Tuesday, June 24, 2008
I've Got You.....Under My Skin....
"Ascites" is a term used to describe pockets of fluid buildup in the abdomen, usually as a result of an improperly functioning liver.
I've been losing weight due to my appetite issues, but my belly is huge and round. I must look like Tik-Tok of Oz. My arms are particularly scrawny. I've almost got bony shoulders, which seems bizarre. My parts are all supposed to be soft and squishy. My belly in particular should squoosh nicely, but it's all taut with fluid.
I've been getting fluid buildup in my legs and feet, but edema is something that rather suffuses the tissue and makes it sort of like a wet sponge. I deal with that by wearing my thigh-high compression stockings (which, by the end of the day, leave me with "muffin-tops" on both legs)--the black ones are particularly sexy.
Ascites are actually pockets of fluid that can be drained. Since my belly was sounding like a ripe watermelon when thumped, I had an appointment last Wednesday to get the stuff sucked out (paracentesis), and I was rather upset at the prospect of giant sucky needles. So I asked if taking a "happy pill" would be out of the question. It wasn't, so I showed up at the hospital with Brian and my friend, Xanax.
The technician or doctor or whatever she was first did an ultrasound to locate the most likely entry point, which was determined to be on my lower left side. Advising me to not look at any of the equipment, first they gave me a shot of a local anesthetic. The needle would go in a little bit, inject something numbing, go in a little more, inject more numbing stuff, etc. Then the next thing I knew, a plastic straw was sticking out of my belly, which they hooked up to some tubing and then they connected the tubing with a bottle that was empty and vacuum-sealed.
The bottle started to suck away and filled up with an unholy greenish liquid. A second bottle was hooked up, but the suction petered out after a bit. They thought perhaps if I tilted on my side, the liquid on my right side would slosh over and get picked up. No such luck, so they unhooked the bottle and started pulling out more fluid with a GIANT syringe.
It was two and a half liters, well short of the 5 they said was that day's potential maximum. Subsequent taps might take as much as 8 liters. Ack! I felt soooooooo much better that afternoon that Brian and I celebrated at Longhorn.
Alas, by Friday I was feeling bloaty again. I'm not as uncomfortable as I was before the procedure, but I've been scheduled for another on this Thursday. Friday I will finally have a brain scan (MRI).
In other news, my various counts are no worse than last week, some are slightly better, which will hopefully be the trend. My white blood cell counts were very low, however, and Dr. Hayes and Lita decided not to treat me with Gemzar today. The plan is to instead try an every-other-week schedule, hopefully giving my blood counts time to recover. (I neglected to bring up the subject of Neupogen, which is the devil and hurts like a mofo...if waiting a week will help my white blood cells recover, I'm not going to volunteer for stinging agony.)
I've been losing weight due to my appetite issues, but my belly is huge and round. I must look like Tik-Tok of Oz. My arms are particularly scrawny. I've almost got bony shoulders, which seems bizarre. My parts are all supposed to be soft and squishy. My belly in particular should squoosh nicely, but it's all taut with fluid.I've been getting fluid buildup in my legs and feet, but edema is something that rather suffuses the tissue and makes it sort of like a wet sponge. I deal with that by wearing my thigh-high compression stockings (which, by the end of the day, leave me with "muffin-tops" on both legs)--the black ones are particularly sexy.
Ascites are actually pockets of fluid that can be drained. Since my belly was sounding like a ripe watermelon when thumped, I had an appointment last Wednesday to get the stuff sucked out (paracentesis), and I was rather upset at the prospect of giant sucky needles. So I asked if taking a "happy pill" would be out of the question. It wasn't, so I showed up at the hospital with Brian and my friend, Xanax.
The technician or doctor or whatever she was first did an ultrasound to locate the most likely entry point, which was determined to be on my lower left side. Advising me to not look at any of the equipment, first they gave me a shot of a local anesthetic. The needle would go in a little bit, inject something numbing, go in a little more, inject more numbing stuff, etc. Then the next thing I knew, a plastic straw was sticking out of my belly, which they hooked up to some tubing and then they connected the tubing with a bottle that was empty and vacuum-sealed.
The bottle started to suck away and filled up with an unholy greenish liquid. A second bottle was hooked up, but the suction petered out after a bit. They thought perhaps if I tilted on my side, the liquid on my right side would slosh over and get picked up. No such luck, so they unhooked the bottle and started pulling out more fluid with a GIANT syringe.
It was two and a half liters, well short of the 5 they said was that day's potential maximum. Subsequent taps might take as much as 8 liters. Ack! I felt soooooooo much better that afternoon that Brian and I celebrated at Longhorn.
Alas, by Friday I was feeling bloaty again. I'm not as uncomfortable as I was before the procedure, but I've been scheduled for another on this Thursday. Friday I will finally have a brain scan (MRI).
In other news, my various counts are no worse than last week, some are slightly better, which will hopefully be the trend. My white blood cell counts were very low, however, and Dr. Hayes and Lita decided not to treat me with Gemzar today. The plan is to instead try an every-other-week schedule, hopefully giving my blood counts time to recover. (I neglected to bring up the subject of Neupogen, which is the devil and hurts like a mofo...if waiting a week will help my white blood cells recover, I'm not going to volunteer for stinging agony.)
Labels: ascites, Brian, Dr. Hayes, edema, Gemzar, Lita, liver, paracentesis, Xanax
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
AAAAAAaaaaaa!!! Or: try not to pay attention to offhand things said by random people on tv.
Last tuesday the weight of everything that has been happening came crashing down in a crushing implosion of fear, doubt, panic, paranoia, and just plain terror. I recall watching a show wherein one of the people being interviewed made a random comment about her mom having lost her battle with breast cancer at age 45. Ordinarily I would not have associated myself with such a comment. I would have paused for a moment, thought to myself, "How sad. That must be difficult to deal with," and then moved on. This time I couldn't forget that maybe someday soon somebody will say that about me. Maybe they will speak of my "courage in the face of adversity," or some equally sentimental blather. Maybe they will be sad and choked up. I don't know.
What I do know is that my doctor had sent me to get a brain scan to see if I had any brain metastases, and I read earlier in the week a blog by somebody who had been suffering from brain mets and who was not doing well. "I'll bet you a hundred dollars now you don't have them," my doctor said, holding out his hand in a friendly wager.
I'm sorry, doctor, but I just don't believe such things anymore:
If somebody tells me not to worry, I don't think it's going to happen. So Tuesday evening I was all stressed and began crying uncontrollably. This is something I hate doing because a) it tends to be contagious, and I hate it when Brian gets upset and b) It's just plain embarrassing to be out of control like that. I also threw up again for the first time in at least a week; I thought I had gotten over that. So with the sobbing and the worrying about the future, it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't heard any results of the test.
"Surely they'd have called immediately if there had been anything bad," Brian said. True, but my paranoia was not about to be derailed by logic. So I sobbed some more. I asked for kleenex and tried to keep the tears from dripping into my ears. My pillow got exceedlingly soggy, and then I couldn't sleep. I kept sitting bolt upright and getting up to do something, anything. To go to the bathroom. To brush my hair. To look for something or organize a drawer. To brush my teeth. Again. By the early hours of the morning I was an utter basket case. I couldn't stand to be touched and Brian wanted to stay home for the day. I went to get my palm pilot and cell phone so I could call Lita first thing for the results.
Brian did go off to work, and I called Lita's office and left a very shaky, paniced message. A couple of hours later, one of the other nurses called me back to say that Lita was in clinic all morning and had asked her to go through her messages. Anyway, the tests had come back and they showed everything was normal.
I thanked her in a very broken voice, hung up the phone, and sobbed hysterically. Normal! Thank god...Thank you for not being so cruel as to have me beat the odds this time. After more weeping and worrying about the future, I suddenly realized that I have a prescription for xanax which says, "take one three times daily as needed for anxiety." Brother, do I have anxiety.
So I've added some xanax to my regimen, although I break them in half now because they make me very sleepy. I might have to stop them until the next crying jag, which I hope will not be for a long time, and which will not be precipitated by something quite so scary as brain mets.
What I do know is that my doctor had sent me to get a brain scan to see if I had any brain metastases, and I read earlier in the week a blog by somebody who had been suffering from brain mets and who was not doing well. "I'll bet you a hundred dollars now you don't have them," my doctor said, holding out his hand in a friendly wager.
I'm sorry, doctor, but I just don't believe such things anymore:
- "Oh, it's probably nothing."
- "You're so young; you have nothing to worry about."
- "Nine times out of ten these things are harmless, especially in people with your history."
- "After surgery and chemo, you're clear. You don't have anything to worry about."
If somebody tells me not to worry, I don't think it's going to happen. So Tuesday evening I was all stressed and began crying uncontrollably. This is something I hate doing because a) it tends to be contagious, and I hate it when Brian gets upset and b) It's just plain embarrassing to be out of control like that. I also threw up again for the first time in at least a week; I thought I had gotten over that. So with the sobbing and the worrying about the future, it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't heard any results of the test.
"Surely they'd have called immediately if there had been anything bad," Brian said. True, but my paranoia was not about to be derailed by logic. So I sobbed some more. I asked for kleenex and tried to keep the tears from dripping into my ears. My pillow got exceedlingly soggy, and then I couldn't sleep. I kept sitting bolt upright and getting up to do something, anything. To go to the bathroom. To brush my hair. To look for something or organize a drawer. To brush my teeth. Again. By the early hours of the morning I was an utter basket case. I couldn't stand to be touched and Brian wanted to stay home for the day. I went to get my palm pilot and cell phone so I could call Lita first thing for the results.
Brian did go off to work, and I called Lita's office and left a very shaky, paniced message. A couple of hours later, one of the other nurses called me back to say that Lita was in clinic all morning and had asked her to go through her messages. Anyway, the tests had come back and they showed everything was normal.
I thanked her in a very broken voice, hung up the phone, and sobbed hysterically. Normal! Thank god...Thank you for not being so cruel as to have me beat the odds this time. After more weeping and worrying about the future, I suddenly realized that I have a prescription for xanax which says, "take one three times daily as needed for anxiety." Brother, do I have anxiety.
So I've added some xanax to my regimen, although I break them in half now because they make me very sleepy. I might have to stop them until the next crying jag, which I hope will not be for a long time, and which will not be precipitated by something quite so scary as brain mets.
Labels: anxiety, brain scan, Brian, Lita, Xanax
