I think, when all of this is over, I want to spend a weekend at a spa somewhere in Santa Barbara County's wine country, where I will indulge in facials, massages, mud baths, etc, and drink wine til I'm 3 sheets to the wind.
My profile says I was born the year of the monkey. That explains a lot.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
C day - #1
OK, yesterday's post was edited today and somehow it now has today's date.
Anyway, it was my first day of chemo today, April 19th. I check in 8:30 a.m. and get a private room. I thought about bringing my laptop with me so I could journal during treatment but after experiencing the ache and burning in my arm with the IV, I doubt I'll be multi-tasking much. That's unfortunate, because today I learn that after a few treatments, the chemo will have an effect on my speech, thinking, memory, etc, etc. The Infusion RN continues ad nauseum about certain and potential side effects. She's a very kind RN, but what she is saying are words that are not designed to make me feel comfortable. She ends the list of crazy side effects and then instructs me to practice NEW START: Nutrition, Eating. Walking, Sunshine (indirect, I'm like a Vampire now), Temperance, Air, Rest, and I can't remember what the last "T" is for. Must be the chemo working already.
Pyung, she's the RN, inserts an IV into my wrist and starts with a saline IV drip that will push the "medicine" through gently. They won't be inserting a port in me that can be worn 24/7. It's for patients that have aggressive cancers and need the chemo more frequently. I'm only going every other Monday. I'm pretty fortunate. This makes me think of a friend's mom who is receiving treatment for cancer right now and has a port. Wow, my heart goes out to her.
Anyway, it was my first day of chemo today, April 19th. I check in 8:30 a.m. and get a private room. I thought about bringing my laptop with me so I could journal during treatment but after experiencing the ache and burning in my arm with the IV, I doubt I'll be multi-tasking much. That's unfortunate, because today I learn that after a few treatments, the chemo will have an effect on my speech, thinking, memory, etc, etc. The Infusion RN continues ad nauseum about certain and potential side effects. She's a very kind RN, but what she is saying are words that are not designed to make me feel comfortable. She ends the list of crazy side effects and then instructs me to practice NEW START: Nutrition, Eating. Walking, Sunshine (indirect, I'm like a Vampire now), Temperance, Air, Rest, and I can't remember what the last "T" is for. Must be the chemo working already.
Pyung, she's the RN, inserts an IV into my wrist and starts with a saline IV drip that will push the "medicine" through gently. They won't be inserting a port in me that can be worn 24/7. It's for patients that have aggressive cancers and need the chemo more frequently. I'm only going every other Monday. I'm pretty fortunate. This makes me think of a friend's mom who is receiving treatment for cancer right now and has a port. Wow, my heart goes out to her.
Monday, April 19, 2010
The Day Before Treatment
It's now Sunday, April 18th and the day before my first round of chemo. I'm a little nervous. Fortunately, we're having a barbeque in the yard later this afternoon so I will have a good amount of distraction to keep me from thinking about tomorrow. At least until bedtime. Then I'm most certain I will not be sleeping. That's O.K. I can sleep during the chemo.
Since the day of the final diagnosis, it’s been non-stop doctor appointments or tests. April 8th I met with the radiation doctor. He has all kinds of interesting information to share with me, much I have already forgotten. One of the few things I don’t forget are that cancer treatment puts you at risk for developing a secondary cancer. Keep in mind that we are all at risk for developing cancer. The only people who have immunity from cancer are already dead. I’ll take my chances with that secondary cancer, thank you very much. Because I’ve already been diagnosed with a cancer, I will now have annual check-ups. I’m good with that.
Since the day of the final diagnosis, it’s been non-stop doctor appointments or tests. April 8th I met with the radiation doctor. He has all kinds of interesting information to share with me, much I have already forgotten. One of the few things I don’t forget are that cancer treatment puts you at risk for developing a secondary cancer. Keep in mind that we are all at risk for developing cancer. The only people who have immunity from cancer are already dead. I’ll take my chances with that secondary cancer, thank you very much. Because I’ve already been diagnosed with a cancer, I will now have annual check-ups. I’m good with that.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
The Discovery...story continues
The story continues...
It's April 6, 2010 and I've just learned I have Hodgkin's Lymphoma. O.K., what next? Now I'm going to be subjected to an assortment of tests before I can start chemo. The first one is performed right there in the little exam room. Alex goes back to work while Don and I watch a lab tech roll in 2 carts with odd instruments. These two carts have Don trapped in his seat with no way to get out. He offers to stand in the corner but Dr. Glowalla insists he remain seated, that it's better. Now we know why.
A bone marrow aspiration and biopsy is something I hope to never experience in my life again. It's something I would hope for even my enemies (if I had any, I don't think so) to never experience. Bone marrow tests are done to the pelvic bone accessible on the lower back. First, the doctor will insert a needle into the bone marrow and remove a small amount of bone fluid. Then he removes a small amount of bone marrow tissue through a larger needle. Now here's the kicker: he has to go through BONE to get to the bone marrow. How does he do that? By bearing all his body weight onto the needle that's going through my back and bone!!!!!!!!!! I thought I was going to die.
It's April 6, 2010 and I've just learned I have Hodgkin's Lymphoma. O.K., what next? Now I'm going to be subjected to an assortment of tests before I can start chemo. The first one is performed right there in the little exam room. Alex goes back to work while Don and I watch a lab tech roll in 2 carts with odd instruments. These two carts have Don trapped in his seat with no way to get out. He offers to stand in the corner but Dr. Glowalla insists he remain seated, that it's better. Now we know why.
A bone marrow aspiration and biopsy is something I hope to never experience in my life again. It's something I would hope for even my enemies (if I had any, I don't think so) to never experience. Bone marrow tests are done to the pelvic bone accessible on the lower back. First, the doctor will insert a needle into the bone marrow and remove a small amount of bone fluid. Then he removes a small amount of bone marrow tissue through a larger needle. Now here's the kicker: he has to go through BONE to get to the bone marrow. How does he do that? By bearing all his body weight onto the needle that's going through my back and bone!!!!!!!!!! I thought I was going to die.
Friday, April 16, 2010
The Discovery
I have a mission; at least for the next 6 months. My mission is to recover from Hodgkin's Lymphoma with the grace and dignity of those who have gone before me.
March 25th, 3 days after my 42nd birthday, I checked myself into Kaiser Woodland Hill's ER at 8:00 a.m. complaining of excruciating flank pain. It all started around 5:30 a.m. as my husband left for work. I thought the pain would go away but it got increasingly worse, so I decided to get some medical intervention. I'm not one to plug up a hospital's busy ER with minor complaints, so I made sure to wait for the pain to be unbearable. Smart. Fortunately for me, Kaiser's ER wasn't busy so I was admitted within 15 minutes of arrival.
March 25th, 3 days after my 42nd birthday, I checked myself into Kaiser Woodland Hill's ER at 8:00 a.m. complaining of excruciating flank pain. It all started around 5:30 a.m. as my husband left for work. I thought the pain would go away but it got increasingly worse, so I decided to get some medical intervention. I'm not one to plug up a hospital's busy ER with minor complaints, so I made sure to wait for the pain to be unbearable. Smart. Fortunately for me, Kaiser's ER wasn't busy so I was admitted within 15 minutes of arrival.
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