Yesterday, I received my 6th chemotherapy treatment, out of 12. The day was uneventful. As per the routine, my visit began with registering my vital signs - weight, temperature, heart rate, oxygen saturation levels and blood pressure – all were normal. From there, a quick blood draw (and relatively painless thanks to my “port”) to check liver and kidney functions and get a complete blood count. Again, fortunately all the results were within the acceptable ranges, given the circumstances, clearing the way and “qualifying” me to move forward with the day’s planned chemotherapy.
Chemotherapy has a significant impact on one’s immune system and white blood cells. Since the chemo drugs can’t decipher between cancer cells, and healthy cells, they do their best to kill everything. It’s been interesting to watch how my white blood cells react and the counts fluctuate from week to week throughout the cycles. The doctors have been tracking these counts to identify a pattern and some predictability as to when I hit my highs and lows within each cycle. The all important neutrophil counts are their main focus. Neutrophils are the part of your white blood cells that kill and digest microorganisms and fight infection. So when these are low, (almost always now), certain precautions need to be followed to limit my exposure to bacteria and potential illnesses. All food must be cooked to 160 degrees F (boy, I really miss the medium rare steaks!), fresh fruits and vegetables are off the menu too – it seems counter-intuitive, but evidently there’s just too much bacteria for my body to handle. And I also need to be careful about subjecting myself to large crowds and potentially sick people (way too obvious, but they find the need to keep reminding me of that). Hand sanitizer has become ubiquitous, at home, in the car and in my office.
Overall, I feel ok. I am able to function just fine on most days. However, I can now sense the gradual toxic accumulation of the chemo drugs. Nausea, peripheral neuropathy, and fatigue are all part of everyday life to some degree. I guess a small price to pay, with all things considered.
Hopefully, the next 6 treatments will be tolerated as well as the first 6 and I can then get back to the more enjoyable things in life (like medium rare steaks!).
I’ll write again when I have something worth sharing. Thank you for reading, and as I asked before, please go out and do something positive today, hug a loved one and count your blessings.
Glenn
Friday, June 19, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
Book I, Genesis, In the Beginning (of my story -- not the Biblical version)
I figured that a good place to start would be in the beginning. Many of you know my story to some degree, but this can fill in the missing pieces. I'll try not to get too detailed as to make this blog like "War and Peace", just give you the highlights from November to today. But, beware since it has been 6+ months - this 1st entry could be long.
It all started with a cough that developed in early November 2008. In December, I finally went to the doctor to have him check me out since the cough had now persisted for over a month . The cough had gone from a dry, nuisance cough to a deeper more "productive" cough, so I thought it was best to get the advice of my PCP (and perhaps some antibiotics).
Upon examination, the doctor felt there a good chance of pneumonia and prescribed a Z-Pack and sent me for a chest x-ray. Pneumonia was confirmed, but the radiologist also saw something irregular on the x-ray...looked like a shadow on my heart and he suggested another chest x-ray after the pneumonia had cleared.
A couple of weeks later, I went for the follow-up x-ray and Dr.'s visit. At this point I received good news. The antibiotics had done their job and my lungs were clear from the pneumonia. The radiologists report said that after reviewing the 2nd x-ray, they felt the shadow on my heart, was just a shadow -- perhaps due to the angle of the x-ray - and since I did not have any cardiac related history nor symptoms, it was likely nothing for concern.
I felt like I dodged a bullet there and went on with my life...for a couple more weeks anyway. The original, dry persistent cough was still there, so back to the Dr. I went. He seemed a bit perplexed and thought that there may be some residual inflammation from the pneumonia. He put me on an inhaler along with the steroid prednisone to reduce the inflammation.
It was now late December and I was still coughing like I was in early November. The inhaler and prednisone had proven ineffective. I went back to the doctor and asked whether a CT Scan may be in order to check out my lungs in greater detail. He agreed that was a good next step and scheduled a CT Scan.
On January 7th, 2009 I reported to the MetroWest radiology department for my CT Scan. After filling out a ream of paperwork that contained my medical history and current prescription list (at that point, both very limited), I was greeted by the radiology technician who would be performing the CT Scan. As we entered the CT room, he asked me several follow-on questions, one which I thought odd at the moment. He asked "are you allergic to shellfish?", my knee jerk reaction was to answer his question with my own, "oh are we having lunch too?" We shared a quick chuckle and then he explained to me that to get better imaging of my chest and the vascular system, they would be injecting a dye (called contrast) into my system about half way through the CT scan.
The word "injecting" did not thrill me, because, even though I am not a doctor, I was pretty sure they needed to use a needle for that, and quite frankly, I don't like needles, at all! But I figured, I would just suck it up and get on with it. The radiologist tech then also said, "by the way, when I inject the contrast, you may feel a very warm, slightly uncomfortable sensation as the contrast flows through your body. First at the injection site, then in your chest and then in your groin"...he went on to say, "oh and you also may feel that your bladder has let loose, but that's just a sensation, it won't actually happen". Just great, I couldn't help to think that along with the hospital gowns, Depends should become standard issue for this test. Luckily, the needle turned out to be painless and the contrast, although warm, never produced the aforementioned sensation.
It took about a week or so for the results of the CT scan to get back to my doctor. When he called me, I could tell his tone was a bit more concerned. He said that the CT had clearly shown that the shadow on my heart was indeed not a shadow, but rather what he thought was an enlarged thymus gland. This was odd since the thymus gland is pretty much non-existent in adults. When you're a kid, it is responsible for helping to build your immune system by developing T-cells. As you approach adulthood, its function is complete and begins to atrophy, eventually shrinks to a very small bit of fatty tissue. In my case, the thymus was quite large, they estimated somewhere around 8cm x 4cm. The doctor wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but thought it could be "thymic hyperplasia" (an abnormal enlargement of the thymus gland) or a "thymoma" (a slow growing tumor within the thymus gland); but he was sure that I needed to see a thoracic surgeon to get this properly diagnosed.
My first step was to Google "thymic hyperplasia" and "thymoma" to try to get a better understanding of what they actually were, get my head around the likely treatment protocol and then inform Carolyn of the findings.
On January 20th Carolyn and I went to see a thoracic surgeon at the "Chest Disease Center" at the Beth Israel Deaconess Hospital in Boston. The surgeon said that it looked more like a thymoma, a tumor growing inside of the the thymus gland. He mentioned several other remote possibilities but felt it was likely a thymoma. The good news was that thymomas are typically benign 60-70% of the time.
We discussed treatment options and quickly agreed that surgery was the best alternative. The surgeon felt that there was a good chance that he could remove the mass with a minimally invasive, video camera assisted procedure through a couple of key hole size incisions...unless he couldn't get a clear view of the entire area, then we would go the traditional route, sternotomy.
I took the month of February to get all of my ducks in a row and then on March 4th I had surgery to remove the tumor and the thymus gland as well. Although they initially hoped to remove it through a minimally invasive procedure, in the end they had to perform a sternotomy (creating a 7 inch incision in the middle of my chest, cutting through the sternum, spreading ribs, etc.) to be able to safely and thoroughly access and remove all of the mass. It turned out to be even larger than the CT scan had estimated, 11cm x 10 cm x 4cm. They were able to remove all of the tumor, but the mass had also invaded the right phrenic nerve, so that had to be severed and removed as well. You have two phrenic nerves that connect to your diaphragm and control the expansion and contraction of the diaphragm and facilitate lung function. So, as a result, the right side of my diaphragm is now "paralyzed" and the lower and mid portion of my right lung are not working to full capacity. However, the surgeon feels that over time, my body will compensate and lung function will improve to the point where I won't notice the difference -short of trying to run a marathon. (...by the way, not in my plans anyway).
I was in the hospital for 6 days following surgery. It was a very slow, and painful recovery. Since my lung functions had been compromised I was sent home with oxygen (and a lot of pain meds). The Visiting Nurses came by regularly to check my vitals, inspect my incision and report on my overall progress.
On March 17th we had a follow up appointment with the surgeon. The results from pathology were in. Much to our surprise, the mass was not thymic hyperplasia or thymoma, the mass was malignant (cancer) and I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma. From there, I don't remember much of the conversation, because the rest of the words that followed were just white noise. I left with an appointment to see an Oncologist to discuss treatment options. What I thought was done and over with, was really just beginning.
On March 20th, Carolyn and I went to meet an oncologist within the The Hematologic Malignancies Department at Beth Israel Deaconess Hospital's Cancer Center. We were there for many hours mostly waiting to see the doctor and didn't realize that he was squeezing us in as a favor to his surgeon. He confirmed the results as being Hodgkin's Lymphoma.
He did a physical exam and didn't feel any lumps in the area of other glands throughout my body. However, a PET Scan and Bone Marrow Biopsy would be needed to give a more accurate depiction of what is going on elsewhere and stage the disease. In addition to these two tests I also had an echo-cardiogram and a pulmonary lung function test. These two tests act as a baseline assessment and will be monitored through chemotherapy, as the chemo can have some negative effects on the heart and lungs.
Completed the PET Scan and Echo-cardiogram on March 30th and the Bone Marrow biopsy (ouch) on the 31st. The result were quite favorable! No other signs of the disease in any other locations, chemotherapy will now begin to make sure it stays that way.
Throughout this whole ordeal, Carolyn and I have been very open with the kids (Julia 12, Paige 10, and Brett 8) about what is going on. We try to share as much information as possible so they understand and can feel comfortable with what they can at their respective ages. We felt that it was so important that they understand that even though I have cancer, the type of cancer is treatable and has a very high cure rate, as high as 90%. We've discussed chemotherapy and what they can expect as potential side-effects. I believe that Carolyn may have already shared this story with many of you, but it's a classic, so definitely worth repeating.
One night, right before I started chemo, Paige, age 10, and I were reviewing the information sheets on each of the 4 chemotherapy drugs that I would be receiving. Previously, she was most concerned with the potential of me losing my hair, but she's starting to deal with that. However, we got to another section of the paper and in bold print, one of the side effects of the drugs jumped out at her, it said "Ability to have children may be affected by this medicine". I could see the concern on her face growing and then she quietly asked, "Does this mean that Julia, Brett and I will have to leave?" After about ten minutes of laughter, I reassured her that they could stay, but not to expect any new siblings...funny. Kids are great. At the end of the day, that's what keeps me going.
On April 7th, I began my first chemotherapy session. I will have 12 treatments, one every-other week for the next 6 months. The chemo "cocktail" is comprised of 4 different drugs, all pretty toxic and most of which cause nausea, so keeping that in check, will be a top priority. After the first treatment, I chose to switch my visits to Thursdays, so I could have the weekend to recoup and hopefully get into the office the following week. Before each chemo treatment and on the off-weeks, I need to have my blood drawn so they can check my blood cell counts, kidney and liver functions etc. As I mention earlier, I don't like needles, but I really really don't like having my blood drawn.
The 1st day of chemo was unpleasant to say the least. First we started with the blood draw. Within a couple of minutes following my blood draw, my blood pressure dropped to somewhere around 69/30. The girl taking my vitals, asked if I was OK and then went to tell the nurse... well I took about 5 steps back to my seat, the nurse came over, said I didn't look too good and then the next thing I knew was on my knees, on the floor. It was a first, but apparently I had fainted -- see, I told you I really really don't like having my blood drawn. They moved me to a wheel chair and then a reclining chair, got my feet elevated and gave me some juice. Within minutes I had pretty much every nurse in the place surrounding me to make sure I wasn't going to code on them. It probably took another couple of minutes and my blood pressure was back to normal.
To be on the safe side, the doctor ordered an EKG, which was fine, and then we moved on to chemo. The first attempt to find a vein was extraordinarily painful. They like to start as low as possible (near the hand) and then work their way up your arm. The first needle went into a large vein on the side of my wrist, right below my thumb. It felt like the nurse hit a nerve along the way. Fortunately or unfortunately, she was unable to get a sufficient blood return and decided to abandon this vein. Given the events of the day thus far, I think she was fairly spooked, so she called in some back-up and paged the "IV nurse". After a quick assessment of my veins, the IV nurse chose to move up to mid forearm --- with success.
So, based upon the day's experience and the anticipation of being stuck by a needle a minimum of 78 times over the next 6 months, I decided to have a porta-catheter (aka a "port") surgically implanted in my chest. This is a small device placed right under the skin in the upper chest. It has a small, round, drum-like receptacle with a tube that feeds directly into a large vein in my chest. All blood draws and chemo therapy infusions can go through the port, so this should reduce the number of needle sticks from 78 down to around 26, plus it will save the veins in my arms from the weekly abuse and toxicity of the chemo.
For the sake of time, and your blurred vision, I will now fast-forward to today, Friday June 5th.
Yesterday, I received my 5th chemotherapy infusion. The port has worked out great, needle sticks and blood draws have become non-issues and even though certainly not pleasant, they don't bother me any more.
The past 2 months have been filled with a lot of "stuff". More PET Scans, MRIs, Pulmonary Function tests and even a bout of Strep throat (I got that while already on antibiotics - go figure). I have learned to coordinate the 13 different prescriptions I've been given; when to take what, what I can't take when I'm taking another one and which one's to avoid if I want to be able to maintain any reasonable semblance of cognitive ability.
There are good days and there are not-so-good days, but as a whole, the side effects have been manageable. The anti-nausea meds have been fairly effective. So far, there's been only one day where I found myself counting bathroom floor tiles as I marveled about the convenience of indoor plumbing. And on that day, I think the vomiting was more related to a migraine headache that I awoke with, rather than directly from the chemo.
The other side-effects are annoying, but I am learning to deal with them too: moderate hair loss, peripheral neuropathy and fatigue. My biggest challenge seems to be my inability to sleep. I am working on fixing that too, but in the meantime if you see a blog entry that was posted in the middle of the night, you'll know why.
Enough for today (actually way more than enough). Now, for anyone who has made it this far into this entry, go out and do something positive today, hug a loved one and count your blessings.
It all started with a cough that developed in early November 2008. In December, I finally went to the doctor to have him check me out since the cough had now persisted for over a month . The cough had gone from a dry, nuisance cough to a deeper more "productive" cough, so I thought it was best to get the advice of my PCP (and perhaps some antibiotics).
Upon examination, the doctor felt there a good chance of pneumonia and prescribed a Z-Pack and sent me for a chest x-ray. Pneumonia was confirmed, but the radiologist also saw something irregular on the x-ray...looked like a shadow on my heart and he suggested another chest x-ray after the pneumonia had cleared.
A couple of weeks later, I went for the follow-up x-ray and Dr.'s visit. At this point I received good news. The antibiotics had done their job and my lungs were clear from the pneumonia. The radiologists report said that after reviewing the 2nd x-ray, they felt the shadow on my heart, was just a shadow -- perhaps due to the angle of the x-ray - and since I did not have any cardiac related history nor symptoms, it was likely nothing for concern.
I felt like I dodged a bullet there and went on with my life...for a couple more weeks anyway. The original, dry persistent cough was still there, so back to the Dr. I went. He seemed a bit perplexed and thought that there may be some residual inflammation from the pneumonia. He put me on an inhaler along with the steroid prednisone to reduce the inflammation.
It was now late December and I was still coughing like I was in early November. The inhaler and prednisone had proven ineffective. I went back to the doctor and asked whether a CT Scan may be in order to check out my lungs in greater detail. He agreed that was a good next step and scheduled a CT Scan.
On January 7th, 2009 I reported to the MetroWest radiology department for my CT Scan. After filling out a ream of paperwork that contained my medical history and current prescription list (at that point, both very limited), I was greeted by the radiology technician who would be performing the CT Scan. As we entered the CT room, he asked me several follow-on questions, one which I thought odd at the moment. He asked "are you allergic to shellfish?", my knee jerk reaction was to answer his question with my own, "oh are we having lunch too?" We shared a quick chuckle and then he explained to me that to get better imaging of my chest and the vascular system, they would be injecting a dye (called contrast) into my system about half way through the CT scan.
The word "injecting" did not thrill me, because, even though I am not a doctor, I was pretty sure they needed to use a needle for that, and quite frankly, I don't like needles, at all! But I figured, I would just suck it up and get on with it. The radiologist tech then also said, "by the way, when I inject the contrast, you may feel a very warm, slightly uncomfortable sensation as the contrast flows through your body. First at the injection site, then in your chest and then in your groin"...he went on to say, "oh and you also may feel that your bladder has let loose, but that's just a sensation, it won't actually happen". Just great, I couldn't help to think that along with the hospital gowns, Depends should become standard issue for this test. Luckily, the needle turned out to be painless and the contrast, although warm, never produced the aforementioned sensation.
It took about a week or so for the results of the CT scan to get back to my doctor. When he called me, I could tell his tone was a bit more concerned. He said that the CT had clearly shown that the shadow on my heart was indeed not a shadow, but rather what he thought was an enlarged thymus gland. This was odd since the thymus gland is pretty much non-existent in adults. When you're a kid, it is responsible for helping to build your immune system by developing T-cells. As you approach adulthood, its function is complete and begins to atrophy, eventually shrinks to a very small bit of fatty tissue. In my case, the thymus was quite large, they estimated somewhere around 8cm x 4cm. The doctor wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but thought it could be "thymic hyperplasia" (an abnormal enlargement of the thymus gland) or a "thymoma" (a slow growing tumor within the thymus gland); but he was sure that I needed to see a thoracic surgeon to get this properly diagnosed.
My first step was to Google "thymic hyperplasia" and "thymoma" to try to get a better understanding of what they actually were, get my head around the likely treatment protocol and then inform Carolyn of the findings.
On January 20th Carolyn and I went to see a thoracic surgeon at the "Chest Disease Center" at the Beth Israel Deaconess Hospital in Boston. The surgeon said that it looked more like a thymoma, a tumor growing inside of the the thymus gland. He mentioned several other remote possibilities but felt it was likely a thymoma. The good news was that thymomas are typically benign 60-70% of the time.
We discussed treatment options and quickly agreed that surgery was the best alternative. The surgeon felt that there was a good chance that he could remove the mass with a minimally invasive, video camera assisted procedure through a couple of key hole size incisions...unless he couldn't get a clear view of the entire area, then we would go the traditional route, sternotomy.
I took the month of February to get all of my ducks in a row and then on March 4th I had surgery to remove the tumor and the thymus gland as well. Although they initially hoped to remove it through a minimally invasive procedure, in the end they had to perform a sternotomy (creating a 7 inch incision in the middle of my chest, cutting through the sternum, spreading ribs, etc.) to be able to safely and thoroughly access and remove all of the mass. It turned out to be even larger than the CT scan had estimated, 11cm x 10 cm x 4cm. They were able to remove all of the tumor, but the mass had also invaded the right phrenic nerve, so that had to be severed and removed as well. You have two phrenic nerves that connect to your diaphragm and control the expansion and contraction of the diaphragm and facilitate lung function. So, as a result, the right side of my diaphragm is now "paralyzed" and the lower and mid portion of my right lung are not working to full capacity. However, the surgeon feels that over time, my body will compensate and lung function will improve to the point where I won't notice the difference -short of trying to run a marathon. (...by the way, not in my plans anyway).
I was in the hospital for 6 days following surgery. It was a very slow, and painful recovery. Since my lung functions had been compromised I was sent home with oxygen (and a lot of pain meds). The Visiting Nurses came by regularly to check my vitals, inspect my incision and report on my overall progress.
On March 17th we had a follow up appointment with the surgeon. The results from pathology were in. Much to our surprise, the mass was not thymic hyperplasia or thymoma, the mass was malignant (cancer) and I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma. From there, I don't remember much of the conversation, because the rest of the words that followed were just white noise. I left with an appointment to see an Oncologist to discuss treatment options. What I thought was done and over with, was really just beginning.
On March 20th, Carolyn and I went to meet an oncologist within the The Hematologic Malignancies Department at Beth Israel Deaconess Hospital's Cancer Center. We were there for many hours mostly waiting to see the doctor and didn't realize that he was squeezing us in as a favor to his surgeon. He confirmed the results as being Hodgkin's Lymphoma.
He did a physical exam and didn't feel any lumps in the area of other glands throughout my body. However, a PET Scan and Bone Marrow Biopsy would be needed to give a more accurate depiction of what is going on elsewhere and stage the disease. In addition to these two tests I also had an echo-cardiogram and a pulmonary lung function test. These two tests act as a baseline assessment and will be monitored through chemotherapy, as the chemo can have some negative effects on the heart and lungs.
Completed the PET Scan and Echo-cardiogram on March 30th and the Bone Marrow biopsy (ouch) on the 31st. The result were quite favorable! No other signs of the disease in any other locations, chemotherapy will now begin to make sure it stays that way.
Throughout this whole ordeal, Carolyn and I have been very open with the kids (Julia 12, Paige 10, and Brett 8) about what is going on. We try to share as much information as possible so they understand and can feel comfortable with what they can at their respective ages. We felt that it was so important that they understand that even though I have cancer, the type of cancer is treatable and has a very high cure rate, as high as 90%. We've discussed chemotherapy and what they can expect as potential side-effects. I believe that Carolyn may have already shared this story with many of you, but it's a classic, so definitely worth repeating.
One night, right before I started chemo, Paige, age 10, and I were reviewing the information sheets on each of the 4 chemotherapy drugs that I would be receiving. Previously, she was most concerned with the potential of me losing my hair, but she's starting to deal with that. However, we got to another section of the paper and in bold print, one of the side effects of the drugs jumped out at her, it said "Ability to have children may be affected by this medicine". I could see the concern on her face growing and then she quietly asked, "Does this mean that Julia, Brett and I will have to leave?" After about ten minutes of laughter, I reassured her that they could stay, but not to expect any new siblings...funny. Kids are great. At the end of the day, that's what keeps me going.
On April 7th, I began my first chemotherapy session. I will have 12 treatments, one every-other week for the next 6 months. The chemo "cocktail" is comprised of 4 different drugs, all pretty toxic and most of which cause nausea, so keeping that in check, will be a top priority. After the first treatment, I chose to switch my visits to Thursdays, so I could have the weekend to recoup and hopefully get into the office the following week. Before each chemo treatment and on the off-weeks, I need to have my blood drawn so they can check my blood cell counts, kidney and liver functions etc. As I mention earlier, I don't like needles, but I really really don't like having my blood drawn.
The 1st day of chemo was unpleasant to say the least. First we started with the blood draw. Within a couple of minutes following my blood draw, my blood pressure dropped to somewhere around 69/30. The girl taking my vitals, asked if I was OK and then went to tell the nurse... well I took about 5 steps back to my seat, the nurse came over, said I didn't look too good and then the next thing I knew was on my knees, on the floor. It was a first, but apparently I had fainted -- see, I told you I really really don't like having my blood drawn. They moved me to a wheel chair and then a reclining chair, got my feet elevated and gave me some juice. Within minutes I had pretty much every nurse in the place surrounding me to make sure I wasn't going to code on them. It probably took another couple of minutes and my blood pressure was back to normal.
To be on the safe side, the doctor ordered an EKG, which was fine, and then we moved on to chemo. The first attempt to find a vein was extraordinarily painful. They like to start as low as possible (near the hand) and then work their way up your arm. The first needle went into a large vein on the side of my wrist, right below my thumb. It felt like the nurse hit a nerve along the way. Fortunately or unfortunately, she was unable to get a sufficient blood return and decided to abandon this vein. Given the events of the day thus far, I think she was fairly spooked, so she called in some back-up and paged the "IV nurse". After a quick assessment of my veins, the IV nurse chose to move up to mid forearm --- with success.
So, based upon the day's experience and the anticipation of being stuck by a needle a minimum of 78 times over the next 6 months, I decided to have a porta-catheter (aka a "port") surgically implanted in my chest. This is a small device placed right under the skin in the upper chest. It has a small, round, drum-like receptacle with a tube that feeds directly into a large vein in my chest. All blood draws and chemo therapy infusions can go through the port, so this should reduce the number of needle sticks from 78 down to around 26, plus it will save the veins in my arms from the weekly abuse and toxicity of the chemo.
For the sake of time, and your blurred vision, I will now fast-forward to today, Friday June 5th.
Yesterday, I received my 5th chemotherapy infusion. The port has worked out great, needle sticks and blood draws have become non-issues and even though certainly not pleasant, they don't bother me any more.
The past 2 months have been filled with a lot of "stuff". More PET Scans, MRIs, Pulmonary Function tests and even a bout of Strep throat (I got that while already on antibiotics - go figure). I have learned to coordinate the 13 different prescriptions I've been given; when to take what, what I can't take when I'm taking another one and which one's to avoid if I want to be able to maintain any reasonable semblance of cognitive ability.
There are good days and there are not-so-good days, but as a whole, the side effects have been manageable. The anti-nausea meds have been fairly effective. So far, there's been only one day where I found myself counting bathroom floor tiles as I marveled about the convenience of indoor plumbing. And on that day, I think the vomiting was more related to a migraine headache that I awoke with, rather than directly from the chemo.
The other side-effects are annoying, but I am learning to deal with them too: moderate hair loss, peripheral neuropathy and fatigue. My biggest challenge seems to be my inability to sleep. I am working on fixing that too, but in the meantime if you see a blog entry that was posted in the middle of the night, you'll know why.
Enough for today (actually way more than enough). Now, for anyone who has made it this far into this entry, go out and do something positive today, hug a loved one and count your blessings.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Up until this point, I have largely relied upon Carolyn to summarize my current state and then broadcast via email and telephone. She's done a fabulous job at this, but I want to give her a break for a while.
I'll do my best to blog on a consistent basis, but reality will dictate my writing schedule -- based largely on how I'm feeling that day and whether there really is anything worth sharing.
One more note. This is not meant to replace any live interaction. I know some of you have expressed hesitation in calling, because you did not want to intrude, etc. Please let me assure everyone that your calls are ALWAYS welcome and never intrusions. It's been quite touching to experience the overwhelming inflow of cards and well wishes in the past few months.
So, for that, thank you all for the cards, words of encouragement and prayers. It has made a huge difference in helping me keep my attitude right and keep this all in perspective.
I'll do my best to blog on a consistent basis, but reality will dictate my writing schedule -- based largely on how I'm feeling that day and whether there really is anything worth sharing.
One more note. This is not meant to replace any live interaction. I know some of you have expressed hesitation in calling, because you did not want to intrude, etc. Please let me assure everyone that your calls are ALWAYS welcome and never intrusions. It's been quite touching to experience the overwhelming inflow of cards and well wishes in the past few months.
So, for that, thank you all for the cards, words of encouragement and prayers. It has made a huge difference in helping me keep my attitude right and keep this all in perspective.
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