Christopher, my oldest biological nephew, is serving in the Tampa, Florida mission. His next youngest brother, Clark, is expecting his own mission call on either Wednesday, December 26th or Thursday, December 27, so we all head down to St. George to watch him open his call, participate in his ordination as an elder, and attend his endowment session on Saturday.
It's going to be fun spending a few days with extended family over New Years.
Clark's call didn't come on Wednesday (kind of expected with the Christmas holiday), so we hustle down to St. George on Thursday to ensure we're there by 7 pm for the opening. But it doesn't come. Drat! We'll have to try again on Friday and pray that it really comes.
Friday, Dale and I run a few errands and arrive back at the Farnsworths just around lunch time. My observant husband notices that the mailperson is parked in front of the mailbox stack, so I run into the house to see if Cliff or Tressie are home. Cliff is but he doesn't have the mail key.
"It's okay. The mailperson is there now. Maybe if you show them your driver's license to prove your address, she'll give you your mail."
A few moments later, Cliff triumphantly waves a large white envelope from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints bearing Clark's name. It's going to be a busy couple of hours for Clark.
At 6:45, he meets with his bishop at the house, in the basement by the pool table for his living ordinance temple recommend. (It's the quietest place in the building because there's so many extended family members and friends there.)
At 7:00, Clark opens his call to the Independence, Missouri--Spanish speaking mission. He reports to the MTC on March 6th. Not much time to get ready. Chris even got special permission to join by Skype so that he could participate.
At 7:45, Clark leaves his own party to meet with his Stake President for a living ordinance temple interview.
At 8:00, he's ordained at the Stake Center to the Melchezidik Priesthood, office of an Elder.
By 9:10 tomorrow morning, he needs to be at the St. George temple to receive his own endowments.
Whew! I'm exhausted, which might explain why I feel like torturing Bailey, my youngest niece and the one who can entertain me and make me laugh the most at not-quite-two-years-old.
So, when we're all sure that Bailey is paying attention, someone pulls my oxygen cord apart into two separate pieces and I immediately slump and slink down as if I've been unplugged and am now dead. Bailey is immediately concerned and makes motions to reconnect the cord and wake me up again. Ah, I can breathe again and magically come to life.
We replay the scene at various times over the weekend, but Bailey doesn't want anything more to do with it. If anyone picks up my cord and threatens to disconnect me, she waves her hands in front of her, saying "No, No, No" as she runs out of the room. It's good to know she cares about me so much.
Finally, after torturing her several times and joking that she's going to be traumatized for life, I hit upon something that might help her feel better about my oxygen cord. So, I arrange for my cord to be disconnected while I slump dead again and deliberately place the two parts of the oxygen cord at her eye level so that she'll "accidentally" discover it as another niece guides her over to me.
"Oh no, Bailey. What happened to Trisha? Can you plug her in again? Good job, she's plugged in."
And, once again, I'm magically healed and sitting up, and Bailey got to heal me. She feels much better about that than watching me slump over.
Purple Everywhere
Daily Herald picture
Friday, December 28, 2012
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Port Insertion and Good-Bye PICC Line
Because Timpanogos Regional Hospital's radiology department's track record with finding my veins and inserting ports, we have to drive to Provo for today's port insertion.
Can I just say how much I love Riverwoods Imaging? It's a beautiful building with VERY caring, compassionate, and competent medical staff.
Gina is my nurse and she is wonderful! She checks on me regularly, is there to answer any questions we have, and takes the time to listen to me.
Dr. Gibby is equally wonderful. It usually takes about 45 minutes to place a port. It takes about two hours to place mine today, but I am absolutely not complaining. Instead, I'm rejoicing that their team is taking the requisite time to ensure that the port works well.
They have to tape down my chest to try and get as much access to my right neck, but I'm used to that.
No sedation, so I'm able to sense everything. At one point, I sense warm liquid running down my neck and part of my back. I think it must be a douse of liquid antibiotics, but then that doesn't explain the warmth. Then, it hits me. Of course! It's my blood. Okay, don't contemplate that too long, Trish.
At another point, I feel a weird pain, almost a sharp electrical shock in the middle of my left butt, then it travels down my left leg, gradually lessening until it stops about mid calf. Suddenly, I feel like I can't breathe. I focus on breathing slowly in for 3-4 counts and out for 3-4 counts to try and not panic, but it's a really strange sensation. I mention to Dr. Gibby and Gina, but they've never heard of that happening during a port insertion. Neither have I, and this is the fourth port for me. They kind of dismiss it since they don't really know what to do. My O2 concentration is good, so I keep focusing on breathing and imagine that I'm sitting on a beach with a cool breeze, birds calling overhead, and my toes nestled into the warm, wet sand.
A little while longer, Dr. Gibby knows what happened. He must have touched a vasal nerve with the lidocaine needle. It's the only explanation he knows of, but he didn't realize he'd gone so deep with the numbing medication. And there's really no way to tell where those vasal nerves are. We know he didn't nick the nerve because my O2 levels remained great, so no real harm done.
What really takes him a long time is closing the wound. Normally, they put only one layers of sutures in a port incision, but he takes extra time putting in three layers. He says my skin is so thin from having multiple ports and from the chemo, so the sutures aren't really "biting" the skin the way they should. He's afraid that the wound will open and get infected again if he doesn't go overboard with the sutures. I'm glad he cares that much! He even puts in three external sutures and one external suture at my neck to ensure everything stays closed.
After I'm cleaned up, all of the tape is removed, and I'm re-gowned, it's time to remove the PICC line. Gina actually seems nervous about pulling it; but Dr. Gibby assures her it's easy and she doesn't need him to supervise, so here we go. After removing the three external sutures that are holding it in and a gentle tug, a 1.5 foot white flexible tube comes out. I thought it would be a bigger deal, that I'd feel it more. But it's done. Gina seems relieved also at how easy it was.
What care! I will definitely drive to Provo rather than go to Timpanogos Hospital if I ever need a port again.
Can I just say how much I love Riverwoods Imaging? It's a beautiful building with VERY caring, compassionate, and competent medical staff.
Gina is my nurse and she is wonderful! She checks on me regularly, is there to answer any questions we have, and takes the time to listen to me.
Dr. Gibby is equally wonderful. It usually takes about 45 minutes to place a port. It takes about two hours to place mine today, but I am absolutely not complaining. Instead, I'm rejoicing that their team is taking the requisite time to ensure that the port works well.
They have to tape down my chest to try and get as much access to my right neck, but I'm used to that.
No sedation, so I'm able to sense everything. At one point, I sense warm liquid running down my neck and part of my back. I think it must be a douse of liquid antibiotics, but then that doesn't explain the warmth. Then, it hits me. Of course! It's my blood. Okay, don't contemplate that too long, Trish.
At another point, I feel a weird pain, almost a sharp electrical shock in the middle of my left butt, then it travels down my left leg, gradually lessening until it stops about mid calf. Suddenly, I feel like I can't breathe. I focus on breathing slowly in for 3-4 counts and out for 3-4 counts to try and not panic, but it's a really strange sensation. I mention to Dr. Gibby and Gina, but they've never heard of that happening during a port insertion. Neither have I, and this is the fourth port for me. They kind of dismiss it since they don't really know what to do. My O2 concentration is good, so I keep focusing on breathing and imagine that I'm sitting on a beach with a cool breeze, birds calling overhead, and my toes nestled into the warm, wet sand.
A little while longer, Dr. Gibby knows what happened. He must have touched a vasal nerve with the lidocaine needle. It's the only explanation he knows of, but he didn't realize he'd gone so deep with the numbing medication. And there's really no way to tell where those vasal nerves are. We know he didn't nick the nerve because my O2 levels remained great, so no real harm done.
What really takes him a long time is closing the wound. Normally, they put only one layers of sutures in a port incision, but he takes extra time putting in three layers. He says my skin is so thin from having multiple ports and from the chemo, so the sutures aren't really "biting" the skin the way they should. He's afraid that the wound will open and get infected again if he doesn't go overboard with the sutures. I'm glad he cares that much! He even puts in three external sutures and one external suture at my neck to ensure everything stays closed.
After I'm cleaned up, all of the tape is removed, and I'm re-gowned, it's time to remove the PICC line. Gina actually seems nervous about pulling it; but Dr. Gibby assures her it's easy and she doesn't need him to supervise, so here we go. After removing the three external sutures that are holding it in and a gentle tug, a 1.5 foot white flexible tube comes out. I thought it would be a bigger deal, that I'd feel it more. But it's done. Gina seems relieved also at how easy it was.
What care! I will definitely drive to Provo rather than go to Timpanogos Hospital if I ever need a port again.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Sixth Adcetris Dose
6/16 or 3/8 guaranteed finished with Adcetris after today's dose. 16 doses is the maximum for one round of chemo.
I was hoping I'd have a port by now, but the PICC line--hopefully--will work as well for today.
They're now giving me three medications to control nausea, and it's working! Their drugs (Emend, ondansetron, and one other?) give me about 4-4.5 days without nausea. Then, I take granistetron every morning and every evening, then rotate taking ondansetron (Zofran), lorazepam (Ativan), and promethazine (phenergan) every two hours. It's a pain to be taking so much anti-nausea pills, but they're working. I'll take working!
I've lost six pounds since my last appointment, but I promise to eat better since we finally figured out a working combination for nausea.
Dr. Wendy says I'm mistaken. She's planning on the full 16 doses. Even if the cancer is totally gone? I'm not sure, but I am disappointed. What happened to the 12 doses that we talked about at the last appointment?
I forget to mention how bad the peripheral neuropathy (nerve damage in my hands and now my feet and legs) is to Dr. Wendy, but I do mention it to Breanna (one of the chemo nurses). They mention it to Kathy (the patient coordinator) and I get a printed list of things to try: vinegar, B vitamins, and drinking tonic water to decrease muscle cramps and cocoa butter lotion. My summary: not much help! Dr. Wendy will discuss it further at our next appointment. Lovely! More to look forward to.
I was hoping I'd have a port by now, but the PICC line--hopefully--will work as well for today.
They're now giving me three medications to control nausea, and it's working! Their drugs (Emend, ondansetron, and one other?) give me about 4-4.5 days without nausea. Then, I take granistetron every morning and every evening, then rotate taking ondansetron (Zofran), lorazepam (Ativan), and promethazine (phenergan) every two hours. It's a pain to be taking so much anti-nausea pills, but they're working. I'll take working!
I've lost six pounds since my last appointment, but I promise to eat better since we finally figured out a working combination for nausea.
Dr. Wendy says I'm mistaken. She's planning on the full 16 doses. Even if the cancer is totally gone? I'm not sure, but I am disappointed. What happened to the 12 doses that we talked about at the last appointment?
I forget to mention how bad the peripheral neuropathy (nerve damage in my hands and now my feet and legs) is to Dr. Wendy, but I do mention it to Breanna (one of the chemo nurses). They mention it to Kathy (the patient coordinator) and I get a printed list of things to try: vinegar, B vitamins, and drinking tonic water to decrease muscle cramps and cocoa butter lotion. My summary: not much help! Dr. Wendy will discuss it further at our next appointment. Lovely! More to look forward to.
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