The One With the Obscure Li'l Abner Reference

"As horrible as it's been, it's gone about as well as possible."

That was Karen's summary about a week ago of our two years plus of cancer shenanigans. She was laid out in bed when she said it, just like she is most days. And she barely had the energy to say it at the time, just like most--but not all--days. And at the time she said it we both thought that we were rapidly approaching the end game, with nightly conversations dominated by topics like "quality of life" and "ending treatment." We were edging up to calling it quits.

SPOILER ALERT: We were wrong.

Two days ago Karen had a PET scan to see if this new chemo was working. I reviewed the images on the disc we were given but, try as I might, I couldn't quite tell if things were good or bad. Which meant the news would most likely be good but we were both gripped with uncertainty and a certain degree of, oh, let's call it dread. Fortunately, there are professionals that read these things much better than I and at this morning's oncology appointment we were told that the new chemo infusion was getting the job done and then some. That is more than good news--it's great news. So, going forward, Karen will continue to receive this cocktail every three weeks. Good stuff.

As outstanding as this new is, it struggles mightily to find enough silver to line the pack of clouds that doggedly hover overhead. As nice as it is that Karen is going to stay alive and with us awhile longer, her quality of life has deteriorated to the degree that she has been seriously debating discontinuing treatment. With her long-past original IV chemo regimen, she would have at least one solidly good week out of the three between treatments. This was a good week (or, more typically, a full ten days) where she was up and about, driving short distances, staying awake most of the day, and capable of light physical activity. That model has shifted with this chemo mixture. Now she has two terrible weeks in bed (with pain, a  very sore throat, persistent and crippling nausea, and on and on) followed by a third week where she still can barely manage to do much and frequently has to retire to bed after doing the simplest thing, like eating. Her fatigue is simply crushing at this point. Every action requires her to scrape through the bottom of her Energy Reserves Barrel and into the earth beneath said barrel in order to find any energy spillage that might make it possible for her to lurch up off the couch on her third attempt. It's heartbreaking to see.

That fatigue is the main driver in diminishing her quality of life and that is why, even though we are keeping up the chemo, the actual formulation of the cocktail is going to be adjusted. The Taxocrete, according to Dr. Sherman, is the likely culprit behind her exhaustion so that drug is going to be dramatically reduced in the hopes that whatever is left of Karen's life is tolerable and worth the trouble. She gets her next treatment the Tuesday after the Super Bowl. And then every three weeks going forward until it stops working.


STATUS UPDATE

• Karen's cancer has been beaten into submission with the new chemo. Hooray!
• Karen's new chemo is making her life miserable. Boo!
• The chemo formulation going forward will reduce the Taxocrete in the hopes that it is the culprit behind the more odious side effects. Aha!
• Fewer terrible side effects should markedly improve Karen's quality of life. Huzzah!
• If that doesn't work, things could get interesting in all the wrong ways. Oh shit!