I left the hospital with a lot to think about.
First of all, I wondered how it was possible that my cell counts were that low after having taken Neupogen shots for 7 days. Again, white blood cells are responsible for immune function and are killed through chemotherapy. They regenerate themselves approx. 14 days after receiving chemotherapy. It can be dangerous to administer chemo when the white blood cells have not regenerated themselves fully because the immune system can become too depressed. Neopogen is the injection I take which stimulates the production of white blood cells in the bone marrow. This ensures that the white cells will regenerate themselves quickly and fully so that I can receive chemo on time. How is it possible, then, that my white blood cells were too low after receiving 7 injections of Neupogen??? All I could imagine was how low my white blood cells would be if I had not taken Neupogen. I would probably be hospitalized by now. Is it possible that the dose of chemo I am getting is too powerful for my body to control?
Second, I wondered about what would be the smartest course of action for me to take with the second breast. A 50% chance of getting a new cancer in the second breast is extremely significant. That poses the risk of me having to go through this whole ordeal another time. And, what if I didn't catch it as early the second time? What if it was fatal? Could I really risk all that for the sake of breast feeding? I mean, many mothers raise children without breastfeeding.
Lately I have also been plagued with worry about my right breast. I have been experiencing tenderness in the breast, which Dr. MacCormick thinks is likely just hormonal changes in the body. He says that pain in the breast rarely indicates cancer and, if anything, could mean benign disease (like cysts). Nonetheless, the tenderness has been cause for me to fish around and wonder what's going on in there. I usually don't go 24 hours at this point without checking my breast for lumps. Can I really live the rest of my life worrying like this?
Another thing to consider is Dr. Atiyah's suggestions that if I were to leave the right breast on and have the left breats reconstructed, they would be more like sisters than twins. He was adament about the cosmetic result, saying that he could get the best result if he were to reconstruct two breasts, rather than one.
As you can probably tell, I am leaning towards having the right breast removed and having both breasts reconstructed. The benefits seem to clearly outweigh the downfalls:
Benefits: 1) less chance of developing a second, new breast cancer; 2) less worry and psychological distress; 3) a nicer consmetic result
Downfalls: 1) can never breastfeed; 2) will never have a natural breast again, which may be psychologically distressing in itself for a woman
At this point, I am almost positive that I will undergo the second matectomy and will receive reconstruction very shortly after. The second decision will have to be WHEN to go through with all of this ...
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Twists, turns, bumps, and bridges ...
After agreeing to have my final treatment unannounced, I moved along to an examination room where I was to have my final pre-chemo appointment with Dr. MacCormick. He was very prompt this time, which took me by surprise. We went through the normal pre-chemo things, discussing how the anti-nausea medication worked for me and going over other symptoms that troubled me. Because the third treatment went well and I was getting used to dealing with the side-effects, we had little to talk about. The time came to discuss the end of treatment, which, for the first time since all this began, I was not prepared for. I had recently trained myself to deal with things as they came to me to avoid mind overload. So, all I was prepared for was discussing the usual.
"I believe this is your fourth treatment, correct?" I nodded my head and smiled. "This must have been very tough on you. You know, the younger you are, the harder this is to deal with, really. It's really is too bad that you had to go through this." Not knowing how to respond, I let out a nervous giggle and nodded, as if to say "you got that right." He responded: "It's not funny, though. I know you're trying to be strong, but this really is tough." There was a short, uncomfortable silence. I was glad to see the doctor I trusted when I first stepped into the cancer centre a few months earlier. I was shown this man's compassionate side once again as he looked at me as a human being, rather than a patient. "Is there anything you would like to ask me now?" Shoot... I have nothing prepared! There was a knock at the door and the doctor excused himself.
I tried to think quickly to conjur up any questions I may have had. Aha! I did want to know what he thought about the double mastectomy the plastic surgeon seemed to suggest last month. He quickly returned and we picked up where we had left off. I asked: "Would there be any benefit to getting the second breast removed as a precaution?" His response was that he thought it was an excellent question, but he really thought it was something I should decide for myself. He said that if I was his daughter there would be two things he would bring up to me. The first would be the warning that breastfeeding (something he seemed to consider as very important) would no longer be an option. If I wanted to have children I should take this into consideration. The second would be that having already had breast cancer at 25 years old, my chances of developing a brand new cancer in the other breast would be approx. 1% per year for the rest of my life. Thus, if my life expectancy is somewhere around 75 years old, I now have a 50% lifetime risk of developing a brand new cancer in the breast that was left behind.
Nonetheless, the doctor seemed to steer clear of making any suggestions. He said that, first of all, he was a man and could never fully relate to me in that way. He thought it may be useful for me to talk to another female about it, preferably a female doctor. Second of all, he thought that it was a very personal decision that should be left for me to decide. He did suggest that it may be a good idea, however, if it was causing me psychological distress. Being the very resourceful man he is, Dr. MacC said that he would phone a female oncologist he knows in Halifax and ask her what her opinion would be. He would let me know at a later date.
Another knock came to the door. Dr. MacCormick returned with a sheet of paper that he looked over quickly. He turned to me. Are you supposed to have chemo tomorrow? I explained that I was supposed to have it tomorrow, but due to the storm I was rescheduled for today. "Okay ..." He had a look of uncertainty on his face. "The only thing, Melanie, is that your cell counts are just slightly lower than we want them to be for you to receive chemo." (I believe they were supposed to be 15 and were 14). "We could go ahead and do it ..." He shook his head back and forth as if to say "This could be risky ... I'm unsure." He said: "See, I would say to go ahead with it, but with you being 25 and all, I don't like taking risks. We never know how you will react." I asked if he thought I should wait until tomorrow. "I would feel more comfortable if we waited until tomorrow. Your cell counts should probably be right by then, but we will still have to test them again tomorrow morning. I do hate for you to risk coming out in a storm, though, do you have a four wheel drive?" I answered yes and we then decided that I would wait until tomorrow for chemo afterall.
Twists, turns, bumps, and bridges ... the story of my life.
"I believe this is your fourth treatment, correct?" I nodded my head and smiled. "This must have been very tough on you. You know, the younger you are, the harder this is to deal with, really. It's really is too bad that you had to go through this." Not knowing how to respond, I let out a nervous giggle and nodded, as if to say "you got that right." He responded: "It's not funny, though. I know you're trying to be strong, but this really is tough." There was a short, uncomfortable silence. I was glad to see the doctor I trusted when I first stepped into the cancer centre a few months earlier. I was shown this man's compassionate side once again as he looked at me as a human being, rather than a patient. "Is there anything you would like to ask me now?" Shoot... I have nothing prepared! There was a knock at the door and the doctor excused himself.
I tried to think quickly to conjur up any questions I may have had. Aha! I did want to know what he thought about the double mastectomy the plastic surgeon seemed to suggest last month. He quickly returned and we picked up where we had left off. I asked: "Would there be any benefit to getting the second breast removed as a precaution?" His response was that he thought it was an excellent question, but he really thought it was something I should decide for myself. He said that if I was his daughter there would be two things he would bring up to me. The first would be the warning that breastfeeding (something he seemed to consider as very important) would no longer be an option. If I wanted to have children I should take this into consideration. The second would be that having already had breast cancer at 25 years old, my chances of developing a brand new cancer in the other breast would be approx. 1% per year for the rest of my life. Thus, if my life expectancy is somewhere around 75 years old, I now have a 50% lifetime risk of developing a brand new cancer in the breast that was left behind.
Nonetheless, the doctor seemed to steer clear of making any suggestions. He said that, first of all, he was a man and could never fully relate to me in that way. He thought it may be useful for me to talk to another female about it, preferably a female doctor. Second of all, he thought that it was a very personal decision that should be left for me to decide. He did suggest that it may be a good idea, however, if it was causing me psychological distress. Being the very resourceful man he is, Dr. MacC said that he would phone a female oncologist he knows in Halifax and ask her what her opinion would be. He would let me know at a later date.
Another knock came to the door. Dr. MacCormick returned with a sheet of paper that he looked over quickly. He turned to me. Are you supposed to have chemo tomorrow? I explained that I was supposed to have it tomorrow, but due to the storm I was rescheduled for today. "Okay ..." He had a look of uncertainty on his face. "The only thing, Melanie, is that your cell counts are just slightly lower than we want them to be for you to receive chemo." (I believe they were supposed to be 15 and were 14). "We could go ahead and do it ..." He shook his head back and forth as if to say "This could be risky ... I'm unsure." He said: "See, I would say to go ahead with it, but with you being 25 and all, I don't like taking risks. We never know how you will react." I asked if he thought I should wait until tomorrow. "I would feel more comfortable if we waited until tomorrow. Your cell counts should probably be right by then, but we will still have to test them again tomorrow morning. I do hate for you to risk coming out in a storm, though, do you have a four wheel drive?" I answered yes and we then decided that I would wait until tomorrow for chemo afterall.
Twists, turns, bumps, and bridges ... the story of my life.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
What we anticipate seldom occurs ...
The fourth treatment quickly approached and I felt as though I was looking at myself through a a video screen as people commented about how this experience would all be over soon. You must be so happy ... so relieved ... so excited. Soon all of this will be behind you. One more to go Mel! One more still seemed like a lot for me. But, at the same time, I was very grateful that this would hopefully be the last chemo treatment I would ever have to do. I remembered back to the first treatment I received--the most pervasive thought in my mind was that I would have to do this all over again ... threefold. Three more times??? Four treatments sounded so easy when Dr. MacCormick first talked about it! I couldn't fathom going through it once more, let alone two or three more times.
But here I stood, talking about my very last treatment and having gone through three already. I felt that my awareness that this was my final treatment would make it much easier for me to handle and would make it a much more unique experience. It would be relieving to know that the experience would be the last and that all of those dreadful feelings would soon be felt no more.
I found my Thursday pre-chemo appointment sneaking up on me as if I had just been there a few days earlier. In reality, it had been three weeks. Again, I felt as though I was watching myself through a camera lens, as though everything was surreal. A voice kept whispering ... this is the last time you will do have to do this. This is the last time you will have to do that.
The waiting seemed to be minimal this time and I was taken in quickly for everything. First, I was called in to have my blood taken. I dreaded the needle this time because ever since the second chemo treatment I have been experiencing an extreme tenderness throughout my lower arm (from the elbow down). The pain is felt mainly in the inner elbow where blood is normally taken, but it extends more faintly down the arm all the way to the wrist. I told the lady who was taking my blood about the tenderness. She said that it could be damage from having so many needles and so much blood taken from the right arm (remember, I can't get needles in my left arm anymore due to the removal of many of my lymph nodes in that arm). She said it could also be damage from the chemotherapy drugs. I feel that it is a result of the latter rather than the former ... a result of the chemo drugs damaging my poor veins. The technician even noticed that there was a darkening of one of the veins in the arm.
I sucked it up and let her poke me with that needle once again. As she was drawing my blood a nurse came in and approached me. Uh Oh ... what now. "Melanie, do you think you could stay later today?" I waited for her to continue, but she seemed to want an answer before explaining herself. When she realized my answer would not come without an explanation, she said "We wanted to give you your treatment today instead of tomorrow because there is supposed to be a bad storm coming tomorrow." WHAT??? Chemo today?!?!?! You have to be kidding me! I am not mentally prepared for that. I needed one last night of sanity! They can't be serious! I felt like a child again under the scrutiny of a teacher, as I fetched for some excuse as to why I could not get chemo today. Nothing came to me. I told her that I would check with my Mom to make sure she could stay with me, as she was supposed to work that afternoon.
Being the agreeable woman she never fails to be, my mother quickly agreed to stay, although this time I wished she would not. I told the nurse that I would stay even though I did not feel mentally prepared. She suggested that maybe it was best this way--to have less time to think about it and dwell on it. Maybe she was right. I took a deep breath and convinced myself that there was really no difference in taking it today versus tomorrow. Hell, it would be one less day I would have to be on chemo, right?
...it is what we least expect that generally happens
But here I stood, talking about my very last treatment and having gone through three already. I felt that my awareness that this was my final treatment would make it much easier for me to handle and would make it a much more unique experience. It would be relieving to know that the experience would be the last and that all of those dreadful feelings would soon be felt no more.
I found my Thursday pre-chemo appointment sneaking up on me as if I had just been there a few days earlier. In reality, it had been three weeks. Again, I felt as though I was watching myself through a camera lens, as though everything was surreal. A voice kept whispering ... this is the last time you will do have to do this. This is the last time you will have to do that.
The waiting seemed to be minimal this time and I was taken in quickly for everything. First, I was called in to have my blood taken. I dreaded the needle this time because ever since the second chemo treatment I have been experiencing an extreme tenderness throughout my lower arm (from the elbow down). The pain is felt mainly in the inner elbow where blood is normally taken, but it extends more faintly down the arm all the way to the wrist. I told the lady who was taking my blood about the tenderness. She said that it could be damage from having so many needles and so much blood taken from the right arm (remember, I can't get needles in my left arm anymore due to the removal of many of my lymph nodes in that arm). She said it could also be damage from the chemotherapy drugs. I feel that it is a result of the latter rather than the former ... a result of the chemo drugs damaging my poor veins. The technician even noticed that there was a darkening of one of the veins in the arm.
I sucked it up and let her poke me with that needle once again. As she was drawing my blood a nurse came in and approached me. Uh Oh ... what now. "Melanie, do you think you could stay later today?" I waited for her to continue, but she seemed to want an answer before explaining herself. When she realized my answer would not come without an explanation, she said "We wanted to give you your treatment today instead of tomorrow because there is supposed to be a bad storm coming tomorrow." WHAT??? Chemo today?!?!?! You have to be kidding me! I am not mentally prepared for that. I needed one last night of sanity! They can't be serious! I felt like a child again under the scrutiny of a teacher, as I fetched for some excuse as to why I could not get chemo today. Nothing came to me. I told her that I would check with my Mom to make sure she could stay with me, as she was supposed to work that afternoon.
Being the agreeable woman she never fails to be, my mother quickly agreed to stay, although this time I wished she would not. I told the nurse that I would stay even though I did not feel mentally prepared. She suggested that maybe it was best this way--to have less time to think about it and dwell on it. Maybe she was right. I took a deep breath and convinced myself that there was really no difference in taking it today versus tomorrow. Hell, it would be one less day I would have to be on chemo, right?
...it is what we least expect that generally happens
Friday, January 26, 2007
Remembering ...
Remembering back to when I first stepped foot in the Cape Breton Cancer Centre ... my mother and I waited patiently in the waiting room for me to be called in to see Dr. MacCormick. A lady came in, seeming pleasantly surprised to see my mother, and came over to say hello. My mother said: "Oh, hello, Stella!" and expressed her shock at this lady's diagnosis of cancer. Stella was a woman who appeared to be in her fourties. She wore a warm hat around her head, which was hairless from chemo treatments. Her skin appeared dark and she looked tired. My mother asked how she was doing and she replied "I'm doing well ... I'm doing very well." I remember looking at her and wondering if I would have to go through what she was going through. I wondered if Dr. MacCormick would recommend chemotherapy and hoped he would not. I wondered what she must be going through at home and felt deeply sorry for her.
About a month later, when I entered the chemo room for the first time and for my very first treatment, I saw Stella once again. As the nurses got me set up in a chair, my mother went over to speak with her. She came back saying that this was Stella's final treatment. I remember saying "Good for her" and wondering if I could make it that far. I again found myself daydreaming about what she must have gone through, as I watched her chat with the supportive family members that gathered around her chair.
It has now been a couple of months since the last time I saw Stella (in the chemo room). Yesterday my mother told me that she heard that Stella passed away a couple of weeks ago. I was absolutely shocked when I heard this. Although I had only just briefly met her and did not know her at all, I felt deeply saddened when I heard those words pass through my mother's lips. Not only did Stella have ties to two key memories in my experience with cancer, but she had gone through what I fear the most--terminal cancer. When I met Stella I had no idea the extent of what she was going through. She survived less than two months following her last treatment.
Now that I have become a member of a club I had never wished to join, I feel a very strong bond with others "members." It is almost like an unspoken brotherhood that no one but we who have experienced that unspeakable word can understand. As I watch other "members" leave this world and enter the next, I almost feel as though I am losing a piece of myself. On the other hand, I also feel that I am gaining a strength that is caused by the overwhelming urge to keep us all alive (or at least to keep this horrible disease from claiming our lives). It makes me want to fight even more, to hold on even tighter, and to do whatever is in my power put up a fierce battle against this monster.
Let's all take a moment to remember Stella or someone we know or love that has passed away from cancer. Let's all hope and pray that we can find some way to put this monster to rest so that our future generations may live a life free of this horrible disease.
~~So powerful is the light of unity that it can illuminate the entire earth.
About a month later, when I entered the chemo room for the first time and for my very first treatment, I saw Stella once again. As the nurses got me set up in a chair, my mother went over to speak with her. She came back saying that this was Stella's final treatment. I remember saying "Good for her" and wondering if I could make it that far. I again found myself daydreaming about what she must have gone through, as I watched her chat with the supportive family members that gathered around her chair.
It has now been a couple of months since the last time I saw Stella (in the chemo room). Yesterday my mother told me that she heard that Stella passed away a couple of weeks ago. I was absolutely shocked when I heard this. Although I had only just briefly met her and did not know her at all, I felt deeply saddened when I heard those words pass through my mother's lips. Not only did Stella have ties to two key memories in my experience with cancer, but she had gone through what I fear the most--terminal cancer. When I met Stella I had no idea the extent of what she was going through. She survived less than two months following her last treatment.
Now that I have become a member of a club I had never wished to join, I feel a very strong bond with others "members." It is almost like an unspoken brotherhood that no one but we who have experienced that unspeakable word can understand. As I watch other "members" leave this world and enter the next, I almost feel as though I am losing a piece of myself. On the other hand, I also feel that I am gaining a strength that is caused by the overwhelming urge to keep us all alive (or at least to keep this horrible disease from claiming our lives). It makes me want to fight even more, to hold on even tighter, and to do whatever is in my power put up a fierce battle against this monster.
Let's all take a moment to remember Stella or someone we know or love that has passed away from cancer. Let's all hope and pray that we can find some way to put this monster to rest so that our future generations may live a life free of this horrible disease.
~~So powerful is the light of unity that it can illuminate the entire earth.
Chemo 3
The days ahead proved to be much more bearable than I had anticipated. The steroid alternative (Decadron) gave me welcomed relief from vomiting, although it didn't take away the feelings of nausea. My stomach felt like it was "bathing in toxic waste" (as Dr. Marla has put it) and I felt generally unwell. Nonetheless, it gave me solace to know that I was being kept from dehydration, which I have recently hypothesized as being the cause for the crazy eyes and blackout that occured during the second treatment. If I could be kept from vomiting (and drink at least 8 glasses of water per day), hopefully I could be kept from dehydrating, which would likely not only give me relief, but would hopefully prevent anything unusual from happening to me again.
I made it through the first three days feeling sick to my stomach, but without vomiting at all. But, of course, I wouldn't get of that easy! Sunday night all the feelings of sickness that had accumulated over the previous few days seemed to catch up to me and I had a small bout of vomiting late in the night. However, the vomiting provided me with some feelings of relief and from then on, the feelings of nausea diminished more and more.
By Tuesday, the nausea lifted and I was left feeling weak and exhausted. The Zofran (anti-nauseant which I was taking in combination with the steroid) also left me with an irritating headache, which reminded me of the pinching sensation you get when you eat something really cold, like icecream. It also left me with a few days of mild constipation, which it has a bad reputation for. They say Zofran is a powerful drug that has been a shining example of the leaps made in medications used to provide relief from cancer treatments. For me, on the other hand, it seemed to cause more harm than good. It did not prevent vomiting for me (at least not on its own) and it caused irritating side effects (like headache and constipation). Some people say that the constipation caused by Zofran can be extremely brutal, causing a great deal of pain and discomfort. I even heard one lady say that constipation was the worst side-effect of chemo (little did she know that it was likely not even chemo that caused this dreadful side-effect, but more likely the Zofran she was taking to relieve nausea).
Although I experienced some nausea, fatigue, and headache during the first week of the third treatment, the side effects were much less severe than the previous two treatments. I give credit to Decadron for most of this relief. Not only did Decadron stop me from vomiting, but it gave me an excellent appetite and a small boost of energy (although I was exhausted and drained, I was less so than previous treatments). I was actually able to gain 5 lbs during this treatment, where I had previously lost approx. 1-2 lbs during each of the previous two treatments.
Once the first week passed, I began to regain my strength and slowly began to feel normal. I could only look back on the third treatment feeling happy that nothing odd happened and that my body was able to remain relatively strong considering all its been through over the past few months.
I made it through the first three days feeling sick to my stomach, but without vomiting at all. But, of course, I wouldn't get of that easy! Sunday night all the feelings of sickness that had accumulated over the previous few days seemed to catch up to me and I had a small bout of vomiting late in the night. However, the vomiting provided me with some feelings of relief and from then on, the feelings of nausea diminished more and more.
By Tuesday, the nausea lifted and I was left feeling weak and exhausted. The Zofran (anti-nauseant which I was taking in combination with the steroid) also left me with an irritating headache, which reminded me of the pinching sensation you get when you eat something really cold, like icecream. It also left me with a few days of mild constipation, which it has a bad reputation for. They say Zofran is a powerful drug that has been a shining example of the leaps made in medications used to provide relief from cancer treatments. For me, on the other hand, it seemed to cause more harm than good. It did not prevent vomiting for me (at least not on its own) and it caused irritating side effects (like headache and constipation). Some people say that the constipation caused by Zofran can be extremely brutal, causing a great deal of pain and discomfort. I even heard one lady say that constipation was the worst side-effect of chemo (little did she know that it was likely not even chemo that caused this dreadful side-effect, but more likely the Zofran she was taking to relieve nausea).
Although I experienced some nausea, fatigue, and headache during the first week of the third treatment, the side effects were much less severe than the previous two treatments. I give credit to Decadron for most of this relief. Not only did Decadron stop me from vomiting, but it gave me an excellent appetite and a small boost of energy (although I was exhausted and drained, I was less so than previous treatments). I was actually able to gain 5 lbs during this treatment, where I had previously lost approx. 1-2 lbs during each of the previous two treatments.
Once the first week passed, I began to regain my strength and slowly began to feel normal. I could only look back on the third treatment feeling happy that nothing odd happened and that my body was able to remain relatively strong considering all its been through over the past few months.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Alternatives and Anticipation
The third treatment approached quickly and I found myself hanging on to the final days of the second treatment in mere dread for what was to come. It was the first time that I found myself thinking about a coming treatment constantly--I began to dwell on the inevitable. I feared Friday, January 5th. All sorts of things were plaguing my mind. I hate being sick. I can't bear to go through that nausea again this weekend. I wonder if any more crazy things will happen to me this time? I became sick to my stomach just thinking about what I would have to go through over the weekend.
Thursday (the day before chemo) I went in to the cancer unit for my regular pre-chemotherapy check-up. This is when I get bloodwork to make sure my blood cell counts are high enough to receive chemo the following day and when I meet with a nurse and Dr. MacCormick to have questions answered and prescriptions added or changed, depending on the troubles the following chemo may have posed. I had the bloodwork done, which turned out to be fine, and proceeded to wait an hour, as usual, to see the doctor. After my hour's wait, I was surprised to see a female doctor (who so happens to be Mike's family doctor) come through the door of the examination room. Because I had seen Dr. MacCormick that same day buzzing around the cancer unit, I am assuming he was too busy to see me himself this time. The doctor went through her list of side-effects, asking what things I found troublesome. I told her about the "spell" I had experienced and explained to her that the ER doctor thought I was extremely dehydrated. She expressed her concerned about dehydration and said that the only way to really control it was to stop me from vomitting. Off she went to speak with Dr. MacCormick.
A few minutes later the 'fill-in' doctor returned with a prescription for Dexamethasone (aka Decadron) for me. This was the same steroid I was given through IV at the hospital a couple weeks earlier that helped me to feel better after I had been vomitting all weekend. I was a little concerned, however, because Dr. MacCormick had previously mentioned that he wasn't particularly fond of prescribing steroids for nausea, due to their negative side-effects (like weight-gain, fluid retention, insomnia, and, in the longer-term, osteoperosis). I told her I was skeptical about using steroids, but she reassured me that there would be few side-effects (especially longer-term ones) because they would only be prescribing the drug in a small dose and for the four days when I am the sickest. She told me that this was the last resort. Because of my pharmacological sensitivity to Stemetil and its large family of anti-nauseants, a whole list of other options became completely unavailable to me.
If Decadron did not work, the only other option for me would be Marijuana. A couple of weeks previous I had another discussion with Dr. MacCormick about using marijuana for nausea. This was, again, after I had been sick all weekend and he got a nurse to give me Decadron through IV. He said, "There is really not many more options for you. I could prescribe Marinol (marijuana in pill form), but it is known for its lack of effectiveness. Cannabis is really most effective when it is smoked and, unfortunately, I can't prescribe it in that form." He then went on to say that he would recommend smoking it if worse comes to worse and if I were to get caught with it, he could write me a note saying he recommended it for medical purposes.
Even though I was basically given a "get out of jail free card" for smoking marijuana, something in me suddenly told me that I shouldn't go this route. Too many pharmacological reactions seemed to be happening with me--all which seemed to stem from changing neurotransmitter levels in my body, which is what marijuana does to get people high. I didn't think it would be smart of me to mess around with my nervous system any further, even though my oncologist was more or less recommending it.
So, off I went with my usual prescription for Ondansetron and a new presecription for Decadron. I hoped that the Decadron would give me some relief from the torture I had experienced in the first 4 or 5 days of the previous 2 treatments. The nurses seemed to think that it was effective and that it would give me an added boost of energy and a stimulated appetite in addition to preventing vomiting.
Friday, January 5th appeared in what seemed to be the blink of an eye, and I found myself getting "cozy" in the chemo room once again. The same routine came and went. I stuck my hand in a bucket of hot water so that the veins would become more visible. The nurse poked around until she found a good vein with good blood return. I was then pumped with Benadryl, Dexamethasone (aka Decadron), Ondansetron (aka Zofran), Doxorubicin (aka Adriamycin or "The Red Devil"), and Cyclophsphamide (aka Cytoxin). About two hours later I was sent home feeling sleepy from the Benadryl, wanting to rest, and crossing my fingers in hopes that I could handle this treatment, both physically and mentally.
Thursday (the day before chemo) I went in to the cancer unit for my regular pre-chemotherapy check-up. This is when I get bloodwork to make sure my blood cell counts are high enough to receive chemo the following day and when I meet with a nurse and Dr. MacCormick to have questions answered and prescriptions added or changed, depending on the troubles the following chemo may have posed. I had the bloodwork done, which turned out to be fine, and proceeded to wait an hour, as usual, to see the doctor. After my hour's wait, I was surprised to see a female doctor (who so happens to be Mike's family doctor) come through the door of the examination room. Because I had seen Dr. MacCormick that same day buzzing around the cancer unit, I am assuming he was too busy to see me himself this time. The doctor went through her list of side-effects, asking what things I found troublesome. I told her about the "spell" I had experienced and explained to her that the ER doctor thought I was extremely dehydrated. She expressed her concerned about dehydration and said that the only way to really control it was to stop me from vomitting. Off she went to speak with Dr. MacCormick.
A few minutes later the 'fill-in' doctor returned with a prescription for Dexamethasone (aka Decadron) for me. This was the same steroid I was given through IV at the hospital a couple weeks earlier that helped me to feel better after I had been vomitting all weekend. I was a little concerned, however, because Dr. MacCormick had previously mentioned that he wasn't particularly fond of prescribing steroids for nausea, due to their negative side-effects (like weight-gain, fluid retention, insomnia, and, in the longer-term, osteoperosis). I told her I was skeptical about using steroids, but she reassured me that there would be few side-effects (especially longer-term ones) because they would only be prescribing the drug in a small dose and for the four days when I am the sickest. She told me that this was the last resort. Because of my pharmacological sensitivity to Stemetil and its large family of anti-nauseants, a whole list of other options became completely unavailable to me.
If Decadron did not work, the only other option for me would be Marijuana. A couple of weeks previous I had another discussion with Dr. MacCormick about using marijuana for nausea. This was, again, after I had been sick all weekend and he got a nurse to give me Decadron through IV. He said, "There is really not many more options for you. I could prescribe Marinol (marijuana in pill form), but it is known for its lack of effectiveness. Cannabis is really most effective when it is smoked and, unfortunately, I can't prescribe it in that form." He then went on to say that he would recommend smoking it if worse comes to worse and if I were to get caught with it, he could write me a note saying he recommended it for medical purposes.
Even though I was basically given a "get out of jail free card" for smoking marijuana, something in me suddenly told me that I shouldn't go this route. Too many pharmacological reactions seemed to be happening with me--all which seemed to stem from changing neurotransmitter levels in my body, which is what marijuana does to get people high. I didn't think it would be smart of me to mess around with my nervous system any further, even though my oncologist was more or less recommending it.
So, off I went with my usual prescription for Ondansetron and a new presecription for Decadron. I hoped that the Decadron would give me some relief from the torture I had experienced in the first 4 or 5 days of the previous 2 treatments. The nurses seemed to think that it was effective and that it would give me an added boost of energy and a stimulated appetite in addition to preventing vomiting.
Friday, January 5th appeared in what seemed to be the blink of an eye, and I found myself getting "cozy" in the chemo room once again. The same routine came and went. I stuck my hand in a bucket of hot water so that the veins would become more visible. The nurse poked around until she found a good vein with good blood return. I was then pumped with Benadryl, Dexamethasone (aka Decadron), Ondansetron (aka Zofran), Doxorubicin (aka Adriamycin or "The Red Devil"), and Cyclophsphamide (aka Cytoxin). About two hours later I was sent home feeling sleepy from the Benadryl, wanting to rest, and crossing my fingers in hopes that I could handle this treatment, both physically and mentally.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
A Chance to Experiment
Making our way back to the hairloss issue ...
It's now been just over a month since the evening when Mike and I took the clippers to my hair for the second time and gave me little more than a head full of "pricklies." Shaving my head was much less difficult than I first imagined it would be. When Dr. Butler first mentioned that I may have to have chemotherapy and would most likely lose my hair (just a week after I arrived home from Korea) I can remember being completely devastated. My heart sunk. I even felt as though my life was over. I obsessed about it and convinced myself that I would never have to do chemo simply because I just could not imagine not having the long blonde hair I had for my entire life. But, there are some things we simply cannot control. And this was one of those things for me. I had to lose my hair.
Here we are, and I've now been hairless (or mostly hairless, anyhow) for a month. The progression of my hairloss was rather bizarre or was at least not what I was expecting. As you may or may not remember, my hair began falling about 2-3 weeks after my first treatment. I chose to buzz it to about 3/4 of an inch when it began falling out and over the following week, it began thinning more and more. I then chose to buzz it once again, about 4 weeks after my first treatment, until I was left with nothing but fuzz. My hairline then slowly began to recede--and I mean slowly. I was halfway through the second treatment and still had half a head of "rough stuff" starting in the middle of the scalp and continuing right to the back of my head. The crown of my head was especially not catching on to the whole hairloss thing--it hung on for dear life, almost as stubborn as me I suppose.
I think that because I buzzed my hair during the 4th week of chemo, it then became difficult for me to continue monitoring the progression of my hairloss. It was so short (almost completely bald) that it was hard to see what was happening with it. I will report, however, that as of now (Week 10 or Chemo 3, day 15) I have still yet to have a completely bald, shiny head. As of now, there are little blonde hairs scattered all over the entire front part of my scalp--they are quite visible, especially in the light. When I rub my hand along the back part of my scalp all I can feel is "pricklies." I'm unsure whether this is all new growth or whether it is all just hair that didn't fall out. I did do some researching into it, though, and discovered that the hair CAN begin to grow back in between treatments. On a forum I read that the hair can become resistent to the chemotherapy chemicals (I'm not sure how reliable this information is). But, there are other people who have reported their hair growing back before chemo ended, although it doesn't seem to be common.
Let's talk about hair in other areas--I'm sure you're wondering about this by now. My eyebrows and eyelashes are still growing strong. I have read that these usually don't start falling out, however, until the 3rd or 4th treatment. Some people do not lose their eyebrows and eyelashes at all, while others just experience thinning (which can be severe). I even read about a lady whose eyebrows/lashes didn't begin falling out until close to a month after her fourth and final treatment. That had to be a bummer. But, people say that they usually grow back quite quickly and when they start growing back it usually only takes 1-2 weeks for them to finish. I have to say, however, that I am not looking forward to losing them and I'm hoping and wishing that I will be one of the luckly ones who can keep them.
My arm and leg hair is growing as usual. The particular treatment I am doing doesn't normally cause hairloss in these areas. My underarms and "bikini area" were the first places to lose hair and are now just about bald.
Overall, I feel that I am coping with hairloss quite well. I was blessed to have a very small head so the appearance of it bald is rather nice. I have never hid my bald head and since day 1 I have been prancing around the house without anything covering it. When I go out in public I either wear a beanie (Enzo got me a super cute white Armani beanie in Italy that I love ... Thanks Enz), a hat (I have 1 favorite that really fits my style and personality), or one of my wigs (I now have 2 favorite wigs ... one blonde and one brown). I do find the wigs to be uncomfortable for longer-term wearing. After a couple of hours they cause my head to become extremely itchy and uncomfortable. I wear something to cover my scalp beneath the wig, but this only helps minimally. Because of this, I usually only wear the wigs if I want to be dressed up or if I know I won't be somewhere for an extended amount of time.
I feel that losing my hair gave me an opportunity to experiment with my looks and take my appearance to the limit. I now know what my hair looks like long, shoulder length, Sienna Miller short, Halle Berry short, dark brown, light brown, dark blonde, platinum blonde, buzzed, and bald. Although sometimes I do long to have my own hair, being temporarily bald is not all that bad. I again rerturn to my favorite philosophy on life, which is that you need to take positives from everything in life, see the opportunities in things, and realize that everything happens for a reason.
If you've done or are doing AC treatments, please tell me if and when you lost your eyebrows/lashes ... also feel free to post any questions.
It's now been just over a month since the evening when Mike and I took the clippers to my hair for the second time and gave me little more than a head full of "pricklies." Shaving my head was much less difficult than I first imagined it would be. When Dr. Butler first mentioned that I may have to have chemotherapy and would most likely lose my hair (just a week after I arrived home from Korea) I can remember being completely devastated. My heart sunk. I even felt as though my life was over. I obsessed about it and convinced myself that I would never have to do chemo simply because I just could not imagine not having the long blonde hair I had for my entire life. But, there are some things we simply cannot control. And this was one of those things for me. I had to lose my hair.
Here we are, and I've now been hairless (or mostly hairless, anyhow) for a month. The progression of my hairloss was rather bizarre or was at least not what I was expecting. As you may or may not remember, my hair began falling about 2-3 weeks after my first treatment. I chose to buzz it to about 3/4 of an inch when it began falling out and over the following week, it began thinning more and more. I then chose to buzz it once again, about 4 weeks after my first treatment, until I was left with nothing but fuzz. My hairline then slowly began to recede--and I mean slowly. I was halfway through the second treatment and still had half a head of "rough stuff" starting in the middle of the scalp and continuing right to the back of my head. The crown of my head was especially not catching on to the whole hairloss thing--it hung on for dear life, almost as stubborn as me I suppose.
I think that because I buzzed my hair during the 4th week of chemo, it then became difficult for me to continue monitoring the progression of my hairloss. It was so short (almost completely bald) that it was hard to see what was happening with it. I will report, however, that as of now (Week 10 or Chemo 3, day 15) I have still yet to have a completely bald, shiny head. As of now, there are little blonde hairs scattered all over the entire front part of my scalp--they are quite visible, especially in the light. When I rub my hand along the back part of my scalp all I can feel is "pricklies." I'm unsure whether this is all new growth or whether it is all just hair that didn't fall out. I did do some researching into it, though, and discovered that the hair CAN begin to grow back in between treatments. On a forum I read that the hair can become resistent to the chemotherapy chemicals (I'm not sure how reliable this information is). But, there are other people who have reported their hair growing back before chemo ended, although it doesn't seem to be common.
Let's talk about hair in other areas--I'm sure you're wondering about this by now. My eyebrows and eyelashes are still growing strong. I have read that these usually don't start falling out, however, until the 3rd or 4th treatment. Some people do not lose their eyebrows and eyelashes at all, while others just experience thinning (which can be severe). I even read about a lady whose eyebrows/lashes didn't begin falling out until close to a month after her fourth and final treatment. That had to be a bummer. But, people say that they usually grow back quite quickly and when they start growing back it usually only takes 1-2 weeks for them to finish. I have to say, however, that I am not looking forward to losing them and I'm hoping and wishing that I will be one of the luckly ones who can keep them.
My arm and leg hair is growing as usual. The particular treatment I am doing doesn't normally cause hairloss in these areas. My underarms and "bikini area" were the first places to lose hair and are now just about bald.
Overall, I feel that I am coping with hairloss quite well. I was blessed to have a very small head so the appearance of it bald is rather nice. I have never hid my bald head and since day 1 I have been prancing around the house without anything covering it. When I go out in public I either wear a beanie (Enzo got me a super cute white Armani beanie in Italy that I love ... Thanks Enz), a hat (I have 1 favorite that really fits my style and personality), or one of my wigs (I now have 2 favorite wigs ... one blonde and one brown). I do find the wigs to be uncomfortable for longer-term wearing. After a couple of hours they cause my head to become extremely itchy and uncomfortable. I wear something to cover my scalp beneath the wig, but this only helps minimally. Because of this, I usually only wear the wigs if I want to be dressed up or if I know I won't be somewhere for an extended amount of time.
I feel that losing my hair gave me an opportunity to experiment with my looks and take my appearance to the limit. I now know what my hair looks like long, shoulder length, Sienna Miller short, Halle Berry short, dark brown, light brown, dark blonde, platinum blonde, buzzed, and bald. Although sometimes I do long to have my own hair, being temporarily bald is not all that bad. I again rerturn to my favorite philosophy on life, which is that you need to take positives from everything in life, see the opportunities in things, and realize that everything happens for a reason.
If you've done or are doing AC treatments, please tell me if and when you lost your eyebrows/lashes ... also feel free to post any questions.
The Many Faces of Mel
Since we're on the topic of hairloss, I thought I'd throw in some pictures. Here is the chronological order 'photo style' of the stages of my hairloss ...
When I barely knew the meaning of "Cancer" ...
March, 2006
July, 2006
August, 2006
My first short haircut in preparation for chemo ...
When I barely knew the meaning of "Cancer" ...
March, 2006
July, 2006
August, 2006
My first short haircut in preparation for chemo ...
Early November, 2006
The first buzz cut (week 3) ...
Early December, 2006
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Oaks grow strong in contrary winds and diamonds are made under pressure ...
Besides my inevitable anxieties, the holidays brought with them plenty of other stresses. As I mentioned a while ago, chemo can put a damper on one's social life. Because Christmas is usually a time to spend with family and friends, the dampened social life became one hundred times more noticeable. There were gatherings I couldn't attend and I had to stay away from most public places due to the higher traffic during the holidays (i.e. malls, movie theatres, restaurants, etc.). I spent most of my time cooped up inside wishing I could have a normal holiday season. This was all magnified especially because many of my friends as well as my brother and his family weren't home for the holidays this year. I felt like I needed them more than ever this year, but sometimes the necessities of life get in the way things I suppose. All I can say is thank goodness I have a wonderful boyfriend with whom I got to spend my time.
Which brings me to yet another stress ... although I realize we are in this together, I couldn't help but feel that I was putting a damper on Mike's holidays too. Sometimes I feel I have the weight of the world on my shoulders--I feel sometimes like Mike's holidays were also not the best because of me. Afterall, I'm the one who's sick, right? He reassures me that we are in this together, that he wants to be here for me, and that there will be plenty of other Christmases where everything will be normal. But even with that said, I couldn't help but feel guilty sometimes that Mike's social life was also put on the "back burner" over the holidays because of me. I must say, though, that I am blessed to have such an awesome guy to help me get through all this.
The final stress of the holidays? Well, here is where I was hesitant. I sometimes wonder how much is too much to reveal to whomever wishes to read this. I do not want to overstep my boundaries and involve other people's personal lives in my blog. But, at the same time, I wanted this blog to cover all the things that one must face when fighting cancer. I want this to be a place that people can go to relate (especially people who are facing cancer). I also want this to be a place where people can learn exactly what it is like to look cancer in the eye. I don't want to just include some things. I don't want to just write about what people want to hear, what sounds good, or what people already know about. I want to be honest and I want to be true to both myself and others. So I have decided to meet somewhere in the middle on this next issue and talk in general terms about it.
Cancer not only affects the person who is diagnosed with it. The loved ones of those diagnosed can also be majorly affected. This certainly became evident with one of my loved ones over the holidays. Life's stresses in combination with the stress of my cancer diagnoses and fight through chemotherapy got the better of this person, who was left extremely depressed during the entire Christmas holiday. We all have our own ways with dealing with stress--this person withdrew, became extremely irritable, and was not at all enjoyable to be around. As you can well imagine, this left me feeling horrible. First of all, I was trying my best to make the most out of a pretty tough Christmas. This only made things harder. Second, I could not help but wonder whether this was all my fault. Am I driving people into depressions? And finally, I felt that I did not have the energy left to deal with anything else. I am already dealing with so much, how could I possibly have something else added to my plate?
I found myself dwelling on this person's state and driving myself into my own mini-depression. I felt horrible and began feeling sorry for myself. I was looking at things from my own perspective (how things were affecting me and how other people should be more sensitive to my feelings right now), rather than realizing that I am not the only one going through this. When I came to this realization, I had a talk to this person about how I was feeling and I felt much better. Unfortunately, the person has yet to come around themselves completely. I feel very sorry for this person, but I also feel that I need to be focused on getting myself better right now. And so, an already difficult situation becomes even more difficult.
I guess these are all just the realities one must face in times like these. No one said it would be an easy battle. Sometimes I worry that all of this is going to take its toll on my nerves, but then I also think that if I can battle my way through all of this, I can make it through anything. I do feel that I was thrown a hardball, but I also think that it will only make me a stronger and more courageous person. Always remember to try your best to look at everything in life as an opportunity ... a chance to grow. I do believe that there is something positive to be taken from everything life throws at you. Use things to your advantage, to learn and develop as a person. Everything happens for a reason.
I do apologize for spilling all my stresses when I have managed to be so positive thus far. As I said before, I want to be honest, to give you something to relate to or to learn from. Giving you half the story wouldn't do much for you or I. No one said this would be an easy battle, but I am definitely still up for the fight.
Which brings me to yet another stress ... although I realize we are in this together, I couldn't help but feel that I was putting a damper on Mike's holidays too. Sometimes I feel I have the weight of the world on my shoulders--I feel sometimes like Mike's holidays were also not the best because of me. Afterall, I'm the one who's sick, right? He reassures me that we are in this together, that he wants to be here for me, and that there will be plenty of other Christmases where everything will be normal. But even with that said, I couldn't help but feel guilty sometimes that Mike's social life was also put on the "back burner" over the holidays because of me. I must say, though, that I am blessed to have such an awesome guy to help me get through all this.
The final stress of the holidays? Well, here is where I was hesitant. I sometimes wonder how much is too much to reveal to whomever wishes to read this. I do not want to overstep my boundaries and involve other people's personal lives in my blog. But, at the same time, I wanted this blog to cover all the things that one must face when fighting cancer. I want this to be a place that people can go to relate (especially people who are facing cancer). I also want this to be a place where people can learn exactly what it is like to look cancer in the eye. I don't want to just include some things. I don't want to just write about what people want to hear, what sounds good, or what people already know about. I want to be honest and I want to be true to both myself and others. So I have decided to meet somewhere in the middle on this next issue and talk in general terms about it.
Cancer not only affects the person who is diagnosed with it. The loved ones of those diagnosed can also be majorly affected. This certainly became evident with one of my loved ones over the holidays. Life's stresses in combination with the stress of my cancer diagnoses and fight through chemotherapy got the better of this person, who was left extremely depressed during the entire Christmas holiday. We all have our own ways with dealing with stress--this person withdrew, became extremely irritable, and was not at all enjoyable to be around. As you can well imagine, this left me feeling horrible. First of all, I was trying my best to make the most out of a pretty tough Christmas. This only made things harder. Second, I could not help but wonder whether this was all my fault. Am I driving people into depressions? And finally, I felt that I did not have the energy left to deal with anything else. I am already dealing with so much, how could I possibly have something else added to my plate?
I found myself dwelling on this person's state and driving myself into my own mini-depression. I felt horrible and began feeling sorry for myself. I was looking at things from my own perspective (how things were affecting me and how other people should be more sensitive to my feelings right now), rather than realizing that I am not the only one going through this. When I came to this realization, I had a talk to this person about how I was feeling and I felt much better. Unfortunately, the person has yet to come around themselves completely. I feel very sorry for this person, but I also feel that I need to be focused on getting myself better right now. And so, an already difficult situation becomes even more difficult.
I guess these are all just the realities one must face in times like these. No one said it would be an easy battle. Sometimes I worry that all of this is going to take its toll on my nerves, but then I also think that if I can battle my way through all of this, I can make it through anything. I do feel that I was thrown a hardball, but I also think that it will only make me a stronger and more courageous person. Always remember to try your best to look at everything in life as an opportunity ... a chance to grow. I do believe that there is something positive to be taken from everything life throws at you. Use things to your advantage, to learn and develop as a person. Everything happens for a reason.
I do apologize for spilling all my stresses when I have managed to be so positive thus far. As I said before, I want to be honest, to give you something to relate to or to learn from. Giving you half the story wouldn't do much for you or I. No one said this would be an easy battle, but I am definitely still up for the fight.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
"Fear can, though it is not God, create something from nothing" ~Caspar De Aguilar
The next two weeks would pose similar challenges physically as the first treatment posed: nothing I couldn't bear. The biggest challenge would again be the psychological side of things--this time a few more things were added to my plate.
As you can well imagine, having undergone two rare "reactions," I was not feeling the strongest mentally. I found myself constantly worried that something was going to happen to me. I had always had friends talking about having anxiety, but I never clearly understood the significance of it until now. For those of you that go through anxiety or depression, I definitely feel for you--it is not at all pretty and an awful way to have to "live" your life. The anxiety that has been caused by my fear of something else happening to me (healthwise) has been interfering with my life quite significantly. One evening I found myself unable sleep because my throat felt as if it were closing over. Am I taking a reaction? What is happening to me? The feelings in my throat caused my mind to wander and my heart to race. Pure panic. The mind is such a powerful thing. I believe it has the power to cause physical changes in your body--like the throat swelling I experienced. My mother convinced me to take a Gravol that night which assisted in knocking me out so that I could finally sleep (and, by the way, it took her hours of convincing me to take a Gravol, since I am so fearful of putting any meds into my body now).
This "throat swelling" seemed to continue after this night. I would find myself worried to go anywhere strange or too far away from home because I feared another "spell" happening. What if something happened to me here? Am I close enough to the hospital? The throat would swell up once again and force me to make my way back home. I have found some small ways of coping with this anxiety, but nothing that has completely cured me as of yet: deep breathing, drinking water, and trying to convince myself that the feelings are being produced by my own thoughts have helped a little. The most significant help, though, is simply being somewhere where I feel comfortable. Although this sounds easy, it is not. This is what makes the feelings interfere with my daily life. I need to be able to go places without worrying about something happening to me. RIght now, I am hanging on to the fact that chemotherapy is only temporary and that in another month's time, I will be off all medications. That way, I will not have to worry about the effects of all these crazy medications on my body. Hopefully, then, this anxiety will only be short-lived-- a kind of "situational" anxiety.
Until then ... I am asking you to give back to The Pink Diaries and tell me if you've ever experienced anxiety, how it felt, and what you did to cope with it.
Once again: "He who fears he will suffer, already suffers from fear."
As you can well imagine, having undergone two rare "reactions," I was not feeling the strongest mentally. I found myself constantly worried that something was going to happen to me. I had always had friends talking about having anxiety, but I never clearly understood the significance of it until now. For those of you that go through anxiety or depression, I definitely feel for you--it is not at all pretty and an awful way to have to "live" your life. The anxiety that has been caused by my fear of something else happening to me (healthwise) has been interfering with my life quite significantly. One evening I found myself unable sleep because my throat felt as if it were closing over. Am I taking a reaction? What is happening to me? The feelings in my throat caused my mind to wander and my heart to race. Pure panic. The mind is such a powerful thing. I believe it has the power to cause physical changes in your body--like the throat swelling I experienced. My mother convinced me to take a Gravol that night which assisted in knocking me out so that I could finally sleep (and, by the way, it took her hours of convincing me to take a Gravol, since I am so fearful of putting any meds into my body now).
This "throat swelling" seemed to continue after this night. I would find myself worried to go anywhere strange or too far away from home because I feared another "spell" happening. What if something happened to me here? Am I close enough to the hospital? The throat would swell up once again and force me to make my way back home. I have found some small ways of coping with this anxiety, but nothing that has completely cured me as of yet: deep breathing, drinking water, and trying to convince myself that the feelings are being produced by my own thoughts have helped a little. The most significant help, though, is simply being somewhere where I feel comfortable. Although this sounds easy, it is not. This is what makes the feelings interfere with my daily life. I need to be able to go places without worrying about something happening to me. RIght now, I am hanging on to the fact that chemotherapy is only temporary and that in another month's time, I will be off all medications. That way, I will not have to worry about the effects of all these crazy medications on my body. Hopefully, then, this anxiety will only be short-lived-- a kind of "situational" anxiety.
Until then ... I am asking you to give back to The Pink Diaries and tell me if you've ever experienced anxiety, how it felt, and what you did to cope with it.
Once again: "He who fears he will suffer, already suffers from fear."
And the conclusion to all this mess?
I went home feeling exhausted and drained. I couldn't believe what happened to me the night before. As soon as I got home I headed straight for bed-- I couldn't bear to sit around and wonder what happened to me and if it would happen again. I needed to kill time until I went to see Dr. MacCormick.
I welcomed 3pm and hurried in to the hospital when it neared. We were taken right in to the chemo room, where all the chemo nurses greeted me and showed their concern about the previous night's events. What happened? Are you okay? I tried to keep a smile on, but it was too difficult. I couldn't hide the fear I felt. I burst into tears in the middle of the chemo room and soon enough they were drawing a curtain around me to give me some privacy.
At this point I felt overwhelmed. I felt like so much had happened to me--I was being thrown too many things at one time. I felt helpless. I felt afraid. All I could think about was that I didn't want to put another ounce of chemo drugs into my poor body. What am I doing to myself? Is all this trauma on my body even necessary? All these thoughts haunted me ... you can imagine why I eventually broke down. The nurses talked to me and made me feel better, although they admitted that they'd never seen something like this happen to anyone before.
They gave me my daily dose of Neupogen and we waited an hour--nothing happened. It obviously wasn't the Neupogen that caused the crash of my poor body. So what now? I asked if Dr. MacCormick was going to come and meet with me. No one even seemed to know. I figured this would be urgent, but I guess he didn't consider it to be so. I, thus, had to request to see him and the nurses agreed that he should definitely at least try to come to some sort of conclusion as to what happened. One of the nurses ran off to fetch him--he was soon going home for the day.
At about 4:30, as the nurses tidied up the chemo room to close for the day, Dr. MacCormick showed up to speak with me. He basically told me absolutely nothing and the faith I once had in him as my doctor quickly began to fade. Not only did he barely attempt to figure out what happened to me, but he barely showed any care or sympathy for me whatsoever. His biggest conclusion was that they "aren't used to dealing with 'kids'" my age and so I am throwing them all for a loop. Okay, I realize that I'm not your average cancer patient, but does that make my health and concerns any less valid or any different from anyone else's? I could feel a sense of urgency as he tried to shoo me off and get back to whatever I took him from--or go home for the the day. I couldn't believe how lightly people seemed to be taking this.
The conclusion to all this mess? Absolutely nothing. No one has a clue what happened to me. And I am sent on my merry way to go home and live in fear of what will happen next.
I welcomed 3pm and hurried in to the hospital when it neared. We were taken right in to the chemo room, where all the chemo nurses greeted me and showed their concern about the previous night's events. What happened? Are you okay? I tried to keep a smile on, but it was too difficult. I couldn't hide the fear I felt. I burst into tears in the middle of the chemo room and soon enough they were drawing a curtain around me to give me some privacy.
At this point I felt overwhelmed. I felt like so much had happened to me--I was being thrown too many things at one time. I felt helpless. I felt afraid. All I could think about was that I didn't want to put another ounce of chemo drugs into my poor body. What am I doing to myself? Is all this trauma on my body even necessary? All these thoughts haunted me ... you can imagine why I eventually broke down. The nurses talked to me and made me feel better, although they admitted that they'd never seen something like this happen to anyone before.
They gave me my daily dose of Neupogen and we waited an hour--nothing happened. It obviously wasn't the Neupogen that caused the crash of my poor body. So what now? I asked if Dr. MacCormick was going to come and meet with me. No one even seemed to know. I figured this would be urgent, but I guess he didn't consider it to be so. I, thus, had to request to see him and the nurses agreed that he should definitely at least try to come to some sort of conclusion as to what happened. One of the nurses ran off to fetch him--he was soon going home for the day.
At about 4:30, as the nurses tidied up the chemo room to close for the day, Dr. MacCormick showed up to speak with me. He basically told me absolutely nothing and the faith I once had in him as my doctor quickly began to fade. Not only did he barely attempt to figure out what happened to me, but he barely showed any care or sympathy for me whatsoever. His biggest conclusion was that they "aren't used to dealing with 'kids'" my age and so I am throwing them all for a loop. Okay, I realize that I'm not your average cancer patient, but does that make my health and concerns any less valid or any different from anyone else's? I could feel a sense of urgency as he tried to shoo me off and get back to whatever I took him from--or go home for the the day. I couldn't believe how lightly people seemed to be taking this.
The conclusion to all this mess? Absolutely nothing. No one has a clue what happened to me. And I am sent on my merry way to go home and live in fear of what will happen next.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
An answer anyone?
The doctor later returned with what I had hoped would be some answers. No such luck. She said that all my bloodwork came back normal, my vitals were all normal (besides a slightly low blood pressure reading, which they say is normal for someone my age and size), and my bloodcell counts were all good. She could not figure out what could have caused the "spell," besides a possible reaction to the Neupogen shot (and there are no known reactions as such to Neupogen) or a reaction to one of the other medications I was on.
The doctor said she would feel more comfortable if I stayed in the hospital overnight so they could keep a close eye on me and then contact Dr. MacCormick in the morning, since he would have a better idea of the medications I am on and what possibly could have caused the weird occurence. She also decided to feed me some fluids through an IV to get my pressure up and to replace any of the fluids I lost through the crazy vomiting that had recently occured.
I lay in the hospital bed all night wondering what happened to me. Why me? As if chemotherapy isn't hard enough! I was able to sleep for a few hours and was interrupted at around 7am by the doctor, who was now on her way home. She said that she was shocked that I had not yet peed, since I had been receiving high rates of fluids through IV for the past 6 hours. She said this told her that my body was "dry to the bone." She would not be satisfied with letting me go from the hospital until I peed (and got in touch with Dr. MacCormick).
By 8am I finally felt the urge to use the washroom. The nurses all celebrated (I guess they had been waiting for me to pee all night) and began calling Dr. MacCormick to arrange a time for me to see him. After another two hours, they finally got in touch with him-- he told them to have me come into the hospital in Sydney at 3pm to have my Neupogen shot. He wanted a chemo nurse to give it to me and then monitor me to see if it could possibly have been a reaction to the shot I had taken just a half hour before the "spell." Although I really did not believe that this is what happened, I agreed to come into the hospital, mainly because I wanted to know what was going on and that it wouldn't happen again.
The doctor said she would feel more comfortable if I stayed in the hospital overnight so they could keep a close eye on me and then contact Dr. MacCormick in the morning, since he would have a better idea of the medications I am on and what possibly could have caused the weird occurence. She also decided to feed me some fluids through an IV to get my pressure up and to replace any of the fluids I lost through the crazy vomiting that had recently occured.
I lay in the hospital bed all night wondering what happened to me. Why me? As if chemotherapy isn't hard enough! I was able to sleep for a few hours and was interrupted at around 7am by the doctor, who was now on her way home. She said that she was shocked that I had not yet peed, since I had been receiving high rates of fluids through IV for the past 6 hours. She said this told her that my body was "dry to the bone." She would not be satisfied with letting me go from the hospital until I peed (and got in touch with Dr. MacCormick).
By 8am I finally felt the urge to use the washroom. The nurses all celebrated (I guess they had been waiting for me to pee all night) and began calling Dr. MacCormick to arrange a time for me to see him. After another two hours, they finally got in touch with him-- he told them to have me come into the hospital in Sydney at 3pm to have my Neupogen shot. He wanted a chemo nurse to give it to me and then monitor me to see if it could possibly have been a reaction to the shot I had taken just a half hour before the "spell." Although I really did not believe that this is what happened, I agreed to come into the hospital, mainly because I wanted to know what was going on and that it wouldn't happen again.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Darkness Falls
Having the needle over with, Mike and I headed to my room to cuddle up with some hot chocolate and a movie (a regular past time of ours these days!). We had only been watching the movie for about a half hour when suddenly my head began to feel tight. It felt as though a load of pressure filled the entire inside of my head-- even my nose seemed to fill up. This feels bizarre. Is something happening to me? Maybe I am overreacting. I decided to change positions and instead of sitting upright, I lay down. The bizarre feeling in my head remained. Instead of alarming Michael, I decided to go to the washroom and try to calm down.
When I went to the washroom I looked in the mirror and was completely shocked at the image that peered back at me. My eyeballs were buldging and were engulfed in what appeared to be a blanket of redness. The appearance reminded me of being under water with my nose plugged and eyes wide open--that eery look that eyes take on. I was completely startled and bolted downstairs, where I yelled for my father to come QUICK! My father came running to me and immediately noticed how strange my eyes looked. He says now that he tried to stay calm to keep me from panicking, but he said when he saw my eyes he was "scared to death." He said: "It looks like your pressure might be up ... we should go the hospital right away."
I looked at my eyes inthe mirror once again and realized that we were not overreacting-- something was seriously wrong. What could be happening to me? Am I taking another crazy reaction? Am I going to die? I literally ran to my room, ripped off my pajamas, and threw on the first thing I could find to wear. Mike had no idea what was going on, but realized it was something serious as he followed me quickly back downstairs and toward the door. Everyone was in a panic. The house was a complete frenzy. Everything seemed to be happening so quickly. I was overwhelmed. Suddenly I was overcome with an extreme sense of weakness. My stomach began to churn. I fell to the floor and began projectile vomiting. It seemed uncontrollable-- no gagging occured and no strain or effort was required-- the vomit, which seemed to be mainly all liquid, powered freely from my mouth. When I felt that I could finally stand up, I headed immediately out the back door and towards the car. Everything turned grey. The world began closing in on me. As I went to sit in the car, the greyness turned to black and I could no longer see a thing.
I could hear everyone frantically getting into the car. I said: "I can't see anything." I didn't scream or yell or cry. I just simply said: "I can't see anything. We need to get to the hospital as soon as possible." I can't describe to you the feeling of not being able to seeing while feeling so increbidly weak and helpless. I wondered if I was going to die. Am I taking a seizure? I felt so very overwhelmed and completely helpless that I allowed my body to fall back into my seat. An overwhelming calm overcame me. It was almost as if I had let go.
Next thing you know, I heard: "Melanie! Are you okay? I am Doctor MacMillan (I think this was her name)." At this point I felt completely drained and could still see absolutely nothing. I had passed out in the car. "I can't see you," I replied. I felt a number of arms holding me and pulling me out of the car. "Get a wheelchair!" They sat me in a wheelchair and began wheeling me into the hospital. My feet dragged on the ground. They asked if I could hold my feet up since there were no foot rests on the chair, but I simply did not have the energy. Mom said one nurse wheeled, while the other two nurses held my feet off the ground. It was a complete mess.
The next thing I remember was being held in an upright position on a stretcher while what felt to be 4 or 5 people ripped my clothes off frantically. What is happening to me? My thoughts moved in slow motion and I was still extremely calm. I remember thinking that I could have made it on one of those ER reality shows this time ...
After removing my clothes and placing me in a jonny shirt, they lay me back down and my vision slowly began to return. The room looked gray and I could only see shadows and shapes of objects. I could see the shapes of many bodies lingering around the bed, as they placed EKG stickers all over me and hooked me up to machines. A nurse began to talk to me and I remember that suddenly, as I forced myself to look at her, I began to be able to make out her face, which was now an eery white color, almost like the "saturated" color you can apply to pictures when you edit them on a computer. The longer I stared at her, the clearer her white face became. White. Dark Grey. Light Grey. Almost normal. Suddenly I could see everyone around me.
I felt extemely weak and my body trembled. I looked around at the many faces that peered down at me, the many machines I was hooked up to. Needles were being stuck into my arms. The doctor, who was quite young but, nonetheless, very professional, ask me a number of questions as she tried to piece together exactly what happened to me. As I began to come around, I was curious myself to know what this bizarre episode was all about. I told them all about how the night's events unfolded, and asked them what happened during the "blackout" period of the episode. Mom said that while in the car, my head dropped down and I started making gurgling sounds. Mike told her to clear my airways and she placed her fingers in my mouth. They thought I may have been taking a seizure. The doctor told me that I was white as a ghost when I arrived to the hospital-- she said I looked like "Powder" the hollywood character (haha). She also said my pupils were so large that the blue in my eyes was non-existent and almost my entire eyeballs were filled with black.
We all talked while we waited for my bloodwork to be returned from the lab and while the doctor checked my vitals and did some work to figure out what was going on. I told all the nurses my entire story about breast cancer and everything that had happened to me since September. They commented on how positive they thought I was and how rare it was to have someone in the resussitation room smiling and gabbing to everyone. It was the only way to kill time until we were able to find some answers ...
When I went to the washroom I looked in the mirror and was completely shocked at the image that peered back at me. My eyeballs were buldging and were engulfed in what appeared to be a blanket of redness. The appearance reminded me of being under water with my nose plugged and eyes wide open--that eery look that eyes take on. I was completely startled and bolted downstairs, where I yelled for my father to come QUICK! My father came running to me and immediately noticed how strange my eyes looked. He says now that he tried to stay calm to keep me from panicking, but he said when he saw my eyes he was "scared to death." He said: "It looks like your pressure might be up ... we should go the hospital right away."
I looked at my eyes inthe mirror once again and realized that we were not overreacting-- something was seriously wrong. What could be happening to me? Am I taking another crazy reaction? Am I going to die? I literally ran to my room, ripped off my pajamas, and threw on the first thing I could find to wear. Mike had no idea what was going on, but realized it was something serious as he followed me quickly back downstairs and toward the door. Everyone was in a panic. The house was a complete frenzy. Everything seemed to be happening so quickly. I was overwhelmed. Suddenly I was overcome with an extreme sense of weakness. My stomach began to churn. I fell to the floor and began projectile vomiting. It seemed uncontrollable-- no gagging occured and no strain or effort was required-- the vomit, which seemed to be mainly all liquid, powered freely from my mouth. When I felt that I could finally stand up, I headed immediately out the back door and towards the car. Everything turned grey. The world began closing in on me. As I went to sit in the car, the greyness turned to black and I could no longer see a thing.
I could hear everyone frantically getting into the car. I said: "I can't see anything." I didn't scream or yell or cry. I just simply said: "I can't see anything. We need to get to the hospital as soon as possible." I can't describe to you the feeling of not being able to seeing while feeling so increbidly weak and helpless. I wondered if I was going to die. Am I taking a seizure? I felt so very overwhelmed and completely helpless that I allowed my body to fall back into my seat. An overwhelming calm overcame me. It was almost as if I had let go.
Next thing you know, I heard: "Melanie! Are you okay? I am Doctor MacMillan (I think this was her name)." At this point I felt completely drained and could still see absolutely nothing. I had passed out in the car. "I can't see you," I replied. I felt a number of arms holding me and pulling me out of the car. "Get a wheelchair!" They sat me in a wheelchair and began wheeling me into the hospital. My feet dragged on the ground. They asked if I could hold my feet up since there were no foot rests on the chair, but I simply did not have the energy. Mom said one nurse wheeled, while the other two nurses held my feet off the ground. It was a complete mess.
The next thing I remember was being held in an upright position on a stretcher while what felt to be 4 or 5 people ripped my clothes off frantically. What is happening to me? My thoughts moved in slow motion and I was still extremely calm. I remember thinking that I could have made it on one of those ER reality shows this time ...
After removing my clothes and placing me in a jonny shirt, they lay me back down and my vision slowly began to return. The room looked gray and I could only see shadows and shapes of objects. I could see the shapes of many bodies lingering around the bed, as they placed EKG stickers all over me and hooked me up to machines. A nurse began to talk to me and I remember that suddenly, as I forced myself to look at her, I began to be able to make out her face, which was now an eery white color, almost like the "saturated" color you can apply to pictures when you edit them on a computer. The longer I stared at her, the clearer her white face became. White. Dark Grey. Light Grey. Almost normal. Suddenly I could see everyone around me.
I felt extemely weak and my body trembled. I looked around at the many faces that peered down at me, the many machines I was hooked up to. Needles were being stuck into my arms. The doctor, who was quite young but, nonetheless, very professional, ask me a number of questions as she tried to piece together exactly what happened to me. As I began to come around, I was curious myself to know what this bizarre episode was all about. I told them all about how the night's events unfolded, and asked them what happened during the "blackout" period of the episode. Mom said that while in the car, my head dropped down and I started making gurgling sounds. Mike told her to clear my airways and she placed her fingers in my mouth. They thought I may have been taking a seizure. The doctor told me that I was white as a ghost when I arrived to the hospital-- she said I looked like "Powder" the hollywood character (haha). She also said my pupils were so large that the blue in my eyes was non-existent and almost my entire eyeballs were filled with black.
We all talked while we waited for my bloodwork to be returned from the lab and while the doctor checked my vitals and did some work to figure out what was going on. I told all the nurses my entire story about breast cancer and everything that had happened to me since September. They commented on how positive they thought I was and how rare it was to have someone in the resussitation room smiling and gabbing to everyone. It was the only way to kill time until we were able to find some answers ...
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Chemo 2, Day 3&4
The steroid proved to be successful. Monday evening brought with it much more comfort than the weekend. I finally began feeling somewhat normal -- normal enough to eat dinner and enjoy snacks and a movie later in the evening.
Tuesday, however, presented a whole new set of challenges. I woke up with a throbbing headache rooted in the backs of my eyes. It hurt so bad that I felt the need to constantly have my eyes closed. I took Tylenol (which is the only pain medication I am permitted to take), but it gave me no relief from the pain. By the afternoon, the atrocious headache was accompanied by an extreme sense of weakness. I had so little energy that I felt I could barely move my eyeballs. Every expression I made me feel as though I were in slow motion. My body, mind, and spirit felt heavy and drained.
I fought my way through the day hoping that the awful side effects would soon pass-- they were lasting longer this time than they did during the last treatment. Last time I had started feeling better by Day 4, and it was already Day 5 with no break from the symptoms. To my pleasant surprise, I finally began to come around in the evening. My appetite became fully revived and I ate a full supper (a delicious pasta dish), followed by a tuna melt later in the evening. I was very excited that I was beginning to come around and my spirits began to lift.
I was advised my the chemo nurse that the best time to take the Neupogen injection would be before bedtime. This was because one of the major side effects of Neupogen is bone pain caused by the stimulation of the bone marrow to produce white blood cells. Taking it at bedtime would lessen the chances of me noticing any side effects, since I would then most likely be asleep. Because of this, Mike and I held of until around 10:30 to give me the shot. It was quite nerve wracking, but we followed all the directions as given by the nurse and Mike did a great job playing the role of 'doctor.' The injection causes brief pain, but I definitely feel it is worth it to have a healthy level of white blood cells and to be able to receive chemo on time, rather than dragging it out any longer than I have to.
Tuesday, however, presented a whole new set of challenges. I woke up with a throbbing headache rooted in the backs of my eyes. It hurt so bad that I felt the need to constantly have my eyes closed. I took Tylenol (which is the only pain medication I am permitted to take), but it gave me no relief from the pain. By the afternoon, the atrocious headache was accompanied by an extreme sense of weakness. I had so little energy that I felt I could barely move my eyeballs. Every expression I made me feel as though I were in slow motion. My body, mind, and spirit felt heavy and drained.
I fought my way through the day hoping that the awful side effects would soon pass-- they were lasting longer this time than they did during the last treatment. Last time I had started feeling better by Day 4, and it was already Day 5 with no break from the symptoms. To my pleasant surprise, I finally began to come around in the evening. My appetite became fully revived and I ate a full supper (a delicious pasta dish), followed by a tuna melt later in the evening. I was very excited that I was beginning to come around and my spirits began to lift.
I was advised my the chemo nurse that the best time to take the Neupogen injection would be before bedtime. This was because one of the major side effects of Neupogen is bone pain caused by the stimulation of the bone marrow to produce white blood cells. Taking it at bedtime would lessen the chances of me noticing any side effects, since I would then most likely be asleep. Because of this, Mike and I held of until around 10:30 to give me the shot. It was quite nerve wracking, but we followed all the directions as given by the nurse and Mike did a great job playing the role of 'doctor.' The injection causes brief pain, but I definitely feel it is worth it to have a healthy level of white blood cells and to be able to receive chemo on time, rather than dragging it out any longer than I have to.
Monday, January 01, 2007
A lesson in subcutaneous injections
By Monday I was feeling somewhat better. When I woke up, I felt well enough to cook breakfast for Mike and I, so I knew that things were looking up. However, in the middle of my cooking ordeal, I began to feel extremely weak and my stomach suddenly began to churn once again. I sat on the floor and attempted to regain my strength--but it didn't appear to help. Mike took over and finished cooking the meal, which I no longer felt I could eat. I forced down half of the omellette and was able to drink a glass of apple juice. This was still an accomplishment in comparison to the previous day.
It was now approx. 72 hours following the second treatment, which meant that I was soon scheduled for my very first shot of Neupogen. If you've been reading all along, you will probably remember that my first round of chemo had to be extended due to my low white blood cell count (white blood cells are essential for immune function). The white blood cells need to be at a certain level the day before each chemo treatment, otherwise the treatment must be extended to give the cells a chance to replenish themsleves. Because mine were not at the required level last time, the doctor decided that I should be taking shots of Neupogen from now on to ensure that I will recieve the remaining treatments on time. Neupogen is a drug administered through subcutaneous injection (or injection into tissue) that stimulates the production of white blood cells.
Mike and I headed to the cancer unit at 3pm, where we were to meet with a nurse at the cancer unit to receive a lesson in administering the Neupogen at home. This time, I arrived at the hospital looking and feeling UNwell, unlike three days previous. I wore only my funky little hat and joggers and still felt faintly nauseated and very tired. As soon as I arrived, I was taken into the chemo room and was again mauled by the chemo nurses, who were wondering how I was handling the second treatment. I told them about my awful weekend and they immediately wanted to help. I must add here that the nurses in the chemotherapy room at the CBR hospital are amazing. They are extremely compassionate and helpful and have created a kind of family-like atmosphere within the cancer unit. You always feel cared for and "looked after" when you arrive and all the nurses act as though they've known you for years. It really eases the pain associated with visits to the chemotherapy room.
So, being the kind women they are, the chemo nurses immediately ran off to fetch Dr. MacCormick and see what kind of medication they may be able to give me to ease the nausea and provide me with some comfort. The result was an IV full of steroids, which was supposedly a great cure for nausea. Soon enough I was being poked once again with needles and fed once again with drugs (did I mention that I HATE drugs?).
While I was being fed steroids, one of the nurses gave us the lesson in injecting Neupogen. She first gave me a fancy zippered pouch in which she placed needles, alcohol swabs and an ice pack, which was meant to keep the medication cool. She then taught us how to draw the 1ml of fluid from the vile and into the needle (puncture the top of the vile with the needle, pull out the liquid, push the tip of the needle in until a tiny bit of liquid seeps out the end, then tap to rid of any air bubbles). We were then told that we should administer the needle in either the top of the legs, in the stomach, or in the back of the arm. We were to pull up a piece of tissue, quickly stick the needle into the tissue at a 45 degree angle, release the tissue from the grip, and then very slowly inject the fluid into the tissue.
The very thought of all of this made me want to cringe. How did I get into all this mess??? I never minded needles in the past, but this experience has made me come to hate them. Although I thought that the more needles I got, the easier it would be become, it actually seems to have become more difficult with each needle. This is likely because I have had some rather painful needles of different varieties throughout this experience and have come to fear them.
The next step in the lesson was a demonstration. Eeeeek! The nurse would administer the first needle at the hospital and I would wait an hour to ensure no reactions would take place. When the needle was overwith, Michael and I were left to practise drawing fluid from viles with needles for an hour ... a wonderful way to spend Mike's first day of Christmas vacation!
When our hour's wait was up, were sent off with our little blue bag of needles and drugs in hopes that the steroids would give me a more comfortable evening.
It was now approx. 72 hours following the second treatment, which meant that I was soon scheduled for my very first shot of Neupogen. If you've been reading all along, you will probably remember that my first round of chemo had to be extended due to my low white blood cell count (white blood cells are essential for immune function). The white blood cells need to be at a certain level the day before each chemo treatment, otherwise the treatment must be extended to give the cells a chance to replenish themsleves. Because mine were not at the required level last time, the doctor decided that I should be taking shots of Neupogen from now on to ensure that I will recieve the remaining treatments on time. Neupogen is a drug administered through subcutaneous injection (or injection into tissue) that stimulates the production of white blood cells.
Mike and I headed to the cancer unit at 3pm, where we were to meet with a nurse at the cancer unit to receive a lesson in administering the Neupogen at home. This time, I arrived at the hospital looking and feeling UNwell, unlike three days previous. I wore only my funky little hat and joggers and still felt faintly nauseated and very tired. As soon as I arrived, I was taken into the chemo room and was again mauled by the chemo nurses, who were wondering how I was handling the second treatment. I told them about my awful weekend and they immediately wanted to help. I must add here that the nurses in the chemotherapy room at the CBR hospital are amazing. They are extremely compassionate and helpful and have created a kind of family-like atmosphere within the cancer unit. You always feel cared for and "looked after" when you arrive and all the nurses act as though they've known you for years. It really eases the pain associated with visits to the chemotherapy room.
So, being the kind women they are, the chemo nurses immediately ran off to fetch Dr. MacCormick and see what kind of medication they may be able to give me to ease the nausea and provide me with some comfort. The result was an IV full of steroids, which was supposedly a great cure for nausea. Soon enough I was being poked once again with needles and fed once again with drugs (did I mention that I HATE drugs?).
While I was being fed steroids, one of the nurses gave us the lesson in injecting Neupogen. She first gave me a fancy zippered pouch in which she placed needles, alcohol swabs and an ice pack, which was meant to keep the medication cool. She then taught us how to draw the 1ml of fluid from the vile and into the needle (puncture the top of the vile with the needle, pull out the liquid, push the tip of the needle in until a tiny bit of liquid seeps out the end, then tap to rid of any air bubbles). We were then told that we should administer the needle in either the top of the legs, in the stomach, or in the back of the arm. We were to pull up a piece of tissue, quickly stick the needle into the tissue at a 45 degree angle, release the tissue from the grip, and then very slowly inject the fluid into the tissue.
The very thought of all of this made me want to cringe. How did I get into all this mess??? I never minded needles in the past, but this experience has made me come to hate them. Although I thought that the more needles I got, the easier it would be become, it actually seems to have become more difficult with each needle. This is likely because I have had some rather painful needles of different varieties throughout this experience and have come to fear them.
The next step in the lesson was a demonstration. Eeeeek! The nurse would administer the first needle at the hospital and I would wait an hour to ensure no reactions would take place. When the needle was overwith, Michael and I were left to practise drawing fluid from viles with needles for an hour ... a wonderful way to spend Mike's first day of Christmas vacation!
When our hour's wait was up, were sent off with our little blue bag of needles and drugs in hopes that the steroids would give me a more comfortable evening.
The Epitome of Awfulness
Friday night brought with it a lingering sensation of nausea, which could not be shaken. I took theOndansetron (aka "Zofran")--the same drug I took previously for nausea, which was to be taken twice a day for 4 days. It did the same thing it did for me before, which seemed to be nothing. Although I felt unwell, the nausea was bearable at best and no vomiting had occured. I could tell, however, that the weekend would not be fun.
I woke up Saturday and said goodbye to Michael, who was heading away to Halifax for the night to attend his uncle's 50th birthday party. Although I knew I would miss him, I also knew my company would probably not be overly enjoyable this weekend. I would likely be bed-ridden anyhow. And boy was I correct.
As soon as Michael left I felt incredibly unwell. I felt as though I had just stepped off of the craziest rollercoaster of a lifetime. Is my face green? My body felt hot, my head felt heavy, and my stomach felt like some sort of toxic soup. I headed straight for bed, where I lay helpless with my hand draped over my stomach. I tossed and turned, moaned and groaned, cried -- nothing helped. This was the epitome of awfulness.
My parents soon awoke and were startled by my distress. They offered me water, sandwiches, soup, hot cloths, and back rubs-- but nothing helped. I could barely chew food or get a sip of liquid down without gagging. I could just lay there think about how horrible I felt all day ... and night. I was sick during my last treatment, but I remember thinking to myself that it was much more intense this time around. I hoped and wished and prayed that it would not last any longer this time than it had the last. I think that may be one of the worst things about chemo-- the unknown. One never knows what will happen next, how long anything will last, or what will come or go. It is like walking through an unfamiliar tunnel of darkness alone.
By Saturday evening I was vomiting every hour. The worst thing was that I had no food in my stomach so it was more like gagging or dry heaving, which I find to be exhausting on the stomach muscles. It also does no cure for the feelings of nausea, which vomiting sometimes does. Sunday was almost an exact replica of Saturday. Awfulness. I could only hold on to the hope that things would eventually get better.
I woke up Saturday and said goodbye to Michael, who was heading away to Halifax for the night to attend his uncle's 50th birthday party. Although I knew I would miss him, I also knew my company would probably not be overly enjoyable this weekend. I would likely be bed-ridden anyhow. And boy was I correct.
As soon as Michael left I felt incredibly unwell. I felt as though I had just stepped off of the craziest rollercoaster of a lifetime. Is my face green? My body felt hot, my head felt heavy, and my stomach felt like some sort of toxic soup. I headed straight for bed, where I lay helpless with my hand draped over my stomach. I tossed and turned, moaned and groaned, cried -- nothing helped. This was the epitome of awfulness.
My parents soon awoke and were startled by my distress. They offered me water, sandwiches, soup, hot cloths, and back rubs-- but nothing helped. I could barely chew food or get a sip of liquid down without gagging. I could just lay there think about how horrible I felt all day ... and night. I was sick during my last treatment, but I remember thinking to myself that it was much more intense this time around. I hoped and wished and prayed that it would not last any longer this time than it had the last. I think that may be one of the worst things about chemo-- the unknown. One never knows what will happen next, how long anything will last, or what will come or go. It is like walking through an unfamiliar tunnel of darkness alone.
By Saturday evening I was vomiting every hour. The worst thing was that I had no food in my stomach so it was more like gagging or dry heaving, which I find to be exhausting on the stomach muscles. It also does no cure for the feelings of nausea, which vomiting sometimes does. Sunday was almost an exact replica of Saturday. Awfulness. I could only hold on to the hope that things would eventually get better.
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