Showing posts with label side effects. Show all posts
Showing posts with label side effects. Show all posts

Friday, April 24, 2015

My Side Effects: Chest Pain and Heartburn

Although six months have passed since my final chemo treatment (hurrah!), there were several posts I drafted during chemo and never got around to posting because I was too exhausted to keep up. So here I am, half-a-year later, finally getting around to updating those drafts. I figure a few after-the-fact posts are okay.

— – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — 


Chest pain and heartburn. Not exactly the same.


Throughout the course of my cancer adventure, the reasons for my chest pain varied.


At first, it was probably the tumors growing under my sternum. Plus, my anxiety facing the possibility of a difficult diagnosis. Although "pain" isn't the right word for what I initially felt. In some notes I wrote in preparation for my first doctor appointment (weeks before a CT scan revealed Tiny's friends), I described the sensation as "pressure."


During the passing weeks, the pressure increased. Wearing my normal clothes hurt. My shirts strangled me, dresses deprived me of precious O2, camisoles constricted my chest, my bras were too tight. I might as well have worn a corset all laced up, like that one variation of Snow White in which the queen gives her a cursed corset and the ribbons lace up so tight she can't breathe.


Source

Source

I often unclasped my bra to relieve the pressure, even if I was in public. Later, I gave up and stopped wearing a bra, which posed other problems. Both options led to embarrassment. Whatever. A girl's gotta do what's a girl's gotta do to breathe. (See below for my eventual solution to this conundrum.)

I also read that chest pain is a symptom of anemia. Considering I was moderately anemic throughout my chemoification, this seems a viable reason for my discomfort.

Once chemo started, heartburn affected me. I was resistant to accept the heartburn theory for a while. Heartburn is for old people. Not someone in her late 20's. It's difficult to accept that one's body is not as healthy or strong as one would like it to be, which I'm sure is true no matter one's age.


Another reason I resisted accepting that I had heartburn is because the pain I experienced wasn't a burning sensation. (Semantics cause so much trouble.) 
I personally think the term "burn" is misleading. Burning is fire and heat. Maybe some people experience this, just not me. I felt crushing chest pain. As if my heart had been transplanted with a sea urchin.

Source

Um...minus the spikes.

Source

Yeah. Something like that.

There were only a few times when I could say, "Oo! Yup, that's heart burn." Yucky stomach acidity.


My Solutions

—Prescription strength antacid. Worked like a charm! As soon as I started taking it daily*, the chest pains diminished. The only exception was a couple days during treatment #10 and #11 when my dietary choices upset my stomach. What can I say? I love pizza rolls! Bonus, around the time I started taking the antacid, the horrific mouth burning significantly decreased. Correlation or coincidence? I don't care as long as I could eat food with minimal pain! 
(*Initially I thought I only needed to take the antacid on chemo weekends. After consulting a pharmacist and my oncologist, both recommended taking it daily for maximum effectiveness until chemo ended.)

—Purchased new shirts and tank tops that were a size or two larger than I normally like to wear.


—As for the bra issue, I had to make my own. That's right. I made my own bra. Nothing in the market or on the Internet matched what I needed (believe me, I looked). Sports bras were too tight. Bra extenders were still too tight. Camisoles with so-called built-in bras were too thin. As I mentioned, going braless posed other problems because I can get rather, uh, perky. (Walking from 100+ degree heat into a chilly, air conditioned store will do that to a person.) I needed something loose, easy to slip on, and with enough padding to prevent embarrassing situations. So I bought an inexpensive wireless bra, did some cutting and sewing, and voilá! The final creation was the most comfortable, magical, marvelous bra I've ever worn/made/owned. It's not perfect, but it worked. Six months later, I still enjoy wearing it from time to time.


Further Reading



Disclaimer
Every person is different and their experiences will vary from mine. Always discuss your particular symptoms and concerns with your doctor.

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

My Long Overdue Post-Chemo Post

Hair has been growing. Energy levels are back to normal. Life goes on!

Nearly six months have passed since my final chemo treatment. Wow! Time has flown.


I've been meaning to post updates about life post-cancer. Because, it's a bit weird. My oncologist informed me that it was natural to have anxiety as a cancer survivor, and yeah there are days when the possibility of a relapse scares me and I wonder about my future. Ultimately, I can't worry about it, because the future isn't written yet. Gotta keep living!

I still need check-ups every three months to make sure everything is hunky dory, both in terms of watching out for long-lasting chemo side effects (of which I have none so far) and potential relapse (also none so far). Luckily for me, Hodgkin's lymphoma has a low relapse rate and most HL patients are cured with first-line chemotherapy. All of the statistics are in my favor. Hurrah!

As for other updates...

First, the sad news: back in November, my oncologist told me she would be relocating. I'm happy for her, moving on with her career and all. Sad for me. I could not have asked for a better oncologist to help me through the tumultuous journey. I was able to see her one last time before she moved in December.



The good news, also back in November my port was explanted!

I'm grateful the device made receiving medications easier, however I am super glad it is gone. If I had kept it in, I would have had to revisit the infusion center once a month to get it flushed to keep the catheter clean and clear. Considering how accessing it each time made me nauseous—with or without chemo—because of my reaction to the saline and/or heparin, removing it was the best. It also signified an end to my cancer adventure.


On Friday, November 21, my Aunt Debbie accompanied me to the hospital. We arrived at 6:55am and left around 10:30am. The procedure itself lasted just over an hour.


Pre-procedure
I have learned to be more vocal about my needs and desires, so prior to the procedure I had a few questions/requests:

1) Can I be more conscious than sedated during the procedure, like last time during the implant? 

Answer: Yes! Woohoo!

2A) Can I keep the port? 

Answer: No, because it is a biohazard. =(

2B) Can I take a picture with the port? 

Answer: YES! (see below)

3) Can anything be done about the nasty little scar* from when the port was first implanted?

Answer: The doc wasn't sure. Usually they make a second incision or something. He said he would take it into consideration and see what he could do.

*Side note: Funny story. Sooort of. When the port was implanted, there was a little mix-up about when it would be okay to remove the surgical glue. The take-home instructions claimed it would fall off on its own within seven days. On day eight, the glue was still stuck in place so I removed it, which apparently was too soon (the nurse practitioner later told me fourteen days was the ideal wait length; um...that would have been nice to include in the instructions). When I removed the glue it was obvious the incision had not quite healed and I had to return to the interventional radiology department so the nurse practitioner could tape it with surgical strips. This technique was not very effective and the scar healed weird. Every time I looked at it, it reminded me of a slug.


Source

Returning to my explant procedure story, as requested I was mostly awake, although the nurse increased my sedative at one point because she said she noticed I was wincing. All in all, I remember about half of the procedure: the set up, an x-ray, a blue drape, the prep, the stinging lidocaine injection...

A different doctor performed the explant, not the doc I met during pre-op. New doc and I had a great chat during the procedure. Unfortunately, I don't remember most of it. Apparently she gave me a lot of great life advice. Guess I'll have to fill in the gaps with my imagination!


Bonus: She removed the scar tissue as requested! Yay! The new scar is longer and just as wide as the old scar, but it looks a lot cleaner and less slug-like. I'm satisfied with it.


Post-procedure
Me + Port
Yellow bruise a few days later.
The bottom line is the new scar.
The top line was more bruising.

Those are all the updates I have for now. I hope more will be forthcoming, but I make no guarantees.

Cheerio!

My Nephew Remembers

Back in mid-January, my 3-year-old nephew and I were watching Guardians of the Galaxy at his house. In the opening scene, a young Star-Lord/Peter Quill visits his dying mother. When the scene showed her, my nephew pointed to the TV screen and exclaimed, "Manda! That's like you!" How observant.


Meredith Quill, Galaxy of the Guardians, Source

For the record, at the time, my hair looked like this:



Jump ahead to the first week of February. I have several apps on my phone to entertain my nephew. One of these is a hair salon in which you select a picture of yourself (or anyone) and create outrageous hairstyles: wash, dry, cut, buzz, grow, curl, straighten, color, add bows and hats, etc.

For example, I gave my nephew this make-over:


When it was his turn, my nephew took a lot of time styling my hair. He sat quietly and focused intently while I chatted with my sister. After several minutes, he tapped me on the shoulder and proudly showed me his creation:


At least it's better than Aunt Gollum.


Saturday, October 25, 2014

My Chemo Course

Welcome to CafĂ© Chimio, where we serve the finest chimiothĂ©rapie cuisine!

Today our special is the ABVD full course chimio delight, a classic choice for our Hodgkin Lymphoma patrons. Each entrĂ©e is served with complementary nausea, vomiting, hair loss, mouth sores, and a low blood count which leads to fatigue and an increased risk of infection.

Patrons may experience all, some, or few side effects to varying degrees of intensity. Sorry, no substitutions can be made.


When you arrive, our host will escort you to a private recliner. One of our expert servers will access your port-a-cath and flush it with prepackaged saline syringes in preparation for your chemo treatment. Patrons with a sensitivity to the prepackaged saline may request hand-prepared syringes.

Our servers are happy to accommodate your needs. Do not hesitate to ask for anything, whether it be a warm blanket, a pillow, a plastic puke bag, a light snack or drink, or extra antiemetics. We encourage feedback, so please also report any worrying side effects or discomfort.

While you wait between each course, we will serve you a constant vintage Saline Drip.

For an appetizer you will begin with Emend. This delightful refreshment will ensure you enjoy your full chemo course without side effects like nausea or vomiting. We want our guests to enjoy their treatment while they stay with us.

A second appetizer is a blend of Zofran and Decadron, more antiemetics to ward off nausea and vomiting.


As a palate cleanser, you will receive Tylenol to avoid potential headaches caused by Zofran and some of our main courses. You'll be glad you added it!


Let the main courses begin!


Your first entrĂ©e will be Adriamycin, also known as doxorubicin. Some of our patrons affectionately call it "The Red Devil." A server will sit by your side for ten minutes and carefully push small increments through a syringe into your IV. This decadent drug is lightly seasoned with possible heart damage. One course is enough to make your hair fall out! It may also cause savory mouth sores. You may notice a distinct chemical smell or aftertaste. When you sense this, you know Adriamycin is working its wonders! Another marvelous feature is that within a few hours, during your next trip or two to our toilet amenities you will excrete pink or orange urine.



Next, you will be served Vinblastine, also delicately hand-pushed through a syringe in small increments over the course of five or so minutes. This zingy medication is sautĂ©ed with peripheral neuropathy that will make your fingers and toes tingle. Painstakingly layered with nervous system changes including sensation changes, muscle weakness and pain, loss of coordination, and jaw pain. Other attributes include constipation and/or diarrhea. A pinch of headaches and a dash of depression perfect the Vinblastine side effect medley.


The third course, Bleomycin is served over thirty minutes as an IV drip. Garnished with possible lung damage, patrons may notice coughing and shortness of breath. Topped with possible chills, fever, and shaking, which subside after forty-eight hours. Many patrons report their skin darkening—who needs to visit a tanning salon? Additional side effects such as itching, shaking, and skin rashes are whipped together to perfection. Although this drug does not contain peanuts or shellfish, a few guests have reported allergic reactions. Our servers are well-prepared and will be on the lookout for any nasty reactions.


The final course, Dacarbazine is slowly served over sixty minutes, also as an IV drip. Like the previous courses, this lovely chemical also causes nausea, vomiting, and a low blood cell count. Headaches, body aches, weakness, and sinus congestion are simmered together for a twenty-four-hour flu-like experience. Sprinkled with just the right amount of metallic aftertaste.



When your infusion is complete, our experts will flush your port-a-cath to ensure you are ready for your next visit.

Before you leave, please stop by the Pharmacie. Your maĂ®tre d' can recommend a number of take-home antiemetics (in pill form) to ward off nausea in the days to come and, if needed, can prescribe stronger pain relievers and medications to reduce symptoms as they arise.

For lesser aches and pains, many over-the-counter remedies can help, such as Tylenol for headaches and moderate pain (avoid NSAIDs). Laxatives such as Senna and Colace can overcome constipation.

During your many visits to CafĂ© Chimio, your maĂ®tre d' will frequently check with you to guarantee your satisfaction and to monitor any pesky, severe, and/or long-lasting side effects. 

Be sure to immediately report any severe effects to your maĂ®tre d', including but not limited to a fever over 100.5 °F, abnormal bleeding, and unrelieved pain.

Source: UC Davis Comprehensive Cancer Center Chemo Class slide show


Bon appétit!


❧   ❧   ❧   ❧   ❧   ❧   ❧


Sources
  • Notes my oncologist provided me during my first consultation
  • Individual handouts about Adriamycin, Bleomycin, Vinblastine, and Dacarbazine provided by the UC Davis Comprehensive Cancer Center


Further Reading

LymphomaIngo.net: ABVD
RxList: Adriamycin
RxList: Bleomycin
RxList: Vinblastine
RxList: Dacarbazine


Disclaimer

Every person is different and their experiences will differ from mine. Always discuss your particular symptoms and concerns with your doctor.


I did not mention every side effect listed on the handouts and websites I consulted. Nor did I personally experience every side effect stated on this page. For example, I never developed mouth sores or a skin rash. I definitely experienced infection, fatigue, muscle aches, nausea. The peeing orange/pink thing is totally real with Adriamycin (makes one's urine smell extra bad, too. Blech). Some side effects I experienced weren't listed anywhere, such as the horrific mouth burning and overactive menstrual cycle. As for heart and lung damage, the odds are in my favor against those and so far so good. My oncologist will continue to monitor me in the years to come. 

You can read more about my personal side effect experiences through My Side Effects series. 

You can read about other ABVD side effects by clicking on the links above.

Monday, October 13, 2014

My First Chemo Costume: Time Warped

In keeping up with my out-of-order crazy tire swinging, here are some pictures and reflections from my first chemo treatment on May 8th. 

Wow, has the time swung by!

–   –   –   –   –   –   –   –   –   –

10:00 AM: Arrive at outpatient infusion center.

Only two days before my first infusion, I had my port placement surgery. Obviously my chest still felt incredibly bruised and sore from having been cut open and a small foreign object crammed inside it. 

I had not yet been able to get my prescription for lidocaine cream, which numbs the skin before a nurse jabs through it and the "soft top" (high grade medical plastic) septum with a needle to access the port. 

Source
Source

Add to my predicament a sharp fear of needles, and you've got a recipe for a hurricane of tears, which I did my best to hold back.

My nurse for the day, Cheri was amazing. She listened to my concerns and talked me through the procedure, per my request. As I braced myself for super intense pain— squeezing Mom's hand, closing eyes, tissue ready, big deep breaths, big deep breaths—Cheri accessed the port faster than a dart hitting a bullseye. 

Whoa. No tears at all. In fact, I distinctly remember thinking, "That was easier than getting a navel piercing." 

(Note: I have to give praise to all of the nurses at the infusion center. Cheri, Terri, Mary, and Jayne are exceptionally skilled at accessing those ports with precision and speed, which leads to minimal discomfort even when I haven't used the lidocaine cream.)

With the drama of needles and port access out of the way, my first infusion continued.

During the first hour while anti-nausea meds dripped into me, Cheri gave me and my mom a quick tutorial on each of the four chemo drugs I would receive (Adriamycin, Bleomycin  Vinblastine, and Dacarbazine) and their side effects. (Click here to read more about my chemo course.) 

Then, chemo-ification time came! Usually I receive the drugs out of ABVD order. It's more like AVDB or AVBD. The order doesn't matter, as long as it's the correct drug and the correct dosage.

Adriamycin and Vinblastine come in syringes and the nurses "push" each drug in small amounts into my IV. Bleomycin and Dacarbazine hang from the IV pole and are pumped through automatically.

Total chemo time:
Adriamycin: 10 minutes
Vinblastine: 5 minutes
Bleomycin: 30 minutes
Dacarbazine: 60 minutes

Nurse Cheri and the four chemicals she's about to infuse me with.

You will note a lack of costume. The advice I received was to "dress comfortably," and dress comfortably I did. The idea to dress in costume originated sometime near the end of my first treatment.

Almost done for the day! (Oh my goodness! I still had hair back then!)

2:00 PM: First infusion DONE!

I was surprised I felt as good as I did when I walked out of the infusion center. Mom and I went grocery shopping to pick up some grub for the weekend.

Afterwards, I celebrated my first successful chemo infusion by dressing up and nibbling on a piece of pie. Because everything is better with pie. And steampunk gear.


My Facebook friends might be familiar with this lovely photograph:



It's all smiles and silliness for a little while...

By 4:00 PM the chemo caught up with me and my body felt as if it had gone through a blender.

Yuck.

Just…yuck.


Yet I still tried to attend a small family gathering to celebrate my brother-in-law's birthday. This was the result:


I've used this pic before, but it captures the distress of chemo day.

My mom and I left the party early, and I sat in my shower for a solid thirty minutes letting warm water soothe me. I had an evening snack of fruits and veggies, and my body felt better. Lots of rest over the weekend also helped.



–   –   –   –   –   –   –   –   –   –

So, that was my first chemo experience. Of course, over the next two weeks there were a lot of side effects and gross days and ickiness that I'm glad are in the past.

I've adjusted over time and basically become a pro at it now.

Most chemo days have followed a similar pattern: wake up, apply lidocaine cream, rest/nap while getting infused, endure nausea, return home, sleep off the side effects the rest of the day and most of the weekend. Take pain relievers and warm showers as needed.

Also ĂĽber important: Take anti-nausea meds on time.

It's weird to think I'm almost done, and also super relieving. The first treatment is rough because neither you nor your body knows what to expect, and it's only the beginning. Looking back is kind of empowering because Hell yeah, I did it!

Well, I've almost done it.

Only one more to go!

Saturday, October 4, 2014

My Dark Moments

Tire swinging would not be complete without its dark moments. Except the monkey isn't swinging because she's fallen off and landed in a pit.

I once cried so hard that I made myself nauseous and almost didn't make it to the bathroom to throw up. I've also huddled up in a fetal position next to my coffee table because I had no energy to pull myself up to the sofa. I've cried in my kitchen, in my bedroom corner, in my sister and mother's arms.

With all of the side effects and everything else, depression happens. And life keeps going on. And that gets depressing because what the hell do you do when your finances spiral down the toilet, but you're too exhausted to work, and as grateful you are that your family is helping, you also mourn the lost aspects of your autonomy, and some days no matter how much you wish everything would just go away and life would be a bucket of rainbows you know that's just not possible. At least not right now. Not for a while.

When I was in the ER back in May, my nurse shared her mom's philosophy with me (her mom was a cancer survivor): 
It's okay to cry. You have to cry. Having a pity party once in a while does not mean you are weak. It means you are recharging. It means release. Getting stuck in pity mode for too long is not good; the party has to end sometime. However, neither is it good to pretend to be happy 100% of the time.

The darkness is temporary. It always passes.

Treasure the good days. Because they happen, too.

So climb back on that tire, little monkey, and keep swinging!



Thursday, October 2, 2014

My Tiny Tumor Adventure Part 3: Port Placement and Other Procedures

The final installment in My Tiny Tumor Adventure and all the tests, procedures, and whatnot leading up to and following my first chemo treatment. Basically the chapter between the beginning of my adventure and my brief hospital visit.

Short version at end of post.

Click here to read My Tiny Tumor Adventure Part 1: A Diagnosis Story.


Click here to read My Tiny Tumor Adventure Part 2: A Cancer Staging Story.


Quick Recap

April 30: Diagnosed with Hodgkin Lymphoma.
May 1: Met with my amazing oncologist.
May 2: Diagnostic tests confirm my cancer is Stage IIA.


Monday, May 5

A much needed night of normalcy. My sister, Michelle and I attended an awesome Ingrid Michaelson concert in Oakland.


Tuesday, May 6

10 am: Port placement surgery at the Interventional Radiology department.

A port is basically a little device surgically implanted under one's skin. A connecting catheter is also tunneled under the skin, over the clavicle bone, and guided close to the heart through a vein. This allows chemo to be administered safely (direct exposure to chemo can cause tissue damage if, for example, the chemicals contacted the skin) and more efficiently (the heart pumps the chemo throughout the body, and the blood in the heart dilutes the chemicals). There are, of course, other options for administering chemo. The port seemed the best for me.

Source
Source

This procedure was done under conscious sedation. Normally this means a "twilight sleep" which means the surgical team can communicate with the patient during the procedure, yet supposedly when the patient wakes s/he forgets everything. 

Well, since I'm slightly crazy/curious, I asked if I could be more conscious than sedated because I wanted to remember the procedure. The nurse grated my request. 

The memories are hazy since I was still sedated via IV. Mostly, I rested and occasionally opened my eyes. When I saw all the blue drapery around me I mentioned the fort a friend and I made last Christmas (I think my speech was too slurred to make any sense). The surgical team probably thought I was nuts. They've probably had sillier patients. As for the gorier details, there isn't much to tell. They used a local anesthetic, which stung each time they injected it (five or six times), but I was so loopy the pain was diminished. I also remember a lot of pressure on the right side of my chest as they tucked the port under my skin. Once the procedure was complete, I glimpsed an x-ray projection of my torso with the port implanted. I also mentioned pirates (the surgical hairnet/cap was covering my eye—like an eyepatch—and I asked if someone could fix it for me because my wrists were secured because they don't want patients Kermit flailing during the procedure, as if I would do ever such a thing). The whole experience was kind of cool. Glad I asked!

Afternoon: Infusion Center called to schedule my first chemo. I really wanted to postpone this until after my sister, Christine's 21st birthday because months before I had promised we would get cocktails together. I did not want that moment taken from me. Unfortunately, there were scheduling conflicts, yet I stubbornly insisted on keeping my moment.

Five minutes later: Oncologist called to convince me to start chemo ASAP. Despite some tears, I listened to her advice and scheduled my first treatment for May 8th.


Wednesday, May 7

9 am: MORE BLOODWORK! Because my blood counts need to be checked at least 1-2 days before chemo. Sheesh. Just take it all.

Aaaaand because I’m crazy, afterwards I play at the park with my sisters and nephew.

Queen of the playground!

All right, I’m not that crazy. I spent most of the time sitting at a park table. And I didn’t play so much as saunter around and take silly photos.

Cuts and boo-boos.
Long cut on neck = lymph node biopsy
Small cut on neck = catheter placement
Medium cut on chest = port placement


Thursday, May 8

10 am: First chemo treatment. Mom goes with me.

After thinking about it, I want to give my first chemo treatment its own post, so I'll be brief.

The infusion went extremely well, much better than I expected. That is until later that evening when my body felt as if it had gone through a blender. 

Mom spent night with me.


Friday, May 9

Felt surprisingly well. No nausea thanks to anti-nausea meds. However, also minuscule appetite. Juice was my friend. My amazing mom cared for me all day. 

Afternoon: Attended a "Chemo Class” with my mom and two youngest sisters, Julie and Christine. Learned about all the fun side effects I could look forward to. $#^†. Gonna take it easy, one day at a time.

Source: UC Davis Comprehensive Cancer Center Chemo Class slide show


Sunday, May 11

Celebrated Mother's Day with family.

Mouth burning begins. OMG!!! Like thousands of bees stinging the inside of my mouth!


Monday, May 12

Celebrated Christine's b-day despite feeling ill and lingering mouth burning because nothing was gonna stop me!!!


Tuesday, May 13

10 am: Echocardiogram. As I mentioned in Part 2, this test was required to establish a baseline for my heart's health because one of the chemo drugs I receive, Adriamycin can cause heart damage.

Mom accompanied me. One hour of ultrasound imaging and measurements of my heart. I was so exhausted, I was beyond caring that the male sonographer could see my very exposed chest. Wearing an open-front paper shirt/cover thingy proved pointless. Whatever. I closed my eyes and pleasantly recalled the time I visited Baden-Baden's Friedrichsbad (a nudist spa). 
(P.S. Don't worry. That link goes to the spa's totes appropriate (PG-ish) homepage. If you ever visit Baden-Baden, I highly recommend Friedrichsbad and the Caracalla Spa, which is more family-friendly (swimsuits required)).

2 pm: Biopsy post-op with ENT. Tiny’s scar was healing nicely. I thanked my ENT for his help during the diagnosis process.


Thursday, May 15

Follow up visit with oncologist to make sure things are going well. They are! (Relatively, speaking.)


Friday, May 16

8 am: Pulmonary function test. Also mentioned in Part 2, this test was required to establish a baseline for my lungs' health because the chemo drug, Bleomycin can cause lung damage.

Christine accompanied me. One hour of various exercises breathing into a tube, having measurements recorded by a computer, and feeling like an idiot the entire time. (At least I could wear my normal clothes.) I was terrible at following the instructions the technologist gave me. Inhale quickly, exhale slowly, vice versa, use your diaphragm, pretend you're blowing out a thousand candles, breathe in in in in in yourlungshavemorecapacitythanyouthinktheydoooooo, breathe out out out out out almost theeeeeeeeeere *gasp!* Great. Now let's do that five more times. 

The tech was a nice guy though. Fun to talk with. 

Weirdest aspect of the test: sitting inside a large, clear plastic box (to measure volume and lung capacity). The box was closed for only one exercise, but I had to stay inside it throughout the full hour of testing.

Source


Saturday, May 17

Intense back pain.


Sunday, May 18


And that brings us up to speed on the first month* of my odd little adventure with lymphoma. Phew! It was quite the whirlwind of appointments, a medley of miracles, and a whole lot of emotional tire swinging. 

Super grateful to all of my doctors for their prompt care, as well as all the other health professionals for helping me arrange appointments and complete needed tests. 

*Seriously. Only three and a half weeks transpired from my first visit with my primary care physician ("Hey doc, what's this lump in my neck?") to my first chemo treatment ("So long, cancer!")

–  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  
THE SHORT VERSION

May 6: Port-a-cath implanted to make chemotherapy easier and safer to administer
May 8: Had first chemo treatment
May 13: Echocardiogram
May 16: Pulmonary function test