Done, Baby, Done!

No more zap beam! No more mask! No more daily trips to and from this awful task!

Mom and Dad drove me down to my final radiation appointment this morning. Other than a 10-minute delay to change a light bulb in the machine (or so they claim; I suspect the technicians couldn't bear to see me leave), the session went smoothly. Before I left, the technicians reminded me that the side effects of radiation may continue to worsen for up to two weeks after treatment ends. Well, I'd hate not to have something else to look forward to.

Anyway, I'm feeling weak and nauseous enough today without contemplating feeling worse over the next fortnight. All the more reason to be thankful that I'm not hooked up to a bag of chemo and sitting in a hospital bed right now. Instead, I'm celebrating with a series of naps on the couch at home. In fact, I'd better get back to it... after a shot of liquid codeine, of course. Time to get this party started.

Two More Days, No More Chemo!

Jeanette and I spent a long morning at the hospital yesterday. A big chunk of that time was spent waiting to have blood taken. Of course the computers went down, resulting in a room full of cranky patients staring at the unmoving take-a-number board for an hour. I could barely hold my head up and was sorely tempted to give up and come home. I'm glad I didn't.

Today we met with Dr. Chen, who announced that my blood work showed lightly low blood counts, and therefore I will NOT be undergoing the third dose of chemotherapy, which would have kept me in the hospital at least until Friday. This means my treatment will conclude after my last radiation therapy session this Thursday morning.

And it won't be a minute too soon. Today on the treatment table was the first time in 31 sessions that I had to ask them remove the mask soon after they strapped me in. The pressure from the mask exacerbated the goop in my throat and I started gagging. Not an activity I'd recommend when you're locked into an immobilization mask. Hopefully I'll fare better tomorrow and Thursday.

Meanwhile, the tongue pain has returned with a vengeance and brought with it a friend: an intensely sore throat. I'm all the happier to skip chemo because a raw throat is not a comfortable conduit for surging stomach acids. Heck, it hurts to even try swallowing water. I'm now on liquid codeine and 100% dependent on the tube for all my food and water intake.

Enough, I say. Let's get to the healing, dammit!

Greetings from the Well

I feel like I'm trapped at the bottom of a well these days. The chemo has resulted in slight (and hopefully temporary) hearing loss -- a ringing in my ears that occasionally muffles the sounds around me. There is thick goop in my mouth that tastes awful. And most days all I can do is lie on my back and stare upward. Fortunately, I can relish the media brouhaha and movie-of-the-week deals when I'm eventually rescued. Eat your heart out, Baby Jessica.

Okay, I'm being a little melodramatic. There is no Food Network to watch at the bottom of a well, after all. And I did manage two walks in Mount Pleasant Cemetery this weekend, one with my Aunt Linda and one on my own, which is more activity than I'd managed the two previous weeks. I'm also down to only eight more radiation sessions.

Other good news: at today's weigh-in, I'd only lost one pound since last week. Hopefully that means I've bottomed out on the weight loss... and the hair loss. The hair at the back of my neck has thinned to nothing and I had to shave what was left of my goatee. Jeez, if my voice got higher and I started shrinking this would be just like puberty but in reverse.

My continued gratitude to everyone for the calls, cards, and gifts of support. I promise more individual and substantial thank-yous when I can manage them. For now, extra special thanks to Uncle Steve and Aunt Linda for drives to the hospital and emergency liquid-food pickups, to Kim for her chauffeur services and for recording season 2 episodes of Dexter, to Jeanette for constant emotional and logistical support, and to my parents who arrive in town today for two weeks of David-driving duty. Thank you all for helping to keep me from wallowing in the well.

Sick and Tired and Longing for the Swiss

Welcome to the doldrums, people.

I've entered a period of constant exhaustion and free-floating nausea. My thickened saliva has taken to gathering at the back of my throat like a schoolyard gang of bullies barring anyone from entering the lunch room. The result is a hair-trigger gag reflex that even liquids risk setting off. Despite how exponentially disgusting this condition sounds, I am hungry.

Although the tube is working well enough (I've still managed a maximum of 5 cans of liquid nutrients so far) and my taste buds are long gone, my stomach is not ready to relinquish the memory of solid food. I feel like my body is screaming for food, especially meat. I'm constantly fantasizing about meals that I'm months away from tasting.

Topping my wish list is a Swiss Chalet quarter chicken dinner with fries and an extra dipping sauce (I am my mother's son). A close second is a barbecued smoked cheddar sausage in a toasted, seasoned bun trimmed with ketchup, mustard, zucchini relish, sliced olives, and sun-dried tomatoes. The Food Network is now my pornography.

After confessing these longings to dentist Dr. Lee at Princess Margaret Hospital today, she discouragingly reminded me that my taste buds may not return to full force until 6 to 9 months after treatment ends. Anyone free for lunch at Swiss Chalet in August 2008?

Honk If You've Had Chemo

Apologies for the delay in an update this week, folks. I did indeed enter the hospital on Tuesday fro the second of my three chemotherapy treatments. Although the dose was slightly less than last time and they discharged me on Wednesday, I've nevertheless been laid up by constant nausea.

My hair-trigger gag reflex is exacerbated by my thickened saliva and my olfactory senses which seem to be working overtime in the absence of my taste buds -- every smell, no matter how subtle, sets the ol' stomach a-churnin'. All in all, it's not the good times that have been flowing these past few days.

Full calm has yet to return to my stomach, but I am feeling slightly better today. My focus now needs to be on nutrition. I am supposed to be taking in six cans of nutrients via my feeding tube daily, but so far I haven't managed more than four cans.

On a more positive note, the pain in my mouth has mercifully lessened since leaving the hospital; in fact, I haven't taken a painkiller since yesterday. I'm not sure the reason for this happy hiatus, but I'm not going to look a stiffed sore in the mouth.

Speak No Evil... Or Anything Else

Speaking has officially become too painful. For me to do, that is; some would argue that hearing me speak has always been too painful. But if you think I mangled the English language before...

Jeanette and I visited with Dr. O'Sullivan today who took a peek in my mouth and confirmed that it should hurt. He prescribed some Xylocaine, the key anesthetic ingredient in that magic mouthwash, that I can apply directly to my mouth sores as needed. Otherwise, I'm to stick with my Tylenol 3s until they no longer do the job. After that, I'll board the Percocet express and ride it until I reach morphine town.

Tomorrow I check back into Princess Margaret Hospital for round two of chemo. I should be home again by Thursday.

Third Week Ends, First Weak Begins

Hooray! Today marks the end of my third week of treatment. Almost halfway there.

To mark this occasion, the side effects of the radiation have taken things up a notch. Real fatigue hit me for the first time yesterday -- it was all I could do to keep my head upright. Today, my tongue has developed a nasty sore that's making speech and eating difficult. Fortunately, I now have a anesthetic mouthwash that numbs the pain. No, that's not a euphemism for alcohol.

Yesterday I used the ol' feeding tube for the first time at home without problems. Taking in food in this way will become more and more important the sorer my mouth becomes. Today's weigh-in at the hospital revealed that I've lost three pounds since last week. Only in the topsy-turvy world of health care is such a revelation not accompanied by cheers and a commemorative plaque.