1 in 684,545,455.

Early last month, June 2019, there was a lot of news coverage of the 75^th anniversary of D-Day and the Allied troops landing in France.  The reports kept citing the courage of the brave troops who stormed the beaches in France.  It got me to thinking about courage and bravery.  To me, courage is a character trait and being brave is putting courage into action.  The men who got on the boats in England showed courage.  Those getting off the boats in France facing overwhelming firepower from German troops were brave.  Very brave.

It made me think about Missy’s courage and bravery (and fierce pants) as she has battled her cancer for 19 months now.

Her courage, her character trait, was in accepting the facts and moving forward to fight back.  From the very beginning, she showed courage by making sure that chemo was started before Christmas after her December 9 diagnosis – wasting no time in getting started.  Her bravery has been with her every day since. After the first chemo had her on the bathroom floor sick as a dog on Christmas day, and many days after that, she pressed on knowing how tough it would be.  She went through the surgery with optimism and hope as her innards got rerouted and half her pancreas was removed.  When the news that the cancer had spread and was stage four in June 2018, she did not hesitate for a minute to jump into a different chemo treatment and then stick with it for 10 straight months. Throughout this chemo, her oncologist kept telling her that the chemo was not a permanent solution and that at some point she would have to move on to an alternative treatment.  Even though this chemo has been very effective, the human body is so smart that it can adapt to even the nastiest, strongest chemo and render it less effective. The oncologist kept saying you need to be nimble meaning there is a balance between the chemo working and when you decide to move to the next treatment.  You need to be healthy enough to do it – and courageous enough.

So, Missy got into the clinical trial at Chapel Hill.

Before I continue, those of you who know Missy know that there are few (really no) challenges that Missy backs down from.  If you’ve seen her on skis or a bicycle, you know what I mean.  On our first ski trip together, we were going for one last run down the hill, and I knew she would be down at the bottom well before me. I actually got to the bottom first, because she decided to ski up into the trees hit a little gap that flipped her upside down with a ski caught in the trees.  The ski patrol had to help her out of the tree. The point of this is that not only is she fearless, she embraces every challenge with a certain flair that makes her, well, Missy.

So when she began the clinical trial, we found out that she was only the 11^th person in the world to have started this trial. Just 11 in 7.53 billion people.  I’ve always known Missy was a one-in-a-million person, but if my math is correct that makes her one in 684,545,455. Quite a bit more special.

The trial itself is fascinating science.  The drug is a protein-receptor-inhibitor targeting the genetics of her particular cancer.  It inhibits the ability to accept the protein that her cancer feeds on.  Cancer cannot grow without something to feed on.  So, at the basic level this drug is designed to starve the cancer from what it needs to grow.  Brand new science and not for those without courage and bravery.

Right now, it is late Sunday night, and we are in Cary, NC (at a very nice hotel, did I mention this is Missy), and we will go to Chapel Hill tomorrow to get the results of a CT scan taken today to see how effective this experimental drug has been for the last two months.  Missy is asleep right now, but it has been a tough few days as we have been anticipating the results which could mean any number of things.  Ideally, it shows that this drug is working, and we stay on the trial for the next phase.  If it doesn’t, we have to find another beach to storm.

Overall, Missy feels well, and the three months without chemo have brought the old Missy back.  The chemo is really nasty stuff.  It keeps the cancer at bay, but it is no way to live.  It took a good six weeks without chemo before Missy was really herself again, and it has been so wonderful for everyone to have her back.  Especially me.  She has fought so hard through ups and downs, and little things like walking the dog together at night or going out for ice cream are like we are doing it for the first time again.  Little joys are huge joys again, and little setbacks don’t even matter anymore.

As I’ve written before, this is a helluva way to grow closer together, but we have cherished the good, the bad and the ugly of this cancer voyage. I cannot even remember Missy with a full head of hair anymore – without looking at pictures – and it doesn’t matter. She is prettier than ever.

One of the most amazing things has been coming to Chapel Hill for the trial visits. The treatment in Charlotte has almost been “concierge medicine” by comparison to Chapel Hill.  This has nothing to do with quality of treatment but more the environment. The oncologist office and chemo/infusion center that Missy has gone to in Charlotte is relatively small, close to home, and very concise.  The Cancer Center at UNC is a massive operation.  While we have never had more than a dozen people in the waiting room in Charlotte, there are typically a hundred or more at UNC and that is just in the section where we go for the trial.

It is a hugely humbling experience and in a strange way very rewarding to be a part of.  At UNC you see people who come from all over the state and from EVERY walk of life.  Recently, I saw two brothers – probably in their 40s – who were huge.  They must have played football in college, and one was very sick with cancer, and the other was wiping goop from his eyes.  When he was done, the sick one just hugged his brother and they both had tears running down their cheeks.  I stopped to talk with an old couple who were working on a puzzle that Missy and I had brought to the waiting room.  They loved puzzles, had been coming to UNC for two years, and always liked when a new one was there.  We find ourselves holding elevator doors for people who are worse off than ourselves, and talking to all sorts of strangers – engaging as brethren in this club of survivors and caregivers.  Often, you don’t even have to say a word.  You look into the eyes of someone in the waiting room at UNC and get an acknowledgement back of “go get ‘em too.”

There is so much more about the last few months to talk about, but it’s time to get to bed and try to sleep tonight. We need to strap on those fierce pants and go get ‘em tomorrow morning.