Hail Mary

Zelda: It’s been:

• 7.5 years since Zach’s initial diagnosis of stage 4 prostate cancer.

• 16 months since the hormone therapy stopped working.

• 15 months since his last bike ride.

• 13 months since his 4th and final Taxotere chemo infusion & the onset of severe peripheral neuropathy.

• 9 months since he told his mom about his initial diagnosis.

• 8 months since his last cancer treatment (lutetium [Pluvicto] #3).

• 6 months since his foot & hernia surgeries.

• 1 month since his last major fall.

• 3 days since we got the genetic test results from his latest biopsy. 

So let's pick it up right there. The biopsy and genetic test was something of a “hail Mary” — a last-ditch effort to check the new cancer cells for gene mutations. And if they found some, potentially identify treatment options that would take advantage of those mutations. It was a long shot, a desperation play with a slim chance of success, but we had to try.

After 2 months of waiting, we finally got the results: No useful mutations in the cancer cells. 

Zach's primary oncologist is out of options, and he referred us to the folks at a prestigious medical school a couple hours away. Their first recommendation is a different kind of chemo, but that’s out of the question: Taxotere nearly killed Zach, and neither of us wants to see him go through that again.

It’s possible the university might have a clinical trial Zach could join, if he qualifies, and if he’s up for playing the guinea pig role again. Trials have a low rate of success (that’s why they’re trials, not approved therapies) and they often come with high degrees of discomfort, inconvenience, or mortality. One trial required a 3-day hospital stay and constant monitoring to check for potentially lethal side effects. Thank you, no.

From the beginning, the doctors told us they wouldn’t be able to cure Zach’s cancer. The goal, they said, was for Zach to do well with the existing therapies for as long as possible and to hold on — live long enough — for new therapies to possibly come online. 

And even though funding for scientific research has shriveled in recent months, we’ve held out hope that they’d discover new treatments to slow the progress of this disease — especially with the advances in AI and deep research. 

But at this point, Zach is without any form of cancer treatment, and his PSA levels are above 5,000, which suggests the disease is progressing. So how’s he responding to all this?

He’s tough.

He’s not eating much, getting seriously tired of my nagging him about food, and still losing weight. But he's managing to control his bone pain (or at least not complain about it out loud).

He's groovin' on the couch, watching lots of Hot Bench, and cheering for his favorite NFL teams, which both won this week. 

And above all, he’s still holding on. Still hopeful.