Friday, August 29, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Chemo Cuatro
Carrie here, reporting on my fourth chemotherapy treatment and my follow-up appointment with my oncologist.
The follow-up appointment went really well. I talked with Dr. M. a little about the side effects I have been experiencing (fatigue later in the week, extreme thirst, tingling in my scalp, arms and legs the day of treatment, etc.) and all of that was normal. I asked whether or not it would be helpful to try to track down some biological family history, and she said that it couldn't hurt.
Then she performed a breast exam, and the first thing she said was, "Wow!" That was great to hear because she hadn't palpated (fancy word for "touched") my tumors since before I started chemotherapy treatment. She said I was a star patient, and that I made her day because my tumors have responded so incredibly well to the chemo. She was going to do some measurements, but in the end she couldn't feel much to measure. She wrote down "impalpable" on my chart. She was very positive and pleased with my progress, which in turn made me, Mom and Dad all feel good. No, great!
I asked some more questions about what happens AFTER I finish chemo and surgery, as far as surveillance goes and what not. She said there will be blood tests and breast exams, and also some mammograms, but it won't be as heavy on the imaging. I need to remember to ask if a blood test is more sensitive than imaging, because I really have no idea. She reminded me that I won't be considered cured until I have survived 5 years past my diagnosis. I guess I already knew that, but it was important to hear again. 5 years is a really long time to me; I can't believe I'm going to have to be so careful and worried about cancer until I'm 30, which is also when I approximate that I'll have long hair again... And I'll still have to be really vigilant over the course of my entire life, I imagine...
My hair is starting to come out a little more now, which is kind of upsetting. Everywhere I read that it's always traumatic for patients to lose their hair, no matter how prepared they are. I thought that was sort of silly at first; how can people say that it's a universal feeling? Although I felt like I'd be ready, I really don't like seeing more little short black hairs coming out on my hands when I wash my fuzzy head. I was upset yesterday about that. I'm really not looking forward to being a baldy...
I've been having some trouble sleeping. The new pattern I've noticed is that I don't sleep well at all on Tuesdays, the night after treatment. I just can't seem to sleep, and I don't know if that's because going to chemo puts more cancer thoughts on my mind, or if the drugs somehow cause my brain to go into hyper drive. I just keep thinking and thinking and my brain won't shut off, and this Tuesday night I didn't fall asleep until 5:30 a.m. Plus I have all this tingling in my head and arms and legs. Last night, I fell asleep pretty easily, but then woke up at 4:30 a.m. unable to fall back asleep. I started reading for a little bit (been reading a lot this week; I'm on my third book and almost finished) and then fell back asleep for a little while. I need more sleep! I have a lot on my mind outside of the whole cancer thing too, which certainly doesn't help.
My brother D. and sister-in-law C. got me all set up with an online Blockbuster subscription yesterday, so I'll have some cinematic entertainment to help me pass the time. That'll be nice; maybe I can start watching some movies at night when I'm not sleeping.
I made a cool slide show of the head shaving party, but for some reason I can't get it to load. I need to work on that and stop being such a slacker!
I'm off for a nap now; hope you all are enjoying your day!
The follow-up appointment went really well. I talked with Dr. M. a little about the side effects I have been experiencing (fatigue later in the week, extreme thirst, tingling in my scalp, arms and legs the day of treatment, etc.) and all of that was normal. I asked whether or not it would be helpful to try to track down some biological family history, and she said that it couldn't hurt.
Then she performed a breast exam, and the first thing she said was, "Wow!" That was great to hear because she hadn't palpated (fancy word for "touched") my tumors since before I started chemotherapy treatment. She said I was a star patient, and that I made her day because my tumors have responded so incredibly well to the chemo. She was going to do some measurements, but in the end she couldn't feel much to measure. She wrote down "impalpable" on my chart. She was very positive and pleased with my progress, which in turn made me, Mom and Dad all feel good. No, great!
I asked some more questions about what happens AFTER I finish chemo and surgery, as far as surveillance goes and what not. She said there will be blood tests and breast exams, and also some mammograms, but it won't be as heavy on the imaging. I need to remember to ask if a blood test is more sensitive than imaging, because I really have no idea. She reminded me that I won't be considered cured until I have survived 5 years past my diagnosis. I guess I already knew that, but it was important to hear again. 5 years is a really long time to me; I can't believe I'm going to have to be so careful and worried about cancer until I'm 30, which is also when I approximate that I'll have long hair again... And I'll still have to be really vigilant over the course of my entire life, I imagine...
My hair is starting to come out a little more now, which is kind of upsetting. Everywhere I read that it's always traumatic for patients to lose their hair, no matter how prepared they are. I thought that was sort of silly at first; how can people say that it's a universal feeling? Although I felt like I'd be ready, I really don't like seeing more little short black hairs coming out on my hands when I wash my fuzzy head. I was upset yesterday about that. I'm really not looking forward to being a baldy...
I've been having some trouble sleeping. The new pattern I've noticed is that I don't sleep well at all on Tuesdays, the night after treatment. I just can't seem to sleep, and I don't know if that's because going to chemo puts more cancer thoughts on my mind, or if the drugs somehow cause my brain to go into hyper drive. I just keep thinking and thinking and my brain won't shut off, and this Tuesday night I didn't fall asleep until 5:30 a.m. Plus I have all this tingling in my head and arms and legs. Last night, I fell asleep pretty easily, but then woke up at 4:30 a.m. unable to fall back asleep. I started reading for a little bit (been reading a lot this week; I'm on my third book and almost finished) and then fell back asleep for a little while. I need more sleep! I have a lot on my mind outside of the whole cancer thing too, which certainly doesn't help.
My brother D. and sister-in-law C. got me all set up with an online Blockbuster subscription yesterday, so I'll have some cinematic entertainment to help me pass the time. That'll be nice; maybe I can start watching some movies at night when I'm not sleeping.
I made a cool slide show of the head shaving party, but for some reason I can't get it to load. I need to work on that and stop being such a slacker!
I'm off for a nap now; hope you all are enjoying your day!
Monday, August 25, 2008
Clipped Wings
It's Chemo Eve (Treatment 4 tomorrow, already!), and I'm back to share more thoughts with you, my friends.
So as you may know, I'm living in my old place in Fort Collins with my sister. It's been pretty nice; our house is comfortable and all my stuff is finally pretty much put away. There are things that are really nice about being home-- my nuclear family is mostly all here and so are my oldest friends. Winter Park was a great place to live, but there are definitely some conveniences about "city" living that I missed. I do miss, however, not being able to walk everywhere. Most walks would probably tire me out anyway, but I try to go on a couple a week.
But something has started to bother me. I'm starting to feel sorta... trapped. I love traveling; it represents freedom to me. I love planning a trip, saving for a trip, looking forward to a trip, going on a trip, sharing a trip, remembering a trip. There's something about being able to afford a vacation (though mine are modest and short, and typically my financial situation is at least somewhere on my mental radar) that makes me feel grown up, like I'm know what I want and I'm doing it. At some point, I got tired of always talking about doing something spectacular and not following through. So I try not to give voice to a fleeting idea if I have no concrete intentions of realizing it. I think it started when I actually went to France for a year to study (sometimes I still can't believe I did that... I dreamed in French last night, come to think of it...), but it became more of a personal philosophy when I made my adolescent dream of being a ski bum come true.
In the days preceding my quarter-centennial, I was really freaked out about turning 25. The number just seemed too big, too solid. Too serious. But in the end, I went to Arizona; Rocky Point, Mexico; San Francisco; Las Vegas; and Seattle this year. Not bad!
But now I have chemotherapy treatments every week until the end of October, and then the bi-weekly treatments for another two months after that. Not only do I have to be physically present to receive treatment, but I also am supposed to avoid crowds and places with germs and sick people, making traveling and airplanes seem even less of a plausible or safe option. Plus, I'm tired most of the time and feel kinda crummy about half the time. Not good for vacation.
I've ready many places that cancer patients feel like they've lost control of their lives because things keep happening to them, not by their own doing. Not being able to do my thing, to fly away to wherever I want whenever I can, makes me feel like that. It's one of the things that makes me feel powerless. And kinda pissed, actually.
I really wanted to go to Vegas for the RCPM concert this weekend, and Mexico for Circus Mexicus around my birthday in October. I'm still reserving some hope for Circus Mexicus... but I really do feel like I can't leave home very easily. It makes me a little nervous to think of going away, even somewhere as close as Winter Park, because I know I'll be away from the familiar (and more adequate) medical facilities of Fort Collins. It would be a nightmare to go somewhere fun and exciting and then get sick and not know where to go. Scary.
I'm also thinking about the things I want to do after this whole cancer nonsense is over. I think I want to move away for a while and put this whole icky period of my life behind me, forget about it as much as I can. But I don't know how post-cancer surveillance works if I leave Fort Collins. I know that one of my doctors (not really clear on which one) will be keeping a close eye on me for the five years following my eventual clean bill of health. After five years, survival rates go way up; it's during the five years immediately following cancer that you have to be really careful of recurrences, apparently. I've been thinking that it would be fun to either move to a big city or Hawaii for a year, but does that mean I'd need to come back for all the doctors' appointments, or try to find a quality provider in my new spot? Sounds hard.
Anyway, maybe I'll try to tell cancer that it doesn't scare me, that it can't take away my freedom (how Braveheart of me...), and go on a little trip. I guess we'll see. But I'm getting to the point where I need to plan some little milestone events to look forward to, to help the time pass and to get me through this.
Tomorrow I have an appointment with the oncologist. I don't really know what it's for; I'm guessing she'll do an exam and take measurements of my tumors to chart my progress. I really hope she thinks things are going well! After that, I have chemo, as usual... I think it took only 2 hours last week, so that was nice. This week, I think I'm braving it alone. And that's OK.
Hair Update: My hair hasn't really started to fall out. I just thought you'd want to know. It kinda makes me feel like the chemo isn't working, but hopefully it is.
Shout Out: Congratulations to Big Brother Michael, reportedly devoted reader Lindsay Smith, and the entire SUNY Buffalo women's soccer team for their first victory of many to come this season! Whoo hoo!
So as you may know, I'm living in my old place in Fort Collins with my sister. It's been pretty nice; our house is comfortable and all my stuff is finally pretty much put away. There are things that are really nice about being home-- my nuclear family is mostly all here and so are my oldest friends. Winter Park was a great place to live, but there are definitely some conveniences about "city" living that I missed. I do miss, however, not being able to walk everywhere. Most walks would probably tire me out anyway, but I try to go on a couple a week.
But something has started to bother me. I'm starting to feel sorta... trapped. I love traveling; it represents freedom to me. I love planning a trip, saving for a trip, looking forward to a trip, going on a trip, sharing a trip, remembering a trip. There's something about being able to afford a vacation (though mine are modest and short, and typically my financial situation is at least somewhere on my mental radar) that makes me feel grown up, like I'm know what I want and I'm doing it. At some point, I got tired of always talking about doing something spectacular and not following through. So I try not to give voice to a fleeting idea if I have no concrete intentions of realizing it. I think it started when I actually went to France for a year to study (sometimes I still can't believe I did that... I dreamed in French last night, come to think of it...), but it became more of a personal philosophy when I made my adolescent dream of being a ski bum come true.
In the days preceding my quarter-centennial, I was really freaked out about turning 25. The number just seemed too big, too solid. Too serious. But in the end, I went to Arizona; Rocky Point, Mexico; San Francisco; Las Vegas; and Seattle this year. Not bad!
But now I have chemotherapy treatments every week until the end of October, and then the bi-weekly treatments for another two months after that. Not only do I have to be physically present to receive treatment, but I also am supposed to avoid crowds and places with germs and sick people, making traveling and airplanes seem even less of a plausible or safe option. Plus, I'm tired most of the time and feel kinda crummy about half the time. Not good for vacation.
I've ready many places that cancer patients feel like they've lost control of their lives because things keep happening to them, not by their own doing. Not being able to do my thing, to fly away to wherever I want whenever I can, makes me feel like that. It's one of the things that makes me feel powerless. And kinda pissed, actually.
I really wanted to go to Vegas for the RCPM concert this weekend, and Mexico for Circus Mexicus around my birthday in October. I'm still reserving some hope for Circus Mexicus... but I really do feel like I can't leave home very easily. It makes me a little nervous to think of going away, even somewhere as close as Winter Park, because I know I'll be away from the familiar (and more adequate) medical facilities of Fort Collins. It would be a nightmare to go somewhere fun and exciting and then get sick and not know where to go. Scary.
I'm also thinking about the things I want to do after this whole cancer nonsense is over. I think I want to move away for a while and put this whole icky period of my life behind me, forget about it as much as I can. But I don't know how post-cancer surveillance works if I leave Fort Collins. I know that one of my doctors (not really clear on which one) will be keeping a close eye on me for the five years following my eventual clean bill of health. After five years, survival rates go way up; it's during the five years immediately following cancer that you have to be really careful of recurrences, apparently. I've been thinking that it would be fun to either move to a big city or Hawaii for a year, but does that mean I'd need to come back for all the doctors' appointments, or try to find a quality provider in my new spot? Sounds hard.
Anyway, maybe I'll try to tell cancer that it doesn't scare me, that it can't take away my freedom (how Braveheart of me...), and go on a little trip. I guess we'll see. But I'm getting to the point where I need to plan some little milestone events to look forward to, to help the time pass and to get me through this.
Tomorrow I have an appointment with the oncologist. I don't really know what it's for; I'm guessing she'll do an exam and take measurements of my tumors to chart my progress. I really hope she thinks things are going well! After that, I have chemo, as usual... I think it took only 2 hours last week, so that was nice. This week, I think I'm braving it alone. And that's OK.
Hair Update: My hair hasn't really started to fall out. I just thought you'd want to know. It kinda makes me feel like the chemo isn't working, but hopefully it is.
Shout Out: Congratulations to Big Brother Michael, reportedly devoted reader Lindsay Smith, and the entire SUNY Buffalo women's soccer team for their first victory of many to come this season! Whoo hoo!
Thursday, August 21, 2008
On Brilliant T-Shirt Ideas
I forgot to tell you something funny. The day after we shaved our heads, I told Susan my great idea for a T-shirt she could make. It would say:
"My sister got cancer and all I got was this lousy haircut."
HA!
"My sister got cancer and all I got was this lousy haircut."
HA!
Chemo Three-mo, Genetic Test Results, Fuzzy Head, Etc.
Hello out there! I keep kicking myself for not updating more often. A lot of the time, nothing is really happening, and then something happens that makes me too busy to write, and then more stuff happens and I have to write a lot!
Chemo Three-mo
Well anyway, I had my third chemo treatment on Tuesday, and that went just fine. They gave me half the dose of the Benadryl, but I slept through the whole chemo process anyway. When I was finished, however, I was less groggy. But after a fun-filled weekend with my SF friend, I was pretty tired and sickly going into treatment. After, I was just plain exhausted! They've started infusing the chemo into me at a faster rate, which means I don't have to be there for so long. So that's nice.
I've noticed some trends in my side effects, now that I've done it three (!) times. On Tuesday, I'm tired and groggy from my medicine, and sooo thirsty. The nurse gave me an extra bag of saline to try to help me get a head start on hydration. I get tingling on my scalp, from my elbows to my fingers, and from my knees to my toes. This is particularly annoying when I try to go to sleep. I haven't been sleeping well on Tuesday nights, which makes for pretty lame Wednesdays. I feel pretty good on Wednesdays, though. And I try to take it pretty easy because I'm still scared of having to go to the hospital again. Thursdays are kinda rough and I feel extra tired and very prone to getting sick. Then once my energy levels pick up, I've noticed I have a low grade headache for most of the time. Treatment really isn't that bad, but I never feel great anymore, and it's like I'm running at 65-87% all the time. I'm noticing a little bit of what they call "chemo brain," which is being unable to focus and remember some stuff. It's annoying, but at least now I have an excuse for being sorta spacey! All in all, it could be way worse.
Genetic Test Results
On Monday, someone called from my oncologist's office to tell me I have to take antibiotics because they found some sort of bacteria growing in my urine test. I guess it's a bacteria that some doctors would treat and some would let go, so I take it that it's nothing serious. I just have to take a pill every 8 hours, which isn't the most convenient, but then again, what do I have going on? Anyway, the guy also wanted to tell me that I would have an appointment with my oncology nurse to discuss the results of my genetic test. I sorta felt the air suck out of my lungs, but ended up just saying OK.
When I hung up, I realized that I would have to think of the fact that my results were in but I wouldn't know them for an entire day. That would drive me CRAZY! I hate waiting for any results! So I called back and asked if anyone could talk to me that day, and the guy said that usually the nurse needs to tell you information regarding the meaning of your results. So that was a bummer. And then, and before I was ready, he said, "But I can tell you that you were negative for the mutation." I wasn't ready to hear the results right then, but since the result was good, I was sooooo relieved! Finally, some good news!
A negative result means that the lab didn't find any mutations on my BRCA1 or BRCA2 genes. The significance of this is that my HOBC (Hereditary Ovarian and Breast Cancer) risk is "significantly reduced," though not as low, probably, as that of the general population. Which means I can keep my ovaries and don't have to rush to have a family! YAY! It also means that I won't pass on any genetic mutations to my children, which is a relief, given I am able to have any. The nurse did tell me that if I were to have daughters, they'd need to have mammograms in their early twenties. Usually they say daughters of younger breast cancer patients should start getting mammograms about 10 years before the mother's diagnosis, but in my situation that would mean at the age of 15, which is pretty ridiculous. I hardly had anything on my chest at the age. Actually, I hardly have anything on my chest now, which is part of why I find my breast cancer unfair. I mean, I didn't even get to take advantage of the damned things, and now one is sick! There's still a chance that I do have a genetic mutation that scientists are currently unaware of, however, and I think that chance is around 16%. Anyway, if my result were positive, I would probably have to have a mastectomy. So I'm glad it wasn't positive, although I'm keeping in mind that I may still have to have a mastectomy. I can't get my hopes up too high because then it makes it so difficult to get bad news.
I really thought my test was going to come back positive. I am so glad and thankful that it didn't! Thank you God! What a relief. Seriously. But then, I'm left with the question "Why did this happen?" But that doesn't bother me too much because it's kind of a dumb question. The answer wouldn't really change the situation, so there's no point in dwelling on the "Why Factor." Although I suppose it would give a certain satisfaction to know why. Anyway, a negative result is most useful when someone else in the family has had the test performed. Given that I know absolutely zippo about my biological family, I can't benefit from that information. I'm sort of wondering if I should try to start tracking down any biological family I can just in order to learn more about my family health history, especially any occurrences of cancers. But that sounds like such an arduous task, and it honestly entails quite a few other issues, ranging from how my parents will handle it to how I'll handle it. I mean, I don't think much about that part of my life, but if I were to start finding information on my biological family, I may as well get all my questions answered. But am I ready for that? Nah. But would knowing a family health history be helpful? Probably.
Fuzzy Head
The Head Shaving Party went really well. I had a glass of wine, which I probably shouldn't have. I think it made me a little more emotional than I would have been otherwise. I got a little teared up when I first started cutting, and then I flat-out cried when I saw my fuzzy head. My sister insisted that I cut her beautiful and long ponytail off so she could shave her head too. I told her she shouldn't because she was about to start student teaching and high school is brutal enough as is. But she put her foot down, saying that she feels like I'm all alone and I shouldn't have to be, and that this is the one thing she can do with me so I wouldn't be so alone. I really wasn't feeling all that alone, but my friends told me that it'd make her feel better, so we went for it! So now we're two Korean girl baldies! And phew, we both have nicely shaped heads.
In the end, I'm so grateful that she did it. I don't feel like such a freak when we're out together, though I'm a little self-conscious when I'm out with other people or alone. Susan loves her fuzzy head because it's so much easier to take care of (that aspect is aaaawwwwesome). She thinks it's unfair that women have so much hair maintenance to do, while men can just shave their heads and no one bats an eye. She says she feels liberated! I don't like mine much though; I miss my loooong hair. Every morning at first I was surprised to see my fuzzy head in the mirror. I'll get used to it, but then my fuzzies will probably fall out, and I'll have to get used to that. But so far none of my hair has been falling out. It should be anytime now. In a way I hope it starts to fall out so I can get used to the actual baldness thing, and so that I know I didn't shave my head for nothing! My sister's boyfriend said I look better with a shaved head than I did with hair (mixed feelings about that one...) and my ex-boyfriend (he came for a visit too, and took me to chemo this week) said I look hot without hair. Hmmm.
I will get the video and photos of the party up soon, I promise! I'm being such a slacker! The video needs to be edited and I don't know how to do that, but my sister does, so we'll do to it. Sorry!
Etc.
I'm still really wanting to go to Las Vegas for Labor Day to see the Peacemakers. I'm totally obsessed, and this has been my big RCPM year. But it's only 10 days away, and my sister seems to think it might not be as fun as usual because I'm not exactly in the same position as usual. Definitely not drinking as many Mexican beers or tequila shots as usual, which would be too bad because a good Peacemakers show really lends itself to beers and tequila! I'd just want to rest and relax by the pool, eat some good food, and see the show. A two-day, one-night trip. But I don't want to do anything that will get me sick, so I'm hesitant. Plus I have no tickets or reservations, so I'd have to get all that done like... right now. But I do think planning some stuff like small trips and visits from friends, etc., will help the time fly by. Giving myself things to look forward to and do will make time move a little faster, and I can think of things as "in two treatments, I get to...". So I think I'll work on planning some fun little things.
So three Taxol treatments down, meaning I'm 25% done with Taxol. And a little more than 2 weeks down, meaning I'm a little more than 10% done with treatment. And 3 chemo treatments down, meaning I'm done with 3/16 actual treatments, which is some sort of percentage but I don't feel like doing the calculation. So we're making progress! And next week, I get to meet with my oncologist. She'll hopefully do some measurements and tell me how she thinks I'm doing, which will be more helpful than the nurse's measurements because the oncologist felt the original tumors and the nurse didn't.
Anyway, this was long, so anyone still with me is a saint. I really appreciate any and all people and friends who are taking the time to read this nonsense! And if you know someone whom you think would care (especially in Winter Park, because I left in such a hurry), please pass on my blog address! The name is easy to remember cuz I really do hate cancer!
Chemo Three-mo
Well anyway, I had my third chemo treatment on Tuesday, and that went just fine. They gave me half the dose of the Benadryl, but I slept through the whole chemo process anyway. When I was finished, however, I was less groggy. But after a fun-filled weekend with my SF friend, I was pretty tired and sickly going into treatment. After, I was just plain exhausted! They've started infusing the chemo into me at a faster rate, which means I don't have to be there for so long. So that's nice.
I've noticed some trends in my side effects, now that I've done it three (!) times. On Tuesday, I'm tired and groggy from my medicine, and sooo thirsty. The nurse gave me an extra bag of saline to try to help me get a head start on hydration. I get tingling on my scalp, from my elbows to my fingers, and from my knees to my toes. This is particularly annoying when I try to go to sleep. I haven't been sleeping well on Tuesday nights, which makes for pretty lame Wednesdays. I feel pretty good on Wednesdays, though. And I try to take it pretty easy because I'm still scared of having to go to the hospital again. Thursdays are kinda rough and I feel extra tired and very prone to getting sick. Then once my energy levels pick up, I've noticed I have a low grade headache for most of the time. Treatment really isn't that bad, but I never feel great anymore, and it's like I'm running at 65-87% all the time. I'm noticing a little bit of what they call "chemo brain," which is being unable to focus and remember some stuff. It's annoying, but at least now I have an excuse for being sorta spacey! All in all, it could be way worse.
Genetic Test Results
On Monday, someone called from my oncologist's office to tell me I have to take antibiotics because they found some sort of bacteria growing in my urine test. I guess it's a bacteria that some doctors would treat and some would let go, so I take it that it's nothing serious. I just have to take a pill every 8 hours, which isn't the most convenient, but then again, what do I have going on? Anyway, the guy also wanted to tell me that I would have an appointment with my oncology nurse to discuss the results of my genetic test. I sorta felt the air suck out of my lungs, but ended up just saying OK.
When I hung up, I realized that I would have to think of the fact that my results were in but I wouldn't know them for an entire day. That would drive me CRAZY! I hate waiting for any results! So I called back and asked if anyone could talk to me that day, and the guy said that usually the nurse needs to tell you information regarding the meaning of your results. So that was a bummer. And then, and before I was ready, he said, "But I can tell you that you were negative for the mutation." I wasn't ready to hear the results right then, but since the result was good, I was sooooo relieved! Finally, some good news!
A negative result means that the lab didn't find any mutations on my BRCA1 or BRCA2 genes. The significance of this is that my HOBC (Hereditary Ovarian and Breast Cancer) risk is "significantly reduced," though not as low, probably, as that of the general population. Which means I can keep my ovaries and don't have to rush to have a family! YAY! It also means that I won't pass on any genetic mutations to my children, which is a relief, given I am able to have any. The nurse did tell me that if I were to have daughters, they'd need to have mammograms in their early twenties. Usually they say daughters of younger breast cancer patients should start getting mammograms about 10 years before the mother's diagnosis, but in my situation that would mean at the age of 15, which is pretty ridiculous. I hardly had anything on my chest at the age. Actually, I hardly have anything on my chest now, which is part of why I find my breast cancer unfair. I mean, I didn't even get to take advantage of the damned things, and now one is sick! There's still a chance that I do have a genetic mutation that scientists are currently unaware of, however, and I think that chance is around 16%. Anyway, if my result were positive, I would probably have to have a mastectomy. So I'm glad it wasn't positive, although I'm keeping in mind that I may still have to have a mastectomy. I can't get my hopes up too high because then it makes it so difficult to get bad news.
I really thought my test was going to come back positive. I am so glad and thankful that it didn't! Thank you God! What a relief. Seriously. But then, I'm left with the question "Why did this happen?" But that doesn't bother me too much because it's kind of a dumb question. The answer wouldn't really change the situation, so there's no point in dwelling on the "Why Factor." Although I suppose it would give a certain satisfaction to know why. Anyway, a negative result is most useful when someone else in the family has had the test performed. Given that I know absolutely zippo about my biological family, I can't benefit from that information. I'm sort of wondering if I should try to start tracking down any biological family I can just in order to learn more about my family health history, especially any occurrences of cancers. But that sounds like such an arduous task, and it honestly entails quite a few other issues, ranging from how my parents will handle it to how I'll handle it. I mean, I don't think much about that part of my life, but if I were to start finding information on my biological family, I may as well get all my questions answered. But am I ready for that? Nah. But would knowing a family health history be helpful? Probably.
Fuzzy Head
The Head Shaving Party went really well. I had a glass of wine, which I probably shouldn't have. I think it made me a little more emotional than I would have been otherwise. I got a little teared up when I first started cutting, and then I flat-out cried when I saw my fuzzy head. My sister insisted that I cut her beautiful and long ponytail off so she could shave her head too. I told her she shouldn't because she was about to start student teaching and high school is brutal enough as is. But she put her foot down, saying that she feels like I'm all alone and I shouldn't have to be, and that this is the one thing she can do with me so I wouldn't be so alone. I really wasn't feeling all that alone, but my friends told me that it'd make her feel better, so we went for it! So now we're two Korean girl baldies! And phew, we both have nicely shaped heads.
In the end, I'm so grateful that she did it. I don't feel like such a freak when we're out together, though I'm a little self-conscious when I'm out with other people or alone. Susan loves her fuzzy head because it's so much easier to take care of (that aspect is aaaawwwwesome). She thinks it's unfair that women have so much hair maintenance to do, while men can just shave their heads and no one bats an eye. She says she feels liberated! I don't like mine much though; I miss my loooong hair. Every morning at first I was surprised to see my fuzzy head in the mirror. I'll get used to it, but then my fuzzies will probably fall out, and I'll have to get used to that. But so far none of my hair has been falling out. It should be anytime now. In a way I hope it starts to fall out so I can get used to the actual baldness thing, and so that I know I didn't shave my head for nothing! My sister's boyfriend said I look better with a shaved head than I did with hair (mixed feelings about that one...) and my ex-boyfriend (he came for a visit too, and took me to chemo this week) said I look hot without hair. Hmmm.
I will get the video and photos of the party up soon, I promise! I'm being such a slacker! The video needs to be edited and I don't know how to do that, but my sister does, so we'll do to it. Sorry!
Etc.
I'm still really wanting to go to Las Vegas for Labor Day to see the Peacemakers. I'm totally obsessed, and this has been my big RCPM year. But it's only 10 days away, and my sister seems to think it might not be as fun as usual because I'm not exactly in the same position as usual. Definitely not drinking as many Mexican beers or tequila shots as usual, which would be too bad because a good Peacemakers show really lends itself to beers and tequila! I'd just want to rest and relax by the pool, eat some good food, and see the show. A two-day, one-night trip. But I don't want to do anything that will get me sick, so I'm hesitant. Plus I have no tickets or reservations, so I'd have to get all that done like... right now. But I do think planning some stuff like small trips and visits from friends, etc., will help the time fly by. Giving myself things to look forward to and do will make time move a little faster, and I can think of things as "in two treatments, I get to...". So I think I'll work on planning some fun little things.
So three Taxol treatments down, meaning I'm 25% done with Taxol. And a little more than 2 weeks down, meaning I'm a little more than 10% done with treatment. And 3 chemo treatments down, meaning I'm done with 3/16 actual treatments, which is some sort of percentage but I don't feel like doing the calculation. So we're making progress! And next week, I get to meet with my oncologist. She'll hopefully do some measurements and tell me how she thinks I'm doing, which will be more helpful than the nurse's measurements because the oncologist felt the original tumors and the nurse didn't.
Anyway, this was long, so anyone still with me is a saint. I really appreciate any and all people and friends who are taking the time to read this nonsense! And if you know someone whom you think would care (especially in Winter Park, because I left in such a hurry), please pass on my blog address! The name is easy to remember cuz I really do hate cancer!
Friday, August 15, 2008
The Vanity Issue
Today is Head Shaving Party day, so I wanted to talk about "the vanity issue" before my head gets fuzzy. I plan on using clippers to shave my hair down to about an inch long, so it's fuzzy but not tooooooo short. I hope it's at least sort of cute, but the sad truth is that it's going to be falling out in a few days. And then I'll be actually bald, which, after observation at the chemo place, is not cute.
Up to this point, I was able to think about the way I look in general terms. I've never had to really consider how my concept of how I look impacts my concept of who I am and how I feel. But along with breast cancer come a lot of worries concerning one's physical appearance. For one, either surgical option (mastectomy or lumpectomy) will leave me with scars at the very least. I feel like I should be concerned about the actual surgery, but all that I can think about is the result of the reconstruction. How will it look? What if I don't like it? How are people, namely men, going to respond to the whole reconstruction thing? How are they going to feel? How long will I have scars? And if somehow the stars align and I get to keep my breasts, what are my scars going to look like from the lumpectomy? I'll have to have radiation, and that causes darkening of the skin. Is that going to be really ugly too?
If my lymph nodes end up with cancer and have to be removed, there's the chance I'll get lymphedema in my right arm. That causes the arm to swell to varying degrees. So that could be ugly.
Then there's the ugliness during treatment. The hair loss thing really sucks because it makes a normal-looking person suddenly a very sick-looking person. I feel like today is the last day of having a "secret." It's not that I'm ashamed to have cancer or that I'm hiding it, it's just that it's a personal thing and I wish the whole world didn't have to know. But once my hair is gone, the whole world will probably know. And I wonder if I'm going to be treated differently as a result. I used to have really nice hair, and I don't feel like an egotistical asshole in saying so. And I will probably be 30 by the time my hair grows back long again. And who knows what my hair will grow back like. I pray to God it comes in straight-- I've always wanted straight hair. But what if it turns out curly?
In addition to the bald thing, I learned that a lot of people gain weight from chemotherapy treatment because they're eating more and physically doing significantly less. So you end up chubby and bald. Not a great combination for a 25-year-old woman.
Am I being shallow or selfish in thinking that this is a much bigger deal because I'm young? Of course older women care about how they look. I know that. Maybe it's that they've had longer to be young and attractive and I feel like I'm losing out when I should be in my prime. Maybe it's because they've had longer to find their dream man while their bodies were normal and I might have to try to do that after becoming a deformed monster.
I've come to realize that I care a lot about how I look. There's no use in denying it or lying about it; I feel better about myself when I feel I look good. I've pretty much always been obsessed with wanting to look good. There was a time when I thought it wouldn't be crazy to get my boobs done. Now that seems like the silliest thing in the world. How I feel about the way I look greatly influences what I think of myself. It's easy to say, "Oh, I don't care about how I look because looks aren't what matter." It's hard to admit to yourself that "I care a lot about how I look, and my self-esteem is based greatly on my outward appearance." It makes me sound so vain and shallow, but in the end, it's the truth in my case. And the more honest I can be with myself, the more honest I can be with my surgeons. They need to know that my attitude is hinging on coming out of surgery looking better than OK.
I can't imagine living the rest of my life hating the way I look. But I know if I come out of this feeling like I look ugly, it will change everything. And it's not something that other people can help with; if I think I look ugly, then no number of friends telling me I'm still beautiful will help. It's about self-image. Maybe that's the hard part. And I know that the really important part is to make it out of this alive, and I do take that part seriously. But I did want to share how I feel about the rest of it, and that the whole breast cancer experience, especially at my age, isn't only about surviving. It's about my confidence surviving.
Before all this happened, I had so many gripes about how I looked. Now I look back and think, "Carrie, you were as perfect as you could be, why didn't you just soak it up while you had it?" Things are definitely going to change, and I have to accept that. I just keep thinking how lucky everyone else is to be healthy and not have to go through this, and not how "unlucky" I am. I hope you folks out there can take a second to really appreciate yourself for the perfection you already have. I wish I had appreciated being "normal" before.
I hope you guys don't think I'm a shallow and completely hollow person. I know that I have a lot more to offer than how I look, and I'm not that hot to begin with anyway. I'm just offering you a candid look at something I think about... maybe a little too often.
In a way, I can feel lucky to have been forced to look at myself so honestly and carefully. And most women will never face the challenge of trying to find themselves beautiful after they've been stripped of about everything womanly about them. If I can make it through this experience relatively unscathed, I will probably so confident and self-assured that no one will be able to handle me...!
Hopefully by tomorrow I'll have some pictures and video of the party tonight. See you then, and wish me luck...!
Up to this point, I was able to think about the way I look in general terms. I've never had to really consider how my concept of how I look impacts my concept of who I am and how I feel. But along with breast cancer come a lot of worries concerning one's physical appearance. For one, either surgical option (mastectomy or lumpectomy) will leave me with scars at the very least. I feel like I should be concerned about the actual surgery, but all that I can think about is the result of the reconstruction. How will it look? What if I don't like it? How are people, namely men, going to respond to the whole reconstruction thing? How are they going to feel? How long will I have scars? And if somehow the stars align and I get to keep my breasts, what are my scars going to look like from the lumpectomy? I'll have to have radiation, and that causes darkening of the skin. Is that going to be really ugly too?
If my lymph nodes end up with cancer and have to be removed, there's the chance I'll get lymphedema in my right arm. That causes the arm to swell to varying degrees. So that could be ugly.
Then there's the ugliness during treatment. The hair loss thing really sucks because it makes a normal-looking person suddenly a very sick-looking person. I feel like today is the last day of having a "secret." It's not that I'm ashamed to have cancer or that I'm hiding it, it's just that it's a personal thing and I wish the whole world didn't have to know. But once my hair is gone, the whole world will probably know. And I wonder if I'm going to be treated differently as a result. I used to have really nice hair, and I don't feel like an egotistical asshole in saying so. And I will probably be 30 by the time my hair grows back long again. And who knows what my hair will grow back like. I pray to God it comes in straight-- I've always wanted straight hair. But what if it turns out curly?
In addition to the bald thing, I learned that a lot of people gain weight from chemotherapy treatment because they're eating more and physically doing significantly less. So you end up chubby and bald. Not a great combination for a 25-year-old woman.
Am I being shallow or selfish in thinking that this is a much bigger deal because I'm young? Of course older women care about how they look. I know that. Maybe it's that they've had longer to be young and attractive and I feel like I'm losing out when I should be in my prime. Maybe it's because they've had longer to find their dream man while their bodies were normal and I might have to try to do that after becoming a deformed monster.
I've come to realize that I care a lot about how I look. There's no use in denying it or lying about it; I feel better about myself when I feel I look good. I've pretty much always been obsessed with wanting to look good. There was a time when I thought it wouldn't be crazy to get my boobs done. Now that seems like the silliest thing in the world. How I feel about the way I look greatly influences what I think of myself. It's easy to say, "Oh, I don't care about how I look because looks aren't what matter." It's hard to admit to yourself that "I care a lot about how I look, and my self-esteem is based greatly on my outward appearance." It makes me sound so vain and shallow, but in the end, it's the truth in my case. And the more honest I can be with myself, the more honest I can be with my surgeons. They need to know that my attitude is hinging on coming out of surgery looking better than OK.
I can't imagine living the rest of my life hating the way I look. But I know if I come out of this feeling like I look ugly, it will change everything. And it's not something that other people can help with; if I think I look ugly, then no number of friends telling me I'm still beautiful will help. It's about self-image. Maybe that's the hard part. And I know that the really important part is to make it out of this alive, and I do take that part seriously. But I did want to share how I feel about the rest of it, and that the whole breast cancer experience, especially at my age, isn't only about surviving. It's about my confidence surviving.
Before all this happened, I had so many gripes about how I looked. Now I look back and think, "Carrie, you were as perfect as you could be, why didn't you just soak it up while you had it?" Things are definitely going to change, and I have to accept that. I just keep thinking how lucky everyone else is to be healthy and not have to go through this, and not how "unlucky" I am. I hope you folks out there can take a second to really appreciate yourself for the perfection you already have. I wish I had appreciated being "normal" before.
I hope you guys don't think I'm a shallow and completely hollow person. I know that I have a lot more to offer than how I look, and I'm not that hot to begin with anyway. I'm just offering you a candid look at something I think about... maybe a little too often.
In a way, I can feel lucky to have been forced to look at myself so honestly and carefully. And most women will never face the challenge of trying to find themselves beautiful after they've been stripped of about everything womanly about them. If I can make it through this experience relatively unscathed, I will probably so confident and self-assured that no one will be able to handle me...!
Hopefully by tomorrow I'll have some pictures and video of the party tonight. See you then, and wish me luck...!
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Chemo 2
Hey everybody! I had my second treatment today, yay! I was a little nervous about it yesterday for whatever reason, mostly not wanting to go and being a little worried about having to go to the hospital again. But my goal is not to have to go back there this week and to have an easy week.
The chemo went pretty well today. I had to have the same amount of Benadryl again, which was too bad, but there's a chance for an adverse reaction the first two times patients receive chemotherapy, and for that reason it's good to have a solid amount of Benadryl. Maybe next time it'll be less. It just makes me so sleepy! I slept through most of it and then slept another three hours at home. I freaked out in the middle because I felt some sharp pains at the site where the needle was stuck in, and I thought my bandage was filling with blood. In the end, it was just my weird surgical glue and bruise. Whoops. I wish that damn glue would come off because it itches, and I wonder what's going on under there. I think it's time my skin starts breathing!
I don't know if I told you guys, but this is pretty exciting. I can already feel my tumors shrinking! Even just a few days after the first treatment I could feel that they're smaller and not as dense.
I had a follow-up appointment with my nurse today before chemo, and she told me that my genetic test might be in by next week, which I already knew. I really hope that I'm negative for any genetic mutations, but I guess it's safer for my mental well-being to prepare myself for bad news. I kinda have a bad feeling it's going to be positive anyway. She also told me that the next time we'll do any imaging (like MRI, PET Scan, ultrasound, etc...) will be when I'm done with Taxol in about 2.5 months. That's a long time. She also reminded me that my hair was going to start changing after this week, which of course has been on my mind already. And unfortunately, she told me that a lot of people gain weight during treatment because they eat more and physically do less. I'm scared to be chubby and bald! How vain, but seriously, you have to be sick, fat, bald, and potentially breastless and scarred? That's sorta crap.
There was another thing the nurse told me that I found interesting. I told her that the medicine made me really thirsty and I was drinking water and peeing all the time. She told me that's because the chemo kills a bunch of cells, so I have a bunch of dead cells and waste running through my body. My body gets thirsty to flush all that junk out, and when I'm peeing, I'm peeing out all my dead cancer! Ew, but cool! So she said to keep peeing and pooping that stuff out. Wahoo, will do (can't really help it not to...)!
I have a treat this week, an out-of-state visitor! One of my best friends is coming for a visit, all the way from San Francisco. Wahoo! That'll be fun. And in her honor, I'm having my head shaving party on Friday. All are welcome to attend, but I know my Winter Parkers are gearing up for a big weekend of bikers. Good luck guys... "lose" the jerks' tickets and add secret gratuity! HAHAHA just kidding! Anyway, I plan on having someone take some video footage so you can all be in on the party and see whether I do indeed have a nicely shaped head (I'm thinking no... but whatever). I'll probably look like this. Hehehe. Be on the lookout for my video later this week!
ALSO: I put up a new post on July 25. It covers my meeting with the oncologist, and there will be three more after that to follow, when I get the time...
The chemo went pretty well today. I had to have the same amount of Benadryl again, which was too bad, but there's a chance for an adverse reaction the first two times patients receive chemotherapy, and for that reason it's good to have a solid amount of Benadryl. Maybe next time it'll be less. It just makes me so sleepy! I slept through most of it and then slept another three hours at home. I freaked out in the middle because I felt some sharp pains at the site where the needle was stuck in, and I thought my bandage was filling with blood. In the end, it was just my weird surgical glue and bruise. Whoops. I wish that damn glue would come off because it itches, and I wonder what's going on under there. I think it's time my skin starts breathing!
I don't know if I told you guys, but this is pretty exciting. I can already feel my tumors shrinking! Even just a few days after the first treatment I could feel that they're smaller and not as dense.
I had a follow-up appointment with my nurse today before chemo, and she told me that my genetic test might be in by next week, which I already knew. I really hope that I'm negative for any genetic mutations, but I guess it's safer for my mental well-being to prepare myself for bad news. I kinda have a bad feeling it's going to be positive anyway. She also told me that the next time we'll do any imaging (like MRI, PET Scan, ultrasound, etc...) will be when I'm done with Taxol in about 2.5 months. That's a long time. She also reminded me that my hair was going to start changing after this week, which of course has been on my mind already. And unfortunately, she told me that a lot of people gain weight during treatment because they eat more and physically do less. I'm scared to be chubby and bald! How vain, but seriously, you have to be sick, fat, bald, and potentially breastless and scarred? That's sorta crap.
There was another thing the nurse told me that I found interesting. I told her that the medicine made me really thirsty and I was drinking water and peeing all the time. She told me that's because the chemo kills a bunch of cells, so I have a bunch of dead cells and waste running through my body. My body gets thirsty to flush all that junk out, and when I'm peeing, I'm peeing out all my dead cancer! Ew, but cool! So she said to keep peeing and pooping that stuff out. Wahoo, will do (can't really help it not to...)!
I have a treat this week, an out-of-state visitor! One of my best friends is coming for a visit, all the way from San Francisco. Wahoo! That'll be fun. And in her honor, I'm having my head shaving party on Friday. All are welcome to attend, but I know my Winter Parkers are gearing up for a big weekend of bikers. Good luck guys... "lose" the jerks' tickets and add secret gratuity! HAHAHA just kidding! Anyway, I plan on having someone take some video footage so you can all be in on the party and see whether I do indeed have a nicely shaped head (I'm thinking no... but whatever). I'll probably look like this. Hehehe. Be on the lookout for my video later this week!
ALSO: I put up a new post on July 25. It covers my meeting with the oncologist, and there will be three more after that to follow, when I get the time...
Thursday, August 7, 2008
New TV = Fun! Emergency Room = Not Fun!
So yesterday was a pretty exciting day for two reasons: I got a sweet new TV and I had to go to the emergency room at the hospital (as you may be intuited from the title of this post).
I started the day out sorta badly; I woke up grumpy because I had all these problems rotating my bed the night before. See, I knew I wanted to get a new TV, and with the way my bed was facing, there wasn't a place to watch a TV. So I had to move my bed 90 degrees counterclockwise, which wasn't that easy. Then Susan came to help me, which made it easier, but after she left I discovered that the frame was broken. My arm was still a little sore from my port placement, but it wasn't that bad. I was tired though, and moving the mattress and box springs and then fixing the frame alone was exhausting for me.
So when I woke up the next day, I was really tired and not feeling that great because I hadn't slept that well. I thought about skipping breakfast with my parents, but it's sorta a tradition in these parts, so I still went. I thought I was just having a regular bad morning...
After breakfast, Mom and Dad told me we could go TV shopping. My parents feel so terribly awful that I have to go through this, which is sweet of them, but clearly it's not their fault. Anyhow, that makes them want to take extra-special care of me, so they wanted to get me a TV to watch when the chemo treatments make me feel like hiding out in my room. I was just thinking of a little old school $100 thing and a cheapo DVD player, but they wanted to get something really nice.
"Got a flat-screen TV, 32-inches wide, I believe yours says Etch-a-Sketch on the side!" Thanks Weird Al, and pardon my liberties to suit my cause...
So yeah, they got me this really sweet 32-inch LCD flat-screen hi-def TV and a nice DVD player. Here's a picture of it, with my sister's head to show you how big it looks (the TV, not her head).
I started the day out sorta badly; I woke up grumpy because I had all these problems rotating my bed the night before. See, I knew I wanted to get a new TV, and with the way my bed was facing, there wasn't a place to watch a TV. So I had to move my bed 90 degrees counterclockwise, which wasn't that easy. Then Susan came to help me, which made it easier, but after she left I discovered that the frame was broken. My arm was still a little sore from my port placement, but it wasn't that bad. I was tired though, and moving the mattress and box springs and then fixing the frame alone was exhausting for me.
So when I woke up the next day, I was really tired and not feeling that great because I hadn't slept that well. I thought about skipping breakfast with my parents, but it's sorta a tradition in these parts, so I still went. I thought I was just having a regular bad morning...
After breakfast, Mom and Dad told me we could go TV shopping. My parents feel so terribly awful that I have to go through this, which is sweet of them, but clearly it's not their fault. Anyhow, that makes them want to take extra-special care of me, so they wanted to get me a TV to watch when the chemo treatments make me feel like hiding out in my room. I was just thinking of a little old school $100 thing and a cheapo DVD player, but they wanted to get something really nice.
"Got a flat-screen TV, 32-inches wide, I believe yours says Etch-a-Sketch on the side!" Thanks Weird Al, and pardon my liberties to suit my cause...
So yeah, they got me this really sweet 32-inch LCD flat-screen hi-def TV and a nice DVD player. Here's a picture of it, with my sister's head to show you how big it looks (the TV, not her head).
I love my sweet new TV, and I think it'll make my harder days go by a little more easily. Thanks Mom and Dad for such a generous gift! I really appreciate it! I've watched a couple movies and they look awesome! I like the picture above because it looks like Crush the Turtle is talking to Susan...
Anyway, after Mom and Dad set up my TV, they left. I was starting to feel really tired and sorta sick, like I had the flu. I watched Mean Girls, and when that was over, I was really flu-ish. I tried to take a nap, but I couldn't sleep because my body had aches and pains (apparently referred to as "myalgia" in the medical world) and I was experiencing some pretty strong chills. My oncologist's office gave me an hour-long educational course on the side effects of Taxol, and one of the things they really stressed was to watch out for any sort of infection, a good sign of which is a fever. I was to call if I had a fever above 100.5.
Since I forgot to pick up one of those nice digital thermometers, I called my dad to bring me one. He came with it after work, around 5:00. I took my temperature, and got 101 and 100.8. I called Dr. M.'s office (my oncologist) to let them know what was going on, and I talked to a nurse. Naturally, they were headed out the door, but the nurse took her time asking me all my symptoms and told me she'd call me back after she called the doctor. The doctor said I should go to the emergency room just to make sure everything's OK, and they were going to send over my file and some information.
I cried a little just because I didn't want to have to go to the emergency room, and because I didn't feel good, and because I was really hoping I would just sail through chemo. When stuff like that happens, I get upset because I really don't like that this is what my life has become, but I know I don't have any choices here, so I just have to go through it. It's just hard sometimes. But mostly I do OK.
Anyway, I was glad I'd had my dad stick around because he took me to the hospital. They got me all checked in and into a bed, and took a lot of blood for blood cultures. That's easy to do because I have my chemo port, which is a 2-way street-- they can put stuff in or take blood out. They do have to put a needle in my arm, but it's not that bad. I had an x-ray, and then later a CT scan to make sure I didn't have any pneumonia or blood clots in my chest or lungs, which meant this guy had to put an IV with a big tube in my arm. It had to be on the other arm because they needed to draw blood from two sites for my blood cultures. And the tube had to be big because they put contrast in me to see the image better. That IV hurt because the tube was bigger, and the two male nurses were trying to get me to relax so my vein wouldn't spasm and collapse. They told me to go to my happy place, which was on top of Mary Jane, looking down Drunken Frenchman.
Nurse: "Are you in the gondola, getting to the top?"
Carrie: "No, I'm at the top, ready to rip down!"
It was nice to think of skiing. Man, I wish I could do that today. Or tomorrow. Or even this season... we'll see...
The weird thing was when they put the contrast in my vein for the CT scan. They told me I would feel flushed and like I really had to pee. This is mostly true. I did feel flushed, but when it went in, I felt like I WAS PEEING! So naturally it was hard to hold still when I felt like I was uncontrollably wetting my pants. When it was over, I would have sworn I peed my pants, but I didn't. What an odd sensation.
Five hours later, they couldn't find anything wrong with me and told us we could go home. FINALLY! While we were getting ready to go, the nurse asked me what I do for a living. I said, "I fight cancer." I thought that was a pretty good answer, though I clarified that I used to be a waitress and am now unemployed. My dad asked me if I didn't like to say I'm unemployed, but I don't care at all. Some of my favorite times of the year are when I'm not working, out traveling and living the life of a lady of leisure.
I decided to stay at my parents' house in case anything went wrong. But nothing did and I feel well today.A little tired, but I took a nap and am trying to focus more on eating right and drinking tons of water. Hope you all have been having better days than I!
What a day!
Monday, August 4, 2008
Post Chemo Update
So my chemo appointment went really well. I wanted to tell you about everything that happened, but first, just know that I'm feeling pretty good today.
When I got there, the nurse called me back to the "chemo room" after a sorta long wait, considering we were a little late already (damn trains). When I got back there, there wasn't a private room free, but Nurse A. (very very nice lady!) said one would free up soon. Other than 5 private rooms, there's one big room full of giant squishy leather La-Z Boy-style chairs, separated into three groupings of about 4 chairs. I wanted a private room not for the privacy, but because Mom, Dad and Susan all came. Anyway, for some setting, I was the youngest person there by about 40 years or something! I was kinda hoping there'd be someone else around me age, just for the comfort factor. But no, it was all gray-hairs. Well, pretty much no-hairs, but what was there was gray. Ha!
So a private room freed up, but before Nurse A. got back, a super old dude and his wife nabbed it. Whatever, I'm not stealing grampa's chemo room. So I chose a chair towards the back to get started so Mom and Susan wouldn't have to see me get stuck by the needle and feel some pain. I was a little anxious because my chemo port is still pretty bruised, but Nurse A. moved quickly. Though it did hurt, it was very brief.
To start, she pushed some saline into my port to make sure it was clear of an obstructions and in functioning mode. Then she took three vials of blood to test my cells and make sure I was clear and ready for chemo. She said I was in great shape for it, since it was my first time.
Then came the icky part, and it's probably not what you think. She gave me a bunch of benadryl through my port, to help ward off allergic reactions. It went in fast and strong, and I felt super duper weird. It was like getting an extra strong dose of extra strong cold medicine, and I got really woozy, groggy and drowsy. It was hard for me to move, open my eyes, speak, do anything, really. And that makes sense because that's pretty much what cold medicine does, and that's sorta what benadryl is. My mouth got dry and I felt weird for the entire process (4 hours, nearly!) and a couple hours after.
Then I got two bags of anti-nausea medicine. Those were fine.
Then the big show, which was a bag of Taxol, my first chemo drug. That went in fine, no bad reactions or anything. And because of the benadryl, I pretty much slept through the whole thing. Talk about boring. So if anyone wants to come to a chemo treatment, just know that I'll probably sleep and you'll probably read or something. Not exciting, but I'm sooo happy I started.
Afterwards I got a shot of blood thinner stuff so platelets wouldn't stick to my catheter attached to my chemo port. Nurse A. took out the needle and the sticker that was holding it in. That hurt a lot because it tore off a little of my surgical glue and my skin is REALLY tender still from my port placement surgery. She gave me some Tylenol (she's an angel) and then I was free to go!
Susan had to drive me to Walgreens to pick up some anti-nausea medicines, which I didn't end up needing today, and embarassing OTC medications for... digestive tract issues. Hopefully those will be unnecessary if I can eat right, at least that's what I'm hoping for. I'm starting to feel a little sickish now, but I think that's because I ate a lot of candy and snacks today. Didn't affect my appetite! I took a nap when I got home, but then started moving around and working on my lovely blog.
I'm anxious to see how Taxol affects me. This first week shouldn't be so bad, but I think the side effects start to pile on top of each other. Only 20 weeks to go! And in 14-ish days, I should be a baldy! :(
All in all though, not an entirely bad day!
When I got there, the nurse called me back to the "chemo room" after a sorta long wait, considering we were a little late already (damn trains). When I got back there, there wasn't a private room free, but Nurse A. (very very nice lady!) said one would free up soon. Other than 5 private rooms, there's one big room full of giant squishy leather La-Z Boy-style chairs, separated into three groupings of about 4 chairs. I wanted a private room not for the privacy, but because Mom, Dad and Susan all came. Anyway, for some setting, I was the youngest person there by about 40 years or something! I was kinda hoping there'd be someone else around me age, just for the comfort factor. But no, it was all gray-hairs. Well, pretty much no-hairs, but what was there was gray. Ha!
So a private room freed up, but before Nurse A. got back, a super old dude and his wife nabbed it. Whatever, I'm not stealing grampa's chemo room. So I chose a chair towards the back to get started so Mom and Susan wouldn't have to see me get stuck by the needle and feel some pain. I was a little anxious because my chemo port is still pretty bruised, but Nurse A. moved quickly. Though it did hurt, it was very brief.
To start, she pushed some saline into my port to make sure it was clear of an obstructions and in functioning mode. Then she took three vials of blood to test my cells and make sure I was clear and ready for chemo. She said I was in great shape for it, since it was my first time.
Then came the icky part, and it's probably not what you think. She gave me a bunch of benadryl through my port, to help ward off allergic reactions. It went in fast and strong, and I felt super duper weird. It was like getting an extra strong dose of extra strong cold medicine, and I got really woozy, groggy and drowsy. It was hard for me to move, open my eyes, speak, do anything, really. And that makes sense because that's pretty much what cold medicine does, and that's sorta what benadryl is. My mouth got dry and I felt weird for the entire process (4 hours, nearly!) and a couple hours after.
Then I got two bags of anti-nausea medicine. Those were fine.
Then the big show, which was a bag of Taxol, my first chemo drug. That went in fine, no bad reactions or anything. And because of the benadryl, I pretty much slept through the whole thing. Talk about boring. So if anyone wants to come to a chemo treatment, just know that I'll probably sleep and you'll probably read or something. Not exciting, but I'm sooo happy I started.
Afterwards I got a shot of blood thinner stuff so platelets wouldn't stick to my catheter attached to my chemo port. Nurse A. took out the needle and the sticker that was holding it in. That hurt a lot because it tore off a little of my surgical glue and my skin is REALLY tender still from my port placement surgery. She gave me some Tylenol (she's an angel) and then I was free to go!
Susan had to drive me to Walgreens to pick up some anti-nausea medicines, which I didn't end up needing today, and embarassing OTC medications for... digestive tract issues. Hopefully those will be unnecessary if I can eat right, at least that's what I'm hoping for. I'm starting to feel a little sickish now, but I think that's because I ate a lot of candy and snacks today. Didn't affect my appetite! I took a nap when I got home, but then started moving around and working on my lovely blog.
I'm anxious to see how Taxol affects me. This first week shouldn't be so bad, but I think the side effects start to pile on top of each other. Only 20 weeks to go! And in 14-ish days, I should be a baldy! :(
All in all though, not an entirely bad day!
Chemo! Finally!
I received three phone calls before breakfast today. The first was a nurse with my insurance company, and she told me the happy news that my chemo treatment has been approved and authorized.
My oncologist called and told me that, yes, my treatment has been authorized and I would receive another call later today about scheduling it for today. She also told me that my PET scan didn't show any surprises, really; there was no sign of cancer in my lungs, liver, or bones, which is really good and indicates the cancer has not spread. PHEW! However, there is one "suspicious" looking lymph node, which is too bad, but we're keeping an eye on it, I guess. I really hope my lymph nodes can be fine because I don't want them to be removed. If they are, there's a chance I'll have to deal with lymphedema, which is sucky.
Then a nurse called, and my first chemo session is scheduled for 11:30. I'm excited to be getting started and finally start kicking some cancer ass, but I'm a little scared for the side affects. I guess in about 14 days I'll be bald! Yipes!
Anyway, more updates to come, and certainly a lot of backtracking because a lot has happened. It's just hard to find time to sit and type because I'm working on moving, and my brother visited, and all sorta of other stuff.
Anyway, send me those warm thoughts and positive vibrations around 11:30 MST!
My oncologist called and told me that, yes, my treatment has been authorized and I would receive another call later today about scheduling it for today. She also told me that my PET scan didn't show any surprises, really; there was no sign of cancer in my lungs, liver, or bones, which is really good and indicates the cancer has not spread. PHEW! However, there is one "suspicious" looking lymph node, which is too bad, but we're keeping an eye on it, I guess. I really hope my lymph nodes can be fine because I don't want them to be removed. If they are, there's a chance I'll have to deal with lymphedema, which is sucky.
Then a nurse called, and my first chemo session is scheduled for 11:30. I'm excited to be getting started and finally start kicking some cancer ass, but I'm a little scared for the side affects. I guess in about 14 days I'll be bald! Yipes!
Anyway, more updates to come, and certainly a lot of backtracking because a lot has happened. It's just hard to find time to sit and type because I'm working on moving, and my brother visited, and all sorta of other stuff.
Anyway, send me those warm thoughts and positive vibrations around 11:30 MST!
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Feeling "Normal," Even If I'm Not
Today was a good day because I was able to do two things that I hadn't been able to do. I washed my hair with both hands, which I couldn't do before because my arm was so sore from my port placement surgery. I also was able to put my hair back in a ponytail all by myself! That saves Sooz from having to do it for me. I'm pleased with my progress.
I met my parents and brother for breakfast and ran into some random acquaintances. I did something with my arms that made my port surgery grossness very noticeable, which was sorta awkward because these people hardly know me and don't know about the whole cancer thing. My left arm looks like this:
I sorta slipped it in that the wounds were from a port placement to get chemo because I have cancer. I don't think they really heard or understood, which is probably for the best.
I worked on moving more stuff into my room and getting settle for this long haul. Wahoo.
Later in the evening, Sooz and I went over to David and Cristi's house for a BBQ. We won at TriBond, which is to be expected (ha) and had a very nice dinner. The hosts gave me the gift of Netflix, which should be really nice in the coming months of fatigue from treatment. What a thoughtful and useful gift! Thanks to them!
I had a good day today because I felt normal. You know, that's the strange thing about this whole disease-- I feel fine most of the time, but I know I'm not fine. I have a serious illness, but life is pretty much the same, minus the daily office visits, the increase in needle sticks, and the two tumors hanging out in my right breast. With cancer, you have to feel icky to get better, which is a really strange concept to me. You have to get sick to get unsick.
Still wondering what will happen with insurance and chemo. I just want to get this all over with and in the past... 20 weeks of chemo treatment is 5 months; I just need to find another way of thinking about that because 5 months is a long freakin' time...
I met my parents and brother for breakfast and ran into some random acquaintances. I did something with my arms that made my port surgery grossness very noticeable, which was sorta awkward because these people hardly know me and don't know about the whole cancer thing. My left arm looks like this:
I sorta slipped it in that the wounds were from a port placement to get chemo because I have cancer. I don't think they really heard or understood, which is probably for the best.
I worked on moving more stuff into my room and getting settle for this long haul. Wahoo.
Later in the evening, Sooz and I went over to David and Cristi's house for a BBQ. We won at TriBond, which is to be expected (ha) and had a very nice dinner. The hosts gave me the gift of Netflix, which should be really nice in the coming months of fatigue from treatment. What a thoughtful and useful gift! Thanks to them!
I had a good day today because I felt normal. You know, that's the strange thing about this whole disease-- I feel fine most of the time, but I know I'm not fine. I have a serious illness, but life is pretty much the same, minus the daily office visits, the increase in needle sticks, and the two tumors hanging out in my right breast. With cancer, you have to feel icky to get better, which is a really strange concept to me. You have to get sick to get unsick.
Still wondering what will happen with insurance and chemo. I just want to get this all over with and in the past... 20 weeks of chemo treatment is 5 months; I just need to find another way of thinking about that because 5 months is a long freakin' time...
Friday, August 1, 2008
The Long Day: PET Scan and Port Placement Surgery
Today was the longest day of cancer crap so far. UGH.
So one of the things that sucked about today actually started the night before. For both of my appointments, I had to fast. No food or water. So after 4:30 a.m. this morning, I couldn't have anything to eat or drink.
I had to be at my PET Scan at 8:15. You may be wondering, "What is a PET Scan?" That's a great question. Click here because I feel too lazy to explain!
After paperwork and paying $965 (which is after insurance!), I went back with a technician dude who gave me an IV. They put radioactive glucose in your veins so they can see what's going on better. The guy missed my vein in my arm, which was weird because I've heard I have great veins, and had to put it in my hand. Oh well. After that, I was to sit in a nice chair and be as still as possible. The cancer cells are supposed to eat the radioactive glucose to show where metabolic activity is going on, so you're not supposed to move so you don't create any extra metabolic activity (I think...). So I got those nice heated blankets ( I LOVE THOSE!) and leaned back for an hour.
Then they came to get me. The machine is another big donut tube thing. They got me situated on my back and told me to hold still. The tech asked if I wanted updates on the time, and I said it would be nice to know when we were half done and 3/4 done. I closed my eyes for it, even though I wasn't sure if I had to or not. I was tired! And hungry! Anyway, the bed I was on moved in and out of the tube, and that, along with the hunger factor, made me pretty motion sick. It only took about 30 minutes or so, and when I was done, they had a little gift bag for me with a book of quotations, snacks, and little bottle of water. Which I couldn't have until AFTER my port placement. ARRR!
The PET Scan finished on time, which was great. We had plenty of time to get to Denver for my port placement. I had to call to pre-register on the way down, which proved more difficult than originally assessed because my cell phone kept cutting in and out of service. Once that was done, though, I was able to just waltz through the hospital (Rose Medical) straight back to radiology.
We made it on time, which was a big relief. But in the end, it wasn't that big of a deal because the surgeon was like an hour and a half late. When I got there, they set me up with an IV. They dripped some saline in for a while, and then when it was closer to time for my surgery they but in a bag of antibiotics. I had to wait in a little bed for what seemed like forever, but I suppose it was probably only two hours or something.
The surgeon finally showed up and explained a little about the procedure. He showed me what the port looks like, and here's a photo for you folks at home. I was going to be given a combination of a narcotic (wheeee!) and a pain killer, which would make me nice and loopy but not unconscious. Some people sleep, and some don't. I was sorta in the middle.
So they wheeled me off in my little bed down to the surgical room. It was a weird little room with a big X-ray machine. I had to switch from my nice warm bed to a cold, hard bed. They started to get me ready by putting on a funny papery hat on me, a mask and oxygen tubes up my nose. I also had a heart rate monitor and a blood pressure squeezer on me. On my left arm, where the port was to be placed, they cleaned the area with some blue stuff and put drapes all over me.
When the doctor got there, they gave me drugs. I kinda remember them asking me how I was doing, and I said something like, "I'm fine, but the ceiling is doing something really weird." It was moving and melting and sliding around. Maybe I should do drugs more often... Anyway, the doctor had to anesthetize the area with lidocaine, which meant more needle injections in my skin. But after that, I couldn't feel too much. I think I slept for a bit, but I woke up before they were done and asked some questions. The doctors sorta ignored me and sorta answered, which was annoying. It hurt when they were pushing in the port (at least I think that was what they were doing). And I could feel him putting in the stitches; not pain, just the feeling of the thread going through my skin.
I'm now realizing that there was a chunk of this surgery that I don't remember at all... darn drugs... so maybe click here to learn more about ports.
When they were done, I had to switch back to my bed with the wheels so they could wheel me back. I have no idea why, I think it was probably the medicine, but I started crying and couldn't stop. I was shaking really hard and felt weak, woozy and cold. And the tears just kept coming. The nurse was a little alarmed, but I told her I was OK and I didn't know why I was crying. She thought maybe it was the sight of my arm, which admittedly was a bit disturbing because it was all scary looking. Anyway, I was glad that my parents had gone for a cruise around the hospital so they wouldn't see me upset. Not that they'd mind or anything, it's just that I wasn't upset, I was just somehow acting upset. WEIRD.
When I got settled in, I asked for something to eat because I was starving. It was probably 3:30 or something and I hadn't eaten since dinner the night before due to all the fasting. I got a little cup of peaches and some cranberry juice. It was delicious. I told the nurse that my arm really hurt because it did, and she said maybe I could have some percocet. I thought that sounded great. So she told the doctor, but he said no, just Tylenol. Booo. He came over and I told him it hurt. He said I bled more than usual during the surgery. Whatever. He said to try to move my arm around, and I did so weakly BECAUSE IT HURT. And he said to move it around more, showing me by bending his arm all the way up and down. I tried, but got maybe halfway and it really hurt. I started to really dislike this guy because I told him my arm hurt and he told me to do something that made it hurt more. How hard would it have been to just give me a little extra pain killer? Anyway, he said Tylenol would be OK, but nobody gave me any at the hospital before I left.
After a bit, the nurse was wondering where my parents were, and I reminded her that they were waiting out in the other waiting room and that she had said she'd tell them when I got back. She remembered and went to get them. They seemed happy to see me and didn't know I had already been there for about half an hour. I showed them my nasty arm.
The nurse gave me some discharge and aftercare information. We got me all put back together and got the hell out of dodge.
The car ride home was kinda rotten because my arm was aching and my dad kept talking and talking and talking. I was grumpy because it had been a long day and I don't deal especially well with pain. I snapped at him, and I think I hurt his feelings, which I apologized for, but all I wanted to do was sleep in the car so I wouldn't have to feel my arm hurting.
When we got back, I took a nap and woke up feeling better. Since my brother was there, we all went out for dinner, and that was nice. I just made sure everyone knew that I couldn't have one of those 2-hour dinners because I wasn't up to it. But dinner was good.
Since I'm writing this way after it happened, I should note that my arm was really sore for about three days-- I couldn't put my own hair back or wash my hair with both hands for that long. But after three days I was able to use my arm a lot more. The surgical glue stayed on for a long time... there's still a little stuck on and it's been two weeks. And the bruising is still there too, but that should fade someday soon...
What a day. Glad it's in the past. But now I have my port and I'm ready to chemo!
So one of the things that sucked about today actually started the night before. For both of my appointments, I had to fast. No food or water. So after 4:30 a.m. this morning, I couldn't have anything to eat or drink.
I had to be at my PET Scan at 8:15. You may be wondering, "What is a PET Scan?" That's a great question. Click here because I feel too lazy to explain!
After paperwork and paying $965 (which is after insurance!), I went back with a technician dude who gave me an IV. They put radioactive glucose in your veins so they can see what's going on better. The guy missed my vein in my arm, which was weird because I've heard I have great veins, and had to put it in my hand. Oh well. After that, I was to sit in a nice chair and be as still as possible. The cancer cells are supposed to eat the radioactive glucose to show where metabolic activity is going on, so you're not supposed to move so you don't create any extra metabolic activity (I think...). So I got those nice heated blankets ( I LOVE THOSE!) and leaned back for an hour.
Then they came to get me. The machine is another big donut tube thing. They got me situated on my back and told me to hold still. The tech asked if I wanted updates on the time, and I said it would be nice to know when we were half done and 3/4 done. I closed my eyes for it, even though I wasn't sure if I had to or not. I was tired! And hungry! Anyway, the bed I was on moved in and out of the tube, and that, along with the hunger factor, made me pretty motion sick. It only took about 30 minutes or so, and when I was done, they had a little gift bag for me with a book of quotations, snacks, and little bottle of water. Which I couldn't have until AFTER my port placement. ARRR!
The PET Scan finished on time, which was great. We had plenty of time to get to Denver for my port placement. I had to call to pre-register on the way down, which proved more difficult than originally assessed because my cell phone kept cutting in and out of service. Once that was done, though, I was able to just waltz through the hospital (Rose Medical) straight back to radiology.
We made it on time, which was a big relief. But in the end, it wasn't that big of a deal because the surgeon was like an hour and a half late. When I got there, they set me up with an IV. They dripped some saline in for a while, and then when it was closer to time for my surgery they but in a bag of antibiotics. I had to wait in a little bed for what seemed like forever, but I suppose it was probably only two hours or something.
The surgeon finally showed up and explained a little about the procedure. He showed me what the port looks like, and here's a photo for you folks at home. I was going to be given a combination of a narcotic (wheeee!) and a pain killer, which would make me nice and loopy but not unconscious. Some people sleep, and some don't. I was sorta in the middle.
So they wheeled me off in my little bed down to the surgical room. It was a weird little room with a big X-ray machine. I had to switch from my nice warm bed to a cold, hard bed. They started to get me ready by putting on a funny papery hat on me, a mask and oxygen tubes up my nose. I also had a heart rate monitor and a blood pressure squeezer on me. On my left arm, where the port was to be placed, they cleaned the area with some blue stuff and put drapes all over me.
When the doctor got there, they gave me drugs. I kinda remember them asking me how I was doing, and I said something like, "I'm fine, but the ceiling is doing something really weird." It was moving and melting and sliding around. Maybe I should do drugs more often... Anyway, the doctor had to anesthetize the area with lidocaine, which meant more needle injections in my skin. But after that, I couldn't feel too much. I think I slept for a bit, but I woke up before they were done and asked some questions. The doctors sorta ignored me and sorta answered, which was annoying. It hurt when they were pushing in the port (at least I think that was what they were doing). And I could feel him putting in the stitches; not pain, just the feeling of the thread going through my skin.
I'm now realizing that there was a chunk of this surgery that I don't remember at all... darn drugs... so maybe click here to learn more about ports.
When they were done, I had to switch back to my bed with the wheels so they could wheel me back. I have no idea why, I think it was probably the medicine, but I started crying and couldn't stop. I was shaking really hard and felt weak, woozy and cold. And the tears just kept coming. The nurse was a little alarmed, but I told her I was OK and I didn't know why I was crying. She thought maybe it was the sight of my arm, which admittedly was a bit disturbing because it was all scary looking. Anyway, I was glad that my parents had gone for a cruise around the hospital so they wouldn't see me upset. Not that they'd mind or anything, it's just that I wasn't upset, I was just somehow acting upset. WEIRD.
When I got settled in, I asked for something to eat because I was starving. It was probably 3:30 or something and I hadn't eaten since dinner the night before due to all the fasting. I got a little cup of peaches and some cranberry juice. It was delicious. I told the nurse that my arm really hurt because it did, and she said maybe I could have some percocet. I thought that sounded great. So she told the doctor, but he said no, just Tylenol. Booo. He came over and I told him it hurt. He said I bled more than usual during the surgery. Whatever. He said to try to move my arm around, and I did so weakly BECAUSE IT HURT. And he said to move it around more, showing me by bending his arm all the way up and down. I tried, but got maybe halfway and it really hurt. I started to really dislike this guy because I told him my arm hurt and he told me to do something that made it hurt more. How hard would it have been to just give me a little extra pain killer? Anyway, he said Tylenol would be OK, but nobody gave me any at the hospital before I left.
After a bit, the nurse was wondering where my parents were, and I reminded her that they were waiting out in the other waiting room and that she had said she'd tell them when I got back. She remembered and went to get them. They seemed happy to see me and didn't know I had already been there for about half an hour. I showed them my nasty arm.
The nurse gave me some discharge and aftercare information. We got me all put back together and got the hell out of dodge.
The car ride home was kinda rotten because my arm was aching and my dad kept talking and talking and talking. I was grumpy because it had been a long day and I don't deal especially well with pain. I snapped at him, and I think I hurt his feelings, which I apologized for, but all I wanted to do was sleep in the car so I wouldn't have to feel my arm hurting.
When we got back, I took a nap and woke up feeling better. Since my brother was there, we all went out for dinner, and that was nice. I just made sure everyone knew that I couldn't have one of those 2-hour dinners because I wasn't up to it. But dinner was good.
Since I'm writing this way after it happened, I should note that my arm was really sore for about three days-- I couldn't put my own hair back or wash my hair with both hands for that long. But after three days I was able to use my arm a lot more. The surgical glue stayed on for a long time... there's still a little stuck on and it's been two weeks. And the bruising is still there too, but that should fade someday soon...
What a day. Glad it's in the past. But now I have my port and I'm ready to chemo!
EKG
Today's big cancer-related appointment was an EKG. An EKG is essentially an ultrasound of the heart, so there's no pain or needles or anything, just some cold gel. It hurt me a little, just because my arm was still pretty sore from my port placement, but nothing to write home about. The technician took pictures with her little machine and measured some things, and when the machine played the sounds of my heart beating, it sounded like plunging the toilet. It only took a few minutes and I was out of there to start living my life!
I went to see Hancock with my bro and mom. OK movie but not great. Lately (as in maybe the last year or so) I can't watch violent movies or movies where the camera moves around too much. It gives me motion sickness. It's weird, but I get a strong urge to vomit at these types of movies (such as The Bourne Ultimatum... ugh).
I tried to call my insurance company because I got a message saying that they had not authorized my chemo treatment. The woman at my oncologist's office assured me that it would get worked out on Monday, as my doctor was on vacation and would fix everything when she got back. I was a little annoyed because my chemo appointment was for 9:00 on Monday, and I really wanted to get started. But I'm not really worried that it won't go through; it just seems to be some sort of miscommunication, or at least that's what the insurance coordinator on the phone led me to believe.
I went over to my parents' house to have some sandwiches and hang out with my brother. It was a nice night together.
I went to see Hancock with my bro and mom. OK movie but not great. Lately (as in maybe the last year or so) I can't watch violent movies or movies where the camera moves around too much. It gives me motion sickness. It's weird, but I get a strong urge to vomit at these types of movies (such as The Bourne Ultimatum... ugh).
I tried to call my insurance company because I got a message saying that they had not authorized my chemo treatment. The woman at my oncologist's office assured me that it would get worked out on Monday, as my doctor was on vacation and would fix everything when she got back. I was a little annoyed because my chemo appointment was for 9:00 on Monday, and I really wanted to get started. But I'm not really worried that it won't go through; it just seems to be some sort of miscommunication, or at least that's what the insurance coordinator on the phone led me to believe.
I went over to my parents' house to have some sandwiches and hang out with my brother. It was a nice night together.
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