It's been almost a year since I updated this blog. I certainly did not intend it to be this way. There have been medical developments since I finished treatment, thankfully nothing that indicates a return of my cancer. But as I was so used to writing about treatment, once it stopped, my usual routine stopped with it and I found it much harder to think of topics to discuss.
A lot has happened since then. I have had scans four times (March, June, September, and December 2014). All of them have turned out clear so far; here's hoping for the rest to be the same as well. My next round of scans is at the end of March of this year. These will mark the "official" one year mark, after which my scans will decrease in frequency and I'll start being followed by Sloan-Kettering's long term team. They are internists who specialize in the effects of treatment on all the noncancerous parts of cancer patients' bodies. There are a number of long term effects that chemo and radiation can have, that varies by the drugs, treatment site, and dosage. I won't get into them here, but needless to say, I will be talking about them in future posts.
I successfully finished what remained of my Ph.D. work, defended my dissertation in early June, and deposited it a month later. Then Ashley and I at long last got married! We had a small ceremony in Champaign with a reception afterwards at a restaurant in neighboring Urbana. I was pleasantly surprised that I was able to stay out on the dance floor on just one natural leg, though I was sore for an entire week afterwards!
I also fulfilled a dream, moving back to California at the end of July to work my first "no more school" job. I'm in the Bay again, which I had featured in this much earlier post as a place I was hoping I could see again. This time I'm hoping for a longer tenure here than the four years (2003-07) that made up my prior one. The very first time I'd come back here after I left (Summer 2010) was quite the experience. I could feel memories all around me as I walked around where I used to live and then found myself missing my former times there and hoping things could have worked out differently and enabled me to stay there versus having had to come back to Illinois to finish my education. This feeling went away in subsequent summer visits (2011, 2012) as I built new memories through my internships, where I was making progress towards my Ph.D. And then in October 2012, my symptoms hit.
Nowadays, I'm reminded of my pre-cancer life on an almost everyday basis. That I simply have to put on a prosthetic leg each morning is one of them, versus the past where I could just roll in and out of bed at my own leisure without having to take any extra steps. I can't lift heavy weights anymore because of the heart toxicity associated with doxorubicin, when in the past weightlifting was one of my favorite forms of exercise. I can't help but worry that my current healthy state is going to be short-lived when in the past I had no health worries at all. This all has an effect on me. I'd like to think this will all end up working out in the end. Leaving California the first time turned out to do just that, as I wouldn't have met Ashley had I not done so. But while the feelings associated with my first return began to fade at the end of that summer, it's been just over a year since I finished treatment and the pre-cancer vs. post-cancer comparisons are still going on strong. I'm certainly hoping that the same process will happen there as it did with all the 2003-07 memories showing up in 2010, but clearly this is going to be a much longer journey.
So just as I shared the journey of treatment with you, I'm going to share this journey as well. It's easy to think that you get treated and go back to life and everything is back to normal, but as I've seen over the past year, it is unfortunately not so simple.
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Swimming
This past Monday evening, I went swimming for the first time since my amputation. Swimming was never my biggest activity in the past. I was actually quite slow to learn it, in fact, finally doing so after repeated frustration at not being able to fully participate in the pool parties that were popular in my grade school days. Even afterwards, I was always more comfortable on land, and could never get fully comfortable in the water.
But once that leg came off, swimming jumped high up on the list of things I wanted to do. In the water, I don't need a prosthetic leg to move around. So suddenly, I am not in an unaided state much less mobile than most people around me. The one time I took a bath during chemo, I actually did not feel legless. So once I was recovered and going about my daily life, this motivation put going to the pool high atop my list of things to do.
And so, on Monday evening, Ashley took me to the local pool where she works. (I'm visiting her this week.) I wanted to have someone there with me my first time in the water, and she was very helpful, watching my strokes and helping me adjust to doing them with only half a left leg. Yes, in this setting, I did once again feel legless. I had always done the kicks with two full legs in the past, and without two full legs, things felt much different. The basic freestyle kick alone didn't move me. The whip kick used in the breaststroke and elementary backstroke did, but the uneven leg length had me unable to move in a straight line. So my arms were crucial, and with them, I was able to do those strokes, though not very far as I need to get in much better cardiovascular shape. Furthermore, my right leg got a big workout from the times I was standing on it in the pool. I would have preferred a deep end where I could tread water to get some more exercise and take some pressure off the leg, but unfortunately, this pool did not have one.
Still, it felt great to get in the water and do a big exercise like swimming without having to use a prosthesis. I certainly will be back for more. And big things are possible for amputee swimmers, even without prosthetic legs. I found out last year about Natalie du Toit of South Africa, whose left leg was amputated at the knee as a teenager and yet competed in the 10K swim at the 2008 Beijing Olympics without a prosthesis. Though I'll certainly never be anything near an elite swimmer, the fact that it's possible for an amputee to swim competitively against Olympic athletes without any prosthetic help inspires me, and I look forward to more good days in the water.
But once that leg came off, swimming jumped high up on the list of things I wanted to do. In the water, I don't need a prosthetic leg to move around. So suddenly, I am not in an unaided state much less mobile than most people around me. The one time I took a bath during chemo, I actually did not feel legless. So once I was recovered and going about my daily life, this motivation put going to the pool high atop my list of things to do.
And so, on Monday evening, Ashley took me to the local pool where she works. (I'm visiting her this week.) I wanted to have someone there with me my first time in the water, and she was very helpful, watching my strokes and helping me adjust to doing them with only half a left leg. Yes, in this setting, I did once again feel legless. I had always done the kicks with two full legs in the past, and without two full legs, things felt much different. The basic freestyle kick alone didn't move me. The whip kick used in the breaststroke and elementary backstroke did, but the uneven leg length had me unable to move in a straight line. So my arms were crucial, and with them, I was able to do those strokes, though not very far as I need to get in much better cardiovascular shape. Furthermore, my right leg got a big workout from the times I was standing on it in the pool. I would have preferred a deep end where I could tread water to get some more exercise and take some pressure off the leg, but unfortunately, this pool did not have one.
Still, it felt great to get in the water and do a big exercise like swimming without having to use a prosthesis. I certainly will be back for more. And big things are possible for amputee swimmers, even without prosthetic legs. I found out last year about Natalie du Toit of South Africa, whose left leg was amputated at the knee as a teenager and yet competed in the 10K swim at the 2008 Beijing Olympics without a prosthesis. Though I'll certainly never be anything near an elite swimmer, the fact that it's possible for an amputee to swim competitively against Olympic athletes without any prosthetic help inspires me, and I look forward to more good days in the water.
Friday, February 28, 2014
Reintegration
Once again, it's been a long time since I last wrote here. Since then, I had my radiation treatment, recovered from it, and then at long last went home. That day was 10 days ago. Since then, it's been back to the life I once had. Sometimes, it feels like 2013 never happened, with how much of a departure it was from everything I'd experienced before. The evening in October 2012 before I woke up with my left foot and ankle in intense pain runs right up against the morning when I went back to the CS department at school, back to my old office. But then I get the reminder from my missing left leg that yes, it all happened.
I should now talk about my radiation treatment, which was now about a month ago. It started with a consultation with the radiation oncologist responsible for pediatric sarcomas, Dr. Wolden, during the first week of cycle 17, and I learned some interesting things from her. Even with all the talk of me getting radiation going back to cycle 3, she would not have recommended it were it not for some recent advances. The old way of giving radiation to the lungs was to just give radiation to the chest from both the front and the back. While simple and effective, this also puts other organs in the radiation field and subjects them to damage, most notably the heart. Dr. Wolden explained that with many more years likely ahead for me -- more reassurance, she viewed my prognosis favorably -- subjecting my heart to damage would not have been worth it. However, radiation can now be targeted so that the lungs get the most of it, and the heart is protected. This is enabled by controlling the intensity and shape of the radiation beams, and using imaging to guide them. The formal name is intensity modulated radiation therapy, or IMRT for short.
Getting the advanced IMRT required some advance preparation. The first step was getting a mold made of my chest from the rear, that I would lie still in while getting treatment. This was accomplished by having me lie down over the casting material, which hardened as I got a low-resolution chest CT scan that would be used to guide the radiation beams. During this time, I was also given five small black tattoo dots, each the size of a freckle, that would be used to line me up with the radiation machine when I was getting treatment. Three of the dots were along the center of my chest, along with one on each side. This all happened during the first day of the second week of cycle 17. The next step was a simulation appointment nine days later, when I lied down in the mold for the first time and the technicians had the radiation machine take simple X-rays of me, in essence a dry run for the treatment, which began one day later.
The next ten weekday mornings, I headed over to the radiation oncology unit in the morning, where once my name was called, I changed into a hospital gown in a locker room and then waited for my turn on the radiation machine. Each time I came in, the first step was to look at a photo on the screen and make sure it was me. The photo was taken on the day I had my mold made, and it was taken with me holding a piece of paper with my name on it below my face, like a mugshot. Then, I went to the machine and lied down on the narrow bed. The machine itself consists of that bed and a long arm that can rotate around and deliver X-ray radiation to me at any angle. The arm rotated to different spots during each treatment, stopping and then buzzing when it was delivering radiation. Each treatment took about 25 minutes.
Side effects were not as dramatic as chemo, but they were there. I did lose some energy, as the radiation's effect on the bone marrow in its path caused my blood counts to drop a bit. Most noticeable, though, was inflammation of my esophagus. Starting on the third or fourth day of treatment, it began feeling agitated. Eating was not quite as comfortable as it should have been. The feeling reminded me of the descriptions of acid reflux I would hear about in commercials. This took about a week to fade after treatment was over. I used that time to rest at first, and then began delving into my work again in preparation for my return home.
And now, here I am again. It feels truly great, every time I go back into my old office. I received a hero's welcome from the staff. I found myself getting back to my old research routine fairly quickly, which was nice. More importantly, just going about a normal day has quickly strengthened what remains of my left leg, and after a couple of days of adjustment, I was able to walk more seamlessly than I was in New York, with less pressure on the stump. Now comes the waiting game, the scanxiety, hoping the cancer is gone for good but unable to banish the thought that it could be back and send me back into the treatment bubble from which I had just emerged.
I should now talk about my radiation treatment, which was now about a month ago. It started with a consultation with the radiation oncologist responsible for pediatric sarcomas, Dr. Wolden, during the first week of cycle 17, and I learned some interesting things from her. Even with all the talk of me getting radiation going back to cycle 3, she would not have recommended it were it not for some recent advances. The old way of giving radiation to the lungs was to just give radiation to the chest from both the front and the back. While simple and effective, this also puts other organs in the radiation field and subjects them to damage, most notably the heart. Dr. Wolden explained that with many more years likely ahead for me -- more reassurance, she viewed my prognosis favorably -- subjecting my heart to damage would not have been worth it. However, radiation can now be targeted so that the lungs get the most of it, and the heart is protected. This is enabled by controlling the intensity and shape of the radiation beams, and using imaging to guide them. The formal name is intensity modulated radiation therapy, or IMRT for short.
Getting the advanced IMRT required some advance preparation. The first step was getting a mold made of my chest from the rear, that I would lie still in while getting treatment. This was accomplished by having me lie down over the casting material, which hardened as I got a low-resolution chest CT scan that would be used to guide the radiation beams. During this time, I was also given five small black tattoo dots, each the size of a freckle, that would be used to line me up with the radiation machine when I was getting treatment. Three of the dots were along the center of my chest, along with one on each side. This all happened during the first day of the second week of cycle 17. The next step was a simulation appointment nine days later, when I lied down in the mold for the first time and the technicians had the radiation machine take simple X-rays of me, in essence a dry run for the treatment, which began one day later.
The next ten weekday mornings, I headed over to the radiation oncology unit in the morning, where once my name was called, I changed into a hospital gown in a locker room and then waited for my turn on the radiation machine. Each time I came in, the first step was to look at a photo on the screen and make sure it was me. The photo was taken on the day I had my mold made, and it was taken with me holding a piece of paper with my name on it below my face, like a mugshot. Then, I went to the machine and lied down on the narrow bed. The machine itself consists of that bed and a long arm that can rotate around and deliver X-ray radiation to me at any angle. The arm rotated to different spots during each treatment, stopping and then buzzing when it was delivering radiation. Each treatment took about 25 minutes.
Side effects were not as dramatic as chemo, but they were there. I did lose some energy, as the radiation's effect on the bone marrow in its path caused my blood counts to drop a bit. Most noticeable, though, was inflammation of my esophagus. Starting on the third or fourth day of treatment, it began feeling agitated. Eating was not quite as comfortable as it should have been. The feeling reminded me of the descriptions of acid reflux I would hear about in commercials. This took about a week to fade after treatment was over. I used that time to rest at first, and then began delving into my work again in preparation for my return home.
And now, here I am again. It feels truly great, every time I go back into my old office. I received a hero's welcome from the staff. I found myself getting back to my old research routine fairly quickly, which was nice. More importantly, just going about a normal day has quickly strengthened what remains of my left leg, and after a couple of days of adjustment, I was able to walk more seamlessly than I was in New York, with less pressure on the stump. Now comes the waiting game, the scanxiety, hoping the cancer is gone for good but unable to banish the thought that it could be back and send me back into the treatment bubble from which I had just emerged.
Saturday, January 18, 2014
Done with chemo!
Been a long time since I last checked in. The new year came, and with it, my very last round of chemo, cycle 17. Yesterday, I had my very last chemo treatment. I can't believe that phase is finally over. It was just about a year ago that I'd started.
I've spent the day resting. I look forward to getting my energy back, both physically and mentally. Though I'm not completely done yet. I still have my radiation treatment, which starts on Wednesday. It's not supposed to take as much out of me. I certainly hope it doesn't, because having your energy sapped time and time again certainly gets more tiring each time it's done.
It feels great to have the end so close. But things won't be over with the end of treatment. There will be numerous follow-ups. For the first year, I'll have the usual scans, PET and chest CT, every three months. Every month in between, I am to get a complete blood count and a chest X-ray, the former also being taken when I have the three-month scans. The first of these will be in late March. Clean scans here, and I'll have my chemo port taken out. At the six month mark, if the scans are again clean, I'll get some more detailed blood work done. I might even need to get some of my immunizations redone, as the repeated beatings chemo gave my immune system might have wiped some of them out.
I'll have more details about the radiation in my next post. For now, though, time to get some more rest. I certainly hope this is the last time I'll ever have to deal with chemo and its side effects.
I've spent the day resting. I look forward to getting my energy back, both physically and mentally. Though I'm not completely done yet. I still have my radiation treatment, which starts on Wednesday. It's not supposed to take as much out of me. I certainly hope it doesn't, because having your energy sapped time and time again certainly gets more tiring each time it's done.
It feels great to have the end so close. But things won't be over with the end of treatment. There will be numerous follow-ups. For the first year, I'll have the usual scans, PET and chest CT, every three months. Every month in between, I am to get a complete blood count and a chest X-ray, the former also being taken when I have the three-month scans. The first of these will be in late March. Clean scans here, and I'll have my chemo port taken out. At the six month mark, if the scans are again clean, I'll get some more detailed blood work done. I might even need to get some of my immunizations redone, as the repeated beatings chemo gave my immune system might have wiped some of them out.
I'll have more details about the radiation in my next post. For now, though, time to get some more rest. I certainly hope this is the last time I'll ever have to deal with chemo and its side effects.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
One Year in New York
It was a year ago today that I arrived in New York to seek treatment. I remember, upon arrival, a lot of New Year's celebrators grabbing whatever cabs they saw so they could get to Times Square. Not like I was in any position to go even if I wanted to -- by the time my diagnosis had come back, I needed crutches to walk, and couldn't bear much weight on my left foot. Any "walking" of note required being pushed around in a wheelchair.
I had no idea what I was about to face or how long I would have to be in treatment. Would I have tumors all over me? Would I need treatment for the rest of whatever time I had left? The closest thing to a family experience with cancer I'd had up to that point was a close family friend who was diagnosed with Stage IV ovarian cancer in 1990. I can remember visiting her and seeing her crashed on her couch exhausted from chemo treatments. And then later on, she was in a hospice, and I'm so glad that back then I didn't know what a hospice was for. I remember seeing her in bed, weak and thinned out, with a number tubes in her. She passed away in late November. Having seen that endgame before made the days between my diagnosis and my first scans quite scary, though the gravity of the situation also worked in my favor -- there was this emotional numbing effect that kicked in when my diagnosis came back that also blunted my sensations of fear.
Well, here I am one year later, with just one more chemo cycle left and still healthy. This gives me a lot to be thankful for, most importantly that I will have some guaranteed time at home between the end of my treatment and my late March scans. Not all patients get to this stage, so to even have this time makes me feel very blessed. I still have a long way to go, though, considering that there will be regular scans and tests and associated anxiety, plus continued rehab as I get back in shape. Hopefully my sailing continues to be smooth.
To report on the latest with treatment itself, cycle 16 started with some very familiar feelings. The temozolomide in week 1 made me tired once again, though the big crash didn't kick in until Wednesday afternoon, lasting through the following Saturday. Before then, I had another pleasant experience of a new physical therapy exercise leading to some big progress shortly thereafter. On Tuesday afternoon, I was put through a set of basketball drills, involving moving side to side with my knees bent, as if I were playing defense and trying to steal the ball. Some dribbling was also thrown in. The next day, I suddenly felt more strength in my legs, and found myself taking short jogs through the main hallway clinic. I had tried to run before, with limited success -- I could get a running stride going as early as mid-October, but I could only produce it every now and then, and it did not feel particularly natural. This time, though, I was doing it while feeling the effects of chemo, and whenever I wanted. The stride still needs work, and I can only go slow and for short intervals at the moment, but now I do feel like I can run again, so that's big. Here's a video I took of myself the following Sunday, after I'd slept off the week's chemo tiredness:
The following week, chemo diarrhea kicked in, and without the Suprax antibiotic anti-diarrhea measure (I ceased using it on doctor's orders because of my recurrent C diff infections), it was a bit more persistent than any of my past cycles that had not been complicated by C diff. It first happened on Sunday night, with follow-up episodes on Wednesday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. A stool culture taken the morning after my first episode did not test positive for C diff, so thankfully I still had Immodium available to me for control, otherwise I'm sure things would have gotten out of hand. In even better news, my brother visited me for the first time since early May. He's a resident at the University of Wisconsin hospital in Madison, so he's really busy. The time we got to spend catching up and hanging out, though complicated by getting chemo, was still precious, and I'm most glad we had some time together after a really long time without it.
I just now feel like I'm kicking this cycle's chemo feeling. Physically, I shouldn't complain -- it really was expecting worse than what it's been given all the chemo I've had to date. But mentally, these later cycles are becoming more and more of a drain. To bring my running background back into it, it's like the end of a race, where I'm huffing and puffing even though the end is in sight. Still, it's time to kick things into gear and get some things done over the next couple of days. I then get a visit from Ashley, and I want to be able to enjoy it to the fullest!
I had no idea what I was about to face or how long I would have to be in treatment. Would I have tumors all over me? Would I need treatment for the rest of whatever time I had left? The closest thing to a family experience with cancer I'd had up to that point was a close family friend who was diagnosed with Stage IV ovarian cancer in 1990. I can remember visiting her and seeing her crashed on her couch exhausted from chemo treatments. And then later on, she was in a hospice, and I'm so glad that back then I didn't know what a hospice was for. I remember seeing her in bed, weak and thinned out, with a number tubes in her. She passed away in late November. Having seen that endgame before made the days between my diagnosis and my first scans quite scary, though the gravity of the situation also worked in my favor -- there was this emotional numbing effect that kicked in when my diagnosis came back that also blunted my sensations of fear.
Well, here I am one year later, with just one more chemo cycle left and still healthy. This gives me a lot to be thankful for, most importantly that I will have some guaranteed time at home between the end of my treatment and my late March scans. Not all patients get to this stage, so to even have this time makes me feel very blessed. I still have a long way to go, though, considering that there will be regular scans and tests and associated anxiety, plus continued rehab as I get back in shape. Hopefully my sailing continues to be smooth.
To report on the latest with treatment itself, cycle 16 started with some very familiar feelings. The temozolomide in week 1 made me tired once again, though the big crash didn't kick in until Wednesday afternoon, lasting through the following Saturday. Before then, I had another pleasant experience of a new physical therapy exercise leading to some big progress shortly thereafter. On Tuesday afternoon, I was put through a set of basketball drills, involving moving side to side with my knees bent, as if I were playing defense and trying to steal the ball. Some dribbling was also thrown in. The next day, I suddenly felt more strength in my legs, and found myself taking short jogs through the main hallway clinic. I had tried to run before, with limited success -- I could get a running stride going as early as mid-October, but I could only produce it every now and then, and it did not feel particularly natural. This time, though, I was doing it while feeling the effects of chemo, and whenever I wanted. The stride still needs work, and I can only go slow and for short intervals at the moment, but now I do feel like I can run again, so that's big. Here's a video I took of myself the following Sunday, after I'd slept off the week's chemo tiredness:
The following week, chemo diarrhea kicked in, and without the Suprax antibiotic anti-diarrhea measure (I ceased using it on doctor's orders because of my recurrent C diff infections), it was a bit more persistent than any of my past cycles that had not been complicated by C diff. It first happened on Sunday night, with follow-up episodes on Wednesday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. A stool culture taken the morning after my first episode did not test positive for C diff, so thankfully I still had Immodium available to me for control, otherwise I'm sure things would have gotten out of hand. In even better news, my brother visited me for the first time since early May. He's a resident at the University of Wisconsin hospital in Madison, so he's really busy. The time we got to spend catching up and hanging out, though complicated by getting chemo, was still precious, and I'm most glad we had some time together after a really long time without it.
I just now feel like I'm kicking this cycle's chemo feeling. Physically, I shouldn't complain -- it really was expecting worse than what it's been given all the chemo I've had to date. But mentally, these later cycles are becoming more and more of a drain. To bring my running background back into it, it's like the end of a race, where I'm huffing and puffing even though the end is in sight. Still, it's time to kick things into gear and get some things done over the next couple of days. I then get a visit from Ashley, and I want to be able to enjoy it to the fullest!
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Two More to Go
Tomorrow, I start cycle 16. That and cycle 17, and I will be done with chemo. There's still the radiation afterwards, but that will be a 10 day course, versus a yearlong ordeal. The last two cycles are both irinotecan and temozolomide. One change: this coming cycle, I am not taking the suprax antibiotic. Its function is to kill intestinal bacteria that could contribute to irinotecan diarrhea. However, since it can also create an intestinal environment in which C diff can thrive, there's the risk of that kind of diarrhea... And since it happened to me during cycles 13 and 14, we're trying to see if not taking it this time will keep the C diff at bay. But there's now an increased risk of irinotecan diarrhea, so hopefully that doesn't get me.
I had another round of scans last week, a PET scan and a chest CT, as usual. The results, in the words of Dr. Meyers, were the best we could hope for. The best news is that this one noticeable lung spot that we've been following, that was thought to have shrunk at one point, is looking more and more like it is innocuous. It has not really changed in size since the beginning. "A confluence of vessels," was what the interpreting radiologist said on the report. So hopefully it is innocuous. In other news, there was no mention of the smaller spots I'd mentioned before on the report. Either they might not have been flagged this time, or they've disappeared, in which case they could have been tumors. That's why I'm getting the radiation -- if there were tumors in my lungs, it's best to give them some extra treatment to ensure nothing comes back.
Next round of scans won't happen until 6 weeks after my last radiation dose, to avoid false positives showing up on a PET scan. That would put them in late March, assuming no further delays. Getting closer and closer to being done and going home!
I had another round of scans last week, a PET scan and a chest CT, as usual. The results, in the words of Dr. Meyers, were the best we could hope for. The best news is that this one noticeable lung spot that we've been following, that was thought to have shrunk at one point, is looking more and more like it is innocuous. It has not really changed in size since the beginning. "A confluence of vessels," was what the interpreting radiologist said on the report. So hopefully it is innocuous. In other news, there was no mention of the smaller spots I'd mentioned before on the report. Either they might not have been flagged this time, or they've disappeared, in which case they could have been tumors. That's why I'm getting the radiation -- if there were tumors in my lungs, it's best to give them some extra treatment to ensure nothing comes back.
Next round of scans won't happen until 6 weeks after my last radiation dose, to avoid false positives showing up on a PET scan. That would put them in late March, assuming no further delays. Getting closer and closer to being done and going home!
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
A person, can develop a cold
The title of this post is courtesy of the musical Guys and Dolls. No, I didn't see that one on Broadway. Been a while since that one was playing. I saw a spring performance of it at my high school during my senior year. A number of my classmates took part. I remember that line in one of the songs. It felt apt given how my second week of cycle 15 progressed.
I did power through the post-chemo weekend pretty well, with surprisingly minimal crashing. What stayed with me were traces of the cold that had initially delayed me. Though most of the symptoms were gone when I'd started the cycle, there was a small residual cough. It never went away, and by the end of the weekend, it started becoming more frequent. I also started feeling weak and feverish. For three days, my temperature hovered around 37.5 C, and then it broke the 38 C threshold, meaning it was hospital time. The blood cultures turned up no bacterial infections, but a nasal swab revealed rhinovirus, so yes, it was that cold of mine making a comeback when my immune system was down.
I was in there until Sunday, when my blood counts began their comeback, one day behind schedule compared to cycles 3, 6, 9, and 12. Maybe it would have been longer -- Dr. Meyers, based on experience with past patients, worried that my counts might take an entire week to come up, and had me receive daily immune-boosting shots while I was inpatient. He was even thinking of continuing them this week, but then my blood counts on Monday morning turned out to be very robust, so that did not end up happening. I'm going back in now for another round of blood counts, and then another round of scans. If they turn out good, we can begin planning the endgame of my treatment. Should be only two more months now if everything's on schedule!
I did power through the post-chemo weekend pretty well, with surprisingly minimal crashing. What stayed with me were traces of the cold that had initially delayed me. Though most of the symptoms were gone when I'd started the cycle, there was a small residual cough. It never went away, and by the end of the weekend, it started becoming more frequent. I also started feeling weak and feverish. For three days, my temperature hovered around 37.5 C, and then it broke the 38 C threshold, meaning it was hospital time. The blood cultures turned up no bacterial infections, but a nasal swab revealed rhinovirus, so yes, it was that cold of mine making a comeback when my immune system was down.
I was in there until Sunday, when my blood counts began their comeback, one day behind schedule compared to cycles 3, 6, 9, and 12. Maybe it would have been longer -- Dr. Meyers, based on experience with past patients, worried that my counts might take an entire week to come up, and had me receive daily immune-boosting shots while I was inpatient. He was even thinking of continuing them this week, but then my blood counts on Monday morning turned out to be very robust, so that did not end up happening. I'm going back in now for another round of blood counts, and then another round of scans. If they turn out good, we can begin planning the endgame of my treatment. Should be only two more months now if everything's on schedule!
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