And Then I Got Cancer

I thought I was pretty tired before, and I guess it could still be worse, but now I'm really, really tired. I've been hearing for days that I would get a blood transfusion, but it still hasn't happened. Nurse Anna just drew my blood though to get my hemoglobin levels, so hopefully now it's low enough and I'll get a couple units of that sweet nectar pumped into my veins. It takes me a long time to move anywhere. First I have to decide the level of necessity...if I don't move, will I crap my pants? Then I have to decide whether moving is worth it. Then I have to psych myself up to lift my legs, roll to the side, and sit on the bed. Then I wait to see what the level of pain is in my head as I sit up. If it starts to throb, I wait for a little while before moving again. Then I pull myself out of bed and hope my slippers haven't slid under the bed again. I can't reach them there. Just so you know, I have so far always found it worth it to get out of bed

I was so excited to be disconnected from Dmitry, but wasn't prepared for the transition off chemo. Everyone told me this would be the hardest week, but I couldn't really imagine how the worst week would feel. I was already feeling like the survivor of a nuclear blast (no idea what that feels like either). But Wednesday, sometime in the middle of the night, I rolled over onto my right side and felt sharp stabbing pain in my stomach, then my mouth filled with saliva. This started the worst day ever. I was extremely weak. Too week to not cry about my stomach pain. Too weak to feel regular nausea until it erupted in my mouth. I sounded like a bleating goat on its way to slaughter, doubled over when I could mange to sit up. For the first time I needed an escort to the bathroom because I was too wobbly on my feet. Teams of people come to visit me, all wearing yellow robes now under the presumption that I have c. diff. Every sign of infection is considered very seriously. I spiked

When my dad retired, he started doing longer than normal bicycle rides. He was always a cyclist, but now he has the freedom to get on the road and pedal from, say, Montana to Alaska. Or down the continental divide. Now that he's approaching 70, he finally has time to ride through the elements and rugged terrain, camp on the side of the road, and share cooking duties with traveling companions. I'd have to dig deep to muster the stamina for any of that as a 37 year old. I'm hoping I can count on those strong genes to carry me through this storm. When my dad heard my news, he had just started another long ride, this time from northern Maine to Key West. He abandoned his trip and flew home from Boston to be with me. The first day I saw him the doctors had to break the bad news about my bleak prognosis. He's stayed away a few days with a cold (thanks for that, Dad). But he's been cooking up a storm in the kitchen. I don't know if I mentioned the food situation h

I watched the clock all morning as the minutes ticked down. Today was chemo drip disconnection day, and I could not wait to be free of this device. For a week I've been carting it around with me everywhere I go. I unplug it and cart it into the bathroom with me every time I need to pee. When I do my laps around the halls, I push it around with one arm trying to keep it from swirling around uncontrollably. Finally, just after 1:30, nurse Eunice freed me from Dmitry. Eunice and Dmitry I promptly took a shower. For the first time in a week I didn't need to cut my left sleeve strap and reattach it with a safety pin to put a shirt on. Things are looking up. The bad part now of course is the neutropenia. I'm basically like a newborn baby with no immunity, and the thought of walking around through this hospital and outside gives me the willies. Going downstairs for my eye exam a couple days ago was pretty taxing. It was cold down there, there were lots of people with coot

Last night I had a number of special guests show up at my crib here in 5 north at the Denver VA hospital. Dear Olie brought me the pumpkin pie I'd been fantasizing about, and I've had a slice for every meal since. And thanks to my very talented cousin-ish Sara, my room is really in top form. One of the nurses peeked her head in my door and said "Oh, your room is so welcoming!" I thought that was funny because right now the first thing you see when you walk in is Johnny Cash flipping you off. :D perfection Today I started my last bag of Cytarabine, and should be disconnected from Dmitry for the foreseeable future tomorrow midday. Hopefully that means the side effects from this crappy crap shit will abate. The worst right now is the swelling. I think it gets a lot worse for some people, but right now I feel like I have bags of water hanging from my midsection. I can't even wipe myself the way I used to because it's so much harder to bend. And when I walk

I've never been monitored so closely. I have my vital signs checked every 4 hours. Every day I do a neurological test that is very similar to a sobriety test. I walked heel to toe, stand on one foot, do alternating hand movements, and sign my name. So far I've gotten straight As, but if there is a decline in any of these functions it's a sign of neurotoxicity from the cytarabine, I believe. Let's not forget about the cardiotoxicity. Bradychardia is something they look for, and my heart rate has been in the high 30s and low 40s fairly steadily lately. It's hard to lay flat because my chest and neck start to feel heavy and congested. If I become symptomatic, with dizziness or some such, I think they start using atropine to raise my heart rate. But so far so good. Every morning my blood levels are checked, and they have been steadily declining. I can tell when I move around. I'm not numb anywhere, but I feel like I have to manually push the blood around to get

I couldn't decide whether to call this post shit storm or crap shoot. Either one works I guess. I know you've all been waiting for this one. I've been talking about my pee so much, I'm sure you've been wondering about the other bodily fluids. Well, you've waited long enough. Long enough for all those laxatives to kick in. Hard. Brent got the brunt of my farts yesterday, but he was here while they were still almost cute. Like, if you think someone's cute and they have a little gas, it's kind of cute gas. At least, That's my take. But last night going to bed I opted to skip my sleep aid because my heart rate felt so low, blipping into the 30s. And my stomach was cramping hard from the senna and the miralax and whatever else I've been handed. So around 3am I asked my nurse Travis for some chicken broth, and that seemed to push past the cramped spot and turn into a nice little colon jacuzzi. I had two more cups, and was feeling better. And then