So what's this journey about, anyway? As a way to catch up, here's some stuff from my journal that describes the issues at hand. Billy Schlager said that I'd be disappointed if no one responded, because I'm competitive and I wanna become a well-known blogger. That's partly true...I am indeed competitive. But I don't see this as anything larger than a way to share with friends who are gracious and curious as to how I'm doing. If there are future posts that set me apart in some fashion, great. If not, at least the people I care about will stay abreast of my situation and not feel like they have to call every few days. I love those conversations, don't get me wrong. But I also love knowing about grandkids, golf games, graduating seniors...all the stuff that has taken time in days gone by, but that seems to be missing recently as we all focus on Mark's challenges at hand. I look forward to the day I can return to my normal answer to the "how is it going" question. "Well, except for needing to learn how to hit the downhill two-iron over water, I'm having a great time..."In the meantime, if you care to read about what's going on...go for it. ___________________________I was originally told that I'd grown a tumor about a centimeter wide, encircling 95% of the colon. That I'd miss 2-3 days of work in the hospital and recuperate for 2-4 more days at home...then return to the office, my masters program, and life in general. Nobody said anything about spread...and that's probably a good thing.
So then yesterday I had the consult with the surgeon...and felt a little like the conversation we had with my surgeon after the broken wrist. I can't go overboard, he was just doing his job and giving me the possible downsides. But when someone says "I don't believe that radiation is indicated at this stage, though you will likely need some course of chemotherapy..." it is a bit more than a week off at work with cute eye candy in the hospital attending to your every need. It is "f***, I'm in serious trouble here..." Turns out that it is actually about 2-3 centimeters wide, or about the size of the width of my colon in the first place. Shows up as clear as day on the digital image. I'll get a week in the hospital, and then at least (depending on how I recover) a week at home to return to the same old pissant Markymark.
Couldn't happen at a better time for life, or a worse time for work. We're finishing the merger and really getting back in the saddle for our sales operation. I'm excited and energized, only to have to take a seat for a few weeks. As for life, I should be better in time to hit balls, and the weather has been the absolute pits up here. So lying around and watching TV, catching my reading, and all that should be well-timed. I'm probably going to have to skip this quarter's class in the masters program, but that's to be determined this week. Depends on when it is offered next...though I can't imagine sitting in the hospital doing homework. As much as I'd like to have something to kill the boredom.
Anyway, that's it. I've gone from "oooops, I guess I have a problem" to "holy COW Houston, what do I do now?"
As for the oncologist, I have some pamphlets that I want to copy and send. I contacted the Lance Armstrong foundation, and they put me in touch with almost too much information. But one, about colon cancer and oncology, was EXACTLY what the doctor ordered. I read it the night before I went to the doctor, Sunday night, after we got back from Napa. So I had all my questions predicated on that. And the Dr. (Dr. Chang) started right in as if he’d read the same pamphlet.This regimen, if you want to learn more, is well-established with colon cancer patients. It is called the “FolFox” regimen, and though it is killer for cancer cells that may be swimming around, it isn’t supposed to be too bad for other physical side effects. I may become a little more lazy than normal, eating may not be much fun. (“Hey, wanna lose a quick 15 pounds???”) The jury is out whether I’ll be losing any hair or not, or whether it may turn more grey, thinner, curlier, or whatever. I’m hoping it just sticks around, but not for any particular vanity reasons, just so I can avoid the "sympathy chat" that will inevitably result.
That made my questions particularly relevant, and increased my confidence in how up-to-date the Doc was/is. This may be kinda long, but I want you to have all the information. If you would rather not get all the details, let me know and I’ll describe the Cliff Note version. Here’s what I’ve learned:
I’ll return to my original surgeon so that he can implant a “port” somewhere with a logical, strong vein. That will remain in place for six months, the course of this chemotherapy treatment. Likely it will be on a front chest area, above the breast but below the shoulder. It accepts stuff in, but stops things from flowing out…so it won’t be like I’ll have to be terribly careful with it while showering, or working in the yard, etc. It will be implanted at a time convenient to both the doc and me, but before March 6.
On March 6, I’ll start the first of 12 treatments that will occur every other week. (Six months, or 24 weeks, total time period.) The treatments will include a couple of hours inside the doctor’s office, and then I’ll come home (or go to work, depending on how I respond) with some sort of little attachment that continues to feed the medicines into the port for the next 22 hours. Its like the opposite of a colostomy bag, it puts stuff in rather than collects stuff outbound. I do that on day one. On day two, I go back for a refill of the drugs, and they flow in for another 24 hours. On day three, I go back and they take their little attachment, and that’s it. Days three and four, when I have more stuff in me and it hasn’t flushed out quite yet, are apparently the days that will involve possible nausea or fatigue.
For now, since we don’t know how I’ll respond, I can schedule whatever I want for the weeks without “medicine input.” I should feel fine on those weeks. Until I start taking the medicines, I won’t know what activities will be doable on the weeks with therapy. Will I go to work? Can I work on my classes, or will I prefer to sleep all day? Those are questions my body will answer on its own. Of course, I need to take care of myself, but I also need to put effort into working to keep my job, etc. So that will be a balancing act. I’ve heard, from others, that the first few treatments are deceiving. People can attend to their work well, they don’t feel terrible, and they just go ahead with life. And then, after about six treatments, they begin to feel lousy after each one, progressively worse until they can’t wait for the last two to end. For me, that will be in the summer. Summer is slower at work, and also won’t have all the bustle of graduation, trips, etc, etc. I can prepare to slow myself down to a crawl for the last few, if necessary. By September 1, I’ll be all done, and much healthier. (And probably a lot thinner.)
I’m not to worry about a special diet, nor refrain from most other personal activities. I may not feel like playing golf as much, for instance, but if I feel like it and want to have a beer at the same time, I’m welcome to do that. If I need to travel, I can adjust the “one-two-three” days in ways that accommodate the needs I have for rest, etc. They don’t have to happen every Monday-Tuesday-Wednesday on an every-other week basis.
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Some other weird side effects impacted me. The sensitivity to cold was related mostly to the portion of my fingers affected by the broken wrist and the medial nerve through my carpal tunnel. Fingertips, and the back of that right hand were the only segments that got painful when I touched cold. I didn’t really try anything too cold to drink, because my taste buds were shot.
The 5-fu apparently seeks out all my little basel cells, too. The tip of my right ear, the rough spot on the left cheek, a couple of spots on the back of my hands…and one on my left inner forearm were glowing red. So at least all this money on drugs will take care of skin glitches, too. Nothing happening with my hair yet, even though I cut it short this past weekend just in case. The little red skin tags are sensitive to cold, as when I might go outside, because it has been REALLY cold here. Daytimes at 45 and nights at 38…only about 10-15 degrees lower than normal.
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Up to speed for this second session. I was in the Opium Den longer than anticipated this morning. I think they set me on “three hour drip” instead of “two hour,” and that meant I was there a total of almost four. Didn’t make sense to go down to work at 3 pm, so I came back home and made phone calls/responded to email. Already this afternoon, I can tell that the taste buds are going. I took a nap, trying to stay ahead of the fatigue this time around. If I wear out on Friday, that’s a bad thing for Grandma Ruth’s Memorial Service, so I’m trying to stay ahead.
As with last time, though, I feel really well tonight. There were more men in the Den today, several of them having lost their hair. One gal had her last treatment. She and her husband are members at Oswego Lake, she hasn’t played golf in 18 months. So I’m lucky in that regard. Judy and I hit balls yesterday, and I’m playing in a tournament with the Fubarians next Monday in Lompoc. Whether I’m any GOOD at it or not remains to be seen…but “just keep playing” will echo throughout the day. The trip south will be a little dicey. How can I lose my sense of taste and pass several In-n-Outs before Vickie and I get to Lompoc? More seriously, I’ll need to stay hydrated and get some exercise to avoid clotting…which will slow down the trip a little. Vickie will get to drive more than normal, if driving increases my stress level. On the other hand, if sitting while she drives is stressful, I’ll be behind the wheel.
So much for this “round.” I’ll report any changes or issues, but for now this seems pretty much like last time. Sensitivity to cold is apparent, even with a glass of milk. Thank goodness for a trip to CA and AZ.
