I wrapped up the first of eight treatments yesterday morning, and without intending to tempt fate, it went pretty well. I'm exhausted, as those red blood cells the chemo attacks really do drive energy levels, but hope that will pass with plenty of rest throughout the weekend. I had a few nasty headaches, am a touch dehydrated, and have some general feelings of weirdness, but for the most part, I'm pleasantly surprised by my body's response.
Thanks as always for your encouragement and support!
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
It's gonna be a long hard drag, but we'll make it... ~Janis Joplin
This round of chemo is going to be a very different experience.
After a quick visit with my oncologist, I went to the infusion center. This is really a wonderful facility. The nurses and support staff are friendly, knowledgeable and efficient - all have years of experience as an infusion nurse, and several have overcome their own battles with cancer. The amenities are extensive and intended to make you feel at home as much as possible; comfy recliners, soft pillows and blankets straight out of the dryer, personal DVD players with a slew of movie options, a massage therapist, snacks and beverages. You start to think you could get used to this, that this isn't a bad way to spend a morning. Then they sling your chemo cocktail with a large orange 'BIOHAZARD' sticker up onto your rack, and suddenly you remember you're not here for the free sandwiches.
It's a bit like a visit to the twilight zone. Cuddled up in a warm blanket, taking in all the gorgeous scenery in Under the Tuscan Sun, I was thinking someone should offer me a glass of wine. But then a nasty headache sets in from the anti-nausea IV, and I can feel an uneasy warmth churning in my belly. The girl two seats over is getting a neck massage and I can see the therapist trying to inconspicuously dispose of the handfuls of hair that she's shedding, while a doctor makes a rare, interloper's visit to the nurse managed center to discuss a possible blood transfusion with the older women across the room. Despite all the lovely amenities, we're all here for an oxymoron, a poison that will strip us down to the most raw and vulnerable versions of ourselves, to hopefully saves our lives.
While my prior visits were short at the infusion center, this time around I'm receiving some portion of treatment 'in the big chair', with the remainder via the take-home infusion pump. Instead of 45 minutes, there's now a four hour layover - there's the usual accessing and flushing of the port, and blood tests to make sure I'm treatable. Then they load me up on various intravenous pre-meds for clotting and nausea (half hour), before delivering the full dose of the new drug, Oxaliplatin (2 hours). Finally, they hook me up to the take home pump and send me on my way until Wednesday morning when it comes off.
In each of the first two rounds last February and March, I received 100 ml of 5-FU over a fourteen day period. This time, for each of these eight rounds I'll receive 86 ml of the same drug, but in just two days. Fast and furious. Sure, I get a 12 day break until it starts again, but the more of these eight sessions I complete, the longer the recovery in between will take.
A mere 10 hours in now though, things are still OK and certainly manageable. I was warned of the headaches and insomnia from the anti nausea drugs, and am prepared with Tylenol and ambien. I quickly discovered that straight salt offers the same burning sensation in the mouth and throat that carbonated beverages do, so I'll be avoiding sodas and pretzels for the next three months. And, I've already left an oven mitt near the fridge, to avoid nueropathy and the intense, painful reaction to cold that it creates in the hands, fingers and feet.
We'll see what the next few days and sessions brings, but whatever it is, I hope to take it in stride.
After a quick visit with my oncologist, I went to the infusion center. This is really a wonderful facility. The nurses and support staff are friendly, knowledgeable and efficient - all have years of experience as an infusion nurse, and several have overcome their own battles with cancer. The amenities are extensive and intended to make you feel at home as much as possible; comfy recliners, soft pillows and blankets straight out of the dryer, personal DVD players with a slew of movie options, a massage therapist, snacks and beverages. You start to think you could get used to this, that this isn't a bad way to spend a morning. Then they sling your chemo cocktail with a large orange 'BIOHAZARD' sticker up onto your rack, and suddenly you remember you're not here for the free sandwiches.
It's a bit like a visit to the twilight zone. Cuddled up in a warm blanket, taking in all the gorgeous scenery in Under the Tuscan Sun, I was thinking someone should offer me a glass of wine. But then a nasty headache sets in from the anti-nausea IV, and I can feel an uneasy warmth churning in my belly. The girl two seats over is getting a neck massage and I can see the therapist trying to inconspicuously dispose of the handfuls of hair that she's shedding, while a doctor makes a rare, interloper's visit to the nurse managed center to discuss a possible blood transfusion with the older women across the room. Despite all the lovely amenities, we're all here for an oxymoron, a poison that will strip us down to the most raw and vulnerable versions of ourselves, to hopefully saves our lives.
While my prior visits were short at the infusion center, this time around I'm receiving some portion of treatment 'in the big chair', with the remainder via the take-home infusion pump. Instead of 45 minutes, there's now a four hour layover - there's the usual accessing and flushing of the port, and blood tests to make sure I'm treatable. Then they load me up on various intravenous pre-meds for clotting and nausea (half hour), before delivering the full dose of the new drug, Oxaliplatin (2 hours). Finally, they hook me up to the take home pump and send me on my way until Wednesday morning when it comes off.
In each of the first two rounds last February and March, I received 100 ml of 5-FU over a fourteen day period. This time, for each of these eight rounds I'll receive 86 ml of the same drug, but in just two days. Fast and furious. Sure, I get a 12 day break until it starts again, but the more of these eight sessions I complete, the longer the recovery in between will take.
A mere 10 hours in now though, things are still OK and certainly manageable. I was warned of the headaches and insomnia from the anti nausea drugs, and am prepared with Tylenol and ambien. I quickly discovered that straight salt offers the same burning sensation in the mouth and throat that carbonated beverages do, so I'll be avoiding sodas and pretzels for the next three months. And, I've already left an oven mitt near the fridge, to avoid nueropathy and the intense, painful reaction to cold that it creates in the hands, fingers and feet.
We'll see what the next few days and sessions brings, but whatever it is, I hope to take it in stride.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Rocky Mountain High
This weekend, we went up to the mountains with friends. Though the weather was variable and our picnic at the lake was rained out, the weekend as a whole was just what I needed to clear my head; a nap with Van while it drizzled outside, a few hours at the spa with the girls, a fabulous dinner courtesy of the guys, wine and laughter around the fire pit long after the kids were asleep. It was soothing, as time at altitude always is for me. Despite the physical and emotional trials the last few weeks, I'm feeling calm and ready for tomorrow.
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