Author Archives: Brian

“Done”

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There is another reason why I keep thinking maybe I’m almost done with this treatment course: I normally feel pretty good during the days leading up to my next chemo appointment since obviously they are they days farthest away from the last chemo appointment. But this week, I don’t just feel pretty good, I’ve felt great.

There are a few possibilities behind this. The first and most likely is that it’s because I’m currently not on the full treatment regimen. If you recall, last month, because I was beginning to show signs of possible lung damage, I was taken off of the bleomycin, leaving me on only 3 of 4 chemo drugs that I would normally be given. I’ve commented a few times over the last month on how the lack of bleomycin seems to have favorable results on the way that I feel, and perhaps and this is just another way that it’s presenting itself.

But then I think there is another possibility. Maybe I’ve felt so great this week because the tumors are gone? Maybe I’m at the point now that that only thing keeping me “sick” is the chemo drugs themselves. If that’s the case, then maybe now that I’m this far away from my last dose I’m starting to feel normal again (for lack of a better term). I’m still not a doctor (you’d think I would be by now, seriously), but it seems to make sense to me.

God, I just can’t get over how great it would be walk out of that office tomorrow knowing that it’s almost over. We are pinning our hopes on some great news today in a serious way. A way that I haven’t allowed myself up until this point. And again, I’m terrified that we are setting ourselves (and everyone) up to be disappointed. That’s one of the reasons that I’ve been so reluctant to talk about it in the first place, but it goes back to my commitment to be honest with myself and really use this blog as a tool to document where I am at both physically and mentally in the process.

So where I am physically and mentally? The answer  is “DONE.” I’m just done with it all. I’m done physically, and I’m done mentally. And now all I can think about is that I hope my oncologist sees it the same way, and that she thinks that I’m “done” medically.

Today I’m either going cry tears of joy, or I’m going to shatter into a million pieces. Either way its going to be a big day.

We’ll keep you posted.

Things I Will Not Miss – Part I

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Toward the top of the list of things that I will not miss when this is all over would be the Neupogen injections. For 5 days after chemo I have to have a subcutaneous injection of a drug that helps to boost my white blood cell count so it will be high enough for me to safely undergo my next chemo treatment.

Christine has been giving me these injections for 5 months now and I don’t think I’ve made a single one of them easy for her. I complain, I protest, I whine. She’s really pretty incredible to put up with me as I work to come up with new excuses every night as to why I don’t need my shot. And I do feel bad about the many, many times I’ve blamed her, or accused her of enjoying the process of stabbing me with a needle, just to possibly make her feel bad and let me get out of it. She’s resilient though and it’s never worked.

So, for 5 days after chemo we go through the motions. The drug comes in individual vials that have to be kept in the fridge so we take it out at least an hour before giving it me so it can warm up, cold injections are very painful. About an hour or so after its been sitting on the counter we start to bicker about whether or not its time for me take my shot. She is in the “pro-shot” camp, and I am firmly in the “anti-shot” party. She quickly grows tired of this game and will eventually wander upstairs to the bathroom to start preparing the shot.

She gets a syringe, opens it up and draws the contents of the now room temperature vile into the syringe.  At this point, her tone changes and I know that I can no longer avoid the invitable. With my tail between legs I go up to the bathroom and accept my fate.

Throughout the week we work our way through a series of 4 injection sites. The back of each arm, and fatty area around my hips (or love-handles if you will). After a discussion about where the shot is going tonight she uses an alcohol swab to sterilize the area and then she pushes the syringe in. Before pushing in the plunger and injecting the medication she has to pull back on the plunger to check for blood return. By this she is just to double checking that she isn’t injecting it into a vein, as apparently that would be bad. Assuming all is well, she pushes it in.

Sometimes it hurts, sometimes it doesn’t. it’s about half and half. Even after several months we can’t really seem to figure out why sometimes the injection is painless and sometimes it really hurts when its going in. Not the needle, its pretty small, but the actually injection of the medication. At any rate, it happens, the needle comes out and I get a little bandaid put on the injection site. Then I’m done for another day.

As many of you already know, Christine is amazing. I don’t know how I would handle having to give her a shot everyday and she handles it like a champ. I’m not an easy person to deal with it comes to something like this, something that I don’t want to do, and I HAVE NOT made it easy for her. Its just one of the many reasons why I love her.

2 more shots for this round. Then 3 more rounds of chemo… so 17 more injections… though maybe I won’t have to do the shots after my last chemo appointment, so it may only be 12!

Either way, it’s too many. I’m certainly not going to miss the shots.

Scar Tissue

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We were surprised on Thursday to see that the pictures from my most recent CT Scan were not that different from the ones taken two months ago. There was a slight reduction in size, but there is still somewhat of a mass in my chest. Apparently it will be a little souvenir that I will carry around with me for the rest of my life. The oncologist described it as  hard fiberous scar tissue. A lovely thought.

The PT Scan later next month with confirm that it’s scar tissue as well as help determine whether or not I’ll be undergoing radiation therapy after I’ve finished chemo. There are two schools of thought according to my oncologist. One is that additional radiation therapy should be administered after chemo if the tumor was larger than 5 cm. The other is if the tumor was larger than 7 cm. Mine was about 6 cm, so we’ll probably have some kind of consultation with a radiation oncologist to see what they say, though we would like to avoid having to go through radiation if at all possible.

More on that as it develops.

Happy Birthday to ME!

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Today is my 29th birthday.

In the past I have never really been the kind of the person who really cared much about his birthday. I guess I always figured that everyone has one, so what’s so special about it. Of course my perspective has changed a little this year. But even now I’m still not as outwardly excited and fired up for celebration as one might be. Still, I certainly have a new respect and appreciation for it that I’ve never had before =)

I’ve been anticipating and thinking about this day a lot actually. From the beginning even:

I was diagnosed on a Monday, and Christine went back to work on a Thursday. We’d spent two days together just sitting in shock from the news and after two full days decided that since there was nothing to be done and nothing to be gained by sitting and feeling sorry for ourselves, she should go back to work and that we should try to resume some form of normalcy in our lives.

I got up that morning and started going through the motions. For me that’s breakfast while watching The Today Show. I hadn’t been up very long when this commercial came on:

I lost my shit.

I mean, I broke. I was immediately turned into a crying, sobbing mess. I thought I was done with crying and that after a few days I was starting to be okay, but I was wrong. I somehow resisted the urge to call Christine, but I didn’t have to resist very long as she called me shortly there after. Through tears I asked her to come home. I believe my exact words were: “I’m not ready to be alone.”

She came home and I think we spent the rest of the day just as we had spent the previous days, sitting together in disbelief. But sitting together, none the less.

I think about that moment, when I was blindsided by that commercial, quite often. In fact I’ve thought about it any time there has been mention of my birthday since. For me it was one of the earliest moments when I began to realize what a game changer this was going to be, and what an effect it was going to have on the rest of my life. Suddenly something as simple as a birthday now meantsomething. It wasn’t just a given. It’s not a guarantee.

There I was, on the couch crying my eyes out because of what was happening to me, but also crying because I was looking forward to having another birthday. I was looking forward to turning 29, and to getting older, because for the first time in my life I was realizing that the next birthday is not a sure thing.

I allowed myself to imagine a party of some kind (an idea I’d never been too keen on in the past) where I was surrounded by friends and family, none of whom we had even told at that point (it would still be another week and half before we started telling the world). I imagined myself thanking everyone for their support and for sticking by us during the ordeal that we had just been through. And most importantly, for the first time I imagined myself healthy. At the time we were told to expect 3-4 months of treatment, so my birthday was originally to time out well for a big celebration that I had beat cancer.

Of course, things changed a little bit. I’m not quite on the other side of this yet like I thought at the time I would be, but I’m still happier than I think I ever have been that it’s my birthday. I’ve never been one to embrace it with celebration before, so I think I’ll just take this chance to say, for the first time: “Happy Birthday to Me!”

I deserve it.

Here’s to a world with more birthdays!

Chest Port Access

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I’ve written a few things about the chest port in my chest, but I’ve always been fascinated by the process of accessing it or tapping into it. So we filmed it this week.

Before this video was taken they cleaned the area. Then I turn my head, take a deep breath (both for good measure and to help hold the device still while it gets accessed) and then in it goes.

If you have a problem with needles you may not want to watch this, since it’s basically a large needle, and also there is a little bit of blood that you can see get pulled in to the tube when she checks for blood return (to ensure everything is working properly) after she puts it in.

Anyway I think it’s interesting. It part of the process, and therefore something that I feel is worth chronicling here even if its something that might disturb some readers.