The best time to write a blog about Cancer is when you're not undergoing any treatment. When you write during the treatment, your heart and mood are locked into the current process. Life becomes How Can I Endure This Anymore? Writing becomes a challenge when coupled with the bleak winter weather, scant motivation to do anything physical and the always underlying worry if treatment is actually working.
If treatment is not working I'm going to have to register a complaint. Probably with myself as I'm the one who needs to make it work. I once wrote that I believe the technical means were at hand to defeat cancer and that I was the one to provide the resolve. In the past few months that resolve has if not exactly wavered, hasn't been the bedrock-solid foundation I need to build my hope upon.
January 11th, 2011 was the day my twelfth chemotherapy session. Prior to this last session my growing tiredness of the whole process was wearing me thin. I needed a break. Chemo #12 will be the last treatment for an unknown time. My Cancer plan calls for me to have a CT scan later in February. It's been a long haul of almost ten months, where my focus is on the Cancer Plan, the Cure and the resumption of life as I once knew it. I've completed my last chemotherapy treatment, and I feel uncertain of what the results will be, of what my life will become, of what path I need to follow.
For the two weeks prior to my 12th chemo I gradually resumed much of my normal activities. My appetite returned, my energy level increased as I resumed my daily walks. Motivation to complete two outstanding 'chemo clocks' prompted me to build my projects once more. I played a little chess, tried to study some programming, but mostly this period can be characterized by 'just tired of it all'. I watched a lot of movies and kept wondering what the 'last' chemo means to me. Am I done? Am I well? Will I regain my former life? And of course the question I always dread...will the Cancer return?
I know the answer to the last question, it's easy: If the Cancer returns I deal with it then. In the meantime, I just need to concentrate on the task at hand. For the present this means managing to get through the 12th chemo.
Chemo #12 started late at 11AM instead of the scheduled 1030 time. Once more I would be seated in chair #11. Once more I unbuttoned my shirt, unselfconsciously in a room full of strangers, so that my nurse could begin the chemo process. Once more I had a problem: the blood return failed. The blood return is an IVPort self-check, where the medical staff can observe if the Port is working correctly. As has often been the case for me of late, this turns out to be a hit-or-miss affair. The general strategy to resolve this problem is to cough, raise my arm on the side of port above my head, cough some more, and see what happens. When these strategies failed I was reclined in my chair til I was completely horizontal, and subsequent variations of this process were tried again.
Liquid Plumbr, chemo-style was the solution. A small tube of this magic liquid is linked to my port, and the inverted tube is then taped onto my shirt. This gives me some temporary freedom from the IV Pole! I can wander around for some 40 minutes, unhindered by my chemical tether. So I walk around the hospital getting some much-needed exercise, and more importantly, to walk off the frustrations I've had about this "last chemo".
Forty minutes later I'm back in the chair with the blood return fully functional. Now the the well-known process resumes: saline solution, followed by the chemo medicine proper. After the chemo drip will be my Avastin, followed by the 5FU flush, the precursor to the 5FU pump being attached to me one more time. During the waiting time I am restless, the internet is not working for the hospital and I am unable to connect up my email. I try to watch a movie, the classic "Inherit the Wind" with Spencer Tracy and Gene Kelly in a rare non-musical role. My shots to relieve my feelings of nausea are given, my body reacting exactly as it has the prior 11 times. I can do chemo in my sleep, if only I were able to sleep...still no internet and it's almost noon. I thank the food services staff for their offer of lunch, but I am too keyed up to eat. Still restless I stand, unable to pace however due to the constraints of my IV pole and my chemical tethers. I can't sit. I can't rest. I have no internet and I can no longer concentrate on my movie. I need to do something. At last I find that something: fixing the loose plates of the A/C outlets.
All the cover plates of the A/C outlets were loose, but not dangerously so. With the continual plugging and unplugging of IV Poles and personal electronics, this is bound to happen. Fortunately I have my Swiss-army-style knife with me, and the bottle-opener/flat screwdriver blade is perfect for the task at hand. Soon all the A/C cover plates within my limited range are securely fastened, and I feel like I've accomplished something useful. I don't think I've used a bottle opener in 30 years though, since the advent of the 'twist off' cap.
After an interminable time my chemo session was done for that day. Sometime around 3PM I get to go home. My 5FU bottle was secured to my port for hopefully the last time. I headed home, tired and worn out from the whole process.
With this second round of chemotherapy I have noticed that sleep the first night is difficult. I can't say why this is but the soreness of my chest is significant. The first night with the 5FU pump is my most difficult, I do not sleep deeply, I am constantly sore and unable to find a comfortable resting position. I am my most miserable during this time, and perhaps because it's the "last" chemo I feel more worn out rather than the elated feeling the accompanies one when a milestone has been reached. For the next several days I do nothing but rest, the couch and my bed are my best friends. I don't really sleep as not move. I get up for my meals but of course there's little appetite within me. The taste of water is unappealing, but juices help. I need to keep fluids in me but it really is a losing battle this time. I spend the second day in my PJ's not even bothering to do more than the basic obligations. I am really tired and I just want to do nothing. Just rest, that's all. I deserve that opportunity not do anything don't I?
When I started my chemo on Tuesday, the Thursday disconnect day for my 5FU pump seemed impossibly far away. The Wednesday was only distinguished by my choice of sleeping areas: couch or bed. When Thursday finally arrived I began to feel hopeful once more, the journey was taking me away from the damn chemo.
Thursday January 13th is worthy to remember, simply because I need to acknowledge my efforts in persevering through the whole chemo process. But I could not have done it without help. A great deal of help. I delivered boxes of chocolates to the medical staff who were there for me time and again. The clinic where they disconnect my 5FU pump. The reception desk at the Cancer Centre where I am greeted by name on my arrival. The lab where my blood was dutifully drawn every two weeks. Finally, for the nurses in the chemotherapy area. They are all terrific, professional, compassionate and caring people. Boxes of chocolates seem somehow too little for the thanks I want to express to these wonderful folks who bring so much compassion and care to my life.
Chemo #12 was completed. By the weekend I would be better, physically and emotionally. I would shovel snow Friday morning and regret it for the remainder of the day (echoes of the chemo still resonating in my chest..) but by Saturday shovelling snow was no problem. I would be walking Sunday without impairment, energized and alive, recovery completed from the chemo. I would build my last chemo clock. I had given away the prior eleven clocks to those persons who were significant in aiding my struggle with Cancer. I would keep chemo clock #12 for myself, as a remembrance to my time with Cancer, Chemo and Care. I would be happy with who I am, what I have accomplished, where I've been and most importantly, where my journey takes me next.
The chemo may be completed for now, but my interaction with the medical system continues. A CT scan awaits me, as do meetings with my Oncologist and Surgeon. I do not know my future, but then who does? For now I am happy, and alive. So far I have achieved all my goals and objectives. My 12th chemo is finished, but my journey continues. I wonder where it will take me next?
XO R
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