I hope everyone has been been enjoying the holidays.
Thanks very much for the cards, calls and warm thoughts. It means a lot. Really.
Funny too, I must be getting older because I enjoyed reading the cards more than ripping open a present.
We decorated the house sparingly this year. And the majority of what we did, was done by Susan, without any help from me. It was she that went out to buy a tree. Not only did she buy an awesome tree, it's huge! - she bought it during my last chemo session (after dropping me off at the drs.) and carried that bad boy into the house by herself and set it up in the stand! She wanted to surprise me so that when I came home after the treatment, a tree would be already be set up in the living room. Pretty damn cool.
Didn't feel well on my Bday; couldn't eat, nauseous, extremely tired. Spent the am on the couch and the rest of the day & night in bed. But very happy to say I felt better Christmas morning. After feeding the creatures and taking a shower, I ventured out into the garage and decided to climb Mt. WallofXmasBoxes. I wanted to find the Christmas stockings and hang them up. I asked for guidance as I climbed up the ladder and stared at the wall of boxes - attack from the left side or the right? I went left and found the stockings after only pulling down 3 boxes!
It turned out to be a very nice Christmas.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
PICC and roll
Went through a handful of emotions today @ the Docs. Nothing horrible was gonna happen, I knew that. And nothing horrible was going to be planned either. Knew that as well. But this wasn't one of the lighter trips to the Dr. for me.
At first, since my veins were no longer handling the IV infusion of Oxaliplatin well, it was decided that I would be needing to schedule an outpatient procedure to have a port embedded in my chest. That was within the first 2, maybe 3, minutes of the visit. After a spell of waiting in one of the examining rooms, while presumably schedules were being checked to see when I could have the procedure, Dr. Wall, my Onc (Oncologist), came in to check me out.
He looked over my right arm, still swollen from wrist to bicep. He seemed very unsatisfied at this latest turn. As he looked me over, I commented that I was disappointed I was 3 treatments away from completing chemo and now, I would need to have the port.
He looked up - and locked in - we were both thinking exactly the same thing. Nice. He said in lieu of the port, we could PICC. The picc would be inserted on an outpatient basis and would be removed after the four hours of chemo. But... and there's usually a "but", he mentioned something about "administrative issues" (his office is in a wing of the hospital where I was operated on and where I would have the picc implanted for each of the next 3 treatments) concerning outpatient procedures and something else... when it comes to insurance matters, I'm lost - or become lost very quickly. He wanted to check on something.
OK now, I already know about and whole heartily trust his expertise. But you're telling me he can get an answer to an administrative/procedural/red-tapey like question in under 5 minutes?? Well that's a big 10-4. Funny too, I think the answer he received surprised him a bit as well. He came back in the examining room and said with a sly grin that they changed the rule just for me.
I'll have to skip at least a week before the next treatment. Allow the swelling to go down and a bit more time for the platinum/toxins to purge. I'll go back for another check up after the New Year - hopefully my arm will be mucho better by then - and we will schedule treatment No. 8, picc and all.
At first, since my veins were no longer handling the IV infusion of Oxaliplatin well, it was decided that I would be needing to schedule an outpatient procedure to have a port embedded in my chest. That was within the first 2, maybe 3, minutes of the visit. After a spell of waiting in one of the examining rooms, while presumably schedules were being checked to see when I could have the procedure, Dr. Wall, my Onc (Oncologist), came in to check me out.
He looked over my right arm, still swollen from wrist to bicep. He seemed very unsatisfied at this latest turn. As he looked me over, I commented that I was disappointed I was 3 treatments away from completing chemo and now, I would need to have the port.
He looked up - and locked in - we were both thinking exactly the same thing. Nice. He said in lieu of the port, we could PICC. The picc would be inserted on an outpatient basis and would be removed after the four hours of chemo. But... and there's usually a "but", he mentioned something about "administrative issues" (his office is in a wing of the hospital where I was operated on and where I would have the picc implanted for each of the next 3 treatments) concerning outpatient procedures and something else... when it comes to insurance matters, I'm lost - or become lost very quickly. He wanted to check on something.
OK now, I already know about and whole heartily trust his expertise. But you're telling me he can get an answer to an administrative/procedural/red-tapey like question in under 5 minutes?? Well that's a big 10-4. Funny too, I think the answer he received surprised him a bit as well. He came back in the examining room and said with a sly grin that they changed the rule just for me.
I'll have to skip at least a week before the next treatment. Allow the swelling to go down and a bit more time for the platinum/toxins to purge. I'll go back for another check up after the New Year - hopefully my arm will be mucho better by then - and we will schedule treatment No. 8, picc and all.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Broken Wing or possible early Christmas present
Good news, bad news.
Just finished round 7 of Oxaliplatin. 7 down, 3 to go.
The bad news is that my right arm is functioning like a broken chicken wing this morning.
With Oxaliplatin, some side effects are cumulative. Basically, with each treatment one may experience harsher side effects for the platinum (Oxaliplatin is a platinum based chemo drug taken intravenously) builds up in your body and thus takes longer to be purged.
Peripheral neuropathy: Numbness and tingling and cramping of the hands or feet is a very common side effect that can get worse with each subsequent treatment.
In my situation, my body, specifically my veins are having a harder time with each round of Ox. After round 5, my right arm was hurtin' purdy bad and was achy-numb-tingling for the next 5 to 6 days. We slowed the rate in which the drug flows via the IV, that helped somewhat for round 6.
Ding Ding Ding - I answer the bell for round 7 and whamo!
Two hours and 45 minutes into the round, I call No Mas. My arm is hurtin' damn bad this time and I notice swelling to the left of the needle. We stop the treatment. I feel defeated as I look at the not quite empty clear plastic bag. I am told I may need to have a port embedded as to receive the Ox from here on out. I am thinking, "nahhh, not me Doc. I'm 70% done. 7 down, only 3 rounds to go. I can almost see the finish line from here..."
A port is definitely not on my Christmas wish list this year.
I shall find out next Thursday.
By the time I get home, I break out the percocet rx I had filled in August after being released from the hospital. The best way I can describe how my arm feels is this: Step 1, someone sneaks up on me and pulls my arm straight up over my head hyper-extending it. Step 2, most likely the same person, whacks my arm 18 to 2 dozen times with a broom handle. And Step 3, for good measure they sprinkle some sort of pixie dust concoction from my bicep down to my wrist that renders any touch/pressure to my arm excruciating.
So now, ever so gently draping a sheet over my arm is very painful. Pulling a t shirt on is ow-inspiring. A kind meaning touch of the forearm is extremely unwanted. Etc... I am hoping the painful aspects of this latest round leave town real soon as I am expecting a nice storm of fatigue to be blowing in over the next 12 hours or so.
Just finished round 7 of Oxaliplatin. 7 down, 3 to go.
The bad news is that my right arm is functioning like a broken chicken wing this morning.
With Oxaliplatin, some side effects are cumulative. Basically, with each treatment one may experience harsher side effects for the platinum (Oxaliplatin is a platinum based chemo drug taken intravenously) builds up in your body and thus takes longer to be purged.
Peripheral neuropathy: Numbness and tingling and cramping of the hands or feet is a very common side effect that can get worse with each subsequent treatment.
In my situation, my body, specifically my veins are having a harder time with each round of Ox. After round 5, my right arm was hurtin' purdy bad and was achy-numb-tingling for the next 5 to 6 days. We slowed the rate in which the drug flows via the IV, that helped somewhat for round 6.
Ding Ding Ding - I answer the bell for round 7 and whamo!
Two hours and 45 minutes into the round, I call No Mas. My arm is hurtin' damn bad this time and I notice swelling to the left of the needle. We stop the treatment. I feel defeated as I look at the not quite empty clear plastic bag. I am told I may need to have a port embedded as to receive the Ox from here on out. I am thinking, "nahhh, not me Doc. I'm 70% done. 7 down, only 3 rounds to go. I can almost see the finish line from here..."
A port is definitely not on my Christmas wish list this year.
I shall find out next Thursday.
By the time I get home, I break out the percocet rx I had filled in August after being released from the hospital. The best way I can describe how my arm feels is this: Step 1, someone sneaks up on me and pulls my arm straight up over my head hyper-extending it. Step 2, most likely the same person, whacks my arm 18 to 2 dozen times with a broom handle. And Step 3, for good measure they sprinkle some sort of pixie dust concoction from my bicep down to my wrist that renders any touch/pressure to my arm excruciating.
So now, ever so gently draping a sheet over my arm is very painful. Pulling a t shirt on is ow-inspiring. A kind meaning touch of the forearm is extremely unwanted. Etc... I am hoping the painful aspects of this latest round leave town real soon as I am expecting a nice storm of fatigue to be blowing in over the next 12 hours or so.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
My ass hurts
Today is just one of those days. I woke up exhausted.
What is frustrating is that I actually had one of the more restful nights of sleep in a long, longggg time. I didn't have to get up every 2 hours or so & visit the head. I didn't wake up at say three am with real bad gas pains or napalm-like heartburn. Wasn't worrying about...nothing. No tossing & turning. Nope. Toby was real cool, let me sleep past 7.
Yeah I just slept like a log.
But i could have stayed in bed, easily, stayed in bed, like all day.
I must've been real bored while taking a shower - usually my mind is rolling thru thoughts, ideas, what I want to do today, blah blah. But today, it was like I was going down a check list of what is currently ailing me. fatigue; check -- hold on, this is my off-week for chemo, I should start feeling less fatigued, not more. Whatever. Start again.
fatigue; check
recently rearranged/rerouted digestive system, feels what?, bad? it usually feels bad. Sick, yeah that's a good way to describe how my guts feel, they just feel sick; check
nausea; check (gotta love feeling fatigued & nauseous at 7:38 in the morn.)
odd burning sensation in arm from last round of chemo; check
strange sick taste in mouth; check
There's a very good book written by colon cancer survivor Curtis Pesmen called The Colon Cancer Survivors' Guide: Living Stronger, Longer. Wow, surprises me no one has commented on his book @ Amazon. {mental note to do so} Mr. Pesmen is very candid and brutally honest in detailing his fight vs. lil' bitch boy (aka cancer). He went through some things I don't want to even imagine myself going through. Great book. Very talented writer. In the book, he mentions how once in a while he & his wife have what they call a F*ck You day. What a great idea! I loved that. Seriously, what a great F*, okokok - you get that I like the idea. Basically, during a FU Day, you just let'er rip. You imagine saying whatever is on your mind, to anyone, with zero repercussions. You tell your conscious to chill out for a while. You conveniently forget the manners your Mom taught you. Improvise. Freeway Jam! Go for it!
To the gal who takes wayyyy too long to decide what type of coffee drink to order:
"JUST PICK A F*CKIN' CAFFEINE-LADEN DRINK AND MOVE ON!".
To the driver of the mini van who is barley doing the speed limit - in the left lane of the highway:
"GET THE BLOODY HELL OUTA THE LEFT LANE!!!"
To a totally innocent acquittance or neighbor who means well, saying that you {me} look great:
"I'VE HAD DIARRHEA FOR THE PAST 4 DAYS, MY ASS HURTS"
ummm, yeh, you get the idea.
Thanks Curtis, I do feel better.
What is frustrating is that I actually had one of the more restful nights of sleep in a long, longggg time. I didn't have to get up every 2 hours or so & visit the head. I didn't wake up at say three am with real bad gas pains or napalm-like heartburn. Wasn't worrying about...nothing. No tossing & turning. Nope. Toby was real cool, let me sleep past 7.
Yeah I just slept like a log.
But i could have stayed in bed, easily, stayed in bed, like all day.
I must've been real bored while taking a shower - usually my mind is rolling thru thoughts, ideas, what I want to do today, blah blah. But today, it was like I was going down a check list of what is currently ailing me. fatigue; check -- hold on, this is my off-week for chemo, I should start feeling less fatigued, not more. Whatever. Start again.
fatigue; check
recently rearranged/rerouted digestive system, feels what?, bad? it usually feels bad. Sick, yeah that's a good way to describe how my guts feel, they just feel sick; check
nausea; check (gotta love feeling fatigued & nauseous at 7:38 in the morn.)
odd burning sensation in arm from last round of chemo; check
strange sick taste in mouth; check
There's a very good book written by colon cancer survivor Curtis Pesmen called The Colon Cancer Survivors' Guide: Living Stronger, Longer. Wow, surprises me no one has commented on his book @ Amazon. {mental note to do so} Mr. Pesmen is very candid and brutally honest in detailing his fight vs. lil' bitch boy (aka cancer). He went through some things I don't want to even imagine myself going through. Great book. Very talented writer. In the book, he mentions how once in a while he & his wife have what they call a F*ck You day. What a great idea! I loved that. Seriously, what a great F*, okokok - you get that I like the idea. Basically, during a FU Day, you just let'er rip. You imagine saying whatever is on your mind, to anyone, with zero repercussions. You tell your conscious to chill out for a while. You conveniently forget the manners your Mom taught you. Improvise. Freeway Jam! Go for it!
To the gal who takes wayyyy too long to decide what type of coffee drink to order:
"JUST PICK A F*CKIN' CAFFEINE-LADEN DRINK AND MOVE ON!".
To the driver of the mini van who is barley doing the speed limit - in the left lane of the highway:
"GET THE BLOODY HELL OUTA THE LEFT LANE!!!"
To a totally innocent acquittance or neighbor who means well, saying that you {me} look great:
"I'VE HAD DIARRHEA FOR THE PAST 4 DAYS, MY ASS HURTS"
ummm, yeh, you get the idea.
Thanks Curtis, I do feel better.
Friday, December 7, 2007
Just the Facts, Ma'am
- Colon cancer is cancer of the large intestine (colon), the lower part of your digestive system. Rectal cancer is cancer of the last 6 inches of the colon. Together, they're often referred to as colorectal cancers.
- Colorectal cancer is the #2 cause of cancer death in men & women in the U.S.
- The American Cancer Society estimates that there will be about 112,340 new cases of colon cancer and 41,420 new cases of rectal cancer in 2007 in the United States.
- Combined, they will cause about 52,180 deaths.
- Colorectal cancer is 90% treatable when detected early.
- Colorectal cancer is Preventable, Treatable and Beatable!
What's with the Krazy title thing...
Our family grew last Dec 23rd, that's when we adopted an 11 month old stray dog from the LowCountry Animal Rescue center. The following day I named him Kaipo, which in Hawaiian means sweetheart. I've also read that the name means kind soul. And that certainly fits him.Kaipo joined Toby (on the left), our 5 year old Tibetan Spaniel, and they have become very good buds.
Both of the boys have very unique personalities, so much so we could easily bore you to tears or at least to the point of screaming uncle while we talked about them.
But I just have to say a few things about Kaipo. First thing, he is a kisser. Big time. He's also a jumper. From a sitting position he can easily jump to on top of the dryer (where we keep Cassie the cat's food). At times I think he's crazy, but in a very good way. A short time after he came home with us, he & I were playing on the floor, just having a good ol' time and he kinda pinned me down and started licking my face. I tried to push him away, but it was no use. I blurted out, channeling Kaipo and giving him a voice; "You can't stop me, you can only hope to contain me!" (a line former espn'er Dan Patrick used to proclaim during highlights) and Kaipo's soon to be famous declaration: "I'm Krazy! Krazy with a K!"
Who are You
I am a 42 year old guy living in the South Carolina lowcountry, married w/ 3 kids (well, they're pets - but we fo' sure consider them our kids) and I'm here writing about being a colon cancer patient.
that looks strange to me, that sentence...
see, I'm not exactly sure what to "call" or label myself at this stage. Patient, survivor, cancer boy...just not sure. My oncologist, Dr. Robert Wall, would be quick to point out to me, that at this time, at this exact moment in history, I am cancer-free. I like it when he says that. And it's important for me to realize it. But since it has been less than 130 days (129 to be exact) since the 4cm x 4cm tumor was cut out from my colon - I'm not ready to call myself a cancer survivor. Yet.
However, today, I do not have cancer. That's all I know or care about at this moment. I got the CT scan, the pet scan, the bloods (results of my latest blood tests) and one helluva a doctor to back me up on that.
that looks strange to me, that sentence...
see, I'm not exactly sure what to "call" or label myself at this stage. Patient, survivor, cancer boy...just not sure. My oncologist, Dr. Robert Wall, would be quick to point out to me, that at this time, at this exact moment in history, I am cancer-free. I like it when he says that. And it's important for me to realize it. But since it has been less than 130 days (129 to be exact) since the 4cm x 4cm tumor was cut out from my colon - I'm not ready to call myself a cancer survivor. Yet.
However, today, I do not have cancer. That's all I know or care about at this moment. I got the CT scan, the pet scan, the bloods (results of my latest blood tests) and one helluva a doctor to back me up on that.
Prologue
4 months ago, things changed. Big time.
Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans.
A pretty cool guy jotted that down while in Bermuda, 1980.
He was staring his 40th bday in the face and reclaiming his mojo, simultaneously.
Those words are so true, they were for me.
On August 1 of 07, I had an emergency appt. with my GI doc, Dr. Theodore Gourdin. It was then I heard the word cancer used when discussing my reality. Odd thing, I didn't freak out, wasn't particularly scared either. In fact, at that precise moment, the feeling I remember having was something more related to - relief.
yeah yeah, I know what you maybe thinking. but it's how I remember it.
and
2. the magic a talented physician, who couples their knowledge & skill with a warm heart, puts forth towards another human being. Dr. Gourdin told me he knew how bad I was feeling, that he was going to have me admitted asap and that I would be feeling better real soon. And I believed him.
Less than an hour later, I was wearing a hospital gown.
I watched a very kind nurse stare somewhat incredulously at the needle in my arm, wondering aloud why no blood was flowing...
People are crazy and times are strange
I'm locked in tight, I'm out of range
I used to care, but things have changed
- Bob Dylan 1999
Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans.
A pretty cool guy jotted that down while in Bermuda, 1980.
He was staring his 40th bday in the face and reclaiming his mojo, simultaneously.
Those words are so true, they were for me.
On August 1 of 07, I had an emergency appt. with my GI doc, Dr. Theodore Gourdin. It was then I heard the word cancer used when discussing my reality. Odd thing, I didn't freak out, wasn't particularly scared either. In fact, at that precise moment, the feeling I remember having was something more related to - relief.
yeah yeah, I know what you maybe thinking. but it's how I remember it.
Two things brought on that feeling;
1. I had been feeling so sh#tty for the past week or so that I was ready, no, overdue - to face whatever the hell was wrong with meand
2. the magic a talented physician, who couples their knowledge & skill with a warm heart, puts forth towards another human being. Dr. Gourdin told me he knew how bad I was feeling, that he was going to have me admitted asap and that I would be feeling better real soon. And I believed him.
Less than an hour later, I was wearing a hospital gown.
I watched a very kind nurse stare somewhat incredulously at the needle in my arm, wondering aloud why no blood was flowing...
People are crazy and times are strange
I'm locked in tight, I'm out of range
I used to care, but things have changed
- Bob Dylan 1999
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
