Brain Tumored Science Teacher Writes a Hypothesis

I have now learned that having one round of chemotherapy with Temodar that went successfully can have its consequences.  I was lucky enough on my first round to have an immune system that stayed strong, lose a few pounds, and eventually figure out how to deal with more less-known set of drugs with insurance.  (Don't worry, insurance does pay a pretty portion of the drug, it just takes a lot of saying certain things to certain people during certain times at certain times in the day - can you sense my certain sarcasm?).  The end result?  The three doctors made the decision that since my brain tumor buddy tried to make a comeback that the best thing to do would be to go back on the Temodar for a year to help prevent any future tumor-celebrity reincarnations.   I was not affected by the typical "fun" chemo symptoms as much as was normal back in 2012, so my decent health ended up being a curse come my tumor buddy's second attempt at life.  So my final conclusion is that doing well when on brain-tumor-chemo-drugs must be a secret plot that is fueled by a mysterious, secret government agency that clearly needs to have more interesting and important items to concern themselves with.

Since I am going to be stuck on Temodar for the next year, I figure I might as well follow my skill as a science teacher and conduct an experiment.  My current goal is to see that if the same flavors of food that I lost/went eww/came back up stay the same as my first round, or change with the times.  Last time losing a taste for chocolate was by far the saddest event that occurred during treatment; it took me about a year after finishing treatment to gain my love of it back - thanks to constants attempts from my husband.  Here is my science teacher lab hypothesis:

If I am taking Temodar for a second time, then my taste and want of chocolate will not be affected  as much because my body has been exposed to the experience previously and recovered its taste positively.

Any past and current students are welcome to grade my hypothesis.   I will  officially be starting my chemo again at the end of the month, and will do one week of treatment each month for the next year. I think it is now time to enjoy some Junior Mints just in case my hypothesis is incorrect.

Early Halloween plans and Jurassic Park

Time for a brain tumor/SRS/doctor/CPS/end of school year update!  First on the agenda, SRS (Stereotactic Radiosurgery, NOT Sex Reassignment Surgery - that would of taken the cake as an interesting cure for a brain tumor).  The SRS surgery was honestly very boring.  It ended up being about 45 minutes of laying in a very uncomfortable position with a strapped in face mold combined with occasional flashing lights.  The good news is that they did let me keep my new face mold so I now have a new "I'll Be Watching You" face mold I can hang up in my classroom for the next time the students have a substitute.  I just need to find a couple more ping-pong eyeballs come Halloween.  It is by far the best creepy medical song that exists.

I also made the decision to determine my current number of medical appointments that I have had since the initial anaplastic astrocytoma diagnosis in 2012.  If I do not count my hospital stay during the original surgery, the regular yearly doctor visit, dentist, and my trips to the ER, then I will have had a total of seventy-two visits come my next appointment with my oncologist on Tuesday. (Tax documents helped a lot figuring that out - who knew that taxes documents could be helpful once in a blue Moon).  But it doesn't matter; the hospital and attaching building are still a maze.

My husband and I have also completely finished all of the paperwork, training, inspections, and classes to become foster/adoptive parents.  Woohoo!  CPS knows that come next week, after the school year is over, that we are up for anything.  Hopefully the kid(s) are not quite as crazy as we will be, and Jurassic Park does not occur within the house.  If it does, it will turn out to probably be a good science lesson about evolution in the future.  Happy summer!

Time to turn into another water balloon

Today I had met with my radiologist for the first time in three years; we were apparently destined to meet again due to the stubborn nature of my mostly hollow left brain lobe.  The only thing that came up in the appointment was all the other appointment that will be made in the next three weeks.  So, here is my life with appointments over the next three weeks:

• 2nd appointment:  Neurological surgeon (Dr. O) - radiologist secretary called him up today with no luck.
• 3rd appointment:  After locating the lost Dr. O, an appointment with radiology for a new CAT scan and to have another face mask made - my first one from 2013 still hangs in my classroom; as far as the kids know it means that "I'm always watching you . . " (think of a sterotypical horror movie)
• 4th appointment:  This will be a dry-run of the radiation/laser surgery where everyone involved will do a "practice" round with me present to make sure that everything works and everyone knows what to do.  I completely plan to sticking my tongue out and making funny faces to see if they notice.
• 5th appointment:  SRS (Is is bad that I really am thinking that is going to be pretty cool that they will be cutting up and frying up part of my mutated brain without me being knocked out?  Being a biology nerd can be very fun sometimes ;)
• 6th appointment:  MRI to see any changes after the SRS
• 7th appointment:  Time to see the oncologist on the MRI results
• 8th appointment:  Headed back to the radiologist to go over the same MRI results.

Like everything that is ever deemed as important, the dates for none of these events have been determined.  If nothing else this is still better than my four week round of radiation therapy from 2013; I never did turn into a X-Men quality mutant from that sadly.  The only mutant I will turn into this time is another water-retaining human thanks to the steroids they will be feeding me for about a month after my SRS.  UGH.  I do believe I will be hitting up Goodwill in the near future in preparation for my increase in size.  Stupid, stupid, stupid, steroids.  This could be only be better if I was traveling back in time to turn into Hulk Hogan.  Stupid steroids.

My brain and Jeopardy

Here is the official verdict from the doctors in the form of Jeopardy:

Me:  "I'll take 'Tumor Treatment' for 200."

Alex Trebek:  "The treatment recommended by three doctors to prevent the return of a brain tumor."

Me:  "What is radiation?"

Alex Trebek:  "Correct."

Me:  "I'll take 'Tumor Treatment' again for 400."

Alex Trebek:  "The meaning of the acronym SRS"

Me:  "What is stereotactic radiosurgery?"

Alex Trebek:  "Correct. Now for our last question in Double Jeopardy; definition of stereotactic radiosurgery."

Me:  "What is a form of high radiation focused in a small area destroying focused cells?"

If Jeopardy was only on medical terminology I could be rich.

To make it short, I will have SRS done.  SRS is like a combination of radiation treatment and laser surgery; the radiation will kill any cells it is aimed at, and the laser effect will seal off any cells there that should be burned at the stake (literally).  Over the couple days  I should be flooded with information from the radiologist on when this will happen and how many days the remake of the Salem brain tumor witch trials will occur.  In the meantime, enjoy one of the best Jeopardy answers ever recorded:

If only I could do a T-chart in Blogger

Sorry it has been so long without an update; everything had been going well so there really was not a large reason to post.  So lets start things off with the positive from my last MRI back in February . . .

Last February I had one of the boring, but needed, MRI update check-ups and results were very good. There was a change since the last MRI, but change was a very happy occurrence.  Most of the veins that previously fed my brain tumor until it was obese had stopped operating.  For once having veins that were useless was a good thing.  The word from Dr. Wagner (my oncologist) was since I was yet to have an MRI with not-so-good results that my dates with the MRI machine would be only needed every six months if my next date in March went well.  YES!

Now to flip the coin . . .

Today with the oncology doctor I learned that my tumor is very stubborn.  Here is the good stuff:

"There is a postoperative cavity and encepalomalacia within the left temporal lobe including a moderate T2 hypersensitvity and the signal abnormality is largely unchanged compared to 2/9/15."

Translation:  No change, brain is still doing well and the mutated portion is still showing no signed of being returned due to the very active bullying and beating previously in treatment

That was good news to hear, and made my husband and I happy since we had just finished a home inspection to be foster parents earlier in the week.  (Clearly my husband has a brain tumor as well since we actually enjoyed the deep house cleaning that happened before that inspection).  Anyway, here is the not so good news:

"However, there is one focal area of soft tissue signal (FLAIR hyperintense) measuring approximately 7 mm with in the postoperative region adjacent to the left temporal calvarium with dense enhancement, and both the enhancement and the size of the soft tissue abnormality have increased compared to prior studies.  While there is no hyperfusion identified, the finding are worrisome for recurrence."

Translation:  MRI doctors are really good at run-on sentences, and the spot where my tumor was removed is showing some signs that it might be rising from the dead.  Crap.

This all means that the area around where the tumor was removed is doing great, while the area inside the cavity where the tumor used to reside is being its normal rebellious self.  Apparently this jerk is a beautiful mutant on the outside, but a evil vampire on the inside.

On Monday my oncologist, former radiologist, and former surgeon will meet to debate/discuss what should be done next since I still do not have a tumor, but my brain is acting like there is one cloning itself in my near future.  The option that have already been brought up are:
-  surgery to remove the tumor birth canal (It would be a minor surgery with only very small scars      since there is no viable brain tissue still in the area.  Apparently lasers would be involved; now          that sounds like they will be bringing in Cyclops from the X-Men - I would not mind that.)
-  receive another dosage of radiation (This round would be more focused, and the concentration          would be lower than previously given since the site they need to focus on is only 7mm as opposed      to the original softball size "friend".  At least I know that I can't lose too much more hair on the          left side of my scalp)
-  chemotherapy (Weight loss in my future and being forced to eat healthy?  Not too bad!)

So, there is your update.  I am completely planning on going with whatever plan the doctors recommend come the expected call on Tuesday.  Here's hoping for mutant powers!

Roombas and Waiting Rooms

Well, after getting lost in the new addition at my oncologist office, I was very happy to find that the new office is now air conditioned, and has seating that is actually comfy.  It was the first day the new wing was open, so it was very funny to watch the nurses and secretaries get just as confused as the rest of us.  I think they needed a line of M&Ms to lead us all to our intended destinations; eating chocolate on the way to doctors' appointments really would motive everyone to visit the hospital more often.  My husband suggested that a Roomba could help with the profession of dispersing M&Ms as a successful bribery.

Anyway, after getting lost for awhile, I was able to meet with my oncologist and am happy to report that my tumor (also know as the rebel James Dean) has still shown no signs of popping up again. The best part about this meeting is finding out that what is left of my left lobe has actually started to create some new blood vessels that are not related to the location of the tumor.  This implies (but does not guarantee), that the parts of my left lobe that were mushed like putty might be trying to make a comeback.  I might just have to give up the idea of transplanting someone else's left lobe into mine.  I was really thinking that it could be nice to have some celebrities donate some neurological tissue to me.  My top picks are presidential candidates, you know that have nothing to lose (pun intended ;).

Roombas might also be very handy as an alternative for a wheelchair.

Next thing to update everyone on is our epic quest to adopt.  Both my husband and I were getting very annoyed with CPS and their inability to return any of our calls.  So after three months of unreturned calls and messages, I made a stop into their office.  Acting as an irate customer, I was able to finally speak with one of the agents and discover that even though we had completed all training and paperwork, it would be at least two to three years before they could do anything.  This information made it very clear why they were avoiding our attempts to contact them.  We tried Lutheran Social Services next (they were recommended to us by CPS), and discovered that LSS out in Montana was not going to even take any paperwork for another year.  Apparently you can only adopt every other leap year.  If anyone out there has any ideas we'll be glad to hear them!

The one positive thing about not having a kid in the house this summer is that some of the money we were saving for the kid we can use towards the house.  Our house sits on two lots, and as a result, we have A LOT of lawn to cover.  A sprinkler system might just become our new pseudo child.

Time travel with Dr. Who and a telephone booth

Today was a good day.  After a period of chaos, (involving black ice, a totaled Kia, ER visit, insurance constipation - yes that is spelled correctly,) I am happy to report after an appointment with my oncologist today that my brain tumor buddy is still incognito!  Having really boring MRI reports turned out again to be a nice thing.  My next affair with the MRI machine will not be until mid-June. Dr. Wagner decided that since my tumor is still a bit of an oddball, he does not yet recommend that I reduce my MRIs to every six months quite yet.  If my June trip to visit with the MRI machine does turn out well, then that might change to every six months instead.  This really is a long divorce process.

Since signs of re-occurrence with the tumor are not happening, my husband and I have made the final steps towards becoming foster parents with the intention to adopt.  We took eighteen hours of classes (with a 1:1 ratio of creepy to non-creepy people) to receive our license, and are now only waiting on home inspection.  The largest lesson we have learned from this thus far is that no matter what you are told on possible times for becoming future foster/adoptive parents, that they are always wrong on the date by at least six months.  Our current goal is to become Dr. Who (don't think Dr. Seuss) so we can have a kid or two in the house by the end of the year.

Well, that's it.  I am off to drink some delicious Dr. Pepper to celebrate my sweet "sixteenth" MRI.  As long as my number of MRIs stays less than my age, I'll be happy!