Traveling to Mars in Here Be Dust

I recently learned about a clinical trial via Alicia Staley (@stales), one of the moderators at breast cancer social media (#bcsm). The trial, focused on hormone-positive breast cancer, will evaluate whether a study drug combined with hormonal therapy has better outcomes than hormonal therapy alone.

The website for the study includes a questionnaire to determine eligibility. I took it – and passed that first hurdle.

Suddenly I felt like an adventurer. A little nervous (I would want to know any risk factors and get as much other information as I could), but mostly I felt a pioneer spark. Clinical trials seek to break new ground; the National Institutes of Health (NIH) explains the process. The Center for Information and Study on Clinical Research Participation (CISCRP) provides this brief overview of clinical trials.

This particular trial will involve 550 participants at 150 sites around the world. It is a phase III trial, which means that the study drug has been taken by other participants under the supervision of medical professionals. Phase III is the last testing phase before a drug goes to market.

The center closest to me conducting the trial is a four-hour drive away, but it and my local cancer center belong to the same network of facilities. (The network I use has received national recognition for its participation in clinical trials.)

Passing the initial questionnaire energized me in a way I hadn’t expected – as in: I have the potential to donate my body to science while I’m still alive. (That should already be happening. Tumor samples serve as research tools. Pathology reports become aggregated in some studies; for example, the recent analysis of cancer and stem cell divisions.)

The idea of helping to test a new drug that could provide potential benefit – of putting my body on the front lines – made me feel like an explorer: “To boldly go where no one has gone before” (that is, except for those participants in phases I and II). Granted, a clinical trial doesn’t compare to something like the Mars One colony mission, but I would still be sending my body on a voyage. A medinaut, if you will.

Frankly, cancer has already sent my body on a voyage. It has exiled me from a world I once knew. I figure the least I can do is use my “travel” experience to help battle the beast in a broader context. The woman who called me to follow up is herself a 20-year cancer survivor. Drugs on which we’ve relied had gotten their starts in clinical trials.

I learned during that call that I did not pass the next qualification hurdle. But based on this brief experience and the way it made me feel, I will raise the issue of clinical trials with my oncologist. Because the same body that cancer dared to attack can be used to find more ways to attack it back.

Large size

In addition to my meditation doodles, I’ve been playing with food:

This beautiful cabbage leaf comes courtesy of our local, chemical-free farmer’s market. My desk lamp served as backlight. My tea mug served as the stand.

Add in tangerines: