May 31, 2013
The day started typically, nothing to make me think this would be anything other than a shortened version of Taxol and the regular infusion of Carboplatin. All was good. Pre meds all good. Those would be anti nausea (two different kinds for me), Benadryl and steroids (to help prevent an allergic reaction), and Pepsid to coat the stomach. This takes about an hour. Next the Taxol, apparently this is the protocol, as doing the carbo before the taxol makes it harder for your blood counts to rally, who knew? They started the carbo about 12:30.
I began feeling bad, walked to the restroom and realized in addition to feeling bad, the palms of my hands were red and itchy, then the back of my throat began to itch. I stood up and was light headed. The nurses station is right next to the rest rooms...great design! I walked out, saw my nurse (great male nurse named Spencer) and said, "Spencer, I'm really feeling badly." He jumped up, grabbed me and had me sit down. From this point on my account is pretty hazy. Suffice it to say they got me back to my little room and began working on me. By this time I'm hot, sweating, and feel like I'm having a very bad case of heart burn. They called the CERT which I think stands for the cardiac emergency response team. At one point there were about 10 folks working on me, several doctors, lots of nurses. They've paged my dr. My blood pressure is being taken close to every minute and bottoms out at 68 over 35. The great news is at this point, I began coming out of the reaction.
Once I started feeling better I told Spencer, "well I guess I let you all have a real life experience for what you train for!" The good news is, my heart is fine and I'm feeling back to normal. The not so good news is I only got 10 minutes of what should have been an hour drip of the carbo. Dr Tung and I will discuss what happens next and what are the alternatives
Several God moments occurred. Nurse Spencer shared with me before we started what the symptoms were when you have a reaction to the chemo. I was in the out patient hospital and not a doctors office when the reaction occurred, and because of very dedicated drs and nurses who responded quickly I am home and feeling fine.
The journey continues...
Showing posts with label ovarian cancer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ovarian cancer. Show all posts
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Friday, May 24, 2013
Some thoughts on hair
Today I am sitting in a chair at the Ricky Knowles Hair and Wellness. My long blond wig sits on the floor is a red and black bag. It was only four months ago that I ceremoniously took it off the desk in my bedroom and placed in box on the top shelf of my closet. “Done,” I thought. This long blond wig would only be used for Halloween. But of course, plans do not always unfold in the way that we think. Scarcely a month after I had deemed myself “safe” from a recurrence; I began to spot. Just a little, not much, “Maybe,” I thought,” it’s just dryness.” It continued and then one day it was more. Anxious, I made an appointment with my doctor.
The recurrence was a mere eleven months after I had joyfully rung the bell, celebrating the end of chemo and the beginning of life in remission. Eleven months was not long enough; but it was what I was given.
So here I am again, recovered from a second successful surgery, one round of chemo down. Again, we are hopeful, again we hope the chemo will knock any remaining remnants of this dreadful disease from my body.
Today my thoughts are more, “here we go again, no more hair.” It’s not fallen out yet…but soon. For those of you who do not know, hair begins to fall out somewhere between 14 and 19 days after the first chemo. I’m at day 14. I still have hair. But, for the last two mornings I have awakened to sore hair. That’s the best way I can describe it. Technically, I think it is my hair follicles that are tender. It’s like when you’ve had your hair pulled back in a pony tail all day and you take it the rubber band out. You’re hair feels sore; this is the same feeling. So I know, my hair is on its way out.
Honestly, I’m sad to lose my hair. It’s the tangible and visible confirmation that the cancer has not left me. I did not win the last battle as I thought I had. But, I’m ready to fight again. I’m ready to win this time, win the war not the battle. This reality is not easy to face, but face it I must.
So, I sit in the chair, sharing my story with Ricky. Asking him to cut this long blond wig in a style that looks more like what I looked like before my life was rocked with a diagnosis of cancer. He’s kind, he listens as he cuts the wig that is now on my head. He asks how I wore my hair, am I a hair tucker; that is do I tuck my hair behind my ears. Since I’ve not had hair long enough to do that in more than a year, I have to think. “Yes,” I say, “I do tuck my hair behind my ears.”
Foreign, that is the word I would use to describe the feeling of a wig on your head. I was never really comfortable with one on. I never tucked the synthetic hair of the wig behind my ears during the last bald period of my life. It did not feel normal. Ricky is cutting the hair so that I can do this. Maybe, just maybe, this time I will feel more like me with this wig on my hair. Today, this is my hope.
The recurrence was a mere eleven months after I had joyfully rung the bell, celebrating the end of chemo and the beginning of life in remission. Eleven months was not long enough; but it was what I was given.
So here I am again, recovered from a second successful surgery, one round of chemo down. Again, we are hopeful, again we hope the chemo will knock any remaining remnants of this dreadful disease from my body.
Today my thoughts are more, “here we go again, no more hair.” It’s not fallen out yet…but soon. For those of you who do not know, hair begins to fall out somewhere between 14 and 19 days after the first chemo. I’m at day 14. I still have hair. But, for the last two mornings I have awakened to sore hair. That’s the best way I can describe it. Technically, I think it is my hair follicles that are tender. It’s like when you’ve had your hair pulled back in a pony tail all day and you take it the rubber band out. You’re hair feels sore; this is the same feeling. So I know, my hair is on its way out.
Honestly, I’m sad to lose my hair. It’s the tangible and visible confirmation that the cancer has not left me. I did not win the last battle as I thought I had. But, I’m ready to fight again. I’m ready to win this time, win the war not the battle. This reality is not easy to face, but face it I must.
So, I sit in the chair, sharing my story with Ricky. Asking him to cut this long blond wig in a style that looks more like what I looked like before my life was rocked with a diagnosis of cancer. He’s kind, he listens as he cuts the wig that is now on my head. He asks how I wore my hair, am I a hair tucker; that is do I tuck my hair behind my ears. Since I’ve not had hair long enough to do that in more than a year, I have to think. “Yes,” I say, “I do tuck my hair behind my ears.”
Foreign, that is the word I would use to describe the feeling of a wig on your head. I was never really comfortable with one on. I never tucked the synthetic hair of the wig behind my ears during the last bald period of my life. It did not feel normal. Ricky is cutting the hair so that I can do this. Maybe, just maybe, this time I will feel more like me with this wig on my hair. Today, this is my hope.
Friday, April 6, 2012
I rang the bell!!!
I rang the bell!!! I stand in a long line of tradition of those who ring bells as an act of celebration, thanksgiving and making a joyful noise to God.The ringing of bells dates back to the time the time before Christ. In ancient China, these were originally used for laborers to play after their work in the fields had ceased. These bells were used as a way to relax and bring joy to the end of a hard day’s work.
In
Biblical times, bells were sown on the bottom of the vestment of Priests. You might recall that the Priest who entered the “holy of holies,” the place where the Ark of the Covenant resided in the temple, wore bells on the bottom of his vestments as a signal to alert those on the outside that the Priest was still alive. If the bells stopped ringing, they could literally pull the priest out by a rope tied around his waist.
The ringing of bells as a sign of celebration has a long history. In the book of Psalms, bells are used as a way to make a joyful noise to the Lord. In about the 5th century bells began to be used to summon monks to worship. This tradition has continued throughout the centuries as we still find bells being rung on Sunday mornings summing God’s people to worship.
During World War I, the bells were silenced for two years and did not ring again until the celebration of the Armistice.
For those of us who go through a series of chemo-therapy, bell ringing takes on a very special form of celebration – a bell is rung signaling a celebration – this series of chemo is over!
The tradition began at MD Anderson and continues in many infusion centers throughout the country and I suspect around the world. The Methodist Hospital Infusion Center carries on this tradition.
On my first day of chemo, just as I was finishing, I heard the sound of a loud, ringing bell and the cheers and applause echoing through the halls. “What is that?” I asked the nurse. Smiling, she told me, “Someone’s just completed their last round of chemo, when that happens we have a celebration and you ring the bell. When you finish, you too will ring the bell.”
Emotions run high when you are going through chemo. Those words spoken by my words brought tears to my eyes. Tears of thanksgiving for the one who had completed the chemo, tears of hope that I too would be able to ring the bell, and tears of acknowledgment of the reality of the journey that was before me.
It has been a journey. There have been ups and downs but through it all I have been surrounded by the love and encouragement of friends and family and many that I do not know that have prayed for me. I’ve met so many who have walked this journey before me who have been my inspiration.
On Thursday, Maundy Thursday, the day that Jesus met with his friends in the Upper Room and shared what we call today the “Last Supper” I finished this round of chemo. Jesus reminded those that surrounding him that while the journey as they knew it was coming to the end, there was “more” ahead. A more that changed the way we look at both life and death. Hope for the present and hope for the future became a reality.
As my wonderful nurse, Beverly, gently and loving pulled the needle out of my arm and wrapped a bandage around my arm she said, “this is it, let’s walk down the hall. It’s your turn to ring the bell, it’s your turn to celebrate and bring hope to others.”
As many of you know, I hate to cry. But, as I rose out of my chair and began the walk down the hall, tears flowed freely and unexpectedly. I was not prepared for the emotions that both filled me and overwhelmed me.
Be
verly was the town crier, as we walked down the hall, she announced, “It’s time for celebration, someone’s finished, we’re ringing the bell. Come and join us.” And as we arrived at the spot where the bell was, I was surrounded by nurses and staff who have been with me on the journey. Loving me and gently taking care of me.
In
Biblical times, bells were sown on the bottom of the vestment of Priests. You might recall that the Priest who entered the “holy of holies,” the place where the Ark of the Covenant resided in the temple, wore bells on the bottom of his vestments as a signal to alert those on the outside that the Priest was still alive. If the bells stopped ringing, they could literally pull the priest out by a rope tied around his waist.The ringing of bells as a sign of celebration has a long history. In the book of Psalms, bells are used as a way to make a joyful noise to the Lord. In about the 5th century bells began to be used to summon monks to worship. This tradition has continued throughout the centuries as we still find bells being rung on Sunday mornings summing God’s people to worship.
During World War I, the bells were silenced for two years and did not ring again until the celebration of the Armistice.
For those of us who go through a series of chemo-therapy, bell ringing takes on a very special form of celebration – a bell is rung signaling a celebration – this series of chemo is over!
The tradition began at MD Anderson and continues in many infusion centers throughout the country and I suspect around the world. The Methodist Hospital Infusion Center carries on this tradition.
On my first day of chemo, just as I was finishing, I heard the sound of a loud, ringing bell and the cheers and applause echoing through the halls. “What is that?” I asked the nurse. Smiling, she told me, “Someone’s just completed their last round of chemo, when that happens we have a celebration and you ring the bell. When you finish, you too will ring the bell.”
Emotions run high when you are going through chemo. Those words spoken by my words brought tears to my eyes. Tears of thanksgiving for the one who had completed the chemo, tears of hope that I too would be able to ring the bell, and tears of acknowledgment of the reality of the journey that was before me.
It has been a journey. There have been ups and downs but through it all I have been surrounded by the love and encouragement of friends and family and many that I do not know that have prayed for me. I’ve met so many who have walked this journey before me who have been my inspiration.
On Thursday, Maundy Thursday, the day that Jesus met with his friends in the Upper Room and shared what we call today the “Last Supper” I finished this round of chemo. Jesus reminded those that surrounding him that while the journey as they knew it was coming to the end, there was “more” ahead. A more that changed the way we look at both life and death. Hope for the present and hope for the future became a reality.
As my wonderful nurse, Beverly, gently and loving pulled the needle out of my arm and wrapped a bandage around my arm she said, “this is it, let’s walk down the hall. It’s your turn to ring the bell, it’s your turn to celebrate and bring hope to others.”
As many of you know, I hate to cry. But, as I rose out of my chair and began the walk down the hall, tears flowed freely and unexpectedly. I was not prepared for the emotions that both filled me and overwhelmed me.
Be
verly was the town crier, as we walked down the hall, she announced, “It’s time for celebration, someone’s finished, we’re ringing the bell. Come and join us.” And as we arrived at the spot where the bell was, I was surrounded by nurses and staff who have been with me on the journey. Loving me and gently taking care of me.
I was surrounded by family as well, my husband, Chuck was at my side and our youngest son, Kirk. But truly I was surrounded by all of my family who have been so supportive since the news arrived that I had ovarian cancer and family, friends, the church…the list goes on and on.I read the words inscribed on a beautiful cross stitched hanging:
Ring this bell
three times well.
It’s toll to clearly say
My treatment’s done,
this course is run,
and I’m on my way.
I rang the bell, loud and clear. Cheers and applause filled the air. My treatment’s done and I’m on my way…new life and resurrection await me.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Round 4 of Chemo - How it went
We're home. All in all it was a good day. Lots of folks at the infusion Center today. They took us to a back section, not normally used for infusion. They let us have a room with a window that had an amazing view. But that room did not have a reclining it had a stretcher instead - which I was not so sure about at first. It turned it was more comfortable than the reclining chair. By the afternoon we were the only ones there so it was very quiet.
We started off a bit rocky, my veins did not want to cooperate. The first one we started with ended up failing and we had to stop the anti nausea drip. Finding a new vein that would work was a bit of an adventure. First they tried a vein in my hand, then went to the other arm and the first vein there did not work. Then the nurse called in another nurse who, thank heavens was successful. I call it rolling veins she said my veins we're "running"... great imagery!!! I thinking my veins are ready for the poking and prodding to stop.
Chuck and I are settled in for the evening. He's cooking and we'll watch Midnight in Paris later. I'll go get that shot for my white blood count at 8am - no sleeping in for me, rats!!
We started off a bit rocky, my veins did not want to cooperate. The first one we started with ended up failing and we had to stop the anti nausea drip. Finding a new vein that would work was a bit of an adventure. First they tried a vein in my hand, then went to the other arm and the first vein there did not work. Then the nurse called in another nurse who, thank heavens was successful. I call it rolling veins she said my veins we're "running"... great imagery!!! I thinking my veins are ready for the poking and prodding to stop.
Chuck and I are settled in for the evening. He's cooking and we'll watch Midnight in Paris later. I'll go get that shot for my white blood count at 8am - no sleeping in for me, rats!!
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