Things I Am Looking Forward To

• Caprese salads from the farmers' market
  
• Regional Beerfest
• M&A's wedding
• Going on that trip someplace tropical, luxurious, and indulgent
  
• Getting a tattoo once the poison is out of my system

The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday

Feeling like I'd turned a corner yesterday, I went out to lunch with Jody and ate the hell out of a chimichanga, a deep fried monstrosity the likes of which I have not allowed myself since high school.

In my excitement to eat, to want to eat, I completely forgot about the whole low residue rule of Oscardom. God, I'm such an asshole.

Wrecked

I know that my pathology report as tight as a drum, so why do I still feel like my boat is rapidly taking on water and land is moving further away?

Side Effects So Far

• That cold-sensitivity from the Oxaliplatin started in right away--I could feel it in my finger tips as they swung while I walked out of the onc clinic. I'm also quickly reminded of it every time I unthinkingly drink from a water fountain or wash my hands before letting the water heat up.
• Sun sensitivity: when they recommended wearing a "wide-brimmed hat" (just when is/was the Kentucky Derby?), I thought they were being overly cautious, but the couple of hours I spent yardsaling during yesterday's overcast afternoon has resulted in a burn across my cheeks and nose the likes of which I haven't seen since my first family trip to Florida as a pre-teen.
• Other side effects are trying to keep my tubing away from little inquisitive hands and the general uncoolness of having to wear a fanny pack for days at a stretch.

Speaking of which, I get unhooked from this bastard within the hour. Woot.

Any Port in a Shitstorm

Aka "WTF is that big lump in your chest?"

Yesterday was my port placement, and despite the bad omen of being treated by Nurse Bug Eyes again and having to wait and wait and wait for the doc, it all went off without a hitch.

They put in my IV without too much trouble, through which I got my sedation meds again--the nurse compared sedation for the procedure to having a stiff drink at a party you really don't want to be at, very apropos--and then threw a ginormous drape on me, which I should have anticipated--what with all the ER I've watched in my day--but still took me a little by surprise. Fortunately they cut a hole in the clear plastic part hanging down for air.

The whole thing was a little weird and a little emotional (more stuff to make me feel Sick) but not terribly uncomfortable (that came later). The procedure itself involves implanting a PowerPort three fingers' breadth beneath my right clavicle.

They make an incision in the skin, shove the thing underneath, and then somehow thread a thin tube up my neck, into a nick cut INTO MY JUGULAR VEIN, AND DOWN INTO MY HEART. Notify all local vampires and incubi.

The point of having a port is that it will make the chemo process that much easier on my peripheral veins (especially now that my total number of treatments is back to eight), and the benefit of having a PowerPort is that it's tough enough to handle the infusion of contrast for CT scans, of which I'll be having many before I can officially wave the "Suck it, Cancer! I'm totally over you!" flag.

The nurses and techs assisting on my procedure thanked me profusely for not divulging my alma mater until things were winding down as apparently Dr. Tardy is a YOOGE ND fan (of the subway alum variety). You never know how that one's going to go--not a lot of people taking the middle of the road opinion when it comes to them Fighting Irish.

After the port was in, they wheeled me down to Oncology back to the infusion suites. Apparently I won't be getting my bimonthly dose of poison in a big bonding circle of wigs and nausea as many other folks do. I will *so* be bringing along the porta-DVD (and incredibly comfy blanket) that my super generous angel of mercy and bridesmaid extraordinaire Jenny G. gave me. Time to get that Netflix queue cleaned up!

So I waited about an hour to see my doc, where he gave me the big "Oops!" and I countered "Count your self lucky Jody isn't here for this news" and checked in to be sure I had the energy for it and we ran over side effects of which I am pretty well versed at this point.

Then I had crappy hospital food that I actually had to pay for while waiting another three or so hours for orders to be written and chemo bags to be sent over because it wasn't like they knew I was coming or anything except THEY TOTALLY DID.

Finally, after swallowing a fistful of anti-nausea meds, they got me hooked to the infusion tower, where they had Oxaliplatin and Leucovorin. I don't know if it was the nausea pills or the length of the day, but I took a nap for a half hour or so before I had to hit the head, which is always fun when you're managing all manner of tubes and other sundry nonsense coming out of your body.

Shortly after that, the anesthetic from the port placement started to wear off and I began to whine like a leetle girl. Fortunately, because I am on pain meds at home, they were able to rustle one (and a little later, a second) up for me without too much issue.

I caught a little of Wolf Blitzer in his cozy Situation Room (I just need to sign up for golf lessons and renounce my Socialist ways and Jody's brainwashing will be complete) in between getting some shut eye. About two and a half hours later, the bags were emptied and they called in the chemo nurse to get me hooked up and oriented to my lovely parting gifts...

After every bimonthly dose of Oxi & Leuco, I get hooked up to a fanny pack that constantly infuses 5-FU over a 46 hour period. I was on another form of this stuff during my radiation treatment, but I got to take that (Xeloda) in pill form and tolerated it pretty well, so hopefully it'll be much of the same for this.

All together, this regimen is known as FOLFOX which is the gold standard of chemo care for us colorectal folks, with the exception that I don't have a Day 2 infusion of Leucovorin (from Wikipedia's description). I'm also actually getting a shortened course as it seems like the typical run is 12 treatments over 24 weeks.

I am not currently eligible for or participating in any trials that involve other complimentary drugs such as Avastin (hey Wardo!) or Erbitux (this is the one that got Martha in some stock-trading troubles).

Side effects...the most notable one is that from the Oxaliplatin, which is a cold-sensitive neuropathy. Basically I'm going to have to watch it around cold stuff. I can already feel a prickle on my tongue and at the back of my throat if I drink something cold (even barely below room temp) and I get zapped if I don't wait for the water to heat up before washing my hands. Bring on the Warm Busch Light!

Then there's the general fatigue, nausea, diarrhea nonsense...word on the street is that I probably won't lose my hair but it will probably will thin a bit. This isn't so much a problem for me as I have some to spare, but I haven't totally ruled out the possibility of having to do something drastic if it gets too patchy.

My thought on that subject is that I will indulge the impulse that many young girls have when they hack away at their Barbie's hair, an impulse that I myself never had, and only in part because I wasn't allowed to have Barbies because they perpetuated negative and absurd women's bodies, gender roles, etc. Who knew my dad was so liberated?!

First, I'll give myself long, dramatic bangs, then a Betty Page, then something totally choppy, then a mohawk. Then, I will probably cry, attack the paparazzi sitting outside my house, and run right back to the cancer center to claim my free wig. Here's to hoping they do platinum blonde and/or pink.

All that said, I'm feeling pretty good today, my appetite/energy level are hovering around the new normal, and I am on the look out for entertaining pins and badges to decorate my infernal chemo fanny pack. This is the only one I have on there thusfar (quote from Firefly), tho I might have to throw on my KEXP and Cowhugger ones if/when I find them.

BALLS

My doctor misspoke about my chemo treatments--I'll be getting eight infusions over four months after all instead of the four over two that he had originally said.

GOD DAMN IT.

Today is a Good Day

• Got to sleep in a bit
• Have had a decent appetite
• Went out with Mom and the Wee Vi to get a Jamba
• Sat outside with Mom & Vi (in the Pack 'N Play)
• Looking forward to dinner with Jody

Most importantly, I do not feel utter crap and haven't spent one moment in the prone position since getting out of bed.

Good day.

ETA: I started getting all ouchy on the way to dinner and feel pretty rough right now, so good day but not great--the pain's still there but comes on later, and that's progress.

Keepin' it Real

Ok, so for as cool as Iceland sounds, I don't think that I'm going to be able to convince Jody to take me there anytime soon, especially after the winter we had (100+"! Fuck!) and the fact that (1) Iceland is notoriously spendy and (b) the dollar is weaker than that paper towel that has to go up against Bounty in the commercials.

That said, I'm posting a new poll ("new poll!") to pick your brains to see what your favorite warmer clime is. Please post any write-in suggestions in the comments below.

PS: Stupid Pennsylvania...

Well, That Was a Bust

I had my appointment with my NP, and she was pretty much no help at all, basically giving me a big shoulder shrug which said to me "I don't know what to tell you, suck it up for another couple of months, then check back in."

At least I got the green light to take Advil again. Tylenol doesn't do crap.

Three and a Half Weeks Out

I am still tired and in pain and looking down the barrel of a two month long chemo needle and trying to mentally prepare myself for my mom's departure and figure out how the hell I am going to play Mother and Homemaker when she is gone.

I called this morning to set up an additional post-op follow-up with my NP to discuss this and some other stuff and the woman (nurse?) on the other end of the phone was all "Oh, that all sounds like it's a normal part of the healing process" and I thought she was trying to give me the "It's nothing" brush off and I was all "GET ME AN APPOINTMENT. I WANT TO SEE SOMEONE."

Done and done. What Sugarmouth wants, Sugarmouth gets.

ACHTUNG! Boring Mommy Talk Ahead

Violet really likes to smack the crap out of the battery-operated sound module on her Baby Einstein (ugh, I know) exersaucer ("Moooo! Cow. Vaca."). Living in this Internet-powered world of ours, I was all "Maybe I could drop customer services a line and see what, if anything, they could do..."

So, I did and they were all "The button module is broken?" and I was all "Yeah, my baby is a brute" and they were all "Oh, that's ok, we'll send a replacement" and I was all "Even though my daughter seems to be the baby equivalent of an East German power lifter?" and they were all "It's really no problem" and I was all "Wow! Best customer service EVAR!"

The End.

News from the Other Homefront

I am super excited to report that both my brother and sister have submitted themselves to the scope (and before prep--ugh), and while two polyps were found in both cases, they were nothing to worry their pretty little heads about.

They're pretty much stuck getting checked every 2-3 years, but let's hope that I'm an isolated case.

Yay!

Belated Crafty Shoutout

Many, many thanks to Karen and her sister Joyce for having sent me the world's most lovely and heart-felt gift:

Karen picked out the beautiful swatch palette (how did you know I'm a total sucker for all things pink and green?) and Joyce was the crafty quiltmaster that made the whole thing happen.

Seriously--How cool is that? Not to mention the fact that I think I'm going to use it as inspiration for finally doing something that resembles decorating in our bedroom.

Our house is in desperate need of design guidance (much less a fresh coat of paint) and this quilt is just the thing to put me on the path to putting together a cohesive sleeping space.

So, thank you ladies! I absolutely love it.

Hard Not to Think We Got it Right the First Time

...But I Play One On TV

Full disclosure: despite all my attitude and pontificating to the contrary, I am not a nutritionist. I am a bio major science geek wannabe that has taken a number of nutrition/biochemistry courses (at reputable, accredited universities, thank you).

What I don't have is a degree in nutrition, much less my RD (A year unpaid internship? I'm waaaay too old and have too little patience for that noise).

Still, I know just enough about nutrition to be dangerous and have numerous contacts who make their living/stake their professional reputation on their nutrition science smarts.

I'm also surly, grouchy, contrary, contentious, trapped on the couch, and armed with a laptop and wifi connection.

Now that I've painted you a picture, I thought I should mention that I've been playing my self-assigned role of shit-starter over at the blog of the alternative cancer therapy guru, Crazy Sexy Cancer, specifically on this and this post.

The posts of late--by an MD guest blogger--have been covering the issue of how "sugar feeds cancer" and how too much glucose circulating in the blood can compete with vitamin C for transport into cells, making them less effective from an immune function perspective.

I consulted the PhD that taught my Vitamins course here at UW Madison (site of the discovery of vitamins A & D, mind you), and she supported my position that the glucose/vitamin C/cancer connection sounded a little...well, iffy (she used a bit stronger language).

I'm not saying that sugar is tops (even though it TOTALLY is), eating nutrient dense/calorie poor food that is close to the earth--ie as close to its original form as possible and as low on the food chain as you can tolerate--is the lynchpin of good nutrition and one of the pillars of good health, in my dangerously semi-educated mind. And repeatedly spiking your insulin over a long period of time with unnatural, processed, refined, sugary junk is Bad Idea Jeans for a number of health reasons.

BUT. In my oh so humble opinion, to say that people living with cancer should avoid eating fruit (ignoring the relationship of glycemic load to glycemic index, I can't vouch for its accuracy, but here's an example GI table) is bad advice at best, irresponsible science at worst.

The Fruits of My Non-Labor

If I'm going to sit on my diseased and now apparently BROKEN ass for hours at a stretch, I might as well throw up a poll for yous guys.

[...]

What are you waiting for, get ta pollin'!

ETA: The poll has been restarted to be more inclusive for my dear, sweet, ever-faithful readers of the Southern Hemisphere. :)

Because We All Need a Fucking Break from the Epic Cancer Drama Every Once in a While...

...here is The Sad, Sad Story of a Little Girl and Her Dead Goldfish:

Comic Courtesy of Mom.

Comment Box

It has been brought to my attention that (1) my posts of late have run on a bit long and (b) that their content is quickly descending into the territory of "If you aren't here to mow my lawn then you best be getting off of it, young whippersnapper."

Apologies from the management.

Back from the B Squad

If a hospital were a football team, the surgery clinic would have the first string of nurses and the radiology gets the third string leftovers. Or at least that's what my recent experiences have shown me...

This afternoon, I get to radiology stroke of high noon, right on time. I check in, get my Applebee's pager, and take a seat.

20 minutes later, I overhear a different receptionist repeat my last name several times. Putting on my best fed-up New Englander face, I bypass the four people waiting in line and go right up to the counter, saying "I'm 'McSo-And-So.' Is there a problem?"

Well, apparently not only did the other receptionist not check me in (despite all her apparently superfluous key-punching), but they were waiting on some part that was essential for my stick-a-needle-in-my-buttcheek-and-suck-out-some-fluid procedure. She gave me two $5 vouchers for my trouble, good at both the gift shop *and* the hospital cafeteria. Sweet--I heard that they were written up in the 'o8 Zagat's.

Another 20-odd minutes later, I again visit the admissions area, despite having been within if-looks-could-kill sight of the receptionist (the good one, not the boneheaded drop-the-ball one) the whole time. She gave good contrite face, saying that she had called back a few minutes prior and said they were still waiting on this mysterious part, without which my procedure was dead in the water fluid presumably still building in my lower area.

Several squirming minutes later, my pager was cold BLOWIN' up, yo. Dropping it in its designated basket, I waited to be called upon by a nurse to take me back to the prep area. Eventually, said nurse approached and mouthed something at me, but I couldn't make it out as she was still several feet away. As she walked towards me, she stared and STARED at me, as if I was supposed to know who she was. "Samantha? Great, I'm Sugarmouth and I'll be taking care of you today..."

Continuing this protocol staring contest, she was nearly standing on my toes when she said my name. Or rather, she pronounced the first two syllables of the relatively common [Scots?-]Irish surname, and then, from the sounds of it, swallowed her tongue.

Ok, when faced with a name you have zero confidence in pronouncing correctly--say, like Samir Nagheenanajar, wouldn't you just skip formalities and query the person with their first name?

Not in this case. She was appropriately sorry about the botched pronunciation, and I'm sure I would have been a lot more forgiving (not being the first time I'd ever heard my married name butchered like a goat) had I not just waited nearly an hour on a sore bum and empty stomach, snarking "Yeah, probably best just to go with the first name..."

We get back to the holding area, where I'm supposed to "take everything off" and still get to keep my bra and socks on (?). As she's telling me this, she is STARING at my chest. Now I know they're fabulous, but more realistically, she was just checking out my awesome Cancer Can Kiss My Ass shirt. Still, the staring was so prolonged, I started to wonder how long it took to read FIVE WORDS.

Next, Nurse Bug-Eyes starts asking me about my procedure:

"You're having an abscess drained today?"
"Well, I'm having fluid removed, but I've been told it isn't infected, so it shouldn't be an abscess..."
"How are they going to do it?"
:::blink:::
"Um, you tell me?*"

Seriously, I'm not the medical professional here, people (and neither was she, apparently). Just show me where I can lock up my shit, put in my IV, and pump me full of sweet, sweet anti-anxiety meds so I can mellow a bit while you plumb my depths for that which doesn't belong.

Next, the IV (anesthesia?) nurse comes in and manages to spread all manner of shit all over me and my gurney, but gets my IV started without spilling any blood, so kudos to her. The topic of my upcoming port placement came up, and I know I'm an übersensitive word-choice bitch since getting ye olde cancer, but she went on to say that getting a port will "be nice for [me]." More convenient, yes, nice? I don't know about that.

Next, someone doctor-y comes in, gives me the rundown, and then says "You'll probably be going home with a drain?" with the inflection going up at the end, to which I responded "Is that a question or a statement?" Jebus.

After all this, three nurses talking over each other at me at once, glaring at a constantly beeping heart/O2 monitor, and taking my history for the SEVENTEEN THOUSANDTH TIME FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON'T YOU HAVE A COMPUTER AROUND HERE?!, they wheeled me back, gave me the requisite drugs, and apparently liberated that pesky fluid from my pelvis.

The good news it that the fluid was clear (ie not likely infected) and the volume seemed to have gone down since Friday, so this thing might have cleared itself up on its own but I wasn't up for waiting.

ETA because I am a flighty dumbass: I didn't have to go home with a drain in my bum. Huzzah!

Speaking of not waiting, after wolfing down a mediocre cheese quesadilla and slice of chocolate cake (OMG the hospital I delivered Violet at had a much better menu), I totally booked out of there, nearly leaving with my IV still in**.

Well, since then I've gone for a long walk around the neighborhood with the babe, dog, and Grandma, and played with Little Miss to exhaustion. I'm not feeling 100% in the affected area, but I'm hoping that tomorrow will be lots better in that department.

* Yes, I did actually say that.

** Oops--I did manage to leave with not one but two EKG leads attached this time.

Only One Sickie at a Time, Please

Violet's wet cough + 104.5° fever = pneumonia, but it must be some kinda walking crawling pneumonia, because she was the happiest ill baby I've ever seen.

God bless the live-in nanny, aka Grandma. :)