Chemotherapy Round 12: The Grande Finale

Well now, that's done with then. Six months of fortnightly injections of cytotoxic chemicals. Hair loss, a blood infection, a hospital stay, a less-than-expected amount of vom. 8 pounds of gained steroids weight. Every episode of Mad Men, Father Ted and Black Books. 100 levels of angry birds.

I actually feel a bit strange about the whole thing ending. On one hand, chemo was awful, but at least I knew that drugs were doing bad things to the cancer. Now, the situation is a bit like when America gets involved in some foreign war and then decides to leave and nobody is really sure what's going to happen. Chemo completed, and we're now handing over control of defences to my immune system. Except we all know how well that turned out last time. I'm expecting it will take a few weeks for the full implications of all of this to sink in.

The final infusion was actually a bit anticlimatic. I got the drugs, said goodbyes and thank-you's to all of the nurses. Shook my doctor's hand and made plans to see him in three months. Walked home, had some ice cream and watched Masterchef before getting an early night. All a bit ho-hum really. I mean, this surely is a momentous occasion is someone's life isn't it? The end of 6 months of feeling like crap all the time? I think anyone who finishes a full round of chemo deserves a medal or a certificate or something to hang on our walls. 

Back in school in Canada, every student in gym class used to get awards as part of the government sponsored fitness ParticipACTION program. Bronze, silver, gold or excellence depending on your scores on various athletics tests. I always got bronze because I sucked at climbing ropes and kicking balls and running fast, but at least you got a little badge you could take home and put on your fridge. It added to the sense of achievement of it all. Anyways, I'm awarding myself the medal of excellence for chemo survivorship. It's not really in the spirit of the ParticipACTION program, since I let my gym membership lapse during chemo and spent a lot of time sleeping on the couch, but I'm sure Canadian fitness greats Joanne Mcleod and Hal Johnson would be okay with it.

Tiger, tiger

Recently, I have developed stripes. Three of them, about 10 cm long across my right bicep. They are dark streaks of skin made extra visible by my pasty white British-ized arms. I find this most interesting. As the good people at the  lymphoma forum have pointed out, this is probably a side effect of one of the chemo drugs, Bleomycin, which is the one that can also screw up your lungs. Turning into a human tiger is probably my favourite chemo side effect so far, easily ahead of eyebrow loss or the shits. 

My new stripes remind me of a cartoon I used to watch on television when I was growing up called Thundercats. I definitely wanted to be part of the Thundercats team. Maybe not the leader Lion-o, since he had stupid hair. But I figured I would settle for being one of the minor characters, maybe Panthro or Tygra. Anything in order to get to spend time with Cheetara, whose costume was in hindsight perhaps a bit risque for a Saturday morning children's cartoon. Even at the age of 8, I knew that Cheetara was girlfriend material. I was a little unclear what one got up to with a girlfriend, but whatever it was she was the one to get up to it with. I'm dedicating my chemo tiger bicep to Cheetara.

Anyways, one more chemo treatment to go. Peripheral neuropathy is still there, but I've been taking Glutamine supplements on the suggestion of one of the readers.  Hopefully I'll start to see some improvement.

Chemotherapy Round 11: The Agony Aunt update

I just figured out that Blogger allows you to see the search terms people have typed in to Google that lead them to click through to your site. I went down the list and there are quite a few questions that I'm afraid my blog lacks answers to. I'm sorry I didn't hold the information you were looking for. 

However today chemo number 11 went alright, which puts me in a charitable mood. My toenails are turning black and one is falling off, but if I were in their position I'd be knackered too. Can't blame them. Go join the nose hair and the missing bits of my eyebrows. I release you. My doctor and I decided to reduce the dose of the Vinblastine to 50% of normal since the neuropathy is getting worse. Hopefully this will sort things out. 

Anyways, this post is all about righting wrongs, so I've gone down the list of failed Google search terms and I'll try my best to answer your questions.

"Does a guy like you when he teases when friends are not around?"

I know where you are coming from on this. Back in grade 5 there was this girl who I think had a crush on me, and she showed it by kicking me very hard in the nuts. So hard I couldn't really stand up or breathe for some time. I just lay there thinking that maybe this is what death was like. Anyways, even if I did fancy her the massive impact to my crotch put me well off of her. So to answer your question, a little bit of teasing could mean he's into you, but if he kicks you or says your thighs look fat you should just run the other way.

"Are you feeling punk?"

Yes. Every day. Even though I now wear sensible shoes and collared shirts to work, I retain my punk spirit. I just took a great big gob in the face of cancer. You can't get much more punk than that.

"Should emaciated elderly woman take chemo?"

My guess is that this is the sort of question your should probably ask your doctor instead of Google. But if I were to go out on a limb, I would say go for it. Chemo made me feel old, and since you are already elderly you will probably just feel normal. Also, chemo made me put on 5 pounds which would help you be less emaciated. Ask for extra steroids and eat lots of bread.

"mediumtimes.blogspot.com?"

Well done. This is a good term to search for in Google if you want to find my blog.

"Spock radiation poisoning"

I feel your pain. I don't mean to ruin the plot of "Wrath of Khan" but Spock essentially melts from the inside out. I know it sucks, but just watch "Search for Spock" and you'll see everything turns out okay. He rises from the dead, a little bit like Jesus but with less beard and more ears.

Right. Job done. I'm off for an early night - only one more chemotherapy session left and I'm done treatment. Seems strange to think about.

Cutbacks

In this era of austerity, cutbacks are everywhere you look. Where I live the government is gutting higher education, reducing funding to social programs, and generally wrecking society in a ham-fisted and ill-thought out way. In a move of solidarity my body has decided to embrace this spirit of thrift by cutting back on eyebrows by 50%. 

Not to worry though friends. I found a website that sells replacement eyebrows to cancer patients made with real human hair. For only $45! This poses a number of interesting questions. Where, for instance, does the raw material come from? Does it really cost $45 to make a pair of eyebrows? And how would it feel having someone else's man hair stuck to your forehead? As you can see I've tried them out, and I think you'll agree they are highly realistic, probably an improvement over the ones I used to have. I think I'll invest in a few pairs post-cancer, you know, for those special occasions.