My wife wants to drug me, and I may let her. She has been complaining about my cancer insomnia since all of this began. At first I didn't think it was a big deal. Sure I would only get four hours of sleep, but I was operating just fine on four hours. But back then, how much sleep did I need when I was unemployed, wasn't allowed to lift over ten pounds, and pretty much ordered to sit around all day by the doctor. Now as far as my surgery goes, I am supposed to slowly be trying to regain my strength. And I need plenty of rest to recover from chemo as well. One of my cancer supporters told me that I probably wouldn't have any trouble sleeping once the chemo kicked it. In one way she was right. If I am anywhere but in bed, I can fall asleep at the drop of the hat, which can be a problem in the bathroom. Yesterday for instance, I was constantly falling asleep on the couch. However, around 9PM, the sleepiness left, and stayed gone! At around 4am, I finally forced myself to go to bed, even though I wasn't tired, and laid there for at least another half an hour wide awake. At 9:30am, I woke up wide awake again and even though I laid in bed, I couldn't fall back asleep. There was a basenji that was glad of that fact, because if I am awake in bed, then I can rub her ears. Finally, after an hour of laying in bed wide awake, and carpal tunnel from all the basenji petting, I get up. And I stayed wide awake for two hours, then fell asleep on the couch again.
My wife keeps bringing up the idea of sleeping pills when we are around the oncologist, the nurse, pharmacist, vet, sandwich artist, or anyone else that will listen. I have been against them, because I keep having visions of Elvis. No, I don't think that I am going to overdose on prescription pills and die on the toilet, I am afraid I will get fat, wear hideous jumpsuits, make cheesy movies, and turn into a glorified Vegas lounge singer. The oncologist's nurse jumped on my wife's side (of course she would, it's women conspiring against me) and suggested a few things up to and including over the counter sleep aids, before I hit the prescription stuff. I don't know what to do. I just know I am feeling really tired and I wish I could get one really good night's sleep.
I have big plans for my birthday. I plan to run/jog a five kilometer fun run, even though the only running I have done since my surgery was into the hospital a week ago, and if it weren't for the adrenaline, I wouldn't have been able to do that. I would like to do a thirty mile bike ride, even though the thought of hopping on a bicycle seat after my surgery makes my sole remaining testicle want to hide. And the most physically demanding thing, I plan on going to Walt Disney World on my birthday. And I am NOT going to be one of those jerks who gets a doctor's note to rent a wheelchair once they get there just to cut in line on all of the rides. It's pretty obvious what is going on when you see them leap out of that wheelchair everytime the ice cream cart rolls by. My contention is that if you really need a wheelchair, you will bring the one you always use. But anyway, the point is, I plan on walking around Disney on my own power.
So between needing to up my physical activity and not being able to look at the inside of this house anymore, my wife and I did a little Christmas shopping today. After about fifteen minutes, I was exhausted. Part of that was because after fifteen minutes, I had looked at all of the stuff I wanted to see, then I just had to follow my wife around for the rest of the time pouting. Anyone that has been shopping with my wife knows exactly what I am talking about. I wouldn't have minded so much if she was shopping for an American made Paul Reed Smith with twenty four frets and double cutaways, but I found a used one at the first place we went and pointed out that it was a bargain at $1600. She acted like she didn't care at all! To me, we were done shopping with that find, but we left the store (without the guitar) and bought stuff for other people! I made my best but-I-am-a-cancer-patient face, but it had no effect on her. Probably because that look is permanently on my face ever since the chemo kicked in. I think she has grown an immunity to it.
We went to Cracker Barrel after that and then to the grocery store, and I will admit, I am dead tired. But for some reason, I am not sleepy tired. I wish I could explain it better because if I could, maybe I could find something that would help me. So, if I can't sleep tonight, I may break down and get one of the over the counter sleep aids. Until then, I will just search the internet until I find an article saying that playing American PRS guitars helps you sleep well, and practice making an even more pitiful cancer patient face.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Talking About Cancer Can Be Fun?
Chemo is still messing with me. Yesterday I felt great. I actually got out in the real world (briefly) without supervision and wasn't too tired. Today I have been tired all day and yet when I lay down it's hard to sleep.
Yesterday was group meeting. If you don't remember my group post, I will give you the real quick down and dirty. Basically there are two groups, one for cancer patients/survivors and one for loved ones/caretakers. There is no set agenda or leader. There is a therapist in the meeting that starts it, but he stresses he is not there as a therapist (even though they only let therapists do that part of the meeting). I feel especially lucky because our therapist is also a cancer survivor, so everyone in the room is going through or has been through the same thing.
I was kind of torn when they said that cancer fighters and their loved ones don't attend the same meeting. After all, this has been a long tough journey that we have both been on, neither of us by choice. Throughout this its seems we have been side by side, it just doesn't seem right talking about the journey, without the person that has been riding shotgun the whole time. They explain it is so the cancer patient can freely talk about any abuse (such as not receiving an American made Paul Reed Smith guitar with twenty four frets and double cutaways) and the caretakers can freely talk about what a joy it has been to be around me and to cater to my every need (almost, there is still the issue of the PRS guitar). My wife seems to enjoy it. I think she likes making the other caretakers jealous about what a wonderful patient she has.
Yesterday though, we had a real small group. I have enjoyed the groups before, but yesterday was different. It seems in the big group, you always steer the conversation back to cancer. Sometimes it can be a little depressing. But yesterday, with a group of five to seven of us (some came late, some left early) it was more like a normal conversation, with cancer as the common thread we all had. Yes, a lot of what we talked about was cancer, but we talked about everything else in the world. And we laughed. We laughed at our pain. We laughed at our joys. We just seemed to all enjoy a conversation where everyone in the room had the common experiences. One thing about cancer is you may all have the "C" word, but there is the surgery group, the radiation group, the chemotherapy group, the "just watch it" group, and those of us that have had the combinations of treatments. Yesterday, we had all been through chemo (I was the newbie) and we just had a grand ole time complaining about treatment. And everyone got a kick out of me, the chemo one-shot-wonder, going to receive treatment with books. It is hard to concentrate in the chemo room, especially as a first timer, so no one really read books and I was the only one in the room without some sort of electronic device sitting in front of me. As soon as I mentioned I didn't bring an MP3 player or a computer/DVD player, everyone in the room laughed at me. Being the only one at chemo not tethered to some form of electronic entertainment I felt like the only kid on the playground that while everyone else had brand names, I had clothes my mom made. At least I assume that is what that felt like, being a Navy brat on the playground in the 70s and 80s, pretty much anything went at the schools that catered to military kids.
I think yesterday was the first day I didn't look at the clock to see when it was over. OK, that is a slight lie. I am still drinking of ton of fluids from the chemo, so I did look to see if I could hold it until group was over or if I had to get rid of the fluids before then. But our conversations went everywhere. I am not allowed to talk about the conversations. I would make the joke "What happens in group..." but that joke is so overdone at the point, I will just say that it is proper etiquette that we are free to speak in there knowing that the person we are talking about will never hear that we said we are being abused because I still don't have the PRS guitar. Plus if all the non-cancers knew all the cancer secrets, everyone would want cancer. Did you know if you show your tumor at Sizzler, your meal is half off? You are also asked to leave immediately (especially if you are like me and have testicular cancer) so it is best to do it towards the end of the meal. Unfortunately we don't have any Sizzler's here so I can't use that benefit. There are many more cancer secrets, but I have already said too much.
But the one thing that our conversation really reminded me about yesterday, is that we all hate cancer treatment. There are certain tests we all take that we all dread. There are parts of our treatment that we all dread. And every single one of us hates the waits. I had a conversation one day with a gastro-intestinal pre-med student who said that they take turns doing procedures on each other (endoscopes, barium X-rays, etc.) so that they not only know how to do the procedure, but that they know what the patients are experiencing as well. I think that spoiled me. More than likely, your oncologist is not going to know exactly what it is like to be in your shoes. They can tell you what they have heard or read about chemo, or radiation, or even the surgeries, but they probably don't know. And that is where getting together with others and talking about your experiences, and knowing you aren't the only one, really helps.
So now I am left with a myriad of emotions. Part of me kind of wishes the groups are always that small, because I really enjoyed yesterday. On the other hand, although some of my favorite people from group were there, there was at least one missing. I used to think I may not go anymore after I am given the all clear. One of my favorites (that was missing yesterday) has been coming for years after he was given the all clear. And after yesterday, I think I understand why. So, I will wait for next Thursday, where I can commiserate with other cancer patients that don't have American made PRS guitars, and find out where else we can get dining discounts.
Yesterday was group meeting. If you don't remember my group post, I will give you the real quick down and dirty. Basically there are two groups, one for cancer patients/survivors and one for loved ones/caretakers. There is no set agenda or leader. There is a therapist in the meeting that starts it, but he stresses he is not there as a therapist (even though they only let therapists do that part of the meeting). I feel especially lucky because our therapist is also a cancer survivor, so everyone in the room is going through or has been through the same thing.
I was kind of torn when they said that cancer fighters and their loved ones don't attend the same meeting. After all, this has been a long tough journey that we have both been on, neither of us by choice. Throughout this its seems we have been side by side, it just doesn't seem right talking about the journey, without the person that has been riding shotgun the whole time. They explain it is so the cancer patient can freely talk about any abuse (such as not receiving an American made Paul Reed Smith guitar with twenty four frets and double cutaways) and the caretakers can freely talk about what a joy it has been to be around me and to cater to my every need (almost, there is still the issue of the PRS guitar). My wife seems to enjoy it. I think she likes making the other caretakers jealous about what a wonderful patient she has.
Yesterday though, we had a real small group. I have enjoyed the groups before, but yesterday was different. It seems in the big group, you always steer the conversation back to cancer. Sometimes it can be a little depressing. But yesterday, with a group of five to seven of us (some came late, some left early) it was more like a normal conversation, with cancer as the common thread we all had. Yes, a lot of what we talked about was cancer, but we talked about everything else in the world. And we laughed. We laughed at our pain. We laughed at our joys. We just seemed to all enjoy a conversation where everyone in the room had the common experiences. One thing about cancer is you may all have the "C" word, but there is the surgery group, the radiation group, the chemotherapy group, the "just watch it" group, and those of us that have had the combinations of treatments. Yesterday, we had all been through chemo (I was the newbie) and we just had a grand ole time complaining about treatment. And everyone got a kick out of me, the chemo one-shot-wonder, going to receive treatment with books. It is hard to concentrate in the chemo room, especially as a first timer, so no one really read books and I was the only one in the room without some sort of electronic device sitting in front of me. As soon as I mentioned I didn't bring an MP3 player or a computer/DVD player, everyone in the room laughed at me. Being the only one at chemo not tethered to some form of electronic entertainment I felt like the only kid on the playground that while everyone else had brand names, I had clothes my mom made. At least I assume that is what that felt like, being a Navy brat on the playground in the 70s and 80s, pretty much anything went at the schools that catered to military kids.
I think yesterday was the first day I didn't look at the clock to see when it was over. OK, that is a slight lie. I am still drinking of ton of fluids from the chemo, so I did look to see if I could hold it until group was over or if I had to get rid of the fluids before then. But our conversations went everywhere. I am not allowed to talk about the conversations. I would make the joke "What happens in group..." but that joke is so overdone at the point, I will just say that it is proper etiquette that we are free to speak in there knowing that the person we are talking about will never hear that we said we are being abused because I still don't have the PRS guitar. Plus if all the non-cancers knew all the cancer secrets, everyone would want cancer. Did you know if you show your tumor at Sizzler, your meal is half off? You are also asked to leave immediately (especially if you are like me and have testicular cancer) so it is best to do it towards the end of the meal. Unfortunately we don't have any Sizzler's here so I can't use that benefit. There are many more cancer secrets, but I have already said too much.
But the one thing that our conversation really reminded me about yesterday, is that we all hate cancer treatment. There are certain tests we all take that we all dread. There are parts of our treatment that we all dread. And every single one of us hates the waits. I had a conversation one day with a gastro-intestinal pre-med student who said that they take turns doing procedures on each other (endoscopes, barium X-rays, etc.) so that they not only know how to do the procedure, but that they know what the patients are experiencing as well. I think that spoiled me. More than likely, your oncologist is not going to know exactly what it is like to be in your shoes. They can tell you what they have heard or read about chemo, or radiation, or even the surgeries, but they probably don't know. And that is where getting together with others and talking about your experiences, and knowing you aren't the only one, really helps.
So now I am left with a myriad of emotions. Part of me kind of wishes the groups are always that small, because I really enjoyed yesterday. On the other hand, although some of my favorite people from group were there, there was at least one missing. I used to think I may not go anymore after I am given the all clear. One of my favorites (that was missing yesterday) has been coming for years after he was given the all clear. And after yesterday, I think I understand why. So, I will wait for next Thursday, where I can commiserate with other cancer patients that don't have American made PRS guitars, and find out where else we can get dining discounts.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Go Grow a "Mo" Fo' To(m)
Yes it's almost MOVEMBER!!! If you aren't familiar with Movember, then you are not alone. Movember started a few years ago in Australia when a few guys decided to grow mustaches to raise awareness of "men's cancers". Over the years it has grown from country to country. The idea is simple, men (or hairy women) start November 1st clean-shaven. Then, throughout the month of November, you let your mustache, or MO, grow in all of its glory. No beards. No goatees. Only the MO. The more hideous the Mo the better. The idea is for people to ask what that horrible looking thing on your face is which gives you an opportunity to tell them it is to raise awareness of prostate and testicular cancers. So, the worse it looks the more likely it is that someone will ask you about it.
Now there are some doubts around my house on whether I plan on going through with it or not. I have only attempted facial hair once in my life. Right after my GI surgery, after not shaving for the few days I was in the hospital, I decided to leave the goatee area. I only had a few days worth of growth and met a friend for lunch. As soon as she got in the car, she took one look at me and just said "No, get rid of it". This wasn't a girlfriend or anything like that, just a close female friend, which are more likely to give an honest answer when you are making a total fool out of yourself (or in my case starting to follow a horrible 90's trend that just doesn't seem to die). Part of the reason I have never attempted any facial hair is my whiskers come in really thick everywhere except the mustache area, and not wanting to look Amish, I never attempted to do anything (except the one time). With patchy lip whiskers, my Mo will certainly be a conversation piece.
There are two caveats to my Mo. The first, I am still on a job search. If I get a job interview during the month of Movember, I will probably shave it off for that, and restart after the interview. After all, I believe I read somewhere that it is best NOT to talk about testicles in your job interview, regardless of the intent behind said testicle conversation. I guess unless it's a interview at a urologist's office, then by all means testicle away! Or a Rocky Mountain oyster bar. Or a vet's office. Or a marriage counselor. But anyway, reason number two, IF I lose my hair from chemo, it should happen in the next week or two. So, my Mo might jettison itself off of my face and that I obviously have no control over (which makes way for the joke "Are you on chemo or are you just so ugly your Mo ran away?"). I haven't quite decided which Mo I am going for. Please feel free to weigh in on which Mo, you think best fits me. The only ones I have ruled out completely are the Hitler and the John Waters. There is a Mo guide in the "Lodge" on the Movember site if you are not up on your Mo style.
Now what can you do to support Movember? The cheapest and easiest is to grow your own Mo! If you remember my journey, I am the one that noticed the lump first, not a doctor. Just as with breast cancer, it is important to do self exams (for testicular cancer, leave the prostate exams to the professionals and ask for credentials first, don't get cheap and let any old person that offers give you a prostate exam). Just talking about "men cancers" is getting awareness out there. I am certainly not here begging for donations (unless you want to buy me an American made Paul Reed Smith with twenty four frets and double cutaway) but if you would like to support Movember, and thereby support the Livestrong Foundation and all that they support (including the Wellness Community), as well as support prostate cancer research, you can go to the Movember website and search me (I am currently the only Tom Peterson registered). If there happens to be more than one of me, I am on team Juan Bahl (not my joke, but a funny one). We are headed up by the founder of the Testicular Cancer Society. Feel free to join our team if you are growing your own Mo, or if you are so inclined to donate, you can do so there as well (that is donations for cancer research, not to my PRS fund). My MoSpace page is here if you want the shortcut.
There are also parties and events planned around the world throughout the month of Movember. Unfortunately, it looks as if I will be out of town for our team's party, HOWEVER there is an event that I may be able to attend while I am out of town. IF, and that is a big IF, I can find the will to train over the next month, there is a bicycle event out of town that I would like to attend. What is it called? The "Mustache Ride" of course! I am not making any of this up. I don't know how close I am to jumping on a bicycle seat again after being sliced and diced down there a few weeks ago. But it is something I would really like to do, and we are going to have our bikes with us anyway. Although I was planning on taking my old Giant brand mountain bike named after a place in Montana that I managed to erase the last letter on. Yes, I am in possession of the one and only Giant Butt. These are the things I do in my shop when I am bored and have access to paint thinner (no I wasn't sniffing it, I was using it to take the "E" off of "Butte"). However, if I am doing this ride, I will also take my road bike. It is full of racing parts, not that I ever plan on racing it, but those parts give you the advantage that the slightest bit of effort can make you roll forever. I farted on it once and coasted for three miles.
I will close this blog by listing the links to the things I have talked about in this blog. If you want to grow your own Mo, you can link to Team Juan Bahl and join the team from my MoSpace page. But feel free to grow a Mo without joining a team. And there is no Mo obligation. As I said the main point of Movember is to get people talking. Thank you and send me those Mo suggestions (and yes I will be posting Mo photos).
C'mon grown one and show you've got a pair, for all of us that don't!!
My MoSpace: http://us.movember.com/mospace/544608/
Movember Foundation: http://us.movember.com/?home
Testicular Cancer Society: http://www.testicularcancersociety.org/
Now there are some doubts around my house on whether I plan on going through with it or not. I have only attempted facial hair once in my life. Right after my GI surgery, after not shaving for the few days I was in the hospital, I decided to leave the goatee area. I only had a few days worth of growth and met a friend for lunch. As soon as she got in the car, she took one look at me and just said "No, get rid of it". This wasn't a girlfriend or anything like that, just a close female friend, which are more likely to give an honest answer when you are making a total fool out of yourself (or in my case starting to follow a horrible 90's trend that just doesn't seem to die). Part of the reason I have never attempted any facial hair is my whiskers come in really thick everywhere except the mustache area, and not wanting to look Amish, I never attempted to do anything (except the one time). With patchy lip whiskers, my Mo will certainly be a conversation piece.
There are two caveats to my Mo. The first, I am still on a job search. If I get a job interview during the month of Movember, I will probably shave it off for that, and restart after the interview. After all, I believe I read somewhere that it is best NOT to talk about testicles in your job interview, regardless of the intent behind said testicle conversation. I guess unless it's a interview at a urologist's office, then by all means testicle away! Or a Rocky Mountain oyster bar. Or a vet's office. Or a marriage counselor. But anyway, reason number two, IF I lose my hair from chemo, it should happen in the next week or two. So, my Mo might jettison itself off of my face and that I obviously have no control over (which makes way for the joke "Are you on chemo or are you just so ugly your Mo ran away?"). I haven't quite decided which Mo I am going for. Please feel free to weigh in on which Mo, you think best fits me. The only ones I have ruled out completely are the Hitler and the John Waters. There is a Mo guide in the "Lodge" on the Movember site if you are not up on your Mo style.
Now what can you do to support Movember? The cheapest and easiest is to grow your own Mo! If you remember my journey, I am the one that noticed the lump first, not a doctor. Just as with breast cancer, it is important to do self exams (for testicular cancer, leave the prostate exams to the professionals and ask for credentials first, don't get cheap and let any old person that offers give you a prostate exam). Just talking about "men cancers" is getting awareness out there. I am certainly not here begging for donations (unless you want to buy me an American made Paul Reed Smith with twenty four frets and double cutaway) but if you would like to support Movember, and thereby support the Livestrong Foundation and all that they support (including the Wellness Community), as well as support prostate cancer research, you can go to the Movember website and search me (I am currently the only Tom Peterson registered). If there happens to be more than one of me, I am on team Juan Bahl (not my joke, but a funny one). We are headed up by the founder of the Testicular Cancer Society. Feel free to join our team if you are growing your own Mo, or if you are so inclined to donate, you can do so there as well (that is donations for cancer research, not to my PRS fund). My MoSpace page is here if you want the shortcut.
There are also parties and events planned around the world throughout the month of Movember. Unfortunately, it looks as if I will be out of town for our team's party, HOWEVER there is an event that I may be able to attend while I am out of town. IF, and that is a big IF, I can find the will to train over the next month, there is a bicycle event out of town that I would like to attend. What is it called? The "Mustache Ride" of course! I am not making any of this up. I don't know how close I am to jumping on a bicycle seat again after being sliced and diced down there a few weeks ago. But it is something I would really like to do, and we are going to have our bikes with us anyway. Although I was planning on taking my old Giant brand mountain bike named after a place in Montana that I managed to erase the last letter on. Yes, I am in possession of the one and only Giant Butt. These are the things I do in my shop when I am bored and have access to paint thinner (no I wasn't sniffing it, I was using it to take the "E" off of "Butte"). However, if I am doing this ride, I will also take my road bike. It is full of racing parts, not that I ever plan on racing it, but those parts give you the advantage that the slightest bit of effort can make you roll forever. I farted on it once and coasted for three miles.
I will close this blog by listing the links to the things I have talked about in this blog. If you want to grow your own Mo, you can link to Team Juan Bahl and join the team from my MoSpace page. But feel free to grow a Mo without joining a team. And there is no Mo obligation. As I said the main point of Movember is to get people talking. Thank you and send me those Mo suggestions (and yes I will be posting Mo photos).
C'mon grown one and show you've got a pair, for all of us that don't!!
My MoSpace: http://us.movember.com/mospace/544608/
Movember Foundation: http://us.movember.com/?home
Testicular Cancer Society: http://www.testicularcancersociety.org/
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Me and My Boat Hate Cancer
Today was like the past few. I woke up having to pee, having to drink, and just as tired as when I went to bed. I am doing a little better today though. I only had to take one nap. Although the cabin fever is driving me crazy, I can't seem to find the energy to do much anyway. The best solution I can come up with is that someone tie me up like a marionette and move my arms and legs for me. If that happens, there are all kinds of places to go and things I would like to do.
But there was one thing I had to do. Supposedly the temperature is going to flirt with the freezing mark tomorrow. I have been putting off winterizing one of the boats and still didn't want to do it today, but I have put to much work into it to have it ruined now. This boat isn't huge by most standards, but on its trailer, it comes up to my chest. This is a little bit of a problem for a guy that is still recovering from having his abdomen sliced open. On one hand it seems like my surgery was a lifetime ago (and I guess in a sense it was), but I still feel the tug on that side when I make certain movements, and I actually won't get the all clear for my surgery for another two weeks. I gather my tools and antifreeze and very carefully manage to climb into my boat, trying to only put the strain on the unsliced portion of my body, while keeping my sliced up part straight and slowly angling it up and over the side of the boat. I finally manage to get in, with just a slight pull on my incision, I slide the boat cover off to give me plenty of room to work, and I get ready to settle down next to the engine when I see...all of my tools still sitting on the table. I now have to get back out of the boat, which is actually more difficult, and I use the fat-kid-getting-out-of-the-swimming-pool approach. I get on my stomach, spin to swing my legs over, I have to stop and think which leg has to go first, because at one point all of my weight will be put on one leg, and if I put it on the wrong leg, I will end up putting all of my weight on my butt on the concrete. I shimmy down in a move that would have made James Brown proud (and I think at one point during the maneuver I actually did end up jumping back and kissing myself...at least I hope that was myself). I gather everything and place it on the back of the boat and start to board again looking like a drunk gymnast on the uneven bars. The good news is, the actual winterizing went surprisingly easy. I closed the boat back up, put my tools away, and start to get a little down.
See, this boat has been a three year project. I was one mechanical piece away from having it on the water. Life being what it is, all summer I struggled to find time to finish the last little bit. When I was laid off, my immediate thought was to finish it up while on severance and waiting for a job and this project would be finally be done. Then I got cancer. It is times like these that make you really hate the disease. I have said before I feel like cancer took two months of my summer, and it took this too. The part that really bothers me is work inside the boat has to be done at certain temperatures. If it is too cold, you can crack the fiberglass just by getting into it while it's on the trailer. As I am shutting my shop back up, I got mad, I got depressed, I got sweaty, and I got tired again. Now I am even more mad. I can't even get mad without getting winded!
After a two or three hour nap, my parents call. During the conversation, they mention they are looking for another vehicle. I get mad at cancer again. I had planned on getting one of my spare vehicles rebuilt for them after the boat. The reality of the situation is, that if I had finished the boat, I probably would have spent too much time on it the rest of the summer to finish that vehicle for them, but that isn't the point. The point is because of cancer I will never know. For the past two months, cancer has controlled what I can do, where I can go, what I can eat and drink, when I sleep, when I stay awake, just about every aspect of my life and I am getting really (curse word) tired of it!!! Even when I get furious about it and want to do something, all I can summon the energy to do is nap.
Tomorrow, I go to my cancer group. It can be a depressing setting sometimes, but I still walk out of there feeling better. It really is what it advertises to be, just a place where you and your cancer colleagues can talk about how you are feeling and how to deal with it. My only apprehension about going tomorrow, is I have some errands I would like to run as well. I am afraid to do my errands, because at the rate I have been going I will be exhausted by group. Again, cancer is acting like a helicopter parent. You aren't going to the music store and the bike shop before group are you? You may get tired. And you better take a jacket, it is supposed to be a little chilly tomorrow and you know how you get when you are fighting cancer...
The only bright spot of today is that I am still tired, because I did limit myself to one nap. I have been fretting over getting the boat winterized, so at least that is one thing I don't have to worry about now. So maybe, with a little less on my mind and still being tired, I will go to sleep before 3am. And tomorrow I will get to talk to the people at the cancer clubhouse. If I can run two or three errands on the way, it will be a good day.
But there was one thing I had to do. Supposedly the temperature is going to flirt with the freezing mark tomorrow. I have been putting off winterizing one of the boats and still didn't want to do it today, but I have put to much work into it to have it ruined now. This boat isn't huge by most standards, but on its trailer, it comes up to my chest. This is a little bit of a problem for a guy that is still recovering from having his abdomen sliced open. On one hand it seems like my surgery was a lifetime ago (and I guess in a sense it was), but I still feel the tug on that side when I make certain movements, and I actually won't get the all clear for my surgery for another two weeks. I gather my tools and antifreeze and very carefully manage to climb into my boat, trying to only put the strain on the unsliced portion of my body, while keeping my sliced up part straight and slowly angling it up and over the side of the boat. I finally manage to get in, with just a slight pull on my incision, I slide the boat cover off to give me plenty of room to work, and I get ready to settle down next to the engine when I see...all of my tools still sitting on the table. I now have to get back out of the boat, which is actually more difficult, and I use the fat-kid-getting-out-of-the-swimming-pool approach. I get on my stomach, spin to swing my legs over, I have to stop and think which leg has to go first, because at one point all of my weight will be put on one leg, and if I put it on the wrong leg, I will end up putting all of my weight on my butt on the concrete. I shimmy down in a move that would have made James Brown proud (and I think at one point during the maneuver I actually did end up jumping back and kissing myself...at least I hope that was myself). I gather everything and place it on the back of the boat and start to board again looking like a drunk gymnast on the uneven bars. The good news is, the actual winterizing went surprisingly easy. I closed the boat back up, put my tools away, and start to get a little down.
See, this boat has been a three year project. I was one mechanical piece away from having it on the water. Life being what it is, all summer I struggled to find time to finish the last little bit. When I was laid off, my immediate thought was to finish it up while on severance and waiting for a job and this project would be finally be done. Then I got cancer. It is times like these that make you really hate the disease. I have said before I feel like cancer took two months of my summer, and it took this too. The part that really bothers me is work inside the boat has to be done at certain temperatures. If it is too cold, you can crack the fiberglass just by getting into it while it's on the trailer. As I am shutting my shop back up, I got mad, I got depressed, I got sweaty, and I got tired again. Now I am even more mad. I can't even get mad without getting winded!
After a two or three hour nap, my parents call. During the conversation, they mention they are looking for another vehicle. I get mad at cancer again. I had planned on getting one of my spare vehicles rebuilt for them after the boat. The reality of the situation is, that if I had finished the boat, I probably would have spent too much time on it the rest of the summer to finish that vehicle for them, but that isn't the point. The point is because of cancer I will never know. For the past two months, cancer has controlled what I can do, where I can go, what I can eat and drink, when I sleep, when I stay awake, just about every aspect of my life and I am getting really (curse word) tired of it!!! Even when I get furious about it and want to do something, all I can summon the energy to do is nap.
Tomorrow, I go to my cancer group. It can be a depressing setting sometimes, but I still walk out of there feeling better. It really is what it advertises to be, just a place where you and your cancer colleagues can talk about how you are feeling and how to deal with it. My only apprehension about going tomorrow, is I have some errands I would like to run as well. I am afraid to do my errands, because at the rate I have been going I will be exhausted by group. Again, cancer is acting like a helicopter parent. You aren't going to the music store and the bike shop before group are you? You may get tired. And you better take a jacket, it is supposed to be a little chilly tomorrow and you know how you get when you are fighting cancer...
The only bright spot of today is that I am still tired, because I did limit myself to one nap. I have been fretting over getting the boat winterized, so at least that is one thing I don't have to worry about now. So maybe, with a little less on my mind and still being tired, I will go to sleep before 3am. And tomorrow I will get to talk to the people at the cancer clubhouse. If I can run two or three errands on the way, it will be a good day.
Chemo: My Everest
I feel like I just climbed Mt. Everest! No, I don't have any life changing sense of accomplishment. As I look up the stairs getting ready to climb them to go to the bathroom, much like the people on Everest, I think to myself that I don't know if I can make it or not. And much like the people on Everest, I consider just going in my pants. Just like those climbers, when I reach my goal, I am out of breath and fatigued. And finally, just like an Everest climber, I spent upwards of $30,000 to get where I am today.
Why am I comparing myself to an Everest climber? In some ways our bodies are going through the same thing right now. Altitude sickness is caused when there is less oxygen to breathe. The body reacts by eventually producing more red blood cells. During chemotherapy, your red blood cells are decreased, thereby your body is not able to absorb as much oxygen. The body reacts the same way, you have to wait for more red blood cells to be produced. I just hope that the body produces red blood cells while I sleep, because that is about all I have been able to do without getting winded (and to be honest, even that got me winded at one point today).
The thing that sucks most about this, is the cancer insomnia is still messing with me. I seem to be sleeping anytime except when people normally sleep. Yesterday, I was able to fight the urge to sleep most of the day, just taking a brief nap late morning and then again in the afternoon (hey, I am really tired, it was hard to resist sleep even that much). But last night, as I lay down, for the one and only time during the whole day, I felt wide awake. And I felt that way until 3am. I finally fell asleep, woke up early in the morning as usual to drink and pee, the back asleep until almost 11am. At this point, I am still dead tired, but I have a meeting to go to, so I start getting ready. The shower and breakfast seemed to jolt my system awake and I felt good as I start to go out to my car. Before I get out the door I hear the tornado sirens. I walk up the stairs, and start feeling tired again. I really want to go to this meeting. The news channels are all doing their best to scare the hell out of everyone, which on one hand I don't care about, but on the other hand, if I do run into this tempest that they are alluding to, I don't know that I have the energy to do anything about it. Reluctantly, I just decide to pull my Jeep into my workshop, because now they are saying they have "heard reports" of hail the size of housecats. I like how they can't say that there is hail the size of domestic felines, because everyone would know that they are just making up crap. BUT, if they say that they "heard reports" they can say any darn thing they want to, when they are still probably just making crap up. Luckily, I come back down to the house and see an e-mail stating that the meeting was being cancelled due to the impending tornado and small-mammal sized hail.
I was able to stay awake for the storm, which turned out to be a whole lot of nothing. One of our apple trees broke, but it was so full of woodpecker holes, I don't know if it was broken because of the wind from the storm or just a squirrel with a thyroid problem. As soon as the storm passed (but the all the Chicken Little reporters were still keeping up their Stormbuster 7000 Radars on TV), I fell asleep on the couch. I wake up four hours and one basenji later (I swear there wasn't a basenji laying on me when I fell asleep) and I am still dead tired! Shortly after that, I decide to do something and I played guitar until I was completely fatigued (about thirty minutes), and then I had to resign myself to collapsing on the couch again. At one point, I did muster up enough energy to get a vigorous two minute Shake Weight routine in, so I guess I will only look a third like one of those guys on the TV commercials after today's workout.
The whole rest of the night, I have felt like I am walking around with wrist weights and ankle weights on. You know those weights that people sometimes buy to get exercise, but they are so heavy the result is that they put them on and do less than they did before? The point is, I am walking around with my arms hanging down like a gorilla with a bad back. What really sucks is as tired and worn out as I am right now, I am not sleepy tired if that makes any sense. So, that is why I am writing blogs at midnight. I guess I should at least get off here and go lay in bed and stake my claim before the basenjis do.
Why am I comparing myself to an Everest climber? In some ways our bodies are going through the same thing right now. Altitude sickness is caused when there is less oxygen to breathe. The body reacts by eventually producing more red blood cells. During chemotherapy, your red blood cells are decreased, thereby your body is not able to absorb as much oxygen. The body reacts the same way, you have to wait for more red blood cells to be produced. I just hope that the body produces red blood cells while I sleep, because that is about all I have been able to do without getting winded (and to be honest, even that got me winded at one point today).
The thing that sucks most about this, is the cancer insomnia is still messing with me. I seem to be sleeping anytime except when people normally sleep. Yesterday, I was able to fight the urge to sleep most of the day, just taking a brief nap late morning and then again in the afternoon (hey, I am really tired, it was hard to resist sleep even that much). But last night, as I lay down, for the one and only time during the whole day, I felt wide awake. And I felt that way until 3am. I finally fell asleep, woke up early in the morning as usual to drink and pee, the back asleep until almost 11am. At this point, I am still dead tired, but I have a meeting to go to, so I start getting ready. The shower and breakfast seemed to jolt my system awake and I felt good as I start to go out to my car. Before I get out the door I hear the tornado sirens. I walk up the stairs, and start feeling tired again. I really want to go to this meeting. The news channels are all doing their best to scare the hell out of everyone, which on one hand I don't care about, but on the other hand, if I do run into this tempest that they are alluding to, I don't know that I have the energy to do anything about it. Reluctantly, I just decide to pull my Jeep into my workshop, because now they are saying they have "heard reports" of hail the size of housecats. I like how they can't say that there is hail the size of domestic felines, because everyone would know that they are just making up crap. BUT, if they say that they "heard reports" they can say any darn thing they want to, when they are still probably just making crap up. Luckily, I come back down to the house and see an e-mail stating that the meeting was being cancelled due to the impending tornado and small-mammal sized hail.
I was able to stay awake for the storm, which turned out to be a whole lot of nothing. One of our apple trees broke, but it was so full of woodpecker holes, I don't know if it was broken because of the wind from the storm or just a squirrel with a thyroid problem. As soon as the storm passed (but the all the Chicken Little reporters were still keeping up their Stormbuster 7000 Radars on TV), I fell asleep on the couch. I wake up four hours and one basenji later (I swear there wasn't a basenji laying on me when I fell asleep) and I am still dead tired! Shortly after that, I decide to do something and I played guitar until I was completely fatigued (about thirty minutes), and then I had to resign myself to collapsing on the couch again. At one point, I did muster up enough energy to get a vigorous two minute Shake Weight routine in, so I guess I will only look a third like one of those guys on the TV commercials after today's workout.
The whole rest of the night, I have felt like I am walking around with wrist weights and ankle weights on. You know those weights that people sometimes buy to get exercise, but they are so heavy the result is that they put them on and do less than they did before? The point is, I am walking around with my arms hanging down like a gorilla with a bad back. What really sucks is as tired and worn out as I am right now, I am not sleepy tired if that makes any sense. So, that is why I am writing blogs at midnight. I guess I should at least get off here and go lay in bed and stake my claim before the basenjis do.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Chemo Bottoming Out Day! or Why Am I So Tired?
Today we went to get my blood checked to see how bad off I am. The results were that I am not too bad. At least that's what it says on paper. All of my complete blood count numbers took a big dive. For instance, my white blood cell count is almost exactly half of what it was the day of chemo. I only had one number out of range and that was the percentage of red blood cells in the sample. I missed that one by .2% so the computer flagged it, but the nurse said it was nothing to be concerned about. Of course she would say that, she isn't the one walking around with a low percentage of red blood cells in her system. One thing I am curious about, is how that number is based. Do those numbers take into account the amount of blood that they suck out of you to do all of these tests? I will bet anything, my numbers are a lot lower after she filled up all of those vials.
I can't complain too much though. I need to know my blood type for another reason, and out of all the procedures, tests, and surgery I have had the past two months, not one time did they type my blood. Makes me wonder what would happen if I needed blood during my surgery. I would hope that if I sprung a leak, they would know what they needed ahead of time. Does the doctor just scoop some up off of the floor and tell a nurse "get me some more that looks like this"? I don't want a blood sample to be sent for the lab for testing while I am bleeding profusely from a botched crotch surgery. Since no one ever had the forethought to type my blood before, I had asked if my oncologist's office could do it. Now keep in mind, if it is an emergency, your call gets immediately answered by the appropriate people. If it is not an emergency, you phone call gets routed pretty much the same way you call gets routed if you call your computer manufacturer to ask for help. So I am not sure who I actually spoke to or what country they reside in, but I was told that my oncologist would not be able to type my blood. Which is a shame, since they are already pulling half of my blood supply, it would be nice to just fill one more vial, because they don't leave much blood left for the next person to find. My family doctor said he could type it, and if they were already drawing my blood just down the road at the oncologist, have them draw and extra one and bring it to him, that way I would only get stuck once. I call back to the bureau of motor vehicles or oncologist, one or the other, and they tell me that I am not allowed to take my own blood off of the premises! That is what perplexes me. I am allowed to take the blood that they don't suck out of me off the premises as long as it is still contained in my body. Why can't we compromise and you just spill some in a little vial and I take that with me, almost like it was still in my body? It was blood you were going to let me walk out the door with anyway! Well today, I mention this story to the nice nurse drawing my blood at the oncologist and she says "we can type your blood". She said as long as my nurse and oncologist agree that it's not a problem, they don't want to make me get stuck again, after all they already have the hose hooked up to me. Feeling like I am in a Twilight Zone episode, because this is pretty much the same argument I made over the phone when I called the oncologist's main line (or maybe it really was the bureau of motor vehicles and they were talking about their bloodletting policies). The oncologist approved it and I floated out of there with my blood count even lower, but with only one hole in my skin from it.
When my regular onco nurse came over to discuss my levels and ask if I had any concerns, I had to breach the yellow poo subject as gingerly as possible. She looked into my still white eyeballs and said that it's nothing to be concerned about, and later my electrolyte, kidney levels, and liver enzyme tests confirmed that. I guess I should just be content that I was making little stinky Easter eggs from my own entertainment. She also addressed my wasp/stinging bug question and said that usually there is only an increased reaction, but it would probably be best if I avoided getting stung or bit for a few days. I am in full agreement and hope to avoid being stung or bit for much longer than that.
She then discussed my fatigue, which is at its worst today. I thought I would start feeling better after today. She said no, that I had bottomed out, but would probably stay like this for three or four more days then start improving. I am not too upset, if this is as bad as it gets I can manage. I mean, all I have been doing today is laying around, sleeping, and eating. Occasionally I try to do something and end up breathing like a fat guy running after an ice cream truck and sweating like...well, also like a fat guy running after an ice cream truck. I finally felt like I had enough strength in my torso to pick up my bass guitar, which is much heavier than my foreign made Paul Reed Smith guitars (I had to play my foreign made ones, because as of yet I am still deprived of an American made PRS with double cutaway and twenty four frets) and just pulling the bass out of its case had me wheezing and sweating like...well that fat guy I mentioned earlier. Which I guess I kind of feel like a fat guy right now, but I am nowhere near being able to run after any ice cream truck yet, I get winded just walking to the freezer to get one out. Anyway, I sweat up a storm and almost hyperventilated as I played my bass for the first time in two months. But I loved every second of it...until I tried to grab something with my now blistered right fingertips, but I still enjoyed it. I didn't just enjoy playing (horribly I might add) but I enjoyed listening to music that just put me in a good mood. It is hard to be depressed listening to Average White Band's "Schoolboy Crush" or "Cut the Cake", and if you are not familiar with those songs or the Average White Band, do yourself a favor and Google them right now.
Today ends with me at home, not at the hospital. All my measurable blood levels are low, but not too low. I feel exhausted, but at least I don't feel sick. Songs like "Person to Person" are running through my head. And I don't know if it's from listening to AWB's "Cut the Cake", but for some reason cake sounds really, really good right now...and a truck full of ice cream.
I can't complain too much though. I need to know my blood type for another reason, and out of all the procedures, tests, and surgery I have had the past two months, not one time did they type my blood. Makes me wonder what would happen if I needed blood during my surgery. I would hope that if I sprung a leak, they would know what they needed ahead of time. Does the doctor just scoop some up off of the floor and tell a nurse "get me some more that looks like this"? I don't want a blood sample to be sent for the lab for testing while I am bleeding profusely from a botched crotch surgery. Since no one ever had the forethought to type my blood before, I had asked if my oncologist's office could do it. Now keep in mind, if it is an emergency, your call gets immediately answered by the appropriate people. If it is not an emergency, you phone call gets routed pretty much the same way you call gets routed if you call your computer manufacturer to ask for help. So I am not sure who I actually spoke to or what country they reside in, but I was told that my oncologist would not be able to type my blood. Which is a shame, since they are already pulling half of my blood supply, it would be nice to just fill one more vial, because they don't leave much blood left for the next person to find. My family doctor said he could type it, and if they were already drawing my blood just down the road at the oncologist, have them draw and extra one and bring it to him, that way I would only get stuck once. I call back to the bureau of motor vehicles or oncologist, one or the other, and they tell me that I am not allowed to take my own blood off of the premises! That is what perplexes me. I am allowed to take the blood that they don't suck out of me off the premises as long as it is still contained in my body. Why can't we compromise and you just spill some in a little vial and I take that with me, almost like it was still in my body? It was blood you were going to let me walk out the door with anyway! Well today, I mention this story to the nice nurse drawing my blood at the oncologist and she says "we can type your blood". She said as long as my nurse and oncologist agree that it's not a problem, they don't want to make me get stuck again, after all they already have the hose hooked up to me. Feeling like I am in a Twilight Zone episode, because this is pretty much the same argument I made over the phone when I called the oncologist's main line (or maybe it really was the bureau of motor vehicles and they were talking about their bloodletting policies). The oncologist approved it and I floated out of there with my blood count even lower, but with only one hole in my skin from it.
When my regular onco nurse came over to discuss my levels and ask if I had any concerns, I had to breach the yellow poo subject as gingerly as possible. She looked into my still white eyeballs and said that it's nothing to be concerned about, and later my electrolyte, kidney levels, and liver enzyme tests confirmed that. I guess I should just be content that I was making little stinky Easter eggs from my own entertainment. She also addressed my wasp/stinging bug question and said that usually there is only an increased reaction, but it would probably be best if I avoided getting stung or bit for a few days. I am in full agreement and hope to avoid being stung or bit for much longer than that.
She then discussed my fatigue, which is at its worst today. I thought I would start feeling better after today. She said no, that I had bottomed out, but would probably stay like this for three or four more days then start improving. I am not too upset, if this is as bad as it gets I can manage. I mean, all I have been doing today is laying around, sleeping, and eating. Occasionally I try to do something and end up breathing like a fat guy running after an ice cream truck and sweating like...well, also like a fat guy running after an ice cream truck. I finally felt like I had enough strength in my torso to pick up my bass guitar, which is much heavier than my foreign made Paul Reed Smith guitars (I had to play my foreign made ones, because as of yet I am still deprived of an American made PRS with double cutaway and twenty four frets) and just pulling the bass out of its case had me wheezing and sweating like...well that fat guy I mentioned earlier. Which I guess I kind of feel like a fat guy right now, but I am nowhere near being able to run after any ice cream truck yet, I get winded just walking to the freezer to get one out. Anyway, I sweat up a storm and almost hyperventilated as I played my bass for the first time in two months. But I loved every second of it...until I tried to grab something with my now blistered right fingertips, but I still enjoyed it. I didn't just enjoy playing (horribly I might add) but I enjoyed listening to music that just put me in a good mood. It is hard to be depressed listening to Average White Band's "Schoolboy Crush" or "Cut the Cake", and if you are not familiar with those songs or the Average White Band, do yourself a favor and Google them right now.
Today ends with me at home, not at the hospital. All my measurable blood levels are low, but not too low. I feel exhausted, but at least I don't feel sick. Songs like "Person to Person" are running through my head. And I don't know if it's from listening to AWB's "Cut the Cake", but for some reason cake sounds really, really good right now...and a truck full of ice cream.
Monday, October 25, 2010
A Bunch of Crap About Chemo...
Tomorrow is supposed to be my "bottoming out" day. Supposedly my red blood cells, white blood cells, and platelets will be at their lowest. Best case scenario is my numbers are within range and they kick me out of there allowing me to resume my normal activities...which quite frankly, since the surgery and unemployment I haven't had any "normal activities" to speak of. Worst case scenario, my numbers are dangerously low and they check me into the hospital until they come back up. It's not that big of a deal, except the hospital TVs aren't high definition and they don't have any of the good channels I have become accustomed to in my weeks of lying on the couch moaning. They check other numbers in your blood too, including liver function, which leads me to a peculiar observation.
One side effect that wasn't mentioned in our chemo class is a strange discoloration in the toilet. For a day or two, no matter what business I had in the bathroom, it was coming out yellow. Now for half of the bathroom business that is perfectly normal. For the other half, you are perplexed and wondering just how many bananas you ate. First time, I thought it was a fluke. Second time, I was a little more concerned. Third time, I opened the big folder we received at chemo class and poured over it, trying to figure out exactly where this particular side effect would be listed. Having my oncologist's twenty-four hour number and e-mail, I decided the best thing to do would be...look it up on the internet. I just sat there on Google's web search for a while trying to figure out the best way to search this, without coming up with a bunch of disgusting (well even more disgusting) results. Finally a found a combo of words that looked this up as a medical curiosity and not a fetish. Surprisingly there was a lot of information on the subject. My research seemed to narrow it down to one of two things. Either it was no big deal and it would go away with time, or it meant I was in liver failure and I would probably die before I finished reading the article. This is not the type of information you want to read right before bedtime.
I go to bed, eyes wide open, trying to see if I can feel my liver dying. I can't. I get back up and get back on the internet for more information. Most of the sites that say you are going to die immediately mention that you will also notice your eyes turning yellow as it gets more serious. I don't know if that means you are getting full of crap up to your eyeballs or what. But, that hasn't happened yet, so I guess I still have time to finish today's blog entry before I die. And in my tired state I wonder, if the whites of my eyes turn yellow, can I go get a kid's pair of sunglasses with the blue lenses and make my eyes look green, because that would be cool. Or red lenses and they'd be orange. Well, it didn't matter. After checking my eyes repeatedly every time I walk past a mirror, so far no yellow. But this is something I am going to ask the nurse about. Not if I am OK, I'm asking why she didn't warn us about that in the class. Getting up from doing work like that and seeing yellow is a little startling. It must be some chemo nurse practical joke that they do. "Hey Susan, you see that guy over there, I didn't tell him his poop turns yellow." I do think I heard two nurses laughing hysterically as I was leaving chemo.
However, this is one of the few times my gastro-intestinal problems have helped me in life. One of the big problems with many chemotherapy drugs is...well back-ups. So much so that many patients come out of chemo with major hemorrhoids. My main GI problem is that I go too often in that respect. When we met with my GI doctor, he said the easy thing for me, instead of having to take the drugs to counteract the chemo effects, I could just quit taking most of my regular drugs for my GI issues. And it worked! My GI issues and my chemo side effects have combined to make me feel like I normal crapper...well except for the yellowness. I will take discoloration over hemorrhoids any day!
As I prepare for tomorrow, I am trying to think of anything I need to take in case I do get checked in to the hospital, although I am not feeling too bad, just really tired. And I am trying to think of the best way to ask my chemo nurse about miscolored manure. Hopefully, I will be back on here tomorrow to let you know what happened!
One side effect that wasn't mentioned in our chemo class is a strange discoloration in the toilet. For a day or two, no matter what business I had in the bathroom, it was coming out yellow. Now for half of the bathroom business that is perfectly normal. For the other half, you are perplexed and wondering just how many bananas you ate. First time, I thought it was a fluke. Second time, I was a little more concerned. Third time, I opened the big folder we received at chemo class and poured over it, trying to figure out exactly where this particular side effect would be listed. Having my oncologist's twenty-four hour number and e-mail, I decided the best thing to do would be...look it up on the internet. I just sat there on Google's web search for a while trying to figure out the best way to search this, without coming up with a bunch of disgusting (well even more disgusting) results. Finally a found a combo of words that looked this up as a medical curiosity and not a fetish. Surprisingly there was a lot of information on the subject. My research seemed to narrow it down to one of two things. Either it was no big deal and it would go away with time, or it meant I was in liver failure and I would probably die before I finished reading the article. This is not the type of information you want to read right before bedtime.
I go to bed, eyes wide open, trying to see if I can feel my liver dying. I can't. I get back up and get back on the internet for more information. Most of the sites that say you are going to die immediately mention that you will also notice your eyes turning yellow as it gets more serious. I don't know if that means you are getting full of crap up to your eyeballs or what. But, that hasn't happened yet, so I guess I still have time to finish today's blog entry before I die. And in my tired state I wonder, if the whites of my eyes turn yellow, can I go get a kid's pair of sunglasses with the blue lenses and make my eyes look green, because that would be cool. Or red lenses and they'd be orange. Well, it didn't matter. After checking my eyes repeatedly every time I walk past a mirror, so far no yellow. But this is something I am going to ask the nurse about. Not if I am OK, I'm asking why she didn't warn us about that in the class. Getting up from doing work like that and seeing yellow is a little startling. It must be some chemo nurse practical joke that they do. "Hey Susan, you see that guy over there, I didn't tell him his poop turns yellow." I do think I heard two nurses laughing hysterically as I was leaving chemo.
However, this is one of the few times my gastro-intestinal problems have helped me in life. One of the big problems with many chemotherapy drugs is...well back-ups. So much so that many patients come out of chemo with major hemorrhoids. My main GI problem is that I go too often in that respect. When we met with my GI doctor, he said the easy thing for me, instead of having to take the drugs to counteract the chemo effects, I could just quit taking most of my regular drugs for my GI issues. And it worked! My GI issues and my chemo side effects have combined to make me feel like I normal crapper...well except for the yellowness. I will take discoloration over hemorrhoids any day!
As I prepare for tomorrow, I am trying to think of anything I need to take in case I do get checked in to the hospital, although I am not feeling too bad, just really tired. And I am trying to think of the best way to ask my chemo nurse about miscolored manure. Hopefully, I will be back on here tomorrow to let you know what happened!
Saturday, October 23, 2010
If A Wasps Stings Me While I'm On Chemo, Does It Get Sick Or Healthier?
I thought I had today all planned out. Since my workshop is not heated, not the cleanest thing in the world and my immune system is nearing its lowest point, I had picked up an N95 mask and was going to expend some energy doing some light organizing up there this afternoon. We all know plans don't always turn out like we want.
Being so sensitive to smells right now, last night I was thinking ahead and as I walked past the dust mask in its packaging, I decided to pop it open and get a whiff. It's a good thing I did. It smelled like a cross between rubbing alcohol, Windex, and a tire fire. Not something I wanted to breathe through for a prolonged period of time. So as I went to bed, I cracked open the package and left the mask to sit and air out overnight, so I could be all ready for my action filled day at home.
I wake up with a "7" as the first number on the clock! I guess I am wearing down. Of course the two immediate things my chemo ridden body is begging me to do is pee and start chugging water. I drink about a pint there on the spot and lay back down. Two hours later, I wake back up. Same routine, pee and drink (just for clarification those are two separate things, I am not doing any gross stuff here). Now I know my body is slowing down. I haven't woken up to a "9" for a few days now. I decided to be healthy and fix a breakfast of one part raisin bran, one part sugar poured over the raisin bran and sit to watch my Saturday car shows on television. Not wanting to feel to lazy, I Shake Weight several times during my two hour Power Block on TV. That may have been a mistake. The Shake Weight packaging says you only need to workout six minutes a day to look like the guys on TV. I have done a month's worth of exercise today, so I may be on the cover of Muscle and Fitness for December. No, I don't really believe that, but I am trying out for the cover of Chemo and Sickness magazine.
Feeling pretty good about the way I have dominated the Shake Weight, I hopped on my nemesis from earlier this week, the elliptical machine. I had hit the 300 calorie button the other day and only made it to 100 before my incision start pulling. Actually, I really only made it to about 25 calories before I felt an uncomfortable tickle around my incision, but I slowed down and made it to 100. So today, with renewed confidence, I hopped on, and punched that 300 hundred button again...then I did one revolution and punched the 150 button. After a vigorous fifteen minutes of whimpering and moaning, I finished! And then I sat on the couched exhausted for the next hour or so. I couldn't even muster the energy to Shake Weight.
Finally I decide I should go up to the workshop and do a few things. I put on my mask, which now only has a faint smell of ammonia mixed with chlorine (don't try that at home). I am getting worn out just trying to breath through it. It is a quite day out here in the country, but when I open up the shop I hear a lawn mower. I step out of the shop I no longer hear it. I step back in, and hear it again. Then I look up in the rafters and see hundreds of wasps buzzing around. This happens every year around this time. I don't know why, but they tend to do this in here right before they die, and one day I walk in and there are a bunch of wasp carcasses on the ground. The problem is that usually in September and October I am spending a lot more time up here. This year I have been too busy putting ice on my crotch and trying not to be nauseous. So where I normally would have had all the doors open and some of them leave, this year they have been corralled in here and apparently they are having a wasp convention. The other big problem is that my immune system is less than 48 hours from bottoming out. I don't know what wasp sting does to people on chemo. I decide not to risk it and head back into the house, scaring the crap out of the abused rescued basenji (guess I should have taken my mask off before I came in the house), but then again, a Kleenex hitting the floor scares the crap out of our rescued basenji.
My wife, being the caring person she is, suggests that I go back up there anyway. I pop on-line to see if I can find anything about people that have been stung while on chemo. I find several stories, most just have more severe reactions, it hurts more, swells more, last longer, that sort of thing. I also found where one chemo patient went into anaphylactic shock. I want everyone reading this to call the police if I happen to die of anaphylactic shock from a wasp sting. Either my wife really does assume I will be OK, or she is tired of me sitting around the house doing nothing but Shake Weighting and this was all part of her evil plan. C'mon we've all seen Alicia Silverstone in "The Crush". OK, hardly anyone saw that movie. And now I just spoiled the part where she tries to kill someone with wasps or bees or angry termites or whatever they were, so if you haven't seen it there is no sense wasting your time on it now.
Back to the couch I go, and that is where I spent the remainder of the day, except to get up and write this, and pee, and drink some more (still two different activities). I don't know how I will feel tomorrow. I seem to be getting more and more fatigued as I get closer to Monday. And now, my scalp is also starting to tingle as well, so I may have to write tomorrow's blog with a hat on if I lose all my hair. I guess I should go to bed early tonight since I have a busy day tomorrow being tired, thirsty, and possibly bald.
Being so sensitive to smells right now, last night I was thinking ahead and as I walked past the dust mask in its packaging, I decided to pop it open and get a whiff. It's a good thing I did. It smelled like a cross between rubbing alcohol, Windex, and a tire fire. Not something I wanted to breathe through for a prolonged period of time. So as I went to bed, I cracked open the package and left the mask to sit and air out overnight, so I could be all ready for my action filled day at home.
I wake up with a "7" as the first number on the clock! I guess I am wearing down. Of course the two immediate things my chemo ridden body is begging me to do is pee and start chugging water. I drink about a pint there on the spot and lay back down. Two hours later, I wake back up. Same routine, pee and drink (just for clarification those are two separate things, I am not doing any gross stuff here). Now I know my body is slowing down. I haven't woken up to a "9" for a few days now. I decided to be healthy and fix a breakfast of one part raisin bran, one part sugar poured over the raisin bran and sit to watch my Saturday car shows on television. Not wanting to feel to lazy, I Shake Weight several times during my two hour Power Block on TV. That may have been a mistake. The Shake Weight packaging says you only need to workout six minutes a day to look like the guys on TV. I have done a month's worth of exercise today, so I may be on the cover of Muscle and Fitness for December. No, I don't really believe that, but I am trying out for the cover of Chemo and Sickness magazine.
Feeling pretty good about the way I have dominated the Shake Weight, I hopped on my nemesis from earlier this week, the elliptical machine. I had hit the 300 calorie button the other day and only made it to 100 before my incision start pulling. Actually, I really only made it to about 25 calories before I felt an uncomfortable tickle around my incision, but I slowed down and made it to 100. So today, with renewed confidence, I hopped on, and punched that 300 hundred button again...then I did one revolution and punched the 150 button. After a vigorous fifteen minutes of whimpering and moaning, I finished! And then I sat on the couched exhausted for the next hour or so. I couldn't even muster the energy to Shake Weight.
Finally I decide I should go up to the workshop and do a few things. I put on my mask, which now only has a faint smell of ammonia mixed with chlorine (don't try that at home). I am getting worn out just trying to breath through it. It is a quite day out here in the country, but when I open up the shop I hear a lawn mower. I step out of the shop I no longer hear it. I step back in, and hear it again. Then I look up in the rafters and see hundreds of wasps buzzing around. This happens every year around this time. I don't know why, but they tend to do this in here right before they die, and one day I walk in and there are a bunch of wasp carcasses on the ground. The problem is that usually in September and October I am spending a lot more time up here. This year I have been too busy putting ice on my crotch and trying not to be nauseous. So where I normally would have had all the doors open and some of them leave, this year they have been corralled in here and apparently they are having a wasp convention. The other big problem is that my immune system is less than 48 hours from bottoming out. I don't know what wasp sting does to people on chemo. I decide not to risk it and head back into the house, scaring the crap out of the abused rescued basenji (guess I should have taken my mask off before I came in the house), but then again, a Kleenex hitting the floor scares the crap out of our rescued basenji.
My wife, being the caring person she is, suggests that I go back up there anyway. I pop on-line to see if I can find anything about people that have been stung while on chemo. I find several stories, most just have more severe reactions, it hurts more, swells more, last longer, that sort of thing. I also found where one chemo patient went into anaphylactic shock. I want everyone reading this to call the police if I happen to die of anaphylactic shock from a wasp sting. Either my wife really does assume I will be OK, or she is tired of me sitting around the house doing nothing but Shake Weighting and this was all part of her evil plan. C'mon we've all seen Alicia Silverstone in "The Crush". OK, hardly anyone saw that movie. And now I just spoiled the part where she tries to kill someone with wasps or bees or angry termites or whatever they were, so if you haven't seen it there is no sense wasting your time on it now.
Back to the couch I go, and that is where I spent the remainder of the day, except to get up and write this, and pee, and drink some more (still two different activities). I don't know how I will feel tomorrow. I seem to be getting more and more fatigued as I get closer to Monday. And now, my scalp is also starting to tingle as well, so I may have to write tomorrow's blog with a hat on if I lose all my hair. I guess I should go to bed early tonight since I have a busy day tomorrow being tired, thirsty, and possibly bald.
Which Is More Tiring, Chemo or the Shake Weight?
CHEMO IS KICKING MY BUTT!!! I was doing great yesterday. In fact, long about our third hour at the hospital yesterday, even though the nurse wasn't there for me, she did mention that she used to work with chemo patients. Since we had plenty of time to just sit around waiting, I decided to pick her brain. I told her how great I had been feeling physically and asking if it was normal. The nurse said some people aren't affected by chemo much, some feel affects gradually, and some it comes on all of a sudden. She also said how important it was to stay away from sick people. She says this as we are in our third hour in a hospital. I don't know if you are aware, but there are four places sick people like to go, hospitals, elementary schools, anywhere with a buffet, and cruise ships (I imagine the sick people go to the cruise ships because of the buffets). The only saving grace was for about an hour and a half of our hospital stay, we were in a room by ourselves.
Fast forward twelve hours and I am waking up dying of thirst again, except this time things are a little different. It feels like I gargled with sand in my sleep. Now, ever since my diagnosis I have been having some strange dreams. The other night I had a dream that I had lost all my hair that was so vivid I woke up and touched my head and looked at the pillow because I was so sure that it really happened. However, I don't think that I have taken up sleep gargling, especially with sand. I guess there is a possibility since basenjis are African dogs and both of ours are originally from Florida, there is a chance that sleeping in various yoga positions between these two downward-facing dogs that some residual sand fell into my throat. I would hope that we are bathing them a little better than that. I have the increasing thirst (up to about a gallon and three quarts a day at this point), I have the scratchy throat, and then half way through the day, I feel like I just finished a marathon. Well at least I assume it feels like after you run a marathon, except without the feeling that I have accomplished something.
And speaking of not accomplishing anything, that is exactly what is driving me crazy at this point. We are getting to the point in my chemo treatment where by blood count is bottoming out, so I am pretty much grounded at this point, and unlike being grounded in high school I didn't get to do anything fun and stupid to warrant it. Sitting around the house is definitely giving me cabin fever. I sort of hurt myself on the elliptical machine yesterday, and running from the car into the hospital yesterday to check on my wife shook some things that haven't been shaken for a while and I am feeling it today. OK, now when I say running, keep in mind I am a little more than a month out from my surgery, so what felt like a run to me, was probably like that horrible race-walking thing that was popular for about ten minutes in the nineties before everyone realized how ridiculous it looks to run like you are trying to get to the restroom after eating spoiled Mexican food leftovers. Since I can't seem to concentrate enough right now to read anything, I have been watching hours on end of daytime television and today I caved in...I bought something I saw that was sold on TV. I bought a Shake Weight.
We have a decent collection of exercise equipment here at the house. We have a weight machine, lots of free weights, an elliptical machine, exercise bikes, an ab machine, and a rower. The rower, ab machine, and weights all put too much stress on my still healing incision from my nutectomy. The elliptical machine ended up hurting that area as well, but not too seriously. And obviously, with the trauma that has befallen my crotchal area, I am more than just a little afraid to hop on anything with a bicycle seat right now. So, outside of the Wii, I haven't been getting any exercise at all. The Shake Weight looked so cheesy and lame, it didn't seem like there was any possible way it could actually hurt anything, and maybe I would feel like I did something. Let me just set two things straight, I bought the MEN'S Shake Weight and I don't for a second think that this thing is going to make me look anything like the guys in the commercial or on the box. But it will have me doing something except walking to the next room for new water bottles all day. So as we run an errand today, I did it. I walked over to where they were and I picked one up, and felt immediately embarrassed. I look like crap. Because of the surgery, I am still walking around in public in pants with elastic waistbands. What if people think that I actually believe the commercials?!?! Of course we were in a large mega-store and these things were in the back. I have to walk all the way to the front, which felt like an approximately seven mile walk, while trying to conceal the identity of what I am carrying. I would have felt more comfortable carrying tampons, condoms, a Playgirl magazine, and Preparation H. I had to resist the urge to tell the cashier I was buying it for a "friend" or as a gag gift. But it's home now and I have been using it. I don't know if it is doing any good or not, but at least I feel like it is doing something. Who knows, with the weight I am losing from chemo, and all the time I will be spending in front of the TV doing nothing but Shake Weighting, maybe I will end up looking like the guy in the commercials. No, not the Shake Weight commercial, the Subway commercials, except I hope I resemble the after photos more than the before.
So here I sit, feeling like crap, shaking overpriced crap, and watching crap on TV. I just am counting the days (3) until I bottom out on my blood count, because I know after that it is all about getting better and feeling better. It's good to know the end is in sight. And I am taking comfort that I am not the dumbest person in the world. The dumbest person in the world would be whoever the "Warning" sticker on the Shake Weight was printed for. "Keep Shake Weight at least 6 inches away from your face while exercising." They wouldn't have to put that on there unless at least one person hadn't already Shake Weighted their jaw. Personally I say leave the sticker off and let's get some natural selection happening here. At least that's what I say now, I may change my tune after I Shake Weight myself a black eye. Right now I think I will hop off of here, do a few more "reps", drink some more, and collapse into bed. Maybe I will take my Shake Weight with me...
Fast forward twelve hours and I am waking up dying of thirst again, except this time things are a little different. It feels like I gargled with sand in my sleep. Now, ever since my diagnosis I have been having some strange dreams. The other night I had a dream that I had lost all my hair that was so vivid I woke up and touched my head and looked at the pillow because I was so sure that it really happened. However, I don't think that I have taken up sleep gargling, especially with sand. I guess there is a possibility since basenjis are African dogs and both of ours are originally from Florida, there is a chance that sleeping in various yoga positions between these two downward-facing dogs that some residual sand fell into my throat. I would hope that we are bathing them a little better than that. I have the increasing thirst (up to about a gallon and three quarts a day at this point), I have the scratchy throat, and then half way through the day, I feel like I just finished a marathon. Well at least I assume it feels like after you run a marathon, except without the feeling that I have accomplished something.
And speaking of not accomplishing anything, that is exactly what is driving me crazy at this point. We are getting to the point in my chemo treatment where by blood count is bottoming out, so I am pretty much grounded at this point, and unlike being grounded in high school I didn't get to do anything fun and stupid to warrant it. Sitting around the house is definitely giving me cabin fever. I sort of hurt myself on the elliptical machine yesterday, and running from the car into the hospital yesterday to check on my wife shook some things that haven't been shaken for a while and I am feeling it today. OK, now when I say running, keep in mind I am a little more than a month out from my surgery, so what felt like a run to me, was probably like that horrible race-walking thing that was popular for about ten minutes in the nineties before everyone realized how ridiculous it looks to run like you are trying to get to the restroom after eating spoiled Mexican food leftovers. Since I can't seem to concentrate enough right now to read anything, I have been watching hours on end of daytime television and today I caved in...I bought something I saw that was sold on TV. I bought a Shake Weight.
We have a decent collection of exercise equipment here at the house. We have a weight machine, lots of free weights, an elliptical machine, exercise bikes, an ab machine, and a rower. The rower, ab machine, and weights all put too much stress on my still healing incision from my nutectomy. The elliptical machine ended up hurting that area as well, but not too seriously. And obviously, with the trauma that has befallen my crotchal area, I am more than just a little afraid to hop on anything with a bicycle seat right now. So, outside of the Wii, I haven't been getting any exercise at all. The Shake Weight looked so cheesy and lame, it didn't seem like there was any possible way it could actually hurt anything, and maybe I would feel like I did something. Let me just set two things straight, I bought the MEN'S Shake Weight and I don't for a second think that this thing is going to make me look anything like the guys in the commercial or on the box. But it will have me doing something except walking to the next room for new water bottles all day. So as we run an errand today, I did it. I walked over to where they were and I picked one up, and felt immediately embarrassed. I look like crap. Because of the surgery, I am still walking around in public in pants with elastic waistbands. What if people think that I actually believe the commercials?!?! Of course we were in a large mega-store and these things were in the back. I have to walk all the way to the front, which felt like an approximately seven mile walk, while trying to conceal the identity of what I am carrying. I would have felt more comfortable carrying tampons, condoms, a Playgirl magazine, and Preparation H. I had to resist the urge to tell the cashier I was buying it for a "friend" or as a gag gift. But it's home now and I have been using it. I don't know if it is doing any good or not, but at least I feel like it is doing something. Who knows, with the weight I am losing from chemo, and all the time I will be spending in front of the TV doing nothing but Shake Weighting, maybe I will end up looking like the guy in the commercials. No, not the Shake Weight commercial, the Subway commercials, except I hope I resemble the after photos more than the before.
So here I sit, feeling like crap, shaking overpriced crap, and watching crap on TV. I just am counting the days (3) until I bottom out on my blood count, because I know after that it is all about getting better and feeling better. It's good to know the end is in sight. And I am taking comfort that I am not the dumbest person in the world. The dumbest person in the world would be whoever the "Warning" sticker on the Shake Weight was printed for. "Keep Shake Weight at least 6 inches away from your face while exercising." They wouldn't have to put that on there unless at least one person hadn't already Shake Weighted their jaw. Personally I say leave the sticker off and let's get some natural selection happening here. At least that's what I say now, I may change my tune after I Shake Weight myself a black eye. Right now I think I will hop off of here, do a few more "reps", drink some more, and collapse into bed. Maybe I will take my Shake Weight with me...
Friday, October 22, 2010
The Cancer Toll
Right on cue, I wake up this morning seeing a six as the first number on the clock, and having a full bladder and a dry mouth. At least for the past few days my chemo has been consistent. But today, I know there is no chance of laying there and falling back asleep, and that is because of yesterday...
Few people know this, but my faith is defined by two incidences in my life. The first was when I was a dumb little kid in California, and doing what dumb little kids do, at some point I had fallen and scraped my knee. Not thinking anything of it, until my father noticed days later that it had become infected. He cleaned a needle and tried to poke a hole to get my healed over wound to start draining, but was unsuccessful. I still didn't care, until he mentioned what the next step would be. He said if it didn't drain, it could get worse, and we may have to go to the doctor who would use a "knife" to get it to drain. Now as an adult, I know he meant a small scalpel. However, as a dumb little eight year old, I assumed he meant a machete or hunting/survival knife of any of the other large knives that a military brat is accustomed to seeing while growing up on military bases. It scared me to death the thought of this doctor coming at me, white coat covered in blood, wildly swinging and stabbing at my knee until he hits the right spot and it starts to drain. I mean, the needle hurt bad enough, how bad would the knife hurt? This was the first day I really prayed. I had said grace and bedtime prayers before, but they were basically little poems I recited because that's what you are supposed to do. This time, I made up the prayer, asking God to please not let that knife wielding, maniacal doctor chase me around (OK, at eight, I didn't use the words "knife wielding, maniacal", but you know what I mean). A day or two later, I run into my parents' bedroom as I had done thousands of times before without major injury, but this time I ran smack into the nightstand, the corner hitting me RIGHT where the infected spot was on my knee. Man did it hurt. And the next day...the infection was gone. It was that day at eight years old that I learned, God may not always do things the way you want Him to, but if you ask and believe, He will do what's best. As a little kid I wanted it to magically go away. What happened is my dad went with a needle as deep as he could, but it didn't work...until I banged it hard against the nightstand, opening the wound deep and connecting the hole dad made to the infection causing it to drain. That was a pretty powerful thing for an eight year old to grasp. From that day forward my faith that God always does what's best was always in my mind.
And I still feel that way. Through all of the things I have been through, I honestly have never said "Why me?". I am one of those people that believes we are never given more than we can handle. I have only lost a job twice in my life. The first time I did, I went from losing a job running record stores to running around with rock stars a few years later. So for every trial and tribulation in my life, it always seemed to lead to something better, and usually a learning experience. Many people's dream job would be running around with rock stars. My reality was that I was constantly driving to this state or that state, and although 80% of the rock stars were great to work with, the 20% could really make you dread your job, however I won't mention the names of the 20% because I don't want you to think less of Jewel, Tori Amos, or Big Wreck (which I know you probably never heard of, and it may have something to do with my bosses' boss asking why I refused to work anymore Big Wreck shows. Sorry, I didn't mean to get you kicked off the label, but he said I wasn't the first one to call you guys A-holes). For every low point in my life, it seems with a little patience and a little faith, I eventually get to a very high point in my life. So, where am I going with all of this?
One of the hardest things for a cancer patient is not what you go through, it's what you put your family through. My journey through the medical system started in 1989 with my gastro-intestinal stuff, and I can handle whatever is thrown at me. As I said, I have never asked God, "Why me?". But with the stresses, worries, and everything else that comes along with major health issues, last night I laid in bed and asked God, "Why her?". I am used to it. I can handle it. Throw one thing after another at me, I know that something greater is around the corner. And after the news yesterday, I am still fine. I know there will be other chances. But seeing the way my wife has been emotionally and physically beat down the past couple months is more than I can bear. I have seen cancer patients that were doing great, suddenly just change their attitude and pass away in an incredibly short period of time. And I always wondered, what caused them to give up when they were doing so good? Yesterday, I understood. As a cancer patient, like it or not, you are causing a lot of pain and heartache to those that love and care for you. And for the most part, the last thing those people want is for that loved one to be out of their life. But as a cancer patient, you only have so much fight in you. You fight the disease, you fight the surgery, you fight the treatment, and you are still left to fight to pretend that nothing is bothering you and that you are fine and strong and can put on a brave face for the ones helping you on that journey.
Yesterday's news had nothing to do with cancer. But it did have everything to do with the bright spot in this otherwise very dark past few months. I am tired of that hospital. I am tired of being in that hospital. I am tired of seeing employees of that hospital, walking around, hating their jobs, and letting patients and loved ones see that attitude. I didn't want to spend four more hours there, especially just to receive that news. And most of all, I am tired of the toll that this emotional two months has taken on my wife and others that I love. Yesterday, I understood why cancer patients give up. I understood why they go so fast. I understood it all. It's not that they have given up on life, or treatment, or faith, or anything, sometimes it is simply that they just want the pain to be over. Not necessarily their pain, but the pain that ripples throughout their support network. And in most cases, that is the last solution the support network wants, but yesterday I understood. If there was anything I could do yesterday, to make this emotional hurting stop, I would have. What's killing me is there is nothing I can do. I am positive. I know we will both get through this. I know there will be a bright spot down the road. But I can't stop her pain.
That is why I found myself laying in bed, next to my wife as she cries herself to sleep asking God, "Why her?". I try to imagine, what bright spot is going to make up for the past two months of heartache. And the way I figured it out, this is what must be in store for us, we must be finding a winning lottery ticket while at Walt Disney World, when we bump in to Johnny Depp (that would be for her) who tells us he has a surplus of American made Paul Reed Smith guitars with double cutaway and twenty four frets, he would like us to have one, and nine months later we have triplets (the triplets would be for me, and should be really small magical triplets, that are an easy pregnancy, but are magically very healthy). The triplets would have to come nine months later, because we would want to ride everything at Disney World without having to worry about all those signs that list all the medical conditions that preclude you from riding (from pregnancy to hangnails, are the rides really that unsafe or is the added fright from all the medical warnings part of the ambiance?). And those triplets better not look like Captain Jack, if you know what I mean.
So here I am. Up early blogging so no one in the house sees the tears in my eyes, trying to digest why yesterday happened. Go ahead and plug me with a few more tubes, hoses, wires, monitors, and stitches, but can we leave her out of this? I don't know what to expect next. I just know there has to be something bigger and better planned, and hopefully it is soon.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Chemo, Dry Mouth, and Tiny Barstools
Yet another morning that I have woken up around 6am and been unable to go to sleep. I popped up to use the bathroom and as usual, I have to get back in the bed by playing a mix of human Tetris and Operation. If I make my body into a "T", and rotate it to the right, I should be able to slide between my wife and two dogs..."GROAN"...oops, looks like my Charlie Horse bumped the side of a basenji. Yeah, that's how my days have been starting lately. But this morning, I was still needing something. I couldn't place my finger on it, and then finally it dawned on me that I was dying of thirst. Because of the chemotherapy I have been drinking literally a gallon of fluids aevery day, mostly water, but I was already thirsty at 6:30. I got up and grabbed a quart/liter bottle of water, and it was pretty much gone by 8am! Of course the water has to go somewhere, so now there is no way I am going to be able to get back to sleep.
So, I lay there wide awake, my mind wandering aimlessly, and looking at the empty quart/liter bottle beside me, I thank God that I can't drink alcohol, because being able to down a quart of fluid before 8am would not be a good attribute to have if I preferred alcohol over water. Then for some reason I think how someday it would be cool to have one of those little basement bars to have friends over. I don't know why, I don't drink and I don't really have friends. But I am a connoisseur of microbrew sodas...as long as they are root beer, grape, or orange. Yeah, I am kinda the exact opposite of those Dos Equis commercials. He has a collection of nearly 15 different bottles...all root beer...he is, the Least Interesting Man in the World. And because I am bored, unemployed, on chemo with nothing better to do, I surf to see if there are any cool music related barstools for the bar I have yet to build in the basement I don't have, so I can invite my non-existent friends (but I may actually have friends if I have a bar). I am very surprised at the variety of barstools. Five thousand different types of barstools!?!?
Now here is where chemo, boredom, insomnia, and the internet come together and cause you to come up with really stupid ideas, that sound really good at the time. I am looking at the variety of barstools and see they are all different styles and heights, so I wonder what shortest barstool is. Eighteen inches! Do realize just how short that is? Go ahead and get out a tape measure or yardstick and check, that is unbelievably short! Did you do it? Why would anyone need a barstool that tiny? Then my great idea hatches. Wouldn't it be funny to build your bar with the little tiny barstools, but the regular height bar? Or what would be even better, is to make the bar tiny as well. Or wait, wait (this is the insomnia induced hallucinations kicking in) instead of building a regular two or four seat bar with regular barstools, build one that looks like a real tavern or pub with like a dozen little tiny barstools and a little tiny bar. And then stock it the back with all the usual liquors and add juice boxes, and then whenever you get a salesman trying to sell you insurance, or replacement windows, or their religion which is better than yours even though they never ask what your religion is, you can sound very excited and offer to talk about it over a drink. You take them down to your little tiny bar with a dozen little tiny seats and when they order a "7 and 7" you can get out a sippy cup say "I have the Seagram's, but not the 7-up, I'll have to use a lemonade Caprisun." That is when the salesman should go screaming our of your house. If he isn't freaked out by that, you should probably call the police. As I ponder this brilliant plan more, I think of how this is a very expensive joke for messing with a few salesman, because let's face it, they won't be back so it's not like you can use this little prank multiple times.
I then think about how if I have come up with great ideas like that as a teetotaler, it's probably good that I can't drink and come up with drunk ideas like that. And as my mind wanders again, I wonder if my lack of drinking contributes to my picky eating. Because let's face it, in a bar people will try anything! In my previous life I spent five years working in bars (I know, what a great place for someone who can't drink to work, but I was just the DJ) and I have seen the crazy concoctions the bartenders would come up with and people would drink.
"Hey, I just came up with a new drink, the Skunk's Butthole."
"Oh, that tastes horrible! But the alcohol is going straight to my head, gimme two more."
And if you think I am exaggerating, I will enter into evidence the Cement Mixer. If you aren't familiar with this, you put Bailey's Irish Cream together with lime juice which causes it to curdle in your mouth. Every part of that sound disgusting to me, but obviously enough people like it that any bartender will know exactly how to make it!
So my thoughts come full circle, I start the morning off with a dry mouth caused by my chemotherapy and through sleep deprived delusions I decide that my gastro-intestinal issues that cause me not to drink alcohol, are also the reason I am not eating a better variety of food. Seems like a straight forward stream of thought when I leave out the part about the tiny barstools. So now, I am kind of awake, feel the chemo working, and I really have to pee. Part of me says to go back to bed because I need the rest to continue doing well on chemo, but I am sure if I do, I will sleep even worse tonight and more than likely pee the bed because in addition to the quart of water, I also have already had a glass of orange juice, a glass of milk, and opened another quart of water. I guess I will just stay on the internet and come up with more brilliant ideas.
So, I lay there wide awake, my mind wandering aimlessly, and looking at the empty quart/liter bottle beside me, I thank God that I can't drink alcohol, because being able to down a quart of fluid before 8am would not be a good attribute to have if I preferred alcohol over water. Then for some reason I think how someday it would be cool to have one of those little basement bars to have friends over. I don't know why, I don't drink and I don't really have friends. But I am a connoisseur of microbrew sodas...as long as they are root beer, grape, or orange. Yeah, I am kinda the exact opposite of those Dos Equis commercials. He has a collection of nearly 15 different bottles...all root beer...he is, the Least Interesting Man in the World. And because I am bored, unemployed, on chemo with nothing better to do, I surf to see if there are any cool music related barstools for the bar I have yet to build in the basement I don't have, so I can invite my non-existent friends (but I may actually have friends if I have a bar). I am very surprised at the variety of barstools. Five thousand different types of barstools!?!?
Now here is where chemo, boredom, insomnia, and the internet come together and cause you to come up with really stupid ideas, that sound really good at the time. I am looking at the variety of barstools and see they are all different styles and heights, so I wonder what shortest barstool is. Eighteen inches! Do realize just how short that is? Go ahead and get out a tape measure or yardstick and check, that is unbelievably short! Did you do it? Why would anyone need a barstool that tiny? Then my great idea hatches. Wouldn't it be funny to build your bar with the little tiny barstools, but the regular height bar? Or what would be even better, is to make the bar tiny as well. Or wait, wait (this is the insomnia induced hallucinations kicking in) instead of building a regular two or four seat bar with regular barstools, build one that looks like a real tavern or pub with like a dozen little tiny barstools and a little tiny bar. And then stock it the back with all the usual liquors and add juice boxes, and then whenever you get a salesman trying to sell you insurance, or replacement windows, or their religion which is better than yours even though they never ask what your religion is, you can sound very excited and offer to talk about it over a drink. You take them down to your little tiny bar with a dozen little tiny seats and when they order a "7 and 7" you can get out a sippy cup say "I have the Seagram's, but not the 7-up, I'll have to use a lemonade Caprisun." That is when the salesman should go screaming our of your house. If he isn't freaked out by that, you should probably call the police. As I ponder this brilliant plan more, I think of how this is a very expensive joke for messing with a few salesman, because let's face it, they won't be back so it's not like you can use this little prank multiple times.
I then think about how if I have come up with great ideas like that as a teetotaler, it's probably good that I can't drink and come up with drunk ideas like that. And as my mind wanders again, I wonder if my lack of drinking contributes to my picky eating. Because let's face it, in a bar people will try anything! In my previous life I spent five years working in bars (I know, what a great place for someone who can't drink to work, but I was just the DJ) and I have seen the crazy concoctions the bartenders would come up with and people would drink.
"Hey, I just came up with a new drink, the Skunk's Butthole."
"Oh, that tastes horrible! But the alcohol is going straight to my head, gimme two more."
And if you think I am exaggerating, I will enter into evidence the Cement Mixer. If you aren't familiar with this, you put Bailey's Irish Cream together with lime juice which causes it to curdle in your mouth. Every part of that sound disgusting to me, but obviously enough people like it that any bartender will know exactly how to make it!
So my thoughts come full circle, I start the morning off with a dry mouth caused by my chemotherapy and through sleep deprived delusions I decide that my gastro-intestinal issues that cause me not to drink alcohol, are also the reason I am not eating a better variety of food. Seems like a straight forward stream of thought when I leave out the part about the tiny barstools. So now, I am kind of awake, feel the chemo working, and I really have to pee. Part of me says to go back to bed because I need the rest to continue doing well on chemo, but I am sure if I do, I will sleep even worse tonight and more than likely pee the bed because in addition to the quart of water, I also have already had a glass of orange juice, a glass of milk, and opened another quart of water. I guess I will just stay on the internet and come up with more brilliant ideas.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Insomnia Has A Name, And Thy Name Is Daisy
For one of the first times since all of this cancer stuff happened, I think I had a decent night's sleep last night. I still woke up at 6:30 am and couldn't fall back asleep, but I don't remember waking up in the middle of the night and that is a big improvement.
Of course, I know part of my insomnia is caused by worrying that I have cancer. Who would've thought that? But I think I am narrowing down a physical cause as well. For those unfamiliar with basenjis, they love sleeping on the bed, and they love to be touching people while they sleep. This is where my problem seems to lie, on the bed. I have been referring to our newest basenji (the abused/neglected rescue one) as the "Immovable Object" because once she curls up, it's hard to get that lump of a dog to go anywhere else. What I am finding out is the Immovable Object does tend to drift at times. As she gets more accustomed to us, she seems to drift from the foot of the bed, to the head, I think because we have a ritual of a good ear scratching before we get up every morning. (I scratch her ears, not the other way around. And not us scratching our own ears, we could do that anytime.) My hypothesis is that she works her way up during the night anticipating the massage that will come later. No matter what the cause, she is moving. So now, when I go to bed I feel like an early California settler. I have to stake my claim to my property to try to prevent my four legged claim jumper from stealing my mining rights to that section of mattress. If I should happen to get up in the middle of the night, or roll over and give her an inch or two of space, I can consider that part of the bed gone for eternity. You have better luck cutting to the front of the line for the Jungle Cruise at Walt Disney World than you do of gaining any ground on Daisy the basenji! And anyone that has stood in that line for the Jungle Cruise and the M.C. Escher way the queue wanders around, knows exactly what I am talking about. It dawned on me last night that this may be what is going on when I rolled over and found that I had to perform a contortionist's move from Cirque Du Soleil: La Chienne Stupide to pull my legs out and around what now seems to be a concrete lawn statue of a sleeping dog. Not an easy feat when you are barely a month recovered from having your midsection hacked up by the Testicle Fairy (if you leave teeth under your pillow, where was I supposed to leave that?). So although I have seemed to keep my chemo meds in check enough to get to sleep, I have no remedy for immovable but drifting concrete basenjis.
One thing that has seemed to be working is avoiding naps during the day and maybe even a little workout as well. I am trying to perform this dance on chemo where I wear myself out enough to sleep solidly for a few hours, but not letting myself get run down, which is pretty much a feeling you have all the time on chemo. As I mentioned yesterday, I played Wii for a little while. Not Wii like kids play, Wii like old people play. You know, bowling, badminton, ski jump, anything that involves standing in one place, slightly moving, and still calling it "exercise". Whatever you want to call it, it left me winded after a while. Today I hopped on our elliptical machine. A machine I ridiculed when I was younger and thinner. I would say that only a fat lazy person would use an elliptical machine over a treadmill or stepmill, and as a fat lazy person that was sweating profusely on an elliptical machine today, I realize I was right. I had high hopes. In better times, I hop on there hit one of the half hour programs, pump up the resistance, and burn a thousand calories. Today, I hopped on there, hit the three hundred calorie program, started hurting after fifty calories, crying after seventy five, and called it quits at one hundred. Baby steps. Well, funny loopy shaped baby steps.
Whether from wimpy workouts, nausea induced dieting, or just being one heavy nut lighter, the scale did say I lost twelve pounds today! However, that scale usually doesn't talk to the doctor's scale and tell it how much I have lost, because they have vastly different numbers at times. Maybe at the doctor's office I should strip naked and get on the scale right after I pee since that is what has been working at home. That might frighten other people in the waiting room though. Especially if they aren't aware that I am there for testicular cancer, because they may just see the fresh scar and that one of the boys has gone A.W.O.L. and run out of the office to find a different, non-testicle removing doctor. At any rate, between the weight change, sleep, exercise, and everything else, I seem to be holding my own against chemo. It has me a little worried about what I may face as my blood cells continue to drop, but right now I am just focusing on getting better and so far that seems to be working.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Same Schpladder, Different Day
Four days after starting chemo, and I think my head is finally clearing out. I haven't taken the meds that made me so loopy for nearly two days now, and there is just a hint of a fog, but who knows that could just be my normal fog.
Eating is still the biggest challenge. What's weird is nothing sounds good, until I finally decide on something, then once I start eating I am absolutely ravenous. Now as I said before, chemo makes you hypersensitive to smells, and up until today, I had been fortunate enough to have had all my meals cooked for me, while I was far away from the cooking. Today I had to cook for myself. I know, that is abuse and under no circumstances should I have to cook my own meal, but my wife said she had to go to "work" so we would have "money" and I would have to "take care of myself". It has been a dark day, but I think I'll make it through. So the problem with chemo patients cooking for themselves, is there are a lot of things that don't smell near as good cooking as they do once they are done. That was my challenge today. Get out the ingredients, cook them, and prepare them while not smelling them at all, because if I did, I would no longer want what I was preparing. I imagine it was quite a humorous dance to watch, holding a spatula at arm's length while trying to keep my nose below the level of the food so the aromas don't drift in, but still keeping my eyes on what I was doing. I don't know if the basenjis were amused by this spectacle or just that sure that I was bound to spill something cooking in such an odd way. Unfortunately for them, I didn't spill a thing (by bachelor standards, because if you come back and it isn't there anymore I don't think it can be counted as a "spill"). But fortunately for the starving basenjis, I made my normal size serving and my shrinking appetite didn't want that much. They reaped the rewards, then went right back to pretending they like the sun more than me.
As for the other inevitable side effects, I have only experienced half of the diarrhea/constipation duo that chemo usually brings. As I said yesterday, I am still having "der Puupen und Schpladder" but none of the back ups. And as a patient with pre-existing gastro-intestinal issues, "der Puupen und Schpladder" isn't necessarily a chemo side effect, it could just be a normal Tuesday. And as side effects go, I would much rather have that one if I am going to be homebound anyway. Stop and think, when you are driving, which irritates you more, the roads wide open and you get home faster than you expected, or miles and miles of congested traffic, where you just sit with no movement at all? I rest my case.
The only other thing I am combating right now is boredom. Since chemo's poison attacks your immune system, you are supposed to stay away from things with lots of germs, like large groups, working outside or on a car, kids...so that limits what I can do while I wait for my white blood cells to bottom out and come back up again. I have kind of surfed myself out on the internet the past couple of months. I know what you are thinking, "But Tom, have you tried internet porn? You will never see all the porn!" But I think even internet porn has too many germs for chemo patients. I did break down and do some Wii Fit today. I really didn't feel like exercising, I just can tell my weight is dropping and I want to mess with that smug little Wii Fit board. Let it figure out how I am losing a pound a day when all I do is sit on the couch and do the Ski Jump for two minutes. My goal is the make the little Wii Fit board icon explode as I keep losing weight and doing nothing. That'll teach it to call me obese! By that damn board's calculation, Jaws could take out the entire right side of my body, and I still wouldn't be at my ideal weight.
So here I sit, trying to think of what sounds good to eat that will also smell good as well. And I am also trying to think of something to do. I have plenty of books, but you get tired or reading after a while. I would play my American made Paul Reed Smith with double cutaways and twenty four frets, but no one has given me one yet. I know, I don't have an American PRS and I had to make my own meal today!?!? And I won't even talk about having to do my own laundry...
Eating is still the biggest challenge. What's weird is nothing sounds good, until I finally decide on something, then once I start eating I am absolutely ravenous. Now as I said before, chemo makes you hypersensitive to smells, and up until today, I had been fortunate enough to have had all my meals cooked for me, while I was far away from the cooking. Today I had to cook for myself. I know, that is abuse and under no circumstances should I have to cook my own meal, but my wife said she had to go to "work" so we would have "money" and I would have to "take care of myself". It has been a dark day, but I think I'll make it through. So the problem with chemo patients cooking for themselves, is there are a lot of things that don't smell near as good cooking as they do once they are done. That was my challenge today. Get out the ingredients, cook them, and prepare them while not smelling them at all, because if I did, I would no longer want what I was preparing. I imagine it was quite a humorous dance to watch, holding a spatula at arm's length while trying to keep my nose below the level of the food so the aromas don't drift in, but still keeping my eyes on what I was doing. I don't know if the basenjis were amused by this spectacle or just that sure that I was bound to spill something cooking in such an odd way. Unfortunately for them, I didn't spill a thing (by bachelor standards, because if you come back and it isn't there anymore I don't think it can be counted as a "spill"). But fortunately for the starving basenjis, I made my normal size serving and my shrinking appetite didn't want that much. They reaped the rewards, then went right back to pretending they like the sun more than me.
As for the other inevitable side effects, I have only experienced half of the diarrhea/constipation duo that chemo usually brings. As I said yesterday, I am still having "der Puupen und Schpladder" but none of the back ups. And as a patient with pre-existing gastro-intestinal issues, "der Puupen und Schpladder" isn't necessarily a chemo side effect, it could just be a normal Tuesday. And as side effects go, I would much rather have that one if I am going to be homebound anyway. Stop and think, when you are driving, which irritates you more, the roads wide open and you get home faster than you expected, or miles and miles of congested traffic, where you just sit with no movement at all? I rest my case.
The only other thing I am combating right now is boredom. Since chemo's poison attacks your immune system, you are supposed to stay away from things with lots of germs, like large groups, working outside or on a car, kids...so that limits what I can do while I wait for my white blood cells to bottom out and come back up again. I have kind of surfed myself out on the internet the past couple of months. I know what you are thinking, "But Tom, have you tried internet porn? You will never see all the porn!" But I think even internet porn has too many germs for chemo patients. I did break down and do some Wii Fit today. I really didn't feel like exercising, I just can tell my weight is dropping and I want to mess with that smug little Wii Fit board. Let it figure out how I am losing a pound a day when all I do is sit on the couch and do the Ski Jump for two minutes. My goal is the make the little Wii Fit board icon explode as I keep losing weight and doing nothing. That'll teach it to call me obese! By that damn board's calculation, Jaws could take out the entire right side of my body, and I still wouldn't be at my ideal weight.
So here I sit, trying to think of what sounds good to eat that will also smell good as well. And I am also trying to think of something to do. I have plenty of books, but you get tired or reading after a while. I would play my American made Paul Reed Smith with double cutaways and twenty four frets, but no one has given me one yet. I know, I don't have an American PRS and I had to make my own meal today!?!? And I won't even talk about having to do my own laundry...
Monday, October 18, 2010
100 Pound Head and 3 Noxious Clouds
If the absence of a blog wasn't enough of a clue, I will fill you in, yesterday was a bad day. Ever since this started, my head started feeling like it weighed about one hundred pounds (about forty five kilograms to my metric friends). At the same time, I couldn't focus on anything. I had several books that I had set aside to read that have just one or two page sections. Even that was too much to concentrate on. Last night, I decided I couldn't take it anymore. I read through my chemo packet to see what could be done about it, and I don't find this sort of thing listed. As I flip through and it turns out it was the medication to help chemo go smoother that was causing it! The same medication that I started taking religiously, because I was under the mistaken impression that it would help me feel better. My wife had to call the doctor for me, I couldn't even focus on that. Somehow during their conversation they realize that my wife has a medication that she has laying around that doubles as a chemo med. There is a part of me that is curious as to why this med is laying around and how it came up in conversation, but at the time, me and my hundred pound head didn't care. That has certainly helped and my head is down to about fifty pounds today and shrinking.
Another one of the side effects of chemo is a hypersensitivity to smells. I guess that is why my wife decided to cook chili yesterday (a food that I hate) and stink up the whole house and houses we plan on moving to in the future. She was very apologetic once she realized what happened, so I couldn't be mad. So I decided to escape the Black Pepper Death and go up and organize things in my workshop. It was there that my mother-in-law decided to start the lawn tractor. I heard her head over there and started to run as fast as a guy with one nut and an open wound can run, but it was too late. She started it. She wasn't wanting to do anything, just see if it would start. Of course, it ran rough spewing out all kinds of malodorous aromas, and basically creating a grey cloud of exhaust stench in the area I was working, which matched the chili cloud at the house. I stepped outside waiting for it to clear, but it was too late. It had already taken up residence in my clothes. So, at this point I can't stand the smell of my workshop, the smell of my house, or the smell of myself. I guess it was time for me to take a shower anyway.
And of course the regular chemo side effects did kick in as well. A couple times I felt nauseous. But most of the time I had the rear attack occur, something I believe the Germans refer to as "der Puup und Schpladder". However, today is already been a big improvement over yesterday. I am supposedly over the chemo hump as most of the poison should be exiting my system today, even if it is sometimes exiting at a very high velocity, at least it is exiting. Hopefully by tomorrow I will feel a lot better and able to write a much longer, much more boring blog.
Another one of the side effects of chemo is a hypersensitivity to smells. I guess that is why my wife decided to cook chili yesterday (a food that I hate) and stink up the whole house and houses we plan on moving to in the future. She was very apologetic once she realized what happened, so I couldn't be mad. So I decided to escape the Black Pepper Death and go up and organize things in my workshop. It was there that my mother-in-law decided to start the lawn tractor. I heard her head over there and started to run as fast as a guy with one nut and an open wound can run, but it was too late. She started it. She wasn't wanting to do anything, just see if it would start. Of course, it ran rough spewing out all kinds of malodorous aromas, and basically creating a grey cloud of exhaust stench in the area I was working, which matched the chili cloud at the house. I stepped outside waiting for it to clear, but it was too late. It had already taken up residence in my clothes. So, at this point I can't stand the smell of my workshop, the smell of my house, or the smell of myself. I guess it was time for me to take a shower anyway.
And of course the regular chemo side effects did kick in as well. A couple times I felt nauseous. But most of the time I had the rear attack occur, something I believe the Germans refer to as "der Puup und Schpladder". However, today is already been a big improvement over yesterday. I am supposedly over the chemo hump as most of the poison should be exiting my system today, even if it is sometimes exiting at a very high velocity, at least it is exiting. Hopefully by tomorrow I will feel a lot better and able to write a much longer, much more boring blog.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
I Certainly Feel Like a Chemo Patient
OK, I am officially tired of being a chemo patient. Only about thirty hours into this and the routine has gotten old. A lot of the things I was told to expect in the first couple of days have already come true. Some not quite the way I had expected.
I am tired all the time. The doctors were correct about that. And I do sleep all the time. What I didn't realize is that it would only be for about an hour at a time. All night it would be fall asleep, wake up an hour later. Stay awake miserable and tired for ten minutes or so, then fall asleep again. And again, for only an hour. And it isn't just at night, it's all the time. I just get incredibly tired during the day and fall asleep. Waking up and I think that's OK, I have finally gotten my share of rest, then I look at the clock, and it's only been about an hour. I think the atomic clock should call me to check their accuracy. Luckily, I usually manage to fall asleep just when there is something I really wanted to watch on TV. This gives me the opportunity to see it new all over again when it gets repeated sometime next month or whenever! Not that I am getting bitter about all of this or anything.
Why I am not sleeping well? Have you ever had a big Italian meal, fallen asleep on the couch right after, and woke up with that overwhelming garlicy/metallic taste in your mouth? Yeah, that's been my life for about the past twenty four hours. Not just after I wake up, but also when I take a deep breath, when I cough or sneeze, or sometimes even when I blink. I swear it is that taste that has been waking me up. Luckily, that should end sometime tomorrow or early Monday.
The nauseousness should end about the same time. The medicine they gave me works great for five hours! The only problem is I can only take it every six hours. At least the when my stomach starts shaking like an unbalanced washing machine on a Harley, I know it's about time to take my next pill. The related side effect has come true as well. You get hyper sensitive to smells...and tastes. Something may smell soooo good, then you taste it and it's just "blah". I ate a slice of my favorite cheese and it tasted like I was eating a hunk of wax. The basenjis enjoy that side effect because it usually leads to more treats for them. But there is one more side effect that is just the icing on the cake that smells good that I don't want to eat....
Chemo patients mouths start drying out. You aren't allowed to use any conventional mouthwash because it can just cause your mouth to dry out more, so what do you do? You rinse with water and salt! Yes, when you are already nauseous nothing will get your hunger back like gagging on salt water. The recommendation is that you rinse with the salt water gagger every two hours when you're awake and every four to six when you are asleep!!! So if I do happen to get a good night's sleep I am supposed to wake up in the middle of it to gag?!?!
Oh well, at least I am on the healing road. This is the last major challenge in my treatment, so I am glad that when all of the insomnia, gagging, gargling, and garlic taste ends, my cancer journey should be a lot easier. Well, I think I will make this a shorter one today. I am sure it's about time to gargle-gag and take a nap, and judging by the way my stomach is dancing, it's also about an hour away from my next pill too.
I am tired all the time. The doctors were correct about that. And I do sleep all the time. What I didn't realize is that it would only be for about an hour at a time. All night it would be fall asleep, wake up an hour later. Stay awake miserable and tired for ten minutes or so, then fall asleep again. And again, for only an hour. And it isn't just at night, it's all the time. I just get incredibly tired during the day and fall asleep. Waking up and I think that's OK, I have finally gotten my share of rest, then I look at the clock, and it's only been about an hour. I think the atomic clock should call me to check their accuracy. Luckily, I usually manage to fall asleep just when there is something I really wanted to watch on TV. This gives me the opportunity to see it new all over again when it gets repeated sometime next month or whenever! Not that I am getting bitter about all of this or anything.
Why I am not sleeping well? Have you ever had a big Italian meal, fallen asleep on the couch right after, and woke up with that overwhelming garlicy/metallic taste in your mouth? Yeah, that's been my life for about the past twenty four hours. Not just after I wake up, but also when I take a deep breath, when I cough or sneeze, or sometimes even when I blink. I swear it is that taste that has been waking me up. Luckily, that should end sometime tomorrow or early Monday.
The nauseousness should end about the same time. The medicine they gave me works great for five hours! The only problem is I can only take it every six hours. At least the when my stomach starts shaking like an unbalanced washing machine on a Harley, I know it's about time to take my next pill. The related side effect has come true as well. You get hyper sensitive to smells...and tastes. Something may smell soooo good, then you taste it and it's just "blah". I ate a slice of my favorite cheese and it tasted like I was eating a hunk of wax. The basenjis enjoy that side effect because it usually leads to more treats for them. But there is one more side effect that is just the icing on the cake that smells good that I don't want to eat....
Chemo patients mouths start drying out. You aren't allowed to use any conventional mouthwash because it can just cause your mouth to dry out more, so what do you do? You rinse with water and salt! Yes, when you are already nauseous nothing will get your hunger back like gagging on salt water. The recommendation is that you rinse with the salt water gagger every two hours when you're awake and every four to six when you are asleep!!! So if I do happen to get a good night's sleep I am supposed to wake up in the middle of it to gag?!?!
Oh well, at least I am on the healing road. This is the last major challenge in my treatment, so I am glad that when all of the insomnia, gagging, gargling, and garlic taste ends, my cancer journey should be a lot easier. Well, I think I will make this a shorter one today. I am sure it's about time to gargle-gag and take a nap, and judging by the way my stomach is dancing, it's also about an hour away from my next pill too.
Friday, October 15, 2010
So This Is What Platinum Tastes Like...
And so it begins... We got up this morning and I was all prepared for chemo, because being prepared is kind of my thing. And after going down the driveway and coming back twice, I was really prepared for chemo. We get there and my pulse and blood pressure aren't too high considering how nervous I felt inside. They stick me for a final blood count and I am cleared to begin chemo. That's when the inevitable cancer-hurry-up-and-wait game starts.
I guess so many people do multiple rounds of chemo, that they just assume everyone is a repeat customer. I sign in at the first desk, get my room number, and am told to head on back. The nurse, my wife, and I all just pause in an awkward silence until we ask where "on back" is. The nurse, a little embarrassed, realizes we are chemo novices. She walks us back to the area and tells us to sign in when we get to our room number. Another nurse walks up and tells me I can go ahead and set up. In another awkward silence pause (which my wife and I are getting pretty good at by now) this nurse also realizes we are newbies and helps me pick out a recliner. The rooms are sorted by medical needs. The more serious people are in one room and people like me that aren't doing too bad physically get this room. Everyone in the room is really nice and several of them greet us. One couple even swaps around recliners so my wife can sit next to me. I tilt back the recliner, but I am still nervous as hell, uncontrollably clicking my feet together like I want to be taken back to Kansas. Another waiting game. Finally they come get my IV started. She says it's a "small" needle, and it is small in diameter, but the needle and all of the apparatuses protruding from it were about the same length as a Ford Fiesta (I would still rather be seen with the needle that in a Fiesta though). She slides the needle in from the back of my hand to about my elbow, and starts the IV. I think that we are ready to start now. Wrong. Hurry up and wait. Again. She wants to double check all of the orders with the oncologist. I guess I am fine with waiting if it is to make sure I get the right thing. She comes out with some needles, now we are ready to go! Nope. That's just the drugs to make the chemo go easier. She says they are just for my stomach, I don't need anything for nerves, because I am doing just fine. Damn, I must be a better actor than I thought, because I am definitely NOT fine! Doesn't she see my feet bouncing like I am on crank and trying to tap out S.O.S. in Morse code over and over again? I guess I should take a little comfort in the fact that it looks like I am calm. In what seems like several days later, the nurse comes out with the cocktail mixed especially for me. We hang it up and I am on my way to chemoland.
Feeling nervous about side effects, I am expecting to feel flames shooting up my veins with rapid discoloration in my arms causing a purple and blue paisley pattern that would make Prince jealous, but nothing. Nothing really. I brought about three suitcases worth of things to do while I was there, so of course I decide to sleep. But my wife is still by my side, if she is making the effort to stay by my side every step of the way, I am not going to go to sleep on her. Finally, the nurse and I both assure her that I am not going to "shotgun" my latest IV bag and that it will be a while, she can run the errand that she needs to run. She leaves. I curl up in my blanky that one of the nurses gave me. Maybe she thought my horizontal tap dancing was because I was cold. It wasn't, but I was cold too, so I snuggled up and reclined all the way back, closed my eyes, and drifted....NOPE wide awake. Not matter how tired and comfortable I am, I can't sleep. I brought tons of things that cause me to think, and I can't focus on any of them. While chained to this chair and pole holding a variety of bags with tubes shoot inside of me, I also planned on using my time to e-mail back some of the people that I have been meaning to talk to. As many of you know, that obviously didn't happen either. In desperation, I get my phone out and start to read the entertainment news. Obviously, it doesn't take a whole lot of brain power to read entertainment news. It's always about a couple divorcing, or a rapper getting arrested again, or a sports figure doing something stupid, all you have to do is change the names, and really, does it matter? As I start to loose myself in items that can hardly be classified as "news", I am told that bending my wrist is putting pressure on the needle that goes from my fingers to my shoulder, so I should probably not do that.
The music in there could be described as light classic rock. Comfortable, but not annoying or too sappy. Boston, "Lido Shuffle", "Domino", decent music, but all light rock. Nothing heavy, no country, no R & B. And that's when something happened, which was the only time I got emotional in there. One song I maintain that it is impossible to stay depressed when you listen to it came on the radio, Earth, Wind, and Fire's September. "...on and on, never was a cloudy day..." The horns kick in, I lose myself in the music as I always do when I hear that song. I smile and it dawns on me, this is not "light classic rock" this is totally different from anything they have played the previous two hours. It was like God Himself thought I needed that song right now and sneaked into the playlist. It had me pretty emotional, I needed some Earth, Wind, and Fire right then. A little skeptical, I thought maybe they changed music stations. Nope, every other song was back to light classic rock. That made me a little more emotional. Maybe it's my imagination, but I am going to take it as a sign and enjoy it.
My wife comes in right after that, and my bag is almost done. I finish my bag and give the nurse one of those stares where you are sure if you stare hard enough that the other person will feel your stare and look up at you. It worked! She says "You done?", and comes over and unplugs all of my tubes, hoses, duct work, and slides the katana out of my arm. Not bad at all. My arm did have a cold feeling in the vein towards the end, but I assumed that was just from the three feet of cold steel that they slid in there (but it was a small diameter needle, so I shouldn't mind right?). We jump into the car and rush to see a bunch of people I used to work with for a retirement party for someone who retired a long time ago. As what generally happens when we all get together the jokes start flying, most of them off color, and I take out my removed "testicle" and slap it on the table in the restaurant (in reality it is a tiny gummy brain we found in the Halloween candy section and trimmed to look like a wayward ball). Every time I have whipped that out on someone, there is a brief pause as to whether I really just did that or not. Most people realize that it is probably not what it looks like, but there is always that chance that it is.
I had a blast. One guy that has known me for about eight years now said, "I know you and you are like me. If you had any strength at all you were going to drag your butt here." He was right. It was good seeing everyone. We say our goodbyes, and we head home. I grab some lunch on the way and eat it on the couch. I feel pretty good, so I eat a couple of snacks too. Belly full, I doze off on the couch thinking this will be alright after all. Two hours later, I wake up with my stomach feeling like there are a bunch of kids in there treating it like a "Moon Bounce" and they didn't even take off their shoes before they got in! I ran upstairs to get rid of some of the gallon and a half of liquids I have been drinking today (no exaggeration) and scrub up to put a chemo pill in my mouth. It works pretty fast. I feel good right now, except for the taste of metal anytime I take a deep breath and feeling like I haven't slept in two months. I don't know if that is from the chemo or the fact that I haven't slept in two months. So, that is why I am writing my blog early tonight. I think I will take another pill soon and go to bed. Hopefully my stomach will let me stay there all night. If not, maybe I will get up and finally e-mail back everyone I have been meaning to e-mail back.
I guess so many people do multiple rounds of chemo, that they just assume everyone is a repeat customer. I sign in at the first desk, get my room number, and am told to head on back. The nurse, my wife, and I all just pause in an awkward silence until we ask where "on back" is. The nurse, a little embarrassed, realizes we are chemo novices. She walks us back to the area and tells us to sign in when we get to our room number. Another nurse walks up and tells me I can go ahead and set up. In another awkward silence pause (which my wife and I are getting pretty good at by now) this nurse also realizes we are newbies and helps me pick out a recliner. The rooms are sorted by medical needs. The more serious people are in one room and people like me that aren't doing too bad physically get this room. Everyone in the room is really nice and several of them greet us. One couple even swaps around recliners so my wife can sit next to me. I tilt back the recliner, but I am still nervous as hell, uncontrollably clicking my feet together like I want to be taken back to Kansas. Another waiting game. Finally they come get my IV started. She says it's a "small" needle, and it is small in diameter, but the needle and all of the apparatuses protruding from it were about the same length as a Ford Fiesta (I would still rather be seen with the needle that in a Fiesta though). She slides the needle in from the back of my hand to about my elbow, and starts the IV. I think that we are ready to start now. Wrong. Hurry up and wait. Again. She wants to double check all of the orders with the oncologist. I guess I am fine with waiting if it is to make sure I get the right thing. She comes out with some needles, now we are ready to go! Nope. That's just the drugs to make the chemo go easier. She says they are just for my stomach, I don't need anything for nerves, because I am doing just fine. Damn, I must be a better actor than I thought, because I am definitely NOT fine! Doesn't she see my feet bouncing like I am on crank and trying to tap out S.O.S. in Morse code over and over again? I guess I should take a little comfort in the fact that it looks like I am calm. In what seems like several days later, the nurse comes out with the cocktail mixed especially for me. We hang it up and I am on my way to chemoland.
Feeling nervous about side effects, I am expecting to feel flames shooting up my veins with rapid discoloration in my arms causing a purple and blue paisley pattern that would make Prince jealous, but nothing. Nothing really. I brought about three suitcases worth of things to do while I was there, so of course I decide to sleep. But my wife is still by my side, if she is making the effort to stay by my side every step of the way, I am not going to go to sleep on her. Finally, the nurse and I both assure her that I am not going to "shotgun" my latest IV bag and that it will be a while, she can run the errand that she needs to run. She leaves. I curl up in my blanky that one of the nurses gave me. Maybe she thought my horizontal tap dancing was because I was cold. It wasn't, but I was cold too, so I snuggled up and reclined all the way back, closed my eyes, and drifted....NOPE wide awake. Not matter how tired and comfortable I am, I can't sleep. I brought tons of things that cause me to think, and I can't focus on any of them. While chained to this chair and pole holding a variety of bags with tubes shoot inside of me, I also planned on using my time to e-mail back some of the people that I have been meaning to talk to. As many of you know, that obviously didn't happen either. In desperation, I get my phone out and start to read the entertainment news. Obviously, it doesn't take a whole lot of brain power to read entertainment news. It's always about a couple divorcing, or a rapper getting arrested again, or a sports figure doing something stupid, all you have to do is change the names, and really, does it matter? As I start to loose myself in items that can hardly be classified as "news", I am told that bending my wrist is putting pressure on the needle that goes from my fingers to my shoulder, so I should probably not do that.
The music in there could be described as light classic rock. Comfortable, but not annoying or too sappy. Boston, "Lido Shuffle", "Domino", decent music, but all light rock. Nothing heavy, no country, no R & B. And that's when something happened, which was the only time I got emotional in there. One song I maintain that it is impossible to stay depressed when you listen to it came on the radio, Earth, Wind, and Fire's September. "...on and on, never was a cloudy day..." The horns kick in, I lose myself in the music as I always do when I hear that song. I smile and it dawns on me, this is not "light classic rock" this is totally different from anything they have played the previous two hours. It was like God Himself thought I needed that song right now and sneaked into the playlist. It had me pretty emotional, I needed some Earth, Wind, and Fire right then. A little skeptical, I thought maybe they changed music stations. Nope, every other song was back to light classic rock. That made me a little more emotional. Maybe it's my imagination, but I am going to take it as a sign and enjoy it.
My wife comes in right after that, and my bag is almost done. I finish my bag and give the nurse one of those stares where you are sure if you stare hard enough that the other person will feel your stare and look up at you. It worked! She says "You done?", and comes over and unplugs all of my tubes, hoses, duct work, and slides the katana out of my arm. Not bad at all. My arm did have a cold feeling in the vein towards the end, but I assumed that was just from the three feet of cold steel that they slid in there (but it was a small diameter needle, so I shouldn't mind right?). We jump into the car and rush to see a bunch of people I used to work with for a retirement party for someone who retired a long time ago. As what generally happens when we all get together the jokes start flying, most of them off color, and I take out my removed "testicle" and slap it on the table in the restaurant (in reality it is a tiny gummy brain we found in the Halloween candy section and trimmed to look like a wayward ball). Every time I have whipped that out on someone, there is a brief pause as to whether I really just did that or not. Most people realize that it is probably not what it looks like, but there is always that chance that it is.
I had a blast. One guy that has known me for about eight years now said, "I know you and you are like me. If you had any strength at all you were going to drag your butt here." He was right. It was good seeing everyone. We say our goodbyes, and we head home. I grab some lunch on the way and eat it on the couch. I feel pretty good, so I eat a couple of snacks too. Belly full, I doze off on the couch thinking this will be alright after all. Two hours later, I wake up with my stomach feeling like there are a bunch of kids in there treating it like a "Moon Bounce" and they didn't even take off their shoes before they got in! I ran upstairs to get rid of some of the gallon and a half of liquids I have been drinking today (no exaggeration) and scrub up to put a chemo pill in my mouth. It works pretty fast. I feel good right now, except for the taste of metal anytime I take a deep breath and feeling like I haven't slept in two months. I don't know if that is from the chemo or the fact that I haven't slept in two months. So, that is why I am writing my blog early tonight. I think I will take another pill soon and go to bed. Hopefully my stomach will let me stay there all night. If not, maybe I will get up and finally e-mail back everyone I have been meaning to e-mail back.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Next Stop, The Chemotorium!
It's official! I am scared, anxious, excited, and every other emotion about tomorrow's chemo appointment. For those not familiar with chemo treatment, just about every malady known to man (as well as most animals and a few plants) is considered a "normal side effect" on chemo. AND every malady known to man, plants, and animals is also an "abnormal side effect" that you should immediately call the hospital about. So while I am excited to get this big chapter of my fight behind me, I will constantly be worrying about if I have the abnormal side effect or the normal one. Fever of 100.5', normal! Fever of 100.6', CALL THE HOSPITAL! I wish I was making this up. If I do creep up to 100' in a completely "normal" way, I will obviously start wondering how accurate my cheap little CVS thermometer is. And since I am normally 97.6'-98', does that mean I have to knock a degree or half a degree off the "Call The Hospital" temperature too? This is the crap I am fretting about before I have even entered the oncologist's office! Going to the bathroom too much? Normal. Really going to the bathroom too much? Abnormal! But it is not that cut and dry (pun not intended), because not going to the bathroom that often? Normal or abnormal! Going to the bathroom all the time? Abnormal or possibly normal! Of course, my mind is worrying that if I go to the bathroom like a normal person, is that abnormal for chemo treatment? Or maybe I have the really bad not-going-to-the-bathroom symptoms, compounded with the really bad going-too-much symptoms. How do you know? Go ahead, think of something, anything, I am sure it is a perfectly normal symptom, that is also abnormal as well. It doesn't help that as part of my pre-chemo "Honey Do" list, I spent four hours kicking up so much dust, pollen, and dry leaves that now when I blow my nose little sand castles come out. What does it mean when I start chemo with red eyes, a sore throat, and splitting headache? With the chemo side effects, should all those symptoms stay the same, or do I call the hospital if they disappear? On top of that, I am supposed to stop caffeine, which will also give me a splitting headache, how do I know how much headache is allergies and caffeine withdrawal and how much is urgent get-to-the-emergency-room headache.
And then there is the stuff I have to do. I have to drink gallons of every beverage that doesn't have caffeine in it (which will also surely make me go to the bathroom more, but will it make me go too much?). I can't touch my hands to my face under any circumstances. I think I will just have to wear mittens all of the time and use chopsticks to pick up a fork when it's time to eat. And most importantly, no matter what I touch, whether it be something dirty, something clean, food, myself, soap, anything, I am supposed to immediately sanitize my hands, wash my hands, sanitize again, then walk around the rest of the day holding them up in the air like the doctors on M*A*S*H. And finally, I am supposed to get plenty of rest. This part I am actually looking forward to. They say I will actually be able to rest while on chemo. Which leads me to my last conundrum.
The actual injection of the chemo is just as straight forward as the side effects. Everything is normal and abnormal at the same time. I have books, my phone, video games, snacks, beverages, everything that I may want to do for an hour and a half to two hours. But, the side effect I am most hoping for is sleeping. I have been told some people just get really tired during chemo injections and sleep right through it. I think that would be something I can handle, especially after four weeks of insomnia. So, with twelve hours to go, I only need to finish gathering up my stuff, and pray that I only have normal abnormalities for the next three to four weeks. I thank everyone that has sent "Good Luck" messages today. And tomorrow I will update you on which ailments I have won in the side effect lottery.
And then there is the stuff I have to do. I have to drink gallons of every beverage that doesn't have caffeine in it (which will also surely make me go to the bathroom more, but will it make me go too much?). I can't touch my hands to my face under any circumstances. I think I will just have to wear mittens all of the time and use chopsticks to pick up a fork when it's time to eat. And most importantly, no matter what I touch, whether it be something dirty, something clean, food, myself, soap, anything, I am supposed to immediately sanitize my hands, wash my hands, sanitize again, then walk around the rest of the day holding them up in the air like the doctors on M*A*S*H. And finally, I am supposed to get plenty of rest. This part I am actually looking forward to. They say I will actually be able to rest while on chemo. Which leads me to my last conundrum.
The actual injection of the chemo is just as straight forward as the side effects. Everything is normal and abnormal at the same time. I have books, my phone, video games, snacks, beverages, everything that I may want to do for an hour and a half to two hours. But, the side effect I am most hoping for is sleeping. I have been told some people just get really tired during chemo injections and sleep right through it. I think that would be something I can handle, especially after four weeks of insomnia. So, with twelve hours to go, I only need to finish gathering up my stuff, and pray that I only have normal abnormalities for the next three to four weeks. I thank everyone that has sent "Good Luck" messages today. And tomorrow I will update you on which ailments I have won in the side effect lottery.
Chemo Countdown: 38 hours
Today, I made a few more rounds on my farewell, pre-chemo tour. I also bought the last of my chemo supplies and finished my "Honey Do" list. The only thing I have left is a haircut and enjoying my last full day pre-chemo.
We did have one set back today. I went to pick up one of the prescriptions that will keep me from getting sick from the chemo and the pharmacy said my insurance was rejecting it. I told the pharmacist that the doctor said sometimes insurance companies don't like to pay for particular drugs, when I was informed that was not the case, my insurance company said I was no longer insured. That is something you don't really want to hear before racking up another series of medical bills. Luckily the over-the-counter version of this particular medication is just as good, but obviously that wouldn't be picked up by my insurance company, if I had insurance. So, my wife (that I fully admit is the money person in the relationship, I don't understand all that stuff) spent several hours on the phone talking to my former employer's headquarters benefit office. What's funny is every time we call, which has been quite frequently since I have been laid off, they inform us that they have problems with my particular former office and that they are always screwing up. If headquarters knows this and tells random callers that there is a problem there, why isn't it being addressed?!?! Luckily, the people at headquarters are fairly nice, and the people they send us to at the insurance company are really nice. Maybe it was because they wanted a big fat C.O.B.R.A. check, but they were still nice. Thank God for computers. Between the two of them, they saw that the paperwork for C.O.B.R.A. was sent in about two weeks past when it was supposed to, so since it was no fault of ours, they are retroactively giving us insurance. The only problem is that we are already getting bills that are bouncing back rejected. And again luckily, the doctors' offices have all been pretty understanding about it. At least I think they are. We will see what they do to me when they strap me down for chemo Friday. They may lean over, whisper in my ear and say, "When the bills are paid, you get the antidote." Let's hope that doesn't happen, that could be several phone calls before that happens.
Outside of that, it was a good day. One of the things I am told to avoid is touching my eyes, nose, or mouth. The medicine I have been on for my tummy problems for the past nine years, dries me out a lot, causing me to frequently touch my eyes, nose, and mouth. I thought the best way to combat this was to get hand sanitizer and boxes of Kleenexes and place them everywhere I may possibly be in the house. Hopefully, they will be a very visual reminder that when my eyes or nose tingle from drying out, I can't just rub them like I normally do. I will squirt some alcohol, grab a tissue, rub, then toss the tissue, re-alcohol, until the twitch happens again, which should be about the time I finish with the routine from the first twitch. So, I will probably be walking around the house for the next four weeks reeking of rubbing alcohol and aloe and have spots of white tissue dust all over my face, with carpal tunnel from all the sanitizing, rubbing, wiping, tossing, and re-sanitizing. I guess it's a good thing I am staying away from people during all of this. Now tomorrow, I just need to place all of my supplies. I also need to restock my mini-fridge by shoving it full of all the healthy crap I am told I will need to keep hydrated. Grape juice, low acid no pulp orange juice, apple juice, caffeine-free (even the words make me cry) Pepsi, and enough Gatorade to dump over the Cincinnati Bengals (provided they ever won a game that warranted Gatorade being dumped on them, but they do have more crappy reality show stars than any other NFL team, goooo Bengals!). The food I have stockpiled is slowly being pilfered, which is funny, because I haven't been in the house enough to pilfer it. I guess next time I bring in a truckload of Little Debbies snack cakes, I will have to hide them.
Finally, I finished the last of my crappy tasks that I had to finish before chemo (and I mean that quite literally). My wife decided five years ago it would be cool to get these cute little turtles about the size of a bottle cap on vacation (we were on vacation, not the turtles, they were busy swimming, pretending to be cute, and acting like they wouldn't grow). Now the turtles have grown to be just shy of the size of a dinner-plate. Any bigger and the SyFy network would make a very crappy made-for-TV movie about them terrorizing some hick Midwestern town, and it would inevitably star Eric Roberts (he has the worst luck for running into giant mutant animals that eat innocent hillbillies). I told my wife when she got the cute little turtles, that I was OK with her getting them, but I was not going to have anything to do with them. I was able to stick by that even when they grew to the size that they are now and neighborhood hillbillies and paperboys started turning up missing. Today things changed. Somehow she conned a doctor into saying that she needs to stay away from them for a while, because they can be carriers of salmonella. And, since my immune system is about to be knocked down to nothing on Friday, I had to clean their tank out today. That was the grossest thing I have ever done, and one summer in college I had a job that involved me helping pump out outdoor pit toilets. The smell of cleaning their filter was pretty close to that smell. The only real difference it, I don't think that a whole summer's worth of State Park poo equaled what I found in the turtle filter. Plus, the State Park toilets never had bones of drifters and turtle shell pieces in there. When the doctor clears her to clean that tank again, I think I am personally going to leave a nice steaming present in that filter for her. But at least my chores are done. My eyes and nose are still burning. I don't know if it is from all the dust I kicked up mowing and raking leaves for five hours yesterday, or if it is from being exposed to turtle poo, but my eyes are so bloodshot I look like I have taken up medical marijuana after swimming in a pool with a 50/50 solution of chlorine and urine (I am a former lifeguard, so unfortunately I know what that's like too).
But all in all it was a good day. Tomorrow I can rest and just do what I want to do the day before chemo. I can eat whatever I want tomorrow and not feel bad about whether it's healthy or not (even my wife gave me permission to do that, and we all know how mean she normally is), and I got to say "see you later" to a few friends before I get thrown into the chemo gulag. Thirty-eight more hours of freedom! But I better hurry up and get to bed. It is past my curfew and I don't want my wife to ground me on my last free day!
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