tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13956836681882832052024-03-14T00:52:49.696-07:00nwpassageOn Becoming a Jackie-of-All-Trades Renaissance Womannwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395683668188283205.post-22585498299774376192012-03-03T20:59:00.000-08:002012-03-03T20:59:51.644-08:00Breaking, Bouncing Back & Breaking AgainSo after the whole blood clot scare half-way through my new two-week chemo on Thursday 16th February, I was headed into what I hoped would by a nice, quiet, non-chemo weekend, a time of relaxing & slowly building back my strength a little every day. And that was kinda how it went, until Sunday night, when my tummy seemed to be getting a bit bloated & hard again, like the ascites were coming back.<br /><br />I wasn't sure how close to chemo we could drain ascites, or if the scheduling of the two things affected each other at all. I also hadn't seen Dr, Katakkar in the flesh in two weeks, so I didn't know if he was planning at this point to continue on for a second round of the every two-week compromise chemo (tentatively scheduled for the following Friday 24th February), or if he was planning on switching me to yet another new regime. (The only problems that come along with having a brilliant & exceptionally busy world-class oncologist - I'll take them any day of the week!)<br /><br />So Monday morning, although the ascites did seem to be coming back a little, they weren't horribly bad as yet, but I thought safest to call the Cancer Agency & let them know about this new development. They decided that Katakkar did want me to come in that day & see me for himself. So off we went to spend a bunch of time at our home-away-from-home. They ran a bunch of tests & bloodwork in the meantime, but by the time Dr. Katakkar found a few minutes to squeeze me in, he was hemming & hawing on whether to bother draining. It was right at the borderline of being worth draining. If he did drain, it might not be particular successful, and if he did it today (Monday) it might just build up again so bad that he'd have to do it yet again before chemo on Friday (I was definitely getting chemo Friday, he just wasn't positive what type yet). So since the ascites weren't affecting my breathing, and since by now I knew what to look for, I was sent home with the instructions that if anything changed between then and Thursday, when I had my pre-chemo doc appointment anyways, that I should come in.<br /><br />So Tuesday and Wednesday I took it pretty easy, taking advantage of being bloated & confined each day to just lounging around in bed and reading novels, trying to hold out till Thursday morning. Thursday morning was definitely time though: I got up, took a few swallows of water to take a painkiller, and promptly puked. No room left, time to get drained!<br /><br />They agreed at the BC Cancer Agency. This time they filled all three bottles right to the brim - 3.1L. I was joking with the nurses how svelte I felt after that! Of course I'd barely been able to eat anything in the preceding days (less & less room) mostly just trying to drink a few swallows of Boost every few hours to try to get some calories into me. Keeping up my weight has become a big concern, so Sterling & I went & picked up a decent sized lunch of solid food in small bite-sized pieces (sushi - seemed perfect at the time, would live to regret). We went home, had a late lunch of miso soup & noodle salad, saved the actual sushi for a dinner that I definitely had to push myself to finish (8 tiny little salmon rolls - like I said my little tummy is pretty shrunken) but I was so proud of myself for taking advantage of the opportunity to eat as much as I could when I could on Thursday afternoon/evening.<br /><br /><b><i>Chemotheraphy #12 ~ Friday 24th ~ Wednesday 29th February 2012</b></i><br /><br />Even dozen of chemos! A new regime, but since it's not a nice documented BC Cancer Agency approved formula, I'm not going to go into any details. Suffice to say it's one new chemical, infused every Friday, for six weeks. There's a second chemical, infused on the first & fourth Friday as well. Dr. Katakkar is hoping hitting the cancer more frequently at a lower dose will mean the ascites don't have time to build up again. We are hopeful too. It also sounds that this might finally be to protocol that causes *all* my hair to fall out, not just get really thin. In prep for this, I got my wonderful sweet friend Mandy to shave me down real short again Thursday.<br /><br />So Friday, was Freaky Friday all the way. Everything that could go wrong, did. There were 2 anti-nausea pills I had to take & keep down at home before chemo Friday morning. I slept horribly Thursday, woke up feeling awful & out-of-sorts, and so sure that I was not going to be able to keep these drugs down. I was so careful trying, that I decided I couldn't risk taking anything for the pain I was in, as those drugs often make me puke too. So by the time we got the hospital, I was in pain, I was feeling nausea, and generally awful. One thing about me, I can't hide how I'm truly feeling, everyone knows, so the nurse didn't want to start my treatment until the doctor looked at me & was sure I was up for it. So wait around for that. <br /><br />Then, there were issues with my port. Mostly, my VAD port in my chest, through which they draw my blood tests & inject my chemo & other drugs, has been a godsend, I've had very few issues. But lately when trying to collect blood samples it's been finicky. Then you raise your arms, turn your head this way & that, cough cough, and hope it'll start to flow. But the last few times they've said I'm probably headed towards a CATH flush. Over time a bit of scar tissue can build up at the end of the port, and the CATH flush is injected for 2 hours, dissolves the scar tissue, and everything's happy again. The only probably being it takes two hours. And first they have to do an xray to rule out a positional problem, because even though a positional problem is less likely, if that is the problem, then the CATH flush won't fix anything & is a waste of time. So, off for a chest xray. And wait. Chest xray is fine. All good to go for the CATH flush. Except, lunch trays arrived. Normally, I avoid eating during chemo, but right now I'm desperate to sneak in any calories wherever, and there's a fruit cup with 4 apricot halves I think I can get down. Well, I eat one, and for the first time ever, I retch in the cancer ward. Fortunately I had a basin handy from when I was feeling lousy earlier, so didn't make too much of a mess, but still, it was vile. On the upside, when they went to do the CATH flush, it was no longer necessary - I guess my vomiting knocked it back into place.<br /><br />So after that whole incident, they put some extra anti-nausea through my IV before finally starting me on the actual chemo. After all the other stuff, chemo itself went quite quickly & not too bad, two drugs, one I'd had before, and one I hadn't. Supposed to keep an eye on my finger & toe nails.<br /><br />I thought I was ok by the time I got home from chemo that Friday night, even had my curling team over to visit as there was no game scheduled. But late that night something happened that really freaked Sterling & I out. I tried to drink a bit of Boost & puked a great deal - not that unusual at this point, but what I was puking up, was sushi I'd eaten more than 24 hours earlier. That shouldn't have still been in my stomach able to come out. It scared us.<br /><br />We resolved for Saturday I would stick to drinking only fluids, including Boost, in small, a couple mouthful portions.<br /><br />Dr. Katakkar wanted to monitor my blood levels very closely following this new chemo, so we were scheduled to go into IV Therapy on Saturday & Sunday (when the cancer centre isn't open) to get blood drawn. Of course, Saturday, we go down for our 9:30AM appointment, and they again have problems with my port, and end up finally having to do the CATH flush. So injected with that, come back in 2 hours or so, and get the blood test done. <br /><br />We thought we were doing ok until late that night when I puked again. And then at 5AM, when I got up because I was in so much pain, and tried to take pain meds with 3 mouthfuls of fluid, and immediately puked them back up. That was when I said, we have to go to Emergency.<br /><br />We were at Emergency from 5AM - 3:30PM Sunday 26th February. They were quite nice to us - a private room to protect my weakened immune system, they scrounged up a second cot for Sterling so he didn't have to go home but could still get some rest since he was working on call over the weekend. Things just take time. I had xrays, blood tests, and eventually a CAT scan. The worst was shortly after being admitted, when the doctor came in, I started retching uncontrollably, the nastiest stuff ever. It was like I was puking feces. That's when they thought my cancer had probably caused an intestinal blockage - that's what the tests were trying to find.<br /><br />In the end though they couldn't find a blockage. The surgeon on call (picture a good'ol country doc) figured the pressure from my ascites was causing the blockage & me to throw up. Unlike Katakkar, he believed in draining as much as possible, and ended up taking out about another 4.9L - this after just being drained on Thursday!<br /><br />We went home & then back to the cancer centre for followup Monday morning. And ended up back every single day last week, getting IV liquids & trying to get my nausea under control. I'm sad to say, not very successfully - I think I've puked every day. I'm on a liquid diet, and not even able to keep that down. I ended up getting <br /><br /><b><i>Chemotheraphy #13 ~ Thursday 1st March ~ Wednesday 7th March 2012</b></i><br /><br />and then my ascites drained yet again - only another 3 litres this time, on Friday. I was scared of the weekend, with the cancer centre & my source of TLC closed, but we spend 8AM - 4PM at the hospital on Friday draining the ascites, getting my fluids, and getting home nurses set up for the weekend.<br /><br />So today Saturday 3rd March... was a better day then I've had. Yes, I still puked up my dinner of chicken broth last night. And I puked this afternoon. But I've also had a couple bowel movements (I know, but we're WAY past TMI in this blog by now) which is a good sign, and I've just generally had a decent day. Maybe tomorrow will be the one without puking, finally? The nurses who came in to give me fluids were very nice, and another nice thing is I currently have two butterfly patches, one in each arm, one for my pain killer and one for one of the anti-nausea drugs, so Sterling can give me injections for those rather than the pills, which just haven't been staying down this week.<br /><br />And Dr. Katakkar gave me another pep talk on Friday. He still believes I can beat this. He still has hope. So even though I've reached & passed my breaking point a few times this past week, I'm determined to believe too.<br /><br />Thank you all for your continued warm wishes. Love you all.nwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395683668188283205.post-85986798528193034162012-02-16T15:44:00.000-08:002012-02-16T16:09:45.620-08:00Blood ClotsSo since getting the baby bottle infusor off last Sunday, I kept expecting to start feeling better. Instead the weakness seemed to carry on. Just walking a few steps left me panting. All I could do was lie in bed, not sleeping, I was all slept out, but unable to even lie on the couch & focus on TV. So frustrating!<br /><br />Finally on Wednesday 15th February I had my first doctor's appointment with my new family doctor, the super-amazing-wonderful Dr. Kelly. He's amazing, so compassionate, a true old-fashioned family doctor, and I love him already. He told me to keep my spirits up, to keep fighting. Also said really nice things about my oncologist Dr. Katakkar. It's nice to have a new face on my health-care team.<br /><br />I felt bad during the appointment because just sitting in a chair upright having a conversation was more than I could really handle. So after the appointment I asked Sterling to take me into the cancer centre. I could barely walk from from the parking lot in. One look at me & they had me in a bed, running blood tests & IV fluids. I apologized for bothering them, and they threatened to kick my ass. They said it's always the ones like me who don't want to be a bother who hold out longer then they should before breaking down & coming in. The initial theory because of how pale & weak I was was that I was severely anemic & needed a blood transfusion. So they did the bloodwork & ran IV fluids because in spite of my best efforts I was definitely dehydrated, causing my pulse to race in the 110-120 range. But the blood tests came back negative, that wasn't the problem. So then Dr. Fibich, saying "it's unlikely but I want to be thorough" sent me for a CT scan, where he found what he suspected: blood clots in my lungs. I guess this is very common in cancer patients, developing blood clots. That's why I was so short of breath all the time.<br /><br />After the IV fluids and the CT scan discovery, they gave me an injection of warfarin (blood thinner) and scheduled an appointment the next day for Sterling & I to learn to give the subcutaneous injections ourselves (once a day, into my belly fat).<br /><br />So that's what happened. Today Thursday 16th February we went into IV Therapy where they taught Sterling to do the injections, since I'm too chicken. It's pretty simple, especially since he as previously trained to give the neupogen shots I needed for a week that one round of chemo. After that it was back over to the cancer centre for more followup bloodwork & IV fluids; they sent me home around noon.<br /><br />We stopped at London Drugs to pick up the first weeks worth of shots. Once again thank gods for my drug plan - the deductible for a month's supply was going to be $800+! Instead it's all covered.<br /><br />I had a bit of a lie-down again once we got home tonight, but am starting to feel better. Hopefully this new treatment of shots will have me back on the mend. Thank you everyone as always for your warm thoughts & prayers, they keep me going when things are darkest.nwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395683668188283205.post-52608044391336346762012-02-13T08:36:00.000-08:002012-02-13T08:51:46.996-08:00DrainedSo, it's past time to update on the outcome of my ascites. After a week-and-a-half of suffering with them, I had my regular pre-chemo doctor's appointment last Tuesday 7th February. After going in super-early for blood work, at the actual doctor's appointment Dr. Katakkar examined me and felt the ascites had consolidated into a big enough pocket that he could drain it. After a small needle to freeze an area upper-left of my belly button, he was able to easily draw off a small sample of the fluid. Then he hooked me up through a third needle to a hose into a 1 litre vacuum glass bottle. The ascites started zooming out into the jar. It was pretty fascinating to watch. This time the color was like apple juice/beer, complete with foamy head because of how fast it came out. We filled nearly three bottles, 2.42 litres in all. It was a great relief and since then I've been able to go off my pain meds and eat a little.<br /><br /><b><i>Chemotherapy #11 - Tuesday 7th February - Tuesday 21st February 2012</i></b><br /><br />We also discussed the change in chemo. I came back Thursday 9th February for treatment and was turned away, as the protocol Dr. Katakkar wanted was rejected by the BC Cancer Agency board in Vancouver. After a day to straighten that out, they came up with a compromise chemo (<a href="http://www.bccancer.bc.ca/NR/rdonlyres/C0A8933B-3AAD-4EBA-A95C-4552A0A060C9/51695/GIGFOLFIRI_Handout_1Sep091.pdf">GIGFOLFIRI</a>) to give me Friday. It involved infusion with two new drugs, Irinotecan and folinic acid (leucovorin) followed by an infusion & 2 day baby bottle infusor of 5FU (fluorouracil) that I've had as a 5 day baby bottle before. There was a 1 in 10 chance I would have a specific allergic reaction to the irinotecan, which I did have, so I had to get a shot of atropine in my arm to combat that too. Other than that, everything went smoothly. I was feeling super rough by the time the baby bottle came off Sunday 12th February. The nurse Ava was sweet enough to come into the hospital on Sunday to unhook me & teach Sterling how so he can do it next time. Today I'm still feeling very rough but hopefully on the mend. Bad diarrhea from this one, so lots of immodium & trying to drink lots of fluids.nwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395683668188283205.post-66564045170203789062012-02-11T20:59:00.000-08:002012-02-11T21:01:09.092-08:00Two Small Tributes to Two Big Men<i>In the last couple months, cancer has stolen two good men from my mother's life & by extension, from my life. I wanted to write a short tribute to them. Both were solid, salt-of-the-earth decent people who didn't deserve this horrible disease & who are greatly missed. RIP Larry. RIP Uncle Morris.</i><br /><br /><hr><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgScXNVaV6ycBVljqm6OqZqmDSItr2jyp4zPI1SZCUBy9tG6mT_tuVBNN4YLZPhovihjCplO-rKhXWk-BwSSsiEzwJ6M1b8pHDmQO-tlP2yRiUE1_CybO3jpe7_nL7o_B-OnhLDPbNkB30L/s1600/LarryObit.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 207px; height: 207px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgScXNVaV6ycBVljqm6OqZqmDSItr2jyp4zPI1SZCUBy9tG6mT_tuVBNN4YLZPhovihjCplO-rKhXWk-BwSSsiEzwJ6M1b8pHDmQO-tlP2yRiUE1_CybO3jpe7_nL7o_B-OnhLDPbNkB30L/s400/LarryObit.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708099311380896354" /></a><b><a href="http://www.hamresfuneral.com/obituaries/Larry-Macdonald">Obituary for Larry MacDonald</a><br />Larry Archie MacDonald<br />3rd October 1949 ~ 24th November 2011</b><br /><br />It is with our deepest sympathy that we announce the passing of Larry Archie MacDonald, 62, on November 24, 2011 in Fort St. John, British Columbia.<br /><br />Larry was born on October 3, 1949 in Lloydminster, Saskatchewan to parents Malcolm (Scotty) and Rosie MacDonald. As a teen Larry, attended Hillmond High School and later became a businessman with Federated Co-op for 15 years and Redwood Esso for 17. He was involved with the Fort St. John Flyers and a sponsor for many community activities.<br /><br />Larry is predeceased by his father Malcom (Scotty) MacDonald, his mother Rosie MacDonald and his sisters Helen Charles and Sharon MacDonald.<br /><br />Larry is survived by his daughters, Laurie and Aarin MacDonald, youngest son Scott MacDonald and grandchildren Tysen and Emily Peacock. He also leaves to mourn brothers, Ray, Graham and Murray MacDonald and his sisters Florence Brown, Catherine MacDonald, Doris Napper and Janet Grant.<br /><br />Special thanks to Dr. Mark Thompson, Dr. Ilona Amstutz, Hamre’s Funeral Chapel, the nursing staff at the Fort St. John General Hospital and the staff at the Chemotherapy Clinic for their professionalism, care and understanding.<br /><br />Expressions of sympathy may be made in memory of Larry to the Fort St. John Palliative Care Society 9812-108th Ave Fort St. John, BC V1J 2R3, The Salvation Army 10116-100th Ave Fort St. John, BC V1J 1Y6, or The Canadian Cancer Society #108-9325-100th St Fort St. John, BC V1J 4N4.<br /><br />A memorial service was held on the 5th December 2011 at 2PM at Pomeroy Hotel 11308 Alaska Rd Fort St. John, BC, V1J 5T5.<br /><br /><b><i>Holly's Memories:</b> Larry was the closest thing I've ever had to a stepdad.<br /><br />I was already off at my second year university when my parents divorced & shortly thereafter Larry & my Mom starting dating & moved in together, so the relationship we had was always as adults rather then him doing any "raising" of me. Still, I like to think that at age 19 when he came into my life, I was still learning lots & that I learned a lot from Larry. I later worked for the better part of a year in his Redwood Esso convenience store & got to see that side of him too. <br /><br />Larry loved to laugh & have a good time. When he was jolly he always made sure to take everyone around him along for the fun. He was extremely generous, with both his money & time. He was the type who fed a man who couldn't pay, because he could see the guy was hungry & needed a meal. "It sucks not having money," he always said, he had been completely broke himself & he tried to help people out whenever he could. After several years things didn't work out between him & my mom, but we both continued to care for him. <br /><br />The last time I saw Larry was in September 2009 at Casey's Pub in Fort St. John. Larry had had his first run-in with cancer at that time, but still had the same cheerful attitude, same smile, same laugh. Gave me a hug. I'll always remember this warm, funny man and my heart goes out to my mother, his children, and all those who miss him every day. RIP Larry.</i><br /><br /><hr><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCbvNgg06aDtNRoqAa7XOdy5NZmWG5qeeYM_7tclcUBP4nPLZnqgVCLFYdFnLw-vuBqHvriNMRFBKGGIdigW-GDUaRFKyqkgMp4smalV_4r5ASoPwIOmvewJkcWyDwB74TuVTaXP21y1LA/s1600/MorrisObit.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 207px; height: 207px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCbvNgg06aDtNRoqAa7XOdy5NZmWG5qeeYM_7tclcUBP4nPLZnqgVCLFYdFnLw-vuBqHvriNMRFBKGGIdigW-GDUaRFKyqkgMp4smalV_4r5ASoPwIOmvewJkcWyDwB74TuVTaXP21y1LA/s400/MorrisObit.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708100584135034994" /></a><a href="http://www.hamresfuneral.com/obituaries/Morris-Phillips">Obituary for Morris Phillips</a><br />Morris Howard Phillips<br />10th February 10 1943 ~ 31st January 2012</b><br /><br />It is with our deepest sympathy that we announce the passing of Morris Phillips, 68, on January 31, 2012 in Fort St. John, British Columba.<br /><br />Morris was born on February 10, 1943 in Edmonton, Alberta to parents Howard & Betty Phillips. As a teen Morris attended school in Calmar, Alberta. Through the years Morris worked hard to become a self employed contract operator for M&H Gas Well Servicing Ltd which he did proudly for the last 50 years. On May 7, 1964 Morris married his best friend Joann Elizabeth Robarts and would later become a father to three beautiful children. Morris was greatly involved at the Lake Point Golf & Country Club, one of his greatest accomplishment was when he shot a hole in one on Hole #5.<br /><br />Morris is predeceased by his father Howard Phillips, his mother Elizabeth Phillips, and his brother Daniel (Danny) Phillips.<br /><br />Morris is survived by his loving wife of 47 years JoAnn, his beloved children Shawn, Sherri and Dallise, and his cherished grandchildren Raschelle, Carter, Ryan, Tanniesha and Dayna.<br /><br />Special thanks to the nurses at the Fort St. John Hospital for all their care and support they showed through this difficult time.<br /><br />A memorial service was held Saturday, February 11, 2012 at 11:00am from the Royal Canadian Legion Hall. Morris will be laid to rest at the Woodlawn Cemetery at a later time. If so desired expressions of sympathy can be made in memory of Morris to the Fort St. John SPCA.<br /><br /><br /><b><i>Holly's Memories:</b> Morris was my mother's oldest brother & my oldest uncle.<br /><br />I remember Morris from all the family events growing up. He was part of the tapestry of my young life, a large extended family that wrapped around me like a soft comforting blanket. Uncle Morris was a lot like my grandpa, his father: a gruff-on-the-outside man with a big heart just under a slightly crusty exterior. He was always there for my mom when she needed help or support, and I always loved & respected him for that.<br /><br />In his last months Morris was in a great deal of pain, so although we're all sorry to see him go I am comforted by the idea that he has rejoined some of his favourite dogs & is walking the clouds with them now, in full health & strength and without any pain.<br /><br />My heart goes out to my Auntie Jo, my cousins, and of course my mom who is having a horrible time dealing with his passing. RIP Uncle Morris.</i>nwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395683668188283205.post-60730369101842323572012-02-04T18:26:00.000-08:002012-02-04T18:26:31.541-08:00Pain in the Ascites<b><i>Chemotherapy Round #10: Wednesday, 18th January - Tuesday, 7th February 2012</i></b><br /><br />When updating people about my health, whether here or on FaceBook, I always strive for "honest-but-upbeat". I hate that cancer has made me a constant source of stress & anxiety for everyone who cares about me. I know worrying is the price for caring about someone, and that my loved ones pay it gladly, but still, it sucks. Stupid fucking cancer really, really sucks.<br /><br />Which is why this update has been one of the hardest to share. It's been a very rough couple weeks.<br /><br />When last I updated the blog, I'd had the PET scan showing that the cancer was still active rather than just scar tissue like the CAT scan suggested. This wasn't a huge surprise, because I'd been having more & more aches & pains, which although I diligently reported them to my doctors, I tried for the most part to write off as other things. I hoped that round #10 of chemo, full chemo, would knock the pain out again. That hasn't happened.<br /><br />The chemo itself was one of the easiest rounds I've had - after 9 weeks since my last full chemo, my body had recovered more of my strength & energy than I thought. Just the pain was a problem, trying to find a new pain pill regimen that worked for me. At first I was hoping to manage with just over-the-counter stuff, like Tylenol, but that wasn't controlling it. So when we went in on Tuesday, 24th January to get the baby bottle off, we met with the pharmacist and she put me back on the Dilaudid.<br /><br />We went home, expecting to be entering the recovery phase. Normally with chemo every day is a little better at this point. Instead, I struggled, and vomited a couple times, and by Thursday night in the wee hours I was tossing & turning, in pain, unable to get comfortable enough to sleep. I got up to go the bathroom and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and was shocked by how distended my belly was, especially my upper abdomen. Starting right under my boobs I had a giant curve, like I was pregnant. I realized then that my ascites had gotten much worse and were what was causing a lot of my discomfort.<br /><br />What are ascites? It's fluid in your abdomen. It's similar to a blister - your body tries to protect itself by building a layer of fluid over the injury. In this case, the growing cancer. I had ascites at the time of diagnosis; they were drained off during the exploratory surgery that found the cancer, and hadn't come back because chemo had worked so well. Dr. Katakkar had mentioned months & months ago that the fact that they hadn't come back was one of the surest signs that chemo was working. When I'd had my exam this round on the Wednesday right before chemo, he'd commented that there was a little fluid back, but nothing like this.<br /><br />What did this mean? That the ascites had gotten so much worse, right after chemo? Ascites are a common complication from stomach cancer, and I had read online about a woman who had to have hers drained regularly. At this point, in the wee hours of Thursday night, having a giant needle stuck in my abdomen sounded like sweet relief. I decided to call the cancer clinic about this new complication first thing in the morning, and had a fitful sleep where I dreamed about jabbing myself in the belly with a giant bbq fork and draining the fluid off that way.<br /><br />Friday morning I called the Cancer Centre & asked about the possibility of draining the ascites. Dr. Katakkar was out of town, but the new oncologist, Dr. Fibich was in, and agreed to get me an ultrasound & see me. So Sterling & I headed down to the hospital. We went to the Cancer Centre for some bloodwork, then upstairs for the ultrasound, where both the technician & doctor called it a "moderate" amount of ascites - I hope I never have "severe"! The problem was (is) that it's not one giant pocket; like my cancer, it's spread throughout my abdomen in isolated pockets. They can't drain either of the two really painful ones, in my upper abdomen, because of all the organs up there (stomach, liver, etc.). They end up marking an "X" in sharpie on my lower left, down above my hip, and "2.5 cm", which the technician explains is where the pocket starts; the needle has to go in at least that far, probably more like 3-3.5 cms. Gulp!<br /><br />Back down to the Cancer Centre to see Dr. Fibich. He was very nice. He had read a lot of my file, we talked about my case for a bit, he showed me the ultrasound. Unfortunately, he wasn't very optimistic about what drainage would do for me, since they couldn't touch the pockets that were really bugging me, and just in general he said he's found it usually only gives minimal relief. But after studying the pocket they'd marked, he was willing to try. He froze the area, and tried twice - managed to get a small sample which he sent for tests. It looked like thin blood. After the second attempt he gave up, saying that the relief wasn't worth the discomfort the procedure was causing. He told me to take as much pain killer as needed, and to come back in, even over the weekend to the emergency room, if things got worse, or if the ascites started causing breathing problems. Dr. Katakkar would be back Monday & he would discuss with him.<br /><br />Dr. Fibich confirmed the ascites were a bad sign. The most likely explanation is that the chemo regimen is no longer working. However, given the timing, it's also quite possible that this was just where the cancer was heading, and my switch back to full chemo was too little, too late to stop it from happening. In that case I will hopefully get better with the next round of chemo. There's also a tiny possibility that the chemo itself, killing the cancer, caused the flair-up in irritation & the ascites. It will be Dr. Katakkar's call whether to switch my chemo, or to try at least one more round with this protocol. But bottom line, there's little to nothing anyone can do until the next round of chemo. I called back Monday, and Dr. Katakkar concurred with all of this. Nothing to do but wait it out.<br /><br />That weekend, 28-29th January, was awful. I was restless, squirmy, no position was comfortable for more than a few moments. The best that could be found was lying on my left side in bed in a semi-fetal position. I couldn't even lie comfortably on the couch. So it was pretty much a total bed rest weekend, so boring, so uncomfortable. The way I describe it is, that feeling of being completely bloated after you've eaten way, way too much at a holiday meal. But you're actually hungry, because you haven't been able to eat anything. And what little I eat, I can't seem to keep down. I've puked more in the last two weeks than in my entire 33 year life before that. There's just no room for food, and/or the fluid is pressing on my stomach, causing me to heave.<br /><br />I did get some relief late Sunday night. In the wee hours, lying there, trying to get comfortable, it was like something suddenly shifted, and some of the pressure fell away, maybe 10-20%. It's not a lot, but it's something, and I've been grateful. It's meant that in the last week I've been able to sit or lie on the couch some & watch TV, more than I was able to do last weekend. I can also lie on my other side as well, giving me in general more options of "comfortable" positions. I've barely been on the computer though. I can't find a comfortable way to sit in my computer chair. Twice already, writing this blog post, the pain's gotten so bad I've had to go lay down in bed for 10-15 minutes to let it pass before another short session in the chair.<br /><br />I managed to make 48 hours without puking. But that ended abruptly yesterday. Friday 3rd February I was awakened out of a dead sleep at 5AM to run to the bathroom & worship the porcelain god. There is something oddly sweet about both cats coming in the bathroom & hanging out with me while I retched. Either that or they wanted to see Mommy hacking up a hairball, or most likely wanted to be fed.<br /><br />Sterling woke up around 6AM, after the first 2 rounds of puking but before the 3rd. He's so sweet, he brings me gingerale & rubs my back while I hurl. I'm sure if I had any hair he'd hold it back for me. I am so lucky to have him.<br /><br />Yesterday (Friday) was the most puking day yet - in addition to the 3 times in the morning, I puked up my dinner (a few bites of taco) right before bed. Then I was up every half hour, 4-5 times last night, pooping water as well. (I've also been struggling with constipation even before this, so have to try to get some laxative in between all the other meds as well). And then this morning, I took my morning meds, and immediately puked them up as well, in spite of there being absolutely nothing in my system at all. I was crying this morning, clutching the toilet, Sterling rubbing my back, and I just kept saying, "I'm so scared." I've been really lucky with my quality-of-life so far, but this... this is just not good.<br /><br />I'm OK, really. I will get through this. This morning I decided to stop trying to be a hero & just take more meds already: more breakthrough pain medication when I need it, and the anti-nausea pills on a regular basis, since I'll be fine fine fine & then suddenly horribly nauseous & puking. Hopefully these measures will help.<br /><br />Everyone I've told "offline" has been so sweet, and expressed such feelings of helpless. "If there's anything I can, just let me know." I wish there was, but at this point there's just nothing anyone can do. Just knowing I have all your good thoughts/vibes/prayers is a great comfort. Thank you. And I hope for better news to share with all of you after chemo next Thursday, like the ascites going down.nwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395683668188283205.post-16962776579096737172012-01-18T21:50:00.000-08:002012-01-19T21:37:56.384-08:00PET Scan<b><i>Chemotherapy Round #9: Wednesday, 28th December 2011 - Tuesday, 17th January 2012</i></b><br /><br />Everything can change in an instant.<br /><br />Well, not really, it just feels that way. Like when I was diagnosed back in June... the doc's best guess was that the cancer had started a year earlier, so it wasn't actually overnight... it just felt like it.<br /><br />After my CT Scan in early December, when it was thought that my cancer was stable & Herceptin would hold it that way, my life started to slowly change. I started to get my strength back without the chemo knocking me down every three weeks, I planned to go back to work when my office reopened January 3rd, and I spent a lovely Christmas with my siblings. Then in January, actually going back to work was a bigger change, but one I was coping with. And then I finally got the PET scan that Dr. Katakkar had referred me for booked, for Monday 16th January.<br /><br />Then, the Thursday afternoon 12th January, there was a message on the machine: they were cancelling the PET scan. Had to rebook for the next day, Tuesday 17th January. It cost nearly as much as the original airline ticket to reschedule, but I managed. Then Tuesday morning, after dropping me off at the airport, Sterling came home to another message: they wanted to cancel that day's appointment! Fortunately when they couldn't get a hold of anyone at my house, they called the local cancer agency, who read them the riot act & told them I was already on my way, and they'd better find a way to keep my appointment.<br /><br />I got to Vancouver fine. My Dad flew in from Calgary to come with me to the appointment. We met up in the airport, took a stretch limo downtown (Dad was spoiling me) to get Dad checked in to his hotel (he stayed over to take a number of business meetings the next day, while I was flying home that evening). From there we took a cab to the BC Cancer Agency in Vancouver. I filled out the prescan questionnaire & signed the six page consent form for the contrast injection. My appointment was at 1:15PM and about that time they called me to come back - Dad wasn't allowed to come with me, so we said goodbye in the waiting room & he said he'd be back in 2 hours or so, when the scan was supposed to be over.<br /><br />Unfortunately, the technician & I hit a small snag. While going over my forms, we had a discussion about the "Are you menopausal?" question. At 33 that should be a firm no, but one of the less-publicized side effects of chemo is that it puts you into menopause - I've had one single surprise-period in the last six months. However, given that one period, there was a teensy-tiny-highly-unlikely possibility that I could be pregnant (instead of menopausal). So the technician went to discuss with the doctor, and came back to tell me they had decided I had to have a pregnancy test to rule out that tiny possibility before they could inject me with the contrast. Up to the 3rd floor we went, where I was introduced to a student-mind-if-I-try-to-draw-your-blood? Being the nice little guinea pig I am, I consented. She managed to get the blood out of my left arm, but I have a serious bruise there - her technique still needs a little work.<br /><br />Once my blood was drawn, I went back downstairs to wait for the results (not available until 2:30PM). Glad I left oodles of time when booking my flight! Around 2:30PM I noticed a bit of commotion, and lots of whispering. Eventually the doctor came in to explain. The pregnancy test came back slightly elevated, causing the stir. The doctor explained that because of the type of cancer I have, and the fact that the test was only slightly elevated/borderline, he was pretty sure that it was the cancer causing a false positive, and so he was comfortable going ahead with the scan. Thank goodness - if he'd told me I'd come all that way for nothing, I would have been pissed! To his credit, he did apologize for the delay & for making me take a test that turned out to not really give them any useful information.<br /><br />At this point they let Dad (& his friend Jane who'd come to meet me) come back to keep me company for the ten minutes or so before they could inject the contrast. It was good to be able to update Dad on what was going on - the technician said he'd been pacing back & forth wearing out the floor in the waiting room. We had a nice little chat, before they had to leave, before the radioactive contrast was brought in. OMG it looked like a doomsday device! A giant lead contraption enclosing a little vial. The injection went quickly, then I had to lay quietly for an hour while it circulated throughout my body. Once that was done I changed into a hospital gown & was taken for the actual PET scan. It takes about 18 minutes to be run through the machine, scanned from mid thigh to neck, and you have to lay perfectly still with your arms over your head. It's amazing how twitchy you feel as soon as you're told you mustn't move. I was also a little claustrophobic - like a CT, the machine is a giant doughnut, but a much thicker one, I felt much more encased than with the CT. <br /><br />Once the scan was over, I was given a letter for the airport, because I was still radioactive & might set off their scanners (as it turns out, I didn't, which doesn't fill me with confidence in the screening procedures). I changed and Dad I took a cab to the airport. We had dinner in the White Spot there (I wasn't allowed to eat all day before the scan, so was pretty hungry, it was 5:30PM - although Dad was thoughtful enough to pick me up a rice krispie square for right after the scan, which I'd devoured at first opportunity - it really hit the spot). Then it was hugs goodbye, I cleared security (without setting off the alarms) and went to catch my flight... which ended up being delayed 2 hours. Grrr! Didn't get home till 10:30PM.<br /><br />Today (Wednesday) I was scheduled for bloodwork at 8AM because I was scheduled for my third Herceptin-only treatment tomorrow. The nurses managed to reschedule my 10:15 doc appointment to be in the afternoon when the PET scan report would be ready. I went to work for the morning, and tried to distract myself. Sterling came to pick me up for lunch, after which we went for my doc appointment. Waiting in that little room, we were very anxious. When you've waited weeks already, why do the last few minutes feel so long?<br /><br />Finally Dr. Katakkar came in. You know it's not good news when your oncologist sits down on the bed next to you and puts his arm around you. He'd been hoping that the scan would show that my cancer was now operable, but it's not. In order to be operable, active cancer has to be restricted to just the omentum and the stomach itself, both of which they can remove. Instead, the PET scan showed I still have active cancer at multiple other sites throughout my abdomen: on the outside of my bowels, and on a ligament that runs between the stomach and the liver, for example. This is very disappointing for everyone. I have to go back on full chemo. Another three rounds, we'll do another PET scan, which will hopefully show improvement over this one. We're not going to bother doing the CT scans anymore, because they obviously don't show enough detail. Dr. Katakkar is very sweet, tells me to keep my spirits up: it is still his goal to get me into remission.<br /><br />Driving home, Sterling & I talk. We are both more OK with this news then we would have expected. The truth is, I've had pains in my abdomen for about a month now. I did report them to the other doctor, at my last appointment, but at the time she thought it was highly unlikely they were cancer related. So many things can cause gut pain, and I'd just had a stable CT scan less than a month earlier. I tried to talk myself out of the pain, tell myself I was being a hypochondriac. But the pain has gotten worse in the three weeks since that doctor's appointment - it hasn't reached anywhere near what I was having when I was diagnosed, this can still be handled by a couple Tylenol or Advil. I think part of why I'm not more upset about this news today is that part of me is glad to know it wasn't just paranoia. Turns out I know my own body a little better than I thought. Some part of me knew something was wrong, that the Herceptin alone wasn't getting the job done. So Sterling & I were both bracing ourselves for even worse news today: that the cancer had spread to my bones, or somewhere else that would equal "no hope". Hope, even a small one, is important, and we still have it.<br /><br />After dropping Sterling off at home, I had to start sharing the news. I went back to work to tell them & try to tie things up as best I could. I felt so bad - barely back two weeks & now I have to leave again! I was just starting to find my stride again. Sigh. But they were all wonderfully supportive, as they have been throughout this whole ordeal. Tonight I spent on the phone, calling family & friends. Again, I am overwhelmed by everyone's love & support. I am so blessed that way. I tells ya, if love could cure cancer, I would be cured a hundred times over by now. Thank you all.<br /><br />Chemo Round #10 starts tomorrow. Tomorrow night at this time I will once again have a baby bottle full of poison dangling around my neck. It's discouraging, but what can you do? Soldier on. And hope. Always hope.nwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395683668188283205.post-36444184814157642162011-12-31T16:29:00.000-08:002011-12-31T16:58:00.627-08:00Fare Thee Well, 2011!It's the last day of 2011, a natural time to reflect back on the past year. To say that this past year has not exactly gone the way I planned is something of an understatement. Everyone keeps telling me, "I bet you're glad to see the end of this year!" and "2012 has to be better for you, right?!" Which leads nicely into my sole New Year's Resolution for 2012: to quote the Bee Gees, Stayin' Alive! I want to be around to ring in 2013.<br /><br />The internets tell me that following a diagnosis of stage IV stomach cancer, on average a person lives 6 months without treatment & a year with. So my six months are up. If I'd lived a hundred years ago, I'd probably be dead or nearly so by now. So everything from here on out is a gift from modern medical science. And I am grateful. But also greedy. I want more, all the life I can get, damnit! But I've also more or less, most days, come to terms with the fact that the length of my life is pretty much out of my control. True, that's the way it is for most of us, but most people have the luxury of ignoring that fact at 33 - I don't.<br /><br />Talking with my friends one night, I asked them, if you likely could only hope for a few more years, what would you do? We talked about it, and in the end decided, not much differently. Just keep living the life you're living. I think that's a sign you're doing what you should be - because if the prospect of dying soon would make you make drastic changes to how you're living your life, you should probably just make those changes anyways, 'cause you never know.<br /><br />What this whole stupid fucking cancer experience has driven home to me, is that I love my life. I like vegging out, puttering around in a house I love. Cuddling with the most amazing man in the world on the couch, watching our stories. Harassing my cats. Curling with Team Awesome & hanging out with my friends. Going to work Monday through Friday with great people. Visiting my family. Traveling with my honey, whether it's somewhere exotic or just to the next town. This is what I want, for as long as I can have it.<br /><br />It's funny, I always thought I had all this wasted potential, that someday if I just got my shit together I'd do something amazing. But maybe it's OK to just enjoy this quiet little life, and never set the world on fire. Maybe just enjoying each day is more than enough.<br /><br />So goodbye 2011... you may have been the year I was diagnosed with cancer, but you were also the year when I met some amazing doctors & started treatment. When I realized how lucky I am, how many amazing people I have in my life. I'm looking forward to 2012 with quiet hopefulness... who knows, maybe it'll go down in history as the year they cure cancer! Happy New Year, everyone!nwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395683668188283205.post-77839615626527603262011-12-20T15:13:00.000-08:002011-12-20T15:17:56.479-08:00Chemotherapy Rounds #5-8: September-December 2011<b><i>Chemotherapy Rounds #5-8<br />Round #5: Wednesday, 28th September 2011 - Tuesday, 25th October 2011<br />Round #6: Wednesday, 26th October 2011 - Tuesday, 15th November 2011<br />Round #7: Wednesday, 16th November 2011 - Tuesday, 8th December 2011<br />Round #8: Wednesday, 9th December 2011 - Tuesday, 28th December 2011</i></b><br /><br />Chemotherapy becomes practically routine. That doesn't mean it sucked less, and each round would have it's own flavour - sometimes I would be expecting it to be really bad & I would feel better than expected, then I would go into the following round feeling more confident & it would wipe me out really bad again. There is also a cumulative fatigue that sets in... because you are allowed just barely enough time to recover from the last round before they hit you again, the fatigue gets slowly worse & worse. The positive news was that when I wasn't wiped out from treatment, I actually felt pretty normal - no more symptoms from the cancer itself, just from the treatment.<br /><br />Round #5 was delayed a week due to my low neutrophil counts. Neutrophils are a type of white blood cell that fights infections. When you're on chemotherapy, there is a series of blood tests that are done the day before each round, to make sure your body has recovered sufficiently to handle the chemo. One of the tests done is counting your neutrophils. 1.5 and above are considered normal, 1 - 1.4 are considered mild neutropenia (you are mildly more vulnerable to infections), .5 - .9 is moderate, and below .5 & you are severely vulnerable to infections. My blood work on Wednesday, 28th September 2011 before my doctor's appointment was 1.4. The whole neutrophil thing over rounds #5 & #6 really showed how different doctors have different approaches. My pre-chemo doctor's appointment for round #5 was the first with a doctor other than Dr. Katakkar, because he was out of town. I saw the other full-time oncologist, Dr. Bishop, instead. His approach with the lowered neutrophils was to delay chemo until I was above 1.5. This was my first delay in treatment. The initial blood test was done on Wednesday, so Dr. Bishop scheduled me to come back the following Monday morning to be retested, and assuming my level was recovered to 1.5 or above, I would receive chemo right after. As it turned out, the blood test on Monday showed the level hadn't budged, so I was scheduled for the blood test again in 2 days, Wednesday. The third blood test on Wednesday, 5th October 2011, showed my neutrophils finally up to 2.0, so I had chemo #5 starting Thursday, 6th October, one week later than originally scheduled. I seemed to have a somewhat rougher time with chemo #5, I thought probably because the extra week off was an extra week to forget a little how crappy chemo makes me feel.<br /><br />When I went in for the blood work for round #6 on Wednesday, 26th October, my neutrophil level was 1.3, but Dr. Katakkar was back, and I got to see a different approach. He decided to go ahead with chemo as scheduled, but also prescribed a week of Neupogea shots to boost my bone marrow's production of white blood cells. I had heard about these shots before, from nurses & other cancer patients. It's a very expensive drug ($1,318.38 for 7 little vials of the lowest dose). When we went in for chemo #6 on Thursday, 17th October, the nurse gave Sterling & I a little training session & all the paraphernalia we needed - syringes, disinfectant wipes, a sharps container, and a printout of detailed instructions. She recommended doing the shots right before bed, and taking a couple Tylenol a half-hour before doing the injection. The most common side effect is bone pain, which she described as being similar to growing pains in the bone when you're a teenager. Best to pop a couple Tylenol & then sleep through the worst of it. I was lucky in that I never really noticed any pain/side effects, other than dreading the shots themselves. Sterling gave them to me, starting the day after chemo (Friday) and the last one the following Thursday night. The shots need to go into fat, so we did them in my belly. Sterling was a little nervous, especially that first night, overcoming the natural instinct to not poke a sharp object into someone you love. But he did awesome, and I am so grateful because I don't know if I could have done it to myself. The only other thing of note for chemo #6 was that I got the baby bottle off on my 33rd birthday, 1st November. Happy Birthday to me! It's weird having your birthday after being diagnosed with cancer - you're just so grateful to still be alive, to have made it to see another birthday. And even though treatment has been going extremely well for me, I did think morbid thoughts, like will this be my last birthday? Since I was just finishing chemo on my birthday, I wasn't up for any celebrations on the actual day, but my work had a really nice birthday lunch for me on the following Friday. It was a sweet gesture.<br /><br />I was glad when the bloodwork for chemo #7 came back & my neutrophils were much higher (2.1) thanks to the shots the previous round, so the shots weren't needed for this round. I had heard from other patients that once they started needing the shots they needed them every round, and I like to avoid as many pokes as possible! Round #7 wiped me out entirely, it was when I really felt the cumulative fatigue catch up with me. The day I got the bottle off (Tuesday, 22nd November) I got winded sitting at the table eating a bowl of soup! It was awful, literally just sitting up lifting a spoon to my mouth repeatedly almost took more than I had. I hadn't been too exhausted to eat since round #2, which was my eating-is-really-hard-no-appetite round. The fatigue did get better, of course, but I was just dreading more chemo. During most rounds, in the worst of it, there would be moments, hours, days when I would think, I can't go through this again. But that feeling was really strong in round #7. I was worried about the upcoming CT scans, that they would say I needed another 3 rounds.<br /><br />I was scheduled for two CT scans, on Thursday, 1st December & Friday, 2nd December. This was what we had been waiting for since the last scans after round #4. Dr. Katakkar had pretty much refused to talk about a long-term treatment plan until after these scans. The first one was a bit of a gong show. It was the same scan I'd had twice before, of my abdomen. It involved drinking Telabrix contrast on a schedule over the two hours preceding the scan. Then they inject an IV contrast as well. Last time I'd had my port & gotten them to use that instead of putting an IV in my arm. They'd had to get a nurse to come in special to do that, as the CT technicians aren't allowed to use the port, but other than a bit of a wait for the nurse, it went off without a hitch. This time though, something went wrong. The nurse put the needle in my port, everything seemed fine, they got me in the machine & went to inject the contrast - and triggered a high-pressure alarm, shutting my port down. They got me out of the machine, the nurse fiddled, took the needle out, and put in a second one, but no luck. I was a little worried they'd broken my port, to be honest. Finally, they sent me down to the chemotherapy ward to let the more "expert" nurses there have a try. They were extremely busy in chemo that day, but one of the nurses took the time to stick me a third time & managed to get the thing working. We never did figure out what exactly went wrong. Anyways, needle inserted in my chest, we went back to CT to finally get the scan. Friday's scan (which was of my chest, just to be absolutely certain it was clear of cancer) went much smoother - no contrast, either to drink or to inject. Just show up & take another ride through the giant doughnut.<br /><br />A week later, on Wednesday, 7th December, we had our bloodwork & doctor's appointment for round #8. The nurse had booked it, assuming at the very least whatever the results of the CT scans, I would be kept on Herceptin. It turned out my doctor's appointment was with one of the GPs who also work a few shifts in the Cancer Centre, rather than with Dr. Katakkar. I found out later this was because he was extremely busy with an epidemic of new patients, but at the time it hurt a bit, feeling like I'd been sluffed off. The doctor was very nice, she explained that the CT scans showed stable disease from 3 months ago, and so they were going to try me on just Herceptin (one of the 3 drugs I'd been receiving each round - the one that's targeted to the mutant gene my cancer has). This was very positive news in a lot of ways, but I cried & felt quite conflicted. It's the whole difference between trying for a cure, even if it's enough of a long shot to be considered a miracle, and accepting that I'm going to have live with cancer until treatment stops working & I die. Honestly, the Herceptin treatment was what I'd been expecting, but I just couldn't help hoping for the miracle. I had round #7 of Herceptin on Thursday, 10th December & it was SO much easier than full chemo. In, get one little bag of chemicals dripped into my port over the course of about an hour, leave. Pretty much no side effects, and no dreaded baby bottle. I was able to curl the next night!<br /><br />For now, life is good. The Herceptin-only treatment is totally manageable to fit into a normal life - a couple hours at the hospital every 3 weeks, no sweat. I'm planning on going back to work in January, when the office reopens after the holiday break. Try to rebuild a life that's been on pause for six months. I'm having a hard time coping mentally with the fact that it's only been my life on pause, and that all around me, life has gone on without me. And with the idea of living with incurable cancer. I try to stay focused on how well everything has gone to this point, but it's hard not to worry about if/when the treatment stops working, the cancer becoming resistant & progresses. The whole "I'm-going-to-kick-cancer's-ass!" attitude that I had at the beginning has been whittled away by the realities of life with cancer. Sterling's approach to this (and life in general) has always been, hope for the best, prepare for the worst. That's what I'm trying to do these days.nwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395683668188283205.post-5638595716657826612011-12-06T19:52:00.000-08:002011-12-06T19:53:02.774-08:00Chemotherapy Rounds #2-4: July-September 2011<b><i>Chemotherapy Rounds #2-4<br />Round #2: Wednesday, 27th July 2011 - Tuesday, 16th August 2011<br />Round #3: Wednesday, 17th August 2011 - Tuesday, 6th September 2011<br />Round #4: Wednesday, 7th September 2011 - Tuesday, 27th September 2011</i></b><br /><br />Because of the great news that my cancer is HER2+ positive, I am switched to the <a href="http://www.bccancer.bc.ca/NR/rdonlyres/C0A8933B-3AAD-4EBA-A95C-4552A0A060C9/50454/UGIGAVCFT_Handout_1May2012.pdf">UGIGAVCFT</a> protocol. Only one of the drugs is the same as the first round, Cisplatin. Each round of chemo now starts with the cup full of anti-nausea meds, followed by a bag of saline, then the only drug that remains the same from last round, the Cisplatin. Next I get the Herceptin, which is the targeted drug for HER2+ cancer, which replaces the Epirubicin. Lastly I am hooked up to the baby bottle full of Fluorcil, which replaces the Capecitabine pills. Instead of 3 weeks worth of pills, I have an <a href="http://www.hhsc.ca/documents/Patient%20Education/InfusorPumpChemoJCC-th.pdf">infusor</a> (aka a plastic baby bottle of chemo) hooked up to my port for 5 days.<br /><br />Chemo starts to become routine, my life running on a 3 week cycle. The first Wednesday, kinda day 0 as it's the day before the actual chemo is administered, I have to go to the hospital twice: once first thing in the morning to get my blood drawn, and later in the afternoon after the blood work results are back to see Dr. Katakkar for an exam. This is when he also verifies that my blood work numbers are good enough for chemo the next day (I'm not too immunocompromised or anything) and works out the dosages.<br /><br />On day 1, Thursday, I go into the hospital for chemo usually first thing in the morning between 8AM-9AM and am usually done early afternoon (1:30PM or so). I leave Thursday with the infusor/baby bottle for 5 days. Usually I feel OK right after chemo, but lose strength & feel worse & worse until the bottle comes off.<br /><br />The following Tuesday I go in to get the baby bottle removed. This is always a great relief, and usually my weakest point. Lots of times by the time I get home Tuesday I am exhausted by standing to take a shower. But that first shower after getting the baby bottle off is always wonderful even though it's exhausting - after five days not really able to do much other than a sponge bath because of the bottle.<br /><br />Usually the rest of the week I feel pretty sick & crappy, it takes until the weekend to really start feeling like myself. The days between getting the bottle off and the weekend are usually the roughest mentally... the second round in particular, my mood was the darkest it has ever been. Even when I went through the depths of severe clinical depression, it was never as bad as that second week after round #2 of chemo. I finally understood how people can commit suicide... it was not just awful, but there was a certainty that nothing would ever change, that I would always feel that horrible, even though intellectually I knew that wasn't true, the feeling wasn't listening. Thankfully even though I usually have some dark days after each round of chemo, nothing has ever touched the awfulness after round #2. I think it was a combination of things, one of which was ultimately a highly positive sign: I was able after round #2 to go off the pain medication Dilaudid! Although I think withdrawal contributed to my drastic mood crash, the fact that the chemo had already worked enough to rid me of the terrible pain was a very positive sign. Led my oncologist to say treatment is "definitely working"<br /><br />The last week/week-and-a-half of the cycle is my "good" week. I feel a little better day by day, and start to feel almost normal... just in time for the next round. This knocking-you-back-down-just-when-you're-feeling-better can become very demoralizing.<br /><br /><b>On Side Effects</b> I puked once the second round of chemo, but after that we figure out how long to extend the anti-nausea meds. Knock wood, I haven't puked since round #2! This is great, I *hate* puking, and have never done much before in my life (could count the times I'd puked before chemo on my hands with fingers left over). To put it delicately, I've had a lot of digestive problems in my life, but always with the other end. After I went off the pain meds during round #2, the chemo caused diarrhea was no longer balanced by the narcotic caused constipation, and became more of a problem. Fortunately there is an Immodium protocol to follow as well.<br /><br />I think it was round #3 or #4 where both Sterling & I seemed to have a minor gastrointestinal bug. This was very concerning because of all the "you're immunocompromised it you get an infection you could DIE" warnings. But I guess for a virus there's not much to be done/as concerned about, it's more bacterial infections that you urgently need antibiotics/medical care. We monitor my temperature pretty much daily, as a fever of 38 or over is the trigger to rush to the emergency room. Knock on wood, so far I haven't had that complication!<br /><br />The side effects of chemo really vary, from person to person, but even from round to round. After round #2 I could barely eat - everything tasted disgusting. I hit my lowest weight ever in adulthood, and went & bought size 2 jeans that fit to prove it! We stocked up on Boost & Ensure & after a lifetime of being aware of a hundred little ways to cut calories, I found myself in the weird bizarro land of constantly trying to sneak extra calories in! Fortunately with subsequent rounds the taste changes haven't been so bad, my weight has stabalized around the normal level for my adulthood.<br /><br />Another fun side effect of a couple of the anti-nausea meds is that they cause hiccups. I've been lucky that in my case it's been often enough to be annoying & amusing, but not truly disruptive to my life... one of the nurses told me some people have to switch drugs because they can't sleep for the hiccups.<br /><br />I also get a few days where the bottoms of my feet are very painful. Even walking a short distance during this time is painful. Standing for any length of time is out of the question.<br /><br />The worse side effect, and the most consistent & pervasive, is the fatigue. I tried to go for short walks around the block whenever I could, but some days it just wasn't possible. Of course, the less you do, the more your muscles waste away, and it's not like I was in peak physical condition before the cancer either. The physical fatigue is hard to live with, but for me the mental fatigue, or "chemo brain", is even worse. There are usually at least a few days each cycle when I can't even really watch TV, everything is beyond me, all I'm really fit to do is stare at the wall & breathe. It's sooo boring. I try to sleep as much as possible through that time, but even though I'm a champion sleeper & can sleep a lot, not even I can sleep all the time. Those days are the most frustrating.<br /><br /><b><i>On CAM (Complementary & Alternative Medicine)</i></b> I went to see my naturopath during this time. I'm very skeptical of all the "miracle cancer cures" & unproven stuff, but my naturopath turned out to be a very reasonable person. He was very upfront that there's not really anything he can do to treat the cancer, that's the oncologist's job. What he could offer was a treatment plan to support my body & help manage some of the side effects of chemo. I had a couple high-dose vitamin C treatments, but have discontinued those as they are expensive & didn't seem to be doing a whole lot. I take the supplements he recommended irregularly, except for the high doses of melatonin he recommended at night - it seems to help me sleep.<br /><br /><b><i>On Mood/Attitude/Social Adjustment</i></b> As I previously mentioned, after the horrible dark time I went through following round #2, I was dreading round #3 with a passion. My family started arranging to have someone visit during the worst part of each chemo round. While I appreciated the support, it was also a little frustrating that they were always here during my worst, I felt like not much of a hostess.<br /><br />The thing that really affected my mood/attitude was reading & researching, both on the internet & books, reaching out to others with my sort of cancer, and basically discovering just how dire my prognosis really was. I discovered the prognosis was much worse than I was fooling myself into believing. While still on the hospital I had come across the statistic that only 4% of patients diagnosed with stage IV stomach cancer are still alive 5 years after diagnosis. I "met" other people with stage IV stomach cancer through the internet, all of whom had been told that their cancer was not curable, that they would be on chemo for the rest of their lives, until it stopped working & they died. Even though these other patients are doing reasonably well & still alive (they were all diagnosed months/years before me) was encouraging, the idea of having to live with cancer forever is a very different prospect from fighting it, beating it, and getting your life back.<br /><br />I have always had issues with dying... it's a scary concept, the ultimate unknown. I've really had to face my mortality because of all this. I've broken down & freaked out, and I've had moments when I've been all zen & accepting, and everything in-between.<br /><br />One thing that has been my saving grace throughout it all has been the amazing love & support I've received. Sterling, my significant other, has been nothing short of awesome, completely supportive. Not perfect, of course, we've had our misunderstandings & differences, but overall he's been a star. My immediate family have all been to visit again. A number of my extended family have taken this opportunity to reconnect & show support. And my friends & coworkers... they've been my lifeline to life outside cancer, making the trek out to visit me twice a week, to keep my spirits up & making me feel like I still have some connection to life. I will never be able to thank them enough.<br /><br /><b><i>On Results & Progress</i></b> After round #4, I had a CT scan to check my progress. The results were very encouraging. The scan found no cancer in my liver, and the metastasis throughout my abdomen was much improved. There was no new ascites (fluid buildup in my abdomen), and even the primary cancer in my stomach looked improved. This was about as positive news as could be hoped for. Dr. Katakkar decided on another three rounds of this chemotherapy, followed by another CT scan, with future treatment to be decided based on the next CT scan.nwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395683668188283205.post-82727357134809407412011-12-04T18:59:00.000-08:002011-12-04T18:59:48.255-08:00Chemotherapy Round #1: July 2011<i>Overlap with my previous post:</i><br /><br /><b><i>Tuesday, 5th July 2011</i></b><br /><br />The chemo I receive is the <a href="http://www.bccancer.bc.ca/NR/rdonlyres/C0A8933B-3AAD-4EBA-A95C-4552A0A060C9/48927/GIGAVECC_Handout_1Jan2011.pdf">GIGAVECC</a> protocol. Even though I already have an IV in my left hand, the cancer nurse insists on putting in her own. The good news is, chemo nurses have a reputation as being the very best at putting in IVs, and she gets it first time. First I get a cup full of anti-nausea pills. I am pleasantly surprised to learn that science has come a long way, and rather than puking for a week after chemo, the goal is that we find the right combo of anti-nausea drugs so I never experience nausea at all! My right arm with the new IV is wrapped in an electric blanket, while the nurse uses a huge syringe of bright red liquid to slowly push the first chemo drug Epirubicin. I am asked to tell her immediately if I feel any pain, because if the drug leaks out of my vein it will cause serious burns under my skin. Yikes - I struggle to not develop hypochondriac pain through the power of suggestion. Fortunately, the nurse also warns me that this drug turns your next pee bright red, otherwise my first trip to the bathroom after receiving it would have been very shocking! Next I get a bag of saline, followed by the Cisplatin. The final of the three chemo drugs, Capecitabine, is four pills a day, two with breakfast & two with dinner. I'm given a three week supply in three fancy blister-pack books. I'm to take my first dose with tonight's dinner, and my last with breakfast the morning before my next chemo session.<br /><br />My first chemo session was also serious information overload. It was explained to me that the BC Cancer Agency has five professions that work as a team: doctors, nurses, pharmacists, nutritionist, and social workers. The last three all stopped by during the chemo to introduce themselves, what their role was in my treatment, and hand me a pile of paper to read. I ended up creating a whole binder I entitled my "Cancer Ass-Kicking Manual" for all this stuff.<br /><br />Later that evening, after my mom had gone back to my house for the night, I felt so great (aka HIGH) that Sterling said if he hadn't seen the drugs administered for himself, he'd not have believed I'd had chemo. <br /><br />That night at 7:57PM I updated FaceBook with: "Well, it's stomach cancer, not lymphoma. That's OK, just means a more epic battle & more glorious victory! Had my first chemo treatment this morning (11AM-4PM) and it wasn't too bad! Amazing team of doctors, nurses, social workers, nutritionists, and pharmacists in oncology... information overload, lots of handouts to read as homework. Kicking cancer's ass: I've started!"<br /><br /><b><i>Wednesday, 6th July 2011</i></b> Discharged from hospital. Before heading home we have to make a stop at London Drugs to fill my anti-nausea prescriptions. Then it's home... which is so clean thanks to my family that it's barely recognizable! I am glad to be back in my own space, and to see my kitties. Home, there really is no place like it.<br /><br /><b><i>Thursday, 7th July 2011</i></b> Mom's plane leaves at 6AM, so counting back we have to get up VERY early to take her to the airport. Both Mom & Sterling think I should get more sleep & not come to the airport, so I agree that we'll see if I'm up or not when they leave, and we say our goodbyes the night before just in case. But I'm awake, and insist on going to the airport. Later that day, at 12:54PM I update FaceBook: "I'm HOME! Discharged from the hospital yesterday afternoon. Trying to settle back into my space. The chemo seems to be kicking in, very tired today, slept most of the morning." Then at 6:54PM that night "FANTASTIC NEWS! 25% of patients with stomach cancer have a particular mutant gene. If you have it, they can add a targeted gene therapy to your chemo that improves your odds. My oncologist left a message this afternoon: I have it! :D Extra-sweet bonus: I'm a mutant, which means practically an X-Man, right?!"<br /><br /><i>The Continuation - New Stuff:</i><br /><br />The news about the mutant gene had us all crying. It was a very busy phone day, and Sterling & I had been out for a bit & came back to a pile of messages, the very best one was from Dr. Katakkar, letting us know that my cancer was HER2+, which we'd been told about a quarter of stomach cancers are. This means that my cancer was likely to respond to Herceptin, a drug targeted at keeping cells that overproduce HER2 from dividing, originally developed as a treatment for breast cancer, and only recently approved for the treatment of stomach cancer. Dr. Katakkar said that the fact that my cancer was HER2+ meant about a 20% increase in my odds of a positive response to chemotherapy, from around 45% that we'd been quoted in the hospital to 65%. Future rounds of chemotherapy would be a different cocktail of drugs, including Herceptin.<br /><br /><b><i>Saturday, 9th July 2011</i></b> Once everyone was gone, I got sicker & sicker from the chemo & crashed pretty hard mood-wise. No longer having to be "on" & upbeat for everyone else, the reality of how sick & weak I was set in. Sterling had to supervise me in the shower, and we had to keep a stool in the bathroom because as soon as I got out of the shower I had to sit down. I was taking Dilaudid every 4 hours, because that's what they'd had me on in the hospital, so between that and the pill chemo and all the anti-naseau meds, I was taking upwards of 20 pills a day. The worst was that I had to take the Dilaudid every 4 hours even at night, which involved setting alarm clocks for 2AM and 6AM. One night, the Friday or Saturday, can't remember which, I woke up at 2AM & distinctly remember taking the pain pill laid out right on my bedside table, but when I woke up to take the 6AM dose the 2AM dose was still there, and I was in a *lot* of pain for a while... threw me off for the whole day, really. In the hospital it hadn't been a big deal to be woken up by a nurse, pop a pill, and then go straight back to sleep, but at home with the alarm clock the waking ups were much more disruptive to my sleep. Between the surgery and the cancer I was still only able to sleep like I had before the hospital, on my back and propped up by extra pillows. Sterling and I spent hours on the couches downstairs watching episode after episode of Angel on Netflix. One night we even tried sleeping on the couches down there because I felt more comfortable there then in bed. The whole weekend was pretty miserable in spite of Sterling's pampering and heroic efforts to make me comfortable... at one point just sitting on the couch watching TV I was dizzy like I had the spins from drinking.<br /><br /><b><i>Sunday, 10th July 2011</i></b> Overly melodramatic Facebook update at 1:22PM: "I keep imagining Mother Gaia's devastated fields of Europe after World War I. That's what chemo feels like, this epic battle taking place inside me."<br /><br /><b><i>Monday, 11th July 2011</i></b> We had to go to the hospital for the ECG that Dr. Katakkar had wanted me to have before being discharged from the hospital. The technician was nice enough, a bloke who sounded like he was from down under originally, though I didn't ask. He was based out of Calgary, and travels all over northern BC and Alberta doing ECGs. He asked me if I was nervous, because my heartbeat was very fast. I don't think I was really, but I was really worn out from the crappy weekend and side effects of the chemo. It would later turn out that because of my super-fast heartbeat the test results would come back slightly abnormal, preventing Dr. Katakkar from keeping me on the Epirubicin when I was switched to Herceptin, the drug that targets the mutant HER2+ gene. Epirubicin is not normally combined with Herceptin, because they both can cause heart damage, but I think Dr. Katakkar was considering this extremely aggressive approach because of my youth & the fact that in his clinical experience, the heart damage would be reversible. But because of the abnormal heart rate, my next chemo would be the standard Herceptin cocktail.<br /><br />After the ECG, we stopped by the cancer centre, because I'd had such a hard time with the side effects over the weekend. When they asked me how I was doing, I broke down in tears. The nurses were wonderful, got me in to see a doctor, who prescribed a 12 hour version of my pain pills & an IV bag of saline to help me rehydrate from the chemo. I ended up in on one of the chemo recliners with a heated blanket (most missed thing about being in the hospital, hot blankets whenever I wanted one). Getting a new IV was no fun (curse my itty bitty hidey veins) but I did leave feeling SO much better after the fluids.<br /><br />The nurse also removed the 8 staples (4 per incision) from my surgery. The lower incision ones came out easily, but a couple of the ones in my belly button incision were deeply embedded in the scab, which made pulling them out pretty painful.<br /><br />Facebook update at 10:32AM July 12th: "Stopped in at the cancer centre after echocardiogram yesterday, since the weekend was very hard (felt like I'd aged 50 years). Everyone there is SO AMAZING, they gave me IV fluids, took out my laparoscopy staples, answered my questions & generally gave me lots of TLC & reassurance. One of the nurse's said, come in any time, you belong to us now. It is so great we have this resource right here in PG! I'm so lucky."<br /><br />Then at 10:37AM: "I'm feeling so much better today!!! Doctor's switched around my pain meds a little, so I was able to sleep through the night, rather than wake up every 4 hours. I probably got a solid 9 hours last night, for the first time since before I went into the hospital. Amazing what a difference that can make!"<br /><br /><b><i>Friday, 15th July 2011</i></b><br /><br />Sterling took me to the cancer ward where I was checked in for day surgery, to get a <a href="http://www.bardaccess.com/port-powerport.php">port</a> implanted in my chest to make chemo much easier. We were delayed a bit because of an emergency surgery, when it was finally time Sterling waited down in the cancer ward while they took me upstairs. Then we were delayed again when the nurse discovered that they had to send to stores for the port device! (Normally I guess they have a few on hand in surgery, but they had done a lot of these implants lately.) It was the wonderful Dr. Wankling who performed the operation, the same surgeon who had done the exploratory surgery that found my cancer. It was a bit disconcerting being awake for this one, but I couldn't actually see anything they were doing... there was a blanket over me, with just the surgery site, my right chest & neck, exposed. I joked after that I was just hiding under the blanket till it was over. I chatted with the doctor & nurses while they were doing the surgery... I remember them saying, now we're going to make a pocket (in my chest for the port) which still sounds kinda creepy. After it was over, the nurse handed me a little booklet which included a card I had to present to a medical professional before they could use my port, and also the serial number of the port. My comment? "Oh good, so if I'm murdered they can use this to identify my body!" I got some *very* weird looks from the nurses! "Like on CSI?" And then one of them said, oh, ok, yes I've seen that, but the others still looked very weirded out that that was my first thought.<br /><br />Facebook at 8:36PM: "Got my PowerPort VAD (Venous Access Device) surgically implanted today by the always wonderful Dr. Gilbert Wankling. My neck is really sore now that the freezing is coming out, but this is going to save me from a lot of IVs & needle sticks, so I'm sure it's worth it!"<br /><br />at 9:18PM: "I should add, this is completely under my skin... once everything heals up and the bandages/staples are gone, I'll just have a quarter-sized raised bump on the right of my chest.<br /><br />I have to say, I was quite nervous about getting the port, but it has been awesome. Instead of the tedious & painful process of getting blood tests and then an IV every chemo, now it is just a small prick breaking the skin over the port, and they are in. I found out during this trip to the hospital that my surgeon Dr. Wankling is also a cancer survivor, and went through chemo about 10 years ago, and he said when he was putting in the device that he wished they'd had them when he did chemo, as he burnt out all the veins in his arms.<br /><br /><b><i>Sunday, 17th July 2011</i></b> My best friend of many years came through town & stopped by for a visit. It was great to reconnect with her; we've grown apart the last few years since she had kids, but there is nothing like cancer to bring people back into your life. Her husband & Sterling took the three kids to McDonald's so we could visit (and also because kids are little germ factories that immuno-compromised-from-chemo me was supposed to avoid). Facebook update at 1:20PM: "Just had an awesome visit with Amy (and said hi/bye to [her husband] Chris) - so good to see you guys!!!"<br /><br /><b><i>Monday, 18th July 2011</i></b> My friends & coworkers are awesome... they all wanted to know when they could come by & visit me to keep my spirits up. I finally ended up scheduling regular "visiting hours" of Monday & Friday night after work. This was the first one, and we decided to celebrate by also having a movie night. Facebook update at 10:11PM: Hosted a movie night tonight; lots of fun! Watched <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0796314">A Dog's Breakfast</a> with Krista, Ben, Danuta, Mandy, Apa, and Sue's other-half-who-doesn't-do-FaceBook [Nick]. :)<br /><br /><b><i>Thursday, 21st July 2011</i></b> FaceBook update at 3:46PM: "Had the furnace & ducts cleaned today - sticker on the furnace says for the first time since 1995! Oops! Guys from Super-Vac was great; he was very surprised by our cat Bob though, as nearly all cats HATE all the noise (our poor other cat Bella freaked out & most of her usual safe places weren't available) but Bob actually followed the cleaner around supervising, noise didn't bother him at all!"<br /><br />And at 8:15PM: "My painting arrived today! I'm so excited, I wrote a <a href="http://hollymariehill.blogspot.com/2011/07/nana-korobi-ya-oki.html">blog post about it</a>.<br /><br /><b><i>Wednesday, 27th July 2011</i></b> Facebook update at 9:57AM: "Well, this is unexpected! CGA marks were released today for the exam I wrote June 10 (when I was in a lot of pain & still weeks away from the cancer diagnosis) - I passed! 8D"<br /><br />and at 7:27PM: "Dear Universe, in the month since my diagnosis with stage IV cancer, my immediate family has experienced another serious health scare & two relationship breakups. My boyfriend Sterling has had his step-grandfather & his uncle pass away. Please, can we be done with the bad news already?!"<br /><br /><b><i>Can't Remember When Exactly</i></b><br /><br />But I know it was before chemo round #2, and sometime after getting my port installed. The two times I'd puked after the chemo, it seemed to be as much from the iron pills I was taking to correct the cancer-related anemia as from the chemo. So instead of the pills they decided to give me an iron infusion. It was also a good test run for my new port. The iron infusion basically took all day, as they have to infuse it slowly. No real side effect other than a metal taste. The real comedy was before they did it, they took the staples out of my chest from the port surgery. The second staple the nurse went to take out someone bent the wrong way, instead of opening it closed tighter. It was incredibly painful & took quite a while to correct. I kept looking at it which didn't help, so I tried looking at Sterling's face, but that wasn't much help either... he was holding my hand, leaned forward staring at the nurse wrestling with the staple with a look of horrified fascination, like watching a horror movie.nwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395683668188283205.post-24846435856305518872011-09-20T22:37:00.000-07:002011-09-20T22:38:54.920-07:00Hospital Room #3223This has been an incredibly difficult post to write, and I'm still not happy with how it turned out, but I've decided to post it anyways & move on already. I didn't realize until I tried to revisit my mindset how incredibly HIGH I was the whole time I was in hospital. No wonder I was able to cope so well with such devastating news! Honestly at the time, I thought I was getting just a little loopy once in a while on breakthrough pain meds, but for the most part I honestly believed all the drugs were doing was controlling my pain. Ah live & learn... so anyways, my recollection of this week is much fuzzier & disjointed than I would like it to be.<br /><br />I was in the hospital for a little over a week following my diagnosis. Whether it was the wonder-drug Dilaudid or a Freudian slip, most of the time when I went to say "hospital" I would say "hotel" instead. After a month of pain, having a constant staff of nurses ready to give me pain meds and care for me was heaven. Although Sterling & everyone else assumed I'd want to get home ASAP, part of me was actually afraid to leave.<br /><br /><b><i>Tuesday, 28th June 2011</i></b> The overlap day between this post & the "Diagnosis" one. I was admitted to the hospital through the ER in the wee hours, had exploratory laparoscopic surgery in the afternoon, and after I woke up I was wheeled up to my new home for the next week, Room #3223. After calling my work to let them know I wouldn't be in tomorrow, they sent the first of what ended up being nine flower arrangements. (My dad ended up telling people not to send more because there was no more room on the window sill.) <br /><br />Early that evening the surgeon Dr. Wankling came in & told me I had cancer. Sterling made a trip home to feed the cats, pick up a few things, and at my request braved FaceBook for the first time to post this update: "This is Sterling updating for Holly. Trip to the ER late last night resulted in a overnight stay + exploratory surgery.... Found Cancer in the Omentum. Staying in the hospital until they track down the source. Room #3223 at the PG university Hospital. More when we know."<br /><br />I should describe all my hookups... I had the IV in my right forearm that the ER had put in in the wee hours that morning, and I was getting fluids through it. I had what's called a butterfly patch on my upper arm just under my right shoulder - it's a little IV dangly thing that let them push morphine for breakthrough pain. After it became clear that the morphine didn't work for me, they removed it & replaced it with a new one for the Dilaudid. They had also put in a catheter. I honestly don't remember if they put it in during the surgery or after I woke up - testament to the pain drugs. There was a giant patch with an anchor to secure the catheter attached to the inside of my right thigh. Lastly, both of my calves were strapped into a device that was kind of like blood pressure cuffs, rhythmically filling with air & releasing, which were supposed to help prevent blood clots. I was also getting little shots in my belly several times a day to help prevent blood clots - they told me that the sooner I got up & walking around, the sooner those shots would stop, which was motivational - they hurt! From the surgery I had two little horizontal incisions, each closed with 4 staples. One was across the bottom of my belly button, the second at the top of my pubic hair. I joked that the least they could have done was shave or wax me while I was unconscious.<br /><br />After a whole pile of phone calls, Sterling made the couch in the room into a bed, and we slept. And so started the crazy dreams - looking back I suppose it was the drugs, but I had crazy crazy dreams every night I was in the hospital. The good thing was they were all benevolent - even imagery that sounded a little scary when I described it in the light of day I experienced at the time as comforting & entertaining. Guess I was high even in my sleep!<br /><br />Some of what I wrote in my little notebook that night: "Cancer. I have cancer. I am a cancer <u>survivor</u>! I, Holly Marie Hill, will never let something as <u>stupid</u> as cancer beat me. I will survive & thrive. Life begins <u>anew</u>. I don't <u>think</u> I <u>can</u>. I <u>know</u> I <u>will</u>." (I was big into underlining.)<br /><br /><b><i>Wednesday, 29th June 2011</i></b> We wake up & life goes on, even though I have cancer. Who'd have thunk it? Sterling makes the important discovery that there is a Tim Hortons in the hospital. Visitors & more flowers arrive. The first visitor to stop by was my GP, while Sterling was down at the Tim Hortons & I was alone. We have the most incredibly awkward conversation. I was so angry with him, I could barely speak. Right from my first appointment with him at the beginning of this whole mess, I had been terrified that something was seriously wrong, and it turns out I was right. But he never took me seriously & never acted with any urgency. At my last appointment, just two days earlier, he had even talked about how his role as my GP was to help me navigate through the medical system & specialists, and then he had immediately failed miserably at that role. He had never managed to effectively control my pain, and now that I was in the hospital & it was starting to come under control, and I was experiencing what it was like to work with professionals who cared about my pain, it made his failure all the more clear to me. Needless to say I was not comforted by his visit.<br /><br />The rest of my company was much more welcome. Coworkers & friends came by in a steady stream. The most gorgeous flower arrangement arrived from my father-in-law (he has such impeccable taste, it's hard to believe he's a straight man!) & three of my guests arrived with plants. It was one of my coworkers last day at the company, and I jokingly apologized to him for "stealing his thunder", as today should have been all about him at our office, rather than me. <br /><br />I was self-conscious about the catheter, having a tube of urine in plain site of my visitors, especially my coworkers. So much for my professional image, peeing in front of everyone! What can you do though? Fortunately I was HIGH enough to just shrug & make fun of my discomfort. The catheter was often physically irritating too - I would feel like it wasn't draining properly & have to fiddle with it. Also for the first couple days it ran red with blood - the nurses assured us this was normal after surgery, but it was disconcerting.<br /><br />I was really overwhelmed by how sweet & thoughtful all my friends & coworkers were. Due to bullying when I was young, deep down a part of me always believed that no one really liked me, they were just being polite/pretending/putting up with me. But when this happened, it really sunk in on a whole new level that that's not the case, that there was a surprising number of people who really do care about me deeply. To paraphrase Sally Field, they like me, they really like me! I did notice a pattern though: the first time people visited, a lot of them were terrified. I could see in their eyes they were on the verge of tears, very nervous. But everyone always seemed to be much reassured by the time they left, and were back to treating me more or less normally after their first visit. I was so positive & upbeat that it seemed to be very reassuring to everyone. I did worry that people would think I was putting on a show, a brave front for their benefit, but I really wasn't - like I said, looking back I think a lot of my bravery & grace under pressure was the pain drugs.<br /><br />One visit of particular note was when the CEO of the company I work for came by to talk about the benefits program at work. Now there's something important to note here. I worked for the company first on a temporary contract basis, followed by a short-term contract to cover a maternity leave, before being made a permanent employee nearly a year after I first started working there. When I was finally made permanent, I was offered the chance to join the benefits plan... and turned it down. The previous two workplaces I'd worked hadn't paid very well, didn't have very good plans, plus I was young & healthy so why not pay-as-I-go & save a little money? But this time when I tried to opt out, both the CEO & my immediate supervisor the CFO talked me out of it, said it was a very good plan & I needed to take advantage of it. So I joined. I'm not religious, but I am convinced that there was divine intervention working through them that day. Because if I had opted out, I would be seriously screwed now. Instead I am taken care of by an awesome benefits plan, plus the CEO spoke with the chair of the board of directors and they decided to go above & beyond the benefits plan to support me. Financially, everything is taken care of & that is one stress Sterling & I don't have to deal with. By the end of the conversation all three of us (me, Sterling & the CEO) are holding back tears. <a href="http://northerndevelopment.bc.ca">Northern Development Initiative Trust</a>'s above-and-beyond response to my cancer diagnosis is the way all companies should treat their employees, and how many companies claim they treat their employees, but sadly in reality very few do. NDIT is awesome & I feel so blessed.<br /><br />One last thing from my notebook, that night I put on my iPod & the first song shuffle chose was "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor. :)<br /><br /><b><i>Thursday, 30th June 2011</i></b> My entire immediate family arrives! Mom flies in from Fort St. John & Sterling goes & picks her up from the airport. Later, the little caravan of two vehicles containing 6 adults & 2 bulldogs arrives from Calgary. There are many hugs & much visiting. Three more flower arrangements are delivered, carnations from my grandma, daisies from my cousin & her husband, and a big bouquet from an aunt & uncle. A friend also comes to visit for the first time & brings a pretty yellow teacup rose plant, bringing the total arrangements in my room for my stay up to nine. <br /><br />Today is also the day they get me up & walking for the first time since the surgery. As it turns out, I am wobbily standing beside my bed when I get visit #2 from my GP. This time I try & express how I feel. I tell him that I am angry with him, that I don't feel he took my symptoms seriously enough & didn't act urgently enough. He does not apologize, just says that it's good to have my feelings out on the table, but that no one expects cancer in someone my age. I understand that he probably couldn't apologize outright without risking a lawsuit, but there are ways of apologizing without apologizing, you know? And he didn't do that. I got the distinct impression that he doesn't feel he did anything wrong, that if given a similar patient he would act the exact same way again. And I am not OK with that. I am even angrier with him when he leaves.<br /><br />In stark contrast, the surgeon Dr. Wankling's visit is much better. The biopsy results are back, and they indicate that the primary cancer is in my stomach. This was his guess right from the beginning, as he once had another patient, a girl even younger than I am, with a very similar case. He says that he eventually removed her stomach, after which he lost track of her. He was very positive & optimistic. He even asked me if I wanted to go home during the weekend, if they could get my pain controlled. He said he was on vacation the following week, but he was booking me with his colleague on Tuesday for "scopes from both ends" (endoscopy & a colonoscopy) to confirm that the primary cancer was in my stomach.<br /><br />My work was sweet enough to bring me my work laptop & an internet stick on the condition that I use it for fun & communication only, and not try to do any actual work. I posted these FaceBook updates at 11:26AM: "Hello everyone! My super-awesomely-supportive workplace (Northern Development Initiative Trust) arranged for me to have access to a computer & interwebs while in the hospital, since I am the last Luddite on earth to not have a cell phone, let alone a web-enabled one. So I am typing this myself from my hospital bed." "Feeling better, pain management has progressed a great deal over the last few days. Still no new info, but biopsy results are expected later today. I'm overwhelmed with all the good wishes & prayers - thank you all. I feel so blessed to have so many wonderful people in my life."<br /><br />Then at 10:29PM: "Update! My surgeon (the awesome Dr. Wankling) came by late this afternoon with the biopsy analysis. Definitely cancer, looks like from the stomach (not definitive). Probably next Tuesday, I'll get scoped from both ends to see if they can confirm by finding it. (Advice from uncle: make sure they clean it well between the two scopes!) Chemo in my future. Also, the family has arrived en masse!! :D"<br /><br /><b><i>Friday, 1st July 2011</i></b> Happy Canada Day! There was actually a little card on one of my meal trays to mark the occasion, a nice touch. I was on "liquids" meal trays for most of my stay, so lots of soup & jello. The food in the hospital was surprisingly good; weeks later when I mentioned that to my psychologist he said that there are some little old Ukrainian ladies who cook at the hospital & make it much better than most institutional food.<br /><br />The day was taken up with visiting. My family worked out shifts of sorts so they weren't all there at once. They also insisted on cleaning our house. It was hard for me to accept this help. I'm a lousy housekeeper at the best of times, and the month leading up to my hospital stay was far from my best of times. I was ashamed. But I knew they were all feeling helpless, and wanted badly to have something helpful to do, so I let them. Later when thanking them, I would manage to choke out, "Thanks for not thinking less of me."<br /><br />There was also a surprise visit from Dr. Wankling, who stopped by on his day off because he wanted to bump up my scopes to the first possible day, Monday. Given this bump, and the fact that they were still having trouble finding the right dose to control my pain, it made more sense to keep me in the hospital until after the scopes were done. I would have the prep on Sunday & be scoped first thing Monday.<br /><br />I think this was my bad night. I know my bad night was the first night after the catheter was removed, and I think this was it. It was in the wee hours, and I woke up & had to pee really badly. They had taken the catheter out but I was still getting IV fluids. But before I could get out of bed I had to release the cuffs around my shins. They were velcro, and I was able to rip one open & off, but couldn't manage to reach the other one (I was not so bendy after abdominal surgery). I would have pressed the call button to get the nurse, but it was tied to the bed rail which had been lowered, and I couldn't reach that either. I started to call to Sterling to wake up, but after three tries I realized that while I was trying to wake him up, I was also trying to do it quietly enough so as not to wake him up, because I felt bad about disturbing him. By this time I was in tears, partly from the pain, partly from panic. I finally managed to wake Sterling up, he took off the cuff and helped me up & to the toilet, and then went to get the nurse because at this point I was hysterical, bawling my eyes out & apologizing over & over. The nurse came in & gave me pain meds & helped calm me down. Looking back now I realized that this was the terror & horror of my finding out I had cancer finally coming out. I had been so HIGH and upbeat for my constant stream of visitors, I hadn't really had time for the negative emotions to surface. This was the start of them coming out.<br /><br /><b><i>Saturday, 2nd July 2011</i></b> More visiting. Looking at it now, it seems like I should have been bored with not being able to do anything but lie in bed & visit, but I don't remember it that way. I do remember getting worn out but not wanting to nap because I wanted to make the most of my visiting time with my family, at the same time that they were insisting I should rest & nap. <br /><br />I wasn't in bed all the time, I was also getting up & doing laps around the floor, pushing my IV pole. There was a big front pocket in my hospital gown, which I'm sure was designed to hold some piece of medical equipment, but I used it to take along the little stuffed hamster a friend had brought me. I named the stuffed hamster <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0876563">Ponyo</a>, an obscure reference to the titular character who loves ham (ham - hamster - get it?). The getting out of bed & moving was something that was greatly encouraged by the nurses, as it prevents blood clots & speeds recovery time. I joked they should post the best times around the floor, I was sure I could beat them! I was a bit annoyed because even though I was the most mobile patient on the floor, I was still getting the little belly shots to prevent clots. At some point a nurse finally told me she thought it was an oversight that the doctors hadn't stopped the shots, and I could refuse them, which I started doing.<br /><br />I guess this as good a place as any to put in some other details that happened but I'm fuzzy on when exactly. At some point the IV in my right forearm started leaking, so they had to put in a new one. I have itty bitty veins that run & hide from needles, so this was a challenge, and it took two nurses three tries to get a new IV in. They finally succeeded with a child's needle & put the IV in my left hand, which sucked, because the IV in your hand is awkward to deal with for things like washing your hands. Also at some point I was strong enough to get my arm wrapped & taped in plastic & have my first shower. That wonderful feeling after being sick in bed for days & finally feeling well enough to bathe - heaven!<br /><br />One last thing about being in the hospital: they had a wonderful machine that kept hot blankets. I loved them - they were so comforting. The nurses showed Sterling where to get them & help himself, and I was indulged often.<br /><br /><b><i>Sunday, 3rd July 2011</i></b> My brother, his girlfriend, and my stepmom all have to leave to drive back to Calgary - they have to work on Monday. We take pictures like these before they go:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAUPvQNwmYX2_798gAMv-koMSQ64mNwI7hsQg_6fBqLToS9wwzzZaRP7uwK_rKpIiZsWgq10wGvcX0tyBokHBBuXtB-AwOORvglVowy-lZJMoXO543OHFqaYIAf3bpNNVXSB9CRTq7Utu2/s1600/SAVE0267.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 352px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAUPvQNwmYX2_798gAMv-koMSQ64mNwI7hsQg_6fBqLToS9wwzzZaRP7uwK_rKpIiZsWgq10wGvcX0tyBokHBBuXtB-AwOORvglVowy-lZJMoXO543OHFqaYIAf3bpNNVXSB9CRTq7Utu2/s400/SAVE0267.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654528518084427874" /></a><br /><br />We all look so happy, you would think the teddy bear (a loan not a gift from my brother's girlfriend) was a baby & we were all gathered at the hospital for a happy occasion, rather than for a life-threatening disease.<br /><br />After a last visit with the three who had to leave, and hugs & goodbyes, the nurse comes in with the first bottle of super-laxative stuff to prep me for the scopes the next day. I have a first dose, followed by a second dose in two hours. My mom asks, why two different doses? The nurse can't really explain why, but afterwords, I will describe it like the space shuttle taking off. You know how they have one engine that burns out, then drops off, and the second one kicks in to take them the rest of the way? That was how I experienced the cleanse. After the first hour, I was like, this isn't going to work, maybe I just don't have anything in my system because of the liquid meals I've been fed in the hospital. After an hour & a half, it finally started to work. After the second dose, oh my goddess! My family kindly stays away for most of the afternoon, as no-one wants to be around for this, except Sterling. Dear sweet Sterling... I worried that after this whole ordeal, there wouldn't be much mystery left in our romance, but he was a rock the whole way through.<br /><br /><b><i>Monday, 4th July 2011</i></b> Scope day. We kept expecting me to get called downstairs for the scope, but after several hours of the nurses saying "they'll call when they're ready for you" my Dad insists our nurses call them. Turns out there was a paperwork screwup & I wasn't on the list to get scoped that day! My dad had to go for a walk to calm down after that, although I have to say that throughout my hospital stay he controlled his temper & urge to take charge admirably well. I am put on the scope list for the last appointment of the day & the surgeon doing the scopes comes up to talk to me about them. Unfortunately he did not have Dr. Wankling's stellar bedside manner. Have you ever had someone who explains something to you, you ask a clarification question, and they just repeat the exact same thing they said the first time? That was this surgeon. My only real concern was that I wanted to make sure I was unconscious for the scopes... a coworker had an endoscopy (scope down the throat into your stomach) that he was conscious for & did NOT recommend it. Eventually after several go-rounds with the surgeon, it was confirmed that I would be awake enough to respond to their commands to shift & rollover & such, but I would not remember any of the procedure. Good enough for me! I was finally taken down for the scopes mid-afternoon, but as soon as we got there, they claimed they hadn't called for me and I was sent back upstairs, where the nurse said they most certainly did call for me, so yet another communication error had to be straightened out, and I was taken back down again. What a gong show! The actual scopes went fine, I don't remember anything after being sedated until I woke up in the scope recovery room, being encouraged to pass gas (this is an important thing after scopes). I was full of air which was very painful so each burp & fart I managed was a great relief. The surgeon came in & showed me pictures of the big cancerous ulcer they'd found in my stomach, confirming that what I had was stomach cancer that had spread to the omentum (Dr. Wankling had described what he found in my abdomen was like cancerous seeds scattered through my omentum). The surgeon also explained he was only able to do a partial colonscopy; while the scope showed the inside of my colon was clear of cancer, it had likely spread to the outside and because of that he hadn't wanted to be too forceful with the colonscopy, especially since they'd already confirmed that the primary was in my stomach. <br /><br />I was wheeled back up to my room & was finally allowed to eat something. That had been rough - after the prep solution the previous afternoon/evening, I couldn't eat anything until after the scope, which wouldn't have been such a big deal if it had been first thing in the morning like it was supposed to be, but because of the screwup I spent nearly all of Monday not being able to eat.<br /><br />That evening we all met my oncologist Dr. Katakkar for the first time. He came up to my room to see me after office hours. He was & is wonderful. He's been a doctor for over 30 years & for 20 years he ran his own clinic in Arizona. He was recruited to come up & head our new northern cancer centre here in Prince George just this past January (<a href="http://www.opinion250.com/blog/view/19167/1/new+oncologist+in+p.g.?id=143&st=2090">news article</a>). He is a sweet little East Indian man who always sports a bowtie. His youngest daughter is the same age as I am. He very patiently answered all our questions (facing not only me, but a questioning family panel of Sterling, my Mom & Dad, and my sister & brother-in-law). We all felt like I was in good hands with him.<br /><br />Dr. Katakkar explained that the file he received was incomplete, so he wasn't sure at this point if I had lymphoma that had spread into my stomach, or stomach cancer that had spread to my lymph nodes. He was hoping it was the first one, as lymphoma is much easier to treat & my odds would be much better. If it was the latter, then I would also need to be tested for a mutant gene that about a quarter of stomach cancers are positive for. If I was positive for the mutant gene, that would also increase my odds. He also explained that whichever it was, my cancer was stage IV, which provoked a strong emotional reaction from us all, even though if we had thought about it we should have been able to figure that out for ourselves.<br /><br />I immediately decided to harness the power of positive thinking, deciding that it was definitely lymphoma. At 8:19PM that night I updated my FaceBook status to: "OK everyone, I need your help! Today I was scoped from both ends, and as expected, they found the primary cancer in my stomach. There are 2 possibilities: it's either lymphoma that happens to be in the stomach, or actual stomach cancer. We REALLY want it to be lymphoma; it is more common and more treatable. So please if everyone could pray/vibe/fingers crossed for lymphoma. Should know tomorrow. Thanks!!"<br /><br /><b><i>Tuesday, 5th July 2011</i></b> First thing in the morning, Dr. Katakkar came in & gave us the news: I have stomach cancer, not lymphoma. Fuck. I started crying really hard - I was devastated. Brokenly, I said, "I was really hoping to catch a break." Dr. Katakkar gave me a hug & said, "We just all have to do the very best we can." I bounced back reasonably quickly... yay narcotics! Dr. Katakkar is going to get me downstairs for my first chemotherapy right away, within hours. Later, my Dad will talk with other experts & they all say this is amazingly quick, but Dr. Katakkar has the sense of urgency about him, "there is no time to waste!" that I craved & never got from my GP. But first, I say my goodbyes to my sister, her husband, and my dad, who are driving back to Calgary. Sterling heads home to shower, and my mom & "chemo kitty" (a stuffed cat that a coworker brought me) accompanies me downstairs for my first chemo. My mom was supposed to fly out the next morning, but after talking about it she decides to change her flight to a day later, so she can stay until I am discharged tomorrow. They have decided to keep me in the hospital one more night so that they can observe me for any adverse reaction to the chemo.<br /><br />The chemo I receive is the <a href="http://www.bccancer.bc.ca/NR/rdonlyres/C0A8933B-3AAD-4EBA-A95C-4552A0A060C9/48927/GIGAVECC_Handout_1Jan2011.pdf">GIGAVECC protocol</a>. Even though I already have an IV in my left hand, the cancer nurse insists on putting in her own. The good news is, chemo nurses have a reputation as being the very best at putting in IVs, and she gets it first time. First I get a cup full of anti-nausea pills. I am pleasantly surprised to learn that science has come a long way, and rather than puking for a week after chemo, the goal is that we find the right combo of anti-nausea drugs so I never experience nausea at all! My right arm with the new IV is wrapped in an electric blanket, while the nurse uses a huge syringe of bright red liquid to slowly push the first chemo drug Epirubicin. I am asked to tell her immediately if I feel any pain, because if the drug leaks out of my vein it will cause serious burns under my skin. Yikes - I struggle to not develop hypochondriac pain through the power of suggestion. Fortunately, the nurse also warns me that this drug turns your next pee bright red, otherwise my first trip to the bathroom after receiving it would have been very shocking! Next I get a bag of saline, followed by the Cisplatin. The final of the three chemo drugs, Capecitabine, is four pills a day, two with breakfast & two with dinner. I'm given a three week supply in three fancy blister-pack books. I'm to take my first dose with tonight's dinner, and my last with breakfast the morning before my next chemo session.<br /><br />Not long after I am setup with the chemo, who should come by to see me but my GP. I was so stressed out seeing him, and I fired him. I told him that trust is very important, and that the way everything played out, I just couldn't trust him anymore, and that one of my coworkers had offered to help me find a new GP. He seemed very hurt & after we spoke he spent quite some time at the nurses station a few feet away filling out paperwork. I was very uncomfortable & couldn't look at him. I just held Sterling's hand & he kept having to reassure me that I had done the right thing. Months later I am still currently without a GP but am still convinced that this was the right decision for me to make. The very thought of the man promotes a negative emotional reaction throughout my body, not exactly conducive to healing! For now, the BC Cancer Agency has taken great care of me.<br /><br />My first chemo session was also serious information overload. It was explained to me that the BC Cancer Agency has five professions that work as a team: doctors, nurses, pharmacists, nutritionist, and social workers. The last three all stopped by during the chemo to introduce themselves, what there role was in my treatment, and hand me a pile of paper to read. I ended up creating a whole binder I entitled my "Cancer Ass-Kicking Manual" for all this stuff.<br /><br />Later that evening, after my mom had gone back to my house for the night, I felt so great (aka HIGH) that Sterling said if he hadn't seen the drugs administered for himself, he'd not have believed I'd had chemo. When we went for our evening walk, I decided to leave the floor for the first time. I wanted to see the Tim Hortons everyone kept disappearing to. As we walked past the main entrance to the hospital, I looked out and saw 15th avenue, and had the most surreal moment. That's a street I regularly drove home from work along. It felt like a whole other life, an alternative universe, but really it was only a week ago, and there it was right outside, just beyond the glass from this strange new life, this rabbit hole I'd fallen down.<br /><br />That night at 7:57PM I updated FaceBook with: "Well, it's stomach cancer, not lymphoma. That's OK, just means a more epic battle & more glorious victory! Had my first chemo treatment this morning (11AM-4PM) and it wasn't too bad! Amazing team of doctors, nurses, social workers, nutritionists, and pharmacists in oncology... information overload, lots of handouts to read as homework. Kicking cancer's ass: I've started!"<br /><br /><b><i>Wednesday, 6th July 2011</i></b> Dr. Katakkar wants me to have a ECG (electrocardiogram) before I'm discharged, but the department won't return his phone calls. He seems quite frustrated, I think because he is used to running a clinic in the states, where when he wanted something, it was simply done & right away. Because I'm going to be discharged soon, I am moved from my private room to a shared room. I am finally eager to get home. Eventually it is decided that I'm not getting in for an ECG any time soon, so I'm free to go. Discharged, a disgusting sounding word for a lovely thing. We pack up all my stuff to move out, and I give the lady in the other bed my box of the good Kleenix a visitor had brought me & I wish her luck.<br /><br />Before heading home we have to make a stop at London Drugs to fill my anti-nausea prescriptions. Then it's home... which is so clean thanks to my family that it's barely recognizable! I am glad to be back in my own space, and to see my kitties. Home, there really is no place like it.<br /><br /><b><i>Thursday, 7th July 2011</i></b> Mom's plane leaves at 6AM, so counting back we have to get up VERY early to take her to the airport. Both Mom & Sterling think I should get more sleep & not come to the airport, so I agree that we'll see if I'm up or not when they leave, and we say our goodbyes the night before just in case. But I'm awake, and insist on going to the airport. Later that day, at 12:54PM I update FaceBook: "I'm HOME! Discharged from the hospital yesterday afternoon. Trying to settle back into my space. The chemo seems to be kicking in, very tired today, slept most of the morning." Then at 6:54PM that night "FANTASTIC NEWS! 25% of patients with stomach cancer have a particular mutant gene. If you have it, they can add a targeted gene therapy to your chemo that improves your odds. My oncologist left a message this afternoon: I have it! :D Extra-sweet bonus: I'm a mutant, which means practically an X-Man, right?!"<br /><br />So that's it, the story of my hospital stay! I have one more historical catchup post planned to bring my story completely up-to-date, and then I can actually blog "in the moment" which I think will be easier & more therapeutic for me. As always, thanks for reading!nwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395683668188283205.post-1646809602862336782011-08-27T10:52:00.000-07:002011-08-27T10:54:03.059-07:00RIP Jack Layton<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jack_Layton">Jack Layton</a>'s funeral is today. For any non-Canadians reading, he was a Canadian politician, the Leader of the Official Opposition, and the public mourning for him has been nearly unprecedented. Jack inhabited the far side of the political spectrum from me, but like many (most?) Canadians I admired him a great deal. He always came across as a real person who was passionate & hard working for what he believed. Jack was consistently voted the politician people would most like to have a beer with. He will be greatly missed.
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<br />Jack's death on Monday hit me hard, as it did many Canadians. I can only speak for myself, but I suspect it was an especially hard blow for those of us who are also battling cancer. Cancer is so scary because it brings you face to face with your mortality. The universe reminds you loud & clear that ultimately none of us control whether we live or die. But that's really too terrifying to cope with on a day-in, day-out basis, so our brain plays tricks to cope, tries to justify & make rules that if we follow, we can avoid the same fate. The one my brain has grasped onto throughout my treatment is, positive attitude! If I am determined enough, I will beat this. But I could never even hope to match Jack Layton's bulldog tenacity and joie de vivre... and he still lost his battle. The cancer didn't care, and he died anyways. Talk about disheartening.
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<br />Which has brought me back to face the sad fact that in spite of the best possible treatments, positive attitude, support & prayer, there is still a large portion of whether any individual cancer patient lives or dies that is simply fate or destiny. I suppose if I was less spiritual I would say "random chance", but I require meaning to get through my days.
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<br />In Jack's <a href="http://www.documentcloud.org/documents/238187-letter-to-canadians-from-jack-layton.html">final letter to Canadians</a> he made special note to address folks in my position:
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<br /><i>"To other Canadians who are on journeys to defeat cancer and to live their lives, I say this: please don't be discouraged that my own journey hasn't gone as well as I had hoped. You must not lose your own hope. Treatments and therapies have never been better in the face of this disease. You have every reason to be optimistic, determined, and focused on the future. My only other advice is to cherish every moment with those you love at every stage of your journey, as I have done this summer."</i>
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<br />This note means a lot to me. I think it, like the rest of his letter, shows who Jack Layton was as a person. And it struck me last night that the inspiring lesson I can take from Jack Layton is this: he never let cancer define him. He dealt with it the best he could & kept on living his life, right up to the end. Each of us brings a unique weapon to our battle with cancer: ourselves. We fight cancer by not letting it take our identity & who we are from us. Jack was Jack right up to the end. In that sense even though he lost his battle, in a larger sense he won the war. I will continue to fight my own battle with openness, honesty, probably over-sharing way too much information, and my sense of humour intact. Cancer has changed a great deal about my life, but I will not allow it to change who I essentially am as a person. In that sense, I too have already won... whatever the outcome.
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<br />Jack closes his final letter to Canadians with:
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<br /><i>My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we'll change the world.</i>
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<br />Lets. Goodbye Jack. I hope you can see the CN Tower blazing orange today in your honour, and that it makes you smile. We miss you.
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<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i>"Courage my friends, 'tis never too late to build a better world." ~Tommy Douglas
<br />(one of Jack's favourite quotes,
<br />included in his email signature)</i></div>nwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395683668188283205.post-82877448001934047262011-08-10T22:00:00.000-07:002011-08-12T19:51:23.981-07:00DiagnosisThis is the story of my diagnosis. During my hospital stay, I told all my visitors some version of this story. It was quite cathartic to tell it over & over, in varying pieces and level of detail. My intent is for this blog post to be the master, every-super-gory-detail version. For posterity, I guess. It's hard to believe all this took place less than two months ago. I suppose in some ways it was also a lifetime ago.
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<br />Late in May 2011, I had a stomach ache. Can't say when it started exactly. Probably THE most common medical complaint, right? Everyone gets them. Though statistically I've probably had more than my fair share (see previous post).
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<br />The point is, this was not one of my normal stomach aches. Not the (rare for me, Mom & Dad!) "oh goddess if-I-could-puke-I'd-feel-better" hangover stomach ache. Not the "oh goddess why-can't-men-go-through-this-just-once" dull achy menstrual pains stomach ache. And not my nemesis, the "oh goddess outta-my-way" mad rush to the bathroom, diarrhea explosion, stomach ache.
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<br />No, this stomach ache was a sharp stab in the upper left of my abdomen that radiated out so that when it got bad my entire midsection was in agony. The pain was wave-like, cresting and waning, and yet never totally gone.
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<br /><b><i>Thursday, 2nd June 2011.</i></b> First time I sought medical attention for the problem. I'd had the pain fairly steady for a couple days at this point. I was sleeping with my trusty heating blanket every night, and I remember after three nights in a row saying to myself, this isn't normal, something's wrong. It was lunchtime & I was sitting at work, already having taken the maximum recommended dose of Tylenol for the day. (Normally, I'm one of those people who is stupid-resistant to taking over-the-counter painkillers... in absolute agony until some wiser head scolds me & says, just take something already!)
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<br />I thought about driving myself over to the emergency room, but when a wave of pain hit, I was gripping the edge of my desk in tears, and I couldn't bear the thought of waiting in emergency for hours alone, so I called my Sterling & asked him to come take me. While waiting, when the pain would fade, I would start to feel really silly, like I was wasting everyone's time & a spot in triage, because it wasn't really that bad. But then the pain would crest again, and I couldn't bear it, needed it to stop.
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<br />The wait ended up being not as bad as initially feared, maybe two hours. We got called back & I was put in a bed. The first guy to examine me (a nurse? med student? don't know) thought I might be FOS (Full Of Shit) - constipated. Told him I was a bit, but even when I went, it relieved a bit of the pain but definitely didn't get rid of it. Then a young female doctor came in... younger than my 32 years. She was absolutely convinced it was menstrual cramps (my period started the next day). The other reason for thinking this was that over the previous several months, since I'd made my major diet change, my menstrual cramps did seem to have been getting worse each month. Still, I told her I had never been someone who had bad menstrual cramps before. She said sometimes when we get older that changes. I got a lot of mileage out of that line over the next couple weeks!
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<br />The doctor talked about how Advil was a great drug, people just didn't take enough of it. She prescribed a whack of Navoproxen, which she described as "super Advils", each one worth 4-5 regular over-the-counter pills, and implied that if I had to go a little over the maximum dose, that was OK. Finally, the doctor closed by saying that even though she was sure it was menstrual cramps, she would refer me for an ultrasound just to be on the safe side.
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<br />We went to London Drugs, filled the prescription, and Sterling took me out for a late-late lunch, since the pills had to be taken with food (rough on the stomach). Then it was back to work for a couple hours, popping my new pills.
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<br />Earlier that same day, before the pain got so bad, I had called & made an appointment with a naturopath. As explained in my last post, back in December I made a major diet change, and now I was thinking that given the timing, these weird stomach pains were probably not a coincidence. The naturopath I'd seen in December was a man, but his wife is also a naturopath & they work in partnership, so I made this appointment with her. Normally gender is not a concern of mine when it comes to medical care, but if it was menstruation-related, I thought it'd be better to see a woman. The appointment was for the following Monday. I spent the weekend taking my pills, which helped a little, but even with them I was still in quite a bit of pain.
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<br /><b><i>Monday, 6th June 2011.</i></b> The naturopath listened to my story, including my visit to the emergency room & their diagnosis. First, given the location of the pain (upper left abdomen), she wanted a standard blood test to rule out problems with my pancreas. She could do it, but it would cost me money, so she recommended I go to my GP & get it done by him at no cost.
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<br />Assuming my pancreas wasn't the problem, she also went from the assumption that it was menstrual cramps. We went through what I ate (mostly crap in her opinion) and she prescribed a multivitamin, a cod liver oil pill, and a calcium/magnesium supplement (apparently deficiencies of these two minerals can cause inefficient shedding of the uterine lining & therefore very painful menstrual cramps... the more you know). She also asked that I track my waking temperature for a month, the pattern of which would allow her to eliminate thyroid problems as a cause. Last, she tried a magnesium push, an injection... if a lack of magnesium had been the sole cause of very painful menstrual cramps, this would have eliminated all of my pain instantly. The injection simulates a hot flash... an interesting experience, and one that gave me great sympathy for all the women I love who are going through menopause. But it didn't fix my pain.
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<br />Emotionally, I had very mixed feelings after my appointment with the naturopath. On the one hand, I felt better that (unlike the ER doctor) she was trying out ideas, looking for an actual cause, rather than prescribing pills to treat the symptoms only. But her reaction to my crappy diet & the idea that it was probably a vitamin/mineral deficiency of some kind meant that I'd probably done this to myself & had no one but myself to blame for the whole mess. There was more than a little calling myself a dumbass at this point.
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<br />I went back to work & made an appointment with my GP. Soonest I could get in was the following Monday. The rest of my week was eventful for non-illness reasons. My boss & I went for a long coffee the next day to conduct my annual performance review... I'm sure it doesn't surprise any of you that he thinks I do an awesome job, right?! ;) Ironically, we even discussed my health issues & all the work projects I'd be getting done once my health was better. Best laid plans.
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<br />I had the rest of the week (Wednesday to Friday) off work to study. I'm enrolled in the CGA program & had a finance exam Friday night I'd been trying to prepare for. My cat Bob was just recovering from being very sick himself (more irony: at one point we thought *he* had cancer). Point is between Bob being sick & then me, I didn't hold out much hope for the exam. I studied as much as I could through the pain & wrote the exam Friday at 6:30PM. Was just glad to be done with it, even though I was 70-30 I'd failed. (I found out recently that I managed to pull a rabbit out of my um, orifice, and actually passed! Yay me!)
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<br />Sterling picked me up after the exam at 9:30PM & we drove to Williams Lake for the night. We had long-standing plans to do a whirlwind trip to Kelowna that weeekend, as Sterling's extended family was having a big bash for his Uncle Rick's 50th birthday. We would have gone down earlier & spent more time if not for my exam. We spent Saturday night in a camper in Kelowna and after a quick lunch with Sterling's biological father, and an even quicker visit with his paternal grandmother, we were headed home again, as I had to work on Monday.
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<br />I felt bad, because I wasn't much fun the whole trip. In spite of the ER doctor's pills, which by the drive back were being interspersed with extra-strength Tylenol, I was in more and more pain. We got home to Prince George in the wee hours Monday morning... so grateful to see my own bed & my heating blanket. I couldn't wait for the doctor's appointment later that day.
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<br /><b><i>Monday, 13th June 2011.</i></b> My first appointment with my GP over this whole mess. In my head, I'd gone over & over exactly what I was going to say, explaining my symptoms rationally. Instead, the doctor walked in the room, asked how I was feeling, and I burst into tears. The constant pain had worn me down that much already. My GP was awkward, asked if I was worried that it was something serious. I nodded, not really able to speak. I had the impression he was humouring me, and/or just trying to get the crazy crying lady out of there ASAP. He ordered blood & urine tests, and an x-ray. I asked him about the ultrasound the emergency doctor had referred me for, and he said yes, go ahead and book that as well. When I mentioned that I was way over the recommended dose of the Navoproxen, and interspersing it with Tylenol, he prescribed me T3s. He told me to book an appointment within the next couple days to get the test results back, but when I went to do that, the soonest his staff was able to book me was the following Monday, which sucked.
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<br />I went downstairs to the lab to get the blood/urine tests done immediately before returning to work, but the lineup was ridiculous & not moving at all. Since it would be a week till I could get the results anyways, I decided to come back first thing the next morning & try to get it done before work. I was starting to stress a little about how much work I kept missing for all these doctor appointments (especially combined with the fact that even when I was there, I was less-than-optimally productive because of the pain). I did go across the hall & get the x-ray done though, since I was able to get in quickly for that. I had never had an x-ray before, other than dental ones, but it was quick & easy… I changed into a hospital gown, lay down on the table, snap, snap, done.
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<br />I then stopped to fill the T3 prescription on my way back to work. I'd only ever taken a T3 once before, more than a decade earlier after getting my wisdom teeth removed. I remember it knocking me on my ass, and was nervous about driving while under their influence, so waited until I got back to work to try them. They did make the pain more bearable, but didn’t seem to make me high. I remained cautious about taking them directly before driving for quite a while after that though.
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<br />Once back at work, I took my T3s and called to book the ultrasound. The ER referral hadn’t called me to book it until I was off studying for my exam, and since my appointment with my GP was pending so soon, I had decided to wait & see what he wanted me to do before booking. When I called them now, they chided me for not calling back sooner, as now the soonest they could get me in was early July.
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<br /><b><i>Tuesday, 14th June 2011.</i></b> As planned, stopped by on my way to work to get the blood & urine tests done, ended up being only a little late to work as a result.
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<br /><b><i>Friday, 17th June 2011.</i></b> This definitely falls under way Too Much Information (TMI) but I'm determined to be thorough here! The T3s (which I’d been taking two every 4 hours or so, so 8-10 a day) had me so constipated, and Ex-Lax wasn’t working, so on the way home from work I stopped to pick up a few groceries... and an enema. It's hard for me to believe even now that lying on a towel in the middle of the bathroom floor, giving myself my first enema, was no-where close to the worst part of my month. A few minutes later, when I could go, not a lot but a little, I was pathetically grateful for even that little bit of relief from the pain.
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<br /><b><i>Sunday, 19th June 2011.</i></b>Father’s Day. My Dad becomes the lucky first family member to find out what’s going on, when I call him to wish him Happy Father’s Day, and he’s not home, so I leave a message, and he calls back in a moment when my pain is quite extreme. I end up having a complete crying meltdown on the phone, and have to ask Sterling to call my Dad back to reassure him that I am in fact ok. I’m not really, but I don’t want to worry him (or anyone else).
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<br /><b><i>Monday, 20th June 2011.</i></b> It had been a long week. Given how angry & frustrated I already was, I knew I was far beyond being able to speak rationally about my pain, so I had Sterling come with me to my appointment. All my test results came back clean. I was a little anemic, but that wouldn’t cause the pain. The doctor asked if I was still experiencing the pain. YES!!! Oh, so we have a little bit of a mystery on our hands, he says. I could have killed him. The next step is the ultrasound. When I told him I had booked it & it was still weeks away, he was unmoved. Sterling asked him if there was anything he could do to move it up, and he said no, probably not. We then asked if there were any other tests that could be done. He said it was possible I would be able to get in for a CT scan faster, and he would refer me for one. The theory at this point is that it could be kidney stones, as some types wouldn’t show up on the x-ray. This made sense to me, given the excruciating pain, and the fact that my paternal grandfather had a history of kidney problems and my younger brother had previously had kidney stones. Painful but nothing really seriously wrong. At no point did the GP ask how I was doing on the T3s. When I went to book a follow-up appointment, again the soonest I could get in was the following Monday, a whole week away. I tell them no thanks, I will call later in the week for a same-day appointment instead. They tell me that’s fine.
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<br />Sterling & I drove home, and then I drove the car to work. I was very angry & frustrated with my GP, whom I had never gotten on with particularly well. In the past, when all I’d ever needed him for was my annual physical & birth-control prescription, dealing with him had been a minor frustration, but now I felt very much alone. When I got to work, I found that my Dad had called them & they were now very concerned. I had been keeping them all at least somewhat in the loop as to what was going on, given all the times I kept ducking out for doctor’s appointments. Later that afternoon, I called the hospital and they were able to get me in for a CT scan the next day. Finally, progress & good news! I just had to stop & pick up a bottle of contrast agent on my way home from work. Mixed it up with water that night & divided it up into the three doses: the first several hours before, the second a few hours later, then some to take to the exam and drink right before the scan.
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<br /><b><i>Tuesday, 21st June 2011.</i></b> Went to work, drank the fowl-tasting contrast precisely as scheduled, and then left to get the CT. For the CT scan they tell everyone that is getting a scan that hour to show up at the start of the hour, and then they call you in for the scan in some mysterious order. When it was my turn, I had to change into a hospital gown, lay down on the machine’s table, and they injected me with a second contrast material. Had a nice chat with the tech, snap, snap, snap, pictures taken, and done & back to work. I had made sure to ask the tech when the results would be ready; she said a couple days. The GP’s office started taking phone calls for a limited number of same-day appointments each morning at 7:30AM, and I decided it was past time to be pushy. I would give them Wednesday, then Thursday morning I would start calling, asking, are my results back? If so, can I have an appointment today to get them?
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<br /><b><i>Thursday, 23rd June 2011.</i></b> Called my GP’s office at 7:30AM as planned. Find out he is out of town until Monday! This was SO not mentioned to me when I was in their office earlier that week, telling them my intention to call for a same day appointment later in the week! To make matters even worse, I am about to run out of T3s (I didn’t realize until the last minute that my supply was so low, but then remember the doctor hadn’t asked either).
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<br />At this point I decide to go to the emergency room after work, with the knowledge that I will have to wait a long time to be seen, but worst case scenario I will get enough T3s to cover me until Monday, and best case scenario, they will have access to the CT results. I call Sterling to let him know not to expect me till late. Got to the hospital at 5:30PM, and settled in with my book. “Peak Performance Principles For High Achievers” by John R. Noe – a classic in the self-help field. Difficult to concentrate, but I get through most of the book before finally getting seen four hours later at 9:30PM.
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<br />But Dr. Spooner is well worth the wait. After examining me & using a small ultrasound machine to look at my stomach, he tells me has seen the CT scan, and there are abnormalities. I have fluid in my abdomen & inflammation of the omentum and connective tissues that hold the intestines in place. My what? A later doctor described the omentum as the abdomen’s shock absorber, it is a layer of fatty tissue that folds over your entire abdomen. I ask Dr. Spooner, how unusual is this? How concerned should I be? He says that it could be something minor, or it could be something quite serious, it’s difficult to tell from just this picture. He mentions cancer, asks if there is much family history. I mention that my grandmother died of a very rare cancer, I think it may have been of the connective tissues.
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<br />Because I had my blood work & urine tests done at Victoria Medical Building rather than at the hospital, Dr. Spooner doesn’t have access to the results, would I mind if he redid the tests? Not at all! Also, he orders a chest x-ray for reasons I still don’t understand. It is quite late at this point, and I am now going to have to wait around until they can perform all these tests, so I borrow their phone to call Sterling to let him know what’s going on. He comes down to meet me. I mention to Dr. Spooner that my GP has not up to this point seemed very concerned or in any great hurry; he says that’s because the GP hasn’t seen the CT results. Dr. Spooner promises to move up my ultrasound for me, refills my T3 prescription, and asks how I’m doing on them, and prescribes some laxatives to help with the side effects. All in all, as we leave that night, I am more than a little scared... cancer is a scary possibility. But I am also reassured, because at least progress is being made. Dr. Spooner's care and compassion has gone a long way to restore my faith in the system. Yes, it’s been sluggish in response up until now, but I feel that things will now move into high gear.
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<br /><b><i>Friday, 24th June 2011.</i></b> Same as for the last couple mornings, in spite of taking T3s right before going to sleep, I wake up in excruciating pain, barely able to get out of bed. At 6AM I manage to get up, throw back my last two T3s, and while sitting on the couch waiting for them to kick in, I call my mom to ask about what kind of cancer her mother died from. When my mom answers, she immediately asks what’s wrong. She just does not get phone calls from her kids at 6AM. I tell her my story, she says you must be scared shitless, and I cry and say I’m ok. I was wrong about the cancer that grandma died from, it was one that attacked various vital organs, not connective tissues, like what is inflamed for me. I am a little reassured by this. My mom is upset that I didn’t tell her sooner about what was going on, but I didn’t want to worry her. I promise to keep her posted from here on out.
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<br />The previous night after getting home, since I only had a few T3s left, I googled which pharmacy was open earliest. I stop at Shoppers Drug Mart and wait for them to open, fill my prescription for T3s and for the over-the-counter laxatives Dr. Spooner recommended, and then stop at the Ritz Bakery on my way to work. I buy a big box of pastries for my coworkers, hoping to bribe karma or something.
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<br />The ultrasound people call before 9AM and book me for that very afternoon. I love Dr. Spooner even more! They instruct me about how much water I have to drink starting pretty much right away in order to ensure I have the full bladder required for the ultrasound, and I start chugging it back. Shortly after speaking with them, low & behold my GPs office calls, the CT results are back and they want to book me for a follow-up appointment on Monday afternoon. I tell them about my emergency room visit & that I am also getting an ultrasound done that afternoon.
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<br />Ultrasound time. Between the pain & the full bladder, I’m in agony, but I managed to drive myself to the hospital, and check in at the correct place. Every second in the waiting room is awful, trying to hold it all in. The ultrasound technician is so nice, but can’t get a clear view of one of my ovaries. She says she wants to do an internal ultrasound, and the good news for that is I get to empty my bladder first! Hallelujah! I pee and then we do the internal ultrasound, which involves the camera wand in my vagina. Still much more comfortable than the regular ultrasound with the full bladder. Towards the end of the test the doctor comes in to take a look and speak with me, since this was a referral from emergency. I guess the most common cause of my symptoms would have been ovarian cancer, but there are no signs of any tumors or anything on any of my lady bits. They do see on the ultrasound the same inflammation and fluid that the CT scan picked up. She tells me the same thing Dr. Spooner did the night before, that the next logical step will likely be a surgical referral for some biopsies. Still, no sign of anything serious on the ultrasound is good news, and I'm so glad to be making progress towards finally finding out what's wrong with me.
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<br />I head back to work, and then on to the weekend. The weekend is long, and in spite of the T3s I am in a lot of pain. Several times Sterling asks me if I want to go back to the emergency room (Dr. Spooner told me to come back if anything changed) but I tough it out. I am sure that come Monday my GP will leap into action. I am determined to follow the proper process.
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<br /><b><i>Monday, 27th June 2011.</i></b> I call at 7:30AM and have my afternoon appointment moved to the morning. Again Sterling accompanies me. The doctor comes in and tells me the same things about the CT results that Dr. Spooner already covered. Then he brings out the form to move up the ultrasound. I tell him I had the ultrasound on Friday. What, really? He tries to look up the results online, but they’re not available yet. He leaves the room to call for an oral report. When he comes back, he confirms what everyone else has been saying, the next step is as surgical referral for biopsies. He has a great surgeon he usually works with. Sterling asks, this isn’t going to take weeks, right? She’s in so much pain. The doctor reassures us that no, if his preferred doctor can’t get me in right away, he will refer me to someone else instead. OK then. Sterling points out that the T3s are barely taking the edge off. The GP agrees to move me up to morphine. Although, he says, I can’t expect to get rid of all my pain. He can probably cut it down to 30%. He writes the prescription for morphine, we go to get it filled, and I intend to go from there into work. In spite of all the time off for doctor’s appointments, and definitely being less effective from the pain, I have been working though out this entire ordeal up until now. Sterling puts his foot down and says no, I’m not going in today. He says I have no idea how I’ll react to morphine. Fine, fair point. We do stop by the office to fill them in on what’s going on and that I won’t be in. As we’re about to leave my office, my phone rings. It is the surgical consult. They can book me for the consult only on Thursday afternoon. This is before Canada Day Friday long weekend. It’s going to be at least a week before any more progress is made! Numb, I agree to the appointment, and head home. Take the morphine through out the day as prescribed. It does nothing more for my pain than the T3s did, except I now have a splitting headache too. I call all my family to fill them in on what’s going on. They are all also outraged and disappointed at the long delay. Sterling is working that night and has an out-of-town call; I stay up until he gets home. It’s nearly midnight as we head to bed. He tells me afterwards that I looked like death. We’re lying in bed, me propped up with several pillows, in so much pain, and I very softly whisper, hon, I’m almost thinking…never mind. Sterling asks, no, what is it? I was just thinking maybe we should go to the emerg… I never even got to finish the thought, Sterling was out of bed, the light was on, and he was helping me into my clothes. That was all he'd been waiting for.
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<br /><b><i>Tuesday, 28th June 2011.</i></b> We arrive in the emergency room after midnight. At check-in I mention that I was there last Thursday night and saw Dr. Spooner, the nurse says on he’s on again tonight, and I instantly feel better. In spite of the hour we still have to wait a few hours before being seen. We got quite the show while waiting though. First an RCMP officer brings in a young kid, who keeps trying to run off. Then another guy comes in escorted by four RCMP officers. When we’re finally taking back and I’m put in a bed, we see Dr. Spooner again and I fill him in on everything. He tells me he’s going to keep me overnight, give me something for the pain, and I’ll see the surgeon first thing in the morning. Have I mentioned how much I love Dr. Spooner?! The nurse comes by, puts an IV in my right arm (difficult to do with my little veins that like to play hide-and-seek, but she manages on the first try) and through the IV they give me Gravol (which I had once before years before and it puts me out like a light) and something wonderful called Dilaudid. Shortly after they put this stuff in my IV, I’m holding Sterling’s hand looking at him grinning and saying “Wow. Oh, wow.” Over and over. It’s the first time in a month I’m not in pain.
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<br />Sterling wants to stay, but by now it’s 4AM and I tell him he’ll be better able to help me if he goes home and gets some sleep. Besides, I’m finally feeling no pain! Sterling reluctantly leaves and I manage to get several hours sleep.
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<br />The next morning I have to wait in the ER for quite a while. Sterling comes back, with his Timmy’s, to the envy of the staff. I can’t have anything to eat or drink at all, not even water, because they are going to get me into surgery as soon as possible. Two young interns come by who are going to be involved in the surgery and speak with me about it. Finally I meet the wonderful Dr. Wankling, my surgeon, and he explains that he is going to do a laparoscopic surgery to get the biopsies. Looking back on it now, I can't believe I wasn't more nervous about having surgery, but I was just so tired of the pain. Eventually I get wheeled upstairs for a short bit, where we wait for a bit. I say goodbye to Sterling as they wheeled me off to surgery, where I’m put under.
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<br />I wake in recovery, in so much pain. I later discover they have me back on morphine rather than the Dilaudid that actually worked the night before. Ice chips are heaven. Once I calm down a little, they wheel me upstairs, where I’m reunited with Sterling... and given a private room. Later, Sterling will tell me this is when he first figures it’s something serious, because most of the rooms in the post-surgery ward are doubles. I don’t think anything of it though, because I’m still in massive amounts of pain. They keep trying to control it with morphine, and it’s just not working. I end up rambling to Sterling, hon, I can’t do this, I can’t stand this, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. I tell the nurses about how the morphine pills didn’t work and that the stuff they gave me in the ER did work (I couldn't remember the name Dilaudid). They switch me over to the Dilaudid, and the pain while not gone starts to become controlled. Now we’re just waiting for Dr. Wankling, who will come talk to us as soon as he gets a chance, he just had a lot of surgeries that day. So we wait. It’s getting close to 5PM so I call my work and let them know I won’t be in again tomorrow. (Sterling had called the previous night when he got home & left a message that I wouldn’t be in that day.) The CEO calls me back and tells me to call as soon as I get the results. We also call my mom & dad to update them on what’s happening, as the last they had heard I was going to have to wait at least a week before surgery. Since it’s Tuesday, Sterling’s work shift starts and he gets an in-town call-out. He puts it off as long as he can, but then has to leave. Of course, shortly after he’s gone is when the surgeon finally comes in.
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<br />Dr. Wankling fortunately has the best bedside manner. He doesn’t pull any punches though: they found cancer in my omentum. They took biopsies which are currently being analyzed, but he has seen one other virtually identical case years ago, and in that case it was stomach cancer that had spread to the omentum, and he suspects that’s what’s happened in my case too. He asks about calling Sterling, but I tell him Sterling will be back soon. He tells me to have the nurses page him to come talk to Sterling as soon as he gets back. He tells me he is going to call my parents, what’s their numbers? I hand him my little red book, point them out, and he leaves to make the calls.
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<br />I’m in shock, and for a good ten to fifteen minutes, absolutely terrified. Cancer! Oh god, I’m going to die. I don’t want to die! But soon a sense of absolute calm descends, and I just know: I’m not going to die. This is going to change everything, but I am going to survive, and thrive. This is going to suck, but it will be a massive learning & growth experience. I’m going to be OK.
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<br />I’m so glad this feeling arrived when it did, because it put me in the right place mentally to comfort Sterling & my family. As it turned out, after Dr. Wankling called my Dad, Dad immediately called Sterling, who was done his call and on his way back to the hospital. My Dad of course didn’t want to break the news to Sterling over the phone that way, but Sterling knew from the tone of my Dad’s voice that something was very wrong, and insisted. Of course, when Sterling had left they had been just starting to control my pain, and fresh in his mind is all my "I can’t live like this.: So of course he arrived in my hospital room very very upset, telling me that he needs me & I had to fight this, and I was able to reassure him and calm him down.
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<br />Then I started calling. I called my best friend Mandy, so she could let all our circle of friends know what was going on. Then I tried to call the CEO, and when she was out of cell phone range called her executive coordinator to make sure work knew. Then I started calling my family: my Mom, my Dad & Stepmom, my brother, and my sister. All so upset. I was able to reassure all of them a bit. Eventually, after all those phone calls, we were so lucky that my private room had a fold-down couch & Sterling was welcome to stay with me. We settled in for the night.
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<br />So there, that’s the story of how my life got turned upside down in one short month. I’ll continue on with the story of my hospital stay in my next post. This was a really tough post for me to write; not only is it long & I wanted to include all the details I could, but I haven’t been in the right head space to go back & relive this awful ordeal. But I wanted everyone to know where I’m coming from, and in order to do that you have to know what I went through to get here. Thank you for reading this whole ridiculously long thing - you really should get an endurance medal or something! ;)nwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395683668188283205.post-19366688967492280232011-07-23T18:36:00.000-07:002011-07-25T23:24:25.897-07:00HindsightThey say hindsight's 20/20. One of the most common questions I get asked after people learn of my cancer is if, looking back, there were signs I missed? Are there things that, in hindsight, should have tipped me off that something was wrong?<br /><br />I finally figured out that what people are really asking is, <i>Tell me why you got cancer, so I can compare your life to mine, and feel safe again.</i><br /><br />I'm not saying people are self-centred & only concerned about themselves. Not at all! On the contrary, I think this is a perfectly natural coping method that we all engage in. I know I've done the same thing many times. We hear about some horrible natural disaster that killed hundreds of people, and we think, well, I don't live somewhere where tornadoes/floods/earthquakes/etc. happen semi-regularly, so that couldn't happen to me. We hear about a fatal car accident, and we think, well, I wouldn't have been driving that fast under those conditions, so that couldn't happen to me. We hear about someone being diagnosed with lung cancer, and we feel sorry for them, but deep down we're consoled by the fact that they've been a heavy smoker for fifty years. Couldn't happen to me.<br /><br />It's all part of the very human need to feel in control of our lives. Our method of coping when we come face-to-face with circumstances beyond human control is to find an explanation, a reason, a way we're different, a way it couldn't happen to us, so we can feel safe again.<br /><br />Which is why a lot of folks are really struggling to accept what's happening to me. They look at me and say, she's only 32. Reasonably healthy, never smoked, seldom drinks. No family history of stomach cancer. Lived her whole life in Canada, other than a few brief trips to nice touristy places. Always worked white-collar jobs in nice offices (no blue-collar exposures to toxins). There seams to be no reason for me to suddenly have stage IV cancer. But I do. And if it can happen to me, it could happen to anybody. Which scares the pants off people. We all want things to happen for a reason, because if there's a reason, a cause, we can avoid said cause & stay safe. We can protect ourselves & those we love.<br /><br />So people want to hear about my earliest symptoms. How was my cancer found? My next post is another very long one I've been working on for quite a while, that will detail the journey from when I first started to experience abdominal pain to the final diagnosis of stage IV stomach cancer (about a month, all told). But here I'll go over the more "ancient" history.<br /><br />Because I do have a history of stomach problems. For most of my adult life, I suffered from sudden bouts of diarrhea. I first remember noticing it in my early years of university, so in my late teens. At first it mostly occurred when my dad would take me out for a nice dinner... I joked that I was allergic to "real food", that my body had grown accustomed to living solely on junk.<br /><br />And it *was* junk. I was never much of a cook, and more or less lived on the "5 Cs": Chips, Candy, Chocolate, & Coca-Cola. My stomach problems would wax & wane & wax again. The problem would be practically non-existent for months at a time. Sometimes it was only a minor inconvenience. And sometimes, it would get so bad I would have to plan my whole life around the ever-present possibility that I would suddenly, urgently need a washroom.<br /><br />I did ask various doctors over the years if there was anything to be done. They would ask me a few questions, and then say it sounded like I had a "nervous stomach". Their advice was, if I noticed any particular foods that didn't agree with me, avoid them. No shit, Sherlock! None of the doctors ever seemed concerned, or suggested that my troubles could be a sign of something serious.<br /><br />I did try various cures & treatments over the years. For a time it seemed like red meat (steak in particular) was causing my symptoms, so I stopped eating that for a few years, eventually adding it back but only in small portions. I also tried various bowel cleanses and digestive herbs. Most seemed to help a little, or for a little while, but nothing ever got rid of the problem completely.<br /><br />Of course I googled & read books, about IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome) and similar conditions, but none of them seemed a really strong match to my own symptoms. I do remember one article that talked about "bathroom mapping", which hit home in a big way. Bathroom Mapping is a term for when the very first thing you notice about any new place you visit is where the washroom is. This was something that I'd done for so long it was second nature; until I saw it named, it never occurred to me that everyone doesn't do this. Every store I shop at, I can tell you where their washroom is, and how open they are to letting customers use it. I can still tell you the same about most of Ottawa, a city I haven't set foot in for seven years now. That's how deep the need & knowledge goes.<br /><br />My symptoms got really, really bad last summer & fall (of 2010). Near-catastrophic incidents during trips to Calgary & Vancouver made it clear that something *had* to change, that I couldn't live like this anymore. The suddenness of the diarrhea was at this point so bad that I was basically a hostage: Sterling & I couldn't even go out for a simple dinner & a movie. The only method I had to cope with my symptoms was to just not eat for several hours before I had plans. I often wished that not eating for the rest of my life was a viable option.<br /><br />Finally, desperate, I took the recommendation of several coworkers and went to see a naturopath. At the end of my very first appointment, he told me he could help me. I cried, I was so relieved & happy. He ordered an <a href="http://www.alcat.com">ALCAT blood test</a>, which tests for food sensitivities (not allergies). When the report came back in mid-December, it showed that I was highly sensitive to two foods: cottonseed oil (used in lots of potato chips & fast food) and cane sugar. All that junk I'd been living on for all those years was what was making me sick. I was also moderately sensitive to an additional ten foods, ranging from gluten to carrots to strawberries to salmon.<br /><br />The recommended treatment for food sensitivities was to cut out all highly & moderately sensitive foods for 3-6 months, and then gradually try and reintroduce them into your diet. I made this drastic diet change right before Christmas 2010... and by the time I came back to work after the Christmas/New Year break, a scant three weeks later, I'd lost 20 pounds. I continued to lose weight until my final weight loss currently sits around 40 pounds. As nice as the weight loss was, even more exciting was that it did clear up my digestive problems. No more embarrassing mad dashes to the bathroom! I felt like I'd gotten my life back.<br /><br />Then, the pain started. And I was diagnosed with cancer.<br /><br />After my cancer diagnosis, I explained this history of stomach problems to several of my doctors. I was so scared. Scared that a decade of stomach problems I'd mostly ignored had been signs of the cancer, and if only I'd taken them more seriously, my cancer would have been found before it spread. Or at the very least, I thought, maybe my sudden, drastic diet change had something to do with the cancer. Given the timing, it seemed unlikely to all be just a coincidence.<br /><br />But the doctors all told me, that even with the benefit of hindsight, if they'd seen me with these original stomach symptoms, they would have also thought food sensitivities, or IBS, or a similar disorder, but not cancer. None of them seemed to think my old stomach problems were related to the cancer at all. And once the oncologist got involved, and said he estimated the cancer started about a year ago, I was able to think back a year and rack my brain trying to find something that changed around that time. I couldn't think of anything.<br /><br />The only symptom the doctors agreed might have been an early warning sign was how quickly I lost weight last Christmas. But I couldn't even feel bad about missing that one, because if you had seen the amount of candy, deep-fried food, and pop I'd been consuming & suddenly cut out cold-turkey, the weight loss didn't seem that unreasonable. Also, everyone around me agreed that it seemed like a healthy weight loss. I didn't look sickly; on the contrary, I looked so good it inspired several people in my life to diet/exercise more.<br /><br />No matter how I look at it, there just wasn't much for signs that cancer was growing inside me. I was mostly relieved to learn that I hadn't "caused" this, that I didn't have to add guilt to an already heaping emotional plate. But I was also a little disappointed. Part of me was, like everyone else, hoping for a reason and searching for an explanation. But there just doesn't seem to be an easy answer in this case. Life isn't fair, or logical. Sometimes good things happen to bad people, and bad things happen to good people. Some people win the lottery, and some get cancer for no apparent reason.<br /><br />Hindsight can't give me a reason for why this is happening to me, but I still believe with all my heart that there *is* a reason. And since hindsight has failed, the key to finding that reason must be foresight. I haven't found my reason, my explanation yet, though I have caught a few glimpses of it, including this one in the form of a video posted on my FaceBook wall by m'colleague Brodie:<br /><br /><object width="446" height="326"><param name="movie" value="http://video.ted.com/assets/player/swf/EmbedPlayer.swf"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"/><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><param name="bgColor" value="#ffffff"></param> <param name="flashvars" value="vu=http://video.ted.com/talks/dynamic/StaceyKramer_2010-medium.flv&su=http://images.ted.com/images/ted/tedindex/embed-posters/StaceyKramer-2010.embed_thumbnail.jpg&vw=432&vh=240&ap=0&ti=975&lang=eng&introDuration=15330&adDuration=4000&postAdDuration=830&adKeys=talk=stacey_kramer_the_best_gift_i_ever_survived;year=2010;theme=what_makes_us_happy;theme=to_boldly_go;theme=is_there_a_god;theme=ted_in_3_minutes;event=TED2010;tag=cancer;tag=medicine;tag=personal+growth;tag=storytelling;&preAdTag=tconf.ted/embed;tile=1;sz=512x288;" /><embed src="http://video.ted.com/assets/player/swf/EmbedPlayer.swf" pluginspace="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" bgColor="#ffffff" width="446" height="326" allowFullScreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" flashvars="vu=http://video.ted.com/talks/dynamic/StaceyKramer_2010-medium.flv&su=http://images.ted.com/images/ted/tedindex/embed-posters/StaceyKramer-2010.embed_thumbnail.jpg&vw=432&vh=240&ap=0&ti=975&lang=eng&introDuration=15330&adDuration=4000&postAdDuration=830&adKeys=talk=stacey_kramer_the_best_gift_i_ever_survived;year=2010;theme=what_makes_us_happy;theme=to_boldly_go;theme=is_there_a_god;theme=ted_in_3_minutes;event=TED2010;tag=cancer;tag=medicine;tag=personal+growth;tag=storytelling;"></embed></object><br /><br />Gods & Goddesses, what a ridiculously long post this has become! And I still don't really know what I've been trying to say. I guess I'll end with an Irish Blessing:<br /><br />"May you have the hindsight to know where you've been, <br /> The foresight to know where you are going, <br /> And the insight to know when you have gone too far."nwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395683668188283205.post-26968399250450586882011-07-21T19:35:00.000-07:002011-07-21T20:11:08.042-07:00Nana korobi, ya okiMy painting arrived today!<br /><br />Shortly after I was hospitalized, my colleagues (with the boss's blessing) dropped off a laptop, on the strict condition that I use it to play on the internet and keep in touch with folks via FaceBook & email, and NOT to do any work. <br /><br />Sterling & I were browsing about, and I was showing him an artist's website, which led to checking out her current eBay auctions. Soniei (<a href="http://twitter.com/soniei">@Soniei</a> on Twitter, where I first "met" her) is both an amazing artist and a sweet, interesting person whose art I have long loved & wanted to buy... once we were out of debt, once I found the perfect piece that really spoke to me, once the moon & planets aligned, etc. etc. you get the idea.<br /><br />While looking at Soniei's auction listings for her original paintings (she also sells prints through her own website), I quickly clicked on (and just as quickly clicked away from) this painting:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTzqXf4JZuJd27dl8I89LKkSxOOgyRVLJe1DBCk1WADyW511_jdVnsxqSxmIRKOy00AJFm6cJaQVKu8z4kKoGHK6tSo3y8aW-tB_aCANjf-f_MdJ4uqPJBxpYv1zLQRAnYBmMbk6yNYei/s1600/seven-falls-eight-up.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 315px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTzqXf4JZuJd27dl8I89LKkSxOOgyRVLJe1DBCk1WADyW511_jdVnsxqSxmIRKOy00AJFm6cJaQVKu8z4kKoGHK6tSo3y8aW-tB_aCANjf-f_MdJ4uqPJBxpYv1zLQRAnYBmMbk6yNYei/s400/seven-falls-eight-up.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632006886146287458" /></a><br /><br />I like all of Soniei's work, but she paints in several different styles, and this was frankly not one of my favourites. But Sterling made the comment, it's rolling hills. And then I had to click back to see what he was talking about. And once he pointed it out, I could see it, the hills. But still... and then I saw the translation of the Japanese phrase painted on it:<br /><br />Nana korobi, ya oki<br />(Fall down seven times, get up eight times)<br /><br />All of Soniei's work incorporates Japanese characters, sometimes just a single word, and sometimes a saying/proverb, like this one.<br /><br />This was only a couple days after my cancer diagnosis, and this saying really spoke to me, and to my determination to kick this cancer's ass, no matter the odds against me. <br /><br />So I put in a bid. And won! My painting arrived today, and I have been admiring it. The style grows on me more & more the longer I look at it. And I'm very happy to have such a fabulous "encouragement to persevere" hanging on my wall, reminding me every day. Best $79 I ever spent.<br /><br />If you would like a real treat, check out more of Soniei's work on her website: <a href="http://www.soniei.com">Soniei.com</a>nwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395683668188283205.post-38023163567983331782011-07-14T12:47:00.001-07:002011-07-14T16:33:48.148-07:00CataclysmI've been working on several lengthy blog posts the last couple weeks, but can't seem to bring myself to push the "Publish Post" button on any of them.<br /><br />My brain keeps giving me more rules and higher standards the posts have to meet before sharing them. I HAVE to tell my whole story in proper chronological order, I MUST include every last detail and be completely accurate, and as with all my writing, it goes without saying that everything about them must be ABSOLUTELY 110% COMPLETELY FUCKING PERFECT before I even THINK about letting anyone else read them. But I'm tired and it's way past time to get started with this already, so I've benched all those long posts to be completed "soon", and decided to start off a little simpler...<br /><br />In the final days of May 2011, I started having abdominal pain. It was kinda weird, and after three nights of sleeping with my heating pad, I remember saying to myself, this is not normal. Something is Wrong.<br /><br />Which cued a month of doctors and medical tests. I told myself that on the bright side, at least this was bringing me lots of new experiences, something I value. Within a month, I got to try for the first time: (non-dental) x-rays, an enema, a CT scan, ultrasounds, morphine, overnight hospitalization, Dilaudid, laparoscopic surgery, surgical staples, a catheter, a gastroscopy, a partial colonoscopy, and finally, chemotherapy.<br /><br />In the first hours of Tuesday, 28th June 2011, my boyfriend took me to the emergency room where I was admitted, a normally healthy 32 year old woman who'd spent a month with excruciating abdominal pain, whose test results had all been normal, other than slight anemia and a few abnormalities on the CT scan, which could be anything.<br /><br />Wednesday afternoon, 6th July 2011. Eight and a half days later, I was released from hospital with a diagnosis of Stage IV stomach cancer that had spread to my omentum, stomach lymph nodes, and possibly the outside of my intestines. It was already day 2 of cycle 1 of my chemotherapy.<br /><br />Catacylsm: noun. "Any violent upheaval." Yup.<br /><br />So that's what I've been trying to blog about. Hopefully now that I've started I'll be able to fill in the gaps. I have a lot to say about this, and I'm probably starting to bore my many visitors, so better to write it down and send it off into the blogosphere.<br /><br />As things worked out, I was alone when the surgeon came in and told me he'd found cancer. He left to call my parents, and I had about 10-15 minutes of complete panic. No-no-no. Why me?! I'm going to die! That sort of thing. And then I became strangely calm. I was imagining driving down the freeway at 110, whizzing by an exit without even thinking about it, because it's so obviously not mine. I suddenly simply knew that even though this cancer thing was going to turn my life upside down and change everything in a million ways I couldn't even begin to anticipate, that I was going to come through it triumphant and much much stronger, a better person in every way. This does not mark the beginning of the end - only the end of the beginning.<br /><br />Time to put on my big girl panties & deal with it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7HGJR3jpElxM7LHNtcoVvAbdn_PQsqTfruvNto-5hJo7aNa2pTWatDXyc_D5xORCOzzOVd1og_TZLqga9VdE2dLySnUtn34_TEL_k1tU3lYw_iLn2p2OqwTxyu0MvlVO3QRpBYYJ3jQwF/s1600/SAVE0261.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 230px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7HGJR3jpElxM7LHNtcoVvAbdn_PQsqTfruvNto-5hJo7aNa2pTWatDXyc_D5xORCOzzOVd1og_TZLqga9VdE2dLySnUtn34_TEL_k1tU3lYw_iLn2p2OqwTxyu0MvlVO3QRpBYYJ3jQwF/s320/SAVE0261.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629355228210262018" /></a>nwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395683668188283205.post-6472351876563788892010-11-01T16:18:00.000-07:002010-11-01T16:39:24.658-07:00Happy Birthday to Me!Today is my 32nd birthday, and it's been a weird one. The oddest people have remembered. And I was asked if I felt a year wiser - um, no!<br /><br />Two years ago, I had a horrible time with turning 30... as a small child I had so many dreams, so many things I was sure I would accomplish, and my self-imposed deadline for them all was 30. Hitting that age and having so very few of those dreams fulfilled was really hard on me. There was a lot I had to let go of, mentally. And last year wasn't much better. But I feel good about 32, truly optimistic about it all, and today I'm focusing on the return of enjoying my birthday, rather than dreading it. I'm feeling good about feeling good, how very meta, eh?<br /><br />I am also going to try something this year, that I've seen in various other flavours around the interwebs: the idea of dividing the year into quarters, as three months seems like a good amount of time for goal-setting, or in my case something less formal/more woo-woo than "goals". And since today is the start of my own personal New Year (Happy New Year to Me!) I'm going to run my quarters from here. So November-December-January is my first quarter of year 32. I haven't done the formal planning for it that I was planning to (teehee I was planning to plan, how very me) but I am drawn to the theme "strength". These next three months I'm going to focus on my strengths and my relationship with strength and it's antonym, weakness. Hopefully I will manage to blog about some of my thoughts & experiences surrounding this, and be brave enough to hit the "pooblish" button on them.<br /><br />I just wanted to say thank you to any/everyone reading this, for being a part of my life. Even if your part in my life is "beloved lurker". I think most of us tend to underestimate the importance we have in others lives. I know that if I see a "hit" on this blog, it cheers me, even if there's no new comment or any other more tangible sign of someone's presence. So thank you all! And birthday or no, I hope your day is as special as mine. :)nwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395683668188283205.post-71219022693553748912010-06-23T19:42:00.000-07:002010-06-23T20:40:51.760-07:00LoserI had a good cry tonight on the bus ride home from work.<br /><br />You see, I tend to over-intellectualize pretty much everything. My brain is usually the ONLY part of me that gets listened to. Body? Ignored until it succumbs to illness, then cursed rather than pampered & gently questioned as to what happened. Emotions? Unless they exactly match what my brain believes they <i>should</i> be, suppress Suppress SUPPRESS.<br /><br />Shockingly, this whole Brain Dictatorship System doesn't work very well. So I'm trying to change, to let some of the other voices that make up my Greek chorus have their say. But it's HARD, and I still forget most of the time. But itty-bitty-tiny baby steps are being made. Last week while sitting on the toilet, I apologized to my body for ignoring it until it had no choice but to scream. And today, after spending yesterday in Super-Bitch Mode for no real reason, I opened myself up to the possibility that my emotions are not at all what my brain keeps insisting they must be.<br /><br />I told myself, "How I feel is how I feel. I am giving myself permission to feel however I feel. No Shoulds. I just want to know what Is." I'm having a lot of revelations.<br /><br />One is that even though my brain is absolutely-positive-100%-sure that: "That thing? That's happening at work next week? It will totally be just fine! Everything's going to work out for the best. It's really no big deal at all. Not worth worrying about."<br /><br />Somehow, in spite of Brain's insistence, the Rest of me is TERRIFIED. Because the Rest of me is equally sure that: "I'm a useless loser. Who no-one likes. So incompetent that it's shocking I haven't been fired yet. Surely they'll catch on soon? Probably next week, when that thing happens, which will bring into stark relief exactly how wrong I am. Wrong for the job, Wrong for everything, just plain Wrong. Then I'll be out of a job & I'm up to my eyeballs in debt & oh god no I'm dreading next week because I'm DOOMED!"<br /><br />Um, yeah. It would appear that the thing that's happening next week (and a lot of other little things that have been happening this week) have all been bringing up multiple metric ass-tons of my Stuff. Damn Stuff. Every time I think I've finally pitched it, it boomerangs back & seems to bring friends. Sigh.<br /><br />So I cried. And now I feel marginally better. Reminding myself: This isn't who I am, it's just where I am right now. This is not Truth, it's just how I truly feel right now.<br /><br />I'm not feeling all better & optimistic yet. But it's a relief to give up the fight to deny that this is where I am right now. Right now, in this moment, I feel like a total loser. Hopefully, in some moment not too distant, I'll feel differently.nwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395683668188283205.post-12576508442439848202010-03-22T18:28:00.000-07:002010-03-22T18:46:31.558-07:00Some Days Are Better (Just Not This One)<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Some days are better than others, and</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Some nights are twice as long, and</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Some days I'm more than weak, and</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Some nights I'm less than strong, and </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Some days I just can't take it, and</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Some nights I barely make it, but</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Some days,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Some days are better.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-- Charlie Major, Some Days Are Better</span><br /></div><br />Since Charlie's a country singer, he is of course singing about a relationship breakup. But I find it expresses well how I feel coming out of major clinical depression. And today, unfortunately, was not one of the better ones. Ah well, Monday right?<br /><br />The one bright spot: I am a pseudo-aunt! That is, my boyfriend's little sister had her baby boy in the wee hours this morning. Welcome to the world, Keadrin Trevor Wolford! In spite of the not-so-better days, it really is a wonderful life.nwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395683668188283205.post-8222490820619879412010-02-03T20:05:00.000-08:002010-02-03T20:26:18.145-08:00FANGIRL SQUEEE! (oh, and guilt)So, uh, um, how to say this? How about "OMG OMG FANGIRL SQUEEE! Havi! Havi. Linked. To. ME?!?! <a href="http://shivanata.com/blog/stuff-i-think-about/shivanauts-are-everywhere">Havi's Blog Post that links to ME</a><br /><br />Confession: I actually spotted this late last night. Then had to go to bed, and check again this morning to make sure I wasn't hallucinating or something. Nope, still there! I'm bouncing up & down in my chair like a child who really really has to pee. In other words, I think it's just a leetle bit too late to try & play it cool.<br /><br />After marginally calming down, I went & read all the other blog links in Havi's post, and now I feel even more stunned & honoured to be included in their company.<br /><br />THANK YOU! Thank you Havi, for linking to me, and THANK YOU to any readers who've wandered over here through Havi... I know there are at least eleventy-billion totally awesome things fighting for your attention on the interwebs, and I thank you for spending a few of your precious browsing moments here on my stuff. I hope I don't disappoint too much!<br /><br />Which thought doth nicely lead into... The Guilt. Just figures I get all excited about gaining a small victory over Stucky, start a blog, actually post my ramblings... and then get mired so deep in Stuck Swamp that a month plus passes with nary another post. Although, to be fair, that's about my usual level of follow through. *sigh* Baby steps, baby steps... don't beat myself up... trying trying trying... did I mention little miniature dwarven baby steps?<br /><br />I did feel a little better when I read this awesome blog post: <a href="http://zenatplay.com/ponderings/hallelujah">"It took me a year to write this post."</a><br /><br />And this made me giggle when I came across it today... I'm pretty sure it's <a href="http://verydemotivational.com/2010/02/02/demotivational-posters-laziness">a picture of Stucky the Bear himself</a>.<br /><br />Hmmm... it would appear I have no nicely wrapped up point this time. I'm going to try to be OK with that. Till next time; hopefully it won't be near as long!<br /><br />PS - Did I mention OMG OMG OMG SQUEEEEEEE!? ;)nwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1395683668188283205.post-39408498361621712952009-12-27T04:36:00.000-08:002009-12-27T18:13:30.177-08:00My Stuck is a Bear! and other Cold Margarined Epiphanies at 4 in the morningBob (my cat, not my psychologist) is disgruntled. It's four in the morning, my desk chair is HIS at this hour, <a href="http://www.fluentself.com/blog/biggification/taking-a-stand">dammit</a>! But this is important, important enough for me to haul my how-does-it-manage-to-be-both-flabby-AND-flat arse out of bed at this ungoddessly hour and risk the Wrath of Bob, so he'll just have to put on his <a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3280/2393422708_e933625423.jpg">big kitty panties & deal with it</a>.<br /><br />Remember that study that found that <a href="http://www.jonathanfields.com/blog/brain-buff-research-thoughts-on-strength-fitness-weight-loss">imagining yourself exercising, while not as good as actually exercising, did produce measurable results</a>? I lurved that one!<br /><br />With that in mind... even though I haven't quite been able to motivate myself to <a href="http://shivanata.com">Shiva Nata</a> as of late, I do *think* about it. I spend a surprising amount of time imagining waving my arms around like an idiot... while waiting for the bus, while riding the bus, and even while doing non-bus-related things. And this *has* been producing epiphanies. Not quite <i>hot buttered</i> epiphanies, but maybe <i>cold margarined</i> epiphanies? Yay, epiphanies in all & any form!!! They make us exclaimy!!!<br /><br />This morning, I was lying in bed (no buses involved) at four in the freaking morning, wondering why I was awake. Normally, lately, this past year in particular, I sleep. Like, all the time. Like, my cats look at me and go, "Good God, Woman! How can anyone sleep that much?!" Bob (my psychologist, not my cat) theorized that sleep was my addiction, my escape, my avoidance of... well, everything.<br /><br />Since I was awake anyways, I started thinking about My Stuck. More accurately, I started thinking about <a href="http://www.fluentself.com/blog/stuckification/talking-to-the-time-gremlins">Havi's Stuck, and this conversation she had with it</a>. And that maybe I should give that a try: not quite talking to My Stuck, but at least establishing some kind of contact with it. For starters, what does My Stuck look like? Because if I had to go down to the police station & pick My Stuck out of a lineup, I'd be hooped. No could do.<br /><br />My brain started trying to picture My Stuck. And dismissed many options for what My Stuck might look like. And thought this whole idea of picturing and/or conversing with My Stuck was really just a ridiculous crazy hippy exercise... something that works for crazy Jew-y yoga folk, but had my Inner Redneck scratching his balls & thinking, "WhaHuh?"<br /><br />Suddenly though, the thought struck that My Stuck would be a chubby animal. Lazy. Would sleep all the time. A hibernating bear. And there was an overwhelming feeling of <i>Yes! That's It!</i><br /><br />Poking My Stuck = Poking a Hibernating Bear = growling & getting my head ripped off. My Stuck is an overprotective mama bear, and I'm her cub. I know that however grouchy she might be, she's really just trying to protect me. It's also really really furry & warm & comfortable & sleepy, being wrapped up in My Stuck's big bear hug. Easy to just slumber on. Easier than fighting her in order to <a href="http://zenhabits.net/2009/04/ultra-simple-3-step-productivity-system-for-getting-amazing-things-done/">do something amazing</a>.<br /><br />Other random My Stuck is a Bear! connections I made:<br /><br />Bears love eating garbage. And I eat a lot of garbage. Junk food galore, a steady diet of nothing but. Something I've tried to change many many times without much luck. How much of that is My Stuck demanding & craving it?<br /><br />Pictured <a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3213/3065946839_959bbe03ff.jpg">Pooh Bear with his head stuck in the honey jar</a>. Oh, bother!<br /><br />Yogi Bear is "Smarter than the average bear!" and so is My Stuck. Too smart for her own good.<br /><br />Anywho, now that I recognized her, it would have been rude not to say hi, right? <br /><br />Me: "Hi! I will call you Stucky. Stucky the Bear."<br />Stucky the Bear: "Grrrrrrr..."<br />Me: "Whoa Whoa Whoa! I know, I know. It's WAY too early to talk. Too early in the morning. Too early in the process. But I just wanted to let you know how happy I am to realize that you are a bear. A big beautiful bear. Cuddly. Warm. And I'm going to stop trying to get rid of you. Or wake you up. Waking up baaad. I get that now."<br />Stucky the Bear: *yawn* "Oh. Ok then, I guess. Get over here & snuggle in. Winter's just getting started."<br />Me: "Yay, sleep! My favourite thing!"<br /><br />And snuggle in I did. But as soon as Stucky went back to sleep, I managed to sneak out of bed to write this, didn't I? I'm feeling more hopeful then I have in a long, long time. Maybe I can get Stucky to not go away, but to shape-shift (<a href="http://www.homestarrunner.com/sbemail192.html">"DWAYNE!!"</a>) into a big cuddly teddy bear. Something to work towards.<br /><br /><i>Random Closing Thought: I'd like to wish my daddy a very happy 57th birthday today. Love you! Hope it's the bestest one yet!</i>nwpassagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674891225660946911noreply@blogger.com4