Archive for June, 2006
Thursday, June 29th, 2006
So, after two weeks of worsening times on my little 1.5 mile walk/jog, after two weeks of not being able to finish the distance, of not being able to breathe, of having a few painful coughs from deep in my chest, I did pretty well yesterday.
Nearly 2 miles on an 18 minute pace. Hurt, but I got through it.
WTF?
It is official, I have no idea what chemo is doing to me. Some days it’s terrible, some days not so bad, and some days are almost like regular days. No consistency.
Whatever.
I think I mentioned a while back about giving myself shots exclusively in my stomach. Well, the endless shots and taking a while to heal had left me with a stomach riddled with holes and scabs and everything else.
So I went to the hospital to talk to Tamara about it. She laughed and said, “You know you can give the shots elsewhere.”
Uh…no, hadn’t known that.
Put them in your arm or your butt or your thigh, anywhere you can pinch up some skin.
Great, I thought. And it’s been fabulous. I rotate, right thigh then left thigh then abdomen, then back again. Nothing ever gets too beat up.
But here’s what I realized a few nights ago when I took a shot at the jail: I’ve lost so much weight in my thighs that I didn’t have to lower my trousers. I was able just to pull my pants leg up, damn near to my hip, and do the shot. How freakishly weird is that?
Just another of those bizarre details.
A few days ago, a friend said something about only having six months left of chemo. I got a little cranky.
“Fuck that,” I said. “Five and a half months! Don’t charge me for the extra two weeks.”
At the time, I remember thinking: how so very childish. Like a kid you ask how old he is and he says “Six and a half,” or “Five and three-quarters,” or whatever.
Childish childish childish.
But here I am on June 28 and I keep thinking, “Five weeks and four days!”
Not that I’m counting, of course.
That would be childish.
Posted in The Cancer Chronicles | No Comments »
Saturday, June 24th, 2006
So it’s nothing.
That’s good, right? Blood work came back clear, chest x-ray came back clear, office tests — most of them — were clear. All is good.
Except, it strikes me that it’s not particularly good. For the last few months, I’ve spent quite a bit of time exercising. Three times a week, about an hour per session. I walk/jog a mile and a half, lift a few weights, do a few sit-ups. Mr. Universe it ain’t, but it’s been good for me.
When I started, it took me about four days to walk that mile and a half. Up until last week, my best time was just above 17 minutes. That was good, made me smile. Even in the face of chemo three times a week, I was making progress, getting slowly healthier.
But then about a week ago, my time rose to about 19 minutes. Next time out, I could only manage 1.2 miles and that hurt. Then less than a mile and then a half mile at best. And my times rose, too. From 17 to 19, then to about 20 (a 20 minute pace, I should say, because I wasn’t able to actually go the full 1.5 miles)
But more than that, my chest hurt while I was doing the run. Hurt deep in my chest, not near my heart. Coughing, lots of sweat, shortness of breath. Classic signs of a heart attack I know, but I’ve been there and it didn’t feel the same.
That’s when I realized I wasn’t breathing very well. On top of all the other health problems, I also have a double-deviation in my septum. In fact, that’s what got the cancer watch started. I went to get the nose fixed and the doc said he didn’t want to touch me until we knew exactly what the small lump in my neck was. That was the first sign of the melanoma.
Now he won’t fix my nose until the chemo is done…which I agree with…but which makes me nutty just the same.
Because sometimes I can’t breath very well. For whatever reason, right now I’m in a period where I’m not breathing well so exercising is harder. Maybe it’s summer allergies or the humidity. Who knows?
But the nurse practitioner told me something, too. She reminded me that chemo builds up. Like corrosion on a car battery, I told her. She didn’t care for that analogy but there you go. In other words, five minutes from now, after I take today’s shot, there will be more of it in my system than there is right now. Tuesday, when I get another shot, there’ll be still more. Thursday ditto.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know all this, I’ve been through it before. But for whatever reason, I had thought we were done with that kind of thing. Apparently not.
So this is what makes me believe it isn’t good that all of yesterday’s tests came back clean. If there is no cold or pneumonia or whatever, then this is the new benchmark, the new standard. Chances are good I won’t be able to do much better on my exercise until I’m done with the poison.
That’s kind of depressing. Not hugely depressing, not like having inoperable brain cancer or needing a new heart. But vaguely depressing anyway. I had in mind where I wanted to get on my exercise and this tells me I probably won’t get there until after.
Yeah, that’s fine, just a mild annoyance. Kind of like dropping your ice cream cone against your shirt when you’re a kid. “Well, hell, now I figure out some other way to eat this thing.”
When I mentioned at the top most of the tests came back clear and good? Well, there was one that the medicos weren’t happy about. My blood pressure came back 78 over 53.
Whoa, Nelly. No wonder I don’t feel like doing anything but sleeping.
“You should be comatose,” she said.
“Tee it up, baby,” I said. “I could use with a four or five week coma right now. No responsibilities, no cares, no phone calls, no inmates. Nothing but sleep? Yeah, get to coma-ing.”
Posted in The Cancer Chronicles | 1 Comment »
Friday, June 23rd, 2006
“Trey, what are you eating?” asked Investigator DD. She sat at the second squad room table, watching me intently.
Fork to food to mouth. Fork to food to mouth.
“What are you eating?” she asked again.
I frowned. “What?”
“What. Are. You. Eating.”
“Uh…I don’t know. Some Mexican food thing. Some enchiladas, I think. Chicken enchiladas, Spanish rice. Why?”
“What brand is that?”
I looked at the box. “I don’t know. Lean Ones, maybe?”
“It’s diet food.”
“Oh, okay, I guess it is.”
“Diet food?”
“So what’s the problem?”
“You’ve lost like 50 pounds,” she yelled. “Why are you eating diet food?”
Hmmm, fair point. Maybe Lean Cuisine and the like aren’t the best thing for me to eat. But at least I was eating, right? At least I wasn’t skipping yet another meal.
The weight is still coming off, but seems to be at a slower pace so maybe that’s good. I find myself eating more frequently, just smaller amounts because too much food just makes me sick. It’s working for me right now.
In news of the strange, though, my scary lump from last week is gone. Yeah. Gone as quickly and mysteriously as it had appeared. Damn, my bid for a second penis poofed away, and having it disappear like it was never there freaked me out almost as much as its appearance had.
On the other hand, now I’ve got some kind of chest cold thing filling my lungs with copious amounts of phlegm. Not terrible, just enough to make my chest hurt when I try to exercise and to keep me from sleeping too well. I called my regular doctor, thinking I might get in next week.
They said “Tomorrow.” Then added, don’t screw around here, Trey.
It’s entirely possible, they said, that if I have an infection of some kind, it could truly screw me up because my immune system is dead right now. I don’t think it’s that bad but when your doctor, your nurses, your wife, and your mother tell you to go, you lower your head, say “Yes, ma’am,” and go.
Other than that, everything is trundling along. As usual, I’m tired, I’m cranky, I’m sure as shit tired of doctors, but everything else is as fine as it will be until December 2.
But I’m tired of getting yelled at, too. Actually, I’m tired of getting yelled at by my dear friend Investigator DD. That wasn’t the first time she honked on me about food.
“Eat that,” she said last week.
“But I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t care, eat it anyway.”
“But I’m not — ”
“Eat it, rookie.”
I’m not really a rookie, but after two and a half years at the Sheriff’s Office, I am still last on the senority list.
‘It’ was a Happy Meal from McDonald’s. So I ate it, and played with the tow truck car that came with it.
Ten minutes later, she wanted the car!
“You get the food,I get the car,” she said.
Well, thanks alot. I had thought she was concerned about me and wanted me to fatten up a little. Turns out I was wrong, she just wanted the car!
“Fine, take the damned car.”
“It’s not a car, it’s Tow Mater.”
“Uh…okay, whatever.”
Actually, I can’t bitch too much, she was the first one to take me out for food when I was able to eat again. And not only food, but barbeque.
Okay, maybe I’m not so pissed at her. But she’s gotta quit saying, “Don’t worry, you only have six months left.”
It’s not six months, it’s five and a half.
Posted in The Cancer Chronicles | 5 Comments »
Monday, June 19th, 2006
So, according to my dream last night, Taylor Dayne, the 80’s pop singer, is the reason no one can listen to swamp boogie music (ala Katie Webster and Koko Taylor) anymore. Seems like, too, Roger Whittaker was mixed up in there somewhere.
I have no idea.
Posted in Weird Things | 1 Comment »
Friday, June 9th, 2006
Ahhhh…the news is good.
“So what’s the problem?” the doc asked.
“Well, I’ve got a lump.”
“What do you think it is?”
“Could be cancer.”
He nodded. “Yeah, could be.”
“Could be a hernia, as much as I’ve been exercising.”
“Yeah, could be.”
“Could be a cyst,” I said. “I’ve had them before.”
“Yeah, could be.”
OKay, Doc, I thought, for as much as I’m paying you, I need something more solid than, “Yeah, could be.”
So he copped his regular feel all over my body, and while it’s a little odd having a guy touch me that much, I gotta tell you, he’s got a great touch. Nice and light, deft, vaguely sensuous.
The lump was in my groin — obviously if it could have been a hernia — so he starts pushing and prodding, going back and forth, side to side, deciding what was what, and I kept thinking that if he didn’t stop with that nice touch, we might have a whole other swelling problem to deal with.
But he pronounced me clear and that was all I was looking for. Evidently, Intron can do odd things to the human body. Doc said he had a man who actually grew new lymphnodes! So now I’m waiting for a second mouth or third arm like that kid in China. Maybe another penis….
I can’t begin to tell you how scared I was. Hell, I didn’t tell anyone except Officer Friendly and my wife and she didn’t even know until a few days after I found it. I spent the entire week thinking about shit like living wills and last wills, snapping at people, unable to sleep, unable to focus.
But even though I knew I was stressed, I didn’t realize how wound up I was until he said I was clear. Then I was giddy for damn near a half hour. Everything was funny and everyone was nice and I’d laugh so hard about stupid crap I’d get teary-eyed. Yeah, no emotional high there, huh?
I remember in high school I had a cyst on my wrist. Even as someone who, at that time, was going to become a professional musician, I wasn’t worried about the thing. It didn’t hurt my playing so who gives a rip. Now, twenty years later with $1000 a month of chemo, any little bump or bruise or ache or pain sends me screaming to the doctor’s office. I guess I’ve become one of those hypochondriacs I like to laugh at. On the other hand, wouldn’t I rather get panicked over something that wasn’t a problem, rather than ignore something that might kill me?
Uh…let me think…yes.
Yet I did have one really great moment this week.
I vandalized a local police officer’s house. Hehehehehehe….
For months, I had threatened to replace Ben Atkinson’s American flag with my Texas flag. So Tuesday, I headed over there and was in the middle of hanging up the Texas banner when I hear: “What are you doing?”
Standing on a plastic chair, knife and string in hand, flag draped over my shoulder, I turned to the voice.
His friggin’ wife! What in hell is she doing home? Maybe one chance in a million that anyone is going to be around because they both work and the kids go to daycare, and there she is! Staring at me like I’ve lost my mind!
“What are you doing to my house?”
“Uh…vandalizing it.”
Honestly, she didn’t look particularly surprised.
Then I tried desperately to switch the conversation to something else, anything else. We talked for a while, then she sighed, shook her head, and said, “Go ahead and do your vandalism, I didn’t see anything.”
So I hang up the flag and maybe an hour later, Ben comes banging on my front door. He had the flag semi-wadded up in his hand! A Texas flag! Threw it back at me and while he didn’t laugh much, he also didn’t shoot me so I guess that’s a happy medium.
Then I told him about the lump and his laugh pretty much stopped. Even in every day stuff, even when I’m trying to have some fun, the beast has to roar at me, like it’s worried I’ll forget it’s around.
But I’m trying not to dwell on that today. Today, I’m thinking about the doc’s soft touch, about his pronouncement, and about the fact that I’m more than halfway home.
Holy shit, December 2 can’t get here soon enough.
Posted in The Cancer Chronicles | 6 Comments »
Thursday, June 8th, 2006
So the question of the week — since Monday morning in the shower — is “Can I get my money back on the chemo?”
Yeah, I found a lump.
I’m going to the doc’s office in a few hours.
Damnit all to hell.
Posted in The Cancer Chronicles | 8 Comments »
