Chemo Number Three

[SPOILER ALERT: Some readers may find one of the pictures in this post upsetting. If you don't want to see what chemo has done to me, stop reading.]

I went in for Chemo Number Three today, and it started out as a real cluster fuck.

I had forgotten that I am supposed to get lab work done before each session - and since, up until yesterday, I had been feeling so badly, it just hadn't happened. So instead of going in at 8:30, I showed up at Kaiser at 8 AM to get a blood draw. The lab can process the results in about an hour, so we figured it would not screw up the timing too much. 

My back has been pretty sore, so after walking to the lab, we decided that I should use a push chair, and Tom could shove me around (like always.) 

We went up to the Infusion Center, and once the lab results came in, there was great consternation. My white blood cell count had jumped up alarmingly, and my bilirubin numbers were somewhat elevated as well. Because of the GI issues I have been having, I lost 9 pounds over the last three weeks, and because I was in the push chair, the nurses assumed that I was weak and frail. 

I have no sign of an infection, however - no elevated temperatures, nothing feeling screwed up. My kidney numbers were all fine, which is good news. 

So finally, after consulting with the pharmacist, my oncologist called me. She asked how I was doing, and I told her how much better I was feeling as of yesterday, and that I was fine with proceeding with the chemo. She said that the best indicator of what to do comes from me.

She and I had already decided to reduce the amount of Etoposide thjey were giving me (to drop the pills for the subsequent two days) but she decided that maybe the amount they were giving me as an infusion was too toxic for me as well. So, she made some adjustments in the amount (from 200 mg to 99 mg.) This felt like the right decision - particularly the fact that she didn't drop to 100, but went to 99. 99 and Hymie were my two favorite characters on "Get Smart", so I figured having Barbara Feldon on my side couldn't hurt.

When it all started happening, I admit to having a few minutes of terror - I told Tom, "Great, now they send me home to die." But my oncologist dispelled those thoughts, and told me not to get freaked out. She said, "This is part of the normal process - finding what different people can tolerate. We're finding it for you. Hang in there."

So we started the chemo.  

Getting an infusion is a pretty dull process, and the last two times, I have responded to it by sleeping. I must have slept two hours, bolstered by pillows feeling very out of it. The emotions of earlier clearly had taken a toll, and I was really tired.

At one point, the nurse gave me some pills to take, in one of those paper cups they dispense them in After taking the pills, I stuck the cup on my head. I guess the fact that most of my hair is gone really worked, because the cup stayed there for the rest of the time I was there. Tom suggested we take a picture, so I held up my left arm (where the IV was inserted) and tried to look like I was at least somewhat awake.

Okay, I get it: if you haven't seen me since I got sick, this looks kind of scary (even with the cup perched on my head.) I certainly am no Barbara Feldon in this picture! Believe it or not, despite having an IV in my arm, my back hurting, having lost of ton of weight and being chock full o' toxic chemicals, this is what "feeling good" looks like in my world today. The hair really is the most amazing ting: After all those years of having more hair than anyone, it's weird to be so close to bald. But I kind of like it, it's certainly easy to take care of!

So now we wait and see how I do. I think this is going to be easier - last time, I seem to recall that, by the time I got home, I felt like total crap. I really hope I can coast on through Chemo Three and a) feel relatively normal and b) et some good results in knocking back the cancer.

Stay tuned on both fronts.