Half done with the nasty parts of chemo!

Still trying to manage side effects and “time,” but if I didn’t have last time to compare this round of treatment with, I’d probably be complaining!

That pretty much sums it up in a pill capsule.

Yesterday was a very long day at The Martha. The day began when I drank the Kool-Aid for breakfast at 7:30. Oh, right. It was actually contrast dye for my CT scan, but the phrase “drink the Kool-Aid” kept running through my head; I often feel like I’m blindly moving through the medical profession’s guessing game.

The CT Scan was of chest and pelvis – checking to see if the suspicious abnormalities on my June 1st CT scan at Mayo were making any worrisome changes. Greg and I had bets the results of the 9:45 scan would not make it to my oncologist for our 10:45 visit, but alas, we were able to review both Mayo’s scan as well as yesterday’s results on screen as my oncologist took his first look and explained what he was seeing.

As the concerning spots on my rib and lung had not changed after 9 out of 18 chemotherapy treatments, conclusion drawn is they are not malignant. Could be old wounds or cysts. It was quite fascinating to scroll through the myriad “slices” of Mary Murray – and in fact we have the scan from Mayo on disk. I’ve always been fascinated by anatomy (wanted one of those see-through take-apart plastic human dolls when I was a kid, but of course we were too POOR). I will no doubt examine my slices and try to identify organs and bones for fun and entertainment one of these days. (Greg suggests the hundreds of shots would make a great ever-lasting screen saver.)

There is never a visit to The Martha that doesn’t hold an endearing conversation with another patient. This week I spoke with a man I would guess to be somewhat younger than I. He has pancreatic cancer and the docs are surprised how well he’s doing after 16 chemo treatments. Typically, he told me, people can take 6 or 7 doses and then have to have a break to gain strength before coming back for more. He’s trying to push off his break until just before deer hunting so he can gain energy and get together with his buddies for what he believes will be “one last time.” We talked about how easily priorities come into view under the circumstances. He also told me about another fellow patient he’d come to know at The Martha, upper 50s, who died last week. One morning he simply couldn’t get out of bed and decided not to call an ambulance. Instead, he stayed peaceful and gave it up later that day. There was a one-hour waiting line outside the funeral home, I was told. They guy had a great many friends. One can only hope to go out like that.

So yesterday, again, was a long one and I came home with fatigue mixed with hyperactivity and the feeling that someone had poked sharp sticks into my eyes. (I have a lot of eye sensitivity.) Not to mention I was full to the brim with liquids from both contrast dye and chemo bags. I spent the evening in my recliner, near the bathroom, brainlessly watching episode after episode of Arrested Development. And Mary School delivered yet another gift to my door. A stuffed “Breast Cancer Dammit Doll” bedecked in pink ribbon fabric and wearing a pearl necklace with the Mary-Murray-despised pink ribbon medallion! Need to get out the stick pins.