At the beginning of this week, I received a call from the cancer treatment organization’s radiation therapy office. They asked me to come in on Wednesday of this week to begin the process of establishing external beam radiation therapy.
I was advised that the treatment is scheduled to begin on December 8, which is two weeks earlier than expected. This date is exactly one month after my final chemo infusion, not six weeks as was mentioned to me previously.
The radiation will end on January 3, barring any unforeseen complications. I now know what I’ll be doing this Christmas and New Year’s—resting and rebuilding my body, as the effects of radiation will be in full force by the last week of December.
There is a whole new team of medical caregivers I will be getting introduced to in this third major phase of cancer treatment. There is the radiation oncologist, whom I had met in early September who prescribed my treatment and the number of sessions of radiation required. He joins with a radiation therapist, a dosimetrist, a medical physicist, and a radiation therapy nurse who will all play a role in delivering my treatments.
It will be a rendezvous of 15 minutes duration at each treatment.
I will have 16 daily dates (Monday to Friday) with a radiation machine that will use x-rays, gamma rays, electrons, and other sources to destroy cancer cells in my body. And like chemotherapy, radiation not only kills cancer cells, it also kills good cells in the body to eradicate cancer.
I can expect to continue feeling fatigued with radiation treatments. I can expect that the radiated area will have some side effects particularly concerning the skin, which could become red, irritated, or swollen. There could also be changes in appetite, the development of anxiety or depression, and disrupted sleep.
This phase of treatment begins with a preparatory “simulation” planning session. Before the scanning and markings session, I was educated on the potential side effects of radiation and how to take care of my body.
For the scanning, the radiation therapist used a machine called a CT simulator to set up the treatment targets. The simulator takes scans of the area to be treated, which enables the radiation therapy team to use them to plan the treatment and decide how to direct the radiation to my body.
The radiation therapist then marked the treatment area of my chest with three dots made in permanent ink (tattoos). These markings form a triangular map that will be followed to ensure sure that the radiation is targeted at the same area for each treatment.
In the mix of radiation treatments, I will also have my chemo port removed on December 22. As with so much of my cancer treatment journey, this is not as simple a procedure as it sounds.
With my chronic low white blood counts, I will have to wait and see if my neutrophil counts elevate high enough to have the port removed by this date. Coupled with this, is a period of time in which I will have to stop blood thinner medication for a few days to prevent bleeding complications with the port removal.
Thankfully, there is one way I can minimize my stress levels in these daily treatments. The Canadian Cancer Society provides a transportation service for patients, run by volunteer drivers. For a very nominal fee, a driver will pick me up in a heated vehicle, take me to the treatment, wait for the treatment to conclude, and then take me home. I need not worry about winter driving and scrambling for parking for just a few minutes of treatment. I am grateful to have access to this kind of service in my city.
There are new steps waiting to be taken as I continue to walk on this cancer treatment trail. Soon, I will enter a new phase of the cancer fight. I will take these new steps with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
It just wouldn’t be a Taxotere treatment without another infection and fever.
As I watched the sad stories of fallen soldiers on television coverage of Remembrance Day services, my body was beginning to fight its own battle.
A low-grade fever started at 11:00 a.m. registering 37.5°. It wasn’t a totally accurate reading as I had taken painkillers with acetaminophen for side effects earlier that morning. The temperature hovered at 37.5° for a few hours. At 4:00 p.m., it had climbed to 38°, the level in which chemo infections and fever become a life-threatening medical emergency.
Having been through febrile neutropenia (fever with low blood counts and no immunity to fight infection) three previous times since September 27, I knew I needed to continually monitor my temperature to see if it would remain constant or climb. After an hour or more of 38°, chemo patients need to have the condition addressed by a doctor.
History was predictably repeating itself with this final round of Taxotere.
In early October, on the fourth day after my second Taxotere treatment, I spiked a fever because of an infection. I had a fever with some kind of infection again on Day four of my final Taxotere treatment.
Typically, chemo patients can expect their white blood cell counts to dive on the eighth day of treatment while on Taxotere. For me, the white blood cell counts dipped on Day four of the last two treatments.
Drawing on the past infections, I took my temperature every half hour. Each half hour it was climbing by .1°, an indication that there was definitely an infection somewhere in my body. By 6:00 p.m. it was 38.5°. It was time to call the oncologist on call for treatment directions.
The doctor told me to rush immediately to an Emergency ward as I was in a life-threatening state because of low blood counts, an infection, and a previous history of febrile neutropenia with chemotherapy. I was told to advise the admitting staff that I needed to be seen a.s.a.p., only to be bumped by someone having a heart attack or some other grave emergency.
The treatment hospital I have been going to previously when I had complications had me wait 11 hours, six hours, and 11 hours until the Emergency check-ups were completed. I needed to make a tough decision: which hospital’s emergency ward do I go to? Do I go to the larger hospital where the chemo treatments were, as they could access my medical file? Or, do I go to a local, smaller neighborhood hospital where I might be seen sooner without my patient history?
The doctor on call suggested that a smaller neighborhood hospital might be a better choice. They noted that any emergency doctor seeing me would be able to treat the infection with anti-biotics. Given the poor emergency response times with the treatment hospital I had visited in the past, I chose to go to a smaller hospital, which was closer to home.
When we arrived at Emergency at 6:30, my fever climbed again to 38.6°, and my blood pressure was soaring. The nurse had to take it three times to get a level; each time it was different. I was so hot with fever that my face was flushed, and my ears were beet red.
As directed by the oncologist on call, I advised the admitting desk that I needed to be seen as soon as possible as my febrile neutropenia was a medical emergency. A nurse who knew little about chemotherapy complications assessed me within a half hour of arriving.
They got this part of the chemo emergency protocol right--I was put in an isolated examining room 15 minutes after intake. The other critical assessment component with chemo patients, fever, and infection is that they are to be seen by a doctor within ½ to one-hour maximum after arriving at the Emergency department. We waited two hours for the doctor to do their initial diagnosis and start anti-biotics treatment.
Blood and urinalysis tests were taken, blood cultures were drawn, and my throat was swabbed. I was given oral antibiotics and Tylenol to address the infection and fever. The test results were supposed to be available within an hour; we waited over two hours.
When the results did come back, they confirmed an infection. I was given a prescription that could be filled the next morning. The complete visit took 4.5 hours. This was better than the 11 hours we had waited with an earlier episode of febrile neutropenia a few weeks ago at the treatment hospital.
The next morning, my husband dropped off the anti-biotic prescription at the drug store. An alert pharmacist flagged a drug interaction problem with the prescription because of other cancer and chemo complication medications I have been using. The prescription could not be filled until contact was made with the prescribing doctor.
The pharmacy had faxed the doctor the info at 8:30 a.m. Not hearing back from the pharmacy by late morning, I called to see if the doctor had responded to the prescription issue. They had not, so I asked my oncologist to contact the pharmacy to ensure I got the required medication. The oncologist resolved the issue with the pharmacy by early afternoon, and the prescription was dispensed.
After the prescription was settled, I was finally able to have another dosage of anti-biotics at 3:00 p.m. It was 19 hours since the previous dosage, a scary scenario with low white blood cell counts and a confirmed infection.
I find this drug interaction incident particularly disturbing. I had thoroughly briefed the ER doctor about the anti-biotic medications I have been on previously, so that they could be familiar with my history before issuing the prescription. They also had a computer printout of all of the medications I have been on since treatments started.
This mix-up leads me to assume that the medications history was not thoroughly read by the doctor before the problematic prescription was issued. It makes me wonder if I’ll go back to this Emergency ward in the future.
Bump on Bump
An hour after I took the anti-biotics yesterday, another hell had started. Severe pain side effects were creeping in because of the chemotherapy and blood booster drugs I am on. Generally, I have a high threshold for pain (I had two natural childbirths without drugs), but had to resort to taking a potent painkiller to get relief.
The Taxotere chemotherapy concoction I’m on can cause muscle and joint pain a few days after treatment. The pain lasts four to seven days. As well, the blood booster medication I am using can create bone pain when white blood cell counts start to elevate in the bone marrow. For most people, the bone pain usually occurs in the lower back or hips.
By 8:00 last night, the pain from both drugs had escalated. My tibias had intense pulsating pain. The Achhilles Tendons in both legs were throbbing. My left kneecap was aching, and the top of my foot around the toes was tender to touch. The pain in my hips made me restless, making it difficult to find a comfortable resting position.
The compounding effect of the pain from all of these areas made it difficult to walk. To relieve the symptoms until I could take another painkiller in an hour, we decided that a hot bath might help.
In our house, the trip from the couch to the bathtub is less than 30 feet. The pressure to walk from all of the pain made the trip excruciatingly difficult. I could not bear weight on my feet because of the sore Achilles tendons and could not stand tall because of bone pain. To walk, I had to use both walls in the hallway to support me as I shuffled to the bathroom. Tears of pain washed my face. It has been a long time since I felt this kind of pain.
I was able to take a double dose of painkillers after the bath. Sixty minutes after the searing pain incident, the painkillers started working, and all was well.
The pain side effects will lessen in a few days as I move farther away from the last treatment date. In all, I have 10 more days of potential side effects with low blood counts from this Taxotere treatment. After November 23, I should be past the dangerous period of being infection prone. My life and health should slowly start to get better.
In the meantime, I am vigilantly watching for any potential side effects. The end of chemo treatment counts down one day at a time. I continue to fight my battle with breast cancer with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
As of yesterday, what I can now say about Chemotherapy is: “been there, done that.” Chemo is officially over.
I have waited 20 weeks for the day that my chemotherapy treatments would be finished. That day was yesterday, Monday, November 8. It was another milestone for me on this cancer journey to wellness.
The treatments should have ended two weeks ago, but I had two one-week treatment postponements along the way due to low blood counts.
I am so glad that this major phase, the second pillar of four in my cancer treatment plan, is done. The relief in being finished with chemo has lifted a heavy burden from my family and me. It was far more difficult than I had ever expected with all of the medical issues that arose with treatments.
Its now healing time to let the last of the Taxotere flush out of my body over the next six weeks to prepare me for my third phase of treatment. Phase three will be 16 rounds of daily radiation, which will likely start at the top of Christmas week.
Hopefully, this final chemo treatment and recovery will have fewer complications than last month.
Preparatory Steps to Get Me Through the Final Chemo Round
My doctor, oncology nurse, and chemo treatment nurses all rallied together to prepare me to be physically, mentally, and emotionally strong and healthy for the last round of chemo. Their mutual goal was to try to offset the potential for serious complications as experienced with the other two cycles of Taxotere.
As hard as it has been, the doctor’s recommendation for house-imposed isolation three weeks ago seems to be working to keep me well. Since the isolation, I have not acquired any other infections. I have not had visitors, have not been out in public (except for medical appointments with medical masks and surgical gloves to avoid germ contact), nor have I been in contact with people who could potentially transmit viruses and bacteria, placing me at risk to get sick and unable to fight off the illness due to low blood counts.
As a precaution, we are maintaining the isolation for three more weeks until this last treatment cycle is over.
After starting a new drug early last week after chemo was postponed due to the lingering Thrush infection, the condition finally cleared on the weekend. I had peace of mind going into the treatment without a throat infection. As an added benefit, my body had an extra week to further increase its white cell blood counts to make me stronger and better able to handle the treatment.
I will be on an extended cycle of blood cell boosters after this chemo for 10 days instead of the seven days that has been previously prescribed since the first cycle of chemo. The increase in the dosage from the second cycle has been repeated for this last series of injections.
Generally, most chemo patients don’t need the blood booster injections after the final round of treatment. However, my history of low blood counts and multiple infections (some with fever) despite blood boosters warranted an extra post treatment series of blood booster injections.
With this cycle of blood booster shots, I will start them a day earlier on Day three, which is five days before blood counts expect to dip on Day eight. I will have two extra days added to this month’s injection cycle, which will take me through the period when blood counts are the lowest (up to 15 days after the treatment). This is an insurance step to make sure that my body is stronger to heal better after the final chemo, so that I am in a healthier state to start radiation treatments.
The Final Chemo Day
With all of these pre-treatment precautions, my anxiety levels about the last infusion were lessened by the time I got to the chemo appointment. My medical team and I are hoping that all of the precautionary measures taken will have placed me in a better position to get through the final Taxotere infusion.
As has been the course of this up and down journey, the final round of chemo did not come smoothly. The past two times that I needed to have blood drawn to get my blood levels before chemo, saw my central port fail to work. The chemo nurses diligently tried to get the line working with blood thinner flushes, but to no avail. My blood had to be drawn the traditional way through my arm.
The last chemo treatment I had posed a difficulty to get the port working, but somehow with a lot of manipulation it did co-operate. That was the last time it worked. Consequently, because of the malfunction of the port in the last two blood tests, yesterday’s last chemo treatment was done intravenously through my left arm.
I am scheduled as a priority patient to get the port out as soon as possible, as its no longer needed and can continue to pose a risk for blood clots. Because of the history of a blood clot with the port and other blockages, I will remain on daily blood thinner injections until the end of January, six months after it was installed to ensure that there are no more clotting problems.
Yesterday’s Taxotere infusion threw in some new subtle symptoms with treatment.
The preparatory steroids I took a day and a half ahead of time made me so wired that I did not sleep at all the night before. I finally crashed with exhaustion chills about 40 hours later after 9:00 p.m. last night.
Another possible small side effect with steroids is the potential for an allergic reaction with facial flushing. Off and on during the day, I looked like I was blushing with embarrassment until the level of the steroids finally passed through my system.
Today is Day two of the treatment cycle. So far I am feeling well, but tired from the steroid crash. Typically, I will start to feel the effects of chemo on Day three as this drug has a delayed slow-release action over a number of days. The worst of the symptoms typically will run about 10-14 days starting in the next day or two. By the third week of the cycle, I generally will feel better; have increased energy, and a returning appetite.
I am much calmer today, now that the chemo treatments are completed. I continue to travel further along this road of cancer recovery with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
To say that one’s life changes with a cancer diagnosis is a truism, but it is understated. Your world as you once knew it also changes.
I now find myself dreaming less about the “big” things in life such as traveling and retirement because I don’t know if these will come to be. Instead, I’m focusing on the daily things in life that bring me joy. Many are simple things that are easily attainable and don’t rely on my state of health to appreciate.
Since my cancer diagnosis and then more so since placed in isolation on October 19, I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on my life. I spend many hours alone at home while my spouse works along with my adult children who have left home to make their own lives with their mates.
Today, I’m thinking positive thoughts and reflecting on things that bring me joy each day. Here is the beginning of a growing list that I have compiled of where I find joy in my life:
The Power of People
-My Family
-My extended family
-Friends
-Coworkers and colleagues
-Readers of my blog and the comments they send
-Cards, emails, presents, flowers and phone calls from these folks
-Family members who have come with me to chemo treatments and multiple medical
appointments
-Hugs from loved ones
-Baby giggles that shake their bodies
-The antics of little children
-Smiles on people’s faces as they greet you, even if you’re unknown to them
-Members of my cancer treatment team
Nature’s Nourishment
-Walks at Oak Hammock Marsh
-The mesmerizing effect of lakes and rivers that calm
-Sunrises and Sunsets
-Leaves changing color
-The first fat, fluffy flakes of snow
-Hoarfrost on trees
-The first buds of green in spring
-Summer gardens
Sensory Sensations
-(longing for) soothing scalp massages from my hairstylist Jen
-Flannel sheets
-Down comforters
-Bubble baths
-Massages
-New gel bead pillows that cradle my neck and shoulders, a gift from my sis-in-law
Theresa
-Running my fingers through my ½” of mostly white, kinky, baby textured fuzzy hair
that’s hugging my head as it starts to grow back
-The Sound of Music, my all time favorite childhood movie
-Music recordings that feature flute and harp
-Vintage jewellery
-Live symphony and ballet concerts
-My old sheepskin slippers
-The smell of freshly laundered clothing
Foodie Fixes
-A nightly cup of tea with my hubby and kids if they’re home
-Spending time in my renovated kitchen
-Fresh Figs (discovered earlier this fall)
-Smells of homemade baking
-Home made dinners that are gluten free, low in acid, and have had proper “chemo” food
handling procedures
-Hazelnut hot chocolate (a new discovery with chemo as a drink I can actually tolerate)
-Gluten free pumpkin pie tarts and chocolate chip cookies, treats from family members
who discovered them in a local neighborhood bakery (thanks sis’s Jen & Theresa)
-The Food Network and new recipes to try
-Farmer’s Markets and the array of locally grown fresh foods
It will be the joyful things in daily life that will continue to give me pleasure in this journey with cancer. I place one foot in front of another and keep walking through my treatments with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
October was the most difficult month for me, in this, the eighth month of my cancer journey. It beat out the mastectomy surgery in April, and the cellulitis infection in May. They were trumped this past month by three Taxotere infections with febrile neutropenia (fever and low blood counts), and three episodes of Thrush. All of these chemo complications tested my mettle and my patience. I’m glad that month is over.
Through all of this, I came to realize how quickly I could get seriously sick (there is a potential for fatal sepsis with febrile neutropenia), and how few defenses I have to fight infections with low blood counts because of chemotherapy.
In all of this, the phrase “life is fragile” has taken on a more profound meaning for me. Life is even more delicate when you have cancer and are fighting chemo side effects to get well.
The ongoing medical visits with an array of doctors always make me leave thinking I am lucky to be alive with this cancer diagnosis. The visits remind me that I am living on “borrowed time” with a life-threatening illness. Cancer is always on my mind, and always will be. As a cancer patient, you just don’t know how long you have to enjoy the blessings of life in family, and friends. But then again, do any of us really know how long we have in our lifetime? We’re all living on borrowed time.
Delayed Chemo and the Countdown to Conclusion
Earlier this week presented a mixed blessing. My final Taxotere chemo session on November 2 was postponed to the 8th because the Thrush infection had not cleared. I’m now on another potent anti-fungal medication to rid my body of it so that it’s clear for chemo on Monday. I’m glad that these extra six days will boost my low white blood cell counts higher, so that I am stronger to deal with the side effects of the final chemo.
The oncologist has warned that this last cycle would be rough, based on how my body has responded to the first two cycles of Taxotere. My body’s reaction to the drug has been severe enough that an alert has been placed in my patient file. It informs all members of my treatment team, including the oncologists on call, that should I spike a fever (febrile neutropenia) or other complications, immediate action is required because of my previous histories of infections with Taxotere in the past two treatments.
Since my last Taxotere treatment, I have learned that this chemo drug and the FEC that preceded it are the strongest drugs administered in the 100-member family of chemo cocktails. They are also the most effective to treat breast cancer. Because of their potency, breast cancer patients will only ever receive FEC and Taxotere once in their lifetime in the hope that they eradicate cancer. If cancer returns, the treatment modality will involve different chemo drugs.
The chemo treatments that were once far away in months, and then weeks, are now down to days—four days from today to be precise. I am anxious, worried, scared, restless, nervous, and terrified about this last treatment. I just want the treatment and the three weeks of side effects that follow it to be over.
A thermometer to monitor my temperature, will be a constant companion during this time. Four weeks from now, I will breathe a big sigh of relief. Chemo will finally be over, rest and recuperation will be welcomed as I wait for radiation to start, likely at the top of Christmas week.
Dr. “Fabulous” and the Sixth Month Check-Up
Yesterday, I had my sixth month follow-up check up with my surgeon, whom I call “Dr. Fabulous”.
He and I have spent a fair amount of time together these past few months. We have built a good patient-doctor rapport. He was the one who tenderly broke the news to me about my cancer, prepped me for my mastectomy, did my surgery, and then treated me multiple times for the cellulitis post-surgery complication. We now stay in touch with periodic medical appointments to check my progress.
The good news is that he is pleased with how well my incision and body is healing from the mastectomy.
He is always patient, kind, reassuring, gentle, open to questions, and is never condescending. He is a doctor who looks you in the eye when he talks, and speaks candidly about one’s life in living with cancer.
“You can never rest on your laurels with breast cancer,” he said. “It’s one of those diseases that can come back even while you’re in chemotherapy, radiation, or undergoing Tamoxifen treatments. Although it’s rare that cancer will recur while in treatment, it still can. You have to be vigilant in self-exams for the rest of your life.
If anything comes up that you’re concerned about, call me at anytime. We can check it out, and if there’s nothing there then you have peace of mind. If there is something suspicious, then we can act on it quickly and early.” Dr. Fabulous. Enough said.
He noted that breast cancer patients have come back with recurrences within a couple of years, and as long as 25 years after their first diagnosis. The first few years after a diagnosis are the most critical for recurrence. As well, there is a small risk that the toxicity of chemotherapy treatments given to breast cancer patients can cause leukemia.
The clock keeps ticking to reach the time of the final chemo infusion. I am mustering every ounce of courage in me in these next 96 hours as I await my last Taxotere treatment. I boldly move forward with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
On Friday, I finally got some good news from my oncologist. The results of the MRI scan that I had two days earlier came back early—it was supposed to take 10 days. The liver lesion that the doctors were concerned about being possibly cancerous is not cancer. Did anyone hear my big sigh of relief at about 12:15 p.m. Friday?
Unfortunately, in that same visit, I learned that my white cell blood counts from my pre-chemo blood tests taken that morning were “acceptably low,” despite the increased dosage of blood count booster I have had concurrent with my fifth round of chemo. I am also battling a third round of a Thrush mouth infection, which isn’t clearing because of low white blood cell counts.
To top it off, my chemo infusion intravenous port was giving the treatment nurses grief for the fourth time (it’s been blocked for 4 out of 6 blood tests) because it keeps getting blocked, thus causing problems for blood work and my chemo infusion.
The oncologist was non-committal on Friday, when we discussed my next and last round of chemo this week. He has asked me to return to the cancer treatment ward tomorrow for more blood tests to see if I can have my sixth and final chemo infusion on Tuesday. Intuitively, I think that the Thrush has to be cleared and they want my blood counts to be higher as Taxotere has had such dramatic side effects with me. It’s not looking good for knocking off the last treatment this week.
I suspect I will be delayed for a week given the problems I have had with Taxotere this past month. This is familiar—it happened to me with my first of chemo, delaying the next treatment by a week.
The Sensations of an MRI Scan
Prior to the scan, I was concerned that the metal pins in my back from scoliosis surgery 38 years ago might get dislodged or cause problems with the magnetic scanner. All was fine.
The body sensation of being in an MRI was not as scary as I thought. It’s actually kind of neat. It is nothing like any medical tests I have ever had before.
You are rigidly positioned and locked into place, so that your body stays motionless during the scans. Because of my anxiety about being held in a very small confined space, I was given a double folded washcloth to place over my eyes so that I could not see my surroundings.
The room is warm because of the power being used to operate the scanner.
There are different kinds of breathing involved with MRI scans. There are deep breaths, exhales, and holds. There are controlled and even breaths. Sometimes you hold your breath for a short while, other times it is longer. The breath holds were anywhere from about 25 seconds to slightly less than a minute.
Sometimes you breathe normally, as the magnet moves around your body taking “slices” of images of the area they are focusing on to get a proper diagnosis. Other times you have to stop breathing and stay absolutely still, so that the sensitivity of the magnet is not disrupted for specific scans.
The breath work was somewhat difficult for me, as the blood thinner medication and chemotherapy drugs can make me short of breath. I was exhausted, light-headed and dizzy when the half hour scan was over. The technician told me that this is not uncommon.
Beeps, Bangs, and Bloops: The Sounds of an MRI Scan
Regarding the experience of being scanned by the MRI, it is definitely an “auditory” event.
The MRI machine is loud. You are given industrial quality padded headphones to protect your hearing, and to listen to the technician giving you breathing cues that correspond to the kind of scan they are doing.
One enters the MRI scan room to a constant sound that is similar to that of an oversized loaded washing machine, coupled with a high-pitched bird chirping. This is the MRI’s motor running in the background at all times.
If you’ve ever had an MRI scan, you’ll identify with some of its unusual sounds. There are bleeps, bangs, and bloops sounds when you’re in the tunnel of the MRI machine.
The magnet’s scanning sounds are similar to ones you’d hear in base tracks of techno pop music. Others may say that it is like attending a new music concert where contemporary composers play with technology to create lyric-less sounds with music.
The low bass electronic sounds of the magnet generally move quickly and constantly, but they occasionally may be lower and slower. The sounds can be rhythmic, sporadic, or may be measured in beats as the magnet moves around your body to collect several images of the area being scanned.
Here is the basic sound that many of the MRI scans will have:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8oI9YnhPNcQ
Different types of MRI scans produce different kinds of sounds. While in the scanner, I could hear how the sounds could be incorporated to make music. Someone has done this using the MRI’s bass sounds to form the music bed for this recording:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3m4kFu2H0qQ
At one point during the scan, there was an image recording that was six minutes long. This scan had a stereo sound quality to it; I had a low beat in one earphone, while the other one was played in sequence with a lower loud bang. When that scan was over, I had a horrible headache from the constant banging. Another scan not only had shrilly and rapid sounds, it shook my lower body as it made what felt like a 360° scan of the area around my liver.
Near the end of the scan, a nurse comes in to inject a contrast die into an intravenous that was placed in your arm prior to the procedure. The dye leaves a bit of an after taste in your mouth. Upon entering your bloodstream, the dye initially is very cold and then makes you hot as it spreads throughout the area being scanned. As well, the dye can make some people quite nauseous after injection, which is why patients are told not to eat and drink for four hours before their test. I sailed through all of this with ease.
As I was leaving to go home, the nurse told me that my oncologist could look at the scans on their computer the next morning. I marveled at the wonders of technology in medical equipment and computers. She said that the radiologist’s assessment report would be available in 10 working days. My doctor had results within 36 hours. I don’t know this for sure, but perhaps cancer patient scan assessments are a higher priority due to the nature of their life-threatening illness.
My mind is very focused on getting through my final Taxotere treatment and moving on to the next chapter in my life in healing from chemo and preparing for radiation treatments. I am nervous and worried about the last treatment, but I will get through it with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
Yesterday, I received my last pay cheque. It was another downer to deal with this week.
Included with it was a record of employment that said I was officially off the company payroll and on leave without pay as of October 13. It noted that the return date was “unknown”. A courtesy letter explaining the circumstances around the issue of the record of employment would have been helpful to lessen my anxiety.
My heart sank when reading the “unknown” line; it was an emotional “ouch.”
I thought to myself: “Gee, I didn’t get fired, laid-off, end a term, or leave my job for employment elsewhere, why the record of employment? I’m on sick leave with a doctor’s note to treat a life-threatening illness. If all goes well, I should be back at work next summer. I’ve been on long-term disability since October 13, and can’t collect employment insurance benefits. Am I supposed to do something with this form?” I am still confused about what to do; eventually I will figure it out.
My sickness has relegated me to just another name and number in the work world, evidenced by getting a standard issue form without an explanation. Such are the realities of living with cancer. The reminders are everywhere.
Pity Party for One
The waiter at the restaurant had placed a reserved sign on the table. “Pity Party” it read. Instinctively, he knew where to place me. I was the only person at the table.
It’s hard for people to be around cancer patients, particularly if they are going through some rough days. I cannot blame them; I don’t like “me” either when I have the chemo blues.
The news that I needed to be isolated for my own benefit earlier this week was hard to accept. I was so disappointed that my body let me down again to the point where I have to be kept away from others to be well.
Like all new things that come into my life unexpectedly, I needed a few days to process and accept the changes that chemo isolation brings. (This is not new behavior for me when change comes, I need time to accept and adapt. I just did not recognize it as easily this time because the change wasn’t a new task, but a new situation.) I’m adjusting to the isolation, albeit slowly.
Yesterday afternoon, I decided it was time to move past the self-pity and embrace being shut in as a new part of my life. To get through this last chemo treatment, I know that I need a more positive attitude--the isolation is only temporary.
New Ways to Celebrate the “Ups” in Life
There is still so much for me to be grateful for in my life, despite the daily struggles in living with this disease. I reminded myself that I can still celebrate the “ups” in my own life and the lives of others while isolated, I just have to find new ways of commemorating using technology. The electronic media and gadgets of the 21st century are a bonus for this.
Here are the “ups” in my life this week:
-The unfailing love of family and friends who are with me for the long haul in this cancer journey on good days and on bad days
-I am starting to feel better--the infection fighting drugs are working, blood counts are rising, digestive acids are decreasing, my appetite is coming back, and I can drink water without heartburn
-My hair is starting to grow back; it is about a ¼ inch long
-I still have eyebrows and eyelashes
-I have not been on painkillers for four days
-I reconnected with an old friend in Calgary this week that shared the excitement of her going on a three-month “voluntourism” trip to Uganda today
- I had stocked up on sewing and craft supplies to stay occupied when energy levels permit (intuitively, I knew that I might be more housebound as chemo sessions progressed, so I prepared)
-I have started making Christmas presents to return to a less commercialized celebration this year; we are going to focus more on the gifts of family and friends in our lives, which no one can ever buy or replace
-A close friend’s daughter is feeling better after having an extended illness since the summer
-My sister and her mate bought a new house and I was the first one she told
-I updated the cable package yesterday, which will make TV more tolerable—“so long” to reality shows, soaps, Oz, Phil, Oprah, and Ellen and “hello” to more intellectual offerings that extra channels provide (or more channels to sleep by)
Each day I get a little better and stronger as I count down to my last chemo treatment in just over two weeks. I imagine myself donning red boxing gloves to fight this last round with Strength, Courage, and Determination.