This Is Your Brain On Chemo

I only have one complaint about this last chemo cycle, which is pretty good.  Usually my guts are the big issue, but they’ve kept themselves in check quite well this time.  I started acupuncture recently in an effort to help with the queasiness mostly.  I did acupuncture a few years ago in a group setting and loved it.  It was so relaxing I konked out on a recliner only to be woken up by my own snoring and some guy across the room glaring at me.  This time around I have my own room to snore away, but I’ve been a bit frustrated because I haven’t felt the same overwhelming relaxation and I haven’t fallen asleep in any of my sessions yet.  I turned a corner this week when I realized that I also haven’t nearly been as nauseous as past treatments, and while I could credit the pills I’ve been taking all along, I think this voodoo deserves some credit too.

As I mentioned though, I’m not completely off the hook.  Side effects were supposed to get worse as treatment went on, and everything seems to have piled on in the Chemobrain department.  Oof, it’s been quite a week.  I asked my boss a question yesterday and forgot most of her answer by the time I got back to my desk.   I went back later with pen and paper, told her I was severely embarrassed but I had forgotten everything.  With a huge, graceful smile she said “You brought something to take notes with this time.  Clearly you learned something from it, so let’s not worry about what you forgot”.  WHEW.  Today I had to give a pretty easy talk to some new hires and it was a disaster.   I totally blanked on what projects I work on.  Every time I spaced something I wanted to yell “I have cancer!  I’m not really this dumb!”  I won’t beat myself up about it, I know I can do better, and I doubt anyone in the audience cares or even remembers.

Tonight I misinterpreted a website posting about a colon cancer support group.  They meet the second Wednesday of the month, and are changing locations to the SCCA House, temporary housing for families from out of town/state who are here for cancer treatment.  Anita had told me they were on hold last month but I figured we were ready to rock this month and left her a message.  I called the receptionists at both SCCA and the SCCA House who both told me there was no meeting tonight, so I decided to just show up at SCCA House.  Another receptionist told me the group was meeting there next month, but not this month.  So with all that proof that there was no meeting, I did what anyone else would do: I retreated to my car for a Cancer Stakeout.  I was just nonchalantly sitting in my car looking at Facebook for half an hour, but sizing up everyone who entered the building to see if they looked like regular patients, or people who might be going to talk about cancer in their butts.   When I finally get around to writing that sitcom about being a detective, I’ll combine this storyline with one where I bring my mom to work, since this seems like something she might do.

The winner in all of this though was Monday night.  Dinner at my sister’s house.  Not once, not twice.  Three times I caught myself blowing on the salad to “cool it down”.  It was a cold salad!  I’m glad I have several weeks off of the chemo to hopefully regain my senses, otherwise I may need to look into hiring a handler.  Someone qualified to use a Tazer or an electric cattle prod.

And instead of a butt joke I’ll share the text message that made my day this week: “There’s this Drs show on at the airport bar, and these glib, handsome doctors are talking about how great life is without a colon.  Just great!”  Well, I’ll find out soon enough.

Party Pooper

Today was my angry day.  I checked the stages of grief for a cancer diagnosis and I wouldn’t say I’ve gone through all of them but today was definitely the anger stage.  Usually I’m not sure if I’m in denial or acceptance; I think it’s acceptance but sometimes it feels so normal to be going through cancer treatment that I’m not sure.  I won’t go through the bargaining stage; that’s just insulting for everyone involved.  I’m sure depression will sink in at some point once this gets old, but overall I feel like I’ve accepted the challenge.

I had intended to run a few errands and get some chores done today but stayed in bed all day instead.  This cycle has been pretty good so far, with one exception: bathroom trips have been mostly wind and pebbles.  It doesn’t take too long to start wishing for diarrhea, but if the genie won’t approve that one, things get painful after a few days.  Today I was grumpy enough about it I decided leaving my bedroom wasn’t in the cards.  My little cat so kindly confined me to about 1/3 of the bed and even less comforters and blankets.  You can’t play the cancer card with cats, they just don’t give a shit.

I was in pain and mad.  And uncertainty has been creeping up on me lately, adding to a day of terrible feelings.  How do I know if the chemo’s working?  I still have my hair; shouldn’t that have fallen out?  My hands and feet haven’t cracked as I was warned they might, my fingernails haven’t fallen off, and where are these mouth sores I was promised?  Did they switch my chemo with Folgers Crystals?  Sure, I have encountered some side effects, but aside from choosing bed over a social life lately, things haven’t been completely terrible.  And wouldn’t it have to be terrible to kill cancer?

Finally this evening I got a little pain relief and some reassurance in the form of a giant poop.  Before my diagnosis, my poops looked like little piles of spaetzle.  (I ruined my gastroenterologist’s childhood memories with that comparison).  Tonight I flushed the kind of reassurance I haven’t seen in months-my poop looked like a healthy, normal Number Two.  I’m not sure what childbirth feels like, but I suspect it was very appropriate for this to happen on Labor Day.  I do wonder whether telling the internet about my bathroom habits is wise, but it’s rather difficult to censor or put a pretty package around having cancer in your butt.

Today is ending on a much better note now.  Even if it was a painful process, I got reassurance that my tumor is shrinking, as is my angry mood.   Is a day in bed a bad thing?  My cat doesn’t think so.

Pins and Needles

I forgot to mention Neuropathy in my post from yesterday.  It’s a rather fun side effect that makes you incredibly sensitive to cold.   It will make your hands and feet seize up, your throat will seize if you swallow cold things, and I’ve been warned more than once to “hide” when opening the refrigerator to avoid that first blast of cold.  Some people even need gloves to root around in the fridge.

I got a little touch of this in my last cycle, but it wasn’t enough to keep me from eating some delicious Full Tilt ice cream; I just had to eat carefully.  Cycle Three however, I’ve got it bad.  Just washing my hands briefly in cold water makes my fingertips feel like a pin cushion.  Then, if I’m dumb enough to hold on to something cold long enough, my hands start doing a spontaneous T Rex impression.  I had to drag the shower mat all over the place this morning because the bathroom floor is tile.  Cold, needle stabby tile.

It’s not too bad, but it is one of those common side effects that was explained very well, but still somehow manages to surprise me.  And it goes away after a few days, so it’s not like I have to banish myself from Full Tilt forever.  Maybe this can be my new party trick.

Care Bear

I have a 10 lb cat with 100 lbs of attitude and a 100 lb dog with 10 tons of snuggle power.  My dog Bear looks intimidating enough to any troublemakers in my neighborhood, but the running joke has always been if anyone were to break into my house with a cheeseburger, I’d be a goner.  Bear has stepped it up in the security department though.  Aside from one incident when he was baited with a bunny on one of our walks (or drags, as that one turned out), he’s proving everyone right who ever said “oh they just know”.  He’s been much more vigilant at night and wakes right up when he hears something in the driveway. 

I have spent the last several nights at my parents’ house, which I highly recommend to anyone not feeling well (clarification: your parents’ house, my parents have their hands full) and of course Bear came along.  What a deal, they get to cater to my every whim, AND they get to take care of my dog!  Every morning my dad lets Bear out so I can sleep more, or at least he tries.  He’ll open the door and Bear just won’t leave my side.  We’ll try all kinds of exciting dog things, like “Bear!  Come!  Let’s go potty!  Bear?  Come!  Bear, let’s go for a walk!  Come on Bear, it’s okay.  Wanna go outside?  Treat, Bear?” and he looks so torn for all of thirty seconds while he walks towards the door, then runs back to my bed, then hesitates, then walks towards the door again.  He had to almost be dragged outside the first day, and what dog doesn’t want to pee on new bushes?  I think he’s figuring out that routine still, and that when he runs back up the stairs afterwards, I’m still here.  With my dad being the one to walk him and feed him the last few days, I think Bear’s loyalties might be waning slightly.  He now worries when my dad leaves, and gives him furious tail wags when he comes back.  Traitor. 

So yes, this week hasn’t turned out to be the glorious off week I was hoping for.  It was bad enough that I didn’t realize I had caught a cold last weekend until yesterday.  I’m not sure if that’s good or bad; the ignorance probably saved me from something new to whine about.  And it turns out that white blood cell boosting shot is paaaainnnfulll.  I spent Wednesday feeling like I was standing with my back to one of those tennis ball launching machines and was just getting pounded in my backside.  I assume that means the shot was working.  I also got some new drugs; one being a patch to keep me from vomiting, and a syrup to stimulate my appetite. As I was walking to the counter at the drugstore I heard one pharmacist exclaim to the other “Oh GAWD, it smells like Pine Sol!”  Sure enough.  That was my prescription. The patch is working so well I have forgotten to take the pills in addition (like I’m supposed to), and the syrup is inducing all kinds of late night snacking.  Cancer might not turn me into a size 6 now, but keeping food down is much more of an accomplishment lately. 

I should also mention that I really don’t mind throwing up if I have to.  I’d prefer not to do it in public, but don’t feel awful for me because I’ve upchucked a few times.  I think I’ve thrown up a little more than most patients might, but the rest I get afterwards beats the hours of feeling bad beforehand.  Who knows though, with this little patch behind my ear and my non toxic Pine Sol my life as a bulimic may be a thing of the past.  Again, sorry size 6 me. 

I measure how well I’m feeling by my willingness to sing in the car.  This morning on the way to work I sang I Won’t Back Down by Tom Petty, and I was singing at my cancer.

I feel like twelve thousand bucks

CYCLE two of chemo yesterday.

I started at 7:40 AM in the blood draw center, and learned a new lesson.  One hour prior to the blood draw, I am supposed to squirt Lidocaine all over my port to numb it, then cover it with plastic wrap.  I got the Press N Seal right, but applied the Lidocaine like you would apply any other lotion.  Nope, you’re supposed to put a big goopy glob of it on, hence the Press N Seal.  So instead I got a shot of Lidocaine once I got there.  This port business really is a breeze.  I gave about 7 blood samples effortlessly, then the nurse left the needle in so I could move on with my day.

After a little breakfast in the SCCA cafeteria, which is honestly delicious, I went to meet Sam and his new oncology fellow.  Upon check in I was informed I had stood up the nutritionist earlier and I was mortified.  No worries though, she would just catch up with me once we got to Infusion later.  My visit with the doctor was good; I was able to adequately complain about my intestinal cramping that had made the last two weeks pretty unbearable.  The nausea’s not a big deal, the fatigue I can handle, but the cramping was getting me to the point where I was afraid to eat.  Maybe this is a cute trait some of you might wish for, but it’s bad news for cancer patients.  So now I have a prescription to hopefully kick this little problem to the curb.  Surviving for three months on Ensure alone is just as hard on an Italian as eating at the Olive Garden.  We lose a piece of our souls every time that happens.  My blood tests also revealed low white blood cell counts which makes me an easy target for colds and flus.  So hey coworkers, if you wake up feeling just a little crappy, stay home and watch Maury!  My doctor will write you a note.  When I go back in two days I’ll get an injection to kick start my bone marrow into making more good blood cells, so they’re keeping me just healthy enough to keep poisoning me.  Funny how that works.

This week’s Nurse Bait was generously provided by everyone’s favorite go to for vintage arcade games, pinball, beer, and fancy ice cream: Full Tilt.  And perfect timing with the mini heat wave that is passing through Seattle.  I make sure my oncology team gets a piece of that action, and was told “We’re going to take good care of you whether you bribe us with delicious foods or not.”  I said I’m not even given a choice in the matter; I have people forcing sugary gifts on me as a sign of THEIR gratitude to what my doctors are doing.  Sorry if he thought it was just me and him fighting my cancer, I happen to come with a small army.

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The battle of Sara’s Next Top Chemo Administrator has come to an early close: Nurse Judy and I are going the distance.  She was affectionately referred to as Liza earlier.  Getting chemo from Judy is like having your mom take care of you when you’re sick, except instead of the “go poop, you’ll feel better” she says cute things like “here’s an injection of Lorazepam”.  I think if my mom had said that when I was growing up this might be an entirely different kind of blog.  I was wrong about getting Avastin (*guitar solo*) just once, I’ll be getting it with every cycle.  And Judy, knowing all her tricks, informed me that little bag of Avastin cost $12,000.  Just for that one bag; I have no idea what the other drugs in my chemo cocktail go for, but at the very least, I had the equivalent of a new Kia with the leather and sunroof package coursing through my veins.

I had the right amount of visitors this time, and was thankful they all cleared out right before my inevitable crash and burn.  Judy hooked me up pretty well from the start, but towards the end of the day, right as her shift was ending and I was transitioning over to a new nurse (I’ll be honest, she was no Judy) and on my final bag of saline, which for some reason was just messing with me.  Judy popped back in on her way out, hooked me up with exactly the right injection, and felt my sweaty forehead like they maybe didn’t teach her in med school.  Judy, I want to write you plutonic love songs or haikus.

Cycle 2's celebrity guest

In celebrity guest news, Richard Simmons was there to keep everyone’s spirits up.  First he hung out in the curtain facing the rest of the ward, much to the sheer delight of those walking by, but later we brought him in to hang around on my machine.  In other celebrity guest news, a certain cousin of mine offered his services to any nurses looking for a meaningful overnight relationship.  Judy politely declined, but we’ll keep shopping around that 20 year old photo, don’t you worry.

Once again, I limped back to my parents’ house thanks to a very silent ride from my sister.  I ran upstairs for a little quiet time but was quickly able to recover.  Sadly but fortunately for me, this isn’t my family’s first chemo experience and my parents haven’t skipped a beat.  Recovery at their house involves a lot of  ”No, I was just wondering if you had anything like it on hand, don’t go to the store just for that.  It’s 10:30″.  Their concern is adorable.

Even though I’m supposed to feel worse as the cycles tick by, I have high hopes I’ll have an easier time with this one, thanks to the new drugs.  My tumor on the other hand, should only look forward to a painful demise.