I begin each morning by taking my blood pressure, checking my blood-oxygen level and pulse, and finally my temperature. I created a table that allows me track all the numbers. I separate the day numbers with yellow cells and the night numbers with blue cells (because they look pretty).
I take a medication to help with stomach acid in the morning and one to maintain my uric acid in the evening. I have a slew of “as needed” medications. They sit in a small green bucket in the front hall. It’s like having my own pharmacy. Post chemo, there are more required medications to take, but the minimum is required for this week.
Keeping track of the pills is a bit unnatural for me. I had entered the hospital as someone who never took a daily medication, to someone who has a typed list with the hard-to-pronounce names, dosage, and milligrams. Also on the list are the chemotherapy drugs I receive.
I have utter insomnia and usually do not fall asleep until between midnight and 2 am. I typically wake up between 4 am and 6 am to use the toilet because all fluids move through me quickly. Then again, supposedly it’s a good thing, because it means I’m hydrated.
I don’t cough as much as I used to, which is a relief. I have a system of how I organize the pillows on my bed so that I can fall asleep comfortably and not cough in the middle of the night and wake myself up.
Even my cat has integrated his lifestyle with his newfound home, since I had to move back in with my parents. He hasn’t quite made friends with the other family cats and spends his nights in my bedroom. He mews pitifully at the other cats seemingly saying: “hey, I’m a nice guy!” Alas, they still run away and hide from him.
I had a giant sigh of relief after the doctor’s appointment prior to my upcoming 2nd chemotherapy. I’d been waiting for the results of my bone marrow biopsies and PET scan. I’ve also had my blood monitored every other day with the antibody injections and had watched my white blood cell count go from high to low back to high again throughout the week. The lab results handouts sit in small stack on my desk. They are the visualizations of me in blood cell form.
My body is finally maintaining a good percentage of white blood cells. My bone marrow biopsies came back negative, so I have no dormant cancer cells hiding out there. The PET scan indicated that I have cancer isolated in my lung. I'm grateful that in relative terms, this is a fairly straightforward cancer to treat.
Part of me is humored by the fact that I’m based on blood cells, numbers, and chemicals. The doctors look at the stuff that is being pumped into me and coming out of me.
In doing my own research about my particular cocktail of chemotherapies, I’ve discovered that I have the aggressive form of Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma, but I was not necessarily informed of this. I suppose I just knew it was important to get treated right away. I recall asking my doctor how long I had this mass in my lungs and he seemed to think only a few months. Considering its size, I was a bit shocked with this information. However, with lymphoma, aggressive forms are not necessarily bad. In fact, with the aggressive subtypes of lymphoma, chemotherapy can typically cure the cancer. Indolent (slow moving) types are difficult to monitor because it’s not always known how or where it will grow.
My particular cocktail of chemotherapy is affectionately named “R-CHOP”. To me, it sounds like something a pirate butcher might exclaim. It’s a weirdly cute abbreviation for a toxic chemical mixture.
The letters stand for the names of the drugs used in the treatments. For example, the "R" is Rituximab (Rituxan), which is used first before the other drugs to help the immune system. This was the drug that was first administered to me in the hospital, where I was monitored so closely by a nurse. I await this same mixture in the upcoming week for my second chemotherapy.
It’s still amazing to me that I had gone from girl with a cough to girl with cancer in little over a week. Though, time has flown by relatively quickly. Each day holds a different challenge. Just after my first chemo, it was getting out of the bed. This week, it’s unpacking my belongings and being with friends since I’m feeling better than I had prior to going to the hospital. I’m a bit nervous about the next chemo since I know I won’t be feeling so well after it’s done.
All in all, I’m just taking it one day at a time.
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