I found this image on Post Secret, the blog run by Frank Warren, a guy in Maryland who encourages people to send in anonymous post cards. These cards usually express things that the senders would otherwise keep to themselves.
No, I didn't send it in, and I can't be sure it's from a patient with chronic lymphocytic leukemia. But it does speak for all of us, I imagine, although I don't feel guilty for not suffering more.
The fatigue that accompanied the start if my lenalidomide (Revlimid) therapy has pretty much disappeared after about three weeks. I didn't realize how bad it was until I started to come out of it and suddenly found myself with a lot more energy than I expected to have. I had started to forget what "normal" felt like.
After therapy began on March 4, I began sleeping nine to ten hours a night and napping for perhaps an hour during the day. Even during my waking moments I was running (or I should say moseying) at about half speed. As this routine dragged on it became rather depressing. I have been fortunate in that I have not had the CLL-related fatigue that some patients report. Living with a drug-induced taste of it for a few weeks opened my eyes to how difficult it can be.
Is the cessation of fatigue dose-dependent? I started at 10 mg daily, which was reduced to 5 mg about a week in. The fatigue still continued for awhile, though. I will no doubt attempt to step up to 10 mg again at some point in the near future. I'll just have to see if the fatigue returns.
Other than that, there is little to report so far. Blood work shows that my red counts continue to improve. There's no sign of low platelets or low neutrophils, either or both of which can accompany Revlimid therapy. It is possible that there is a slight, incremental improvement in my lymph nodes, but these can wax and wane under normal circumstances so I hesitate to read too much into it. One study put the median time to best response at 5.9 months and I haven't even been on lenalidomide for a month yet. Patience is both an art and a discipline.
Today, with President Obama's signature, health care reform became the law of the land. It’s not perfect but it’s a significant improvement over the mess we have now. The United States has taken a big step toward joining the industrialized world when it comes to insuring that the basic needs of its citizens are met.
It is a shame that thousands of Americans had to die on the way to this day because they couldn't afford insurance or because their insurance provider found a reason to drop them when they got sick or refused to cover preexisting conditions.
Despite their crocodile tears, Republicans did nothing when they controlled Congress and the White House to address those issues, not even basic matters of fairness that most reasonable people would agree upon. Now they have gone off the deep end, embracing all manner of wingnuttery.
A new Harris Poll of Republicans shows that 67% believe that President Obama is a socialist, 57% believe he is a Muslim, 45% agree with the Birthers that Obama was "not born in the United States and so is not eligible to be president," 38% say the president is "doing many of the things that Hitler did," and 24% believe that Obama "may be the Antichrist."
And these people think they know better when it comes to health care?
Republican pols, of course, are running around like headless chickens pandering to the rightest of the right wing, squawking "repeal" and saying that Americans are against health care reform. Today's USA Today/Gallup Poll shows Americans supporting the measure by 49% to 40%. As Taegan Goddard of Political Wirepointed out on Monday, analyzing a CNN poll: “Parsing the numbers shows that many of those against the plan actually oppose it because 'it is not liberal enough.' In fact, 52% of Americans either support the current legislation or think it should be more liberal, while only 43% oppose the plan saying it is 'too liberal.' "
At some point in the future, people will look back and wonder what all the fuss was about. And more people will be alive to wonder, thanks to this legislation.
In a word, brutal. That's how I would describe my first ten days of lenalidomide, aka Revlimid.
I took my first 10 mg dose on Thursday, March 4. For the next two days the main symptom was fatigue, which is common among those starting the drug. It was nothing insurmountable, but it did require an extra hour or two of sleep at night and a nap during the day. (I took the pill at bedtime, which is recommended.) Waking hours were accompanied by a certain amount of cat-like lethargy, but I was still able to work at my home business. I would not want to be starting Revlimid while holding a high-pressure job or managing a busy household. This drug is the enemy of multitasking.
By Saturday I was starting to feel noticeable effects of tumor flare, which is where the brutality comes in. It seemed as if my lymph nodes (and probably spleen) were growing by the hour. My abdomen became so distended that I looked at least eight months pregnant. A baseball was developing under my right arm. By sometime Sunday my neck was wider than my head. I could barely button my largest pair of pants. I was eating less because I was feeling full faster -- my spleen was probably pressing on my stomach and the abdominal bloat was pushing up from the other direction. I would say that in a matter of just a few days my lymph node bulk increased by at least 50%, and that's just a rough guess. It could have been upwards of 100% in some areas.
Each nightly pill added fuel to the fire. It seemed as if the nodes were intent on growing whether there was space for them to do so or not. While I knew that tumor flare is a normal side effect of lenalidomide, it was still scary. It provided me with a snapshot of how much worse my chronic lymphocytic leukemia could get if things got that much more out of control.
By Sunday evening I was experiencing a new symptom: trouble getting a deep breath. Up until then I was willing to tough it out, despite the discomfort. Bloated, distended, ready to give birth to an alien baby, that I could handle. Shallow breathing, not so much.
The shortness of breath was not constant, nor was I feeling like I was going to pass out. I was getting enough oxygen. But it was disconcerting, to say the least, and it was becoming more frequent the longer I stayed on the drug. Perhaps a mass of nodes was pressing on my diaphragm, or perhaps nodes were interfering somewhere else with the breathing process, or perhaps both. I couldn't help but wonder how much worse it might get.
I should interject here that, according to studies, tumor flare can crop up anywhere from 0 to 56 days after starting Revlimid. Median time to resolution is 14 days. I was just four days in.
By Monday night I had the intuitive sense that taking more Revlimid had the potential to push me into the realm of unintended consequences. I considered using steroids to dampen the inflammation since ibuprofen had proven worthless -- both ibuprofen and steroids are accepted methods of managing tumor flare -- but steroids also interfere with the ability of Revlimid to prod an immune response to the CLL. So it seemed somewhat counterproductive to start down that road, and I had no idea how long it might take for steroids to begin to work effectively.
Ultimately, I decided not to take the drug. I checked with my doctor on Tuesday, and on her advice I didn't take it that night, either. The shallow breathing actually worsened on Tuesday, to the point that I curtailed most physical activity. I didn't feel an improvement of symptoms until Wednesday, especially later in the day, a few hours after I had my weekly 1000 mg dose of oftatumumab.
I met with my doctor that day -- try holding an intelligent conversation a half hour after you have gotten 50 mg of intravenous benadryl -- and we decided to temporarily scale my Revlimid dosage back to 5 mg. Since then, the tumor flare has continued to abate.
There is some debate about whether tumor flare presages a better response to the drug. A report issued by Celgene, the drug's maker, summarizing the findings of various studies, put it this way:
"There have been conflicting reports regarding the association of response to therapy with the occurrence of tumor flare (TFR) symptoms. Padmanabban et al. reported (2006) that TFR may be associated with clinical response and Coleman et al. reported (2008) that [in] four CLL patients, symptoms of TFR signaled a response. Sher et al. also stated that the occurrence and severity of TFR appeared to correlate with clinical response (2009). However, Ferrajoli et al. reported that, in their 2008 study, TFR did not predict for a higher response rate, but did develop more frequently in patients with lymph nodes >5 cm compared to other patients (53% vs. 15%)."
So, ultimately, there is no way of knowing for sure whether my lymph node explosion was a good thing. There's also no way of knowing whether cutting it short was a good or bad decision CLL-wise, although it certainly was the right call breathing-wise. If you can't breathe, CLL is a moot point.
February 2014 in Sedona, AZ, slimmed down to 144 lbs.
My name is David Arenson and I have chronic lymphocytic leukemia. It may kill me. Then again, it may not. Life is full of surprises, although I must admit that this is not the sort of cliffhanger that I had in mind for my 50s.
Until a few years ago, like most people, I had assumed death and disease were the province of old age, not the prime of life. I was just an average person health-wise, and feeling rather fine, thank you. I passed by the occasional wheelchair-bound person or bald-headed chemotherapy patient and didn't think that sort of thing would ever apply to me. The odds were against it, after all. Then, after a blood test at age 46, I became one of those people.
And so, my life has changed. I still enjoy the same things I always have – my beautiful and wonderful soulmate, Marilyn, and music, and walks in the woods, and cheap Asian food at strip malls, and movies in which a giant reptile threatens an entire city.
But I also have a new reality that intrudes, one where mutant B lymphocytes threaten my entire body, and one which requires becoming accustomed to unfamiliar and intimidating territory. My spleen and lymph nodes are swollen and my neck sometimes looks like that of a chipmunk storing too many nuts; bothersome nodes in my left pelvic area are a constant reminder that something is wrong with my body. Over time my immunity has been degraded and I have had to rely more on antibiotics to shake infections that once gave me no pause. I have also experienced the joys of autoimmune hemolytic anemia, of which there are none, which is a scary condition in which the body destroys its own red blood cells, and which leads to fatigue.
My CLL has had more than a physical impact. It has been quite an education -- both in terms of what I have learned about my ability to cope with what once was unthinkable, and in terms of navigating the almost freakishly contradictory world of CLL management and treatment. Needless to say, only a fool treads there without getting the lay of the land; too many local doctors are simply clueless, and even the experts can disagree. I do not claim to have it all figured out, and I expect that I never will, but I am doing my best, and I hope some of my thoughts can be of use to you.
So, if sharing my journey helps you along the way, it will have been my pleasure, something green and growing in this hard, new landscape. We help each other as we can, and this is why we have a vibrant CLL community of websites, forums, and blogs (see links below). The end of the circle is the start of the circle. What goes around comes around.
Writing has been in my blood longer than CLL. I am a former newspaper reporter and editor and co-author with Marilyn of two humor-trivia books, Disco Nixon and Rambo Reagan. Marilyn and I met at the University of California at Santa Cruz and now live in the red rock country of Northern Arizona . . . CLL Diary has been featured in CR, the magazine of the American Association for Cancer Research, and in Family Practice Management, a publication of the American Academy of Family Physicians. Besides writing about CLL, I helped establish CLL Forum, one of the largest discussion groups for patients and caregivers.
As we patients eventually learn, CLL is not a one-size-fits-all disease. Some cases are indolent, some progressive, some quite aggressive. Prognostic tests can give us a much better idea of what type of CLL we are dealing with. Knowledge is power, and I believe patients should have these tests and know what they mean. They do not provide a complete picture, and sometimes clinical symptoms tell a different story than one might expect from the results, but they are important tools that can help determine the when and what of treatment.
Here are the tests: IgVH mutational status, FISH, ZAP-70 (as done at a research institution such as UC San Diego, not a commercial lab), and CD38.
My tests indicate a progressing disease. I am IgVH unmutated and ZAP-70 positive, as measured at UCSD. I developed an 11q deletion per FISH in 2006, which disappeared in 2012 for some mysterious reason, giving way to a 13q deletion. I am CD38 positive now, despite having been CD38 negative for years.
Given my tender age, I will always be navigating treatment options if I want to have any hope of living a normal life span. Knowing my test results helps me plan ahead, and knowing the possible end point in my battle with CLL helps me plan what treatments make the most sense, and in what order. Like many CLLers, I am encouraged by the progress being made by new drugs such Ibrutinib and ABT-199; not to mention the news that T-cells can be supercharged to wipe out the CLL -- in much the same ferocious way that macrophages went after my red cells during hemolysis with AIHA.
The "when and what" of treatment is a subject of great debate among CLL experts as well as patients and local doctors. I tend to take a conservative approach, ever aware of the fact that overall survival in CLL depends not just on the effectiveness of your first treatment. What you do for an encore -- your ability to respond to treatment again, and then again -- may determine how long you get to stand on the stage. The late CLL expert Dr. Terry Hamblin once wrote that CLL is a war of attrition, and I am ever mindful that such wars are won, if they can be won, slowly.
Whether my decisions ultimately are proved wise will be written in these pages. I began using single-agent rituximab (Rituxan) in 2004, adding the steroid methylprednisolone in March 2007 to combat AIHA. In October 2007, after a severe AIHA relapse that left me steroid refractory, I was treated with Rituxan + cyclophosphamide, vincristine, and prednsione (R-CVP). In January 2009, when AIHA and hemolysis of red blood cells returned, I had Rituxan + cyclophosphamide and dexamethasone (R-CD). I used this a few times to control the condition, with shorter and shorter periods until AIHA relapse. Starting in February 2010 I used Arzerra (ofatumumab) and Revlimid (lenalidomide), and then for a year and a half maintained control of the disease -- and the AIHA -- with Revlimid alone. Alas, the Revlimid came at a high price in terms of blood clotting issues, and as of 2012 I was treated with bendamustine and rituximab, which gave me a CR in the marrow and blood, leaving some swollen lymph nodes behind.
2013 is turning out to be my most challenging year yet, with the arrival of Richter's Transformation in April. Up to 10% of CLL patients can expect to develop Richter's, in which some of the CLL clones mutate into a more dangerous B cell lymphoma. Richter's is fatal in some 50% of cases, but it also can be beaten with chemotherapy and stem cell transplant. Read my latest posts for updates on my experience.
My best advice to patients is to gather all the facts you can about your CLL and then think ahead and plan ahead. Develop a long-term strategy, but expect to have to roll with the punches. And don't be rushed by doctors, family, or anyone else into a decision you are not comfortable with: Treating CLL is almost never an emergency. Take the time to learn and reflect, and then go with your intuition.
There are no guarantees that your choices will work out, of course, but at least you can rest assured that you put your heart and soul into making them. That sort of effort is the effort that can, with luck, beat cancer.
It's a peace sign, or a V for victory, not sure which
Quotes I Like
"The thing in life is not to know all the answers but rather to ask the right questions." -- Anonymous
"Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out." -- Vaclav Havel
"The man who never alters his opinion is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind." -- Blake
"We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us." -- E.M. Forster
"Think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy." -- Anne Frank
“Panic is a projection that is not real. We are not just our fears. Our fears do not necessarily determine our future. This is significant.” -- Greg Anderson, lung cancer survivor
"I had a choice to make when they said I was going to die. I could chose to live the rest of my life dying, or I could chose to live life until I die. And I chose to live life'. -- Anonymous cancer patient
"Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards." -- Soren Kierkegaard
"It's always something. If it's not one thing, it's another." -- Roseanne Rosannadanna
Either way, we'll be remembered...
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Yesterday I bookmarked something in my Bob Goff devotional, *Live in Grace,
Walk in Love, *that I wanted to explore in my writing. This morning I
started l...
Intro To My Story
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This is the story of my finding out I had an incurable and lethal form of
leukemia. It starts in early 2002. I've been lucky, as I've lived more than
twelv...
Research Plug!
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Hey there everyone,
Hope is a super powerful medicine - for both patients and their doctors. I
am an advocate of clinical trials because in the 9 years I...
ICU
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The IvG was infused, but the red blood cells continue to fall and the
source has been identified as a leaking spleen. His clotting factors are
worse than l...
Recent Walks
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This old blog lists my John o'Groats to Land's End Walk in 2009 and may be
of use to others undertaking a similar walk.
There is also a record here of a se...
2 years of normal life
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7 Oct 2013 marked my 2nd year post stem cell transplant, and 2 yrs of CLL
free life.
I am very blessed to be still alive. Have not been updating and hope ...
More side effects from trial
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I'm still on the GS-1101 (CAL-101) trial, but I've been having some
problems. I've developed cataracts in both of my eyes. This can be
related to steroid...
Cancer Networks and Their Value
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Here is an article written by David Haas whose blog is located at Hass Blagg
Cancer Networks and Their Value
Few things in life are as tragic as a cancer di...
Covid Saliva Testing - Cheaper is Better
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Saliva testing for Covid-19 may just be better than nasal swabs and cheaper
too. It's preliminary, but Yale University has published a letter in *The
Ne...
December 3, 2018 - The Recreation Floor
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Yesterday and today Claire and I have had the opportunity to explore a part
of Memorial Sloan-Kettering we hadn’t encountered during my earlier
hospitali...
I’m Baaack!
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I have been away too long and I apologize. This is the longest I have been
away from the blog since I started it in 2008. My Mail program on my Mac
has b...
Job Redux and the Third Chapter|
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0 people like this. The downturn in the economy has done us a favor in a
strange and back-handed fashion. As many of us boomers watched our
retirement acco...
I am not a doctor and I do not play one on the internet. If you take something I say as medical advice and die as a result, perhaps in your next life you will not believe everything you read on the internet.
Copyright 2005-2014 by David Arenson. All rights reserved. Material is for the personal use of CLL patients and caregivers and may not be used or reproduced for commercial purposes.