Today, I’ve come pretty far out of the woods. It’s been a week since my chemo and a harder week than I expected after the first day. I was misled by how well I felt at first only to be drawn down by generalized feelings of “sickness.” The hiccups that I had for a couple of days were not too bad, but the intestinal upset, general malaise, and feelings of sickness that followed were more debilitating. My guess is that it took several days for my body to respond in general to the “poisoning” that is systemic chemotherapy; however, the chili dogs I ate may have contributed to that problem as much as the chemo drugs.
I got the sense that my body was whipsawed between chemo drugs stomping on the vomit accelerator and anti-nausea drugs stomping on the brakes. The anti-nausea drugs seem to act on the nervous system, and I wonder if they had anything to do with some strange symptoms I had, especially Tuesday and Wednesday, such as my heart rate dropping into the 40’s. I’m relatively certain that the compazine caused my blurred vision because I stopped taking it last night at 9 pm and can see clearly today. Compazine is a psychoactive drug, and I wonder if I continued taking it after I could have stopped without suffering from nausea? If the nausea accelerator is no longer being stomped, does continuing to stomp on the anti-nausea brakes create other problems? Compazine may have sapped my mental energy as well as my visual acuity, because nothing held my attention. I was simultaneously bored but uninterested in and unable to focus on anything. On the other hand, I had a couple of near-nausea experiences yesterday so maybe I was right not to stop the compazine. But then, how much were the chemo drugs and/or chili dogs responsible for the pervasive sense of sickness? Please excuse my rambling. I’m just trying to make sense of incomplete information.
My appetite has rebounded today. Jana ran over to Taco Bell to get a burrito late in the morning to satisfy my craving, and I just had a salad with canned chicken breast (one of the few foods that has had any appeal in the last couple of days). Oh, I also learned of a delicious treat, Minute Maid soft frozen limeade. It’s like a really nice lime sorbet.
They say that women can only have more than one child because of the built in amnesia that occurs after childbirth; otherwise, they would not go through it again. I hope that a similar amnesia affects chemotherapy patients, but I know from my father’s experience thirty plus years ago that that did not occur then. Maybe the improved nausea control helps.
Time for a frozen limeade.
David
October 29, 2010
October 25, 2010
Chemo Update 2
Worst day since chemo. No physical or mental energy. Hiccups persist.
However, we got good news on Jana's CML. The blood test that shows the percentage of cells that have the malignancy dropped from 6% to .05% in the last three months. That sure looks good to me!
However, we got good news on Jana's CML. The blood test that shows the percentage of cells that have the malignancy dropped from 6% to .05% in the last three months. That sure looks good to me!
October 24, 2010
Chemo Update
It is chemo plus two days now. The first day after chemo started at 2:30 am when I woke up and stayed up until 4:30 or 5:00. I think I felt good on the day of the chemo because of the steroids they gave me to help with nausea, and their stimulating effect woke me up. I wasn’t bothered by being awake in the middle of the night because I was fully awake and read the news and played Spider solitaire happily, but about 4:30 I thought I’d better go to sleep, so I took a Benadryl as the nurse had suggested.
I have had absolutely no nausea even though cisplatin is known to be a powerful nausea stimulator. The anti-nausea drugs work wonderfully, so if you ever face chemotherapy know that nausea is a side effect of the past. I do have the hiccups most of my waking hours, however. I went online and found that the steroids seem to cause the hiccups, and the hiccups should abate when I stop taking the steroids on Wednesday, or maybe even when the dosage is reduced tomorrow. One possible factor may be imbalance in my electrolytes, and I need more sodium, so I’m going to eat a bowl of canned soup for lunch which will provide a lot of salt.
I seem to be benefiting from a positive side effect that I did not anticipate. The pain that is probably caused by nerve damage from my surgery is much diminished. It’s good to have a positive side effect.
David
I have had absolutely no nausea even though cisplatin is known to be a powerful nausea stimulator. The anti-nausea drugs work wonderfully, so if you ever face chemotherapy know that nausea is a side effect of the past. I do have the hiccups most of my waking hours, however. I went online and found that the steroids seem to cause the hiccups, and the hiccups should abate when I stop taking the steroids on Wednesday, or maybe even when the dosage is reduced tomorrow. One possible factor may be imbalance in my electrolytes, and I need more sodium, so I’m going to eat a bowl of canned soup for lunch which will provide a lot of salt.
I seem to be benefiting from a positive side effect that I did not anticipate. The pain that is probably caused by nerve damage from my surgery is much diminished. It’s good to have a positive side effect.
David
October 22, 2010
I Feel Good!
I wanted to title this entry as follows, but the title can only be one line long.
I Feel Good!
NaNa Na NaNa NaNa
Didn’t Think That I Would Now!
I had my first round of chemo today—a liter of saline, 500 cc’s of Alimta, a thirty minute rest, a liter of Cisplatin, and another liter of saline. It took about five hours. They also gave me a B12 shot, an anti-nausea drug in my IV, an anti-nausea drug by mouth, and a steroid. I have no side effects of the chemo at this time (6 pm), but may have them later. The B-12 and the steroid may have a lot to do with my feeling good.
It all went smoothly, and my port worked as it should. I just sat in a recliner under a blanket (it’s cold in there plus cool liquids were constantly going into my bloodstream) and read. I took a sandwich and apple for lunch and wheeled my IV stand over to the kitchen area and got some graham crackers later on. The nurses were top notch—knowledgeable, helpful, and had a great attitude.
We learned from the nurse who provided the chemo education that another mesothelioma patient, who flies down from Michigan for his treatment, has a blog. Looking forward to reading it.
David
I Feel Good!
NaNa Na NaNa NaNa
Didn’t Think That I Would Now!
I had my first round of chemo today—a liter of saline, 500 cc’s of Alimta, a thirty minute rest, a liter of Cisplatin, and another liter of saline. It took about five hours. They also gave me a B12 shot, an anti-nausea drug in my IV, an anti-nausea drug by mouth, and a steroid. I have no side effects of the chemo at this time (6 pm), but may have them later. The B-12 and the steroid may have a lot to do with my feeling good.
It all went smoothly, and my port worked as it should. I just sat in a recliner under a blanket (it’s cold in there plus cool liquids were constantly going into my bloodstream) and read. I took a sandwich and apple for lunch and wheeled my IV stand over to the kitchen area and got some graham crackers later on. The nurses were top notch—knowledgeable, helpful, and had a great attitude.
We learned from the nurse who provided the chemo education that another mesothelioma patient, who flies down from Michigan for his treatment, has a blog. Looking forward to reading it.
David
October 21, 2010
Meso-man Gets a Port
I went in today to have a venous port installed. That sounds like something that would happen when you take your car to the garage. A venous port is a small bulb-like receptacle that is inserted in a pouch under the skin of the chest. It is connected to a catheter that runs to a major vein so fluids can be injected or blood withdrawn from the vein without having to place an IV in the hand or elbow. The chemotherapeutic agents I will receive are very irritating to the skin or tissue if they come in direct contact with them, so using the port to drip the drugs into the body reduces the risk of complications associated with that contact. It also means that my vein will be spared the damage caused by regular needle punctures.
The port is inserted under a low-level sedation. I can remember at least part of the procedure (near the end), but I’m not sure I was very alert for the whole time. The process began with the usual interview by the nurse in which she asked the usual questions about any allergies to medicines, the presence of a pacemaker, the drugs I am taking, etc. The doctor explained the procedure and obtained consent, then another doctor, who I imagine is a resident, came by to introduce himself.
Then the nurse wheeled me on a gurney into the operating room where a tech was waiting. The room was impressive with seven flat panel displays and other equipment. It took quite some time to get me ready (shaving and sterilizing my chest, putting on a mask and hairnet, putting oxygen nosebuds in place, taking my blood pressure, etc.) and position all of the equipment. I wonder what the two little tubes that go into the nose from an oxygen line are called? We use earbuds to listen to music, so maybe we breathe oxygen through nosebuds.
The insertion of the catheter into the vein was conducted under ultrasound and the finished product was x-rayed. I don’t remember the ultrasound part of the procedure, so I suppose I was at a deeper level of sedation at that time, but I did see the x-ray on one of the displays at the end of the procedure. I was conscious enough during the last part of the procedure to listen to the doctors reposition the catheter and attach it to the port and finish up.
I can’t see the location of the port now because of the dressing that covers it, but that will be removed tomorrow when I get my first chemo. I have only a little discomfort at the port site, and I have not taken any Tylenol yet. I have to minimize lifting with my left hand (the port’s on the left side) for some time, so I get a guilt-free pass on working in the yard for a while.
When this disease process began, I found the testing and surgery interesting, and I looked forward to what I would learn. Now, however, it is not so interesting. I have grown tired of being poked and cut on. I still like learning about the procedures, but just not as much. As we were sitting in the prep area waiting for me to be wheeled into the operating room, Jana said that she was more anxious than she expected to be, so I guess we are becoming more sensitized than desensitized to medical procedures. Chemo begins tomorrow, and I’ll write a description of that experience when I feel up to it.
David
PS A picture of my port can be found on page 12 of this link http://bardaccess.com/assets/pdfs/brochures/bro-port-family.pdf
The port is inserted under a low-level sedation. I can remember at least part of the procedure (near the end), but I’m not sure I was very alert for the whole time. The process began with the usual interview by the nurse in which she asked the usual questions about any allergies to medicines, the presence of a pacemaker, the drugs I am taking, etc. The doctor explained the procedure and obtained consent, then another doctor, who I imagine is a resident, came by to introduce himself.
Then the nurse wheeled me on a gurney into the operating room where a tech was waiting. The room was impressive with seven flat panel displays and other equipment. It took quite some time to get me ready (shaving and sterilizing my chest, putting on a mask and hairnet, putting oxygen nosebuds in place, taking my blood pressure, etc.) and position all of the equipment. I wonder what the two little tubes that go into the nose from an oxygen line are called? We use earbuds to listen to music, so maybe we breathe oxygen through nosebuds.
The insertion of the catheter into the vein was conducted under ultrasound and the finished product was x-rayed. I don’t remember the ultrasound part of the procedure, so I suppose I was at a deeper level of sedation at that time, but I did see the x-ray on one of the displays at the end of the procedure. I was conscious enough during the last part of the procedure to listen to the doctors reposition the catheter and attach it to the port and finish up.
I can’t see the location of the port now because of the dressing that covers it, but that will be removed tomorrow when I get my first chemo. I have only a little discomfort at the port site, and I have not taken any Tylenol yet. I have to minimize lifting with my left hand (the port’s on the left side) for some time, so I get a guilt-free pass on working in the yard for a while.
When this disease process began, I found the testing and surgery interesting, and I looked forward to what I would learn. Now, however, it is not so interesting. I have grown tired of being poked and cut on. I still like learning about the procedures, but just not as much. As we were sitting in the prep area waiting for me to be wheeled into the operating room, Jana said that she was more anxious than she expected to be, so I guess we are becoming more sensitized than desensitized to medical procedures. Chemo begins tomorrow, and I’ll write a description of that experience when I feel up to it.
David
PS A picture of my port can be found on page 12 of this link http://bardaccess.com/assets/pdfs/brochures/bro-port-family.pdf
October 14, 2010
Two Doctor Visits
Jana and I each had appointments with our oncologists this week. Her visit yesterday went very well, and her white blood count is still normal. We would have been shocked if it had been otherwise because she feels so good, but it was reassuring to get positive results. The doctor ordered the blood test that determines what percentage of her white blood cells have the translocation that causes her leukemia, and we’ll get the results next week. The goal is to get the percentage to essentially zero.
Jana’s doctor has a sort of ebullient personality, and he told us how he likes to read Louis L’Amour and Daniel Quinn to relax. Then he loaned us two Louis L’Amour books to take our minds off of cancer. He also told his nurse that we were spies who had worked overseas for many years. I explained to her briefly what we really did. He closed the appointment by giving us each a hug (plus giving Jana a peck on the cheek).
His personality is not what I would have expected from a doctor who is the director of the Cancer Center, the Division of Hematology/Oncology, and the Cancer Research Institute and who has his BA, MA, and MD from Harvard, did his internship at Yale, and his residency and a fellowship at Stanford. A new drug that he has developed is being tried at M D Anderson. I was impressed by his mental energy and playfulness. I wonder if his playfulness is related to his success as a researcher?
I saw my oncologist today, and we decided to go forward with chemotherapy. His argument was that because we know that I have cancer in the pericardium (the sack around the heart) it would be better to begin treatment before the cancer can cause an effusion or other problem that would complicate my treatment. From what I can tell, only about half of mesothelioma patients respond to the chemotherapy, but since I hope to be in the “long tail” of the survival curve, I am ready to proceed. I’ll have a port installed as soon as it can be scheduled next week, and then I’ll have Chemo School and begin the chemotherapy the next day. I’ve got to get some pictures made of my head with hair in case I lose it. I’m curious about how my hair might be different when it grows back.
Watch this spot for a description of my chemo next week or the week after depending on when I can begin.
David
Jana’s doctor has a sort of ebullient personality, and he told us how he likes to read Louis L’Amour and Daniel Quinn to relax. Then he loaned us two Louis L’Amour books to take our minds off of cancer. He also told his nurse that we were spies who had worked overseas for many years. I explained to her briefly what we really did. He closed the appointment by giving us each a hug (plus giving Jana a peck on the cheek).
His personality is not what I would have expected from a doctor who is the director of the Cancer Center, the Division of Hematology/Oncology, and the Cancer Research Institute and who has his BA, MA, and MD from Harvard, did his internship at Yale, and his residency and a fellowship at Stanford. A new drug that he has developed is being tried at M D Anderson. I was impressed by his mental energy and playfulness. I wonder if his playfulness is related to his success as a researcher?
I saw my oncologist today, and we decided to go forward with chemotherapy. His argument was that because we know that I have cancer in the pericardium (the sack around the heart) it would be better to begin treatment before the cancer can cause an effusion or other problem that would complicate my treatment. From what I can tell, only about half of mesothelioma patients respond to the chemotherapy, but since I hope to be in the “long tail” of the survival curve, I am ready to proceed. I’ll have a port installed as soon as it can be scheduled next week, and then I’ll have Chemo School and begin the chemotherapy the next day. I’ve got to get some pictures made of my head with hair in case I lose it. I’m curious about how my hair might be different when it grows back.
Watch this spot for a description of my chemo next week or the week after depending on when I can begin.
David
October 7, 2010
Surgery Plus Ten Weeks
It’s been 10 weeks since my big operation. I thought I’d be feeling better than I am at this point. Yesterday, I was more physically active than I have been since the surgery. I walked about two miles first thing in the morning. Then I mowed the front and side yards. Self-propelled lawnmowers are great. Then after lunch and a rest, I edged the back yard with a weed eater and used electric clippers to trim a bed of Carolina jasmine that has taken over a flower bed around one of the pecan trees.
Walking does not bother me particularly, and I have been doing it pretty regularly, but after mowing I had to lie down before and after lunch. Using my upper body, especially my right arm, tires out my back pretty quickly, and I get some dull pain (in addition to the pain of fatigue) up high in my back about where I think they removed the rib. Sitting up in bed, leaning back on a stack of pillows feels really good then. I noticed in the afternoon that stooping and extending the trimmer in front of me as I cut the jasmine not only made my back tired, but made me short of breath sooner than I would have expected.
I have another kind of pain that is pretty much chronic. It is in the front where I have a bulge that is centered on the bottom of my right rib cage. The bulge is a continuation of the bulge that follows the line of incision from high on my back down and around to my side. The pain there gets “crampy” at times and is interspersed with an occasional sharp pain. It seems worse after sitting at the table and eating, so maybe it has to do with my full stomach pushing up on my nonfunctional diaphragm on the right side and stimulating the area damaged by the surgery. This pain in the front is the more troublesome of the two. The back pain can be relieved by resting my back, but the front pain can only be relieved by taking Tylenol, and then not completely. Fortunately, it is rarely very discomforting, even if it is chronic.
Our daughter, Laura, and her husband, Hunter, will arrive tomorrow night to help us prepare for and hold our garage/yard sale on Sunday and Monday. We are so grateful for the help, especially since I’ll probably have to come in and rest my back periodically.
I’ve had a call in to Scott & White this week asking for an appointment with my oncologist; however, I have not heard anything. I’ll have to call them in the morning to see what happened. Jana has a blood test on Tuesday, and she will see her doctor on Wednesday for the results. From how she’s been feeling, we expect the result to be very good.
David
Walking does not bother me particularly, and I have been doing it pretty regularly, but after mowing I had to lie down before and after lunch. Using my upper body, especially my right arm, tires out my back pretty quickly, and I get some dull pain (in addition to the pain of fatigue) up high in my back about where I think they removed the rib. Sitting up in bed, leaning back on a stack of pillows feels really good then. I noticed in the afternoon that stooping and extending the trimmer in front of me as I cut the jasmine not only made my back tired, but made me short of breath sooner than I would have expected.
I have another kind of pain that is pretty much chronic. It is in the front where I have a bulge that is centered on the bottom of my right rib cage. The bulge is a continuation of the bulge that follows the line of incision from high on my back down and around to my side. The pain there gets “crampy” at times and is interspersed with an occasional sharp pain. It seems worse after sitting at the table and eating, so maybe it has to do with my full stomach pushing up on my nonfunctional diaphragm on the right side and stimulating the area damaged by the surgery. This pain in the front is the more troublesome of the two. The back pain can be relieved by resting my back, but the front pain can only be relieved by taking Tylenol, and then not completely. Fortunately, it is rarely very discomforting, even if it is chronic.
Our daughter, Laura, and her husband, Hunter, will arrive tomorrow night to help us prepare for and hold our garage/yard sale on Sunday and Monday. We are so grateful for the help, especially since I’ll probably have to come in and rest my back periodically.
I’ve had a call in to Scott & White this week asking for an appointment with my oncologist; however, I have not heard anything. I’ll have to call them in the morning to see what happened. Jana has a blood test on Tuesday, and she will see her doctor on Wednesday for the results. From how she’s been feeling, we expect the result to be very good.
David
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