Dare Mighty Things
From February 25, 2021
Dear Friends --
First, thanks for all the lovely notes and texts and generous encouragement in recent days. Know that each good vibe, good prayer, and good meme matters. I'm doing quite well, and that's entirely thanks to the remarkable suite of support surrounding this story.
Ok there's a plan taking shape. As I noted in my last post, the stars of this next chapter are the mighty oncologists, and they came this week ready to roll. For those new to this wild trek, we have two extraordinary talents guiding my steps: Dr C, a crazy smart general oncologist who has excellent taste in shoes, and Dr K(3) from UCSF (one of the world's top colon cancer docs), who has the most lovely bedside manner. What's better than excellent shoes and a gentle bedside manner when discussing itty bitties is one's lung? Very little.
I had long chats with each of them this week, and I left broadly encouraged about the map for the trail ahead. Here's the upshot.
They weren't shocked about the activity in my lung. In fact, they were sort of pleased it's all so small and rather contained. No slumped shoulders.
They agreed that the best course here is to lace up and start chemo again, but this time instead of Foxy they think the smartest path is a chemo drug called Folfiri. Folfiri is very much like Foxy, except it doesn't cause harsh nerve damage. It does, however, have other unpleasant side effects, but let's not dwell too much on that just yet.
Dr C is all about swinging for the fences, so she thinks 12 rounds (or six months) of treatment might be in order. K(3) is more measured and suggested maybe we don't need to be quite so aggressive. We'll sort out how much after the next scan.
So I'll start treatment most likely the week of March 8, and like last time, have rounds every other week. If all goes well, I'll have a spring full of naps and feeling rather blah, and by mid-summer I'll emerge with clean lungs and ready to recover and cycle back into a respite time.
Let's pause here and tackle what I'm certain a few of you are already mulling -- what on earth are we going to nickname Folfiri? "Fury" is too obvious, and frankly, too jarring. Honestly, I'm not sure, so this is an open invitation for anyone who reads this little missive to come in strong with a recommendation. I'm thinking Folfiri is sort of the kid sister to Foxy, so my provisional nickname is Skipper, who of course was the smart and very cute kid sister to Barbie. We can probably do better.
The other question that I'm getting in recent days is the most lovely and honest curiosity about how I'm doing. After a tough weekend, I began to find my footing again as I considered the trailhead in front of me.
There are all kinds of factors that go into finding optimism and energy for all that's before me, so I'll share just one here: I'm in awe of the miracles of medicine, and science.
My trek is made possible by decades of brilliant scientists who went to work each and every day to sort out breakthroughs that have led to the technology that powers CT scanners, chemotherapy drugs, intricate blood tests, life-saving surgeries, and a million miraculous details in between. These scientists have each shared a common north star -- a passionate commitment to life. And I'm alive today because of their dedication.
It's easy, and foolish, to take all of that for granted. This is wildly hard stuff. The breakthroughs that are saving my life, and the breakthroughs that ushered in Covid vaccines in record time, and thousands of other advances in health care, are the result of tenacious, persistent, work.
But it's more than work. It's a calling. Frederick Buechner once said, "your calling is where your deep gladness and the world's great hunger coincide." That sacred intersection is the place where miracles are born. Like the one that just happened in our solar system, which just got a bit smaller.
In recent days, brilliant Nasa scientists expanded our horizon of the possible by successfully landing the Mars rover. Lots of us marveled at the footage beamed back to earth. But did you see the hidden gem that the Nasa engineers cleverly hid in the parachute that helped the rover land safely? Lots of smart Reddit readers did. The intricate red and white pattern revealed these words -- "Dare Mighty Things" -- a favorite motto of the smarties at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory.
Those words come from a speech Theodore Roosevelt gave in 1899: “Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in the gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat.”
Roosevelt's speech is titled "The Strenuous Life." It's all about risk, and commitment, and purpose. Mainly I think it's about having the courage to find your footing again after a setback.
I know that the decades that went into developing Foxy and Skipper included heartbreaking setbacks. But like Nasa engineers dreaming of Mars, the chemists in the colon cancer lab kept at it, time and again. And in the days ahead, I'll be the beneficiary of their work. The very least I can do is hold my head high in gratitude to their craftsmanship as I strike out again.
Nasa named the Mars rover "Perseverance." And so I'll persevere, as so many of us have after these hard and grinding months. There will be joyous days, and awful days. But each will be fully alive days.
And in doing so, we'll live out our calling. We'll dare mightily. Let's go.
xoxo