Zach & Zelda

Zelda :  It’s been: 7.5 years since Zach’s initial diagnosis of stage 4 prostate cancer. 16 months since the hormone therapy stopped working. 15 months since his last bike ride. 13 months since his 4th and final Taxotere chemo infusion & the onset of severe peripheral neuropathy. 9 months since he told his mom about his initial diagnosis. 8 months since his last cancer treatment (lutetium [Pluvicto] #3). 6 months since his foot & hernia surgeries. 1 month since his last major fall. 3 days since we got the genetic test results from his latest biopsy.  So let's pick it up right there. The biopsy and genetic test was something of a “hail Mary” — a last-ditch effort to check the new cancer cells for gene mutations. And if they found some, potentially identify treatment options that would take advantage of those mutations. It was a long shot, a desperation play with a slim chance of success, but we had to try. After 2 months of waiting, we finally got the results: No useful...

Zach had to renew his driver's license recently. And he had to do it in real life, at our friendly local branch of the Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV).  In the past, he'd head down there and take care of it on his own. But this time, I asked if he wanted company, and he said yes. So I tagged along. As you probably know, simple requests can take hours at the DMV. So we packed our patience, charged our phones, went down to the office. We checked in and took a number. Then we checked the monitor. Only 32 numbers ahead of us. If each one took an average of 3 minutes…well, we were glad we packed our patience.  The waiting area had half a dozen long rows of folding chairs, most of them full of sour looks and irritable dispositions. A couple folks were slumped in their seats, possibly asleep, definitely somewhere else. But there were 2 empty seats together in the front row, so we nabbed them and settled in to watch the show. We witnessed the usual misunderstandings:  DMV rep:...

Zelda : It’s been awhile. Should we bring folks up to date? Zach : Sure. Zelda : How’re you doing? Zach : Peachy.  Zelda : Right. Zach : What do you want me to say? Zelda : You’ve basically been untreated for the past 8 months. No hormone therapy, no radiation, no chemo. Say how you’re feeling. Zach : Frustrated. Bored. Weak. Zelda : What’s frustrating? Zach : Being in limbo. Nothing's happening. Nobody knows what they’re doing. Zelda : For example? Zach : It all stalled this summer—except my PSA. That jumped from 300 to 5000, and nobody gives a shit. They said the “new lesions” were different. Ordered more PET scans. And that CT-guided biopsy bullshit. Zelda : Remind me: Why did they want the biopsy bullshit? Zach : To get more info on the new nasties. See if it makes sense to try something else—radiation, chemo, maybe another hormone pill. Zelda : Right. 'Cause the new tumors are different.  Zach : Yeah, Pluvicto didn’t touch ‘em. Zelda : So you got the biopsy. Zach : And we...

Zelda : As a test, I took a weekend trip to visit family out of state. I hoped the trip would help me decide whether I should take my upcoming international trip or stay home with Zach. Two days before I left, Zach had a CT-guided biopsy of a lesion near his spine. That went well, and he didn’t have much pain or swelling. But the next day, he developed a weird, unrelated, new pain in his neck. He could hardly move. I got him a brace, but it didn’t help much.  I considered cancelling my trip, but he insisted he’d be ok, so I stuck with the plan. We spend all our time together, and convinced myself a weekend apart might be healthy for both of us. But the weekend, and my texts with Zach, were aggressively stressful for me. Here’s a sample: Zelda : Mornin’ sunshine! How’s my lover boy this morning? Zach : Not sure. I just woke up again. There's more fog inside than outside this morning. Zelda : Oh, man – I hope the fog lifts soon. If not, let me know and I’ll drop everything to come ho...

Zelda : I sometimes think of myself as permanent. Other times, everything feels fragile and temporary, including me. “Memento Mori: You must die.” Until then, I just need to show up. I want to show up for Zach and support him as he deals with cancer and the health care system. But sometimes, I don’t know how to help. Last week, for instance, Zach complained about a new pain in his chest. It was near his sternum, and there was actually some palpable swelling in the area. He had no trouble breathing, and no new pain anywhere else. He didn’t want to go to urgent care. But we both wanted to know what was going on. So, with his permission, I called his oncologist’s office, and they agreed to see us that afternoon.  The nurse practitioner asked if Zach had a history of bone fractures, and he said no. But he had several falls last year, and scans showed fractures in his ribs and backbone. I thought he might have forgotten, in the fog of chemo, so I piped up with the details. He shot me a ...