No Flatline On The Horizon
After 24 hours of jitters and bootless speculation (none of it in the wee small hours of the morning, thank goodness), I had my appointment at the Phase I Clinic. And while I was more than a little cheesed to discover that my oncologist had not actually conferred about my current state of affairs with the trials doctor I saw today, his description of the trial-drug landscape was enough to make me forgive her.
There’s no way to tell which trial will be available to new patients in four weeks (the length of time I need to wait after my last Avastin before I’m “clean” enough to start a trial), but between receptor inhibitors and protein inhibitors there are at least six studies that would be right for an ovarian cancer patient in my situation, and there are more studies opening all the time. And the doctor said that he has many patients who move from one study drug that’s not working for them to another, to another, to another until they get a good fit.
I’m still really uncomfortable about all the uncertainty. Will my onc choose to continue the Avastin and add another drug? Will I go on one of the studies? Oral meds or IV? Once a week or twice? Paper or plastic? Aisle or window? Hair or no hair? Fatigue or no fatigue? It’s frustrating to think of going from as strong and healthy as I feel right now to being exhausted and feeble again. I deal so well with this nebulous future.
And now that I think about it, for me and for all cancer patients, the most unpleasant part of the decision-making process lies between the discovery of bad news and the inception of a new treatment plan. Between the bad CT scan and the surgery date. Between one plan of action and the other. As you may have heard, the waiting is the hardest part.
At least it looks like the future is a little brighter than it was yesterday, even if getting there is going to take a while. Roll with it, baby. More info to come after next Thursday’s appointment.
(With apologies to U2, Tom Petty, and Steve Winwood.)
I'm a two-and-a-half time ovarian cancer survivor who is not only determined to make it to sixty but also to look damn good while getting there. My two boys, husband, and dog are counting on me to get out of bed every day, so I might as well wear something cute and make each one COUNT. I'd love to hear from you about your odyssey - sharing makes it all easier to take. And laugh at.
The Carcinista 