Today I’m flying from our snowbird base in Palm Springs to Minneapolis to be infused with a radioactive drug that targets prostate cancer.
Maybe I’ll develop atomic superpowers like the Incredible Hulk, Spider-Man, or Captain Atom.
I was thinking along those lines a few weeks ago when I was out for a walk through the University of Minnesota East Bank Campus. To warm up, I popped into a medical school building to take in a small exhibition exploring depictions of medicine in popular culture.
I’m content with just having cancer-fighting superpowers against my own cancer. At least, that’s the plan.
Delaying tactics
Every treatment I’ve had so far in my seven-year cancer journey is a delaying tactic. The effectiveness of my most recent treatment drug, Abiraterone, has been wearing off: the tumor marker (measurement) is rising, tumor is visible in some lymph nodes in PET/CT scans.
The longer I can hang on, the more likely more effective treatments come online.
A new treatment option
As part of a Phase 3 Clinical Trial I’ll be infused four times over 18 weeks with a drug called Lutetium-177 PSMA I&T. Lutetium-177 is a radioactive metal; PSMA selectively globs onto a protein on the surface of prostate cancer cells; I&T is a ligand, a molecule that bonds the lutetium to the PSMA. Thus tumor and radioactive metal are brought into close proximity.
The lutetium emits beta radiation which, on average, penetrates tissue to about a quarter of a millimeter. Its half life is about 6.6 days, so each dose should destroy a bunch of prostate cancer cells over a few weeks.
The high-energy beta particles decay into lower-energy gamma radiation which I’ll choose to believe passes harmlessly through my body. It can trigger airport radiation detectors up to two months after a treatment.
Excess drug is excreted over a few days. However, it does stick to tear and salivary glands. I accept the possibility of some permanent damage here: every treatment I’ve had damages something.
I’ll be content visualizing my cancer-killing superpower getting to work on the areas highlighted in PET/CT scans and micro-metastases too small to detect. It’s not a cure, but it may buy time. I’m grateful.
My melancholic ear worm today from Song for Guy by Elton John nudges me to be mindful. I find repetition calming, which probably explains my appreciation of Philip Glass.