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.

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?