Day #4 Still amazed by all this

Chemowise, today has been the same as yesterday: the "E" (Etoposide) and "A"(ARA-C or cytarbine) of R-BEAM. When I get the Etoposide I say in a pirate voice, "Arrrg, meet me e-top o' side, immediately." I felt queasy last night and this morning for a while but the zofran antinausea drug kicked-in. Otherwise, I felt decent today. In the back of my mind I am dreading the coming storm of sickness I have heard about. My body has held up amazingly well so far, so I'm hoping that the stories I've heard don't come true for me.

The doctor told me that my immune system is about 50% effective right now. My immune system is like a sacrafical lamb that will die with whatever cancer is left, but my immune system will be raised back to life again with the infusion of my stemcells on Friday.

I get nervous when the chemo is hooked-up to the catheter that is connected to my heart. Some kind of nervious tension and anxiety creeps-in and it is hard for me to relax. I usually don't know when the chemo is coming, but the first indicator is the arrival of the chemo nurse on the floor that I am on. The chemo nurse pushes a small cart with sometimes squeaky wheels and then the Pavlov Effect kicks into full-gear and I get a butterflies and the early signs of nausea in my stomach. So, as an unthinking reflex to the nervousness I made some comment to her and those within earshot along the lines of, "ah! Here comes the cart of pain." I later reflected on how she may have felt being the one whose job it was to deliver these IV bags of suffering to cancer patients. So, to make up for the insensitive comment I exclaimed when she wheeled her cart into my room, "Yes! Here comes the one bearing lifesaving medications!" I don't know if she noticed, but it helps me to tell myself the positive truth about the things like sugery, nausea, fatigue, IV poles I have to drag around, tasty hospital food, my heart catheter, hospital smells, long car rides to Detroit, spending hours in waiting rooms, being woke up several times in the middle of the night, sticky hospital tape that never seems to leave the skin, and a dozen uncomfortable things a cancer survivor and those dear to them must endure. These things suck AND I depend on all of that for survival AND both are true. So, I am trying to take the wisdom a friend gave me that it matters what story I am telling myself about all of this. I have found that it helps me to focus more lifesaving story when I am tempted to frown at the companion always at my side... no, not Katie, my IV pole.

Day #3 so far so good

I slept great last night and woke up at 6am for a cycle of Cytarabine and an hour later for Etoposide. I felt pretty good the entire day and I just finished another cycle of both of those drugs tonight. I will have the same routine of chemo for the next three days. Two in the morning and two at night.

Katie and I just finished the movie "Father of the Bride." It had us laughing pretty hard especially now that we are planning our June wedding.

I got the PET scan results back and it came back negative. So, there were no tumors in my body. That means any cancer that is left is microscopic, which is a good thing considering that the chemo will hunt any remaining cells down. That means the likihood of a cure is even greater. Good news!

I've been feeling good so far today and I hope I keep this good streak going.

Day #2 Downs and Ups

Yes, my doctors name is Ratanatharathorn.

Today, I had the chemo with all the alcohol in it. I started feeling sick before it even began because of the anti-nausea meds I had to take. Tomorrow, I'm going refuse to take the one that makes me feel like I have no strength and makes me think that life really stinks. It is a risk that I am willing to take. I think I would rather have nausea than take that medication. I have had those feelings once before but I didn't know if it was the nausea meds or the chemo. It was so bad that all I wanted to do was lay down and pray for relief. I usually don't pray out in vain like that but today was one of those days I begged for relief for a few hours.

I tried to sleep through the chemo and the bad feelings slowly melted away. The rest of the day I felt fatigued and had a small headache. I couldn't focus on one thing for too long so I didn't read or watch tv. During the chemo infusion the fumes from the chemo in my room were so bad that the nurse asked my family to leave the room! I took a nap around five and slept until nine. When I woke I felt like a new person, refreshed, and alert. It's amazing how I can be in the dumps for a good part of the day and then feel like singing and dancing. Katie and I drank V8 juice and watched "50 First Dates". The humor was slapstick in the beginning but the movie got a lot better as we watched.

Tomorrow, I receive two different types of chemo that I will get for the next four days. Fun stuff.

Serious hangover on tap for today

Today, I will begin the next letter in R-BEAM. For an explanation you can read the first posting at the bottom of the webpage. B is for Brian. B is also for BCNU also known as Carmustine. This drug does not dissolve in water-H2O, but in pure alcohol. This means that pure alcohol will be pumped into my blood stream along with the BCNU. It may sound like fun, but at the rate it will be going into my blood stream it will only give me one big headache, so they say. I'm hoping the whole experience will be pleasant, but I doubt it.

Rituxan completed and I'm feelin' good

Last night they started pumpin' rituxan into me. This drug latches onto the CD-20 of a cell and messes with the cell processes until the cell actually dies. I imagine it be like a gorilla attacking a hot air balloon until it crashes.

I felt light-headed at first and then I started to get the chills and feel really fatigued. My muscles started aching and I thought I was going to get really sick. Thankfully I didn't. I tried to sleep through the night but the nurses had to check my vital signs every fifteen minutes for the first hour and every thirty minutes after that. The whole thing lasted about six hours. I slept pretty well considering all the distractions and I am feeling pretty chipper this morning.

Overview of chemo stuff - Arrival for Chemo and Stem Cells

Today is the first day of six days of high dose chemotherapy of an R-BEAM regimen. After the six days of chemotherapy I get one day of rest. The chemotherapy kills all white blood cells, leukocytes and bone morrow (which make stem cells that turn into white cells, red cells, and platelets) - basically, my entire immune system. The day after my last day of chemo they inject stem cells into my blood stream that were collected from my blood back in early November. These cells find their way into my bones and colonize them. Like little seeds planted in my bones they grow and multiply to create new bone morrow and thus an immune system. It is like rebooting your computer.

I will be here for four weeks, then I can go home. Once home I must wait for my new immune system to develop for a few months before 'normal' life can resume.

This morning I left the comforts of home and together with my mom, sister and sister's boyfriend drove to Detroit to begin my high dose chemotherapy. We arrived around noon. The first thing I had to do was to get a Positron Emission Tomography (PET) scan. This is different from an MRI in that it relies heavily on the use of radioactive sugar to locate abnormalities in the body. The nurses told me that I would be radioactive for 24 hours and that if I went to the airport or crossed the border from Canada to USA I would set-off 'dirty bomb' alarms.

I then went upstairs to the fifth floor to check into my room. I have received eight cycles of high-dose methotrexate (HDMTX) in 2006 and six cycles of HDMTX since September of 2007. This means I have spent approximately fifty eight days on this floor. I know almost all the doctors, nurses, nursing assistants, and administrators who work on 5 Webber North. They are a special group of people who generally have a great attitude toward the work they do. They are not the type of people who seem anxious for their shift to end. For the most part, they are always friendly and laugh at my jokes. For example, whenever I arrive with bags in hand to the front desk I say in a snobbish tone, "I'm here to check-in to Karmanos Resort and Spa." They seem to get a kick out of that.

The four of us unpacked my bags and decorated my room with a poster of a tropical beach a sunset. I headed downstairs for my last breath of fresh air that will have in about three weeks. I ate a Quiznos Baja Chicken sub with extra cilantro for dinner. I won't be able to eat fresh fruits and veggies for quite a while. During this time my immune system is destroyed and then brought back to life.

Today I receive the chemotherapy drug Rituxan - the 'R' of R-BEAM. I am not terribly nervous for two reasons:

First, everyone reacts differently to chemotherapy drugs. So far, I have had few side-effects from the HDMTX. However, I do not receive that drug anymore and it is yet to be seen how I my body will handle the next few weeks of treatment. It's weird, but I am curious to see how by handles all this punishment. Bring it on!

Secondly, this is the last big step of my treatment that began in September. I can't wait to get back to a normal life. I feel ready to do whatever it takes to take care of my body and spirit and I am optimistic that I have all the resources necessary to get through this challenging time.

My family and friends have given me so much emotional support and love. Katie has been a real trooper through all of this cancer craziness. She has taken great care of me and has made huge sacrifices like spending weekends in Detroit with me while I am in the hospital. Without them I would have gone insane a long time ago. My mother and father have taken care of my school, travel and living expenses during the past few months because I cannot earn money at this time.
I am so thankful that I have great health insurance through my parents. What a huge relief it is to know that I don't have to worry about where the money comes from for the dozens of doctor appointments, chemotherapy, prescriptions, and lengthy hospital stays. I get statements from the insurance company that tells me how much they are spending on my treatment. I think that it has cost around a quarter million dollars so far, which is a rough estimate, but no exaggeration. This has been a huge luxury. I strongly believe that everyone should have access to health care. America is the only industrialized country that doesn't have a national health care plan. Fewer and fewer people are able to afford insurance each year. There are plenty of things to worry about when one is fighting cancer and money for treatment should not be one of them. I am grateful to have the freedom to really take care of my body and mind while I go through this very intense season.