What Happens Next is simple: more chemo. The resolution of the CT devices can't show tumours under a certain size. As a precaution I am scheduled for five more rounds of chemotherapy. It turns out that the effectiveness of chemotherapy diminishes with continuous usage, with 12 sessions being classed as 'best bang for buck'. Personally I am all for arming my white blood cells with high-tech lasers and plasma guns and whacking the cancer cells in hand-to-hand ("flagella to flagella?") combat. Until that happens chemo is my route.
Since I had seven session prior to my liver surgery, I can "only" have five more using this current suite of drugs. Should I require further treatment, other drugs would be substituted and chemo would continue with those. Hopefully this will not be necessary. My next round of chemotherapy would commence Tuesday, November 16th of this year. Once more I had a plan, and I could continue on with life.
Before I could have chemo though, I needed to have my IV Port flushed. Seems that after chemo #7 the blood return wasn't returning. So I had a session in the chemo chair where coughing, agitation and tap-dancing routines were attempted in order to cause the blood return to work. Since my high-tech flapping-about failed, the heavy artillery were called in: chemical equivalents of Liquid Plumbr and the Roto Rooter guy were used. About an hour later the blood return was checked and yes, I had blood. Life is good.
The interval between my Oncologist visit and eighth chemo session is about three weeks, so I had some 'free' time on my hands. I made darn sure I got in my walking / bike riding / chess playing and any other 'Terry' activities I could before being whacked by chemo. In particular I celebrate Halloween, usually by sacrificing a pumpkin. Or two. Or in this case about 7. Prior to my surgery friends of mine decided my barren front porch could use some dressing up, so they showed up with 10 or so bright orange pumpkins and took the liberty of my not being home to 'decorate' the front steps.
Since I was only able to give about three of the damn things away, I was left with a mound of pumpkins. No, I do not care for pumpkin pie either!
I do not like pumpkin pie,
If I eat it I will cry.
There is something about this putrid colour
gastronomic discretion, better part of valour
it's a fruit with the consistency of pudding
that sends my taste buds a-running
Blueberry, Apple, Peach, Cherry, and more Blueberry
Pie digression aside, I am now left with numerous pumpkins and Halloween is right around the corner. One Jack-O-Lantern is plenty, seven is just a lot of work. So I decided to make my "Pumpkin-O-pede"
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| pumpkin-O-pede |
Halloween was quiet and cold, only about 30 kids showed up. Guess it was up to me to finish off the left-over candy. Which really was unfortunate timing, as I had decided to make a dental appointment before I started chemo again. Yet another medical appointment forthcoming...
Oral health can actually be quite critical during the treatment process. Effects of treatment can alter taste perceptions, and cause mouth sores which provide a vector for bacteria to enter the body. Negative fun. Due to sensitivity of the mouth and gums, alcohol mouth washes are verboten, the normal practice is to rinse with baking soda dissolved in warm salt water. Flossing can be dangerous during the treatment time as well, simply because of cuts to the gum. I had missed my last Dental appointment since it as in the middle of my last round of chemo, and I wasn't about to miss the "fun" twice!
Fortunately my dentist had an opportunity to see me well before my treatment date, and in short order I was in the dental chair for routine checkup and cleaning. Turns out my oral health is fine, another small victory. A question was posed during my exam however: could X-rays be taken, as they had no new ones of me for a few years? I hesitated, just wondering how much radiation a person like me is exposed to over the course of their treatment. I don't think there is a standard for such things however, but given the previous history of CT's and Xrays (and more to come), one more dental Xray every 3 or 4 years wouldn't change much. With that clean bill of health for my teeth I could now assist in the disposal of the last of Halloween candy. And I did.
In constrast to the cool Halloween, our November weather this year defied the norm. I kind of relate to that concept. Warm when it was supposed to be cold, bright and sunny when it should have been overcast and snowy. A late Indian Summer one week and I was even able to ride my bike a few times. Just biding my time to start chemo, so you know something dumb would happen, and it did: I sneezed. Not your regular "ah-choo, sniffle-sniffle" sneeze, but one that started from somewhere near the Earth's core and continued building momentum during it's entire transit through me. I pulled something deep in my stomach, maybe a muscle. Maybe a hernia. I needed to make sure all my internal organs were present. It was a painful sneeze. It hurt. A lot. During the early parts of my recovery from surgery, a sneeze or cough would cause intense pains, but they were momentary. This persisted for three days. Sitting was uncomfortable, but walking was no problem. I could sleep fine, but waking up and crawling out of bed was painful. I saw my family doctor. The Terry of years ago would have pretty much ignored it assuming it would just get better, eventually. Now every ache sends me running to the doctor. Sigh.
Turns out the doctor didn't find a hernia, or anything really wrong, as after a few days the pain was completely gone and everything worked as it should (as well as it did before the sneeze at least). The doctor was duly impressed with my mighty ability to sneeze in such a powerful fashion. From then on I decided that I should only use my power-of-sneezing for the good of mankind.
Recovering from the Great Sneezing Scare, I was feeling all-around OK. I was as strong and confident as any time during my Cancer journey (heck I even cleaned the gutters...twice!). I was veteran of the chemo wars, I knew what to expect. The day prior to my chemo was full of encouraging messages, support and hope from friends and family. All expressed confidence in my ability to handle what was coming, reinforcing my resolve.
Tuesday, the 16th of November dawned bright and cool. My lesson learned from prior experience, breakfast was light, no coffee and lots of water to drink. My spirits were good as I arrived at the Cancer Centre, and soon I was being seated in the special chairs they have for us patients. IV bags were set up, and my nurse was checking orders for this round of treatment. As needle pierced thin skin covering my Port, my journey resumed it's course, forward, one more time.
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