Chemo part 2, Number 8: Port Clogged

I have an entry started from my last chemo, but it has been making me feel physically ill each time I try to finish it.  I'll have to publish it when it gets further away from a chemo date.

Chemo this week went as expected.  I cannot believe how just typing these words brings my stomach up to my throat, it is just incredible.  I am going to have a piece of peppermint gum to try and calm my stomach, and hope to get through this entry.

I guess that chemo sentence is not quite true.   My nurse and I spent the early part of my visit trying to figure out how to unblock my port.  Faye was off today, so I had Tracy, who is often on Fain 3 with me, but never my nurse.  Right from the start my port would not give a blood return, which is important when they need three vials of blood for blood work.  Tracy pushed saline through my line trying to clear it, but it would not work.  The saline went in, but no blood would come out.  I tried sitting back, reclining, reclining further, raising my arms, coughing, walking around the nurses station, laying down on a stretcher, raising both arms, coughing some more.  Through all of this she still could not get enough blood for my tests.  She finally resorted to getting the three vials of blood out of a vein in my hand.

Even though we knew that the saline was going through my line and into my vein, the obstruction at the end of my line still needed to be cleared.   The solution is to inject the line with something that  breaks down whatever is forming the little flap at the end of my line.  I don't remember what the official name of this stuff that got pumped into me is, just that we were calling it drain cleaner.  Ugh.  Not a pretty picture.

I was worried about what happens to the little bit of stuff, once it breaks down.  Does it dissolve or go into my blood stream?  Where does it go?  The nurse assured me it would not hurt me, that the solution sits in the line, clears up the problem and gets pulled back out.  Or something like that.  It needs to sit in the line for about an hour, which is about how long it takes to get my vitals done, wait for, and then visit with the doctor. 

When I see Dr. Safran, I get some good news.  My ct scan looks very good, with only two little dark spots present that he is not sure about.  He has asked me if I think I can handle two more chemo treatments, numbers eight and nine. I tell him this chemo is difficult, and that the best way I have found to get through it it by sleeping all weekend.  We agree this might not be the worst way to deal with it.   I tell him yes, I will do two more chemo treatments.

He tells me we can do a pet scan after the ninth, and then decide what to do from there.  I ask him what my options will be. It looks like I have three.  One, I can do nothing, and see what happens.  I will need to be monitored, since there is a very good incidence of recurrence with this type of cancer.  Two:  I can take a new drug that is supposed to suppress cancer cells from reoccurring.  Three:  I can take part in a trial with an experimental drug which will be very closely monitored.  Two in three people are on the new drug, the third is on nothing and monitored closely.  I think this is good news, but I am also scared.  There is a big decision to be made here.  The best course of action would have been to never get myself into this position, but it's too late for that.

Before I head to my pod, I find my friend Nancy in the reception area.  She has taken a vacation day to come and sit with me while I receive my treatment.   As I show her where we will spend the next few hours, we pass Carole, my chemo friend, she is heading off for her doctor's appointment.  She has chosen the pod beside mine, so we promise to talk later.

It has only been forty minutes since I have had the drain cleaner in my port.   It is still not quite long enough to work.  Nancy and I sit and talk to pass the time.  My friend Rasika also stops by to visit.  She is visiting Providence from Australia, and chosen to spend part of her day here in Fain 3 with me.  I am fortunate to have such friends.

Finally, after more reclining, arm raising, and coughing, the thing that gets my blood flowing again is laughter.  Of course.  Now that my port is all set, I am ready to go, ready to sit for four hours and get chemo slowly, but steadily poured into me. 

Monday, December 29

This is my vacation week, I don't have any little ones until next Monday.  I am going to spend my vacation trying to get some of the cleaning done that has been ignored for so long.  My friend Anna is leaving today for her vacation, and has left her car with me.  I am very happy about this, since I will be able to make runs to Savers and the recycling facility that I don't get to on weekends.

I have a ct scan at four today, and have to remember not to eat after two o'clock. My scan is at Miriam, which is very convenient.  Kaileigh, Steven and I walk over to the hospital where we learn I am the last scan of the day. This makes me think they squeezed me in.  There had been a paperwork mix up in the scheduling, and it took a couple of days to get things straightened out. 

This will be the scan which shows just how well my Folfox treatments have worked.

This ct room is quiet compared to the other I visited.  I don't ask, but I attribute this to newer, greener technology I have read about with the cooling system.  This makes the whole experience more relaxing. No loud whooshing sounds.

The drill here is the same as every other time.  There is a bed to climb on which slides into the large donut shaped ct machine.  I have forgotten to wear pants without metal, but rather than having to change into a johnny, I am covered with a blanket and asked to pull my pants down below my knees.
 I get an IV solution in my arm of contrast dye, the one that makes you feel like you might need to pee.  The bed slides into the circle of hard plastic up to my shoulders, and slides out.  I am instructed by a recorded voice to hold my breath and slowly it slides in again.  I notice two emoticon symbols above the bed.  One means inhale and hold, the other means breathe.  I don't remember seeing these on the other machine I used.  Just as my chest finishes going through the donut, I am instructed to breathe again.  We repeat this whole process again one more time, and then I am done.  It seems to go faster than the last two I have had.

In the evening Kaileigh, Steven and I go to see the movie Big Eyes.  It is a good movie, and it was fun to see the big eyed style of paintings, much like those that hung in my bedroom as a child.

Tuesday

Julia and I go to the registry to get her car registered.  We have a very frustrating experience.  We arrive just before it opens so we won't be there all day, and in the end we leave without accomplishing our task.  Most of the people we deal with are surly and unfriendly, surprising since we can only be the second or third person they have seen so far today.  The most helpful people we meet are a woman who was there on business, and a woman at the return ticket desk.  She was kind and clearly described what we need to do to get Julia's car registered.  We need a signature from her mom, so I arrange to meet with her later.

I return home to my cleaning projects. Just before dinner leave to meet with my sister in law at a bank to get her signature notarized on the car registration form.  I manage to do this, drop Steven at a meeting, and make it to knitting on time.  I don't end up having time to eat, but find some chips in the church kitchen to tide me over until I get home.  Ayla and her friend Malani are coming to learn to knit this evening.  It is fun to have new knitters join us. I have forgotten that Malani is left handed, but I figure out how to show her a knit stitch.

Wednesday

I return to the DMV with Julia and Steve.  We go in later in the morning, and our experience today is far nicer than it was yesterday.  I don't know if it is the holiday tonight, but everyone is very helpful.  We manage to register Julia's car with no further problems, renew Steven's license and get out of there in an hour and a half.  Surely this must be a record.

As we are driving home, Kaileigh calls.  She is already at our house waiting to go with me to see Dr. Safran.  By the time we get home, there is only a short time before I need to leave for Fain 3.  We walk over, I register, get my blood drawn, and my vitals taken.  Kaileigh, Steven and I are all shown to one of the exam rooms to wait for Dr. Safran.    While we are waiting, one of the teaching nurses comes in to visit with me.  She asks how I have been doing, and how my other doctor's visits have been.  She tells me Dr. Safran has good news to tell me about my ct scan.

Dr. Safran comes in accompanied by Megan, his resident, and and the nurse who had just visited me.  He asks me if I want to see my scan.  We go to his computer and and he shows me the scan from October, then the scan from Monday.  It is hard to believe this is the same liver.  There are no spots, no large tumor obstructing my vein.  Everything is gone, my liver looks clean.  It is like some kind of magic trick has been performed and my liver has been switched.

We go back to the exam room and Dr. Safran tells me we can plan on reattaching my colon now.  After that is done, at the end of February, we will meet again to see how my recovery is going.  If things look good, we will discuss starting another round of chemo, which will last about six more months.

I have done it.  I have made it through all of my folfox treatments and come out the other side with a clean liver, all by the end of the year.   This is by no means the end, but it is one wonderful way to end a year that has been difficult, and start the 2015 with renewed purpose and energy.  An upbeat beginning to a new chapter.