Scan Day!

So I must admit to being remiss in updating the blog. Today Dad is having his second round of scans, having completed his second bout of chemo last week. I think we're all a little nervous, but without reason. He's feeling well, he's looking great and his outlook is superb. It helps, of course, that we have a new member of Team Oberle helping to cheer him on:

Meet Katherine Anne Margaret Geoghan:





Katherine is very excited about joining the fight. I know she looks a little complacent now but trust me - she really gets her spit-fire on at around two in the morning. I think she'll be a powerful addition to the team.

The scan went uneventfully and Mom and Dad went from the hospital to visit Katherine and me. From there, they headed for home and now the tough part begins... waiting. Didn't Tom Petty write a song about this? Yeah - the waiting really is the hardest part. But wait we will, until Friday, when we expect to hear great things yet again.

Please keep us in your thoughts and send positive vibes our way!

Peace,

Connie

"On the road, again. Just can't wait to get on the road again."

It's the theme song to Dad's life. He and Mom have always been drivers, as likely to dash to Vermont for the day (5 hours driving) as they are to dash to Lincroft (5 minutes driving). When I was a kid, I didn't think there was anything extraordinary about loading into the car every weekend to log several hundred miles for two days of skiing. Six weeks in a van, driving around the country, was just another Oberle (or Griswold) vacation. Now that I am a parent, I recognize the trips for what they were - Herculean efforts made by my parents, with Dad at the wheel and Mom forever riding shotgun but never getting full control of the radio, to score family time. That, or acts of sheer lunacy. I prefer the former classification to the later.

Dad's and Mom's ramblin' ways hit a snag when Dad got sick. It was tough to work up the stamina for 6 hours of driving, let alone any sort of recreational activity, when he hadn't eaten a proper meal in 3 months.

But no more.

The foot is back on the gas pedal and even though he sometimes relinquishes the steering wheel (but never control) to Mom, I feel pretty confident saying he's back to his old ways.

He went to Vermont to take some turns with an old friend from the Ski Club (apparently it was quite cold, but he pressed on). He and one of my uncles took a bus trip to ski in New York (apparently it was pea soup fog and pissing down rain, but he pressed on). He made plans to take my daughter skiing in Connecticut, but when the forecast called for sub-zero temperatures before the wind-chill, he wised up and turned south.

Way south.

Tuesday I met him and Mom and Christian at Sloan for his IV chemo. I like having the chance to spend some time with him and Mom when they're in the city for his treatments, but I had special motivation to see them this week. They were planning to finish his IV, go home, load the car (an energy-efficient Hybrid, I am proud to report) and leave before sunrise Wednesday for a road-trip down the East Coast to Charleston and from Charleston to Miami.

Yes - Dad and Mom are driving to Florida. I could be mistaken, but I think I was in grammar school the last time they drove to Florida. I also think there was a reason we didn't do it again - it's a really long drive.

So I met them at the hospital to spend some time and to say "bon voyage." Dad looks fantastic. His weigh-in showed that he and I are still going pound-for-pound. No, I still won't tell you how many pounds we're currently packing, but it's awesome for him and worthy of a few post-baby visits to the personal trainer for me.

He still isn't having terrible side effects from the chemo, which is great. Curiously, he gets associative nausea when he enters the IV treatment area, but I am trying to figure out a way to make that stop. The continuing nature of the treatments - meaning that they are going to be doing chemo for two weeks out of every three for the foreseeable future - is always a little tough to embrace, but we all know that the chemo is treating him far better than the cancer did, so we grin and bear it, re-fill the prescriptions and plug in to the drip once again.

Dad took his IV and, when it was done, grabbed his coat and hat and with a "C'mon, I'll give you a lift home," was out the door in a shot. Mom and I were scrambling in his wake. They drove me across town and deposited me at my building. Then, with a kiss on the cheek and a "see you later!" they were gone, bouncing off through the snow, on their way to Jersey and from there to warmer climes.

I was left standing on the side of 73rd street, scratching my head and wondering precisely what super-strong stuff was forged into their souls when they were created. I just don't know any other people like them. I wish I could say I weather adversity as well and as gracefully as they do, but I know I don't.

I'm just a big old baby.

Who was more than a little bit jealous on Wednesday morning, when I awoke to find the temperature in New York barely out of the single digits and Mom and Dad were already nosing their way into Baltimore.

I checked in with them a few times during the day - greetings from Virginia - we're in North Carolina - hi, we're in Charleston. I know Dad gave Mom at least one opportunity to use the bathroom during the trip (once we get going, Oberles do not stop) because they had to re-fuel the hybrid once en route, but beyond that, they seem to have put the pedal down and gone.

Just like they would have done 20 years ago - except our old Chevy van would have needed many more fuel stops.

Happy New Year from The Blog!

Sorry for the false post earlier - that's what I get for trying to type and watch the Golden Globes at the same time. You didn't really think I had nothing to say but "happy new year," did you? Not a chance!

And now, back to our regularly scheduled post...

The holidays have always been a whirlwind, and in some ways this year was as every other. We put our feet into the blocks on Halloween and sprang into the late autumn powered by fun-sized Snickers bars pinched from our kids' trick-or-treat bags. Down came the pumpkins and up went the pilgrims and before we knew it, we had polished off the pecan pie and raced off to the mall in search of the most perfect present ever... preferably at 50% off.

The holiday season felt short and rushed and harried but this year it also felt precious and warm and unique. Maybe that's one of the backwards gifts that a chronic and frightening condition like cancer can give to a family. Unlike in years past, we didn't try to see too many people or do too much. The three Oberle kids came home with their spouses and families and we stayed put. Kurt and Keri (and Oscar and their impressively intelligent/vindictive dog Ashton) drove from Charleston to New Jersey and back again twice in the span of four weeks. They took a week off for each visit, so there was ample time to spend with Mom and Dad and Nanny. Christian and Jane made it to Colts Neck for both Thanksgiving and Christmas and they stayed over each time. Christian works so much, the holidays are often practically a drive-by, so the extra time with him was particularly special. As for me - well - I've always felt like Dan and I spend the better part of the Christmas holiday in the car, racing from one place to another. This year we landed at Mom and Dad's house on Christmas Eve and stayed until December 26. The little kids had a blast and it was fun to swap gifts, but the best part of the holiday (in my never-humble opinion) came when the dishes had been cleared and my family gathered in the kitchen, picking over leftovers and memories with equal relish. The stories flowed with abandon and I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard with people I love so much. By the time I went to bed, my face and my sides were sore. I know it was difficult for our spouses to spend the entire holiday away from their extended families, but in doing so they gave us the best Christmas I can remember and for that, I am and will remain eternally grateful.

So how was Dad through the holiday? Amazing. I was afraid that going out with the family for Christmas Eve would wipe him out too much to enjoy Christmas Day. I needn't have worried. He looked great. He felt great. He ate and laughed and had a blast. He had a ton of visitors over the holidays - Mom made more than one wise crack about a star hanging over the house and frankincense and myrrh being left on the front steps - and I know he really enjoyed all the company.

The new year has settled in and Dad is in his second set of this new round of chemo. He's still tolerating the treatments well (and he still has his hair) and is even gaining weight. I met him and Mom for an appointment at Sloan-Kettering last week, and when we got into the examining room, he weighed himself. He slid the weights to the right and to the right and to the right again and then shook his head and said, "that can't be right. The scale must be broken."

I think the same thing every time I get on the scale these days.

"How much does it say?" I asked him.

He gave the number and then said, "that would be a gain of more than 20 pounds."

"Well it just so happens," I said, "that I weighed that exact amount at the obstetrician yesterday, so step aside, Old Man, and give Fatty a shot at the scale."

Dad raised one slightly thin eyebrow and stepped aside. I heaved my impressively pregnant self onto the scale and mentally dared the weights to challenge me. The bar tipped up... then down... then balanced. The scale was accurate. Dad has gained more than 20 pounds!

Yes - he is six inches taller than me and we weigh the same amount.

N0 - I will not tell you what that amount is.

But I am sooooooo going on a diet once this baby is born.

Dr. O'Reilly was very pleased with how well Dad looks and feels. He did get a hernia in December (which he and a buddy of his put back (however one does that) on their own), so she set him up with an appointment to see a surgeon later this month. That appointment will probably be informative rather than pre-operative, since the hernia hasn't re-emerged or popped out again or done whatever it is that hernias do when they're not behaving. She supported his plans to go skiing later this month; she agreed that horseback riding should probably stay off the agenda for the immediate future. She renewed his prescriptions, patted him on the head (figuratively) and sent us on our way with instructions to keep on doing what we're doing.

It all, it was a satisfying visit, a pleasant end to a difficult year and an auspicious start to the new one. We know the economy is in the tank, but we've been taught over the past few months that the economy is a very small part of a very large picture. We're looking forward to an amazing 2009 and we hope everyone reading this blog has a new year that is wonderful and blessed and filled with love.

Peace!

Connie

Survey Says......

*ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!* It's a WINNER!!!!!

Dr. O'Reilly was "very pleased" with the results of Dad's scans. Despite the fact that adenocarcinoma is a chemo-resistant cancer, Dad has proven that he's a super-hero once again. He and the chemo have arrested the development of the disease - stopped it in its tracks, really - and even caused it to back up a bit. And all in only 9 weeks. I am totally in awe of him.

Basically, the scans showed no new cancer growth and his Ca 19-9 marker, which is the marker for pancreatic cancer, is down by more than 50 percent from its pre-treatment levels. The largest lesions are a little bit smaller and the small lesions haven't grown at all. His lungs are clear.

These are all HUGE wins for us. We're so happy!

We've got good momentum going right now, so we're going to keep it up and jump right into another course of chemo. Dad starts up again next week. This time we're going to do 4 sets instead of 3, again doing two weeks on and one week off, and we'll have another set of scans 12 weeks from now. I have high hopes that we'll see further regression after the next round, and maybe we'll get the main lesion to drop back enough that it becomes operable. That would be incredible!

After the appointment, Mom, Dad and I did something we haven't done in a very long time. We hung out. We went to St. Patrick's Cathedral and gave some heartfelt thanks and checked out the gorgeous Nativity scene:

and the Christmas wreaths:

Then we went to Rockefeller Center and visited with the Christmas Tree (it's very big and very pretty):

We watched the ice skaters slip and slide all around the rink (it's very small - much smaller than it looks on television):



We peeked at some of the department store window displays (much better this year than last), and then we went out for lunch.

I haven't gone out for lunch with Dad in MONTHS, and I have to say, although I've eaten in some pretty amazing restaurants, no meal has ever tasted better or been more enjoyable than the meal I shared with my parents today.

As soon as we finished lunch, I sent Mom and Dad home and headed back to my apartment. I was so excited to log on and share the good news with all of you! We have been so blessed with the support we have received - I know it has made a difference in our ability to march forward with this battle, so let me take this moment to say again to every person reading and praying and thinking good thoughts for us - THANK YOU. We could not be doing this alone. May you all feel as blessed this holiday season and throughout the coming year as we feel today.

Peace to you all, and Happy Holidays too!

Connie

It's Results Day!!!

I'm not excited or anything... although I did wake up, jump out of bed, plug in the coffee pot, turn on the shower and then notice that...

the dogs were sound asleep instead of staring hopefully at their food bowls...

the cats were were playing Kitty-Wrestlemania instead of snoozing on their kitty tower...

the windows of the apartments around my own were still pitch black...

and I realized that it was 1:00 AM and I was 5 hours early for the start of the day.

But I'm not excited or anything. Nope. Not at all.

I've gotten lots of e-mails extending good wishes. Thank you so much - I'll pass them on to Dad when I see him in a couple of hours!

Peace,

Connie

The Scan is Done!

Now it's time to:

think your good thoughts,

say your prayers,

rub your lucky Buddhas,

tap your doorframes,

click your heels,

wear your rally hats,

shake your voo-doo beads and

do whatever else you do to channel good results.

All Eyes are on Friday at 10:45 AM EST!!!!!

Happy Holidays from Team Oberle!

We've finished our third set of chemo (I say, as though we're all popping the nasty little pills together), and overall Dad has tolerated the treatments remarkably well. He's had very little nausea, primarily because he has been vigilant about keeping food in his stomach, even when he hasn't felt like eating. Back in October, I looked up chemo nausea and found that chemo-related nausea strikes people as follows:


1. Young people get more nausea than older people. (What is the definition of "older"? That's anybody's guess. Now that I'm cruising down the south side of 35 and 40 is looming large in my sights, I'm going to draw the line at 65)

2. Women get more nauseous than men. (good news for Dad)

3. People with a history of motion sickness are more likely to have nausea. (again - score for Dad)

4. People who have previously had chemo are more likely to have nausea. (Dad's a chemo-virgin, so that cuts in his favor)

5. Non-drinkers of alcohol are more likely to have nausea. (I think we're all good here)


So I was pretty confident that Dad wouldn't spend his course of treatment with his head down the toilet, but it's been nice to have the reality comport to the statistics.


Chemo side effects are cumulative, so he was definitely feeling the drag of the toxins by the end of the set. Actually, he seemed more beat up over Thanksgiving, which was a tough holiday (it's kind of hard to get into a "feast" day when you can't eat properly), than he was this past weekend (when he was carrying Anna Lee around the house on his shoulders, even though she weighs almost 40 lbs!!!).

Although nights out usually cost him dearly in terms of recuperation time the following day, this past weekend he partied on Saturday night and seemed little worse the wear for it on Sunday. Mom was worried that he was quiet at the start of the evening on Saturday. She feared he wasn't feeling well, but I think his mood was more to do with me than with chemo.


We were all heading to a party, and after Mom and Dad locked up the house and pulled away, I decided I needed one more thing from the kitchen, so I used my handy-dandy house key to let myself back in. It took a few seconds for my pregnancy-addled brain to process the piercing beep-beep-beep that accompanied my opening the door, but then it hit me - "Holy @$#%! They set the ALARM!"


I tried not to panic. Mom has told me the code at least fifteen (million) times. I found the key pad, popped it open and with shaking fingers proceeded to key in... my ATM code. It didn't work. This seemed to irritate the alarm and the beeping got more insistent. I panicked and jabbed at the keypad again, but (not surprisingly) Dan's ATM code didn't work either. Neither did any of the other number combinations that flashed through my mind, which included: my birthday, our home phone number, my social security number and my old high-school locker combination. Time ran out and the evening air was rent by the deafening shrieks of the alarm.


"I am in SO MUCH TROUBLE," I thought as I clapped my hands over my ears and raced around the house in search of a phone with which to call Mom. I planned to get the code from her and set all to rights without Dad ever finding out that I tripped the alarm. I hit three cordless phone charging stations, none of which had phones on them. Where was the phone?!?!? I found one under the dining room table (random) and picked it up just as the security company called.


"I'm not a robber," I screamed. "I'm their daughter. I thought I knew the code but I don't and..." then the phone, which had probably been off the charger all day, went dead.


"I'm going to jail," I thought as I raced outside to where Dan and Anna Lee were all buckled into the car. I grabbed my cell phone and called Mom. Dad answered.


"Damn!" I gulped over the same pit I used to get in my stomach when I was a teen, as though he was going to ground me or take away my telephone or something.


"I'm coming home!" he declared, and I had the mental picture of him doing a Dukes of Haazard-style fish-tailing U-turn in the middle of Phalanx Road.


I raced back inside, put the dead phone on a charger and found a working one, by which time Dad and Mom were back in the driveway. Mom was on the phone with the security company, trying to vouch for me (not an easy thing to do). Dad tore into the house and disarmed the alarm. The sudden silence was dizzying.


Dad turned to me. "I can't believe you didn't remember the code was..." and then he proceeded to rattle off a combination that he and Mom started using ten years after I moved out of the house. Thanks, Dad.

Never one to miss the opportunity to teach, he had me set and disarm the alarm twice before he would let me join my family in my car. I am now confident that I know the code, but just in case, I hereby vow that I will never key myself into their house again.


Mom was *still* on the phone when they pulled out of the driveway for the second time, and as Dan put the car into gear and started to follow them, we heard an unfamiliar phone ring.


'What is that?" Dan asked.


I dug into my pocket and withdrew... Mom and Dad's cordless phone.


"He's gonna kill me," I said.


"Probably," Dan replied, "but you're not going back to put it away. It's coming with us to the party."


And it did.



Sunday we celebrated Anna Lee's third birthday and the end of this round of chemo. Dad seemed to be feeling very well, and he was kind enough not to make a single mention of the alarm debacle all day long. Maybe he's getting mellow. Nah.

As I sat with him in the kitchen, I took a moment to marvel at how well he has tolerated his treatments. He hasn't gone bald, and I have to admit that at the start of this process, I steeled myself for him to look like:









or

or

His hairline got a little thinner on the sides, but frankly I have peers who have less hair and who are a lot more gray. It's getting harder and harder to convince people that Dad doesn't color his hair and he doesn't wear a piece. Perhaps he is part elf. I don't know, but he's looking very good.

Tomorrow (12/9) is the big CAT scan, and we'll get the results on Friday. I am confident that we are going to have a positive result. Even though Dad has suffered these past three months, we've seen a transition from him feeling cancer symptoms to him feeling chemo symptoms. I think this means he and the chemo are getting the edge on the cancer.

I'll be with Mom and Dad at the hospital on Friday, and will update the blog when we have news. In the meantime, please keep sending good thoughts and prayers our way - they're helping!!!

Peace!

Connie