A Milestone!

CHEMO, WEEK 20 is here! 


The LAST one! 

Hallelujah!

Unfortunately, not much to tell until all the scans and follow-up doctor appointments next week (seriously, there is at least one every day). But for now, I am celebrating the END of chemo!

Here's a picture of me on my way to the last treatment Tuesday...Stupid Cancer, indeed!

Care Package for a Chemo Patient

Since I have been diagnosed, several people I know have also been diagnosed with cancer. And it is sad and scary for everyone involved, trust me. Now, in most cases, everyone has been able to get a clean bill of health after only needing surgeries to remove the offending cancer. They can avoid the entire chemo and radiation journey that I'm on (the joys of getting diagnosed with stage 3 Angry Cancer). I am so happy anytime someone gets a clean bill of health!!! And for those of you that have to follow me down this chemo/radiation journey, I am here for you!

However, this has me thinking, what would I do for you or get you if you had to go through chemo? What would I want you to have? This is really an extension of the question of I get asked a lot: What do you need/want? So, I decided to put together this "care package" of things that would help a chemo patient out, based on what I needed the most.

(1) I would take charge of setting up a care calendar for you. Meals? Groceries? Rides? Transportation for your kids? I might need to ask you for email addresses and what your family likes to eat, but it'll be set up and ready to go on a moment's notice. Please don't cook ever again!

(2) Straws and grown-up sippy cups (you know, those cups you can buy from Starbucks with the lid and straw). Seriously, you need straws, I can't explain how vital they are. It's easier to lay in bed and drink if you have lids and straws. And I'll get you at least 3 of the cups...one for water, one for juice, one for ginger ale...because you will want all 3 at the same time.

(3) A case of bottled water for your car. Chemo makes you SO thirsty. Not kidding, there will come a day when you are headed to the doctor, or to brave the germ-infested masses at the store, and you will be dying of thirst! And then you will think I'm a genius.

(4) A goody bag with the new essentials for your purse/car/bedroom (yes, I really do have 3 sets of of everything): Chapstick, Kleenex, hand sanitizer, and lotion (all unscented, of course).

(5) Fuzzy socks (with grippy feet) and nice soft hats. Again, when you need these, you will think I'm a genius. Note to self (and anyone out there using this as a shopping list): KEEP THE TAG ON THE HAT so that the patient will know where to go to get more if it becomes their new favorite clothing item!

(6) A soft blanket or shawl, perhaps hand-crafted with love. Unfortunately, I am not crafty so I would have to get someone to do it for me. I have received several of these and I love them all! And appreciate the ones that were made during a prayer circle/meeting. You can feel the love.

(7) Biotene makes a line of great mouthwashes, toothpastes, mouth gels, etc. Trust me when I say, you will need it all!

(8) Really good salt...the fancy flavored sea salt kind...and lots of it. And probably some awesome spices. I'll even throw in a little baking soda with it and tell you how to keep from losing your taste buds like I did.

(9) I will share my meds with you if your doctor doesn't give you the good stuff. But since you will probably get all kinds of good stuff, I'll make sure to bring you all the boring over-the-counter stuff they forget to mention that you need to get through it: Tylenol, Claritin, Colase, Senakot, Queasy Pops, a variety of stuff to help you sleep...all kinds of fun.

(10) Trashy magazines. As much as I love to read, sometimes my brain isn't functioning and I just want to flip through People or Us magazine. And then not worry if I don't remember reading it.

(11) Restaurant gift cards for you and your family to use. Trust me, even if you don't care, there will be a day where your family desperately wants to go out to eat.

(12) iTunes gift cards. I don't know if you have an iPod, iPad, Kindle app, whatever. But you will need mind-numbing games to play, music to listen to, books you can read without carting around a library, audiobooks in case your eyes go to hell like mine did. Thank you Apple.

(13) I will tell you NOT to shave your head before chemo starts. Sure, go ahead and cut it short, but don't shave it off in dramatic fashion like you see in movies and TV shows. Because if you have hair growing in/stubble when your hair really does start to fall out, your head will hurt. Not any fun.

(14) I will send you cards via snail mail just because. I currently have 4 or 5 people that do this and it is so fun to get these cards. Whether they are sunny, sweet, or funny, it is so nice to receive them. And SO much better than the bills that fill up the mailbox.

(15) I will pay for a subscription to Netflix or Hulu or whatever you want. Trust me, you will become infinitely familiar with the television schedule and you will start to hate every channel.

(16) When you figure out which day(s) is your "bad" day, holler. I will take your kids out of the house (because you might find them to be loud and smelly). Or I'll come over and take care of you and send your family to my house to hang out. Or I'll kick everyone out of your house, shut your bedroom door so you can have peace and quiet, and sit downstairs and read a book and wait for you to need something. Whatever you want that day to look like. I didn't want anyone bothering me because they smelled, but I needed someone in my house to bring me drinks. And I was lucky to have friends and family who took my daughter each weekend so she never really had to know what it looked like when I felt like that. (The teenage boy was often so oblivious that he didn't even notice mom hadn't come out of the bedroom for days).

(17) Every now and then I will ask you what you need. And please, speaking from personal experience, TELL ME. Do you need groceries? Your bathrooms cleaned? A massage (god, not from me, but I'll take up a collection and make sure you get one)? Soup? Ginger Ale? To go for a walk? To get out of the house? Go to a movie? Talk about how crappy life is? Not talk about how crappy life is? Bring. It. On.

This is just some things that I found I needed...and was lucky enough to have people taking care of me. Happy to pay it forward.

What Week Was This?

One of the hardest things about chemo is that you have to get up and get ready every week knowing what you are in for: a long day of BORING, being poked and prodded, and then all the icky side effects that are headed your way in the days to come. Weeks start to blend together and all look alike. 

Today is another chemo day, but I'm not really sure which one this is as I'm sitting in this chair. Blame it on chemo brain, blame it on the fact that I am completely over this whole process. I think this is week 13? Yeah, let's run with that..."Lucky 13" it is!

It's actually not a bad day, all things considered. 

(1) The view from the window is sunny (though with some encouragement from a friend I am going to start figuring out how to be outside in the sun while getting chemo. I think it might involve some kind of superhero battery backpack as the IV set-up requires electrical...or a REALLY long extension cord). 

(2) Keith is on his way back here with my lunch. I really should be a paid Subway endorser because that's all I eat.

(3) I actually LOST THREE POUNDS this week. See several of my previous posts for my issues with that. Now I have proof that it was the steroids. Yeah for week 2 without them!

Now, if only the port would cooperate and give up blood for the labs so we could get this process started, the day would be complete. This is the third week in a row that they've had issues with the port, so I fear what this means for future weeks. But, we'll think about that another time.

And I clearly might have to write a post about how to behave if you are a visitor in the hospital since there is a VERY ANNOYING GUY talking LOUDLY on his cell phone outside my infusion room. I appreciate that he moved away from his friend/family member's "room" when taking his "very important call." However, he moved right outside MY room (which, keep in mind, doesn't have a door) to talk...for a long time...and I have headphones on and can still hear him. I am considering running him over with my IV stand. Bad. Hospital. Etiquette. Monumentally Bad!

Allergic to Tape? Of Course I Am!

Because it has become quite a comedy of errors on chemo days, I thought I would post about my latest adventure.

Friday was my second round of Taxol, which is honestly WAY better than the AC dosing that I was getting. It is SUPPOSED to take about an hour for the infusion, plus 15 minutes or so for pre-meds, plus about 30 minutes for lab work. So, all told, I am only supposed to be there for two hours TOPS. At least, that's what they keep promising. Hasn't ever lived up to that. This past week was the kicker: arrived at 10:30am...left the hospital at 4:15pm. I wish that was a joke.

One of the biggest snafus that day was my allergic reaction to...medical tape? Band aids? The infusion needle stabbed into my port? I'm not sure, but it was immediate and painful and caused MASSIVE delays as I threatened to rip out my port.

Here's what I looked like about 10 hours after the reaction:

You can't really see the port in this picture, but it was so red it appeared to be on FIRE! And here I thought I'd have to save Allicia Keys' "Girl on Fire" for a Music Monday during radiation. Maybe not, because I was truly on fire.

Thanks to several people who have offered suggestions to solve the problem this week. Will let you know what works!

In Which I Find Out if I'm Healthy Enough to Poison...

Today is the last doctor's appointment where they make sure that I'm good to go for chemo tomorrow, and I'm also supposed to get a "chemo teach" where they explain all about the wonder drugs and possible side effects.

First, the checkup. Have I mentioned before how much I love this doctor? She immediately notices and compliments me on my new haircut. She asks me if I've heard the pathology results from the last surgery. When I say only that the surgeon called me an overachiever, she laughs and admits that's pretty accurate. But she says she has the numbers if I want them, so why not?! This last surgery they pulled out a total of 3.5cm of cancer...add to the 1.1 from the first surgery, and the 2.5 from the second surgery...and that's some scary math. 6.6 CM of cancer! YIKES. That alone puts me into Stage 3, even without the weird lymph node lighting things up. It is agreed that I can stop being this overachiever ANY TIME.

Then we discuss what to expect tomorrow, what the PILES of meds in my bag are for and when, what to eat and what not to eat. Sushi, sadly, a no during this process. So are salads, salad bars, buffets (thank God we already went to Vegas). Only fully cooked eggs (bummer on the loss of eggs benedict). And only fruit/veggies that can be peeled or cooked. It was described like this: apple/orange/banana? Wash then peel. Grape? Peel it or cook it (so, no grapes). No salad. Other than this, nothing is really off the table. Although, we did forget to ask about my adored bleu cheese. Damn...will have to ask that tomorrow. No greasy foods was offered as an advisory to make your stomach feel better. This seems like good advise. 

And fluids, fluids, and more fluids! And yet more fluids! 

Temperatures over 100.5, even if you feel great, bring you into the clinic/hospital.

Then onto meeting with "chemo teach" gal. Who is a pharmacist/technician/nurse and adorable. Young, happy, HUGE sports fan (a fellow Husky Keith can commiserate with, who grew up in a Beaver family). We love her immediately and she gets our sense of humor! Will have to come up with clever nickname for her for this blog, because apparently I'll be seeing her a lot. "Husky Girl" seems weird.

She goes over each of the drugs that will be used tomorrow, how they work, what they do, and the side effects. Pretty basic info for anyone that has done this or knows someone who has gone through it, so I won't bore you will all the gory details. But one of the funnier parts was that one of the drugs makes your urine red, and one can cause blood in your urine. And you're supposed to know the difference because red urine is normal and bloody urine is bad, equating to an immediate trip to the hospital. Great! 

I know that she's wonderful when she doesn't even think we're crazy when I say that Keith won't be staying with me tomorrow, and I probably won't have visitors. This is going to be time for me to relax and read UNINTERRUPTED. She's all for it, but promises to stop by and check in.

Off we go...

Tests, Tests, and more Tests: The ECHO

Chemo starts Thursday, and this is the week I must have what feels like a million tests. Which are basically the doctors' way of making sure I'm healthy enough to be poisoned at the end of the week. It kind of makes me laugh.

First up, the echocardiogram. (To be honest, I actually had this one already, but was supposed to do it this week, so we're going to pretend). This is basically a fancy ultrasound of the heart. I needed to have this done because the chemo drugs they are giving me have a long-term risk to the heart.

I found this paragraph about an ECG and how it will feel:
"You will be asked to remove your clothes from the waist up and lie on an examination table on your back. Electrodes will be placed on your chest to allow for the test to be done. A gel will be spread on your chest and then the transducer will be applied. You will feel a slight pressure on your chest from the transducer. You may be asked to breathe in a certain way or to roll over onto your left side."

First of all, the one positive thing I have to say about this experience was THEY DID NOT ASK MY BIRTHDATE! NOT ONCE!  I'm pretty sure that someone is going to be fired, but I'm not telling. 

If you have ever had an ultrasound, for example when you were pregnant, you will know a little about what this experience was like. 
The bed: comfortable

The room: dark (I'm initially afraid that I will fall asleep)

The gel: COLD! (Okay, I'm awake!)

The "slight pressure" (mentioned above): MY ASS! I suppose it's not completely their fault that the exact spot they needed to PRESS on the most is right where the incision from my multiple surgeries is. Needless to say, the "slight pressure" on and around it for 45 minutes was not the most enjoyable experience.

The breathing: You know when you go to the doctor and they listen in the stethoscope to your heart? And they ask you to take a deep breath and then let it out? Yeah, that's not what this is like. For the entire 45 minutes you are asked to do the following: breathe normally, breathe in, hold it, breathe out, deep breath, big breath, small breath, half a breath, tiny breath...and on and on and on. Seriously, I don't even know the difference between half a breath and a small breath. Or a deep breath and a big breath. But I do know that when you are doing this for 45 minutes straight, it's a wonder you don't hyperventilate. It did keep my mind off the pain from the "slight pressure" though.

The heartbeat: Ever heard a baby's heartbeat on an ultrasound? Yeah, it's not like that. Or at least my heart beat isn't. I remember my kids' heartbeats being cute and hummingbird like. Mine sounded like a very uneven whooomp-ing sound. A lot like I imagine SETI's transmission searching for life on other planets to sound like. Actually, it's probably what the aliens' reply sounds like.