Today is Day 4 of chemo for Dana and we have not been able to keep up on getting updates out to everyone so here it is. This the last day of chemo for Dana. It has completely knocked her out. I don't know if this is due to a combination of the chemo or slew of anti-nausea drugs they have given. She has been able to sleep a ton, but it is frustrating for her because that is all she wants to do and pee. The peeing part has gotten old due to being attached to an IV pole 24 hours a day. They are pumping ridiculous amounts of fluid through her to not only keep her hydrated, but protect her kidneys and bladder from the chemo.
On a positive side she has been able to manage the nausea and still has her hair. Unfortunately, it sounds like next week is going to be the roughest week. It is then where her white blood cell counts will bottom out and she will feel the worst.
Thank you to everyone that has called, emailed, texted, facebook messaged, etc over the past several days. She is getting them, but has not had the energy to respond yet. That will come in time. I took a walk with her around the unit today and that zapped her strength.
We will do our best to keep everyone updated on things, but thought this was a quick way to get to everyone.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
What a Day!
It is almost 1:30 on Wednesday morning and I am still going from Tuesday morning. Today was Dana's first day of chemo. The day started out as a complete cluster. From the get go at admissions there was uncertainity as to where she was supposed to be, when she was to report there and what she was supposed to have done etc. The day only became increasingly frustrating as it was after 7:30 before she was finally moved to her room. I can only imagine the emotional and mental toll of fear and anxiety this takes on her. As we entered the cancer center all the memories came back for me from the last time she had chemo. I was reminded again of how brutal a process this is.
Unfortunately, we have perspective on treatment. To me this makes this worse and I know it does for Dana. She knows what to expect. She knows which anti-nausea drugs work and don't work. I have the perspective of watching again stupidly, toxic chemicals being put into my wife's body. When you watch the nurse put a gown on with gloves to attach a bag to an iv pole and to a line it scares you. When they have to give multiple doses of one drug to protect her bladder and kidneys against another drug because it is so toxic I just feel like I have been kicked in the gut again and again. Having perspective in cancer treatment doesn't make it easier it only makes it more difficult because you know how bad it will be and you just wait for it to hit.
Before her treatment even started for Dana we had friends flaking out on commitments and promises they had made. In talking to other patients, close friends, caregivers, etc., it seems as if individuals just can't deal with things. So either they say something incredibly stupid, because they don't know what to say or they just fade into the background letting down patients who desperately need what they were offering. It can be as simple as a quick text message saying, I was thinking about you and wanted to know how you were doing. The problem is that you have to be prepared for a patient to tell you it has been a terrible day or they feel like crap. That is okay. Sometimes the best thing you can say is this situation really sucks and I hate that you have to through it. The continuous keep it positive sentiments burn you out. You want friends that can listen, commiserate and make you laugh when needed. I watched the smile grow on Dana's face when she saw our kids tonight and she has friends coming to see her tomorrow that will make her laugh in spite of the situation.
That's when you know you have true friends. When they can see you at your worst, not care about it and still make you laugh or cry in a good way. They can also let you cry in a bad way and not think a thing about it.
Unfortunately, we have perspective on treatment. To me this makes this worse and I know it does for Dana. She knows what to expect. She knows which anti-nausea drugs work and don't work. I have the perspective of watching again stupidly, toxic chemicals being put into my wife's body. When you watch the nurse put a gown on with gloves to attach a bag to an iv pole and to a line it scares you. When they have to give multiple doses of one drug to protect her bladder and kidneys against another drug because it is so toxic I just feel like I have been kicked in the gut again and again. Having perspective in cancer treatment doesn't make it easier it only makes it more difficult because you know how bad it will be and you just wait for it to hit.
Before her treatment even started for Dana we had friends flaking out on commitments and promises they had made. In talking to other patients, close friends, caregivers, etc., it seems as if individuals just can't deal with things. So either they say something incredibly stupid, because they don't know what to say or they just fade into the background letting down patients who desperately need what they were offering. It can be as simple as a quick text message saying, I was thinking about you and wanted to know how you were doing. The problem is that you have to be prepared for a patient to tell you it has been a terrible day or they feel like crap. That is okay. Sometimes the best thing you can say is this situation really sucks and I hate that you have to through it. The continuous keep it positive sentiments burn you out. You want friends that can listen, commiserate and make you laugh when needed. I watched the smile grow on Dana's face when she saw our kids tonight and she has friends coming to see her tomorrow that will make her laugh in spite of the situation.
That's when you know you have true friends. When they can see you at your worst, not care about it and still make you laugh or cry in a good way. They can also let you cry in a bad way and not think a thing about it.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
What you don't know
My original intent was to somehow share what if feels like to be the spouse of a cancer patient. I think I may have set my sights a tad high, because I am finding that impossible. Monday, Dana was scheduled to have a temporary central line placed for her stem cell collection. We spent almost three hours in the waiting room alone. This is what Dana had to deal with after that.
So that looks uncomfortable, but not unbearable. It was placed so she could have her stem cells harvested today. This involves being hooked up to a machine with her blood being pumped out one line, run through a massive machine to collect stem cells and then pumped back in through the other line. Doesn't sound too bad to the average person. However, when you are watching your wife's blood being pumped out there is no way in the world you can't freak out. Now for the part you don't know going in for the placement is what they are putting into your neck.
As a point of reference that is an ipad, not an ipod. This procedure was done after she spent the last four days giving herself two injections every morning to boost her blood counts and move the stem cells to the bloodstream. This causes major bone pain that Dana described as feeling like she was kicked by a horse in both hips or labor from the waist down. Again, this isn't her treatment yet, this is the prep for the treatment. As a husband this kills me because I cannot take the pain away.
My mind never stops. I fall asleep only because I have nothing left to give at the end of the day. To say that I am scared may be the equivalent saying the US has a small debt problem. I have a constant pit in my stomach, a constant fear of not being able to help Dana, a constant fear that I am not giving my kids what they need when Dana is away. I don't think it is possible to truly understand these feelings unless you are the husband or wife of a cancer patient, a parent with a young child with cancer or a military spouse with your spouse deployed. It just isn't the same unless you are under the same roof.
What you don't see is your best friend so tired they can barely move or cleaning out a bowl of vomit because you know the next one is right around the corner. You don't see the raw emotion of someone losing their hair. You don't see the reactions your kids have when mommy is sick. To be slightly biased I am very good dad. I am involved. I adore my kids. I would die for them, but I am not mommy. I am scared to death that when Dana is in the hospital I won't be enough for them. I will make countless trips between our house, my job and the IU Cancer Center in the coming weeks for Dana, for me, for the kids, for friends and family. But I cannot help but wonder will it be enough?
My mind never stops. I fall asleep only because I have nothing left to give at the end of the day. To say that I am scared may be the equivalent saying the US has a small debt problem. I have a constant pit in my stomach, a constant fear of not being able to help Dana, a constant fear that I am not giving my kids what they need when Dana is away. I don't think it is possible to truly understand these feelings unless you are the husband or wife of a cancer patient, a parent with a young child with cancer or a military spouse with your spouse deployed. It just isn't the same unless you are under the same roof.
What you don't see is your best friend so tired they can barely move or cleaning out a bowl of vomit because you know the next one is right around the corner. You don't see the raw emotion of someone losing their hair. You don't see the reactions your kids have when mommy is sick. To be slightly biased I am very good dad. I am involved. I adore my kids. I would die for them, but I am not mommy. I am scared to death that when Dana is in the hospital I won't be enough for them. I will make countless trips between our house, my job and the IU Cancer Center in the coming weeks for Dana, for me, for the kids, for friends and family. But I cannot help but wonder will it be enough?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)