Ashley is on her way
The internet is an incredibly useful, incredibly dangerous place. In those minutes before Ashley's eventual arrival I made the mistake of key word searching Lymphoma. Mistake.
I didn't understand anything. I hadn't asked any questions to try to understand. I just saw medical jargon and statistics. Survival rates. That scared the hell out of me. I broke down again.
No. I can't. Keep looking.
Survival rates. People survive. There is treatment. There is hope. Done.
I had a decision to make. How am I going to tell my wife and family? How am I going to handle this myself? There was not a lot of time to think on the issue. I made a decision to act based off of something that scared the hell out of me, survival rates, and I chose not to look back.
Fight.
No pity parties, why me's, anger at the world or God. This was going to be a difficult time and unfair as it may be, people were going to look to me. My attitude was important.
Fight. Don't look back. Never give up.
Telling Ashley and my parents went just about as well as you could imagine. It was tough to say the least. You would have to ask them how they really handled it, but I was proud of them how they handled it in front of me. There were tears. A lot of tears. But they picked themselves up quick, and were ready to go. We had things to do. A fight to win.
Tests and Procedures
The rest of Sunday I was left test and procedure free. I had a long week... long process ahead of me.
My oncologist, Dr. Spivey, is a rockstar. He was the highlight of my Sunday. He is everything I would want in a doctor. He literally gets pissed off when dealing and talking about cancer. He hates it. He wants to kill it. Now.
He was just what we needed. After Dr. NotWorthADamn came through like a hurricane, Dr. Spivey came in and picked up the pieces. We had questions now. He had answers. He was positive, reassuring, and gave us more than hope. He was convincing. He had a plan.
Monday, December 30th
Todays Agenda: CT Bone Marrow Scan
It was cold in the room and I was nervous as hell. I shook a little. My performing doctor was adorned in what looked like riot gear. What the hell are they going to do? I should have asked more questions. It didn't help the shake.
The CT Bone Marrow Scan is a relatively simple and quick procedure. About 15 minutes and you're done. Most of it is just prep time. But those 5 minutes that you are in it, are interesting.
They let me see the needle. It was about 12-15 inches long, and it was going into my hip bone.
I was given a local anesthetic to numb the area. I'm assuming I wouldn't want to feel what was about to happen next. All I could feel was the pressure. Pressure going down. Hammering pressure going into the bone. Wiggling pressure as they tried to find just the right spot. And then the suction. The pressure from the suction was the strangest. I waited as a syringe type of tool extracted my bone marrow. Then more pressure and wiggles and "Well we're all done. Go ahead and bandage him up".
The result came back rather quickly. Good news. We needed good news.
My bone marrow was "reactive" and not "malignant". Medical jargon. The core of my problem was not in the bone marrow. I had avoided much larger issues. Avoided much scarier and even more immediate dangers. This was good news. We needed good news.
An hour or so later I got to see Dr. Spivey. He did not have good news. My hemoglobin had dropped even more. It was getting dicey. I was at 7.1, and I needed a blood transfusion. Spivey had waited as long as he could to avoid a transfusion, hoping my body would turn itself around, but it didn't.
I received two units of blood. It took about 5 hours. And it sucked.
During my Bloody Mary a nurse came in for an unannounced test. Another heart echo. Perfect timing.
The purpose of the echo is to measure my heart strength and function. I will have to take this test a couple more times during this adventure. Apparently one of my future chemo drugs can effect the heart. Great.
That night I was NPO. No food or drink after midnight. I was scheduled for surgery in the morning. Because my hemoglobin was low, and hemoglobin helps with clotting especially during surgery, I had to get a shot to help clot. The shot was in the stomach. Lucky me.
Tuesday, December 31 (New Years Eve)
Today's Agenda: Lymphnode Biopsy
Thanks to general anesthetic, I don't remember the surgery. What I do know is the node they removed from my neck was larger than they thought, so I get an awesome larger scar.
Recovery and pain wasn't very bad. I had good drugs. The only real problem was sleeping, but then again, that has been a problem now since the news.
Happy New Year!
Wednesday, January 1st (New Years Day)
Today's Agenda: Rest
I was supposed to just rest. Watch North Texas play in the bowl game. Neither happened.
The hospital didn't get ESPNU. And my blood level still hovered in the 7's. I needed another blood transfusion. One more unit of blood.
Spivey knows what he's doing, and I trust him. He also said I could get out of there Thursday.
"This place is full of sick people. I don't see why we couldn't get you out of here tomorrow."
Thursday, January 2nd:
Today's Agenda: Go Home
I was discharged mid afternoon. They suggested I stay another night since I was to be NPO again with another test in the morning and "since you are already here...".
No. I'm going home to see my boys.
It felt good to be home. And weird. Did this all just happen? I had the scars to prove it, but for some reason it just didn't feel real. Often times, it doesn't feel real.
I hugged and kissed my sons harder that night. I still do.
Friday, January 3rd
Today's Agenda: PET Scan
First off, the PET Scan machine is in a tractor trailer. It travels from hospital to hospital on a circuit. I guess it's expensive to manage so everyone shares. Of course the tractor trailer is outside the hospital. So outside I went, in my hospital gown, into the freezing cold of this years winter. Perfect timing.
I waited in the trailer for thirty minutes for a radioactive sugar water serum to run through my veins. The serum is meant to act as food. Energy. The body distributes the energy. The cancer takes more energy than it should, causing it to show up on the scan as the active zones. We had a good idea of the active zones from the regular CT Scan, but this scan is to serve as a barometer. The before in the before and after shot. Halfway through treatment I will do another scan. We will see if the cancer is responding to treatment, and maybe more importantly, make sure there are no new problems.
The test itself took thirty more minutes. Lay down on your back, keep your arms crossed above your head, and try not to let claustrophobia get the best of you while we keep running you through this tube.
I get to do that at least two more times.
The test revealed nothing new. Which is good. The cancer is only affecting lymphnodes in my neck and abdomen. All other vital organs are unaffected. Major bullet dodged.
We can begin chemotherapy next week. After a few more tests and procedures.
Monday, January 6th
Today's Agenda: Doctor Visit
It felt like a long weekend. The wait was killing me. All I wanted to do was get started. Get Chemo. There were just so many things I had to do first.
Let's go! I'm ready. Let's get after this thing!
I wanted to scream. Patience though. You learn a lot about patience during this. And it sucks.
Monday I had blood work. Hemoglobin's still low. At least it's in the 8's. I also met Dr. Spivey's nurse Claudia. I like her. She's tough too. And caring. She really helped my mom during our meeting.
This is where I learned that I have Hodgkin's Lymphoma. The test finally came back in from my biopsy. We had a lot of questions and were given a book "101 Thing to Know About Lymphoma". It has helped my mom I think. I read it. Medical jargon. Let's just get started.
Things I learned during this visit:
I have the most common form of Hodgkin's Lymphoma. It is very treatable. My symptoms; fever, chills, sweats, fatigue, weight loss are called "B Symptoms" and they are common for Hodgkin's Lymphoma. In fact, the chemo should take care of the symptoms AND help level out my blood. My age and health are very important and helpful in treating this form of cancer (I have been hearing how I look healthy and that I am so lucky to be young and heathy going into this and that I'll be alright because I'm young and heathy and I just want to shake everyone and scream, Yes, I am young. I have cancer. What do you mean healthy? I am young with cancer and two little boys. Stop talking and let's get to work).
My plan of attack will consist of 12 treatments of chemotherapy every 15 days. I will be receiving the ABVB treatment, which is just a short name for the four drugs that they will be pumping into my body 12 separate times to kill the cancer cells. It also attacks healthy cells. Which is why I will probably lose my hair soon. And finally, this is the most effective, proven treatment for this, the most common type of lymphoma out there. And I am lucky again that I didn't have some more obscure and scary form of Lymphoma.
I have the regular ol' Hodge. Lucky me. Chemo starts Thursday.
Tuesday, January 7th
Today's Agenda: Surgery- Insert MediPort
My "B Symptoms" have returned for another cycle. They feel worse than ever this time around, which is great because now I have a fever and sweats and I'm due for surgery. I am so thirsty with this fever, but I am NPO. No fluids.
The fever does not change my surgeons plan to carry out the procedure. We are green to go.
I am getting a Port put in.
The Port is going under my skin on the left side of my chest. A catheter, which runs from the port, will be inserted and attached to the jugular vein in my neck. This will be the access site for chemo. Straight into the blood stream, and most importantly, no more IV's in my arm. Even my blood work can be drawn from my Port.
This is a good thing. I am another step closer.
Wednesday, January 8th
Today's Agenda: Breathing Function Test
I slept the best I could considering everything. Anxiety and multiple neck incisions make it hard to get comfortable at night. It's a good thing I had a test early the next morning.
My lung function doctor was a trip. He really liked his job and bounced of the walls. He bugged me. I didn't feel good and I was sore and hell. I was sweating profusely all morning from the "B Symptom"cycle and his exuberance did not put me at ease. I shook his hand to be polite. He shook my arm. It hurt a lot. I guess he didn't notice the surgical incision marks and glue on my neck. I was ready to get this over with.
The test was about an hour long. It consisted of actually four different breathing tests aimed to measure my lung capacity, lung strength, oxygen levels to the lungs, and overall lung health. One of my chemo drugs can actually damage or effect your lungs. I will have to take this test a few more times to make sure my lungs are strong throughout the chemo.
I am quite relieved when the test is over. I am exhausted, sore, and generally feel terrible from the B Symptom Cycle. I am ready to go home and rest.
I need to get my mind right. I have chemo tomorrow.
Thursday, January 9th
Today's Agenda: First Round of Chemotherapy
I was in rough shape. I didn't sleep well with the surgery pain, anxiety, B Symptoms, and some ridiculous notion my head created suggesting that maybe I had a blood clot because my toes tingled.
I just needed to stretch. And to relax.
I honestly do not remember much about my first chemo treatment. It was a blur. So much information. So many drugs. My head hurt. I couldn't focus. I was freaking out.
The process lated about 4 1/2 hours. I remember bits and pieces. No real specifics. It was terrible. Only because I felt terrible. I went through two shirts with sweat. My hair was drenched the entire time. I think I was freaking out some of the other chemo patients. It was rough.
Additionally, I learned that my blood levels had dipped back into the 7's. I needed another blood transfusion.
This is all too much to process.
After my foggy chemo treatment, apparently we went straight to the hospital for blood cross and match. My memory of the events that day after a certain point are completely suspect. But it happened. Right after chemo. And my B Symptoms were getting worse.
The one thing I can clearly remember about that night was it was cold. I caught a chill. A bad chill. My father raced me home as I shook in the car. Ashley and my mom were waiting when I got home. I was shaking violently. It hurt.
They laid me in bed and covered me with 8 blankets and I shook. And it hurt more.
I begged Ashley (not that I needed to beg, but it was more of a desperate plea considering the situation) to climb in bed with me, use her body heat to stop the chills. 45 minutes later the chills stopped. My hips were in so much pain from the shaking that I had to take one of my surgery pain killers to help.
It was after all of this that I decided to post on Facebook that I had completed my first round of chemo. I don't remember what I typed really. Like now, I think I just need to get something out there. Finally say it, because after the days events, it was real.
Friday, January 10th
Today's Agenda: Blood Transfusion
I miss sleep. My nights are choppy. It's rare to sleep the whole night through. Perfect conditions for fighting cancer.
My blood levels are low. I have no energy. I need a blood transfusion and I am to receive another two units of blood. My day will be spent here.
I can barely walk when get to the hospital. They have to wheel me in. My procedure is running 3 hours late because someone can't do their job. I'm tired, sweaty, and not in a good mood.
My nurse is not helping the problem. She is not from here and she speaks too fast. I cannot process what she is saying. I ask her to slow down, explain to her that I am having trouble thinking, processing information. She says okay and never slows down.
The plan was to receive the blood transfusion and get out in time to head to my oncologist to get a Nulasta shot. After chemo, your white blood cells can take a hit. The Nulasta shot is meant to tell your bone marrow to get to work creating more white blood cells to help fight infection during this vulnerable state. But, since someone fudged up, I will not get out in time to get the shot.
Dr. Spivey is my hero. He came to see me during the transfusion. And he raised hell. Apparently, not only will I not get out in time to receive my shot, but the hospital quit carrying the shot. I cannot receive it until Monday.
"How the hell am I supposed to treat anybody when you make it increasingly more difficult to make anyone better! I might as well move to Africa and help fight against Malaria! No, no, no... I have already heard their excuses and I don't want to hear another sob story why it can't get done."
I really like my doctor.
There was a nurse assisting Speedtalker. Who was she? I know her. But from where? I don't remember anybody.
I'm sorry, but I know you from somewhere ( I never do this).
"Hmm, well i used to work at Denton Regional for 15 years.
No. No hospitals. It's somewhere else.
"Well, um, I used to own a wedding chapel."
That's it. My wife and I were married at your chapel (I was later informed by an astonished Ashley that I had only met this woman twice).
She was a life saver. She was comforting. A soft, friendly face when I desperately needed something to hang onto for comfort. She relaxed me. Her voice was soothing. I soon fell asleep and time-traveled through the transfusion.
God does amazing things. I don't remember anyone. But for some reason I remembered her, and she was there, and she was exactly what I needed.
That night, the sweats went away. The chills stopped. And the fever broke.
I was convinced, and I let myself go in believing. I put all my faith and trust in God.
God, and Dr. Spivey
The internet is an incredibly useful, incredibly dangerous place. In those minutes before Ashley's eventual arrival I made the mistake of key word searching Lymphoma. Mistake.
I didn't understand anything. I hadn't asked any questions to try to understand. I just saw medical jargon and statistics. Survival rates. That scared the hell out of me. I broke down again.
No. I can't. Keep looking.
Survival rates. People survive. There is treatment. There is hope. Done.
I had a decision to make. How am I going to tell my wife and family? How am I going to handle this myself? There was not a lot of time to think on the issue. I made a decision to act based off of something that scared the hell out of me, survival rates, and I chose not to look back.
Fight.
No pity parties, why me's, anger at the world or God. This was going to be a difficult time and unfair as it may be, people were going to look to me. My attitude was important.
Fight. Don't look back. Never give up.
Telling Ashley and my parents went just about as well as you could imagine. It was tough to say the least. You would have to ask them how they really handled it, but I was proud of them how they handled it in front of me. There were tears. A lot of tears. But they picked themselves up quick, and were ready to go. We had things to do. A fight to win.
Tests and Procedures
The rest of Sunday I was left test and procedure free. I had a long week... long process ahead of me.
My oncologist, Dr. Spivey, is a rockstar. He was the highlight of my Sunday. He is everything I would want in a doctor. He literally gets pissed off when dealing and talking about cancer. He hates it. He wants to kill it. Now.
He was just what we needed. After Dr. NotWorthADamn came through like a hurricane, Dr. Spivey came in and picked up the pieces. We had questions now. He had answers. He was positive, reassuring, and gave us more than hope. He was convincing. He had a plan.
Monday, December 30th
Todays Agenda: CT Bone Marrow Scan
It was cold in the room and I was nervous as hell. I shook a little. My performing doctor was adorned in what looked like riot gear. What the hell are they going to do? I should have asked more questions. It didn't help the shake.
The CT Bone Marrow Scan is a relatively simple and quick procedure. About 15 minutes and you're done. Most of it is just prep time. But those 5 minutes that you are in it, are interesting.
They let me see the needle. It was about 12-15 inches long, and it was going into my hip bone.
I was given a local anesthetic to numb the area. I'm assuming I wouldn't want to feel what was about to happen next. All I could feel was the pressure. Pressure going down. Hammering pressure going into the bone. Wiggling pressure as they tried to find just the right spot. And then the suction. The pressure from the suction was the strangest. I waited as a syringe type of tool extracted my bone marrow. Then more pressure and wiggles and "Well we're all done. Go ahead and bandage him up".
The result came back rather quickly. Good news. We needed good news.
My bone marrow was "reactive" and not "malignant". Medical jargon. The core of my problem was not in the bone marrow. I had avoided much larger issues. Avoided much scarier and even more immediate dangers. This was good news. We needed good news.
An hour or so later I got to see Dr. Spivey. He did not have good news. My hemoglobin had dropped even more. It was getting dicey. I was at 7.1, and I needed a blood transfusion. Spivey had waited as long as he could to avoid a transfusion, hoping my body would turn itself around, but it didn't.
I received two units of blood. It took about 5 hours. And it sucked.
During my Bloody Mary a nurse came in for an unannounced test. Another heart echo. Perfect timing.
The purpose of the echo is to measure my heart strength and function. I will have to take this test a couple more times during this adventure. Apparently one of my future chemo drugs can effect the heart. Great.
That night I was NPO. No food or drink after midnight. I was scheduled for surgery in the morning. Because my hemoglobin was low, and hemoglobin helps with clotting especially during surgery, I had to get a shot to help clot. The shot was in the stomach. Lucky me.
Tuesday, December 31 (New Years Eve)
Today's Agenda: Lymphnode Biopsy
Thanks to general anesthetic, I don't remember the surgery. What I do know is the node they removed from my neck was larger than they thought, so I get an awesome larger scar.
Recovery and pain wasn't very bad. I had good drugs. The only real problem was sleeping, but then again, that has been a problem now since the news.
Happy New Year!
Wednesday, January 1st (New Years Day)
Today's Agenda: Rest
I was supposed to just rest. Watch North Texas play in the bowl game. Neither happened.
The hospital didn't get ESPNU. And my blood level still hovered in the 7's. I needed another blood transfusion. One more unit of blood.
Spivey knows what he's doing, and I trust him. He also said I could get out of there Thursday.
"This place is full of sick people. I don't see why we couldn't get you out of here tomorrow."
Thursday, January 2nd:
Today's Agenda: Go Home
I was discharged mid afternoon. They suggested I stay another night since I was to be NPO again with another test in the morning and "since you are already here...".
No. I'm going home to see my boys.
It felt good to be home. And weird. Did this all just happen? I had the scars to prove it, but for some reason it just didn't feel real. Often times, it doesn't feel real.
I hugged and kissed my sons harder that night. I still do.
Friday, January 3rd
Today's Agenda: PET Scan
First off, the PET Scan machine is in a tractor trailer. It travels from hospital to hospital on a circuit. I guess it's expensive to manage so everyone shares. Of course the tractor trailer is outside the hospital. So outside I went, in my hospital gown, into the freezing cold of this years winter. Perfect timing.
I waited in the trailer for thirty minutes for a radioactive sugar water serum to run through my veins. The serum is meant to act as food. Energy. The body distributes the energy. The cancer takes more energy than it should, causing it to show up on the scan as the active zones. We had a good idea of the active zones from the regular CT Scan, but this scan is to serve as a barometer. The before in the before and after shot. Halfway through treatment I will do another scan. We will see if the cancer is responding to treatment, and maybe more importantly, make sure there are no new problems.
The test itself took thirty more minutes. Lay down on your back, keep your arms crossed above your head, and try not to let claustrophobia get the best of you while we keep running you through this tube.
I get to do that at least two more times.
The test revealed nothing new. Which is good. The cancer is only affecting lymphnodes in my neck and abdomen. All other vital organs are unaffected. Major bullet dodged.
We can begin chemotherapy next week. After a few more tests and procedures.
Monday, January 6th
Today's Agenda: Doctor Visit
It felt like a long weekend. The wait was killing me. All I wanted to do was get started. Get Chemo. There were just so many things I had to do first.
Let's go! I'm ready. Let's get after this thing!
I wanted to scream. Patience though. You learn a lot about patience during this. And it sucks.
Monday I had blood work. Hemoglobin's still low. At least it's in the 8's. I also met Dr. Spivey's nurse Claudia. I like her. She's tough too. And caring. She really helped my mom during our meeting.
This is where I learned that I have Hodgkin's Lymphoma. The test finally came back in from my biopsy. We had a lot of questions and were given a book "101 Thing to Know About Lymphoma". It has helped my mom I think. I read it. Medical jargon. Let's just get started.
Things I learned during this visit:
I have the most common form of Hodgkin's Lymphoma. It is very treatable. My symptoms; fever, chills, sweats, fatigue, weight loss are called "B Symptoms" and they are common for Hodgkin's Lymphoma. In fact, the chemo should take care of the symptoms AND help level out my blood. My age and health are very important and helpful in treating this form of cancer (I have been hearing how I look healthy and that I am so lucky to be young and heathy going into this and that I'll be alright because I'm young and heathy and I just want to shake everyone and scream, Yes, I am young. I have cancer. What do you mean healthy? I am young with cancer and two little boys. Stop talking and let's get to work).
My plan of attack will consist of 12 treatments of chemotherapy every 15 days. I will be receiving the ABVB treatment, which is just a short name for the four drugs that they will be pumping into my body 12 separate times to kill the cancer cells. It also attacks healthy cells. Which is why I will probably lose my hair soon. And finally, this is the most effective, proven treatment for this, the most common type of lymphoma out there. And I am lucky again that I didn't have some more obscure and scary form of Lymphoma.
I have the regular ol' Hodge. Lucky me. Chemo starts Thursday.
Tuesday, January 7th
Today's Agenda: Surgery- Insert MediPort
My "B Symptoms" have returned for another cycle. They feel worse than ever this time around, which is great because now I have a fever and sweats and I'm due for surgery. I am so thirsty with this fever, but I am NPO. No fluids.
The fever does not change my surgeons plan to carry out the procedure. We are green to go.
I am getting a Port put in.
The Port is going under my skin on the left side of my chest. A catheter, which runs from the port, will be inserted and attached to the jugular vein in my neck. This will be the access site for chemo. Straight into the blood stream, and most importantly, no more IV's in my arm. Even my blood work can be drawn from my Port.
This is a good thing. I am another step closer.
Wednesday, January 8th
Today's Agenda: Breathing Function Test
I slept the best I could considering everything. Anxiety and multiple neck incisions make it hard to get comfortable at night. It's a good thing I had a test early the next morning.
My lung function doctor was a trip. He really liked his job and bounced of the walls. He bugged me. I didn't feel good and I was sore and hell. I was sweating profusely all morning from the "B Symptom"cycle and his exuberance did not put me at ease. I shook his hand to be polite. He shook my arm. It hurt a lot. I guess he didn't notice the surgical incision marks and glue on my neck. I was ready to get this over with.
The test was about an hour long. It consisted of actually four different breathing tests aimed to measure my lung capacity, lung strength, oxygen levels to the lungs, and overall lung health. One of my chemo drugs can actually damage or effect your lungs. I will have to take this test a few more times to make sure my lungs are strong throughout the chemo.
I am quite relieved when the test is over. I am exhausted, sore, and generally feel terrible from the B Symptom Cycle. I am ready to go home and rest.
I need to get my mind right. I have chemo tomorrow.
Thursday, January 9th
Today's Agenda: First Round of Chemotherapy
I was in rough shape. I didn't sleep well with the surgery pain, anxiety, B Symptoms, and some ridiculous notion my head created suggesting that maybe I had a blood clot because my toes tingled.
I just needed to stretch. And to relax.
I honestly do not remember much about my first chemo treatment. It was a blur. So much information. So many drugs. My head hurt. I couldn't focus. I was freaking out.
The process lated about 4 1/2 hours. I remember bits and pieces. No real specifics. It was terrible. Only because I felt terrible. I went through two shirts with sweat. My hair was drenched the entire time. I think I was freaking out some of the other chemo patients. It was rough.
Additionally, I learned that my blood levels had dipped back into the 7's. I needed another blood transfusion.
This is all too much to process.
After my foggy chemo treatment, apparently we went straight to the hospital for blood cross and match. My memory of the events that day after a certain point are completely suspect. But it happened. Right after chemo. And my B Symptoms were getting worse.
The one thing I can clearly remember about that night was it was cold. I caught a chill. A bad chill. My father raced me home as I shook in the car. Ashley and my mom were waiting when I got home. I was shaking violently. It hurt.
They laid me in bed and covered me with 8 blankets and I shook. And it hurt more.
I begged Ashley (not that I needed to beg, but it was more of a desperate plea considering the situation) to climb in bed with me, use her body heat to stop the chills. 45 minutes later the chills stopped. My hips were in so much pain from the shaking that I had to take one of my surgery pain killers to help.
It was after all of this that I decided to post on Facebook that I had completed my first round of chemo. I don't remember what I typed really. Like now, I think I just need to get something out there. Finally say it, because after the days events, it was real.
Friday, January 10th
Today's Agenda: Blood Transfusion
I miss sleep. My nights are choppy. It's rare to sleep the whole night through. Perfect conditions for fighting cancer.
My blood levels are low. I have no energy. I need a blood transfusion and I am to receive another two units of blood. My day will be spent here.
I can barely walk when get to the hospital. They have to wheel me in. My procedure is running 3 hours late because someone can't do their job. I'm tired, sweaty, and not in a good mood.
My nurse is not helping the problem. She is not from here and she speaks too fast. I cannot process what she is saying. I ask her to slow down, explain to her that I am having trouble thinking, processing information. She says okay and never slows down.
The plan was to receive the blood transfusion and get out in time to head to my oncologist to get a Nulasta shot. After chemo, your white blood cells can take a hit. The Nulasta shot is meant to tell your bone marrow to get to work creating more white blood cells to help fight infection during this vulnerable state. But, since someone fudged up, I will not get out in time to get the shot.
Dr. Spivey is my hero. He came to see me during the transfusion. And he raised hell. Apparently, not only will I not get out in time to receive my shot, but the hospital quit carrying the shot. I cannot receive it until Monday.
"How the hell am I supposed to treat anybody when you make it increasingly more difficult to make anyone better! I might as well move to Africa and help fight against Malaria! No, no, no... I have already heard their excuses and I don't want to hear another sob story why it can't get done."
I really like my doctor.
There was a nurse assisting Speedtalker. Who was she? I know her. But from where? I don't remember anybody.
I'm sorry, but I know you from somewhere ( I never do this).
"Hmm, well i used to work at Denton Regional for 15 years.
No. No hospitals. It's somewhere else.
"Well, um, I used to own a wedding chapel."
That's it. My wife and I were married at your chapel (I was later informed by an astonished Ashley that I had only met this woman twice).
She was a life saver. She was comforting. A soft, friendly face when I desperately needed something to hang onto for comfort. She relaxed me. Her voice was soothing. I soon fell asleep and time-traveled through the transfusion.
God does amazing things. I don't remember anyone. But for some reason I remembered her, and she was there, and she was exactly what I needed.
That night, the sweats went away. The chills stopped. And the fever broke.
I was convinced, and I let myself go in believing. I put all my faith and trust in God.
God, and Dr. Spivey
Chris,
ReplyDeleteI read your posts and I have to say- you are Superman! I know there are no magical words that will make what you are going through ok. Hell, words of comfort are hard. But I want you to know how much I respect you as a colleague and a friend. Please keep writing. Write every day if you can. Write for yourself/your boys/other survivors. Just write. Maybe you can find comfort in your own words. I will tell you a personal detail. Almost 20 years ago, my dad was diagnosed with Hep C. It was a grim prognosis. He was a drinker with a damaged liver. They estimated that with intensive chemo he might live 5 years. He cleared the virus. He gave me away at my wedding 3 years ago. And every time I call him, he asks when I'm going to give him grandchildren. He's a Superman too :-)
Keep up the fight!
Jessica Chisholm
Wow I really like reading your journal. I was diagnosed with chronic myeloid leukemia 5 years ago. I was 24:( my exexperience when first diagnosed was a lot like yours. Although I had no children no husband. I do now though and I'm scared more now than I was in the beginning. The thought of leaving my little girl with no mother brings me to tears nearly every time. I hate hate that every time I experience some new wierd symptom problem it's the first thing that comes to mind. But I'm a fighter like you and will do everything in my power to remain here on earth to raise my child hopefully one day children. Attitude through this process is everything and negative thoughts can run wild at times. Please keep writing. Drink a lot of green tea. The good loose leaf kind. It help s I swear by it. Find comfort and love where you can it helps the positive thinking. Look forward to hearing more.
ReplyDeleteYoung and fighting
Christina Johnson