Cabernet and Carboplatin

Yesterday, I discovered that my immunotherapy clinical trial is being stopped. It has not benefitted enough patients to warrant the expense of continuing. I am devastated. I was, and am still, convinced that it is helping me. And my experience reporting on clinical studies reminds me that I met patients who greatly benefited from drug trials that were ultimately not approved. I am on vacation in New Mexico, and I am thankful yesterday was an activity-filled day that helped me keep my mind off of it. The four of us went to Meow Wolf in Santa Fe, and it lived up to its hype. It was fascinating, delightful and just plain fun. We were there for several hours and my guess is we missed some areas because by design, there is no one way to see everything. Hidden doors lead to new areas; walking through a refrigerator or sliding down the entrance to a dryer takes you someplace else. For dinner we went to a local winery restaurant. The food was quite good, but the wine was a bit on the sweet

I met with my gynecological oncologist for the first time. And I think that was the day I started wearing armor. I listened, Jerry took notes and we made plans. I was tough, emotionless, compliant. Dr. Tanner thought having surgery before Christmas was not a great idea— the hospital would be minimally staffed and he thought it made more sense to wait until after January 1. At this point, he wasn’t even totally sure I had cancer. My tumors were very large, but I felt fine and he thought there was the possibility they were just big cysts. I think he was being honest, but in retrospect I have to wonder if he didn’t want me too upset over the holidays. And what a year it has been. We survivors often refer to all of this as a “journey.” I do it myself at times. I guess it’s a good euphemism. Sounds better than “life in hell.” In reality, I will be on this journey for the rest of my life. I am six months out of chemo and so far so good. But I live from Ca-125 test to Ca-125 test, from C