Monthly Archives: January 2011

The Test

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The lung function test is pretty much everything you’d expect. If you’d expect breathing exercises into a tube.

You sit in the little box with the thing in your mouth and follow the instructions from the technician sitting at the adjacent computer.

Put this in your mouth

You start by taking a couple of normal breaths (which is one of those things that pretty much impossible to do if you are consciously thinking about your breath, like you do once you start a breathing test…). After a few moments the technician instructs you to take a big deep breath in, hold it for a second, and then “Blow, blow, blow!! Keep blowing! Keep blowing. Empty your lungs! I know it feels like there’s nothing left.. but keep going! Keep pushing! Keep going! Almost there!… AND BIG BREATH IN and HOLD IT! HOLD IT! … and let it go!” Then you can come off the machine and recover.

In my case recovery meant coughing, eyes watering, and a general burning sensation in my lungs.

I instantly recalled the last time I had taken the test (before starting treatment).  I remembered that was almost impossible for me to get through the sequence with out bailing out due to involuntary coughing. You see, I used to have a tumor the size of a large egg pressing back into my lungs! We kept having to do it over and over again because my body just wouldn’t let me get through test. I would take that BIG breath in and I’d try to suppress the tickle in my chest, but ultimately the cough would come out involuntarily. We needed three complete sequences and I’m not exaggerating, I think it took us something like 10 tries. And that whole part about “keep going, empty the lungs” is hard work. (If you want to try it home breath out quickly and then keep breathing out an pushing for about 10 seconds, it’s not a pleasant feeling) This week though, we got through it every time!

The results will be reviewed sometime this week by a pulmonologist who will share the result with oncologist who should theoretically reach out to me at some point and let me know. Then at some point the decision will be made whether or not to put the bleomycin back in the treatment course. Unofficially though, the technician looked at the results and comparing them to my previous baseline test indicated that there is a marked decline, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

One thing is for sure, I don’t miss the bleomycin ONE BIT. This latest round of chemo has felt like a cakewalk compared to some of the recent treatments. I was back on my feet with minimal physical side effect by Monday, whereas the last couple of treatments it’s taken me until Wednesday (so a full week) before I felt capable again. The lack of bleo may not be why, but I’m certainly in no hurry to throw it back into the mix.

Who’s got two thumbs and doesn’t want to go to Chemo today??

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THIS GUY!

On the plus side, this dose will again be without the bleomycin, and like I said last week, it seems to lighten the intensity quite a bit.

No word yet on the results of the lung function test. At this rate I would expect to not hear anything until we next meet with the oncologist in two weeks. At that point the decision will be made whether or not to put the bleomycin back in. Christine is pushing for me to just email the doctor and see what see says, but I’ve always been of the impression that “no news is good news” so I’ve resisted asking.

Still,  I can’t imagine that it would come back indicating that everything is fine. It doesn’t take much to get me “sucking wind” these days, and it’s more than just being out of shape. I’ve been slowly increasing the amount of exercise that I’ve been getting lately and I still feel like I’m always breathing heavier than I should. We’ll see…

Last night Christine and I finally hooked up the Kinect for the Xbox that Tanya got us for Christmas (thanks Tanya!) and we played Dance Central. It pretty much went like this:

Step 1: Hook up Kinect
Step 2: Insert “Dance Central” disc
Step 3: Close curtians
Step 4: Dance!

This game is A BLAST! It’s by the makers of Rock Band, which was a favorite amongst my friends and I for a few years, but instead of playing plastic musical instruments you’re following the little guy on the screen and performing dance moves. It’s good times. Though I can’t stress enough how important Step 3 is in the process =)

An Apple a day keeps the chemo away (or at least off the mind)

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Stine here. Yesterday was Brian’s chemo day, and it was made far more tolerable by the new iPad many of you so generously got for us. Have I told you yet how grateful we are? Brian spent almost the entire time on it, and from his perspective, the treatment flew by. I’m sure the Lorazepam helped, too, but he was able to sufficiently distract himself the whole time. So, one more time, we would like to say thank you:

The virtual thank you card!Here he is in the chemo chair, thanking everyone for the gift.

Even though this was mainly Brian’s toy yesterday, I had a little fun with it, too:

I couldn’t resist. =)

Sweating out chemo drugs

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Sweating out chemo drugs is not what I would call a pleasant experience. It’s most acute in the days immediately following and I’m starting to find it as gross as it sounds.

I don’t really know if it’s noticeable to anyone else, but to myself there is a very distinct smell coming out of my pores. It smells like medicine. Its during these days that I don’t like being in my own skin, but at least I’m not achy yet, that comes later.

What’s even worse, about flushing the drugs out of my body, is the way my urine smells. It’s not something you think you’d notice, but you do. I’m sure you wanted to know this. It’s the reason you visit my blog!

I most amazed at how fast it starts to happen too, one of the chemo drugs I take (Adriamycin) is the color of bright red kool-aid and if I go to the bathroom within several minutes of it being administered my urine is already red in color. To me that just goes to show how the body immediately identifies the drugs as something that shouldn’t be there and how the kidneys get to work immediately in trying to get rid of it. I try to drink as much water as I can to help the process.

Just some fun things for you to think about this weekend =)

“You mean there’s a 6 O’clock in the morning, too?”

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Stine here, again. Brian is in a series of late night rehearsals for a show right now (more about that tomorrow or Thursday), and because he’s getting home so late at night, you get the pleasure of reading what I write again today so he can get his beauty sleep when he arrives home. It’s probably not the last time this week, either.

Don’t worry, though. Brian will be back to talk to you in detail about all of his most peculiar bodily functions and the side-effects of cancer in no time.

Yesterday was a really long day for Brian, because he had to be in Bellevue at 7 a.m. for a CT scan. It’s amazing to think that it’s already been two months since his last one. I still can’t believe how quickly time passes when you’re living in two week chunks, punctuated by chemo sessions.

Brian had a really late night at rehearsal the night before, and got home at about 11:20 p.m., which as far as I can tell, is just before dawn.

For someone who already doesn’t have a lot of energy, I’m sure 6 a.m. came really early for him. In fact, he spent most of his time in the waiting room yawning:

Waker, waker, little mate!I didn’t have to wait long to get a picture of him yawning. In fact, it would have been harder to get a picture of him not yawning.

In between yawns, he grimaced at the two “venti” cups of contrast solution he has to drink before a CT scan.

Bottoms up!He really, really doesn’t like this stuff.

Fortunately, the technician gave him one cup flavored with banana, and one with wild berry. So, at least they switched it up a little for him.

The staff were in a particularly generous mood for such an early Monday morning, and they brought him two toasty warm blankets to keep the poor sleepy guy warm while he waited.

"I wanna go back to bed now."See how he can almost fall asleep in hospitals now?

The early hour might have had something to do with it, or his late night, but he was very calm, cool and composed. It was a huge contrast to the first time he had to go in for a CT scan (where we were both nervous wrecks, and wow was he sickly  skinny), and even the last time when it was still only our second trip to the rodeo.

We won’t get the results until we meet with the oncologist on February 3, so we are just going to put it out of our minds, hope for the best, and look forward to an early bedtime sometime soon!