Archive for July, 2007

One Week Down

Published
by
Scott
on July 30, 2007
in Chemotherapy
. 1 Comment

Hey cancer, guess what? One week down!!! Take it, sucka.

I was all fired up tonight and about to write out a really long tirade about how Sanofi Aventis’ marketing department has been taking too much of it’s patients vitamin THC, but then I saw the good in the world that is Jo from Life With Heathens. Jo has been really active in the comments recently and has been kind enough to give us a little bit a link love during an interview at BlogsWeLuv. Jo, that was really awesome. Thank you very much.

So, as not to offend any new readers, I’ll take a deep breath (in with the good), exhale (out with the bad) and let you know that we have one week of chemo down. This is the adjunct treatment in which Holly is on an IV for a couple of hours the first day, takes 2 weeks of pills and then gets a week off. Side effects have included nausea, diarrhea, being tired a lot and neuropathy. She said that it is kind of like being pregnant all the time and your hands hurt when they touch cold things.

The neuropathy actually hasn’t seemed all that bad. She still is kind of a newbie, so she tried a soda and ice cream and touched cold things. You know how it is when someone tells you not to do something. She did jump into a pool and said that was a bit of a shock, but not terrible.

So, we’ve survived the first week. If things stay like this, it will be January in no time.

On Being the Visitor

Published
by
Scott
on July 23, 2007
in Chemotherapy and Coping
. 1 Comment

If you are interested in cancer and aren’t reading Leroy Sievers’ posts on NPR, you are doing yourself a huge disservice. Leroy has been posting daily since his diagnosis a year and a half ago. His posts are witty, funny, very sad (at times) and insanely inspirational. In short, he is the type of writer that I aspire to be some day.

Having just come back from Hawaii, Holly and I spent the week being visitors. Despite having been to Maui a dozen or so times and have discovered many of the little haunts that the locals go to, it is still very obvious that we are visitors. As much as we try to fit in, we are simply just another out of shape (though not out of shape as most), non-tan, couple from the mainland.

Leroy Sievers posted an entry right before we left on being a local at his clinic. He knows where to sit, where to park, who to speak with, where the elevators are and is always willing to help out a visitor. Like visitors to Maui or Newport Beach, we are easy to spot.

Knowing that we would be going to the clinic this morning, I carried that post in my head the whole week. I thought quite a bit how awkward it would be to go into the clinic and not really know the drill. Who would help us out? Who would guide us to where to sit? Can we watch movies? Is there wifi (there isn’t)? Can we talk on the phone? What do we do first? Can we eat? What, where, who, why, how?????

Thankfully, our oncology center, and I suspect that all similar types of facilities, has it’s own version of Leroy. People were especially helpful. Even the grumpy nurse (inside joke) seemed more friendly today. They brought lunch in for many of the patients. Many of them had at least one family member with them. People were jovial and everyone went out of their way to make sure that Holly was as comfortable as possible under the circumstances.

When it came time to leave, we made our appointment for 3 weeks out, took our card and left. Next time, we will be locals and hopefully we will be able to help out as well.

1 Down - 8 to Go

Published
by
Scott
on July 23, 2007
in Cancer and Chemotherapy
. 3 Comments

Well, we did it. Well, I didn’t do anything. Technically, Holly did it. She made it through the first round of chemo. I went to Starbucks and Safeway.

I did a quick calculation, but 1 infusion every 3 weeks for the next 6 months equals 9 infusions. Only 8 left. Again, it was a quick off the top of my head calculation. It sucks because a couple of months will have 2 infusions in them, but hey, we are 1/9 of the way there. For those of you who are mathematically inclined, 1/9 isn’t a fraction you get to use too often.

For those of you more pharmaceutically leaning, Ocaliplatin is defined on Wikipedia as such:

Oxaliplatin is a platinum-based chemotherapy drug in the same family as cisplatin and carboplatin. It is typically administered in combination with fluorouracil and leucovorin in a combination known as FOLFOX for the treatment of colorectal cancer. Compared to cisplatin the two amine groups are replaced by cyclohexyldiamine for improved antitumour activity. The chlorine ligands are replaced by the oxalato bidentate derived from oxalic acid in order to improve water solubility.

Oxaliplatin is marketed by Sanofi-Aventis under the trademark Eloxatin®.

As I’ve mentioned a bunch of times, one of the side effects of Oxaliplatin is neuropathy, a condition in which you get extreme sensitivity to cold in your extremities and throat. If you know Holly, you know how much she loves Diet Pepsi and Coke Slurpees (Buzz Squishees). So this pretty much sucks. As a sweet parting gift, though, today we got an Eloxatin branded tote bag, blanket, scarf and mittens so that when she has to grab juice out of the fridge, she doesn’t burn her hand (yes, fridge and burn, I know, weird).

She also started taking Xeloda daily again. This time, twice as much as last time. I think that it is like a billion milligrams a day or something, but I could just be tired. We also got a sweet DVD with our Xeloda care package. I’m sure that is the feel good film of the summer. Actually, we are thinking about auctioning them both off for some charity. Details to follow.

I have to say, the people at the clinic are top notch. Not only the people that work there, but also the patients. While I was moping around with wet eyes, they were all cheerful, friendly and amazingly upbeat. It is impossible to say what it would be like in their shoes. I’d like to think that I would be as strong as all of these people are and treat it as just a minor inconvenience in their day. I’d like to think that I would smile and joke and be my normal jovial self. If you ever need a quick pick me up, drop into the local chemo clinic and spend 30 minutes with a patient. It is positively life altering.

Finally, as the cherry on top of our already dog crap sundae, there is a weird image in Holly’s chest that showed up on her CT scan. Dr. Uyei said she can’t tell what it is, but that no lymph nodes have invaded it yet, so she isn’t worried. She does want to do another CT scan in a couple months. Since a regular discussion at our house is which is worse tube down the throat to pump the stomach or the barium enema, I know that she can’t wait to go through that again. I’ll do a BluBet on that one shortly.

Despite it all, Holly’s spirits are amazing. She remains the single most positive person I’ve ever met. She is dealing with the early onset of neuropathy and nausea that come with chemo the way that I would deal with a hang nail or a minor headache. When I was falling apart today at the clinic, she looked at me and said “This is fine. We’ve been through the worst at the hospital. I’m going home after this. This is all downhill from here.” With 8 more treatments to go, it really is all downhill from here.

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