Lazy day doodlings.

Quick refresher: This past Monday, I began my seventh and Final! module of chemotherapy. I have gone through this module before, way back in March. This time, however, I am doing it all outpatient, as opposed to before, when I was in the hospital. This round is prophylactic, targeting the central nervous system, which is one of the main places leukemia recurs, if it comes back. There are no leukemic cells in my spine or CNS right now, and this chemo is just to ensure that none will show up there. Hopefully, my cancer is cured and I won't have to worry about recurrence. But erring on the side of caution, I receive a lumbar puncture and spinal tap every other week for six weeks, along with IV chemo and pill chemo. The specific drug is called methotrexate, and it can be toxic to the body if it stays in too long. So the doctors give the drug 48 hours to do its thing, and then I start taking more pills to flush it out. Last time I went through this, I had trouble clearing the chemo. My kidneys decided it would be super cool to stop functioning, and I was in the hospital for, I think, two weeks before I finally cleared the stuff.

The fantastic news is that, now, everything is going very smoothly. As of Thursday morning, my methotrexate levels had fallen below the dangerous threshold, and all of my bloodwork looks great. Even though I have to get three spinal taps, I'd say this module is one of the more bearable ones. My blood counts won't fall, my hair (fuzzy as ever) won't fall out again, and aside from a day or two of not wanting to move, I generally feel healthy. I have a ton of stuff to do over the next four or five weeks, so I suppose I lucked out that this module isn't too hard on me. When it's finally finished and I can head back to school, my body won't be utterly destroyed. In fact, I think it might even be starting to heal. My hair is proof of that. I just hope everything goes as planned over the next four weeks. I Really hope my blood counts don't fall. That would probably be the biggest setback. So, for just a little while longer, keep thinking happy white blood cell thoughts. And otherwise, I'm off to do some grubbing around for food. Pax.

Chemo drugs work surprisingly quickly.

It has been just over two days since I received my chemo onslaught, and my taste buds have gone totally goofy on me. Plain tap water is awful, although I have no trouble with sparkling water, which is strange. I had some cereal for dinner, and I just felt like I was forcing myself to eat. It's always a sad time when I can no longer enjoy food. But, like they have every month for the past eight months, my taste buds will return, and food will be delicious again. Until then, I guess I'll subsist on bagels and toast and sparkling water. The really funny thing is that even though I haven't been eating that much, I've been trying to drink so much liquid that I'm pretty sure I've put on maybe five pounds in the past three days. It's all water weight, and it's all centered around my belly, but I still think it's amusing.

The other thing worth noting, although not directly related to this week, is that I guess I have wrecked one of the small veins in the top of my hand. I'm not sure how it happened, or if it's fixable (I need to talk to my doctor about that), but I guess I had a negative reaction to when one of the nurses put an IV in that vein. The vein hardened up, and it's actually quite painful if you poke it, which, of course, I do. So, I'm hoping it will eventually start working again. I don't even know, since it's hard, if blood can flow through it. It hasn't impaired my hand functioning at all, so I guess it's not a big deal. But I just thought I'd throw that out there: sometimes needles do bad things to veins. Also, there will be no more IVs in the top of my hand, if I can help it. That's about it. More blood draws tomorrow at clinic, and hopefully I'll have some good news regarding my chemo levels tomorrow evening. Right now, I'm just staying hydrated and playing the waiting game. Right on. Peace.

Eating toast.

I like toast. Especially when there is peanut butter involved. I can't type too much or too well because there is an IV sticking out of the side of my left hand. It's in a vein at right about at the flexion point of my wrist near my thumb. Basically I can't move my left hand that much in any direction. But all told, today went quite well. The IV the nurse put in is working well, and it will be coming out tomorrow. The spinal tap/lumbar puncture was virtually painless; it took about ten minutes total. I've been feeling a bit woozy since All of the chemo was stuffed into me, but I think that's finally wearing off, and I haven't had any trouble keeping down food. The most interesting detail of the day is that my urine was fluorescent yellow. The chemo was bright yellow, and, well, you know, it passes through you. So for a while there, my urine, pee, "bathroom fluids," what have you, were practically glowing. But that is all finally getting diluted. The other interesting thing is that I have been going to the bathroom All the Time. Like, no, really. I have consumed or been injected with so many fluids today. Between the water I've been drinking (a lot.), the 1000 mL of chemo, the 2000 mL worth of hydration packs, the milk I've had with my cereal, and even more water, I actually slosh when I move. But that's good. It means my kidneys are processing the fluids and getting them out of me, which is what we want. Plus, I have to get up in three hours again anyway to take 27, no, 29 pills. Woo! (It's not as ridiculous as it sounds. They are tiny pills.) So that will be my night, and I don't have to go to clinic until 4 pm tomorrow. And I am finished with the chemo for two weeks. So, hoorah. That's what's good here. Happy Tuesday, sad toad. Peace.

cbridges86@gmail.com if you feel like saying hi. :)

Still plugging along.

To be quite frank, I am not looking forward to tomorrow. It will be at least six hours of clinic time that will include at least two needles to two separate veins, a needle to the spine, two chemo drugs, one of which infuses for three hours, multiple anti-nausea pills, and my usual cocktail of daily pills plus a few new ones. And then there's the extreme likelihood of nausea anyway, not to mention the possibility of morphine-quality back pain. All in all, tomorrow is shaping up to be quite an eventful day. I might update tomorrow; I might not. That remains to be seen.

The funny (awful? funny?) thing about this is that even a few months ago, back in March, I thought I would be finished with my chemotherapy by now. And here I am, about to start the last module, which will last six more weeks. But at least it is finally beginning. I hope this goes by quickly. I need to get back to some sort of a normal life where photography figures prominently and my friends are nearby. That'd be nice. I guess the first step is getting through tomorrow. And....... Go!

Stupid... Mosquitoes....

I swear, if I die of West Nile Virus, I will be seriously upset. West Nile is usually only fatal to the very old and the very young. And, oh yeah, those with poor immune systems. Fabulous. But I think I'm on enough anti-viral medications that I should survive. Malaria, on the other hand, might be a problem. Although, I'm not sure when Chicago last had an outbreak of malaria. I don't think there has been one in a while anyway.

BUT: Everyone's happy white blood cell thoughts, and I've received a lot of them, have done wonders in raising my platelet count. It has soared from around 60,000 one week ago to about 250,000 as of this morning. Hoorah! This means that I will be able to begin my Final! module of chemotherapy this coming Monday. And the even better news is that I will be doing it all outpatient. So, even though the temperature is hovering in the 90s, the humidity is so high you can almost swim through the air, and my house's air conditioner decided to die about 15 years ago, I am overjoyed to not have to spend any amount of time in the hospital. Hopefully I won't get an infection; that would cast a rather bleak shadow over my otherwise sunny outlook. All of the chemotherapy and the lumbar punctures can be done in clinic, which is great. I'm actually not quite sure why I am doing this outpatient. The last time I went through this module, I was in-patient. (That's when my kidneys decided it would be super cool to stop working. Good times.) But either way, I am not complaining. So that's my good news, which always makes for a good day. Plus, tomorrow's Friday, and I get to sleep in. Awesome. Peace.

The pros and cons of being bald.

Con: Your head gets really hot, and, yes, I'll admit it, sweaty, when it's hot outside.
Pro: Your head is super easy to wipe down when it gets all sweaty.

Con: No sun-bleached locks.
Pro: No shampooing and conditioning.

Con: Your head gets really shiny when it is hot. sweaty. clean. cold. bored. tired. morning.
Pro: You can wear a hat.

Con: If you have never been bald before, you have a higher risk of sunburn on the top of your head.
Pro: Once your hair grows back, no one will be able to see the freckles and sunspots.

Con: Self-image is temporarily affected.
Pro: When being treated like dirt at a store or on the road, a swift removal of hat or scarf and an angry face serve to make everyone feel guilty and apologetic. Throw in a hacking cough and you're golden.

I think my hair might be starting to grow back. It might also be wishful thinking on my part. I guess I miss my hair; I certainly think about it a lot. But really, I wouldn't mind being bald for a little bit if there wasn't such a stigma attached to it. And yes, in the Midwest, in suburban Chicago, there is a stigma. At a barbeque I went to a while ago, a girl there was talking about her friend who got "a boy haircut." And trust me, the way she said it, her friend had made the worst decision in terms of her personal appearance. I think that if I was in a big city like New York, California, or maybe even downtown Chicago, it wouldn't be such a big deal. But out here in the suburbs, we don't tolerate that kind of crazy behavior. Shaving your head. My goodness, what is the world coming to. So my hair is coming back, although for now I'm still a rebel with or without a cause. Enjoy your tomorrows. Pax.

So, I should probably clarify.

Just so no one thinks I'm sitting all alone in my bedroom, moping, and feeling sorry for myself. Friday was sort of the culmination of two months worth of unfortunate events for me. Friday itself I spent in an outpatient clinic receiving blood. I then came home to find an e-mail from my doctor telling me that my platelets were still too low to safely begin chemo, and she told me I would have to wait another week to be tested again. Hence, my final round of chemo was pushed back a week, and I lost it a little bit.

I am in a really weird emotional spot right now. I have been consistently in and out of the hospital for the past two months, and I realize now that I had set my expectations way too rigidly in terms of returning to school. For the past seven months, I have learned to live (mostly) day to day. The idea of going back to Boston helped keep me sane, and as my return was further solidified, I became fixated on returning on a certain date. And then when I learned my date had to be extended, I didn't know what to do, really. It's hard when something you look forward to so much is suddenly altered. But you'd think I would have learned by now that you can't put too much trust in the future when the present is so uncertain.

My doctor explained to me in another e-mail that my most recent infection really took a toll on my cells' ability to regenerate, platelets included. Obviously I am disappointed, still. But my despair of Friday has receded quite a bit. One of the main reasons for this, other than that I've had some time to let it sink in, is that over the past few days I have heard from some of my very good friends, as well as from people who don't know me too well. They reminded me that a better world exists outside of this dastardly cancer-infused one, and I absolutely have a place in it. Regardless of when I actually, finally, fly away from Chicago, I will definitely do so in the near future. And then the good times begin in earnest. The next six or seven or eight weeks are still going to be hell for me. You can not fathom how much I want, how much I need this chemotherapy to be finished. But I guess the most important thing I can do, and if anyone wants to help, please do, is to think happy white blood cell thoughts. And just accept that this will end when it ends. Thank you So much to everyone who is helping me get through this. I wouldn't be able to without you. Peace.