NO NEWS IS GOOD NEWS

Well, a lot has happened since my last entry, and I've been remiss for not providing an update. I am going to give a detailed report, so if you're pressed for time, scroll to the bottom for the, well, the bottom line.

The tumor board at the Huntsman Center was supposed to meet on Friday, April 2nd, to review my CT scan and make a recommendation concerning the small lump revealed. That was Good Friday and I was disappointed, but not surprised, to learn they did not meet. They meet once a week. I mentally prepared for another week of wonder.

The tumor board did meet on the following Friday, but I didn't get their input until Monday. The group decision was to do a biopsy......find out what is there. The decision made for a mixed emotion day......for both of us....all day. I wasn't excited about another biopsy....that's where we started nearly a year ago. It seemed like a huge step backward. Conversely, I did want to know, and sooner than later. We were out of town and the first mutually agreeable date for the procedure was the following Monday, April 19th. Another week of wonder, but this time it was wondering if this test was going to work. The biopsy last year was inconclusive and we had a large, visible lump to work with. This time the lump was small and not visible. I was concerned about not getting a sample from the right spot and getting a false negative.

We went to the University of Utah Hospital midday Monday. We were led into a high tech room, nothing like the doctor's office where a similar procedure had been done nearly a year earlier. Last year seems like a different life.....it was. That was B. C. ----before cancer.

I laid on a slightly inclined, hard table/bed. A technician used an ultra-sound to look at (in) my neck. She asked if I could feel the lump. No. "Is it small?" Yes. Then I asked my burning question. "How do you know you're getting tissue from this small lump?" She explained the ultra-sound would show the needle and they would watch the monitor to guide the needle tip into the lump. She then explained that they would take a sample, run across the hall and ask the pathologist if they had enough cells, and then do it again if necessary. I asked if that happened often. To my delight, she said it usually takes three sticks and some times as many as seven! While I pondered my plight, she explained how she was going to bring the lump up on the screen and then the doctor would come in to preform the procedure.

She couldn't find it. I said I thought it was higher on my neck. Nothing. Do I dare think it?

The doctor came in from where he'd been studying my CT scan. He looked, but couldn't find it. He went back to the CT scan to make sure he was looking in the right place. I think I held my breath. I know both Faith and I were thinking, hoping, do we dare hope, the same thing. But neither of us, alone now in the room, uttered a word.

He looked again. I must have breathed. Finally he said, "I can't stick what I can't see".



It had been three weeks since the scan. The doctor explained that lymph nodes swell up normally as our bodies first line of defense.....to a lot of bad things. It could be a dog or cat scratch, an allergy, an infection of some sort, etc. Whatever was there then, was gone now.

You don't realize how much this stuff weighs on you until it's lifted. Alone again in the room, Faith and I hugged, cried, said a prayer of thanks to the Lord, and shared our unbelieving emotions of the past fifteen minutes.

It was an incredibly short trip home to Green River. I'm sure I had a smile on my face the entire way because I know I had a heart full of joy.

It's been nine days..........and I haven't been shaken awake and told this was all just a dream. So now I'm sharing it with you. Are we done? No. We see the lead doctor on the team in three weeks and we have another scan five weeks after that. Meanwhile, life is good, life is great, and we continue to heal. I'm starting to think it's time to burn the blue bands. Do I dare think it?

Update --

Just a short post to bring you up to date. I am feeling fine and doing better. My saliva is better and things taste better, just not right. I have no real complaints. My throat is still a little raw and I'm sure the dry air doesn't help.

I had a CT Scan on Monday and met with the radiation oncologist, Dr. Ying, on Tuesday. The report was good, for the most part. She examined my neck, inside and out, and said it looked good. The raw throat is to be expected....it takes a long time to heal. The tingling in my legs is a not-so-common side effect of the neck radiation, but should be temporary. The scan showed nothing in my lungs, which is a common place for neck cancers to go. There was one node on the left side of my neck that was slightly enlarged. That's the part I really didn't want to hear. Everything else looked good.

The Scan cannot tell us why the node is enlarged, only that it is. We have three choices the way I understand it. We can wait and watch
, we can do a biopsy, or we can remove it. Dr. Ying is taking all the information to what they call the "Tumor Board" on Friday and then she is supposed to have a recommendation for me. My guess is that they will say 'wait and watch'.
I think I'm okay with that. The node is so small, I'm not confident a biopsy attempt would reach the right spot. Besides, a year ago when I first had a biopsy to find out what the original lump was, it came back inconclusive. And before surgery, I think a Pet Scan is in order to see if this lump is 'hot'. That's the term they use when they find an area of rapidly growing cells, indicative of cancer. The Pet Scan that I had three months ago did not show a hot spot with this node.

I did experience some allergy symptoms last week in Las Vegas and that could be what's causing the node enlargement. I hope that's not wishful thinking.

Regardless, I meet with the surgical oncologist is six weeks (a routine visit) and will have another CT Scan the end of June.

Next: Docs recommendation

Going it Alone --

I've been meaning to address "aloneness" for months and every time I got close, some more timely topic would squeeze it out. Finally, here goes.

There's two sides to this topic. First, let me acknowledge that I have never been so un-alone in all my life. My family has been with me every step like I've never experienced before. Friends of a social relationship became foundational support. Community members, unnumbered, held me up in their thoughts and prayers. Never a day did I fight this battle alone. I was never alone physically or emotionally.

What I mean by "aloneness" is the decision challenges, of which there are many. Critical decisions have to be made from day one. And the early decisions have huge impacts down the road.

When we first met with the surgical oncologist (the lead physician of our medical team), he told us that there would be a cadre of people involved with my cancer treatment, but he also said I would be the head of the team......that I would call the shots. (It should be noted in looking back, several critical decisions had already been made that set the course of this journey.) My non-verbal reaction to "You will call the shots" was sure! I know the hospital routine. They tell you what to do, when to do it, and how often to do it. They talk about patients' rights, but often it feels like your rights are checked at the door.

So I was told, I heard, I was unconvinced, and I was wrong. Unlike any medical issue I have been associated with, when it comes to cancer you make the decisions. Maybe it's because of the complexity.....a myriad of cancers and even more variations of treatment....maybe it's the lack of overwhelming success....maybe it's because nobody knows enough to tell you....your guess is better than mine. Regardless, the bottom line is the cancer patient calls the shots!

Surgery or no surgery? In my case, that one was easy, so easy it didn't seem like a decision....it was that obvious. Feeding tube or no feeding tube? That was entirely our call! We were given all kinds of information, but not so much as a recommendation one way or the other. Faith and I (mostly Faith) made the decision, not so much a medical decision, but a decision based on our oft used decision-making model. We weighed the upside potential against the downside risks. Right up to the day before it was put in, I wasn't sure. That day I called a tonsil cancer patient I had never met to seek her advice. The decision was affirmed and we later knew it was the right decision. Without the tube, I would surely have been hospitalized.

The decision to remove the tube was entirely ours. In fact, we made the decision, made the appointment, and had no doctor approval......or were we asked for one. In earlier discussions it had been made clear it was up to us.

I had lots of medicines prescribed to combat sickness from chemo. It as up to me to decide which to take and when to take them.

Decisions on food, eating, exercise, and overall physical health were made by us. How to care for burned skin, dry mouth, and sore throat were left to us....mostly by trial and error.

The doctor was correct....I made the decisions. Consequently, it is so important to read as much as you can, discern what is accurate, and act accordingly. No one suggested I seek a physical trainer. I would recommend that to anyone. No one told me when to go back to work. I would suggest later than you think.

There an more examples, but the message is the same. In the cancer world, you call more shots than expected. Arm yourself with all the information available. It's a lonesome road, even though there may be lots of support. But only you can make the call. The buck stops with the patient.

Knowing now what I didn't know then leads me to wonder what I NEED to know NOW that I don't. I do know that my future well-being depends on the decisions I make today. And I know that I'm expected to make the call.

I hope this helps others. It was hard for me to comprehend and harder to explain. So despite the tremendous support I've received, there's a solo, lonesome path through the landmines of cancer treatment.

Update --

It's been some time since I've made an entry, but the good news is there's not much new. We continue to heal slowly, watch our progress, and pray for the best.

We met with the radiation oncologist just before Christmas to go over the results of the first follow-up PET scan. This doctor echoed the first in saying the results were good, but this doctor was considerably more conservative. She was guardedly optimistic.....not ready to get excited, but content to be positive. It was actually an emotional let down from what we had experienced with the lead doctor of the team.

The reality is, radiation was the major player in my treatment, and I think the radiation doctor was feeling more pressure for the end results. She said it's good, but she's not ready to say anymore. I have a CT scan the end of March. Until then, we wait. Meanwhile, Christmas was a joyful celebration in lots of wonderful ways.

My neck and throat are still sore and occasionally I lose my voice. Not good in my line of work. The doctor said the throat is still red, healing fine, with still a ways to go.

I've maintained weight, which means I'm still down about 25 pounds. I began working with a personal trainer in late November. It was the same one Faith has worked with for nearly two years. She knows her stuff. No one told us to to this, or even to start exercising, but it's been the right move. I had very little strength, but she assures me I'm getting stronger. Why the exercise? I know a lot of cancer patients have to endure more than one round of treatments. Should I need to go through this again, I need all the strength I can muster. Fear is a tremendous motivator.

I start each day with a 700 calorie shake and try to eat often enough to compensate for not eating much at any given time. Food is okay.....not bad....but not really good. It's certainly not what I remember.

I developed some numbness, tingling, and muscle shocks that we think are side effects of chemo. It began with my fingers losing circulation and going numb, like the numbness you get from being out in the cold.

Next, I began to experience electric-like shocks in my thighs during my workouts. It feels like the electrical shock treatment doctors use to stimulate muscles. I've had these shock episodes last up to 90 minutes.

And lately, my legs tingle from just below my knees to my feet. They don't go numb, they just tingle like your foot's asleep.

And lastly, I've definitely had some hearing loss....maybe more than just some. I made an appointment with an audiologist, but was told by the radiation doctor to wait. She said it's still too early to know if it's permanent hearing loss. In the meantime, I just say "huh" a lot, cup my ear, or nod when I don't have clue what you have just said.

Now, having said all that, I'm doing great! I'm active, I'm at work, I do anything and everything I want, I feel good, I'm trim, and I'm building strength. I'm excited by the progress and only need an occasional reminder that slow progress is to be expected. Faith is very good at providing that timely little reminder.

I shared all this other stuff only so others might understand, and that those going through anything similar might know what they could encounter. It in no way reflects my overall wellness. I'm ecstatic to be where I am!

I still need to share the aloneness part of this journey, but that's for another day.

Thank you, all of you, for your love, prayers, and support.

A Home Run! -

Today, on this national day of Thanksgiving, I have a lot to be thankful for. We heard from the Huntsman Cancer Center yesterday afternoon and they are saying we hit a home run! YES!!! We still have a formal meeting with the doctor to go over the scan results, but we were told they were very good. Apparently there are a couple of spots they want to watch, but nothing that requires anything more than watching.

The family has gathered for Thanksgiving and it's wonderful to have so many with which to share this great news. Today we give thanks to the skilled doctors and nurses that worked on us, thanks to the caring family and friends that stood by us, thanks for all the prayers given up on our behalf, and thanks to God for by the grace of God we've come though this.

So, as you gather around your Thanksgiving table today, where ever that may be, offer a prayer of thanksgiving for answered prayers. Your prayers have been powerful, and today will indeed be a very special Thanksgiving Day at the Harris household.

THANK YOU - THANK YOU - THANK YOU

Attitude -

I'm sitting here thinking about tomorrow and my PET scan. It's like taking a test you can't prepare for or study for, but want desperately to pass. Tests have never bothered me, but this one seems completely out of my control. All I have to bring to the examination table is my attitude.

From the beginning of this journey, everyone has emphasized the importance of attitude. I must admit, it's taken me some time to fully understand this. It was as if attitude was THE way to win and if you didn't win it would mean you had a poor attitude. Well, cancer isn't something you can just wish away. So that's not it. I've come to understand it's your attitude about the fight, not the disease.

Attitude is how you approach the cancer challenge, and it comes into play early. The very first doctor I saw queried me about my mental toughness. I kind of got in his face and told him he didn't need to worry about my resolve or attitude. To some extent, every doctor we met made a similar assessment.

Now, I have no proof, but I have a theory on how this all works. I think your prescribed treatment regiment is really the result of three factors. First, they determine what kind of cancer cell you have, the location of the tumor, and how far it may have spread.....the stage. Second, they assess your physical condition and determine just how much your body will tolerate. I think this second part is fairly easy to determine. You can tell them you're in great shape, workout five times a week and eat right, but it won't take but a few tests for the doctor to make a fairly accurate assessment. Third, they assess your attitude; where your head is. This is more subjective and I think what you say here is extremely important as they decide just how much you can take. My theory is they start with a fairly standard treatment prescription based on the cancer diagnosis and then modify it depending on factors two and three.

In my case, I think I talked myself into a harder or rougher treatment. I recall weighing treatment options with every doctor I met......surgery options, chemo options, radiation options. Every time I thought their treatment was leaning conservative I challenged them. I told every doctor, at least once, "I don't want a swing and a miss." Probably a dumb way to put it, but I didn't have a better way to convey where my head was.

Now, that was a good start. But as my treatment progressed, I really learned to understand this attitude thing. The attitude everyone talks about is the attitude about the treatments. After four chemo sessions, you know what's coming with number five. You know how you're going to feel. You know the routine. Can you walk back in again and again knowing what's in store? Radiation is cumulative......burn on burn. Toward the end, it's attitude that gets you back under that zapper day after day.

I said earlier I thought I talked myself into a rougher treatment. The doctors never said much out of the ordinary. They led me to think the treatment WAS ordinary. But I got a different read from the lab technicians. These were the people that saw me everyday. You get so you develop an awkward relationship with these white coats. In the last week of radiation, I could see and feel their concern. "How are you doing, Al", and it wasn't small talk. "Al, you're doing go0d....are you okay?" And at one time, "We know this is hard; it's as tough as we give anyone." Were they just words of encouragement? I don't think so. I saw the concern in their eyes and heard the compassion in their voices.

So, that's my take on attitude. I think it plays a huge role and I think it's a factor early in the process, before most patients even know it's a factor. It's being seriously assessed from the beginning and helps define your treatment. And I believe it's the attitude about the treatment....not the disease.....that's imperative.

So, we swing for the bleachers and tomorrow we hear whether it was a home run or a foul ball. The test is tomorrow.........but it'll be another week before we get the call.

Next......the alone part of the journey.

Back to Work -

WOW! It's been a long time since I posted an entry. I would like to say time flies, but that's not the case. Improvement has been slow......but we're still improving. Not so much day to day, but more like week to week. We are eating more, even though we're not enjoying it much. We have started a strength and weight gaining program, but that too looks to be slow.

Today, however, was a big day. I went back to work full time. That means going back on the air this morning at 6 AM. I told Faith last night that I probably could have gone back a couple of weeks ago. Tonight, I'm not so sure. My voice showed the strain by the time I finished the show and it's been a long day, but boy was it good to be back. It's been five months and I was a bit rusty. (I thought originally that I'd be back in three months. Right!) Had to struggle to remember everything that needed to be done and then remember how to do it. But this community is so understanding and supportive, and we heard from many well-wishers.

Faith and I continue to marvel at the fantstic staff that covered all the bases since last June. It's another of the many blessing we have received and for which we will give much thanks next week when we all gather for our national day of Thanksgiving.

Speaking of next week, my PET Scan is scheduled for a week from today. Everything points to a high probability of getting a clean report. I feel good, and good about the scan, but I'm nervous. I don't know how you help but be a little anxious. I look forward to finally getting some results, but I want a good report Hope that's not asking too much. (I welcome your thoughts and prayers.)

One of my goals from the start was to be able to emcee the "Cowboys Against Cancer" (CAC) fundraising banquet. It was a week ago, (Nov. 7) and we met our goal. It was truly a phenominal evening. The CAC Committee is a remarkable bunch of dedicated volunteers. They set the table and we showed up for a sensastional ride. It was a record-setting attendance of 860 with an unmatched level of generosity. This giving community blew away all previous banquets by raising $325,000! It was an emotional and moving night with many people sharing and shedding many tears. Faith and I will always remember this banquet. It was a long night, but the adrenalin kept us going and in the end it was a happy tired feeling.

The next day we went to Sheridan to visit my folks......perfect timing for a great, recharging visit.

Still coming........the meaning of attitude....or......going it alone.