...how embarrassing!!
We arrived a bit early and moved quickly through vitals since we could use the blood draws done on Wednesday. I'm holding with the 6-7 pound weight lost. I'd like to lose more, but this protocol also seems to be a weight, as well as a hair, loss program. My blood pressure and draws were all good.
We met briefly with Dr. C and were then led to the Chemotherapy Chambers. dd walked up just as we were on our way, so she didn't have any trouble finding us. ...probably less trouble than finding a place to park her Scootie, but she can tell you about that. *grins*
The chambers each hold two, maybe three, people. Ours had two. The stations are separated by curtains, which we learned today don't really protect the people on the other side *sighs*
The procedures and anticipated side-effects were thoroughly explained, and I can't tell you how glad I was that there were four other ears there. (Well three, if Kevin still isn't feeling up to par.) It was to take 4-6 hours since this was my first day.
They administered a steroid, two antihistamines and an anti-emetic prior to beginning the procedure to minimize the standard side-effects. I'll let Kevin and dd tell you the names... They inserted the IV and kept me on a blood pressure and blood oxygen monitor. The first push was the saline and that went pretty well.
Nurse K told us that she'd be sitting with us for the first 15 minutes of the injection of the Taxol to monitor for allergic reactions, like the throat closing, the face and ears turning red or shortness of breath. The first injection was only 3cc. Other staff was notified that I was a first timer.
Nurse K had just about enough time to see the Trooley video and dd had just enough time to return from her appointment before my throat began to itch at the base of the palate and the pain at the base of my spine became...well I thought I had about a "4" pain level, but I could hear Kevin yelling it had to be at least 7 or 8 from the look on my face as they pushed him and dd out of the chamber to make room for the four nurses, the oncologist and the crash cart... I had taken only 2cc's...
I could find no comfortable position in which to sit, lie, or stand; I began feeling like I would feint (see the PS in comments); a burning sensation started around my urethra (though I wasn't urinating...); my ears began to redden, my blood pressure plummeted and the pain in my spine worsened.
The Taxol IV was pulled, saline was immediately pumped through the IV and I wss shot up with epinephrine in preparation for the crash cart. The crash cart wasn't needed, but Nurse K said that next time she was going to have the epinephrine drawn before she administers Taxol to an FNG.
I overheard Dr. C tell Kevin and dd on the other side of the closed curtains that "things should be back to normal within a few minutes," and they were...well, I'm not sure that I have any gage of "normal" right now...
We were told that nothing more would be done today, that I needed to recover from this adventure and that we would try again next Friday -- with another protocol. They kept us there to monitor for another forty-five minutes before letting us go home. I wanted to, and was able, to walk out on my own steam -- as chemically altered as that might have been at the time.
Kevin said, "It got pretty exciting there for a while." What a whiz with words; you might call or ask him to blog what he _really_ thought. ...I'm not so sure his pants aren't full, again, Sam -- mine sure felt that way for a while. ...and, this is probably too much information *sighs* ...mayhaps Sam will explain the reference?
In the meantime, I'm now feeling pretty much like I was yesterday...some residual pain in my right lung when I cough, but I slept five hours straight last night. Now I'm getting a small headache -- probably from being at the computer so long as I've commented to posts as far back as "Watches."
NancyTurtle has an account here now, so you can click on her profile and see where she lives. Right now her profile shows you a nifty panaramic photo that pans from left to right so you can appreciate the physical isolation of her being off the grid.
I'm looking forward to meeting the Mehndi woman tonight!
Make a great weekend!
*toddles off for some non-NSAID pain reliever*
8 comments:
P.S. The misspellings of skull and feint clearly indicate that I would much rather be rowing a boat or fencing...
Is the positive side of this that you don't need the anti-emetic?
I feel bad for you guys, for the stress, the experience, the unrealized expectaions.
Is Kevin getting a sympathy haircut with henna tats as well?
love,
else
Great eye, better sense of humor, Woman! *hugselse*
Frankly, I'm amazed that more people haven't screamed, "I told you so," and worse at me. I've known since the first time I stopped smoking (in the late sixties) that cancer was a likely demise -- given that I'm not hit by a tree.
I've realized more than my share of expectations and experiences. I've actually lived a relatively charmed life, your families being a large part of that charm.
Our age difference has always been an interesting wrench in our marital works. 'Twas a time that being this much older than one's husband would even out at our stage of life. 'Twas a time...
I hurt for Kevin. I lived through his heart attack fourteen years ago; comparatively, that was a cakewalk (is that too old of a reference now??) to what he's being dragged through, and it was something I wouldn't wish on anyone, most particularly Kevin.
People like Ruth and Jim who are dealing with this so much later in life make our 'current adventure' as Kevin calls it, seem easier to deal. While they've lived longer lives, they aren't as able to bear this kind of stress *shrugs*
Yet together, Kevin and I still seem to be creatively strong, resilient, supportive and Olive said, devoted, to one another. (What a flattering thing to hear from one's Mother-In-Law!)
Is Kevin considering an Empathy Buzz? Well...one of his nicknames used to be Buzz *grins*
...birds of a feather we've said in past blogs...
...but, you'll need to ask him, and he doesn't have to decide until Monday evening. If anyone else would like to join us, just let us know. I'm going to learn to do the henna art...
Else, spend time with those you love, doing things you like to do. Those are the kinds of things that help us the most.
We love you.
-dp
I mentioned a support denuding of my head when I first heard you were going to do chemo, and since I took my own suggestion seriously have had to live with the idea of being bald. I don't like the idea. It forces me, however, to deal with the vanity of my hair, and perhaps understand your feelings a little better (henna is not in my future, but the big shiny dome may well be). It is a fact, though, that you will always be as beautiful to me as the first day I met you, schlemiel to schlimozzel (given your recent experiences I think you are more of a schlimozzel these days, let the soup fall where it may).
I love you both, dearly.
*sleevesyhugs*
Whoooooosch, Mister!
I do remember your saying that *nods*
...you just bowl us over!
However, the 'sympathy' has to go.
'Empathy Denuding' conjures up some interesting images though...
*ponders the potential*
Make a great rest of the weekend!
*prepares to watch the soup fall*
In case anyone else was as ignorant as I about "sleeves" reference to soup, here's what I found: "a schlimiel is someone that spills his soup, a schlamozzel is the person he spills it on."
So help me understand this...Kev, dp or Nancy...you are allergic to the chemo drug they used? So they just switch you to a different one? xxoo Katie
I think that's right, Katie, based on Diana's description of the symptoms and treatment. And it sounds like a severe allergic reaction called anaphylaxis.
dp, I'm curious. The drug info says the reaction may be due to the castor oil-based solution in which the drug is dissolved. Have you ever taken castor oil or reacted to touching a caster bean plant?
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