We had an absolutely amazing time with the kids and grandkids over the weekend. It was everything we had hoped for. The little cousins all played so well together, enjoyed the pool at the hotel, and LOVED the gifts we got them. I was worried about it, because they were $100 each (three little girls,) but all of them are having a blast with them. It's called a LeapPad II and it was well worth the money.
After having nearly a month with no doctor appointments (the longest stretch since surgery in April,) I have a follow-up with my radiologist on Friday. I'm not looking forward to it, but it will be a quick appointment and should probably be my last with him. I think. I hope. heh heh We'll see.
Two weeks from today, I go see my plastic surgeon. THAT is an appointment that I am looking forward to. I absolutely love that doctor (and his nurse,) and it will be the appointment where they tell me when my exchange surgery will be. I'm thinking late May. I'm ready!
That's all I've got today. I'm feeling good and I'm content. Today, I am happy.
Showing posts with label doctor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label doctor. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
1826 Pills
I had a follow-up with my oncologist today. I was glad to have an appointment with a doctor, as weird as that sounds. I feel like I spent all summer fighting cancer. As soon as radiation was done, I started doing...nothing. I feel like I've just stopped fighting it, and that makes me very uneasy. I told her that, and she said that it is a very common feeling, and that I had to trust that we've done it. Easier said than done.
I asked if she would please do a blood draw to make sure my whites had gotten back to normal levels. I'm pretty sure they are, since I've had two colds and gotten rid of them both within three days, but I want to be sure. She was very nice about it and told me that they would be happy to. That means that I got to see Marie! She's my favorite chemo nurse! It was awesome to see her while feeling good, instead of in a chemo-induced stupor. I'll get the results of the blood tests tomorrow. ::fingers crossed::
I was also given the prescription for Tamoxifen. Because my cancer was the type that feeds on estrogen, this is a medication that decreases the estrogen in my body. I will take one pill per day for 5 years. 1825 pills. Wait. There is a leap-year in there. 1826 pills. I hope that the side effects are minimal.
There is a chance, if I was perimenopausal, that this drug will push me into menopause. Because of the "chemopause," (fake menopause brought on by chemotherapy,) I won't know for a while if this is the case. Oh goodie. More unknowns. I do know that I'm sick of hot flashes and the most common side effect of Tamoxifen is hot flashes. *sigh*
She was happy with my progress, and I am to go back and see her in three months. After that, I'll likely see her every six months for the next five years. I wish someone would do blood work or a scan and say, "Yes! You are cancer free!" but that isn't going to happen. I just have to trust that it's gone. I have to trust the doctors. I have to trust the medication. I have to trust the treatments. I have to trust God.
I'm working on it.
I asked if she would please do a blood draw to make sure my whites had gotten back to normal levels. I'm pretty sure they are, since I've had two colds and gotten rid of them both within three days, but I want to be sure. She was very nice about it and told me that they would be happy to. That means that I got to see Marie! She's my favorite chemo nurse! It was awesome to see her while feeling good, instead of in a chemo-induced stupor. I'll get the results of the blood tests tomorrow. ::fingers crossed::
I was also given the prescription for Tamoxifen. Because my cancer was the type that feeds on estrogen, this is a medication that decreases the estrogen in my body. I will take one pill per day for 5 years. 1825 pills. Wait. There is a leap-year in there. 1826 pills. I hope that the side effects are minimal.
There is a chance, if I was perimenopausal, that this drug will push me into menopause. Because of the "chemopause," (fake menopause brought on by chemotherapy,) I won't know for a while if this is the case. Oh goodie. More unknowns. I do know that I'm sick of hot flashes and the most common side effect of Tamoxifen is hot flashes. *sigh*
She was happy with my progress, and I am to go back and see her in three months. After that, I'll likely see her every six months for the next five years. I wish someone would do blood work or a scan and say, "Yes! You are cancer free!" but that isn't going to happen. I just have to trust that it's gone. I have to trust the doctors. I have to trust the medication. I have to trust the treatments. I have to trust God.
I'm working on it.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Getting On With My Life
Wow. I haven't posted for a long time. You're welcome. Busy season at work and changing back to my regular hours has found me pretty dang tired by the time I get home. Too tired to type? OK, that sounds pretty lame, but I honestly get home and do next to nothing.
Last weekend, I decided I wanted to go to St. Louis to see my aunt Charlene and her husband Pat. The last time we were there, we said we'd do it more often because it didn't take long to get there. That was 2 years ago. I told Kevin that I wasn't going to do that anymore. A year of facing your own mortality will make a person stop planning and start doing. It was a fun trip, although far too short. We're already talking about what we'll do the next time we go.
I found the suspicious lump in January and had a biopsy in February. I was diagnosed in March and had surgery in April. I got back to work in June. I finished chemo on September 19th and finished radiation on November 14th. I have follow up appointments happening now, but that's about it until the exchange surgery, which will be late May or early June. I should be super excited that I'm completing treatment, and I am happy, but I'm constantly unsettled.
I think that treatment kept me occupied. I was doing something. I was actively fighting cancer. Somehow it isn't as easy as it should be to accept, "OK. You're all better. Go on with your regularly scheduled life now." Your brain doesn't work like that. I want to ask, "So that's it?" but then again, I don't want to ask that at all.
My hair is finally growing back. It's not as long as a crew cut yet, but it's moved from "fuzz" to "hair." LOL The gray is a lot easier to see right now, but that's what hair color is for. I'm just looking forward to the day that I have to "fix my hair" to go somewhere. Silly but true.
I know some people see a therapist after cancer treatment. I've never considered myself the type to see someone like that, but I see why some do. I'm not even saying that I won't. I just haven't decided yet. I'm fine most of the time, but not all the time. I know I'll never be the same as before, but I'd like to get past the anxiety issues that sneak up on me at inopportune times.
It makes me VERY thankful for my Facebook group of friends who have gone through this with me. We are small enough to have gotten to know each other, but big enough that someone is on pretty much 24/7. If I can't sleep and it's 2 am and I feel the need to chat, someone is there. Someone to listen to me whine, or laugh at my jokes, or commiserate about the state of our skin after radiation. So far, that's all the therapy I need.
Overall, I am fine. I have been cancer-free since surgery in April. The chemo and radiation were both "just in case." That is a lot of ammo to go through just because there "might be a burglar out there somewhere," but it's what was advised, so that's what I did. And I'm fine. 2012 is a year that I'll be glad to put behind me, but I got through it.
Last weekend, I decided I wanted to go to St. Louis to see my aunt Charlene and her husband Pat. The last time we were there, we said we'd do it more often because it didn't take long to get there. That was 2 years ago. I told Kevin that I wasn't going to do that anymore. A year of facing your own mortality will make a person stop planning and start doing. It was a fun trip, although far too short. We're already talking about what we'll do the next time we go.
I found the suspicious lump in January and had a biopsy in February. I was diagnosed in March and had surgery in April. I got back to work in June. I finished chemo on September 19th and finished radiation on November 14th. I have follow up appointments happening now, but that's about it until the exchange surgery, which will be late May or early June. I should be super excited that I'm completing treatment, and I am happy, but I'm constantly unsettled.
I think that treatment kept me occupied. I was doing something. I was actively fighting cancer. Somehow it isn't as easy as it should be to accept, "OK. You're all better. Go on with your regularly scheduled life now." Your brain doesn't work like that. I want to ask, "So that's it?" but then again, I don't want to ask that at all.
My hair is finally growing back. It's not as long as a crew cut yet, but it's moved from "fuzz" to "hair." LOL The gray is a lot easier to see right now, but that's what hair color is for. I'm just looking forward to the day that I have to "fix my hair" to go somewhere. Silly but true.
I know some people see a therapist after cancer treatment. I've never considered myself the type to see someone like that, but I see why some do. I'm not even saying that I won't. I just haven't decided yet. I'm fine most of the time, but not all the time. I know I'll never be the same as before, but I'd like to get past the anxiety issues that sneak up on me at inopportune times.
It makes me VERY thankful for my Facebook group of friends who have gone through this with me. We are small enough to have gotten to know each other, but big enough that someone is on pretty much 24/7. If I can't sleep and it's 2 am and I feel the need to chat, someone is there. Someone to listen to me whine, or laugh at my jokes, or commiserate about the state of our skin after radiation. So far, that's all the therapy I need.
Overall, I am fine. I have been cancer-free since surgery in April. The chemo and radiation were both "just in case." That is a lot of ammo to go through just because there "might be a burglar out there somewhere," but it's what was advised, so that's what I did. And I'm fine. 2012 is a year that I'll be glad to put behind me, but I got through it.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
I've Been Deported
What an eventful day! I went to work for an hour and a half, and then headed to radiation. This was the first of five boosts. The boosts are going to be MUCH quicker than the regular radiation. They just do one blast to a concentrated area, instead of 6 blasts to various parts of my skin, chest wall, etc. Today was the lining-up day, and starting tomorrow, it will go quickly.
After that I drove around to the other side of the same hospital to get my port removed. I was so excited! I'm not sure why, but I think it's because it's just one more step toward being done. I got parked, in to the office, and checked in a full 10 minutes early. I was ready to get this show on the road!
The nurse took me in and took my vitals, and then told me to undress from the waist up and put on a gown. I couldn't wait. When she came back, the Dr. was following her, as was his medical student shadow. He started talking to the student about the fact that I was in active radiation, and they usually don't get to see patients until six months after. Then he asked if they could see the radiation site because he rarely gets to. Umm, sure! Why not? They talked as they viewed my raw skin. Come on, guys. Let's yank this port!
Finally, they were ready. The nurse placed a special pad on my lower abdomen. It was to ground me so the equipment wouldn't shock me. Very interesting. After that, the surgeon (I really like this guy) started disinfecting and then numbing the skin. It was time to start! He warned me that I'd feel a bit of pressure, and I could tell that he was slicing into me. This was getting interesting!
As he was cutting, I said, "So...are there any rules against you giving the port to me? I mean, can I have it?" He thought for a minute and then said, "Well, you paid for it. Sure you can have it." I got 17 kinds of excited! I have friends and workmates who thought I wouldn't ask, and now I'd asked. Not only that, he said YES!
As I was reveling in the fact that I was going to leave with port in hand, I noticed smoke rising from my chest, and I could smell burned flesh. Umm. Weird. "Is that normal?" I asked. He assured me that it was. I then lamented, "That makes me want bacon." By now, the whole room was laughing with me. I love it when an act comes together.
At one point during the procedure, the surgeon said, "Wow. This one is in there deep. I did a really good job with this." LOL That made me giggle. He was admiring his work, even as he dug it out of the scar tissue that had formed around it. Funny stuff. If it was so deep, that might explain why it didn't bother me, and some people complain about theirs.
Finally, it was done. He had stitched me up, leaving only a 1 1/2" scar:
After that I drove around to the other side of the same hospital to get my port removed. I was so excited! I'm not sure why, but I think it's because it's just one more step toward being done. I got parked, in to the office, and checked in a full 10 minutes early. I was ready to get this show on the road!
The nurse took me in and took my vitals, and then told me to undress from the waist up and put on a gown. I couldn't wait. When she came back, the Dr. was following her, as was his medical student shadow. He started talking to the student about the fact that I was in active radiation, and they usually don't get to see patients until six months after. Then he asked if they could see the radiation site because he rarely gets to. Umm, sure! Why not? They talked as they viewed my raw skin. Come on, guys. Let's yank this port!
Finally, they were ready. The nurse placed a special pad on my lower abdomen. It was to ground me so the equipment wouldn't shock me. Very interesting. After that, the surgeon (I really like this guy) started disinfecting and then numbing the skin. It was time to start! He warned me that I'd feel a bit of pressure, and I could tell that he was slicing into me. This was getting interesting!
As he was cutting, I said, "So...are there any rules against you giving the port to me? I mean, can I have it?" He thought for a minute and then said, "Well, you paid for it. Sure you can have it." I got 17 kinds of excited! I have friends and workmates who thought I wouldn't ask, and now I'd asked. Not only that, he said YES!
As I was reveling in the fact that I was going to leave with port in hand, I noticed smoke rising from my chest, and I could smell burned flesh. Umm. Weird. "Is that normal?" I asked. He assured me that it was. I then lamented, "That makes me want bacon." By now, the whole room was laughing with me. I love it when an act comes together.
At one point during the procedure, the surgeon said, "Wow. This one is in there deep. I did a really good job with this." LOL That made me giggle. He was admiring his work, even as he dug it out of the scar tissue that had formed around it. Funny stuff. If it was so deep, that might explain why it didn't bother me, and some people complain about theirs.
Finally, it was done. He had stitched me up, leaving only a 1 1/2" scar:
I think his stitching job was amazing. I can only see the knot at the left side of this picture. It will soon dissolve. He cut along the same scar that was created when he placed the port to begin with. The nurse offered to clean up the port for me so I could take it with me. Sweet! She brought it back wrapped in a towel and placed in a bio-hazard bag. Awesome! It sat on my desk all day:
I went back to work, grinning all the way. I had forgotten how nice it was to visit with a doctor that I like. I like all but one, but the one bad apple is the one that I'm forced to see once a week right now. Seeing the wonderful Dr. Shook was SO refreshing. I couldn't wait to tell my coworkers that I had my port with me! In fact, I called a couple of them on the way to work!
Why did I want it? I have several reasons. I am weird. They said I wouldn't ask. I am weird. It made me feel brave to ask. I'm weird. I want to freak people out with it. I'm weird. The nurse asked if I wanted her to cut off the catheter part (that went into my vein) and I said, "NO! Why? I paid for the whole thing!" She laughed and left it in tact.
I think I'll make a Christmas ornament out of it. After Christmas, I'll fashion it into something that can hang from my rear view mirror. What an awesome conversation piece that will be! Yup. It was part of my body for seven months. I'm not going to just toss it aside. Maybe I'll make a necklace out of it. Wanna see it? Do you? OK, here goes:
See? That's not gross! The circle in the middle of the purple part is where they stuck the needle for blood draws and for chemo. It can be pierced over and over and over. Such a cool little invention.
Monday, August 13, 2012
Brief Update (Complaint Warning)
When I finished the A/C portion of my chemo and started Taxol, I was under the impression that it would be easier. I got my first infusion on Thursday, and felt pretty darned good. Friday, I went to work, still feeling good and thought I had it made.
After work, I had to stop for my Neulasta shot (it brings up my white count and is always 24 hours after chemo) and noticed, by the time I got there, that I was VERY tired. Oh well. I felt enough better that I may have overdone things a bit, and the weekend was here for me to recover.
Saturday, I was shocked at how badly my bone hurt. Traditionally, Neulasta causes bone pain, but it's been very predictable for me. I get the shot on day 2, and have pretty rough bone pain for 1 or 1 1/2 days around day 6. This was much worse, and much sooner, so I did some research and realized that Taxol causes bone and joint pain, too. Great.
Sunday was even worse, and by the afternoon, a fever had joined the party. WooFreakinHoo. Kevin called the on-call doctor (why do I never get sick during office hours?) and she told him to give me Tylenol and see if that brings it down. It was too early for me to be nutropenic (super-low whites, which hospitalized me last time) from the chemo, so she was willing to give it time to work itself out.
The Tylenol slowly brought down the fever, which had reached 101.8 at it's highest. With the fever down, we avoided a trip to the ER and I was told to go get blood drawn this morning. I woke feeling like I'd been drug behind a horse through the desert like in an old western, but showered and managed to get to the car. It was one of the few times ever that I was sorry to drive a standard transmission. My legs were screaming.
My blood counts were OK, but they drew a couple more vials to do some cultures on. I was then told to go home and rest. I did, which I will regret greatly on payday, but the four hour nap sided with the fact that I needed it.
The chemocare page on Taxol says that the pain duration should be "a few days." I am truly hoping that means I'll be able to tell a marked difference in the morning. I have pain pills, but I'd rather not take them at work unless I have to. I'd also like to be able to walk without wincing (and sometimes crying.) Mom made dinner for my family tonight, or it would have been ramen for sure.
Here's to a better tomorrow.
After work, I had to stop for my Neulasta shot (it brings up my white count and is always 24 hours after chemo) and noticed, by the time I got there, that I was VERY tired. Oh well. I felt enough better that I may have overdone things a bit, and the weekend was here for me to recover.
Saturday, I was shocked at how badly my bone hurt. Traditionally, Neulasta causes bone pain, but it's been very predictable for me. I get the shot on day 2, and have pretty rough bone pain for 1 or 1 1/2 days around day 6. This was much worse, and much sooner, so I did some research and realized that Taxol causes bone and joint pain, too. Great.
Sunday was even worse, and by the afternoon, a fever had joined the party. WooFreakinHoo. Kevin called the on-call doctor (why do I never get sick during office hours?) and she told him to give me Tylenol and see if that brings it down. It was too early for me to be nutropenic (super-low whites, which hospitalized me last time) from the chemo, so she was willing to give it time to work itself out.
The Tylenol slowly brought down the fever, which had reached 101.8 at it's highest. With the fever down, we avoided a trip to the ER and I was told to go get blood drawn this morning. I woke feeling like I'd been drug behind a horse through the desert like in an old western, but showered and managed to get to the car. It was one of the few times ever that I was sorry to drive a standard transmission. My legs were screaming.
My blood counts were OK, but they drew a couple more vials to do some cultures on. I was then told to go home and rest. I did, which I will regret greatly on payday, but the four hour nap sided with the fact that I needed it.
The chemocare page on Taxol says that the pain duration should be "a few days." I am truly hoping that means I'll be able to tell a marked difference in the morning. I have pain pills, but I'd rather not take them at work unless I have to. I'd also like to be able to walk without wincing (and sometimes crying.) Mom made dinner for my family tonight, or it would have been ramen for sure.
Here's to a better tomorrow.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Halfway There, and Weird Thoughts
I'm sitting in "the chair," getting chemo treatment 4 of 8. I'll be halfway done with this part of the journey in about 2 hours. The drug that I start in 2 weeks is supposed to be much easier. I'll take easier. Although, once she got my headaches and sleeplessness under control, I can't say I have all that much to complain about on THIS set of drugs.
I also went to the plastic surgeon today for a tissue expander fill. He only did 60 cc again because it's been a month and it would have hurt me too much to do more than that. It hurts pretty dang bad, anyway. This may be a day that I leave the infusion center, go home, pop a Valium and a pain pill and go to sleep. Anyway, he says that if I go more often, it shouldn't hurt as bad, so we're only waiting two weeks this time.
I said this on Facebook, but I'm really laughing at myself about this. Any time I go to ANY doctor, the nurse takes me back, takes my vitals, and says, "change into this gown, the doctor will be with you shortly." I KNOW that I'm going to sit in that cold room for at least 20 minutes, yet I scramble to change as quickly as I possibly can. Why? What's the hurry? I'm just going to sit there, feeling vulnerable, legs dangling from that paper covered table/bench/bed thing for what feels like DAYS.
I think I'm worried he'll walk in and see something. See what? You know, the same thing he's going to make me show him anyway! What's the point of the speedy-change freak out? I've been going to doctor appointments by myself for 25 years. I have NEVER been walked in on, or even ALMOST been walked in on while changing. How many more years will it take for me to slow down and take my time?
I wonder if they have a set amount of time that they wait, in case someone is a slow changer? Does the nurse make a note of the time she walked out, so the doctor can wait the appropriate amount of time before coming in? How long could even the slowest mover take to remove her shirt, remove her bra, put on a gown, and climb up on a paper covered table/bench/bed thing? Two minutes? Hmmm. The things I ponder from the chemo chair.
I also went to the plastic surgeon today for a tissue expander fill. He only did 60 cc again because it's been a month and it would have hurt me too much to do more than that. It hurts pretty dang bad, anyway. This may be a day that I leave the infusion center, go home, pop a Valium and a pain pill and go to sleep. Anyway, he says that if I go more often, it shouldn't hurt as bad, so we're only waiting two weeks this time.
I said this on Facebook, but I'm really laughing at myself about this. Any time I go to ANY doctor, the nurse takes me back, takes my vitals, and says, "change into this gown, the doctor will be with you shortly." I KNOW that I'm going to sit in that cold room for at least 20 minutes, yet I scramble to change as quickly as I possibly can. Why? What's the hurry? I'm just going to sit there, feeling vulnerable, legs dangling from that paper covered table/bench/bed thing for what feels like DAYS.
I think I'm worried he'll walk in and see something. See what? You know, the same thing he's going to make me show him anyway! What's the point of the speedy-change freak out? I've been going to doctor appointments by myself for 25 years. I have NEVER been walked in on, or even ALMOST been walked in on while changing. How many more years will it take for me to slow down and take my time?
I wonder if they have a set amount of time that they wait, in case someone is a slow changer? Does the nurse make a note of the time she walked out, so the doctor can wait the appropriate amount of time before coming in? How long could even the slowest mover take to remove her shirt, remove her bra, put on a gown, and climb up on a paper covered table/bench/bed thing? Two minutes? Hmmm. The things I ponder from the chemo chair.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
A Visit to the Doctor
I had a visit with my oncologist today. I've never been so excited for a doctor's appointment in my life. That's kinda sad, but I couldn't wait to talk to her. She was impressed by my overall lack of side effects (nausea, etc) and I was happy to see that I'd lost 8 lbs in the past two weeks. Another benefit! She was also more than ready to help find a solution to the headaches.
She believes that the problem is a combination of lack of sleep and the steroids. (Mom was half right!) I asked if it could truly be the steroids, since I haven't taken one in 10 days. She assured me that it could be. What's weird, is that I didn't have the headache when I was taking them. It came later. That's why she thinks it's in combination with a cumulative lack of sleep.
Her solution was to cut my steroids in half for this round, and she prescribed Ambien. I get steroids in my IV before chemo, and then take the pills for the following three days. Instead of two tablets twice a day, I'll be taking one tablet twice a day. I really, REALLY need this to work, so I've decided that it's going to.
Tomorrow is going to be a busy day. I will be at the plastic surgeon's office for a tissue expander fill at 9:00 in the morning, and then back to this side of the state line for my infusion at 11:00. Because they drew blood while I was there today (my whites are up, by the way,) it will speed things up for tomorrow. No waiting for the lab to get the results sent upstairs.
On Thursday, I hope to get a full 8 hours in, and then I have my Neulasta shot at 4 pm. Chemo weeks are SO busy, but it should make it go by quickly. Also, after tomorrow, I can say that I'm halfway done with the A/C portion of my chemo. That's 1/4 of the way done with chemo! Positive thoughts. Positive thoughts. Positive thoughts. Doritos. Hey! How'd THAT get in there? Oh well.
She believes that the problem is a combination of lack of sleep and the steroids. (Mom was half right!) I asked if it could truly be the steroids, since I haven't taken one in 10 days. She assured me that it could be. What's weird, is that I didn't have the headache when I was taking them. It came later. That's why she thinks it's in combination with a cumulative lack of sleep.
Her solution was to cut my steroids in half for this round, and she prescribed Ambien. I get steroids in my IV before chemo, and then take the pills for the following three days. Instead of two tablets twice a day, I'll be taking one tablet twice a day. I really, REALLY need this to work, so I've decided that it's going to.
Tomorrow is going to be a busy day. I will be at the plastic surgeon's office for a tissue expander fill at 9:00 in the morning, and then back to this side of the state line for my infusion at 11:00. Because they drew blood while I was there today (my whites are up, by the way,) it will speed things up for tomorrow. No waiting for the lab to get the results sent upstairs.
On Thursday, I hope to get a full 8 hours in, and then I have my Neulasta shot at 4 pm. Chemo weeks are SO busy, but it should make it go by quickly. Also, after tomorrow, I can say that I'm halfway done with the A/C portion of my chemo. That's 1/4 of the way done with chemo! Positive thoughts. Positive thoughts. Positive thoughts. Doritos. Hey! How'd THAT get in there? Oh well.
Monday, June 25, 2012
This is Getting Ridiculous
I've officially had a headache for nine days in a row. I don't have it all day, but it lingers around for most of the day. I'm keeping a "chemo diary" of sorts, so I can track trends and watch for side effects. That's how I noticed that I have had a headache since June 17th. That's the first time it was noted in those notes. I'm a little slow at connecting dots sometimes, so it wasn't until the past 5 days that I've really been trying to figure out what is triggering the dang things.
I thought I may have cut caffeine too quickly, so I added some back. It's not caffeine. I thought it might be from one of my medications, but I haven't taken any medications in over a week. It's not medication. I thought that it may have something to do with lack of sleep, but I've been taking a sleep aid two out of three days, and am now getting plenty of sleep on those nights. It's not lack of sleep.
I started noticing, over the past five days or so that I don't usually wake up with it. Maybe I have NEVER had it first thing in the morning, but I'm slow to connect the dots (or sometimes even recognize the dots,) remember?
So I've been pouring over my short-hand type notes, and trying to figure it out. I noticed that I got it not long after eating a square of lasagna yesterday. Kevin and I discussed that it could be cheese or some component in that dish, so I decided to note what I have recently eaten when this stupid headache shows up.
This morning I had no headache. I always feel so good as I head out to work! Plenty of energy and no headache. When I got there, I put in a couple of hours and decided I was hungry. I ate some cantaloupe that I had cut up and brought along, as well as a trail mix granola bar. Not even ten minutes had passed before my head started to ache.
The headache was still there at lunch time, so I thought, "In for a penny, in for a pound!" and ate my leftovers. By the time I hit the eight hour mark, I couldn't take any more and I headed home. I've been in bed since I got here, wishing my head would just STOP already.
My final observation is that my head didn't hurt while I had all the other side effects. Remember what I ate during that time? Nothing, unless I forced down chicken noodle soup or mac-n-cheese. Bland foods. I'm now wondering if it will stop hurting if I switch back to only bland things. That will be the next thing I try, if left to my own devices.
I hope that I won't be, though. I have an appointment with my oncologist tomorrow morning. I'm going to talk this out with her and see if she has any ideas. A week or so ago, I joked, "Well, at least I only have to deal with this for 16 weeks." It's not funny anymore. I can't do this for (now) 14 more weeks. Most days, I would rate the pain at a three or four on the 1-10 pain scale. Today's was easily an eight or nine.
Nope. I can't do this. Well, let me correct that statement. If I had a choice, I would say that about breast cancer. "I can't do this." However, I can do this, and I am doing it. If I find no relief, I guess I'll have no more say about the headache than I do about cancer. However, as amazing as my health care providers have done in preventing or minimizing side effects, I'm sure they'll have something I can try.
I thought I may have cut caffeine too quickly, so I added some back. It's not caffeine. I thought it might be from one of my medications, but I haven't taken any medications in over a week. It's not medication. I thought that it may have something to do with lack of sleep, but I've been taking a sleep aid two out of three days, and am now getting plenty of sleep on those nights. It's not lack of sleep.
I started noticing, over the past five days or so that I don't usually wake up with it. Maybe I have NEVER had it first thing in the morning, but I'm slow to connect the dots (or sometimes even recognize the dots,) remember?
So I've been pouring over my short-hand type notes, and trying to figure it out. I noticed that I got it not long after eating a square of lasagna yesterday. Kevin and I discussed that it could be cheese or some component in that dish, so I decided to note what I have recently eaten when this stupid headache shows up.
This morning I had no headache. I always feel so good as I head out to work! Plenty of energy and no headache. When I got there, I put in a couple of hours and decided I was hungry. I ate some cantaloupe that I had cut up and brought along, as well as a trail mix granola bar. Not even ten minutes had passed before my head started to ache.
The headache was still there at lunch time, so I thought, "In for a penny, in for a pound!" and ate my leftovers. By the time I hit the eight hour mark, I couldn't take any more and I headed home. I've been in bed since I got here, wishing my head would just STOP already.
My final observation is that my head didn't hurt while I had all the other side effects. Remember what I ate during that time? Nothing, unless I forced down chicken noodle soup or mac-n-cheese. Bland foods. I'm now wondering if it will stop hurting if I switch back to only bland things. That will be the next thing I try, if left to my own devices.
I hope that I won't be, though. I have an appointment with my oncologist tomorrow morning. I'm going to talk this out with her and see if she has any ideas. A week or so ago, I joked, "Well, at least I only have to deal with this for 16 weeks." It's not funny anymore. I can't do this for (now) 14 more weeks. Most days, I would rate the pain at a three or four on the 1-10 pain scale. Today's was easily an eight or nine.
Nope. I can't do this. Well, let me correct that statement. If I had a choice, I would say that about breast cancer. "I can't do this." However, I can do this, and I am doing it. If I find no relief, I guess I'll have no more say about the headache than I do about cancer. However, as amazing as my health care providers have done in preventing or minimizing side effects, I'm sure they'll have something I can try.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Chemo Treatment Number One
Disclaimers:
Today was the day. I woke up and decided I wasn't going to go through with it, but Kevin made me get up and shower, so we went. Once again, I was having a major panic attack this morning, and I'm pretty sure Kevin was having a minor one at the same time. I had forgotten to pack a "chemo bag," so I worked on that this morning. It was good to have something to occupy my time until we left at 8:30.
At 9, I was to put the numbing cream on my port and cover it with a square of plastic wrap, so I did that in the truck. LOL From now on, I'm driving myself to and from treatment, so I may have to rethink that plan, huh? We got there, and I made 17 trips to the bathroom. First of all, I'm supposed to push water. A LOT of water. I hate water, but I do what doctors tell me to do. The nerves probably didn't help that situation much, either.
As with all nerves brought on by a new medical experience, I was perfectly fine as soon as the doctor walked in. She asked questions, made sure to find out if we had any (we had a few, and she answered them to our satisfaction.) Everything looked good, so she announced that I'd be staying for chemo. Good. Another wait may have pushed me over the edge.
I think part of it is the fact that I don't get sick. I don't take pills. I don't go to hospitals. Heck, I don't even get headaches (until lately.) I've gone from that to this horrible disease that requires horrible treatment which causes horrible side effects. I guess I don't do anything halfway. This is my new daily life:
No. I do NOT take all of those every day. However, I must travel with most of them. When I walk into work, my bag sounds like I'm hauling in maracas! (Mental note: Suggest mariachi Mondays at work tomorrow.) Anyway, although most of the above are "as needed," I sometimes need them. So far, I haven't needed prescription pain medication more than 1-2 times a week at most. I just don't know what my side effects will deem necessary.
OK, enough of the downer! My first chemo day was fine. Parts were actually fun and funny, thanks to an amazing husband making inappropriate jokes and an amazing nurse who explained everything so well that it kept me at ease. Thanks to the numbing cream, I didn't even know when she accessed my port. These things were on the cabinet, waiting for me:
The two small vials are for blood draws to check my levels and make sure I'm OK for chemo. Because they had to wait for the lab to get back to them with the results, Marie (the nurse) asked if we'd like to go downstairs and get something to eat. That sounded like an amazing plan, except that I had the tubes hanging from my port, waiting for chemo. She said, "Just drop that down your shirt and go on down." You can't tell me that, and not expect me to have fun with it:
If it wasn't funny enough that I stuffed it in my bra in my cleavage, we got a real good laugh of the fact that I only have HALF of what you could call cleavage. The other side was PURCHASED by me, so I guess it's mine, as the implant will be. So yeah, we'll say cleavage. LOL We went on our adventure downstairs to the hospital cafe, and had a really great lunch for under $10 total for the two of us! (Tight Wad. Party of two.)
When we got back, it was time to get going. She hung a bag of (I think) saline, and a small bag of non chemo drugs. I don't remember what all of them were for, but at least one was for nausea and one was a steroid. Here is my little starter pack:
At this point, the meds were almost gone. After each infusion is complete, more of the fluid is injected to "flush" the port. That's why the large bag. I didn't even use half of it by the time I left, though. Then, it was time to get started on thepoison chemo. The Adriamycin is given with two large syringes so they can keep a super close eye on it. They alternate a few CCs of it and a bit of saline. I told her I was worried her hand would cramp. LOL I'm showing it below, but the drug is red. That is NOT blood!
When that was done and the port was flushed, it was time for the Cytoxan. It can hang on the IV pole, so Marie got to rest her hands. Actually, she was probably in another room doing the same thing for someone else. Poor thing. Here I am while finishing up. Yes, the room was small:
I was playing online. If you know me well, and have been to my house or followed any images of me, you may be having a nagging feeling that this looks VERY familiar to you. I can explain that. I had Natalie take a pictures of me while doing this blog post:
Take away the blanket (we turned our ac off last night) and the IV pole, and I was at home! Oh, the blanket! That is ONE thing I forgot to take, which is the only reason I regret not packing my chemo bag earlier in the week. One of my many distant friends who have sent me amazing packages (seriously, you guys BLOW me away...and kinda make me cry like a girl a little bit...I gotta work on that,) sent the following that she made for me, just for chemo treatments!
She explained her design in her very touching note. "Zebra print, because you're so "wild & crazy"; pink hearts, because we love you." It is DEFINITELY ready for my next appointment. The blankets they have there sucked. May as well give me a sheet.
Finally, if you made it this long without falling asleep or passing out (that last part was for the wussies,) I will give out a parting laugh. As we exited the office after my visit was complete, we saw this in the hallway. I think you can read it if you click on it:
Kevin said, very simply, "Hmmm. I sure hope those boxes are empty."
- This is a freaking LONG post. A lot of people wanted details, and boy oh boy did I give details. You won't hurt my feelings if you bail early.
- There is a TINY amount of blood showing in my port access tube in one shot. TINY. However, you blood wussies have been warned.
- There is a shot of a HUGE syringe full of one of my chemo meds that just happens to be red. I promise you, I would NOT spring a picture of that much blood on you, after warning you about the tiny bit in the other shot.
- My "cleavage" shows, but it's mostly shirt and post-mastectomy sports bra, so don't get your hopes up, pervs. Takes all the fun out of it, doesn't it?
- These images will not show up on FB. Not because I don't want to show them there, but because I don't want to type captions. I'll link to this post there, though.
Today was the day. I woke up and decided I wasn't going to go through with it, but Kevin made me get up and shower, so we went. Once again, I was having a major panic attack this morning, and I'm pretty sure Kevin was having a minor one at the same time. I had forgotten to pack a "chemo bag," so I worked on that this morning. It was good to have something to occupy my time until we left at 8:30.
At 9, I was to put the numbing cream on my port and cover it with a square of plastic wrap, so I did that in the truck. LOL From now on, I'm driving myself to and from treatment, so I may have to rethink that plan, huh? We got there, and I made 17 trips to the bathroom. First of all, I'm supposed to push water. A LOT of water. I hate water, but I do what doctors tell me to do. The nerves probably didn't help that situation much, either.
As with all nerves brought on by a new medical experience, I was perfectly fine as soon as the doctor walked in. She asked questions, made sure to find out if we had any (we had a few, and she answered them to our satisfaction.) Everything looked good, so she announced that I'd be staying for chemo. Good. Another wait may have pushed me over the edge.
I think part of it is the fact that I don't get sick. I don't take pills. I don't go to hospitals. Heck, I don't even get headaches (until lately.) I've gone from that to this horrible disease that requires horrible treatment which causes horrible side effects. I guess I don't do anything halfway. This is my new daily life:
No. I do NOT take all of those every day. However, I must travel with most of them. When I walk into work, my bag sounds like I'm hauling in maracas! (Mental note: Suggest mariachi Mondays at work tomorrow.) Anyway, although most of the above are "as needed," I sometimes need them. So far, I haven't needed prescription pain medication more than 1-2 times a week at most. I just don't know what my side effects will deem necessary.
OK, enough of the downer! My first chemo day was fine. Parts were actually fun and funny, thanks to an amazing husband making inappropriate jokes and an amazing nurse who explained everything so well that it kept me at ease. Thanks to the numbing cream, I didn't even know when she accessed my port. These things were on the cabinet, waiting for me:
The two small vials are for blood draws to check my levels and make sure I'm OK for chemo. Because they had to wait for the lab to get back to them with the results, Marie (the nurse) asked if we'd like to go downstairs and get something to eat. That sounded like an amazing plan, except that I had the tubes hanging from my port, waiting for chemo. She said, "Just drop that down your shirt and go on down." You can't tell me that, and not expect me to have fun with it:
If it wasn't funny enough that I stuffed it in my bra in my cleavage, we got a real good laugh of the fact that I only have HALF of what you could call cleavage. The other side was PURCHASED by me, so I guess it's mine, as the implant will be. So yeah, we'll say cleavage. LOL We went on our adventure downstairs to the hospital cafe, and had a really great lunch for under $10 total for the two of us! (Tight Wad. Party of two.)
When we got back, it was time to get going. She hung a bag of (I think) saline, and a small bag of non chemo drugs. I don't remember what all of them were for, but at least one was for nausea and one was a steroid. Here is my little starter pack:
At this point, the meds were almost gone. After each infusion is complete, more of the fluid is injected to "flush" the port. That's why the large bag. I didn't even use half of it by the time I left, though. Then, it was time to get started on the
When that was done and the port was flushed, it was time for the Cytoxan. It can hang on the IV pole, so Marie got to rest her hands. Actually, she was probably in another room doing the same thing for someone else. Poor thing. Here I am while finishing up. Yes, the room was small:
I was playing online. If you know me well, and have been to my house or followed any images of me, you may be having a nagging feeling that this looks VERY familiar to you. I can explain that. I had Natalie take a pictures of me while doing this blog post:
Take away the blanket (we turned our ac off last night) and the IV pole, and I was at home! Oh, the blanket! That is ONE thing I forgot to take, which is the only reason I regret not packing my chemo bag earlier in the week. One of my many distant friends who have sent me amazing packages (seriously, you guys BLOW me away...and kinda make me cry like a girl a little bit...I gotta work on that,) sent the following that she made for me, just for chemo treatments!
She explained her design in her very touching note. "Zebra print, because you're so "wild & crazy"; pink hearts, because we love you." It is DEFINITELY ready for my next appointment. The blankets they have there sucked. May as well give me a sheet.
Finally, if you made it this long without falling asleep or passing out (that last part was for the wussies,) I will give out a parting laugh. As we exited the office after my visit was complete, we saw this in the hallway. I think you can read it if you click on it:
Kevin said, very simply, "Hmmm. I sure hope those boxes are empty."
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Please Excuse Me. I have PDAS.
I know about PMS. This feels a lot like that, but it's not the right time. Sorry, guys. I should have warned you about THAT, but I didn't. Too late.
I had a freak-out sort of day. Last night and today have been tough, and now that I'm seeing a pattern, tomorrow will be rough, too. My Modus Operandi is to freak the HELL out before an appointment, and then be fine as soon as it's over. Whether the news is good or bad, it's news. I need information. Waiting sucks. It is Pre Doctor Appointment Syndrome. I suffer it greatly.
Tomorrow is my oncologist appointment. I will find out what medication will be involved to help me kick this thing's ass. I find out if I'll lose my hair. I find out if I'll be too exhausted to work at the level that I want to during this thing. It doesn't matter. Tell me I'll kick it's butt, and I'll do what you say. It's just the unknown that is killing me. It did last week, too.
So, I suffer from PDAS. I'll be about to pass out on the way into the Dr's office, and fine when I walk out. Just like last week. Now that I can name it and recognize it, I plan to laugh at the tears. Laugh at the shaking hands. Laugh at the stupid reactions I seem to have to certain things. We're out of rice? WAHHHH! LOL
Sorry. You can't judge me right now. I have PDAS.
I had a freak-out sort of day. Last night and today have been tough, and now that I'm seeing a pattern, tomorrow will be rough, too. My Modus Operandi is to freak the HELL out before an appointment, and then be fine as soon as it's over. Whether the news is good or bad, it's news. I need information. Waiting sucks. It is Pre Doctor Appointment Syndrome. I suffer it greatly.
Tomorrow is my oncologist appointment. I will find out what medication will be involved to help me kick this thing's ass. I find out if I'll lose my hair. I find out if I'll be too exhausted to work at the level that I want to during this thing. It doesn't matter. Tell me I'll kick it's butt, and I'll do what you say. It's just the unknown that is killing me. It did last week, too.
So, I suffer from PDAS. I'll be about to pass out on the way into the Dr's office, and fine when I walk out. Just like last week. Now that I can name it and recognize it, I plan to laugh at the tears. Laugh at the shaking hands. Laugh at the stupid reactions I seem to have to certain things. We're out of rice? WAHHHH! LOL
Sorry. You can't judge me right now. I have PDAS.
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