Treatment week 1 recap
Tuesday, December 5th, 2017
I am wrapping up the initial week of my treatment. I only had the initial chemo treatment last Wednesday which Carmen discussed earlier. It was much the same from my perspective. Chemotherapy starts with a pre-loading of Benedryl, steroids, and other drugs to counter any allergic reactions that may occur. This pre-loading gave me the sensation that I had always imagined would be the result of being shot with a tranquilizer dart, the sudden and rapid descent from a clear, lucid mind to feeling like I am swimming underwater. The weight on my eyes was unbearably heavy. After a forced nap for about an hour, the grogginess gradually lifted, and I was able to rejoin the world. The staff called that IV injection the "Happy Juice". I didn't care for it. Maybe next time I won't resist as hard as I first tried to. The staff were very friendly and attentive, to the extent that they acknowledged that my feelings of being stared at and watched were not a figment of my paranoia. The chemotherapy drugs themselves did not have any particular effects that I could discern, for which I was grateful. It was much better to have my boring experience than the rush and trauma that unfolded twice during our visit to two other patrons who did have reactions.
During this time, I had the great opportunity to meet a fellow submarine veteran. Curtis is a sonar technician senior chief who had retired before I joined the Navy and had lived the last couple of decades on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. We discussed the local chapter of SubVets and swapped some old lies...er.... sea stories and reminisced about the good old bad days. Besides Curtis, however, the clientele was not too lively. I'll have to see if there is something I can do to bring some energy into the chemotherapy room.
Last Friday, I had an additional minor surgery to insert a "power port" into my chest. I told my grandsons that it was part of my transformation into becoming a cyborg, but in reality it is a contraption that makes my ongoing treatment more convenient for the medical staff and less painful for me (in theory). Essentially, it is a device that allows repeated IV injections without having to find a viable vein in my arms. The nature of my treatment will degrade the usefulness of my veins over time and this port provides a direct line to my jugular vein. I spent the weekend in a great deal of discomfort and decided that since I have had surgeries on both sides of my neck, with the loss of mobility one might expect, that I should just go ahead and have bolts placed there to complete the Frankenstein effect.
Today I went back to the Thompson Cancer Survival Center to have a "Dress Rehearsal" for the radiation treatment. This was to verify that the mask I had made earlier still fit correctly and to fine-tune my placement on the table to ensure that what was supposed to be irradiated was hit properly. Being in the mask and latched to the table is quite constraining. I am not able to move my head or talk at all. I am sure the technicians, Tony and Anne, appreciate the benefits that come with having their clientele gagged, but I was less than enthusiastic.
Outside of the treatment this week, I have felt great. I can understand how someone could ignore the initial lump I found and proceed on with life thinking that everything was fine. Not being proactive in self-care is how these cancers progress into life threatening cases. One great benefit of having cancer has been immediately apparent around my house. All of the deadlines on my honey-do list have been accelerated. Carmen and I have made great strides in the remodeling of our basement. The threat of impeding doom is a great motivator.
Tomorrow, I start into the real meat of my treatment. I will have my second chemotherapy treatment followed by the initial radiation dosage. I will have radiation treatment five times a week for the next seven weeks. This is the part of my cancer management that will be the most brutal. The first two weeks will likely not impact me greatly, but as it progresses, I will be increasingly miserable. Cheers!
I am wrapping up the initial week of my treatment. I only had the initial chemo treatment last Wednesday which Carmen discussed earlier. It was much the same from my perspective. Chemotherapy starts with a pre-loading of Benedryl, steroids, and other drugs to counter any allergic reactions that may occur. This pre-loading gave me the sensation that I had always imagined would be the result of being shot with a tranquilizer dart, the sudden and rapid descent from a clear, lucid mind to feeling like I am swimming underwater. The weight on my eyes was unbearably heavy. After a forced nap for about an hour, the grogginess gradually lifted, and I was able to rejoin the world. The staff called that IV injection the "Happy Juice". I didn't care for it. Maybe next time I won't resist as hard as I first tried to. The staff were very friendly and attentive, to the extent that they acknowledged that my feelings of being stared at and watched were not a figment of my paranoia. The chemotherapy drugs themselves did not have any particular effects that I could discern, for which I was grateful. It was much better to have my boring experience than the rush and trauma that unfolded twice during our visit to two other patrons who did have reactions.
During this time, I had the great opportunity to meet a fellow submarine veteran. Curtis is a sonar technician senior chief who had retired before I joined the Navy and had lived the last couple of decades on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. We discussed the local chapter of SubVets and swapped some old lies...er.... sea stories and reminisced about the good old bad days. Besides Curtis, however, the clientele was not too lively. I'll have to see if there is something I can do to bring some energy into the chemotherapy room.
 |
| upgraded to the "power port" |
Today I went back to the Thompson Cancer Survival Center to have a "Dress Rehearsal" for the radiation treatment. This was to verify that the mask I had made earlier still fit correctly and to fine-tune my placement on the table to ensure that what was supposed to be irradiated was hit properly. Being in the mask and latched to the table is quite constraining. I am not able to move my head or talk at all. I am sure the technicians, Tony and Anne, appreciate the benefits that come with having their clientele gagged, but I was less than enthusiastic.Outside of the treatment this week, I have felt great. I can understand how someone could ignore the initial lump I found and proceed on with life thinking that everything was fine. Not being proactive in self-care is how these cancers progress into life threatening cases. One great benefit of having cancer has been immediately apparent around my house. All of the deadlines on my honey-do list have been accelerated. Carmen and I have made great strides in the remodeling of our basement. The threat of impeding doom is a great motivator.
Tomorrow, I start into the real meat of my treatment. I will have my second chemotherapy treatment followed by the initial radiation dosage. I will have radiation treatment five times a week for the next seven weeks. This is the part of my cancer management that will be the most brutal. The first two weeks will likely not impact me greatly, but as it progresses, I will be increasingly miserable. Cheers!
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