Blood Counts

June 30, 2007 | Filed Under amophostine, neulasta, treatment | No Comments

My white cell count was low this week so my doctor is putting me on Neulasta  for the duration of my treatment.  2 shots every weekend.  Lovely.  I already get 2 shots of Amophostine every day before radiation.  Now this.  If it helps me live, I guess I shouldn’t complain, but shit — I feel like I’m fighting a war on 3 fronts now.  When they said this was going to be hard, I had no idea, I guess.

First Day

June 6, 2007 | Filed Under cancer, chemotherapy, oncologist, radiation, treatment | No Comments

I have my very first treatments today — radiation and chemo back-to-back.

Since my radiation therapy is 7:45am, I figure I have time to drop off my urine sample for my creatine clearance test at the lab beforehand.  The lab is right next door.  Unfortunately, it’s 7:35 before I’m even called to the registration desk.  The woman manning the desk is taking her slow sweet time.  When she finally does speak to me, she tried to tell me that I have to have blood drawn.  “What?” I say. “But I had the blood test yesterday.” 

She, of course, doesn’t care and makes me wait.  All I needed to do was hand the lab tech my urine bottle.  It’s 7:41 by the time I’m called back into the lab.  I explain to the lab tech that I had the blood taken yesterday and that I’m only here to drop-off the urine.  I explain to her further that the reason I had the blood taken yesterday and am only dropping-off today is because my oncologist is kind of absent-minded and there was a bit of a foul-up scheduling the test.  But, I had the blood drawn less than 24 hours ago so the results should be good.  She is just as crabby and rude as the woman at the registration desk and insists on wasting more time looking me up on the computer to verify what I told her — like why would I lie about something like that when what I’m dealing with is literally a matter of life and death?  Anyway, since I’m running late at this point anyway, I duck into the bathroom while she plays with the computer.  Finally, she verifies the information and takes the urine sample and I make a mad dash to the cancer center, which is practically next door.  I quickly explain to Barbara, the woman who basically runs the show, why I’m a little late.  She says, “No problem,” and I head back to the dressing area and get gowned-up.  Pretty soon, the technician comes to fetch me and I’m on the table, in my mask.  The treatment is considerably shorter than my first two times in the mask.  I can’t be sure, but I believe they zapped me five times this first time.  Then I am done and I get dressed and I’m off to my other oncologist’s office for chemo.

Chemo turns out to be a little more involved than the radiation.  I have to wait around for a long time.  They take blood.  Verify the counts.  Then they have to wait for the results of the Creatine test. I’m there at least and hour and a half before they even start the chemo. Then, my platlette count is a little low and they do another blood test to see if there’s evidence of cancer in the blood.  There isn’t and my Creatine test comes back negative, so they finally let me take my anti-nausea pill and start the drip. 

Chemo isn’t so bad while you are getting treated.  I have my books and notebooks to occupy me for the 4 hours it takes.  It’s later that I begin to feel bad.  Around 6pm after I’m long done and home and sitting in front of the T.V. I begin to feel like a big balloon head attach to lead weight.

Mask Pt. 2

June 4, 2007 | Filed Under radiation, treatment | No Comments

Remember that Leonardo DiCaprio movie, The Man in the Iron Mask? Being placed in a radiation mask is kind of like that — only worse.  The mask pins your head to a board with your neck tilted back and your jaw pressed in to the point of nearly becoming unhinged. You can barely even breath.

The first 2 times you where the mask are the worst.  The first time they make the mask. They cover you with it and mold it to your face.  It goes on hot and after it cools, they begin to take CT Scans of the areas they will be treating.  The second time you wear the mask, they scan to verify their initial markings and give you tattoos.  Both times you are lying there in that mask for about an hour.  Initially, it’s not too uncomfortable, but the pressure builds minute-to-minute as your back and neck begin to hurt and you feel like your jaw will crack — that is, if you don’t suffocate first.  When they finally finish with you, it’s like being rescued from a deep dark well or crawlspace.  Oh to breathe again!