Ain't no mountain high enough

In an ill-conceived burst of energy I hiked up a mountain in Wales on the weekend. The big sort where you need to use your hands to pull yourself to the peak, all the while contemplating how fractured your spine would be if you fell. There is nothing like risking life and limb to make you appreciate how grateful you are for not dying from cancer. I know that logic sounds twisted but it works in my head. It was great to do something strenuous and physical, and I was surprised how my strength is slowly returning. It would have been impossible to do that sort of thing a few treatments in, so I guess my body is getting to used to the chemo. In a strange coincidence it turns out my oncologist has booked a trip to hike exactly the same mountain with his tennis buddies. He says he'll use my example to motivate/tease any of his friends who are lagging behind on the climb. 

I had chemo number 10 yesterday, and it went pretty smoothly. My neuropathy (nerve damage in the fingertips) is becoming more of an issue and we're considering dropping the dose a little. I've been told it's getting to the point where it may become permanent, and I could lose some fine motor skills. A life being unable to incessantly text and play angry birds is not worth considering. Also, I'd struggle with doing up the buttons on my shirt and so would have to go around dressed like Tom Selleck most of the time. 

The C word

Lately I've been noticing how people tend to avoid using the word cancer around me. Why is this? They ask 'how is your health?' or 'how is your medical condition?' Friends, I'm fairly certain that saying cancer doesn't give you cancer. You're not going to hurt my feelings either. It's not like I don't think about cancer all day, every day as it is, so you won't unintentionally remind me that I'm sick. "OMG - did you just say cancer?! Great, thanks. I totally forgot that I have that. Jerk." It's perfectly okay to talk to me about cancer, and you can use that word as a noun, adjective and possibly even a verb if you are clever enough.

Anyways, yesterday was chemo treatment 9. Three more to go after this. You know what's a really weird side effect of chemo? Ultra vivid dreams. Dreams so realistic you wake up and are shocked to find you're not actually leading a convoy of escaped zoo animals through London to freedom or, as admittedly improbable as it sounds, you are not actually making out with Scarlett Johansson in your parent's backyard. If you are getting chemo and are experiencing this side effect I would strongly recommend that you do not watch 'The Road' before bedtime because that is going to guarantee a pretty restless night.  

Are you feeling lucky, punk?

Alright. Decision has been made. I met with the radiologist to discuss getting radiotherapy to mop up any extra cancer cells that might still be floating around. We laughed, we joked, but mostly we talked about dying. Getting radiation reduces the chance that the cancer comes back. With the chemo I've already had, plus one month of radiation treatment, I stand a 94% of being Hodgkin's free, forever. Nice. The drawback is that I have a fair size mediastinal mass close to my coronary arteries - in layman's terms that means the monkey face bastards have set up shop right next to the ol' blood pumper. Even though modern radiation treatments are pretty targeted, I would still receive a significant dose to my area near my heart, as well as to the blood vessels in my neck. This means a greatly increased risk of heart disease and stroke later in life, as well as a considerable risk of secondary cancer in the lungs from the radiation. It also means probably losing my thyroid gland. I'm not really sure what this does but it must be important. Ronaldo has a messed thyroid and it made him fat, so much so that the fans started shouting 'el Gordo' at him. Poor Ronaldo.

Avoiding the radiation means going for another 4 treatments of chemo, and the risk of a relapse goes up, to 14%.  It's a tough call really, should I accept a small increase in risk now for a more healthy outlook 20 years down the road? How are you supposed to make these sorts of choices at 35 years old? I'd much rather be thinking about physics, or sandwiches. I asked the radiologist for advice and he quoted Dirty Harry to me. "Are you feeling lucky, punk?" I suppose I am, since I decided to skip the rads and go with the chemo. 86% seems like a pretty good gamble, but I guess only time will tell if I got this one right.

Chemotherapy round 8: We're all fine here now, thank you. How are you?

I had round eight of my chemotherapy today and everything was okay. No weird reactions. No overnight hospital stay. The french onion soup they gave me was terrible, but I can live with that. 

Anyways, I've been doing lots of research into radiation versus no radiation for early stage Hodgkin's. I have to give Dr. Follows the decision about my treatment by next week. It's a tough one. I haven't made up my mind yet but I did stumble across this amazing story about a Russian physicist who stuck his head in particle accelerator. I've always wanted to know what this does to you, and I salute you my Russian colleague. Apparently his brain was exposed to about 200,000 rads - you can see where the beam entered near his nose and exited out the back of his head in the picture. As a comparison, a chest x-ray gives you about 0.001 rad, and usually 500-600 rad is considered fatal. Although some of his skin fell off, and he suffers seizures, he managed to make a full recovery and is still alive 25 years later! The interesting thing is that the side of his face where the radiation beam travelled through hasn't aged! How cool is that? New fad celebrity facial treatment?

Chemotherapy Round 7: WTF?

So last week I went in for round 7 of chemo. I figure I'm a pro at this by now. I say "hi" to the nurses, help myself to the complimentary tea and biscuits, and take my favorite chemo recliner by the window. "Bring on the poison sacs" I say, "I've got a 3:00 meeting that I need to make and time, she is a wastin'." Friends, let me tell you, that kind of attitude earns you a fistful of comeuppance in cancer land.

About 30 seconds after leaving the ward I started shivering like an epileptic at a Baptist sermon. I figure this means I probably just need more tea, but I can't hold the cup and saucer still and soon caffeinated beverage is flying everywhere. The nurses make me lie down and within 20 minutes my temperature shoots up to 41 C and my heart rate to 120 bpm. At this point I realize that I'm not feeling so good. The doctors come in, have a look and then have a hushed conversation in the hallway. I don't like it when they talk about me behind my back like this as it hurts my feelings. The decision is made to hospitalize me and inject me with everything they have. I think they they just ransacked the medicine storeroom and took one of whatever was there. I had steroids, antibiotics, antihistamines and then more antibiotics. They kept waking me up every two hours to take my temperature, blood pressure and stick things in me. After a pretty miserable night the doctor comes in and tells me they don't really know what happened, but I seem alright now so I can go home.

I've learned two things from this. First, chemo should not be underestimated or it will get angry. Second, once you get Night Fever by the Bee Gees into your head it will take you FOREVER to get it out.

The power of positive thinking

In my corner of the world spring is just about here. Flowers are blooming, the grass is green, the days are longer. So maybe it's time to think positive. I mean cancer can't be all bad, right? Cup half full and clouds with silver lining and whatnot. In honor of spring and optimistic thinking, I'm making a list of all the benefits of having cancer.

1. Save money on haircuts. Since starting chemo I've been losing increasing amounts of hair. I used to go to a nice London salon where surly girls with asymmetric hair styles give you a latte with your haircut. Last month I went to the old guy who cuts your hair for a tenner. One style fits all. I figure I've saved like £80 since getting Hodgkin's! Hair is overrated anyways.
2. No shaving hassles. For some reason my beard is growing at about 1/3 the normal rate lately so I don't have to shave nearly as much as I used to. It's probably the same thing with lady hair I would guess. Shaving is one of life's little annoyances that you get to avoid with cancer.
3. You get lots of nice presents. Since getting cancer people have given me lots of nice things. I've got a new blanket, a tea towel with the periodic table on it, and a nice bowl handmade by French monks. What a great haul! Top tip: Try to plan your cancer away from your birthday or Christmas, otherwise people will tend to "double up" and combine gifts. 
4. Guilt free slacking. Feeling nauseous is a bad thing, but surely this is outweighed by the fact that you can laze around without feeling like you should be doing something productive? I mean, getting rest is what the doctor told you to do, right? For instance while you're all working tomorrow, I'll be sitting on my couch catching up on episodes of the cultural car wreck that is my big fat gypsy wedding. Jealous much?
5. The ultimate excuse. Having cancer gives you the ultimate, airtight, invincible excuse. It's like dropping an atomic bomb all over an argument. Big work deadline coming up? Social occasion you really don't want to go to? Fuck it. Tell them you have cancer. Who can argue with that? Note that you shouldn't abuse this awesome power. For instance "how about you do the dishes tonight? I have cancer" might get the dishes done but it's not going to win you a lot of friends. 

Chemotherapy Round 6: Long live the drugs!!!!!

 This blog post is brought to you by my friends, the drugs. Drugs are pretty great at making you feel better. Thank you Dexamethasone for your four daily tablets of love. Massive props go out to Omprezole, for taking care of the heartburn. Nuff respect also to Domperidone, or as I like to call it, "the champagne of anti-emetics". But the biggest shout out goes to Ondansetron, an anti sickness tablet that touches you right on your vagus and makes your medulla oblongata forget to tell you that you really need to projectile vomit. 

How do pharmaceutical companies come up with these names you ask? From science? And why does my anti nausea pill sound like an eyeliner wearing, ennui-filled electro band from Shoreditch? These are good questions I spent much time contemplating while lying on the couch this week. As far as I can tell, this is how it must have gone down at the drug company:

Scientist: "We've discovered a powerful new anti sickness drug that will greatly improve the lives of lymphoma patients undergoing chemotherapy."

Marketing: "Great. We will make lots of money now. What is it called?"

Scientist: "(RS)-9-methyl-3-[(2-methyl-1H-imidazol-1-yl)methyl]-2,3-dihydro-1H-carbazol-4(9H)-one"

Marketing: "Needs a catchier name. What is the target market for cancer these days?"

Scientist: "Hodgkin's lymphoma often strikes young adults, between the ages of 18-35."

Marketing: "Perfect. The kids these days are into dance music. We'll called it Ondance."

Scientist: "I think dance is spelled with an 's'. Also, if you add tron to the end we can tap into that 80's retro movie vibe."

Marketing: "Killer."