Epilogue to Last Friday

So, I kinda left that rope swinging in the wind didn't I?  Last I had mentioned, there was a potential and looming trip to the hospital and then I just vanished off the face of the internet.  Sorry about that.

Well, my temperature went up to 100.6, the doctor decided that as long as I didn't feel too bad, I should wait for the antibiotics to work and only needed to worry about the hospital unless I started feeling really off - which never happened.  So, that settles that.

This past Tuesday, I went in for fluids (sounds like Jiffy Lube) and whilst there, they ran my blood work again.  The white blood count had gone up to 4.5 from 1.6.  Looks like Friday is a go.  This will be the last cycle of three weeks.  THE LAST CYCLE.  I only gotta tote that bale for three more weeks and I will be:

1. Three steps closer to killing this SOB
2. Two steps closer to getting a break and getting strong again
3. One step closer to Jeffrey's official notice to VACATE THE PREMISES

I fully believe that my counts will be great on Friday and we will pick up that sword and come out swinging.  

Actually, I have had probably the best week in too long of a time.  I've felt good and continued to feel a little better since Tuesday and now on Thursday evening; I am feeling pretty fine.  I will enjoy the hell out of this evening and relish tomorrow morning and smile all night as I watch Claire perform in her school musical, Grease.   And I will get up on Saturday morning and I will say to myself: "Only 20 days to go, slick, get the hell out of bed and fight back." 

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'Death to Jeffrey!'"

Damn.

Well, the title was supposed to be all in caps and repeated about ten times with exclamation points and cannons firing (behind the scenes of course) and then some form of mushroom cloud.  Sadly, as I sit here and type this, all I can muster is a very small damn. 

I've been off the 5-FU pump for a week now and the ulcers and sores in my mouth have almost completely healed.  This is probably the best news I have had in quite some time.  Today was the consultation to see if they could put the pump back in.  Initially, they were all "YEAH! Let's do this thing!  Let's put it in right now!"   We ran down the hall, through the paper banner that inexplicably said "GO TIGERS!" and set about hooking the butterfly access up to my port and getting the blood work out of the way so we could hydrate me real quick and then hook the pump back up.

For those of you who may not know.....your blood work is crucial to you continuing your treatment.  It's like a court order handed down from the doctor, who looks at your numbers and then stamps PASS or FAIL on it.   Well, I FAILED, big time.  My white blood counts are 1.6 in a range of 0.0 - 10.0.  The most crucial component of my numbers is sitting at 0.6 in a range of 0.0 - 5.0.  Needless to say, no dice on the pump.  I went home and was feeling a little funny, so I took my temperature.  Joy of joys, I am sitting at 100.3.  *sigh*  Anything over 100.5 when your immune system is suppressed means that you get to spend the weekend at Club Hospital.  So the doctor has put me on two separate antibiotics for the next ten days and I will get another chance at all this next Friday when I have my final big treatment. In the meantime, I have to keep checking my temperature and if it goes to 100.5 or above, I get to take a ride to the ER.  Super swell isn't it?

I may be consoling myself tonight with something entirely bad for me that I can actually taste now.

Round Two.....FIGHT!

Let's just say that the slack-jawed look on my face as I type all this will suffice to define the least week.  I will try to be as concise as possible, since there is a lot of ground to cover - needless to say I missed being able or willing to type here.

So, last time we were together, I was bemoaning the inevitable loss of my hair.  Such a vanity for human beings isn't it?  Men and women alike, there is something just so fundamental to the biological markers on our bodies....the hair, the eyelashes, the eyebrows - all convey so much information when we look and talk to each other (and ourselves).  I made it through the last big chemo treatment:

There is a simply wonderful story behind this picture.  My Aunt Brenda, has a sincerely beautiful friend in Mattoon, IL, a Ms. Jodi Sparks.  She belongs to the Shawl Ministry Group of the First Presbyterian Church, and inquired of Brenda whether or not I would be interested in a Prayer Shawl.  Brenda affirmed this and unbeknownst to me, Jodi began to make a Prayer Shawl for me during my chemotherapy, surgery and recovery.  So about two weeks ago, this beautiful shawl arrives in the mail on my doorstep along with a lovely card and the kind of letter that can only be described as a "good day maker".    I now wear it faithfully every time I go in for treatments and it is the only thing that keeps me warm in those cold rooms.  One passage Jodi shared with me in her letter has been stuck with me ever since and I think it most likely will stick for the rest of my life:

  "Courage does not always roar....sometimes it is a small voice at the end of the day that says I'll try again tomorrow."  Bless her, and thank you so much, Jodi.

So I had the treatment and went home to pass out.  I figured that the rest of my hair would most likely start falling out in clumps over the weekend and I might as well just shave the beast and be done with it.  So we decided to make before and after pictures for point of reference.

Here, I am tired but pretty much OK.  Lord, did I have NO clue what was coming around the bend.  Smiling like a lemming and expecting basically a repeat of the first three weeks of treatment.  HA?  Below, you can see the small forest creature that rose up from the remnants of my shave, complete with googlie-eyes.

 And below, you see the after.  I am looking JUST a tad "monkish" but otherwise content and happy with the fact that I do not have any strange or unexplained lumps, depressions or protrusions on my skull - that would have been less than optimal.

And then things got INTERESTING.  Saturday and Sunday went pretty much as I expected.  Tired, a little wiped out and I had developed not just mouth sores but ones in my sinuses, throat and a killer set of ulcers along my bottom lip.  Monday rolls around and I am unable to even get up off the couch.  I chalk this up to the cumulative effects of the chemo and figured that by Wednesday I would be back up and running and close to "normal".

Uh, no.

Wednesday rolls around and I realize that I haven't showered in days or brushed my teeth because I cannot physically move off the couch.  At this point, I'm feeling a little dizzy, not really able to eat or drink much because the sores are now impeding even simple functions like, sleeping and not being a mouth-breather.   Again, I figure that this is just because it's round two and I should be just great after the weekend.

Thursday:  My husband forces me to call the oncologist's office by threat of physical violence.   Result?  They tell me to come in right away.  Thank goodness I had finally taken a shower.  Turns out that, moron here, is severely dehydrated and the sores have gotten so bad at this point that they have decided to unplug the 5-FU pump for a week and then start up again at a 25% lower solution.  Basically, I was thirsty, REALLY thirsty and the 5-FU was kicking my butt all over the place.  Three hours and two litres of saline later and I cannot believe the difference.  They remove the pump, which means I can enjoy regular showers for the next week - SQUEE - and prescribe me a Magic Mouthwash to help me eat food and a lovely little elixir of Lortab for the pain and swelling.  Upshot is, I feel like an entirely different person.  I went back in today for another two bags of saline and the mouthwash has made it possible to eat and drink again.

I have already been through the dialogue, both external and internal, about my own disappointment in having to come off the 5-FU for a week.  Naturally, I question whether or not this could affect my treatment negatively - anything not going to/killing Jeffrey is a concern of mine.   But then, I know that it won't help me any if the treatment kills me rather than cures me.  So, I got off that train of thought and decided that I am going to enjoy this next week with no pump hanging off me like Prometheus' stone, feeling a lot better with the pain managed and an understanding of the finer points of hydration.

Love you all~