25 April 2009

This is only a test. I am experimenting with posting to the blog via my phone.

24 April 2009

NYT Series

The New York Times is currently running a series on cancer and finding a cure, in particular on our cultural misunderstanding (or misperceptions) of cancer and the lack of a cure. Many people assume that when a patient completes chemo and radiation, the patient is cured but this is not the case. Chemo and radiation try to kill the cancer cells and stop them them from spreading. For example, while I recently completed chemo, had a mastectomy and a sentinel lymph biopsy which showed no sign of cancer in my lymph nodes, all I can do right now is wait to reach the magical 2 and 5 year goals of non-recurrence and then maybe I can breath easy. Maybe.

One of the interviewees for the article is a woman with metastatic breast cancer. While the story is not pleasant or hopeful, I thought it should be shared. Her story is of one who did everything right (non-smoking, vegetarian, exercise) and yet she still got breast cancer, and her cancer spread.

Here is the link to the article: "Advances Elusive in the Long Drive to Cure Cancer." New York Times. April 23, 2009.
As a librarian, I should have a proper citation note but I think all the pertinent information is included in my note.

23 April 2009

Bad Bedside Manner

I must vent.

Many chemo patients have ports installed in their upper chest to allow the evil toxic drugs easy access to veins. When chemo is finished, the port may be removed. Doctors seem to range among 2 opinions regarding port removal: 1) get it out and get on with your life or 2) leave the port in for 2-3 years just in case you need more chemo. My oncologist is from camp #1 and the local surgeon who can remove my port is from camp #2.

So yesterday, I had a doctor's appointment (arranged by my oncologist's office) with the surgeon who is to remove my port. Before the port was installed in November, the surgeon lectured me on her opinions about waiting to remove the port. So I knew before seeing her that she was not going to be pleased to see me.

First she made me wait for 25 minutes before coming into the room, then she walked into the room with a "why are you here" attitude. First she tossed my file down on her little metal table that she uses when taking notes on patients, and asked me why I was here. I explained that the appointment was made by the oncologist's office, that the port was occasionally uncomfortable, fear of clots, and concern about limitations of physical activity. She poopoo'd all of my concerns. But that isn't the best part...

I won't bore you with a play by play but she disapproves of my choice for reconstruction surgery, demanded to know why I made the decisions that I had made, why did I choose Cleveland for mastectomy, commented on how I travel to the big city for my important surgeries but only use her for the little ones (biopsy, ports), told me that the medical community disapproves of the DIEP surgery (but that if this is the surgery I want that I should go to the best and gave me the name of a surgeon in Boston), how she could put me in contact in with a very good plastic surgeon who comes to our small town for implants, informed me that she attends medical conferences, talked at me about the best ways to do incisions to save skin (without asking why I hadn't had a skin salvaging mastectomy), ....

I have probably even forgotten the best parts but I think you get the general gist of what happened in that office yesterday. Her 20-minute tirade ended with her telling me I could set up a port removal whenever I was ready. And I'm going to get charged for this appointment. She made me feel so horrible that all I wanted to do when I got home yesterday was crawl into bed.

I am tempted to report this surgeon to the local hospital for bad manners, but this is such a small town that my attempt to save someone from her venom may have bad results for me. And I doubt, in the end, my report would do any good.

17 April 2009

Don't Leave Home Without It

I actually left the house with my cranial prosthetic. I even locked the house, got into the car, and we had driven about 2 blocks before I realized something was wrong. Not that I am not anxious to never wear a wig again, my head (and my self-image) is not ready for the world to see my bare head yet. Hair is growing -- slowly.

Once I realized my horrible mistake, Brandon turned the car around and I was able to get my wig. He even laughed and said something like, "I hadn't even noticed."

I am so self-conscious about my head that I don't even want to drive to NY without something on my head. Winter hats will look a little conspicuous in mid-April (even if the outside temperatures are only just beginning to warm up). I don't want to sit in a car for 10 hours with the wig nor do I want to wear a winter hat. I think that I may try a scarf, but we'll see. Chemo is over and yet I still look like a cancer patient (and will for a while... grrrr).

09 April 2009

My Last Session

My last session of chemo was relatively uneventful. My blood work was acceptable. The premeds made me dopey. For those of you are sensitive to benadryl, I do not recommend receiving it intravenously; even holding a simple conversation, for example, about my favorite Chipotle burrito, became difficult.

I did have two special treats for my last session. For one, Brandon came with me, so we got to sit in one of the private rooms, rather than in "chemo alley" (what I call the hallway of recliners where most patients sit). He even arranged to bring muffins and cupcakes for the staff and patients, as a thank you for being so wonderful during this horrible experience.

My favorite part of chemo was the nurses and the ladies at the reception desk. Each one was so nice. I will miss seeing them every week (although I'll probably get over that pretty quickly). I will also probably miss the routine. Doing the same thing every week for 12 weeks, and then a similar process for the prior 2 months, is kind of habit-forming.

And the for the other treat, the nurses brought me a good-bye rose. The gesture was so sweet. The note said, "Congratulations on finishing chemo!!" If I hadn't been so doped up on benedryl, I would have probably teared up a bit. Even though I'll be back in the office for visits with the doctor, my relationship with the nurses will be different, and I will miss them.

I definitely won't miss the scary, toxic fluids being pumped into my body.

08 April 2009

One more thing...

... the sun did come out today. As always, Annie knows what she's singing about.

Je suis fini

Done!
Over!
Completed!
Finished!
The End!

You get the idea. My 5 months of chemotherapy have come to an end. I survived 4 sessions of A/C and 12 sessions of Taxol with flying colors. There are even people at work who I think don't know what I went through. Even my doctors are surprised that I was able to continue to work through the chemo. I guess that is what happens when you are young and healthy. Chemo couldn't completely knock me off my feet. Take that chemo. Now let us hope you did your job because I definitely don't want to do this again -- ever!!!

I tried to come up with a song with lyrics similar to the "Hark the Herald Angels Shout" like my classmates and I used to sing in middle and upper schools after the Christmas Carol program, but nothing good came to mind. Maybe I'll think of something in the middle of night tonight during the steroid induced insomnia that I anticipate.

07 April 2009

As Annie Once Famously Said...

Tomorrow...well, you know the rest of the song, and I don't want to get accused of copyright infringement.

So tomorrow is my last day of chemo. I can't believe this day has finally almost arrived. It is amazing how fast and slow 5 months can go by. As the end draws near, I am beginning to wonder if I'll miss my weekly visits to the cancer clinic. The nurses have been so nice to me and at no other time do I get to enjoy daytime television shows. Then again, I doubt that I'll ever feel nostalgic for this particular time in my life.

Time for me to calm down. I'm not done yet. And it is going to take me a while to get back to my old self. Tomorrow is only the first of many baby steps towards my official recovery.