Really Right

This week started out where the last ended and much on the same downward trajectory. Even though chemotherapy is over, we spent several hours at the infusion center on Sunday trying to get hydration and potassium into my wife. After about 3 bags of potassium solution and some saline, we headed for home; however, we did schedule a return trip the next day for more hydration. While this sounded like a good plan, Monday found a way to go off the rails.

My wife started hydration at 8 AM at the infusion center. While there, she also had a blood draw for lab work. Then shortly after 10 AM hydration was stopped, and she got her usual radiation treatment. Having completed her business at the hospital, my wife got in her car to head home only to get a call from her oncologist instructing her to check herself into the emergency room and get her potassium levels up.

At the ER, they did another blood draw for lab work. Her potassium level was in the basement. They hooked her up to an EKG machine and started pumping more potassium into her. The doctor also decided to add magnesium to the mix as well. After many hours they did another blood sample for lab work. Finally, my wife was .01 below the normal band for potassium. The doctor made her promise to fill a prescription for a potassium supplement at a local 24-hour pharmacy and take it immediately and then sent her home. She got home sometime after 7 PM. After a few minutes to refresh, we jumped into the car and set off to get the prescription filled.

The potassium supplement “tastes like the strongest orange whiskey that you can imagine. It is very salty and burns all the way down.” My wife vomited this stuff up several times over the course of the week.

Nevertheless, the remainder of the week was better for my wife. She had another IV bag of fluid on Tuesday and was feeling even better on Wednesday. She was able to eat mashed potatoes and ice cream in addition to “smoothies”. Her favorite treat this week was a concoction of ice cream and lemonade from Chick-fil-A. On Wednesday, she even broke out the Cricut Maker to craft t-shirts for the radiation crew since the next day was her last radiology treatment. This week, the radiological oncologist warned her that the full effects of the radiation treatment will not be felt for another two weeks. My wife has to take several medicines to ease the pain enough so that she can swallow anything. It hurts from the throat to her stomach and without the medicine, eating and drinking would be almost impossible.

My wife has been in good spirits this week and tried to eat several new things; however, it was not unusual for her to be unable to keep them down. The sores in her mouth have gone away.

Saturday, we had a family gathering at the house to belatedly celebrate her birthday. It was a fun time, and she did very well. For much of the gathering, it was hard to tell that she was even ill.

While this week started badly, it finished in a happy Norman Rockwell sort of way. Sunday (tomorrow) is the next blood draw and I expect that it will show improvement in her lab results.

This week started out with a bizarre but happy twist to my wife’s chemotherapy regiment. On Monday, she met with the Oncologist who informed my wife that she’s done with chemo. Our understanding of what was going to happen was upended by this announcement. So, no more pumps or all-day trips to the Infusion Center each week.

We were left wondering why? If you recall, the chemotherapy was supposed to be done concurrently with the radiation treatment. My guess is that the new chemo drug was so strong that users need to take a break before having another round of treatment. Since the next round of treatment would be after the radiation, there is no need for more.

Meanwhile, my wife is having much difficulty keeping anything down, even water. She is miserable much of the time. As a result of her treatment, she has developed sores in her mouth and pain in swallowing. As expected, her esophagus also hurts because of radiation and acid reflux. Coughing fits were common during this week. Several nausea medications were given to her along with mouth rinses and other concoctions. While not having infusion this week, my wife did go to the infusion center on Friday to get some saline because she thought she might be dehydrated.

A few times during the week, she was able to eat scrambled eggs—many of which were from the local Costco. Specifically, she likes Three Bridges Egg Bites which come in Eggs Whites with Bell Peppers and Scrambled Eggs with Cheese and Uncured Bacon. Of the two, the egg whites were her preference as the bacon bits in the other “were like little pebbles as they were going down.” By Saturday morning she was able to eat two pancakes for breakfast and about 1 ½ more for lunch. This is the most solid food she has had in about eight days.

Without a doubt, this has been the toughest week thus far. My wife even had me drive her to radiotherapy one day due to dizziness. I expect next week to be better because she only has four radiation treatments left. Then the long and probably quiet pause before we start gearing-up for surgery. The only new appointment is one with an allergist to document the reaction to whatever was in the IV bags that affected her.

Lastly, the wife is still in great spirits and clinging to the belief that she can return to the classroom in February and complete the school year. However, …

A few hours ago, I was in the midst of explaining to my son what the treatment path was for his mom once the radiotherapy is completed, when she walked into the room. When I mentioned that if the tests prior to surgery showed that the cancer has spread that there would be no surgery then she got very angry and said, “That’s not going to happen.” If nothing else, it showed us that she is not willing to opening discuss the seriousness of her cancer. Flowers and unicorns are all she wants in her world right now. In addition, saying “No” to her about making long term financial obligations has also become a thorny topic but one beyond the scope of the current post.

Week three of chemotherapy was the most difficult yet. My son and I spent the week with colds while trying to care for our cancer patient. We did the home Covid test twice and it was negative—not that we could have done much about it anyway. Junior got to return to school about the time I started suffering from the cold symptoms.

Monday saw us do a two-hour procedure to install a port into my wife’s chest. The entire thing is under her skin and seems to take a path from its endpoint to somewhere near her heart. It is painful and uncomfortable. There is much bruising from this being done to her. Less that 24 hours after installing it, it was being used at the infusion center.

The infusion day was the longest yet. My wife had yet another allergic reaction to a whole different family of drugs. As it turns out, my wife is allergic to a secondary chemical used to keep the medicine suspended in the IV bag. I have heard it also referred to as a preservative. Anyway, this stuff is also a major component of the Covid 19 vaccines. Thus, my wife is medically excused by the CDC from getting the Covid jab.

As an aside, if my wife did get the Covid shot and died—which we now know would happen, the CDC would not classify her death as related to the vaccine because any death within two weeks of getting the shot doesn’t count under their methodology. So next time they claim to be “following the science” you can know yet another reason it’s a lie from the swamp.

Anyway, the infusion time was about 8 to 8 ½ hours for the first chemo drug. We also came home with a portable pump in a fanny pack. My wife is expected to pump this stuff 2.5 ml per hour for 96 hours. The pump uses those rectangular 9-volt batteries; one at a time. We learned this because they sent us home with two spares. We are currently on the second spare, and I had to dig up one of my own in garage just in case it quits at 1 AM like it did last night. Saturday night at 5 PM we can get the pump, hose, and needle assemble removed until the next infusion day. I can’t imagine having the same needle sticking in your chest for over four days while getting dressed and undressed, taking a shower, eating, sleeping, etc.

Meanwhile the radiation is affecting her ability to eat and drink. Even liquids are painful to swallow. The radiological oncologist says that this is expected and said it might get easier in another week. We will see.

Between the chemotherapy and radiation, this week has been the most difficult. My wife even had to ask for help to get to her radiology appointment yesterday. Today was better and she went on her own. Nausea and occasional vomiting and the medication to prevent them have been a big part of this week. Two more weeks to go until this phase of treatment is done.

Chemotherapy week two has been an epic failure. (Is it just me, or do you think of Aaron Park whenever someone uses that term?) Anyway, after five and a half hours at the hospital’s Infusion Center, session two was cancelled by the doctor. Again, my wife had an allergic reaction to the chemo drug even though they gave her three different drugs to prevent any reaction prior to beginning the introduction of the main drug. She was given no more than a fourth of the solution. We were sent home with orders that the doctor would be contacting us the next day.

Some here at the blog wonder if my wife’s reaction is related to the fact that she is a Trump loving Republican that is being given a known poison called “tax all” via an IV. Clearly many Democrats in California are addicted to this stuff. As you might expect, “tax all” was the easy path. One that has now been denied to us as we learned from the doctor the following day.

In reality, my wife ended up speaking with the doctor twice the following day. It looks like the new treatment will be Cisplatin and 5-fluorouracil (5-FU).

If I have this right, Cisplatin will be given weekly at the Infusion Clinic and the fluorouracil will be administered at home over a series of days via a pump connected to a port. Yep, we get to do self-administered chemotherapy for the next three weeks. What could possibly go wrong?

This treatment requires that my wife has a “port” installed.

Your healthcare provider’s decision to recommend a port may depend on several things. Some chemotherapy medications can only be given through a port because they are too caustic to be delivered into a peripheral vein.

Beyond that, using a port is often easier than inserting an IV each time if you will be having several infusions of chemotherapy.

Chemotherapy Ports Benefits and Risks

The port may be placed on your upper chest or occasionally your upper arm. It is then attached to a catheter tube that is threaded into one of the large veins near your neck, such as the subclavian vein or jugular vein, and ends near the top of your heart.

Oh, while all this is happening, the radiation therapy continues, and its effects are starting to manifest.

Lastly, Really Right junior has come home from school with a runny nose, sore throat, and cough. As a precaution, we told him to start the over-the-counter Covid symptom reduction stuff that we bought at the local pharmacy. We bought the stuff just in case something like this happened.

Week three is coming fast and looks to be a bumpy ride.

This week marked the beginning of chemotherapy and radiation treatments for my wife. She still maintains that her treatment will result in being cured and that come sometime in February, she will be able to resume her life.

Let me break this down in a little more detail.

First, chemotherapy is being used because leeches are like so Middle Ages. Chemotherapy is the purposeful injection of poison into your body that works much like the theory of the game “chicken”. You hope the “bad” cells are killed before the “good” ones. Depending on the dosage and frequency of treatment this may or may not work. However, it turns out, your body and immune system take a beating. Oh, to get your body to tolerate the chemo drugs, they give you other stuff before and after.

Radiation is more of the same. It is trying to concentrate a lethal dose of this unseen killer at a particular point or points in the body. As mentioned in a previous installment, the radiated tissue must be removed in a window five to ten weeks after “treatment” ends. Also, they forget to remind you that all the tissue which the radiation passes thru to get to the cancer takes a beating as well. The military would call this collateral damage but guys in white lab coats call it medicine.

Oh, my wife’s new basis for claiming that she will be cured is that the doctor filled out her initial disability application and said that the soonest that she could return to work would be February 2022. In her mind this means that she will be cured by February. Is this an example of childlike faith or utter delusion? I think the latter. In my opinion, my wife’s optimism is that of a five-year-old aspiring to be the next Disney Princess. This may be cute when looking at five-year-old children but in adults its disturbing.

As to the actual treatment. We were at the hospital for just over seven hours for the first round of chemo instead of the expected two and a half to three hours. My wife had a reaction to the drug, and it took much longer than advertised. After a few hours at home, she had a horrible headache and was not allowed to take any medication for the pain. (The following day she was told Tylenol would be ok to take.) In addition, while she has no fever, it looks like she spent 14 hours in the sun yesterday as her skin is a very bright shade of red; especially her face.

Two days later, my wife is lethargic and had some nausea. There is a prescription for that if she remembers to take it. She also spent a few hours in bed but was unable to nap so she opted to read a book.

The treatment train has left the station. I plan to post another update in about a week as we travel thru this journey.