Noticing that the last posting to this site was five months ago, you may have guessed that chemotherapy kicked my backside. In fairness, it was mostly infections that attacked while my defenses languished rather than the chemo itself. Either way, full functioning returned slowly. Quite the experience, though I wouldn't recommend it.
Cycle Four
The fourth week of chemo presented no challenges: the usual mouth sores, exhaustion, and rectal bleeding. What? You didn't know there could be rectal bleeding? Well, you are in for a treat. I'll keep the disgusting details to a minimum.
Finding blood in one's stool is disturbing. When it happens, the correct response is to seek medical help. I called the oncologist. Chemotherapy attacks fast growing cells and that includes the cells lining your entire digestive tract from one end to the other. Bleeding requires further inspection; they referred me to a proctologist.
The proctologist asked a few questions and then decided to inspect the area. That particular area was already in pain from all the other side effects of chemo. Large fingers (plural) and a camera increased the pain appreciably. He ordered a sigmoidoscopy for the following day.
Sigmoidoscopy is like a colonoscopy, but only up to the elbow. It also does not require drinking a cleansing fluid, so that is a plus. It is still unpleasant.
A nurse prepared me for the procedure. That included an enema. She said to hold things in for five minutes, then use the toilet in the room but not flush. I made it about four and a half minutes (close enough) and then finished. The toilet looked like a blender full of small animal. Using the call button, I let the nurse know things were done.
The original nurse came in with a second nurse. The second nurse looked into the toilet bowl and went into a panic, prepared to call everybody in to tend to my issue. The original nurse applied a lot of effort to convince the second nurse that we already knew about the issue and a plan was already in place. At least her reaction told me I was right to panic.
I pretty much slept through the procedure, as is my practice. After a short recovery, I got dressed. Eventually, the proctologist came in to tell me the results. His conclusion: "Just keep an eye on it." Gee, thanks.
Cycle Five
The fifth cycle was not as pleasant. This is the one that really got me.
Each cycle took three weeks. The first week saw me connected to pumps, receiving the medicine the whole time. Side effects filled the second week, and the third week was for recovery before starting another cycle.
During the second week, an infection attacked my mouth and throat. This made it difficult to eat or drink. I tried to get food down, but my throat shut in protest. Milk and protein drinks helped, but not enough.
The infection also exhausted me more. I slept all the time and barely noticed anything.
On Wednesday of that week, chills and fever showed up. I called the oncologist, as I've been trained to do. They got me in and went into a panic of their own. I lost eleven pounds since the previous week. They immediately hooked me to an IV and worked to admit me to the hospital.
Due to overcrowding (Covid-19 related) all hospital admissions had to go through the Emergency Room. The oncology nurses put me in a wheelchair, wrapped me in blankets, and wheeled me down to the ER with the IV still attached.
The ER nurse saw me after about ten minutes and then wheeled me into the hall where the admit-able people waited. I'm not sure how long that wait lasted due to the exhaustion. The woman to one side was quite upset and seemed to be waiting for someone from the psych ward. The folks to the other side had probably never heard the word 'hygiene' and probably had gastrointestinal health issues (based on the odors).
In a short while, they moved me to a treatment room where I received my first blood transfusion. That improved my overall feeling of health more than expected. I was careful not to joke about getting other people's blood more often; medical people don't always appreciate my sense of humor.
In all, my stay lasted about four days and included another unit of blood and a lot of antibiotics. They released me Christmas afternoon. I took a very long walk back to my car in the parking lot of the oncology center.
Cycle Six
The last cycle went more easily than the others. My doctor reduced the dosage a little, to be on the safe side. No infections popped up. Food and beverages went down. It was surprisingly smooth.
On the last day on the pumps, the nurses "required" a special ceremony. First, they sang a song about being done with chemo and how it was time to go out and enjoy life. Then, they took me to a bell in the reception area. I rang the bell and everyone applauded.
Normally, I'm not one for ceremonies. This one was different for several reasons. Most importantly, it made the nurses feel better. Most nurses I've met are very caring people who really do want to heal everyone. The successful completion of chemotherapy, after five months, is a big deal for them and it brings out a lot of emotion. It helps balance the cases where chemotherapy is not so successful.
It is also important for all the cancer patients sitting in the reception area. They get to see that someone made it through, that there is light at the end of the tunnel. Cancer and its treatment really beats some people and it can be difficult to hang on to hope. Having the completers ring that bell where others can see and hear is an important step.
The final reason really surprised me. My own emotions rose up during the ceremony. The song and the bell brought out some unspecified emotion that pushed tears to my eyes. I didn't really cry, but I got close. Even thinking back on it gets me a bit mushy. Obviously, the whole thing was a bigger deal than I realized it would be.
Since Then
Two months have passed since my last treatment. I feel much better. I started a new job. Things are gradually starting an upward climb again as I build toward the future.
The odd thing was missing the cancer treatments. For five months, my entire life centered on the treatments and the medical people involved. Suddenly, that all went away. The routine changed and I didn't have an immediate replacement. I actually missed the whole thing. It was tough.
Still, it is good to have that part behind me. Eventually, the bills will be paid and the whole thing will just be one of those stories I tell over and over again.
Well that got me, the whole
Well that got me, the whole bell ceremony thing. Glad you're on the mend.