I don't really feel like it yet. It'll probably happen a bit later if I
feel like it again. I'll just give a cancer update here. The bad news
is that I will be able to attend a New Year's party tonight. You'll see
why it's bad news.
I started the new chemo on October 22. It was...all right. This time around it was only marginally better than typical. The big difference with this protocol is that it also gives you a weird sensitivity to cold. You don't necessarily feel colder, but being outside in less than 20-degree weather makes the insides of your nostrils, face and under the fingernails hurt. For five days I couldn't even go into the fridge without special gloves let alone go outside. Of course, I wouldn't necessarily want to go outside anyway since I felt like shit anyway.
In addition to the liquid chemotherapy infusion, I took some disgusting pills every day. They tasted like shit, and made any liquid I took them with taste just as bad. It was a struggle to swallow eight of them a day, especially during the first five days when my senses of taste, smell and nausea were elevated. At least the place wasn't the vomitorium it usually is. Just a little less than normal.
I was to have another treatment on November 12, but as usual, I was neutropenic. I didn't have to wait a whole week. I had to wait TWO whole weeks. Two weeks. And it all started again on November 26th. I have been working with a pivot nurse that has really been able to help me out in terms of symptoms.She determined that I had "anticipatory nausea", which basically means that part of the nausea that I have was all in my head. I would dread it beforehand and cause it to happen. For example, one of the anti-puke pills they give you is called Zofran. When I am on treatment, I can't even say that name without gagging. To combat this, I was given Ativan. (Many of you know seem to know what this is. I am curious as to why.) It seemed to help, as this treatment was the "best poison session I've had" since the surgery. I only launched about 7-8 times, although the cold sensitivity seemed to linger.
I started the new chemo on October 22. It was...all right. This time around it was only marginally better than typical. The big difference with this protocol is that it also gives you a weird sensitivity to cold. You don't necessarily feel colder, but being outside in less than 20-degree weather makes the insides of your nostrils, face and under the fingernails hurt. For five days I couldn't even go into the fridge without special gloves let alone go outside. Of course, I wouldn't necessarily want to go outside anyway since I felt like shit anyway.
In addition to the liquid chemotherapy infusion, I took some disgusting pills every day. They tasted like shit, and made any liquid I took them with taste just as bad. It was a struggle to swallow eight of them a day, especially during the first five days when my senses of taste, smell and nausea were elevated. At least the place wasn't the vomitorium it usually is. Just a little less than normal.
I was to have another treatment on November 12, but as usual, I was neutropenic. I didn't have to wait a whole week. I had to wait TWO whole weeks. Two weeks. And it all started again on November 26th. I have been working with a pivot nurse that has really been able to help me out in terms of symptoms.She determined that I had "anticipatory nausea", which basically means that part of the nausea that I have was all in my head. I would dread it beforehand and cause it to happen. For example, one of the anti-puke pills they give you is called Zofran. When I am on treatment, I can't even say that name without gagging. To combat this, I was given Ativan. (Many of you know seem to know what this is. I am curious as to why.) It seemed to help, as this treatment was the "best poison session I've had" since the surgery. I only launched about 7-8 times, although the cold sensitivity seemed to linger.
Ciaran, my sister's husband and thoracic surgeon who consulted on my
surgery, called me a couple of weeks ago with some terrible news. He
was driving home on the highway when his younger brother Stephen called
from Toronto. At the beginning of November, he started having some
strange feelings in his neck and saw a doctor a couple of weeks later.
After running some tests that took another few days, they found that he
had lung cancer. And not just lung cancer, but lung cancer that spread
to his brain and spinal cord. A few days after that, Stephen lost the
ability to walk. A state trooper eventually pulled Ciaran over from
driving too slowly on the highway. I couldn't believe what I was
hearing.
Their 93-year-old mother lives in Montreal. Ciaran wasn't the greatest about calling regularly, but Stephen was. He hadn't called that week, and the old woman probably didn't know at that time. Devastating news like that tends to end the lives of people that age. Apparently she has already started trying to gather her family around, as though she knew she were on her last legs, despite the fact that she is one of the healthiest and most independent women her age that you would expect to find.
My third and final treatment was to take place on December 17, which would have meant missing my company Christmas party, Christmas in St-Hyacinthe with Julie and her family, and something else which I cannot recall right now. But as you may have guessed, I was neutropenic yet again. Maybe you detect a pattern here. Instead of pushing it one week (which would have meant spending Christmas here in my crappy apartment, sick, and missing it with my relatives), we decided to push it to today, New Year's Eve, which was fine since I originally didn't have any plans, and wasn't looking for anything anyway. I wouldn't need to do a pre-chemo blood test, since there was NO WAY I could still have problems after 2 more weeks, right? That's another way of saying, "What's the worst that could happen?"
Well, yesterday I decided to not listen to the oncologist. I went for a blood test anyway. Last night I got a call from the doc. Not from the secretary or pivot nurse, but the actual doc himself. Sure enough, I am neutropenic again. STILL. He seems to be grasping for straws, but he thinks that my bone marrow could have been damaged by, ironically, chemotherapy. Not a huge surprise there, though. It often does as much harm as good. Sometimes cancer therapy means trading in a disease for a chronic ailment. What he wants to do is to refer me to a radiation oncologist and get treatment that way until my PET scan, which may or may not be January 26. I don't know if they were successful in setting that date; I have to call today to find out. If I were unable to get the PET in January, I risked getting a fourth treatment because the doctor didn't want to have too much between my infusion and the PET. That doesn't appear to be a problem any more.
The medical oncologist has decided to consult with the radiation oncologist that I saw in October. Oh, yeah, I saw a radiation oncologist in October, forgot to mention that. Back then he idea was to possibly do chemo and radiation at the same time, but he decided that it would be best to see what the outcome of chemo was first and make a decision at that time. Well, it appears that now is the time for radiation, but we will have to see. I am not so sure.
So, as usual, I am in the dark as to my future. I will register for a class or two just in case things go well and I can do something with my life, a least for a little while. We'll see.
Happy New Year, I suppose.
Their 93-year-old mother lives in Montreal. Ciaran wasn't the greatest about calling regularly, but Stephen was. He hadn't called that week, and the old woman probably didn't know at that time. Devastating news like that tends to end the lives of people that age. Apparently she has already started trying to gather her family around, as though she knew she were on her last legs, despite the fact that she is one of the healthiest and most independent women her age that you would expect to find.
My third and final treatment was to take place on December 17, which would have meant missing my company Christmas party, Christmas in St-Hyacinthe with Julie and her family, and something else which I cannot recall right now. But as you may have guessed, I was neutropenic yet again. Maybe you detect a pattern here. Instead of pushing it one week (which would have meant spending Christmas here in my crappy apartment, sick, and missing it with my relatives), we decided to push it to today, New Year's Eve, which was fine since I originally didn't have any plans, and wasn't looking for anything anyway. I wouldn't need to do a pre-chemo blood test, since there was NO WAY I could still have problems after 2 more weeks, right? That's another way of saying, "What's the worst that could happen?"
Well, yesterday I decided to not listen to the oncologist. I went for a blood test anyway. Last night I got a call from the doc. Not from the secretary or pivot nurse, but the actual doc himself. Sure enough, I am neutropenic again. STILL. He seems to be grasping for straws, but he thinks that my bone marrow could have been damaged by, ironically, chemotherapy. Not a huge surprise there, though. It often does as much harm as good. Sometimes cancer therapy means trading in a disease for a chronic ailment. What he wants to do is to refer me to a radiation oncologist and get treatment that way until my PET scan, which may or may not be January 26. I don't know if they were successful in setting that date; I have to call today to find out. If I were unable to get the PET in January, I risked getting a fourth treatment because the doctor didn't want to have too much between my infusion and the PET. That doesn't appear to be a problem any more.
The medical oncologist has decided to consult with the radiation oncologist that I saw in October. Oh, yeah, I saw a radiation oncologist in October, forgot to mention that. Back then he idea was to possibly do chemo and radiation at the same time, but he decided that it would be best to see what the outcome of chemo was first and make a decision at that time. Well, it appears that now is the time for radiation, but we will have to see. I am not so sure.
So, as usual, I am in the dark as to my future. I will register for a class or two just in case things go well and I can do something with my life, a least for a little while. We'll see.
Happy New Year, I suppose.
Leave a comment