Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Chemo Day - #3

Well, yesterday was round 3 of chemo.  It started off as any other chemo day.  Whenever we have to drive to Kaiser, there's always some chump who doesn't know how to drive and causes an accident that backs up traffic for hours.  Typical  L.A. commute.  Don and I decide that we will just leave the house 6:30 a.m. no matter what time I have an appointment.

We manage to make it just in time and I check in at 8:45 a.m.  This day I share a room with another woman and her accompanying husband.  They're not very social, but they also look tired and bored with the routine.  I overhear that this is her 12th treatment.  Wow.  I decide not to pry but I'm so curious to find out what cancer she has.  I'm curious about everyone's cancer at this place.  But most patients look miserable, walk around like zombies and don't even acknowledge you.  This place is depressing.  But I have to remind myself that everyone here has cancer; this is not church where we sing hallelujah and shake our tambourines.  C'mon people!  Praise the Lord!


I don't know why but it's taking a while for me to finally start getting my medication.  I have a new nurse and she decides to put the IV needle into my hand.  I hate it in the hand.  I ask if she has to do it in the hand and she tells me that they have to use different veins each time so they don't get destroyed.  She suggests that I ask my doctor to insert a port-a-cath.  It's a device that is used to make administration of chemo easier.  It reduces the risk of chemo related problems such as leaking from the veins into surrounding tissues.  Also, if you get frequent injections and IV treatments, you start to run out of usable veins.  The disadvantage of the port-a-cath is that it is inserted under the skin (freaky) and that requires surgery.  Also, there's the risk of developing an open wound at the site which puts you in danger of infection and with low white blood cell (WBC) counts, that's not good.  Kind of a Catch 22 is how I see it.  Last thing I want is some wiring hanging out of my chest 24/7.  Thank God I'm only having 8 treatments.  I think I have enough veins to spare.


It's 10:00 a.m. now and we are finally starting with an IV drip of Benedryl because I told the nurse about my itchy scratchies each time I get treatment.  It does a good job of making my sleepy and I start to doze as she starts with the rounds of medications.  Everything goes off without a hitch.  I come out of slumber just as Alex arrives to pay me a visit between his surgeries.  He's chatting with Don and I and I ask him how long his surgery was.  He tells me he can replace a hip in under an hour.  Wow!  Geez, that's fast!  I wish I could watch him perform a surgery but they have no observation deck.  He told me one time about a surgeon who sneaked his nephew into the OR to watch him perform a surgical procedure.  Well, the nephew fainted, hit his head and suffered a major head injury that caused permanent damage.  The hospital was sued by the family and the surgeon almost lost his license.  The moral of this story?  Always play by the rules.

Don gets me lunch and I try to eat my sandwich and read my book but I only have enough energy to do one task so I chose the sandwich.  Once that's completed, I drift off again for a little while.  Finally it's around 12:30 when the nurse prepares me for the last medication; the dreaded Dacarbazine.  This is my albatross.  The bane of my existence.  I do not exaggerate.  This is the medicine that burns you from the inside out.  As it courses through, it burns the first 5 to 6 inches of your veins and puts you in ridiculous pain.  The faster it drips, the more it hurts.  The only way I can describe the pain is that it feels like you're getting branded and there are thousands of needles poking into your arm at the same time.



I guess the RN is eager to send me home because, unbeknownst to me, she sets it for maximum delivery speed.  Just seconds after she walks out the door I am writhing in pain in my industrial lazy boy and Don is pulling the "alert the nurse" ripcord practically out of the wall.  Another nurse walks in, stops the drip, and quickly leaves to find my nurse.  Within 30 seconds my arm stops hurting.  My RN arrives and we test the drip speed a few times and decide to set it to half the speed with a heating pad across my forearm.  This opens up my veins and helps.  She also moves the IV needle from my hand to my forearm because the nerves in my hand were convulsing from the pain.  We figure the forearm can handle it better and it does.  Because we slow the drip, we don't finish until about 2:00 p.m.  This has been a long day.  Alex came by a second time and brought coffee for Don and hot cocoa for me.

We're finishing up and Alex comes by a third time as Don is downstairs at the pharmacy getting my Neupogen.  Yes, I have to do 7 days of shots again because my WBCs did go up to 3.7 (the normal range is 4-11) but with this treatment they are certain to go down again.  As Alex keeps me company, and the RN works to remove the IV needle out of me, she tells Alex, "you're sister is brave. She's a fighter," to which Alex responds, "don't you think I already know that?  She broke my arm when I was 5 years old."  We're pretty sure he was 5.  At the most he was 6.  That would put me at 3 or 4 years old.  She asks how and I tell her the story of how we had a swing set with an attached slide in the backyard.  I used to sit on my prized Winnie The Pooh bear and shoot down the slide with him.  Pooh and I.  One day Alex decides to use my bear as HIS personal sled.  He's at the top of the slide, ready to go down, when I get so angry that I push the slide, tip it over and he goes flying into the guest house.  I vaguely remember that day, getting enraged and then watching him in flight.  I'm sure I got punished.  That part my mind has chosen to not remember.

Don and I are finally out of there.  It's 2:30 and we just want to get home and go to sleep.  My body is starting to feel the chemo accumulate in me and my body feels like every nerve is angry and firing off at me.  I feel such fatigue and some nausea is setting in.  My head hurts and my fingers and toes tingle.  I feel so heavy.  We get home and crash into bed, not waking up until 8:00 p.m.  I have some nausea and I'm not so motivated to eat so we decide I should have something I typically enjoy.  Burger and fries.  Screw healthy food right now.  I need the calories.  They weighed me as usual before treatment this morning and I had actually lost a pound.  I've put on 5 pounds since the diagnosis but now have lost one.  How could that be?  I eat a lot!  Ask Ariel.  He marvels at what I can put down.  Every time he comes home he finds me in the kitchen eating.

So why the weight loss?  The way I understand it is that cells that grow faster require more energy and food.  Cancer develops from cells rapidly growing out of control.  So the body channels all the energy to the growing tumor.  The tumor even takes it own blood supply.  That is why a patient may eat well and still lose weight.  There are different views as to what a cancer patient should eat during treatment.  Of course it's always encourged that we all eat healthy foods.  But if the patient is losing weight, they are actually encouraged to eat whatever they want that's high in calories and tasty as we also start to lose our taste.  No matter how, the object is to keep the weight up so you can have the strength to fight the cancer.  I'm 116 lbs. now and if I can keep it between that and 120, that will be beneficial for me.  Pass the cupcakes.

I eat my Big Mac and fries with copious amounts of catsup and go back to sleep.  The body aches but the tummy is happy.

2 comments:

  1. wow! Hearing first hand of your pain is an eye opener. Our hearts go out to you Vesna. Wish we could take some of the pain off your hands.

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  2. What a trooper you are Vesna! I will gladly bring you a cupcake :)

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