More changes and developments since last time! Last week I had my stomach tube removed and a port put in. One thing in, one thing out. The stomach tube was easy, even though that was the thing I was most nervous about. It was a painless, ten second procedure done in the IR prep area where I was waiting for my port surgery. No more tube/peg site! It's amazing how quickly our bodies heal. You'd think that would require at least a stitch, right? Just one? But no - They just put some gauze over it and said that it would quickly heal itself, starting with the stomach, which would heal itself in like a day. The outer skin and muscle wall take a bit longer. But what about during that day? Was I going to drink water and suddenly be spouting a stream out of my stomach like a Warner Bros. cartoon? Quick, stick your finger in the dam! I haven't had any problems and it's really healing up nicely. And best of all, like I said, no more tube.
The port was painless as well, but that was longer and more involved. That required some actual surgery (to include stitches at the end of it, this time). What's a port? Well, a port is a device that goes in under the skin, like a little triangular button. It has catheters that go into one vein in the neck and one into my heart. It's completely under the skin, just visible as a bump in the skin. What does it do? They can draw my blood from it and also administer my chemo without having to stick me a bunch of times, fighting to find a vein that's not too scarred or hardened from the chemo. It's quicker, more convenient, and a lot less painful (in fact, it's not painful at all). You see, the chemo drug that I'm on right now via IV is really harsh on smaller veins (like those in the arms). It begins to create scar tissue and harden the veins and then suddenly the nurse is having to stick you three or more times, or your vein blows out, or the needle goes through the other side. But not now with my handy dandy port!
I only had it less than a day before I was putting it to use. I had my first treatment up here in NJ (well, Philadelphia, really - VA Hospital) and started back on those pills that gave me a problem before. This time they've reduced it to two pills each morning and night (1000 mg) instead of three (1500 mg). Haven't had any heart issues so far and Jess and I have been getting some good walks and bike rides in.
One of the things we love about where we're at is the amount of great walking and bike riding trails along the river and/or canal, on both the Jersey and the Pennsylvania sides. We bought these wonderful bikes before we moved down to West Virginia, used them only a few times, and then went off into the woods. So they sat in a shed for over three years and then got shoved into a moving truck and brought back north. We had them tuned up and now we go on long bike rides along the wildflower fields and farms and picturesque canal. We even have baskets and bags for picnic snacks and books and such
. We also get out and walk the woods trail with the pups. There are park trails right around the corner that weave through the woods and over creeks and the dogs love it. As do we. :)
I'm set up with a new oncologist here, closer to Frenchtown, so even though I won't have to travel to Philly, it's still taken care of by the VA. There's a major sigh of relief. I also have another PET scan on October 23rd. This scan will show us what is going on with the cancer, the treatment's effectiveness, and determine the next course of action. I can only stay on the Oxyplatin for so long without permanent nerve damage setting in...and I'm getting close to that wall. One of the things with the Oxyplatin is how it affects my hands for the first 4-5 days after treatment (sometimes a little longer). It'll create a pins and needles sensation that is amplified by touching things (like typing) and makes me extremely susceptible to cold - like an ice cube might as well be a red-hot ember. To drink something cold feels like I'm swallowing glass. That's the kind of effect I don't want to last (not that I'd want any of them to last, lol).
Next week, I'll turn 51. Over a half a century! We're going to a nice, big beach house in Delaware that was donated by a wonderful organization who offers it to cancer patients and their families for a week. Some of the kids are able to join us, and my parents are coming up for a few days. The weather looks like it's going to cooperate and we should actually be in for a nice week. It'll be a calming and cathartic escape to ride bikes, read books, watch waves, walk hand-in-hand, play games, and just bask in each others' company.
Just as the tides wash in and out and the surf pounds the sand, time is unstoppable; ever marching forward. Sick or not sick, time flows on. I may not know what is happening with this cancer right now, other than it being Stage IV, but I'm still here and nobody has slapped an expiration date sticker on me ("Use by [this date]"). I'm turning 51 and dammit, if it weren't for cancer, I'd say I was in pretty good health, lol.
I'll go into this new year with new insight and perspective (I feel like Jess and I are always recalibrating our perspective), and when I sit there and watch the waves next week, I'll be humbly reminded of the primal forces at work over which we have no control, and to which we all must submit. May those waves crash in for many, many, many more years!
Be well, friends!
- j