I left the house at 6:45 this morning for my 8am appointment for bloodwork and didn't get there until 8:45. Traffic was unbelievable. As is the new normal, my port took the flushes just fine, but no blood return, so they set up an IV in my left arm and used that all day for my bloodwork, but still pushed the infusion into the port. Otherwise everything went as expected. Long boring day. Nice nurses. Actually, one unexpected thing.
They have a standard routine, even if they know the patient, where any interaction between the patient and nurse that involves medication, bloodwork, or vitals starts with them asking me to confirm my name and birth date, and then they compare that to whatever paperwork or labels they have in hand and the bracelet they place on my wrist at checkin.
It's a good routine, once I almost accidentally got Theresa somebody's chemo instead of mine, and we caught it because of that system. At some point they noticed this morning that my birthday is tomorrow, and I woke up from my nap to the entire nursing staff singing happy birthday and they presented me with a red velvet cupcake with a hand drawn "candle" (no flames in the infusion rooms). That was very sweet of them.
I feel like I've been hit by a truck. Typically I start my infusions around 4pm for the last few months. This time we started at 10am, so my head is in a totally different space now than it has been in previous weeks. And I am right now at the highest toxicity I'll ever have with taxol. Low level miseries include that stupid pleuritic cough, small but constant nosebleeds from cracked sinuses, low level sore throat, my mouth is dry and tastes like dirty pennies, and the bottom of my left foot is almost entirely numb now. The neuropathy is starting up in my hands too. No numbness yet, but I am a lot clutzier than usual - putting things down wrong on tables or knocking things over that I intend to pick up. They think it'll take a couple of months to get back to normal. At least it shouldn't get any worse than it is right now.
Interestingly, my hair never completely fell out. I still have (significantly smaller) eyebrows and lashes, and about a half inch of white fuzz scattered sparsely across my scalp. It's well over 99% gone. I would look like the Crypt Keeper if I had tried to keep the length while it fell out. Maybe that's preferable to Drew Carey? Nah.
I can't see it, but I think it's thicker at the nape of my neck. People like to pet the fuzz. I'm thinking that I might have it shaved clean next week. I can do that now because I'll be on a break from chemo at that point and it won't be dangerous if I get a small cut, and it will make wearing hats/scarves/buffs easier and less itchy as it gets colder.
MRI is scheduled for tomorrow morning. With the doc's permission I'm delaying taking the next steroid dose until after it's done, so hopefully I can take a bunch of valium and sleep through the claustrophobia. Bob's driving me, which means I have to get up and go to school with him, and hang out in the library so we can leave as soon as his last class is over.
They have a standard routine, even if they know the patient, where any interaction between the patient and nurse that involves medication, bloodwork, or vitals starts with them asking me to confirm my name and birth date, and then they compare that to whatever paperwork or labels they have in hand and the bracelet they place on my wrist at checkin.
It's a good routine, once I almost accidentally got Theresa somebody's chemo instead of mine, and we caught it because of that system. At some point they noticed this morning that my birthday is tomorrow, and I woke up from my nap to the entire nursing staff singing happy birthday and they presented me with a red velvet cupcake with a hand drawn "candle" (no flames in the infusion rooms). That was very sweet of them.
I feel like I've been hit by a truck. Typically I start my infusions around 4pm for the last few months. This time we started at 10am, so my head is in a totally different space now than it has been in previous weeks. And I am right now at the highest toxicity I'll ever have with taxol. Low level miseries include that stupid pleuritic cough, small but constant nosebleeds from cracked sinuses, low level sore throat, my mouth is dry and tastes like dirty pennies, and the bottom of my left foot is almost entirely numb now. The neuropathy is starting up in my hands too. No numbness yet, but I am a lot clutzier than usual - putting things down wrong on tables or knocking things over that I intend to pick up. They think it'll take a couple of months to get back to normal. At least it shouldn't get any worse than it is right now.
Interestingly, my hair never completely fell out. I still have (significantly smaller) eyebrows and lashes, and about a half inch of white fuzz scattered sparsely across my scalp. It's well over 99% gone. I would look like the Crypt Keeper if I had tried to keep the length while it fell out. Maybe that's preferable to Drew Carey? Nah.
I can't see it, but I think it's thicker at the nape of my neck. People like to pet the fuzz. I'm thinking that I might have it shaved clean next week. I can do that now because I'll be on a break from chemo at that point and it won't be dangerous if I get a small cut, and it will make wearing hats/scarves/buffs easier and less itchy as it gets colder.
MRI is scheduled for tomorrow morning. With the doc's permission I'm delaying taking the next steroid dose until after it's done, so hopefully I can take a bunch of valium and sleep through the claustrophobia. Bob's driving me, which means I have to get up and go to school with him, and hang out in the library so we can leave as soon as his last class is over.
Any birthday plans? I hope you and Bob do something to celebrate.
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Not tonight, but we're doing stuff this weekend - mini birthday party /wedding cake testing with Jen and a family reunion on Saturday. I'm looking forward to it. :)
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