Chemo Round Four Out the Door

No judging on any content here because I feel like that third bottle of wine just rolled, empty, under the chair.  Somewhere.  By the cat.  Maybe.  She’s sleeping.  So probably by the dog.  The big dog.  Not the little one.

Yeah that.  After three naps in the infusion center and one in the car (yes, Jeff was counting and they were doozie out-like-a-light naps) I came home “just to lay down.”  That was at 3:15.  It’s pushing 6:10 pm, people.  Holy Bat Cave!

Drugs.  Well.  Drugs.  For starters I asked for the Lorazapam to be put on the machine and used with a slow drip.  I think she set it for five minutes.  I’m still feeling it, I tell ya.  Big kisses to that one.

Chemo Drugs.  After a LOT of back and forth, mostly with pushback from me, we did NOT do the   Maybe the hear loss is from the chemo; we don’t know “the patient doesn’t pay that much attention to her hearing loss,” but the tinnitus, yeah that only started after the chemo.  The back-forth on my end came because Lorazapam, steroids and even ibuprofen can cause ringing in the ears, the first two are also a result of the chemo.  After the argument that Carboplatin is sort of a back up chemo, that the Taxotere with the Herceptin and Perjeta are the big dogs, I let Carbo go for this round.  A CT for my head to rule out an ear tumor has been ordered.  So for all of those saying “what is WRONG with you” your answer may be coming.

Carboplatin, the one that we think is causing the hear loss and ringing of the ears.

We did not switch out the Taxotere with the Abraxane.  The rash is manageable and I got the impression Abraxane might not be as powerful.  And if we are taking Carboplatin off the IV stack, we need powerful.

So with all that and my ginormous blood pressure reading, we got that party started.  I only had to stay 20 minutes after with the cold cap and we ended up leaving a little before 3:00.  Awesome sauce. 

Now to stay awake at least until 8:00.  Haven’t had that much of a stay-awake time span since 11:00 this morning!

Off To Chemo Round Four

7:00 is departure time for Round Four.

Asking for prayers that the blood work is good so they actually give me the chemo (always a worry; if I flunk that I get sent home.  Or off to get some blood infusion or something; I never asked; don’t want to find out) and that I handle the chemo as well as I’ve been doing. 

They might change Taxotere to Abraxane which might be good.  Although then I have the anxiety that at least I knew what to expect from the Taxotere.  We also need to determine if we go for the potential hearing loss drug.  I don’t know if that’s why my hearing is going or just because it’s always been bad.  It’s a gamble. 

Get the drug and lose more hearing but kill the cancer cells. 

Don’t get the drug, keep my hearing but don’t kill the cancer cells. 

Leaning more toward risking the hearing but that’s my opinion.

Anywho.  Prayers and happy dances please.

The Spinning Circle

You click on a website, ready to read the latest gossip on one of the Kardashians, and you get the spinning circle of download time.  Waiting.  Waiting.  Waiting.  It’s thinking.  It’ll come to you soon.  Real soon.  One of these days.

Still waiting.

Click, there it is.

That’s my brain on chemo. 

The other day Jeff and I were talking about going to Ace.  He said he needed suet cakes.  I said I needed…  I needed … something.  Those things on the rack outside.  You put them in a brown paper bag to buy them.  You plant them in the garden.

Onion bulbs.

That’s what it was.

Can’t come up with the right word or remember what I was doing or talking about.

All. The. Time. 

At work I know I have to have four things on me when I go out to recess.  I have to stand at the door doing a mental check – out loud.  Radio.  Vest.  Phone.  What’s the fourth one?  Oh, whistle.

On the way to the office I will have two things in my hand.  Time card for the office and the orange permanent marker that needs to go back to the pen cupboard before I write on the whiteboard with it (again).

I walked to the office and back to our room again.

With the orange marker in my hand.

Seriously.

Luckily co-workers and Jeff are adapting.  Six months ago Jeff would ask me the same question three different ways with the hope of jarring the answer out of my brain.  Now he asks me once and, when I cannot even fathom the answer, he walks away. 

No use beating a dead horse. 

Co-workers are better at figuring out the answer because there’s more of them.  Disperse the work.  They are also really good at coming up with my four things I need for recess by just handing them to me.  They put up with me walking down the hall chanting “time card to Jeanette, timecard to Jeanette” and know not to talk to me until after I’ve gone to Jeanette.  I also need every answer sheet available because I sure don’t know what an idiom is or the moral of the story about the Magic Genie.

How I explained it to Jeff was, wake up, don’t drink your morning coffee and go about your day.  When you think you’ve got a handle on it, suck down some cold medicine.  Then you can have the fatigue as well as the foggy brain.

#BeLikeCarey

No, don’t #BeLikeCarey because I’m relying on you to think for me.  You really don’t want me going this alone.       

Give Your Nose Hairs Some Thanks

Some LOVE from the co-workers.

I never realized how helpful these little follicles were until I was standing in a 2^nd grade classroom after a cold recess without a tissue in my vest pocket.  As I frantically looked around the room for the Kleenex box (in the past four months I’ve gotten really good at spotting them the minute I walk in the door), it wasn’t in its usual spot.  Dang kids used ‘em all up!  Asked the teacher where the box went as I’m frantically sniffing away, trying to not to drip.  She sent a student running to the front of the classroom to grab me the box I couldn’t find (kids are faster than grownups).  I pulled the tissue out so fast I ripped only a corner off so I grabbed at three more.  One went to the drippy nose, the other two went in my pockets for backup.

Really, though.  Nose hairs do have their usefulness.  It is to keep the snot in your nose and not dripping out.  When chemo takes that hair away like most of the rest of my body, it can really mess things up.

Like, really mess things up.

So if you hear me sniffling frantically, just point to the nearest box of soft nose glory and we’ll be good.  And on behalf of all chemo patients, buy stock in Kleenex.  It’s probably a safe bet.

Well, That Didn't Work

I was pretty well dressed (really cool earrings) and had even done my makeup.  I was ready to be back at work, teaching.  

Morning went fine, kinders were great.  First graders put up with the fact that for 15 minutes I taught them a word they had learned with me the week before.  Second graders learned to answer in a complete sentences (“meat and apricots” is not a full sentence.)  Recess was fine (I think the soccer players were hacked at me with my jersey-handing-out-ninja skills so the teams were more even) and we were on to the lunch room.

Where it all fell apart.  Not because of the kids.  The kids were fine.  My stomach decided to go into labor.  Spaztically.  Again and again.  Nausea and pain set in.  Again and again.  I made it through because there were several times of “that’s done – what the hell was it anyway?”  Took some Tums part way through and it just kept happening.  Thought I could eat something.  Until the throw up tingle started.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – I’m nobody’s hero.

With the help of staff workers who packed my stuff and told whoever needed to be told that I was no longer on campus, I drove home.

I think the texts to Jeff read “I’m coming home,” “In town. Gonna puke.”  

Love language.

To my credit, once I got home I was able to throw up, have constipation and diarreaha in the same 15 minutes.

Knocked it out of the park!

I have no idea why this happened.  I’ve never had any of these symptoms before and certainly not this late after chemo.  I mean, it’s Day 8!  Plus I didn’t even get one of the doozie throw upy chemos.

So what gives?  I have no idea, but I didn’t like it ONE BIT!

I’ve slept twice already and am working on crackers and chicken broth all under my heated warm blanket that I’m having to share with the cat.  Both dogs are begging for the Saltines because this is all about them.

So I don’t know what that was all about, but I don’t want anything to do with THAT!  Out of the blue after a week of good days – who woulda known? 

And I’ve already taken tomorrow off.

Thanks to everyone who picked up the pieces for me! 

Done With Staying Home - Back To Work

That’s not really an appropriate title.  It’s sorta a lie.  Because I haven’t really stayed home.

I had chemo on Tuesday.  Wednesday we were back at Evergreen for my Nuelasta/White Blood Count-Upper Shot.  Thirty minutes after that shot, I was at Physical Therapy getting edumucated about Lymphodema.  Thursday I drove myself to Evergreen again for a hearing test.  Friday I did stay home.  Saturday was a gymnastics competition in Monroe (no I was not a participant – thanks for asking).  Sunday was the Everett Home and Garden Show.

Bottom line – I haven’t really been staying at home after chemo.  Now, to be fair, Jeff does most of the driving (especially on days when I am seeing double vision – that changes drivers real fast) and we go at our own pace.  The Home and Garden show was a lot of wandering real slow and aimlessly listening to people sell me their wares.  Oh, and stealing pens.  Er, getting pens.  Actually, Jeff went for the pens, I went for the chapstick and tape measurers.  And the flat carpenter pencils. 

Anywho.

It’s a lot of aimless “let’s start this and take a nap” kind of business.

Until today.

I’m vacuuming the house before an appointment in Everett, thinking about the appointment in Kirkland tomorrow/Tuesday and not wanting to go to said appointment (it’s the dermatologist for a rash that has since cleared up – how dumb would it be for me to go to an appointment when I have NO symptoms!).

 

So I canceled it.

Then decided to cancel my sub and go back to school.

Luckily the sub was good with it.

Because I’m coming back to work a day earlier than I thought.

I don’t know if it’s because I only had three chemos instead of four.  I don’t know if it’s because I’m handling this chemotherapy business so well (that’s a bit delusional).  I don’t know if it’s the good meds and the acupuncture.  I don’t know if it’s because I don’t feel sick and I’m tired of being at home.

Or all of the above.  Well, not the delusional one.

So, yes I’m very tired.  Yes, my tongue still feels burnt.  Yes, I will probably have a rash on my face.  Yes, I’m very tired.  Wait.  I said that one.

But I’m popping a Vitamin b6 and packing a lunch. 

Remind me that I’ve left my coffee mug/coat/radio/vest/glasses on the back table BEFORE I walk out the door.  Or just send a kid out to recess with said items.

Let's Do This - Round Three Chemo

6:04 am, eating my bowl of Cheerios with the Chemo Bag packed (sorta like a birthing bag - and with kind of the same stuff; ipod, snacks, clean socks...) and waiting for 7:00 am to leave.  The port has been smeared with lidocane and I am my plastic bag sounding self (although I am learning to not cut the squares so big - 3x3" is good vs 8x8" the first few times).

By 5:30 tonight I will be halfway through this chemo regime.

Remind me of that in four days when I feel like crap.

Nicely.

We would appreciate prayers, peaceful thoughts, no-puke dances, that kind of stuff.

What's Chemo Like?

I’ve gotten this question a lot, so I’ll try to put it in a nutshell.

BORING.

K, fine, I’ll get a little more detailed.

Before I leave the house, I smear lidocane cream on the port site.  I then put press and seal on top of it to make it stay on my skin and not my shirt.  I then get ready while sounding like a plastic bag.  I dress in leggings and a button down shirt.  The button down shirt is because they need to get to the port by my collarbone.  It would be really uncomfortable to be in a crew neck t-shirt to get to the port.  So I have two shirts I rotate between and a tank top underneath.  After making sure every electronic we own (iPod, tablets, phone, laptop) is charged, off we go.

Once at the hospital, I do a weight check, they access the port and do a blood draw.  The doctor comes in with my numbers from the lab and we talk about reactions from the last time.  This is usually about an hour.

After that, off to the infusion center down the hall.

I find my vinyl brown lazy boy chair and we settle in.  The nurse takes my blood pressure - gosh that’s fun – and usually ends up calling the doctor back in based on those numbers, or the totally red flushed face from the anxiety.  Take your pick on that one.  After that 15 minute go-round, the nurse checks all the concoction numbers and starts bringing in IV bags.  There are at least five.  At some point around here, they flush out my port.

Now I’m a toilet?  No.  They hook up a syringe with saline in it and literally push the saline through the port.  Where it goes, I have no idea, but there’s a lot of it in me.  I think I pee it out.

By now I’m given an injection of Lorazapam which makes everyone happy.  It is immediate.  Then the nurse can actually do her job and I’ve shut up.  I tend to get a little yacky because, it’s not that I don’t want to be there, but I don’t want to be there.

They hook up one of the targeting chemos and we are off and running. 

I am attached to a wheeled IV stand that I know full well how to unplug from the wall and take for a walk.  I usually hit my foot/ankle at least seven times, but I’m on Lorazapam and just don’t give a rip.  I go to the bathroom and stop off at the snack bar – a lot.

The snack bar.  My favorite place.  Orange juice, V8, water, apple juice, granola bars, hummus, little red cheeses that are too expensive for me to buy, granola bars, pita chips, soup, crackers, coffee, tea...  I know I’m forgetting stuff, but that’s what I ate one day.  Yup, one day.  We were there for eight hours.  Not making excuses, but…

I was asked if chemo hurt.  Nope.  I don’t feel anything and it’s not necessarily because of the Lorazapam.  When they access the port, even the inch long needle doesn’t hurt because I’ve numbed the skin on top of the port.  I don’t feel sick during the chemo because they start with at least two anti-nausea medications.  The Lorazapam also has anti-nausea capabilities so I don’t feel any of the yuckyness.  I don’t feel any of the chemo or meds or anything going in.  I sometimes taste metal when they do the flush/saline, but that’s it. 

They start in on the second targeted chemo drug.  These don’t necessarily cause nausea so I don’t think I get the IV bag with all that anti nausea/steroid stuff until after this one’s done.  Each bag takes between 30-90 minutes to drain.  I “beep-beep” when I’m done.  Sometimes I beep-beep through my nap.  Or in the bathroom.  Or at the snack area.  Anyway, I know I’m cooked at that point and we (we? Like I do it) the nurse changes out the bag.

At this point the cool cap is going on.  Spray the hair really, really wet, put the cap on, put   I can feel the cold going through the channels in the hat and its cold, but I don’t get the brain freeze or headache.  Of course, the first time I had a really full head of hair and the distraction of the nutritionist and the second time I still had the full head of hair and my parents as a distraction. 

the cover over the cap and fire that sucker up.

I did find out last time that I could still put ear buds in and arrange the hose attached to the cooling machine and take a nap.

Yeah, because by this time I’m on my second nap.  Thank you Lorazapam and I’m sorry to Jeff and whoever visits because I’m not very entertaining. 

Then the nurse comes in in a plastic gown, mask and gloves (before this she was only wearing gloves to hook up the IV bag).  Now she’s gowned up like I’ve got anthrax or something.  Well, I don’t, but apparently chemo drugs are toxic.

Who knew?

I got an idea; let’s hook them straight into my heart!  Yeah, that’ll be fun.  And they do.

Another 30-60 minutes.

And repeat for the final chemo drug.

Yup, four separate drugs; five separate IV bags and one injection straight into the port.

Then we hang out, not hooked to an IV bag for another 90 minutes with the cool cap on.  In order for the cool cap to work, the hair follicles have to stay cold even AFTER the drugs are in my body.  Probs because the drugs are spreading EVERYWHERE.

Finally, we pull the cap off – learning after the first time to wait at least five minutes to take it off because it freezes to my hair and pulls some out if we don’t – pack up and LEAVE.

Only to go back in 24 hours for the Nuelasta shot.

So that’s Chemo Day in a nutshell.

Thanks for letting me relive it. J

C'mon Tuesday!

I once read about someone who dreaded the day of Chemo.  Absolutely hated it.

Not me.  Bring it on. 

Because every one I do brings me closer to being the LAST one I do.  If I could cheat and have this particular cocktail every two weeks, I would.  Not that I’m in love with the side effects, but so far (please, please, please continue to be so) they are manageable.  Couplea pills, lotsa liquids, naps, (tons of naps) aimless walks with the dogs that are just happy to be outside and one very patient husband.  The face rash that makes me look like I have the chicken pox, the mumps or some other dreaded disease is HIGHLY annoying and I wish I could get a handle on that. 

But even with that, I CAN’T WAIT FOR TUESDAY!

Another day closer to Day Done!