3/29/2006Guy and I met with the oncologist today. The scan results from last week are in and the final pathology on the lymph nodes is in. Other than the cancer, I’m in excellent health. The doctor said we couldn’t ask for a better starting point.
The course of my chemotherapy treatments has been modified so I’ll receive 16 weeks of treatment instead of 20. The port inserted into my arm last week is healing nicely. It will require another day surgery to remove the port once chemo is done, but the oncologist feels optimistic that we can remove the port once chemo is done and he said it’s a vote of confidence that he doesn’t feel it necessary to keep the port in “just in case.” Since I have to take a blood thinner every day the port is in to prevent blood clots, I’m looking forward to having it taken out. 7 weeks of radiation will follow the rounds of chemotherapy. I’ll get a 3 week break in-between treatments. I’m happy that I don’t have to wait for radiation to start or finish before the port can come out.
The part I’m not happy about is that one of the chemotherapy drugs is guaranteed to make my hair fall out. Not just thin – fall out. The reality of this hit me really hard yesterday. I like my hair. I don’t want it to fall out. Guy keeps reminding me that the hair that will grow back will likely be softer, curly, and a different shade. As much time as I spend now curling my hair, the thought of having curlier hair is appealing.
My first chemotherapy treatment has moved from a tentative schedule of “sometime Friday” to a definite time of 1:30 tomorrow afternoon. Guy is going to take me to this first treatment and hang around the 3 or 4 hours it will take. I’m told to expect to feel nothing new or stranger the day of chemo but to expect side effects the next day. The day after each treatment I have to return to the cancer center to receive a shot that will boost my white blood cell count. This is an inconvenience that is well worth the trouble since it will keep my immune system from cratering.
I went to a class Monday on what to expect from chemotherapy treatments. My prize for going to the class was an accordion binder full of brochures on different topics relating to cancer. There’s information on support groups, nutrition, and a group that will teach cancer patients attractive ways to use scarves and turbans to cover bald heads. I’m falling in love with the American Cancer Society because they have so many wonderful programs to help people cope with and get through cancer from diagnosis to treatment to life after cancer.
One of the brochures focuses on nutrition during treatment. I found it interesting that the dietary restrictions are so similar to prenatal restrictions. It’s going to be mostly easy to adjust because I’ve already been living the lifestyle, so to speak. For example, I should avoid food with high bacteria contents such as bleu cheese and feta cheese. I should avoid salad bars and deli foods because of possible contamination from other people. I should avoid soft serve ice cream from machines that are always on. That one hurts because I love frozen custard from Culver’s but a friend said she has a make-it-yourself soft serve machine she’ll loan me as long as I want it, so I can still have the yummy root beer floats at home.
I’m also a big fan of the occasional salad with feta cheese and that’s a restriction that chafed while I was pregnant. Knowing I’m about to forego feta again for most of the year, Guy and I went to Rockfish tonight where they have a wonderful Greek salad with feta and fried calamari. I also indulged in a small margarita, the first taste of alcohol I’ve had in nine months or longer. I haven’t been warned not to drink alcohol during my treatment period, but from the things I’ve read so far I have a clear impression that it’s not a good idea. I tried to focus tonight on the fun of having dinner with my husband while my mother watched our baby. It was a “date night” and it was enjoyable, but part of me had to consciously suppress thoughts of the special dinner feeling like the last meal of the condemned.
Kelric is sleeping at the moment. Oh wait, if I’m typing an e-mail it always means the baby is sleeping. He’s a handful when he’s awake. The little guy has gained 13 ounces since his last checkup. He had his two week checkup yesterday and he has grown a little longer and now weighs a whopping 7 pounds 1 ounce. He’s already outgrown his first pair of newborn socks. We’ve switched to soy-based formula because he was having trouble digesting the milk-based kind. The pediatrician told me this is extremely common and he should outgrow his milk intolerance in a few months. Meanwhile, Kelric seems to have colic late a night and we’ve had several nights in a row with sleep-deprived adults trying to comfort a crying baby.
The funny part about his checkup yesterday came from the heel stick. He had his PKU test (whatever that is) and they needed his blood, so I held a heel warmer thingy against his little heel for about 5 minutes and then a nurse poked his heel with a needle gadget. Kelric didn’t cry when his heel was stuck. Instead, he got this look of deep surprise and then proceeded to grunt and fill his diaper. The more the nurse squeezed his heel to get drops of blood for the lab, the more Kelric concentrated on doing “baby business.” It was precious.
I guess I must be a proud mommy to find it precious that my baby poops a big one while having blood drawn. He charmed the nurse and all the patients in the hall, though. Easy to do when you’re tiny and cute…
Speaking of grunting, I hear little noises from the next room. It won’t be long before he wakes and starts demanding food. I’d better sign off now.
Angela
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