Embracing Cancer—Embracing Life: The Guide for the Journey Beyond Diagnosis

By Larry Martel

Regardless of whether its you, or someone you love that hears those blood chilling words, you-have-cancer, a cancer diagnosis turns your world upside down. You have so many fears and little comfort, so many questions and few answers, what do you do, where do you turn? Until now, little has been written that offers encouragement to ease your fears, or provides answers to the myriad of questions causing your angst. Embracing Cancer Embracing Life: The Guide For The Journey Beyond Diagnosis, guides you along the path that leads from dread to joy.
Youll discover many things, including:
Why its essential that you embrace your cancer.
How you can move beyond the fear of death to the joy of life.
Why you must embrace your family and friends.
How to create your new life plan.
Making the right choices Why your decisions will affect your life and longevity.
How clinical trials can add years to your life.
And much more to help you find the peace and happiness you seek.
The author, Larry Martel, helps you realize that a cancer diagnosis doesnt mean your life is over, and shows you why it likely just the beginning. Larry demonstrates how to transform your feelings of powerlessness into a source of incredible strength. You can choose to live in a state of fear and anxiety or let Embracing Cancer Embracing Life help you create a world filled with love, gratitude and joy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504955799

Larry Martel

Known as a loving husband, father, and loyal friend by family and friends and a dedicated contractor by clients and associates, Larry Martel now begins a new chapter. For many years, Larry’s writing was confined to detailed construction proposals, lauded by his clients for their organized, descriptive style. The decision to abandon his lifelong career in construction was necessitated by three words he’d heard on the morning of December 9, 2009: “You have cancer.” Words that turned his world upside down, changing it forever. The idea to become an author was sparked by his friends and family’s responses to the series of e-mails he wrote describing his experiences and feelings as his cancer advanced. In fact, it was at the urging of those family members and friends, along with the nurses and doctors he’s met on his journey, that convinced him to write. In 2013, after considerable thought, he decided that the lessons he’d learned on his journey should be shared with others. In Embracing Cancer – Embracing Life: The Guide for the Journey Beyond Diagnosis, Larry leads you through a myriad of questions that demand answers, while at the same time, providing you with the tools that you’ll need to make the journey from dread to joy. His writing is not a therapeutic endeavor for himself; he’s writing for you and to you. In a comfortable, charming style, Larry invites you in, asking you to make his world your own. Because he embraces everyone, he’s like an old friend talking story or helping you navigate a difficult situation. You can feel his openness on the first page and his honesty throughout this, his first published work. Larry tells his story without anger or regret because he has neither. Larry embraced his cancer not long after his diagnosis and found that in so doing, he’d embraced life in a whole new way. The author lives with his wife, Bobbie, on the island of Oahu, an hour’s drive from Honolulu.

Book preview

Embracing Cancer

Embracing Life

The Guide for

The Journey Beyond Diagnosis

Larry Martel

55242.png

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2015 Larry Martel. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/12/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-5578-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-5577-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-5579-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015916869

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

55215.png

Dedications

Acknowledgements

Foreword

E-mail: Wednesday, December 9, 2009—The Most Difficult Letter

Introduction

A Little About Me

A Little About This Book

What Does My Story Have To Do With Your Cancer?

How This Book Can Even Help Those Without Cancer

E-mail: Tuesday, May 21, 2013—The Yearlong Adventure

CHAPTER 1—Embracing Your Cancer - Embracing Your Life

The Little Cancer Primer

Baby It’s You

Childlike Joy

On Our Interconnectedness

Fear Begets Fear

Cancer Can Make You A Better Person

Cancer Can Cause One To Place Real Value On Each New Day

E-mail: Friday, May 17, 2013—Forty-eight Hours Later

Gratitude

Cancer Can Improve Your Relationships

Cancer Can Help You Discover The Deeper Meaning Of Your Life

E-mail: Friday, July 4, 2014—A Vaccine And A Wedding

CHAPTER 2—The Choice

The Most Important Decision You’ll Ever Make

Emergency Surgery

Notes On A Life Well-Lived

Choosing A Path Wisely

How Does One Maintain A Positive Attitude?

The Ultimate Destiny

E-mail: Tuesday, January 19, 2010—A Visit To The Doctor

CHAPTER 3—The Journey From Dread To Joy - Conquering The Fear Of Death

You’re Not Getting Out of Here Alive

How The West Does Death

Looking At Your Own Death

Using Logic to Accept The Inevitability Of Death

Spending Time With Death

The Journey To Emotional Peace

Attend Your Own Funeral

Appreciating Others

The Journey To Spiritual Peace

Feel The Breeze On Your Skin

Appreciate The Beauty Around You

Appreciating The Miracle Of You

Mind Over Matter

Joy=Harmony And Love

Everything Is Everything

E-mail: Saturday, June 4, 2011—Emergency Surgery—The Aftermath

CHAPTER 4—Sustaining A Joyful Heart

The Story Of The Two Joys

Perfect Joy

Essential Joy

Mindfulness

Living Present

E-mail: Tuesday, May 15, 2013—Chemotherapy Round #1—The Beginning

Practice One—Becoming Conscious Of Ones Thoughts

Positivity

Positive Thinking And Living Present

No Mas—How Do I Change?

A Joyful Review

E-mail: Sunday, December 19, 2009—The First General Email

CHAPTER 5—Embracing Your Family And Friends

It’s Your Call To Make

Other Important Reasons For Your Invitation

It’s Up To You To Make Your Family and Friends Comfortable With Your Cancer

Making The Big Announcement

Family And Friends First

An Email Now And Then, Keeps Everyone Comfortable And In-The-Loop

Work Associates And Casual Friends

Casual Acquaintances And Others

Friendship Lost, Friendship Found

WARNING: The Law Of Unintended Consequences Or Not Informing Your Family And Friends Of Your Illness Is A Colossal Mistake

What We’ve Learned About Inviting Friends and Family

E-mail: Monday, May 31, 2010—The Second Opinion

CHAPTER 6—The Second Opinion – Your First Line Of Defense

What Is A Second Opinion?

The importance Of Second Opinions

Misdiagnosis—Perhaps Your Greatest Chance Of Premature Death

Treatment Options

Tried And True, But Is It Right For You?

E-mail: Tuesday, March 3, 2010—The Game Plan

CHAPTER 7—A Game Plan For Life

Planning A Life You Can Live With

Advice For Singles

Realistic Planning

What Happens When You Can’t Work Anymore?

Reviewing The Components Of Your Game Plan

Your New Plan

Implementing Your Game Plan

E-mail: Saturday, July 6, 2013—Finding A Bit Of Beauty

CHAPTER 8—Preparing For Battle

Arming Yourself With A Healthy Body, A Positive Mind And A Joyful Heart

Physical Preparation—Une Arme‘e Marche Sur Son Estomac

The Importance Of Proper Nutrition

The Problem With Sugar

Calories And Nutrition

Comfort Foods

Why Physical Preparation Is So Important

Setting Your Goals For Physical Preparation

Alternative Treatments—Life Savers And Life Extenders

E-mail: Friday, January 1, 2010—Sideways

One Size Doesn’t Fit All

Emotional Preparation

Getting To Know Your Chemo-drugs

Possible Health Setbacks

Spiritual Preparation

Preparing For Battle—A Review

E-mail: June 12, 2013—Round 9 And Gratitude

CHAPTER 9—Chemotherapy Is Your Kemosabe

In The End—A Faithful Friend

Reactions And Side Effects—Empowering Yourself To Reduce And Control Them

Managing Your Expectations And Your Pain

The Case For Chemotherapy Treatments

E-mail: Tuesday, July 2, 2013—MCL: The No-Show.

Understanding Our Chemotherapy Drugs

E-mail: Friday, March 1, 2013—The Blowout And Moving Forward

CHAPTER 10—Clinical Trials

Miracles—Just A Phone Call Or Email Away

The Why’s Of Clinical Trials

The Pact: A Year In Hell For More Years In Heaven

E-mail: Tuesday, April 2, 2013—The Five O’clock Toast

The Journey To Stanford Hospital

The How’s Of Clinical Trials

Locating Clinical Trials

Paying For A Clinical Trial

A Review Of The Why’s And How’s Of Clinical Trials

CHAPTER 11—Earthbound Angels

As If Sent From Heaven To Heal Comfort And Save

The Tale Of A Blind Man

Hospital And Clinic Staffs: The Usual Suspects

E-mail: Tuesday, April 30, 2013—Surgery At Stanford Hospital

The Constant Custodian

Big Man On Campus

The ‘A’ And ‘F’ Of Hearts

Caregivers: The Other Earthbound Angels

Caring For Our Caregivers

E-mail: Tuesday, October 8, 2013—I’ll Take Five Vaccine Injections And A Bone Marrow Transplant

CHAPTER 12—The Golden Years: Some Thoughts On Acceptance, Gratitude And The Life Well-Lived

There Are No Golden Years: Or Are All Our Years Golden?

Acceptance And Gratitude--Pillars Of A Life Well-lived

Acceptance—The Key To Our Reservoir Of Gratitude

E-mail: Monday, May 13, 2013—Thoughts As I Prepare For Chemotherapy Round One

Filling Our Reservoir With Perfect Gratitude

References

Dedications

55208.png

This book is dedicated to my dear Bobbie, with whom anything is possible. Without you all would have been lost long ago. Thanks for your unending love, your friendship, your counsel, and your positivity. Thank you for dusting me off each time I got up after falling or failing. Thank you for being the bravest one in the room on so many occasions that I’ve lost count. I can’t imagine how this book could have been written without you there every step of the way. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

This book is dedicated to the late Dan Skaggs, my roommate on E1 for nine days in January of 2014, and an inspiration to me, every day for the rest of my life. Thank you for sharing your story with me; a story that deserves to be told again and again. The honesty of your words, freed me to tell everyone the truth; that I love my cancer and consider my diagnosis to be one of the great events of my life. I hope I’ve told your story adequately here. Thank you, for your courage and grace, yours was truly a life well-lived.

Finally, this book is dedicated to all of you who have had, now have or will have cancer in the future, you all have a special place in my mind, in my heart and in my soul.

Acknowledgements

55203.png

First and foremost, to Bobbie, whose tender care and unending love not only kept me alive and kicking so that I could write, but was my sounding board and cheerleader as well. For letting me read to you each evening; then switching chairs, reading the same words to me so that I could hear it, I thank you and love you.

My Co-Editors-in-Chief, James Wygant and Ellen Moore, who spent many hours poring over my manuscript, sacrificing their precious time on my behalf, thank you. I so appreciate your honesty and sharp editing pencils. Thank you for keeping me, on the path, and helping me get clear as I wrote. Perhaps one day I can return the favor, nothing would please me more.

Thank you, Maureen Derseweh, for helping me realize the importance of maintaining my voice in the writing. M, your enthusiastic assessment of my writing encouraged me greatly and prompted me to change the title.

Special thanks to my brother-in-law Rob Budinger, my website designer and the one who suggested that a chapter entitled, The Journey from Dread to Joy – Conquering the Fear of Death, would be better suited as chapter three rather than chapter one. Right you are.

To my sister, Carol, a gifted author, (Errabundis), thanks for keeping it real! I mean, who better to commiserate with about a sudden loss of words or desire to write than a fellow writer. You’ve always been there for me.

A big thanks to you, Bob, my brother, (author of, Black Mariah and The Next Big Idea,) for helping keep my mind questioning and encouraging me to always, dig a little deeper.

A special thanks to Alden Fletcher, artist extraordinaire, for your fine work on the cover. Who could have imagined that a few notes and diagrams scratched on a length of tissue paper would yield up such an intriguing book cover?

My aloha and mahalo to my wonderful readers, Terry Cleary and Teresa Milton for their enthusiastic embracing of my book and their many wonderful comments that still have my head spinning.

A great thank you to Jane Siegel, widow of Dan Skaggs, who gave me the thumbs up when I asked to tell Dan’s story.

Finally, a very special thank you to Linda Staton who helped me across the finish line with the final edits and timely advice on sentence structure and grammar. You’re a joy.

Foreword

53469.png

If you’re anything like me, you probably remember the exact words your doctor used to tell you that you have cancer. You may not recall all or any of the conversation that took place before or after those scary and ominous words, You have cancer, but chances are those words are seared permanently onto your heart; I know they are mine. It was the Friday before Thanksgiving, 2009. My wife Bobbie and I had plans to fly to San Francisco for the week. I had barely walked through the door that afternoon when the phone began to ring. The doctor who had performed my colonoscopy the week before was on the line. Hello, Mr. Martel, he began, This is Dr. So and So, calling from Kaiser Permanente. I’m calling because I’ve been reviewing your initial pathology results…Mr. Martel, I’m sorry to say, but you have cancer.

My head began to spin as I tried desperately to gain my equilibrium. He continued, I’m not sure exactly what type of cancer it is; actually I’m pretty sure, but I’d rather not say until I know positively, but I can tell you it is some type of lymphoma. My brain was racing; some type of lymphoma? I’d heard of lymphoma before…let’s see, I know there’s a non-Hodgkin lymphoma, so there must be a Hodgkin lymphoma…right? Which one should I hope for? I remembered growing up around the corner from Jim Vallone, a massive man who was drafted by the Minnesota Vikings back in the sixties. Jim anchored their offensive line for seven years before being diagnosed with lymphoma…what was it he had had? Mr. Martel, the doctor continued, next week is Thanksgiving, a short week, but I want you to have some more tests as soon as possible. Do you have plans this coming week? After listening intently about our trip, he said, Okay, go have a good time in San Francisco. When you get back on Monday, I’ll have arranged for further testing. Happy Thanksgiving…goodbye.

Have a good time in San Francisco; how was I supposed to do that? I had just found out that I HAVE CANCER! Yet, somehow I did have a good time, actually, a really great time. We stayed at the St. Francis Hotel at Union Square. The entire square was decked out for the holidays. Add to that the usual San Francisco chill, it definitely felt like Christmas - a truly beautiful time to visit. Our son, James, lives in the Sunset District with his wife, Alden. We celebrated a wonderful Thanksgiving with them at her parents’ home on Potrero Hill. My sister and her husband live in the Castro, so we got together with them several evenings. To top it off, our daughter and her fiancé flew in from the east coast. It was awesome. Still, in the back of my head that nagging little voice kept saying, You have cancer. You have cancer. You have cancer. But I managed to quickly silence it each time it spoke.

Whenever our conversation would slip to the C word, Bobbie did a great job of reassuring me: We have no idea what type of lymphoma it is, even if it is lymphoma, she would say, We just have to stay positive and wait for the test results. It does us no good to worry about something that hasn’t happened yet. Don’t you agree?

Yes, of course you’re right, I would answer back, moving our talk away from cancer and on to more pleasant subjects. We intentionally avoided mentioning the preliminary results to our son, or my sister Carol and her husband Rob, or our daughter, Amanda or her fiancé, Ruben, because we didn’t want them to bear the burden of important family news that we would have asked they keep to themselves. We felt it best to wait until we had a diagnosis and a treatment plan, if that was necessary, before we told the family anything about our little (big) secret. We flew home the Monday after Thanksgiving having had a perfectly wonderful time in the city by the bay.

Arriving home on the west side of the island of Oahu, messages on our phone told me I would have a busy couple of weeks: endoscopy scheduled for Tuesday, CT scan on Friday. The following week it was an ECG on Tuesday and a PET scan on Wednesday. The PET scan is used for staging cancer in the body, and it was there, during the scan, that I got my first indication that I had something very serious. I arrived at the PET scan facility where I was greeted by a very friendly and talkative technician who ushered me back to a small room where he inserted an IV into my arm. As he worked, I was taken by how he looked directly into my eyes as he spoke about the details of the test. I was given an injection and asked to sit very quietly in an extremely comfortable easy chair for more than an hour; the technician would check on me every fifteen minutes or so. Each time he would look directly at me as we spoke. Finally he led me into the PET scan chamber where a full body scan was taken. When the technician came back in the room at the conclusion of the test, he could not look me in the eye, perhaps fearing that by doing so he would give me some indication of the results. I didn’t bother mentioning the technician’s odd behavior to Bobbie, because I was quite sure that she would tell me not to worry and then, worry herself, until we met with the oncologist at the end of the following week.

I kept my schedule as normal as possible into the next week, but believe me I was thinking about that technician and what it would be like to hear the words, You have incurable cancer. Did I mention I’m a general contractor specializing in residential home and condo remodels? No? Well I have now. Each day at work I would find myself lost in thoughts of my upcoming oncology appointment, preparing myself for the words I felt sure I would hear. In bed each night I would listen to Bobbie’s rhythmic breathing, while imagining my reaction to the diagnosis now just days away. As the week slowly worked its way to Friday, I noticed I was calling it a day earlier than the day before. I would head home, pour myself a glass of wine the moment I walked through the door and then sit on the lanai of our ‘dream home’ staring at the ocean in the distance, wondering what the future would bring, wondering if I even had a future. When I awoke on Friday morning, answers to those questions were just a few anxious hours away.

Soon, I was sitting in a nine by nine examination room with Bobbie, attempting to make small talk while we waited for the doctor to make his entrance. My wife was trying her best to minimize any possible bad news for the umpteenth time, while I rested nervously against the examination table. Finally, I turned to her and told her about the technician from the previous week and to be prepared for some bad news. We didn’t have to wait long as the examination room door opened moments later, our new oncologist making his long awaited appearance. He introduced himself quickly, leaning heavily against the wall sink behind him. He crossed his arms over his chest and said, more or less the following: Mr. Martel, I’m afraid you have had a double dose of bad luck. You have what is called, ‘mantle cell lymphoma’ or MCL. It’s a rare, non-Hodgkin lymphoma with virtually no recognized treatment plan. And then to put the icing on the cake he said the following, The mortality rate for your disease is 90% within four years. Bobbie leapt to her feet sobbing, burying her head in my shoulder. For my part, I had prepared for those words better than I could have imagined, taking them like a prize fighter would take a left jab; it made me step back a bit, but didn’t stun me.

After Bobbie calmed down, we discussed my options. There were not many and none were particularly exciting. Seems mantle cell doesn’t like chemotherapy drugs; it dismisses most out of hand and can be beat back by a combination of drugs for a short period of time. But once it gets off the canvas, to use another boxing analogy, it comes back with a vengeance, looking for a single punch knockout. Typically, it gets it! Turns out, unlike with some cancers, we had a little time to investigate other options, although the large tumor in my colon (6.5 cm) might reduce that time somewhat. We decided our next step would be to seek a second opinion from an expert in MCL, not because we doubted the diagnosis, we didn’t, but to discover other possible treatments.

We decided to meet again in two months to discuss what we and he had learned. Saying goodbye, Bobbie and I headed for the hospital exit. Looking through the front doors I could see that a quick moving storm had just ended moments before; rain water still poured from the awnings and eaves that lined the front of the hospital. We walked in silence through the doors and out into the bright sunshine as it broke through the dark, gray clouds. Holding hands tightly, we held back our tears as we shuffled along. Moving through the parking lot towards our car, Bobbie spoke the words that were racing through my mind, What do we do now? I didn’t respond until we reached the car. Seeing the left rear tire was flat, I said, Change a tire, I guess, with more than a trace of irony in my voice.

Thus began the most important journey of my life, the journey to discover the deeper meaning of life, my life. At times it’s been filled with agonizing pain, at other times astonishing beauty and peace, but regardless of the situation or circumstance, it has always been an education - life’s lessons of such significance that the learning of each has put every event in proper perspective. Of course, it wasn’t necessary for me to have waited until I was diagnosed with an incurable cancer in order to undertake this journey, but like most of us, considering both the true value of my existence and my impermanence is something that I had avoided at all costs. A loss of intimacy between ourselves and the world outside ourselves is chief among these costs. A loss we fill with every form of timewasting, empty activity imaginable. But cancer has a way of changing all that, placing you smack dab on the edge of the abyss, figuratively and perhaps literally speaking as well. Cancer offers you time to t_k of your life, to place the important questions front and center in your mind. Time to learn who you really are! Time to become the person you’ve really always desired to be.

So awe-inspiring has been this life’s education, that for a long time I disclosed very little of what I was learning with those around me, for fear that I would scare them or perhaps leave them questioning my sanity. But in time, as my journey continued, I began to feel it was my obligation to share as many of the lessons I’ve been so fortunate to have learned along the way with them and now with you. This is the purpose of this book and it’s dedicated to that very goal.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Aloha All,

This is the most difficult letter I’ve ever written. First, let me explain why I am writing to you rather than calling. It’s really quite simple. I’m concerned that having individual conversations with each of you, could lead to unnecessary distress and confusion later, when discussing my situation with each other. It’s possible that I may emphasis a point in one discussion and not in the others and I want to avoid any of this if at all possible. I want each of you to know the facts and the feelings. Does my writing suggest that I don’t want to hear from you or talk to you? Absolutely not! I love you all as a father, brother, uncle and friend. So here we go.

As some of you know, early in November, routine lab studies indicated the presence of blood in my stool. Shortly thereafter, perhaps November 9 or 10, I went into Kaiser for a colonoscopy. The colonoscopy showed an 8cm tumor and an unusual bumpiness on the lining of my colon. After the procedure my gastrointestinal doctor met with Bobbie and me to discuss his observations. He told us that the tumor was not related to colon cancer, but was something, so he biopsied the tumor, which was about the size of a tennis ball and located about where the small intestine meets the colon. He also biopsied the two other sections of the colon. The initial results of the biopsies was suspected lymphoma. The biopsies were sent to the mainland for further testing.

Within a couple of days the gastrointestinal doctor called to tell me he wanted to perform another test. That test being the scoping of my throat and stomach and opening to my small intestine. That procedure was scheduled for the Tuesday after Thanksgiving.

On Tuesday, December 1, I had the upper scope done and the doctor observed the same sort of bumpiness he found in my colon. Once again, biopsies were taken and sent off to the mainland. Immediately a CTSCAN was scheduled for Friday, December 4.

On Thursday, the oncologist called in the early evening and we had a 20 minute conversation. He said he was about 90% sure what I had but he wanted me to have several more tests to make sure. So on Tuesday last, I had an ECG to determine my heart strength (good news, my heart pumps with more efficiency than most 40 year olds). Then on Wednesday, I had what is called a PET scan. This involves removing as much sugar from your blood stream through fasting (they wanted something below 180 and I registered an 80) and then they inject radioactive sugar into your blood, let it be absorbed by the cells and then they take a 360 degree picture of your body. The idea of this test is that cancer cells love sugar and will absorb sugar like greedy bastards. Then the picture will show exactly where the cancer is located. Needless to say, my picture looked like a cloudless sky on the first night of the new moon. In other words, my cancerous lymph nodes lit up like the Milky Way. I have cancer in most of my lymph nodes.

Now for the bad news. I have been diagnosed with lymphatic cancer. There are two basic types of this cancer: the easily treatable and curable, and the incurable and barely treatable. Within each group are cancers, ranging from less resistant to treatment to completely resistant to treatment. As my oncologist said I just ran into some bad luck. I have what is called Mantle Cell Lymphoma. It is totally incurable and the most highly resistant to treatment. About 90% of those with my type will die within 4 years. He told us the moment one of my cells decided to mutate the first time, the cancer was incurable. One exceptionally good note: my illness is not genetic so none need worry about that.

We discussed various possible treatments. There are two. One involves the injection of three chemicals into my body and the oral application of a fourth. This therapy is performed 1 day every three weeks, at the hospital, for about 3-6 months. At that point, the various tests are repeated to see if they have had any effect. The doctor says I probably will not be able to work since the treatment weakens the body.

The other treatment involves going into the hospital for a massive chemotherapy dose. Because this therapy literally destroys the bone marrow cells along with the immune system, they would want to harvest my bone marrow in case I live through the therapy. I would have to spend three weeks in the hospital in a virtual bubble after each treatment. Then I would be out for a week and then back in for another three weeks and so on. The good news (?), if the therapy shows no slowing of the cancer within the first two treatments, then they want to take my bone marrow out and put my harvested bone marrow in. All of this for perhaps a 30% chance of living 5 years.

Finally, the doctor wanted to take a bone marrow sample. They can analyze the bone marrow for cancer cells. It turns out cancer cells in bone marrow don’t show up in the PET scan. Analyzing the bone marrow cells can help determine the stage of the cancer. So I said go for it. Well, he found out just how fucking strong Martel bones are. He had one hell of a time getting through my pelvis to my bone marrow. He was quite shocked. Good thing he went for my pelvis and not my head; we’d still be the doctor’s office.

So where are we?

I started acupuncture and an herb treatment program the day after my colonoscopy. It has definitely had an impact on my symptoms. Gina, my acupuncturist is also a doctor of Chinese medicine. She has a specialty in treating cancer patients. She is especially hopeful that these treatments will build my immune system and help fight off the cancer. I have no reason to doubt her.

We are meeting with the doctor again in a month to discuss my current condition and the possibility of moving forward with a treatment. My gut (HA! HA!) tells me to see what the herb treatment might yield. I’m leaning toward waiting 3-4 months and then having another PET scan to see how the cancer has progressed or regressed. Oddly enough the tumor in my colon measured 8cm during the colonoscopy yet, only 6cm during the CTSCAN. Could this perceived change in the size of the tumor be due to my herb and acupuncture treatments?

The oncologist called a couple of hours after we left to let me know that he had met again with the pathologist to go over all the test results. He let me know that less than 10% of my tumor cells are multiplying. Perhaps this is cause for celebration.

We are in search of a second opinion from a great oncologist. Not to dispute the findings, they appear to be irrefutable, but to discuss treatment options. If you know of someone let us know. And no, I’m not going to Mexico for a cure that only some guy in a hut knows about.

I’m feeling good. I really wasn’t surprised. The way the gastrointestinal doctor wished me a nice Thanksgiving and the way the oncologist talked to me last Thursday and the way the PET scan technician couldn’t look me in the eye after the scan was completed, I just knew.

What will the future hold? I don’t know. I know I’m planning to keep in the best shape I can be in for as long