February 3, 2010
From yesterday (02/02/2010 - my birthday): First perspective on chemotherapy:
They give me 4 plus liters of fluids plus chemo and THEN a diuretic to make sure I pee?
and pee and pee and pee and pee
and have dry mouth so I drink more so I...
On to today: Second perspective on chemotherapy
Well, me and the 5FU pump are getting along well. It purrs every time it gives me a dose. We sleep together, eat together, pee together, you get the picture. Me and the pump are hooked up until Saturday when Ann will disconnect it and clean the port. I am such a geek. Being connected to a piece of hardware is not an imposition. Instead of a beeper, phone, hearing aid, etc. - it's a cute little pump, a CADD-Legacy 1. I call it legs for short. Or cad if I'm mad. Of course, my other devices I could put down, say to dress, or shower, or... But it's all good.
I'm having another manic day, a combination of the steroids (there goes my baseball career) and hydration. Hydration is being hooked up to an IV machine and having 2 liters of fluid pushed down the vein. I'm on a host of medications to do this and that, so I don't know what's doing what. What I do know is that I'm feeling good. Oh, and that steroids are bad - Mark McGuire told me that. And Manny and David, but Mark is the expert. Jose I turn off, but maybe he's the honest one.
Dana Farber Cancer Institute (DFCI) is a wonderful place to receive care. The staff is friendly, gentle, and aware of the personal challenges each patient faces. The patients are warm and amicable, too. Most, like me, joke a lot. There's a lot of laughter in the chemo/hydration rooms. Not all laughter. But I see mostly smiles when I meet another patient's eyes. When I'm waiting around an elevator, someone will introduce themself, say why they are at DFCI and ask, "so what are you in for, kid?" This fellowship eases the tension and opens the mouths and hearts.
BeJae commented on the mortality issue in an email - here's a clip from my response: The mortality thing is an adventure. I think mortality and I have come to an understanding - course, it all had to be on my side. I focus on all I have to be grateful for in my life. That is a very long list (you're on it! - all of you are on it!) I see Dan & Ad grown men with good hearts, motivations, and focus. I used to have regrets. That was before I caught up with particular Clan Webster folks who knew me & my secrets from then - and before I went though the reflection and self-analysis (call it de-bullshitting and ridding of secrets) that I needed to do. I used to look at my college experience and think that I could have worked at it with more, full effort (it was easy to get by) and been able to do more. [Aside: what I really wanted was to share my life with Ann; think I knew that, just hadn't met her!] My Webby buds say Nay Nay - you were always up to something creative, artistically and/or academically - seeing a different way to look at things, be it a landscape, a verse, or Public Policy Analysis. The looking inside taught me to focus also on the good of my decisions - to understand that there is a range in all things, in all experience, in all emotions. If I feel something, it's not "good" or "bad" - it's my body saying "hello - there's something going on - pay attention!" I used to think anger was all bad. If I feel scared now, it's my body telling me to gear up to fight. And fight I will.
My current treatment schedule: First, three chemo series, each 21 days long (first week infusion, second week it hits me like a brick as the chemicals do their thing, third week recovery - I'll understand this truly in a couple of weeks or so), about 3.5 weeks. Second, imaging and development of radiation plan. I've been told that the chemo is a tool but that radiation is the cure. So my PET scans will help devise the plan. Also a big of preparation (feeding tube, etc. because swallowing will become difficult and I need to nourish.) Maybe 1-3 weeks. Third, 35 radiation treatments, five a week Monday-Friday for seven weeks. I'll take 'em a day or an hour or a minute at a time. It's what I've got to do to get better. And I plan to get better and have my life return to its normal mundane (ha!) pace. Again, it's all good. I grow from experience and astounding lessons await here.
Oh, one more. I was talking with Psychologist Doug about all this. He pointed out the steps in coming to grips with this experience. We started with acceptance and denial. I laughed and said that I got those two out of the way in the first five minutes. When the original ENT doctor examined me, he said "but you knew they (the tumor, the swollen lymph gland) were there" (I thought a throat boo-boo of some sort, but yeah, I did know they were there) and "we're scheduling you for a biopsy to see what kind of tumor you have. Here, hand these papers to my secretary and she'll set everything up." In the few steps from examining room to the secretary's desk, I got real light headed, managed to place the papers on her desk before fainting. Yeah, I do that. And without a tight corset. So those five minutes on the floor, I adjusted. No denial. Accept the battle that lays ahead.
Waiting for a treatment plan was hard on Ann & I. Now we go forward.
Thanks all for the cards and emails. They mean a lot. I appreciate all y'all have to say.
Love...
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