Sunday, January 26, 2014
And There Goes the Hair...
The scarf was just Step 1... after 2 days of seeing my hair come out in clumps and feeling the itchiness under my scarves, I realized it was time to just do away with it. Friday night we had dinner at Michele and Bart's and I asked her if she could help a girlfriend out. Michele has been cutting Bart's hair since the Navy days, so if anyone knows her way around a pair of clippers, it would be her. We finish up a lovely dinner and then head down to the basement. I guess a part of me feels sad - part of me understands that this is just part of the journey - a time to bond with my fellow cancer brothers and sisters. So here I am... with less hair than when I first entered this world.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Headwear
Well, it was bound to happen... this morning when I was toweling off after my shower, I noticed a more-than-usual sprinkling of hair on the shower floor. Hmmm.... I'm starting to shed like Mambo does in the spring! I bend over and shake my hair a bit, and sure enough, a small shower of hairs float down to the floor.
So today marks Day 1 of the 'Scarf Look'. I figure I may as well start getting used to it, and no sense leaving a trail of hairs wherever I go today. :-)
So today marks Day 1 of the 'Scarf Look'. I figure I may as well start getting used to it, and no sense leaving a trail of hairs wherever I go today. :-)
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Meltdown
I guess I was due for one at some point during all of this, and so last Thursday was my 'meltdown moment'.
I had gone in for a quick blood draw in the afternoon - they want to check my numbers every week to make sure my white blood cell, red blood cell, and platelet counts are in the 'happy' ranges. Mine were so happy that I got a sticker on my lab report. Those folks will try anything to keep the levity up in that place, so I have to admire them.
Nurse Tara has obviously been at this for some time. She is efficient, kind, compassionate, and knowledgeable. She has a bit of time to chat, so I take advantage of that and ask some questions...
I find out that even if this cancer goes away forever, there are still some residual effects that I will need to contend with for the rest of my life. Because of the removal of the lymph nodes, I can never have blood draws or blood pressures taken from my right arm again. I also learn that the 'cocktail' I'm on will have a cumulative effect....I may feel great now, but chances are good that I'll be feeling pretty lousy during the month of February. And then she asks if I've been given a 'portable vomit bag' yet? Um... no. Really? Off she goes and returns with a handy little bag and 3 masks that I'm to wear when I fly. Reality is going to suck.
Later that night, it's just me and the dogs hanging out at the house. Neil has a board meeting at the yacht club and won't be home until late. I keep thinking about all that Nurse Tara said and I can feel myself getting down. I open a lovely bottle of Syrah, curl up with Mambo on the couch, and treat myself to a small TV marathon of Downton Abbey episodes. By the time Neil gets home at 10:30, I'm a sobbing, mildly inebriated mess. So much for being Strong Like Bull.
The next morning, the sun comes up and my positive attitude returns. "F" You Cancer. You're not going to get me.
.
I had gone in for a quick blood draw in the afternoon - they want to check my numbers every week to make sure my white blood cell, red blood cell, and platelet counts are in the 'happy' ranges. Mine were so happy that I got a sticker on my lab report. Those folks will try anything to keep the levity up in that place, so I have to admire them.
Nurse Tara has obviously been at this for some time. She is efficient, kind, compassionate, and knowledgeable. She has a bit of time to chat, so I take advantage of that and ask some questions...
I find out that even if this cancer goes away forever, there are still some residual effects that I will need to contend with for the rest of my life. Because of the removal of the lymph nodes, I can never have blood draws or blood pressures taken from my right arm again. I also learn that the 'cocktail' I'm on will have a cumulative effect....I may feel great now, but chances are good that I'll be feeling pretty lousy during the month of February. And then she asks if I've been given a 'portable vomit bag' yet? Um... no. Really? Off she goes and returns with a handy little bag and 3 masks that I'm to wear when I fly. Reality is going to suck.
Later that night, it's just me and the dogs hanging out at the house. Neil has a board meeting at the yacht club and won't be home until late. I keep thinking about all that Nurse Tara said and I can feel myself getting down. I open a lovely bottle of Syrah, curl up with Mambo on the couch, and treat myself to a small TV marathon of Downton Abbey episodes. By the time Neil gets home at 10:30, I'm a sobbing, mildly inebriated mess. So much for being Strong Like Bull.
The next morning, the sun comes up and my positive attitude returns. "F" You Cancer. You're not going to get me.
.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
One down... Fifteen to go
Today was Day 1. Treatment Day. To say I wasn't scared out of my britches would be a lie. It's the fear of the unknown. Everyone can tell you their story, but to really know... you have to walk in their shoes. So here I go......
My appointment was at 8am. I think I'm the first one here, cuz it's really quiet. Actually, it's kind of nice. I check in with the nice lady at the front desk and she takes Neil and I back to the 'Infusion Waiting Area'. Nice. They have a bookcase there with lots of paperback books for us to read as well as magazines. There's also a coffee and snack area that is at our disposal. Everything is complimentary... they want to make sure we're as happy and comfy as possible. Neil and I both notice a flyer on the coffee table that is advertising for a free cooking class, put on by the resident nutritionist AND my very own Dr. Chemo! Seems Dr.-Easy-on-the-Eyes has also graduated from Le Cordon Bleu culinary school! Talk about your over-achiever. What the heck... sign us up!
We get called back by Nurse Wendy and as she sits us down and starts hauling a pile of plastic wrapped items from a cupboard, explains that she had breast cancer about 10 years ago, so she's been there. I feel bad that she's had to go through this, but also comforted by the news as well.
The first hurdle is to get the needle into the port -- but because I just had the port installed, everything is swollen and it's tough to figure out where to poke me. First, she gives me a shot of Lydicane to help numb the area -- so you're giving me a shot, so I don't feel the next shot? -- um, ok. Then she shows me this thing that looks like a great big thumb tack with a tube on on the backside. She presses all around to try and find the edges of the port so she can stick the thumbtack in the middle of it, but she's worried that she's missed. Her voice keeps going up in octaves as she's talking, and I can feel my hands getting clammy. She doesn't waste any time in calling over another nurse who quickly steps in and takes over. I glance up, and Neil is already standing out in the hallway, out of the way. In about 2 seconds, the second nurse has it in place and they are getting a good blood flow return, so they know they are "in". Okay, now I can start breathing again. They tell me that in the future this will be MUCH easier since the swelling will be down. Let's hope so!
Okay, now the fun can begin.. first up are 3 bags of steroid anti-nausea drugs. Welcome to the Big Guns. (Dexamethasone, Palonosetron [aka 'Aloxi'], and Fosaprepitant [aka 'Emend'] for you chemists out there)
After all of that, Nurse Wendy arrives with another nurse and they are carrying this large clear yellow bag that has 'Toxic' warning signs all over it. It looked like a huge Mr. Yuck bag. It's a safety precaution that all chemo drugs are confirmed by 2 nurses to make sure that the right drugs are going to the right patient. Cool. Everything checks out and we're set to begin....
My appointment was at 8am. I think I'm the first one here, cuz it's really quiet. Actually, it's kind of nice. I check in with the nice lady at the front desk and she takes Neil and I back to the 'Infusion Waiting Area'. Nice. They have a bookcase there with lots of paperback books for us to read as well as magazines. There's also a coffee and snack area that is at our disposal. Everything is complimentary... they want to make sure we're as happy and comfy as possible. Neil and I both notice a flyer on the coffee table that is advertising for a free cooking class, put on by the resident nutritionist AND my very own Dr. Chemo! Seems Dr.-Easy-on-the-Eyes has also graduated from Le Cordon Bleu culinary school! Talk about your over-achiever. What the heck... sign us up!
We get called back by Nurse Wendy and as she sits us down and starts hauling a pile of plastic wrapped items from a cupboard, explains that she had breast cancer about 10 years ago, so she's been there. I feel bad that she's had to go through this, but also comforted by the news as well.
The first hurdle is to get the needle into the port -- but because I just had the port installed, everything is swollen and it's tough to figure out where to poke me. First, she gives me a shot of Lydicane to help numb the area -- so you're giving me a shot, so I don't feel the next shot? -- um, ok. Then she shows me this thing that looks like a great big thumb tack with a tube on on the backside. She presses all around to try and find the edges of the port so she can stick the thumbtack in the middle of it, but she's worried that she's missed. Her voice keeps going up in octaves as she's talking, and I can feel my hands getting clammy. She doesn't waste any time in calling over another nurse who quickly steps in and takes over. I glance up, and Neil is already standing out in the hallway, out of the way. In about 2 seconds, the second nurse has it in place and they are getting a good blood flow return, so they know they are "in". Okay, now I can start breathing again. They tell me that in the future this will be MUCH easier since the swelling will be down. Let's hope so!
Okay, now the fun can begin.. first up are 3 bags of steroid anti-nausea drugs. Welcome to the Big Guns. (Dexamethasone, Palonosetron [aka 'Aloxi'], and Fosaprepitant [aka 'Emend'] for you chemists out there)
After all of that, Nurse Wendy arrives with another nurse and they are carrying this large clear yellow bag that has 'Toxic' warning signs all over it. It looked like a huge Mr. Yuck bag. It's a safety precaution that all chemo drugs are confirmed by 2 nurses to make sure that the right drugs are going to the right patient. Cool. Everything checks out and we're set to begin....
The first one in is the Adriamycine- this is some nasty shit. It's the one in the big red syringe in the photo above. The nurse stands behind me and manually administers it into the IV tubing and after every few milliliters, she tests to make sure she gets blood back -- to verify that the stuff is indeed still going direct to the vein and not into any tissue. Because apparently, if it touches any tissue, the tissue dies. Lovely. Well, I have my laptop on my lap and I'm answering emails and never even glance at the stuff. It's better that way.
Next up is the Cytoxin. A big clear bag that hangs on the IV tree and takes about 35 minutes to go in. After all that, I'm DONE! First chemo is in the books and I'm free to go.
Tomorrow I'll go back in for a real quick shot of Neulasta - this stuff tells my bones to crank up their production of white blood cells.
Neil brings me home and part of me keeps waiting for something to happen... anything... but really I just kind of feel fuzzy in the head. Like I've had one too many glasses of wine. I plug away at work for awhile and then take a short nap. I wake up feeling a bit better and work a little more. M2 (Michele Bodtke) comes over for a visit and brings some cheery yellow flowers and a bag full of yarn for me to take with me during my treatments. It will give me something rather mindless to do and I can knit watch caps (tuques) and give them away to cancer patients or give them to the Mission or something... it's a good way to give back to everyone that's been giving to me.
I check in with Pam and we arrange to meet up at the off-lead dog area and walk the dogs for a bit. We don our headlamps and head off into the wind and rain. The dogs are ON FIRE -- good Lord can Mambo and Murphy run. Mocha hangs back with Pam and I. None of the dogs have really left my side since I came home. I must smell really strange to them.
So here we are at the end of Day 1. Overall, I feel okay.. just tired, but I think that's just from the mental/emotional drain of the day. The steroids were supposed to make me wired, but all I want to do is go to bed, and I think that's probably a good thing. My friend, Bart, says that 'sleep is a weapon' and I believe it is. So I'll make myself a cup of herbal tea and head to bed and let the angels watch over me.
Good night World.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
The port is in place...
January 7, 2014
Is there any way to actually
look cute when you're going into surgery? Good grief.
Today was a small surgical procedure to have a 'port' installed in the left side of my chest... basically it's a small device (about the size of a plastic water bottle cap) with a small catheter (or tube) attached. The catheter is guided under my collarbone and fed into one of my larger veins that runs directly to the heart. The port sits just under my skin and will be used by the infusion nurses to administer the chemo, take blood draws, and anything else they think of where they need to 'tap into me'. Basically, it saves them having to stick needles in my arm every week… and you gotta love something that comes with an owner’s manual. J
The actual procedure went well. They didn’t put me “out” enough that they had to intubate me, but I was out enough that I don’t remember anything. Fine by me!
The funny part was when Dr. Kaufman went to talk to Neil after the surgery and asked him:
Dr. K: “does she work out a lot?”
Neil: “yes, why?”
Dr. K: “her chest muscles were so tough, I had a hard time getting through it… she’s going to be a little sore tomorrow.”
So here’s a shout out to the coaches at CrossFitX for helping to make me ‘Strong Like Bull’.
Today was a small surgical procedure to have a 'port' installed in the left side of my chest... basically it's a small device (about the size of a plastic water bottle cap) with a small catheter (or tube) attached. The catheter is guided under my collarbone and fed into one of my larger veins that runs directly to the heart. The port sits just under my skin and will be used by the infusion nurses to administer the chemo, take blood draws, and anything else they think of where they need to 'tap into me'. Basically, it saves them having to stick needles in my arm every week… and you gotta love something that comes with an owner’s manual. J
The actual procedure went well. They didn’t put me “out” enough that they had to intubate me, but I was out enough that I don’t remember anything. Fine by me!
The funny part was when Dr. Kaufman went to talk to Neil after the surgery and asked him:
Dr. K: “does she work out a lot?”
Neil: “yes, why?”
Dr. K: “her chest muscles were so tough, I had a hard time getting through it… she’s going to be a little sore tomorrow.”
So here’s a shout out to the coaches at CrossFitX for helping to make me ‘Strong Like Bull’.
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