Tuesday, October 23, 2007
May Have Played the Cancer Card
This past weekend I drove to Cleveland to see my dad and visit with my Grandma, aunts, one uncle, and several of my cousin's kids. On the way there, I was pulled over by one of Michigan's finest. I was driving somewhat fast-ish, and figured I deserved a speeding ticket.
When he pulled me over and asked for my license, registration, and proof of insurance, I accidentally gave him the Saturn registration and utterly failed to find my proof of insurance (which turned out to be at home in a different purse). Then he pointed out to me that my license tags had expired. Of course...my birthday came and went. I completely forgot about renewing my tags as the Secretary of State had not seen fit--for the second time this year--to send a renewal notice. Then he also pointed out that the expired registration indicated the car was a four-door and not a two-door. "Were you aware of that?"
"No," I squeaked.
He went back to his vehicle and did whatever it is they do back there while you are squirming in your seat. I might have cried a little bit. I blew my nose.
When he came back, he told me he would let me off with a warning, but I needed to get it taken care of right away. "Be careful," he told me.
I was very surprised, since I actually had committed a number of offenses (although the only one I did on purpose involved the celerity with which I was zipping down the road). I had not put on a wig that day, figuring the back would just get tangled in the car and I'd swap the bandana for hair when I got closer to Grandma's house.
Maybe I inadvertently played the cancer card. Maybe he decided not to give the bald lady a ticket because he'd feel guilty doing it.
It does happen: I think people panic and become unsettled with somebody who looks visibly ill or different. I have on more than one occasion cut to the front of the baby frappuccino line at Race for the Cure. Hollywood stars get clothes and jewelry all the time for looking abnormally fabulous; have you ever seen the amazing bags of swag they get for going to the Oscars? No one's giving me iPods, furs, and expensive perfume. No one need be jealous of us if we play the card from time to time--whether we mean to or not.
Neupogen to boost your white blood cell count: $1000
A Year's worth of chemo and Avastin: $100,000
A trip to the ER for an emergency CT scan: $50
Getting out of a ticket because you're bald and feeble: priceless.
When he pulled me over and asked for my license, registration, and proof of insurance, I accidentally gave him the Saturn registration and utterly failed to find my proof of insurance (which turned out to be at home in a different purse). Then he pointed out to me that my license tags had expired. Of course...my birthday came and went. I completely forgot about renewing my tags as the Secretary of State had not seen fit--for the second time this year--to send a renewal notice. Then he also pointed out that the expired registration indicated the car was a four-door and not a two-door. "Were you aware of that?"
"No," I squeaked.
He went back to his vehicle and did whatever it is they do back there while you are squirming in your seat. I might have cried a little bit. I blew my nose.
When he came back, he told me he would let me off with a warning, but I needed to get it taken care of right away. "Be careful," he told me.
I was very surprised, since I actually had committed a number of offenses (although the only one I did on purpose involved the celerity with which I was zipping down the road). I had not put on a wig that day, figuring the back would just get tangled in the car and I'd swap the bandana for hair when I got closer to Grandma's house.
Maybe I inadvertently played the cancer card. Maybe he decided not to give the bald lady a ticket because he'd feel guilty doing it.
It does happen: I think people panic and become unsettled with somebody who looks visibly ill or different. I have on more than one occasion cut to the front of the baby frappuccino line at Race for the Cure. Hollywood stars get clothes and jewelry all the time for looking abnormally fabulous; have you ever seen the amazing bags of swag they get for going to the Oscars? No one's giving me iPods, furs, and expensive perfume. No one need be jealous of us if we play the card from time to time--whether we mean to or not.
Neupogen to boost your white blood cell count: $1000
A Year's worth of chemo and Avastin: $100,000
A trip to the ER for an emergency CT scan: $50
Getting out of a ticket because you're bald and feeble: priceless.
Labels: Avastin, baldness, birthday, chemo, CT scan, Dad, Grandma, hospital, Neupogen, Race for the Cure, vacation, wigs
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Waiting with Bated Breath?
Just in case anyone is hyperventilating on the edge of his or her seat waiting to hear the results of my scans: nothing is significantly different. According to the reports, there may be "new areas of uptake" on the upper thoracic spine, and the "dome of the liver" might show a difference, but Lita showed me side-by-side comparisons with the scans from three months ago, and it was really hard to see any difference. There are so many blobs in my liver, the possible increase in size of one hardly makes a difference. Dr. Hayes suggested sitting tight for now, rescanning in a few months, and then making a decision whether to continue with Abraxane.
He said being ill from other things--like a horrible butt issue--might cause a false positive. I'm not sure I'm convinced that my fissure could somehow impact a bone scan, but whatever.
Also, Lita and Dr. Hayes decided they wanted to look at my butt to laugh and point, I'm sure. I had to curl up sideways on the exam table and I said, "This is the most undignified thing ever." They said they would ask a surgeon they both trust about whether I was on a suitable antibiotic and that I'd skip chemo that week (this was last Tuesday), and then skip the Avastin today and just go with the Abraxane and Zometa. (The nurse was confused and brought out a Neupogen shot, which we never do the day of chemo--to be honest, we hardly do it at all, although that needs to change since I'm sure the reason I was so sick this past year is because I kept weaseling out of having Brian give me the shots--she felt bad because each shot costs $3,000; luckily somebody else in the infusion area wanted it so it didn't go to waste.)
I am happy to report that my butt is feeling much better now, so I am also able to sit on the edge of my seat.
He said being ill from other things--like a horrible butt issue--might cause a false positive. I'm not sure I'm convinced that my fissure could somehow impact a bone scan, but whatever.
Also, Lita and Dr. Hayes decided they wanted to look at my butt to laugh and point, I'm sure. I had to curl up sideways on the exam table and I said, "This is the most undignified thing ever." They said they would ask a surgeon they both trust about whether I was on a suitable antibiotic and that I'd skip chemo that week (this was last Tuesday), and then skip the Avastin today and just go with the Abraxane and Zometa. (The nurse was confused and brought out a Neupogen shot, which we never do the day of chemo--to be honest, we hardly do it at all, although that needs to change since I'm sure the reason I was so sick this past year is because I kept weaseling out of having Brian give me the shots--she felt bad because each shot costs $3,000; luckily somebody else in the infusion area wanted it so it didn't go to waste.)
I am happy to report that my butt is feeling much better now, so I am also able to sit on the edge of my seat.
Labels: Abraxane, Avastin, bone scan, Brian, chemo, CT scan, Dr. Hayes, fissure, infusion, Lita, Neupogen
Monday, June 11, 2007
Another Day, Another Speech Impediment
I have traded my braces for retainers, which feel equally confining, if less pointy and jabby. My reasons for halting the orthodontic treatment early make me not quite as thrilled as I would normally be to have unfettered teeth (at least teeth unfettered by bits of metal actually glued to them), but I will be happy enough to be able to enjoy ribs and corn on the cob. I am even looking forward to eating apples, which gives me at least one thing in common with Captain Barbossa.
I am to wear the retainers every day and all night, except when eating or brushing my teeth. It will be nice to be able to floss normally again. I have two rather large gaps on the top from where I had teeth extracted; these gaps have steadfastly refused to close (due, I believe to my treatment with Zometa), so I have thrown in the orthodontic towel and now will enjoy an entirely new difficulty in speaking intelligibly.
I hope I will be able to play my flute again, at least. I realize I will need a good deal of practice, but at least now pursing my lips in the appropriate manner won't actually hurt.
I will never be as good a whistler as I once was, and that wasn't very good, either.
Right now talking is the real challenge, compounded by the fact that I am suffering the ill effects of some virus or other which was enough to knock me flat on my back for a few days, miss a round of mini-golf with my mom, and actually request my Neupogen shots, which I usually weasel out of taking. The lower retainer pushes my tongue upwards, and the upper retainer takes up half of my mouth.
Proteethius Unbound: and nobody can understand a damn word I'm saying.
I am to wear the retainers every day and all night, except when eating or brushing my teeth. It will be nice to be able to floss normally again. I have two rather large gaps on the top from where I had teeth extracted; these gaps have steadfastly refused to close (due, I believe to my treatment with Zometa), so I have thrown in the orthodontic towel and now will enjoy an entirely new difficulty in speaking intelligibly.
I hope I will be able to play my flute again, at least. I realize I will need a good deal of practice, but at least now pursing my lips in the appropriate manner won't actually hurt.
I will never be as good a whistler as I once was, and that wasn't very good, either.
Right now talking is the real challenge, compounded by the fact that I am suffering the ill effects of some virus or other which was enough to knock me flat on my back for a few days, miss a round of mini-golf with my mom, and actually request my Neupogen shots, which I usually weasel out of taking. The lower retainer pushes my tongue upwards, and the upper retainer takes up half of my mouth.
Proteethius Unbound: and nobody can understand a damn word I'm saying.
Labels: braces, Neupogen, Zometa
Friday, March 30, 2007
Impending Scans and a Departure
Blood test results show one tumor marker down (yay!), one blipped up somewhat (boo!) and my liver function tests show some results that are of enough concern to warrant a new battery of scans, including a bone scan and the ever-popular Barium Barrage, or "CT with contrast" (%$#@!).
I contacted Lita to find out about getting a "power port" but changed my mind when speaking to the scheduling people, who indicated that a power port has to go in the chest and cannot be placed in the arm.
For now I am going to have to live with the agonizing jabby-jab-jab of IV placement for the contrast dye.
Also, I absolutely must resume the Neupogen shots, which are for the purpose of boosting white blood cell counts and feeling like one is being stung by a bee without having to go outside or risk exposure to pollen. And a significant portion of my remaining twelve hairs have decided to shuffle off the mortal coil that is my head.
I contacted Lita to find out about getting a "power port" but changed my mind when speaking to the scheduling people, who indicated that a power port has to go in the chest and cannot be placed in the arm.
For now I am going to have to live with the agonizing jabby-jab-jab of IV placement for the contrast dye.
Also, I absolutely must resume the Neupogen shots, which are for the purpose of boosting white blood cell counts and feeling like one is being stung by a bee without having to go outside or risk exposure to pollen. And a significant portion of my remaining twelve hairs have decided to shuffle off the mortal coil that is my head.
Labels: baldness, barium, blood tests, bone scan, CT scan, hair, IV, Lita, Neupogen, port, tumor marker
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Ok, Break's Over: now where did I put that mandible?
It was nice while it lasted.
I was the first patient Dr. Hayes and Lita tried to treat with just Avastin and Zometa, in the hope that my disease is stable enough to treat without my having to undergo chemotherapy. As mentioned in a previous post, the blood test results from two weeks ago indicated that there could be some tumor activity: one of the markers remained the same, but the other blipped up.
So I went in for my bone scan and CT scan last week, which is always a joy. I was not able to eat during the day because of my evening scan, and by the time I got home I was ravenous and more than a little insane with low-blood-sugar-induced anger. I was angry about being stuck at the hospital with nothing to do for three and a half hours because I wouldn't have had time to get home and back. I was angry about not being able to eat. I was angry about the fact that barium even exists at all and that they can't inject the contrast dye into my port (Lita says now there's a new kind called a "superport" that they can use for injecting the dye...I may consider asking to get mine replaced). I was angry about slow traffic, at the person who honked at me for not turning quickly enough into the Wendy's parking lot, at the slowness of the drive-thru. I was angry at Brian for keeping me company while eating. I was once again angry at barium when it decided to go on its voyage to porcelain heaven--all at once. I was angry at pretty much anything it occurred to me to think of or notice.
I got my results today.
The Good News
My bones appear completely stable. There was no progression of disease in my hip/spine/ribs, and Lita is not at all worried about undue risk of fracture.
What a difference a year makes.
The Bad News
The bad news is that the disease in my liver does show progression, and as of today, both tumor markers were up (the one which had gotten down to 16-point-something is now about 200). I resumed the Abraxane today and have every expectation that those markers will go down again to near-normal levels. If not, we lather, rinse, repeat with some other drug.
Alas, this also does mean I have to resume enduring Neupogen shots. :(
The Freaky News
Within the last year, they've started hearing about some kind of weird bone problem that happens with people on Zometa--in rare cases, part of the jawbone (and only the jawbone) actually dies, which can lead to exposed bone in the mouth.
Yuck.
They have not seen this before because in the past, breast cancer patients with stage IV disease didn't last very long and Zometa didn't exist. Now it does, and there are a lot more people living significantly longer. Lita stressed that this side-effect is rare, but I get a tightness in my chest when I hear people telling me about medical conditions I have a very small chance of experiencing. I've played those odds--several times--and keep on beating 'em. I have been instructed to make my orthodontist aware of the risk so that they can check for my jaw health at my regular appointments.
Great. All this money for braces only to have my lower jaw corrode away or fall off or whatever. That's just swell.
I was the first patient Dr. Hayes and Lita tried to treat with just Avastin and Zometa, in the hope that my disease is stable enough to treat without my having to undergo chemotherapy. As mentioned in a previous post, the blood test results from two weeks ago indicated that there could be some tumor activity: one of the markers remained the same, but the other blipped up.
So I went in for my bone scan and CT scan last week, which is always a joy. I was not able to eat during the day because of my evening scan, and by the time I got home I was ravenous and more than a little insane with low-blood-sugar-induced anger. I was angry about being stuck at the hospital with nothing to do for three and a half hours because I wouldn't have had time to get home and back. I was angry about not being able to eat. I was angry about the fact that barium even exists at all and that they can't inject the contrast dye into my port (Lita says now there's a new kind called a "superport" that they can use for injecting the dye...I may consider asking to get mine replaced). I was angry about slow traffic, at the person who honked at me for not turning quickly enough into the Wendy's parking lot, at the slowness of the drive-thru. I was angry at Brian for keeping me company while eating. I was once again angry at barium when it decided to go on its voyage to porcelain heaven--all at once. I was angry at pretty much anything it occurred to me to think of or notice.
I got my results today.
The Good News
My bones appear completely stable. There was no progression of disease in my hip/spine/ribs, and Lita is not at all worried about undue risk of fracture.
What a difference a year makes.
The Bad News
The bad news is that the disease in my liver does show progression, and as of today, both tumor markers were up (the one which had gotten down to 16-point-something is now about 200). I resumed the Abraxane today and have every expectation that those markers will go down again to near-normal levels. If not, we lather, rinse, repeat with some other drug.
Alas, this also does mean I have to resume enduring Neupogen shots. :(
The Freaky News
Within the last year, they've started hearing about some kind of weird bone problem that happens with people on Zometa--in rare cases, part of the jawbone (and only the jawbone) actually dies, which can lead to exposed bone in the mouth.
Yuck.
They have not seen this before because in the past, breast cancer patients with stage IV disease didn't last very long and Zometa didn't exist. Now it does, and there are a lot more people living significantly longer. Lita stressed that this side-effect is rare, but I get a tightness in my chest when I hear people telling me about medical conditions I have a very small chance of experiencing. I've played those odds--several times--and keep on beating 'em. I have been instructed to make my orthodontist aware of the risk so that they can check for my jaw health at my regular appointments.
Great. All this money for braces only to have my lower jaw corrode away or fall off or whatever. That's just swell.
Labels: Abraxane, Avastin, barium, blood tests, bone scan, Brian, chemo, CT scan, Dr. Hayes, hospital, Lita, liver, metastasis, Neupogen, tumor marker, Zometa
Friday, September 22, 2006
Woohoo! I'm a Case Study! and Crap...I Hate Human Resources...
At my appointment this past Wednesday, Lita (my oncologist's nurse practitioner) told me that she had spoken at a conference in Chicago, where she mentioned me as an example of how well newer cancer treatments can work. I'm a case study!
Of course my name was not used, to protect my identity.
Dr. Hayes mentioned that he had recently had a conversation with Dr. Smith (the attending physician for the floor of the hospital where I spent the first two weeks of December), who was not at all certain that I'd turn out very well. "Oh, that poor lady," Dr. Smith took a dim view. I can imagine why he thought my case was dire: I was very, very ill in December, and tended to immediately vomit whenever he or his troupe of doctorlets came to visit me. I had what Lita describes as "the worst case of gastritis" she had ever seen, had a hip that broke as a result of metastatic disease, was undergoing radiation, and couldn't be moved without copious amounts of morphine.
What a very sad sack I was.
Well, things have turned around completely. Last weekend Brian and I went to visit my relatives in Cleveland, and not only was I able to stay on Aunt Barb's second floor (thanks for the hospitality, Aunt Barb), but I was able to show off my new, walker-free self to Grandma. "This is what physical therapy can do," I tried to tell her. Grandma is 93 and doesn't want to go to physical therapy. I can't say I blame her, but she does have exercises she could be doing at home. (Also, Grandma needs to wear her compression stockings. I highly recommend the toeless ones by Juzo...they included a little paper slipper that made them very easy for Brian to put them on my feet, after being shown how by the occupational therapist.) I was a little tired after walking back to the car from Jacob's Field on Friday, and walking around the Cleveland Zoo on Saturday definitely made me sore, but it was more the result of lots of walking after long inactivity, and nothing like the hip pain I experienced last year before being properly diagnosed.
Dr. Hayes also again mentioned the idea of taking a break from chemotherapy. I am more disposed to the idea this time. I will be undergoing more rounds of chemo and then in November will be re-scanned. If the downward trend on my lab results continues, and the tumors in my liver shrink further (to non-scary sizes: the largest is still around 4 centimeters), then I will be taken off Abraxane for as long as things appear to be ok. I will continue receiving Avastin and Zometa, which do not have the kind of side effects that chemotherapy does. I'm disappointed to have to continue going for infusions, but being able to grow my hair and stop getting Neupogen shots (which I've been weaseling out of having Brian give me) will be very nice. Lita called and left the latest lab results: the tumor marker which had gone down to 16.1 is now 15. The one which had gone down to 65 is now 45. (I will try to amend this with more accurate information when I get home.)
Now that things are going so well and that I am back at work full time, I've had a human resources snafu thrust upon me. I am very lucky in that my benefits allow me a very large number of "extended sick leave" hours at full pay. Unfortunately, I have only 20 of those hours remaining. I can use extended sick leave hours at half pay (which only contributes half to my retirement and benefits), or if I don't use extended sick leave hours at all for thirty days, they will be renewed to 1056 hours available.
However, those 1056 hours cannot be used for the same occurrence of an illness. Basically this means that in order to use the renewed extended sick leave hours, I have to develop some OTHER catastrophic medical situation aside from the chronic disease which for which I will be undergoing treatment for the rest of my life.
I could use my fifteen days of short term sick leave for my infusion appointments (these tend to take six hours or more) and other doctor's appointments. However, since I get infused roughly three times a month, within less than five months my sick leave will be gone for the year. Also, due to the library's interpretation of the university's Standard Practice Guide, taking three sick days per month could, in three months' time, give my supervisor (who, mercifully, is not interested in punative tracking of my schedule) grounds to write me up and fire me.
I could use my vacation time--which did not accrue while I was on extended sick leave--for my appointments, however I get only two vacation days per month and it hardly seems fair to deny me my vacation time in entirety because of a medical condition.
I could take time off without pay, which isn't appealing for the same reasons taking half-pay extended sick leave isn't a great option. Or I could rework my schedule to work longer hours on the other days of the week that I am not receiving medications intraveinously. Sure, that makes sense--let's have somebody on chemotherapy working longer hours to make up for it.
This is all patently ridiculous. I'm not a malingerer; I work hard and contribute positively to the library. I feel like I'm being punished for something utterly out of my control: I didn't choose to be afflicted by a chronic condition, and if I could magically stop going to as many appointments as I do, I'd be thrilled. However, there's nothing I can do about it, and I feel like the university's policy is designed to keep them from having to pay for somebody with a chronic illness.
Grounds for dispute under the Americans with Disabilities Act? I don't know.
Of course my name was not used, to protect my identity.
Dr. Hayes mentioned that he had recently had a conversation with Dr. Smith (the attending physician for the floor of the hospital where I spent the first two weeks of December), who was not at all certain that I'd turn out very well. "Oh, that poor lady," Dr. Smith took a dim view. I can imagine why he thought my case was dire: I was very, very ill in December, and tended to immediately vomit whenever he or his troupe of doctorlets came to visit me. I had what Lita describes as "the worst case of gastritis" she had ever seen, had a hip that broke as a result of metastatic disease, was undergoing radiation, and couldn't be moved without copious amounts of morphine.
What a very sad sack I was.
Well, things have turned around completely. Last weekend Brian and I went to visit my relatives in Cleveland, and not only was I able to stay on Aunt Barb's second floor (thanks for the hospitality, Aunt Barb), but I was able to show off my new, walker-free self to Grandma. "This is what physical therapy can do," I tried to tell her. Grandma is 93 and doesn't want to go to physical therapy. I can't say I blame her, but she does have exercises she could be doing at home. (Also, Grandma needs to wear her compression stockings. I highly recommend the toeless ones by Juzo...they included a little paper slipper that made them very easy for Brian to put them on my feet, after being shown how by the occupational therapist.) I was a little tired after walking back to the car from Jacob's Field on Friday, and walking around the Cleveland Zoo on Saturday definitely made me sore, but it was more the result of lots of walking after long inactivity, and nothing like the hip pain I experienced last year before being properly diagnosed.
Dr. Hayes also again mentioned the idea of taking a break from chemotherapy. I am more disposed to the idea this time. I will be undergoing more rounds of chemo and then in November will be re-scanned. If the downward trend on my lab results continues, and the tumors in my liver shrink further (to non-scary sizes: the largest is still around 4 centimeters), then I will be taken off Abraxane for as long as things appear to be ok. I will continue receiving Avastin and Zometa, which do not have the kind of side effects that chemotherapy does. I'm disappointed to have to continue going for infusions, but being able to grow my hair and stop getting Neupogen shots (which I've been weaseling out of having Brian give me) will be very nice. Lita called and left the latest lab results: the tumor marker which had gone down to 16.1 is now 15. The one which had gone down to 65 is now 45. (I will try to amend this with more accurate information when I get home.)
Now that things are going so well and that I am back at work full time, I've had a human resources snafu thrust upon me. I am very lucky in that my benefits allow me a very large number of "extended sick leave" hours at full pay. Unfortunately, I have only 20 of those hours remaining. I can use extended sick leave hours at half pay (which only contributes half to my retirement and benefits), or if I don't use extended sick leave hours at all for thirty days, they will be renewed to 1056 hours available.
However, those 1056 hours cannot be used for the same occurrence of an illness. Basically this means that in order to use the renewed extended sick leave hours, I have to develop some OTHER catastrophic medical situation aside from the chronic disease which for which I will be undergoing treatment for the rest of my life.
I could use my fifteen days of short term sick leave for my infusion appointments (these tend to take six hours or more) and other doctor's appointments. However, since I get infused roughly three times a month, within less than five months my sick leave will be gone for the year. Also, due to the library's interpretation of the university's Standard Practice Guide, taking three sick days per month could, in three months' time, give my supervisor (who, mercifully, is not interested in punative tracking of my schedule) grounds to write me up and fire me.
I could use my vacation time--which did not accrue while I was on extended sick leave--for my appointments, however I get only two vacation days per month and it hardly seems fair to deny me my vacation time in entirety because of a medical condition.
I could take time off without pay, which isn't appealing for the same reasons taking half-pay extended sick leave isn't a great option. Or I could rework my schedule to work longer hours on the other days of the week that I am not receiving medications intraveinously. Sure, that makes sense--let's have somebody on chemotherapy working longer hours to make up for it.
This is all patently ridiculous. I'm not a malingerer; I work hard and contribute positively to the library. I feel like I'm being punished for something utterly out of my control: I didn't choose to be afflicted by a chronic condition, and if I could magically stop going to as many appointments as I do, I'd be thrilled. However, there's nothing I can do about it, and I feel like the university's policy is designed to keep them from having to pay for somebody with a chronic illness.
Grounds for dispute under the Americans with Disabilities Act? I don't know.
Labels: Abraxane, Aunt Barb, Avastin, Brian, chemo, Cleveland, doctorlets, Dr. Hayes, Grandma, hip, Lita, liver, morphine, nausea, Neupogen, physical therapy, radiation, sick days, Zometa
Friday, July 14, 2006
The Difference Between Bowling and Mini-Golf
Aside from the fact that the ball size is totally different and that I completely suck at bowling (the last time I bowled I received a score of 19, due only to the scorekeeper's accidentally counting three pins twice), whereas I have been known to once in a while eke out a victory in my annual Martha's Vineyard mini-golf game, the scoring is exactly the opposite.
In bowling, you want your score to be as high as possible with as many strikes as you can get. With mini-golf, you want your score to be low as it can be.
I have printouts from the hospital showing results of various blood tests--which they have to do before determining whether I'm healthy enough to receive this week's dose of chemotherapy--and the array of things monitored is dizzying. There are white blood cell counts, various chemical counts, red blood cell counts, tumor antigen counts, things related to liver function, and I have one sheet listing I-don't-even-know-what.
The two major numbers that I've been paying attention to are the white blood cell count and the tumor antigen count. You want to have a high enough white blood cell count to be able to fight off infection, otherwise they will not administer the chemotherapy because it is just too risky. If you can't bowl, they won't let you in the league. So Brian has been administering subcutaneous Neupogen shots at home (which is hysterically funny for anyone who knows how much I just love needles) the four days after my chemo treatment. So far it's been working. The tumor marker count is like your minigolf score: the lower, the better. On my sheet, it started out around 55 in November and reached a high of over 200 before starting to go down.
Anyway, Lita called the other day and told Brian we are to celebrate because the numbers are all going in the direction they should be (also, the test results show that my liver function is almost back to normal, but that doesn't fit into my stupid analogy). I don't know how the numbers compare right now to what is on the printouts, because Brian couldn't find the sheets and didn't write down what Lita told him.
I am cautiously optimistic about the tumor counts. I'm not sure it will ever be possible to make it under par, but lowering my score at all is a good thing.
In bowling, you want your score to be as high as possible with as many strikes as you can get. With mini-golf, you want your score to be low as it can be.
I have printouts from the hospital showing results of various blood tests--which they have to do before determining whether I'm healthy enough to receive this week's dose of chemotherapy--and the array of things monitored is dizzying. There are white blood cell counts, various chemical counts, red blood cell counts, tumor antigen counts, things related to liver function, and I have one sheet listing I-don't-even-know-what.
The two major numbers that I've been paying attention to are the white blood cell count and the tumor antigen count. You want to have a high enough white blood cell count to be able to fight off infection, otherwise they will not administer the chemotherapy because it is just too risky. If you can't bowl, they won't let you in the league. So Brian has been administering subcutaneous Neupogen shots at home (which is hysterically funny for anyone who knows how much I just love needles) the four days after my chemo treatment. So far it's been working. The tumor marker count is like your minigolf score: the lower, the better. On my sheet, it started out around 55 in November and reached a high of over 200 before starting to go down.
Anyway, Lita called the other day and told Brian we are to celebrate because the numbers are all going in the direction they should be (also, the test results show that my liver function is almost back to normal, but that doesn't fit into my stupid analogy). I don't know how the numbers compare right now to what is on the printouts, because Brian couldn't find the sheets and didn't write down what Lita told him.
I am cautiously optimistic about the tumor counts. I'm not sure it will ever be possible to make it under par, but lowering my score at all is a good thing.
Labels: blood tests, Brian, chemo, Lita, liver, Neupogen, tumor antigen, tumor marker, white blood cell
