Friday morning, 1/16: Blood test in preparation for Monday’s surgical installation of the portable-catheter into my chest to facilitate chemotherapy infusions.
Friday and Sunday, 1/16 and 1/18: Visited with several longtime friends that have patiently tolerated my self-imposed hibernation over the past several months. Very nice.
Monday, 1/19
7:20 AM: Hit by wave of nausea while walking from parking lot to hospital for surgery. Would have puked but stomach empty.
7:30 AM – 9:30 AM: Checked into hospital, assigned bed and gown. Phlebotomist arrived to draw blood – I asked what happened to Friday’s test? They said all they had were blood results from October. I told them to look again because I didn’t intend to be stuck with any more needles than absolutely necessary (it’s getting difficult for them to draw blood from me without multiple tries). They eventually located Friday’s test results, sparing me the needless repeat of a test already performed. The insertion of the IV line came next and involved the usual fiasco of multiple sticks, hunting for a viable vein.
9:30 AM: Wheeled down to operating room on a gurney. The interventional radiologist that performed the surgery was a classmate of mine from 7th through 12th grade. My initial reaction as I learned that he would be performing the surgery was one of chagrin – a little too much familiarity, you know? But as we conducted the pre-procedure discussion in the hallway, I recalled that he had graduated first in our class of approximately 500. I reminded him that I had graduated sixth, and came close to asking (ribbing) him why he was never in any of the advanced science or math classes that I took, but decided against it when I realized that in a few short minutes he would have a scalpel up against my jugular vein. You see, sometimes I do make wise decisions. The procedure went well.
10:30 AM – 12:30 PM: Post surgery recovery in hospital room. Ordered breakfast that never arrived.
12:45 PM: Discharged from hospital, stopped on way home for a salad and a couple slices of pizza.
10:30 PM: Surgical site beginning to become uncomfortable – took a relatively high dose of cannabis before going to bed.
Tuesday, 1/20
2:00 AM to 2:30 AM: Awakened by severe nausea and puked my guts out for 30 minutes straight. Probably a result of the high dose of cannabis after not having consumed it for two weeks, combined with the lingering effects of that morning’s anesthesia. The pizza probably didn't help either. Spent most of Tuesday asleep.
Wednesday, 1/21: Blood test and CT scan in Los Angeles in preparation for commencement of chemotherapy.
Thursday, 1/22
2:00 PM – 2:30 PM: Pre-chemo infusion of steroids (to control inflammation) and anti-nausea medication.
2:30 PM: First course of Trabectedin begins. The porta-cath delivers the chemo directly to my heart, which means that the every drop of the poison rains down upon the cardiac tumor. Take that, you mo-fo.
Here’s a photo of the complete rig: bag of sea squirt syrup, infusion pump with drip line connected via the porta-cath. The equipment is placed in a little bag with a shoulder strap and is my constant companion for the next 24 hours. Have poison, will travel!
Friday, 1/23
2:30 PM: First course of chemo is completed. Next course in 21 days.
I’m a little tired today and experiencing low-level nausea, but so far so good. Cecily and I are also researching backup treatment options (such as hyperthermia treatment) in the event the gorillas do not shrink the tumors. At this point we play the waiting game for about six weeks, perform a follow-up CT scan, and then assess matters. And the battle rages on, and on, and on . . .
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