Not with a Bang...

{Please note: This is my final post. Since this blog is about my chemotherapy (not my cancer), and that part of my treatment is over, this blog is complete as well.}

It's over. No fireworks, no parade, not even a hearty handclasp.

I showed up for my final chemo appointment, had a few extra pokes during the preliminary blood test—"Your veins are very hard to work with, señor"—and, an hour later, an oncology nurse informed me that I was so anemic my chemo was cancelled.

And that was that.

I got a shot of Procrit and was sent home. My combination of drugs was very toxic; missing a couple of sessions was factored into the treatment from the start, so this wasn't entirely unexpected. What was unexpected—at least by me--was the surreal feeling of relief (understandable) tinged with an inexplicable feeling of uncertainty and doubt (I really wanted to finish the entire course of treatment, damnit--I do not want the cancer to return. I didn't much care for it the first time, and I'd probably hate it even more the second time).

While I'm still struggling with some of the side effects of the surgery and the chemotherapy, there has been a lot of progress and I feel better every day. My appetite is back to normal, my hair is starting to grow back (although I still don't have any eyelashes), and the metallic taste in my mouth is gone. No more nausea, no more fatigue.

I have an appointment at USC in February for a full exam, but I don't think they'll find anything. As far as I'm concerned, I'm cured. Five years is the estimate they like to give for being out of the woods, and I've been clean for seven months.

Five years? I can do that standing on my head.

"It's a Good Life"

Ever since I lost my hair, I feel like I'm living in a Twilight Zone episode.

Episode 73, season 3 to be exact.

When someone sees me for the first time, their first comment is invariably how good I look.

"You look good, Zach. Real good. It's good that you're bald. Honey, doesn't Zach look good?"

Relax, folks, I am not going to send you to the cornfield.

By the way, tomorrow is the first session of my final round of chemo.

Two Nurses, Four Pokes

The Neupogen worked like a champ, and my blood counts were back in the acceptable range. The first nurse poked and prodded in a couple of places and decided that someone with more experience could perhaps do a better job. She was right, sort of. The second nurse found a vein on the second try, and I was finished in an hour.

Just to keep things in the proper perspective, the guy in the chair next to me was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, which has a one to two percent survival rate. I think of people like him when I feel like Joe Btfsplk. I don’t really have it so bad.

Only three sessions to go.

Keeping Score? Last Week 3, Zach 0

Last week’s blood count wasn’t entirely unexpected--my oncologist says few patients make it through chemo without a “time-out.” What was unexpected--to me--was the fatigue and nausea that followed me around like the black cloud above Joe Btfsplk.

The nausea (and granted, I wasn’t taking my anti-nausea pills because things were manageable up to that point) started at work. Within seconds of the first wave, I was on my hands and knees, vomiting into a trash can, and praying a client wouldn’t walk in the door. I left work and went to bed, where I stayed the rest of the day and most of the next.

The fatigue snuck up more subtly. I find myself going to bed earlier and earlier, sometimes by 6pm. I get up later and later. By the end of the day I’m practically worthless at work, and I take a nap as soon as I get home.

The co-pay for three Neupogen injections turned out to be $2040 for the week. If we didn’t have insurance, it would have been over $11,000.

Not a good week at all...

This week just kicked me all around the block.

My chemo session was canceled because my blood count had dropped below the minimum. I have to take a very expensive drug now to get the platelet count back up; how expensive you ask? Our co-pay is $2000 a week. I'm still reeling, and I have to take this drug for five weeks more!

I'll go into more details as soon as the holidays are over. We're going camping tomorrow. Screw cancer.

Session One--Round Two

Yesterday was a long session, 10am to 4:30pm.

But, unlike last cispatin-round, no nausea so far. And the nurse found a vein the first poke.

My blood count was a little iffy whether or not to go forward with the chemo that day, but the oncologist felt that staying on schedule was more important than the low numbers, especially since I felt pretty good.

One thought I had after completing the first round fairly unscathed is that some of the chemo patients I've met become so obsessively focused on analyzing their feelings and body-state in real time that they give undue weight to things they'd otherwise just shrug off. Woody Allen once said, "More than any other time in history, mankind faces a crossroads. One path leads to despair and utter hopelessness. The other to total extinction. Let us pray we have the wisdom to choose correctly." I see that a lot with some cancer patients.
There are many legitimate issues I've been going through--fatigue, diarrhea, constipation, some nausea--but when I don't focus on it, when I don't let it occupy more of my attention that it requires--it's easier to get through the unpleasant times.

Compared to what others are going through, dialysis patients for example (three times a week, three hours a session for the rest of their lives), I don't think I have it so bad. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Five more treatments and I'm through.

Besides, my wife thinks I look okay bald.

Final Hair Update

There's not a lot of updating to do about hair after you've shaved it all off.

I thought a buzz-cut might work, but instead of long hair falling out, all it accomplished was short hair falling out. Plus, I had a splotchy, uneven "chemo-head" that didn't look attractive or healthy. So my wife helped me shave it off.

In the space of less than a week, I went from a full head of hair to looking like I'm auditioning for the "King and I" at the Kettleman City "holiday spectacular" dinner-theater.

As they say, the show must go on!