Hang in there, Bro. And I am curious how things go, so keep us up to date.

(Substituting my all-time favorite saying: "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step")

David Green
Naperville, IL

All these %age rates for survival I take with a pinch of salt. And that's bad for you aswell.

In a way I was lucky in that when I had my bypass- I had it done at a new facility in Brighton. In fact- Since it opened- I was the 98th person to have a bypass. So there I was sitting there the night before the op and they tell the problems.-I had a 1 % chance of not surviving the operation. I had a 1% chance that I would suffer a stroke that could be fatal. I had a 1% chance that the operation would be a success but would cause problems within a week.

So there I was- No 98 and the good news is that they had not had anyone die in them yet. Hold on- 98+3--????


Luckily the Doctors humour survived aswell.

Those consent forms are, indeed, hilarious. I signed one for my surgery, and another for the chemo. That has to be fun for a doctor, saying, "This procedure could kill you. Now, sign here".

Well, my first attempt at chemotherapy did not go well. I had an allergic reaction to the first chemo drug they tried: Taxotere. 15 minutes after they added it to my IV, I started getting serious chest pain, broke out in a cold sweat, got dizzy and felt like I was going to pass out, and when my blood pressure dropped to 70 over 40, they quickly wheeled me to the emergency room, where I spent the rest of the day on saline solution to flush out the Taxotere. I go back next Friday, for another try with a different chemo cocktail.

Good Luck. I hope (as I am sure you also do) that the next treatment goes much more smoothly.

That really sucks. My daughter had a negative reaction to Remicade in 2005 and
I remember the fear of the imediate emergency coupled with the dispair of not
being able to take the prescribed drug. It makes me wonder why the Medical
community hasn't figured out a way to determine what these high tech drugs
will do to each person's system before they're administered. Proactive rather than
reactive.

Fortunately they have a large arsonal of drugs and treatments and I'm sure they'll
be able to taylor fit one to you're needs and body chemistry. Hang in there Bud,
our prayers and good thoughts are with you.

Oh yeah...no more falling off your bike either...ya hear?

Hang in there Bud Bent! I'll be praying for you!

+1

I hope the next treatment goes well.

Dang the bad luck Bud, you are still in my prayers for strength and complete recovery. Hang tough brother.

Bill

Sorry to hear that, Bud. I think we all know you're one tough dude. You can beat this.

Sorry to hear that.

I'll keep a good thought that the next round will successful.

As others have said, you're a tough guy, and willing to go the long haul. I hope you maintain that PMA carries you through adversity.

We're with you BB. Hang in there. I think you're such a tough of a son of a gun your body is fighting that chemo stuff the best way it knows how! I sure hope the next trip gets better results.

Hang in there, bro. Many people are there with you.

Count me among them. Keep the faith!

That includes me. Hang tight, Bud. Suck Lance's wheel.

I started a six month Interferon therapy for Hepatitis C on Oct 1 of 2007.

The docs told me to think of it as chemotherapy.

It boosts my immune system to the point where my immune system starts attacking my own body.

I look like the stereotypical AIDs type of patient, with skin sores.

I also have the runny nose, cough, muscle and joint aches, hair loss, insomnia, bizarre bowel activity, etc., that most chemo patients have.
I spend hours in the recliner, and run out of breath doing simple housework.
Walking up a flight of stairs will have me huffing and puffing for a long time, and it upsets observers.

I fly an EMS helicopter for a living (I got the Hep C from repeated skin contact with human blood), and the Feds have grounded me during this treatement because of the high number of suicides associated with Interferon, and I guess they don't want me to use the helicoper to commit suicide.

Frustratingly, I love my job, and not working has had significant impact on my emotional state.

I have continued to ride both of my bicycles, an ultra-light fixed gear bike, and a heavy-duty studded-tire Ice Bike (also fixed gear); however, I have geared down to about 3/4's of my normal gear ratio.

I try to do a daily training ride.

My wife will sometimes badger me into riding, especially when I have trouble summoning the energy.
However, every time I ride, and especially when I have trouble getting going, it improves my emotional state enormously.

My docs tell me I have done remarkably well, compared to other patients on this treatment, and they attribute it not only to my current riding, but to the fact I came into this treatement as a regular rider.
They constantly encourage me to keep riding.

Some people wonder how I can ride a fixed gear bike, and yet get so hopelessly out of breath climbing a flight of stairs.

I have given this some thought, and talked to my physicians about it.

For one thing, in addition to gearing down, I have reduced my cadence in climbing.
I have an intuition about the anaerobic/aerobic threshold, and I THINK, in addition to doing less work for unit of time, I also keep my efforts in the anaerobic strength regime of the associated muscle groups.

I also have a personal history of having served in my youth with a military special operations group noted for extreme physical fitness, and so I think I have a learned high tolerance for the pain associated with the upper edges of exertion.

However, I have also "blown up" on a few occasions, for the first time in my life.
I have hit a point where my heart cannot move enough blood to satisfy my body's needs.
My physicians say my heart has hit the point where it cannot move enough RED BLOOD CELLS.

I have a low red blood cell count due to this treatment.

A fellow worker, a former professional triathlete, has told me to ask for EPO, and I have yet to do so, I think out of concerns for the present general goofiness of my blood chemistry.

In any event, my point: every time I ride, everything gets better.
Sometimes it takes a huge effort to get out the door and on the bike, but every time I do it, the whole world gets better.

So, to those facing chemotherapy, or Interferon therapy, I say, make the effort to get on your bike.
You don't have to ride fast or set any personal records.
Just ride.

Just ride.

Good stuff, Ken. Good luck for your continued recovery. I, too, plan on riding as much as I can during all this.

Bud and Ken:

You both have my utmost respect. It takes not only courage, but determination and discipline!
I'll be praying for you both. I have brain lesions that present some irritating medical issues like not being able to sleep - no one can see them, but I have learned a lot from my best friends: One a Cancer Survivor and the other a buddy who had a stroke, John, and is now out of his wheelchair (he actually gave it away to eliminate the temptation to use it) and gets around with a cane. He has me taking him to bike shops looking for a step through frame he can ride. We tried the recumbent thing, but he has no where to store it.

There are a lot of real life hero's out there that are overcoming the challenges in life that most of us will never have to face. Keep going guys! You both fit my definition of a hero and I am sure you are to your friends and family as well.

Ken, I flew with DustOff with 54th Medical Detachment a long, long time ago. Rotor Heads have a different slant on life from running around with 18,000 parts all flying in formation and looking for a place to come apart.

Today was my 22nd wedding anniversary. I celebrated the occasion by spending 6 hours hooked up to an IV, receiving chemo drugs. This time, they used gemcitabine and cisplatin. I must not have felt too bad when I got home, because I finished installing my new carbon fiber seat on my Roadster, then did a short test ride (nasty weather getting close, didn't want to wait). Whether or not I'll feel sick the next few days remains to be seen, but at least for now, I seem to be ok. One treatment down, seven to go...

Ken and Bud, here's to you. I admire you very much.

Thanks for the update, Bud. Much better than last week. As you say, seven to go...

Great news! I hope it keeps going well, Bud. Glad to hear you felt good enough for a little spin.

Glad to read that this treatment went better than the first attempt. You and Ken are constantly in my prayers for strength and recovery. thanks for the report.

Bill

Oh No! That's a rough start. Please* keep us posted. I think about you a lot.

Wonderful news, Ken! I had a friend who went through chemo a few years back and never missed a day of work. Sounds like you may be like her. Thanks for keeping us in the loop. We may be "virtual" but we're your peeps!