Monday, June 27, 2011

I drive to work, to be prepared for whatever the day will bring. And boy, does it bring!

It's 9:30 and I get a call from Dr. Wendy's office. Can I be meet her about 1? Sure.

Regular meeting with my development team. They should know why my schedule's going to change, but how do I start this conversation? "I want you to hear this directly from me and not through any other pipeline. I have cancer. I'll probably be starting chemo this week. I'll keep you informed as to when I'll be in the office, when I might be working from home, and when I'll be off." Goes better than anticipated.

At the appropriate time, I leave work, swing home to pick up Dale, and head 1.5 miles down the road. What's going to happen now?

Meet with Dr. Wendy. All results are in. No real surprises. What is surprising is that this isn't considered Stage I. Instead, it's considered a recurrence of the Stage III-B that I had two and a half years ago. And she's talked to the transplant team at LDS Hospital already. They're recommending a bone marrow transplant.

"No" I scream loudly in her office. And what support does she offer for my almost subconscious and very loud protest? Looking directly at Dale, she flips the report papers she's holding in her hand, pens "YES" in red block letters, and turns the paper towards me. Whatever!

So now what? Recommending two rounds of ICE chemo this time, mostly to get my body ready for the transplant. What's ICE? That's a new acronym to me. So far, I've had MOPP with radiation, and ADV, without the B. Now ICE?

Ifosfamide or Ifex (with Mensa to protect my bladder), Carboplatin, and Etoposide. It's given over a three-day period, every three weeks. Wow! We're really doing this. When? I don't have a port yet.

Right now, of course. Today! I should have known. I'd love to have one day to process all of the information, then come back tomorrow to start; but that's not how we do things here. In fact, here's the nurse to start an IV--again! 5 times in 13 days. At least, the ratio is getting smaller now.

Shouldn't we go back to the MOPP because it cured me for thirty years--even when my parents didn't finish the treatments or do any of the recommended follow up? There's a limit to how much of some chemo drugs our bodies can get over its lifetime. While we haven't exceeded those limits yet, MOPP has the worst side effects. We'll save it in case we ever need a last resort.

Some preliminary information and consent forms to sign. This isn't even half of the information they overwhelmed me with last time. Is that because this is easier or because I'm supposed to remember it all from before?

Move out of the exam room to join the rest of patients in the back, Circle of Trust room. It's a large open room with six recliners of varying degrees of comfort positioned into almost a full circle. A handy IV pole sits next to each chair and a trash can. And the nurses' desk tucked into one corner.

I call it the Circle of Trust room because you hear everything that everyone says in that room: patients, nurses, visitors--it makes no difference. Once you're in that circle, you'd better be trustworthy.

Look! I forgot how beautiful those stained glass stars of various sizes and in blues and frosted and clear glass are. A sign of some hope in the world. But we didn't bring the cribbage board today. That's how Dale and I passed a lot of time waiting for former ADV treatments to drip in.

We start backwards, with the Etoposide first. It takes about 2-2.5 hours to infuse. It's so weird to think of poison being dripped into my veins and heart and body. Okay. Don't spend too much time on that thought, Trish, or you'll rip the needle out and go running and screaming from the building.

The nurses are so nice though because they leave the IV in to save time and having to start another IV in the morning, when I'm scheduled for the port placement and bone marrow biopsy. As soon as I've finished with those two things at the hospital, I get to come over for the next part of ICE.

Lovely! I can hardly wait, and I get to take a friend (the IV) home with me? This just gets better and better because everyone should have medical things follow them home and not be able to pretend they don't exist for just a few hours!