There are some things about chemo that are not widely publicized. When people discuss it, it's generally in broad terms, such as "Chemo sucks!", but not the specifics about what it's really all about.
First to our online guest, Ms. Lurleen Lumpkins who wins today's prize in "Guess that chemo Symptom!"Ms. Lumpkins guessed "Hyperactivity". Ms. Lumpkins will receive a month's supply of rice-a-roni!
When you start treatment you receive a helpful list of potential symptoms of chemo (in my case, interferon). There are many many possible symptoms ranging from the banal (aches and chills), to the extreme (crazy long eyelashes). No one gets ALL the symptoms, but everyone gets some of them. Some of them are very unusual. Almost everyone loses their appetite (not me). Almost everyone feels Fatigued (not me). Hyperactivity is one of the more unusual symptoms. Apparently it is not typical for people getting interferon treatment to bounce around in their ugly vinyl chair, sing aloud (needs more cowbell), and woof down snacks while hooked up. My nurse offered to tie me down. I think she was kidding. Maybe.
What about my new superpowers? SO COOL, I can taste the IV fluids! I can differentiate the taste of Saline (old people's basement), Interferon (like a dirty copper penny), and Heparin (ozony after a lightning storm). Obviously the IV is not going into my mouth, so logically this must mean I have superpowers. I asked them to try other things in my IV so I can test out my new skills but they said no. None of these taste awful, BTW, but it's real. Cheese-its help with the aftertaste.
My other superpower is a little harder to imagine a use for- I am in contact with the CIA to offer my services, but they may not be able to deploy me strategically either. My pee is toxic.
That's right. I have toxic pee. This has been one of the most amazing revelations about chemo therapy, and who ever talks about it? NO ONE! the government is trying to hush it up. I am a one woman killing machine, If I can just find something to pee on in the name of American Liberty. Apparently our wimpy water-saving home toilets cannot clear out the great toxic mess that is interferon pee in one flush. I require 2 flushes to protect my family, my pets and humanity.
You all watching at home are welcome to guess future symptoms. I may even tell you if you guess right.
People have been using words like "strong" and "brave" in conjunction with ME. Um no. My plan is to brat the cancer to death. Brave is the blind guy who rides my bus home, and travels all over the city not being able to see. I just decided that since this is MY cancer, and MY treatment, I am going to have to do it my way (EAR WORM!!!!!)
Why am I so casual about all of it? Am I yellah? Hell no. There is no way out but through. Besides, the week after my surgery in November I almost died in the hospital.
OOPs, look at the time- we'll continue THAT part of the story next time!
Friday, January 30, 2015
Thursday, January 29, 2015
I thought you had cancer- Where you been?
Let's forget the fact that I haven't posted in a couple of months, and no one has any idea what's going on, or where I have been (I was recruited by a top secret agency in the US to fight crime, if you must know). My internal continuity editor won't let me skip the previously unrecorded gripping narrative, you WILL get to hear the whole story. But lets skip to now.
Chemo (interferon treatment is a type of chemo, so don't correct me) has been a great disappointment to me. It's no where near as glamorous as I thought it would be. Muscled adorable young men in short togas are NOT fanning me, and offering me peeled grapes while I lay back on a Victorian style chaise, and contemplate my mortality. There is NO tiara. seriously? Who can do chemo without a tiara? Who would even EXPECT me to?
So I wear my cat ears. I started Chemo on Monday, and just showed up in my cat ears. I have said nothing. The reception desk staff say nothing. The other patients say nothing. I think I caught the reception staff betting yesterday whether I'd show up in them again. The first 2 days I had a super ditzy nurse whom I am certain didn't even notice I was wearing cat ears (more about Nurse D later). Yesterday my nurse asked me why I was wearing cat ears, and the first thing that came out was "Because I can't find my pirate hat. Ahoy!".
So Picture me- wearing my cat ears, I-phone set to I-tunes, I have snacks (more on this later), beverages, a book, my Buffalo (thanks Auntie Kathy), my Dragun (Thanks Elaine), a magic rock, my blue snuggy, fuzzy socks and it's CHEMO TIME!!!
I have a PICC line (Peripherally inserted central catheter, I asked what it meant) in my right arm, that is an attractive lavender color, and there is a long purple tube that goes from the artery in my arm up through my chest and right down over my heart. When the IV is going, I get chilly heartburn. Doesn't hurt, just weird.
The Health Partners Cancer Center at Cedar-Riverside is not fancy. You can go into an individual room, sit in a big ugly vinyl recliner that gives you fruit roll up syndrome if your skin touches it (sticks, and then peels off the chair like a fruit roll-up off the wrapper), and watch the toxin drip into you. I did this the first 2 days. Nurse D didn't tell me there was an option, so I went into the room, arranged my stuff (snacks, beverages, buff, Dragun, rock, socks, etc), and watched the whole process of hooking me up with great interest. Nurse D is sweet, but does not inspire confidence, as she is extremely forgetful (forgets to bring me medication, forgets how to set up the IV machine, forgot which room I was in...)
The hook-up is pretty simple. The big thing about chemo is not getting dehydrated so they hook up the PICC to an IV drip for a bit to give me fluids, then switch to the bag of poison, and then I am done. Less then an hour start to finish. I occasionally yell "KILL KILL KILL!!!" and "DIE CANCER DIE!!!" just to make sure the toxin is doing it's job.
But yesterday I got asked if I wanted to go to "the big room". Hooray! It's like camp for people with cancer! The big room is AWESOME. It is full of ugly vinyl recliners lined up around the edges of the room, and the nurses station is in the center. So Much to see! other people's cancer is much more interesting then mine. There are inspirational posters on the wall, and pamphlets on the tables with titles like "How to eat with cancer". That one had me giggling for a bit. I listen to my specially crafted playlist, drink my vitamin water, and eat my snacks. I am partial to the rice crackers from Costco (the 3 pound bag with nuts in), but also cheese-its.
The other patients seemed baffled by my eating. LUCKY me, I appear to be the only person in the history of Chemo who's appetite actually increased. I am not getting over this without at least 20 pounds added, I just know it.
What is it like? Honestly, it's a pretty Jekyll and Hyde existence. I leave work at 3:00 to go to my appointment. M-f for 4 weeks, so every weekday at 3:20. I get the hook-up, drain the poison, eat the snacks, yell at my cancer, get unhooked, and go home. About an hour after I get home, I start the long slow slide into the BLECH. The blech is best described as flu-like symptoms, fever, aches, chills. I take anti-nausea pills twice a day. No, I am not nauseous, thanks for asking, THATS WHY I TAKE THE PILLS!!!. I also take Tylenol 3 times a day to keep down the fever. works great. I load up all the rest of my pills, crawl my shaky, shivery butt into bed, and fall asleep before 10.
The next morning the sun comes up, the birds are singing, the kitties are purring, and I feel AWESOME. No symptoms. I am at work right NOW and I feel just fine. I will until after I get home from chemo today and the Blech starts over again. BUT, it's OK. it's bearable. I have Netflix. even if I didn't have the Blech, I'd be in my jammies on the couch binge-watching Hoarders. It's all awesome. I have enjoyed watching people act surprised when I tell them I feel fine "Oh she's so brave!", No, I'm not. No I am not fronting an attitude. I am so happy to FINALLY be getting the treatment going that I feel great. more talk soon, time for toxin.
Chemo (interferon treatment is a type of chemo, so don't correct me) has been a great disappointment to me. It's no where near as glamorous as I thought it would be. Muscled adorable young men in short togas are NOT fanning me, and offering me peeled grapes while I lay back on a Victorian style chaise, and contemplate my mortality. There is NO tiara. seriously? Who can do chemo without a tiara? Who would even EXPECT me to?
So I wear my cat ears. I started Chemo on Monday, and just showed up in my cat ears. I have said nothing. The reception desk staff say nothing. The other patients say nothing. I think I caught the reception staff betting yesterday whether I'd show up in them again. The first 2 days I had a super ditzy nurse whom I am certain didn't even notice I was wearing cat ears (more about Nurse D later). Yesterday my nurse asked me why I was wearing cat ears, and the first thing that came out was "Because I can't find my pirate hat. Ahoy!".
So Picture me- wearing my cat ears, I-phone set to I-tunes, I have snacks (more on this later), beverages, a book, my Buffalo (thanks Auntie Kathy), my Dragun (Thanks Elaine), a magic rock, my blue snuggy, fuzzy socks and it's CHEMO TIME!!!
I have a PICC line (Peripherally inserted central catheter, I asked what it meant) in my right arm, that is an attractive lavender color, and there is a long purple tube that goes from the artery in my arm up through my chest and right down over my heart. When the IV is going, I get chilly heartburn. Doesn't hurt, just weird.
The Health Partners Cancer Center at Cedar-Riverside is not fancy. You can go into an individual room, sit in a big ugly vinyl recliner that gives you fruit roll up syndrome if your skin touches it (sticks, and then peels off the chair like a fruit roll-up off the wrapper), and watch the toxin drip into you. I did this the first 2 days. Nurse D didn't tell me there was an option, so I went into the room, arranged my stuff (snacks, beverages, buff, Dragun, rock, socks, etc), and watched the whole process of hooking me up with great interest. Nurse D is sweet, but does not inspire confidence, as she is extremely forgetful (forgets to bring me medication, forgets how to set up the IV machine, forgot which room I was in...)
The hook-up is pretty simple. The big thing about chemo is not getting dehydrated so they hook up the PICC to an IV drip for a bit to give me fluids, then switch to the bag of poison, and then I am done. Less then an hour start to finish. I occasionally yell "KILL KILL KILL!!!" and "DIE CANCER DIE!!!" just to make sure the toxin is doing it's job.
But yesterday I got asked if I wanted to go to "the big room". Hooray! It's like camp for people with cancer! The big room is AWESOME. It is full of ugly vinyl recliners lined up around the edges of the room, and the nurses station is in the center. So Much to see! other people's cancer is much more interesting then mine. There are inspirational posters on the wall, and pamphlets on the tables with titles like "How to eat with cancer". That one had me giggling for a bit. I listen to my specially crafted playlist, drink my vitamin water, and eat my snacks. I am partial to the rice crackers from Costco (the 3 pound bag with nuts in), but also cheese-its.
The other patients seemed baffled by my eating. LUCKY me, I appear to be the only person in the history of Chemo who's appetite actually increased. I am not getting over this without at least 20 pounds added, I just know it.
What is it like? Honestly, it's a pretty Jekyll and Hyde existence. I leave work at 3:00 to go to my appointment. M-f for 4 weeks, so every weekday at 3:20. I get the hook-up, drain the poison, eat the snacks, yell at my cancer, get unhooked, and go home. About an hour after I get home, I start the long slow slide into the BLECH. The blech is best described as flu-like symptoms, fever, aches, chills. I take anti-nausea pills twice a day. No, I am not nauseous, thanks for asking, THATS WHY I TAKE THE PILLS!!!. I also take Tylenol 3 times a day to keep down the fever. works great. I load up all the rest of my pills, crawl my shaky, shivery butt into bed, and fall asleep before 10.
The next morning the sun comes up, the birds are singing, the kitties are purring, and I feel AWESOME. No symptoms. I am at work right NOW and I feel just fine. I will until after I get home from chemo today and the Blech starts over again. BUT, it's OK. it's bearable. I have Netflix. even if I didn't have the Blech, I'd be in my jammies on the couch binge-watching Hoarders. It's all awesome. I have enjoyed watching people act surprised when I tell them I feel fine "Oh she's so brave!", No, I'm not. No I am not fronting an attitude. I am so happy to FINALLY be getting the treatment going that I feel great. more talk soon, time for toxin.
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