Part Five

Good morning, fans.  Time for more cheery news from the UNM Cancer Center – which actually is kind of a cheery place, if you ignore all the sick people.  I thought of re-naming the blog "Topic of Cancer," a bad pun that would allude to my literary pretensions in this effort, but thought better of it.  You're welcome.

I'm midway through my second week of cancer treatment.  This includes radiation treatment five days a week and chemotherapy seven days a week.  The chemo is self-administered via two big pills I take at bedtime every night, preceded by anti-nausea drug I take about a half hour before the chemo pills.  The nausea and a general ebbing of my energy levels are the only side effects I've noticed thus far.  (Still have that full bushy mane, gals!)  On the first morning of my first chemo dose the night before, I went out for a stroll on my regular route through a nearby arroyo.

Editor's Note:

ar·roy·o  [uh-roi-oh]

noun, plural ar·roy·os.

(chiefly in southwest U.S.) a small steep-sided watercourse or gulch with a nearly flat floor: usually dry except after heavy rains.

There are two paths I take through this arroyo: a short one of about 3 miles or so that takes about a half hour or so to walk and a longer one that takes maybe 45 minutes.  This particular morning I was strolling the shorter route, not knowing what effects to expect from last night's chemo dose.  I was accompanied on the trip by that morning's digest of the N.Y. Times playing on my Samsung phone via Audible.com.

A brief word about this Audible.com, which is so cool I like to tell people about it.  This is a subscription that gives me one audiobook and one audio newspaper or magazine per month for $15/mo.  Not for everyone, but perfect for someone like me who travels a lot and spends many hours behind the wheel.  A couple of years ago this company Audible was purchased by Amazon, who has done some cool things with the service.  One of them is to let you add on the Audible version of a Kindle book you buy for a few bucks extra, and vice-versa.  What's extra-cool about that is this: say I'm driving all day and listening to an audiobook, then later I'm in my hotel room and I want to read the same book on my Kindle.  When I open up the Kindle book, it syncs automatically to the exact spot I left off in the audiobook.  And it also does the same thing in the opposite direction the next time I start up the audiobook.

Sorry, that just geeks me out.  It's what I expect from Amazon, who is always two steps ahead of everyone else.  But the real reason I love that company is that I have never experienced better customer service than that company provides – a rarity among U.S. businesses.

Enough already about effing Amazon – we want to talk about tumors!  So I'm about halfway through my leisurely stroll through the arroyo, when here comes this morning's breakfast back up for a visit!  It was just coffee and a USANA nutritional shake, but now it is decorating a pretty bush in the arroyo.  So after I get back I look over the two anti-nausea meds my oncologist prescribed.  One is called Prochlorperazine, which is the one the oncologist told me to take unless I need something stronger.  The other one is called Zofran (sounds like a Marvel Comics villain), which I guess is stronger but also more expensive.  I have a limited supply of this based on what Blue Cross would cover, so I'm using the first one for now.

So after a few more episodes of  la nausée, (not the Jean-Paul Sarte novel), I started popping the Prochlorperazine right before bedtime and when I get up.  This seems to work, tho it saps my energy big-time – or maybe that's the Temador doing the talking.

Temador is the chemo drug I'm taking – also called Temozolomide.  My dosage is 165 mg per day, so I have to take two pills to boost the regular 140 mg capsule up to the prescribed dosage.  One of the other effects is it knocks me out pretty good.  I still get up several times during the night for my nocturnal rest stops, but instead of wandering about the house I just head straight back to the sack and conk out again.  So between the Temodar and taking the nausea med as soon as the sun comes up, I'm getting plenty of sleep.

Then there's the daily fun of radiation treatments.  The radiation techs have this routine so down that it's like watching an Indy pit crew at work, and I'm usually out of there in about 15 minutes.  I already gave you a basic course in the science of all this in the last blog installment.  After I get strapped down inside my radiation mask (which, btw, might cause problems for any claustrophobic folks out there), the actual treatment lasts about 5-10 minutes, which includes me getting zapped about a half dozen times in each of about half a dozen places, which are all pretty close to each other.  I'll try to get a more accurate count in my next session.  I don't think I can feel it, but my scalp does feel some burning sensations throughout the day afterward.  The radiation machine makes a weird noise; kind of like a squeaking door, but it's like what you'd expect that door opening and closing at the beginning of The Twilight Zone to sound like.

On Friday I have my first interview with the UNM Center for Life.  To explain what this is, I'll quote from the "mission statement" on its web site:

To provide customer-oriented, preventative services and medical care in a healing environment by integrating the highest standards of conventional and complementary medicine, and nurturing the intrinsic healing in the whole person – body, mind, and spirit.

 Sounds right up my alley, doesn't it?  Hey, I'll try anything – even some witch doctor recommended by a friend, who's going to cure me long distance over a cell phone line!

Seriously tho, this UNM clinic and its director, Dr. Arti Prasad, come highly recommended and I'm looking forward to the appointment, which aren't easy to get.

OK, now where did I put that application for my New Mexico medical marijuana card?

Look Ma, no scar! (Almost)