Categories
personal

Felicitous

All emotional pain and joy is the same

Snow covered bicycle in NYC

For everyone that shared my letter to Vice President Joe Biden, thank you. I’m hoping that it will find its way to him somehow. And if you’ve not shared it, please consider doing so?

Alison finished her radiation and chemotherapy this week. The standard route is six weeks but ours was only three because the surgeon took out so much of the tumor.

Doctor: In some ways, her collapsing was felicitous. Because the surgeon did a beautiful job cleaning up the tumor. And we can also reduce the number of treatments.

I agree. If nothing else, not sure Alison would have been able to finish a full six weeks of chemo and radiation. The toll of just three weeks – both mentally and physically – is shocking. The last day of radiation and chemo was…difficult. And now, we wait.

Waiting is always its own special hell. Because we form expectations of what might happen: too high an expectation and you’re dashed when reality falls short; too low, and you spend more time in anxiety and distress than necessary.

My whole life, I’ve always wondered the meaning of Hope being the last thing to escape Pandora’s Box.

Was Hope last out of the box because it’s the one bulwark against all of the evil of the world? Or was Hope last because is it the worst of the worst?

Because all emotional pain and joy happens in that gap between what you hope and what you actually get.

  • If you expect to make $20,000 a year and you make $100,000, that $80,000 gap is joy.
  • If you expect to make $100,000 a year and you make $20,000, that $80,000 gap is pain.

For us, we remain hopeful. And we wait to find out what is felicitous and what is not.

Her: (waking) What do we have to do today?
Me: Rest.

\’

Location: with our son
Mood: hoping
Music: Hold on, I feel like you could shine

Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Categories
personal

A letter to Joe Biden

Two questions for the Vice-President

Alison McCarthy

A boy walks across the beach, throwing starfish back into the sea.

Old man: What are you doing?
Boy: (flings a starfish into the sea) Saving starfish from drying up on the beach.
Old man: (laughing) What’s the point? There are millions of starfish dying on beaches. Throwing one back won’t matter.
Boy: (picks up another starfish)

————-

Dear Mr. Vice President;

My wife and I were deeply touched and saddened when we heard of your son’s passing, because we often remarked how unfair your life had already been. How you’ve managed your grief so well, I cannot fathom.

I write to ask that you help spare my family the grief and anguish that your family had to bear both those times.

My wife, Alison, and I have struggled for years to have a family. We suffered several losses in the past few years. That alone would be enough to break someone but my wife persevered. You would like her because, like you, she does not quit.

We were finally blessed with our son in November of 2015. But on November 8th, just five days later, she had a seizure and was rushed to the hospital. After a biopsy, we found out she had an incurable, aggressive brain cancer. I believe it was the same brain cancer that took Beau from you: A glioblastoma (GBM).

Since that day, I’ve done nothing but research the disease and help my wife. And in that time, in less than a month and a half, she’s had a total of three brain surgeries.

As you know, glioblastoma has an almost 100% death rate with a near 100% recurrence rate. Yet after over 50 years of research, little has changed: median survival is only an abysmal 14.6 months – in the past 15 years, there’s been almost no progress in survival rate.

Brain tumors are the leading cause of cancer-related deaths in children under 14, and the second leading cause of cancer-related deaths in children under 20.

14,000 Americans are stricken with it each year, each with names and families. Names like Brittany Maynard, Lauren Hill, Theodore Kennedy, Beau Biden, and Alison McCarthy. Families like yours and mine.

We learned we had this insidious disease the same month you attended the GBM AGILE Reception. There, Dr. Anna Barker said the problem is clear – outdated FDA rules that were never meant to deal with aggressive terminal illnesses:

“Randomized clinical trials [the current standard clinical trials] are 70 years old…what other technology doesn’t change in 70 years? … Meanwhile, cancer biology is moving at light speed and potential treatments have to wait in the queue.”1

Thousands are dying each year while these outdated rules stand in the way of potentially life-saving research and everyone knows it, because we treat brain cancer like an infectious disease. We think that there should be one cure (eg, penicillin) for one disease (eg, strep throat).

But GBM is not strep throat. It is closest to AIDS, when it first arrived, in that it is terminal and terminal very quickly. And time is a luxury GBM patients do not have.

Here’s what an FDA trial requires, of which every step is an excruciating hurdle for a GBM patient:

Phase 1 – Examines the safety of a product in a very small group of healthy volunteers or patients to determine appropriate dose ranges. (20-80 patients)

But: A patient with a GBM is, by definition, not healthy. My wife is not eligible for any clinical trial right now because she is not healthy enough for one.

Phase 2 – Evaluates the safety and efficacy of the product at a pre-determined dose in comparison to the standard care treatment (100-300 patients)

But: This means half the patients don’t have access to a drug that might help them and, for someone with a one-year life span, if that dose is wrong, there is no second chance to get it right – because that’s not the purpose of a clinical trials.

Phase 3 – Tests the product in double-blind comparison to the standard care treatment with a large and diverse population to determine efficacy and usage guidelines (1000-3000 patients)

But: Because GBM is rare, these patients are not to be found. Moreover, double-blind means that half the patients, again, are on placebos.

This is why in the past 15 years, there have only been four advancements in GBM therapy: Optune (2015), Avastin (2009), Temodar (2005), and Gliadel wafers (2002).

The outcome is so consistently dire, we cannot afford to deal with each treatment option via FDA rules, which have a real-world cost of over 2.5 billion US dollars per trial.

The cost, coupled with the requirements, make it easy to see why only four advancements happened in the past 14 years.

People think – in fact our doctor thinks – that the Hippocratic Oath says, “First do no harm.” This is false.

In fact, the Hippocratic Oath does not say that. It does, however, say “I will apply, for the benefit of the sick, all measures which are required.”

Similarly, researchers are held the standard of the Declaration of Helsinki which expressly states that “concern for the interests of the subject must always prevail over the interests of science and society.”

Here is my first question: Can we honestly say that the FDA regulations in place now for GBM aren’t in violation of those oaths?

The rules are not there to save patients, but to aid science. A laudable goal, but one directly in conflict to these sworn oaths.

This is precisely why Larry Kramer wrote in the NY Times about AIDS decades ago, stating that “Double-blind (placebo) studies were not designed for terminal illnesses in mind. … It’s genocide by neglect.

My second question is equally simple: If there is credible evidence that a treatment may improve both progression free survival and/or overall survival, and GBM has an almost 100% death rate with a near 100% recurrence rate, why would we not afford a patient every bit of chance possible?

For example, Valcyte is a medication for HIV use but has been shown to have some effect on GBM. However, “it is not standard practice to prescribe medications that have not been vetted through appropriately designed phase II trials.” This, despite the fact that the drug is well-tolerated and has minimal risk.2

Similar to HIV treatment, gonorrhea, combination therapies are the only hope for a cancer as deadly and insidious as glioblastomas.

Yet FDA rules are designed for monotherapies – again, treating this terminal illness like a mere infectious disease.

Dr. Emil Freireich, one of the three doctors that promulgated combination therapy to cure leukemia, is on record saying, “Would the things we did in 1960 be possible today? The answer is unequivocally capital N, capital O, no. … Reforming regulation is the most important thing we can do.”

– https://vimeo.com/119006145 at 1:04:13

ACT-UP transformed AIDS from a death sentence to a chronic condition through by-passing the FDA and creating a drug cocktail, a combination therapy of current drugs to deal with a terminal disease.

To this date, there has never been an FDA randomized Phase 3 trial for the AIDS cocktail. This is totally due to political will.

“If AIDS patients demanded direct access to drugs and treatments, should cancer patients with terminal illnesses not also make similar demands?”

The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer, pg 310

Everything we knew and read of Beau Biden confirms your statement that he was the finest man you have ever known.

My wife has been heartbroken, not because she has to go through this, but because my son and I have to go through it. For this and countless other reasons, she’s the finest human being I have ever known.

Your grandchildren deserved every chance – however minute – to grow old with their father, to remain on top of the mountain. My son is only some 70 days old as of this writing. He deserves to know his mother, just like every child deserves to know his or her parent.

We must hold doctors and clinicians to their oaths and put patients first, not science and rules. Instead of these onerous rules, doctors and their patients should, together, be allowed to simply weigh the benefits against the risks.

I ask for GBM patients what the AIDS activists demanded for their loved ones, when faced with a terminal illness, as delineated more thoroughly here:

  1. Shorten the drug approval process.
  2. Eliminate double-blind placebo trials – this is the height of cruelty.
  3. Include people from all affected populations at all stages of GBM in clinical trials – currently there is a clear distinction between “new” and “recurrent” patients.
    • Why on earth is that? Beau and Alison should have had access to everything the moment they found out they had a GBM.
  4. Medicaid and private health insurance must be made to pay for experimental therapies. This is critical with the passage of the ACA.
  5. Doctors must inform patients of any and all clinical trials that a patient may be eligible for.
    • Currently, patients must learn that clinical trials even exist on their own. Then they must research to see if they are eligible for them, also independently.
  6. The FDA must support a goal of keeping patients – that is keeping people – alive, rather than furthering science.

Curing cancer – especially this cancer – is not a moonshot because we’re lacking the knowledge, sir, it’s a moonshot because we’re lacking the political will to change regulation.

Please help me save my wife, Mr. Vice-President, and all those waiting for a cure for this horrible cancer. We don’t have much time.

Please #SaveAlison.

Logan Lo

————-

Boy: (shrugging and flinging the starfish into the sea) It matters to this one.

DONATE

Location: home with my family
Mood: determined
Music: Together we could break this trap

Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Categories
personal

You fight for that 1%

I don’t accept it

Logan and Alison in Bermuda

Her: (crying)
Me: (awaking anxiously) Are you alright?
Her: I thought I died.

The night terrors have slowed down but haven’t stopped. But for better or worse they’re happening at home because Alison came home this week.

She’d been in the hospital for over a month. When she went in, the kid was just over 32 days old. He’s now more than twice that age and over twice as big.

When she first got home, she couldn’t look at him. Not long, anyway. She’d start to cry. Because he reminds her of what she’s missed out on. What she’s lost.

In some ways, that perfectly encapsulates what’s happened in the last two months.

The women that gave birth to him is not the woman here now. The woman that gave birth to him was a normal weight, with long blond hair, and an easy laugh. She was doing pregnancy work-out videos in the weeks leading to delivery.

Now, she’s only 100 pounds. Bald. With a foot-long scar encircling her head and another six-inch scar going from the top of her head to the base of her neck. She rarely smiles, let alone laughs.

And she sits in a wheelchair. She has little use of her left side. She’s a shadow of the person she was.

But I hope. I hope there’s some way she can be that person again. I believe she can be that person again.

In my gym, we get yelled at a lot. It’s not a place for the soft.

And we each get yelled at for specific things. For example, I get yelled at for accepting what’s called a “pass.”

Coach: Don’t accept it, don’t accept that pass!
Me: He was 99% passed!
Coach: (angrily) That means 1% not passed! 99 is not 100! You fight for that 1%. You don’t give up until it’s done. You’re not done at 99%! (kicks me)

And so it is here.

I don’t accept it: The prognosis. The statistics. This life. I refuse to accept any of it. Not for her, not for me.

Whatever the percentage we have, I refuse to accept it. We’ll fight until it’s done, whenever that may come.

Me: You didn’t. You’re still here. And you’re gonna be keep being here as long as you keep fighting, ok?
Her: OK.
Me: Go back to sleep. I’ll be here the whole time.

12510411_10153743014581877_1751352215977495639_n
My gym is holding a fundraiser for Alison – this is the fourth or fifth one.

I’m so grateful that I have them supporting us. I’d have gone full raving without them.

DONATE

Location: Home. There’s no place like it.
Mood: f__ this thing
Music: But I have the skill, yeah I have the will

Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Categories
personal

Tsunamis and tidal waves

The island we call home

A hospital room looking at the East River

Her: (waking) How’s everything back at home?

Perhaps the worst feeling I had during this whole damnable thing is the look of fear in my wife’s eyes. It was chilling.

We had started chemo and radiation last month but only had two treatments when she had to be rushed to the hospital because of how the tumor reacted to them.

If cancer is a tidal wave, brain cancer is a tsunami.

This week, she started both radiation and chemotherapy again and – at least so far – she’s been able to tolerate it. Unfortunately, constant new fears continually rise and pound us like tidal waves.

But those tidal waves are my responsibility to buttress. She has to shoulder enough.

  • Her insurance won’t cover several large expenses, so that means a full eight-hour day trying to navigate Obamacare, her insurance company, and credit card company.
  • Our son’s insurance was inexplicably cancelled so that meant another three-hour phone call to Obamacare and his insurance company
  • Our radiator cracked in the middle of the night, which is both extremely rare, and extremely dangerous. That meant a sleepless freezing night trying to get it fixed.
  • Constant medical mixups at her hospital where dosages and timing for medications are screwed up.
  • Other close family members suddenly dealing with their own medical issues.

Each one of these would be a disaster in-and-of themselves and it seems like I’ll never find footing.

Still, troubles are easier when others are willing to dive in and help.

  • The insurance issue was a missed email that meant having to choose between my son’s insurance or my wife’s insurance. Of course I had to choose my wife. But then I called a pediatrician friend of mine who told me not to worry, she would make sure he’s ok.
  • My neighbor Vic knows how to fix things like radiators. He came right over at 9PM, bought materials the next day, and fixed the issue.
  • The nurses at Alison’s hospital immediately stepped in and said they would monitor her medicine to make sure these screwups would stop happening.
  • Other family members stepped in to help out with these new medical emergencies.

Years ago, when my buddy Mike died, wrote about John Dunn’s poem, No Man is an Island. No woman is either.

The strength of one’s social support is a factor both in quality-of-life and survivability in cancer patients.

That we have so many other people willing to dive in to help us with these crashing waves makes me think that we can make it to shore. Maybe it’s only driftwood, but when there’s nothing else, driftwood has to be enough.

Me: Just fine.

\’

Location: home for now, dealing with tidal waves
Mood: fighting the depression
Music: if we are wise We know that there’s always tomorrow
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.