From February until April of 2010 my focus was on the immediacy of my situation: from diagnosis, through the tests and finally the surgery. The first phase was over and I would rest and recuperate, or so I thought. There was still a matter of removing the staples from my incision, and then follow-up visits to my surgeon. While the surgical phase was winding down, my Chemotherapy phase would soon begin. I would use the intervening time to heal physically, and to my realization, rebuild my 'emotional armour'. Physical, emotional, mental and Spiritual strength are used in various measures to sustain one through this process.
Although I was 'resting and recuperating', things still needed to be done. I would get familiar with STD's -yes Short Term Disability forms (what else?). There was clothes shopping; my 38" waist pants now hung extremely loose on me. A more appropriate 36" waistline suited me much better. My new daily activity would begin with breakfast and then weigh myself. For the early part of April I was still under 170lbs, down from the pre-Christmas high of 194lbs I'm 6' 1", so my weight is not bad for me now). My coffee intake was dramatically reduced, replaced by more water and juices, more fruits and vegetables. My diet was undergoing a lot more scrutiny.
Now an interesting thing happened when people learned I had cancer. Beyond the truly overwhelming offers of support and help (infinitely appreciated), there was lots of advice for 'cancer beating' foods. Oodles of dietary advice, suggestions of supplements, Juices and Berry wonder drinks, alternative medicine, and of course, the Miracle of Asparagus.
For those of you who do not know of the Cancer-Asparagus link, it's an old, old internet hoax. Asparagus is as good for you as any other green vegetable, but it simply has no basis as a miracle cancer cure-all. Even the online 'testimony' lists the doctor as having a DDS, usually not often associated with the Oncology realm.
Food matters aside, there was a lot of walking, a lot of napping. As many of my friends know, I wrote a lot of emails (hint: not so many emails in future, more blog entries..). I didn't think too much of the future, mostly because I was following my Cancer Plan. The plan was set up by my doctors, and provided a path to Cure. Note that I said cure, because from day one that's what my doctors told me we were going for. Optimism like that should not be disregarded, having any hope is better than no hope at all.
I found ways to keep the optimism going. I recognized that if I was going to be recuperating from major surgery, then having really nice Spring weather would not be so bad. I pointed this out to my boss at work, and emphasized my plan of doing NOTHING all summer long. I would also use the time somewhat more advantageously to reconnect with my brothers and sister throughout the summer months. Always try to find a positive amongst the negatives is something I try to do in my daily life.
While I was trying to live a normal life, do normal Terry-hobby things (like solder helpless IC's) reality intruded. I met with my Oncologist and discussed ChemoTherapy. I would receive 6 treatments, one every two weeks. In order to facilitate this process I would have an IntraVenous Port installed. This is basically a way to deliver the chemo drugs directly into you without going through an IV in your arm. This so-called 'Port' would stay in me during my entire treatment. Installation of this Port would be the most disconcerting day surgery that I had up til then.
So Monday May 10th at 730am I was at the local hospital. Again. Another visit to the Day Surgery floor. More keen hospital clothing. Another IV. More waiting. Unlike major surgery, where you walk down to the OR then hop onto a bed, here the Day Surgery patient is given a bed and rolled down to the procedure room. Weird. In this case my procedure room was in the Radiology department, as they require real-time Fluoroscopy to insert the port. Oh and you have this humongous device about a millimeter from your head. Also your head is turned to the extreme right, giving me neck strain for the next day (my port was on the Left side,most put it on the right, I just HAVE to be different). But the best part is when you are covered by what I guess is a lead-lined pool tarpaulin. I was asked if I was claustrophobic. Heck of a time to ask, as I'm basically cocooned in a lead blanket with my head pinned by a radiation-emitting device and chemicals are dripping into my arm. All I needed to complete this scene would be a sinister bald-headed guy stroking a cat while musing about world domination.
Ian Fleming references aside, I was quickly asleep and woke up with my brand new (and very very ginger) port in me. I wouldn't be able to shower for the next 10 days or get the dressing wet. Stitches would need to be removed as well. Oh, and did I mention that Tuesday the 11th was supposed to be my first day of Chemotherapy?
Surgery. Chemotherapy. My doctors would provide the technical means, but I had to provide the resolve to see this process to completion. My foray into Chemotherapy would start less than 24 hours after my IV Port was installed.
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