I can feel it working
(Quick recap: tumor was smaller than expected (1.3 cm vs 1.8), nodes were less cancer free than preferred (1 node out of 8 had a 4 mm tumor), so I'm a T1N1M0 stage 2 cancer patient on CMF chemo for a total of 24 weeks broken up by 6 weeks of radiation. And then I'll move to Florida and start med school.)
Today was my first day of chemo. The catterwompus was out all day - from how very cool my care providers are, to how very far behind the schedule got, to running into an old friend during morning blood draw, to the multiple hours sitting in an infusion chair, hooked up to nothing yet, listening to both of my chemo-neighbors watch and discuss Fox news while I studied immunoglobulin DNA sequencing differentiation for my immunology midterm exam.
Day high point: my med oncologist talked to me like I'm already a doctor. Pretty much. It was fast and furious and my mom didn't understand a single word of it. I brought out a couple study papers, and my doc brought out a couple study papers. She said "SWOG" and I knew that meant Southwest Oncology Group (it's a famous research tank). She didn't quite pimp me like she'd pimp a resident ("pimp" means to try to embarrass a young physician by exposing their knowledge gaps), but it was pre-pimping. I felt up to it. I'm sure she was humoring me some. But about 2 minutes in, I realized what she was doing, and I was rendered utterly giddy. Plus we discussed Kristin Chenoweth. Always worthwhile.
Other day high point: warm blankets falling from heaven. Seriously, there's nothing like it to be cold and then have somebody show up with a heated blanket and put it over your shoulders. I laid thousands of warm blankets on patients and their moms and dads and grands while volunteering at Harborview and I'm SO GLAD I DID.
Today, I got two IV drugs, methotrexate and 5-fluorouracil. Tomorrow morning I start taking cyclophosphamide in pill form every day. This goes on, initially, for 12 weeks. I'm probably not losing my hair. I'll definitely get fatigued. Compazine (anti-nausea) is in the house and we'll see if I need it. I have to drink 8-10 glasses of water a day or the cyclophosphamide will eat my bladder. I have to rinse my nose and eyes with saline or the methotrexate will give me sores. If my blood count and white cell counts get low, chemo stops, and maybe I don't make it to med school until 2010. If I get a fever over 101, I have to go to the hospital, and if I have an infection, I have to be admitted for broad spectrum antibiotics (hi vanc!) and hopefully not catch a badass staph aureus. I'll stop growing new cells, so my hair will thin, and I'll heal cuts and bruises slowly. I've begun menopause (50-50 chance I'll come out of it) and I've forever increased my osteoporosis risk. I can't be in the sun. I'm on a little bit of warfarin to prevent blood clots. I'm on heartburn meds. I'm kinda pooped already.
Next week: I get a portacath. This is a little bulb that gets surgically implanted in my chest wall, with a line into my subclavian vein, so that the poor nurses don't have to try to find a vein on me twice a week. I got talked out of it in the morning today, and then talked back into it in the afternoon. It can go on the same side as the rest of the carnage, and it'll be a fairly gnarly scar, that is reasonably likely to not be too visible in the skanky small strappy clothing I'll be wearing in Florida, assuming I can lose about 400 lbs.
I'm liking school enough this quarter at UW that I'm just going to keep going. I could still finish a micro degree. My health insurance is through UW. I've sent out some resumes, half-heartedly, but it's just too weird to try to get a job right now. What's left of my life savings isn't yet completely wiped out yet, by either my irresponsibility, or that of WaMu/AIG/Freddie/Fannie/Lehman/Merrill/Bear/etc. My Aunt Grace worked every day she was on chemo, and that's what I've had in mind as being the way to do it. But she already had a job before she got breast cancer, and I'm sure there was a "what do you want to do and how can we support you?" conversation with her bosses. That she'd had for years. Honestly though, going and looking for a job, as a cancer patient, feels completely wrong. Maybe at the end of the school quarter I'll reconsider. But I feel some A's coming on, and that's not going to motivate change.
Oh, and my landlady has to sell my house. So I'm moving next month. Whee!
Today was my first day of chemo. The catterwompus was out all day - from how very cool my care providers are, to how very far behind the schedule got, to running into an old friend during morning blood draw, to the multiple hours sitting in an infusion chair, hooked up to nothing yet, listening to both of my chemo-neighbors watch and discuss Fox news while I studied immunoglobulin DNA sequencing differentiation for my immunology midterm exam.
Day high point: my med oncologist talked to me like I'm already a doctor. Pretty much. It was fast and furious and my mom didn't understand a single word of it. I brought out a couple study papers, and my doc brought out a couple study papers. She said "SWOG" and I knew that meant Southwest Oncology Group (it's a famous research tank). She didn't quite pimp me like she'd pimp a resident ("pimp" means to try to embarrass a young physician by exposing their knowledge gaps), but it was pre-pimping. I felt up to it. I'm sure she was humoring me some. But about 2 minutes in, I realized what she was doing, and I was rendered utterly giddy. Plus we discussed Kristin Chenoweth. Always worthwhile.
Other day high point: warm blankets falling from heaven. Seriously, there's nothing like it to be cold and then have somebody show up with a heated blanket and put it over your shoulders. I laid thousands of warm blankets on patients and their moms and dads and grands while volunteering at Harborview and I'm SO GLAD I DID.
Today, I got two IV drugs, methotrexate and 5-fluorouracil. Tomorrow morning I start taking cyclophosphamide in pill form every day. This goes on, initially, for 12 weeks. I'm probably not losing my hair. I'll definitely get fatigued. Compazine (anti-nausea) is in the house and we'll see if I need it. I have to drink 8-10 glasses of water a day or the cyclophosphamide will eat my bladder. I have to rinse my nose and eyes with saline or the methotrexate will give me sores. If my blood count and white cell counts get low, chemo stops, and maybe I don't make it to med school until 2010. If I get a fever over 101, I have to go to the hospital, and if I have an infection, I have to be admitted for broad spectrum antibiotics (hi vanc!) and hopefully not catch a badass staph aureus. I'll stop growing new cells, so my hair will thin, and I'll heal cuts and bruises slowly. I've begun menopause (50-50 chance I'll come out of it) and I've forever increased my osteoporosis risk. I can't be in the sun. I'm on a little bit of warfarin to prevent blood clots. I'm on heartburn meds. I'm kinda pooped already.
Next week: I get a portacath. This is a little bulb that gets surgically implanted in my chest wall, with a line into my subclavian vein, so that the poor nurses don't have to try to find a vein on me twice a week. I got talked out of it in the morning today, and then talked back into it in the afternoon. It can go on the same side as the rest of the carnage, and it'll be a fairly gnarly scar, that is reasonably likely to not be too visible in the skanky small strappy clothing I'll be wearing in Florida, assuming I can lose about 400 lbs.
I'm liking school enough this quarter at UW that I'm just going to keep going. I could still finish a micro degree. My health insurance is through UW. I've sent out some resumes, half-heartedly, but it's just too weird to try to get a job right now. What's left of my life savings isn't yet completely wiped out yet, by either my irresponsibility, or that of WaMu/AIG/Freddie/Fannie/Lehman/Merrill/Bear/etc. My Aunt Grace worked every day she was on chemo, and that's what I've had in mind as being the way to do it. But she already had a job before she got breast cancer, and I'm sure there was a "what do you want to do and how can we support you?" conversation with her bosses. That she'd had for years. Honestly though, going and looking for a job, as a cancer patient, feels completely wrong. Maybe at the end of the school quarter I'll reconsider. But I feel some A's coming on, and that's not going to motivate change.
Oh, and my landlady has to sell my house. So I'm moving next month. Whee!
posted by Cy at 11:31 PM
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