Last night was frightening . . .

Late last night Phil had to get another chest x-ray and now we know he has pneumonia.  He also had to do the whole prep think (drinking contrast) so he could have a CT scan.  His stomach became distended and they feared a bowel obstruction.  No obstruction—but he has “ascites” (fluid accumulating in the peritoneum—the lining between the organs and the abdomen wall).  

The ascites could be caused by poor liver function, due to all the tumors in his liver, or it could be that the cancer has spread to his peritoneum.  If it gets worse, he may need to have the fluid drawn out through a needle into the area where it’s swelling.  

He also spiked another fever of 100.8 around 1:00 a.m.  Liz stayed till then, and Becky stayed all night.  Becky was able to change her dad's IV from one arm to the other, and draw some blood for labs.  Phil said she's so good at it that he didn't feel a thing!  I might have said he's an EMT tech.  Oops.  She's an ER Tech and an Advanced EMT.

One good thing, today Phil's blood levels are all improving. His neutrophil count is up to 700!!!  That made us all happy.  It means his immunities are building back up.

Best case scenario: Phil will continue to have IV antibiotics for the next 24 hours.  If he doesn’t have another fever, they will switch to oral antibiotics and watch him for another 24 hours.  If he goes both days without a fever, he can go home.

Worst case scenario:  If he has another fever above 100.4, he has to be transferred to the hospital at Huntsman to work with an Infectious Disease doctor, who can hopefully isolate the exact bug and attack it.  

Thanks for your faith and prayers.

Phil is still very sick

Yesterday Phil's blood work showed some improvement—the most important number rose from 100 to 330.  We were so excited!  But today it dropped to 200.  Since Phil can't go home until it's at least 500, that's a disappointment.

Phil's temperature has stayed below 100 degrees for 24 hours, but it's still around 99 degrees.  

Today they’re switching Phil from the IV antibiotic, to an oral antibiotic to see how he does.  We're praying that it works and he doesn't spike a fever. 

Phil’s illness has been respiratory.  He has a bad cough and congestion that just keeps hanging on.  Today the horrible cough is worse.  The doctor said that’s a good sign.  It shows his body is trying to throw off the virus and he’s strong enough to cough.  He has breathing treatments with albuterol, but they're switching him to another drug to see if it helps. 

Today I’m pretty sick and won’t be going to the hospital at all. I'm sure I caught the bug that took Phil down.   My voice is nothing but a croak and I don’t even want to get out of bed.  Our angel daughter Liz is coming from Heber City to take care of us.  Her husband Brandon suggested that she come alone, and he will watch their four daughters.  He’s a very busy man, so that’s a real sacrifice for them both.  

Our daughter Becky is an EMT tech at the hospital, but she worked graves Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, so she's catching up on much needed sleep.  Plus she's a single mom of three so she sacrifices a lot, too, to help out.  She sat with Phil most of Monday when this bug first hit me.  When she's in the ER, it's a real comfort to knowing she's at the hospital overnight, and close by if needed.  

Our other four children have been incredibly supportive, too.  They don't live nearby so we text all through the day to stay in touch.  Phil and I are very blessed to have such wonderful children, extended family, and loyal friends.  

We're very grateful.  

Turning the corner . . .

WOOT WOOT!!!  Phil appears to be turning a corner today.  His fever has been under 101 since yesterday afternoon—it’s been in the 98-99 range since then.  His blood work is improving, too.  His platelet count today is 79, compared to 59 yesterday (normal range is 88-368).  His neutrophils (the infection fighters) rose from 100 yesterday to 330 today.  The benchmark to be released is no fever and a count of 500. Phil is incredibly fragile so we hope this trend continues. 

Thank you all for your prayers and support!  

We're back . . . coming to you from Blue Mountain Hospital

It has been so long since I posted that I have to refresh my memory how to even do this.  I made my last post just weeks before a very dear friend lost his battle with cancer.  I think I just wanted to distance myself from that reality.  

Today, sitting beside Phil in the hospital, there's no denying, no one is going to live forever, not even my resilient, optimistic, unflappable husband.  Here's what's happening.  

Saturday night around midnight I took Phil to the ER.  His temp at home was 104.  It was 102.7 at the ER.  His White Blood Cell count (the infection fighters) was 300—normal is 3-5,000.  He was admitted to the hospital in Blanding for 48 hours of continuous IV antibiotic. They said Phil would be released when his fever was normal and his White Blood Cell count had risen to 500.

1)  Since then Phil’s White Blood Cell count (granulocytes) dropped from 300 to 100. Right now visitors are discouraged.  He's like the "boy in the bubble."  His immune system has bottomed out.

2) Phil’s Red Blood Cell count has also dropped very low.  Last night he had to have a blood transfusion.  

3)  Monday night Phil spiked a fever of 103.7.  They tried a second antibiotic, but he still had a fever.  Last night (Tuesday night) they added a third and a fourth antibiotic.  Since then Phil’s temperature was normal until today at 2:00 p.m. when it rose to 100 degrees.  They gave him Motrin and his temp was 100.6 thirty minutes later. It's encouraging that four hours later, it was still only 100.7, but it needs to go back to normal--that's how they know they're getting on top of the infection.

4) Monday his blood pressure dropped to 87/44.  They gave him more fluids and it gradually came up.  His BP has remained pretty normal since then.  

All this is in addition to the "normal" (that's an oxymoron if there ever was one) side effects of chemo.  On April 10 we found out the cancer has spread to Phil's lungs.  So now in addition to the enormous tumor surrounding his colon, he has 11 tumors in his liver, a tumor on his rectum, and two lesions in his lungs.  His chemo regimen was changed from 5-FU with Avastin and Oxaliplatin, to Avastin plus Irinatecan (or "I run to the can" as patients have dubbed it). Yes. Phil has suffered the classic side-effect: persistent diarrhea (the least of our worries right now). 

These are the highlights (lowlights?).  They're watching Phil to see how he does on the new antibiotics.  If his fever spikes, he'll be transferred to the hospital at Huntsman.  If he's holding his own, they'll keep him here in Blue Mountain Hospital until his fever is gone and his granulocytes rise from 100 to at least 500. 

So no neatly tied package with a happy ending--hopefully I can write about a happy ending later.  I'll keep you posted.  Meanwhile, we appreciate your faith and prayers.  Thank you, friends.

All I want for Christmas.

This January it will be two years since we learned that Phil had cancer.  What a milestone, when you consider the prognosis in March of 2011--six months to a year.  We're so blessed that Phil has responded well to chemo.  It has bought us nearly two years.  There's something about a terminal diagnosis that makes life so much sweeter. Each day—even each minute—is a gift.  Suddenly it's simple to recognize what really matters.  

I've noticed so many changes in Phil—not just those you can see, like the suffering that has etched itself on his face, or the weight he’s lost.  It's what has changed inside.  He's more reflective, more thoughtful, more expressive, more appreciative.  He’s never been excited about Christmas decorations, but this year he can’t thank me enough for decking the halls.  One night he said, "I know why you're doing this."  And he's right.  I want everything to be so special because we don't know how many more Christmases there will be . . .

Today we visited our friends Calvin and Verdonne Blake.  I'm sure it's the last time we will see Calvin.  He was so pale and weak.  He took great effort to express how happy he was to see us.  He labored to tell Phil, "I think you're the greatest broadcaster in this century.  I love to hear you on the radio!"  What a great friend.

In 2009 Calvin was managing the Cal Black Memorial Airport at Lake Powell and feeling fantastic.  Verdonne read about free cancer screening in the local newspaper and they were both tested because both had exposure to uranium.  Verdonne worked in the office of the vanadium mill in Monticello where high grade uranium was processed, and Calvin was a "mucker" who hauled radium-bearing rock out of uranium mines in San Juan County.   

Verdonne was OK, but not Calvin.  They found themselves at Huntsman Cancer Institute where they learned that Calvin had a particularly vicious lung cancer that doubled in size every 90 days--without immediate treatment, Calvin would not live another six months.  Nearly four years later, Calvin and Verdonne are grateful for that "extra time."  

It's so hard to watch our friends in these final days together.  It's like looking into the future--our future.  All I can say is, if Phil and I are so fortunate to have such love, and even one more year together, we will feel blessed, indeed!

This will be Calvin and Verdonne's last Christmas, at least on this earth.  It would seem sad if we didn't know that a babe was born in Bethlehem who would become the Savior of the world--a Savior who would give His life for us.  Whose ultimate sacrifice and resurrection would make it possible for us to repent and live with Him again.

How grateful I am at this Christmas season for Christ and His gift of eternal life.  For the opportunity to have an eternal marriage and know that families can be together forever.  I am so thankful that we are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. 

In our last General Conference, President Uchtdorf said, "Let us resolve to cherish those we love by spending meaningful time with them, doing things together, and cultivating treasured memories. . . . "

"To avoid some of the deepest regrets of our life . . . 1) Resolve to spend more time with those we love, 2) Resolve to strive more earnestly to become the person God wants us to be, and 3) Resolve to find happiness, regardless of our circumstances" (Ensign, Nov. 2012, pp. 22 & 24).

I'm not waiting for January 1.  These are my New Year's Resolutions and I'm starting now!

Life is good . . .

The highlight of our summer has been Mark's marriage to Cassie!  They're the cutest couple ever, and so much in love.

What a wonderful time it was being together as a family!  That's all that really matters—FAMILY!!!

Our children from left to right: Jeff, Liz, (me), John, Cassie and Mark, (Phil), Becky and Adam.

It's been a great summer and Phil is doing well.  Today he learned that his carcinoembryonic antigen (CEA) count has dropped over the past months from 6.7 to 4.9 to 4.6.  Carcinoembryonic antigens are tumor markers which, while not entirely reliable, tend to indicate what tumors are up to.  In Phil’s case, the numbers seem to confirm results of his last CT scan on June 11—“no new growth.”  And while it would be wonderful if the tumors could just shrink and disappear, no new growth is terrific news.  Especially since his cancer was already inoperable when discovered and he's had no new growth of tumors in the colon or the liver since he started chemo in March of 2011!

Much of this success can be attributed to the excellent care Phil receives at Huntsman Cancer Institute, and particularly from his oncologist, Dr. John Weis. These two have become great friends and besides "friending" each other on Facebook, they enjoy swapping stories at Phil's monthly appointment.  At our last visit on Monday, Dr. Weis opened his FB page and showed us his album of pictures from a recent trip to Europe.   We saw the castle where he and his wife and son stayed, and learned that Dr. Weis’ father, a U.S. Intelligence officer, stayed in the same castle during World War II.  His father played a significant role in preserving freedom and we see the same kind of courage as Dr. Weis fights the war against cancer.

                          Phil and Dr. Weis at our last visit on Monday, July 16.

Among our many blessings are other incredible friends we've made at Huntsman Cancer Institute--like Dov Siporin (pronounced Dōv, with a long “o”).  There is a definite camaraderie among cancer survivors but Phil's bond with Dov is exceptional.  We feel that meeting Dov was "bashert" (meant to be)!  Dov is always paying it forward and Phil is following his example.  

Dov has fought every minute for nearly four years to survive colon cancer.  He fights for his wife and their two young children, and also for everyone he can reach at Huntsman and beyond.  Dov is such an inspiration!

Moving from Stage 3 at diagnosis, to Stage 4, Dov has endured painful surgeries, countless radiation and endless chemo treatments.  But despite all this, Dov never stops helping and lifting others with his endless antics and colorful personality!  He usually shows up with a big bag of treats that he distributes liberally, and I wish you could hear his hilarious monologues.  He can make the most drastic procedures and circumstances seem funny!  There is no one who can lift your spirits like Dov.

                                     Dov on Valentine's Day as "Chemo Cupid!"

We met Dov at Phil’s first chemo treatment and he literally changed our lives.  We walked into the chemo lab fearful, not knowing what the future would hold, and walked out with a renewed sense of hope and, yes, even adventure.  Dov normalized for us, the most abnormal of all circumstances.  Thanks to Dov, we no longer saw cancer as something that would take everything from us.  Instead, we realized that a terminal diagnosis SHOULD and COULD be defied!

 Here's another of Dov's countless stunts on his way to get a (you guessed it) PET scan!


Dov helped us discover that behind all the terribleness (and there’s plenty of that), there is a wonderful, magical quality to this journey.  


Phil's cancer has brought us so much growth and understanding--we've never been closer or appreciated each other more, and we've never felt more dedicated to serving others.  


Some might think we're overly optimistic or dwelling in denial, but it's actually the opposite--we're keenly aware of just how precious life is and we choose to experience it with joy, not fear!  


Yes, Phil deals with the ugly side of illness--not being able to do the things he used to enjoy, like taking walks together, being able to taste and enjoy food, mowing the lawn, playing “dark house” with our grandkids, going for months without needing to see a doctor, staying up late (or even past 6:00 p.m.), and more.  You never realize how much you appreciate the simple things in life till they’re no longer possible. 


Through it all, however, Phil stays positive and optimistic.  Not even relentless fatigue and feeling crumby all the time can bring him down. Nothing dampens his faith and optimism.  Really . . . NOTHING!  Like Dov, Phil is an inspiration!

No test results, as yet . . .

First a disclaimer . . . no new post means nothing new is happening--and that's a good thing!

Phil saw his oncologist, Dr. Weis, at Huntsman on Monday, April 9. Phil's blood work was good, but we were disappointed that the results of genetic markers from last month's biopsies were not yet available.

Then Phil went to the infusion lab for his 25th chemo treatment. After a month's hiatus to try and gain weight, Phil was barely starting to taste food and enjoy eating again, so he didn't really add many pounds. But the break was rejuvenating, just the same, and helped bouy him up to begin again. Phil does the first five hours of chemo in the lab, and then the next two days by portable infusion. He wears a little pump in a fanny pack with a tube that extends between the pump and the port-a-cath implanted just beneath the skin near his left shoulder. It's quite innocuous looking, but a hassel for Phil, as he has to cover the whole apparatus to shower. It's always a terrific relief to get unhooked at Moab Regional Hospital. How can we ever thank Gayle and all the many people who serve, strengthen, and support Phil at MRH? You guys rock!

Days three and four of each chemo cycle are the hardest (that's today and tomorrow) and Phil will have very little strength and no appetite. Then he'll rest all weekend and I'll try to entice him to eat so he can build up strength for the coming week. Then chemo again . . .

But no matter what, Phil will power through. Each day will find him back at work, defying the odds, and nothing will knock his faith and his determination to fight back. Like I always say, "Phil may have cancer, but cancer doesn't have him!"