Monday afternoon I'm at the Cancer Centre, my new cast making simple operations like, say, walking, a challenge. With the car parked as near the door as it could, my driver ran inside and returned with a wheelchair. Entering and leaving a vehicle is very awkward process: I end up having to push myself as far back in my seat and slightly up (OK my head hits the roof). Arched like that, I can barely swing my left leg out. It takes all my efforts to stand up. It's definitely easier to sit down. I'm wheeled into the cancer centre. From there a kind volunteer assists me: first I retrieve the obligatory paperwork from the reception desk. Next I'm brought up to the second floor, where I'm brought to the ESAS computer terminal. Rather than have me leave my chair or try to wriggle me behind a screen, my volunteer acts as my proxy, typing in my OHIP number and my responses to the ESAS questions. With the results printed out, I wheeled to another waiting area where another receptionist takes my paperwork. With his duties completed, my elderly but energetic volunteer cheerfully returns to his post, while I wait to be called in for my appointment.
Waiting wasn't too long, and my name is being called. My nurse is surprised to see me in a wheelchair, with a full leg cast that makes my leg thrust out like a battering ram. Due to my current state I get to bypass having my weight checked. But routine temperature and blood pressure measurements are still performed. I'm 'normal', I guess that's a good thing. Of course I'm asked what happened and I tell her the gory details. My nurse departs with all this updated information to give to my oncologist. Shortly after the nurse leaves, the doc arrives. He is surprised at what I've done now. In short order I tell him that the doc at the Fracture clinic wanted to do surgery. But with the Avastin still coursing through me, that's contra-indicated. So we settle on this: I get a break from chemo (this is the good kind of break). Now for the results of CT, the reason I'm here. Short answer: Status Quo. There is some minor shrinkage of some tumour, but I focus on the 'not growing' aspect. I suspect my oncologist was hoping for a better result, in truth, so was I.
So after the perfunctory inspection (I didn't have to get up on the exam table fortunately), I was given another appointment time, and for a few weeks, a reprieve from chemo. In January of 2016 I'll return to the Cancer Clinic and we'll start fresh, possibly with even more potent chemo. Oh, joy, I can hardly wait to see what new side effect this will have on me.
Over the next few weeks I'll have several follow-ups with the Fracture clinic to assess my leg. I'll learn how to navigate around household furniture using crutches and my natural, catlike reflexes (OK, just crutches). Taking a shower is still a challenge, but a refreshing one.
Through the dark gray December days I cope as best as I can to work through the everyday challenges -getting dressed, shower, even going to the bathroom. The hardest part is the feeling that I'm not contributing. I can't take the garbage out, can't go to the basement and bring food up from the freezer. Can't is a word that does not sit well with me. There are some solutions -an office chair with wheels lets me scoot around the kitchen to make my breakfast, but I can't carry a simple glass of water without risk of spilling or dropping it. And everything takes forever for me to accomplish, as I need to figure out how to best extricate myself from a sitting to a standing position; I'm always looking around for support whenever I move. Bed time is sometimes tough, my inability to sleep on my side is frustrating. Waking up in pain as my cast-leg gets stuck in the blankets. Sometimes I can't sleep, and I get emotional. But I have a caring partner, and I know that the bad times won't last forever. I endure what I must, and dream of walking in the Spring once more.
My last Fracture Clinic visit of 2015 happened in mid-December. After the obligatory 2 hour wait and 10 minute examination, my doctor observed that the bone seemed to be healing. For that auspicious result, I won't have to go back to this clinic until mid January of 2016! I hope by then there will be sufficient healing that the cast can be removed, or at least reduced so I can bend my knee. A full length cast is just so annoying!
Christmas was peaceful but emotional, and I wonder if this will be the last I spend with those I love. Eventually the pragmatic side returns, and I resume my mantra of "I live for Today, I hope for Tomorrow". One day at a time. All the little things that help me get through my day. Despite the emotional roller coaster and my inability to 'just be me', I did accomplish a few things. One was the arrival of some cool electronics from a dear friend and former roommate of mine from my University days long ago.
As those who know me are aware, I love to dabble in electronics. Things that make LEDs light up delight me in and keep me enthralled for hours. So imagine how happy I was to receive a package from my ol' roomie that contained nearly two dozen circuit boards and a ton of components. I was ecstatic, only one problem: I couldn't get to my workshop to assemble anything. The solution was to move what I needed upstairs, and helping with that was another friend. I truly am lucky to have such great friends.
The end result is no surprise to those that know me: more clocks!
My time is spent mostly on the couch with my computer, puttering when I have the energy on my hobbies, and trying to get a good nights sleep. I dream of walking, and my hope is that the new year will make my simple dream come true.
