This post has
been probably the most difficult one to write of any that I’ve posted here. It
has taken me the better part of a year to finally just put it out there. It was
not because I was planning to rewrite War & Peace or something ridiculous
like that. Even now sitting here tapping out some edits of these words I find
myself hesitating to continue.
Why so hard
you ask? Well, there are a couple of reasons behind that and they are interconnected
I’d have to say. I can’t say with any conviction which one carries more weight
than the other though that can and has changed from day to day over the past 8
months. Anyone that
knows me or has over a long stretch of time and thankfully there are still a
good few of them around, knows I’ve been known to keep stuff to myself. The other is
there have been many days I wasn’t up to it. Actually there were quite a few of
those days and contact of any kind was too much to handle at that juncture.
Back in
February on my birthday my intended Facebook status for the day was coming to
the conclusion that as the calendar page changes and the days roll into years
the only thing anyone truly wants for their birthday is another one. Within a
few days I wasn't sure I'd be able to fulfill that desire.
Before I was
able to actually update my status that day I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t catch
a breath and was gulping air like the goldfish that jumped from his bowl to the
counter. Needless to say I scared the living crap out of my lovely wife when I woke
her from a dead sleep to call 911.
So off to
the ER at the nearest hospital I went to endure what passes for emergency
medicine for the next 8 hours or so. After blood work, a chest x-ray and some
pain meds they decided to keep me for observation.
That night I
saw a parade of doctors and nurses either just checking in or checking vitals.
If your doctor ever tells you they are putting you in the hospital for rest and
observation you can tell them from me that they are full of shit; especially
the rest part. Granted I often sleep only in 2 hour stretches anyway but having
someone else wake me up every 2 hours to poke me and fiddle around gets old
real quick.
By the time
I got to day 3 I knew something was up. I spent that day having what felt like
every test known to man. They stuck a camera down my throat to look at my
gizzard then I rode the Stargate machine, otherwise known as a CT scan. The
pain in my back made the MRI virtually unendurable and they had to fill me with
goofy juice so I wouldn’t fidget. I dubbed the MRI tech Cruella DeVille for her
sparkling bedside manner.
Later that day
the doctor who I’ve spent the most time with these past months came to see me while
I was waiting for another test. When he told me he was an oncologist I wasn’t
surprised. My initial reaction was more like scared and pissed and in that
order. I liked him immediately. The fire in his eyes communicated to me he
would do his best to help me whatever it took.
He told me I
had Stage lllA adenocarcinoma small cell lung cancer that he saw in my left
lung and he wanted to start me on chemotherapy as soon as possible. Some of the
horror stories I’ve heard about chemo flashed through my mind as I listened to
him tell me the plan.
Over the
next two weeks I spent a good part of many days sitting in waiting rooms for
tests, bloodwork, etc. Since I was feeling pretty much lousy as a constant
state of being at that juncture doing all this really wore me out.One of those
trips included getting a little plastic and metal power port attached to a big
vein just below my right collarbone. It’s used to administer chemo and take
blood so I wouldn’t end up being looking like a pincushion. The damn spike they
use to access it is over an inch long and it’s buried to the hilt when they use it.
Thankfully they use freeze spray most of the time before doing that though the
image of it going in is a bit freaky. And with no freeze spray it would bring
me right off the chair. Fun was not had. I still have it and it’s not a problem
other than the weird feeling I get when I happen to run my hand across it.
After my
first chemo treatment I was still continually fighting to breathe and I was
worn out. My days turned into a series naps in my recliner when I wasn’t going
for tests or doctor’s visits. My doctor put me back in the hospital after one
visit when he became concerned about my breathing. So off to the ER again I
went from inside the hospital this time for more tests. The ER doc looked at my CT scan and
determined that the tumor had grown since I had started chemo. It hadn’t
changed size it had just moved. Since oncology was not his specialty nor was reading
CT scans he started a chain of events that landed me in the hospital for the
next few days and also start the mapping out of the next several weeks. My Oncologist
and Radiologist decided they wanted to push the start of radiation ahead and do
both together. Little did I know what would transpire in the coming days.
I’m not
going to bore you, though I may have already, with the details of the hell the
next 6 weeks entailed. This is the part where I talk about the cure being worse
than the disease. It’s definitely true when referring to what we know of medicine here in
the US. Losing over 60 pounds in the matter of a few weeks will knock the ever
living shit out of you. By the time radiation ended I had 3 more stays in the
hospital ranging from 2 to 5 days. The last one was for a blood transfusion
after I crashed in the oncologist’s office and would have bitten anyone that got
close enough to me. This happened during my last week of radiation. I was done
with all of it. I was beat up, beat down and just plain tired of feeling like I
wouldn’t make it through the night and enduring other days hoping that I didn’t. Those were
some dark days, very dark. Thankfully one of my radiation techs talked me off
the ceiling to finish the last 4 days of radiation since I was having none of
it.
Since then I’ve
been slowly building myself back up. Of course we all know patience is a virtue
and there are days I don’t feel so virtuous. Patience with myself to get back
to a sense of normalcy hasn’t happened fast enough for me, though it’s getting there.
The good
news is this. My first CT scan 2 months after treatment ended showed the mass
had shrunk from the size of a billiard ball to be the size of the ball that
comes with a set of jacks like I used to play with as a kid. Even better was
the last one 2 months later that showed the tumor as nothing more than a
shadow, basically gone plus the node I had from a dose of valley fever in my
right lung is now gone too. Also, the part of the tumor that was pushing my
spine and causing my pain is stable and hasn’t changed though the pain still
reminds me its around. My voice is improving but I still sound a bit like a villain
from a 40s gangster flick. Talking for an extended period of time still tuckers
me out pretty well too.
I
do get tired out pretty quickly and the nueropathy in my hands and arms
makes writing both therapeutic and taxing. When I get to the point of having to
retype almost every word I know it is time to quit for the day. Naps have
become an important part of my day to regroup and recharge. Life has
become simple; Eat when I’m hungry, sleep when I’m tired, do what I can when I
have the energy to do so.
As
of today, I’m doing good though right now I’ve reached one of those simple points;
it’s time for a nosh and a nap.
Thanks
for reading, as always comments and shares are welcome. I’ll be here. I’m not
going anywhere just yet.
