Saturday, October 18, 2008
Birthday!
Any year I continue to suck air has to be cause for celebration. Or at least I certainly hope so.
I'm home, albeit with digestive difficulties (probably from the IV antibiotic). I also have swelly feet, legs and belly. But I'm extremely relieved I don't have to spend my birthday at the hospital.
I am 36 today and have been fêted for almost a week (if you don't count the early gift of the Amazon Kindle). My mom brought stuffed peppers and a Sweet Dreams Bakery cake (much like the one pictured) to the hospital last Sunday. Thursday she took Brian and me to Musashi for dinner, yesterday Brian finished hanging curtains for me and gave me the DVDs The Red Violin and Walk the Line. Today he took down the butt-ugly pool hall style light over the dining room table and is putting up my Ikea octopus light, "Hörby". Tonight he is taking me to a Red Wings (hockey) game. I'm not a hockey fan, but I'm excited and kind of hope there will be much violence.
Not that I have rage issues, or anything.
I'm home, albeit with digestive difficulties (probably from the IV antibiotic). I also have swelly feet, legs and belly. But I'm extremely relieved I don't have to spend my birthday at the hospital.
I am 36 today and have been fêted for almost a week (if you don't count the early gift of the Amazon Kindle). My mom brought stuffed peppers and a Sweet Dreams Bakery cake (much like the one pictured) to the hospital last Sunday. Thursday she took Brian and me to Musashi for dinner, yesterday Brian finished hanging curtains for me and gave me the DVDs The Red Violin and Walk the Line. Today he took down the butt-ugly pool hall style light over the dining room table and is putting up my Ikea octopus light, "Hörby". Tonight he is taking me to a Red Wings (hockey) game. I'm not a hockey fan, but I'm excited and kind of hope there will be much violence. Not that I have rage issues, or anything.
Labels: ascites, birthday, Brian, edema, hospital, mom
Thursday, September 25, 2008
If It's Tuesday, I Must Be Bulgin'
I put off having a paracentesis until this week because it didn't seem so bad last week. By last Thursday I was feeling pretty uncomfortable. So I arranged it for Tuesday, which at least had me on the same day as infusion (only one day at the hospital) but I wish I had goon sooner!
Man, do I feel better.
At my regular appointment, I found out that my tumor markers are nearly half what they were (Yay, Gemzar). No word yet on the ctc test, which has to be sent out for analysis. The last number I saw (in August) was alarming in light of the "key" below on the sheet, which indicated when ctc is used for prognostic purposes, any number higher than 5 indicates overall survival of 4.1 months. My number was 19. I have exceeded the "prognosis" by three years, so I'm not sure I can treat that number as anything more than a snapshot from a trend like the other numbers.
Months. Bah.
It wasn't enough to dampen my thrill at the other markers AND my liver counts, which are approaching normal. Maybe soon the ascites build up will slow down and I won't have to be poked and drained anymore--or at least not as frequently.
w00t!
Man, do I feel better.
At my regular appointment, I found out that my tumor markers are nearly half what they were (Yay, Gemzar). No word yet on the ctc test, which has to be sent out for analysis. The last number I saw (in August) was alarming in light of the "key" below on the sheet, which indicated when ctc is used for prognostic purposes, any number higher than 5 indicates overall survival of 4.1 months. My number was 19. I have exceeded the "prognosis" by three years, so I'm not sure I can treat that number as anything more than a snapshot from a trend like the other numbers.
Months. Bah.
It wasn't enough to dampen my thrill at the other markers AND my liver counts, which are approaching normal. Maybe soon the ascites build up will slow down and I won't have to be poked and drained anymore--or at least not as frequently.
w00t!
Labels: ascites, Gemzar, liver, paracentesis, tumor marker
Friday, August 08, 2008
The Five-Year Mark
Five years ago today I had a biopsy. I was very surprised that my biopsy would involve taking out a golf-ball sized chunk since I thought biopsies consisted of taking a core sample with a needle. Both are true, but I didn't have a solid mass so they needed to do surgery. My biopsy was a guided wire procedure (which I will never submit to again) and I fainted while sitting at the mammogram machine. After the biopsy and after puking from the anesthesia, they let me go home.
I went to a computer training class the next day. I remember very clearly sitting in the classroom and that I had a PC in front of me and that the instructor wrote some stuff on the board. I remember that I walked to Einstein Bagel for lunch and I remember what I had to eat. I haven't the slightest idea of the content of the class, though. It was a class on cgi, which I haven't the slightest idea how to use.
The next week I had an appointment with the surgeon, who did not have the pathology results yet. I asked him if my breast (which looked very sad, bruised, and deflated) would return to a natural shape on its own, or what. He told me it would fill out on its own and to quit looking in the mirror.
A couple of days later, I got a call from the surgeon's office to set up another appointment to go over the results. It was strongly suggested that I have someone with me. Soon afterwards I got a very panicked call from my primary care physician. She was very nervous, and didn't know what to say. So she blurted out that she was so sorry that the results showed I had cancer.
I stood in my kitchen and thought, "No wonder they want somebody to come with me to see the surgeon."
"Ok," I said.
It wasn't really Ok.
Whatever happened to, "You're so young, these things are almost always nothing," or "3 out of 4 times it turns out to be harmless"? By the time I got to my biopsy, it was "You have a 90% chance of being totally fine."
My mom took me to the appointment. Dr. Barbi had a box of tissues, many explanatory brochures and pictures, as well as sample drains to show me what would be involved to care for the wounds. I sat there dully, listening to him say how lucky it was that this was caught early. When it's caught early, treatment is very successful.
I had a tiny bit of microinvasion. Some cells were beginning to escape the confines of the ducts, but he was satisfied that this was still extremely early. I needed to coordinate with a plastic surgeon, and there were two that he typically worked with. I called the first name on the list and then had surgery in November.
Tiny cells just starting to bust out.
Diagnosis in August, surgery in November. Was that too long? No, I was assured. Plus, I opted to do chemotherapy which was sure to take care of any pesky floating cancer cells. 98% success rate for the type of cancer I had.
I "sailed" through treatment. I was called a "trooper." Success!
And technically, I am a "success." It's one of the happier statistics that I can say I'm still alive five years after treatment. I had always assumed that this meant being disease free five years later, but it does not.
I kind of hoped for more.
I certainly didn't hope for a broken, mangled hip. I didn't hope for an enlarged spleen and ascites from a damaged liver. I didn't hope for tumors in my brain. I didn't hope for multiple hospitalizations both from the disease itself and secondary infections.
The fact that I feel reasonably well, although somewhat wimpy and water-logged is amazing, but I still carry around anger about what I perceive as the "lies" that I was told about this condition. I still wonder about the gap between diagnosis and treatment. I wonder about the lack of follow-up and certainty on the part of my doctors that my early-stage cancer was treated with spectacular success, which resulted in months of inappropriately treated agony.
And I wonder why the emphasis on "early detection" is more evident than research for treatment of people who are still alive after five years, but waiting for a cure.
I went to a computer training class the next day. I remember very clearly sitting in the classroom and that I had a PC in front of me and that the instructor wrote some stuff on the board. I remember that I walked to Einstein Bagel for lunch and I remember what I had to eat. I haven't the slightest idea of the content of the class, though. It was a class on cgi, which I haven't the slightest idea how to use.
The next week I had an appointment with the surgeon, who did not have the pathology results yet. I asked him if my breast (which looked very sad, bruised, and deflated) would return to a natural shape on its own, or what. He told me it would fill out on its own and to quit looking in the mirror.
A couple of days later, I got a call from the surgeon's office to set up another appointment to go over the results. It was strongly suggested that I have someone with me. Soon afterwards I got a very panicked call from my primary care physician. She was very nervous, and didn't know what to say. So she blurted out that she was so sorry that the results showed I had cancer.
I stood in my kitchen and thought, "No wonder they want somebody to come with me to see the surgeon."
"Ok," I said.
It wasn't really Ok.
Whatever happened to, "You're so young, these things are almost always nothing," or "3 out of 4 times it turns out to be harmless"? By the time I got to my biopsy, it was "You have a 90% chance of being totally fine."
My mom took me to the appointment. Dr. Barbi had a box of tissues, many explanatory brochures and pictures, as well as sample drains to show me what would be involved to care for the wounds. I sat there dully, listening to him say how lucky it was that this was caught early. When it's caught early, treatment is very successful.
I had a tiny bit of microinvasion. Some cells were beginning to escape the confines of the ducts, but he was satisfied that this was still extremely early. I needed to coordinate with a plastic surgeon, and there were two that he typically worked with. I called the first name on the list and then had surgery in November.
Tiny cells just starting to bust out.
Diagnosis in August, surgery in November. Was that too long? No, I was assured. Plus, I opted to do chemotherapy which was sure to take care of any pesky floating cancer cells. 98% success rate for the type of cancer I had.
I "sailed" through treatment. I was called a "trooper." Success!
And technically, I am a "success." It's one of the happier statistics that I can say I'm still alive five years after treatment. I had always assumed that this meant being disease free five years later, but it does not.
I kind of hoped for more.
I certainly didn't hope for a broken, mangled hip. I didn't hope for an enlarged spleen and ascites from a damaged liver. I didn't hope for tumors in my brain. I didn't hope for multiple hospitalizations both from the disease itself and secondary infections.
The fact that I feel reasonably well, although somewhat wimpy and water-logged is amazing, but I still carry around anger about what I perceive as the "lies" that I was told about this condition. I still wonder about the gap between diagnosis and treatment. I wonder about the lack of follow-up and certainty on the part of my doctors that my early-stage cancer was treated with spectacular success, which resulted in months of inappropriately treated agony.
And I wonder why the emphasis on "early detection" is more evident than research for treatment of people who are still alive after five years, but waiting for a cure.
Labels: ascites, biopsy, chemo, DCIS, Dr. Barbi, hip, hospital, liver, mammogram, mom, spleen, surgery
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
