I don’t really remember seeing this Disney movie in the 60’s, but I remember it being kind of a popular phrase people used when the movie was out. I found myself saying it to myself the other morning in my outdoor shower.  I was drying my hair off vigorously and noticed tufts of hair blowing in the breeze. I immediately thought of our house cat who sometimes finds odd places to nest, like the linen closet on the towels. I figured she had left a nest of hair on the towel but it proved to be mine, not hers. Welcome to the twists and turns of chemo! The girls at the infusion center had said my hair seemed to be hanging on, but not to count on it – they were right. It’s no big deal losing my hair, every new inductee in our military service gets the buzz. It’s just a little disconcerting to know you’re putting stuff in your body that causes so much to happen, right down to the follicles. I didn’t want to be a shedder, so Hank and Susan were commissioned to hack the rest of my hair off in the backyard, used as a bonding moment!

I thought chemo would be 3 days of infusion (bad), followed by 3 days of chemo hangover and then back in the pink till the next round. Not so fast my friend – it ends up the first part is correct, but you still feel mostly like a mutt the rest of the time too. But there have been so many advances in meds that relieve the nauseas feelings and body aches. I have nothing to complain about. I know what people went through  20-30 years ago. Mark me down as lucky.

I had a port inserted the week before treatments and what a great difference. No more pin the tail on the vein trying to find one, just plug it in like a toaster.

I know I repeat myself concerning how this blog helps me tell my friends whats going on, it’s very therapeutic for me. People always want to know how you are feeling and how you are doing, and answering those questions you have to be careful not to sound down or complaining. Most days I don’t feel pert as a rutting buck, but saying “not too good today” doesn’t do me or my friends much good. One of my favorite inquiries is “going through a little rough patch?” I like answering that with “yeah, a little but not bad.”

My friends from eastern Kentucky use that a lot – it’s used to cover lots of things; losing a job, not feeling well, or look out for a icy patch out on the highway. Little rough patch covers a lot, no specifics needed and both people feel good about asking and answering.

I have 4 more of these 3-day treatments, lasting till the end of the year. The second one was worse than first and I don’t know how the next one will be. But we always knew to buckle up for a bumpy ride. Another thing that is bothersome is that not one time, be it Lexington, Houston, NYC, or Nashville has anyone said, “we have some ideas that will make you better.” Each has been very honest in saying they have no cure, but we have lots of plans, with new ones every day, that will stall or delay the advancement of your cancer. I’ve been very grateful for these opportunities but it sure would be encouraging to think something was actually getting me better. To me it’s kinda like taking a class and being told to do all the work, take all the tests, pass the final, and getting no grade, just the right to take it all again. 

I’m reminded of a cartoon I once saw of two emaciated looking buzzards staring down at the vast Grand Canyon hopefully seeing some dead carrion down there somewhere to eat, the one looks over at the other and says “Hell, with this waiting, lets go kill something.”

Susan is a honey badger when it comes to challenges, so we are off in search of something to make me better. Maybe it’s spiritual healing through prayers, more positive attitude, or some magic beans that Jack sells door to door. Whatever she will find it, but please keep the prayers coming.

I’ve always been able to find something fun buried in every lousy job I ever had. So far, this journey has proven elusive in offering up something fun. But an overriding feeling in all of this is the good wishes, prayers, and the support I feel from my family and friends. Including more monkeys showing up in mail, books, blankets, caps, magic oils, gummy bears, cards, letters, flowers, rosary, lemon drops, and many other heartfelt expressions of love.

All in all, this patch ain’t that rough.

All my love,

Dennis

Well, we got this round of chemo going Wednesday, Thursday, and concluding on Friday.

I was a little premature in asking the nurses after Thursday if they thought the chemo was working, because I didn’t really feel too bad. I had watched 6 bags drip into my IV and besides fatigue, I had no other side effects. After Friday I was pretty sure the stuff was working, they told me side effects would probably become more evident during the second session in 3 weeks.

Regardless, we got 3 days down and the remaining number is 15 to complete. Making progress. I had my Fighting Sox and Protected by Flying Monkeys T-shirt on, which friends had sent me. Before we started I was feeling apprehensive having been warned about this chemo being more toxic.

I wrote and posted a blog and each comment that came in bolstered me and gave me a calming feeling. One hears a lot about the “Power of Prayer” and “Prayer Works.” My personal experience is they are powerful and they do work and I know they empower me. I want to express again how much I appreciate and need the expressions of good will. I can’t say I found Molly’s peaches but I know I’m on the right track.

This week I received poems, songs, a great tip on soothing lemonade smoothies from Chick-fil-a, an anonymously sent Monkey mug and a killer peach cobbler from cancer warrior Cindy P.
We now have 3 weeks to rest up before our next series. I’ll do my best to be ready and as usual, relying on the prayers and support of my family and friends.

Love,
Dennis
This week’s trivia – Definition of à la mode?

This is an old racetrack question that one of my hero trainers, Charlie Whittingham, used to answer when asked questions from the press before a big race. When they said “He’s never been a 1 1/4 before, can he go that far? Can he handle the grass? Is he fit enough off only workouts?” Charlie would just smile and answer, “Well, I guess Saturday we will find out where Molly hid the peaches.” More often than not, Charlie would win the race.

Well, I’ve been looking for the peaches for 2 years. Initially I got exams, trips to Houston, different chemo meds, immunotherapy, trips to Nashville…

On our last trip to Nashville we found out that I didn’t qualify for their clinical trial due to autoimmune issues I have. The drug company didn’t want me for the trial. The Lord works in mysterious ways. This has become clear to me during this trial; you just have to keep believing. When one door closes another opens.

DQing from the clinical trial in Nashville got all three of my oncologists to put their heads together and come up with a bold new plan of treatment for me: 2 strong chemo meds combined with an immunotherapy drug administrated 3 days in a row every 3 weeks for 18 weeks. I start this new aggressive treatment tomorrow, Wednesday September 18th.

They have told me of possible strong side effects. I have been told this before and, by the grace of God, actually have very few. I’m hoping for same result this time.

I’ve benefited in the past from your prayers and good wishes. I’m asking again this time. I’m going in armed with your prayers and flying monkey power people have sent me, so tomorrow we start the process to find out where Molly hid the peaches.

With God’s protection, and your help, we are ready to go. I love hearing from everyone. Tomorrow we find out where Molly hid the peaches.

Love from me.

We started our day with a trip to Georgetown to my cousin Sean’s house.  She has recently purchased a huge Victorian home and invited the family to breakfast and a wonderful tour of her gorgeous home. We rushed back to the house at noon and already had guests for our annual (or more than annual) pool party. Susan and I had our appointment scheduled for Tuesday morning at MDA, so we knew we needed to go to Houston the day before to be on time. The Labor Day pool party was already on the books so we got the latest flights available from Lexington, putting us in Houston at eleven PM We knew it was going to be a long day, but totally worth it because 30 family members gathered at the house for burgers, dogs, and pool time. By the time we got to our host James McIngvale’s house it was close to 1:30 AM Texas time. We announced our presence by setting off the alarm. Again. Getting to be a habit!

Tuesday

Houston was true to form: hot and humid. After setting off the alarm to announce our departure, we got to MDA right on time and by now we knew the drill. Check in, get your wrist band, and get blood drawn. You go nowhere at MDA without the proper wrist band, and be ready to recite your patient number 2387992, name, and DOB, or know the reason why. MDA goes to great lengths to make sure you are who you are supposed to be, although, who in their right mind would want to impersonate a cancer patient? You must also know your medical history and have a good mental outlook. The attitude questions, I think, are to make sure you have activities and family, and something to get excited about getting better, so they don’t waste time on someone who’s not going to try.  I’ve gone with using flash cards for hobbies, family, friends, and past surgeries.  The rest of the day was prepping for my liver biopsy for Wednesday. Long waits, and the deeper you get into MDA the sicker the people get. More wheelchairs, walkers, and gurnies.  

Wednesday

8 AM kickoff with new wrist bands and blood work. I was prepped for the liver biopsy and told the doc if I wouldn’t feel anything I’d like to stay awake and watch the proceedings, which was inserting needles in between my ribs and taking samples. He used ultrasound and watched on the monitor, which I could see and it was interesting. I was numbed up and sedated to the level where I just chattered away like a nattering nabob according to the staff. After three hours in recovery we were sent on our next trip, by wheelchair this time, their rules. More doctors. It wasn’t painful later, it just felt like a couple of cracked ribs, but no problem.  

Road maps are needed at MDA but security personnel is always ready to give directions. (Go to the left, make a left at the tree, go right at the pavilion, take elevator “u” to the fourth floor.) We got more scans and x-rays and got out of there around six PM. We were required to stay in Houston that night and after check-in the next morning we were free to leave Texas. Results of the biopsies were said to take 4-5 working days.  

Thursday

Since we were well-rested, the flights back to Lexington seemed half as long as the flights down. Once again, getting back to the beloved bluegrass was welcome. It always amazes me coming in to Bluegrass Field on a beautiful day watching all the heads peering out the windows taking videos and pictures of the unbelievable horse farms and scenery, all marveling…

I don’t see this at any other airport except LaGuardia with the New York skyline — I’ll take the bluegrass.  

Friday

Friday brought a call from MDA saying the first of the results were in. They were sorry to tell me the liver biopsy came back positive for small cell carcinoma/neruo-endocrine carcinoma, which is a long way of saying there was cancer in my liver. It sounds unnerving, but nothing like when they told me I had cancer in my bones, which was a surprise. It took 18 months to prepare to let others know then. It’s just one more area that needs to be addressed. I already had it, so this is just a little more. It hit me on how much the prayers and support are working, because as soon as this result came in, MDA, my oncologist and a new shooter, Tennessee Oncology Sarah Cannon Cancer center were working on a new and exciting treatment. In Nashville (Sarah Cannon) they have a clinical trial that, if I qualify, could really help me. Susan and I will be going there this Friday to see if I qualify. Along with different chemo, I expect this to take me to the verge of wellness. I found that this disease has a way of teaching you many things. It will make sure you have your priorities in order. God and my faith, my family and my friends. It also schools you up on patience. Lines in grocery stores and traffic backups don’t seem so bad now. Empathy for others is easier after seeing so many people much sicker than I am. I used to use the tag line, “I got this,” thinking I would show people I was confident and not afraid. I didn’t mean it to sound pretentious because I have known all along I don’t have this, but God does. It takes a lot of the worry and stress out of it. Onward to Nashville and Sarah Cannon Cancer Center. Thank you for all the prayers and good wishes. I can feel them every day.

Love, D

P.S. Trivia question: Who was Sarah Cannon?

This trip started on a high note – I got the 14 inch tubular catheter taken out as the last of my immunotherapy infusions was completed. The catheter, four inches of which hung outside my chest, was like having a dead hamster around my neck. Getting it out allowed me to have my first full blown shower since June 14th. Among other things, this process has taught me is to appreciate the smaller things in life. Having my first full blown shower was a major relief. I’ll never take a shower for granted again.

Susan and I decided to drive this time to MDA. This decision did elicit some head shaking from family and friends but we both like road trips and don’t mind driving. We broke the trip up by stopping in LaGrange, Tennessee. Fraternity brother Bill Williams and his wife Ceil had moved to this quaint village in West Tennessee and we had wanted to visit and see the antebellum house they had renovated. It did not disappoint! They had redone, in spectacular fashion, from top to bottom. It was gorgeous. Not unexpected from the extremely talented designer Ceil. Another SAE Don Giffen and his wife Carol came down from Louisville and wannabe-SAE Andy Chafin drove over from Memphis. (Andy was on track to be an SAE until brother RJ left him in the janitor’s closet during rush week and he had to settle for being a Delt.) LaGrange is a village of a few hundred people living in the few houses spared by the Union forces who occupied the town for three years during the Civil War. It was a real history lesson in one of the most painful chapters in our country’s history. After a relaxing 3-day stay, we still had an 11 hour drive to get to Houston.  

At every turn in this journey I have been overwhelmed with the kindness of others. Me being able to be treated at the outstanding cancer research hospital is due to the unsolicited help of a friend in Connecticut who is a benefactor of MDA and now, in Houston, horse friend James McIngvale (Matress Mac) insisted we stay at his lovely home in Houston. If you’re interested in reading about a great American success story, google him. I couldn’t begin to relay his story, but it makes one proud to be an American. He is legendary for his philanthropic deeds in Houston. Among other things, he is famous for taking in strays, which we were. Having a home to stay in makes the visit to MD Anderson more natural.

He generously gave us a tour of the  project he is financing at St. Luke hospital to invent and implant an artificial heart. They have developed one that is currently implanted in the chest of a calf. I wish we could have taken pictures in the lab, but it was all protected. Walking around with Mac was like walking with a celebrity. Everyone from the janitor to the president of the hospital reached out to talk to him and shake his hand. We were quite impressed by the magnitude of his fame. Everyone in Houston knows him and appreciates his contributions there, especially during the hurricane a few years ago when he opened the doors of his furniture stores to people who were displaced.

MD Anderson is unbelievable in its scope and its commitment to curing all forms of cancer. We were interviewed, had blood work, scans of every kind, then more interviews, scans and blood work. There are always trams available to take patients between stops, or you can get your walking in. After all the tests and data were assembled, we met with our oncologist to go over the report. I choose to see the glass as half full concerning my report. My old tumors had not grown or spread further, which is GREAT news. New areas of concern were detected and will require a return trip to MDA for biopsies. The range on these new findings can be insignificant to something more serious. I’ve been on a good roll lately, so I am predicting NSF (no significant findings). My goal, short of being cured, has always been to be invited back to MDA, so we’ve got that going for us.  They discussed a new drug and possibly a clinical trial, which are all positive indicators.

We left Houston at 3:00 in the afternoon after seeing Mac’s baby calf with no heart standing and eating and made it to Texarkana, Arkansas before resting for the night. From there it was a straight 11 hours back to the Bluegrass. Home and cooling rain were welcome sights.

I love writing this blog, it’s therapeutic for me. One of the hardest things is finding an efficient way to inform and update those I care so much about.  I try to answer every email, card, letter and response on the blog, and I so appreciate all of those. This blog enables me to not have to go over and over all the mundane and sometimes scary medical reports individually. So if you are reading this, thank you. I feel the power of your good thoughts and prayers. Susan again has been a champion.  Without her love and support, that’s a lonely 1984 miles. Whether we fly or drive next time, you all will be with us.

• 

• 

My 3rd treatment started Monday with the collection and completed Thursday at 1pm.  My blood was spun down in Atlanta during that time. I got it back from Thursday fortified with immunotherapy backpacks for my white blood cells (or my immune cells… I’m not sure which).

Once again, the staff at the infusion center was terrific making everything nice for the patients. The infusion center is like a library; very quiet and clean with pastel decor. I was checking my emails after they started the infusion and opened a Good Morning greeting from my cow partner and chemo warrior-Lynn C.  I saw it was a video of our cows at the gate, but I wasn’t expecting any audio with it. I clicked on the video to hear the audio and the cows were bellowing and making an awlful racket. The place went code blue and all the nurses came running to see who had blown a gasket. So much for trying to keep an acute sense of propriety!

Again I’m overwhelmed with the communications I have received – letters, email, etc. Don’t know how they did it, but 3 old SAEs all living in far away states had TEAM LYNCH orange hats made and photo shopped all into the same photo with their own joke, a letter of encouragement, and b-day wishes. It was very touching. Charms, crosses, rosary, dirt from sacred places out west, small knitted prayer from Bali, and holy water (which I’m saving for my first full-blown shower after my catheter is taken out) all to ward off evil spirits and bring healing – so very nice.

My follow-up was this morning and recieved approval to go back to MD Anderson later this month, which was my goal all along. I kinda think if you don’t get invited back maybe stop buying green bananas and for sure don’t order a new pair of boots.
Also scheduling is permitting a shortened trip to Saratoga this year and that is good tonic also.

Again, I appreciate all the expressions of good will and will keep all updated. Next stop Texas!

• 

• 

• 

• 

I completed my second collection/infusion treatment on Thursday, but it started Monday when they collected my white blood cells. It is painless, just long – 4.5 hours. I was more prepared this time. The collection usually makes me fatigued for the rest of the day, but nothing else. Instead of resting, I went to the horse sale Saturday, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday. Probably a mistake because the heat was a little too much. Going in to Thursday’s infusion I was still a little weak.

To make sure all the nurses were in my corner, I got four dozen ears of Barton Farm sweet corn which is known to be the best in central Kentucky. My friend Francis V. Once ate 9 ears in two minutes, 46 seconds. The corn was a big hit and when word got out the four dozen was gone in no time.  

The medicine arrived, although “my boys” (blood cells) had a definite pink hue.  There were 50 million fortified with a super duper backpack and ready to go.  

I had prepared for the chills like the last infusion. They had a heated chair and I brought along a knitted blanket made by my sainted mother. Over the years, me and my brothers fought over it. Halfway through the NOT bone chilling infusion a delivery showed up from Suggins Bar and Grill. BJ, the bartender, (I have no idea how she would know me) is famous for her cakes of all kinds. She made a beautiful carrot cake and had it sent to the infusion center. The nurses automatically thought I brought it for them so the cake went as fast as the corn.  I got one bite – it was delicious!  

I made it through the infusion in great shape but once again a problem arose with the caps. The heavy guns were called in and with a rubber band and forceps they wrenched the cap free. I left to a round of applause for feeding everyone and I felt ok, and stayed feeling ok till I got home. Then the standard symptoms kicked in and I felt pretty green for the rest of the night. The light again shone bright this morning. I figured these treatments would be eventful, I just didn’t know how eventful!

I wanted to mention another thing I have learned in this process. I was told to look at this as a journey. Any journey I’ve ever taken, I’ve looked on as an adventure, so this cancer journey is an adventure to me. So far, this has been quite an adventure.

I have been bowled over by the kindness shown to me with prayers, comments on the blog, texts, and notes. I am overwhelmed with gratitude and emotion.  My sincerest thanks and love go out with this blog.

Today was my first infusion of my blood immune cells back from Atlanta. They  were super-charged with chemo medicine to arm them to fight the cancer.

As a prelude to this story, I got my tubular catheter put in my chest last Monday and was scheduled to return to the infusion center on Tuesday to have it cleaned, flushed, and rebandaged. It was explained to me that this was a fifteen minute procedure. My catheter had two green caps on it and these proved to be almost impossible to remove. The five nurses there each took a turn trying to pull them off. It looked like a three stooges movie at the dentist. Each one would say something different like, “I’ve been working out at the gym”  They used rubber tape, wrenches and forceps.

Every so often, I would ask one of them if that was a tear or blood coming out of my eye. They said it wasn’t funny. They called two big guys in from the pharmacy and each of them took a turn finally saying, “it’s like one of those Chinese finger traps; the harder you pull, the tighter it gets.” 

Last chance was calling the girls up in dialysis who work with a lot of catheters.  They came in like Seal Team Six; one with big guns who looked a lot like Rhonda Rousey. She gave the nurses a bag of orange caps and said to never, ever use anything but orange caps on this type of catheter. She got the green ones off. 

That brings us to today’s infusion. The collection taken Monday, although it took four hours, was not painful at all and the only side effects were fatigue that afternoon. I was confident that this much shorter infusion would be no problem.

I came in with a box or orange caps (hats), orange pins, and orange chap stick and gave them to each of the nurses. I reminded them to only ever use orange caps. I wasn’t sure how they’d take it, but it was a big hit and people were coming from other parts of the hospital saying “ who has the orange caps?” 

Everything was very festive until they hooked me up. I don’t know what temperature the stuff was they were putting into me but it was either room temp or came from a cooler. They had given me anti-nausea medication but my teeth started chattering like a jackhammer and I couldn’t get warm. They put blanket after heated blanket on me, but it didn’t help much, and by this time they all wanted photo ops with their orange hats on.

The infusion was done in about an hour and a half. After, my teeth were still chattering and the other side effects started showing up. Dizziness, nausea, flulike muscle aches, and weakness. When I stood up, I was very shaky and I told the lady next to me who was getting her chemo that this stuff will knock the smartass right out of you. She said, “you’ll be fine honey, I was sick for two days my first time.”

Susan got me home at about one and I barely got to bed. I woke up at about eight and was feeling considerably better. Once again I realize how lucky I am as this was probably a two or three on a scale of ten of side effects for chemo. I hope those immune cells are running around crazy attacking every tumor they can and I can’t wait for my next treatment. So I’ll be sleeping under a couple of blankets this summer evening knowing the battle is joined. 

I hope this isn’t too wordy, but I wanted to let my friends know what goes on. Love you all.

First collection today! In at eight, done by noon. I found out that is exactly the amount of time I can go between bathroom visits (barley).

Personnel were terrific with keeping me warm and comfortable.

The machine spins my blood and pulls out immune cells, some white cells, and some platelets. A drug rep picked the bag up after and it goes straight to Atlanta where they spin further, arm the immune cells with chemo drug, and send it back for me to get infused on Thursday. Pretty amazing science; lucky to be part of it!

I never know if this blog is TMI, but people ask what’s going on and this is my attempt. Continued thanks for all your good wishes and prayers.

We got this!!

Got to the hospital at 8:30, home by 1pm.
Tomorrow, I go back and get it flushed and start on some meds which will lessen the possible ill effects of the infusions which will begin on June 24.

All systems go, and I don’t feel there is a straw in my path going forward.

I’ve got nothing to fear, nothing to want for, and everything to hope for.

Not a bad spot!