Clear of Cancer And No Treatments ... And My Astonishing Hair Is Coming Back ...

My travels took me to Denver last Thursday, May 15. I had a PET scan in the morning then blood work then the visit with the oncologist, Dr. Kandar. This all took place at Anschutz Medical Center.

At around 4:30, the nurse showed me into the consultation room. I waited for around 5 minutes and I’m thankful I had my good friend, Ann O’Brien, with me. Dr. Kandar walked into the room, beaming and told me I was in full remission. No cancer.

No cancer.

No cancer.

No cancer.

No cancer.

No more chemotherapy and immunotherapy and other nasty drugs. The chemo port can come out. My astonishing hair is growing back.

I have to have a checkup every 3 months. I’m not totally cured until 5 years. So there’s always the possibility that things could change but, for now, I’m through this.

Dr. Kandar took me down to the infusion center and I rang the bell, signifying the end of the ordeal. I wept.

The next day, I stopped by The Shaw Cancer Center in Edwards, Colorado, near Vail, to meet with my treatment team there. I gave a short speech and rang the bell. Once again, I wept. Those people at Shaw mean so much to me.

You can see the video here.

Thank you to everyone who has helped me. I will find a way to thank you in person over the next few weeks. People have brought me food. They have driven me all over the state. They've called and texted and supported me simply through their presence. I'm so fortunate to have so many friends in this amazing community. People think of Aspen and Snowmass as glitzy and being all about glamor and such. But it's actually a deep community of people who care for each other.

Physically, I’m feeling a lot better and I know how poorly I actually felt during the treatment phase because I know what it feels like to feel better.

Emotionally, spiritually, mentally, and professionally, I’ve got a long way to go but I’ll get there thanks to some persistence and the people around me. I had it easy compared to so many people but going through cancer is indescribably rough and I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. I should be elated and, in a way, I am, but I’m also very very low.

An Article In The Daily Telegraph

A reporter from The Daily Telegraph reached out to me and I ended up in an article about getting through cancer.

The article is here.

Next up is a scan in Denver mid-month.

The Curious and Vexing Complexities of Life and Recovery

Some background first. I was diagnosed with diffuse large b-cell lymphoma in mid-November. It's a common form of blood cancer. You can read about the background here.

Here’s an update between updates. It’s an update about the start of recovery.

It’s been over a month since my last PET scan plus the corresponding visit with the oncologist on March 20. The scan was clear of pets and cancer and the oncologist was beaming as she entered the exam room in the Blood Disorders department at Anschutz Cancer Center. I had my last treatment session a week later in Edwards at The Shaw Cancer Center. At least I hope it’s my last treatment session.

I’ll know for sure when I go back for what is hopefully my last PET scan in Denver on May 15. That’s another big day. I’ll also visit with the oncologist. I hope she's smiling from ear to ear.

Things could still go sideways between now and May 15. However, it’s not premature to talk about recovery.

Each treatment session comprised an immunotherapy drug, three chemotherapy drugs (three!), plus steroids. It’s heavy stuff, poisons really, but treatment has worked thus far. It kills the bad stuff while killing some good stuff.

I have to remember … the drugs course through every part of your body, including the brain and vital organs.

My hair fell out, as predicted, but now it’s growing back. I find the latter super-exciting. I have some fuzz on top of my head. Yes!

Physically, I’m starting to feel a lot stronger. Ten days ago, I could not walk up a flight of stairs without having to stop for a few minutes at the top to recover. But yesterday, I walked 18 holes and felt mostly fine. I add my golf to my hiking totals as golf in my little world is more about hiking than golf. Yes, that’s a bit cheeky. Either way, I’m starting to feel like I’ll be able to hike as normal once hiking season comes around which might be a little earlier than last season due to less snow this spring. I love my hiking.

The doctors semi-promised some neuropathy and they followed through. I feel some numbness towards the end of my fingers and on the soles of my feet. The treatments have impacted nerve endings but they should recover eventually.

The medicines in the treatment protocol impact every part of the body and maybe I have some issues with concentration from time to time but that’s pretty normal for me.

But the real impact comes in the realm of the emotional, the spiritual, and the professional. The treatments and this medical episode have hammered these foundations of my life.

On top of all this, over the last four months, I’ve had one huge part of my life that’s vexed and confused me and simply added to the stress. My fault. But this leads to insomnia, which is something I hate.

And then, on February 6, in Green Park Tube Station in Central London, my best friend in the world died of a heart attack. He used to call me at least once a month to check on me and simply tell me how much he loved me. How I miss him and his calls and our deep friendship.

Cancer can be a lonely place and I’ve had such amazing and powerful support from my Aspen community and my friends who live elsewhere. I have to use this as the foundation of rebuilding my foundations. I have to remember how lucky I’ve been. There was a man who was just 30 who had just died at Shaw a few days before my final treatment session. You could see how much this impacted the nurses organizing my treatment. Cancer is a nasty, nasty beast. Many people spend years fighting lymphoma and other cancers. I might be fully over this, physically, in mid-May. The other parts will take longer but I’ll fight to get through those.

I've been fortunate to have a lot of normalcy in my world since the diagnosis in early November but I crave even more. So ... I'll provide an update after that May 15 visit to Denver and if that's me done and dusted then I'll take all this stuff down some time in early June. How is that for a goal? I'm a private person by nature and I've been public here to share my story because so many people care and want to know what's happening, which is humbling.

My sister set up a Go Fund Me and it’s here. Thank you to everyone who has contributed. Please share as you see fit.

A Clear Scan And Another Important Day

Some background first. I was diagnosed with diffuse large b-cell lymphoma in mid-November. It's a common form of blood cancer. You can read about this here.

I was in Denver on March 20 for a PET scan and a visit with the oncologist. It was certainly a nervous time before the scan and in the minutes before the meeting with the oncologist.

At around 2:30, the oncologist came into the treatment room, beaming.

The PET scan was free of pets, and most importantly, cancer.

Back in December, the scan showed three areas where cancer was growing. But now there’s nothing to see. So I had what I hope was my final round of immunotherapy and chemotherapy last week in Edwards at The Shaw Cancer Center. I’ll have another PET scan in mid-May and, hopefully, that will be the end of this journey.

My sister set up a Go Fund Me and it’s here. Thank you to everyone who has contributed. Please share as you see fit.

The Help I'm Receiving ...

Some background first. I was diagnosed with diffuse large b-cell lymphoma in mid-November. It's a common form of blood cancer. You can read about this here.

I like to think of myself as independent and able to look after myself with little or no help. It’s all fine until you get diagnosed with cancer.

A friend who went through a rough time over the summer told me to accept all the help that people wanted to send my way. I found this hard initially but then I started to understand exactly what she was saying. I’m not out of the woods yet, as I write, and I’ll need more help, most likely. But I’m so grateful for all the help I've received.

People have helped me with:

• Apartments and places to stay, when needed.
• Rides all over Colorful Colorado.
• Texts and messages of love and support.
• Food.
• Energy and prayers.
• Hugs.
• Encouragement.
• And much, much more.

I’m not going to name names here because, when all this is over, I’ll be thanking people personally. You know who you are and thank you. People also help just by providing some normalcy. The wider world sees Aspen and environs as fur coats, jets, and glamor. Look deeper and you’ll find a magnificent community full of people who really care

My sister set up a Go Fund Me and it’s here. Thank you to everyone who has contributed. Please share as you see fit.

Treatment Session #3 In The Books

Some background first.

I was diagnosed with diffuse large b-cell lymphoma in mid-November. It's a common form of blood cancer. You can read about this here.

On Wednesday, March 5, I was in Edwards, Colorado, for my 3rd treatment session at the Shaw Cancer Center.

Tim Young drove me there and back. Tim has pretty much driven me all over Colorado during my cancer journey. Tim is an awesome friend, excellent driver, and superb conversationalist.

As always, I was extremely nervous as things can go sideways while I’m being pumped full of chemicals, poisons, and substances the medical community labels medicines. I can take the medicines or head toward palliative care.

And, as always, the people there in the infusion room treated me like total royalty, even admiring my toughness. I felt pretty dismal for several hours after the treatment and my pallor changed from a ruddy red to the ashen gray.

The next step is a big one. A PET scan in Denver on March 20 and a visit with the oncologist. That day, I’ll discover if the treatment has been successful thus far and I can head back toward total health and total normalcy. I’m nervous and wobbly even thinking about this visit.

My sister set up a Go Fund Me and it’s here. Thank you to everyone who has contributed. Please share as you see fit.

Two Big Dates Coming Up

Some background first.

I was diagnosed with diffuse large b-cell lymphoma in mid-November. It's a common form of blood cancer. You can read about this here.

The next three weeks are important ones in the battle. On March 5, I'll have my third treatment session at the Shaw Cancer Center in Edwards, Colorado. And then on March 20, I'm scheduled for a PET scan, some blood tests, and a meeting with my initial oncologist, Dr. Kandar.

The PET scan will reveal the success, or otherwise, of the treatment protocol. If it's been a success, then I might be out of the woods, to use an awful cliché. If it hasn't been successful, then more chemotherapy is likely.

My sister set up a Go Fund Me and it’s here. Thank you to everyone who has contributed. Please share as you see fit.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Some background first.

I was diagnosed with diffuse large b-cell lymphoma in mid-November. It's a common form of blood cancer. You can read about this here.

The doctors in my world have promised a lot and, thus far, they’ve been very accurate. They promised a healthy dose of chemotherapy and the adjuncts. They promised “the mogul” between my eye and nose would “melt” and it’s melted, for sure. I'm happy people don't have to look at that.

They also promised my hair would fall out and it’s fallen out in clumps, going pretty much everywhere.

Facing this total absurdity, I went to Ajax Salon and instructed the assembled to shave off everything. They followed the instructions precisely and I now have precisely very little hair. What’s left will likely fall out soon.

People have been so pleasant about my bald pate. I have to feel they’re being genuine and supportive. They’re my friends and I love them.

The doctors also promised my hair would grow back. It might be curly or green or both, at least initially. I’ll take either.

If all goes according to plan, that will happen in mid-May.

Doctors … please keep this promise. I had astonishing hair, especially for a male of my age. I’d like it back, please. And yes, I'm being vain.

But I'm actually really happy about this because it's part of the process moving forward and that means moving toward the end of this thing, hopefully.

My sister set up a Go Fund Me and it’s here. Thank you to everyone who has contributed. Please share as you see fit.

A Remarkable Moment of Inspiration

I was diagnosed with diffuse large b-cell lymphoma in mid-November. It's a form of blood cancer. You can read about this here.

My sister set up a Go Fund Me and it’s here. Thank you to everyone who has contributed. Please share as you see fit.

On Tuesday (Feb 11), I was back at Shaw Cancer Center for round 2 of my treatment cocktail, which I’ve described below.

The action takes place in the Infusion Room which is a large room where patients receive their treatments/medicines. It’s somewhat open and so it’s easy to see other patients. The nurses gather around the nurses station and monitor patients. They also administer the treatments. And they are a lovely group of people.

But it’s a grim spot. The patients are genuinely extremely ill. I’m ill but not as ill as many of the people I see. I can’t begin to imagine calling it my place of work.

So I asked one of the nurses, “how do you manage working in this place as it’s pretty depressing.”

Here’s the answer.

“Being here makes me realize how fortunate I am to have my life and my health. Plus the patients inspire me every day.”

That, my friends, sent me on my way back home with a totally different perspective. My admiration for that approach is off the charts and I'm fortunate to be around professionals like this.

Reasons To Be Cheerful

I was diagnosed with diffuse large b-cell lymphoma in mid-November. It's a form of blood cancer. You can read about this here.

My sister set up a Go Fund Me and it’s here. Thank you to everyone who has contributed. Please share as you see fit.

On Tuesday, Feb 11, I’ll be back in Edwards, Co., at the Shaw Cancer Center, for the 2nd round of treatment.

My hair is now coming out in chunks. Delightful.

Have you heard of a singer/pop star called Ian Dury?

It’s unlikely, unless you grew up in England in the 1970s and 1980s, as I did. You can read more about him here.

He and his band, The Blockheads, had a song titled: Reasons To Be Cheerful, Part 3. I’m not sure there’s a part 1 or part 2 but who cares? You can hear the song here.

Below you’ll find my reasons to be cheerful.

The love and support from so many people.

The medical community promises me my hair will grow back.

My doctors, who have helped me so much.

The nurses at The Shaw Cancer Center who have cheered me up.

All the people who have driven me all over Colorado.

The melting away of the cancerous mass between my eye and nose, which I named "The Mogul" because I'm a ski instructor. It was getting pretty nasty.

My writing clients and the direct marketers I work with.

My ski guests/clients who have been super-supportive and have been so happy at the end of the day. You're thankful for my help and guidance but you help me more than I help you.

The management team at The Aspen Skiing Company who have been there for me.

Cancer is serious stuff, obviously, and I have blood cancer. But I’m lucky that my form of cancer is common, treatable, and curable. Yes, I had an operation on my tonsils but it was easy and nobody is zapping my brain or chopping off limbs or digging into me or giving me 12 weeks to stay here.

The prayers.

The amount of normalcy I have. This surprises me. Maybe this will change. I hope not.

My mental and emotional state, which has improved so much over the last two weeks.

The occasional text from a friend who is checking in to see how I’m doing.

People stopping to say hello and simply asking me how things are going.

Remembering to be cheerful cheers me up.

The Treatment Plan: R-CHOP.

When people get cancer, treatment starts. Not exactly a revelation.

My form of cancer is diffuse large b-cell lymphoma. Delightful.

The treatment is called R-CHOP. It sounds like something from a Karate manual, I know.

Let’s take a look at R-CHOP, the medical definition, then what I wish it stood for.

R = Rituximab, which is immunotherapy. Immunotherapy helps the immune system fight the cancer.

C = Cyclophosphamide, which kills cancer cells but also healthy cells. Chemo.

H = Doxorubicin Hydrochloride, which attacks cancer cells. Chemo.

O = Vincristine Sulfate, also known as Oncovin. Chemo.

P = Prednisone, a steroid that can reduce inflammation.

You can look up all the gory details but R-CHOP has a good track record fighting the type of lymphoma I have.

About a month ago, all this terrified me because I went down the Google rabbit hole and that was a mistake. I got through the first treatment feeling pretty good, overall. I’ll have two more rounds of R-CHOP then a test. If the test is clear, I’ll have one more round of treatment and if things look good, I’ll be through this. But things can and do go sideways. So there’s a long way to go.

When all this becomes history, here’s what R-CHOP will mean.

R = Real Ale. A pint of beer in a pub in England. Fuller’s please.

C = Champagne. The good stuff.

H = Helping people as a way to repay the incredible help I’ve received. And 250 miles of hiking this summer.

O = Optimism, generally part of my view of things but may need a boost, an extra focus.

P = A pie. I like a good savory pie, like a game pie, or a pork pie. Something like that.

I reserve the right to amend the above. I prefer to think about the latter definition as a goal.

The First Round of Treatment/Immunotherapy

Update Jan 27, 2025.

Note: I moved this blog to my primary site because it's a lot easier to manage.

If you want the background to this story, please go here.

My sister set up a Go Fund Me, which is here. Thank you to everyone who has contributed.

Last week, I was in Edwards, Colorado, for the first round of treatment. I'll write a blog about the exact details of the actual treatment but it's a cocktail comprising immunotherapy, 3 chemotherapy drugs, and a steroid.

I was in the infusion center at the Shaw Cancer Center and got there on Tuesday for blood tests, which also tested my port. On Wednesday, I had a small dose of the immunotherapy drug to test my tolerance. Then in went the chemotherapy drugs. One of them was very red and I was told my urine would be red. They were right. But that's OK seeing as I'm an Arsenal supporter and red is OK with me.

Then on Thursday, it was almost all immunotherapy. Doug took me on Tuesday and Jo brought be back on Thursday. Thank you.

I stayed at Jack's Place, a hotel/ski lodge right next door and it's free for "guests" like me. It's a wonderful bonus and very welcoming. On Thursday, I narrowly avoided the beginning of a bongo/drum circle gathering. It's all happening in Edwards!

Any place called a "Cancer Center" is going to be grim and the infusion area is, indeed, very grim. But I got my own little space and the nurses, Tessa and Stacy were magnificent. I got them a shout out on Bryan Burnett's show on BBC Radio Scotland. The show is here. The request is around the 14:15 minute mark.

I actually felt OK/pretty good after the infusions, which shocked me.

I have more time to write more posts this week. I'll provide more details. THANK YOU for your support.

I Went To The Hospital For A Port and The Next Steps

Note: I moved this blog to my primary site because it's a lot easier to manage.

If you want the background to this story, please go here.

My sister set up a Go Fund Me, which is here. Thank you to everyone who has contributed.

On Friday, Jan 17, I went to Aspen Valley Hospital and the doctors gave me a port. I wish it had been the type of port that rounds out a good dinner but, sadly, that was not the case.

The port is a medical device, for lack of better term, that allows the easier passage of the chemotherapy and immunotherapy drugs I must take to get over my lymphoma.

I won’t go further into the details. You can see more about ports here.

Getting the port was an important step because it means I can begin the treatment protocol. This will happen in Edwards, Colorado, in the Vail Valley, at the Shaw Cancer Center. Treatment will start Tuesday-Thursday, Jan 21-23.

I’ll go through the treatment details in another blog. I have to read through several pages of dense prose to understand the treatment program.

I’m not looking forward to reading all the documentation. There are lots of moving parts; a lot that can go sideways.

There’s the “mogul” next to my right eye that’s not pleasant to look at plus a swollen lymph node plus surgery on my tonsils in Denver but there really hasn’t been any pain thus far. The mogul gets sore and it’s been oozing some mysterious substances.

But now the lack of physical discomfort is very probably going to change with the introduction of the medicines and related substances. That’s terrifying to me.

I made the mistake of going into the surgery on Friday by myself. I took the bus to the hospital. I admit that I broke down in the bus and walking the short distance to the East Entrance and in the hallways and in the pre-op room. I’m in a scary place. I’m lucky compared to so many people but this unwelcome guest is hitting me hard emotionally. I’ve always prided myself on being independent and strong but that’s all gone out the window. I have to embrace the help from so many kind friends and I’m thankful for all this help.