SNOW DAY!

I flunked my blood test.

My last cycle was a breeze side effect wise; I’ve got a prescription for just about everything now.  Emotionally it has been the toughest yet.  I’ve been wanting more than blind faith to know the chemo is working, I have been a little angrier, and again I made the mistake of internet research.  I can get pretty resourceful with the Google, but I have self imposed a No Research policy for colon cancer as much as possible.  Curiosity got the better of me this weekend and I looked up the recovery time for my second surgery on my liver.  I found people talking about how difficult the recovery time was; one lady didn’t feel herself for a year and a half after her surgery.  Which probably means that how I feel right now, going through intense chemotherapy, might be the best I’m going to feel for a very long time.

Don’t worry, this post gets better.

My morning began like other cycle mornings; go to the lab, make a joke with the receptionist (today’s: “I’m here for cash and prizes”), get blood drawn.  The girl who drew my blood had drawn it before, so I was trying to remember what we’d talked about last time so I could be that considerate patient who asks follow up questions.  Then I remembered: we talked about her boyfriend having gout.  It was kind of awkward then, she didn’t mind, but I figured it’d be really awkward to bring up again.  I let it go.

Waiting for my oncologist was more exciting than usual.  My mom is very active in the local club for Italians, and had talked to one of her friends whose son not only had colon cancer, but had gone to SCCA and had my same doctors.  On a hunch I guessed that it was one of the patients whose profile I’d read on their site.  My favorite part of his story is that as a UW professor, he loosely knew Batman and emailed him for some advice after he was diagnosed.  Batman called him within 10 minutes and had him in his operating room 72 hours later.   Batman is the #3 surgeon in the country for colon cancer; people fly in from all over to see him.  Oh, and the University of Washington Medical Center is ranked #5 in the country for cancer treatment.  Think I’m in good hands here?

I’m off topic now.  I whispered to my mom that I thought he was sitting behind us in the oncology waiting room and got confirmation when he was called in shortly before I was.  I had my weight taken, blood pressure and temp checked, all that, then waited for Sam.  Big surprise, he wasn’t alone.  I guess Italian moms don’t keep secrets; this patient’s mom had told him I would be in on Tuesday as well, so he had been looking out for me also.  Sorry to state the obvious, but once again it was so uplifting to hear from someone who had gone through what I’m going through, and I’m not just talking about having an Italian mother.  The first thing I asked him about was the liver surgery and he said “Oh, it was a breeze.  I was back at work 7 days later”.  So I’m not sure what surgery I was reading about a few days ago, but I seem to be in for practically a drive through procedure.  He assured me the neuropathy would get ridiculous soon and we bitched about one of the drugs in my chemo routine, Oxaliplatin, like Jerry Seinfeld talking about airline peanuts.  He’s just about on his very last chemo treatment, so I asked when he was diagnosed.  Dr. Whiting almost cringed when he said two years-he quickly jumped in to say that was extremely fast, and I should not take that as a guarantee I will be off the hook in 24 months also.  Oof.  So for those of you who have told me you love my blog, you’ve got two more years to look forward to at the very least.

My meeting with Sam continued, and yes, flu shots are a go.  I learned I’m no longer getting Avastin (*guitar solo*) because I’m getting closer to surgery (November 5th), and I learned I didn’t have to take those steroids if I didn’t want to, they were just there to help with side effects.  I happen to feel better without them, and I don’t want to put my baseball achievements in jeopardy of never making it to Cooperstown.  I asked him for more reassurance that the cancer is losing and he pulled up the results from my blood tests that morning.  I think my CEA levels are in the 80′s, continuing their downward spiral.  Then he said “Oh, your potassium is too low”.  TOO low?  Not just really low, but too low… for what.  Oh, and my platelets, also TOO low.  I knew there was a chance that certain blood test results might mean I am not currently strong enough for chemo, I just had no idea that could happen when I felt so good.

He said “It’s mandatory that you follow what I’m about to tell you.  This is a snow day.  You can’t have chemo for another week, so use this week to feel good, get strong, and have fun.”  Do other oncologists talk like this?!  He just put the most positive spin on something that I assumed was bad, bad news.  There are actually some pretty big perks to this; one being that it bumps my last cycle to within one month of my colon surgery.  Previously I was in a weird spot where I might need a mini chemo to make sure I didn’t go too long without it, but this puts me in a more comfortable range.  And it works out much better for the two concerts on deck; now I will be wearing the red sequined fanny pack to see Hall & Oates, which just feels so right.

I told him a Hall & Oates concert was on the bucket list, and immediately regretted it.  It’s so weird to use the term bucket list when you might actually be holding your bucket.  We had a great talk about it though.  He thinks it’s important to have bucket lists-he has one but hasn’t gotten to work on it yet.  And having cancer doesn’t make me immune to getting hit by a bus tomorrow.  Going into this I was probably less afraid of death than most people.  At least I had accepted that it happens to everyone, but this has made me realize I might be okay with it some day, but I’ll do whatever it takes to delay it.  This brings up all kinds of feelings for another blog post some other time (I’ve got at least two years to cover now), but I brought this up to illustrate how sorry I felt for his next patient, because overall, we spent so much time talking today that I’m sure a few poor saps had to sit waiting on that stupid exam table for quite awhile because of me.  I know, you’re probably wondering if no chemo also means no celebrity guest but you’re wrong.  After we left SCCA we went out for mediocre Mexican food and sat next to local sportscaster Paul Silvi.

Snow days are awesome.  I could have gone home and logged on to get some work done, but that’s totally not how you have a snow day, limited PTO banks be damned.  I took a giant nap this afternoon, but I want to carpe diem the crap out of this next week.  Instead of being queasy this Saturday I’m going sailing.  I might go back to Quinn’s to swim in that delicious wild boar sloppy joe.  I might even take the twelve vials of prescriptions to combat all my side effects out of my purse to lighten my load for a few days.  I’m going to not have cancer this week.

SWERVE

Today started with me calling and asking to have my nurse paged.  I’d been having pain in my shoulder since Saturday, and it had progressed to the point where a normal breath resulted in more pain.  Within 5 minutes my phone was ringing, but it wasn’t just the nurse, it was my oncologist who had me on speakerphone with my nurse and my scheduling coordinator.  GAWD I love this place.

My oncologist said it was probably transitory pain from my liver.  Yeah, in case I haven’t mentioned it already, I have lesions on my liver as well.  It’s not uncommon for people with liver issues to feel the pain in their shoulder, so he felt that was what was happening here.  Furthermore, my PET scan hadn’t shown anything they didn’t already know about-so there was nothing in my lungs that should be causing pain.  Awesome news.  On his advice I took some aspirin and a nap and eventually felt much better.

And there was also my appointment with Batman.  Good lord is he intense; I was afraid he was going to tell me my symptoms were wrong.  I’m ready to get my port in tomorrow and start chemo the following day but Batman says he wants to operate, this week or early next.  I knew “surgery next week” would come up at some point during the process, but I had been preparing to hear it after several weeks of chemo, or late October.  Suddenly I’m signing forms and getting pre op instructions, and I’ll admit it, one or two of my concerns were based on potentially missing the Blue Angels this weekend.

Right on cue, my oncologist called just as I was pulling out of the parking garage.  We had quite a talk about my two options.  Batman is concerned with the size of the tumor and doesn’t want it to get to the point where it obstructs anything.  I am concerned with these guys hanging out on my liver; removing the tumor in my colon gives them at least a month to do or go wherever they want.  On average, after 2 or 3 chemo doses, the tumor should at least stop growing, if not start shrinking, which should get me out of the woods for a bit.  However if the tumor does start to grow, my body would be weakened from the chemo, and not in ideal shape for surgery.

I’m going with chemo first.  My oncologist and I discussed various ways I can keep my obstruction risks low, including a low fiber diet, or at least limiting really bulky stuff for awhile.  I could maybe go liquid, and his recommendation for protein was to get the shake at the vitamin store that had the biggest, most ripped guy on the front.  Between that and the steroids from chemo I’m worried I might fall into the female bodybuilding circuit.  Gross.

Port installation tomorrow.  Buckle up.

I’m booked!

I got my itinerary today.  13 pages of appointments someone else scheduled for me.  I want to make out with you, SCCA.

This Friday I have an EKG, Chemo School, and a PET scan scheduled.  I find the PET scan rather fascinating.  Cancer loves sugar, so I’m going to be injected with hummingbird water, then they will scan my body over a couple of hours to look for excitement.  Whatever lights up could potentially be cancer.  I hope my scan is super boring.

Monday I meet BATMAN.  He could decide to do surgery first, but it’s doubtful, so I probably won’t see him again until October.

Tuesday I will get my port put in.  This will give the nurses easy access for blood draws and chemo hookup, thus saving my veins in case I take up heroin later.  I can have a light meal 6 hours prior, which is defined as toast and clear liquids, or “non-human milk”.   Sounds like their other patients sure know how to party.

And Wednesday is the big day: chemo!  Since I’m a special case (due to connections, not condition mind you), my coordinator wasn’t able to get me in earlier than 2:30.  And we’re not blasting me with chemo, it’ll be a slow infusion.  So for this first appointment, I won’t check out until 9:30 at night.  I’ll get a doggie bag of chemo to take home and will continue the infusion over the next two days.  I go back in on Friday at 7 PM to be disconnected, then I repeat in 11 days.  Fear not, I have earlier appointments for the rest of this round, and will get out just in time for rush hour.

I have been turning down your generous offers for a couple of weeks now, but soon I will be begging for chemo dates from anyone who wants to come hang out in a hospital for several hours and watch me get poisoned slowly all day.

And finally, this week’s frontrunner for best butt joke is “It’s not a tumor, it’s a butt plug!”  -Ann M.  Previous week’s winner is in response to hearing that the tumor was tattooed during my colonoscopy, so it would show up on future scans as a known issue.  Sonja Rafterford, please take a bow for “That’s like… the ULTIMATE tramp stamp”.  And Dana is responsible for a mantra worthy of this blog’s title: “Cancer will rue the day it landed in your butt”.  If I’m going to have cancer, at least it’s one with endless opportunities for one liners.