on Wednesday. That afternoon I spoke with a new fellow, and my lead doc here in Boston, a brilliant man at the very cutting edge of cancer research...so feeling pretty good about him. They had only my chest CT to study and measuring, this time with me in the room, they found that the tumor in my chest has not grown, and may have in fact gotten a weeeee bit smaller. Take that you terrorist motherfuckers.
The renal cancer encamped on my pancreas, not as significant as the lymph node in my chest, has grown some, but seems to also have taken a summer holiday. I am all for cancer taking a holiday, by the way.
So, as it is, I am back on the shelf waiting for the new PD-1 drugs to come out and to fall into whatever group they think I belong to receive treatment.
For me, the patient, I always refer to Herm Edwards..."the purpose of the game, is to WIN the game..."
So, on the bench and waiting to get in the game, Capt'n Jack Moonbeam, otherwise known as Tim...
For the past year I have been radiated, magnetized, and otherwise watched like a child waiting to say its first word. I have seen medical fellows come and go, and I have encountered the human element in this rather extensive medical inquiry into cancer treatments and the thrist of a cure. My last tests three months ago, they gave me a positive reading of my scans, only to find that they hadn't read them correctly.
Some of these experiences have given me greater clarity about the industry of politics and science of cancer in America, if not in the world, and how they form a troika that interacts to serve up treatment, or not to serve up treatment, mostly because of cost metrics.
Metrics control a great deal of our world today...those numbers that point this way and then that way, depending upon who is coloring the wall upon which they are projected. As our local football coach has said, "statistics are for losers." And, as each cancer is an individual journey, trying to round out the patients into a generic fold that somehow shapes our treatment is not a positive step for for the patient. Because, in the end, it is our cancer that we are most worried about and the larger existential role it is now playing in our lives. As a patient I am a little more self-interested than a non-patient.
So, fuck you metrics.
OK, I promised myself I would make this a short piece, so let me wrap up now by saying that last week I had all my magnetized, radiated, and vein popping experiences - on Wednesday. That afternoon I spoke with a new fellow, and my lead doc here in Boston, a brilliant man at the very cutting edge of cancer research...so feeling pretty good about him. They had only my chest CT to study and measuring, this time with me in the room, they found that the tumor in my chest has not grown, and may have in fact gotten a weeeee bit smaller. Take that you terrorist motherfuckers.
The renal cancer encamped on my pancreas, not as significant as the lymph node in my chest, has grown some, but seems to also have taken a summer holiday. I am all for cancer taking a holiday, by the way.
So, as it is, I am back on the shelf waiting for the new PD-1 drugs to come out and to fall into whatever group they think I belong to receive treatment.
For me, the patient, I always refer to Herm Edwards..."the purpose of the game, is to WIN the game..."
So, on the bench and waiting to get in the game, Capt'n Jack Moonbeam, otherwise known as Tim...
Tim, I so much want you to whip this malady. I admire your grit and determination and I hope and pray for your recovery and a long life. Two close relatives of mine are also in that fight against the "Big C" and including you, that is three too many. Keep up your fight and I will keep you in my prayers.
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