[7:26pm]
During the many hours of wait on the day of my Monday appointment, I had a lot of time to talk with my grandmother. I recall her asking on various subjects: "Are you allowed to ...," or "Can you ...," or "Will you be able to ..."
I remember defiantly answering "yes" to all of those questions. At first, she would give me a perplexed look and I would have to clarify: "Yes I can do that, but the doctors say that it is not allowed." And again, "Certainly, but it is not recommended."
Soon, she was rephrasing all of her questions. No longer was my freedom in question... instead, it was my choices or the doctor's recommendations that was in question. It was a good feeling.
Even if you're not being defiant, just changing your perspective can mean a world of difference. Say you technically have fourteen days remaining before you are supposed to go outside without your mask. There's a world of difference between "I can't go outside without my mask" and "I have chosen not to go outside without my mask." The latter implies freedom.
If you still have your freedom, then that's one less thing the cancer has taken away.
As you may recall, I was told not to fly to Michigan for Christmas holiday. I wasn't given a recommendation, I was told not to fly. Well, I want to go. In addition, I don't think it's a stupid decision. If I do get sick, I'm sure I'll pull through fine... it may just be a bit more prolonged and annoying that others may experience. Flying may slightly increase risk of medical trouble, but isn't that life? And I feel like living! Whether that be from living like a normal human or by taking chances...
"Get busy living, or get busy dying."
On a side note, I had a Snickers today... it was the first food post-BMT that tasted 100% as good as I remember it! Woohoo!
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Friday, December 5, 2008
Thursday, November 27, 2008
[11-27-08] Turkey Day!
[6:11pm]
I had beers last night... it was good. My rebelliousness and desire for normalcy has overruled my obedience, caution, and a little bit of my prudence. But that's OK -- cause I had beers last night, and it was good!
Also, Dan reported that the SF Oncology Group had no problem with a few beers a few days after the end of chemo. So I'm not really being foolish.
The truth is: I'm aware of my body and it's limitations, blah, blah, blah... I mean, today I went to storage and loaded all of my possessions into a truck... I think that demonstration of stamina and strength means something.
Anyhow, the big story is that I am HOME! Yup, right now, I am clicking away on my computer as Liz is cooking me a Thanksgiving dinner at our house in Berkeley! How awesome is that?
Moving in on Thanksgiving Day... what a way to feel at home. I'm happy :)
Anyhow, I have to prepare the corn now! Happy Turkey Day, everyone!
I had beers last night... it was good. My rebelliousness and desire for normalcy has overruled my obedience, caution, and a little bit of my prudence. But that's OK -- cause I had beers last night, and it was good!
Also, Dan reported that the SF Oncology Group had no problem with a few beers a few days after the end of chemo. So I'm not really being foolish.
The truth is: I'm aware of my body and it's limitations, blah, blah, blah... I mean, today I went to storage and loaded all of my possessions into a truck... I think that demonstration of stamina and strength means something.
Anyhow, the big story is that I am HOME! Yup, right now, I am clicking away on my computer as Liz is cooking me a Thanksgiving dinner at our house in Berkeley! How awesome is that?
Moving in on Thanksgiving Day... what a way to feel at home. I'm happy :)
Anyhow, I have to prepare the corn now! Happy Turkey Day, everyone!
Friday, September 26, 2008
[9-26-08] Mobilization Routine
[1:25pm]
Cytoxan has been... difficult. However, I am somehow pleased that the side effects are so apparent -- it means it is working. Maybe there isn't a correlation between side effects and chemotherapy effectiveness, but it still feels somewhat reassuring to feel what a chemo-patient is supposed to be feeling.
I mean, I was drinking beers and doing construction throughout ICE and Stanford V! Right now, water is difficult to drink and I can hardly get out of bed! Well, I'll get a PET/CT Scan in a few weeks; we'll see just how effective this has been.
Anyways, I thought I'd post a bit of my routine to help illustrate my situation:
7:00am Go to bathroom, take Rifampin (the drug that causes you to sweat and cry orange), drink lots of water, take Neupogen out of fridge, go back to sleep.
9:00am Take 2mg Ativan (dissolve on tongue, don't swallow!). I need the Ativan to eat; I need to eat to take the other pills. Eat a bagel...slowly. Take the Zofran and Compazine (other two anti-nausea pills). Drink lots of water.
9:30am Take Famotidine (reduces acid in stomach). Put Aquaguard over catheter dressing so that I can take a shower. Take a shower.
10:00am Take Cipro and Welbutrin (stomach should be able to handle it at this point). Inject 3 needles of Neupogen. Drink lots of water.
10:15am Take remaining drugs and flush catheter with Heparin. Brush teeth.
10:30am Go back to sleep.
That's my morning ritual. Takes a bit longer than reading the morning paper, eh? The key is to take things very slowly; my stomach is incredibly sensitive. Today I nearly puked from eating a bagel too fast, can you believe that?!? The bagel...my staple food. No wonder Barbara says I'm eating 1/4 what I normally eat.
Then, for the most part, I spend the day sleeping. For some reason, I have the uncanny ability to sleep FOREVER now. Which is strange because I usually have difficulty sleeping. Oh well, I'll take it!
On another note, I managed to withdraw from school yesterday. So, I'm out! It's a sad/scary feeling, but at least it allows me to move on. I'm no longer a student. Bah
Also, I'll be heading to a symphony Sunday with Liz, Barbara, and Gloria -- can you believe that? That means I'll be wearing my Darth Vader HEPA mask in a symphony hall! That should get some stares. But if Liz is cool with her date from the dark side, so am I.
Cytoxan has been... difficult. However, I am somehow pleased that the side effects are so apparent -- it means it is working. Maybe there isn't a correlation between side effects and chemotherapy effectiveness, but it still feels somewhat reassuring to feel what a chemo-patient is supposed to be feeling.
I mean, I was drinking beers and doing construction throughout ICE and Stanford V! Right now, water is difficult to drink and I can hardly get out of bed! Well, I'll get a PET/CT Scan in a few weeks; we'll see just how effective this has been.
Anyways, I thought I'd post a bit of my routine to help illustrate my situation:
7:00am Go to bathroom, take Rifampin (the drug that causes you to sweat and cry orange), drink lots of water, take Neupogen out of fridge, go back to sleep.
9:00am Take 2mg Ativan (dissolve on tongue, don't swallow!). I need the Ativan to eat; I need to eat to take the other pills. Eat a bagel...slowly. Take the Zofran and Compazine (other two anti-nausea pills). Drink lots of water.
9:30am Take Famotidine (reduces acid in stomach). Put Aquaguard over catheter dressing so that I can take a shower. Take a shower.
10:00am Take Cipro and Welbutrin (stomach should be able to handle it at this point). Inject 3 needles of Neupogen. Drink lots of water.
10:15am Take remaining drugs and flush catheter with Heparin. Brush teeth.
10:30am Go back to sleep.
That's my morning ritual. Takes a bit longer than reading the morning paper, eh? The key is to take things very slowly; my stomach is incredibly sensitive. Today I nearly puked from eating a bagel too fast, can you believe that?!? The bagel...my staple food. No wonder Barbara says I'm eating 1/4 what I normally eat.
Then, for the most part, I spend the day sleeping. For some reason, I have the uncanny ability to sleep FOREVER now. Which is strange because I usually have difficulty sleeping. Oh well, I'll take it!
On another note, I managed to withdraw from school yesterday. So, I'm out! It's a sad/scary feeling, but at least it allows me to move on. I'm no longer a student. Bah
Also, I'll be heading to a symphony Sunday with Liz, Barbara, and Gloria -- can you believe that? That means I'll be wearing my Darth Vader HEPA mask in a symphony hall! That should get some stares. But if Liz is cool with her date from the dark side, so am I.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
[9-03-08] Post ICE Appointment
[12:06pm]
I just got back from my oncology appointment in Berkeley. All that traveling (we left at 5:30am) has left me utterly exhausted! It appears I've become as pathetic, perhaps more, than the worst part of Stanford V. Last I checked, my hemoglobin was at 10.5; the worst during Stanford V was 10.1. However, my pulse today was an incredible 127! From what Barbara tells me, this is because my blood is delivering less oxygen per cell, so the heart has to pump faster. Still, under Stanford V, my pulse was never this high. Therefore, I conclude that my hemoglobin is under 10.1, and I am now at an all time low. Woohoo!
I vow to not move more than 100 feet in the next day. :P That's how tired I am.
Then there's the nausea, which is still quite annoying. For the first time, smells and tastes trigger it. I find I am very picky what foods I eat, which is strange because I can simultaneously be hungry and want to eat nothing at the same time. One morning, I nearly lost my stomach because the water tasted weird... though, the nausea is always worst in the morning.
But 1 ativan every four hours (two in emergency) always seems to do the trick.
As for the appointment itself, it was mostly good news.
First off, my doctor was extremely amazed at how well I handled the three sessions of ICE. Maybe they say that to all the patients, but the compliment felt nice, and I do think I have a resilience to the stuff.
Anyhow, my doctor talked with the Stanford doctor, and they are communicating! He seems to be under the impression that the Stanford doctor wanted a 4th ICE, but I think that's just up in the air in the moment. The important thing, is that they set up a referral appointment. During this appointment, I believe that I will be administered Cytoxan, and have apheresis performed within a few days. The only question: how soon can I get this appointment?
Additionally, my doctor seemed to indicate something quite distressing, and referred to it as a "holding pattern." Let's say that you're on your third ICE and apheresis has been performed, but the Stanford BMT rooms are currently booked. They may just give you a 4th ICE to keep the cancer in check as they wait for another room to open up. If a room was open in the first place, then no 4th ICE, and proceed to BMT. This is disturbing. I like cancer treatments to have a strategic purpose, not an administrative one.
The other distressing news was delivered in a scripted manner. Remember when the Stanford nurse was telling me about all the new tests that would need to be accomplished? "First the Muga, that's easy... then the Pet/CT, that's easy... then the Bone Marrow Biopsy, that's hard." Well, my doctor said pretty much the same thing verbatim. They know you're terrified about this, and perhaps they all go to the same seminar on how to deliver the bad news. I swear, my physician delivered the news that I had cancer far more directly and bluntly than the news that I need a bone marrow biopsy.
We told him that we weren't going to do it without sedation of some kind. I asked him if there was a way he could perform the procedure in a "humane" way. He looked a little flustered and apologetic at this. Perhaps I should have worded that differently. "We used to provide some sort of sedation for the procedure," he said, "but the new FDA regulations are unreasonable regarding the amount of equipment and manpower for a conscious sedation bone marrow biopsy." [Damn the FDA]
We told him that we would seek out other places that would perform this procedure. He said that there were places that would do this, but also warned that "Stanford may want to do things their way." It's funny, the threat of a bone marrow biopsy this time around did not illicit the emotional response of last time. Knowing that I would be sedated, or something, at all costs, gave me the comfort I needed. Even if I have to go to downtown Oakland for heroin before my biopsy...ok, maybe not that far...but you get my point!
It's good to have my normal oncologist back from vacation. He went to Ecuador. So I asked him, "I'm dying to know -- did you go to Galapagos?" He looked genuinely pleased that I asked, and then told me that he did not. That's like going to Egypt without visiting the pyramids! Oh well.
I just got back from my oncology appointment in Berkeley. All that traveling (we left at 5:30am) has left me utterly exhausted! It appears I've become as pathetic, perhaps more, than the worst part of Stanford V. Last I checked, my hemoglobin was at 10.5; the worst during Stanford V was 10.1. However, my pulse today was an incredible 127! From what Barbara tells me, this is because my blood is delivering less oxygen per cell, so the heart has to pump faster. Still, under Stanford V, my pulse was never this high. Therefore, I conclude that my hemoglobin is under 10.1, and I am now at an all time low. Woohoo!
I vow to not move more than 100 feet in the next day. :P That's how tired I am.
Then there's the nausea, which is still quite annoying. For the first time, smells and tastes trigger it. I find I am very picky what foods I eat, which is strange because I can simultaneously be hungry and want to eat nothing at the same time. One morning, I nearly lost my stomach because the water tasted weird... though, the nausea is always worst in the morning.
But 1 ativan every four hours (two in emergency) always seems to do the trick.
As for the appointment itself, it was mostly good news.
First off, my doctor was extremely amazed at how well I handled the three sessions of ICE. Maybe they say that to all the patients, but the compliment felt nice, and I do think I have a resilience to the stuff.
Anyhow, my doctor talked with the Stanford doctor, and they are communicating! He seems to be under the impression that the Stanford doctor wanted a 4th ICE, but I think that's just up in the air in the moment. The important thing, is that they set up a referral appointment. During this appointment, I believe that I will be administered Cytoxan, and have apheresis performed within a few days. The only question: how soon can I get this appointment?
Additionally, my doctor seemed to indicate something quite distressing, and referred to it as a "holding pattern." Let's say that you're on your third ICE and apheresis has been performed, but the Stanford BMT rooms are currently booked. They may just give you a 4th ICE to keep the cancer in check as they wait for another room to open up. If a room was open in the first place, then no 4th ICE, and proceed to BMT. This is disturbing. I like cancer treatments to have a strategic purpose, not an administrative one.
The other distressing news was delivered in a scripted manner. Remember when the Stanford nurse was telling me about all the new tests that would need to be accomplished? "First the Muga, that's easy... then the Pet/CT, that's easy... then the Bone Marrow Biopsy, that's hard." Well, my doctor said pretty much the same thing verbatim. They know you're terrified about this, and perhaps they all go to the same seminar on how to deliver the bad news. I swear, my physician delivered the news that I had cancer far more directly and bluntly than the news that I need a bone marrow biopsy.
We told him that we weren't going to do it without sedation of some kind. I asked him if there was a way he could perform the procedure in a "humane" way. He looked a little flustered and apologetic at this. Perhaps I should have worded that differently. "We used to provide some sort of sedation for the procedure," he said, "but the new FDA regulations are unreasonable regarding the amount of equipment and manpower for a conscious sedation bone marrow biopsy." [Damn the FDA]
We told him that we would seek out other places that would perform this procedure. He said that there were places that would do this, but also warned that "Stanford may want to do things their way." It's funny, the threat of a bone marrow biopsy this time around did not illicit the emotional response of last time. Knowing that I would be sedated, or something, at all costs, gave me the comfort I needed. Even if I have to go to downtown Oakland for heroin before my biopsy...ok, maybe not that far...but you get my point!
It's good to have my normal oncologist back from vacation. He went to Ecuador. So I asked him, "I'm dying to know -- did you go to Galapagos?" He looked genuinely pleased that I asked, and then told me that he did not. That's like going to Egypt without visiting the pyramids! Oh well.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
[9-02-08] Isolation
[12:13am]
It's been a long day. So I'll keep this brief, before I fall into slumber.
Yesterday, Liz and I spent a lovely day looking at a new house for rent. This particular place probably wont work out, but it was fun nonetheless. We also spent a good deal of time trying to get me fed -- which is quite harder than it looks when you are limited to restaurants which serve fully cooked food to patrons outdoors.
It's all due to the neutropenia thing. I can't eat uncooked vegetables or anything for that matter: microbes and whatnot. Also, I can't be in crowded places without a hepa-mask on: people with their colds, and whatnot. So, if we want to eat out, we have to eat outdoors. After waiting about an hour for a seat outdoors, we decided to bail and get some take-out.
(Get This: While looking for alternative food options we found a "taqueria" that did not serve burritos! In fact, the lady got a little snippy when I asked for one. Sheesh, no need to get mad at me just because you work in a pseudo-taqueria. Am I wrong?)
Anyhow, I wake up today (Monday), and Liz drops me off at the bart (transit) station. Dutifully, I don my blue hepa-mask and confirm to the world that I am a cancer-infested chemo-eater. It's not a garment to be proud of. I'm sitting there in a train with two signs: on the left, there is a sign for breast cancer awareness; on the right, there is a sign for a leukemia and lymphoma marathon. Then there is these normal people sitting there casually, noting me, and noting the two cancer signs behind me. I can see them feeling the plague upon them, and not wanting to acknowledge it. For you see, I am sick. And society does not like sick people.
But the topic for today is isolation. I need to protect myself from a cold or something because my immune system is so weak. Accordingly, I need to avoid the deadly germ -- to avoid anything which may propagate or spread this evil menace. So, I can't go home.
Unfortunately, my sister and her daughters seem to have caught a bit of a cold at the herbal symposium this weekend. So, after a long day of traveling, I have to establish a new home-base on the boat to the south...and it is a messy boat too :P Still, I was really, really, really, tired at that point. I wanted nothing more than to just lie down. So, before I can lie down, I've got to get situated. Thankfully, Barbara is getting everything arranged while I casually play my Nintendo DS -- otherwise it'd be all too much.
So, writing really helps me vent... but I feel it necessary to point out that I was really quite pissed off about all this. Not at any thing, and especially not toward any person, except... this damn cancer. I just don't like it. It sucks.
But, as I said, writing helps. I'm good now. I'm going to go make some nachos and then go to sleep. Cancer still sucks, but at least I can still gorge myself on nachos. Goodnight.
It's been a long day. So I'll keep this brief, before I fall into slumber.
Yesterday, Liz and I spent a lovely day looking at a new house for rent. This particular place probably wont work out, but it was fun nonetheless. We also spent a good deal of time trying to get me fed -- which is quite harder than it looks when you are limited to restaurants which serve fully cooked food to patrons outdoors.
It's all due to the neutropenia thing. I can't eat uncooked vegetables or anything for that matter: microbes and whatnot. Also, I can't be in crowded places without a hepa-mask on: people with their colds, and whatnot. So, if we want to eat out, we have to eat outdoors. After waiting about an hour for a seat outdoors, we decided to bail and get some take-out.
(Get This: While looking for alternative food options we found a "taqueria" that did not serve burritos! In fact, the lady got a little snippy when I asked for one. Sheesh, no need to get mad at me just because you work in a pseudo-taqueria. Am I wrong?)
Anyhow, I wake up today (Monday), and Liz drops me off at the bart (transit) station. Dutifully, I don my blue hepa-mask and confirm to the world that I am a cancer-infested chemo-eater. It's not a garment to be proud of. I'm sitting there in a train with two signs: on the left, there is a sign for breast cancer awareness; on the right, there is a sign for a leukemia and lymphoma marathon. Then there is these normal people sitting there casually, noting me, and noting the two cancer signs behind me. I can see them feeling the plague upon them, and not wanting to acknowledge it. For you see, I am sick. And society does not like sick people.
But the topic for today is isolation. I need to protect myself from a cold or something because my immune system is so weak. Accordingly, I need to avoid the deadly germ -- to avoid anything which may propagate or spread this evil menace. So, I can't go home.
Unfortunately, my sister and her daughters seem to have caught a bit of a cold at the herbal symposium this weekend. So, after a long day of traveling, I have to establish a new home-base on the boat to the south...and it is a messy boat too :P Still, I was really, really, really, tired at that point. I wanted nothing more than to just lie down. So, before I can lie down, I've got to get situated. Thankfully, Barbara is getting everything arranged while I casually play my Nintendo DS -- otherwise it'd be all too much.
So, writing really helps me vent... but I feel it necessary to point out that I was really quite pissed off about all this. Not at any thing, and especially not toward any person, except... this damn cancer. I just don't like it. It sucks.
But, as I said, writing helps. I'm good now. I'm going to go make some nachos and then go to sleep. Cancer still sucks, but at least I can still gorge myself on nachos. Goodnight.
Friday, August 29, 2008
[8-29-09] ICE, day 3
[8:32am]
Finally, I get to have meals that I've ordered on their little menu! I ordered scrambled eggs, with bagels, and a special request for bacon. They gave me pancakes instead of eggs. For anyone who knows me, they will know two things: 1> I loathe pancakes, and 2> My entire breakfast-eating system has effectively been shut down. The egg is a catalyst between the bread and the bacon... a necessary conduit, if you will. My only option: eat the bacon straight and be a little hungry (which is actually OK, because my appetite is waning a bit anyways). I find it remarkable how much I talk about food in this blog...
[10:33am]
Lab work is in! The results are:
WBC (White Blood Count): 1.2 (Normal 4.8 to 10.8)
RBC (Red Blood Count): 3.5 (Normal 4.7 to 6.1)
Hemoglobin: 10.7 (Normal 14 to 18)
Neutrophils: 63 (Normal 35 to 75)
I included neutrophils becuase I recently learned something called a "neutropenia score." If you are below 1000 in this score, you're neutropenic and immunosupressed.
The formula is: (Neutrophils/100) * (WBC*1000) = Neutropenia Score
So, I am: (63/100) * (1.2*1000) = .63*1200 = 756.
This means I have moderate neutropenia. With a WBC of 1.2, this would normally be severe, but my neutrophils are hanging in there at the moment (within normal range!).
As for the hemoglobin. I feel pretty ok right now, but I know from experience that once that number hits 10 or below, then things break down.
In the realm of side-effects, nausea has been more consistent with this cycle. I've asked for ativan so much, I think they're just giving it to me every four hours now. Works for me! Now the nausea hasn't shown up at all. However, food still doesn't seems appetizing. It may be time to take on the approach taught by Liz's mom: chicken noodle soup and popsicles!
As for everything else, I am doing well. Just sitting around playing "Final Fantasy XII: Revenant Wings" on my DS -- it's quite addictive.
Hopefully, I'll get chemo earlier today. I want to be able to go apartment hunting with Liz on Sunday.
[6:03pm]
Woohoo! Chemo has just started with the Cisplatin! So it looks like I'll get out of here in-time. That's good news. Interestingly, I noticed that my dose for ifosfamide was increased from 1750mg to 2200mg. That's quite a big difference if you consider that I've been getting 195mg of Cisplatin. If you've read only of my earlier posts, you'll notice this discrepancy...
The maximum dose for Ifosfamide is 1000mg/m^2. My surface area is 2.2m^2, thus I should achieve 2200mg of Ifosfamide. When I questioned the nurses as to why I was receiving 1750mg, they speculated about maximum dose in such a short time (such as 7000mg). I am skeptical... why, then, am I now able to have 8800mg in four days??
Either: 1: Someone screwed up.
or: 2: They acknowledged my tolerance and decided I could handle a higher dose.
or: 3: They planned to gradually up the dose all along.
I just hope it's not #1. Or maybe Irwin's orders differed from Cecchi's. Who knows? When I looked at the chart, I saw 1750mg crossed out and replaced with 2200mg. Consider what might have happened if I had 2200mg all along? Remember that dose reduction study. Please be #2 or #3, and let all be right in the world.
This also explains why this round of chemo is rougher than the last two -- I'm getting almost 20% more chemo (by volume).
Finally, I get to have meals that I've ordered on their little menu! I ordered scrambled eggs, with bagels, and a special request for bacon. They gave me pancakes instead of eggs. For anyone who knows me, they will know two things: 1> I loathe pancakes, and 2> My entire breakfast-eating system has effectively been shut down. The egg is a catalyst between the bread and the bacon... a necessary conduit, if you will. My only option: eat the bacon straight and be a little hungry (which is actually OK, because my appetite is waning a bit anyways). I find it remarkable how much I talk about food in this blog...
[10:33am]
Lab work is in! The results are:
WBC (White Blood Count): 1.2 (Normal 4.8 to 10.8)
RBC (Red Blood Count): 3.5 (Normal 4.7 to 6.1)
Hemoglobin: 10.7 (Normal 14 to 18)
Neutrophils: 63 (Normal 35 to 75)
I included neutrophils becuase I recently learned something called a "neutropenia score." If you are below 1000 in this score, you're neutropenic and immunosupressed.
Mild neutropenia (1000 <= ANC < 1500) — minimal risk of infection
Moderate neutropenia (500 <= ANC < 1000) — moderate risk of infection
Severe neutropenia (ANC < 500) — severe risk of infection.
The formula is: (Neutrophils/100) * (WBC*1000) = Neutropenia Score
So, I am: (63/100) * (1.2*1000) = .63*1200 = 756.
This means I have moderate neutropenia. With a WBC of 1.2, this would normally be severe, but my neutrophils are hanging in there at the moment (within normal range!).
As for the hemoglobin. I feel pretty ok right now, but I know from experience that once that number hits 10 or below, then things break down.
In the realm of side-effects, nausea has been more consistent with this cycle. I've asked for ativan so much, I think they're just giving it to me every four hours now. Works for me! Now the nausea hasn't shown up at all. However, food still doesn't seems appetizing. It may be time to take on the approach taught by Liz's mom: chicken noodle soup and popsicles!
As for everything else, I am doing well. Just sitting around playing "Final Fantasy XII: Revenant Wings" on my DS -- it's quite addictive.
Hopefully, I'll get chemo earlier today. I want to be able to go apartment hunting with Liz on Sunday.
[6:03pm]
Woohoo! Chemo has just started with the Cisplatin! So it looks like I'll get out of here in-time. That's good news. Interestingly, I noticed that my dose for ifosfamide was increased from 1750mg to 2200mg. That's quite a big difference if you consider that I've been getting 195mg of Cisplatin. If you've read only of my earlier posts, you'll notice this discrepancy...
The maximum dose for Ifosfamide is 1000mg/m^2. My surface area is 2.2m^2, thus I should achieve 2200mg of Ifosfamide. When I questioned the nurses as to why I was receiving 1750mg, they speculated about maximum dose in such a short time (such as 7000mg). I am skeptical... why, then, am I now able to have 8800mg in four days??
Either: 1: Someone screwed up.
or: 2: They acknowledged my tolerance and decided I could handle a higher dose.
or: 3: They planned to gradually up the dose all along.
I just hope it's not #1. Or maybe Irwin's orders differed from Cecchi's. Who knows? When I looked at the chart, I saw 1750mg crossed out and replaced with 2200mg. Consider what might have happened if I had 2200mg all along? Remember that dose reduction study. Please be #2 or #3, and let all be right in the world.
This also explains why this round of chemo is rougher than the last two -- I'm getting almost 20% more chemo (by volume).
Thursday, August 28, 2008
[8-28-08] ICE Cycle 3, day 2
[12:10pm]
Well, time flies when you're diagnosing computer problems. In an attempt to boost my gaming situation here at the hospital, I acquired an HD (with component video) to usb device. This was so that I could hook up my xbox 360 to my laptop.
After hours and hours of work, I actually managed to get it to work on my system (apparently it fails in xp sp3), but I managed to hack around that. To my dismay, the video quality was poor and laggy. Impossible to play games with. After further research, I discovered that it is currently impossible to do what I was trying to do -- no product is available (in HD).
Oh well, I guess I've got to bring my lcd screen to Stanford. In trying to minimize my situation, I made things terribly complicated. No xbox on lappy.
And that's been my day so far. No chemo yet -- they plan to start around 2pm, so maybe I'll get some chemo before midnight this time. I'm just a tad frustrated...
So my white blood count is at 1.6, and my nurse told me to wash my hands more, and wear a protective mask around the hospital and whatnot. I've never had it before, but it sure explains the soreness around my throat -- annoyingly painful! Just to illustrate the way things have been going around here, I asked for some of that mouthwash at 11, and received it at 8:30pm. The order for chemo was processed by 12, and I started receiving hydration for that around 9:30pm, then the chemo two hours later. Calm down Austin, it will get better.
They have a bunch of "traveling nurses" that move from one hospital to the next. Apparently, the chemo certification is out of style. That was the cause of my delay -- no chemo nurses available. As for the mouthwash, I chalk it down to inefficiency or negligence. And they actually *expect* you to turn in all your own prescriptions that your brought?!?! Ha! My Vicodin is well stashed away -- if I get some severe pain, I don't want to wait 8 hours to get relief!
My hemoglobin is slowly descending -- right now it is at 11. That explains why I still have some energy -- I know from experience that I turn into a anemic sloth at around a hemoglobin level of 10.
[12:55pm]
Lunch is right on time, five till one. I guess it makes since. Since most cancer patients probably abhor food right now, it benefits everyone else to serve us last. Then you've got the young buck with Hodgkin's to screw everything up.
Headache, headache, headache... This is the fourth day in a row that I've had to deal with an annoying headache. If I didn't know any better, I would say that I'm stressed! But that's just not true. I should be, but I'm not. Anyhow, maybe if I score some coffee things will get better. Apparently, it dilates the blood vessels on your head or something.
[2:14pm]
On the topic of "magic mouthwash." Let it be known that I feel apprehension in describing a perfectly proven form of Western medicine in a manner fit for mystical treatment. Every time I say, "Please, could you get me some of that numbing mouthwash?" The nurse says, "Oh, the magic mouthwash. Sure thing." I've tried several times. Sometimes they get confused if I describe it in any other term.
Accordingly, I have been forced to relent. Still, a bit of my soul is chipped away each time I say the term "magic."
On another note, the big boss (oncology manager) came to visit me to ask me if I was being cared for properly. Mwa ha ha I got to relate my horror story about waiting 8 hours for relief medication, and 9 hours for chemo. It felt good.
I also wanted to say a few words about my internet friend Bekah. She just completed a bone marrow transplant, and found out a few days ago that the treatment has failed. The remaining options are not as promising. That sucks. In a way, I feel like we're peers; I kinda look up to her. I hope for the best.
Well, time flies when you're diagnosing computer problems. In an attempt to boost my gaming situation here at the hospital, I acquired an HD (with component video) to usb device. This was so that I could hook up my xbox 360 to my laptop.
After hours and hours of work, I actually managed to get it to work on my system (apparently it fails in xp sp3), but I managed to hack around that. To my dismay, the video quality was poor and laggy. Impossible to play games with. After further research, I discovered that it is currently impossible to do what I was trying to do -- no product is available (in HD).
Oh well, I guess I've got to bring my lcd screen to Stanford. In trying to minimize my situation, I made things terribly complicated. No xbox on lappy.
And that's been my day so far. No chemo yet -- they plan to start around 2pm, so maybe I'll get some chemo before midnight this time. I'm just a tad frustrated...
So my white blood count is at 1.6, and my nurse told me to wash my hands more, and wear a protective mask around the hospital and whatnot. I've never had it before, but it sure explains the soreness around my throat -- annoyingly painful! Just to illustrate the way things have been going around here, I asked for some of that mouthwash at 11, and received it at 8:30pm. The order for chemo was processed by 12, and I started receiving hydration for that around 9:30pm, then the chemo two hours later. Calm down Austin, it will get better.
They have a bunch of "traveling nurses" that move from one hospital to the next. Apparently, the chemo certification is out of style. That was the cause of my delay -- no chemo nurses available. As for the mouthwash, I chalk it down to inefficiency or negligence. And they actually *expect* you to turn in all your own prescriptions that your brought?!?! Ha! My Vicodin is well stashed away -- if I get some severe pain, I don't want to wait 8 hours to get relief!
My hemoglobin is slowly descending -- right now it is at 11. That explains why I still have some energy -- I know from experience that I turn into a anemic sloth at around a hemoglobin level of 10.
[12:55pm]
Lunch is right on time, five till one. I guess it makes since. Since most cancer patients probably abhor food right now, it benefits everyone else to serve us last. Then you've got the young buck with Hodgkin's to screw everything up.
Headache, headache, headache... This is the fourth day in a row that I've had to deal with an annoying headache. If I didn't know any better, I would say that I'm stressed! But that's just not true. I should be, but I'm not. Anyhow, maybe if I score some coffee things will get better. Apparently, it dilates the blood vessels on your head or something.
[2:14pm]
On the topic of "magic mouthwash." Let it be known that I feel apprehension in describing a perfectly proven form of Western medicine in a manner fit for mystical treatment. Every time I say, "Please, could you get me some of that numbing mouthwash?" The nurse says, "Oh, the magic mouthwash. Sure thing." I've tried several times. Sometimes they get confused if I describe it in any other term.
Accordingly, I have been forced to relent. Still, a bit of my soul is chipped away each time I say the term "magic."
On another note, the big boss (oncology manager) came to visit me to ask me if I was being cared for properly. Mwa ha ha I got to relate my horror story about waiting 8 hours for relief medication, and 9 hours for chemo. It felt good.
I also wanted to say a few words about my internet friend Bekah. She just completed a bone marrow transplant, and found out a few days ago that the treatment has failed. The remaining options are not as promising. That sucks. In a way, I feel like we're peers; I kinda look up to her. I hope for the best.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
[8-27-08] ICE again, naturally
[1:58pm]
I need FOOD! On the hospital patient guide, it specifies that lunch is to promptly arrive between 11:00am and 1:00pm. Around here, in the oncology department, that usually means that we get lunch at 1:00pm. I'm used to that, so I've been patiently waiting... To my horror, I just learned that I've been forgotten! Even worse, they are prohibiting me from walking to the cafeteria!
Fortunately, I've bribed one of the guards -- she's going to try to smuggle something in.
Onto less important stuff...
I haven't really elaborated how I feel regarding my scan results. Truthfully, I am pleased with the results. Not ecstatic; not depressed... pleased.
Apparently, this sort of casual attitude really annoys oncologists. It makes sense: they have to deliver so much bad news to so many people; any chance to deliver good news is a prized opportunity. It's a bit of a buzzkill if the patient already expects and calmly acknowledges the good news. Oh well -- I can't help that.
But basically, I got exactly what I expected. Actually, not exactly. I expected the tumor to shrink, say, 35%. Not enough to head straight for Stanford, but enough to justify a BMT and continue ICE treatment. Technically, my results were substantially better than that. Even though the tumor only decreased in size by about ten percent, its metabolism went from a 5 to a 2. So I really have a 60% reduction. Call me old fashioned, but I want the thing to shrink a bunch too.
Regardless, I can now go to Stanford (yay!), and I will get 2 more ICE sessions. Now that I think about it -- I am relieved. If the ICE did nothing, I would be in a very bad situation. But now, I can start making long-term plans again. So... good.
but... I was just now starting to recover from the last ICE treatment! I mean, it wasn't all that harsh, but there were certain disadvantages... My stomach has just returned to me a few days ago: I can eat *anything* again! And, with regard to the opposite of eating, things have returned to nominal (mostly) functionality! It's one of those things that you don't miss until you lose it. Let me tell you, I can truly appreciate it right now.
Now, I get to go back to the hospital and lose all that yet again. That sucks! Bah.
Maybe this time, the ICE will put up more of a fight. In a way, I want my opponent to be more of a challenge. Like a ten year old beating up a heavyweight boxer... I'm kind of embarrassed for him. Let him get in a few punches just to keep up appearances...this is too easy.
Anyhow, I forgot my notebook charger!! How could I do that?!?! I'm a nerd for crying out loud! That's like forgetting to put on pants in the morning! So, my battery has a few minutes left. So, ta ta for now.
I need FOOD! On the hospital patient guide, it specifies that lunch is to promptly arrive between 11:00am and 1:00pm. Around here, in the oncology department, that usually means that we get lunch at 1:00pm. I'm used to that, so I've been patiently waiting... To my horror, I just learned that I've been forgotten! Even worse, they are prohibiting me from walking to the cafeteria!
Fortunately, I've bribed one of the guards -- she's going to try to smuggle something in.
Onto less important stuff...
I haven't really elaborated how I feel regarding my scan results. Truthfully, I am pleased with the results. Not ecstatic; not depressed... pleased.
Apparently, this sort of casual attitude really annoys oncologists. It makes sense: they have to deliver so much bad news to so many people; any chance to deliver good news is a prized opportunity. It's a bit of a buzzkill if the patient already expects and calmly acknowledges the good news. Oh well -- I can't help that.
But basically, I got exactly what I expected. Actually, not exactly. I expected the tumor to shrink, say, 35%. Not enough to head straight for Stanford, but enough to justify a BMT and continue ICE treatment. Technically, my results were substantially better than that. Even though the tumor only decreased in size by about ten percent, its metabolism went from a 5 to a 2. So I really have a 60% reduction. Call me old fashioned, but I want the thing to shrink a bunch too.
Regardless, I can now go to Stanford (yay!), and I will get 2 more ICE sessions. Now that I think about it -- I am relieved. If the ICE did nothing, I would be in a very bad situation. But now, I can start making long-term plans again. So... good.
but... I was just now starting to recover from the last ICE treatment! I mean, it wasn't all that harsh, but there were certain disadvantages... My stomach has just returned to me a few days ago: I can eat *anything* again! And, with regard to the opposite of eating, things have returned to nominal (mostly) functionality! It's one of those things that you don't miss until you lose it. Let me tell you, I can truly appreciate it right now.
Now, I get to go back to the hospital and lose all that yet again. That sucks! Bah.
Maybe this time, the ICE will put up more of a fight. In a way, I want my opponent to be more of a challenge. Like a ten year old beating up a heavyweight boxer... I'm kind of embarrassed for him. Let him get in a few punches just to keep up appearances...this is too easy.
Anyhow, I forgot my notebook charger!! How could I do that?!?! I'm a nerd for crying out loud! That's like forgetting to put on pants in the morning! So, my battery has a few minutes left. So, ta ta for now.
Monday, August 25, 2008
[8-25-08] Pet-CT Scan
[1:44pm]
I just returned from my third Pet-CT scan! I'll just reiterate: This one is especially important because it determines whether I will be able to go to Stanford for their BMT program. There better be some progress! Naturally, I am sitting on the edge of my seat... metaphorically speaking. I find out the results tomorrow, and the next step of the big plan. That'll be an important day.
The scan went well. Liz and I set two alarms because we were paranoid that something might make us miss this critical appointment, and I arrived there way early -- which was fine, because I got to amuse myself with my new blue Nintendo DS. The nurse checked my blood sugar level and asked me: "Did you have dessert last night?" Knowing that I was not supposed to eat or drink in the past 8 hours, I made it a point to emphasize that I obeyed the rules, and, in addition, did not have any dessert. She then asked me what I ate the night before. I told her, "Extremely spicy Mandarin Beef." Anyhow, the level was a tad high, but within acceptable range.
She then injected the radioactive sugar and I asked her whether it was made at Lawrence Livermore Labs (since they have a cyclotron there). Apparently, everyone, including Livermore Labs, gets their Pet-CT sugar from a specialized place in Gilroy that makes nothing else.
Then, I was to sit back and relax in this dark, and small room with an extremely comfy recliner. I fell asleep quickly, and had dreams where I was waiting in a dark Pet-CT room on a comfy recliner... except, the lights in the room were on and I didn't turn them on... I was panicking. I could turn them off, but then I would have to move. But, if I didn't turn them off, the nurse would come back and yell at me for turning them on in the first place. I would then wake up, fall asleep again, and have variations of the same dream.
Then, after I was good and asleep, the nurse woke me up and told me to climb in the machine. A few minutes after the scan started, I fell asleep again. I mean, you can't wake someone up in deep REM and expect them to remain awake as you instruct them to lie down and remain perfectly still for 25 minutes. It's just not going to happen. Then problem was that there was microphones in the machine, so that the operator can talk to the patient. That was a problem because I caught myself snoring several times. Yes, I was snoring in the Pet-CT machine. The poor nurse... she probably had to put me on mute.
Oh, and after the scan, the nurse asked me about my occupation. I told her I was a student, and she asked me when the fall semester started. I didn't realize it until then, but it was today. That kind of bummed me out.
Anyhow... that's it for the scan. We'll find out the results tomorrow.
Now, I know you all are just begging to elaborate further on my Nintendo DS. So, to appease the masses, I will do so now... It is super-awesome! I haven't been as excited about a toy like this for years now. The funny part is, I wasn't too excited about it as I purchased it -- I had to play it a bit to really appreciate it.
(By the way, for the sake of record, Liz made me do it. So, I'm completely guilt-free for spending money on a toy.) :)
I even got "Guitar Hero" for the DS -- which requires a strange little fretboard attachment. Then you take this stylus/pick and strum along to the music on the video game screen -- super cool.
So, consider myself suitable distracted from all sorts of worries. I find comfort in the fact that, no matter where I am, I have complete freedom from boredom. Plus, having that thing in the hospital bed will help tremendously.
Oh, and one last thing before I go... Last night, I had a huge craving for something spicy! Maybe it's the chemo; maybe it's my taste buds losing sensitivity. Anyhow, we went for Chinese, and I asked them to make my Mandarin beef extra spicy. They failed: it was pretty mild. But, they did include a bowl of pure Chinese pepper seed sauce. I dumped the whole thing on the beef and stirred it in. When the waiter returned, he was flabbergasted: "You put the whole thing in?!" It was awesome.
As I ate more and more, the beef got hotter and hotter. Eventually, I reached painfully hot. It was great, and exactly what I wanted. I'm not usually into spicy foods, nor is my tolerance exemplary. Maybe it is the chemo.
I just returned from my third Pet-CT scan! I'll just reiterate: This one is especially important because it determines whether I will be able to go to Stanford for their BMT program. There better be some progress! Naturally, I am sitting on the edge of my seat... metaphorically speaking. I find out the results tomorrow, and the next step of the big plan. That'll be an important day.
The scan went well. Liz and I set two alarms because we were paranoid that something might make us miss this critical appointment, and I arrived there way early -- which was fine, because I got to amuse myself with my new blue Nintendo DS. The nurse checked my blood sugar level and asked me: "Did you have dessert last night?" Knowing that I was not supposed to eat or drink in the past 8 hours, I made it a point to emphasize that I obeyed the rules, and, in addition, did not have any dessert. She then asked me what I ate the night before. I told her, "Extremely spicy Mandarin Beef." Anyhow, the level was a tad high, but within acceptable range.
She then injected the radioactive sugar and I asked her whether it was made at Lawrence Livermore Labs (since they have a cyclotron there). Apparently, everyone, including Livermore Labs, gets their Pet-CT sugar from a specialized place in Gilroy that makes nothing else.
Then, I was to sit back and relax in this dark, and small room with an extremely comfy recliner. I fell asleep quickly, and had dreams where I was waiting in a dark Pet-CT room on a comfy recliner... except, the lights in the room were on and I didn't turn them on... I was panicking. I could turn them off, but then I would have to move. But, if I didn't turn them off, the nurse would come back and yell at me for turning them on in the first place. I would then wake up, fall asleep again, and have variations of the same dream.
Then, after I was good and asleep, the nurse woke me up and told me to climb in the machine. A few minutes after the scan started, I fell asleep again. I mean, you can't wake someone up in deep REM and expect them to remain awake as you instruct them to lie down and remain perfectly still for 25 minutes. It's just not going to happen. Then problem was that there was microphones in the machine, so that the operator can talk to the patient. That was a problem because I caught myself snoring several times. Yes, I was snoring in the Pet-CT machine. The poor nurse... she probably had to put me on mute.
Oh, and after the scan, the nurse asked me about my occupation. I told her I was a student, and she asked me when the fall semester started. I didn't realize it until then, but it was today. That kind of bummed me out.
Anyhow... that's it for the scan. We'll find out the results tomorrow.
Now, I know you all are just begging to elaborate further on my Nintendo DS. So, to appease the masses, I will do so now... It is super-awesome! I haven't been as excited about a toy like this for years now. The funny part is, I wasn't too excited about it as I purchased it -- I had to play it a bit to really appreciate it.
(By the way, for the sake of record, Liz made me do it. So, I'm completely guilt-free for spending money on a toy.) :)
I even got "Guitar Hero" for the DS -- which requires a strange little fretboard attachment. Then you take this stylus/pick and strum along to the music on the video game screen -- super cool.
So, consider myself suitable distracted from all sorts of worries. I find comfort in the fact that, no matter where I am, I have complete freedom from boredom. Plus, having that thing in the hospital bed will help tremendously.
Oh, and one last thing before I go... Last night, I had a huge craving for something spicy! Maybe it's the chemo; maybe it's my taste buds losing sensitivity. Anyhow, we went for Chinese, and I asked them to make my Mandarin beef extra spicy. They failed: it was pretty mild. But, they did include a bowl of pure Chinese pepper seed sauce. I dumped the whole thing on the beef and stirred it in. When the waiter returned, he was flabbergasted: "You put the whole thing in?!" It was awesome.
As I ate more and more, the beef got hotter and hotter. Eventually, I reached painfully hot. It was great, and exactly what I wanted. I'm not usually into spicy foods, nor is my tolerance exemplary. Maybe it is the chemo.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
[8-13-08] No ICE? What a drag.
[10:36am]
I just got settled in! I set up my laptop, plugged in Barbara's hard drive, put away my clothes, and politely refused to wear a gown. I mean, it doesn't make any sense! I want to feel human, not like some sick person! Granted, I am sick... but that doesn't mean I have to feel sick!
It's also funny that they all seem to think that, without a gown, I will choose to instead sleep in my jeans. "We have some pajama pants you can wear..." Maybe they're extremely prudish?
But it's like, "H-e-l-l-o!! I have Hodgkin's Lymphoma...anyone know what that means...anyone...anyone...Bueller?" Night sweats! And if you think I'm a going nite-nite in anything other than my undies, you got another thing coming!
So, no gown. :) I am, of course, wearing clothes :P
[12:28pm]
Red Warrior needs food badly!
Hmmm... I'm such a pig. Nurse is trying to explain all the upcoming chemo and side effects, and I'm like: "Yes, yes, but when is the food coming?" and she's like: "Well, usually lun..." and I'm like: "YES, FOOD! FOOD FOOD FOOD!"
*ahem* Yes. The point is that I'm not used to having to wait for food. I suppose I am spoiled in that regard. At home, when I am hungry, I eat. Simple as that. Accordingly, it has turned into somewhat of a personal obsession over the past thirty minutes. I think to myself: "I wonder what's going to be on the menu...French fries? No...they wouldn't dare...At least some type of desert object though...Thats good...But will they remember that I usually eat double portions? Or will they screw me on the first day?" Arrrgh! So much stress!
[1:24pm]
Hmmm....I found a Japanese Restaurant that will deliver here. I hope the staff here wouldn't consider that rude...
[1:47pm]
Ah, I've been fed. All is right in the world. Chemo hasn't started yet, but my lab results are in!
WBC: 5.1 [Nom: 4.8 to 10.8]
RBC: 3.8 [Nom: 4.7 to 6.1]
HGB: 11.7 [Nom: 14 to 18]
Slightly anemic, but not immunosuppressed. Chemo is a go!
[3:43pm]
Chemo is not a go! There hasn't been any chemo orders faxed from Irwin's office. The pharmacy closes at 4:30pm. No orders before 4:30pm means no chemo today. In other words, the whole day will be pointless. Bah, more stress. It's not fighting cancer, it's fighting to get treated!
[4:00pm]
Dr. C isn't going to send the orders today. I have no clue why. No chemo today. What a waste. Bah.
The nurse came in and was furious!! It was awesome! She said something about "kicking" my "doctor's butt" and then immediately apologized for being "extremely unprofessional." She explained that she was a patient advocate, and things like these especially infuriated her. Rock on!
She then gave me a $10 cafeteria voucher for all the inconvenience. Kinda silly to be spending thousands and thousands for hospital care, delaying your life-saving chemo, and wasting an entire day, only to be given a little $10 voucher. I got a bacon cheeseburger and fries. It was worth it :P
Plus, the good news is that they are going to start the hydration process in a couple of hours. That process takes at least 5 hours. The entire day won't be completely a waste, in other words. So, getting that out of the way, I will be able to start my day with a fresh cup of chemo.
Watching: League of Gentlemen (Silly BBC Comedy)
I just got settled in! I set up my laptop, plugged in Barbara's hard drive, put away my clothes, and politely refused to wear a gown. I mean, it doesn't make any sense! I want to feel human, not like some sick person! Granted, I am sick... but that doesn't mean I have to feel sick!
It's also funny that they all seem to think that, without a gown, I will choose to instead sleep in my jeans. "We have some pajama pants you can wear..." Maybe they're extremely prudish?
But it's like, "H-e-l-l-o!! I have Hodgkin's Lymphoma...anyone know what that means...anyone...anyone...Bueller?" Night sweats! And if you think I'm a going nite-nite in anything other than my undies, you got another thing coming!
So, no gown. :) I am, of course, wearing clothes :P
[12:28pm]
Red Warrior needs food badly!
Hmmm... I'm such a pig. Nurse is trying to explain all the upcoming chemo and side effects, and I'm like: "Yes, yes, but when is the food coming?" and she's like: "Well, usually lun..." and I'm like: "YES, FOOD! FOOD FOOD FOOD!"
*ahem* Yes. The point is that I'm not used to having to wait for food. I suppose I am spoiled in that regard. At home, when I am hungry, I eat. Simple as that. Accordingly, it has turned into somewhat of a personal obsession over the past thirty minutes. I think to myself: "I wonder what's going to be on the menu...French fries? No...they wouldn't dare...At least some type of desert object though...Thats good...But will they remember that I usually eat double portions? Or will they screw me on the first day?" Arrrgh! So much stress!
[1:24pm]
Hmmm....I found a Japanese Restaurant that will deliver here. I hope the staff here wouldn't consider that rude...
[1:47pm]
Ah, I've been fed. All is right in the world. Chemo hasn't started yet, but my lab results are in!
WBC: 5.1 [Nom: 4.8 to 10.8]
RBC: 3.8 [Nom: 4.7 to 6.1]
HGB: 11.7 [Nom: 14 to 18]
Slightly anemic, but not immunosuppressed. Chemo is a go!
[3:43pm]
Chemo is not a go! There hasn't been any chemo orders faxed from Irwin's office. The pharmacy closes at 4:30pm. No orders before 4:30pm means no chemo today. In other words, the whole day will be pointless. Bah, more stress. It's not fighting cancer, it's fighting to get treated!
[4:00pm]
Dr. C isn't going to send the orders today. I have no clue why. No chemo today. What a waste. Bah.
The nurse came in and was furious!! It was awesome! She said something about "kicking" my "doctor's butt" and then immediately apologized for being "extremely unprofessional." She explained that she was a patient advocate, and things like these especially infuriated her. Rock on!
She then gave me a $10 cafeteria voucher for all the inconvenience. Kinda silly to be spending thousands and thousands for hospital care, delaying your life-saving chemo, and wasting an entire day, only to be given a little $10 voucher. I got a bacon cheeseburger and fries. It was worth it :P
Plus, the good news is that they are going to start the hydration process in a couple of hours. That process takes at least 5 hours. The entire day won't be completely a waste, in other words. So, getting that out of the way, I will be able to start my day with a fresh cup of chemo.
Watching: League of Gentlemen (Silly BBC Comedy)
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