[10:37pm]
Today was my appointment... it was exhausting. I left my house at 10:30am and returned at 7:30pm for a 20 minute appointment with my doctor. Transit time was 2.5 hours (one way), labwork had an hour wait, and the clinic appointment had an 80 minute wait. A whole day wasted; I'm so tired of this stuff. It will be much better once I have my own transportation, of course.
Then I have two more appointments scheduled two weeks from now. So I have freedom for 12 of the next 14 days... the price paid for two 20 minute appointments. Bah. But enough complaining...
I did get to learn a few things. Top on my list was the bone marrow biopsy. Apparently, the biopsy is to determine whether I had any chromosome damage/toxicity due to the high dose chemo. This sort of damage could be classified as pre-cancerous. So, unfortunately, it looks like it is justified. My doctor plans for two more biopsies (coupled with pet-CT scans): one about a month from now, and another in 4 months. Fortunately, it doesn't look like the bone marrow biopsies will be a part of the routine in the years to come.
I then asked about transferring my care to my local oncologist. I explained how routine transportation to and from Stanford would make school in Berkeley quite difficult. My doctor ignored the initial question and instead explained how she felt that it was too early (by about 3 months) to return to school. I then firmly explained that "for the sake of my happiness, I need to return to school... soon." Surprisingly, she just nodded and then made sure I was taking a reduced courseload. As for transferring my care locally, she said that should begin at our next appointment, two weeks from now.
She also scheduled another CT scan before my next appointment. It has nothing to do with cancer -- there was a subtle "Nodular Grand-Glass Opacity" seen on my last CT scan taken while I was hospitalized. It usually indicates a fungal lung infection of some kind, that I obtained due to my severely impaired immune system. From what I gather, it is typically of little concern at this stage, and it usually fixes itself when confronted with a stronger immune system... it is only a problem when it gets out of hand. But, as my scans indicate, it is very subtle.
I then asked: "In your opinion, is the cancer gone?" Her response was something like, "Right now, yes, I believe it is." I didn't like that response... something in the way she said "right now" seemed to stress the possibility of a relapse. Or perhaps she was just trying indicate that further intervention, such as radiation, would be necessary. Or maybe, by "right now", she meant "with the information I currently possess, I believe..." She could be trying to indicate that the results from the bone marrow biopsy or pet-CT scan would change her opinion. Regardless... that is what I am left with.
We also talked briefly about the mask: I am now officially allowed to take it off in most situations. I only have to wear it around sick people, dusty outside areas, or in hospitals.
Also, radiation was briefly mentioned. It does look like that it will be able to be handled by my local radiation oncologist. Woo-hoo! She said we will talk about it further at my next appointment.
Lastly, I asked about plane travel to Michigan. I had an invitation to visit Liz's family and wanted to see what my doctor thought. When I told her the date, she adamantly opposed the idea. "Maybe if it were two months later than it is," she said. Oh well. Heh... the thought of wearing that huge scary mask on the plane... they'd probably think I was a terrorist with a gas bomb or something.
That's it for the appointment!
On my way home, I was actually feeling quite down. I'm not exactly sure why... maybe it was from something my doctor said, or from exhaustion from the day of traveling, or perhaps from cancer stealing yet another day of my life. Accordingly, I stopped by 7-11 to buy my ultimate comfort food: nachos.
I've bought these particular nachos countless times in the past, and today... they didn't taste very good. Just another brick in the wall.
I'm just so tired of all this stuff. At first it seemed like I had a limitless capacity to battle cancer -- an infinite endurance. I think perhaps I have less than I thought. Those cancer warriors out there... the people that fight this stuff for years and years... how do they do it?
Maybe it's just post BMT stress/anxiety/depression/trauma whatever. It's probably temporary. But it feels like something has taken it's toll.
Barbara mentioned that she didn't agree with my "head in the sand" strategy. Of course! It's a totally stupid proposition! It's not a strategy at all! But, you know, those few moments in the sand are quite peaceful...
Showing posts with label obstacles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label obstacles. Show all posts
Monday, December 1, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
[11-25-08] Out
[5:15pm]
I am out. Instead of 2-3 weeks of living next to the Stanford hospital, I have been released after only a week. Right now, I am typing these words at my sister's house. Tomorrow I gather my belongings and move to Berkeley... to home. I've been a nomad since the beginning of September, and it is quite nice to finally be able to drop anchor.
Now I can finally start picking up the pieces and get back on track. True, there's probably radiation down the road... but the hard part is over now. What matters is that I'll be able to remain in school while undergoing radiation. Moving forward in life.
On a completely different subject...
They say I can take my mask off after ten days... and I think to myself: what if I take it off now? All my other limitations seems to have been based on strict "guidelines" that were later relaxed. Perhaps, through almost a year of these treatments, I have learned the limitations of my own body. Perhaps I am qualified to make my own judgments on the matter.
The truth is: I am just tired. I am done making exceptions and limiting my life experiences due to this cancer. I need to return to normal.
And if someone tried to impose one of those limitations... well, maybe I just wont let them. For example, I am supposed to get a bone marrow biopsy 3 months from day 0, then 6 months, then once a year for at least five years. Maybe I just wont permit them. What are they going to do: send me to prison? Plus, once the cancer is in my marrow, aren't I automatically Stage IV? Perhaps it's better not to know if it's in the marrow.
It's one of the ways I've been changed through all of this: I am perhaps a bit more sefish and defiant. Life is short and I am going to minimize any suffering. If I have a choice, I am going to do things my way!
I am out. Instead of 2-3 weeks of living next to the Stanford hospital, I have been released after only a week. Right now, I am typing these words at my sister's house. Tomorrow I gather my belongings and move to Berkeley... to home. I've been a nomad since the beginning of September, and it is quite nice to finally be able to drop anchor.
Now I can finally start picking up the pieces and get back on track. True, there's probably radiation down the road... but the hard part is over now. What matters is that I'll be able to remain in school while undergoing radiation. Moving forward in life.
On a completely different subject...
They say I can take my mask off after ten days... and I think to myself: what if I take it off now? All my other limitations seems to have been based on strict "guidelines" that were later relaxed. Perhaps, through almost a year of these treatments, I have learned the limitations of my own body. Perhaps I am qualified to make my own judgments on the matter.
The truth is: I am just tired. I am done making exceptions and limiting my life experiences due to this cancer. I need to return to normal.
And if someone tried to impose one of those limitations... well, maybe I just wont let them. For example, I am supposed to get a bone marrow biopsy 3 months from day 0, then 6 months, then once a year for at least five years. Maybe I just wont permit them. What are they going to do: send me to prison? Plus, once the cancer is in my marrow, aren't I automatically Stage IV? Perhaps it's better not to know if it's in the marrow.
It's one of the ways I've been changed through all of this: I am perhaps a bit more sefish and defiant. Life is short and I am going to minimize any suffering. If I have a choice, I am going to do things my way!
Monday, November 17, 2008
[11-17-08] Sweet Sweetness! (Day +14)
[Counts]
WBC:20.2
HCT:30.6
PLT:46,000
[12:34pm]
Everything has changed in an instant. In my last angsty posting, Barbara posted a comment recommending that I try a local mouth pain-relief product, such as Oraljel, to combat my persistent mouth pain. At the time, I was communicating with Liz through the computer, or a series of grunts and awkward hand gestures -- it was the best I could do.
She saw Barbara's comment and immediately offered to drive to the nearest Walgreens to acquire said product. When she returned I applied the product and found instant relief. For the first time in what felt like forever, I was actually talking! Liz and I spend the next few hours talking about stuff -- it was a beautiful thing.
Naturally, everything changed after that. I no longer need any pain medication (Fentanyl) and I can actually eat my meals! That is the two major things keeping me in the Hospital; now it could be as little as 48 hours before I am discharged.
The downside is that, to leave the hospital, one needs to be better. If one is better, they no longer need a single room. So, they moved me to a double with a caregiver that, within minutes, was preventing my mom and I from watching a much anticipated episode of House. Sure, I get wanting to sleep -- 0but it's the middle of the day, when else can I watch some T.V.? With nothing much to do and a lack of sleep haunting me from last night, I decided to get some blissful sleep as well. I was forced awake with loud talking.
But I wasn't upset; this is what happens in double rooms in hospitals. Just don't force double standards on the patients around you.
Perhaps I'm being unreasonable, but I thought our volume level was minimal... and I was really looking forward to watching that episode. Plus, when can we watch it now? Don't they now have precedence to request that we not watch it at any time?
Ok, excuse the rant.
In conclusion, things are going well. I'm going to try to eat well and whatnot to get out of here soon!
WBC:20.2
HCT:30.6
PLT:46,000
[12:34pm]
Everything has changed in an instant. In my last angsty posting, Barbara posted a comment recommending that I try a local mouth pain-relief product, such as Oraljel, to combat my persistent mouth pain. At the time, I was communicating with Liz through the computer, or a series of grunts and awkward hand gestures -- it was the best I could do.
She saw Barbara's comment and immediately offered to drive to the nearest Walgreens to acquire said product. When she returned I applied the product and found instant relief. For the first time in what felt like forever, I was actually talking! Liz and I spend the next few hours talking about stuff -- it was a beautiful thing.
Naturally, everything changed after that. I no longer need any pain medication (Fentanyl) and I can actually eat my meals! That is the two major things keeping me in the Hospital; now it could be as little as 48 hours before I am discharged.
The downside is that, to leave the hospital, one needs to be better. If one is better, they no longer need a single room. So, they moved me to a double with a caregiver that, within minutes, was preventing my mom and I from watching a much anticipated episode of House. Sure, I get wanting to sleep -- 0but it's the middle of the day, when else can I watch some T.V.? With nothing much to do and a lack of sleep haunting me from last night, I decided to get some blissful sleep as well. I was forced awake with loud talking.
But I wasn't upset; this is what happens in double rooms in hospitals. Just don't force double standards on the patients around you.
Perhaps I'm being unreasonable, but I thought our volume level was minimal... and I was really looking forward to watching that episode. Plus, when can we watch it now? Don't they now have precedence to request that we not watch it at any time?
Ok, excuse the rant.
In conclusion, things are going well. I'm going to try to eat well and whatnot to get out of here soon!
Sunday, November 16, 2008
[11-16-08] Sad Times (Day + 13)
[Counts]
WBC: 27.9
HCT: 26.1
Platelets: 36,000
[5:28pm]
Too much complaining; don't read.
I'm in a foul mood. Well, more accurately, I've been in a foul mood... for what seems like days now.
Right now, I'm playing Runebound with Liz -- so I'm definitely happy. (She's in the lead at the moment, but we shall see...)
Anyhow, back to negative vibes...grrrrrr.
So, there's just been too many minor annoyances, too consistently, and for too long now. So now I have to sleep with oxygen on? Ok, no prob. So now I have to be plugged into an O2 meter at all times -- yet another thing to be unplugged when you go to the bathroom. Ok... So now I have to have my PICC line removed because you think it might be the thing causing my low fevers? Argh! Now I have to go back to IV?!?!? After all this effort getting 4 different lines installed? Plus, my veins are all in hiding now -- how are they going to find them? Poke and play?
Then, of course, there's the myriad of side effects from the BMT. But you've heard all about those... except, I'm just about to go crazy because of this mouth pain! It's terrible! My global mouth pain is pretty much gone -- which is nice, but it didn't account for more than 10% of my mouth pain. I got this thing to the base of the left side of the tongue. It is PROFOUND how much pain can be registered in such a small space.
So, I can't talk more than a few words at a time, and always at a cost of pain...
I want to TALK! It's extremely frustrating to be around the people you love the most in the world and feeling like you can't have fun/be fun around them because you have to optimize your words to a caveman level. I like to employ wit and scarcasm -- I can't do that if the pain is too rough!
Then there's sleep. I need sleep! The nurses waking you up every 30 minutes is fine; the alarms on the IV pole every 60 minutes is a bit rough (because the nurses take 10-30minutes to get there); the alarms on the O2 meter every time you need to go to the bathroom is doable... but being extremely tired, falling to blissful slumber and waking up in under 5 minutes EVERY TIME to
mouth pain is enough to drive one mad.
I also want to EAT! I haven't eaten in forever! I want a bacon double cheeseburger, and, unlike most patients here, actually relish the thought of eating it. If I didn't have the pain, I'd eat it now!
All this... is enough to make one depressed and quite frustrated.
WBC: 27.9
HCT: 26.1
Platelets: 36,000
[5:28pm]
Too much complaining; don't read.
I'm in a foul mood. Well, more accurately, I've been in a foul mood... for what seems like days now.
Right now, I'm playing Runebound with Liz -- so I'm definitely happy. (She's in the lead at the moment, but we shall see...)
Anyhow, back to negative vibes...grrrrrr.
So, there's just been too many minor annoyances, too consistently, and for too long now. So now I have to sleep with oxygen on? Ok, no prob. So now I have to be plugged into an O2 meter at all times -- yet another thing to be unplugged when you go to the bathroom. Ok... So now I have to have my PICC line removed because you think it might be the thing causing my low fevers? Argh! Now I have to go back to IV?!?!? After all this effort getting 4 different lines installed? Plus, my veins are all in hiding now -- how are they going to find them? Poke and play?
Then, of course, there's the myriad of side effects from the BMT. But you've heard all about those... except, I'm just about to go crazy because of this mouth pain! It's terrible! My global mouth pain is pretty much gone -- which is nice, but it didn't account for more than 10% of my mouth pain. I got this thing to the base of the left side of the tongue. It is PROFOUND how much pain can be registered in such a small space.
So, I can't talk more than a few words at a time, and always at a cost of pain...
I want to TALK! It's extremely frustrating to be around the people you love the most in the world and feeling like you can't have fun/be fun around them because you have to optimize your words to a caveman level. I like to employ wit and scarcasm -- I can't do that if the pain is too rough!
Then there's sleep. I need sleep! The nurses waking you up every 30 minutes is fine; the alarms on the IV pole every 60 minutes is a bit rough (because the nurses take 10-30minutes to get there); the alarms on the O2 meter every time you need to go to the bathroom is doable... but being extremely tired, falling to blissful slumber and waking up in under 5 minutes EVERY TIME to
mouth pain is enough to drive one mad.
I also want to EAT! I haven't eaten in forever! I want a bacon double cheeseburger, and, unlike most patients here, actually relish the thought of eating it. If I didn't have the pain, I'd eat it now!
All this... is enough to make one depressed and quite frustrated.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
[11-09-08] Fentanyl Conspiracy (Day +6)
[8:37am]
It's no surprise that I have a severe aversion to pain. I've ranted on the subject on several occasions and even have a dedicated tag to link all "pain" postings. Whether it be a bone marrow biopsy or neupogen-associated pain... I hate the pain, and will write about it.
So, you didn't actually think that was the final word on Fentanyl/mouth pain, did ya? Well, the mouth pain is only getting worse, and the Fentanyl and it's requirements are getting quite absurd.
For example:
They hook you up to a pulse/SPO2 (Respiration Oxygen?) monitor as a requirement for anyone on PCA (Patient Controlled Analgesics). This is annoying for all the standard reasons:
1:If you want to go to the bathroom or anything, you have to turn the machine off, then unplug your probe lead (which is tricky in the dark). Multiply this act for every time you need to go to the bathroom/brush teeth/use sink/relocate... and you'll find that you spend quite a lot of time doing this.
2:You have to wear the darn probe indefinitely -- removal destroys the probe. So, one of your left fingers will be made useless -- and especially now, I need *all* my fingers (tricky catheter de-occlusion maneuvers, applying lotion, typing).
But these are just problems of convenience -- the real difficulty lies in the SP (Saturation Percentage) reading for your Oxygen (O2) levels. If, for any reason, the machine thinks that this level is lower than 87, it beeps LOUDLY! This makes sense, as large doses of Fentanyl can cause a decrease in respiration. However, there are a couple of problems with the SP02 reading:
1: A wet or sweaty probe causes drastic reductions in the measured SP02 level (Alarm goes off). This means that you cannot wash your left hand...ever? Ok, so you've figured out how to wash everything *but* the finger with a clever use of a ziploc bag or something... but then, how does one take a shower without it getting wet? Then there's the sweats -- maybe my fingers sweat while in a plastic probe?
2: A loose probe connection ALWAYS causes a reduction in SP02. Remember how one has to wear the probe non-stop 24/7? Well, if any one of a million actions during that time causes the little red light to become misaligned... be prepared for many alarms.
3: Sleeping on one's side causes a reduction in SP02 (for some reason) -- in order to get any sleep during the night, be prepared to learn how to sleep on your back.
4: Random machine weirdness. You could be sitting up, typing away on your computer, no Fentanyl delivered for an hour... and the SP02 alarm goes off. Or it says your pulse is 230 and people come rushing in.
So, where's the conspiracy theory? Well, it's not actually a conspiracy -- I don't think there's a consortium of nurses plotting to prove that the amount of pain I experience does not justify the amount of Fentanyl I use.
I do, however, seem to experience a lack of concern about forced sleeping positions, noisy machines, or the accuracy of the current SP02 reading. The answer to all these problems seems to be the implied: "Well, just take less Fentanyl and you'll be fine."
In honestly think there are nurses here who believe I am taking more Fentanyl than I need, and am currently over-medicated on it. Nevermind the fact that I wake up at 7 and approach the day bright-eyed and bushy tailed... I even skip my afternoon nap so that I can get better sleep at night. The nap, being tired... these things are perfectly normal for a cancer patient undergoing BMT, but nevertheless, I feel like I need to demonstrate my clarity of thought. I also don't have dizzy spells or other things associated with too much Fentanyl.
Still, there have been times where the pain was great and I repeatedly took extra Fentanyl... I'm sure I was a bit drowsy then... but nothing dangerous!
-----------------------------
Enough of my rant. I just finished typing it when my two doctors showed up...
Doctor: "So how has your pain management been doing?"
Me: "Not so well -- I haven't been clicking the relief button because this darn machine gives inaccurate readings, and taking extra Fentanyl doesn't help things. For example, I can't click at all if I want to sleep on my side -- I need to get to sleep. So I usually just work through the pain; plus, I feel that some of the nurses don't want me clicking... maybe because my dose is too high, or that it's dangerous or something."
(Both Doctors) "No, no, no, no, no."
(First Doctor) "Take the Fentanyl -- that's what it's there for. The nurses should be checking the machine's accuracy routinely... there's this bar that goes up and down with your pulse... [forget details] Plus, there's always a doctor on call -- tell the nurses to contact the doctor if they have an issue with your SPO2. I'll be on call tonight if anything comes up.
Me: "Ok, thanks. So, just to be sure, it's OK if I click repeatedly if I have pain?"
Doctor: "If you have pain; take the Fentanyl."
Then they went on to discuss other parts of my health.
So... GREAT! I feel so liberated! This has been a huge weight on my shoulders: pain on one side/upsetting nurses on the other (though I'm sure with some nurses it's all in my head; some are more explicit though).
As originally planned, I'm going to click when I feel pain! It's so simple! *duh* Stupid Austin: Don't let others push you around.
On another note, Barbara mentioned how I haven't been posting my counts -- I'll try to start doing that. She seemed pleased that my WBC went from 0.1 to 0.6 (on Friday)... well, my WBC taken yesterday was 0.1.
I'm told that I'm not recovering yet; that it's still a good 5-9 days or so before I start to recover.
It's no surprise that I have a severe aversion to pain. I've ranted on the subject on several occasions and even have a dedicated tag to link all "pain" postings. Whether it be a bone marrow biopsy or neupogen-associated pain... I hate the pain, and will write about it.
So, you didn't actually think that was the final word on Fentanyl/mouth pain, did ya? Well, the mouth pain is only getting worse, and the Fentanyl and it's requirements are getting quite absurd.
For example:
They hook you up to a pulse/SPO2 (Respiration Oxygen?) monitor as a requirement for anyone on PCA (Patient Controlled Analgesics). This is annoying for all the standard reasons:
1:If you want to go to the bathroom or anything, you have to turn the machine off, then unplug your probe lead (which is tricky in the dark). Multiply this act for every time you need to go to the bathroom/brush teeth/use sink/relocate... and you'll find that you spend quite a lot of time doing this.
2:You have to wear the darn probe indefinitely -- removal destroys the probe. So, one of your left fingers will be made useless -- and especially now, I need *all* my fingers (tricky catheter de-occlusion maneuvers, applying lotion, typing).
But these are just problems of convenience -- the real difficulty lies in the SP (Saturation Percentage) reading for your Oxygen (O2) levels. If, for any reason, the machine thinks that this level is lower than 87, it beeps LOUDLY! This makes sense, as large doses of Fentanyl can cause a decrease in respiration. However, there are a couple of problems with the SP02 reading:
1: A wet or sweaty probe causes drastic reductions in the measured SP02 level (Alarm goes off). This means that you cannot wash your left hand...ever? Ok, so you've figured out how to wash everything *but* the finger with a clever use of a ziploc bag or something... but then, how does one take a shower without it getting wet? Then there's the sweats -- maybe my fingers sweat while in a plastic probe?
2: A loose probe connection ALWAYS causes a reduction in SP02. Remember how one has to wear the probe non-stop 24/7? Well, if any one of a million actions during that time causes the little red light to become misaligned... be prepared for many alarms.
3: Sleeping on one's side causes a reduction in SP02 (for some reason) -- in order to get any sleep during the night, be prepared to learn how to sleep on your back.
4: Random machine weirdness. You could be sitting up, typing away on your computer, no Fentanyl delivered for an hour... and the SP02 alarm goes off. Or it says your pulse is 230 and people come rushing in.
So, where's the conspiracy theory? Well, it's not actually a conspiracy -- I don't think there's a consortium of nurses plotting to prove that the amount of pain I experience does not justify the amount of Fentanyl I use.
I do, however, seem to experience a lack of concern about forced sleeping positions, noisy machines, or the accuracy of the current SP02 reading. The answer to all these problems seems to be the implied: "Well, just take less Fentanyl and you'll be fine."
In honestly think there are nurses here who believe I am taking more Fentanyl than I need, and am currently over-medicated on it. Nevermind the fact that I wake up at 7 and approach the day bright-eyed and bushy tailed... I even skip my afternoon nap so that I can get better sleep at night. The nap, being tired... these things are perfectly normal for a cancer patient undergoing BMT, but nevertheless, I feel like I need to demonstrate my clarity of thought. I also don't have dizzy spells or other things associated with too much Fentanyl.
Still, there have been times where the pain was great and I repeatedly took extra Fentanyl... I'm sure I was a bit drowsy then... but nothing dangerous!
-----------------------------
Enough of my rant. I just finished typing it when my two doctors showed up...
Doctor: "So how has your pain management been doing?"
Me: "Not so well -- I haven't been clicking the relief button because this darn machine gives inaccurate readings, and taking extra Fentanyl doesn't help things. For example, I can't click at all if I want to sleep on my side -- I need to get to sleep. So I usually just work through the pain; plus, I feel that some of the nurses don't want me clicking... maybe because my dose is too high, or that it's dangerous or something."
(Both Doctors) "No, no, no, no, no."
(First Doctor) "Take the Fentanyl -- that's what it's there for. The nurses should be checking the machine's accuracy routinely... there's this bar that goes up and down with your pulse... [forget details] Plus, there's always a doctor on call -- tell the nurses to contact the doctor if they have an issue with your SPO2. I'll be on call tonight if anything comes up.
Me: "Ok, thanks. So, just to be sure, it's OK if I click repeatedly if I have pain?"
Doctor: "If you have pain; take the Fentanyl."
Then they went on to discuss other parts of my health.
So... GREAT! I feel so liberated! This has been a huge weight on my shoulders: pain on one side/upsetting nurses on the other (though I'm sure with some nurses it's all in my head; some are more explicit though).
As originally planned, I'm going to click when I feel pain! It's so simple! *duh* Stupid Austin: Don't let others push you around.
On another note, Barbara mentioned how I haven't been posting my counts -- I'll try to start doing that. She seemed pleased that my WBC went from 0.1 to 0.6 (on Friday)... well, my WBC taken yesterday was 0.1.
I'm told that I'm not recovering yet; that it's still a good 5-9 days or so before I start to recover.
Friday, November 7, 2008
[11-07-08] Things are Great (Day +4)
[7:19am]
Let's see... time for yet another update on my general well-being and state of mind.
Physically, the mucositis has deteriorated to epic levels. I tried to take a ship of chilled milk this morning, but it literally scalded my mouth. Just out of curiosity, I pondered to myself how could something that is chilled taste like simmering water. Then, I proceeded to mouth the words "hot, hot, hot" as I'm fanning my mouth with my palm -- sign language for "I just ate a whole heap of Jalapeno Peppers," I'm sure.
But even without food/beverage, just repositioning my mouth alone can cause quite severe pain. Talking is very, very difficult. And, as Barbara has said, I've learned that certain words be only said through clenched teeth, for safety purposes.
Still, Fentanyl is my friend. And as Dan said in his previous email: "Hang in there bro...click......click....click...clickclickclick."
I couldn't agree more
However, there's the painful mental acuity vs. stupid and painfree tradeoff. To those used to my writing, it may be painfully obvious that I've been clicking the pain away. I keep nearly dozing off mid-sentence, so this may be an entry best kept short.
Then there's the myriad of skin problems. Now, just the phrase "skin problems" sounds like it can be treated with little more than daily moisturer and some SPF 10.
So let me rephrase that: "There's the myriad of skin/host rebellions with a scattered collection of skin terrorist splinter cells."
That's better. My chest looks like it's been subjected to an Iron Maiden with a sort of chicken pox.
But, I believe I went into a little detail yesterday, so I'll spare ye. Lets just say I've been vigilant!
Anyhow, nausea is at a low because I'm not eating much! Woohoo! Err, I take that back, completely. I was about to take pills while entering a blog entry, but nearly threw up. So, nausea's not completely gone. But I'm getting tired, so I'll just summarize like this: My symptoms are getting worse. My management of those symptoms has gone through the roof on both an emotional and a chemical level. In short: Things are great!
my Things are going smashingly well!
Let's see... time for yet another update on my general well-being and state of mind.
Physically, the mucositis has deteriorated to epic levels. I tried to take a ship of chilled milk this morning, but it literally scalded my mouth. Just out of curiosity, I pondered to myself how could something that is chilled taste like simmering water. Then, I proceeded to mouth the words "hot, hot, hot" as I'm fanning my mouth with my palm -- sign language for "I just ate a whole heap of Jalapeno Peppers," I'm sure.
But even without food/beverage, just repositioning my mouth alone can cause quite severe pain. Talking is very, very difficult. And, as Barbara has said, I've learned that certain words be only said through clenched teeth, for safety purposes.
Still, Fentanyl is my friend. And as Dan said in his previous email: "Hang in there bro...click......click....click...clickclickclick."
I couldn't agree more
However, there's the painful mental acuity vs. stupid and painfree tradeoff. To those used to my writing, it may be painfully obvious that I've been clicking the pain away. I keep nearly dozing off mid-sentence, so this may be an entry best kept short.
Then there's the myriad of skin problems. Now, just the phrase "skin problems" sounds like it can be treated with little more than daily moisturer and some SPF 10.
So let me rephrase that: "There's the myriad of skin/host rebellions with a scattered collection of skin terrorist splinter cells."
That's better. My chest looks like it's been subjected to an Iron Maiden with a sort of chicken pox.
But, I believe I went into a little detail yesterday, so I'll spare ye. Lets just say I've been vigilant!
Anyhow, nausea is at a low because I'm not eating much! Woohoo! Err, I take that back, completely. I was about to take pills while entering a blog entry, but nearly threw up. So, nausea's not completely gone. But I'm getting tired, so I'll just summarize like this: My symptoms are getting worse. My management of those symptoms has gone through the roof on both an emotional and a chemical level. In short: Things are great!
my Things are going smashingly well!
Thursday, November 6, 2008
[11-06-08] Day Three (Day +3)
[6:13pm]
Day 3 has come and gone for me, and despite my previous assertions, I believe that I was incorrect when I said that "Day 3" will be the most severe. From what nurses and doctors say alike, the worst days are those just before the time of "white blood cell recovery" - when your white blood cells begin to reproduce themselves normally.
Still, with all my personal hype built up, I have somewhat come to believe that day +3 is a milestone of sorts. So, in the name of journalistic integrity and whatnot, I am here to complain, yet again, about a new set of "experiences."
This morning started out like any other: with a shower. However, in order to shower-protect my newfound PIC catheter, I needed to figure out how to use their associated shower contraption. Not too tough -- imagine waterproof sleeves with belt strength cuffs at both ends. My arm was nice and warm.
In addition, I had to unplug myself from new and (EXTREMELY LOUD) health monitor. This is because they have me doped up on self-administered Fentanyl -- it makes sense, really, you don't want to give autreally bored individual an essentially limitless supply of Heroin without any precautions, do you?
So, that health monitor is yet one more thing that I have to worry about... plus the fact that the sensor is placed on my middle finger makes typing quite difficult.
After the shower is typically lunchtime: where someone walks into the room with some food. I like to see their expressions when I say, "Nah, I'm not eating food anymore. No thanks." They realy want to leave you the food -- as if their jobs depended on it. Oh well.
Not having to eat at all is quite liberating, in fact. Keeping certain foods down is a tremendous chore. Plus, often the food you can keep down tastes horrible or something. Then you puke it all up anyways, so all that effort was moot.
So, just skip the middleman and avoid eating entirely... say, until when your white counts start to recover.
As for the pills... yes, having some food in the stomach is necessary for digestion of certain pills.
I'd say: 1> Consider not taking said pill -- is it really important? or...
I'd say: 2> Ask from some Ativan before you take your pills -- it helps!
The other things I sped my time doing (religiously) is mouth care and skin care. I do my following skincare/mouthcare regimens every time I get up for the bathroom.
*** MOUTHCARE ***
1> Rince with saline solution and spit out. Sounds simple enough.
*** SKINCARE ***
1> Apply general moisturizer to dry areas on chest and back
2> Apply special anti-itch moisturizer to itchy areas on chest and back, armpits, and groin area.
3> Apply super-special cream to areas of skin with a rash due to repetitive motion of areas (arm pits, thighs, groins, etc...)
4> Apply ultra-special powder.
As much as I would hate to do so, #4 requires further elaboration if I am to be called a reporter of the facts. You could also label is as TMI;DR (Too much information; Don't Read).
Anyhow, VP-16 is VERY toxic for the skin. I mean, right now, my chest looks like it's been put through a blender. Huge purple streaks are visible, rashes, and spots of red dots (folliculitis) show up everywhere.
In addition, in areas with high friction, such as groin, or armpit, skin tissue has been known to slough off in chunks.
Let's just say that I'm fighting to prevent that from happening, it can be quite difficult, and that is where powder #4 comes into play.
I can see many making the following joke, so I'll just beat ya to it: For the sake....of...my skin...I must...powder my balls.
Lastly, I'd just like to say a few words about patient-controlled analgesic. They switched me from Dilaudid to Fentanyl which effective halt the pain related nausea! Awesome! No more choosing between having pain or being sick. That is all. Take care outside world.
Day 3 has come and gone for me, and despite my previous assertions, I believe that I was incorrect when I said that "Day 3" will be the most severe. From what nurses and doctors say alike, the worst days are those just before the time of "white blood cell recovery" - when your white blood cells begin to reproduce themselves normally.
Still, with all my personal hype built up, I have somewhat come to believe that day +3 is a milestone of sorts. So, in the name of journalistic integrity and whatnot, I am here to complain, yet again, about a new set of "experiences."
This morning started out like any other: with a shower. However, in order to shower-protect my newfound PIC catheter, I needed to figure out how to use their associated shower contraption. Not too tough -- imagine waterproof sleeves with belt strength cuffs at both ends. My arm was nice and warm.
In addition, I had to unplug myself from new and (EXTREMELY LOUD) health monitor. This is because they have me doped up on self-administered Fentanyl -- it makes sense, really, you don't want to give autreally bored individual an essentially limitless supply of Heroin without any precautions, do you?
So, that health monitor is yet one more thing that I have to worry about... plus the fact that the sensor is placed on my middle finger makes typing quite difficult.
After the shower is typically lunchtime: where someone walks into the room with some food. I like to see their expressions when I say, "Nah, I'm not eating food anymore. No thanks." They realy want to leave you the food -- as if their jobs depended on it. Oh well.
Not having to eat at all is quite liberating, in fact. Keeping certain foods down is a tremendous chore. Plus, often the food you can keep down tastes horrible or something. Then you puke it all up anyways, so all that effort was moot.
So, just skip the middleman and avoid eating entirely... say, until when your white counts start to recover.
As for the pills... yes, having some food in the stomach is necessary for digestion of certain pills.
I'd say: 1> Consider not taking said pill -- is it really important? or...
I'd say: 2> Ask from some Ativan before you take your pills -- it helps!
The other things I sped my time doing (religiously) is mouth care and skin care. I do my following skincare/mouthcare regimens every time I get up for the bathroom.
*** MOUTHCARE ***
1> Rince with saline solution and spit out. Sounds simple enough.
*** SKINCARE ***
1> Apply general moisturizer to dry areas on chest and back
2> Apply special anti-itch moisturizer to itchy areas on chest and back, armpits, and groin area.
3> Apply super-special cream to areas of skin with a rash due to repetitive motion of areas (arm pits, thighs, groins, etc...)
4> Apply ultra-special powder.
As much as I would hate to do so, #4 requires further elaboration if I am to be called a reporter of the facts. You could also label is as TMI;DR (Too much information; Don't Read).
Anyhow, VP-16 is VERY toxic for the skin. I mean, right now, my chest looks like it's been put through a blender. Huge purple streaks are visible, rashes, and spots of red dots (folliculitis) show up everywhere.
In addition, in areas with high friction, such as groin, or armpit, skin tissue has been known to slough off in chunks.
Let's just say that I'm fighting to prevent that from happening, it can be quite difficult, and that is where powder #4 comes into play.
I can see many making the following joke, so I'll just beat ya to it: For the sake....of...my skin...I must...powder my balls.
Lastly, I'd just like to say a few words about patient-controlled analgesic. They switched me from Dilaudid to Fentanyl which effective halt the pain related nausea! Awesome! No more choosing between having pain or being sick. That is all. Take care outside world.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
[11-04-08] A Challenge! (Day +1)
[8:17am]
I feel that I have now familiarized with my arsenal: anti-emetics, Dilaudid, creams/ointments, mouthwash, applesauce, etc... I am ready for the challenge!
At first, of course, I felt quite helpless. I mean, I was limited to the drugs the doctors provide, the schedule of the nurses, and how my body reacts to the chemo... But now, I'm establishing a sort of routine. Each time I head to the bathroom, I apply various lotions and use the mouthwash. Each time my mouth hurts especially, or my stomach feels upset, I can click away on the clicker! Control! It is a good thing.
I suppose it's a time tested strategy for me: When the going gets tough, establish a routine. :P
Bah, I just vomited. All that effort getting my rice crispies soggy so that I could eat them... Oh well, I'll just eat more or something. It's routine -- what can ya do?
Funny... I can't talk right anymore :P I have to speak real slow -- like I'm drunk even.
[3:24pm]
They upped my Dilaudid because the mucositis got so severe. In the blink of an afternoon, I can't eay anything -- it just isn't possible. Even Jello is too abrasive! Popsicles: Your tongue has to scrape the ice off.
So, right now, I'm on a diet consisting entirely of Gatorade and water. Hmm, now is a perfect time to demonstrate the health benefits of non-alcoholic beer. A friend of mine's father, who is head of the pathology dept. at some big place, once told me that non-alcoholic beer is better for you than gatorade. The beer has starches, sugars, protein, and whatnot. So, they should prescribe me some non-alcoholic beer! My life may depend on it! :P
Seriously, though... they'll probably give me liquid nutrients or something... eck. I need to keep my stomach processing stuff!
Please excuse the fact that my posts may be a little less, uh, cerebral, than usual. :P
I feel that I have now familiarized with my arsenal: anti-emetics, Dilaudid, creams/ointments, mouthwash, applesauce, etc... I am ready for the challenge!
At first, of course, I felt quite helpless. I mean, I was limited to the drugs the doctors provide, the schedule of the nurses, and how my body reacts to the chemo... But now, I'm establishing a sort of routine. Each time I head to the bathroom, I apply various lotions and use the mouthwash. Each time my mouth hurts especially, or my stomach feels upset, I can click away on the clicker! Control! It is a good thing.
I suppose it's a time tested strategy for me: When the going gets tough, establish a routine. :P
Bah, I just vomited. All that effort getting my rice crispies soggy so that I could eat them... Oh well, I'll just eat more or something. It's routine -- what can ya do?
Funny... I can't talk right anymore :P I have to speak real slow -- like I'm drunk even.
[3:24pm]
They upped my Dilaudid because the mucositis got so severe. In the blink of an afternoon, I can't eay anything -- it just isn't possible. Even Jello is too abrasive! Popsicles: Your tongue has to scrape the ice off.
So, right now, I'm on a diet consisting entirely of Gatorade and water. Hmm, now is a perfect time to demonstrate the health benefits of non-alcoholic beer. A friend of mine's father, who is head of the pathology dept. at some big place, once told me that non-alcoholic beer is better for you than gatorade. The beer has starches, sugars, protein, and whatnot. So, they should prescribe me some non-alcoholic beer! My life may depend on it! :P
Seriously, though... they'll probably give me liquid nutrients or something... eck. I need to keep my stomach processing stuff!
Please excuse the fact that my posts may be a little less, uh, cerebral, than usual. :P
Sunday, November 2, 2008
[11-02-08] Queasy Buddha (Day -1)
[7:17pm]
I originally wasn't going to post today -- the world was just too bleak. My stomach pain/queasiness/discomfort/whatever was distressing every aspect of my life -- not like you need to vomit, but that you're just sick in the stomach.
I spent basically the entire day trying to combat it. Chugging Maalox, repeatedly going to the bathroom, sleeping, lying still, concentrating... anything! Eventually, I game to realize that the only practical strategy was unconsciousness.
So, when poor Liz came to visit me, I wasn't very good company. I pretty much slept most of the time. But what else could I do?
What's worse is that I began to get depressed about this. 3 more weeks of this sort of stomach sickness was an unbearable thought -- but what could be done?
Enter the brilliant doctors and their brilliant drugs.
It turns out, that my GI tract is all messed up due to the chemo. So, it's not your normal "flu" like symptoms that is causing my queasiness. The doctors prescribed a gnarly painkiller called Dilaudid, and it works great! All of a sudden, I feel like my life has returned to me! I can concentrate enough to type in my blog, or watch a bit of TV, or play some video games -- it's wonderful!
I'm staying on this stuff. And it's not recreational or anything like that, I'm just happy to not be suffering. It's Buddhist philosophy: "Without suffering, there is no happiness." [Edit: Apparently I'm completely wrong here, so, instead just consider the quote my personal philosophy] Well, my absence of suffering is making me damn happy right now.
I originally wasn't going to post today -- the world was just too bleak. My stomach pain/queasiness/discomfort/whatever was distressing every aspect of my life -- not like you need to vomit, but that you're just sick in the stomach.
I spent basically the entire day trying to combat it. Chugging Maalox, repeatedly going to the bathroom, sleeping, lying still, concentrating... anything! Eventually, I game to realize that the only practical strategy was unconsciousness.
So, when poor Liz came to visit me, I wasn't very good company. I pretty much slept most of the time. But what else could I do?
What's worse is that I began to get depressed about this. 3 more weeks of this sort of stomach sickness was an unbearable thought -- but what could be done?
Enter the brilliant doctors and their brilliant drugs.
It turns out, that my GI tract is all messed up due to the chemo. So, it's not your normal "flu" like symptoms that is causing my queasiness. The doctors prescribed a gnarly painkiller called Dilaudid, and it works great! All of a sudden, I feel like my life has returned to me! I can concentrate enough to type in my blog, or watch a bit of TV, or play some video games -- it's wonderful!
I'm staying on this stuff. And it's not recreational or anything like that, I'm just happy to not be suffering. It's Buddhist philosophy: "Without suffering, there is no happiness." [Edit: Apparently I'm completely wrong here, so, instead just consider the quote my personal philosophy] Well, my absence of suffering is making me damn happy right now.
Monday, October 27, 2008
[10-27-08] The Early Bird
[2:37pm]
Yesterday was crazy.
It started with my dose of Gemcitabine and Navelbine -- both drugs that I tolerated relatively well last time... well, except for a headache.
Yesterday started out no differently, but it quickly turned South. It started out with some pretty bad bathroom-related problems, then ended up turning into some pretty annoying nausea and general icky feeling.
At around 8pm, the nausea got worse and I could feel that familiar burning sensation in my eyes -- I knew I had a fever. The temperature read 100.4, so I decided to take some Tylenol and check again in 20 minutes or so. The second reading was 101.4, so we decided to head to Stanford.
The thing is: I knew that this fever was due to the Gemcitabine/NAvelbine -- in fact, my nurse told me to ignore any fevers that I may get for the first dose of these two drugs. But, since I am so close to the transplant time, it's better safe than sorry.
We walked right into the BMT unit and I presented myself. I told the nurse that I was instructed to report to the BMT unit if I had a fever for my second dose of this chemo, and that it was probably caused by the chemo. Apparently, I should've called first. Strange, I thought they explicitly that I didn't need to call first -- "Do not pass go, head straight to BMT ward."
But that wasn't the first mistake I made this evening. I also shouldn't have taken the Tylenol -- since my fever could be naturally be higher than it was at present. Then the nurse asked: "Where's your mask?" Apparently, I was supposed to be wearing it this week, even though my white counts were perfectly fine. Ack! Oh well...
So, the nurse decided to admit me. She also had to call the attending physician -- who had to drive from her home in San Francisco at 10:30pm -- to evaluate me. By then my fever was 102.0.
They hooked me up on various fluids and anti-biotics, and re-checked my vitals every 20 minutes or so. I also had more Tylenol, but my fever would not budge one bit. In addition, my nausea seemed to get worse along with the fever -- I couldn't lie down because that would make me feel sick. Mostly, I tried not to move. Then, my mom went home to collect my belongings and bring them to the hospital.
Things got even more frantic when they noticed that my blood pressure had dropped to 86/40, when it was normally 125/70. They restricted me to my bed and kept asking whether the room was spinning or that I felt dizzy. I only felt a bit dizzy when I stood up, but I did feel a bit weird. Then more bags of stuff were brought in and I had my vitals all throughout. They also did some blood cultures and urinanalysis.
Long story short: it was a very tough night. I had an interruption every 15 minutes or so -- it made sleep quite difficult.
Fortunately, my fever broke around 9:00am this morning and I feel much better. My blood pressure is normal. All that's left is a food-phobia and headache. By food-phobia, I mean that the mere concept of eating real food makes me feel a bit sick. Get this: I had eggs and bacon this morning, and I didn't eat anything, including the bacon! You know there's something wrong when I don't eat my beloved bacon.
So, all I've been eating today is Jello and Apple Sauce. I'm actually quite hungry, but what can I do?
The strange thing is that I've never had an aversion to food, even throughout all the chemo I've had. Why start now? Gemcitabine and Navelbine are truly vicious drugs.
So, anyhow, I've been admitted into the BMT ward and will be placed in my isolation room later today. My in-patient BMT starts early!
I think to myself: After last night, I'm in for quite a tough ride. It's only going to get worse from here on out.
It brings to mind what my doctor said when he went on rounds today. He told me about how they like to do psychiatric consults early in the BMT process, so that "you can answer coherently because you wont be on a bunch of pain medications yet." So it looks like I can expect a level of pain that would require a lot of gnarly medications. Eep!
[5:53pm]
Mwa ha ha! Large interweb pipes; Austin happy.
Yesterday was crazy.
It started with my dose of Gemcitabine and Navelbine -- both drugs that I tolerated relatively well last time... well, except for a headache.
Yesterday started out no differently, but it quickly turned South. It started out with some pretty bad bathroom-related problems, then ended up turning into some pretty annoying nausea and general icky feeling.
At around 8pm, the nausea got worse and I could feel that familiar burning sensation in my eyes -- I knew I had a fever. The temperature read 100.4, so I decided to take some Tylenol and check again in 20 minutes or so. The second reading was 101.4, so we decided to head to Stanford.
The thing is: I knew that this fever was due to the Gemcitabine/NAvelbine -- in fact, my nurse told me to ignore any fevers that I may get for the first dose of these two drugs. But, since I am so close to the transplant time, it's better safe than sorry.
We walked right into the BMT unit and I presented myself. I told the nurse that I was instructed to report to the BMT unit if I had a fever for my second dose of this chemo, and that it was probably caused by the chemo. Apparently, I should've called first. Strange, I thought they explicitly that I didn't need to call first -- "Do not pass go, head straight to BMT ward."
But that wasn't the first mistake I made this evening. I also shouldn't have taken the Tylenol -- since my fever could be naturally be higher than it was at present. Then the nurse asked: "Where's your mask?" Apparently, I was supposed to be wearing it this week, even though my white counts were perfectly fine. Ack! Oh well...
So, the nurse decided to admit me. She also had to call the attending physician -- who had to drive from her home in San Francisco at 10:30pm -- to evaluate me. By then my fever was 102.0.
They hooked me up on various fluids and anti-biotics, and re-checked my vitals every 20 minutes or so. I also had more Tylenol, but my fever would not budge one bit. In addition, my nausea seemed to get worse along with the fever -- I couldn't lie down because that would make me feel sick. Mostly, I tried not to move. Then, my mom went home to collect my belongings and bring them to the hospital.
Things got even more frantic when they noticed that my blood pressure had dropped to 86/40, when it was normally 125/70. They restricted me to my bed and kept asking whether the room was spinning or that I felt dizzy. I only felt a bit dizzy when I stood up, but I did feel a bit weird. Then more bags of stuff were brought in and I had my vitals all throughout. They also did some blood cultures and urinanalysis.
Long story short: it was a very tough night. I had an interruption every 15 minutes or so -- it made sleep quite difficult.
Fortunately, my fever broke around 9:00am this morning and I feel much better. My blood pressure is normal. All that's left is a food-phobia and headache. By food-phobia, I mean that the mere concept of eating real food makes me feel a bit sick. Get this: I had eggs and bacon this morning, and I didn't eat anything, including the bacon! You know there's something wrong when I don't eat my beloved bacon.
So, all I've been eating today is Jello and Apple Sauce. I'm actually quite hungry, but what can I do?
The strange thing is that I've never had an aversion to food, even throughout all the chemo I've had. Why start now? Gemcitabine and Navelbine are truly vicious drugs.
So, anyhow, I've been admitted into the BMT ward and will be placed in my isolation room later today. My in-patient BMT starts early!
I think to myself: After last night, I'm in for quite a tough ride. It's only going to get worse from here on out.
It brings to mind what my doctor said when he went on rounds today. He told me about how they like to do psychiatric consults early in the BMT process, so that "you can answer coherently because you wont be on a bunch of pain medications yet." So it looks like I can expect a level of pain that would require a lot of gnarly medications. Eep!
[5:53pm]
Mwa ha ha! Large interweb pipes; Austin happy.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
[10-25-08] Bad Daydreams
[1:20pm]
We drove all the way down to Stanford to find out that my infusion was scheduled for Sunday, not Saturday! Whoops! We were told, most recently, that the appointment was Saturday, but you've always got to double check everything... be ever vigilant with health care.
There was those times my cisplatin dose was less than required... and the countless times I've had to specify that it was Hodgkin's Lymphoma, not non-Hodgkins Lymphoma.
On another subject, my hair is starting to grow back quite rapidly. My head no longer feels smooth, but scruff -- the change is nice. And I've got my chin hairs back! Still... I don't like it. I want maintain my chemo intensity.
In addition, I had some trouble sleeping last night because I was itching furiously. Still, the itch persists. It's the all-too-familiar Hodgkin's coming back to taunt me and remind me that he's still there. Persistent little bugger.
Now, maybe it's because my spirits have been a bit low lately... But, with the itch coming back, it feels like all this has been for nothing. 8 months of small chemo; doing nothing but making the tumor more resistant to chemo. Bah.
Then, I always ask myself: What if the BMT doesn't kill the tumor? or... What if, after a successful BMT, the tumor returns?
I start to daydream about that possible future... I'd like to think I'd spend my last days bartending on the Galapagos islands, but that's not really me -- is it?
I'd probably jump from clinical study to clinical study, subjecting myself to all sorts of interesting drugs in order to extend life. Then there's be the last-ditch allogeneic (bone marrow from someone else) transplant.
I wouldn't really accomplish my dreams, I suppose. I'd have to cancel grad school to accomodate treatment. Or, if I ignored treatment entirely, would I really be able to afford grad school? Or, for that matter, would it even make sense?
So, I'd settle for a job in the here and now. Instead of learning graphics programming, AI, and general video game programming, I'd focus on more practical (in-demand) skills such as database programming, and network programming. That type of programming is actually a bit easier for me, so I'd be able to be marketable relatively soon.
So, I'd get a low-paying programming job. Which would be great, for a time... but then the illness would present a problem. Treatment may have to be intensified, and I'd probably be unable to work and go on disability or something.
At this time, I'd feel like I have to contribute to society somehow. I mean, I haven't had my programming job long enough to make real substantial developments that would benefit many. So, maybe I'd start writing a novel... or composing a piece of music... something to leave behind.
Too bad I'm infertile and didn't have enough time to become financially capable of starting a family. That's always been my primary goal in life. A meaningful career I love and enjoy comes in second. To lose both... sucks.
Given that possibility, how should I act now?
Anyhow, I'll stop there. That's my career/goals daydream, I also have a relationship one, but that's a bit more depressing. Then there's a bucket-list one, a cancer-survivor one, the ultra happy one, and more. I daydream a lot. Good or bad, these are my daydreams, and I'm not ashamed of them. I'm not trying to focus on the negative or anything, but this is what I'm thinking, and I promised to write what I'm thinking... And with the itching returning, I've been thinking about the negative possibilities.
On an entirely different note, there was a glitch in my re-admission process which caused it to be delayed by 5 days. And, as luck would have it, all the classes I need or that would be practical have been filled. So I'm waitlisted for all my classes -- yet more to stress about.
Hence the bad mood. Excuse me.
We drove all the way down to Stanford to find out that my infusion was scheduled for Sunday, not Saturday! Whoops! We were told, most recently, that the appointment was Saturday, but you've always got to double check everything... be ever vigilant with health care.
There was those times my cisplatin dose was less than required... and the countless times I've had to specify that it was Hodgkin's Lymphoma, not non-Hodgkins Lymphoma.
On another subject, my hair is starting to grow back quite rapidly. My head no longer feels smooth, but scruff -- the change is nice. And I've got my chin hairs back! Still... I don't like it. I want maintain my chemo intensity.
In addition, I had some trouble sleeping last night because I was itching furiously. Still, the itch persists. It's the all-too-familiar Hodgkin's coming back to taunt me and remind me that he's still there. Persistent little bugger.
Now, maybe it's because my spirits have been a bit low lately... But, with the itch coming back, it feels like all this has been for nothing. 8 months of small chemo; doing nothing but making the tumor more resistant to chemo. Bah.
Then, I always ask myself: What if the BMT doesn't kill the tumor? or... What if, after a successful BMT, the tumor returns?
I start to daydream about that possible future... I'd like to think I'd spend my last days bartending on the Galapagos islands, but that's not really me -- is it?
I'd probably jump from clinical study to clinical study, subjecting myself to all sorts of interesting drugs in order to extend life. Then there's be the last-ditch allogeneic (bone marrow from someone else) transplant.
I wouldn't really accomplish my dreams, I suppose. I'd have to cancel grad school to accomodate treatment. Or, if I ignored treatment entirely, would I really be able to afford grad school? Or, for that matter, would it even make sense?
So, I'd settle for a job in the here and now. Instead of learning graphics programming, AI, and general video game programming, I'd focus on more practical (in-demand) skills such as database programming, and network programming. That type of programming is actually a bit easier for me, so I'd be able to be marketable relatively soon.
So, I'd get a low-paying programming job. Which would be great, for a time... but then the illness would present a problem. Treatment may have to be intensified, and I'd probably be unable to work and go on disability or something.
At this time, I'd feel like I have to contribute to society somehow. I mean, I haven't had my programming job long enough to make real substantial developments that would benefit many. So, maybe I'd start writing a novel... or composing a piece of music... something to leave behind.
Too bad I'm infertile and didn't have enough time to become financially capable of starting a family. That's always been my primary goal in life. A meaningful career I love and enjoy comes in second. To lose both... sucks.
Given that possibility, how should I act now?
Anyhow, I'll stop there. That's my career/goals daydream, I also have a relationship one, but that's a bit more depressing. Then there's a bucket-list one, a cancer-survivor one, the ultra happy one, and more. I daydream a lot. Good or bad, these are my daydreams, and I'm not ashamed of them. I'm not trying to focus on the negative or anything, but this is what I'm thinking, and I promised to write what I'm thinking... And with the itching returning, I've been thinking about the negative possibilities.
On an entirely different note, there was a glitch in my re-admission process which caused it to be delayed by 5 days. And, as luck would have it, all the classes I need or that would be practical have been filled. So I'm waitlisted for all my classes -- yet more to stress about.
Hence the bad mood. Excuse me.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
['9-28-08] Looks can be Deceiving
[4:55pm]
Today was somewhat embarrassing. Liz, Barbara, Gloria, and I were planning on attending a symphony. One of the pieces was Rachmaninoff's "Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini," which is a total selling point for me. So I *had* to go. The downside: I had to wear my HEPA/Vader mask.
Naturally, I was the only one wearing such a thing. So I was really standing out. At first, I panicked about what they thought about me: that I was infected with avian flu or something. But then, I got used to it. It wasn't all that bad, plus Liz was quite comforting.
There was only one comment about it. The guy next to me asked rather bluntly, "So, why the mask? Are you contagious or something?" I told him I wasn't, then he went into a lecture about how masks are necessary for the people in Taiwan or something. Apparently, smog is the least of their concerns.
Of course, during the symphony, my phone was off. During this time, I was getting calls from my local oncologist and Stanford. When I got home, I checked my messages: They got my labs and my blood counts were quite low:
White Blood Count: 0.2 (Basically, I have no immune system)
Hematocrit: 24.3 (For comparison, a hematocrit of under 28 merits a transfusion)
Hemoglobin: 8.5 (I'm even more anemic, but we all knew that)
So, my local oncologist is concerned that I might get a fever. Stanford expects the WBC to be so low, but does not want the RBC to be this low. Accordingly, I have a transfusion scheduled for Monday -- how exciting! Let's hope they can use the damn catheter this time!
Speaking of catheter: it sucks. They must have botched the placement or something, because it is absolutely impossible for me to sleep on my side. It gets to be quite painful. So, naturally, I get no sleep. I try to sleep on my back, but then at some part of the night I turn to me side, and later wake up in pain.
This has to be fixed.
Today was somewhat embarrassing. Liz, Barbara, Gloria, and I were planning on attending a symphony. One of the pieces was Rachmaninoff's "Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini," which is a total selling point for me. So I *had* to go. The downside: I had to wear my HEPA/Vader mask.
Naturally, I was the only one wearing such a thing. So I was really standing out. At first, I panicked about what they thought about me: that I was infected with avian flu or something. But then, I got used to it. It wasn't all that bad, plus Liz was quite comforting.
There was only one comment about it. The guy next to me asked rather bluntly, "So, why the mask? Are you contagious or something?" I told him I wasn't, then he went into a lecture about how masks are necessary for the people in Taiwan or something. Apparently, smog is the least of their concerns.
Of course, during the symphony, my phone was off. During this time, I was getting calls from my local oncologist and Stanford. When I got home, I checked my messages: They got my labs and my blood counts were quite low:
White Blood Count: 0.2 (Basically, I have no immune system)
Hematocrit: 24.3 (For comparison, a hematocrit of under 28 merits a transfusion)
Hemoglobin: 8.5 (I'm even more anemic, but we all knew that)
So, my local oncologist is concerned that I might get a fever. Stanford expects the WBC to be so low, but does not want the RBC to be this low. Accordingly, I have a transfusion scheduled for Monday -- how exciting! Let's hope they can use the damn catheter this time!
Speaking of catheter: it sucks. They must have botched the placement or something, because it is absolutely impossible for me to sleep on my side. It gets to be quite painful. So, naturally, I get no sleep. I try to sleep on my back, but then at some part of the night I turn to me side, and later wake up in pain.
This has to be fixed.
Monday, September 22, 2008
[9-22-08] Cytoxan Victory! ... Catheter Worries
[11:40am]
You heard it here first, folks: Operation Cytoxan is a go!
Making it here, to this point, has felt like the admissions process into a prestigious university... Like a student waiting for a final exam to be graded, I waited today for my x-ray results. If they are good, I get it. Simple as that. And I got in.
But there was more to it than that, of course. All the tests and exams and appointments to get into the BMT program... they're a part of this too. Since there'd be no Cytoxan unless they actually planned on going through with the BMT.
So, here I am, in the bed, getting hydrated. It's great to put this catheter to use! And the beds here, they are beyond comfortable... I'm talking *space-age* mattresses. If you get up, to reposition yourself, the mattress automatically finds the points on your back with the greatest pressure and "softens" them. Points with the least pressure are "filled." The end result: ultimate comfort.
I'm going to sleep well tonight.
I have a roommate named Nick -- he has Myeloid Leukemia and has already been through the Allogeneic transplant. He's here for other reasons, something about liver problems.
Anyhow, he seems like a cool guy. He's around my age. We just talked about movies, video games, and more video games. Kinda reminds me of T.J.
[12:30pm]
I just got my lab results back:
WBC: 3.6
Neutrophil %: 65.5
Hemoglobin: 9.8!
Hematocrit: 28.3
absolute neutrophil count: 2360 (Not neutropenic)
This impressive thing here is my hemoglobin is at a record low of 9.8! My previous lowest was at 10.8, near the end of Stanford V. At that time, I was exhausted! Climbing up a flight of stairs left me very winded.
So, why then am I feeling pretty energetic? Has my body just gotten used to low oxygen being delivered?
My hematocrit is low as well. At 28.3, I am just 0.3 higher than the value required for a blood transfusion. My nurse tells me I may receive one at the end of the night.
Sheesh! You'd think I have something wrong with me, or something. Blood Transfusion? Bah, I'd be fine without one. Well, maybe not... ::visions self when hemoglobin is at 6:: Maybe it's best to prevent that.
[2:40pm]
Earlier, they performed the following procedures:
1: Drew blood from catheter
2: Hooked catheter to saline IV pump
Now, my nurse comes in with the pre-meds (with 30 mins. to chemo), and she notices that there is no blood return with the catheter. She tries and tries... no blood return. Now she's sending for someone else to check.
I hope they do not have to perform surgery again, and delay chemo further. Chemo: So close, yet so far away. ::worry::
[4:37pm]
Nurse came by and tried again to no avail. Then she tried this thing called TPA that is supposed to remove any blod clots or anything. 30 minutes later...still nothing. Now she's getting a doctor. ::more worry::
[4:53pm]
Nurse just came in and told me that she was going to administer the chemo peripherally; I'm going to get stuck by a needle. Stupid catheter. All this work to clean it and maintain it for nothing. She's scheduling an appointment with radiology surgeons to fix it... says it will probably be non-surgical.
But still: More appointments, more procedures, more stress. At least I'm getting chemo. But now I have to stress about getting this catheter in order so that apheresis isn't delayed. Also, what about the neupogen? I've got to get that by tomorrow, but I don't even know if Walgreens has it yet.
::stress::
[10:57pm]
Chemo is done and I feel great! No nausea or anything. The dose was 8.5g -- a little less than I expected, but still good. My new nurse got the catheter working after asking me to cough a few times. It looks like my catheter will be difficult for the next few months. *sigh* Oh well, at least I got my IV needle out.
Nite!
You heard it here first, folks: Operation Cytoxan is a go!
Making it here, to this point, has felt like the admissions process into a prestigious university... Like a student waiting for a final exam to be graded, I waited today for my x-ray results. If they are good, I get it. Simple as that. And I got in.
But there was more to it than that, of course. All the tests and exams and appointments to get into the BMT program... they're a part of this too. Since there'd be no Cytoxan unless they actually planned on going through with the BMT.
So, here I am, in the bed, getting hydrated. It's great to put this catheter to use! And the beds here, they are beyond comfortable... I'm talking *space-age* mattresses. If you get up, to reposition yourself, the mattress automatically finds the points on your back with the greatest pressure and "softens" them. Points with the least pressure are "filled." The end result: ultimate comfort.
I'm going to sleep well tonight.
I have a roommate named Nick -- he has Myeloid Leukemia and has already been through the Allogeneic transplant. He's here for other reasons, something about liver problems.
Anyhow, he seems like a cool guy. He's around my age. We just talked about movies, video games, and more video games. Kinda reminds me of T.J.
[12:30pm]
I just got my lab results back:
WBC: 3.6
Neutrophil %: 65.5
Hemoglobin: 9.8!
Hematocrit: 28.3
absolute neutrophil count: 2360 (Not neutropenic)
This impressive thing here is my hemoglobin is at a record low of 9.8! My previous lowest was at 10.8, near the end of Stanford V. At that time, I was exhausted! Climbing up a flight of stairs left me very winded.
So, why then am I feeling pretty energetic? Has my body just gotten used to low oxygen being delivered?
My hematocrit is low as well. At 28.3, I am just 0.3 higher than the value required for a blood transfusion. My nurse tells me I may receive one at the end of the night.
Sheesh! You'd think I have something wrong with me, or something. Blood Transfusion? Bah, I'd be fine without one. Well, maybe not... ::visions self when hemoglobin is at 6:: Maybe it's best to prevent that.
[2:40pm]
Earlier, they performed the following procedures:
1: Drew blood from catheter
2: Hooked catheter to saline IV pump
Now, my nurse comes in with the pre-meds (with 30 mins. to chemo), and she notices that there is no blood return with the catheter. She tries and tries... no blood return. Now she's sending for someone else to check.
I hope they do not have to perform surgery again, and delay chemo further. Chemo: So close, yet so far away. ::worry::
[4:37pm]
Nurse came by and tried again to no avail. Then she tried this thing called TPA that is supposed to remove any blod clots or anything. 30 minutes later...still nothing. Now she's getting a doctor. ::more worry::
[4:53pm]
Nurse just came in and told me that she was going to administer the chemo peripherally; I'm going to get stuck by a needle. Stupid catheter. All this work to clean it and maintain it for nothing. She's scheduling an appointment with radiology surgeons to fix it... says it will probably be non-surgical.
But still: More appointments, more procedures, more stress. At least I'm getting chemo. But now I have to stress about getting this catheter in order so that apheresis isn't delayed. Also, what about the neupogen? I've got to get that by tomorrow, but I don't even know if Walgreens has it yet.
::stress::
[10:57pm]
Chemo is done and I feel great! No nausea or anything. The dose was 8.5g -- a little less than I expected, but still good. My new nurse got the catheter working after asking me to cough a few times. It looks like my catheter will be difficult for the next few months. *sigh* Oh well, at least I got my IV needle out.
Nite!
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