On Friday I had a visit from a very nice doctor, a graduate student in the oncology center. He explained the technical aspects of my two types of tumors. THe first procedure was a segmental resection of the proximal jejunum and removal of a 4.5 cm lipoma. This was the intussception, the cause of most of my pain for the last few months, and the reason I always felt “full” (well, besides actually having a full intestine!).
Thinking back, I started noticing the pain on a trip we took to Charleston in April. It was like having a stitch in my side after running, only it didn’t happen when or after I ran. And it would come and go away. But I had been seeing “ribbons” of black in the stool since January. So I think the lipoma kept increasing over time.
One of the nurses made a comment that the inside of my intestine at the critical point looked like it was full of strawberry jelly. Ugh. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to face strawberry jelly again.
The second procedure was a fortunate circumstance, if you want to call it that, since the cancerous tumor never would have been detected if the intusseception hadn’t happened. I’ve never had a colonoscopy and never wanted to have one, thinking all this time that a healthy lifestyle goes much farther towards preventive medicine than expensive medical procedures. The sigmoidectomy, as this surgery is called, revealed a 3 cm adenocarcinoma that had invaded the surrounding fat, affecting at least 8 other nodes around the tumor.
The doctors had removed everything they found, which is the primary treatment for this kind of cancer. But the cancer itself had already progressed to Stage 3B. Little cancer cells were floating around in my body looking for new homes.
It was a scary thought.
The doctor explained the various types of treatment. I will have a “port” put into my chest, under the skin, that will act as the catheter for the chemo medication. “If you like, we can have that put in before you leave the hospital, so you don’t have to come back just for the port…”
I just looked at him, feeling nothing but pain in my abdomen and from the NG tube, the room silent except for the sound of the air hissing through the suction port on the pump. “I’ll have to think about that.”
There will be 8 cycles of treatment, each cycle will start with either pills or injections, and then continue with injections. The last week of the treatment is a “rest” week with no pills or injections. Then the next cycle starts. “Side effects are minimal for this particular treatment. Some hair loss is to be expected. Not many people have nausea, and we’ll give you something for that. Lack of energy. And, oh, you’ll have to stay out of the sun.”
This caught my attention. “Like wear long sleeves and a hat when I’m outside?”
He shook his head. “No, you won’t be able to go outside at all, except for brief trips between cars and buildings and such.”
This may have been when the cancer diagnosis actually hit me. This was going to change my life….
“No walks? No going to the park?”
“No. This is your life we’re talking about. It’s worth not being outside for 6 months.”
I didn’t know about that. How would I get healthy again if I couldn’t walk?
“What about the treadmill?”
We discussed activities that would be allowed. Moderate treadmill use was one of them. No running. No weight lifting. No hiking. This was going to be a very long six months.
“You can sit on the porch if you aren’t getting direct or reflected light,” he added, hoping to sound encouraging.
At least I wouldn’t have to miss the evening bird performances.
By Saturday I was in a relatively good place. I didn’t have any problems accepting cancer into my life, it’s just another issue to tackle, I knew I was up to it. I was going to beat it. There was a 70% success rate with the proposed treatment and I am relatively fit and healthy, and I’m young, I’ll be 55 in a couple of weeks. So I just have to follow all the plans, keep myself eating right and exercised, and I should come out of this right as rain.
The only thing really bothering me was the constant pain of the NG tube, which seemed even worse as time went on because I couldn’t get any good sleep and hadn’t eaten in days. My energy levels were extremely low. I resorted to begging for ice.
The nurses ignored my pleas. I wasn’t allowed anything to eat or drink because it would show up as additional fluid in the cup of disgusting black liquid connected to my stomach. It wasn’t long before all I could think about was how nice it would be to crunch on some ice. Snow cones. Snow.
It became an obsession. I dreamed of frozen watermelon pops. I watched my husband sip his ice water with big envious eyes. I imagined sitting on a pile of popsicles and choosing various flavors selectively. Grape in the morning, orange at noon. Lime in the afternoon, and maybe a raspberry for a light fruity evening. Watermelon at sundown.
Finally, after begging nicely for the n-teenth time, one of the male nurses took pity on me and gave me half a styrofoam cup of chipped ice. When I put the first tiny bits into my mouth, let them roll around and cool my tortured throat, I knew there was nothing better in the entire world than ice.
Unfortunately, I didn’t listen to his cautionary notes to take it slow. So the results of finishing that first half cup were a little uncomfortable. Gas, bloating, and increased fluid suction.
But it was worth it. I didn’t press too hard after that, but no one denied giving me ice any longer.
Sunday was the Big Day. If my gastric juices were lower, the NG tube would be pulled and I could begin a clear liquid diet. This was an event I anxiously looked forward to. Like Christmas.
I woke up that morning and finding nothing better to watch on television, I spent the early hours watching the hospital’s diet and nutrition informational channel. One of the programs had information about fats in foods. They compared food fat levels by displaying little prescription-bottle sized containers with some kind of white yogurt-like substance. Fried chicken had a full bottle of yogurt: lots and lots of unhealthy fat. Broiled chicken with the skin removed had only a tiny bit of yogurt, which meant it was a better choice. Hamburgers, pizzas, salads and prepared foods paraded over the screen.
It all looked delicious.
I put on a happy face for the mid-morning doctor visit.
“Are you feeling any nausea?”
No. Nope notta.
They checked some report logs. “There is still a lot of fluid coming out of you…”
“Ice!” I practically screamed. I wanted to convince them that was a good thing. If I could tolerate ice I could tolerate other liquids, right? I pointed out the numbers of cups of ice I had been “secretly” consuming since the previous day.
My desperation must have come through. They pulled the tube.
Relief.
I was allowed a bowl of vegetable broth that night. It was the best dinner I have ever tasted, even though I could only swallow a few spoonfuls.
originally posted at annettezimmerman.com
