Join Me for a Podcast

Friends and Family,

I had the honor of being interviewed for Lung Cancer Canada’s annual Evening of Hope. The full-length version of that video was turned into a podcast, which I think turned out well.  

Ottawa Hospital oncologist Dr. Paul Wheatley-Price interviewed me about the evolution of lung cancer treatment over the past seventeen years, maintaining hope through treatment failures, the difference between surviving and thriving, challenges for caregivers, and other topics. The interview is heartfelt, vulnerable, and optimistic. Most people who read my blog should find this worth the listen.  

You can access the interview wherever you get your podcasts (Google Podcasts, Apple Podcasts, Spotify, etc.). Just search for “Lung Cancer Voices” and then select A Special Interview with Dann Wonser (2023 Evening of Hope) dated November 14th. While you’re there, check out their other podcasts. Or if you prefer, just follow this link:   https://open.spotify.com/episode/0coPRmXI8hKnwpM6OJoR0J.

I’d love to hear what you think of it.

Love,

Dann

Seventeen Candles

Something big has happened, so big that my post is longer than usual today. Read a couple more paragraphs and you’ll see why.

Once upon a time, I had a sore back that wouldn’t go away. After weeks of no improvement, my chiropractor sent me for an X-ray. It didn’t show what caused the soreness, but it did show a spot on my lungs. That spot that turned out to be lung cancer.

That was exactly seventeen years ago. Today is my cancerversary!

The cancer was already Stage III, and the prognosis was not good. With advanced cancer and limited treatment options available in 2006, I was expected to die within months.

I had chemo, a lobectomy, and then more chemo. The “chemo sandwich” approach was revolutionary at the time, and it worked. I had no evidence of disease for another four and a half years. Genevieve and I were almost convinced that I had beat it.

But then countless spots showed up on a CT scan of my lungs. The general oncologist (whom I naïvely accepted as a replacement when my lung cancer specialist left town) didn’t think it was lung cancer. We waited four more months for another scan before he recommended a biopsy, a wait I never would accept now. By that time, the spots had grown – and multiplied.

The same surgeon who did my lobectomy performed the biopsy, using the same VATS (laparoscopic) procedure. (Needle biopsies were not an option back in the dark ages.) He called me a couple weeks later and bluntly told me I had Stage IV lung cancer.  He also told me not to rearrange my vacation plans to start chemo, because “quality of life is the most important thing right now.” That’s when I knew I was going to die. I couldn’t help but start imagining my own funeral 

This was the second time my flame almost went out.

With Genevieve’s help, I found a new oncologist in a different hospital system who specialized in lung cancer. He asked if I would agree to be tested for the 49 lung cancer mutations known at that time for research purposes only, since there were only treatments for two of them, and I had already tested negative for both. I agreed, then started chemo along with Avastin, which prevents the cancer’s blood vessels from growing, which prevents the cancer from growing. That bought me another eighteen months before the cancer progressed and spread to my hips. The new testing showed I did have the EGFR mutation, which we only learned by switching doctors and hospitals. I started treatment on Tarceva, the first-generation EGFR inhibitor that had just come out. But the pain in my hips was so severe that I had to use a wheelchair, so I had radiation. It killed the pain, and life was rosy again.

By the time the cancer started growing again, my lung cancer specialist had moved away, and I was assigned to a general oncologist. Apparently I hadn’t learned my lesson yet, because this doctor’s lack of knowledge almost killed me as well. He had no treatment suggestions other than more chemo and perhaps some radiation, but he looked defeated. Good thing I had learned about a clinical trial for a second-generation EGFR targeted therapy from a friend. I also learned that the trial was closing very soon. I had until the end of the day to get my records faxed (this was 2011) from two hospitals and two clinics. Keep in mind that medical records departments considered two weeks a rush! I pestered them several times each, and called every nurse and doctor I knew at those locations to beg them to apply pressure for me. At 5:30 that evening, I got in.

I got in for the first appointment, that is. I still needed to have the T790M mutation, which was a coin toss. I won that coin toss and got it into the trial for Tagrisso, a drug that works without progression for an average of thirteen months. I was on it six and a half years without progression.

When it grew again I found myself another clinical trial, this time for BLU-945. Unfortunately, by the time I got in, the cancer had gone wild. It progressed to my brain, my liver, and then my spine. The pain was severe and uncontrolled, which led to Walgreens treating me like a drug addict. Fluid filled my lungs and I had to sleep in a chair for four months because I couldn’t breathe lying down. I flamed out of the trial in weeks. The timing was bad; I was in the early part of the dose-escalation phase and was given one-tenth of what turned out to be the therapeutic dose.

I was back to using a wheelchair, this time because I couldn’t breathe enough to walk around the hospital. I fired my general oncologist and switched to a lung cancer specialist. At my first appointment she referred me for radiation to two-thirds of my spine, arranged to have the fluid in my lungs drained, referred me to palliative care, and put me on oxygen. My pain was under control within a day of seeing the palliative care doc. I was scheduled to start chemo, but my platelet count was too low so they sent me home for a week. When I returned, my platelet count was even lower. My oncologist offered me the choice between no treatment except end-of-life care, and “threading the needle,” as she called it. That meant having a reduced dose of chemo and hoping it didn’t kill me. I had the chemo (of course!) and within a week I started feeling a little better. I had PleurX drains implanted in both lungs, and Genevieve drained the fluid for me every other day for months. I remained on chemo plus Tagrisso for another year and a half.

Threading this big needle looks way easier!

When that stopped working, my oncologist immediately put my name on a waiting list for a local clinical trial and called her oncologist buddies in the top clinics in the West to find other options. I researched trials on my own through www.clinicaltrials.gov and checked my Facebook lung cancer groups for other ideas. Dr. Sanborn and I pooled our ideas and discussed options. I was within days of scheduling an appointment in Denver to get tested for mutations to qualify me for four different trials when a spot opened in the local trial. Good thing, too. After that I went to Denver as a backup, and I didn’t meet the criteria for any of the four trials. If I had started in Denver, I would have had cancer progression for five or six weeks before learning I would need to start over in another trial. The cancer might have progressed too much for me to qualify for another trial by then. 

I’ve now been in the amivantamab trial (no other drug with it) for over five months without progression, and I’m feeling great. I’m doing daily yoga, four hours a day of yardwork on a steep slope, golfing, and walking for an hour a day up and down steep hills. Feeling good!

There has been a tremendous amount of dumb luck involved in staying alive for seventeen years when the prognosis at the time was months. There’s also been a lot of self-advocacy and Genevieve’s advocacy on my behalf that isn’t listed here. Attitude plays a huge part, and so does being proactive and having excellent lung cancer specialists at the right times. But even more, the love and support of family and friends like you have been tremendously helpful. Most important, and the main reason I am still alive, is the love and support of Genevieve, the love of my life.

As if a picture could do her justice!

I’ve never written a summary of my cancer journey like this before. It feels dry since I haven’t written about the joy that has come along the way. But it would take a book to write about all of the things that have made life so amazing over all these years. Speaking of…

I will be giving away FREE COPIES OF MY BOOK Second Wind: Thriving With Cancer on August 1st, which is World Lung Cancer Awareness Day. In it, I share not only what has kept me alive, but what has helped me thrive with lung cancer.  I’ll post a link a few days in advance.

Thank you for being part of the most extraordinary journey I could have hoped for.

Love,

Dann

Fireworks, Bureaucracy, and Super Docs

Friends and Family,

We got the scan results last week from my latest CT. Anyone with cancer knows that no matter how good you feel, you can’t always tell when the cancer is on the move again. I was feeling good, but still not confident we were going to hear the magic word, “STABLE.”

And we didn’t.

Instead, the cancer had shrunk again! We’re still smiling, a week later. Cue the fireworks! No need to wait until the Fourth of July!

Now I’ll tell you what else we’ve been up to. I was ready to schedule a flight to Denver to get into one of four trials at University of Colorado when I got into the amivantamab subcutaneous trial in my hometown of Portland. Even after I got in, Genevieve and I flew twelve hundred miles to sign informed consents and have my tissue biopsy tested in Denver. Why would I do that when I was already in a new trial? Because we didn’t know if amivantamab would work, or for how long.

I’m glad we did it. I’m four months into this trial. But if had not worked, or if it stops working soon, starting over takes time. That time can be life-critical once the cancer starts growing.

This will show you how critical time can be. It takes a week or two to get an appointment in Denver. Once I had the appointment and signed their consents, it took more than a week for the hospital to request my tissue biopsy be sent from Portland. It then took another three weeks to find out that I didn’t qualify for any of the four trials. That means it would have taken five or six critical weeks while my cancer was growing to find out I didn’t qualify and would have to start over elsewhere. I’d like to tell you that the bureaucratic delays I experienced are rare, but I have run into the same kinds of issues in two other hospitals. I’ll spare you the details, but it took two months from when one oncologist told me he would order a liquid biopsy to the day I received results, even though I was prodding every day to keep the wheels turning.

In the future if I need a new trial, I already have a foot in the door in Denver. This will hopefully can cut weeks of delay out of the process when timing becomes critical and I’m trying to stay alive.

A huge factor in all of this is your oncologist. Here is what I think makes an excellent oncologist:

  1. THIS IS THE MOST IMPORTANT THING: THEY NEED TO BE A LUNG CANCER SPECIALIST. I have had seven oncologists, and the two that almost got me killed were the only ones that were not lung cancer specialists.

  2. They react quickly. As soon as your cancer shows progression, they order a new biopsy. (Always get a new biopsy!) As soon as the biopsy results are in, they search for treatments that are a fit.

  3. They collaborate with you. You discuss the options together and make a plan. This may mean that they call you and not wait for your next appointment. Time is critical!

  4. They are open to clinical trials. Every survivor I know with active cancer that has lived for at least ten years has been in at least one clinical trial, and some have been in six or seven! I’m on #3.

  5. They strategize when to stop your current treatment. If you are entering a trial, that trial will have a “washout period,” which is the time you must be off your old treatment before starting the new one. If they discontinue your old treatment but it takes six weeks (like my Denver example) to get into a new trial, your cancer could be going wild. You want to remain on the old drug as long as possible before starting the new.

  6. They make contingency plans. Ask your oncologist, “What do we do if this treatment fails?” and don’t let them leave the room without giving you an answer.

  7. They really care. Nothing has made me feel safer than hearing my oncologist say that even if I was in a trial somewhere else, she would always have my back.

I’ll get off my soapbox now. I hope treatment is going well for you, and if not, that you have a plan of attack.

Love,

Dann

Genevieve's Mental Wellness Interview

Friends and Family,

Genevieve’s video has just dropped as the next step in the LUNGevity mental wellness project, and it’s available for now. Angela James (an excellent interviewer) interviewed Genevieve about her role as a caregiver, or as she calls herself, a care supporter. Even though I hear her talk about this at home all the time, I was blown away by how good this is. Her role is in many ways more challenging because she needs to constantly adapt to my changing needs and abilities that go up and down with each treatment phase, and she must also find a way to live a rich life of her own. I am proud, and grateful, for how well she manages both.

Angela also asks Genevieve how she uses art to heal, and what other things people can do for themselves. Genevieve answers the questions like a pro. 

I have seen a number of things about the caregiver role, and I have to say that none of them expand the vision for what is possible the way Genevieve has done. I believe she is changing the conversation for the future as well. And for those who have cancer, it’s going to open your eyes in a good way to what your partner is going through. The result should be a more loving relationship for both of you.

You can find her video at the same link as mine, at https://egfr.lungevity.org/egfr/video-library.

Love,

Dann

Wallowing, Advocacy, and Waiting

Friends and Family,

There should be another stage of grief, the first stage, called wallowing. That’s what I was still doing when I wrote the last story. I’ve gotten past that now, and I’m again remembering just how fortunate I am to even be here. I’m looking to the future again.

We don’t have a clear direction yet, but we do have progress. We were also reminded of the importance of being your own advocate.

Monday morning the hospital scheduler called and said that my records had been sent out to the clinical trial sites and that I had a biopsy scheduled for early Wednesday. So far, so good, right?

I reviewed the MyChart note from my last oncologist appointment to see if I had missed anything. The note included an update from the lab with a FedEx tracking number for my blood biopsy, so I followed up on it. The number was faulty.

Genevieve and I talked over how to track down the problem in a big hospital system, then I left my nurse navigator a message and crossed my fingers. Without the biopsy results, we don’t know what treatment will work for me.

That afternoon the scheduler called to say that a diagnostic imaging tech had cancelled my liver biopsy because there was no order to stop my blood thinner before the procedure. It didn’t matter that I had already stopped it - the order had to be in the chart. By this point our stress levels were mounting, and all our “stay in the moment” mantras were failing.

The last time my cancer started to grow it spread like wildfire, and we are still traumatized by the memories. Now I’m off chemo, so the cancer is growing faster. I called my PCP’s office and gave my best impression of a hysterical patient with that story. She said she would fix it and call back.

Several tense hours went by before a different diagnostic imaging tech called to give instructions for the Friday biopsy. I told her I was holding out for Wednesday, then gave her my hysterical patient story. She took the call to action and called my PCP’s office,  got what she needed, then called me back with a Wednesday appointment. It took advocating for myself and one compassionate person in the right place to solve the problem and prevent a treatment delay.

Next, my nurse navigator called. The lab found my blood biopsy in a refrigerator and put it out for pickup with a new tracking number. My oncologist was notified of the error and the nurse navigator submitted the event for a critical incident review. Given the mistake had already happened, it’s the best outcome we could hope for. The sample arrived Wednesday, so we’ll have the results in a week.

Also on Wednesday, I had my liver biopsy. But just before it started, I learned that this was the diagnostic imaging tech that had been the barrier to my appointment. I calmly articulated the impact her actions could have had on my cancer and the stress they caused for Genevieve and me. She told me how busy she was. When the procedure was over, I was still under conscious sedation from a drug which causes you to forget most of the procedure. Still, I made sure to remember what came next. I stopped the transport person from wheeling me out of the room until I told the diagnostic imaging tech that I wished that she had used the time she spent canceling my Wednesday appointment to call my PCP’s office and solve the problem. She was still defensive, but she heard me. I can only hope she’ll think about it the next time she’s in that position.

It looks like at least another week before the blood and liver biopsies are in and we have all the trial information. I’ll keep you posted.

Love

Dann

Dodging a Bullet

Friends and Family,

It looks like we dodged another bullet. The fun never stops, does it?

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Last Tuesday, when we met with my radiologist before radiation treatment wrapped up, I asked one more time why I was having such difficulty breathing. He did everything he could to ignore the question, and even tried to blame it on anxiety, but this was a tug-of-war we weren’t’ going to lose. Finally, he said I should get a CT to see if I had a pulmonary embolism.

I had the CT last Friday. An hour after the scan I got a call from the resident who had been with the radiologist. He sounded rattled when he told me that I did have a pulmonary embolism, and that I should go straight to the ER to get started on blood thinners.

Of course it’s more complicated than that. Because of my cancer history and advanced age (slightly insulting), The ER doc wanted me to spend the night to get stabilized. After eight hours in the ER, I had my bed. Genevieve finally left the hospital at 2 AM.

We did learn a few ER tricks, however. Bring food, a cell phone charger, meds, and if you think you might spend the night, a change of clothes and a toothbrush. Lesson learned. We live close enough that Genevieve went home and got those things while we were waiting for the bed.

Because I had very minor pain in my calf they did an ultrasound on my legs, and discovered more blood clots. The treatment is the same, so it was just proof that I was in more of a mess than we thought.

The extremely fortunate part of all of this is that without getting the CT scan, we would have been sitting on a plane for six hours, which could have been fatal with blood clots. Of course, it’s not just good luck. If we had not demanded that the radiologist figure out what was wrong, we would have been on that plane, and Genevieve might have been writing the next blog.

The best explanation for why I got the blood clots came from my oncologist, Dr. Patel. I already knew that people with lung cancer (and it turns out cancers in general) get blood clots easily. But why now? Dr. Patel said that the steroids I have been taking since the onset of radiation may have been one last “blood thickener” that tipped me over the edge. Four days after starting steroids, the shortness of breath started.

It’s remarkable I could get blood clots anyway, since every day I take a low dose aspirin plus mega-doses of turmeric and cinnamon, which are all blood thinners. It’s a wonder I didn’t spring a leak like geyser if my skin was pricked. The combination probably kept me from getting a clot before now, but I’ve had to stop all of them while I take this medication.

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There was a wonderful bonus to the CT scan. While they were poking around for blood clots they also looked at the cancer. The cancer in my lymph nodes has shrunk a little, and all of the nodes in my lungs are the same or slightly smaller! How can this cancer be shrinking, when it has been growing for the last few months? I give credit to all of you, and of course Genevieve, for your love, thoughts and prayers. Thank you so much! This doesn’t change what we need to do next, but it makes the waiting far easier when we know the cancer isn’t running rampant while we wait for the biopsy results. We should know more in a couple weeks.

Love,

Dann

Free Book, Panting, Patience, and Glowing in the Dark

Friends and Family,

I’ll try to be brief, but there’s a lot to tell you.

Four weeks after the decision to do tissue and blood biopsies was made, today my tissue sample made it to the Tempus lab for diagnostics. Bureaucracy and dropping the ball are the only explanations. Without my terrier self-advocacy, the sample would still be at the hospital. Teeth may have been bared once or twice, but I kept the growl low.

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The question is always how far I can push before it becomes counterproductive. I think I toed right up to the line. In ten to fourteen days we’ll get the results, I’ll learn what mutations I have, and we can make a treatment plan. In short, the waiting coupled with frustration has not been easy, but at least there’s light at the end of the tunnel.

 Yesterday I finished my tenth and final radiation treatment to my spine. This stuff fascinates me. The piece above my head shoots radiation through a template targeted to my spine. The template was aligned by lasers to my tattoos. I got zapped for about thirty seconds, and then there were three more short bursts. Each burst was a more narrowly focused beam designed to get through thicker parts so there are no “cold spots” in the radiation pattern. See how the machine is mounted on the wall? After the first part is done, the entire machine rotated under me, and then I was zapped from underneath just the same. Didn’t feel a thing. After the last session, I was invited to celebrate by ringing the gong.

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I didn’t expect the gong to mean much to me, but I got choked up. It’s a rite of passage. We just made it through one more step in this incredible journey, and I’m still standing. In fact, at this point I’m positively glowing.

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The radiation keeps killing cancer cells for a couple weeks after finishing treatment, so I’m hoping for more complete pain relief by then. If not, I’ll have to wait three months to try again.   

 There’s also the heavy breathing – and don’t go there– I’m only talking about shortness of breath. It takes a couple of minutes to stop breathing hard after taking ten steps from the bathroom to my bed at night, so something has to change. It began around when radiation started, but the radiologist doesn’t think radiation is the cause because they avoided 95% of my lungs and no other symptoms line up. Unless the insurance company has their way, I’ll have a CT tomorrow to see if a blood clot in my lungs (embolism) is the cause. We don’t have a Plan B yet.

 Let’s move on to the happy stuff! In recognition of World Lung Cancer Day this Sunday, August 1st, I will be giving away FREE digital copies of my book. I can remind you that lung cancer kills more people than the next three leading cancers (breast, ovarian, and prostate) combined, that 60-65% of all new lung cancer diagnoses are among people who have never smoked or are former smokers, and that lung cancer receives just one-fifth of the research funding of breast cancer, but there’s a better story to tell. Chris Draft, the most extraordinary lung cancer advocate the world has ever seen, met with our local survivor group in Portland last month for the #WhiteRibbonProject. He was passionate in saying that the best thing we can do is let people realize that people with lung cancer are just like them. So that’s what I want to do, and I’m asking for your help. Send me a picture of YOU, my cancer survivor friend, living your life of joy. Include friends, family, and pets if you like. I’ll post every one of them, so people can see the faces of lung cancer look just like they do. Just include your first name, cancer stage, and year diagnosed. Send your pics to dannthrives@gmail.com.

Back to the free book. Follow this link on August 1st and the book is yours: Second Wind: Thriving With Cancer  I hope the book speaks to you, regardless of cancer.

 Love,

Dann

The Streak is Back On!

Friends and Family,

My six and a half year streak on Tagrisso is not over! Genevieve and I have never been more grateful for Dr. Patel, my UCSD oncologist, and for his expertise. If we had listened to my general oncologist, we would have abandoned ship and been ready to start a new one-size-fits-all treatment, plus get radiation. Instead, no changes are needed for now. We’re doing the happy dance!

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When we met online today Dr. Patel looked at the same diagnostic images and the same radiologist report that made it seem like my entire body was being taken over by cancer, and said it looked encouraging to him. What is going on here???

The area of most concern to us was the lymph nodes. Dr. Patel thinks there is a strong chance that the lymph node “hot spots” are my body’s immune response to the COVID vaccine, and not cancer at all. This is important info for all women and all of my cancer friends to know: He sees a lot of inflamed lymph nodes in PET scans and mammograms after COVID vaccination, so he is giving anyone with inflamed lymph nodes a “Mulligan” (a do-over). If your oncologist wants to make treatment changes based on enlarged lymph nodes, it might be worth reconsidering. Dr. Patel expects it to take four to six months after vaccination for anyone’s body to adapt and the lymph nodes to settle down to normal.  

He noted that the tumors in my lungs hadn’t grown at all, even if they looked “hot.” In fact, one of my tumors had shrunk! I’m still scratching my head over that one. How does that happen, six and a half years after starting a treatment?

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That only leaves the “hot spot” at the break in my rib. He didn’t address cause, though Genevieve and I wonder if inflammation in a healing bone is typical. He said we should avoid radiation unless I need it for pain relief, which I don’t.

This is a reminder about slowing things down and getting help from a lung cancer specialist. All doctors are not good at all things. If we had not gotten the second opinion, I would have given up on the most successful, easy-to-tolerate treatment options I could hope for long before I needed to, which likely would have shortened my life. 

I often tell people this, but all of the ultra-long-term survivors I know that are still in active treatment are strong advocates for themselves, and all have been in at least one clinical trial.

Thank you to every one of you who has reached out to Genevieve and me to offer your love and support. I am grateful beyond words. Doing the advocacy part is important, but without you I wouldn’t still be here. Love matters.

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Genevieve and I are beside ourselves with excitement at this turn of events. My head is spinning and I’m exhausted. What a ride this has been.

Love,

Dann

Lung Cancer Research Funding

Friends and Family,

It’s Lung Cancer Awareness Month, so I wanted to highlight the eye-popping discrepancy in how our federal research dollars are allocated for lung cancer compared to other cancers. Why does this imbalance continue year after year?

I made this video a year ago, and used statistics gathered from the Lung Cancer Alliance website, which is now the Go2 Foundation.

Love,

Dann

Lung Cancer's Other Silent Killer

Friends and Family,

I volunteered to participate in a research project to find out what works and what doesn’t with clinical trials. While I normally focus on how Genevieve and I are facing our challenges through this eventful cancer journey, these clinical trial questions lit a fire under me about an area that almost never gets talked about. It’s the cost of treatment, even in a “free” clinical trial, where the drug itself is free. It’s time to make some noise, because this impacts almost every one of us.

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Through my own trial I’ve learned about how costs of care during a trial get distributed. While the trial sponsor covers the cost of expenses that are specific to the trial, insurance companies pay for any treatment that is considered Standard of Care. But what is Standard of Care? It doesn’t seem to me that it would be Standard of Care to get a CT scan every six weeks, or have an echocardiogram, which I had never had before. Regardless, my insurance company footed the bill. Not all of it, of course. I have a co-pay. In the past five years of trial participation, these co-pays have totaled over $25,000. While medical providers will work with people based on ability to pay, most end up on payment plans that will extend beyond their lifetime.

And then there is the cost of travel to the trial. My trial is in San Diego, a thousand miles from my Portland home. Fortunately, travel schedules line up so that we can fly out at 6:30 AM, and return on a 6:30 PM flight. It was a very tight squeeze to get all the testing done in one day, until I proposed that I get my CT scans in Portland, before coming to San Diego. We are fortunate that this has worked, or we would have had to add hotel expenses for the last 38 flights. As it is, air fare, ground transportation, parking, and meals have totaled over $22,000. Imagine if I had to travel further from home, like two of my friends who live nearby in Vancouver, Washington, who were both in a trial at MD Anderson in Texas. Each trip required a day to get there, one to three days at the trial center, and a day to fly home. I imagine that their total cost was many times what Genevieve and I have paid.

By the way, I advocated to have my travel expenses paid for by the trial (the clinic), my insurance company, and the trial sponsor (drug company), and none would cover any of the costs.

Combined, we have spent almost $10,000 per year to participate in a “free” clinical trial. We are extremely fortunate that we are able to afford these expenses. If not, I would no longer be alive.

To put this in perspective, there was a recent USA Today article about a survey that showed that 40% of Americans couldn’t afford to cover a $400 unexpected expense. How would a cancer survivor, who most often has had to unexpectedly stop working due to their health, pay $10,000 per year?

Ignoring the clinical trial for a moment, the cost of cancer treatment is an extraordinary financial burden, even with insurance.

Last Summer, Genevieve and I went to the LUNGevity HOPE Summit. (This is an awe-inspiring event for any survivor or caregiver, by the way. Learn more HERE.) During the Summit, I led some small-group sessions discussing the biggest non-health challenges to dealing with cancer. Finances were the number one concern, and by a wide margin. Several had declared bankruptcy, or were close to it, including a friend of mine who had never talked about it.

In short, we have another silent killer on the loose besides lung cancer – one that even people with lung cancer, who are used to dealing with stigma every day, won’t even say out loud. It’s the cost of treatment. And the cost of travel to get to treatment. And the lost wages due to the illness. I have no doubt that there are people who refuse treatment, simply because they do not want to place that financial burden on their families. This breaks my heart.

While we need to solve this problem, I couldn’t very well gnash my teeth and whine about this without being accountable in some way. My response was to search the web for every form of financial assistance for people with lung cancer. As a result, I have added a new page to my blog. Click on the tab that says “Financial Resources” to see what is available.

And now it’s your turn. Make some noise about the high cost of treatment for cancer survivors, any way you can. If we are successful, more people will live longer, and have more to live for.

Love,

Dann

The Lung Love Run/Walk is Just Around the Corner

Friends and Family,

It’s almost that time! Help fight lung cancer by joining Genevieve and me and our team, Live Lung and Prosper, at the Lung Love Run/Walk on Saturday, June 22nd in Laurelhurst Park. The event is 5K, and as the name implies, you can run or walk. (A few people have been known to stop after two of the three laps around the park, so anything goes.)

 You also have the option of donating. We are 1/3 the way toward our team goal of raising $2,000. Every dollar makes a difference for lung cancer research, advocacy, and support of our growing ranks of survivors!

 Here’s the page to join: https://lungloverunwalkportland.yournextstepisthecure.org/

 Here’s the page to donate: https://lungloverunwalkportland.yournextstepisthecure.org/Dann?tab=MyPage

 Hoping you’ll participate, one way or another!

 Love,

 Dann

Fight Lung Cancer With One Finger

Friends and Family,

There are two easy ways that you can help fight lung cancer using just one finger, and I’m going to make it even easier. Just click the links. Here they are:

1) In 2009, Congress allocated $20M per year for lung cancer research. It has never been close to that amount since. To sign the petition to restore funding, take action here. I have lobbied for this same $20M in Washington for the past three years. You can do it without all the travel. THE DEADLINE FOR SIGNATURES IS MARCH 26TH.

2) The Lung Love Run/Walk Portland is coming up on Saturday, June 22nd at Laurelhurst Park. To join my team, Live Lung and Prosper, to donate, or form your own team, click here. Funds for this event will go to cancer research and advocacy through Lung Cancer Alliance, the organization I support in these efforts.

You can do all this with one finger if you’re a hunt ‘n pecker.

Let’s kick some cancer booty!

Love,

Dann

Another Trip to San Diego, but Things are Changing

Friends and Family, 

Since Genevieve and I first started going to San Diego for my clinical trial, a lot has changed. UCSD has built three new buildings and a parking structure on the campus. The city has widened the roads on two sides of the campus, and the bones of a new elevated trolley have appeared. We have been through three different nurses assigned to work with Dr. Patel, and this is our sixth clinical trial coordinator. In fact, the only people that have remained constant have been Dr. Patel, and the woman at the Budget rental car window that we see every trip.

There is one other thing that hasn’t changed, and that is my scan results. 50 months after starting this trial, we are still overwhelmed every time we make the 1,000 mile flight and hear the words, “there is no change.” This gift of 40 “bonus” months beyond the average  (and counting!) means that there is more time for the next new treatment that could extend my life to be developed. I may just outrun this cancer yet!

There is one other change, and it’s a good one. I outlasted my clinical trial! While I will still keep going to San Diego for my care, and my daily Tagrisso pill will remain free for as long as it works for me, they are no longer collecting data. So, starting with this last trip, there are no more echocardiograms and EKGs every three months, and I no longer have to get radioactive contrast die injected in my veins every time I get a CT scan. HUGE relief on that one. Things couldn’t get much easier! We have an unbelievable amount to be grateful for.

I also wanted to tell you about my book giveaway. In honor of Lung Cancer Awareness Month, I gave away the digital version of my book to anyone who ordered one on Amazon in the last three days of November. That random number of books given away turned out to be 433. And while I was quite happy to give away that many, the significance of the number didn’t hit me until I shared it with some blogger friends. They immediately asked me if I gave away that number on purpose, since 433 is the number of people that die every day of lung cancer. You will find a lot of social media posts with #433 or #433aday. Amazing! 

One more thing to share, and that’s my next new Thriving With Cancer Minute on You Tube.  Here’s the link: https://youtu.be/3_TmzkflEBs

Thriving With Cancer Minute 3.png

Hoping all is going well with you, and you find much to be grateful for.

Love,

Dann

Politics can get Very Uncomfortable

Friends and Family,

 Sometimes, you have to take a stand. It happened for me when I learned that the Oregon Health Plan (the states’ affordable care/Medicaid program) was holding a public hearing to consider banning payment for cancer genetic testing. How could they do such a thing? To deny testing meant to deny access to any targeted therapies. Why should those with limited means be limited to the same treatment options that have been around for decades? This is not acceptable!

 I coordinated with LUNGevity and Caring Ambassadors, skipped work last Thursday, and showed up to testify. I’m so very glad I did.

 The review committee started with their own discussion, where it became clear that the chairman thought such testing was a waste of resources. He also clarified that this proposal would ban payment for most, but not all, genetic testing. Representatives from drug companies, testing companies, advocacy groups, and health care systems all testified in strong support of testing. The committee chair was not impressed.  

When all the professionals were done talking, I was the final speaker. First, I read the testimony of Jacque, a 32 year-old survivor friend who couldn’t be there. I could barely hold it together – actually, I didn’t – while I read of her six-year battle, and how she wouldn’t be alive without the genetic testing that has opened the door for her to have had two separate treatments with targeted therapies.

 Next, I shared a brief version of my own twelve-year story. I shared the highs, the lows, the fears… and a lot of my own tears. I told them that, without genetic testing and then targeted therapy, they would have been talking to my widow. I am alive today because of two separate targeted therapies, which were only available after genetic testing.

 Three of the four committee members were clearly moved, but the committee chair wouldn’t (couldn’t?) make eye contact with me. One member had flash cards to warn speakers when their time was running out, but he never lifted a card, even after I continued telling my story after my time had expired.

 When I finished, there was an awkward silence. The chair didn’t say another negative word about testing. The committee fumbled around for a bit, unwilling to vote to ban payment. Finally, they passed a resolution to table the topic until they had more data. I’m calling this a victory! It would have been next to impossible to overturn a rule once it is in place.

 When they were finished with the vote, all the people who had spoken, and a few others who hadn’t, gathered outside the committee room. Most of them came up to me, one by one, to tell me that they thought that the ban would have passed if I hadn’t shared Jacque’s and my stories. Science is one thing: putting a human face on the discussion was entirely another matter.

 I have seen the same responsiveness when lobbying in Washington, DC. Our elected representatives are far more receptive when you share your story than if you only offer statistics.

 If your passion is lung cancer, I hope you share your story with anyone who will listen. And if your passion is some other cause, share the personal side of that, too. This has been a great reminder for me that  in the end, we’re all human, and humanity is what we respond to. That is why I continue to share so much of myself with you, no matter how uncomfortable it is. It still brings us closer together.

 Hoping your life is uncomfortable… in a good way.

 Love,

 Dann

The 5K Walk that Took Us 2,400 Miles Away

Friends and Family,

A month ago, we had the fourth annual Lung Love Run/Walk in Portland. Our group did us proud on this beautiful day, and we were one of the top fund-raising teams. For all of you who donated to help lobby for lung cancer research, thank you! This year’s event raised $50,000, the most ever! Here’s this year’s amazing group, Team Live Lung and Prosper:

Biggie, Jai Dev, Rebbecca, Dann, Genevieve, Jaidy, Steve, Violet, and Cody*

Biggie, Jai Dev, Rebbecca, Dann, Genevieve, Jaidy, Steve, Violet, and Cody*

Coincidentally, the funds raised went to almost immediate use when we had the National Advocacy Summit a couple weeks ago. 120 survivors, caregivers, and health care professionals “stormed the hill” to lobby Congress. Our friends Dawn and Greg were with us, representing the State of Washington.

Dann, Genevieve, Dawn, Greg

Dann, Genevieve, Dawn, Greg

Before we got started, Rep. Rick Nolan from Minnesota, who has been a co-chair of the Lung Cancer Caucus for many years, kicked off the day of lobbying with a sobering thought. “If you don’t show up in Washington, they think one of two things. One: You don’t exist. Far worse is number two: They know you exist, but think you don’t care.”

Rep. Rick Nolan

Rep. Rick Nolan

Yowza. This is why we need to keep showing up in Washington. They have to know how critical this is.

One of my favorite parts was meeting with the congresswoman from our district, Rep. Suzanne Bonamici. This is the third time I have lobbied in DC (second time for Genevieve), and each time both she and her health care policy staff person have met with us. Each time she has been gracious and welcoming, asking if there is anything else that she can do. You can understand why she is more engaged than most: Her mother, at almost ninety years old, and is a lung cancer survivor. But there’s more. Last fall,  her stepfather was diagnosed with lung cancer, and died just months later. You can read more about her story HERE.

On our last trip, I gave her one of my books to give to her mother. This time, she thanked me for the book, and told me that her mother is reading it. This time I asked Rep. Bonamici if she would consider a leadership role in the Lung Cancer Caucus, since both co-chairs are resigning after this year. Just a couple of minutes after asking her, Laurie Ambrose-Felton, the Lung Cancer Alliance CEO and President, crashed our meeting and asked her the same thing!

Greg, Dawn, Genevieve, Dann, Rep. Bonamici

Greg, Dawn, Genevieve, Dann, Rep. Bonamici

Other than Rep. Bonamici, we met with staff with health care portfolios for our Oregon senators and congressmen/women. You may be surprised to learn that Washington is being run not just by the elder statesmen/women that we elect, but mostly by energetic twenty-somethings that do all the research for them. It’s a little scary, until you see how smart and committed they are. Some wouldn’t let us take their pictures because “I’m not the face of this office,” but all were extraordinarily receptive and compassionate. Here are the ones we could snap:

Alexa Damis-Wulff of Sen. Jeff Merkley's office with Dann and Genevieve

Alexa Damis-Wulff of Sen. Jeff Merkley's office with Dann and Genevieve

Rina Wulfing showing us the great view from Rep. Peter DeFazio's office! 

Rina Wulfing showing us the great view from Rep. Peter DeFazio's office! 

Nolan Ahern: Every day is Bring Your Dog to Work Day in Rep. Greg Walden's Office!

Nolan Ahern: Every day is Bring Your Dog to Work Day in Rep. Greg Walden's Office!

While having direct impact on our national government is heady stuff, there were also a few things I wasn’t thrilled about. First, we weren’t asking for enough! Asking for $6 million is NOTHING in the national budget! That is less than two pennies for every American, and yet 160,000 people a year die of lung cancer! Twice as many women die from lung cancer as breast cancer. Lung cancer kills more people than the next three leading cancers COMBINED. People are up in arms about the Opiate Epidemic, yet two and a half times as many people die every year from lung cancer. Why is lung cancer not considered an epidemic? Why are we asking so little, when the need is so great?

I’m also not happy that LCA doesn’t ask survivors what LCA’s agenda should be. While they claim to represent survivors, they don’t ask us what we think they should be doing. The short answer: MORE.

Finally, it’s not easy to make this trip for many people, and not just those with health challenges. LCA covered half of my flight, none of Genevieve’s, and only two of the three nights at the hotel. Most survivors have extraordinary health care expenses, and almost all have had to curtail work or stop working all together. LCA is asking people with financial hardships to foot their own bill. It’s no wonder the Western US was drastically underrepresented compared to the states within driving distance.

While I strongly believe in the process of getting involved with our national leaders, I’ll have to think a bit longer about whether I want to continue working with this group that is having far less impact than I think they should have.

The next Summit will be next March, right after a new Congress is sworn in. I’ll keep you posted about whether I'll be attending. If you have any thoughts about this, please share them with me.

Love,

Dann