Chemo #2--2/27/2009--Taxol, Herceptin and CarboplatinMessage from the Station: Dear Chemogrrl followers, we regret that regular programming was delayed as the star of the show was somewhat incapacitated. Following is Episode #2 of Chemogrrl's Adventures in the Underworld.
I returned on Thursday, Feb. 26th from the Callanish retreat and went straight to the Cancer Agency to have blood work. Then I went home and hung out with the kids for a bit (which I wrote about on Feb. 28th in Re-Entry.) I also popped 'round to see my mentor Lalitha who had just returned from a month in India and who regaled me with fabulous stories. Chock-full of the retreat, my reunion with my kids and my mentor, I went to bed happy and ready for whatever the next day might bring.
It was mayhem the next morning as I dressed myself in full kick-ass chemo-combat gear whilst trying to get lazy-bones children out of bed who had been spoiled for the last week by their kinder and gentler godparents. Tom's version of getting lazy-bones children out of bed was to throw dog treats on the kids' beds and have Sadie go fetch them. What kind of incentive is that for kids to get out of bed? I am planning pay-back when their not-quite-yet-born is at an appropriate age for Auntie Zoё to spoil him or her. Cousin Karen kindly picked me up just after 8 am as I was to be at the BC Cancer Agency from 8:30 am for a chest x-ray, and then had an appointment with my wonderful oncologist Karen Gelmon.
A bit of background before I go on: Just before starting the first round of chemo, I had my second pleural tap in just over a week. I had been squeezed in at the end of the day as it was a bit of an emergency. The doctor doing the tap was very young though he assured me that he had done many of them. Basically a pleural tap involves sticking a very, very large needle into one's back hoping to take out fluid without puncturing the lung. I was sitting up on an empty hospital bed facing the window as he prepared the equipment and donned on his bacteria-free gown. I had my eyes closed and was doing all my self-calming tricks. Just before he began he said, "Don't look at the needle!" I, of course, shot open my eyes and looked into the window to see the reflection of him holding a gigantic needle. I burst out laughing and told him that I hadn't been watching until he told me not to think of pink elephants. He did a good job though--it was actually less painful that the first time--and then told me that they needed to do a chest-x-ray to make sure that my left lung wasn't punctured.
"Wouldn't I know if my lung was punctured?" I asked. "Well yes, most likely." was his response, adding "there's really just an minute chance that your lung is punctured." "Okay then," I said "I elect not to have the x-ray." He stammered saying that he would have to get my oncologist's okay to release me without doing an x-ray. "Okay" I said and waited as he tried to get a hold of Karen. He couldn't get through and I took pity on him and the fact that he had been asked to stay late to do the tap and that it was now about 6:30 p.m. "I'm going to do it," I said "but only because it will make your life easier." I explained to him that I try to only do essential x-rays and scans because I have already had radiation to my chest wall and have had lots of x-rays and scans in the last nine years and it is known that radiation accumulates in the body and at some point one gets secondary cancers from beyond-the-personal-limit of radiation. I figure that if by some lucky deal I pull off living a really long time then I do not want to have to deal with radiation-induced cancer.
I went up to have the chest x-ray (I had written previously how the young woman had actually left work, gone home and returned to do my x-ray). Then I trotted back up to see the doctor to see the films and confirm that my lung had not been punctured. I think to make nice he asked me if I wanted to see the x-rays that he had put up on a large computer screen. "Sure!" I said, never thinking about what the effect of seeing it might be. I plopped down beside him and looked at the screen. My throat-closed up as I croaked out: "Is the white the cancer?" "Yes," he replied seemingly unaware at the impact my seeing a veritable blizzard on the screen might have on me. I realized in that instant why there had never been any mention of surgery to deal with my lung mets.
Okay, back to Chemoland day: When I met with the oncologist, she told me that the chest x-ray that had been taken that morning showed that I was responding to the chemo. I told her about seeing my chest x-ray three weeks prior and she said with a smile that there was less snow now. This makes me cautiously optimistic. It is of course, great news on one hand, as if I were not responding to the chemo, I would be literally doomed. But...and it is a big but...the lungs are not the only location of involvement, chemo response does not inherently equal an extended survival duration and an x-ray is only an x-ray. I don't want to get my hopes up only to have them crushed so I am just going to be pleasantly pleased as opposed to begin organizing my "Yahoo, I kicked cancer's butt!" party. As and when though, you'll all be invited.
I asked for and received a prescription for the very expensive and very effective anti-nausea meds that I had seen be given to a women during my first dance with chemo. This young women kept throwing up whilst receiving chemo...they called her oncologist and got her a prescription for this brand-new wonderdrug that isn't often prescribed as three (3) tablets cost $100! I had tucked that knowledge away and found out the name of the drug. I decided to ask for a prescription as it is worth it to me and my kids to spend as little time as I can embracing the white-porcelain shrine.
After my appointment, I went out for a quick sun and money bath, as it cost $338 to fill all the prescriptions that my oncologist had written for me to manage the chemo's side effects. Then it was back to the Agency for episode #2 of Chemogrrl's Adventures in the Underworld. It really went fine.
I created quite a stir as many people thought that I had full-arm tats and I had to explain that no that was just my shirt but that actually I did have tattoos and flashed my chest one to a couple of the nurses and one of the wife's of one of my chemo mates. There was also a poignant/hilarious moment when one of the women who was about to receive her first chemo and was read the horribly long list of anticipated side effects including the loss of her hair. She looked over at me and asked why I hadn't lost my hair. With a smile I lift up my wig and showed her my shaved head. Quite a discussion ensued in the room about how well I suited my redhead wig. I told everyone how funny it was to me that I suited that hair colour better than my own... and I always had thought that Mother Nature knows best. Oddly enough, with all the attention I received, no one mentioned the antique necklace of tantric skulls that I was wearing...an interesting reminder that people often only see what they can handle seeing.
The seven hours passed quickly, though I was in a complete stupour when I left from the Benedryl that they give to stave off an allergic reaction to the chemo, and was very happy that my cousin Karen picked me up and drove me home.
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