Admin Stuff.

Tomorrow (Monday, 7/2), I have to get packed up and head back to the apartment and treatment, so posts will be on the light side. I have some stuff scheduled, but everything else will have to wait until I’m settled again, and we have much to do all day tomorrow, so I won’t have much time until Monday evening. Things might start late on Tuesday, and that could be a super light day, because I’m fully booked with appointments from 1:15pm to 4pm.

For everyone who has sent something recently – I will get around to posting everything, and I will get back to you via email. Right now, everything is split between two computers, and I managed to not get everything on the effing USB stick (chemo brain strikes again!). I apologize if you’re having a wait or think I’m just ignoring you, I’m not, I promise.

I’m not exactly in a position to get bird shots right now, so if you all have birds, please send them along, with my thanks! There are birds flitting about the cancer center, but I haven’t had time to camp out and try to get photos yet. I’ll work on that this week, now that I’m feeling better.

And again, I cannot thank you all enough for the constant support you provide to me. I would be in a much worse place without you all.

Cancer Chronicles 20: “Hi, I’m Five Weeks.”

© C. Ford, all rights reserved.

© C. Ford, all rights reserved.

Pictured above is the Linear Accelerator I’m in Monday – Friday, along with two of the fabulous techs who do all the work. Here, they are placing my cradle on the slab and getting it ready for me to insert myself. Once on the slab and in the correct position, it’s elevated quite a bit so that it slots in between the four arms of the accelerator. The slab stays still, it’s the arms of the accelerator which move around you. It’s all very interesting, and you can watch a green laser light pulse across one section of the ceiling. I don’t watch anymore, because I’ve found that the revolving arms set off nausea, which I most seriously do not need these days. The treatment itself goes extremely fast, it’s maybe around 10 minutes. You almost spend more time getting positioned into your cradle.

Oral chemo paperwork.

Oral chemo paperwork.

Radiation Calendar.

Radiation Calendar.

Okay, well I have to go back a bit here. Radiation started on June 27th. The day before, we had secured an apartment which is barely a two minute walk from the Bismarck Cancer Center. Sanford has blocks of apartments all clustered close to the area of downtown they have eaten alive; an apartment costs $400.00 a month, which is by far the cheapest option for most people, a great many of whom live well outside Bismarck. If you’re there for more than month, the cost is prorated for whatever length of time you spend. I was mostly moved in by the 27th, and the first scan is the one which takes the longest, everything has to be checked over several times, adjustments made and all that. You’ll be on the slab for around 30 minutes. After that, the treatments go very fast. You’ll spend more time in the waiting room than anything else. One thing which makes it all go quicker: clothing. Yep. If you wear something which has no buttons or zippers, and can be easily pushed down (or up, whichever direction you’re being zapped), you can just go straight in, kick off your shoes and get into your cradle. I find having to change into gowns annoying, so this works well for me. Hell, if you’re like me and you find yourself with a two minute walk to your scans, wear your pyjamas! I’ll be seeing my radiation oncologist every Tuesday, along with my regular oncologist over at the main hospital. You still have to have labs every week, and you’re given a lot of latitude as to when you want to do that. Radiation is great about giving you a set time of your choosing. As you can see, we prefer late afternoon. You also have meetings arranged with a nutritionist and a massage therapist. Free massage!

A couple of days after I was ensconced in my apartment, I heard Brandon moving some people in next door. We later met on the stairs: “Hi. Radiation? Yeah, me too, I’m five weeks.” “I’m nine weeks.” This is what your conversation comes down to with other cancer patients. In the waiting room: “How are you doing?” “Still here, not dead yet.” “Me too. Feels like dead some days.” “Yeah, a lot of days.” Cancerland has it’s own codes and lingo; doesn’t take long to become fluent, or to put the cancer first, either: “Hi. Colorectal cancer.” “Hi, pancreatic.”

Onto the purely miserable fucking stuff, and scary stuff (for me). I started taking the oral chemo (5FU, same as what was in the pump; the pills convert to 5FU), and the Veliparib (trial drug). The 5FuckYou is an agent well known to me, and I know which side effects can be laid at its door. As you can see on the chemo paperwork, there’s a ‘skipped’ on the Veliparib for Friday evening, and I have to record a skip for this weekend, too, as I’m supposed to take it 7 days a week, not 5 like the other. I was having a great deal of trouble the first week this all started. A profound nausea set in on Wednesday, and I wasn’t sure what was causing it. Until I see my oncologist on July 3rd, I’ve stuck with taking dramamine for nausea, as it’s worked well enough and I can’t take the Zofran. It stopped working well. I’ve had to take a great deal of it just to keep from puking my guts out constantly. Day by day, the nausea was getting worse. I did not have a single moment where I felt well. I’m supposed to take my chemo with food, and I could barely choke down 3 tablespoons of cereal before I took the meds. There was also an intense bitter taste in my mouth and throat, and it’s all I could taste. It got to a point on Friday that I could not even drink the required water, as trying to do so had me puking. (For my particular cancer, a full bladder is wanted for the scan, as it helps to push the intestines out of the way of the bits being targeted.) I still wanted to go grocery shopping for the apartment, and holy fuck is it ever hard to shop for food when the only thing on your mind is “can’t puke, can’t puke, can’t puke”.  I decided to skip the Friday evening Veliparib, just to see. As anticipated, the 5FU didn’t cause me any problems at all, and by the time 11pm rolled around, I was able to eat a little bit. Woke up this morning, and ate a pastry right away, no nausea, no problems.

Unfortunately, this means I’ll have to drop out of the trial, I simply cannot deal with such profound nausea. I’ve dropped to 92 pounds, and look every bit the starvation victim. My ribs and spine stand out in sharp relief, I don’t have an ounce of fat anywhere, and I’m simply too concerned about that to try and come to terms with the trial drug. I feel bad about dropping out at this point, but my overall health has to have priority. I’ll see my research person on Tuesday, along with everyone else. There’s a slim possibility that another anti-nausea drug might help me to cope, but I don’t know that I’ll want to try. The Velaparib was also causing a fair amount of swelling in my face, ankles and feet. We definitely don’t get along.

That’s about it for now. As usual, if I think of more, I’ll edit to add. ETA: There are a couple of videos linked in the comments which show how a linac works.

Pills, Anyone? (Admin Stuff).

Yes, that bottle is that big – 6 inches tall. Eeesh. This is half of the chemo drugs I’ll be taking during the next 5 weeks.

I’m so sorry to spring this on everyone so late, but I won’t be around at all tomorrow – I have to pack all this shit and get moved into my apartment. Snagged a nice one bedroom which is a two minute walk to the cancer center, where I’ll be doing the radiation treatments. I’ll be home on Saturday & Sunday. Today was not the start of radiation, supposedly I’ll start tomorrow. Apparently, the physicist and my doc didn’t quite figure out the proper dose and get all the programming done, so I have to get moved tomorrow and start treatment. Today, picked up the 2nd set of chemo meds (the stuff in the gigantic bottle), secured the apartment, did shopping for it, and found a truck we want to buy, so it’s going to be busy, busy, busy. I did get Hekate set up in the apt., so I’ll be able to blog from there. I’ll get back to regular blogging as soon as possible – should be all settled by tomorrow evening and back at it on Thursday.

The Cure for All Venereal Diseases!

The cure for all venereal disease, brought to you by…Jim Bakker, who else? One might enquire just what good christians might need with such a cure, but I doubt any sort of answer would ensue. By the way, silver is not a cure for fucking anything, particularly not venereal disease. It’s of no more use than mercury used to be, so don’t even think about it.

Source.

From Jim’s scamsite:

Silver Solution Gel

Silver Solution Gel (24ppm) works faster, longer and more efficiently than other silvers to promote natural healing.

  • Faster – By using catalytic instead of chemical action,  Silver helps speed up natural processes that have positive effects on the body.
  • Longer – Unlike other silvers that quit working after completing one function, Silver performs over and over for hours.
  • More Efficiently – By resonating at just the right frequency, Silver disrupts foreign elements without disturbing the body’s natural environment.

Silver Solution Gel provides soothing action for the skin and can be applied as needed. This four-ounce tube is perfect for toting in your purse or stowing in your desk drawer, glove box or medicine cabinet.

NO. No, no, no, to all that shit. Not so, not true, bullshit all the way. I do note that good ol’ Jim doesn’t personally believe in all these amazing benefits from silver, as he hasn’t turned even a light shade of gray-blue, [argyria] which is what taking colloidal silver will do to you eventually, and it’s permanent.  It’s not any nice shade of blue, either. It’s barely blue, more a decayed corpse colour.