CHEMO 6-D.1

Its just part of the deal.  Every two weeks I get poisoned.  Chemo was a choice and I'm doing my best with it.  Yes it sucks, but there are some significant positives.  The time it takes to get over the side effects has forced me to do very little.  My brain and body have begun to re organize.  The garage is not so important anymore, nor are the stressors of daily living.  My relationship to acting and the entertainment industry have shifted.  I simply don't have the energy for stress anymore.  I've never been so empty and somehow thats just fine with me.  I've been given the gift of detachment, yet still somehow, through friends or Kaizen (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kaizen) or whatever, I get what I have to do done.  A few friends have been curious what the chemo routine is.  I thought I'd diary some of it. Its really a mash of cliff notes. But somewhere within the potatoes there may be some nourishment (btw there really is something called chemo brain.  A fog and a malaise of confused expression.  Why else would I write potatoes?)

Yesterday I went for treatment number 6.  It usually starts with a finger prick to test your levels (white and red blood cells- or "the count").  I chose the most appropriate finger  (see pic above).  So off to the journal...

"I'm writing this with the pre-meds already flowing down "Oporto".  Oporto is the name I've given to my port.  More about nick names in a sec.  Did you ever wonder what happened to all those family Barcaloungers from the 80's? You know the arm chairs that had a lever to pull your dad or uncle back into an alcoholic snooze during the final four?  

Believe it or not there are interior designers paid to create rooms like this.  Supposed to be calming.  I think calming means something different to these people.  The colors are not so helpful for my nausea.    

Well all those arm chairs are still alive and kicking, now located in every oncologists office from here to tokyo.  Where was I, oh yes, back to Oporto.  I opted a couple months ago to undergo yet another procedure to insert a delivery system straight into my chest.  This meant I didn't have to keep having IV's plunged into various veins.  It's basically a catheter inserted into your arteries making the drugs quick and efficient in their poision delivery.  I named it Oporto after Portugal's spiritual home of port wine.  Seemed appropriate.

I woke up today around 8:30 and Juliet and I went straight for a protein rich breakfast of eggs, whole grains, fruit and juice.  She had a coffee.  Sadly, I've given that ritual up but not turmeric latte's with almond milk and honey.  Dont knock it until you try it.  Nausea is a constant companion these days.  For some reason the turmeric helps.  Of course there are pills I can take but I've gone herbal and a tad techno.  In addition to teas, I  wear a relief band (http://www.reliefband.com) and down ginger pills along with keeping my stomach full of something healthy.  Yet at the end of the day it is what it is.  [Note about the relief band.  There is a medical version (over 200 bucks) that zaps you, but I can't handle the intense electricity.  I got the motion sickness band and put it on level #1.  I leave it there all day.  Seems to be helping.  You can also change the batteries whereas the medical one you can't. Commercial!]  

always with the scarf.  sensitivity to cold is something to be aware of.  Plus its your job to make fighting cancer cool.  

So we get to the oncologist office at 11am. The routine is that I go to a small examination room, get weighed (the chemo dose is based on your weight so this is a good time not to lie about it), check my blood pressure and prick my finger all before the doctor comes in for the biweekly update.  Its here my mind undergoes metamorphosis.  I've been dreading this day all week, but here in front of healthcare workers and angel nurses humor is my modus operandi.  I try every moment to crack some sort of joke.  Not so much for their sake as mine. The more smiling the more comfortable the treatment will be.  I've tested and so concluded.    

who doesn't like a little blood?

In walks doc.  I love the guy even though I hate what he's doing to me.  I'll clarify.  For some reason chemo doesn't feel like one of the good guys.  After months of trying to visualize chemo as good, I've realized that its not.  Its killing my cells, the good and the bad.  So my punishment?  I don't name it.  Chemo doesn't get a anything, not a joke or my sympathy.  It should stay underground where it came from.  Yet I'm using it. I'm in war using chemical weapons.

Doc and I discuss side effects.  My neuropathy is getting worse.  From numbness in the fingers and toes to now sharp stabbing needles in the finger tips.  This doesn't happen to everyone.  I'm lucky remember? So lucky that I'm classified as toxic sensitive.  Aren't we all?  Apparently some more than others.  I'll regale you with side effete in another post.  However we decide to continue the course unchanged, at least until next time.  Of the two drugs Oxaliplatin is the worser.  The standard is six months on both Oxaliplatin and 5 fu, however there seems to be evidence that 4 months is better than 6.  I'm going for the four now.  Neuropathy can be long term and I've got too many words to type to have this last any longer than it has to.  

I move straight into another prep room.  Another angel nurse (nurses are angels if you didn't know.  Really.  They're angels.  Thats why they wear baggy clothes.  To hide the wings.), anyway another angel accesses Oporto.  This is done simply.  Angel nurse takes a needle attached to a tube and aims straight for the bullseye in my chest.  Its as if she's trying to deflate a tiny balloon.  When she asks me to look away that's the cue to pinch my thigh.  Its all automatic by now and pretty much painless.  Once that's done I'm officially attached to "Lurch".  Tall skinny shiny wobbly Lurch.  Lurch is a pole.  He's what holds up the plastic bags dripping their mess down the gravity highway straight into Oporto's mouth.     

Here is where the Lurchs' wait in between jobs

Art. Weird sisters, Lurch and "calming" landscapes.  

Newly attached to Lurch, these three bags are now connected which officially begins my treatment.  These three bags of course share a name.  They are "The Weird Sisters."  They are the witches that sing "double double toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron boil."  They sort of run the show and put me in a spell for the next week or so. They are insane.  

In a few hours I will have sucked the sisters dry and "Burt" will appear.  Burt is my pump.  He will accompany me everywhere I go for the next two days.  He will be attached to Oporto ejaculating hourly infusions of 5/FU.  On Friday I will remove Burt and wait until the next treatment. 

Burt is the thing in my hand, not the blonde in the back.  The blonde in the back is called Juliet.  and yes, she's wearing a shirt. 

So here I sit for three hours as the various "medicine" flows into my chest.  Chemo is cumulative so by now the fatigue is climbing.  I can't really can't think to do anything else but to finish this sentence and tell you a joke.  Why are bears big, brown and hairy? Because if they were small round and white they'd be eggs.  I'm done for now.