One down, eleven to go.
Being this was my first treatment, there was a lot to be taken in. There is a lot of "routine" that needs to be learned. The cancer clinic is a very well oiled machine...I am learning how it ticks.
Job one was to get blood for panels. Every time I get treatment, they will be doing panels to verify it is safe to give me chemo. Definitely a much easier task (for all involved) with the port!
I met with the PA to discuss what to watch for during infusion. She was pleased with my blood "numbers", and deemed me healthy enough for the infusion.
I went back to the waiting room and given a "restaurant beeper". You know, the kind that vibrates and beeps when your table is ready? About 10 minutes later, it was going off. I went back up to the check in desk, and they sent me up to 3rd floor..."The Infusion Suite".
I had heard this term before, and developed a picture in my head of what it might look like. Total miss...nothing what I had expected.
It was similar to an ICU in activity. There were many, many people receiving infusions...young and old. The floor was divided up into "pods", the pods were divided up into "suites" via the use of curtains. I didn't figure out how many suites there were to a pod...but I know there were a lot of them. The pods were labeled "A,B,C...", and I saw them up to L down the hall.
Wow.
I was in Pod C. I was given the choice of a chair or a bed. I preferred a chair...a bed would have made me felt like I was taking up space a person sicker than me could use. It was a hospital recliner...very comfy.
I was given the quick tour...location of the snack area, restroom, magazines, blanket warmer. Then, my infusion started. I was given an estimate of 2 1/2 hrs for everything to be done, and we could go home. This was good news...I was expecting four.
I had brought a ton of magazines for both of us. Ron really didn't want his at first. I think he needed to absorb the place for a bit. From all of the talk of what could happen during the infusion, I think he was a bit freaked out. I was too. I knew he was freaked out because he got himself 2 granola bars from the snack area. He doesn't eat "sawdust bars".
After about fifteen minutes, I wasn't feeling any different. I had a cold pop on my table to test if my hands had become sensitive to cold (one of the most common side effects). Then I would take a sip. My mouth wasn't sensitive either...yet.
Six magazines and four chapters of Tami Hoag later, and my infusion stand started beeping. The nurse came and told me, "You took that like a champ!"
Did I have a choice?
She hooked me up to the pump that will infuse the second drug over a 48 hr period. It's not a cool, mechanical pump. It's a bottle with a balloon inside of it. No bells, no whistles. Less to go wrong, right?
Sure, but let's talk about how cumbersome it is to have a half-liter bottle, with 14 times too much tubing attached, hanging at your waist for 48 hours. It's been less than 24, and I am not liking it. Granted, it's better than sitting in the infusion suite for 48 hrs, but come on people! Let's design these things a bit more wearer friendly!
So, we start the hectic commute home from the U of M at the start of rush hour. It was an adventure, to say the least. I hadn't figured out what to do with the excess tubing, yet, so it was a job to make sure none of it got kinked. The seat belt was VERY uncomfortable on my port, so I had to hold it away. By the time we got out of the cities, just dealing with suburban traffic, I was feeling the start of steroid rage. Oh boy.
Waiting for for the green arrow in the left turn lane of an intersection, we have approximately 7 cars in front of us. Mr. "white car" in front of us has been a putz up to this light, and I am betting Ron $10 he is going to make us miss the light. I also had my left hand on the door handle, ready to discuss this with him when we catch him post-offence, and the D-cell Maglight flashlight in my right hand. Yeah...
We made the light. Total disappointment.
We arrived home a little after 4pm. I grabbed a cold water and sat down to read all of the material I received with the pump. I took a sip of the water...yeah buddy! My mouth feels like I ate crystallized ice cream waaaay to fast, minus the brain freeze - thank God. My taste has also changed. Water has a tendency to taste - get this - creamy. Ugh.
I felt a bit of nausea about 2 hours after we got home, but meds have done a good job controlling it. I was quite exhausted from 6pm on, but the steroids and uncomfortable pump kept me from getting any sleep until around 11pm.
I awoke with no appetite, and my mouth is still sensitive to cold. I am told that it could even get sensitive to walking into an air conditioned building. None of that yet. I am told that dehydration adds to chemo side affects, so I will need to find liquids that I can tolerate at room temp. Diet Coke is going down ok, but not really acceptable is a hydrating liquid. I'll find something.
The roid rage is gone. I think.
The home nurse comes to remove the pump at 1pm tomorrow. I am told that once the pump is removed, I will probably sleep for 2 days.
Eleven more treatments to go. I'm not sure how the side effects I am experiencing are going pan out...are they here until treatment 12, or do they go away a couple days post-infusion? The professionals say it can go both ways, and each treatment tends to intensify whatever is there.
Again, time will tell.
Time for a nap.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Monday, July 23, 2012
Port's In
This morning I had the port placed.
We were to be at the hospital at 9:30, I was brought back almost immediately. Normally, they would have allowed Ron to come back with me (since there is always a waiting period before you are actually brought back for the procedure). This nurse didn't offer the opportunity for Ron to come back, and I didn't think to insist. He needed to pick up an Rx at the discharge pharmacy, so I figured he could go do that instead.
Walking down that hall without him next to me was absolute torture. It made me realize how much I rely on him for strength. By the time I was in my room, the tears were silently flowing...I couldn't stop them for anything.
The crying wasn't from fear of the procedure. It was the act of the port being placed making this whole nightmare real in my head. There's no more denying it. No more fronts. I have cancer.
The nurses were very comforting. One nurse told me of her daughter being diagnosed a year ago, at the age of 21, with lymphoma. She had been through chemo and radiation, and was now doing very well.
Twenty-one.
The biggest thing on a 21-year-old's plate is supposed to be
college/boyfriend/job. NOT cancer.
I seemed to calm down a bit, and they inserted an IV in my arm (last one!). Antibiotics first, then sedative.
Ron was brought back shortly after. I still hadn't managed to stop the tears. It had been an hour and a half.
He listened and comforted and told me it was going to be ok. I could hear those words from anyone else, and it wouldn't mean shit. Coming from his mouth, it means everything. He is my rock. He gave me the strength to stop the tears and focus on what needed to get done.
They wheeled me back just after 11. The nurses in the OR were great. They made a nice little tent over my face so I couldn't see what they were doing (yet I was able to see the nurse if I needed anything). I was given a sedative/pain killer combo that allowed me to be awake but comfortable.
The procedure was supposed to take an hour, but it took two (not sure why). At the end of the procedure, I was left with two incisions: one about 3" below my collarbone where the port was put under the skin, and one on the base of my neck where they accessed my vein.
This is what is under my skin. For those who know me well, please note the color :-)! As of right now, it has produced a bump under my skin about 1/4" high, and maybe one inch in diameter. To use the port, I apply a numbing cream to my skin, and a needle is stuck through my skin and into the center of the port (which is a silicone type substance). One poke, and they can do blood draws, CT contrast, chemo. Very convenient, less risk for infection, no collapsed veins. I will NOT miss IV's.
We were to be at the hospital at 9:30, I was brought back almost immediately. Normally, they would have allowed Ron to come back with me (since there is always a waiting period before you are actually brought back for the procedure). This nurse didn't offer the opportunity for Ron to come back, and I didn't think to insist. He needed to pick up an Rx at the discharge pharmacy, so I figured he could go do that instead.
Walking down that hall without him next to me was absolute torture. It made me realize how much I rely on him for strength. By the time I was in my room, the tears were silently flowing...I couldn't stop them for anything.
The crying wasn't from fear of the procedure. It was the act of the port being placed making this whole nightmare real in my head. There's no more denying it. No more fronts. I have cancer.
The nurses were very comforting. One nurse told me of her daughter being diagnosed a year ago, at the age of 21, with lymphoma. She had been through chemo and radiation, and was now doing very well.
Twenty-one.
The biggest thing on a 21-year-old's plate is supposed to be
college/boyfriend/job. NOT cancer.
I seemed to calm down a bit, and they inserted an IV in my arm (last one!). Antibiotics first, then sedative.
Ron was brought back shortly after. I still hadn't managed to stop the tears. It had been an hour and a half.
He listened and comforted and told me it was going to be ok. I could hear those words from anyone else, and it wouldn't mean shit. Coming from his mouth, it means everything. He is my rock. He gave me the strength to stop the tears and focus on what needed to get done.
They wheeled me back just after 11. The nurses in the OR were great. They made a nice little tent over my face so I couldn't see what they were doing (yet I was able to see the nurse if I needed anything). I was given a sedative/pain killer combo that allowed me to be awake but comfortable.
The procedure was supposed to take an hour, but it took two (not sure why). At the end of the procedure, I was left with two incisions: one about 3" below my collarbone where the port was put under the skin, and one on the base of my neck where they accessed my vein.
 |
It was emotional, but worth it. It will allow a safer delivery of the meds that will make me better.
Hi, my name is Ronda, and I have cancer.
Wanna see my port?
Sunday, July 22, 2012
A Good Day
We had to find some good in all the chaos that has surrounded us in the last couple of months. Actually, it's been a pretty rough year for us. In February, I fell down the front (cement)stairs and broke a finger and almost broke my kneecap. Then we lost our beloved Gator, a 16 year old miniature pinscher, after a long fight with severe arthritis.
Now, Cancer.
So, we decided to go on a day trip up north, starting with Nisswa.
It's a tourist town just north of Brainerd that I hold near and dear to my heart. My grandparents lived just outside of town, on Upper Gull Lake. It's full of little trinket shops that I loved to visit with Grandma. It was different back then - many of the shops I loved are no longer there - but it still holds very fond memories for me.
My fondest memory is the deli at the end of "the strip" that we would visit on Saturday mornings. Walking in, you smelled yummy smoked sandwich meats and cheeses. My eye was always drawn to the barrels of fresh homemade salt water taffy in dozens of flavors that lined the floors. Grandma was a fan of it (as was I!), and we always left with a bagful of colorful, chewy deliciousness, along with swirled hard candy sticks. I was mesmerized while watching the motorized taffy stretcher in the window. There was a big glass jar full of HUGE deli pickles on the counter. I always got to pick one out - of course, the biggest one I could find - and I would munch on it for the rest of the day.
Their home started out as a cabin, but became their primary residence in the late 80's. Three houses down live Kenny and Betty. Kenny was grandpa's best friend, Betty was grandma's. They had known each other for - I don't know how long - forever!
I have always had a connection with Betty. She and my grandma were the epitome of "church basement ladies". They were always cooking or baking for an army. Whatever the occasion was, they were there to feed the masses. Cookies, cakes, lefse, caramel rolls by the hundreds. Many times I was there, as a small child, "helping" to the best of my ability.
In Kenny and Betty's backyard, a swing hung from a big tree. I loved that swing. You could swing so high, it felt like you could touch the sun with your toes. Betty always told me I could come and swing on it anytime I wanted, even if they weren't home. She always had a loving, generous nature; never scolding or judgmental. I loved her like family.
Grandma passed away seven years ago, grandpa three years later. I miss them dearly, but know they are no longer in pain, and they are together again.
Of course, Betty and Kenny were at their funerals. They were saddened by the passing of their dear friends, but felt the same as me. When grandma passed, Betty hugged me and said, "I'll be your grandma, honey." Little did she know, she already was. Not a replacement, she was my "other" grandma.
Two weeks ago, to my surprise, Betty called me. My mom had called her the night before and told her the news of my diagnosis. She offered such kind words of encouragement and love, I was in tears by the end of the conversation. Good tears. She promised me she would be praying for me in her prayer group the next day, and that I would be just fine. At the end of the conversation, she said, "You imagine my arms around you, hugging real hard, ok?" I did. It felt so good.
Since that conversation, it had been bothering me that I hadn't seen her in so long. I wanted to see her again before my treatments started. I needed to thank her for being her.
Yesterday, we did just that. It was so nice to see her. We talked about the times with grandma and all the cookies/cakes/whatever we had made. We laughed a lot.
She is a survivor of cancer, Kenny is too. Kenny is recovering from colon cancer surgery that he had in May. He is still having issues with fatigue and eating. The poor guy has lost 40 pounds since the surgery. He still has his sense of humor, and didn't miss an opportunity to insert a quirky comment where appropriate! We talked about fear of the unknown, and how far cancer treatments have come.
We hated to leave, but didn't want to overstay our welcome. Betty and I cried while we hugged. She is so special to me, and I am so glad we got to see them.
We drove thirty minutes to see my parents at our cabin. Dad had just finished cleaning out the garage, and Mom was busy painting a great big sunfish mural on the back wall of the screen house. It was really turning out cool. She is so talented...who would have thought to do that?!?! She also painted all of the screen house furniture. For awhile, the screen house was used as a "catch-all" to store floaty things for the lake and anything my dad could stuff in there. Now it's a livable, bug-free space that would be great to sit in and enjoy watching a campfire!
They took us on a pontoon ride around the lake. The sun was out and it was perfect. The sweet smell of the water, the warm breeze...mmmmm. It was fun reminiscing about fishing with my dad, and when Ron and I were in our fishing days with our boat. We spent so much time out there, chasing whatever was biting that day. We would only come back to the cabin if we were out of bait, food, or (me) patience. Ron wouldn't sleep more than a couple of hours before he needed to be back out there. Good times.
Back onshore, we sat and talked a bit about next week's port implant and first treatment. I realized they had left for the cabin before all my appointments were set, so they needed updating. We answered all of the questions they had, and then decided to head home before the bugs came out and got the truck all dirty. More big hugs, this time from Mom and Dad.
The dogs were crazed when we got home. With me being out of work, they aren't used to being penned up for more than a couple of hours at a time. Once freed, they were like little black tornadoes tearing up everything they could, including each other. More laughs.
It was a perfect day.
Now, Cancer.
So, we decided to go on a day trip up north, starting with Nisswa.
It's a tourist town just north of Brainerd that I hold near and dear to my heart. My grandparents lived just outside of town, on Upper Gull Lake. It's full of little trinket shops that I loved to visit with Grandma. It was different back then - many of the shops I loved are no longer there - but it still holds very fond memories for me.
My fondest memory is the deli at the end of "the strip" that we would visit on Saturday mornings. Walking in, you smelled yummy smoked sandwich meats and cheeses. My eye was always drawn to the barrels of fresh homemade salt water taffy in dozens of flavors that lined the floors. Grandma was a fan of it (as was I!), and we always left with a bagful of colorful, chewy deliciousness, along with swirled hard candy sticks. I was mesmerized while watching the motorized taffy stretcher in the window. There was a big glass jar full of HUGE deli pickles on the counter. I always got to pick one out - of course, the biggest one I could find - and I would munch on it for the rest of the day.
Their home started out as a cabin, but became their primary residence in the late 80's. Three houses down live Kenny and Betty. Kenny was grandpa's best friend, Betty was grandma's. They had known each other for - I don't know how long - forever!
I have always had a connection with Betty. She and my grandma were the epitome of "church basement ladies". They were always cooking or baking for an army. Whatever the occasion was, they were there to feed the masses. Cookies, cakes, lefse, caramel rolls by the hundreds. Many times I was there, as a small child, "helping" to the best of my ability.
In Kenny and Betty's backyard, a swing hung from a big tree. I loved that swing. You could swing so high, it felt like you could touch the sun with your toes. Betty always told me I could come and swing on it anytime I wanted, even if they weren't home. She always had a loving, generous nature; never scolding or judgmental. I loved her like family.
Grandma passed away seven years ago, grandpa three years later. I miss them dearly, but know they are no longer in pain, and they are together again.
Of course, Betty and Kenny were at their funerals. They were saddened by the passing of their dear friends, but felt the same as me. When grandma passed, Betty hugged me and said, "I'll be your grandma, honey." Little did she know, she already was. Not a replacement, she was my "other" grandma.
Two weeks ago, to my surprise, Betty called me. My mom had called her the night before and told her the news of my diagnosis. She offered such kind words of encouragement and love, I was in tears by the end of the conversation. Good tears. She promised me she would be praying for me in her prayer group the next day, and that I would be just fine. At the end of the conversation, she said, "You imagine my arms around you, hugging real hard, ok?" I did. It felt so good.
Since that conversation, it had been bothering me that I hadn't seen her in so long. I wanted to see her again before my treatments started. I needed to thank her for being her.
Yesterday, we did just that. It was so nice to see her. We talked about the times with grandma and all the cookies/cakes/whatever we had made. We laughed a lot.
She is a survivor of cancer, Kenny is too. Kenny is recovering from colon cancer surgery that he had in May. He is still having issues with fatigue and eating. The poor guy has lost 40 pounds since the surgery. He still has his sense of humor, and didn't miss an opportunity to insert a quirky comment where appropriate! We talked about fear of the unknown, and how far cancer treatments have come.
We hated to leave, but didn't want to overstay our welcome. Betty and I cried while we hugged. She is so special to me, and I am so glad we got to see them.
We drove thirty minutes to see my parents at our cabin. Dad had just finished cleaning out the garage, and Mom was busy painting a great big sunfish mural on the back wall of the screen house. It was really turning out cool. She is so talented...who would have thought to do that?!?! She also painted all of the screen house furniture. For awhile, the screen house was used as a "catch-all" to store floaty things for the lake and anything my dad could stuff in there. Now it's a livable, bug-free space that would be great to sit in and enjoy watching a campfire!
They took us on a pontoon ride around the lake. The sun was out and it was perfect. The sweet smell of the water, the warm breeze...mmmmm. It was fun reminiscing about fishing with my dad, and when Ron and I were in our fishing days with our boat. We spent so much time out there, chasing whatever was biting that day. We would only come back to the cabin if we were out of bait, food, or (me) patience. Ron wouldn't sleep more than a couple of hours before he needed to be back out there. Good times.
Back onshore, we sat and talked a bit about next week's port implant and first treatment. I realized they had left for the cabin before all my appointments were set, so they needed updating. We answered all of the questions they had, and then decided to head home before the bugs came out and got the truck all dirty. More big hugs, this time from Mom and Dad.
The dogs were crazed when we got home. With me being out of work, they aren't used to being penned up for more than a couple of hours at a time. Once freed, they were like little black tornadoes tearing up everything they could, including each other. More laughs.
It was a perfect day.
Friday, July 20, 2012
The Biggest Challenge Yet
TGIF...
I have had a chance to chew on all the info I was given yesterday. I'm still doing ok with it.
One huge challenge I will face, even before the first treatment, is to quit smoking. The oncologist, and everything I have read, says that nicotine can block the chemo from doing what it needs to do.
I cannot know this information and not quit.
If I were to make the decision to continue to smoke and the cancer came back, how would I feel about that decision? There are no guarantees the cancer won't come back, even with my quitting. I just want to feel I did everything that was in MY power to make the odds better.
I have decided my quit date will be Monday. I will allow myself to smoke through the weekend, cutting down each day, and Sunday will be my last cigarette.
Wish me luck.
I have had a chance to chew on all the info I was given yesterday. I'm still doing ok with it.
One huge challenge I will face, even before the first treatment, is to quit smoking. The oncologist, and everything I have read, says that nicotine can block the chemo from doing what it needs to do.
I cannot know this information and not quit.
If I were to make the decision to continue to smoke and the cancer came back, how would I feel about that decision? There are no guarantees the cancer won't come back, even with my quitting. I just want to feel I did everything that was in MY power to make the odds better.
I have decided my quit date will be Monday. I will allow myself to smoke through the weekend, cutting down each day, and Sunday will be my last cigarette.
Wish me luck.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
First Oncologist Appointment
Happy Thursday! Wow, it's almost humane outside! Get out there and enjoy it, fellow Minnesotans, it's not going to last!
Today was my first appointment with my Oncologist. It went well, and so many questions have been answered for us.
The game plan will be treatments every two weeks for 6 months. So, twelve treatments total. Two different drug cocktails will be given via IV through a port that will be surgically implanted just below my left collarbone. One cocktail will be administered at their clinic, taking about 4 hours. The other will be administered via a drug pump attached to the port, administered over a 48 hour period. Having the pump allows me to not be in the hospital, on a drip, for the 48 hours. It will allow me to be mobile.
The possible side effects are plentiful. The main ones being nausea and vomiting, fatigue, lack of appetite, change in taste, weight loss, mouth sores, and (of course) possible hair loss. There are many more, but these are the most common. There are things they can do to help with all the physical symptoms, I just need to let them know they are happening. Time will tell...
In my last post, I mentioned there was a possibility of treatments closer to home. My doctor wants me to deal exclusively with his team at the U of M, so he can be on top of anything that happens. I can respect this. Being it's only twice a month, it's not a big deal.
Now that I have the game plan, the noise in my head has lessened. It's almost a feeling of relief.
Tomorrow, I should hear when I get my port implanted. I also will be getting a "shoulder-to-hip" CT scan for a pre-treatment baseline. Once the port is installed, treatments will begin. I am hoping for mid-late week next week. i will post again as dates are set.
Enjoy Thursday!
UPDATE: The port will be implanted on Monday (July 23), and my first treatment will be on Weds (July 25).
Today was my first appointment with my Oncologist. It went well, and so many questions have been answered for us.
The game plan will be treatments every two weeks for 6 months. So, twelve treatments total. Two different drug cocktails will be given via IV through a port that will be surgically implanted just below my left collarbone. One cocktail will be administered at their clinic, taking about 4 hours. The other will be administered via a drug pump attached to the port, administered over a 48 hour period. Having the pump allows me to not be in the hospital, on a drip, for the 48 hours. It will allow me to be mobile.
The possible side effects are plentiful. The main ones being nausea and vomiting, fatigue, lack of appetite, change in taste, weight loss, mouth sores, and (of course) possible hair loss. There are many more, but these are the most common. There are things they can do to help with all the physical symptoms, I just need to let them know they are happening. Time will tell...
In my last post, I mentioned there was a possibility of treatments closer to home. My doctor wants me to deal exclusively with his team at the U of M, so he can be on top of anything that happens. I can respect this. Being it's only twice a month, it's not a big deal.
Now that I have the game plan, the noise in my head has lessened. It's almost a feeling of relief.
Tomorrow, I should hear when I get my port implanted. I also will be getting a "shoulder-to-hip" CT scan for a pre-treatment baseline. Once the port is installed, treatments will begin. I am hoping for mid-late week next week. i will post again as dates are set.
Enjoy Thursday!
UPDATE: The port will be implanted on Monday (July 23), and my first treatment will be on Weds (July 25).
Friday, July 13, 2012
Ugh, the swings!
Happy Friday!
Yesterday was a wonderful day. Well, for the most part. The hub had his long-overdue colonoscopy (he would have never of done it without my diagnosis happening). No issues! Wow, what a relief!
Then, as bedtime approached, my mind started going into dark places. The what-if's were so loud and obnoxious, I couldn't sleep. Nothing I did made them go away. Perhaps it was from the crash off of the "no issues" high from hubs's procedure, not sure. It just sucked.
This morning, I was in a funk. Instead of sitting on my butt wallowing in it, I chose to do some light housework. Dusting, putting things away, etc. The act of getting things done, although small, seemed to make me feel better.
My wonderful husband is so sweet. After I apologize for another "funk episode", his response: "Having ups and downs is to be expected with what you're going through. It's ok."
My bullheaded/ignorant response to that is, "Every other day?!?!"
Yeah, I guess that's what it's added up to. And, he's right. This isn't a small ordeal. Ups and downs are to be expected.
In a nutshell, I am mourning normalcy, and fearing what's next.
Fear makes the wolf look bigger.
*kicks self in ass*
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Post-op news
Nothing earth shattering happened at the post-op today. Just a small bit of info.
The surgeon is very pleased with the results of the surgery. She says I am doing better than most patients at this stage. I only have a pinch here and there for pain, nothing remarkable. Everything is working normal (like it was before the surgery). I still have some fatigue, but this is normal. I am also still wearing the girdle for support.
I can slowly start working fiber into my diet! Woo Hoo! Farmer's Markets, here I come! And my friend's cherry jam! Slooooowwwwly.
She had little to offer as far as what to expect for chemo, as she doesn't know which regimen my oncologist is going to use. We did find out, however, that my treatments may be able to be done at the Maple Grove hospital, which is much closer and convenient. I hope this is the case! No parking or traffic concerns if we can go there! I have my first appointment with the oncologist next Thursday. I will have much more news to offer after that appointment.
After a few pep talks with hubby and friends, my head is in a better place today. I am so grateful for everyone's support.
Yesterday, I kept busy with appointments to take care of routine stuff that most likely will not be desirable during chemo (dentist appts, eye appts, etc.). It kept my head busy. It was a bit awkward, though, when asked about my medical history...
"Has your medical history changed since your last visit?"
"Uh, yeah...I was just diagnosed with Stage 3 Colon Cancer."
*silence*
(most likely from verifying on my chart that I was only 40.)
"I'm so sorry..." and the questions begin. How, what, where...I'm ok with this. It generally ends up with a story about the person's friend/relative who kicked it's ass. I love these stories!
One woman was pretty rude, though. I sensed she was very uncomfortable that it came up. Maybe it hit too close to home? She cut me off while I was answering her inquiries with, "Let's just put the cancer talk down for now, and move on." Fine, lady! You brought it up! Oh well.
Like I said, not a whole lot of news. Definitely more after the 17th.
Enjoy Wednesday!
The surgeon is very pleased with the results of the surgery. She says I am doing better than most patients at this stage. I only have a pinch here and there for pain, nothing remarkable. Everything is working normal (like it was before the surgery). I still have some fatigue, but this is normal. I am also still wearing the girdle for support.
I can slowly start working fiber into my diet! Woo Hoo! Farmer's Markets, here I come! And my friend's cherry jam! Slooooowwwwly.
She had little to offer as far as what to expect for chemo, as she doesn't know which regimen my oncologist is going to use. We did find out, however, that my treatments may be able to be done at the Maple Grove hospital, which is much closer and convenient. I hope this is the case! No parking or traffic concerns if we can go there! I have my first appointment with the oncologist next Thursday. I will have much more news to offer after that appointment.
After a few pep talks with hubby and friends, my head is in a better place today. I am so grateful for everyone's support.
Yesterday, I kept busy with appointments to take care of routine stuff that most likely will not be desirable during chemo (dentist appts, eye appts, etc.). It kept my head busy. It was a bit awkward, though, when asked about my medical history...
"Has your medical history changed since your last visit?"
"Uh, yeah...I was just diagnosed with Stage 3 Colon Cancer."
*silence*
(most likely from verifying on my chart that I was only 40.)
"I'm so sorry..." and the questions begin. How, what, where...I'm ok with this. It generally ends up with a story about the person's friend/relative who kicked it's ass. I love these stories!
One woman was pretty rude, though. I sensed she was very uncomfortable that it came up. Maybe it hit too close to home? She cut me off while I was answering her inquiries with, "Let's just put the cancer talk down for now, and move on." Fine, lady! You brought it up! Oh well.
Like I said, not a whole lot of news. Definitely more after the 17th.
Enjoy Wednesday!
Monday, July 9, 2012
Moody Monday
It has been awhile since my last post...
It has been an emotional roller coaster since my cancer was staged. I go a couple of days wanting to kick ass, and then I fall down again. I guess this is to be expected. Yesterday was a tearful day...today, I'm a little better. No tears, yet. Fragile.
One thing that has been on my mind a lot has been my hair. If it starts falling out, should I cut it short? Should I just shave my head now? Part of me wants to dye it purple before I start chemo...just because I have always wanted purple hair. But, that could look like I was vying for attention. If I go bald, should I do a wig or a scarf? I would just do bald, but I know, under all this hair, lies a very ugly head.
Why is this such a dilemma for me? It's just fucking hair, right?
But, it's my hair! My pain in the ass hair! The hair that takes 45 minutes to dry in the morning! The hair that requires 6 different, expensive, hard-to-find products to style! The hair that fights me 360 days a year!
Ok, 362.
So, why will I miss it?
Because there is something inside me that says it makes me who I am.
Society put it there. It's my job to change it.
And, who knows...I have heard stories of people who have gone through chemo with no hair loss, read in journals that chemo for colon cancer can just cause thinning. We will see. My first appointment with the Oncologist is July 17. Hopefully I can get my head straight by then. If not, I guess we just go with it.
IT'S JUST FUCKING HAIR!
Right?
It has been an emotional roller coaster since my cancer was staged. I go a couple of days wanting to kick ass, and then I fall down again. I guess this is to be expected. Yesterday was a tearful day...today, I'm a little better. No tears, yet. Fragile.
One thing that has been on my mind a lot has been my hair. If it starts falling out, should I cut it short? Should I just shave my head now? Part of me wants to dye it purple before I start chemo...just because I have always wanted purple hair. But, that could look like I was vying for attention. If I go bald, should I do a wig or a scarf? I would just do bald, but I know, under all this hair, lies a very ugly head.
Why is this such a dilemma for me? It's just fucking hair, right?
But, it's my hair! My pain in the ass hair! The hair that takes 45 minutes to dry in the morning! The hair that requires 6 different, expensive, hard-to-find products to style! The hair that fights me 360 days a year!
Ok, 362.
So, why will I miss it?
Because there is something inside me that says it makes me who I am.
Society put it there. It's my job to change it.
And, who knows...I have heard stories of people who have gone through chemo with no hair loss, read in journals that chemo for colon cancer can just cause thinning. We will see. My first appointment with the Oncologist is July 17. Hopefully I can get my head straight by then. If not, I guess we just go with it.
IT'S JUST FUCKING HAIR!
Right?
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Pathology results are in
The pathology results came in yesterday. The entire tumor was removed, we already knew it was cancerous. 14 lymph nodes were removed. Seven of them had cancer in them. My gall bladder had chronic inflammation, and appendicitis had begun from the cancer affecting the function of my colon. My cancer has been staged at a 3.
Another sucker punch.
Yesterday, I spent most of the day in bed absorbing the news. I was hoping my lymph nodes were swollen due to my immune system trying to kick ass. Evidently it was...the cancer was just stronger. I cried a lot, then figured all it was going to do is give me a bad headache. And it did.
Passing along the news proved difficult. My mom just happened to be here when the call came in. I felt bad she was here when the news came, but was also relieved that she was. She took the news well, offered encouragement. She reminded me that my dad was stage 4 when he was diagnosed with prostate cancer, and he is now cancer-free. It was a reality check that this is the second time she has been through a cancer diagnosis in our immediate family. First my dad, now me. She is such a strong woman.
The hubby told his mom and all the kids, and they have all offered wonderful words of support, prayers and love. Friends and coworkers have sent the same. I am learning of people who have been in my shoes, with the same diagnosis, who are now cancer-free and thriving. These are things I need to hear...it stokes the fire in my spirit and makes me want to fight. If they can do it, I can do it.
So, today I am back up on my feet and ready to take it on. I need to focus on today, and what opportunity today offers in preparation for this fight. I need to be extremely conscious of my thoughts to keep my head out of the bad places. I need to focus on good. I need to focus on now.
Another sucker punch.
Yesterday, I spent most of the day in bed absorbing the news. I was hoping my lymph nodes were swollen due to my immune system trying to kick ass. Evidently it was...the cancer was just stronger. I cried a lot, then figured all it was going to do is give me a bad headache. And it did.
Passing along the news proved difficult. My mom just happened to be here when the call came in. I felt bad she was here when the news came, but was also relieved that she was. She took the news well, offered encouragement. She reminded me that my dad was stage 4 when he was diagnosed with prostate cancer, and he is now cancer-free. It was a reality check that this is the second time she has been through a cancer diagnosis in our immediate family. First my dad, now me. She is such a strong woman.
The hubby told his mom and all the kids, and they have all offered wonderful words of support, prayers and love. Friends and coworkers have sent the same. I am learning of people who have been in my shoes, with the same diagnosis, who are now cancer-free and thriving. These are things I need to hear...it stokes the fire in my spirit and makes me want to fight. If they can do it, I can do it.
So, today I am back up on my feet and ready to take it on. I need to focus on today, and what opportunity today offers in preparation for this fight. I need to be extremely conscious of my thoughts to keep my head out of the bad places. I need to focus on good. I need to focus on now.
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