Two days of chemo in a row is a great deal of suck for one week, is my opinion. I'll just leave it at that. Little recovery time, a lot of hospital bed time, . . . you get the rest. Then today after I returned to my apartment from chemo (it was about 9 am to 1 pm) and slept until about 4:30, I heard this SoundWorks Project (is that the series title?) about a journalist whose father is, was, dying of lung cancer and she decided to record as much of the dying process as she was comfortable with.
Well, the amount she recorded and the manner in which she delivered her report were enough to challenge just how much I could "handle" over the radio. Crying to NPR bespeaks a bad state. In any event, for those interested I suggest you go to the NPR.org web page and check for this story about a father dying of lung cancer, his wife and daughter caring for him, and the details of dying, slowly, in the living room, using a rented a hospital bed in place of the recliner he like so well.
Now, other than that I'm rather beat to report on my. Franky Scale might be a 5, just from sheer fatigue and the feeling of being beaten down. In terms of "new" news I'm not sure if there is much to offer but remind tomorrow to say something about my recent labwork and my white blood cell counts, for example. I think there's a CA 19-9 number from the last day of October too — I will double check but it was above 16000. High. Though Dr. Whiting suggests that due to the marker's halflife it might just be a few weeks still before we're able to know the effects of the current strategy.
Also, there isn't a great deal to say about it, but the Acne-like youthful bloom with which I've been blessed lately does seem to be tied to certain days in the cycle of the drug (tarceva); and I think I should have peaked already and expected it to ease up, less pain, less pressure under the skin of my face and scalp, less teen-age splendor.
If I can, too, I'll give some more answers tomorrow to questions that have been piling up in the Comments section of the blog. Thanks.
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1 comment:
Dear MR. “TWICE IN A ROW” Chemo Monkey Man:
First, I want to go on a record as NOT being the one who suggested
having chemo twice in a row. To borrow a line from Dustin Hoffman in the
movie RAINMAN: “Definitely, definitely, no, definitely not, definitely
not me .. “ But I admire your strength and courage--
your sheer will in fighting this putrid disease. CANCER SUCKS.
I listened to and read the NPR broadcast from yesterday’s
ALL THINGS CONSIDERED Sound Works Series.
For the love of Cheebus !! That was stinking hard--- tears, tears
and gut wrenching. Honest and raw without being pretentious, preachy.
The Daughter recording her father’s last days-- Adrian Leon LeBlanc--
her words and his, knocked me over like a ton of bricks.
For anyone interested in what it
feels like for someone who is
observing the slow death of a beloved family member --- I recommend it.
It also, obviously, sheds light on
some of what Mr. Jones is going through.
Another testament to his amazing strength and fighting spirit.
You are amazing, you know, my Mr. Jones, my brave brother.
Hoping you get some good rest and uninterrupted sleep.
And that your bodily functions obey you.
Have Dr. Whiting bring those CA 19-9 numbers down. PLEASE!!!!
Love you Scott. You are always on my mind and in my heart.
One of Ms. LeBlanc’s comments caught my eye. I’m paraphrasing-
but she indicated it was easier for her to be around “the suffering, the wounded”
because they understood her pain, her father’s pain.”
I’m beginning to understand that more each day.
It expands your heart, mind and level of empathy and understanding.
As does this journey of Mr. Jones.
Stay warm. Drink fluids. Have some soup.
We are all thinking of you-- on yet another red letter day.
Loves and strong vibes are on
there way to you in Seattle.
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