Chemo Strikes Back

You have got to be kidding me! It’s been 3 weeks since I’ve been off the juice and NOW half of my eyebrows & eyelashes decide to abandon ship??? If you listen closely you can hear the sigh of utter disappointment. However, I am sporting a nice start of peach fuzz on the noggin. It’s very translucent. I can’t tell if I’ll be completely grey or the natural blonde I’ve always wanted.

Oh yeah, I did go swimming a few times this week.

Chlorine, I missed you so.

Claustrophobic’s Nightmare

Last week I was prepped for my radiation treatments at the Huntsman Cancer Institute at the University of Utah. The first step was having a mask made that covers my head, neck, and shoulders. The mask attaches to the table I lay on, much like having a CT scan or MRI. It keeps my head from moving and aligns my body in the same position for treatment. It also hyper-extends my neck to keep as much of my throat out of the field of radiation as possible, and my shoulders pressed back. The mask is made by placing a warm, wet, pliable plastic mesh over my face, and then it’s secured to the table. It shrinks as it dries, becomes tight, and conforms to my face. The longer you can lay there to let it dry, the better fit it creates. This took about 30 minutes.

It was so tight I could not open my eyelids and as you can see in the photo, it left indentations on my skin. I had to tell myself, “Just keep breathing.”

After the mask was dry enough to remove, I had 3 permanent markings (tattoos) placed on my body, they are used for alignment too. They are small dots that look like a mole or a freckle. It was not painful getting them, but the 2 on either side of my ribcage tickled and that was hard to sit through without flinching.

Wednesday of this week I had my simulation or dry-run for treatment. The therapist made sure the mask fit and everything was aligned where it should be. Then a series of X-rays were taken. All systems go.

Yesterday was my first of 20 treatments. After changing into a flattering hospital gown, patients wait in a gender specific waiting room. The therapist comes to get you when they’re ready and walks you back to the treatment area. Prior to treatment, I have to stop at a desk where my patient information and photo is displayed on a computer screen. I have to tell the therapist my last name and date of birth. I can see why this precaution is necessary. Hordes of people must by trying to sneak in for some free radiation. Ok, I understand it’s to make sure they have the correct patient, because all us bald heads walking around in hospital gowns look the same and that could cause some confusion.

Once I’m aligned on the table and the mask (which by the way, I taking suggestions on what to name it) is secured, the therapist leaves the room. The machine itself is a large arm that rotates around me. I get a low dose of radiation to my back and one to the front of my chest. The whole process is about 2 minutes long and it’s very loud & noisy. Even worse is the music they play in the room, one day it was country and I have no idea what the crap I was listening to yesterday. I miss my iPod for those 2 minutes of my life.

Here’s an observation I’ve made during my visits. While in the waiting room, it’s very obvious that many of the other patients are smokers. I’d guess 1 out of 3 reek of cigarette smoke. You know they’re patients for radiation because they’re fighting off some nasty disease too, but at the same time they’re putting themselves at risk for another one. It’s like a skin cancer patient jumping into a tanning bed everyday. What the hell? I did find the 70-something year old patient lounging around in his SpongeBob Squarepants jammie bottoms pretty cool. He made my day.

Luminous Beings - Part II

Leia: I love you.
Han: I know.

I had a love/hate relationship with my PICC line, Han. Hated him at first, then he grew on me, and finally, I came to love him for the mere fact that he prevented me from being stabbed with a needle every week of treatment. Now that chemotherapy has been completed, and the PET scan results were excellent, it was time to say goodbye to Han. It's been a good three months buddy.

Now I'm going swimming.

Ready, set, pull. Gross huh?

It was completely painless coming out.

As for the results of the PET scan, the report indicates there is no significant residual activity identified within the mediastinum (marla), no new areas of abnormal PET accumulation.

Or just look at the pictures.

February 5, 2010

Three months and a myriad of chemicals later...

May 5, 2010

Luminous Beings - Part I

Luminous. Sounds better than radioactive. I had a PET (positron emission tomography) scan today, which shows exactly where the remaining cancerous cells are located. This information will be used by my Radiologist to map where the radiation is needed. The PET scan itself is, for the most part, painless. Preparation begins 24 hours prior to the scan. Following lunch, I was forbidden to eat carbs, sugars, and caffeine, only proteins. I had to avoid exercise & strenuous activity as well...ok, if I must. After a protein breakfast, it was nothing but water.



My appointment was at 11:30 am. Upon my arrival, I was presented with a tasty beverage consisting of Crystal Light Lemonade & iodine, the oral contrast. Just delightful, much like the glucose drink when testing for gestational diabetes. Chug it as best you can, leaving 1/3 of it for later.

Afterwards, I had to sit in a small room in a comfortable recliner. The experience is very new-age-ish: dim lighting, warm air, relaxing music (I highly recommend taking your own), a small water feature, and my personal favorite, lavender. A Q-tip is dipped in essential oil of lavender & placed beside you. It's amazing the calming effect something so simple can have. Then a radioactive solution was injected in my vein. I had to wait about an hour for my body to absorb the solution. The cancerous cells of a tumor will appear on the scan bright or luminous.



Minutes before the scan, I had to finish the remaining glucose drink. While the scan took place, I had to lay (or is it lie, I never remember) still for 30 minutes. During the scan you can listen to a cd of your choice, no iPods allowed. It was easy to fall asleep during this time, as the scanner makes a soft whirling noise. That was it. I am literally radioactive for the rest of the day and will be emitting radioactivity. I was advised to stay about 6 feet away from people. Next time, (I'll be doing this again in 3 months) I'm going to take a tour at Hill Airforce Base or walk around Dugway, just for fun.

Tomorrow I meet with my Oncologist for the scan results and possibly say goodbye to Han.

Dr. Evil

I'm only kidding, he's not evil at all. I met my Radiologist/Oncologist Monday. My radiation treatments will begin in about 2-3 weeks. I will have another PET scan next week to see if there are remaining cancerous cells. Following that test, I will have a planning session where the positioning of the radiation on my body is determined. Side effects from this treatment can be a sore throat & heartburn due to the location of the treatment. Long term side effects can be a secondary cancer. I will receive 20 treatments, Monday-Friday for 4 weeks. The actual procedure, or laser, will be a low dose of radiation for about 2 minutes each day.

After we finished the consultation, and my Radiologist was walking us out, he asked if I had any other questions. I'm not sure why I even thought of this, but I asked him if he were in my shoes, would he go through with this treatment? He laughed a little and replied, "I have been through it." He had Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Despite all my anxiety & hesitation about this, I know I'll be in good hands.

Did I mention tomorrow is my last day of chemotherapy? I'm breaking out the last of my hoarded Reese's peanut butter eggs.

Kick-the-can anyone?

Let's get a few items of business out of the way. To my knowledge, no Nitrogen Mustard has been located, so we'll just move forward without it. My red & white blood counts are getting very low. I'm not exhausted & still functioning as normal, hopefully, I can avoid a transfusion altogether. I still have my eyebrows & eyelashes, they didn't fall out. If everything (my body) could just hang in there for 2 more weeks, this will all be over with soon.

To alleviate some apparent confusion, yes, I am totally bald.


So the big question, how am I feeling? Let me tell you. I have thoroughly enjoyed the onset of spring and with it, the warm weather. It recharges me, much like the scent of chlorine. I've spent several days working in the yard when the munchkins allow it. Dividing & transplanting, pulling a few weeds but mostly the encroaching grass in the flowerbeds, it's all therapy to me. I watched my parents & grandparents work in their yards, it was inevitable that I'd become just like them.

I did not appreciate yard work (much like dark chocolate) until I was an adult. I hated pulling weeds as a kid. Why would I enjoy it when there was that weird clown with a hat sprinkler to run through, dirt hills to ride our bikes on and kick-the-can to be played? I'm either that old, or we were just that cool. During the age of Atari and before every toy was battery-powered, we played kick-the-can.

Pardon me,

It’s difficult to believe, but there is a shortage of Nitrogen Mustard. This is one of the, ever so lovely, components in my chemotherapy. When I arrived Thursday, the beginning of my last cycle/round of treatment, I was informed that there was a little problem.

I’ll back track a little to explain. My presentation of Lymphoma is unique. Marla, my mediastinal tumor for those of you now joining us, went all out and had to be large & bulky. As such, my Oncologist felt it was best to treat me with the Stanford V regimen. This includes Nitrogen Mustard, Adriamycin, Bleomycin, Vinblastine, Vincristine, Etoposide, and Prednisone. Once a week, I get a specific combination of drugs injected in my PICC line. It takes one cycle (4 weeks) to go through the different drug combinations, and then repeat. This treatment is completed after 3 cycles. Most Lymphoma patients are now treated with the ABVD regimen, which includes Adriamycin, Bleomycin, Vinblastine, and Darcarbazine and 4 cycles long. So what’s the big difference? Stanford V has lower amounts of Adriamycin and Bleomycin. This lowers my risk for a secondary disease such as Leukemia or breast cancer.

There is just not enough demand (I guess that’s a good thing) for Nitrogen Mustard, as it is no longer being produced fast enough, if it is being produced at all. My Oncologist was unable to locate any after calling all over the country. My response to treatment has been so successful, that maybe skipping this one won’t make much of a difference. That’s what I hoping for. I still marvel at medical advances. I try not to think too much about how chemotherapy was really developed. I like to imagine a group of bored scientists going out to Utah’s west desert, digging up some dirt, extracting some chemicals from it and deciding to inject them into cancer patients to cure them. Fight poison with poison.

Little Treasures

From my 6 year old neighbor, Brynn.
How cute is that?

No News Is Good News?

Sadly, this is a very anti-climatic post. Everything is status quo. My last chemo-cocktails, Vincristine & Bleomycin, went great. As expected, I had mild nausea and flu-like symptoms late that night. Everything was gone by morning. Reducing the amount of Prednisone was fantastic news to me. Hopefully, this will reduce the weird sensations, comparable to that of Restless Leg Syndrome, in my own legs. The tingling & lack of sensation in my fingertips has increased from the Chemo, resulting in numerous typos. When I find them my internal monologue is says, “Me fail English, that’s unpossible.”

My nurse Terri.

Seriously, look at what she's required to wear before pushing my drugs.

Every week I go in for treatment, I’m always the youngest patient there. I’m not certain how I feel about this. My age probably explains part of why I haven’t been hard hit with the standard side effects (at least that’s what I’m telling myself.) I do like the way my Oncologist gets so excited about my progress and pinches my chipmunk-cheeks as I walk out the door. Makes me feel like I’m six years old again & I can’t help but smile.

My view from "Kick Cancer's Ass Inc."

This was April 1 in Utah, I'm not joking either.

These things will not bite you, they want to have fun.

Thing 1 & Thing 2 joined me during my first of two treatments this week. Thursday included my good friends Adriamycin, Vinblastine, and Etoposide. Friday was a 2nd dose of Etoposide, as you can guess, I can't get enough of this stuff.

They stayed to watch Mom's blood drawn & see what actually goes into my "medicine maker" (that's what they've named my PICC line). After much fun in the doctors office, it was off to the next adventure, catching frogs with Dad.

As for me, the past week was amazing. It started with a great bike ride, International Waffle Day, watching an Easter Egg Hunt in a pool, and time spent with so many friends that I absolutely love.