Well, Mom made it through another week - this one was just radiation. JUST radiation... boy, how quickly we get used to things.
I think this week might have been a little harder for Mom... she didn't have the drugs that they used to fight the chemotherapy side effects. These drugs gave her energy, and increased her appetite. So, she's been sleeping more and eating less. Not great, but in no way bad news.
She met with her radiation oncologist on Thursday. He told her, "You're going to be okay. I would not put you through this otherwise". Mom was so excited! We're choosing this to mean that she will be cured, or at least put into such deep remission that we don't see that ugly cancer for many years.
I wanted to mention a bit more about the Vancouver Island Lodge. Mom shares a room there with a lady fighting cancer, and everyone there has a similar story. It gives Mom a lot of comfort and optimism to be there. There are volunteers everywhere who will do just about anything for you. They pick Mom up in Campbell River at 7:00am Monday morning, and drop her off late Friday afternoon, they shuttle her back and forth between the Lodge and the Cancer Centre as many times as she needs to go. And they're volunteering!
The Lodge's cafeteria is open 24 hours. She can go in any time and get a sandwich (they're all portioned in halves, so no one feels pressured to eat more than they can, or to feel wasteful), a drink or some fruit (Mom was REALLY into the banana bread pudding when I was there). They serve 3 hot meals everyday, where it feels like a social event.
It has felt really strange this week not being with Mom. You put so much of yourself into researching, and being there, and then you're not. So, I catch myself noting the time when I know Mom will be having her snack, or when the volunteer van is picking her up, and thinking about her. Which is what we're all doing here on this blog, whether I'm writing, or you're reading. We're all thinking about her, and wishing her well. Who knew you really could send love over the internet?
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
In Fern's Own Words
Hi, thought I might try to think of something for the blog. But what?
The most scarey part is over. I know I still may get sick from the chemo and tired from both chemo and radiation but at least I know what they are going to do to me. Not knowing is far worse than knowing.
Having Donna with me through the first cycle has been a Godsend. Just to have some one to hold onto. She has been a big support for both of us. I will miss having her with me this coming week but she will be back for the next round of chemo.
All the e/mails and comments on the blog are also great support and it's wonderful to know that people care. Many thanks for the prayers and comments. Thank you to all for the wonderful support. I may notbe cured by this but I know they will shrink it enough that I will be ableto be around for another ten or twelve years.
The most scarey part is over. I know I still may get sick from the chemo and tired from both chemo and radiation but at least I know what they are going to do to me. Not knowing is far worse than knowing.
Having Donna with me through the first cycle has been a Godsend. Just to have some one to hold onto. She has been a big support for both of us. I will miss having her with me this coming week but she will be back for the next round of chemo.
All the e/mails and comments on the blog are also great support and it's wonderful to know that people care. Many thanks for the prayers and comments. Thank you to all for the wonderful support. I may notbe cured by this but I know they will shrink it enough that I will be ableto be around for another ten or twelve years.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
The First Week of Treatment
First of all, the Vancouver Island Lodge is a godsend! Mom is loving the social element. Everyone there knows exactly what she's going through, and almost everyone is there to fight it. She's getting far more moral support than I can give her. And it shows.
Mom is eating better than I've seen in a long time. For example, lunch yesterday included tomato soup, ham & cheese quiche, stir-fried zucchini & mushrooms, a glass of milk and banana bread pudding for dessert. And she ate it all!
We started with radiation therapy. The waiting room is right outside the treatment rooms. Mom is directed to a change room where she exchanges her sweater for a hospital gown. She then comes and sits in the waiting room until she's called. Into the treatment room she goes, where she's layed down on her back with her arms above her head. "Now, don't move!"
I sit in the waiting room and watch as the lights above the door come on. Solid green as they are getting her into position, then flashing green means everything is ready, then a solid red as the radiation is administered. In Mom's case, the red light comes on for 20 seconds, 3 times; one for each angle that the oncologist has mapped out. The whole thing only takes about 15 minutes, then she gets changed, and we head downstairs for chemotherapy.
Now, this is the scary part! We've all heard about how horrible chemotherapy is - blistered feet, mouth sores, intense nausea, endless vomiting, hair loss... the list goes on and on. So, with sweaty palms (or is this a side effect too?) we go to check in. We're led to a vinyl recliner (one of 12). Mom gets comfy, with her arm on a pillow. The nurse puts a heating pad on her arm.
For the first treatment, Mom has to bring the prescribed anti-nauseants with her. She takes 2 little star-shaped pills and an oblong one. These are supposed to help her tummy. An IV is started in her left wrist, with a saline drip. Once they start the actual drugs (2 different kinds, one after the other), there are lots of questions to make sure she doesn't have an allergice reaction - dizzy? any funny feeling? And to make sure the IV isn't leaking - does it burn? (um, what?! oh yeah, it'll burn your skin like acid! oh well, good thing it's just going into my blood then...)
Mom's particular chemotherapy is supposed to take about 1 1/2 hours, but in our vast experience (2 visits), it always take another hour. Not that anyone is dawdling, it's just a very complicated process that nobody wants to rush through.
Once we're all done treatments for the day, it was almost anticlimactic... Mom didn't get sick, she didn't get sore mouth, so now what do we do? We were so prepared for the hard part, it's like maybe it didn't work...
We were in Mom's room (she is sharing with a lady getting treatment for breast cancer). Mom comes out of the bathroom, "Donna! Look at my mouth! It looks like I'm wearing lipstick!" I agreed, she had bright red lips, "We can check with the nurse when we go downstairs, maybe that's how the mouth sores start..." Orrrr... maybe it's the red lip balm Rhonda gave you...!
So, we're heading into the last treatments this week, Mom is more optimistic than you can imagine, everything is flowing along smoothly... we'll keep our fingers crossed for the next 11 weeks.
Mom is eating better than I've seen in a long time. For example, lunch yesterday included tomato soup, ham & cheese quiche, stir-fried zucchini & mushrooms, a glass of milk and banana bread pudding for dessert. And she ate it all!
We started with radiation therapy. The waiting room is right outside the treatment rooms. Mom is directed to a change room where she exchanges her sweater for a hospital gown. She then comes and sits in the waiting room until she's called. Into the treatment room she goes, where she's layed down on her back with her arms above her head. "Now, don't move!"
I sit in the waiting room and watch as the lights above the door come on. Solid green as they are getting her into position, then flashing green means everything is ready, then a solid red as the radiation is administered. In Mom's case, the red light comes on for 20 seconds, 3 times; one for each angle that the oncologist has mapped out. The whole thing only takes about 15 minutes, then she gets changed, and we head downstairs for chemotherapy.
Now, this is the scary part! We've all heard about how horrible chemotherapy is - blistered feet, mouth sores, intense nausea, endless vomiting, hair loss... the list goes on and on. So, with sweaty palms (or is this a side effect too?) we go to check in. We're led to a vinyl recliner (one of 12). Mom gets comfy, with her arm on a pillow. The nurse puts a heating pad on her arm.
For the first treatment, Mom has to bring the prescribed anti-nauseants with her. She takes 2 little star-shaped pills and an oblong one. These are supposed to help her tummy. An IV is started in her left wrist, with a saline drip. Once they start the actual drugs (2 different kinds, one after the other), there are lots of questions to make sure she doesn't have an allergice reaction - dizzy? any funny feeling? And to make sure the IV isn't leaking - does it burn? (um, what?! oh yeah, it'll burn your skin like acid! oh well, good thing it's just going into my blood then...)
Mom's particular chemotherapy is supposed to take about 1 1/2 hours, but in our vast experience (2 visits), it always take another hour. Not that anyone is dawdling, it's just a very complicated process that nobody wants to rush through.
Once we're all done treatments for the day, it was almost anticlimactic... Mom didn't get sick, she didn't get sore mouth, so now what do we do? We were so prepared for the hard part, it's like maybe it didn't work...
We were in Mom's room (she is sharing with a lady getting treatment for breast cancer). Mom comes out of the bathroom, "Donna! Look at my mouth! It looks like I'm wearing lipstick!" I agreed, she had bright red lips, "We can check with the nurse when we go downstairs, maybe that's how the mouth sores start..." Orrrr... maybe it's the red lip balm Rhonda gave you...!
So, we're heading into the last treatments this week, Mom is more optimistic than you can imagine, everything is flowing along smoothly... we'll keep our fingers crossed for the next 11 weeks.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
The Consultation with the Cancer Clinic
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Vancouver Island Cancer Agency
Mom and I went for her first consultation at the Cancer Clinic.
Before we went upstairs, we stopped in quickly to look at wigs (Mom is secretly hoping that her hair DOES fall out – it’s supposed to come in curly!). What we saw was encouraging, but who knew that Mom’s head is an “Ultra-Petite”?!
We were ushered into an examining room, where a Care Aide came to take Mom’s blood pressure (a little high 114/80), and her weight (up 5 to 119 lbs – a net loss of about 15 lbs). When Mom proudly mentions that she hasn’t had a cigarette in two weeks, Ms. Care Aide delivers a fiery speech on how smoking isn’t the only thing that causes Cancer, and how she’s seen a lot of other things do worse! After she leaves, Mom leans over and whispers, giggling, “She’s a smoker!” Gee, Mom, you think? Too funny!
We first met with the Medical Oncologist who would be administering the chemotherapy. She explained:
There will be Radical (high dose) Radiation. Monday to Friday for 6 weeks. Only done in Victoria.
There will be 4 sessions (2 – 3 hours) of Chemotherapy every 3 weeks.
The first 2 sessions of Chemotherapy will be done in Victoria while she’s receiving the Radiation, then the last 2 sessions can be done in Campbell River.
Mom will be given two Chemotherapy drugs: Cisplatin and Etoposide Injection.
Mom was prescribed two very strong anti-nauseant drugs, and one milder one.
Chemotherapy has plenty of side effects, just Google the drug names.
Then we met with the Radiation Oncologist who would be shooting radiation right through that nasty Cancer. He explained:
Mom would have to come to Victoria for a CT Planning Session. This is where they carefully plot out the best angles to apply the radiation beams (is that what they’re called?).
She will be lying on her back with her arms up to give them maximum exposure to the damaged lung.
They will place 3 tiny tattoos on her to mark the spots.
Each session will last about 30 minutes, although the actual radiation is only 2 – 3 minutes.
Side effects:
Very tired
Cough (a little bit ironic, don’t you think?)
Esophagus might get a little bit of radiation, so swallowing might be hard
Red/sore skin
He stressed that all of these side effects are very temporary!
The Radiation Therapy is the ‘big gun’ in this battle. The hope is that it will kill the cancer in the lungs, and the Chemotherapy ‘has its back’. It will kill any cancer cells that are in her body.
Chance of cure is 20%... one in five…not the most glowing forecast…
But, I’ll tell you this. Mom wholly intends to be that one! I am constantly amazed and gratified at how strongly she is facing this new enemy. And we’re all right beside her.
The story thus far...
Mom started smoking 55 years ago. In January, she was diagnosed with Stage 3A Adenocarcinoma of the lung. Coincidence? Doesn’t really matter at this point, does it? No time for judgments or self-recriminations; we are all faced with the biggest fight of Mom’s life, and the biggest fight of her seven kids’. We’re all in this together.
This latest story started Thanksgiving weekend of 2007. Mom had been feeling very cold all weekend. Early Sunday morning, she had a terrifying fainting spell that sent Andy flying up the stairs as though he had wings (boy, that guy can move when he’s scared!). Emergency room doctor sent her home with “That blood you’re coughing up – just the dry air!” We all wanted to believe it, but didn’t. Made her promise to see her own family doctor when she got home. She did – pneumonia. But, the good doctor is thinking, “Hmmm, long time smoker presents with pneumonia… let’s just run a few tests”. Thank you, Doctor!
In November, an X-ray of the right lung shows a funny spot – a mass. A mass… what does that even mean?!
CT Scan shows a collapsed upper lobe, and some little spots in the lymph nodes. Things aren’t looking so good. The needle biopsy comes back negative, so why is everyone still looking so serious?
Because, in our heart of hearts we knew it was that darned C word! Mom met with the Thoracic Surgeon to discuss the next step, a bronchial biopsy. He looked her in the eye, What do you think, Mrs. Peterson?” She looked right back at him, “I think I have Cancer”.
This is confirmed with the biopsy in January, 2008. Mom was given general anaesthetic, and a small cut was made at the base of her throat. This gave the surgeon access to the ‘mass’, and other trouble spots. Mom came out of the hospital hungry! Very quick recovery and very good spirits. It was the sitting and waiting that was the hardest. Every step taken felt like progress.
Diagnoses of the biopsies – 3 biopsies, 3 positive for Cancer. Adenocarcinoma, which is a non-small cell lung cancer (NSCLC). She’s probably had it for 12-18 months, relatively slow growing. It’s inoperable, because it’s in her lymph nodes, her subcarinal node between the lungs, and she has a history of health problems (she has a perfectly logical reason for each of her heart attacks). The surgeon recommends radiation and chemotherapy, and will refer her to the Victoria Cancer agency
And, so it begins. The word with the capital C is no longer forbidden. Our foe now has a name. Now we can begin to fight! Well, we can as soon as we can get an appointment…
This latest story started Thanksgiving weekend of 2007. Mom had been feeling very cold all weekend. Early Sunday morning, she had a terrifying fainting spell that sent Andy flying up the stairs as though he had wings (boy, that guy can move when he’s scared!). Emergency room doctor sent her home with “That blood you’re coughing up – just the dry air!” We all wanted to believe it, but didn’t. Made her promise to see her own family doctor when she got home. She did – pneumonia. But, the good doctor is thinking, “Hmmm, long time smoker presents with pneumonia… let’s just run a few tests”. Thank you, Doctor!
In November, an X-ray of the right lung shows a funny spot – a mass. A mass… what does that even mean?!
CT Scan shows a collapsed upper lobe, and some little spots in the lymph nodes. Things aren’t looking so good. The needle biopsy comes back negative, so why is everyone still looking so serious?
Because, in our heart of hearts we knew it was that darned C word! Mom met with the Thoracic Surgeon to discuss the next step, a bronchial biopsy. He looked her in the eye, What do you think, Mrs. Peterson?” She looked right back at him, “I think I have Cancer”.
This is confirmed with the biopsy in January, 2008. Mom was given general anaesthetic, and a small cut was made at the base of her throat. This gave the surgeon access to the ‘mass’, and other trouble spots. Mom came out of the hospital hungry! Very quick recovery and very good spirits. It was the sitting and waiting that was the hardest. Every step taken felt like progress.
Diagnoses of the biopsies – 3 biopsies, 3 positive for Cancer. Adenocarcinoma, which is a non-small cell lung cancer (NSCLC). She’s probably had it for 12-18 months, relatively slow growing. It’s inoperable, because it’s in her lymph nodes, her subcarinal node between the lungs, and she has a history of health problems (she has a perfectly logical reason for each of her heart attacks). The surgeon recommends radiation and chemotherapy, and will refer her to the Victoria Cancer agency
And, so it begins. The word with the capital C is no longer forbidden. Our foe now has a name. Now we can begin to fight! Well, we can as soon as we can get an appointment…
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