Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Fear Less

The heart may freeze or it can burn
The pain will ease if I can learn

There is no future
There is no past
Thank God this moment's not the last

There's only us
There's only this
Forget regret — or life is yours to miss.
No other road
No other way
No day but today


- Lyrics from"No Day But Today" (from the musical "Rent")
Scan time is looming large on the horizon, so in addition to trying to take my own advice (see "10 Tips for Coping with Scanxiety"), I have been ruminating on the meaning of fear.

Why is scan time so scary? First, there are lots of little fears that flit around my mind, such as...

  • I'm scared the IV will hurt.
  • I'm scared the contrast drink will make me throw up.
  • I'm scared that I might have some weird allergic reaction to the injected contrast dye.
  • I'm scared that when they inject the dye and it makes you feel like you wet your pants, that I might actually wet my pants.
  • I'm scared that I might breathe in when I'm supposed to hold my breath, or breathe out when I'm supposed to breathe in.
  • I'm scared that I might reach to scratch my nose when I am supposed to be holding still in the scanner.

But, of course, there is the one fear, the real fear, the one really big fear: The scan might show that my medicine has stopped working.

I used to do partner acro, and my instructor described me as "fearless." While it was a nice compliment, it was completely inaccurate. I certainly was not without fear, it was just that my desire to learn and push myself was much greater than my fear of getting hurt. The thrill of flying was much stronger than the fear of falling.

Now, my fears have shifted. Everything boils down to the one big fear that the medicine has stopped controlling my cancer. If that happened, it would mean pursuing new treatment and facing new side effects. It would mean that one of my limited options is used up. It would mean facing the fear that my time on earth is much, much shorter than I would like it to be and that this disease will take me away from the life and the people I love so much.

I was never "fearless," but now I do have less fear. I have less fear about little things, less fear about speaking my mind, less fear about taking chances and less fear about what other people might think of me. I have one giant fear that trumps everything else and that puts it all in perspective.

My drive to get everything I can out of this life is much greater than all the little fears. We only get this one life (I think), so it only makes sense to grab on tight and get all the living you can out of it.



Originally posted at: http://www.curetoday.com/community/tori-tomalia/2015/06/fear-less

Wednesday, June 24, 2015

I Wish My Doctor Knew / Leading Us Through CancerLand

You feel a lump.A bump.
A something-isn't-right.
You walk into the doctor's office.
Your heart is racing.
You can't breathe.
You see your future disappearing before your eyes.

Clipboard
Forms
Insurance
Blood pressure
Temperature
Weight
Check
Check
Check
I wish my doctor knew
check
I wish my doctor knew
check
I wish my doctor knew
check
What it feels like
check
to be a patient
check
to have to be a patient
check
to have to be patient
check

White coats
Cold hard statistics
Medical jargon diagnosis
Gobbledy goop prognosis           
Protcols
Hear me!
Standard of care
See me!
Aggressive
Know me!
Maintenance
Love me!
Stable
check
check
check
check

Know my fear.
so scared
Take my life in your hands.
all control is you
I am more than my diagnosis.
know my heart
You hold all the power.
your words swim around my head
I wish I was your one and only.
please treat me like your one and only
You don’t want to give false hope.
it’s the only thing keeping me from drowning
You hold my hand
Check.

Please guide me
Not just my body
But me
Not just my body to healing or healed or at-least-not-dead-yet
But me, my whole me, my whole self
Please know how much it hurts
Not the body, but the knowing
Please pretend that you care.
I wish my doctor knew.


Originally posted at: www.curetoday.com/community/tori-tomalia/2015/06/leading-us-through-cancerland

Monday, June 08, 2015

Your Heart's Desire

"Can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?" Harry shook his head.

"Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is.... It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you."
- Dumbledore, from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

I am one of the lucky ones who, despite a diagnosis of stage 4 lung cancer and the terrible prognosis that goes along with it, is doing remarkably very well on a targeted medication. Yes, I deal with side effects, like my ongoing stomach issues ("Mommy has a sore tummy") and I sleep much more than the average mom of three small children. Compared to where I could be, I am doing fabulously well. So well, in fact, that cancer often takes a back seat for our family. It is always there, of course, lurking in the background, but often we can mostly ignore it.

Sometimes, however, its impact sneaks up on me in the least likely of places. Take, for example, when I am reading "Harry Potter" to my six-year-old son.


"However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.... It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that."


"Mama," he interrupts me. "Mama, I'd be like Harry."

"… Like Harry?" I asked.

"If you died, the one thing I would want most of all is to see you again," he said.



This simple remark left me frozen in my tracks. I was left speechless. I was trying to process his words with the knowledge that, in all likelihood, this is indeed something that he will face.


How do I prepare my children for the future?


So we talked about Dumbledore's sage advice, that if you get lost in what you wish could be you will end up missing out on the life that you get to live. Harry's parents are gone, and no amount of gazing into that mirror will bring them back. His parents would want him to relish the life he has, and find the joy that is his to discover.


It is impossible to ignore how profoundly my illness has impacted our family. But, as I remind myself over and over (and over and over), none of us are promised tomorrow. All we can control are the choices we make today, and the life that we lead from moment to moment.

"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that."

If I looked into the Mirror of Erised, I think I would see my husband and I growing old together, watching our children grow up and become the remarkable adults that I know they will be.


Has cancer changed you? Do you live your life differently now? And if you looked into the mirror of Erised, what would you see?



Originally published at: www.curetoday.com/community/tori-tomalia/2015/06/your-hearts-desire

Sunday, May 31, 2015

Cancer as Rebirth

Two. This month marks my second anniversary of living with stage 4 lung cancer. Two years ago at this time, lung cancer burst into my life, kicking and screaming, demanding all of our attention and making our family completely alter our lives to accommodate it.

Those first few weeks were a fog. Just make it through this day, this hour, this minute. As the months went on, we gradually grew accustomed to its presence and learned how to live with this new creature in our midst. I learned to take those tentative first steps — to get my legs under me again. A stumble, a trip, then finding the courage to pull myself back up and try again. Trying to find a voice, to speak this new reality. Find words to communicate and describe this new landscape. I learned to grow into this new identity, to develop my new sense of self.

Two years ago today I got that devastating phone call that confirmed it. No more hoping that my severely impaired breathing was due to an unusual strain of pneumonia or some bizarre infection. The biopsy confirmed it: lung cancer.

Two years ago today all I could focus on was getting oxygen into my body.

Today, I spent the day at the building we are transforming into our dream business, where I prepped the rewards packages for the people who donated to our fundraiser. Tonight I spent the evening at my son's school ice cream social, watching the kids run around the playground with their friends, negotiating with them how many ice creams they could get and enjoying the sun and breeze.

Two years ago I ate dinner lying on the couch, too weak to sit at the table with the family.

I guess you could say that the old me died on that fateful spring day in 2013 when I got the devastating news. The person who I was prior to that point is gone now. The person who could talk casually about growing to old age. The person who could commit to future events without a voice in the back of her head whispering, "if I'm still here then."

But it is not all bad. A new person has arisen from the ashes. A person who is not afraid to take chances, be bold or speak up. Over the past two years I have found a new voice. I have found my footing, taken my first steps and learned to walk again. Among other things, I have become a person who can rattle off the names of half a dozen tyrosine kinase inhibitors currently in clinical trials and a person who drools over news from ASCO. I'm someone who thinks frequently about end of life, who walks alongside sickness and who knows a shocking number of people in various stages of dying. I'm someone who no longer feels afraid of talking about these taboo subjects. And someone who understands the painful, beautiful brevity of our time here on Earth.

Two years living with metastatic lung cancer, and today I am a billion times healthier than I was when they (finally) figured out what was wrong. Two years and still kickin'. Who woulda thunk it?



Originally published at: http://www.curetoday.com/community/tori-tomalia/2015/05/cancer-as-rebirth

Friday, May 15, 2015

The Changing Face of Cancer Care

I've had a ringside seat to the evolution of cancer care.

The first time I heard the heart-dropping, stomach-churning, breath-stealing words, "you have cancer," I was 14 years old. The second time I heard them, I was 37.

The first time, a chronic ache in my shoulder turned out to be bone cancer. The second time, a chronic cough turned out to be metastatic lung cancer.

When I was a teenager undergoing chemotherapy for osteosarcoma, I never really thought I was going to die. Me and my teen cancer comrades in the hospital went through hell together. But I naïvely thought we would all get better and go home again one day.

I have seen cancer through an adolescent's eyes, and I have seen it through the eyes of a mom with three small children.

I was a busy mom, working, going to grad school, and raising our four-year-old son and two-year-old twin daughters. I was tired all the time, but who wouldn't be? And I had a string of chest colds that I just couldn't shake. Or maybe it was asthma. But a shelf full of asthma meds weren't improving my breathing. I stopped going upstairs to tuck my son in at night, too winded to read bedtime stories. I couldn't walk around carrying my little girls anymore; I could hardly walk across the room without panting. It wasn't asthma.

"Mama, I wish you didn't have cancer. It was nicer before you were sick."

I was 15 years old and in the hospital receiving chemo when the anti-nausea drug Zofran was FDA-approved in 1991. It was like the clouds had parted and I finally could see a ray of light through these wretched treatments. Prior to that, we had to take our chemo straight up. I spent my first several months of treatment vomiting all day long. Nothing stayed down, so I was sustained by IV nutrition. I roomed with another young cancer patient at the hospital, and she made it into a game; with each new spew, she would tell her mom to add that to the running tally on the whiteboard. Dark humor gets you through some rough times.

I have been cured of cancer, and I have been terminal.

The whole wing of the hospital was silent the afternoon Karen died. She had been in a coma for several days. At one point her hand moved and her little brother took it as a sign that she was waking up. But then she was gone. She wasn't even 15.

Karen was gone.
Cancer is deadly.
I might die.


It’s the first time mortality — my mortality — really sunk in to my 14-year-old mind.

Learning that I had cancer again seemed like some sort of cruel joke. I had already paid my dues, marched through hell, undergone several painful bone surgeries and been declared 'cured.' But it was different this time. This time it wasn't just about me. I had three beautiful little faces looking up at me, counting on me to be around to wipe their noses, kiss their scraped knees, hold their hands during their first heartbreak, and applaud as they received their diplomas. Each dream of the future was being wiped away with each new metastasis revealed on the scans.

Your spine, your shoulder blade, your hip, your liver.

I had kept in Christmas-card-contact with a few of my teen cancer friends. I used to ask after them at each annual checkup, "How's Rob? How's Linda?" But the answers were not always what I wanted to hear.

"Relapse."

"Decided not to continue treatment."

"Passed away just before Christmas."

I stopped asking after that. In those days, we didn't have online support groups, websites listing clinical trials or even iPads to pass the hours, days, weeks or months in the hospital. We had to check out the VCR in two-hour increments and the whole floor shared that one machine.

Now they can test a tumor and sometimes find the specific mutation driving the cancer. If you're one of the lucky ones, there is a pill to target that mutation. So far, I have been one of the lucky ones. But one day, my luck will run out.

My right arm was saved by a cutting-edge limb salvage procedure. My life is being extended by a brand new targeted therapy.

Then we were going for a cure. Now I have learned that 'cure' is not the only goal in cancer care. I have learned that it is possible for the some people to live with metastatic lung cancer as a chronic disease for months and sometimes years.

Cancer research is moving fast. Will it move fast enough to stay ahead of my cancer? I desperately hope so. There are three little people who are counting on it.




Originally posted at: www.curetoday.com/community/tori-tomalia/2015/05/the-changing-face-of-cancer-care

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

Lung Cancer Stigma

A few days ago there was a great article about the stigma surrounding lung cancer and the impact it has on patients. Check it out!

The lung cancer blame game


Also included in the article was a slide show with several people in the lung cancer club, including yours truly.

Slideshow: Faces of lung cancer


So enough with the blame already, let's work together and find a cure!

Thursday, May 07, 2015

Lung Cancer HOPE Summit

Imagine a room filled with 150 people who have lung cancer, many of whom are stage 4. Do you envision wheelchairs and oxygen tanks? Frailty and sadness? Then, my friend, you clearly did not attend the 5th Annual LUNGevity HOPE Summit in Washington DC this past weekend.

Every year, the LUNGevity Foundation hosts a weekend-long conference for lung cancer survivors and caregivers (you are a "survivor" the day you are diagnosed with cancer). In its first year, 17 survivors attended. This year, that number was 150. The weekend began with a welcome reception Friday night, where I finally got to meet the people who have become my online support community over the past two years. Saturday and Sunday consisted of sessions on topics of interest to people in the lung cancer community — nutrition, surgery, clinical trials, advocacy, and more. Saturday night's dinner was at a lovely outdoor restaurant called the Old Angler's Inn, which provided delicious food and drink as well as live music. We certainly felt pampered! I am very grateful to have received one of the travel grants that LUNGevity provides to help offset the travel and lodging fees. Without this, many of those in attendance would not have been able to come.

Here are my top three highlights of the weekend:


Chris Draft

Chris Draft is a former NFL player who lost his young wife Keasha to lung cancer in 2011. Chris and Keasha founded Team Draft, an organization dedicated to changing the face of lung cancer. Not only is Chris a dynamic and inspiring speaker, but he clearly knows his stuff when it comes to the latest developments in lung cancer research. Thank you, Chris, for all you and your foundation are doing to help those of us living with lung cancer.


John Poirier, PhD

"JT" is an assistant professor at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center and is one of the researchers on the front lines of making change for the lung cancer community. His passion and dedication to this work comes through clearly in how he speaks about it. In addition to discussing the specific developments that are happening in targeted therapies and immunotherapy, he noted how the rate of change in research has ramped up significantly, with new discoveries coming out at a pace never before seen in lung cancer research. This information explosion provides enormous hope for us.


The People

Without question, the best part of the weekend for me was meeting all of the survivors and their caregivers. Talking with these people, I felt like I was seeing old friends that I had known all my life. In the terrifying early days following my diagnosis, reading the blogs of other people living with lung cancer provided a lifeline that helped me find my way through the fear. To finally meet this group of people in person was both wonderful and surreal. It was luxurious to be able to sit and chat over a meal, and learn even more about these people who had inspired me so much. Click here for a list of their active lung cancer blogs.


Thank you to all the people at LUNGevity who made this weekend happen. I now feel even more connected to the lung cancer community than before. If you are interested in attending a HOPE summit, click here to find out more.

To continue the conversation about hope in lung cancer, join the Lung Cancer Social Media (LCSM) tweetchat at 8 p.m. EST on Thursday, May 7. For more information about the "Spreading Hope for Lung Cancer" tweetchat, visit this link. I hope to see you there!



Originally posted at: www.curetoday.com/community/tori-tomalia/2015/05/lung-cancer-hope-summit




Thursday, April 23, 2015

Kickstarting a Dream

What a ride this has been! This is the first time I have run a crowd funding campaign, and it has been a fascinating experience. My emotions have ranged from thinking this is exciting, to uncertain, to heartwarming, to what-in-the-world-were-we-thinking, to hopeful, to exhilarating.

There was the initial jump in responses, there was the dreaded "Day of No Pledges," there was all the great press we got, there was the exciting pledge match, there was the thrill of scrolling through my Facebook feed and seeing people playing the Pointless Challenge, and there was the amazing push at the end which got us not only to the goal but over the top!

I don't think I will ever forget that Friday night when we hit our goal which ensured we would get the money we raised. It was a gorgeous evening, and so our family decided that we would bust out the grill for the first time this season and enjoy an outdoor dinner. The pledges had been pouring in all day, and my friend Meriah kept texting me, telling me to get out the champagne, that the goal was in sight. I, being cautious, kept saying "maybe... maybe". Jason was grilling up the burgers and hot dogs, the kids were running around the yard. I kept getting alerts on my phone about another pledge coming in, and another one. We dished up dinner, dusted off the patio furniture and sat down to eat.

Then, we were at $49,990 and everything froze.

My phone dings with an alert that someone has increased his pledge by $11. "I couldn't take the stress!" he told me later.

We did it!!!!! Amazingly, with support from around the globe, we had reached our Kickstarter goal and unlocked the pledges.

US:      We did it!
KIDS:  Did what?
US:      We raised a bunch of money to help build the brewery & theatre!
KIDS:  Oh. Can I have another hot dog?


And so we celebrated, opened a bottle of wine, feasted on hot dogs and hamburgers, and marveled at the generosity of human beings.

Here are the numbers (because I love numbers):
  • Duration of the campaign: 39 days
  • Amount raised: $52,536
  • 105% of goal reached
  • 522 backers from across the US, Canada, Australia, Poland, Israel, UK, Germany, Russia, Sweden, and Japan.
  • Average pledge amount: $100
  • 3,306 people watched the video
  • 57 people increased their pledges during the campaign
  • 36 people donated after we reached the goal. I have even gotten messages from people saying that they missed the deadline, can they still give (the answer is yes! Email me to talk more: tori AT pointlessbrew DOT com)

I find the Kickstarter philosophy quite fascinating. It is all based on their motto that all-or-nothing funding works. They publish all of their statistics, and their numbers back up this method:
  • Of the campaigns that made it past 60% of their funding goal, 98.6% made it to their full goal and were funded. 
  • Of the campaigns that made it past 80% of their goal, 99.3% made their full goal and were funded.
In other words, if you can reach a critical mass of people caring about this project, you are highly likely to get it to launch. I had all these numbers in my head throughout the campaign, but they only helped squelch the fear so much; there was still that chance that we might be in that tiny percent that fail!

So, what now? Well, Jason is busy cooking up all sorts of new brew concoctions, planning for auditions, working on permits and licensure, and I am busy dreaming and scheming about the family series which we are calling "Little Peeps." Much work, much fun, and all of it made possible by the support of our community around the world. "Thank you" doesn't begin to scratch the surface.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In other news, the Healthline list of Best Lung Cancer Blogs of 2015 has recently come out and I am happy to say that I made the list, along with several other awesome bloggers, though I think the judges missed out on quite a few great ones. Most of all, I am happy to still be around, living, enjoying life, and still able to write and share this journey with others. Dare I hope for 2016?

Friday, April 10, 2015

Shall We Play A Game?

(I was a kid in the 80s and thought that was one of the coolest movies I had ever seen.)




As my regular readers know, Jason and I have been working toward opening our dream business, Pointless Brewery & Theatre. We are in the middle of a super exciting and nerve-wracking fundraising campaign through Kickstarter. For those of you who aren't familiar with Kickstarter, it is a website that gives artists a platform to get the word out to a large audience about their project, and people can make donations (pledges) to help make this project come to life.

The awesome/terrifying thing about Kickstarter is that if you DON'T make your goal, you lose all the pledges.

Let me say that again...

You lose ALL THE MONEY.

So far we have raised over $37,000 and have more than 300 people from around the world supporting our project. All that love feels pretty amazing.

Here's the harsh part: we need to hit our $50,000 goal by April 20 or we will lose over $37,000

Yikes. Please don't let that happen. If you haven't watched our video and learned about our project yet, take a moment now to do so. It's worth it, I'll wait. Just click here: http://kck.st/1EEAQ08


Now comes the fun part, and why I quoted WarGames above.

Will you play a game with me? It's called the Pointless Challenge, and here is how it works:

  1. Post a picture of something that makes life less pointless. 
  2. Pledge to the Pointless Kickstarter campaign http://kck.st/1EEAQ08 
  3. Tag 3 friends to do the same.

The picture can be anything that makes you smile, that makes you happy, that gives you that giddy-in-the-tummy feeling, that makes your soul sing. It can be complex, it can be simple.

So, will you join me? Share on your Facebook wall, post to Twitter. Invite your friends to take a moment out of life to remember what's important.
 


Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Living On Borrowed Time....

There is a constant clock ticking in my mind.

Tick...tick...tick....

"Living on borrowed time...."

I've passed my expiration date.

Tick...tick...tick....

The thing that scares me most, that threatens to tear me away from my family lives inside my body.

Tick...tick...tick....

One day my luck's gonna run out.

Tick...tick...tick....

Ya know what sucks? Having your future torn away from you when you were just digging into your career. When things were looking so bright. Awards rolling in, people taking notice.

When you have a house full of small children counting on you.


(They're still counting on me.)

So what do you do?

You dust yourself off, take stock of what you still CAN do, where you still CAN play an important role, what dreams you STILL dare to dream.

My cancer is well controlled right now.

Right now I have time.

Tick...tick...tick...

Right now I have time to plan for my family's future. To get things in place to take care of them when I'm gone.

(Did you know cancer is expensive?)

Life takes unexpected turns. You adjust. You make the best of it. You still dare to dream big.

This is the only life you get. Even if it is cut drastically short.

So you shift gears. And dream.

And ask for help.

You.

Yes, you sitting at your computer, looking at your phone. I'm talking to you.

You know all those times you have read my blog and asked yourself what you could do to help?

Now's your chance.

I. Need. Your. Help.

I need you to dig down and pledge to support this dream, to support my family, to give cancer the big middle finger.

Right now.

Take out your credit card and pledge.

Every one of you who has read my writings and been touched by me baring my soul as I faced the unimaginable (your word, not mine).

You can make a difference. You can help build a future for this family.

You can help create something that I will get to be a part of for the next months and (dare I hope) few years. Something to live beyond. A legacy.

Tick...tick...tick....

But we need you.

I need you.

Give.

Challenge your friends to give. Tell them why it matters.

Because sometimes life is super crappy and unfair and horrible. But you know what makes it bearable? The people. The people who pick you up when all is lost. The people who allow you to hope for better days. The people who give you the strength to dream.

The people like you.

Now's your chance.

Tick...tick...tick....

Click here. Watch. Give.



Sunday, March 29, 2015

Finding Your Lung Cancer Community

In the months following my diagnosis with metastatic lung cancer, I felt so desperately lost and alone. I didn't know a single person with this type of cancer, let alone another young mom. As the fog of shock and denial gradually lifted, I ventured into the online waters of cancer groups in an attempt to find others in this same boat. First, I came across a number of blogs written by other young people with lung cancer, and I hung on every written word. Many of those same people have become dear friends to me now, and heartbreakingly some have been taken by this disease.

If you are newly diagnosed or looking to connect with other lung cancer folks, here are a few groups and organizations that have been very helpful to me in my journey, offering emotional support, companionship, up-to-date research information, and even suggestions for treatments to discuss with my doctor.


LUNGevity

LUNGevity is the largest lung cancer non-profit, and has funded over 100 research studies. They also provide patient support through online patient & caregiver forums, an active Facebook group, and the LifeLine program that matches people with similar diagnosis to become phone friends who can call on each other and offer guidence. For face-to-face support, they host Hope Summits throughout the country, where lung cancer survivors can meet in person, hear from experts in the field, and offer peer to peer support.

Why I'm Excited About LUNGevity: I am headed to my very first Hope Summit in May! I will finally get to meet so many of my lung cancer community face to face. There is still time to sign up if you want to come, too.


Bonnie J. Addario Lung Cancer Foundation

Founded by lung cancer survivor Bonnie J. Addario, this non-profit funds an enormous amount of lung cancer research, including the innovative Genomics of Young Lung Cancer study. This first-of-its-kind trial is focused on patients diagnosed with lung cancer under the age of 40, to investigate if there are certain mutations or other similarities within this population. The Lung Cancer Foundation also hosts the Lung Cancer Living Room, a once a month support group and information session that they stream live so that patients around the globe can participate.

Why I Love the Bonnie J. Addario Lung Cancer Foundation: This organization put me in touch with some of the top ROS1 (my driving mutation) researchers for a second opinion that provided insight, information, and hope about my disease.


CancerGRACE (Global Resource for Advancing Cancer Education)

CancerGRACE is a website and online forum where patients can go to discuss treatments, side effects, and new research with other patients and caregivers. What makes CancerGRACE different from other online chat groups is that it is moderated by oncologists. The organization also hosts in-person forums, the most recent being their Immunotherapy Patient Forum in October 2014. This conference featured experts in immunotherapy presenting research and answering patient questions. Videos of the lectures are available online. I attended the Acquired Resistance to EGFR/ALK/ROS1 Inhibitor Forum in September, and I was thrilled to see the top experts in this field discussing their research and answering questions from a room full of patients being kept alive by their discoveries. Remarkable stuff.

What Make CancerGRACE special: It is run by leaders in the field, so they are able to provide accurate, timely information to patients.


LCSM (Lung Cancer Social Media)

For the twitter-savvy folks, LCSM is just the thing for you. This is primarily a twitter-based group that communicates with the hashtag #LCSM, sharing research news, personal stories, and support. Every other Thursday they host a tweetchat focused on a specific lung cancer related topic, and spend one hour in a fast and fun discussion. LCSM also manages a website that includes lung cancer facts, transcripts of past tweetchats, and a list of lung cancer blogs, something that was vital in getting me through the early months following diagnosis. I love the immediacy of blogs, the way stories are told in the moment that they happen. Blogs tend to be more raw and honest that other writing, and I appreciate that immensely.

Why You Should Check Out LCSM: Strange as it may sound, I joined Twitter solely so that I could participate in the LCSM tweetchats. They are fun and informative, and there is a great sense of community around LCSM.


Do you know of other good cancer resources? Post them below!



Originally posted at: www.curetoday.com/community/tori-tomalia/2015/03/finding-your-lung-cancer-community

Monday, March 23, 2015

Couple opening Pointless Brewery & Theatre in Ann Arbor

We got some nice press coverage for our dream project, Pointless Brewery & Theatre.

Don't let stage IV lung cancer keep you down!

Couple opening Pointless Brewery & Theatre in Ann Arbor



Want to join our Pointless endeavor? Pledge to our Kickstarter and enjoy lots of Pointless perks!


Saturday, March 21, 2015

Birthdays Take On New Meaning

I did it! I turned 39!!

That may not sound like much of an accomplishment, but the horrible statistics that come with a metastatic lung cancer diagnosis had us all believing that even making it to 38 would be a stretch.

So how does one celebrate such a milestone? For me, with a lot of reflection. I've been given the gift of time, and while my SuperDrug is doing a bang-up job controlling my cancer right now, I know my future is uncertain. Over the past few months, our lung cancer community has endured some incredibly heavy losses. Sadly, losing friends is nothing new to me anymore, but this recent string of deaths hit me particularly hard because several of them were people that I was sure would be the one to beat the odds. Young, previously in great health, with so much to offer the world, and yet cancer stole them away so quickly.

Sobering thoughts.

I have a lung cancer friend who always tells me that he looks forward to seeing me dance at my children's weddings. And every time he says it, my eyes well up with tears because I dare to hope that it might be possible.

Some days I catch myself playing a dangerous game, where my mind wanders to "what if" scenarios. What if I had known, ten years ago, that this was in my cards for the future? Would I have still gotten married and had kids, knowing that I was going to be dropping them into a horrible situation? Or would I have done the noble thing and hidden myself away, to spare others from heartache? A parent's job is to protect their children from harm; would I have been strong enough to destroy all the joy they have given me to save them from pain?


The Fault In Our Stars


 “I'm a grenade and at some point I'm going to blow up and I would like to minimize the casualties, okay?”

John Green, The Fault in Our Stars


But, of course, I can't go back and change the past. All I can do is make the present memorable for them, and plant seeds for the future. One such seed is a wonderful/crazy dream that my husband and I have nurtured for close to a decade, the goal of opening a theatre together. With my lifespan greatly truncated, we decided that if there is ever a time to make it happen, the time was now. (You can watch a video and learn more about it here: http://kck.st/1EEAQ08)

So yes, I still dream big. I dream that I might see my 40th birthday, I dream that I might plant more gardens, I dream that I might see more first snowfalls, I dream that I might guide my children through their adolescence. And some days I even dare to dream about dancing at their weddings.

But today … today I got to turn 39 years old, and that is a reason to celebrate. Happy birthday to me!



Originally posted at: http://www.curetoday.com/community/tori-tomalia/2015/03/birthdays-take-on-new-meaning

Thursday, March 12, 2015

Our Pointless Dream

Here it is, folks! As I wrote in "A Pointless Story", Jason and I have been hard at work getting things in place to open our dream business, Pointless Brewery & Theatre. (Which, as far as I know, is the ONLY such combo in existence. If you know of others, please let me know, I would love to meet the owners!)

And now is your chance to come on board and help get this up on its feet. Watch the video, check out the cool perks, and join us!

AND - all donations of $75 or more get a one-year Pointless Peeps membership, which gives you 10% off of all show tickets, drinks, snacks, and merchandise. Plus a cool t-shirt. Pretty sweet, huh?

Click on the logo below to watch:

Monday, March 09, 2015

How Cancer Changed Me as a Parent

My amazing little girls just turned four, and I was thrilled to share this milestone with them. There was a time not long ago when I doubted I would see this day.

When I was diagnosed with metastatic lung cancer in the spring of 2013, my son was 4 and my twin girls were newly 2. My daughters were still sleeping in cribs, still and diapers, still my little babies.

That summer my worldview shifted dramatically, and my view of my children growing up followed suit. Now, I no longer mourn the passing days of their childhood. Like many parents, I used to have a twinge of sadness when the little ones passed milestones, knowing that they were one day closer to growing up and leaving home. Now, instead of sadness I feel a twinge of relief and a boatload of joy, for each one is another moment that I am still here to experience. It is as if the faster they grow, the more of their lives I will get to see. As if they could only grow fast enough, they might outpace my cancer.

I was still here to see my girls learn to ride tricycles – and ride they did! First days of school, first time on the bus, first time at a movie theatre, graduating to a big kid bed, getting rid of cribs, learning to use the potty, learning to jump, learning to read, learning to write. All these are achievements not only for my kids, but for our whole family. Because we got to see each of these as a whole family.

I look at my son and I see the baby face disappearing before my eyes, and glimpses of the young man he will become peek out at me.

I see the feisty sprit of my little girl, and her focus and determination resonate in my soul; it’s the same fire that burns in me. Looking in her eyes is looking in a mirror, and I dream of the woman she will one day be.

I snuggle with my daughter, and feel her little fingers gripping mine. Her breathing shifts, her grip loosens, and she drifts off to sleep. These tiny remnants of babyhood surface and fade away.

These fleeting moments….

I remember one day when the girls were infants and Jason and I were ridiculously sleep deprived (like all twin parents) and going a little crazy (like all twin parents). I said to Jason, "Can you imagine if we had an unplanned pregnancy? That is the WORST thing that could happen to this family." He stopped and stared at me. "I can think of much worse things than an unplanned pregnancy that could happen to our family." Oh yeah, perspective. He is so good at that. Who would have guessed that a much worse thing was waiting in the wings?

I think about my young friends whose dreams of having babies have been cut short by cancer. I think of the young children whose futures have been erased by disease. I think of all the moms and dads with cancer who have left this world, leaving small children to grow up without them.

I think of all this, and I celebrate my children growing up. Because I am so proud of the people they are becoming. Because they bring me so much joy. Because I am here to experience it.




Originally posted at: http://www.curetoday.com/community/tori-tomalia/2015/03/how-cancer-changed-me-as-a-parent

Monday, March 02, 2015

Empowered Patients Change National Cancer Guidelines

I have metastatic lung cancer. Conventional wisdom says that once cancer has spread beyond the original site, cure is impossible and the purpose of treatment is to reduce symptoms and extend the patient's life. Surgery is off the table.

Except.

Except what if the cancer has only just started to spread? What if it has only set up a few metastases (called oligometastatic disease)? Could you push the envelope and try the impossible, to cure stage 4 lung cancer?

A group of patients believed that this idea was worth fighting for.

It started with lung cancer patient Chris Newman's participation in an online patient forum, Inspire.com, where she learned about quite a few stage 4 patients with a small number of metastases who had undergone surgery or SBRT (Stereotactic Body Radiation Therapy, a kind of radiation that pinpoints small tumors). These patients had enjoyed No Evidence of Disease for years. They were lucky to have been treated at top medical institutions by doctors who were willing to think beyond the dire prognosis that comes with stage 4 lung cancer. On the flip side, there were many patients on the forum who said their doctors would only treat stage 4 with chemo, regardless of the number of metastases.

Chris realized that if the guidelines could be changed to allow surgery or SBRT for more situations, more metastatic patients might be offered these treatment options. She made the bold decision to approach the National Comprehensive Cancer Network (NCCN) and propose that they change their guidelines. At worst, she thought, the panel will have a good laugh. But the idea snowballed, and a group of lung cancer patients who knew each other through Inspire formed the Independent Lung Cancer Patient Advocates (ILCPA), and they went to work. They pooled their knowledge, connected with lung cancer non-profits, and attended the American Society of Clinical Oncology conference to solicit physician support and bring even more muscle to the fight.

Fueled by passion, cutting-edge research, and Twizzlers, the team spent endless hours poring over research, compiling journal articles and a developing a proposal to change the lives of people who had been told that aggressive treatment and cure were not an option; people who had a prognosis of a year, maybe two to live.

Fate stepped in. Chris found herself sitting next to an NCCN panel member, Dr. Frederick Grannis, at a lung cancer advocacy conference. He was kind enough to review the proposal and make sure that every member of the panel got a copy of her Addendum Arguments and that the proposal received serious consideration at the panel's meeting.

I've read the complete proposal, and it is pretty brilliant.


Here are some highlights:

"The life expectancy for Stage IV NSCLC patients is only around 8 to 12 months and 5-year survival rate between 1% and 5%. While a significant portion of clinicians react to the dismal prognosis of this group of patients with therapeutic nihilism or restrict their recommendations to those found only in existing guidelines, the issue of the most appropriate treatment approach is a very personal and subjective one for the patients, who find themselves face to face with their own mortality. Treatment plans for Stage IV NSCLC patients involve personal life/death/quality of life decisions. The patient should have the ultimate right to decide optimal balance of risk, benefit and quality of life, etc., when reviewing possible treatment options with their clinician. They are deprived of this right when they are not presented with ‘all’ reasonably appropriate treatment options."

…and…

"Stage IV NSCLC patients with oligometastatic disease often are not offered, or even made aware of, the option of aggressive local treatment which may provide long term survival, or even curative benefits, by their clinicians, as current guidelines do not explicitly address this issue, despite persuasive and compelling advances".

… and then, they bring it all together…

"Therefore, given the grim prognosis for this subset of patients, possibly life extending and/or curative treatment options should be addressed in the treatment guidelines algorithms in ‘all’ instances where there is NCCN consensus that the intervention is appropriate".


So guess what…

They did it!


As of January 1, 2015, the National Comprehensive Cancer Network guidelines now include information that could dramatically change the lives of stage 4 lung cancer patients with oligometastatic disease.

And all because a group of patients raised their voices together and demanded to be heard.

On behalf of lung cancer patients everywhere, I offer my enormous gratitude to the patients, caregivers, lung cancer advocacy groups, and clinicians who supported this effort:

Chris Newman, Janet Freeman-Daily, George Haughton, Michele Taylor, Robert Young (RIP), Annika Holm, Shane Piers, Addario Lung Cancer Medical Institute, Bonnie J. Addario Lung Cancer Foundation, LUNGevity, Lung Cancer Circle of Hope, LUNGCAN (a collaborative group of 18 lung cancer advocacy organizations), David P. Carbone, MD, PhD, Joe Y. Chang, MD, PhD, Abraham Chachoua,, MD, Maria Teresa Congedo, MD, Raja M. Flores, MD, Gregory N. Gan, MD, PhD, Corey J. Langer, MD, FACP, Michael T. Milano, MD, PhD, Paul Okunieff , MD, Kenneth Rosenzweig, MD, Joseph K. Salama, MD, Alice Tsang Shaw, MD, PhD, Roman Perez-Soler, MD, Tokujiro Yano, MD


For more on this story, see "How A Group Of Lung Cancer Survivors Got Doctors To Listen" at NPR.org.

Visit the NCCN website to read the complete guidelines.



Originally posted at: www.curetoday.com/community/tori-tomalia/2015/03/empowered-patients-change-national-cancer-guidelines

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Breaking Point

My port had stopped working, so they needed to start an I.V. The first nurse had blown two veins and had called in a replacement who was on her way to blowing a third.

In the grand scheme of things, a few needle pokes were nothing. I had been through worse before, and there would be much harder days ahead. But in that moment, it was too much. In that moment, the months of treatment, the endless hospitalization, the constant nausea, and the helplessness were completely overwhelming.  I burst out crying. I can't do this anymore.

My sister, who had been sitting in the chair next to my hospital bed, stood up and walked over to me. She cracked a smile. "Remember that day when we were little kids and we were swimming at the lake, playing Jaws?" I stopped crying and looked at her, confused. She went on to recount in exquisite detail a day years earlier when we had been swimming and had gotten our legs stuck in the weeds and muck at the bottom of the lake and I had thought that a shark was attacking us. She ran around my hospital room, with her fin/elbow on her back, singing the theme from Jaws. Da-dum … da-dum… da-dum…

She had always had a knack for timing, and could change the energy of a room in an instant with her incredible ability to spin a tale. Somewhere between her imitating my 5-year-old squeals of fear and acting out our parents' response, I started laughing so hard the nurse gently said, "Could you please stop shaking the bed?" I toned it down to a hearty chuckle, and before I knew what had happened, the I.V. was in and the fluids were flowing.

Twenty-some years later, my sister is a midwife and every time I think of this story, I know how lucky those women are to have her by their side. In those moments when they feel like they just can't keep going, I am certain that she finds exactly the right words that they need to hear.

People ask me, "How do you cope?" I don't really know the answer, other than I just keep putting one foot in front of the other. But of course, it is not all my doing. I have had times when everything felt like too much and I can't imagine how I could go on. I have been incredibly fortunate to have people in my life, like my sister, who have helped pick up my foot when the next step seemed impossible.

~~~
If you read my last post, "10 Tips for Coping with Scanxiety," then you may recall that I just had my every-three-month scans.

And the results were great!

My amazing targeted med is still going strong after 16 months. There was one little hiccup, in that they found two small blood clots. To treat those, I will be giving myself twice daily shots of a blood thinner for a month, then once daily ad inifinitum. All these needle pokes made me think about the above "Jaws" story from my childhood cancer treatment, and how the cumulative stress of illness can make something as simple as a an I.V. push a person over the edge. Right now I'm feeling healthy (relatively speaking), so I'm fine with some extra needle pokes. But it is easy to see how quickly a lot of little nothings can add up to too much.

Everyone has a breaking point. If we are lucky, we have someone who can guide us through it and help put the pieces back together again.



Originally posted at: http://www.curetoday.com/community/tori-tomalia/2015/02/breaking-point

Saturday, February 21, 2015

Scan Results=Yay! Blood Clot=Boo!

For those of you who follow my scan/doctor appointment schedule (which is amazingly sweet, by the way) you would be passing the time this weekend patiently waiting for scan results on Tuesday. And you would have been almost as shocked as I was Friday afternoon when my phone rang, and the caller ID showed that it was the cancer center. By the time I answered the phone and heard my oncologist's voice, I was trembling. Why in the world would she be calling me when we had planned to discuss the results at my appointment on Tuesday?

She quickly said, "Don't worry, your scans are fine. But we found a small blood clot and would like to be safe and start you on heparin injections. I'm so sorry you will have to give yourself shots."

Me: "But my scans are fine?!? Okay, when do I start?"

I don't love the idea of twice-daily shots, but I like it a lot better than cancer progression!

I went in to the clinic Friday afternoon and learned how to do the Lovenox shots. So far, they are no big deal, and I don't yet have the lovely bruises on my stomach that I was told to expect. The nurse commented on how calm I was giving myself the shot, and that most people's hands shake the first time they do it. It's all perspective; when the doctor called I was sure I was getting terrible news. In comparison, these shots are no big deal. Funny what you can get used to!

So, I continue on my amazing targeted med Xalkori. 16 months and counting!

Thursday, February 12, 2015

A Pointless Story

I have been so busy writing stuff for CURE that I haven't been posting new content for this lovely bloggety-blog. And there is a huge piece of the puzzle that I have been leaving out.

I briefly mentioned this in a previous post, but Jason and I are knee-deep in launching our dream business. I guess I keep forgetting to write about it because we are so busy working on it that I don't have a lot of brain space left to reflect!

So, on with the story....

Ever since Jason and I have known each other (seriously, we talked about this on one of our first dates), we have planned to one day open a theatre together. We knew we wanted to create a space where people could come together and have fun, laugh, be creative, and just enjoy. However, since we have both worked in theatre for so long, we are well aware of how difficult it is to have a financially viable theatre. We looked at models of theatres that were successful, and they all had other sources of funding in addition to ticket sales, such as a strong education branch, a corporate program, and so on.

Then, about 7 years ago, Jason got a homebrewing kit for Christmas. And the man went crazy. He was totally hooked, and fell in love with every aspect of it. (And his beers are really good!) That's when we realized that combining improv theatre with craft beer was the perfect blend. Improv theatre is all about working within an existing structure to create something new; craft beer starts with existing styles and innovates with new ingredients and methods. They go together like rainbows and unicorns!

So, we had an idea we loved, but we also had three small kids and I was busy pursuing an MFA with the goal of becoming a professor. We put the business on the back burner and planned to return to it once my career was up and running.

And then, as you know, cancer.

My diagnosis flipped our whole world upside down, and "long-term goals" seemed pointless. Jason and I talked a lot about what we wanted to do with this time, and what we wanted for our family. We realized that if there was ever a time to pursue our dream of building something together, the time was NOW.

But how to make this happen? And what would we call it? Well, there is a story behind that too....

It was back during chemo and I was having a pretty horrible day. I felt rotten, run down, beaten up, and just exhausted. I looked at Jason with tears in my eyes and said, 

"What am I fighting so hard for? What if I go through all this, and it still just ends up awful? What's the point? Everything just feels so pointless."

And, being the wonderful, intuitive person that he is, he responded perfectly.

"Okay, maybe it all is pointless. Maybe everything we do is pointless.... So let's do this. Let's open a pointless brewery and theatre, and make our pointless dreams come true."

He got me to laugh through my tears. And then we looked at each other and knew that we had to do it. And we had the name. Pointless Brewery & Theatre.




It's the perfect name. How often do we waste our days doing what we are supposed to do, looking the way we are supposed to look, saying what we are supposed to say. You get up, rush to work, drink coffee to stay awake, work hard to get ahead, stress over deadlines, all for what? What is the point of that?

If you knew your time were limited, wouldn’t you spend it doing things you love, and spending time with the important people in your life? When it comes down to it, all that matters is the people you get to meet, spending time with the ones you love, and bringing joy to the world. Everything else is pointless. 

~~~

So, here we are now, building our dream! With the help of a few wonderful investors, we have leased a building, hired an architect, drawn up legal papers, and started making this dream come true. We will be launching a Kickstarter campaign in a few weeks to help raise the rest of the funding, and we aim to open by summer. I keep bouncing back and forth between being incredibly excited and absolutely terrified, which, as my dear friend Meriah said, is exactly how you should feel with a great creative endeavor. 

There will be more updates along the way as things roll out. Thanks for all your support throughout the ups and downs of my treatments. I certainly hope to be around helping Jason run this business for a long, long time. And if not, then I want it to live on and be something that he and our kids have to hold on to, and a place where people can come together with the people they love and find the joy in life.
"Grab a beer, have a laugh. It's all pointless ... that's the point."
~~~~~

Edited 3/23/15: Here's the link to the Kickstarter. Click on the logo, watch the video, and give what you can!