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Chris Schriever

First came the tumor; it’s the root of the issue.

Radiating the Tumor details my experiences living with acromegaly. The journey begins where the tumor regains its strength, working to take over a second time.

Within the posts I share my attempts to find peace of mind, to heal and my hopes for remission. I detail my thoughts and feelings throughout stereotactic radiation treatments. And continue as, well, one does in life.

Originally diagnosed with acromegaly due to a hormone producing pituitary macro-adenoma in early 2014, in May of 2014 I underwent transsphenoidal surgery at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland.

I was at the beginning, and I remain today, committed to fighting for peace of mind free from the pains of acromegaly. I am determined that this rare disease will not claim me as its victim.

For more information, kindly complete the contact form below.  Wishing you and yours the very best.

Copyright © 2017 . All rights reserved.


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Friday morning started much the same as the previous 13 treatment days. My alarm rang at 5:45am, 5:48am and again at 5:50am before I finally gave in and pulled myself from my warm and cozy bed.

As I showered I was thinking about all of the positive thoughts and prayers I had received. A story from a Facebook acromegaly support group friend stood out. This friend had traveled a similar road years earlier. In fact, his surgery was 13 years ago, with radiation following 2 years after. The results were successful. He now lives acromegaly free.

I stood there, water washing over me, picturing a cured life for myself–freed from routine blood draws, daily Somavert injections, 21-day Somatuline Depot injections and twice-weekly double-doses of nauseating Cabergoline. I imagined the time I would save running back and forth to doctors appointments and dealing with the specialty pharmacy in attempt to arrange refills and deliveries of the injectable medications.

If cured I might also see returned energy and stamina. And be freed from the aches associated with routine swelling in my joints. Maybe I’d even sleep through the night instead of being woken from the pain in my hands.

I drove off to Baltimore, Mr. P as my copilot, silently focused and hopeful.

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