Yesterday found me back in the chemo chair at the Brooklyn infusion center, and I returned today for my etoposide. The center is fairly close to me but requires two buses to get there, so getting there takes anywhere from a half hour if the bus schedules align to an hour if they don’t. I usually end up walking the second half.
Back in the chemo chair.
Before I went, I voiced my doubt to my oncologist’s nurse. “I’m starting my carboplatin and etoposide chemo today, and I have a question for the doctor,” I wrote. “I had both for my augmented ICE for the lymphoma, and when I was done with those two rounds, the pancreas tumor (which was thought to be lymphoma or inflammation at the time) was still there. Is there reason to believe it will work this time? I’m so discouraged but I know we’re running out of options.” The nurse called me back, and she told me that, as I noted, we’re running out of options, and the doctor thinks that this is worth a shot. I agree, and I know they wouldn’t try something if they didn’t think it would work.
However, my cancer just keeps surprising everyone in the worst ways. The doctors were surprised that the tumors came back this summer, they were surprised that the radiation didn’t work, they were surprised that the liver embolization didn’t ease the symptoms.
So far, the chemo seems to have aggravated my diarrhea, as the Dacarbozine did. I hope this is just temporary. Things are happening in my digestive tract, and I can’t tell if they are good or bad, or perhaps they mean nothing at all.
Today I returned for a half-hour infusion and to receive my Neulasta injector to deliver neuopgen “to help reduce the chance of infection due to a low white blood cell count.” I took it in shot form when I was harvesting my stem cells for the lymphoma stem cell transplant. It causes a bit of bone pain, but as I recall, it wasn’t that bad. Fingers crossed.
I was thinking I could use a happy surprise. I buy a lotto ticket every now and then. But honestly, I have had an avalanche of happy surprises. My bootcamp friends set up a GoFundMe (which is temporarily down since it was flagged for the words “opium tincture”) but it will cover the COBRA payment to continue my coverage while my domestic partner made a job transition, with a bit left over to put towards medications my insurance doesn’t cover.
My current insurance doesn’t cover a wig, but I’ll get one only if my new insurance covers it. I stayed bald last time, and I’m getting used to my new extremely short ‘do. I also have an asymmetrical purple wig from Ricky’s if I need some hair. If this chemo works, I’ve already decided to be Annie Lennox for Halloween.
Three of my best friends visited recently for several days. We caught up and reminisced. My Sound and Sense, a book I’ve had since AP English my senior year of high school, went to Ireland with my friend who is a teacher. In it are scribbled notes from me to her and to another friend when we shared the book, along with actual notes from explicating various poems. While they were here, a fitness bootcamp friend who now lives in Chicago dropped by, and my apartment was full of laughter and friends from different times of my life. More friends are slated for visits in the upcoming weeks—people I’ve known from Ohio who now live in Washington D.C. and in Seattle.
One of my half-birthday pals sent me a cool dragon cards, and another friend sent a care package off activities and artwork she thoughtfully put together. It seems as if one of my cats fell in love with the cat pencil case that she sent or with ’80s Howard Jones. I can’t tell, but he snuggled with all the gifts. A Chewy delivery of cat food arrived and we momentarily worried that the cats had figured out how to order from the internet, but a card the next day arrived from a friend’s mom. I’ve received such kind notes and words of encouragement through email and social media. Yesterday to raise my spirits, one of my friends wrote a series of poems about cats that she called catkus.
Tomorrow I am slated for a transfusion to boost my low hemoglobin. I had a transfusion at the hospital as well, when a friend was visiting. We are both former goth girls, so there was something very goth about sitting around with a bag of blood.
Despite battling gloom and pessimism, it’s hard to completely extinguish a little bit of hope.