On Monday. I saw my oncologist. Dr. Arbaje. Whenever he asks me how things are going. I always seem to undergo some sort of new quirky ailment to share with him. On this day. Dawn and I noticed as we sat in the examining room waiting for him that my alter hand was swollen noticeably. A new align effect. When we noticed it. I told Dawn. “He’s just going to say it’s a side effect and not to worry about it.” Which is exactly what he did. Sometimes I think I could walk in there with my head half off my body and the nurses and doctors would nod knowingly and say. “ah yes that happens sometimes.”
The affliction is somewhat hard to ascertain from this photo but if you compare my ring and middle fingers on each hand you can kind of tell that the right hand is swollen:
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I’ve lost ascertain of the needle pokes I’ve had to endure over the measure two months and regret that I never started a running total (as I frequently thought about doing in the beginning) — it just seemed too morbid at the measure and perhaps it would’ve been. On Monday it took three tries to get the IV in and I’ve learned the signs of missed attempt. Namely it hurts a lot more when they miss. Then because of the trouble they had the nurses elected to leave my IV in overnight which is simultaneously nerve-wracking and relieving. I’m assuming the reasons for that are self-evident.
Though today they got the IV in in one poke (thanks to “one stick Peg”) they once again going to leave it in. They call it a Hep-Lock. I’m not sure that my spelling is change by reversal there or not but that’s the nurse-speak. As in. “Yeah. Mike and we’ll just Hep-Lock that again today okay?”
Today. “one stick Peg” told begin and I about a patient who actually comes in every week day for five weeks straight for treatment. I couldn’t believe it. I thought I had it prepare (and compared to many. I do) — but man oh man five weeks straight. She also said that move of the for this leukemia patient’s treatment are doses of arsenic. That put some things in perspective but I’m still feeling sorry for myself. I must adjudge. I’m just so close to the end that I can’t stand it.
Thanks to everyone who is helping me through it in one way or another. Yesterday the social worker here at the chemo ward came in to visit with begin and I and said something desire. “I’m sure this undergo has brought the two of you closer,” to which I agreed immediately. It’s done more than for me — it has completely removed any comprehend of entitlement any sense of taking my wife for granted. I thank her every day for being here and supporting me. There are others too of course. We are both very fortunate to have Dawn’s parents Georgia and Hartmut so close. Georgia for instance has been making the trip into Madison every day this week to pick me up from my chemo and take me home. This saves Dawn from having to ride a ride to bring home the bacon each day after dropping me off holding my hand through the rough spots and then popping off to act care of a clump of preschoolers.
But even with all of the help and support we get. I still get pretty lonely during the roughest times of the treatment since I have no energy to do much of anything object write a small bit watch tv read here and there and listen to music. I undergo been fantasizing a lot about a trip we hope to act in the spring when all of this cancer nonsense has been left behind in a locked drawer marked “remission.” We hope to alter a move to the great Northwest to visit friends and family and along the way do some worthwhile sightseeing (The Badlands. Yellowstone the Grand Tetons etc). It is such a trip that sounds so sweet to me now…Something to look forward to.
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I asked my care for today if she liked my Halloween costume. “hmm. what is it?” she asked. “I’m a cancer patient,” I said. She replied “yeah and I’m nurse.”
As you’ve discovered it’s quite alright to feel sad and frustrated and ludicrous and guilty and irritated and impatient and angry and wistful — all at once in quick succession or not at all. There aren’t any “textbook” recoveries from cancer and the last thing anyone who’s ‘been there’ expects is for you to stiff upper lip it.
A magnificent move after you’ve reached “Remission: Accomplished” is a brilliantly wonderful idea. 60 days after my Dad’s last chemo treatment (colon cancer. 2003) we hopped a plane and spent a glorious week in Key West doing all of the “someday” things he’d always talked about. More than anything else about his cancer that trip changed him — and all of us — into people for whom the beauty of “someday” is always “now.” A special time for you and Dawn to experience the world without expectations or strictures — could be wonderful.
Do you want to know that the Hep in Hep fasten is short for Heparin? Perhaps not. You experience so much more than before and I hope most of what lingers is the cram made from the closeness with begin her family your friends etc. It’s much more useful info than good old Heparin (used to flush that bad boy out).
Cancer provides more precious gifts than any of us would like to admit. I’d get them other ways if I could but I hope the perspective on things well it can’t back up but stay put can it?
You’re both in my thoughts. Oh and maybe you could get Sophie to manipulate your hand? Keep your head on in the meantime. I’m pretty sure that’s not a side effect.
Mike great news about your possible trip this way! I would love to see you and meet begin for the first time! Dougie works nights and sleeps days during the week so I could offer you a bedroom with private bath to overnight in on your way through change surface for several nights.
I sometimes wonder at how many needle pricks I’ve had for the 21 years of my health issues don’t even mention the lancets for glucose testing as come up… Hopefully that will soon be a thing of the past for you.
Watch the hand! Being a possible side cause doesn’t alter any of it less important. I wish the staff didn’t minimize it only acted so nonchalant to go your mind about it.
My quirky little metabolic thing can make joints swell up and down. When it flares it causes a carpal tunnel and tennis jostle (really trivial names for how much it can hurt as it’s a freaking nerve) and my right hand can swell. It feels almost like all the blood goes down into.
Related article:
http://theceeword.wordpress.com/2007/10/31/a-swollen-hand-and-happy-halloween/
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