Chemo brain sets in

For the first time in this breast cancer journey I was near to tears this morning. And I'm almost embarrassed to say why. I shouldn't have let myself get to this point. But, you know, when you try your best to be informed and keep those who need to know informed, it is disappointing when it doesn't work. I had to go back to the lab this morning to have my blood drawn again to see if the platelet count was going up. The way it looked on Monday, my oncologist said I wouldn't be able to do my chemotherapy today if my platelet count remained as low as it was. I was a little unhappy about having to go back to the lab again. My arm looks like a junky's arm, I'm sure. I never used to have a problem with needles. I always felt that getting shots and giving blood was a good thing to do so I felt no fear. Now, I do not look forward to my forays into the lab. So as is my custom, I told the receptionist I am a clumper. She told me to tell the technician who was to draw my blood. I handed the technican my card which CLEARLY states that I am a clumper but just to be on the safe side I said, "do I need to tell you I am a clumper?". And she said yes, okay, and so I thought it was taken care of. She was a good sticker. I didn't even feel the needle go in and she was done in moment. An hour after I got home there was a call. I had to go back and do it again. My blood had clumped. I just about lost it. I was so unhappy. Not mad, not angry, I just didn't want another needle in my arm. But I went back to Kaiser, thank goodness it is only about 7 minutes away, and presented myself to the woman who had telephoned me. We went over what happened and I reminded her that she, herself, had put a sticker on my card saying I was a clumper. I told her I had told the technician and she said I should have told the receptionist. I assured her I had told the receptionist and that the receptionist had told me I should tell the technician. The woman who called me took me back to a drawing station and told me that whenever I have my blood drawn I should make sure there are two vials, one blue, one lavender. I assured her I would. When she finished she ran the blood upstairs and a few minutes after I got home the numbers were posted on my medical files which I can access through the Kaiser website. And the platelet count had gone up quite a bit. I was very pleased. So I did proceed to Kaiser for my 10 a.m. chemo appointment where I was greeted with open arms. I had Denise again as my chemo nurse. They are all very nice but she is especially kind and very upbeat. I have to say that as long as I am awake there, I truly enjoy the visit. But the benadryl usually knocks me out so I don't always stay awake.

There was one scary moment though. I am afraid my chemo brain is real. Before they administer all the chemo drugs there is a cross check ritual that must be observed. Another nurse is called over to go over all the drugs with my primary chemo nurse, the name of the drug and the amounts to be used and who they are for. But even before they do that they check basic information with the patient. And I am used to this so I just go through the information without their asking me. My name, spelling the last name. Then my Kaiser number, then my date of birth. I said 12 and then I started to say 28. But it didn't sound right to me. For the briefest of moments I couldn't remember 22. Horrors! Then it jumped into my brain. The birth year followed (1948 for those of you who are afraid to ask) and the rest was clear sailing. But it did shake me up because that had never happened to me before.

I slept for some of the time today. I tried to read my book, Our Hearts Were Young and Gay, a true, light hearted look at two young Bryn Mawr girls who take a summer off to travel to Europe in the 20's, written by Cornelia Otis Skinner in 1943. I read it first when I was 12 or 13 and it turned on the travel gene in me. I dreamed of doing the same thing when I was 18. And lo and behold I sort of got my wish. My Czech grandma took me on a 4 month grand tour of Europe when I was 16. Anyone remember Fodor's Europe on $5 a Day? Well, we did it. It wasn't exactly the trip I envisioned. My grandma was not a fellow 16 year old, she was 70, and she was quite determined to make a young lady out of me. I would have none of it and we sometimes had very strong disagreements. But it was still the trip of a lifetime and I will never forget it. But I digress.

My chemo treatment went smoothly, although when the herceptin was started my legs felt a rush. I asked the substitute nurse (my nurse was on her lunch breake) to slow down the flow. I told her what was going on and she agreed to change the drip from 30 minutes to an hour. Aside from that, nothing else exciting happened.

My appointment started later than usual so it lasted through the lunch hour. I was really hungry when the treatment was over so I asked Andy to take me out for lunch. We went to the Cheesecake Factory. And then another revelation. I was going to have a salad but suddenly my brain said Hamburger. After making my decision I decided to call Liz D. to let her know I was done. She likes to keep tabs on me, just in case (I don't know of what the just in case is about). Anyway, she told me to load up on protein and suddenly I had an epiphany. I have already said how I see the metaphor of the marathon in this breast cancer treatment. And suddenly it became real. Just as I figured out after my third marathon that I had to have a hamburger (and a beer) after completing a marathon, I must have some good protein after chemo. So the hamburger was a perfect choice. And french fries weren't a bad substitute for beer although they are much fattier. But aside from just about falling asleep at the table afterwards, I felt really good about my choice.

And so we went home and we both promptly fell asleep. After about 2 hours I woke up. Liz D. came over with a meal from Nikki at school and then Liz M. arrived with some homemade split pea soup. Dinner was spectacular. Thank you both!

I am now offically into the second half of the super chemo treatment. Two more and then I only have to continue with the herceptin for 9 more months. But the radiation will begin in July if everything continues well. And that will be a new part of my journey and adventure. Stay tuned!

Chemo: Round 2, part I

Chemo second time around isn't nearly so daunting. I was more concerned about prepping myself the day and evening before than I was about the visit itself. And yet, as in any marathon, nothing is ever the same so I was in for a little surprise. But once again I get ahead of myself. Let's back up a couple of days and fill in the blanks.
This part was supposed to be a blog a couple of days ago but I never got around to it. So let's pretend it is Tuesday and I am just finishing up the day.
I have just two things to say. 1) Best laid plans of mice and men..... and 2) Never a dull moment.
I had planned on going in to have my blood drawn on Monday so that there would be plenty of time if I needed to go back because of any problems. But a friend suggested that the longer I put it off, the better my readings would be so I should wait until Tuesday. Okay, that made sense to me and still does. But I didn't want to be caught in all the parking traffic on Tuesday afternoon at Kaiser so I decided to make an early day of it and go in right when the lab opened at 7. I figured I'd be in and out in a matter of moments. Lo and behold, the parking deck was full up to the third floor already and when I pulled my number at the lab check in I was number 16 at 7:05! So I waited a good 20 minutes before I even registered. No matter. It was fine. I read my latest mystery/thriller. Daniel Silva is the author and if you like European mystery/thrillers you might like to give him a try. Read the ones with Gabriel Allon as the protagonist. Anyway, I finally got to register and then had to wait to be called. Maybe another 10 minutes. The draw took just a few moments. And she wasn't an intern so it was painless. By the time I got home at 9 the results were already being posted. Shoot! I forgot to tell them I am a clumper. My platelets clumped. I figured I would probably have to go back and do the draw again. Darn! So I sent an email to my oncologist asking if I should go back. Got an autoresponse that she isn't in. Double darn. I tried calling the clinical trials nurse. She was out until heaven knows when but left an alternate number. I called it and I got voice mail. I tried another alternate number and again got voice mail. But this person did call back after an hour or so and looked at the test results and said it was okay. I probably didn't need to go back. Little did I realize she was looking at the wrong test. Because later on in the early afternoon my oncologist, who was not working that day but obviously was checking her emails, sent me an email to please go back and ask them to draw my blood into a citrate media tube. So I printed out the email, printed out the test results and scurried down to Kaiser again. Sigh. Now the parking garage was full to the top. Fifth floor. I found a space and walked on over to the lab in the basement. It was just past 2 p.m. There is no one waiting! I grabbed a ticket and it was the next number to be called. I explained the problem and registered and before I got settled to wait, my number was again called and I got to the draw station. And then I get it. Everyone but me has figured out that the interns work in the afternoon so any one who has a choice chooses not to be drawn then. I explained my problem and she understood citrate but not media tube. Funny, because I understood what media tube probably meant but didn't know about the citrate too much but maybe it is some kind of acidic media that prevents clumping? So I told her I am a clumper and that there is a special tube she has to draw the blood into. She referred to her supervisor and called me a clumper. The supervisor lowered her voice and said that I shouldn't be referred to as a clumper, it doesn't sound nice. I insinuated myself into the conversation and explained that I called myself a clumper and that is what I am so why say anything else? I said this with a smile and a chuckled and so everyone was happy. The supervisor explained to the intern that she will need to use a lavender vial and another colored one (maybe it was blue?). Now I was nervous because this intern was probably straight out of the classroom and my poor arm is beginning to look like a junkie's arm. But I tried to relax and she stuck the needle in after many pats on the crook of my arm. Now it is my turn to apologize. She did a lovely job. I barely felt it and I have next to no bruise. It was just fine. I told her she was a good sticker and she seemed pleased. I toddle on home and do all the things that I needed to do to prepare for my visit to the chemo room the next day. Hydrating like crazy, taking a stool softener, drinking my fiber filled smoothie a little later than normal. Taking my decadron which prevents a good night's sleep. I am prepared. (to be continued in part 2)

Day 1

So, begins the journey. Day One of "The Adventure". I was diagnosed with breast cancer on December 26, 2008. Oh, it was a bit of a shock but I've decided to roll with the punches, go with the flow, and all the other great cliches that I can't come up with right now. I run marathons and we know that while the physical training is very important in order to successfully finish a marathon, there is that mental component of preparing for and running in a marathon that is at least as important. And I'm feeling the same way about this challenge right now. I'm going to do all the right things to get rid of this alien creature in my body but my positive attitude is at least as important. No negative thoughts. None. So, this is a new marathon-like adventure for me. I'm gonna finish and I'm going to do it in the best time I've ever done. It will be my Personal Best. Not sure that metaphor works but I'll go with it. This will be my journal of The Adventure.