Beginning Chemo

I have begun receiving the chemo treatments. Despite Thursday's confusion, Patty and I both awoke Friday with a conviction that we were going to make things happen, and that we would move forward on both the chemo and the stent for my kidney. And so we did. My internet friend, Jeanne, the assertive cancer patient, is so right about being assertive, and not passive!

Before I describe yesterday's adventure, I want to say that I feel good this morning, I slept well, and with the anti-nausea meds they gave me, I've only had a little queasiness, and that passed. And for those of you who said don't wait to take the medicine before chemo, know that I didn't! In fact, the chemo nurse, Linda, said that she always recommends that people take it, and I was given a pill and then some medicine IV before the infusion.

The details of how we maneuvered all of this aren't as important as the fact that we did. Suffice it say that we were just really clear with everyone (yes, we, as Patty was double teaming with me) that we wanted to proceed, and make things happen. Once we told the oncology nurse, Sue, that we did want to proceed with chemo, she got us back on the schedule. And the oncologist, Dr. J, finally found a urologist in the hospital who would see me, after the two of them talked about my scans. The urologist, Dr. D, didn't think my situation was an emergency, talked about the options for a stent, and said he would have needed an initial appointment/interview anyway, before performing the procedure. Later in the day, we were given an appointment next Friday, Feb. 2, for the procedure, which he wants to do under general anesthesia. I am trusting that in one week, even with the chemo doing its job on the tumor, my blood counts will be high enough for the procedure to happen.

So, what's it like to get chemo? Everyone in the chemo room was really friendly, really nice, and astonishingly relaxed. I liked all of my care providers. I had an infusion of Oxaliplatin, a drug that has been successfully used for colon cancer. The weird thing about this drug is that it gives the patient - that's me! - an exquisitely high sensitivity to cold. This begins with the treatment, and lasts for a few days afterward. No iced drinks, cover my mouth when going out in the cold air - and cover all exposed skin possible, try not to handle cold bottles from the refrigerator with bare hands . . . a strange and surprising list. Linda described the effect on skin as feeling like pins and needles (and I was to discover that she was right, as you will read). I had this infusion on the coldest day of this year, with the temperature never rising above 11 F during the day! The infusion is pretty straightforward, except that the drug can make your arm ache, and the nurses did slow down the infusion when I had one hive, and some soreness.

Two funny stories about the aftermath of the drug.

As we were driving home, I picked up a bottle of water that had spent the day in our car, in the garage four levels below the surface of the clinic building. There was no ice in it and it didn't feel cold, so I thought it was safe to drink. But no! When I swallowed the water, it felt as if there was slush on the top, as the roof of my mouth burst into millions of "pins and needles!" I was so surprised! The feeling continued down into my throat, where it feels more numb and freaky, but that passed also.

We live in an old house, and our furnace had been a little temperamental this week. It was fixed while we were gone, but when we returned home, where our good friend Sandy had brought the kids home from school, the house was still cool - 58 F. When I sat down to go to the bathroom, the toilet seat was so chilled that I had pins and needles on my butt where it had felt the cold seat! It passed in about five minutes, but was wierd! Even this morning, with the heat up to 65 F, when I walk around, the backs of my legs tingle occasionally, telling me that they aren't exactly toasty! Personally, I feel plenty warm enough!

The other drug I am taking is Xeloda, in pill form, each morning and evening after my meal. I started it last night, and had my second dose this morning after breakfast.

I will have more stories to share, I'm sure, but this is a beginning. I am grateful for all of the support from so many of you during this tumultuous week. Now I feel we have a course, a plan, we've begun to implement it, and this chemo and I are going to send this gallbladder cancer packing!

This Pesky Little Spot

Finally, I have news. After the news of my doctor visit last Wednesday, I didn't post over Thanksgiving weekend because I've been anxious to talk to the surgeon about removing the spot in my abdomen along my scar. I finally talked with Dr. M today, and he's going to do day surgery with local anesthesia next Monday, December 4.

The oncologist doesn't seem worried about this spot, the radiologist didn't even comment on it in his report, and I'm not sure that Dr. M is worried about it, either. But he gets that I'm worried, and he's going to remove it. On the CT scans from mid-November, there's a side view where the spot is really clear, and it's connected to two "bright lines" that make me wonder if they are blood vessels feeding the spot. I could be completely wrong, and I hope I am, but I am very clear that I want it out. I guess I've mentioned that!

In the last week, I've discovered a new blog, the "Assertive (Cancer) Patient." The author, Jeanne, has a wonderful way of encouraging cancer patients to be involved and assertive in their treatment. I've certainly discovered the importance of speaking up for myself, making sure I know what's going on, and also trusting my instincts. Jeanne's main page begins by noting that reasons to be assertive are:
* You will get better care.
* You will probably live longer.
* You will feel better about yourself and your illness.

So, whether I'm right or wrong to be worried about this "spot," I know I'll feel better once the surgery is over. And now that I have an appointment, I can think about other things. Like surviving/thriving six months post diagnosis! Like the plans Patty and I just made to go to the Virgin Islands in March for a winter break! Like living longer than my doctors ever imagined when they diagnosed me six months ago.