I am a 57-year-old white American male infected with Hepatitis C. I am involved in a controlled medical research study by Roche Pharmaceuticals of an experimental Polymerase Inhibitor (RO5024048 also known as RG7128) drug therapy for the virus. This document is the story of my illness and the experience of treatment. My lovely and pretty damn wonderful wife will be contributing her take on the experience as well.

Monday, September 27, 2010

Less Anger, More Irritation

Today was more placid than the past several days. The book sale was over save for the cleanup. We made more money than we projected we would. Even though not nearly enough people showed up to help with the load out, it still managed to get done without driving any of us to total exhaustion. Close, but not quite all the way there.

The inner dialogue today was primarily one of irritation and disgust instead of rage and fury. That is a big win from my perspective. Even though none of the dialogue ever reaches spoken form to be judged by others hearing it, it still makes me feel better that, were it to slip out, it would not sound quite so insane as it would have this past weekend.

I still set up an appointment with the difficult Dr. K, my primary care guy to sort out the thyroid situation, as it could not hurt to know the score on those meds. He can check assorted plumbing as well so we will all know just how things look from the bottom up.

Still keeping the knives sequestered and the ammo separated from the firearms by stairs, but the trigger finger is much less itchy today…

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Anger Management Revisited

I have noticed that anger management issues are cropping up once again as my chemotherapy drags on. In an earlier post, I talked about the first bout of it I had several weeks into the RO5024048 study. It’s coming back again, though with a decidedly different twist. I am not having problems dealing directly with irritating people, but I am having extended arguments with them in my head. I think this could be attributed to one of two side effects or a third cause that is due my current circumstances.

The first would be depression. I am on Celexa and do not feel that I am depressed. I remember what I felt like before I started on the antidepressants and this doesn’t feel like that. I am a bit tenser than I have been and I have a theory about that I am going to check out this week. I noticed that once I started on levothyroxine for my low thyroid function, I became more jittery than I had been before. There was a bit of an adjustment period when I started on antidepressants but that had leveled out a bit by the time I started on the thyroid meds. I then noticed a definite step up in nervousness when I started taking the thyroid meds. I wonder if my thyroid is working better now and my dose is too high and whether the thyroid meds might be interacting with the antidepressants to make me a bit too edgy. I am calling my primary care doctor tomorrow to set up an appointment to test my thyroid hormone levels and perhaps adjust my dose.

The second possibility is the mental problems that can be caused by interferon and ribavirin themselves. It is a known side effect of this combination of drugs that can include irritability, depression, aggressive behavior, suicidal behavior and suicidal or homicidal thoughts. I have not been thinking about killing myself or anyone else. I have indeed thought about letting a few individuals know what I really think about their attitude and behavior and doing it in no uncertain terms. I have imagined these (admittedly one-sided) conversations in vivid detail. I have not, however, actually done any of this and I have not noticed that my behavior towards others has become more aggressive. I am trying to keep a close watch on this and am going to wait for the results of the thyroid tests and any dose adjustments before I address the issue of whether my antidepressants need to be adjusted.

I do note that my behavior has become more decisive, but no one has mentioned that I have been abusive or angry toward them, and I have been asking for feedback if that happens. I find that in situations start to degenerate into indecisive dithering, I am becoming more apt to step in and tell people what to do. This does not seem to me to fall under aggressive behavior in the way they mean in the side effects description, but I am definitely wary of my reactions and behavior.

The third possibility is that some of this is the result of a long hard seven days of dealing with our organization’s biggest event of the year. I have been working longer hours than usual, in more crowded and chaotic circumstances than usual, doing more stressful work than usual. There is nothing like dealing with the sort of obsessive, picky and occasionally barking mad people that populate a used book sale to drive stress levels to the stratosphere. I don’t believe it is entirely due to this circumstance that I am noticing my inner dialogue moving more to “that stupid little prick” sorts of expressions than usual, but it must have something to do with it.

So until I get to see all my doctors about my meds, the knives stay in the drawers and the guns and ammunition on separate floors of the house…

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Brain Fog x Fatigue = Say What?

The longer one takes interferon, the more significant the cognitive and memory deficits become. It’s a gradual process whose creeping nature means that you some definite “oh crap,” moments can pop up and catch you unawares. The farther into a task you go in any one day, the more like you are to be hit with a OC moment.

The organization I work for puts on a big used book sale every year. Picture a large airplane hanger with 550 banquet tables and 400,000 books open for sale for 5 days to a total of 12,000 customers. This requires some high level organization to pull off successfully, which is why the people who know us are annually astonished that we can do it.

It also means an early start the first day to make sure the logistics are all mapped out (literally) before the army of volunteers and the truckloads of tables and books start to arrive. I was there at 6:30 a.m. to mark out the floor of the hangar for table and book placement. This involves chalk, long tape measures and lots of walking; as in 20 trips up and down the 600 foot building and lots of side-to-side walking, and conferences, and rechecking, etc. By about 10:00 a.m, my dogs were barking and my brain was fogging. I noticed that I was having trouble reading my map and making calculations on my tape measure. I had to mark a 48-foot length of tables on the floor and I was standing at the 59 foot mark on my tape measure. I could not for the life of my figure out that 59 plus 48 equals 107 feet. I made enough wrong marks on the floor (which I did a bad job of scuffing out) that the volunteers had to track me down and make me show them where the damn tables were supposed to go. Suddenly, I just couldn’t think clearly. Taking a break helped a bit as did water, a snack and periodic rests, but once the brain fog started, the rest of the day was not a good one for our hero.

Twelve hours of sleep helped, but another long day the next day meant that I needed another ten hours of sleep today, a three hour nap in the afternoon and restricting myself to menial tasks around the house. Ten hours more tonight and I should be ready to exhaust myself again tomorrow.

Of course I will be most aware of my situation and be extra careful to rest adequately and not overextend myself in stressful situations, of course…

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Latest Viral Load Count – So Close…

When I checked the mailbox on the way home from work today, the envelope with my latest test results was there. The other two envelopes were my paycheck and my wife’s paycheck, but I didn’t register that until later. I wasn’t thinking about money. The only thing I was thinking about was whether those results would show my viral load was undetectable.

In situations like these (preparing to open the envelope bearing important news), you find that you’re still mentally a primitve creature. I’m not a god-botherer, as the Brits would say, but as I walked in the house I was chanting to myself, “Yes, this is it. Please be undetectable. Yes, this is the week. Come on, let’s see undetectable results.” I sat down at the kitchen table (okay, it was the table on the back porch but you get the picture), held the envelope, took a deep breath and opened it up.

My viral load numbers since the viral breakthrough have been: 40.000; 10,000; 5,000; 1,500; 990; 310 and 110 IU/ml. I was really hoping that I would get that final bump down but it didn’t quite happen. The number was 60 IU/ml. Undetectable on this test is 43. It’s been 13 weeks since I went back on full interferon dosing after the breakthrough and I’m not quite there yet. Seventeen of those little bits of viral DNA per milliliter are still hanging on in various nooks and crannies of my bloodstream.

Objectively, this is not the best news. The longer it takes you to reach undetectable levels the lower your percentage of having a sustained viral response at the end of your chemotherapy. But I’m going to keep the same attitude that I had at the beginning of the RO5024048 polymerase inhibitor trial just under ten months ago. Back then I refused to believe that I would not get the test drug and would end up in the placebo arm of the trial. Now, I refuse to believe that I will not be one of the 25% or so who obtain an SVR as slower responders.

I’m not as stubborn as my wife’s Irish ancestry allows her to be, but I have my own stubborn Polish fatalism going for me and I’m going to ride it to the finish. Primitive mentality yes, but it’s the only one I have.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Vacation In The Sierras

Vacationing while on chemotherapy for Hep C has a number of factors to take into consideration even for a short jaunt to the seaside. Adding a few days and several thousand feet of altitude to your relaxing getaway and a whole new set of issues get added to the mix. It is not really that difficult to arrange, but you can count on being sideswiped by an unknown effect or two graciously provided by your medical situation.

I just spent 5 days at Camp Mather in the Sierras of California. Camp Mather is a piece of property owned by the City of San Francisco that is located between Yosemite and Hetch-Hetchy Valley. It was acquired in the early twentieth century through a combination of political hardball, backroom dealing, convenient crafting of legal provisions, and the judicious application of money. It has about 75 cabins, a small lake, a pool, trails, stands of ponderosa pine and incense cedar, tent camping sites, bathhouses and a mess hall. Each cabin has a couple of beds, two plastic chairs, lights and a picnic table. It’s not tent camping, but is rustic enough to be only a step up. It is also at 4500 feet above sea level.

The specifics of the Hep C planning required bringing all three injectable drugs along in a cooler as my dosing schedule occurred during the vacation. I brought along a fully loaded daily drug-dosing carrier that had all my daily meds broken down into morning and evening doses. I also brought the ancillary drugs along in case I couldn’t sleep, became anxious or the pain in my muscles flared up.

The drug dosing all went swimmingly, but the thin air really did me in. The simple act of unloading our stuff out of the car and into the cabin and setting it up, let me gasping and exhausted. Nothing a quick nap didn’t fix, but it certainly caught me off guard. A bit of clear thinking on my part could have predicted this, but hey…
A trip to Glacier Point in Yosemite (one of the most spectacular views of granite domes and glacial valleys that exists in the USA), which is at the 7200-foot level, was even more daunting. As I walked up the slope to the overlook I was constantly being passed by fit, trim, healthy people in their 60s, 70s, and even tough old birds in their 80s. You nod cheerfully, gasp out a hello and plod along.

The thin air also makes keeping properly hydrated something you have to pay particular attention to. You have to drink water constantly to maintain your normal hydration level and stave off nausea and queasiness. Combine this with my walnut sized bladder and enlarged prostate and it’s not a pretty picture. For surviving the nights I have two words: gallon jug.

The third factor is really a combination of the first two. The thin air and tendency towards dehydration leave you even more susceptible to fatigue than usual. Don’t plan on cramming too much activity into your day or you will spend the next day doing nothing but sleeping.

This is not to say I did not have a good time. It was a delightful long weekend. We got together with old friends, met interesting new people, saw places we had never seen before, revisited old favorites and simply lounged around. Even the food was good. I will stand in a cafeteria line any time for turkey dinner, tri-tip steak or spaghetti with meat sauce. The staff and volunteers who keep the place going are great folks.

So by all means head out the mountains whether you are on chemo or not. Just prepare to be surprised by how you body reacts to your brain’s idea of a good time.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

It Is Chemotherapy; It Is Not “Treatment.”

The statistics speak for themselves. Over 4,000,000 people are credibly estimated to have Hepatitis C in the USA. The research money devoted to finding a cure for Hepatitis C is about $20 per infected individual. As a counter example, about 500,000 people have HIV/Aids in the USA. The research money devoted to finding a cure for Aids is $2700 per infected individual. You do the math, research money in the USA for Aids: $1,350,000,000; research money in the USA for Hepatitis C: $80,000,000; fourteen times the money for ¼ the total number of patients.

I do not begrudge the money granted to research on AIDS. I do not begrudge the money granted to research cancer or heart disease or tuberculosis or any other life-threatening disease. All these diseases merit serious study. I am interested in why Hep C is so underrepresented in the research funding arena. A few thoughts have been knocking around my head concerning that area.

The closest disease example I can think of to Hep C is HIV. Both groups of people infected by the particular disease are stigmatized to one extent or another. The AIDS community was painted from the very beginning as promiscuous, drug using homosexuals – hard to beat that for a stigma in American society. Hep C has been characterized as a disease of drug users and needle sharers, another big no-no in the USA. Yet after about 3 or 4 years the AIDS community was well organized, aggressive, public and effective in lobbying the drug companies and the FDA. It took a long time and a lot of hard work, but they got a lot of attention, a lot of money and some effective treatments leading to a high rate of long-term survivors. One of the reasons that they were effective was that they were a unified, identifiable community, stigmatized or no, that was able to leverage their movement for gay rights onto the movement for HIV research and treatment. The out of the closet gay community led the way in publicizing the disease and the need for research.

Individuals infected with Hep C are spread across wider segments of society. They are present in larger numbers across various sexual, gender and racial segments of society and a lot of them are still in the closet, as it were, regarding their disease. While there are advocacy groups, support groups, web sites, etc. There is not a tight, vocal, aggressive group lobbying loud and hard for additional funding. We need to have an out of the closet group of Hep C infected being in your face about the situation regarding research and treatment.

Another problem we have is that Hepatitis C patients undergo “treatment” or enter “standard of care” or are in a “study” or are utilizing “alternative therapies.” We need to call a spade a spade here. Hepatitis C is fought using chemotherapy, not “treatment.” Calling it what it truly is magnifies the significance of what people with Hep C are going through. Everyone knows someone who has undergone chemotherapy for breast cancer or colon cancer or leukemia or prostate cancer and they all understand how serious and invasive it is. By referring to Hep C treatment as treatment or Standard of Care or therapy diminishes the seriousness of the disease itself and the regimen used for attacking the virus. We need to stop minimizing it. What we go through is not treatment; it is hard-core chemotherapy with all the attendant problems and side effects.

To use myself as an example once again, I am 9 months into chemotherapy for Hepatitis C. I inject 3 drugs on a weekly basis: Pegasys, Procrit and Neupogen. I take four additional drugs on a daily basis: Ribavirin, Celexa, Levothyroxine and Folic Acid. I take three additional drugs on an as needed basis: Trazadone, Tramadol and Ativan. I am using 10 different drugs to attack the Hep C virus and to manage the side effects of the drugs that are attacking it. If that does not qualify as chemotherapy, what the hell does?

I have side effects ranging from nausea, fatigue, hair loss, muscle pain, joint pain, fevers, rashes, night sweats, low white blood counts, anemia and brain fog (because of the brain fog, I’m sure I have forgotten some of the side effects). If that array of side effects does not indicate I am undergoing chemotherapy, again, what the hell does?

It is time to call what we endure to fight the Hepatitis C virus what it is: Chemotherapy. It is invasive, disruptive and long lasting. In fact Hep C chemo generally lasts for 48 weeks. That is considerably longer than the chemo and radiation regimens for a number of cancers and other diseases. This is a serious process.

Our disease is serious and ultimately fatal, our method of attacking it is a long course of difficult chemotherapy. It does neither our disease, our treatment or ourselves as patients any favors to be less than open about the seriousness of our disease and the long, difficult and exhausting regimen of chemotherapy we undergo to fight it. Let’s do ourselves the justice of calling it what it is.

Thanks for listening to the rant. I am on vacation for the next week and will have more bile when I return...

Saturday, September 4, 2010

A Nice Soft Belly

It turns out that my status as a research study participant who morphed into a standard of care hepatology patient created a bit of a black hole in my medical records. Since all of my records from the study are confidential the hepatology department discovered that even though I was 12 weeks into treatment, they did not have basic paperwork on me. To solve this problem, they brought me in for a meeting with another nurse practitioner, TL, to gather the necessary data. Unfortunately, they did not tell me why I was meeting with her and thus I left my medical history documents at home.

When I arrived, they handed me a twelve page questionnaire detailing my medical history, most of which I can never remember in normal circumstances much less when my brain is in a fog. It worked out well enough in the end as TL and I went through it together and puzzled out the details. It was reassuring as well that when I recounted the timeline of my study participation, dose reductions and subsequent viral breakthrough, TL was firmly convinced that the dose reductions were indeed the cause of the breakthrough. It is powerful reinforcement to hear another experienced person express the opinion that it was not the intractability of the virus that caused the problem, but rather the variability in dosage dictated by the study protocols. It reinforces my optimism going forward through the rest of the treatment.

TL informed me that the rest of the treatment would total nine additional months after I became undetectable. Given the nine months I have been on meds, it will make a total of 18 months of interferon, ribavirin and the other assorted drugs I am taking. It is going to be an even longer grind than I assumed at the beginning of the process lo those many months ago.

My viral load is down to 110 IU/ml. after twelve weeks and I am hoping to see it go undetectable (under 47 IU/ml.) in my next test on the 10th of September. That would put the end of my treatment in June of 2011 when I turn 58. If it works and I am still undetectable six months after the end of treatment, I will have gone from diagnosed to cleared of the virus in three years. A dream perhaps, but it’s the one I am sticking with.

The meeting ended up with TL adding some additional monthly blood draws to my schedule and a brief physical exam. TL checked my legs for swelling, listened to my lungs, checked for any rashes and then palpated my stomach to check for ascites. “Oh, you have a nice soft belly,” commented TL, “no evidence of fluids at all.”

That is the best medical comment I may have ever received. From this point forward, anyone who comments on what is left of my spare tire is going to be told that my medical team has complimented me on my soft belly and far be it for anyone else to criticize its texture. In fact, I am patting it now as I finish this missive, so soft…

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Careful Planning Meets Chaos Theory

When Chaos Theory first became widely discussed years ago, there was a quick and dirty example of it that made the rounds: Chaos Theory can be illustrated as your typical day. You wake up in the morning with a certain plan or pattern for your day. You have places to be and tasks that need to be accomplished and you think that they can all fit into your day. Then your day happens.

As you get dressed, your shoelace breaks and you realize you don’t have any spares. You unthread one from another pair of shoes and go to make breakfast. You find that someone has used the last of the ground coffee and you have to grind some. There is no orange juice for your smoothie, so you have to hustle up some English muffins for breakfast. You find that the deli meat and tomato you were going to use for your lunch sandwich are gone and that means you have to buy something for lunch. All this combines to get you out the door a touch late and there is a bus stall on your way to work. You are late to work and that pushes back your first meeting. The meeting runs long. There is not enough time to complete the spreadsheet work you were going to do before you need to check in with the contractor working on the office. Lunch gets pushed back and you have to take additional time to go out and get food. All this shortens your afternoon and you absolutely have to be at little league practice (you’re the coach) or 16 kids will be standing around. Etc, Etc, Etc. By the end of the day, the resemblance to your morning plan may be only a passing one.

The same thing occurs when you attempt to plan your activities around your treatment regimen. Chaos has the same domino-like effect. It ambushed me just two days ago.

I had a fairly heavy day at work, packing and moving many boxes of books, rearranging inventory and working through floor plans for a 400,000-book sale. I felt all right when I got home, but I realized I had pushed it and decided to stay home instead of making a run to my studio. I knew that my wife worked late the next day and I could handle what I needed to do tomorrow evening. At 1:30 a.m. that night however, tired as I was, I was wide awake. I had to get some sleep and broke down and took a Trazadone. I took about an hour to work, so I managed to get 4 hours of sleep and woke up with a logy feeling from the sleeping pill. By the time I got home after work, I went right to bed and slept for 3 hours. I was still tired enough that I went to bed early and slept for 8 hours (as treatment veterans know, 8 hours sleep can be a miracle). I did not even manage to get much done at work much less do any of the small tasks I had hoped to accomplish in the evening. The lack of accomplishment that day affected the next and it is only now that I can plan to get what I wanted to do yesterday done tomorrow evening, if all goes well.

Planning is good, lists are good, notes to yourself to remember that you forget are good, but the best-laid plans can definitely be put paid by a bout of treatment-derived chaos…