The Sound You Heard

...was that of the other shoe dropping.

The tumor was small, 6mm, but large enough to push us to Stage IV non-small cell lung cancer and boot us out of the experimental protocol. Stage I is treated/cured with surgery; Stages II and III are treated/cured with concurrent chemotherapy and radiation. Stage IV is treated/managed with chemotherapy. Dr C. says now we consider it a chronic illness that we'll need to treat from time to time.

In our case, the recommended drugs are Taxol and Carboplatin. Injections last five hours and are administered every three weeks (one cycle). CT scans are done every two cycles -- a total of four to six cycles. Thirty percent chance that it will shrink the presenting tumor. The horrific side effects should be immediate. Beyond that? I've counted my blessings daily for years and I plan to continue doing that.

On other fronts (and backs), the bubblewrap sensation is called crepitus. Seems lots of medical folk know about it, but no one even mentioned it to us. *sighs* Dr. C ordered an x-ray to take a look and said the fact that it hadn't gone away yet probably meant it was leaking little. That, coupled with the incisions needing more time to heal puts our chemo start date at 5/30 at the earliest.

dd has been the most effective in remedying the crepitus. The two massage techniques coupled with the warm compresses has decreased my neck and chest swelling considerably. Relieving that pressure has also decreased the pain caused by the incisions being stretched over the swelling. I've another massage scheduled tomorrow so I think we'll have that part of my recovery a bit further along the road.

Today I began the process of applying for SSDI. They'll call me next Friday at 9am and do the interview/paperwork over the phone; related paperwork will be put in the snailmail. Thanks, Michael, for pointing me in the right direction, it was easier than you said it would be. *grins*

I also made the final arrangements for Uncle Shorty's monument to be installed. The plaque from the Army arrived on Monday and was picked up this afternoon to be mounted and placed. Hopefully in a couple weeks; this _is_ Memorial Day Weekend. I'm hoping to have the rest of Dad's and Mom's affairs resolved before we start chemotherapy.

Three good cases were made today reinforcing my notion that caring for the caregivers and the non-cancer world _is_ my/our responsibility. First, Leroy Siever's NPR blog, http://www.npr.org/blogs/mycancer/ had it as a topic. I read it right after a discussion in oncology where I was reminded that our baldness -- our diagnosis -- _does_ make people uncomfortable, does make people say stupid things, does make _me_ feel those same things as _I_ pass patients supporting IV stands in the hospital halls or as I sit among baldfolk in waiting rooms... The third case is personal: I ask Kevin daily what he's done for himself that day...

Then there are the myriad of conversations about the rewards of being a good patient...not dissimilar to the rewards of being a good student, a good daughter, or a good partner, or a good anything. Taking care of those others is really taking care of oneself...

I had an appointment last Monday to have my hair shaved and sent to Locks of Love. Because of the new diagnosis, we canceled until we had another plan.

It had been my intention to decorate my crown with henna tattoos and to wear hats or scarves only to protect my head from the sun and snow. Now I'm reconsidering that, along with my complaint that the phrase "How Are You" should not have a question mark as the final punctuation. While I'll not use that phrase as a greeting, I'm compiling a list of responses that won't offend any of us. For the record, however, my complaint about that predates our diagnosis by decades.

I've appreciated the 'Alone Time and Space' today. I'm reconsidering a lot of things...