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Why I write

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[ Zelda ]: I sometimes tell myself I write this blog to make sense of Zach’s cancer diagnosis. But that’s bullshit. No matter how much I write, it will never make sense. What cancer does is heinous, cruel, grotesque, evil. Fuck a bunch of cancer. Even if I could make sense of it, writing won’t get me the answers I want: How do we stop the cancer growing in Zach’s bones? How do we fix the damage it’s done? Words alone won't lead to a cure. And I want to be clear: I’m not writing to garner sympathy. Although I admit, it’s sometimes cathartic to itemize all the ailments, treatments, transgressions, and side effects and parade them around like trophies from a competition. A really dark competition that no one wants to win. No, sympathy only feeds a sense of entitlement and vindication. It might make you feel better for a second or 2, but it keeps you down for the count. And I’m not ready to stay down. So let me tell you why I write.  I write to sort out feelings At times, I feel hopefu...
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Body talk

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Zelda : [I’m in my office, and I hear Zach in our bedroom across the hall. He’s struggling with something. Turns out, he's sitting on the cedar chest at the foot of the bed trying to pull on compression socks. It ain't workin'.] Zach : Come on, you can do it, get in there. [Grunts] Are you kidding me? What are you doing? [More grunting] Listen, fuckface, I’m not gonna tell you again. Get it together.  Zelda : [I’m relieved his frustration isn't aimed at me. This time.] Talking to yourself? Zach : Talking to my body. Zelda : Why? Zach : It talks to me all the time. Zelda : Sounds like you’re arguing with protesters. Zach : My whole body's on strike today. It’s telling me, “Stop it! Stop moving! Stand still!” Zelda : Are you listening? Zach : Nope. Zelda : My hero! Zach : Yesterday, my knee was feeling pretty good, so I did some squats. Zelda : Uh oh... Zach : I know. Fucked that up. I learn how far to push it by how I feel the next day, that’s for sure. Zelda : [ Zac...
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How long do you have to live?

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[Zelda] Zach has a bulge “near his junk” as he puts it. At first, he thought his left testicle was growing. But it turned out to be an inguinal hernia: His intestines are getting out of line. According to Zach, it isn’t really painful, but it’s enlarged and annoying. So we met with his hernia guy–the doctor who repaired a small one on Zach's right side last year.  After a quick exam, the doc sat down and was quiet for a moment. Then he laid out the options: Zach could put up with the hernia, knowing it would probably get bigger, and just monitor it. Interestingly, the bigger the hernia gets, the lower the risks of it becoming obstructed or painful. The other option: Schedule surgery to fix it, and hopefully reduce the annoyance. And if Zach chose surgery, we should do it sooner rather than later. Then the doc leaned forward and asked, “How long do you have to live?” The words landed like a punch to the hernia. We all know our time here is finite, but most of us have the luxury of i...
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Trials

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Zach has exhausted all the standard options for treating metastatic prostate cancer. And his oncologist said they didn’t have any clinical trials that Zach would qualify for either. He did say they’d keep Zach's name in the hat, which is doctor-speak for “Don't hold your breath.” But last week, they called about an immunotherapy trial. This is what we’d been waiting for: A new therapy–something to give us hope! Zach didn’t share my enthusiasm.  Zach : I don’t believe in Santa Claus.  Zelda : What do you mean? Zach : It’s a pipe dream. They have no clue if this will work for me. Still, he agreed to at least look into it, and we read the details of the trial together.  At first, it sounded good. They're attempting to use the patient's own immune system to destroy tumors. But it's early days. They’re figuring out what levels of the drug are safe and effective, and if combinations of drugs increase effectiveness. It's a phase 1/2 trial. Or as Zach so aptly put it, “...
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Toast

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Zelda : Not to brag, but I’m lucky. Let me explain. I’ve been with Zach, for more than 35 years. He knows what I need (chocolate), what I fear (cooking), what I love (the outdoors), what I’m good at (solving puzzles), what I suck at (playing guitar). He encourages me to grow at my own pace, recalibrating expectations along he way. Most important, he calls me on my shit, and I do the same for him. And despite my eccentricities, he stays with me, day in, day out. Our lives are impossibly intertwined, and that works for us. At the same time, things like this happen. Zach was making a frittata for a rare afternoon meal. And he told me my job was to make toast. He requested extra butter on his, since he needs the fat. I was thrilled, because we’ve stopped having regular meals, and Zach hasn’t been eating much. This seemed like a big step in the right direction.  I went to the kitchen fully confident I could accomplish the task. Zach went to the living room to get off his feet. I heard ...
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Hanging on & letting go

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It’s late afternoon. Zach’s been sleeping on the living room couch with courtroom reality shows playing on TV. I’m in the kitchen making a salad for my dinner. He pauses the show, then cusses as he pushes himself off the couch. The footrest clicks shut and I hear him take a cautious step. Balance check. A couple minutes later, he’s at the refrigerator refilling his water bottle. He’s been really good about staying hydrated. I decide to check in.  Zelda : So, how you doin’? Zach : [His back is to me, but I’m certain he rolls his eyes.] How you think? Zelda : I don’t know. That’s why I ask. Zach : I’m hangin’. Zelda : Like the kitten in that poster? "Hang in there baby"? Zach : Yeah. Only I’m hangin' from a ledge by my fingernails. My busted up fingernails. Zelda : Sounds exhausting.  Zach : Almost as exhausting as your questions. Zelda : Can I be serious for a minute? Zach : I don’t know, can you?  Zelda : Might be time to let go. Zach : Of the ledge? Zelda : Maybe.  ...
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Hail Mary

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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...
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