Today marks my final day of active cancer treatment from my oncology team.

I completed the second phase, 4th cycle of chemotherapy (8 cycles in all). Just over 4 months of chemo in all. Throw in 2 months for my tumor removal and gastrectomy, I completed 6 months of treatment today. Very emotional!

We Did It!

But to continue my marathon analogy from my last blog post, I feel like I just past the 26 mile marker on the treatment race course. But I still have that cursed .2 miles to go!

For those lacking in-depth marathon histrionics, the marathon course distance was not always measured at 26.2 miles (42 kilometers).

The marathon, for centuries, was 25 miles long (40 kilometers) as that was the distance between the city of Marathon and Athens. It wasn’t until the 20th century return of the marathon to the Olympics that the distance was set at 26.2 miles in the 1908 London Games for the oh-so-technical reasons to accommodate the British Royal Family’s desire to watch the race start from a garden window and the finish from the Game’s Royal Box. To meet the Queen Alexandra’s requests the course was extended not just a mile from 25 to 26 miles (41.6 kilometers), but 26 miles and 385 yards…26.2 miles (42.1 kilometers). The 1921 Olympic Games formalized the new distance and since it has remained the official marathon running course length.

The thing I dislike most about running a marathon manifests at the 26 mile marker. I know that as I cross that point, I still have those .2 blasted miles to go.

They are the longest 385 yards to run, every time.

And sometimes (curse you Marine Corps Marathon), the last .2 miles includes the longest and steepest course obstacle or hill – for some sadistic purpose known only to the race organizers.

It’s the last .2 miles that gets me every time.

Again, today I feel like I passed the 26 mile marker. I wish it was the finish line, but sadly it is not. I still have to endure the effects of the FLOT chemotherapy regime for the next 7-10 days…my additional 385 yards to go.

Even then, unfortunately, I am not completely done.

In an additional four-to-six weeks, I’ll go back in for an out-patient procedure to have the two esophageal stents removed that have been covering the esophogus-jejunum perforation I experienced after my surgery…you remember, that little “incident” that left me in the hospital for four weeks. 😩

I have to wait these few additional weeks to ensure my body’s recovered sufficiently from the effects of chemo…which includes thinned blood, sensitive internal tissue, nerve sensitivity, white & red blood cell generation, and personal energy levels (have to keep eating…I am still nearly 30 lbs below my normal body weight).

Regardless of the course I still have to run, today was a great and historic day for me and my family!!! 🎉🎊🎆

I am grateful to all the friends that came and sat with me during my day-long infusion sessions. Not to mention the prayers from family and friends far away…and those that fasted (especially my father-in-law) every session.

So let the bell(s) ring out:

From the beginning of my cancer treatment, I (and many others) often used running a marathon as a descriptive analogy of the time, process, and effort required to make it through to completion of care.

I have run many marathons. Inevitably in a several of my races, I ran directly into the mythical “wall”.

Often hitting between mile 20 and 22, the “wall” manifests as the bodies depleted energy causing the runner to slow their pace, sometimes devolving into walking, and mental thoughts that finishing the last several miles will be impossible.

I’ve had my fair share of “seeing Jesus” moments around mile 20-22 where I questioned whether I could finish. In every case, I pushed through and finished the race. It often required a little extra gel or sugar boost and hydration at the nearest water station. And a motivational text from my wife and kids.

During my phase one of chemo, I was knocked down for the first couple of days, and made a near good recovery after several days and felt pretty strong heading into the next chemo session. Of course, it got a little harder each session, but overall, I can’t say I ever hit the treatment “wall” (I count the 24-hr bug that put me in the hospital as an anomaly and not a physical or mental break down).

As I sit here recovering from chemo infusion phase two, session three, I feel I have hit the treatment “wall”. Effects of the poisons chemo drugs coursing through my veins remains longer and longer, while recovery is harder and harder. And I am questioning more and more, “can I do this?”

The physical recovery is toughest.

Like I stated in my last post, it feels like I got hit with a bat, struck by a bus, and run over by a tank (for good measure).

Mentally it is equally challenging as the pain and suffering seems never ending.

Intellectually I know the treatment is closer and closer each day to being over. But I still have to get through each day.

It is amazing how long 24-hours can feel while fighting through the the chemo treatment.

But like running a marathon, you push through the physical and mental “wall”. You know there are fewer miles to the finish line than when you started. You can do this!

On Tuesday, I complete phase 2, session 4 of chemo. My last session, hopefully, for the rest of my life. Knowing that is what has helped me push through the session three treatment “wall”.

The love and support of so many family and friends is the other aspect of breaking through this treatment wall that is carrying me to the end…even though I feel zapped of strength and energy, I know I’ll make it across the finish line upright and pushing til the end because so many are praying and supporting me.

POST SCRIPT: A little note on hair.

Leading into my phase two, session two chemo infusion, I was certain all my hair would fall out again. Every morning I woke up to my pillow covered in hair shedded throughout the previous night.

So, to avoid the slow, dirty process of waiting for each follicle to fall and cover my bedding or clothes, my wife took the clippers to my head and I quickly followed with a razor. Bald as a new born baby’s bottom.

To my surprise, within about two days, my hair (and beard) started to grow back.

Now, three weeks later, my hair is still quite short and growing back slower, but it is growing back…while I am receiving chemo. Weird. Who knew that would be the greatest discrepancy between the two phases of chemo. The first striped me bald for the better part of three months. The second slowed growth, but kept it on my head.

Round 2, infusion 2 of chemo is done. It was completed a week ago.

Chemo, this second time around, is much more taxing on my body and health. The exhaustive and pain-riddled state I am left in does not lend itself to wanting to jump on-line and keep this blog updated.

Yet, here I am. I am doing better today than I was yesterday. I’ll feel even better tomorrow. Each day I feel the negative effects of chemo less and less. However, I know that in a week, I get to do this all over again.

But after the next session, I’ll be able to declare I have only 1 chemo infusion left. And shortly after that, I will have no chemotherapy to ravage my body.

Twenty-three days ago the second round of chemo began with me wondering how different it might be from the first round.

Broadly, I have suffered the same side effects to include nausea, diarrhea, painful joints, muscles, and nerves, insomnia, and a general sense of feeling like I was hit by a bus, then run over by a tank, and finished off with a good beating from a baseball bat.

Added into the mix on this sequel to my chemo treatment, I can add vomiting – or at least attempts at throwing up – to the distinguished list of feats and side effects. For the first time I am grateful I don’t have a stomach…because you can’t throw up if there is no repository of liquids and partially digested food to serve as the font. No, I get the effects of full effects of vomiting through dry heaves, but no satisfaction or relief by actually retching.

Around day eighteen of my first chemo session, my hair fell out – another noted side effect. I am 23 day’s in and have only lost a hair follicle here and there. So, will I be lucky this time and keep my hair that has taken these past 3 months to go back? I don’t think so.

As I look around my bed, on my pillows and blankets, and in my general vicinity, everyday there are more and more hair follicles lying about. I give myself another couple of days and I’ll be bald once again.

I know the hair will grow back. Some friends and family have speculated my hair would grow back red. Or curly. Or curly red. No, it will come back more grey and silver than any other color. But I know it will grow back.

Round 2, infusion 3 is just a week away. Never give up, never surrender!