Six weeks can make all the difference in one's outlook on life. A few weeks ago, I was seriously considering palliative care and what it would look like. Now, I have transitioned to planning trips throughout the spring and into the fall. There is hope.

Sometimes, life takes fairy tale turns. This is such a turn. It started with a phone call at noon on the Thursday before Christmas. There was a cancellation and they had a chemo chair available on Friday morning. At 8:30 am. "Take your dexamethasone ASAP and try and get your three doses in before you see us in 18 hours..."

For the last few months, many people have asked how long I will be on my chemo-pemetrexed maintenance. My flip answer would be "until the end of time." The end of time came quicker than I expected and in a way I didn't expect. It turns out it isn't quite the end of time, but the future treatment options are limited.

Cancer patients often talk about calendars. I have no big things on my calendar beyond the end of November. Until now. I ended up in an incredible conversation with a group from Barcelona. When they discovered that I spoke Spanish, I got a dinner invitation. Dying is not an option. I have turn up in Barcelona in September 2025 for an incredible paella. I can live for that.

World Conference on Lung Cancer

After my issues with wound care, I want to share an update about my journey. I was released from the hospital with clear instructions on how to take care of my wound. I also had an appointment to see Wound Care the next week. On Thursday, I received a call about a cancellation. The  nurse offered me an earlier appointment on Friday instead of Sunday. I quickly accepted the chance to see a professional. I thought I was doing okay, but having someone check my wound gave me reassurance that it was healing well.

After the 5K Give a Breath run on June 1st, my life took a bit of a turn and I ended up in hospital for four days. I'm going to recount what happened in some detail and it may be a bit graphic for those who don't live in a medical world. I tell the story as a reminder that immuno-compromised doesn't mean "wearing a mask" or jump to the head of the line in ER. It can be life-threatening.

Life has had some pretty wild ups and downs over the last few weeks.

Beginning with the one of the joys though, I had the pleasure of pet sitting for a friend. I looked after their bubs (a less stigmatized name for pet rats)for a few weeks in early May while they accessed Ioboga treatment for chronic pain.(https://www.nytimes.com/2024/03/05/health/ibogaine-psychedelic-opioid-addiction.html) The bubs provided a lot of cuddles and joy in a busy time. I'm seriously tempted to look into a couple for my tiny space. I do miss having pets.

Scheduling

Planning seemed pretty straight forward but as the weeks passed with no chemo appointment, I started struggling. The low point came on a Friday afternoon when I went for my normal run and after 4K had to stop. I was coughing badly and couldn't stop. I finished the last kilometer hobbling and doubled over. I found myself short of breath on several occasions and it scared me. Is this how I'm going to die? Waiting for a charge nurse and a booking clerk to find a slot in schedule for me?

Three weeks ago my oncologist's clerk called. They asked if I could make a scheduled phone appointment into an in person visit. With only two hours notice there really wasn't time to worry.  I picked up the phone and called my faithful caregiver, Sandra, wondering if she would  take part via phone in the consultation.

When the oncologist walked into the room, he looked at me and said, "We know what that cough is. Osimertinib has not been working at all. Your main tumour is growing and there are two new spots." Not unexpected but still a bit of a surprise.