Wednesday, February 5th:
It's 28 degrees outside and I'm thrilled to be awake. I had decided to move my chemo appointments to the morning, trying to have more of my day available. But this also means getting up and being ready earlier.
Problem.
One of the side effects of chemo is the rarely mentioned, and fairly surprising, Insomnia. It is such a pleasure. Noting better to top off an exhausting day of otherwise normal human activities than to stay up and think about everything in your life until the wee hours of the morning. The night before chemo.
I thought I was tired?
But, there it was: Chemo day.
The appointment went fairly well, allowing me to forget the freezing temperatures and my icy attitude. Good news. Blood work was looking good and I could discontinue using prednisone. I was still anemic, but stable. Additionally, there was a possibility that I could get a PET Scan following my fourth treatment.
Huge.
Reminder: The PET Scan gives a reading of the active cancer areas in my body. Compared with my "before picture, this will give us an idea if the cancer is multiplying, growing, shrinking, or gone. This is a big deal. And scary.
The one hang up is whether insurance will cover the scan. My insurance thus far has been a life saver. I'm not sure where my family would be without insurance. The bills can be intense until you get to the "What You Owe" section. However, insurance in this case is the big hang up. Since after my fourth treatment I am only 1/3 of the way through, some insurances don't see it as a necessary procedure. Typically the PET Scan is performed 1/2 way through. But, all I can do is stay positive and wait for the news on the issue next treatment.
More good news. I can go back to work. However, my start date is effected by whether or not I have the PET Scan. My start date can be pushed back by three weeks. Come on insurance, this is information I need.
Chemo itself went well. I sat in the chair and had my chemo cocktail. It was delicious, but I wasn't looking forward to the hangover. Don't worry, I didn't drive.
Aftermath
The fuzz lasted a couple of days. The headaches seem to come and go. The fatigue stays. But, I still felt more "normal" than I had in months. The chemo was a beat down, but it felt like it was working.
That is the scary part, right? Thinking, is it working?
That question crosses my mind a lot. Of course it does. How can it not? It's cancer. You want to know if you're beating it. You want to know if this strength you are using and portraying is worth it. Of course it is. But it's still big, and dark, and scary. And cancer. God. That word is so annoying sometimes.
But you still fight on, with a smile and an "S" on your chest. You do this because you have to. Because they have to see you as strong and positive and unbeatable. You do this because you have to see yourself as strong and positive and unbeatable. Because it's the only way you can make it through the insomnia and the lonely hours at night when it's you and your imagination showing you every terrible possibility. You do this because it lets the outsiders look at you and think, "He looks great," while you hope they don't attribute looking great to feeling great, even though that's the image you are trying to portray. You do this because it's the only thing you know to do. Because you really are a fighter and hate to lose. But mostly you do this because losing is not an option, and sometimes you need a reminder of that.
"You look good"
The short number of days before the next chemo are the normal days. You feel like a person.
These are the days I worry about. Have I tried so hard to portray a healthy, functional human being that people are assuming it is over?
It is not over. It isn't even anywhere close.
Yes, it can be deceiving. I don't look like that cancer patient from TV. Somehow, I still have my hair. I'm not running to the toilet to throw up. Hell, I haven't even thrown up or felt nauseous. I have color in my skin and I am able to smile. Yes, I am a cancer patient.
Yes, on my good days, it can be good. But the bad days still exist, and they will still after the treatment is over. My headaches, memory lapses, and fatigue (plus any other long term chemo effects) can last a year and a half (or longer) after the last chemo cocktail is served. Yes, it is not over.
So yes, I do look good. But it is taking a lot of energy to try and look any type of good. Please remember that.
Don't get thrown off just because my cancer isn't showing.
I feel so much hangs on this next trip. Blood. Work. PET Scan. An image of my cancer progress. Hope and comfort. Fear.
Wish me luck.
Feel free to ask me any questions or comments about anything if you have one. I'm open.
#StrongerThanCancer
Give Forward
Lymphoma and Hodgkin's Disease Awareness and Survivors Club
It's 28 degrees outside and I'm thrilled to be awake. I had decided to move my chemo appointments to the morning, trying to have more of my day available. But this also means getting up and being ready earlier.
Problem.
One of the side effects of chemo is the rarely mentioned, and fairly surprising, Insomnia. It is such a pleasure. Noting better to top off an exhausting day of otherwise normal human activities than to stay up and think about everything in your life until the wee hours of the morning. The night before chemo.
I thought I was tired?
But, there it was: Chemo day.
The appointment went fairly well, allowing me to forget the freezing temperatures and my icy attitude. Good news. Blood work was looking good and I could discontinue using prednisone. I was still anemic, but stable. Additionally, there was a possibility that I could get a PET Scan following my fourth treatment.
Huge.
Reminder: The PET Scan gives a reading of the active cancer areas in my body. Compared with my "before picture, this will give us an idea if the cancer is multiplying, growing, shrinking, or gone. This is a big deal. And scary.
The one hang up is whether insurance will cover the scan. My insurance thus far has been a life saver. I'm not sure where my family would be without insurance. The bills can be intense until you get to the "What You Owe" section. However, insurance in this case is the big hang up. Since after my fourth treatment I am only 1/3 of the way through, some insurances don't see it as a necessary procedure. Typically the PET Scan is performed 1/2 way through. But, all I can do is stay positive and wait for the news on the issue next treatment.
More good news. I can go back to work. However, my start date is effected by whether or not I have the PET Scan. My start date can be pushed back by three weeks. Come on insurance, this is information I need.
Chemo itself went well. I sat in the chair and had my chemo cocktail. It was delicious, but I wasn't looking forward to the hangover. Don't worry, I didn't drive.
Aftermath
The fuzz lasted a couple of days. The headaches seem to come and go. The fatigue stays. But, I still felt more "normal" than I had in months. The chemo was a beat down, but it felt like it was working.
That is the scary part, right? Thinking, is it working?
That question crosses my mind a lot. Of course it does. How can it not? It's cancer. You want to know if you're beating it. You want to know if this strength you are using and portraying is worth it. Of course it is. But it's still big, and dark, and scary. And cancer. God. That word is so annoying sometimes.
But you still fight on, with a smile and an "S" on your chest. You do this because you have to. Because they have to see you as strong and positive and unbeatable. You do this because you have to see yourself as strong and positive and unbeatable. Because it's the only way you can make it through the insomnia and the lonely hours at night when it's you and your imagination showing you every terrible possibility. You do this because it lets the outsiders look at you and think, "He looks great," while you hope they don't attribute looking great to feeling great, even though that's the image you are trying to portray. You do this because it's the only thing you know to do. Because you really are a fighter and hate to lose. But mostly you do this because losing is not an option, and sometimes you need a reminder of that.
"You look good"
The short number of days before the next chemo are the normal days. You feel like a person.
These are the days I worry about. Have I tried so hard to portray a healthy, functional human being that people are assuming it is over?
It is not over. It isn't even anywhere close.
Yes, it can be deceiving. I don't look like that cancer patient from TV. Somehow, I still have my hair. I'm not running to the toilet to throw up. Hell, I haven't even thrown up or felt nauseous. I have color in my skin and I am able to smile. Yes, I am a cancer patient.
Yes, on my good days, it can be good. But the bad days still exist, and they will still after the treatment is over. My headaches, memory lapses, and fatigue (plus any other long term chemo effects) can last a year and a half (or longer) after the last chemo cocktail is served. Yes, it is not over.
So yes, I do look good. But it is taking a lot of energy to try and look any type of good. Please remember that.
Don't get thrown off just because my cancer isn't showing.
I feel so much hangs on this next trip. Blood. Work. PET Scan. An image of my cancer progress. Hope and comfort. Fear.
Wish me luck.
Feel free to ask me any questions or comments about anything if you have one. I'm open.
#StrongerThanCancer
Give Forward
Lymphoma and Hodgkin's Disease Awareness and Survivors Club
Hi Chris! My name is Cameron and I was wondering if I could ask you a quick question when you have a minute. I can be reached at my email. Thanks, I hope to hear from you soon! :)
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